#ryan mcmahon imagine

[hewsongf]

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."

[killersfool]

Medicine | RYAN MCMAHON

PAIRING: ryan mcmahon x original f!character

GENRE: romantic tension

SUMMARY: ryan - after the collapse of 'inhaler' and first year at TCD - is entering his second year of med school and meets a strange fresher who he desperately wants to get to know

WORDS: 5.5k

WARNINGS: swearing, alcohol use, smoking

Trinity college Dublin was not at all how Ryan expected. The first week's workload was like a punch in the stomach compared to his work last year. First year had been a nightmare, truly, but second year was on a whole other level. He had this sneaking feeling that the medicine course would go easy on him, that immunology and histology were a thing of the past. But as his eyes fixated on his timetable for the week, eyebags sunken and mouth dry as he pressed his back against the wall in the library, he couldn't help but suck in an anxious breath.

Josh had messaged him a few hours ago, seemingly in a similar state of confusion — well you couldn't be too confused, they had both signed up for the course with the most contact hours per week and a workload that could leave you in tears.

A slight jealousy was the first pang in his chest at the sight of all the fresher's, naïve and blissfully unaware of all the hell that was soon to ensue. He looked out of the library window to see the influx of students. He could easily spot the medics. Huddled around the Med society pitcher, they weren't too hard to find. Each with their new stethoscopes and shiny shoes, all signing down their names for new societies, he banged his head against the window, part of him wanted it to shatter, to cause a scene, but he valued this future too highly. Being a doctor was all he wanted. After the failure that his band endured, he wanted to prove himself to everyone. He wanted his parents to be proud of him. Now, he had the chance. He needed to get on with his work and think about the final outcome. He needed to stop chewing on the past and focusing intently on the present. Second year anatomy would surely kill him but he knew he had to prod on, or he'd be wishing in a few weeks time that it hadn't piled up.

He had an essay due for Monday. He looked at the word document. Fifty words out of one thousand. It was Sunday evening. Maybe today called for an all nighter.

So he left the library with one thing on his mind. Find some caffeine, find a quiet space and get this essay done in as little time as possible.

He made his way through Dublin, his final destination was a corner shop which was quite the dump. The lightbulb had almost fallen of the hinges and was illuminating the room with flickers of a mellow light. He shifted through the group of teenagers looking at sweets and glancing over at the Vodka, probably resisting the urge to leap over the counter and run with it. Ryan's hand gripped the cool fridge door and he looked at himself in the glass. Pallid and tired. Corpse-like. He brushed away the insecurity that washed through him and grabbed two cans of red bull.

A sideways glance led him to look at a girl who was grabbing a few packs of cereal. She was wearing a 'Biosoc' hoodie (Trinity's medical society's merch) and oversized jeans that pooled over her Doc Martens. Typical fresher, Ryan grinned, thinking back to his first year self.

She was trying to decide between Cheerios and Coco Pops.

"I'd go for the Coco Pops." Ryan pointed at the bright yellow packaging, closing the fridge as he turned to face her. His eyes were still pressed upon her braided hair. "They'll stop you from wanting to kill yourself when you're cramming at 3am."

The girl froze, then slowly turned to face him, her eyes wide and startled. She hesitated, frowning slightly as she looked him up and down, clearly unsure whether to laugh or be concerned. "Is it really that bad?"

Ryan chuckled, though there was no humor in it. "Worse. They'll chew you up and spit you out. But hey, at least you'll look good doing it with your shiny stethoscope." He gestured lazily toward her hoodie, his gaze sharp and jaded.

The girl bit her lip, glancing back at the cereal shelf, then at Ryan. She put the Cheerios back, choosing the Coco Pops as if his off-hand comment had made the decision for her. "I guess I'll take your word for it."

Ryan raised an eyebrow. "You'll be wishing you hadn't soon enough."

Her hand froze on the cereal box, and for a moment, she seemed to waver. But then something shifted in her expression. "Maybe. But at least I'm doing something that matters."

That struck a chord. His sarcastic smile faltered for a split second, but he quickly masked it, letting out a soft laugh. "Yeah, keep telling yourself that. You'll need the delusion to get through first year. And second year. And basically the whole course."

The girl didn't respond immediately, her gaze flickering over his face as if trying to read him. "Why are you still here then? If it's so miserable."

Ryan felt his jaw clench. He wasn't in the mood for a heart-to-heart with a stranger in a dingy corner shop, but something in her tone got under his skin. "Because I don't quit," he said sharply, almost snapping. The tiredness was taking its toll. He instantly regretted how rude he sounded and looked to the side then back at her.

She held his gaze for a moment, something unreadable passing between them. Then she shrugged, breaking the tension. "Well, I guess I'll see you in the library at 3 a.m. then."

Ryan watched her turn and walk toward the counter, the cereal box tucked under her arm. He didn't reply, just stood there, feeling a strange mix of frustration and... something else.

With a sigh, he grabbed his Red Bulls and followed her to the register. As he paid, he caught her glancing back at him, almost as if she wanted to say something more. But she didn't. Instead, she gave him a slight nod, grabbed her change, and disappeared into the night.

Ryan stood there for a moment longer, the weight of everything settling back onto his shoulders.

He had an essay to finish. But all he could think about was her question.

Why are you still here?

-

Ryan made his way back to the library, the girl's question still circling his mind. It wasn't like he hadn't thought about quitting before. There were nights where he'd lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if this was really worth it. Whether the hours of sleep lost going through ankis and doing questions were worth it. But each time, a voice in his head pushed him forward. He had to finish. He had to prove himself.

The library was a graveryeard now, the once-bustling late-night crowd reduced to a few souls hunched over their laptops, murmurs blending into the hum of fluorescent lights. Outside, the rain whispered against the windows, soft but steady, like the ticking of a clock winding down. Twenty-four hour libraries were a god send. Especially for the frazzled med students who were in here at least once a week. Ryan would probably win the award for most all nighters done throughout first year. He was pulling them almost every day during exam season. He hated to admit it but he was one of those people who worried too much about the possibilities of failure. He'd already failed once with his band. He didn't want to fail all over again. Especially after working so hard to even get into univeristy. Ryan found a corner, tucked away from conversations, set his Red Bulls on the desk, and opened his laptop. The blank screen stared back at him, mocking his lack of progress.

Fifty words out of a thousand.

He cracked open the first can, but instead of typing, his mind wandered back to the girl. Biosoc hoodie, Coco Pops, and that slight challenge in her voice when she asked why he was still here. There was something different about her, something that lingered even after she'd left. He wasn't usually one to think about girls. He kept telling himself he didn't have time for friendships and that falling in love would be the worst thing to ever happen to him. So he kept to himself most of the time. His only close friend was Josh who was quite the party animal. He was living life on the edge, in full sense of the phrase. He worked hard but he also balanced this with his love for clubbing. Ryan lived in a flat with Josh, another guy called Callum and Josh's girlfriend, Laura, who didn't actually pay rent but was always there.

Ryan wasn't in any societies other than the medicine one. Josh had told him countless times that he should join in some kind of band or orchestra to give him a way to destress. Ryan had told him that the drum kit in his room was enough. Once he'd finished his work for the day, he would either go for a long run through the park with his headphones on, Joy Division humming through his ears or would crash his drumsticks against the electric drumset in the corner of his room. This was enough to calm him down. But he did miss the feeling of making music with other people. He missed Elijah and Bobby a lot. Elijah was still at home trying to figure out what to do with himself. Ryan would visit him every now and then in Blackrock. It wasn't like how it was two years ago. It was quite sad. Bobby was all over the place, taking a trip across the world. It was hard to speak to him. It was rare for him to answer a phone call as timezones always made things difficult.

Another hour dragged by with little progress. Ryan's head was pounding, and the caffeine wasn't helping. It was making him feel ill. He needed air. He grabbed his jacket, shoved his laptop inro his bag, and headed outside, hoping a walk would clear his mind.

The cold night hit him as soon as he stepped out of the library. Luckily the rain had stopped now. Dublin was quiet, only the occasional taxi passing by, but as he turned the corner toward the river, he spotted someone sitting on a bench near the water. Familiar figure. Oversized hoodie.

The girl from the corner shop.

For a moment, Ryan hesitated. He could keep walking, avoid any awkward conversation. But something pulled him toward her. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was the fact that she'd gotten under his skin in a way that didn't happen often.

He walked over, hands shoved in his pockets. She didn't notice him at first, her attention fixed on the water, the soft glow of the streetlights reflecting off the surface.

"Couldn't sleep either?" Ryan asked, his voice cutting through the night like a dull blade.

She jumped slightly, turning to look at him. A hint of recognition flickered across her face. "Oh, hey. Yeah, I guess not. Just needed a break." Her breath fogged in the cold air, disappearing as quickly as it came.

Ryan nodded, sitting down on the other end of the bench, leaving a comfortable distance between them. They sat in silence for a moment, both staring out at the river. He wasn't sure what to say, but the quiet wasn't uncomfortable. It was calming, in a way.

"So, did the Coco Pops help?" Ryan asked, breaking the silence with a smirk.

She chuckled softly. "Still haven't eaten them. I guess you were right about the workload. I've been drowning in lectures since I've started. I thought Freshers week was all about partying and not giving a shit but I know that if I go out I'll miss out on important things."

"Yeah, welcome to the nightmare," he sighed. "You should go out though. Me and my mate Josh did fuck all during the first week. I think we alternated between pub and club each night. It's an experience you'll never get before. But if you're not into that stuff, that's cool as well. There's loads of music venues and silent discos and costume parties if that interests you more. There's something for everyone really."

"Thanks." She smiles.

"I'm guessing you're not from around here?"

"I'm from Cork. I live in a little town on the coast called Schull. You've probably not heard of it."

"I don't think I have. Must be a big change being in such a big city."

"It is." She looks upset. "My flatmates are quite depressing as well. I'm not enjoying it much."

"In what way are they depressing?" Ryan is concerned.

"They just sit in their rooms and don't talk to anyone. Just your classic antisocial people. I don't think I know any of their names. I was sat on my own having dinner and just needed a breather. So I came out here to watch the river. It's beautiful. Reminds me of home."

"I'm sorry about that," Ryan wants to comfort her but he keeps to his side of the bench. "You know you can always ask to move flats. Or you could join some societies to make some more friends."

"It's okay. I think I'll leave it for now." She looks down at her shoes, watching how the light gleams off them. She turns to him, her expression softening. "You seem different to the other med students I've met."

Ryan raised an eyebrow. "Different how?"

"I don't know. Most of them are all intense. Like they've got everything figured out. But you... you seem more... real. A bit less robotic. More human"

Ryan couldn't help but laugh, though there was an edge of bitterness to it. "Real? I'm barely holding it together."

"Exactly," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "At least you admit it. Everyone else I've met in the years above look like they're on the tipping point but are desperately trying to hold it all in."

There was something disarming about the way she spoke, like she wasn't afraid to challenge him. Most people either ignored Ryan's cynicism or got uncomfortable around it. But she, she pushed back, in the softest way.

"So why medicine?" she asked suddenly, her eyes searching his.

Ryan leaned back, letting out a long breath. "Because I couldn't be a rock star, I guess," he said, half-joking. Her curious expression urged him to explain. "I was in a band in school. 'Inhaler'. Thought we were going to make it big. We didn't. So, medicine seemed like the next logical step, right?"

She tilted her head, intrigued. "Quite the career shift."

"Yeah, well. My parents were always pushing for it. Figured I'd give them something to be proud of."

"And are they?"

Ryan's throat tightened. He hadn't expected her to ask that, and for a second, he didn't know how to answer. "I think so. I mean, I haven't dropped out yet, so... that's something."

The girl smiled softly, but her eyes stayed on him, like she could see through the bravado. "You don't seem like someone who does things just to make others happy."

Ryan shrugged, looking away, out at the river again. "I don't know anymore. Maybe I am."

Silence fell between them again, but this time it felt heavier, like they were both teetering on the edge of something unspoken. The air between them felt charged, and Ryan found himself wanting to know more about her, wanting to pull her into whatever mess he was dealing with.

"What about you?" he asked. "Why medicine?"

Her lips parted slightly, as if she hadn't expected the question. "Honestly? I'm still figuring that out. I wanted to help people, I guess. I liked science a lot as a kid but also wanted to be able to speak to people. I didn't like the idea of being stuck in a lab for the rest of my life. But I don't know if that's enough anymore."

Ryan nodded, understanding more than he cared to admit. "Yeah. Sometimes it doesn't feel like it's enough."

For a moment, they just sat there, sharing the weight of their doubts, their unspoken fears.

Ryan shifted, turning to face her fully. "What's your name, by the way?"

She laughed, the sound soft and almost musical in the quiet night. "It's Emer."

"Ryan," he replied, holding out his hand.

She hesitated for a second, then took it. Her hand was warm, and for a moment, he didn't let go. Neither did she.

When she finally pulled away, Ryan could still feel the imprint of her touch, something electric lingering in the air between them. He cleared his throat, unsure of what to say next, but there was a spark in her eyes that made his heart beat just a little faster.

"What did you play in the band?" She found herself looking at his fingers, the silver rings pushed upon them.

"What do you think?" He tilted his head, giving her a challenge.

"I'm really bad at this. You said a rock band so let me guess... keys?"

"Close but drums."

"Ah. That makes sense actually." She could imagine him sat at the drumkit, sticks in hand and hair all over his face as the vibrations tap at the floorboards.

"You want to get out of here?" he asked, surprising himself with the offer. He still had that essay to deal with. He glanced at his watch, he had another 10 hours until it was due. Plus he had no tutorials or lectures on Monday, so he could just nap for the day. He also wanted to cheer her up. Show her that Dublin wasn't at all as dim and depressing as she thought it was.

Emer raised an eyebrow. "Where to?"

"Who knows. Wherever we can get in."

Ryan could see the spark of curiosity in Emer's eyes, which only encouraged him. "I mean, Dublin's full of spots that stay open late. I know a place with live music. Not many people know of it. It's usually clogged up with students from RIAM. They sometimes let you play if you ask nicely."

Emer perked up at the mention of music. "Live music? That sounds fun. Can you really just walk in and play?"

"Depends on your charm," he grinned, the cocky side of him flaring up. "I'm pretty persuasive when I want to be."

"Is that so?" She smiled back, and he felt that electric tension again. "Alright then, let's see if you can charm your way in. Lead the way."

Ryan stood up, shaking off the remnants of the library's stress. As they walked side by side, he couldn't help but glance at her. The way she moved with that casual confidence made him feel a little lighter, a little less like the burdened med student he'd been all week.

"Tell me about Schull." he asked as they crossed a street, the distant sounds of music drifting toward them.

Emer laughed, brushing a braid behind her ear. "Not much to tell, really. It's your average coastal town. Very scenic and calm. My Ma owns a café on the main street. I used to sit down to do my work and listen to all kinds of conversations. We'd get quite a few tourists actually, every now and then. This summer I worked as a barista just to help out but I think it's helped me to open up a lot more."

"That's actually really cool," Ryan admitted, intrigued. "A café sounds like a good gig. You must be great at dealing with people. That will help you a lot in this career."

"I like to pretend I am." She smiled. "I still don't think my skin is thick enough to be a doctor."

"Be a pathologist or a histologist then. You can avoid people all together."

"That's true." She nodded, although deep down she did like the idea of personally helping patients. "What do you see  yourself doing after uni?"

"Surgery, I think. I'm really interested in cardiology. So maybe cardio-thoracic surgery. But I think once we've done placements I'll start to make my mind up. Being a GP might give me more time to keep up with my music but I've always liked the idea of being a surgeon."

"I think you'd be an incredible surgeon. Most surgeons I've met are drained of any humanity. Let's hope you haven't lost it by the end of these five years."

"That's unlikely." Ryan admitted. The fifth year med students in Biosoc were complete bellends, especially the group who would do anything to become surgeons. He didn't want to become one of them. 

After reaching the end of the street, Ryan gestured towards an alleyway which was probably the darkest corner of Dublin Emer has ever encountered. 

"Ladiest first," Ryan said, stepping to the side so that she could pass through.

She peered through, anxious. "It smells. Of weed."

He laughed. "It's Dublin. What'd you expect?" He decided to walk through first to show her that it was not as terrifying as she thought. The look on her face told him she'd rather do anything that walk through there. "It's the last street until we get there, I promise."

"Alright." She followed through, hit by another lovely scent of urine and kept to the centre of the alleyway, worried about her clothes brushing the side and catching any piss. She stared at the back of his head as he made his way forwards. His dark blue jeans, his white button up shirt, his hair grown out at the back, curly strands falling from the bottom. She was surprised she had met someone so genuine in her first few days at uni. She thought she wouldn't make any friends and that she'd be stuck in her room for hours at a time, wishing that she actually tried to go out and get to know people. The big city made her nervous. She always resorted to thinking the worse. Especially because the streets and faces were no longer familiar.

"Here we are. The Harp and Clover." Ryan moved to the side so that Emer could have a look through the stone arches ending the alleyway. Green light escaped the pub through the almost-shattered windows and illuminated the cobbled pavement. Groups of teenagers were smoking outside and looked at Emer's hoodie with a frown. They were all dressed in dark clothes, with countless piercings and colourful makeup. Emer felt a bit out of place.

"Wow it's... not what I expected. But cool." Emer smiled. She continued looking at the decor. The words 'Harp and Clover' were placed at the top in dark green and orange. Very patriotic. A harp symbol and clover aligned just underneath.

Ryan read her expression. She didn't look very impressed. He knew how to change her mind.

They entered the pub, glares still shooting at them. The teens inside all had pints of guiness and there was a band on the stage, playing some kind of alternative-rock. Emer could imagine Ryan on the stage, playing the drums and smiling as the crowd jumped to the beat. She was interested in hearing him play or maybe even hearing the songs he made with his band back in the day. She didn't want to force him into anything  and decided to keep silent, instead taking in the music and the atmosphere. She pulled off her hoodie and placed it down on a bar stool, leaving her in a black tank top that made her seem at least a little bit more suited for the ocassion. The glares seemed to cease once they noticed Ryan with her. 

"Josh! Hey, didn't think I'd see you here." Ryan's attention drifted to a tall guy in the distance with braids who was speaking to a group of people.

The guy turned around and ran towards Ryan, careful not to drop his Guiness in the process. "Ryan, mate. What on earth are you doing here? I thought you hated this place. And who's this?" He had a drunken slur to his voice, dark brown eyes and a leather jacket upon his shoulders. 

"This is Emer," Ryan introduced his new friend. "Emer, Josh."

"Another med student I'm guessing?" Josh was quick to catch on, quickly shaking her hand.

"How did you know?" She questioned, surprised that he was also a med student.

"Dead behind the eyes." He joked.

"Rude," she shot back, a playful smirk creeping onto her lips.

"Josh used to be in the band with me. He was the lead guitarist," Ryan interjected, shooting Josh a knowing look, who was now winking with unabashed enthusiasm, probably astonished that Ryan was actually talking to a girl—a rare moment indeed.

"You guys should play together. For old times' sake," Emer suggested, nodding toward the stage, where two saxophonists swayed, and an older woman belted out a sultry jazz tune that filled the room with rich, smooth notes.

"I think I'll need a drink first." He hoisted himself onto the barstool, and Emer couldn't help but notice how he seemed to shrink next to the towering Josh. She had never really registered how short he was until now, and it made her want to smile. "D'you want anything, Emer?" Ryan caught her attention by tapping her shoulder. His fingers were cold against her skin. She jolted before turning sharply to meet his intense gaze.

"I'll have whatever you're having. Surprise me." She hoisted herself up beside him, spinning the bar chair around like a child. 

She watched carefully as Ryan spoke to the bartender, his accent deep and rough, a classic posh Dubliner. She wondered where he grew up, where he went to school, who his friends were, what he ate for breakfast, the songs that kept him up at night. Too many questions were rolling through her mind like tumbleweeds. 

He sat there in silence, his fingers picking at the wood falling off of the bar, absentmindedly thinking about his to do list that was pretty much infinite. He needed to finish that essay. Soon. He glanced at his watch. 8 hours. It was 12am and the essay was due at 8 in the morning. He'd be fine. Surely.

Emer chose a question out of the millions crashing through her head. "So, what's your favourite band?"

He stopped picking at the wood and turned to face her with a smirk. Her head was pressed into her hand. Her eyes darting across his features - each line of his face, every curl of his dark eyelashes drawing her in. She noted the bracelets adorning his wrists and the tattoos that peeked from beneath his rolled sleeves, stories etched into his skin.

"I could go on forever." He placed two fingers upon his chin, thinking. "I've been listening to a lot of Monkeys and Fontaines at the moment. Gets me through my revision. But I think Bowie is up there for me. Such an inspiration. I went as him for Halloween last year, actually."

"You've got to show me a picture," she insisted, mouth wide open. 

He reach for his phone and placed it down on the bar. Scrolling through his camera roll - which contained an absurd number of anatomy notes - and reached a chaotic collection of drunken party photos. He stopped on a polaroid of a group of lads who were all posing in a variety of costumes, Ryan in the middle with a bright orange wig and eyepatch. He zoomed in on each person and told Emer their names. Bobby through to Louis. 'Inhaler'. But then, something shifted, a shadow crossing his face as he powered off the phone, his gaze drifting away, fingers scratching at his ear.

He started picking at the wood again. Emer put her hand on his, trying to comfort him. "I bet you guys were incredible. But you can't keep thinking that you failed, Ryan. You're doing so well and you're working so hard. Even if this isn't exactly how you imagined your life would work out, you're not in a bad place at all, you've got an amazing future waiting for you."

His hand froze in place beneath hers, the warmth of her touch contrasting with the chill of his uncertainty. His eyes still glued to the wood.

"Two pints for Ryan." The barman slid over the drinks, landing perfectly in front of the pair.

Ryan glanced up at Emer, the tension easing ever so slightly. "Thank you," he murmured, giving her hand a quick squeeze before taking a hearty swig of the Guinness, the dark liquid disappearing as if it were water.

"This is going to sound so embarassing and un-Irish of me..." She put her hand around the pint glass, fingerprints marking the surface. 

"You've never had a Guiness,  have you?" He already knew by the terror that swam across her face. "It's better than you think. Has a unique taste to it."

Emer lifted the pint glass to her lips, hesitating for a brief second as the dark liquid shimmered under the pub's dim lighting. She could feel the cool glass press against her lower lip before tilting it just enough for the Guinness to meet her mouth. The first sip was slow, tentative. Her eyes widened slightly as the bitter foam touched her tongue, the creamy head giving way to the rich, almost velvety texture of the stout. It was heavier than she expected, its bold taste unfolding in layers—first malty, then an unexpected bitterness. She pulled the glass away and swallowed, the aftertaste lingering. Her brow furrowed slightly, but there was a curiosity in her expression, like she wasn't sure if she liked it yet—but wanted another sip just to be sure.

"What do you think?" He had been watching as her expression shifted but found it hard guage what was going on in that brain of hers.

"It's something." She laughed, this time she took a big swig of it. She wanted to clear her mind. "I think I like it. I don't know."

"That's how I felt when I had my first one." He had a quizzical look in his eyes. "So, what about you, what's your favourite band?"

"Wunderhorse. Without a doubt." 

"Really? Didn't think they'd be your style."

"Well, I also love Phoebe Bridgers and Lizzy Mcalpine. My taste is all over the place really."

"So is mine."

Ryan took another swig of his Guinness, the frothy head nearly spilling over the rim, but he didn't care. The warmth of the drink spread through him, loosening the knots of anxiety that had been tightening in his chest since he'd stepped into the pub. He looked over at Emer, who was now nursing her pint, the corners of her mouth curling into a smile as she talked about the bands she loved.

"What's your favorite song by Wunderhorse?" he asked, genuinely curious, leaning in closer, the hum of the crowd fading into a background buzz.

"Probably 'Morphine'. It's just so hauntingly beautiful. What about you?"

He nodded. "I'm going to be really boring and say 'Leader of the pack'."

"No honestly that's a classic. That's the first song I heard when I started listening to them and just fell in love. I'd be happy to send you a playlist with their best songs if you're interested."

"Sure." He passed her his phone. "Type in your spotify, I'll stalk it later."

She typed in her username into the searchbar and followed herself on his account, feeling a bit nervous about whatever stalking her account meant. He semed like quite the cultured musician. Some of her playlists were slightly embarassing to say the least.

"Ryan, come here, lad!" Josh shouted from the distance. The Jazz music had stopped and students were trying to get on stage, begging the owner if they could have a go.

Josh came over and dragged Ryan away. "Just going to steal him for a few minutes, sweetheart. We need a drummer."

Ryan clambered onto the stage with his friend. There was a girl up there with a bass guitar, a guy holding the microphone with a guitar over his frame and another girl on the keys. Ryan was passed some drumsticks, quite worried about what was to ensue. He didn't look like he'd played infront of a crowd in a while. 

Emer walked towards the stage and stopped by the wall, leaning her shoulder against the cold wood, watching as the musicians tuned their instruments. She used to play the clarinet back in the day, in the high school orchestra. She loved being part of the music and closing her eyes as it washed over her. But her studies prevented her from carrying on with that dream. In a way, she was similar to Ryan. But his passion for music was definitely at a whole other level. As he crashed the drumsticks together and the first note thrummed from Josh's guitar, Emer closed her eyes like she was in orchestra again, feeling the music through every bone in her body. All 206. 

[kindestofkings]

in a world of boys, he's a gentleman

ryan mcmahon x reader

authors note: this is so sweet and fluffy you'll probs need to visit the dentist, but its for all you ryan girlies out there xx

yourusername

location: italy!

liked by bobbyskeetz and others

yourusername italy you have our hearts, lush few days away before pretty boy goes back on tour <33

view 20 comments

ryanmcmahon_15 you could come with me...

yourusername loveee I've got school :(

yourmum photos look fab darlings!

yourusername thanks mam💗💗

elijahhewson about time you give that handsome fella back to me !

yourusername posted on their story:

-yourusername harrys house ready!!!

ryanmcmahon_15

location: harry's house

liked by bobbyskeetz and others

view all 200 comments

yourusername I adore you almost as much as I adore Harry Styles.

bobbyskeetz wow mate thats saying something

yourusername SO proud of you boys!! have come along way since workmans x

(liked by elijahhewson,bobbyskeetz, ryanmcmahon_15 and joshjenkinson_)

ryanmcmahon_15 my number one supporter the whole time inhalerfan1 who is this girl? inhalerfan2 shes ryans girlfriend! pretty sure they've been dating since they were like 17ish

inhalerfan2 incredible 🔥🔥🔥

inhalerfan3 you made harry’s house a harry home

yourusername

liked by joshjenkinson_ and others

yourusername corporate needs you to find the differences between this picture and this picture...

view all 50 comments

joshjenkinson_ THEY'RE THE SAME PICTURE

bobbyskeetz how hard is it being a sidepiece even tho you've been been dating ryan for 8 years?

yourusername i've become desensitised at this point elijahhewson better to be a side piece over a no piece xx joshjenkinson_ no piece hahah yourusername how are you the same man that wrote if you're gonna break my heart??

inhalerfan1 you get it

ryanmcmahon_15 its not what it looks like....

yourusername

liked by ryanmcmahon_15 and others

yourusername FACT Ireland is beautiful this time of year. FACT my boyfriend is the cutest and I miss him terribly. FACT my brain hurts from school.

view all 15 comments

ryanmcmahon_15 all the hard work is gonna pay off !!

(liked my yourusername)

yourmam forget about that tour business, shes miserable here! ryanmcmahon_15

yourusername mammmmm making me look uncoolllll ryanmcmahon_15 😂😂

inhalerfan1 I just found out about her a week ago but these two are my parents

inhalerfan2 do you mind me asking what are you studying?

yourusername no of course not! i'm doing a phd at the moment in human rights law, in dublin <3 inhalerfan2 no way thats so cool! bobbyskeetz our brainbox !

yourusername

location: holibobs!

liked by ryanmcmahon_15 and others

yourusername love a travel moment we do x

view 10 comments

ryanmcmahon_15 you feelin moody with your b&w theme?

yourusername trying to channel my inner lewevans ! hows it working ? lewevans a little too good, please dont put me out of a job !!

elijahhewson hes travelled to more places with me, just saying :))

yourusername yeah but does he kiss you in a photobooth? yourusername ACTUALLY DONT ANSWER THAT I DONT WANT TO KNOW GUGGI joshjenkinson_ you defo dont want to know.. yourusername ahhhhh JOSH

yourusername posted on their story:

yourusername my favourite person dressed up as my favourite singer and I have to watch it through blurry insta lives 😭😭

replies

ryanmcmahon_15 lovieee thought you'd enjoy it, now i feel cruel yourusername dont its literally the best thing you've ever done, never looked hotter!

bobbyskeetz

liked by joshjenkinson_ and others

bobbyskeetz the ryan fella is a scrubbed up even though tour is over? confusion

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joshjenkinson_ looking good for the big day 🔥

inhalerfan2 explain yourselves please!!!!

elijahhewson officaily lost him 💔

inhalerfan1 oh my god what is happening!!!!

inhalerdublin

liked by bobbyskeetz and others

inhalerdublin it may not be music related news but we have a NEWLY WED in the band, our lovely drummer finally tied the knot with an even lovelier cailín <33

view all 450 comments

joshjenkinson_ crackin day!

elijahhewson still emotional, OUR PARENTS

 bobbyskeetz hangover of hell today but it was worth it 🤘🏼🤘🏼

evehewson what a stunning bride, congrats !!

lewevans the best just got better! thanks for including me in the big day

yourusername are you kidding me? THANK YOU for your amazing photos! (liked by ryanmcmahon_15)

inhalerfan1 you are joking me this is so beautiful

inhalerfan2 why am I crying over two strangers getting married?!?!

yourusername

liked by ryanmcmahon_15 and others

yourusername just had a dream weekend and married my bestfriend.

never imagined getting married so young but when you know you know, and you certainly do not let a man like ryan pass you by.

my husband <3

view all 100 comments

ryanmcmahon_15 the love of my life, my wife <3

inhalerfan1 literally the most beautiful wedding ever!

inhalerfan2 awhhhh congrats!

yourmam such a beautiful day celebrating you two!! my favourites xx

inhalerdublin our parents 💗💗💗

(liked by elijahhewson,bobbyskeetz, ryanmcmahon_15 and joshjenkinson_)

--finito--

lol dont even know where that marriage came from Im still undecided if i believe in the concept, but its cute lol!

hope you enjoyed <3

[msmoony7]

ty guys for reblogging and liking my posts! it gives me motivation for writing. bobby fic out tomorrow around 7pm EST :)

[storiesabouteli]

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.

[angelwonie]

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. 

[leaawrites]

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.

[petalprincessxoxo]

would u guys be interested in a new bobby skeetz fanfic?

here’s what I was thinking for it:

fluff fic

based in england

keeps seeing her when she’s on a trip with her friends and he’s in london for a show

she’s a guitarist for a pretty famous band

he completely falls for her from the moment he first sees her

*guys I’m really looking forward to the playlist for this one*

[bobbyskeetzgf]

pictures of bobby that are so rockstar bf

[inkymoon16]

follow my wattpad for more imagines!! @ inkymoon16 😁😁

feel free to send requests!! i take requests for any fandom

[killersfool]

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.

[kindestofkings]

got a book for every situation

ryan mcmahon x reader

reader runs a bookstagram/bookclub but instead of just reading about love, until she meets a certain drummer...

authors note: guys i think i love ryan an unhealthy amount

yourusername

location: london!

liked by bookfan1 and others

yourusername heyy guys sorry I've been kind of quiet on here but I've MOVED egh it's been v scary and hectic even though it was only from Dublin to London. don't worry tho bookstagram will stay alive !

hows everyone doing?! what are yee reading rn?

view 100 comments

bookfan1 wow city girl! I'm reading normal people at the moment :)

yourusername ik shaking things up hehe, also hope you're enjoying the heartbreaking miscommunication ... bookfan1 it is hard out here :(

bookfan2 no way I'm living in london ! lmk if you need any friends here xx

yourusername omg yes! I was thinking of starting a bookclub? thoughts? bookfan2 yes I'd so be down !! bookfan3 me too! I just moved here aswell

bookfan4 currently just buying books and not reading them

yourusername meee, expect I'm now broke from moving so I'm on a self-inflicted book ban 😔😔

ryanmcmahon_15

liked by elijahhewson and others

ryanmcmahon_15 get on your jogging shorts and pick up a brush

view all 83 comments

inhalerfan1 ok artist 🥴

inhalerfan2 your bob ross era omg

yourusername

liked by yourbestie and others

yourusername new city but same old hopeless romantic <3 maybe london will hold a romantic interest ?

also next months bookclub is organised so keep an eye out for my story with the dets 💗

view 70 other comments

bookfan1 yayyy can't wait!!

bookfan2 omg getting closer to a face reveal by the day

yourusername 🤭🤭

yourbestie YOU COULD EASILY HAVE A ROMANTIC INTEREST IF YOU TEXTED THAT GUY ! (also come home I miss your bookclub)

yourusername ughh leave off it ! he was just being nice .. yourbestie oohh yeah he walked up to you at a bar, talked to you for a few and then gave you his number only because he was being nice... mmhmm bookfan2 omg text him what the hell! bookfan3 this is the stuff of books! bookfan2 is he cute?? yourusername ahahha yes. and fineeee I'll text him 😅 terrifying😅

ryanmcmahon_15 added to his story!

location: london!

replies:

bobbyskeetz ehhhhh what do we have here??

joshjennkinson_ IS THAT THE GIRL FROM THE BAR !!!

↳ ryanmcmahon_15 it might me yes 🤭

inhalerfan1 ryannnn okay cheater !

yourusername posted on their story!

location: national gallery!

fear I'm terrible date company, but in my defence there was stuff to read EVERYWHERE

replies:

yourbestie WE DONT CARE ABOUT THE PLAQUE HOW WAS THE DATE !!!!

↳ it was so good, he was the sweetest and really into art and and is really passionate about music and and and he was just really pretty ...

↳ yourbestie omg girlllll you are hung UP

ryanmcmahon_15 great company* lets not lie

↳ ahhh have you not made me blush enough this month !

bookfan1 stop you are slay, he's so lucky for your company !

joshjenkinson_,bobbyskeetz and elijahhewson just followed you!

yourusername

liked by ryanmcmahon_15 and others

yourusername happy 9 months to my pride and joy, our book club <3

your support has meant to me and has supported my reading addiction, big MWAH !

I've met so many new friends, insanely made it onto three publishing houses pr list?!?!? and got a job all through this little bookstagram. you all are the best xx

view all 100 comments

bookfan1 wooow we love a successful queen !

bookfan2 reading is sooo hot and sooo slay

bookfan3 is that a book bouquet? and a pic taken by someone else???

yourusername mwhahah eagled eye youuuu. also HOW cute is the bouquet ! (liked by ryanmcmahon_15)

inhalerfan1 high key why did all the band follow a random bookstagram?

inhalerfan2 shes irish living in london, maybe they're friends from home?? inhalerfan3 but then they'd already follow her tho

yourusername

liked by yourbestie and others

yourusername dating a musician means one thing... associating tunes with books !!!

(also getting your oranges peeled for you 😭😭)

view all 75 comments

yourbestie y'all are adorable, I love <3

bookfan1 he seems so sweet !

ryanmcmahon_15 you forgot forcing people to listen to lana del ray...

yourusername oh yeah !! how could I forget that I'm bettering the lives of others :))) bobbyskeetz he does be humming let the light in constantly. yourusername awhhh too soft for it

inhalerfan1 ooohhh is she dating ryan !?

yourusername

liked by elijahhewson and others

yourusername ugh sick with love, but he reads my favourite books and instead of annotations he paints them 🥹

also tickets for next month's book club are out this sundayyyyy ! Xx

view all 123 comments

inhalerfan1 omg boyfriend ryan is everything

joshjenkinson_ ryan being in his bookworm era has the tour bus kinda quiet

bookfan1 sooo invested in your relationship , also have the alarm set for the tickets !

ryanmcmahon_15

liked by yourusername and others

ryanmcmahon_15 black and white is owned by lewevans btw

view all 88 comments

yourusername being really cool is owned by you btw

joshjenkinson_ 2/3 pics you're reading, yourusername your power is unmatched 🤭

elijahhewson reading era

inhalerfan1 hahaha ugh I love them your honour

lewevans 🖤 🤍

yourusername posted on their story!

gorgeous boy <;3

replies:

ryanmcmahon_15 love you ❤️

↳ LOVE YOU MORE

inhalerfan1 im so so jealous of you

bookfan1 when are you writing a book about your love story ??

↳ hahhaha omg imagine ! dont tempt me..

yourusername

location: new york new york!

liked by ryanmcmahon_15 and others

yourusername yeah my boyfriends pretty cool but he's not as cool as

THE BOOKSTORE THAT I FOUND WHICH SELLS BOOKS AND PICKLES !!!

view all 64 comments

bobbyskeetz meeeee, im a brooklyn babyyyy

yourusername you get me.

yourbestie you are SO cool

bookfan1 wait I need all the details ??

yourusername it was the cutiest little secondhand bookshop in the lower east side of manhattan but they also make their own pickles

the end

what did you think? 😏

[petalprincessxoxo]

to my fellow writers out there… josh x reader i BEG💜

Calling all Inhaler’s fans: where are all the Josh and Ryan fics??? All I see is Eli and Bobby everywhere, I desperately need some good old Josh x reader or Ryan x reader but they’re nowhere to be found

[storiesabouteli]

Eli's Gurls // Elijah Hewson X SingleMom!Reader

prompt: Vee (your girl) calling Eli Dad for the first time! Since Lily and Lea said it'd be a great idea 🫶

words: 2,4k

 Eli had spent the morning with Violet. She was always so happy to have him around, and you loved seeing that. Your day, however, had been far less pleasant. El noticed it right away—your slouched shoulders and the hint of a frown gave you away. Without a word, he walked over and kissed your forehead, pulling you into a slightly awkward hug. The familiar warmth of his embrace, his scent, and the soothing strokes of his hand on your back made your chest feel lighter. Somehow, it always felt like everything would be okay when he was there.

 "We made pasta. Are you hungry? Have you eaten, love?" His voice was soft, his accent velvety and as affectionate as always. You let go of him and looked at him briefly, picturing the scene in the small kitchen. Violet must have been asking if she could help while Eli let her spread sauce everywhere, keeping his calm demeanor and gently guiding her in the same sweet tone he now used with you.

 "Did you two already eat?" you asked. He nodded, confirming they had. You planned to sit with them, even though you weren’t really hungry.

 Vee must have heard your voice from her room because soon you heard her little feet padding toward you. She came running into your arms, hugging you tightly. "How was it, Mommy?" she asked, her cheek resting on your shoulder. Her words were slow, her voice sleepy. She smelled freshly bathed and wore her pajamas, and her messy ponytail told you it had been Eli's attempt to fix her hair—it was adorable.

 "It was good, pumpkin," you said with a smile. It hadn’t been good at all, but she didn’t need to know that.

 Eli placed a comforting hand on your back and rubbed it gently. "I bet you did amazing. You’re the best," he said, kissing her head as she wrapped her small arms around you even tighter.

 "Do you want me to read to you before bed?" you asked. It was part of her nightly routine, and skipping it often led to restless nights or bad dreams. Violet had grown accustomed to it, and you always made sure to be decent for this part of her day.

 But tonight, Eli stepped in before she could answer. "Would you mind if I did it tonight instead of Mommy, Vee?" He was low, gentle, but unwavering.

 You glanced at him, your heart swelling with gratitude. You would’ve done it for her without a second thought, but he could see you weren’t in the right headspace. Violet nodded sleepily, and you gave him a small, relieved smile. Eli always knew exactly when to step in and help, and tonight, you couldn’t have been more grateful.

 She stretched her arms toward him, her tired body nestling into his as Eli kissed the top of her head. She let out a muffled laugh and blew you a kiss. You smiled back at her.

"Can we listen to music while we do it, Dad?" Her eyebrow arched slightly, mirroring the way Eli’s eyes lit up and his smile stretched wide. You thought about correcting her, but her words were so soft, her eyes struggling to stay open, and the way she called him that—so deliberate—made you hesitate. She knew he wasn’t her dad in that sense, but there was no denying that Eli had stepped into the role with ease.

 "We can, can’t we?" Eli’s voice was a bit unsteady, his arms tightening around her as his cheeks flushed. The question was directed at you, and you noticed the faint nervousness in his expression as you watched them both. There was a subtle unease within you. Eli was young, just like you, but with different responsibilities and choices. It wasn’t exactly expected for him to be here on a Friday night.

 "Of course," you replied, your tone clipped but not unkind.

 He nodded, brushing her small hand as it clung to his fingers. Then he whispered, "I’ll be back in a bit. Try to eat something, okay?" He was calm, but the way he looked at you—pleading yet warm—made it seem like he understood what was on your mind.

 "Please," he added softly, and you weren’t entirely sure what he was asking for.

…

 It didn’t take you long to shower and slip into one of Eli’s old Bob Marley shirts, the soft fabric bringing a small measure of comfort. Your head was pounding a little. The apartment wasn’t big, and the walls were far from soundproof. It was cozy, though, and you could hear Violet and Eli whispering while Bob Dylan played softly in the background. She liked the music, already familiar with the style since it was similar to what you often listened to, but it made you smile to think of all the new things Eli might introduce her to.

 You stared at the ceiling for a while, letting your thoughts drift, until the whispers faded into silence. A few moments later, Eli appeared at the doorway, smiling cautiously as if he didn’t want to disturb you. You bit your lip, avoiding the obvious topic, though there was no escaping it.

 "Want me to put you to bed too?" he teased, sliding onto the bed beside you. His fingers threaded gently through your hair, coaxing your eyes closed. His touch was soothing, and as the quiet settled between you, his fingers brushed your cheek, tracing the curve of your smile.

 "Does it bother you that she calls me that?" he asked softly, his voice calm but curious. "Is it a problem, lil’ one?"

 He pushed a stray strand of hair away from your face, and when you opened your eyes, you saw his. They were warm and steady, framed by his tousled hair and flushed lips. He looked genuinely happy.

 "Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?" you replied, biting your lip. He smiled, showing his teeth, a gesture more candid than his usual expressions.

 "I don’t mind," he said, his tone light. "I think it’s sweet. Can you believe she trusts me like that?"

 You nodded, the thought bringing you a quiet kind of joy. It was good to see them getting along so well.

 But then reality crept back in. “They picked someone else, Eli. I’m stuck in this awful job.” You pressed your forearm against your forehead, trying to mask the frustration that threatened to spill over. Eli had stayed with Violet so you could attend the interview, but your current job was a drain, both mentally and physically, and it had been keeping you from spending time with her. If it weren’t for him being here, especially during her break, the balancing act would have been impossible.

 "You’ll get it next time," he said confidently, his hand sliding to your waist as he pulled you closer. "It’s okay. I’ll help you look for new jobs." His lips brushed against your cheek, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered if he was always this optimistic or if it came easier for him because his life was so different from yours. The thought stung, and guilt followed quickly, making your throat tighten. You wanted to hide your face, but he kissed it again, soft and deliberate.

 "It’s okay," he murmured. You let him wrap you in a full embrace, his warmth settling over you like a protective blanket. But as your mind grew heavier, the comfort of seeing Eli happy—of hearing Violet call him "Dad"—was overshadowed by the weight of everything else.

 "Does your mom know about me, El?" The question slipped out before you could stop it. There was no discomfort in his response, no hesitation. He looked at you, his expression steady, his eyes still bright.

 "She does," he said simply.

 "And about Vee?"

 He laughed, not unkindly. He might not fully understand the layers of your protectiveness, but he was empathetic. He couldn’t grasp the depth of everything you’d been through, but he admired your strength.

 "She knows. She knows I’m dating a woman who has a daughter, and she’d love to meet you both."

 Your cheeks burned at the thought. You wondered how he’d described you to her. You’d heard plenty about Ali, thought she sounded amazing, and wanted to meet her too. But this felt different.

 "And what does she think?" you asked, turning to face him. As a mother, you understood that you might not be the best for him, even if the decision wasn't yours to make. On some level, you couldn’t help but feel there was a weight to being with you. Your relationship revolved around Violet’s needs and schedule, and she only had you. 

 Your hands rested against his back as he pressed deeper into your chest, his breath catching in a deep sniffle. “I don’t think she believes you’d be a bad experience for me. Besides, I’m an adult.” His grip on your waist stayed firm, grounding. That truth settled uneasily in your mind, drawing a bitter feeling down your throat. It made you realize the problem was more about your own insecurities than any tangible reality—but that didn’t make it easier.

 “Look, I get why you’re worried. I respect it, and I respect you. A lot. But I don’t see what makes you feel like this, you see?” His cheek remained against your chest, his breathing calm. You traced your fingers through his hair, silently reminding yourself that he wasn’t a threat. Avoiding his gaze made it easier.

 “I don’t want you to regret this—me or Vee. I don’t want you to feel like this time spent with us is something you’ll never get back...” Your voice faltered.

 “Like he did, right?” His arms tightened around you, his embrace warm and steady.

 You whispered your agreement. Eli knew about Vee’s father, how he had chosen not to be involved, and how your relationship before the positive test wasn't bad. Life doesn’t always flow fairly.

 “I won’t hurt her,” he said, lifting his face to meet yours. His eyes locked with yours as he took your hand in his, pressing a soft kiss to it. There was care in the gesture, though you could tell he meant it to distract from the weight of his words.

 “El,” you started, needing a moment to steady yourself. When you finally looked at him, you saw the rawness in his gaze. Eli wore his emotions plainly, the edges of his eyes glistening as though his feelings might spill over. He didn’t need to say anything; the unspoken words were there, and you knew how deeply it hurt him to see you like this.

 “I just think I’m not used to this.” You gestured between the two of you, your finger tracing an invisible line. And it was true—you weren’t used to being chosen, let alone prioritized.

 “That’s okay,” he said, ever hopeful. “I’ve never taken care of a kid before either, but you can keep teaching me. We can figure it out together.”

…

 Violet was perched on the marble countertop, nibbling on her scrambled eggs. Interpol played softly in the background, and you found yourself humming along to parts of the song as you rinsed last night's pasta dish—Eli had insisted you eat something before going to bed.

 "He made me eat too. I wasn’t very hungry yesterday," she whispered like she was sharing a secret.

 "That’s just how Eli is," you said, laughing softly. She giggled with you. "I think it’s sweet. I’m glad you ate."

 She nodded thoughtfully, letting the idea settle.      "Do we make the people we love eat?"

 Her words came out a little jumbled, in that endearing way kids sometimes speak, reminding you how small her world still was—and how much of yourself you saw in her. Her conclusion made your heart melt.

 "Maybe we do," you said. "When we love someone, we want them to be okay, healthier, uh, so we do things like that."

 She nodded again, absorbing the answer. "Can we make eggs for him too?"

 Her eyebrows lifted, and you smiled, lifting the lid off the pan so she could see you’d already made extra eggs. You’d eaten some too.

 "Oh!" she exclaimed, her tiny hand flying to her mouth in surprise. "You love him?"

 You laughed, your cheeks warming as you nodded.

 "And you love him too, Vee," you reminded her.

 She agreed easily, her little pause before speaking full of that earnest determination children have when they want to be part of something. "He talks about you," she added, like it was another secret.

 "Does he?" You raised an eyebrow, curious.

 She nodded vigorously. "Last night, he said that you are one of the strongest women he knows and a great mom."

 The rehearsed way she repeated it made you sure Eli had used those exact words. The thought warmed your chest, a little glow settling there.

 "Am I?" you asked her.

 Her grin widened as she stretched her arms out toward you, waiting for a hug. You pulled her close, smiling into her hair.

 She quickly switched gears, singing along to the music in the background. Even the lyrics with swear words slipped out, but you'd agreed she could say them in songs. Your mind stayed on her earlier words, though.

 "Dad, Mom made scrambled eggs for you too," she called brightly when she spotted Eli, his hair messy, face flushed, and freckles more pronounced.

 In her own way, you thought, she was shouting to the world how much you loved him. And he seemed to hear it, his eyes lighting up as his smile spread across his face. Vee had used the word "Dad" again.

 He scooped her up into a hug, holding her tightly while she beamed, his kiss landing on her head.

 "There’s black coffee too, Dad," you teased, leaning in as he pulled you into his arms, your mouth near his ear.

 He squeezed you tighter, his gaze locking onto yours for a quick kiss.

 “It’ll be okay,” he whispered.

 And you knew it would.

 Vee and Eli fell into an easy conversation, her excitement matching his as they got caught up in the music. He kept glancing at you, his fingers brushing your arm or pulling you closer whenever he could. Vee watched it all, the happiness radiating from her.

 She was content—content with you both by her side. And you let yourself think that you really were a family. Because you were.

[sirenlulls]

lover → r. mcmahon

pairing —ryan mcmahon x fem!reader

summary —what ryan would be like as your silly little rockstar boyfriend <3

can i go where you go? can we always be this close? forever and ever

watching father ted together

you'd probably end up learning some of the quotes with him

randomly reciting said quotes while the band are just sitting around

it's giving mother and father

it's giving cutest couple of the year

it's giving got together late teens and will stay together eternally

i have a really cute idea of you being the band's photographer

like imagine you grew up living in the same estate as josh so when he officially joined the band, he ended up introducing you to them

you became great friends with them all and started to take their pictures at gigs and sending them out to media and agencies and venues and everything

you'd film the tour diary videos

there's a very popular clip of ryan taking the camera off of you and bullying you into doing a little talking piece but you keep laughing and looking at him

you're every inhaler fan's fashion inspo

they get sooooo excited to see your fits every gig

you've worn a shirt that says "i ❤️ drummers" at least once

you have the rockstar gf pinterest girlies eating out of the palm of your hand

you'd take so many pictures with, and of, fans too

he'd be giving you sneaky little looks during their set xx

tiktok is full of his cheeky winks to you

the band love you, except for one week in 2022 when you released almost every photo you took on your secondary school film camera

inhaler meme pages across the world will forever be in debt to you

after a few pints you join in on the drummer slander

"my little pocket sized baby"

he's not a big pda guy

BUT he will always hold your hand. anytime, anyplace.

he's such a cutie pie

every picture you take of him have with the cutest heart eyes past the camera, solely on you

before you got with ryan you thought that people who said it was possible to feel loved by just a look were full of shit

not anymore baby

he makes you feel like the only girl in the world

to him, you are

he's so loml coded

[leaawrites]

Late Night Talking

Ryan McMahon x fem!reader

Summary: a childhood crush finally developes into love.

Warnings: none

This is part one of three.

Part 2, Part 3, Masterlist

You could see your breath when walking through the cold night in Dublin.

At least that’s what Y/n and Ryan noticed when walking home from band practice. Y/n wasn’t part of the band. Though she enjoyed music, there was little musical talent behind her knowledge of it, beside song-writing. It has always been what connected them. Especially her and Eli, seeing that they were the main writers on the lads songs. Spending nights between words on scribbled papers while the others were sound asleep made them become closer.

Laughing and arguing for hours on end felt comfortable with Eli for her. Though she couldn’t ignore the little voice that would always remind her how she deeply wanted it to be someone else she got to spent so much time with. The boy walking next to her. With his hands stuffed in his jeans jacket and his eyes focused on the road ahead, Y/n couldn’t ignore how her chest tightened and she wanted to smile at the mere thought of him.

Little did she know that the boy was debating whether or not to confront her about her feelings. Not for him, but for Eli. It made him feel scared, knowing that his best friend might like the same girl as him, and had better chances as well. It was a horrible feeling forming in his stomach, when he woke up from their laughter and seeing them huddled close together over a paper. He would watch as she stared at Eli with a sort of admiration he couldn’t quite place and how Eli would look at her while he played guitar. It was like in those moments, no one else existed beside them and he hated it.

The cold air hit her as a car drove by and made her shiver. Ryan, who was quietly watching her the whole walk home, noticed the girls cold state.

“Here,” he said, taking his jacket from his body and offering it to her. “Take it.”

This was his chance to make her notice him.

“Are you sure? Won’t you be cold?” She asked, still she took the jacket from him and snuggled a little closer to the fabric.

“I’m fine,” he assured her, shrugging as if nothing about the cold bothered him.

They continued walking in silence, no one said what was on their mind that night.

“That is mine.” The girl stopped in front of a house just two streets away from Ryan’s own home.

“Okay,” he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

She kept the jacket until the next day. When she came with it on, all eyes were on her. The lads knew who that jacket belonged to and when she offered it back to Ryan in a quiet moment when the boys were busy being idiots once again, he said, “keep it. Might need it again.”

So she kept it.