need more henry letham fics. i feel like ive read all of them and yk what they say, be the change u want to see. so im gonna make u guys all enjoy henry letham because im gonna be writing the fuck out of this man
content: 18+ NSFW!! MINORS DNI!! ghost-fucking (monster fucking?), by far the least craziest smut i’ve written but that’s cause i’m still trying to figure out how my ghost universe works… i did some research for this, i still wanted to keep a supernatural element to it. read a lot of weird articles including one, “is ghost dick good?”
this one goes to out me and the 5 other people out there who love henry letham
the topic was destined to come up, i mean sex is naturally the next step in the relationship. your relationship with henry is anything but normal, in fact quite confusing to most people. you had kinda put the breaks on whatever was going on between the two of you, and henry stuck to your boundaries for the most part.
he agreed to give you more space, to stop staring at you while you sleep, and the one that he hated the most: to stop treating your bed like his own. he can come in when you’re awake, but this is your bed! plus it’s not like he actually sleeps anyways, he just lays wayy too close and watches you all night; sometimes it’s suffocating. henry absolutely hates this one, this was his house first! it was his bedroom first, why do you get the final say?
(he never wins that argument, it’s hard to fight against, “start paying the bills then.”)
needless to say, henry is already in your bed as soon as you say, “i think i wanna lay down, you can come if you want.” he’s laying on his side expectantly when you walk through the door, but he’s quick to sit up and make room for you. after climbing under the covers next to henry, you reach across your nightstand to toss henry his notebook and grab the pack of joints and a lighter.
music is playing quietly in the background and you were halfway through the joint. your body felt light, like the pressure was literally being lifted off your chest. a thousand thoughts ran through your head about anything and everything, especially about your relationship with henry. it was odd, to say the least. you really liked him— aside from the fact that he had no boundaries at first— you just really wish he was alive. there’s so much moral conflict in this situation; you have a weirdly intimate relationship with the physical manifestation of a dead guy. who else could possibly be in your situation. but then he kisses you like he’s alive, in a physical body that feels real. his touch may be cold but it’s real, you feel it when he holds you, runs his hands through your hair. or when he curls into your side and you can feel the softness of his skin. you wonder if other parts are real.
before you know it, the words slip from your lips, “can ghosts even have sex?” the odd question breaks your comfortable silence. henry lifts his head from the sketchbook and cocks an eyebrow at you.
“what?”
you press the joint to your lips, no point in backing down now, “you heard me.”
henry keeps looking at you before reaching over to pluck the joint from your mouth. he turns the end to himself to take a hit and nods, not breaking eye contact.
“how is that even possible— and don’t waste that! it doesn’t even do anything for you.” you snag the burning paper from between his fingers and he purposely blows the smoke back in your face.
he drops his head back to his notebook, “it’s… complicated.” you continue to watch him, as if you were expecting a full detailed explanation. henry feels his ears ring and he would definitely be flushed if he was able to. when you don’t look away, henry gains the courage to ask, “did you… wanna find out?”
you smile and nod enthusiastically, and henry tries to control the shock on his face. you guys make out all the time, why is he surprised? quickly, you put out the joint and clear the items off your bed before beckoning henry over with a wave of a hand. he stares for just a moment before setting aside his own stuff and crawling on top of you. it’s not like the two of you haven’t been this close before, but now there’s the looming presence of months of sexual tension finally cracking. you make note of the deep circles under his eyes, the dullness of them as they seem to look right through you. if you look close enough, you can see some of the blue veins coming through his pale skin.
henry leans on one arm, and he can feel your body press against his with each rise and fall of your chest. his free hand comes up to touch your cheek, searching your face for any sign of second thoughts. he only finds the glimmer of excitement in your eyes as you smile up at him. finally, he leans down to kiss you, lips ghosting over your own until you tilt your chin up to properly kiss him.
he kisses you with the kind of passion that knocks the wind out of you— every time. it’s intoxicating and addictive. henry’s lips slide against your own, gently pulling your bottom lip into his mouth. you sigh and reach up to wrap your arms around his waist. his long fingers travel to brush your hair back, gently tangling around the back of your head. when you wiggle your fingers underneath his shirt, henry breaks this kiss with a quiet whine at the burning heat of your hands on his cold skin. he looks at you with half lidded eyes and parted lips as you try to control your heavy breathing.
before you can fully catch your breath, his lips are back on yours with much more force than before. he presses his hips fully against you, one hand coming down to run along the outside of your thigh, that’s now pressed against his middle. henry slithers his tongue into your mouth, dancing with your own. your hips wiggle against his, soothing the heat between your legs just barely. he can feel the burning even through his pants, i guess it’s easier when you’re so cold all the time. henry gives in for just a moment to grind against you. this time it’s your turn to break the kiss with a gasp, and henry takes the opportunity to kiss down your neck.
he licks and sucks along your neck and it’s so cold, everything about him is, but it soothes the heat in your skin so deliciously. henry continues to grind against you, shaky hands switching between running along your ribs and holding your hips steady— unable to find a steady spot. henry pulls away to look at you, your messy hair, red lips swollen from kissing, the light sheen of saliva coating your neck. he watches the rapid rise and fall of your chest and smiles sweetly at you. his hand cups your cheek again, thumb gently tracing the skin. his smile grows to a more mischievous grin before leaning down to whisper, “not yet.”
just as sudden as this whole situation started, it was over. henry is gone in the blink of an eye and you’re left alone, high and in need of dry underwear.
-
henry was gone the rest of the evening, you began to wonder if you maybe pushed things too far. you went about the rest of the night as normal, made yourself dinner, got some homework done and even a few episodes of the new show you started. the only thing missing was the persistent and clingy ghost that’s normally glued on top of you. sometimes it could be suffocating, but now without it, you’re very aware of the silence and loneliness that you once enjoyed. you called out for him a few times, you know he can hear you— but to no prevail.
you finally settle into bed after giving up the idea that you were getting laid tonight. you changed into just an oversized shirt, too hot outside for anything else, and crawled underneath the blanket. you were just on the cusp of sleep when you felt it, the gentle pull of your blanket. you were tired and easily ignored it, until the covers were suddenly pulled down to your legs.
startled, you jump awake, looking around and waiting for henry to pop up anywhere. nothing happens. you sigh and reach back down to pull the blanket back up with a quiet, “jesus, henry..” once you were comfy enough to start drifting off again, the feeling of your shirt sliding up, tickling your thighs, makes you stir. it pools just under your chest before stopping. your eyes open again to scan the dark, empty room, even rolling onto your back to see if henry was on the opposite side of you.
nothing.
you tried to tell yourself that you were just crazy, you must’ve moved your shirt without realizing. that is until a hot pressure filled between your legs. it’s like a warm static pooling in between your thighs, and it makes your legs twitch. the throbbing pressure against you grows, as you move to slightly sit up. you can’t see him, but you know it’s henry; the room smells increasingly like him. you let your head roll back at the feeling of the now pulsing sensation pressing against you. your hands come out to grab at the sheets, enjoying the warmth filling the rest of your body.
it travels up your torso, to your neck and around the crown of your head— it swallows you entirely. goosebumps that make you shiver follow in its path. your thighs spread wider at the dragging feeling between your legs. it feels both real and like it’s all in your head, maybe a mix of both? it doesn’t really matter, it just feels so good. there’s a growing wet spot between your legs as goosebumps trail like fingertips running up your sides. what feels like a very real hand pulls at your hair at the base of your skull, pulling your head back against the headboard. still, no one is to be seen and it seems almost ridiculous to be so spread out and hot and bothered without someone physically there to hold on to.
the feeling stops just long enough for you to catch your breath, before you’re dragged by your ankles to lay flat. it doesn’t make much sense, your underwear is still on, but you can feel it directly on your skin as a wet tongue circles your heat. it’s shocking and exhilarating; you don’t want to make sense of it. you let yourself give in, dipping your head back into the pillows and arching further into the sensations. the wet drag between your thighs brings you closer and closer; gently, you hum out henry’s name.
the feeling stops, only to be replaced with a force grabbing your arm to flip you on your stomach, hips raised enough to still be comfortable. the cold air brushes against your aching heat and you shiver, feeling exposed in this new position. you feel the gentle stroke of fingers between your legs, and you’re held firmly in place while a thick, throbbing force pushes its way into you. a loud moan is muffled by your bedsheets. it’s so wet, so warm inside of you, and you feel the pressure of hips pushing against you from behind as henry works in and out of you.
you can’t control the sounds being pulled straight from your throat as his pace increases, heat drooling onto the bedsheets below. a hand tangles itself into the back of your head before your feel your torso being yanked back to sit up. your back slams into something hard, and you open your eyes to see henry’s head cocked to the side. your eyes widen in shock and a sly smile plays at his lips, “hi sweetheart,” before you have a chance to say anything, henry is holding the lit cigarette in his fingers up to your lips, “hold this for me?”
without thinking, you open your mouth to take the cigarette from him. he whispers, “there you go.” his fingers tickle down your stomach to the aching heat between your legs. his thrusts have slowed, choosing to roll his hip and grind into every now and then. your head falls back against his shoulder as the hand around your front works faster and faster. you’re struggling more and more to keep the burning cigarette from falling out of your mouth. henry seems to notice, “don’t drop it, wouldn’t wanna start a fire now would we?”
his hips continue to grind up into you, pressing and dragging against that sweet spot inside of you. henry finally gives you mercy and pulls the smoke from between your lips and sits back onto his heels. pressing at your spine, he encourages you to fall forward and guides your hips back and forth on him, “keep going, just like that..” his voice is broken and shaking, and he lets his eyes flutter shut when you take control. he rolls his sleeve up just enough to expose his left forearm, eyes rolling open while he takes the cigarette from his mouth. he presses the burning red end of it hard into his skin, and lets out a strangled mix of a whine and a cry.
moans and whines leave your mouth while you continue to move your hips. it has been so long since you’ve been intimate, and this is the best you’ve had in an even longer time. it feels like he’s everywhere, all at once. it completely envelopes your entire body and warps through your mind and soul. it feels like your body is lifted to a new dimension, your limbs weak and vibrating with desire. your mind is stuck somewhere between mystery, a little bit of fear, and something far sweeter. such a delicate, vulnerable state, yet overruled by the carnal powers of lust and desire. it’s a tedious balance, but henry’s grip on your psyche never falters. it never wavers, even as you release around him. it’s intense and your whole body shakes; fireworks exploding inside of you as he coaxes you through the spasms. your chest falls flat down on the bed, and not soon after the presence behind you disappears.
you’re still trying to catch your breath when the clink and flick of a lighter grabs your attention. you peak an eye open to see henry leaning up against the headboard, casual as ever. he stares at his outstretched legs, crossing one over the other, he doesn’t notice you staring. anxiously, he taps his feet together and pulls a drag from his cigarette. he pretends to be very interested in picking at his cuticles as the silence grows, so you reach a hand out to touch his forearm. he’s quick to replace it with his own hand as he looks at you. you’re smiling softly at him, your eyes halfway closed, when he speaks up, “soo…?”
your smile grows wider, “mind-blowing.” henry’s lips twitch and he drops his head with a shy, breathy laugh. he stares at your joined hands, still trying to pick at his nails with the hand holding his cigarette. a terrible nervous habit. when ash drops and burns your fingers, you finally brush away his hand. he apologizes sheepishly, taking one last hit before putting it out.
henry lays on his side to face you, pulling you between his legs, one draped over your hips. you’re tucked just under his chin with his arms squeezing tightly around you, curling around and clinging on like a much too large koala bear. if he could, he would crawl inside of your skin, the barrier of textiles and skin becoming too isolating. instead he settles for holding onto you as tight as you’ll let him. maybe one day you’ll let him absorb you completely.
warnings・❥・typical henry letham feelings, overall fluffy, henry is soo sappy, protective henry, needy (maybe a little codependent?) henry, petnames, descriptions of vomiting/being sick/henry taking care of u, henry just loves u, no use of y/n
wc: 1.7k
a/n ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ everything in this is lowk just based off him saying "that's my girl" but yeah idk i've had a bunch of free time and he's been on my mind nonstop (positive). also sorry if this kinda corny, i just wanted to write abt him being happy LOL. thx for reading and all the support on my previous fics!! any feedback is welcome :3 (fr this time, i figured out how to turn on comments)
Beneath the wounding pits of bitter and vengeful loathing, Henry knows that he’s gentle. He might go as far as to think that he’s made up of the softness almost entirely. There’s years and years of it accumulating unused, unwilling to be spent on giving himself grace. He refuses to let it go poisoned. It’s concreted in his sanity that there’s no other way to go about it other than to wait for someone worthwhile.
And by God does the while prove worth it when you come along, stumbling into his sight.
You’re a sweet thing, like the dew at dawn or a kiss on the cheek. You give him your grace, you introduce him to what gentleness feels like when received, just as his own eagerly reaches out to graze you. You trace patterns on his skin and caress his face and tell him that he’s beautiful without crossing your fingers behind your back.
It’s not long before his mind quiets down. The voices become muffled, outshined by yours. He hears your laughter, your reassurances, your whines against his lips.
In return, he gives you everything he has. He’s guilty and sometimes ashamed that he doesn’t have much more to offer other than his love or his mind or his soul or his body. He’s even more guilty when he thinks like this. Henry loves you despite, no matter, regardless. And though he knows that he is gentle, it’s in his wildest dreams that he’ll believe that his love amounts to anything at all.
“I wonder what’d it’d feel like to be rich,” you asked him one night as you both laid on the floor, staring up at the ceiling of your shared bedroom.
Henry hummed, swallowed thickly. “I could tell you some.”
You scoffed, amused. “Really?”
“I could tell you all about it,” he said easily. “I have everything.”
You turned on your side to look at him, interest piqued.
“I’m lying with her right now,” he whispered. His eyes refused to meet yours. “She makes me the richest man in the world, the luckiest boy to ever live.”
And, maybe because you were drunk or maybe because his voice was so solemn, you made the wounded noise of a sob.
Like no time passed at all, he rolled onto his chest and settled against you. He smiled and caught your hands before you could shield your weeping. He found the vulnerable expression to be extra pretty. Henry kissed over your knuckles, kissed over your tears as though to try and swallow the excretion of your pain so he could feel it with you.
“Don’t say things like that,” you gasped. “You can’t just say things like that.”
He brought an arm across your stomach and rested his head there, hands coming up to caress the delicate hollow underneath your eyes. “Why not, baby? It’s true, you know. Money is just paper. You’re you.”
And like one would naturally guard their valuables, Henry does the same towards you. He’s come to accept that he can’t be completely normal about anything, that sometimes, his sanctities are pure contradiction. As you’d put it, he’s “recklessly caring”.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, holding your hand tightly as you took your usual nightly stroll around Manhattan.
You sighed, pulling him to you. “I mean, look, even now you’re basically hugging the curb.”
He gestured fervently at the asphalt like the answer was clearly written on the surface, though to Henry, it was. “Well, the sidewalk is narrow. I’d rather some asshole swerve and hit me instead of you.”
You pulled him impossibly closer to you, away from the possible dangers of vehicular manslaughter. You sneaked your arm around his middle so that your waists were flushed together. “I’d rather that you not chance that. Besides, it’s more romantic like this.”
“How so?”
“Like, getting hit together.”
“That’s horrible, baby. Why do you think I do what I do?”
You ignored him with a kiss to his shoulder. “There’s nothing more ardent. We’d bear the suffering together.”
He shook his head, but didn’t inch away from your grasp. “Suffering isn’t something that you’re supposed to go through. Especially not if I can help it.”
“You leaving me here alone would be the greatest suffering. I know that you’d do anything for me, Henry. So all I’m asking you to do is to have regard for yourself too.”
He made a thoughtful sigh and reached over to tug the open flap of your jacket closed. “Okay. I can do that.”
It’s not entirely a lie. He can and will comply, gladly so, even when every urge in his body angrily fights against the withdrawal from his sacrificial protection. After some thought, the compliance soon becomes agreement.
It really would be the greatest suffering, he thinks. If he’s not there, who would take care of you? Well, it’s not really a hypothetical because he knows that there will be somebody else. People are so drawn to you, to every capacity of the cliche, like magnets. How could there not be somebody else?
But, it wouldn’t be Henry if he didn’t find a way to take his recklessness somewhere else. It’s a mellowed version, supple and honeyed. It’s something that you’ll accept because you know that it’d be cruel to reject it.
Morning sunlight harasses Henry as he groans awake. Though groggy and half-conscious, he reaches over to your side of the bed and feels around. His fingers search frantically, but feel nothing save for the cold, empty sheets.
It was unusual for you to leave unannounced. On days that you had class early, you’d never slip out the door before waking him up to say goodbye. That was his one ask of you, no matter how deep of a sleep he was in, no matter if you’d fought the night before. The promise went unbetrayed until today.
In a panic, he calls out to you. It’s only when he staggers into your small, shared bathroom does he find you. You’re hunched over the toilet, hair a frizzy mess behind you. Your eyes are closed and scrunched in concentration and his presence goes unnoticed. He drops to his knees next to you, frowning at the unmistaken sight of dulled, feverish skin.
“What’s the matter?” he says lightly, cupping your face.
Despite your stupor, you lean into his touch, a touch that seems perpetually cooled. You mumble incoherently, face twisted in discomfort. “I’m bugged,” you manage. “Nauseous.”
“Okay,” he huffs, nodding. “Okay. That’s okay. You just do what you need to do and I’ll be here, yeah?”
You nod.
There seems to be an instant sense of serenity the very second he strokes your hair, the motion continuing down the valley of your back and stopping to rub circles at the most prominent curve of your spine.
For a moment, Henry thinks that he’s cured you. It’s a sick notion, selfish and naive, though he can’t help but indulge in its wonder. That even the seldom good thoughts he has about himself are all just good things that he could do for you. Where his self-worth is reliant on nothing more than whether or not he can make you happy.
As you wait for another wave of nausea to come, you whisper apologies about how you’re sorry that he has to see you like, how it’s gross, how he doesn’t have to. Then you brush it off and tell him that your words are just drama.
A frown spreads over his face, hurt and confused. “None of that stuff means anything. I like you all the time,” he tells you. “Even like this, you’re like the eighth wonder of the world.”
You smile and shake your head, though you can’t hide the snort of your laughter.
He quirks a sheepish brow, glad to see you ease up. “I’m not trying to be funny, baby.”
You laugh even harder, despite your lethargy. “You’re such a dork.”
“Sorry.”
“No, it’s nice,” you sigh. “You’re nice.”
Henry watches you, sorely observant. Your eyes widen, seemingly cleared from their muddled cloudiness. He thinks that he might have to be dork more often, but that’s quickly disproven when you put your head over the opening of the toilet with dread.
“Henry,” you plead, breathing heavily as spit begins to fill your mouth, “don’t look.”
He turns his head away as you begin to gag, frowning at the sound of your heaving. He finds himself wincing with you, muttering his own strained apologies under his breath as though he were at blame for this.
“I know, I know, I know, baby,” he coos, “That’s good, it’s good to get it out. All that bad stuff, honey, there you go.”
Your knuckles go white as you grip desperately at the porcelain. His are blanched just the same as he holds your hair steady at the nape of your neck. “My poor girl. Sweet, sweet girl.”
And when it’s over, he helps you wash up. He enjoys how domestic it feels to bring a glass of water to your mouth, to pat a wet towel over your forehead and under your bloodshot eyes, to pick up your tired body in the cradle of his long arms to lay you back in bed. He lays with you, though it’s much to your defiance.
“I’ll get you bugged, too, Henry,” you grumble, though your resistance is a mere facade as you allow him to nestle between your legs, the warmth of his weight draped over you.
Henry finds comfort in the rise and fall of your chest growing slower against his. And before you can change your mind and really push him off for good, he sinks his head into the crook of your neck and kisses the soft skin behind your ear.
You accept it graciously, smiling at the shivers that remain in his wake. “None on the lips,” you warn. “Your Victorian immune system would be wrecked.”
He hums an amused acknowledgement and bites on his own instead, just because he’s greedy.
“It’d be fine with me,” he mutters. “We’d bear the suffering together.”
(i have been neglecting you all so here’s a sneak peek for my upcoming jacob fic)
It’s not long until Jacob meets you again, but it is somewhere he never would’ve imagined.
You’re standing outside your father’s office with a paper bag in hand. Through the glass pane, the view is painfully public for anyone to see. Your father is pressed against his desk making out with an intern.
Before Jacob can open his mouth, you turn to him with a face he can’t exactly read.
“What?” you blink curiously at him. “Were you going to see my dad too?”
“Uh—” Jacob scratches the back of his head. He’s not sure how he’s going to explain the situation to you. It’s not really his fucking job. Sure, he was technically the one who encouraged your dad to cheat. But this wasn’t in the fucking job description. “I was—that’s… very unprofessional of him. I’m sorry you have to see this—”
Your dad is still seemingly aware of the situation outside his office. So much so that he even brings a hand to grope the woman’s ass through her tight skirt.
Jacob stands between you and the window so you won’t have to see it. But even then, you look… uninterested.
“... I’ll talk to him about this. About uh—professionalism. In work spaces.”
“You don’t have to,” you shrug. “Everyone knows he’s cheating.”
Jacob blinks, “Really?”
“Yes. Except my mom. Funny how it only happened when he got the job here,” you tilt your head. “I’m sure you’re not any better.”
“Your dad and I are very different.”
“Sure. Because he has a family and you don’t,” you sigh. “Whatever. Just give this to him.”
You push the paper bag in his chest and you walk away without another word. Jacob peers inside to see it’s a lunch box with a note from… his wife?
Jacob ends up taking the note out.
He tells Lee it’s from the utility staff. And Jacob just smiles when he says the sauce tastes very familiar.
I really like how awkward young Rygos was, especially as Henry. He was newly 23 and going through the last stages of his body changing before his brain fully developed. You can tell he even looked the slightest bit uncoordinated/not fully confident in his body language and it wasn't due to Henry as a character being neurotic.
He just,,, had huge hands?? And a big ol' head?? With a super square jaw and sharp angular features?? But not really the body type to justify it despite his height??
I assume he was in the final stages of filling out/becoming more proportional but I physically cannot see Henry without immediately thinking That Is The Most 23 Year Old Man I've Ever Seen.
hooking up with college!ryland while you're both a little drunk, and he's soooo sweetly mocking you for how cute you are like this, because he knows alcohol makes you so so horny and needy and sensitive but also makes it harder for you to cum, so he just gets to enjoy keeping you on the edge for as long as he wants <3
Contains NSFW content, teensy bit of fluff, angst. 18+ MDNI
Holland loves when you call him daddy.
It first happened on accident when he was eating out your pussy, your fingers tangled in his hair, his mustache tickling your clit in the most delicious way. You had let it slip past your parted lips between moans, you didn’t even notice it until he stopped licking your clit.
He sits up to look up at you, eyes blown out with lust, his mouth dripping from your wetness, having made you cum once already with his skilled mouth. You look at him, puzzled.
“What did you say, sweetheart?” He doesn’t break eye contact.
Then it hits you.
Your face turns a deep red with embarrassment. This was it, your dream boy was going to leave you because of a stupid kink you had suppressed.
He notices your eyes darting to avoid eye contact, and he moves up to cup your cheek gently.
“Hey gorgeous, hey, it’s okay, I’ve just never heard you call me that before. Do you wanna call me that?”
You nod without looking at him.
He moves your jaw to look in your eyes. “Tell me what you want, pretty girl. You want to be daddy’s little slut? My sweet girl?”
You bite your lip and nod.
“Yeah? What do you say, gorgeous?”
You blush even harder, your pussy absolutely soaked at this point.
“Yes, daddy.”
“Good girl.”
He pulls you into a kiss, his hand reaching between your bodies, finding your clit.
You jump at the contact, gasping in his mouth.
He smiles and whispers lowly. “Yeah? You wanna cum for daddy? Gonna be my good girl and cum for me?”
He looks at you with such lust and hunger you swear he’d devour you right there. You feel the delicious twisting pressure in your core erupt into white hot bliss as you cum, clenching around nothing.
You feel his cock twitch against your thigh as you ride out your orgasm, both of you moaning, and he starts grinding into your thigh, chasing his own high.
He spills all over your leg and pussy with a deep groan, and pulls you into a deep open mouth kiss as his cum spills out onto you. You start calling him daddy more often now.
Holland wishes he knew what you smelled like.
It’s one of the things he hates most, not being able to breathe in his lover’s aroma. You show him what perfumes and body oils you use, sure, but it’s not the same as breathing in the real deal.
You get a new body wash for the shower, the scent being simply described as “rose water.”
When you and him are in the shower together - one of the things he loves doing is bathing you, and you him - he picks up the bottle and just stares at it.
You finish rinsing out your shampoo and catch him staring at the bottle.
“What’s wrong, hon?”
He shakes his head as he pours a generous amount on his hand.
“Nothin,” he says. “Just would really like to know what this smells like is all.”
You look at him sadly, even though he has his hands on your tits now, massaging the wash gently onto your skin.
You put a hand on his shoulder and bring him in for a kiss. His lips tremble. You pull away, leaving an inch between the two of you as you look into his eyes, filled with soft tears.
“Oh honey, what’s wrong? C’mon you can tell me.”
He stops washing your tits, just holding them now - he does this for comfort and honestly, you love it.
“Can’t smell my sweetheart. Just wanna know what you smell like,” he whispers sadly.
You look at him with sadness in your eyes, knowing his head injury took away his sense of smell. You cup his cheeks and bring him into a deep, loving kiss, full of pure love.
He takes his hands off your tits to bring you into a big hug, the two of you cuddling under the gentle warm shower stream. You feel him shaking as he cries into your shoulder, tracing gentle patterns onto his back.
You pepper his neck with tiny kisses, quietly telling him “it’s okay sweetheart, I know, I’m so sorry.”
You do your best to describe scents and odors to him (sometimes it’s best he can’t smell the brussel sprouts cooking), but occasionally it gets too much, where he simply wants nothing more than to breathe in his lover’s sweet aroma.
Holland loves giving you hickies, marking you as his.
You love the way his stubble scratches so pleasantly on your jaw and neck when he dives into you, squeezing your hips, and groaning into your neck.
He’s gentle, sometimes. He doesn’t want to hurt you, but he knows you like it rough. And he’s not afraid to admit he loves it.
You’re usually marked up somewhere on your body. Your tits, your neck, your thighs, sometimes your ass. He hates seeing you unmarked, you’re his after all.
Right now, he has you pinned down, he’s on top of you, biting into your gentle neck making sure it shows the next day. Claiming you as his own. You feel how hard he is, and he moves your hand out of the way when you reach down to undo his belt.
“Uh-uh, sweetheart. I wanna give you all the lovin’ tonight.”
You moan as he licks a stripe and blows on the mark he just made on your neck, causing you to shudder from the cool air. You were glad it was late November so you could easily get away with wearing a turtleneck.
He moves down to your tits, holding one in his hand and kneading it in his calloused hand, the other in his mouth, sucking a deep, dark spot just above your nipple. He pulls away and admires his work of art. He sees the remnants of his previous marks, some of them having faded into a golden yellow, some of them still a light purple from where he had his mouth a few days ago.
He hums at this, drinking in your beauty. He looks at you, completely naked under him, pussy dripping, breathing heavily, hair a delightful tangled mess.
He moves down to your thighs, tracing the outer edge of your legs with his hands, and picking them up over his shoulders. You bite your lip as he peppers gentle kisses along your inner thighs, glancing up at you every so often, his hair a mess at this point, his eyes blown wide with lust.
He licks one long strip up your soaked pussy with a deep moan, and bites down on your inner thigh. You moan loudly, your breath hitching in your throat from the pleasure, as he sucks a deep, dark mark into your supple skin.
He snakes one of his hands over to your pussy, plunging one of his thick fingers into you and you jump at the contact. He looks up at you as he bites down again, sucking another mark into your thigh. He pumps his finger in and out, your pussy making a delicious wet sound as he fucks you with his finger. He plunges a second one in, and soon a third, stretching you out so nicely.
He briefly pulls away and moves over to your other thigh, repeating his actions. His fingers hit deep inside you, and you whine at the pleasure, and he keeps fucking that same spot over and over, bringing you to the edge.
You cum hard and fast as he bites down - hard - on your thigh, burying his fingers in your pussy as you ride out your orgasm.
He pulls them out gently, licking them clean and moaning at your intoxicating taste. He crawls back over to you, pulling the satin sheet over the two of you, and he gives you the most gentle kisses across your jaw as you feel your eyes closed, feeling very happy.
Yeah so I went a bit overboard with these but I hope you guys enjoy! :3
‿‿‿⠀✁ All These Things That I've Done
( PART TWO!!!)
ᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗ
"Yeah, you know you gotta help me out, yeah
Oh, don't you put me on the back burner
You know you gotta help me out, yeah
You′re gonna bring yourself down, yeah"
┆Pairing: Henry Letham x Reader
┆Summary: You and Henry mix good, almost too good. He shows you that love for another person isn't easy. But beyond all else, you two are forever intertwined.
┆CWS: Mentions of #pregnancy aka child conception aka you make a baby with this man on pure accident, Henry calls you 'pretty girl' but no other specific pronouns are used for you, OOC(?) Henry Letham, proof read poorly, Henry Letham, you guys are just messy for the most part, suggestive mentions, talks about injury.
┆Authors Note: HI!! This is the first legit fanfic I was written in awhile and I had so much fun. This is pure birthday slop for me, haha. I hope you guys like. I wanted to take a crack at actually writing something since I've gotten so much love on my other ryan gosling verse stuff. This'll probably get a part two with how invested I am. Word count issss 4.4 k!!
ᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗ
Henry Letham was many things
He was a shriveled up boy of a man. Constantly looking like he’s seconds away from starvation. The scrawny, shaggy blonde haired man who always had a cloud of negativity over his head. He had the eyes of a fallen angel, a saint now suffering in sin.
He had this allure to others around him. Sure he was an aloof personality. Henry Letham was self destructive, angry, and prone to isolation. But his intriguing talent kept people noticing his presence. But he was only a presence, never a person. He had very few friends in life and an even shorter past of romantic partners. Maybe he was the closest to his parents but that was all. Henry Letham was a faint memory that crushed you deep inside before being whisked away by the breeze. He lived in a secluded and shallow existence.
But out of everything, Henry Letham was yours.
The two of you met in your sophomore year of University. You were a psyche major of all things, he was a fine arts. It all started from that one psyche class. Henry grabbed your attention immediately.
Whenever he was posed questions or joined into discussions, his words were to the point and jaded. His work was straightforward and also egotistical. He had this double sided sense of pride. Everyone was better than him, but even as he drowned in his misery he still had the crown on. Never spoke to anyone except the one or two he knew through passing interactions, and the professor of course.
He was your kind of man.
Your friends made jokes about your dating life, your type. You weren’t the kind of person to actively seek out a romantic partner. Speed dating was not your cup of tea. You thought it all was below you. Tables full of desperate men who were just itching to get themselves sucked off for a night then leave you out to pasture. Never would you be caught at a singles night.
But your kind heart and kinder eyes always seemed to attract the lonely types. Men who were so stricken by their woes. So struck that they needed plush thighs to lay their head on as they cried, cried, and cried about their horrible relationships with their mothers. It was silly really… how could you boil down a connection so low like that?!
But with Henry, honestly, they may have been right. More and more you found yourself staring at him. Completely neglecting lectures just to look at his side profile. He, in your words, had a face chiseled by poets. His lips were always naturally in a pout, you couldn’t help but daydream about his lips on yours.
Your professor was out for blood and this would be the same fateful day you and Henry would finally share an introduction.
It was another same old day of lectures and notes. You had initially tried to prepare yourself in case you lost track AGAIN. “Keep your eyes forward…” you repeatedly panicked under your breath, scurrying to find your seats in the densely packed lecture hall. The preparation was useless because of course like clockwork you began looking over to that same corner.
You hadn’t noticed your professor's eyes snapping in the same direction as yours. Seeing as you were clearly preoccupied, you were chosen to be made as an example. The throat clearing was so loud it practically shook the walls. You were so startled you shot back up from your slouched position, looking forward.
“Seems like someone's lost track of time, can you repeat what I’ve said in the last handful of minutes? Hm?”
Eyes were burning into you from all directions. Surely he had to be looking too, oh goddamn it.
“No…” You bite your tongue, any wit in you escaping from your stammering mouth.”No sir, I’m sorry.”
“It looked as if your eyes were about to bulge out of your skull! Now please everyone, take this as a note to keep your eyes off your peers, I WILL find you.” The joke was mildly reciprocated, awkward laughs here and there.
Your face was practically burning up. As soon as the class ended you bolted outside to get some fresh air. Regain function in your lungs and all. Henry was right behind you, starling you once again.
“AGH-”
“Relax there, I'm not going to bite your head off.” His words were cool laced as his back rested upon the same wall where you stood now. Almost as if it were routine, his hands dug in his pockets to grab out a cigarette. A lighter soon followed as he would ignite it, a smooth inhale leaving his lips.
“You smoke?”
“Is that a problem with you?”
“No!- I was just asking to ask.”
“Clearly seems to be an issue to you if you had to ask.”
A pause hung between the two of you, well this was going off to a good start. “It’s… look I’ll just leave you alone. M’ sorry about earlier.”
You only got a couple steps away before he caught your attention once again. This time though it was with the simplest of questions.
“Whats your name?”
You shared yours and he did his. You had known it from acquaintances who also loosely knew Henry, it’s like his name was a statement in it of itself. But this was a more formal greeting between you both.
“I appreciate the flattery y’know, it’s not often I have people staring at me like they want to eat me alive.” Your eyes widened at how forward he was being. You should’ve expected this but it was like today you were being put on the spot back to back. “... You weren’t supposed to see that.”
“Oh no, I’ve seen you plenty of times. You're not that hard to miss in a crowd. Maybe it's how bug-eyed you are or whatever.” He shrugged seamlessly, taking another drag.
Your mouth hung open a bit. He was throwing verbal punches time after time. What was he even trying to do? What was his motive for all of this?
“... Are you saying you don’t like me?”
“No, in fact, this is me trying to ask you if you’d like to grab coffee. Are you free?”
This was too forward even for someone like Henry. But he explained in his own way that he’d been interested in your brain for months now. He had seen you at the student galleries hosted, how you looked enraptured by the work he’d submitted on occasion. He had noticed you plenty of times and his interests peaked to say the least.
He wanted to get to know you, he was asking YOU on a date. If not a date then a meeting between strangers, it was an odd offer either way. But why would you say no after all your oogling and awing? Maybe this was a sign to take charge, it would make all of your creepish looking for nothing.
“Sure, why not.”
That day marked the day that started it all. Your relationship with him was founded by that little coffee date. It turned to you two exploring the streets of New York. Crawling through subways, practically sticking to each other like glue until the late hours of the night pulled around.
Henry walked you to your crappy little den. Your beloved shitthole was where first contact was made. You hung your back on the door as he stood in front of you, almost caging you in. His hands were deep in his jacket pockets. His eyes bore into you like you were a classic painting, a signature piece he could study for hours.
You shared some light small talk, but the tension was thick none the less. You bit into your cheek before he looked away, then back at you. Clearly his step closer wasn’t just a “let me get the door for you.” But he was clearly a bit nervous, he reeked of hesitance.
“Y’know I don’t usually kiss on the first date.”
“Well I’m not one to kiss and tell, so your secret is safe with me.” It was so stupid but oh did it work on you. To the point where you practically leapt into him. It was a clumsy, grossly erotic embrace of lips but a kiss nonetheless. You almost went to a completely other dimension of bases before you had to pull him off of you.
Nonetheless it made an impression, such a good impression that you two began to see each other. Slowly it went from diner dates and running around the city to him practically living in your walls.
Henry was many things.
He was a mad artist who had your heart captured in his very own cage. Henry practically showered you in praise like you were his muse. In fact you were to him. Many of his own personal pieces he did of you, these idealistic portraits. From the recollection of sweaty and sticky nights of you two wrapped in each other's hold, to sweet memories he kept in the back of his mind to keep sane. He knew your mind, body and soul and could easily replicate it through his art.
He was someone desperate to be loved. He came off to everyone as an entitled, rightfully so, prick. Henry Letham was born to be prickly. He didn’t enjoy many people but he wanted someone who could… understand him. In his mind, his catacombs of consciousness, Henry wanted someone to fill in his empty space. He needed the kind of love that swallowed you whole and suffocated you; he relished in the tragedy of the arts like his favorite artist. To him, you were that in between.
But out of everything he was a mess. Well not a mess maybe. He was disturbed, so broken. Those were all definitions too little to put your Henry in. But that's what everyone told you when you recounted your fights. Every relationship has their highs and their lows. But overtime it felt like there was a constant low.
Henry became more erratic, more distant even with you. His parents were already worried about him but his treatment of you felt like icing on the cake. It became a repeated occurrence to where he was drenched in grotesque annoyance, yelling at you to just “get out of his face.”
He was too damned for this world, he shouldn’t drag you down with his pain. But every single time you still threw yourself at him. You picked up the pieces trying to put him back together. The pieces became smaller and the plastic became glass. His words sunk into your skin, hurt you immensely. But you bit back your own negative thoughts and tried to stay positive. This was just Henry struggling, he’ll surely get better.
Positivity stopped working and then you realized the worst of all, you couldn’t fix him.
Maybe you were just too young and in love. Maybe it was the fact that he was your whole world, you were around him 24/7. He knew your family like they were his own, treated them like they were already in-laws.
Henry Letham had grown mean, to you of all people.
It was three weeks before Saturday. You decided to stay at his place for the night. Everything had been shaky but stable. You were all lovey dovey again, his head absentmindedly laying on you as you tirelessly studied. He had a sketchbook somewhere near him, his hands were empty, his mind was racing.
You were talking about the study group you had for your project. A male student who had gotten close to you recently, one that Henry didn’t like came up. You took it as harmless jealousy and recounted a story of one of your group's study meets.
Of course he had to make a dig at your light hearted recollection.
The calm soon turned into bitterness as the tension escalated. To the point where for once, you were the one yelling. You had enough and began to grab your things hurriedly. Henry desperately tried to stop you, immediately regretting what he had done to you in the heat of the moment.
You pushed him back and threw down your things, throwing your arms up. “I CANT DO THIS ANYMORE!” It came out like a guttural screech. All those thoughts you’d held to yourself came slipping out like hot lava. Each comment is more painful than the last, for you to admit and for him to take in.
“I can’t take this bullshit anymore Henry, I can’t! I’ve been at my wits end for too long. I’m not just some trophy to be caged away. It’s like I’m your live-in punching bag at this point. I can’t fix you, and I can’t sure as shit help you. Is that all I am to you Henry, do you even love me anymore?!”
His silence spoke volumes to you. You could’ve been overreacting in the heat of it all. You took that as your sign to leave. He didn’t try to chase after you and even encouraged you to leave. You should’ve seen the signs, but you were too blinded by resentment.
You left in a heap of tears and sobs. Your face was red hot as you called your poor parents over the phone.
You began with tension and ended with tension. Was this really the end of you two? You’d almost been together for a year, to you this was as serious as a heat stroke on your health.
From that point onward you avoided him at all costs. You still held a grudge for how you two last spoke. From hallways, to art halls, to even mutual ‘friends’ if you could call them that. You were angry and spiteful and wanted to see him suffer without you.
But it’s like at that point you… completely lost him.
Less and less you saw his head of hair in passing. It was like he had completely vanished from your life, like he hadn’t already. You avoided all your friends and held yourself in your parents home. They were a close enough commute to your school to where you didn’t have to worry about distance or traffic that much.
Henry was gone, this was it.
Time continued onwards and it was like you were stuck in the same spot. Your days went by with a robotic routine almost. Wake up, school, work work work, home, eat and sleep then repeat. People began to worry about you, ask questions even. You tried your hardest not to break down.
He shouldn’t be affecting you this much. You shouldn’t be so sad about this, it was just a breakup. Henry was someone you thought so blindly you could end up married to. You’d use the hollow money from your combined careers, plus his parents' help, to move on and out of the fast-paced energy of New York. You’d get that dream you always wanted, with the guy no one expected you to last with.
It was soon that you were snapped out of this depressive stupor. Only because of the fact that you may have found one of the many reasons why you could’ve been so distraught.
Keeled over in the bathroom you were in anguish. That little stick in your hand held the ball and chain that was now around your ankle. How could this?- you can't even lie, you should’ve expected this sooner or later. Henry and you weren’t the ones to think twice when the ball started to roll. But it was the worst time to get this news.
You had the biggest anvil of your life dropped on you and you hadn’t even finished all your schooling. Henry probably didn’t even want to see you, why would he? You hurt him and he hurt you. A part of you wanted to hold this over him, another part of you just wanted things to go back to normal.
The news you kept to yourself. It’d take some time to actually wrap your head around it but blindly you thought you had time. You could work out in your head, there was time to think it over.
Today was Saturday.
It was later in the evening when you were now on the couch. Your body strung across it, in the same old pajamas you always wore. Fresh from the shower you flipped through the channels on the television. Nothing good was on.
Everything was now just boring without Henry around. You couldn’t hold onto your anger because now you did miss him. He’d always orbit your perimeter, a comment here or there. Times like these would be where you two would have deep and philosophical talks on fate, morality.
Now you were a lazy bum, moping, missing the same guy you’ve been against since you stomped out of his little bubble.
Flipping through everything quickly with the remote in your grasp, a channel alerted you. An accident was being talked about on the screen. A car's tire popped and spun out of control, traffic was terrible. No major casualties besides-
Your phone began to ring like mad on the coffee table.
That couldn’t have been a coincidence.
An unknown number ID turned out to be a nearby hospital. It was in regards to Henry Letham, he had YOU as his emergency contact?
Your stomach immediately dropped, splitting off into your feet. By the tone in the older woman's voice you could pin the dots together.
You begged her frantically for more information. Room number, current status, was he still kicking?!
As soon as he uttered out where they had him you hung up the phone. Your feet began to work on their own as you held down your anxieties. Your hair was still sopping wet, with haste you threw on an old pair of slippers. It was freezing outside and you were going out in a t-shirt and a pair of what you deemed as “sleep shorts.”
You didn’t have the time.
Your erratic movements awoke your mother. She saw the panic set into your face. But she couldn’t even get a word from you as you pushed yourself out the door. Down the steps and onto the crowded side walks.
The cab would be too slow for your liking, so you ran.
You ran for blocks to the hospital. You’ve never sprinted so fast in your life. You gave up on holding yourself together. Tears bursted from your eyes, stinging your face as they slipped off your delicate skin.
You ran into oncoming traffic at points in time, ran into random strangers on the side of the road. But no one was able to stop you, you were panicking.
Henry could be dead or dying and you weren’t there, why weren’t you there?!
Guilt racked through you as fear hinged on your joints. It pushed you forward, your arms swinging around close to your sides.
Finally you made it, and without a second thought you kept on running.
You were on your last legs when you found him.
You couldn’t even see him with the amount of medical staff surrounding him.
The woman's words of “barely stable” hung onto your ears. He’d gotten out of surgery but was unconscious, it was a miracle he was still breathing with the head trauma sustained.
At this point you were a hysterical mess. In your right mind you would’ve waited patiently to see him, biting your nails off in worry. But your legs gave out as you caused a scene.
You tried to throw yourself into the room, screaming at the top of your lungs his name.
“DON’T DO THIS TO ME HENRY! YOU WEREN’T SUPPOSED TO LEAVE ME!”
You were being held back, being barely restrained. Your pain was evident, passerbys took sympathy on you as they connected the dots in the way people only could.
You were in love with Henry.
He made you hate everything about him, at points in time you wanted to strangle him for his arrogance. But he also perfectly combated you, respected you, made you feel like a fully dimensional human being.
Henry Letham saw you, and now he could be dead or in the process of dying.
You sobbed violently as you were dragged away. You lost your will to fight and collapsed in the arms of those who held you in their grasp. You had worked yourself into such a state, all because of him.
What a fool you were.
—
After deescalation took place, the situation had been explained to you in more detail. Henry was in a car accident with both of his parents in the car. He was the sole survivor, while his mother and father had tragically passed on before even receiving medical help.
It was just Henry, he was all alone now.
He was slowly progressing in his recovery. It was going to be a battle. He had received close to fatal head injuries, with an assortment of broken limbs. His body was bruised and beaten from it all and it was unlikely he’d be his full self once he came back.
Every day you sat by his bed side.
Now your routine was different. Wake up, school, work, visit Henry, come home, eat then sleep and repeat. You read to him, talked to him about everything and nothing during visiting hours. To the point where you began to make acquaintances with the nurses who frequently checked up on him.
Your pregnancy had slowly but surely progressed. You explained to his unconscious body how things were looking. How scared you were, how you didn’t know whether to keep it or not, you couldn’t give up school.
His warm, slack hand was wrapped around yours as you held his knuckles to your cheek.
“I need you right now Henry. You can’t leave me, you promised we’d stick it out for each other."
You practically burned your kisses into his hand. Everytime you didn’t want to leave but you had to. You got such little sleep, you were running on fumes. Your friends and family begged you to rest, he’d be fine without you there for a day. You almost exploded on a friend when she told you to your face that you were doing too much. Henry was a douche, you were his ignorant angel, end of story.
It was all just noise. Your rut had gotten worse, because now all you had was false hope.
It came that time where you were coming to visit him. Your book bag in hand, you pulled yourself up to his room. You were buzzing on little sleep, thinking about where you’d grab lunch.
He was awake.
You walked into the room and practically dropped everything. Henry turned to you and was completely silent. As if he had just seen a ghost in front of him.
Oh you were insufferable.
You immediately ran over to him and invaded his space. It was like nothing had happened, it was like you two were back to how everything was. He held your face with such love.
Both of you cried hard, you were almost practically sitting on him with how close you two were. But you avoided anything too painful for him, you didn’t want him to break again.
The feeling of his lips on yours after so long felt like a gift from the stars.
His fingers trailed your cheek bones. He bit at his lip as a tear slipped down his cheek. “My pretty girl… I’ve missed your smile so much.
“Don’t ever do that to me again Henry, I thought I lost you.”
“You could never lose me. As much as you probably hate me, I’d be the dead parasite living inside you.”
“... If you weren’t in a hospital bed right now I’d flick you in the dick. Now shut up and kiss me.”
It was the first time in a while you actually saw him laugh. He had been told just a couple hours ago that he was the only one left of his family and now he had you in his grasp.
Silence now was actually between the two of you as words hung in the air. Confessions between the two of you that needed to be shared. But you desperately wanted to hang onto this moment, it was so good and so simple.
Henry finally broke the wall for once. “I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t apologise to me right now, I can't stay mad-”
“But you should have, you should still be. I thought we were done and I didn’t know how to live with myself. You’ve been haunting my every waking move… I couldn’t..”
You squished his face with your open palms. “You can barely walk, I don’t care about that anymore. We both messed up, and that's okay. There's no reason to focus on that right now. I need you to know that I love you, I was scared shitless at the thought of losing you.”
“So was I-”
“Great, we’re in the same boat. So stop throwing thoughts around and realize that I’m not going anywhere, I never was!”
Those eyes could kill with the way he dug into your soul. Those pained, wet dog, blue eyes enraptured your vision as he took you in. All in, every little detail about you. Your eyebags, the creases, the general franticness of your entire person.
You’d been worried sick by looks alone.
“I’m still sorry.”
“We can be sorry together.”
“I’d like that a lot.”
The silence was now riddled with peace, barely peace at that. You two were on new stomping grounds, everything was different between Henry and you. He held you to him as best as he could. He was desperate for your warmth, the warmth of the only other living person who loved him.
You’ll confront what you need to confront later. Now, you thanked whatever destiny you had for making this moment a reality. You had him back and that's all that mattered right now.
The heavy stuff could wait for later. A happily ever after was what you needed. This would be the perfect time for things to fade to black. But this instance out of the many showed you that life wasn’t so easy, especially for the ones you loved.
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ i will wash your hair at night and dry it off with care.
pairing: henry letham x nurse!reader
WARNINGS ⊹ ࣪ ˖୨ৎ‧₊˚ ⋅ canon divergence. mention of the car accident. self harm scars. coma patient!henry. reader is in nursing school. gn!reader. lots of reader dialog, I tried making it as neutral as possible. reader just talks a lot. like a lot.
✃𓄧꒷꒦ you had a one-sided bond with him. probably a bit unhealthy, too, but you had grown fond of him throughout your most recent practices at the hospital.
✃𓄧꒷꒦ the night of the car accident was your first night down at the er. so far, your clinical rotations consisted mainly of charting and checking vitals for patients who were already checked in. simple, and you had fewer chances of watching a patient die before your eyes, which definitely helped.
✃𓄧꒷꒦ the tour that the head nurse of the er had given you was barely over when the paramedics rushed through the glass doors, pulling a gurney along with them. "car accident, young male with a head and neck injury." one of the paramedics called out, and the available doctors immediately rushed over to help.
you found yourself getting dragged over by the head nurse because "this was an opportunity to watch and learn"
the first thing your eyes found was the collar on his neck, the proof of the neck injury the paramedics were talking about. there was dried blood on his temple, and he looked fragile. pale. like he was fighting a battle he was losing.
it was safe to say that you were useless at that moment, just hovering behind the head nurse.
✃𓄧꒷꒦ you lost track of him that night. it was during your next hours that they sent you to check rooms again, so there you went. you definitely wouldn't be an er nurse once you graduated.
✃𓄧꒷꒦ the door to his room was open, and you stepped inside without much thought. "hello." you said simply into the room, reaching for the chart on the table of the room. the name was henry letham, he was 20 years old, and there was basically nothing else besides a handwritten note at the margins of the chart reading "coma!!" you winced at the cheerfulness of the message.
that's when your eyes moved up to him, finding the same young man from the er. "you look better than yesterday." you talked into the empty air, being answered by nothing more than the steady beeping of the hospital machinery. "at least one of us can say that after leaving the er. I puked as soon as I got home." the words came as you grabbed the pen and started writing down the vitals on the chart next to the time they were written down.
you placed down the chart on the same table before you walked closer to the hospital bed. "okay. forgive me for this, but I have to check your wounds to make sure that they're not infected, and according to the chart, you have a massive one in your stomach." you said, checking over his face as if looking for a sign of refusal. when you didn't find one, you did exactly what you said.
✃𓄧꒷꒦ going to his room was now a part of your hours. you'd check and clean his wounds, write down his vitals, and talk to him. everyone said that it was important to talk to coma patients, right? you had to give it a try.
"and then, he walked out. furious. and I'm like, sorry, dude, I don't want to get kicked out of nursing school because I let you eat before your surgery." your mouth ran free as you gently removed the bandage off his wound, throwing it into the garbage can next to the bed.
your eyes took in the state of his wound, and you hummed softly. "you're healing fast. you, henry, are a fighter. maybe that head of yours is healing just as fast." you said, your hands taking the small bottle of saline solution to clean it. "you're probably hurting everywhere, right? I hope that, at least, your brain is giving you nice entertainment. not some boring bullshit." you muttered.
✃𓄧꒷꒦ you were in charge of the bed baths, as well. because all of your classmates tended to leave all of the duties to you, but that was another thing to worry about. it was a quiet moment of your day, too. peaceful. it made you unwind.
"i wonder what you like." you muttered, your glove-covered hand holding a wet washcloth that you used to clean his face. "do you like... I don't know, classical music? you kinda look like the type." you said, your hand moving the washcloth gently through his face. first, his forehead, then his cheeks.
"you also look like you didn't sleep much." your voice continued, being met only by the beeping of the room. "so this is probably a great thing for you. unlimited rest. expect for the car accident part. and, you know, the head injury thing."
you kept talking, voicing out whatever small thought about him came to your head. then your voice died down when you moved down his arms and noticed some circular burn scars there. "oh." you breathed out, your gloved thumb lingering there for a second. "how didn't i notice this?" you asked yourself in a quiet voice, staring down at the scars before you forced yourself out of it to keep doing your job.
"you are a mystery to me." you whispered once you were patting down on his skin to dry it, your eyes going to his peaceful looking face.
✃𓄧꒷꒦ your classmates and the other nurses had started teasing you about how often you offered to take the task of the room. "going to see your boyfriend?" one of your classmates called out, to which you replied by raising your middle finger to her.
✃𓄧꒷꒦ you knew it was weird. and probably a little dumb, too. you just liked being in his room for some reason. it wasn't just the quiet of it, but the mere feeling of it. he had a certain vibe, that's what you concluded.
✃𓄧꒷꒦ it had been a few weeks since he had been admitted, and no one had appeared to visit him. not a parent, not a girlfriend. he was alone. completely alone in that hospital bed, with no one to look over his progress. so it absolutely tore you when your winter break was coming around, and you knew that you wouldn't be able to come to his room for two weeks, two weeks in which he'd probably recover and leave.
✃𓄧꒷꒦ "in my classes, they're always talking about bonding with the person you're taking care of just enough to see them as a person, but not enough that you actually make a sentimental connection with them." you told him as you removed his bandages in an already familiar routine. "but it's just impossible. that's why there's a higher rate of suicides in healthcare workers. and that's also why I don't want to go on my well-earned winter break." you reached for a new bandage, a deep sigh leaving your lips. "and it's ridiculous because when you wake up, you won't remember me. you won't remember anything I've told you, and I still hate the idea of leaving for two weeks to come back to the news that you've been discharged."
✃𓄧꒷꒦ it was your last week before break. you were stressed to hell and back. finals were breathing down your neck, and you still had to go and complete your hours of clinical rotations, or else you could kiss goodbye your break.
you weren't as chatty when you came to henry's room, being drained by the stress. your hands just automatically reached for the medical chart to annotate the vitals on the screen. maybe you'd skip the wounds today since he was already halfway to heal completely.
you were about to leave when your eyes caught sight of something against the blanket. your eyes locked onto his hand, just to see a soft twitch of his fingers where they rested on the mattress. the coldest shiver ran down your spine in that moment, but you stopped before doing anything else. coma patients had muscle spasms often. that didn't mean they were about to wake up.
still, you moved to place two of your fingers in his palm, your heart beating a little faster. "can you squeeze my fingers for me, henry?" you said. and you waited for a response for a couple of seconds. maybe a twitch or a more purposeful movement. but nothing came. at that, you let out the smallest chuckle. "you freaked me out for a second there. thought you were about to wake up."
✃𓄧꒷꒦ you were a walking corpse the next day. you hadn't slept a minute the night before, and that very morning, you had an anatomy test that, at least, you were sure that you had approved, which was a relief. you could use the good news.
"your boyfriend woke up." you heard one of the new nurses saying, and for a second, you ignored it since you assumed that it was a conversation you were eavesdropping in.
you grabbed the registration chart in the nurse's station before the nurse talked again. "did you hear me? henry letham is awake. I guessed you'd be running down the hall by now." that made you freeze completely, pen hovering over the space where you were supposed to sign your attendance.
"what?" you asked. "what do you mean he woke up?"
"i mean that when tania made the morning rounds, he woke up. last I heard, dr. foreman was running some tests on him to make sure he had no permanent neurological damage."
you found your strength to get back on earth and sign the attendance sheet before putting down the pen, your mind running wild. "i'm gonna… just-" you started, but the nurse interrupted you.
"i know you're going to him. just say you need to check his IV or something." she said, waving a dismissive hand at you before going back to the chart she was filling.
with a startled nod, you walked away from the nurse's station before your feet automatically drove you through the familiar path of his room, turning corners and going up the elevator by pure instinct.
you saw dr. foreman leave the room and give you a polite nod as a greeting, and before you could talk yourself out of it, you stepped inside the room.
"hi. I won't bother you much. I just need to check your iv." you said simply, stepping towards the medicine bag hanging from the iv pole.
henry was quiet. so quiet that you had to check his face to make sure that he wasn't asleep or that this was a prank played by the other nurses, but no. you found his gaze glued to the open door of the room.
you stayed quiet, too, checking the medicine bag over and over like it would empty out in a second. "how are you feeling?" you asked, trying to fill the silence.
"tired." came his voice. it was rough and raspy with the lack of use, but it was new, and it was real.
"tired?" you repeated, letting the medicine bag alone. "well… i think that the tests are done, at least for two hours. you should use that time to sleep." you said.
henry just nodded. "okay."
so he wasn't talkative. that was okay, it answered a lot of the questions your brain had started to form. he didn't owe you any words just because your mind had decided that his room was your place to unwind.
"good. so i should probably let you rest, then. I'll come back in a while to check your iv again." you said, offering him a small smile that was met with the neutral look on his face.
but as you started to walk away, the sound of his voice made you stop at the door. "I remember your voice, i think. I- I remember you talking."
hello you beautiful perverts. im wanting to make a series out of the toxic!luke post that i did recently so if you have any ideas/thoughts, PLEASE blow up my inbox. im ready. i want to talk about this in great detail.
the 2 requests sent from the og post have been done, they’re just sitting in the drafts until the time is right!
ellievsbear
turnnoffyourmind
prguitarman
vaporwave
gracieabrams
germansingergirl
