kate-inthedarkness

[kate-inthedarkness]

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.

[kate-inthedarkness]

HEYYYY DIVAS!!!!

Sorry I’ve been so inactive, I just got back from the UK (I saw Blossomhaler 😛😛) so I’m currently trying to settle back down and just…try and be normal 😃

Hopefully I’ll have something for you guys in the next few days since I do have a draft (it’s a request) that’s nearly finished!!!!

Love you all, and enjoy this pixelated photo of Eli (it’s not too bad but still 🫣)

[kate-inthedarkness]

Hi lovelies!!!

I just wanted to outline something that I didn’t mention before. (this is in no way hate to the person that asked for the request, this isn’t your fault my love 😅❤️)

I want to make it clear that I will not write about ED’s. Some people do, and that’s okay!! No judgement to writers who do what-so-ever. For me personally, I don’t feel comfortable writing something that’s so triggering for people, and as someone who went through it I’d hate knowing I may have triggered someone.

I will be going through with the request since the person also said or the reader having insecurities, which I’m okay with writing, just nothing too graphic or upsetting.

I hope you can all understand, and again this is no hate towards the person who requested it!! I understand that people can ask for these things for their own comfort and I wholeheartedly accept that.

I love you all, enjoy the rest of your weekend ❤️❤️❤️

[kate-inthedarkness]

Hii, I just discovered you and omgg i loovee your writing. We need more ryan, I love him so much!! Could you do something like just hanging out with him, like in their shred home, and he’s so in love with the reader, like she’s just doing normal stuff and he’s going crazy about it. I know this is cringe but I thought it would be cute, I can so imagine him as a bf. Take your time of course, thankss

Aww yes I really need to write more Ryan stuff!!

I have so many requests for Ryan, including this one, so thank you my loves xxx

Angel - Ryan McMahon

Summary: You cook dinner while Ryan’s never been more in love…(basically followed the request hehehe)

Warnings: None!!

A/N: Finally got another request done and it’s Ryan this time, YAY!!!!! Xxx

The rain outside was more of a hush than a storm — a soft mist tapping against the windows, settling over the city of Dublin like a warm blanket.

Inside your flat, though, it was golden. Warm. Safe.

The kitchen smelled of garlic and thyme, and you were humming gently as you stirred something in a pot, barefoot in satin pyjama pants and an Inhaler shirt you managed to grab at Wythenshawe last year.

Ryan would never admit it, but he loved seeing you Inhaler merch.

Ryan stood just inside the doorway, leaning against the frame with a soft grin playing at the corner of his mouth. He hadn’t said a word in the past five minutes, and yet his eyes hadn’t left you once.

“You’re staring again,” you said, not looking back, but smiling all the same.

“Can you blame me?” He murmured. “You’re wearing a shirt with my face on it, making something that smells like actual heaven. What else am I supposed go do, Angel?”

You laughed, setting the wooden spoon down and turning toward him. “Maybe offer to help?”

“I could,” he said, pushing off the doorframe, walking slowly over to where you stood at the stove. He stopped just behind you, arms slipping around your waist, nose brushing the crook of your neck. “Or I could keep doing this.

You leaned into him instinctively, melting into the familiar weight of his chest against your back. “You’re ridiculous,” you whispered, your voice coloured with amusement.

The two of you stood like that for a long moment, swaying slightly, the gentle simmer of dinner filling the room with warmth. Outside, the rain ticked a little harder, making the window rattle, but inside, you were a world away.

“Do you remember,” Ryan said suddenly, his voice quiet but certain, “when we first moved in here? You burned pasta because we didn’t have a strainer, and I nearly set the fire alarm off making toast.”

You laughed again, tilting your head back against his shoulder to look at him. “And yet somehow we survived.”

“Barely,” he smirked. “But I knew even then... this was it.”

“This?” you echoed.

“This life. This home. You.” His voice dipped, tender now. “You call it normal stuff — cooking, rainy evenings, sitting on the couch watching shite telly — but it’s everything to me.”

He turned you gently in his arms so you faced him fully. The kitchen light cast a golden glow across his face, catching the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled down at you. You reached up, brushing his hair off his forehead. He caught your hand and kissed your knuckles, reverent.

“I get up on stage in front of thousands, you know?” he said. “And it’s incredible. But nothing — nothing — hits like coming home to you. Like this moment, right now. I love you so fucking much my heart could burst.”

You felt your heart pull tight in your chest, that familiar ache that only came when someone truly saw you. Loved you with no conditions, no pretenses.

“I love you too, Ryan,” you said, quieter than before, as though saying it too loudly would break the spell.

He closed his eyes briefly, like he was trying to press the moment into memory. “Say it again.”

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his waist. “I love you.”

His grin widened, bright and a little bit smug. “I knew it,” he said, voice playful now. “You do like me.”

You rolled your eyes and poked his chest. “Don’t let it go to your head, drummer boy.”

“Too late.” He dipped his head and kissed you slow, deep, and sure. The kind of kiss that didn’t rush anywhere, because neither of you needed to be anywhere else. Not tonight.

Eventually, he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. “Dinner’s going to burn, Angel.”

“Then maybe you should be the one stirring it,” you teased.

“Nah,” he said. “I’m too busy trying not to do terrible things with you in this kitchen.”

———————————————

Later, after dinner — when the dishes were drying in the rack and the city outside had gone quiet — you curled up on the sofa with him, your legs draped over his lap, his arm around your shoulder. The rain had slowed to a soft drizzle, and random movie neither of you were really watching flickered on the screen.

You looked over at him. His eyes were half-lidded, soft with contentment, fingers tracing absent circles on your leg.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked.

He didn’t answer right away. Just smiled and pulled you a little closer.

“Just... how lucky I am,” he murmured. “How I’ll never get tired of this. You. Us.”

You leaned your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, like a familiar song playing just for you.

“Ryan McMahon, you’re a little softie, you know that?”

And in that little flat in Dublin, under soft blankets and softer light, you both knew: this was the kind of love that didn’t need to shout. It whispered — through garlic in the air, laughter in the kitchen, and the quiet certainty of being home.

[kate-inthedarkness]

Eli fic whennnnnn🥰🥰

I just posted it!!!!

Sorry for it being delayed, I practically slept all day 😭😭

You can read it here xxx

[kate-inthedarkness]

hi! you are an amazing writer btw❤️ could I get some headcannons or a fic with Eli with a country girlfriend? like she does rodeo activities(bull riding, calf roping) for a living and is kinda famous for it? tysm xoxo

This has to be the most interesting request I’ve received (in a good way) and I had the best time trying to write this hahaha!

Hope you enjoy my lovely xxx

Wild Heart - Eli Hewson

Summary: Read request for summary x

Warnings: None!!

A/N: I tried my best, my research is probably terribly done so don’t come at me if this isn’t accurate, I tried!! Also the tour schedule doesn’t add up either but go along with it hahaha xxx

The sun was setting over the Texas plains, turning the sky into a watercolor of orange and lavender as the last of the rodeo crowd packed up and pulled away. Dust still lingered in the air, kicked up from boots and hooves, and you could still feel the adrenaline buzzing in your chest. Another clean run, another calf down in record time. You’d posted the clip already — still trending — but you hadn’t even checked your notifications yet.

You had one better thing to look at: Elijah Hewson, leaning against the rails of your practice pen, arms folded, curls windblown and smile crooked like he was still trying to figure out what exactly he was doing here — in your world.

“You know,” he said, his voice thick with that melodic Dublin accent you adore, “I don’t understand half the things you do in that arena, but it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You gave him a sidelong glance, lifting a brow. “Is that right?”

He nodded slowly, like it was gospel truth. “I mean, I sing songs and try not to trip over my mic cord. You rope wild animals and make it look like ballet.”

You snorted. “You’re really laying it on thick tonight.”

He shrugged, pushing off the fence and walking toward you, boots crunching in the gravel. “I’m just sayin’. I’ve seen you play to a bigger crowd than I did last week.”

You smirked, brushing sweat-matted hair off your forehead and tugging your worn-out Stetson lower. “Pretty sure those people came for the fried Oreos, not me.”

Elijah stopped in front of you, resting a hand on your hip and giving you a look that made your stomach flip. “No way. They came to see the girl who doesn’t flinch when she gets bucked into the dirt, then still poses for a selfie after.”

You leaned into him, your dusty flannel brushing against his denim jacket. You could still smell the faint scent of cologne on his collar, clashing wildly — and somehow perfectly — with the hay and leather and sweat that clung to you both.

“I’ve got another exhibition in Austin next weekend,” you said after a moment. “You think you’ll be able to fly over or-“

His expression faltered — not in a bad way, just that honest little shift that told you he was about to give you an answer he didn’t love saying.

“We’ve got Glastonbury next weekend,” he admitted. “Big one.”

Your gaze dropped to his boots. You scuffed the dirt with yours, chewing your lip. “That’s okay. I figured.”

“I’ll fly back right after,” he added quickly. “I swear. I wanna see you run again. I’ll be there.”

You gave a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes, and nodded. “I’ll make sure the livestream’s working. I don’t wanna miss your big performance.”

Elijah’s thumb grazed your cheek, wiping a smudge of dirt away. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you said, too quickly. Then, softer, “Just… y’know. It’s not always easy. Being the girlfriend back home, or the guy on the other side of the ocean.”

He nodded, his forehead dipping to rest gently against yours. “We’re not ‘always easy’ people, are we?”

You chuckled, the sound vibrating against his chest. “God, no.”

You were the kind of person who woke up at dawn and went to bed with bruises. He was the kind who disappeared into green rooms and woke up in a different country twice a week. But somehow, in the middle of all that chaos — of your dusty arenas and his crowded stages — you’d found each other.

You didn’t really believe in fate. But if you did, it’d probably look something like him.

“Come on,” you said, tugging his hand. “Help me with the horses.”

He groaned dramatically. “Are you about to make me clean up poop again?”

“Only if you keep whining.”

Elijah followed you to the barn, muttering under his breath, though his grin gave him away. You handed him a bucket and tossed a lead rope over your shoulder as you walked past the stalls.

“I still don’t get how people film you doing this and manage to make it look glamorous,” he said as he scooped from a corner pile.

You smirked. “I crop the manure out of the frame.”

“Smart.”

The sound of horses shifting in their stalls filled the barn — gentle snorts, hooves scraping, the occasional tail flick — and somehow, it felt more peaceful with him there. More balanced. Elijah wasn’t a cowboy, but he never made you feel like you had to be anything other than who you were. You didn’t have to swap boots for heels or trade dirt for glitter.

And even if he didn’t fully understand calf roping or rodeo circuits, he watched every video you sent, read every interview you did. He liked the ones where you talked about failing more than the ones where you won.

That, you thought, meant something.

“You know,” you said, pausing by a stall, “if you’re sticking around long enough, I could teach you to rope.”

He looked up, eyes wide. “Me? Rope a calf?”

You grinned. “Or at least a practice dummy. I’ll even film it. Let the internet roast you for once.”

He laughed — really laughed, head tilted back and eyes squinting — and you felt something warm settle in your chest.

“Fine,” he said. “But if I end up tying myself in a knot, you’re helping me out.”

“I’ll consider it.”

When the chores were done and the stars had taken over the sky, you both ended up back on the tailgate of your truck, a bottle of whiskey and a pack of cigarettes between you, silence stretching easy and comfortable. Crickets chirped in the distance, and the wind carried the smell of hay and summer.

Elijah reached for your hand again, fingers curling around yours. “You ever think about how different we are?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Only every time you try to pronounce ‘y’all.’”

He grinned. “It’s ���ye all’ in Irish. Well, in some parts or Ireland anyways.”

“Sure it is.”

He looked out over the field, his voice quieter now. “But really. You’ve got roots. Land. Horses. People who wave at you at gas stations. I’ve got... tour buses and hotel lobbies.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder. “Maybe that’s why it works.”

“How?”

“We meet in the middle. You keep me dreaming. I keep you grounded.”

He turned to look at you, his free hand brushing your hair back gently. “Is it enough?”

You met his eyes, steady and sure. “It is for me.”

For a moment, there was nothing but the wind, and the soft creak of the truck bed, and the quiet rhythm of two people who maybe shouldn’t have fit — but did.

He kissed you then, slow and unhurried, like he wasn’t in a rush to be anywhere else in the world. And for once, neither were you.

For once you were both free, together, same time, same place.

[kate-inthedarkness]

Going to post an Elijah oneshot tonight or tomorrow morning! (It’s a request xx)

I’m sick ASF so I have loads of time to catch up with requests over the next few days hehehehe ☺️☺️😛😛

[kate-inthedarkness]

PLEEAAASSSEEE could you possibly do more josh stuff your writing is INCREEEDIBLEEE

Aww OFC!!! I love writing for Josh 🥹🥹

Thank you for sending this in!!!

Through his lens - Josh Jenkinson

Summary: You and Josh have a cute date night in Osaka on a day off from shows, and he can’t help but capture every minute he spends with you…

Warnings: none!!!

A/N: This is fairly short, doesn’t really have a plot, it’s just cute (I think) and Inhaler in Japan is literally my favourite thing ever xxx

It started with a bowl of ramen and a grin.

“Best ramen I’ve ever had,” Josh said through a mouthful, chopsticks clumsily managing the noodles. “Could eat this for the rest of my life.”

You sat across from him in the tiny shop, knees bumping under the table, steam curling between you like something out of a dream. His camera sat beside him — a chunky little film one he brought on tour “for memories,” he said, but you knew better. The real reason sat in front of him now, slurping broth and stealing glances.

He swallowed, then leaned back in his chair. “Actually…” he reached for the camera, raising it halfway. “You look unreal right now.”

“No, I don’t,” you laughed, hiding your face. “I’ve got soup face.”

He tilted his head, one eye squinting shut as he framed the shot. “Exactly. Soup face is top-tier.”

Click.

You groaned. “You’re insufferable.”

“I’m obsessed,” he said, completely serious. “It’s a problem.”

And it kind of was — the way his eyes always found you in a crowd, how his camera always clicked faster when you weren’t looking, how he’d take photos of the most ordinary moments just because you were in them.

When you both stepped out of the ramen shop, the Osaka night wrapped around you like velvet. Neon signs flickered in kanji, vending machines buzzed quietly, and somewhere a group of teenagers laughed as they ran across the crosswalk.

Josh slid his fingers between yours. “Where to next?”

You shrugged. “You’re the local now. Lead the way, Mr. Jenkinson.”

He gave you a cheeky bow, pulling you along with a skip in his step, camera bouncing against his chest.

——————————————

You wandered through Dotonbori, past the glowing Glico Man sign, and he took pictures of everything. Mostly you.

You eating takoyaki off a toothpick, your eyes wide as the heat hit your tongue.

You trying to mimic a shop mascot's silly pose.

You pausing to tie your shoe, unaware he was framing you like you were part of the city itself.

“I love this one,” he said, flipping through the digital preview for once, even though he always swore film was better.

You peeked over. It was you in front of a red lantern-lit alley, one hand reaching out toward the light, your face soft with wonder. You didn’t even remember that moment happening.

“I love it too,” you said. “But you know it’s only because you were behind the camera.”

Josh looked at you then, really looked. His mouth opened like he had something to say, but instead of saying anything he planted his lips onto yours, a kiss so gentle and sweet it would make your stomach turn if you weren’t so in love with him.

“You make everything look better.” He whispered against your lips, and you couldn’t help but giggle like a teenage girl.

——————————————

Later, in a quieter part of town, you ended up at a rooftop garden one of the locals had told Josh about. There were fairy lights strung across potted trees, the skyline glittering just beyond. It was peaceful. Hidden.

Josh sat next to you on a bench, his camera finally resting in his lap.

“I’m glad we got this night,” he said softly.

“You guys deserve the break. You’ve been working non-stop.”

He nudged your shoulder. “I wasn’t talking about the break.”

You turned to him, and for once, he wasn’t smiling. He was looking at you like you were something he still couldn’t believe was real — like every part of him wanted to memorize this exact second.

“I just…” He scratched the back of his neck, bashful. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before. It’s like—I see you, and I want to capture everything. Every second. You just make everything feel… permanent. You make the world feel still.”

You felt your breath catch in your throat.

He lifted the camera again, slowly, giving you time to stop him.

You didn’t.

“Let me have this one,” he whispered. “Just you. No distractions. No pose.”

You met his gaze, soft and certain. The camera clicked.

And then you kissed him.

There, under the fairy lights, surrounded by a sleeping city and the warmth of his hoodie wrapped around you, you kissed him like you already knew — this was it. He was your person.

When you pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours.

“Next time someone asks me what my favorite thing in Osaka was,” he murmured, “I’m going to say that photo.”

You smiled. “Not the ramen?”

He grinned. “You’re better than ramen. Don’t tell the lads, though. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

You laughed, tucking yourself into his side.

His arm came around you, camera forgotten now, heart entirely full.

And in that moment — on a rooftop in a foreign city, with his music waiting back at the hotel and the stars blinking quietly overhead — Josh Jenkinson loved you more than he ever thought he could love anything.

He was, truly, beautifully obsessed.

[kate-inthedarkness]

JOSH FANFIC COMING OUT TOMORROW NIGHT PER ANON REQUEST YAYAYAYAYYAYAYAYAYYAYAYAYYAYAYAYAYAYAYYAYAYAYAYAYAYYAYAYAYAYA

[kate-inthedarkness]

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.

"I love you most."

"That's impossible, Keating."

"Hm, I don't know. Wanna bet?"

[kate-inthedarkness]

post the rob fic I BEGG 😓

Keep an eye out….you never when it might get posted (in the next three hours) 👀👀👀👀

Edit ✨: it’s now uploaded and you can read it here xxx

[kate-inthedarkness]

Hello lovelies!!! 🥰💋❤️

I’ve gotten a lot of requests for Rob smut, and while I don’t mind writing it, and actually do have one waiting to be posted, I don’t want to make people uncomfortable.

So I thought I’d just ask how you guys feel about it first before posting anything!!!

Love you all lots xxxx

[kate-inthedarkness]

Everything is Romantic - Eli Hewson

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.

[kate-inthedarkness]

I Think About You, Pt.2 - Eli Hewson

Pt.1 Pt.2

Summary: It’s been weeks since you and Eli tried to have a conversation about your feelings for each other, and another sleepless night alone leaves you feeling emotional and in need of his company…

Warnings: A lot of emotions, fluff, some smut, just two cutie pies feeling their feelings.

A/N: I loved writing two parts for this. This is my first time dabbling in smut so hopefully you guys like it and it’s not too terrible xxx

The hum of the city outside the hotel room window was the only sound in the room. Vienna was starting to fall asleep, but you weren’t.

You lay under the covers, your comfort blankets since birth lay by your head, arms folded tightly across your chest as you stare at the ceiling like that could keep your thoughts from running off into places they shouldn’t. Places that always led back to him.

To Elijah.

It had been weeks since that night you and Eli tried to open up. Since his eyes and words practically burned a hole in your soul. Since he admitted it—what you both knew, what you both felt.

But nothing had changed. Not really. No lines crossed. No kisses stolen. Just this… unbearably tender limbo.

And tonight, it was too much.

You threw the covers off and sat up, rubbing your face like you could scrub the emotion away. You padded across the cold floor, slipped on a pair of cotton shorts, and walked out into the hallway, barefoot and half-afraid of your own impulse.

His door was only a few steps away. You didn’t knock right away. You stood there, knuckles hovering, wondering if this was stupid. If you were about to ruin everything.

But then again… maybe not knocking was what had been ruining it all along.

Your knuckles rapped gently.

A beat. Then another.

Shuffling. The click of a lock. And then his face—sleepy, warm-eyed, hair wild from sleep.

“Hey,” he mumbled, blinking. “You okay?”

You nodded too quickly. “Yeah. I mean, no. I need… couldn’t sleep.”

He didn’t ask anything else. He just opened the door wider and let you in.

His room was dim, the bedside lamp casting a soft glow over the unmade bed and his scattered belongings—rings on the nightstand, a piece of paper folded neatly beside a half-empty water bottle. You sat on the edge of the bed, legs curled under you. He sat beside you without question.

“You want to talk?” He asked, voice low.

You looked down at your hands. “I think I do. But I don’t know how.”

He was quiet, letting the silence stretch. Not in a pressuring way—he never did that. Just letting you breathe.

And then finally, you spoke.

“It’s weird,” you said. “I think I’ve been in love before. A few times. I thought I knew what it felt like. But then you came along, and now it’s like I’m realising I’ve never actually… let anyone love me.”

He didn’t interrupt. You kept going, heart racing.

“And I don’t mean that in a poetic way. I mean, every time something got too real, I’d pull away. Or they would. And I told myself that was normal. That I was too much. Or not enough. Or that no one sticks around anyway.”

You felt your throat tighten, tears pricking. You swallowed hard.

“But this… you… I think I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. And that scares the shit out of me, Eli. Because if this fails—if we fail—I don’t know what that would do to me.”

You looked at him properly, finally. And he looked wrecked in the most beautiful way—barefoot, in a crumpled t-shirt, black boxers, eyes glassy, jaw tight with emotion he hadn’t let out yet.

He reached for your hand, gently. Like you were something incredibly fragile.

Which in some ways, you were.

“I’m scared too,” he whispered. “I think about it all the time. How easy it would be to mess this up. But then I think about how much harder it would be to live with myself if I never tried.”

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I love you,” he said. “And I don’t just mean I love you like a best friend, which you are, or like I care about you in some quiet, convenient way. I mean I love you. Like a lot, in a terrifying and real way.”

A tear slid down your cheek, and he caught it with his thumb.

“I don’t need perfect,” you whispered, breath hitching. “I just need you to stick around, that’s all.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he replied, firm but soft. “Not unless you tell me to.”

You shook your head gently, a small smile appearing across your lips. “I don’t think that would ever happen. I like you too much to do that.”

He didn’t say anything back to that, his eyes just glossed over, a small but gentle smile showing. His heart soared whenever he looked at you, but in this moment, there was something different there. Something stronger.

"I keep thinking about that night," you say, almost a whisper. "When we were practically on our own and you were helping me with the boxes."

He nods, lips pressing together as his eyes flickered between your eyes and your lips. "Yeah. Me too."

You swallow hard. "I thought you were going to kiss me. Or at least you wanted to kiss me."

"I wanted to," he admits. "Still do."

Your eyes stared deep into his soul in that moment.

He's looking at you like the only thing that would ease his racing mind is to just jump in your bones then and there.

You take in a breath, moving over closer to him on the bed. "Then do it."

He doesn't rush. His hand cups your cheek gently, thumb tracing your skin like he's learning it. You can feel the hesitation in him, the waiting—giving you time to pull away. But you don't.

The kiss is soft. Warm. The kind that doesn't need urgency to be overwhelming. It tastes like all the things you've been holding back—longing, affection, fear. Hope.

When he pulls away from your lips, he just looks at you. Admires you like you've just painted the entire sky.

"I've tried so hard not to want this," you manage to croak out.

"Me too," he breathes, brushing his lips against yours again. "It didn't fucking work."

You barely notice when both hands settle on your face, or how yours tangle into the hem of his shirt, fingertips grazing the heat of his skin. The kiss deepens. His tongue slides softly against yours, and your breath hitches.

"Tell me if you want to stop," he says, voice low.

You shake your head, whispering, "Don't stop. Please."

He kisses you again, slower this time—savouring you. His hands, warm and grounding, trail down you face, to your shoulders, down your sides, thumbs brushing under the hem of your sleep shirt. He pauses at the edge of it.

"Is it okay if I...you know?" he murmurs against your lips.

You nod. He lifts the shirt slowly, as if undressing you is a privilege, not a right. The fabric slips over your head, and you're left bare from the waist up. He exhales softly—not a groan, not a gasp, but something reverent. Like awe.

"You're so beautiful," he says, like he's only just realising it now, even though he's looked at you every day for who knows how long at this stage.

You reach for the hem of his shirt in return. He helps you tug it off while you try your best to move onto the bed properly, relaxing against the headboard without embarrassing yourself. But it's Elijah, nothing you do could ever be embarrassing to him.

As he followed your movements, hovering over you comfortably, you couldn't help but stare at him. It made you ache physically in your chest over how much you loved this boy.

Your hands explore first—fingers trailing over his stomach, up to his chest, tracing the light line of hair down the centre. He shoulders stiffen under your touch, his eyes fluttering closed as if the moment is too much to hold still.

Then his mouth is on your collarbone, then down—slow, deliberate. He kisses across your chest before taking one nipple into his mouth, tongue warm, lips soft. You sigh, your back arching, hand threading into his curls.

"Eli..."

The way his name sounds on your lips makes him groan—not loudly, but like he's letting go of something he's been holding back. He gives the same attention to the other breast, the pleasure of it all making you feel free. It's not rushed. It's worship.

One hand drifts downward, brushing the edge of your waistband.

His voice is lower now. "Still okay?"

"Yes," you breathe, almost desperate.

He kisses your stomach, each inch down feeling like fire and silk. Then he slides your sleep shorts and underwear down together, slow enough that you feel every movement, every inch of his gaze on you.

Once you're completely bare, he sits back for a second. Just looks at you. Not like he's judging—like he's stunned.

"Fuck," he mutters, more to himself than to you. "You're..."

You reach for him, needing him closer. He presses back into you, kissing you harder than before, full of the ache that's been building since you met each other. His hand trails down your thigh, between your legs, fingers brushing where you need him most.

You inhale sharply at the first real contact. He strokes you slowly, deliberately, finding your rhythm. Your hips move along with his hand, every wave of pleasure overwhelming to you.

You bury your face in his neck, moaning softly as he keeps going, his free hand tangled with yours beside your head.

"You're everything to me," he whispers, kissing your jaw, your ear. "Fuck, I love you."

You whimper, lifting your hips slightly as his finger hits the soft spot that makes you see stars. He watches your face every time you pull away from his neck, needing to see how you react, what you need.

The tension builds quickly, your body coiled tight, every nerve alight under his careful touch.

"Elijah," you say again, eyes fluttering. "I'm—"

"I know," he says gently, capturing your lips with his own. "I've got you."

It hits you all at once—a slow-blooming warmth that takes over your whole body, crashing in waves. You tremble against him, hand gripping his arm, your moans and whimpers muffled against his shoulder.

He holds you the whole time, not stopping until you're done shaking, until your breathing slows. He kisses your hair, still tangled with you, but not asking for more. He doesn't need anything from you. Not tonight. Just being there is enough.

—————————————————

Your body is still humming, warm and pliant from his touch, but it's the stillness after it all that surprises you the most.

There's no awkwardness. No tension. Just the quiet of the Venetian night seeping through the open window, and the slow rhythm of Elijah's breathing against your back.

You're both tangled beneath the hotel sheets now. One of Eli's arms is slung lazily around your waist, hand resting on your stomach, fingertips making small, absent circles against your skin. His chest is pressed along your spine, bare and solid and grounding.

"I don't think I've ever... felt like that with someone before," you murmur after a long silence.

His voice is soft, close to your ear. "Like what?"

"Like it meant something." You pause. "Like I could just...fall apart and not be afraid."

He doesn't say anything right away. He shifts, pulling you even closer, and presses a kiss just below your ear.

"It did mean something," he says. "It means everything to me."

You roll over to face him, nose to nose now in the low light. His eyes are heavy-lidded but clear, like he hasn't looked away from you since the moment you walked into his hotel room.

"I was scared," you admit, again.

He brushes your hair back, fingertips trailing over your cheek. "I know, gorgeous."

You smile, a little sad and a little shy. "So what now?"

He laughs—a quiet, breathy sound. "Now I keep you here with me. If that's okay."

You nod, already curling closer, your leg sliding between his. "That's more than okay."

You fit perfectly. It's cliche, but true. His hand finds yours under the duvet, lacing your fingers together.

For a while, you both just lie there. The silence is thick but comfortable. No more what-ifs or almosts. Just his steady heartbeat under your palm and the scent of warn skin and laundry-soft sheets.

"I wish we didn't have to leave Vienna tomorrow," you whisper.

"Then stay in bed with me all morning," he replies. "We'll pretend we have nowhere better to be, hm?"

Your lips find his again—not rushed, not hungry. Just a simple kiss to say thank you, I see you, I want this forever.

When you fall asleep, it's with your face tucked into the crook of his neck, his breath in your hair, and the unspoken truth finally settled between you both:

Whatever this is... it's real.

And neither of you are running anymore.

[kate-inthedarkness]

Part 2 for I Think About You is coming out tonight!!!

Finally got around to writing it after having writers block for it for the last, like, month? Maybe nearly two 😭😭

You can read the first part here if you haven’t read it or want to reread it!!!!

Love youuuuuu allllllllll xxxxxx

[kate-inthedarkness]

in need of that request you promised x

Just posted it, lovely!!!

You can read it here xxx

(Btw I’ve gotten so many fantastic requests and you guys are literally blowing up my account I love you all sm wtf 😭❤️)

[kate-inthedarkness]

hiii, could you please write angst with Bobby where like the reader is going through a tough moment and Bobby is there to support her. Thank uu and take your time. Love u

Thank you for sending this in!!!

Hope you like it, and love you too lovely!!! Xxx

I’m Sorry - Robert Keating

Summary: (based off request) You’ve always had a complicated relationship with your father, but this incident is what ends up sending your emotions over the edge, and Rob is there to pick up the pieces.

Warnings: Complicated father/daughter relationship, angst, sadness, fluff because Robert’s a cutie.

A/N: If this hits too close to home for you then it’s okay not to read it!! Look after yourself, acknowledge your triggers, love you all lots and lots xxx

You were staring at the untouched cappuccino in front of you. Foam had collapsed in on itself like a broken promise, lukewarm now, just like your hope. The café was busy, but the noise had blurred into something muffled and distant.

You checked your phone again.

Nothing.

Just like last time. And the time before that.

It had been over an hour.

You didn’t cry—at least, not in public. You packed your things with shaking hands, left the coffee untouched, and walked out into the dull grey afternoon. The street outside smelled like car exhaust and baked concrete. You took the long way home, walking without aim. You passed families in parks, friends laughing outside pubs, strangers making plans that probably didn’t involve breaking hearts.

Eventually, you found your way back to the flat.

By the time you walked through the front door, your face was set—tight-jawed, eyes dry, but burning. Robert looked up from the couch, laptop in his lap, fingers lazily typing out something that died the moment he saw you.

“Hey, love,” he said, voice soft. “You’re back early.”

You didn’t say anything. You dropped your bag harder than you meant to, kicked off your shoes, and walked past him toward the kitchen.

He was up immediately.

“Did your dad not show up?” He asked gently from the doorway.

You turned quickly, faster than you intended. “Why do you even have to ask?”

Rob didn’t flinch at the tone—he knew it wasn’t really aimed at him. But he stepped back just slightly, giving you room.

“I’m sorry,” he said carefully.

“No, you’re not,” you snapped. “Don’t say that. You didn’t do anything.”

He nodded once. “I mean I’m sorry for you. Because I know what that meant to you.”

You let out a breath, exasperated. “It’s just… How many times am I supposed to try? How many times do I let him do this before I finally get it through my thick skull that it’s not gonna change?”

Rob stepped in slowly, like an approaching a skittish animal. “Can I come closer?”

Your eyes welled up without warning. You nodded.

That cracked something. The gentleness. The patience. You turned away again, pressing your palms to the countertop as your shoulders started to shake.

“I just—“ your voice broke, “I keep thinking maybe this time will be different. And it never is. And I don’t know what’s worse anymore. Being disappointed or being stupid enough to still have hope.”

Robert moved behind you and gently rested a hand on your back. You didn’t move, but you didn’t pull away either.

“I waited an hour, Rob,” you whispered. “An hour. Like a fucking fool.”

“You’re not a fool,” he said immediately. “You’re someone who believes people can change. That’s not stupid. That’s hopeful. There’s a difference.”

You turned and finally let yourself fall into him. He caught you instantly, arms strong and warm, one hand on your back, the other cradling your head as though keeping it from falling any further.

You cried.

Not dramatic sobs—just that quiet, painful sort of crying that creeps in when you’ve been holding it back too long. It wasn’t just today’s disappointment. It was all the ones that came before it.

Rob didn’t rush you. He didn’t ask you to calm down. He simply stayed there, arms steady, lips pressing light kisses into your hairline as you let it out.

After what felt like forever, you pulled back just slightly.

“Why does he keep doing this to me?”

Rob’s hands slid to your cheeks, brushing tears away with his thumbs. “Because he’s broken in ways that have nothing to do with you. And you’ve spent your whole life thinking maybe if you’re better, or more forgiving, or just enough, you can fix that. But it’s not yours to fix.”

You nodded, barely.

“He doesn’t get to define you,” Robert replied. “You are not the pieces he left behind. You’re the one who stayed kind anyway. You’re the one who still sees the good in people even when they don’t deserve it.”

You let your forehead rest against him shoulder, almost exhausted.

“How do you always know what to say?”

“I don’t,” he said honestly. “But I know you. And I’ll keep showing up—even when other people don’t.”

That was the part that made you cry again—softer this time. But now there was safety in it. Warmth.

“Come on,” he murmured, guiding you by the hand. “You haven’t eaten.”

“I’m not hungry,” you said, though your stomach hurt in that hollow way that wasn’t hunger, exactly, but not far from it.

He led you to the kitchen island anyways, moving around with the quiet ease of someone who knows your cabinets as well as his own. He filled the kettle, chopped some fruit, reheated the leftover pasta from the night before. You sat at the island, elbows on the cool marble, watching him.

“I used to pretend he was just busy,” you said. “Like, that’s all it was. Work. Life. Traffic.”

Rob glanced up, waiting.

“I think I just didn’t want to believe it could be me,” you continued. “Like, if I made myself perfect—if I didn’t cause problems, didn’t ask for anything—then he’d want to be around. But he never did.”

Robert set a plate in front of you and walked around the counter, wrapping his arms around you from behind.

“You’re not hard to love,” he whispered into your hair. “You never were. He just wasn’t capable.”

You tilted your head against his chest. “Thank you for not making me feel crazy.”

He chuckled softly. “You are a little crazy. But the lovable kind.”

You smiled—small, but real.

Later, you sat curled on the couch together, a blanket over your legs, Robert’s arm slung around your shoulder as some slow film played in the background. You weren’t really watching it. You were watching the flicker of the screen on his face, the way his jaw tensed whenever something in the film reminded him of what you’d been through.

“You know,” you said softly, “when I was little, I used to make up stories about my dad. Like, full-on fantasy versions of him. In one, he was an undercover spy and couldn’t come see me because he was off saving the world. In another, he was trapped in a different timeline and trying to find his way back.”

Robert let out a quiet breath. “That’s kind of beautiful.”

“It was all just lies I told myself so I didn’t feel forgotten.”

He kissed the top of your head. “He missed out on the best thing he could’ve had. But I didn’t. I got you.”

You turned to look at him. “I’m glad I came home to you.”

“You are home to me,” he said, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand. “Always.”

You rested your head against him again. Safe. Loved. Whole, even in the breaking.