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.
i don’t know if you listen to inhaler but i was wondering if you could write some elijah hewson smut? or even maybe a threesome with braeden and eli. whichever you want :) thanks so much!! i love your stories sm xx
𝑱𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝑻𝒐 𝑲𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒔𝒇𝒊𝒆𝒅 ꨄ︎ (Elijah Hewson X FemReader)
The hotel lobby is a haze of low golden lights and marble that echoes every small sound. The night air still clings to your skin—cool, sharp with the smell of cigarette smoke from outside and the faint metallic tang of the venue you just left. Your ears are still ringing faintly from the last chord Elijah ripped out of his guitar twenty minutes ago, the crowd’s roar still vibrating somewhere deep in your chest.
The taxi pulls up under the porte-cochère and before you can even reach for the handle, Elijah’s already moving.
He slides out first, all long limbs and post-show adrenaline, black shirt unbuttoned one too many, sleeves shoved up to show the ink curling around his forearms. His hair is wrecked—sweaty strands falling into his eyes—and there’s still that wild, electric edge to him, like the stage hasn’t fully let him go yet.
But the second his boots hit the pavement he turns back to you, softens just enough.
“C’mere, love,” he murmurs, voice low and gravel-rough from screaming lyrics for two hours straight.
He offers his hand—palm up, fingers spread—and you take it without thinking. His skin is warm, calloused from strings and adrenaline, and he pulls you out of the taxi with that careful strength he only uses when it’s just the two of you. You stumble a little on your heels the same ones that were killing you by the third encore, and he’s right there—other arm sliding around your waist, steadying you against his side like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Easy,” he says against your temple, lips brushing your hair. “Got you.”
You can smell him properly now: sweat, his cologne that’s mostly worn off, the faint sweetness of whatever beer he stole sips of backstage, and underneath it all that dark, addictive scent that’s just him. Your thighs press together on instinct and he notices—of course he does. The corner of his mouth twitches.
The doorman nods politely as you both step inside, but Elijah doesn’t even glance at him. His focus is locked on you: the way your dress rides up just a fraction when you walk, the flush still high on your cheeks from the heat of the pit and from watching him own that stage like it belonged to him.
He keeps his arm around you the whole way across the lobby—possessive without being obvious, thumb stroking slow circles over the dip of your waist. Every few steps he leans in, lips grazing the shell of your ear.
“You were so fucking good out there tonight,” you whisper, because it’s true, and because saying it makes heat coil tighter in your belly.
Elijah huffs a quiet laugh, breath hot against your skin. “Yeah? You liked watching me?”
You nod, biting your lip.
His grip tightens—just enough to remind you he’s still buzzing, still wired, still very much the man who had fifty thousand people screaming his name an hour ago.
“Good girl,” he breathes, so soft only you can hear it. “’Cause I couldn’t stop thinking about this—” His hand slides lower, palm flattening over the curve of your ass for one filthy second before he pulls it back like nothing happened. “—the whole last song.”
Your breath catches.
He guides you toward the elevators, never breaking contact, never letting anyone else in the quiet lobby forget that right now, in this moment, you belong to him.
The gold doors slide open with a soft ding.
Elijah’s eyes flick to yours—dark, hungry, promising.
“After you,” he says, voice velvet and sin, holding the door with one hand while the other stays firm on the small of your back.
You step inside.
He follows.
The doors close.
And the second they do, the gentleman act cracks—just a little.
He crowds you against the mirrored wall, hands braced on either side of your head, caging you in without touching you yet.
You can see both of you reflected everywhere: his broad shoulders blocking out the rest of the world, your lips already parted, chest rising fast.
He doesn’t kiss you.
Not yet.
He just looks.
Like he’s memorizing every inch of you before he ruins you.
“Floor twenty-eight,” he says quietly, nodding toward the panel without looking away from your face.
You reach past him, press the button.
The elevator hums to life.
And Elijah finally lets himself smile—slow, dangerous, beautiful.
“Gonna fuck you against that window so hard the whole city’s gonna know who you belong to, baby.”
Your knees almost give out right there.
But he catches you.
Always does.
The elevator dings softly on the twenty-eighth floor and the doors slide open to a long, carpeted hallway lit by warm sconces. It’s quiet up here—almost reverent after the chaos of the show—and the sudden hush makes every small sound feel intimate: the soft click of Elijah’s boots, the rustle of your dress against his thigh as he keeps you tucked against his side, the way your breathing syncs without trying.
He doesn’t rush.
Instead he guides you out slowly, one arm still looped around your waist, the other hand catching yours so your fingers lace together. His thumb strokes over your knuckles in lazy circles while you walk, like he’s savoring the simple contact after hours of being stared at by thousands.
The hallway stretches ahead, doors numbered in elegant gold. Room 2804 is at the far end—private, corner suite, floor-to-ceiling windows facing the glittering sprawl of the city below.
Every few steps he slows just enough to turn his head and brush his lips against your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. Not hungry kisses yet. Soft ones. The kind that say I’ve been waiting for this exact second all night.
“You have no idea how beautiful you looked tonight,” he murmurs against your skin, voice low and wrecked in the best way. “Standing there in the front row, eyes on me the whole time… fuck, love. Felt like the only person in the room.”
You tilt your head to meet his gaze and he stops walking entirely for a heartbeat, just to look at you—really look—like he’s trying to memorize the way the hallway light catches in your eyes.
He leans in then, presses the gentlest kiss to your lips. Slow. Lingering. When he pulls back it’s only an inch, forehead resting against yours.
“Been dying to get my hands on you properly,” he says, quieter now, almost reverent. “Wanna take my time with you tonight. Wanna kiss every inch. Wanna feel you shake under me… wanna hear you say my name like it’s the only word you remember.”
His free hand slides up your back—fingers splaying wide between your shoulder blades—pulling you closer until there’s no space left. You can feel the steady thump of his heart against yours, still racing from the stage.
Another kiss, deeper this time, but still tender. His tongue brushes yours just once, teasing, before he eases back again. He’s walking you backward now, guiding you down the hall with small steps, never breaking eye contact.
“Wanna lay you out on that big bed,” he continues, voice dropping even lower, “spread you open slow… taste you until you’re pulling my hair and begging. Then I’m gonna slide inside you—inch by fucking inch—so you feel every part of me claiming you.”
He punctuates the last word with a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the side of your neck, right under your ear. You feel his exhale shudder against your skin.
“Not gonna rush it,” he promises, lips trailing up to your jaw. “Gonna make it last. Gonna make you come so many times you forget there’s a world outside that window.”
Your back meets the door of 2804. He doesn’t reach for the keycard yet. Instead he cages you there with his body—hands braced on either side of your head, hips pressing forward just enough that you feel how hard he already is—but he keeps everything else gentle. Worshipful.
One more kiss: long, deep, full of all the things he hasn’t said yet. When he finally pulls away his breathing is ragged, pupils blown wide.
“I love you like this,” he whispers, thumb tracing your bottom lip. “All flushed and mine. Gonna show you exactly how much.”
Only then does he fish the keycard from his back pocket, swipe it, push the door open.
He doesn’t let go of your hand as he leads you inside.
The city lights spill across the dark room like liquid gold.
The door clicks shut behind you with a soft, final sound that feels like the rest of the world just got locked out.
The room is dark except for the city lights pouring in through the massive window—blues and golds and reds from neon signs and traffic far below, painting stripes across the carpet, the bed, your skin. Elijah doesn’t bother with the overhead lights. He never does when he’s like this: still riding the high, skin fever-hot, every movement deliberate.
He kicks off his boots by the door—thud, thud—then reaches behind his neck with one hand and pulls his black t-shirt up and over his head in that effortless way that always makes your mouth go dry. The fabric hits the floor somewhere near the armchair. His chest rises and falls a little faster than normal, tattoos shifting with every breath, the faint sheen of sweat from the show still catching the light
You can’t help it—you giggle, soft and bubbly, the sound escaping before you can catch it.
He freezes mid-step, one eyebrow arching as he turns to face you fully.
“What?” he asks, voice low, amused, already knowing he’s about to get teased.
You bite your lip, eyes flicking from his bare torso to the window and back. “You’re such an exhibitionist.”
The words come out playful, teasing, and you punctuate them with another little laugh, covering your mouth like you’re trying (and failing) to be serious.
Elijah’s mouth twitches—half smirk, half challenge. He takes one slow step toward you, then another, closing the distance until he’s right in front of you, close enough that you have to tilt your head back to meet his eyes.
“Oh, really?” he drawls, voice dropping into that dangerous velvet register he saves for when he’s about to turn the tables. “Exhibitionist, huh?”
He leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, breath warm. “Well then… guess that means you don’t want me to fuck you right up against that window, do you? Guess you’d rather we just… crawl into bed, put on The Pitt, and fall asleep like a couple of old married people. Lights off. Pajamas. No funny business.”
He pulls back just enough to look at your face, eyes glittering with mischief. One hand comes up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear—gentle, almost sweet—while the other stays loose at his side, like he’s giving you an out.
“Sound good, love?” he adds, all fake innocence. “We can cuddle. I’ll even let you have the remote.”
You burst out laughing again—this time louder, head tipping back against the door for a second before you look at him, eyes sparkling.
“Shut up,” you say through giggles, reaching out to press both palms flat against his bare chest. His skin is so warm it makes you shiver. “Of course I want sex, you silly idiot. I’m just messing with you.”
His grin turns wicked in an instant—sharp, victorious, beautiful.
“Yeah?” He catches your wrists gently, guiding your hands up until they’re looped around his neck. Then his arms slide around your waist, pulling you flush against him so you can feel exactly how much he’s not joking. “Good. ’Cause I wasn’t planning on letting you sleep for a while anyway.”
He dips his head and kisses you—slow at first, still carrying that tenderness from the hallway, but deeper now, hungrier. His tongue slides against yours like he’s tasting the laugh still lingering in your mouth.
When he breaks away it’s only to murmur against your lips:
“Then let’s give the city something to watch, yeah?”
His hands find the zipper at the back of your dress.
He doesn’t rush it.
He never does when he wants to make you feel every second.
The zipper gives way under his fingers with the softest rasp—slow, deliberate, like he’s unwrapping something fragile and priceless. Elijah doesn’t pull it down all at once. He drags it inch by torturous inch, letting the metal teeth part one after another while his other hand stays splayed warm and steady at the small of your back, keeping you pressed against him.
Your breath hitches the moment cool air kisses the newly bared skin between your shoulder blades.
He feels it—the tiny shiver that runs through you—and hums low in his throat, pleased.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear as the zipper slides lower still, past the dip of your spine, down to the curve just above your ass. “Already trembling and I’ve barely touched you.”
The fabric of your dress loosens, the straps slipping off your shoulders on their own, heavy silk pooling at your elbows. He doesn’t let it fall yet. Instead he hooks two fingers under the straps and holds them there, suspended, forcing you to feel every second of exposure.
His mouth finds the side of your neck—open, wet kisses that start soft and turn hungrier. He sucks lightly just below your pulse point, not hard enough to mark not yet, but enough that you feel the pull straight between your legs.
“Turn around for me, love,” he says against your skin, voice rough with want but still velvet-soft. “Wanna see your face when this comes off.”
You obey without thinking, pivoting slowly in his arms until your back is to the window. The city lights hit you full force now—streaks of neon gilding your collarbones, your ribs, the tops of your breasts still half-hidden by the dress he’s barely let go of.
Elijah steps back half a pace—just enough to look.
His eyes rake over you like he’s starving: dark, hooded, pupils blown so wide the green is almost gone. His chest rises and falls faster, the silver chain around his neck catching the light every time he breathes.
“Fuck,” he breathes, almost to himself. “You’re unreal.”
He closes the distance again, slower this time. One hand comes up to cup your jaw—thumb stroking your bottom lip—while the other finally, finally lets the straps slide the rest of the way down your arms.
The dress whispers to the floor in a soft heap around your heels.
You’re left in nothing but your underwear, heels, and the city glowing behind you like it’s putting on a private show just for him.
Elijah doesn’t speak for a long second. He just looks—really looks—taking in the way your nipples pebble under the cool air, the flush creeping down your chest, the way your thighs press together instinctively.
Then his hands are on you again: palms sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts, teasing without quite touching where you want him most.
He leans in, forehead resting against yours, breathing the same air.
“Gonna make you feel every fucking second of this,” he promises, voice barely above a whisper. “Gonna touch you until you’re dripping for me… then I’m gonna turn you around, press you right up against that glass, and fuck you so deep you’ll see stars instead of streetlights.”
His fingers dip lower—tracing the edge of your panties, not slipping inside, just ghosting over the lace like he has all night.
Which he does.
He hooks one finger under the waistband and tugs lightly—playful, teasing—before letting it snap back against your hip.
“But first…” He kisses you slow and filthy, tongue sliding against yours in a lazy rhythm that matches the way his hand finally cups you through the thin fabric, pressing just enough to make your hips jerk forward. “First I wanna hear you beg a little. Just for me.”
He pulls back far enough to meet your eyes—smirking, soft, devastating.
“So tell me, baby… you gonna be good and ask for it?”
Then, without a word, he drops.
One knee hits the carpet first, then the other. The motion is smooth, deliberate, almost reverent. He looks up at you from below—green eyes dark and locked on yours, hair falling messily into his face—and the sight of him on his knees in front of you, still wearing nothing but those low-slung jeans and the silver chain that glints against his collarbone, makes your thighs tremble.
“Fuck, look at you,” he murmurs, voice rough and low, almost lost under the hum of the city outside. His hands slide up the backs of your thighs—slow, possessive—until his palms cup your ass and he pulls you forward just enough that your hips tilt toward his face.
He doesn’t pull your panties down.
Not yet.
Instead he leans in, nose brushing the thin lace first. He inhales deep—slow, shameless—like he’s trying to memorize the exact scent of your arousal through the fabric. His eyes flutter shut for a second, a quiet, wrecked groan vibrating in his throat.
“Jesus Christ, baby,” he breathes against you, lips so close you feel the heat of every word right through the damp cotton. “You’re soaked already. Smell so fucking good… like you’ve been thinking about this since the first chord tonight.”
He nuzzles closer, nose pressing firmer against your clit through the lace, dragging up and down in a slow, teasing line that has your hips jerking forward on instinct. He holds you steady with those big hands on your ass, keeping you right where he wants you.
Then his mouth opens.
Soft at first—just parted lips kissing the fabric over your folds, gentle presses that make the wet cotton cling even more. He kisses you there like he’s kissing your mouth: slow, open-mouthed, tongue flicking out to taste the dampness seeping through. The texture of the lace drags against your sensitive skin with every pass, rough enough to tease, soft enough to drive you insane.
He hums against you—deep, appreciative—and the vibration shoots straight up your spine.
“Gonna eat you right through these first,” he says, voice muffled against your cunt, lips moving over the fabric as he speaks. “Wanna feel you get even wetter… wanna taste how bad you want me before I take ’em off.”
Another long, slow lick—flat tongue pressing hard, dragging from your entrance up to your clit, soaking the lace completely now. Your knees buckle a little; he tightens his grip, holding you upright without missing a beat.
He pulls back just enough to look up at you again—lips shiny, eyes glassy with want.
“You taste like heaven, love,” he rasps, pressing one more open-mouthed kiss right over your clit before nuzzling his nose against it again, inhaling like he can’t get enough. “But I need more. Tell me when you’re ready for me to rip these off with my teeth… or I’ll just keep teasing you like this till you’re crying for it.”
His tongue flicks out once more—quick, filthy little kitten licks through the fabric—then he’s back to slow, worshipful kisses, breathing you in like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded after the high of the stage.
The window behind you reflects it all: your body arched toward him, his dark head bowed between your thighs, the city lights turning every wet spot on your panties into something obscene and beautiful.
He’s not rushing.
He’s savoring.
And he’s not stopping until you beg—or until he decides you’ve had enough teasing.
He doesn’t break eye contact.
Not once.
His hands slide up your hips again, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your soaked panties on either side. He tugs them down just an inch—enough to bare the top of your mound—then leans in, lips brushing the newly exposed skin in a feather-light kiss that has you gasping.
“Gonna take these off the fun way,” he murmurs against you, voice so low it vibrates straight through your core. “Keep looking at me, love. Don’t you dare look away.”
Then he moves.
Teeth catch the lace right at your hip—gentle but firm—and he starts pulling. Slow. Torturously slow. The fabric drags down your skin, inch by inch, the wet cotton peeling away from your folds with a soft, obscene sound that makes heat flood your face. He uses his nose to help, nudging the center aside as his teeth work the other side, until the panties are stretched taut between his mouth and your thighs.
He pauses there—panties still caught in his teeth, eyes flicking up to yours with pure filthy mischief—and gives one last, deliberate tug.
They slide down your legs, pooling around your ankles. You step out of them on shaky heels; he lets the lace drop from his mouth like it’s nothing, never once looking away from your face.
Now you’re completely bare in front of him, city lights painting golden streaks across your skin, your cunt glistening and aching right at eye level.
Elijah exhales a shaky “fuck” against your inner thigh—hot breath making you clench—then he finally leans in.
His hands grip the backs of your thighs, spreading you just enough, and he drags the flat of his tongue from your entrance all the way up to your clit in one long, slow stroke. No teasing now. Just pure, hungry contact.
Your hips buck forward on instinct.
He groans into you—deep, wrecked—and the sound sends a jolt straight up your spine.
Then he looks up again.
Eyes locked on yours through his lashes, pupils blown, green almost black with want. He holds your gaze as he seals his mouth over your clit—sucking softly at first, tongue flicking in quick, precise circles that make your thighs tremble violently.
One of your hands flies to his hair without thinking. Fingers thread through the sweaty strands at the back of his head, gripping tight. You don’t pull yet—just hold on like he’s the only thing keeping you upright.
He likes that.
His eyes flutter half-shut for a second in pleasure, a muffled moan vibrating right against your clit, but he doesn’t break eye contact. Not even when he dips lower—tongue sliding inside you, fucking you with slow, deliberate thrusts while his nose nudges your clit with every pass.
You tug harder on his hair—needy, desperate—and he growls against you, the sound raw and animal. His hands tighten on your thighs, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, keeping you spread open for him as he eats you like he’s been starving for it.
“Look at me,” he rasps between licks, voice thick and wrecked. “Wanna see your face when you come on my tongue.”
Another long, filthy drag of his tongue—flat and broad—then he’s back on your clit, sucking harder now, flicking faster, relentless. Your legs shake; your grip in his hair turns punishing. You yank him closer without meaning to, grinding against his face, and he lets you—encourages it—hands sliding up to grip your ass and pull you even tighter against his mouth.
The city reflects in the glass behind you: your arched back, head thrown back a little, mouth open in silent gasps; his dark head buried between your thighs, shoulders flexing as he devours you.
The second your fingers tighten in his hair—pulling him closer, hips grinding shamelessly against his face—Elijah loses the last thread of restraint.
He growls low against your cunt, the sound vibrating straight through your clit, and then he’s devouring you.
No more slow licks. No more teasing.
His tongue lashes fast and relentless—flicking over your clit in sharp, rapid circles while his lips suck hard enough to make your vision blur at the edges. He’s messy with it now: chin slick, nose buried against you, breathing you in between every frantic stroke. One hand stays clamped on your ass, holding you open and pressed tight to his mouth; the other slides up your thigh, two fingers plunging inside you without warning—curling deep, stroking that spot that makes your knees buckle instantly.
You cry out—loud, broken, echoing off the glass behind you—and he doesn’t let up. If anything, he goes harder. Faster. Tongue flicking so quick it’s almost a blur, fingers pumping in and out in perfect rhythm with every suck and swirl.
Your thighs shake violently around his head.
“Elijah—fuck—oh god—”
He hums approval against you—deep, filthy—and the vibration tips you right over.
The orgasm hits like a freight train: sharp, blinding, ripping through you so fast your back arches off the window, head thrown back against the cool glass. You come hard on his tongue, clenching around his fingers, gushing wet and hot while he laps at you like he’s trying to drink every drop. He doesn’t stop—keeps sucking your clit through the aftershocks, fingers still curling inside, dragging it out until you’re whimpering, oversensitive, tugging at his hair to make him ease up.
Only then does he pull back—just enough to breathe—lips swollen and glistening, eyes wild and locked on yours.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he rasps, voice wrecked. “Came so pretty for me, love. So fucking wet…”
He doesn’t give you time to come down.
Still on his knees, he reaches down with one hand—fumbling at his belt, ripping it open with a sharp clink. The button of his jeans pops next; zipper dragged down fast and rough. He shoves the denim and his black boxers down in one impatient motion, kicking them off somewhere behind him without looking.
His cock springs free—thick, hard, flushed dark at the tip, already leaking. He wraps a hand around himself once, stroking rough and quick, smearing precum down the length while he stares up at you like you’re the only thing in the universe.
“Turn around,” he says, voice low and commanding now, no room for teasing. “Hands on the glass. Legs spread.”
You’re still trembling from the aftershocks, but you obey—spinning slowly, palms slapping flat against the cool window. The city sprawls out below you—endless lights, cars like tiny fireflies—and anyone looking up from the street far below would see exactly what’s about to happen.
Elijah rises behind you—tall, broad, skin fever-hot as he presses against your back. His cock slides between your thighs, not inside yet, just gliding through your slick folds, coating himself in what’s left of your orgasm.
He leans over you, chest to your back, one hand sliding up to cup your throat—not choking, just holding—while the other grips your hip hard.
“Gonna fuck you right here,” he murmurs hot against your ear, lips brushing your skin. “Gonna fill you up so deep the whole city knows who you belong to.”
The head of his cock notches at your entrance—slow, teasing one last time—then he thrusts in.
Hard.
Deep.
All at once.
You both moan—loud, raw, echoing in the quiet suite.
He doesn’t give you time to adjust.
He starts moving—fast, rough, hips snapping against your ass with every brutal stroke. The window fogs where your breath hits it; your palms slide a little with sweat and desperation.
“Fuck—yes—take it,” he groans, voice breaking on every thrust. “So tight… so fucking perfect…”
One hand stays on your throat, thumb stroking your pulse; the other slides around to find your clit again—rubbing fast circles while he pounds into you from behind.
The city watches.
And Elijah doesn’t stop until you’re both shaking, gasping, chasing the next high together.
The rhythm shifts the second you start giggling—soft, breathless, a little delirious from the high of coming on his tongue and now feeling him buried so deep inside you it’s hard to think straight. Elijah catches the sound against your neck and laughs too—low, rough, happy—like the whole filthy thing is suddenly the most perfect secret between you two.
“God, you’re killing me with that laugh,” he murmurs right into your skin, lips curving into a smile as he presses an open-mouthed kiss below your ear. His hips snap forward again—hard, deliberate, filling you completely—but there’s this new tenderness threading through every thrust. Not softer, exactly. Just… deeper. More intentional. Like he’s trying to carve himself into you in the gentlest way possible while still fucking you senseless.
He presses his chest flush to your back, caging you against the cool glass. The window fogs where your palms are splayed, where your forehead rests for a second when the pleasure spikes too sharp. His arm snakes around your waist—holding you tight, possessive but careful—while his other hand slides down between your thighs.
Fingers find your clit immediately—swollen, sensitive, still throbbing from before—and he starts rubbing slow, firm circles that match the deep grind of his hips. Not frantic. Just perfect pressure. Enough to make your knees buckle again.
“Feel that, love?” he whispers, voice wrecked and warm against the side of your neck. He kisses there—soft, lingering—then sucks lightly, tasting salt and skin. “Feel how deep I am? How much I fucking love being inside you?”
You nod, another giggle bubbling up when he thrusts particularly hard and your body jolts forward, nipples dragging against the chilled glass. The contrast makes you gasp and laugh at the same time—ridiculous, overwhelming, perfect.
He laughs with you—breath hot and shaky—then kisses the spot he just sucked, soothing it with his tongue.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” he says, quieter now, almost reverent. His fingers keep circling your clit—steady, loving—while his hips roll in slow, powerful strokes that hit that spot inside you over and over. “All pressed up against the window… giggling while I fuck you… fuck, I could stay like this forever.”
Another thrust—harder this time, making you moan loud and broken—and he presses his forehead to the back of your shoulder, breathing you in like you’re oxygen.
“Love you,” he rasps suddenly, raw and unfiltered, lips brushing your skin with every word. “Love the way you take me… love how you sound… love that you’re mine.”
His hand on your waist slides up—cupping your breast, thumb flicking your nipple gently—while the one between your legs keeps working your clit in those perfect, relentless circles. He’s fucking you hard—deep, punishing snaps of his hips that make the glass rattle faintly—but every touch, every kiss, every whispered word is pure romance wrapped in filth.
You giggle again—half moan, half laugh—when he nips playfully at your earlobe.
“Stop being so cute,” he groans, but he’s smiling against your neck, hips stuttering for a second like your laughter is undoing him. “Makes me wanna go even harder just to hear more of it.”
He does.
Thrusts turn sharper, deeper—still controlled, still loving—while his fingers speed up on your clit, chasing that next edge with you. His mouth stays on your neck—kissing, sucking, murmuring sweet-dirty things between every breath.
“Come for me again, baby… let me feel you squeeze around me… wanna feel you fall apart while I’m buried inside you…”
“Hold on, love,” he murmurs, voice thick with want and something softer underneath. His hands slide to your hips, gentle now, thumbs stroking soothing arcs over your skin. “Wanna see your face.”
He pulls out slow—agonizingly slow—making you both gasp at the loss. The wet sound of it is obscene in the quiet room, his cock slick and glistening from you, throbbing against the small of your back for a second before he guides you to turn.
You spin in his arms—still shaky on your heels, thighs slick, chest heaving—and the second your eyes meet his, everything shifts again.
Elijah’s looking at you like you hung the fucking moon.
Pupils blown, lips parted, hair a total mess from your fingers earlier. He cups your face with both hands—thumbs brushing your cheekbones—and crashes his mouth to yours.
It’s not gentle. It’s desperate, hungry, all teeth and tongue and shared breaths, like he’s trying to pour every unspoken thing into the kiss. You taste yourself on him—salty, sweet—and it makes you moan into his mouth. He swallows the sound, deepens the kiss until your knees feel weak all over again.
When you finally break apart—just enough to breathe—your foreheads rest together, noses brushing, both of you grinning like idiots.
You glance over your shoulder at the window—your bare ass and back fully on display to the entire glittering city below—and a fresh wave of giggles bubbles up, unstoppable.
“Oh my god,” you whisper-laugh, hiding your face against his chest for a second. “The whole city’s staring at my ass right now.”
Elijah laughs too—low, rough, delighted—his hands sliding down to grip said ass, squeezing possessively as he pulls you even closer. His cock presses hot and hard against your stomach, trapped between you.
“Good,” he says, voice dropping into that dark, possessive register that always makes your pulse jump. He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then nips lightly at your earlobe. “Let ’em look. Let the whole fucking city know exactly who you belong to.”
He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes again—smirking, soft, devastating.
“Mine,” he murmurs, one hand sliding up to thread through your hair, tilting your head back so he can kiss you again—slower this time, deeper, like he’s claiming every inch of your mouth. “All of this—” His other hand squeezes your ass again, hard enough to make you gasp into the kiss. “—is mine. And if they wanna watch, they can watch me fuck you until you can’t stand.”
You laugh against his lips—breathless, giddy, turned on beyond reason—and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down for another messy, giggling kiss.
He lifts you then—easy, like you weigh nothing—your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. He walks you the two steps back until your back hits the cool glass again, but this time you’re facing him: chest to chest, mouths fused, his cock sliding teasingly between your folds without pushing in yet.
“Ready for round two, love?” he whispers, nipping your bottom lip. “Gonna make you come on my cock while the city watches me claim what’s mine.”
Your giggles turn into a soft moan when he finally—notches himself at your entrance and thrusts back in—slow, deep, eyes never leaving yours.
The moment he’s back inside you—slow, deliberate, sinking in to the hilt with one long, controlled thrust—everything narrows to the feel of him stretching you open again, filling every inch until there’s no space left for anything but him.
Elijah exhales a shaky breath against your throat, forehead pressed to your temple, like even he’s struggling to keep it together now that you’re face to face, wrapped around each other, legs locked tight around his waist.
“Fuck… there you are,” he whispers, voice low and wrecked, lips brushing your pulse point. He doesn’t start moving right away. He just stays buried deep, hips flush to yours, letting you feel every thick inch of him throbbing inside. Then—slowly—he pulls back almost all the way out, only to push back in harder, deeper, bottoming out with a grind that makes your eyes flutter and roll back.
Your head tips against the glass, mouth falling open on a silent gasp. The city lights blur into streaks behind your half-closed lids.
“That’s it, love,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of your jaw, then down the side of your neck—soft, open-mouthed presses that turn into slow sucks. “Look at you… taking me so fucking perfectly. So deep. So good for me.”
He sets a rhythm then: slow, punishingly deep thrusts. Every time he bottoms out he rolls his hips in a tight circle, grinding against your clit, making sure you feel the drag of him against every sensitive spot inside. It’s not fast. It’s not frantic. It’s deliberate—hard enough that your body jolts against the window with each stroke, but slow enough that you feel every ridge, every vein, every pulse.
Your eyes roll back completely now—whites showing, lashes fluttering, lost somewhere between too much and not enough. A broken little whimper escapes your throat every time he fills you again.
Elijah notices.
Of course he does.
He kisses right under your ear, tongue flicking out to taste the salt on your skin.
“You’re so beautiful when you let go like this,” he breathes, hips snapping forward again—hard, deep, holding there for a second so you can feel him twitch inside you. “Eyes rolling back… mouth open… fuck, baby, you’re my favorite thing in the world right now.”
Another slow withdrawal, another brutal push in.
“Feel that?” he whispers, voice cracking with how much he’s holding back. “That’s all for you. Every inch. Every fucking thrust. You were made for this—for me.”
His hands slide up your sides—palms warm, fingers splaying wide over your ribs—holding you like something precious while he fucks you like he owns you.
“So tight… so wet… god, you’re dripping down my thighs, love. Making such a mess of me and I fucking love it.”
He kisses your neck again—long, lingering, sucking a soft mark just below your collarbone that’ll bloom purple by morning.
“You take me so well… so deep… look how good you are, letting me ruin you against this window. My perfect girl. My everything.”
Your nails dig into his shoulders—hard enough to leave crescents—and he groans low in his throat, hips stuttering for a second before he finds that rhythm again: slow, hard, all the way in, grinding, pulling back, slamming home.
“Gonna make you come like this,” he promises against your skin, lips never leaving your neck. “Slow and deep… gonna feel every second of it. Gonna feel you clench around me when you fall apart… gonna come right with you, baby. Fill you up so full you’ll feel me for days.”
He kisses the hollow of your throat now—soft, reverent—then drags his tongue up the column of your neck until he reaches your earlobe.
“Come for me, love,” he whispers, voice shaking with how close he is too. “Let me feel how much you love this… how much you love me inside you. You’re doing so fucking good… so beautiful… mine… all mine…”
One more deep, grinding thrust—hard enough to make the glass vibrate faintly—and he stays there, buried to the hilt, rolling his hips in slow circles while he kisses every inch of your neck he can reach.
He takes your hands in his—fingers lacing together so perfectly it feels like they were made to fit—and guides them up above your head, pressing your joined palms flat against the cool glass. The city lights halo around your intertwined fingers, turning the moment into something almost cinematic.
“God, look at you,” he whispers, voice cracking with emotion more than effort. His lips find yours again—soft this time, reverent. A real kiss, not just hungry. Slow drags of his tongue against yours, tasting every sigh you let out. When he pulls back it’s only an inch, eyes searching yours like he’s memorizing the exact shade of them in this light.
“I love you,” he says, low and raw, hips rolling deep again. “So fucking much. More than the stage, more than the crowds, more than any song I’ll ever write. You’re everything, baby.”
Another thrust—harder this time, but still controlled, still loving—making you gasp into his mouth.
“I love making love to you like this,” he continues, voice trembling now, forehead pressed to yours again so you feel every word vibrate against your skin. “Slow… deep… feeling every part of you take me. Feeling how wet you get just for me. How your body shakes when I hit that spot right… there.”
He grinds in a slow circle when he bottoms out, pressing right against your cervix, and your eyes flutter shut for a second before snapping open again to find his.
“Love the way you look at me,” he breathes, squeezing your hands tighter. “Like I’m the only man in the world. Like I’m yours. Fuck—I’m so yours.”
His thrusts stay steady—deep, unhurried—but you can feel him starting to unravel. His breathing turns ragged, hips stuttering every few strokes. The chain around his neck brushes your collarbone with every movement, cool metal against fever-hot skin.
“Gonna come, love,” he warns, voice breaking. “Gonna come inside you… wanna feel you come with me. Wanna feel you squeeze around me while I fill you up.”
He kisses you again—desperate now, but still so tender—tongue sliding against yours in the same slow rhythm as his hips. One hand slips free from yours to cradle the back of your neck, thumb stroking your jaw like you’re something fragile and infinite.
“I love you,” he repeats against your lips, over and over, like a mantra. “Love you. Love you. Fuck—love you so much—”
His rhythm falters—deep, erratic now—and then he’s coming.
Hard.
Deep.
A low, broken groan tears from his throat as he buries himself to the hilt one last time, hips jerking uncontrollably while he spills inside you. Hot, thick pulses that you feel everywhere—flooding you, marking you, claiming you from the inside out. His cock twitches with every spurt, grinding against that perfect spot, and the sensation of him coming so deep, so full, tips you right over the edge with him.
Your orgasm crashes through you—silent at first, then a choked, trembling moan against his mouth. You clench around him so tight he hisses through his teeth, eyes squeezing shut as your walls flutter and milk every last drop from him. Your thighs shake violently around his waist; your fingers grip his so hard your knuckles turn white.
He doesn’t pull out.
He just stays there—still half-hard inside you, hips rocking in tiny, soothing circles while you both come down. His forehead drops to your shoulder, breaths heaving, lips pressing soft, shaky kisses to your neck, your collarbone, anywhere he can reach.
“Fuck… you feel that?” he whispers, voice hoarse and wrecked and full of wonder. “That’s us. All of it. You and me.”
He finally lifts his head to look at you—eyes glassy, soft, completely undone—and kisses you again. Slow. Sweet. Like the world could end right now and he’d still choose this moment.
“I love you,” he says one more time, thumb brushing a tear you didn’t realize had slipped down your cheek. “Always gonna love you like this. Always.”
The city keeps glittering outside the window—uncaring, endless—but right here, pressed together against the glass, hands still linked, bodies still joined, hearts hammering in sync…
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."
───
taglist (ask to be added/removed): @cloudyneptune @daydrivingrry @maroonstarssorrow @astraeainecstasy @palmerpillled @pueringeniosus @charliepassaglia @brianbell
A/N: I’ve been listening to ‘She’ by Harry Styles on repeat and it gave me inspo!
Summary: You’re the opening act for Inhaler. You live in Elijah’s head but he can’t say too much in fear things will get too messy for the tour
Warnings: mentions of sex, it is described but definitely not in detail, kissing, I think that’s it?!
THIS ISN’T PROOFREAD SORRY!
She lives in daydreams with me
Your laugh, your voice, your scent. It was all that was on Elijah’s mind. Damn Bobby and his suggestion to have management ask to have you open for Inhaler on tour.
“Her music’s good.” Bobby had said.
And he was right. So damn right.
Watching you from the wings of the stage as you poured your heart out felt like a dream. Your voice sounded like sweet honey. The way you played guitar was mesmerising. It was all too much for Elijah, maybe he should’ve stayed in his dressing room. He had to force himself to turn away from you and head back to the rest of the band.
This wasn’t like Elijah. Every time he closed his eyes, your face was imprinted in his mind. When he slept, he dreamt of telling you his deepest thoughts about you. In person he was a wreck; silent and stunned. He never lacked confidence with women but you were so… different.
Josh caught on first. He happened to notice the way Elijah stared at you when you left the room one day. His eyes memorising every feature of you, like he was scared he’d forget. Josh chuckled to himself but kept it on the down low. He knew Elijah was probably already down bad and didn’t want to make matters worse. But then Ryan noticed, and then Bobby, and even Louis. Soon it became a known thing of Elijah’s (not creepy) obsession for you.
It wasn’t your body, although that was beautiful too, but your aura. The vibe that surrounded you, like an amber glow. Elijah swore that’s what he saw when he closed his eyes and pictured you. It was alluring - more than alluring, it was infatuating.
He continued to hear the sound of your guitar thrumming in his head as he walked back to the band. It was impossible to escape it. Unsurprisingly, the band weren’t in their dressing rooms. Elijah assumed they were watching you, which was what he should’ve been doing but he had to suppress whatever these feelings were. He slumped into the chair of his dressing room, groaning into his hands.
A soft knock at the door snapped Elijah out of his thoughts. The music from the stage had stopped and he hadn’t even realised.
“Come in.” Elijah cleared his throat.
You opened the door, looking flustered from your performance. Your hair messily framed your face, your body glistened ever so slightly with a layer of sweat. You had that post- performance glow. Elijah was staring without realising.
“You weren’t there after my set. I just wanted to check on you.” You flashed a grin.
“Yeah- yeah sorry, I just wanted to get some peace and quiet before the show. You sounded great, though.” Elijah said, voice slightly shaky.
You leant against the doorway.
“You nervous or something?” You grinned, still breathless.
“Me? Why would I be nervous? What?” Elijah’s eyebrows shot up. He thought you were talking about him being nervous over you.
“About the performance.” You furrowed your brows and let out a chuckle.
“Oh- yeah, a little.” Elijah cleared his throat.
The guys would be laughing hysterically if they saw this, Elijah thought.
“You’ll kill it.” You were still breathing heavily.
He gave a half smile, nodding. “I know.”
“Always cocky, huh?” You giggled.
Your laugh made Elijah’s stomach flip.
“Yeah, that’s me.” He couldn’t help but laugh too.
Before either one of you could say anything else, the rest of the guys showed up at the door.
“Show time in 20. Come on.” Ryan beckoned Elijah over.
You smiled at the guys. They’d already congratulated you on your performance but it was nice to see them again.
“Good luck.” You smiled.
The rest of the band thanked you before walking off. Elijah was last to leave, his gaze lingering again. When you noticed, he quickly looked away. You couldn’t help but chuckle.
Of course you found Elijah attractive, who didn’t? But you knew guys like him. They were prone to loving the chase and nothing more. You weren’t going to give in.
At least that’s what you told yourself. It got a bit harder to keep that mindset when Elijah had you in his hotel bed, making you scream his name. He was holding you tightly like he was afraid to let go. Praises fell off his lips as though it was the best thing he’d ever experienced. And it definitely was. Elijah eventually rolled off you and you were both in a blissful state, panting heavily.
“Oh my God.” You said breathlessly.
“Yeah.” Elijah panted before laughing.
You were staring at the ceiling but he was looking at you, eyes never leaving your face. He was mesmerised by you still, even though he had you.
“I’ve wanted you for so long.” Elijah’s finger traced your cheek.
You blushed. “Yeah?”
Elijah nodded. “It was getting a bit embarrassing, in all honesty.”
“I didn’t notice.” You chuckled, still staring at the ceiling.
“I wasn’t exactly subtle.” Elijah sat up.
“You were to me.” You replied.
You both fell asleep in each other’s arms. It felt perfect, like what you both needed.
——
Waking up to nothing and cold sheets was not Elijah’s plan. You were gone, not a trace of you left. He cursed, sitting up. His mind was tainted with the memories of you last night. The way your body felt against his, the way you cried out, your scent, your touch.
Elijah checked the hotel room, praying you had just gone for a shower or something but you weren’t there.
You were gone.
The memory of you still stayed. It infiltrated his mind like a parasite.
——
Seeing you at rehearsals was like a kick to the shin. You were there, fine, acting as though everything was normal.
When your eyes suddenly met Elijah’s, you looked away.
See, you weren’t happy about ignoring him. You were scared. The thought of things going wrong made it so difficult to want more with Elijah. If you’d let it last and then something happened, it could spoil the whole tour experience. Last night was fun but you weren’t ready to let things get messy yet.
You fiddled with your guitar, strumming along. You’d noticed Elijah’s gaze but you couldn’t bear to look. Not after the way he’d made you feel. You wanted him more than anything. When he’d touched you, sparks ignited your whole body. It was like you were made for him.
“You okay?” Bobby’s voice snapped you out of your haze.
You shook your head before turning to Bobby. “Yeah, my mind’s just elsewhere.”
He wasn’t exactly convinced. He raised a brow but decided not to press further. Bobby couldn’t help but make a comment.
“Whoever they are, they’re clearly on your mind. You should just pursue it.” He smirked.
Bobby had no idea what he was saying or who he was talking about. He just seemed to know you better than you knew yourself. Of course you wanted Elijah but it was just so…messy.
“I- I’ll try.” You nodded, giving a stiff smile.
Bobby shot you a wink before walking off.
You huffed, realising it was probably time to face the reality. Not the reality you’d made, but the reality Elijah was probably facing. It wasn’t fair to throw it away without saying anything.
Your heart was going at lighting speed as you walked over to Elijah. He was trying (and failing) to not look at you.
“Elijah.” You said, feigning any shred of confidence.
His eyes were on yours instantly. His sweet, sweet eyes-
Stop.
“We need to talk.” You swallowed. “About last night.”
“There’s not much to say.” Elijah let out a scoff. “You left before I even had the chance to see your face again.”
Elijah wasn’t mad, he was just hurt. It stung enough when a girl he didn’t know would do it but you? That just felt like 100 knives to the chest.
“I freaked out.” You admitted, throwing your hands up dramatically.
His eyebrows rose, a look of disbelief. It was getting harder and harder to put up a front for both of you.
“You freaked out?” Elijah folded his arms.
“Well, you’ve got this reputation. You have a lot of girls. I knew I’d just get hurt because you didn’t want anything more. And then the rest of tour would just be so messy.” You rambled, playing with the rings on your fingers
Elijah’s heart was beating out of his chest. You wanted more?
“You want more?” He asked nervously.
“Oh God, I really am just rambling-“ You sighed but Elijah cut you off.
“No, say it. Say what you have to say.” He smirked, a cocky grin on his face.
“Oh you’re really getting on my nerves, Hewson.”
You took a deep breath, trying to still the racing thoughts and feelings.
“I like you. I want things to go further. I also want to wipe that grin off your face.” You confessed with a dramatic sigh.
Elijah was in fact grinning, an amused look on his face. Maybe his body was going into some kind of shock. Oh that would be so embarrassing if you had to see him faint. He was about to pass out.
“I like you too.” He let out a nervous laugh. “I’m grinning because I’m happy, I swear.”
Now his smile had turned into a creepy one as he tried to suppress his excitement. It looked a bit like a scary dolphin. You almost flinched.
“Stop looking at me like that!” You gasped.
“Sorry!” Elijah burst out laughing.
You couldn’t help but laugh too. You were both so on edge, so nervous to be open with each other. But this was such a precious moment. You stepped closer to Elijah, feeling the way he tensed slightly.
“You’re awfully giddy for someone who had me wrapped around their finger last night.” You smirked, folding your arms.
“Are you kidding? Last night I must’ve been so drunk in order to be so level headed.” He said once he’d calmed down from laughing.
That was true. You’d both been very drunk, your inhibitions lowered. It made it easier to be so forward.
“Me too.” You nodded.
“I’ve been crazy about you for a while now.” Elijah said, sounding a bit like a Rom Com star.
“So you said last night.” You grinned.
“I did?” His eyes widened.
“You were very forward.” You smirked.
Elijah let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck.
“You know what you said?” You asked.
“Oh God, what?” Elijah dreaded his drunken words.
“You didn’t say anything bad! You just told me ‘I think I’m falling in love with you, mi amore’.” You faked an Irish accent, giggling as you spoke.
“What? Did I actually?” Elijah wanted to die right then and there.
“I’m joking!” You rested your hands on Elijah’s chest.
The action made him tense. He suddenly felt more nervous than ever before. He couldn’t explain why, he’d been in bed with you last night!
“You just told me you’d wanted me for a while.” You giggled softly.
Elijah looked down at you, a soft smile on his face.
“You’re driving me through one hell of a storm today, love.” He chuckled, finally easing into your touch.
Your eyes met and you felt that undeniable pull yet again. You wanted nothing more than to have Elijah forever. His head dipped down, grabbing you by the waist and kissing you with a passion like never before. It wasn’t the sort of passion brought to bed, it was one that screamed of yearning and need. Your hands were still on his chest, feeling the heat from his body. It was all so perfect.
It was no doubt you lived in Elijah’s daydreams, his thoughts, his moves. But now he knew you felt the same. You were just as entranced with him. The rest of the tour was going to be so much fun.
Flying home for Christmas seemed like a great idea until you’re snowed in and stuck on an icy runway… for the foreseeable future. Even worse? The person in the seat next to you is the guy who broke your heart a year ago
Summary: "It's a pain that I caught you at a bad time. It's a shame that I memorized your outline." - Free Now by Gracie Abrams
Word Count: 725
Warnings: Angst. (I'm sorry...)
Author's note: I haven't written in a while so don't expect too much... I just saw that there was a severe lack in Inhaler content, so here I am! Would love to hear feedback - my asks are also open for requests. :)
The flickering headlights were the only thing illuminating the dark alleyway. Her body trembled with the freezing breeze as she roughly grasped at her leather jacket, the buzzing of life softly heard from the venue inside. Two silhouettes huddled together, hushed whispering filling the quiet space.
“Bobby?” she called out into the night.
His head turned to look at her, his features faced with the harsh light emitting from the lamppost. The other figure stepped away swiftly, their head bowed down in shame.
“Love?” he asked in return, his face presenting a look of shock, a deer caught in headlights one could say.
“Uh – I was looking for you… Couldn’t find you in the green room, the boys said you were out here.” she explained with a soft murmur.
“Who’s this?” she quickly added on with a dry, awkward laugh, her nails digging into the crumbling leather.
“Oh, it’s Maya. She – uh – wanted to see us perform the new songs tonight.” he quickly spilled out as the other figure stepped into the light, a small yet forced smile on her cherry lips and a soft wave of the hand greeting her.
“Oh, hi!”
“Hi… Uhm, I’ll be heading back in then – quite cold out. See you later, Rob.” she mumbled before turning around and walking back into the small venue, not letting either of the two get in another word.
“Wait –“ was the last thing she heard before the doors shut with a loud thump.
The next thing she felt was a hand gripping her wrist and the doors flying open yet again, desperate eyes gleaming at her.
“You know it isn’t like that, I would never.”
The words rushed out like water, loud yet fuzzy amid the echoing instrumentals of the opening act.
“I know, Bobby.” she responded with a sad grin and deep-set brows.
“I know that you’re removed. I can feel it when we talk…” she mumbled.
In response, he just sighed. His face now pained, a deep frown etched into his features as he knew she was telling the truth. They had started this way too early, too fast. He knew he was far away from healing and even further from letting anyone in, Maya’s voice haunting him even months after.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t ready and we both knew it. I guess we were going along with it – playing those parts. I just hope you aren’t mad or hurt – that’s the last thing I’d want.” he spoke out, ending it with a dry chuckle as his eyes shimmered in the light of the empty hallway.
“I don’t think you’re a bad guy, Bobby. It’s a pain that I caught you at a bad time. It’s a shame that I memorized your outline… You were always straight up with me, so kind. But I knew what you knew – great minds I guess.” she spoke, a tear slid down her cheek as she laughed tearfully, the façade slowly crackling.
His hand reached up to cup her jaw, his palm warm yet rough against the surface as he slid it along the apple of her cheek, streaking the tear along. He smiled regretfully at the beginning of the end.
“God, I hate that this is how it ends.” he chuckled, sniffling softly.
“I hope you find somewhere safe for your baggage, Rob – I truly do. If you find yourself out one day – if there is a right time – chances are I’ll be here. But I finally know better than to wait for you back here.” she admitted with a pained smile before embracing him in a desperate hug, her face pressed into the collar of his jacket as she smelled his scent for what might be the last time.
“Have a good gig, Bobby. See you around, maybe.” she murmured into his neck, her hands gripping the back of his jacket. His own arms hopelessly clutching around her, his sniffling and a sheepish nod the only response.
And with that, she pulled away and turned around – for the last time now. The only thing he was left with was the jarring noise of closing doors and the coldness of the night entering the hallway, resembling the bitter sting of the ring on his pinky finger – more noticeable than ever before, the small engraving mocking him.
an: as promised, here’s some inhaler fics because I’m seeing them this year :)
neeson!reader
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yourusername ny, i am back and i have missed you. here’s some pics from the past few days and an oldie of my lovely parents that i found recently ❤️
gallagher_anais come back to me
yourusername i’m counting down the days until i see your beautiful face again
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GRAHAM NORTON SHOW
“I’m aware you don’t have social media, but your daughters love life went viral because of you.” Graham told Liam Neeson. The crowd laughed at how Graham phrased it. “Can you tell the people who don’t have a clue what I’m talking about?”
Liam chuckled and nodded. He liked telling the story a little too much. “So my daughter tells me she’s seeing this boy and like any parent, I tell her I’d like to meet him and get to know him but she tells me ‘da, please don’t intimidate him he’s really nervous about meeting you.’ and that’s exactly what i did.”
The crowd along with Graham started laughing. “Anyways, we have lunch together and the entire time the boy is stuttering and I could tell he wanted the lunch to be over. Towards the end, my daughter gets up to leave and take a call so it’s just Robert and me. I obviously take the opportunity to make sure he’s the right person for my girl.” Liam explained.
“You didn’t threaten the boy, did you?” Helen Mirren, who was the other guest, asked.
“Well . . . I wanted to make sure he understood.”
“Liam!” Helen punched his arm.
“No, I didn’t. I could tell he was the right one for my girl. He’s part of the family now and when I can, we all go to see his band perform. They’re great lads, very talented.” Liam smiled.
