#i want to be alone! with my people here! the people who love and care for me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fangel · 19 hours ago

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ohmygosh… you’ve done it (∩´﹏`∩)♡ my rambles ･⁀➴

i’d like to start with WHATTHEFUCKKK the concept alone is so good, so unique — I LIVE AND LOVE to find dark fics that are actually different from the ‘oh he’s a serial killer blah blah omg the nth scream slasher inspo blah blah’ NO GIVE ME PASSION, GIVE ME A MAN WHO IS TRULY LOST IN HIS WAYS W/ HIS MIND CRUMBLING IN ON ITSELF BC HES SO OBSESSED SO GONE !! GIVE ME REASON AS TO WHYYY HE IS A MESS !! you delivered that 🤍 !!

the way he has this dominance over her even without being there: picking out her clothes, specific preference to hair and makeup, surrounding her with his work--the dolls of her that can never quite be her no matter how hard he tries--aka the constant reminder of his afflicted obsession !!!! AHHH and she feels so has to maintain that perfection to keep his best interest to the point it's all she knows even tho disgusted !!!!

at first i was lowkey mad at him bc why are you spending all day trying to make a doll that looks like (me) her when the real thing is right at home !?!? but after reading i get it. he's just a sick fuck who is scared of the perfect love being gone one day. he's so desperate to hold onto the idea that he needs to preserve it, keep it forever. tbh.. #NeedThat level of obsession

okay ngl when she talks about the dolls and how they move and watch her etc i was like oh no she's gone schizo.. she's going crazy being cooped up at home with all those lookalike dolls -- BUT NO THEY'RE LIKE ACTUALLY MOVING ANDF SHIT?!?! wth and then i was like wait are they real people !? spirits !? THE HUMMING -- and then the missing girls that look like her on tv.. him being gone all the time.. okay i see you sunghoon. i know what you are

the dollhouse. just that. the dollhouse. how it depicts what's happening WOW ! such a cool twisted way to incorporate how she slowly puts things together. reminds me of until dawn with the dollhouse in the basement -- and more on the dolls, people or spirits whatever the hell, NO they are lil guardian angels trying to save her !! to warn her of what is really happening !!

the smut. HELLO???!/ the smut is a world in its own. absolutely insane but in a beautiful way. should i be scared? yeah, but i am Horny instead. break me apart !! mold me, shatter me, recreate me however you want just keeping fucking me with those glasses on dgasgfksgfa but fr... there's so much hidden tellings even in the smut. she's begging him to release that darkness he harbors onto her, telling him 'to do it' but doesn't realize the weight of her words and what's she's telling him to do. the way the darkness stirs in him, indirectly getting her permission to indulge on his twisted desires of having her as his REAL DOLL. crazy. all out of love they're both losing themselves yet getting what they want. (the audience stands and applauds)

"the experiment" and the dolls all being trial and error... fucking insane. i love everything about this so bad. his dedication.. his oath..

"Your husband liked to dissect things. He liked to break things apart and put them back together all shiny and new. -- You didn’t care, you just liked the feeling of his hands on you, even if its intention was to destroy."

⤷ LOVED THIS, i feel like this sets up the whole story right here.

It’s what he couldn’t help but do to you every night. It was the only time he liked you to be messy, when you were laying in a heap of doll parts beneath him. He tried to be gentle with his curiosity, he really did, but it was as if something overtook him. That dark look in his eyes got bolder until he couldn’t hold himself back—until he just had to tear you apart

⤷ the way that this is literal... at night in workshop with literal doll parts and in bed with her she's breaking apart under his hold. wow. also doll parts by hole mention !!

her in the beginning "These days, you just wanted to be." and then sunghoon in the end "It just is"

⤷ chefs kiss, perfect. idk what else needs to be said.

the concept reminds so much of an old rpg game called "mad father" i was OBSESSED with it when i was younger and you've allowed me to escape in a (loosely) similar world. ily for this

dear kipo, your attention to details and way of storytelling is so wonderous and amazing. you've captivated me in this horribly perfect lil world. such a fucked up, pretty story. you are so so talented!! i could dissect the whole story tbh but i need to stfu

one last thing hdfjakhfkas this is so long im sorry but PLEASE listen to this song. i've had the artist on repeat for like 2 weeks and this song reminds me of this story SOOSO MUCh pls tell me what you think >.<

anyways <3 i ate this tf up. ty for your service 🍽️ !!

THE DOLLMAKER ˒˒ 박성훈 ▸ 𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲!

you were sunghoon’s muse, his flawless, perfect wife that he dresses in frilly dresses and makes sure you always looked like the idealized woman. that much was evident from all the dolls he made of you that sat proudly throughout your home. but, when sunghoon isn’t there, the dolls move and show you things that would otherwise be hidden in the shadows. one day, they show you something so frightening, something completely sinister that you force yourself to believe that it isn’t real. your beloved husband wouldn’t do something like that, would he? you weren’t so sure about your answer anymore.

pairing ⸝⸝ park sunghoon 𝑥 fem!reader 𓄵 𝓯eat. ꔛ 𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘦!

genre ⋆ 📓 ⸝⸝ established relationship, angsty & mature themes, smut, some fluff, husband & dollmaker!sunghoon, gothic vibes, supernatural elements

warnings ⸝⸝ dark content, heavy dubcon, dollification, mentions of murder and kidnapping, really creepy dolls, sunghoon is actually insane lmao, heavy gaslighting, possessiveness, unprotected sex, soft dom!sunghoon, heavy body worship, slow sex to rough sex and back to soft sex (you’ll see), manhandling, handjob, cumshots, clit stimulation, fingering, brief somnophilia, slight dacryphilia, mentions of oral (f. rec), praise, petnames (my love, darling, doll), hair pulling (m. rec), cockwarming, a lot of skinship, teasing, brief nipple play, mentions of aftercare, they are very very codependent, traditional marriage aspects

𝓴ipo’s note ⸝⸝ went a bit insane writing this because why is the smut scene alone 5.4k words??? but it’s finally here!! my first post on my new blog (that’s not part of a series) and my first darker content fic!! this was really fun to write and opened a primal lust within me for sunghoon that made me crazier… hehe enjoy loves!!

͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏͏ ͏ ❨ 14.8k ❩ ╱ ❨ 𝓶. list ❩ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ︵͡ 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 (´ε｀ʃƪ)♡

You always strived to be nothing short of perfect, and you were immensely proud at the fact that you have never strayed from the path of the idealized woman in the eyes of their beholder.

And you were perfect. The perfect person, the perfect woman, the perfect wife. It was what you were born and bred to be, and with a smile you lived your life knowing that not a single frizzy strand of hair was out of place nor was there a single wrinkle in your dress. You were pretty, pristine, perfect. You’d ask for nothing more.

But, as the days started to pass—and your husband was out later and later for work—you started to hate the idea of perfection. You clawed at it like a noose wrapped around your pretty throat. Gone were the days where you’d be set alight with how well you presented yourself—with how much your husband loved to stare at you. These days, you just wanted to be.

In the beginning, you loved to be under Sunghoon’s watchful eye. You loved how he’d dress you in perfectly fitting clothes suited to what he loved to see you in—frills and lace. Loved how he’d fluff your hair if it was too flat or if it wasn’t up to his standard, or smooth down the fabric of your dress. You loved when he treated you like his perfect little doll. It meant the world to you, especially when it came from such an expert dollmaker like your husband himself. In his eyes, it meant you were the best of the best, that no other doll that he has made could compare—his perfect creation.

Now, the more you think about it, the more your throat closes up. But, as much as you’re growing to hate the idea, you just can’t let go of the deeply rooted perfectionism you still strive for. It’s as if it’s embedded in your skin, as if it’s in the marrow of your bones and in the blood that pumps through your veins. You don’t know how to live a life that isn't perfect, and at this point, you’re too scared to find out what that life entails.

So you put on the dress Sunghoon lays out for you before work and you style your hair just the way he likes it—and you be perfect. Because that is all you know how to do.

You stare at yourself in the mirror in your bathroom, your brows knitted together. Confusion spread throughout your body as you tried to put a name to what you were feeling. Disgust, maybe? Hatred? You didn’t know. Sighing softly to yourself, you picked up your makeup brush and dusted more of the blush onto your cheeks.

Sunghoon had already left for work, so it didn’t even really matter what you looked like right now. You stepped out of the bathroom and into your bedroom. Dolls of various sizes greeted your sight. Some had intricate and realistic outfits, the same ones that you wore, and some of them were more plainly dressed. There were dolls everywhere in your home, even some perched on the open shelves of your kitchen. It was a little girl’s dream home. The most unsettling thing about all the dolls around you no matter where you turned was how much every single one of them resembled you in some way.

It was as if Sunghoon could never quite capture your likeness exactly. With some dolls, their eyes were too big, their lips were too small, or the arch of their brow wasn’t quite right. Sometimes he couldn’t accurately carve the curve of your nose. You knew it drove him mad, not being able to immortalize you in his craft.

“You’re too flawless,” Sunghoon had told you once. You were laying in bed together and the tips of his fingers trailed along your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He used to always give you goosebumps, the good ones. Now it feels more like a chill down your spine.

You stared up at him from your pillow and watched as his eyes devoured your frame. His fingers twitched, briefly stopping their descent back down your arm, and you could tell he had the urge to test his hand at making you again. “I don’t think I’m flawless,” you smile at him, “I’m just as flawed as everyone else—just as human.”

Sunghoon’s gaze flicked up to your face, specifically to your smile, like he was committing it all to memory. He moved the hand that was trialing your shoulder up to cup your cheek. His thumb gently caressed the soft skin before he grazed it along your lips. There was a certain glint in Sunghoon’s eyes that you knew all too well.

“You’re flawless to me,” he stated. His thumb brushed along your bottom lip and pulled it down a little. You watched as his pupils dilated and the mix of lust and fascination that swirled in them grew. Ever so slightly, his eyes widened, too. Sunghoon moved his thumb down to your chin before leaning down to press his lips to yours.

He captured them with a certain roughness—the type that always shocked you with how gentle it initially seemed. Sunghoon’s hand grabbed your chin harder, his fingers creating soft indents into your skin as he leaned your head back and further into the pillow.

You were so moldable for Sunghoon, a shiny lump of clay ready for his skilled hands to turn you into a masterpiece. He hummed into the kiss and his teeth delicately bit down into the flesh of your bottom lip, only enough to not leave a mark. You moaned into his mouth, your arms raising to wrap around his neck in an attempt to pull him closer. In response, Sunghoon pulled his lips away from yours. He pressed feather light kisses to your cheek and up to the shell of your ear. “You’re my muse,” he whispered, before his head dipped to the crook of your neck to leave kisses there too.

You suppose that being so perfect wasn’t so bad if it meant that Sunghoon couldn’t keep his hands off of you—if it meant that he couldn't keep his hands off of his tools to try and remake you over and over again. Perhaps you were viewing it all wrong. Maybe it wasn’t a noose around your throat, but a pretty handmade necklace crafted by his nimble fingers. If it meant that Sunghoon never leaves, then you could be as perfect as he wanted forever. If it meant that he looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing he ever laid his eyes on, then you would be his doll for as long as you lived.

Maybe it wasn’t perfectionism at all, but an act of complete devotion—an act of love.

Sunghoon left open-mouthed kisses along your chest and moved further and further down until the lace of your lingerie blocked his lips from your skin. He pulled away from you fully and looked down at it like he was offended. You squirmed beneath him, your chest heaving as you tried to take in any air that you possibly could. “Please,” you inhaled, looking up at him desperately.

You weren’t quite sure what you were begging for exactly; maybe for his lips to be back on your skin, or maybe for him to quell the heat radiating from your body. “Please,” you said again, your voice coming out quieter and more forlorn.

Sunghoon ran his hands underneath the sheer fabric at your stomach and you gasped at his touch. “So soft,” he sighed contently, hands trailing further up until they physically couldn’t anymore and were blocked by the lace at your breasts. His calloused hands were a stark contrast to your velvety skin and the slight roughness made you shiver.

He pushed the sheer fabric up your stomach with the movement of his hands until the bottom half of your body was completely bare under him. Sunghoon must’ve decided that he couldn’t wait any longer, couldn’t bear to take the extra second to lift the lingerie over your head, because the harsh sound of fabric ripping filled your ears and the swift coldness of sudden exposure had you gasping again.

Sunghoon tossed the tattered fabric somewhere off to the side next to the two of you and in the corner of your eye you saw it fall to the floor below. His hands surged upwards, no longer bound by the restraints of your lingerie, and grabbed your breasts. Sunghoon’s thumbs rubbed against your hardened nipples and you arched your back off the mattress to give him more access. His hands dropped down to your thighs and he pushed them towards your stomach as he spread them further apart.

Sunghoon’s breath hitched when his eyes finally got a look at your glistening pussy, completely on display for him. His hand then moved from the back of your thigh and he dragged his fingers through your folds, collecting the slick on his fingertips. “Perfect,” Sunghoon breathed out.

Your husband liked to dissect things. He liked to break things apart and put them back together all shiny and new. It’s what he did to you every night—left you in a heap before cleaning you off and making you new again. You didn’t care, you just liked the feeling of his hands on you, even if its intention was to destroy. You knew that it was just a morbid curiosity. As long as he remained by your side, you were content in being a pile of doll parts for him to play with as he pleased.

In your bedroom, your eyes landed on a doll that wasn’t there when you had stepped into the bathroom. It sat in the center of your bed, dressed in the same lingerie that Sunghoon had ripped up. It didn’t look at you, but at the entrance of the room, with the hint of a smile that you knew was carved into the doll but couldn’t help but feel was mocking.

No matter how often it happened, you’ll never get used to the fact that the dolls moved around on their own. It only happened when you were home alone. The dolls never dared to move when their maker was home, but you still felt their eyes on you nonetheless. You had told Sunghoon about it—the two of you even waited around to see if one of them would move, but they never did. It was extremely frustrating.

You sighed at the doll and straightened your back. Leaving said doll where it was without a word, you left your room to put a start to your day.

What you weren't expecting was even more moved dolls in your kitchen. You stopped in your tracks as different, mini, and almost identical versions of you stared directly at you from the kitchen table in a circle. Usually it was only one doll that moved here and there, but this many moved dolls in the span of minutes was completely odd. Cautiously, you stalked towards them to see what they were surrounding.

It was the TV remote. You scoffed.

You grabbed the remote with a roll of your eyes. Aiming it towards the tiny box TV in the kitchen, you clicked it on and placed the remote back down onto the table next to the dolls. You let whatever channel it was left on play in the background as you started making breakfast for yourself.

“We’re here with the mother of one of those young girls today. Can you tell us a little about your daughter, ma’am?” you heard the news reporter ask. You took a pan out from under the lower cabinet and placed it onto the stove, ticking on the heat. You watched as a flame ignited, quick and large as lightning, before calming to something smaller.

A grief stricken voice filled your ears next between your soft humming. You didn’t realize that it was the tune Sunghoon always hummed when working from home—something he didn’t do as often anymore. “She was the most beautiful girl in the world—the most gentle and kind. She loved everyone and she loved love. My daughter was the single spark in this bleak night. Please, if you know where she is, please let a mother know.”

You moved about the kitchen, ignoring the way the dolls’ eyes seemed to follow your every move. Cracking the egg, you let it fall into the pan with a sizzle, fanning away the sudden smoke that rises. “The news station also has an anonymous tip hotline open for anyone who may know any information. The search for the six missing girls is still on. This Friday, the mayor will hold another search party and encourages everyone who can to join.”

Turning to throw away the shell of the egg, you caught a glimpse of the TV. “This has been—” You gasped, the shell falling to the tile below with a soft crack as your hand flew to cover your mouth. On the small screen were the pictures of the six missing girls—six missing girls who all looked eerily alike to one another, eerily alike to you. You rushed forward towards the screen, desperately needing to get a closer look at the girls’ image.

Fear and panic prickled at your skin and clawed its way up your throat. What if you were next? What if whoever was taking these girls had their eye on you to take next? You glanced around the kitchen, the dolls suddenly gone from the kitchen table and perched back in their rightful places on various shelves. What if one day you stepped out of your home to run an errand only to be met with a cloth to your nose and mouth?

You began to tremble as you focused your attention back onto the TV. Did the police have anything on who was taking the girls? Any physical descriptions or perhaps a drawing? You waited for the news to mention anything else, but they didn’t.

Lightheaded, you felt yourself begin to spiral. Your hands grabbed tight to the kitchen counter as you tried to steady yourself and not let the fear cloud your mind. Maybe it was all a coincidence. Maybe you just happened to look like those girls but the perpetrator was after someone else. You inhaled sharply, trying to swallow down the fear and panic and let the oxygen get through instead.

The sudden loud ringing of the smoke alarm startled you and made you jump. The eggs. They were still on the stove! “Oh!” you breathed as you hurriedly moved to turn off the stove. You accidentally stepped on the egg shell in the process. “Oh no,” you said softly under your breath as you moved from the stove to the trash can. You scraped off the burnt eggs, your appetite suddenly gone. You sat the pan in the sink for you to wash later.

Bending down, you meticulously picked up the pieces of egg shells on the floor to throw away as well. When you turned from the trash, there was a singular doll back on the kitchen counter. You jumped again.

It pointed towards the hallway to get to your living room, unblinking. You stared at it for a moment—at yourself. Why were the dolls doing this? “Fine,” you say, smoothing out your dress, “I’ll play along.” You need a distraction from the missing girls anyhow.

You left the kitchen and made your way down the hallway that the doll pointed to. As you slowly made your way down it, you didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary besides the way the various dolls’ eyes followed you. You make the bend to the end of the hallway and freeze.

At the end of the hallway was the displayed dollhouse that you didn’t touch. Sunghoon didn’t even let you clean it, opting to clean it himself. It meant a lot to him and he took great care for it to be in as pristine condition as possible. The dollhouse was a perfect replica of your home, down to the welcome sign you weaved on the front of the door. You’ve never even seen the inside of it… until now.

There was a crowd of dolls on the ground below it, more than you’ve ever seen moved before, pointing up at the scene portrayed in it. Swallowing thickly, you stepped further forward as a chill ran down your back.

In the dollhouse were only three dolls: one of you, one of Sunghoon, and one that you couldn’t even begin to understand what it could be. You took another cautious step forward, leaning in to get a better look and taking care to not step on any of the dolls. The scene depicted in the dollhouse was quite simple. You were upstairs in you and Sunghoon bedroom, asleep. Sunghoon was in some room you’ve never seen before, carving away at a doll that you could only assume was of you. Behind him was the other doll, covered in different, mismatched layers of fabric. It was so covered by copious amounts of fabric that it didn’t even seem to have the body of a doll anymore. It was almost grotesque looking, in a way.

Very quietly, almost indistinct, you heard the same melody Sunghoon hums when working. Your eyes widened in shock as you furiously tried to digest and decipher the scene. You shook your head a little. “I don’t understand,” you say, the confusion dripping from your voice. “What does this mean? What is that behind him?”

There was a creaking behind you and you swung around at the sound. More dolls were behind you, pointing. You weren’t sure if they were pointing at you or the dollhouse. Maybe it was both. You swung back around to the dollhouse when you heard something move.

Now Sunghoon was in front of the other fabric-covered doll. His doll was slightly bent at the torso and his head was tilted. The thin, wire-framed glasses he wears sat low on his nose bridge. You knew that look—that inspecting look. That morbid curiosity. It felt as if the dolls were screaming at you, “Do you understand now?” You still weren’t sure that you did. Too many puzzle pieces were missing from the board and it hindered you from seeing the whole picture. The sound of Sunghoon’s humming still filled your ears and you didn’t know what to do to stop it.

More creaking and you turned to look behind you. More dolls. They filled the entire hallway, their tiny fingers pointing at you, trying to force you to understand what they were trying to show you. Behind you, the dollhouse began to violently shake and you gasped as you looked at it. Sunghoon was now back in the bedroom with you. He stood over you, his hand hovering over your arm. You knew the action it was trying to convey—you could feel the tips of his fingers trailing up and down your actual arm now, making you shiver.

You stumbled backwards, even more confused and scared at the shaking dollhouse. The front of the dollhouse slammed shut, locking in the scene of you and Sunghoon inside, and stilled. Your chest rose and fell heavily and you clumsily stumbled your way out of the hallway and into the living room, avoiding any pointing doll that you could.

Later that day when Sunghoon came home from work, you didn’t mention the moving dolls or the dollhouse. It was as if nothing happened at all, every doll was where he placed them and the dollhouse was just as pristine as he left it. You especially didn’t dare mention the scenes depicted in the dollhouse. You feared your husband would think you were crazy.

You carried the plate of hot food to where Sunghoon sat at the kitchen table. “Eat up!” you smiled placing the plate in front of him before placing a chaste kiss to his cheek. You felt him smile before you pulled away. You were turning to make yourself a plate when Sunghoon grabbed your wrist to stop you. You jumped, a gasp slipping between your lips. Trying to cover it all up, you turned back to Sunghoon with a smile.

His own smile faltered and his thick brows drew together. “Thank you, darling…” he trailed, the words falling from his lips one by one. “What’s wrong? You’re never so jumpy.”

You’d been jumpy since he got home, still shaken from the morning’s encounter. It was so bad that you nearly burnt yourself on the stove while making dinner, suddenly startled by the sound of the front door opening and Sunghoon returning home from work. When he kissed you hello, his arms coming to wrap around you, you jumped then too. You tried to distract him with your smile, but you should’ve known that nothing gets past your husband.

“It’s nothing,” you say, smiling again and giving him a slight shake of your head. “I guess my body is just getting used to not being by itself now that you’re home.”

Sunghoon sighed and pulled you back towards him by your wrist. You let yourself be pulled into his lap. Sunghoon buried his head in the crook of your neck. “I’m sorry,” he says, his words coming out muffled. “I know I've been working more and more lately and I haven’t had much time for you.”

You leaned into his touch, sighing contentedly. “Can’t you work from home?” you asked meekly, voice barely louder than a whisper, “Like you used to? You work so much and you’re always gone. I miss you when you’re not here, and in return I’m sad the whole day.”

Sunghoon’s black hair tickled you as he lifted his head to press his lips to your neck, right where the thumping of your heart could be felt. His eyes met yours and the gentle pout of your lips. “I don’t have all the tools here that I do at the shop,” Sunghoon responded. When you sighed again and looked away, he continued. “But, I might be able to work from here tomorrow… I already finished most of the workload. We can spend tomorrow together, what do you say to that?”

You glanced back at him, trying to not let the happiness you felt break through your sulky demeanor. Clearly, it didn’t work, because the smile returned back to Sunghoon’s face even larger this time. “I suppose that’s okay,” you grumbled, the smile tugging more at your lips by the second.

Sunghoon chuckled, “Yeah?” You nodded, giggling at the way he dragged his nose along your cheek and the coldness of his glasses. “I love that sound,” he says, holding you closer. “I want to hear it forever.” He pulled away from you just enough to get a good look at your flustered face. Sunghoon brought his lips to yours, capturing them in a sweet and slow kiss.

Giggling more into the kiss, you broke away from him with great effort. “Eat,” you say, standing to your feet. Sunghoon didn’t let you get far. “We have a big day tomorrow.”

“Your dinner smells amazing, my love, but I think I want something else on the menu,” Sunghoon replies. You swatted him with the kitchen towel hanging from the pocket of your apron, your mouth falling into an open-mouthed laugh. Sunghoon just laughed more. “Do what I said,” you scolded him.

Sunghoon pulled you down to chastely kiss your lips. “Yes, ma’am.”

That night as you were getting ready for bed, you gathered all the courage you had. As you moved about your bedroom, Sunghoon watched you from the bed, his eyes trailing your figure and never leaving it. He was lounged up against the bed frame, his head tilted and the wire frames of his glasses low on his nose bridge as he stared. You were in the middle of brushing your hair, trying your best not to get crushed underneath his heavy stare. You were as bare as you could be without taking your clothes off.

When you stood from your vanity, the flowy fabric of your short nightgown moving with you, you met his gaze. For a moment, neither of you spoke and you just stared at each other. “Those missing girls…” you started, finally finding your voice, “on the news… Isn’t it odd that they favor me?” Your voice shook slightly and you swallowed down the lump forming in your throat.

Sunghoon sat up straighter, his eyes still on you as his brows drew together. You looked away, shakily climbing into the bed next to him. “I-I mean… how they favor each other. And I favor them too, don’t you think?” you continue. You really hoped that you didn’t sound crazy. That your time alone in the house hasn’t started to drive you mad and see things that aren’t there—that aren’t true. Finally getting settled as the words poured from your mouth, you looked over to him. For a split second, his face was completely devoid of anything—no emotion, not even a quirk of his eyebrow, nothing. Then, in a blink of an eye, his face was how it was before you looked away from him. Maybe you were crazy after all.

“I’m scared, Sunghoon,” you said in the gentlest whisper, “What if I’m next?”

“Missing girls?” Sunghoon says, “I’ve heard about them. But, don’t worry—” he reached over to caress your cheek “—I won’t let anyone hurt you. You’re safe here, with me.” His hand on your cheek trailed down to the crook of your neck and then to your shoulder before he pulled you towards him. The two of you laid down onto the bed and Sunghoon enveloped you completely in his arms. You rested your head on his chest and listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “No one but me will ever touch you,” Sunghoon muttered against your hair.

His comforting words did nothing to dispose of the uneasy feeling you still harbored. The images of those missing girls were burned into your mind and every time you tried to close your eyes and sleep, you saw them staring back at you. While Sunghoon fell fast asleep, him still keeping you protectively in his arms, you lied awake.

Your mind shifted from the missing girls, to the moving dolls, and to the dollhouse. What did it all mean? What were they trying to tell you? You went over the scenes portrayed over and over and over again and still didn’t get it. The answer seemed so close, but so far away at the same time. What were you missing?

You thought about the scene of Sunghoon standing over you while you slept. Did he always do that, stare at you like that? How often did he do it? You wanted to ask him, but you didn’t want to risk him thinking there was something wrong with you—didn’t want to risk him thinking that you weren’t flawless like he believes. And the way he trailed his fingers over the soft skin of your arm… Perhaps it was just him checking on you. Maybe he left the room for some water and when he came back he was making sure you were okay. Yeah, that sounded logical.

Him touching you wasn’t something new—he always touched you at any chance that he could. Always admiring every curve and plane of you completely, it’s normal for him to do so. The tension in your shoulders finally dissipated and you relaxed, snuggling more into Sunghoon as you let your tired eyes flutter closed. You didn’t know what the dolls’ game was, but you didn’t like it. Sunghoon was just being a good husband, is all. It even showed subconsciously in the way his hold on you tightened as you leaned into him. He loves you. He’d never do anything that came remotely close to hurting you, ever. You were more sure about that than you were sure about anything in the entire world.

Slowly, you began to drift off—your body getting heavier and heavier in his arms—and you let sleep overtake you.

A couple hours later, you were suddenly awoken by the sound of something falling onto the hardwood floor. You jumped, eyes flying open. You were met with the cold bed, Sunghoon nowhere to be found in your bedroom. Sitting up, you looked around the room to see what fell.

You sighed as your gaze landed on the doll, it was laying on its side on the ground, staring at you. “Enough,” you said lowly, another sigh pulling from deep within you. “I don’t know what you all want from me.”

The moonlight peeked into your bedroom through the curtains and gave a little light to see with in the dark. You slipped from the bed, deciding to see where Sunghoon was. Smoothing down your bedridden hair and wrinkly nightgown, you opened the door to your bedroom and was immediately met with another mini doll version of you waiting by the top of the stairs. You couldn’t keep doing this.

You passed the shelves on the wall filled with dolls of you and other trinkets as you made your way towards the stairs. You didn’t even give the doll a second look as you made your descent down them.

Sunghoon wasn’t in the kitchen either, but there was another doll there, pointing down the hall again. You tilted your head up at it and followed its directions. He wasn’t in the lounge room or the dining room either. You turned the corner in the hallway and your eyes landed on the closed dollhouse. It was backlit by the hallway sconce, the light making the dollhouse look illuminated.

You dipped into the living room and Sunghoon wasn’t there either. None of the bathrooms were occupied as well. You were convinced that he just wasn’t in the house at all. You stood in front of the dollhouse, annoyance coming off you like steam. Your arms were folded across your chest and you glared at it. It was closed this time, and you were deciding on whether it was not to play into the dolls’ game and open it or just go back to sleep and question Sunghoon in the morning. Alas, you were too curious for your own good.

You slowly opened the front of the dollhouse, expecting to see some confusing scene waiting for you inside. Instead, there was only one doll inside—the grotesque looking one covered in different scraps of fabric. It was in the same exact place that it was in earlier, except this time there was no doll of Sunghoon inspecting it. It was alone.

Taking a closer look, you tried to figure out where this mystery room supposedly was in your home. In the dollhouse, it was located between the living room and the hallway bathroom. You looked at the hallway you were currently standing in with its own mini dollhouse inside. Your brows knitted together in even more confusion. According to the dollhouse, the room should be right where you were standing.

That couldn’t be right, unless the room was in front of you and behind the wall where the dollhouse was displayed. Closing the front of the dollhouse, you moved closer to the wall, inspecting it. There was no outline of a suspected door, no uneven floorboards that could suggest the entrance was underneath you. There was only the hallway, the small bookshelf filled with your cookbooks and Sunghoon’s doll making books, and the dollhouse. You placed your ear against the wall; maybe if there was a room behind it you could hear something.

After a few moments, you almost gave up, deciding not to play the game anymore and just go to bed. But, right when you were about to lift your ear from the wall, you heard something—humming.

It was the same tune you hummed earlier, the same tune Sunghoon hums when working. The same tune Sunghoon hummed when the dolls showed you him working in the dollhouse. This time, you knew it was real. You stumbled backwards from the wall, your elbow knocking the doll over that was suddenly perched there. You gasped before quickly covering your mouth.

Frozen in fear, you swear you heard the humming abruptly stop. You then heard slight creaking, like someone was walking towards you. Scurrying back around the curve of the hallway, you peaked around it to see if anything else would happen.

What if Sunghoon wasn’t even in there. What if it was some stranger living in your walls, and you were just assuming that it was him—that the dolls thought it was him. Or, maybe they were trying to warn you of the stranger in a way that they knew you would listen. What if Sunghoon wasn’t in the house at all right now? Your hand pressed harder into the wall and you began to shake.

More creaking broke through the air, and you watched as the small bookshelf slowly began to push off the wall like a make-shift door. You ducked further behind the wall, just enough to ensure you weren’t seen. You saw a shadow dancing across the floor as the bookshelf slowly closed again.

You were so scared they could hear how fast your heart was beating. So sure that they could feel how hard you trembled through the floor. Hear your heavy breathing like a hawk listening for its prey.

The shadow got larger and you saw a figure start to be illuminated by the light on the wall. A hand reached from the shadows and towards the doll of you that had fallen over—Sunghoon’s hand. He stepped into the light and you could finally see him clearly; saw the way the warm light bounced off his skin, the way the light reflected off his glasses, and how his dark hair fell into his eyes. You pressed your fist to your mouth to keep quiet.

Why did Sunghoon have a secret room in the house? Why did he never tell you about it?

He fixed the doll; shifting its dress so it laid properly and flattened its messed up hair. You saw the corners of his mouth raise as he placed the doll back on the shelf above the dollhouse. It’s big eyes bored into you.

Without a sound, you made your way back to your bedroom as quickly as you could. You closed your bedroom door silently and slipped back into bed, willing your body to stop shaking and your breath to even out. You closed your eyes.

You tried to remember what the inside of the secret room looked like from the dollhouse. From what you could remember, it looked to be some sort of workshop, similar to the one Sunghoon would have at the shop. If it was just a simple place for him to carve dolls, why hide it? It was possible he kept it hidden so you wouldn’t worry about how much he was working. Sunghoon knew how much you disliked him getting obsessed with his work, always carving and shaping dolls until the tips of his fingers were scarred. You relaxed again.

You’d be upset and worried, yes, but he didn’t have to hide it from you. You would understand his dedication to his craft.

A couple moments later, you heard the door knob twist. As you heard Sunghoon’s footsteps near you, you hoped you looked like you were still asleep. His presence covered you like a blanket. Just before you could feel the heat of his fingertips on your skin, you turned to look at him.

With false sleepiness in your voice, you ask, “Why are you out of bed?”

Sunghoon smiled down at you, lightly shaking his head. His hand caressed your shoulder, “Don’t worry about it, my love. I was just getting a jumpstart on work so we could have more time together. Go back to sleep.” His voice was soft and gentle, like he was trying to lull you back to sleep with his voice alone.

You sat up more. “Well, I’m not tired anymore,” you say, a smile pulling at your lips. Sunghoon’s hand at your shoulder raised to smooth your hair before coming to your chin to lift it up. He leaned forward and delicately pressed a kiss to your lips. “No?” he asked in that same soft and gentle voice.

Sunghoon was already climbing on the bed and on top of you before finishing his question. He placed more delicate kisses around the edges of your mouth, his hands dipping lower. You shook your head. His hands slowly lifted your nightgown up your stomach. “You’re sure you aren’t tired anymore?” Sunghoon asked, the corner of his mouth raising ever so slightly. He was lifting the nightgown over your head so you were in nothing but your panties underneath him.

Light giggles left your mouth as you shook your head again, “Yes.”

Sunghoon’s fingers hooked underneath the hem of your panties and he slowly pulled them down your thighs. His eyes were completely focused on the way each tug revealed more and more of your cunt and how it glistened with the strips of moonlight coming through the window. You heard him exhale softly, like he couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. “Fuck…” he muttered lowly, “I don’t think I’ll ever get use to seeing this, and it’s all for me to admire.”

He fully pulled your panties off and tossed them somewhere to the side of the bed. Sunghoon spread your legs open and pushed them up towards your chest so he got an even clearer view—just like he always did before taking you apart. He moved his hands so they splayed out on the back of your thighs right near your pussy he was still admiring. You squirmed a little, the air suddenly cold on your skin and from laying there completely open for him as you waited. “Entirely,” you said hushed, looking up at him. His glasses reflected the moonlight and covered the look in his eyes. “It will always be all for you—I’ll always be all, entirely yours.”

You gasped, body jolting when a thumb was pressed into your eager cunt. Sunghoon ran his thumb along your folds, collecting the gathering slick that was forming by the second. Bringing his other thumb to your cunt, he spread you apart even more, like he wanted to watch the arousal drip out of you himself. A soft whine left your lips. You were completely naked and under your husband’s watchful eye while Sunghoon was still completely dressed. He hasn’t even pulled his pajama pants down despite the way you saw him strain against the thin fabric.

“Is that so?” Sunghoon asked, his gaze finally flicking up to you. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards and you inhaled sharply when you finally saw that all too familiar dark look in his eyes. It reminded you of the way people dissected animals, excited to see its insides and how the body worked. Just beneath it you saw his intensely desperate, fiery hot need for you. The two expressions folded on top of each other over and over like an endless piece of paper, like he couldn’t decide what made him more excited. But, you knew which one would win tonight—which one always won.

You nodded slowly at his question. After all, no matter how bitter the idea of perfection tasted in your mouth, it was nothing compared to the sweetness of your husband’s love. It overshadowed everything, clouded your mind until you could think of nothing else. You lived for it, you’d do anything for it—to keep it. And Sunghoon, he loved you for it. So, the cycle continued until you forgot what the bitter aftertaste even belonged to.

Was it so wrong for you to love the suffocating attention he gave you once he wasn’t busy? Maybe. Maybe you should feel some shame for how obsessed you were with Sunghoon. But, at least you knew the feeling was mutual. If it weren’t, you wouldn’t be surrounded by a house full of dolls that looked nearly identical to you made all by his hands. Right? Doll making was a labor of love, and Sunghoon never shied away from showing you how much he loved you.

Sunghoon leaned over you. You felt his arms brush against your thighs as he pushed his soft pajama pants down. His face hovered over yours and you stared at him with big, doe eyes. His lips brushed against yours, pulling away slightly when you tried to chase them. Sunghoon tossed his pants and boxers to the side and you felt his cock slap against your thigh, sending a wave of arousal throughout your entire body. The entire time, Sunghoon’s eyes never left yours. “Like my own, personal little doll,” he continued, his voice low. “The real thing, not any of these flawed imitations. Complete perfection, and all under my hands to do with as I see fit.”

His lips captured yours in an unexpectedly rough, hungry kiss. He moved further over you until his body shadowed you. His hands were on either side of your head as he pinned you to the bed with his body, the kiss deepening and growing hungrier. Sunghoon pulled away from you, lips plumped and wet with saliva that still connected his lips to yours. He tenderly caressed your cheek and asked, “Do you know how much I love you?”

With his other hand, Sunghoon grabbed his cock so he could line himself up with your entrance. He quirked a thick eyebrow as he waited for your answer, eyes trailing the way your chest rose and fell heavily and your breasts pushed more against his own chest. “How much,” he continued, slowly slipping the tip of his cock inside you, “I’d do for you? How I’d do anything?” Your mouth fell open as your back arched slightly at the action. Sunghoon’s gaze returned to you, his hips halting once his thick tip was completely inside you. “Do you?” Sunghoon asked you once again, his heavy gaze weighing down on you.

Your husband liked to dissect things. He liked to break things apart and put them back together all shiny and new. It’s what he couldn’t help but do to you every night. It was the only time he liked you to be messy, when you were laying in a heap of doll parts beneath him. He tried to be gentle with his curiosity, he really did, but it was as if something overtook him. That dark look in his eyes got bolder until he couldn’t hold himself back—until he just had to tear you apart. You used to be scared every time it happened, still not learning to expect it. You should be ashamed that you did let it happen. But, as time went on, you began to like being taken apart; began liking how each time you’d blink away the fog, you were more perfect in his eyes.

Nodding, you inhaled deeply. “I do,” you say quietly, meeting his swirling dark stare. “And I love you just as much. I’d do just as much.”

“No,” Sunghoon spoke plainly. You drew your brows together, confused. “The way I love you, it’s… cavernous. Deep and dark—pitch-black. There is no end, no beginning, it just is.” His hand trailed down to your chin. “It consumes me, my love for you. I can’t control it… I can’t control the things I’d do to ensure you’ll always love me. And you will… won’t you? Always love me?” Sunghoon asked, his eyes boring into yours.

“Yes,” you say meekly. Despite the way Sunghoon’s body blocked the little light in the room, you could still see the way he fought the darkness inside of him. “I’ll forever love you. There’s nothing that would ever change that, Sunghoon. I promise.”

Sunghoon’s body relaxed over you, and his eyes briefly fluttered shut as he shakily breathed in to further calm himself. “Good…” he muttered, his voice barely loud enough for you to hear despite him being so close. “Because sometimes… The thought of you no longer loving me… i-it drives me completely insane.” His grip on your chin tightened and he bent down to sloppily kiss your lips. Sunghoon’s lips slowly worked against yours, like he was using you to calm himself even more. Like he was basking in your love for him like you did with his love for you.

He pulled away, just enough that with each word from his mouth, his lips brushed against yours. “It makes me want to rip you limb from limb. Polish all the parts so you can see it—see how much my love for you breaks me apart.” With a harsh thrust, Sunghoon pushed himself into you completely. You cried out, the sound being muffled by his lips so close to yours. Your nails dug into his shoulders at the action. Sunghoon pulled out of you until just the fat tip of his cock remained inside. With each word, he thrusted into you. “My sweet love, my perfect wife, my doll.”

Loud gasps rang from your mouth and Sunghoon took your hands from his shoulders and pinned them above your head with one of his own. His eyes never once left yours. He wanted to see how you cracked and shattered beneath him. He wanted to witness it. Sunghoon trailed his other hand down the side of your face, his thumb running over the soft skin of your cheek before it moved closer to your mouth. His eyes shined when he dipped his thumb into your mouth and you eagerly swirled your tongue around it, his own mouth opening. Sunghoon’s pace slowed as if he was remembering himself. The languid strokes drove you crazy and your hips lifted off the bed to gain more friction.

It was a constant back and forth of back to back harsh thrusts that felt like it was splitting you open to slow, sweet thrusts that had you begging for more. With your arms pinned about you, you couldn’t even really move besides the slight lift of your hips, and they could only lift so high with how close Sunghoon pressed himself into you. He had complete control over you; over how you moved, how deeply and at what pace you felt him, and over what sounds you made with his thumb in your mouth. Your eyes began to get glassy with how much you wanted him.

You guessed that you liked being used—liked being his toy, his plaything. You guessed that you liked feeling desired, feeling like his doll. You glanced around your bedroom, back arching and loud, unashamed moans falling from your lips at the way Sunghoon fucked you. It felt as if every single doll was looking at you, watching you. Watched you succumb to your husband and watched as the cracks in your porcelain body began to crumble. Watched how you loved every second of it. How wet it made you to the point that Sunghoon was slipping in and out of you with ease and how the vulgar gushing sounds bounced off the walls.

Sunghoon’s pace slowed and he watched how his cock slowly disappeared into you before he slowly pulled it back out and examined how it dripped with your arousal. A soft chuckle left his parted lips as he did it over and over. You clawed at his arm still holding yours above your head, a loud whine came from the bottom of your throat and your body shifted in any way that it could to feel him deeper, to have his cock drag against your walls faster.

He replaced his wet thumb with his mouth, completely silencing your moans and whines. Sunghoon’s mouth worked slowly against yours once again, soft groans vibrating against your lips as he kissed you.

“You feel so good,” Sunghoon whined, barely able to get his words out before his lips were back on yours. He let out another moan, his shallow strokes growing quicker. “Taking everything I give you so well, my love. It’s like your body was made for mine.” Sunghoon finally let go of your arms, giving your body some space as his lips traveled down to your chest. He left wet kisses all over it, teasingly kissing around your perked nipples while you dragged your hands through his hair and pulled at the tips of the strands. Everytime his lips touched your skin it felt like white-hot coals were being placed on you where they touched. Sunghoon looked up at you over the rim of his glasses, lips pressed to your skin with a hint of a smile. “Do you feel good, darling?”

Sunghoon’s hips picked up speed, just barely, but enough to make your head spin wildly. His pace was agonizing and you were sure your frustration showed in how you tugged harder at his hair and pulled his head back and the way your hips pathetically raised to meet his. Sunghoon’s mouth opened and he let out a laugh. “Please,” you begged him, your eyes filled with unfallen tears, “please.”

He sat up, lips brushing against your skin one last time before he pulled away. Sunghoon pushed down on your hips with his hands to stop them from moving, his own still continuing at that agonizing pace. “Please, what?” he asked, head tilted to the side as he watched you squirm beneath him and claw at the bedsheets. “What are you begging me to do to you?”

You whined when his hands moved up to your waist and sent tingles throughout your body. Through your blurry, tear-filled eyes you could see his smile. Pitiful moans escaped your mouth and your chest rose and fell so heavily you would’ve thought you weren’t breathing at all—instead trying to gasp in gulps of breath. “Please,” you begged again. Sunghoon inhaled sharply at the way you clenched down on him, at how your whiny moans filled his ears and the way the corners of your eyes flooded with tears. He halted his movements and pulled out of you completely.

“No, no, no!” you cried and leaned up to reach for him. He pushed you back down to the bed gently. Sunghoon’s own breathing picked up as his wet cock hovered over you. He took one of your hands in his and guided it towards it. “I’ll continue once you can tell me—” his breath hitched once your hand wrapped around his thick length “—what you want.” Sunghoon guided your hand up and down his cock slowly, his hand tightening on top of yours so you squeezed him more. His breath shuddered as he watched your hand work, his stomach tightening every time your hand squeezed his mushroom tip. He moaned again at how easily your hand slipped over him from your arousal, and his moans grew louder when he’d move his hips to force your hand back down his length again and again.

“Tell me…” he breathed out, his eyes fluttering closed, once you still didn’t give him an answer. Sunghoon’s hands laid flat against the back of your thighs—right next to where you needed him the most.

“I… I-I want you…” you stuttered out, voice small. Sunghoon hummed in question, bringing his thumb to your clit. He rubbed circles into it at the same speed he moved his hips. You gasped, back involuntarily arching off the bed. Your hand paused mid-stroke of his cock before his hips rutting against it stirred you back into action. “Closer…” Sunghoon says through a grunt, “but, I’m going to need more than that from you, my love. Don’t you want to be good for me and do what I asked?”

A soft whine left his lips when you squeezed a little too much at the base of his cock. “I want to hear those pretty moans of yours as I fuck you with my cock… see your pretty face as you cum around it. Won’t you give that to me? Do you really want to settle for my fingers tonight, darling?” Sunghoon continued.

How could you tell him what you really wanted? Explain the deepest desire that you had right now? He told you about his inner battle with how much his love for you consumes him. He told you the things that it made him want to do. You wanted him to let go and do it. You wanted him to wipe you clean so you watched it all—saw it all. Enough with holding back—like he tried to do every single night without fail. It was no use when you both knew what was coming. You wanted him to lose control. You wanted that swirling darkness in his eyes to take over. You wanted him to do what he said he wanted to do if you didn’t feel the same way he felt about you. How do you express that to him?

“Do it…” you say, your words coming out strained. A sweet moan left your mouth and you looked him dead in the eyes as the tears finally slid down your hot cheeks. “I w-want you… to do it.” Your voice was just above a whisper, loud enough that only his ears could hear your words despite being the only two people in the entire house. You squeezed down onto his thick cock more as your wrist worked harder. The hand he wasn’t using to rub circles into your puffy clit grabbed your thigh tighter, his fingers surely leaving indents into the plush skin. Sunghoon’s head hung lowly as he tore his gaze away from yours and went back to watching your hand.

Sunghoon plunged two fingers deep inside your dripping entrance and you felt like you could finally feel the oxygen reach your lungs. He pushed them in and out of you, his gaze flicking over to his movements instead of yours to relish in the way his fingers came back out more and more wet. As his fingers curled inside you, causing breathy moans to leave your willing lips, you watched the way his stomach tensed and his hips faltered. Without saying a word, you could tell what was running through his mind right now. You could see his eyes grow more and more darker, fill up more and more with desire. Sunghoon finally looked back up at you, his wire-framed glasses low on his nose bridge. “Do what?” he asks, his voice just as quiet as yours was.

You didn’t have to say anything else. Sunghoon’s hips froze and his stomach tightened even more as a pretty moan ripped straight through him. His eyes fluttered shut, his fingering waned and you lifted your hips to chase his hand. Sunghoon’s warm cum shot all over your stomach and splattered up to your breasts in thick spurts. He let out another moan, this one dragging out from deep within him as his body finally relaxed. You helped him through it all—hand never stopping as he rode out his high and marked more of your stomach with his cum until you were painted a creamy white and he was completely empty.

His eyes blinked open and he looked down at how messy you were. Something in his demeanor shifted as his eyes grazed over you and you couldn’t tell what had changed until he looked at you. You inhaled sharply at his stare, your breathing picking up. His own chest still heaved from his recent release. Sunghoon took his wet fingers out from your cunt, taking a moment to drag them through your folds to spread your arousal even more, all while his eyes never left yours. Gone were the barriers that held him back, that darkness took him over full force.

Meek whimpers escaped your lips and you dug your nails into the bedsheet beneath you. “You like being my doll, don’t you?” Sunghoon asks. His voice was almost flat, and he was still speaking in that hushed tone. His expression was decidedly blank except for the subtle way his brows drew together. “Don’t you?” he asked a little louder when you didn’t answer him. His hands squeezed the back of your thighs and his fingers dug into the soft skin there. You timidly nodded, not daring to look away.

His hands relaxed and his thumbs brushed over where his fingers dug into you comfortingly, his eyes finally leaving yours. Sunghoon grabbed his cock and rubbed his flushed tip in between your folds, the wet sounds it made piercing the silent bedroom. “You know,” he starts, his voice no longer so low, “you really are truly flawless, doll. My muse…”

Sunghoon is already slipping back inside you before you can process the way his thick cock completely stretches you open. You cry out as more unshed tears fall from your eyes. He continues, “It angers me how much I can’t capture you fully. How none of these dolls can compare to the real thing—the real you. It makes me… so angry…”

He’s pulling back his hips as he speaks, the tip of his cock just barely leaving your pussy, before he roughly thrusts his cock back inside of you. Another loud moan emits from you and your vision blurs from more tears as your face gets hot. You could barely hear Sunghoon’s wry laugh over the sudden ringing in your ears.

Sunghoon’s pace is brutal, and you’re suddenly regretting whining so much about how slow he was once going. It gave you whiplash, how fast he fucked into you, and the only thing you could do to keep yourself grounded is tightly wrap your hands around his wrists at your hips. Your arms smeared and got sticky with his cum but you didn’t care. With each thrust, your body shook and pushed you further into the mattress. With your iron-clad grip on Sunghoon’s wrists, your tits pushed together and bounced in accordance with his hips against yours. Sunghoon was fucking you like he wanted to break you in half.

“S-Slo—” you tried to speak but was cut off by the waves of sudden pleasure hitting you one after the other. Sunghoon just shushed you, his hands pulling your hips towards his so you’d feel him deeper. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you couldn’t think about anything other than the way he was making you feel so, so good. You wanted to feel this way forever. Wanted him to stay lost so you never escaped this feeling of immense pleasure. Wanted him to use you to take out his anger at himself—at you—like you meant absolutely nothing, just a doll for him to handle and put back in its place.

You adore it, the way he makes you feel.

Such nasty sounds fill the air, but neither of you could bring yourselves to care about it. If anything, it turned you on more just how loud and demanding to be heard it was. With how much the sounds of the sex the two of you were having penetrated your ears, you would’ve thought that you’d be getting multiple noise complaints at any moment. You both definitely weren’t trying to be quiet in the slightest.

Between your moans, you heard Sunghoon speak. “I want to take you apart, carve into you like I do my dolls, but this time make something real. Have you be so perfect forever.” His voice was almost scarily plain, like he thought this over time and time again before. You blinked away tears and finally got a clear view of him and the way he stared down at you with a hint of a smile, head tilted as he watched you crack and begin to fall into yourself. “Forever my perfect little doll, to bend—” he pushed your knees closer to your chest so you were practically folded in half “—and to break—” he roughly thrusted into you once more, his hint of a smile growing into a smirk as you clenched down on him “—and to put back together and play with as I please.”

“Sunghoon,” you sobbed as your stomach tightened and you started to shake. You didn’t get the chance to get another word out before you were violently orgasming, your cum pouring out of you and leaving a white ring around the base of Sunghoon’s cock as he roughly fucked it back into you. Wet, gushing sounds came from his cock plowing into your pussy and your cum poured out from around him and down the curve of your ass. You could scream at the sudden overstimulation.

“That’s my girl,” Sunghoon says as he watched you shatter. He used your hands still limply wrapped around his wrists to pull you up off the bed and halfway into his lap, his cock still buried within you. One of his hands supported your back and the other came to wipe the tears from your cheeks. “Pretty dolls don’t cry.”

Sunghoon brought your hands to his shoulders and you held tightly onto the soft fabric of his shirt. His own hands dragged down the expanse of your stomach and he wrapped one of his arms around your back. Sunghoon lowered his head so he could look you in your eyes, his free hand lifting your chin to raise your head more. “I love you,” he murmured, pausing a beat to make sure you heard him, before roughly moving his lips against yours and cutting off one of your watery whines.

Your hands moved from Sunghoon’s shoulders to wrap around his neck and pull him closer to you. You deepened the kiss, letting Sunghoon open your mouth so his tongue could slip in and dance with yours. You’d give anything to keep his lips on yours forever.

Sunghoon began to thrust into you again, his hips moving slow at first before they rapidly picked up pace. You moaned against his lips, your eyes squeezing shut. You felt Sunghoon’s lips pull into a smile, “I love you so much.” He said it like it was a confession.

Head falling into the crook of his neck, you cling to him tighter with your last remaining strength and whimper into his warm skin. Your body shook all over until it felt like you might explode. It felt like Sunghoon kept repeatedly turning and turning the winding key in your back, going way beyond the motor’s limitations. It made you nervous for when he would let go and you would burst into action.

His deep moans and grunts rang in your ear and his arm around your back tightened. With his other hand, he pulled you back so he could look at you. Your face was tear-streaked, splotchy with drying tears and you tried to not cry even more. Your brows were knitted together from the overstimulation and whimpers fell from your lips. Sunghoon’s cum stuck to your stomach and your forearms and parts of his shirt, your own cum covered your pussy and Sunghoon’s cock. You were a mess.

Over and over, three words came from Sunghoon’s lips like a mantra as he filled you up with his cum to the brim and past that too. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I—”

Finally, silence rang through the air besides both of your heavy breathing. After another moment, your body finally stilled. The silence was so thick that you felt like you couldn’t move at all. Delicately, like he held the shards of you in his hands, Sunghoon laid you back down onto the bed. He pressed feather-light kisses to your jaw and cheeks before they finally landed on your lips.

You were so overwhelmed with emotions and feelings that you couldn’t feel anything at all. Your head was still foggy and your only penetrating thoughts swirled around him. Despite your eyes being wide open, your vision was cloudy.

Sunghoon kissed you again. “Stay here,” he says, pushing away from you. Your arms fell to your sides limply. He leaned back and pulled his cock out of you, eyes shining with adoration at the way yours and his mixed cum spilled out and dirtied the bedsheets. Sunghoon rubbed the tip of his cock through it a couple times, ignoring how you squirmed and whined. “Absolute perfection,” he said under his breath before standing to his feet.

You laid there on the bed, still spread open and a mess of cum, as your eyes went in and out of focus. When the clouds in your vision did part, all you saw were all of the dolls and how they stared at you. Sunghoon came back a couple moments later, his face coming into focus as the moonlight bounced off his glasses. He climbed over you and began cleaning you up.

You were barely aware of the way he meticulously made sure every nook and cranny was polished nor how he moved you to put new bedsheets on the bed. Your mind didn’t start to come back to you until he was pulling you over him and sitting you onto his cock. You came alive at his hands trailing the expanse of your body before landing on your hips. You moaned quietly, your gaze dripping to look down at him. The darkness in his eyes was not quite all the way gone.

Sunghoon brought you down to lay on his chest. “I could fuck you all night…” he trails and his voice vibrates throughout your whole body as he shallowly thrusts up into you, “and into the morning, too.” His hips stilled and instead his fingers caressed your back. “But then we wouldn’t have the full day together, would we, my love?”

You shook your head slightly and Sunghoon wrapped an arm possessively over you before pulling the blankets overtop of you both, his other arm caging you against him completely. As the moonlight filtered through the window of your bedroom, the two of you slowly fell asleep.

In the morning, you were awoken by kisses on your neck and your pussy fluttering around Sunghoon’s slow strokes. He lifted your leg into the air and you turned your body towards the warmth at your back, blinking away sleep. You hummed, a soft whine pulling from your throat as you looked at him.

His glasses were off, which let you know that it hadn’t been long since he woke up himself. Sunghoon leaned down to press his lips to yours, his cock still dragging at a snail’s pace against your walls. “Are you sore?” he asks, pulling away from your lips to kiss your shoulder.

You nodded. Him still inside you, lazily fucking into you felt good, but you couldn’t ignore the way he stretched you open and the deep soreness that came from it. “A little,” you say.

Sunghoon turned you onto your back so you laid beneath him and he pulled out of you completely. “I’m sorry, my love,” he says and his lips meet yours again. “Let me make you feel better.”

He kissed your lips once more and started trailing kisses down to your jaw and along the length of your neck. Sunghoon looked up at you through the strands of his black hair, kissing lower down your body to your breasts, his hands massaging them as he kissed at your perked nipples. Soft moans left you at his touch.

His kisses spread to your stomach, to your hips, and finally right above where you were already wet for him. He spread your legs open more. “I’ll be gentle,” Sunghoon says, placing a kiss to your clit before his tongue poked out to lap at your entrance.

Without Sunghoon around, the idea of perfection was bitter on your tongue—acidic in your chest. But, when your beloved husband was around, finally in your arms again, you understood why people strive for it. You love it.

If perfection was how Sunghoon saw you, then you’d forever be the most absolutely perfect person, woman, wife you could be.

Days pass and you are once again left alone in the vastness of your home. Sunghoon stood true to his word as best as he could, spending as much time with you when he didn’t have to work, but it still wasn’t enough. The house still felt empty, and the occasional early nights when he would come home didn’t help.

It felt like the early nights home he took came at a price. Most nights when he would finally walk through the front door, you were already asleep or close to it. He would wake you up with a kiss and a content sigh. It made your chest ache even more than it already did when he is away.

You were in the middle of washing the dishes, mind trailed off to someplace else as you idly let the sounds of the TV float around you. “The search for the six missing girls is still going strong. Police still has not found the perpetrator, but an interview earlier with the Chief says that they are very close to finding out who has taken these girls. Our anonymous tip hotline is still up and running for anyone who may have any valuable information on where these girls might be.”

The words brought you back to life, and you gasped quietly as you looked towards the tiny screen. You examined the bold numbers at the bottom of the screen. It reminded you of the secret room behind the dollhouse that you completely forgot about. You quickly finished the dishes, leaving them in the strainer to dry completely as you dried your wet hands.

Slowly, you took quiet steps towards the hallway where the dollhouse was displayed. You looked to the front door to ensure that it was still locked. Sunghoon could walk through it at any moment and you didn’t want him to know that you knew about his secret workshop before you had the chance to see what was inside.

You recalled the way the door to the room opened—the pushed opened small bookshelf that revealed the make-shift door. You tip-toed to the bookshelf, examining its sides and the books on it.

You didn’t really look at the books on the bookshelf besides your own cookbooks. Sunghoon’s doll making books were something you rarely touched, if at all. But, you took a hard look at those too, your fingers running over the spines. They all felt like books, the spines hard and sturdy, but something about them still felt off to you. You looked at Sunghoon’s books again, pulling each one out a little to take a peek at the covers.

In the middle of you pulling one of the books, you heard a quiet click and the bookshelf came loose from the wall. You took a step back, shock showing all over your face. Gently, you grabbed the side of the bookshelf and pulled.

The bookshelf creaked open and revealed an opening that you had to bend down a little to enter. When you stepped inside the surprisingly large room, your eyes did a sweep of what was inside. You froze, your stomach dropping as you stared at what was in front of you, absolutely horrified. You didn’t even really know what was in front of you… It looked like an amalgamation of various body parts, stitched and sewn into one. Its skin was weirdly shiny, almost like it was made of some kind of plastic or resin while still keeping its elasticity.

You disregarded the rest of the room, instead taking careful steps towards the strange creation in front of you. It didn’t look neither dead nor alive and that confused you even further—it barely looked human. Its eyes and lips were sewn shut and it was completely hairless. It was held up onto its feet by long strips of silk hanging from the ceiling that was tied around its naked body. Next to where it stood was a table with thick locks of hair tied with ribbons of your favorite color.

Maybe this was the final crack in your mind and it was crumbling completely, but it kind of looked like you too. Even the hair on the table matched yours perfectly. If you looked past all the stitches, the weird shiny skin, and the lack of hair, it almost seemed like you were looking in a mirror. It looked like an unfinished, life-sized doll of you. Your stomach turned in on itself.

The fear in you raised tenfold in you when it started to twitch. You took a couple steps back from it when it began to pull on its restraints a little. It seemed to start to panic and its shiny arms pulled at the restraints keeping it up even more as it tried to reach out to you. You jumped back more, fearful tears filling your eyes. Your mouth opened to speak, but no words would come out.

The uncanny creation tried to speak, though, before realizing that its mouth was sewn shut. When it began to frightfully hum—the sound off tune and terrifying—did your body start to feel heavy and limp. It pulled at its restraints with all the little strength it had as it reached out to you and began to hum wildly… it hummed Sunghoon’s melody, the one he hummed when he worked.

Realization hit you like a tsunami. Not only was you dear husband making dolls of you, but he was trying to make a real, life-sized human doll of you. And it seemed that every part of this surreal creation was taken from another until it resembled you as close as he could get it. Your mind flashed to those six missing girls—the six missing girls that all looked eerily similar to you. Despite having all the puzzle pieces right in front of you, your mind refused to see the whole picture.

You backed up further, the back of your thighs hitting the desk that was against the back wall near the make-shift door. You twisted towards it, chest heaving as you scanned the scattered papers and opened books. You picked up what looked to be a journal Sunghoon kept and read over the open page with trembling hands.

The entry remarked at how the experiment was working well and how none of the body parts were rejecting like they did before. He praises how the process was much smoother than last time, how the girls he chose were the perfect fit. The journal dropped from your hands.

Those girls going missing due to Sunghoon was no longer speculation. Your eyes snapped back to his “experiment.” It must be those poor girls, their bodies sewn into one to look like you. You still didn’t want to believe it.

Tears poured from your eyes as fear sunk its claws deep within you and forced its way down your throat and into your heart. Your entire world came crashing down around you and quiet sobs left your mouth as you fought against the idea that your husband wasn’t who he said he was—that he was a kidnapper, a killer.

You rushed forwards, your arms raised towards his creation before you wrapped them around yourself and remained a safe distance. “No!” you exclaimed as you rapidly shook your head. “No, this is all a misunderstanding—a mistake! Sunghoon wouldn’t do this… He isn’t that type of person!” You wiped at your eyes, almost believing your own words until you dropped your hands.

Dolls completely surrounded the peculiar creation—Sunghoon’s experiment. It was even more that the ones that surrounded you in the hallway when they were showing you the scene in the dollhouse. They all looked at you for a moment before slowly turning to look up at how the amalgamation of stolen girls thrashed towards you, still frantically humming.

The dollhouse.

It was a warning. Those scenes the dolls showed you… it was all a warning. This was what they were trying to tell you this entire time. This wasn’t just any ordinary experiment for Sunghoon, a dollmaker going completely mad in his craft—no. This experiment was for you. He was using these girls, tearing apart their bodies limb from limb and creating some freakish doll of them that was meant to be you. It was practice… He was doing all of this so he knew exactly what to do when he laid his tools down and cut into the real thing. You were next.

Sunghoon’s words rang in your ears and bounced around in your head: “I want to take you apart, carve into you like I do my dolls, but this time make something real. Have you be so perfect forever.” You finally understood it now.

Suddenly, all thrashing ceased and the humming finally abruptly stopped. The only thing that filled the silence was your muffled sobs. “I’m sorry,” you cried, unsure if it even heard you. “I’m so sorry.”

You stumbled towards the opening of the room and barely missed hitting your head on the way out. You didn’t even wait for the bookshelf to click back into place before rushing through the hallway and to the kitchen. For once in your entire life, you hoped that Sunghoon had a long night at work.

Nearly falling into the kitchen counter, you shakily grabbed the landline on the wall. Those bold numbers of the anonymous tip hotline flashed behind your eyes and you rushed to put in the numbers, putting the ringing phone to your ear. “This is the anonymous tip hotline for the six missing girls. Please only share useful tips that could help a breakthrough in the case. Do you have any information to share?”

Your breathing came out heavy and you tried to force the oxygen to reach your lungs, inhaling sharply as you tried to find your words. “I… I-I think my husband kidnapped those girls…” you breathed in a whisper. The woman on the other end of the line started talking, but your focus was abruptly taken when you heard another, more familiar voice behind you.

“Something scare you, darling?” Sunghoon asks, his voice gentle and filled with worry. You couldn’t tell if he was being genuine.

You jumped, pressing further into the kitchen counter as you spun in place, the phone leaving your ear. Sunghoon sat at the kitchen table, his thick brows knitted together. You didn’t even hear him come back home. Despite the landline being away from your ear, you still heard the woman on the other end asking you questions, frantically asking if you were still there. You were completely frozen.

Sunghoon rose to his feet and the stove light illuminated him. You saw him differently now. No longer was he your loving husband, he was something else. Still, you hated the way your heart soared when you locked eyes on him. How your body relaxed, even in the slightest. You hated how you felt complete now that he was here and how you wanted to run into his arms.

He crossed the short distance to you, his arms coming to rest against the counter on both sides of you. You inhaled shakily now that you and Sunghoon were face to face. Without his eyes leaving yours, Sunghoon took the phone from your quivering hand and hung it back up on the wall. His arm returned to its position next to you, completely caging you within his arms.

Sunghoon leaned his forehead against yours. “I thought I told you that you had nothing to be afraid of, not when I’m here.” His voice was still gentle—soft—and it was lowered as he moved one of his arms to take one of your shaky hands in his. You wanted to pull away from him and wrap your arms around him simultaneously. You felt exhausted.

You voice shook, “Y-You kidnapped those girls, didn’t you? Turned them into… into…” Sunghoon drew back to look at you, his head falling to the side as his brows pushed together. His confused look made you start to question if you had been imagining everything—the dolls, the dollhouse, the hidden room, the experiment. “Into… what?” Sunghoon asks.

“...Into me!” you exclaimed, more tears running down your already wet cheeks as you choked out a sob. Sunghoon’s hand tightened around yours. “You killed them… and who knows how many others! Am I next? Are you going to kill me too?”

Sunghoon let go of your hand so he could cup your face with both of his hands, his thumbs wiping underneath your eyes to get rid of the fallen tears. “They aren’t dead!” he says. “And I swear to you that I’ll never hurt you, my love. You know that. Think of them as… reborn.”

You started to tremble in his arms and tried to shift away from him, but Sunghoon wouldn’t let you go anywhere. “Is that what you’re going to do to me? Was all of this—” you gestured around the room at all the dolls of you sitting pretty on the various shelves around the kitchen “—just practice for the real thing?” you spat out. You tried to move again, but Sunghoon’s hands dropped from your face to your upper arms to keep you in place.

“No!” Sunghoon started, his voice coated in disbelief that you would even ask him that as he shook his head. “No… can’t you see? This—” he used a finger to motion around the kitchen at the dolls “—is a reflection of how much I love you. My devotion to you. You, above anything else, above everything else. A peek inside my mind and how the only thing in there is you.”

“A-And that experiment of yours—the missing girls? Behind the wall?” you asked.

“That… is my dedication to you—m-my oath.” Sunghoon was completely desperate. He pleaded with you, his eyes wide and begging you to believe his words. His eyes were watery, like if you didn’t believe him he might cry as well, and he looked at you over the rim of his wire-framed glasses that slipped down his nose bridge.

You didn’t know what to believe. Didn’t know what to say. You just wanted to go upstairs with Sunghoon and lay in your bed and forget about everything that you’ve witnessed as he held you close to his chest. It was all too much, and your resolve was starting to crack and shatter. You wanted to smooth down your wrinkled dress and fix your messy hair, but Sunghoon didn’t let you move a single inch in fear that you would run from him. You couldn’t tell which one of you was more terrified.

His hands slid down from your upper arms and down to your hands, grasping them so tight that it started to hurt. “Come… Come with me…” he trailed, gulping thickly. You stared at him with wide, frightful eyes, suddenly unwilling to move, but Sunghoon desperately pleaded with you. He looked like he was seconds from getting down onto his knees. “Please,” he begged, pulling you into him, as his voice cracked. “You know I’d never do anything ever to hurt you.”

Sunghoon took a step back, hoping that you would follow after him, and you did. You let him guide you down the hallway all the way to the bookshelf and into the room behind it, his grip on your hands never once loosening. He led you in front of the uncanny image of you that he created. “I know how it looks,” Sunghoon says, his voice hushed. “But there’s no pain, no sorrow, nothing.”

It didn’t try to reach out to you like it did earlier and all the dolls that once surrounded it were gone. It didn’t hum that out-of-tune, terrifying version of the melody Sunghoon hummed when he worked either. It just hung limply from its silk restraints. “It just is,” Sunghoon continued. “And when it’s fully done, and completely polished, it’ll be flawless.” He delicately took your chin and guided your head to the side so you looked at him. Your body finally stopped fighting against itself and you relaxed in his grasp. “Like you are.”

Sunghoon leaned forward, hesitantly pausing to look at you again before bringing his lips to meet yours. He pulled you into him, his body wrapping around yours, and you timidly invited him in.

His lips felt so good against yours, and you knew that once you parted for air you’ll miss the feeling of them forever until he kissed you again. It felt right—it felt like home. The home where the two of you were always together and he held you like he was holding you now—like he was afraid that if he let go he would lose you. That if he didn’t hold you like a delicate porcelain cup you would chip and crack and shatter. And you would.

When Sunghoon’s lips moved against yours like they did in this moment, everything fell into place. All your worries slid off your back and for a brief minute, it was just the two of you in the whole wide world. Nothing existed but him, and his body enveloped in yours, and his touch that made you burn. And the flames danced so beautifully for him, didn’t they?

Just when you were about to pull away to quell the heaviness in your lungs, you felt a sudden sharp pain in your neck. You hissed, breaking away from Sunghoon’s lips just barely. Sunghoon chased your lips, holding the back of your head and pulling you closer against his body as he kissed you harder.

You whimpered against his lips, your nails digging into his arms as you tried to free yourself from his vice-like grip. It was no use, Sunghoon was never going to let you go. You felt your body grow heavy in his arms and he had to hold you up. Your vision began to spot black and fray around the edges, and your ears rang terribly. Just before you passed out completely, and over the ringing of your ears, you heard Sunghoon’s muffled voice as he kissed your neck where the pain stemmed.

“I love you. I love you so much that it hurts, I truly do.”

You fade in and out of consciousness as time passes around you. Sometimes you see blurred glimpses of Sunghoon, sometimes it's just an array of colors until you black out again.

You aren’t sure how long it’s been when your eyes finally do open and you remain conscious for good. Blinking away the blurriness in your vision, you examine how you're laying on the couch in your living room. Your entire body aches and it feels stiff. Your head is pounding and you almost close your eyes again to ease the pain you feel. You notice how you’re in different clothes and there’s a blanket over top of you. Too late do you notice the figure in your peripheral, and your eyes shift to look at them.

Sunghoon hovers over you, his expression a chaotic mix of hopeful, relief, and worry as he stares down at you. He’s wearing different clothes too, and his hair is a complete mess, like he’s been running his hands through it, and his glasses almost slide completely off his face. “Are you here, my love?” Sunghoon asks quietly. His voice sounds slightly hoarse.

You give him a confused look, pushing the blanket off of you and crying out from the pain you feel as you try and sit up. Sunghoon rushes to your aid, tossing the blanket to the side without a single thought, and helps ease you to your feet. Your gaze drops to your legs as he helps you stand and you notice how weird they look—shiny. There’s slight indented lines at your knees, too. You look at your arms and they’re the same.

You look doll-like.

Once you’re steadily on your feet, Sunghoon moves a step back to take you all in. You notice how done up you are and when you carefully raise a stiff and sore arm to your hair you feel how it’s styled. Your gaze lands on Sunghoon’s face, his eyes meeting yours.

His eyes are shining—completely full of love and pride. You’ve only seen him look like this when he first came to you with one of the dolls he made that looked the most like you, and when the two of you are in bed and his fingers are gently caressing your skin as he admires you. But, it was even more intense than in those scenarios. Confusion clouds you and you wait for Sunghoon to say something, and he does. One singular word.

“Perfect.”

[ kipo’s note . . . ] would it be wrong to say how i absolutely #needthat #desperately… like hehe yes i’ll be your perfect doll for you forever and ever and ever (๑´ω`๑)

𖥦 ﴾ 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 . . . 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 , 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 , 𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ﴿ ︵͡ 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 (´ε｀ʃƪ)♡

🏷️﹙ 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝗒 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍? 𝖼𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 ﹚ @jjunberry @gothgyuu @gyuuberries @hyukascampfire @xylatox @ghstzzn @izzyy-stuff @sunoosgfv @jihyokat @whosserina @jellymochii @innocygnet @sumsumtingz @riribelle @yeoningz @minaateez @beombunni @jiryunn @lvrs-street2mmorrow @everythingvirgoes @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @fancypeacepersona @deobitifull @tinycatharsis @strawberryshoujosundae

#﹙ 📜 ﹚— fangel’s recs ‧₊˚౨ৎ˚#jjunbug #sunghoon x reader

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bitchy-craft · 3 days ago

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PICK A CARD: Their hidden insecurities

Hello and welcome to this new reading! I will tell you the hidden insecurities of your specific person/future spouse. I hope you all enjoy it!

FREE READING: a subscription to my Patreon before February 7th, no matter the tier, will give you a free question of choice.

Masterpost > Paid Readings > Subliminal Channel > PATREON [NEW] > Patreon Masterlist [NEW]

The extended version of this reading can be found on my Patreon, the link of which is here

~pick a card~

Pile 1:

They find it incredibly difficult to believe that there are people that truly care about them. Your SP doesn’t see themselves as someone who is worthy of love sometimes; they don’t really love themselves and therefore find it incredibly difficult to understand that others do see them as a beautiful person. They find it difficult to rely on others because they have no way of grasping the fact people around them are there for them when they need it. Your SP finds it difficult to speak about their issues and internal troubles because of this, that is why they sometimes seem emotionally distant. It doesn’t dawn on them that people are there for them.

Pile 2:

They are insecure about their future and disappointing the people around them. Your SP is someone who is very socially-oriented. They care about the people around them and take their wishes and expectations as something they have to accomplish in life. Not only this, there are people who have certain expectations laid upon them when it comes to what they have to achieve in life, and that lays heavy on their shoulders. Not everything comes easy for them, and some of these expectations they might never be able to achieve because it isn’t something they want to do, or are able to do; something they know deep-down, which makes their worries even worse.

Pile 3:

Your SP is insecure about many things all at once, they don’t have a specific insecurity that is more present than the other. They are insecure about their looks; never really happy with it, convinced they’re too skinny or too fat, that they don’t have enough curves or too many, that their skin isn’t clear enough and has too many imperfections. Due to this they are also afraid they won’t ever find a long-term partner in life even though that is one of their biggest dreams in life. They want a nice, calm, and small family. They might have some hobbies or interests that are not usual and because of that don’t really share it with many people even though it means a lot to them. This makes them feel alone sometimes.

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goldenroutledge · 17 hours ago

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someday my prince will come

pairing ⤜ rafe cameron x fem!reader

word count ⤜ 3.7k

summary ⤜ fluff. in which you’ll never feel alone as long as you have rafe, and he’ll never feel alone as long as he has you.

warning(s) ⤜ wedding planning stress, toxic family members

a/n ⤜ inspired by ‘alone together’ - sabrina carpenter || masterlist

Expect the worst and you won’t be disappointed. That’s what you try to tell yourself, hoping it will wish away the cynicism surrounding what is supposed to be the happiest time in your life. Transactional relationships set the norm on Figure Eight for friends and foe alike. Everyone used anyone they could get their hands on, only leaving them for dead when the conditions were no longer suitable.

It should’ve been no surprise that people would be treating your upcoming marriage to Rafe that same way. As if it’s nothing but a transaction curated to mutually benefit yourself, Rafe, and your respective families. Truthfully, your relationship was anything but.

Years together proved that passion still burns between you, in a way that most can’t begin to dream of. Every look, every kiss and every touch holds that passion somewhere deep inside. There was no denying that you two have enough of it to last a lifetime and then some when Rafe got down on bended knee and asked you to spend your life with him. You love Rafe Cameron for all the right reasons and he loves you the same.

Your families and friends around you are fools to not acknowledge that, seemingly destined to have their own ways of projecting insecurities onto the both of you. Planning your wedding was something you imagined to be a magical time, selecting colors and florals that would paint a picture reminiscent of a fairytale. Expect the worst and you won’t be disappointed.

From the moment your perfectly cut diamond ring was noticeable on your left hand, some chose to take it as a personal invitation to assert their unwarranted advice. It started with your mother, divorced and remarried now more times than you care to keep track of. Her guidance hardly resembles the special experience between mother and daughter that planning a wedding usually brings. After one of your first meetings with your wedding planner, you’d come to regret asking your mother to accompany you.

“I just don’t see why he’s walking you down the aisle instead of me.”

“You mean my father? I didn’t think you’d have such an issue with it given you chose to marry and have a child with him.”

“And I chose to divorce the asshole, too.”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with me, Mom. You both made your choices and I made mine. My father is going to be at my wedding whether you like it or not.”

“50 feet away from me at all times, I hope.” She speaks lowly, barely under her breath. You’d be burning with embarrassment right now if it weren’t for your wedding planner, ever attuned and able to spot an argument a mile away, who kindly left you and your mother to chat in private.

“Please, don’t worry about that. I’m sure he wants nothing to do with you either. The only difference is that he’s willing to tolerate you for the sake of my happiness.”

“This isn’t about happiness, Y/n. It’s about respect. Had I not raised you right, you wouldn’t be able to attract a man like Rafe in the first place. The least you could do is acknowledge your mother on your wedding day.”

“That’ll make for a beautiful toast at your next brunch with the ladies from the club. I’ll be sure to write that down.” You chide sarcastically, unable to hold back from rolling your eyes at her audaciousness. “It’s good to know that’s what you’re really excited about. Showboating to your friends that I found someone successful, not that I found someone I love.”

“Like it or not, it’s the truth. I’m not afraid to be honest with you unlike some people in your life.”

“What exactly is honest about guilt tripping me into letting you make all of my wedding decisions for me? For us! You’re lucky Rafe isn’t here or he would’ve thrown you out by now.”

“And risk our relationship just when we’re about to be in-laws? You’re ridiculous. I hope he knows the kind of dramatics he’s marrying into.”

“No kidding.”

“I’m not trying to be malicious, dear. I just want you to have your priorities straight.”

“Believe me, they are.”

“You can’t forget your family in the process, my darling. You can’t just leave me behind like I don’t exist because when this marriage is over you’ll realize that I’m not as crazy as you think. You’ll need me again one day.”

“When my marriage is over? This isn’t some fucking contract. We love each other.”

“There’s no need to get hysterical, Y/n. I told myself all the same things too. You’ll see.”

—

Your conversation with your mother left you disheartened at best, infuriated at worst. One look into Rafe’s eyes would have your worries melting away, but you can’t help the nagging feeling inside that’s telling you to say something. You know how much courage it took for him to open his heart to you in the way that he has. You know how much courage it’s taken for you to open your heart, too. You know how with each other it’s been so easy that neither of you really noticed how naturally your love has blossomed. When you fell for each other, there was nothing that could stop you.

That explains why this nagging feeling, that you assume is guilt, simply won’t go away. How can you imagine getting married to Rafe Cameron, the love of your life, and feel anything but unbridled joy. To give a big ‘fuck you’ to everyone doubting your relationship, you’d love nothing more than to proclaim your love for each other in front of a crowd. But in the many scenarios you’ve played in your head, none of them put you at ease.

There was no denying the deep trust that connects you, knowing that you can tell him whatever is on your mind. The worst thing you’ve ever done, the darkest thought you’ve ever had, he will stand by you through anything. And you would do the same for him. It’s why the idea of saying: ‘Hey, by the way, I don’t want a wedding’, is not something you can muster the courage for. Guilt begs you to tell him anyway, knowing how badly he would feel to know you’re suffering in silence like this.

Little do you know, Rafe is troubled in reconciling his own guilt. It’s not just your mother who wants to see the worst come of your relationship. Considering Rafe’s strained dynamic with his father, that should come as no surprise.

Cameron Development takes up most of Rafe’s time these days, leaving him and Ward to spend quite a lot of it together. Rafe prefers to keep their topics of discussion focused on the company. Their relationship works best that way, a transactional partnership between father and son that would benefit the Cameron legacy for generations.

But if it weren’t for Ward’s nagging, Rafe never would’ve ended up here at the Island Club having lunch with his father. He knows for a fact that it would’ve been time better spent with you, his future wife, desperate to feel the kiss of your lips or be able to exhale in your arms in the midst of a busy day.

Ward spends all of 5 minutes discussing some company stuff that could’ve easily been sent in an email drafted by his assistant before getting down to his real intentions. He always hides them behind the mask of a loving father.

“I lied about why I needed to speak with you today.”

Rafe scoffs, but always manages his expectations when it comes to Ward. “Imagine that.”

Ward chuckles, trying to play off his son’s jab as innocent sarcasm. “I wanted to talk to you about your soon-to-be marriage to Y/n.”

Rafe takes a gulp of his drink, already feeling slightly on edge and on guard at the mention of your life together. “What about it?”

“Have you two discussed a prenup?”

“Dad-” Rafe tries to interject, but to no avail. Ward’s already a step ahead of him.

“I know it’s only been a couple months into the engagement, but it’s never too early to have these conversations.”

“I don’t need to worry about having these conversations at all. And you definitely don’t need to be concerned with it either because I’m not asking her to sign a prenup. Simple as that.”

“Rafe, if there’s anything I’ve learned in my marriage to Rose-”

“Your marriage to Rose is a sham. And Y/n is nothing like her.”

“Y/n’s great.” Ward seemingly surrenders, in hopes to disarm Rafe while still getting his point across. “I’m not trying to suggest otherwise. I’m just saying that things happen in marriages and you need to be prepared. What do you think will happen to Cameron Development if she winds up with half in a divorce?”

“If we get divorced, it means that I’ve got bigger problems than potentially losing Cameron Development.” Rafe laments, finishing his drink. “Besides, she wouldn’t want it.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“I know her. For sure. Alright?” Rafe fires back, firm intent behind every word. “I know you have a hard time imagining what it’s like to be loved for something other than your money. And I’m sure you have a harder time imagining how she could love me without it. But you can save your fatherly advice, I’m gonna live my life with Y/n without any of your prenup bullshit.”

Rafe grabs his wallet from his pocket, throwing down several bills on the table that he doesn’t bother counting. All that’s on his mind right now is getting back home to you.

“Have a nice day, Dad.”

—

At this point in his life, Rafe has mastered the art of ignoring Ward Cameron. He’s come to accept that they’re simply a better duo in business than as father and son. The family he came from felt less like family when he fell in love with you. Now that you were about to be married, it was gonna be real. You would be each other’s family not only in spirit, but officially on paper. For the rest of your lives you would be where you always belonged; together.

Right now, Rafe can’t shake the feeling that his father is already preparing for everything to fall apart before you two have a chance to build anything more. Logically, he knows the concept of a prenup isn’t a stupid idea. But his father’s intentions for him have proven to be anything but pure. There’s always something in it for Ward.

Rafe loves you, and that means he’s ready to share his life with you, money be damned. Besides there’s nobody more deserving for him to spend it on, no matter how badly you insist that you don’t love him for the fine jewelry or the dates at expensive restaurants around the island. For him, that’s all the more reason why he commits to showing you a lifestyle that’s beyond comprehension.

He wants to tell you about the absolute bullshit his father brought him to lunch to talk about today but hesitates in mentioning it at all. In any other scenario you’d both laugh it off, but this was a special time for your relationship. It’s delicate, and deserves to be handled with care. Rafe wants nothing more than to protect you from anyone looking to tarnish it.

Rafe’s final straw strikes later that night while waiting for you to finish your skincare routine and join him in bed. His phone sounds with several text messages from Topper. His eyebrows furrow in curiosity, expression quickly turning sour as he reads the messages.

Clearly, after cutting lunch short, Ward was quick to enlist Topper Thornton into his agenda. Seeing the way he wears his heart on his sleeve, he’s an easy enough target to carry out something like this. Rafe scans the messages, catching the gist of it.

Something about ‘A prenup is just insurance, you might not need it! But you should be prepared anyway cause she could leave you at any time, bro’ and ‘Have you heard of the infidelity clause? I'm not saying she would, but you know what Sarah did to me, better be safe than sorry.’ Rafe’s frustration catches your attention when he curses something about ‘this motherfucker’ under his breath.

“Everything okay, baby?”

Rafe looks up to meet your eyes peeking outside the bathroom door. He gives you a reassuring smile, but you can tell that it doesn’t reach his eyes. Coupled with the fact that his energy has been off ever since he got home today, you can’t help but wonder what’s going through his mind.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s nothing, it’s just Topper bitching to me about the wedding. He doesn’t think he’ll find a date in time.” Rafe cringes at his white lie, but figures it’s better not to stress you out when you’re about to go to sleep. And it’s not completely untrue, Topper has expressed his concerns about finding a date ever since he found out about the engagement. At this point, it’s to be determined if he’s still invited.

You chuckle at the thought. “Our wedding date is 7 months away, surely that’s enough time.”

“Speaking of our wedding.” Rafe starts, which reminds you of the pit in your stomach. “How did it go with your mom today?”

“It was good.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows inquisitively, picking up on the uncertainty in your voice. Finishing your nighttime routine, you make your way to your shared bed. Rafe gets up to meet you halfway and to make sure you’re okay. He’ll be able to tell with just a glance.

“Okay, baby. You know as long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”

Your heart flutters and you smile at him, knowing in your heart that he truly means it. “I know.” You press a kiss to his cheek, wrapping your arms around his large frame. Being in his embrace drowns out any lingering thoughts of frustration. After all, you could choose to blame it on pure exhaustion clouding your mind. “Can you believe we’re getting married in seven months?”

Rafe beams at the thought. “No. Can’t even fathom what I’ve done in my life to deserve you in the first place.”

You shove his chest softly, the tips of your ears warming up at his words. “If anything, it’s the other way around.”

“Not sure about that one, baby.”

You sigh, full of contentment while being held in the secure hold of your fiance. Yet a part of you still feels resigned from the stresses of today. “Just ask my mother.”

You can feel Rafe’s muscles tense slightly before he pulls back to look at you. “What do you mean? I thought it went well today?” The gears are turning in his head as he anticipates your response. He’s always been great at picking up on the smallest of cues, be it the change in your tone or the look in your eyes.

“It could’ve been better. I mean you know her, she always has something negative to say about everything, she’s pretty much allergic to my happiness.” You chuckle softly, trying to deflect and keep the conversation from going where it’s headed.

Rafe is having none of it. “She doesn’t think we should get married?”

“Not without her involvement, ad nauseam. Everything I suggested, she had a better idea. She’s trying to guilt trip me into letting her walk me down the aisle instead of my dad. It was just her usual schtick, trying to control me any way she can, hoping she’ll get my attention by using our wedding to play her little mind games.”

“You don’t owe anything to her, not about this. Besides, security will take care of it if there’s any problems. I’m not gonna let anything ruin this for us.”

“I know.” You reassure him, running your hand up and down his arm. “It’s just a lot of tradition this, and family legacy that. She’s sucking the joy out of everything, like usual.” You mumble that last sentence, almost hoping Rafe didn’t hear it. “Not that I’m not excited to marry you. You know what I mean, right?”

Rafe nods, flashing back to the conversation he had with his father at lunch today. It’s almost uncanny to him how you two are often on the same page about everything. It’s comforting above all else. “Yeah, I do. I know exactly what you mean. I had lunch with my dad today, got a lot of the same bullshit.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, I shut him down. I guess our parents are just hellbent on making sure we do things the same way they did.”

“As if we want to be anything like them?”

Rafe chuckles at your quip, relieved at how you two are able to make light of the stress your families have imposed on you. “As if.”

You both stand in silence for a few moments, enjoying the calm of being in your lover’s arms. The weight of your worries feel lighter now that you’ve shared them with Rafe, unfortunately knowing that they’ve made a home with you until the big day is over and done with. Hopefully you make it, if the stress doesn’t kill you first. If there’s anyone you’d have by your side through this, it’s Rafe. You can’t imagine enduring the hardships that life has to offer with anyone else. Then again, there are worse problems to have. Just seven more months.

“Did you ever see yourself here before? Getting married?” You ask Rafe.

“Not until I found you.” He charms, satisfied with the way you snuggle even closer to him. “How about you?”

“The same. Never thought I’d find the one until I found you. If I’m honest, that’s all I’m excited for, to just be husband and wife.”

“Y/n?” You hum in response, matching his curious tone. “Do you even want a wedding?”

You freeze, noticeably tensing the same way Rafe did some time ago. You knew the answer and had a feeling that he did too. It was painful to put into words. “I want to be married to you, Rafe. You know that right?”

“I know that, silly. I wanna be married to you too, clearly.” Rafe acknowledges, brushing his thumb over the engagement ring on your finger. “But a ceremony and a reception, the tradition. Do you want that?”

You can’t help but give him a knowing look, one that says damn, you’re good. But it’s also filled with a plea for understanding. “I could live without it, but our wedding will be beautiful, Rafe. I just want to make sure that it’s ours. I hope you don’t have the wrong idea, that I’m having second thoughts or anything because I-”

Rafe cuts off your ramble by kissing you, your face cupped in his hands delicately. He’s gentle, but reassuring. He needs you to remember that he knows you and he’ll never forget.

“Run away with me?” His eyes gaze into yours and there’s an intensity of love behind them that leaves you tearing up. “Our wedding will be beautiful, because it will be ours. Just you and me. We can still have the actual event, don’t think that I don’t dream of you walking down the aisle towards me. We can still have the party and the tall ass cake that you deserve. But having that doesn’t mean we can’t have what we want.”

Rafe’s never been more sure of himself as he watches a tear slip down your cheek, his thumb wiping it away before it can fall too far. You beam at him, and it’s your turn to kiss the man that you love. The man that you’re about to run away and elope with.

“Screw tradition, let’s get married.”

—

The sun sets in the distance, giving you and your husband the perfect view of your spot on the beach, taking turns at feeding each other bites of a miniature cake, coated in a silky white frosting to commemorate your marriage. It was Rafe’s surprise to you, having ordered it custom, and practically overnight, decorated with icing rosettes and your new titles, Mr. and Mrs., written beautifully in the center.

“Our families might kill us, you know.”

Rafe’s smile doesn’t budge, he’s convinced it might just be stuck on his face forever as long as he’s spending it with you. “I guess that means we’ll have to die together then, doesn’t it?”

“I guess it does.” You whisper, closing the distance to kiss your husband. You’ll never get sick of it. Golden rays from the setting sun surround you in glowing warmth, something you’ll feel in your heart from this day forward. The light catches your diamond ring perfectly and it winks at you with a sparkle, forever a reminder of the love you and Rafe share.

He pulls back, yet never too far as he holds your face in his hands. His cerulean eyes glimmer with a hope you only see when he’s looking back at you. “You don’t regret it? Not having the fairytale wedding?”

“This is my fairytale wedding. Just you, me, and a cake.” Rafe smiles, unable to imagine that this is his real life; unable to imagine that having him and him alone, is more than enough for you. There’s not a decision he’s been more sure of in his life than asking you to marry him. “Do you regret it? Marrying me without a prenup?”

Rafe scoffs lightheartedly. “You’ve already taken my heart so you might as well have the rest. Nothing else matters to me as long as you’re mine and I’m yours. I love you, remember? ‘Til death do us part.”

He holds out his pinky and you happily reciprocate the youthful gesture by locking your fingers together. “‘Til death do us part.”

Emotion overcomes you once more, pouring your heart into a kiss that’s as true as your promise to each other. You know he intends to keep his, and so do you. Daring to love each other through the pretty and the ugly, healing each other with a simple look or touch. You wouldn’t trade it for anything. If you don’t have each other, then you have nothing at all.

💌: reblogs & comments are always appreciated! thank you for reading <3

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fluff #rafe x reader #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron one shot #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x fem!reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #outer banks #obx #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks fic #obx fic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fic

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shurisneakers · 2 days ago

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hey I wanna say I absolutely love your writing ,English is not my first language but your writing cracks me up every time I absolutely adore your work! I wanted to throw in an idea for misery loves company because I really like the grumpy×grumpy ,what about them being loners/grumpy in a wedding,maybe it's Steve's or someone else on the team and they share a quiet dance on the balcony or something so yeah that's my idea ,again love your works ♥️♥️♥️♥️

a/n: hello! thank you for your kindness and for sending this in, I hope you like it <3

this is part of misery loves company but is just a stand alone fic. you don’t need to read anything before this

warnings: swearing, light angst

You slip out before the first toast.

The balcony is quiet, the air sharp against your skin. Below, the city hums, distant and indifferent. The music is still loud behind you, but out here, it’s muffled, softened by the wind.

You don’t belong inside.

The thought comes unbidden, bitter in your mouth.

So the balcony is cold, the air sharp against your skin. The city sprawls below, distant and untouchable. The music inside is muffled now, voices blending together, champagne bubbling in glasses. It’s still too loud.

You lean against the railing, fingers gripping the cold marble. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. That you don’t care.

You exhale, press your palms against the railing, giving yourself five seconds before you call an Uber to get home.

Behind you, the door creaks open.

"You gonna jump?"

You hear the shuffle of his shoes against the floor as he leans beside you.

You close your eyes. "Go back inside. Make someone else's night worse."

"Yours already looks terrible, I've got a headstart," Bucky says, stepping up beside you.

You don’t turn, but you can feel him watching you, his presence taking up too much space in a very spacious balcony.

"You left early," he grunts out.

"So did you," you mutter.

"Yeah," he says. "People started looking at me like they wanted to ask me to dance."

You scoff. "You just think everyone’s in love with you."

"You're not proving me wrong," he points out.

"You're the most insufferable man I know."

"Honoured."

You finally glance at him. His tie is loose and he looks like he wants to be anywhere but here.

"Why are you out here?"

Your grip tightens on the railing. "Why are you?"

You know he sees it.

"You gonna actually answer," he says coolly, "or are we going to keep doing this?"

You exhale sharply, looking ahead. "DJ’s shit."

"It’s a live band."

"Then they should’ve hired a DJ."

His mouth twitches, but his eyes don't move off you.

"Try again."

"No," you say flatly.

He tilts his head at you, expression unreadable.

It makes you feel like your skin is on fire. Weddings are hard. Weddings with him around are even harder, for reasons you can't put words to.

A beat passed and he finally pushes himself away from the railing.

You're about to make some biting comment, when instead--

"Dance with me."

You blink. "Are you concussed?"

"Not recently."

You scoff, crossing your arms. "If this is some kind of sympathy thing-"

"Jesus," he mutters. "Yeah, I wanna pity dance with you, that's exactly what's happening here."

"Then what?"

He shrugs, "You think you're the only one who's angry?"

Your jaw tightens, teeth harsh against each other.

"We don’t have to talk," he mutters, like he's tired. Like things are hard for him too. "Just dance with me."

You stare at him, skeptical. He stares back, unbothered.

Instead, you grab his hand, passive-aggressive, like the universe owes you something for putting him in your life.

"Step on my feet, I break your kneecaps."

"For the record, I was a good fuckin' dancer."

"There is not one person left alive that can corroborate that," you scoff.

It's a joke, but you're acutely aware that maybe it's exactly why this is hard for him.

He pulls you in, a little stiff, like neither of you actually know how to do this anymore.

The music filters in from inside, something soft, but the two of you aren’t moving right to it.

He sways, slow and easy, like it makes all the sense in the world.

It pisses you off that somewhere, it starts feeling that was for you too.

"You're terrible at this," you mutter.

"So are you," he grumbles.

You scoff. "You said you were good at dancing."

"Yeah, well," he exhales, "people say a lot of shit."

You roll your eyes, but you don’t let go.

Neither does he.

The wind picks up. His palm presses a little firmer against your back. You don’t know what to do with that.

"You think you’re mad now," he mutters, "just wait ‘til I do this."

You frown, "What are you plann-"

You barely have time to react before his lips brush against your forehead.

It’s quick, warm, and a little unpracticed, like he thought about it too hard but did it anyway.

Your fingers tighten against his shirt. Not because you want to hold on. But because you don’t know what else to do with your hands when something shifts in your chest.

"Jes—"

"Shut up," he says, and it's the closest you've heard him come to pleading. "Five more minutes."

The words sit between you, heavy and unspoken.

You don’t know if he’s talking about the dance or something bigger.

Five more minutes.

Like you’re not running out of time. Like something in the world could belong to you, even if just for a little while.

You close your eyes. Breathe him in.

And five minutes stretch on longer than they usually do.

#BUCKY BARNES x reader #bucky barnes angst #Bucky x reader #Bucky Barnes fluff #Bucky fic #Bucky barnes fic #Bucky angst #Bucky fluff #BUCKY x you #BUCKY BARNES x you #mlc fic #ari answers #anon

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genderqueerdykes · 3 days ago

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thank you so much for talking about the whole "i hate men except for you" thing. i'm friends with a cis girl (that i don't really want to be friends with anymore for obvious reasons) who loves saying stuff like "i hate boys" "all boys are the same and they never change" "i'm starting to hate boys more and more" "except for you of course!!" but it's not like she shows any respect towards my identity. she's the only friend of mine that uses she/her for me, says stuff like "mommy and daughter bonding 😊" when i mention i'm spending time with my mom, and deadnames me when i don't immediately respond to a text she sent me 2 seconds ago (and in that text she'll call me by the right name). i used to think that she's just doing this on accident but i've noticed that she only deadnames me and calls me a girl when i'm the only person listening. she's been messing up my pronouns around my friends more often and thankfully one of them noticed and is starting to talk to me about it but UGHHH. i already stopped liking her the second she started saying man hating stuff but the fact that i'm supposed to be the one exception yet she treats me this way... am i the exception because i'm your friend or am i the exception because you're trying to make me feel special when you don't even see me as a boy to begin with?

of course, anon, that's what i'm here for! thank you for taking the time to send in your story, it's important that you be heard

this is absolutely disgusting behavior, but you are not alone in going through this in the slightest. i have seen this behavior play out so many times. that is absolutely sickening that this girl will deadname you just to get you to respond to texts quicker. that is some seriously malicious behavior and you are 100% in the right for not wanting to be her friend anymore.

it's not flattering to be seen as a Special Man. the trans acceptance basics are not treating trans boys/men and trans girls/women like "Special" boys/men/girls/women. we for the most part do not want to be seen as "Different" from other guys. that isolation and singling us out makes us feel alienated and unwelcome everywhere.

honest to god i think the more people who stand up and go. yeah i don't want to be your friend anymore. the bigger of an impact we will have on this kind of behavior. you're not the first anon i've gotten who has wanted to/ended a friendship over this behavior. i have gotten so much feedback from people who have completely terminated friendships over this and GOOD.

people need to understand that trans men don't constantly want to be otherized, infantilized, mocked, scrutinized, deadnamed and fucking harassed for the sake of """""FITTING IN""""""". this isn't fitting in, this girl has made herself into your own personal antagonist. you are right in realizing this is not on accident. this is malicious behavior on purpose. she knows what she's doing. she sees you as a girl and wants you to know that and fuck her for doing all this.

you deserve way better. i hope you're able to get her out of your life and find friends who *actually* support you. that is utterly disgusting behavior and she deserves to lose a friend over it. you're not there to listen to her hate on your siblings and friends. nothing good ever comes of "oh well i don't mean YOU i hate all men BUT you :)" yeah that's not making you safer to be around. YOU are the dangerous person in this scenario. wise up.

take care of yourself anon you deserve so much better than that. if you need any help feel free to stop by again any time

#asks #feedback #transandrophobia #man hating #anti masculinity #anti masculism #answers

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themoodyestj · 3 days ago

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i doubt you actually know what it is like to live with a narcissist. i was in a relationship like that for a long time, he made me feel like i was nothing. i was fully convinced that i was completely useless and couldn't do anything right. i wasn't allowed to go out with my friends. i wasn't allowed to work, i had to depend on him. i wasn't allowed to have any hobbies. i was always the one who needed improvement, everything wrong was always my fault. everything always had to be spotless or else there would be dire consequences, i was so scared of him it made me sick. but in public he treated me different, he was the nicest sweetest guy, no one would have ever suspected. i honestly don't think this is Jensen's case, just look at him, he's a confident successful man with tons of friends, he gets to do what he loves for a living, he can have his music and go play golf whenever he wants, he's not afraid to be by himself for long periods of time, he's not afraid to call his wife and say "ups i messed up" and he always wants to come back to her. he's not scared.

Wow, we have an abuse gatekeeper here! Hi delulu! So glad to see you! Should I expect rain tonight?

I’m sorry you went through that, truly. And I'm not going to tell you where I have my experience from, I'm not an idiot. But your personal trauma doesn’t make you the human lie detector for abuse. You don’t get to point at a dude playing golf and go, “See? Not abused!” like that’s how this works. You think having friends, hobbies, or saying “oops, I messed up” means someone can’t be mistreated? That’s dumb as fuck.

Especially since, in this case, she needs his hobbies, his friends, his connections for him to WORK TO MAKE MONEY so she can get the lifestyle she wants!

Abuse doesn’t always look like black eyes and isolation. Sometimes it looks like constant belittling, having your achievements dismissed, your needs ignored, and walking on eggshells so much you don’t even realize it anymore. But hey, since you’re so sure, let’s flip this: if Jensen were a woman and zee kween a man, and he was being publicly humiliated, manipulated, and used as a TikTok aesthetic for “if men are easy to manipulate, they deserve it,” would you still be acting like this? Or would you be posting a whole damn essay about how “this is why women aren't protected”?

You don’t actually care about what’s happening. You just don’t want it to be real. Because if you did, you’d sit with those red flags instead of swatting them away like a toddler refusing to eat their vegetables.

And now, allow me to flip that pointing finger at you. If you were really a victim of narcissism, you wouldn’t be out here dismissing someone else’s experience. You know why? Because you’d know firsthand how painful it is, how isolating, how damn near impossible it is to reach out for help. Real survivors don’t gatekeep abuse, and they sure as hell don’t harass people for seeing red flags.

On a last note, I really hope you heal, but also learn to shut up and let others heal. Because the disgrace you just wrote, the lines you memorized from that old crumpled misogynistic evangelist pamphlet, basically forcing the idea that abuse victims have to fit a certain mold, is nothing you should be saying out loud, let alone to someone who may be potentially experiencing abuse.

It's a disservice to the people trying to survive/escape abuse. As if gaslighting and years of grooming weren't already a major issue for them.

YOU ARE PART OF THE REASON THERE STILL IS A PROBLEM.

#anti aas #anti danneel #anti danneel ackles #anti elta #jensen supportive #abuse isnt a cliche #narcissistic abuse #male victims of abuse

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themattress · 3 days ago

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Every Lie Celestia Ludenberg Told in DR1

PROLOGUE:

"I am Celestia Ludenburg." (It's Taeko Yasuhiro).

"Ludenburg. It is my name." (Yasuhiro.)

"Heh-heh. I don't know what you are talking about. Celestia Ludenburg *is* my real name." (Taeko Yasuhiro.)

"I look forward to getting to know you better." (You don't interest me.)

CHAPTER 1:

"Personally, I would love to see what happens when someone breaks one of the rules." (Please don't break the rules.)

"I am just happy, that is all." (I am terrified and despairing.)

"All we can do is adapt. Adapt to living out lives here from now on. A lack of adaptability...is a lack of survivability. Survival is not based on who is the strongest or the smartest. It comes down to who can adapt." (I wanna get out of here.)

"It is almost nighttime. I want to take a shower before it arrives." (I need to be alone; I can only keep up my poise for so long under this kind of stress.)

"Well. Hello. I hope the two of you are having a nice day." (I don't care.)

"Adaptability is survivability. Did I not say so? So you'd better hurry up and adapt to your new life here." (I wanna get out of here.)

"Hmhm. Sure, feel free." (You're being foolish.)

"Speaking of which, I have my own things to take care of. Goodbye." (I am freaking out over my precious kitty and don't want to show it in front of you!)

"It is amazing what some people are capable of." (God damn it, someone caved! I was afraid of this!)

"Continuing to think about and talk about the deceased certainly isn't going to help anything." (That sudden death freaked me out, so I need to push it out of my mind.)

"How many times have I told you? Anyone who can't adapt...will die. Death is the only thing awaiting those who are unable or unwilling to adapt. If that happens, you only have yourself to blame." (I wanna get out of here!)

"Does no one have any other thoughts or questions? It does not matter how trivial they may seem..." (A trivial thought and question will piss me off.)

CHAPTER 2:

"Whatever else is going on, I must admit things have been made much more comfortable for us. If things continue like this, the occasional class trial may not be so bad." (I still want out. And please, no more class trials.)

"There is nothing I hate more than getting water on my face." (I wouldn't mind if I didn't have all this make-up on.)

"Your roundish figure reminds me of the owner of the coffee shop I used to frequent." (You're the easiest to manipulate into servitude.)

"Hmhm. I do so love coercion." (I wasn't coercing, I sincerely lost my temper for a moment there. Things are meant to go Celestia Ludenberg's way, and I hate when they don't.)

"This is why adaptation is so crucial. If those who want to escape were to disappear, there would be no reason to continue playing the game." (I wanna get out of here.)

"It is because I am the same as you. Games are meant to be won." (I'm not the same as you, I just really wish I was.)

"How can you be so cold? You are like a piece of rock candy." (I agree, Toko is annoying.)

"Neither do I. Not because it is unpleasant, but because it is impossible." (It is possible, just severely unpleasant - it exposes who I really am, not what I pretend to be.)

"This warehouse is amazing. It has absolutely everything one might need to live a full life. From food to clothes to towels... There's an endless supply to choose from." (I don't care, I'm just trying to distract myself and you from thinking about our present horrifying reality.)

"If she hadn't broken out rule, none of this ever would have happened....You get what you deserve, I suppose." (I'm saying this coldly, but I am in fact extremely pissed off and anguished about nobody listening to my nighttime rule.)

"So you ignored the nighttime rule, too...Well, I don't particularly care. Please, continue." (Why is nobody listening to my nighttime rule? Why don't I have any control here!?)

CHAPTER 3:

"We simply have to make the best of things--do our best to get along and live here together in peace. Forget about the outside world, and accept this new life. That is the only hope we have now. Here we have every convenience. We have food, clothes, our every need is seen to. Why are you dissatisfied? In fact, let me ask you this? What is it about the outside world that you long for? Competition, discrimination, victimization and violence... As society grows, so does its perversion." (I WANNA GET OUT OF HERE.)

"Hmm... There may well be a discovery waiting for us which may further enrich our life here." (I WANNA GET OUT OF HERE.)

"A recreation room. A place for students to come and relax...Those will certainly be helpful in keeping our boredom at bay." (I WANNA GET OUT OF HERE.)

"Life here would be that much nicer if he could add some new issues once in a while. How disappointing." (I WANNA GET OUT OF HERE.)

"There *is* one piece of good news. There just so happens to be a rec room up on the 3rd floor! I have no doubt that our student life here will be even more enjoyable because of it." (I WANNA GET OUT OF HERE.)

"Whenever Hina lies, the tip of her nose gets just a little bit longer." (She'll be dumb enough to believe this.)

"And you ignored the rule regarding nighttime..." (OBEY ME AND STOP IGNORING IT, GODDAMN IT!)

"We were just talking about going to the bathhouse. We have not had a chance to relax in some time. But unfortunately, the bathhouse is not divided into men and women sections. So we decided to do rock-paper-scissors to decide which group would go first. Hina won the match for us, and that is why we are all so pleased." (Play along, everyone!)

"Personally, I've earned over one million dollars from my gambling efforts. My life is...comfortable." (But THAT amount of money could buy me the life I dream of!)

"Taka has become utterly useless." (I've actually already thought of a use for him...)

"Was it the mastermind? Did they finally notice what we were up to?" (It was me.)

"What good are you if you are too tired? You will be much more effective after a good night's sleep." (I will be keeping you up all night, Hifumi.)

"We will begin our search for Alter Ego in the morning." (No we won't.)

CASE 3 - pretty much everything is a lie until she is exposed and concedes defeat.

"I guess trying to work with someone else was a mistake, after all. Hifumi's ineptitude was beyond all my calculations." (I screwed up too, I just don't want to admit it.)

"My specialty? Don't make me laugh. I didn't have to lie to get him to agree." (I totally did have to lie, several times over.)

"Because you're stupid." (Because I hate having to hear your name.)

"That's a non-issue. I simply did everything in my power to win." (I actually did feel guilt over killing Hifumi in the moment.)

"To live in a European castle. And to gather handsome men from all over the world to server as my butlers-slash-bodyguards. I was going to make them dress up like vampires and satisfy my every need. Once I obtained that, I would have created a perfectly aesthetic world of decadence... Living the rest of my life there was my only dream, my only goal... That's what my life is all ABOUT!" (I just want a life where I can fully be Celestia Ludenberg and forever banish Taeko Yasuhiro from existence).

"Still, I don't have any regrets. I pursued my dream till the very end, so why would I?" (I have regrets. I wish I could have had hope in Alter Ego like everyone else.)

"Are you asking me to feel guilty? That's a pointless endeavor. I think nothing of sacrificing others for my own ends. I feel nothing. That's all there is to me. That's what makes me...complete." (I'm just a normal girl who does feel things, and I hate that.)

"My ability to lie is unrivaled, and I take pride in that. It's not just other people--I can even fool my own emotions. The conscious deceives the unconscious. That's right. I don't fear death. Kill me however you like." (I'm scared to die, especially in a way unbefitting of Celestia Ludenberg. Please don't give me such a death.)

FREE TIME:

"I once played a game of Russian roulette mahjong and won. It was a truly fierce contest, put on by a half-insane billionaire in the basement of his mansion. My opponents were a fierce old man and a silver-haired boy who was said to have the devil's own luck. We played with a modified rule set. I remember well the glass tiles we used... I defeated them both at once. I will never forget the angry, twisted looks on their faces. The crowd that had been invited to watch became positively riotous. Nobody could believe I had won. Hmhmhm. That is one of my fonder memories..." (I read this story in a manga once.)

"No matter how many times I hear it, I never tire of hearing my own name. Isn't it so splendidly charming?" (It's not my name, and I keep repeating it to help make myself believe that it is.)

"I did not *pick* it. My name was given to me by my mother and father..." (I picked it.)

"That's right. My father is French nobility, and my mother is part of a German family of musicians." (They're low class Japanese workers.)

"Oh, there most certainly a shogi gambling circuit. But it is all underground. It is rather shady, all things considered. I have tried my own hand at it, naturally." (Actually, it was a regular low-stakes game.)

"I didn't really understand, but apparently my final opponent was infamously powerful. She was...rather odd. She was a voluptuous woman who dressed as an exotic French maid." (I read this in a manga once.)

"So let me share with you something... I will tell you about the biggest crisis I ever faced in my gambling life. A shadowy organization was hosting a mysterious tournament... The game in which I participated was called King of Liars. It was quite a severe game. When you enter, they strip you of all your assets. Money, property, everything. You must use your wisdom, cunning, and luck to battle through challenge after challenge. For the final match, I had to face off with an odd duo... They called themselves the Honest Woman and the Liar Genius. During a break, I was careless and spilled some tea on my clothes. I was terrified that the stain would never come out. That was a very difficult time in my life. I was forced to win more quickly than I wanted, so that I could rush to the cleaners. I was able to get the stain out, but it was perilously close...If I had waited even another hour, I would have been forced to throw out my favorite dress." (None of this happened; I invented it from manga I read and a mundane incident of spilling tea on my dress during a game.)

"The worst is F-rank. If you're F-rank...I pay a special organization to have you killed. Your very existence is unforgivable." (Obviously not true, but it makes me seem fearsome.)

"Also, when you become C-rank, you gain the right to become my official servant--a knight. I have knights all across the world. They are all quite obedient." (I have no knights. I've never even left Japan.)

--------

If you fell for a good number of these, then congratulations:

#Dangan Ronpa #Celestia Ludenberg #Taeko Yasuhiro #Analysis #Truthbomb #This has been a PSA

30 notes · View notes

ellesthots · 2 days ago

Text

Fateful Beginnings

XLIV. “trailhead”

parts: previous / next

plot: Bruce is on your trail, making things that much more complicated.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, spoilers for The Penguin (2024), mention of murder, missing person, yearning/pining

words: 7.7k

a/n: i love the little subtle moments i included in this chapter, they’re down Atrocious but they gotta get some work done, why must falling in love bring such insistent feelings?? how cruel ;)

You’d hardly seen eyes so wary, almost pleading. You tucked your hands between your thighs to warm them, his icy blues chilling the tension. After this you needed to steel yourself to their charms; you feared it was beginning to be a slippery slope. “Sure.”

“Do you know anything about the mob families here?”

You shook your head and leaned in slightly when he took a deep breath. “There were two major ones: the Falcones and Maronis. They ran some drug operations, have money in different parts of the city.”

How could he possibly distill a city’s entire criminal underworld into a few sentences?

“Oz Cobb, he’s sometimes called ‘Penguin’. Was the driver for the Falcones, mostly their daughter. Seemed to be on good terms until Falcone’s arrest. When Falcone died, Oz took over his operations, took out the Maronis.” He took great care to keep his voice leveled and calm, though even mentioning the Penguin in your presence felt like a violation to the point he could hardly think.

He gathered the bowls and they clinked in the sink. “After that I couldn’t keep track of him. Second I’d catch him, send him in for another murder, bombing, didn’t matter: released same day.” He grimaced when he tried to gauge your unreadable response. He continued, desperate to get the information downloaded into you so the conversation could be over with. “Doesn’t matter about proof. Oz could walk into a courtroom, shoot the judge, and get away with it.”

Your brow furrowed. “If he really turns on anyone, how does he have that much power? Wouldn’t no one trust him?”

He paused, very glad he’d brought this up if you were already confused. “That’s it: do what he says or get killed.” He hesitated, a sudden meekness affecting his posture. “That’s why I was worried you met with him. He’d shoot you before you realized what was happening.”

You didn’t doubt he was right, but you hadn’t met anyone who seemed like a kingpin, let alone anyone who set off alarm bells… outside of Dr. Crane and the dude walking out of there.

“If he’s on your trail we can’t be seen together. Could use you as leverage.”

“Is he trying to get at you?”

Bruce shot you a knowing look, then spoke like the words hurt him. “I’m a Wayne. If he finds a weak point, he’s exploiting it.”

“And I’m the weak point?”

“Before the interview, the only public association I had was my parents. I don’t even think anyone knows about Alfred.”

Your palms sweated. Ah, fuck. “You can’t tell anyone this. It could literally kill people.”

His teeth dug into his tongue, nervous. “Promise.”

You launched into a brief explanation of what the journalist told you. What you knew of them, what they knew of you, and that they said you needed to leave Gotham while you still could. Watching Bruce's reaction showed his poker face was practiced. You didn’t know what he might say until he gave a slow nod.

“I agree.”

Of course he wants me to leave. “I thought you could help me look into it.”

“You’ve already been a target just from interviewing me. If you’ve run into Oz since city hall, chances are it’s not by accident.”

“If there are journalists disappearing or getting murdered, I want to see where it leads.”

He stared at you blankly, voice flat. “You’re a journalist.”

Silence rotted the air as you stood at a standstill. Your next sentence was muttered against stifled morale. “I guarantee you no one else had Bruce Wayne and Batman at their disposal.”

He resisted the overwhelming urge to curse and shove his head in his hands, instead channeling his frustration to the inside of his cheek. You had him backed into a corner; it had been disastrous every time he prized an argument over putting you in danger. “I don’t know.” But he did—he did know, and playing along wasn’t right.

He chanced a look from across the kitchen island. The edge that longed to bleed into his voice softened at your guardedness. “I think you need to leave.”

The worst part of this was that he wasn’t wrong. What’s leaving a few days early? The safest thing would be to go home and keep your head down a little while, and you could. Bruce having paid your family’s debt would lower the stress of getting into a career straightaway…

He fell in thought with you, each passing second settling more anxiety into your sentiment: you thought you were safe because you had him. His fallibility hadn’t ever bothered him—if he died fighting some criminals, at least he went down swinging. But for you to say it brought his insecurities to the forefront like an impenetrable slab of concrete. If you were correct, and he existed as a forcefield when he was around you, he still couldn’t be 24/7. “What’s to stop them hitting your apartment next?”

“… I don’t know.”

He drank you in with a longing glance. “You need to go.”

“Tons of new journalism students are here because of me. I can’t let them into a trap and go home.” You were strained, weary, with a hint of desperation to your voice.

“It wasn’t you. Vry pressured both of us.”

“And I could’ve said no. I was already home.”

“If you leave, I can look into things. Report back.” Your face didn’t shift from its stressed clench. If only you’d told him about the meeting; he could’ve outfit you with the earpiece at the very least, be able to know precisely what they said rather than paraphrased muck. He sensed something you weren’t telling him.

“What if they track me home? They said I needed to hope it was far enough.”

That wasn’t it.

“And that it might be protective I’m associated with you. Said they target people coming here for scholarships. People without any associations, let alone a billionaire. Probably make me less easy to kill.”

That wasn’t it either, though his mind began to wander fretfully at the prospect of your murder. You’d made half a point, because most people tended to go for the easier victim—but they also went for the enticing one. What was more enticing than managing to snipe (god, he could vomit) an associate of the Waynes?

But Oz targeting you was a different crowd, pushing the edges in your favor. The man had contacted him a half-dozen times since the flooding to get drinks, visit a club, ‘talk business’. For all of Oz’s criminal behavior, and how much he demanded of everyone else in the city, he was never anything but polite towards Mr. Wayne.

Your gaze was insistent, and he relented. Oh, he hated having to acquiesce. “Who knows you live in this apartment?”

You lit up. “Just Mar. And her friend Gianna who picks her up sometimes.”

“Are your paychecks mailed?”

Your eyes dropped to skim the table. “I guess GU has me in their system.”

He ran his hands through his wet hair, thinly veiling his frustration. “You can’t stay here.”

“If I change apartments I’m in the same situation.”

“I’ll get another one for you through the election if we find anything.”

More than anything else, his going along convinced you that the Penguin was an absolute terror. You worried your bottom lip as you rethought the entire affair.

“Same complex, different floor. If anyone is tracking you, you’ll be entering the same building.”

Had he done this before? “They’ll see me coming in and leaving, they’ll know exactly how to track me.”

“They’ll find out wherever you are if it’s that crowd. This way draws less suspicion. Makes it seem like you aren’t onto them.”

“What about the journalists?”

“I can look into that.” He grabbed his keys from the counter.

“I need to help.”

He knew you wouldn’t drop this. Knew it would be another argument. Knew you had a point about the new students. Fuck. “We have to be careful. Neither of us can be in the field.” He grimly referred to his alter ego. “Only him.”

“Thank you.”

He walked to his bag and tucked in what had tumbled out. He felt your eyes on him like a brand. Thanking him for putting you in harm’s way…

“I thought you’d be more angry.”

He paused his walk to the door; your timid, grateful voice penetrated him like a velvet knife. “I meant what I said. I won’t talk to you like that again.”

And you stood like that for a beat, grinning at his back. “Where do we start? Google some things?”

“We can go to my place and see where it leads.” He hiked the bag’s handles over his wrist. “That journalist could’ve been wrong.”

“How late?”

“However long you want to stay.”

Alfred greeted you with a soft hello while you climbed the stairs to discard your things. Your sweats felt tight, baggy, and sweaty in all the wrong places, so you shimmied out of them into some old spandex. You rummaged around your bag to look for a hair tie and changed into a baggier top that didn’t feel constricting.

Having left at nine, you packed an overnight bag. Your toothbrush was gingerly packed in a side pocket without a travel case, a deodorant rattled against your wallet at the bottom, and you grabbed the perfume you’d tossed on top of everything at the last second. Your fingers brushed some decommissioned lingerie before you left your apartment, evoking memories of wearing it under a flirty dress for an ungrateful boyfriend a few Valentines’ ago. You’d nearly relegated yourself to a potato sack as penance for the split second you considered packing it for Bruce. You made a mental note to burn the offending items on your return.

Short shorts and an oversized tee so long he had to sneak a double glance to see if you had pants on as you moved through the kitchen. He stepped to the side for you to sidle in, mind in a modest frenzy over how the moonlight draped across your face on approach.

As he leaned forward to press DOWN, you couldn’t help but juxtapose to the last time you’d been in here. Picking lint off his shoulder, concerned that he might beat you up or otherwise throw you to the wolves. Now you fantasized about the force of his hands if he pushed you against its walls and regularly meandered up to the room you considered your own.

Bruce followed the doors as they slid shut, considering which program would be best to—oh. His eyes fell shut as his mouth flooded with saliva. Long, slow breaths through his nose fluttered his lashes and nearly convinced him to press STOP. Whatever perfume you had on was more delicious than every one previous, combined. Why didn’t…

It felt like a million years ago at this point. Why didn’t he just kiss you yesterday? It would’ve been so easy to whisper it into your ear, he was already right there. What would he do now? Have to turn and face you, stand with his heavy hands limp at his sides, muster the courage to look right into your eyes while he asked? No, no way.

“What’s going on?”

He was breathing too fast now, and you could tell. You could always tell. His hands flexed at his waist. A desperate part of him wanted you to see through him and do something about it so he could say whatever happened wasn’t his fault. Pretend these feelings weren’t real.

“The elevator isn’t moving.” Your brow cocked, and he swallowed thickly.

��Must be locked.” He fished keys out of his pocket, struggling to grasp the smallest one with tingly, clammy fingers. He slipped it into the lock, twisted, and the signature creak sounded the descent.

Luckily the trip was short, because the elevator wasn’t air-tight. The subtle bursts of air from some chips in the siding wafted more of your scent right over him. Through him, more like. What was he, a fucking animal? This was ridiculous. Stupid. It was no different than lighting a candle.

Maybe if he acknowledged it. Took its power away and normalized it. The doors opened and you stepped out. His head pounded as he said it like admitting a dirty secret. “I like your perfume.”

You spun around, unable to hear him over the doors clicking into place. “Hmm?”

Shit. He cleared his throat and made a beeline for his desk, holding his breath as he walked past you. “Didn’t say anything.”

You pulled up the only other stool in the place close enough your shoulders touched. He gripped his thigh as that warm, sweet scent enveloped him, snaring his throat shut. While he booted up the monitor, you glanced around the room. Times like these it was easy to see why he didn’t behave like the stereotypical billionaire; rusted old work lamps scuffed marks into his aged metal desk, endless crates situated below it with various notebooks and files somehow scrupulously organized and in disarray. Something nested in the rafters, cobwebs hanging high above them; if you took out some of the tech, it could pass for any old man’s work area in the countryside.

You asked him for a notebook and pen, and he slipped one to you without thinking. The page you opened to had your name. Friday, May 31st. My identity has officially been compromised by... seeing your full name in his handwriting made you dizzy and you couldn’t read further, utterly transfixed.

Bruce’s eyes bulged out of his head when he realized his mistake. “I uh, I was trying to make sense of things.” He peeked over your shoulder to remind himself of what he had written, praying it wasn’t horrendously mean—that week was a bleary streak in his memory—but you flipped to a clean sheet without fanfare.

“At least I’ll have some notoriety in your memoir.” You gestured toward the monitor and he clicked around, head thrumming. You followed the clip of his fingers on the keyboard, mind dancing with possibilities.

His building arousal mistroked keys and stuttered on backspaces. It was inappropriate, filthy even, given the circumstance. Normally he could easily get desire out of his system by himself, but not with you; each time seemed to only amplify it. He’d never felt so compelled to be intimate with someone. Like his body pleaded to be given a voice, needing to say things that couldn’t be expressed any other way.

You clenched the pen until your knuckles bloomed light from the tension. The cognitive dissonance was brutal; being horny around him was ego-dystonic enough, but while delving into research about missing journalists? Cruel and unusual punishment.

“Found something.” Bruce pulled up a photo from a GU article in 2022. You were jolted back to reality looking at a blue-eyed blonde with shoulder-length curls. She couldn’t be older than twenty. “Kendall Brandy. Reported missing in the flood. Body never recovered.”

“Were all bodies recovered though?” You jotted down her name and a few details.

Bruce shook his head. “But look.”

The screen filled with a court record. A cease and desist filed against her from Arkham. “Two weeks before the flood.” The title of the article to be removed from her devices and all publishing plans was: Undercover: Arkham State Hospital Negligence.

He clicked another tab over while you bullet-pointed beneath her name. How had he managed to gather this in two minutes? “She volunteered there over the summer.”

“Jesus…” you mulled it over for a moment. Bruce wrote something down on a notepad. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Why not?” He kept writing.

“What could’ve made Arkham look worse than it already does? Enough to kill someone over?” You’d heard endless jokes on Scypher about how shitty the hospital was, and how much of a ‘lost cause’ their patients were. You’d been surprised they hadn’t cared when Bella was seizing, but that was hardly reason to kill. “Have they had shitty audits?”

Bruce resumed typing, pulling up Arkham’s entire registry in seconds. “Already been through them for other cases. Nothing out of the ordinary. Especially for the city.”

“What if the auditor was paid off?”

“Could be.”

His computer started to resemble an oracle. “Can you find out?”

He got to clicking, and typing, and you followed his pupils darting across the screen. You were mesmerized by his efficiency. How many days, weeks, months of his life had been spent honing his craft? Not five minutes later he pushed his notebook to you.

He’d listed incredibly intricate details ranging from the year the auditor graduated, his major, his family relations (including his favored breed of dog), their lengthy history with the Falcones and Maronis, eventually landing him a job performing audits on various institutions around the city. Apparently his entire family had died in the flood. “There’s autopsy documents. None for Brandy.”

“But wasn’t the flood connected to one guy? Who already said why he did it?”

“Edward Nashton.” Bruce grit his teeth as he said the guy’s name. “Nothing more to get out of him. Already tried.”

“And if the mob families are dead,”

“Most of them.” He put down the pen. “Sofia Falcone’s still alive.”

You dragged his keyboard toward you and looked her up. Seemingly endless articles cropped up detailing the murders committed a decade ago, nestled next to ones directly proceeding the flooding. Gassing her loved ones, murdering a journalist from the Gazette when they tried to bring justice to her previous victims… your tone was slightly sarcastic as the depth of the situation rang a quiet alarm. “If she murdered her family, probably means she doesn’t like them.”

“Or she wanted it for herself.” You were funny, and he might’ve played along if the stakes were any lower.

“Have you met with her?”

“They don’t let her take visitors.”

“Has that stopped you before?”

Bruce shut his notebook with a snap and killed the monitor. “That’s enough for tonight.”

“It’s been like half an hour,”

“And you’re already talking about breaking into Arkham. Speaking to a Falcone.”

You reached around the back of the screen where he had, unable to find the ON switch. “If people have been funneling money to Arkham,”

“How do you know that?” Your slip of the tongue caught his attention. You blurted what the journalist had told you about Bella Reál, and his brow furrowed. “I looked into her disappearance, couldn’t find anything.”

He turned the screen on and worked through more tabs. He didn’t write anything down this time. When he eventually sat with his head in his hands, studiously thinking, you searched for Oz Cobb. The man from Arkham stared back at you. “Him?”

He measured his tone, curious about your strong response. “From City Hall, yeah.”

And Arkham. “What’s his deal?”

“Runs a few clubs downtown. Pushes Drops. Seems to be it… at least that’s all I can find on him.” He moved something from the desk to his Batmobile. His voice echoed. “Took over the mob’s business. Moved his operation into their neighborhoods.”

If there was any time to tell him, it was now. When at the very least you could throw his apology in his face if he got mad. “I visited Bella earlier.” Not saying how much earlier, or how I was summoned. “Ran into Oz there. He was headed out.”

“Did you hear anything?” He walked toward you with his signature scrunched, concentrated expression. It made it a little easier to tell him these things when he looked so cute. And when he wasn't screeching at you in an alleyway. You shook your head.

“He asked me how I was, then he left.”

Bruce went still. “Didn’t try to rope you into anything?”

“No. Just left.”

“What did Reál say?”

“I guess I tried to visit.” It was crucial you stopped talking as soon as possible.

“Arkham…” Gears were turning behind his eyes, and regret slammed the back of your throat. He’d managed to unearth the full medical history of strangers in minutes, he could certainly rifle through a call log from the head of psychiatry. He sat back on the stool and changed tabs. Please don’t, please don’t…

He loaded up the staff page of Arkham, sorted alphabetically, and you twitched when he clicked the first result: Crane. “I don’t know,”

He jotted some things down. What things is he writing?

“Maybe we could check if there are any other missing journalists? Maybe it was just a one-off.” One-off? Someone was murdered and they’re covering it up. You were too anxious by this point though, concerned with a strange sense of self-preservation that took up all remaining brain power. “Arkham seems like a really difficult place to start,”

“I think you’re onto something.” He scribbled something more. What am I onto? What is he onto? “I didn’t know that about Reál.” Every strike of his pen made you vibrate.

“I don’t know if we can even trust that person; I mean, meeting me in the middle of the night, being weird and cryptic.”

“Crane was there when I met with Vry about graduation…” he bulleted more notes in his slanted handwriting you couldn’t decipher from this angle. He was connecting dots. Dots that couldn’t be connected yet.

“Bruce,”

He focused intently between the screen and his notepad. More scribbles.

“What are you writing?”

“I’ll show you in a minute.”

You couldn’t survive a minute. You bit your tongue and looked around, pretending to be bored, yawning to pretend you weren’t wired, anything to stop every etch of his pen striking the paper from peeling your skin. “Want to watch a movie?”

He didn’t hear you, too busy writing.

You noticed tools on the ground by his vehicle. “What’s wrong with the car?”

“Brake pads.” He kept writing. Opened a new tab to research Jonathan Crane.

It was a matter of days, maybe weeks, before he found you out. How would he take it? Would he do something drastic? Undo all his progress? Hurt himself again? You felt like crying. Even if he didn’t find you out—which you were certain he would at this point—you’d created an environment where he was suspicious of his care team. Dangerous territory.

“I need to set up a meeting with him.”

You choked on the spit that had accumulated on your tongue. “But he’s your doctor,”

“Exactly. Inconspicuous.” He flipped his notepad closed. You stared at it like a grenade. “A follow-up appointment will give me access—”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

Picking your nails, biting your cheek. He discovered a new tell: bouncing your leg. You were a ball of anxiety. “Then we can get in. Search around.” He thought it would calm you that he’d found a starting place. Maybe rev you up, get you excitedly asking a million more questions. Was nothing he said coming out right?

You sounded frail, beaten. “Mixing the two when you’re so early into treatment, I don’t…”

In these moments two polarizing emotions struck each half of his body in equal measure: defensiveness and accommodation. He tried not to show that he was deflating like a punctured balloon. It didn’t feel like being early; it felt like a month of getting used to taking a medication that made him nauseous every morning and nights spent staring at the ceiling in agony, wondering when or if his mind would slip again. Living in a constant state of uncertainty he kept trying to bury. Your brows knit together. “Please.”

He nodded after noticing your shaking hands, setting aside a snarky, insecure comment about being infantilized. “Okay.”

You averted your eyes, the argument you thought you’d have choking out your throat. Your eyes wet knowing in a week’s time you’d be gone and he’d find out, spending the rest of his life hating you. Such a sure future made the present feel flimsy and fake, each kindness afforded by him landing like a gut-punch.

“We could search for more journalists.” Bruce was quiet, his tone almost restrained.

“I don’t know how you even found Kendall.” You’d misjudged his talents, leaving you feeling like dead weight even without the guilt scarring your stomach lining. You searched the code scrawled across the screen, the mysterious buttons scattered around the desk, and sat back on the stool in defeat. Your limbs felt lead-lined.

Bruce moved slowly to his seat as the room’s tension rose. “It’s easier than it looks.” A sideways glance at your dejected face, then a pause. “Here.”

He spent the next half hour depreciating his expertise, pulling up various softwares and programs that he assured did the brunt of his bidding. The one in the top left corner of his desktop cross-referenced this database, the one in the bottom right did another, and one in the middle synthesized the two. One button limited to the Gotham area and related publications, the other was nationwide. Often, he explained, a missing person’s report would be filed in the home state of the potential victim. He demonstrated by walking through what he’d done for Kendall.

You wrote notes for it all, but he was flying through it. Going through various directories, filtering by major, pasting groups of names, plugging cross-referenced photos into facial recognition from surveillance cameras throughout the city, and following the rabbit hole that took him down. Your head spun.

“Do the police have this tech too?”

His eyes shimmered with something like mischief. “It’s not exactly legal.”

“Right.” Your eyes skimmed the room full of armor and gadgets, and back to the man notating beside you in your hoodie. A watery grin painted your lips. “Unlike being a vigilante.”

It got a low chuckle out of him. He pasted a mile-long list of student’s names into one of the programs.

“What do you like about doing this?”

He hesitated, a bit remorseful. What he did was intrusive and illegal, and he was keenly aware it appeared to be a moral inconsistency. “It's the way I know how to help. Utilizing what I’ve been given.” He grinned, barely. “Like you said. Not everyone has the time.”

He typed something you couldn’t be bothered to divert your attention to, soaking him up. He was so good. “Thought you just liked puzzles or something.”

He teased you back as he wrote names on a sticky note. “Not as shallow as you think.”

“Now you’re posturing.”

“Here’s the time-consuming part.” Bruce stood and rolled his shoulders back, cricking his neck. The screen loaded something at a snail’s pace. “It hits all the cameras in the city. Could take a couple hours with this many photos.”

“You found posters?” In his speedy tutorial, he’d shown you how he matched names to missing person’s reports, then their posters, scraping their photos to plug into recognition tech.

“A few dozen.”

“That many missing journalists?”

“Never know how many match, could be zero.” He motioned upstairs. “Hungry?”

Your mind immediately shot to Rai’s; particularly how you’d never get to see him again in just a few days, and how much you’d neglected him spending so much time with Bruce. You opened your phone to check the time. A late-night trip hadn’t happened in ages now, only when you were with Mar. It suddenly felt like a bucket-list item.

Your attention caught on a motorbike parked to the right of the desk. “Can we get takeout?”

You shouldn’t have gotten takeout. Rai’s food was good, but it wasn’t worth this.

Turned out his bike was single-occupant; after forcing you to wear the only helmet he owned, interrupting your plans for the wind to zip through your hair and sting your cheeks, you found yourself sitting on his lap with his hands over yours to steer. You tried not to think about the ride.

Immediately he knew the bike was a mistake. A horrible, horrible mistake. Feeling the weight of you spread across his thighs was a constant threat. He wouldn’t let himself think about what would happen if he weren’t using ninety percent of his energy to dissociate from his physical form.

The electricity of being flush with him, his frame encompassing yours in a way that felt devastatingly consuming, feeling every twitch of his hands as he worked Gotham’s back streets. The ride was only five minutes, but your mind had slipped to how accessible you both were twice as many times. How the only thing separating you wasn’t distance or position, but thin—and in your case, embarrassingly thin—layers of clothing.

A pothole virtually succeeded in the final unraveling; if you hadn’t drowned the other out by reacting at the same time, and the wind been any less loud, he would’ve heard your yelp and you his gasp as your ass bounced hard against him.

As it stood, the rest of the trip was spent still as statues, both of you holding your breath. It was hell on the dismount, having to scoot across his crotch to gain footing. You bit your cheek as penance for sneaking a glance at the dark sweatpants that left things a disappointing mystery. He readjusted his sunglasses and cinched the hood.

The city pulsed silently around both of you, present but unobtrusive; he hardly registered the veils of black between streetlights as you led him toward the mystery shop. His focus was tethered tightly to you, caught up in your lively intonation breaking the traffic noise.

You skipped across a stray plastic bag and the momentum caught the wind in your hair, its shine slipping the lights. Palpitations fluttered beneath your sweatshirt he hadn’t yet replaced and didn’t want to; you looked over your shoulder and mimed for him to keep up. With no one around he could feel the wind on his skin, on parts of his body that never felt it this late in the day. Feelings like this made everything complicated.

Walking at night was always terrifying, but not with him. There was a freedom to his presence that raced the cool air straight to the bottom of your lungs. Without thinking, you reached for his arm to pull him faster. By the time you’d gripped his wrist and a rod of unbearable tenderness leapt through you, you couldn’t very well drop him. “Slowpoke.”

Soft bells chimed as you pushed through the deli door, threading him through in the same motion. A teenager holding a massive fountain drink nearly toppled into you, and a giggle bubbled up as you swerved. You blinked to orient your eyes to the bright overheads just as Rai entered your vision. He was the only Gothamite who could make you break contact with Bruce, and you launched into a hug.

A tight embrace, toothy smiles, and immediate prattling. His eyes narrowed, shared happiness and a jealous knot fighting for dominance. He clasped his hands.

“This is Rai.” You laughed and gestured toward him. Bruce bristled, but stepped forward with a rehearsed grin.

“Pleasure.”

Rai nodded at him, refusing further acknowledgement. He winked at you and Bruce felt faint. “Baby, you gotta keep your location on being out this late.”

Baby?

You slugged the man’s arm and laughed. Bruce’s gut cinched tighter than he thought possible; tight enough it scared him. You wandered down the nearest aisle. He grit his teeth and followed, body vibrating.

You never mentioned a boyfriend, but he’d never asked. Though—you called him, not the boyfriend, when you needed help. Odd. You rifled through some chips while he debated whether to mention it.

“How long have you been together?” Casual. No big deal.

You chuckled again, and moved to the next aisle. His brow furrowed. Starting to feel like a big deal.

You acted as though he hadn’t said anything, directing attention to which bag of candy he preferred. He would’ve eaten a pound of raw meat if you only answered; this limbo was physical pain.

Was it weeks? Months? He picked out a seasonal redbull for his contribution and tossed it into the small basket you handed him between the snack and drink aisles. A few years?

Somehow he had braved the store and handed the cash to your boyfriend without passing out. He’d seen the man before, but couldn’t place him. Dark hair, darker eyes. He thought of how pale and washed-out his were in comparison. At the least, he’d never run into the guy on patrol. Someone who kept his head down.

You said something to the object of your affection and reached over the counter for another hug. He kissed the side of your cheek closest to your ear. Bruce’s flushed pink. Wasn’t this good? Normal, yeah? Even his internal monologue was going pitchy.

The boyfriend pulled out a bag and Bruce flinched. “We don’t need one.”

He watched your eyes flit to the pile of snacks that definitely needed a bag, but he was already scooping it into his arms. You said goodbye and held the door open. Officially out in the open air, he had no idea what possessed him to want to balance ten items while steering a motorbike.

You razzed him once the door closed. His cheeks burned.

“We have a running joke.” You skipped ahead, then folded back when you remembered he was juggling a basket’s worth of goods. “Whenever I come in with a strange man, Rai pretends to be my boyfriend. Safety thing.”

Your hands swung at your side from the residual momentum, not seeming to need all the caffeine you’d loaded into the cart. He stared at you. “I’m not mad.”

“Why would you be?”

Backtrack! Redirect!! “I’m a strange man?”

“Absolutely.” You gave his anonymous frame a once-over.

Thankfully you steered the conversation from there, his pulse hammering in his temples as he processed his relief. Bruce wasn’t keen to know what situation had prompted such protocol, but it was nice of your friend. He’d been convincing enough.

“He’s great. Used to hang there all the time. His cooking is absolutely incredible, shocked his store isn’t always packed.”

The memory crept to him. “Think he catered a meeting once.”

You laughed again. You laughed a lot when talking about that guy. Your hair fell into your face with a particularly harsh gust of wind and he felt an instinct to push it back, but his hands were tied. These feelings were foreign and bizarre.

“That’s actually what made me want to interview you. His sister was working the place, said Bruce Wayne gave them a bonus.” You whispered his name like there was anyone else on the block.

“You’d never heard my name before then?” ‘Bruce’ sounded like honey on your lips; Christ, he loved hearing you say it and could never let you know.

You shrugged, making your case as you reached the crosswalk. “I was desperate for a topic and that meant you’d probably be there.”

“So you tackled me.”

“Those steps are steep, man.”

You both giggled waiting for the traffic to change. How many nights would end like this, and how many more could he squeeze in before you left and took the light with you?

“Speaking of,” the signal changed to WALK. He mirrored your pace, shortening his strides. The drinks jostled together with each step. “What are your plans through the election?”

You wrapped your arms around your chest in a makeshift hug as you scurried to the sidewalk. Nerves dampened your volume. “What do you mean?”

“If you want to keep working on things, we could do every Thursday. Tuesday and Thursday, maybe. I’m meeting with March this Wednesday, could pick you up after?” Could it come out any clunkier?

“Maybe.”

“Or whatever works with your schedule. No pressure.”

You could’ve laughed at the irony of him quite literally being your schedule if you weren’t so pathetically guilty. You meditated on the jagged cracks in the sidewalk slipping below your feet.

“Something going on?”

“No.”

Half a block passed before he broke the silence. “What do you want to do when we get back, while we wait?” He counted almost a minute more before throwing a bone. “Watch something, eat some snacks,”

“I’m actually, I’m tired. I think I’ll tuck home.” You cleared your throat and anxiously raked your fingers through your still-damp hair.

“Sure, I’ll drop you off.” He was off-kilter today and kept missing your cues. Did you not want to hang out with him? He glanced at the two teas you’d grabbed for the evening and decided making it personal was stupid. You wouldn’t have brought a bag and got snacks if you planned to ditch.

“I’m sorry.” You bit the inside of your lip until it bled.

“Don’t be.” Quick glances revealed a tense, stressed face, and the glaze in your eyes said you were half present. He mulled over questions to get to the bottom of things, but they all felt ill-timed.

The silence continued until Bruce couldn’t take it anymore. Seconds passed like hours as he struggled to comprehend how to help. He couldn’t very well put his arm around you, hug you, and—god forbid—kiss your head, like he’d seen his dad do. What else did he do for her that actually helped? The memories grew blurrier by the day.

Maybe you required reassurance, ah! He looked to you with a charitable grin. “There’s always next week, week after. Whenever.”

You made the brutal mistake of peeking at him and you practically broke in two. You held it together for three more cracks in the cement before your lip warbled and a sob slipped out. He couldn’t smile like that, not at you. You crouched and bent your body as compact as possible, a single spider’s web straining to contain your guilt. You had to tell him, rip this lie from your bone marrow.

Dr. Crane’s heavy presence slammed on your back when Bruce’s gentle hand touched your shoulder. “Don’t feel bad. We have time.”

His hand was strong and reassuring, warming a wide swath of your back. You wanted to scream, and angrily wiped tears with the arm of your shirt. Your sniffles echoed off the brick to your right.

“Are you okay?”

“I just don’t feel good.” Fuck. Fuck! Your legs shook when you stood tall, shoving toward the bike.

“Do you need anything? I could run back in.”

You wouldn’t let it out on him again. You faced him to make it harder—stood wearing your outfit, albeit the longest, baggiest ones, all the goods in his arms slanted to his left to free up his right hand. Reflected in his glasses was the state of you; disheveled, puffy-faced, and bare-legged, barely containing a sentence that would shatter everything.

In through the nose, out through the mouth.

He wondered if you were still having nightmares because of him. The headaches, turning in early, emotional cycling. Iris once told him—or rather, Alfred—that any unexpected burst of emotion was to be expected in times like ‘these’. He’d hated Alfred for years for his inability to leave him alone, but he was beginning to understand. He didn’t want you to isolate either.

You stared at the bike like it was a torture device, though the alternative wasn’t a drastic improvement; he managed to stuff the snacks into bulging pockets, and you shut your eyes as you climbed on top of him. You kept them shut and hummed a song to yourself to distract, trying to convince your body it was perhaps floating and this was a strange dream. The helmet smelled like him; now less focused on his muscular thighs, it was an all-consuming scent.

He hadn’t yet come to a complete stop when you started to slide off, yanking the helmet off and plunking it onto his lap. Distracted and desperate to escape before you cried again, the lobby door’s closing reminded that you hadn’t said goodbye, running off in a blink.

This distraction kept you unable to think facing your locked door. A neighbor stumbled a few doors down and unlocked via the hotel-style card gifted at signing. You popped off the back of your phone case and heaved a sigh as you beeped yourself in.

Against what felt like a hesitant conscience but could’ve been better judgement, you dialed Dr. Crane the minute the door locked behind you. It rang twice; not enough time to remedy the tears streaming in protest and shame down the round edges of your cheeks.

“Good evening, Ms. Y/L/N.” There was something soothing about hearing a man’s voice that wasn’t Bruce’s. You choked out that he’d been fine tonight, to which he responded he was ‘glad’ to hear it. You tightened your grip on the phone.

“So next weekend I’m free to go?”

The psychiatrist readily picked up on your nerves. “Do you have concerns?”

“No. Not really.”

“Does he have a packed schedule next week?”

He was frustratingly nonchalant. “Just the rally and weekly meeting.”

“Right then.”

Rubbing between your eyes and pinching the nose bridge was only making things worse. Bodies weren’t meant to hold this much tension. “Oh, and meeting with one of the candidates on Wednesday. Lincoln March.”

You pulled back your phone to make sure the line was connected following an extended pause. “Philanthropist like his father.”

“Wants to make the city better I think.”

“Ah.” Another pause. “Does he talk to you about his plans? Politics?”

“A bit, yeah.”

“A bit?”

“More than anyone else.”

Shuffling broke the line slightly, muffling his end. “Very well. Nice to know he has someone he can trust.”

“Actually I do have something.”

“Yes?”

Holding your breath kept your tears inaudible. “When can I tell him?”

“He has his pickup scheduled Thursday afternoon. Friday should work. Gives time for your absence to settle in without rumination.” Now you knew what the shuffling was—he was snapping something into a clipboard, writing something down with a clicky pen.

“I mean, when can I tell him that I wasn’t the witness?”

The silence that followed was cold, like you’d broken some sacred code. “Never. The spiral it would send him down would be catastrophic.”

Your heart fluttered, petrified by the chance you truly would never be able to get it off your chest. Would you have to carry this weight forever? “Even now that he’s doing better?”

“Especially so.”

Every time you saw his name, anytime anyone talked about him, anytime you saw his photos in magazines, news articles, or posts online. No heavenly release, no damnation to hell. An endless purgatory.

He rubbed salt in the wound with his clarity. “Let me be clear: to tell a patient who suffers with paranoia and delusions that the circumstances surrounding their crisis was in any part fabricated is perilous.

As I said before: this is a secret you must keep.”

You mustered a goodbye and crumbled to your knees.

Bruce had just stepped into the kitchen when Alfred arrived. “Where’s the young lady?”

“Went home.” He dumped the snacks on the counter and roughly categorized them, feeling the nagging pull of the old man’s silence. God, he was plotting.

“Are the two of you… going out?”

He slammed the drinks in the fridge and considered putting a bell on the man’s shoes. “No.” He huffed past, noting Alfred peering at him over his glasses. “Don’t know why you’re confused.”

“Even me being in hospital couldn’t keep you from your duties.”

Bruce had half a mind to never bring you back here, and an even pettier urge to start responding to such inquiries as if you’d never existed. What ‘young lady’? Alfred, you must’ve seen a ghost. “The signal hasn’t been lit.”

“I was unaware your patrols were so exclusive.”

He grit his teeth. “What is this?”

“Only checking in, Bruce.” His unhurried gait brought him to his tea kettle; Bruce was so used to its scream he’d nearly forgotten the thing’s purpose. He used to take his bedtime tea at eleven, but it crept closer to twilight with each passing year. “You used to tell me things before I asked, you know.”

“Fine.” His arms slapped to his sides, stalled in the foyer. “I like her. That good enough for you?”

Alfred’s eyes sparkled, the corners of his mouth turning up. He hadn’t anticipated an easy reveal, but he couldn’t say he was surprised. “Quite.”

Bruce scoffed, taking the steps three at a time. He waited on his floor before climbing the additional levels to the theater room. Your blanket—his blanket—was folded neatly on the arm of the couch. Dory’s meticulous presence was additionally noted by the lack of fingerprints on the smooth black remote; he turned it over in his palm, not totally believing he’d spoken it out loud. Alfred wouldn’t dare tell, would he? He glanced again at the blanket. Only Dory, probably.

His phone buzzed.

Forgot to thank you for the ride.

No problem. When do you want your bag?

You texted plenty over the weekend; you rationalized it by saying it would help him acclimate to your physical absence and serve as a transition piece. Topics never strayed from small talk, which you were grateful for. Messages about the weather, chancing the occasional meme off Scypher (his reactions had evolved from ‘ha’ to ‘lol!’, which you were ridiculously proud of), and inconsequential updates on the research. You contemplated staying in touch with him this way and not having a hard break, but couldn’t parse whether it was more for you or him.

By the weekend’s end, plane tickets were booked and Mar had claimed most of your apartment’s furniture via FaceTime. You’d sent an email to Dr. Vry about your impending absence, letting her know you’d turn in supplies and the final column by end of day Friday. More and more minutes passed staring out the window with a discordant longing.

Bruce lit up your phone as you dug into Phish Food for dinner. “What’s up?”

“Hey.” Keys clacked in the background. “Might’ve found something worth looking into.”

“Like what?” Swirls of fluffy marshmallow caught your spoon. Perhaps you could sneak him a pint as a parting gift at City Hall.

“Have you ever worn contacts?”

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