Elijah Hewson - Blog Posts

this song this song... oh save me this song

I got a bone to pick with you But don't worry, I'm not mad There's something great about us, but I should've took a step back

From that fuzzy feeling Stuck on the end of your line They say you got a dangerous hook Assures me I'll be fine

Be my valentine Come on, spell it out Be my Yeah, be my valentine You could never shoot me down

We got nothing to do Settle into my cage Until the wind blows me through Ride into your wave

I need you on good days And on the bad ones too They say you're hard to please, but I'll still give myself to you

Be my valentine Come on, spell it out Oh, be my Be my valentine You can try to shoot me down You could never shoot me down

Ooh, ooh Ooh, ooh

Be my Oh, be my valentine Come on, spell it out Oh, be my Yeah, be my valentine Don't let me down You could never shoot me down

Ooh, ooh Ooh, ooh

Oh, be my Yeah, be my valentine And let them try to shoot us down You could never shoot me down

PERFECT STORM

pairing elijah hewson x fem! reader

trope established relationship

warnings pure fluff. nudity mentioned but not sexual

summary she gets caught in a storm and elijah helps her stay warm.

words 1.2k

Every part of her body was soaked. Her blouse had become see-through. Her skirt had become pounds heavier. Drops of water slid down her bare legs. Every time she walked, her Doc Martens squelched. Her socks were wet, and her feet were cold and pruny. She let out a shaky sigh as she walked up the stairs up to her apartment. Her soaked hair was in a clip that was digging into the back of her head.

He heard the sound of keys jangling. The door was unlocked. She came in and was already leaving a puddle of water on the wooden floor.

He chuckled. "What the fuck happened?" He asked, a bit amused but also concerned. He left his spot on the couch and walked over to her.

"I got caught in the rain. Didn't bring my umbrella."

"I told you to take an umbrella this morning."

"Yeah, whatever." She snapped. She dropped her bag on the floor. His mouth closed before making a snarky remark. She was obviously pretty annoyed. He watched her take off her boots.

"Come on." He said then took her hand and dragged her into the bathroom. He turned on the faucet of the tub. Temperature is pretty warm. "Sit." He commanded while motioning to the toilet cap. She did.

He pulled off her drenched socks. Then he unbuttoned her white blouse. He did everything tenderly. She kept staring at him. He looked tired. She knew he had been up very late writing. He took her bra off. Shame was no longer in the picture. He had seen her bare body many times. He wasn't even looking at her that way.

"You don't have to do this." She whispered to him. He finally looked her in the eyes as he pulled her up to take off her skirt. "I know." He replied, then unzipped her skirt. She felt warmth through her chest. That was in big contrast with the way her body felt. He always made her feel warm.

He helped her get out of her underwear. He also pulled her hair clip off and stuck his fingers through her scalp. He massaged her head, and she sighed. A moan escaped her, and he chuckled. Then he stuck the tips of his fingers in the water to check the temperature. It was a good type of warm now. He gave her a hand and helped her get in the tub. He caressed the top of her head.

"I'm going to go make you some tea. You're probably going to catch a cold." She was shivering slightly. Her nose was red, and she was sniffling. She nodded, and he stepped out of the bathroom.

He put the kettle on. He wasn't upset at her for snapping. Or the way she obviously was in a piss-poor mood. She tended to be a little moody. Whenever she ran out of patience or was annoyed at something, she was a bit intense. He never took it personal. It brought humor to him — which she hated. He usually got her to come around, though.

The kettle was taking forever. He heard the sound of the drain. Hopefully she was warmer now. She left the bathroom and went to their room. He messed with the settings of their stove. Increasing the heat. Her small frame came into the kitchen. Sweatpants, fuzzy socks, and a hoodie she stole from him on her body. He was leaning back on the counter facing her. She looked shy as she got closer. They didn't speak. She was ringing her hands. He grabbed one of her hands and pulled her into him. Her face nuzzled into his neck.

"Sorry, I snapped at you. She murmured into his skin. He scoffed, the sound vibrating through her body.

"That was nothing. It didn't bother me."

"Still. I don't like it when I'm mean to you."

"You're always mean. That's why I like you so much." He kissed her cheek, and she smiled. He looked down into her eyes lovingly. He could decipher anything she was feeling by looking at those gorgeous big green eyes of hers. "Are you warm? Your lips are still kind of blue."

"I'm good now." She nodded while looking up at him.

"Want me to warm them up?" He asked with a cheeky grin, and she chuckled. He pulled her in and placed his lips on hers. His lips were soft and warm against hers. She could taste the remnants of a cigarette in his mouth. He had probably had a smoke earlier. He cupped her face. Calloused hands against soft, cold cheeks. He slipped his tongue in her mouth, and she shivered. This time it wasn't from the cold. He tasted her. She was his favorite flavor. She hummed. His hands left her cheeks and settled them on her hips. Pulling her closer. He could do this forever. He ran his hands up her sides. The kettle whistled. It scared them both, and their lips separated with a smack.

"Shite." He cursed, then grabbed a handcloth and placed it over the handle. He poured the hot water into the two mugs. Her favorite mug. It read, 'Dibs on the lead singer.' His was a U2 mug with his dad's face plastered on it. It was a gag gift from her. He made both their teas how they liked it.

"Careful. It's hot." He warned before he passed the mug to her. She blew on the hot liquid. Smoke fanned her face. They moved to the couch and just sat there in comfort and silence. Elijah and her could always relax together. Especially when he's in vocal rest. She can tell what he wants without him even speaking.

He was being so sweet to her. It made her eyes burn. He wasn't looking at her, but she was looking at him. Sometimes when she looked at him, feelings would choke her. Sitting at her throat, waiting to be spilt. They had been dating for around 6 months. She hadn't said it yet. The word had always made her uncomfortable. She had warned him about it. He said it to her first. Sometimes he drops it in conversations.

Right now though. The words were at the tip of her tongue. Ready to stumble out.

"Eli..." She let out breathlessly. His head turned. He saw her expression. His brow raised in question. "What is it?"

"I..." She gulped. She didn't know why this was so difficult for her. She cursed. He sat up straight. He could tell her. He just knew. Taking a sip of his tea before speaking.

"You don't have to say it. I know."

"What?" Her mouth agape. Eyebrows furrowed. He couldn't possibly know what she was about to say.

"Oh, come on. Did you think I didn't know? I see it on your face every day." He chuckled at her face.

"See what on my face?"

"Love."

"Fuck off." She rolled her eyes. He laughed louder this time. She crawled towards him. He smirked at her.

"You're such a bloody eejit." She sat on his lap. A peck to her lips.

"That you love."

"Yeah, whatever, fucker. I love you." He smiled widely now. Almost giddy. His cheeks turned pink.

"Are you blushing?"

"Yeah, whatever. I love you more."

Sugar Hits. // Elijah Hewson X Reader! (Fluff)

request: maybe you could write something like reader supporting Eli at a concert or something. Like, he's nervous about playing the new songs (your house, eddie in the Darkness) because he doesn’t know if the fans will like them and reader just comforts him before and after the show.

words: 2K.

That wasn’t your first gig of theirs. By the end of their last tour, you were already close with Eli and had really started to enjoy that "rockstar girlfriend" side of things. You managed to enjoy them more, and it felt good to have them back. As you walked down the hallway, Bobby spotted you, greeting you in his usual down-to-earth manner. He pulled you into a quick hug that made you feel a little guilty—it had been a while since you’d seen him, even though you didn’t live that far from each other. You exchanged a few words, catching up on your lives briefly, but then he noticed your eyes wandering around the room and shared something that had been on your mind.

 "Eli's with Josh, sorting out something about the soundcheck," he said with a smile. You returned it, but it was a shy, almost embarrassed grin, worried that Bobby might think you weren’t paying attention.

 "It's all good; I bet he's missing you too," he teased, bumping his shoulder against yours before letting you know he had to go meet up with the others. Your cheeks flushed, and it was funny how, even though almost a year had passed since the last gig you’d attended, you still felt like an outsider. Not because they treated you that way—in fact, it was quite the opposite. They always made you feel welcome, part of it all. But you understood this was their moment, their time together.

 You waved at a few familiar faces as you made your way to a quieter balcony, finding solace in the semi-isolation. Eli always knew how overwhelming those spaces could be for you, especially after a long time. He always made sure his hotel room was organized with thoughtful touches—handpicked playlists, your favorite snacks—so you could have a retreat when the chaos got too much. This time was no different. He’d texted you the room number and even let the front desk know you'd be stopping by. If you didn’t already know that Eli needed you more this time than you needed a quiet place to recharge, you would’ve gone straight there. Usually, you’d take a short nap, listen to some good music, and breathe in his scent that lingered on the pillows, comforting you before heading back to watch him perform.

  “I thought you'd take longer.” His tone was sharper than usual, the words fading into the atmosphere, his voice growing weaker. His eyes, tired yet still shining with a soft light, were fixed on you as you sat with a cigarette in hand. The night before, you’d stayed on the phone with him until he finally fell asleep—though it took a while. Eli masked it well, the calm tone in his voice, the gentle look on his face, and eyebrows that showed no sign of concern. But you knew his chest was heavy with worry.

 That phone call had mostly been filled with quiet, just the comfort of having each other there. But he had briefly confessed his anxiety about singing the new songs, how his mind kept spiraling into everything that could go wrong. You knew him well, knew you could remind him how amazing he was and offer rational solutions, but he’d already tortured himself enough over the past week. So, instead, you listened, letting him pour it all out, hoping it would make him feel lighter, even though it was painful to hear someone you loved, someone so capable, talk that way about themselves and their work.

 "You're doing great, El," you had whispered, your own throat tight, fighting the urge to cry, praying he'd understood you, even though your voice had come out so softly. And here you were again, saying the same thing, in the same quiet tone, after a six-hour flight because of your work, as he rested his forehead against your shoulder and melted into your arms.

 His body was cold, muscles tense, and you wished this would all pass soon so he could see how well everything was going to turn out.

 "I need you."

 "Well, here I am, huh?" His back was resting against the balcony railing, legs spread slightly with you standing in front of him so that you were at eye level, close. Your fingers combed through his hair, which still held defined curls, and you peppered soft kisses on his cheek. He wasn’t one to easily show his emotions, but just having you there, all your gentle touches, made him feel better. He nodded as your delicate hands cupped his face, helping you see him more clearly. His tired eyes met yours, and you gave him a light smile, trying to lift his spirits. 

 "You've done this before, haven't you?" you teased him gently. His hands rested on your waist, pulling you closer. He tilted his head, wearing a stern expression, clearly weighing the situation in his mind. "I know, I'm being an id—" you cut him off, pressing your lips to his. Surprised, he gripped you tighter, but gradually relaxed as you felt the tension ease from his muscles, bit by bit. He kissed you back, a soft, relieved sigh escaping into the kiss.

 You squeezed his shoulder through his black leather jacket—a piece he’d only wear for show since he always took it off mid-gig. He made more room for you to deepen the kiss. You could taste your lip gloss, and he had the familiar hint of mint candy on his lips, but nothing compared to the warmth that filled you as his scent wrapped around you, making you feel at home. You pulled back slightly to look at him. His eyes were still closed, and he gave you a few more soft kisses. Before he could speak, you murmured, “Only I can talk like that about my boyfriend. Anyone else? Not a chance.” He laughed, more relaxed now, his cheeks and lips red.

 "Everything’s gonna be okay, El. You’ve done this before, and it went fine. You’re not going to disappoint anyone. Your fans are here because they love your work. I’m not dismissing how you feel, just saying you’re worrying over nothing, love." He nodded, and while it didn’t completely lift the weight from his shoulders, it felt like having that so-called voice of reason gently soothe his mind.

 "Can you stay visible today?" The tip of his nose was pink, and his curls nearly covered his caramel eyes in supplication, but you didn’t mind. You usually stayed to the side of the stage, not wanting to be in the way, but this time it was different. "Of course, I’ll be there." He smiled, grateful, pulling you into his chest and holding you even tighter. You nestled into him, knowing you’d stay like that for a good while, arms wrapped around his waist. It felt even better than being in his hotel room—it was perfect.

…

 Your back ached slightly, the exhaustion of just standing was starting to catch up. It had been a long flight, and you hadn't slept, but it was worth it. The lights dimmed, the crowd roared, and the thrill of seeing them live again was unmistakable. It was busier than last time, and it felt so good to see them getting the recognition they deserved. As the first chords played, the atmosphere was electric. Eli glanced at you every now and then, a warm smile on his face. You found yourself jumping and cheering for him, just like you did when you were beside the stage, though you always felt a bit embarrassed doing it in front of him. But it was impossible not to.

 The first new song started, the silence filling with Eli’s steady voice, and he kept looking at you more frequently. You reassured him with your gaze. It was your first time hearing the new tracks in their entirety—the lyrics, the instrumentation—and you were so proud of him. As the next few songs, also new, played, you could see him loosening up, interacting with the crowd even though they weren’t singing along. Everything went smoothly.

 As the show ended, a few fans stopped you on your way out. You felt a bit bad for standing in front of people who had paid to be there, so you made an effort to talk to them. It was awkward because their excitement was meant for Eli, and you weren’t as natural in these moments as he was. But you didn’t want to seem rude. They were enthusiastic, and you ended up asking what they thought so you could pass it along to him. They shared their love for the performance, and you told them it was your first time hearing the new songs too. It was a brief exchange, though your nerves made it feel longer.

 As the fans thinned, Eli eventually stepped in, taking their attention off you. He placed a hand on your back, sharing in their excitement as he spoke to them. He knew you’d disappear from the conversation if given the chance, and it always amused him—he understood. You loved how attentive he and the band were in moments like this, always so considerate. You hated the thought of interrupting his time with fans, so you stood back, watching him chat and take photos, all smiles and joy.

 He had been so nervous he hadn’t slept, but seeing him like this, radiant and confident, you knew he was being ridiculous. He was perfect.

…

 You found yourself distracted, chatting with Lewis while waiting for the boys to come back so you could head to the hotel. The room filled with laughter as Eli's arms suddenly wrapped around you, lifting you off the ground and giving you a playful scare. You turned to face him, and there he was, beaming as if he had never been worried at all, and you threw your arms around him as he picked you up again.

 "I'm so proud of you. It was amazing," you whispered just for him. His eyes sparkled, hair now a mess. He was drenched in sweat, his white tank top almost transparent. "I love you so much, you know that?" he said, his voice softer than usual. You nodded, feeling the warmth rush to your cheeks. Then, he rubbed his damp hair against your face, making you laugh out loud, which made him laugh too. There was never any doubt he loved you—it wasn’t something he said all the time, but when he did, it filled you with buzzing bubbles.

 "Do I know this one?" he teased, running his fingers over the buttons of your brown vest that matched your boots. He’d noticed your outfit during the gig, appreciating that you always made an effort for their shows. It was something casual and routine for him, and now for you too. You could’ve easily shown up in something more comfortable, and he wouldn’t mind—he’d understand, especially since you’d come straight from the airport. But the fact that you took the time to choose something, thinking about what to wear and anticipating the gig, meant a lot to him. Even after seeing them live so many times, you still made it special.

 "I got it a few weeks ago," you replied, happy he noticed. "Saved it for tonight. Figured it deserved something special." He chuckled, resting his hand on your waist as he gave you a little twirl. "Your eyes too," he said, cupping your cheeks for a closer look. "You’re stunning." He stared at your black eyeliner.

 You smiled, closing your eyes as his thumb traced gentle circles on your jaw. "I told you," you whispered, bringing the conversation back to earlier. He kissed your nose, then your lips, finally accepting your words of wisdom. You let out a yawn, and he followed suit, making you laugh again. "You did, but it’s a good reason to have you here with me," he said, pulling you closer as you both made your way to the car.

 He couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel either, to shower with you, to crawl into bed, and fall asleep wrapped up in your arms. "I’ll always be here, El."

Heartplace. // Elijah Hewson X Reader (Fluff).

prompt: about how you handle a light argument, where Eli said things he's truly sorry for and wants to apologize.

words: 2.1K

It affected you in a way that left your mind distant throughout the day, but deep down, you understood. He was tired, and though he was in the wrong, his sleepless nights without you and his swollen eyes as he watched you leave each morning made it clear—he knew he had hurt you.

Knowing Eli, he would be brooding over it, silently reprimanding himself while figuring out how to reconnect with you and make things right.

"Come closer," you whispered, foam already covering his tiny beard. Under normal circumstances, he would have kissed you, making a mess. You appreciated how, despite complications, you never neglected each other. You loved him too much to go long without touching him, and he felt the same.

…

Despite the thoughtless and cruel words from the night before, he still came to pick you up from work, waiting outside with a cigarette as usual, and kept your favorite songs playing even after you got into the car without giving him your usual long, lingering hug. He stayed silent, his hand brushing over his eyes during the drive, and you’d have been foolish not to notice him struggling to keep them from misting over.

You didn’t fight often, but you had been together a long time, so this wasn’t the first. As you gazed out the window, you placed your hand on his, intertwining your fingers, listening to him sniff softly—so discreet and embarrassed that, if not for the years, you might have missed it. His rings against your skin were comforting, so familiar.

He squeezed your thigh affectionately; his fingers were cold, but yours quickly warmed them. As you gently stroked the short hair on his arm, he felt foolish—both for what he’d done and for still not knowing what to say or how to say it. You weren’t angry with him, not at all, but you didn’t like the way it felt.

…

He took a deep breath, settling between your legs, which quickly wrapped around his waist. His long fingers grazed the hem of your shirt (which, by the way it hung to your thighs, was clearly his), gradually stealing the warmth from your hips into his palms. You smiled softly as his eyes met yours; at times, he felt like he didn't deserve you. You could feel his breath close as you wet the blade and steadied his face with your hand. It felt good to have him near, even with the tension still lingering in the air between you.

“Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?” you asked, continuing to remove the excess before resuming the grooming process you loved so much. Eli was never very patient with his beard; whenever he had to do it himself, it usually ended with intense itching and irritated, red skin. You never failed to take good care of him, and he appreciated it deeply. It didn’t usually grow too thick, but it bothered him, and you were so good at handling it.

“Like what, darlin’?” His voice was velvety yet cautious. His eyes sparkled at you with a faint smile, freckles prominent, as if pleading for kisses. Realizing it had been a while since you’d heard him, your body tingled. You tightened around him, wanting him close as if he could heal the pounding in your head. You wanted to say everything was fine, but you also wanted to be honest about your hurt. Above all, you were waiting for him to take the first step. Things are always much easier said than done.

Your face was furrowed in concentration, or perhaps annoyance; at that moment, he couldn’t quite tell. It seemed as if you were about to carve a look of distress into his features, yet he couldn’t help but smile at how beautiful you looked.

"I don't know," you whispered. Despite looking tired, he still wore a sweet expression as he looked at you. The wrinkle between his relaxed eyebrows and the way his caramel eyes shone, even on not-so-great days, were things you loved about him.

He nodded, tracing circles on your skin, waiting for you to continue. When you finished, you dried his face with the still-warm towel and applied the soothing lotion. The bonus you loved most was that you’d fall asleep with his comforting scent lingering on you. You ran your hands over his bare shoulders, appreciating every freckle, and then, with quiet sincerity, he pulled you into a hug.

Your forehead rested against his chest, your hand entwined around his waist, and gradually, his breathing comforted you. You murmured softly, feeling warmth in your chest, the hairs on his chest tickling your cheek, which made him laugh as well. He nuzzled his red nose against your cheek, then down to your shoulder, and after lightly kissing it, he playfully nibbled, wanting to hear you smile. It was a pleasant and new sensation to feel him against your skin without the facial hair.

“Thank you for takin’ care of me, tiny one,” he said, still feeling weighed down. His face nestled into your neck, and he couldn’t bring himself to meet your eyes. “I really like these little moments with you.” He felt like an idiot for stating the obvious, as if it would somehow make things better. His fear wasn’t about apologizing but rather about recognizing how much he had hurt you with his actions.

You nodded against his skin, feeling small in his embrace. "You know when we go to the market?" Your voice trembled, and he felt the dampness spreading quietly across his chest as you rubbed your hand against him. A lump formed in his throat as he held you tighter. "This is going to sound silly," you said, laughing without much humor.

He watched you through wet eyelashes, cradling your face as your foreheads rested together, allowing you to gaze into each other’s eyes. Your hair stuck to his, and he tried to pull it away in vain; perhaps it was meant to be tangled together. "I wanna hear you out," he said, his voice catching as he spoke.

You swallowed hard and closed your eyes. "I love how you smile at me when you 'find' me in the market, y’know? Your eyes, even your freckles seem to sparkle. I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed, but it always happens, even though you know I’ll come back to you after I find something from the list. Sometimes, I think I do it on purpose—disappear among the shelves and then reappear with something in hand to show you. It never fails. You squint your eyes and then break into a smile, your cheeks rosy and your teeth showing, and it makes me want to hug you." You sniffled, feeling vulnerable.

He was just as emotional, yet he held you close, making you feel heard. "I’m afraid this will end," your voice trailed off, and then you shook your head vigorously. "I hate thinking that you might get tired of being with me. Even though I know you acted in the heat of the moment, I can't shake the feeling that it’s a possibility." Those were the truths that weighed heavily on you, and you felt apprehensive about sharing it.

There was silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable. He cradled your face in his hands, the tip of his nose nuzzling against your skin as he pressed soft kisses onto your cheek. He offered you the same affectionate look he always had. "It won’t end, I promise. I’m sorry.” He held you tighter, hating himself for leaving you alone to deal with those feelings. Sometimes, he wished you would be angry at him and scream in his face, but fortunately, you both knew better than that. “I didn’t mean to hurt you; I was tired and ended up unloading my feelings on you when you were just trying to help. I didn’t realize you felt this way.”

He chuckled at his own words, his cheeks and the tip of his nose flushed. He hadn’t realized it before, but reflecting on those memories, he loved having you close. In public—whether at the market or any other event—the voices in his head and the external noises became more persistent, almost paralyzing. But having you by his side made him feel lighter, grounding his thoughts. Loving you made him more patient, filling him with that warm feeling in his chest and the assurance that everything would be alright because the person he cherished most in the world was with him.

“I know you didn’t mean it.” The tips of your fingers brushed against his nose, trailing your thumb to his eyes as you smiled weakly at the sight of his tears. “I’m upset, but I’m not angry with you. I know I can be stubborn, and I’ve been forgiven for my questionable actions in the past.”

The difference was that he knew you would know what to say, expertly resolving everything without leaving room for insecurities to take root in his mind. He didn’t have much to say; he had failed you in less than two minutes, and he still replayed the sad look in your eyes and the way you had lowered your head the previous night as punishment.

You opened your arms, noticing how he had withdrawn into himself, lost in his own thoughts. “Take me to bed, Eli.” He forced a smile as he held you close, his hands firm on your waist while you intertwined your legs around him.

“I won’t do it again; I won’t make you feel this way again. I love you. I promise.” His voice was breathless but not desperate, polite and well-articulated. It was as if he felt the need to prove something to you, believing that words alone wouldn’t suffice. Despite knowing he would apologize many more times out of concern, you were fine. He had always been good at listening.

Your back sank into the mattress as your fingers wove through his hair, his face nestled against you. “I don’t like sleeping without you,” he whispered, lifting his head. His hand caressed your cheek and chin, captivated by how he closed his eyes at your touch and sighed. You kissed him lightly, and as you sank back into the bed, he stole another kiss from you. Soon, the tips of your fingers traced the path of his freckles, and he understood that he would miss you if fate decided that you didn’t want him anymore.

“Yeah?” Your eyebrows arched, eager to hear more as you snuggled closer to the pillow, feeling vulnerable under his gaze.

“Yeah,” he laughed, his face lighting up. “I love how you share your day with me and listen until we drift off to sleep.” He paused, fingers tracing your skin as he sighed contentedly, grateful for your closeness and the kisses you shared. “Mornings are great too, when you play with my hair until I wake up to see you smiling beside me, or when I catch you washing your face with the bathroom light on.” Holding your chin, he reflected on how often those moments happened, all equally cherished. He missed you when filming kept him away, and he found himself longing for your daily updates and photos. “I need you, I’m sorry,” he began, but you covered his mouth, smiling.

“If you apologize again, I won’t forgive you; you’ll be on your own. I know you won’t do it again.” Your tone was light, easing his tension. You pulled him closer, enjoying the warmth of his embrace as his hands found their way to your waist. He nuzzled his beard-less face against your forehead and planted a kiss there. “Elijah?” you sang softly.

He grumbled, pulling you even closer.

“Your mother called earlier, inviting us to lunch. I said we’d go.” Your breath against his chest was light, and he chuckled at the thought that you might hold a grudge. It was funny to think that you didn't hesitate at all to decline the request.

hi darling 🤍 passing by to say i absolutely adore your writing, please please keep up with it!! (especially ‘cause there’s not that much inhaler fanfiction here, and i’m constantly thirsting over those men help)

anyway, this is not really an ask, i just wanted to know how do you think each one of the guys would comfort their girl? like, the reader is dealing with grief maybe, how would they deal/behave? sorry if this is too much (feel free to ignore it if you don’t feel comfortable)

it’s just that things are kinda rough around here and i needed one of them to console me so bad 🫤 this is it for now, thanks for your attention 🤍

- 🌺

how the inhaler guys would comfort you:

elijah hates seeing you sad and does everything he can to help you feel better. he'll take your face into his hands, wiping away your tears while telling you "it's okay" and "that he's here." he'd hold you to his chest and let you sob into his shirt or just lay there and take in everything for as long as you need. he wants you to know that he cares for you and that you're loved, that you'll never be alone because he'll always be there for you. once you've relaxed, he'd ask you what's the matter and if you want to vent/talk it out. if you want to talk, he listens to your every word, humming and nodding along while playing with your hair as you explain. if you don't want to talk, he'll keep you close to him, cuddling with you unless you all fall asleep or make other plans.

robert worries that you might not think he cares about your feelings so he tries to be more affectionate and in tune with emotions with you. at first, rob would most likely give you some distance, worried that he may misread the situation and say the wrong thing. afterward, though, he'd just ask if you want to talk about it and let you cry on his shoulder, vent without interruption, anything you need. and if you don't want to talk about it, he'd probably make an effort to distract you by playing his bass, watching a movie, going on a walk, etc. rob's not always the best with words and emotions but he wants you to know that he's cares about you and is always there.

ryan senses something's off and would automatically ask you if anything is wrong or if something's going on. he's there to listen with an open heart and ears if you choose to talk to him. his hand holds yours as you speak to him, thumb brushing the back of your knuckles with an engaged look on his face. he'd hug you and just tell you that things will be better and that you're not alone, cause you'll always have him. if you don't want to speak, he'll understand and ask if there's anything else, in particular, you want to do with the day, taking you to your favorite cafe or bookstore in hopes of making you feel somewhat better.

josh just immediately hugs you, letting you cry it out or just take in the comfort of being held. he'd probably make you tea or another drink/beverage you like before sitting down with you and reassuringly talking to you about your pain and problems. he doesn't press or pry at the situation and allows you to tell him as much or as little as you feel comfortable with. josh offers advice where he sees fit but other than that he just offers help wherever possible or desired by you to let you know he cares. if you don't want to go into it at all, that's also okay with him, josh will just stay at your side for as long as you need him to so you know you're not alone

hi! thank you sm for the ask. im sorry it took so long and i hope you're feeling better now. everything here is just how i imagine the guys would comfort their girl. i obviously can't speak with any sort of certainty since i don't know them personally. But i do hope that you enjoy anon!

with love,

faye <3

Million Dollar Man | Logan Sargeant/ Elijah Hewson X reader (smau)

Summary: In which Y/n y/l/n meets the love of her life after losing the other one.

Pairings: Logan Sargeant x fem!ex!reader, Elijah Hewson x fem!actress!reader

A/n: I’m back with my Elijah Hewson x f1 fanfics! Also no hate intended towards Logan.

Masterlist

Yourusername

Liked by AlexAlbon, DanielRicciardo and 567000 others

Yourusername: Race weekend with my favourite people <3

Comments:

AlexAlbon: Wrong team y/n!

> DanielRicciardo: Alpha Tauri is the only right team😎

F1fans: “with my favourite people”. So where’s Logan🤔

> justaninchident: Right, he hasn’t been in any of her photo dumps and he hasn’t liked any of her pictures lately.

Lilymhe: My favourite person🫶🏼

> AlexAlbon: Tought I was your favourite person🤨

Yourusername

📍Dublin, Ireland

Liked by Lilymhe, AlexAlbon and 564900 others

Yourusername: Me, myself and I on a little get away!

Comments:

Lilymhe: You deserve it y/n/n🫶🏼

> F1fan3: I love how y/n and Lily are still friends even tho y/n and Logan probably broke up.

LoganSargeantfan2: Where is Logan????

Yourusername posted on their story:

📍Dublin, Ireland

Caption: Getting to know the culture!

Replies:

Lilymhe: 2 pints😏 who’s the lucky one??

> yourusername: I’ll tell u all about it when I’m back😉

LoganSargeant: Y/n please answer your texts, also 2 glasses, who are you with??

Yourusername

📍 Dublin, Ireland

Liked by ElijahHewson, LoganSargeant and 564000 others

Yourusername: Dublin in ecstasy.

Comments:

Lilymhe: Babe it’s been a month, I need you back here😩

> Yourusername: I’ll be back in 2 weeks babe🫶🏼

Inhalerfan2: Girly spends a month in Dublin and is already an Inhaler fan

> ElijahHewsonsguitarstring: That guy in the second pic looks a lot like Eli🤔

> inhalefan3: omg he does🤨

ElijahHewson: Am I not the best tour guide ever??

> yourusername: Definitely!

Yourusername

Liked by ElijahHewson, Lilymhe and 5476000 others

yourusername: Brooklyn baby

comments:

Inhalerfan2: "Well, my bofriend's in a band"

ElijahHewson: Prettiest girl ever

>Yourusername: Prettiest boy ever <3

LoganSargeantfan2: Damn she moved on fast.

>Y/nswife: Girl shut up, they broke up 3 months ago and Logan cheated on her so let her be!

Yourusername

Liked by ElijahHewson, LoganSargeant and 571000 others

yourusername: I too love Bono's son <3

comments have been disabled

hii! not sure if you’re open to requests but i’m going to give u a few ideas! most of these are for elijah hewson😭

falling asleep on the couch, waking up to not only a blanket around them, but eli squeezed in behind them

being in the studio with the band and messing about?? making jokes and being silly!

kissing and dancing in the kitchen to an old singe they both like?

eli taking care of you when you’re sick and just being super soft and caring!

spending valentine’s day together!

something about the reader playing with eli’s fingers to calm them down?

softly smiling at each other from across the room and also reassuring touches!

telling each other how much they love them

them cuddling in bed and pulling eachother closer

hope these spark your writing :))))

Kiss It Better | ELIJAH HEWSON

here's a short little thing inspired by this request!

PAIRING: elijah hewson x f!reader

WORDS: 1.5k

SUMMARY: eli's girlfriend is ill, elijah comforts her.

GENRE: hurt/comfort, fluff

WARNINGS: references to throwing up

I've never been so ill in my life. My nose is so runny. I've almost used every single packet of tissues in the kitchen cabinet right under the sink — which used to be a lot and now is very little. I've thrown up my insides into the loo way too many times to count on my fingers. Bent over the toilet, eyes pricking with tears, I've never felt so useless. At least the thought of my boyfriend getting back after his gig gives me something to look forward to. But it's far too late.

I'm staring at the TV screen. I hug my knees to my chest, attempting to generate some warmth. The blanket is upstairs — probably hiding in the space between the bed and the wall. Surely, if I attempt to stumble upstairs now, I'll just get stuck and end up falling asleep in the corridor.

I can't stop glancing at the door. I'm hoping for a doorknob twist, knock, ring of the doorbell, stamp of boots, low and raspy post-concert voice. But I'm just met with nothing. No signs of his arrival. He hasn't called me. He usually doesn't. He likes to surprise me. After having the worst migraine of my life, it would give me some comfort if he just gave me a hug. A warm Elijah Hewson hug would cleanse my mind.

Starting to realise that the TV is doing more harm than good, I switch it off. I'm beginning to see blurry triangular shapes and my eyes burn like they're on fire. The living room is pitch black. I'm freezing. I'm tired. I take two paracetamol tablets and chug some water. Curling up on my side, legs on the armrest, I close my eyes.

-

I wake up. Sunlight gleams through the gaps in the white curtains. My body is wrapped in a duvet, soft and warm. Skin is against mine. Arms are around my body, squeezing me tightly. He's shirtless. I can tell by the tufts of chest hair flicking at my shoulder. His head is on my back, curls all over my skin, lips between my shoulderblades. I don't want to move. I don't want to speak. He's asleep. Gentle snores, deep breaths, in and out.

I must've fallen into a deep sleep because I have no recollection of his arrival or him ever taking me upstairs. I'm usually a light sleeper. This migraine fully knocked me out. That's the best nights sleep I've had in a while. I'm especially thankful I managed to escape from work for the rest of the week.

Elijah's normally the little spoon when we hug like this. It's funny how the tables have turned. I think I prefer this though. But lying awake and tracing the muscles in his back always seems to calm me down.

I want to ask him how the show went and the reason for his tardiness. He had been playing in Glasgow, thankfully only a few miles away from me and had bought me tissues, chocolate and gave me an endless supply of kisses before he had to run down to meet the band.

Opening my eyes fully, I take a peek over at the bedside table. He's brought me more tissues, face masks, more chocolate and a box of sleep teabags.

I realise Elijah's awake when his fingers start to walk along my bare stomach and his mouth is at the juncture between my back and shoulder. He pulls my hair to the side, presses his wet mouth to my neck. He smells clean. I'm sure he's showered. His hair feels a little damp.

He keeps pulling me closer. Arms tightening like he's a boa constrictor. Cool rings on my stomach, large hands tugging at the waistband of my shorts.

"You feeling better?" He asks, between kisses, tongue tracing my jugular vein. It's unsettlingly nice. His words are always gruff the morning after the show. All the singing takes a toll. Makes him sound more mellow. Sometimes I worry for his vocal cords.

"Not really." I groan. A mind-numbing headache is still prodding at my brain and the brightness of the sun makes my eyes burn. He's got a hand on my forehead, cool fingers against fiery skin — checking the temperature.

"God, you're pale. And you're burning up. I should get the thermometer." He gets out of bed. The loss of weight of his body makes the mattress shift. I glance over at him. His hair has stuck up at the top, his bare back glows under the sunlight. He stands up. Sweatpants cling loosely to his hips, revealing the muscles of his abdomen and a chain circles around his neck. He leaves the room — not even giving me time to utter a word of annoyance at the sudden lack of touch.

Then he's back. He crawls into bed. The thermometer is between his index finger and thumb. I look at the cross tattoo on his palm, see the concentration on his face as he plays around with the buttons.

"It's just a migraine," I say but he's already turning it on and pointing at my mouth. I roll my eyes and separate my lips. He gives me a sly smirk, just making me sit like that for a moment. Then he puts the device beneath my tongue and waits patiently. I'm trying not to laugh at how awkward this is. I close my eyes to evade his gaze but I can still feel the force of his stare.

"You've got a fever." Dr Hewson alerts me with his expert diagnosis although the furrow of his brows makes him seem unsure. He looks down at the numbers displayed, rubbing his face with worry. "A really bad one." He's now searching up on his phone what it means.

"Should I go to the doctors?" I shuffle away from him. I don't want him to catch what I have. He has gigs all week, I don't want to ruin anything for him.

He notices my movement. Shaking his head, he drags me back towards him, making me nestle into his chest. His eyes are still darting along a website.

"I think you just need to rest. I'll make you breakfast." Elijah kisses my nose before running downstairs with his mind set solely on making some decent food.

Through the corridor, into the kitchen. He's forgotten where half the things are in the room. Opening cabinets, searching through the fridge, putting water into the kettle. Most of the time he'll get his breakfast on the way to a show. Maybe a café, maybe he'll steal some food from Ryan. Today, however, he's lucky enough to not have a gig and actually have time to look after his girlfriend. Although he's definitely going to make a mess of the place.

His final decision is to make omelettes. Oil on the frying pan, ham—leaving it to heat up until it's a little crispy. Two eggs, cracked and swirled in a glass. Cheese on top, grated with masterful excellence—at least that's what he believes. Folds it over to make it fill half of the pan. Let's it continue to fry. Then he's running over to make a cup of tea. He uses one of the sleep teabags he bought. He's just about to plate up when footsteps echo behind him.

I have to stop for a second when I walk into the kitchen. It's a rarity to see Elijah here, cooking for me. We started dating at the beginning of the tour which unluckily means that he's hardly ever home. He has to leave early in the morning and gets back really late. Whenever he has days off, he takes me on dates and walks, or we just laze around at home, basking in eachother's presence. There's times when he brings me along to the recording studio so that I can reprimand all the band members or give an outside opinion of their new songs.

Elijah seems so focused on getting this omelette perfect. He's running around the place. He grabs two pieces of bread to turn his dish into an omelette-sandwich. I stand in the doorway for a while, just watching him. But, I can't stop myself from nearing him. As he cuts an apple into a slices, I slide my arms around his stomach, pressing my head to his shoulder. He sighs quietly. I breathe in his scent, his comfort.

"You should be in bed," he whispers, although he doesn't seem to want me to let go. I shake my head as he looks at me.

There's music playing on the radio. I turn it up. It's a song by The Smiths. I'm swaying to the beat, moving Elijah along with me. He's still carefully chopping fruit into perfect pieces. Watermelon, strawberries, mango. My mouth is watering just looking at the vast array of flavours.

Elijah drops his knife, turns around to face me. His hands find my waist, his lips find my neck, his head burrows into my chest like he's a mole hiding under soil. We dance along to the crackle of music, feeling the melodies trickle into our bones. Just his presence makes me feel better, every kiss turns my negative thoughts to mush.

til the dawning

→ sum: late night guitar sessions and cuddles on the couch

→ contains: fluff, teasing, nothing crazy

→ length: 0.8k

a/n: sorry i haven't uploaded in forever but here's a request i got. btw i do take request so if you have any feel free to ask! remember to like and reblog if you enjoyed! <3

if dating a musician has taught you anything, it's that when they're working on a song, a few more minutes is never just "a few more minutes." in reality, a few more minutes will stretch into a minimum of two hours.

"eli, you've been going at this for a while now. can't you call it a day and just lay down with me"

"i'm almost done. i'll be there with you in a bit" he says, his eyes still fixed on the frets of his guitar as you slowly make your way to your shared bedroom.

even hours later, you can still hear the soft strumming of the guitar filling the halls, its gentle melodies lingering in the quiet of the late evening.

you pad over to the living room, silently watching eli sitting on the couch, his fingers dancing gracefully over the strings, lost in the music.

you move over to stand behind him, your hands placed on the tops of his shoulder as you rub at the knots that have formed. "love, it's getting really late. can we go to bed now?" you plead with a tired whisper.

he pauses, tearing his eyes away from the instrument to gaze up at you with a loving smile. "just a few more minutes, darling. i'm almost done," resuming his strum on the guitar.

"you know, that's what you said hours ago yet you're still here," you pout as his focus remains on the guitar.

eli chuckles softly and takes one of your hands from his shoulder, bringing it to his lips to place a gentle kiss upon it. "i swear, love, i actually mean it this time." he replies, his warm breath brushing against the soft skin of your knuckles.

you sigh and sit down beside him on the couch. "alright, but it better be just a few more minutes." you tease as he smirks back at you.

but as you predicted, those "few minutes" turned into a half-hour. you couldn't help but get pulled into the music, humming along every so often and tapping your fingers to the rhythm .

eli leans forward, his stare fixed on the notepad, a series of words and doodles decorating the page in a messy art. he taps the butt of the pencil against the coffee table, muttering lyrics to him,

"burning a hole, right down in my chest. like the morning, just slide out the window...." he hums the tune and purses his lips.

"til the dawning?" you suggest. he turns to face you, the pencil pressed to his lips as he thinks for a moment. a smile spreads across his lips, and he scribbles the words down on the notepad.

"when did you learn how to write a song?" he taunts lovingly, eyes crinkled. you shrug your shoulders and lean back, "what can i say? something about drowsiness gets the creative juices flowing." "i should keep you up more often then?" he laughs at your mocking glare before going back to working on the song. 

he was getting close to the end of the song, the melody finally taking shape. you tried your best to fight off the sleepiness, feeling your eyelids growing heavy as the song progressed, and before you even knew it, the soft tune from the guitar had lulled you to sleep.

when he'd finally decided he was done for the night, eli turned to find you fast asleep, head resting on the armrest of the couch. he couldn't help but chuckle softly at the sight of you completely passed out, hair sprawled out and mouth slightly agape.

he gently set the guitar aside and draped a cozy blanket over you, tucking you in with care. he maneuvered the two of you around on the couch, snuggling up beside you, placing your head on his chest.

he brushed your hair out of your face and planted a soft kiss to your temple then whispered, "good night my love" before falling asleep with you wrapped in his arms.

the morning light pouring through the window hits your eyes, the glow of dawn filtered through the drapes. you groan at the ache in your back from a night on the couch as you become aware of a comforting presence beside you.

eli is nestled against you, his arms wrapped protectively around your body, and the two of you swaddle by a blanket.

you smile at the sight, feeling his gentle breath against your cheek and his heartbeat beneath your ear. you brush your thumb along his cheekbone, and trail your pointer down the bridge of his nose.

as you shift slightly, eli stirs, his eyes fluttering open. he gazes down at you with a soft, affectionate expression. "good morning, my love," he whispers, his morning voice filled with warmth.

“late night?” you hum

“you know it”

you're losing me → e. hewson

pairing —elijah hewson x singer!fem!reader

summary —where you release a new single that sends your friends into a heartbroken panic

sarahskeetz guys, before you go crazy about the eli and y/n rumours, please use some common sense and reevaluate. y/n's wrote countless songs about how elijah is her soulmate AND how media is often so wrong and invasive in regards to their lives and that people shouldn't believe things unless either of them say it directly. plus, these pictures of them were literally posted last month. she'd hardly have prepped you're losing mebto be released in that amount of time

username no fr, even if they did split, they don't deserve the harassment they're both getting online for it

joshjenkily litch. they should be allowed to deal with it in their own time

ynbridgerss okay but the clear parallels between these songs and ylm....

pheebrodrighoe no I get you but y/n hasn't interacted with any of the inhaler guys in a month despite being active online for her tour and even camilla (the number one eliyn stan) hasn't mentioned them since those photos

ynkissmeee lowk hope the rumours are true, he's been leeching off her for years 😭

judebellinghams omg shut up what are you even talking about 💀

yourusername thank u for all the love tonight, la! it's been a hectic week at best so it was lovely to just enjoy the night with you all 💞 but onto the elephant in the room.... i'm still very happily in a relationship with my little babygirl. "you're losing me" is written about my former relationships (mostly platonic) with others that i finally realised were TOTALLY MESSED UP after being with someone who loves me wholeheartedly for so long xx thank you all for the people who did send kind messages my way but please stop listening to gossip sites 😭

sahraskeetz THANK YJE LORD

camillamorrone guys my tweet was bcs y/n ditched me to get food w 🤢eli🤢

yourusername i brought u back a tiramisu shut up

ynxcamistan QUEEN YOU HAD US GAGGED

gracieabrams mother!!

ynhq thank god, we didn't want to leave elijah completely alone in the divorce 💔

robertkeating ❤️❤️

phoebebridgers so in love with you

devonleecarlson stop girl i was giggling over the articles 😭

bellahadid ok stunner

ARABELLA —ELIJAH HEWSON'S IT GIRL GF HEADCANONS

summary —every popular man needs an even more popular girlfriend and rn that's you babe xx

written for this request

wraps her lips round the mexican coke, makes you wish that you were the bottle

you're such a fan fav.

like whenever you're at inhaler gigs they're almost more excited to take pictures with you than with the band

if you work in the limelight as well (singer, model, actress, etc) his fanbase is your fanbase.

pictures of you and elijah (and just you) are very common profile pics for inhaler twt and tiktok

he's very aware that he's the arm candy in the relationship

he can't complain tho, he gets it

obsessed bf, pretty gf dynamic

goes without saying that you've got more than a few songs written about you

if you're irish (self projecting) you would be freaking out with him and the lads over them playing in slane (and for opening hslot ofc)

in famous!reader headcanons i always see "his insta is a fanpage for you" and i raise you one, your insta is a fanpage for HIM!!

litch whenever an album drops, it's on the story and in a post. they announced tour dates? posted. they're opening for someone? posted. they fall asleep on your couch after a show? posted. you see a cute fan edit? saved, commented, and posted.

you're visibly down bad for him

BUT DONT WORRY hes visibly down bad for you too

if you're a singer, people are getting videos of him with the biggest heart eyes chilling in the vip section

if you're an actress, pictures of him staring at you on the red carpet or during interviews haunt the rockstar gf pinterest girlies

if you're a model you better believe that there has never been a show of yours when everyone can see him smiling in the front row

your little fanboy <3

forehead kisses for the win!!!

AND AND AND!!!!!! a hand on the small of your back at all times

definitely does the thumb thing when you're holding hands

he follows the sidewalk rule like it's a law

tells u abt the time he got abducted by aliens to help u sleep xx

he doesn't really fuck with spooning but will always rest easier if your head is on his chest and his arm is around you

i feel like if you're a very excitable person (self projecting again) he's such a listener

like you could be rambling about the most random thing in the world, and he'll just sit there nodding with a cute little smile on his face

he'd be great to gossip with, i think, but that might just be the irish in him

it's pretty much mandatory that you get on well with the rest of the bad bcs if you're not busy yourself, eli is dragging you on tour with them

if you were in the industry longer than them i feel like you'd all have some really good chats

like giving them advice on how to deal with anxiety and helping them through any doubts or fears they have

they all appreciate having you around even if ye take the piss out of each other 24/7

it's loving banter <3

you'd get mentioned in interviews a few times

never by name tho

because eli's so private and doesn't want to end up with the bands success being attributed to you he'd never be like "oh, y/n said this, y/n said that"

instead he'd be like "oh, yeah my girlfriend's been here before so she's been telling us where to go and all"

if the others ever brought you up it'd be to take the piss out of eli

"yeah his girlfriend had to drag him out the bus this morning" "he wouldn't shut up till we brought his girlfriend over" stuff like that

you and eli would have some proper deep chats i feel

he trusts you so much

each others ride or dies fr

fans hope you get married

he does too

overall, any comment section under a pic of the two of you is filled with people crediting ye for their bisexuality xx

god bless you

in my sleep

→ sum: waking up next to eli and being totally enamored with him, even while he's asleep.

→ contains: fluff, light teasing

→ length: 0.3k (short blurb)

-not proofread or edited-

the quiet chirp of birds wakes you, eyes blinking open as the daylight pours in. the dip in your bed and warm breath on the nape of your neck reminds you that you're not alone. you turn over to face him, watching as his eyebrows furrow as he nuzzles deeper into the pillow at the suddenness of your actions. the smell of cigarettes and the remnants of his cologne fills the air. you could stay in bed with him forever just admiring the sheer beauty of his features.

you know you shouldn't. you should let him continue resting after the long few weeks he's had but you can't seem to stop your hand from gliding up, cupping his face, and tracing the outline of his jaw. the feeling of his stubble rough against the soft pads of your fingers as you slowly trail them up to the bridge of his nose. you move them from one freckle to the next, drawing constellations with the small marks. his eyes begin to flutter and a small groan breaks the quiet atmosphere.

"how long have you been up?" he states, eyes still closed, the sleep still heavy in his voice. "not long, i just wanted to look at you for a bit" you whispered, pushing the hair out of his face.

he finally opens his eyes, a small smile stretching across his lips. he brings a tired hand to lace with yours, humming at your response. "you creep" he teases, dragging his thumb along your knuckle. you let out a soft laugh and lightly hit him on the chest with your free hand.

"it's not my fault you're pretty" he laughs with you and presses his forehead to yours. "not as pretty as you, my love." he brings his lips to your temple. he wraps his arm around you and pulls you into him, head on his chest as he lays back. "now let's go back to bed, alright?" you nod, closing your eyes and fall asleep to the beating of his heart.

a/n: there is a serious lack of writers for inhaler on this app so i decided to start posting my pieces here! please like and repost if you enjoyed <3

you're doing the lords work fr

LET ME IN || elijah hewson

PAIRING: elijah x reader

WORD COUNT: 3.3k

GENRE(S): fluff, a bit of angst, friends to lovers, hurt comfort

SUMMARY: when your best friend turns up at your front door unannounced, you decide to find out why he's acting so strangely. what you don't expect is for some repressed feelings to bubble up to the surface.

WARNINGS: smoking, mentions of drinking + being drunk, kissing, eli has daddy issues oops

this is it y'all i've gone insane... he looked at me once and this is what happens. @boobyskeetz made me post this btw

It’s far along in the evening when you come home to find Elijah Hewson sitting on your staircase with his head in his hands. 

He’s slumped over, leather jacket around his shoulders and a slowly burning, unattended cigarette in between the pointer and middle finger of his right hand. The sky is pitch black, the only source of light being an ancient lantern whose shine just barely reaches Elijah’s hair. 

You’re shocked at the sight, to say the least, the heaviness of your grocery bags suddenly a faint background noise. 

“Eli?” you move closer, albeit hesitantly, and your voice makes his head snap up.

When he looks at you, you fight back the urge to gasp. His eyes, half lidded, just barely glimmer in the faint light provided by the moon overhead, leaving room for his undereye bags to stand out. And they do stand out — so much that you almost don’t catch him stumbling over his feet ever so slightly as he walks over to where you’re standing. 

Almost. 

“Are you alright?” 

It’s not a question, not really, but he winces either way. You stand close enough to see it, but immediately, his lips pull into a lopsided grin to hide his initial reaction. 

“‘Course I am,” he takes a drag of his cigarette, and uses his other hand to take one of your grocery bags. “Just wanted to see you, that’s all.”

You nod, watching him drop the unfinished cigarette to the ground and step on it. You wonder how many he’s smoked today and consider asking, but decide against it upon realizing you probably don’t want to know. Instead, you let him take your grocery bags wordlessly, following him up the stairs. 

It’s a short staircase, but you’re walking slowly – too slowly for your liking – and there’s a million questions burning on your tongue. You hold them back, mostly because you’re tired, but also because something in Elijah’s eyes tells you not to push. 

He’s the one to speak first when you reach the right apartment. “Hey, your flowers are still alive.”

He’s referring to the roses he helped you pick out last month. It was a treat for yourself, for finishing all your assignments, and you had taken the whole ‘plant mom’ job pretty seriously, even putting the roses in a prettier vase and putting it on display outside of your apartment. 

“Yeah,” you chuckle. “They’re holding up really well.”

Elijah waits for you to unlock the door, then walks inside with you in tow. He wobbles a little as he drops down his shoes where he always puts them — where he’s put them ever since you told him three years ago it could be his spot. 

You watch him shoulder off his jacket and start organizing the groceries in the fridge from afar, slowly taking off your outerwear. It’s warm inside, and your skin feels like it’s about to be set on fire after being out in the cold for so long. You think of Elijah sitting on your doorstep. How long was he waiting for you? 

“Mind if I take a beer?” he cuts off your thoughts and you look up to find him with his hand on your fridge, an inquiring look on his face. 

Now the lighting’s better, and you can clearly see his face. The creases between his brows, the focus in his gaze, the stubble that he’s let grow just a little longer than usually. Whether that’s a deliberate choice or simple forgetfulness, you’re not sure, but it worries you. His state worries you. 

“Suit yourself.”

Maybe you should have said no, you think as he takes a sip of the drink and you’re reminded of the wobble in his walk. He’s probably had enough to drink already. To be fair, though, Elijah can be stubborn when he wants to, and something’s telling you today is one of those days. 

When everything is either in the fridge or in a cupboard, you and Eli wander into the living room, shoulder to shoulder, without much to say. It’s messy, and he scolds you playfully for it — like he’s not the guy whose dorm you have to clean each time you come over. 

You join his laughter though, and plop down on your couch a little more relaxed than before. 

“How long did you wait for me?” 

This time you manage to ask him the question, and he shrugs.

“A couple hours.”

He lifts the beer up to his lips and empties it, the can blocking out his view of you and your widened eyes. 

What the hell is going on? His gaze tells you nothing. It’s so indifferent it makes you want to rip your hair out, because no matter how much he wants to pretend spontaneously coming over at three am is normal, it’s not. Especially when it comes to him. 

Sure, if it were Robert, you would’ve figured it was just him acting on impulse, but it was never like that with Elijah. 

“You could have just called,” you say finally, a slight quiver to your voice. “You should have just called. You know that, right?”

He meets your gaze, but not for long; after a second it drops down to his lap, like he’s embarrassed. You hold your breath, awaiting an answer. His fingers drum against the side of the couch, but then he changes his mind about that, too, and brings his hand to scratch the side of his face. God, what is he even doing? Trying to see how long it’ll take for you to snap and throw him out of the apartment? 

Suddenly, he sighs deeply, dropping his hands in his lap. “Didn’t wanna bother you.”

You can’t help yourself from scoffing. That’s it? He ‘didn’t wanna bother you’? Maybe you would’ve believed it hadn’t he shown up unannounced at your front door in the middle of the night. 

You almost open your mouth to say just that, but stop yourself when Elijah looks up again, and his bloodshot eyes meet yours. Something’s definitely not right. You can physically feel it, the tightening of your chest, the anger somehow pushed to the back of your head. 

“Why are you here?” you ask him sternly, keeping your eyes on him. This time, he doesn’t look away. 

“Do you want me to leave?”

It comes out meek, frail, as he almost chokes on his own words. You’re taken aback by the shiver in his voice, the drop of his shoulders. He places the beer can on your table and you swear his hands shake — just barely, but enough for you to see and for your heart to clench in response. 

You shake your head. “No, I want to know why you’re here.”

He laughs humorlessly, leaning forward in his chair. His hands are definitely shaking, but you’re not sure whether it’s from the alcohol or something entirely different. 

You know this face on him — he’s bothered by something, but doesn’t want to admit it. He’s always been like this, ever since you met him at school and watched his eyes glow with the same sadness after his teachers told him he should work on his grades. It was the same look on his face, the same millions of feelings threatening to bubble over the surface. 

The only difference seems to be that now, he’s got no cap in his hands to close the bottle. 

“I’m just tired, that’s all. Wanted to talk to you ‘cause the lads are too much noise.”

You frown and send him a look of disdain. Perhaps this isn’t something you should push on him, but seeing as he just magically appeared at your apartment while drunk, you do have a right to at least inquire what the fuck is going on.  

“If you’re going to lie to me, you might as well leave.”

Silence follows your statement; silence so loud you almost regret saying anything at all. He grits his teeth, and you swear you can hear it from across the table — though that might just be your brain playing tricks on you this late in the evening. 

“It’s my dad,” he mutters finally, scratching his stubble. “Not that that’s much of a surprise.”

“What happened?” 

“Nothing new, really,” he exhales, closing his eyes briefly. “Just, you know, the usual ‘you’re wasting your life by not going to college’ talk. Total bullshit, as always. The only thing wasted is those twenty minutes of my life I spent listening to him talk about it.” 

You breathe out slowly, fighting against the urge to look away from his gaze. He keeps it on you, unwavering, but you don’t know what to say. It’s dangerous territory, one you haven’t ever entered fully, and the worry of hurting him pangs at your chest; the legitimacy of his vulnerability scares you and moves you all the same. 

You bite the inside of your cheek.

“He’s just worried, you know. I would be, too.” 

“Why?” his lip quivers and your heart sinks in your chest; so quickly it forces a sudden nausea upon you. “Because I’m not cut out for this?”

“No, Eli, that’s not what I–”

He cuts you off — not with his words, but with his hands gripping the arms of his chair to help him stand. It’s so abrupt your words die down in your throat, leaving a dryness behind. Hovering above you, he still looks small, like he’s fading into the light above; barely even present as Elijah but rather as some mass of feelings clumped together, ready to explode. 

“Do really none of you think I can make this work?” 

It’s the alcohol, you think, god, you shouldn’t have let him drink any more — how could you be so careless? But no, it’s not your carelessness or his, and you know that, even in this state of panic, it somehow reaches your mind — the revelation that this isn’t a random outburst. 

It’s the fruit of a tree that’s been growing for a long time; the ripeness isn’t fake, even if you’re unprepared to pick it.

“Do you really think that?” he asks this quietly, his voice barely audible, but it feels like he’s tearing your skull apart with a scream. 

Do you really think that? The very assumption, the very thought, disgusts you. The thought that you could ever believe he won’t make it — it’s so unnerving you let out a shaky breath. 

A movement of your legs from underneath you and you’re standing. Your feet tap against the floor as you walk up to him slowly, like approaching a scared deer. He is scared, you realize. Your fingertips tingle with the longing to run your hands over his face, but you hold them back, instead answering his question.

“No.” 

He blinks, and you say it again: “No,” and again and again, “No, no, no, no,” until it almost doesn’t feel like a word anymore and more like some sort of bandage wrapped around a bruised bone. 

“Your dad doesn’t think that, either. He’s just worried because he cares. Because he loves you.” 

He falls silent. “I’m not so sure.”

“About what?”

He doesn’t reply instantly. You look down on his hands, only to find that they’re still shaking, and take a couple steps forward. Elijah doesn’t notice, you think, or if he does, he doesn’t show any disdain for your closeness. 

“About love,” he says finally. “Isn’t love supporting someone unconditionally? Rooting for them, no matter what? That description doesn’t really fit my dad.” 

“I think you’ve got it all wrong.” 

You suppress the smile that threatens to form on your face when he sends you a confused look, his nose scrunched. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, you can support whoever you want without much difficulty,” you look at the floor, thinking of what to say next. “That doesn’t mean you love them. If you love someone, it means you’re willing to suffer through discomfort and pain to make them happy. You’re willing to spend your nights worrying if they’ve chosen the right path. You let them into your apartment at three am. That type of thing.” 

Thirty seconds pass before you finally look back up, internally shivering at the way his stare bores into your soul. 

“You…” he trails off, wincing like it’s painful. Uncharted territory, yet again — that much is obvious from how your heart bangs against your ribs. The silence in the room makes you worry if he might just be able to hear it.

You hear him inhale sharply, taking a step back so he can sit at the edge of your sofa. Following suit, you observe his eyes shining in the light, less red than before though still uncertain. His shoulder brushes against yours and you breathe in — he smells of alcohol, but it’s oddly comforting in the storm of your thoughts. 

Elijah’s head turns to you. 

“Have you… ever thought this is all for nothing? That I keep leaving the tour bus with more and more bruises for no reason at all?” 

Your fingertips tingle again, and this time you do nothing to stop them from brushing over the back of his hand. It’s stupid, probably, but it feels right, his skin against yours. He’s warm, really warm, but it doesn’t bother you in the slightest, even when he leisurely drags his forefinger down the side of your hand. It tingles, but you don’t move away. 

Elijah’s hand doesn’t shake anymore when you interlace your fingers together. Finally, you get the courage to speak. 

“I’ve held your hair back while you were throwing up, Eli. Tied your shoelaces after a tiring show. Corrected your lyrics until four at night so you could send them to your manager before dawn. I wouldn’t do any of that if I didn’t believe you were on your way to the top from the first time I saw you,” you take a deep breath, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before you look directly at him. “I wouldn’t do any of that if I didn’t believe in you.” 

It’s silent after that. For a long time. But his hand sits clammily in yours like a pearl in a clamshell, and you hold onto it for dear life, praying he won’t slip out from your grip. 

“Promise me you won’t stop.”

Your head turns, startled by the sudden statement. His gaze scans you from head to toe, lingering on the curve of your lips, then your nose and finally your eyes, where it stops and plants its roots. You feel it spreading almost like wildfire, the warmth that comes with it. You almost tremble underneath it, squeezing his hand a little harder. 

“Won’t stop what?” you whisper, eyes wide.

“Letting me into your apartment at three am.”

His gaze drops in a manner someone might’ve mistaken for lazy, but you know him well enough to recognize the vacillation in his eyes. You feel his fingers shiver in your embrace, every breath strained. 

“Why not?”

You move closer, only by a centimeter or so, but he senses it — all the cells in his body seem to tingle with the paradox of wanting to touch and wanting to run all the same. Maybe it’s the unexpectedness of it all, or maybe rather it’s the arbitrary comfort that comes with it, that scares him to death, but whatever reason, he feels like he’s entering a deadly storm. 

And perhaps it’s the alcohol and he’s not thinking straight, but this storm appears more inviting than any sunny day he’s ever witnessed. 

He squeezes your hand tighter and leans down until his lips are impossibly close to brushing against your nose. You feel his hot breath on your face, sparks dancing across your skin to the smell of cigarettes and whiskey and beer, his hand shaking ever so slightly. 

“Because I still haven’t gotten the chance to let you into mine.” 

You smile — a real smile that you no longer manage to hold back. He mirrors the expression, albeit softly, lines appearing in the corners of his mouth. Let me in. Hues of colors appear in his eyes just as his shaky pointer finger grazes your jaw. Let me in. He cups your cheek gently, his lips parting in a breathless exhale. 

Let me in, let me in, let me in.

He does. Just when the clock shows 3:47am and your shirt feels like it’s sticking to your skin, he finally closes the distance between you.

His lips brush over yours — it’s featherlight and careful, but you accept it all and kiss him back nonetheless. You can taste cigarettes on his tongue when he opens his mouth. Suddenly, the clock’s sound doesn’t reach your ears anymore, and all you can hear is the beating of your heart inside your throat. His finger strokes your cheek and his nose bumps into yours, but it’s fine. It’s more than fine. 

You breathe in the scent of him, bringing your hands to tangle themselves in his hair in a moment of recklessness. Yeah, you’ve definitely gone absolutely crazy — but that’s a problem to solve later. For now, you’re kissing Elijah Hewson.

You’re kissing Elijah Hewson. It’s almost a revelation that dawns upon you like the waves of a tsunami, knocking the breath out of your lungs. It squeezes at your heart, a drawstring closing around it, and you have to pull away to breathe, to examine his face, puffy lips and tired eyes, to understand the gravity of your situation.

“We just kissed,” you say, and your voice shakes even though you strain to keep it calm.

“Yes,” he affirms, like it’s nothing. But it is something, and his eyes can't hide that. “We did.”

“But you’re drunk.”

“You think that’s why I did it?”

“I don’t know.”

He smiles and you swear your heart almost leaps out of your chest. “You do.”

“I don’t.”

He looks at you for a moment – your messy hair, reddened lips, the hesitation in your gaze – and makes his decision. 

In less than a second, he drops down to his knees and you’re about to protest (because what does he think he’s doing?) until he grabs your hand and holds it between both of his. You furrow your eyebrows to hide the fact that you’re taken aback, though from the glint in Elijah’s eyes you figure you’re not doing a very good job at it. 

He looks at you, like really looks at you, and you look at him the same. The fruit lies in the palm of your hand and squeezes to the beat of your heart when he speaks. 

“I love you.” 

Your breath catches in your throat when he kisses your knuckles softly, and keeps them against his lips. “That’s why I kissed you, why I turned up to your apartment at three am, why I don’t regret it. Any of it. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Something pulls at the very back of your throat. You keep your mouth closed, but even that doesn’t stop a choked whimper from leaving you — a sound that makes Elijah’s lips quirk upwards. He smiles, and you attempt to do the same, yet all you manage is a half-laugh, half-sob that shakes though your body. 

Embarrassed, you look down, and you can hear Eli chuckle before the warmth of his arms envelops you whole. He hugs you tightly against his chest, fingers coming up to stroke your hair as you partly laugh, partly cry into his shirt. And even though it should be humiliating, the act feels so powerfully comforting that you let him hold you. 

“I love you too.”

You whisper this into his chest, breathing heavily. He pulls away and you look up, confused, but he smiles that gorgeous smile of his, with teeth on display and smile lines appearing, and cups your jaw. His eyes shimmer with undoubtable joy. 

He doesn’t have to say anything. You know.

“That’s a fucking relief, huh?” he whisper-laughs and you join in on it.

“Yeah.”

And you smile.

He’s let you in, and you don’t think you’ll be leaving any time soon.