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a little early 20s, awkward flirting, college au thoughts

this one is kind of explicit, so 18+ MDNI pls

You knew Andrew from a college class in your second year, though you had definitely seen him around campus and sometimes on the train home.

He was always carrying a guitar case, a backpack slung over one shoulder as he trudged along with a group of friends, and you noticed that he was pretty quiet and subdued for a musician. (Perhaps that was just a bias.)

He was cute and definitely your type--an awkward, gangly thing with a shy smile and adorable laugh that you'd heard a handful of times while sitting in class or the dining hall.

On a night where your friends had finally convinced you to go out and enjoy the pub offerings in Dublin, you spotted him at a table nearby, a huge smile on his face as he chatted with a group of friends around him. You didn't catch the way one of those friends nudged him and pointed you out.

You were a few drinks in and feeling good as you chatted with your own friends about school, work, family, and life in general. It was a much needed night to blow off some steam and enjoy yourself after a few tough exams.

A tap on your shoulder startled you, and you were met with the reddened, grimacing face of Andrew as he avoided your stare.

"Would you...like a drink?" he asked, his eyes trained on the ceiling.

You looked down at the nearly full pint of beer in front of you and shoved it towards your friend as you smiled up at Andrew, saying, "That would be lovely."

His raised eyebrows and incredulous stare made you think that perhaps he hadn't considered this as a possible outcome, you accepting his offer with a deliberate show of interest.

He invited you to sit outside and talk where there's fresh air and less noise, though part of you wondered if he wanted to hide from his friends' prying eyes as you talked.

And boy, could he talk. It was surprising, but not unpleasantly so. In fact, you were enthralled by the answers he provided to every music related question you threw at him. The drunk enthusiasm with with he spoke melted your heart as you rested your head in your hand and smiled at him.

He watched you with rapt attention as you explained your own studies, his eyes darting over your face as he smiled and nodded along. Every now and then, he'd ask a question as if to assure you that he was listening and fully invested.

"Do you want to walk me home?" You didn't live far from this particular pub, only two train stops away from the flat you stayed in with two friends who would be warned of your intentions on the way out.

When he nodded, you grabbed his hand and led him back through the pub, each of you stopping to give your friends some piss poor excuse for your departure before practically running for the exit.

You could hardly wait to get home, instead opting to pull him in for a fevered kiss on the train as you found yourself in a mostly emptied train car. The only other person was sound asleep and unaware of you climbing into Andrew's lap and allowing his tongue to press against yours as his hands wandered from your lower back to grip your thighs.

The call for your stop rang out over the speakers, and you pulled him along to follow you towards your flat while you chirped excitedly about the possibility of "listening to music " or "watching a movie." Which, you would, technically speaking. It still counted even with someone inside of you.

After a cursory look through your music collection, he chose an album by The Black Keys, slipping the disc into your stereo before you were on him again as Dan Auerbach sang about everlasting light.

"Are you sure this is okay?" he asked, eyes wide and pupils blown.

The way you ripped his belt off and frantically unbuttoned his jeans was an answer unto itself. You were coherent enough, at least, to reach into your bedside drawer and produce a condom from its depths.

Finally, finally you sank down onto his cock with a whimper as the stretch of him made you ache. He gripped your hips as you rode him, unable to take his eyes off of you for even a moment as you tilted your head back and gasped quietly.

Andrew let you set the pace, meeting back against your thrusts until the room filled with the obscene sounds of skin-on-skin and the wetness of your arousal.

Your orgasm hit hard and fast--much faster than it had with any previous partner as you rubbed fast circles against your clit. It was a less-than-gentle bite to your shoulder that sent you over the edge.

He followed soon after, fingers pressing hard into your hips as he tried to bite back the groan that desperately wanted to escape. You wished he wouldn't, wanting to hear more of the pretty sounds that fell from his lips.

After, when he pulled out and you collapsed onto his chest, he held you close and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow?" he asked, and you could only laugh tiredly and nod in response. Sure, it was a little backwards, but the idea of a proper date made you giddy despite having the man already naked with you in bed.

You both fell asleep soon after, unaware of your roommates peeking into your room and flipping off the lights after confirming that you were both home safe.

untitled — a.h.b.

cw: mentions of being drunk, alcohol, suggestive content

“you have a good evening?” he fails to stifle a grin and holds her close as she tries to straddle him. it’s awkward—her heels digging into his knee, her dress riding up her thigh. hair stuck to her lip gloss.

“it was fantastic!” she declares, nodding with such excitement that it sets her earrings swinging wildly. “you should have been there, it would have been funner–fuck, more fun. i dunno, is funner a word?”

his grin turns wider, she puts her head on his shoulder and lets him cradle her close. “it is if you want it to be. and who’d take care of you if i got drunk with you, hmm?”

“oh, i’m fine!” airily, she waves her hand away. he narrowly avoids the smack. “just…” she lowers her voice, a hushed whisper, a secret about to be divulged, “how do i take off my heels? the buckles are veryyyyyyy complicated. it’s stupid.”

he can’t control the snort that leaves him then. she looks so adorable—trying so hard to keep her eyes open while so obviously being sleepy. trying so hard to convince him she’s not drunk, when she is, indeed, bladdered. 

when he gets on his knees by her feet, she attempts a protest.

“wh—”

“let’s get your heels off you, okay?” 

“mmm, and after that?” he feels her hands through his hair, nails against his scalp and the nape of his neck in what is meant to be boldly flirtatious. “what comes off after that.”

if she weren’t so drunk, it would have worked on him. 

his hair fall in his eyes when he looks up at her. he can almost predict what he’s going to see—half-lidded sleepy eyes and messy hair and glitter all over her face. 

“your make-up,” he deadpans, rubs his thumb over her knee. “then your clothes, and then the blankets. so i can put you to bed.”

she pouts, sticks her tongue out at him and blows a raspberry. “old man! look at you, you’re ready for bed at…uh…”

“midnight? yeah, real old man of me,” he grins. 

he lets her try again, trace a finger through his hair and down to his temple and then his jaw. when he closes his eyes and smiles, she traces that too—her thumb over his lips, making his smile grow wider.

“pretty as you are,” he places a small kiss on the palm of her hand, “i need to take you to bed.” and before she can make another little comment, he quickly interrupts, “so you can sleep, you pervert.”

“boooo, boringgggg!” she stands up all of a sudden, his heart picks up when she stumbles, trips over her discarded heels and lands, once again, right into his arms. something about the whole thing is apparently hilarious, it sets her giggling once more. 

“d’you wanna know a secret?” she whispers once she's managed to stop laughing, “c’mere, c’mere!”

just to entertain her, he sits on the settee, then carefully sits her down on his lap. “go on then.”

“no, clooooser,” she pokes him in the chest. it barely has any effect, “it’s very very secret!”

he grabs her finger, the one that’s just poked him, and brings it to his mouth to kiss the knuckle. then he leans closer until their noses are almost touching.

“go on, tell me your secret.”

“so, it’s…it’s…” he sees her eyes go from sleepy to twinkly in a matter of seconds, and then she leans, pressing a kiss square on his lips, giggling away at his surprised face. “gotcha!”

his jaw drops, cheeks flaming from being caught so off guard. it’s not often he gets shy around her—not anymore—but something about the way she looks at him, like he hung the moon just for her, leaves him speechless.

he holds her by the waist so she won’t squirm away from him, still laughing—her lipstick is fully gone now, only smudges of it remain on the corners of her lips, her eyeliner is half smudged and the glitter on her eyelids is all around her eyes. and she is, without a doubt, the prettiest girl he’s seen in his entire life. 

“you’re staring,” she whispers, biting her lip shyly and he can’t resist kissing her again—a small kiss, a real kiss. 

“you’re gorgeous.” 

“are we going to bed then?” she throws him a clumsy wink.

“we are…” he nods, “so you can go to bed—”

“booooo, boring old man!” she pokes him in the chest again, right over his heart. the adorable crease between her brows is back, the one she thinks makes her look serious and angry.

once again he grabs the finger, kisses the knuckle. “you’ll love me in the morning, trust me.”

“i’ll love you always,” she says as a matter of fact, nodding sagely. 

if he could melt right there, he would. instead, he hugs her tight and holds her close, her head on his chest. then he kisses her head, lingering for as long as he can, and carries her to bed.

more early 20s, awkward college au thoughts

hozier x reader explicit (18+, MDNI) tags: friends-to-lovers, pining, requited crushes, banter, makeouts, car handjobs, mentions of alcohol use

You were invited to a party held by a friend of a friend--though, invited wasn't exactly the right word. It was more that you were begged to go, your friend on her knees in front of you as she pleaded her case.

"Please, please come with me. I don't want to go alone," she cried. "Conor is going, and I need you there for moral and emotional support." Conor was your friend's current crush, and if that was meant to be a secret, she did a piss poor job of hiding it.

Your resolve began to crumble before her very eyes, and then she hit you with the finisher: "Andrew will be there..." A flutter of her eyelashes made you scoff, but the flush on your face betrayed you.

The "party" was less of a party and more of a casual get-together at a flat in Dublin. Whose flat? You had no clue. You had simply followed the directions your friend provided as she bounced in the passenger's seat.

You barely made it beyond the threshold before your friend was whisked away towards Conor and his group of friends. The way Conor's face lit up upon seeing her assured you that you'd made the right choice in tagging along.

It was easy to spot Andrew in his friend group with the way he towered over most of them. He was clad in a dark hoodie with a jean jacket thrown over top. His puff of curls was barely subdued, and you briefly wondered if he was trying to grow it out.

"Hey!" Shit. One of the boys was waving at you--a long-haired lad you knew specifically from the Pokémon doodles all over his notebooks.

You did your best to turn your alarmed grimace into a grin as all eyes turned towards you. Instead of approaching, you waved at the group before skittering off to find someplace relatively quiet and out of the way.

A fire escape proved itself to be the sanctuary you were searching for. You climbed out of a bedroom window--which you assumed belonged to the host if the movie posters haphazardly taped to the wall and the stiff, crusty socks hanging out on the floor were anything to go on--and sat down on the cold railing. There was a bit of a chill, but nothing you couldn't handle.

"Hiding out?" You nearly jumped out of your skin when a voice broke the silence not even 15 minutes later, and you whipped your head around to see Andrew resting his arms on the windowsill as he leaned against it and watched you, amused. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

"Yeah? You need to wear a bell or something," you huffed as you willed your heart to settle. When he asked to join you, you shrugged and allowed him to slip into the spot beside you despite already having little space or leeway. You tried to ignore the way your bodies pressed together, instead focusing on the cars that puttered along the road below.

"What are you doing out here?" you asked, breaking the silence between you after a few minutes. Andrew shrugged and stumbled over his words, a nervous habit that was always fascinating to you. For a person with such a powerful voice and an inclination to perform, he did have a tendency to be mildly awkward in casual conversation.

"Do you want the honest answer?" he asked. When you tilted your head and furrowed your brow, he looked away and said with a smile, "You. More specifically, your friend was the one who sent me to find you. Honestly, though, I don't know how she was able to form any sentences with her tongue down Conor's throat."

You let out a small laugh. "Good for her," you nodded. Finally. Then, you asked, "So, you're the search and rescue party?" It was Andrew's turn to laugh, and your face warmed at the sound as his body shook against yours.

"Not exactly," he shrugged again, still avoiding your gaze. "Your friend, she...had a bit to drink. Said some things about you. About me." A pit opened up in your stomach, and you wished in that moment that it would consume you whole before taking the universe with it.

"Oh?" Keep it cool.

Andrew looked at you now, his cheeks pink from more than the chill of the outside air. "Mhm. I think what she said was, 'You need to find her and wear her face off,' or something to that effect."

To which you mumbled, "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I'll kill her," while pressing your thumb and index finger against your brow bone.

"So...is she right? Or, were these the ramblings of a mad lass on her third drink of the evening?" You knew exactly what he was doing--offering you a way out of this situation, giving you the choice and the freedom to make the next move. It was sweet, and very like him despite his tendency to be a bit...controlling.

And that was the thing, right? You knew him well enough after spending hours at a time together in church, suffocating in your Sunday Best and playing Tic-Tac-Toe or Hangman on a slip of paper supported by a hymnal. Your parents were friends for Christ's sake. It was odd to think of Andrew as such a permanent fixture in your life despite the distance you put between both of you--a shift in your dynamic after a crush bloomed into something else and followed you well into college.

And yet, here he was, set off to find you after your drunk best friend spilled the proverbial beans. You didn't think this was something he'd do if he weren't hopeful for a specific outcome. Right?

"What is the saying? In vino veritas?" You were hit with a wall of silence, unable to turn your head and face him as your face burned all the way to the tips of your ears. A vague enough confirmation should he want or need an escape.

You were so worried about what you could possibly say next--how you could apologize for the admission despite his probing and initiation of the entire fucking conversation--that you were startled when his hands came up to cup your face, forcing you to look at him. Then, he was kissing you, soft and tentative before pulling away and looking at you with large, sparkling eyes.

"What is the saying?" he asked, smiling as you opened and closed your mouth in a futile attempt to respond. "Acta non verba?"

There wasn't necessarily a conversation before you were climbing back into the flat, gripping his wrist, and leading him out the front door. You ignored the shouts and hollers from friends, words incoherent over the noise of idle party chatter and music. You simply threw a middle finger up before the door shut behind you.

The backseat of your car wasn't the most ideal place for this to happen, but it was better than being walked in on. Night had fallen upon the city, and the darkness kept you both hidden as you curled a fist into the fabric of his hoodie and pulled him in for rough, messy kiss that spoke to your desperation for him. Years of subdued pining coming out in a clash of teeth and tongue as the windows began to fog.

"We'll do this properly next time," Andrew huffed when you pulled away to catch your breath, and your heart stuttered at the promise of a next time. He tasted like cheap beer and ash--the remnants of a few drags he'd taken off of his moody friend's cigarette before scurrying away to find you. "In a bed, with lit candles, and soft music or something."

You could only laugh as you worked his belt open while trying to avoid smashing your skull against the ceiling. (Truly, what would that obituary look like?) Finally, finally, he was shoving his trousers and pants just enough to free his cock, already half hard as you took him into your palm. The sharp inhale through his teeth made you pause. When you looked up, you caught his eyes fluttering closed before he let his head fall back against the headrest with a soft sigh.

The space was too tight and the angles too awkward to do anything but stroke him while kissing and biting along his neck--not hard enough to leave marks, but enough for him to really feel it. As you did, he touched every bit of you he could reach, his hands sliding below your hoodie and slipping beneath your t-shirt until his cold fingers brushed against bare skin.

The only warning you received was a soft, choked, "I'm--" before you felt the warmth of his release spilling over your fist. You stroked him through it, kissing him languidly as he twitched and whined beneath you.

Andrew asked, "What about you?" as he tucked himself away. You gently grabbed his chin and pulled him in for another kiss before murmuring in his ear, "Make it up to me later. Properly. In a bed, with candles and music."

hey besties I think I blacked out while writing this so uhhhhhh sorry for how feral this ended up being ahahaha fuck

hozier x reader explicit (18+, MDNI) tags: friends-to-lovers, piv sex, oral sex, mild voyeurism? mentions of alcohol use

Andrew is a kind soul who takes pity on you when you call him to complain about your flat being fumigated. The entire building is being displaced for a beetle infestation that is apparently destroying the structural integrity of nearly every block.

"Do you want to stay with me?" he asks after you whine about having to stay with your parents for a few days. The question catches you off guard, but you're quick to accept with profuse thanks. You love your parents, but Christ, they're a lot. After nearly ten years of friendship, Andrew is well aware of your family's particular flavor of dysfunction.

You show up to his place by nightfall after watching the circus tent engulf your home. He answers the door with a glass of red wine in his hand, handing it out to you as you cross the threshold. You accept it with a weary smile, saying, "God fucking bless you," before taking a few tentative sips.

He places a fresh towel on the bed and leaves you to settle in the guest bedroom, but you're soon shuffling out to look for him with your nearly empty wine glass clutched in your hand. You find him in the kitchen where he tops off your glass before shepherding you towards the sitting room.

Existing around each other is always easy. You read a book while he plucks out random tunes on his acoustic guitar on the other side of the room. The silence between you is comfortable, and you catch yourself glancing up at him every now and then just to watch his fingers move or the odd faces he makes when he accidentally plays a discordant note. When he catches your gaze, his smile sends your stomach rolling in delight.

It's been a long few years of shoving those feelings away, locking them in a box with all the other inappropriate thoughts that have reared their ugly heads. Andrew is none the wiser, and you think you've kept a pretty good lid on things overall...with the possible exception of now, as your second finished glass of red wine has you squirming and surreptitiously squeezing your thighs together.

“I’m going to have a shower,” you say, setting your glass down on the coffee table before standing up and quickly leaving the room, unaware of Andrew’s confused expression as he watches you disappear around a corner. The guest bedroom has its own private bathroom—a luxury that works well for your current circumstance as you shut the bedroom door behind you and quickly peel off every article of clothing on your person. Wine has always hit you a little differently than other drinks, and you can feel the arousal that burns hot along your skin and down to your very core.

You lie back on the bed and bring a hand down to touch yourself, hissing as your fingers work your clit. This is meant to be a rough, quick orgasm to take your mind off of…well, everything, you suppose. Ultimately, you know you should wait until you and Andrew say your good nights, but this feels like a dire emergency that needs to be extinguished as soon as possible.

The thing about Andrew is he’s always been quiet, and it certainly doesn’t help that the flooring muffles his approaching footsteps. You barely hear the short knock and the jiggle of the handle before he’s opening the door, in the midst of a question when he stops and stares. “I didn’t hear the shower,” he splutters. “Wanted to make sure you were okay, and it, uh, seems like you are. So.” Except, he doesn’t move. He stays frozen in the doorway, staring as you quickly pull the towel over yourself, face burning.

Then, he says, “I’m going to ask you a question, and if you say no…well, we can pretend it’s just the wine talking.” When you nod, he continues, “Do you…want help?” It’s as though whatever deity up above is smiling down on you at this moment, and you’re overcome with a giddy embarrassment as you stutter out an enthusiastic yes, please, yes.

You squeak when he pulls you further down on the mattress before kneeling in front of you, pressing soft kisses along your inner thighs before finally putting his mouth on you. You gasp, twitch, and grab at the sheets as he licks and gently sucks on your clit, already sensitive from your earlier touching. It’s easy to accommodate three of his fingers inside of you as your arousal drips down your thighs, and soon you’re gripping the sheets in your clenched fists as you come with a cry. A stray tear slips down your cheeks as he continues, letting you ride through the pleasure of it until you’re an overstimulated puddle.

“Well,” you huff when he finally pulls away and lets you rest for a moment, “That’s certainly not the type of service I’d receive at a hotel.” Andrew hums amusedly before kissing your thigh again and standing. You can see the bulge in his trousers, and despite your recent climax, you can feel the warm coil of desire still within you. You prop yourself up on your elbows and ask, “Do you want to…?”

Seeing him in any state of undress is fascinating, and you wish you could take mental snapshots of this moment as he pull his t-shirt over his head and tosses it to the floor. When he rids himself of his trousers and pants, your mouth drops open, and you look up at him with a meek smile and squeak out, “Please be gentle,” as if he’d ever be anything but gentle with you.

He kisses you like you are the only source of oxygen in the room—like he might die if he doesn’t have his lips or teeth grazing somewhere on your body. He lets his head fall into the crook of your neck as he presses into you. It’s an uncomfortable stretch that forces you to inhale sharply and cling to him, nails scratching lightly against his back. But it’s also good—so, so good—and soon you’re urging him to move.

It shouldn’t surprise you that he’s more concerned with your pleasure than his own. He’s just that kind of guy, always checking in with soft, whispered questions in your ear. It isn’t until you wrap your legs around his waist that he gets the idea, and soon he’s fucking you relentlessly while pinning you to the mattress. Those soft whispers turn into harsh expletives, and you’re letting out hiccupped sounds of pleasure as you reach between your bodies to touch yourself once more.

“Fuck, baby, please.” There’s something about the way he hisses it, the pet name sounding desperate and nearly broken. It’s enough to send you over the edge again, and you gasp his name before biting down on your lip and squeezing your eyes shut as each wave of your second climax rolls through you. It takes only one, two, three more thrusts before he’s coming with a groan and your name on his lips.

Later, when you’re panting and sweating next to each other in bed, you turn your head to look at him with a tired, goofy smile. “It’s probably time for a real shower, yeah?” You can see the conflict on his face—the desire to keep you there and hold you versus the desire to follow you into the bathroom. Finally, he chooses the latter after you promise that you wouldn’t get dressed afterwards.

Stressful Situations

Hello! The fic below the cut was written by the lovely @suueeeeeee ! They messaged me asking if I would be willing to edit and post this for them and after reading this delightful fic I had to say yes!

To the 2 people who requested fics! They are in the works but may take a little longer as I'm leaving for the weekend! Thank you so much for the love and support y'all!!

It was yet another day, another rehearsal and another stressful session of Andrew and the band trying their best to make sure they’re all set for today’s concert.

Ever since (y/n) had started to accompany Andrew on tour, she’s been nothing but a delight in everyone’s eyes. She made sure they all ate, stayed hydrated, and well-rested and genuinely cared for them as if she was their mother.

She sat down on the side watching them with those eyes that said ‘I’m so fucking proud’. She enjoyed every part of this tour, everything about it made her happy. She loved Andrew and therefore watching him do what really makes him happy tickled her insides and made her all giddy.

She noticed how on edge he was today, and how he was taking it out on everyone else. She felt bad for everyone but she bad for him specifically. Poor lad’s been extremely tired and exhausted. Anyone would be the same if they’d been touring nonstop for almost 2 months now, and having to put so much energy into shows every couple of days.

She felt bad for Andrew but also for the band, they were trying their best but for some reason something was messed up every now and then which resulted in Andrew cursing loudly, not at anyone in particular but just out of frustration.

She sighed and got up, heading towards him. She placed a hand on his back, stroking it softly.

“Love, take it easy, don’t stress yourself much, it’ll be okay.”

She says with a soft smile attempting to comfort him and calm him down a little bit. She felt a vein was about to pop in his forehead and he’d get a headache from frowning so much. He looked up at her with a blank expression.

“(Y/n), please. The last thing I need is distractions. Don’t tell me what to do, we have shit to get done.”

He snapped at her and this was the first time within their 9 month relationship that he had done something like this. She was taken back a little. This attitude definitely was weird cause Andrew never behaved this way even in times he was stressed out the most. She gulped and nodded her head, fighting off the tears.

“Yes yes, of course. I apologize, ehm- I’ll just wait in one of the dressing rooms, sorry guys.”

She looks at them with a sad smile and Alex turns to Andrew with the angriest glare.

“The fuck is wrong with you?”

Alex spit at Andrew and slung off his guitar then followed her immediately. They weren’t particularly close but he appreciated her taking care of Andrew and of the whole band. The woman was sweet and kind and it hurt him to see Andrew speak to her that way. He ran after her and he could see her shoulders shaking which confirmed his thoughts that she was crying.

“(Y/n/n), wait.”

He calls for her by her nickname and places a hand on her shoulder. She turns around to look at him with teary eyes and a wet face. She wipes her eyes quickly and sniffs not wanting to seem weak or like a crybaby. He just takes her in for a hug.

“He didn’t mean it, you know he’s crazy about you, but he’s just stressed. It’s not an excuse though. You have every right to be upset just don’t take it to seriously, okay? I’ll kick his ass.”

She pulls back, chuckling a little then nods her head with a sigh.

“I know, Alex. I’m not upset with him, I’m just upset for him. He’s been so exhausted and it’s starting to take a toll on him. I’ll just give him some time. Maybe after tonight’s show he’ll feel a little less stressed.”

Alex blinks at her and wonders how the fuck someone could be this peaceful and kind. Now, Alex was 10x angrier with Andrew for hurting her feelings and he intended to give him a piece of his mind but after tonight’s show. He softly rubs her shoulder.

“Just go get yourself something to drink and don’t think about it much, I’m sure he’ll apologize in no time.”

She nodded and thanked Alex and walks away, but it was obvious she was still upset. He sighed and walked back to the main stage area to find Andrew still strumming the guitar with the same frown except it was now deeper. The tension was too thick and the vibes were really bad unlike how it would normally be. He picked up his guitar again and when Andrew noticed they started rehearsing again.

———————————————————-

One time while performing, Andrew finished his water bottle and he kept on looking around for someone to refill it for him but for some reason everyone was busy with technical difficulties going on so she took it upon herself to get him another water bottle. She didn’t think much of walking on stage as she just wanted to get Andrew his water cause poor thing’s vocal cords must’ve been screaming for help.

When she walked on stage, everyone was confused, including Andrew himself. She handed him the water bottle, took the empty one with a smile. His heart exploded at that moment and he instantly reached out and hugged her which caused her to blush deeply. He was openly hugging her in front of everyone, which was something she wasn’t used to, which also caused the fans to go crazy for that moment. After he let go, she ran backstage, but ever since that moment, (Y/n) made an appearance every concert when handing Andy his water bottle which was always thanked by a side hug.

Andrew was thinking to himself, would she do their ritual tonight even though he was a total ass towards her? He openly admitted to himself that he was mean and rude towards her, but his energy lately had been so low. He’s starting to get exhausted from the constant traveling and performing. Therefore, he decided to get her some flowers and take her out for dinner after they’re done with the show. However, he was upset at the fact that there’ll be no water bottle from her tonight which will get the fans talking and it’ll just create a hassle he’s in no mood for.

Much to his surprise, amidst his performance, he heard loud screams and cheers which confused until he felt someone place a water bottle down on the floor in front of him and he looked and saw his beautiful partner. She looked up at him with a tight smile then walked back. At this point, his heart exploded with so much love for that woman and his love for her grew a million times.

——————————————————-

The show was an absolute success, the vibes were very nice despite everything happening prior to the performance and everyone was happy with how everything came out.

Everyone was putting their things back in place and was making sure they’re all set to retire to their rooms to relax after a long, stressful and emotionally draining day.

Meanwhile, (y/n) was in the tour bus, packing a small backpack to spend the night in a hotel. She kept reminding herself that he never meant it and it was his tired mind talking but she just couldn’t accept the fact that someone spoke to her that way in front of the whole band. Had they been alone, she would have just ignored it, joked about it and teased him until he became less grumpy but the fact that he snapped at her like that, for some, reason felt humiliating.

She walked out of the tour bus when Alex was going in. He saw her bag then frowned.

“Where are you going? It’s late.”

He asked her, feeling genuinely worried. He started thinking the worst. Is she going to leave Andrew? Is she going to fly back to Dublin for a break? She was the one mostly keeping their times fun on this exhausting tour leg and particularly keeping Andrew’s strength to keep going despite the exhaustion.

She sighs, looking away, not really knowing what to say.

“I’m spending the night in the hotel around the corner, Alex. I don’t think I could be around Andrew tonight. I might say something I regret and make things worse.”

“Did you at least let him know?” He knows he can’t change her mind but he also thought this was a good solution cause as chill as they both seemed to be. When they get angry, they’re monsters.

“Well- that’s going to be your job. Don’t you dare tell him where I am, Alex. Just tell him I’m fine. Let me torture him a little.”

She grins evilly and Alex lets out a laugh. That was her typical behavior, managing to make fun and humor out of dark situations.

“Alright, but let me know when you check in and come back first thing in the morning.” He pulls her in for hug then lets her go before watching her walk away.

————————————————————

She got settled in and changed into her night shirt, getting into bed. She decided to scroll down through instagram for a little, seeing that Andrew posted snippets from today’s concert as he does every time. She liked them but it was obvious to her that he wasn’t really in his normal state. She pouted, starting to feel guilty for leaving him when he’s feeling like this. She was supposed to support him through everything and the first time he does something like this, she reacts like this? Then again, he was rude towards her in front of other people. Her mind was racing with thoughts and she was feeling as if she was drowning in this dilemma when she heard knocking at the door.

She curses to herself, knowing it’s probably Andrew, cause Alex couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Deep inside, she was hoping he’d come to her. When she peaked through the door, it indeed was the one and only Andre Hozier-Byrne. She sighs, opening the door and steps to the side, nodding for him to come inside.

He walks in silently and she sees the flowers in his hands. He got her Verbenas, her favorite. He clears his throat and hands them to her.

“Ehm- I got you these.”

Truth be told, he didn’t know what to say, as the situation was awkward and it was the first time they'd dealt with something like this. They both were really chill and peaceful, when they disagree about something they just leave it and agree to disagree without forcing their own views on each other or anything like that. They both always treated each other with respect whether they were alone or with other people. She accepts the flowers, placing them on the bed next to her where she sits as he takes a seat in front of her on the small sofa.

“Love, I’m incredibly sorry. I know what I did was wrong, but I’m just so down, exhausted. I don’t feel the best. I know that this isn’t an excuse and you have every right to be mad, but please, don’t leave me.”

She could hear the desperation in his voice and she looks at him, surprised.

“Andrew, are you insane? Why the fuck would I leave you? Yes, I’m upset. I understand your point, but still upset. For you to apologise and acknowledge your mistake is more than enough. It’d take much much more than this for me to leave you. You’re stuck with me.”

She grins, sitting next him and taking him into her arms. He cuddles against her, resting his head on her chest, enjoying the feeling of her fingers combing through his hair. This was the only thing he needed. To be alone with his beloved after a long day, wrapped around each other.

hi besties, i haven't been well today, so here is a comfort ficlet/musing that i wrote for my own personal comfort lmao

hozier x reader G (general audiences)/SFW tags: hurt/comfort, confessions-ish, a sick lad

born from the following prompt: "You offer to make me tea when I’m sick, and for some reason, I have the urge to kiss you. Deliriously, I ask if I can. We came to an agreement that I can kiss you after I stop sneezing."

Andrew is a giant fucking baby when he’s sick. You know this from several years of friendship, and, subsequently, several years of trading bugs and viruses between each other and your core friend group. 

When he started touring, he was out of commission most days just to keep his voice and his energy in check. Months of traveling to different parts of the world was not kind to his immune system. Now, years later, his immune system has strengthened with time and exposure to just about every bullshit sickness one could contract from an airport terminal. 

He’s home for the moment, stopped over from the midst of an international tour for his third studio album. Ironically, he wasn’t sick when he arrived. You saw him the day after he landed to chat over coffee, and he seemed perfectly fine. Now, not even 48 hours later, he texts you that he’s feeling poorly, followed by a dramatic selfie of him with a (wholly unnecessary) ice pack on his head and a thermometer stuck in his mouth. He genuinely does look exhausted, but you can’t think of a time where he doesn’t look like he needs 16 consecutive hours of sleep.

It’s not like he asks you to come over, but when he mentions that his fever has hit at just about 38 degrees, you’re packing your things and heading out the door. Andrew, God bless his soul, puts far too much trust into you–so much so that he’s actually given you a key in case of emergencies. Sometimes, those emergencies are simply watering his plants, but you appreciate the gesture all the same. 

You open the front door to his country home with grocery bags hanging from your arm. In the distance, you can hear the faint croak of his voice. “Hello?” He sounds awful, and your heart breaks a little bit knowing how miserable he must feel. You call back, “It’s just me!” before setting your things down on the kitchen counter and shuffling back towards his bedroom. 

The bedroom looks more like a cavern–curtains drawn and lights off save for the flicker of a television. The volume is so low you’re not sure how he can hear it, but then you realize that he probably hasn’t been with the way he blinks at you, bleary eyed and face creased from his pillow. He’s got the blankets drawn up to his chin, the rest of him curled beneath it until he’s merely a lump of a man.

When you ask how he’s feeling, he doesn’t respond with an answer. Instead, he rasps, “What are you doing here?” You round his bed to sit on the edge where he’s curled up and place the back of your hand against his forehead. He’s still warm, but he confirms he’s already taken something for his symptoms just a while ago. Ignoring his feeble protests, you head back into the kitchen to warm some soup, then return to him with a glass of water. 

“I don’t want you to get sick.” You wave him off with a shake of head. It’s not like a few days off from work with a flu would do any harm. In fact, there was a part of you that hoped you’d get sick just for the opportunity. When you bring him his soup, he sits up slowly and explains that his muscles ache, but he still tries to shoo you away with the promise that he’d be fine. 

“Do you really want me to go?” you ask, and his hesitation before answering tells you all you need to know. After, when you’re done cleaning up the kitchen and putting things away, Andrew doesn’t protest when you plop down next to him in bed. He’s so stuffy that he can barely breathe. The medication he took earlier is barely helping, and you can see from the corner of your eye as he begins to nod off every now and then. 

“You need to get some sleep, my dear,” you murmur, and he looks up at you with a weary smile. When he answers in defiance, you press a finger to his lips and whisper, “Shhh, shut the fuck up. Go to sleep.” 

It startles you when he replies, “You’re so cute.” Your heart seizes in your chest, and Andrew is heavy-lidded and clearly battling his fatigue as he continues, “Taking such good care of me…I wanna kiss you. Can I kiss you?” 

The nervous laughter that bubbles up from your chest makes him smile, and you lean in to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. The warmth of his fever is waning, but he’s still a little too warm for your comfort. “That’s the medication talking, my dear.”

“‘S not,” he says weakly while attempting to stifle a yawn. “Just easier to tell you now.”

 You’re not sure what to make of this. Sure, you’ve had your suspicions that his feelings for you went deeper than friendship. (Andrew has never been, and will probably never be, particularly subtle.) As much as you hope, you know you can’t take anything he says seriously in this condition. In response, you ask, “How about this? You can kiss me after you stop coughing, hm?” 

“That’s fair,” he mumbles as he turns his face into the pillow. It must only be seconds before he’s passed out next to you, and you reach out to tentatively brush stray hair from his face.

Imagine Being Loved by Me

hozier x f! reader

part three of lullabies <3 | part two | masterlist

cw: 18+, nothing too serious but a bit teeeny bit of smut

word count: 3.2k

taglist: @princezty @somethinglikero @jimihendrixpopfigure

Three weeks have gone by since I walked in on Joe piledriving another woman in my bed.

Three weeks ago after a beautiful morning of jazz music, pancakes, and instant coffee, Andrew drove me back to my house to pick up my car. I sent him away with an earnest hug, putting on my bravest face as I let myself inside. No shit, there were rose petals on nearly every inch of floor board. I fought the urge to roll my eyes, instead, tiptoed upstairs into my room. Joe was asleep in bed, and I nearly tasted my breakfast for a second time that morning. Instantly, I felt nauseated, the type that makes you hot and dizzy and want to run away and never come back.

I pushed the feeling back down, determined to grab all my shit and forget this tainted cell of a house I once loved more than anything. Furiously, I began stuffing all of my clothes into a suitcase. Then in another bag, I took everything that belonged to me; sheets, towels, everything down to the last teabag. I was fuelled with rage, huffing and puffing my way around the house, lugging my bags out to my car. Oh, fuck. My keys.

Where are my car keys?

I searched the house like a mad woman, tearing apart the couches, looking in every cupboard and under every piece of furniture. Nothing. I called Andrew, asking if I'd had them at the bar, as if he'd know the answer if I didn't. "Ehm... just your house keys? I tink..."

"I tink you're no help," I mocked, hanging up with the briefest of smiles before I was playing detective again. I searched for nearly an hour before caving in and waking Joe.

I shook his shoulder roughly, standing back with my arms crossed once he finally stirred awake.

"Mmm..." He groaned, and I waited patiently with a scowl for him to realise it was me and not some broad off the street. "Oh, you're finally home."

"Where are my keys?" I deadpanned, fuse shorter than ever. I wasn't in the mood for the slightest conversation with him.

"I missed you so much, babe," he sighed, pulling my stiff body into a hug. I peeled myself away from him, repeating myself.

"Where are my keys, Joe? I left them in the fruit bowl, and now they are gone."

"Let's talk first before we make any hasty decisions," he coaxed, pulling me by my wrists onto the bed beside him. "I can't explain how sorry I am."

"Joe, please."

"I've been up all night crying, my heart is broken," he sighed emphatically, taking my hand into his. Oh, you're the heartbroken one? "I can't imagine a life without you."

"You weren't thinking that way when you were fucking the girl you met at my show."

"You hadn't had sex with me in weeks! I was getting desperate-"

"Just stop," I barked, throwing his hand off of me. "Give me my car keys so I can leave. This doesn't need to be any harder than you've already made it."

After minutes of brutally painful back and forth, he gave me the keys to his safe. I unlocked it to find my keys and an open jewellery box with a sparkling engagement ring. He was sitting on the bed, eyes filled with optimism, and I almost fell for it.

My phone buzzed and I saw a message from Andy.

You haven't crashed your car have you? X

I took my keys and closed the safe, turning on my heels out of the bedroom.

"Um, what the fuck?" Joe called out as he followed close behind me, roughly grabbing at my arm when I was halfway out the front door. "I just proposed to you, and you don't even have the decency to say no?"

"No," I replied, unlocking my car and tossing my bags into the boot.

"What? Babe, don't throw this away," he began to cry, clearly panicked.

"I haven't thrown anything away. You have." I shoved him away by his chest, just about ready to boil over with anger. "You have destroyed any shred of trust I had in you. It's over, Joe."

My tough act began to slip as my voice shook, climbing into my car and slamming the door shut before he could see how hard this really was on me. He screamed something inaudible at me as I drove away, and I watched him sob into his hands from the rearview mirror.

I cried the entire drive to my mums, ignoring the hundreds of calls I missed from him.

Andrew and I continued to spend time together. I spent many nights at my mums place while I tried to look for a house. I didn't have rental history as Joe wouldn't put me on the lease... because I didn't have rental history. "Babe, it'll just make everything harder," was once his excuse.

When my step dad would get unbearable, Andrew would invite me to spend the night. These nights would frequently begin with me sobbing about how broken hearted I was, and end with him and I snuggling on the couch to a movie. Innocent enough, sure. But after weeks of abstinence following six years of frequent sex, I was pent up. So pent up to the point where I would have to excuse myself for some time alone with his retractable shower head. Many of my thoughts of Andrew were so explicit, you'd think they were from the brain of a teenage boy who'd plough through two boxes of tissues a day. This of course left me feeling inexplicably guilty and beyond confused.

Tonight, we drank wine and sang cheesy duets together. We clumsily danced and laughed until we cried. He had the coordination of a newborn giraffe, and though I'd never admit it to him, I wasn't much better. He drunkenly rambled about how in a perfect world, he'd own a cottage in Wicklow and keep bees. I told him how I'd be a florist who sold my Irish friends' honey.

As if routine now, we'd share a blanket on the couch and watch a movie. Last night was Superbad, tonight was Inception. Andrew mindlessly carded his fingers through my hair, and with the comfort that brought me mixed with the wine, I was out to it within minutes.

His beard tickled the inside of my thigh as he continued to bite and suck at the sensitive skin, eyes boring holes into mine with a devilish grin.

"C'mon, Andy," I whined, throwing my head back in frustration. I closed my legs over his head, desperate to feel his mouth on me where I needed it viscerally.

"Patience, darlin'," he tsked at me, spreading my legs wide before him again. "Look so fuckin' gorgeous right now."

"Please, just touch me," I begged, reaching a new peak of arousal that was actually causing me pain. "Anything, just fucking touch me!"

He just chuckled, locking his arms around my thighs, pulling me closer to his face. He continued to place hot, wet opened mouthed kisses along my thighs, his beard scratching over my clit for a split second, and I swore I was on the brink of orgasm immediately. I grabbed a fistful of his hair, impatience taking full control of my autonomy.

He licked a languid stripe up my clit, causing me to let out a guttural moan, arching my back beneath him. He pushed me back down by my hips, one hand easily reaching my breast as he toyed with my nipple.

"Fuck, Andy," I cried, eyes screwing shut as every single nerve ending of mine came alive.

"Look at me," he ordered, the low rumble of his voice vibrating against my core. Without warning, my orgasm rippled through me, each nerve erupting like fireworks as I chanted his name.

I woke up panting, taking a moment to realise I was laying with Andrew on the couch. And processing the fact that I actually just orgasmed in my sleep.

"What's a'matter?" His voice was soft and concerned as he turned his head to face me.

"Weird dream," I laughed breathlessly, heart still pounding in my chest. This happened far too often. I almost wanted to spill my guts and confess everything he made me feel.

"Dreamin' of me, huh?" He grinned down at me, and I felt my cheeks burn.

A moment's silence.

"What?" Please tell me I wasn't moaning his name in my sleep.

"I'm jokin'," he laughed, averting his eyes back to the TV. "Unless you were."

I laughed along too, though in my head I was screaming. 'Unless you were,' what the fuck does that mean?

The credits rolled over the screen and like routine, we got off the couch and went to our separate rooms. Except this time, my heart didn't settle, and I didn't get much sleep.

We went about our days as usual, as if I didn’t fantasise about him every waking moment. I worried that I was catching feelings, and catching them far too fast for someone who'd only just gotten out of a 6 year relationship.

I couldn’t help it. I was infatuated. Infatuated was an understatement. I was completely and utterly enamoured by Andrew. I wanted to be in his presence every moment I could. I often told little white lies so I could spend the night, even though our we remained within a strictly friends only basis.

He was kinder than any man I’d ever met, insisting on having to open every door for me, sending me off to bed with a glass of water each night, and waking me with coffee just how I liked. He was gentle and tentative, always fast at identifying cues when I was upset.

But that’s all we were - just friends.

I began to crave his touch, desperate for any opportunity to feel his skin on mine. He’d often play me a new song he’d written, and I’d watch on with hearts for eyes as his skilled fingers worked his guitar effortlessly.

I saw it in his eyes too, sure he wanted me how I wanted him. I dreamt of climbing into his lap, kissing him until my lips were swollen or until he couldn’t take it anymore and we’d need to take off our clothes to satiate our desires.

But I couldn’t.

When it felt like we were moving in that direction, I’d turn ice cold. Though my heart was begging me to love him how he deserved, my brain knew this was probably just a rebound. And someone with a heart as golden as Andy's didn’t deserve the hell grief I’d cause him.

So I brushed off each pet name as if hearing them didn’t cause my stomach to do acrobats. I treated each night on the couch as if we were simply best friends who enjoyed each others' company. As though there was no other option than spooning on the couch where his scent became hardwired into my brain. I’d act as if I couldn’t feel his hard on pressing into the small of my back most nights. I’d pretend I’d have no idea what he was really doing when he’d have to excuse himself halfway through the movie to ‘make a call.’ It’s just how it worked for us.

And often, I wondered if it was torturing him as much as it was me.

We pulled up at the venue, Andrew of course opening my door for me, offering me his hand as I stepped out onto the kerb. I thanked him and we headed in together, turning a few heads as we did so. Not that this was unusual, he was 6’6” and painfully handsome, after all. He’d also given himself quite the name, rumours of a few producers attending tonight in hopes of setting him a deal.

“Remember me when you’re famous and touring the world without me,” I fake pouted, fluttering my eyelashes at him.

“Well obviously, nobody forgets their muse,” he bumped his shoulder into mine, that cheeky grin stretched across his face. “Besides, I owe you that much for giving me something to write about.”

I nearly choked on my drink, raising my eyebrows at him. “And what songs are written about me, hm?”

“The monster mash?” He kept a straight face, giving me that duh look at the same time.

“Oh, shut up, Andrew.” I laughed, acutely aware of the man who just sat beside me. “I’m being serious! It'd make me happy to know.”

“You’ll know when you hear ‘em, baby,” he grinned, throwing back his glass of champagne. Baby. My heart leapt from me, and in that moment I was grateful that he wouldn’t have noticed the deep blush splattered across my cheeks. He was too busy claiming another round of free drinks for us.

“Please tell me that’s your brother or something,” the man sat beside me spoke up, chocolate brown eyes so endearing, thick American accent on his lips.

"I sure hope not," I joked. His face fell, and I realise how that could've been misconstrued. "No- he's not my boyfriend either. We just sing together."

He put his hands together in prayer, looking up to the roof, mouthing, 'thank you, God.' I laughed at him, shaking my head. He had dark brown curls similar to Andy's, his were just more tame and much shorter. Full lips that twisted into a dopey smile, and if I weren't so confused with my emotions, I'd have jumped into a cab and gone home with him without a second thought. "I'm Will," he introduced himself, shaking my hand.

"Y/N," I blushed when he kissed my knuckles, wondering where the hell Andy had run off to. "Where are you from?" I attempted to avert the conversation, regaining ownership of my hand.

"Colorado," he smiled, signalling to the bartender that he wanted to order another round. "And you're a singer?"

"Uh... well I sing, yes," I giggled, the three prior glasses of bubbles gone to my head. "I wouldn't label myself a singer as such."

"Well aren't you just the cutest thing," he grinned, slipping his hand onto my thigh.

"I uh," I stammered, struggling to find the words. "That's very kind," my eyes searched the room for Andy. He towered over mostly everybody wherever we were, standing out like a sore thumb. But for some reason, he was nowhere to be found right when I needed him.

"I'm only in town for the night," he leaned in close to me, his breath hot in my ear, and his hand only getting warmer on my thigh. "Once you're done your little performance, why don't you come back to my hotel and give me an encore?"

Like the Gods had intervened, a familiar calloused hand was grabbing my arm. "C'mon, we gotta go backstage." I looked up to Andy, his expression rigid, bordering on disgust and anger.

"Oh, okay," I nodded, hopping up from my stool, Will's hand quickly retracted. "Uh, see you," I smiled awkwardly, Andrew's grip still around my arm.

"Here's your drink," he let me go, handing my glass to me.

"You saved me, Andy," I laughed, glancing back at the man who'd already moved onto his next victim. "Total wanker."

"Mhm," he hummed, not even looking at me as we made our way backstage.

"Everything alright?" I prodded, his expression unchanging. He didn't reply, instead opened the door to the green room for me. We weren't at our usual bar tonight. We'd been invited to perform at a decently size theatre that just so happened to be full of producers, offering free drinks for the performers. Maybe not the best combination.

The green room was alive with seven or so other musicians, all mingling amongst each other as they awaited their turns. There was a table lined with finger food, and a minibar with premixed drinks. Andrew had made a beeline straight for the snacks table. Typical.

"Um, hello?" I whisper shouted to him, trailing behind him like a lost puppy. "Is there a reason you're ignoring me? Is it because of that bloke? Because I-"

"Yes," was all he replied, taking his food to one of the couches with him.

"Okay," I was surprised with how forward he was, sitting down beside him, honestly perplexed by his rigidity. "...Why?"

"I didn't like the way he was talking to you," he shrugged, still avoiding my eye contact. "He was disrespectful."

"So... why are you icing me out, exactly?"

"I will say the wrong things, better to say nothin'."

This was unlike any way I'd seen him act before. Cold, annoyed... jealous? Surely not.

"Well, I'm sorry I- or he made you feel this way."

"Andrew Hozier-Byrne? You're on in two minutes," one of the stage hands announced, nursing his clipboard on his hip like a baby. "And we're still going ahead with the song change?"

Andy nodded, having a quick drink of water and tossing his rubbish away.

"Song change?" I questioned, following behind him. I made sure to watch every performance of his, even if it meant being amongst the audience when I wasn't also performing.

"Oh, yeah. When I went to get you a drink, I quickly changed my song. No biggie," he shrugged, tying his hair back into a bun, slipping his cap over the top. Jesus Christ, he looked fucking edible.

"What's the song?" I pressed further, still adamant despite the backstage timer ticking '30 seconds.'

"Haven't named it," he shrugged his guitar strap over his shoulders, giving me a wry smile. "It's about you, though."

I blushed deep, unable to form words. There was no space for talking anyway; he headed out onto the stage, leaving me dumbfounded as I watched on.

He awkwardly introduced himself, as he did each night.

And then followed my undoing.

I'd be the voice who urged Orpheus when her body was found.

I'd be the choiceless hope in grief that drove him underground.

I'd be the dreadful need in the devotee that made him turn around.

And I'd be the immediate forgiveness in Eurydice.

Imagine being loved by me.

Suddenly, there was not nearly enough air behind this curtain as I watched on, awestruck.

I won't deny I've got in my mind now all the things I would do.

So I try to talk refined in fear that you find out how I'm imaginin' you.

I'd be the last shred of truth lost in the myth of true love.

I'd be the sweet feeling of release mankind now dreams of.

That's found in the last witness before the wave hits, marvelling at God.

Before he feels alone one time and marries the sea.

Imagine being loved by me.

Fuck.

My knees felt weak, sure my ears were deceiving me. Imagine being loved by me. Oh, but I do.

Sure enough, producers from many labels were flagging him down from the minute his set finished, flooding the backstage where I was waiting for him.

I ended up having to go on straight after Andrew, thankfully. I couldn't think of any words to say, and the ones I could think of were highly inappropriate. Not that he would mind, clearly.

I hung around after my set, making eye contact with Andy here and there, waving him off when he looked like he might leave the conversations for me. I was happy for him. Ecstatic. And the craving for his touch only multiplied tenfold with his subtle admission that he felt the same.

tricked ya!! i am physically incapable of writing slow burn lol i hope u enjoy what i have for u in the next chapter xx it'll be very juicy (and hopefully longer)

i've also added a taglist as per a request, lmk if you wanna be added xo

La Petite Mort

hozier x f!reader

part four of lullabies <3 | part three | masterlist

cw: sex sex sex love making ❤️ no other warnings really, it's pretty gushy

word count: 2.6k

taglist: @princezty @somethinglikero @jimihendrixpopfigure @the-imperfectgirl-blog @l1nd3n xo

Hours later, the buzz of the alcohol had completely fled my system, leaving me with a residual fatigue and a love struck smile. It felt wrong, but simultaneously, nothing had ever felt so right or natural. Like the sense of deja vu that confirms you are exactly where you're supposed to be.

"Hey," he gently shook my arm from where I was sitting in a booth, almost unable to keep my eyes open. "You 'right?"

"Mhm," I grinned, fighting back a yawn. "And how are you, hotshot?"

"Overwhelmed," he huffed, extending his hand to me. He never enjoyed crowds despite their tendency to form around him everywhere he went. "Let's go home."

I let him lead me out, warmth flooding my cheeks at the simple gesture. The bite of the cold was sharper than earlier, my teeth instantly chattering. He, of course noticed immediately, shucking himself of his jacket, draping it over my shoulders.

"Andy," I shook my head trying to fight him off, but it was no use. "Now you're gonna get cold."

"I have at least three layers on at all times, the cold fears me," he joked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Thank you," I pouted at him, overwhelmed at such a small gesture. But it wasn't small to me. Everything Andy did was grand in my eyes. "So chivalrous."

"Well, you know me," he shrugged, stifling a grin of his own.

I started humming the chorus of tonights' song as we walked, unable to remember any of the words other than imagine being loved by me, and the beautiful melody that was sure to hang around for days.

"Don't do that," he laughed with embarrassment, slinging his arm around my shoulders and pulling me close.

"Why not? It's a beautiful song, after all," I shrugged, unable to hide my smile that stretched from ear to ear. "And wasn't I the inspiration?" I teased, and it was now his turn to glow red.

"Mhm," he grinned, eyes focused on the road ahead of us. We were nearly back at the car, and the adrenaline was beginning to flood my bloodstream. "That's why you liked it, 'uh?."

"So good," I agreed, walking a bit closer to him that now our arms bumped occasionally. "Did you mean what you said? In the song?"

"'Course I did," he chuckled, unlocking the car and opening my door for me. He even helped me buckle my seatbelt. "Don't worry, it's just a song."

He climbed into his side now, the faintest pink tint to his cheeks, but otherwise, unbothered. I, on the other hand, was trying to get my stupid heart to slow back to normal.

I was fighting the urge to climb over into his lap and beg him to do all the things he'd been imagining. Instead we drove in what would appear to be comfortable silence from an outsiders' perspective. Obviously I didn't know what he was thinking, but I can promise you there was no trace of innocence in my thoughts. The air in the car was thick with desire, leaving me on the verge of choking on the tension.

We exchanged few words on the drive back to his, stealing bashful glances here and there. When the car stilled to a park, I couldn't keep my mouth shut any longer.

"Andrew?" My heart continued to pound in my ears, his brows raising slightly in encouragement. "I want you," I confessed.

He turned to face me and I could see his quickening pulse through the thin skin of his neck. He swallowed thickly, pupils blown so wide I could scarcely see any green.

His gaze flitted between my lips and my eyes, and I'm sure I too was all pupil at this point. I couldn't help myself, leaning over the centre console to feel his lips on mine. My eyes fluttered shut, as did his, and I swear something inside of me had come alive for the first time in my life.

He was better than I had ever imagined.

Lips warm and soft, adding the perfect amount of pressure that made me crave more and more. His hand slipped up the back of my head, cradling its entirety in his palm.

He pulled back slowly, his hand still at the base of my skull. His lips were plump and looked absolutely delicious, my heart aching at the loss of contact.

"I want you, you know that," his voice was lower than before, our faces still close enough that I could feel the tickle of his breath ghosting my lips. "But you just got out of such a long relationship."

"You've treated me better these past few weeks than he did in six years," I reached my hand up to cup his face. His skin was warm and soft, the scratch of his stubble in my palm pulling me back down to Earth, reminding me that this wasn't just another daydream of mine. "Please, kiss me."

And he did, pulling me in as close as the confinement of his car would allow. It felt like coming up for air after holding your breath under water, like the relief you get when a siren finally stops blaring. His scent, his warmth, his gentle breaths exhaled through his nose, mingling with mine as we moved in synchronicity, as if we'd rehearsed this a million times. I'm starting to suspect he must have been having similar dreams of me.

I pulled away this time, giving him my best doe eyes through hooded lids as I suggested, "shall we go inside?"

Without a second thought, Andy was out of the car, opening my door for me. Within moments, our lips were connected again, my arms draped around his neck, his hands quick to grab my waist. He lead me into his house, our mouths moving fast, passion coursing through our veins like electricity. I squealed in surprise when he lifted me, wrapping my legs around his waist as he carried me up the stairs. We were a mess of giggles and laboured breathing, bumping into walls, and desperately grabbing at one another.

Despite the desperation in our actions, he softly laid me onto his bed, crawling in between my thighs before kissing me again. I ran my hands up the sides of his torso, feeling him shudder slightly under my touch.

I could feel his hard on digging into my thigh, and suddenly my clothes were the biggest inconvenience known to man. "Show me, Andy," I breathed in between kisses, his lips now on my neck, my knickers well on their way to being drenched. "All the things you've been wanting to do to me."

He let out a deep, guttural sound somewhere between a strangled moan and a whine. He reluctantly pulled himself from me, slipping his shoes off in two fluid movements. He knelt before me, my entire ankle easily in the grip of his hand. He unbuckled my heels, slipping them off with a kiss to each of my calves. He slowly ran his hands up my legs, planting a trail of kisses upon each inch of skin he touched, the heat in my core beginning to boil.

He looked up through his head of curls, eyes dark and hungry. "You sure you want this, darlin'?"

I nodded desperately, hands instantly finding their way into his hair to bring his lips to mine again. His tongue prodded at my bottom lip and I let him in my mouth without hesitation, allowing him to explore. This only caused my desire for his tongue elsewhere to grow insurmountably.

All of my senses came to life when I felt his hand moving toward my inner thigh, opening my legs wide for him to grant him full access. His fingers made their way to my core, a soft groan fleeting from his lips. "Fuck," he breathed against my lips, slipping a ridiculously long finger inside of me with ease. I moaned into his mouth, one of my hands reaching down to grab his wrist, encouraging him to insert another. He did, curling his fingers with such precision that if I my brain weren't staticky from the feeling, I'd question how many lovers he'd had. He continued to pump his fingers in and out of me, kissing my neck as he did so, eyes glued to my face as if he were memorising every expression he pulled from me.

"Need to feel you," I choked out breathlessly, desperately cupping his face. "Please."

He smiled wickedly, kissing my lips once more before pulling his fingers out, dipping them straight into his mouth. My jaw nearly detached from my face at the gesture, my stomach flipping harder than ever. I watched in awe as he pulled his shirt off, his pants soon to follow, absolutely shocked that the shy, awkward, nerdy Andrew I thought I knew did not exist within these walls. I could see the outline of his cock through his boxers, swallowing hard. How on Earth was that going to fit? I sat up to rid myself of my dress, allowing it to pool around my ankles as he watched on, cock twitching beneath the thin cotton.

I made my way to him, helping him remove the last bit of clothing keeping us apart, eyes nearly bulging out of my head when I saw him. All of him. He may be the most beautiful man I have ever seen.

His hands quickly found my face, reeling me in with those lips once more before laying me on the bed again. His eyes searched mine again for any doubt, not finding any, but something else. "You okay?"

"Yes, just preparing," I laughed, only half joking.

"You're okay, you can take it," he kissed my cheek softly, lining himself up with my entrance. I gasped at the sharp sting of the stretch, holding my breath briefly. He halted all movement, no doubt used to this happening. "Tell me when, baby."

I rested my hands on his shoulders, taking a deep breath before nodding. He slowly slipped the rest of his length in, our beautiful harmonisation of moans filling the air.

It was only painful for a moment before I was practically begging for more. He was as long and thick as you’d expect, but God, nothing could have prepared me. He began to form a steady rhythm, thrusting in and out of me while I whined under his touch.

To feel his body weight on mine, his warmth, his scent, his love - I had ascended from my human form. I caved, begging him for more, begging him to fuck me how he wanted to.

He captured my lips with his mid way through a thrust, his cock slamming into that spot that made my brain fuzzy. I dug my nails into his shoulders, gasping into his mouth, “just like that.”

He obliged, one of his hands steadying himself with the headboard, the other cupping the back of my head. I wondered why, until he really found his rhythm.

With each delicious thrust, he would effectively hit my g-spot, making me weak as jelly under him, barely able to form words. My head was hitting his hand with the sheer force of each thrust, and I’m sure the thought of him protecting my skull would make me swoon if I weren’t on the brink of tears, producing noises I didn’t know I was capable of.

“Andy, Andy,” I chanted his name breathlessly, unable to even open my eyes as pleasure cradled my entire being. I’d never heard my voice this desperate ever, to the point that I had no autonomy over my words and vocality, like my soul was speaking without getting confirmation from my brain first. “You- feel- so- good,” I was near crying between each thrust, my mouth completely dry from all the panting.

“You feel good too, darlin’,” he grinned, removing his hand from the bed head and dropping it down to my clit. “So fuckin’ good.”

My jaw went slack, no coherent words falling from my mouth, just rhapsodies of praise in the form of whimpers and laboured breaths.

"Want you to cum for me," he breathed, his thrusts growing sloppy ever so slightly.

"Keep going," I barely got the words out, the coil in my stomach tightening as he dragged me closer to the edge with every word, every thrust, every skilled dance of his fingers over my clit. "Andy," I warned loudly, the high pitch of my tone sounding foreign to my ears, unsure if had even fallen from my tongue. "Oh, my God, I'm gonna-"

Within an instant, I unravelled beneath his touch, moaning a string of curses I couldn't even hear as the static in my mind grew overwhelming. I shook uncontrollably, every muscle of mine growing limp yet tensing and spasming at the same time. My back arched and my toes curled, crescent moon shapes from my fingernails marking his beautiful skin; a reminder to us both of how euphoric he had made me feel. My orgasm rippled through me like waves in a storm, pummelling me over and over as I couldn't stop my eyes from rolling into the back of my head, unable to open them, unable to close my mouth as a slurry of cries dripped from my soul. Unsure of what came over me, I begged, “please cum in me,” wanting nothing more than to feel every ounce of his loving.

When I finally came back down to Earth, the waves crashed into him, the most angelic sounds flooding the four walls we were confined to. Overstimulation wracked my bones, panting into his mouth as he rode out the rest of his high, a clash of tongue and teeth as he kissed me once more. He pumped into me a few more unsteady times, his arms shaking as they struggled to hold his weight any longer.

He pulled out of me slowly, the loss of contact leaving me with a hollow feeling, immediately clinging to him the second his head hit the pillow beside me.

“Andrew,” I breathed in disbelief, titling my head to see the tired smile on his face. “I don’t even have words.”

“Could say the same to you!” He sighed, content with his arm around me, our bodies gently slowing back to normal. “What an angel.”

You are the angel, is what I wanted to say. Instead, I basked in his warmth, his scent flooding my senses as my soul unwillingly reconnected with my body.

“Write a song about this, would ya?” I laughed against his skin, tracing shapes into his chest, feeling like I was the main character in a cheesy rom-com.

“Way ahead of ya, love,” he grinned back, pressing a soft kiss to the top of my head. “Wanna have a shower? Or is that too much?”

I looked up at him with furrowed brows and pursed lips. “Andrew. There’s a chance you just knocked me up. No, showering together is not too much.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” he groaned, abruptly rolling out of bed, picking me up bridal style and carrying me to the bathroom. He laughed devilishly at the squeak he elicited from me, kissing my face while I smiled and giggled like a fool.

Fuck.

He towered over me, the beads of water dripping from his hair onto me. He looked beautiful, contented in serenity, similar to how I was feeling, I'm sure. He lathered my body in soapy suds, nothing remotely sexual in the gesture. I did the same for him, enveloped in the warmth of his skin, acclimated to the same temperature of the water. If this were my last moment on Earth, I would die happy. Andrew had a way of making me forget every bad moment of my life. Every poor decision, every tear cried for a man who only thought about himself. Surely, this was too soon to be labelled as love. But it sure felt like it.

"You are so beautiful."

i hope u liked it if u didn't tell me if u did leave requests of something you'd like to see in this next xo and i'm aware of all the run on sentences, i'm sorry if that makes it difficult to read. i will not shut up! even in text

I tend to write a lot about established friendships, but what about meeting for the first time/going on a first date?

I think this will be the beginning of a short series following this particular character, so it gets a proper title.

Unbloomed (Part 1) hozier x reader G (general audiences/sfw) tags: first meetings, first dates, just good ol' fashioned fluff

You’re contracted to work through the Unreal Unearth tour as a technician for the next several months. You’re one of the few folks who had open availability for the duration of the tour, so you were in it for the long haul. The prospect of being out on the road again was exciting, if a little daunting given who you were working for. Hozier was notorious for long, back-to-back tours, though you weren’t really complaining. At least life was more interesting like this. It certainly wasn’t the quiet, lonely, and mundane life in your Dublin flat.

He’s just as nice as everyone says he is, taking the time out to greet everyone on the crew with a smile, a nod, and a quiet greeting. When he introduces himself to you, his smile falters for the briefest moment. It’s odd, but you decide to ignore it. The man is clearly tired, probably from hours of travel just to endure even more hours of travel. You’d be struggling, too.

In the following two weeks, you two run into each other periodically–usually stage side while he switches out guitars, but occasionally you’d see him walking around with members of his band or in the midst of a conversation with a relative stranger. Every time he spots you, he smiles and gives a little wave. You always smile and wave back, flattered that you’re someone who sticks out in his memory at all. 

A day off on tour typically means a night out, and tonight is no exception. You’re invited out by some of the techs, and you figure it’s good to blow off some steam every now and again. It turns out, a friend of a friend of a friend extended an invitation chain that led to Andrew and Co. showing up to hang out on the patio of some bar in Downtown San Diego. 

Three drinks later, you are lighting a cigarette taken from a friend of a friend like Eve taking the fruit from the forbidden tree. You’re feeling warm and cozy, at just the right level of inebriation to relax and allow yourself to have a good time. A tap on your shoulder startles you, and he’s smiling that pretty smile that sometimes makes you want to melt. You’re not immune to his boyish charm, but you know better than to engage. 

Except, it seems that Andrew doesn’t know any better as he holds a drink out to you–another vodka soda with two lime wedges. He’d either been paying attention, or took a shot in the dark. You thank him and offer a few puffs of your cigarette in return, both of you too tipsy to really care about the implications of sharing something that was shoved between your lips. 

When he asks for your number, you let out a startled laugh. It’s his one raised eyebrow and bemused smile that makes you realize that he’s being serious, and you reach out to take the phone from his waiting hand. Your hands tremble slightly as you type, giddy nerves making your stomach squirm, but you internally blame it on the nicotine coursing through you. You remind yourself that it’s important to stay prudent, to not assume intentions because it has gotten you into trouble before. 

The night ends with last call, and you stumble back to your shared hotel room in a fit of giggles as a few of the other ladies walk with you, chatting and chirping about trivial nonsense. You don’t check your phone until you flop onto the bed, face washed and pajamas on as you settle in for the evening (well, morning, technically speaking.) There’s two texts waiting on your WhatsApp. The first one reads, “Hi it’s me,” quickly followed by a second text, “Should probably be more specific. It’s Andrew. :)” As if you’d been collecting phone numbers from so many suitors, you might not realize it’s him. You text back a cheeky emoji and let him know that you saved him as a contact, but you’re asleep before he has a chance to reply.

The following two weeks are a blur of shows, travel, more shows, more travel, until you finally have two blissful days off in Austin, Texas. Given how busy everything is, you haven’t really seen Andrew around save for the few glimpses of his hair in a crowd every now and again. The jam-packed schedule hasn’t stopped either of you from texting each other into the late hours of the night. Your conversations had started with some questions back and forth, mostly about likes and dislikes, until you hit on a few shared interests. You’re not surprised to find out he’s kind of a dork, nor are you surprised by his near encyclopedic knowledge of music history—specifically, the history of rock 'n' roll.

You are surprised when he asks you to dinner that evening after a few suspicious questions about your taste in certain foods. You accept his invitation to a restaurant/wine bar hybrid that looks incredibly bougie from a cursory glance at the menu. After digging out and steaming the nicest clothes you own (a simple black ensemble that could easily be rotated in for the other black clothes you wore while working, elevated with makeup and jewelry), you head down to the lobby with a vague answer to your roommate about where you’d be. He’s the first person you see when elevator doors slide open, and he smiles that pretty smile once again, your heart fluttering as you follow him closely out of the hotel.

The food, wine, and conversation are all wonderful. At first, you’d worried that a face-to-face meeting would kill the momentum of whatever this was. Andrew would realize how much he actually didn’t like you, and then you’d be ghosted and left to work the rest of the tour while wondering if Witness Protection was a viable option. Instead, you find yourself grinning as Andrew covers his face and laughs at an offhand joke you made that is far less funny than he makes it out to be. You blame the wine for your flushed face and bubbly, nervous energy and the way you rest your chin in your hand as you watch him with glittering eyes. 

You walk back to the hotel, bumping into each other accidentally until a particular nudge makes you realize he’s kind of doing it on purpose. He’s kind enough to walk you all the way back to your room, getting off the elevator to follow despite his own room being three floors up. Your heart is thundering in your chest when you stop in front of the door, key card in hand. 

“I had a wonderful time,” you say, and he smiles and replies, “I’m glad. We should do it again sometime.” There’s a slight tension between you as you wonder what your next move should be, but he’s already beaten you to the punch when he leans in to press a quick kiss to your cheek. It takes every ounce of your strength to not fall back against the door and collapse in a fit of nervous giggles. Instead, you simply grin and wish him a goodnight after promising to text him when you wake up in the morning to get breakfast.

Unbloomed (Part 2) hozier x reader T (mostly SFW) tags: more dates, first kiss, andrew being a shit (affectionate)

“What ungodly hour is this?” Andrew groans when he meets you in the lobby the next morning, hair thrown into a baseball cap and eyes shielded by sunglasses. A bonafide creature of the night, he is, and his early morning pouting is horribly endearing to you. You’re only steps away from a locally-owned coffee shop, and Andrew is kind enough to pay for your drink despite your insistence that you should pay since he covered dinner. He hears nothing of it and hands the cashier his card while blocking you from smacking it out of his hand. 

You walk back to the hotel in an animated discussion about the merits of coffee creamer versus black coffee, and Andrew is staunch in his disgust for anything “tainting” the flavor of his beloved energy bean. He’s teasing you as you sip on an iced latte, and your only response is to stick your tongue out at him like a child. This just earns you another pretty smile, a little laugh, and another soft, purposeful bump against your shoulder. 

It goes on like this for another few weeks. You’re still far too intimidated to accept his invitation to hang out with everyone in the band, mostly nervous that they wouldn’t like you enough to bring you into the fold. Instead, you make plans via text for dinner, coffee, or any other minor date that he can squeeze into his schedule. Some days, you feel like a burden or a distraction. Other days, you realize that he’s finding and making time for you not because you’re asking, but because he wants to. 

It’s not lost on you how daunting the idea is of dating such a high-profile person. On a few of your more clandestine outings, he was recognized and asked for photos a few times, and you were immediately ignored and proverbially shoved aside. You count that as a blessing in this situation–to create so little of an impression that you’re not even an afterthought to those who clamber to speak with him. 

Your first kiss happens after your second dinner date. You’re not sure what city you’re in anymore, and time is beginning to lose all meaning. This date is far more casual as you stop into a little pizza shop with red and white checkered tablecloths and mismatched chairs at rickety tables. The shop is mostly empty, so you sit at a table that’s tucked away from prying eyes and chat about the tour, the road, and home. Andrew staunchly agrees when you mention hating the city for its noise and how close everything is crammed together. You blush when he offhandedly mentions that you should visit him in the countryside sometime, asserting that you’d love it if you were craving open air and relative quiet. (“Relative, given that it’s me, and I make a lot of noise,” he laughs.) 

It isn’t until you’re both standing to leave that he stops you with a tug on your wrist. He asks, “May I kiss you?” as if there is any possibility that your answer will be a resounding no. The kiss is quick and sweet–not a peck, but certainly nothing scandalous. You can feel your cheeks burning when he pulls away, and you’re quick to hide the grin that has spread across your face in earnest.

The first time you properly meet Alex, you find that your fears of being disliked are completely unfounded. Instead, the man is triumphant as he explains that he’d been pushing Andrew to approach you since you’d first met. Andrew glares daggers at both of you when you inquire further, and Alex muses, “Oh, he kept talking about the tech with the beautiful smile who always watched from stage side.” His cheeky grin makes you flush, realizing you had been caught staring despite attempting to hide away in the shadows. 

The rest of the band is just as lovely, making you feel warmly welcomed into their little group of chaos. So many questions are thrown at you that it’s almost dizzying to look between them as you talk about the mundanity of yourself and your life. A few post-show drinks gradually loosens you up, and you find yourself chatting with some of the ladies while the others split off into their own discussion. 

At the end of the night, Andrew walks you back to your own bus, his hand finding yours and lacing your fingers together. He’s delighted to hear that you had a great time, already talking about hypothetical plans and double dates that make your heart do somersaults. The dark of night shrouds the way he pulls you around to the other side of the bus and presses you back against the cool metal. It’s the first overtly sexual thing either of you has done, emboldened by alcohol and fueled by the tension that had been building over the last week or so. 

Kissing him under the cover of darkness is all the more thrilling when his hands find their way beneath your shirt, splayed out along your ribs while he runs his thumbs just beneath your breasts. “Fucking gorgeous.” His words are so soft, you almost don’t hear him at all. You open your mouth to reply, but then his teeth are on your neck and you suddenly lose the ability to speak. It seems he’s the possessive type–or, at least, the bites and bruises that will certainly peek out beneath the collar of any shirt you try to wear gives you that impression. 

The sharp whistle from the bus driver startles you both. You’re still hidden away, the bus driver hanging out of the door on the opposite side of you as he calls out, “Last call!” After a few more rushed kisses, you run around the other side of the bus to make your appearance less suspicious. Neither of you really wants to try and explain the strange limbo you’re in–not officially “together” as that hasn’t been a conversation, but certainly attracted enough to each other that you find yourself daydreaming of him whenever he’s not there.

By the time you’re in your bunk, there’s a text from Andrew waiting for you. “Goodnight! We should get coffee tomorrow. Also sorry about the love bites! Got carried away.” You squint at your screen for a moment before texting back, “I don’t think you’re very sorry at all.” You can feel the ache of a particularly dark bruise that’s beginning to form just below your ear, and you’re not sure any amount of color corrector will help you hide it. Your phone buzzes with another text–a simple but telling reply. “:)” 

you'll always find me in the kitchen at parties — a.h.b.

a/n: this is based on one of the songs mentioned in this interview. the prompt is "a song for when you're getting ready to go out, but you actually want to stay in"

cw: suggestive, kissing and making out

“red or pink?” i hold up two tubes of lipstick in front of him. he frowns. 

“neither,” he takes them out of my hands one after the other and hides them behind his back. “i’d rather you stayed.”

i click my tongue and look at him, exasperated once again. he’s been on our bed for the past twenty minutes now, watching me ritualistically put on my makeup, once step after the other like i’ve done for years. 

“baby, don’t be like this,” i get off the chair and stand in front of him, between his legs. then i cradle his face. “it’s a work thing. i have to be there…”

truth is i’d rather be anywhere but at the work thing. i know it’s going to be one of those events that goes on and on and on until every last person is sleepy and bored out of their minds. then there is shitty food. 

“will you return my lipsticks, please?”

“and what if i said no?” he puts his arms around me and rests his chin on my sternum, effectively trapping me in place. 

“i’d have to wrestle you for them,” i smirk, indulging him.

“you’d never win against me,” he declares, his voice all confident until i scratch his scalp with my nails. whatever words he was about to say dissolve on his tongue as he sighs, practically melting in place. 

“you sure about that?” i tease and drag my nails through hair once again. 

once his eyes flutter shut, he shifts, squishing his face in my boobs, tightening his arms around me some more. 

“i’ve got you now,” his voice is muffled, i feel the vibrations in my chest, “where will you go?”

the clock on the wall ticks, inching closer and closer to when i have to leave. the more the seconds tick by the more my feet feel frozen in place, my body rooted in his arms, my brain unwilling to do the ‘right thing’. i should untangle myself from his embrace and step away. instead i climb onto his lap. 

“oh?” he looks at me with renewed interest, mouth curving into a smug smile. 

i take my chance and reach behind him, closing my fist around one of the lipsticks. quickly i yank my arm back and hold it up in front of him. it’s the pink one, the one i didn’t want. “gotcha!”

he looks at the bullet then back at me, moving his hands from my hips to my waist. a confused frown makes its way onto my face. “what are you—”

i yelp before i can finish my question. in an instance i’m off his lap and somehow under him on the bed as he flips us both, faster than i could have imagined. the lipstick goes flying halfway across the room.

“gotcha…” he whispers, close enough that our breaths mix together. “do you still want to leave?”

no. no no no. i haven’t wanted to leave all evening, not when he looks at me with so much longing and want and love. not when he looks like that…

the other lipstick tube rolls against my thigh, within my reach now. instead, i place my hand on his cheek, crane my neck until i can press my lips against his.

barely a second passes before he deepens the kiss, moves his hand from my waist to my ribs. 

his familiar weight on top of me is comfortable, safe. i fist his t-shirt and giggle when he does the same to my dress, wrinkling it instantly. 

“you won’t let me go, will you?”

he clicks his tongue, kissing my jaw, “not a chance.”

“i should just tell them i got food poisoning, shouldn’t i?”

“absolutely. oh, you are deathly ill right now.”

i giggle again, letting him slide away the straps off my dress and kiss the bare skin of my shoulder. 

“for the record,” he murmurs, “i would have picked red.”

“yeah?”

he nods, pulling away slightly so he can look at me properly. “looks the best on you. looks the best on me when you kiss me…”

“and pink doesn’t?” i tease. 

this time it’s his turn to thread his fingers through my scalp. i sigh and almost close my eyes. “well now that you’ve decided to stay…” he swoops down and captures my lips in another lingering kiss, “we could test out all the shades.”

“i think that’s a good use of our time,” i laugh, and kiss him once again. 

a continuation of early 20s, awkward college au thoughts

hozier x reader explicit (18+, MDNI) tags: piv sex, unprotected-ish sex, flirting/teasing

born from the following prompts: 1. "Family vacations are a whole lot more awkward when you and I can’t stop staring at each other, and you know that they’re going to catch on if we don’t stop, right? But we don’t, and instead, it just gets worse." 2. "You’re in a swimsuit. I don’t know what to do but stand here and look awkward, because that’s more skin than I thought I’d ever see on you." 3. quote prompt: “You interrupt my reading once more, and this book will become a lethal weapon.”

“Andrew, I swear to Christ, if you interrupt my reading one more time, this book will become a lethal weapon.” You thought you’d found some privacy–a place away from both families on this blended holiday in Barcelona as they chatted in the sitting room. You didn’t believe it was really his intention to seek you out. In fact, you were pretty sure he was here for the same reason you were: to hide.

It had all happened so casually. Both sets of parents stopped for a quick chat after church one day, and before you knew it, you were on a plane with Andrew and his family sitting a few rows ahead on a shared holiday. It made sense as a cost-saving measure, but you also heard your parents murmuring to each other late one night about how you “needed to socialize more,” and maybe it was good to bring Andrew along. You were in a lot of the same college classes, though you’d known each other as neighbors down the road for much longer. What your parents didn’t know was the massive fucking crush you’d harbored for Andrew since your late teens.

When your parents sprung the whole “room sharing” situation that was planned for you and Andrew, you nearly blacked out from embarrassment. Sure, it wasn’t traditional to allow for co-ed sleeping arrangements, but both of you were trusted to not make it an issue. You’d known each other long enough, and you were both adults now. Where was the harm in that?

Andrew threw up his hands at your threat in a silent plea for mercy. “Actually, I was sent to collect you. Everyone wants to head down to the water, if you’re interested.” The warmth of the sun sounded wonderful, and the beach was only steps away from the rental. It was the second day of your holiday, and you had yet to even set foot in the sand. Plus, reading while listening to the sound of crashing waves sounded wonderful. 

You sent Andrew away with a promise that you would follow as soon as you were dressed. There were two swimsuits in your pack–a modest black one-piece that you’d had for a long time, along with a black string bikini you’d bought long ago but never had the opportunity (or courage) to wear. There was a moment of hesitation as you weighed the options before tossing the one-piece back into your luggage. A mischievous little voice in your head whispered that you knew exactly what you were doing as you slipped a too-large, too-long t-shirt over yourself before setting off towards the beach.

“Hey,” Andrew greeted you as you walked up to where he was situated on a towel in the sand, his eyes obscured by black sunglasses. It was probably the least amount of clothing you’d seen him in with a t-shirt and boardshorts that brushed his knees. He gestured to the empty place next to him, and you threw down your own towel before plopping down. An umbrella hung over both of you, casting a shadow that slowly moved with the sun as time went on. While you read, Andrew was laid back with headphones on and his eyes closed as he hummed to whatever it was he was listening to. 

Finally, after a few minutes of panic and talking yourself up in your mind, you finally pulled your t-shirt off under the guise of sunbathing. Andrew was still laid back, still unaware of your movements or your newly bared skin. The sun was catching you both now, and you laid on your stomach before cracking open your book once more. 

Your heart raced when Andrew finally stirred, sitting up to look at you with an unreadable expression, save for the way his eyebrows raised slightly. You did your best to look back at him blankly, though you worried your lower lip with your teeth to keep your bashful smile from breaking through. “What?” you asked innocently, as if you weren’t propped on your elbows in a way that showcased your chest and cleavage (and, could it even be called cleavage at that point?) After a moment’s pause, he finally shook his head and mumbled, “Nothing…” before lying back again. 

Later, back at the rental, you padded into your shared bedroom with bare feet and your t-shirt thrown back over your body. Andrew shuffled closely behind and sat on his bed to watch as you dug through your pack for fresh clothes. Cheekily, you decided to pull your t-shirt off and toss it onto your bed, and you didn’t need to see his face to hear the soft gasp that escaped him. After a moment, he spoke. “You’re doing this on purpose.” 

“Doing what on purpose?” you asked as casually as you could. The bed creaked as he stood, and you turned just in time to see him close the door before he turned to lean back against it. Instead of an answer, he simply smiled and gestured at you, at your body, and you could feel a hot blush bloom across your face. There was little point in being coy now (though it seemed you never really were.)

“And what if I am?” The question hung in the balance, answered only by the way he reached back to turn the lock on the bedroom door. It was you who crossed the room first, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him into a crashing kiss. Suddenly, you were a flurry of desperate hands and mouths as he walked you back towards his bed.

The feeling of his fingers on the strings of your bottoms made you squeak. He pulled at them slowly until the garment went slack and slipped down to the floor. You were kind enough to reach back and untie the string that ran across your back while he untied the knot at the nape of your neck.

He had you on your back in an instant, and he hovered over you as he pressed kisses along your body. The feeling made you squirm and giggle, and he huffed a laugh against your skin. “Is this okay?” It wouldn’t be the last time he asked you that question, always soft and tentative before you gave your nod of approval. 

As much as you would have loved to experience the feeling of his mouth on you, there was little time before someone would inevitably come looking for either of you. “I don’t have–” he whispered, and you shook your head before panting out, “Birth control.” Perhaps not your smartest decision, but a decision made in the heat of the moment.

You held onto his shoulders as he pressed into you, and soon he was fucking you as quietly as he could between soft kisses and little laughs. You slapped a hand over your mouth to muffle your moans when your fingers finally found your clit. Andrew tugged your hand from your mouth to catch you in a kiss instead, his thrusts becoming more erratic as his tongue slid against yours.

“Where?” He asked breathlessly, and it took your sex-addled brain a moment to realize what he meant. You were so close, teetering just on the precipice as the hand on your clit sped up. In your daze, you whispered, “Inside,” and there was something about that simple word—the idea that you were giving him permission to finish inside of you—that sent you reeling and biting down on your hand to keep from crying out. The clench of your orgasm gripped him like a vice, and then he was kissing you to muffle his own groans as the warmth of his release filled you. 

You were still catching your breath when a tentative knock on the door startled you both, then the chipper sound of your father saying, “Dinner will be ready soon!” It seemed they were none the wiser to your activities. You called back an affirmation as Andrew rested his head on your chest while you ran gentle fingers through his hair. 

Hozier Dating Headcannons

He would definitely love to date someone who is more of an old soul, someone who loves older literature or music 

Expect regular serenades after he writes songs about you and personal concerts when you ask to hear a certain song. These moments would probably be very intimate and would just happen in the comfort of your home together.

You would be the first to hear any new ideas he has for his music and would read you his lyrics, asking you what you think he should change. And of course, you can’t think of anything that could make it any better since it is already so beautiful which infuriates him to no end (he loves you tho)

He seems like the kind of partner to go all out for anniversaries or birthdays and would set up really special dates and surprise outings, always making sure that you are comfortable and having fun. He would probably take you to secluded places surrounded by nature where you can just enjoy each other's company with no one else around.

He would hand write you beautiful letters especially when he is going away on tour or if he is going to be having a late night in the studio and won’t see you for a while

He values his privacy and would most likely keep your relationship lowkey and private. He wouldn’t hide you and wouldn’t hesitate to talk about you a little every now and then but he also wouldn’t tell everyone too much about your relationship, he likes to keep certain things to himself.

He would support you in everything that you do, whether it’s just a project that you have taken up or if it is something for work, he would be right behind you at all times cheering you on. If you start to doubt yourself, he would be the one to tell you how well you are doing and would motivate you 

He has a lot of appreciation for you especially since he knows it can be difficult to be with him when he is really focused on his music or if he is touring. So he would always express how thankful he is that you are there for him, even during tough times.

Considering his love for art and literature, he would love to take you on little museum or gallery dates and would definitely tell you the backstory of certain pieces if you seemed interested. He would also take note of the kind of books, poems or art you like and would give you unique gifts inspired by this.

Despite his fame, he is very grounded and values his private time and time with family, so he would love a partner who listens and values your opinions and alone time together. He would love to see you with his family and is in love with how much his parents and friends adore you.

If you’re not Irish, he would love to introduce you to certain foods or traditions from Ireland. He is always really excited to see your reaction to trying Irish snacks/drinks and remembers what you like or dislike

He is a big ‘I remember you said you like this, so i got it for you’ partner. He remembers everything about you, from your favourite food to your favourite songs or movies and even your favourite piece of jewelry

He is a very emotional guy and at first he struggles to open up to you but as your relationship grows, he becomes more comfortable being himself around you and knows you would never judge him just like how he would never judge you. Once he becomes fully comfortable with you, there is not one thing he wouldn't tell you and never hides anything from you. He trusts you with everything.

As I said he is a very private guy, so he wouldn’t be a big fan of PDA but as your relationship goes on, he will start to be more open about it and will show you off whenever he can. He loves hand holding and will periodically kiss your temple and or the back of your hand when you are out

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.”

From the Shrike Windmill Studios vid! Which is possibly my most favorite look of his my god. Whatever you want to do with this—fluffy, steamy, whatever—but my god his eyes 🫠 had to share it

This was a most unfair attempt to ruin me. How dare you throw that picture my way? I hope this is what you had in mind. I tried to stay as close to the scenario of the video and the song as possible.

Warning: brief talk about alcohol; slightly smutty

This was torture. He had never felt more alone or more out of place even though he was surrounded by people he loved in a place he usually felt so at home in. But today, it was not merely hard to focus, to remember the lines and notes that had sprung from his own mind, it was impossible. Images of you, of you and him together, kept constantly replaying on the oversized screen at his cinema of memories. 

Last night, you and him, it had been messy. The best kind. Tangled limbs and sweat-soaked skin, and those kisses. Deep and passionate, set on consuming the both of you whole. He was sure they had left an imprint on his soul, never to be erased again. 

It had been everything his heart desired, but not at all the way he had wanted it to be. And now all he could think about was that it might have sent the wrong message, that instead of bringing you closer to him, it had driven you away for good, especially since you had been gone this morning, not a trace of you to be found, as if you had never shared that night in the first place. No forgotten items of clothing, no lipstick on the pillows, not even the tiniest mark left on his body to prove that he had been yours. 

Only his shirt had held the faintest scent of you, a little reminder that his lovesick mind had not just dreamed it all up. But even that might be nothing but his imagination running wild. He had put it on this morning anyway, keeping you close, just a little longer. 

In the end, it had not turned out to be his wisest choice. It was distracting, making him forget the words he was about to sing or pick the wrong strings, so much so that he could feel the nerves of his band members wearing thin upon his lack of concentration. 

Luckily, this time he had almost made it to the end of the song without messing up, when another wave of your scent forced his eyes shut in a feeble attempt not to lose focus. Thick and heady it invaded his nostrils, sparking the memory of your moan close to his ear. It had been his name that had rolled over your lips on the peak of your passion, it had echoed from the walls of the dimly lit room, and set every last fibre of his heart into motion. It was still humming in the reverberation. 

But when he finally opened his eyes again, it suddenly stopped. There you were, looking just as miserable as he felt, his chest pierced by a violent sting upon the hint of puffiness around your eyes. 

“Can we talk?” you mouthed without making a sound and the casual wink and nod he chose to answer your question with could barely hide that these three words had been enough to pull the rug and send him spiralling into an abyss of anxiety. 

He had no idea how his legs had mustered the strength to move, but he found himself walking anyway, following you to some place quiet while the rest of the world drowned out around him. He could barely make out someone’s annoyed voice over the white noise in his ears, uttering a miffed, “Let’s take five then, shall we?”

He felt claustrophobic, the walls slowly closing in on him as he let you lead him down the corridor and into some tiny room at the far end he was sure he had never been in before. 

“Look,” you began, your voice frail and choked, and even the tiniest drop of hope he had been harbouring like a miser until now, that this might somehow still end well, evaporated, “about last night. I…can we just…well, I know you didn’t mean to…you’d probably had a few drinks and…things just happened, I guess.”

His brain needed a moment to process your words.

“A few drinks?” What were you even talking about? “I’ve never been more sober in my entire life.”

He watched as a myriad of emotions washed over your face, leaving deep creases on your forehead.

“You mean…”

A frustrated sigh escaped his lungs and he immediately wished he could take it back. You would surely take this the wrong way, assuming he was annoyed by your lack of comprehension, when he would never. Instead it was his own inability to make his feelings for you clear that vexed him beyond reason.

“What I mean is that everything I said, every single thing I did, is exactly what I meant to do. What I have been meaning to do for so long now. But if this is not what you want, just say the word and we’ll never have to talk about last night again.”

Moments went by, possibly mere seconds of your silence, and still they felt like an eternity in the depths of Tartarus. This was agony, his personal living hell, and what made it even worse, it had been born from his own reckless behaviour. This needed to stop, and if you could not end this futile endeavour, he would.

“I see.”

Two words, it did not take more, and still they had cost him everything. He needed to leave, now, because he could not stand being so close, knowing full well that the two of you would never be close again. And so he turned, not sure if there was anything he could say to make this less awkward, when your hand wrapped around his wrist out of nowhere.

“No, you don’t.”

Your voice was dry and measured, forming the perfect contrast to the language your hands spoke. Frenzied fingers fisted his grey undershirt to pull him closer until your bodies collided, the momentum sending you stumbling backwards. He barely just managed to soften the impact, one hand pressed against the wall, the other cupping the back of your head. 

In the blink of an eye the same fever that had befallen you last night took hold of you both again. You moaned against his lips as his mouth met yours, falling open instantly to taste you and allow you his familiar taste in return. 

He wanted you, more than he had ever thought it possible to want someone, but he could not. Not here. Not like this. He wanted to properly make love to you this time. To show you what he truly wanted, how his heart was beating for you, so you would never doubt his feelings for you ever again. 

And so he stopped, his hand finding your cheek, tender thumb gliding along your cheekbone in a silent apology. He knew you understood, you had always understood him better than anyone. Still it was him who could not resist the lure of your lips now. They were still trembling from the sensual kiss you had shared, and he needed to feel them again, just once, just for a blink of time. One last taste to get him through the rest of day before he would at last have you all to himself again tonight. 

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.

i’m getting older too | hozier

is this random? yes but i don’t care 🥰 LISTEN I KNOW sweet dreams, tn is a song by the last shadow puppets but let’s just use our imagination with this one ok? 😍

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yourusername married the love of my life!

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ynstyle was every celebrity and f1 driver at this wedding?😭

cherrywin3 girl apparently stevie nicks even performed 😔😭

formulatears I NEED TO KNOW WHAT SHE SANG

cherrywin3 landslide because it’s y/n’s favorite song 😭 y/n’s mom just posted a video of y/n crying while stevie sang it’s too precious 🥹

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liked by landonorris, honeymoon and 2,665,890 others

hozier y/n, my heart is, and will always be, yours. ‘sweet dreams, tn’ a gift from me to my beautiful wife.

hozierarchive HE DROPPED AN ALBUM DURING HIS WEDDING??

ynspodium not just any album but an album full of songs that y/n loves covered by him and some original songs too!!

leclercstype STEVIE NICKS, LANA, LORDE, THE LAST SHADOW PUPPETS, NOAH KAHAN, LORD HURON HE GATHERED THE DEPRESSION AVENGERS AND MADE AN ALBUM FOR HIS WIFE 😭

f1wagsstyle WHEN WILL IT BE MY TURN??

yourmomsusername y/n is currently sobbing listening to the album!

ynwdc not mama l/n exposing her daughter 😭 but same!

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liked by hozier, gracieabrams and 2,366,390 others

yourusername 🇮🇪❤️☘️🎵🫶🏼✨💍👰‍♀️🤵‍♂️🤍

landonorris did you have a seizure or….?

yourusername you’re grounded again let me be in love with my hot irish husband on my honeymoon

landonorris you keep that to yourself

f1maeve my brother started watching f1 because of you!! (and he’s hoping to see hozier at a race)

yourusername thanks to your brother!! maybe andrew will finally make an appearance soon 🤍

crybabyprimadonna what’s your favorite song from sweet dreams, tn?

yourusername don’t make me choose!!😭 they all have my heart (but andrew’s cover of landslide with stevie is amazingly beautiful)

hozier wofe

hozier wufe

hozier ife

hozier wafie

hozier woife

yourusername handsome squidward 😍❤️

hozier wife ❤️

charles_leclerc i have no idea what’s going on

yourusername you wouldn’t understand ❤️

Hi! Is it possible you could do one shot about Andrew x reader having an intimate moment and him sharing his favorite poetry with her while they’re relaxing? Something sweet and fluffy (could possibly turn into something steamy totally up to you)

Please, please, please, send me more pictures, writing these ficlets is giving me life.

I kept this one fluffy. Enjoy!

The unhurried caress of gentle fingers slowly pulled you from your light slumber. You had not moved an inch in the time you had been gone, your head still resting against his chest, the steady drum of his heartbeat right next to your ear. The rest of your body lay safely secured between his legs, a blanket draped across the both of you to keep your joined heat close.

It seemed he also had not moved an inch, probably not to wake you, and the thought warmed your heart. You did not dare to stir in his arms either, afraid he might stop the absent-minded movement of his fingers in your hair. But your own body chose to betray you, the lure of his warm form underneath your own too tempting. And so you let your hand glide along his stomach and chest before it slid down to his side where it squeezed the pliable flesh affectionately.

“Welcome back, love,” he whispered, his lips finding the crown of your head in a tender kiss mere seconds later.

“Still deep in the Heaney, hm?” you deduced as, from the corner of your eye, you spotted the book that was sitting in his other hand. As it had been ever since the two of you had cuddled up on the sofa together.

He hummed in affirmation, the guttural sound rolling through his chest and spreading onto your drowsy form, as if you had needed to be soothed further. As if that was even possible.

“Will you read to me?”

There was no chance you could have seen the blissful smile on his face without moving, but you could hear it, loud and clear, in the fervent, “Yeah!” that followed your request promptly. He was always so happy to share his beloved poetry with you and you basked in his enthusiasm, his melodic voice and passionate recital. It was heaven.

But as his hand left its destined spot on your head to turn the pages, you almost regretted asking. An agonised whine broke from your lips upon the loss of contact and he could not help but chuckle at your antics, making his attempt to shush you not nearly half earnest.

“Sh, love, focus now. This is a beaut.”

“I can’t!” you protested. “Not as long as your hand is not back where it belongs.”

You knew he was shaking his head in amusement, still his fingers catered to your needs immediately and it was only then that you felt yourself relax against him again, ready to hang on every little word he would grace your ears with.

“Scaffolding, by Seamus Heaney,” he began, the heat of his breath wafting through your hair, and you were home.

“Masons, when they start upon a building, Are careful to test out the scaffolding;

Make sure that planks won't slip at busy points, Secure all ladders, tighten bolted joints.

And yet all this comes down when the job’s done Showing off walls of sure and solid stone.

So if, my dear, there sometimes seems to be Old bridges breaking between you and me

Never fear. We may let the scaffolds fall Confident that we have built our wall.”

He paused for a moment to let the words sink in, but it did not take long for his enthusiasm to break loose.

“Isn’t that a lovely one?”

“It’s beautiful,” you confessed, feeling compelled to lift your head and glance up at him. The most genuine, heartwarming smile awaited you and his happiness about your approval was everything. How on earth you deserved this man was absolutely beyond you, but who were you to question his choice? All you really could do was enjoy every single moment the two of you were granted together. He must have thought the same, even if he did not tell you so. It was evident, written all over his face. In the softness of his eyes, the placid smile upon his lips, in the touch of his hand as it ever so gently cupped your cheek, the book lying abandoned somewhere on top of the blanket now.

“Come here,” he whispered, but he did not wait until you moved, his head already leaning down, eager to meet you halfway. Still, when his lips finally touched yours, there was no hurry in their movement. You had all the time in the world. And hidden within his sweet taste on your tongue, there was a truth so plain and yet so absolute, that whatever storms there were to come, the two of you had built your wall.

Moment's Silence

02/03/2023

Pairing: Andrew (Hozier) x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,699

Warnings: rpf, language, oral (m receiving), mentions of future sexy times

Summary: Tired and overworked, Andrew has promised not to stay up all night again. When he still does, there is only one cure to ease his mind.

A/N: What is there to say? That song really is rather inspiring...

Picture by kirklai via Unsplash (edited)

If you like my story, you are very welcome to like, comment or reblog. No permission is given to copy, repost or share my work on other platforms.

She awoke with a shiver. Instead of his arms, she was wrapped in darkness. The gentle sound of his soft breathing substituted with the whooshing of heavy rain. She didn’t need any light to confirm that the bed beside her was empty, but to find that it hadn’t been touched tonight at all startled her a little.

It wasn’t unusual for him to work at this hour and then sleep through most of the day, but he had promised to go to bed earlier tonight, and Andrew was the kind of person who valued a promise.

She couldn’t deny that his recklessness angered her a little, maybe even more than the broken promise. He had looked so tired and worn already, still over the past days he had dedicated even more hours to his work, hiding himself away in his studio until—as she feared—he would hit the point of complete exhaustion.

With a huff she pushed the blanket off of herself and a silent curse escaped her lips as the cold night air hit her bare legs. This was insufferable, she thought, as she tiptoed her way through the nightly house, wave after wave of goosebumps rolling over her body.

She had almost made it, only a few more steps to the studio, when the soft sound of his guitar suddenly reached her ears. From far away, it seemed, hearing how faint it was, and from the other end of the house.

Her forehead wrinkling in astonishment, she turned around to follow the tune. It lead her straight to the living room where the sheen of dim light that fell through the door gave her the second clue to his whereabouts.

Gently she laid her hand against the wood and pushed it open, slowly, quietly, even though she felt more like storming inside like an angry mob. But she reminded herself that she wanted to have a stern word with him, not scare him to death.

He was sitting on the sofa, guitar in his lap, strumming away while humming a sweet melody. She loved when he did that. There was something magic about the soft vibrations that rose from his throat, something so soothing that her anger washed away in an instant. Even more so when he noticed her and a pair of tired eyes found her still standing in the doorway. The hint of a smile curled his lips, just a bit, but the affection it held was clear to see. But then, together with the music, it fell away and guilt washed over his face.

“I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

His voice was tender and genuine, enough to silence even the last remains of her anger.

“You didn’t. Technically, it was more of your absence that woke me.”

The pained expression on his face told her that didn’t make a difference to him. He had disrupted her sleep by breaking his promise and it bothered him.

“Andrew, what are you doing still up this late? You’re already running on empty.”

“I know, I just can’t wrap my head around…”

He halted mid-sentence as he watched her walk over to him.

“And you won’t tonight. Not with how drained you are.”

She wasn’t met with any resistance as she took the guitar out of his hands and sat it down on the ground. With the instrument out of the way, she didn’t hesitate to take its place and straddle his lap. Loving hands welcomed her, gliding along her exposed thighs with a contented hum. Further and further they ventured, disappearing underneath the hem of her sleeping shirt, travelling across her hips until they found their final resting place on her behind.

He smiled up at her, obviously very pleased with his trove, and there was no way she could resist the lure of his enticing lips any longer. They were as soft as ever, moving unhurriedly with hers, and she could feel the first signs that he finally began to relax.

Not enough though. If she were to ask him to come to bed with her now, he would still decline. She knew him long enough to know that it would need more to make him see reason and tear him away from his beloved music for a few hours.

And so her lips left his, her body gliding through his hands on her way down until her knees met the ground between his feet. Eager fingers went to work immediately, unbuttoning his jeans and slowly pulling down the zipper while her gaze held his.

“What are you doing, love?”

“Helping you relax, Andrew,” she breathed against his stomach before her lips pressed to the small line of hair that vanished underneath the hem of his pants. Carefully she freed him, pulling his clothes all the way down into a pool around his ankles. He moaned, his eyes falling closed for a moment as her hands eased up his legs again. First over his calves, enjoying the flex of his muscles underneath his fuzzy skin, then even slower along his thighs. She could see him twitch in anticipation the closer her fingers got, already growing, hardening under her avid gaze.

A sigh broke from his lips when her mouth found the inside of his thigh, kissing its way up the length of it at a torturously tardy pace. She could feel his eyes on her long before she decided to abandon his silky skin and wasn’t surprised in the least to find them begging her silently to end his anguish.

She had never been able to resist the mossy green of his eyes, and so she yielded. Warm fingers wrapped around his half-hardened erection, stroking, pumping until it had reached its full size. The sight made her mouth water and even if she had wanted to make him wait a little longer, she couldn’t. Lips opening to welcome him inside, her head dove down into his lap.

She hummed the second she could feel him on her tongue, hard and heavy, the familiar taste sending a rush of desire through her whole body. Warmth flooded her core, her hunger for him doubling the second his response invaded her ears.

He sighed her name, so shaky and needy, turning into a hiss as she hollowed her cheeks and sucked him in deeper. With a thud his back hit the soft cushions behind him while his face vanished behind his hands. But just like she couldn’t resist bringing him more pleasure, it seemed he couldn’t resist the view in front of him, and so his hands fell away and he watched in awe how her tongue swirled around him, licking up his shaft, gliding over the tip before it retreated and her lips wrapped around him once more.

She took him in deep this time, a harsh curse breaking the silence as he hit the back of her throat. With a pop she pulled away, gasping for air before she repeated the ritual, then again, and again, and again.

“Baby, please. I—”

He groaned as her free hand found his balls, cupping them, slowly kneading the sensitive area. All the while she kept on pleasuring him, her hand stroking up and down his cock, taking turns with her mouth that sucked him in, tongue hitting his tip every now and then as an extra treat.

It wasn’t long before she could feel him tighten in her hand, just a little at first, but then more and more with every stroke. His sounds of passion grew louder as well, the perfect litany of sweet hums and sighs mixed with lewd curses, an enchanting song he only ever sang for her.

It crescendoed in a beautiful, drawn-out moan and she answered with the same sound of appreciation when he started to pulse on her tongue. She took everything he gave her, savouring each thick drop until the tension finally left his body and his song ebbed away.

Slender fingers cupped her cheeks, still a bit shaky, but drawing her attention nonetheless. He was just looking at her with a placid smile, watching as she released him from her mouth. His mouth fell open a little, just like hers when his thumb found her bottom lip in a gentle caress.

“Come here,” he whispered and it didn’t escape her attention how wonderfully low the tone of his voice had become. Low and honeyed, a bit hoarse as well, and that was all her doing, her triumph.

He helped her up, his hands finding her face again the second she had taken her former position on his lap to pull her in for a deep kiss. He moved slowly, devouring her properly. Her reward for being so good to him. But hidden beneath all his love and affection, she could taste the weariness on his tongue.

Still, despite the adamant claim of his body, he tenderly whispered against her lips, “Let me return the favour.”

Oh how she would have loved to give in, to feel that strong muscle pressed against her needy sex, feasting on her until every last thought was cleared from her mind and all that remained was pure, calming nothingness. But one look into those overtired orbs of green was enough to remind her what she had to do. Why she had left her bed and come down here in the first place.

“Not now, my love. What you need right now is sleep.”

He scrunched his nose, clearly displeased with her answer. She of all people knew that he liked his woman satisfied, blissed out and spent before she fell asleep in his arms. But not tonight.

“You know, there’s always tomorrow. And I sure wouldn’t mind waking up to the sight of your gorgeous face between my thighs.”

Her lips pressed to his forehead in a tender kiss and when she drew away, she found the most beautiful smile on his lips.

“You’re right, love. Let’s head to bed.” He sat up, still he refused to loosen his embrace just yet. Instead he leaned in until she could feel his lips softly brush against her ear. “Sunrise can’t come soon enough.”

kathy's song — a.h.b.

a/n: this is based on one of the songs mentioned in this interview. the prompt is "it looks like it might rain outside". this is quite self indulgent too because @handfulofhoney and i were discussing andrew and gaming (in great detail mind you!!)

cw: weed

“it looks like it might rain outside,” i point to the window, leaning against his chest. a moment later, i feel smoke caress my earlobe, followed by the familiar earthy, grassy smell. 

he hums, voice deeper than before and right next to my ear. 

“should we do something?”

i turn my face, parting my lips a little so he can place the joint between them. the smoke makes warmth bloom in my chest, a minute late, the familiar calm descends. 

“i was thinking about restarting that zelda game we like so much.”

“oh yeah?”

his chest vibrates when he speaks, scattering goosebumps over my arms. a moment later, the first fat raindrop hits the window. 

“would you play with me?”

“you always chuck the joycons at me when the fights get hard,” he snickers, flicking my nose when i wrinkle it at him. the joint dangles between his lips, smouldering. i can’t resist placing a little kiss on his jaw. 

“because you’re so much better than i am!” i whine. 

“how will you get better if you don’t play!”

“is it not enough that i can sit here and cheer you on?”

we both stare at each other, noses almost touching, my side pressed against his chest and my back resting against his knee. a second later he exhales, blowing smoke all over my face. 

“go on, get it then.” he smiles when i whoop, stumbling off the bed to turn the console on and get the joycons.

a moment later i’m back where i was, slotted between his legs and leaning against his chest. the rain gains speed, more fat raindrops hitting the window. it’s the perfect rhythm, i think. or maybe it’s the weed thinking that, making its way through my bloodstream. the world feels slower, softer around the edges. 

i stare at the colours on the starter screen, mesmerised. 

“that’s you,” he points at the screen. i wrinkle my nose and flick him in the shin. “that pig-like monster?!”

“no, you idiot,” he giggles, kissing the shell of my ear and takes another drag of the joint. i have a sudden and visceral urge to kiss him, to feel that smoke entering my lungs. 

“that old man. you’d love to be unnecessarily cryptic and sit by the fire roasting apples.”

i hmph, unable to contradict really because he is right. a second later he turns my face to his as if he’s read my mind and kisses me. his lips feel warm from the smoke, soft from my lip balm that he keeps stealing. his beard tickles a little and i laugh. 

when he lets go, he holds the spliff in front of my lips, letting me take a small drag. 

the sound of the rain fills the room, along with the click of my joycons. link grunts every few seconds, in the middle of a fight and slashing at enemies left and right with a measly rusty sword. every few seconds he leans and kisses my neck. 

“tickles,” i laugh, “you’re being very distracting.”

“am i? i thought you were a pro at this.”

i briefly let go of the joycons, twisting my hands into his t-shirt and kiss him again. it’s a leisurely, slow kiss—mostly indulgent and lazy and soft. he cradles my face in one hand, holding the joint far away from us so he won’t burn one of us on accident.

a second later a thwack echoes in the room and we break apart, giggling, laughing louder when the ‘game over’ screen blinks at us. 

“look at that, you’ve killed link!” i poke his chest. 

he traces his thumb over my lip, dragging it down and letting it go. “i guess i am being distracting.”

i take the joint from his hands, handing him the controllers in return. “go on. your turn.”

“and what will you do?”

“stare at the rain, i think.”

i look behind me and out the window. it’s raining in sheets by now. so hard i can barely see the neighbour’s house anymore. the trees outside sway lightly, leaves dancing under raindrops. my head feels heavy, so do my eyelids. i could fall asleep like this, cocooned by the warmth of his body and surrounded by his smell. 

“you’d fall asleep,” he catches me instantly. or maybe it’s that my eyelids are already drooping and i’ve turned into a ball against his body. 

“would that be so bad?”

he hums, threading his fingers through my hair, tucking a stray strand behind my ear. i smile at his tenderness. 

“you’ve played two minutes of the game you insisted on playing!”

i pout at him, hoping the big eyes would have some effect on him. a second later he rolls his eyes and tucks my face into his chest. i feel him take the joint out of my hands, put it out in the ashtray on the nightstand. 

“this was your plan from the beginning, wasn't it!”

i shrug, already snuggling into him, as cosy as i can be while he restarts the game, goes through the same motions i was before but at a much faster rate. and even when my eyes close of their own accord, i can tell where he is in the game based on the soundtrack alone. 

“that’s you,” i point blindly at the screen. he pauses. 

“that…apple tree?”

“noooo,” i laugh, properly slurring my words. “link. brave knight rescuing the princess and everything. from nasty boss fights in your case.”

“alright, princess,” he chuckles and kisses the crown of my hair. “go sleep now. i’ll wake you up if something interesting happens.”