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.
—————————————————
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.
summary: complications between you and bobby's relationship spark when you ask him for the truth, but he's scared he'll hurt you.
warnings: blood! suggestive beginning, angst, fighting, forbidden romance, fluff near the end, bobby turns her into a vampire
word count: 3,492
author's note: this idea has been living in my mind ever since i started reading twilight...and i swear the books are better!
"you know you can talk to me, right?" you sit up in bed, watching bobby pace around the room. the dim lighting creates a glimmer on his bare chest. his veiny hands are digging into his blonde strands, pulling forcefully with his eyes squeezed shut.
you’ve never seen him like this. so paranoid, so anxious. you didn’t think the night would take a turn like this.
───
you and bobby had went out to a small greek restaurant around the corner from your flat earlier that night. you ordered the steak, and he insisted on paying. he had made the night special for you, keeping his hand in yours while you walked to the restaurant and taking you walking around the boardwalk because you had been too early for your reservation.
after the wine poured, so did the longing looks and the laughing coming easily. and then the teasing touches, his fingers on your thigh and your eyes set on his lips.
you two had nearly rushed out of there, his shirt shrugged off in the doorway as your lips moved against his. your cheeks went pink, laughing all the way towards the bedroom. when he pressed you back against the bed and lowered his lips to yours, you were stuck in a haze, forgetting everything that happened earlier that night. the only thing on your mind was him.
but when his lips hit your neck, and he sucked the skin gently, you gasped. all of a sudden, like he had a revelation, he pulled back, his face disappearing from your view. your eyes fluttered open, brows knitting together in confusion. "bobby?" you asked, your voice still shaky from the rush of it all.
he's already at the door, which scares you. how did he move so quickly from one place to another? how did he do it so quietly? his hands are in his hair and he's shaking his head, whispering to himself, mumbles you can't hear no matter how quiet it is in the room.
"did i do something wrong?" you ask hesitantly, sitting up on your elbows. he turns around, his blue eyes gone darker, more fierce. "it's not you." he grumbles, trying to keep his expression the same.
you purse your lips together in disappointment. he hasn't been talking to you lately. and you want to tell yourself it's not what you think it is. even though it might be.
"you know you can talk to me, right?" you sit up on the bed fully, watching bobby pace around the room. the dim lighting creates a glimmer on his bare chest. his veiny hands are digging into his blonde strands, pulling forcefully with his eyes squeezed shut.
you’ve never seen him like this. so paranoid, so anxious. you didn’t think the night would take a turn like this.
you pull a few messy strands of hair behind your ear, taking a large gulp. the best thing to do right now is give him space. "i don't like that we keep doing this," his voice is shaky but he tries his hardest to steady himself.
you look down at his sweating palms, his knuckles going white as he grips the edge of the vanity in your bedroom. ever since he's told you he isn't human, something far more dangerous than your kind, you didn't run away. you stayed right there and accepted him. and out of all the confessions he's ever had to admit to, that reaction scared him the most.
you didn't flee. no, instead, you reached for his hand. even though he tried to pull away, you reached further and touched his cheek. and what he asked you broke your heart; the way you could see he wanted you so badly but stopped himself in fear of hurting you.
"don't you think im a monster?" he asked tenderly, your hand still in his. you shook your head and kissed his temple, guiding him down onto the bed next to you. that day was the day he told you everything. and since then, you haven't questioned anything more about his nature. he has feelings just like you, and he knows how to control them, (majority of the time).
tonight, however, his fear has returned. "we don't have to keep doing this." you offer, your voice small. he whips his head around, his eyes narrowing at you curled up in your sheets, waiting for his return.
"you're scared you'll hurt me, but you won't. i know it-" you're cut off with a sharp chuckle coming from across the room. your eyes return to him, his back still turned to you. his jaw is clenching and his fingers are tightening on the white, marble vanity.
"i will hurt you." he says. then louder, "don't you see?" his tone is sharp which makes fear boil inside you. but it's just him. he's no monster.
when you don't reply, he's realized you're shaken up. he takes a deep breath, releases his grip on the marble and carefully moves back towards you. his silver chain sways across his glistening chest as he arrives back in your space.
his body towers over you as he grabs your chin, angling it up to him. "i can't have you." he whispers, looking deep in your eyes.
pain flickers over your expression. "why not?"
"because tonight-" he cuts himself off, a clench to his jaw again. you're tired of going around in circles. "what, bobby? say it." you encourage him, sick of secrets and constant fears that stop you from loving him the way you want to.
he takes a deep breath. "tonight i almost lost control. and if that happens, you could be in serious trouble."
your expression falters just a little bit, but your thoughts finally fill with the realization of how much you love him. how much you're willing to do anything for him. how you're willing to sacrifice freedom for him.
"then lose control." you breathe out shakily. at first, he doesn't think he hears you right. his eyes widen, his fingers drop from your chin, and he takes a step back.
"what?" he asks, louder than anticipated, his expression mixed with fear and disgust from your request. how could you ask him something so absurd?
"you heard me."
"no." he scoffs, returning to his pacing around your bedroom. "no way."
"please, bobby." you beg him, scooting towards the edge of the bed as you plead his name over and over. his sharp eyes gaze at you with furious intensity. "are you crazy? do you know what that could do to you?"
"i don't care." you say.
"i care. i could kill you." he looks at you up and down with an expression like he's just been told the most outrageous thing in the world. "if i feed on you, then your life completely changes." he breathes out, a disgusted squint in his eyes just at the mention of it.
"how?" you ask.
"im not spending my time explaining this to you." he scoffs, grabbing his shirt on the floor. you grab his wrist, forcing his eyes to you. "tell me."
he takes a deep breath, waits a few moments, and then realizes how invested you are. how much you care. "i haven't fed on a human in a very, very long time. if i do, my body will get used to your blood, and I'll lose control. by the time I finish, I'll have to turn you into my kind."
"is there a way you can stay in control?" you ask hesitantly.
he stares blankly at you. "no."
he turns his back to you, walking towards the window. he pulls it open with one hand without any effort, and you wonder how strong he actually is. it takes you both hands to open that window.
he grabs a cig from his back pocket and lights it, taking a long drag. you both don't speak for a long time, letting him process while you wait for him to continue. "im a monster. all of us are. we aren't the same when we hunt, and im never letting you see me like that."
he looks back at you. "ever." he blows the smoke out past his lips with fierce eyes and a sharp tone.
"then turn me." you say, your chin held high.
he scoffs again. "im not in the mood for this."
"im serious, robert." you say sharply. he looks back at you, his eyes still as intense as ever. "i want you to turn me."
"stop it."
"it's what i want."
he doesn't respond, but you can hear his jaw clenching. "i know you crave it."
"please, just stop." he grits through his teeth.
"i know you want my blood."
he digs his palms into his eyes so roughly he starts to see red. "stop it, okay?" he shouts, banging his knuckles onto your vanity. your lipsticks wobble on the table, falling over. he startles you, and you jolt in your position. he's never yelled at you before. you've never seen him this nervous.
his chest rises and falls, trying to calm himself down. he won't lash out again. "i'm sorry." he sighs. he walks over to you, dropping his cig in the ash tray on the windowsill, the chilly breeze mussing up his hair.
"im so, so sorry." he falls to his knees at the foot of the bed, and your soft hands twist in his blonde strands. "its okay." a single tear rolls down your cheek, and you sniffle. he hears it, looking up at you.
"shit, don't cry." he lifts his finger to your face, wiping your tear away. "God, I'm so fucking sorry. I can't be around you. this is why-"
"no, bobby. I want this. I'm willing to do it for you." you place your hand over his.
"stop saying that." he hisses, a tear falling down his cheek. "you don't mean it."
"i do." you cut in.
"you don't realize what you're getting yourself into and how dangerous that is. so just stop. please." he begs you. he won't put you through it, and he won't make you suffer.
"what is the point of my life if you're not in it?" you breathe out, your voice cracking with each word.
his heart sinks at your statement, and he lowers his head to your stomach. you cradle his head in your hands, whispering softly in his ear. "please, all i want is to be with you. forever."
"you'll regret it."
"i can assure you i wont."
he huffs a laugh. "its not easy being like me."
"tell me."
"i don't sleep- can't sleep." he starts. "you need blood, can't eat no more pizza pockets anymore." he teases you, and you start to laugh just the tiniest bit at his words.
"how often?"
"we hunt every weekend."
"okay. cool." you nod.
he chuckles. "you really won't let up, will you?"
you shake your head. "i want you forever."
───
robert in the sunlight has to be the most divine thing you've ever seen. his black button up shirt is flapped open, revealing the rivets in his pale muscles and the intricate cross tattoo that sits on his chest. he's in a much better mood than last night, which makes you smile.
his skin is glowing. his eyes are staring straight into the sun like it doesn't hurt. "i thought you couldn't go into the sun?"
"horrible myth." he jumps off a rock and lands on the grass near you with a sharp chuckle. with one quick movement, he backs you up against the nearest tree, your head softly thudding against the wood. you let out a sharp gasp at the contact, surprised he's in your space so abruptly.
"sorry," he giggles with that bright smile of his. "did i hurt you?" he places his hand behind your hair, cradling your head. he replaces the wood with his palm. "no, im fine." you smile, searching his eyes.
his eyes trail over your face, his nostrils flaring for just a moment. he sniffs you, and you flex your jaw for him. "are you okay?" you ask with a small giggle. his lips lift into a smirk.
"you smell good." he runs his sharp nose along your throat, letting your eyes flutter shut. "yeah?" you breathe out, your voice barely above a whisper. he nods his head. "like vanilla." he smiles from your scent.
your heart is beating loudly, and he notices. "do i scare you?" he asks hesitantly, his eyes flaring with concern. you shake your head. "never."
his face calms. "okay." he huffs a laugh, adjusting closer to you. one of his hands grazes your cheek, then moved his fingers to place a few strands of your silky hair behind your ear.
his breath fans down your neck, tickling you. you giggle. "you should have run from me when you had the chance," he whispers into your neck.
"i tried. it's impossible to be without you." you mutter, but he hears everything regardless of his supernatural abilities.
"last chance." he says, his teeth grazing your neck. you shiver, relaxing back against the tree.
"one question." you cut in. he pulls back just enough to see your eyes. "why did you take me here?" you gesture to the forest, looking around at the bark near your feet and the grassy area beneath the two of you.
"it's the best place to be once you're turned. you can finally run free." he explains so beautifully, you can see the twinkle in his eye and the way his voice brightens as he reminisces.
"are you sure?"
"yes." you let out a shaky exhale, ready for whatever's to come.
"i need to hear you say it. please." he tries to steady himself.
you put your hand on his forearm. "im sure, robert."
"okay." he exhales long, moving towards your neck. "it won't hurt." he mutters. "for long." he adds.
you take another deep breath and close your eyes, trying your best to focus on his scent and the way he's grounding you so you won't slip out of his grip. "sorry." he notices you try to wiggle out. "if you move it'll only hurt more."
"i understand." you say, your voice a hushed whisper.
he leans down to kiss you, his lips meeting your soft ones. he groans at the feeling, so full of high spirits that he can touch you again. "just trust me, okay?" he asks, whispering against your lips.
"i trust you." you lick your lips, tasting his scent of mint and cigarettes on your tongue. he smirks, looking at you once for confirmation, and when you nod, he dips his mouth to your lips and presses another small peck there. after, he kisses your cheek, then the corner of your mouth, before dipping lower.
his lips find your jaw, pressing peppered kisses in a trail down your neck. when they find the soft skin of your throat, he inhales, his large teeth flashing in the bright sunlight. he reveals himself to your neck before one last kiss. "i love you." he whispers before diving in at last.
his teeth sink into your neck, and he hears a sharp gasp escape your lips. at that sound, he winces, knowing he's hurting you. at first, he sucks gently, your blood is travelling down your neck. he's in control. he thinks he has it.
your nails grip at his shoulder as your eyebrows turn inward, trying to steady yourself. "im sorry." he whispers over and over, pulling away from you at some points, a single tear dripping down his cheek. his heart sinks with each gasp, and he feels like a monster. even though you've always promised he's not, he must accept it.
his eyes go wide, his pupils getting so small you only see dark blue, and he's lost it. he's not in control anymore.
he's killing you.
"robert?" you gasp for air, your hands clutching his back. he thirsts for your blood- human blood; a privilege he hasn't let himself grasp in years.
"please, robert. come back." you whisper.
blood travels down his chin as he continues draining you, your voice nothing to him. he can't hear, deaf from excitement, craving your blood. your skin turns paler each second. after a few long minutes, your body slides down the trunk of the tree, and his feral daze is gone.
he falls back, his hands clutching at the dirt as he crawls back against the ground, his eyes wide and his mouth covered in blood. his large fangs are still visible, and he's nothing but disappointed in himself.
he's killed his first love. his only love. "no. no, no, no, no, no." he repeats over and over, crawling back over you near the tree. he cries openly now. it wasn't supposed to get like that.
without hesitation, he pulls back his sleeve with blood stained hands, pushing it past his forearm. he sinks his teeth into his own wrist, wincing at the feeling. he can only imagine how you felt when he drained you.
he crawls closer to you and places your head in his lap. he's kneeling beneath you, forcing your head to his wrist. "drink it, please." he begs you softly, wrapping your lips around his wrist as he guides your head in the right direction.
after a while, your heartbeat starts to quicken, your pale face gaining color, your lips wrapping around his wrist as your lifeline. "yes." he laughs in relief, cradling your head with his other hand.
your eyes open, a hazel and amber color gleaming in the sunlight for the shortest second. you gasp for air, sitting up in his lap. your eyes are back to their normal color, your skin now glimmering with his in the sunlight.
"bobby?" you ask, your voice raspy. his eyes well with tears. "hi." he sighs in relief, cradling your head closer to his, your sweaty foreheads sticking together.
you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, blood printing your skin. "i feel weird."
he chuckles. "weird how?"
"like im rushing with adrenaline...sorta." your voice airy.
"that's how it is," he chuckles, but then he clears his throat. "im so sorry." the realization sets back in. your brows furrow in confusion. he just gave you immortality. why would he be apologizing?
"why are you sorry?" you ask innocently, your lips turning into a cute pout as you tilt your head to the side of the tree.
"i tried to stay in control. i really tried." his voice breaks as he says this.
you grab his blood stained fingers, threading them through yours. "im here now. and im here forever. im not leaving."
───
"can i?" he asks, his hands travelling over your shoulder blades as the hot water runs over your skin. you nod your head, letting him move your hair out of the way so he can press a gentle kiss to your bare shoulder.
he grabs the soap, pours it onto the loofa, and runs it over your shoulder. he travels the soapy sponge towards your neck, removing any blood stains off you.
you hiss, your eyebrows knitting together. "did that hurt?" he pulls back hesitantly.
"a little." you respond, and he moves to the other side of your neck where the soap won't sting open skin. he continues to wash your hair for you, running his soft fingers into your scalp, making your head fall back against his shoulder. he chuckles, that sound vibrating against your ear.
after your shower, he wraps you in a soft, white towel before tying one low on his waist. you both brush your teeth together in silence as he holds your hair to keep out of the way of toothpaste.
"sit down." he nods his chin towards the toilet seat, and you clutch your towel around your body tighter before plopping down. he towers over you, leaning down on one knee as he grabs the medicine kit under the sink.
he removes ointment and a disinfectant, gently angling your neck upwards toward the ceiling of the steamy bathroom. the mirrors are still foggy, but it's starting to dry up.
you hiss once he applies the disinfectant, but before it stings too much, he wipes it away with water and starts with the ointment. you suck your teeth, and he notices your pain, whispering a small "sorry."
when he's done, he applies a small brown bandage on your neck and kisses you through the rough fabric. "all better." he whispers in your ear, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.
"let me see those fangs." he urges you and you smile. you press your finger in your cheek and pull it open revealing sharp fangs.
he sucks his teeth sharply, shaking his head. "sharp pair." he smirks. "im jealous." he adds while placing a strand of wet hair behind your ear, cradling your cheek.
"i meant what i said, bobby." you mutter. he doesn't respond, just listens. "i want you forever."
he smiles softly. "i know."
───
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