#josh jenkinson | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

angelwonie · 11 months

Text

LET ME IN || elijah hewson

PAIRING: elijah x reader

WORD COUNT: 3.3k

GENRE(S): fluff, a bit of angst, friends to lovers, hurt comfort

SUMMARY: when your best friend turns up at your front door unannounced, you decide to find out why he's acting so strangely. what you don't expect is for some repressed feelings to bubble up to the surface.

WARNINGS: smoking, mentions of drinking + being drunk, kissing, eli has daddy issues oops

this is it y'all i've gone insane... he looked at me once and this is what happens. @boobyskeetz made me post this btw

It’s far along in the evening when you come home to find Elijah Hewson sitting on your staircase with his head in his hands.

He’s slumped over, leather jacket around his shoulders and a slowly burning, unattended cigarette in between the pointer and middle finger of his right hand. The sky is pitch black, the only source of light being an ancient lantern whose shine just barely reaches Elijah’s hair.

You’re shocked at the sight, to say the least, the heaviness of your grocery bags suddenly a faint background noise.

“Eli?” you move closer, albeit hesitantly, and your voice makes his head snap up.

When he looks at you, you fight back the urge to gasp. His eyes, half lidded, just barely glimmer in the faint light provided by the moon overhead, leaving room for his undereye bags to stand out. And they do stand out — so much that you almost don’t catch him stumbling over his feet ever so slightly as he walks over to where you’re standing.

Almost.

“Are you alright?”

It’s not a question, not really, but he winces either way. You stand close enough to see it, but immediately, his lips pull into a lopsided grin to hide his initial reaction.

“‘Course I am,” he takes a drag of his cigarette, and uses his other hand to take one of your grocery bags. “Just wanted to see you, that’s all.”

You nod, watching him drop the unfinished cigarette to the ground and step on it. You wonder how many he’s smoked today and consider asking, but decide against it upon realizing you probably don’t want to know. Instead, you let him take your grocery bags wordlessly, following him up the stairs.

It’s a short staircase, but you’re walking slowly – too slowly for your liking – and there’s a million questions burning on your tongue. You hold them back, mostly because you’re tired, but also because something in Elijah’s eyes tells you not to push.

He’s the one to speak first when you reach the right apartment. “Hey, your flowers are still alive.”

He’s referring to the roses he helped you pick out last month. It was a treat for yourself, for finishing all your assignments, and you had taken the whole ‘plant mom’ job pretty seriously, even putting the roses in a prettier vase and putting it on display outside of your apartment.

“Yeah,” you chuckle. “They’re holding up really well.”

Elijah waits for you to unlock the door, then walks inside with you in tow. He wobbles a little as he drops down his shoes where he always puts them — where he’s put them ever since you told him three years ago it could be his spot.

You watch him shoulder off his jacket and start organizing the groceries in the fridge from afar, slowly taking off your outerwear. It’s warm inside, and your skin feels like it’s about to be set on fire after being out in the cold for so long. You think of Elijah sitting on your doorstep. How long was he waiting for you?

“Mind if I take a beer?” he cuts off your thoughts and you look up to find him with his hand on your fridge, an inquiring look on his face.

Now the lighting’s better, and you can clearly see his face. The creases between his brows, the focus in his gaze, the stubble that he’s let grow just a little longer than usually. Whether that’s a deliberate choice or simple forgetfulness, you’re not sure, but it worries you. His state worries you.

“Suit yourself.”

Maybe you should have said no, you think as he takes a sip of the drink and you’re reminded of the wobble in his walk. He’s probably had enough to drink already. To be fair, though, Elijah can be stubborn when he wants to, and something’s telling you today is one of those days.

When everything is either in the fridge or in a cupboard, you and Eli wander into the living room, shoulder to shoulder, without much to say. It’s messy, and he scolds you playfully for it — like he’s not the guy whose dorm you have to clean each time you come over.

You join his laughter though, and plop down on your couch a little more relaxed than before.

“How long did you wait for me?”

This time you manage to ask him the question, and he shrugs.

“A couple hours.”

He lifts the beer up to his lips and empties it, the can blocking out his view of you and your widened eyes.

What the hell is going on? His gaze tells you nothing. It’s so indifferent it makes you want to rip your hair out, because no matter how much he wants to pretend spontaneously coming over at three am is normal, it’s not. Especially when it comes to him.

Sure, if it were Robert, you would’ve figured it was just him acting on impulse, but it was never like that with Elijah.

“You could have just called,” you say finally, a slight quiver to your voice. “You should have just called. You know that, right?”

He meets your gaze, but not for long; after a second it drops down to his lap, like he’s embarrassed. You hold your breath, awaiting an answer. His fingers drum against the side of the couch, but then he changes his mind about that, too, and brings his hand to scratch the side of his face. God, what is he even doing? Trying to see how long it’ll take for you to snap and throw him out of the apartment?

Suddenly, he sighs deeply, dropping his hands in his lap. “Didn’t wanna bother you.”

You can’t help yourself from scoffing. That’s it? He ‘didn’t wanna bother you’? Maybe you would’ve believed it hadn’t he shown up unannounced at your front door in the middle of the night.

You almost open your mouth to say just that, but stop yourself when Elijah looks up again, and his bloodshot eyes meet yours. Something’s definitely not right. You can physically feel it, the tightening of your chest, the anger somehow pushed to the back of your head.

“Why are you here?” you ask him sternly, keeping your eyes on him. This time, he doesn’t look away.

“Do you want me to leave?”

It comes out meek, frail, as he almost chokes on his own words. You’re taken aback by the shiver in his voice, the drop of his shoulders. He places the beer can on your table and you swear his hands shake — just barely, but enough for you to see and for your heart to clench in response.

You shake your head. “No, I want to know why you’re here.”

He laughs humorlessly, leaning forward in his chair. His hands are definitely shaking, but you’re not sure whether it’s from the alcohol or something entirely different.

You know this face on him — he’s bothered by something, but doesn’t want to admit it. He’s always been like this, ever since you met him at school and watched his eyes glow with the same sadness after his teachers told him he should work on his grades. It was the same look on his face, the same millions of feelings threatening to bubble over the surface.

The only difference seems to be that now, he’s got no cap in his hands to close the bottle.

“I’m just tired, that’s all. Wanted to talk to you ‘cause the lads are too much noise.”

You frown and send him a look of disdain. Perhaps this isn’t something you should push on him, but seeing as he just magically appeared at your apartment while drunk, you do have a right to at least inquire what the fuck is going on.

“If you’re going to lie to me, you might as well leave.”

Silence follows your statement; silence so loud you almost regret saying anything at all. He grits his teeth, and you swear you can hear it from across the table — though that might just be your brain playing tricks on you this late in the evening.

“It’s my dad,” he mutters finally, scratching his stubble. “Not that that’s much of a surprise.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing new, really,” he exhales, closing his eyes briefly. “Just, you know, the usual ‘you’re wasting your life by not going to college’ talk. Total bullshit, as always. The only thing wasted is those twenty minutes of my life I spent listening to him talk about it.”

You breathe out slowly, fighting against the urge to look away from his gaze. He keeps it on you, unwavering, but you don’t know what to say. It’s dangerous territory, one you haven’t ever entered fully, and the worry of hurting him pangs at your chest; the legitimacy of his vulnerability scares you and moves you all the same.

You bite the inside of your cheek.

“He’s just worried, you know. I would be, too.”

“Why?” his lip quivers and your heart sinks in your chest; so quickly it forces a sudden nausea upon you. “Because I’m not cut out for this?”

“No, Eli, that’s not what I–”

He cuts you off — not with his words, but with his hands gripping the arms of his chair to help him stand. It’s so abrupt your words die down in your throat, leaving a dryness behind. Hovering above you, he still looks small, like he’s fading into the light above; barely even present as Elijah but rather as some mass of feelings clumped together, ready to explode.

“Do really none of you think I can make this work?”

It’s the alcohol, you think, god, you shouldn’t have let him drink any more — how could you be so careless? But no, it’s not your carelessness or his, and you know that, even in this state of panic, it somehow reaches your mind — the revelation that this isn’t a random outburst.

It’s the fruit of a tree that’s been growing for a long time; the ripeness isn’t fake, even if you’re unprepared to pick it.

“Do you really think that?” he asks this quietly, his voice barely audible, but it feels like he’s tearing your skull apart with a scream.

Do you really think that? The very assumption, the very thought, disgusts you. The thought that you could ever believe he won’t make it — it’s so unnerving you let out a shaky breath.

A movement of your legs from underneath you and you’re standing. Your feet tap against the floor as you walk up to him slowly, like approaching a scared deer. He is scared, you realize. Your fingertips tingle with the longing to run your hands over his face, but you hold them back, instead answering his question.

“No.”

He blinks, and you say it again: “No,” and again and again, “No, no, no, no,” until it almost doesn’t feel like a word anymore and more like some sort of bandage wrapped around a bruised bone.

“Your dad doesn’t think that, either. He’s just worried because he cares. Because he loves you.”

He falls silent. “I’m not so sure.”

“About what?”

He doesn’t reply instantly. You look down on his hands, only to find that they’re still shaking, and take a couple steps forward. Elijah doesn’t notice, you think, or if he does, he doesn’t show any disdain for your closeness.

“About love,” he says finally. “Isn’t love supporting someone unconditionally? Rooting for them, no matter what? That description doesn’t really fit my dad.”

“I think you’ve got it all wrong.”

You suppress the smile that threatens to form on your face when he sends you a confused look, his nose scrunched.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, you can support whoever you want without much difficulty,” you look at the floor, thinking of what to say next. “That doesn’t mean you love them. If you love someone, it means you’re willing to suffer through discomfort and pain to make them happy. You’re willing to spend your nights worrying if they’ve chosen the right path. You let them into your apartment at three am. That type of thing.”

Thirty seconds pass before you finally look back up, internally shivering at the way his stare bores into your soul.

“You…” he trails off, wincing like it’s painful. Uncharted territory, yet again — that much is obvious from how your heart bangs against your ribs. The silence in the room makes you worry if he might just be able to hear it.

You hear him inhale sharply, taking a step back so he can sit at the edge of your sofa. Following suit, you observe his eyes shining in the light, less red than before though still uncertain. His shoulder brushes against yours and you breathe in — he smells of alcohol, but it’s oddly comforting in the storm of your thoughts.

Elijah’s head turns to you.

“Have you… ever thought this is all for nothing? That I keep leaving the tour bus with more and more bruises for no reason at all?”

Your fingertips tingle again, and this time you do nothing to stop them from brushing over the back of his hand. It’s stupid, probably, but it feels right, his skin against yours. He’s warm, really warm, but it doesn’t bother you in the slightest, even when he leisurely drags his forefinger down the side of your hand. It tingles, but you don’t move away.

Elijah’s hand doesn’t shake anymore when you interlace your fingers together. Finally, you get the courage to speak.

“I’ve held your hair back while you were throwing up, Eli. Tied your shoelaces after a tiring show. Corrected your lyrics until four at night so you could send them to your manager before dawn. I wouldn’t do any of that if I didn’t believe you were on your way to the top from the first time I saw you,” you take a deep breath, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before you look directly at him. “I wouldn’t do any of that if I didn’t believe in you.”

It’s silent after that. For a long time. But his hand sits clammily in yours like a pearl in a clamshell, and you hold onto it for dear life, praying he won’t slip out from your grip.

“Promise me you won’t stop.”

Your head turns, startled by the sudden statement. His gaze scans you from head to toe, lingering on the curve of your lips, then your nose and finally your eyes, where it stops and plants its roots. You feel it spreading almost like wildfire, the warmth that comes with it. You almost tremble underneath it, squeezing his hand a little harder.

“Won’t stop what?” you whisper, eyes wide.

“Letting me into your apartment at three am.”

His gaze drops in a manner someone might’ve mistaken for lazy, but you know him well enough to recognize the vacillation in his eyes. You feel his fingers shiver in your embrace, every breath strained.

“Why not?”

You move closer, only by a centimeter or so, but he senses it — all the cells in his body seem to tingle with the paradox of wanting to touch and wanting to run all the same. Maybe it’s the unexpectedness of it all, or maybe rather it’s the arbitrary comfort that comes with it, that scares him to death, but whatever reason, he feels like he’s entering a deadly storm.

And perhaps it’s the alcohol and he’s not thinking straight, but this storm appears more inviting than any sunny day he’s ever witnessed.

He squeezes your hand tighter and leans down until his lips are impossibly close to brushing against your nose. You feel his hot breath on your face, sparks dancing across your skin to the smell of cigarettes and whiskey and beer, his hand shaking ever so slightly.

“Because I still haven’t gotten the chance to let you into mine.”

You smile — a real smile that you no longer manage to hold back. He mirrors the expression, albeit softly, lines appearing in the corners of his mouth. Let me in. Hues of colors appear in his eyes just as his shaky pointer finger grazes your jaw. Let me in. He cups your cheek gently, his lips parting in a breathless exhale.

Let me in, let me in, let me in.

He does. Just when the clock shows 3:47am and your shirt feels like it’s sticking to your skin, he finally closes the distance between you.

His lips brush over yours — it’s featherlight and careful, but you accept it all and kiss him back nonetheless. You can taste cigarettes on his tongue when he opens his mouth. Suddenly, the clock’s sound doesn’t reach your ears anymore, and all you can hear is the beating of your heart inside your throat. His finger strokes your cheek and his nose bumps into yours, but it’s fine. It’s more than fine.

You breathe in the scent of him, bringing your hands to tangle themselves in his hair in a moment of recklessness. Yeah, you’ve definitely gone absolutely crazy — but that’s a problem to solve later. For now, you’re kissing Elijah Hewson.

You’re kissing Elijah Hewson. It’s almost a revelation that dawns upon you like the waves of a tsunami, knocking the breath out of your lungs. It squeezes at your heart, a drawstring closing around it, and you have to pull away to breathe, to examine his face, puffy lips and tired eyes, to understand the gravity of your situation.

“We just kissed,” you say, and your voice shakes even though you strain to keep it calm.

“Yes,” he affirms, like it’s nothing. But it is something, and his eyes can't hide that. “We did.”

“But you’re drunk.”

“You think that’s why I did it?”

“I don’t know.”

He smiles and you swear your heart almost leaps out of your chest. “You do.”

“I don’t.”

He looks at you for a moment – your messy hair, reddened lips, the hesitation in your gaze – and makes his decision.

In less than a second, he drops down to his knees and you’re about to protest (because what does he think he’s doing?) until he grabs your hand and holds it between both of his. You furrow your eyebrows to hide the fact that you’re taken aback, though from the glint in Elijah’s eyes you figure you’re not doing a very good job at it.

He looks at you, like really looks at you, and you look at him the same. The fruit lies in the palm of your hand and squeezes to the beat of your heart when he speaks.

“I love you.”

Your breath catches in your throat when he kisses your knuckles softly, and keeps them against his lips. “That’s why I kissed you, why I turned up to your apartment at three am, why I don’t regret it. Any of it. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Something pulls at the very back of your throat. You keep your mouth closed, but even that doesn’t stop a choked whimper from leaving you — a sound that makes Elijah’s lips quirk upwards. He smiles, and you attempt to do the same, yet all you manage is a half-laugh, half-sob that shakes though your body.

Embarrassed, you look down, and you can hear Eli chuckle before the warmth of his arms envelops you whole. He hugs you tightly against his chest, fingers coming up to stroke your hair as you partly laugh, partly cry into his shirt. And even though it should be humiliating, the act feels so powerfully comforting that you let him hold you.

“I love you too.”

You whisper this into his chest, breathing heavily. He pulls away and you look up, confused, but he smiles that gorgeous smile of his, with teeth on display and smile lines appearing, and cups your jaw. His eyes shimmer with undoubtable joy.

He doesn’t have to say anything. You know.

“That’s a fucking relief, huh?” he whisper-laughs and you join in on it.

“Yeah.”

And you smile.

He’s let you in, and you don’t think you’ll be leaving any time soon.

#inhaler #elijah hewson #elijah hewson x reader #inhaler dublin #inhaler x reader #inhaler imagines #ryan mcmahon #robert keating #josh jenkinson

575 notes · View notes

killersfool · 6 months

Note

hii! not sure if you’re open to requests but i’m going to give u a few ideas! most of these are for elijah hewson😭

falling asleep on the couch, waking up to not only a blanket around them, but eli squeezed in behind them

being in the studio with the band and messing about?? making jokes and being silly!

kissing and dancing in the kitchen to an old singe they both like?

eli taking care of you when you’re sick and just being super soft and caring!

spending valentine’s day together!

something about the reader playing with eli’s fingers to calm them down?

softly smiling at each other from across the room and also reassuring touches!

telling each other how much they love them

them cuddling in bed and pulling eachother closer

hope these spark your writing :))))

Kiss It Better | ELIJAH HEWSON

here's a short little thing inspired by this request!

PAIRING: elijah hewson x f!reader

WORDS: 1.5k

SUMMARY: eli's girlfriend is ill, elijah comforts her.

GENRE: hurt/comfort, fluff

WARNINGS: references to throwing up

I've never been so ill in my life. My nose is so runny. I've almost used every single packet of tissues in the kitchen cabinet right under the sink — which used to be a lot and now is very little. I've thrown up my insides into the loo way too many times to count on my fingers. Bent over the toilet, eyes pricking with tears, I've never felt so useless. At least the thought of my boyfriend getting back after his gig gives me something to look forward to. But it's far too late.

I'm staring at the TV screen. I hug my knees to my chest, attempting to generate some warmth. The blanket is upstairs — probably hiding in the space between the bed and the wall. Surely, if I attempt to stumble upstairs now, I'll just get stuck and end up falling asleep in the corridor.

I can't stop glancing at the door. I'm hoping for a doorknob twist, knock, ring of the doorbell, stamp of boots, low and raspy post-concert voice. But I'm just met with nothing. No signs of his arrival. He hasn't called me. He usually doesn't. He likes to surprise me. After having the worst migraine of my life, it would give me some comfort if he just gave me a hug. A warm Elijah Hewson hug would cleanse my mind.

Starting to realise that the TV is doing more harm than good, I switch it off. I'm beginning to see blurry triangular shapes and my eyes burn like they're on fire. The living room is pitch black. I'm freezing. I'm tired. I take two paracetamol tablets and chug some water. Curling up on my side, legs on the armrest, I close my eyes.

I wake up. Sunlight gleams through the gaps in the white curtains. My body is wrapped in a duvet, soft and warm. Skin is against mine. Arms are around my body, squeezing me tightly. He's shirtless. I can tell by the tufts of chest hair flicking at my shoulder. His head is on my back, curls all over my skin, lips between my shoulderblades. I don't want to move. I don't want to speak. He's asleep. Gentle snores, deep breaths, in and out.

I must've fallen into a deep sleep because I have no recollection of his arrival or him ever taking me upstairs. I'm usually a light sleeper. This migraine fully knocked me out. That's the best nights sleep I've had in a while. I'm especially thankful I managed to escape from work for the rest of the week.

Elijah's normally the little spoon when we hug like this. It's funny how the tables have turned. I think I prefer this though. But lying awake and tracing the muscles in his back always seems to calm me down.

I want to ask him how the show went and the reason for his tardiness. He had been playing in Glasgow, thankfully only a few miles away from me and had bought me tissues, chocolate and gave me an endless supply of kisses before he had to run down to meet the band.

Opening my eyes fully, I take a peek over at the bedside table. He's brought me more tissues, face masks, more chocolate and a box of sleep teabags.

I realise Elijah's awake when his fingers start to walk along my bare stomach and his mouth is at the juncture between my back and shoulder. He pulls my hair to the side, presses his wet mouth to my neck. He smells clean. I'm sure he's showered. His hair feels a little damp.

He keeps pulling me closer. Arms tightening like he's a boa constrictor. Cool rings on my stomach, large hands tugging at the waistband of my shorts.

"You feeling better?" He asks, between kisses, tongue tracing my jugular vein. It's unsettlingly nice. His words are always gruff the morning after the show. All the singing takes a toll. Makes him sound more mellow. Sometimes I worry for his vocal cords.

"Not really." I groan. A mind-numbing headache is still prodding at my brain and the brightness of the sun makes my eyes burn. He's got a hand on my forehead, cool fingers against fiery skin — checking the temperature.

"God, you're pale. And you're burning up. I should get the thermometer." He gets out of bed. The loss of weight of his body makes the mattress shift. I glance over at him. His hair has stuck up at the top, his bare back glows under the sunlight. He stands up. Sweatpants cling loosely to his hips, revealing the muscles of his abdomen and a chain circles around his neck. He leaves the room — not even giving me time to utter a word of annoyance at the sudden lack of touch.

Then he's back. He crawls into bed. The thermometer is between his index finger and thumb. I look at the cross tattoo on his palm, see the concentration on his face as he plays around with the buttons.

"It's just a migraine," I say but he's already turning it on and pointing at my mouth. I roll my eyes and separate my lips. He gives me a sly smirk, just making me sit like that for a moment. Then he puts the device beneath my tongue and waits patiently. I'm trying not to laugh at how awkward this is. I close my eyes to evade his gaze but I can still feel the force of his stare.

"You've got a fever." Dr Hewson alerts me with his expert diagnosis although the furrow of his brows makes him seem unsure. He looks down at the numbers displayed, rubbing his face with worry. "A really bad one." He's now searching up on his phone what it means.

"Should I go to the doctors?" I shuffle away from him. I don't want him to catch what I have. He has gigs all week, I don't want to ruin anything for him.

He notices my movement. Shaking his head, he drags me back towards him, making me nestle into his chest. His eyes are still darting along a website.

"I think you just need to rest. I'll make you breakfast." Elijah kisses my nose before running downstairs with his mind set solely on making some decent food.

Through the corridor, into the kitchen. He's forgotten where half the things are in the room. Opening cabinets, searching through the fridge, putting water into the kettle. Most of the time he'll get his breakfast on the way to a show. Maybe a café, maybe he'll steal some food from Ryan. Today, however, he's lucky enough to not have a gig and actually have time to look after his girlfriend. Although he's definitely going to make a mess of the place.

His final decision is to make omelettes. Oil on the frying pan, ham—leaving it to heat up until it's a little crispy. Two eggs, cracked and swirled in a glass. Cheese on top, grated with masterful excellence—at least that's what he believes. Folds it over to make it fill half of the pan. Let's it continue to fry. Then he's running over to make a cup of tea. He uses one of the sleep teabags he bought. He's just about to plate up when footsteps echo behind him.

I have to stop for a second when I walk into the kitchen. It's a rarity to see Elijah here, cooking for me. We started dating at the beginning of the tour which unluckily means that he's hardly ever home. He has to leave early in the morning and gets back really late. Whenever he has days off, he takes me on dates and walks, or we just laze around at home, basking in eachother's presence. There's times when he brings me along to the recording studio so that I can reprimand all the band members or give an outside opinion of their new songs.

Elijah seems so focused on getting this omelette perfect. He's running around the place. He grabs two pieces of bread to turn his dish into an omelette-sandwich. I stand in the doorway for a while, just watching him. But, I can't stop myself from nearing him. As he cuts an apple into a slices, I slide my arms around his stomach, pressing my head to his shoulder. He sighs quietly. I breathe in his scent, his comfort.

"You should be in bed," he whispers, although he doesn't seem to want me to let go. I shake my head as he looks at me.

There's music playing on the radio. I turn it up. It's a song by The Smiths. I'm swaying to the beat, moving Elijah along with me. He's still carefully chopping fruit into perfect pieces. Watermelon, strawberries, mango. My mouth is watering just looking at the vast array of flavours.

Elijah drops his knife, turns around to face me. His hands find my waist, his lips find my neck, his head burrows into my chest like he's a mole hiding under soil. We dance along to the crackle of music, feeling the melodies trickle into our bones. Just his presence makes me feel better, every kiss turns my negative thoughts to mush.

#elijah hewson #elijah hewson oneshot #elijah hewson x reader #elijah hewson imagine #eli hewson #inhaler band #inhaler imagines #inhaler oneshots #inhaler dublin #fanfiction #inhaler fanfiction #robert keating #bobby skeetz #josh jenkinson #ryan mcmahon #inhaler #inhaler fanfic #inhaler imagine

144 notes · View notes

sirenlulls · 7 months

Text

feels like ➞ e. hewson

pairing — elijah hewson x fem!reader (gracie abrams fc)

fic type — social media au

met you at the right time. this is what it feels like!

♡ liked by gallagher_anais, izzyrichmond_, and 663,982 others

yourusername hello dublin!! i missed u angels sm 🫶 the last time i played a home show it was to a crowd of 200 at most & while i’ll always be grateful for those intimate shows and the family we built, i am so so so grateful and excited to play a sold out 3arena tomorrow with some very special guests ;) see you soon 💋

user SPECIAL GUESTS???? she’s definitely bringing inhaler out for a song or something

user no because didn’t she say on an ig live a few months ago that she helped eli write perfect storm…

user STOP ID CRY

joshjenkinson_ LFG!!!! 🤍🤍

user WHAT DO YOU KNOW JOSHUA.

evehewson beautiful beautiful girl 🫶

yourusername i love u to the moon and back by gorgeous eve ☹️💗

jordanjoyhewson ⭐️girl!! So excited for you x

user her friendship with eli’s sisters is so special to me

user im so excited i’ve been looking forward to this for months 😭😭

oliviarodrigo sososoooooooo proud of u baby 🥹

yourusername UGH!! my liv my life i love u too much

user you’ve grown so much in the past year im inconsolable

bobbyskeetz they were lovely leaves

yourusername getting the snow angel practice in early x

ynhq getting our bows ready!!

elijahhewson you betrayed me with that picture 💔

yourusername the job of a girlfriend is to humble, i’m sorry babe xx

phoebebridgers 🖤🖤🖤

ryanmcmahon_15 just updated their story!

♡ liked by jojolovedog, lizzymcalpine, and 721,798 others

yourusername thank u thank u thank u all for giving me the perfect end to an already perfect tour… speaking of perfect things…. thank u to my angels inhalerdublin for joining me onstage for an encore. i love u guys so much & performing with u was a gift in and of itself 🫶 i’ll miss performing live but i’m so happy to be able to settle down for a while with those close to me. i love u all so so so much. thank u for supporting me 💗💗💗

user do you understand how many lives were impacted by this show.

user this is my boobgenius

reneerapp born to serve 💋

inhalerdublin thanks for having us 🫶❤️

yourusername i was looking at josh when he typed this guys just fyi

ryanmcmahon_15 i, too, ❤️ inhaler!

nieveella stunning beautiful yummy delectable talented showstopping amazing gorgeous perfect (storm)!!!!!!!

yourusername love u sm ☹️💋

user my roman empire

katiegavs can i get a kiss… pls

yourusername anything for u 💋💋

user post concert depression has already started to kick in

user u and eli sharing a mic for the perfect storm chorus had me 🥹🥹🥹🥹 IM UNWELL

stellajones IT GIRLLLLLL

gallagher_anais don’t mind me, just sobbing in my little corner 🥺🫶💗

yourusername ani babyyyyy i love u sm ☹️☹️

yourusername updated their story!

♡ liked by lilamoss, joshjenkinson_, and 699,810 others

yourusername a special thank u to this loser who means the world 2 me. don’t know why u decided to eat that paper but… i still love u forever and ever and ever and ever and… ever!!!

user omg the last pic in dying did they grow up together???

yourusername we went to the same playschool!! went to different primary & secondaries tho 💔

user THATS SO CUTE WTF

elijahhewson you love posting bad pics of me

yourusername you’re a leo you’ll be fine

elijahhewson love you and proud of you always 🤍

yourusername ILY BITCHHHHHHH

bobbyskeetz poor lad was starving

maisiehpeters so cute 🥹❤️‍🩹🎀

evehewson My faves ❤️❤️❤️❤️

user my alex turner & alexa chung fr

chappellroan IM CRYINGGGG YOU GUYS ARE THE CUTEST EVER

laufey 🥺🥺🥺💞💞💞

#inhaler chats.#inhaler dublin x reader #inhaler #inhaler dublin #inhaler oneshot #inhaler x reader #elijah hewson x reader #elijah hewson #eli hewson #bobby skeetz #josh jenkinson #ryan mcmahon

207 notes · View notes

purfectstormzz · 6 months

Text

I wanna be yours | Elijah Hewson x reader

Summary: In which Elijah Hewson finds himself falling in love with the sister of a famous singer.

Pairing: Elijah Hewson x fem!Turner!reader

Warnings: Badly written story. (sorry guys)

A/n: the reader is about 24 so she’s way younger than Alex (hard truth; she wasn’t planned)

Masterlist

It wasn’t a secret that the Turner siblings had a big age gap. At 13 years old, Alex was blessed with the birth of his baby sister. At first he wasn’t thrilled but when his sister finally arrived he was more than happy. He couldn’t deny the fact that he loved her more than anything, he promised his mother that he would protect and take care of her for the rest of his life. And he did, Alex made sure that every guy that came into her life treated her right and if they didn’t they were in a lot of trouble. At 16 years old Alex started a band with his friends and 3 year old Y/n was his biggest fan. She was at all the band meetings, the repetitions and even at their first gig.

Throughout the years Y/n grew up and became more interested in boys. Whenever Y/n came home with a boyfriend or just a boy in general, Alex made sure that he was a good guy and if they weren’t he made sure that they were too scared to even come back.

Y/n became older and Alex’s band became famous. Y/n loved being at their concerts and made sure to tell everyone how awesome her brother was. When she was 17 she discovered her passion for playing guitar. With a little help of her brother, she became talented in playing the guitar.

Now a 24 year old Y/n and a 37 year old Alex were closer than ever before. The Arctic Monkeys were extremely successful and Y/n couldn’t be more proud of her older brother. Y/n started her own music school for kids and teens who want to learn and play guitar just like her. But her full time job was supporting her brother at his concerts. Y/n tried her best to be at all of the concerts and she made sure to show everyone how proud she was.

“So have you guys found a new opener for your shows yet?” Y/n asked her brother while pouring herself a drink in his dressing room. “Matt found this new band who want to open up for us.” Alex answered getting of the sofa to get ready for the show. “Oh and have you met them yet?” the younger Turner asked. “I haven’t but Matt has and he said that they’re good so guess I have to believe him.” Alex answered walking towards his closet and pulling his suit out. “Alright sis I need to get dressed so I’ll see you after the show.” He said giving his sister a kiss on her forehead. “Alright, good luck.” She said before walking out of his dressing room.

Y/n made her way trough the corridors to get to her spot for the concert, she looked around the big hallways and couldn’t deny that she was lost. She didn’t know where she was supposed to go. She turned around a corner and walked further along the hallway. After walking for what felt like half an hour, Y/n finally saw someone who might know the way to the concert hall. “Hey sir can I ask you something.” She called out to the man in front of her. The guy turned around and y/n was met with the prettiest guy she had ever seen. “Sure.” He answered looking at the girl. His brown eyes looked directly into hers. “Do you maybe know where the private upper levels are?” She asked nervously. The boy gave her a smile before saying. “Sure, I’ll lead you the way.” The pair walked trough the hallways. “So, what’s your name.” The boy asked trying to make the walk less akward. “I’m y/n.” She told him. The pair turned a corner and walked further along. “What’s your name?” Y/n asked the brunette in front of her. “I’m Elijah but you can call me Eli.” He answered. “What brings you here Eli?” The girl asked. “I’m part of the band that’s opening for the band.” Eli said. “Oh that’s awesome. What instrument do you play?” Y/n asked. “I’m the lead singer but I also play the guitar.” The boy answered. The pair chatted a bit longer before they finally arrived at the upper levels.

“So here it is.” Eli said giving y/n a smile. “I have to get back to the dressing room because we have to be on stage in 10 minutes.” He said giving her one last smile before turning to walk out of the door. “It was nice meeting you Eli.” Y/n smiled after him. “I hope I’ll see you again Y/n” the brunette said before walking away into the hallway.

Y/n took a seat in one of the chairs sitting next to Amanda, Matt’s wife. The both of them talked for a few minutes until the lights went out. Four boys walked onto the stage and y/n saw Elijah walking up to his microphone. The band started the show by playing ‘These are the days’. Y/n sat in her chair admiring the boy that she just met. The crowd loved the band and the younger Turner couldn’t help but smile looking at the boy.

The band ended their set by playing ‘My honest face’ and then disappeared behind the curtains. Y/n sat in her chair waiting for her brother’s band to come on stage. She couldn’t stop thinking about Eli and how good he was on the stage. The girl was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t hear the door to the upper levels open. “Hey, is this seat taken?” She heard a familiar voice say. Y/n looked up and saw Elijah standing there giving the girl a sweet smile. “No, no you can sit there.” She told him smiling at the boy. “So we meet again.” Eli laughed. The pair talked about the band’s performance and about how Inhaler got to open for the Arctic Monkeys.

Alex and the rest of the band appeared on the stage and the crowd went wild. Elijah still didn’t know that he was sitting next to the sister of The Alex Turner. The band started playing their songs and Y/n and Eli sang along together. The both of them enjoyed the show a lot.

After the show ended Y/n and Eli walked out of the upper levels. They turned a hallway before Eli asked her. “Could I maybe get your number?” Y/n turned around looking at the boy. “I know that we just met but I think you’re really nice and I really want to know you better.” Eli said looking the girl into her eyes. “Oh yeah sure.” She said before giving the boy her phone to type his number. Y/n and Elijah exchanged numbers. “I’ll call you when I get to my hotel room.” The boy smiled. Y/n couldn’t help but admire how cute his smile was, she got butterflies in her stomach every time the boy smiled.

Y/n and Eli parted ways. He walked towards his dressing room getting ready to go to his hotel room while she walked towards her brother’s dressing room.

Alex stood in his dressing room waiting for his sister. He was ready to go to their hotel but just had to wait for his sister. Y/n walked through the door giving her brother a smile. “You guys were amazing.” She smiled. “Thanks sis, let’s go to the hotel now.” Alex said giving his sister a tired smile.

The siblings arrived at their hotel and y/n went into her hotel room while Alex walked towards his. “Goodnight Alexander.” Y/n said knowing how much he hates it when people say his full name. “Goodnight kiddo.” He said back before walking into his room and shutting the door behind him.

Y/n sat on her hotel bed looking at her phone. She was waiting on the call from Eli. After waiting for a while, Eli finally called her. She picked up the phone and heard his tired voice through the phone. “Hey.” Eli said, you could hear the smile in his voice. “Hey, did you get to you hotel oké?” Y/n asked him. “Yeah we got here pretty easy. A few crazy fans but nothing we haven’t handled before.” He laughed. The pair talked for another hour before Eli asked. “Do you want to go do something?” Y/n was speechless. She couldn’t think anymore, was he really asking her out?? “Of course I want to go do something with you.” She finally answered after staying quit for a bit.

Eli and Y/n made plans to go to a café tomorrow afternoon before both of them went to bed. Both of them fell asleep with the biggest smile on their face. They couldn’t wait for it to be the next day…

#elijah hewson x reader #elijah hewson #inhaler #bobby skeetz #robert keating #josh jenkinson #ryan mcmahon #arctic monkeys #alex turner

113 notes · View notes

runningthroughthegarden · 10 months

Text

elijah hewson bf headcanons

a/n: im obsessed with this man and this band.

loves to lay his head in your lap while he plays his guitar, figuring out chord patterns for a new song hes writing

all the songs he writes are about you (duh), you're his muse. the boys constantly tease him for it but he loves it

has the cutest face when he's concentrated and you love it

loves to hold your hand, have his hands wrapped around your waist, hands on your lower back. any sort of touch

immediately finds you in the crowd and sings directly to you. he loves seeing you dance around in the back of the pit

rockstar bf x rockstar gf like its a must

wears on of your rings on a chain when you can't be at a show ( which is rare). loves to have a reminder of you

him and the boys are always asking for your feedback on new songs. you're always the one to hear it first

brings you on stage to sing a verse of a song with him. its giving "about you" vibes

going out to pubs just to show you off

still gets super nervous and flustered around you. even tho he is a major major flirt

going on tour with the band is your favorite thing ever, from joking with them on the tour bus to dancing at the venue

forever takes photobooth pictures with you. they always end up with him kissing all over your face. he keeps them everywhere, in his wallet, in his phone case, wherever he can

def friends to lovers, took him wayyy to long to make a move, but when he finally did he couldnt keep away from you

loves when you play with his curls. he knows how much you adore them and he loves you raking your fingers through it

#elijah hewson #inhaler #inhaler dublin #josh jenkinson #ryan mcmahon #robert keating

226 notes · View notes

inhalerupdates · 8 months

Text

HAPPY 24TH BIRTHDAY ELIJAH!!! 🎉❤️🎉❤️🎉

#inhaler #inhaler dublin #inhaler band #elijah hewson #eli hewson #robert keating #bobby skeetz #ryan mcmahon #josh jenkinson #eli birthday

188 notes · View notes

dublinskeetz · 4 months

Text

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞

hello! welcome to my page, i’m a fairly new writer here on tumblr but have been a member since about 2021, and i’m excited to get to write about the things i love, so welcome ‪♡

rules!

i will not write any form of smut, i just don’t feel comfortable and will probably not be good at it lol

i do not write for any character or person that is underage

i do will not and do not condone any writing of things like SA, kidnapping, murder, etc. basically anything that’s wrong and rlly weird to read/write.

who i will write for:

f1:

daniel ricc

charles leclerc

lando norris

oscar piastri

carlos sainz

and more!

inhaler:

all members!

requests are open! i’m very open to requests as long as they are within my rules lol so thank u!! ‪♡ i will also do smaus so pls req those as well!! thank u!!

68 notes · View notes

orangeinecstasy · 6 months

Note

inhaler bf thoughts please please please please🙏

an: AAAHHH YES IVE BEEN WAITING TO DO THIS!!! had to do ryan first because i love him so much.

ryan bf thoughts ฺ｡*:･

quality time!! he will 100% just pop over to your place so that he can be around you. he doesn’t care if you’re just sitting on the couch as long as he’s with you

move dates! can totally see him wanting to try out different theaters and maybe even a drive in. also you totally make him watch the 1996 romeo and juliet OMG AND WHIPLASH!

#1 passenger princess. he doesn’t care that you’re the one that can drive he loves it

spa days were you guys do face masks

soooo many pictures of you on his phone. we all know and love his random aesthetic instagram stories and you’d be all over them

park dates

late night music sessions where he constantly asks your opinion on lyrics or how something sounds

songs dedicated to you at shows - would put out when i’m with you from the vault just to play it for you

constantly sending you songs that remind him of you

definitely have some sort of couples item like a matching necklace or ring. but it’s something simple like a silver chain or a small band. nothing too crazy that screams i’m matching with my partner

going back to the romeo and juliet part - definitely did a couples costume based off of their party outfit

definitely soft launched the relationship. he just wants to feel like yours and his and not another third parties

definitely wants to be the little spoon after a long day. you make him feel safe and happy and he wants to be fully engulfed in that comfort

reading together

wearing each other's clothes. because he's a short king you both can totally swap clothes super easy

sending him edits you find of him on TikTok - i KNOW he thinks they're super funny and secretly LOVESSS them

calls you before every show when you're not there

museum dates-- i feel like he would want to go to an art museum most of the time, but you would drag him to a science one at least for one of the dates

baking together-- he always tries to eat the cookie dough and you always tell him he'll get sick

painting your nails together

can 100% see him wearing a ring of yours on a chain around his neck. maybe your claddagh to be a bit cheeky

when he's sitting next to you he definitely will drum on you thigh or tap his fingers against to some rhythm that's stuck in his mind

dancing in the kitchen together late at night

such a big words of affirmation guy

music store dates where you guys try out interments and pick up a few new records

so so so many coffee shop dates

wine tasting in italy

an: the other three guys bf thoughts are already in the works. i wasn't sure if i should be a nsfw section for inhaler's but lmk if you guys would be interested in that!

#inhaler #inhaler dublin #inhaler Dublin band #inhaler x reader #inhaler fanfic #inhaler image #inhaler images #eli hewson #elijah hewson #ryan mcmahon #robert keating #bobby skeetz #josh jenkinson #fan fiction #fan fic writing #fan fic author

63 notes · View notes

cyb3rnephilimsarchive · 1 year

Text

#elijah hewson #inhaler #eli hewson #robert keating #rob keating #bobby skeetz #ryan mcmahon #josh jenkinson

315 notes · View notes

totallyarabella · 7 months

Text

People who hate on other‘s favourite bands/artists into their faces are so mean, like why is your negative opinion on a certain type of music SOOO important that you have to ruin the genuine happiness and excitement of the other person????? Ew????

#music #indie rock #indie pop #inhaler #arctic monkeys #bands #fangirl #declan mckenna #sam fender #love #eli hewson #elijah hewson #robert keating #bobby skeetz #ryan mcmahon #josh jenkinson #am #alex turner

59 notes · View notes

kindestofkings · 5 months

Text

never go out of style

josh jenkinson x stylist! reader

authors note: I had loads of fun with this one! this one is for the josh girlies. also its so fluffy, as all my stuff is, life is sad enough so my fics will probs always be soft lol !

bryantartists

liked by harry_lambert and others

bryantartists we just wanted to re-introduce our wonderful SENIOR stylist. yourusername has diligently carved out her place in our team, harry_lambert's prodigy is stepping into her rightful place!

Her work ranges from musicians to actors, and we're just as excited to see what she gets up to !!

view all comments

yourusername such a pinch me moment !

harry_lambert the hardest of workers

yourusername never a hard task working for you <33

1975fan1 omg is she still working with matty? I miss those outfits

1975fan2 fr the part of the band outfits where so dark.. yourusername heya lovelies I'm not currently working with sir healy for the up and coming album! we are friends tho so if things get too dreadful I'll step in xx trumanblack too dreadful wtf is this..

yourusername

liked by joshjenkinson_ and others

yourusername incase you dont follow bryantartists, I've been PROMOTED! they did a truly lovely post featuring some of my clients but I had to note my love for the boys who to a risk on a no name stylist who was looking for her first client. inhalerdublin a girl never forgets her first 🤠 (@eli please give the leather jacket a rest some more xx )

view all comments

joshjenkinson_ thanks for making us look cool

yourusername its easy making the cool cooler 🫶

ryanmcmahon_15 too big for us now 💔

yourusername for you ryan NEVER bobbyskeetz fr we do not have the budget for you anymore.. yourusername I tell you to drop the trackies for free EVERYDAY

elijahhewson you'll have to pry that leather jacket out of my cold dead hands.

yourusername you MANchild inhalerfan1 dont fix whats not broken I say

yourusername posted to their story!

replies:

elijahhewson now why do I also feel targeted by this 1975fan1 please please date him!

trumanblack posted to their story!

replies:

yourusername I know I made this and practically forced you to post this, but thank you hahaha yourusername I didnt think far enough ahead tho cause all your fans think we're dating 😭😭 trumanblack ouch what does the secret boyfriend think of that? also you're not my type sorry love xxx yourusername 🙄🙄

inhalerdublin

liked by yourusername and others

inhalerdublin we are back to work and yourusername has removed all leather jackets from the premises... the withdrawl symptoms are kicking in.

view all comments

yourusername MWHAHAHHAHAHAH

yourusername inhaler girlies bare with me, it'll be worth it I promise !!

inhalerfan1 I'm so obsessed with you, I'll do anything you say.

elijahhewson really regret hiring her again

joshjenkinson_ I dont bobbyskeetz oh well we all know you dont joshie 😏 joshjenkinson_ literally stfu inhalerfan2 ooohhh now what is this

inhalerdublin

liked by harry_lambert and others

inhalerdublin love will get you there. link in bio.

view all comments

inhalerfan1 people died.

inhalerfan2 🤯🤯

inhalerfan3 sooooo excited omg

bryantartists

liked by yourusername and others

bryantartists inhalerdublin for british gq styled by yourusername !

view all comments

inhalerdublin wow are we cool...?

yourusername the boys killed it as per 🔥🔥

yourusername joshjenkinson_ you are lucky you're so cool or I'd be more annoyed about the leather...

joshjenkinson_ I feel so special <;3 bobbyskeetz what about me am I cool too?yourusername hahahaha robert don't make me laugh!!

yourusername

liked by elijahhewson and others

yourusername a gift for the inhaler girlies !! so I usually get my clients to send me pics of their outfits, for the portfolio and what not. but the lads pics have gotten increasingly more dramatic over time, so I guess enjoy ? 🤷

tagged: inhalerdublin

view all comments

inhalerfan1 you are the peoples princess thank you

inhalerfan2 josh looks so cute in the second pic awwww

yourusername stop I know he can do it all, cause look at the serve in the third pic!! inhalerfan2hahahah OMG hi! I love that you're a secret josh girlie bobbyskeetz nothing secret about you being a josh girlie yourusername for once in your life SHUSHH

bobbyskeetz feel like you could appreciate these masterpieces more

(liked by elijahhewson, ryanmcmahon_15 and others)

joshjenkinson_ (private)

liked by yourusername and others

joshjenkinson_ glastonbury bits.

view all comments

bobbyskeetz now when oh when did you see our favourite stylist.....

ryanmcmahon_15 suspicious that it was kept a secret... elijahhewson huhhhh wonder why were we left out of this little rendezvous ?? bobbyskeetz care to comment sir jenkinson ??? joshjenkinson_ jesus cause you act like this 🙄

yourusername wowww i've made it to the insta :o

joshjenkinson_ is this what they consider a hardlaunch...? elijahhewson a HARDlaunch ?!?? yourusername the DRAMAtics

yourusername

liked by joshjenkinson_ and others

yourusername later in the summer, I sit beside the sea

view all comments

harry_lambert well earned break, you never stop!!

yourusername says the one haha! pleasing, love on tour, zara collab, gucci editorials... the list goes on and on xx

elijahhewson huh good lyrics them

joshjenkinson_ whos picture are you looking at?

yourusername no picture needed I've real thing infront of me, which is wayyy better bobbyskeetz yall are sick

inhalerfan1 oh not my wife soft launching a MAN

inhalerfan2 omg imagine it was josh!!

inhalerfan3 so random wtf inhalerfan2 no hear me out! shes a self proclaimed josh girlie !!

inhalerfanclub

liked by inhalerfan1 and others

inhalerfanclub guys GUYS so I just thought id post these here incase some of you dont follow josh on twitter, BUT LOOK HE'S SOFTLAUNCHING A GIRL

view all comments

inhalerfan1 wow i dont know how to feel..

inhalerfan2 these photos are so delicate I cant

inhalerfanclub fr to be seen in this point of view ! a need!!

inhalerfan3 I am CONVINCED its yourusername, their recents are such similar vibes !!

inhalerfan1 wait no you're right inhalerfan2 and that dress is soooo something she'd wear, our stylish queen <3

yourusername

liked by joshjenkinson_ and others

yourusername give it up for josh jenkinson (my fella !)

and my boyfriend's boyfriend (robert keating 🙄)

view all comments

joshjenkinson_ haha what happened to the soft launching

yourusername its no funnnn I've pictures to post god damn it ! joshjenkinson_ <333

bobbyskeetz oi whats with the full name

yourusername stop stealing my boyfriend and I'll stop using your full name 😤 bobbyskeetz no way I was here first yourusername but I'm WAYYY cuter bobbyskeetz and I have nicer hair !! yourusername damn I've been bested joshjenkinson_ I think you have beautiful hair love x bobbyskeetz thank you yourusername thanks love inhalerfan1 hahahah this is the best thing ever

inhalerfan3 ohh it feels so good to be right

trumanblack finally can the people stop shipping us now?

1975fan1 yeah we were so wrong, he's wayyy better for our mother yourusername ahahhaha imagine getting abuse from your own fanbase

-finished-

would LOVE to know you're thoughts! come chat about this fic or even ideas you have for my next one??

#josh jenkinson #josh jenkinson x reader #inhaler oneshots #inhaler band #inhaler imagine #inhaler fanfic #inhaler dublin

40 notes · View notes

killersfool · 5 months

Note

hiiii i’ve a wee fluff imagine idea for bobby!! : )

bobby and the reader live together in a flat in dublin and the reader goes to trinity uni to study english literature (or smt else that has like a lot of reading and essay writing anol that craic) and she’s falling behind in a lot of her assignments and it’s all piling up and she’s just all overwhelmed and doesn’t know how to cope.

she ends up breaking down into sobs or shutting down at random points in the day due to stress and rob hasn’t got a clue what’s wrong and keeps noticing these random break downs throughout the week.

basically he comforts reader and helps to organise herself and just all fluffy cute comfort fic <333

If I could flip back time, bend the seconds and go back three years ago, I would do it right now.

Pile after pile of flashcards, annotated books with pastel post-it notes shooting out of the sides, folders of Irish poetry I can hardly understand, tattered photocopies of Hozier lyrics, every work of Shakespeare staring at me from my overcrowded booksheld — dusty, messy, probably even dank. Miss Carter has decided to set three more assignments onto my workload for the week. An essay on crime fiction (I haven't even read the first book on the reading list), my creative writing portfolio and then another essay analysing a piece poetry of my choice. Reading and highlighting Hozier's lyrics of 'I, Carrion (Icarian)' is the only thing keeping me going. Phoebe Bridgers blasts through my ears. It's quarter to 11. I need a break. An early night would be nice. Or TV. But do I really want to sit next to Robert whilst he watches his weird YouTube videos?

I kick my table. Not out of anger. Not out of irritation. I just want to see all of my notes topple ontp the floor. They do. Then I'm kicking the table three more times. Or maybe eight. All my flashcards are on the carpeted floor, next to my discarded, empty packet of pinballs. I'd stolen them from Robert's stash. He'll never find out.

Climbing over my pile of unread books by my doorway, I push open the door. It squeaks. Some oiling would be nice. Trinity college really provides the best for their students!

I still wish my roommate was also doing English, someone to bond with over shared trauma, to gossip about our nightmarish teachers and fellow students. But no, this guy is doing a degree in bloody mathematics. The complete dichotomy of English. No similarities. No way of comparing the courses to eachother. Him and his terrifying videos that he watches with his shoes up on the armrest, cheek in his open palm, drinking a cup of tea. Like it's that simple. Numbers and sin, cos, tan and circle theorems and whatever tragic nonsense is being spouted in his lectures.

He hardly speaks to me. Three years together and I barely know him. Sometimes I tag along with him when he goes out for breakfast. Once every two weeks. Sunday morning. We talk about school, about friends, about anything that pops in our heads. Yesterday we spoke about music. He originally wanted to pursue a career in music. A band. But they didn't work out. He took a gap year to pursue this group. So he's a year older than all of the other third years. He doesn't let that faze him. When he told me stories about his band, 'Inhaler', I had to lose eye contact, look down at the pink marshmellos floating about in my cup. He looked lost. This wasn't the place for him. He missed the confidence upon stage, the ability of making something out of nothing. Life is unfair. That is when I realised it. Hearing about shattered dreams and names of songs that were never produced.

I also realise life is unfair right now, as I accidentally bang my hip onto the kicthen island, the knife-like corner lodging itself into my skin. It's like the world is against me.

Sometimes I wonder if Robert thinks I'm an idiot. I feel like I'm an idiot when I walk past his bedroom, hunched over his laptop, headphones on as he works through the most difficult maths questions I've ever encountered in my life. He makes university seem easy. Has his allocated times for study, going out with friends, the gym, practicing bass, going though record shops, meals, watching TV. Everytime he gets home, he drops his things down in the kitchen. I sneak a glance at the big green 'A*' on all of his test papers. I look up to him. His intelligence, his masterful management of time. I'm always too frightened to ask him how he does it. He'll think I'm stalking him.

Me, on the other hand, I waste time. I don't have balance. I never have time to be with my friends. Always locked up in my room. A prisoner. Essay after essay. Poem after poem. Book after book. A constant cycle I've been in for three whole years. The stress is weighing down on me like a hundred bags of bricks. I need to stop for a second. To breathe in. To calm down.

So I do the last thing I would normally do. I go into the living room and sit beside Robert on the sofa. He's half asleep, jeans cuffed, hair all over his face. He sees me walk in, glances up, eyes big and speculting. He instantly moves his spindly, spider-like legs from the armrest to give me some space. I can hear some sort of maths video playing on the TV. I'm scared. At least it's not English. I'm immune to maths. It doesn't affect me anymore. Whatever logorhythmic scale this American YouTube man is yapping about isn't making my face contort at all — it's like sorcery.

This could be a way of winding down. Maths. I'm calmer now. No changes of focus or narrowing of perspective. No pathetic fallacy or magical realism. Just messes of words that don't really make sense at all.

"'D'you want to watch TV? I can turn this off if you want." Robert has his thumb on the home button.

"Leave it on. I just need a moment."

He dubiously puts the remote back down. He yawns, stretching out his arms and leaning back. I hate it when boys do that. With his parted, manspreaded legs, adams apple bobbing, head rolled back. It's idiotic. Completely idiotic. He doesn't seem too intrigued by Mr American man. The video is a guy next to a whiteboard writing millions of brain-numbing equtions. Robert is nodding along. I think I'm going to cry. I don't know why I want to right now. My hip is actually starting to throb and ache. I look down at my jeans. There's a hole in them. There's blood. It's wet. I hadn't noticed before. It's properly pouring out blood.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." I exclaim, hand pressing down onto the cut through my jeans.

Robert swiftly nears me. He's looking at me up and down, hands trying to find a place to move to. It's dark in the room. He reaches for the lamp switch. "What is it? Are you okay?"

"I'm bleeding. Jesus christ. That kills. Fuck me."

He passes me his jacket and says, "Apply some pressure."

Then he runs out of the room. Fast as a plane. A man on a mission. Long curls dancing to the rhythm of his steps. Mr American man won't shut up about algebraic expressions. He's got a really bald head. Glimmering.

Robert is back. He has bandages. I don't know where he got those from. Antiseptic wipes, plasters, sweets, even a cup of tea. He was only gone for about five seconds. How did he manage to get all of that? He hands me the cup of tea and sweets whilst asking, "What happened?"

"I walked into the island like an eejit. I'm so feckin' stupid."

"Just breathe, okay. You're not an eejit. I do that every day."

I have to unzip my jeans to let him check the cut. Which is awkward, to say the least. He's looking at me like a doctor — not really caring about seeing my skin — but I'm still so shy around him. He sees me struggle with the button. He undoes it, fingers coming in contact with mine. They're slender. So very perfect for the bass guitar. Then he's unzipping my jeans. Only the tiniest bit. A mere centimetre of my knickers appear out of the top. Any more than that and I'd be flush as a tomato. I've always had a little crush on Robert. Being stuck with a really smart bass guitarist with the dreamiest eyes for three years is enough to make a person fall. The reason I've been avoiding him lately has been due to that fact. I don't want to make it obvious.

He finds the cut. It's bled through my knickers, making a big blot of dark red. He pulls down the waistband of my pants, prepared to wipe the wound. I have to grind my teeth together to prevent a sob from escaping me. I'm crying. Stressed and hurt and just wanting to dissolve into nothing. The cold draft of wind isn't improving the situation. If only there was no such thing as coursework and I couldn't glide my way through university like Robert.

More and more blood. I think I might pass out. The blue-eyed boy is knelt down on the floor, knees biting into the carpet so that he can properly see where to put the bandage.

"So how's English going?" He's not looking at me. Only at the wound. I don't think he's noticed that I'm crying. I don't want him to. I cover my face with bloody hands, accidentally smearing the metallic substance onto my nose.

I don't know what to say. Do I tell him how much I regret picking it? Do I make this already awkward situation about ten times worse? I hate when people pity me. I hate when I feel like eyes are lingering for far too long when I cry. But when Robert looks at me, it's different. The pools of serenity circling his iris aren't looking down at me with a sort of aristocracy. That's how my English peers stare me down. No, instead, he's looking at me like there's a billion questions rushing across his forehead. He just needs to decide which one to ask. Or to simply say nothing. Like I am. We've both learnt how to cohabit in silence. To walk past eachother and ignore the feathers of conversation falling between us. We're busy. Always busy. Except for those perfect Monday mornings that I always look forward to. Especially the one time when he showed me around his favourite record store. He had asked me to choose him a record to buy. I walked through the entire shop, fingers shifting records, reading unfamiliar artist names. Then, I saw it, the — now bane of my existence — Hozier's 'unreal unearth'. He bought it. He'd told me he only really knew 'Take Me To Church'. I'd leant against the till as he paid and said, 'it'll change your life.' Then he'd locked himself in his room. Through the ever so thin walls — paper thin — I could hear each track hum into my room. I never got the chance to talk to him about the album. I think the thought of bringing it up made me feel sick — due to the English essay upstairs still waiting patiently to be finished.

Now there is an excuse. To talk. I'm injured. I don't want to move. He's still attempting to wrap a bandage over my stomach, then across my back until it's around my torso. I feel his fingers graze my skin with every subtle movement, along my spine, the small of my back, my abdomen, my hip bone. He's still looking at me. Searching. Like I'm a new island and he's an explorer trying to name me.

"What's up, sweetheart?" He finally talks again. His words are throaty, emananting from the pits of his throat. He's still wrapping, waiting for an answer.

"Just college. You know. It's killing me."

He shakes his head. "You're so smart."

"Says you."

He shakes his head. "Look, this might be a bit weird but sometimes when you leave random essays lying around or even creative writing. I read them. They're incredible. Your mind just works in such an interesting way."

I'm at a loss for words. He reads those? Those are usually just failed attempts that I toss aside. Scrap paper. Strange drawings. I don't even want to look at them.

"You get top grades in every test," I sigh. "I'm barely passing. I'm the worst in the class. My professors hate me, I've got so much work, I'm falling behind in every assignment—"

Then I'm properly crying. Sobbing. Breathing so heavily I think I might collapse. Heaving. Sniffling. Covering my face so he can't see me. I'm like a child. Pathetic. Stupid. Worthless. I was never good enough for Trinity. Why did they let me in?

Warm arms, press of skin. Just above the wound, over my chest, arms dig into my body, hugging me from behind. Head burrowing onto my shoulders, knees into the sofa. His lips ghost the back of my neck. Tears are falling down. He turns me around to face him. I hate how he's seeing me like this. My cries are usually saved for when he's out with friends or blasting music on his record player. He's never seen me this vulnerable, just utterly ripped into shreds by the hands of life. His scent is making me feel better, the tissue now on my cheek makes me feel better, the quiet words of 'breathe, let it all out, it's okay' make me feel better. He's calming me down. I start to forget what I was even crying about when I look into his eyes. This intense eye contact. Remembering his height. Even sat down, his torso is far longer than mine.

"I've got an idea," he murmurs, peeling his body away. I miss the warmth. I miss the touch.

"What is it?"

"We should go somewhere. Get out for a bit. Say it's a 'mental health field trip'." He curls his fingers to accentuate the apostrophes."Maybe down to the Cliffs of Moher. When you're all healed up of course."

"Give me a week."

"A week? I'll be the judge of that." He raises an eyebrow, now tying up the bandage.

"Where did you learn all this?"

"I'm actually first aid trained. Did it in my first week of uni." He takes a deep breath, settles back onto the sofa.

I take a sip of my tea. My eyes are surely blotchy and red. I bet there's mascara all over my face. "Thank you so much."

"No problem at all. Do you want to tell me what's going on? Is there any way I can help?" He's referring to my school work. "I was alright at English in high school. No where near as good as you are. But maybe another opinion might help you."

"I'm really stuck on a Hozier analysis."

"I never told you how much I love that album. It's perfect." His eyes glow like they do when he's talking about something he loves. Usually it's caused by talking about playing bass, but right now it's due to the beauty of Hozier's music. "I learned the bass line of De Selby part two."

"Show me. Now." I don't even ask. It's simply a demand. Anything to take my mind away from that cut still bleeding profusely. A little concert would be nice. Especially if said concert involves watching Robert play bass. I sometimes peek through the crack in the doorway to see him sat down on his bed, pick between his index and thumb, bass guitar on his lap, headphones over his ears. The pure concentration on his face is unparalleled. Notes thrum quietly through the room. He falls into any piece of music.

"Alright." He laughs at my enthusiasm. "Then I'll help with your English."

"Thanks." This is probably the most I've ever spoken to him. I'm mumbling each word, not wanting to look into his eyes.

He disappears once again. This time I hear the thudding footsteps over creaky floorboards. I hear a door squeak open, the faint patter of rain upon the ceiling, the quiet murmur of distant sirens as night blooms. It's tranquil. For a moment, I'm at peace. Until I remember the stack of unread books in my bedroom. I groan into my hands. Everything just keeps getting worse and worse and—

He's back. Not empty handed. Bass in one hand, Hozier lyrics and my pencil case in the other.

"I emailed your professor about the trip. I'm sure she'll be okay with it." He's off again. He comes through the door with his amp and lead. He plugs both in.

"You're a life saver, Rob," I say.

He starts twisting around the knobs on the bass. Volume up. Then he's tuning. He smiles up at me. I think I'm staring. I think he can tell. His long fingers, tattoos, rings. It's all too much. My fingers are restlessly tapping the armrest. My legs are up on the coffee table. He pulls out his phone and plays the song. Then I'm lost in the music. His eyes are closed as he slides his fingers up and down the neck of the bass, as he stomps his feet down on the carpet to every drum beat. If only I could go back to the days I'd go to concerts every day. If only I could go back and see 'Inhaler' on a world tour, watch Robert from the crowd, completely in his element. Exhilarated, chanting, knowing every lyric like it's my mother tongue. Sometimes I wonder what life could've been like if the band had worked out. If the world did realise just how incredible they are. But, here, appreciating each pluck of every string, the grin as he watches me. I can't take that for granted.

80 notes · View notes