would you be able write a fic about getting high with the lads? maybe like with the other lasses and being elis girl?
Wait I’m actually giggling over this (and it’s not like I’ve daydreamed about this before or anything…👀)
Hopefully this is as you imagined it HAHAHA (I also put my own little twist on it so hopefully that's okay xxx)
Weed Talking — Elijah Hewson
Summary: (based off request) The guys are back from tour and you invite them and some old friends over to your childhood home. Your feelings for Elijah have been around for years, but when you get high they seem to heighten, and there’s no hiding from him…
Warnings: mentions/use of weed, a few suggestive moments and thoughts, alcohol, aggressive make out sesh.
A/N: I decided to put a bit of a spin on the request just to spice it up a little bit. Hopefully that’s okay with everyone hehehe xxx
There was something about being back in your childhood home with all of them — like the years hasn't passed at all. You'd set out blankets in the back garden, grabbed spare duvets and snacks, and someone (probably Rob) had already queued the same playlist you all used when you were seventeen.
Rob's girlfriend, Martha, and your best friend, Caoimhe, were sitting cross-legged under the fairy lights you'd strung up that afternoon, passing a joint between them while Sam and Lucy argued about whether the moon looked "mystical" or "like a bad drawing." Ryan and Josh were somewhere near the fire pit your parents fitted in about a year ago now, laughing over God knows what, and Elijah...well, Elijah was beside you.
Too close, maybe. His leg pressed lightly against yours, neither of you shifting away. The weed had hit (so did the whiskey), mellow and heavy, and your whole body felt like it was floating. But your mind — your mind was doing somersaults.
You could smell him. That same cedarwood-after-smoke scent he always carried, always just barely there. And you shouldn't notice that, shouldn't care. But the warmth pooling low in your stomach said otherwise.
"You're quiet," Elijah said suddenly, voice low like a secret.
You glanced at him. His eyes were red-rimmed and a little glassy, his curls a mess from when he kept running his hands through them. He looked unfairly good. Not even in a rockstar way — just...him. Familiar and infuriating and heartbreakingly safe.
"Just thinking," you said, blinking up at the stars like they could save you from the daydream you were slipping into.
"About?"
You should've lied. You should've said something dumb — the stars, Lucy's nonsense, or how Josh still couldn't roll a proper joint. But you were too high for that kind of finesse.
"You."
He tilted his head, his expression unreadable in the low light. "Yeah?"
You gave a half-shrug, suddenly feeling exposed. "Dunno. Just...It's weird, isn't it? How we've all known each other forever, but sometimes I look at you and it feels like I'm seeing you for the first time."
He didn't answer right away. He just stared, eyes dropping to your mouth for half a second too long, before flicking back up to your eyes.
The air thickened. Like summer heat before a thunderstorm.
"Eli," you said, voice soft, guilty even. "I probably shouldn't say any more."
"Probably not," he agreed.
Neither of you moved.
The laughter in the background faded to a blur, the music distant. Everything felt underwater. Too slow. Too much.
You imagined his hands. On your hips. On your neck. Tangled in your hair. You imagined saying fuck it and kissing him, right there, while everyone else was too stoned to care. You imagined him pulling you into his lap and whispering the things you wanted to hear but could never ask for.
You looked away,
"God," you muttered under your breath. "I need water or I'm going to say something really fucking stupid."
Elijah laughed. Quiet, low, raspy.
"I'd probably say something worse."
Your gaze snapped back to his, and this time you didn't look away.
There was something unspoken hanging there — thick, heavy, humid — suspended in the summer air and the smoke curling lazily around the two of you.
He leaned in just a little, breath brushing your ear as he whispered, "Tell me later."
Your heart stuttered.
And maybe it was the weed. Maybe it was the years of almosts. Maybe it was everything finally catching up with you.
But in that moment, your daydreams didn't feel so far from reach anymore.
—————————————————
The night had slipped into that dangerous kind of blur — too many joints lit at once, whiskey glasses way too full, everyone too relaxed, too loud, too far gone.
Caoimhe was giggling at something Josh had muttered under his breath, their shoulders pressed against yours like bookends holding you up. But across the fire, Elijah hadn't laughed in minutes.
His eyes were on you. Still.
It was relentless. His stare wasn't subtle, wasn't gentle. It burned. Possessive. Heavy. The kind of look that sank into your skin and didn't let go. He didn't care who saw it. His glass was low in his hand, fingers loose, his star ring catching the firelight — and still, all his attention was on you.
You shifted under it, tried to laugh at something Rob said, tried to focus on Martha gripping Rob's arm while she stared at him like he hung the moon just for her. But it was like Elijah's gaze was pulling at the hem of your linen button up shirt, trailing down the slope of your shoulder, setting fire to the inside of your throat.
You couldn't take it anymore.
"I—uh—water. Need some water," you said, voice too sharp, too fast. You were on your feet before anyone could respond, your steps uneven as you practically bolted into your house.
The kitchen lights were too bright. The cold water from the tap hit your glass in a hiss, and you drank it like it might save you. But it didn't. You slammed the glass down harder than you mean to, chest rising and falling like you'd run a marathon.
Head in your hands. Elbows digging into the marble counter. You squeezed your eyes shut.
"Get a grip," you whispered to yourself. "He's your friend. He's always been your friend. Just your friend."
But your body didn't feel like it got the memo. It was still humming, charged. And your mind — your mind was deeper in the gutter, imagining things that you couldn't un-imagine.
The sliding backdoor squeaked.
You didn't need to look up to know who it was.
He didn't say anything at first. Just walked in and shut the door behind him like it was nothing. Like you weren't about to combust.
When you finally looked up, he was leaning against the wall, hands in the pockets of his black jeans, curls messy, whiskey eyes locked on yours.
"You alright?" he asked. But he knew the answer. You could see it in his stupid, knowing smirk.
You let out a humourless laugh, still breathless. "Not really, no."
He pushed off the wall and walked toward you, slow like he was giving you a chance to run. You didn't.
"You left in a bit of a hurry," he said, voice lower now, almost careful. "Did I... do something?"
His eyes searched your face, softening just enough to make your stomach flip.
"You know you did," you whispered, too honest, too wrecked to lie. "Back there. What you said — how you said it, about me telling you what I was thinking later. You can't just... do that."
He stepped closer. You didn't move.
"I meant it. I always want to know what your thinking. I always have."
That was it.
That was the thing that broke you.
One second you were staring at him — at his flushed cheeks and parted lips, his chest rising slow like he was trying to keep it together too — and the next, your hands were in his shirt and your mouth was on his.
It was messy, immediate. Years of repressed feelings, passing glances, drunken almosts, and high-stoned fantasies crashing into one kiss that was too much and not enough at the same time.
He kissed you like he'd been waiting. Like he'd thought about it every night on every tour. Like he couldn't believe it was actually happening. His hands gripped your waist, pulled you flush against him, and you gasped into his mouth, already dizzy from everything — the weed, the whiskey, him.
His lips trailed down your neck, teeth grazing just enough to make your knees weaken. Your hand tangled in his curls, the same ones you'd watched him push back over and over, wondering what they'd feel like between your fingers.
You were halfway up on the counter before either of you realised it — clothes still on, but the tension electric, skin burning. It was like every fantasy you'd buried under years of friendship had broken the surface all at once.
When he pulled back, just barely, his breath hit your lips.
"This isn't just the weed talking, right?"
You shook your head, whispering, "No, it's not."
He nodded, like that was all he needed, and kissed you again — deeper this time. Slower.
And you knew it then and there, that there was no going back after this.
Right Back Where We Started From | Robert Keating x Fem!reader
summary: Flying home for Christmas seemed like a great idea until you’re snowed in and stuck on an icy runway… for the foreseeable future. Even worse? The person in the seat next to you is the guy who broke your heart a year ago
word count: 3.5k
warnings: angsty, exes to lovers (kinda), fluff, swearing, mention of alcohol, my bad writing as always, the usual really
author’s note: i have returned to my roots and am back with a robert christmas fic, everyone rejoice. this time a bit different. as you can tell, i’ve rewatched normal people while writing this – to all my robert keating and paul mescal enjoyers, this one is for you x
“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
You hadn’t thought it would be possible, but your already bad day had just gotten worse somehow, which was kind of an achievement in itself.
It was bad enough that you had slept through your alarm this morning and had rushed into work over an hour late (the sudden onset of winter and heavy snowfall delaying your arrival even longer), which was followed by your suitcase breaking as you were about to leave your flat for Heathrow and you had to quickly find something to repair the broken zipper with. The bad luck didn't end there of course. When you did finally make it to the airport - ten minutes before check-in for your flight closed - you almost got run over by some busy businessman who didn't look where he was going and, in the process, rammed his metal suitcase against your knee, which had been pulsating and in pain ever since. Your flight being delayed by an hour and twenty minutes was truly only the cherry on top.
But even then, none of those things could compare to the mixture of feelings you felt bubbling up inside you when you realized who had just sat down in the seat right next to you and who was about to sit right next to you for the next hour and a half or so.
None other than your bassist ex-boyfriend whose band was almost everywhere these days. Of course, it had to be Robert Keating.
For a few seconds, you thought about the best way to approach this whole thing. Ignore him and pretend he wasn’t there? Put on a happy face and try to be nice to him? Even though the mere thought of your breakup still made your heart ache and sting every time you thought about it, thought about him. None of those seemed like good ideas.
Before either of you could decide how to approach this awkwardness, a decision was made for you. In the form of the voice of a flight attendant over the intercom system.
“Welcome on board British Airways flight BA 838 to Dublin Airport, due to the heavy snowfall and an icy runway, our start is delayed by at least thirty minutes,” a murmur went through the crowd. “Our cabin crew will be coming around, handing out free drinks and snacks, we apologize profusely for the delay!”
You must’ve really pissed off someone in your last life because there was no way this was real life. How could literally everything possibly go wrong in one single day?
“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Robert echoed your words from earlier, the absurdity of it all was the last straw for you and you started uncontrollably giggling to yourself.
“You seem to be in a good mood.” Rob sighed and you knew without looking at him that his face was pulled into a grimace. It was safe to say that he was not having fun right now.
“Oh, believe me,” you stopped chuckling and turned your attention to your former lover, who did indeed look like he wanted to be anywhere but stuck on an icy tarmac right about now. “I’ve actually had one of the worst days of my life today.” You shrugged your shoulders. “At this point, I’ve just stopped trying to make any sense of it.”
Before you knew it you told him about everything that had gone wrong for you up until that point. Broke suitcase and all.
You even showed him your knee that had been massacred by that man and his heavy suitcase and realised that it actually had started bleeding. No wonder it kept pulsating with pain.
Those damn businessmen and their way too expensive, way too heavy metal suitcases
“I feel like I've been talking your ear off for way too long now,” you smiled awkwardly. Seems like 'put on a happy face and try to be nice' was the plan you had chosen. “Now tell me, why are you in London on the 22nd? Shouldn’t you be already home with the family?”
You hated that you still knew what he and his family did every Christmas. You hated that you still knew a lot about him actually.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Rob replied. And just like that, operation 'put on a happy face and try to be nice' was fucked. “We had a label meeting a few days ago, with the big boss,” He joked. Looked like you didn’t mess up your chances of keeping this civil after all. “The lads all flew home on Wednesday, but I needed a day just for myself, to decompress or something like that… It has been a long year you know? So much has happened in the last twelve months, and I’ve had almost no days for just myself.”
“Yeah, busy year,” you acknowledged. You couldn’t escape the band anymore; they were everywhere these days. And as much as it hurt to see or hear about him everywhere you went; it made you happy to see them doing so well.
You were about to say something when the voice of the flight attendant from earlier came over the intercom again, this time informing you that due to the weather, your delay would continue but that you had to stay on the plane for safety reasons. At this point, you wondered if you would even make it to Dublin before Christmas… maybe you just had to spend Christmas in London alone, so the bad luck that seemed to follow you around could not rub off on anyone else.
At least the cabin crew would – once again – make their rounds and hand out free drinks, food, and some blankets.
Realizing that you hadn’t registered how cold it actually was on the plane, you made sure to profusely thank the brunette flight attendant, who handed you one of the British Airways branded blue fleece blankets, wrapping it around your upper body and legs you had pulled up on the seat after taking your shoes off. There was no way you were going to be (physically) uncomfortable today.
You turned your attention back to Rob, only to see him already looking at you. Actually looking at you and not the 'barely holding eye contact' thing he had done earlier, now he was staring at you, his eyes rapidly moving like he had forgotten what you looked like and was now trying to commit every part of you to his memory.
It made that mixture of feelings you had felt bubbling up inside you when you had first seen him earlier, return. Just this time, the feelings of butterflies in your stomach, that you always used to get whenever you had looked at him, were more prominent than any other feeling.
Fuck… great work! Thirty-five minutes spent next to your ex and boom… you were right back to feeling head over heels for him.
You sat in silence for a few minutes, neither of you knowing what to say now, because what do you talk about with your ex-partner when you didn’t plan to see them never mind being stuck in an airplane that could not take off due to the sudden onset of winter. No one had ever written a handbook of how to act if you were ever stuck in a situation like this. No one. Especially not on how to act when you are actually still very much in love with said former partner, making the doubts you had always had about you going your separate ways, appear even greater.
The breakup had been mutual. You both barely had time for each other anymore and at that point in time it had seemed like the only reasonable decision to make. You had finished university that summer, he was practically always on tour or in the studio and when you had gotten that job offer for your current job in London you realized that things would only get harder from there on out. So, you moved to London, Robert stayed in Dublin – when he was not on tour – and then you broke up.
Of course, you had promised to stay in touch, to stay friends but you both knew that that was not happening. You couldn’t stay friends with him, not when you were still head over heels in love with him.
That’s why the breakup still hurt, even though you had not been with him in well over a year. You had tried to move on, had hooked up with a few people here and there, had gone out on the dates your new friends had set you up on but no one made you feel the way he did, so you gave up trying and slowly came to terms with the fact that you would maybe never be as in love again as you had been when you were twenty.
You sighed, trying to shake your thoughts as you fished your phone out of your jeans pocket.
20:21
Even with the initial hour and twenty minutes delay of the flight, you should’ve been long in the air by now, scratch that you should be more than halfway to Dublin by now. You sighed again, before typing out a message to your mother, telling her that you were still in Heathrow and didn’t know when you'd be home. Her answer came quickly, reassuring you that she would be there to pick you up from the airport when you landed, whenever that may be.
Putting your phone away you turned your attention back on Rob, who seemed to be so deep in his own thoughts, that even though he was looking at you, he was more looking through you.
“Are you alright?” You sounded more concerned than you were.
“Yeah yeah, I’m all right. Just a bit tired,” He smiled at you. “It's just– you know… I have missed you. A lot.”
Oh.
“I’ve been for a while actually,” He chuckled awkwardly. “The last year has been one of the strangest of my life. The juxtaposition of all the success with the lads, all the sold-out shows, festivals… all the fun and good stuff that has happened and then missing you all the time, missing us. It is a lot.”
Robert’s admission hit you like a ton of bricks. Holy fucking shit.
“Don’t say that.” Your voice was breaking. Why was your voice breaking?
“No, I mean it,” Rob's voice wasn’t steady, but he continued, reaching for your hands, and giving them a gentle squeeze. It was the first time he touched you that evening, leaving your skin feeling like it was on fire everywhere his met yours.
“No, you don’t get to say that shit after I spent over a year being heartbroken.” Your emotions were running wild now. “Not after I’ve finally come to terms with the fact that I’ll probably never love anyone like I love you.”
There it was. Your confession. Out in the open.
“We both decided it was for the better to call things off,” Robert cringed at the words. But he was right, it had been a mutual decision. “You can’t put all the blame on me… if I had known how difficult this would be I would’ve never done it.” You could tell he was getting worked up over this, but you could not blame him for that. You weren’t doing any better really. “I would’ve moved to this damn city for you!”
“Don’t say that.” There it was again. “Robert, you would have hated it here. You would have been away from the lads, you would have had to commute between London and Dublin all the fucking time,” you tried to keep your voice as low as possible, which proved to be difficult the longer this went on. “That’s no way to live, baby. We would have been miserable.”
He was silent for a while, his hands still holding onto yours as if you were the anchor keeping him grounded but he wasn’t looking at you anymore. Now you squeezed his hands.
“Bobby there is no use in pretending you wouldn’t have been absolutely fucking miserable here,” You sniffled trying not to cry. “I would not have had time for you, and you would not have had time for me. We would have lived two separate times, believe me, we would have resented each other after a few months.”
“Still,” he tried to argue. “I’ve been pretty fucking miserable this year without you too.” He was finally looking at you again, his eyes slightly glassed over.
You didn’t know what to say to that and before you could think of something, the intercom turned on again.
“Good evening, my name is Richard Jones, I’ll be your Captain tonight and I am happy to report that we’ve finally got cleared to take off.” Finally. “We will be making our way onto the tarmac in about ten minutes. Since we are obviously not the only plane waiting to take off, we will have to wait for a little bit longer, but we should be in the air in the next thirty minutes or so. We, again, apologise for the delay, if you have any more questions our cabin crew will be happy to answer them. We thank you for your patience!”
You felt like a weight was finally being taken off your shoulders. A weight you had carried around with yourself for almost a year now.
You got your phone out again, sending another text to your Mum telling her that you were finally about to take off and actually get home for Christmas. And then… then you took a deep breath turning your attention back to Robert.
Okay, here goes nothing.
“Well since we are sharing,” you smiled at him, still holding his hands. “I’ve missed you too. A lot!”
Before he could answer you, you got interrupted once again.
“Is there anything I can get either of you?” The brunette flight attendant from earlier smiled at you. “Any drinks? Food?”
“Yeah actually,” you turned your attention from Rob to the brunette woman. “Could we get two red wines and a pack of salt crisps? Thank you so much!”
You took the two wines and crisps, setting one of the wines down in front of Robert.
“I think we have a lot to talk about,” You grinned at him, who would have thought this day would end like this? You certainly didn’t. “Cheers!”
The both of you talked a lot. About everything that had happened since your breakup, about how much you missed each other, about your job and the band.
You told him how proud you were of him and the lads, that even though it had hurt to see them everywhere, your happiness for their success outweighed the heartbreak of – at the time – knowing that you would probably never get to tell them that in the way you had done for years before. That you missed your friends in Dublin but that your new job and friends in London were great. How much you had fallen in love with this city. And how much you hated not at least trying to stay in contact with Eli or Josh.
In turn, he told you about how much he loved touring, how he and the lads had grown even closer, how crazy eventful this year had been and how glad he was that they were taking a little break. Taking things slow but already working on album number three.
You talked about your confessions from earlier. That you both were obviously miserable without each other, that you still loved each other greatly and what it meant for you going forward.
With your head on his shoulder, you talked for the whole flight, in hushed whispers, laughing every now and again.
And if the confessions had taken a heavy weight off your shoulder earlier, this – the hushed talking, the little giggles, and the handholding – made you feel weightless. Made you feel like you were on top of the world again. All because the man you loved was still in love with you.
You were holding hands when you finally walked out of the airplane at 22:25. Finally back home in Dublin you thought. And you continued to do so when you waited to pick up your baggage, which of course took another fifteen minutes but at this point, what were those extra fifteen minutes? If anything, it was more time with Robert which you gladly accepted.
“Is anyone here to pick you up?” You looked up at Rob, while you were still waiting for your broken suitcase, to arrive on the baggage conveyor belt.
“Sent a message to my Ma while we were getting ready to land,” He answered. “Is that your bag?” He asked pointing to the black suitcase, which was indeed yours. “She should be here by now and if not, I’ll just have to wait a few minutes,” he grabbed your suitcase, grabbing your hand again and interlocking your fingers. “Your Mum is picking you up, right?”
“Hmm,” you hummed as you walked through the automatic doors. “There she is actually.” Your pace got faster after you spotted her in between the dozens of other people who were waiting for their loved ones to finally arrive. “C’mon.”
You felt your fingers slip out of Robert's hand a few meters before you reached your mother, practically running into her open arms. Only once you were back in your mother’s arms did you realize how tired you actually were.
“Oh my god I’ve missed you so much,” you sighed. “I don’t think I have ever been this happy to be back home.
“Oh, it is so good to have you back, sweetheart!” Your mother replied kissing your cheek before spotting Rob who had given your little reunion some space. “Robert it's good to see you again darling.”
She pulled him into her arms, just like she had done with you earlier but not before side-eying you. This was going to be fun to explain later.
“Okay let’s get you home,” your mother sighed, grabbing your suitcase. “Is there anyone to pick you up, Robert?”
“Yeah, my Mums on her way,” he smiled down at her. “I’ll wait outside for her; don’t worry she'll be here in a few minutes.”
The three of you walked through the airport, towards the car park, your mother in the front with your suitcase, Robert, and you behind her with the rest of your baggage.
“I’ll get the car,” Your mother said when you stepped outside, the cool air blowing through your hair. “You wait here I'll be back in a few minutes.”
Before you could answer her, she was already gone, leaving you and Robert alone. Smart woman, you thought to yourself.
You turned your attention back to Robert, smiling brightly, before resting your head against his chest. You stood in silence, the chilly wind still blowing through your hair. You did not feel the need to say something. Everything you needed to get off your chest you had talked about with Robert. You would rather just stay where you were right now, in his arms and pressed against his chest just like you had done a hundred times before.
“I’ll see you in January,” he smiled, carefully grabbing your face, and pulling it from his chest to look at you. “Right?”
“Yeah,” you hummed, hearing the honking of a car, and turning around to see your mother waiting for you. “I’ll keep my bed warm for you!” You chuckled, leaning into his touch. “I promise.”
“I’ll know you will love,” Robert grinned, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” another kiss. This time his lips landed on your right temple, right next to your eye. “I love you!”
The last kiss he pressed to the tip of your nose. Just like he had done on your first date, years ago.
“I love you.” You replied, kissing the skin right below his chin, before nuzzling your nose into his neck. It was crazy how fast you fell into old patterns.
Your mother honked again, which you took as your sign to let go of Robert and get into the car. Before leaving his warm embrace, you pressed a kiss to his cheek, his skin still feeling warm beneath your lips.
You walked to the car, put your backpack on the backseat and before she could even ask you answered the question you knew she was dying to ask you.
“It’s a long story.”
note: if you liked this imagine, don’t forget to like, comment and/or reblog, that’d be greatly appreciated! xx
taglist: (if you’d like to be tagged please let me know!) @tractorbeamofwoe @1twontalwaysbelikethiss @vanmccannsfridge
→ 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.
Summary: Soft moments of you and Elijah on a short summer break away…
Warnings: Suggestiveness but other than that just fluff!!
A/N: I’m so busy at the moment so here’s something short and sweet that’s just been sitting in my drafts while I’m trying to catch up with requests!!
The cicadas hummed lazily in the olive trees, the golden haze of the late afternoon settling over the hillside like a warm blanket.
You leaned against the balcony railing, a cold glass of rosé in your hand, the breeze lifting the hem of your linen shirt. Somewhere below, the sea glittered like broken glass, blue and endless.
“The longer you stare at the ocean doesn’t mean it’s going to talk back to you,” Elijah said, his voice rough from sleep and softened by the way it always got around you.
You smiled but didn’t turn. “Maybe I’m waiting for it to say something interesting.”
He stepped up behind you, arms sliding around your waist without asking, without hesitation. His skin was warm from the sun, and he still smelled faintly of citrus and the salt water you’d swum in earlier.
“You know,” he murmured into your hair, “we didn’t come all the way here for you to flirt with the Mediterranean.”
You laughed, leaning into him and his touch. “Are you jealous of the sea, Hewson?”
He tilted his head, brushing a kiss just below your ear. “I’m jealous of anything that gets your attention longer than I do.”
Your heart flipped, like it always did when he said things like that—so direct, so low, like it was meant only for you and no one else would understand.
His fingers slipped beneath your shirt, finding bare skin, the cool contrast of his rings making you shiver.
“Elijah,” you breathed, a warning and a plea.
“Hmm?”
“We’re supposed to be getting ready for dinner.”
He kissed your shoulder. “Dinner can wait. The sun’s about to set. And you, standing here like this…” He pulled back just enough to look at you. “You’re not making it easy.”
You turned finally, letting your hand rest on his chest, where his heartbeat pulsed steady and real. He looked impossibly golden, curls messy from the hammock he fell asleep on, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips.
“I like it here,” you said softly. “With you. Quiet like this.”
He reach up, brushing your bottom lip with his thumb softly. “Yeah?” His voice dropped. “Then let’s stay like this a little longer.”
And as he leaned in—slow, deliberate—you forgot about the dinner reservations, the time, the sea. All that mattered was the feel of his mouth on yours, the sun slipping low behind the hills, and the promise of a night that belonged only to the two of you.
————————————
The sun had finally dipped below the horizon, brushing the sky with a purple hew almost as the heat of the day still clung to the stone walls of the villa.
Inside, tangled in linen sheets and each other, skin to skin, you lay with Elijah, your limbs barely distinguishable from his.
The dinner reservation had long since passed.
His hand trailed lazy circles on your lower back, the salt of your sweat still cooling on your skin. His chest rose and fell beneath your cheek, his breath steady now, but slower—like he never wanted to move again.
“You know we missed that Michelin star place for this,” you teased, nudging his thigh with your knee playfully, voice half-melted in the warmth between you.
Elijah’s chuckle vibrated under your ear. “Best decision I’ve made so far on this trip.”
You tilted your head up, brushing your lips against the edge of his jaw. He turned to meet your gaze, his eyes soft, unreadable, pupils wide in the dimming light. The breeze from the open balcony stirred the curtains like a slow dance.
“I could stay like this forever,” he murmured, fingertips brushing your collarbone. “Just us. Nowhere to be.”
You smiled, pressing your forehead to his. “You say that, but you’ve got a world tour staring back up in, what? Two months?”
“Then let’s run off before then. Disappear into the countryside. Start a vineyard, raise goats.”
“Raise goats?” You laughed.
“Fine. Kids, then. If you insist.”
You stilled for a moment. His tone had shifted—still light, but not joking. He looked at you like he meant it.
“Eli, baby…”
“I’m serious,” he said quickly. “Maybe not goats. But… someday. I can see it.”
You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “You and me. Kids. A home.”
He nodded. “Maybe not here. Back home, in Dublin, probably by the sea. I know that’s what you really want. You’d make a beautiful mam, you know.”
Your throat tightened, unexpected and sweet. He kissed your temple.
“You ever think about it?” He asked. “What it’d be like? Having kids? Marrying me?”
You smiled against his skin. “All the time.”
“Yeah?”
You shifted so you were looking at him full on, not caring that the linen sheet was no longer covering your top half, your hand still in his. “Yeah. You’re the only person I can imagine sharing forever with.”
The breeze blew through again, warm and lazy, smelling like sex and sea salt. The room, the whole world, seemed to exhale around you.
He leaned in slowly, kissing you with the kind of depth that said more than words ever could.
And outside, the stars began to blink into the sky—silent witnesses to a future quietly unfolding.
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.
hiii can you please do another eli x reader in her own band imagine? it can be about anything i just love that concept and would love to see more!! thank u!!
OMG YES!!!
I’ve missed writing about my babies so much 😭😭
You can read the last oneshot from this AU here if you’d like to hehehe
Telephone Static - Elijah Hewson
Summary: While on tour and missing Elijah more than expected, you struggle with distance and sleepless nights. A late-night FaceTime call turns into comfort, laughter, and sweet flirting that reminds you love can stretch across any miles.
CW: None :)
A/N: I love writing for this AU so if you guys have any more ideas for them please send them to me thank youuuuu xxx
The tour bus hummed beneath you as it hurtled through the endless stretch of highway, the lights of distant towns flashing past like little promises you couldn’t reach. You stared out the window at the dark, velvety sky, the emptiness echoing the knot twisting in your chest.
Sophie, Jake, and Sean were dozing, sprawled across the seats in various states of comfort, but sleep wouldn’t come for you. Your phone rested on your lap, screen dark, and you felt that familiar ache of absence.
Elijah.
You two had been inseparable back when Inhaler had been touring and you guys were their opening act—late-night pizza boxes and endless laughter backstage, the quiet hum of shared music in hotel rooms. Now, things were different. He and the lads were home, finally taking a break they’d earned. And then there was you, halfway across the world, filling venues larger than the last tour, yet somehow still feeling smaller than when you’d left.
You picked up your phone, thumb hovering over his name. You wanted to reach out, to tell him how much you missed him, but every message felt inadequate, every “I love you” too heavy with unspoken frustration. You could hear his laugh in your mind, see the way he scrunched his nose when he was focused—little details that used to comfort you but now stung, a reminder that you weren’t there with him.
A quiet knock on the back lounge door pulled you from your thoughts. Sophie leaned against the frame, hair messy from a nap, eyes soft but knowing.
“You’ve been quiet,” she said.
You shrugged, forcing a smile you didn’t feel. “Just tired, I guess.”
She didn’t press, just sat next to you, nudging your shoulder gently. “You’ve been staring at your phone for hours. It’s not just tired.”
Her words hit harder than you’d expected. You hated admitting how much this distance was getting to you, hated how vulnerable it made you feel—but you also hated lying to your friends.
“I… I miss him,” you whispered, voice barely audible over the drone of the bus. “I thought I’d get used to this, but I can’t. Not like this.”
Sophie gave your hand a squeeze. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s hard. You’re allowed to feel it.”
You nodded, grateful, though the ache didn’t leave. Your phone buzzed suddenly, Elijah’s name lighting up the screen. A picture—him on the couch, his guitar on his lap, shirtless, a silly grin.
Wish you were here xxx
You smiled, a little laugh escaping you despite the tightness in your chest. He always knew how to reach you, even from thousands of miles away.
You typed back quickly:
Wish I was there too xxx
It wasn’t enough. It never was. But it was something. A thread between you both, fragile but unbroken, stretching across the miles.
You leaned back, phone warm in your hand, heart a little lighter. Distance didn’t feel any easier, but for the first time in hours, it felt survivable.
Because no matter how far apart you were from each other, you were still tethered. Still the couple everyone knew. Attached at the hip.
You hovered over the text you sent, wondering if you should say more. But before you could overthink it, the phone buzzed again—this time, with an incoming FaceTime call.
Your heart lurched, and you swiped to answer with shaky hands.
“Hey, stranger,” Elijah’s voice filled the small space, warm and teasing. His face came into focus, hair falling into his eyes, the familiar background of his bedroom at his parents house behind him.
Sophie poked her head in your personal space just as the call connected. She caught sight of the screen, her mouth curving into a wicked little smile.
“I’ll give you two some privacy,” she whispered dramatically, wiggling her brows before slipping out of the back lounge and shutting the door.
You couldn’t help laughing, even as your throat tightened. “Sorry about her.”
Elijah grinned. “God, I love her. She keeps you honest.” His eyes softened as he leaned closer to the camera. “But… you don’t look okay.”
You hesitated, the mask of I’m fine so close to slipping into place. But he knew you too well.
“I’m… trying,” you admitted, voice quiet. “I thought the distance would get easier, but it feels heavier every day. I’m proud of what we’re doing, but sometimes it feels like I left half of me back in Dublin.”
His expression melted into something tender. He rested his chin on his hand, listening the way he always did when he wanted you to feel heard. “You didn’t leave half of you,” he said softly. “You’re still whole. Just tired. And missing home. Missing me.”
“Of course I’m missing you,” you whispered, blinking back the sting of tears.
“I’m missing you too,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But we’re stronger than the miles. And when you come back, I’ll be waiting. With the best cup of hot chocolate you’ve ever had with extra marshmallows and probably a burnt pizza.”
That made you laugh, a wet sound, but real. “That’s not much of a welcome.”
“It’s our welcome,” he countered, eyes glinting. Then his voice softened again. “I don’t need you to be strong all the time, you know. Just be you. That’s enough.”
You both stayed silent for a minute, just staring at each other through the screen. God you loved him, so much it made your soul feel like it was leaving your body.
Elijah tilted the camera as he stretched out on his bed, giving you that lazy grin that always made your heart skip. “You know,” he said, “Mum and Dad keep asking when you’re coming back. They miss you almost as much as I do.”
You smiled, soft and sad all at once. “You know Ali makes the best shepherd’s pie. No one feeds me properly out here. I swear it’s just crisps and energy drinks keeping me alive.”
He laughed, that rich sound that felt like home. “Don’t let her hear that. She’ll have me shipping dinners to you on dry ice.” His expression softened. “They really do miss you, though. Mum keeps saying the house is too quiet without you dropping by. And Dad—” he smirked—“he pretends he doesn’t notice, but he asks about you all the time.”
Warmth spread through you at the thought. You hadn’t realized how much you missed them, too.
You shifted on the couch, tucking your knees up to your chest. “I’ve not been sleeping much,” you admitted, voice lower. “The bus never stops moving, and my head just… won’t shut off.”
His brow furrowed, but his voice stayed gentle. “Baby… you should’ve told me sooner. I’d have sung you to sleep every night.” He tilted the phone closer to his lips. “Want me to try now?”
You laughed, cheeks heating. “You’ll wake up the whole band.”
“Good,” he teased. “Let ’em know I’ve got you.”
You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t hide the brewing grin. “Cocky.”
“You love it,” he shot back, eyes glinting.
You bit your lip, warmth pooling throughout your body. “Maybe I do.”
There was a beat of quiet, both of you just drinking each other in across the screen. His voice dropped, lower, teasing. “You know, if you keep looking at me like that, I’m never letting you back on stage again. Gonna lock you in my room and keep you all to myself.”
Your laugh bubbled out, flustered but giddy. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously in love with you,” he said simply, no hesitation, his grin softening into something that stole your breath.
You tucked your face into your hand, heart hammering. “You can’t just say stuff like that while I’m trapped on a bus with three other nosy idiots.”
“Then hang up,” he teased, smirk widening. “But you won’t.”
“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “I won’t.”
You talked like that for hours—sweetness laced with banter, his voice steady in your ear until your eyelids grew heavy. The last thing you remembered was his voice, soft and playful, promising he’d still be on the call when you woke up.
And he was.
Just like he’d promised.
Because when it came to you, Elijah Hewson always kept his promise.
how r u??? would u b able to write abt eli x reader in her own band before anyone knew they were together, like sneaking around ppl having suspicion and they end up getting caught sneaking in each others bunks on the tour bus??? i absolutely love this concept !!
This idea is so sweet I'm obsessed!!
I love how much you guys are loving this AU, keep sending the requests xxx
Our Little Secret - Eli Hewson
Summary: Read the request for the summary xx
Warnings: Only some explicit language but that’s it!
A/N: I’m so obsessed with writing this AU it’s so interesting to me 😭. Hope you guys enjoy this one xxx
You never thought sneaking around would become second nature, but here you were again—pressed against the side of your bands tour bus at nearly two in the morning, your skin slightly sticky from the humid air as you waited for Elijah to sneak out of Inhaler's tour bus.
He caught your eye from the shadows, his hood drawn low and a mischievous smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. One hand lifted in a silent signal—ready.
You gave him the smallest nod and motioned for him to come over. He darted across the lot, silent as a phantom, and within seconds, he was by your side, laughing quietly as you tugged him up the bus stairs behind you.
"You know," he whispered once the door shut behind him, "for someone who's supposed to be an internationally touring artist, you're a terrible influence, my love."
You shot him a grin. "Oh, and you're not?"
Elijah leaned in, his lips brushing yours. "Guilty."
You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest was hard to deny. Being with him felt like gravity—natural and inescapable. But it wasn't something the world knew. Not yet. Not while your careers were still carving themselves out in the spotlight. Not while people still scrutinised every word you said on stage, every word in interviews.
Your band has been opening up for Inhaler for nearly 3 months now. The guys—Sophie, your bassist; Jake, your guitarist; and Sean, your drummer—were all close with Elijah and the rest of the lads. You'd grown up alongside each other in the Dublin music scene, scrappy and loud, similar rehearsal spaces and cheap bar gigs.
But you and Elijah? That had only started around 5 months ago, in secret, during tour rehearsals and too many late-night writing sessions that ended in laughter and kisses whispered behind closed doors.
You weren't ready for that to be public. Neither was he.
Which made sneaking him onto your tour bus a terrible idea.
But tonight, for once, you didn't care.
You tiptoed through the narrow bus corridor, motioning Elijah to stay close behind. The rest of your band had turned in a while ago, their bunks lined up along the hall like stacked coffins (as Sophie would say). You held your breath, heart hammering, as you passed Sean's bunk—quiet, the curtain drawn. Safe.
Your bunk was at the very back—small, cramped, barely wide enough for you alone. But somehow, Elijah made it feel like a king-sized bed.
You pulled the curtain back and motioned for him to climb in first. He did, careful not to knock his head on the low ceiling. You followed, forgetting to tug the curtain shut, stifling a laugh as you settled beside him.
"Think we pulled it off?" he murmured, voice barely audible.
"I think we're—"
A cough. A shuffling sound.
You froze.
Then—click.
Light flooded the corridor.
Sean stood outside your bunk, hair messy, hoodie half-zipped, holding a water bottle and blinking at you like he wasn't sure if he was still dreaming.
You and Elijah locked eyes, then looked back at Sean.
There was a beat of perfect, horrible silence.
"...Mate," Sean said, his voice flat. "You've got to be joking."
He just stared at the two of you, one brow slowly rising. Elijah was frozen mid-turn in your bunk, half-under the blanket, looking like a deer in headlights. You sat up a little, your head nearly brushing the ceiling.
"Okay," Sean sighed, rubbing at his face with one hand, "so either I'm hallucinating, or I've just walked into some fucked up form of band on band incest."
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
"...Surprise?" Elijah offered sheepishly, trying and failing to hide behind your shoulder.
Sean blinked. "I knew it. I fucking knew you two were sneaking around. Sophie owes me twenty quid."
You groaned and dropped your forehead to Elijah's shoulder.
Sean crossed his arms, clearly savouring the moment. "You really thought none of us would notice the constant vanishing acts? The giggling? The weirdly intense eye contact?"
"Excuse me, it's not weirdly intense," Elijah muttered.
"Right. Because regular friends eye fuck each other on the daily. Sure Eli, sure."
You peeked up at Sean. "Are you mad?"
He scoffed. "Mad? No. A little offended that you didn't trust us enough to know about it? Maybe." His tone softened a bit. "You're one of my best friends, you know. I've had front row seats for this slow-burn drama since day one. I just wish you'd told me before I caught you spooning like criminals."
You winced. "We just didn't want the tour to get weird."
"Eli literally sleeps with his socks on," Sean said, deadpan. "This is not what makes things weird."
Elijah sat up straighter, frowning. "Hey, my feet get cold—"
"Not the point, Hewson." Sean turned back toward the front of the bus, shaking his head with a smug smirk. "I'm telling the others in the morning. You two can have the pleasure of explaining yourselves."
You flopped back onto the mattress as Sean disappeared.
"...We're dead," you groaned.
"Yep, we're fucked," Elijah agreed.
You looked over at him. He grinned.
And then you both started laughing. Loud, breathless, absurd laughter that you tried—and failed—to muffle into the blanket.
————————————
The next morning, the band meeting (of both bands), was a scene.
Sean had gathered everyone around the little kitchenette like he was announcing a murder mystery. You and Elijah stood at the end of the narrow table, looking like guilty suspects.
Bobby blinked between the two of you, then leaned back. "Oh my God. Sean wasn't lying."
Jake sipped his coffee. "I thought you two had been dating this whole time."
You and Elijah looked at each other. "Wait, what?"
Elijah shrugged. "You're not exactly subtle, babe."
Ryan nodded slowly. "Remember in Prague? You guys got "lost" for like, two hours. In a hotel, may I add."
Sean added, "Or how Eli magically needed to borrow our van three separate times when we were off?"
You rubbed your temples. "How did you guys even piece this together?"
"We're not dumb," Sophie said. "You two just act like you're in a teen drama 24/7."
Josh looked at Sean. "So, do I still owe you that twenty?"
"No," Sophie cut in, "I do. I said they'd crack by the London shows. You said Berlin. It's Amsterdam. Middle ground."
You stared at them all. "Wait a second, all of you made bets."
Sean grinned. "Tour's long. Gotta have hobbies."
Elijah laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. "And here I was thinking we were good at being discreet."
Sean reached into the fridge and tossed him a yogurt. "Next time, just tell us these things. We're your friends. We care. And honestly?" He pointed between the two of you. "You two are kinda gross. But in a sweet way, I guess."
———————————————
Later that night, after the show, you and Elijah managed to sneak away again—out onto the empty stage once the venue had cleared out, the echo of the final song still hanging in the rafters.
He took your hand as you walked across the scuffled floor.
"You think this changes things?" you asked, voice soft.
"With the guys? Nah," Elijah said. "They'll keep giving us hell, but they're happy for us."
You looked over at him. "And with us?"
He squeezed your hand. "It feels nice. Not having to hide it anymore. Not having to hide how we feel about each other. How I feel about you."
"Even if the rest of the world sticks their noses into every nitty gritty detail of our relationship?"
He nodded. "Let 'em think what they want. This—" He tugged you closer. "—this is just ours."
You smiled, resting your forehead against his.
Caught or not, the secret was out—and maybe that was okay.
Because now everyone gets to see just how much you love him.
And god, does that boy love you just as much in return.
hi would u b able to do an eli x reader where the reader suffers with an ed? if thats too much maybe one where she feels insecure w her body plz? <3
Hey, love!! As I mentioned a while ago I don't write in detail about suffering with EDs since it's something quite personal and sensitive for many people and me included, but I'm still going to write something on the lines of it that isn't overly distressing or mentions any specific EDs.
I hope you can understand and enjoy what I've written 😘❤🩹
I'm Still Here - Elijah Hewson
Summary: Based off the request above xxx
CW: Mentions of an eating disorder without actually labelling it, fighting between them due to the situation, reader has unhealthy habits, a lot of tension.
A/N: Please only read this if you’re not at risk of being triggered by this. Don’t push yourself to read something that makes you uncomfortable or might trigger you 💙
You don't hear the front door open — only the dull shuffle of Elijah's shoes hitting the hallway floor. The clink of his keys landing in the ceramic bowl by the coat rack. The soft, familiar sound of his breathing as he stands just out of your line of sight.
You're curled up on the couch, legs folded beneath you, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, half-watching TV with the volume low. Some random cooking show flickers across the screen, a woman zesting a lemon, smiling brightly. You can't remember how long it's been on.
"Hey," Elijah says gently, stepping into the living room. "Didn't think you'd still be up."
You glance at the time on your phone. 12:08 AM. Late, but not unusual. He'd been at a studio session — not a big one, just something small with the band. Still, you stayed up. Out of habit more than anything.
"I couldn't sleep," you reply, your voice low.
Elijah nods, but he doesn't sit down right away. He studies you for a moment, eyes sweeping over your figure like he's cataloguing the way your hoodie hangs too loosely, the untouched mug of tea on the coffee table, the unopened granola bar next to it.
His bag slides off his shoulder and onto the floor. He crosses the room and sits down beside you, close but not pressing. His presence alone is grounding — warm and quiet and steady — but even that feels like too much sometimes.
"I missed you today," he says.
You nod, eyes still on the TV. "Missed you too."
Silence stretches between you — not tense, not hostile, but weighted. Like he's waiting. Like you're hiding.
Elijah leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You didn't eat today."
The sentence doesn't sound like an accusation. Just a fact. A fragile truth spoken aloud.
Your stomach twists. "I wasn't hungry."
He doesn't respond right away. He rubs a hand over his face, and when he looks back at you, his expression is unreadable — worried, tired, maybe even a little helpless.
"Love..." His voice is soft. "I know you think I don't notice. But I do."
You flinch. Your body feels like it's buzzing under your skin, like shame is trying to claw its way out.
"I've just been... tired," you say, but the lie tastes thin. You're not just tired. You're drained. Hollowed out. The mirror has become your worst enemy. Food has become a bargaining chip with your own mind. Every outfit, every photo, every meal — everything has turned into a battle.
Elijah shifts closer, resting a hand gently on your knee. "Can I ask something?"
You nod.
He swallows. "When did you stop liking yourself?"
The question splinters something inside of you.
You open your mouth, then close it again. Your vision blurs. You hadn't planned on crying, but your body doesn't seem to care what you planned.
"I don't know," you whisper. "It just... happened. One day I looked in the mirror and hated what I saw. And it hasn't stopped since."
Elijah leans in, wrapping his arms around you carefully, like he's afraid you might break.
"You can't be shutting me out when it comes to things like this, and there's no fucking way I'm letting you deal with it alone either," he murmurs into your hair. "Even when it feels like you're alone. Even when your brain tells you I wouldn't understand — I'm still here."
You press your face into his shoulder. He smells like his cologne and the night air — safe, familiar, home.
"I don't want you to have to take care of me," you say. "It's not fair."
He pulls back just enough to look at you. "I want to be here. Not out of obligation. Because I love you." He brushes hair behind your ear. "But I'm scared. And I think you are too. It's been going on for way too long, gorgeous."
Something inside you stiffens. The warmth of his words doesn't sink in this time — instead, they spark something colder. Sharper. Like a nerve's just been exposed.
You pull your face away, subtly at first. He notices.
"I'm not scared...and it hasn't been going on for that long either," you mutter, eyes fixed on the floor.
"Okay," Elijah says gently. "Then maybe we can just... talk to someone? A GP, or maybe—"
"There's nothing wrong with me," you snap, more harshly than you meant to.
The room stills.
Elijah's face doesn't change much — not anger, not disappointment. Just this quiet, pained stillness behind his eyes. Like he's trying to not make it worse. Like he's used to stepping carefully around landmines now.
"I didn't say there was," he replies, his voice low and steady. "But you're hurting. And I don't know how to help you if you won't let me."
You cross your arms tightly over your chest, shrinking into yourself. The couch cushions seem too big now, the hoodie too thin. You hate the way your voice came out. You hate the way he's looking at you. You hate this conversation. You hate being like this.
"I said I was fine," you say again, colder now. "Why isn't that never enough for you?"
Elijah flinches — just barely, but enough that you notice. You wish you hadn't said it. You wish you'd said it worse. You don't know which.
A silence drapes itself over the room like a sheet.
You stare at the blank TV screen now, the reflection of your hunched body staring back at you in dark, glossy tones. You look small. Fragile. Angry. Lost.
"I'm not trying to push you," Elijah says finally, " but I'm watching the person I love the most disappearing in front of me."
Your throat tightens.
"I don't want to fix you," he adds. "I just want to see you smiled again."
You clench your jaw, blinking hard. "Then maybe stop acting like I'm some kind of problem."
"I don't think you're a problem," he says, sounding tired now. "I think you're in pain. And I'm not going to pretend not to see it just to make you more comfortable."
There it is — the crack in the wall. The fight that neither of you wanted, but both of you could feel coming.
"I didn't ask you to fix anything," you say, quieter now, but not softer. "I didn't ask for any of this."
Elijah exhales, sitting back a little. "No," he agrees. "You didn't. But I'm still here."
The silence this time isn't heavy. It's hollow.
After a minute, he stands. Picks up his bag from the floor. He doesn't storm out. He doesn't slam the door. He just looks at you like he's not sure where to go from here — not physically, but emotionally.
"I'll sleep in the spare room tonight," he says, carefully. "Not because I'm mad. Just... giving you space."
You don't answer. You watch him walk down the hall, the soft creak of the door closing behind him.
And then you're alone.
The apartment feels too quiet. Too large. And you sit there, motionless, in the echo of a love that tried to reach you and didn't quite make it.
————————————————
You lie on your side, facing the window, but not really seeing it. The streetlights outside cast soft orange lines across the bed sheets, striping the wall in long, melancholy shadows. The other side of the bed is still cold. Empty.
It's been hours since Elijah went into the spare bedroom and you entered yours. Hours since you said the kind of things that sit like stones in your chest after the anger fades. You don't know if he's asleep. You don't even know if you've blinked in the last twenty minutes. Time feels like something that's happening to someone else.
You shift, pressing your hand to the spot where he usually sleeps. You half expect it to be warm, for the smell of him to hit you instantly. But it doesn't.
And that — that's when something breaks.
You get up slowly. Quietly. Padding down the hallway in your socks like a ghost. The floorboards creak under your weight, a reminder that you're still here, still real, still tethered to the world by something other than your own thoughts.
The spare room door is half-closed. There's a faint glow from inside — not a lamp, just the hallway light casting a soft arc across the bed. Elijah's lying on top of the duvet, hoodie still on, one arm tucked under his head. He's not asleep.
He looks up the moment you open the door.
Neither of you speak right away.
Your voice, when it comes, is small. "Can I come in?"
He nods once. "Yeah."
You step inside, closing the door behind you. You don't go to him immediately. You stand near the wall, hands twisted in the hem of your sleep shirt, still unsure how to undo the distance between you.
"I didn't mean what I said earlier," your murmur.
He sits up slowly, his hair tousled, eyes bloodshot from exhaustion and whatever he's been holding in. "I know."
You take a shaky breath. "You were right. About... all of it. I just didn't want to hear it."
He gestures towards the bed. "Come here?"
You hesitate — just for a moment — then cross the room and sit beside him. Not touching, but close enough to feel the warmth of his body.
"I'm scared," you admit, barely audible. "I said I wasn't, but I am. I'm scared of needing help. Of what people will think. Of what it means if something is really wrong with me."
He doesn't rush to fill the silence. He lets your words settle.
Then: "It doesn't mean you're broken. It just means you're hurting."
You nod slowly, eyes starting to burn again. "I just... I don't want to lose you. And I feel like I'm ruining everything."
"You're not ruining anything," he says softly. "You're just going through something. And yeah, it's hard. But I'd rather go through something hard with you than pretend it's not happening."
Your throat tightens. You look at him, and he's already looking at you — not with pity, not with pressure. Just with that same quiet steadiness that's always been there.
"Can we just sleep? I'm tired of moving tonight." You whisper.
He doesn't answer. He just pulls the blanket back and opens his arms.
You crawl in, curling against his chest. His arms wrap around you instantly, like muscle memory, like breathing. He doesn't press anymore questions. Doesn't bring up the GP. Doesn't say we'll fix this.
Instead, he just holds you. Grounding you. Keeping you here.
And somewhere between the rise and fall of his breathing, your body unclenches for the first time in days. Not healed. Not whole. But not alone either.
You don't say I'm sorry.
You don't say I promise.
You just whisper:
"I'm still here."
And Elijah's arms tighten around you as he whispers back:
