🫀

i write as if to save someone’s life, probably my own.

[earthlydevotions]

helena — she/her • twenty two.

˒ masterlists;

i. the secret history. ii. stardew valley

iii. acotar. iv. tamino amir

˒ works in progress; requests are open!

˒ i don’t allow any of my writings to be translated, copied, or reposted elsewhere — specially on tiktok. thank you for understanding.

recently published;

stardew valley characters crying in front of you for the first time

headache (henry winter x reader)

teacher!henry winter having a soft spot for you

[earthlydevotions]

Aaaaa hello I just reread your HCs on how the SDV characters would react to reader crying and it was so overwhelmingly sweet!! 💓

Would you be interested in writing the flip side of it, with how and/or why the SDV characters would cry and how reader could comfort them?

hii <<3 i’m so glad to know you liked it! thank you for requesting, you can read it here! i hope you like these too :)

[earthlydevotions]

— stardew valley characters crying in front of you for the first time.

req: Would you be interested in writing the flip side of it, with how and/or why the SDV characters would cry and how reader could comfort them?

Sebastian

the anguish grows silently; the feeling of being trapped, misunderstood, as though he's living a life that doesn't completely belong to him. he holds himself together until the very last second, but he can't stop the tears from coming after something small happens and he collapses beneath the weight he has been carrying. late at night, sitting alone on his bed, he allows himself to break. when you arrive and see him, you don't pressure him. you just sit beside him and let him have his time.

“…you don't have to hide this from me, my love” you say softly.

he doesn't answer immediately, but he doesn't pull away either. eventually, he leans toward you, toward your lap, as though searching for shelter. you gently stroke his hair and his hand finds yours, intertwining his fingers with yours as though that alone is enough to anchor him to reality.

Sam

sam doesn't show it, but he's very afraid; of the future, of not being enough, of things changing faster than he's prepared for. at first, he tries to hide it with laughter through self-deprecating jokes, smiles that are unable to conceal the sadness in his eyes. but you know him too well. you gently ask if he's alright, if something happened, and then he falls apart.

“hey, hey… it's okay.” you say softly as he hugs you; he holds onto you a little tighter than usual. you make slow circles on his back, soothing him. “you don't have to have everything figured out,” you whisper. he exhales against you, finally allowing himself to feel. he's not ashamed to cry or to feel, because you are the anchor of his life and nothing will ever change that.

Shane

shane hides his emotions until the very last second, but you recognize the burden on his shoulders, the insecurity, and that heavy, persistent feeling that he's not good enough slipping through his words and self-deprecating jokes. you notice the change in his behavior, but you allow him to have his own time. but there comes a point when he can't take it anymore. the tears hit him hard like waves crashing against rocks; you find him in his room, crying. but as soon as he sees you, he turns away and harshly wipes his face.

“what do you want?” he didn't mean to, but his tone comes out angry. you walk over to him and hug him from behind, pressing a gentle kiss to his back. “i'm here with you,” you whisper. he shakes his head, muttering something self-deprecating. you gently interrupt him as you tighten your embrace, softly stroking his skin. slowly, he places his hands over yours and simply allows himself to feel you there. he lets himself cry and break apart in front of you while you hold him.

Harvey

harvey feels responsible for everything all the time, and the pressure on his shoulders is painful and exhausting. he's terrified of disappointing the people who depend on him, of disappointing you, of not being enough. but he suppresses those feelings until one day a small mistake happens in his carefully structured routine and he blames himself for it. he tries, but he can't stop the tears from appearing silently. you arrive at the exact moment of his vulnerability, and it freezes you in place.

he quickly turns his face away, wipes his tears, and looks back at you with a forced smile. his eyes are still red, his lips trembling. you say nothing. you simply walk over to him and cup his face with both hands. he squeezes his eyes shut and murmurs, “sorry.” “don't apologize, darling. i'm here.” you whisper, and then the tears begin to run down his cheeks. his hands find your wrists as though your touch anchors him to the present moment. “you don't have to be strong all the time,” you say. he nods and pulls you into a hug, exhaling shakily against you.

Elliott

elliott hasn't been able to create anything for months. he's frustrated with himself while feelings of loneliness and the sense of not being understood in the way he longs to be drift through his mind like dark clouds. he's standing on the beach, watching the horizon; the beauty of the sea and his emotions blend together into a bittersweet feeling, and so he cries. the wind tousles his hair, grains of sand cling to his clothes and his face, but he doesn't care.

when you arrive, you run toward him, excited to tell him some news. but as you get closer, you notice his shoulders trembling. you stop in place for a few seconds before walking over to him. “elliott, darling—” you say, placing a hand on his shoulder. he doesn't try to hide it or pretend he wasn't crying. he simply closes his eyes; he can't bear to see your reaction to him like this. but you gently wipe away his tears. “let it out, love.” and he cries even harder, as though the barrier inside him has finally broken. he pulls you close and hugs you tightly, burying his face in your neck and allowing himself to feel. after a few minutes, he rests his forehead against yours and, still without opening his eyes, he begins to unravel. he tells you everything that is in his heart and you listen. you let him say everything he wants to say and comfort him not with beautiful words, but with words that make him feel seen, heard, and loved.

Emily

without realizing it, emily absorbs too much from other people, which eventually leaves her emotionally overwhelmed. she feels strange from the moment she wakes up; something isn't right inside her. her feelings are confused, lost, unfamiliar, but she doesn't know what to do with them, so she simply feels them. while she works that evening, her emotions come crashing in stronger, like waves. she tells gus she needs some fresh air and sits outside the saloon, looking up at the stars until her vision begins to blur with warm tears that quickly roll down her cheeks.

when you see her sitting alone on the ground, hugging her own legs, you immediately worry. “hey… are you alright?” you crouch beside her and she simply looks at you with a sad smile while tears continue to fall. “no, but i will be.” you take her hands, kiss away her tears - which makes her smile a little - and say, looking into her eyes, “breathe with me.” you gently guide her, helping her calm down. she leans into you, trusting you completely. you brush the hair away from her face, your touch soft and comforting. “you don't have to carry everything alone. i'm here.”

Haley

on a cloudy day, haley finds herself feeling misunderstood or realizing something deeper about herself that she doesn't know how to process. she remains quiet all day, isolating herself from everyone else. you wait a long time at the place where the two of you agreed to meet, but concern begins to take hold when she never shows up. so you go to her house; you call her name, but she doesn't answer. you walk to her bedroom door and knock gently, but she refuses to let you in. “sweetheart, what happened?” your voice is filled with concern, and her heart aches at the sound of it. after a few minutes, she opens the door. her makeup is smudged, her expression sad and exhausted, but something in her seems to relax the moment she sees you.

you take a step forward and she throws her arms around you tightly, as though she has been waiting for this moment all day. her body trembles against yours, but your touch remains gentle and steady, holding her together. you give her the time she needs and she's so grateful for it that words aren't enough. eventually, she pulls you further into her room, sniffling as she closes the door again and lies down on her bed. she begins talking about her problems, her worries and her pain, and you listen with your heart; giving her the space and freedom to talk about whatever she wants.

Penny

sometimes life becomes too heavy for her. thoughts about her past, her dreams, and her future burn inside her heart, leaving her feeling lost and powerless, as though she's trapped. she tries her best not to cry, not to let her emotions show, but everything comes rushing to the surface when a sentence from a book describes her in a way no one else ever has. seeing that someone else once went through what she's experiencing is overwhelmingly emotional for her. before she realizes it, tears are slipping down her cheeks. she sets the book aside and covers her face with her hands. that's when you notice.

you kneel slightly so you can meet her gaze. “penny…” your voice is soft but steady. she tries to hide it; quickly wiping her eyes and reopening the book. you gently take her hands. “it's okay.” the sound of your voice, your gentle words, break something inside her. she leans toward you, hesitant at first, but you hold her carefully, as though she's something precious. “you're safe.” you whisper. and she knows she is.

Leah

when she feels disconnected from her art or from herself during moments of doubt about her path, leah cries quietly. she doesn't hide it, but she doesn't share it easily either. she processes everything internally in a thoughtful and profound way. you sit beside her in silence, then, gently, you ask: “do you want to talk about it?” sometimes she doesn't want to talk. sometimes your presence alone is enough; she rests her head on your shoulder, wipes away her tears, and intertwines her hand with yours. you gently stroke her hand with your thumb.

other times, she wants to talk. and so you listen. you advise her, help her, support her, and surround her with warmth and love.

[earthlydevotions]

— headache.

pairing; henry winter x reader

genre: fluff

wc: 1,535

req: hi!! I was wondering if u could write an “Henry winter x fem! Reader” where she suffers of headache like him. Thank you so much!!

henry wishes his headaches upon no one.

he wishes upon no one the metallic taste that comes beforehand, the inscrutable feeling of pressure behind the eyes, the immense irritability toward light. he wishes that no one would ever go through such pain and agony.

he hates every minute of those headaches, but he hates even more knowing that you suffer from them too.

but one day, he mistakes your silence for irritation.

you’re sitting in his room, curled up on the couch near the window, trying to read a copy of a classic he said you would love - one he so thoughtfully left notes in so that you could read his thoughts alongside the book - while snow gathers silently on the other side of the glass.

henry is seated at his desk; the lamplight reflects against his glasses while he works tirelessly on a new text for his greek class. his expression is serious, concentrated. his posture is perfect, as always.

you have been quiet for nearly forty minutes.

the headaches began subtly, until spots started appearing in your vision and you could no longer keep your eyes open without feeling unbearable pain.

“you disagreed with something i said,” he says without looking up.

you open your eyes slowly.

“what?”

“you’ve been staring at the same page for ten minutes.”

“i'm not staring.”

“your expression suggests otherwise.”

you press two fingers against your temple and close your eyes. you don’t have the energy to tell henry that he’s wrong or that you’re in pain, so you simply fall silent and breath deeply.

but henry notices, of course he does. his eyes lift immediately and he stares at you for a few seconds.

“ah,” he says softly, almost inaudibly.

you lean your head back against the couch and curl into yourself even more.

“darling.”

you only murmur a response.

“is everything alright?”

you sigh.

“it’s just a headache.”

henry’s expression changes almost imperceptibly; he removes his glasses, cleans them against his immaculate shirt, and places them back on his face before standing and walking over to you.

he kneels in front of you and places a hand on your knee, tracing soft circles.

“how long?” his voice is low and gentle, because he knows how unpleasant noise can be in moments like these.

“since this morning.”

“and you forgot to mention it because…?”

“because it’s just a headache, henry, not a terminal illness.”

“those are not mutually exclusive experiences.”

you laugh weakly, but quickly regret it and close your eyes again in pain.

and that’s when henry becomes even more worried.

everything feels like too much right now; too much light (even though the house is almost entirely dark except for the lamp on henry's desk and the one beside you), everything feels too loud, too tight. the room seems to tilt unpleasantly in a way that makes you curl further into the couch.

henry feels his heart ache in his chest. seeing you fragile and hurting hurts him too. if he could, he would take that pain from you and suffer in your place just so you could be alright. but he can’t, so he offers what he has always offered best in moments like these; his love, his care, his devotion. he sits beside you on the couch, turns off the lamp beside you, places your bookmark in the book and closes it, setting it on the side table.

“come here.”

“i'm fine.”

“you are visibly getting worse.”

“dramatic.”

“i'm serious, darling.” his tone is soft, but you notice the concern. he doesn’t show much, never has been the type to display his feelings and emotions openly, but you know him better than anyone and you know how to distinguish the tiny changes in his voice.

henry watches you for a few silent seconds. the room is dark and completely quiet. occasionally you hear one or two cars passing outside, their headlights illuminating the room for a brief moment. henry stands and closes the curtains. he walks into the kitchen and, when he returns, you instinctively open your eyes.

“what is that?” your voice is weak and he feels his heart tighten painfully in his chest.

“medicine. it’s what i take when i have headaches. take it.” he places it in your hand and offers you the glass of water.

you sigh deeply, but take it anyway. he takes the empty glass from your hand and sets it on the side table near your book before sitting down again.

“please, darling. come here.”

you look at him; his gaze and gestures are firm, but impossibly gentle. his arms are partially open, as though he’s waiting for you.

you don’t resist, you can’t. so you surrender yourself to him. you curl into his lap, resting your cheek against his chest. he kisses your head affectionately while wrapping his arms around you.

he slowly strokes your arm while occasionally pressing simple kisses against the top of your head. you’re so warm, so comfortable and peaceful in his arms that you can feel the pain lessening little by little. of course, you’re not better yet, but it’s as though those large points of pain begin to shrink, slowly, gradually.

“better?” he asks after some time.

you hesitate.

“…a little.”

he nods once; victorious in the most irritatingly restrained way possible.

silence settles between you again and all you can hear is the snow tapping softly against the window. your pain comes in waves; crashing painfully against the shore and leaving traces behind.

after some time, you speak without opening your eyes.

“you didn’t have to do this.”

“yes, i did.”

“no.”

“you’re in pain.”

the simplicity of it catches you by surprise. henry cares deeply for you, but he reveals little. his care and affection exist in the small things, in the details that would go unnoticed by the vast majority of people but mean the world to you.

you open your eyes slightly. your temples throb with pain.

“you make it sound terribly simple.”

“it is uncomplicated.”

“is it?”

he reflects for a second longer and then says quietly:

“when it’s you? yes.”

a subtle, warm feeling tightens in your chest. you close your eyes again, nestling even closer into him, and he waits for you to settle comfortably before embracing you again.

“does it help,” he asks after a moment, his voice lower now, “when someone stays?”

“what?”

“during the headaches.”

you go completely still, unsure how to answer considering the question sounds strangely cautious coming from him. cautious enough to reveal something underneath it.

you don’t see his eyes darken with the brief, unwelcome memory crossing his mind; his own headaches. long, lonely nights where pain immobilized him cruelly. that latent, tense ache endured in silence because asking for comfort was never something natural to him.

and in the silence hanging between you, you understand suddenly. henry recognizes your pain. he has been there. he knows what it’s like to wish with everything in your body for that pain to leave you alone.

“yes,” you say softly. “…it helps.”

henry nods once, subtly. he continues stroking your arm gently while staring thoughtfully into the darkness of the room as though memorizing the information.

the pain begins to rise again behind your eyes. involuntarily, a strong sigh leaves you. before you realize what you’re doing, your hand presses harder against your temple.

“here.”

his voice is lower now and closer. his fingers rest delicately against your temple, moving your hand away with surprising tenderness.

there’s hesitation in him, something rare but tangible. something you notice even with your eyes closed in his lap.

“may i?”

you sigh deeply, blinded by pain. then you nod faintly.

his hand touches your temple with careful pressure. his fingertips are cold; but he’s steady. he knows exactly what he’s doing.

you exhale deeply, feeling relief slowly take hold of your entire being.

“god,” you whisper weakly.

the corner of henry’s mouth tightens. not quite a smile, but something close to it; he’s just as relieved as you are.

“effective?”

“yes… please, don’t stop.”

“difficult request.”

you laugh softly. this time, it doesn’t hurt as much.

he continues applying gentle pressure to your temples, tracing small circles in an attempt to relax you; his touch is careful, the way only henry's affection knows how to be.

your body relaxes, as does your breathing. your eyes remain closed while the pain slowly begins to fade.

“henry?”

“hm?”

“thank you.”

but he stays silent long enough for you to think he’s not going to answer.

“you don’t need to thank me for staying, darling.”

his thumb brushes softly against your temple in a way that’s so gentle and certain.

as though leaving had never been an option.

quite the opposite, he stays through everything; when you’re well, when you’re not. it doesn’t matter, because through the pain, the cold, the exhaustion, and the unbearable intimacy of being understood by someone who suffers exactly as you do, this pain is far more beautiful than any headache could ever be.

[earthlydevotions]

— headache.

pairing; henry winter x reader

genre: fluff

wc: 1,535

req: hi!! I was wondering if u could write an “Henry winter x fem! Reader” where she suffers of headache like him. Thank you so much!!

henry wishes his headaches upon no one.

he wishes upon no one the metallic taste that comes beforehand, the inscrutable feeling of pressure behind the eyes, the immense irritability toward light. he wishes that no one would ever go through such pain and agony.

he hates every minute of those headaches, but he hates even more knowing that you suffer from them too.

but one day, he mistakes your silence for irritation.

you’re sitting in his room, curled up on the couch near the window, trying to read a copy of a classic he said you would love - one he so thoughtfully left notes in so that you could read his thoughts alongside the book - while snow gathers silently on the other side of the glass.

henry is seated at his desk; the lamplight reflects against his glasses while he works tirelessly on a new text for his greek class. his expression is serious, concentrated. his posture is perfect, as always.

you have been quiet for nearly forty minutes.

the headaches began subtly, until spots started appearing in your vision and you could no longer keep your eyes open without feeling unbearable pain.

“you disagreed with something i said,” he says without looking up.

you open your eyes slowly.

“what?”

“you’ve been staring at the same page for ten minutes.”

“i'm not staring.”

“your expression suggests otherwise.”

you press two fingers against your temple and close your eyes. you don’t have the energy to tell henry that he’s wrong or that you’re in pain, so you simply fall silent and breath deeply.

but henry notices, of course he does. his eyes lift immediately and he stares at you for a few seconds.

“ah,” he says softly, almost inaudibly.

you lean your head back against the couch and curl into yourself even more.

“darling.”

you only murmur a response.

“is everything alright?”

you sigh.

“it’s just a headache.”

henry’s expression changes almost imperceptibly; he removes his glasses, cleans them against his immaculate shirt, and places them back on his face before standing and walking over to you.

he kneels in front of you and places a hand on your knee, tracing soft circles.

“how long?” his voice is low and gentle, because he knows how unpleasant noise can be in moments like these.

“since this morning.”

“and you forgot to mention it because…?”

“because it’s just a headache, henry, not a terminal illness.”

“those are not mutually exclusive experiences.”

you laugh weakly, but quickly regret it and close your eyes again in pain.

and that’s when henry becomes even more worried.

everything feels like too much right now; too much light (even though the house is almost entirely dark except for the lamp on henry's desk and the one beside you), everything feels too loud, too tight. the room seems to tilt unpleasantly in a way that makes you curl further into the couch.

henry feels his heart ache in his chest. seeing you fragile and hurting hurts him too. if he could, he would take that pain from you and suffer in your place just so you could be alright. but he can’t, so he offers what he has always offered best in moments like these; his love, his care, his devotion. he sits beside you on the couch, turns off the lamp beside you, places your bookmark in the book and closes it, setting it on the side table.

“come here.”

“i'm fine.”

“you are visibly getting worse.”

“dramatic.”

“i'm serious, darling.” his tone is soft, but you notice the concern. he doesn’t show much, never has been the type to display his feelings and emotions openly, but you know him better than anyone and you know how to distinguish the tiny changes in his voice.

henry watches you for a few silent seconds. the room is dark and completely quiet. occasionally you hear one or two cars passing outside, their headlights illuminating the room for a brief moment. henry stands and closes the curtains. he walks into the kitchen and, when he returns, you instinctively open your eyes.

“what is that?” your voice is weak and he feels his heart tighten painfully in his chest.

“medicine. it’s what i take when i have headaches. take it.” he places it in your hand and offers you the glass of water.

you sigh deeply, but take it anyway. he takes the empty glass from your hand and sets it on the side table near your book before sitting down again.

“please, darling. come here.”

you look at him; his gaze and gestures are firm, but impossibly gentle. his arms are partially open, as though he’s waiting for you.

you don’t resist, you can’t. so you surrender yourself to him. you curl into his lap, resting your cheek against his chest. he kisses your head affectionately while wrapping his arms around you.

he slowly strokes your arm while occasionally pressing simple kisses against the top of your head. you’re so warm, so comfortable and peaceful in his arms that you can feel the pain lessening little by little. of course, you’re not better yet, but it’s as though those large points of pain begin to shrink, slowly, gradually.

“better?” he asks after some time.

you hesitate.

“…a little.”

he nods once; victorious in the most irritatingly restrained way possible.

silence settles between you again and all you can hear is the snow tapping softly against the window. your pain comes in waves; crashing painfully against the shore and leaving traces behind.

after some time, you speak without opening your eyes.

“you didn’t have to do this.”

“yes, i did.”

“no.”

“you’re in pain.”

the simplicity of it catches you by surprise. henry cares deeply for you, but he reveals little. his care and affection exist in the small things, in the details that would go unnoticed by the vast majority of people but mean the world to you.

you open your eyes slightly. your temples throb with pain.

“you make it sound terribly simple.”

“it is uncomplicated.”

“is it?”

he reflects for a second longer and then says quietly:

“when it’s you? yes.”

a subtle, warm feeling tightens in your chest. you close your eyes again, nestling even closer into him, and he waits for you to settle comfortably before embracing you again.

“does it help,” he asks after a moment, his voice lower now, “when someone stays?”

“what?”

“during the headaches.”

you go completely still, unsure how to answer considering the question sounds strangely cautious coming from him. cautious enough to reveal something underneath it.

you don’t see his eyes darken with the brief, unwelcome memory crossing his mind; his own headaches. long, lonely nights where pain immobilized him cruelly. that latent, tense ache endured in silence because asking for comfort was never something natural to him.

and in the silence hanging between you, you understand suddenly. henry recognizes your pain. he has been there. he knows what it’s like to wish with everything in your body for that pain to leave you alone.

“yes,” you say softly. “…it helps.”

henry nods once, subtly. he continues stroking your arm gently while staring thoughtfully into the darkness of the room as though memorizing the information.

the pain begins to rise again behind your eyes. involuntarily, a strong sigh leaves you. before you realize what you’re doing, your hand presses harder against your temple.

“here.”

his voice is lower now and closer. his fingers rest delicately against your temple, moving your hand away with surprising tenderness.

there’s hesitation in him, something rare but tangible. something you notice even with your eyes closed in his lap.

“may i?”

you sigh deeply, blinded by pain. then you nod faintly.

his hand touches your temple with careful pressure. his fingertips are cold; but he’s steady. he knows exactly what he’s doing.

you exhale deeply, feeling relief slowly take hold of your entire being.

“god,” you whisper weakly.

the corner of henry’s mouth tightens. not quite a smile, but something close to it; he’s just as relieved as you are.

“effective?”

“yes… please, don’t stop.”

“difficult request.”

you laugh softly. this time, it doesn’t hurt as much.

he continues applying gentle pressure to your temples, tracing small circles in an attempt to relax you; his touch is careful, the way only henry's affection knows how to be.

your body relaxes, as does your breathing. your eyes remain closed while the pain slowly begins to fade.

“henry?”

“hm?”

“thank you.”

but he stays silent long enough for you to think he’s not going to answer.

“you don’t need to thank me for staying, darling.”

his thumb brushes softly against your temple in a way that’s so gentle and certain.

as though leaving had never been an option.

quite the opposite, he stays through everything; when you’re well, when you’re not. it doesn’t matter, because through the pain, the cold, the exhaustion, and the unbearable intimacy of being understood by someone who suffers exactly as you do, this pain is far more beautiful than any headache could ever be.

[earthlydevotions]

— teacher!henry winter having a soft spot for you.

a/n: in these headcanons, Henry Winter is a university professor. that being said, both the reader and Henry are of legal age.

henry winter is terribly respected in academia. by other professors and students; even those who have never taken one of his classes know his reputation as a rigid, composed, and extraordinarily intelligent professor.

his seminars are infamous. not because he yells or argues - henry almost never raises his voice - but because disappointment coming from him is significantly worse than anger. hearing him shout, curse, or complain would be far preferable to his look of disgust and disappointment. his students rehearse before speaking in his class countless times, spend nights obsessively quoting texts because, god forbid, they cannot quote something incorrectly in front of professor winter.

he remembers everything; every weak argument, every lazy citation, every student who approached his seminars carelessly, every student who read the text superficially instead of truly understanding it. which is why he’s a little surprised when he remembers you differently.

he doesn’t remember you as “the student in the third row.” he doesn’t remember you only academically, but remembers you as you.

he remembers your essays, your calmness while listening to his lectures as the other students obsessively copy every word that leaves his mouth. he remembers your look of curiosity and doubt - which, unconsciously, makes him explain things better.

however, he’s harsher with you than with anyone else. at least publicly, because he refuses to let anyone suspect favoritism. your papers come back covered in annotations written in his impeccable handwriting: “explore this point,” “imprecise,” “you are capable of a more incisive argument than this,” “excellent observation.”, “you abandoned your strongest argument halfway through.”

but you begin to notice something unsettling: his comments on other people’s work are short, most of the time something cruel. yours have pages and pages, as if he had written an essay on your essay. he develops subtle nuances regarding you and your work as though he wants to stimulate you intellectually. he wants to read more, know more about your thoughts and points of view.

he hates being interrupted during class. he prefers having a specific moment to let students ask questions and clear their doubts, but with you it’s different. if he notices your confused expression, as if you wanted to ask something in that very moment, he stops and asks, “any questions?” and even with several hands raised, he chooses you to speak.

no one notices, but you notice the slightly softer tone when he answers your questions. his curious, attentive gaze at every word you say, the way his expression softens - very slightly - when you challenge him intelligently. you’re one of the few people who can genuinely surprise him intellectually.

henry is accustomed to being the smartest person in the room. the person who always has an answer ready and an even more provocative question that would make anyone fall silent trying to answer it. then you say something thoughtful, layered, unexpected, and he falls silent for a moment. he becomes genuinely interested in your questions, your doubts, in the way you see things.

he would never admit or show it publicly, but he looks forward to classes with you. to hearing you speak, to reading your essays and delighting for a moment in your brilliant mind, one he could listen to all day.

at the end of classes, he asks you to stay behind to discuss your paper or a specific doubt you had earlier. it was supposed to be something quick, but you leave ninety minutes later, after an intense conversation that covered classical tragedy, french poetry, memory, aesthetics, and the moral architecture of grief. because he wants to hear everything you have to say. one subject ends up leading to another, he asks brilliant questions and your answers make him lose track of time, as well as his composure.

but he acts as though everything is perfectly normal. it’s merely a way of sharing knowledge with someone he admires intellectually, but deep down he knows what this is.

henry isn’t naturally demonstrative, he expresses tenderness more practically than emotionally. so his care manifests like: a book discreetly left on the desk where you always sit because he thought you would appreciate a passage. a recommendation letter written specifically around your interests.

he becomes quietly protective of your mind. if another professor or student dismisses your work unfairly, henry dismantles the criticism with frightening politeness. “with respect, i believe you have underestimated both the argument and the student.” the person falls completely silent, not knowing what to answer considering henry winter never missteps, which means that if he defends someone, it’s because he trusts that person.

or when someone interrupts you inappropriately during a seminar. henry lets people interrupt each other all the time, he knows ethics are not taught, but created within each person. but when someone interrupts you, he listens for approximately twenty seconds and then, with coldness and precision, says; “that interpretation would be considerably stronger if it demonstrated at least a superficial knowledge of the assigned text.” absolute silence in the room. he adjusts his glasses calmly, slips his hands into his pockets and says; “please, continue,” he says, looking at you. not at the other student. at you.

he notices things he shouldn’t notice; your favorite authors and books, when you’re overwhelmed, when your sense of humor grows weaker because of overwork, important dates to you such as the days you are presenting an important seminar - and he always remembers to ask you afterward how it went.

the university knows the severe professor, you know the version who loosens his tie after a long day, leans back in his office chair exhausted and admits very quietly that he’s tired. the privilege of that trust does something dangerous to your heart - and his.

[earthlydevotions]

happy pride month, my loves! 😽💖

[earthlydevotions]

— teacher!henry winter having a soft spot for you.

a/n: in these headcanons, Henry Winter is a university professor. that being said, both the reader and Henry are of legal age.

henry winter is terribly respected in academia. by other professors and students; even those who have never taken one of his classes know his reputation as a rigid, composed, and extraordinarily intelligent professor.

his seminars are infamous. not because he yells or argues - henry almost never raises his voice - but because disappointment coming from him is significantly worse than anger. hearing him shout, curse, or complain would be far preferable to his look of disgust and disappointment. his students rehearse before speaking in his class countless times, spend nights obsessively quoting texts because, god forbid, they cannot quote something incorrectly in front of professor winter.

he remembers everything; every weak argument, every lazy citation, every student who approached his seminars carelessly, every student who read the text superficially instead of truly understanding it. which is why he’s a little surprised when he remembers you differently.

he doesn’t remember you as “the student in the third row.” he doesn’t remember you only academically, but remembers you as you.

he remembers your essays, your calmness while listening to his lectures as the other students obsessively copy every word that leaves his mouth. he remembers your look of curiosity and doubt - which, unconsciously, makes him explain things better.

however, he’s harsher with you than with anyone else. at least publicly, because he refuses to let anyone suspect favoritism. your papers come back covered in annotations written in his impeccable handwriting: “explore this point,” “imprecise,” “you are capable of a more incisive argument than this,” “excellent observation.”, “you abandoned your strongest argument halfway through.”

but you begin to notice something unsettling: his comments on other people’s work are short, most of the time something cruel. yours have pages and pages, as if he had written an essay on your essay. he develops subtle nuances regarding you and your work as though he wants to stimulate you intellectually. he wants to read more, know more about your thoughts and points of view.

he hates being interrupted during class. he prefers having a specific moment to let students ask questions and clear their doubts, but with you it’s different. if he notices your confused expression, as if you wanted to ask something in that very moment, he stops and asks, “any questions?” and even with several hands raised, he chooses you to speak.

no one notices, but you notice the slightly softer tone when he answers your questions. his curious, attentive gaze at every word you say, the way his expression softens - very slightly - when you challenge him intelligently. you’re one of the few people who can genuinely surprise him intellectually.

henry is accustomed to being the smartest person in the room. the person who always has an answer ready and an even more provocative question that would make anyone fall silent trying to answer it. then you say something thoughtful, layered, unexpected, and he falls silent for a moment. he becomes genuinely interested in your questions, your doubts, in the way you see things.

he would never admit or show it publicly, but he looks forward to classes with you. to hearing you speak, to reading your essays and delighting for a moment in your brilliant mind, one he could listen to all day.

at the end of classes, he asks you to stay behind to discuss your paper or a specific doubt you had earlier. it was supposed to be something quick, but you leave ninety minutes later, after an intense conversation that covered classical tragedy, french poetry, memory, aesthetics, and the moral architecture of grief. because he wants to hear everything you have to say. one subject ends up leading to another, he asks brilliant questions and your answers make him lose track of time, as well as his composure.

but he acts as though everything is perfectly normal. it’s merely a way of sharing knowledge with someone he admires intellectually, but deep down he knows what this is.

henry isn’t naturally demonstrative, he expresses tenderness more practically than emotionally. so his care manifests like: a book discreetly left on the desk where you always sit because he thought you would appreciate a passage. a recommendation letter written specifically around your interests.

he becomes quietly protective of your mind. if another professor or student dismisses your work unfairly, henry dismantles the criticism with frightening politeness. “with respect, i believe you have underestimated both the argument and the student.” the person falls completely silent, not knowing what to answer considering henry winter never missteps, which means that if he defends someone, it’s because he trusts that person.

or when someone interrupts you inappropriately during a seminar. henry lets people interrupt each other all the time, he knows ethics are not taught, but created within each person. but when someone interrupts you, he listens for approximately twenty seconds and then, with coldness and precision, says; “that interpretation would be considerably stronger if it demonstrated at least a superficial knowledge of the assigned text.” absolute silence in the room. he adjusts his glasses calmly, slips his hands into his pockets and says; “please, continue,” he says, looking at you. not at the other student. at you.

he notices things he shouldn’t notice; your favorite authors and books, when you’re overwhelmed, when your sense of humor grows weaker because of overwork, important dates to you such as the days you are presenting an important seminar - and he always remembers to ask you afterward how it went.

the university knows the severe professor, you know the version who loosens his tie after a long day, leans back in his office chair exhausted and admits very quietly that he’s tired. the privilege of that trust does something dangerous to your heart - and his.

[earthlydevotions]

— desire.

pairing; henry winter x reader

genre: smut

wc: 1,543

req: i just know henry winter is a BIG FAN OF FACESITTING

the first time it happens is when his blood is boiling, his heart pulsing with desire and his mind clouded by that pleasurable haze where he finds refuge in you.

nothing seems to be enough. he wants you in a way he has never wanted before, or rather, he needs you.

your warmth, your body, your scent, and above all, your taste.

he keeps kissing your body while you run your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, moving your body along with his rhythm. you close your eyes and lick your lips, savoring the pleasure of having him, of being loved and adored by him.

“i need you…” he whispers against your skin, warm and damp from his saliva.

you smile faintly, your eyes still closed.

“i’m right here, love.”

“no…” he stops and looks at you intently. you open your eyes and notice his blue eyes shining with lust, pleasure, and desperation.

“i need you,” he emphasizes the word need as though saying it weren’t enough, as though he must demonstrate it. “let me love you, my darling,” he whispers against your lips while his hands slide over your waist, squeezing you lightly.

you simply nod, eager to finally have him.

“good…” his voice is husky, delicious to hear. “just obey me.”

he gently pulls your hand as he sits on the bed, indicating for you to sit as well. he kisses your lips and lies back exactly where you had been lying before. the warmth you left on the mattress makes him shiver; his desire is tangible to that extent.

still holding your hand, he pulls you toward him. you think you will be on top, that you will be able to find your pleasure at your own pace over him the way he has always loved, but this time is different.

“no, dear. here,” he says, pointing softly toward his own mouth.

you look at him for a few seconds.

“are you sure?”

“absolutely.”

he says it, and his hands go to your hips, gripping them firmly until you move your legs around him and position yourself over him.

he doesn’t take his eyes off yours for even a second. you moan and he sighs as, guiding your hips, he draws you closer.

you try to manage your own weight, afraid of hurting him, but without saying a word, he makes you relax. his hands explore your body; he squeezes your hips, your waist, your breasts, your throat… god, everything is so perfect.

his mouth is warm and wonderfully tender against you. he knows the right places, knows how to love you with pleasure and with so, so much hunger.

“god, henry…” you murmur, and he looks at you; his pupils are blown wide, his desire fierce enough to warm the entire room.

but he doesn’t let you move away. no matter your concern for him, no matter if you want to give him pleasure too, the only thing that matters is the way he devours every part of you. what matters is him satisfying this hunger he has for you. what matters is the pleasure gathering in your stomach again, heating your veins.

you throw your head back, close your eyes, and delight in the pleasure moving through you. his hands, large and strong, grip your waist firmly - something you know will leave marks later, and he will be quietly proud of that. his right hand rises to your breast and holds you there with devotion. your hand meets his, resting over it.

the pleasure he feels in seeing you overwhelmed with pleasure, in feeling you so comfortable, in having you so close to him, is so strong that he feels small shockwaves running through his entire body while his heart races. all rationality leaves him as though he were moving through fog, guided only by his feelings toward you; you, his only light, his only way out.

at the end of the night, when you’re lying beside him with your body still trembling, damp with pleasure, sweat, and saliva, your eyes closed, lost in a paradise of desire, he lets out a deep sigh, knowing that now he is addicted.

the sensation of feeling your weight against him and your warmth makes him shiver. even though it happened only minutes ago, he misses it already. and he knows he will not get over it anytime soon.

in the following days, his mind betrays him with memories of that moment.

he’s studying and suddenly remembers you moaning his name. he tightens his jaw and closes his eyes. “focus…” he mutters to himself, quieter than intended. the book remains open in front of him, unread. he presses two fingers against his temple, as though discipline alone might restore order to his thoughts; absurd and completely useless. his concentration has been unreliable now, splintered by intrusive recollections of you.

he hates losing control of his mind. but he hates, even more, how little he wants this delightful memory of that moment to stop.

he’s arriving home, unlocking the door, when he remembers the way you were so wet, so soft for him and the way you trembled while he gave you so much pleasure. he closes his eyes; still with his hand on the doorknob, he rests his forehead against the door and breathes deeply. once. twice.

but he doesn’t think twice before calling you.

he restrains himself. you don’t hear his desperation through the phone, don’t notice the hunger, the desire, and the longing dripping through his voice like honey.

but you notice when you see him.

he tries to behave normally when you arrive; a hug, a kiss to your forehead, then to your lips. his large hands gently holding your face while he asks how your day was, how you are.

“are you alright?” you ask, kissing his wrist.

“yes, dear.” his voice comes out weaker than he intended. not much, but enough for you to notice.

you look at him and notice his dilated pupils, the way he doesn’t take his eyes off your face, the way he breathes deeper, heavier.

“is something going on, henry?” your voice is sweet and calculated. you know exactly what you are doing.

he swallows.

“no… no, my love. i just… haven’t stopped thinking about you.” he confesses, an unmistakable gleam in his eyes.

you smile and he closes his eyes.

“i want you again... please.”

you don’t answer him. you simply keep looking at him until he opens his eyes again and looks back at you, searching for an answer or any sign.

“how do you want me, darling?”

that hits henry exactly where it hurts.

he exhales against you and begins kissing your jaw, behind your ear, your neck, while his hands hold you against him.

“i want you close to me. i want to feel you again… i need-“ he stops for a moment, holding you tighter. “i need you. i need to hear you say my name.” a soft kiss against your neck, making you tilt your head slightly, giving him more space. “i need to taste you” his voice is rough with longing.

you surrender to him almost instinctively.

he guides you toward the bedroom with quiet certainty; hands gentle against you, careful and unbearably attentive. there’s restraint in the way he touches you, but beneath it, something restless, incredible difficult for him to conceal.

he takes your hand and pulls you toward the bed. he lies down and keeps looking at you.

“come here, my love.”

and you do.

your sound is one of relief, as though his tongue and warmth were soothing something that had been aching deep inside you. his hands are strong and steady against you while he loses himself in the closeness of you.

his mouth is warm and his wet tongue knows exactly where to leave you weak. he licks, sucks, and nibbles lightly in a hungry way that makes you close your eyes and moan his name, losing yourself in this paradise, in this incandescent desire.

“henry, love-” you say as you run your hand through his hair. his blue eyes, full of lust, look at yours differently; seeing your pleasure, feeling your pleasure, is the best thing he could ask for.

you feel your heart pulse and that familiar, delicious sensation begin forming in your stomach.

but he doesn’t stop. he can’t. he’s so consumed, so addicted, that he could spend the whole night here, lying beneath you and lost in your taste.

minutes become hours, warmth invades every part of your being and leaves no space for the cold room to reach you. he exhales against you; his face damp with sweat, delight, devotion. god, henry knows how to bring heaven to you.

“baby… god, i can’t anymore-“ your voice comes out hoarse and tired, but full of warmth and pleasure.

he looks at you. his hands glide along your back down to your thighs. he kisses your clit one last time, then you collapse beside him, undone by exhaustion and pleasure.

he looks at you with so much love and care you could cry.

“are you alright?” his voice is soft as he brushes strands of hair away from your forehead. you simply nod, still trying to recover your breath. your legs are trembling and, involuntarily, you draw them together.

he smiles, though you don’t see it. his smile is broad, as though he had won a prize he had desperately longed for.

“i love you, my dear, i love you so much” he whispers against your forehead before kissing it. “stay here, i’ll be right back, alright?.” he rises from the bed and walks toward the bathroom to prepare a warm bath for you.

you smile to yourself, satisfied and exhausted, but immensely loved.

[earthlydevotions]

i just know henry winter is a BIG FAN OF FACESITTING

you’re so right for that!! thank you for sharing this brilliant idea with me, you can read it here! hope you enjoy ♡

[earthlydevotions]

— desire.

pairing; henry winter x reader

genre: smut

wc: 1,543

req: i just know henry winter is a BIG FAN OF FACESITTING

the first time it happens is when his blood is boiling, his heart pulsing with desire and his mind clouded by that pleasurable haze where he finds refuge in you.

nothing seems to be enough. he wants you in a way he has never wanted before, or rather, he needs you.

your warmth, your body, your scent, and above all, your taste.

he keeps kissing your body while you run your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, moving your body along with his rhythm. you close your eyes and lick your lips, savoring the pleasure of having him, of being loved and adored by him.

“i need you…” he whispers against your skin, warm and damp from his saliva.

you smile faintly, your eyes still closed.

“i’m right here, love.”

“no…” he stops and looks at you intently. you open your eyes and notice his blue eyes shining with lust, pleasure, and desperation.

“i need you,” he emphasizes the word need as though saying it weren’t enough, as though he must demonstrate it. “let me love you, my darling,” he whispers against your lips while his hands slide over your waist, squeezing you lightly.

you simply nod, eager to finally have him.

“good…” his voice is husky, delicious to hear. “just obey me.”

he gently pulls your hand as he sits on the bed, indicating for you to sit as well. he kisses your lips and lies back exactly where you had been lying before. the warmth you left on the mattress makes him shiver; his desire is tangible to that extent.

still holding your hand, he pulls you toward him. you think you will be on top, that you will be able to find your pleasure at your own pace over him the way he has always loved, but this time is different.

“no, dear. here,” he says, pointing softly toward his own mouth.

you look at him for a few seconds.

“are you sure?”

“absolutely.”

he says it, and his hands go to your hips, gripping them firmly until you move your legs around him and position yourself over him.

he doesn’t take his eyes off yours for even a second. you moan and he sighs as, guiding your hips, he draws you closer.

you try to manage your own weight, afraid of hurting him, but without saying a word, he makes you relax. his hands explore your body; he squeezes your hips, your waist, your breasts, your throat… god, everything is so perfect.

his mouth is warm and wonderfully tender against you. he knows the right places, knows how to love you with pleasure and with so, so much hunger.

“god, henry…” you murmur, and he looks at you; his pupils are blown wide, his desire fierce enough to warm the entire room.

but he doesn’t let you move away. no matter your concern for him, no matter if you want to give him pleasure too, the only thing that matters is the way he devours every part of you. what matters is him satisfying this hunger he has for you. what matters is the pleasure gathering in your stomach again, heating your veins.

you throw your head back, close your eyes, and delight in the pleasure moving through you. his hands, large and strong, grip your waist firmly - something you know will leave marks later, and he will be quietly proud of that. his right hand rises to your breast and holds you there with devotion. your hand meets his, resting over it.

the pleasure he feels in seeing you overwhelmed with pleasure, in feeling you so comfortable, in having you so close to him, is so strong that he feels small shockwaves running through his entire body while his heart races. all rationality leaves him as though he were moving through fog, guided only by his feelings toward you; you, his only light, his only way out.

at the end of the night, when you’re lying beside him with your body still trembling, damp with pleasure, sweat, and saliva, your eyes closed, lost in a paradise of desire, he lets out a deep sigh, knowing that now he is addicted.

the sensation of feeling your weight against him and your warmth makes him shiver. even though it happened only minutes ago, he misses it already. and he knows he will not get over it anytime soon.

in the following days, his mind betrays him with memories of that moment.

he’s studying and suddenly remembers you moaning his name. he tightens his jaw and closes his eyes. “focus…” he mutters to himself, quieter than intended. the book remains open in front of him, unread. he presses two fingers against his temple, as though discipline alone might restore order to his thoughts; absurd and completely useless. his concentration has been unreliable now, splintered by intrusive recollections of you.

he hates losing control of his mind. but he hates, even more, how little he wants this delightful memory of that moment to stop.

he’s arriving home, unlocking the door, when he remembers the way you were so wet, so soft for him and the way you trembled while he gave you so much pleasure. he closes his eyes; still with his hand on the doorknob, he rests his forehead against the door and breathes deeply. once. twice.

but he doesn’t think twice before calling you.

he restrains himself. you don’t hear his desperation through the phone, don’t notice the hunger, the desire, and the longing dripping through his voice like honey.

but you notice when you see him.

he tries to behave normally when you arrive; a hug, a kiss to your forehead, then to your lips. his large hands gently holding your face while he asks how your day was, how you are.

“are you alright?” you ask, kissing his wrist.

“yes, dear.” his voice comes out weaker than he intended. not much, but enough for you to notice.

you look at him and notice his dilated pupils, the way he doesn’t take his eyes off your face, the way he breathes deeper, heavier.

“is something going on, henry?” your voice is sweet and calculated. you know exactly what you are doing.

he swallows.

“no… no, my love. i just… haven’t stopped thinking about you.” he confesses, an unmistakable gleam in his eyes.

you smile and he closes his eyes.

“i want you again... please.”

you don’t answer him. you simply keep looking at him until he opens his eyes again and looks back at you, searching for an answer or any sign.

“how do you want me, darling?”

that hits henry exactly where it hurts.

he exhales against you and begins kissing your jaw, behind your ear, your neck, while his hands hold you against him.

“i want you close to me. i want to feel you again… i need-“ he stops for a moment, holding you tighter. “i need you. i need to hear you say my name.” a soft kiss against your neck, making you tilt your head slightly, giving him more space. “i need to taste you” his voice is rough with longing.

you surrender to him almost instinctively.

he guides you toward the bedroom with quiet certainty; hands gentle against you, careful and unbearably attentive. there’s restraint in the way he touches you, but beneath it, something restless, incredible difficult for him to conceal.

he takes your hand and pulls you toward the bed. he lies down and keeps looking at you.

“come here, my love.”

and you do.

your sound is one of relief, as though his tongue and warmth were soothing something that had been aching deep inside you. his hands are strong and steady against you while he loses himself in the closeness of you.

his mouth is warm and his wet tongue knows exactly where to leave you weak. he licks, sucks, and nibbles lightly in a hungry way that makes you close your eyes and moan his name, losing yourself in this paradise, in this incandescent desire.

“henry, love-” you say as you run your hand through his hair. his blue eyes, full of lust, look at yours differently; seeing your pleasure, feeling your pleasure, is the best thing he could ask for.

you feel your heart pulse and that familiar, delicious sensation begin forming in your stomach.

but he doesn’t stop. he can’t. he’s so consumed, so addicted, that he could spend the whole night here, lying beneath you and lost in your taste.

minutes become hours, warmth invades every part of your being and leaves no space for the cold room to reach you. he exhales against you; his face damp with sweat, delight, devotion. god, henry knows how to bring heaven to you.

“baby… god, i can’t anymore-“ your voice comes out hoarse and tired, but full of warmth and pleasure.

he looks at you. his hands glide along your back down to your thighs. he kisses your clit one last time, then you collapse beside him, undone by exhaustion and pleasure.

he looks at you with so much love and care you could cry.

“are you alright?” his voice is soft as he brushes strands of hair away from your forehead. you simply nod, still trying to recover your breath. your legs are trembling and, involuntarily, you draw them together.

he smiles, though you don’t see it. his smile is broad, as though he had won a prize he had desperately longed for.

“i love you, my dear, i love you so much” he whispers against your forehead before kissing it. “stay here, i’ll be right back, alright?.” he rises from the bed and walks toward the bathroom to prepare a warm bath for you.

you smile to yourself, satisfied and exhausted, but immensely loved.

[earthlydevotions]

can’t stop thinking about teacher!henry…

[earthlydevotions]

[earthlydevotions]

pov: you’re henry winter’s lover

[earthlydevotions]

saw a tiktok that said “pov; you grew up in a family of academics who were eagerly awaiting your arrival” and i can’t stop thinking about this with henry winter 😣😣

[earthlydevotions]

— vulnerability.

pairing; henry winter x reader

genre: angst

wc; 1,950

req: Henry breaks up with you because he is overwhelmed by how he feels about you

a/n: this is the part one!! i’ll write the part 2 (fluff with smut) very soon hehe

it doesn’t happen all at once, but that’s what it feels like.

you’ve noticed the change in henry long before you understand it. he remains attentive, precise, himself. but something has intensified beneath the surface, something only love is capable of noticing and holding carefully.

he watches you more and speaks a little less. he works more, and there is silence where there used to be quiet laughter and bright glances. he’s thinking too much, feeling too much. and you notice it. his touch no longer carries the same warmth; it’s rigid, hesitant. his voice is lower and more serious than usual, even in the soft moments between the two of you where he can allow himself to simply be.

henry is a fortress; he’s difficult to reach, to understand, to hold. but for a brief moment you had that - the privilege of seeing him beneath the defenses he kept so impossibly high. but he closed himself off again and left you outside this time.

you look at him while folding your clothes on the bed. the lamp casts a low glow, reflecting softly over his concentrated, serious expression. the room is comfortable, inviting, unlike him. his jaw is tight and his brows are furrowed as though he’s trying to understand what he’s reading, but you know that isn’t it.

his books are stacked perfectly, the scent of his room familiar and soft; everything is immaculate, methodically arranged. the world outside feels distant, reduced to silence; the opposite of his mind now.

you try speaking about something trivial, something about your day. he slowly lifts his gaze from the book to you.

you keep talking, gesturing as you move around the room to put some things away, fold others. you only want to fill the silence; both the room’s and your heart’s.

but henry isn’t listening. he’s looking at you far too intensely, as though he’s trying to memorize something, or perhaps simply let it go.

“…but i don’t know when the article will be published, maybe next week, i hope…” you look at him. “henry?” you say softly.

he doesn’t answer immediately. his gaze drifts away for a moment before returning to you. and when he speaks, his voice is controlled, but not steady.

“i think,” he begins slowly, “this has gone further than i intended.”

you stop and look at him, your heart racing painfully in your chest from understanding too quickly, yet desperate to hear those words leave his lips.

“what do you mean?”

he inhales calmly. closes the book in his lap and places it on the bedside table. silence lingers between you. he stands up and doesn’t look at you, only at anywhere else, as though he’s choosing each word carefully, constructing something he can say without unraveling.

“i realize,” he continues, “that i am no longer objective.”

you stare at him. your hands are trembling, but you cross your arms over your chest to hide them from him. your posture is rigid, but your eyes betray everything you’re feeling.

“henry, this isn’t—”

“please,” he says quietly, but firmly.

you stop. a knot forms in your throat as you feel hot tears rising in your eyes, making the room shimmer through your vision. but you refuse to let them fall, so you only stare at him.

he walks slowly toward you and looks directly into your eyes as though it were the first time, but there is no warmth or passion there, only coldness. he slips his hands into his pockets as though resisting the urge to touch you. or to undo what he is about to say.

“you’ve become,” he says, slower now, “a variable i cannot control.”

you furrow your brows. where is he going with this?

your voice is softer now. still hurt, but trying to understand.

“…is that a bad thing?”

he closes his eyes briefly. only for a second that seems to last several. and when he opens them again, there is something in them you don’t see often; something vulnerable, bare.

“yes.”

a brief, heavy silence falls between you.

“…and no.”

you take a step toward him. he notices immediately and steps back, as though he doesn’t trust himself to be near you without touching you, without giving up everything and surrendering to you.

“henry—”

“i think about you,” he says suddenly, cutting you off. the words come faster now, less controlled. “constantly. to a point that is… disturbing.”

his eyes study every detail of your face as though searching for something, anything, that won’t make you fall apart now.

“it interferes,” he continues, quieter now, “with my work. my concentration. my judgment. everything.”

he swallows hard.

“…my restraint.”

your heart is beating so fast you can hear it in your ears.

“then… what are you saying?”

he looks at you as though this is the hardest thing he has ever had to do. and perhaps it is. he never imagined this would happen, he never wanted this, but for henry everything is harder than he can explain. being vulnerable is unbearably difficult for him, and realizing how much he had given of himself to you terrified him. he’s afraid, confused by what this could do to him internally.

“i’m saying,” he murmurs, “that i can’t continue this.”

you feel the ground split open beneath your feet because nothing prepared you for this moment. rapid, unreal thoughts race through your mind as you look at him; his expression is impassive, his blue eyes dark and unable to meet yours. his jaw is clenched in a way that looks painful.

you shake your head slightly, almost instinctively. you know henry;he may hate his vulnerability, but you know it now with so much love and attention that it is impossible not to recognize its roots and its doubts.

“because you feel too much?” your voice comes out weak, but certain.

and you see how directly it strikes him.

he doesn’t react dramatically, but you can see the way something inside him reacts to it.

“…yes.” his voice is steady, like a confession.

you take another step toward him and, this time, he doesn’t stop you or retreat. but he doesn’t move toward you either. he simply stays still. like a man forcing himself to remain in place.

you don’t know it, but inside, his knees tremble with the urge to kneel before you and let you do whatever you want with him.

“henry,” you say, your voice softer now, almost breaking, “that is not a reason to leave.”

pain flickers very briefly across his face. but he’s quick to compose himself again.

“for you,” he says. “…it shouldn’t be.”

you remain silent while studying his face; his immaculate hair covers the scar on the right side of his forehead. the same scar you have kissed so many times with so much love and care. his firm lips that found yours so many times, that explored your body, that spoke words of love, and that are now breaking your heart.

“then why is it for you?”

he exhales slowly, as though he’s already losing the argument with himself.

“because,” he says, lower than before, “i don’t trust what i become when i care this much.”

“you won’t lose yourself,” you whisper.

he looks at you and for a moment it seems like he is about to break completely apart. but henry composes himself, as always.

“…i’m already lost, y/n.”

silence again. but it’s a deafening silence; the kind that leaves a deep emptiness in your chest and makes you wish he would scream, do anything to fill this emptiness.

he takes a step back. his hands in his pockets and his impeccable posture contradict the pain in his eyes.

“it would be… imprudent,” he says, slipping back into that cautious tone, “to continue under these conditions.”

you keep looking at him. you know him, you understand him like no one else, but you cannot stop the hot anger in your stomach, your racing, aching heart, your mind trying to deny everything that has happened in the last few minutes.

“…is that all this means to you?” you ask quietly.

it makes him falter. his composure cracks so slightly you barely notice.

“no,” he says almost immediately. too quick, too sincere. “…that is exactly the problem.”

he looks at you one last time; full of something he refuses to let show. he swallows hard as he takes in every tiny detail of your face.

“i think you need to go,” he says quietly, as though he doesn’t want to say the words.

you stay silent while tears run down your cheeks. when he sees them, panic rises in him, but he still keeps his distance. he closes his eyes and everything he sees and feels is you: your love, your scent, your softness, your laugh, your warmth.

but he needs to do this… right?

you cannot say anything. everything feels so distant and painful that you don’t realize you are already walking toward the door. you pass by him and he falters slightly, but not enough to tell you the truth, to lay his head in your lap and cry like a child, to beg you never to leave him.

he looks over his shoulder and closes his eyes again when he hears the door shut.

he’s filled by the silence of his empty house, by the coldness he feels in his bones without your warmth. by the weight of his own decision.

and the worst part is the certainty. the unbearable, silent certainty that Henry Winter didn’t stop loving you. he simply decided that loving you, and being vulnerable, was not something he could afford to do.

[earthlydevotions]

Henry breaks up with you because he is overwhelmed by how he feels about you

hello! thank you for your request :) you can read it here! i hope you enjoy <3