I loved your khol head canons! They were super fun to read and super on point! Can you write more? Maybe a short fic if your felling it 🥺👀
I gotchu twin. I will not be proofreading this tho, i dont believe in proofreading (i'm lazy)
Khol x reader (YMTHAH)
this is a short story where you, the reader, wake up and think that forgetting & stabbing khol was all a nightmare
You woke up in a cold sweat, heart pounding out of your chest as you looked around, you recognized your surroundings, it was your bedroom, the one in the house you shared with your boyfriend, Khol. As you sat up and grounded yourself enough to know you were awake, and in your bedroom, you realized just how terrifying your dream was; you had completely forgotten your darling boyfriend, the one who trusted you enough to reveal his monstrous figure and tell you about how he keeps his human appearance, as a result of forgetting him, you stabbed him! with a fork! there was blood everywhere and he just... slinked off to the bathroom with a quiet "...accidents happen..." Nothing more! The blood was enough to make you queasy...
Quickly, you got out of bed, hurrying down the hall to Khols room, eyes still blurry from sleep your movements sluggish & jagged. You faintly heard Kohl talking to someone, didn't matter, just means you wont be waking him up. As you approach his door, the floor creaks and he suddenly goes quiet, as though frozen; and just before you reach the door to knock, it flies open and you make eye contact with a terrified Khol.
Khol stared down at you in disbelief and horror, but after a few seconds his eyes focus on yours, glassy and fuzzy, he pauses, "Honey...? are you ok...?" Khol frowned, panicking at your distressed state, but before he could do anything, You stepped forwards, falling into his arms and sobbing, "Khol! it was horrible, i had a nightmare, where i forgot you!" Khol held you gently, frozen in panic, you shouldn't remember him, you shouldn't even be awake right now. Is this because he didn't make you eat your dinner? was missing one dose enough to bring back your memories?! Despite his panic, Khol gently wrapped his arms around you, attempting to soothe you, "....It's ok, even if you did forget me, i would love you. You're perfect, memories or no.." He muttered, trying to sound confident as you cried. Khol took a deep breath, slowly guiding you back towards your bedroom, "...How about you lay down? You can tell me all about your nightmare once your bundled up in bed." Khol smiled, as you sniffled, nodding in agreement.
Once the two of you reached your bedroom, you climbed into bed, with Khol reaching over and tucking you in, as you calmed down. Khol waited patiently for your breathing to level, just happy to stroke your back and comfort you, he was so happy you remembered him, even if it wouldn't last long. As soon as you started talking, Khol immediately perked up, happy to listen to you, "...in my nightmare, i stabbed you... with a fork... because i didn't remember you..." Your words were quiet, still upset, but Khol heard each one. The mix of emotions Khol felt was intense, on one hand, he was so happy you remembered him, and still loved him, on the other, you thought stabbing him was a nightmare, and you were distressed because of it... maybe he shouldn't tell you that it actually happened.... Khol snapped out of his thoughts pretty quickly, trying to comfort you, "it's ok, i'm ok. You didn't forget me, and im ok." he smiled, reaching up to stroke your hair, before pausing right above your head, so used to his affections being denied; but to Kohl's surprise, you leaned into his touch, smiling softly, "....Will you stay and cuddle...? just until i fall back asleep at least...?" you mumbled, calming down slowly. While you were calm, Khol was practically bubbling with joy, wordlessly crawling into bed beside you and wrapping his arms around your waist, holding you close to him. "I love you, my darling. Sleep well.." Khol whispered, happy to be holding you in his arms again, for the first time in months, he felt seen, the same way he used to be.
And as you drifted off to sleep, you could faintly see the hearts forming in Kohl's hair, and feel his rapid heartbeat, but despite him being a monster, he was the man you loved, and you felt safe with him.
Warnings: none. Maybe Spencer’s being its own warning lol. Can you tell I love skin care in my fics I just love how sweet and intimate it can be. i was gonna write the siren au instead of this but it was gonna be the reader on a cruise rather than being a sailor cuz idk jack about boats LMFAO
comments r appreciated ^^!
“Hey, babe, I got a joke for you.”
You’re busy sifting through thrifted clothing, border-lining tunnel vision, while your boyfriend is trying out a new comedic routine. God, you can't find anything so far—it’s always some influencer buying the best clothes while you’re scrounging the usual, uninteresting clothes. Maybe you’ll score a good pair of pants for once, relevant to the style you’re trying out.
Still distracted, you only manage to hum out a noise as a confirmation for him to continue. Just barely discernible over the metal clinking of clothes hangers being pushed and the cheap store music.
“What did the,” Khol stops to hold back a laugh, biting his lip, “What did the creaky door say to the guest?”
You hum again and pull out something that catches your eyes. “Dunno. What’d it say?”
A loud fart noise follows.
Did he just—there’s no way.
Immediately, you whip your head to see your boyfriend with a hand under his shirt, boldly making an armpit fart with it.
“There is no fucking way you just did that.”
He immediately bursts out laughing as he takes his hand out from his shirt. “Wait, wait—I can do a louder one!”
You almost threaten to hit him with a hanger. “Do not. Bad enough you touched your pit.”
He stares at you dead in the eye as he slowly places his hand back under his shirt, biting his lip to stifle any laughter threatening to slip.
Then heads are turned when a louder noise of flatulence is emitted from his armpit.
You quickly raise the hanger to whack him, and he laughs louder, hugging you before any damage can befall him.
“How was that one, huh?” The goofball asks, thick arms wrapped around your waist.
You toss the hanger back onto the clothing rack, rolling your eyes with a smile. “You really wanted attention that badly, didn’t you?”
He grins and nods.
…
“I’m not one who normally does this stuff.”
Khol’s tresses are pulled back by a fluffy headband to prevent them from touching his face. The dark strands touch his shoulders rather than his face as he smiles, feeling your fingers deftly rub the cleanser into his skin.
“The step-by-step process,” you tilt your head, “or washing your face in general?” You tease, slowly smiling.
He instantly pouts, yet it only briefly appears, replaced by a laugh. “The steps! I wash my face. I’m not dirty or anything.” He declares, defending himself.
“Or anything,” you mock, as the suds begin to cake his face in white, foamy streaks beginning to bubble. He closes his eyes and leans more into your moving fingers, the cleanser being rubbed feeling more like a sweet massage rather than a cleaning.
You pull your hands back. “Okay. Wash it out now.”
He opens his eyes with a hopeful, cheesy smile. “Wash it out for me?”
You don’t even bother entertaining him. “Now, how would I even do that. Are you aware you’re tall as shit, and I’d be drenching your shirt in the process?”
He watches your hands flick on the faucet then back as he leans on the sink, arms pressed on the marble and tight shirt stretching taut around his shoulders. When he leans over it, a couple of strands displace and flow over his shoulders; they get in the way and almost touch his soapy face.
You step behind him as he cups his hands under the water. “Hold on.”
He stops, peeking at you.
Then he smiles at feeling your fingers gather around his hair, effectively pulling back his long hair into a low ponytail, keeping it out of reach from getting damp. He loves it; you’ve always been so doting and considerate of him, and he’s rarely used to this kind of attention—flowing so easily and always putting him first.
It’s hard to not smile when he’s always near you.
His eyes crinkle when he lowers his face to his cupped, water-filled palms as the tap runs. “Thank you, honey.”
You pat his back lightly in response when you take your hands from his hair, running your fingers and letting the tresses slither into the gaps.
“Nothing to thank me for.”
You stand beside him, wagging your finger in a gesture to him and the drizzling faucet. “Now get on. Wash it out.”
He laughs and quickly obeys.
The taller male splashes his face once, then twice. Finally, he lightly washes the cleanser from his skin, repeating the simple little motions you did on his face to thoroughly wash away the soap.
The dark-haired man gives one more splash to his face before standing up, face dripping and glistening. The droplets darken on his worn-out band shirt, and you immediately reach over to the rack, plucking a rag. You lightly dab his face, keeping it damp enough for the next process but dry enough to have water paving its way all over the contours of his face.
“So,” you snort as he playfully leans into your hands and buries his face fully into the rag, soaking up your touch like a cat, “how’s your job going?”
Khol props his chin on the rag, hunched over to do the action, and shrugs. “Nothing all that much to talk about. I’m ordered to make food or join in with the flow of things. Sometimes I serve, sometimes I’m torching the top of a burger.”
Khol takes his chin from the rag, eyes glinting playfully. “Wanna hear how I almost burnt my hair?”
You want to deadpan at him, because of course that nearly happened to him—it’s Khol, but a smile sneaks onto your face, wide and amused. You place the rag on the counter as you reach for the skin exfoliate.
“Do I want to know?”
“Oh, you do.” He flicks the fluffy ears of the headband, a proud smile on his face. “I screamed and had those fire alarms ringing!”
He leans towards you when you flick open the tube, dolloping only a smidge of exfoliate. Your boyfriend's voice is low and conspiring as if he’s letting in the juiciest gossip. “One of the guys shot that fire extinguisher foam right in my mouth—it was awesome.”
You laugh, eyes wide and face bewildered, because what can you do besides laugh at the havoc he caused?
“Awesome? I would’ve been talking to a bald spot instead of your face right now.”
Before he can speak, his cheeks are painted with the exfoliate by your rubbing fingers. He reflexively steps back, grinning face dropping into a grimace at the difference in texture. “Why is it… bumpy? It’s like little rocks rubbing on my skin!”
You pause, then look towards the tube sitting idly on the counter.
Huh, you never thought if little rocks were actually put in it. It’s not, but it never occurred to you that’s what they felt like.
You go back to rubbing the exofoilate. Khol whines more at the weird, rough texture but doesn’t squirm away; he’s trying his hardest to stay still because it’s just some cleaning stuff. It’s not like it’ll hurt, right? No way his sweet, awesome partner wouldn’t prank him—actually, would that even count as a prank? Pranks are lighthearted, but having something burning his skin wouldn’t be lighthearted.
Little did he know, the next step would hurt.
While his mind wanders off to the logistics of what goes into a prank, the kind of easiness he could do around you, his body instinctively melts more into your soothing touch.
Harsh as the exfoliate may be, it doesn’t compare to how gentle and delicately you care for him. The rough texture barely registers when he has light, nimble fingers expertly brushing his cheeks—canceling out his discomfort and making him puddy, malleable, and relenting in your hands.
Only when you run the faucet again to wash the white soap from your fingers, he comes to. Khol blinks then faces his reflection.
“I look like a ghost.”
He faces with you, eyes crinkling. “A ghost with crazy acne.”
You snort as you flick the water from your fingers, shaking them dry. “Wash the soap outta your skin, Casper.”
He giggles, lowering his face to the running water, “And who are you gonna call when you see me—”
“Shut up,” you laugh.
Khol repeats the same face-washing process, but you halt him, taking his bigger, damp hands. With the faucet running as background noise, you guide him to do the next step accurately. “You have to wash out the exfoliate as if you’re washing your face. It’s the only way to deeply wash out it out.”
He pauses, glancing at your hands on his wrists, then back at up you. He ignores the small flutter in his chest from the delicate touch because even when dating you, everything feels like encountering his crush for the first time, and then he listens to your voice.
“Use two fingers to rub it out better.”
The dark-eyed man nods, then faces the water again. Thoroughly, he manages to wash the facial cleanser out of his face, this wash being longer and more focused than the last time.
Khol pulls his face away, eyes shining with a craving for validation. “I did good?” And you can practically see a tail swishing behind him, eager for praise at following your orders.
You quirk a brow, smile lopsided. “You did only your cheeks. Your nose and cheeks and forehead still need washing.”
That imagined tail droops in disappointment.
Khol groans silently but goes back, heading your words. His lithe fingers touch his forehead as you speak again, preparing to scrub away the dastardly exfoliate.
“But you’re doing the technique right. A for Accuracy, handsome.”
That tail immediately starts wagging again, and you can already feel him restraining himself from smothering you. You giggle the minute he pauses his scrubbing, only able to see a hint of his side profile, yet his silent excitement speaks louder than his growing grin.
You called him handsome, he giggles in his head. His heart flutters again—jumping and kicking in ways he wishes he could do right now.
But the bathroom is a bit too tiny for him to perform parlor tricks, so smiling and vibrating with excitement as he washes his face it is.
The last of the bumpy, annoying exfoliate is washed away, and what’s left is a face glistening and softer in ways he didn’t imagine could be possible. Khol’s fingers poke and prod at his cheeks while you grab the rag, dabbing away the cascading droplets plopping on his already darkened tee.
“No wonder you do this.” He pinches his cheek, grinning widely while staring at his reflection as you pat his chin. “I’m touching a cloud!”
You immediately laugh as you take away the fluffy fabric. “We’re not done.”
He purses his lips, eyebrows furrowing as his face scrunches in confusion.
“We’re not?”
You shake your head as you grab the facial toner.
“In fact, this might be the worst part.”
He looks at the bottle of clear liquid, then slowly looks back at you. “What’s that, honey?” He cautiously asks, laughing to drive away the creeping anxiousness.
You pop open the bottle with a flick of your thumb, and he immediately lets out a pained noise, as if he’d been punched in the gut. “Augh—! What the,” he covers his nose, “What the hell is in that bottle?!”
You whistle as you grab a cotton pad from the shelf. With a couple of shakes, the bottle wets the pad into a darker shade in its middle. “Face toner.”
“It smells like a science lab!”
You hold cotton to his face, grinning. “That’s because it’s odorless.”
He huffs, leaning down for you again. “If it’s so odorless, why can I smell it?”
Before you can correct him on the term when it comes to beauty products, he lets out a shriek the minute the wet pad touches his cheek. “H-how—babe, it burns!”
“It’s readying your skin for the moisturizer!” You laugh.
He looks at you, horrified. “You’re drying out my skin?!”
Quickly, he tries to seize the cotton pad, but it’s already hidden behind your back. You tap his nose playfully as he pouts down at you, feeling betrayed. “I’ll be quick. Just hold your breath. When I apply the moisturizer after this, you will be glowing.”
He pouts, more shoulders sagging.
You flutter your lashes, lips curling into an innocent smile. “Please?”
Khol huffs and crosses his arms. He can’t deny you—he can never deny you. Not when you’re being adorable and begging him.
He finally responds, muttering the word in a defeated voice.
“Fine.”
He’s putting his life in your hands; essentially, he’s trusting you won’t ruin his beautiful face. The idea of him glowing, looking refreshed and sparkly, was tempting, but only you looking so pretty has him agreeable.
You reveal the assaulter from behind your back, and he eyeballs it, glaring at it. If anything goes wrong, it’s the toner’s fault—his sweet partner is the innocent victim in this situation. Even if they made the culprit touch his beautiful face.
Yet his glare immediately melts into heart eyes when you abruptly pull his face down for a gentle peck on the lips. Khol’s crossed arms drop like dead weight by his sides from the sweet kiss, caught completely off guard yet fully accepting being swept off his feet.
When you pull back, and before he can chase after your lips for another kiss, he lets out a hiss—the burn taints him once more.
The wet pad begins to be dabbed on his skin.
Khol sighs, and his shoulders sag in defeat. There’s no escaping the damn little thing, so he’ll remain quiet.
And another hiss slips from his clenched teeth.
Or as quiet as he can be.
Thankfully, you’re quick because of how the routine flows through you naturally. Cheeks, to nose, to forehead, to chin, then patting any other untouched areas.
The cotton pad gets tossed in a little bin beside the sink while he stands there, the burn fading into just feeling how damp his skin is… again. Khol stands upright, easing his hunched back—gosh, you just had to be smaller than him. It’s cute, but the little back pain isn’t.
He hums, painted fingers touching his skin. “What now, honey?”
You pull his hand away from his face, and he stares down at you curiously.
“Now,” you reach a hand out and start fanning his face, “we manually dry your face. The toner needs to set.”
He laughs when he watches your hands create little wind. “Okay, this part is pretty nice.”
He closes his eyes and smiles, soaking up how your hands fan his face from every angle.
“Feel dry yet?”
He shakes his head, “A little more.”
You hum and fan your hands faster, lasting longer.
“How about now?”
“A little longer,” he raises two fingers in a little pinch.
Wrists tiring, but still wanting to continue the skincare, you continue fanning his face. It’s no longer glistening, and you’re starting to get suspicious.
You squint your eyes when he bites his lip, knowing very well he does that when he tries to hide his laughter.
“…now?”
“A little longer, honey—” he gets cut off by his own laughter, no longer keeping up with the act. “Okay-okay! I’ve been dry for a minute now. The air just feels nice.”
You place your hands on your hips, unamused, and he opens his eyes while grinning brightly at your expression. His hands cup your frowning face, and his warmth envelops you. “Don’t pout.”
“‘m not pouting,” your scrunched face says.
You then giggle when he tilts your head back and presses his lips to yours. When Khol kisses you, they feel way different from usual pecks—passionate in a way only his body can explain, rather than his words. He pours every inch of his adoration and love into his moving lips, despite it only just being a couple of seconds—it's so easy to get hooked on them. You feel his thumbs fleetingly pinch your cheeks before he pulls away.
The long-haired man’s eyes shine. “Alright. The last step.”
You poke his chest, a little peeved at how quickly the kiss ended since he always kisses you like it’ll be your last. “I’m getting a continuation of that when we’re done.”
He perks up as if you offered gold.
That was suddenly a good motivator.
He quickly snatches the tube and pops it open hastily, squirting a good amount on his palm. A bigger amount decorating the lines on his palm than necessary.
You laugh loudly and take the tube away. “Baby, you squeezed out too much.”
He looks at the glob in in the middle of his palm, then looks at you sheepishly. “It’s not… expensive, right?” You swipe a little from the little mass, snorting at his question. “I bought it in a set. It’s like fifteen bucks.”
He sighs, relieved from believing he put money, your hard-earned money, down the drain.
When your fingers touch his cheek, he realizes he enjoys this last step the most—you weren't kidding; hell yes, this was the best step. The moisturizer is cool and tender when it’s gently rubbed into his skin—feels so nice that’s he’s practically purring, really.
Khol ends up hunching over again—back pain be damned, this feels awesome.
“Ohhh, this feels too good.” The dark-haired man moans out when you begin massaging the substance into his skin—slow and deep, yet gentle and kind. Your fingers are magical.
Yeah, this is definitely his favorite part.
His groans, exaggerated and loud, fill the bathroom, and you laugh at his usual spirited behavior. “That’s enough. You sound like you’re dying.”
“Honey, I am living, and this is heaven.” He quips, opening his sparkling eyes. He’s greeted by your grinning face, a sight he’s always excited to see. “I’m,” he smoulders—that infamous look Flynn Rider once did, “looking at an angel too.”
“You are so corny.” He immediately breaks the facade and bursts out laughing, freeing his hair from the low-tail and standing straight in the same breath. He shakes a hand through the long strands to bring back the usual style, departing from the cute headband as well.
That unruly, long string of hair falls back into place in front of his face. “Me? I’m not just the corn on the cob, I am the cob—woah.”
Your boyfriend pauses as he stares at himself in the mirror. He’s breathless at the sight for only a moment, then he’s beaming, hands on the mirror, and turning his face in every angle. “I’m freaking, like, glowing like a glowstick!”
You cross your arms, basking in his eagerness and how right you were. “I know. You’re welcome.”
He looks over his shoulder, so happy and astonished. “Do you do this every day? Where do you buy the kit from, sweetie?”
Ugh, you nearly melt into a puddle at the pet name. You feel your body heat up as you avert your gaze, feeling flustered while he goes back to checking himself out. “Yes, I wash my face every day, but the exfoliating is every other day. Do that too many times a day, and it’ll damage your skin.”
He nods while still checking himself out.
You then grab the cleanser, staring at its label. “And I order it online from Sephora.”
He nods again, mentally noting your words while still checking himself out.
Khol then pulls away, lazily smirking as he leans his hip on the counter, crossing his arms. They easily flex under his shirt, the fabric form-fitting because he loves showing off his body, as a vein becomes prominent, striking across a bicep. “So,” he draws out, “about continuing that kiss.”
“Don’t look at me like that.”
He immediately looks at you like a kicked puppy, and you laugh. “I like that look better.”
You curl a finger for him to come near you, and he’s already latching onto you, thick arms wrapped tightly around your soft waist as he eagerly presses his lips along your face—reverently and adoringly. You giggle, every peck so quick that it feels ticklish.
You reach a hand out and stand on your toes while he’s distracted with showering you with affection. Your fingers card through his hair to style it more, and he pauses his showering of love, enjoying the caressing.
“You are so, so predictable like this.” You snort as you place a thick strand behind his ear. He shrugs, grinning. “That’s good, isn’t it? But I can be unpredictable, I bet you.”
You raise a brow. “How much?”
“Five straight hours of cuddling.”
That sounds like your legs falling asleep. You shake your head. “I honestly wished you betted money.”
His fingers roam your back, eyes glinting. “Money isn’t fun if I’m taking it from you. I like stealing from establishments.”
You look at him immediately alarmed, but he quickly raises his hands, laughing. “Kidding, I’m kidding!” Then he lowers his hands, brows wiggling.
“Or am I?”
“Khol.”
“Okay, I am!”
…
Low music hummed in the store, the kind of song that’s made for mall shopping and for coworkers to slowly go insane to—repeating and spiraling. You barely notice it as you make sure to shop for merchandise in the front of the store, specifically the front.
“Baby.”
You pick an oversized tee, an overrated anime printed on its front.
“Honey, look.” His voice snickering, barely able to hide his amusement.
You don’t bother turning around, knowing exactly what you’re going to see is something egregious. Spencer’s was the only place you could cheaply find a specific set of merch besides shopping online, secondhand dealers the next option.
But it was also infamous for having another world towards the back of it.
“Khol. If I see anything related to a dick, I’m gonna act like I don’t know you.” You hang the shirt back up, too tasteless and annoying you—the shitty anime plastered on the front of it is taking up most of the merch in the store.
His taller form towers over your shoulder, nearly pressing against your back now as he urges for you to look again.
“Look, look.”
You look over your shoulder and immediately bite your lip, not wanting to feel childish with your own laughter.
He specifically picked up a mug with breasts, equally ceramic and glinting under the lights, and had a slogan of “All Natural.”
“I’m actually gonna kill you.”
He giggles, easily entertained as he lifts it higher. “They could poke an eye out.”
“Baby,” he looks at you still grinning, “you’re not buying that, are you?”
The dark-haired male brushes his hair over his shoulder as he purses his lips, acting as if he’s in thought—you know very well he’s made his ultimatum the minute he spotted it. Khol then looks back at the mug, turning it over. “Well…”
He looks back at you. “They look like moobs.”
You stare at him with a brow raised, then look back at the ceramic. I guess you can see it… Wait, now you can exactly see it. They’re sculpted a bit higher than boobs should be.
“They look like my moobs,” he corrects, proudly placing a hand on his chest.
You snort.
“So you’d like to keep a reminder?”
“I’m either getting this or the ‘Guess who saw Uranus’ shirt.” His finger pokes the glass nipple of the mug as you stare at him, trying to remain deadpanned but failing at his ridiculousness.
“So,” you tilt your head while laughing, “not both?”
He glances back at you, grinning. “Both? You’re a bad influence.” Quickly, he turns around to fetch it from the rack towards the back. “Remember, you said it, not me, honey!”
realizing I can legit just write for any cute otome instead of digging around like a raccoon waiting for other ppl to dot it 😭
warnings: none
Eyes half lid and blearily staring at the ceiling, you can barely comprehend the sickly warmth caressing itself on the side of your face. No texture, just an unnerving glide. The touch barely ghosts the skin, as if hesitant or fearful of a reaction from your still body, but somehow still reverently whispers down from your cheek to your chin; it’s wavering and indecisive.
A name is then said—soft and sweet, a cooing lilt with an otherworldly depth.
It’s cooed again by the deep voice. So deep, it crawls itself throughout your head to where every inch of your mind hears the cadence and otherworldly reverberation.
You wonder if the person can even register the call for their name or if they’re even there.
Painstakingly, you peel open your bleary eyes more to a popcorn ceiling and streaks of light painting the room. A thin of strip sunlight showers the lamp and dresser in white as flurries of dust particles make themselves apparent. A juxtaposition to that streaky mass of squirming black on the ceiling—is that hair?
Once more, that name is said again as you stare at the ceiling, unmoving and still coming to.
You furrow your brows, curious if that person will ever respond to that broken record of a call. It’s almost starting to become grating to your slowly awakening form—just stepping inch by inch into the real world.
And there’s a taste in your mouth that you can’t ignore. It’s not just bitter; it’s stark and tormenting. So hard to ignore.
Suddenly, there’s a shift beside you, the dipping weight on the opposite end of the bed easing. Your eyes draw towards the movement and soften for just a moment—an action your body does instinctively, yet your mind screams in confusion of why.
Because why are you looking so sweetly at a nightmare.
There’s a being who swallows you whole until you can’t even see yourself reflected back in their eyes. It says the name again, and a hoarse exhale, wheezy and concerning, exists your dry lips. You’ve never seen a person that big, that soulless, and that… imitated? An attempt, you immediately register, at being normal—just boarding uncanny.
Its face pulls into a frown at the noise escaping your throat then smiles softly at you—as if showing the genuineness in its eyes could ease the fog that clouds what isn’t registering.
Its lips move, and it’s that name again… then one of endearment as you watch a strand of black hover and join the others staining the ceiling, a mass of ink writhing above you.
“Honey… are you well?”
You blink slowly, registering the words.
Are you?
Shakily, you raise a hand towards your face, perturbed by the taste on your tongue and how your heart warms slightly at the sight of something that’s… incomprehensible; are you looking at a person or an attempt at being one? For the heaping figure to call you such a close endearment as well, you wonder why alarms haven’t rung in your head yet.
Maybe it’s the clothes it wears, a regular, everyday turtleneck and jeans, that disarm you or maybe it’s something your body remembers, but your mind doesn’t.
But it’s familiarity with you, so straightforward and so easy, puzzles you.
Honey, it said.
You close your eyes then slowly peel the covers off your form, the stale scent of it being unwashed and clinging with sweat and another… unrecognizable one. It’s grounding, heavy, and smells of something that feels synonymous with tenebrosity–dark.
Finally, you use your voice for the first time as you feel the being stretch out its lithe arm to balance your tired form upright.
“Why… are you calling me that?” You breathe out. Curiosity dipped with exhaustion in your voice.
The hold seeps itself into your clothing like heat writhing itself under your skin and making itself home, whether you liked it or not.
Its voice, deep and masculine, is light as it steadies your groggy form, “Because we’re together. I’m your boyfriend.”
Its head tilts to the side, and black spills over its shoulder. Your heart wavers at both forgetting your own partner and the fact that you are willingly dating… him? The air shifts to something melancholic as the beings’ face smiles somberly, “This happens often.”
His touch whispers along your back as you sit upright next to him, and you can feel the sadness radiating from the face you don’t know. The entity takes his hand away slowly, the reluctance bleeding into the tense and rigged motion of his arm.
It’s all so confusing to you. Barely tethered to the waking world, and you’re talking to something, something that claims you are his lover, beyond nightmares. You stare at your lap wordlessly then rub the sleep from your eyes, “Whose name…”
You pause, remember how sweet the voice sounded. Wondering if such saccharine came from a being that looks as if he could only exhibit corruption—a darkness that shouldn’t exist.
You lower your hand then glance up at the smiling being, “If that was you, whose name were you calling?”
The smile doesn’t try reaching the entity’s eyes as he places his hands on his lap. His depth, so dark and subduing with its intensity, become somber and pitying. “Yours.” A confirmation. Confident.
You say nothing and stare blankly ahead for a moment, far past the being and somewhere deep into your mind to scrounge for that name. Then you look away.
“My name…?”
He reaches out a hand hesitantly, stopping for just a moment, then brushes a lock of hair from your face. The entity, who you presume to be a guy, pulls his hands back with a gentle smile.
“Your name.” An affirmation. Solidifying a truth.
Your brows furrow as you stare at your lap, “My name…” You repeat those words as if bleeding them onto your tongue could make the name more recognizable to your foggy mind. Still, it rings no bell. Still, it’s just another detail that bleeds into the fog—obscured and distorted.
The being laughs so softly at your repetition. So soft that it astounds you, yet, to the being, your stuttering confusion is more adorable than humorous.
More inky strands spill onto his lap as he leans towards you, the weight on the bed dipping more. “Yes,” he validates with eyes imitated in a gentle shine, tender with his lips raising, “your name.”
His eyes soften fondly at your confused form, pity stringing and stretching itself strand by strand underneath his clothing. The long-haired being says that unfamiliar name one more time, so assured that it’s your name, with not just adoration, but a giddiness to start the day anew once more.
Once more in this predictably beautiful routine.
“I’m sure you have lots of questions… I can answer them all at breakfast, okay?”
