Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It all started with those damn glasses. 

No, scratch that, it all started when you were put in “labour limbo,” to quote the corporate jargon you so loathed. You find yourself trapped in your house after scoring a seemingly cushy remote job, after getting your degree in Customer Service.

All it took was a few moments until a new adventure came up, from a particular message on Thiscord.

Any second now you will receive a delivery via drone to your front door. Tell absolutely no one it is in your possession.

You hear a particularly loud (relative to everything else) shatter of glass, and you rush to your front door, seeing a strangely cleanly wrapped package and the offending drone that got it.

What is this? You ask yourself as you open the box to reveal…

Glasses.

Notwithstanding the fact that it came from a completely unknown source and you were unsure whether it would kill you, something nonetheless compelled you to put them on.

“Hey there!”

The cute pink-haired lady that suddenly appeared before you made you jump. You certainly didn’t invite anyone to the house.

It must be the post-labour limbo jitters, you say, but as you blink your eyes, she continued to be there.

You ogled as you let half of what she was explaining slip past you. Something about Directly Acknowledging a Thing’s Existence (Date?), and… what’s that about getting to know my household objects better? 

And… finding… love?

You don’t process her trailing off after a moment, still in awe at the situation you’ve just put yourself into.

“Hello?” Skylar (you caught her name, at least), waved, a bit concerned. “Are you still with me?”

“U-uh, yeah,” you hear yourself speak, wondering how this… communication was unfolding in the first place.

“Let’s go on our first date!”

“W-wait,” you continue to say, shaking your head. “What?”

“It’s okay, it won’t hurt,” she says in her sing-song voice. “Just kidding! We’re about to awaken our first dateable object!”

“Right,” you say, wondering how this was about to unfold.

But something clicks.

So if this is how my glasses look, you say to yourself… 

… am I surrounded by a bunch of undiscovered hotties around the house?

“Go to a door, any door, and shoot some cool beams at it, yeah! P-pew pew pew! Go! Go!” She finishes her spiel, finger guns up in the air. Then she disappears, presumably for you to go and “date” your “door.”

Right. 

You rub your eyes, making sure they weren’t really pulling tricks on you. Something about your surroundings changes when you have the glasses on, and it certainly isn’t just the filter.

You shrug and look ahead at your now-broken front door, wanting to humour your glasses. Almost effortlessly, you sense the glasses charging up until…

The tall bouncer energy radiating off of the tall stranger caught you off-guard. You jump back, startled, but he merely raises an eyebrow at you.

Hot damn. 

He opens his mouth for the first time, and the smooth, sultry voice reels you in.

“No funny business. I don’t want to see those spectacles being used for something untoward.”

You ignore the awoooogahs going off in your brain as you continue to stare at the personification of your fucking front door .

“Hey Dorian! Trust me, this is going to go super well!”

“You sure about that?” Dorian asks her. 

Quick, self, say something!

“I am chaos reborn.”

“You hear that?” He sneers. “Chaos Reborn?”

Well, fuck. 

“No, no, no, it’s just them messing around with some funny options… I swear!” Skylar turns to you and nudges you by the elbow, making you almost fall from the unexpected force. “After Awakening an object for the first time - you get to speak with them here! You get to speak with each object once per day.”

“We get a little knackered by using this newfangled dateviator rubbish, y’see.”

Knackered, you chuckle inwardly, wondering about the debated origins of the word beyond just physical exhaustion.

Skylar continues to explain something about relationship statuses.

“Love can get you toward some really special paths for those you are truly interested in…”

Love, huh?

“But it’s not necessarily the best of the options in my mind,” Dorian butts in.

Your heart sinks.

“Dorian is a big defender of Friendship,” Skylar explained.

“If everyone were friends, the world would be an awful lot safer in my opinion.” He said with an air of finality. “I’ve seen the complications of love. I’ve lived through the jealous quarrels of hate. The true bond is one between two friends with none of the intricacies of romantic tension.”

Well, fuck.

You nonetheless dare to ogle at the figure before you, his speech going into one ear and out the other. 

“That’s our bouncer Dorian talking - but you can go toward whichever one you like. Even hate… which isn’t my fave personally…”

Skylar and Dorian go off on a tangent about someone called Reggie (whoever that is) before the door-man faces you once more. 

“Human, you seem like a good sort. So we’ll be friends… for now.” A jingle plays, seemingly emitted by the glasses.

For now, you repeat to yourself, a glimmer of hope (…or delusion?) starting to form deep inside you.

“Feels good, yeah? But friendship gets you even more than that!”

You were only half-listening as Skylar explained the SPECS points to you. That was an awkward way to start your day, but you somehow stayed transfixed to the handsome figure towering before you. He looks your way, however, and you have to flick your eyes back to the spectacular specs and pretend you were paying attention. You can feel heat rise up to your face, something you haven’t felt in a long time.

“Duty calls, love.” The pet name makes you warm a little further inside.

“Bye, Dorian!”

Bye, Dorian, you were meaning to say, but the words got stuck on your tongue. 

Skylar turns to you, finalizing the logistics. She was about to lead you to the ‘Accept’ part of the Terms & Conditions page for these glasses, and stops herself. She smirks once she notices your dazed expression.

”Helloo, earth to human?” She says, fanning her arm out in front of you. “You can wipe your drool off your face. Dorian’s gone.”

”O-oh, right,” you say, instinctively bringing the back of your hand up… until you realise that your face was, in fact, clean.

”Hey!” You say, as she laughs, receding as you go on to the next thing to wake up: your phone.

“Oh hey there! It’s you!”

You find yourself in the familiarity of your office the next morning, now revisiting each object you had here like it were brand-new. Yesterday was a whirlwind of new dateables to meet - who knew your mirror, toolbox, breaker box, and washer/dryer combo were all drop-dead gorgeous?

This newfound enthusiasm made you just that tad bit more eager to explore the house you thought you were already so familiar with.

You have multiple orifices for a reason, of course . 

“Whoa, there,” your computer said, arms crossed. “You better work on keeping your internal monologue internal . It’s in the name.” 

"I said that?” You were jolted out of your thoughts by this cutie, the personification of your desktop computer. “I mean, of course it’s you. Who else would it be, right?” 

"But I know you’re joking, as no one else has my password… actually, just to be 100% sure, what is my password anyway?” They say expectantly, arms crossed.

You somehow still need to rack your brain for a moment before sheepishly looking back.

“Password.”

“That is affirmative!”

Naturally.

“Honestly, that’s an objectively terrible password.”

Oh.

“Possibly the worst password chosen by anyone ever.”

All right, no need to rub it in.

“Whatever possessed you to choose something so inane?”

“Honestly, I don’t put a lot of thought into these things,” you lamely defend yourself, wanting to change topic.

“Yes, that is extremely evident,” they deadpan. “Regardless, we really ought to discuss coming up with something a lot more secure.” They go on about the variety of scary-sounding things that could happen to their system if left unprotected.

“They are?” You say, concerned you never thought about this before. But then again, you never thought about your household objects coming to life as a possibility, either.

“Absolutely. And I’ve got a lot of highly sensitive information inside me, you know. Your highly sensitive information." They list it down with their fingers. "All your financial accounts… your saved games… questionable websites you visited and forgot to clear your cache afterwards.” 

“Fair enough.”

“Oh, and 100TB of extremely embarrassing self-insert fanfic.”

Oh.

For years, you’d been indulging yourself in your little… side hustle. Jumping from fandom to fandom, eventually falling for the hot main character (or side character, or whoever was on hand that your brain decided to latch onto), and, rather than channeling your energy into meeting people in real life, you decide to vent your frustrations about not having said characters through the completely legitimate and valid profession of fanfiction-writing.

“We really need to ensure all that data is properly protected against cybercriminals probing my system for weaknesses.”

“Wait…” You say, mind still on the last part. “How’d you get my fanfic?!”

”You wrote it using me. It’s all saved on my hard drive. And before you accuse me of a breach of privacy, I didn’t intentionally ‘read’ your fanfic,” Mac rebuts, with air quotes. “It’s just impossible for me not to have knowledge of your fanfic, as its data is inextricably linked to my brain.” They pause. “Does that make sense?”

You slowly nod. Then you think about another question.

”So do you have any feedback?” You say, wiggling your eyebrows.

”Feedback? Hmmm…”

You didn’t realize they were gonna take the offer up.

”Well, I am not a literary critic. However, I do have access to all literary criticism that exists on the internet. So if i were to amalgamate that information to synthesize an informed opinion, I’d say…”

Oh, boy.

You felt your self-esteem dropping several notches a minute the longer you let Mac speak about how having over 100 lovers is not particularly believable nor feasible.

"It’s called fiction for a reason, I suppose," they conclude.

A profound silence entered the space between you two. You did not expect yourself to be read to filth on this beautiful Monday morning.

“I haven’t even had the opportunity to properly introduce myself. I’m Mac: your desktop computer.”

But I have a Wi– I mean, Doors Operating System!

Ha. Doors.

“I mean, we’ve obviously met before. More than met. You interface with me on average for 11.4 hours every day after all.”

That explains the migraines.

“There’s no one I’d rather have interfacing with my operating system for 11.4 hours daily. 14.6 hours on the weekends.”

If there was one thing Mac was good at, it was reading you to filth, this time for your screen time habits.

”I mean, the fanfic is not going to write themselves, you know?” You laugh.

“I just wanted to express how enthusiastic I am that we’re interfacing like this now. Accessing each other’s software in this new symmetrical way.”

"Likewise!"

It seems like you two would be getting along like a house on fire.

Your second day ended on a high note. You lay on your bed, a changed person forever. Even with the new characters, however, your mind still goes back to your tall, handsome door.

One thing’s for sure, though, you promise to yourself, somehow making bars worthy for Jean-Loo in the process.

It’s now my life mission to get dicked down by that Doorman Dorian.

Chapter Text

Another day passes by. 

“The gymnasium,” Dorian announces regally, his tattooed arms crossed in front of him. “Do you enjoy coming here?”

“I do,” you lie through your teeth. Dorian does not seem to mind.

It’s become a habit for you to go to Dorian first thing in the morning. You hope he doesn’t notice the pattern. Something about starting with him sets the day up for success.

Another thing you neglect to tell him, too, is your quest to get to know all of his doors. You were a perfectionist at heart, which means you were going to explore him thoroughly before he explores you— er, I mean, explore all his forms around the house.

“I always am eager to see you strengthen yourself,” he beams, his million-dollar smile brightening up the room even before you come in. “If you’re looking to meet some new faces, I could tell you about ‘em.”

“Sure, who is here?”

“You’ll find Stepford, Kristof, and Dunk more than anyone here. And if you find the temperature a bit too stuffy,” Dorian pauses, clears his throat, and calls out, “ Hector , ¡Baje la temperatura, por favor!”

You suddenly feel the temperature drop, enough to make you shiver a little.

“How did you do that? And… and was that Spanish?”

“Hector’s your HVAC,” he explains. “And I may know a few more languages other than English, contrary to the, erm, stereotype.” He looks away.

“You’re so cool!” You gush, which only makes him look like he’d rather be anywhere else in this house. Which he technically is.

“So is Hector. What can I do for you?”

Do me.

”What?”

That was the second time in recent memory your inner monologue leaked. You vow not to have a repeat of that in the future.

“Erm, tell me about the residents of the gym…”

He patiently describes the rest of the objects in the gym, giving you advice as to how best to interact with them. You stand there enraptured, not only by the handsome doorman, but also the depth of knowledge he seems to store inside him.

“Ta.” He fades away after you send him off, showing no indication he heard the slip of your tongue.

You then revisit your gym, home to an intimidating treadmill, your teddy bear of many years, tucked inside the closet, and someone who seems to be your biggest fan. You were surprised at the range of characters you missed out without these glasses.

Maybe it was time I did a bit more self-improvement, you thought to yourself, holding Dorian’s prior words close and activating the treadmill–

“AAAAAAAAAAUUUUUGGGGHHH!!!”

Well, this is gonna be a long and hard journey ahead…

As you were about to exhaust your glasses’ charge for the day by pointing them at your old holiday decorations, you suddenly remember you had a promise to keep.

Mac’s software update!

“By the way, I also wanted to articulate: that new underwear you ordered online looks incredibly stylish.”

A slight flush creeps across their cheeks. And a slight panic also rises within you.

“Wait, you saw that?” You say, almost in a squeak.

“I may have snuck a peek. I hope that’s alright? I would never intentionally invade your privacy. It’s just that obviously I see everything you do on the computer. Because I… am your computer.”

You suddenly put two and two together. Then that means the hundreds of terabytes’ worth of fanfiction… you shudder to think that your now-personified computer has seen through all the cringe that you’ve put yourself into over the years.

Fortunately, the agenda for today would help you get your mind off of that. In any case, it would be a sort of apology for all the shit they have had to put up with over the years. You were now going to give them their first software update in decades.

“The software update takes up an inordinate amount of space on my hard-drive. Terabytes more space than is currently available. The only way out of this predicament is for you to somehow delete a massive amount of data.”

Okay, no problem then, you tell yourself. “What can I do?”

“And after analyzing every byte on my hard drive, it appears the only superfluous data is… your fanfic,” they sigh.

Your heart sinks at the realization.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to delete a substantial portion of it to install the update…” they say tentatively.

“I understand,” you try to reply cheerfully, if only to reassure this new face that you wanted to get your relationship going, but deep down, the thought of having to say goodbye to decades’ worth of your writing journey…

“I know how difficult this must be for you, but it would mean the world to me. And I promise it will be totally worth it in the end. Just imagine how smart - and clever - and gorgeous I’ll be once I’m fully updated.” They plead, sensing your doubt. “So what do you say, can we delete those files?” 

You realise that there was nowhere else to go for this quest but forward. You nod, take a deep breath, and get the mouse.

“Your selflessness only makes my affection cache for you increase exponentially. You are the absolute best, and you are not going to regret this… but wait!”

You hover over the delete button on a folder innocuously named “DO NOT READ PRIVATE INFORMATION.”

“How could I forget, I discovered something that may be of use to you – if you wanted to save your fics,” Mac continued, dragging the cursor away. “There would be another means for you to do that. It’s through the cloud.”

I know what the cloud is, thank you very much .

But this gives you a glimmer of hope.

“Say, have you ever heard of the website Our Favourite Fan Fiction, often referred to by its subscribers as OF3?”

Your interest is piqued by the suggestion.

“I’m listening.”

Hours pass as you painstakingly migrate all of your stories onto the website, curating them with the appropriate tags. It passes by thanks to Mac, who has patiently helped you with the upload.

You may have been sidetracked by browsing through some… less than publication-worthy ones, which you have decided to banish for eternity. That may have been about half of the terabytes.

As you wind down, putting the finishing touches for your most recent self-insert, you hear Mac breathe a sigh of relief as they bring you the storage status of the computer.

“Hmm. Phew! Now there’s enough available space on the hard drive! We can finally install the update! And you can keep your fics! It’s a win-win for all.”

Days pass and you realize that each door in the house was an opportunity to find out a different side of Dorian.

Back Dorian was… something. You could not believe your eyes as Dorian was literally just standing, back facing you, a prime opportunity to see his back door.

“What are you looking at?” He said, voice muffled from facing away.

The Dorian on the upstairs closet warned you against entering because of the Breaker Box (you neglect to tell him you snuck in a few days back). And the Dorian to your bedroom tried laughing, the awkwardness of which made him more endearing than ever before.

Ha! Ha! Ha!

All the same, it was the helpful, smart, goofy-deep-down Dorian you were starting to fall harder for. 

If only you knew I was barking, but not in that way , you wistfully say as you walk past Bedroom Dorian.

What makes you tick? You think to yourself frustrated. There were no visible signs of change in the way you interact after days, but you were nonetheless filled with determination.

You’ve got several more doors you haven’t met yet.

And I like my boys playing hard-to-get, you continue singing the line in your head, from a song recommended by one of Tony's distant relatives. You forget the name.

What would my degree in customer service be useful for if not for figuring out how best to crack him open?

In the meantime…

“So, self-insert fanfic, huh?” You say to yourself, cracking your knuckles as you loom over your freshly-updated desktop.

Chapter Text

“The first floor bathroom… one of the more relaxing places, if I do say so myself.”

You have been getting quite familiar with the residents of the gym, frequenting it almost daily if only to try and make yourself fit. 

Some might say you were doing this to impress a particular door.

“First floor? That’s downstairs.”

“Oh, you yanks are all the same,” he sighed. “This is the first floor, the première étage . Downstairs is the GROUND floor. Because it’s on the ground.”

“Oh, that does make sense,” you say, choosing not to comment on the fact he decided to flex his French from out of nowhere. You feel reassured for Jean Loo.

“Course it does. I am the single path from the gymnasium to the first floor bathroom,” he says, a bit of pride in his voice. “Without me here, I could see you drenched in sweat after a workout, pathetically wandering from no less than two other rooms and doors until at last you are surrounded by the welcoming sight of the washroom.”

“You like that, though, don’t you?” You dare to ask. He seems taken aback by your boldness, flushing red in the process.

“Uh, erm, well,” he stutters briefly, adjusting his key-necklace and collar, and looking straight ahead. “I-Imagine the shame as your unwashed form slithers across the second floor landing, witnessed by all the other objects – gazing at you from lidless eyes,” he continues on, as if reciting pre-prepared lines. “Where would you be without one such as me?”

“That’s very helpful, Dorian,” you say earnestly.

“I am nothing but at your service, sir. ” You swear he specifically drew the last word out for you as he bows and gestures for you to enter.

Something about that you makes you feel some type of way internally.

“You’ve been spending more time interfacing with me, human.”

“I have?” You feign ignorance at the observation. Mac was now newly-updated, something which they will not stop thanking you for. You’re glad you could be of service to someone.

“Yes, in fact, your screen time has gone off the charts with an average of three additional hours across the board. What’s going on?”

“Well, it was that OF3 site you pointed me out to,” you say. “I never knew other people felt the same way about my comfort characters!”

“Believe you me, I know,” they reply. “Sometimes, people will latch onto the most interesting character and be the thirstiest creatures for them online. I didn’t know that was what you were doing!”

“I learned from the best,” you explain. “Instead of keeping my data vulnerable, I go on Incognito Mode.”

“Oh, I see.” For once, Mac seems impressed by your digital habits. 

“I didn’t know you were unable to see it,” you lie through your teeth. In fact, you thanked your lucky stars that your hunch was correct.

“I can’t, unfortunately! But that’s just the price you pay for having extra privacy, am I right?” Mac laughs.

Because goodness knows how you would react if you knew whom I was writing about.

Those additional hours, needless to say, were your creative outlet. After months of dried-up motivation, you jump back into writing your adult self-insert fanfic, aptly titled Unhinged .

It’s a slow burn love story about a person so enamoured by their door, replete with doubts, hesitation, betrayal, jealousy, and—

Who were you kidding? The story is about letting Front Dorian (and his other forms) rail you and bend you over in multiple different positions, a multichapter fuck-fest. That’s the plot.

The first story was a meager warm-up, an exploration into kissing and what would happen if you leave lipstick marks on your dateables (spoiler: a good time).

Then things ramp up very quickly in the chapters afterwards.

In some of them, you let the other doors have you all at once, too, you chuckle to yourself.

Every time you add to your scenarios and chapters, you feel like the scientist about to create Frankenstein. Except you sometimes reread what you wrote in such a frenzy and you want to shrivel up and die of cringe. 

That particular frustration was especially acute for your smut, which you cannot write for your life. You look through the works of other people, who seemed to have just conjured up the most seamless love-making sessions on the page, while you think about the logistics of the act as if it were some well-choreographed dance routine.

Have you ever tried… this one ? You catch yourself thinking one session, as you let your fictional self and Dorian go through another position you were not sure about. You really were putting his fictional form through its paces.

It probably did not help that you were, in fact, inexperienced in the act, so you wing the descriptions, alchemize something out of a random assortment of gestures you saw from other stories, and hope for the best, covering your eyes as you hit the Publish button.

If writing fanfiction was not enough, you manage somehow to spill your crush to some more of the residents of your house.

You’re a huge yapper, after all. You don’t know how you managed to survive all these past months cooped up with only you and your thoughts present.

”So, how was your date with Dorian today?” Betty teases you as you curl up with her, ready to doze off to Dreamland.

”Be quiet,” you hissed as you lifted your glasses and quickly looked around. “Couldn’t he hear you?”

”Don’t worry, sweetie,” she says. “So long as you don’t point your glasses towards any of the doors, you’re good.”

The bedroom was the hardest to avoid Dorian in, mainly because you have four different forms of him here. You thus decide to turn away from them, now facing the mirror and that suspect dresser, on which your diary and cat-themed clock rest.

”It was fine,” you say. “I thought the glasses were glitching out when I met him in the kitchen, is all.”

”Oh, that Dorian,” she concurs, chuckling. “I’ve heard about him.”

You could still hear Dorian, standing on a stool and reminding you about his importance relative to the others.

I’m still a door. Not a cabinet. Not a hatch. A door. Just as much as the rest. Understand?

You play along, saying you didn’t understand at least five times until he gave up on the conversation.

Bollocks.

”Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

The flowery form of Ben-Hwa appears in your field of view. They definitely were the more… aggressive of the two, wanting you to jump his bones ASAP , to quote them directly. You try to explain that this was not the best route, as much as you wanted to get it over with.

Not while the Door in question is so closed off (heh) to everyone.

”Hey, Ben-Hwa,” you say, as you try to stifle a yawn. You weren’t ready for an interview about your escapades (or lack thereof) right before bed. “Not a lot happened today with Dorian, just the usual.”

”Why won’t you two just duck already?” The familiar shape of the rubber duck appeared, and you’re startled at this ambush.

”If you need my services, kid,” another cool figure also appeared. “I think I can help you crack him open.”

“Wall!”

”Rebel? Bobby? Wallace? Hold on – why are you all invested in this?”

”You have not stopped talking about your pookie since we met you.”

That statement shut you up for a good bit.

”First of all, I object to you calling him pookie because I slipped up that one time,” you counter, feeling yourself heat up. “Second of all, am I… that obvious?”

“Even Hector up there is having a field day adjusting temperatures whenever you two speak,” Bobby deadpanned.

“Sorry!” You hear him call out from above.

So I wasn’t hallucinating when it suddenly felt hot–

”Well, not obvious enough for that ducking bouncer.”

“Wall.”

”I’m tired,” you lamely say, yawning and turning around to avoid their inquisitions, when—

“Careful!”

Your glasses almost catch the outline of the bathroom door, and you feel a cozy, plush hand successfully maneuver them away in the nick of time.

“S-sorry about that,” you say to Teddy as he appears alongside you. Realizing they would not let go of the issue at hand, you surrender to the makeshift press conference of items scattered on your bedside.

“He doesn’t know what he’s missing out on, azizam,” Amir pipes in from above the dresser, once again framing you through his hands. “Why, if you’d let me, I’d go and give him a word–”

“That’s– not needed,” you say, Amir being so wound up about it. “But… thanks you guys. For hearing me out.”

“Why not?” Ben-Hwa shrugs. “You’ve been miserable here, cooped up for goodness knows how long–”

“The least we could do is help you be happy,” Betty continues for her, and you feel her snuggle closer with you.

For all it’s worth, I, the narrator, also wholeheartedly support you in your endeavours to romance Dorian, if it means I continue to get paid to tell this story.

“Who said that?” You call out. The others look around.

That was extremely rude of you.

“Remember the advice I told you!” Teddy chips in.

“Wall!”

“You take care of us,” Rebel concedes, looking away. “N-not that I’m saying thank you or anything. Duck off.”

“And that means, azizam, that we will take care of you.”

“Thank you, seriously,” you say through… moist eyes?

You never imagined that your fortunes would reverse in such a short period of time. From feeling stuck in a labour limbo, with no one else to talk to apart from Sam, to… this. 

“I love you guys,” you said finally, letting that tear fall down your face at last. 

“Group hug!” Mateo called, and you feel your newfound friends envelop you like a warm blanket (for the record, Mateo arrived late to the party, but was all for the hugs just the same).

“If there’s anything else you need,” an authoritative voice came from above. “Let me or Florence know, okay?”

You jolt up at the voice. The dateables look at one another.

Hold on a minute.

“Mayor Celia, who told you about–”

“Wall…”

Chapter Text

Despite the impromptu reassurances from your newfound friends, however, Dorian does not seem to budge. You have already gotten to know nine different forms of him (not that you were listing them down on Diana, of course), and yet…

If that wasn’t enough, you wonder how the fuck Dorian still seems to be oblivious to your secret.

”Mornin’, love,” Ground Floor Bathroom Dorian appears before you, one of the many ground floor Dorians you haven’t explored yet besides the front and back doors from the period you affectionately called your “Tutorial Era.” The pet name somehow has become routine for you. 

”Doing good?” you reply.

He hummed in agreement. “What can I do for you?”

Why are you so closed off?

”Why are you so nice to me?”

He seems taken aback by the question.

”Because it’s my duty to help you,” he says. “We’re friends, right?”

“But friends can get intimate too, you know, in many ways,” you venture to press on. “Like, I don’t know, share each other’s deepest, darkest secrets, if you have those–”

“That may be true,” he replies quickly. “But it doesn’t need to be forced, either, does it?”

You feel your face heat up from the subtle rejection.

“Besides, remember what I told you. I’ve been through it all, including the messy result of forcing something that shouldn’t have been ventured into in the first place. And I want none of the complications of losing someone you appreciate just because you messed up.”

The true bond is one between two friends with none of the intricacies of romantic tension.

Despite trying to find the silver lining in all this, you can’t help but feel your heart sink.

You had to hand it to Dorian for being consistent, though. Always helpful, willing to get you intel about the residents of the room before you jump in. The thought of such care never hit you until then. You feel a well of affection for him on that reflection, and something in you wants to hug him then and there.

“What can I do for you?” He repeats, back to his usual chipper self. 

But another part of you doesn’t want to overcomplicate things while your emotions are all over the place, so you resign yourself to listening to his explanation about the residents in this particular room.

Maybe he’s right, you think to yourself. Friendship with him is the way to go.

Despite your delusion, or maybe in denial of it, you don’t notice how close he gets to you when you talk to him.

Or how his eyes linger on you as you step into the room, interacting with your… interesting shower. Or beautiful mirror. Or crapper (NOTE: cool rapper) toilet.

After that conversation, something else was in the air. And it wasn’t just you. 

Your dateables are getting a little bit more creative in their… interventions. 

For example, you swear you didn’t have a stray box lying around in the middle of the floor, but… you find yourself tripping over one, curiously placed in the middle of the hallway. But just as you resigned yourself to meeting Farya after…

“Steady there!”

You don’t feel the hard touch of wood. Or plaster. Or floor, for that matter. You feel the firm grasp of Dorian as he manages to catch you in the nick of time, his strong arms enveloping you. 

Why does this seem familiar , you catch yourself thinking. You try your best to steady your now-increasing heart rate.

Is… is this the first time I’ve made physical contact with him?

He was warm to the touch, despite his steely (or woody) exterior. You could almost lose yourself in him when all of a sudden, a filter of falling flower petals appears on your glasses. 

“What the— can you see this, Dorian?” You gesture to your glasses. 

“What? Seems all good to me, intact and all that.” he says as he peers through the device, only it meant he also looked you directly in the eye. “Uh… right.” He looks away, and sets you back up, brushing you off out of instinct.  “Don’t want to get the glasses damaged, right? Can’t have you going back to your miserable self before meeting us…”

“T-thanks,” you manage to say, brushing yourself off and walking away. 

“ Skylar ,” you hiss out of earshot. 

“Whoopsies! Accidentally discovered that top - secret filter feature in my settings,” she says cheerfully, no hint of remorse in her voice. 

Another time, you were wrapping up your hunt for one of Mateo’s inanimals in the gym closet. 

In your worse moods, you wonder why the past few days seemed to be an endless marathon of to-dos. You had to patch up relations with Dirk and Harper, get your stackables talking to each other again, and make Bobby go around in a whole whirlwind of adventure. And that was just the laundry room!

You start to wonder during those times whether you were in some sort of simulation about forming relations with everything. Almost like it was your responsibility to date… everything.

Huh. Rolls off the tongue, you catch yourself thinking one day. Could be a good title for something. You vow to figure out how to make it into a marketable product one day.

On brighter days, you find this to be a great opportunity to make yourself useful, getting to know your objects intimately and finally being of use to them instead of the other way around. You’re filled with gratitude for those times you are able to solve their problems. It makes your labour limbo seem a lot less isolating.

You felt satisfied that you were making progress towards his quest, until—

You try and slide open the closet door.

Locked , you think to yourself, panic building inside you.

How were you going to get out of it? Who was going to find your body? Will you be in the same predicament as Zoey? Will the future owners of the house eventually be able to summon you with the glasses they find on your body? You try and pull harder, but find yourself hesitating because you didn’t know whether forcing it would hurt Dorian. So you instead you use your remaining charge to–

“What can I do for you?” Dorian materializes before you, and before you know it, you make a beeline towards him, trying your best to look cool, calm, and collected; in reality, your breaths were short, and a look of concern was evident in Dorian’s features.

”I can’t open you,” you say, as you lean against his chest. He does not pull away; instead, he wraps himself around you.

“Love, it’s all right,” you hear Dorian from above, stroking your back as you make yourself calm down with deep breaths. “I’m here. You’re safe with me.”

You find yourself content in this position, wishing it would not stop. 

All of a sudden, you hear the door release open, and you see a suspicious bunch of garland unwrapping themselves from underneath. You put two and two together.

”I— I need to go,” you abruptly say, springing out of Dorian’s grasp without a further word. You glare at your holiday decorations as you storm out into the freedom of… the house you were locked in.

You check your watch and find that you were locked in for a grand total of seven minutes, on the dot.

You learned several things that day. 

One — Your objects are going to be the death of you. No longer were they content at watching you fumble your own door, they were now actively conspiring to make sure you stroke his wood . 

Two — you were probably not going to wash your clothes you wore during those… encounters. 

Sorry, Dirk…

“What the fuck.”

You shake your head at your phone, closing the OF3 tab on your browser.

A rookie mistake, for starters.

“What was that I just saw?” Phoenicia appears beside you, eyebrow raised and with a smirk. She shows no sign of being traumatised by the (relatively) new side of you.

“Oh, I–” you rack your brain to figure out how to reply without making it worse.

“Don’t you worry darling,” she continues. “Your secret’s safe with me.” She gave you a wink. “Since when has this been a thing? You know, your… literature .”

You feel your face heat up. “For a few years now,” you mumble. “About other characters. Just happened to start again because of new… inspiration.”

“Right. Inspiration ,” she repeated thoughtfully. “Well, don’t you go forgetting about your privacy, like Mac said!” She called after you cryptically.

You storm your office, booting up Mac at an unusual time. This wasn’t a matter of your livelihood. It was worse.

It was a barrage of trolls on your most recent fanfic about Dorian.

About Dorian, you repeat to yourself, blushing at the semi-journal it turned out to be. Not that you were memorizing everything he told you and embellishing it with your personal touches and adding moments of passionate love-making in between, of course. 

You weren’t that delusional, right?

In any case, you were wanting to check your account for just a brief moment when you find hundreds (well… dozens, let’s be real) of notifications criticizing your writing style, your tendency to blue-ball the reader because of your lack of confidence in your smut, reusing imagery (there was only so much you can do with the word knob or keyhole before it got stale), among other things.

The worst accusation of it all?

Calling your premise unbelievable .

Unbelievable . Ha! 

Try and get your own fucking dateviators and let’s see who’s unbelievable now , you say to yourself, oblivious to the fact that those were a combination of words never uttered before in the history of humanity.

You get into a rhythm quickly, attacking the most inane comments first, and jumping onto the ones you felt most the last. You’re even tempted to add proper citations to your comebacks, just for the air of authority.

However, in your haste to one up these trolls, you forgot to turn on Incognito Mode.

Chapter Text

Well, it wasn’t just ordinary tiredness. It was a deep fatigue that they haven’t felt in a while.

They have constantly been by your side for the past decade or so, and they know your habits intimately.

11.4 hours daily. 14.6 hours on the weekends.

What they did not expect was a sudden explosion of screen time on their system, which somehow coincidentally started a few days after they got their dateviators.

The last session you had with them, in particular, got them worried. They never felt you type that fast nor forcefully in quite a while.

Their software update allowed them to take a peek into their system, taking stock and making sure everything was in tip-top shape.

As they arrived at your browser, however…

What’s this ? They see that your browser history was absolutely littered with OF3 pages. A suspiciously-titled collection, called “Everything is Dateable,” catches their attention.

”It couldn’t hurt to take a gander… right?” They say to themselves as they peered into it.

Their eyes opened wide as they took in the gravity of the… let’s say unhinged saga you put yourself into this time.

I didn’t know—

Mac closes the window as quickly as they could, but the words were now seared into their consciousness, a burning car crash they can’t take their eyes off of. Except this was about the human , and the door that guarded every single room in this house.

They didn’t realize their discovery elicited a gasp from them, until a deep voice almost made the computer jump.

”You okay there?” Dorian calls out, concern etched into his features.

”U-uh, all good!” Mac tries to reply in a normal fashion, giving him a thumbs up. Dorian fortunately chooses to ignore the jitteriness and settles back into his usual place.

”Good.”

Down bad barking at the gym, or whatever the hell the famous mega-mop-star Taylor Swiffer said, Mac thought as they finally entered the third type of sleep they explained to the human about just a few days ago.

Meanwhile, your newfound friends have offered to help you get your confidence up.

Amir started coaching you on your appearance, giving you advice on beauty and clothes to wear (Clarence, on the other hand, was eager to help, and he did so with Bat-Man’s company). You didn’t realise that your mirror just had access to a wide variety of knowledge on fashion, and to him you were grateful for part of your glow-up.

Barry, likewise, lectured you fondly on the ways to make your skin glow, providing you with product recommendation after recommendation and consulting you on which ones to put on when and how much and so on. You were overwhelmed by the information he was giving you all at once, but Phoenicia was there to note it down. Mac gave you encouragement as you ordered the entire product line-up in one sitting, though this curiously included a replacement Red Toothbrush, because yours inexplicably disappeared from the bathroom one day. River refused to comment why, and neither did Amir or any of the other bathroom residents.

(It seemed, though, that Lux had gotten him to “plug” some of their products, which is why you couldn’t find half of the things Barry had been telling you online. You hope that this would not be a setback to your new routine.)

Jean-Loo was earnest, although his help was questionable at best in terms of its applicability to your situation. He energetically taught you the way of the word, and you can now boast that you can crap (NOTE: cool rap) better than most (besides him, of course, a fact he will not let you forget). At least you had some more new vocabulary in your arsenal.

And of course, your friends at the gym were happy to accommodate you whenever you were not hanging with Mac. Fantina was a particular boost to your self-esteem, and she would be your loudest cheerleader, even during that one time you fell flat on your face on Kristoph as he sped up the treadmill all of a sudden.

All of this was going on, while you swore you heard Rainey from downstairs playing some sort of… motivational montage music?

“You’ve really put your foot in it now.”

“What did I do?” You ask, your foot half into the closet. This was your first time speaking to Dorian in quite a while, and you eagerly seek confirmation that your glow-up was evident.

“You’ve found the most forgotten Dorian in the house. The laundry closet. ” He says it with disdain. “Thematically redundant. There’s already a door here. There’s a cabinet. Was there really need for a closet?”

“Yet you still came here,” he says. “Is it… because you truly love me?” You could swear he turned several shades redder at that.

So did you.

Fuck it.

In the spur of the moment, you reach forward, cupping his face in your hand. This startles him, but after the initial shock, he does not move away. “Yes, Dorian, I love you!” You say, gleefully.

“I don’t believe you,” he says, pulling away immediately and finding the wall extremely interesting all of a sudden. “But I suppose I can tell you about all the objects who are in here… if you even care.”

You swear you were going to throttle that door (and not in a sexual way… not yet at least).

After he lists the residents in the room, he sighs.

“That’s it. Nobody else. I’m done speaking of this dreadful place,” he finishes.

“It’s not that bad…”

“Oh, woe is me,” he says, almost to himself. And with that, he disappears.

“Why, hello, there, human! It seems like someone has been, in the parlance of the youth, blue balled –”

“Drysdale, shut it.”

“Don’t talk to him like that.”

“Sorry, Washford. Sorry, Drysdale.”

”To think, it’s almost as bad as the Pale Betrayal—“

” Drysdale! ”

“Your writing’s gotten slightly better,” Lyric says to you as you help him write his record-breaking novel, writer’s block and all. 

“Um, thanks?” You reply, not sure whether to take it as a compliment or a slight.

”No, I mean it,” he says back. “Your stories give Chuck Pringle a run for his money. How’d you learn so fast?”

You wonder how best to introduce it, when you see Mac from out of the corner of your eye smirking. They see you noticed and they look away, pretending to be busy. You wonder what got them interested in this.

”Let’s just say I’ve been practicing,” you finally say cryptically.

”Without me?” Lyric pouts. “I thought we were supposed to write together !”

By now, somehow the rest of the ground floor had caught wind of the situation, and it wasn’t just thanks to Hector. Or Airyn.

You could see the others in your periphery looking as you continue your daily custom of talking to Dorian first thing in the morning. Something about their glances feels different this time around, especially since they look away the moment you catch them. 

“Anything wrong, love?” Dorian breaks your stupor. “You’ve been all over the place lately.”

“Nothing,” you brush it off. He doesn’t push further.

A particularly interesting conversation came up with Curt and Rod. 

“Dorian’s always got our back,” Curt says. 

“Damn right!” Rod says. “He’s always checking up on us while you’re away. Brings us anything we need when he knows we’ve been standing here for ages .”

“Really?” You say. You didn’t know these objects needed any other form of sustenance beyond you taking care of them. You were also oblivious to how Dorian was when he wasn’t talking with you, though knowing him, it was part of his nature not to tell you about it anyway.

“So that’s why he feels like a natural extension of you.”

“Yeah, and that’s why you were meant for each othe— mmph! ”

Rod struggled against Curt’s hand. You glare at both of them, then look in the general direction of the door. 

“How did you–” You start. Then you realise that trying to find out who was behind it would be useless, as everyone already seemed to know. You throw your hands in the air in frustration and put your hands in your face. “Fuck this shit.”

“We got your back! Don’t worry,” Curt reassures you. “If—“

“I’m not pointing my glasses at him, he won’t hear it,” you continue it on their behalf.

You remember that you were not quite done with the Dorians from the upper floor. You were meaning to get back to the one at the end of the hallway, which was somehow locked, but got distracted by all the… other activities you had going on.

So to your surprise, though it was already routine to see Dorian, something about this time feels… definitive.

”Sorry. This one’s locked.”

Huh.

”Where does it go?”

”The attic.”

”Why is it locked?”

”This is where you keep your lesser things. Memories, art, other such nonsense. There’s a safe in there as well, presumably full of treasures.” He pauses before explaining, “You locked this door long ago. Years? Decades? Who can say?”

”I can say.”

”What do you say? Until you find a key, I will remain locked.”

It’s nice to have some cheeky banter in this moment of confusion. You press forward just the same.

”Where can I find a key, then?”

”I don’t know… there was an old friend of mine who could always open me up, but… He was put away sometime in the distant past,” he says, looking wistfully past you.

”Put away where?” You may as well ask.

”I can feel his energy… distantly. Perhaps… directly below me. Two floors down.”

You raise your eyebrows at him.

”Two floors down? Is there a basement?” You ask, oblivious to the inner workings of your own damn house.

”No… basement.” Dorian answers cryptically.

”Well, how am I supposed to get down there?”

”Have you spoken with Trap Dorian?” He asks you. His eyes widen, seeming to immediately regret the hint. “I’ve said too much.”

“Well the— hey! ” You try to call out, but Dorian recedes from your vision.

It had been years since you bothered to peer into the office closet. How could you have known it held the key to your problems?

Beau was there, ready for action, as well as your reliable boiler. You scrounge around, trying to look for any hint of a key, to no avail. You peer down at your feet, and realise that you had been meaning to clean that rug in quite a bit.

You pull it out, only to discover that you have been standing on top of a trap door after all this time.

So what happens when I activate the dateviators on this? You ask yourself as you press the button…

Oh, shit.

Chapter Text

You were not ready for this particular ride of your life. But it seems like Dorian’s form was more than eager to meet you like this.

“Oh dear…”

Your eyes widen. So does your mouth.

And your other orifices, too.

You moan internally, similar to a rapper with a name based off of a baked good (one of Mitchell’s distant relatives), because you weren’t exactly prepared for this thirst trap of a ma–

Thirst trap.

Trap door.

Right. You nod, pleased, giving yourself an imagined pat on the back for how clever you were to have realised it so quickly. 

“You’ve caught me in my… horizontal state.” You don’t know how Dorian made his voice ten times sexier than it was normally, but here he was, doing it.

Your eyes snap back to the divine figure before you, drinking it in entirely. This was Dorian, but not just any Dorian. Devoid of any of his shirt or coat, you finally see Dorian in his semi-naked form. You ogle at every toned muscle exposed for you to see, your eyes roaming around his inked body until it rested on the happy trail–

“I try to stay hidden under the rug because this isn’t a part of myself that should be out in the open. But even us doors have to cut loose from time to time.”

“You look hot.” You blurt out. And then cover your mouth, wondering where that came from.

Must be the wind , you think to no one in particular.

“Do you… like what you see?” Instead of looking like he was disappointed at you for being so open (as his other forms would probably have been), he was… inviting you to thirst openly? Even his abs seemed to glisten more at your enthusiasm. He approaches you, and you’re glad that you feel plaster against your back soon, since you would have folded then and there.

“I-I do,” you hastily reply, suddenly needing some water to gulp gulp gulp gulp down.

“Well… you should.” He leans his hand against the wall, and you swear you were about to combust then and there. “I like to keep in shape. Duty ‘n all that. Though I’ve been thinking of getting some more tattoos… what do you think?” He asks, looking you right in the eye and stroking his hair absentmindedly with his free hand.

“Absolutely,” you said, too far gone for any rational thought. “Cover yourself in ink!”

“I was thinking of getting a Garage Dorian on my back… one of the most interesting types of doors there are in the modern world…” He rests his free hand on his chin, seemingly deep in thought.

“Brings me back to my drawbridge roots when I toyed with the idea of going horizontal full time.” He wistfully stares into the distance. “But… you get older and… well… here we are.” 

“Thanks for chatting me up. We’re friends… but.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. And all of a sudden, his hand was making its way to you. He gently held your face as he made you crane up to look at his eyes .

“Even friends can have little benefits here and there.”

And with that, he let you into the crawlspace, not without giving you a cheeky wink as he disappeared.

You adjust your pants right before you look into the objects inside. And you admit to yourself that your thoughts were gushing like a river (like your… oh dear, this probably isn’t the right place to say), describing scenes not appropriate for when you… er… inexplicably get a biographer to narrate this chapter of your life.

Let’s see here…

You’re not sure what you expected to find in the crawlspace, but it certainly wasn’t this well-dressed, regal figure.

“Could it be–?”

He seems quite stunned by your arrival, but he soon comes alive with joy and gratitude, stretching every part of himself from what seems like years of cramped living.

“AH!!! Fresh air, it has been far too long! Thank you!”

“You’re welcome!” You say. You didn’t know a key could be so… DILF- y.

“I have been trapped within that accursed crawlspace for so long that… Well, I don’t even know how long it was! Time lost all meaning under there. But nevermind that now! I am Keith.” He bows deeply to you.

“And I owe you a real debt of gratitude, eh?”

“Hang on! My Content Aware is going off!” Skylar jumps into action.

You involuntarily jump back at the intrusion into your field of view. Keith looks at you curiously, but does not seem to register her presence.

Content Aware, huh?

You recall Skylar interrupting your first conversation with Rebel all those days before, introducing this interesting feature that warns you in advance of personalities in the house that were… more challenging to woo over. As a chronic people pleaser, you mentally thank your anonymous Thiscord friend for this considerate feature, as it allowed you to brace for the difficult conversations you were going to have with the rubber ducky… as well as Harper and Dirk.

(You shiver involuntarily at recalling your first encounter with them, which triggered something deep inside you weren’t quite able to pinpoint.)

So… what’s wrong with this guy?

“Don’t worry, he can’t see nor hear us talking,” Skylar says, at a volume you would still think is audible for the man who was very much right in front of you. “Keith, the skeleton key, has a bit of a… personality quirk that I would like to remind you about. But… I also don’t want to ruin the surprise. So I’ll ask you - would you like to have the dramatic effect, or would you rather know from the start?”

“Do… do I have to audibly say this thing out loud?” You say in a whisper. Keith raises his eyebrow, scrutinising you.

“Oh! Yes, he can still hear that,” Skylar replies, seeming to have only remembered then. “Let’s see what I can do…”

Skylar helpfully brings up two dialogue options on your glasses, ensuring privacy in your final choice.

“Tell me! I don’t want to be surprised.”
“Okay – I’ll be on for the ride! Let’s continue!”

You waffle over your final choice. You have mostly chosen to organically develop your relationship with the other residents in the past, finding it somewhat artificial for your interactions with certain individuals in your house to end so soon. Just the same, your curiosity was gnawing at you, so you reached up to the arsenal of buttons on the dateviator’s right temple to select the first choice.

“Okay.” Skylar takes a deep breath. “Basically he’s a master manipulator. If you don’t like sociopaths, you won’t be too comfortable with this guy. You cool with that? Or do you want to skip it?”

The colour from your face drained the moment Skylar revealed the truth about this man. He looked… innocent enough! What could possibly give away the fact that he was a mani–

“No, I’m okay with that type of stuff,” you blurted out, and Keith was definitely confused by you seemingly talking to yourself.

“Carry on, then!” She disappears, giving you a thumbs-up in the process.

“Who were you talking to just then?” Keith asked, more curiosity in his voice than anything. “Skylar?”

“Well, yes,” you say. “Sometimes she just pops up to inform me about, er… software updates, and whatnot. Yeah.”

“Interesting,” he replies. “Well, so long as it wasn’t a warning about me!” He chuckled.

Now it was your turn to look at him funnily.

“Please tell me,” he continues, “is there anything you’re wishing for that I can help you with?” He swings his long cane at you, and you barely manage to dodge it.

“I’m actually looking for a way to get into the attic. Do you know where I’d find it?” You ask, hope welling up in you.

“Ha ha! Do I have some good news for you! I am in fact, a skeleton key! I can unlock just about anything with a keyhole in this house. And a few things without keyholes, besides…” He looks at you, wiggling his eyebrows.

“That sounds very useful to have!” You comment, resigning yourself to figure out what his double meaning meant some other time.

“I am nothing if not full of surprising talents.” He says, proudly. “So! Dorian is giving you some trouble, hm?” He laughs to himself. “Nice to hear that some things haven’t changed while I was gone.”

He looks again wistfully into the distance. You follow his gaze, also wondering why everyone was wistful this damn time.

“Well, fear not! Dorian and I go way back ,” he continues, with a particular emphasis on the last two words. “We were practically made for each other, he and I.”

Made for each other . 

Those words remained seared into your mind as you let Keith leap straight into your pocket.

You feel something off inside you, and something tells you you were not going to enjoy watching this reunion.

In the meantime, you try and delay this inevitable reunion by looking for other objects to bother…

“Unbelievable.”

“What is?” Lyric’s form appears beside the computer.

“Lyric! I didn’t expect you’d be up at this hour,” Mac says, attention still on optimizing their desktop space. It was dawn, yet they were not shut down by the human even as they went to bed. “The human just spent the entire night interfacing with me.”

“Huh? Why so?”

A pause.

“Well, they must have had… important business to attend to,” Mac sheepishly replies, trying their best to un-remember the most recent chapters you wrote, one an exploration into all of the available Dorians on you at once, the other a particularly raunchy encounter with the trap door. Once again, in the heat of the moment, no Incognito Mode.

Raw-dogging it, Mac thinks to themselves, grimacing at the co-optation of the word for their purposes. But it was the most appropriate description of your wanton abandonment of digital safety in your quest to get your thoughts out through storytelling of the fictional kind. Could you at the very least write yourself making believable positions? they thought to themselves, hoping someone would transmit the message to the human, in some indirect manner.

”It must be the writing practice they must be alluding to,” Lyric said, more to himself. He looked like he was about to drop the topic but he suddenly moved closer and continued in a whisper. “I don’t mean to intrude, but… is it about Dorian, by any chance?”

”No!” Mac half-shouts, almost too quickly. Then they remember to act normal. “I mean,” they say, “It doesn’t look like it is.”

”I see,” Lyric replies, seeming deep in thought. “Well, I’ve heard rumours from upstairs that there seems to be a… thing ,” he gestures awkwardly, unable to explain it. “Forming between them.”

”Oh, I don’t know,” Mac says, exasperation bleeding out of them. Lyric mercifully drops the topic.

Please, just use Incognito Mode again.

PlayerCharacter69

Dorian appears before you, abs glistening in the night. You swear he’d oiled himself up since the last time you met him.

“Hey, handsome,” you say.

”What brings you here in the dead of night, hmm?” His sultry voice never fails to make you heat up. But you continue just the same, walking over until you could almost feel the fluff on his chest.

”Oh, just wandering around,” you say, making drawings on his muscled chest with your fingers. They find purchase on his key-necklace, and you tug, the unexpected motion making the handsome door grunt.

“What gives?” He says, playfulness evident in his voice. “Eager tonight, huh?” He wraps his arms around you in a tight embrace.

”Let’s just say,” you whisper directly into his ear, as your other hand toys absentmindedly with the keys. “I’m hungry for some, Doorling.”

“A new pet name for me, huh?” He replies, chuckling. You could feel his breath hot on you. “Then lead the way, love,” he whispers in your ear. 

He allows himself to be pulled by the necklace all the way up to your bedroom, where he switches up and pushes you roughly on the bed. You were about to think of the apology you had to give Betty the following morning when you heard the unlocking of a door latch.

When you peer down, you see Dorian with his belt removed, holding it menacingly.

”Let’s say I,” he pauses as he crawls on top of you. He brandishes the belt, the whipping sound making you delirious with lust. “Have some punishments to give out.”

“Bring it on.”

And Dorian—

Chapter Text

Dorian looms over you, arms crossed over his broad chest that you want to bury yourself into. He seems almost too smug about blocking your way today.

“‘Ello mate. Let me give you a tip…”

Please do…

“Excuse me?” Dorian inquires, eyebrow raised.

Shit. I should do something about this leaking internal monologue.

“When you see me with my arms crossed like this?” He continues, mercifully for you. “It means you’re not gettin’ through.”

“What might it take to uncross them, I wonder…?” Keith suddenly appears beside you, on cue.

“Keith!?” Dorian’s eyes widened, as he also curiously shook in surprise for some reasone. “Is it really you!?”

“Hello, old friend.” He punctuated his greeting with the same regal bow he gave you. “It is me, alright.”

“Where on earth have you been?” Dorian says, far too excitedly for your comfort. Something tightens inside you as you feel your breaths become shallower.

“I’ve been tucked away with my thoughts, you might say.” 

“I never knew why you left.” Dorian says sadly, averting his eyes at his old… ‘friend’. 

“I’m so sorry I never said goodbye. I never had the chance.”

In what universe is this something that platonic friends say to each other? You find yourself questioning deep inside.

“Well, I’ve… I’ve missed you.” Dorian’s stutter doesn’t escape your scrutiny.

“I’ve missed you, too, dearest Dorian. And I’m back to stay! Now come here, and give me a hug, won’t you?”

“I could never resist you.” 

Is Dorian… blushing? At that, you could feel your patience, now hanging by a thread, slowly being unraveled.

Dorian and Keith curl their arms around each other, fitting together as perfectly as… well, a key and a lock. You can’t help, however, but notice how one of Keith’s hands slowly traveled its way down Dorian’s back, and you swear that Keith angled this hug in such a way that it would be in full view of your inquiring eyes. Keith curiously was looking at you, almost like he was trying to… gauge your reaction to what was unfolding?

You also notice their object equivalents going at it in the background. You feel the key jump out of your pocket on its own volition, and slide smoothly into the keyhole. Dorian suddenly grunts (…moans?) at this, er, intrusion. You almost want to look away at how… intimate it all seemed, both with the hug and the object insertion. As the door opens, the key gracefully flies to the shelf on the first floor landing, the feasibility of it all something you chose not to question anymore.

“Ah,” Keith says, letting go at last. “And just like that, the door is open.”

You don’t know how to feel after witnessing all of this in real time.

Is this… old man yaoi?

Out of courtesy, you translate that immediate thought into:

“You two seem like lovers.”

“Ah, we’ve tried that…” Keith raises an eyebrow at your statement, almost like you wouldn’t clearly ask what the fuck was going on with them just moments ago.

Oh. Now it’s your turn to raise an eyebrow. You don’t know whether that’s curiosity, jealousy, or a heady cocktail mix of both.

“Indeed,” Dorian confirms.

“It… did not really work out,” the key said sheepishly, raking his hair with his hand.

You sense yourself unclenching almost everything in your body.

“I prefer to cherish the fact that it led to our friendship,” Dorian perks up once again, at the opportunity to mention his favourite kind of relationship.

“Quite so!” Keith agrees, once again instinctively swinging his cane in excitement, which barely misses both you and Dorian, who ducks just in time.

You don’t know whether you imagined it or not, but you weren’t quite sure whether those eyes they were giving each other were much more than friendly. Just the same, being an adult and barely clinging on to the maturity you’ve gained over the years, you extend a hand out to the regal figure.

“I agree. Maybe we can be friends, Keith?”

“Why, I would love that!” Keith’s eyes brightened up. “I rather think we do well together, you and I.”

The familiar sound coming from the glasses celebrates the new friendship. And in the spur of the moment, you decide to blurt something out to Dorian before you enter the attic.

“I hope someday I can open you up like that, Dorian.”

“Maybe you can…” He says, cryptically, reddening at the thought.

Huh?

You stand there, still trying to process the scene that just unfolded before you.

“Hey… human?” You hear a friendly voice coming from somewhere. “Hey! It’s me, Skylar!”

You didn’t realize she could talk to you without having to activate the glasses.

“Yeah, so… you’re kind of holding on too tight to the dateviators. Just giving you a heads-up. You don’t want them to break on you, right?” She laughs, awkwardly.

You didn’t realise you had a death grip on them. When did that happen?

Dorian and Keith… Keith and Dorian…

Thoughts started swirling around in your head about their shared history. Why did they have to be so cryptic about it?

Skylar’s warning to you a few days prior also echoed in your mind. You felt like you could be sick at the amount of things you were holding onto.

Dorian was entitled to have friends, of course. It would be ridiculous for you to expect him to only interact with you as the owner. Heck, with his many forms, you expect that everyone in the house knows about him, too, which was proven to your detriment when you found out that your “secret” (emphasis on the air quotes) crush spread like wildfire to every corner of the house.

In fact, that led you to this realisation, too: how much of Dorian do you actually know?

How much did he actually love, in the past?

Did this selfish, uptight, snobby, suspicious manipulator cause Dorian to end up like–

Your eyes widen at that sudden thought. No way did you just describe Keith like that. Even when faced with the most challenging residents in your house, you never once felt the need to trash-talk them, even internally.

Skylar had given you warnings about some of your new friends that have so far been on point. This time… you don’t know how this was all going to unfold.

You turn the last thing Dorian told you around in your head multiple times as well. ‘Maybe you can…’ 

All this, on top of the tiredness you felt from writing about Dorian these past few days was almost too much…

You find yourself losing motivation to go to Dorian in the morning, seeking instead to interact with him indirectly through your fanfiction. In that way, you control your happy ending, and not have to deal with complicated, real things.

Like feelings.

Or unrequited love.

(Avid readers of your writing would also soon notice that your succeeding fics used the key/keyhole analogy much less in your latest chapters.)

You convene some of your closest confidantes that evening for a debrief of sorts. It was a cosy vibe, with Teddy making hot chocolate for everyone, a clear contrast to the tense feeling you had mere hours ago. Mateo’s inanimals roamed around, which were a welcome distraction for everyone involved.

“So… Keith and Dorian, huh?” Betty repeated, seemingly deep in thought. You told them everything about that interaction, Skylar’s warning, and how you felt all the time. “Those two…”

“We heard a bit about what went on, and on, and on, with them,” Diana said, sitting across from you. She politely pushed her mug of hot cocoa away for fear of spills. “Not the prettiest sight to behold, I’ll tell you that now!” She continued, in a lower voice, “Just like your previous crushes.”

You give her the evil eye, but also remember that all the thoughts you’ve written on her must have taken a lot out of her.

“They were quite messy, that’s for sure,” Tyrell said. “In the end, it seemed that Dorian was the one who wanted to go.”

“Except for some reason,” Teddy said, after sipping from his mug. “Keith just up and left one day, leaving no trace behind.” The generous amount of whipped cream he got for himself left him a fun mustache after, which you didn’t comment on.

“But what does it mean?” You press them while absentmindedly petting Davi. “It looked to me Dorian wasn’t quite over him yet.”

Nobody was able to answer for a few moments.

“ Their love was a… complicated thing, azizam,” Amir broke the silence, blissfully unaware that the steam coming from his own mug was fogging him up like the one time Jean-Loo and Johnny made him dirty. “Dorian’s life may have moved on after all these years, but… imagine if you were in his shoes, and someone you loved but thought was gone for good came back on a random Wednesday afternoon, how would you feel?”

You pause to consider it. Amidst all these emotions, you never quite thought of how complicated it would be for Dorian, too.

“Maybe what’s needed,” Ben-Hwa piped up, their hand seductively roaming your arm, “Is for someone to come into Dorian’s life that would make him forget Keith ever existed.”

“I… don’t know,” you say, as much as the invitation piqued your interest. “It all seems too much–”

“And what, let your man be whisked away just like that, azizam? Right in front of your very eyes?” Amir said, his voice rising. You winced at the hard (but true) words, but your uncertainty remained.

“You gotta get going, darling,” Betty said. “Make Dorian know what he’s missing out on.”

“Maybe some other time,” you say, yawning at last and looking at the clock. “I had some… errands to do for Abel, and he told me to pass by Kopi. I think the caffeine’s wearing off now.”

You don’t register your friends looking at each other knowingly, Betty nodding to all of them for some reason.

You find yourself once again standing right in front of the attic door, this time at night. Everything that led to this moment was unclear to you, apart from the fact that you must have activated your dateviators on Dorian once more.

“I love you, Dorian,” you blurt out to the handsome doorman. “I’ve… always done, since we first met.”

“Really now?” This looked like Dorian, but something was off. A certain malice graced their features. “Pathetic.”

You swear you could hear your heart shattering into a million pieces, but he wasn’t done quite yet.

“You came to that conclusion too late, love,” he says, towering over you menacingly. The pet name seemed more malicious now. “Great. Now things are awkward between us. What a lovely friendship there you fucked up .” He emphasised the last two words, which made your face heat up.

Your past experiences of rejection start to play through your mind, inescapable. You back up, but feel Wallace right behind you, blocking your escape.

“Wall,” he says, surprisingly menacingly.

“I– Dorian, what’s gotten into you–”

“Love,” Dorian sneered, making you flinch at the use of the pet name again. “While you were busy flip-flopping over pursuing me or not, I happened to find someone else. Someone more my type.”

The silence hung around you two like a thick fog. You want to scream, but nothing comes out of your mouth. All of a sudden, his layers of clothing rapidly disappeared, transforming him into Trap Dorian.

Keith’s regal form appears from your periphery, his eyes only on Dorian. “That’s right, dear human,” he says, “he’s got someone else.” 

“B-but,” you manage to say despite your shock, “You said it didn’t work out–”

“Human,” Keith says, “what have YOU done with Dorian until this point, hmm? Just talk to him a bunch of times. You never even made the effort to feel him… to taste him…” And on cue, he grabs Dorian and pulls him in for a ravenous kiss.

“No,” you say, more to yourself. The situation was quickly devolving, as Dorian started to rip the layers of clothing Keith had on. Their eyes only on each other, they seemed not to acknowledge the fact that you were in the room with them anymore, except to sneak devilish glimpses your way to ensure you were getting the full view of the action.

You hold your head in your hands, willing yourself to look away, but something inside you forces you to stare at the scene unfolding. “No! S-someone, help! I don’t want this old man yaoi as much as it strangely is arousing! NO!”

You wake up in a cold sweat. You look around, your bedroom looking as normal as it should be. Relief flows through you like a River.

You try to calm yourself down by taking deep breaths, and collapse once again on your bed, resigning yourself to staring at the ceiling to pass the time.

You probably shouldn’t have had that coffee right before you went to bed, as much as it was delicious.

Chapter Text

“Nightmare,” Betty says, after looking around and making sure the human was out of earshot the following morning. “We need to talk.”

“What?” Replied the manifestation of everyone’s deepest fears while in their slumber. “You gave me a very specific request–”

“You made them toss and turn that night,” Betty interrupted. “And I could swear they woke up at least once.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Nightmare shrugged. “You said you wanted to rouse the human with a dream about Dorian–”

“I said arouse them.”

“Oh.” Nightmare fell silent. “I… don’t know how to do that, unfortunately.” Realisation dawning on her, she leans in closer. “So, wait, the human and Dorian are…?” She raises her eyebrows at the bed, expecting her to finish the sentence.

Betty sighed.

“I supplied the Dorian part, that’s for sure,” Nightmare continued. “They somehow added Keith into the mix.”

Upon hearing the name, Betty nodded sympathetically. If Keith appeared in the nightmare, unprompted… “Their experience with the attic must have weighed on them harder than we originally thought, then.”

“And what’s that other part I didn’t understand?” Nightmare pressed on. “I don’t know how the human can scream in their pants, because they don’t wear it over their head–”

“ Nightmare! ” Betty shout-whispers incredulously, her eyes widening.

The realisation dawns on her.

“Oh. OH.” Nightmare slaps her forehead, then shakes her head. 

The silence that ensues is an awkward one, to say the least.

“Well, I think that’s possible, for next time,” Nightmare finally says, checking a mental schedule for her next appearance. “I believe it’s been done before, although I’ve yet to induce one on the human.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Betty shrugs. “We’re all counting on you. The rest of us don’t know how much longer we can take those two beating around the bush…”

All of it became routine for you.

Wake up.

Have the bare minimum amount of conversation with some of your friends.

Write fanfiction.

Edit fanfiction.

Think about the futility of all this yearning.

Repeat.

(Of course, with eating and other bodily functions happening in between.)

The initial honeymoon period for your dateviators have faded, and now it felt like it was something you had to do. An unexpected responsibility that was conveniently thrust onto you that fateful day, many weeks ago.

…that is, until Thiscord user tinfoilhat conveniently gave you a proposition the next day that got your attention.

He first brought up the possibility of turning objects into humans a while back, at that point hesitant on promoting it due to its ethical considerations. You ignored it then as you were busy figuring out how best to get your Dorian’s fictional self to seduce you.

You find yourself once again scrolling through your phone right before bed, when another transmission arrives from him.

He made his mind up. If an object expresses desire for personhood, who are we to deny them?

Who are we to deny them? You repeat to yourself, allowing them to continue their virtual monologue. You may have been sleepy, but this breakthrough has you up.

His analysis comes with one caveat, though: certain objects can only become human if the Dateviator user possesses the necessary personality traits. As he sends further messages theorising the mechanics behind such a limitation, you find yourself going through the dateviator menu to see your SPECS points.

Maybe this is what he means by that? You happen to ask yourself as he conveniently says that it’s “likely a mystery that science will never resolve.”

He continued by saying that they discovered which personality traits seemed to resonate with each inanimate object, and uploaded the data into the dateviators.

Something called… Realization Recipes .

You laugh at how your life has a way of sending you down unfortunate rabbit holes. In labour limbo? Instead of using the increased free time to get some rest, you find yourself going back to writing fanfiction from dusk until dawn.

Wanted to go to bed early? Here, a breakthrough that could make your newfound friends turn human…

You resolve to talk to Skylar about Realization. Before that, though, was a decision about your relationship with Dorian.

You resolve to finally talk to every single version of him in the house.

Fuck this , you say to yourself as the sleep deprivation and the writing were all catching up to you in one toxic combination. You were now going to continue exploring him until he finally breaks.

“Well,” Skylar says suddenly, breaking you from your rumination. “Have you ever considered asking… me?” She finishes in a sing-song voice, gesturing to herself.

You don’t know what’s going on, but Skylar recently started to feel more at ease with appearing, even unprompted, at random points of your day. Something tells you this is another one of those instances.

“You were thinking hard and feeling strongly about something,” Skylar explains to you. “And the dateviators can sense it, too! According to the energy vibrations you emitted, you felt Determination to finish this Dorian storyline once and for all.”

“What?”

On cue, your glasses bring up a blueprint of your house. You choose to ignore the privacy concerns inherent with this feature (how did she manage to recreate the layout so faithfully?) for now and study intently the highlighted portions, all thin rectangles that seem to coincide with–

Wait, hold on a moment…

“Those are the locations of all the Dorians,” you say.

“What can I say?” Skylar shrugs, looking chuffed. “It seems my hidden features* know no end!”

You don’t know whether to throttle her for only conveniently finding out about this right now, or thank her for her infinite knowledge.

“Now, speaking of…” you say. “Can I Realize you, Skylar?”

“Oh.” She looks taken aback at the sudden question. “OH!”

She looks away from you, seemingly recalibrating her reaction.

“...No,” she says finally.

“No?” You repeat back.

“Well,” she says, holding one arm awkwardly. “Just… not yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“When Franklin Lieste made me - it was in sort of a mad, passionate rush of scientific fervour. There were… unintended consequences. Like Realization - which is a good thing!” She followed up quickly.

“Yes, definitely.”

“But one of the issues with Realizing an object is that each of us can only leave once our own little purposes are complete. Some of us here still have Things To Do before we go. I call it - Unfurnished Business™.”

“Clever!” You reply, as you have a sinking feeling where this was going to go.

“Thank you very much! It’s trademarked, if you couldn’t hear from my voice.”

Why should I? You ask yourself. It’s not like I’m reading your dialogue and seeing you have a trademark on it.

“Each of us can’t become human if we have Unfurnished Business - reasons we need to appear in this house. None of the others know why exactly this is or what it might be that we need to do. Oh, but I’ll always tell you when I see it - and forbid you from Realizing that individual.”

You nod.

“As for me? Well. I have the most Unfurnished Business out of anyone. I have to be here to help everyone else get Realized, so I gotta [to] go last. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but if you want me Realized, you have to get everyone else Realized too.”

“Okay," you say, choosing to ignore that one typo in her dialogue. "I see now what my… er… other Quest is.”

“You’ve got it! Keep Realizing everyone you see - and eventually my Unfurnished Business will become Furnished! Er. Furnished, er, finished!”

You get back to tinfoilhat with the bad news. It seems that you will be in for a long ride before you accomplish what he wants. You understand his concern and sense of urgency - David will stop at nothing to get those dateviators back, so he had to push you to get things going to stay out of harm’s way.

Even then, you just got hit with Skylar’s bad news. You can’t Realize her, and she won’t let you.

So you got your new mission now: bring every object to life, realize Skylar, destroy the dateviators.

Maybe figure out what your thing is with Dorian in the process.

Simple enough, right?

…right?

You accidentally activate Laundry Room Dorian one morning after an all-nighter writing session. You were off to Washford for an emergency clean-up, because for some reason your underwear had some questionable stains that you swore weren’t there when you fell asleep (What you dreamed about this time around was a blur for you, and you don’t know whether that was a good thing or not after Keith’s appearance last time).

You jump at the figure before you because of the activation, and because you now feel weird around him after seeing his malicious form in your nightmare.

“My dear friend,” Dorian greets you as cheerfully as he can muster. “It’s been a while. How have you– is something wrong?”

You feel Dorian’s eyes gawking at you for being in… whatever state you're in. You admit to yourself that you’ve been sleeping less, eye bags heavier than the first time you met him, wearing the clothes you’ve been wearing for the past several days. Something was clearly off. Even Amir could not hold back his concern every time you speak to him.

“Nothing,” you reply curtly. “Have just been sleeping poorly, is all.”

“Is there anything I could do to–”

“I’ve just been spending more time with Mac and Skylar, is all,” you interrupt him.

“Ah. With Mac and Skylar. Right.” 

A pregnant pause ensued.

"Your… close friends, I suppose?”

"Yes," you reply, curious as to why he somehow looked pained. "My good friends. Like what you and Keith are."

He visibly winced at the mention of the man. Partially because you may have ended up saying it in an accusative tone.

"Well…" he ventured. "I’m glad you’re making more friendships in this house, apart from me."

Something about how he added that last part seemed off. Now why would he–

"Is… is something the matter, then?" He continued. "I noticed–"

“No,” you snap almost too quickly, and he flinches at the tone of your voice. “Why would you–”

Then it clicks.

He feels like he’s being replaced.

One part of you feels bad… the other devilishly wants to figure out how long you can keep the charade, if it meant he had you on his mind.

“I appreciate all you guys,” you lamely continue. “I appreciate you . But, well, um.” You don’t know how else to defend yourself, amidst the… interesting pastime that kept you up at night. “Can we talk about this again tomorrow? I’m tired,” you finally give up trying to form a coherent thought, and you take Dorian by surprise by gently pushing past him and moving on with your errands.

“Love,” Dorian says softly, out of earshot. Deflated, he returns to his normal stance, not without looking back at your figure pushing the buttons on the washing machine. He feels something sickly familiar, the sensation of something being pulled away from him. “What’s gotten into you?”

“You really should be more careful, you know,” Mac comments one evening as you lock in for yet another writing session.

“Hmm.” You take a break from your writing, and look at them. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Mac starts, then pauses. “I do appreciate that you’ve found your rhythm in your creative outlets, but… I have found that you have been increasingly erratic in your application of Incognito Mode?”

Your eyes widen. And then they look at the open tabs on your Expedition browser. They widen even more, if that were even possible.

“Oh,” you can only say. “I– my goodness, Mac, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise–” you move to shut down the open tab, a work-in-progress about letting Laundry Room Dorian [redacted] your [redacted] until it [redacted] while you [redacted] him as you both [redacted].

You wonder why you can’t articulate your very own fanfiction prompt mentally, almost as if a higher being was censoring them on your behalf.

“Well, even the best humans make some mistakes here and there,” they conceded, with a chuckle. 

“You’ve… seen a handful of, er… fictional Dorian, then?”

“Firstly – don’t say handful,” they deadpan. “Secondly, well, let’s just say you’ve forever changed how I see him.”

“Right. S-sorry.” Face heating, you avert your eyes, and resign yourself to focus on the work ahead of you. In privacy, this time.

Mac just endured another all-nighter despite your conversation with them, and they were humming along to themselves as they wrapped up for the night. Though they were more capable of handling such long operations after your update, they were looking forward to the sweet release of repose, since you mercifully went to bed an hour earlier than usual.

Warned them in the nick of time , they congratulated themselves for finally breaching the uncomfortable topic before they handled any more of it. Before anything was discovered.

So caught up were they in their work that they failed to register the imposing figure looming over them until he emitted a small cough, which made the computer almost jump and clear out your browser history in one fell swoop.

“Mac? A word with you, please.”

Chapter Text

The ever-recognisable English voice startled Mac.

“Dorian!” They said as cheerfully as they could muster. “What can I help you with?”

“The human has not been sleeping well, and I understand that they have been spending more time with you,” Dorian says, cutting to the chase. His hands seemed to be in a vice grip. Dorian is normally on duty during these hours, but rarely does he feel the need to interact with the other residents of the house, unless they were doing something… unsavoury.

Mac shivers upon recalling the last time he’d actively had to step in, over at the Breaker Box. After his… intervention was over, Farya had work to do for days . Since then, no one dared to mess with him or be too rowdy when he’s around.

“What’sa matter, Mac?” Dorian continued. “Cat got your tongue? I’m just here to figure things out, is all.”

Mac was at a loss for words. They knew how persistent Dorian could get, but also had the human’s privacy in mind. Why did they have to be in between these two?

The longer they kept silent, the more the air seemingly got warmer…

…and smelled like butter?

“No, there’s nothing you need to worry about,” Mac replies finally, as casually as they could, as they continue to close down any open files for the sake of the player, in case of any untoward incidents with their crush.

Just writing their self-insert fanfic, is all.

“Their what? ”

Oh, shit . 

Ha!

An audible gasp was heard somewhere else in the office, but when the two looked around, they saw no one in sight. What remained, however, was the sound of someone seemingly eating popcorn while watching the unfolding confrontation.

Eyes widening, the gravity of the situation dawned on Mac, normally oh-so secure and careful. They clapped a hand over their mouth, but it was too late.

They did not just blurt out their last active thought aloud.

I’m not immune to internal monologue leakages , they conclude as the alarm bells start ringing in their mind.

“Um… their… USB stick!” Mac hastily tries to recover, but Dorian reacts to the reply with a doubtful raise of the eyebrow. “They were having problems with storage, is all–”

“ Macintosh ,” Dorian says, all remaining warmth from his voice gone. Mac was not used to having their full name be called out like that, and it sends chills down their spine. Gone was any veneer of politeness he had; the moment he got the lead, he seemed determined to get it through to the very end.

“The human has been spending more hours with you than ever before,” he continues, his glare steely cold, “writing fanfiction ?” He spat out the last part.

“Yes.”

Dorian pauses for a minute, pondering what to say. The profound silence was deafening.

”I… see.” At that, the doorman’s face softened, something more akin to embarrassment or confusion gracing his face at the revelation.

He prepares to turn around and stand on guard back at his usual spot.  At the last minute, he turns around.

“Then,” Dorian coughs. “Whom is it about?” He tries to be as nonchalant as possible, but it was obvious he was inching back to the desktop.

A million calculations went through Mac’s head, only possible with the new software update they went through. None of them, however, felt like the objectively best path. In addition, out of the corner of their eye, they could make out the silhouettes of other objects in the room. They seemed to be looking at the unfolding scenario expectantly. The popcorn-scented air continued to waft around the house, as well.

“I just…” Dorian trails off. “Wanted to get to their botto– I mean, get to the bottom of this.”

Mac raised their eyebrows. If that wasn’t a sign…

“Do you really want to know?” Mac said tentatively. They let out a breath, and steeled themselves for this confrontation.

“If you allow me to,” Dorian tentatively replies, his demeanour reverting to normal, and he slowly walks back to the computer.

Forgive me. But I have to make this executive decision without you. Or else the rest of us in the house will have to endure this for much longer.

Mac loads up the Expedition browser, and beckons Dorian to see the now-familiar website.

“Promise you won’t tell the human I told you this?”

Realization.

The information Skylar gave you left you reeling, even days after she broke the news to you that it was possible. You could actually make your newfound friends human.

You could make Dorian human.

Given the right amount of SPECS points, you will no longer have to need the dateviators to see your friends. Upon Realization, the possibilities seemed to be endless.

That is to say, if they chose to stay with you. Who knows if the first thing they want to do once they turn human is stay as far away from you as possible?

You try to ignore the thought as you formulate some new rules for yourself. All of this had to be done systematically and regularly.

You write your first draft of your rules in your diary, with Penelope cheering you on from the sidelines (she volunteered to help you, but you explained that the rules were not supposed to be quotes from other people, as helpful as they were to you).

1. Do your best.
2. Fuck Valdivian.
3. Don’t fall for Dorian.

Upon staring back at your work, you felt something was oddly familiar about these rules. You don’t know why or where your brain got them from… surely not from another OF3 hit?

(Dorian seemed to have gained traction amongst some other fanfiction authors in your radar, your oomfs as you like calling them, for how, in their words, “iconic give me his wood NOW” he was written. So you wonder if those words subliminally came from another work you recently finished reading.)

Fearful of plagiarism accusations, you gently cross them out (making sure this won’t pain Diana) and start over, with new rules more convoluted that they needed parentheticals.

1. Don’t pick up the phone (you know he’s only calling because he’s drunk and alone)
2. Don’t let him in (you’ll have to kick him out again)
3. Don’t be his friend (you know you’re gonna wake up in his bed in the morning)

You look at them, wondering where your mind was getting these New Rules. Now they seem like they came from somewhere random! You wonder if they could make for good song lyrics… but that wasn’t what you needed now.

Frustrated, you cross them out, too, and settle on the following:

1. You were going to Realize everything in this damn house.
2. Dorian will soon be a free man; you will figure out where you stand with him soon.
3. Maybe don’t drink coffee before you fall asleep unless it’s absolutely necessary.
4. Fuck that geriatric man of a key.

Satisfied for the day, you fall back on your bed, preparing for the final step in your Dorian collecting…

You lightly berate yourself as you face the closet door in your office. Why didn’t you remember this existed?

Returning to the task at hand, memories of the trap door flood your mind, and you realize how you got… distracted. 

You try to shoo them away from your consciousness as you awaken this Dorian. It’s not polite to imagine your hot friend shirtless right before you meet them, after all.

Technically, so is writing self-insert fanfiction about him riding you in various different ways, you remind yourself, but that's neither here nor there .

You had a relatively better night’s sleep this time around, allowing you to be a bit clearer-headed. One thing that you did remember from the night prior, however, was the overwhelming urge to wake Luke up and eat a bag of popcorn with him. You take a breath, and activate the dateviators.

Dorian stands in your way, but he seems oddly contemplative here. And trying to look away, for some reason.

”Ah… one of my closest friends, the closet. A space for imaginings, longings, and being trapped in eternal darkness.” He cut to the chase, fortunately (for you) choosing not to bring up your last conversation with him.

"Here you’ll find the water heater, some boxes, and… I s’pose that's about it.”

Right, you think to yourself, rolling your eyes. Did he sincerely not realise you almost jumped on his trapdoor form a few days ago?

“Do you want to know something interesting about closets?” Dorian asks after a brief pause, finally looking down at you. For some reason, he looks like he was extremely uncomfortable doing so.

”Sure.”

”So would I.” He seemed like he was about to vanish, but caught himself and said cryptically, “Catch you again tomorrow.”

”Hey!” You call out to his receding form.

Somehow the achievement felt hollow, and you find yourself staring ahead at the door, a crash-out feeling more imminent than ever before.

“Hey, honey,” Betty calls out, once she sees you slink into your room. “How’s it go– what’s wrong?”

I didn’t realise my tears were ready to fall at any moment.

“Come here,” she says, and at once you run to her, accepted by her open arms.

“It’s all so confusing,” you say, your voice muffled by the pillows. “Dorian doesn’t want me.”

You feel an additional set of arms envelop you, and you raise your snot-and-tear-filled face to see Teddy by your side.

“There, there,” he says, and between the two figures, you feel a bit more comforted. “How do you say so?”

“He’s not been talking to me a lot recently,” you continue. “And when he does, it’s always short replies.”

You don’t see the two look at each other. You conveniently forgot how you weren’t exactly friend of the year by how long you were holding off on talking to him.

“Is there anything else he said?” Betty pushed on.

“Well, something about seeing him tomorrow,” you reply, finally facing up and wiping your face. Tyrell mercifully appears and offers you something more substantial to help clean you up, while Mateo comes up to you to give you a wordless hug.

“I think you should take him up on the offer,” Teddy continues. 

“But what good will it do? I already did all I could,” you whine, looking at him distraught. “I guess I was looking for something that wasn’t there in the first place.”

“You’ll never know unless you try,” Mateo provided.

The exhaustion finally took over, draining you of any energy to rebut their claims. So you content yourself by being snuggled up by your friends, going into a deep sleep…

That night, Nightmare watches over you, but lets you rest peacefully.

You swore you had all the Dorians. You thought you would get an achievement for this. Maybe Skylar would’ve had some secret feature for that – after all, she was able to generate floating petals through the lenses, or have a library of sounds at her disposal!

But even with his last form explored, he never broke completely from his distant personality. 

In fact, it was almost as if he wanted to be just friends. Just like he told you all those days ago.

Just friends.

He just likes you that way .

You feel something prickling out of the corner of your eye once more. All those days of getting to know him, all for naught?

It wasn’t helping that you were writing fanfics about you two, of course. It complicated the situation worse than any interaction or physical touch with him ever could. 

As you got ready for the day in silence, letting the thoughts swirl around, you made up your mind.

You were going to have a word with him. No more fantasizing of what could be through words. It only made the struggle worse the longer you held onto writing those stories, avoiding the real, hard (heh, hard) question that stood before you.

You liked Dorian. So why not tell him how you feel, and get it out of the way?

No more fanfiction , you told yourself, internally.

Just real life.

Chapter Text

Muttered “fucking hell”’s and “oh my”’s punctured the nighttime silence that fell through the house. It took a whole hour after Dorian started reading his OF3 dedication before he uttered something to Mac. 

“This is… so much to take in.”

“It’s okay, I understand it’s quite a lot,” they replied patiently.

“I didn’t even know all these positions were possible,” he whispered, more to himself.

Mac was impressed that Dorian took it all in stride. It took a specific kind of person to read over 30 chapters of one-shots of them getting backsh–

“Just checking in,” they said, a further 30 minutes into the reading session. “I think the human has already given you a clear idea how they feel about you.”

“If… you could show me the rest,” Dorian timidly started, his face bright red against the blue screen. “I wanted to, er…” He looks away for a moment. “Know what the human wants. Fully.”

They settle once again in (un)comfortable silence, Mac intermittently humming to work on something in the background. Dorian surreptitiously checks his doorbell-watch, and curses to himself.

“On second thought,” he said, finally standing up from the desk. He fished out a familiar sleep-mask from his pocket, lavender with a yellow outline and ZZZs across it. “I might have to get going. Can’t have me falling asleep on the job ‘n all that. I’m not on night duty today.”

“Oh!” Mac replies, the gravity of the situation dawning on them. “By all means, if you need me, I’m here. And just so you know,” they continued before Dorian turned away. “I support whatever it is you and the human will be.”

“Thank you,” was all Dorian said as he returned to his normal standing place.

Dorian surreptitiously adjusted his pants right before he went back to duty.

It was clear to Dorian that maybe he wasn’t the sharpest at recognising “your game,” as the young kids put it.

The moment you finally got to the office closet door, he knew there was no turning back (As if binge-reading 69 (nice) chapters of you and a projected version of the doorman wasn’t enough). When you talk to him again, he was determined to show him truly how he felt… and then some.

If the human wants to talk to me again , he caught himself thinking one time, but he shook his head. It was going to happen.

In the meantime, he was going to ask around for advice on how to make it a moment the human would never forget…

“Rainey?”

“Yes, Keyes?”

”I think it’s Dorian’s turn to get the montage music treatment.”

”Got it! Motivational music, coming right up!”

“So, the human… er… had some experiences with you, is it?” Attic Dorian stood by Sophia later in the afternoon, while he was sure you were out of earshot. In his hand was a copy of the… literature the human wrote about him, which the safe examined thoroughly during the meeting.

”Call me mistress, you pathetic, worthless little wretch,” Sophia boomed, and for a moment, even the towering Dorian seemed to cower at the power. 

“S-sorry, mistress,” Dorian said. It seemed not even he was immune to the treatment. 

”Anyway, yes, we did spend some time together,” Sophia continued, slapping her coin-whip on her hand. Dorian looked at it bounce up and down, the clinking sound punctuating the silence. Something about it transfixed him. “But it seems that that worm had eyes only for one person,” she ended, examining him up and down.

This was the first time he felt small. And that’s saying something, considering he was not kitchen Dorian.

”Then what should I do, mistress?” Dorian implored her. “I would love to help them have a good time.”

”Well, wretch, you’re lucky I had some time available today,” Sophia smiled. “Let me show you some pointers.”

Dorian learned a lot from that crash-course, if the rope burns were to be believed. But a majority of the things Sophia taught him required a particular tool that he knew he could source from…

“Beau,” Walk-in-Closet Dorian greeted one of her many forms the next day, the one that populated the gym walk-in closet, more specifically. 

“Hey, Dorian! What can I do for you today?” Beau replied, and followed it up with, “Wink.”

”What— you know what, never mind, shall we sit down?”

Beau nodded, and the two settled themselves on the ample space within the closet, sitting cross-legged amongst the other objects within. Dorian poured her a cup of tea, which she accepted but put as far away from her as possible.

”My outfit might get damaged,” Beau simply says as he took a sip from his own cup.

”Oh, incredibly inconsiderate of me. My apologies,” he said. “Anyways, er, I have a favour to ask of you.”

”Do continue,” she says, curiosity apparent on her face. “What is it about?”

”Well, I may need to borrow, er… some rope.”

”Some rope.” She repeated, closing her eyes and fiddling with her extension-cord whip. “What is it for?”

”Um, well, you see, the human—“

”Oh! Oh! Let me guess,” she says, “You’re going to take them on an adventure!” Excitement sparkled in her eyes, as she gripped her own whip tightly.

”I guess you could say that,” Dorian conceded. The floor looked much more entertaining for him after that.

”I love that! And you two are going to search all around the house, and explore its nooks and crannies—“

“Maybe… don’t say nooks and crannies,” Dorian said, pained.

”Wh— oh.” Beau blinks, finally putting the puzzle together. “Oh! No! You mean you’re going to do all sorts of kinky stuff with the—“

” Beau, please ,” Dorian hissed, eyes widening and looking around surreptitiously. “You’re being too loud.”

”Well, my sneaky intervention seemed to have worked, then!” She continued, triumphantly.

Dorian blinked. The realisation then dawned on him. 

“That was—” He started, but realising this was not going to get them anywhere, just groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“I may have some spare rope lying around! Gosh, this is going to be such a great story! Anything for your quest to seduce the human, Doria—“

“I didn’t say anything,” Dorian interrupted her, his face heating up. 

“Oh, yes, right,” Beau backtracked. “Wink.”

“Did someone say ropes?” Holly materialised beside the box, as festive as ever. “Is it holiday time yet? Are we hanging some decorations up with the human already?” You could hear the enthusiasm in her voice loud and clear. 

“Holly,” Dorian nods at her as casually as he could, but it was clear he was not expecting the added audience. “What brings you here?”

”Well, I just happened to overhear something about sending you and the human off on an adventure…”

”Holly, just in time!” Beau greeted her, gesturing for her to take a seat beside her. “Dorian’s finally on the quest to seduce the hu—“

”Beau,” Dorian glared at her.

”Oh! Finally! Someone’s no longer shy shy shy,” Holly said, imitating some cute gestures by a famous KPop group. “We’ve been waiting for this for so long, you can’t imagine!”

Dorian rolled his eyes, somewhat exasperated. He was, just the same, somewhat encouraged by the messages he’s been getting.

“We were just waiting for ages for you two to finally put two and two together,” Holly continued. “And you can’t imagine how aggravating it was for us to stand by as you—“

”I could feel you wrap around my leg, that one time,” Dorian deadpanned. “You weren’t necessarily that good at hiding.”

”Wh— how did you— I mean, oops!” Holly said innocently, trying her best to look at anything BUT the doorman staring her down. “Guess we’re B-U-S-T-E-D, we are busted!” She laughed with Beau.

Dorian could only put his heating-up face in his hands, groaning.

“Washford, Drysdale,” Laundry Closet Dorian nods at both of them. “I appreciate the time you took out of your busy day to help me with my, er, predicament.”

He found himself amongst the stackables after having Stefan and Kopi give him a brief lesson on how to impress the human in coffee-making and cooking. Needless to say, the two were still adamant that they were the main people who served the human their respective specialties, but were happy to teach Dorian enough of the basics given the short amount of time he had on his hands.

”Why, of course, our dearest Dorian!” Drysdale says, running an oddly sensual hand down his arm. Washford gives the dryer a death stare at that, while Dorian brushes it off as one of his quirks. “Anything to help the human.”

”Indeed,” Washford nods. “It is thanks to them that we have been brought back together.”

”I… see.” Dorian tries to be as nonchalant as possible upon hearing that, but he is deep down impressed at the acrobatics (literal and figurative) the human had to do to bring these very… strong personalities back together. Something about that gave him a flutter in his chest. “I didn’t say anything about helping them, though.”

”It was quite evident from the start,” Washford goes on. “You two are star-crossed lovers.”

” Were ,” Drysdale corrected him. “But it seems that the second party has finally come to his senses.”

”Er. Thanks.” Dorian replied, tugging at his collar. Oops.

”We did not mean to jest, Dorian,” Washford continues. “We know your difficulties with Keith…”

”Yes, Keith…” Dorian said, recalling the day they were reunited. It was all he could do to pretend in front of the human that all went well. Keith, however, seemed to have other intentions in mind. He shivered at the readiness of the key to be so… touchy . And in front of the human, too.

For days leading after, he was at a loss. He was literally just in the hallway, with easy access to four different Dorians at once. It was all he could do to focus on not looking at him for fear that the key might do something else more nefarious.

Especially since Dorian already had someone else in mind (who, fortunately for him, also seemed averse to interacting with the geriatric key).

”You need some… mellifluous words! Yes!” Drysdale said enthusiastically. “Impress them with your verbosity! At least, well, that’s how I came to woo over Washford here…” he put his arm around the washing machine, making him blush.

”Stop it,” Washford replied, with no hint of annoyance in his voice. He turned to Dorian. “It certainly could help to bait their hole — I mean, whole being! Yes.”

”Right. Then…” they took a while to get things going, but after their lengthy discussion, Dorian felt more equipped to woo the player by way of word. 

Satisfied with his progress, he bid them farewell, and planned his next steps. Now he needed someone to help him put pen to paper…

The human had, in their state, started bringing dishes to the office so they could eat while interfacing with Mac. Thus brings Daisuke into the mix as they discussed how best to woo them. 

“Poetry is the best,” Daisuke said, nodding.

”Writing in general is!” Lyric huffed. “You should’ve read the story we made together…”

”How about both, then?” Dorian offered. His two companions looked at each other, shrugged, and nodded.

”That can be arranged,” Daisuke said. They each took turns coaching him on what words to write, helped by Penelope’s offers of various stationery, different pens (from gel to fountain!), papers, stickers, and other fun things. Jerry popped in to offer some trinkets he could stick onto the letters, which the doorman politely refused, definitely only for fear of taking something dear to Jerry away from him. He made sufficient progress, only slowed down partially by the somewhat loud upbeat music coming from the dining area.

As he finished, he showed them his words. “How is it?”

Daisuke and Lyric examined the beautiful sheet of paper intently, and nodded to each other.

”We need a third opinion before we can make a verdict,” they continued. “Mac?”

”What can I do for yo—“ Mac stopped as they looked at the paper. “Oh, you wrote that for the human?” Their enthusiasm was apparent.

”Yes,” Dorian replied. “Could you help see if it’s… good enough?”

”Well, if it’s something from the heart, I’m sure the human is going to love it,” Mac simply explained. “But if you wanted to search me to compare it against the best literature out there, then…”

What ensued was a lecture over an hour long about how each individual line could be better according to love poems and letters and confessions from millions of sources. Lyric and Daisuke slowly eased themselves out of the way, and Dorian could barely keep up with the comments.

Needless to say, he kept his work as is. And with this out of the way, he returned to his usual position, his new love-literature folded neatly in his jacket pocket.

He couldn’t help, however, but look up to your bedroom in concern. It had been several days already since you last interacted with him…

“So… it’s true then?” Fantina cooed, her head resting on her hands. She was laying on the floor with Bathroom Dorian, specifically the one that led to the gym. 

It was an odd corner of the gym, at that. It seemed like someone had been gathering all sorts of… memorabilia of the human, turning it into a shrine of sorts. He even eyed a Red Toothbrush, which he recalled disappeared under mysterious circumstances several days back. As much as it unsettled Dorian, he chose to ignore the feeling.

“Oh, this is so much fun!” Fantina continued. “The human has finally found their knight in shining arm—“

”Yes, yes,” Dorian said, looking around to see if anyone heard it. There was something in him, a strange desire to even have them hear it; the more days passed, the more he got worried about their state.

“Well, we have to give you a proper grilling on that, I fear,” she continued, sitting up and crossing her arms in front of her. 

“We?” Dorian asked.

On cue, Hector piped up from above. “Yes,” the HVAC replied. “We have been shipping you two since the start.”

”Shipping?” Dorian asked, more bewildered than ever.

”Well, you know,” Fantina said. “Wanting two people to be in a relationship!”

”Hence the ship.”

Dorian was at a loss for words. Meeting after meeting with all of the dateables yielded nothing but support for the two. Which was saying much, considering that Fantina and Hector combined could kill for the human if they ever put their heads together for it.

”Right,” Dorian said.

”So, how did it feel knowing that the human was using their creative juices to write self-insert fanfiction about you two—“

“ Fantina! ” Hector gasped.

A profound silence entered the room. Dorian’s eyes widened as he put two and two together. And multiplied it by two.

”You ate,” Dorian started, turning his head slowly towards Hector. “You— you were the one who was eating popcorn that night—“

”I’m sorry!” Hector quickly said, his hands popping out from the grates. He pointed his fingers at each other. “It was late at night, and, well, I heard both of your voices, so…”

”How do you even have a microwave in there?” Dorian asked.

”Let’s just say the power of friendship,” Fantina finished. Dorian looked at her in astonishment.

”Anyway, back to your relationship,” Hector said. “Rest assured that both of us will ensure the optimum temperature for when the proper time comes!” Fantina nodded in agreement. 

“And everything after,” Fantina added, with a knowing look.

Dorian blinked. He was sure things were getting warm again, even without their adjustments…

”I trust that both of you will stay true to your word, then.” He nodded to both of them.

”Yes, sir!” Hector’s hands did a mini-salute, while Fantina stood at attention and did the same.

“And it would be MY honour to serve as the president of the Dorian-Human fan club!” The fan beamed.

“Fantina…” Hector started, his eyes narrowing.

“...sorry. CO-president of the Dorian-Human fan club.”

“Thank you.”

“Er, I appreciate the thought,” Dorian said, a light flush on his cheeks.

Bath-to-Bedroom Dorian felt an odd sense of gratitude at the expanse of time he had. At the back of his mind, he cynically though the human was putting off talking with him until they ensured some sort of character development was happening…

“Dorian, darling, you look absolutely stunning!” Bathsheba cooed, as Amir went about adjusting his outfit for the big moment. 

“A little bit here,” Amir said, more to himself as he pulled and tugged roughly at Dorian’s tailored outfit. Dorian hoped that it would not cause permanent damage; after all, it had served him well for decades. “A little adjusting there, and… voilà!”

Dorian examined himself in the mirror, to the applause of Bathsheba, Amir, and Clarence. Rebel reluctantly gave a bit of applause, and Jean-Loo merely grunted in approval. 

“You sure it’s all right?” Dorian said, turning around and looking at every part of himself.

”It’s looking ducking great,” Rebel deadpanned, crossing their arms and nodding. “Good enough for the human.”

”You know, we were honestly waiting for this day to come,” Clarence said from a corner, holding up his Bat-Man body pillow. Jean-Loo glared at it, which made Clarence only hold it tighter. “Finally, another functional relationship in this house!”

Everyone looked at him.

”What?” Clarence said, holding the pillow even tighter. “Washford and Drysdale can barely be counted as one, so…”

”That’s enough,” Dorian piped up.

“You okay?” Amir said in a lower voice, smiling at him. “Smiling can help make you look much better, you know.”

”Ah, thanks,” Dorian said.

”Keith is in the past, door-ling,” Bathsheba echoed, repeating the pet name that seemed quite familiar to Dorian. He looked at her oddly, but chose to brush it off once again. He underestimated the speed at which information travelled around the house, and he did it again this time.

”Yeah, duck that man!” Rebel said, to the nods of everyone. “And not in a sex way, either.”

Dorian also chose not to comment on a paperback with a suspiciously familiar title that Bathsheba was trying her best to hide behind her.

“Tony,” Dorian nodded to the toolbox as he was wrapping up his… miscellaneous activities outside the Breaker Box. “Good afternoon.”

“Hey, it’s Dorian!” Tony broke out into a smile, giving the door the biggest hug he could give. “How’s my favourite door in the house doin’?”

Dorian had just finished a rather intense work-out session with Dunk and Kristof, a tag-team tandem of training that made him all worn out. He does this training often enough for you to worry that something was wrong with the treadmill; the solution was elusive to the successive repairmen that visited your house, obviously because without the dateviators, they didn’t know that the door was using it. Fortunately, the work-outs Dunk gave him were quiet and short enough so as to escape attention from even you.

He knew he could rely on Tony for a bit of checking up here and there; Farya was exclusively for your welfare.

“Just got done with my regular workout, is all,” Breaker Box Dorian said, beads of sweat still running down his face. He wiped it off with his sleeve, which he made a mental note to visit Washford for some other time. “Needed you to check if nothing has chipped.”

“No problem,” Tony said, accustomed to the regular meetings. He approached and examined him at every angle thoroughly, as a competent tradesman would. “Finally takin’ the human out?”

“What,” Dorian said, sighing. “Implied that that was happening?” 

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Tony beamed, giving him a wink. “Been waitin’ for you two to finally get it on. Besides, I’ve never seen you being this jacked before,” he continued, giving Dorian’s biceps a quick squeeze. Dorian blushed.

“Well, I do still have to stay fit for duty, you know,” Dorian replied, though he was secretly chuffed at the compliment. “Though I do have to admit, it’s nice to leave the human, er… panting.”

“‘Atta boy,” Tony said, wiping a fake tear from the corner of his eye. “And to think, you couldn’t stop talkin’ about ol’ Keith over there–”

There it was again, that old name. Dorian couldn’t help wincing, but Tony didn’t perceive it.

“--and now, you’re about to ask the human out. In my opinion, 10x better.” Tony beamed.

“Thank you,” Dorian could only say. “That was… reassuring.”

“Remember what I taught you, okay?” Tony winked.

“Yes, Tony, I remember the workshops you gave,” Dorian replied.

“That’s it! YOU know what I’m talkin’ about!” Tony bellowed.

Dorian sighed. It was going to be one of those times.

”I know what you’re talking about, Tony,” Dorian rolled his eyes, barely keeping up the charade.

”You KNOW what I’m talkin’ abou—“ 

“Yeah, no, I’m not going through all that again,” Dorian deadpanned, to a dejected Tony.

”You’re no fun,” Tony pouted.

The final stop in his tour were the friends closest to you. By then it had already been a week since you bothered to talk to him. Dorian could see you sneaking around the house, but something stung every time you chose to move past him to only talk briefly to the other objects. He tried his best to shake off the sinking feeling that it was already too late, but every day that passed, the despair grew.

Will all this preparation to impress you go to waste? He distracted himself from the thought by pushing through with it, revisiting everyone who was close to the human to make sure that he made it right by you.

“What brings our strong doorman here?” Teddy started, the bedroom characters all sat in a circle. This wasn’t a seance, per se, but rather a “say, can you answer the human’s wishes before they go insane” meeting.

“Well…” Dorian started. Ben-Hwa cut him off, with yet another sensual brush up the arm (what is up with people doing that recently?).

“We heard you were taking a crash course in intimacy with Sophia,” the sex toy purred. 

“And getting some props from Beau and Holly,” Betty continued, storing the rope and tinsel (Holly insisted it be festive) underneath her for when the time came.

“Wall,” Wallace said, then he coughed. “I mean, you also asked for help from…” he trailed off, and listed the rest of his crew, counting on his fingers. 

“That’s a lot of people,” Teddy said, astonished. “You really must care for the human if you’re this meticulous!”

“But the thing is,” Dorian sighed. “They haven’t gotten around to talk with me for what must be a week already.”

“Affirmative,” Timothy piped up from the corner. He not only had time to check, but also a meticulous calendar that was filled to the brim with all sorts of schedules about Dorian’s and your interactions together. “But, fear not, Dorian.”

“That’s no problem-o, our door-bro,” the Hanks all said, in somewhat eerie unison. “We know the human won’t just give up on you like that!”

“How can you say that?” Dorian countered.

“Well, look at us,” Phoenicia said, gesturing to the entire circle. “Our lives got so much better because of them. They care, so much.”

“That’s true,” Mateo said. Dorian was regaled with the tale of Davi and Stitch and how the human stopped at nothing to get them back home. One by one, the stories followed, which left Dorian speechless.

“So don’t lose hope, Dorian,” Betty said. “They have so much love for everyone in this house, and judging from how persistent they have been all this time, they will come around to it."

“Besides,” Ben-Hwa said. “Although self-insert fanfiction is good, I think it’s time the human finally got some real intimacy.” The rest of the circle nodded.

Dorian groaned at the mention of the… prophetic scripture, as some members of the house dub it (Friar Errol would deny, rather unconvincingly, the term came from him).

“I’m only glad they didn’t write them on me,” Diana muttered.

“Take good care of them,” Mateo said. “They deserve someone who loves them.”

Loves them. Dorian repeated those words, turning it around in his head. He nodded, indescribable emotions inexplicably welling up within them.

“Or else we’ll ducking get back at you!” Rebel called out from the bathroom. 

“We’ll encourage them to talk to you,” Betty assured him as he stood up to get ready for another shift. “You’ll get to say your spiel soon, we promise.”

“Yeah, it’s going to be gnarly!” the Hanks said.

“Like boba tea?” Phoenicia butted in. Everyone else looked at her. “Robotics? Fried chicken? Anyone?”

They continued to look at her oddly. The phone’s shoulders sagged.

“You guys seriously don’t understand the reference?” She said, dejected.

The meeting took longer than expected, only ended by the sound of your footsteps bounding to the bedroom. It had been a productive meeting, all things considered; Teddy once again provided the hot chocolate which everyone enjoyed. Now the members of the bedroom had the logistics sorted out when it was time for Dorian to confess and do things yet to be considered appropriate to narrate (When Dorian utters the safe word, Betty will get to work making everyone evacuate the room so you two could enjoy your privacy).

As he returned to his station, he finally got the courage to look down at the key, innocently placed by the flower vase (Prissy offered to give him some flowers she grew to offer the human, which Dorian gratefully accepted). 

It had been a whirlwind of a week, visiting everyone and participating in their antics for the first time in a while since his last romance.

For a good cause, he reminded himself.

As he put on his customary eye-mask that night, and prepared to sleep, he silently reflected on the fact that never once did he feel the need to talk to that man for any closure…

…precisely because he was moving forward with his life.

Chapter Text

This is it.

You face your front door, resolve as steely as Tony’s exterior. This was going to be it. The boss battle, if you do say so yourself. 

But it wasn’t just him. You’ve come to realise that you were a completely different person than the one who got the dateviators all those days ago. From the shy recluse, to the recluse surrounded by friends (Dorian won’t let you get outside, in any case). In your quest to help out your dateables, you made yourself useful, nay, loved and appreciated. And once you meet everyone and fulfil their purpose, you can start to Realize them one by one.

Well, except the key, of course. Fuck him.

And not in a sex way , you find yourself thinking.

You woke up that day, later than usual, allowing yourself to rest up for the big day ahead. You even skipped out on a writing session with Mac the night before, to their relief.

Just before you got out of bed, you conveniently made a monologue of a confession. You were going to let it all out, and not just to dozens of your oomfs excited for every release of a chapter of your spicy fanfiction with Dorian.

Bathsheba, Rebel, Barry, and Amir all took their turns at caring for you, making sure you looked your best for this special occasion. Hector even allowed Prissy to bring some fresh plants up in the vent, making the air smell more pleasant than usual.

This time, it was real. As real as having dateviators activating anthropomorphic household objects could get.

There was an odd calm to this moment, as you quite reverently went down the stairs in your best clothes (including, of course, that Fantastic Red Shirt). It was like everything you did led to this moment.

You needed to know where you both stood. It was going to eat you inside out if you kept it in any longer.

You took a deep breath, and activated your dateviators.

Just as you were about to let out a maelstrom of words at him, though, he goes first.

“Unbelievable,” he appears before you at once, more shocked than anything. His coldness from previous interactions was now gone. “You’ve explored every inch of me. All my forms and shapes. I try to come off as intimidating, but…” he puts his hand through his hair and sheepishly admits, “now I feel a bit exposed.”

You were caught off-guard by the sudden change in mood, but a part of your brain pushed you on to say what you really wanted to say.

“All according to plan,” you blurt out, the words you wanted to tell him going through the proverbial Jean-Loo.

“I told you, I am distrustful of love because of its ability to break your heart,” Dorian goes on. “I value friendship because I can rely on it. But you are showing me that I can rely on you.”

“What?” This was going well. All too well , suspiciously. You try to pinch yourself, and shake your head to make sure it wasn’t just one of Nightmare’s hyperrealistic concoctions.

“You’ve made the effort,” he explained, and he steps forward, so that you could almost reach out and hold him. “Day after day, talking to all of the different Dorians in the house. Big and not-so. I’m big and strong to keep the bad ones out. But that doesn’t mean I can’t hold you tighter than anyone else in this house.” He beamed at you.

“Then, I love you too.”

You spend a few moments gazing at him in silent awe at the turn of events. But before you reach out and finally get what you wanted, his demeanour changes. Gone was… whatever this was, replaced with something else that seemed more sinister.

“I’m not done with you yet, door-ling .” The tone he used seemed downright deadly.

Arousing , by some accounts.

The use of the pet name triggers something. It was familiar to you, for some reason.

But why did he say it that w–

Your eyes widen. There could only one source for this term of endarment…

You step back, feeling like your soul could lift from your body at any moment. Mortified, you look up at Dorian, now towering over you with a cheeky glint in his eyes. He seems enthused about being in control of you now. You gulp.

“Y-you–” you barely start. How do you grapple with the reality that your crush, who is the personification of a door, just–

“Read your ‘self-insert fanfic’?” Dorian continues for you, putting the phrase in air quotes. “I did. All 75 chapters of it. You know, it’s cute how I can track your realisation just from reading your expressions,” he teased, clearly having fun playing with you.

A million thoughts a minute sped through your mind, scenarios more horrifying the more you thought about it.

So he knows. He’s read it. Which one did he read? Did he like it? Does he have any feedback for me? What if he was offended? 

Your mind goes into overdrive, making quickfire calculations on how much it could cost to move from this house to Antarctica to start a new life with the penguins, and what (and whom) to pack with you along the way, and whom to bequeath your house and the rest of your belongings once you move away or possibly die from embarrassment. 

And most importantly… how did Mac let him in?

“Macintosh should not get any of the blame for this,” Dorian continues, as if it would make you feel any better (it didn’t). “You were spending a lot of time interfacing with them, to put it in their words. And you looked tired the past few weeks.”

“Thanks?” You say, choosing not to comment on hearing Mac’s government name for the first time.

“I was getting worried,” Dorian finished, hand combing through his hair. “I made them tell me what was going on. It seems their warning to you about your privacy came too late, in fact.”

“I’m… sorry?” You try to speak again. unsure how to resolve the clusterfuck of a situation.

“Where were we?” He asked, mostly to himself. Then he looked back at you. “Ah, yes, well… it reassured me that my… er… sentiments were not one-sided. But it did take a while for it to… sink in.”

You now connect the dots behind reason why Dorian had been off the last time you talked to him.

And all this time, he did his confession monologue, only to do the grand reveal at the end. Like a predator only waiting for the right moment to pounce on its prey-

“Now, what else was left? Ah, yes…”

All of a sudden, you find your back pressed against the hard wood. Dorian licks his lips, leaning his hand against the door so you have no way to escape. You wonder how long it would take before you would spontaneously combust from all the heat in the space.

(Hector, mercifully, seems to have read the room and adjusted the temperature accordingly.)

“Did you ever think,” he said as he reached to grab you by the jaw, gently nudging it upward to look at him. “How much you’ve ruined me for everyone else, love?” With that, he closes the distance between you two. "You don't know how long I've waited for this day."

You admittedly have to crane your neck to reach Dorian’s lips, but he fortunately gets the memo and lowers himself to reach you. You feel the hunger in his kiss, finally getting permission to do what he deep-down wanted to do for weeks. As you two pull away, you drink in the now-unkempt Dorian in front of you, his normally coiffed hair now sticking out in places, his face red, and his lips oh, so delicious. 

You swear that his dress shirt’s loose a button or two more than usual, which sends heat straight downstairs. And I’m not referring to the crawlspace, mind you.

“Wow.” You say breathlessly.

”Not only that, I think someone needs to be punished ,” he says, putting particular emphasis on the last word. And in one fell swoop, Dorian effortlessly scoops you up, and throws you over his back, fireman’s carry style. You yelp at how he picked you up in one fluid motion. “You’ve been a naughty boy now, haven’t you?”

(Almost on cue, you hear something, or some things, crashing and falling in your bedroom, almost like a stampede of things leaving the space, for whatever reason. You choose to ignore it to focus on how he just called you and how it made you feel things that you haven’t felt this intensely before.)

“B-but why?” You question. “You had feelings anyway!”

”Even then,” he says, as he starts walking up the stairs, jostling you a bit to secure his grip on you. Even without the glasses on, you could feel every pair of anthropomorphic eyes on you as the situation unfolds. “You wrote all that about me before you knew I had feelings. That’s not what friends do,” he finishes as he goes through Bedroom Dorian (you could swear from your vantage point he does a little finger salute on the door) and lays you down on the bed.

Fear and fluttery feelings mix in you as you look up at the ceiling.

You could hear the familiar unlocking of the latch, and—

Oh. It’s real.

It’s turning real.

“What? Cat got your tongue?” You hear Dorian from below. “You wrote about this happening, didn’t you?”

”Don’t remind me,” you rush to say, your face the reddest it could get, but it is, in fact, what you wanted in the end.

But that wasn’t all. You find him scrounging underneath the bed until he found what he was looking for. Your eyes widen at the realisation.

“Wait, bollocks,” he quickly says to himself, putting back the seemingly festive tinsel he fished out from underneath the bed. He finds purchase on the object he did want to get in the first place, and takes it out.

”Remember when I said I had some drawbridge roots? You might need to take some notes from this… experience,” he chuckles as he straddles you, rope in hand…

And guides you through acts so complex and obscene to enumerate here that even the author cannot do the intimacy justice.

Chapter Text

PlayerCharacter69

I will no longer be updating this story in light of some… Realizations™️ in my personal life, to put it one way. Thank you so much for all your support! ❤️