#henry winter image

[urfavoritedcwhore]

dinner at the lake house//henry winter x !fem!reader

smut, minors DNI!!!

warnings: swearing, over stimulation, unprotected sex, degradation, “rope” play, mention of safe word (it’s not used), let me know if i left anything out please

not proof read

lowercase intended

henry and i have had a secret romance for about five months now. it started when i stayed by his side for two straight nights, trying my best to nurse him out of one of his migraines. i had gone to the pharmacy for him, picked up his medication, hung blackout curtains on his windows, and brought him scotch and soup in efforts to get him to eat something. of course, we didn’t talk much those two days. however, in a strange way we became closer after. henry who had once been so stoned faced and reserved, invited me over for dinners three nights a week after those two rough days. over a course of a couple weeks i began to see a softer side of henry. a side that would remember my favorite tea, and be sure to pick it up for me when he was at the market. a side that patiently helped me with my greek assignments, occasionally even laughing with me when i would drink too much at dinner and switch between speaking french and english without noticing. he had pursued me. however, that’s not to say that we didn’t love eachother the same amount. it was a deep love. a love we had both had in our hearts from the moment we saw each other in greek class. a love that had finally been spoken of aloud after those few weeks of diners at his house. however, the past few days have been difficult due to minor agruments between henry and i. nothing big really. he tends to get snappy with me if i bother him while he works, which causes me to get snappy with him. this morning, francis had rang henry and told him we all were going down to the lake house at four pm, after our classes. when i awoke, henry told me the plan. i agreed, and went back to my dormitory so it wouldn’t seem as if we were walking to class together. i’m sure everyone has they’re suspicions about us, but neither of us really want to come right out and admit our relationship. due to the constant ridicule im sure bunny would put us under for no reason, we both have decided it’s just better to keep our private life private. after greek class i go back to henry’s apartment to pack a small bag to take with me to the lake house. most of my clothes live there now, after he insisted it would be easier to bring them over instead of running back and forth from his house to my dormitory. when i arrive i find him studying his books at the kitchen table, his trousers lose with no belt, his button up halfway undone, and the jacket of his suit draped along the back of the chair. i quietly walk to his room and pack my bag, along with a small one for him. i hear the telephone ring and quickly run to the living room to answer it before it could disturb henry. i want today to be a good day for us, a day where no one’s in a bad mood. i pick up the phone, “hello?”, i say softly into the receiver. “y/n? i thought i rang henry.”, i hear charles’ voice say confused. i quickly make something up, “no no, you did. i’m over at henry’s. he’s helping me with the greek assignment julian gave us today. he’s just in the washroom. what would you like me to tell him when he gets out?”, i ask kindly. “well actually i was going to ring you after i spoke to henry and tell you that francis, camila, and i are about to leave to go to pick up henry, then come to campus to collect you, bunny, and richard. i suppose we can just collect you at henry’s though? do you have your bag with you?”, he spoke with a soft friendly voice, i’ve aways loved that about charles. “actually, yes i do. i figured that you may come for henry while i was over here and brought it with me.”, i tell him. “perfect. we should be there in about fifteen minutes.”, he says. “alright, thank you charles. i’ll let henry know when he comes out.”, i tell him glancing over at henry, who’s still engulfed in his book.

charles and i say our goodbyes and i hang up the phone. i turn to henry and walk over behind the chair he’s sitting in, lightly placing my hands on his shoulder. “the twins and francis are coming to collect us.”, i say softly as i gently rub my hands up and down his shoulders. “hm? oh, one moment darling, i must finish this translation.”, he says back to me in a low, mumbling voice. i wonder if i should leave him be, but i know that most likely none of the words i’ve said to him have actually been heard by him. when he’s in his studying mode, he rarely hears anything anyone is saying to him. “love, they’ll be here soon.”, i say trying to get my point across to him. “i heard you the first time, i wish you wouldn’t bother my whilst i work. i’ve told you this many times.”, he says in a agitated voice. “fine. don’t be upset with me when they show up and you’re not dressed. i’m just trying to help.”, i say annoyed at his tone, releasing my hands from his shoulders. i walk over the couch, grabbing my book and begin to read. “you can be irritated with me, i’m only telling you what i’ve told you a million times.”, i hear henry get up from his chair and the slight ruffle of fabric, which i assume is him buttoning up his shirt. i don’t turn around to look at him, “i was simply trying to help.”, i say annoyed, my eyes not leaving my book. i hear him chuckle quietly, “you get incredibly frustrated over these things for no good reason dear.”, he says in a cocky tone. i decide that if i respond it will only escalate the situation. i silently continue reading my book. after about five more minutes of reading, there’s a knock on henry’s door. “coming!”, i say as i go into henry’s room to get my bag. i see henry in his room putting on a belt, and walk right past him. i pick up my bag, “give me a kiss darling. i know you’re frustrated with me, but i won’t be able to kiss you again until i come to your room late tonight.”, henry says catching my arm when i begin to walk out of the bedroom. even though i in fact am still frustrated, i look up at him and stand on the tips of my toes, placing a small kiss on his lips. he smiles as i drop down to the flats of my feet. “let’s go.”, i tell him walking out of the room. i answer the door and follow francis to his car, henry trailing behind us. we get in the car and say hello to our friends before driving to campus to retrieve edmund and richard. the drive is long and particularly difficult due to the fact that bunny is constantly talking about random subjects to which he knows nothing about. we arrive at the lake house at 7:15pm. the weekends are almost always spent at the lake house. richard on the boat with francis, the twins playing croquet with bunny, henry drinking a glass of scotch while studying on the porch, and me reading my book in the small hammock that hang between two trees in the front yard. since we arrive at dinner time i decide to go into the kitchen and make us all dinner. henry follows, sitting at the dining table, opening his book back up and reading. the twins, along with bunny and richard, go into the library. this leaves francis in the kitchen with me, helping me prepare dinner. we make a roast and vegetables from the supplies the housekeepers stocked the fridge for us with. dinner take about two hours, which is no problem since we all are accustomed to eating late. when francis and i finish making dinner, he leaves the kitchen to get the others. still slightly annoyed at our small argument from early, i look over to henry at the table. “dinner is ready…or should i not disturb you with that information.” , i say over the counter to him nonchalantly. he looks up from his book. as he opens his mouth to say something, everyone piles into the kitchen. he gives me an agitated glance and closes his book as i bring the food to the table. everyone takes their seats and begins to put food on their plates as i i sit in the seat across from henry.

“pourquoi continuez-vous à vous comporter comme un enfant.”, henry asks me, knowing no one will understand what he’s saying since we’re the only ones who speak fluent French. “je ne sais pas de quoi tu parles.”, i say back to him, not looking up from the peice of roast on my plate i’m cutting. “as-tu besoin d'être baisé ou quelque chose comme ça”, he asks me with shaking his head with a low cocky chuckle. i look up, shocked at his words, and realize everyone is looking at us confused. “henry’s helping me with my french. he says it will help to speak it randomly.”, i lie to them. “ohhh okay.”, camila says with a smile, and continues her conversation with richard, as everyone else resumes their own conversations. “je ne sais pas, est-ce que je”, i shoot back to him in a calm voice, to not draw attention from the others. “je pense que tu en as besoin”, he says raising his eyebrows at me. camila nearly chokes on her water, henry and i turn to her simultaneously. “Camila tu parles français ?”, i say to her suspiciously. she laughs softly, “je parle assez pour savoir ce que vous dites”, she says shifting her eyes between us with a grin. henry and i look at each other shocked. “ne t'inquiète pas, je ne le dirai pas aux autres”, she says in a genuine tone. bunny chimes in, “what are you three weirdos talking about?”, he asks with a mouthful of food. camila and i let out a small laugh. “we’re just talking about our days bun, i promise your not missing anything interesting.”, camila says to him with a sweet smile. i look back at henry, “nous pourrons en parler après le dîner”, i say with a cocky smile. camila giggled, “non, s'il te plaît, parle-en maintenant, je suis intrigué”, she says looking at me with big smirk. henry turns towards me, “nous pouvons en discuter dans votre chambre ce soir.”, he says before looking back down at his plate with a red face. “es-tu gêné ?”, i ask him with a laugh. “non, mais si je continue à parler, tu pourrais l'être”, he warns me looking up and lifting his eyebrows at me. “try me.”, i say in English to him, smiling and rolling my eyes. “continue d'agir de cette façon et je te baiserai si fort que toute la maison t'entendra pleurer mon nom.”, he says with a slight irritated smile while shaking his head. camila looks at me with wide eyes, “i think im going to get a bottle of scotch, you two continue the conversation without me.”, she tells us leaving the table and walking into the kitchen. i look back at henry, taunting him, “chérie, je ne crois pas que tu le feras vraiment, je pense que tu seras simplement le gentleman que tu es toujours. trop peur de me baiser comme un vrai homme.”, i say to him with a disbelieving laugh. he looked at me almost offended by my words before he leans back in his chair, “i suppose we’ll see won’t we.”, he returns with a shrug. he pulls out a cigarette from the pack he kept in his jacket pocket and sticks one in his mouth, lighting it as he did so. camila walks back to the table holding a bottle of scotch, “i suggest we all have a drink and go off to bed.”, she says to everyone, giving me a small wink. “i suppose i am quite exhausted.”, richard says as he lets camila fill up his glass. everyone fills up their glasses, drinks their scotch, and departs the table one by one. camila, henry, and i are left by ourselves at the table. camila looked around to make sure no one was lurking behind us before she spoke, “everyone assumes you two are together, but i always figured it was just gossip. how long have you two been seeing eachother?”, she asks curiously. henry speaks up before i can, “about five months.”, he says sipping his scotch. i pour another glass for myself as camila begins to speak, “you hide it quite well. i think the others are only a bit suspicious because of the looks you give to each other in julian’s class. although, francis swears up and down he came to your apartment one day to grab a book, and saw a brassiere.”, she says looking at henry.

i look up at henry and laugh, “i told you giving him a key was a mistake.”, i say shaking my head before taking a long sip of my drink. “ we’re luckily it was him and not bunny, i suppose. he would’ve told the whole school.”, henry says shaking his head. “don’t worry, francis didn’t tell anyone but me. even if he did i highly doubt they would believe him.”, camila says to me with a small giggle. she yawns and glances at her watch, “i should get to bed. i told francis i would share a room with him tonight. he gets quite frightened sleeping alone in this house. he swears that he’ll breathe in too much dust and choke while he’s sleeping. a bit ridiculous but well, you know how he is.”, she says standing up. “goodnight camila.”, henry and i tell her as she walks away up the stairs. “goodnight!”, she calls back as she continues to walk. henry looks at me, “go to your room, strip to your undergarments, and wait for me while i finish my scotch.”, he says in a quiet voice. “if you insist.”, i say downing the rest of my my drink, swallowing it with a gulp. “i do.”, he tells me tracing his finger around the edge of his glass while he stares into my eyes. i get up and walk to my room, glancing behind me to see henry watching me as he sips his scotch.

i arrive to my room, closing my door behind me and stripping to my undergarments as he told me to do. i wait for five minutes before deciding to grab my book and read while i wait for him. i’m finishing the chapter of the book i’m reading when i hear my door open with a quiet click. i look up and see henry smoking a cigarette and standing in front of my door. he takes a long drag and exhales the smoke before speaking. “did you enjoy acting like a brat today y/n?”, he asks as he slowly takes off his the jacket of his suit and putting the cigarette out on the ashtray that sits atop my dresser. “did you enjoy acting like a dick today henry?”, i ask with a small annoyed laugh. he walks over to my bed, pushing my hair behind my ears and holding my face. he brings his face close to mine, smiling, as if he’s going to kiss me, but passes my lips at the last moment to whisper in my ear. “don’t swear darling, it’s not attractive.”, he says before moving his head down to my neck, planting small kisses on it. normally i would shoot back a remark about how his arrogance isn’t attractive, but his lips on my neck melt me into a state of bliss. i hum softly as he disconnects from my neck and stands up straight, to look at me from above. “now what am i to do about that nasty attitude of yours?”, he asks smirking at me almost evilly. i open my mouth to respond but before i can he speaks again, “that was a rhetorical question dear, i know exactly how i’m going to handle it.”, he says bringing cupping my face in his hand and rubbing my check with his thumb. “take off my belt.”, henry says to me in a commanding voice. i decide to do what im told and remove his belt. as soon as its free from the last loop of his trousers he snatches it from my hands. “now place your wrists together.”, he tells me as he continues to look down on me. “why?”, i ask innocently, although i know exactly why he wants me to do this. he looks at me and chuckles to himself before grabbing both my wrists in one hand and pressing them together. he quickly loops the belt around my wrists, pulling it tight with his free hand. i look up at him half amused and half startled, “that’s awfully tight, i can’t imagine why you choose to tie my hands together.”, i say teasing him. he doesn’t respond, he simply pushes me flat against the bed, walks to the end of the mattress, and places himself on it crawling towards me slowly. once he reaches my legs he grabs them forcefully, spreading the open. i let out a soft gasp from how tight his grip on my thighs are. he trails his left hand up and down my inner thigh, keeping his right hand firmly gripping my other thigh. he stops right before reaching my underwear, trailing his fingers back down my thigh. “i’m trying to decide if i want to not let you cum at all, or make you cum multiple times.”, he says staring at my clothed pussy. “do you deserve to cum tonight?”, he says shifting his eyes to me. my core is so neglected from his teasing that i drop any ounce of brattiness left in my body, and begin to nod my head frantically as i prop myself up on my elbows to look down at him. he laughs, “you were so full of words at dinner tonight, can you not speak anymore darling?”, he says before straightening his face and using a more serious deep tone, “lay back down.”. i release myself from my elbows and fall back against the mattress. “now answer me with words, do you deserve to cum?”,. he repeats before pressing soft kisses up and down my thighs. “yes”, i say practically moaning. “are we going to continue to be bratty?”, he asks disconnecting his lips from my thighs, and stroking his index finger up and down my clothed slit. my thoughts jumble as i try to answer. henry has never acted this way before, he usually is such a gentleman when you two sleep together. “no”, i say as my breath hitches. “good answer darling, now, je veux que tu me surveilles.”, he says standing up from the bed and removing his trousers along with his button up . i do what im told and prop myself up against the head board, using my elbows to wiggle my way up.

henry laughs at my struggle as he climbs back on the the bed, reaching over and unclipping my bra, throwing it to the ground. “lift your hips.”, he says as he hovers above me, his knees on either side of mine. i lift my hips and he pulls down my underwear in one swift motion, “open.”, he says nodding to my mouth. confused, i open my mouth suspiciously. before i can even realize what’s going on, my balled up underwear are in my mouth as a gag. he smiles looking down at me, still straddling me without our body’s touching. my exposed pussy lays on the bed begging for touch. i watch him as he slowly begins to pull his hardened cock out of the slit of his boxers. i grow excited waiting for him to penetrate me, but instead he quickly swipes one hand up my slit, collecting my wetness. his hand moves so fast i wouldn’t have even known he touched me if i wasn’t looking so intensely at him. he takes the hand he used to collect my slick with, and begins rubbing himself up and down with it. i moan into my underwear at the sight of this glorious man. he looks as if he is a stone cut out of a greek god. his muscles prominent, he’s forehead glowing with sweat, and his eyes hungry with desire. i struggle trying to buck my hips up to catch friction with him. “oh no baby, not yet, your gonna have to wait like a good girl.”, he says raising himself up higher and leaving my hips only connected with the air. he laughs when he sees the pained look on my face, “are you mad your getting consequences to your actions darling? would you rather me fuck you like a gentleman?”, he asks still stroking himself as he looks down at me. i desperately reach down to my core to touch myself but he grabs my arms restraining them back against my chest, “you do that again duchess, and you’ll sleep with those fucking restraints on.”, he spits at me his teeth clenched. my face turns a bright red, i feel as if im a student being scolded at school. i think this might be the only time i’ve ever heard henry swear in English. i leave my hands against my chest as i continue to moan into my underwear while he strokes himself. the aching in my untouched core is so strong i feel as if i might cry. “if i take these out of your mouth,”, he motions to the underwear, “i don’t want to hear whining. all i want to hear are begs for me, understand?”, he says with a raised eyebrow. i nod frantically as he reaches and pulls the bundle up panties from my mouth. i look at him with awe for a moment as he parts his lips to let out a groan from the feeling of his hand rubbing his dick. “are you going to start begging or should i put these back in your mouth?”, he says holding up the underwear when he notices my silence. my mouth moves faster than my brain and my words form into one gigantic word, “please henry i’m so sorry for being bratty today, please let me feel you, please touch me, please let me touch you, please give me anything.”, i beg as his face glimmer with a cocky smile. “if you say so.”, he shrugs his shoulders and pushes his entire length into me without warning. my face contorts as i moan in all but a scream. he leaves himself buried inside of me as he pulls my legs down, making my body drop flat to the mattress, his following mine down. “fuck!”, i moan as i feel his length stretching me. he stays unmoving inside of me, “no no, i only want to hear pretty words come out of that pretty mouth, okay?”, he says looking into my eyes. “henry please move, please move.”, i beg as my body craves the motion he’s restricting me from. “i want you to say, ‘yes sir henry, only pretty words will come out of my pretty slutty mouth.’ first.”, he tells me turning his head sideways and smirking at my pain. “yes sir henry, only pretty words will come out of my pretty slutty mouth.”, i whimper before connecting my lips with his neck ,frantically trying to make him move. “ok darling, i hear you.”, he says before pounding in and out of me as fast as humanly possible.

i moan as i feel his dick hitting the sweet spot inside of me, “it’s so good henry”, i say as he groans. he brings his hand up to my clit, rubbing small circles around it.“i want you to count out loud how many times you cum.”, he says as he continues pounding into me. the looks of his beautiful face, along with his words and the pleasure he’s making me feel, bring me to the edge. he sees my face start to contort as he continues rubbing me and hitting my g-spot. “count it.”, he tells me. the bottom of my stomach releases its knot and i feel a wave of pleasure run over my body. “one”, i moan, dragging out the word as i ride out my high. henry doesn’t even slow down. he continues ramming inside of me, the slaps of our skin echoing in my room. i feel slight pain mixed with my pleasure as my pussy throbs with sensitivity. “henry i-”, he cuts me off, “no. if you really need me to stop say red. i’m not stopping until i hear that word or until i cum.”, he spits at me fiercely. through these words and the pleasure of my last high still wearing down, i feel the knot in my stomach tightening again. “your so pretty when your getting the brattiness fucked out of you y/n.”, he says as he grips my left breast, lightly pinching my nipple. the knot in my stomach releases again and my back arches as i feel the second wave of pleasure roll over my body. “two!”, i practically scream in pleasure. i feel henry’s thrusts getting sloppy and ignore the over stimulation in my pussy as i clench around him. “Putain!”, he moans in french before grabbing my face with his hand. “i want you to look at me while i cum. better yet, i want you to cum with me one last time.”, he says smirking at me as groans. i concentrate on his face and the thoughts of all the things he’s said to me tonight. and before i can even tell that i’m about to cum, he says sharply, “now.”, i feel him spill into me as my body contorts with pleasure, my legs shaking and my fists clenching. we both moan loudly as he rides out his high inside of me. after a few more seconds inside of me, he pulls out and collapses beside me. “is your attitude gone?”, he asks sitting up and grabbing my pack of cigarettes from the bedside table. i nod in a loss of words for what i just experienced. he chuckles at my response, “good darling. now come here.”, he says holding his arms open, a cigarette hanging between his teeth. i sit up and immediately collapse back down into his arms and onto his chest. “remember that next time you want to act like a brat, i’m not gonna allow you to cum at all. tonight was your one free pass”, he whispers as he lights the cigarette.

A/N: WOOO SHES DONEEE. ok so if yall fw this i will certainly do more henry winter smuts

[tomato-bird-art]

“What shall we hang? The holly or each other?”

Made a last minute print inspired by my favorite Toxic Christmas Movie, The Lion in Winter (1968). I always love doing a detailed piece like this! I’ll be selling prints at EBABZ tomorrow, but feel free to pick up a copy on my storenvy as well <3

[henrycavillai]

[betryl]

Babe wake up new Henry Winter fancast just dropped

[sinclarify]

i'm lucky enough to not have stumbled upon the secret history fancasts or faceclaims or whatever yet but just the thought of people deliberately finding the most attractive people known to man to assign to the greek class makes me giggle so hard. like.. henry winter does not look like that...! doesn't richard literally say that henry's like mediocre at best.. francis straight up says he's not attractive.. scratches head idk like i guess people can have their fun and mould the characters to fit into what they think best suits the Aesthetics of the book and their own dark academia fantasies or maybe the depravity of these characters can be alleviated because yayyy now they're hot!! and it's all so romantic and elegant and alluring now! and god yes please send me falling into the tortured arms of henry winter so he can whisper ancient greek in my ear and tell me all about how he loooves killing because it adds a cutesy little spark to his life <3 isn't that captivating ^_^ ? anyway i think i went off topic a little bit but you understand. the blind romanticisation of this book and the ignorance towards donna tartt's actual intentions with it will kill me DEAD.

[secret-history-hyperfixation]

Judy Poovey ❤️

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[the-busy-ghost]

There are many reasons my interests are more geared towards mediaeval Scotland than mediaeval England, but at least one of them has to be the fact that I am completely incapable of Being Normal about the Lion in Winter and Shakespeare's second tetralogy.

[toothy-crow]

Heyyyy bungalow bill

What did you kill

(Sneak peak of a premium dialogue option with Henry Winter😘)

[jackgoodfellow]

Breaking News: Another horrible man is horrible to literally everybody and is then shocked when people are not nice to him. England once again totally fucked. But I hear the monarchy is good for tourism, so

"Doomed by the narrative? Too easy! No... it is the narrative that is doomed by US! (And also, we are so so horny for each other.)"

So it turns out The Lion in Winter (1968) slaps. Katherine Hepburn somehow manages to capture the feeling of watching someone tear out a person's jugular with smiling teeth. She and Peter O'Toole in this movie are basically performing the cinematic equivalent of the song "No Children" by The Mountain Goats and it is wild.

Tagging @thirdsisfics because I associate the term "doomed by the narrative" with the positive feelings I get from talking to you about the trope!

[pitsapitsa]

TSH Spoilers

I agree with this from autistic Henry HC point of view as was stated in the notes for this post.

As much as I kinn Henry, I can't help understanding Camilla's deep love for Henry. I mean, him, his image and chivalry, book-like actions and face expressions, his words and protective side for her, it's not absurd that she fell for it deeply. My poor girl, I can't even imagine how she continued to live after these events savoring her love for Henry even if for him it wasn't aa real as for her.

Although I do believe that Henry himself thought that his feelings are sincere. I used to have trouble (and still do) distinguishing what are my real feelings and what are imposed by society, media I consume, etc.

Why do I get the feel that Henry's love for Camilla is somewhat just a show, simply for theatrical purposes, for he was always portrayed as her 'savior' and the Hero (the glass accident, hiding from Charles, ending his own life as 'sacrifice'). I just can't see the affection.

Like as if it was only to complete this image he made for himself.

Idk it feels like he's never genuine about anything except when it comes to Julian lol.

[cigarettewinestain]

I’m thoroughly convinced that Henry Winter would throw up/get a migraine if he saw an AI generated image.

[urfavoritedcwhore]

hi lovely! I come bearing a henry winter request

So maybe they are all in Francis’ house (reader and henry are dating) and henry gets one of his headaches and idk reader takes care of him (as he reluctantly lets her)

Im sorry that is all i came up with for now😭 thank you <333

uhm i literally love that idea so yes of course.

just let me help you//henry winter x reader

doing this in the way i wrote my last henry winter fanfic, instead of using “you” I write “i” and so forth. (don’t worry tho cause there will be plenty of “y/n”’s thrown in here:)

warnings: mention of alcohol, mention of migraines, swearing, drinking

(not proof read)

sitting in the hammock Reading my book at the country house is probably my all-time favorite thing to do. the fall air, the sounds of the twins bickering with Bunny as they all play croquet, Francis and Richard out on the boat, and my lovely Henry reading on the porch with a glass of scotch. However, this day is severely different. As my friends and I drive to the lake house, Henry is growing increasingly snappy. Bunny begins to go off on a rant about how “religion is a ploy to get all of the dumbasses who believe in that shit’s money.”. I listen to his rant, shaking my head slightly as the twins let their mouths hang open in disgust. “Bun, it’s not as if you could truly know that. No one knows if there’s a God or not. It’s all based on personal belief," I explain from the front seat. Being a devoted Catholic, it takes all my willpower to not wear the same face of horror that Camilla and Charles hold, but I know that’s precisely what Bunny wants. “Your joking right, y/n?” I watch him in the rearview mirror nudge Richard. “Old man, can you believe the bullshit she’s spewing?" Bunny says in his nasally voice with a chuckle. I see Richard simply shrug and continue to look out the window. “Bunny, please just change the topic; no one likes bickering about religion with you," I say a bit sharper than before as I continue to watch him from the rearview mirror. “Old gals on her period," he says as if it’s a fact. I turn my head to Henry as he drives, my expression angry and my gaze saying, “Your seriously going to let him speak to me like that?”. Henry glances over at me briefly before returning his gaze to the road silently. I let out a small scoff and voiced my thoughts aloud to him. “You’re going to let him speak about me like that?" I asked, irritated. Bunny chuckles behind me, which only angers me further. Henry only takes a deep breath and remains quiet. “Your attack dog is not barking for you, y/n?” Bunny asks amused. “Both of you, shut up," Henry says sharply and suddenly as he continues to face the road. My eyes grow wide, and I scoff in disbelief before looking out the window and shifting my knees towards the door away from him. Bunny remains chuckling in the back seat. I remain quiet for the rest of the drive, my face undeniably red with anger and embarrassment, both from Bunny speaking to me like he did and Henry not defending me. As we pull into the driveway of the country house, I practically swing open the door as soon as the car stops. I slam it shut, just so Henry can know how frustrated I am. Everyone piles out of the car stretching, except for Henry, who swiftly makes his way towards the front door. I follow behind him as he swings it open and walks up the stairs without a word to me, not even bothering to get his bag out of the car before going to his room. I stand at the bottom of the stairs for a moment, watching him in udder disbelief. Everyone piles in behind us, chatting loudly and heading for the kitchen. I walk away from the stairs, following the group to the kitchen. “Asshole," I mutter under my breath as I walk to the cabinets to get a bottle of wine out. “He’s more...irritable than usual," Charles says behind me as I grab the wine bottle and turn around to get a glass. “Yes, maybe he’s upset about us arriving so late," Camilla replies back as she scrunches her face the way Charles is—something that they always do when they’re thinking. I shake my head and nudge Bunny out of the way of the glasses, grabbing one and setting it on the counter. “He’s just in a pissy mood; he has been since this morning," I say, annoyed as I cork the wine and pour some into the glass. Francis looks up from the piece of mail he’s been studying since we walked in. “Did you see him as he got out of the car? He looked as if he was going to pass out," he says, running a hand through his hair. Camilla shrugs, “Perhaps he’s tired," to which Charles immediately nods, “Yes, perhaps he is.”. I scoff slightly and take a sip of my wine. “Tired? My god, I’ve never once seen him tired. He’s just being a supercilious jerk.”.

Richard shakes his head. "He looks ill," he says in an emotionless voice. slightly irritated that no one’s agreeing with me, I turn around and walk out of the kitchen with my wine in my hand. I find myself back in front of the stairs, staring up at them as I sip my wine. I place my foot on the first stair, and before I know it, I'm marching up the rest of them on a mission. I get to the top of the stairs and look down the left hallway, marching to the room Henry always stays in and slamming open the door. “How are you feeling, darling? Hopefully like a real lousy boyfriend," I say sharply as I see him sitting on the end of his bed with his face in his hands. “Out," he says without looking at me, his voice audibly shaking. My face softens slightly as I continue to study him and the state of his room, curtains closed, no lights on, his jacket off, and his tie loosened. I walk towards him slowly, setting my wine in the dresser as I do so. “Hey, what’s wrong?” I ask, placing my hand on his shoulder. He looks up at me; he's sweating and extremely pale. Any ounce of anger I have left in me immediately disappears. As I study his face, my own face drops. How could I have been so stupid? “Migraine," I whisper as he looks up at me. He flinches at my quiet word in pain, “Please, please just leave y/n.”. It absolutely breaks my heart whenever I see him like this. Henry is always so put together and independent, but when he has his migraines He becomes almost small-looking, desperate. I rub his shoulder gently and whisper, “Where’s your medication?” I ask softly. “Car," he says as he flinch’s from the pain of hearing his own word. I immediately turn around and jog out of his room, downstairs, out the front door, and to the car. I grab his bag from the trunk and jog all the way back into the house and up the stairs. When I get back into Henry’s room, I'm panting and trying my hardest to catch my breath quietly. After about ten seconds of standing like an idiot, breathing heavily in front of him, I place the bag on the floor, following it down, and sitting on my knees in front of it. I hear him let out a quiet gasp of pain as he hears me unzip the bag. I riffle through it, trying to be as quiet as possible, until I find the small orange bottle of his pills. I unscrew the lid as I stand back up and pour one out into my hand. I grab my wine off the dresser and walk to him, holding the pill and wine out to him. “Please, darling, I can take care of myself," he says quietly and desperately, his voice betraying his words. I move my hands towards him more as a way to say, “Just take it." He slowly reaches out and takes the small pill from my hand, putting it into his mouth before taking the wine from me and using it to wash down the pill. He still looks ghostly white; his eyes close instantly. I gently take off his glasses and lay him flat on the bed, climbing beside him as I cover his eyes with my hand gently to make the room darker for him. He lets out a soft sigh. “I wish you wouldn’t trouble yourself with this," he whispers. I shake my head as I continue to hold my hand gently over his eyes and lay on him. “I’ll do this all night if I need to," I whisper back, my thumb gently tracing his scar in a soothing manner. “Please, y/n, stop treating me like a child. I can take care of myself," he says unconvincingly. I shake my head again and whisper back, “Just sleep, hen.”. He finally falls asleep about five minutes later as I lay beside him for at least three hours, my hand never leaving his eyes. I watch his chest move up and down, his breathing as he sleeps much more even and natural compared to his breaths when he’s awake. I don’t notice at first when he wakes up. “How long has it been?” he asks in a raspy, mumbling voice. I take my hand off his eyes, and he turns on his side to look at me. “Just a few hours, are you still feeling ill?” I ask, running my fingers through his hair.

“You didn’t have to do that; I’m more than capable of taking care of myself," he replies, wrapping an arm around my waist as we lay on our sides facing each other. I nod. “Just let me take care of you from time to time, okay?” I say, moving my hand out for his hair and placing it under my cheek. He closes his eyes and nods slightly as he pulls me closer to him. “Sorry," he mumbles into my neck. I chuckle softly; he’s acting like a child right now, clingy and sleepy. “It’s okay, just get some more rest," I say back as I put my chin on top of his head. "I love you," he mutters into my neck. I kiss the top of his head gently. "I love you too, Hen.”.

A/N: hope this is what you were looking for:)) thank you for the request, i loved writing this!!

[oleworm]

[HOUSE OF THE DRAGON / FIRE AND BLOOD SPOILERS]

[Picture and text by my friend, though I share their vision and wish GRRM hadn't disposed of Aegon II so quickly. So much potential!]

“My soul is too much charged with blood of thine already.”

An AU in which Aegon II adopts Rhaenyra’s son, Aegon III, as his own heir, only that instead of dying, he lives for a while longer, slowly shaping Aegon III in his own image.

This is a nature vs. nurture type of a situation: a son of Daemon and Rhaenyra, Aegon III becomes a product of Aegon II and his family in every way but by his birth. I would want their relationship to be strained, deep and vile, a tortured drama in the style of The Lion in Winter. “You love nothing. You are incomplete. The human parts of you are missing. You are dead as you are deadly,” type of a parent-child dynamic, full of rage, misery and longing, with both performing the role of a surrogate for the true loved one that their faction has killed. One becomes the son to his worst nightmare, and the other—a de facto father to the blood of his real son’s killers, to his own blood, too, because ultimately, they do share the same blood, like poison poured from the same cup.

Fun detail, but though the “you love nothing” line comes from Richard in The Lion in Winter, it’s his father Henry II who could serve as a prototype to Aegon III. The son of Matilda (Rhaenyra), he was proclaimed heir by king Stephen (Aegon II) shortly before his death, putting an end to the Anarchy. Stephen, however, did live a fairly long life. In this AU so does Aegon II, purely out of stubbornness and spite.

The quote comes from Macbeth.

[greenandsorrow]

ΦΙΛΗΔΟΝΙΑ. (i)

HENRY WINTER X SHAPELY!FEM!READER ⏳

☞ Here I am, writing spontaneous filth, a wet fever dream if you will... instead of getting the real work done (my tsh au with an oc). This one is quite suggestive, but I tried to incorporate nice prose in it as well! What if you take what you're about to read as an apology for not making any progress with 'What once was' yet ?? 🥺

☞ I know there are times I say that some smut fics of mine belong in the 'no plot just porn' category, even when it takes many paragraphs to get to the spice. But listen, I write and pace my smut like a female orgasm. (Iykyk☕) I was ovulating when I wrote this and it shows -says the luteal me.

☞ OOC!Henry??, adult themes, kinda slow burn, descriptive, teasing, masturbation, exhibitionism, voyeurism, public setting, the more you read the hornier it gets, cliché tension-heightening tropes, my first time writing for Henry specifically and for tsh generally

You're a good friend of Richard.

Neither of you was born swimming in money and as a result of your humble upbringings, you both share a sense of wonder at making it into a place like Hamden. However, the main thing that connected you and the brunette Californian when you first met, was your shared desire to become part of the Greek class. Richard wholeheartedly believes that you deserved to be accepted by Julian far more than he did, but the eccentric professor has his own unique -or rather, peculiar- way of thinking and evaluating who is worthy of becoming his pupil and who… simply isn’t.

Unfortunately for you, you didn't manage to enroll in Greek. You didn't quite fit the mold, so to speak. Oh well... French, sketching and sculpting are fine. And Richard makes sure to keep you up to date with his new experiences as part of what essentially is a clique of wealthy twenty-year-olds.

To the untrained eye of a bystander, the brooding umbrella bearer, the ginger fashionista, the blonde twins, and the Edmund guy all appear equally obnoxious and hoity-toity. Still, Richard has given you a retrospective of the Greek class -or at least he tried- because you can't help but poke fun at pretentiousness when you see it.

The first few weeks were relatively calm. You only ever saw the group when they walked out of the Lyceum and you were waiting for Rich. During those moments, you took the chance to observe them more closely, but you were still unsure whether you liked what you saw. Camilla, the only girl in their little clique, would always shoot poisonous glares your way, while Bunny would give you a nod, accompanied by an acknowledging half-smirk.

You first met Francis, by mere luck. You were over at Richard's dorm room when the ginger paid him an unexpected visit -and even though you weren't entirely sure if he was kind out of politeness or sincerity, you liked him. Francis is a nervous man with a great sense of humor and style.

As time bled into the heart of autumn, you started going out with your classmates. There was a cozy little bar hidden in an alley on Vermont where you'd enjoy a couple of drinks, when you didn't have early lessons. While there, you spotted Francis and Charles sharing drinks together. There were some 'scandalous' dating rumors... and you had a feeling they were indeed hooking up. You caught them once on your way back to Hamden. Francis must have noticed you, but the twin was likely quite drunk. You didn't tell a soul and Francis was silently grateful for it.

Weeks turned into months...

And boom! You, Francis and Richard started hanging out around campus. It didn't become a daily occurrence overnight, but when it did, Charles would also join you from time to time. You even started talking to Bunny through your light interactions with his girlfriend, Marion. He definitely stood out from their polished social image, but in a way, he was the necessary ingredient that balanced out their measured and cut off demeanor.

You're not part of the group. If anything, you're even more of an outsider than Richard. The thing with you, though, is that unlike him, you aren't trying to fit in. Bunny is talkative to a fault, so you have no trouble entertaining him. We've already covered Francis. Charles is surprisingly chill and friendly. But despite that, his sister might mirror his appearance, but she certainly doesn't mirror his personality. She seems to tolerate you more than anything.

When Charles casually invited you to their apartment for dinner, her expression had turned so sour that you almost wanted to strangle her.

However, the cherry on top is that mountain of stoicism, Henry Winter. He always seems to be in his own world, his piercing gaze often fixed on something far beyond the crowd. You can't help but notice how he will occasionally glance in your direction, but these moments are fleeting, gone as quickly as they come. There is an intensity in his eyes that makes your heart race, yet he remains an enigma, shrouded in layers of indifference.

While Francis and Charles are engaging and willing to include you in their conversations, Henry's aloofness is what stimulates your curiosity. You sense he is aware of your presence, yet he never acknowledges you, as if you are just a mere afterthought in the grand narrative of his life.

The dinner was a catalyst experience.

As you arrived at the twins' apartment with Richard, Henry's presence loomed large but distant. You felt eyes on you, but it was only Bunny, Charles and Francis who greeted you with cheerful banter, while Henry remained in his corner, a book in hand. His gaze did flicker to your shapely figure, lingering just a moment longer than he intended before he quickly averted his eyes, dismissing you as nothing more than an unimportant distraction.

"Well, well, don't you look like a million bucks tonight!" Bunny called out with a grin, his eyes openly trailing down your curves. "That dress is working overtime, sweetheart. We should get you to wear that to the next charity event!"

Charles chuckled -though there was a slight awkwardness to it- and Francis rolled his eyes. You forced a smile, used to Bunny's crude remarks. Your attention was elsewhere anyway...

Why did Henry refuse to engage, even when you found yourselves under the same roof? He frustrated you as much as he intrigued you.

The atmosphere in the twins' apartment buzzed with lively chatter and the clinking of glasses. As you settled into your seat at the table, you were acutely aware of Henry's presence at the far end. You wore a fitted dress that accentuated your curves, the fabric clinging to your defined figure. You could feel the warmth of the others' gazes, but when it came to him, it was as if a cold, impenetrable wall stood next to you.

As the meal progressed, conversation flowed easily. Bunny dominated most of it, animatedly recounting stories from campus -with Richard often his chosen victim. Occasionally though, Bunny's attention would drift back to you, making some offhand comment about how you should consider a career in modeling. "No reason to hide those killer curves, darling" he'd say with a wink, making Francis groan in exasperation.

Through it all, Henry remained silent, his attention fixed on his plate or the flickering candlelight at the center of the table. Though he said nothing, there was a tightness in his jaw that suggested he was aware of everything -and perhaps disapproved.

You caught glimpses of him out of the corner of your eye -the subtle shift of his gaze when he thought no one was watching, the way his fingers twitched when Bunny's voice grew loud and lewd.

It was maddening. He was magnetic and repelling all at once.

"Henry, what do you think?" Charles asked at some point, finally drawing him into the conversation. For a moment, hope flickered within you that he might engage. But Henry merely shrugged, dismissing the warmth of the moment...

As the evening wore on, you tried to focus on the camaraderie of the others, but you couldn't shake the feeling that Henry was watching you from behind that wall of polite ignorance.

His silence only amplified the tension that crackled between you.

Tension, tension, tension... Or is it your wishful thinking?

Since that dinner, things have warmed between you and the Greek students. You often find yourself in their company -whether it's studying together in the library, thrifting with Richard, going to the opera with Francis and even Camilla, or awkwardly using the coffee machine in the cafeteria with Henry.

Henry has shifted from not acknowledging your existence to silently accepting it. It's a delicate situation and you know better than to push for more. He's far from an average Joe. Initiating small talk with him would feel almost like a personal insult.

Let's focus on today though, shall we?

It's early morning and you're both making coffee in the still empty cafeteria. The small space in front of the coffee maker forces you to stand close, too close. As you reach for a cup, your fingers accidentally graze his much larger ones, sending an electric jolt through you. Henry's hand lingers for one delicious moment before he pulls away, his expression neutral, though you catch the subtle clenching of his jaw.

Is he annoyed... Or did he feel the same tingling sensation you just felt? You apologize quietly and he nods, not saying a word, but the air feels heavier now.

A pause.

You turn to say something -anything!- but he's already walking away, his umbrella and Gucci coat perfectly in place.

It was a mundane thing to happen, really. Boring and normal, unimpressive and simple. Ordinary and meaningless... Something that could happen between absolutely anyone. And yet, you spend the rest of the day replaying it over and over in your pretty head, unable to focus on your classes.

In the blink of an eye and after several cups of mediocre at best coffee, you find yourself waiting for Richard at your usual spot. He emerges with Bunny. Dammit... They appear to be engrossed in conversation. Looks like you're heading back to the dorms on your own...

You sigh.

There's no hurry so you don't leave right away.

The cold evening air bites at your skin as you stand outside the Lyceum, watching as the others come out of it. Francis waves at you and Camilla gives you a brief smile, but neither lingers. And then there's Henry, the last to leave. He steps out into the dim streetlight, his dark coat wrapped tightly around him as he makes his way down the steps.

You hesitate for a moment, debating on saying something or staying silent as always, but frustration gnaws at you and your tongue wins control over your brain.

"Why doesn't he want me there?" you ask, not moving from your spot.

Henry pauses. His eyes -sharp and piercing- meet yours and for a moment you wonder if he's going to ignore you, as he has countless times before. But then he walks over, his steps measured and his expression unreadable.

"You mean Julian" he states in a low voice, but there's an edge to it like he's already thought about this.

You nod, your breath visible in the cold air. "Yes. Everyone else... but not me. Why?"

He regards you for a long moment, his eyes tracing your face... and for the first time you're acutely aware of his smell -expensive cologne and aftershave mixed with tobacco. His presence is imposing, even though his demeanor remains distant.

"Julian is..." he begins, then stops as if searching for the right words. He then looks away, towards the dark street, the silence between you thick. "Particular. He doesn’t take everyone."

The words sting, even though they were spoken with a calm detachment. You cross your arms, not entirely sure if it's to block out the cold or the weight of his indifference.

"That much is obvious. But why not me?"

Henry's jaw clenches, a flicker of something unspoken passing in his dark blue eyes, but his voice remains steady. "You don't need Julian's approval in order to spend time with us."

And then a bit more earnestly "You already know that."

You scoff lightly, taken aback by his response. "You didn't answer my question."

"I did."

His gaze snaps back to yours, something new surfacing behind those cold orbs of his.

You feel like you're standing on the edge of some cliffhanger, but before you can push him any further with your questions, Henry takes another step dangerously close. He looks down at you, taking in the curve of your upper lip, your jawline, the shape of your nose.

"You're not like the others" he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. There's no judgment in his tone, just the acknowledgment of a fact. You blink, taken completely off guard by the sudden shift in his demeanor.

"Is that why Julian won't let me in? Because I'm not like all of you?"

Henry doesn't answer immediately. The tension between you feels fragile, like it could shatter at any given moment. Then, in a voice softer than you've ever heard from him, he replies "Maybe it's better this way."

His words hang in the air, loaded with a meaning you can't quite grasp. You search his eyes for something more, some explanation, but before you find anything, Henry steps back, his face closing off once again.

"Goodnight" he says, the tension breaking as he turns and walks away, leaving you standing there confused and more intrigued than ever.

A bottle of cheap wine and late night thinking is your next step.

"When Henry told me that Julian's judgment isn't everything, he revealed a small crack in his otherwise impenetrable loyalty to the professor. He respects Julian and his selective nature, but he doesn't entirely agree with my exclusion.

So Henry has protective instincts... whether he's aware of them or not. He senses that keeping me out may shield me from whatever lies ahead in Julian's world, which he must know isn't as glamorous as it appears...

I am such a philosopher..."

That evening, Henry remained by his car for a good while, watching you as you stood alone in the cold. He couldn't quite explain why your question had unsettled him, why your presence had been bothering him in ways he hadn't anticipated. You unsettled him -not because of what you said, but because of how acutely aware of you he had become.

You frustrated him.

Henry's need for control manifests in how he maintains a physical and emotional distance, even as the tension between you grows. He's hyperaware of how your interactions could escalate if he lets them. That's why he chooses to leave at the end of every single conversation you have. By walking away, Henry reasserts control over the situation, both over himself and you. He's not ready to let his guard down, so he retreats in order to keep the tension simmering rather than boiling over.

It was foolish, he told himself. He had no time for such petty distractions. Still, there was something about you that cracked the surface of his carefully constructed world.

You weren't part of Julian's circle, so you shouldn’t matter. But you did. He hated that you did.

Sexuality and romance... these are things Henry has never cared for. He can analyze them, dissect them from a distance, but the reality is different. He has observed enough to know how they work in theory, yet practice remains foreign to him.

Intimacy is something he has never sought, perhaps because it seems beneath him, too messy and unpredictable. But when standing before you, Henry realized something he hadn't expected... He was curious. Not in the detached, intellectual way he usually is.

A few days pass, but the memory of him looking at you outside the Lyceum is still annoyingly persistent. It's hard not to think about the odd tension between you. You tell yourself it's nothing, but it's not working, not really.

So you decide to head to the library. Not because you expect to see him there, but because your classes are starting to pile up and you need to focus. At least that's what you tell yourself as you step into the quiet, echoing halls. But as you move through the aisles, you spot him.

H. M. Winter

He's seated at a table near the back, away from the other scattered students, his serious expression fixed on a thick book in front of him. The mere sight of him -sharp jawline and tailored coat draped over the back of his chair- sends a jolt of something through you. You hesitate for a moment. You should leave, avoid him. But instead you find yourself walking over, heartbeat quickening, the air between you already charged before you've even said a word.

He doesn't look up immediately when you approach, his eyes still fixed on the book in front of him, his fingers carefully tracing the edge of a page as if he's deliberately keeping his focus there. But then, as you step closer he finally glances up, his gaze moving over your face and then lowering to take in the rest of your body, outfit and all.

Without a word, you pull out the chair across from him, the scrape of wood against the floor cutting through the heavy silence. You take your time, moving slowly. Your body brushes against the edge of the table as you sit, the fabric of your skirt clinging to your curves in a way you know he notices -even if he doesn't allow himself to look.

The scent of old books and cologne in the air adds to the heat building between you. You cross your legs, shifting slightly in your seat while you unpack your bag.

Time goes by.

The quiet hum of the library envelops you both as you sit across from each other, textbooks and notes now scattered on the table. You focus on actually studying for the most part, though you can still feel his bespectacled eyes shift on you from time to time. When you move in your seat, the hem of your skirt rides up slightly, revealing just a hint more thigh. His eyebrow twitches in response before he sharply returns his focus on his book, but not before you catch the encouraging micro expression...

You pretend not to notice, but the warmth crawling up your neck betrays you.

As the minutes tick by, the space starts to feel smaller than it should, the quiet charged with something unsaid.

Without the presence of the others, the air between you feels different -more electric and less restrained. With no one else to see, neither of you has to pretend anymore. Henry's usual detachment falters, his eyes lingering longer than they should, tracing the curve of your leg that has been exposed. This time, instead of shying away, you let the moment stretch.

Alone with him the rules feel different, unspoken boundaries becoming temptations to cross.

You lean forward ever so slightly -the movement causing your blouse to dip just enough to reveal a teasing glimpse of cleavage. You pretend to adjust the papers in front of you, but you know exactly what you're doing... The corner of your mouth quirks up in the faintest hint of a smirk when you catch the way his stormy, blue eyes flick down momentarily.

Henry adjusts his glasses, the subtle motion giving him a moment to compose himself. His eyes narrow. His voice is steady, level, as he finally addresses you -but there's clearly an edge to it.

"What exactly are you trying to do?"

His gaze locks onto yours now, no longer avoiding the obvious. It's a challenge spoken softly but laced with a mix of curiosity and frustration. He's intelligent enough to know what's happening, but inexperienced enough that your boldness throws him off balance.

His hand tightens on the spine of the book.

It's a good thing you put on this little lacy bralette in the morning, because it does your assets more than justice. You sit up straighter.

Henry's gaze falls on your generous cleavage again, before it darts back to the forsaken book he's been pretending to read for the past hour. His ears turn a slight red, an indicator of his flustered state. And oh, the way he clears his throat... It tells you everything you need to know.

"I was just wondering if I could see your notes. You know… so I can get a glimpse of what Julian teaches you lot. Or is that Latin? Richard mentioned you're working on a translation or something..."

"Yes… It's Latin."

"Can I see?"

Was that a provocative thing to ask? Maybe.

Indeed, Henry stiffens at your question, the directness of it catching him off guard and you even catch a brief flash of uncertainty behind his gaze.

"I… suppose you can" he mutters after a small pause. He fumbles slightly with the pages in front of him, which seems like an unusual action for him -to fumble. His square-nailed fingers brush over the worn paper of the translation he's been working on, but you can tell his focus isn't on the text. As he slides the notebook toward you, you notice the almost imperceptible tremble of his upper limbs.

"Thanks" you say, offering him a small smile. Then, you lean even closer, supposedly to examine the translation -to expose more cleavage.

...he bites the bait. Henry swallows hard and you don't need to look up to know that his eyes are fixated on your supple bosom. His breath hitches audibly as he sees more of your assets than is appropriate.

After another charged moment, with you still 'reading' from his notebook, Henry straightens up, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as the hardness that has formed in his pants becomes impossible to ignore.

He's never felt anything like this before. The sudden arousal surges through him, unwelcome and overwhelming, making his skin prickle under his usually immovable composure. Crossing his legs, he tries in vain to hide the evidence of his arousal. It's a humiliating thing to be so out of control, to feel his body reacting when his mind is frantically trying to impose some order. He disappoints himself by being so... so affected by something as simple as a glimpse of your breasts.

Henry adjusts his glasses once more. His body is betraying him right now, a true traitor, a meek renegade, pulsing with a need he doesn't know how to handle.

You're delighted to see him bite his lower lip, making his internal struggle more tangible to you...

Before...

Before he blurts out... "You're not wearing a bra, are you?"

The question echoes in your ears, blunt and so so uncharacteristic of him, but his eyes are wide and his pupils dilated. You understand that the words must've slipped out before he could catch them. Still, you don't give him an answer.

His normally pale complexion flushes a deep shade of red, the realization of what he just said hitting him like a freight train. His hand tightens even more around the notebook -knuckles white- and he looks like he wishes the ground could swallow him whole.

For a second it seems like he might apologize, but no words come out of his mouth. Instead, he shifts again, the discomfort of his confined erection making him painfully aware of what he assumes are your bare breasts under the fabric of your blouse...

Henry's mind is working without his permission as it tries to decide how your skin must feel against his hands. You've clearly gotten under his skin and he's struggling to maintain the control he's so used to wielding.

He can't help but steal another peek at the dip of your blouse, admiring, longing. He also can't help but imagine running his palms over your unconstrained breasts. The breath he takes does little to calm his racing heart, or the stirring in his expensive dress pants, the ache becoming harder to ignore with every passing second.

His hand moves to close his notebook, as if to signal that this study session is over, but the awkward energy still crackles between you. On top of that, you're not ready to give up, not now that you finally have him wrapped around your finger.

"Are you leaving already?" you ask, something playful in your voice.

Henry hesitates, fingers lingering over the notebook, his usual confidence visibly shaken. He clears his throat, glancing at you and then quickly away, as though torn between staying and the uncomfortable predicament in his slacks.

"I… hadn't planned on it" he murmurs, speaking more to himself than to you. He uncrosses his legs, the icy gaze returning to meet yours, betraying a mixture of reluctance and undeniable attraction. "But maybe I… should."

With a touch of sultry innocence, you turn your attention back to your own book, supposedly accepting his sudden departure -while also positioning your arms so they press your breasts together, accentuating your already tantalizing cleavage. Of course he tenses as he sees what the new position does to your body...

You turn your focus away from Henry to glance around, noting the empty chairs and half-abandoned tables. It looks like most students have left -or are leaving- for dinner. It's just the two of you now, tucked into a secluded corner, as if the quiet solitude of the library is conspiring in your favor.

Time has slipped by unnoticed, a realization for him as much as for you.

The soft glow of the lamps casts long shadows across the rows of books. The library has quieted. The world outside is fading into dusk. The room feels still, almost intimate. The building's ventilation is the only sound left, along with your breathing.

Henry isn't sure if he should feel relieved or more uncomfortable now that it's just you. The absence of others only sharpens the tension, leaving him acutely aware of his body's betrayal. He aches with need, his arousal throbbing painfully against his zipper, each pulse a reminder of how far out of control this has spiraled.

As if on instinct, his hand moves to his lap, fingers brushing against the strained fabric of his pants. His gaze is fixed on your cleavage, drawn to the subtle rise and fall of your chest with each breath.

Your luscious skin has Henry's breath growing shallow, each muscle in his body tensing as if bracing against a storm. His thoughts also betray him -he wants his face there, buried between your soft mounds, suffocated by them, losing himself in you as if he were a Roman indulging in the decadence of an orgy.

His breathing grows even more labored as his eyes fixate on your hands, now massaging your plump assets. This is unfair. Unbearable. Infuriating. Under any other circumstances, he'd be appalled by such lewd behavior. Yet, in all honesty, his frustration is less directed to you and more to himself -for being weak enough to succumb to such a primal, lowly instinct.

Lust.

Lust...

But… is it really so lowly?

Lust for a woman. Lust for a man.

Lust for food. For alcohol.

For a sports car, a tailored suit, an ancestral estate.

Lust for knowledge. For the thrill of experience.

Lust for life.

It has always been about hedonism. The pursuit of satisfaction, the fulfillment of one's desires. Yet Henry had never felt it like this before, not in its pure, unrefined carnality. Even the excitement for Julian's praise pales in comparison to the one he experiences now -with his face contorted in pleasure, as he stares at your coy expression. His chest tightens as his gaze shifts from your cleavage to your face, struck by how utterly radiant you look. He's never truly taken the time to notice it before, let alone appreciate it... The fullness of your cheeks, their youthful glow, their intoxicating freshness, healthy and ripe like apples.

It's a stark contrast to his own face, or even Camilla's, or Richard's. Their cheeks are hollowed from sleepless nights, their skin pale, only flushed when warmed by too much wine. But you... oh, you. The blood flows effortlessly, naturally, deliciously to your face as you meet his gaze with that knowing expression.

He feels more sweat forming on his brow and his hand -oh, damn him- is already moving, rubbing slow, small circles over his aching crotch.

It dawns on him, then.

A revelation as visceral as it is absurd. He's never quite grasped why literature so often wields cannibalism as a metaphor for love, for lust. But now, with his pulse racing, his breath faltering and his thoughts consumed entirely by you, he understands. He wants to devour you. Consume you wholly, utterly, and without remorse.

"You look so... so..." he gasps, his voice strained and trembling with unspent desire. "Play with your... play with your- Oh God!"

You can't help but grin at his unraveling. You've done it. The mighty Henry Winter reduced to a needy mess, his carefully cultivated composure shattered like glass. He's acting like some desperate, hormonal teenager and the power you feel is almost dizzying.

Teasingly, you raise your top just enough to give him a good glimpse of what's going on underneath. His eyes widen, hunger and disbelief etched across his face as he's treated to the sight of your lingerie-clad breasts, the delicate lace doing little to hide your hardened nipples.

A hoarse groan escapes him, while his hand strokes his length -the slacks barely covering anything. Whatever hesitation or awareness of his surroundings he had before has vanished. At this moment, he doesn't care who might see the two of you.

The mix of pleasure and frustration is overwhelming him. His underwear has become far too tight for his engorged member and with a muttered profanity, he unbuckles his belt. In one swift motion, he shoves both his pants and underwear down -just enough to free himself.

His thick, hard cock springs forward then, standing tall and heavy. The sight of it catches even you off guard.

"Henry, what-"

"Shut up!" he growls in a voice that's low and rough, dripping with need. His hand wraps around his hard length, giving himself a few slow, deliberate strokes. "Just sit there and look beautiful while I take care of this."

His eyes aren't their usual icy blue anymore. They're darker -almost molten- and they fixate on your cleavage with an intensity that sends heat pooling in your stomach.

You glance around, a flicker of apprehension sparking within you. The thought of getting caught lingers at the back of your mind, but the darkness outside and the deserted library reassure you. Thank God your table is tucked away in a secluded corner.

With a teasing smile, you lift your top again.

Henry's reaction is immediate. His eyes glaze over, his head tipping back slightly as his mouth falls open in a silent moan. The sight of your perfectly-rounded breasts seems to unravel him entirely. His hand moves faster over his pulsating shaft, the tension in his body building with every passing second.

"Please… please" he rasps, his voice almost breaking.

The desperate plea sends a jolt of heat through you. You press your thighs together -the throbbing between them is growing more and more. You lean forward just a bit, your tone dripping with feigned innocence.

"Please what?" comes your whisper.

His lips part again as he struggles to form words. "Please... touch yourself... Your n- nip-" He can't even finish his sentence, his composure completely shattered as his cock throbs violently in his hand.

"Now, please!" he gasps.

You feel a flicker of shyness at first but decide to indulge him, pinching your nipples gently between your fingers. Henry's gaze is unwavering, his breath hitching as your fingers close around your hard, (color) nipples. The groan that escapes him is loud and unrestrained, his hand now moving furiously over the length of his leaking cock.

When your hands push your breasts together, his expression shifts entirely. He looks hypnotized... Utterly transfixed by the sight. You can tell he's imagining his face there, buried between your mounds and lost in the warmth of you.

His body begins to tense, every muscle coiled tight as his release inches closer.

The moment is abruptly interrupted by the sound of footsteps and you immediately hurry to cover yourself, just as a boy approaches to retrieve a forgotten notebook. Henry's hand also retreats and he straightens in his seat, doing his best to appear somehow worldly. The boy barely glances at either of you before leaving, blissfully unaware of what he nearly walked in on.

Once the intruder is gone, you turn your attention back to Henry. His chest heaves. He's still catching his breath, face still red and damp with sweat. Ebony hair disheveled, round glasses slipping down his nose. With a shaky hand, he pushes them back into place, looking almost... human for once.

In this moment, he's not the calculating and untouchable Henry M. Winter. He's just a man -a flushed, trembling and utterly undone by you man.

"Show them again."

With the intruder now gone, silence blankets the library once again, thick with boiling tension. Still, you don't give him what he wants right away, liking the control you have over him.

"You were saying?" you murmur with a sultry undertone.

Henry's eyes snap back to yours. His hand hasn't stopped and it's picking up speed again, moving with urgency.

"I… I can't-" he breathes, his voice tight.

"Don't hold back." Your words are laced with mischief. "Let me see you, as you see me..."

That's all the encouragement he needs, really.

"You're-" he gasps out "going to-" another gasp escapes his lips "make me... ah- c- come..."

Henry's words are broken and almost incoherent, as he dangerously teeters on the edge. His breathing is ragged, every muscle in him taut with anticipation.

His grip on his erection tightens, his thumb brushing over the swollen tip, smearing pre-cum as his breathing grows more erratic. Oh Lord, he's so so close, his mind utterly consumed by thoughts and images of you -your breasts, the tantalizing curve of your perky nipples...

The weight of your gaze -intent and deliberate- feels like a physical touch and the unique cadence of your voice echoes in his head, soft yet teasing, pulling him closer to the brink.

His movements become frantic, his breath hitching as the coil inside him winds tighter. He's watching you, every detail of your parted lips and flushed skin, your teasing smile as you slowly trail your fingers over the tops of your breasts.

And then he falls apart.

Henry's hand freezes over his manhood as he looks into your eyes, his body trembling with need. "Can I...Can I come on them? Please?"

The raw need in his tone sends a shiver down your spine, igniting the flicker of power within you. You lean forward quite a lot, giving him an even better view of the soft curves he's begging for.

"Are you asking nicely?" Your is voice soft but also dripping with seduction.

Henry's jaw tightens as his restraint slips further away. This is embarrassing, it's debauchery, but he's in too deep to back away now.

"Please" he repeats, his voice breaking, the desperation evident.

His hand resumes its movement, jerking himself harder now, his focus entirely on you and the unspoken permission you haven't yet given.

You glance around quickly, the library as quiet as it's been the whole evening, the shadows growing darker as the last traces of daylight fade completely. A thrill courses through you at the sheer audacity of the situation. Meeting his gaze again, you slowly tug your top down to expose more of yourself -your cleavage a tempting canvas for his impending release.

"Alright, Henry" you purr. "Go ahead."

His head falls back at that, a strangled moan escaping his lips as the tension in his body reaches its peak. His hips jerk forward and his hand works in a frenzy, chasing the release he's been holding back for what feels like hours. His entire body tenses, veins standing out on his forearms and neck as his climax overtakes him.

The first thick, hot streak spills out, landing on your breasts, followed by another... and another. His release is messy -almost overwhelming- each pulse marking your skin in stark contrast to your flushed complexion. The sight alone seems to prolong his orgasm, his strokes slowing only as his body begins to shudder with overstimulation.

For a moment after that, the library is filled with nothing but the sound of his heavy breathing and the soft hum of the lights overhead.

Henry blinks, his gaze dropping to where he's left his mark, his lips parting in something like awe. His glasses have slid down the bridge of his nose, his hair tousled and for once, he looks completely undone.

His throat bobs as he swallows hard, his eyes still locked on you, an unreadable expression flickering across his face. Finally, he manages to adjust his glasses, his voice coming out hoarse and unsteady.

"You're… incredible" he mutters, almost to himself.

You lean back slightly, satisfied and victorious, watching as he shakily adjusts his clothes. The post-climactic haze softens his usual sharp edges.

But then his gaze snaps back to yours, -vulnerable and searching- like he's trying to understand what just happened, or what it means.

You grab a tissue, breaking the tension with a teasing smirk as you clean yourself off. "You're not going to forget this, are you?"

Henry's lips twitch as if he's fighting a smile, but his eyes remain serious.

"No" he says simply, his voice steady despite the faint tremor of his hands. "I don't think I could if I tried."

His answer causes you to chuckle softy. You begin to gather your things, breaking eye contact to avoid lingering too long in the still charged atmosphere. As you stand, you glance back at him, offering a small smile.

"See you around, Henry."

He doesn't respond, only watches you stand and leave, his expression a mix of longing, frustration and something deeper he hasn't fully realized yet.

As you step out into the cool evening air, you can't help but feel a spark of exhilaration. You've rattled him -really rattled him- and something tells you this is far from over.

ΗΔΟΝΟΘΗΡΙΑ. (ii)

Soon.

Thank you for reading!!! I appreciate you so much! 🤎

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The pumpkins are by @saradika-graphics.

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Do not copy, do not repost my work anywhere.**

[sanvcnblvd]

[pañuelo melody] by acastle

[pañuelo melody] by acastle

There are aspects about this story that really hit home for me. (Forgive me, I'm dumping a lot of feelings without proofreading–I'm probably rambling).

There is a running theme of hidden connections and destiny that acastle wrote in their fic. It may just be headcanon, but afaik Casey has mentioned that Alex and Henry are destined to be together in any universe, this fic really drives that idea home.

Mild spoilers below, but acastle referenced Utada Hikaru in their story multiple times, and I grew up listening to them (HUGE Kingdom Hearts fan here). The feeling I had when acastle referenced one of their songs–through the opening lyrics that I recognized (First Love by Utada Hikaru) , I literally went "nooooooo wayyyyyyyy.......???!!!!"

And then acastle referenced Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence by Ryuichi Sakamoto (amazing piano instrumental written for the movie of the same name). Utada also wrote a song and sampled Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence (also same title). I wish I could truly describe when all the pieces connected together, it was like greeting an old friend. It was also like getting hit by a truck. It was all very overwhelming (I may or may not have started tearing up writing this portion.)

This story takes place in winter in Japan, and it's chilly, and icy, and the angst is dialled up to eleven, but like with all of acastle's stories, there is so much love.

The main inspiration for this cover is Japanese artist Ikenaga Yasunari (examples below). I wanted to replicate the vibe, but I opted for more colour. I was also inspired by traditional Japanese paintings, especially with how soft and delicate snow is often painted.

I chose the promotional image of Alex and Henry in the V&A as the pose. I had initially planned to have Alex and Henry walking in the Higashiyama Ward at night (location described in the fic) , illuminated by streetlights and joined by the red string of fate, but it didn't materialize.

The Japanese in the front translates literally to "Handkerchief melody – hankachi and 旋律 (Kanji for melody/tune). Handkerchief from pañuelo (the Spanish meaning, not Filipino ) references the one that Alex uses to wipe his mouth as a child before giving his relatives a kiss on the cheek. It is also the title of the song Alex writes and releases before running away to Japan.

The characters in the corner is 禁色 is from the novel that Henry read that inspired his work trip to Japan. Context is in the story. It's very poignant and melancholic.

Thank you so much to Louie (@hrhprinceacd on Twitter) for helping me with the Japanese title, and for @ash-morrison for blind-choosing this cover to release from my vault.

Just adding that the gingko branch background is from an adobe stock photo that I didn't really want to pay for so I designed my own version from scratch (original reference below).

The full poster that can be added to the .epub file for your kindle/e-book reader is at the end of the post! If you need any assistance, please don't be afraid to ask!

[fleetingcalypso]

Hello! I just stumbled across your blog, and find the way you write and portray Henry in your stories absolutely captivating. I just finished reading the book for the first time ever today and managed to do so without seeing any spoilers beforehand, so safe to say that Henry's suicide blindsided me completely. In hindsight it made complete sense, but I'm still in denial about it and would love a story about him actually surviving his wounds. Henry gives me the vibe of hiding everything that was happening from anyone but those in the Greek class alongside him, which, in my opinion, would even extend to his partner as well. I think it would be really interesting if his partner comes to visit him in the hospital after he's just woken up (ignoring the logical fact that he'd probably be heavily brain damaged) and is just absolutely devastated because she/they thought he was genuinely taking his life because he was depressed. To me, even then I don't see Henry fessing up to what's actually been happening, and I think it'd be cool to see the way he would try and talk his way out of it. (Henry seems pretty closed off emotionally, but I'd love some genuine hurt/comfort, only if this idea intrigues you of course.) thank you! (:

≋ The dread of losing a loved one, the knowledge that someone's time could have come faster than expected, the paranoid of could have happened had help on arrived on time, the fear of the future holds. These feelings are not foreign to me. At any rate, everyone sails away from Ogygia one day or another, I am accustomed to it. For anyone else, I want to emphasize that themes of this narration are quite heavy, if need be please don't be afraid to reach out to me for help or simple communication. You're not alone and you are deeply loved. Going back to Henry, I am of the opinion he'd try to manipulate his way out of a truly meaningful conversation. He's quite the orator, after all.

≋ Henry Winter x GN!Reader ≋

≋ Word Count: 2190 words.

≋ TW: Attempted s*icide, angst, manipulation, reader feels an exorbitant amount of guilt, somewhat hurt/comfort.

≋ CW: As the themes are quite heavy and Henry is a pragmatic, stoic character, I feel like there could not be much comfort in a scenario like this. He'd be too busy trying to find another way to get out of the mess he's in, to take the time to comfort his loved one. I beg your forgiveness for not including most of the genuine comfort you were searching for, but if you were to enjoy this nonetheless, I'd be thrilled.

On my way to Henry’s hospital room, sprinting through the haunting sterile hallways I ran into Camilla Macaulay, a girl -the only one- in his class, she was just here to bring him some flowers she’d tell me before her body began trembling trying to hold back sobs and I was left to watch her scurry away, I could not get a word in to ask her anything at all, if he was awake, if he was alright, why he did it, why they all waited days before telling me he had tried to end his life. The intensity of the drum beating in my chest could barely compare against the headache I brought upon myself, drowning in my own salty tears. 

I nearly went into cardiac arrest when I spotted him, the only thing reassuring me that he still had a pulse was the rhythmic movement of his chest, rising with each breath he took accompanied by the beeping of a heart monitor I can’t bring myself to glimpse at. “I can feel you staring.” He said, his croaky voice already tugging at my heartstring. I can’t look away even if I wanted to: it’s a sight I never thought I’d see, as abominable as it is I fear that if I avert my gaze then the puzzle pieces might never fall into place and I might never know the motive of his extreme action. 

Does he hate me? I can’t help but wonder if during what could have been his last breaths he thought of me, if maybe he wished I was there to stop him and remind him of how loved he is. The image of him searching for my body next to his as he collapses lifeless makes me shudder. I come to the conclusion that I failed in everything when it comes to Henry. Not being able to read between the lines, I barely scratched the surface of him while I thought I was in deep waters. 

He was content in life, I think. Yes, in one moment where exhaustion took ahold of him and he was more asleep than awake, in the comforting hiding place under my blankets he confessed to me that he had a lot on his mind. I never could have imagined it would lead to this: two gunshots to the temple, according to what Richard -another one of his classmates- told me over the phone, the second being triggered by the gun’s recoil.

I wasn’t there, I thought at that moment, Henry had taken a gun to his head and I wasn’t there. Henry had tried to kill himself and I wasn’t there. He could have been lying in a pool of his hot blood, flowing out on the ground and expanding like a stain on a white shirt, and I wasn’t there to hold him in his possible final moments. He could have died and I would have found out thanks to a desolate phone call from a stuttering man I didn’t know that well, or maybe even from a serious police officer just doing his job. Nonetheless, Henry’s finger had pressed the trigger in front of a handful of people and I wasn’t anywhere near him.

Cement bricks become chained to my ankles, getting heavier and heavier with each hesitant step I take towards him. I would have flown to him if I could have, crashed at the side of his bed, thrown my arms around his neck in ecstatic joy for his survival, kissed him a thousand times for each second I spent unaware of his whereabouts or his feelings.

“How do you feel?” I foolishly ask, being rewarded with his eyes cracking open and settling on my figure which I know will look indistinct and blurry to him given the absence of his glasses on the bridge of his nose, “Dead,” he answers me. To think the fierce storm he held in his irises was something that could very well have been a sight no one in the world could have appreciated in full. 

The mattress shifted and dipped under my weight when I sat at the edge of his bed, the chair at his side remaining empty. I wanted to feel him, touch him, try to be as close as possible and a sad little chair putting even the smallest of distances between us was the last thing I desired. Reaching towards the night table I found his glasses with ease, the only other things sitting on the surface were a pack of unopened Lucky Strike cigarettes, his wallet and the fragrant bouquet of flowers his friend had brought. I cleaned the lenses with a handkerchief and then tried my best to not look at the seemingly infinite bandages wrapping his head as I set the glasses on his face.

He blinks once, twice, thrice before he finally sees me as I am, without a hazy cloud over my face.

“Well, you’re not,” I inform him, swallowing the ‘what-if’ stuck in the middle of my throat, “By a miracle, I heard a nurse say. A miracle saved you Henry, do you hear how lucky that sounds?”

“I hear you.” He exhales, a sinkhole forms in me when I catch that small tone of disappointment hidden layer after layer under his voice, “Lucky indeed.” It’s dreadful how he keeps his gaze low, set in my direction but never quite reaching my eyes. It’s even more embarrassing to admit I do not understand him, I haven’t been able to do so since the very beginning.

That is to say, me not understanding him, does not mean I do not love him. He’d been the best lover a human being could ever ask for, there were no fights, no arguments, no disagreements, just pure unapologetic passion. Only once did we not see eye to eye and even then it was soon enough resolved over a glass of whiskey and a couple cigarettes: when he travelled to Rome with his friend Bunny without so much as a “I’ll be back soon,”  leaving me worried to no end as to where he might be.

“Talk to me, Henry. What happened?” I knew what happened of course, he’d shot himself in the head, but what I craved wasn’t a rundown of events, a bullet point list of the movements he made to get two bullets in his cranium. No. I desperately needed some way to understand what led him to attempting to do such a drastic thing. Were there signs I missed? Was I not loving enough? What hurt him so much? Was he truly that miserable in life, and if so, how had he hid it so well?

“Don’t cry,” he said, lifting the one arm that did not have the tube connecting him to the IV drip, his finger made contact with the corner of my eye and only then did I realise the salty diamonds rolling down my cheeks. I did not want to cry in front of him, not if it would add onto his miseries. As if I was kneeling in a confessional I have to come clean, I did not think I had any more tears left in me after having cried myself to sleep the night prior. Guilty of not appreciating the beauty of Selene as she brightened the darkened world, guilty of living only for the hospital doors to open and seeing him again.

“I have to ask, you know I have to.” Now that I was aware of the tears, nothing could have stopped the stinging feeling that seemed to spread from my eyes to every inch of my being, “Why did you do it?” There was no sugarcoating it, he’s never been one to beat around the bush and he often would not appreciate me going around in circles trying to find the nicest way to say or ask something. 

His jaw clenched and I watched hopelessly as Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. His lips parted but no sound that made proper sense came out. In my head I had already formed some hypotheses, none of them struck me as much as what he said. “I had to.” He apathetically said and I vaguely registered the sharp pain in my palm as my nails digging into my skin to stop my body from doubling-over and breaking into a gut wrenching sob.

“I-” Never has my mind been blank like this moment, it made so much sense and none at the same time,“I- Just- Why? Give me a reason- a concrete reason, Henry.” I all but begged him, sniffling like a whimpering child. That was exactly how I felt, like a child: small, lost and with no way to do something that could actually make a difference. 

Through my glossy vision I observed as he stiffened in pain while he shifted in his bed trying to sit up, the bedsheets moving along with his every movement made me nauseous. They weren’t supposed to be hospital ones, he wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place, this should have never happened. Alas, it has happened and he is not sitting in the armchair he claimed as his own in my apartment, reading a book and letting the cloud of smoke from his cigarette expand until my entire house looks like a misty field.

Ignored and useless was my attempt to stop him, to get him to lay down and not do anything straining, “Come here,” Instead he requested, hinting towards the spot he’d left on the bed, right next to him. Sheepishly I shuffled to his side, my back against the bed’s headboard, hoping and praying that no nurses would spot us and ask me to move away. His arm found its way around my shoulders, pulling me into a protective side hug and I shattered in small, countless, infinite pieces: a pathetic catharsis. Broken sobs, gasps and hiccups filled the room yet i could hear him over the sound of my desperation, “Don’t cry,” he’d say softly in my ear, “There’s no need to cry,” he’d insist kissing my temple, “Everything is going to be fine.” He’d promise me solemnly, with his enchanting way of making me feel like his words were gospel.

My heaving breaths did everything they could to send oxygen into my lungs, but air was not what I needed. Henry was my air, and the idea that I could have lost him for eternity plagued me, it made me look over my shoulder each moment expecting to see the grim reaper. The panic I felt gave me the strength to cling onto my lover as if he was my only lifeline, as if my love filled embrace could be the only thing able to bind him to the mortal realm. I know that could never be, sadly. Love, as much as it is a primordial force in the world, rivalling hate and rage, oftentimes can’t be the holy saviour we need.

“Why?” I found myself once again begging, I could not accept his previous answer, I pitifully needed something concrete, something I could fix. Before I could break into sobs again he leaned even closer, his lips moving against my hairline, his voice barely audible - like he was telling me a secret- only for me to hear, “I have been through some dark moments of my life, ones that I have never mentioned to you, not because I do not love you, the very opposite of it. I love you, my love for you is as incandescent as the sun, you know it, certainly. I did not want you to be concerned with those parts of me, hidden pieces that I rarely even let myself recognize as part of myself. Your pure hands should never be dirtied with the corruption that runs free inside of me. Cease your tears now, it is okay.” 

“So instead of letting me help you, you decided to just shoot yourself?!” It might have been harsh, but I felt at an impasse, raising my voice was my undignified way of getting ahold of control over life, “Are you listening to yourself? What about me? What would I have done without you? I’d do anything for you, isn’t it obvious?! I don’t care what you’re hiding, I don’t care how corrupt you think you are, I love you and I want to assist you through the darkest times of your life.”

He seemed to think about it, perhaps my words had made an impact on him or perhaps he was just tired of arguing with me. When he kissed me, slow and delicate, that was enough for me to postpone the debate I was already preparing in my head. I'd talk his ear off about letting me be a hand in easing his burdens when he would be well enough to be discharged and go home. “I want you to live forever,” Henry all but implored me and I just nodded. Whatever in the world could I say other than yes, but on one condition: he was to live alongside me.