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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;

henry winter with a partner who has panic attacks

yours, forever (henry winter x reader)

insatiable (tamino amir x reader)

#navigation

what would henry winter think about the odyssey by christopher nolan…

#tsh thoughts #henry winter #tsh #the secret history

i reaaally really want to write some headcanons but i’m out of ideas :’)

#can someone help me

i’m finally on summer break from college! 🥳🙌 so that means i’ll be a lot more active on here <<3

#also i’m thinking about writing for other fandoms #hannibal included #because i’m obsessed

earthlydevotions

— henry winter with a s/o who has panic attacks.

req: headcanons of henry winter with an s/o who has panic attacks? no worries if this is too much to handle xx

the first time he witnesses one

at first, he doesn't realize what's happening. you're breathing far too quickly, your hands trembling so violently that you can barely keep yourself steady on the couch, so he assumes something physical has happened. he reaches you in quick strides, placing a hand on your shoulder while his eyes search for any sign of pain.

"are you hurt?" you shake your head, tears filling your eyes. you try to answer, but nothing comes out. that's when he understands.

he kneels in front of you - without caring that he's on the floor - and studies your face with quiet concentration. he doesn't bombard you with questions, he simply stays there with gentle caresses and soft words, because somewhere deep down, he understands that this isn't something to solve; it's something to face beside you.

he notices the warning signs before you do

over time, he begins noticing the patterns; the way your breathing changes before you even realize it, the way you grow quieter. or, sometimes, how you begin speaking far too quickly. eventually, there comes a moment when he walks over to you, touches you lovingly, and asks softly, "...would you like to leave?" before you've even admitted to yourself that you're overwhelmed.

he never tells you to "calm down"

he understands enough about fear to know that logic has very little influence over it. instead, he lowers the tone of his own voice, slows his movements, and sits beside you rather than standing over you. he almost becomes an anchor, a safe haven during difficult moments. his calm isn't something he pretends to have; it's something he quietly lends you until you're able to find your own again.

he always asks before touching you

henry loves physical displays of affection, but only when they're welcome, so during a panic attack, he never assumes. his hand lingers uncertainly between the two of you before he asks, "may i hold your hand?" or, "would you like me to stay close?" if you say yes, he won't let go until you're the one who does. if you say no, he won't take it personally. he'll simply wait for as long as you need.

he remembers exactly what helps

if cold water helped once, he'll bring it every single time. if sitting on the floor felt safer than sitting on the bed, he'll quietly sit there with you. if silence helped, he won't fill the room with unnecessary words of comfort. he remembers every detail because helping you matters enough for him to preserve each one with care.

his voice becomes impossibly gentle

it's one of those rare moments when you hear the version of henry that almost no one else knows; his words take on a slower rhythm, his voice softens, every sentence seems carefully chosen. "look at me, if you can, my love.", "you're here. you're safe.", "there's nowhere else you need to be." he speaks as though every word is something fragile he doesn't want to break.

he doesn't feel burdened by it

if you apologize afterward, he looks genuinely confused. "for what?" he asks, gently stroking the knots of your fingers. "for ruining the evening." he frowns, unable to believe you could think that. "my dear, this isn't an inconvenience. you went through something frightening. you're stronger than you realize." he says it so naturally that you can actually feel your heart relaxing inside your chest.

he quietly rearranges your plans without making you feel guilty

if a crowded restaurant becomes too much for you, he'll suggest leaving before you ever have to ask. if a party begins overwhelming you, he'll come up with some excuse about an appointment he'd suddenly remembered. he'd much rather let everyone think he's being antisocial than allow anyone to notice you're struggling; your dignity is incredibly important to him.

he reads about panic attacks

without telling you. one afternoon, see a folded pieces of paper on his desk; notes, medical articles, psychological research, coping techniques, passages underlined in his meticulous handwriting... he never intended for you to find it. he simply wanted to understand something that causes you pain, because if something hurts you, he wants to know everything about it, specially how he can help.

he tries to find your triggers

so he can avoid them at all costs. seeing you suffer is one of henry's worst nightmares, so whatever he can do to spare you that pain, he'll do it. no matter what it is. if he realizes a certain situation causes you panic, he'll quietly try to resolve it in the best way possible without you ever noticing. if a certain place brings you distress, he'll avoid walking near it with you. and if one day you inevitably have to pass by it, he'll remain beside you the entire time, gently reminding you that you're safe with him.

afterward, he shows his affection quietly

he knows you may still be feeling overwhelmed. but later that evening, when you're reading together, or lying beside one another, or making tea, his hand gently finds yours; his thumb slowly strokes your palm, your fingers;with so much love in that small gesture. there's no conversation about what happened, just a silent reminder: i'm here, and nothing will ever change that.

he hates seeing you blame yourself

what hurts him most isn't the panic attack itself, it's hearing you say "i'm sorry." he goes completely still. then closes his book and looks directly at you before saying, with complete sincerity, "never apologize for surviving something difficult. never." it's a sentence so filled with emotion, something so unusual for him, that all you can do is look back at him with love in your eyes. for henry winter—who chooses every word with impossible care—few things are more honest than that.

if you wake from a panic attack during the night

he wakes almost immediately. not because he's a light sleeper, but because somewhere along the way, he learned to distinguish the difference between you simply turning over in your sleep and you waking in distress. he doesn't turn on the light right away, instead, he reaches for your hand in the darkness, his thumb gently stroking your wrist. if you want him to, he'll pull you into a warm embrace. "you're with me," he murmurs sleepily. "you're home." if you can't fall asleep again, neither can he. he'll stay awake with you until sunrise if that's what you need. he never, ever complains. in his mind, there's nowhere else he'd rather be than beside you, helping you find your way back to peace.

#icymi

headcanons of henry winter with an s/o who has panic attacks? no worries if this is too much to handle xx

hello, lovely! here’s your request, i hope you enjoy it <3

#helena’s mailbox

— henry winter with a s/o who has panic attacks.

req: headcanons of henry winter with an s/o who has panic attacks? no worries if this is too much to handle xx

the first time he witnesses one

"are you hurt?" you shake your head, tears filling your eyes. you try to answer, but nothing comes out. that's when he understands.

he notices the warning signs before you do

he never tells you to "calm down"

he always asks before touching you

he remembers exactly what helps

his voice becomes impossibly gentle

he doesn't feel burdened by it

he quietly rearranges your plans without making you feel guilty

he reads about panic attacks

he tries to find your triggers

afterward, he shows his affection quietly

he hates seeing you blame yourself

if you wake from a panic attack during the night

#the secret history x reader #the secret history fanfic #the secrety history x reader #henry winter #henry winter x oc #henry winter imagine #henry winter fic #henry winter x reader #henry winter fluff #henry winter fanfic #henry winter headcanons

earthlydevotions

— yours, forever.

pairing; henry winter x reader

genre: little angst + fluff + smut

wc: 3,708

a/n: this is the part 2 of this !! hope you guys enjoy it :)

the first morning without you is empty.

he wakes up at exactly seven and stares at the side of the bed where you should be. his thoughts begin slowly, things like; where are you? why is your side cold?

until reality crashes into him like a wave. you’re no longer here. you’re no longer in his life in the same way that he’s no longer in yours. memories of last night invade his mind like a knife; swift, dangerous and painful.

he lets out a deep sigh, sits up in bed and watches the sunlight filtering through the white curtains. the house is silent, without the smell of coffee or tea, without soft music drifting from the kitchen, without you calling for him sweetly. the house is lifeless.

he gets up, gets himself together, gets dressed in complete silence, but refuses to look at himself in the mirror that morning. he showed you certainty in his decision, as though he had been thinking about it for days, but deep down he doesn’t know if he made the right choice. deep down he hates himself for not giving in just a little, hates himself for letting his pride speak louder. but there’s nothing he can do about it now, except get himself together and keep living despite the growing, lingering ache in his chest.

he makes coffee, picks up a book and sits down in his usual armchair. he tries in every possible way, but he can’t get you out of his head. he can’t concentrate on his book. he can’t enjoy his breakfast or even bring himself to care about the news on the radio. he tries thinking in another language, tries staring at a blank wall, but his impeccable discipline has abandoned him this morning. he can’t stop thinking about you.

the second day is worse.

julian has been talking for hours. he moves around the room with languid steps while explaining the lesson. but henry only stares at the notebook of notes in front of him; his impeccable handwriting from days ago, when this ache in his chest wasn’t there yet, when it was only a tiny, almost imperceptible seed.

julian, noticing his silence and stillness, asks him a question during class. henry doesn’t hear it. julian has to repeat himself. twice. henry, in all his academic life, has never needed anything to be repeated. not a single word, an expression, much less a question.

everyone notices, but no one says anything. silence settles over the room as julian studies henry with precision, as though he were examining him.

“henry?” he says, placing a hand on his shoulder. henry startles, looks up and swallows hard. as though he had just been pulled out of a dream.

“yes?” his voice comes out calm. he adjusts his glasses, his tie and his posture; his greatest shields.

julian furrows his brows for a second, something almost imperceptible, but henry recognizes that look. that look of concern, confusion and doubt.

“so,” julian says, sitting down in his chair after class ends. everyone has already left, or rather, indirectly, julian asked everyone to leave first so he could speak with henry, “are you sick?”

“no.”

“you don’t look very well.”

“i’m just tired.”

julian stops organizing the papers on his desk and looks at henry. his hands come together and his lips press into a thin line.

“you did something,” he says, more as a statement than a question. “and it’s eating you alive, isn’t it?”

henry doesn’t answer. which is answer enough.

julian opens his mouth to say something, but henry simply says, “excuse me, julian. i have to go,” before leaving the room with quick steps. he doesn’t need anyone’s pity or condescension, he only needs you.

a week passes. and henry is no longer reading; he’s looking at books, turning pages without absorbing a thing. he catches himself rereading the same paragraph twelve times, but the words dissolve before his eyes.

so he decides to walk to clear his mind. there’s too much inside him; feelings, thoughts and so, so much longing. but he doesn’t want to think about them, he wants to dissolve them. let them drift away with the wind. but without thinking, without choosing, he finds himself standing outside your apartment.

he hadn’t meant to come here, but his body had simply brought him. he remains across the street for several minutes, staring at the entrance. his heart pounds, aching inside his chest while his hands curl into fists inside the pockets of his coat. he takes a deep, trembling breath.

the lights are on. he knows you’re in there. all it would take is a few steps, a knock on the door, and he would see you again. but he can’t. he knows he should leave, so he does. at least he tries.. he turns away, walks a little, and then the wave of absence comes. not yours, his own.

he realizes something terrifying. something that makes him close his eyes in the middle of the sidewalk.

when he told you he had lost his objectivity, he believed that pushing you away would restore it. instead... everything became worse. because before, his thoughts were interrupted by your presence; you pulled him away from so many thoughts, so much work and so many feelings, the way the sun brings warmth on a cold day. you brought life to his carefully restricted routine. you gave him the feeling that life was far greater than anything he had ever known.

but now they’re interrupted by your absence.

you exist everywhere; your scarf is still hanging behind the bedroom door, a hair tie rests beside the sink, one of your books is tucked between plato and virgil. but he can’t reach you. he sees you in everything, feels you in everything, but you are so, so far away...

what finally breaks him completely is when he’s organizing his books and finds the one he had been reading before the two of you broke up. the one he could never return to because every sentence carried the weight of a memory.

he flips through it slowly until he notices a small piece of paper tucked into the page where he stopped. he picks it up and realizes it’s a sentence written in your handwriting.

“don’t stay up reading until three again. come to bed. come to me. i love you.”

his thumb brushes over the ink and his heart begins to beat harder. something settles in his stomach, cold and painful.

something inside him finally shatters.

he’s sitting on the floor, still wearing yesterday’s clothes, with the book resting on his knees. and, for the first time since childhood, henry winter cries. his breathing turns uneven and his hands tremble. he takes off his glasses because he can no longer see through the tears. he presses both hands against his face because he has just realized something infinitely worse than losing himself.

he lost you.

by his own choice.

and he doesn’t know what to do with that.

he doesn’t attend class over the next few days. telling himself he needs to rest, but julian knows him too well, so he shows up at his apartment two days later.

silence hangs between them when henry opens the door. his apartment is immaculate, but henry is not.

julian doesn’t ask what happened. he already knows. he simply looks at him for a long moment before saying, “henry... i’m glad you’re alright. i was worried something had happened.”

henry doesn’t answer. he only adjusts his glasses.

“well, i’ll get straight to the point. i’d like us to talk about this properly, but i know how difficult this has been for you... because you mistake love for catastrophe, henry.”

henry doesn’t respond. he only looks back at him. he doesn’t have the strength for anything else.

“you’ve spent so long believing that feeling deeply is a weakness.”

silence.

“and yet,”julian continues softly, “everything humanity has ever created that was truly worth anything came from exactly that.”

henry closes his eyes.

“i was trying to protect her.”

“no.”

julian’s voice is gentle.

“you were trying to protect yourself.”

henry looks at him, then lowers his gaze to the floor.

“you know what you have to do, henry. do it before it’s too late.”

he smiles at him before saying goodbye. henry says nothing. he only watches him leave.

but that brief conversation follows him for days.

protect yourself.

until one night, he realizes… he never protected himself. he amputated the happiest part of his life. and suddenly, his pride seems very small.

he doesn’t sleep.

instead, at six in the morning, he puts on his coat and walks through the empty streets. taking the longest route to your apartment, he rehearses speeches, logical explanations, elegant apologies.

when he finally arrives, he takes a deep breath, steps onto your doorstep and knocks softly.

he forgets everything he had prepared. but he takes one deep breath, then another, and accepts that he cannot control everything. he shouldn’t control everything.

you open the door. the sight of you makes the ground disappear beneath his feet. he feels his hands tremble, his lips go dry. but he refuses to let his greatest weakness show, so he clenches his jaw and looks at you.

your brows knit together as you look at him, then at the empty street.

a brief, but heavy silence settles between the two of you.

“i was wrong,” henry says. his voice is low, but controlled.

you feel your throat tighten.

“you hurt me, henry.”

“i know,” he says quietly.

“you broke my heart.”

your voice breaks on the last word, and it makes his heart break a little more too.

“i know.”

“you can’t just come back because you changed your mind.”

“i didn’t.”

that makes you frown and swallow hard. then what did he want?

“i didn’t change my mind.”

he steps closer, very slowly, as though he were approaching something sacred. you look at his chest - level with your eyes - and then into his blue eyes. he looks exhausted, remorseful and confused. even after the breakup, you can still read him better than anyone.

“i loved you before you left,” he says. his jaw is rigid. “i loved you while you were gone. and i love you now.”

you feel your eyes fill with tears and your heart pound inside your chest. the hand that had been resting on the door slides gently to your side. in an attempt to stay steady, you fold your arms across your chest and keep looking at him through blurred vision.

“i spent every hour trying to prove to myself that i could survive without you.” he wipes his eyes and adjusts his glasses. “i can’t. i can’t, y/n. and i had to learn that the hardest way possible, through my own ego.”

it’s the first completely honest thing henry winter has ever said about himself. without philosophy. without a dead language. without a carefully crafted aesthetic. just henry opening himself to you, laying himself bare in a way he never imagined he could.

“i thought loving you would destroy me.”

he looks directly into your eyes.

“it turns out that leaving you was what destroyed me.”

you don’t move, but the tears run down your cheeks. you close your eyes for a few seconds, like you’re trying to return to reality. as though those words, leaving his beautiful lips, had carried you somewhere else, somewhere unknown where none of the pain you’re feeling now had ever existed.

gently, he wipes away your tears with his thumb. you open your eyes and look at him as he cups your face with both hands. you can feel his breath against your skin.

“i don't know if you’ll forgive me.”

his voice trembles almost imperceptibly.

“i don’t deserve for you to.”

“...then why are you here?” you whisper.

he smiles. something so small, so tired and so devastated that you can’t help but stare at it.

“because my pride already cost me everything once.”

a pause.

“i won’t let it cost me you.”

silence again.

just the two of you. the cold street. the occasional sound of passing cars. thunder rumbling in the distance.

he looks at you patiently, because he could wait here with you for the rest of his life. simply watching you would be enough.

your hands rise to his face, sliding gently down to his neck before wrapping completely around him.

slowly, carefully, delicately, his large hands find your waist, pulling you ever so slightly toward him.

if you want to, he’ll let you go.

but if you want him to, he’ll stay. this time, forever.

"i hate you," you whisper.

"i know."

"i missed you."

"i know."

"i'm still angry."

"i know."

"...kiss me anyway."

he smiles with relief.

the moment he feels your lips after all this time apart, he feels his world fall back into place. as though everything finally makes sense again, as though he has finally found the shelter his heart has been longing for.

he pulls you against him, one hand on your waist, the other at the nape of your neck.

“henry”" you try to say in the middle of the kiss that began softly but is now deepening. his touch grows firmer, his lips moving against yours with hunger, with longing.

“sorry,” he says between kisses “i can’t, darling... i can’t.”

he murmurs the words against your lips, gently guiding you back inside your apartment. the hand that had been resting on your waist is quick to reach behind you and close the door, making you laugh.

“did you miss me that much?”

“god... you have no idea.”

his voice is rough, overflowing with longing, desire and love.

your warm lips meet again in a kiss that leaves you two breathless, each touch reminding him of everything he almost lost.

“hey-”

you laugh softly as he buries his face against the side of your neck, leaving lingering kisses there while one of his hands gently cups your jaw.

“i need you,” he whispers against your skin before looking up at you. his pupils are blown wide, his hair slightly messy and his glasses crooked.

you smile and remove them from his face, setting them carefully on the counter beside you.

“i’m right here, love,” you whisper against his lips before kissing him again.

and something inside him breaks open.

within moments, he leads you toward the bedroom. his mind is a haze of relief, anticipation and so, so much longing. for you. for your warmth. for the feeling of holding you again.

he helps you out of your clothes with quick but careful hands. he lays you down as though you’re made of glass. climbs over you like you’re the last thing left in a world that’s always taken too much from him. and when he kisses you again, it’s with more tenderness than you’ve ever felt from anyone. like every touch is a promise.

he doesn’t rush; his hands move over your skin as though asking permission with every inch.

he worships not only your body, but your laughter, your breathing, the quiet sigh that escapes your lips. he kisses your neck as though grounding himself. kisses your chest with gratitude. kisses your hands as though they are holy.

every gesture, every glance, is as though he’s witnessing a miracle before him; like a creator standing before his muse.

with every touch and every kiss, he studies your reactions, the soft sounds you make, the warmth of your skin. everything makes his heart race and his blood surge through his veins.

“i missed you so, so much.”

his voice is barely above a whisper, filled with emotion as he buries his face against you, holding you close like he’s afraid you’ll disappear again.

“henry, love-”

the words fade into another kiss. your fingers slip into his dark hair, and for a long moment neither of you speaks. there’s only relief. only forgiveness beginning to bloom. only the quiet certainty that, after everything, you have found your way back to one another.

he leaves kisses on your belly, on your thighs, until he reaches his paradise.

he’s eating you out like he’s starving, like his hunger is insatiable; sometimes kissing your clit and flicking it with the tip of his tongue, sometimes licking long stripes up your slit, henry is everywhere all at once, his grip on your waist tightening when you try to pull away from the overstimulation. the delicious sounds spilling from your lips are music to his ears, and god it takes everything he has not to come in his pants right here and now, especially when your thighs begin trembling around his head, almost suffocating him in the process.

“henry, i’m.. i’m gonna come,” you breathe, your head spinning as your heels dig into the mattress, your brows knitting together in a hopeless attempt to last just a little longer.

“come on my tongue, darling. please.” he’s begging for it, burying his face against you, his lips and tongue working you until you’re nothing but a sobbing mess.

your climax crashes over you like a freight train; spreading like wildfire through your lower belly, stars dancing across your vision as your head falls back. countless repetitions of henry’s name tumble from your lips like a waterfall, his eyes now fully open as he watches you come apart... something he knows he will never grow tired of. helping you through every wave of pleasure, he doesn’t stop until you’re pushing his head away, and even then you have to fight him a little because he isn’t ready to let go...

yet.

“ henry, that’s too much…” you sob, trembling all over as you slowly lift your head, only to be met by the most sinful sight; henry marchbanks winter with messy hair, his lips swollen and red, his chin glistening with your own arousal.

“fuck.”

you try to press your thighs together as another wave of warmth begins building inside you. but he’s still there, comfortably nestled between them. and the smirk tugging at his lips tells you everything you need to know;

he isn’t done with you. far from it, actually.

he needs to feel you. he needs to ease the ache of missing you that has settled so deeply inside his chest.

he’s quick to pull off the rest of his own clothes, tossing them somewhere across the room.

then he hovers above you; his arms braced on either side of your head. he leans down and kisses your forehead, the tip of your nose and finally your lips before looking into your eyes. his right hand wraps around his cock, stroking a few slow times. a low groan escapes his lips as his eyes flutter shut.

he guides himself to your entrance, and the moment you feel him and he feels you, you both moan together in pleasure and relief.

“oh god,” you whimper.

you feel so much. so much of him.

“shh, it’s alright, love. i’m here.” he whispers against your temple.

one of his arms remains around your head while the other holds your waist.

you wrap your legs around his hips. even swollen, you still want him more than anything.

he doesn’t move for a few seconds. he simply stays there, feeling every inch of you. loving you.

you don’t just feel him. you feel everything. all over again; the love. the fear of losing each other. the longing. the relief. the indescribable pleasure the two of you make each other feel… you are safe with each other.

“i’m yours, forever.”

a mixture of possessiveness, protection and, above all, devotion.

you wrap your arms around him as though anchoring him to the earth. and in that quiet, sacred darkness, his breath shudders from his lungs while your heartbeat echoes against his chest.

“i love you,” he says against your lips as he begins to move.

his hips meeting yours, filling the room with obscene but intoxicating sounds that draw helpless moans from your lips.

your hands find the back of his head, your fingers gently tugging at his hair as his face disappears into the curve of your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses from your ear to your collarbone. your head slowly tilts back, exposing more of your skin as shivers run down your spine.

“i love you,” he says again, murmured hoarsely against your skin.

his movements become even more precise, his hips finding that perfect angle that makes your toes curl and your head fall back. you’re a moaning mess beneath him, and god, he thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful than you do now; your back arched, your lips parted, your eyes barely open. the soft groans escaping him drift across your beautiful face, and he doesn’t even try to stay quiet anymore.

“you’re so, so perfect,” he whispers in your ear, knowing he’s close. “i love you... i love you so much.”

his sentence ends with a kiss on your lips, and suddenly, you’re gone; the coil in your stomach snaps so fiercely it pulls a high-pitched moan from your throat. stars dance across your vision as hundreds of waves of pleasure crash over you, setting your skin alight in the most blissful way.

your legs are shaking, your embrace tightening as henry helps you ride your high for as long as he can. but he, too, is so close.

he wants to pull away, but he just can’t. with your heels digging into the small of his back, keeping him firmly in place, he has no other choice but to come inside you. his hips stutter, and a second later, he’s painting your walls white, a low groan escaping his lips.

both of you breathless, he gently rests his cheek against your chest, letting his full weight settle over you, both arms now wrapped around your waist. your hand strokes through his hair.

you don’t want to move. neither of you does.

“i love you, my darling,” he says again, intoxicated by you. “so much.”

you smile to yourself.

“i love you, my henry.”