Everything Klaus Does Is So Intricately And Vitally Intertwined With Every Single Major Plot Point In

everything klaus does is so intricately and vitally intertwined with every single major plot point in the show and yet he is always on some bizarre side quest. simultaneously the most and least plot involved character.

blue jeans, white shirt

ship: andrew hozier-byrne x cisfem!reader (no use of y/n)  summary: you're andrew's girlfriend and you're at the railbird festival together! you get a chance to catch noah's set together, but get a bit distracted. thankfully, you end up getting everything you want. ratings/warnings: E; MDNI – established relationship, grinding, public makeout, fingering, use of pet names ("my girl", "baby") wc: 2.7k author’s note: the jeans onstage debut did something to me that i fear i will never recover from. definitely potential for part two if y’all enjoy this one :-)  this is dedicated to @perpetuallyyearning for sending me those damn jean pictures while i was drunk at the bar. and shout out to @pendingnomdeplume for being the actual best ever. ily both!!! (title is from lana del rey's "blue jeans", naturally)

– – –

you’re the long-term partner of the one, the only Andrew Hozier-Byrne and this weekend you’re accompanying him and the band to the Railbird Festival in Lexington, Kentucky! three cheers for Kentucky bourbon!

it’s the first day of the festival, and you flew in that morning. you’ve spent the day enjoying the incredible atmosphere of this country/bluegrass/indie rock/whatever the hell else festival. the chilled vibes of the acts, the never-ending flow of bourbon, and the gorgeous June weather is sure to make for a great time. 

but you’re still a little unsettled. as the plus one, you’ve only ever attended stadium shows. and the environment there is totally different. people working there know you, or at least of you. and you know them! it’s much more controlled and stream-lined. 

here, the inherent chaos from the floods of people, multiple stages, and multi-day itinerary intimidate you. but the energy adds a lightness and spontaneity that you think you can come to appreciate. 

you can especially appreciate how much Andrew fucking loves musical festivals. he’s so relaxed here, clearly thriving on all the chaotic pieces that you feel are overwhelming. it almost surprised you – but you know that to him, the music supersedes whatever concerns he has about crowds or socializing. besides, he's been at festivals well before he was known as Hozier, back when his hair was shorter and the world didn't know who he was.

you think more than once about what it would be like to go to one with him where he wasn’t a headliner, and you’re sure it would be just as incredible if not more. you’d have his full attention and could actually watch the acts together. not that you aren’t stoked to see him perform, no, that would never get old. but sometimes, you missed out on the experiences everyone else seemed to take for granted. 

when you’d first seen Andrew today, your eyebrows had shot up. he was wearing too many layers for this heat, but what shocked you the most was that he was wearing jeans. jeans that fit him very well, jeans that he usually reserved for off-duty, casual wear. 

“outfit check?” he asked. it was a silly ritual you’d set up ages ago: he’d ask your opinion on his outfit, mainly as a cheeky way to fish for compliments or get you worked up for him. (sometimes actual insecurity snuck in, but that happened a lot less lately.)

“hot as fuck, honestly.” you say. Andrew gives you a bemused look, appreciating the compliment but not quite getting it. “one word. jeans.” he looks down briefly, as if he’d forgotten he was wearing them.  

“seriously? jeans?” Andrew’s expression was turning maniacal now, a raw glint in his eyes. you nod sagely, to try and hide how much you want to find an empty trailer and ride his thigh until you fall apart. “huh. jeans.” he’s smiling to himself, much like the cat who got the cream, and you have to give him a playful shove to get him to stop looking at you like he knows precisely what you want. and how to give it to you.

after you finally get a chance to see him late in the afternoon, Andrew excitedly tells you, “festivals are like, such a pure experience for performers and audience members.” you furrow your brow in confusion. 

“but it’s so…” you pause, wanting to find the right words. honesty was a core value between you two (with your schedules and so much time apart, it had to be). “crowded. loud. overwhelming. I mean, three stages?” 

“I know, I know. but there’s also, like a camaraderie to it? we’re all here for the same thing, to appreciate music together. it’s community. besides, I’ve been here at Railbird since the beginning. it’s like a little reunion every time.” Andrew's response is endearing, in a way that is unique to him. and then he’s off on a tangent about his favorite festival experiences, Glastonbury and Austin City Limits being at the top of the list. Andrew also talks about going to festivals before he was onstage, and that one time in 2006 when he saw the dream line-up at Oxegen: Hard-Fi, Magic Numbers, Arctic Monkeys, Strokes, Kings of Leon, The Who, and James Brown.

“too bad you really only get to see one side of it these days.” you say it offhand, but notice how his face falls. but, as if you’ve planted an idea, Andrew gets a mischievous look on his face. 

“wait. what if I show you what I mean? what if we watch a set together?” you know your eyes are lighting up by the way his face mirrors your expression. his smile is warm and sunny, flooded with affection.

“what, seriously? together together? like you’ll be in the audience?” he grins and explains his idea.

which is how you find yourself screaming along with a massive crowd, off to the side stage, for Noah Kahan’s set. you’d met him just a half hour before, when you’d gone backstage to meet up with Andrew. 

Noah had been everything you’d imagined: self-depracating, affable, and instantly easy to get along with. he’d made fun of your accent, you’d gotten to meet Penny the German Shepherd, and then he gave you a hug before heading off to finish preparing. 

“he seems like a good egg.” you had said with a smile. pleased by your assessment, Andrew had called Noah a “good fucking lad” and shared that working with him had been a huge source of joy. then he’d led you outside to the more private area of the audience. 

it was perfect – you could enjoy the show together with a smaller crowd and not worry about much interference. you see Andrew make eye contact with one of his security personnel, who nods once in acknowledgment. their presence was rarely needed, but made everyone feel safe all the same. it being Noah’s set meant you were both excited for and familiar with the music. on top of that, you had a sneaking suspicion (that Andrew refused to confirm or deny) that your boyfriend would make a guest appearance onstage to boot. 

the night only got better as it went on: the sun having fallen beneath the horizon, Andrew standing behind you with one arm wrapped around your torso at all times, Noah and his band captivating the audience. Noah's blunt yet personable energy extended onstage, and you felt yourself tear up when “Call Your Mom” was playing, the crowd lovingly singing it back to him at full volume.

you feel giddy, giddy at being a normal girl with a normal boyfriend at a normal show. it was so fucking fun, elation seeping into your body the longer Andrew kept his arms around you.

Andrew was being respectable, as he often made a point to be (in public). chaste, even. he’d kept a few inches between you, kept his arm on your shoulders. you figured there were probably eyes on you, figured he really didn’t want to make you any more uncomfortable than you already might be. but tonight was supposed to be about you two, about being normal. 

and what would normal you want to do with your normal boyfriend at a normal concert in the warm, dark summer night with the taste of bourbon still on your tongue?

“having fun, love?” Andrew’s mouth is next to your ear, the scratch of his beard on your neck. the sound of his voice and the feeling of his skin so close makes you almost lose your ability to stand upright. Christ, how unfair. 

“definitely fun.” you lean back onto his solid chest, letting your head fall into the dip of his neck as he leans down to hear you. “but I could be having so much more.” 

Andrew pauses a beat, the music swelling to a crescendo, and as if he’s read your mind, his hands go to your waist, sliding down slowly to your hips. they linger for just a few seconds before pulling you closer to him. onto him. you hear him let out a shallow breath and feel a slow smile spread across your face. 

“is this what you wanted?” he says, his voice rougher than before. he presses a kiss to your temple, then another on your jaw. they’re slow, lazy kisses, but that doesn’t take away the heat you know is simmering. 

you don’t respond, simply take his arms and wrap them tighter around you so they’re crossing over your chest. you stay like this, pressed together, for a few songs, swaying slightly. Andrew casually kissing you, rubbing lazy circles with his thumb on your arm. 

but eventually, you want more. you’re dancing, letting your instincts take over, the music and adrenaline making your blood pound. you press your ass against him and carefully move up and down, the thrill of feeling him already hard coursing through you. you feel his fingers grip tighter on your hips, but not too tight. just tight enough. he’s pulling you closer and closer, as if by sheer force of will he can make the fabric between you both disappear. 

you continue the movement, guided by the beat of the music, and Andrew keeps his hands and arms tightly around you. you even squeeze together your ass, feeling his hard on straining against you, pushing in closer. you know what he’s thinking about and your mouth waters. every now and then, you hear a whisper. a soft baby and then a not so soft fuck. 

when you put even more pressure on him with your ass, his mouth is suddenly pressing into your jaw again, this time his tongue tracing down onto your neck, sending shivers down your spine despite the warm air. you feel arousal pooling in your abdomen, tight and urgent.

you turn your head look at him, and tell him with your eyes what your words can’t convey. how much you want him. how much you need him, in that moment. you swallow, hard. you can see the dilemma in Andrew's expression: tend to you and help you feel good, or stay put. he glances up to the stage, then shakes his head. “fuck it.” 

Andrew’s pulling away from you now, but keeps tight hold of your hand as he leads you out of the crowd. you see the security personnel from earlier take a step toward you, likely to check in that nothing was wrong, but Andrew holds up his free hand and gives a slight shake of the head. the man nodded, once, and you looked toward where you were being led.

“where are we going?” you ask.  

“somewhere private.” 

you walk further away from the crowd and the stage until you get to rows and rows of parked trailers. he stops, thus you also stop, and he scans them as if looking for a specific one. finally Andrew finds the one he’s looking for and you’re headed toward a big trailer obscured by the twilight. Andrew punches in a code on the electronic key pad and you’re both trailing inside. 

he’s acting with swift, precise movements as you both know you’re playing against the clock with him going to push you down onto the sofa-bench, but you shake your head. you push him down and lower yourself on top of him, straddling his lap. Andrew practically purrs at the sight of you filling his vision and runs his hands down your body, stopping at your hips. he pulls you farther onto him and your mouths meet in a crush of hot, urgent need. 

you’re running your hands through his hair and he’s palming your breasts through your top, making you grind your hips, seeking friction. the bulge in his pants provides exactly what you’re looking for and you move yourself against it, letting out a low whine. Andrew jerks his hips up into you, desperate to give you what you need as you move your mouth to his neck. the jeans are rough against your tender, sensitive skin, but the feeling is driving you mad. you need to taste him, need to feel him.

he’s been whispering words of encouragement in your ear, letting you know how badly he wants you to feel good and how much he needs to feel you come for him. 

“that’s my girl. does my cock feel good for you? even through the jeans?” you nod, pushing further and groaning at the feeling of him, hard and stiff beneath you. “just for you. just here for you to feel good.” you bite your lip and feel his lips on your neck, then your collarbone, before mouthing your stiff nipple through your clothes. you find yourself wishing there had been time to take off clothes, but that had been impossible.

“n-need more. please, god.” Andrew immediately obliges, working his fingers under your clothes and pulling aside your underwear. 

“tell me what you need, baby.” 

“you. more of you.” 

Andrew gives you a self-satisfied smile at hearing this and slides one finger in, testing to see how much you can take. you respond by bucking onto his hand, aching for friction and pressure, so he quickly adds a second. you’re pushing into his palm, and he’s holding the pressure for you – you know from experience that if you could see him, the muscles in his arm would be taut with the strain.

“that’s it. doing so good for me. I know you're close.” Andrew says, voice low. “need you to come for me. need to feel you.”

the trailer is dark with no lights on, and you wish for a split second before you fall apart that you could see his face when you peak. wish you could see the way pleasure and pride change his expression into one reserved for you.

but instead you feel the waves of searing sensation crash over you, pulling you closer to him, your forehead on his shoulder. as you pant his name, you feel his other arm wrap around you, rubbing his hand down your back to assure you’re he’s right there. 

before either of you fully come back to your senses, you both feel Andrew’s phone vibrate in his back pocket. loathe to take you off his lap, he tightens his grip around you and pushes you both off the couch enough to slip out the phone. 

he expression grimaces as he looks to you and says, “we need to go.” 

“now?” you hope it doesn’t sound like a whine, but fuck, you just came so hard you could still feel it and wanted more than anything to let him finish what had been started.

“now.” he kisses you, tender and soft, but hot with desire all at once, full of everything he doesn’t have time to – and doesn’t really need to – say. you understand, and you’re carefully climbing off his lap and standing up, stretching.

“oh my god.” you realize it then, remember why you had been so rushed in the first place. “you have to go onstage.” you bark out a laugh and then so does he, and you’re both cackling like someone just told you the funniest dirty joke in existence. 

he’s standing then too, adjusting himself as best he can despite the raging hard on, and you’re both making your way out of the trailer.

“I hope it’s a long enough walk.” you hear him mutter from behind you as he closes the door. 

you suppress a smile and shrug. “we’ll just have to take care you later.” 

he comes up behind you and presses a kiss into your cheek before saying with a devious lilt, “’m s’posed to be calming down. don’t make this any harder than it has to be.” which causes another bout of laughter between the two of you, you doing your best to stifle the noise with your hand.  

you walk back to the stage area, hand in hand. you watch as he turns from you and heads to the backstage area, leaving you in the crowd to watch him join Noah onstage for Northern Attitude. 

you do your best to school your shit eating grin into something more neutral.

you fail miserably.

2024 7H of SC 24H of Le Mans you were truly something

Hozier - Wasteland, Baby! - Behind The Album Cover

❝ No, you just go dark, yeah. ❞

Hi maybe a fic where Andrey & his Girlfriend are having an Argument and she leaves the tournament to go home to her family for a couple of days and then he surprises her at home where they talk about everything?

an: thanks for requesting!!

Andrey was always a great player but one thing that he felt himself struggling with on court was his mentality. Daniil has always expressed how having his wife near him made him improve in his career. Andrey wanted to share this part of him with you so he invited you to join him in a tournament. 

During the quarterfinals of a major tournament, Andrey was struggling with his second serve. Every missed point or opportunity during a match felt like a dagger leaving a mark on his ego. He was convinced he was getting too distracted. You usually found a spot near the court where you could quietly observe Andrey’s practice sessions. The sun was warm on your skin, and the rhythmic sound of the tennis ball hitting the court became a soothing backdrop to your thoughts. You brought a book, its pages filled with stories that took your mind away to other worlds, yet your attention always drifted back to Andrey. You’d occasionally glance up from the text to watch him, your heart clenching with each frustrated sigh or missed serve. Despite the tension in the air, there was something comforting about being close to him, sharing these silent moments. You also had your phone, where you would scroll through social media, but it was the peacefulness of the garden, the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze, and the distant hum of the city that you found truly enjoyable.

"Andrey, are you okay?" you asked as he stormed off the court, slamming his racket into his bag. He spun around, his eyes blazing. "No, I'm not okay! Why do you always have to be here?"

You blinked, taken aback. "What do you mean? I'm here to support you."

"Support me?" he scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "I can't focus with you around. You're distracting me!"

You scrunched your face in confusion. "I’m distracting you? I haven’t done anything. I just watch from the stands. You invited me here. I don’t even talk to you during practice."

"It's not about talking," he snapped. "It's just... your presence. I can't explain it, but it's throwing me off."

You took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. "Andrey, I think you're just stressed. This tournament means a lot to you, and you're looking for someone to blame."

"And you're saying it's my fault?" he scoffed, not looking at you.

"No, I'm not!" you exclaimed, your frustration matching his. "I'm saying that maybe the problem isn't me. Maybe it's the pressure you're putting on yourself."

Andrey shook his head, jaw clenched. "You don’t understand. You don’t play. You don’t know what it’s like to have this kind of pressure.”

Your eyes flashed with hurt and anger. "No, I don't play tennis. But that doesn’t mean I don’t understand pressure or what it means to support someone you love. I'm here because I care about you. But if my being here is causing you this much stress, maybe I should leave."

"Maybe you should," he muttered, his voice cold. He didn’t expect you to hear him, but when you threw a harsh “Fine,” a part of him wanted to apologize, though another part felt justified.

That night, you packed your bags and left. You didn’t want to leave him but you believed that maybe some space would help him clear his mind and realize you were only there to support him, not distract him. You were lucky enough that the tournament took place not so far from your hometown so you headed to your childhood home. Your parents happily welcomed you but they could see something was wrong between you and Andrey. They didn’t push you to tell them but eventually you did mention that you two got into an argument, reassuring it wasn’t anything too serious. You still watched his matches but your conversations limited to you texting him to inform where you are and that you’re not mad, just thought a break would be the best option. You spent your days peacefully, helping your parents and relaxing. 

Meanwhile, Andrey couldn’t take it any longer. The emptiness he felt without you was unbearable and he followed you as soon as the tournament ended. The sun was setting as he arrived, casting a soft glow on the nature surrounding your childhood house. He felt a mixture of nerves and anticipation as he walked up the familiar path. He felt even more nervous when he spotted your mother - he was almost sure you told her what he had done and now she wouldn’t allow him to talk to you. To his surprise, she invited him “She's in the garden. Go on through”. 

Andrey thanked her and made his way to you. He spotted you sitting on a bench, a book in your hands. Your hair shone in the sunlight, you looked peaceful but only few could notice the hint of sadness in your eyes. He took a moment to compose himself, the view making him calmer, before approaching.

Your glance shifted from the paper to his face, the corners of your mouth slightly went up forming a small smile. Without a word you moved to give him some space to sit. "I was wrong, and I hurt you. I should never have blamed you for my own frustrations." His eyes didn’t dare to look at you and stared at his shaky hands. ”I know I hurt you. I was under a lot of pressure, and I took it out on you. But that’s no excuse. It’s unacceptable. You’re the most important person in my life, and I can't stand the thought of losing you”. 

You looked at him, he was a mess. “Oh come here” your arms wrapped around him thightly, his head buried at the crook of your neck. You gently stroked his back as overpowering emotions hit him causing him to cry. “I mean that with all my heart. I need you. Please forgive me.” you could barely make up the words as he hyperventilated. “It’s alright, don’t worry. I love you.” you said kissing the top of his head.

Little did you know, your parents stood together few meters from you, admiring their favourite couple’s reunion.

May 29, 2024

work song — a.h.b.

a/n: full disclosure, i've posted this before on tumblr for something else. but i love this piece very much and i think it fits for him and this song so well 🤍 (it's gone under quite a few edits too, though)

cw: mentions of death but of well that's a given

the artist flicks through the feature. 

her name is printed in big letters on the cover of the monthly issue, her face—smiling and excited—next to the centrepiece of her latest art collection: cupid and psyche. 

the painting is stunning, a riot of bold colours and patterns, but at the centre is a man, his face hidden, his red-brown curls tousled. his body is relaxed, she thinks there's an air of carefreeness about him. 

and she'd know that for sure, after all that day is etched into her memory. 

when she feels a familiar pair of arms wrap around her, she smiles. 

“you're rather proud of the feature, aren't you?” his voice holds a little teasing note. she's stared at the feature for close to thirty minutes now, discreetly pinching herself in the same spot on her arm. (it sports a tiny, barely-there bruise now) 

“good,” he nuzzles his face into her neck, softly kissing the skin, “you should be. the exhibit was fucking gorgeous.”

“mmm, because you were the centrepiece?” fondly, she teases back, but the memory flashes in front of her eyes—the bustling art gallery, him in a corner, wearing a plain hoodie and jeans and a cap hiding half of his face, absolutely brimming with pride. 

she remembers the journalists asking about the man in all the paintings, the one whose face no one can see. “he's my muse,” she says every time, “this collection is dedicated to him.” 

“someone's going to connect the dots,” he walks around her, settling himself next to her on the settee. instantly, they rearrange themselves into a tangle—her legs on his lap, his arm around her, her head on his shoulders, his head on hers. “if they looked carefully, they'll make the connection.” 

“sweet boy, we have been each other's muse for years now and no one's found out. i don't think they're going to start now. besides,” she snorts, “i think the art world thinks i've made you up in my mind. won’t be the first time an artist's gone insane.”

he laughs a hearty laugh. “maybe you have. you always say i'm too good to be true.”

when she can't think of a retort, she sticks her tongue out, shrieking away as he smothers her in kisses. 

“seriously though, it's fun writing about you. singing about you. and i love seeing myself through your eyes.” suddenly he sounds all sober and serious. she thinks his voice even wavers slightly at the end. he blinks quickly though, and just like that the brightness in his eyes is gone. 

“love it when you write about me too,” she teases, “love being told i give you a toothache just from kissing you.”

“oi! i put my heart into that! it's a precious memory for me.”

“the memory of me taking care of you when you were burning up a fever? the memory of you demanding more kisses?”

he giggles like a teenager, hiding his face in her hair. it's fun to rile him up like this, so she continues, poking him in the ribs. “oh, oh, is it the memory of you passing the flu to me?” 

“we took care of each other though!” he traps both her hands in his so she won’t be able to poke him more. a second passes, and he can’t resist kissing the knuckles. “and so you deserve to have a song written about you. or a whole album works too i think.”

he pauses for a little then tuts. “actually, no. don't wanna tell anyone it's about you, that'll ruin the magic.”

“ruin the magic?” 

“of being your muse and having you as mine. a hundred years from now, when people would see your art as the artwork of this generation, and my music as the tune of our times—”

“tune of our times...”

“yeah, quit laughing at me!” he flicks her nose, kissing it right after. “so when my music becomes the tune of our times, i think people will see it then. they will make the connections.”

secretly, she loves the idea—that their love might transcend time and space, heaven and hell through their art. that decades from now their names might be whispered together, even though they aren’t just yet. 

“of course, we'll be buried together by then. same grave by the way, very romeo and juliet of us.”

“that's morbid!” she laughs sharply, “what will the epitaph say?”

he hums for a bit, thinking. his eyes flutter shut for a second or two, almost like he needs to focus on the half formed thought until it's a complete sentence. then he excitedly clears his throat and gently holds her face between his hands. 

“here lie the artist and the muse; inspiring each other in death as they did in life.”