𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝙸𝚝.
(Henry Creel/Mr. What’s it x Fem!Reader)
. 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✩₊˚.⋆⁺₊✧ 𖥔 ݁ ˖
Summary ⟢ After suffering amnesia from a severe accident, you wake up to find yourself in an unfamiliar house with an unfamiliar man, a man that acquaints himself to be your husband.
But is he truly who he says he is?
⋆⁺₊✧ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕠𝕟𝕖⋆⁺₊✧ 𖥔 ݁ ˖
When you awoke, you awoke in a vehement violent manner. Your head snapping up from the silken clothed pillow below. Thwarting your attention around in breathy gasps and even the slightest yelp. Almost acting as if you had experienced a dreadful nightmare that prior night, but unable to recall the events within the frightful dream of hers.
But once you looked around, you realized you had no reason to be shuddering with fear, or soaking yourself in cold sweats that dampened the soft pastel quilts that covered you and the bed sheeting below.
You properly sat up, studying the room that you were in, and only taking roughly two minutes to realize that you had no idea where you were .
You were tucked well in the comfort of a bed and two layers of blanketing, floral patterns woven into the vibrant quilt that ran across your lap, the unfamiliarity of it all sent alarm bells rattling through your head.
You whipped your head up, across the room sat a solid oak vanity that showed your reflection through its accented oval mirror.
You frowned back at yourself.
The room clashed with pastels and tender rays of sunlight streaking across the floor. Soft visuals that were meant to balm your senses clean and loosen your nerves. But, for some unusual reason it all unnerved you. None of it felt right.
However, you sat there for a comforting amount of time, stressfully running your pinched fingers through your hair and considering that maybe whatever this place was, was simply a ludicrous dream, that felt all too real in nature.
But where were you?
You rubbed the cavities of your eyes with your knuckles and pulled them away, unable to truly rid your corner sights of that burdening hazy glare.
You began to think hard of how you may have ended up within the room, within a full-sized bed that wasn’t yours and below covers that were never yours to begin with. The absent spot to your left that had the slightest cave-in within the mattress left you to believe this bed was often used and was someone else’s.
Before you could stress as much as you wanted under that notion,you began to hear music.
It was sweet and blissful, whistling through the air like feathers and cotton.
You weren’t afraid, just puzzled and intrigued more than anything else, your head hung to the side with curiosity as you twisted around on the mattress and threw your legs out, placing them on the soft rosette printed rug and standing up, earning a faint churning of floorboards below.
Your legs were quite weak and flimsy, comparable to gelatin or a soft dough, sending you nearly plummeting into the floor but instead your feet stumbled, racing you face first into the nearby wall, hitting the center of your head against the core of a small dandelion design within the wallpaper.
You recoiled, cupping your forehead with a pained grunt, sending your vision swelled with glistening stars while head hung low with a weighted pain, staring down at the blue satin gown that clothed your body.
It sent you into another instantaneous alarm, pinching the soft fabric of the skirt in between the tips of your index and thumbs and plucking at it.
Just like the bed, these weren't your clothes either.
A shaky breath escaped you, gradually looming up and bending near the doorframe that sat a few inches from where you collided into, quietly pushing the agape door back by a few creaks.
Past the bedroom was a warm toned corridor, assorted with small end tables that held furnishing vases of wild flowers, a soft colored plush rug stretching past the hallway and roping around the thinly twig supports of a stair’s balustrade, and flowering the steps.
Past the stairs, where you fought to keep upright and not tumble down the brutal steps, you found the music to be loud, almost vibrant and feeling as if it were playing directly into the canal of your ears.
The room, where the music called from, was just a few steps from the base of the staircase and across the small downstairs corridor, where you craned your neck back to stare at the large and crystalline chandelier that hung from the ceiling, slowly rounding yourself within your foot before making a bee- line into the next room .
The room was large but not too large, with a tall accented lounge chair sat far from the large window that frothed in more sunlight , but was angled to appreciate the view past the glass panes.
There was a small box television sat up on a rich drawered stand against the far wall, at the frayed ends of the area rug, next to a doorway that led into another room. Vacant and switched off.
And then, playing proudly on its own small rounded accent table laid near the room’s chair was an old record player. Goldplated horn outstretched above as it’s black vinyl disk spun idly along its needle.
Your chest fell at the sight, taking a precautionary look around yourself before approaching, lifting the arm of it from the disk and muting what was left of the composition of instruments and soft tender voices.
You swallowed, your hand peeling away from the analog machine.
Your head turned to the side slightly, fingers idly picking at the sleeve of your gown fidgetingly so, as you began to wonder what to do.
Was there maybe a landline somewhere?
You needed to phone your father.
What would he even think?
Then the faint sound of synthetic leather soles against laminated hardwood was heard, not loud enough to cause proper alarm on your end immediately, only causing the slightest wearying look to the side in suspicion, right up until the soft but sudden chime of a voice rolled from behind you, making the shells of your ears flutter.
“Oh, you’re awake.”
You gasped, turning by a full angle and laid eyes on a tall and slender man that stood within the doorway where you had stumbled in from.
He was dressed of ornate fashion, wearing a button down under shirt and tie tucked firmly into a dark brown waist coat that allowed the chain of a pocket watch to hang from, dark slacks, and leather oxfords.
His hands charitably were lifted up along the height of his shoulders, deterrent, blonde eyebrows lifted above his bulbous pale eyes with forged consolation.
“Don’t be afraid.” He told you,
You stared at the glossy toes of his shoes that remained planted in their places, flashing your eyes back up at him, your fingers curling tightly around the edge of the table behind you.
“Who are you?” You asked, looking down before looking back up at him with a strained look,”Where am I?”
Instead of answering, the man simply smiled, albeit weak but kind over all.
⋆༺𓆩🕷️𓆪༻⋆
“I was afraid you’d never wake up after the incident.” The man spoke with a tenderly-plush voice, pouring steaming hot tea into your small porcelain cup. It had the slightest tint of amber and smelt of chamomile. You watched it pool near the top then stop.
You cagily glanced up at the strange man, catching his attention away from you as he placed the tea pot back onto the accented tray in the center of the dining table. A small and natural smile seeming to curl idly along the edges of his lips.
“The incident?” You repeated, confused.
“Well, yes.” He assured, plucking up a small woven napkin from nearby and taking it along the spout of the pot, wrenching it clean of remaining residue. “You took quite the fall and hit your head terribly. Had me worried sick.”
“A fall?” You whispered, coyly ringing the end of your primary digits along the cup's handle.
“Do you not remember?”
“The fall?”
E/c eyes jotted to the side in thought. Briefly feeling the impending reflection of a far distant memory or dream you may had experienced prior to then, where you were falling, falling, and falling for such a dreadfully long time, departing farther and farther from crimson clouds and the rigged rocky peaks of mountains from above until something clouded over the recollection—the dream, and then you were straining yourself in irritation from what you had remembered but unable to grasp any longer.
“No.”
Silence swelled the air for a moment, and when it did you were almost sure you could hear soft birds chirping from outside. Tweetering and singing back and forth from one another. From one tree branch to the other.
“Do you not remember who I am?”
You looked down at the table, your thumb nail scraping against the gritty surface of the porcelain, lips pressed tightly together in thought. And then your eyes lifted up and stared back up at him.
He had blue eyes, a gaunt and slender pale face that earned little dimples and creases here and there along his pale face, a rigid nose, thin bowed lips, and kempt blonde hair that had an active habit of falling into his face within a time or two. It was all something you failed to thoroughly analyze a few moments earlier, and you just couldn’t find yourself to recognize who he was …at all.
“I. I don’t. I’m sorry.”
A heavy sigh was heard, but it wasn’t anger or frustration, but rather a lethal wave of disappointment and woe.
When you looked back up at him, his lips were slightly drooped, the slightest frown weighing along them, but when his eyes met yours once more they tugged upwards, soft and pleasant once again.
“Unfortunate.” He whispered.
You began to open your mouth to say something, but went quiet as he peeled a thin layer of napkin up from the table and softly flattened it along the side of your tea cup that had begun to leak hot tea down it’s side from the crooked angle in which you unintentionally held it at.
“Oh-“
“Just don’t push and strain yourself to remember. I’m sure it all will come back to you on its own.” He suggested, folding the napkin into folds of two and leisurely laying it elsewhere along the table top.
He then adjusted his eyes on your shoulder before sparing a soft palm upon it, where you stared at it long and hard. His calloused thumb tenderly scathing across the bare flesh until it was a soft shade of pink, until you managed to pull your arm away, bringing it to your chest.
“Am…am I supposed to know you?”
He didn’t answer immediately, only standing over you, hands pressed against the table idly and eyes droning into you with an unknown expression, being seen wetting his bottom lip while angling his head away in deep thought.
A few moments came and went and when it did, he palmed his head back around in your direction and answered.
“I’m your husband.”
...
You paced back and forth within the room you had woken up in prior. Door closed, lock twisted. Your fingers peeling at the dry skin around your nails as your teeth burrowed uncomfortably into the plush of your lip, a nasty metallic taste sure to follow.
After being improperly properly introduced to someone who titled himself as “your husband”, you had silently stared at him in disbelief. Your brain unable to meet ends with the possibility that you were married to such stranger, before eventually you did and you were up from the chair and fleeing the dining room within seconds, unable to hear what he had to say or what he was saying in worried mutters as you leveled the stairs, tripping on inadvertent lumps in the carpet runners and blockading yourself in the room.
Where did you first meet him? How long have you been married to him? How long had you even known the man??
What was his name?
What was your name?
“Can’t remember…” you whispered shakily, pulling a strip of flesh from the top of your finger to the first knuckle and then hissing shortly after and doubling over with a pained whine.
When you looked back down at the skinned digit, you saw a pink fleshy line of irritated skin stretching from the base of your fingernail to the last knuckle of your digit. Blood beginning to well along the edges.
You let out a heavy breath, drawing the side of the finger to your lips, tasting iron and suckling away the pain despite it stinging terribly in the process.
You then peeled the digit away and stared back down at your finger, and then slowly turned attention to the kin finger beside of it, where a single sharp twinkle twisted along your ring finger’s knuckle, where a golden band wrapped perfectly around your finger.
“What the hell.“
You stared at it, as if it were something so foreign that you didn’t even know what it was, but you knew what it was and exactly what it meant.
But, before you could stress any further, you heard the sound of a door shutting firmly downstairs, ricocketing throughout the house and making the floorboards below your feet shudder.
You flinched and looked up, panning your attention to the room’s window on the other end of the room before ambling near it, peeling the sheer curtains away in order for you to see the front portion of the house, staring down at the front lawn from a story up and watching as “your husband” stepped out from under the porch’s awning where you could properly see him level the front steps and trail down the walkway in relaxed strides until he met the sidewalk that separated the lawn from the street’s asphalt.
You watched as he paused near the bright red mailbox and stared at it for a moment before slowly turning back in the direction of the house, eyes studying certain parts of the home, imaginably window to window right before sharply snapping his vision up into your direction, through the window that you stared back at him from.
A gasp ripped past your lips before jerking both sides of the curtains together in a violent manner.
Unable to see the wide smile that grew over his face.
…
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