pendingnomdeplume

[pendingnomdeplume]

HIIIIII IM SO GLAD YOURE BACK!!! your hozier rpf is absolutely amazing and i’m so excited for anything else you have planned :D

Hi babes!!

Thank you so much 😭🥹 I’m so glad to be back!!

I have MANY ideas floating around my little pea brain, so stay tuuuuned 🩷

[pendingnomdeplume]

To Share the Space with Simple Living Things - Hozier x Fem!Florist!Reader

Chapter One: Blue Hydrangeas- Gratitude

Summary: Your job as a florist has been the highlight of your day for years. It becomes even more exciting when a certain new customer becomes a regular.

Word Count: 2286

Author's Note: Hey guys! My first multi-chapter fic, i'm so excited!!! i don't have a strict posting schedule, but I won't go more than two weeks without an update. please bear with me here because I have no idea what it's like to be a florist. I hope you all enjoy!!

p.s. special shoutout again to @deprivedmusicaljunkie for beta reading, i can't thank you enough!

fic below the cut :)

You were a part of the small minority of people who actually loved their job.

The concept of this was strange to most people — strangers making small talk, men asking introductory questions on dates, even your own parents. Maybe because it wasn’t exactly a career; more so a job that someone has as a way to make rent while getting their degree, which is how you originally began to work at Earth's Laughter Florists. College had been years ago for you now, and yet you stayed behind the counter, making bouquets for customers with a genuine smile on your face. It got to the point that when the old owner decided it was time to retire, she chose you to take over. Of course, you immediately accepted; this job was the best part of your day. While all of your friends were going insane with their office jobs, you… admittedly still went insane from time to time, just in a much prettier workplace.

You had even taken it upon yourself to learn flower language: different types of flowers having different symbolic meanings. It was almost like extra credit. It gave you a new challenge of arranging flowers while keeping both color and symbolism in mind, and helped you create bouquets and arrangements with more meaning. This, in turn, gave your customers a new incentive to buy different flowers for different occasions based on what they meant. More business for you, more smiles on people's faces, and more money in your pocket. Everyone wins.

Another benefit of the job — your favorite part — was that it gave you small glimpses into the lives of other people. Flowers had a multiplicity of sorts. They were so versatile that people bought from you for almost every occasion. Weddings, funerals, birthdays, dance recitals, you name it. It made you more appreciative of others. Every day was a new insight into whatever your customers had going on. And today was no exception.

You arrived an hour before the store opened, as usual. You went into the back and threw on your apron, adjusting your name tag. Thoughts of everything you had to do before opening ran through your head, and you quickly began to busy yourself with everything from giving some flowers new vases of water to following up on an order for a wedding. Your two coworkers came in around a half an hour after your arrival, donning their aprons, saying their hellos, and also beginning their day. When the time finally came, you flipped around the sign hanging from the door, telling everyone outside you were open. You stood behind the counter and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

One of the only downsides of your job was that it required a lot of patience.

It's not like you were just staring at the clock, biding your time until a customer entered. You still had work to get done, mostly tying up loose ends from what you didn't finish before. Your coworkers were occupied with a tall order of arrangements, so they stuck to the back, with the occasional popping in to ask if you needed assistance. Politely, you declined.

Mundane was the word that kept repeating itself in your head as you did your odd jobs around the store. Not necessarily a bad thing. In fact, mundane meant nothing horrible was occurring (even though it meant nothing was occurring). Of course, mundane never does last long.

You had just finished creating an arrangement to put on display when your first customer of the day walked in.

The bell above the door rang, and you quickly walked back over to where you were supposed to be standing, not even bothering to see who had walked in until you were behind the counter.

The first thing you noticed was that he was taller than you had expected, with long brown curls that fell down to his shoulders. His outfit, a black turtleneck, a brown leather jacket, and black jeans, was the right mix of formal and casual; you could tell he had somewhere to be, but with people that wouldn't mind if he laughed a little too loudly.

To top it all off, he was handsome. You couldn't pull your gaze from him if you tried.

He walked forward, slowly looking around at all the flowers on display until his gaze locked onto you. He broke the silence between you.

“Hello. I need some flowers.”

You maintained your composure and brushed off your previous thoughts. You started your usual routine, asking him the same questions to get to know the situation (and him) better.

“What's the occasion?”

“It's my mum’s birthday.”

“Does she have a favorite flower?” You asked. He replied with no hesitation.

“She loves hydrangeas. Blue hydrangeas. She always has.”

His immediate answer brought a small smile to your face. You nodded intently and began to think of all the possible combinations of flowers that would work well.

“You're specific. I like that. That makes my job easier. Usually guys say something like ‘I don't know’ or ‘the purple ones’ or just ‘roses’. It's like some people don't even pay attention.”

“Well, that's all I know how to do.”

“A blessing and a curse, I imagine.”

“More of a blessing, believe it or not.”

“I have a similar blessing, though it seems to be laser-focused on plants of all things.” You joked. “Speaking of plants, let me start on your bouquet.”

You left your spot, walking over to the wall of flowers on display for you to pick from. You stopped and stood next to the man, fixated on the wall as you tried to decide what flowers would go well together, in meaning and in visuals. Mumbling, you thought out loud.

“Alright. For his mother. Blue hydrangeas… that's gratitude. What can go with that?”

The customer tilted his head in confusion, clearly having heard you.

“I don't mean to interrupt, but what's with blue hydrangeas and gratitude?” He asked. Your eyes widened, and you turned to face him as you started your explanation.

“Oh, it's flower language. I learned about it to help me make more symbolic bouquets. Back in the Victorian era, people would use bouquets of flowers to convey messages they couldn't say out loud. Most of the time it was a love confession, though you could also reject someone if you picked your flora wisely. Individual flowers have meanings, too. Blue hydrangeas, your mum's favorite, symbolize gratitude. There was even a change in the meaning based on which side the ribbon was on, or if they were given upside down, and…” You cut yourself off when you realized you’d been talking for much too long, your excited expression dropping. “I’m rambling about something you definitely don't care about. I’m sorry.”

He gave you a confused look, and a small laugh of disbelief escaped him.

“What? Don't apologize. That was fascinating. I don't know if I’ll ever see flowers the same way again. In a good way, of course”

The fact that he was actually invested in what you had to say pleasantly surprised you. People — not just customers, people you actually choose to surround yourself with — would often tune you out after the first two sentences.

You knew this man for two minutes and he was already raising your standards.

“Well then, I’m happy to give you a new perspective. I’ll get started on your arrangement.”

You stepped back to get a better look at the flowers lining the walls of the room. You already had a vague idea of what you wanted, you just needed to put it into action. Hydrangeas were grabbed first, and made the focal point of the bouquet immediately. Other flowers were picked up and put down, a trial-and-error of sorts until you found which ones truly matched.

Occasionally, you looked over your shoulder to find your customer still standing there, spectating you from a few feet away. He watched you with a certain gleam in his eye, one you would attribute to admiration if you didn't know any better.

Once your selections were made, you picked out a plastic sheet and took the flowers into the back, where there was a smaller room with a much larger table surface for a workspace. The wrapping was laid out, and meticulously, flowers were laid down. Rearranged. Shifted around. After a few small touches, everything was in the exact place you wanted it.

You finally finished up, wrapping the flowers in the silver plastic and tying it up with a blue ribbon. You went back behind the counter and held the bundle of flowers up, pointing at each one as you described the meaning of each specifically selected flower.

“There's the blue hydrangeas for gratitude, white roses for loyalty and beauty, and belladonna delphinium for protection and well-being. You're basically showering your mum with compliments with this thing.”

“It's gorgeous,” he replied, the look of astonishment from before lingering on his face.

“As nature tends to be.”

“I mean, you can't argue with that, but the way you’ve arranged them, it's… stunning. She’ll love it.”

His compliment surprised you; it wasn't too often you got such a compliment for a simple bouquet. It caused your heart to flutter in your chest in a way that definitely crossed the border of the employee-customer relationship you had going on. Frightening. Maybe if you kept acting unaffected, it would magically stop.

“Let me ring you up.”

There was no true cash register, and you instead relied on a pen, a yellow legal pad, and mental math for customers’ totals. It took a moment, but you calculated what he owed you.

“That'll be $54.”

He muttered in agreement, and you watched as he reached into his coat pocket. His hand stayed there, fiddling around. After a moment, he reached the opposite hand into the opposite pocket. He felt around for a second, pulling his hands out and placing them on his hips. His content expression was replaced by one that was much more panicked.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit!”

Your brows furrowed in confusion.

“What’s the matter?”

“I…I forgot my wallet back at my house. Do you take any online payment?”

You shook your head.

“No, sorry. We're old school. That's alright though, I can put these to the side and you can run home and get your wallet.”

He let out a frustrated sigh in response, angry more at himself than anything else.

“That's the thing. I live thirty minutes from here and I’m meeting my mum in fifteen minutes, and I have specific instructions to be on time. I might just…”

He stopped his sentence, paused, and took a deep breath to calm himself.

“I’ll find something else. Thanks for all your help, though. You have a gift.”

You caught the sincerity behind his now bitter tone, and it made your heart ache. He turned to leave and took a few steps forward. You didn't process that you had said anything until his reaction.

“Wait.”

He immediately stopped in his tracks and turned around, and you realized your impulses led you to call out for him even though you had no plan whatsoever.

Biting at your lower lip, you thought of an idea. You genuinely wanted to help this man give his mother flowers… The fact you found him attractive was merely an added bonus. Besides, the pity you felt for him overrode that. Once the metaphorical light bulb lit above your head, you spoke again, leaning in closer and lowering your voice so only he could hear.

“Okay, I’m not supposed to do this, and this definitely isn't a good business practice, but I can tell you're not just doing this to steal flowers from me, so I’ll make an exception.”

He leaned in as well with a look of intrigue. You continued to explain.

“You can take the bouquet for now, and then within… I don't know, two days, you have to pay me back. I’d just need a name and phone number so I can contact you if you don't show up.”

You snatched one of your business cards from the display and flipped it over so the blank side faces upwards, leaving a pen in front of you so he could write. He picked up the ballpoint, seemingly scribbled for a moment, and then slid the card back over to you. Written in surprisingly beautiful handwriting, you read his name aloud.

“Andrew… Nice to meet you. I’m Y/N.”

“I know.”

This caught you off guard. For a second you wondered if maybe you did accidentally give a free bouquet to a shady guy.

“Excuse me?”

Andrew’s mouth went agape as he realized the connotation behind what he said, and he quickly muttered an explanation, flustered. “Oh my god! No. Not like that. You… your name tag.”

A sigh of relief escaped your lips, and you gave him a nod.

“Right. Forgot that was there for a second. Alright, take your bouquet. Happy birthday to your mother. And remember, two days.”

He gave you a gesture showing his gratitude, pressing his hands together.

“Thank you. So much. I don’t know how I’ll repay you.” He said, grabbing the bouquet.

“Hopefully with money in two days,” you joked.

He let out a laugh.

“Money would do the trick. I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon.”

You watched as he left, the smile of your face growing as you noticed his appreciation of the flowers you had arranged by the doorway. He paused for a moment before opening the door and leaving, and you caught him humming a tune you'd never heard before.

You hoped he would come back much sooner rather than later.

[pendingnomdeplume]

hiiii! i just wanted to say that i was and still am obsessed with the intox kink fic you wrote a few weeks ago! it was so well written and i read it more times than i care to admit! much love

xx!

hi babes!!

thank you so much, i really appreciate that! Q_Q

that's a third tally mark for awakening something in a person aslkgfnhja so glad i could spread the message of cheer, good tidings, and intox kink <3

xoxo -scout

[pendingnomdeplume]

the undone and the divine (bedroom hymns) pairing: hozier x fem!reader rating: explicit (18+) tags: Praise Kink, Dirty Talk (sort of), PIV Sex words: 5.2k

[Read it on AO3]

title from Bedroom Hymns by Florence + the Machine divider by: sylusz

Things are not going well. 

Truthfully, things haven’t been going well for a while, but you’ve tried to ignore it, tried to manifest your way into reducing stress with vitamins, mindfulness, and a fair bit of recreational drug use. The ashwagandha helps (taken at the behest of Andrew who raves about the benefits of mushroom-based drinks and supplements), but it’s a bandage slapped over the real problem: Work is destroying you, mind, body, and soul.

And, sure, okay, maybe you don’t need to be pulling 60-hour work weeks for an incompetent boss who dumps a majority of his tasks onto you. Maybe you don’t need to bring your computer home every weekend “just in case.” But, if you don’t get the work done, who will?

“Your boss?” Andrew answers when you verbalize the question, one eyebrow raised as though it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.

You roll your eyes and reply with a snort, “Yeah, that’ll definitely happen.” 

A songbird's melody echoes down the chimney as you sit nestled into his side, his arm thrown around you lazily as you cradle a cup of coffee in your hands. Your laptop bag sits on a chair in the corner of the room, and you stare at it while anxiety brews in your gut. The compulsion to check your email has your fingers itching, but Andrew will protest if you try to peel away from him during this quiet morning together. 

“You work too hard, my love,” he murmurs before pressing a kiss to your temple. 

With another roll of your eyes, you reply, “That’s rich coming from you of all people.”

He scoffs but says nothing. 

Andrew knows you’re right, knows that he can’t argue against you when he’s spent the majority of the last two years touring non-stop. It’s been a point of contention before, mostly during his breaks that leave you a mere 2 weeks together before he’s off again. 

Now, he’s home for the foreseeable future (or, until the summer festivals start), and he’s starting to suffer the same frustrations of not having you around, nor having your attention on days where you shouldn’t be thinking about work at all. Bad habits die hard, and you’ve gotten so used to his absence that work eventually became the solution to the void of loneliness within you. 

After all, it’s hard to feel sad when you don’t have the time or energy to feel anything but anxiety.

A vibrating sound emanates from your laptop bag. It’s your work phone that Andrew made you shove away before sitting with you this morning. The sound of it makes you tense, your body ready to spring forward and retrieve it, but Andrew keeps a tight grip on you.

“No,” he scolds like one might chastise a puppy. “Let it go.”

Anxiety prickles along your skin. “Baby, I have to check,” you say as you pull away from him and set your mug down on the table. He doesn’t try to stop you this time, his arm thumping on the couch cushion as you move towards your bag. 

There’s a missed call from your boss, followed by an email chain forwarded to you with a message from him: 

What happened here? How did the system fail in the first place? Why are we not catching these kinds of errors sooner? 

It’s a thread that you were looped into a few days ago—something about a payroll error that left you testing and re-testing the system until well into the evening, hours after your scheduled end time. Your boss was copied on every email explaining the situation, and you made sure to copy him on your replies indicating that the issue was handled so he didn’t have to worry. 

You sigh loudly as you stare up at the ceiling. “God, I’m so fucking over this.” 

“What happened?” Andrew asks tentatively as you turn back around to look at him. 

You shrug, face screwed up in a sardonic smile as you shrug. “The amount of work that I do for this motherfucker, and he can’t even read a fucking email thread. The answers are right there, Gabriel. Everything you just fucking asked me is right there.” 

With another sigh, you collapse back onto the couch with your arms folded over your chest. 

“But he’s fucking right! I should’ve caught this shit earlier! If I had then—”

Andrew interrupts, “Lives were lost, yeah?” It’s snarky and fractious, and you feel irritation build like a heat in your chest. “I’m so sorry, I completely forgot that your company delivers fucking organs for immediate, dire transplants. I mean, do you hear yourself right now?”

You glare at him. “Andrew, do not.”

He rolls his eyes. “Right, yeah, of course. I forgot how much Gabriel’s opinion matters more than your partner’s concerns.” 

You close your eyes and inhale deeply through your nose, trying to remember the 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 sequence for mindfulness. Was it five things you can touch or that you can see? 

“Baby, I love you so much, and I appreciate your concern. But I’m the fucking idiot who didn’t catch a simple error, and now my boss thinks I’m a dipshit who can’t do their job right. God, it always feels like I’m fucking something up. Why can’t I just get this shit right for once in my life?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” Andrew throws his hands up in the air with a scoff. “I am so tired of this.” 

With a frown, you snap back, “What? What are you so tired of, Andrew?”

“I’m tired of your insistence that you’re stupid, or that you can’t do your job, or that you’re always fucking things up despite the fact that you seem to be the sole reason your office functions at all. And you’re not just doing your job, you’re doing the job of about three people without the acknowledgement or pay to back it up.

“It’s not your fault that your boss can’t read a fucking email thread. And, how would you know to look for a problem when it hadn’t even occurred yet? Are you supposed to be fucking psychic?

“I mean, fuck’s sake, it’s obvious how absolutely miserable you are doing this. It’s obvious how little these people care about you, not because you’re ‘bad at your job,’ but because they see the work you do and expect more. Your only reward for being good at what you do seems to be receiving even more work.”

You scoff a hollow laugh. “Throwing stones in glass houses, aren’t ya, Andrew?”

“At least I enjoy what I do. The miserable part is having to be away from you.”

Oh. 

It’s like a shot straight to your heart. Guilt churns in your stomach as you look away from him. 

“I…”

A part of you wants to argue that he chooses to do those long tours, but you know that’s not entirely true. It’s more at the behest of the label, trying to parade him out as much as possible despite his resistance to such things. Their reluctant show pony. It’s why he has any social media at all, though he has nothing to do with it any longer. 

Tears prick the corners of your eyes, your throat tightening as you try to swallow down your emotions. But one sniffle has him quickly wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug. You turn your face into his chest as a few hot tears roll down your cheeks. You wrap your arms around his lithe frame as he presses a kiss to your head.

“Baby,” he murmurs against your hair. “I hate seeing you so miserable. I know we’ve talked about it before, but please consider my offer.”

“Andrew—”

“Please, just think about it.”

The offer has been on the table since last year when he came home for a break and found you sobbing in a darkened room with only the glow of your laptop illuminating your curled up form. Andrew had laid it out for you plainly: Quit your job and let him support you. He’d said it so easily, and you knew that he meant it, that he was more than capable of supporting the both of you given his income.

The thought has always made you uncomfortable. It seems unfair not to pull any kind of income, not to pay your own way in life with your own means. On top of that, what are you to do with your time if you’re not working? The concept of “free time” makes you anxious. Your mind and your hands need to stay busy; an unstructured day with hours of daylight and no plan sounds like a genuine nightmare.

But, could boredom and lack of direction be any worse than this? God knows the amount of cortisol coursing through your system has shaved a few years off of your lifespan, and that’s not including the cigarettes you sneak every now and again, nor the alcohol consumed when you finally have a chance to breathe and let loose. 

You should be ecstatic that Andrew is home, that you finally get to spend more time together now that his obligations are far fewer and farther in between. Except, you haven’t spent much time together at all with your overtime hours. 

It’s obvious that this situation is affecting him as well. You hate seeing him hurt, and it makes sense that he’d feel the same about you. If your stress is causing him stress, then you’ve effectively created an ouroboros of misery based entirely around your work. 

Your phone buzzes again with Gabriel’s name at the top, and a wave of nausea overcomes you as your throat tightens in the threat of another sob. A soothing hand immediately rubs at your back, and you’re hit with the realization that you’ve been in this position before. 

It’s less deja vu and more a bleak understanding that this isn’t the first, second, or third time you’ve sat on this specific couch with Andrew holding you and talking you through another job-related meltdown. 

The thought of this cycle repeating ad nauseam for the rest of your life makes you want to cry.

How long can he stand you complaining about unnecessary suffering before he decides he’s had enough? Andrew’s offer sits on the table collecting cobwebs, and you continuously deny it, for what? For another quarter of feeling insignificant and unappreciated despite carrying the weight of the workplace squarely on your shoulders? For another day of your boss taking the credit for your hard work? How many more thankless years are you willing to put up with before you finally snap? 

And, why should you wait until you’re ready to snap at all? Why must you reach the extremes of suffering before you’re willing to do anything about it? Why do you continue to bear the cross for a company that can and will discard you the moment you are no longer useful for their bottom line?

“Baby,” you say quietly as you pull back to look up at him. “D’you think we can go to the post office today?” 

Andrew frowns, confused. “I mean, sure. But…why?”

“I’ve got some things to send back to London.”

You shut down your work phone completely and move to shove it into your laptop bag. Anger begins to roil as you stomp around now in search of the stupid laptop charger, the stupid mouse, the stupid, cheap headset they provided to you despite making money hand over fist every quarter. 

Still in your pajamas with a hoodie thrown over, you grab your car keys and beckon Andrew to follow. On the way, you ask him to find your personal phone in your bag and pull up Gabriel’s contact information. There are missed calls there, too, including a voicemail that you instruct Andrew to delete immediately. 

As you putter along a backroad heading towards the town proper, you ask, “Can you hit ‘call’ and put it on speaker, please?”

Andrew does so with a look of pure glee as he holds the phone closer to you. 

“Jesus Christ, finally. Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been calling you all morning about this payroll bullshit, and you haven’t—”

With a smile, you cut him off. “Hey, Gabriel, so sorry about that. The payroll thing is all squared and resolved. In fact, you would know that if you read a single fucking email in your entire life.” 

Andrew grins as your boss splutters on the other end. 

“Anyway, I’m calling to let you know that I quit. Effective immediately.”

Gabriel chokes out, “What? But you can’t just—” 

“I sure can! Don’t worry, HR will be getting an official notice shortly.”

He bites back, “This is a breach of your contract, you know. We explicitly outlined a month’s time frame if you’re to leave. You won’t get paid through the rest of your contracted time if you leave.” 

You roll your eyes. “Right. I’m well aware. Really, I just wanted to make sure to let you know that all of my tech and equipment will be going back to the main London office. Thought I’d give you a heads up first, though. Y’know, as a courtesy.” 

“As a courtesy? I—you—?! Just fucking bring it here!”

You pretend to think. “See, here’s the thing: I think IT should have this handed to them directly. All that PII, customer data, and all of those reports I built out over the last few years? And all of those analytics that are saved locally to my computer’s hard drive? Figured it’s best to let them deal with wiping it.”

“That’s—it’s—-now, let’s not do anything too hasty here. We can talk this out, right—? If you just send me copies of—”

Eyes still on the road, you reach over and hit the ‘end call’ button with a smug smile.

Andrew scoffs and shakes his head, laughing to himself as he says, “God, I’m so in love with you.”

Business at the post office takes very little time. You know the HQ address off-hand given how many times you’ve typed it in your life, and the bored clerk prints out a shipping label before taking the box and carrying it out of sight. 

“No going back now,” you mutter on your way out as Andrew holds the door.

Once in the car, he waits until you’re back on the road to ask, “So…does this mean you’re taking me up on my offer?” His tone is so earnestly hopeful that it makes you want to cry all over again. 

“Yes. For now.” A sideways glance at him reveals his befuddled expression. “Baby, I don’t want to stop working forever. I need to make my own money. I need to do things for myself. But, maybe I can find something less…demanding. And your offer gives me the opportunity to find something I want to do instead of praying that something comes up so I could jump ship.”

There’s silence as he mulls over your answer. Then, he nods and replies, “Yeah, I get that. I just…I mean, I want you to be happy. If that means never working another day in your life, you know I’ll support you. And, who knows? Maybe you’ll find something remote. Then you can come travel with me.” 

Home has never felt so freeing now that work is no longer a leaden weight holding you down. You can feel the automatic processes happening in your brain, trying to figure out what the next meeting is, the next deadline, the next one-one-one that would inevitably be cancelled at the last minute. It will take a while to unlearn the anxious vigilance instilled in you over the last few years, but there’s a joy in knowing that none of those things matter now.

The biggest question on your mind now is what to do first. There are so many little projects you’ve had in mind, things you and Andrew have discussed about the bedroom and the garden. It’s almost overwhelming to think of where you can possibly even start now that you have the time, energy, and brain capacity to manage it. 

Andrew seems to have different ideas as you cross the threshold into the bedroom with him close behind. He catches you around your waist and pulls you back against him as you squeak indignantly.

“Nope,” he muses as you fake a struggle against him. “There’s something else we need to discuss first.”

That tone. It’s the same low, honey-soaked voice he always uses to tease you. For a man who presents so meek and mild, he sure knows how to put on the charm when the mood strikes. 

“What’s that?” you ask carefully, already pressing your thighs together in anticipation.

“You have this nasty little habit of making terribly self-deprecating comments. It’s very unbecoming, darling.”

Huh. That’s not where you expected him to go.

“I…I mean, I know it’s not good…” Your feeble argument dies on your tongue as his hands slip beneath your shirt, cold fingers pressing into your skin. 

Andrew hums. “For someone so smart and capable, you’re quite unkind to yourself.” 

The words make you blush as you attempt to squirm away from him again. No dice. He doesn’t let up, instead tightens his hold on you as he drops kisses along your neck. 

“Ah, nonono, sweet thing. You’re not getting away that easily.” 

You know that he would release you and drop the whole thing should you demand it. You have no issue putting the kibosh on anything you’re not interested in continuing, and he is well aware. Whatever it is that’s on his mind right now is…intriguing. Your body seems to agree as that pulse between your thighs grows stronger. 

“Need I remind you how lovely you really are?” 

The heat of your blush reaches the tips of your ears, spreads along your chest. 

“I’m really not,” you mutter as his hands move up to cup your breasts. Deft fingers gently pinch and rub at your hardened nipples, pulling a soft gasp from you.

There’s a pause as he chuckles warmly, the sound reverberating through your chest like a cat’s purr. He leans in close to your ear and murmurs, “Darling, no arguments. Unless you want me to stuff something into that pretty little mouth of yours, of course.”

Oh.

It’s said so sweetly, so innocuously that the words throw you for a loop. Meek and mild, your fucking arse. This man is a menace, so easily dropping the filthiest things as though they’re merely flippant remarks. 

Apparently, your stunned silence pleases him as he whispers, “Good girl.” 

It’s such a simple phrase, but your knees wobble as you try to keep yourself steady, the wind nearly knocked out of you.

“Andrew, what—” 

One large hand over your mouth quiets you as he coos, “Baby, shush. What’d I just say, hm?”

Warmth spirals in your stomach as he helps you peel your shirt away, and then his hands are on you again, kneading at the fullness of your chest. 

“You are far too harsh on yourself, my love. I think you need to be reminded of how incredible you really are.” 

Embarrassment and arousal make you dizzy as he guides you towards the bed and encourages you to lie down on your back. You scooch back far enough on the mattress that he’s able to slot between your legs easily, resting on his knees as he hooks fingers into the waistband of your shorts and tugs them off along with your panties. 

You’re surprised by the lack of panache, the lack of foreplay before getting you naked. It’s not his usual style, but none of this has been particularly routine so far. The urge to cover yourself is strong as he admires you, but you stay still, fingers curling into the duvet. 

“God, you’re so beautiful. I don’t think I say that enough.” 

You roll your eyes, unable to tamp down your bashful smile. “You say it plenty.”

Andrew raises one eyebrow in a warning look as he holds an index finger to his lips. You roll your eyes again but say nothing. 

“Absolutely beautiful and so fuckin’ mouthy. Christ.” He shakes his head as he laughs to himself. “It’s part of what I love about you, though. One of the many things I love about you.”

Your pulse quickens as he looms over you, and you’re reminded of just how large and imposing he can actually be. The thought shouldn’t arouse you as much as it does, but nothing about this situation is conventional, and you suppose it’s never a bad day to learn something new about yourself. 

He smiles so sweetly as he says, “Do you want to know what else I love about you?” The question is obviously rhetorical, so he continues. “Your stunning eyes…your pretty lips…your cute little expressions when you’re embarrassed.” 

You squirm as he runs his fingers along your chest. “I don’t think I need to tell you how much I love your body. It drives me mad when you send those cheeky little photos while I’m away. Especially the boudoir photos in all that black lace.” 

The admission makes you smirk. 

You’re far more forward with your sexual advances as you’ve gotten more comfortable with him, yourself, and your relationship. There’s a specific glee to receiving incoherent responses via text when you send him something suggestive. Oftentimes, it’s followed up with messages in all caps indicating that he is in public, and this is not the time to be turning him on. 

(Your favorite replies are the ones received right before he’s meant to go out on stage, the ones where he clarifies that he had to hide an erection behind his guitar for the first half of his set because of you.) 

“Sometimes, I can’t believe that you’re mine.” 

Another wave of heat washes over you. Andrew’s possessiveness is no secret, but you still thrill at his words when he vocalizes it, calls you his. 

“And yet…” He lets out an exaggerated sigh. “You don’t see yourself the way I see you. It’s such a shame, really.” 

Without warning, his thumb drags against your clit, making you gasp sharply and buck up into the sensation. He hums a little laugh as two fingers drag along your folds, already slick despite him doing nothing more than speaking and lightly touching you. One finger slips into you, then a second as you whimper and throw your arm over your eyes.

Softly, he says, “You’re so pretty like this, darling. All spread out and wet for me even though I’ve barely touched you. Such a good girl.”

A giddy, nervous laugh bubbles up in your chest, and he smiles.

“Ah, so you like that…that’s good to know.” Then, with a tilt of his head, he asks, “Tell me what you want, sweet thing. Do you want me to go down on you? Or, do you want me to fuck you?”

Both options are tantalizing, but his fingers aren’t enough to quell that hollow ache, and you desperately want to come with him inside of you. 

Finally, you manage to whisper, “Fuck me. Please.”

There’s something about the way Andrew looks at you, grinning almost wolfishly as though he were hoping for that response. 

Your eyes are drawn to his hands as he slowly unbuckles his belt and pulls it through the loops before tossing it aside. The tent in his jeans is obvious now as he unbuttons them, unzips them before pushing them down his thighs along with his black boxers. The display makes you throb with need.

His cock is so pretty, long and curved and already dripping from the tip. The sight makes your mouth water, and you swallow audibly as he strokes himself. 

Andrew tugs you roughly by your hips before grasping himself again and teasing your slit with the head of his length. You whine as he presses into you at an agonizingly slow pace, rolling your hips in a fruitless attempt at forcing him deeper inside of you. He tuts at you, shakes his head, and pulls back until you’re empty again. 

“Ah-ah, no. I need you to do something for me first, okay? See, something my therapist told me once is that positive affirmations do help rework some of those negative internal judgments of yourself despite how silly it feels.” 

Well. That’s…not exactly the pillowtalk you expected to hear. 

He rubs the head of his cock against your clit as he continues, and you can’t bite back your wanton groan. 

Breathlessly, he asks, “I think we should try a little exercise, hm? And if you’re good, I’ll give you what you want. Now, I’m going to say something, and I want you to repeat back to me, okay?”

You blink as he stares at you expectantly. It seems you have no choice in the matter. Not if you want to be fucked six ways from Sunday.

“Baby, please…”

His smile and voice are so soft, so gentle that it makes your chest ache. “I know, darling, I know. You want to feel good, though, right? And I want to make you feel good, but the only way that happens is if you follow instructions. Now, repeat after me: I am not defined by my accomplishments.”

Embarrassment twists in your stomach as you avoid his tender gaze, mouth pressed firmly in a line. 

You swallow audibly and meet his eyes again with a petulant scoff. “Fine…I am not defined by my accomplishments.” 

“Good girl,” he coos. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now, let’s try it again. This time, without the attitude, yeah? Repeat after me: I am worthy of love and respect.”

He’s stroking himself again as he says it, his breath hitching and his eyes fluttering as he tries to stay focused on the task at hand. The teasing is driving you mad, arousal leaving a slick sheen on your inner thighs. 

You whine quietly as pleasure shoots up your spine, then murmur, “I am worthy of love and respect.”

“Very good, baby…thank you for following directions.” 

You mildly resent the way his earnest praise makes you want to beam like a child being congratulated on their school marks. 

“Now,” he continues, laughing when you groan impatiently. “Last one, darling, I promise. Repeat after me: The weight of the world does not rest on me.”

With another swallow and a deep breath, you repeat back to him, “The weight of the world does not rest on me.” 

Andrew leans over you to catch you in a kiss that you can’t help but smile into. When he pulls away, he sits back on his knees and runs his fingers along your hips.

“You’ve been so good for me, sweet thing,” he murmurs as he drags the head of his cock through your folds. “I think you deserve some indulgence.” 

Before you can respond, he presses into you with a satisfied groan. “God, you feel...” 

“Oh, god,” you whine as the discomfort of sudden, stretching fullness gives way to tingling pleasure. 

Patience may be a virtue, but the impatience of your desire is a vice that has you wrapping your legs around his waist to keep him in place. He merely chuckles and squeezes one thigh while slowly, steadily pulling out before pushing back into you roughly. 

He looms over you again, pressing your knees back as he leans in to kiss you. You whimper as he kisses along your jaw, every movement making you squirm and quietly beg for more. 

“That’s it. That’s my girl.”

It’s so simple, so innocuous, but the words have you whining and arching your back as you meet back against his quickened thrusts. 

“I know, baby, I know. That feels good, doesn’t it?”

It feels fucking incredible, but your mouth won’t form the words. So, you pull him in for a kiss instead, hot and messy and frantic, tasting of coffee with the barest hint of cinnamon from this morning’s porridge. 

He presses his forehead to yours, and with one moment of adjustment, he’s suddenly hitting a spot that makes you cry out and dig your fingers into his shoulders.

Warmth begins to build in your stomach, that telltale ascent that slowly pulls you taut. Each irregular press against that same pleasurable spot only pushes you further. The shock of his thumb rubbing messy circles into your clit makes you gasp, tears welling up until one slips free and rolls down your cheek.

His movements become more frantic as he moves to lean in close to your ear. “You’re taking me so well, darling.”

“Baby, I can’t—” Your voice cracks as another swipe of his thumb makes your legs shake. “I’m s-so close, please.”

It’s his responding laugh—more a warm, amused hum in your ear—and his low voice murmuring, “It’s okay, you’re okay, I’ve got you, just take what you need,” that nudges you over the edge. Your head drops back against the pillows as you let out a hiccuped sob and squeeze your eyes shut, hips rolling as you chase each wave of pleasure that washes over you. 

Andrew doesn’t stop, instead speeds up to an almost brutal pace as you clench around him. He buries his face into your neck as he comes with a soft moan. You thread your fingers into his hair as he rides it out, reveling in each twitch of his cock as he fills you and whimpers your name.

You stay like that for a moment, both panting as you try to regain your breath. A fine sheen of sweat cools rapidly against your skin as he peels away from you, and you whine at the sudden hollow feeling of him pulling out of you. 

“Stay,” he whispers as though your bones aren’t currently made of jelly, and moving from this bed is the furthest thing from your mind right now. 

Your eyes are closed as he shuffles back into the room. You’re startled by the warmth of a damp washcloth against your thighs as he cleans you up. When you peek at him, Andrew smiles and pulls a blanket over you before wiggling beneath it and settling on his back beside you. 

He immediately opens his arms, an invitation that you easily accept as you roll into him with a content sigh. 

“Are you okay, darling?” he asks as he scratches lightly at your scalp. 

“Mmhm,” you hum.

He huffs a quiet laugh. “I take it you had fun?”

You crack an eye open to peer up and smile at him. “So much fun.”

“Good, good. I’m glad.” A pause. “You know how much I adore you, right?”

Despite the numerous times he’s said so, it still fills you with a giddy, sunny warmth. As you hide your blushing face against his shoulder, he continues, “I love you with every ounce of my heart, and I want to give you the world.”

“Andrew…” You can’t help but giggle, eyelids growing heavy as his warmth seeps into you, as his touch soothes and relaxes you further. “I love you too, you absolute fucking muppet.” 

As you yawn, he tightens his hold on you and whispers into your hair, “Shh, sleep now, darling…you deserve to rest.” Another pause, and then he laughs, “Also, you’re a fucking muppet.”

[pendingnomdeplume]

WIP #2 - praised

Softly, he says, “You’re so pretty like this, darling. All spread out and wet for me even though I’ve barely touched you. Such a good girl.” A giddy, nervous laugh bubbles up in your chest, and he smiles. “Ah, so you like that…that’s good to know.” Then, with a tilt of his head, he asks, “Tell me what you want, sweet thing. Do you want me to go down on you? Or, do you want me to fuck you?”

(i am 4.2k words into this fic and sometimes i think i black out when i write things because JESUS)

[pendingnomdeplume]

WIP - praised

Hi babes, I'm finally working on this fic as a way to Cope TM with Everything TM.

I promise this will get less angsty and more sexy.

You sigh loudly as you stare up at the ceiling. “God, I’m so fucking over this.”  “What happened?” Andrew asks tentatively as you turn back around to look at him.  You shrug, face screwed up in a sardonic smile as you shrug. “The amount of work that I do for this motherfucker, and he can’t even read a fucking email thread without me spoon-feeding it to him! The answers are right there, Gabriel. Everything you just fucking asked me is right fucking there.”  With another sigh, you collapse back onto the couch with your arms folded over your chest.  “But he’s fucking right! I should’ve caught this shit earlier! If I had then—” Andrew interrupts, “Lives were lost, yeah?” It’s snarky and fractious, and you feel irritation build like a heat in your chest. “I’m so sorry, I completely forgot that your company delivers fucking organs for immediate, dire transplants. I mean, do you hear yourself right now?” You glare at him. “Andrew, do not.” He rolls his eyes. “Right, yeah, of course. I forgot how much Gabriel’s opinion matters more than your boyfriend’s concerns.”

[pendingnomdeplume]

Fake dating req hozier x fem! reader

@celery-grace here you are my love, i'm sorry it took so long, i had some unfortunate events happen in my life but i am now back! enjoy!! and don't hesitate to request again! if you have any songs that make you think of certain situations send them my way!

warning: alcohol use. this is all fiction, consent is key and don't get blind drunk and have sex irl, stay safe!

The studio smells like coffee and wood polish, that familiar mix you’ve grown used to after years of touring. Andrew’s fingers move lazily across his guitar strings, testing out a wandering melody. You, however, are pacing, wearing a groove into the floor.

“I can’t believe I have to go to this wedding,” you mutter.

Andrew doesn’t look up. “It’s just a wedding. Free food. Family. What’s so bad about that?”

You stop pacing and glare at him. “What’s bad is that it’s my cousin’s wedding, and she’s marrying my ex. My ex, Andrew. Two years ago. The one who—”

“—the one who cheated,” he finishes, frowning. “The accountant guy?”

You huff, arms crossing. “Ben. And yes, him. Two years wasn’t that long ago. Everyone still remembers. They’re going to look at me like I’m the one who lost.”

Andrew’s guitar strings go still. He watches you, quiet and thoughtful, his eyes soft. “You didn’t lose anything worth keeping.”

You look away, throat tight. “Try telling that to my family. To everyone from back home. They think I’ve been hiding on tour because I haven’t ‘moved on.’”

Andrew sets the guitar down and stands, stretching out to his full height. He moves in that calm, easy way that’s so uniquely him. “Then bring me.”

You blink at him. “Bring you where?”

“To the wedding. I’ll be your date. Your charming, supportive, very real boyfriend. We’ll shut them up.”

You stare at him like he’s lost his mind. “Andrew, you are literally Hozier. You think people won’t notice you’re at a random small-town wedding?”

He grins, that devil-may-care tilt to his lips. “So? You’re part of my band. We’ve been touring together for years. Who’s to say we didn’t…” He gestures vaguely. “Fall for each other somewhere between gigs?”

“You’re insane.”

He shrugs. “It’ll work. I’ll wear a suit. I’ll hold your hand. Your family will lose their minds, and Ben will choke on his champagne.”

You hesitate, your heart doing something strange and fluttery. “You’re really offering to do this?”

Andrew’s eyes soften, voice quieter now. “You’ve had my back for years. Let me have yours.”

“You’re awfully relaxed for someone volunteering to walk into a snake pit,” you teased.

Andrew shrugged, tipping his head back against the car seat. “I’ve faced worse. You ever play a festival where someone throws a boot at you?”

You laughed despite yourself. “No.”

“Then this’ll be fine.” He turned to look at you, a faint smile on his lips. “You’ve got me. We’ll get through it.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache. You kept your eyes on the road, the words you’ve got me looping in your head longer than they should have.

The car rolled to a stop in front of the event space, its bright lights spilling out onto the sidewalk and illuminating the carefully manicured shrubs framing the entrance. You sat in the passenger seat, gripping your clutch a little too tightly as you stared at the double doors.

Andrew, sitting behind the wheel, glanced over at you, his tie slightly loosened but otherwise the picture of effortless charm. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and calm.

“Fine,” you said quickly, though your stomach churned with nerves. “Just… mentally preparing myself.”

He gave you a knowing smile, turning off the engine. “You’ve got this. And remember”—he reached over, resting a hand lightly on yours—“I’m right here. If it gets to be too much, just say the word, and we’ll make a quick exit.”

You exhaled, forcing a small smile. “Thanks. I mean it.”

With that, the two of you stepped out of the car. The air was cool, the sound of muffled music and laughter drifting through the open doors as you made your way inside. Andrew’s hand hovered at the small of your back, a quiet reassurance as you stepped into the brightly lit reception area.

The function space was elegant but not overdone—polished wood floors, high ceilings, and an array of round tables draped in white linen. A small crowd had already gathered near the bar, chatting animatedly, and the band was tuning up in the far corner of the room.

“There’s my favorite cousin!”

You barely had time to react before Marie, her champagne flute sloshing slightly as she pulled you into a tight hug. “You’re late!” she exclaimed, pulling back to look at you. “We thought you weren’t coming.”

“I said I’d be here, didn’t I?” you replied with a forced laugh, glancing around the room nervously.

Marie’s eyes widened as she noticed Andrew standing just behind you. “Oh my fuck. Is this…?”

Andrew stepped forward smoothly with an amused grin, extending a hand. “Andrew Byrne. It’s nice to meet you.”

Marie took his hand, her eyes darting between the two of you. “You brought him? Wow. This is… unexpected.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Unexpected good, I hope?”

Marie laughed, a little too loudly. “Oh, of course! Everyone’s going to freak out when they see you. Come on, you have to say hi to everyone.”

You groaned internally as Marie grabbed your hand and started pulling you toward the main room. Andrew followed behind, his easy smile never faltering as you were dragged into the chaos.

You’d managed to keep a comfortable rhythm for most of the evening, Andrew effortlessly charming your family while keeping close enough to ease your nerves.

Then Ben appeared, weaving slightly through the crowd, a champagne flute dangling loosely in his hand. His flushed cheeks and the exaggerated ease of his movements betrayed a few too many drinks.

“Hey,” Ben greeted, his grin wide as he approached. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

You tilted your head, offering a neutral smile. “Hi, Ben. It’s my cousin's wedding—why wouldn’t i be here?”

Ben chuckled, the sound dry and too loud. “Fair enough,” he said, shifting his attention to Andrew. “And you must be the musician. Andy, right?”

Andrew extended a hand, his expression calm. “Andrew. Nice to meet you.”

Ben shook it, his grip overly firm but his movements unsteady. “Right, Andrew. Got it. So, what’s that like? Strumming a guitar all day? Sounds… freeing.”

Andrew’s lips curved into a faint smile. “It’s fulfilling,” he said evenly. “But it’s a lot more than just strumming.”

“Sure,” Ben said, clearly unimpressed. He swirled the champagne in his glass, his gaze narrowing slightly. “Sounds to me like you let your emotions drive what you do there, Andy.”

Andrew tilted his head, his smile polite but unwavering. “And it seems to me you don’t have any at all.”

Ben blinked, his mouth opening as if to retort, but before he could, Emily appeared at his side, her hand tugging insistently at his arm.

“Ben,” she said sharply, her smile tight. “Photos. Now.”

Ben hesitated, then let himself be pulled away, shooting you both a glance over his shoulder.

As the tension eased, Andrew turned to you, his expression softening. “Subtle, isn’t he?”

You laughed under your breath, the weight of the moment finally lifting. “That was… something.”

Andrew smirked, taking a sip of his drink. “I’d say it was exactly what it needed to be.”

“That looked brutal,” a voice drawled behind you.

You turned to see Marie, a mischievous smirk on her wine-stained lips. Her arm looped around your shoulders in an exaggerated show of camaraderie, and the unmistakable scent of vodka and champagne wafted from her as she leaned in close.

“That man,” she said, pointing her nearly empty glass in Ben’s direction with dramatic flair, “is nothing but a selfish prick.” She scowled at his retreating figure, then turned to you with a mock-serious expression. “I mean, why my sister is marrying that absolute sod after what he did to you? Boggles the bloody mind. Only plausible explanation is he’s got a cock the size of a baguette.”

You choked back a laugh, clapping a hand over your mouth as Andrew coughed into his drink, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Marie waved her glass dismissively the small pink umbrella that bobbed within it almost tipping out. “Oh, don’t pretend I’m wrong. There’s no other explanation. Not with a personality like that.” She shook her head mournfully, then brightened suddenly, thrusting her glass into the air. “But you know what? Open bar! Best excuse I’ve ever had to get absolutely plastered. Come on, you two!”

Before you could protest, she grabbed your hand, pulling you along with surprising strength for someone who was barely walking in a straight line. “You’re joining me. No arguments. Drinks, now.”

Andrew shot you a look, one brow raised, before shrugging with a grin and following the two of you across the room.

The elevator ride to the hotel room was a blur of giggles and slightly slurred jokes you knew weren't the slightest bit humorous. The warmth from the wine and the whiskey you’d shared with Andrew earlier lingered in your veins, making everything feel just a little lighter, freer.

“I can’t believe you had a drinking contest with my dad,” you said as you fumbled with the keycard at the door, your laughter bubbling over.

“Your dad challenged me, and that's quite rich coming from someone that actively challenged marie into a drinking game” Andrew defended, leaning heavily against the wall but grinning like he’d already won the argument. “You don’t turn down a man with a whiskey collection like that. It’s sacrilege.”

You snorted, finally managing to open the door. “she practically shoved them down my throat, You’re incorrigible.”

“And yet,” he said, following you into the room, his tie hanging loose around his neck, “you’re still here.”

The door clicked shut behind you, and you kicked off your heels, wobbling slightly. Andrew caught you by the elbow, steadying you, his hands warm and lingering just a moment too long.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft.

“I’m fine,” you replied, turning to face him. His tie was crooked, his hair slightly mussed, and the top few buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing a hint of his chest. Something about the way he looked—so relaxed and unguarded—made your stomach flip.

You laughed, reaching up to straighten his tie. “You’re a mess.”

He caught your wrist lightly, his thumb brushing against your skin. “And you’re beautiful,” he said, the words tumbling out so quietly you almost thought you imagined them.

Your laughter faded, the air between you shifting. “Andrew…”

“I’m going to kiss you,” he murmured, leaning in slightly, his breath warm and tinged with whiskey. “Unless you tell me not to.”

You didn’t tell him not to. Instead, you closed the gap, your lips meeting his in a kiss that started soft and searching but quickly deepened. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer as your fingers tangled in his hair.

He kissed you like he’d been holding himself back for years, like the floodgates had finally opened. You gasped softly against his mouth, and he used the moment to murmur against your lips, his voice rough and unsteady.

“I’ve had too many whiskeys,” he admitted, his forehead pressing against yours. “So tell me to stop.”

You shook your head, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt. “I don’t want you to stop.”

He groaned softly, his lips brushing yours again as his hands tightened on your hips. “I can’t pretend anymore,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “If you have any feelings for me—any at all—tell me now. Because if you don’t, I’ll go. I’ll leave.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening at the raw vulnerability in his eyes. “Andrew…”

“Please,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “If you don’t feel the same, I’ll walk out that door and never bring this up again. But if you do…”

You silenced him with another kiss, your answer clear in the way your body melted against his. He groaned again, the sound low and desperate, as his hands slid up your back, pulling you impossibly closer.

“Say it,” he murmured against your lips, his voice trembling. “I need to hear you say it.”

“I feel the same,” you whispered, your fingers sliding under his shirt. “I have for a long time.”

That was all it took. His restraint broke, his kisses growing more urgent as he backed you toward the bed. His hands worked quickly but carefully, pulling at the zipper of your dress, his lips trailing along your neck as the fabric slipped from your shoulders.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice hoarse as he kissed the curve of your collarbone. “Do you know how hard it’s been, being around you, wanting you like this and not saying anything?”

You gasped as his hands roamed your body, his touch both reverent and demanding. “Then why didn’t you?”

“Because I was terrified you didn’t feel the same,” he admitted, his breath hitching as he pulled back slightly to look at you. “And I didn’t want to lose you.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” you whispered, reaching for the buttons of his shirt.

His eyes softened, but the intensity didn’t fade. “Say it again,” he said, his voice low. “Tell me you feel the same.”

“I do,” you said firmly, your hands sliding up his chest. “I’m yours, Andrew.”

He groaned, capturing your lips again as he guided you onto the bed. The night unfolded in a haze of heat and whispered confessions, every touch and kiss laced with the kind of raw emotion that left you breathless.

“I meant everything I said,” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple. “I’m not pretending anymore.”

You smiled, your heart full in a way it hadn’t been in years. “Good,” you whispered. “Because neither am I.”

A soft groan escaped his lips as he kissed you again, his body pressing against yours as he guided you onto the bed. He settled between your legs, his touch reverent as his hands roamed your body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

He reached between you, his movements slow and careful as he positioned himself. “If I hurt you, tell me,” he murmured, his voice unsteady.

“You won’t,” you assured him, your fingers threading through his hair as you pulled him closer.

He kissed you deeply as he pushed into you, inch by inch, the sensation sending a shiver through your entire body. You gasped against his lips, your fingers tightening on his shoulders as he filled you completely.

“God,” he whispered, his breath hitching as he buried himself inside you. “You feel incredible.”

You wrapped your legs around him, urging him closer as your bodies moved together. Every thrust was deliberate, his rhythm steady and measured as he watched your face, his gaze dark with desire.

“Tell me what you need,” he murmured, his voice strained as he kissed along your neck. “Tell me how to make you feel good.”

“You already are,” you gasped, your hands roaming his back as he rocked into you, his movements sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

His control began to falter as your name spilled from his lips, his thrusts growing deeper, more urgent. Every gasp and moan you made seemed to spur him on, his focus entirely on you and your pleasure.

When the tension in your body finally broke, you cried out his name, your muscles tightening around him as he followed moments later, his groan low and guttural as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

[pendingnomdeplume]

absolutely gutted and devastated that Alex won't be part of the Hozier crew anymore

that said, new solo music whennn?

[pendingnomdeplume]

Hi, sorry if I already sent you something like this, but I'm really looking for a good 3some fic (hana x hozier x reader) or (alex x hozier x reader) and I can't find any. I love your stories and I really hope you read my message and make it real. also if you could do the reader as someone from the crew or the band it would be amazing.

thanks love ya

Hi babes,

I won't lie, an Alex x Hozier x Reader situation has been on my Want to Write list for a while, but I have a few other projects lined up before that.

Also, my requests are currently closed as I'm starting grad school this month, and I'm not sure what my capacity will look like moving forward.

Normally, I would say that you should send this request to another writer, but I've seen this exact request word-for-word asked of several other blogs. Hopefully one of those authors can fulfill what you're looking for.

ON THAT NOTE, I'm making a blanket statement here that I will not include Hozier's irl partner (nor any irl partner) in anything. I know absolutely nothing about her (this ask is the reason I know her name now), and I'm not comfortable including her in my writing.

I know that probably makes no sense considering I'm an RPF writer, but writing about irl partners is kind of my line in the sand.

xoxo

[pendingnomdeplume]

THE PEOPLE HATH SPOKEN

One order of Praise Kink with dom!Hozier coming right up. 😏

hello, hello!

it's time for a survey because I can't decide which thing I want to do next! (of course, a few of these things can be combined, so we'll see what happens here ehehe.)

if you select 'a secret other thing', please feel free to drop a comment or an anonymous ask if you want to stay in the shadows.

[pendingnomdeplume]

hello, hello!

it's time for a survey because I can't decide which thing I want to do next! (of course, a few of these things can be combined, so we'll see what happens here ehehe.)

if you select 'a secret other thing', please feel free to drop a comment or an anonymous ask if you want to stay in the shadows.

[pendingnomdeplume]

🖤🎄Under the tree || Hozier x Reader🎄🖤

READ ON TUMBLR UNDER CUT || READ ON AO3

Rating: +18 || smut

Tags: 🎄Christmas Themed Fic🎄, face-fucking, cunnilingus, oral sex (both receiving), come swallowing, light dom/sub (fork found in kitchen), light bondage

Summary: You have a very special gift for Andrew this Christmas (the gift is you.)

Word count: 1.9k

A/N: Yes, I know it’s not Christmas anymore. No, I don’t care about that, time isn’t real anyway. Shoutout to my editor (oomf) for editing while I get ready to post the fic. If there are any remaining typos fight them Not me. I’m not the one editing one handed, they are.

A/N 2: Everyone cheer that it only took me 20 days to write another fic instead of the usual month. Another one for that white boy of the year poll coming soon(ish). Hope you all had a very nice Christmas🎄❤️

💙FULL FIC UNDER CUT💙

It was Christmas Eve, Andrew was on his way back home from a Christmas charity busk in Dublin that you decided to stay home for so you could prepare a special surprise for him. You had told him as much when he asked you to go for the first time, which unnerved him slightly. You had instructed him to have dinner while he was out, so you could focus on the surprise when he got back.

He was 45 minutes away, and everything was ready, except you, that is. Your surprise was divided in smaller parts that you’d show him in the morning, but you needed to get ready for tonight’s, you were fresh out of the shower and smelled like cinnamon and sugar cookies, you walked out of the bathroom with nothing on and grabbed a few strips of red silk fabric and gift wrapping paper as you made your way downstairs to the Christmas tree. Then, carefully, wrapped yourself up as a gift for Andrew. The paper enveloped your ass and front, going up around your abdomen and chest, creating almost a dress shape, your legs tied together by the ankles and thighs while you kneeled in front of the tree. You tied a nice red silk bow on your hair and another one on your mouth, making it so you wouldn’t be able to speak, finally, you tied your hands together with the rest of the red fabric.

You waited patiently for around five minutes before Andrew finally got back, the lights in the house were off, the only light being candles, both real and battery-powered, that you had put around the house to create a path from the front door to the living room and from there to the bedroom. Andrew smiled as he went in, his mind going wild with ideas of what you could’ve been preparing for him.

“I’m back!” He called out as he took off his shoes and coat in the entryway, the house was warm and he could hear the crackling in the fireplace, so he took off his sweater, too, remaining in just his pants and a button-up shirt (with an undershirt under it). He made his way to the living room, following the candles, his eyes scanned the room looking for you when he entered, his eyes and smile widening when he saw you wrapped like a present under the tree. You tried your best not to move when he spotted you, though you could already feel an all too familiar dampness between your legs.

He walked over to you, his stride confident and smug, he squatted next to you, his hand caressing from your knees, up to the bow on your thighs with what could only be described as a lustful fire in his eyes. His hand moved softly up your paper dress and to your face, he held your chin firmly between his fingers, making you look at him. “Was this your surprise, love?” He teased, smirking.

You hummed and tried to nod to say yes, your eyes wide and submissive as you looked at him. Andrew smiled.

“Let me get this off you, sweetness.” He chuckled, taking off the bow on your mouth and giving you a quick tender kiss. “There we go, how are you feeling, baby?”

“Good.” You answered.

“I’m glad,” he kissed you again before standing up, his hand still holding your chin. “So, did you have a plan for after I got here or..?” He wandered.

“No, no plan, you can do whatever you want, I’m your present after all. Happy Christmas!” You smiled innocently.

His eyes darkened with lust. “Good,” he chuckled. “What’s your safeword for when you can’t speak, darling?”

You snapped your fingers twice. He smiled, his hand moving to undo his belt and pants. “I love getting new toys for Christmas.” He murmured, a shiver ran down your spine and straight into your core. He pulled out his cock without even taking off his pants, it was hard and leaking already. His other hand moved to your cheek, caressing it lovingly. “Don’t move your head, I’ll do everything, just sit and enjoy my cock like the little slut you are, okay?” He commanded.

“Oka-“ you went to speak but he cut you off before you could get a word out.

“Shh shh shh.” He shushed you, a finger over your lips. “Toys don’t talk. Now, nod if you’re okay with this.”

You nodded, mind fuzzy with arousal. He gently guided your mouth to open, slowly guiding his cock into it. He started thrusting gently, both his hands holding your head at this point, his cock teasing the back of your throat while you held your thumbs in your fists to get rid of the gag reflex as best as you could, though it was never quite enough thanks to his size.

He sped up, moaning softly as he fucked your mouth. His hands still caressed your face and hair every so often, you hummed in response, sending vibrations all through his shaft. “You fucking love this, don’t you? Being my toy, letting me use you, just- mmph!” A moan escaped him. “Just being mine.” He growled as he said that last word, gripping your head tighter and quickening his pace even more. He bared his teeth, sucking in a breath through them while scrunching up his face.

Andrew’s hand moved to the back of your head, taking your hair in his fist and using it to move your head closer to himself, he was moaning loudly, his face still scrunched up. Drool was running down your chin and dropping onto your breasts, your eyes rolled to the back of your head, the wrapping paper dampening because of your wetness. You blinked a couple times, your eyes focusing on Andrew, he was glowing in the soft light of the candles and the Christmas tree, his hair wild and unruly, he was looking up, mouth agape while he moaned, you could see his neck, red and blushing, you could only imagine how the rest of him had to be. His hands on your head were still freezing from when he was outside, the cold serving as an anchor keeping you in reality.

You kept humming as he fucked your mouth, whimpering every time he bottommed out and hit the back of your throat. You felt him twitch in your mouth, the taste of his precum already in your mouth, his moans became shorter and more breathy, he was close. His grip on your head tightened once more, he pushed his cock all the way in, then quickly pulled almost all the way out, you sucked him, knowing he was about to come. He smirked.

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” He murmured, his voice deep and thick with lust, his Irish accent somehow more noticeable than before. He continued to fuck your throat. “Wanna swallow, baby? Hm? We can’t make a mess yet, can we? I haven’t even finished playing with my toy.”

You moved your head ever so slightly, taking his dick as deep as you could, he smiled, humping your face a couple times before he came down your throat with a loud moan. Your nose was buried in his pubic bone as he emptied himself, his trimmed hairs brushing against your face before he finally pulled out, a string of saliva and cum still joining your lips with his shaft. He breathed, petting your hair lovingly with one hand while putting himself back in his pants with the other.

“You’re fuckin’ amazing, did you know that?” He said softly, a loving smile on his face. He kneeled down next to you, looking at the bows on your arms and legs that restrained your movements, then at the wrapping paper that covered your body. “I think I should finish opening my present, don’t you?” He teased, chuckling softly.

He ripped open the paper, throwing it away the second it wasn’t touching you anymore. His hands, still cold, moved to your chest, fondling and squeezing it, your nipples hardened almost immediately, letting him pinch and pull at them. You moaned and whimpered, your back arching towards him. His hands wandered lower on your body, untying the bows on your thighs and ankles, you raised your hands for him to untie as well, but instead he moved them to be behind his neck so that you would be holding onto him.

With that, he picked you up and carried you to the bedroom, making you squeal at the sudden movement. “Andy!” You giggled as he walked. “Put me down!”

“Absolutely not,” he smiled, “I haven’t finished with you yet.”

He laid you down on the bed, taking your arms by the bow that tied them together, moving them away from his head and towards the headboard, making another knot to tie them to it. You pulled at your restraints, and sure enough, they didn’t budge, making Andrew smile.

“You look so pretty when you’re tied up, did you know that?” He whispered, leaning in to kiss your jaw and neck.

You moaned softly at the kisses, your body moving instinctively towards his touch. He went lower, kissing down from your collarbone, along your chest and abdomen, and finishing by kissing your mound. Your legs parted for him, he settled between them, putting your thighs over his shoulder and holding them tight.

“I won’t go overboard tonight, I promise,” he smiled again, placing a quick kiss on your thigh. You nodded, knowing what was to come.

He dove into you like it was his first meal in weeks, lapping at your juices with fervour, he moaned at your taste, moving his head side to side while pushing forward to get closer to you, his nose rubbed against your clit as he moved his mouth lower, his tongue darting out to thrust inside your core. You pulled at your restraints again, soft whines from frustration and pleasure mixing together. Your hips moved involuntarily, increasing the friction between your clit and his nose, your climax quickly building up thanks to your existing arousal. Andrew’s hand moved around your thigh and towards your clit, playing with it while his tongue went in and out of you again and again. His beard scratched your thighs, you could feel his smile on your core and hear it in the moans loud enough to not be drowned and muffled in your body.

Your legs started to twitch slightly, the all familiar coil in your stomach threatening to snap. Your breathing became irregular, making you whimper softly, the sounds only encouraging him further, his fingers on your clit moving faster and faster until you finally reached your peak. Your hips buckled into his face as you moaned loudly, he drank every drop of your essence as your legs shook ever so slightly, your moans quickly turning into whines.

He pulled away slowly, kissing your inner thighs before finally untying your wrists. He massaged them softly, kissing both of them before speaking softly.

“All good, love?” He asked softly.

“Yeah,” you nodded.

He pulled you into a hug, laying down on the bed and letting you rest on his chest while he played with your hair.

“That was a wonderful gift, by the way.” He whispered into your hair.

“It’s just the first of many,” you smiled, your voice slightly hoarse from moaning. “Not all of them are like this one, though.”

He chuckled, his other hand squeezing you lovingly. “I didn’t expect them to be, don’t worry.” He kissed your hair. “Happy Christmas, my love.”

“Happy Christmas, darling.”

[pendingnomdeplume]

hold me hard and mellow pairing: hozier x female!reader rating: explicit (18+) tags: Miscommunications/Misunderstandings, Pining, Drunk Flirting, Drunk Sex words: 4.0k

[Read it on AO3]

title from Pillowtalk by Zayn divider by: sylusz

Though your 30th birthday was months ago, it’s difficult to ignore some of the changes that aging has brought on. You’ve noticed a few new gray hairs sprouting where there were none before, and your cheeks have lost some of the cherubic plumpness that made you look like a high schooler attempting to swindle shops for alcohol every time you wanted a beer. These changes don’t bother you. In fact, you’re excited to look a little bit older, more like your actual age. 

What catches your attention is entirely different. Something embarrassing, really. Something that you’ve been mildly self-conscious of while living in a giant, moving tin can with several other people and absolutely no privacy.

It takes exactly one Google search to confirm what you already started to suspect. 

Why am I so aroused all the time??? 

The question marks aren’t necessary, but they feel right given how perplexed you are by this development. What’s returned is page after page of different threads and message boards, all filled with women over the age of 30 confirming that, yes, their libido also increased with age. In fact, it seems fairly commonplace for women to experience their sexual peak a little bit later in life. 

While you’re relieved that this phenomenon isn’t unusual, you’re still frustrated by the fact that you feel insatiable. There’s absolutely no time to take care of yourself as often as you’d like, no space with enough privacy to even try. Your bunk on the tour bus is your only sanctuary, but even then, the curtains are easily ripped from their velcro tabs, and someone is always awake when you’re at your most desperate. 

Hotel rooms aren’t any better. You always end up sharing the space, which you can’t begrudge anyone for, really. It’s a matter of pragmatism made up for by all of the other perks of touring with Hozier—or, Andrew, as he prefers from colleagues. 

Therein lies your other issue: Andrew is currently the bane of your entire fucking existence. Not for any malicious reason, it’s just…well, you have eyes, and he’s an attractive lad. A kind lad. Funny, sensitive, talented—the list goes on. But he’s Hozier, for Christ’s sake. If he’s not a household name by now, he’s very well on his way with the release of “Too Sweet,” perhaps to his chagrin. 

Honestly, it’s just a silly crush that you would handle a lot better were it not for the fact that you live within 20 feet of the man constantly. You’re either singing on stage behind him, or sitting a stone’s throw away from him on the bus. The only reprieve you get is on hotel nights, but even then, you’ve been dragged out for dinner and drinks on several occasions, somehow always ending up either seated directly across from him or squished into a booth next to him. 

Recently, you’ve been trying to maintain a reasonable distance. You’ve stepped out of rooms he’s entered, hidden around corners as he strides by, and recused yourself from group outings for your own peace. It’s not as though anything would ever come of your crush, and it’s better to maintain space than force yourself into proximity to him and suffer at the hands of your own libido.

Honestly, you never expected him to take notice. Sure, he’s kind to you, and he’ll strike up a conversation with you when he’s in the mood, but otherwise, you’ve always thought of yourself as inconsequential. Not like Alex or Rory who have been with him since the beginning. Not like Larissa who enmeshes themself into the fold with their radiating energy and charm, nor Kamilah who is the human embodiment of glee.  

Tonight is another night of planned avoidance. The group is getting ready to go out for dinner and enjoy their evening off before the show the next night. You’ve already declined the invitation in the group chat, already fended off Joy and Mel who follow you with exaggerated pouts and pleas. In the end, they respect your decision to stay behind and promise to bring something back for you. 

With the next few hours to yourself, you curl up in bed and crack open the same book you’ve been attempting to read for the past few days—some fantasy novel with a gratuitous amount of steamy, spicy scenes that are…a little silly, if you’re being honest. But it’s fun, nearly brainless entertainment. A dessert of a novel, or perhaps the after-dinner mint. 

A quiet, polite knock at the door startles you out of your reading not even 20 minutes later. You wonder if it’s Mel, if she forgot her damn room key again, and hop out of bed in your pajama shorts and tank top without another thought. 

When you open the door, you’re surprised to find that it’s Andrew on the other side, hands shoved into the pocket of his hoodie. 

“Oh, hey!” You greet, befuddlement obvious in your voice. “What’re you doing here? I thought you went out with everyone else.”

Andrew shakes his head. “Nah, I wasn’t feeling up for it tonight.”

“Ah.” There’s a few beats of silence as you stare at each other, until you finally ask, “Did…did you need something, or…?” Because, really, why the fuck is he here?

He’s quiet as he studies you, head tilting to one side. You’ve never been on the receiving end of his scrutiny before—at least, not that you’re aware of, anyway. It’s slightly intimidating, mostly because of his stature, but also because his attention is solely directed on you in a way you haven’t experienced previously. 

Finally, he lets out a little huff and asks, “Are you avoiding me?” 

Your eyes go wide and your mouth drops open. You quickly snap it shut, a flush already making your ears go hot.

“No! Of course not! What gave you that impression?” Lies, lies, lies, but what are you supposed to say to a question like that? 

Andrew looks rightfully unconvinced. “I just…haven’t seen you around lately.” 

He noticed?

“Right, yeah, uh…” You flounder for a response, rubbing your clammy palms against your shorts. “I’ve just—I’ve been busy, y’know? With stuff. And things.” 

“Stuff and things,” Andrew repeats back slowly with a half-smile. 

You nod, smile tightly. “Mhm. Stuff and things. Matters, even! And, um…affairs. States of affairs.” 

“Of course.” He nods sagely. “It just seems like one of those very important matters that you’re tending to might be avoiding me.” 

“Oh,” you reply lamely. “It’s—I’m not—” You’re beginning to panic, trying to think of anything to get out of this conversation that doesn’t involve slamming the door in his face. 

“Because you haven’t gone out with us in weeks,” he continues as you stammer. “And you’re fairly quick to leave any room that I enter. Or, is that just a coincidence?” 

Annoyance buzzes beneath your skin.

“There have been stranger occurrences, I’m sure,” you reply evenly.

“Right. I’m sure.” He pulls a grimace of a smile, lips pressed together tightly as he knocks once on the doorframe before taking a step back. He almost looks dejected, though that’s probably just wishful thinking on your part. 

You’re ready to close the door on him, ready to curl back up under the blankets and try to sleep off your embarrassment. Just as he begins to turn away, Andrew stops and turns back to you with a curious half-smile. 

“Would you like to go down to the hotel bar with me, then?” 

You blink. “What?” 

He shrugs easily, assuredly. “Since you’re not avoiding me, come down and get a drink with me.”

Anxiety grips your heart as your stomach flutters. It’s a bad idea. A terrible one, even. Being alone with Andrew under the influence of alcohol? You can only imagine that being a one-way ticket to a massive disaster that ends with you getting kicked off the tour entirely. God knows what dumb shite will spill out of your mouth the moment you start to feel loose.

His smile turns coy as he tilts his head. “Or I could always bring something up for you. They’ve a lovely wine list here.” 

You swallow, searching his face as he raises a questioning eyebrow at you. 

Finally, you sigh and let your head rest against the doorframe. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?” 

Andrew laughs, shakes his head. “No. Unless you tell me to fuck off, of course.”

You can’t help but smile and shake your own head. “I would never. Can you give me a few minutes, though? I can’t go down looking like this.” 

He waits outside like a gentleman, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. He smiles as you reappear in clothes more suitable for a public setting—merely a hoodie and a pair of jeans, but it’s good enough for a booth in the dimly lit, fairly empty hotel bar. 

You order a glass of blush wine, smirking when Andrew requests the bottle for the table instead. 

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” It’s light, airy, asked as a joke and nothing more. 

Andrew looks at you with a sly tilt of his head. “Trying to find reasons for you to stay a while.”

The answer stuns you, your face going pink as you avoid the waiter’s amused expression.

He orders a glass of Woodford Reserve, neat. When the waiter drops it off, he holds it out to you for a taste, and you hold out your wine glass in turn. The whiskey is bitter, spicy, and makes you cough into the crook of  your elbow as the amber liquid burns all the way down to your stomach. 

“Good lord,” you splutter as he grins at you. “That’ll put some hair on your chest.”

You study him as he sips from your wine glass, as he tilts his head in thought and nods to himself assuredly before commenting that it’s actually quite good despite blush wines not being his thing.

“So…” you start, hands folded on the table as you level his stare. 

“So…” he echoes as he rests his head in his hand, elbow planted firmly on the table. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

The question startles a laugh out of you. “Straight to it then, yeah?” 

He shrugs, takes another sip of his drink. “It’s not typically how I operate.” 

“Oh?” You tilt your head, an exaggeration of his own mannerisms. “And what makes me the lucky one to be graced with your focus and attention?”

Andrew chuckles. “I think you’re trying to dodge my question.” 

“And I think you’re trying to dodge mine.” You smirk before taking a sip from your glass. 

There’s a brief pause as he studies your face. “Honestly? I think my ego is a little bruised.” You raise an eyebrow at him, and he continues, “You can’t deny that you’re avoiding me, yeah? It’s been fairly obvious. And I…well, you've been on my mind, is all.” 

Once again, you’re stunned into silence. He’d been thinking of you? Apparently so, and often enough that he’s not only noticed the distance you’ve maintained from him, he’s actually hurt by it. The thought of hurting him at all makes your chest feel tight.

“It’s not personal,” you say weakly. 

“Feels personal,” he retorts. “Have I done something or said something to…I don’t know, make you not want to be around me?”

“No! No. Of course not.”

Andrew frowns. “I haven’t made you uncomfortable, have I? I try not to be too forward, but I suppose it’s the Pisces in me. Or something. Alex told me that once, I don’t know.” 

You blink. “You haven’t made me uncomfortable.” Not in the way he would expect, anyway.

His cheeks turn rosy as he runs a hand through his curls. He seems almost frustrated, as though your answers perplex him further. Andrew takes another sip from his drink, and you decide to follow suit, gulping down the last of your wine. Before you can even reach for it, Andrew takes the bottle and begins to pour a generous refill into your glass. 

You meet his eyes as he sets the bottle back down with a thud before bringing the glass up to your lips again. He watches you carefully, unable to maintain your stare as his eyes flit to your mouth, your throat, your fingers carefully curled around the stem. 

“Good. Grand.” He sighs. “If I haven’t made you…I mean, is there something else, then?” Your puzzled expression makes him frown. “Or, someone else, rather?”

The gears slowly begin to turn in your mind.

“Someone…else?” 

It must be your tone, the obvious confusion in your voice that clues him in, a look of understanding softening his features. Embarrassment quickly overtakes him as he covers his reddening face with a nervous laugh. 

“You—you’ve no idea what I’m—? Oh, Jesus…” He avoids your eyes as he slams back the remainder of his drink in one go, then sets the glass down with a wince and a grimace. “I think we may have a misunderstanding here.” 

Your own embarrassment has you speechless, mouth opening and closing as you process what he’s just said. Surely, he didn’t mean…? No, he couldn’t mean that, because things like that don’t just happen, at least not to you. Not when it’s Andrew of all people. 

It’s the wine that grips your throat and controls your voice, and you laugh incredulously as you ask, “Oh my god, do you have a crush on me?”

He groans into his hands, then smooths them back over his hair before collapsing onto the table with a laugh. His face is tinged pink with drunken embarrassment, and he smiles at you before turning to hide his face in his arms. 

“In no uncertain terms,” comes his muffled reply.

You laugh again and cover your own face, unsure of what to say. Your heart feels like it might beat out of your chest, your pulse thumping as a familiar heat begins to pool in your stomach. 

After a moment, Andrew lifts his head again and pulls himself from the table until he’s upright once more. His eyes are tinged red now, bloodshot from booze. Your own head swims as you rest your head in your hand and smile at him warmly. 

“D’you want to know why I was avoiding you?” You avert your gaze to the table, then sigh before the words tumble from your mouth. “Because you’re too fucking attractive. How am I supposed to get anything done when you walk around looking like this?”

He splutters a laugh as you gesture vaguely towards him. “Oh?” 

The wine bottle is nearly empty now as you encourage him to pour some for himself in the empty glass on the table.

“It’s terribly inconsiderate of you,” you hum, and you catch his grin before he takes a drink.

Andrew grins. “My apologies for being such a distraction. I’d no idea I caused such distress.” 

You chuckle and eye him coyly. “I wouldn’t necessarily call it distress.”

“What would you call it, then?”

“Hmm…” You scrunch your face as you pretend to think. “Intrigue, certainly...and the uncanny ability to make me—” 

“Anything else for you?” The waiter’s voice startles you both, and you whip your head up to look at him wondering how much of that he heard. If he’s heard anything, he doesn’t let on. Instead, he mostly looks bored, and you can see the black booklet in his hand that surely contains the check. 

Andrew is quick to take it and scribbles in his room number for the charge, nearly shoving the booklet back into the waiter’s hands with hasty thanks. 

You’re both drunk enough to make bad decisions that you know you’ll regret come morning, but it’s difficult to care about that when he’s pressing you back against the wall in the elevator and kissing you like you’re his only source of air. When his hands are all over you like you’re the only thing anchoring him to reality.

“C’mon,” he murmurs as the doors open to let you onto his floor. 

You stumble over yourself with a whispered, “Shit!” as he pulls you over the threshold of his room, and he laughs and apologizes before flipping a light on. 

Andrew is a messy creature, and his room looks as though his overnight bag spontaneously exploded while he was out. It’s weirdly charming, another reminder that he is, in fact, just a regular fucking guy with standard quirks. 

A thrill runs through you when he kisses you again, softer this time as he cradles your face in his hands. 

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” The question is sudden, his eyes wide as he searches for any hint of doubt. 

You’re quiet for a moment as you turn the question over in your mind. Even in an inebriated state, he’s still so concerned about your comfort, your consent. It’s unsurprising given how anxious he seems in general, but it’s sweet all the same. 

Finally, you rest a hand on his arm and look up at him with a smirk. “What I was saying earlier, about you and intrigue…well, you have a knack for making me weak in the knees, amongst other things. It’s typically based on your proximity, though.” 

You see his mouth turn up in a half-smile just before he crowds closer to you, pulling you flush against him as you wrap your arms around his neck and laugh into another kiss. 

“I don’t normally do this,” he breathes just before moving to kiss along your neck. 

“I feel like I should be the one saying that.” You gasp when he bites down, not hard enough to cause any truly lasting damage, but enough to know that you’ll still be wearing his marks come morning. A thrilling thought, though you’re sure you’ll be mobbed by the ladies and Larissa for details later on. 

Your hoodie is in the way, impeding his access, and he steps away to tug at the hem until you’re helping him peel it off. He stares at your chest, clearly surprised by your lack of bra and the way your nipples pebble beneath the thin fabric of your tank top. 

“In my defense,” you say with a smirk, “I didn’t expect all of this to happen.”

He laughs quietly as he walks you back towards the bed. “You’ll hear no complaints from me.” 

The sheets are rumpled and easily kicked away as you shuffle back on the mattress. Andrew drops kisses along chest, teeth grazing your skin and leaving little imprints. You squeak when he shoves your shirt up roughly, and he throws an apologetic look your way. 

“Sorry, just a bit enthusiastic,” he muses. 

You laugh, feeling breathless as his hands wander along your newly bared skin. 

“You’ll hear no complaints from me.” 

His responding laugh— a low, warm sound, sweet as honey—makes you blush. You gasp when he gently bites your nipple just before taking it into his mouth. It sends a shiver through you as he moves to the other, and you squirm beneath him, almost glad that you’re too drunk to really be embarrassed at the moment. 

Once your jeans are off and tossed away, Andrew freezes, his eyes greedily taking in your nearly nude body before snapping back up to meet your stare. He dips a hand beneath the waistband of your panties—a simple black pair without any details or flair, because you didn’t expect to have Andrew’s hand shoved into them like this.

He seems surprised to find you an already slick mess, his fingers dipping easily into you before pulling them back to rub your clit in slow circles. 

“I told you,” you huff a harsh laugh that breaks into a small moan. “Weak in the knees, amongst other things.” 

Andrew’s grin is obscured by his hair that curtains his face. He continues to touch you slowly, methodically, while capturing you in a kiss and swallowing down every little sound that escapes you. 

He breaks the kiss with a small gasp and asks, “What do you—how do you want to—?”

You’re far too impatient for anything that isn’t his cock inside of you right fucking now. You’re aching, feeling empty in a way that you have so many times over the past few weeks. Except this time, the object of your affections is stumbling over himself to rummage through his bag after you ask about protection. 

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” you muse as he approaches you again with something square in hand. 

“So are you,” he shoots back, and he watches in awe as you slip your underwear off and cast them aside without batting an eye, emboldened.

He licks his lips before saying weakly, “Oh, you’re going to be the death of me, aren’t you?”

Andrew is far too impatient to remove everything, barely able to focus on even shoving his own jeans down and hastily rolling on a condom with shaky hands. 

The feeling as he presses into you is heavenly, so full, warm, and satisfying. You bury your face into the crook of his shoulder as he sets an even pace. The slick sound of your arousal makes you blush, but it’s obvious how much it spurs him on, delighting in your body’s reaction to him, his touch, his everything.

Weeks of wishing and wanting, and now you can’t hold back your moans as he fucks you the way you’ve imagined. You can feel the way he stretches you as he fills you, and he gasps when you clench around him. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, eyes screwing shut as he takes a deep breath. 

You reach up and brush a stray curl from his face. “Are you okay?”

When he opens his eyes, he gives you a little smile and a nod. “Yeah, yes, grand,” he huffs, then lets his head fall forward until his forehead rests against your shoulder. “You feel so fucking good.” 

He grips your thigh and squeezes gently, a silent bid to get your legs around him. 

At first, he’s slow, taking his time as he kisses you between breathy laughs and whispered swears. It isn’t until you murmur, “You don’t have to treat me so preciously,” in his ear that he hums and shifts to press your legs further, damn near folding you in half. But it’s good, so fucking good, and you can barely form a thought as your eyes roll back and flutter as he picks up his pace.

And, Jesus, how are you already so close to your peak? Another testament to your seemingly insatiable desire. You cry out when he rubs a thumb against your clit roughly, out of sync with his thrusts as you press back and grind against his palm.

The stimulation is enough to send you tumbling over the edge. Tears blur your vision as you let out small, sobbing moans against his neck. Each wave of pleasure has you clenching down around him.  and then he’s snapping his hips one, two, three more times before groaning in your ear while his cock twitches with his release.

Andrew is quick to collect you into his arms after collapsing next to you in bed. He reaches blindly for a blanket to tug over both of you, seemingly more of a courtesy than anything. You allow yourself to relax into him, nuzzling his shoulder before settling with your head on his chest. 

“Wow,” he says after his breathing has evened, and he laughs quietly as he squeezes you. 

“Yeah,” you hum.

There’s another stretch of silence, and your eyes begin to feel heavy as you follow the pattern of his breathing, feel the rise and fall of his chest. 

Another small laugh from him stirs you, and you look up at him questioningly. 

“We’re going to feel fucking awful tomorrow, aren’t we?” 

“Oh, yeah.”

“Is a hungover breakfast a proper first date, d’you think?” 

You grin at him and lean up to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“Proper? No. But we haven’t done things by the book so far.”

[pendingnomdeplume]

Hello and Happy Holidays!

Thank you so much for all of the love given on the prompt re-posts. Once again, this blog is growing at a rate that is baffling to me, but I'm so glad I can provide some joy and entertainment during these uhhh, [checks notes] unprecedented times.

There are a few projects in the works currently, but I wanted to share one that I've been working on for the past week.

xoxo go forth and be merry and gay

WIP - Dirty Thirty (Working Title)

He’s quiet as he studies you, head tilting to one side. You’ve never been on the receiving end of his scrutiny before—at least, not that you’re aware of, anyway. It’s slightly intimidating, mostly because of his stature, but also because his attention is solely directed on you in a way you haven’t experienced. 

Finally, he lets out a little huff and asks, “Are you avoiding me?” 

Your eyes go wide and your mouth drops open. You quickly snap it shut, a flush already making your ears go hot.

“No! Of course not! What gave you that impression?” Lies, lies, lies, but what are you supposed to say to a question like that? 

Andrew looks rightfully unconvinced. “I just…haven’t seen you around lately.” 

He noticed?

“Right, yeah, uh…” You flounder for a response, rubbing your clammy palms against your shorts. “I’ve just—I’ve been busy, y’know? With stuff. And things.” 

“Stuff and things,” Andrew repeats back slowly with a half-smile. 

You nod, smile tightly. “Mhm. Stuff and things. Matters, even! And, um…affairs. States of affairs.” 

“Of course.” He nods sagely. “It just seems like one of those very important matters that you’re tending to might be avoiding me.” 

“Oh,” you reply lamely. “It’s—I’m not—” You’re beginning to panic, trying to think of anything to get out of this conversation that doesn’t involve slamming the door in his face. 

“Because you haven’t gone out with us in weeks,” he continues as you stammer. “And you’re fairly quick to leave any room that I enter. Or, is that just a coincidence?”

[pendingnomdeplume]

pairing: hozier x gn!reader rated: T (language)

PROMPT: A small, fleeting kiss - which is immediately followed by a passionate, hungry kiss.

author's note: This was pre-written and is part of a backlog of items I still have from the previous blog. xoxo.

“Five minutes!” A voice crackles over the radio clipped to your belt, yet you’re undeterred as you continue to stare Andrew down. It’s a stand-off of sorts—the natural progression of a confrontation after he made some snarky comment under his breath, and you whirled around on him to finally, finally ask him what his fucking problem is with you. 

“I seem to be the only person you can’t stand on this entire crew, and I just want to know why,” you say, your tone is low and restrained as you attempt to keep anyone else from hearing on the other side of the dressing room door. The rest of the band is waiting in the wings, but the pounding footsteps of crew members dashing by makes you nervous. 

Andrew glances between the door and you. His mouth opens and closes, but neither an excuse nor an answer comes out. Instead, he runs an agitated hand over his frizzy hair and sighs loudly. 

“I don’t know…” He trails off, eyes still averted away from your heated stare. 

“You don’t know…what, exactly? Don’t know what I’m talking about? Bullshit. You absolutely fucking do. Don’t know why you hate me so much? Then, please, figure it the fuck out. I’m here to do a job, and it’s really hard to personally assist someone when that person is being a total fucking dickhead all the time! Christ Almighty, I’ve only ever heard good things about you, and yet I’m somehow the one that gets this shitty, snarky version of y—” 

His hands are on your face before you even realize he’s stepped closer, too caught up in your own rant to pay attention. His touch is firm, squishing your cheeks as he tilts your head to force your own gaze upward. 

It happens in the blink of an eye. You feel the brush of a kiss against your lips before he pulls away and puts distance between you. His expression is full of worry, an apology already on his tongue as you stare blankly. His mouth is moving, but you’re not comprehending anything he says as your face burns. You can still feel the ghost of his touch as though it’s imprinted on your skin. 

Andrew is still rambling when you reorient yourself. “...and, if you’re completely done with me and this whole thing, I get it, and I won’t blame you for leaving. But I can talk to the tour manager, and maybe we can put you somewhere else? I’m sure Allison would love to have someone, and you wouldn’t have to see me or deal with me for the most part, and you could still work with the band because I know they love you. I’m just so, so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking doing that when I’ve been awful to you, I don’t deserve the kindness or patience you’ve extended to me, and I don’t—I’m sorry I fucked this up. I didn’t know what to do.” 

You swallow audibly. “Didn’t know what to do about what, exactly?” 

There’s the barest hint of a smile on his lips as he replies. “Feelings. Not great at ‘em. Obviously.” 

Annoyance buzzes along your skin, but you ignore it as you comprehend what he’s actually saying. “You…have feelings. For me.” It’s less a question and more a statement. 

“Correct,” he nods. 

“And your plan to deal with that was to bully me like you’re 12 years old?” 

He shrugs. “Wasn’t exactly a plan. More that it just…happened that way.” 

You can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of this. Of him. 

“Jesus, Andrew. Did you want to pull on my pigtails while you’re at it? Grown-ass man…” 

You catch the shift in his expression—the way his shoulders relax just slightly, the way he allows himself a small, cheeky smile as he shrugs and replies. “More than happy to do so if you ask.” 

There’s something about that response—about the way he smiles at you, eyes crinkling in genuine joy and relief that you’re not shouting abuse at him or leaving the tour altogether—that spurs you forward. A rough tug on the lapels of his grey suit jacket clues him in quickly, and suddenly you’re pressed back against the dressing room door as he kisses you like a man possessed. Your hand automatically comes up to rest at the nape of his neck, unable to bite back a whine as his tongue slides against yours, as his hands grip your waist and threaten to slide up your shirt.

A banging sound reverberates through your chest, startling both of you until you’re springing towards opposite sides of the room. The door swings open, and a miserable-looking tech pokes his head in and points at Andrew with a frown. 

“You! We gotta go! Only a minute!” The tech is gone in a flash, the sound of his words echoing down the hall as he jogs back towards the stage. 

Andrew can only choke out an apologetic sound with a desperate flail of his hands, and you wave him off with one hand while the other covers your grin. “Go, go, go, we’ll talk later. Go be a rockstar or whatever.” 

He snorts, and you barely catch the, “Hardly a rockstar,” as he jogs out of the room. 

[pendingnomdeplume]

pairing: hozier x gn!reader rated: T (language)

PROMPT: One person tracing the other’s lips with a fingertip until they can’t resist any longer, tilting their chin towards them for a kiss.

author's note: This was pre-written and is part of a backlog of items I still have from the previous blog. xoxo.

The sound of the front door is what startles you awake. The bedroom is still dark when you open your eyes, and a glance at your phone tells you it’s far too early to be conscious. A click of the lock rings out, followed by soft footsteps and the slow rolling of a suitcase. In the shadows, you can make out a tall figure shuffling in, obviously trying to keep quiet to avoid disturbing your sleep. You rub the crust from your eyes and prop yourself up on your elbow. 

“Baby?” 

Andrew jumps at the sound of your voice, whirling around to face you as you reach over to turn on your bedside lamp. 

“Did I wake you?” he whispers. You shrug in response, and he grimaces. “I’m sorry, love. Go back to sleep. I’ll be in bed in just a minute.” 

He disappears into the bathroom, and you push yourself up to sit back against the headboard. The world is still righting itself when you hear the shower running, but you know yourself—now that you’re up, you won’t be able to fall back asleep. A look out the window reveals a golden light beginning to peek above the horizon, the sky slowly shifting to blue as the clouds hang like warm cotton candy. 

It’s not too early for coffee, you decide. 

When Andrew emerges from the bathroom, you’re sitting up in bed with a mug that you sip from tentatively. His hair hangs around his face, still damp and unruly from a lack of combing. You laugh as he falls into bed with a soft thump, his face buried in his pillow as he sighs heavily. You reach out to rub his back, and he wiggles gently beneath your touch. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” It’s a courtesy you both provide to each other, checking in and gauging energy to avoid miscommunication. 

“Not right now.” His voice is muffled as he speaks into the pillow. 

You watch him roll over and sit up before he mirrors your position against the headboard. You hold out your mug, and he thanks you with a tired smile. 

“I missed you,” you say quietly, watching as he sips your coffee.

He smiles. “I missed you, too.” He holds out the mug and you take it from his hands. Instead of pulling away, he slowly brings his hands up to cup your face. You feel breathless as he brushes his thumb over your cupid’s bow and the swell of your lower lip. He tilts your chin up, and you smile before leaning in to close the gap between you. The kiss is soft, warm, and exactly what you need after missing him for so long. 

When you pull away, you tuck a piece of stray hair behind his ear and pat his cheek. “You need to go to bed, my love.”

[pendingnomdeplume]

pairing: hozier x gn!reader rated: T

PROMPT: An accidental brush of lips followed by a pause and going back for another, on purpose.

author's note: This was pre-written and is part of a backlog of items I still have from the previous blog. xoxo.

“This feels like a bad idea…” Your mumbled words are left unheard by anyone else as the group chatters and laughs amongst themselves. You should have known that a night off with this group would mean a night of shenanigans, though the embarrassed smile on Andrew’s face tells you that he also didn’t think this is where the evening would go when he invited you to hang out with them.

You watch as a playing card is pulled from a deck, your hands fidgeting nervously with the red cup in your hand as Melissa holds up a Queen of Spades. 

“Okay, so! The game is called Suck and Blow,” she announces. A hush falls over the bus as the band turns their attention onto her. A few giggles ripple through the group as Melissa grins and takes another sip of her drink. “The goal is to take this card and pass it around the circle without your hands. The way we’re going to do that is—well, it’s called Suck and Blow. I’m sure you can figure it out. Larissa, can you help me demonstrate?” 

Larissa nods and scoots closer as Melissa holds the card up to the group. Then, she places it against her mouth and pulls her hands away. The card stays in place as she inhales through her mouth. She leans in close to Larissa’s face, and with a gentle blow, she pulls away to show Larissa holding the card with her own mouth. 

It’d be disingenuous to call it anything but intimate—basically a kiss with a thin barrier under the guise of a drinking game. It’s silly and childish, but everyone else seems enthusiastic to try. You should have known. This particular group has a penchant for both competition and chaos, only made worse when the two go hand-in-hand.

You watch as the card starts with Melissa, which is passed to Larissa, then to Kamilah, onto Kellen, then Alex. There’s a moment where the card nearly drops, but Alex saves it at the last second before leaning in to pass it to Andrew. Alex pulls away laughing, his face bright red before taking another sip of his drink. 

It all happens so quickly—you lean in to take the card, your heart racing at the mere thought of his proximity. What you don’t notice is the way the card slips from his mouth and falls into his lap. The first brush of your lips to his startles you, and you pull away with a sharp gasp and burning cheeks as the group hollers and teases you both. There are accusations thrown Andrew’s way, claiming that he did it on purpose, that he just wanted to kiss you which is why he even agreed to this stupid game in the first place. 

You watch his expression curiously. It’s not lost on you that he doesn’t argue, doesn’t deny anything as he picks up the card and waves it at you, a silent question. His own face is flushed, and you briefly wonder how much of it is the alcohol and how much of it is sheer embarrassment. Finally, you nod at him to try again. 

As you lean in again, he pulls the card away from his mouth and uses it to shield you both as he kisses you again. It’s soft and tentative, but clearly deliberate. You stare at him with wide eyes, only vaguely registering the way Alex yells at Rory that he owes him money.