maybe some robert smut 👀👀👀 i saw on ur master list u have a little section, so maybe like u guys just started dating and it's ur first night together could be rly rly cute
This smut is a lot more detailed than my Eli one so I'm so sorry don't cancel me pls!!! (cries)
Thank you for the request my love xx
I Love You - Robert Keating
Summary: Read the request for the summary xx
Warnings: sexual content, explicit language, a very loving relationship and it's all very consensual.
A/N: Again, I'm sorry if this isn't great, I tried my best! If you feel uncomfortable reading this then don't read it!! Only read things that you're comfortable with and enjoy xxx
The air outside still held a trace of spring’s warmth as you and Rob stepped out of the cozy little Italian restaurant he’d chosen. Your hand was tucked into his, your fingers interlaced like you’d been doing it forever.
The soft glow of the city’s streetlights brushed against his face, catching the smile that hadn’t left his lips all evening.
“I still can’t believe you said yes. What do you mean you’re my girlfriend?” he murmured, squeezing your hand.
You nudged him playfully with your shoulder. “Was there ever a doubt?”
He chuckled, that familiar soft laugh that made your stomach flutter. “I dunno. I’ve been nervous about asking all week. Eli said I’d fumble it somehow.”
“Well, you didn’t,” you said, stopping in your tracks. Robert turned to face you, his brows raised just slightly in anticipation. “It was perfect. You were perfect.”
His eyes searched yours, something unspoken passing between you, and then he leaned in, pressing the gentlest kiss to your lips. “Let’s head back to mine, yeah?”
————————————
The moment the apartment door clicked shut behind you, something shifted. Maybe it was the way Rob looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world worth paying attention to—or the way his thumb brushed your hand as he dropped his keys on the counter.
Whatever it was, it made the distance between you feel unbearable.
“Come here,” he said softly, an obvious tone of hunger there, already closing the spaced between you.
His hands found your waist as yours slid up to rest on his shoulders. His lips were on yours before you could say a word—warm, hungry, and full of everything you both had been holding back all evening.
You melted into him, your fingers threading into his bleach blonde hair, the slight scratch of his hair against your palms sending a thrill down your spine.
He walked you backward gently, guiding you through the apartment like he’d done it a hundred times. Your back hit the wall with a soft thud, and you both laughed into the kiss, breathless and flushed.
“Fucking hell, you’ll be the death of me.” He groaned, his voice low and a little rough as he nuzzled against your jaw.
You tilted your head, giving him space, your heart racing at the way his lips trailed down to your neck before returning to your mouth with a new kind urgency.
You loved his lips being on yours more than anything, but that burning heat in the pit of your stomach needed more. You needed to jump in his bones at this stage just to feel some kind of relief.
“Shit,” you moaned quietly between a kiss. “Go-go back to my neck.” You managed to stutter out, and he wasn’t the one to say no to you.
You could ask him to get on his hands and knees and crawl for you, and he’d do it without a second thought.
The two of you had made out before, so he knew where you liked to be kissed, or little things that got you riled up, and the left side of your neck, right under your ear, was one of those spots.
His lips found the spot in an instant, and he wasn’t afraid to bite down on the sensitive area slightly, sucking the skin lightly after to try and get a moan from you.
“You sure about this?” He murmurs against your neck, voice low, husky with something between hope and restraint. His fingers brush under your dress, hesitating about mid thigh, waiting for your answer.
You pull his head gently away from your neck, looking him straight in the eyes and nodding. “Yeah,” you say, barely above a whisper. “I want this. I want you. Really, I mean it.”
He leans in. The kiss is soft at first—careful. His lips are warm, a little chapped, tasting faintly like the red wine from earlier. But then he deepens it, tongue teasing the seam of your mouth, and you melt into him with a quiet gasp. His hands find the zipper of your dress, and you practically jumped out of it, desperate to feel his hands on your bare skin.
His fingers splayed over your ribs, thumbs stroking slow circles just under your breasts. You’re not sure how you make it to the bedroom. It’s all a blur of mouths and laughter and demands.
But most importantly that wild, dizzy feeling of finally getting what you’ve wanted for so long.
Clothes come off in stages—his button up shirt practically being ripped open, the slow peel of his jeans, your dress was left behind in the hallway but he wasn’t shy to take off your bra, finally admiring the part of your body he’d been nearly craving to see face to face.
The drag of his fingers down your spine as he pressed you back against the mattress, dragging a low moan out of you.
“You’re gorgeous,” he says, almost like he’s saying it to himself. “Been thinking about this… about you…”
“Rob, baby, I love you so fucking much. But please, get to work I’m dying over here.”
You reach for him, pulling him down into another kiss, and this one is full of hunger, your bodies flush, his skin practically boiling hot against yours. His weight on you is grounding, electrifying. He kisses down your neck, slow and reverent, teeth grazing your collarbone, tongue flicking just enough to make you squirm.
You gasped softly as his teeth grazed the soft skin above your breasts, and he smiled against your skin, his hands splaying wide across the outside of your thighs.
"You nervous?" he asked, pausing to look at you—his blue eyes suddenly a darker shade of blue, pupils blown, but still so gentle.
"A little," you admitted. "But not in a bad way or anything. It's just been a while since I've...you know."
His hand reached up to cup the side of your face, thumb brushing along your bottom lip, slow and careful. "We can stop any time. Just say the word."
"I don't want to stop."
That was all he needed.
He kissed along your chest slowly, reverently, letting his tongue flick over your nipple before sucking it into his mouth. Your back arched instinctively and he groaned at the way you moved under him.
The feeling of his calloused fingers tracing your ribs, your stomach, it had you feeling like your head was stuck in the clouds. You finally managed to pull yourself back down to earth for a second when you noticed he was kneeling between your legs, pulling your underwear down at a teasing pace.
"You're shaking," he said softly.
"I know," you breathed. "I just...I want you so fucking badly."
Rob leaned down, lips brushing yours. "You have me."
Then his hand slid down your thigh, then between them, and you gasped as his fingers found you already wet, already aching for him.
"Christ," he muttered. "You're so fucking perfect."
He dipped one finger inside you, then another, curling them just right, his thumb brushing your clit in slow, patient circles. You moaned, hips lifting to meet his hand, and he watched you with something close to awe—as if seeing you come undone for him was a privilege he didn't quite believe he deserved.
"I'm obsessed with you, you know?" he whispered, kissing your jaw, your throat, your breast. "So obsessed."
You tightened around his fingers, gripping onto his wrist as you moaned out in ecstasy. But before you knew it, the feeling of his touch was gone, and you could've screamed from frustration.
"Come on, baby. I think we've both had enough of playing around." His smiled was close to a smirk, tone clearly teasing. You didn't know if you wanted to kiss him or slap him.
Probably both.
You watched his every move. The way his muscles flexed as he took his boxers off. The way he ran his fingers through his bleached hair as he took in a shaky breath. You couldn't possibly get enough of this man.
He reached across to the top drawer of his night stand, clearly in the search of a condom.
"I'm on the pill. We don't need to use one." you rushed to say. Just wanting to feel all of him with nothing in the way.
"Are you sure? You're still taking a bit of a risk without one."
"No, I'm sure. I just want to be able to feel you."
His face practically scrunched up in what looked like pain. Pain from you killing him with words.
When he finally slid between your thighs and pushed into you, he went slow—achingly slow—watching your face the whole time, checking for any flicker of discomfort. But all you felt was full, deliciously stretched, your legs wrapping around his waist as he bottomed out inside you with a low groan.
"God, you feel unreal," he chocked out.
He moved slowly at first, deep, measured thrusts that made your breath catch every time he rocked into you. His forehead dropped to yours, sweat beading along his hairline, threads of his hair sticking to his forehead.
"You're taking me so well," he murmured against your lips. "So tight around me. Let go, baby. Let me take care of you."
Your nails dug into his back, leaving marks down his spine as your body climbed higher, tighter. He sped up just enough to make your breath stutter, your moans getting louder, his hips snapping into you with perfect rhythm, hitting that spot inside that made starts burst behind your eyes.
"Rob—" you moaned, barely able to get the words out. "I'm so close, I—"
"I've got you," he said, voice rough, hand slipping between you again to circle your clit. "Come for me. Show me how good I make you feel, baby."
And you did—hard. Your whole body tensed, you cried out his name like it was the only work you knew, and clenched around him as your orgasm tore through you like a wave. He followed moments later, groaning into your neck as he thrust deep one final time and spilled inside you, hips jerking through his own release.
You stayed like that for a while—tangled, breathless, your limbs intertwined and skin flushed with heat.
After a long silence, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, whispering, "You okay?"
You nodded, burying your face in his neck. "That was...fuck me, that was good."
He laughed softly, brushing your hair back. "I couldn't agree with you more, beautiful."
Your eyes glistened as they locked with his. The two of you just admiring each other, not wanting to end this moment too soon.
"I love you so much." You whispered, your voice thick with emotion and love.
→ contains: fluff, teasing, a little angst, nothing crazy
→ length: 0.5k
a/n: sorry i've been gone so long! i've had this written since forever ago but school and work has been hectic. happy to be back and (hopefully) more updates to come! remember to like and reblog <3
"rob you have to cut it," you say, staring down at the boy sprawled across your lap. "what why?" he furrows his brows and sits up. confusion etched on his face as you giggle at his reaction. he pouts, "do you not like the mullet?" you place a hand on his cheek, moving it up to swipe his hair out of his eyes
"It's not that I don't like it, my love. it's that your hair barely qualifies as a mullet. it's so long, you practically have bangs!" you laugh.
"It's not that long?!" he replies with an insulted tone. "rob, it's hitting your shoulders towards the back." He frowns at the response.
in all honesty, he doesn't really care about cutting his hair. he cares more about the fact that you think his hair looks bad, which you didn't even say that but the poor boy is an overthinker. he knows you don't like him solely for his physical appearance but he can't help wanting to look good for you.
you panic at his silence, worried you've upset him. "I'm not saying you have to cut it, of course. I don't want you to think you have to do something just cause i-" you ramble nervously before rob cuts you off. "no I know I guess I just..." he trails off, eyes moving away. "you what?" you take his fidgety hand in yours, the cool temperature of his rings clashing with the warmth of your fingers.
"I want you to like the way I look" he shrugs, looking down at his hands intertwined with yours. you feel your heart sink at his words. "rob I always like the way you look. you could be bald and I'd still love looking at you" he crinkles his nose, "you know I actually was bald once." you laugh at the thought and he smiles at the sound of your laughter. "I'm serious I had a buzzcut and all"
"and if I'd known you then, I probably would have loved you just as much as I do now, bald-headed and all." he grins. you lean forward, brushing his nose with yours before placing a light kiss on his lips. he opens his eyes as you pull away, his normal blue filled with love and adoration.
"so what should my next hairdo be" he sighs as he plops down next to you. "I don't know, it's your hair, love. do what you please." "well yeah but I value your opinion. besides, I've done what I've wanted for so long I want to know your input"
you raise a brow at the claim. "you really wanna know what I want you to do with your hair?" "absolutely" he insists.
you thought for a minute before an idea came to your head. you giggled at the nervous look that came across his face as your eyes beamed. "I think you should get a bowl," you whispered in his ear. he gave you a questioning look.
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely"
i wrote this before he actually got a bowl cut 😭 originally it was supposed to be that he goes back to his prince hair era but i thought this suited better.
Hii, I’m obsessed with your page, your writing is amazing!! I was wondering if you could write something with Bobby, like gf reader meeting inhaler fans or something like that. Take your time xx
Thank you so much for your kind words, lovely 🥹
I love this idea, thank you for sending it in xxx
Amstel Nights - Robert Keating
Summary: (Based off of the request) After their show in the Ziggo Dome you and the lads stay in Amsterdam for a few days. Over a romantic dinner with Rob, you end up talking to a few fans, and Rob sees a new side to you that he loves.
Warnings: None, just fluff!!
A/N: Hopefully you guys enjoy this! I really enjoyed writing it and I loved writing about reader with fans xxx
Amsterdam feels like a dream. The kind that unfolds slowly—bit by bit—under soft yellow lights and the distant hush of canal water. It’s your third day in the city since the Ziggo Dome show, and the band decided to stay a little longer. A break. A breath.
You spent most of the afternoon sightseeing with the boys—Robert close by your side, laughing at everything, snapping Polaroids of crooked buildings and crooked grins.
Now it’s just the two of you, tucked into a little restaurant nestled between antique shops and old, ivy-covered apartments.
It’s the kind of place you wouldn’t have found without someone’s recommendation. The lighting is dim, golden. The tables are small. Everything smells like wine and garlic and something a little sweet.
Across from you, Rob is finished the last sip of his drink, his thumb absentmindedly brushing the edge of your hand on the table. There’s something about the way he looks at you here—like he’s seeing you differently in this city, under this light.
“You know,” he says, “I don’t think I’ve ever walked so much in one day. Or eaten so many stroopwafels.”
You grin. “That’s your own fault for calling them ‘stroopy boys’ in front of that vendor.”
He laughs, loud and genuine. “I stand by it.”
The waitress comes with the check, and before you can even think of reaching for your bag, Rob’s already sliding out of the booth.
“I’ve got it,” he says, brushing a kiss a kiss against your temple. “Stay there. You can buy the bottle of wine for the hotel room.”
You watch him make his way to the counter, always casual, always so at ease in himself. While he talks with the staff, your eyes catch movement near the door—two girls, clearly younger, about 18 or 19, clearly hesitating. They look at Robert, then at you. Then at each other.
You can see it in their faces—they recognise him. And you. And they’re nervous.
You offer a small smile, tilting your head slightly, a nonverbal it’s okay.
They take a breath and approach.
“Hi,” one of them says, voice uncertain. “We just… we saw you two earlier, and we didn’t want to bother you.”
“Don’t be silly, you’re not bothering me,” you say warmly. “Hi.”
“You’re with Bobby, right?” The other asks, glancing past you. “We just didn’t know if we should say anything. Some girls, um… they’re not that nice.”
You let out a soft laugh. “I get that. But don’t worry—I’m not scary. At least not after dessert.”
They laugh with you this time, and the tension breaks.
“We were at the Ziggo Dome,” the first girl says, eyes lighting up. “They were insane. Best show we’ve ever been to.”
“They’ve genuinely been on fire lately,” you say, glancing back toward the counter where Rob’s still chatting away. “I don’t know how they keep it up.”
“You’re really sweet,” one of them blurts. “We didn’t expect that.”
You smile. “You guys are the reason they get to do this. You should never feel weird about saying hi.”
Just then, Robert returns. You feel his hand brush your back before he stands beside you, eyes flicking between you and the girls.
“All good?” He asks, smile easy.
“They were just being lovely. Had a nice chat, didn’t we?” You say.
The girls are clearly flustered now, seeing him up close. One stammers, “We were just leaving—thanks again. You guys were great last night.”
“Thanks for coming out to the show,” Rob says with a gentle nod. “Means a lot to us, genuinely.”
Once they walk away after Rob signed one of their phone cases and took a selfie with each of them, he turns back to you, something soft in his eyes.
“What?” You ask, reading the expression.
He just shakes his head, sliding his hand into yours.
“Nothing. Just… you being kind. I love that about you.”
Outside, the street is hushed. The city glows under the quiet spell of nightfall. And as you walk beside him—his fingers laced through yours, laughter still lingering between you two—you feel lucky. Not just to be here.
But to be seen. And to be known. By the person you love the most in the whole world.
———————————————
The hotel room is quiet when you get back—just the distant hum of traffic below and the soft rustle of sheets as you both kick off your shoes.
The room is warm, spacious, the kinds that make’s you feel far away from everything. There’s a bottle of wine waiting—something Robert picked out at a tiny corner shop on your way back to the hotel, claiming it had a “cool label” and that was as good a reason as any.
Although, you are now 20 euro down in your bank account.
You’re both a little buzzed already—on the food, the cocktails at dinner, the night, the city—and it’s easy, the way you fall into step with him here. You curl up on the massive bed, legs tangled lazily beneath the comforter, the wine between you in mismatched hotel glasses.
He’s sitting up against the headboard, shirt a little rumpled and the top four buttons unbuttoned, hair messier than it was when you left the restaurant. He looks over at you with that soft half-smile he gets when he’s not saying everything he’s thinking.
You take a sip. “Not bad for a twenty-euro bottle.” You joke.
He raises his glass. “Told you the label wouldn’t lie.”
You laugh, and then lean your head against his shoulder, your fingers resting lightly against his chest. You can feel his heartbeat beneath them—steady, and calm.
He’s silent for a moment, then speaks low, almost like he doesn’t want to break the mood.
“Back at the restaurant…” he starts, “that was really nice of you, baby.”
You lift your head slightly to look at him.
“The girls?”
He nods, eyes searching yours. “You didn’t have to be kind like that. A lot of people wouldn’t be. And I just… I saw the way they looked at you. Like they weren’t sure if you’d be okay with them being there.”
You rest your chin on his shoulder. “It’s not hard to be kind. Especially when I know how much they mean to you. To the band.”
He’s quiet again, swirling the wine in his glass like it might settle his thoughts.
“It’s just… you never make it weird,” he says finally. “You never get annoyed or make me feel like I have to choose between being present with you and acknowledging them. You’re just… always understanding.”
You set your glass down and shift closer, your hand finding his.
“That’s because I know who you are. And I know how much you care about the people who care about you.”
He looks at you like you’ve just said something sacred.
“I don’t take you for granted,” he says. “Not for a second.”
You feel the truth in it—in his voice, in the way his thumb brushes across your knuckles.
Then he pulls you in, gently, until you’re tucked against his chest again, his arm wrapped securely around you. The wine sits forgotten on the nightstand now, the room dim and golden in the soft light from the street lamps outside. There’s no rush, no pressure. Just warmth, and the soft rhythm of breathing together.
You whisper, “I love you, so much.”
“I know,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss into your hair. “I love you, too. So much.”
And in that moment, you don’t need anything else. Not the city, not the crowd, not the stage.
hiii, could you please write angst with Bobby where like the reader is going through a tough moment and Bobby is there to support her. Thank uu and take your time. Love u
Thank you for sending this in!!!
Hope you like it, and love you too lovely!!! Xxx
I’m Sorry - Robert Keating
Summary: (based off request) You’ve always had a complicated relationship with your father, but this incident is what ends up sending your emotions over the edge, and Rob is there to pick up the pieces.
Warnings: Complicated father/daughter relationship, angst, sadness, fluff because Robert’s a cutie.
A/N: If this hits too close to home for you then it’s okay not to read it!! Look after yourself, acknowledge your triggers, love you all lots and lots xxx
You were staring at the untouched cappuccino in front of you. Foam had collapsed in on itself like a broken promise, lukewarm now, just like your hope. The café was busy, but the noise had blurred into something muffled and distant.
You checked your phone again.
Nothing.
Just like last time. And the time before that.
It had been over an hour.
You didn’t cry—at least, not in public. You packed your things with shaking hands, left the coffee untouched, and walked out into the dull grey afternoon. The street outside smelled like car exhaust and baked concrete. You took the long way home, walking without aim. You passed families in parks, friends laughing outside pubs, strangers making plans that probably didn’t involve breaking hearts.
Eventually, you found your way back to the flat.
By the time you walked through the front door, your face was set—tight-jawed, eyes dry, but burning. Robert looked up from the couch, laptop in his lap, fingers lazily typing out something that died the moment he saw you.
“Hey, love,” he said, voice soft. “You’re back early.”
You didn’t say anything. You dropped your bag harder than you meant to, kicked off your shoes, and walked past him toward the kitchen.
He was up immediately.
“Did your dad not show up?” He asked gently from the doorway.
You turned quickly, faster than you intended. “Why do you even have to ask?”
Rob didn’t flinch at the tone—he knew it wasn’t really aimed at him. But he stepped back just slightly, giving you room.
“I’m sorry,” he said carefully.
“No, you’re not,” you snapped. “Don’t say that. You didn’t do anything.”
He nodded once. “I mean I’m sorry for you. Because I know what that meant to you.”
You let out a breath, exasperated. “It’s just… How many times am I supposed to try? How many times do I let him do this before I finally get it through my thick skull that it’s not gonna change?”
Rob stepped in slowly, like an approaching a skittish animal. “Can I come closer?”
Your eyes welled up without warning. You nodded.
That cracked something. The gentleness. The patience. You turned away again, pressing your palms to the countertop as your shoulders started to shake.
“I just—“ your voice broke, “I keep thinking maybe this time will be different. And it never is. And I don’t know what’s worse anymore. Being disappointed or being stupid enough to still have hope.”
Robert moved behind you and gently rested a hand on your back. You didn’t move, but you didn’t pull away either.
“I waited an hour, Rob,” you whispered. “An hour. Like a fucking fool.”
“You’re not a fool,” he said immediately. “You’re someone who believes people can change. That’s not stupid. That’s hopeful. There’s a difference.”
You turned and finally let yourself fall into him. He caught you instantly, arms strong and warm, one hand on your back, the other cradling your head as though keeping it from falling any further.
You cried.
Not dramatic sobs—just that quiet, painful sort of crying that creeps in when you’ve been holding it back too long. It wasn’t just today’s disappointment. It was all the ones that came before it.
Rob didn’t rush you. He didn’t ask you to calm down. He simply stayed there, arms steady, lips pressing light kisses into your hairline as you let it out.
After what felt like forever, you pulled back just slightly.
“Why does he keep doing this to me?”
Rob’s hands slid to your cheeks, brushing tears away with his thumbs. “Because he’s broken in ways that have nothing to do with you. And you’ve spent your whole life thinking maybe if you’re better, or more forgiving, or just enough, you can fix that. But it’s not yours to fix.”
You nodded, barely.
“He doesn’t get to define you,” Robert replied. “You are not the pieces he left behind. You’re the one who stayed kind anyway. You’re the one who still sees the good in people even when they don’t deserve it.”
You let your forehead rest against him shoulder, almost exhausted.
“How do you always know what to say?”
“I don’t,” he said honestly. “But I know you. And I’ll keep showing up—even when other people don’t.”
That was the part that made you cry again—softer this time. But now there was safety in it. Warmth.
“Come on,” he murmured, guiding you by the hand. “You haven’t eaten.”
“I’m not hungry,” you said, though your stomach hurt in that hollow way that wasn’t hunger, exactly, but not far from it.
He led you to the kitchen island anyways, moving around with the quiet ease of someone who knows your cabinets as well as his own. He filled the kettle, chopped some fruit, reheated the leftover pasta from the night before. You sat at the island, elbows on the cool marble, watching him.
“I used to pretend he was just busy,” you said. “Like, that’s all it was. Work. Life. Traffic.”
Rob glanced up, waiting.
“I think I just didn’t want to believe it could be me,” you continued. “Like, if I made myself perfect—if I didn’t cause problems, didn’t ask for anything—then he’d want to be around. But he never did.”
Robert set a plate in front of you and walked around the counter, wrapping his arms around you from behind.
“You’re not hard to love,” he whispered into your hair. “You never were. He just wasn’t capable.”
You tilted your head against his chest. “Thank you for not making me feel crazy.”
He chuckled softly. “You are a little crazy. But the lovable kind.”
You smiled—small, but real.
Later, you sat curled on the couch together, a blanket over your legs, Robert’s arm slung around your shoulder as some slow film played in the background. You weren’t really watching it. You were watching the flicker of the screen on his face, the way his jaw tensed whenever something in the film reminded him of what you’d been through.
“You know,” you said softly, “when I was little, I used to make up stories about my dad. Like, full-on fantasy versions of him. In one, he was an undercover spy and couldn’t come see me because he was off saving the world. In another, he was trapped in a different timeline and trying to find his way back.”
Robert let out a quiet breath. “That’s kind of beautiful.”
“It was all just lies I told myself so I didn’t feel forgotten.”
He kissed the top of your head. “He missed out on the best thing he could’ve had. But I didn’t. I got you.”
You turned to look at him. “I’m glad I came home to you.”
“You are home to me,” he said, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand. “Always.”
You rested your head against him again. Safe. Loved. Whole, even in the breaking.
How would you feel about doing a part two for your Rob oneshot "Champagne and white roses" where they actually get married in a very small but intimate setting.
It would be so cute!! Love your work xxx
Hopefully this is a good add on and you love it as much as I do, lovely!!
You can read “Champagne & White Roses” here if you want to read that first before this one xxx
When You know, You Know - Robert Keating
Summary: Months after you and Rob talk about the thought of getting married, you guys finally tie the knot.
Warnings: None!!
A/N: Sorry if this isn’t overly realistic. I tried my best but I know nothing about civil ceremonies 😭❤️
The morning began softly—just like he promised he would.
Dublin hummed faintly outside the window of your childhood bedroom, where sunlight sneaks in through the gauzy curtains and spills across the floor.
You’re sitting cross-legged on the bed, still in your dressing gown, holding a mug of tea that your mother made, whispering, “You’ll feel better with something warm in your hands.” She’s bustling gently around the room, not fussing too much, just anchoring you.
After your cousins wedding when you and Rob had the whole marriage and wedding conversation, neither of you wanted a big wedding. No long aisle, no huge orchestra, no stretch limo with ribbons.
You and Rob decided this would be simple—a civil service at City Hall, just close family, followed by a large enough celebration in the Shelbourne Hotel with just family and friends. Invitations not being extended.
There’s a knock—light and polite. When you say, “Come in,” it’s Robert’s mother. She’s holding a little white box in her hands.
“Hiya, sweetheart. I thought maybe you’d like to wear this,” she says, her voice lilting with emotion. “It was mine. From when me and Robert’s dad got married.”
Inside the box: a silver hair comb, delicate and old, its little pearls slightly dulled by time. It’s perfect. You smile, and for a moment, you think she might cry—but she just squeezes your hand, presses a kiss to your head, and helps tuck it into your hair.
Your dress was a soft, vintage white—more cream than ivory—with a lived-in beauty that whispered of decades past. You saw it a vintage wedding dress shop in Los Angels. All designer brands and stunning, but this dress stood out to you the minute your eyes landed on it.
It was the perfect mixture of vintage while staying modern. Beautiful lace and the bodice was tight, showing off your curves, featuring a subtle V-neck edged in scalloped lace, with tiny covered buttons trailing down the back like a row of pearls.
But your favourite part was the pair of Christian Louboutin heels that looked like ballerina pumps. Gifted from Elijah and Grace for the big day.
Once you were ready, the vintage car arrived to City Hall, the journey quiet and warm, your dad’s hand on your shoulder, your mam telling the driver to take Nassau Street because “the trees are nicer there.” Rob is already inside when you arrive, standing in a soft black suit—no tie, just his usual easy confidence. He turns the second the door opens, eyes catching yours like a reflex.
He doesn’t say anything at first. Just smiles, eyes glistening.
The old Georgian room is filled with soft natural light pouring through tall windows. The echo of footsteps is muffled by the thick stone walls and historic grandeur. Just under the ornate ceiling, two rows of chairs are filled with a small group—your parents, younger and older sister on one side, Robert’s parents and two younger brothers on the other.
There’s a quiet buzz of soft and loving smiles, teary eyes, and the occasional deep breath.
A registrar stands between you and Rob, holding a slim booklet, ready to lead the final moments.
The room quiets.
“When you’re ready, you may share your vows.” He announced kindly, a soft smile on his face.
Rob shifts slightly, eyes fixed on yours. His hands tremble just a bit as he reaches into his jacket and unfolds a note. But when he starts speaking, his voice is steady, low and warm.
“I tried writing this ten different ways, but it always came back to this—I feel like I’ve known you forever, and somehow not long enough. You’ve seen me at my worst and still stood beside me, which is terrifying and beautiful all at once,”
Your breath caught in your throat, emotional crawling its way up.
“You’ve taught me how to show up, really show up. Not just in a room, but in the moment. I promise to choose you every single day, even when we’re tired or weird or frustrated—or if I’m away and you’re back home yelling at the kettle. You’re home to me. That’s what I’m trying to say. And I promise to keep coming home.”
He looks up from the note, a single tear falling and eyes shining, and takes your hand in his, taking a steady breath.
Now, it’s your turn.
You squeeze his hand tightly. There’s a lump in your throat, but your voice finds its rhythm.
“I didn’t expect you. And I definitely didn’t expect the way you slowly moved into every part of my life like you’d always been there. You’ve seen every sharp edge of me, and you’ve never once turned away. I love your mind, your music, the way you get shy when you’re proud of something. I’ve loved all of those things and more since we were 18.”
You take a pause, pinching your eyes shut to stop a sob from escaping, but you continue.
“I promise to laugh with you when things are good, and stand with you when they’re not. I promise to never let the quiet between us go cold. I promise I will love you—with patience, with honesty, and with all the small, ordinary choices that build a life.”
A small silence hangs. The kind that’s full of breath and heartbeats.
“Alright, let’s speed this up. I want to be married now.” Rob jokingly rushed, making everyone laugh.
As soon at the registrar announced you two as husband and wife, Robert grinned widely, almost laughing through tears. He cups your face, gently, and kisses you—sweet and real. A few sniffles echo from the seats behind. Someone claps, probably your dad, and then everyone follows.
You both turned, hand in hand, to face your families. Married.
After, as the photographer snaps a few candid shots outside under the stone arches, Rob slips his fingers into yours and leans in.
“I’d marry you in a fucking chipper if it meant standing next to you like this,” he murmurs.
And you believe him.
Because there’s nothing small about a love that lets you feel this whole.
————————————
The ballroom at the Shelbourne is bathed in soft gold light, the chandeliers gleaming like they’ve been waiting for your wedding day all their lives.
Tables are draped in white linen, flickering with candlelight, and laughter swirls through the room like music. It’s louder than earlier, but better. The air carries perfume, champagne, and the scent of slow-burning roses.
You’d worried it would feel too grand, too detached from the softness of the morning. But it doesn’t. It feels like the celebration you both deserve—like the joy that builds after a quiet “I do.”
Rob hasn’t left your side all night. His arm finds your waist as naturally as his smile finds your lips, grounding you in the chaos of clinking glasses and tipsy aunts.
The lads are at the corner table, near the two of you, drinks in hand, suits slightly askew. Josh has already lost his suit jacket and tie, Ryan’s telling a story way too loudly, and Eli—calm, steady Eli—is swaying with Grace on the edge of the dance floor.
Rob watches them for a second, then tugs you toward the floor himself.
“Come on,” he says, “married people are required by law to have a first dance.”
The song is old—Otis Redding, maybe—and the way he pulls you in feels even older, like muscle memory from another life. You press your forehead to his jaw, and his hands slide around your lower back.
“You happy?” He murmurs, low enough that no one else can hear.
“I’ve never been this content or happy in my life. I’m complete,” you whisper.
And for a while, the world fades away into music and soft fabric and the way his fingers trace lazy circles into your spine.
————————————
It’s past 4 a.m. when the night thins out. The younger cousins are asleep on velvet couches, shoes off and cheeks pink. Someone is still singing at the piano bar downstairs (poor guy). Josh went up to his hotel room totally pissed long ago, the sesh he started at 1pm catching up to him. Eli and Grace disappeared somewhere you don’t want to know anything about, and Ryan was too busy chatting up your cousin Evie.
But finally, you and Rob managed to slip away, hand in hand, up the elevator and through the quiet halls toward the suite.
Inside, it’s all hushed decadence—dim lighting, high ceilings, a bottle of champagne in a silver bucket untouched on the table. The ice in the bucket now very much melted.
Robert’s jacket lands on the back of a chair. Your heels fall out of your hands and beside the bed. For a few seconds, you just stare at each other, full of alcohol, food, and full disbelief.
“We’re actually married,” you say, voice husky from the night you’ve had.
He smiles, stepping close, hands gentle as they find your waist. “You say that like I’ve just pulled off some elaborate con.”
“You did. You married wayyy up.”
He laughs against your neck. “Yeah. I really fucking did. No coming back from this.”
The kiss that’s follows is slower than you expected, but deeper—like he’s trying to memorise this version of you. The one in a beautiful white dress, a little undone, flushed with love and celebration. And you’re entirely his, and he can’t seem to wrap his head around that, even after 7 years together.
And when he leans you gently back on the bed, you go willingly—not into something rushed, but into the kind of closeness that feels like a promise. Soft laughter between kisses. Fingers lacing. The press of foreheads and whispered I love yous in the space between moans and breaths.
The night closes not with not only internal fireworks, but also with quiet devotion—the kind you build a life on.
→ sum: after returning home for tour, rob asks you to read your favorite book to him.
→ contains: fluff, some teasing, shakespeare quotes
→ length: 0.5k (another blurb sorry)
a/n: got inspired and wrote this one the other night. remember to like and reblog if you enjoyed! <3
you lay in bed, bundled up in a mountain of blankets to shield yourself from the cold air. the muffled sound of water pattering from rob's shower fill the air as you flip through your book. it was the first night in a while that the two of you had to yourselves since the tour ended. when he got back to your place, he greeted you at the door with a smile and embraced you for the first time in what felt like ages.
you were too invested in the words in front of you to hear rob turn off the water and enter the bedroom. "what are you reading?" he asks, ruffling his hair with a towel as he leans on the doorframe. you look up from the book, "Hamlet." he hums in response and turns back to walk into the bathroom.
you close the book and run your finger along the spine, feeling the textured edge. it was the copy rob had gotten you for your birthday. you remember how he shyly handed it to you, muttering something about being awful at gifts. when you opened it, you were met with a note reading:
"Doubt thou the stars are fire. Doubt that the sun doth move. Doubt truth to be a liar. But never doubt I love."
you told him it was the best gift anyone had ever given you.
you feel the weight next to you shift and smell his shampoo and cologne as he joins you under the sheets. "im starting to think you love prince hamlet more than me, my dear" you giggle as he nuzzles into your neck, his mullet tickling your skin.
"maybe i do" you tease. "i mean he's a prince after all—" he scoffs in annoyance, "yeah, and he's also fucking crazy." "and you aren't?" you question, smiling at the pout he gives you. "i'm only joking, my love" you console and lean down to kiss him soft lips.
he lies back, resting his head on your chest, watching as you return to your book. "read it to me" he murmured, his voice catching in the blankets around the two of you. "you want me to read you hamlet?" he nods "it's your favorite book, and I've never read it before myself, so why not" he says nonchalantly. you stare at him for a bit before opening the play to where you had left off.
"what a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculty, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god, the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals. and yet to me, what is this quintessence of dust? man delights not me; no, nor woman neither; though by your smiling you seem to say so"
he's so entranced by the sound of your voice. it's soft and sweet, yet filled with passion as you read the text. he looks up at you in adoration, admiring your focused on the book in front of you—the book he gave you. he feels his eyelids slowly grow heavy as your melodic voice lulls him into a sleep he can't escape.
you continue reading for a while before you realize he'd fallen asleep, giggling at his soft snores. you brush the hair out of his eyes, looking at the peacefulness across his face. you close the book and press a kiss on his temple.
I’ve gotten a lot of requests for Rob smut, and while I don’t mind writing it, and actually do have one waiting to be posted, I don’t want to make people uncomfortable.
So I thought I’d just ask how you guys feel about it first before posting anything!!!
