Gaslight

Gaslight

By the time Roy noticed something was wrong, it was already too late.

Valentine was always the smarter one. The one who saw patterns in people, who could pluck thoughts from their minds before they even had the chance to think them. It was part of why Roy loved her—how effortlessly she guided him, made him feel safe, understood, cared for. So when she began making little suggestions, he didn’t think twice about following them.

"You’ve been so stressed lately, love," she told him one evening, pressing a cool hand against his forehead. "You don’t take care of yourself, but that’s okay. I’ll do it for you."

He blinked slowly, his mind hazy. He had been feeling… odd lately. Sleepy, sluggish. Like he was forgetting something important. But it was hard to think with Valentine stroking his wrist like that, whispering soft reassurances.

"You trust me, don’t you?" she asked.

"Yeah… of course," Roy murmured, the words slipping from his lips like an instinct.

That was the first mistake.

The second mistake was noticing.

Standing in front of the mirror one morning, Roy frowned. His clothes were looser. His waist looked… smaller. Had he lost weight? He pulled his shirt up slightly, pressing a palm against his stomach. His fingers skimmed the edge of his ribs—he swore they hadn’t been so pronounced before.

"Val, have I been losing weight?"

Valentine peeked into the room, her warm smile settling his nerves. "Of course, sweetheart. You said you wanted to feel lighter, remember?"

"I… I did?"

"Mmhmm." She stepped behind him, her hands smooth against his bare sides. "You were never meant to be big, baby. You’ve always been delicate."

His fingers twitched over his chest. His nipples were sore.

"But my—my chest feels weird," Roy muttered, voice catching.

Valentine’s hands trailed over his ribs, her lips ghosting against his ear. "That’s just part of it, love. You like this, don’t you? Being soft for me?"

A shiver ran down his spine, but his thoughts were slipping. She always made so much sense.

"Yeah… I guess so…"

The third mistake was waking up in a diaper.

Roy jolted upright, heart hammering. He shoved the blanket off and—no, no, no—what the hell was this?! A soft, thick pink diaper wrapped snugly around his hips, pressing against his skin wrong, all wrong.

"VAL!" His voice cracked.

She appeared almost instantly, calm as ever, like she’d been expecting this.

"Oh, sweetheart, what’s wrong?"

*"What’s—?!" He gestured frantically at himself. "Why the hell am I wearing this?!"

Valentine knelt beside him, rubbing slow circles into his thigh. "You’ve been having little accidents at night, love. It’s nothing to be ashamed of."

His breath hitched. "No. No, that’s not—" He squeezed his legs together, and his stomach turned. He felt… empty.

There was nothing between his thighs.

Nothing.

"Val… what happened to me?"

"It’s just your body adjusting, sweetheart."

"Adjusting to what?!"

Her hands were warm, her voice so gentle. "Shhh. Don’t think too hard, baby. Let me take care of you."

His head spun.

Maybe she was right. Maybe he was overthinking things.

The fourth mistake was seeing himself.

Roy stood in front of the bathroom mirror, trembling. His fingers dug into the sink as his reflection mocked him.

Soft curves.
Long, red hair.
A small, rounded chest, rising and falling with each ragged breath.

And between his legs—not him, not him, not him.

His hands moved on their own, touching, exploring, confirming the horror was real.

"No. No, no, no—this isn’t real!"

But it was.

"Val, what did you DO TO ME?!"

She appeared in the doorway, holding something familiar. A syringe.

"Oh, love. You’re having another episode."

"I—I had—" Roy choked. I had something else there. I was a man. I was—I was—

Valentine stepped closer, her smile soft, patient.

"Such silly little dreams." She pressed a kiss to his forehead, then plunged the needle into his arm.

*"No, NO—" His voice slurred as the world faded.

"Mmm, there we go. Good girl."

The final mistake was forgetting.

Roy smoothed down the fabric of his dress absently, the soft silk pooling over his thighs. It felt… right. Comfortable.

Except—

"Val… why am I wearing this?"

Valentine’s fingers combed through his hair, her lips brushing against his temple.

"Wearing what, babe?"

Roy hesitated, glancing down at himself. The long dress, the soft curves, the gentle weight on his chest.

"This… dress? I don’t… I don’t remember dressing like this before."

"Of course you do, baby. This is how you’ve always dressed."

His fingers twitched against the fabric. A strange feeling twisted in his chest—an absence, a quiet sense of something missing.

"Yeah… I guess you’re right."

Her hands slid down his shoulders, wrapping around his waist.

"That’s my good girl."

Roy blinked slowly. He wanted to say something else, something important, but the thought slipped through his fingers like sand.

"I… I think I used to be something else…"

Valentine kissed his cheek.

"No, baby. You were always mine."