Latest Posts by guessyourenottheone - Page 9

the graham dunne —> dominos sessa pipeline

Palestinians don’t have basic humanitarian supplies. No food or clean water and the Israeli army is given luxuries. 

Never buy Garnier. Filth.

[@selintifada]

I wish everyone would shut the fuck up about saltburn. queerest movie of the season anatomie d'une chute starring dykeface-in-chief swann arlaud and evil alps bisexual sandra hüller. doesn't matter if she did it she's so full of hate and writer's block.

Hi!!

I would like to ask for a chapter inspired by afterglow where enzo and the reader fight, because she was jealous of him with his ex, or any other girl, and their relationship was a secret because he wanted therefore the reader thinks he's cheating on her and that shw was secret bc it would be easier to cheat on her.

˗ˏˋ🎇 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐖 | ENZO VOGRINCIC

·˚ ༘ pairing: enzo x fem!reader

·˚ ༘ summary: with enzo wanting to keep your relationship a secret, you couldn’t help but to think other things after seeing malena’s comments on enzo’s posts.

·˚ ༘ warnings: angst(with happy ending), secret relationship, jealousy, cussing, crying, overthinking, mentions of cheating(assumption).

·˚ ༘ note: I decided to mix these two requests since they’re almost similar. also NO HATE towards malena, this is just part of the plot.

There always had to be something. Something wandering in your mind that would make you overthink, always having you on the edge. And even more, if you had a secret relationship with a man that everyone wanted to be with. While you couldn't even hug, kiss, or appreciate him in public.

Relationships in secret can cause fights, trust issues, anything.

“¡Cuantas veces te tengo que decir que entre Malena y yo no hay nada!” Enzo’s voice hollered through the hallway of your house.

Enzo and you had been bickering back and forth about what had been going on between his comment section with Malena. So many comments, she would comment more on your boyfriend’s post than hers, you would think, with the jealousy that would poison your mind. You had given him the silence treatment but it all fell apart when he continued to ask you what was going on with you.

“Ay, por Dios, Enzo.” You pinched the bridge of your nose with a furrow. “Se ve que le gustas a la hija de—” You eliminate your words not wanting to go far with them. Your fists balled with a sigh.

“¡No digas estupideces! ¡Ella está con Matías, carajo!” There was rage in his voice, veins popping on his forehead, if it was possible to pop it with a pin, it would.

The room was hot, with the amount of screaming between the two. You were lucky all the windows were closed, if not the neighbors would’ve gotten a sound of it. No matter how much you tried to control the anger it would grow and grow, and with it, the tears that you felt were gonna come soon. The tears of anger and frustration.

“No tenemos nada.” Enzo’s words are repeated, once more. In a way to leave it evident.

“No te creo.” There was a small smile where all you could see was the corners of your lips raised. A sarcastic smile. “¿No crees que no vi un vídeo de ti con ella después de Los Goya?” You dared, by getting closer to him and pointing him in the chest.

“Estábamos charlando.” He gritted through his teeth.

It was devastating that you couldn’t trust your boyfriend. The idea of him cheating would boil your blood, and break you at the same time into millions. The feeling of a tornado inside of you that would quickly get out and take over everything in the relationship, you were afraid of that. As much as the problem was the both of you having the relation a secret, you would blame yourself for it, for exploding.

“Créeme nena.” Enzo’s hands tried to reach for you, but you drove him away not wanting to have him near you.

“Ya te dije, no te puedo creer.” You looked him in the eyes. Anger is full on them. “Como me pides que te crea si tenemos la relación en secreto ¿Ah?”

“Sabes que yo quería mantenerla los primeros meses por tú bien.” His anger was rising again.

His body figure walked towards you making you walk backwards, but the roles were switched after you started to speak—

“No me jodas, de seguro se te hace más fácil mantenerla en secreto para poder irte con otra chica.” Oh, your words were pushing it. With the anger that was blinding you, you weren’t calculating your words.

“¿Me estás jodiendo verdad? ¿Te estás escuchando? ¡Me estás acusando sobre algo que no es!” His finger went towards his ears in a motion.

“Tendría lógica, Enzo.” You whisper swallowing the lump. “Soy un secreto, ¿es más fácil así no?” You gift him a dead smirk, with the tears that were forming in the corners of your eyes.

“Nena, no llores por favor.” He decided to pay no attention to your previous comments and focused on the tears that were running down your cheeks.

“No, Enzo.” You decided to leave the sentimental aside and wipe the tears. “Será mejor que te vallas.”

You turned around to walk towards the entrance of your house, not even bothering to turn around to see if Enzo followed. You knew he was because you could feel his atmosphere behind you.

“Nena—” He called, but you didn’t stop. “¡Nena! ¡Dejame explicarte por favor!” Still no stopping.

The door swung open and you made a motion with your hand “Vete.” Enzo looked between you and the door, if you thought he would leave without fixing this, you were so wrong.

With his hand, he slammed the door closed making you furrow your brows in anger and ready to protest, but his short words left you silent. “Te sentas.” He points towards the couch.

You knew Enzo, nothing that you would do would make him alter his decision of not leaving. So the better answer was for you to walk over towards that couch, and sit even if you huffed in anger. The silence cried loud in the room, an uncomfortable silence that you didn’t know how to get rid of. By this time your anger was cooling off and you didn’t know how to apologize, but you wanted to. You guessed you were simply afraid of saying it.

And deep inside, you knew, that Enzo wasn’t cheating on you, but the games the mind would play and have you second thinking was what was burning you, and with you, Enzo, and the relationship.

Your body flinched at the contact of Enzo’s fingertips touching your knee, it brought you out of your zone, paying attention to how Enzo kneeled in front of you.

You didn’t realize what you said, not until you did, still being in the zone. “¿Me amas todavía?”

Enzo’s eyes were glued on you, hands still on your knees, but they traveled to your face to hold you. “No hay ningún día en que mi amor por vos no crezca.”

Some sniffles came from you. The tears began falling onto your cheeks but Enzo’s thumbs were doing the favor of wiping them away. Your voice hurt when you spoke. “Perdón por dudar de ti. Es que— se me hace difícil, no te puedo tocar, besar, o tan siquiera salir a tomar un estupido cafe y al ver que otra chica al reír posa sus manos sobre tus hombros o se ve muy juntita a ti me hace pensar que tal ves puedas estar con ella a escondidas, o como con los comentarios de Malena. Los celos hacen olvidarme que tú no eres así.”

“Lo se.” He gifted you a smile. He didn’t want to say much right now, he wanted you to let it out, let you speak how you felt.

But you felt rued, you didn't deserve someone like Enzo. No matter how much you would fuck up or say the most hurtful things, he knew you wouldn’t mean it. Because he knew you.

“Perdón por todo esto, por todo lo que dije. Y perdóname si te lastime, por favor. Todo esto es solo es en mi cabeza.” You took his hands off your cheeks and wrapped them in yours.

“No pasa nada, bonita. Perdóname vos a mí, por querer mantener la relación en secreto. Pensé que te estaba haciendo un bien y solo resultó haciéndote un mal.” He kept his eyes down on your interlocked hands. “Pero ya no más, no te pienso ocultar más. Me di cuenta que no importa cuanto trate de protegerte siempre va a pasar algo. Pero por lo menos estaré yo ahí para poder ayudarte, y que sepas vos que lo que digan no es verdad.”

The first smile after hours, finally grows on your face. The toxin was finally being replaced with the medicine that Enzo would give you, happiness.

“¿En serio?” Your voice was soft, barely hearable.

“Sí.” Enzo smiled with a soft squeeze from his hands. “Es muy cobarde de mi parte ocultar a una persona tan maravillosa como vos, chiquita.” He took his hand back to your cheek, placing a few strands of hair behind your ear.

“¿Te puedo pedir algo?” Your breath fell hot onto his hand that was close to your lips.

“Lo que sea.” A nod was delivered to you after his words.

“Dime que todavía eres mío, y que vamos a estar bien.” Your eyes were glistening, and they had a soft look compared to the previous sore ones.

Enzo got closer to you smiling before he spoke, “Soy tuyo, y vamos a estar bien. Sea lo que sea, pase lo que pase.” He kisses your knuckles, with the other hand that is still holding yours, not sure if you are ready at the moment for a peck. He didn’t want to push the limit.

You felt better knowing Enzo and you would finally make your relationship public. It was exciting at first, having a secret. Having the secret rendezvous, not telling anyone where the both of you would head to. Of course, with time it became a tad exhausting for you, but you would never tell Enzo anything.

So yeah, you were excited to finally make it public, and so was Enzo. Finally able to see everything, together.

Reality of Mothers in Palestine.

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

Enchanted - Part 1/7

Pairing: Enzo Vogrincic x Actress!Reader

Synopsis: Bored at an event as a brand ambassador, you lock eyes with a man across the room and your evening takes a turn. Based on this request

Wordcount: 3.1k

Warnings: fluff, tension, minor angst (if you squint), flirting, reader has a backstory, mentions of alcohol, brief use of Y/N

A/N: additional warning: cringy dialogue? This is mostly a prologue for the series. A little bit based on the song Enchanted by Taylor Swift. And as always, just pretend they're speaking Spanish.

Series Masterlist & Masterlist

As the pulsating beat of the music filled the air, you navigated through the crowded room with practiced ease, a glass of champagne in hand. The sparkling lights and chatter of the guests created a vibrant atmosphere, but deep down, you couldn't shake off a sense of unease. This wasn't where you wanted to be tonight. 

It was another glamorous event, one of many that filled your calendar as an ambassador for a prestigious beauty brand. Normally, you'd have your sister by your side, her infectious laughter and unwavering support serving as a comforting presence in these bustling gatherings. But tonight, she was bedridden with illness, leaving you to navigate the soirée solo.

You couldn't help but notice the familiar patterns that seemed to repeat themselves at every event. New products were unveiled, celebrities graced magazine covers, and champagne flowed freely—all under the guise of celebration.

You engaged in polite small talk with the attendees, effortlessly slipping into the role of the charming socialite. Yet, behind the facade of smiles and laughter, you couldn't shake the feeling of detachment. These people knew you only as the glamorous persona you projected in public—a facade meticulously crafted by years in the spotlight.

Your mind drifted back to the beginnings of your journey in the entertainment industry. It had been a whirlwind journey from your first gig at eleven years old as a child actor to the seasoned professional you had become, fifteen years later. Acting was more than just a career; it was your passion, your raison d'être.

Despite the glitz and glamour that often accompanied your profession, you had managed to steer clear of scandal, maintaining a pristine reputation in an industry known for its pitfalls. Your films had garnered critical acclaim, and your portrayal of diverse characters had earned you a devoted fan base.

Being an ambassador for this beauty brand had added another layer of prestige to your already illustrious career. For nearly five years, you had been the face of their campaigns, gracing magazine covers and social media platforms with your radiant presence. It was a symbiotic relationship—you promoted their products, and they rewarded you handsomely in return.

Yet, beneath the veneer of success, there lurked a sense of disillusionment. The industry often felt hollow, leaving you longing for something more substantial. Tonight was one of those moments, as you navigated the familiar landscape of superficiality and pretense that often defined these events.

Despite the occasional monotony of these events, you had learned to navigate them with grace and composure. You remembered the time you had made a hasty exit from a particularly dull affair, much to the dismay of your publicist. Since then, you had adhered to her strict rule of staying for at least two hours—an obligation that often tested your patience.

As you engaged in small talk with an influencer, your mind wandered, the minutes ticking by at an excruciatingly slow pace. You glanced at your phone, hoping to find that more time had passed than you realized, only to discover that a mere 45 minutes had gone by. One hour and 15 minutes left to endure. You yearned for the comfort of your sister's presence.

Taking a sip of your champagne, you scanned the room, searching for a distraction from the dullness. That's when you felt a pair of eyes boring into you, a subtle change in energy that drew your attention like a magnet. Turning slightly, you found yourself locking eyes with a man across the room, though he quickly averted his eyes. There was something oddly familiar about him, a nagging feeling that tugged at the recesses of your memory.

He was undeniably handsome, his features chiseled and his demeanor exuding an air of quiet confidence. Yet, despite his striking appearance, he appeared just as out of place in this sea of superficiality as you felt. And then it clicked—recognition dawned upon you like a sudden burst of clarity. You knew where you had seen him before.

His eyes met yours once more, and you felt a flush of warmth spread across your cheeks, realizing you had been caught staring. Feeling bold and excited about the prospect of conversing with someone new, you excused yourself from your current conversation and made your way through the crowd towards him.

With each step closer to him, your heart quickened, a mixture of nerves and excitement coursing through you. You couldn't deny the flutter of anticipation as you closed the distance between you, determined to strike up a conversation with this intriguing man.

As you reached him, he looked at you, a subtle shift in his demeanor betraying his surprise at your approach, though he greeted you with a polite smile.

With a friendly grin, you introduced yourself, the words tumbling effortlessly from your lips. "Hi, I'm Y/N."

"Oh, I know. I'm— I'm Enzo," he responded, his words accented with a hint of nervousness, spoken in English with a charming accent.

Your smile widened at his response. "Oh, I know," you replied, switching to Spanish, a language that seemed to bridge the gap between you. "I saw your movie. It was incredible."

A look of relief washed over Enzo's features at the sound of his native language, his eyes lighting up with a spark of surprise and gratitude as he registered your words.

"Wow, thank you. That means a lot coming from you. I'm a big fan of all your work," he expressed, his hand resting on his chest in a gesture of gratitude.

"Thank you," you replied, feeling a surge of warmth at his compliment.

"I didn't know you speak Spanish. I've spoken bad English the whole evening," he quipped.

You chuckled softly, enjoying the easy banter between you. "Yeah, my father is from Mexico, so I grew up with both languages. Although I don't speak it now as often as I would like."

Enzo's presence had a way of putting you at ease, and you found yourself opening up to him more than you had anticipated. Whether it was the shared language or an inexplicable connection, you couldn't deny the magnetic pull drawing you closer to him with each passing moment.

Enzo nodded in agreement, his eyes scanning the room once more as if seeking an escape route from the stifling atmosphere of the party. "So, what's the appropriate time to ditch these kinds of events?" he asked, a hint of uncertainty lacing his words. Lost in the sea of unfamiliar faces and foreign conversations, he seemed to look to you for guidance.

You couldn't help but empathize with his predicament. Navigating through such social gatherings could indeed be daunting, especially for someone new to the scene and grappling with a language barrier. Yet, there was a certain charm in his candid vulnerability, a quality that drew you to him even more.

But rather than dwell on the situation, you decided to lighten the mood with a playful suggestion. "Let's play a game," you proposed, a mischievous glimmer dancing in your eyes.

"A game?" Enzo echoed, his curiosity piqued.

You nodded eagerly. "It's called people-watching. My sister came up with it."

Enzo's brow furrowed in confusion. "Aren't people usually watching you?"

You couldn't contain a chuckle at his puzzled expression. "Exactly! But this way, we can be on the opposite side for once." 

Enzo still looked slightly bemused, but there was a spark of intrigue in his eyes as he awaited your instructions. “Alright. How do I play it?”

"It's simple," you replied, a mischievous glint dancing in your eyes as you scanned the room, searching for a suitable target. "I pick out someone in the room, and then you have to make up a story about them. And vice versa. Something wild and completely absurd. The funnier answer wins."

"And what do I get if I win?"

You turned to face him fully, only to find him already gazing at you with an intensity that sent a subtle shiver down your spine. The sudden acceleration of your heart rate caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily breathless. What was it about this man that had you feeling so off-kilter, so inexplicably drawn to him?

"How about my phone number?" you suggested with a playful tilt of your head, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of your lips. The words slipped out before you could fully process them, but there was no turning back now.

As the realization of your own flirtatiousness dawned on you, a thrill coursed through you, mingling with the nervous excitement that bubbled in the pit of your stomach. 

Enzo's response was a raised eyebrow, his smirk deepening as he held out his hand in agreement. “Deal.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of the moment settling over you as you met his gaze, feeling a surge of anticipation coursing through your veins. With trembling fingers, you reached out to grasp his hand, the touch sending a shiver of electricity racing up your arm. It was a simple gesture, yet it felt charged with a palpable energy that left you breathless.

Enzo's grip was firm yet oddly comforting, his touch igniting a warmth that spread from your fingertips to your core. As you withdrew your hand, you couldn't help but notice the subtle shift in Enzo's expression, a flicker of something unreadable dancing in his eyes. It was as if he, too, felt the charged atmosphere hanging between you.

You blinked, willing your thoughts to clear as you focused on the task at hand. "How about you pick someone and I go first?" you suggested, eager to divert your attention from the lingering sensation of his touch.

Enzo nodded in agreement, his gaze scanning the room before settling on a figure in a blue suit. "Her," he declared, tipping his chin in the direction of an elegant older lady who stood at the edge of the crowd.

You studied her for a moment, taking in her poised demeanor and the air of sophistication that seemed to radiate from her. With a thoughtful expression, you searched your mental catalog for a suitable name, your brows furrowing slightly in concentration.

"Her name is Mrs. Eleanor Pemberton," you declared with a hint of theatricality, a playful twinkle dancing in your eyes as you invented a persona for the unsuspecting stranger. "She's a retired spy, covert operations specialist turned etiquette coach. Trained in the art of espionage, but now she spends her days teaching the elite how to navigate high society."

Enzo raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking up in amusement at your imaginative tale. "That's … Wow, a retired spy?" he chuckled, clearly entertained by your creativity.

You nodded emphatically, unable to suppress a grin. "Absolutely. Just look at the way she surveys the room, assessing every detail with a trained eye. It's all part of her covert training," you insisted, weaving an elaborate backstory for Mrs. Pemberton on the fly.

Enzo's laughter subsided into a warm smile, though his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, a subtle warmth in his hazel eyes that made your heart flutter involuntarily. There was something undeniably captivating about the way he looked at you, as if he possessed the ability to unravel the layers of your persona with just a single gaze.

Shaking off the unexpected wave of shyness, you redirected your focus to the task at hand, scanning the room for your chosen subject.

“Your turn, Enzo,” you prompted, nodding towards a man with a full beard who stood behind a group of women. “Him. What’s his story?”

Enzo followed your gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly as he focused on the man you had indicated. His lips curved into a mischievous smile, a glint of amusement dancing in his hazel eyes as he considered his response.

"Him? Oh, that's... let's see," Enzo mused, his tone thoughtful as he leaned in closer, as if sharing a secret. "That's Luis Morales. He was a circus performer once but now he's a chef."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his unexpected choice, raising an eyebrow in mock skepticism. "From circus to food?"

Enzo nodded, his expression deadpan. "Luis has a gift. He's known for incorporating circus tricks into his cooking routines. Rumor has it he once cooked a five-course meal while balancing on a tightrope."

You laughed, amused by Enzo's storytelling. "Sounds like quite the character. I'll have to keep an eye out for him at the next dinner party," you teased, relishing in the lighthearted banter between you.

Engaging in conversation with Enzo felt effortless and light-hearted, as if you had been friends for years rather than meeting him for the first time. There was a natural chemistry between you, a comfortable rhythm that flowed seamlessly from one topic to the next.

"Give me your phone," you requested, holding out your hand expectantly.

Enzo arched an eyebrow, a playful glint dancing in his eyes. "I won?" he inquired, retrieving his phone from his pocket.

"Extra points for your first time playing," you countered with a playful smirk, masking the fact that you had just invented that rule on the spot, solely for his benefit.

He handed you his phone, and you quickly entered your number into his contacts. As you returned it to him, your fingers brushed lightly, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake. Enzo accepted his phone with a smile and he tapped away on the screen.

Meanwhile, your own phone vibrated discreetly in your purse, drawing your attention. Curious, you retrieved your phone and discovered a message from an unknown number. 

You're beautiful, it read, causing a rush of warmth to flood your cheeks at the unexpected compliment. Glancing up, you found Enzo's gaze fixed on you, his smile tender and genuine. 

"Thank you," you murmured softly, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

The warmth that flooded your chest upon receiving Enzo's swift reply was unexpected yet undeniably welcome. With his number now stored in your phone, you couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation for the conversations that lay ahead.

There was something about Enzo's quiet confidence that drew you to him like a magnet. In his presence, you felt a sense of ease and comfort that you hadn't experienced in a long time. It was as if the two of you existed in your own little bubble. The hours slipped away unnoticed as you lost yourselves in each other's company.

As you made your way home, you couldn't help but marvel at the feeling of nervous excitement that bubbled within you when you thought of him. It was rare for you to feel such a strong connection with someone, especially someone you had only just met. 

The memory of the hug he had given you before parting lingered in your mind, filling you with a warmth that matched the flush of your cheeks. Enzo was undeniably charming, with a quick wit and an infectious sense of humor that had you hanging on his every word.

And then there was his undeniable attractiveness, a fact that hadn't escaped your notice from the moment you laid eyes on him. The thought of his hazel eyes and the way his smile seemed to light up his entire face brought a fresh wave of heat to your cheeks, and you couldn't help but smile to yourself at the memory.

By the time you arrived home, you couldn't shake the feeling of gratitude for having met Enzo. He had injected a spark of excitement into an otherwise ordinary evening.

–

Lying in bed, bathed in the soft glow of your bedside lamp, you found yourself unable to shake thoughts of Enzo from your mind. The events of the evening replayed in your head like a looped film reel, each moment etched into your memory with a clarity that surprised you. 

You should have been trying to get some sleep, especially with an audition looming on the horizon. But here you were, lost in a sea of thoughts, your mind refusing to quiet down.

With a sigh, you reached for your phone, fingers dancing over the screen as you navigated to your chat with Enzo. Only one message stared back at you, a silent reminder of the connection you had forged earlier in the evening.

Should you text him now, or wait until after your audition? The question lingered in your mind, uncertainty tugging at the edges of your thoughts. Perhaps it was too late, and he was already fast asleep, lost in dreams that had nothing to do with you. Or maybe he was lying awake, just like you, his mind consumed by thoughts of the woman he had met at the party.

Shaking your head, you scolded yourself for getting ahead of yourself. There was no way of knowing what Enzo was doing at this very moment. After all, you barely knew the man. 

Yet, even as you entertained the possibility of reaching out to him, a nagging doubt crept into your mind. What if he was already seeing someone? What if the connection you felt was nothing more than a fleeting moment in time, destined to be forgotten amidst the chaos of everyday life?

Curious, you opened Instagram and searched for his name. Enzo's profile popped up, and you immediately saw the "Follow back" button. He was already following you. The realization sent a flutter through your chest, a rush of excitement mingled with uncertainty. 

Chiding yourself for getting so worked up over a simple social media interaction, you reminded yourself to keep your composure. But try as you might, you knew that Enzo had already left an indelible mark on your thoughts.

Scrolling through his feed, you searched for any signs of a girlfriend, a pang of relief washing over you when you found none. Perhaps it was selfish of you to feel relieved, but you couldn't deny the surge of hope that blossomed within you. 

Reflecting on the evening, you couldn't help but wonder if you should have lingered a little longer at the event, savored the conversation with Enzo a while longer. But dwelling on what could have been served no purpose now. All you could do was hope that this was just the beginning, that fate would conspire to bring you together again soon.

Turning your phone off, you set it aside and settled back against the pillows, the memory of Enzo's smile lingering in your mind. Until the next time you crossed paths, you were certain that he would remain a constant presence in your thoughts, a gentle reminder of the unexpected connection you shared.

Part 2

A/N: Let me know what you think!

there's laundry to do and a genocide to stop by vinay krishnan

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

indelible scars, pivotal marks

pairing: luke castellan x implied apollo!reader

summary: you might be the only person who actually knows luke castellan. you don't think anyone else is willing to try.

a/n: what if i told you i got yelled at a lot after writing this. enjoy! oh this is also my first x reader in the 5 years i've been writing who cheered. have fun !

Luke is fourteen the first time he can remember sleeping through the night. He’s barely been at Camp Half-Blood for three hours, skin still splotched purple and blue, Thalia’s yells echoing in his skull. There’s no silence, a steady hum of nature that’s leveled by the voices of people he doesn’t know, and he knows he shouldn’t sleep. They’ve lost Thalia, left her just beyond the borders of an unknown place, and it’s a risk to welcome the flimsy pillow they gave him. He does it anyway, eyes closing to the sound of Annabeth’s soft breaths. 

The respite lasts one night.

By morning, he’s recounted the last five years more than he ever wanted to. Annabeth clings to him then, a known comfort. She knows the broad strokes of the story, could recount them herself, but there’s gaps from before her time, and there’s things Thalia made him swear not to tell. If she notices, she doesn’t comment, just keeps her fingers close to her side. He knows that’s where she keeps her dagger - he wonders if Chiron can tell as well.

Chiron brings them to Thalia, explains what happened and how lucky it is. Luke looks at the tree, the first time Thalia has stood taller than him since they met - something she always swore she would do one day - and leans back against it as Annabeth sobs into his shoulder. 

Mr D sends Annabeth to the Athena cabin before lunch. Luke doesn’t need to be told to make his way to Cabin 11. He knows who his father is. His backpack is left at the base of a bed in the far corner of the room, a group of boys gathered around the area turning to watch him the second he walks in. They move away but they don’t stop their stares.

Sleep doesn’t come as easily to him that night.

*

You meet Luke Castellan when you’re fifteen, standing on the edge of the lake as a golden sun rises in the horizon. It’s your first morning at camp, your first morning admiring the sunrise in months, and you think you could find a home here. Within the hour, you’re sure the calm won’t be the same – too many kids in the same space, swords and satyrs and strawberries guiding the day along – but for now there’s sunlight. 

“Breakfast isn’t for two more hours,” someone says from behind you. It should be scarier than it is, put you on high alert with the way he creeps into the space without a sound. “Just in case someone forgot to mention that.”

He’s pretty. Strong chin, dark eyes. On most people you’ve met, that’s where pretty ends. Not him. There’s this way he stands in your periphery; comfortable in his worn camp t-shirt, like he was made to live in it, to have it define him for an eternity. Very few people are pretty in a way that speaks of forever.

“I like to watch the sunrise.” 

He hums. “I’m Luke.”

He waits, steps away, until you offer him a seat beside you on the grass. It was something you were told once, an eclectic art teacher draped in shawls and chunky jewelry, how the sun is only as beautiful as it is when shared with another. As Luke sits next to you, you enjoy the quiet you’re positive isn’t built to last.

*

Luke becomes a counselor that summer. Everyone saw it coming, the way he’s known to everyone and not just the Hermes kids. Whispers of a legacy, of a potential legend in the making, followed him already, two years at camp creating grand ideas for his future – counselor status just helps to further them. It’s not that big of a deal normally. It’s potentially defining when you’re the best swordsman in almost three hundred years.

You find him on his way back from the Big House that evening, heading in no particular direction but with a clear idea of where he doesn’t want to be. It’s something you’ve learnt to read in the last few weeks, the way Luke fluctuates. How he dips in and out of personas as if it’s possible to switch them out. It comes with renown, you suppose. 

“Counselor Castellan, is it?” 

He smiles something bitter. “So they tell me.”

Without hesitation, you take hold of his hand. It’s warmer than yours and you feel the difference in your bloodstream. Luke doesn’t look at you, doesn’t comment, and you lead him away from the cabins and down to the lake. 

There’s maybe an hour until sunset. You’re almost attuned to it now, mornings spent watching it with rapt attention. Luke normally joins you, sword dropped between you. Some mornings, the thud of metal onto stone is the only reason you know he’s arrived, still so silent in his arrival that you wonder if it’s on purpose. 

“Does it make you anxious?” You ask when the silence stretches on for too long, when Luke stares unblinkingly at the horizon for longer than he should. He blinks, irises shifting from a glassy bronze and back to muted brown as the film clears. “Did they even ask if it was something you wanted?” 

He scoffs and you wonder if this is where everything changes. Luke always has things he wants to say, balancing on the tip of his tongue until he figures out how to swallow them down and burn them. It’s like you can see it play out in real time, his jaw shifting, arm tensing.

“Mr D told me it was a great honor. Chiron told me it was long overdue.” 

“You weren’t given a chance to say no.”

It’s a pattern you’ve noticed, not just within camp but with all the Gods. Clarisse was sent a spear with no note, but everyone knew who had sent it. Annabeth’s hat was exactly the same. Gifts. All gifts. No receipts or return addresses provided. Life at camp was something to be grateful for, always, considering the alternative most of you had already been forced to live. To comment on it would make you an enemy of those too powerful to consider.

Looking at the tense set of Luke’s shoulders, you kind of want to say it anyway.

“I’m about to have all the glory Camp Half-Blood could offer me,” Luke says and the sun begins to dip below the surface of the lake. His palm is warm in yours again. “Why would I complain?”

*

There’s a flurry of new arrivals no one anticipated the next summer They come in pairs, mostly, with the odd trio. Always one unclaimed within the group. Always one who gets marched to Cabin 11 in the middle of the night, sometimes after hours of questioning.

You know the nights that it’s happened, taking in the way Luke’s movements are less sharp, the way he breathes more shallowly. A conservation of energy. It doesn’t affect you much until it does, the sharp sting of Luke’s sword on your arm as he loses his footing, turns too suddenly at the sound of your footsteps. 

“This is insane,” you say as you press your shirt into the cut. It’s not bad, something that will heal quickly and fade into nothingness, but Luke locks his gaze on the red dotting your skin as if he doesn’t understand how it got there. “They can’t keep waking you up in the middle of the night for this.”

“The only other place they can go is the med bay and none of them have been beaten up badly enough to be worth waking an Apollo kid.”

“I’ve seen some of the kids when they’ve gotten here, Luke,” you mutter, shirt hem dropping as the wound stops bleeding. You glance up at him. “They could do with being patched up.” 

He sinks down to the floor. You stay on your feet. “This is what I signed up for when I took the position.”

There’s this way Luke’s voice gets sometimes, sharp and low and just a little spiteful. A build-up of years with little mercy granted. That’s how it is now, speaking through clenched teeth, completely biting back the vitriol and pretending there’s no heat to his words. 

He’s always been pretty in the sunrise, from the day you met, but you think he might be prettiest right now – lying to himself more than he can lie to you in the moments before there’s any sunlight at all. When you would let darkness spill into itself, Luke forces light to filter in. If you caught him at the darkest hour, you wonder if that would remain.

Taking in the way he digs his nail into the fabric of his pants, you doubt even he would know how to stop himself then. 

*

You aren’t chosen for Luke’s quest. He finds you after the ceremony, face pulled taut and bag thrown over his shoulder already. There’s no regret in his eyes, no determination either. You stand straighter when you hear him approach, grateful that he cared enough not to take you by surprise for once. 

“Don’t be mad at me.” 

“Why would I be mad?” You say. It’s disingenuous to your own ears, the way it pitches, so you fold your arms across your chest. “Chris and Ethan will be great questmates. A band of brothers.”

Luke swallows. “Is that really what you think this is? That I wanted to make my quest a guys trip?”

“I don’t think anything of it, Luke.” 

In the middle of the day, you can see him clearest. See the golden boy of Camp Half-Blood the way everyone else does. In broad daylight, there’s few things more noticeable on Luke Castellan. The slope of his nose, the straightness of his back, the comfortable weight of his sword on his hip – almost a tether to who he proclaims himself to be. It’s your least favorite version of him.

“I would’ve chosen you. In a heartbeat, I would’ve chosen you,” he says, brown eyes shifting from dim to desperate in moments. A plea to be heard. You know you’re the only one to ever truly listen when he speaks.

“Doesn’t really seem that way.”

“I just needed a reason to come back when it’s over.”

It stills the air around you. The words tangle themselves together in your brain, drown out the archers in the distance, the birds overhead. They echo and twist and they maintain their tone, the low pitch Luke uses when he’s decided to say something he doesn’t want to be heard. They bury themselves in the corner with the other times he’s used it, forever ingrained, and you don’t know what to make of them. How to define them at all.

He waits, gaze firm, until you nod slightly. You keep your chin low, determined to give little satisfaction to the situation. To Hermes giving Luke a reused quest, to the possibility of losing him because you aren’t there. It curdles deep in your gut, refusing to remain unknown.

There’s a moment where Luke hesitates, his hand twitching slightly, arm moving minutely higher from where it hangs down by his waist. Instead, his fist clenches and he exhales long and low. 

“Promise to be here when I get back?” 

“I’ll be really annoyed if you’re not the one knocking on my cabin door.”

He turns back to face you after he joins Chris and Ethan at the border. They’re all capable, with a history of working together. They’ll succeed, return to praise and glory and everything they deserve to have. The sun beats down on Luke as he nods goodbye and you wonder if it shines on anyone else at all.

*

The scar becomes a part of him. 

It fades into his skin with time, going from raised and rotten to a streak of pale across his cheek. You overhear some of the Ares kids praising it as symbolic of his win, a prize of sorts, and some of the Aphrodite kids saying it makes him more appealing, makes him look stronger. You’re not sure what you think of it, tracing it with gentle fingers as it heals. 

It becomes a habit, running a knuckle down Luke’s cheek each morning. Feeling where the skin tied itself back together. He never comments. You want to ask if he minds, that you’ll stop if it’s too much. The first few times you did it, in the days right after his return, he had flinched, features pinching together. Your hand had dropped, all too aware of the matted skin, how it probably still ached but Luke had taken your hand and placed it back where it had been. 

His scar becomes a statement, a badge of skill that everyone at camp can recognise. There had been little debate on the truth of his swordsmanship before but now it hardly existed, undeniable proof the first thing people noticed when introduced to him. 

Most people don’t bother to ask Luke about it. Percy Jackson isn’t most people.

“You got attacked by a dragon?” 

It’s the first time in years that anyone has joined you and Luke at the lake this early. Annabeth used to, on the rare occasions the worst of her nightmares returned. It’s different with Percy, like being close to the water rewires him completely. It makes sense days later when you watch him push open the door to the empty Cabin 3.

“Last year,” Luke hums, one hand resting softly in yours and the other keeping a loose grip on the sword handle in his lap. Percy had wanted to see him in action after hearing the stories, so you’d both obliged. “I made a wrong call and I paid for it.”

“At least it looks pretty cool.” 

The way Percy says it is different to everyone else. It’s not ingrained with this odd lust, whether for adventure or the story or Luke himself. It’s more muted, a fact of life. He’s not saying it to make anyone feel better – he’s saying it to disregard. A scar is just a scar to Percy Jackson, as if he’s known too many to care.

“I guess it kind of is,” Luke says and the three of you listen to the morning begin.

Deck the Halls (and not your partner) - part 6

Christmas Day, and the final day (supposedly)

Word count: 4.8k (damn that's more than I originally intended to write for this part)

Warnings: unrealistic depictions of winter in Britain (it snows a lot), swearing, Lockwood gets a hug from reader's mum and can't cope, lockwood's lack of sleep is brought up, reader has Feelings and can't cope, Stephanie and Linda are bitches again and get an awful gift for reader, body image issues, lockwood shouts at Steph, mentions of Lockwood's family (and them being dead), Stephanie (she's a warning all on her own tbh), cliffhanger of an ending

the picture doesn't really match the vibes but it's one of the few where he's not wearing a suit 🤡 (but also look how babygirl he looks)

(image credit to lavenderghostco on pinterest)

series master list

Lockwood hadn't slept.

Instead he had spent the night trying to get Y/n to hear him through the locked bathroom door, but then when he'd heard quiet music playing and realised that she'd taken her walkman with her and was sleeping in there he had given up, shifting to lean his back against the door and pull his knees up to his chest.

Then he had used the rest of the night to go over what had been said between the two of them, and how horribly wrong it had all gone.

Why couldn't she have waited another two seconds for him to finish talking?

And why couldn't he figure out how to properly apologise to her?

When the sun had finally risen and slightly blinded Lockwood as it streamed in through the curtains that hadn't been properly closed the night before, he stood up, shaking out his stiff limbs and stretching. He got changed into some fresh, more comfortable clothes, having stayed in his suit from the day before all night, and headed downstairs to make a cup of tea.

"Oh, hello Anthony!" Emma said when he walked in to the kitchen. "Are you... alright?" She was frowning, likely because the dark bags under his eyes were far more prominent from the severe lack of sleep.

"Yes, I'm alright thank you. Just didn't sleep too well last night." He smiled at her.

"Oh dear," Emma replied, putting the kettle on. "Is Y/n alright?"

"She's fine. She did sleep in the bathroom though because she felt a bit sick, but she was out like a light right away." An easy lie to tell about the situation they had found themselves in, and Emma was too distracted making tea to detect any falsehoods.

"As long as the two of you are okay now then that's all that matters. Here's a mug for you, love."

"Thank you." It was strange how easily he got used to being part of this family. He was moving around the kitchen with Emma as though they had been doing it their whole lives, and he suddenly felt a pang of pain as he remembered doing the same things with his own family. Lockwood stopped, staring down into his tea that was now swirling around in the mug and blinking away the tears that threatened to fall.

"Anthony? What is it, dear?"

"It's nothing," he said, wiping at his face quickly and offering up a smile. Emma saw through it, though, and placed a hand on his arm. A similar scene flashed through his mind from last night, and his chest ached even more at the memory of Y/n instinctively comforting him and how he had likely ruined any chance of that happening again.

"Aw, love. I know we don't really... know each other that well, but if you ever want to talk to me about anything you know that you can, right?"

"Yeah, thank you, Emma," he replied. For some reason he felt the need to step forward and wrap his arms around her, but after a few seconds of Emma standing still he awkwardly pulled back, raising a hand to scratch the back of his neck. "S-sorry. I don't know-" he was cut off by her hugging him just as tightly as she had Y/n when they first got to the house, and although he couldn't breathe too well he felt... at home.

"Never apologise, love," she mumbled into his hair, squeezing tightly. "Like I said, if you ever need me, you let me know." she stepped back then to hold him by the arms and look him in the eyes. Lockwood nodded, suddenly feeling five years old again, and dried his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. "Alright?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. Now, you take this up to Y/n and make sure she's somewhat dressed and downstairs, because I think everyone else is starting to get up now and we'll do presents in a bit."

Lockwood took the mug and picked up his own tea, heading out the room after a quick thanks to Emma. A thought struck him as he carefully carried the mugs upstairs, and he really hoped that Y/n had presents because otherwise they would be in deep shit.

~~~

"Y/n?" Lockwood's voice tentatively called out. She huffed from where she laid in the bathtub wrapped up in blankets. What did he want? "Y/n? I've... I've got tea for you out here. I'm just gonna leave it on the bedside table for you. Uh, your mum also said that we're gonna do presents and stuff in a bit so... come down when you're ready I guess." He paused for a moment, then said "Do you... do you have presents? Because I didn't actually get anything and now I'm starting to feel bad because your parents are actually really nice and so are your siblings and-"

"Lockwood! Shut up! I got presents, alright?!" She shouted, getting out of the bath. She bundled up the duvet and pillow and opened the door to a slightly dishevelled Lockwood, pushing past him to chuck the blankets on the bed and grab some clean clothes from the suitcase. He had clearly been running his hand through his hair from the way it was sticking up at funny angles, and the bags under his eyes were far more prominent. She frowned, wondering if he'd had any sleep at all last night.

"Alright, I uh... I'll just..." he walked into the bathroom, everything about his movements more unsure and nervous than Y/n had ever seen him.

She changed into the clothes she had picked up, and only realised once the jumper was pulled over her head that it wasn't her jumper she had on.

It was Lockwood's.

She didn't have time to change before he unlocked the bathroom door and came back into the bedroom, stopping short in his tracks when he looked up and saw her stood in the middle of the room in his jumper. "I- This wasn't deliberate."

"I know," he said quietly, and she almost scoffed when he looked at her with sadness in his eyes. What right did he have to look that way when he had said those words last night?

"You're right. I won't ever like you in the same way as the others."

They had played over and over as she tried to get to sleep, wondering how he had managed to sink to an even lower depth in causing her pain than he had before.

"Here," she said when the silence grew uncomfortable, bending down to grab the group of wrapped gifts at the bottom of the case and handing a few to Lockwood. "We should head down I suppose."

"Don't forget your tea. I'll uh- I'll see you down there," he offered up a small smile as he left.

As soon as the door shut behind him she heaved a sigh, eyeing the tea on the bedside table sat right where Lockwood had said it would be. There was no point in letting it get cold, so she waited until the mug had been drained before leaving and going downstairs.

~~~

The tea had been a good way to start preparing herself for Christmas Day with her family, but on seeing Lockwood again (despite it only having been about five minutes) she could feel herself drowning at the prospect of having to fake this relationship for another few hours. At least it was only a few hours, since they were catching the only train running on Christmas Day that afternoon.

"And the last one for you, Y/n! Sorry, Anthony, you've only got a couple because we had no idea what you wanted and only found out you were coming a few days ago!"

"Oh, you didn't have to get me anything at all, Emma, really," he beamed, and Y/n wondered how he could act so well. He had always had a flair for the dramatic, leaping at the chance to put on an accent for reconnaissance for a case, or coming up with ridiculously fabricated tales of fights with Visitors to boast to Kipps, but that wasn't anything compared to hiding the fact that he had argued with the daughter of the woman he was smiling at, and was pretending to date her and love her regardless.

"I won't ever like you in the same way."

That had hurt the most, and Y/n had spent much of her time awake attempting to figure out why. It wasn't the entire sentence about Lockwood not liking her in the same way as Lucy, George, and Holly, as that hadn't been the part that had been on repeat. No, for some reason it had been his admission that his feelings wouldn't change from the hatred they shared that made her want to rip her heart out every time she saw his smile.

"Nonsense!" her mother said as she sat back in her seat. "Alright everyone, get stuck in!"

The next ten minutes were a frenzy of paper being ripped into and presents being opened, and Lockwood and Y/n were curled up on the loveseat like they had on the first day quietly working their way through their piles. At least they had an excuse for not talking to each other, since their presents were taking up the majority of their attention.

At least they ought to have been.

One of Lockwood's arms was around her waist, hand resting lightly on her thigh while he watched her unwrap her remaining gifts. He had long since finished, having thanked Emma profusely for the box of chocolates and ten pound note that he'd been given. Y/n was finding it difficult to concentrate with Lockwood's warmth behind her, and he was doing that thing where he stroked his fingers over her skin. His hand had moved from her thigh to her stomach, fingers drifting under the fabric of the jumper she had accidentally stolen from him and tracing patterns absentmindedly. It seemed to be something that happened any time they were in this sort of position, and she was frustrated at how much she enjoyed it.

"You alright?" he whispered.

"Yep." She didn't look back at him, instead focusing on the plain envelope she now held in her hands and frowning at it.

"Oh!" Stephanie cried out, and Y/n had forgotten just how annoying her voice was since they had barely interacted the day before. "That's from us! It's... well. Why don't you open it up?" If the smirk on Stephanie and Linda's faces were anything to go by, it wouldn't be Y/n's favourite gift she received this year.

"What is it?" Lockwood asked from behind her, peering over her shoulder at the piece of card that had been inside. "A coupon or a gift card or something?"

"Gym membership, Lockwood. They got me a gym membership." Dammit, her voice was shaking and her eyes were prickling with unshed tears, and worst of all she knew that Lockwood could tell. She hated that she leaned ever so slightly further into his body. She hated that when he brought his free hand around her to properly wrap her in a hug she was painfully aware of Stephanie and Linda watching every movement, and could feel their judgement of her body.

Then she hated that she felt safe and protected in Lockwood's embrace, like nothing could hurt her as long as he was holding her.

There was nothing wrong with how she looked, and it wasn't her fault that Stephanie was a size 2 (probably, Y/n had never bothered to ask) and liked to gloat about it frequently, but the cut ran deep and had done for years. When Y/n stood up and left much like she had on the first day, she wasn't surprised to see the triumphant look on her cousin's face.

~~~

Lockwood was fuming, but this time he couldn't set anything on fire.

To be fair, he hadn't been allowed to set anything on fire the previous times it had happened, and multiple of those accounts of arson were Lucy's fault, not his, but he still wanted to burn something.

How dare they give a fucking gym membership as a Christmas present?! What did they think they would achieve in doing so?! Stephanie and Linda clearly looked proud of themselves, and the sight of their faces made Lockwood feel sick when he remembered how Y/n's body had tensed up and curled into him more at the piece of card in the envelope.

Taking his chance after Y/n left the room, Lockwood stood up, then headed over to Stephanie. "Can we talk?" he asked, although the tone he used made it clear that he wouldn't be taking no for an answer. He led her out into the hallway, then into the kitchen for good measure, and his remaining restraint snapped with the sound of the door closing. "Are you out of your mind?" He hadn't shouted, instead keeping his voice as calm as he could, but he knew that his anger was barely contained behind his gritted teeth.

"I don't know what you mean," Stephanie simpered, and Lockwood took a step closer to her.

"A gym membership?!"

Steph shrugged. "She needs it. She's really let herself go the last-"

"No, she hasn't. And I would fucking know, because I live with her. She is perfect the way she is, alright? And you have no right - absolutely none - to give her that sort of thing as a Christmas present. It really just proves that you have no idea who she is, and that you're a fucking terrible person."

"Oh, like you're so honourable!" she spat.

"What's going on?" Emma's voice sounded, and the kitchen door opened to show the rest of Y/n's family that were still in the house. "Why is there shouting?"

"Y/n's little boyfriend here is accusing me of not knowing my own cousin!"

"Because you don't!"

"And you know more about her than me, do you?!"

"It looks like it, yes!"

"Everything was so much better before you turned up, do you know that? Why don't you scurry back to whatever shithole you and your parents live in and we'll carry on with our lives, yeah?" Lockwood flinched.

"Stephanie! Linda, please, can't you do something?!" Emma pleaded. She sent a quiet apology to Lockwood, looking distressed at how quickly Christmas Day had fallen into arguments.

"She's right, Emma. If he wasn't here then everything would be right again. Why don't we keep Y/n here for a few more days, and he can go back to his sad little life with his parents." He flinched again, barely having time to compose himself before Linda was smiling sweetly at him.

"I would, Linda, but I am not leaving my girlfriend here with you."

"Well," Stephanie started. "Why don't you invite your family up here then? I'm sure we'd all love to meet the people that raised such a... lovely... person!"

"Once again, I would," Lockwood said, as nonchalantly as he could, "but I very much doubt that you'd find much to talk to them about."

"Are they deaf or something?" Lockwood saw Y/n through her brothers' bodies, and she was trying to push past them to join him in the kitchen.

"Something like that," he smiled, hoping they couldn't see the sadness in it. Technically his family was deaf, since they were unable to hear anything on account of the fact that they were dead. Y/n stumbled forward, having finally been let through, and she righted herself and walked over to where Lockwood was stood.

"You alright?" she asked, her voice quiet so that only he could hear. "Just heard them mention your family and stuff, and Steph can be really mean about literally everything and I didn't want you to be on your own for that."

"Oh." He blinked in surprise. He hadn't thought that she would care too much since she'd ignored him and hated him thoroughly since last night. "I'm alright; I can deal with it, don't worry." His smile was soft, and for a brief moment he thought he might be breaking through to the Y/n he had come to know over the past two days before everything went wrong, but then the blinds were snapped shut and he was blocked out again.

~~~

Lunch was interesting.

Emma and Ben had slaved for hours to get everything ready, having left the morning celebrations at various points to put things in the ovens, or chop things, or do anything that was needed, and mid-afternoon their hard work was served up on huge plates to the family.

"Thank you, this looks incredible," Lockwood said, and Emma grinned.

"You're very welcome, Anthony!" She sat down in her seat, making sure everybody had food on their plates before taking up her cracker. Y/n's grandparents needed her brothers talking directly into their ears to explain what was happening over the noise of everyone else, and it took a full five minutes to get everybody with crackers in hand and arms crossed over before they could be pulled.

Hats were put on, and pictures taken on the family camera (and then Y/n asked Will to take some on her personal camera too), and finally they could start eating. People read out their jokes and trivia, and while the laughter of various family members was loud, Y/n couldn't help but feel like it was all muffled and distant. She was underwater again, her ears filled with water as she tried swimming up to the surface, but the weight of her cousin's gaze was dragging her down into the depths again.

Then a hand was on her arm, gentle but enough of a pressure that she was being pulled upwards, and Lockwood's voice was in her ear.

"Hey, are you alright? You zoned out for a minute there and I had to rescue your potato from going off the side of your plate."

Sure enough, her fork was pushing the contents of her plate closer to the edge, and she quickly let go of her cutlery to stop it. The knife and fork landed with a clatter, and while conversation didn't stop, it did die down as people looked in her direction. "I'm fine," she replied, knowing she was the opposite. Lockwood appeared to know too, because he was still frowning.

"Are you su-"

"Yes," she said harshly, and he flinched back.

"Okay, sorry." He turned back to his own food, and they didn't speak for most of the rest of the meal.

~~~

"Book!"

"Play?"

"It's a book, you idiot!"

"John, don't call Sam an idiot!"

"Mum, you can't talk when doing a charade," Will said, and he received a glare in response.

"How do you reckon the others are getting on with their holidays?" Y/n asked, and Lockwood was surprised at her question.

"I imagine they're all having wonderful times," he replied, revelling in the smile that graced Y/n's face. It was a shame that the cause of the smile wasn't him, but he only had himself to blame for that.

"That's good. At least most of the company is enjoying Christmas."

Somewhere in the house, a phone started ringing. Ben got up to answer.

"I'm enjoying it," Lockwood said, and Y/n swivelled in her seat a little to look at him. "Besides the obvious, of course."

"Me?"

"No," he huffed. "Why do you keep thinking that you're the last person I want to spend Christmas with?"

"Because you literally said that you wouldn't enjoy a second of it?"

"Well that was a lie, wasn't it? Honestly, do you not remember anything I told you last night about me having a nice time here instead of the usual shitty Christmases since I was six?" That was apparently the wrong thing to say, because Y/n froze up and stopped smiling.

"I remember last night, yeah," she mumbled, turning her back to him again. Shit.

"Thinking about it," he said, attempting to salvage the situation, "I haven't seen any baby photos of you yet."

"Be my guest." Her tone was bland, and Lockwood started internally cursing himself for bringing up the night before.

"Y/n, I'm sorry for what I said, alright? I was a dick and I should have explained myself better. Would you-"

"THE BIBLE! IT'S THE BIBLE!"

"YES!"

"WHAT?! THE BIBLE? THAT'S A CHARADE?!"

"Would you hear me out? Please? When we get a moment later," he asked, trying to mask the amount of desperation in his voice.

"You better have a good excuse, Anthony, because you really hurt me, and if you fuck up again I'm leaving."

"Leaving? What, like leaving the house?"

"Leaving the company."

Lockwood thought his heart might give out. "Wh- wha- what do you mean, leave the company?"

"I can't keep doing this, okay? I can't get up every morning just to be verbally abused by you all the time. It's not healthy for me, at all. I have to look out for myself, alright?"

"...Right. Yeah, no, that's... that makes sense." He was still reeling from her confession, so when Y/n's grandmother Jean tapped him on the shoulder he nearly jumped out of his skin. Y/n hadn't noticed, instead joining in with the ongoing game of charades.

"Why don't you take this, dear," she said, giving him a wink and handing over a sprig of some sort of plant.

"Uh... thank you?"

"Mistletoe. You know, it was originally a sign of peace, and if people met underneath it then they had to stop fighting, no matter what. Sounds like you two might need it," she smiled, but unlike Stephanie or Linda there was only love behind it. Lockwood stared down at the plant he held in his hand, but when he went to thank Jean for the gift she had already gone back to whatever conversation she was having with Tom, her previous chat long forgotten.

"I've got some news," Y/n's father Ben exclaimed as he walked back into the room, and everybody turned to look at him.

"What is it? Why do you sound so worried?"

"Nobody is going to be able to travel anywhere for about a week. I just got a phone call from Ted at the office." Lockwood felt Y/n tense beside him, and he tried not to do the same.

"What do you mean, Dad?"

"Snow warning. Weather officials are saying that a snow storm is going to hit us today and we'll all be snowed in. All trains are cancelled for the next week, and then after that it's unclear."

"What? So we're stuck here for another week?" Y/n asked, and Lockwood heard the panic creeping into her voice. This wasn't good at all, especially since he and Y/n now had to continue faking it for an extra seven days when they were back to hating each other. He needed to fix things and fast, or this holiday would continue to derail and end in flames.

"Sorry, love. I know you wanted to get back before the New Year."

"Yeah," she whispered, looking down at the ground. "Shit."

~~~

"Can we... can we talk?" Lockwood asked once they had a moment to breathe. After the news that they would be here for another week Y/n had excused herself and headed upstairs, and Lockwood had apparently followed.

"What is there to talk about, Lockwood?"

"Well don't we need to rethink? Originally we were only here for three days, and that was manageable. Now we're here for an extra week minimum? I don't know, call me crazy but I really do think we need to figure out how we're going to do this." He was running his hand through his hair again (what was in his other one, was that mistletoe?), but he stopped when Y/n looked him dead in the eyes and answered him.

"You're crazy." She didn't even know why he had the plant, unless he was planning on kissing her again and then ripping her heart out afterwards. Y/n went over to the windows to pull open the blinds the rest of the way to ignore the memory of his mouth on hers. They hadn't been properly closed the night before, and with how the sun rose directly through the windows Lockwood had probably been blinded by it that morning and woken up. He looked far too sleep deprived for him to have woken up at half seven in the morning though.

"Ok, well at the very least can we talk about last night?"

Y/n had stopped by the windows, staring out at the landscape and ignoring Lockwood's question.

"Y/n?"

"Holy shit." Where normally the view was the lake nearby and the forest in the distance, rolling fields spreading out in the foreground, now it had been coated in a blanket of white as far as the eye could see.

"What is it?"

"Just... just come and look." He did, hesitantly coming over to stand beside her and drawing in a breath at the landscape.

"Holy shit."

"That's what I said. Fuck. I was hoping it wouldn't be that bad and we could still find a way to get home."

"Yeah, we're not going anywhere in this. I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" she frowned, turning her head to look at him. "You're not the snow god who deliberately penned us in my family home for an extra week."

"No, I'm not." Lockwood went quiet, staring out the window but not actually seeing anything, his eyes unfocused as he got wrapped up in his head. "Can we talk about last night? Please?" Y/n looked out the window again.

"What for? I think you said everything I needed to hear."

"I didn't, though. You didn't let me finish saying what I was going to say before you went and shut yourself in the bathroom." His tone was desperate, and Y/n half thought he might start getting on his knees and begging. A memory came back to her of her doing the same thing only a few days ago when she begged him to come with her on this mad venture. He'd been laughing then.

"Well I don't know that I want to know what I missed."

"I was going to say that I won't ever like you in the same way as the others, because I can't. I don't think I realised that until it was too late, but I can't like you in the same way I like George, or Lucy, or Holly, because I think that I'm-"

"Right!" Stephanie shouted, shoving open the door. She stopped short at the sight of Y/n and Lockwood stood so close together, and then again at the pain on Lockwood's face. Y/n hadn't realised that as Lockwood had been talking, he had been inching closer in his attempt to get her to listen to him. They were practically touching now, and Stephanie glanced between them both until they stepped back a little. "You two," she said, jabbing a finger in their direction once she'd remembered what she was there for, "have ruined my Christmas, I hope you know that!" Y/n shared a look with Lockwood. "So watch out, alright? Because I'm coming for you both!" she shrieked, and slammed the door on her way out.

Y/n and Lockwood stood staring at the door for a while before Lockwood spoke up. "Did she seem okay to you?"

"I think she's having some sort of breakdown."

"I thought so too."

"Sort of looked like a banshee or something."

"Especially with the hair all crazy like that, did you see?"

"She'll definitely have a breakdown when she sees that birds are nesting in it, for sure." It felt easy all of a sudden, and conversing with Lockwood wasn't as hard as it had been a couple of hours ago. There was hope, she realised. Hope that he really did have something nice to say. He wouldn't have looked quite so ridiculously desperate for her attention otherwise. She ignored the way that butterflies started fluttering in her stomach at the thought of Lockwood craving her attention so badly. Before this whole ordeal she would have simply felt smug about having the upper hand.

"I really didn't mean it in a hurtful way, Y/n. Although I can see how it came across like that."

"Well what did you mean, Lockwood? Because you did hurt me. And now we're fucking snowed in for a week longer than we planned and Steph is on a rampage. And when Steph is on a rampage she will absolutely have what it takes to uncover this whole fake relationship thing, despite having, like, zero brain cells the rest of the time."

He sighed, clenching his jaw in frustration. "I can't feel the same way because I'm pretty sure I've-" he paused, then took a breath. Why was he taking so long to say something that could make their entire situation easier? He looked uncertain again, and Y/n started feeling nervous.

Lockwood was never uncertain. He was Anthony bloody Lockwood.

Then when he spoke, she realised why.

part 7 (coming soon!)

Tag list (there are so many people that if I forgot to add you then please let me know and I'll do that right away!): @ahead-fullofdreams, @aislinrayne, @anathemaloren, @anthgoldenhrry, @augustisintheair, @avdiobliss, @aysha4life, @bobbys-not-that-small, @briar-rose23, @curseofhecate, @dangelnleif, @edible-rat-vomit, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @ettadear, @fearlessmoony, @fudosl, @idkbubs, @imaginebeingmentallystable, @informedimagining, @karensirkobabes, @light-23, @locklyebrainrot, @locklyle1kanij, @locknco, @mentallyillsodapop, @mischivana, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @newbooksmell777, @no-morning-glories, @novelizt, @phlooper, @ran23sblog, @simrah1012, @somethingrandomwatzit, @star-of-velaris, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife, @y0urm0m12

let me know if you want to be added to/removed from the tag list! <3

Deck the Halls (and not your partner) - part 5

Christmas Eve part 2

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings: swearing, family members are mean (are we seeing a pattern?), can you tell that I love lebkuchen from the number of times it got mentioned, they kiss again but for like 2 seconds, then they kiss again later for longer than 2 seconds 👀, reader's grandpa isn't supportive of her job (but it's ok because lockwood saves the day), a pigeon was harmed in the making of this chapter (but it lives!), drinking (alcohol), lockwood talks about his family and the Christmases he spent without them, reader comforts him, there is so much communication but somehow so much miscommunication at the same time??? and I'm annoyed at myself for doing this (but it's necessary), this part does not have a happy ending at all (I'm sorry)

series master list

"Well," Lockwood started, looking around at everyone gathered. "I suppose it started in March."

He paused for a moment, trying to figure out where to go from there. "We were on a job, just the two of us, in Kensington. A couple wanted their house clearing out before they properly moved in, and called us. Everything was going perfectly fine, and then we realised that our clients hadn't told us everything about the property, and we were dealing with three Limbless in an enclosed space." Y/n remembered that job well. It was one of the few cases that she'd actually gone on with just Lockwood, and they had been arguing for most of it about the best way to get rid of a Limbless.

Their argument had attracted the other two that were out in the garden.

"Y/n was brilliant, of course, using her Talent to locate the Sources of the three of them while I covered her, but I got held up in the corridor by some Type Ones that had appeared and she was left on her own. I only just got there in time to throw a salt bomb at the Limbless behind her and give her the extra second that she needed to wrap up the Source, but I don't think I've ever been more scared in my life. I really thought I was too late and that I'd lost her." His voice sounded thick with emotion, and when Y/n met his eyes they were watery. She tried not to frown, since it was strange for her to see him so affected like this. Lockwood cleared his throat, and looked back at the crowd. "Then of course I realised that I couldn't live without her and I asked her on a date. She said no, despite my attempts at baking her favourite cake and all the flowers." He cracked a smile, and people around the room laughed.

"Well you did look rather pathetic, Ant. I sort of wanted to watch you suffer a bit more." That much was true at least, since any time she got to watch him squirm was entertaining to her.

"Well you certainly got your share of that, darling," he huffed, and Y/n bit back a snort at the frustrated look on his face. "I had to ask her about six times after that first one before she finally said yes. We've been dating since the middle of April."

"It was eight, but who's counting?" Something about his story didn't sit right with her, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Maybe it was how close it was to what had actually happened on the job, or maybe it was the dread of all the questions she'd get about her job once people started mingling, wanting to know if she had a backup plan in case this line of work failed, or if she realised how dangerous it was.

Maybe it was the way that Lockwood had looked at her when he was talking about losing her.

~~~

"What are your intentions with Y/n?"

"Don't be stupid," John said, whacking his brother Sam on the arm.

"No, but really, what are your intent- oof!" Sam had been tackled to the floor by John, and Lockwood did his best not to flinch.

He'd been dragged into the library a few minutes ago by Y/n's brothers, and although he was the smallest, Tom was currently the most frightening as he stared Lockwood down from across the room, despite the two eldest brothers currently scrapping on the floor.

"Did... did you want me to answer that, or...?"

"I mean, it would be nice to know," Will piped up, eating straight from a packet of lebkuchen in the armchair opposite. Lockwood didn't think he'd ever seen the man without some sort of food nearby. He sat forward in his chair slightly, trying to come up with a good enough answer that would mean he could go back to the party. John and Sam stopped punching each other to hear his answer.

"I'm mostly just happy that she even gave me a chance, if I'm being honest." That much was true, but Y/n's brothers didn't need to know that he was talking about her acceptance of a position at his company and not the mythical relationship that the two of them had been in for eight months. "I know that I'm incredibly lucky to have her, and I can promise you that I won't do anything to screw that up."

Sam and John seemed happy enough with his answer, and Lockwood started breathing a little more easily. Tom was still staring at him, and Lockwood could have sworn that the boy hadn't blinked the entire time. Will snorted, shaking the bag around to get the last crumbs of lebkuchen out. "Yeah, sure. What's the real answer? No more of that crap, because it's obvious you rehearsed that to make us happy." When Lockwood didn't say anything for a moment Will prodded him again. "Go on."

He clenched his jaw, wondering how he could say anything nice about Y/n when she hadn't said anything nice about him for nearly three years, and looked out the window. A memory flashed up, and despite it having only been that morning, he was surprised at how quickly he'd forgotten the interaction.

Since when had she memorised how he took his tea?

He didn't think that Y/n had ever made him tea before, always making it a deliberate point to make a pot for everyone but him, and yet that morning while they sat in bed she had done it perfectly as though it were second nature. Then his mind drifted back to the night before, and he felt his face warm up at the memory of the mistletoe. He cleared his throat.

"I guess..." Lockwood sighed through his nose and clenched his jaw again. It was starting to ache. "I guess that's true, what I said before-"

"You guess?" Will interjected. Lockwood hadn't thought that he would be under this much scrutiny, but he was starting to sweat uncomfortably. He'd rather be dealing with Barnes right now than be sat here.

"It is true," he amended, making wary eye contact with the man. The packet of lebkuchen was neglected in Will's hand, hanging limply as he sat forward to question his younger sister's boyfriend. "She's incredible - the most incredible girl I've ever met - and I truly am aware of how lucky I am that she chose me. I'm not exactly... easy... to be around sometimes because of my agency, but she deals with me perfectly. She deals with me more than she should, to be honest." He frowned, thinking again about how he needed to figure out how to apologise to her. Nothing he had said was a lie; in fact, he didn't think he'd said anything more true about Y/n the entire time that he had known her. She was incredible, since her Touch was so powerful and unlike anything that he had ever seen before. And he did count himself lucky that she, despite his horrible words, still decided to work for him. And she did deal with him, more than anybody should, and she did it by being just as much of an arse to him as he was to her.

Maybe they were good together after all.

A thud on the window made everyone turn to look at what had made the noise, and Tom finally broke eye contact with Lockwood.

"Pigeon," Sam said, having been closest to the window. "I think it might be- oh no, it's just got up and flown off. Don't tell Mum though, she'll have a fit if she sees the mark it left."

"Alright, I think we're done here. You're free to go, Lover Boy," Will said, waving his hand vaguely at Lockwood and scrunching up the empty lebkuchen packet. Lockwood got up to leave, but upon opening the door a body fell face first into his chest with a small 'oof!'

"... Darling?" Lockwood asked, confusion lacing his voice. The figure looked up and offered a smile.

"Oh, hi! I was just... wondering where you were, Anthony." He tried to not let it show how much it affected him to hear his first name in her mouth, but the slight intake of breath that he took probably gave him away. It didn't help that Y/n was in that dress, since she looked so stunning that he couldn't focus on anything but her.

"You're so obsessed with each other," Lockwood heard Will mutter from behind him, and he realised with a start that they had just been staring at each other and blocking the doorway, penning the others in the library. When they went to move, however, Sam stopped them.

"Mistletoe! You can't break tradition!"

"Ugh, again? Did Mum plant an entire fucking garden of it?" Y/n said, peering up at the sprig that hung over their heads. "They're not gonna let us leave without doing it."

"Alright. Let's get it over with then," he whispered into her mouth, and he couldn't help but feel the exact opposite when she pressed her lips to his.

~~~

"So," Y/n's grandfather Richard started, and internally she groaned. He had used the tone of voice that meant he was about to start asking about work, and she was dreading this conversation. "Being an agent. Are you still sure it's what you want to do with your life, Y/n?"

"Yes, Gramps. I'm sure. I have been doing it for years now."

"But there are so many other things you could be doing! Jobs that you could actually be good at!"

That stung a little, and Y/n sat back slightly in her chair. She loved her Gramps, and most of the time he was one of her favourite family members, but he'd been alive before the Problem had started and didn't understand that things had changed since he was a kid. He believed in her in most other ways, just not when it came to her life as an agent, which was one of the only things she was truly passionate about (other passions included drinking tea and hating Lockwood).

"I don't mean to intrude," a voice piped up, and once again Y/n found herself wondering how the hell Lockwood managed to always turn up at the right time. "But Y/n is one of the best agents in the country, sir. Her Talent is so incredibly unique and that's what makes her so brilliant at her job." He perched on the arm of the chair that she was sat on, and she frowned when she felt the urge to rest her head against his thigh.

"Well how can you possibly know that!"

"Gramps, this is my boyfriend, Anthony? You met him briefly last night?"

"Oh, is it? Right, well I suppose you would know then! Tell me, is she too much of a pain sometimes?!"

Lockwood hesitated slightly, glancing down at where Y/n sat in the chair and frowning a little at her Gramps' question. "If anything I'm the pain. I don't know why she keeps me around to be honest." He sounded so sincere about it that for a moment she forgot that he had ever said anything horrible about her. The rest of their conversation faded into background noise as she remembered what she'd overheard earlier.

It was probably breaking all sorts of moral laws to eavesdrop on her brothers' interrogation of Lockwood, but then again she'd made her boss her fake boyfriend to fool her entire family, so she figured that she was well past being entirely moral about things. And besides, she hadn't been intending on listening in at first, she'd just been walking back from using the loo and happened to hear them. She couldn't get Lockwood's words out of her head, and she'd been replaying them over and over since.

"She's incredible - the most incredible girl I've ever met - and I truly am aware of how lucky I am that she chose me."

What the hell did that mean? Was it a lie that he'd made up to make them happy? But then she'd also heard Will prodding for the truth and his exclamation that whatever Lockwood had said before (which she hadn't heard) was obviously fake, so did he just come up with a better lie?

Tonight, she thought. Tonight I'll talk to him.

~~~

When the last guests had stumbled out of the front door, singing loudly and bumping into each other because they had had too much to drink, everybody left in the house let out a sigh of relief.

Y/n mumbled a tired 'good night' to everyone as she pulled herself upstairs, and Lockwood followed after her. He'd been helping her father tidy up a little before turning out the lights, to save some of the food that needed refrigerating and chucking other things in the bin. She had been worried when her dad first started talking to Lockwood, but then she'd heard her father laughing and had decided that they would be perfectly fine together.

Now she collapsed face first onto the bed, not yet worrying about the chill in the room.

"I can see why you were dreading that," Lockwood said, his voice sounding too loud. She'd had to down a few drinks that afternoon to deal with the sheer number of questions and comments from family members and friends, and now her head was aching slightly.

"Can you get me some water?" she asked, but since her face was still buried in the duvet it came out muffled. Lockwood's footsteps shuffled around for a while, and then went silent, and Y/n huffed in annoyance. Of course he'd just get himself ready for bed and not worry about her, that was so typical of him. She pushed herself upright, wincing when the room wobbled a little and the pain increased in her head, then frowned when Lockwood reappeared, something in his hand.

"Here. I couldn't find any painkillers though, so I'll just go and fill that up when you're done so you can try and sober up before bed."

Oh. Maybe he wasn't being so typical after all.

"Thanks," she muttered, taking the glass from him and eyeing it warily.

"It's not poisoned, darling. If I was going to kill you I wouldn't do it in a way that might mean you could come back to haunt me."

"Charming."

He sat down on the bed next to her with a sigh, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. "You know," he said, not looking at her. "This hasn't been... the worst Christmas I've ever had."

"No? You're spending it with me." He gave her a wry smile, finally bringing his gaze up to meet hers.

"Yeah, that's not really that bad."

Oh.

"Really?"

He hummed in answer, nodding slightly, then got up and walked over to the fireplace. They sat in silence while Y/n finished off her water and Lockwood got the fire going, and once she headed over to sit next to where he was crouching she realised how cold she had been before. He sat back, leaning on the chair behind him. Y/n was hunched over her knees, empty glass dangling in her grip. She could have done the same as Lockwood with the armchair behind her, and god knew her head needed something to rest against because despite the water dulling the ache it was still pressing against her temples, but she didn't think she could see Lockwood's face at that moment.

"The first Christmas after Jess passed was the worst."

Her head snapped to look at him where he sat to her left, but he was staring into the fire, eyes transfixed on the flames but looking at something far away. She didn't say anything, instead just letting him go ahead in his own time.

"The ones after my parents died were hard, sure, but at least I had Jess around and we knew what the other was going through. Then she was gone too, and I was nine years old in a big house that was suddenly empty of the family I had spent my life being loved by."

She knew that his family were dead since the absence of any of them was shockingly present in 35 Portland Row, but he had never told her anything. She'd had to learn it all from Lucy, George, and Holly.

"That first one was horrible. I don't think I stopped crying for longer than an hour the entire time, and I couldn't sleep because I kept replaying it over in my head. I could have helped," he whispered, and Y/n could see that his eyes were glistening in the light of the fire. "I could have saved her, if only I hadn't-" he cut himself off, his voice growing too strangled to continue. Quickly she placed her hand on his arm, turning her body to face him.

"Hey, hey," she said quietly, drawing him into her arms. Her glass had been abandoned on the floor, her hands now holding Lockwood's body in her lap instead. His head was resting on her chest while his arm wrapped around her stomach, the other supporting his weight, and Y/n told herself that she was only allowing this to happen because she hadn't yet sobered up.

She wasn't sure how long they were there for, her leaning back at an awkward angle to allow room for Lockwood to lie on top of her and curl into her side while he sniffled, but after a while she found that she didn't mind stroking her fingers through his hair (which was surprisingly soft) or having his weight on her (it was like having a weighted blanket).

"Thank you," he muttered after a while, sitting up and wiping at his face. He paused in his movements when he realised that their faces were much closer together than was normal for two people that didn't like each other. The memory of that morning when she had smoothed out his collar and he had been about to say something came back, and when his gaze flicked between her eyes and her lips she drew in a breath.

"Anthony?"

And then he was surging forward, kissing her with the same passion that he had hated her with while she reached up to grab his shirt, not caring that she was wrinkling the fabric that she herself had smoothed out that very morning. How could she think of anything but him when the two of them had finally crashed together like a tsunami hitting cities?

How could she think of anything but him when he pulled her on top of him?

And how could she think of anything but him when he sighed her name into her mouth and it sounded sweeter than the tea he drank?

And then she was thinking about him entirely, and remembering everything that had happened since they met, and suddenly kissing him was a terrible idea.

"She's not good enough for the company."

She pushed away from him with a start when those words blared in her mind like warning alarms, the memory of what she had overheard in the library around four months after starting to work for Lockwood and Co. She hadn't heard anything before, but the disdain in Lockwood's voice told her it was about her. She had run upstairs to make sure she didn't hear any more of what he thought about her.

"Y/n?" he asked now, voice hoarse from crying and kissing, and his expression was desperate as he watched her press her hand to her lips and take shaky breaths. "Y/n? What is it? Wh-"

"Don't," she snapped, standing up and trying to forget the feeling of his hands on her body. "Don't... just don't, Lockwood." He was getting up too, scrambling after her and reaching out to stop her from slipping away.

"I don't understand-"

"Don't understand what?! We can't- we hate each other, Lockwood!" The venom in her voice made him stumble back a few steps. "You never wanted me at your company and you made sure that I knew that!"

"I-"

"I heard you telling the others that I wasn't ever going to be good enough for you, and then a few hours later after a job you're telling me that my Talent is incredible?! What am I supposed to think?! And then you spend the next however many years being a complete dick to me and complaining about me, so I do the same because clearly being nice didn't work, and now you're here at my fucking family Christmas event pretending to be my boyfriend and kissing me when you don't need to-"

"Of course I need to! I know I was horrible to you-"

"An understatement," she scoffed, crossing her arms.

"-but I'm trying to figure out how to apologise to you because I know that I've fucked up and I need to fix it!"

"So you kissed me?!"

"No! Yes! That wasn't an apology!" He rubbed his hand over his face, clearly frustrated with how it was going. "It was a mistake- no, Y/n, I didn't mean it like that!"

"A mistake?" she whispered, her eyes stinging with fresh tears. "Kissing me was a mistake?"

"No," he said, tone filled with desperation. "No, Y/n, I just meant that I shouldn't have done it before apologising to you because then it would seem like... I don't know! Like I was doing it just to try and trick you into accepting my apology or something!"

"Were you? Doing it to trick me? Because right now I can't tell what the truth is, Lockwood!"

"It wasn't a trick. It was never a trick, and I'm an idiot-"

"Yes, you are."

"Would you just listen to me?!" he shouted, anger seeping in to his body, and Y/n took a step back at the look in his eyes.

"What, like how you listen to me?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Yesterday, on the platform, when I was talking about my family being a lot and how it was hard for me and I'm actually related to most of them, and I couldn't imagine how hard it would be for someone to be introduced to all of that in one go. You just assumed that I meant it would be hard for you because your family is dead, and then when I tried to explain you cut me off and gave me the cold shoulder because you didn't fucking listen, Lockwood. What I meant was it would be a lot for anyone, no matter their own experience. Hell, even George has said that he would rather be blocked from the Archives for life than ever meet my family, and he's got almost as many relatives as me!"

Lockwood didn't say anything for a minute, instead just standing still and staring at her while the fire in his eyes died down, and Y/n shook her head. "This?" She gestured between the two of them. "This will never work. We will never work. Because you never wanted me and no matter how much I want you to like me in the same way that you like the others, you never will. And I will never be good enough for you." That was one more person to add to the list of people that she needed to meet unnecessarily high expectations for in order to be even noticed. She wiped at the tears that had slipped down her face while she was talking, the salt making her cheeks itch.

"You're right," Lockwood finally said. "I won't ever like you in the same way as the others." He stopped there, looking down at the floor. When he went to speak again, however, he lifted his head to an empty room, and the bathroom door shutting him out.

Y/n ignored his attempts to talk to her through the door, shoving the duvet and blankets that she had quickly grabbed into the bathtub and plugging her headphones into her walkman so that she didn't have to hear the rest of his cruel words and excuses.

She had craved something different with him, and it had fucking destroyed her.

And now she had to wake up on Christmas Day and pretend that she was hopelessly in love with the fake boyfriend who had just broken her heart.

part 6 (coming soon)

Tag list: @ahead-fullofdreams, @aislinrayne, @anathemaloren, @augustisintheair, @avdiobliss, @aysha4life, @bobbys-not-that-small, @briar-rose23, @curseofhecate, @dangelnleif, @edible-rat-vomit, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @ettadear, @fearlessmoony, @fudosl, @idkbubs, @informedimagining, @karensirkobabes, @locklyebrainrot, @locklyle1kanij, @locknco, @mentallyillsodapop, @mischivana, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @newbooksmell777, @no-morning-glories, @novelizt, @phlooper, @ran23sblog, @simrah1012, @somethingrandomwatzit, @star-of-velaris, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife

let me know if you want to be added to/removed from the tag list! <3

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”

elijah hewson bf headcanons

a/n: im obsessed with this man and this band.

loves to lay his head in your lap while he plays his guitar, figuring out chord patterns for a new song hes writing

all the songs he writes are about you (duh), you're his muse. the boys constantly tease him for it but he loves it

has the cutest face when he's concentrated and you love it

loves to hold your hand, have his hands wrapped around your waist, hands on your lower back. any sort of touch

immediately finds you in the crowd and sings directly to you. he loves seeing you dance around in the back of the pit

rockstar bf x rockstar gf like its a must

wears on of your rings on a chain when you can't be at a show ( which is rare). loves to have a reminder of you

him and the boys are always asking for your feedback on new songs. you're always the one to hear it first

brings you on stage to sing a verse of a song with him. its giving "about you" vibes

going out to pubs just to show you off

still gets super nervous and flustered around you. even tho he is a major major flirt

going on tour with the band is your favorite thing ever, from joking with them on the tour bus to dancing at the venue

forever takes photobooth pictures with you. they always end up with him kissing all over your face. he keeps them everywhere, in his wallet, in his phone case, wherever he can

def friends to lovers, took him wayyy to long to make a move, but when he finally did he couldnt keep away from you

loves when you play with his curls. he knows how much you adore them and he loves you raking your fingers through it

the inhaler girls on tumblr are starving 💔 you're a pioneer 🫡🫡

one word ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟrobert keating

✧: part two

paring: robert x fem!oc

summery: some times luck is on your side, and kate just happens to find this out after her show.

A/N: hey everyone! so i originally uploaded these to wattpad, but i wanted to have a bit of a platform change. please let me know what you guys think. my requests are currently open so pleas feel free to send in an idea you have. enjoy!

wc: > 1k

*reblogs, likes, and feedback are greatly appreciated!!

My ears ring as I feel the final vibrations of our last song melt from my drumsticks down into my arms. It's like I'm on another planet. Then, as my breath steadies, my vision becomes clearer.

I stand, walking to the front of the stage and slipping my sticks into the back pocket of my baggy jeans before taking my band members' hands into my own. Yes, we recognize that this is slightly fancier, but the girls and I have always done it. Letting the energy between us flow as we bow. Once our hands unclasp, my smile grows more prominent as I reach into my back pocket, splitting my sticks from their usual pair and throwing them to the people closest in the crowd. Finally, my fingertips touch my lips as I give the crowd a 'goodbye kiss' before I finally exit the stage.

"Tonight was fucking amazing!" Willow, the band's bassist, says as she throws herself on the couch, hands pushing her hair back as a small chuckle leaves her lips. Kira, our lead singer, takes Willow's and I's hands as she speaks, "Yeah, who knew that so many people would want to see four girls going by The Honeysuckles. I'm so proud of us."

Ahh, The Honeysuckles. My band. My first love. I remember when the three of us picked out that name. We were sixteen, determined to become a band. To make it. We would always ramble, bad name after bad name until we ended on The Honeysuckles. It's so funny how one word can significantly impact your life—one silly little word.

"I say it's time to go out for drinks!" Fawn, our final member and lead guitarist, says as she sets her guitar in its case.

The rest of us nod in agreement as we pack our things. It was always a band tradition for us to go out after a good show. So once we were all packed up, we headed out to a nearby pub.

It was a beautiful early spring night in Dublin. The cobblestone streets were wet with dew. Our boots gently clicked down it, music and chatter spilling out of restaurants dotted along the street. After a couple of minutes of walking, we finally reached the pub.

"I'll go get us some drinks if you guys find a table," I yell slightly, having to talk over the crowd's chatter already in the small pub. The girls nod, saying a quick "see you soon" before splitting off from me.

Slipping my jacket off, I walk up to the bar, turning my horseshoe ring located on my pinky finger. It was a nervous habit I had picked up once I started wearing it. However, there was something about it that always seemed to make me feel comforted - even in the most stressful situations.

After a moment, the bartender approached me, "Four Guinness, please," I smiled, still twisting my ring. Once they stepped away to fill my order, I looked around, trying to fill the time between waiting and being able to get drunk. That's when something caught my eye. A hand sat next to me on the counter with a similar yet slightly larger horseshoe ring on their pinky finger.

"Holy shit!" laughing to myself, I gently tap the person's shoulder. Once they turned around, I was met with the most piercing blue eyes I have ever seen that put me in a slight trance that the other had to snap me out of.

"Uh, yeah?" he says, blue eyes staring intensely into mine, his hand with the horseshoe ring now wrapped around his dark, half-empty glass of Guinness.

"Oh, sorry," a nervous chuckle slipped through my berry-stained lips. "I just wanted to say that you have good taste" As I speak, I hold up my hand, showing the blue-eyed boy my almost matching ring. "Oh my fucking god, that's crazy!" laughing, he holds his hand next to mine, eyes darting between the two rings. "I never would've thought I'd meet someone with the same ring as me." He smiles, eyes meeting mine once again as a gentle flush presents itself on his cheeks. "Hey, Great minds think alike! I'm Kate. It's nice to meet you" I hold out my ring hand, which he takes in his own, shaking it gently.

"Robert," he smiles.

It's so interesting how one word can impact your life—one silly little word.

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

satellite → r. keating (b. skeetz)

pairings — robert keating x fem!reader

summary — what bobby skeetz would be like as your annoying boyfriend <3

spinning out, waiting for you to pull me in. i can see you're lonely down there. don't you know that i am right here?

i feel like you'd be a long-term relationship (like teenage years long term)

ik they went to some fancy all boys school so let's say you went to an all girls school near theirs that would often go on trips together (pls tell me that wasn't just my school that did that)

either that of you'd meet through extra curriculars or overlapping friend groups

EITHER WAY met when ye were young (13-14) and got together when ye were 16-17

tbh most people thought you'd only last a few months bcs it was a teenage relationship after all but you're so chill with each other that it became very clear very quick that ye were just different

major "my girlfriend's my best friend" vibes

because of that, every inhaler fan knows you

you're no longer referred to by your name

you're just "mother" now

it's low-key a problem

like in any of your instagram posts or cute little tiktoks, at least half of the comments have a silly little inhaler pfp and are calling you mother

anyways

he's so annoying

definitely a very playful relationship

mocking eachother and all that

telling anyone else (outside your friendgroup) to fuck off if they do the same

he himself wouldn't be very public with the relationship

like you wouldn't be the face of every instagram post but you'd be in a story every few weeks and you'd pop up in the middle of a photo dump here and there

the inhaler_on_tik account however....

fans play where's wally with you in the tiktoks

usually hiding in a window reflection or the hem of your jacket poking into frame

enough to know you're there

you'd be best friends with all the fans

gigs are your opportunity to make new friends

they all adore you

so many fan tiktoks from gigs just have you dancing away with them

they'd bring you flowers <3

but yeah even if bobby himself doesn't post you a lot, fans would get pictures of you two together and they'd be so cute 😭

most of them are taken before gigs when he's helping you out of the bus or ye're walking into the venue together

but someone got a picture of you two once at some silly little market in spain and you were looking at flowers and he was looking at you

they posted it to tiktok and you asked them to send it to you

it was your lockscreen for a bit x

BIRD BINGO!!!

if you're ever traveling without him, you'd take pictures of any birds you pass and send them onto him

i really need to make sure it's known that he'd be annoying

like imagine you're just lying in bed, reading or on your phone, and he just bellyflops on top of you

no warning

no escape

you're trapped

i said the same in my eli headcanons but i don't really get spooning vibes from him

no matter what way you fall asleep, at least some part of him will be touching you

whether he's full on wrapped around you or just got an arm thrown over your torso

it helps him sleep better

you're best friends with the band ofc

i mean, you practically grew up together

you and rob never have a moment of peace with them on tour

you could be curled up in bed, and all of a sudden, elijah's busting down your door and lying down beside ye to tell you about a new song idea

you finally think you're free for a moment having a smoke by the back of the bus? nope, ryan's there now purely because he wanted to annoy ye

josh is nice on ye though (not really) (he makes fun of ye all the time) (he's my little pookie bear angel) (he can do no wrong)

they love having you around

and even if you leave the tour bus to get some snacks and come back to them trying on your dresses and robert doing josh's eyeliner you love having them around too

you're starting to get the mother thing

they do feel like you're hyperactive little children

bobby skeetz, the man that you are, you'd be a great boyfriend

Tranquillity of Solitude | Robert Keating x Fem!reader

summary: It’s the last day before tour and Robert and you spend the day at home, away from everyone.

word count: 4.1k

warnings: the usual, swearing, a lot of fluff, a fair bit of angst, mentions of alcohol, mentions of drugs, honestly just more fluff, and once again… my bad writing, yeah that’s probably it

author’s note: I am embarrassed to admit how long this has taken for me to write… anyway, this was the first request I finished. Also, it’s my longest fic… happy reading I guess! xx

request: @fenderenderender ur rob fic was *chefs kiss* could you do one where they just spend the day at home and it’s just 🥰 and 😎 but also 🥲

Keep reading

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. 

IMAGINES LIKE THIS MAKE ME PISS MYSELF

i kind of have to be cause we're married ❤️❤️

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