#Robert Keating
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Long overdue… Irish women/men have a chokehold on me
#pierce brosnan#cillian murphy#killian scott#ruth negga#paul mescal#domnhall gleeson#hozier#anthony boyle#the cranberries#sinead o'connor#niall horan#saoirse ronan#andrew scott#grian chatten#collin farrell#kojaque#saoirse monica jackson#nicola coughlan#jamie lee o'donnell#barry keoghan#mark mckenna#brian gleeson#dermot kennedy#elijah wood#robert keating#josh jenkinson#ryan mcmahon#dónal finn#fontaines d.c.#aiden turner
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BitterSweet // Elijah Hewson X Reader.
requests: (1) pre-relationship!eli with an incrediblyyy oblivious and socially awkward girl that kinda avoided him bc he’s very charismatic and lowkey a fuckboy so she think he’s fucking with her 😭😭 and eli is tryna pursue her and making it obvious that he takes her really seriously + (2) i was just wondering if you could write an imagine where eli helps the reader with her anxiety / through an anxiety attack or something similar?
words: 3,6K
You had enjoyed the band; they were instrumentally solid, and their lyrics were captivating. Live, they were even better. Eli, drenched to the point that his hair was soaked, let out soft groans in between sung syllables. This was just the soundcheck, and though only a few fans were around, he was performing like it was the real thing.
“Think we can tweak it a bit more?” His voice pulled you back, a warning that you might be getting in over your head. Eli chuckled, eyes trailing over you from top to bottom with a slight smirk. You couldn’t tell if it was meant to intimidate, mock, or if he just found you pathetic.
“Of course,” you replied quietly, certain no one else heard. The walk over felt longer in your mind as the guys watched, and you reached for the guitar in his hands. His swift movement to pull the strap off revealed hints of muscle, all the pale skin and the brief brush of his arm, warm and damp with sweat, replayed in your mind.
“Will you be around?” His voice was deeper, smoother than when he sang, with a lazy edge that was almost too pleasant to listen to. You were getting paid for this entire experience. “It’s my job.” He raised his brows, that same confident grin tugging at his lips. You avoided direct eye contact, though you glanced at him from the corners of your eyes. You didn’t mean to sound so blunt. You were only here to set up the studio for their album recording—a short period, and soon enough, you wouldn’t see them again.
You liked them well enough, but Eli had that vibe of the guy who would’ve bullied you in high school. You thought you were past that. “I’ll be around,” you said more clearly, finally looking him in the eyes. He nodded, making a mental note of your face up close and the matching brand of your boots and his. Your delicate hand passed the guitar back to him, and he couldn’t resist; it was too easy.
“Thanks, pet. I’ll be needing you again soon.” Your gaze dropped quickly as you backed away. Josh overheard and laughed, while Eli turned a bit pink—no regrets, though. You knew guys like him. You’d worked with bands before, and you understood better than to let whatever that was get to you.
…
You only spoke when asked, keeping things strictly professional. Eli was openly watching you, blatantly, if honest. The producers asked you questions now and then, and you always responded, they’d nod and follow your advice right after. Eli already thought you were smart, which only made him more intrigued. You were focused, a little shy, content within your own bubble; he admired that. It was obvious you were fine like that, and he was bothering you, but he didn’t know any other way to approach you.
“Hey, uh…” he started, sitting across from you at lunch. Once again, you were alone, not in a bad way, just enjoying your break. “What’re you listening to?” You lifted one side of your headphones to hear him. He cleared his throat, needing to repeat the question before you could answer.
“It’s not the first time you ignore me like that, and I like it.” You had to bite your lip but still laughed, as if he were too much to believe.
“The Strokes,” you showed him your phone, sipping your Coke. You fidgeted with the strap of your white tank top, which happened to be just like the one he often wore—and was wearing now. Along with the boots, it was oddly charming.
“I love The Strokes, real teenage throwback. What are your favorites?” He smiled wide, a grin he hadn’t seen all day, feeling confident this was going well.
“See? We have so much in common,” he teased, even though, so far, it was just the band and clothes.
“I’m not a big fan,” you shrugged, “I think his voice is lazy and dragged out, not really my style, though the instrumental’s good.” His heart sank a little. You spoke so casually, completely unaware of the impact. Eli hadn’t found flirting so difficult before.
“All right,” he glanced around, watching you look at your empty plate instead of his eyes. “Did you enjoy yesterday? What did you think of the show?”
You briefly thought of the awkward moment adjusting his guitar with everyone watching and how he’d been appearing more and more on your social media—not him directly, but clips of him with fans. You’d even gained some random followers from being spotted with the band. Your feed was flooded with videos of him leaning close to a girl at the edge of the stage, his damp curls brushing her face. She’d clung to him, and he clearly loved the attention, even stopping post-show to chat and connect with everyone. It was an energy you didn’t have. You’d once wanted to be more like him but were now comfortable being reserved. He was just naturally good at it.
Then there was one photo—a girl holding his face in an intimate kiss—that made you pause. A fan captioned that Eli would make a perfect boyfriend, even if they weren’t together anymore. She was gorgeous, and he looked like he belonged with her. Him talking to you felt off, like he was doing it out of pity; you weren’t even on the same page.
“I really enjoyed it. You guys are very good.” You were honest, forcing a smile and pushing away your thoughts to show you meant it.
Eli wasn’t convinced of that. “Good to know. We’re close enough now to hang out and maybe share a cigarette or two.” You looked up at him, his hazel eyes gleaming, his freckles glowing with a hint of blush. He had that high-school-crush look, but it still didn’t make sense.
“Can’t you talk like a normal person?” In your mind, the question hadn’t sounded so hard.
“I don’t know; this way I get to keep talking to you, don’t I?” He raised his brows as looked away, noticing the rest of the band watching from another table. He could be over there, so why wasn’t he?
He dropped a crumpled napkin on the table and waited, saying he’d be persistent later when you just nodded, unsure what to expect. You were about to speak, and it was warming to see him actually paying attention, his caramel eyes fixed on you, his whole body focused—until he nudged the table, spilling half of the Coke onto your white top.
“Sorry,” his accent thickened, sending a jolt of anxiety through you. People glanced over, and Eli began wiping the spot, his hand brushing over the stain.
“It’s not helping,” you said, touching his shoulder. “Eli, it’s fine; you’re just making it worse.” Your firm tone made him stop, realizing you were right.
You crossed your arms over your chest, feeling a little embarrassed, and he quickly noticed. Without hesitation, he shrugged off his black button-down and handed it over for you to wear. It wasn’t like you could refuse; you still had the whole afternoon before you could head home and change.
“Sorry, like, the flirting’s intentional, yeah, but I wouldn’t ever mean to harm you.”
You fiddled with his shirt, playing with the buttons. It smelled nice. He was now in a tank top like yours, and you remembered mentioning how you liked his arms before to the voices inside your head.
You cleared the table, picking up his napkin too, and he watched as you tossed his number into the trash on your way out.
“These things happen, I guess,” he chuckled, getting the closest he’d come to a genuine smile from you. The lighthearted way you suggested he’d done it on purpose; if he’d known that smile would come out, he certainly would have.
“Don’t worry. I’ll give it back,” you reassured him, grateful he wasn’t phased by the incident, though disappointed the conversation had ended, even if it wasn’t going great. At least it was something, and he got to appreciate how well his shirt suited you the rest of the day.
“It’s yours now, ma’am.”
…
At home, you made yourself dinner, still wearing his shirt. Sure, you told yourself it was just because of the chill, but deep down, you knew you wanted his scent—cologne mixed with a hint of cigarettes—lingering around you. Despite your reluctance, you eventually washed and dried it to return it properly. As you lay down in bed, a wave of mental relief washed over you, savoring the solitude after spending nearly the whole day with them fine-tuning songs. You picked up your phone, intending to scroll until you drifted off, when an Instagram notification popped up. Opening it, you saw he’d followed you and even sent a message. You set your phone aside for a moment, feeling like he was physically there; somehow, it made no difference.
When you accepted the request and opened the DM, the first thing you saw was a picture: a can of Diet Coke spilling onto his jeans, captioned with, “Thinking of you.” You couldn’t help but laugh softly to yourself. Eli probably thought it was funny—maybe it was, in a way. “You there? Am I getting ignored online too?” It made you realize you'd left the chat open, staring blankly. “Sorry, was busy,” you replied, though you instantly regretted it, realizing you could've been friendlier.
The typing dots popped up again, followed by, “With something more important than me?” You had to admit, his shameless confidence was quite charming. “Washing your shirt to return it. Hopefully, you won’t try that again xx,” you replied, heart-reacting to the Coke photo he’d sent. You didn’t want him to think you were actually ignoring him. After a pause, just as you were about to drift off, his final message came through. It was a voice note, low tone, a little sleepy, smooth.
“Uh, don’t see the problem, you know? Got to talk to you, and now you’ll return my shirt with your scent on it. You’re making this hard for me.” You could practically hear him smiling through the words, and once again, you found yourself grinning into your blankets.
…
You know those days that just aren't good? Your eyes ached, and there was a sharp pain in your head. Before entering the studio, some girls in Inhaler shirts were gathered near the entrance. They greeted you, and you nodded back, answering a few quick questions about them. You were polite, so one of them handed you her number, asking if you could give it to Eli. You took the slip of paper—it seemed routine, as if he received these often. She was beautiful. Your mind wandered to the number of girls chasing after him, not just here, but everywhere.
"Bobby’s sick; they’re not coming in today." One of the producers announced, and you felt a bit guilty for being relieved. Today, you didn't want to see anyone. It was hard to explain—if you knew how to avoid it, you would. Your chest felt like it was being crushed, heart racing, the familiar grip of anxiety that you just couldn’t make stop. As you thought about leaving, it hit you that you'd have to pass by those girls outside and take the bus home alone. You also worried about the delay in recordings, though you didn’t think Bobby should be there if he was unwell.
"Uh, you here by yourself? We won’t be recording today; thought someone might’ve told you. I just needed to grab my stuff." Eli shook his lighter, a rescuer in disguise. You held a cigarette between your fingers, hoping it would distract you, but you were restless, tapping your boot on the floor and fumbling in your pocket for your own lighter to no avail. He didn’t seem to notice anything wrong—at least he didn’t show it. His curls were perfectly in place, his jacket pulled over his arms, and that familiar, inviting smile. He’d clearly spent some time talking outside.
You opened your mouth, numb lips struggling to hide how off you felt, but no words came. He stepped close, his rings catching the light, and you focused on how nice his hand looked—a random, sudden thought that made you frown slightly. "Let me help," he whispered, his minty breath brushing your face. With the cigarette at your lips, you kept patting your jeans for the lighter. This was the closest you’d ever been to Eli; his fringe touched your forehead, and you realized how easily you could rest your head on his shoulder if you just leaned in. He sparked the lighter, holding it to your cigarette, his scent dizzying. His hand brushed your shoulder, and you wanted more. His calm eyes took in your vacant look as his fingers traced down your arm. For the first time, you couldn’t look at anything but his steady gaze. His freckles seemed to judge you silently, wondering why you had no control over yourself.
Seeing you weren’t taking a drag, he pulled the cigarette from your lips and placed it in his. "You can hear me, right?" His thumb brushed your palm, and you focused on your breathing as your eyes began to water. Eli was patient, his calm presence grounding you as you tried to steady yourself. Holding your hand, he gently pressed it to his chest so you could feel his heartbeat—thankfully steady. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "Feel that, love?" Closing your eyes, still feeling overwhelmed, you listened to his words. "Just breathe with me. You’re not alone; it’s all gonna be fine." His voice was a balm, and slowly, it started to sink in.
"You’re doing great; you wouldn’t even need me here," he said softly, matching your small laugh with his own. Your knees gave way slightly, and he held you by the waist, you were closer than ever before. "We can just sit here until you’re alright, yeah?" You nodded, sinking to the floor beside him, surrounded by a few guitars. You toyed with the rings on his fingers, finding it a welcome distraction, and he didn’t mind. Exhausted, as you always seemed to feel, Eli noticed your tired, red eyes and pulled you against him. It was only his shoulder, but you let yourself lean in. He took a drag from the cigarette, ready to toss it aside to focus on you, but you took it from him, repeating his movements.
"So, that’s our first kiss," he murmured, his usual flirty tone and smug grin returning. He seemed proud. "What?" you muttered, throat sore, but he didn’t need to hear it; he saw it on your lips. His free hand slid along your back, keeping you close, wanting to distract you from your own mind. He was good at it.
"The cigarette’s a swap of saliva, right? That counts." You wrinkled your nose, thinking how typical it was for him to come up with something like that. You put out the cigarette, tossing the butt away. Nicotine didn’t help much, but it was something—it was human nature, and you understood that. He noticed your shy smile, his effect on you having its way. "Not funny, Eli. I don’t get why you do this," you murmured, exhaustion pulling your eyes closed, though you stayed nestled against his soft shoulder. He swallowed, realizing you weren’t playing a game; you were just oblivious.
"One of the fans outside even gave me her number to give to you." Your tone was gentle, though the crumpled paper in your hand suggested you had some opinion on it. "You think I’m just messing around with you?" He took your face in his hand, studying your troubled eyes. "Why would I do that? I wouldn’t flirt with you if I didn’t mean it. I don’t know how to be more obvious."
The firmness in his voice cut through like the edge of a blade. Now it was his turn to look at you like a puzzle piece he couldn’t quite figure out. You stared at him like he’d just spoken in another language, your brow furrowing in confusion. “Aren’t you? I mean… isn’t this just, like, a thing you do? Flirt with people for fun?” Oddly enough he was still comfortable, Eli could be anything but scary.
He looked at you, serious, shaking his head slightly, as if letting you slip through his fingers was out of the question.
Eli raised an eyebrow, his grin slipping. “Is that what you think of me?”
You fidgeted with the sleeve of his jacket, avoiding his gaze. “I don’t know. I mean, you’re… you know…” Your voice dropped as if admitting the truth was embarrassing. “You’re you.”
He leaned closer, his voice low but insistent. “And what if ‘me’ wants you? What if I’m serious ‘bout this?”
Your eyes shot up to his, wide and startled, but you quickly looked away. “You’re not.”
“Yeah, I am,” Eli said, his gaze more serious now, one of those looks you couldn’t avoid. “I don’t just flirt with everyone. I don’t chase people. But I’m chasing you. What’s it gonna take for you to get that?”
His chest had been racing, but it started to calm as he took in your parted lips and the tears lingering in your eyes. He knew he was overwhelming you at a tough moment, and he hated that. His fingertips traced the bridge of your nose, lightly outlining your soft lines, enjoying how close you allowed him to be. “Are you okay, little one?” he asked softly, the edge of his jacket brushing your cheek to wipe away the last of your tears.
“Yeah,” you replied, the incident finally slipping away as you looked back at him, unable to focus on anything else. His careful eyes, the freckles scattered like constellations, each carrying its own name that you gave them—it was hard to think of anything but them. “God, I must’ve been such an idiot, right?”
He chuckled, his laugh warm and steady against you. Then, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, gentle but grounding, repeating it a few times as if to anchor you. You rested your head against his chest, nestling your face there, feeling the safety of his warmth. Your arms wrapped around his waist, a quiet comfort settling in.
“You weren’t an idiot. If anything, I’ve been bugging you since I got here.” You murmured a soft agreement, and he laughed again.
“But it worked, didn’t it? What do you say?”
You hid yourself a bit more in his embrace, feeling good, as he held you close, content to be your shield.
…
There was a comfortable weight draped over you, not unpleasant in the slightest. Your legs were tangled up with his, and you could feel his breath against your shoulder, soon followed by a series of light kisses and playful bites. You laughed into him, accepting your fate, and hugged him tighter. “Good morning,” he murmured, his voice sounding even better with that just-woke-up rasp. You glanced around, fully taking in the scene. His hand rested on your waist, his touch warm, and he was amazing at reading you, always respecting your pace.
“No one’s here yet. I’m not about to get you in trouble.” You smiled back at him, genuinely relieved.
“So you’re gonna hide us from them, huh?” he teased. “Hurts my feelings a little, y’know?” You looked down at your feet, ready to counter him, but before you could, his face was close again. He pressed a soft, wet kiss to your cheek. His messy curls tickled you, and you ended up laughing.
“When I make you nervous like this…” he traced his thumb along your hands, which were colder than your hot cheeks. “Is it a bad thing? Does it bother you?”
You met his gaze, smiling with your lip caught between your teeth. “I like how you talk to me, Eli. I just… don’t know how to deal with it right away.”
He nodded, his smile warm. “Good. I like that—it’s cute how you don’t know what to do with yourself.”
So effortlessly, he pulled the same reaction from you as before. The two of you kept talking, stealing these quiet moments before anyone arrived. Eli picked up on your hesitance with him, knowing you thought he was too charismatic for someone like you. But he also made it clear he didn’t mind your quieter world; he’d be just as happy living in it if you’d have him there.
Later that day, you ended up with his jacket draped over your shoulders and his hand resting gently on your back. You got to listen Bobby complimented you, saying you were better at adjusting his bass than any of the past techs they’d worked with. The way he talked about you was similar to how Eli did, which made you suspect Eli had already mentioned you to them before, even without knowing you well yet. None of them questioned your sudden closeness with Eli, not even when he introduced you like they didn’t all already know who you were. They were welcoming, you felt at ease.
Eli’s hand slipped from your waist slowly, your smile softening as he looked at you. He was enjoying the way things were going. “I’m gonna grab us some food,” he said, tilting your chin up and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “And a Diet Coke too.”
You grinned, your smile so wide it showed all your teeth. “Want me to come with you?” Before either of you could say more, Ryan appeared with a question about drum kits, and Eli could see in your eyes that you wanted to answer.
“I’ll be right back, I promise, little one,” he chuckled, leaving you with them. Minutes later, Ryan mentioned, “It’s great that Eli managed to finally talk to you. We’ve been hoping to catch you since that project you worked on with Miles.”
The statement was so casual that you raised your eyebrows, realizing it had been over two years since that project—quite some time if you thought about it. “You guys were looking for me?”
Ryan nodded, as if it were obvious. “Actually, Elijah suggested it. He’s into the albums you worked on. It took a while—you’re not exactly easy to track down.” You laughed, looking at them, struck by how Eli had admired your work for much longer than you’d ever realized. You’d thought he was out of reach, yet he’d appreciated your work from the start.
“Don’t break our boy’s heart, alright? We’d have to side with you then, but we’d rather not,” Josh added with a smirk, and you felt your face heat up just as Eli returned, grinning, with a Diet Coke and fries in hand.
You figured maybe you could handle this, after all.
#elijah hewson#elijah hewson x reader#inhaler#inhaler dublin#robert keating#josh jenkinson#ryan mcmahon#elijah hewson imagines#elijah hewson fanfic#fanfic
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Bobby Skeetz on stage in Denver Oct 29
📸 @/jennysmedia via Instagram
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inhaler is my one direction
#they’re not technically a boy band but they are boys in a band#lomls#all of them#inhaler band#inhaler dublin#elijah hewson#robert keating#josh jenkinson#bobby skeetz#inhaler#ryan mcmahon#kaela.txt
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Please leave me!
Also, happy December!!! Can't wait for Christmas holidays⛄️✨️🎄
#inhaler#inhaler dublin#inhaler band#bobby skeetz#robert keating#elijah hewson#eli hewson#ryan mcmahon#josh jenkinson#irish
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PERFECT STORM
pairing elijah hewson x fem! reader
trope established relationship
warnings pure fluff. nudity mentioned but not sexual
summary she gets caught in a storm and elijah helps her stay warm.
words 1.2k
Every part of her body was soaked. Her blouse had become see-through. Her skirt had become pounds heavier. Drops of water slid down her bare legs. Every time she walked, her Doc Martens squelched. Her socks were wet, and her feet were cold and pruny. She let out a shaky sigh as she walked up the stairs up to her apartment. Her soaked hair was in a clip that was digging into the back of her head.
He heard the sound of keys jangling. The door was unlocked. She came in and was already leaving a puddle of water on the wooden floor.
He chuckled. "What the fuck happened?" He asked, a bit amused but also concerned. He left his spot on the couch and walked over to her.
"I got caught in the rain. Didn't bring my umbrella."
"I told you to take an umbrella this morning."
"Yeah, whatever." She snapped. She dropped her bag on the floor. His mouth closed before making a snarky remark. She was obviously pretty annoyed. He watched her take off her boots.
"Come on." He said then took her hand and dragged her into the bathroom. He turned on the faucet of the tub. Temperature is pretty warm. "Sit." He commanded while motioning to the toilet cap. She did.
He pulled off her drenched socks. Then he unbuttoned her white blouse. He did everything tenderly. She kept staring at him. He looked tired. She knew he had been up very late writing. He took her bra off. Shame was no longer in the picture. He had seen her bare body many times. He wasn't even looking at her that way.
"You don't have to do this." She whispered to him. He finally looked her in the eyes as he pulled her up to take off her skirt. "I know." He replied, then unzipped her skirt. She felt warmth through her chest. That was in big contrast with the way her body felt. He always made her feel warm.
He helped her get out of her underwear. He also pulled her hair clip off and stuck his fingers through her scalp. He massaged her head, and she sighed. A moan escaped her, and he chuckled. Then he stuck the tips of his fingers in the water to check the temperature. It was a good type of warm now. He gave her a hand and helped her get in the tub. He caressed the top of her head.
"I'm going to go make you some tea. You're probably going to catch a cold." She was shivering slightly. Her nose was red, and she was sniffling. She nodded, and he stepped out of the bathroom.
He put the kettle on. He wasn't upset at her for snapping. Or the way she obviously was in a piss-poor mood. She tended to be a little moody. Whenever she ran out of patience or was annoyed at something, she was a bit intense. He never took it personal. It brought humor to him — which she hated. He usually got her to come around, though.
The kettle was taking forever. He heard the sound of the drain. Hopefully she was warmer now. She left the bathroom and went to their room. He messed with the settings of their stove. Increasing the heat. Her small frame came into the kitchen. Sweatpants, fuzzy socks, and a hoodie she stole from him on her body. He was leaning back on the counter facing her. She looked shy as she got closer. They didn't speak. She was ringing her hands. He grabbed one of her hands and pulled her into him. Her face nuzzled into his neck.
"Sorry, I snapped at you. She murmured into his skin. He scoffed, the sound vibrating through her body.
"That was nothing. It didn't bother me."
"Still. I don't like it when I'm mean to you."
"You're always mean. That's why I like you so much." He kissed her cheek, and she smiled. He looked down into her eyes lovingly. He could decipher anything she was feeling by looking at those gorgeous big green eyes of hers. "Are you warm? Your lips are still kind of blue."
"I'm good now." She nodded while looking up at him.
"Want me to warm them up?" He asked with a cheeky grin, and she chuckled. He pulled her in and placed his lips on hers. His lips were soft and warm against hers. She could taste the remnants of a cigarette in his mouth. He had probably had a smoke earlier. He cupped her face. Calloused hands against soft, cold cheeks. He slipped his tongue in her mouth, and she shivered. This time it wasn't from the cold. He tasted her. She was his favorite flavor. She hummed. His hands left her cheeks and settled them on her hips. Pulling her closer. He could do this forever. He ran his hands up her sides. The kettle whistled. It scared them both, and their lips separated with a smack.
"Shite." He cursed, then grabbed a handcloth and placed it over the handle. He poured the hot water into the two mugs. Her favorite mug. It read, 'Dibs on the lead singer.' His was a U2 mug with his dad's face plastered on it. It was a gag gift from her. He made both their teas how they liked it.
"Careful. It's hot." He warned before he passed the mug to her. She blew on the hot liquid. Smoke fanned her face. They moved to the couch and just sat there in comfort and silence. Elijah and her could always relax together. Especially when he's in vocal rest. She can tell what he wants without him even speaking.
He was being so sweet to her. It made her eyes burn. He wasn't looking at her, but she was looking at him. Sometimes when she looked at him, feelings would choke her. Sitting at her throat, waiting to be spilt. They had been dating for around 6 months. She hadn't said it yet. The word had always made her uncomfortable. She had warned him about it. He said it to her first. Sometimes he drops it in conversations.
Right now though. The words were at the tip of her tongue. Ready to stumble out.
"Eli..." She let out breathlessly. His head turned. He saw her expression. His brow raised in question. "What is it?"
"I..." She gulped. She didn't know why this was so difficult for her. She cursed. He sat up straight. He could tell her. He just knew. Taking a sip of his tea before speaking.
"You don't have to say it. I know."
"What?" Her mouth agape. Eyebrows furrowed. He couldn't possibly know what she was about to say.
"Oh, come on. Did you think I didn't know? I see it on your face every day." He chuckled at her face.
"See what on my face?"
"Love."
"Fuck off." She rolled her eyes. He laughed louder this time. She crawled towards him. He smirked at her.
"You're such a bloody eejit." She sat on his lap. A peck to her lips.
"That you love."
"Yeah, whatever, fucker. I love you." He smiled widely now. Almost giddy. His cheeks turned pink.
"Are you blushing?"
"Yeah, whatever. I love you more."
#elijah hewson#elijah hewson imagine#inhaler#inhaler dublin#inhaler band#robert keating#elijah hewson x reader#robert keating imagine#bobby skeetz#bobby skeetz imagine#ryan mcmahon#ryan mcmahon imagine#josh jenkinson#josh jenkinson imagine#rockstar girlfriend#rockstar girlfriend imagine#u2#imagine#comfort#fluff#fanfiction
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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.
#inhaler#elijah hewson#elijah hewson x reader#inhaler dublin#inhaler x reader#inhaler imagines#ryan mcmahon#robert keating#josh jenkinson
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Dumb & Poetic (Eli Hewson)
Elijah Hewson x fem!reader
Summary: in which, the one time where she walks away it finally ends.
Warnings: swearing, angst (can't seem to write anything happy, sorry), mentions of manipulation and a toxic relationship,
Wordcount: 1k
Masterlist, Short n'Sweet Series
Musicians. The one species no one could ever truly identify, neither understand. Especially when they were so convinced about being the best, and god was he one of them. The touring. Music. Aesthetic. It made her settle for less than what she wanted.
Drunk kisses and broken promises seemed less hurtful after another poem with her as the muse. Little love confessions between lyrics and longing glances that he sent her way when he was performing on stage. She met his family and she met his friends. She met who was important to him and on the sleepless nights, she understood that she was never one of them. She was the distraction he kept by his side to not break down. Taking up every corner of her mind to occupy her whenever.
Being his - even when it was only for a split second - it was all what she wished for and all she hated. She wanted to be something to someone. But leaving her sanity behind for it wasn’t the plan. Leaving an empty bed in the morning because he came home late and gone early wasn’t what she was hoping for.
She knew she should be long gone from Ireland, gone back home and into the arms of her friends to make her feel better about herself after he fucked her mind up one too many times. She knew she should be long gone, still she found herself buying the last tickets the night before. She found herself wanting to see him one last time before she finally took her belongings from this god damn city and leave it for once and for all.
On the stage, the lights were making him look like a god. The way the people in the crowd would scream for him, it made him excited. It made him feel alive. She could see it in his face as he looked at them, when he looked at the other lads. This was what he wanted.
He had told her about it hundreds of times, always dreaming of becoming the big rock star he was born to be. The one people told him he would never be after hearing their early days and shitty Nirvana Covers. But he was convinced that he could make it. And he did.
Now, in the back of the club, it felt different. She was now part of the crowd, the one he adored, but she wasn’t part of those he loved. Not truly. She couldn’t understand why, but she never understood him in the way a lover was supposed to.
Still she couldn’t stop herself from drifting towards another future they might could’ve had. One where he actually was the man and didn’t just act like one. One where they could’ve been happy and where he tried to understand how she was feeling about his actions.
But now, how he stood there, talking about loss like he knew what it meant, it wasn’t fair. For months, she was the one holding him sane and for weeks she was the reason for why he seemed miserable. Running from whatever could remind him of them.
She bet that another one was already waiting for him behind the curtain, someone he would pout at to not walk out of the door. Someone he would tell how understanding he was, that he knew how she was feeling. But truly this was what was on his mind. Nothing else. All for the music, right? That was what mattered.
She saw it in his eyes when he caught her gaze. She was sure he couldn’t see her, still his eyes were focused on her silhouette for longer than anything else. A glimmer of something like regret lingering in his eyes. A feeling of nausea overcoming them both in the moment.
It only broke apart when Bobby walked over to him, nudging him and making him come back to reality. He said he was alright, still his eyes flew back to her the moment Bobby let it go. But she was gone. Like she had never existed. But he knew she was there, he felt it. The stage lights made it hard to see, but he knew her. He knew when she was near.
The door to the club opened, letting a bit of light through and swallowing her body whole after it closed. She was gone and he knew that it was his fault. She was finally gone and he was sure no amount of self-help books could help him now that she was gone.
He read them all, but he couldn’t remember one helpful thing from them now that he needed it.
The rain outside was pouring down on her and reminding her of all the tears she shed for him. All the arguments she blamed on herself after never understanding the reason why they were fighting in the first place.
Her boots were making sounds on the pavement, her hands were furiously wiping away the falling tears on her face. He was the one who left, so why did she still feel guilty about how it ended? It was only him and his facade that made it all crumble.
Part of her wanted him to follow her, to tell her that he was a dumb idiot for letting her go. That he regretted it all and that he could never love anyone like her. But he never came back, he only ever left. She knew he would never come back with every step she took further away from him, feeling nothing but free now. Even when the burden of his love would weight her down for a bit longer than she hoped for, this was the first thing they’d both done right in the relationship. Leaving was sometimes better than holding on to something so dumb, no matter how poetic it might seem.
#elijah hewson x reader#elijah hewson#elijah hewson x fem!reader#elijah hewson imagine#elijah hewson fanfic#eli hewson#inhaler imagine#inhaler dublin#inhaler fanfic#inhaler band#inhaler#inhaler x reader#short n sweet#sabrina carpenter short n sweet#short n sweet sabrina carpenter#dumb and poetic#josh jenkinson#robert keating#ryan mcmahon
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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🤔
> inhalerfan3: omg he does🤨
> Bobbyskeetzzzers2: That is definitely Elijah, look at the tattoo.
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!
ElijahHewsonsguitarstring: From wag to rockstar gf, she’s such an icon😫
Yourusername
Liked by ElijahHewson, LoganSargeant and 571000 others
yourusername: I too love Bono's son <3
comments have been disabled
#elijah hewson x reader#logan sargeant x reader#logan sargeant x ex!reader#inhaler#elijah hewson#robert keating#formula 1#williams racing#logan sargeant#daniel ricciardo#alex albon#Spotify
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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.
#elijah hewson#elijah hewson oneshot#elijah hewson x reader#elijah hewson imagine#eli hewson#inhaler band#inhaler imagines#inhaler oneshots#inhaler dublin#fanfiction#inhaler fanfiction#robert keating#bobby skeetz#josh jenkinson#ryan mcmahon#inhaler#inhaler fanfic#inhaler imagine
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Heartplace. // Elijah Hewson X Reader (Fluff).
prompt: about how you handle a light argument, where Eli said things he's truly sorry for and wants to apologize.
words: 2.1K
It affected you in a way that left your mind distant throughout the day, but deep down, you understood. He was tired, and though he was in the wrong, his sleepless nights without you and his swollen eyes as he watched you leave each morning made it clear—he knew he had hurt you.
Knowing Eli, he would be brooding over it, silently reprimanding himself while figuring out how to reconnect with you and make things right.
"Come closer," you whispered, foam already covering his tiny beard. Under normal circumstances, he would have kissed you, making a mess. You appreciated how, despite complications, you never neglected each other. You loved him too much to go long without touching him, and he felt the same.
…
Despite the thoughtless and cruel words from the night before, he still came to pick you up from work, waiting outside with a cigarette as usual, and kept your favorite songs playing even after you got into the car without giving him your usual long, lingering hug. He stayed silent, his hand brushing over his eyes during the drive, and you’d have been foolish not to notice him struggling to keep them from misting over.
You didn’t fight often, but you had been together a long time, so this wasn’t the first. As you gazed out the window, you placed your hand on his, intertwining your fingers, listening to him sniff softly—so discreet and embarrassed that, if not for the years, you might have missed it. His rings against your skin were comforting, so familiar.
He squeezed your thigh affectionately; his fingers were cold, but yours quickly warmed them. As you gently stroked the short hair on his arm, he felt foolish—both for what he’d done and for still not knowing what to say or how to say it. You weren’t angry with him, not at all, but you didn’t like the way it felt.
…
He took a deep breath, settling between your legs, which quickly wrapped around his waist. His long fingers grazed the hem of your shirt (which, by the way it hung to your thighs, was clearly his), gradually stealing the warmth from your hips into his palms. You smiled softly as his eyes met yours; at times, he felt like he didn't deserve you. You could feel his breath close as you wet the blade and steadied his face with your hand. It felt good to have him near, even with the tension still lingering in the air between you.
“Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?” you asked, continuing to remove the excess before resuming the grooming process you loved so much. Eli was never very patient with his beard; whenever he had to do it himself, it usually ended with intense itching and irritated, red skin. You never failed to take good care of him, and he appreciated it deeply. It didn’t usually grow too thick, but it bothered him, and you were so good at handling it.
“Like what, darlin’?” His voice was velvety yet cautious. His eyes sparkled at you with a faint smile, freckles prominent, as if pleading for kisses. Realizing it had been a while since you’d heard him, your body tingled. You tightened around him, wanting him close as if he could heal the pounding in your head. You wanted to say everything was fine, but you also wanted to be honest about your hurt. Above all, you were waiting for him to take the first step. Things are always much easier said than done.
Your face was furrowed in concentration, or perhaps annoyance; at that moment, he couldn’t quite tell. It seemed as if you were about to carve a look of distress into his features, yet he couldn’t help but smile at how beautiful you looked.
"I don't know," you whispered. Despite looking tired, he still wore a sweet expression as he looked at you. The wrinkle between his relaxed eyebrows and the way his caramel eyes shone, even on not-so-great days, were things you loved about him.
He nodded, tracing circles on your skin, waiting for you to continue. When you finished, you dried his face with the still-warm towel and applied the soothing lotion. The bonus you loved most was that you’d fall asleep with his comforting scent lingering on you. You ran your hands over his bare shoulders, appreciating every freckle, and then, with quiet sincerity, he pulled you into a hug.
Your forehead rested against his chest, your hand entwined around his waist, and gradually, his breathing comforted you. You murmured softly, feeling warmth in your chest, the hairs on his chest tickling your cheek, which made him laugh as well. He nuzzled his red nose against your cheek, then down to your shoulder, and after lightly kissing it, he playfully nibbled, wanting to hear you smile. It was a pleasant and new sensation to feel him against your skin without the facial hair.
“Thank you for takin’ care of me, tiny one,” he said, still feeling weighed down. His face nestled into your neck, and he couldn’t bring himself to meet your eyes. “I really like these little moments with you.” He felt like an idiot for stating the obvious, as if it would somehow make things better. His fear wasn’t about apologizing but rather about recognizing how much he had hurt you with his actions.
You nodded against his skin, feeling small in his embrace. "You know when we go to the market?" Your voice trembled, and he felt the dampness spreading quietly across his chest as you rubbed your hand against him. A lump formed in his throat as he held you tighter. "This is going to sound silly," you said, laughing without much humor.
He watched you through wet eyelashes, cradling your face as your foreheads rested together, allowing you to gaze into each other’s eyes. Your hair stuck to his, and he tried to pull it away in vain; perhaps it was meant to be tangled together. "I wanna hear you out," he said, his voice catching as he spoke.
You swallowed hard and closed your eyes. "I love how you smile at me when you 'find' me in the market, y’know? Your eyes, even your freckles seem to sparkle. I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed, but it always happens, even though you know I’ll come back to you after I find something from the list. Sometimes, I think I do it on purpose—disappear among the shelves and then reappear with something in hand to show you. It never fails. You squint your eyes and then break into a smile, your cheeks rosy and your teeth showing, and it makes me want to hug you." You sniffled, feeling vulnerable.
He was just as emotional, yet he held you close, making you feel heard. "I’m afraid this will end," your voice trailed off, and then you shook your head vigorously. "I hate thinking that you might get tired of being with me. Even though I know you acted in the heat of the moment, I can't shake the feeling that it’s a possibility." Those were the truths that weighed heavily on you, and you felt apprehensive about sharing it.
There was silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable. He cradled your face in his hands, the tip of his nose nuzzling against your skin as he pressed soft kisses onto your cheek. He offered you the same affectionate look he always had. "It won’t end, I promise. I’m sorry.” He held you tighter, hating himself for leaving you alone to deal with those feelings. Sometimes, he wished you would be angry at him and scream in his face, but fortunately, you both knew better than that. “I didn’t mean to hurt you; I was tired and ended up unloading my feelings on you when you were just trying to help. I didn’t realize you felt this way.”
He chuckled at his own words, his cheeks and the tip of his nose flushed. He hadn’t realized it before, but reflecting on those memories, he loved having you close. In public—whether at the market or any other event—the voices in his head and the external noises became more persistent, almost paralyzing. But having you by his side made him feel lighter, grounding his thoughts. Loving you made him more patient, filling him with that warm feeling in his chest and the assurance that everything would be alright because the person he cherished most in the world was with him.
“I know you didn’t mean it.” The tips of your fingers brushed against his nose, trailing your thumb to his eyes as you smiled weakly at the sight of his tears. “I’m upset, but I’m not angry with you. I know I can be stubborn, and I’ve been forgiven for my questionable actions in the past.”
The difference was that he knew you would know what to say, expertly resolving everything without leaving room for insecurities to take root in his mind. He didn’t have much to say; he had failed you in less than two minutes, and he still replayed the sad look in your eyes and the way you had lowered your head the previous night as punishment.
You opened your arms, noticing how he had withdrawn into himself, lost in his own thoughts. “Take me to bed, Eli.” He forced a smile as he held you close, his hands firm on your waist while you intertwined your legs around him.
“I won’t do it again; I won’t make you feel this way again. I love you. I promise.” His voice was breathless but not desperate, polite and well-articulated. It was as if he felt the need to prove something to you, believing that words alone wouldn’t suffice. Despite knowing he would apologize many more times out of concern, you were fine. He had always been good at listening.
Your back sank into the mattress as your fingers wove through his hair, his face nestled against you. “I don’t like sleeping without you,” he whispered, lifting his head. His hand caressed your cheek and chin, captivated by how he closed his eyes at your touch and sighed. You kissed him lightly, and as you sank back into the bed, he stole another kiss from you. Soon, the tips of your fingers traced the path of his freckles, and he understood that he would miss you if fate decided that you didn’t want him anymore.
“Yeah?” Your eyebrows arched, eager to hear more as you snuggled closer to the pillow, feeling vulnerable under his gaze.
“Yeah,” he laughed, his face lighting up. “I love how you share your day with me and listen until we drift off to sleep.” He paused, fingers tracing your skin as he sighed contentedly, grateful for your closeness and the kisses you shared. “Mornings are great too, when you play with my hair until I wake up to see you smiling beside me, or when I catch you washing your face with the bathroom light on.” Holding your chin, he reflected on how often those moments happened, all equally cherished. He missed you when filming kept him away, and he found himself longing for your daily updates and photos. “I need you, I’m sorry,” he began, but you covered his mouth, smiling.
“If you apologize again, I won’t forgive you; you’ll be on your own. I know you won’t do it again.” Your tone was light, easing his tension. You pulled him closer, enjoying the warmth of his embrace as his hands found their way to your waist. He nuzzled his beard-less face against your forehead and planted a kiss there. “Elijah?” you sang softly.
He grumbled, pulling you even closer.
“Your mother called earlier, inviting us to lunch. I said we’d go.” Your breath against his chest was light, and he chuckled at the thought that you might hold a grudge. It was funny to think that you didn't hesitate at all to decline the request.
#elijah hewson x reader#inhaler#inhaler dublin#eli x reader#elijah hewson#robert keating#josh jenkinson#ryan mcmahon#elijah hewson fanfic#inhaler fanfic
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"Your House" music video by Inhaler
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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
#inhaler oneshot#inhaler dublin x reader#inhaler dublin#inhaler x reader#elijah hewson x reader#elijah hewson#robert keating#josh jenkinson#ryan mcmahon
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Right Back Where We Started From | Robert Keating x Fem!reader
summary: Flying home for Christmas seemed like a great idea until you’re snowed in and stuck on an icy runway… for the foreseeable future. Even worse? The person in the seat next to you is the guy who broke your heart a year ago
word count: 3.5k
warnings: angsty, exes to lovers (kinda), fluff, swearing, mention of alcohol, my bad writing as always, the usual really
author’s note: i have returned to my roots and am back with a robert christmas fic, everyone rejoice. this time a bit different. as you can tell, i’ve rewatched normal people while writing this – to all my robert keating and paul mescal enjoyers, this one is for you x
“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
You hadn’t thought it would be possible, but your already bad day had just gotten worse somehow, which was kind of an achievement in itself.
It was bad enough that you had slept through your alarm this morning and had rushed into work over an hour late (the sudden onset of winter and heavy snowfall delaying your arrival even longer), which was followed by your suitcase breaking as you were about to leave your flat for Heathrow and you had to quickly find something to repair the broken zipper with. The bad luck didn't end there of course. When you did finally make it to the airport - ten minutes before check-in for your flight closed - you almost got run over by some busy businessman who didn't look where he was going and, in the process, rammed his metal suitcase against your knee, which had been pulsating and in pain ever since. Your flight being delayed by an hour and twenty minutes was truly only the cherry on top.
But even then, none of those things could compare to the mixture of feelings you felt bubbling up inside you when you realized who had just sat down in the seat right next to you and who was about to sit right next to you for the next hour and a half or so.
None other than your bassist ex-boyfriend whose band was almost everywhere these days. Of course, it had to be Robert Keating.
For a few seconds, you thought about the best way to approach this whole thing. Ignore him and pretend he wasn’t there? Put on a happy face and try to be nice to him? Even though the mere thought of your breakup still made your heart ache and sting every time you thought about it, thought about him. None of those seemed like good ideas.
Before either of you could decide how to approach this awkwardness, a decision was made for you. In the form of the voice of a flight attendant over the intercom system.
“Welcome on board British Airways flight BA 838 to Dublin Airport, due to the heavy snowfall and an icy runway, our start is delayed by at least thirty minutes,” a murmur went through the crowd. “Our cabin crew will be coming around, handing out free drinks and snacks, we apologize profusely for the delay!”
You must’ve really pissed off someone in your last life because there was no way this was real life. How could literally everything possibly go wrong in one single day?
“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Robert echoed your words from earlier, the absurdity of it all was the last straw for you and you started uncontrollably giggling to yourself.
“You seem to be in a good mood.” Rob sighed and you knew without looking at him that his face was pulled into a grimace. It was safe to say that he was not having fun right now.
“Oh, believe me,” you stopped chuckling and turned your attention to your former lover, who did indeed look like he wanted to be anywhere but stuck on an icy tarmac right about now. “I’ve actually had one of the worst days of my life today.” You shrugged your shoulders. “At this point, I’ve just stopped trying to make any sense of it.”
Before you knew it you told him about everything that had gone wrong for you up until that point. Broke suitcase and all.
You even showed him your knee that had been massacred by that man and his heavy suitcase and realised that it actually had started bleeding. No wonder it kept pulsating with pain.
Those damn businessmen and their way too expensive, way too heavy metal suitcases
“I feel like I've been talking your ear off for way too long now,” you smiled awkwardly. Seems like 'put on a happy face and try to be nice' was the plan you had chosen. “Now tell me, why are you in London on the 22nd? Shouldn’t you be already home with the family?”
You hated that you still knew what he and his family did every Christmas. You hated that you still knew a lot about him actually.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Rob replied. And just like that, operation 'put on a happy face and try to be nice' was fucked. “We had a label meeting a few days ago, with the big boss,” He joked. Looked like you didn’t mess up your chances of keeping this civil after all. “The lads all flew home on Wednesday, but I needed a day just for myself, to decompress or something like that… It has been a long year you know? So much has happened in the last twelve months, and I’ve had almost no days for just myself.”
“Yeah, busy year,” you acknowledged. You couldn’t escape the band anymore; they were everywhere these days. And as much as it hurt to see or hear about him everywhere you went; it made you happy to see them doing so well.
You were about to say something when the voice of the flight attendant from earlier came over the intercom again, this time informing you that due to the weather, your delay would continue but that you had to stay on the plane for safety reasons. At this point, you wondered if you would even make it to Dublin before Christmas… maybe you just had to spend Christmas in London alone, so the bad luck that seemed to follow you around could not rub off on anyone else.
At least the cabin crew would – once again – make their rounds and hand out free drinks, food, and some blankets.
Realizing that you hadn’t registered how cold it actually was on the plane, you made sure to profusely thank the brunette flight attendant, who handed you one of the British Airways branded blue fleece blankets, wrapping it around your upper body and legs you had pulled up on the seat after taking your shoes off. There was no way you were going to be (physically) uncomfortable today.
You turned your attention back to Rob, only to see him already looking at you. Actually looking at you and not the 'barely holding eye contact' thing he had done earlier, now he was staring at you, his eyes rapidly moving like he had forgotten what you looked like and was now trying to commit every part of you to his memory.
It made that mixture of feelings you had felt bubbling up inside you when you had first seen him earlier, return. Just this time, the feelings of butterflies in your stomach, that you always used to get whenever you had looked at him, were more prominent than any other feeling.
Fuck… great work! Thirty-five minutes spent next to your ex and boom… you were right back to feeling head over heels for him.
You sat in silence for a few minutes, neither of you knowing what to say now, because what do you talk about with your ex-partner when you didn’t plan to see them never mind being stuck in an airplane that could not take off due to the sudden onset of winter. No one had ever written a handbook of how to act if you were ever stuck in a situation like this. No one. Especially not on how to act when you are actually still very much in love with said former partner, making the doubts you had always had about you going your separate ways, appear even greater.
The breakup had been mutual. You both barely had time for each other anymore and at that point in time it had seemed like the only reasonable decision to make. You had finished university that summer, he was practically always on tour or in the studio and when you had gotten that job offer for your current job in London you realized that things would only get harder from there on out. So, you moved to London, Robert stayed in Dublin – when he was not on tour – and then you broke up.
Of course, you had promised to stay in touch, to stay friends but you both knew that that was not happening. You couldn’t stay friends with him, not when you were still head over heels in love with him.
That’s why the breakup still hurt, even though you had not been with him in well over a year. You had tried to move on, had hooked up with a few people here and there, had gone out on the dates your new friends had set you up on but no one made you feel the way he did, so you gave up trying and slowly came to terms with the fact that you would maybe never be as in love again as you had been when you were twenty.
You sighed, trying to shake your thoughts as you fished your phone out of your jeans pocket.
20:21
Even with the initial hour and twenty minutes delay of the flight, you should’ve been long in the air by now, scratch that you should be more than halfway to Dublin by now. You sighed again, before typing out a message to your mother, telling her that you were still in Heathrow and didn’t know when you'd be home. Her answer came quickly, reassuring you that she would be there to pick you up from the airport when you landed, whenever that may be.
Putting your phone away you turned your attention back on Rob, who seemed to be so deep in his own thoughts, that even though he was looking at you, he was more looking through you.
“Are you alright?” You sounded more concerned than you were.
“Yeah yeah, I’m all right. Just a bit tired,” He smiled at you. “It's just– you know… I have missed you. A lot.”
Oh.
“I’ve been for a while actually,” He chuckled awkwardly. “The last year has been one of the strangest of my life. The juxtaposition of all the success with the lads, all the sold-out shows, festivals… all the fun and good stuff that has happened and then missing you all the time, missing us. It is a lot.”
Robert’s admission hit you like a ton of bricks. Holy fucking shit.
“Don’t say that.” Your voice was breaking. Why was your voice breaking?
“No, I mean it,” Rob's voice wasn’t steady, but he continued, reaching for your hands, and giving them a gentle squeeze. It was the first time he touched you that evening, leaving your skin feeling like it was on fire everywhere his met yours.
“No, you don’t get to say that shit after I spent over a year being heartbroken.” Your emotions were running wild now. “Not after I’ve finally come to terms with the fact that I’ll probably never love anyone like I love you.”
There it was. Your confession. Out in the open.
“We both decided it was for the better to call things off,” Robert cringed at the words. But he was right, it had been a mutual decision. “You can’t put all the blame on me… if I had known how difficult this would be I would’ve never done it.” You could tell he was getting worked up over this, but you could not blame him for that. You weren’t doing any better really. “I would’ve moved to this damn city for you!”
“Don’t say that.” There it was again. “Robert, you would have hated it here. You would have been away from the lads, you would have had to commute between London and Dublin all the fucking time,” you tried to keep your voice as low as possible, which proved to be difficult the longer this went on. “That’s no way to live, baby. We would have been miserable.”
He was silent for a while, his hands still holding onto yours as if you were the anchor keeping him grounded but he wasn’t looking at you anymore. Now you squeezed his hands.
“Bobby there is no use in pretending you wouldn’t have been absolutely fucking miserable here,” You sniffled trying not to cry. “I would not have had time for you, and you would not have had time for me. We would have lived two separate times, believe me, we would have resented each other after a few months.”
“Still,” he tried to argue. “I’ve been pretty fucking miserable this year without you too.” He was finally looking at you again, his eyes slightly glassed over.
You didn’t know what to say to that and before you could think of something, the intercom turned on again.
“Good evening, my name is Richard Jones, I’ll be your Captain tonight and I am happy to report that we’ve finally got cleared to take off.” Finally. “We will be making our way onto the tarmac in about ten minutes. Since we are obviously not the only plane waiting to take off, we will have to wait for a little bit longer, but we should be in the air in the next thirty minutes or so. We, again, apologise for the delay, if you have any more questions our cabin crew will be happy to answer them. We thank you for your patience!”
You felt like a weight was finally being taken off your shoulders. A weight you had carried around with yourself for almost a year now.
You got your phone out again, sending another text to your Mum telling her that you were finally about to take off and actually get home for Christmas. And then… then you took a deep breath turning your attention back to Robert.
Okay, here goes nothing.
“Well since we are sharing,” you smiled at him, still holding his hands. “I’ve missed you too. A lot!”
Before he could answer you, you got interrupted once again.
“Is there anything I can get either of you?” The brunette flight attendant from earlier smiled at you. “Any drinks? Food?”
“Yeah actually,” you turned your attention from Rob to the brunette woman. “Could we get two red wines and a pack of salt crisps? Thank you so much!”
You took the two wines and crisps, setting one of the wines down in front of Robert.
“I think we have a lot to talk about,” You grinned at him, who would have thought this day would end like this? You certainly didn’t. “Cheers!”
The both of you talked a lot. About everything that had happened since your breakup, about how much you missed each other, about your job and the band.
You told him how proud you were of him and the lads, that even though it had hurt to see them everywhere, your happiness for their success outweighed the heartbreak of – at the time – knowing that you would probably never get to tell them that in the way you had done for years before. That you missed your friends in Dublin but that your new job and friends in London were great. How much you had fallen in love with this city. And how much you hated not at least trying to stay in contact with Eli or Josh.
In turn, he told you about how much he loved touring, how he and the lads had grown even closer, how crazy eventful this year had been and how glad he was that they were taking a little break. Taking things slow but already working on album number three.
You talked about your confessions from earlier. That you both were obviously miserable without each other, that you still loved each other greatly and what it meant for you going forward.
With your head on his shoulder, you talked for the whole flight, in hushed whispers, laughing every now and again.
And if the confessions had taken a heavy weight off your shoulder earlier, this – the hushed talking, the little giggles, and the handholding – made you feel weightless. Made you feel like you were on top of the world again. All because the man you loved was still in love with you.
You were holding hands when you finally walked out of the airplane at 22:25. Finally back home in Dublin you thought. And you continued to do so when you waited to pick up your baggage, which of course took another fifteen minutes but at this point, what were those extra fifteen minutes? If anything, it was more time with Robert which you gladly accepted.
“Is anyone here to pick you up?” You looked up at Rob, while you were still waiting for your broken suitcase, to arrive on the baggage conveyor belt.
“Sent a message to my Ma while we were getting ready to land,” He answered. “Is that your bag?” He asked pointing to the black suitcase, which was indeed yours. “She should be here by now and if not, I’ll just have to wait a few minutes,” he grabbed your suitcase, grabbing your hand again and interlocking your fingers. “Your Mum is picking you up, right?”
“Hmm,” you hummed as you walked through the automatic doors. “There she is actually.” Your pace got faster after you spotted her in between the dozens of other people who were waiting for their loved ones to finally arrive. “C’mon.”
You felt your fingers slip out of Robert's hand a few meters before you reached your mother, practically running into her open arms. Only once you were back in your mother’s arms did you realize how tired you actually were.
“Oh my god I’ve missed you so much,” you sighed. “I don’t think I have ever been this happy to be back home.
“Oh, it is so good to have you back, sweetheart!” Your mother replied kissing your cheek before spotting Rob who had given your little reunion some space. “Robert it's good to see you again darling.”
She pulled him into her arms, just like she had done with you earlier but not before side-eying you. This was going to be fun to explain later.
“Okay let’s get you home,” your mother sighed, grabbing your suitcase. “Is there anyone to pick you up, Robert?”
“Yeah, my Mums on her way,” he smiled down at her. “I’ll wait outside for her; don’t worry she'll be here in a few minutes.”
The three of you walked through the airport, towards the car park, your mother in the front with your suitcase, Robert, and you behind her with the rest of your baggage.
“I’ll get the car,” Your mother said when you stepped outside, the cool air blowing through your hair. “You wait here I'll be back in a few minutes.”
Before you could answer her, she was already gone, leaving you and Robert alone. Smart woman, you thought to yourself.
You turned your attention back to Robert, smiling brightly, before resting your head against his chest. You stood in silence, the chilly wind still blowing through your hair. You did not feel the need to say something. Everything you needed to get off your chest you had talked about with Robert. You would rather just stay where you were right now, in his arms and pressed against his chest just like you had done a hundred times before.
“I’ll see you in January,” he smiled, carefully grabbing your face, and pulling it from his chest to look at you. “Right?”
“Yeah,” you hummed, hearing the honking of a car, and turning around to see your mother waiting for you. “I’ll keep my bed warm for you!” You chuckled, leaning into his touch. “I promise.”
“I’ll know you will love,” Robert grinned, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” another kiss. This time his lips landed on your right temple, right next to your eye. “I love you!”
The last kiss he pressed to the tip of your nose. Just like he had done on your first date, years ago.
“I love you.” You replied, kissing the skin right below his chin, before nuzzling your nose into his neck. It was crazy how fast you fell into old patterns.
Your mother honked again, which you took as your sign to let go of Robert and get into the car. Before leaving his warm embrace, you pressed a kiss to his cheek, his skin still feeling warm beneath your lips.
You walked to the car, put your backpack on the backseat and before she could even ask you answered the question you knew she was dying to ask you.
“It’s a long story.”
note: if you liked this imagine, don’t forget to like, comment and/or reblog, that’d be greatly appreciated! xx
taglist: (if you’d like to be tagged please let me know!) @tractorbeamofwoe @1twontalwaysbelikethiss @vanmccannsfridge
#robert keating#robert keating imagine#robert keating oneshot#robert keating x reader#robert keating x reader imagine#robert keating x reader oneshot#inhaler#inhaler imagine#bobby skeetz#charlotte writes
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I'm gonna hold your bicep when I say this
#elijah hewson#eli hewson#inhaler#inhaler dublin#inhaler band#bobby skeetz#robert keating#josh jenkinson#ryan mcmahon#irish
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Eli and Rob performing at the City of Omaha’s Memorial Park Concert yesterday (@/wallowsrry_ Twitter)
#opening for roger daltrey#memorial park concert#inhaler#inhaler dublin#inhaler band#elijah hewson#eli hewson#josh jenkinson#robert keating#bobby skeetz#ryan mcmahon
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