Not people calling Sombr the biggest rockstar of our generation when we literally have bands like Fontaines D.C., Wunderhorse, Keo, Basht., Overpass, The Royston Club, Shame, Inhaler, Sam Fender, Geese, Turnstile, Sprints, Wet Leg, English Teacher, Arkayla, swim school, cherryholt, Bleech 9:3, The Guest List, Cardinals, Westside Cowboy, Florence Road, Footballhead, the north, Croithe, Blossoms, Radio Free Alice, Sun Room, Mk.Gee, and so many more that I probably forgot.
be cruel to me, 'cause I'm a fool for you ও e. hewson
❛ ⸺ rockstar!bf x rockstar!gf 𓈒
you met at a small pub in dublin after one of your gigs. little did you know it would hardly be the first time you visited it together and sat at the table by the second window.
you are his biggest fan, and he is yours. nothing like a couple that promotes one another's gigs and musical releases.
which naturally includes standing in the front row or backstage of each other's gigs. a kiss of good luck, a squeeze of hands, and off you go — perhaps an apparition as a surprise guest and a shared microphone to make the fans go crazy.
however, the quiet moments are the ones which matter the most. his messy brown hair and half-asleep rasp of a voice when he's just woken up. maybe you're not dublin-born, but it certainly feels like home now.
indirect references are the best. he leaves comments under your instagram posts. something about a joke that only you would understand, and that warms your heart. you're the first to reply whenever inhaler even remotely hints at a new project or show. 'the lads are thinking big' and 'i'm excited xx'
elijah is in love with you, and you're in love with him. common knowledge. all because of one single chance encounter.
໒ masterlist - taglist
author's note under the cut!
hi everyone... i'm a baby inhaler fan who is right now feeling extremely awkward about posting this. either way, i hope you were able to enjoy this silly moodboard that i found myself obliged to do 'cause god fucking dammit, he is adorable. now i'm going to go hide under a rock until somebody compliments this. i got most of my inspo from the fics i've been binge-reading over the last few days, so an incredibly enormous shoutout to all the amazing writers out there.
<3 this goes to my special @kittens4kitty whose brain i have rotten with pictures of eli over the weekend.
Summary: writing songs has always helped with understanding and digesting her emotions, until she finds herself in a situation that cannot be transcripted into words
Warnings: fluff, mentions of angst, no miscommunication but not enough communication,
Wordcount: 1.8k
Masterlist, YSPSFAGSIL Masterlist
The streets were dimly lit, every second lamp turned off by the city to save energy and protect the insects living in the surrounding. The blue of her heart reflecting in the sky she was walking beneath. Her feet heavy as they made their way further away from the train station she just told him goodbye at. Arms wrapped around herself to keep his scent and touch in her vicinity.
Her head was spinning as she opened the door to her apartment only to find his ghost still lingering everywhere. The kitchen still held the smell of the coffee he made for them in the morning. Her record collection was filled with new names he picked out for her. Half her closet was his now. His dirty clothes were mixed with hers. Lyrics he wrote for her were scribbled next to her own. A duet that neither could finish in honesty but it felt right all the same.
Letting her fingers trace over his handwriting, the messy letters and crossed out words that she would remember even when he didn't believe them to be worth it.
Settling down in the spot he claimed as his own ever since he came over for the first time, her legs curled underneath herself, face pressed into the cushion that still held the scent of his cologne from the hours spent on the sofa together.
Their last meal together was packed away in Tupperware, left in the fridge to hold on for a bit longer than it normally would. Her heart felt like it was laying there next to it. Frozen up to not suffocate from his departure.
It made her feel insane. How she missed him twenty minutes after he left as if she hadn't seen him in a year. Love was that cruel, she had to admit it to herself at some point. This was love and she felt every bit of it because of him. A single individual that she knew for a few months was now the reason why she carried her head high and looked in the mirror in the morning a bit less critical.
Reaching for the notebook he bought her after she complained about her previous one running out of empty pages on their first date and she couldn't find a good enough looking replacement and the black ink pen she carried around since sixth grade.
Tapping it against one of the pages that were still patiently waiting to be filled, nothing that she thought of felt right. Nothing felt like it conveyed her feelings in the way that reflected her emotions. No words could capture her truth like they were once able to.
Songs had always been her escape. It was the medium she fell back on when her own experiences felt too big to carry them around all alone. They made her understand the world that was spinning without stopping and waiting for her to catch up. They made her understand herself.
Though now, thanks to the guy with messy brown hair and a smile that brightened all her darkest nights, she felt like not even her most trusted strategy could help her out of tragedy this time.
She tried to write it down: his smile, the feelings of his hands on her waist, the racing of her heart when she woke up and saw him still asleep next to her. The image of the sun uncovering the small amount of freckles that liked to hide away otherwise. The reoccurring dreams where he starred as the main role. How her heart felt aflame when he kissed her for the first time and every time after.
It continued like that for weeks.
Every day she sat down, his hoodie or shirt or pants over her body, the coffee his mom send them because he swore on Irish coffee beans, steaming next to her empty notebook. Every day he called and every day she told him that she missed him but never how much he affected her. And every day she gave up on it by noon, walking out into the streets and trying to get herself under control until it got too cold to wander aimlessly. Retreating back into the uncomfortable silence of her apartment, putting on one of his records and telling herself that it brought them closer together.
"Only a few more shows," he reminded her over the phone ever night. Her ear pressed close to the speaker, the sound of his voice treating up to her brain and making itself at home. The memory familiar enough to echo in her dreams like she was standing between two mountains and he was her own voice calling out. But he never came out.
And 'only a few more shows' turned into two shows two hours away. Two shows that she'd seen a million times and that her schedule had no time preserved in for her to take her car keys out of the little ceramic bowl by the door anyway and made her way down the highway. Speeding like a car with no brakes, her eyes focused on the goal. Instead, her goal were a few bearable lyrics on a sheet of paper that wouldn't end up ripped out and crumbled in frustration.
Two hours that felt like eternity as she watched the black of the TV and had to put on a cheap movie that would distract her enough to not image the turn of his keys in the door when she knew for a fact that they only finished the show. Let alone, wrapped up and went on their way, if they even got around to driving back home that day.
Closing night was a pub night that would rein in until the early mornings most times. She knew from experience how keen and eager everyone was for that last night spent together with no other worries ahead. So, she stopped pretending that the hope of his coming home early was occupying her mind more than what time she went to bed and the hours of sleep she would get that night. Staying in her place on the sofa and trying to shake out whatever came to her mind that could make her less wanting.
Dreams had often tricked her into thinking they were real, she had woken up enough times twice a night to find that the first time wasn't her at all but a dream projection of what could happen if she was in another reality. The sound of his voice was in her dreams too often to differentiate it from the real thing these days. The chain of previously imagined actions all aligning too well for her to actually be waking up in reality.
Though the silence felt too real when Eli stopped in his tracks in the living room, his gaze felt too soft to be a dream. And when she rubbed her eyes, pulling her skin down along her cheeks and jaw, the stretch was apparent in her previous state of stillness. Turning to find him staring with a soft smile on his face and approaching her too gently with too quiet feet to turn into something she'd wake up sweating from.
"Are you real?" she asked, her voice too far back in her head to count as a whisper. And when his lips pressed against her temple, they felt too real to not be anything but actually him.
Before he could answer, she was already on her feet. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, pulling him down and breathing him in. The feeling of his chest pressed against hers finally making sense. A feeling that she could describe. The rapid beating of his heart against hers feeling like the bass of trumpets etching through a jazz piece. The simple vibration of his laugh setting her aflame. The feeling of his shirt over his shoulders acting like a barrier between their love. The barrier that kept her from writing. The barrier that made her go insane.
Taking his face into her hands, she pulled him into her before he could kick off his shoes. Both their bodies falling into the cushion of the sofa, his spot now theirs. Her blanket now beneath their bodies. The crumbled pieces of paper scratching along his thigh like knives. The danger of disappointment in her words that she didn't want to be true etching through the taste of each other.
"I don't want you to go again without knowing whether you'll come here or go to your own place," she mumbled against his lips, leaving enough space between them to tell him her wish but not enough to hide the tears falling down her face. The prints of her sadness carried over on his own cheeks. "I want us to have one place to go to. I want us to go to the same place."
"I don't want to go anywhere else but where you are," he confessed too. His words coming out wrecked against his heavy breathing.
"I couldn't even write when you were gone," she laughed. Pulling away to pick up a dozen ripped out pages that were mostly blacked out or even destroyed through the tip of the pen. "Nothing was able to describe what I felt. Nothing could ever describe you in the way that I see you."
"It goes both ways, love." Eli's hands moved over her hips, fingers treating beneath her shirt. The endless lines decorating his palm melting into her waist. His warmth transferring over into her chest. "I tried to write something for months and nothing comes out."
Relieved at his assurance, she fell into his chest. Head rested in the crook of his neck, eyes cast down to watch his legs move as he kicked off his shoes. His hands holding her in place as he shifted his position, both legs sprawled out over the sofa. Reaching for the book, turning the light behind him on, they went through past texts. Talking for hours about what they'd written but showed no one else, the texts they found to be too much that actually were everything they felt. Honesty was always the most scary of emotions and all they wanted was to be honest in how they felt.
Eli noticed when her breath settled, he noticed when her lashes grazed his neck and fell shut. Her fists curled into his shirt like she didn't want him to slip away in the middle of the night. Their legs tangled up together. Their hearts beating as one.
Turning off the light, reaching for the blanket abandoned on the floor and tucking her in, he felt like he could finally breath. Kissing her head, mumbling sweet nothings until he fell to exhaustion's feet and met her in dreams again.
would you be able write a fic about getting high with the lads? maybe like with the other lasses and being elis girl?
Wait I’m actually giggling over this (and it’s not like I’ve daydreamed about this before or anything…👀)
Hopefully this is as you imagined it HAHAHA (I also put my own little twist on it so hopefully that's okay xxx)
Weed Talking — Elijah Hewson
Summary: (based off request) The guys are back from tour and you invite them and some old friends over to your childhood home. Your feelings for Elijah have been around for years, but when you get high they seem to heighten, and there’s no hiding from him…
Warnings: mentions/use of weed, a few suggestive moments and thoughts, alcohol, aggressive make out sesh.
A/N: I decided to put a bit of a spin on the request just to spice it up a little bit. Hopefully that’s okay with everyone hehehe xxx
There was something about being back in your childhood home with all of them — like the years hasn't passed at all. You'd set out blankets in the back garden, grabbed spare duvets and snacks, and someone (probably Rob) had already queued the same playlist you all used when you were seventeen.
Rob's girlfriend, Martha, and your best friend, Caoimhe, were sitting cross-legged under the fairy lights you'd strung up that afternoon, passing a joint between them while Sam and Lucy argued about whether the moon looked "mystical" or "like a bad drawing." Ryan and Josh were somewhere near the fire pit your parents fitted in about a year ago now, laughing over God knows what, and Elijah...well, Elijah was beside you.
Too close, maybe. His leg pressed lightly against yours, neither of you shifting away. The weed had hit (so did the whiskey), mellow and heavy, and your whole body felt like it was floating. But your mind — your mind was doing somersaults.
You could smell him. That same cedarwood-after-smoke scent he always carried, always just barely there. And you shouldn't notice that, shouldn't care. But the warmth pooling low in your stomach said otherwise.
"You're quiet," Elijah said suddenly, voice low like a secret.
You glanced at him. His eyes were red-rimmed and a little glassy, his curls a mess from when he kept running his hands through them. He looked unfairly good. Not even in a rockstar way — just...him. Familiar and infuriating and heartbreakingly safe.
"Just thinking," you said, blinking up at the stars like they could save you from the daydream you were slipping into.
"About?"
You should've lied. You should've said something dumb — the stars, Lucy's nonsense, or how Josh still couldn't roll a proper joint. But you were too high for that kind of finesse.
"You."
He tilted his head, his expression unreadable in the low light. "Yeah?"
You gave a half-shrug, suddenly feeling exposed. "Dunno. Just...It's weird, isn't it? How we've all known each other forever, but sometimes I look at you and it feels like I'm seeing you for the first time."
He didn't answer right away. He just stared, eyes dropping to your mouth for half a second too long, before flicking back up to your eyes.
The air thickened. Like summer heat before a thunderstorm.
"Eli," you said, voice soft, guilty even. "I probably shouldn't say any more."
"Probably not," he agreed.
Neither of you moved.
The laughter in the background faded to a blur, the music distant. Everything felt underwater. Too slow. Too much.
You imagined his hands. On your hips. On your neck. Tangled in your hair. You imagined saying fuck it and kissing him, right there, while everyone else was too stoned to care. You imagined him pulling you into his lap and whispering the things you wanted to hear but could never ask for.
You looked away,
"God," you muttered under your breath. "I need water or I'm going to say something really fucking stupid."
Elijah laughed. Quiet, low, raspy.
"I'd probably say something worse."
Your gaze snapped back to his, and this time you didn't look away.
There was something unspoken hanging there — thick, heavy, humid — suspended in the summer air and the smoke curling lazily around the two of you.
He leaned in just a little, breath brushing your ear as he whispered, "Tell me later."
Your heart stuttered.
And maybe it was the weed. Maybe it was the years of almosts. Maybe it was everything finally catching up with you.
But in that moment, your daydreams didn't feel so far from reach anymore.
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The night had slipped into that dangerous kind of blur — too many joints lit at once, whiskey glasses way too full, everyone too relaxed, too loud, too far gone.
Caoimhe was giggling at something Josh had muttered under his breath, their shoulders pressed against yours like bookends holding you up. But across the fire, Elijah hadn't laughed in minutes.
His eyes were on you. Still.
It was relentless. His stare wasn't subtle, wasn't gentle. It burned. Possessive. Heavy. The kind of look that sank into your skin and didn't let go. He didn't care who saw it. His glass was low in his hand, fingers loose, his star ring catching the firelight — and still, all his attention was on you.
You shifted under it, tried to laugh at something Rob said, tried to focus on Martha gripping Rob's arm while she stared at him like he hung the moon just for her. But it was like Elijah's gaze was pulling at the hem of your linen button up shirt, trailing down the slope of your shoulder, setting fire to the inside of your throat.
You couldn't take it anymore.
"I—uh—water. Need some water," you said, voice too sharp, too fast. You were on your feet before anyone could respond, your steps uneven as you practically bolted into your house.
The kitchen lights were too bright. The cold water from the tap hit your glass in a hiss, and you drank it like it might save you. But it didn't. You slammed the glass down harder than you mean to, chest rising and falling like you'd run a marathon.
Head in your hands. Elbows digging into the marble counter. You squeezed your eyes shut.
"Get a grip," you whispered to yourself. "He's your friend. He's always been your friend. Just your friend."
But your body didn't feel like it got the memo. It was still humming, charged. And your mind — your mind was deeper in the gutter, imagining things that you couldn't un-imagine.
The sliding backdoor squeaked.
You didn't need to look up to know who it was.
He didn't say anything at first. Just walked in and shut the door behind him like it was nothing. Like you weren't about to combust.
When you finally looked up, he was leaning against the wall, hands in the pockets of his black jeans, curls messy, whiskey eyes locked on yours.
"You alright?" he asked. But he knew the answer. You could see it in his stupid, knowing smirk.
You let out a humourless laugh, still breathless. "Not really, no."
He pushed off the wall and walked toward you, slow like he was giving you a chance to run. You didn't.
"You left in a bit of a hurry," he said, voice lower now, almost careful. "Did I... do something?"
His eyes searched your face, softening just enough to make your stomach flip.
"You know you did," you whispered, too honest, too wrecked to lie. "Back there. What you said — how you said it, about me telling you what I was thinking later. You can't just... do that."
He stepped closer. You didn't move.
"I meant it. I always want to know what your thinking. I always have."
That was it.
That was the thing that broke you.
One second you were staring at him — at his flushed cheeks and parted lips, his chest rising slow like he was trying to keep it together too — and the next, your hands were in his shirt and your mouth was on his.
It was messy, immediate. Years of repressed feelings, passing glances, drunken almosts, and high-stoned fantasies crashing into one kiss that was too much and not enough at the same time.
He kissed you like he'd been waiting. Like he'd thought about it every night on every tour. Like he couldn't believe it was actually happening. His hands gripped your waist, pulled you flush against him, and you gasped into his mouth, already dizzy from everything — the weed, the whiskey, him.
His lips trailed down your neck, teeth grazing just enough to make your knees weaken. Your hand tangled in his curls, the same ones you'd watched him push back over and over, wondering what they'd feel like between your fingers.
You were halfway up on the counter before either of you realised it — clothes still on, but the tension electric, skin burning. It was like every fantasy you'd buried under years of friendship had broken the surface all at once.
When he pulled back, just barely, his breath hit your lips.
"This isn't just the weed talking, right?"
You shook your head, whispering, "No, it's not."
He nodded, like that was all he needed, and kissed you again — deeper this time. Slower.
And you knew it then and there, that there was no going back after this.
requesting a elijah hewson x reader fic, pretty angsty but ending with fluff, like hurt/comfort type please!
an idea for the plot is maybe eli isn't really the best at communicating his feelings and it leads to some issues between them, but it all gets resolved (but u can also take creative liberties with this idea! tysm for all, fanfic writers r truely the backbone of tumblr!)
hi, anon! you ask and u shall receive! i'm sorry i took so long to create this, but here you go. i love this request, and ill try my best! i love writing fics for elijah so ill be happy to <3 angst with fluff at the end is what i live forrrr 🫰enjoy! (i also wrote this at twelve in the morning so let's put my brain to test)
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𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝖻𝗂𝗍 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗋 - 𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗃𝖺𝗁 𝗁𝖾𝗐𝗌𝗈𝗇
elijah hewson x reader
summary: based off of request above!
word count: 2,124
cw: mentions of heavy drinking, angst with fluffy ending ⋆˚࿔
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it was raining in ireland. it rained every day this week. you were wrapped up in elijah's warm hoodie, one that smelled like him. you looked out the window, leaning your head on the glass as you watched the rain pour down, the world as gloomy as you felt inside.
eli was never home anymore. the recording of the new album consumed almost all of his free time with you. he would call every day saying he was gonna stay late, and that it meant alot of he could put in one more rehearsal or one more song.
each time you complained, he just said all of the other lads girls don't have a problem with it. you would say okay and accept that he just wasn't coming home till late. you would wake up sometimes at midnight, only to see him slipping into the warm sheets next to you.
your heart immediately softened, knowing he was near.
it was getting dark. eli hadn't called at all today. no texts about staying late. no asking how your day at the office was. nothing.
your mind spiraled. why hadn’t he called? did he just...forget?
you ate dinner alone. you watched the new episode of both of your favorite show alone. his spot on the couch was empty. again.
at one, the door creaked open, and your head whipped around to face the door of your flat.
he slipped off his shoes and removed his jacket. eli ran a hand through his hair, almost stumbling over his feet, and he grabbed the coat rack for support.
you gasped in confusion. was he...drunk?
"eli?" you whispered softly.
his head darted up, his eyes squinting at you sitting on the couch. "love? is that you? why are you still awake?" he slurred his words, slowly walking towards your spot on the couch. your eyes dragged up his body, exhausted and sloppy.
"eli, are you drunk?" you asked, grabbing his wrists.
"no." he responded too quickly, reaching his hand up to run his thumb along your soft cheek.
you gently moved your face to the side, away from his hand. "we need to talk." you sighed.
his eyebrows furrowed. "about what?"
you glared at him, not being able to believe this.
"sit down." you pointed at the couch while standing up.
he sat down, and you crossed your arms over your chest.
"eli, do you understand how im feeling lately?" you blurted.
he froze, staying silent for a bit. "...how are you feeling?" he asked cautiously.
he was too drunk right now. it pissed you off.
"listen to me. im always alone now. you're never home, telling me you're in the studio- but now you reek of cigarettes and alcohol," you paused to take a deep breath so you wouldn't cry.
"what's happening to us?" you sighed, a tear rolling down your cheek.
"i was at the studio. we finished not too long ago. our producer suggested a pint, so i went." eli explained.
you gulped. "i miss you."
his expression softened. "me too, baby.." he slurred.
"God, eli." you shook your head, hugging his sweater tighter around your body.
"what? i don't know what you want me to say." he shrugged.
you froze. "are you serious?"
was he saying all this just so you wouldn't be mad at him again? was his heart even in this relationship?
his expression dropped. "come on baby, i didn't mean it like that."
"do you even want this? i wait at the door for you every night with a dinner plate just to get a call that you'll be staying overtime. well you can tell your producer that you have a life outside of music." you snapped.
eli's lips parted, surprised at your sudden reaction.
"all of the other lads girls don't seem to mind-" he started.
"do not say that, eli." you cut in.
"im not the 'other lads girls'. im yours. and i want this with you. im trying." you sniffled your tears.
it was silent for a long while, you just closing your eyes trying to compose yourself while he sat there on the couch without a care in the world.
"do i matter to you?" you asked suddenly.
he avoided your gaze. "you know you matter to me."
you scoffed. "wow, eli. i can't talk to you when your drunk." you stormed off, slamming the bathroom door behind you.
he sunk back against the couch, confused and surprised at your reaction. he didn’t think he did anything wrong.
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you got up early for work, yawning as you remembered you didn't get much sleep. not after what happened with eli.
you sighed, realizing he wasn't in bed next to you. after you got dressed, you popped an apple into your purse and grabbed your shoes.
when you looked up, eli was sleeping peacefully on the couch. you frowned, trying to find a way to forgive him. any way. nothing came to mind.
it hurt you, but that small voice inside you that offered hope reminded you that he was drunk, and there was still a way he could make it up to you.
you adjusted your purse on your shoulder, and headed out the door, leaving eli to himself.
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when you arrived home that night from work, you were already stressed about how many people asked you for an extension on a certain report. your head was pounding, and all you needed was to collapse in bed. when you opened the door to your flat, eli wasn't there. as normal.
no matter how usual it was not to see his face, you couldn't help but wait up for him almost every night. and work was your main source of stress, so staying up past midnight for him was a sacrifice.
you started to cook dinner, rolling up the sleeves of your fitted white button up. when you were chopping the tomatoes for the salad, you heard the sound of keys. you must have been hallucinating. eli walked through the door, his eyes never leaving yours as he hung up his coat and untied his shoelaces. you looked at him for the tiniest second before returning to your cutting board.
he walked over to you behind the counter, trying to ignore him despite how happy you internally were to see him home.
"how was work?" he asked, standing behind you.
he didn't advance to put his hands on your waist. it was like a glass wall was seperating the two of you, and you were back at square one when you first met him.
you didn't turn to look at him, just kept cutting the tomato in front of you.
"fine." you mumbled.
you grabbed another tomato, ready to cut into it when he grabbed your wrist forcefully. you finally forced your eyes to look up at him, confused.
"are we good?" eli whispered softly.
you stared at him blankly for a moment. were you good?
"i don't know, eli. it doesn't feel like we're good." you sighed, the tears ready to pour.
he gently reached for the hand that was resting on your hip, rubbing his thumb across the soft skin of the back of your hand. "then just talk to me."
you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. "i tried to tell you-"
"im ready to listen." he responded softly.
he wasn't here to fight. he was here to understand.
"im angry at you, eli." you started, inhaling sharply.
he stared, just listening and letting you spill right in front of him.
"im really angry that you're never home. that I make you a plate 'just in case' you didn't already eat with the lads. im angry that you barely give me an explanation where you are every night,"
he sighed deeply, his hand not letting go of yours. a single tear ran down your cheek at the thought of the next words coming out.
"and im sad. im sad that I can never travel on tour with you because I'm always stuck at the office. im sad that we are in a relationship but we are never actually together," you sniffled.
his thumb just kept drawing circles on the back of your hand. he didn't want to wipe your tear just yet, knowing that you might pull away from the contact.
"and I try. I try to be there for you- to cancel things just to be at a gig. but when I come home every night, I want to open the door and see your face. its all I want." you sighed.
"and after all that, yes, I'm angry. yes, I'm sad. but with all that, the one that hurts the most is that I'm exhausted from being so far away from you. I love you, and when I told you I miss you I meant it."
you sniffled, and he took in all the words you just said.
"I am so sorry." he said, shaking his head.
"I knew you always weren't happy about our distance but I didn't think it impacted you that much." eli admitted.
"I love you too. and I will make time for this. for us. i promise."
"just, tell me something, will you?" you asked, rubbing your palm across your cheek to collect your falling tears.
he hummed in response, tilting his head to get a better look at you in the dim lighting of the kitchen.
"why do you not tell me where you are? like- I understand that you go out for drinks sometimes, but other than that I barely know how your day went. I just want you to open up to me."
he ran a hand through his hair. "I didn't think you were interested."
"of course I'm interested, eli." you shook your head in disbelief.
"yeah?" a hint of hope in his eyes.
"yeah." you reassured him and pulled him in for a tight hug.
"tell me what you've been working on. show me what you've been up to." you invited.
"you wanna hear a new one?" eli asked.
"mhm." you put your hands around his neck.
it was foreign territory for you two, being so seperated in the past months. but you both had a silent revelation, one that said a kiss was the solution.
you closed the distance, smiling into the kiss. you couldn't remember the last time he kissed you like this. so softly, so gently, only between the two of you.
he placed his hands on the back of your thighs, swinging you up to rest around his waist. you shrieked as he carried you down the hallway and into you and his' bedroom.
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you changed into your pajamas as he followed suit, and then you took out your tight bun.
he looked over at you while taking off one of his rings, and he smiled.
"you're so beautiful. i cant remember the last time I saw you with your hair out."
his words made your heart flutter.
"c'mere." you invited with a smile, patting his side of the bed.
he walked over to you, giving you a kiss on the forehead. then, he grabbed the guitar sat at his side of the bed.
he sunk back against the headboard, strumming the strings of the guitar as light as a feather.
your head was laying on his shoulder, listening to the soft melody he fiddled with.
"that sounds nice." you praised.
"yeah?" he chuckled, and the sound vibrated against your cheek.
"mhm. do you have any lyrics for it?" you asked cutely.
"not yet, baby. I like to work on the melody first. then I'll see what I can do." he put one arm around your head, stroking your hair as gently as he could.
you soon fell asleep in his arms, the soft sound of the guitar rocking you to sleep.
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when you woke in the morning, you didn't feel alone. you didn't feel the distance and the emptiness of the man you loved. why? because he was right there.
your head was laying on his chest as you felt him breathe beneath you, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm. he was so soft in the morning, and you cuddled closer to him.
and then the realization hit you. he wasn't at work. it was late morning now.
"eli? don't you have to go to the studio?" you asked, voice rough from sleep.
he yawned loudly, digging in the palm of his hand to rub his tired eyes.
"uh...not today." he sighed sleepily.
you smiled against his chest. you couldn't remember the last time he stayed home for you.
but it was gonna be different from now on. he promised.
⋆˚࿔
taglist (ask to be added/removed): @cloudyneptune and whoever the anon is! </3
