#ryan mcmahon inhaler

[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.

[d0llfaac3]

No.1 party anthem prt.1

Pairing: Ryan McMahon x rockstar!f!reader

Warnings: light swearing and innuendo’s

Social media au!

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Y/n.L/n

Just a lil photo dump from the tour so far, love opening for @.inhalerdublin 🫶🏻

Liked by ryanmcmahon_15, inhalerdublin, bobbyskeetz and 30,340 others…

Inhalerdublin: we’re excited to see how the rest of the tour goes with you and you know who 🤭

User1: PARDON??

Y.n.L.n posted to their story..

Twitter thread..

ryanmcmahon_15

Some pictures from the UK and Ireland tour, so much fun thank you all for coming ❤️

Liked by Y.n.L.n, inhalerdublin, bobbyskeetz and 26,798 others

User1: omg will Ryan and Y.n just get together already!!

User2: girl the tour has only started technically, we still get to have months of this :)

Y.n.L.n: pop off 🤍

ryanmcmahon_15: ❤️❤️

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I’ll have a part 2 out soon 😋

[honeyeyesworld]

There’s no Ryan (my love) or Josh fics on here I might actually start writing some or even doing instagram fics 😭

If you have any recommendations feel free to send them in 🫶

[petalprincessxoxo]

playlist for my upcoming bobby skeetz fic “sweet dreams, tn”

let me know what u guys think of it!!

[msmoony7]

need my inhaler fics to get the same amount of likes as my marauders ones😩😩

[neotckyo]

Inhaler oh how i love u

[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.

[skeetzupdates]

Bobby Skeetz on stage in Denver Oct 29

📸 @/jennysmedia via Instagram

[sororygilmore]

inhaler is my one direction

[runningthroughthegarden]

opening night - elijah hewson

summary: its the opening night of your bands tour. spotting inhaler in the crowd was not what you were expecting. locking eyes with elijah hewson was just the start to something new.

being in an up-and-coming band might have been the most exhilarating feeling in the world. it was scary and exciting and fresh. so signing up with a management company and headlining a small tour, you felt on top of the world. especially after finding out your management company also managed an Irish rock band, inhaler. you absolutely loved their music and would be lying if you said you didn't find the lead singer (very) attractive. this gave you the hopeful feeling that maybe one day you could be as successful as them.

as you sat in your dressing room applying your final makeup touches, you felt ecstatic. glittery lids that made your eyes pop on stage, shiny red lip-gloss that would transfer onto the mic and be gone within the first four songs. but you could care less, you felt beautiful. looking down at your lacy white dress and tall brown boots, it felt like your rockstar dreams were coming true.

getting to enjoy these moments with your absolute best friends in the entire world felt like a true blessing. you have shared such intimate moments with these girls and have created such amazing songs. hearing your managers voice, you snapped out of your thoughts.

"i really think you guys should play now you got me" he smiled while leaning against the door.

"the inhaler cover?" grace asked, looking up from tuning her guitar.

"yeah i mean theres a lot of cross between your two fandoms, i think the crowd would be really excited" he replied.

"you never request songs, whats up?" you ask with a grin, sensing some kind of plan coming along.

"nothing, nothing just think about it. show time in 5" he leaves closing the door behind him.

"he is so planning something" meg says, going to grab her drumsticks.

you all giggle, grabbing any last-minute things for the stage. you could hear chatter coming from the crowd as the lights began to dim, you had always loved going to concerts, so being on the other side of the stage was like heaven.

the cheers only grow as your opening song begins to play and everyone slowly walks onstage, walking over to their instruments. the lights come up as you walk on, and you know you're in for the night of your life.

you're a few songs into the setlist and the nerves have finally worn off. you have a tendency to toy with anything near or around you when your nervous. usually playing with the hem of your dress, just looking to calm yourself down. now that the nerves were gone, you felt comfortable to dance around and interact with the crowd.

mid song you were smiling down at a group of girls who were going crazy over the song. giggling during the song you looked out at the rest of the crowd, wanting to take it all in.

you almost passed out when you saw four familiar faces staring back at you. they were all there, standing at the back of the crowd. singing along, to your song. inhaler.

snapping out of your mini freak out, you continue through the song trying your best to be chill. elijah hewson. the man you were practically in love with was here, at your gig, intently watching you.

"that was wildflower" you giggle into the mic. praying that your bright red cheeks weren't visible under the bright lights.

immediately going back to freaking out, you walk over to grace.

"inhaler is here" you whisper, holding the mic away. she looks just as shocked as you were. giving a silent nod to the rest of the band, they immediately knew what was going on. you walk over to the mic stand, snapping the mic in place, praying that it will keep you standing upright.

"so tonight our manager insisted we sing this cover. and now i know why. this is now you got me" turning away from the crowd, you hear an insane uproar. damn, guess he was right. you have always loved singing this song, so here it goes i guess. better not fuck it up.

looking over at the boys, you see them cheering and practically jumping up and down. that gave you enough confidence to have fun and not worry about messing up.

now you got me wherever you want me. do i want you to say it back?

you don't know how or why but a rush of confidence surged through you and you locked eyes with elijah. elijah hewson. for a second you thought your knees were going to give out. the smile he gave you sent shivers down your spine.

because we can't stay. lets run away. now you got me where you want me.

snapping away from his gaze, you turn to your band deciding to just have fun with it. singing the lyrics to them and jumping up and down. for a split second you forgot inhaler was literally watching you. you were just having the absolute time of your life during the song. and so was the crowd. they were loving every second just as much as you.

the rest of the song was honestly a daze.

"if you see me blushing, no you dont" you giggle turning to take a sip of water.

the rest of the show was amazing. every song in the setlist was perfectly in place. the crowd was dancing and singing along. the band was having just as much, maybe even more, fun. it all just felt so right.

"thank you all for such an amazing night, i love you all. i hope to see you soon" waving bye and blowing kisses, you practically skip off stage. as soon as the curtain closes you and the band star hugging and jumping up and down.

heading back to the greenroom, on a show high, you see your manager sneaking in. giving everyone a weird look, you follow after him. nothing could have every prepared you for this moment, opening the door to see inhaler smiling back at you.

all of you girls are stopped dead in your tracks, feeling incredibly starstruck.

"glad you took my advice and played the song" your manager smiles.

you all start giggling trying to calm yourselves down. but you know your cheeks have already gone bright red, again.

"you guys were fucking sick" Ryan is the first to say.

from then on everyone breaks into chatter introducing themselves. it was so surreal to be meeting the band you looked up to for so long. you found yourself alone for a second, and before you knew it elijah was walking up to you.

"i'm elijah" he says reaching has hand out. taking it in yours you hope he doesnt feel the way your shaking.

"y/n" you reply, with a lovestruck smile and rosy cheeks.

"y'know you wrinkle your dress when you do that" he states, feeling the hem of your dress between his fingers.

"when i do what?" you ask confused.

"when you're nervous. you play with your dress. but you wrinkle it all up" he replies with a laugh and a smirk on his face.

god his accent. you were done for.

literally not being able to form sentences you just shoot him a confused look. his fingers were far too close to touching your skin.

"i was the same way, took me an embarrassingly long amount of time to get over the nerves." he says, letting his eyes flicker around your face.

"no ones ever really noticed that i do that" you gaze up at him.

"yeah um, it was kind of hard to take my eyes off of you" he suddenly seems really nervous. taking this as your opportunity to gain some confidence.

"oh really?" you question with a giggle.

"mhm made it even harder when you sang my own song better than me" he smiles down at you.

"well now i think its your turn to sing one of my songs better than me" you reply.

"i dont think thats possible" he laughs.

"me and the boys are in town for a few more days. would you want to go on a date with me?" he asks.

"yeah i would love to" you reply, unable to wipe the smile off your face.

"sounds like a plan, but for now i think we all need to go celebrate a killer opening night of tour" he states.

"i couldnt agree more"

a/n: super cheesy i know but i couldnt help myself

[inhalerdublinbaby]

Please leave me!

Also, happy December!!! Can't wait for Christmas holidays⛄️✨️🎄

[leaawrites]

Late night talking pt. 3

Ryan McMahon x fem!reader

Summary: a final confession to make all questions go away.

Warnings: fluff, slightly suggestive, swearing, this is in celebfation of a new music teaser (i'm so excited, holy shit),

Wordcount: 1.2k

Part 1, Part 2, Masterlist,

Laying in bed, all alone now, was what she had feared would happen sooner or later. They both knew that something will change between them now after their conversation, but how drastic would it be? How much would it be that they had to adjust to?

They got home 10 minutes after leaving the packed house. Y/n threw her keys to the side and put her jacket on the hanger, a jacket which originally belonged to Ryan. She stole it after a long band practice where he walked her home.

He noticed it, of course he noticed it. He did every time he saw it on her. Whether it be in real life or on her insta story. But he never mentioned it, never said anything about wanting it back. So, naturally, she kept it.

Throwing himself on her couch, Ryan groaned, tiredness filling his every vein and part of his body and making his eyelids feel heavier with every second passing.

“Do you have something to eat?” He asked, looking at her with puppy eyes while she only laughed.

“Sure, what do you wanna have?” She asked back, already giving him the TV remote because she knew he would ask for it as soon as he had something to eat.

“You know me so well,” he praised, catching the remote as she threw it his way. “I take whatever you have.”

“Some might think I have caught a stray or something when I met you,” she joked, pulling something from the fridge she knew he would eat.

“At least I’m a cute one,” he said, smiling at her sweetly as she put the food down in front of him.

“Of course you are.” Patting his head, she pouted at him in a sarcastic manner. Her lip corners pulling itself down like they were forced to it by gravity.

Before she disappeared into her bedroom she called out to him, “I’m going to bed, just take the blanket and pillow from the wardrobe and go to sleep whenever.”

Ryan mumbled a quick, “Alright," before being fully caught up by the program he watched and falling into his own little world. Drowning out whatever happened a meter away from the sofa.

Closing the door behind her, Y/n exhaled deeply, trying to figure out what just happened. His mother wanted them to marry and he was comfortable with it? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Was he comfortable with marrying or marrying her? She didn’t know.

The morning after would be the better occasion to talk about it, she decided. Tonight was for sleeping the stress away, avoiding the already approaching headache she felt building up in her skull.

Maybe she didn’t need to wait for the sun to rise to see the truth. Maybe it was bright enough to see in the dark.

5 minutes after laying in bed, the TV turned off. Y/n heard Ryan putting the dishes in the sink before going into the guest room she had. That’s where his clothes were. God, why did it sound like they were living together? She had clothes for all of the boys when they needed to stay over. She had clothes for her girlfriends when they had to stay over. So why did it feel so different now when she thought about it, with Ryan in her apartment?

She thought, maybe she didn’t close the door correctly and now wind made it open. But then she saw a figure standing in the doorway.

“Can I come in?” Ryan asked. He sounded like a helpless child who just woke from a bad dream. Searching for shelter in her bed.

“Sure,” she said, sitting up and letting him settle under her sheets before she laid down again.

They laid face to face, watching the other with the help of the moon shining through the thin curtains of her room.

“I’m sorry,” he started, making Y/n’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “About what I said earlier.”

“It’s alright,” she tried to make him more comfortable.

“No, it’s not. I shouldn’t have let my feelings talk,” he explained further, making her only more confused.

“You let your feelings talk?”

Was there really a chance?

“Shit, I talk too much,” he said, putting his hands over his eyes as if what would make him disappear. “I should go,” he decided, sitting up and beginning to shuffle out from under her warm blanket.

She wanted to say something, she really did. She just didn’t know what. So, she took his hand in hers as he stood up. Pulling his body towards her, Ryan fell forward just catching himself as they were face to face. His hands on either side of her body.

“What do you mean when you said, you let your feelings talk? I don't want poor excuses either, I want the truth, Ryan.”

His eyes traveled down her body, as she was so close to him. It was only ever a wish - a dream he never thought he was able to achieve. But here she was, drowning in his eyes, wishing for him to be truthful. So he was.

“I like you,” he said, keeping his voice low and calm like this wasn’t eating him up from the inside. Like his whole body wasn’t telling him to resist the rapid beating of his heart. “I have now for a long time and I will for a long time. So if you tell me to fuck off, I will avoid you at all cost.”

“Fuck you for not telling me sooner,” she told him. “Since when?”

“Does it matter?” He didn’t wanna elaborate, not when he didn’t know if she at least felt a tiny bit of what he felt towards her.

“Yes.” It didn’t. Not in particular. She just wanted to know.

“Firstly, I want you to answer me,” he tried to compromise first. He knew she was too curious to let him leave without an answer to her question.

She let her eyes trail over his face, every feature she knew all too well. It was all what she loved. It was him. Purely and solely him.

Catching his lips in a kiss was her answer. If it wasn’t a song, or poem or story, she wasn’t good with words. Never had been. Only the ink on paper made her confess.

His hand moved up to her cheek, gracing his fingers down her skin. He knelled in front of her. His mind going wild.

Pulling away, she tried catching her breath before talking. “Is that enough of an answer?”

“No.”

The answer left her dumbfounded.

“What? Do you want me to fuck you to prove it?” She asked making him chuckle.

“Say it,” he told her. “I know how much you hate to speak about it, but say it. Please.”

“I like you too. I really do.”

Ryan broke out into a huge grin, tackling her body down with his, he began placing a million kisses all over her face, making her laugh.

Pulling his face up and making him stop - though she enjoyed the attention and loving very much - she still hadn’t had an answer.

“Since when?”

“Since I saw you for the first time.”

[d0llfaac3]

No.1 party anthem prt 2

Pairing: Ryan McMahon x rockstar!f!reader

Warnings: mentions of sex 🤭 and mild swearing probably

Social media au

Y.n.L.n (instagram story)

Y.n.L.n

Just some recent pics xx

Liked by bobbyskeetz, ryanmcmahon, user2 and 34,263 others

inhalerdublin: I wonder who that is…🤭

User1: they know something we don’t..

User2: mother is mothering rn

View recently deleted comments

ryanmcmahon: ur so pretty xx

ryanmcmahon (instagram acc)

We officially made it official @y.n.L.n

Liked by Y.n.L.n, Inhalerdublin and 27,456 others

Y.n.L.n: guys I know it the sec picture looks bad but I promise I kissed him after it 🫶🏻

ryanmcmahon: it was a bit more than just kissing princess..

elijahhewson: PLEASE get a room

ryanmcmahon: can’t a man be happy?? ☹️

Yourmumsaccount: Ryan I’ve heard all about you from Y/n! I hope you two are behaving ❤️

ryanmcmahon: as always ms L.n

inhalerdublin: the tiny one finally pulled

ryanmcmahon: leave me alone Bobby 😭😭

Y.n.L.n

He’s my little princess 🫶🏻

Tagged: @ryanmcmahon

Inhalerdublin: wear protection xx

ryanmcmahon: LEAVE ME ALONE ELI

Y.n.L.n: rawdogger till i die (it’s a joke Eli don’t shit urself)

Yourbandaccount: girl we’re so happy for the both of you, we hope you two stay together because it’s obvious that you two LOOVE each other

Y.n.L.n: NEVER DO THAT AGAIN IM SOBBING

Ryanmcmahon: honestly couldn’t ask for a better girlfriend, I get all in one, a rockstar, a cuddler, a romantic partner and a personal groupie, pretty good if u ask me

Y.n.L.n: what the fuck Ryan 😭

***************

Gang they got together I had no idea how to finish this off so ITS BADDD

[mcmahongifs]

🎥: hahakcoolgtgbye [2024]

[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."

[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.