comehereoohlala

[comehereoohlala]

There are some things that no one teaches you, love

Summary: You're having bad period cramps. Andy helps, as he always does.

Rating: General Audiences

Tags: fluff

Word Count: 842

Author's Note: This is my first attempt at RPF, I hope you like it! It goes without saying that I don't know Hozier irl. Big thank you to @man-i-love-fanfiction for both convincing me to write in the first place and being the kindest, most enthusiastic and supportive friend and reader (ily).

Requests are open if you're so inclined!

AO3 link / fic under the cut

"Baby?" Andy stands in the door frame, big eyes filled with concern, obviously having overheard the muffled sobs coming from your room. You'd tried to keep them in, but they just kept coming, kept wracking your body.

"I'm sorry, baby, I know you're in a meeting, I didn't want to disturb you." You say. Or, attempt to say. It's hard to make out the sentence through your tears. Luckily, Andy knows you well enough to piece together what you're saying and as soon as it dawns on him, he more or less runs to your side.

"Baby no, you don't need to be sorry for anything," he says as he wraps his arms around you in a tight hug. "Just tell me what's wrong and how I can make it better."

He rubs soothing circles into your back and waits for the sobs to subside. You don't immediately volunteer the problem, so he pulls back, just a little, so that he can make eye contact with you.

"What is it darling? Bad brain day? Migraine? Hips?" As he rattles through your list of common ailments and you shake your head at each one, his worry increases.

Wordlessly, you move his hand down to your stomach, and his other hand instinctively mirrors the placement on your back.

"Is it back again?" His tone is gentle and kind, and you can feel how much he wishes he could absolve you of this pain. You nod, not wanting to say it out loud but needing him to know all the same.

"Cramps too, or just the general shittiness of it?" You love this man with your whole heart. He knows you well and knows exactly how to dance around the words without ever making you feel unseen. Well, he is a wordsmith, after all.

"Cramps too." You manage to grit out between the waves of pain. "Really bad ones."

"Okay love, I'm gonna go and grab you a hot water bottle and some painkillers and then you can try and go to sleep, yeah?"

You manage to utter your assent, still doubled over with pain and nausea while he goes to gather the promised items.

When he comes back a few minutes later, you can't stop a soft smile from spreading across your face. The man is ridiculous when it comes to looking after you. He's nudging the door back open with his foot and peering over a comically large pile of things as he narrowly avoids tripping over his own feet.

As he all but flings the contents of his arms onto the bed, a small laugh escapes you. You arch an eyebrow at him as he crawls up to sit next to you.

"Andy, why in gods name have you brought half the house up here?" God you love this man.

"Well, my love, let me show you what I've got up my sleeve."

Along with the painkillers (gratefully gulped down with a glass of water) and the hot water bottle (already settled against your abdomen by one of his large hands), he seems to have brought enough snacks to sustain a small army, a variety of board and card games, one of his hoodies, a cuddly toy, a laptop, a fan and your favourite soft drink. He shows you each of the objects, reminding you both of how sweet he is, and how baffling he can be sometimes.

"You're going to need to explain a bit, Andy, I'm not exactly at my best right now and I'm struggling to connect the dots a little."

Of course, he's only too happy to oblige.

"Well sweetheart, the food and drink is fairly self explanatory I think. This," he says, indicating the cuddly toy "is for if you need to squeeze something or hold onto something as well as me. The hoodie is because I know you like to be in something oversized when you're going through this, especially if it's mine."

He stops for a moment, looking down at you and then laughs when he sees you are, in fact, wearing the t-shirt he changed out of before his zoom call this morning.

"But I see you've beaten me to it on that front. Anyway, the games and the laptop are in case you can't sleep and need a distraction. And then there's the last thing."

You look at him, confused, not having spotted any other objects. It looks like he's not going to elaborate without prompting though, so you ask him what the last thing is.

"Me, of course."

If anything, that's made you more confused. You know he's got a busy day planned - that's why you were trying not to disturb him, after all.

"I rearranged my meetings. I know this is tough on you and I just want to take care of you as best I can. We can cuddle til you fall asleep, or watch a movie, or play something if you need distracting. Whatever you need, I'm here with you."

You might be in extreme pain right now, but you know you have never felt more loved.

[comehereoohlala]

That came natural as a dream you didn't know that you were in

Summary: Cramps are bad. Andrew is not.

Rating: General Audiences

Tags: fluff, periods, comfort

Word Count: 407

Author's Note: Little drabble about periods written for the lovely Phoebe @man-i-love-fanfiction and betaed by the wonderful Daisy @comehereoohlala

Requests are open if you're so inclined!

AO3 link / fic under the cut

Your cramps have been fairly relentless for the last few hours, waking you from your sleep and leaving you curled in the foetal position as your body shakes with heaving sobs. You don’t have the energy to go and get painkillers or a hot water bottle, so you’re just staying as still as you possibly can in the hope that it’ll fade on its own.

“Love?” Andy’s speech is slurred with sleep as he peers at you through bleary eyes. When he takes in your tear-stained cheeks, awareness slams into him and he’s straight by your side. He curls his body around yours, careful not to jostle you. Strong hands massage the sore muscles he can reach as he kisses the side of your face so sweetly and tenderly.

“Can I get you a hot water bottle baby? Maybe some chocolate too?”

The tears really start coming now, at the relief and gratitude of being so known, so well taken care of, so loved.

It takes you a few tries to get speech out through your gulping sobs, but you manage it eventually.

“Y-yes please, and- fuck – some painkillers too please.”

His eyebrows shoot up as he realises you’re bearing this pain with no relief at all and he feels awful to know you’ve been struggling while he was asleep. He gives you a soft squeeze and kisses you on the forehead before getting up.

“Of course, love, I’ll be right back. Just hang in there for me for a couple more minutes, yeah?”

You nod, tears slowing now that you know help is on the way. He’s back in a few minutes, panting a little, and a smile tugs at your lips at his haste. He uncaps the bottle of water for you and puts a couple of painkillers in your hand, your smile widening at the small ways he’s making things easier for you. As promised, he holds the hot water bottle against your abdomen with one hand and starts unwrapping chocolate for you with the other. You feel so, so lucky, the pain beginning to leech out of you through the combination of drugs and heat, the anxiety following at the sensation of his body against yours, chocolate sweet on your tongue.

He holds you until the pain ebbs and beyond, wanting nothing more than to absorb your pain. You fall asleep like that, still curled up, his body surrounding yours, keeping you safe.

[comehereoohlala]

Ok let me know if this makes no sense at all. But, Hozier x reader where reader is also a famous artist and they've been together for awhile (when I think awhile I mean like during the making of Wasteland, Baby!). Instead of Bedouine being on That You Are it's the reader and they finally go public when he performs it at the 3 LA shows. So when it was released people just thought it was like a cute little feature. Is that too much? Sorry!

soft spoken secret | hozier

pairing: hozier x fiance!reader category:fluff cw: none wc: 1.3k a/n: we're all going to pretend like it hasn't been months since I posted a fic. this ask may or may not be from september, to the anon who requested it Im so sorry it took so long for me to write and I hope it lives up to what you were imagining.

main masterlist hozier masterlist

The first time you heard the demo you weren't in the studio, but rather at the doorway of your kitchen.

Andrew had one socked foot propped on the bottom of a bar stool with his hoodie sleeves pushed up just barely past his elbows. He was quietly humming a melody unfamiliar to you while preparing dinner. His phone balanced against the fruit bowl that housed bananas you'd swear to use for banana bread this time before they inevitably got thrown out.

Listening closer, you realize his phone is playing a rough voice memo. You knew the stripped down version of the demo all too well. The version of an idea he had in the middle of the night with only his guitar and his voice to bring it to life.

You leaned against the doorway with a fond look on your face. Taking a sip from the mug that held your peppermint tea, your throat still raw from the week of late night sessions at your own studio.

Quietly walking over to where your fiancé was sat, you place your mug down next to his.

He glanced up as your mug met the table and his face flushed as a sheepish grin painted its way onto his lips.

"You weren't supposed to hear that yet," he muttered, pushing the chopped tomatoes into a bowl with other vegetables. "It's not finished."

You look at him with a soft smile. "It's beautiful."

He didn't look at you right away. "It's not ready," he said, like the idea of sharing the song made his ribs tighten.

You reached out to him, brushing a stray curl out of his face. "You know things don't have to be complete to be admired, Andy."

The early drafts were always your favorite. The raw ones, ones with unmistakable breaths and fingers fumbling on strings. The ones that still felt like secrets.

He finally looked at you then, eyes steady. There was a pause. Not one of hesitance or awkwardness, one that lived in the warmth of your love.

"I wrote it with you in mind," he said quietly.

You blinked.

Your throat, already worn by too many late nights in the booth, suddenly tightened in a different way.

He went back to stirring the vegetables, like he hadn't tilted the axis of your world with those seven simple words.

You moved to sit next to him, a breath leaving your lungs as the memo continued to play from the speaker of his phone. His voice crackled from the tiny speaker, a small thing but full of conviction. You remembered this feeling. The first time he played Wasteland, Baby! for you in an empty green room in Boston. The first time he'd sent you a half written verse on tour, asking,

"Does this sound like something?" It always sounded like something.

"You want me to sing on it?" you asked after a beat.

His stirring paused for only a second before he nodded.

"I...l'd like that," he murmured. "But I wasn't going to ask. Didn't want it to feel like you were doing me a favor."

You lean forward, resting your chin on your hand,

"It wouldn't."

"I know," he says. "But still, it's important you want to."

"I always want to."

He smiled again. Quiet and crooked, like he couldn't quite contain it.

And even though he didn't say it, you heard what he meant. I trust you with this.

-

The first time you stepped in the booth to lay scratch vocals, the air was thick with expectations.

Not from Andrew. Never from him, but rather from yourself.

You wanted to do it justice. The way he looked when he sang it. The weight in his voice.

When the engineer gave you the thumbs up from the other side of the glass, you adjusted the headphones and released a breath you didn't know you were holding.

Andrew sat behind the console, arms crossed, brow furrowed in that way he did when he was trying not to hover. You caught his eye through the glass and gave him a quick thumbs up.

He grinned and then the track rolled.

You didn't try to match his tone. You leaned into your own, something soft and low. It didn't matter your voice was still spent from the weeks of working on your own album, it worked. The contrast, the give and take.

When the bridge hit you shut your eyes and imagined yourself in the kitchen again. The fruit bowl. His socked foot on the stool. That moment in the everyday when your soft love finds its way into the room.

You sang from there. From that memory. From that love.

When you came out of the booth, Andrew was quiet at first. Simply looking at you with fondness that could only be given by someone who knew every crack of your soul.

Finally he spoke, "You sound like the light in the middle of the room."

You blinked, almost stunned, "What?"

He looked a little embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I mean your voice. It feels like the moment before you turn a lamp on. When the dark's still soft. Safe."

You laughed, "You're ridiculous."

He smiled into his shoulder and shrugged,

"Maybe."

But then he kissed you later in the parking lot, one hand curled around the back of your neck and the other pressed against your lower back, you believed him.

-

Months passed.

The album came together like sea glass. Jagged at first, then smoother, shinier with each passing wave. That You Are nestled itself gently in the tracklist, unannounced, just another soft prayer in a long line of reverent songs.

When the final masters were sent off you both sat back on the couch and listened to the album front to back.

He held your hand during De Selby (Part 1).

You cried a little during I, Carrion.

And when That You Are played neither of you said a word.

Just breathed in time.

He kissed your knuckles when it ended.

-

The rollout came with the usual chaos of press and promo, and when the fans first heard the track their reactions were immediate and intense.

Speculations of the collaboration made its way around social media. Many just assumed you were close friends. Andrew simply asked you to feature on this song.

But then LA happened, and you'd been watching from the wings all night. Fingers cold despite the heat of the stage lights. Nerves singing under your skin like a live wire.

He hadn't told anyone, not even you. All he did was ask.

"Will you be there?"

"Always."

So when he nodded in your direction that night, right before your verse, you moved.

It was graceful. Not theatrical. You simply walked onto the stage and took your place beside him, like it'd been routine in softer, quieter ways for years.

The audience didn't erupt, they watched in a soft spoken admiration.

And you sang.

You didn't look at him the whole time. But he looked at you. Like a man worshipping the sun for directing her light onto him.

After the third LA show, when the secret was well and truly out and the fan theories had evolved into fan theses, the two of you sat on the rooftop of your hotel, knees touching, your check pressed into his shoulder.

He passed you a glass of something sweet and said. "You're part of my story now."

You snorted. "As if I wasn't already."

He looked at you sideways. "Think they'll be mad we didn't say anything?"

"No," you said, voice sure and clear. "They'll understand. Some things are better revealed slowly."

He nodded, thoughtful. Then after a moment whispered, "You want to write another one?"

You titled your head up. "Another song?"

He softly shook his head. "Another secret."

You laughed then. "What kind of secret?"

"I dunno," he said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "Something to live in. Something to protect until it's ready."

You leaned into him, your smile soft.

"I'd like that," you said.

And below you, the city pulsed like a heartbeat. Unbothered, electric, and completely unaware that somewhere in the dark, two people were quietly writing their next verse.

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[comehereoohlala]

Lay Me Down

It's a simple assignment, really. Vocal rest. You know it's not that easy for him.

Word Count: 4.3k

Pairing: afab!reader x hozier

Tags: Smut (18+!), sub andrew, mild size kink, piv sex, overstimulation, edging, a bit of hair pulling, creampie <3

Beta by the masterful @pendingnomdeplume

Prompt from @uprightpillar

Req from this anon

Read it on AO3

A simple cough had been what did it. You had told him it was too early to go swimming, the water would be too cold, but he didn't listen. Typical. When he'd come down with a cold, you'd taken your fair share of I told you so, and cared for him the best you could while he coughed his lungs out on the couch. You'd been out when you got the text from him. Vocal rest, he said. Doctor's orders, with an eye roll. It wasn't the first time, but it was certainly more necessary than the last. His voice had been hoarse all day, raspy and often punctuated with a cough each time he spoke a bit too loud. He was no longer sick, but the damage to his throat still lingered.

It was all less than ideal. He had a run of shows coming up soon, a few festivals he'd been looking forward to for some time. There was no choice, he had to recover his voice, and he had to do it quickly. When you finally returned home, a bag of groceries in your hands, he was sprawled out on the couch in the living room, his head on one of the decorative pillows.

"Hi, love," you greeted him with a smile, setting the bag down on the counter.

He laid the book in his hands down onto his chest, still open, and gave you a soft smile. He pointed at you, then moved his thumbs rapidly – 'did you get my text?'

You nodded and sighed, turning away to start emptying the contents of the bag on the counter. "Bummer. How long?" You waited for a reply, before realizing. You spun to face him, to find a smartass smirk on his face. He didn't even have to speak to find a way to be snarky.

He held up three fingers, then flattened his hand and tilted it back and forth.

"Three-ish days?"

He nodded to confirm.

The gears were already turning in your head.

Things were quiet in the house the following days. Air that would normally be filled with your chatting voices was instead punctuated by the occasional bird chirp, the rustle of paper as a page was turned, or the snap of his fingers, if he wanted to get your attention for something. He was mostly able to communicate with you with gestures and looks alone; the two of you had known each other long enough that it felt like half of your communication was mental, anyway.

When he couldn't get his point across that way, he'd text you. Pretty soon, your texts looked like the ramblings of a crazy man. Random things, lines from his book that he wanted to share, whatever was on his mind that he wanted to talk about. It was cute in its own way. Like a very long, nonsensical, convoluted love letter taking place over many hours. He loved you, and he loved to just talk to you, even when he couldn't do so verbally.

It was the end of the second day, and another 24 hours remained before he could speak again. You'd just finished cleaning up from dinner, a task you had to fight to accomplish. He'd insisted on being the one to both cook and clean tonight. He wanted to treat you after you'd spent the last week nursing him back to health while he shivered, sniffled, and coughed. While he'd been successful at physically barricading you from the kitchen, you'd slipped in unnoticed to do the dishes.

You were curled up next to him on the couch, some movie neither of you cared for all that much on the TV. Your head rested on his lap, one of his hands draped across your hip and the other nested in your hair, absently scratching your scalp gently. These moments were your favorite part of being with him. The quiet drone of the movie, the heat of his body, the scent of his cologne that always clung to him and mixed with the detergent you used to wash both of your clothes. Warmth radiated from his body into you, blanketing your senses like a quilt. Normally the silence would be punctuated by his comments about the movie, always about the parts he had no business critiquing, but you loved to hear his complaints anyway.

A tap on your shoulder startled you out of the pleasant daze you'd drifted off into. You looked up at him, and he gave you a smile followed by putting his lips together in a kissy face. You shifted and twisted, pulling yourself off of his lap and onto your knees. He watched you the whole time, putting a hand softly on the back of your head once you were situated. Placing a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself, you leaned in, your lips meeting in a slow kiss.

Each kiss was more pleasant than the last. The softness of his lips, the tickle of his beard, the silent sigh he let out when you pulled away, it all had you blushing. You didn't even think about it when you tossed a leg around him, straddling his lap as your hands came up to rest on the sides of his face. His lips were parted, his eyes shifting between your gaze and your lips, waiting impatiently for you to come back for more. And you did, of course you did. Slow, soft kisses gradually turned deep and frantic, and when his tongue slipped against yours, this was suddenly something entirely different.

A look from him was usually a more than sufficient request for sex. He merely had to give you those eyes you'd seen so many times, and you'd let yourself be whisked away to the bedroom. Yet, on the offhand occasion that he wanted you to be in charge, it was a different look. Subtle, but different. And when you pulled back to read his gaze, you saw it there. This look was different. It was a desperate, pleading, begging type of look, so much so that you wondered if you were just imagining it. But when his hands grabbed at the hem of your shirt, his brows tipped up and his mouth parted as if he wanted to speak, you saw it plain as day.

"I dunno, baby," you cooed, responding to his gaze as if he'd asked you the question out loud. "You really should rest that lovely voice of yours." You touched a finger gently to his throat, feeling the muscles there flex as he licked his lips and swallowed.

He brought a hand to his mouth, pinching his index finger and thumb together and running them across his lips. I'll be quiet.

You giggled, tilting your head at him. "Do you really think you can stay silent for me?"

He nodded quickly, placing a hand over yours where it rested on his cheek. The length of his fingers completely covered yours, and for a moment you felt dizzy with lust. He was so much bigger than you, so much stronger, yet he gave himself to you so willingly. On days like this, he would crawl over broken glass if you told him to. His lips formed a single word, one you read easily – please.

Andrew was a vocal man. Half of the time, he would make more noise than you would, and it was one of your favorite things about him. The moans, the whimpers, the breathy whispers of your name, all of it was so him. All of it in that accent you loved, it was enough to drive you crazy. He loved to talk, he loved to make you blush and send butterflies fluttering around in your stomach. It had been torture the last time he'd been on a rest like this, but somewhat alleviated by the fact that he'd been away, and you'd been at home. Now, you were together, and he couldn't make a peep. The idea of it sent a wave of heat through you, prickling your skin and putting a smile on your lips.

He reached for you as you climbed off of him, wanting you to stay right where you were. But he followed quickly when you offered a hand, leading the two of you away to the bedroom with a giggle. You both moved like a well rehearsed dance – your bodies a mess of tangled limbs and flying fabric as you stripped each other bare. Within moments, he was on his back beneath you, his hands holding your hair out of the way while you planted kisses down his neck and to his collarbones.

This sight was a rare one, him splayed out beneath you like this, his hair fanned out on the blankets. What a beautiful sight it was. You could feel the delicate, accelerated thrum of his pulse where your lips met with the veins of his neck. His skin was so warm as you ran your fingers up his chest, tracing along his ribs, the rise and fall of it timed nearly perfectly with your own quick breaths.

"Sit," you told him, pulling back from him and nodding towards the headboard.

He didn't hesitate for a moment, pulling himself back to rest against the mound of pillows in front of the headboard. Everything moved as if in slow motion, your eyes drawn across every muscle and bone, and down the long, soft lines of his body. The scene looked like a painting come to life when he held his hands out to you with a smile, and despite the silence, you could swear you heard him tell you to c'mere.

You crawled up to him, your legs straddling one thigh. He let out a sigh as you settled your weight onto him, running his fingers up through your hair to guide your mouth back to his. Your hips began to glide back and forth of their own accord, his breath catching in his throat as he broke away and looked down to where you'd started grinding against him. Hands settled on your waist, though he knew better than to grab too hard. You were setting the pace.

Your eyes trailed down the length of his chest, down to where his cock rested, already hard and leaking onto his stomach. You trailed a finger along it, watching it twitch, and the involuntary jerk of his hips when you wrapped a hand around him. No matter how many times you found yourself here, it would never fail to give you butterflies.

There was something sacred about this. The lack of noise made it feel much closer, somehow. Rain had started to fall, pattering softly against the windows and darkening the room, now only lit by the bedside lamps. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, still grinding against his thigh, listening to him try to keep his breathing even as you stroked his cock in time with the movement of your hips. It was like quiet music, the rain on the window, his strangled breaths, the quiet whines and moans from your lips.

"You're being so good for me," you whispered into his neck.

Andrew's breaths stopped, his fingers tightening against your waist, his head falling forward to rest on your shoulder. You ran your thumb along the bead of arousal collected at the tip of his cock, the wet sound of it under your fingers so loud in the near-silent room. You were sure if he could speak, he'd be begging to taste you. Feeling the wetness between your legs, soaking his skin, must have been like torture.

"What do you want, baby?" You asked softly, pulling back to look in his eyes, your hips slowing to a lazy grind of your clit on him that made you pull your bottom lip between your teeth.

He took a hand from your waist, moving to reach between your legs.

"Ah, love, no." You shook your head, watching the movement of his hand jolt to a stop as he looked at you with that same pleading expression. "I asked what you wanted. I didn't tell you to take it," you corrected.

His teeth clenched and his jaw tight, he set his hand back where it was on your waist, behaving himself.

"You want to touch me?" You asked with a tilt of your head, your voice slow and quiet, every syllable accompanied by the sound of rain on the bedroom windows.

Nodding his head, his eyes darted from your face to the spot where your clit brushed against his leg, ever so slightly out of his sight.

"Good job," you commended, watching the blush spread across his cheeks at the praise, your hand around his cock resuming its movement. "I'd tell you to use your words, but, well…"

His shoulders rattled with silent laughter as he reached down between the two of you. There was an air of desperation to his movements that didn't match the smile on his lips, his hand shaking the slightest bit as he slid a finger into you. It already had you feeling like jelly, the way he flexed his wrist to press the heel of his hand against your clit. A quiet whimper rose to your lips as you fell closer to him once again, your chest against his and your head falling heavy on his shoulder.

Sometimes, in moments like this, it would hit you so hard and heavy, the bliss of it all. The beauty of the man beneath you, his obsession with pleasing you, the quick flutter of his heartbeat beneath your fingers, the distinct sound of his labored breaths. He could find your favorite spots so quickly, like he knew your body inside and out. And he did, you figured, if the many past nights of leisurely, exploratory worship of your body were to count for anything.

You wanted to keep it slow, wanted to draw this out, but the way he was sighing and panting in your ear made that very difficult. It felt so natural as he pulled his hand away, and the way you moved and shifted to place yourself in his lap, the way your fingers guided his cock to slide it through the mess of wetness between your thighs. He looked like he was about ready to snap at the feeling, his fingers wrapped tight around your waist like you were the only tether holding him to the earth. You whispered praises and filth to him as you lowered yourself down, making sure he knew what a good boy he was for being so quiet.

His lip was drawn between his teeth, biting down hard enough to draw blood. Not a sound left him besides little gasps for air as you took him into you. You'd never get used to this – the way his eyes slipped shut, the way his lips parted, the thump on the headboard as his head fell back.

This had to be torture for him.

"You're doing so good," you whispered into the side of his neck. It felt like too much noise would somehow ruin the sanctity of this moment, so you kept your voice low. You sank down the rest of the way, settling in his lap with a roll of your hips. "My good boy."

He looked almost pained when you pulled back to stare into his eyes. His fingers dug into your thighs with crushing force, his nails leaving little crescents in your skin. It would probably bruise, but you didn't mind. You started to move then, lifting your hips just enough, keeping it slow.

If he'd been in charge, he would be holding you in place while he ravaged you. But you barely moved at all, savoring the stretch of him, the way he filled you, the faint pulse of his heartbeat. You draped your arms along his shoulders, one hand working its way up into his hair, the other feeling along the back of his neck. He shivered at the touch, shooting you a look so intense you thought you might burst into flames.

You tangled your fingers deeper into his hair, grabbing a handful of it and pulling gently. In the stillness, you could feel him twitch inside of you in response, a feeling that sent a rush of heat coursing through your veins. "Oh," you breathed. "Did you like that, baby?"

He nodded once, quickly, pulling against your hand still curled in his hair.

"Do you want more of that?" You asked, starting to find a rhythm, the sound of skin on skin filling the air.

Another nod, as his eyes rolled back and his eyelids fluttered closed as you fucked yourself with him. A second tug on his curls had his eyes snapping open again, and he sucked a breath in through clenched teeth. His lips parted, silently mouthing fuck.

You could only hold on for so long until you needed it as badly as he did. Soon, you had your forehead resting against his shoulder, a stream of whimpers and expletives pouring from your mouth, just quiet enough that you could still hear his labored breaths, timed with each bounce of your hips. He was close, you could feel it in the way his hands roamed across your back, the way he pulled you closer, the tightness of his muscles, the pattern of his breathing. He tapped on your shoulder blade with two fingers, with some urgency.

"Are you gonna cum for me, baby?" A vicious grin spread across your lips as you pulled back to watch him. He nodded, his eyes half-lidded and his teeth buried in his lip to keep himself quiet.

Without hesitation or a second thought, you shifted, lifting yourself high on your knees, until he slid out of you. He seemed to be too baffled to react at first, just staring at you with wide eyes, his hands sliding down to your lower back. And then he started to beg – silently. His mouth moved around unspoken words, only a few of which you could catch as you stared down at him, please being chief among them. For a moment he tried to pull you back down, but a disapproving glare made his hands drop to his sides, curling tightly in the sheets in an attempt to control himself.

"Sorry, baby," you giggled. "I just love it so much when you beg." You curled your fingers under his chin, bringing his gaze up to meet yours. "You'll beg for me, right, love?"

He nodded frantically, his mouth forming silent words again.

"I guess I can keep going, if you really need me to."

His fingers clenched harder around the sheets, as he leaned himself closer to you, his breathing frantic and a cacophony of silent pleas forming on his lips.

With a smile so sweet it could make a man sick, you reached back, lined him up, and sank back down onto him. You couldn't help the open-mouthed whimper that left your lips, your eyes fixed on his as he watched the spot where your bodies met. His hands were on you again, pulling you close to him. You allowed it, given the torture you'd be putting him through.

You started to move again, rocking your hips against him in that way that always made him whine. He caught your face in his hands, looking you over for a moment before leaning in for a kiss. It was sloppy, tongues and teeth and lips searching, but it felt right. He pulled away for only a moment, long enough to stare into your eyes with a loving gaze as he mouthed a single word – beautiful.

"You should see yourself," you told him in reply. "So beautiful." You trailed your fingers through his hair, watching him shiver at your light touch. "My pretty boy."

He huffed and buried his face back in your neck, his whole body shuddering in response as your moans ghosted through the air, your breath warm on his ear. Your pace faltered for a moment when he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer and shifting his hips up to meet yours. He wanted control. He wanted to hold you like this until you both came. You let him, for now. His hips pumped frantically, chasing the wave you'd ripped from him, his movements growing jerky and disjointed.

"Stop," you whispered.

Despite his size, despite the way his arms wrapped clean around your body, he relinquished control. He shook, his body trembling with the effort of stilling his movements when he was close, so close. You couldn't help but let a smile creep across your face as you felt him twitching relentlessly inside you, his heartbeat racing, his breathing heavy and quick.

"Good boy."



You'd pushed and pulled him to and from the edge so many times now that you'd lost count. Tears threatened to spill from the corners of his eyes, his dull nails leaving scratches on your back for a change. You had just sank back down onto him once more, and his teeth were now locked tightly around the knuckles of his clenched fist.

"Sweetheart, relax," you teased, knowing he could do nothing of the sort. You brushed a few stray curls from his face, where sweat had stuck them to his skin.

He was less breathing and more panting at this point as he eased his hand from his mouth, instead placing it splayed on your lower back, fingers pressing roughly into the skin. He shook his head, glancing between you and the spot where you were grinding fervently against him. He was close again.

"Need to cum, baby? Already?" You took his face in your hands, seeing the frantic, desperate look in his eyes. "Do you think you've earned it yet?"

He tilted his head in deliberation of your question – he was beyond gone. You were the entire world to him. Nothing existed beyond your voice, the feel of your skin, and where your body welcomed his into it. That glassy-eyed look, that slight upturn at the corners of his lips, it was a sight you didn't get to see often. Only when he relinquished control of himself to you did he slip into this state, where you could ask anything of him and he would comply without a second thought. He shrugged in response to your question, tilting his head towards you. You decide.

You'd overstimulated him beyond his breaking point, edging him beyond what he would have thought he was capable of. He wanted to beg you to stop, but he wished this would go on forever, all the same. You'd had to hold yourself back, knowing that if you came like this, it'd send him over the edge, too.

"I think you've earned it," you cooed, letting him pull you in close again.

His teeth latched on to your shoulder, and his hips started to buck, his breathing ragged and uneven. He bit down harder when you dropped a hand between your bodies, your fingers working sloppy circles into your clit.

"Cum for me, baby," you whispered.

He was a mess. He pulled in little sips of air between his teeth on your shoulder, holding you so tight you thought he might break you in half if he squeezed any harder. But you let him, riding him through it. To keep fully quiet was impossible for him in that moment. He let out a near silent whimper as his hips slowed, and you felt that familiar pulse and rush of warmth as he spilled into you.

You weren't far behind him, those tiny, barely-contained sounds driving you crazy. Only a few more rolls of your hips and you were crying out his name, your fingers clenched tightly onto whatever parts of him you could reach.

Both of you struggled to catch your breath, your bodies relaxing slowly. His teeth left your shoulder, his fingers dropped back down to your shaking thighs. You wrapped your arms around his neck, just holding him, letting him tremble with the aftershocks. Little praises drifted from your lips: you're okay, you did so good, I've got you. He came out of it in some time, his eyes still glassy and his movements jerky as he pulled you back to look at you.

Getting out of his lap was its own challenge. Your thighs were screaming, your knees feeling like they wanted to shatter, even your ankles hurt, somehow. When you finally managed to stand, you did so on wobbly legs and sore hips, waving away his silent laughs as you staggered off to the bathroom.

Later, in the mirror, you admired the lines on your back, red and raw, marked by his nails. There was already a bruise forming just above your collarbone, too, the mark of his teeth still in your skin. He caught your reflection from the hallway, a sheepish smile on his face.

Sorry, he mouthed, leaning his spent and half-limp body against the door frame.

You shrugged, slipping on the sleep shirt you'd grabbed from the closet. "It's alright. I like how it looks," you told him, walking over to where he stood and wrapping your arms around his waist. "I might as well just fuck you next time," you said with a giggle.

He didn't reply at first. Certainly not quickly enough that he wasn't thinking about it. When he did attempt a reply, he gestured wildly, nonsensical movements with his hands, not saying no but also not saying yes. He gave up after a moment, looking down at you with flushed cheeks and looking like he wished he could disappear.

"We'll come back to that one later," you said with a squeeze.

[comehereoohlala]

When The Levee Breaks

You can't seem to watch your mouth tonight.

Word Count: 4.2k

Pairing: female!Reader x Hozier

Tags: Smut (18+!), breeding kink, dirty talk, piv sex, creampie my beloved

Beta by the lovely @uprightpillar

You’d never been in a building this nice in your entire life. You weren’t even sure what the building was. It seemed like the kind of mansion that would have gotten the owner guillotined some hundred years ago. Every hallway you walked down was fancier than the last, with sprawling corridors filled with windows, cavernous ceilings covered with murals, and ornate chandeliers that glowed dimly. The guests who walked among you were just as elegant as the building itself – people you would describe as high society.

“I feel like I stick out like a sore thumb,” you mumbled to Andrew, sitting next to you at your table.

“Half the people here feel the same way.” He gestured at the crowd with the glass of whiskey in his hand, before taking a sip and grimacing. He was clad in a tux that looked phenomenally uncomfortable, but god did it make him look ravishing.

It was someone’s wedding, the reception, a friend of someone or other of Andrew's, clearly someone with outrageous amounts of money to blow. You didn’t know them, and you didn’t particularly care to. Andrew wasn’t all that interested in the proceedings either, opting instead to keep a low profile and talk to you. Or, as low a profile that someone of his size could keep. He hated events like this. Hated wasn’t even a strong enough word – he loathed this type of gathering.

You could see it on his face, in the subtle disdain that glinted in his eyes, in the way he was drinking just a bit more than he normally would. You didn't mind a wedding, in fact, you tended to thoroughly enjoy them. But any gathering of this level of opulence was borderline unbearable for you. The only reason the two of you hadn’t left yet was optics. And the only thing that made it even somewhat bearable was the live band, crooning out covers of classics that Andrew seemed to somewhat enjoy, but few of which you knew.

You caught yourself zoning out, staring at one of the murals on the ceiling. When you finally snapped back to reality, you looked over at Andrew, who was already staring at you. He had a look on his face, one you’d seen before but couldn't read.

“What?” You asked with a soft smile.

“You just look quite nice tonight, is all.” He returned the smile, reaching over to give your thigh a squeeze.

“Thank you, love.” You gave him a soft smile. “And you look…” you raked your eyes over him, feeling a prickle in your skin at just how good he looked. His hair, cooperating today in the best way, pulled half into a bun with the rest tucked behind one ear. His outfit, the tux he kept in the back of the closet, his jacket undone as he reclined back in his chair, his legs crossed at the ankle, one hand holding his glass and the other dangling down to the marble floor. “You look like…I wish you’d dress like that all the time.”

“Tough luck, darling. You’ll have to drag me by the hair to get me in a suit like this within the next six months.”

You leaned a bit closer to him, propping your elbow up on the table to lean your head against your hand. “I bet you’d like that, hm?”

A flash of something passed over his face, imperceptible to all but you, there one moment, gone the next. He squinted at you over the rim of his glass before he spoke. “Don’t start. This is already bound to be a long night.”

“Start what?” You batted your eyelashes at him, playing dumb in the way you knew drove him crazy, for better or for worse.

"That."

"I don't know what you mean." You gave a little pout, and reached for your glass on the table, filled with some wine, you couldn't remember what kind and didn't care. "I just think you'd like the thought of me…" you reached out to twirl a finger in one of his curls, his hand coming up to wrap gently around your wrist. "Pulling at this pretty hair."

It was all bluster and both of you knew it. You would be doing nothing of the sort, unless he decided to allow you to use your hands while he was buried between your thighs. That is, if he even deemed you deserving of sex at all tonight. It was always a fine line you had to tread when teasing him like this. Just a bit too much, and he would genuinely punish you, by tucking you in to bed with nothing more than a kiss on the forehead. But just the right amount, and you'd be in a world of pleasure so perfect it would haunt you for weeks after.

He grabbed your wrist a bit tighter, and moved to stand up, pulling you along with him. He didn't say anything, only looking back at you with a soft smile as he pulled you gently along towards the center of the room. There, elegantly dressed partygoers danced slowly across the marble to the music. The band was playing some Frank Sinatra tune that seemed awfully cliché for an event so luxurious. The two of you disappeared into the crowd, all of them far too engrossed in themselves to even look in your direction. He stopped then, pulling you close with an arm around your waist, the hand on your wrist slinking up to cover your hand with his. It felt much more natural than you'd expected, when you rested your hand on his shoulder.

"What are we doing?" You asked quietly with a bit of a giggle as the two of you started to sway with the music, matching the movements of the other couples around you.

"Dancing," he answered plainly. "If you have more to say about what you'd like to do to me later, you can say it in a crowd of strangers."

It was a game now. A game of who would be braver, until the two of you couldn't take another second of the teasing. You had no intention of losing. "You want to hear more?" You asked, with that same fake innocence he loved.

"I'd be delighted, darling. Tell me."

"Well, I can't help but think about you taking this dress off me. It's terribly uncomfortable." You added a lilt to your voice.

"That so?" He smiled at you. "And those tights. Thigh highs, I presume?"

"Just the way you like it."

Your voices were quiet, drowned out by the chatter and music in the room, and you had no qualms that anyone would hear either of you. But it still made your cheeks flush with color, and sent a sick thrill through your body at the mere concept of someone overhearing.

"This dress really looks nice on you," he remarked, his thumb tracing circles into your back. "Maybe I'll have you keep it on. Pull it up just enough to do what I need to do, hm?"

"Weren't you the one who told me don't start?" You asked with a raised eyebrow.

"That I did." He nodded once. "And you started anyway, so now I have to play the game."

"We could end the game right now if you want. Right over that way…" you rested your cheek on his chest, pointing down a hallway with your gaze, which he followed. "There's a bathroom. And past the bathroom, a whole lot of empty rooms."

Laughter rumbled quietly in his chest. "A secret rendezvous in a dark corner of the chateau?"

You dragged your eyes back up to him, taking in the sight of him staring down at you. "Should I meet you down there in five minutes?"

He shook his head, narrowing his eyes with a smile when you pouted. "You want to know what I think?"

"What's that?"

“You’re hoping I fall for it.” He only gave you a cursory glance, before looking away at some unknown point in the room. “You’re hoping I snap, and I grab you by the wrist and drag you out of here, back to the hotel room, and I fuck you so hard you can’t walk tomorrow.” It sounded remarkably casual, coming from his mouth. “Is that right?"

His words made your stomach twist, your hand clenching against his like a vice, your eyes widening. You couldn't meet his gaze when he turned to look at you, averting your eyes so you only caught the way his hair swept over his shoulder. Your mouth opened and closed a few times, while you stumbled over a response in your mind.

“You don’t have to answer. I know I’m right.”

Your brow furrowed, and you finally looked at him to find that shit-eating grin on his face you hated. It made him look far too pretty for his own good. You choked on your words for a moment, before spitting out just one. “That’s–”

He cut you off with a shush. “Be good, baby. Maybe you’ll get what you want.”

As much as he loathed a social gathering, he enjoyed a game of teasing more than enough to outweigh any hatred. He kept you waiting as long as possible, leaving the venue with zero haste after making you wait what felt like hours. You wouldn't know, though – he wouldn't let you check the time. Little touches here and there gave way to whispered promises of how he was going to simply ruin you. It left butterflies dancing in your stomach, and you wondered if you hadn't bitten off more of his wrath than you could chew.

Those suspicions would be proven more than correct. When the moment came, he practically dragged you out of the front door, shoving you into the car, telling the driver to hurry, please. In the elevator up to your hotel room, he'd taken you by the shoulders and shoved you into the wall, his hand cradling the back of your head and the other wrapped delicately around your throat as his lips met yours. You'd think both of you had waited years for this, the way you ran out of the elevator the moment the doors opened, down the hall and to your room, smiles and giggles the whole way.

Now, hours later or minutes later, who could be sure? Your clothes laid in a pile at the foot of the bed, your shoes thrown haphazardly somewhere by the door. Earrings still dangled from your ears and your hair was still pinned into an updo. Andrew didn't mind, it just gave him more to grab while he rode you down into the mattress.

The air was thick with it, the scent of you and him. Nothing else existed, other than the glide of the sheets beneath your sweat-slicked body, and him. The sound of him above you was like music to your ears. The symphony of your breaths in sync, the drag of his cock in and out of you, noises so obscene you had a permanent blush stuck on your cheeks. And when he spoke, the words that came from him were so filthy, they would make angels turn away.

You’d long floated away on a cloud of bliss, everything coming through your vision as hazy, bright smears of colors. You’d collapsed onto your stomach, yet two firm, gentle hands gripped at your hips, managing to keep your ass in the air just enough. He'd not been able to keep good on his threat to keep the dress on you, at least not for very long – he'd wanted to see your body a bit too badly. You're pretty sure he broke something in the hotel bed when he threw you onto it, but neither of you cared.

He was keeping his pace slow, preferring to watch you slowly unravel. There was no rush to finish. He'd already coaxed an orgasm out of you, and you were already well on your way to a second one.

He leaned down, one hand next to your head to hold himself upright as he murmured in your ear. "How do you feel, love?"

The change in angle had you arching your back into the mattress and digging your already cramping fingers into the sheets. "Good," you gasped. "Really…really good."

He pressed kisses along your bare shoulders, sweat dripping from him onto your back, the sensation nearly too much. Resting his forehead on your back, he shifted again, pulling your hips up a bit more to give him access to your core. Every stroke of his fingers against your clit was like an electric shock, your whole body trembling, your mouth forming nonsensical syllables and sounds.

Inside your mind was a war zone. Every time you closed your eyes, shapes and colors fought to make themselves known behind your eyelids. Thoughts, or at least the suggestion of them, raced through you like drops of rain in a storm. You could only see each one for a moment before it was gone, leaving the trails of a shadow in its wake. Things you wanted, words you wished to say, you tried to reach out and tether them, but it was no use.

There was something you wanted, something that burned hot and bright at the edges of your consciousness, but the static of him was too loud, too much. You fought back for a moment, an attempt to clear your mind. "Andy," you whined, trying to force the words out.

"Yes, darling?"

"Take it off." The words tumbled from your lips. It was a request you'd made before, and one he had obliged more than once, yet you still braced yourself for rejection.

He didn't seem to process your request, or didn't understand. He just huffed out a "what?" in reply.

"The…the condom. Off."

His hips slowed, then stilled, and then he was pulling out of you. He didn't say a word, and he didn't have to.

You babbled out something, some nonsense about wanting to feel him, needing to feel him cum, praying your words made more sense to him than they did to you.

"Baby," he cooed, with a hint of a laugh. "Shh. It's alright. I'll give it to you." His voice was so smooth, every syllable like music to your ears. You wondered if you'd ever get used to hearing it. He slid the head of his cock, now bare, along your core, drenching it in the mess of wetness that coated you. "Is this what you want?"

You whined, pulling away for a minute, moving to flip yourself onto your back. Your body felt so heavy, every muscle taut and strained with heat and pleasure. He guided you, strong hands pulling you back between his legs, two hands on your thighs lifting you into his lap.

"Better?" He asked with a smile.

You nodded, taking in the sight of him. He was just so beautiful like this. The little hairs that framed his face clung to his forehead and cheeks with sweat, and a pink flush was painted across his cheeks. The way he was looking at you was primal, wild, like you'd taken off a leash. Now, as he pressed back into you, he seemed to barely be holding himself together.

"Talk to me," he breathed, his voice strained, his breaths coming quickly. "Tell me how it feels."

"So– so warm," you choked out, bringing your legs up to wrap around his waist despite how sore your hips already were. "Full, and…oh, god, I need you to…to…"

"I know, love." He wrapped an arm under you, pulling you closer, needing as much contact with you as he could get. "You need me to fuck you full of me, yeah?"

You slung your arms around his shoulders, whimpering out a string of yes, yes, yes into the side of his neck, taking in the scent of his skin. Shampoo, and cologne, and that unique scent that was just him, it was all so overwhelming and perfect.

His next words were quiet, murmured into your shoulder. "You want me to put a baby in you?"

Time paused. He faltered for a moment, pulling back just a bit to read your face, see if he had crossed a line accidentally. His brow was furrowed with worry. Thoughts raced through your mind faster than you could track them, your mouth hung open in a half-smile. The look on his face seemed like even he couldn't believe he'd said that.

"I'm sorry, that was–"

You cut him off. "Yes."

As you both tried to process it, every movement hit you both like a bolt of lightning, his arm wrapping around you a bit tighter and your legs pulling him in closer. This was new. This wasn't something you'd discussed in the past, some existing kink or some fantasy. But you wanted it. You wanted him to do exactly that.

Fighting against himself, he finally managed to find a steady pace again. "My sweet girl wants me to put a baby in her," he cooed.

You pulled him back in close, nearly trying to fuse the two of you together. Shaking with effort, your legs were pressed tight to his hips, your ankles locked together in some kind of primal need to keep him close. "Keep talking," you begged, digging your nails into his back.

"Keep talking?" He parroted. "Do you want me to tell you how often I've thought about this?"

This angle, the curve of his hips, the closeness, it was perfect. Somehow, there was just the right amount of pressure on your clit, just enough that you thought it might actually be enough to get you off. Combined with his words, smooth and slow and sweet like honey, it was plenty.

"Do you want me to tell you how I wish I could always fuck you like this?"

"Tell me," you choked out, sinking your teeth into his shoulder to try to keep some semblance of quiet. This was a hotel, after all.

"Wish I could just…knock you up, over and over again." Such vulgarity wasn't typically Andrew's style, but he was much too far gone to make it sound pretty. "You'd make such a wonderful mother," he whispered.

Heat rushed through you in response to his words. Stimulation came from every possible source, every one of your senses heightened and overwhelmed. All you could manage to do was draw short hiccups of breath that turned into whimpers as they slipped past your teeth. Your hands were all over him, just wanting to feel as much of him as possible, all at once. You looked and sounded crazed, but you didn't care.

"Oh, my sweet, sweet girl. You need it so badly, don't you?"

You were on the verge of tears now, every thrust reaching so deep you could probably see it if he wasn't pressed against you. Teeth buried in his shoulder, you managed to squeak out something like mhm.

"It'll be so nice and warm. And you'll take every last drop, right?"

You dug your fingers into his back so hard you wondered if your nails had broken the skin. You hissed out a yes, no other words present in your brain.

"Of course you will," he said, with a singsong kind of lilt. The only betrayal of his calm, collected demeanor was the stuttering of his hips, and the almost frantic pace he'd worked up to.

It felt like you were losing your mind. He'd already unraveled you, now he was just tangling your strings. You pulled at him fiercely when he started to pull back, your limbs too weak from the constant strain and flex to hold him. He sat back on his heels, looming above you, never once pulling out of you. He found his pace again quickly, barely missing a beat.

"How's that feel?" He asked, watching as your eyes slipped shut.

It was all just so perfect. Every minute of it. You took in what you could of him through the tears that stung your eyes and their half-lidded state. He'd left his hair half-up, and god did it look nice, the way it moved with each thrust of his hips. His eyes traced along every curve of your body, down to the way his fingers melded into your muscles when he wrapped a hand around your thigh.

The constant stream of little breathy moans came to a grinding halt when his palm pressed flat against the skin of your abdomen, feeling himself inside of you. For a moment you saw stars, your mouth hanging open in a silent scream, the pressure unbearable, the pleasure unfathomable.

"Oh, does she like that?" He asked, a smile on his lips, pressing down a bit harder.

It felt like the wind had been stolen from your lungs, and you had to fight to recall how to breathe. When he adjusted his hand a bit, circling his thumb across your clit with measured strokes, you thought you might just pass out. You were clenched tightly around him, your hands twisted in the sheets, your back arched off the bed.

"Love, if you keep squeezing me like that…" His fingers dug tighter into your stomach, a warning.

You were near tears now, that familiar coil quickly tightening in your stomach. "Please," you choked out, a single tear coming with the word.

"Please what?"

"Need– I need–" you reached for him, your fingers wrapping around his forearm. You could barely think, everything was so far away, and everything felt so good. "Fuck, Andy, baby, I…"

"Darling, shh, I've got you," he whispered. He took his hands off you, pulling you back into the position you'd been in earlier, his body caging you in, his hips rocking against your clit in that perfect way. "Is that better?"

You nodded against his shoulder, wrapping your arms around him again. It felt like home, being so close to him. "Need–" your words came out between gasps of air. "Need you to– to fill me."

He always loved it when you begged. "Sweet girl needs me to knock her up?"

With the way his body was rubbing against yours perfectly, you were already teetering on the edge. You let out a shaky breath, followed by a yes.

"You're gonna be my good girl and cum for me so I can put a baby in you, yeah?"

You groaned, scratching deep marks into his back, so hard you pulled a satisfied hiss from him. Every sense was overloaded, the scent of him, the taste of his skin on your tongue, the sound of the dirty whispered praises he fed into your ears. His hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangling into your hair and scratching lightly against your scalp. It was a stark contrast to the brutal pace with which he fucked you, even as his hand shook with each movement.

It snuck up on you, your orgasm. And when it hit, it hit you like a fucking train. You gasped in a deep breath, letting it out in staccato bursts as he built you up and sent you tumbling off the edge. Nails digging into his back, your legs wrapping so tightly around his waist it left your legs trembling. He held you close, letting you scratch and thrash and cry out while he whispered words of praise into your ear.

"Good job, baby," he whispered. "You're okay, it's alright. I've got you."

You were still riding the last waves, limp in his arms as he fucked you through it. A gentle smile was stuck to your face, the all of it feeling just so perfect. He was close behind you, his rhythm already falling apart as you clenched and fluttered around him.

He didn't bother trying to choke out any kind of warning, the need for it long since gone. With a quiet whimper into the crook of your neck, his hips stilled, giving way to short, shallow thrusts as he spilled into you. It was everything you wanted, everything you'd imagined. You could feel it, the warmth and the pressure and the way his cock twitched.

The tears you'd been fighting finally fell, as you were struck with a sudden sense of completeness. When he finally pulled back enough to look into your eyes, you were sure you looked insane. But he didn't seem to care one bit, pulling you into a slow kiss, one that radiated love.

You were like jelly when he finally pulled out of you, your eyes only ever half-open as you watched him waddle off to the bathroom with a giggle. You were half asleep through the clean-up process, as he planted kisses along every inch of your body he could reach. When he finally slid back into bed with you, throwing the sheets over your bodies, it was blissful. He wrapped himself around you, pulling you in close, blanketing himself with the scent of your skin.

You'd have to talk about it in the morning, you knew. But for now, tangled up with him, both of you coated in sweat and lust, things were perfect.

[comehereoohlala]

let me see you

summary: it's a scorching summers day in new york, your boyfriend (a man notorious for hating parties) is insisting you attend a pool party with him. it's only your worst nightmare.

rating: explicit (18+)

tags: fem!reader x hozier. tw body image issues, anxiety, mutual masturbation, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, (the smut takes a couple thousand words to get there but i promise it gets there)

words: 5,238

note: ah! i feel like i have so much to say about this fic! thank you @uprightpillar for beta reading the smut for me you are the best!! the rest has not been beta read, we die like the poor thing in the road! and biggest thank you ever to @man-i-love-fanfiction for the prompt, this is for you, love you. but like always writing is my diary so this became very personal for me as well... sorry lmao <3

fic under the cut ❊

When you were 9, you started to realise you didn't look like the other girls your age. You stood out more in pictures, took up more space in the confined space of the picture compared to all of your friends.

When you were 13, you went behind your mums back to try on a bikini in a change room. And when the reflection staring back at you didn't match the reflection of the pretty, cool, older girls you always saw on the beach, you couldn't get it off you fast enough.

When you were 16 and finally the age of those pretty, cool, older girls, you knew you were the complete opposite of them. They were so perfect, almost as if they had been pulled straight out of a magazine.

You bought your first bikini when you were 17.

You didn't wear one outside of your bedroom until you were closer to 20. And even then, the shorts had to be high waisted, and you would only wear black. Nothing that made you stand out more than you know you already did.

When you were 20, you became convinced you were completely unlovable, entirely unattractive. Maybe some might say you were dramatic, but it was how you felt.

But when you were 20, Andrew came along. He was 24, crooked teeth, messy long hair and the most beautiful eyes you had ever seen. He had been on tour in your country, staying at the hotel right around the corner from the coffee shop you worked at. You called off everything and came into work everyday just with the hopes he would come back. And he did. Four days in a row.

On day two, his hand brushed over yours when you passed him his coffee and you nearly dropped it all over him. On day three you took your sweet time making his order, especially considering he had ordered coffees for all the people with him, it gave you a good excuse to listen to his voice as he talked to those with him and before you knew it you were completely head over heels.

On day four, you finally, properly talked. He told you he was a musician and it was his last day here. He stopped being a gorgeous mystery boy and now had a name that suited him perfectly, and you instantly wanted nothing more than to spend a lifetime saying it. Your best friend Charlie had written your number on the coffee cup you gave him, and you were too busy memorising every inch of his face one last time to even notice. But he had messaged you almost straight away, asking if you wanted to meet up when your shift ended. You had never said yes to something quicker.

But it couldn't work. He didn't even live in the same country as you. And your lives were just too different. You stayed friends for five long, painful years, growing closer and closer as time went on.

Until just over a year ago, when you couldn't hold all the love you had for him in any longer, and turns out neither could he. That was when you were 25.

Now here you are, at 26. It's a hot summer day in New York, where you've been staying with him while he finishes some music with producers and does some face-to-face meetings and work with his label.

But today is a scorching Saturday, and one of Andrew's friends that lives here is hosting a big pool party. Lots of people he knows, but also people he doesn't know. And Andrew will be the only person you know.

"Coffee for you my darling," he says softly, coming up behind you and passing you a the hot cup, his now free arm wrapping around your waist before pressing a kiss into your neck. You're leaning against a fence near the coffee shop, watching the people in the park. The families and young kids, the couples on picnics, the groups of friends. Trying to calm your mind, but it's going a million miles an hour. You instinctively pull your shirt a little, trying to stop it from hugging to you.

"So… how much of a pool party is this pool party?" You ask, bringing the coffee cup to your mouth.

"Ehm… what do you mean?"

"Well I don't have anything to wear like in a pool. I didn't bring anything with me."

"Oh…" he thought for a second, "yeah I probably don't either."

Yes, you thought to yourself. Now he'll suggest that we just don't go and have a quiet day togethe-

"Well it doesn't start until around 4, why don't we go shopping?"

What. This man despises social gatherings, you can't count how many times you have snuck out early of parties and dinners. No one complains more about them than him. He will normally take any bait you give him as an excuse to not go, which is what you were expecting to happen. But now he wants to go shopping? Just so they can go?

"Well… I mean…"

"Come on," he takes your hand, "there's heaps of little shops around here and we really do have to go to this today. He did a lot for me when I put my first album out, but he's a busy guy and this is the first chance I've had to see him in ages. Please baby. I know you don't know these people but I promise they'll love you, it's impossible not to."

You nod and he smiles, so big and wide, and there's a mischievous little glint in his eye. "Can I pick?"

You're standing in a shop, staring blankly at the wall of bikinis in front of you. Andrews hand in yours, and you look over at him, his eyes scanning his many options; he's thinking carefully, taking this very seriously.

He let's go of your hand and starts to grab a couple. A red set first, then pink, some patterned ones of lots of colours, a brown set, a dark blue, one that is beaded with seashells.

You leave him be, and turn your attention to the array of cover ups and sundresses. You have no intention of being seen in a bikini in front of anyone but Andrew, and even then, that thought makes your stomach turn a little. It's been a while since he's seen you in something like that. Even in the bedroom you prefer the lights a little dimmer, and recently you'll keep your top on until he is practically begging you to let him tear it off you. And a bikini is different. Especially when you're surrounded by other people. It just makes certain things more obvious.

You decide on a white, short, flowy, throw over dress, and you turn around to see your boyfriend carrying probably more than twenty options for you. Bikinis and one-pieces.

He smiles when he sees your face, "I think I got a bit overwhelmed. So many choices. And you'd look so good in all of them."

You shake your head, force a smile. Your mind continues to race. He's lying to you, he's just being nice. He knows you don't feel confident and he's just trying to be nice.

"Let's see what you've got there mister."

He dumps them out onto a nearby display table. You start to shuffle through them and put them in two piles, he rests his head on your shoulder. "I love the brown one, you always look so gorgeous in brown," he says softly, pointing to it, "if I can only pick one, I think that's the one." You see how low the bottoms must sit, so different to the high waisted ones you normally wear, but you pick them up anyways. Maybe you won't wear them today, maybe a day that's just the two of you.

You get him to pick another and he happily does; this time he's toying between a simple olive green and a white with what looks watercolour flowers of a variety of colours.

"Can't do strapless," you say quietly, trying to hide your embarrassment.

But he just dropped the white one, not making a big deal out of it. "Good thing I love you in green," he smiled, leaning in to kiss your cheek. "What do I have to do to get you to try them on for me when we get back?" He whispers in your ear, his voice so low and desperate just from imagining you wearing these is enough to make you feel like mush.

You smile, deciding to tease him back, leaning in and whispering, "I will… if you let me braid your hair for tonight."

"Done."

You took the brown and green ones from him, and waited until his back was turned putting away all the others he had picked out while you quickly checked the sizes.

"Hey Andy," you called him back over, "can you um… can you get me a bigger size in this one?" You passed him the brown, "I can't reach up the top."

"Yeah course," you watched him shuffle through the rack. Twice.

"That's the biggest size isn't it?"

He looks at you, "I can go ask if they have any out the back?"

"Please don't. It's fine. I don't need two anyways."

He goes to say something, but you just take his hand and walk over to the register. You're so embarrassed. His words ring in your ears, I love the brown one, you always look so gorgeous in brown.

You've killed the mood and you know it and you hate it.

He tries to change the topic on your walk back to where you're staying, and you nod along as he talks, occasionally adding in a little comment, but never really more than that.

When you get home he makes you both lunch, but you're now so full of nerves about this stupid, silly, pool party that you can barely stomach anything. You feel like you're going to throw up over a pool party. You feel juvenile, you're 26, not 15. And that thought somehow makes it worse. That crashing realisation that you look nothing like the woman you had pictured being when you were 15.

You can feel him watching you closely, you can see the cogs turning as he tries to puzzle your thoughts together, work out everything you can't verbalise. That look behind his eyes you recognised all too well, that look he got when he was really thinking about a song he was writing, when he was reading, when he was trying to understand all of you, even the bits you yourself didn't understand.

He comes up behind you in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around your waist.

"Will you try it on for me?"

"I don't know…"

"Please," he turned you around to face him.

Unbeknownst to you, Andrew was now a man on a mission, a careful, delicate mission he had come up with during your quiet lunch together. It had to be done right, he knew you well enough to know that this was much bigger than just a party or a bikini. What 'this' was exactly he was determined to work out, and even more determined to help you with. But he had to be gentle, and he had to let it come from you first.

He ran this hands down from your waist to your hips, pressed you a little closer to him, "please?"

You sighed in defeat, "Andrew…"

"I can finish the dishes while you go change. And you can do whatever you want to my hair. And you can pick my outfit. And I'll make us drinks we can have before we go. …Please."

"Fine," you breathe out, shaking your head, but you can't not smile as you do.

He kisses your neck, "yay," he says against your skin, and you smile again. You're not quite sure what you did to deserve him, someone who audibly says 'yay' at you agreeing to wear a bikini.

You change in the bathroom, having made the decision to shower and quickly shave every inch of your body. You exfoliate, moisturise. Anything you think will make you look better in it.

The olive green stares at you the whole time, it's as if it's taunting you. It's much bolder and brighter compared to the brown. You wish you had the brown. The one he loved and picked first. Second choice. Those two words ring in your mind. Ones that often did. What if you were his second choice? Maybe even his third? Or fourth?

You had known Andrew for so long. You knew of his exes, even met a few of them. You always felt like you looked so different from them. You would be blatantly lying if you said it never bothered you, it never snuck up in the back of your mind, that it never once made you hate what met you in the mirror every day.

You only feel worse when you struggle to get it on. You spend what feels like forever trying to adjust the straps so they fit, you spend another forever trying to fix it in the back, and then the front, just so it sits right.

When you finally stop, admitting defeat in your fight with the frustratingly small pieces of fabric, your eyes properly meet the mirror. What stares back at you is somehow worse than anything you were picturing in your head. Your heart drops. You cannot be seen in this. Not even Andrew, especially Andrew.

"Darling," you hear a knock from the door, "is everything okay?"

"Fine," you stumble out, voice shaking a little. You frantically try to wipe your tears but they won't stop coming. It's just like it was when you were 13, standing in that change room. Wishing the body you saw in the mirror wasn't yours. Asking why it was given to you. Your eyes find every imperfection, until you can't stand to look at yourself for another second.

"Just… um… I'll be out in a few minutes," you yell out, and pull on a jumper that he had left in the bathroom. He wore this jumper all the time. It was big, even on his tall frame, always coming past his arms. You loved it because you swallowed it you up, covered everything.

"Okay…" he responds. He's leaning up against the door, holding two glasses. "Ehm… I made gin. I'll just be out here." He puts the glasses down on the little table in the corner room. He sits down on the end of the bed and watches the bubbles in your drink, taking a slow sip of his own. His eyes wander to your array of things on the table, the notebook with the pink suede fabric that covers it, your black framed glasses, the unorganised pile of silver jewellery from rings to necklaces.

You have sunk down to the floor, unable to face the mirror even with your whole body covered. You lean against the wall, the cool tiles pressing to you as you fiddle with the sleeves of the jumper.

You're not sure how long passes, but it must have been longer than a few minutes, because he knocks on the door again.

"Please darling… just come out here."

The sooner you can get this over with — tell him some lie about not feeling well and that he should go without you — the sooner you can curl up in bed and wallow. You wipe your eyes, splash your face with some cold water, and finally open the door to the warm light of your bedroom.

He's sitting on the bed, leaning back a little, drink in hand. Sunlight seeps through the window on to his face, and your heart stings at his beauty.

"Hey," he gives you a sly smile, "I love it," he gestured to the jumper.

"Not funny," you shoot him a look.

He puts his drink down, holds his hands out to you, "come 'ere."

"I'm not in the mood Andrew." But you still walk over to him, and he takes your hands in his.

"Let me see," he says, so quietly, so lovingly.

You let his hands slowly drift to the hem of the jumper, his fingers slowly curling into the fabric with the clear intention to pull it up, but your hands hold it down, and you shake your head.

"My love," he looks up at you, his hand finding your thigh and his thumb slowly moves up and down. The feeling is grounding, his hand is cold from his drink. You are here, right here, with the man you love you tell yourself, and your breath comes out more shaky than you would have hoped. "What's going on?"

"Uhm…" you want to tell him, you really do. You want his reassurance. You want him to wipe away your tears. But the words refuse to leave your throat.

He squeezes your hand, "it's okay-"

"I can't show you," you blurt out suddenly, "I can't let you see… because… because I'm scared you'll see me... you'll see me and you'll realise… and… and you'll stop liking me."

He shakes his head, firmly, eyebrows furrowed together, but his eyes still soft. "What would make you think that?"

You shrug. You suddenly want nothing more but to sink into the jumper and run back into the bathroom. Hide and never be seen again.

"I've seen you before darling. More than times than I can count. And you know how I feel about you."

"No Andrew. No you haven't. Not recently. Andy…" your voice starts to shake, "…you could have anyone. Why would you stay with me?"

He never looks away from you. "Because I'm in love with you. I fell in love with all of you. Your kindness, your strength, your mind, your body. I love all of you, and I think every inch of you is beautiful. Beyond beautiful. Just picturing you…" he brings your hand down and your eyes follow to the growing strain in his pants, "just from sitting here, waiting for you, imagining you," his voice is lower now, an undertone of desperation.

"Let me see you," he nearly whispers. The request is so gentle, so tender. You know he won't mind if you say no.

But when his fingers find the hem of the jumper again, you don't stop him from pulling it up. You squeeze your eyes shut, you can't bare his reaction. He hasn't seen you, in full light like this, for months. You haven't let him. Your chest feels tight, your body telling you there is no where near enough air getting into your lungs right now.

"Shh," you hear, and your eyes snap open, meeting his again. "Breathe, just breathe baby. It's just me."

Your arms instinctively go to cover your stomach but he takes your hands before they can, his eyes scanning over you as if he is committing you to memory.

"I… uhm… I think the brown would have been better," you finally manage quietly, breaking the silence.

He looks at you, snapped out of his trance, "no…" his fingers slowly tracing over the fabric sitting up by your hips, "the green suits you… compliments you." His other hand moves to your face, tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, "…it reminds me of you. God… you're so beautiful. Did I say that yet?"

You smile a little, tears stinging your eyes, fiddling anxiously with his hand. He stands up and you tilt your head up to look at him.

"Sit down for me baby," he orders gently, and you follow without hesitation. Arms instinctively crossing over your body when you do.

He looks down, reaches to the back of your head and takes out your hair, slipping the hair tie onto his wrist. You watch, dazed, as he sinks to his knees before you.

You shiver at the feeling of his fingers gently, slowly moving up your left leg, his lips doing the same, as he trails kisses from your ankle to your thigh, before repeating the same on your right.

He took your hand next. He kissed each finger, then your palm, your wrist, up to your elbow and all the way to your shoulder. Stopping every now and then at the odd scar or freckle for longer.

He's still on his knees, but at eye level with you now. He kisses every pimple scar from your bad acne days when you were a teenager. Lips find your nose, then your lips, his tongue fits perfectly in your mouth. He wants all of you, every inch. Because he needs you to know how much he adores every bit of you. You can feel his hands on your back, whilst yours curl into his hair. He fiddles with one hand at the slightly flimsy clasp holding your top on, you feel it drop onto your lap, and he quickly tosses it to the side, never once breaking your kiss.

His hand moves to cup one your breasts, "You know…" he starts, a little smile growing as he does, "sometimes I like to think they were meant for me… the way they fit so perfectly in my hand," he says between soft quick kisses, and you can't help but giggle a little. His kisses trail to your jaw, and you lean your head back, your body relaxing and leaning into his touch the more he goes on.

"Lay down," he breathes against your collarbone, and you don't hesitate.

You watch as he crawls on to the bed, his hands by your shoulders to hold himself above you. He continues at your collarbone, and you sigh beneath him as he continues pressing his lips to your breasts. He kisses every stretch mark, teeth dragging where he knows you are extra sensitive, and you can feel his smile at every noise you make. His fingers roll over your nipples, and you squirm underneath him.

"Andrew," you breathe out, "please."

He looks up from where he has been comfortable against your chest for the past few minutes, "patience baby. Patience." He doesn't break eye contact as he goes back to kissing you, making his kisses painfully slower, dragging out every movement.

He's finally moving down your sternum, and your anxiety starts to rise again. "Andy," you say quickly, "stop."

He halts his kisses instantly, looking up at you, face twisted in concern, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just…" you feel so exposed, you want nothing more than to hide.

He reads right through you, takes your hand, "you're okay. I promise. Let me love you baby, let me show you how much I love you."

You relax again and nod, holding onto his hand tightly as he continues moving downwards with his kisses, taking extra care to show his affection to every newly formed stretch mark that you had taken great lengths to hide from him.

You had been unable to bare the thought of anyone seeing them, not even Andrew, not until they had at least faded a little. And yes, no matter how many times you told yourself that they were normal, that it was nothing to hide or be embarrassed of, it never really stuck. The voice in the back of your mind fulled by the words of girls from high school, of jokes from ex-boyfriends and comments from 'friends', meant that you could never fully accept any of your countless repetitions of self-love to be true.

He made his way down further, pausing to trace each line gently with his finger tip. The darker ones, the more faded nearly invisible ones. Your eyes sting, you squeeze his hand tighter.

"I love you," he breathes against you, ever so quietly, kissing you again. "I love you." You hear him repeat it over and over. Like a mantra or a prayer. Your head falls back as he moves to your hips, a tear rolling down your face.

He lets go of your hand to move off the bed, getting back on his knees. Slipping his fingers into the green fabric still sitting on your hips, pulling it down as slowly as he can. You watch as he quickly ties his hair back, held in place with the hair tie he had removed taken from you earlier.

He brings his attention back to your hips, kissing along your pelvic bone, one of his hands resting on your upper thigh. He works carefully, lips brushing against your hair, but never going further down where you ache for him. Moving along to your inner thigh, he effortlessly pulls you further down the bed to be closer to him, before guiding your left leg to rest on his shoulder.

He kisses up your inner thighs, reaching again for your outstretched hand as he does. His lips are so close to where you want him, need him, crave him, but never quite.

It's not until you're whimpering, begging for him, body squirming with need that his tongue finally runs down you, set on continuing his devotion of every inch of you. He knows with perfect precision what makes you scream, what makes you whine, what makes you plead his name over and over. He works with purpose, and the way he works… one might think he was sent to earth with the sole purpose of bringing you pleasure.

His nose brushes over your clit, and the sensation draws out a loud cry of his name. He grips your thigh in response, nails digging into your skin that you think for a second he might draw blood.

His finger slips into you, then another, his mouth and tongue still focused on your clit. Your hips thrust up involuntarily to meet him. He's going slow, dragging this out, it's perfect torture.

He's barely started when you feel his mouth leave you and you blindly try and reach for him in a desperate, almost pathetic, attempt to get him back.

"Look at me," he breathes. You pull your head up from the bed to look down at him.

You whine, "why did you stop?"

"I want you to touch yourself baby," he says softly, "make yourself feel good for me."

You stare at him for a moment. You just want his warm hot mouth back on you, his fingers curling perfectly into you.

"I want you," you plead desperately.

"Show me," he repeats.

You don't break your eye contact with him as your hand moves down to your pussy. The position you're in is awkward, not really what you would prefer for this. But you don't care, you don't want to stop looking at him.

He nods as you start to touch yourself, watching intently as you slip in two fingers, as your thumb brushes over your clit.

Just when you start to increase your pace he shakes his head. "Slow," he whispers, "go slow for me." You just nod, slowing down for him.

He never takes his gaze away from you, eyes dark, just like how they get when you ride him to oblivion or suck him dry.

"God," he moans, his hands fiddling with his belt, shrugging his pants down just barely enough so that he can reach his cock, using the hand still slick with you to touch himself. He's following your thrusts, timing them exactly with his own movements.

"My love," he pants, "you see now what you do to me, just by-" he cuts himself off with a low moan, watching you speed up your fingers, unable to stand the painfully slow pace for another moment. Especially now, watching him chase his own pleasure, seeing how close he was the second he touched himself. All from watching you.

You both keep going, he mimics your movements as closely as possible, until he can't stand not touching you for a second longer. He practically leaps at you, desperate to have your taste on his lips again, his hand stops stroking himself to hold you close to him, one hand on your hip, the other on your thigh.

You're already so close, that his tongue slipping into you again almost sends you completely over the edge. You frantically thrust up as his nose brushes over your clit again, and then again; he's toying with you, never giving you quite the right amount of pressure he knows you need. He stops moving and your fingers dig into his hair, holding his head in place between your thighs.

"Andrew," you beg, whining for him.

He moves his hand from your thigh to return his two fingers into you, just like they had been before. But at a much faster pace than he had been earlier. His fingers hitting where yours weren't able. He lifts his head up to see you, and he can't not smile at the sight of you, head thrown back in pleasure.

"This what you wanted baby?"

You nod, "don't stop. Please don't," you look down to give him a pleading look, your eyes meeting his grin and his beard covered in you. You watch him as he moves back down, lips and tongue latching onto your clit as he slips a third finger into you. It's almost too much, but it's the too much he knows you need.

His free hand has left your hip to stroke himself again frantically, and you can feel his fingers inside you almost trembling with his own pleasure.

One of your hands falls back onto the mattress to hold you up as your body starts to shake. Your fingers on one hand curl into the blanket, the other hand holding onto his hair like a lifeline. That feeling in your core growing, threatening to burst any minute.

You start to whine, desperate, pleading for a release and you can feel him smile. He picks up the speed of his fingers, tongue moving faster on your clit; only picking up his pace as your hips buck into his face frantically. You're holding and pulling on his hair so tightly that the bun he had put it in earlier is now a thing of the past.

He doesn't stop until he's sure he's gotten everything out of you, gently slowing down as your body relaxes, coming down from your high.

He eventually moves to lean against your inner thigh, looking up at you. He's still touching himself with as much fervour as he had been with you, quiet moans escaping his mouth. You brush a hand through his hair, down across his face and he never once breaks his gaze away from you, quickly reaching his own climax, his head falling forward with a cry of your name as he comes.

He beckons you onto the floor with him with his hand, too breathless to speak. He pulls a blanket off the bed, covering you with it as you rest on his shoulder. You both relax against the back of the bed, catching your breaths, hands locked together.

"Thank you," you whisper, bringing his hand to your lips. "You know… I think you're beautiful too."

He presses a kiss to your temple, wrapping an arm around you.

"I lied," he begins proudly, "there was never a pool party."

[comehereoohlala]

let me see you

summary: it's a scorching summers day in new york, your boyfriend (a man notorious for hating parties) is insisting you attend a pool party with him. it's only your worst nightmare.

rating: explicit (18+)

tags: fem!reader x hozier. tw body image issues, anxiety, mutual masturbation, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, (the smut takes a couple thousand words to get there but i promise it gets there)

words: 5,238

note: ah! i feel like i have so much to say about this fic! thank you @uprightpillar for beta reading the smut for me you are the best!! the rest has not been beta read, we die like the poor thing in the road! and biggest thank you ever to @man-i-love-fanfiction for the prompt, this is for you, love you. but like always writing is my diary so this became very personal for me as well... sorry lmao <3

fic under the cut ❊

When you were 9, you started to realise you didn't look like the other girls your age. You stood out more in pictures, took up more space in the confined space of the picture compared to all of your friends.

When you were 13, you went behind your mums back to try on a bikini in a change room. And when the reflection staring back at you didn't match the reflection of the pretty, cool, older girls you always saw on the beach, you couldn't get it off you fast enough.

When you were 16 and finally the age of those pretty, cool, older girls, you knew you were the complete opposite of them. They were so perfect, almost as if they had been pulled straight out of a magazine.

You bought your first bikini when you were 17.

You didn't wear one outside of your bedroom until you were closer to 20. And even then, the shorts had to be high waisted, and you would only wear black. Nothing that made you stand out more than you know you already did.

When you were 20, you became convinced you were completely unlovable, entirely unattractive. Maybe some might say you were dramatic, but it was how you felt.

But when you were 20, Andrew came along. He was 24, crooked teeth, messy long hair and the most beautiful eyes you had ever seen. He had been on tour in your country, staying at the hotel right around the corner from the coffee shop you worked at. You called off everything and came into work everyday just with the hopes he would come back. And he did. Four days in a row.

On day two, his hand brushed over yours when you passed him his coffee and you nearly dropped it all over him. On day three you took your sweet time making his order, especially considering he had ordered coffees for all the people with him, it gave you a good excuse to listen to his voice as he talked to those with him and before you knew it you were completely head over heels.

On day four, you finally, properly talked. He told you he was a musician and it was his last day here. He stopped being a gorgeous mystery boy and now had a name that suited him perfectly, and you instantly wanted nothing more than to spend a lifetime saying it. Your best friend Charlie had written your number on the coffee cup you gave him, and you were too busy memorising every inch of his face one last time to even notice. But he had messaged you almost straight away, asking if you wanted to meet up when your shift ended. You had never said yes to something quicker.

But it couldn't work. He didn't even live in the same country as you. And your lives were just too different. You stayed friends for five long, painful years, growing closer and closer as time went on.

Until just over a year ago, when you couldn't hold all the love you had for him in any longer, and turns out neither could he. That was when you were 25.

Now here you are, at 26. It's a hot summer day in New York, where you've been staying with him while he finishes some music with producers and does some face-to-face meetings and work with his label.

But today is a scorching Saturday, and one of Andrew's friends that lives here is hosting a big pool party. Lots of people he knows, but also people he doesn't know. And Andrew will be the only person you know.

"Coffee for you my darling," he says softly, coming up behind you and passing you a the hot cup, his now free arm wrapping around your waist before pressing a kiss into your neck. You're leaning against a fence near the coffee shop, watching the people in the park. The families and young kids, the couples on picnics, the groups of friends. Trying to calm your mind, but it's going a million miles an hour. You instinctively pull your shirt a little, trying to stop it from hugging to you.

"So… how much of a pool party is this pool party?" You ask, bringing the coffee cup to your mouth.

"Ehm… what do you mean?"

"Well I don't have anything to wear like in a pool. I didn't bring anything with me."

"Oh…" he thought for a second, "yeah I probably don't either."

Yes, you thought to yourself. Now he'll suggest that we just don't go and have a quiet day togethe-

"Well it doesn't start until around 4, why don't we go shopping?"

What. This man despises social gatherings, you can't count how many times you have snuck out early of parties and dinners. No one complains more about them than him. He will normally take any bait you give him as an excuse to not go, which is what you were expecting to happen. But now he wants to go shopping? Just so they can go?

"Well… I mean…"

"Come on," he takes your hand, "there's heaps of little shops around here and we really do have to go to this today. He did a lot for me when I put my first album out, but he's a busy guy and this is the first chance I've had to see him in ages. Please baby. I know you don't know these people but I promise they'll love you, it's impossible not to."

You nod and he smiles, so big and wide, and there's a mischievous little glint in his eye. "Can I pick?"

You're standing in a shop, staring blankly at the wall of bikinis in front of you. Andrews hand in yours, and you look over at him, his eyes scanning his many options; he's thinking carefully, taking this very seriously.

He let's go of your hand and starts to grab a couple. A red set first, then pink, some patterned ones of lots of colours, a brown set, a dark blue, one that is beaded with seashells.

You leave him be, and turn your attention to the array of cover ups and sundresses. You have no intention of being seen in a bikini in front of anyone but Andrew, and even then, that thought makes your stomach turn a little. It's been a while since he's seen you in something like that. Even in the bedroom you prefer the lights a little dimmer, and recently you'll keep your top on until he is practically begging you to let him tear it off you. And a bikini is different. Especially when you're surrounded by other people. It just makes certain things more obvious.

You decide on a white, short, flowy, throw over dress, and you turn around to see your boyfriend carrying probably more than twenty options for you. Bikinis and one-pieces.

He smiles when he sees your face, "I think I got a bit overwhelmed. So many choices. And you'd look so good in all of them."

You shake your head, force a smile. Your mind continues to race. He's lying to you, he's just being nice. He knows you don't feel confident and he's just trying to be nice.

"Let's see what you've got there mister."

He dumps them out onto a nearby display table. You start to shuffle through them and put them in two piles, he rests his head on your shoulder. "I love the brown one, you always look so gorgeous in brown," he says softly, pointing to it, "if I can only pick one, I think that's the one." You see how low the bottoms must sit, so different to the high waisted ones you normally wear, but you pick them up anyways. Maybe you won't wear them today, maybe a day that's just the two of you.

You get him to pick another and he happily does; this time he's toying between a simple olive green and a white with what looks watercolour flowers of a variety of colours.

"Can't do strapless," you say quietly, trying to hide your embarrassment.

But he just dropped the white one, not making a big deal out of it. "Good thing I love you in green," he smiled, leaning in to kiss your cheek. "What do I have to do to get you to try them on for me when we get back?" He whispers in your ear, his voice so low and desperate just from imagining you wearing these is enough to make you feel like mush.

You smile, deciding to tease him back, leaning in and whispering, "I will… if you let me braid your hair for tonight."

"Done."

You took the brown and green ones from him, and waited until his back was turned putting away all the others he had picked out while you quickly checked the sizes.

"Hey Andy," you called him back over, "can you um… can you get me a bigger size in this one?" You passed him the brown, "I can't reach up the top."

"Yeah course," you watched him shuffle through the rack. Twice.

"That's the biggest size isn't it?"

He looks at you, "I can go ask if they have any out the back?"

"Please don't. It's fine. I don't need two anyways."

He goes to say something, but you just take his hand and walk over to the register. You're so embarrassed. His words ring in your ears, I love the brown one, you always look so gorgeous in brown.

You've killed the mood and you know it and you hate it.

He tries to change the topic on your walk back to where you're staying, and you nod along as he talks, occasionally adding in a little comment, but never really more than that.

When you get home he makes you both lunch, but you're now so full of nerves about this stupid, silly, pool party that you can barely stomach anything. You feel like you're going to throw up over a pool party. You feel juvenile, you're 26, not 15. And that thought somehow makes it worse. That crashing realisation that you look nothing like the woman you had pictured being when you were 15.

You can feel him watching you closely, you can see the cogs turning as he tries to puzzle your thoughts together, work out everything you can't verbalise. That look behind his eyes you recognised all too well, that look he got when he was really thinking about a song he was writing, when he was reading, when he was trying to understand all of you, even the bits you yourself didn't understand.

He comes up behind you in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around your waist.

"Will you try it on for me?"

"I don't know…"

"Please," he turned you around to face him.

Unbeknownst to you, Andrew was now a man on a mission, a careful, delicate mission he had come up with during your quiet lunch together. It had to be done right, he knew you well enough to know that this was much bigger than just a party or a bikini. What 'this' was exactly he was determined to work out, and even more determined to help you with. But he had to be gentle, and he had to let it come from you first.

He ran this hands down from your waist to your hips, pressed you a little closer to him, "please?"

You sighed in defeat, "Andrew…"

"I can finish the dishes while you go change. And you can do whatever you want to my hair. And you can pick my outfit. And I'll make us drinks we can have before we go. …Please."

"Fine," you breathe out, shaking your head, but you can't not smile as you do.

He kisses your neck, "yay," he says against your skin, and you smile again. You're not quite sure what you did to deserve him, someone who audibly says 'yay' at you agreeing to wear a bikini.

You change in the bathroom, having made the decision to shower and quickly shave every inch of your body. You exfoliate, moisturise. Anything you think will make you look better in it.

The olive green stares at you the whole time, it's as if it's taunting you. It's much bolder and brighter compared to the brown. You wish you had the brown. The one he loved and picked first. Second choice. Those two words ring in your mind. Ones that often did. What if you were his second choice? Maybe even his third? Or fourth?

You had known Andrew for so long. You knew of his exes, even met a few of them. You always felt like you looked so different from them. You would be blatantly lying if you said it never bothered you, it never snuck up in the back of your mind, that it never once made you hate what met you in the mirror every day.

You only feel worse when you struggle to get it on. You spend what feels like forever trying to adjust the straps so they fit, you spend another forever trying to fix it in the back, and then the front, just so it sits right.

When you finally stop, admitting defeat in your fight with the frustratingly small pieces of fabric, your eyes properly meet the mirror. What stares back at you is somehow worse than anything you were picturing in your head. Your heart drops. You cannot be seen in this. Not even Andrew, especially Andrew.

"Darling," you hear a knock from the door, "is everything okay?"

"Fine," you stumble out, voice shaking a little. You frantically try to wipe your tears but they won't stop coming. It's just like it was when you were 13, standing in that change room. Wishing the body you saw in the mirror wasn't yours. Asking why it was given to you. Your eyes find every imperfection, until you can't stand to look at yourself for another second.

"Just… um… I'll be out in a few minutes," you yell out, and pull on a jumper that he had left in the bathroom. He wore this jumper all the time. It was big, even on his tall frame, always coming past his arms. You loved it because you swallowed it you up, covered everything.

"Okay…" he responds. He's leaning up against the door, holding two glasses. "Ehm… I made gin. I'll just be out here." He puts the glasses down on the little table in the corner room. He sits down on the end of the bed and watches the bubbles in your drink, taking a slow sip of his own. His eyes wander to your array of things on the table, the notebook with the pink suede fabric that covers it, your black framed glasses, the unorganised pile of silver jewellery from rings to necklaces.

You have sunk down to the floor, unable to face the mirror even with your whole body covered. You lean against the wall, the cool tiles pressing to you as you fiddle with the sleeves of the jumper.

You're not sure how long passes, but it must have been longer than a few minutes, because he knocks on the door again.

"Please darling… just come out here."

The sooner you can get this over with — tell him some lie about not feeling well and that he should go without you — the sooner you can curl up in bed and wallow. You wipe your eyes, splash your face with some cold water, and finally open the door to the warm light of your bedroom.

He's sitting on the bed, leaning back a little, drink in hand. Sunlight seeps through the window on to his face, and your heart stings at his beauty.

"Hey," he gives you a sly smile, "I love it," he gestured to the jumper.

"Not funny," you shoot him a look.

He puts his drink down, holds his hands out to you, "come 'ere."

"I'm not in the mood Andrew." But you still walk over to him, and he takes your hands in his.

"Let me see," he says, so quietly, so lovingly.

You let his hands slowly drift to the hem of the jumper, his fingers slowly curling into the fabric with the clear intention to pull it up, but your hands hold it down, and you shake your head.

"My love," he looks up at you, his hand finding your thigh and his thumb slowly moves up and down. The feeling is grounding, his hand is cold from his drink. You are here, right here, with the man you love you tell yourself, and your breath comes out more shaky than you would have hoped. "What's going on?"

"Uhm…" you want to tell him, you really do. You want his reassurance. You want him to wipe away your tears. But the words refuse to leave your throat.

He squeezes your hand, "it's okay-"

"I can't show you," you blurt out suddenly, "I can't let you see… because… because I'm scared you'll see me... you'll see me and you'll realise… and… and you'll stop liking me."

He shakes his head, firmly, eyebrows furrowed together, but his eyes still soft. "What would make you think that?"

You shrug. You suddenly want nothing more but to sink into the jumper and run back into the bathroom. Hide and never be seen again.

"I've seen you before darling. More than times than I can count. And you know how I feel about you."

"No Andrew. No you haven't. Not recently. Andy…" your voice starts to shake, "…you could have anyone. Why would you stay with me?"

He never looks away from you. "Because I'm in love with you. I fell in love with all of you. Your kindness, your strength, your mind, your body. I love all of you, and I think every inch of you is beautiful. Beyond beautiful. Just picturing you…" he brings your hand down and your eyes follow to the growing strain in his pants, "just from sitting here, waiting for you, imagining you," his voice is lower now, an undertone of desperation.

"Let me see you," he nearly whispers. The request is so gentle, so tender. You know he won't mind if you say no.

But when his fingers find the hem of the jumper again, you don't stop him from pulling it up. You squeeze your eyes shut, you can't bare his reaction. He hasn't seen you, in full light like this, for months. You haven't let him. Your chest feels tight, your body telling you there is no where near enough air getting into your lungs right now.

"Shh," you hear, and your eyes snap open, meeting his again. "Breathe, just breathe baby. It's just me."

Your arms instinctively go to cover your stomach but he takes your hands before they can, his eyes scanning over you as if he is committing you to memory.

"I… uhm… I think the brown would have been better," you finally manage quietly, breaking the silence.

He looks at you, snapped out of his trance, "no…" his fingers slowly tracing over the fabric sitting up by your hips, "the green suits you… compliments you." His other hand moves to your face, tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, "…it reminds me of you. God… you're so beautiful. Did I say that yet?"

You smile a little, tears stinging your eyes, fiddling anxiously with his hand. He stands up and you tilt your head up to look at him.

"Sit down for me baby," he orders gently, and you follow without hesitation. Arms instinctively crossing over your body when you do.

He looks down, reaches to the back of your head and takes out your hair, slipping the hair tie onto his wrist. You watch, dazed, as he sinks to his knees before you.

You shiver at the feeling of his fingers gently, slowly moving up your left leg, his lips doing the same, as he trails kisses from your ankle to your thigh, before repeating the same on your right.

He took your hand next. He kissed each finger, then your palm, your wrist, up to your elbow and all the way to your shoulder. Stopping every now and then at the odd scar or freckle for longer.

He's still on his knees, but at eye level with you now. He kisses every pimple scar from your bad acne days when you were a teenager. Lips find your nose, then your lips, his tongue fits perfectly in your mouth. He wants all of you, every inch. Because he needs you to know how much he adores every bit of you. You can feel his hands on your back, whilst yours curl into his hair. He fiddles with one hand at the slightly flimsy clasp holding your top on, you feel it drop onto your lap, and he quickly tosses it to the side, never once breaking your kiss.

His hand moves to cup one your breasts, "You know…" he starts, a little smile growing as he does, "sometimes I like to think they were meant for me… the way they fit so perfectly in my hand," he says between soft quick kisses, and you can't help but giggle a little. His kisses trail to your jaw, and you lean your head back, your body relaxing and leaning into his touch the more he goes on.

"Lay down," he breathes against your collarbone, and you don't hesitate.

You watch as he crawls on to the bed, his hands by your shoulders to hold himself above you. He continues at your collarbone, and you sigh beneath him as he continues pressing his lips to your breasts. He kisses every stretch mark, teeth dragging where he knows you are extra sensitive, and you can feel his smile at every noise you make. His fingers roll over your nipples, and you squirm underneath him.

"Andrew," you breathe out, "please."

He looks up from where he has been comfortable against your chest for the past few minutes, "patience baby. Patience." He doesn't break eye contact as he goes back to kissing you, making his kisses painfully slower, dragging out every movement.

He's finally moving down your sternum, and your anxiety starts to rise again. "Andy," you say quickly, "stop."

He halts his kisses instantly, looking up at you, face twisted in concern, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just…" you feel so exposed, you want nothing more than to hide.

He reads right through you, takes your hand, "you're okay. I promise. Let me love you baby, let me show you how much I love you."

You relax again and nod, holding onto his hand tightly as he continues moving downwards with his kisses, taking extra care to show his affection to every newly formed stretch mark that you had taken great lengths to hide from him.

You had been unable to bare the thought of anyone seeing them, not even Andrew, not until they had at least faded a little. And yes, no matter how many times you told yourself that they were normal, that it was nothing to hide or be embarrassed of, it never really stuck. The voice in the back of your mind fulled by the words of girls from high school, of jokes from ex-boyfriends and comments from 'friends', meant that you could never fully accept any of your countless repetitions of self-love to be true.

He made his way down further, pausing to trace each line gently with his finger tip. The darker ones, the more faded nearly invisible ones. Your eyes sting, you squeeze his hand tighter.

"I love you," he breathes against you, ever so quietly, kissing you again. "I love you." You hear him repeat it over and over. Like a mantra or a prayer. Your head falls back as he moves to your hips, a tear rolling down your face.

He lets go of your hand to move off the bed, getting back on his knees. Slipping his fingers into the green fabric still sitting on your hips, pulling it down as slowly as he can. You watch as he quickly ties his hair back, held in place with the hair tie he had removed taken from you earlier.

He brings his attention back to your hips, kissing along your pelvic bone, one of his hands resting on your upper thigh. He works carefully, lips brushing against your hair, but never going further down where you ache for him. Moving along to your inner thigh, he effortlessly pulls you further down the bed to be closer to him, before guiding your left leg to rest on his shoulder.

He kisses up your inner thighs, reaching again for your outstretched hand as he does. His lips are so close to where you want him, need him, crave him, but never quite.

It's not until you're whimpering, begging for him, body squirming with need that his tongue finally runs down you, set on continuing his devotion of every inch of you. He knows with perfect precision what makes you scream, what makes you whine, what makes you plead his name over and over. He works with purpose, and the way he works… one might think he was sent to earth with the sole purpose of bringing you pleasure.

His nose brushes over your clit, and the sensation draws out a loud cry of his name. He grips your thigh in response, nails digging into your skin that you think for a second he might draw blood.

His finger slips into you, then another, his mouth and tongue still focused on your clit. Your hips thrust up involuntarily to meet him. He's going slow, dragging this out, it's perfect torture.

He's barely started when you feel his mouth leave you and you blindly try and reach for him in a desperate, almost pathetic, attempt to get him back.

"Look at me," he breathes. You pull your head up from the bed to look down at him.

You whine, "why did you stop?"

"I want you to touch yourself baby," he says softly, "make yourself feel good for me."

You stare at him for a moment. You just want his warm hot mouth back on you, his fingers curling perfectly into you.

"I want you," you plead desperately.

"Show me," he repeats.

You don't break your eye contact with him as your hand moves down to your pussy. The position you're in is awkward, not really what you would prefer for this. But you don't care, you don't want to stop looking at him.

He nods as you start to touch yourself, watching intently as you slip in two fingers, as your thumb brushes over your clit.

Just when you start to increase your pace he shakes his head. "Slow," he whispers, "go slow for me." You just nod, slowing down for him.

He never takes his gaze away from you, eyes dark, just like how they get when you ride him to oblivion or suck him dry.

"God," he moans, his hands fiddling with his belt, shrugging his pants down just barely enough so that he can reach his cock, using the hand still slick with you to touch himself. He's following your thrusts, timing them exactly with his own movements.

"My love," he pants, "you see now what you do to me, just by-" he cuts himself off with a low moan, watching you speed up your fingers, unable to stand the painfully slow pace for another moment. Especially now, watching him chase his own pleasure, seeing how close he was the second he touched himself. All from watching you.

You both keep going, he mimics your movements as closely as possible, until he can't stand not touching you for a second longer. He practically leaps at you, desperate to have your taste on his lips again, his hand stops stroking himself to hold you close to him, one hand on your hip, the other on your thigh.

You're already so close, that his tongue slipping into you again almost sends you completely over the edge. You frantically thrust up as his nose brushes over your clit again, and then again; he's toying with you, never giving you quite the right amount of pressure he knows you need. He stops moving and your fingers dig into his hair, holding his head in place between your thighs.

"Andrew," you beg, whining for him.

He moves his hand from your thigh to return his two fingers into you, just like they had been before. But at a much faster pace than he had been earlier. His fingers hitting where yours weren't able. He lifts his head up to see you, and he can't not smile at the sight of you, head thrown back in pleasure.

"This what you wanted baby?"

You nod, "don't stop. Please don't," you look down to give him a pleading look, your eyes meeting his grin and his beard covered in you. You watch him as he moves back down, lips and tongue latching onto your clit as he slips a third finger into you. It's almost too much, but it's the too much he knows you need.

His free hand has left your hip to stroke himself again frantically, and you can feel his fingers inside you almost trembling with his own pleasure.

One of your hands falls back onto the mattress to hold you up as your body starts to shake. Your fingers on one hand curl into the blanket, the other hand holding onto his hair like a lifeline. That feeling in your core growing, threatening to burst any minute.

You start to whine, desperate, pleading for a release and you can feel him smile. He picks up the speed of his fingers, tongue moving faster on your clit; only picking up his pace as your hips buck into his face frantically. You're holding and pulling on his hair so tightly that the bun he had put it in earlier is now a thing of the past.

He doesn't stop until he's sure he's gotten everything out of you, gently slowing down as your body relaxes, coming down from your high.

He eventually moves to lean against your inner thigh, looking up at you. He's still touching himself with as much fervour as he had been with you, quiet moans escaping his mouth. You brush a hand through his hair, down across his face and he never once breaks his gaze away from you, quickly reaching his own climax, his head falling forward with a cry of your name as he comes.

He beckons you onto the floor with him with his hand, too breathless to speak. He pulls a blanket off the bed, covering you with it as you rest on his shoulder. You both relax against the back of the bed, catching your breaths, hands locked together.

"Thank you," you whisper, bringing his hand to your lips. "You know… I think you're beautiful too."

He presses a kiss to your temple, wrapping an arm around you.

"I lied," he begins proudly, "there was never a pool party."

[comehereoohlala]

Glimpses Of Life - A.H.B♡

Summary: a glimpse of your relationship with Andrew through different stages of life♡

Genre: Fluff/Smut / Word count: 5.1k

Tags/Warnings: nsfw! explicit sexual content, sex in the kitchen (p in v) nothing crazy, but still (minors don't interact please), kissing, but also lots of fluff and everyday life. No use of y/n, female!reader.

A/N: Hello again! This is something I've been working on for a few weeks now, and even though I didn't love the final result, I couldn't work on it anymore and just decided to post it anyway lol (it sucks so dont hate me). Once again, English is not my first language, so there may be some mistakes, please be kind. Comments and any advice is welcome, okay bye~

Boyfriend

You cursed yourself quietly as you walked as fast as you could, hugging the paper bag closely to your chest. You felt an oncoming sneeze and you scrunched your eyes, trying to make it go away, causing yourself to accidentally slosh into yet another puddle, water going everywhere.

Damn it.

Of all the days to forget an umbrella.

By the time you had walked into the building, your hair was plastered to your face and neck, and you were pretty sure you’d need to buy new shoes after this. You waved to the security guard and he gave you an acknowledging nod as he worriedly eyed the water dripping off you.

By the time you had reached the 5th floor, exiting the lift, you had sneezed about 5 times.

You walked down the corridor, wincing at the squishing sounds your shoes were making when suddenly the door you were heading towards flew open and Andrew’s smiling face came into view. The gentle smile quickly turned into a frown however, as he took in your current state.

“How did you know I’m already here?” You asked, quickly coming up to Andrew, beaming at him.

“The security guard rang me,” he replied, eyes still roaming your soaked clothes. “Did you not bring your umbrella?” He asked, opening the door wider, letting you inside.

You sighed unhappily. “I swapped bags in a hurry this morning and forgot to move it too.”

Andrew closed the door behind you and you turned to him happily.

“I brought food though!” You announced, handing him the carefully guarded, and a little rumpled, paper bag.

Andrew’s eyes widened in shock.

“It’s pouring outside and you walked in the rain without an umbrella to get Thai food?” He asked, a grimace on his face.

“Yes.” You replied timidly.

“Why?” Andrew asked again, the incredulity obvious in his voice.

“You said you had a stressful week,” you explained. “I also had a stressful week and I know that nothing can be better than some comfort food on a Friday night.”

Andrew’s eyes visibly softened, and he leaned in, tilting his head as he pressed a gentle peck on your lips. You smiled up at him, admiring the sudden brightness in his eyes. His hands made their way to your face as he held your cheeks softly, his lips back on yours again. You returned the pressure, a small sigh of pleasure escaping you.

Andrew pulled away somewhat reluctantly, his nose tickling yours.

“I think you have to take a really hot shower right now, because I’d rather not spend the weekend with a sick girlfriend.” He said quietly, wide smile on his face.

You giggled at his teasing, nodding.

He took the bag from your hands and you quickly kicked off your shoes and made a beeline for the bathroom.

One boiling hot shower later, you were wearing one of your boyfriend’s biggest jumpers and drying your hair as he popped his head through the door.

“Mindless action and explosions or timeless romance?” He asked, his eyes not so subtly raking over your body.

You threw a towel in his face, making him laugh.

“We watched The Dark Knight last week,” you play-whined.

“Pride and Prejudice then,” Andrew concluded, already walking out the door.

When you finally made it to the living room, the food had already been set on the coffee table in front of the couch and the TV was paused on the opening credits of Pride and Prejudice.

You happily made your way to the couch where Andrew was sitting, watching you and smiling softly. You sank in the soft cushions next to him as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, hugging you tightly, lips pressing to your temple.

“Thank you for braving the awful weather just for me,” he mumbled against your skin.

“Always,” you replied timidly, eyes closing as you snuggled into him. “If I do end up getting sick though, I expect you to take care of me,” you teased, making him snort.

“I wouldn’t dare to leave you on your own,” he grumbled. “You’re too precious to me, darling.”

Your cheeks flushed and you knew that was your cue to get started on the food, before your boyfriend made you melt in his arms when you hadn’t even started dinner yet.

You were curled in Andrew’s side, your head on his chest, both covered in the warm blanket he kept on the couch as you watched a dripping wet Mr. Darcy confess his love to an equally drenched Elizabeth.

“Comfort movie and comfort food with my favorite person in the world,” Andrew murmured, his fingers playing with your hair soothingly. “What a good way to end the week.”

You hummed happily in response, nuzzling in his chest. Andrew’s chuckle rumbled under your ear as you fought to keep your eyes open.

You startled suddenly, your head snapping up from the comfort of your favorite pillow, the darkness around you disorienting you.

“Sorry for waking you, I just turned the TV off.” Andrew mumbled as he threw the remote next to him. “Time for bed, darling”

You grumbled, laying your head back on his chest and burying your nose into it. You didn’t want to move.

Andrew huffed a silent laughter in your hair as you felt him put his arms under your knees. Without question, he carefully lifted you in his arms and you let him, only wrapping one arm around his neck. You were too tired to protest.

Soon enough you were snuggled in bed, Andrew wrapping himself around you like an octopus, legs tangling with yours. With one eye open, you watched him turn off the bedside lamp before he turned to face you again in the darkness.

You were warm and you could feel his heart beating soothingly under fingertips, the fuzziness in your chest momentarily chasing away the sleepiness clouding your mind. You pushed yourself up on the pillow and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss on Andrew’s forehead, and then on his nose, one on each cheek, then his chin, then his jaw and then you went to repeat the cycle, causing your boyfriend to fall into a fit of muffled giggles, pulling you closer into him.

When you finally felt satisfied, you flopped back on the pillow, closing your eyes as a small yawn escaped your lips.

“I love you,” Andrew whispered, his fingers caressing your back softly.

Your heart jumped excitedly in your chest as your own confession easily flowed out of your lips.

“I love you too.”

Building a home.

It’d been almost three weeks, but there were still so many boxes. You wondered if they would ever come to an end. At least most things had been put in their designated places now and you had managed to contain the mess of ‘things that don’t have a place yet’ to one of the corners of the living room.

At the moment however, you were busy with a completely different thanks of a sizeable magnitude.

Cake making.

It had been weeks since you had weekend where you could afford to spend time doing something other than unpacking and thinking where to fit all of your mugs. You were excited.

All the ingredients were already lined up on the countertop, the recipe was pinned on the fridge and the apron was on.

You opened a few cupboards before you figured out which one had the steel bowls in it, but now all you could do was stare at them grumpily.

You remember specifically asking Andrew not to put them on the top shelf, but there they were - on the top shelf, which you couldn’t even hope to reach without some sort of step ladder or maybe climbing on the countertop.

“Andy!” You called loudly, hoping that the man will hear you without you having to move.

After a muffled ‘Yes!’ back and some shuffling, Andrew walked out of the room designated as the home studio. He was wearing his glasses, his hair a mess, hinting that he’d been running his hands through it a bit more than usual. He was wearing a pair of black jeans and a plain white t-shirt, nothing you haven’t seen before, but you couldn’t help but have your eyes linger on him a bit longer.

“What’s wrong, darling?” He asked, his eyes warily taking in your frown.

You pointed to the unreachable metal bowls wordlessly, making Andrew release a short breathy laugh.

He walked to you, leaning to press a quick kiss to the corner of your lips, instigating a storm of butterflies, before he reached to get the stack of bowls from the cupboard. He didn’t even have to tiptoe as he grabbed them.

“We shouldn’t keep them on the top shelf,” you grumbled, not nearly as upset as you were a moment ago, as you watched him carefully take them down for you.

“Oh, why?” He asked, as he placed the bowls next to the pack of flour.

“Because I can’t reach them if we do!” You explained.

“Yes, but then when would you call on me to help you?” Andrew asked, turning towards you and smirking playfully.

“Was that your plan all along?” You asked in mock shock, nudging his chest.

He took a step towards you, making you take a step back, bumping into the kitchen island behind you.

“No, but maybe it should be from now on.”

He was leaning in closer and closer, his eyes roaming your face, but stopping on your lips more often than not. Your attention was also on him and your heart was having some trouble pumping at a regular speed.

Andrew licked his lips and you sighed, tiptoeing just as he leaned in a bit more and your lips met softly.

It started as a gentle kiss, warm presses and gentle movements, but then Andrew took your face in his hands and your fingers dug into his back and then he was licking into your mouth as you pushed yourself impossibly closer to him.

“Andy,” you mumbled, pulling yourself away from his lips momentarily, before glancing at his flushed cheeks and red lips making you press yourself back into him again. “I should be baking,” you grumbled quietly as his hands made their way to your shoulders, slowly dragging down your back and around your waist.

“And I should be setting up the studio,” he said against your lips as he slid one hand down your thigh, grabbing it, while his other arm wrapped around your waist tightly. He lifted you on the counter, your legs spreading to make room for him.

Your hands were roaming his back, then his shoulders, his chest and made their up his neck, relishing the softness of the skin there, until they finally reached his hair, tugging softly at it.

Andrew moaned lightly against your lips, making you smile and press into him more, your nose bumping into his glasses, still perched on his nose. Your legs squeezed around his hips and you could suddenly feel his hardness straining across his trousers and your hands slid back down across his torso to relieve him of the pressure.

Andrew moved his hips back slightly, just enough to give you room to unbutton and push down the offending fabric while he tugged uselessly at your shorts.

The moment your hand wrapped around his length, Andrew groaned loudly, head falling back. You bit your lip and watched his eyes close and eyebrows scrunch as you started moving.

Andrew was panting lightly, fingers digging into your ass as you shamelessly swayed your hips, rubbing yourself on his other hand that had made its way between your legs.

Andrew leaned back towards you, his open lips finding their way to yours in a slick kiss that was quickly leaving you breathless and wanting more.

“We’re supposed to be making food here,” you mumbled as a loud gasp left your lips, Andrew’s fingers unrelenting, his hips jerking into your hand.

“It’s our own place, we can do whatever the fuck we want, darling.” He replied, his voice hoarse as he suddenly stopped his movements and pulled your hand away from him. You whined, but he only nipped at your lips and flipped your apron up, his fingers grabbing the elastic of your shorts and underwear from both sides and pulling down.

You leaned back on your hands and lifted your hips from side to side to aid the process. Andrew grinned at you mischievously as you folded up your knees so he could pull off your bottoms completely.

You couldn’t believe you were sitting half naked on your kitchen island, but the sight of your, also half naked boyfriend in front of you managed to keep your mind off it.

He was back to kissing you in no time. Despite the desire flooding through both of you, the kiss was gentle, slow and loving, the warmth of his lips on yours, the swipe of his tongue on the delicate skin, all coming together to cause a whirlwind in your chest. You wrapped an arm around his neck, his whole body arching over you as you felt him slowly slip into you.

Your mouth opened silently, as he pushed further in, stretching and filling you in your favorite way.

Andrew’s movements were careful, shallow thrusts that met your hips softly, and yet he was still panting against your lips like he’d been running a marathon.

You hugged him closer to you, your lips slipping from his as you pressed your nose in his cheek.

Your boyfriend groaned, wrapping his arms around you tightly, as his movements became more erratic and strong, his warm breath tickling your ear pleasantly.

The sudden change of pace made your toes curl as the familiar pressure, you were building up towards, was released and you moaned quietly against his jaw. Your breath stuttered and your hips trembled as you hugged him tightly.

Andrew gasped, his hips moving, thrusting irregularly before suddenly stilling, his arms pressing you firmly to his chest, his face now buried in your neck,

You stayed like that for a few moments, catching your breath. When you both finally moved to look up, you were greeted by a delightful sight.

Andrew’s forehead was covered in perspiration, a few strands of his chaotic hair plastered to his face, eyes bright and his mouth open slightly as his glasses stood askew on the bridge of his nose.

His eyes met yours and he immediately gave you a lopsided smile, bumping his nose into yours and leaning in for a melting kiss, as if he didn’t just messily fuck you on the kitchen counter with half your clothes and an apron still on.

“We still have to move the bowls from the top shelf, Andy.” You said against his lips.

He snorted, but didn’t stop his kisses.

“If this will happen every time I come over to help, I’ll have to seriously think about it.” He mumbled in your kiss.

You giggled, pinching his shoulder playfully. Maybe you’d let those bowls stay where they are.

Fiancé

You leaned your head on the cold glass as you sighed tiredly. You watched the streetlights pass you quickly, almost making you dizzy.

The warm hand in yours gave you a little squeeze.

“Are you okay, darling?”

You turned to your side, looking at Andrew, who had his eyes trained on the road in front of him. He always looked so handsome when driving, you were supposed to be used to it, but you still liked to ogle nevertheless.

“Yeah, just a bit tired,” you admitted, your thumb making circles behind his own reassuringly.

“Those dinners are long, I know.” He mumbled, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel.

“It would help if my mom was a bit nicer, sometimes I think she hates me” you replied, slight bitterness in your tone. You couldn’t help it.

Andrew bit his lip, tilting his head to the side. If he wasn’t driving you were sure he’d scrunch his eyes closed. A sign that he’s frustrated.

“She doesn’t hate you,” he replied, the grip on your hand tightening. “She’s just mad she didn’t get her way, unlike usual.” He said, sighing. “I hate that she makes you feel like this, this was meant to be a celebratory family dinner for the engagement. For us.” He grumbled, suddenly pulling your hand towards him, making you sit up properly, pressing a kiss on the back of your palm.

You felt your lips tug into a small smile.

“Well, she has to learn to live with that, I still don’t understand why she invited him.” you said, tone still coming off bitter.

“I mean, he’s her friend’s son, I guess she was expecting for something to come out of it, she didn’t expect me in the picture” Andrew said, nodding and moving your joined hands to the middle so he could change gears as you came to a traffic light.

“Does it bother you?” You asked timidly, curiosity taking over.

“What?” Andrew asked distractedly as he took the exit to your neighborhood.

“Does it bother you that she brings another man to dinner, expecting for me to change my mind over you?” You asked again.

You reached another traffic light and the car came to a halt again, giving Andrew the opportunity to look you dead in the eye.

“No.”

You tilted your head questioningly.

“Why? I mean, it bothers me.” You said, curiosity nagging you.

The light turned green and the car jerked into movement again, Andrew’s eyes no longer on you, but on the road.

“It just doesn’t,” he began. “If there’s something I’m sure about, it’s this, it’s us” He said, making your heart flutter in your chest. “And I know you are too. I mean, that’s why you said yes. I don’t have to worry about that”

Andrew stole a quick glance at you, his eyes dark and sincere, one corner of his lips turned up in a soft smile.

You were smiling back goofily at him, eyes prickling.

“Cocky, aren’t you,” you laughed, fingers tightening around his.

“And what’s wrong with that?” He gave your hand another kiss.

By the time you were stumbling back in your flat you were already smiley and happy again. Andrew’s arm was around your waist and he’d lift you off the ground every other step just to see you burst into giggles and cling to him for balance.

When you kicked off yours shoes, Andrew grabbed your hand immediately and made you twirl before he hugged you around your middle, leaning in for a kiss.

You pulled apart, foreheads still bumping together. Andrew was smiling down at you so brightly, you couldn’t help but grin back at him like mad. He made you twirl again and held you around your waist with his other arm, tipping you backwards and making you laugh even louder than before.

When the laughter calmed down however, the tiredness settled in and you suddenly yawned, making Andrew giggle again.

“Let’s get you to bed, darling.” He mumbled, pecking your lips once more.

When you finally slid into bed after your shower, Andrew was already waiting for you, arms open for you to snuggle into him, which you did without hesitation.

You were dozing off the moment your head was on his chest, but before you could fall into a peaceful sleep, Andrew hugged you to him and pulled you on top of him. It was a new habit he had acquired recently and it never failed to make you snort.

“I like having the weight of you on me,” he suddenly mumbled. His hand finding yours in the dark, cradling it in his much bigger one. “It’s comforting and it helps me fall asleep.”

You nodded, rolling your face slightly so you could kiss his chest, right on top of his heart.

“It lets me listen to your heart when I fall asleep,” you murmured shyly. “I like it too.”

Andrew chuckled lightly, his fingers playing with the ring on your finger. Something you had both picked up as a new habit over the past few weeks. As if you both liked to remind each other that it’s there.

Husband

You groaned tiredly, flipping yourself on your back and stretching yourself as you came to awareness. You knew you had overslept just by looking at how much light there was in the room. You sat up suddenly, your memory catching up to you.

Andrew was supposed to be back this morning.

You glanced around you and there was no sign of him in bed, but you could hear the distinct sound of the coffee machine in the kitchen.

You quickly hopped off the bed and went through your morning bathroom routine, only focusing on essentials before you were padding to the kitchen excitedly.

You poked your head around the door and, sure enough, Andrew was sitting at the kitchen table, a small cup of coffee next to the book he was focusing on. Sunshine was peeking through the window, casting rays of light on him and making him look like was glowing. Andrew didn’t seem like he had noticed you yet as he pushed his glasses up his nose, flipping a page with his other hand.

To your surprise, he was wearing only a t-shirt and a baggy pair of boxers. You realized he must’ve wanted to change from his travelling clothes into something comfortable, but didn’t want to come in your room in case he woke you up. You bit your lip, thinking of how sweet can one person be.

“Are you going to continue pining over me from behind the door or are you actually going to come in and give me a ‘welcome home’ kiss?” Andrew suddenly spoke, making you jump.

He looked up at you, eyes bright and warm. You immediately felt yourself flush a little bit and, god, you couldn’t believe he could still make you heat up just like that.

You rolled your eyes playfully, but quickly walked forward. He extended a hand towards you and you eagerly took it, allowing him to pull you sideways into his lap.

Andrew smiled at you lovingly as he cradled you in his arms, swaying side to side, his fingers tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before he caressed your cheek with his hand and leaned in to kiss you. You hummed in content as you returned the pressure against his lips, your hands finding their way to the back of his neck.

“I missed you,” you whispered against his lips.

Andrew nodded, refusing to let go of you just yet.

“I missed you more,” he said, pulling away just enough for you two be able to breathe.

“How’s the tour?” You asked, snuggling in the crook of his neck, pressing kisses to his collarbone.

“Busy, incredibly tiring, but fun, nonetheless.” He said, caressing the exposed skin of your thigh delicately. “Have you thought about joining me for the European leg of the tour?”

“I have, I still have to settle a few things at work, but it’s basically a done deal” you said with a smile while tracing circles on his chest with your finger.

“I can’t wait for you to join us, I miss you too much when I’m away.” he said, emphasizing the last part and pulling away slightly just so he could look at you and wiggle his eyebrows. “I have to tell Caroline about a bus just for ourselves”

“Shut up,” you giggled, burying your face in his neck to which he retaliated by squishing his cheek in your forehead.

You continued to have a little game of who can squish the other more, laughing uncontrollably, until you fell back into a quiet, comfortable hug.

“Is this my shirt?” Andrew asked, pulling on the hem of the garment you were wearing.

You looked up at him sheepishly, nodding.

“I really missed you,” you admitted.

Andrew suddenly looked absolutely defeated, the corners of his mouth lifting adorably. He shook his head, before leaning in and kissing you again.

The kiss was just as soft as before, until you swiped your tongue across his lip making him groan lowly, his chest rumbling under your fingertips.

Andrew was still supporting your back with one arm while the other was caressing up your thighs, pushing the shirt up as his hand made its way underneath it.

You whimpered when he touched the peak of your naked breast and then let out a full moan when he moved to the other one, pinching lightly. You could feel Andrew smiling in your kiss and you tugged at his hair teasingly as you felt him harden under you, the flimsy material of his underwear hiding nothing.

The gentle touches and prodding swipes of his tongue continued until you were almost rubbing your thighs together in an attempt to relieve some of the tension that had built between your legs.

However, when Andrew opened up the first few buttons of the shirt and broke your kiss just to lean in to lick at your breasts was when you almost lost it. A staggered whimper broke out of you as you arched into him, your fingers digging into his shoulders and neck in a way that was sure to leave marks if you weren’t careful.

He was smirking when he pulled away, lips red and wet, and that’s when you decided you’d have to get him back.

You moved to stand up and with a little helpful push from his side you were on your feet and pulling your panties down.

You tugged on his boxers and he got the hint, lifting himself a bit and pulling them down just enough to release himself.

You bit your lip, looking at him tall and pink, anticipation building up in you. You glanced at Andrew’s face, who was waiting patiently for your next movement, lips tugged in the corners.

You reached out to him, carefully removing his glasses and placing them on the table, neatly folded. Andrew blinked a few times as he watched you throw your leg over his thighs, his hands immediately finding their place at your hips. You held onto his shoulders, keeping your balance as you dragged yourself along his length carefully. Your slickness making him open his mouth as he breathed heavily, eyes not leaving yours, the intimacy almost overwhelming.

“Darling, please,” he whined, making your heart rate pick up even more. The back and forth continued for a few long moments at the end of which Andrew was panting almost audibly and you finally cracked, allowing yourself to slowly sink onto him.

You made it excruciatingly slow, dragged out shallow thrusts that made his fingers dig into your skin and your head roll to the side. By the time he had you filled to the hilt, your thighs were almost quivering from the pressure and Andrew already looked absolutely spent, eyes half lidded and mouth open.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and started moving your hips lazily, lifting them only from time to time just so you could snap them back down and cause Andrew to groan loudly. You leaned in to kiss his lips, a messy wet kind of kiss that made him jerk his hips in you, but you bit on his bottom lip and he surrendered back to your control.

You started increasing the pace of your movements and Andrew’s eyebrows furrowed, trying to exercise some restraint. You didn’t stop however and he was quickly and obviously losing himself.

“Shit,” he mumbled, making you moan in response as the erratic movements of your hips were pushing you to your own limits.

“Fuck, darling,” he moaned. “Slow-stop - I’m gonna-,” he whimpered and suddenly curled into you, burying his face in your neck and hugging you closer. He went rigid against you as you moaned loudly pulling him into your chest, your thighs and hips trembling against his own.

It took a while before you could both stop panting and were calm enough to pull away so you could take a look at each other.

Andrew looked like an absolute mess and you reveled in it. His hair was sticking up in all directions, eyes half open and lips red and swollen. A drop of sweat was making its way down his temple as he blinked rapidly as if trying to get his focus back.

“Wow,” he mumbled, making you giggle as you pushed back his messy hair.

“Yeah,” you sighed back happily, leaning in to kiss him gently after which you rested your head in the crook of his neck.

Andrew pushed his fingers through your hair, gently playing with it as he steadied his breathing.

You were starting to feel a little bit cold soon and you moved to get up, but your legs gave out immediately, making Andrew snort and groan as he slipped out of you.

“My legs feel like jelly,” you mumbled grumpily.

“So do mine,” he said tiredly, yawning in your cheek. “I’d offer to carry you to bed, but I don’t think I can move yet.”

“Let’s rest for a bit,” you agreed, kissing his neck as he wrapped his arms around you to warm you up.

A few shivers later Andrew decided you should definitely move. It was a team effort, but you both eventually made it to bed with fresh sleeping clothes on.

He had his head on your chest and you were nuzzling your cheek on his forehead when his phone buzzed from the night stand and he moved to get it. He read the text he had received, blinking owlishly at it.

“I was supposed to go to the studio with Alex today,” Andrew suddenly said, yawning immediately afterwards. “I forgot.”

“You still can, we can just power nap.” You said, opening your arms wide for him to snuggle back into you.

“Too tired,” he mumbled, chucking the phone to the side. “I’d rather stay with you.”

“At least let him know, so he won’t drive to the studio” you nagged, poking his cheek lightly as he wrapped his arms around your waist before burying his nose in your chest.

“Can I say that my wife fucked me into oblivion and that’s why I won’t be able to go?”

“Andrew!” You whined, pinching his side, only for him to burst into laughter before he swooped in to appease you by covering your face in kisses until you yourself were giggling uncontrollably.

This was Love

If you enjoy this, please free to like and reblog. Comments are greatly appreciated as well ♡

[comehereoohlala]

Boys workin' on empty

Summary: Andrew has worked with his hands so they're rough, but he is always gentle with you.

Rating: General Audiences

Tags: fluff

Word Count: 610

Author's Note: Little drabble about manual labourer Andrew inspired by a conversation with Phoebe @man-i-love-fanfiction betaed by the wonderful Daisy @comehereoohlala

Requests are open if you're so inclined!

AO3 link / fic under the cut

Andrew's hands are rough, a side effect of being a labourer all his adult life. So his hands are rough, but always so gentle with you. He gets home from work, tired and filthy, and heads straight for the shower, grabbing you to come and join him on the way. He spends a few minutes just holding you beneath the flow of the water, letting the stresses wash away and breathing in the feeling of you in his arms.

Eventually, he pulls back, grabs the shampoo and gently works it through your hair. He teases out the tangles before rinsing out the suds and following up with conditioner. His touch is feather-light, barely there as he combs his fingers through to the ends.

You wait beneath the stream of water, hugging him from behind as he takes care of his own hair. When he emerges, he smells of you. Your shampoo, your shower gel and it tugs at your heartstrings that all he wants after the day away from you is to surround himself with you in every possible way. He gets out first, slings a towel around his waist and gets you one, wrapping you up in it as soon as you step into the cold air. His motions are methodical and practised, drying your skin without irritating it.

You've made a soup for dinner, warm and hearty and comforting. Roasted red pepper and spiced butternut squash, full of the flavours of autumn. There's fresh bread to go with it. Andrew can't cook for shit, doesn't pay attention to ingredients and flavour profiles, but his bread is better than any you've ever tasted. Watching his large, calloused hands knead the dough, so firm and sure, is a treat you savour as much as the end product itself.

You eat together at the table, legs pressed up against each other. You don't talk much, both exhausted from work, occasionally humming along to the jazz emanating from the record player in the corner of the room. When you've mopped up the last of the soup with the crusty bread, he takes the plates to the sink. He always insists on washing up because"you did all the cooking love, it's my turn to help."

He tells you you don't need to help dry, that you've done plenty for the day, to put your feet up and rest. Of course, you do anyway, relishing in the opportunity to be close to him, to plant a kiss on his cheek as you take each dish from him. It draws a shy smile and a small chuckle from him, always bashful under your attention.

When you're finished, he sweeps you up into a hug that is so sweet and tender you feel like your heart might burst. Almost before you notice it, he's lifting you off your feet and carrying you up to bed, hands gripping your thighs tight, the coarse texture of his skin on yours enough to soothe your frayed nerves.

As you brush your teeth together, he leans his head on yours and looks at you in the mirror, eyes so full of adoration and love that you almost can't bear it. You reach your bed and he goes to fetch a glass of water for your nightstand, knowing you get thirsty in the night. He kisses your forehead before crossing to his side of the bed. He opens his arms and you crawl into them without hesitation, head on his chest as he buries his face in your hair. You fall asleep quickly, safe and loved, rough hands gently tracing "I love you" onto your skin.

[comehereoohlala]

That came natural as a dream you didn't know that you were in

Summary: Cramps are bad. Andrew is not.

Rating: General Audiences

Tags: fluff, periods, comfort

Word Count: 407

Author's Note: Little drabble about periods written for the lovely Phoebe @man-i-love-fanfiction and betaed by the wonderful Daisy @comehereoohlala

Requests are open if you're so inclined!

AO3 link / fic under the cut

Your cramps have been fairly relentless for the last few hours, waking you from your sleep and leaving you curled in the foetal position as your body shakes with heaving sobs. You don’t have the energy to go and get painkillers or a hot water bottle, so you’re just staying as still as you possibly can in the hope that it’ll fade on its own.

“Love?” Andy’s speech is slurred with sleep as he peers at you through bleary eyes. When he takes in your tear-stained cheeks, awareness slams into him and he’s straight by your side. He curls his body around yours, careful not to jostle you. Strong hands massage the sore muscles he can reach as he kisses the side of your face so sweetly and tenderly.

“Can I get you a hot water bottle baby? Maybe some chocolate too?”

The tears really start coming now, at the relief and gratitude of being so known, so well taken care of, so loved.

It takes you a few tries to get speech out through your gulping sobs, but you manage it eventually.

“Y-yes please, and- fuck – some painkillers too please.”

His eyebrows shoot up as he realises you’re bearing this pain with no relief at all and he feels awful to know you’ve been struggling while he was asleep. He gives you a soft squeeze and kisses you on the forehead before getting up.

“Of course, love, I’ll be right back. Just hang in there for me for a couple more minutes, yeah?”

You nod, tears slowing now that you know help is on the way. He’s back in a few minutes, panting a little, and a smile tugs at your lips at his haste. He uncaps the bottle of water for you and puts a couple of painkillers in your hand, your smile widening at the small ways he’s making things easier for you. As promised, he holds the hot water bottle against your abdomen with one hand and starts unwrapping chocolate for you with the other. You feel so, so lucky, the pain beginning to leech out of you through the combination of drugs and heat, the anxiety following at the sensation of his body against yours, chocolate sweet on your tongue.

He holds you until the pain ebbs and beyond, wanting nothing more than to absorb your pain. You fall asleep like that, still curled up, his body surrounding yours, keeping you safe.

[comehereoohlala]

hi, i'm daisy (she/her) & welcome to my sideblog for my hozier writing 🪶🌼

everything here is very self-indulgent and i mostly just write for myself; but requests are open!! <3

🍯💐 masterlist

let me see you [ 18+, it's a scorching summers day in new york, your boyfriend (a man notorious for hating parties) is insisting you attend a pool party with him. it's only your worst nightmare. ]

vocal rest [ 16+, in sickness and in health. ]

vastness [ 16+, you and andrew are briefly long distance for the first part of his tour. the distance is proving to be more difficult than anticipated for the both of you. ]

whatever here that's left of me is yours [ 18+, life gets too much sometimes. ]

(all my writing is under the tag #daisy writes)

[comehereoohlala]

To Share The Space With Simple Living Things - Hozier x fem!reader

Chapter 7: Daisies - Loyal Love

Summary: After a night of some internal turmoil, Andrew seeks out some advice of his own.

Word Count: 2800

Author's Note: WE ARE SO BACK!!!! guys i can't believe it's been *checks watch* 5 months since i posted about these blorbos. lets just say yeah. ao3 curse is real. anyways we are back in the groove and i cannot WAIT for yall to read what's in the future. as always, i hope you enjoy 🖤

tag list: @celery-grace @gayandfairycore @deathmybride @harry-bowie-mercury @hodgepodge-musings @blue-eyed-bug @secretttytttttttttt @dinner-n-dxatribes @wub-wub-wub-wub-wub @padfootblackswh0r3 @axel-the-boy-witch @notmanagingmymischief

you know the deal, fic below the cut :)

He swore that writing songs wasn't this addictive in college. Though in reality, Andrew couldn't swear anything about that time. His college years were a blur — as most times spent around friends and less-than-legal substances are. But he was sure that if he had remembered, there would’ve been an inkling in his mind, a voice that warned him of its compelling nature: This is a rabbit hole you can't come back from. This one hobby will be more addicting than any substance you've ever taken. Put the pen down.

He would, occasionally, write about previous heartbreaks or even previous heartbreaking, but those were merely a verse or two, maybe a chorus if the subject was especially emotional for him. An exception and not the rule.

This was opposed to you, the one person who had pages upon pages dedicated to you. Since he had started writing again a few months ago, Andrew had filled up around three-quarters of the journal, and there were pages that were flooded with his ideas, with the words that spawned when he thought about you. The worst (really, most enticing) part was how naturally it came to him. It wasn't uncommon for a line to come to him in the middle of sketching a design for a client, or even worse, in the middle of tattooing a client. He’d often be stuck repeating the phrases over and over again until he could get his hands on a pen and paper. Once he did, he would cling to writing like a drug. If only he had a little voice in his head he could've listened to.

As he turned over the memory of the rest of the day in his head, his thoughts lingered on his every action. He prayed you hadn't noticed the ink on the side of his hand, seeping into his palm. The same palm that had smudged a fantastic lyric earlier on that day, and the same hand that had jotted down an idea right before he left to visit you. The same hand that wrote about longing to hold yours. And the same hand he would sooner cut off before telling you any of that information.

He happened to be particularly proud of a few lines, though they were few and far between. He had grown attached to one line, one that he would hopefully develop into one song. It was hastily scribbled on a random page, in handwriting messier than usual:

All the fear and the fire of the end of the world, happens each time a boy falls in love with a girl.

When he revisited his notebook that very night, this line seemed to capture him in a trance. He could feel a narrative surrounding it. There was a story screaming at him, inspired by the end of the world. The perseverance of love despite everything and anything that could go wrong.

The words poured out of him, spilling onto the paper and flooding his notebook. He had never written so quickly in his life. Some of his words would be unintelligible, he was sure, but he didn't care; no one else was going to read this, so he could be as messy as he needed.

In his fervor, he was able to knock out an entire song. It meant he stayed up until midnight to do so, but sacrifices must be made for the sake of art. He sat and stared at the words on the page and felt a strange sensation of… discontent. There was something missing. Just words couldn't do the topic justice. He needed something he had been dreading since he started writing. He needed a melody.

He knew just where his guitar was hiding: in the back of his closet, following his “out of sight, out of mind” mentality for the other artistic things he indulged in. Quickly, he stood up and went to his room, opening his closet door. It took a bit of digging, but there it was, nestled behind sweaters and jackets on hangers: his guitar.

He picked the acoustic guitar up, sparing it from leaning against the wall, stuffed away in the back of his closet. He was not as strong a man as he thought. At least, he was not as resistant to temptation as he thought.

Considering the fact that he never thought it would see the light of day again, his guitar was in good shape. This was the only circumstance it would be considered in good shape. Out of tune, banged up, and an actual spiderweb built in between the neck of the guitar and and the wall. One more wake-up call for Andrew: clean his closet.

He had to tune it by ear, since it was collecting dust for the better half of a decade, only used if someone pressed him about it. The days of his fingertips becoming calloused by pressing on the strings and strumming were far behind him. He knew they'd soon be approaching him, as well.

Once everything was all tuned and ready, he set up his phone to record. He started this adventure plucking at strings, placing fingers on random combinations of strings and frets until something stuck. If something sounded right, he kept it. Although it was brief, the melody he had created turned out… good. Satisfactory, at least. It was soft, temptingly so. It deserved lyrics just as gentle — the lyrics he had written in a rush before came to mind. Now, when he wrote, they were songs, lyrics meant to be matched to melodies. It was definitely something he needed to get used to.

He couldn't put the feeling he had into words. When he tried, the only words he could conjure up in his mind were negative. It pained him to think this way, but he couldn't resist it. He was cheating on his passion, his love, the very art form he had chosen to make a living with. But God, did writing feel good.

He needed to get it off his chest. Everything. His internal battle of the arts, his feelings for you, his constantly frazzled train of thought. In his time of need, there was only one person he could think of turning to.

He snatched up his keys and left the flat, taking the elevator down. He could even feel a growing appreciation for whoever had to compose elevator music. What was happening to him? He stepped out of the elevator and briskly walked to the parking lot. When the cold night air hit his lungs, he exhaled, breath visible in front of him. Thank goodness he got to his car quickly, soon warming up as he sat in the driver's seat.

Andrew twisted his key, turning on the ignition, and began to drive.

He lightly knocked a few times, letting his knuckles hit the door — it was too late to ring the doorbell. Though he knew it was unlikely he'd be turned away, it was a matter of courtesy.

He waited a moment, one that might have lasted a bit too long, before rhythmically tapping his knuckles against the door again. This time, he heard shuffling behind the door, and immediately adjusted his gaze, lowering it so that when the door opened, he would make eye contact with the woman on the other side. He had gotten pretty used to it considering he'd done it for most of his life.

“Hey, mum.”

The beam of sunshine that was his mother's face looked back at him, a gentle smile on her face.

“Andy! It's great to see you, but goodness, it's late. Is something the matter?”

He pursed his lips in thought, trying to chose what words to say to explain his situation.

“I don't think so? Nothing’s the matter, in particular. I just… I wanted to talk to you. Needed your opinion on something.”

“That's what I’m here for. Come in.”

Andrew entered slowly, lowering his hood and taking off his shoes by the door. He would be there a while, he knew it. Might as well get comfortable. He looked around quickly, taking in the state of the house before something caught his eye: a new bouquet, in the same vase and placed on the same windowsill as the bouquet that led you two to meet. He took a few steps closer, leaning in to properly admire them.

“Beautiful, aren't they?”

“Yeah. They're gorgeous… ehm…” He trailed off, blanking on the name. Raine picked up where he left off.

“Daisies. I got them from a florist a few days ago.” At the mention of a florist, Andrew's eyes widened with fear, which was quickly shut down. “Don't worry, I didn't get them from your little girlfriend or anything, just another place while I was out of town.”

He let out a sigh of relief upon hearing she hadn't visited you, though the label she had used for you was less than ideal. He took a step towards her.

“Mum, she's not my girlfriend. You know that, right?” he corrected her.

“I’m well aware that she's not your girlfriend. Yet.”

“Mum, please!” He rolled his eyes. It felt so juvenile, being with his mother and dismissing discussion of a crush. When he was in love, he really was no better than a teenager. Raine began to walk to the kitchen, where they both sat down on opposite sides of the kitchen table. As if she knew he was coming, there was a batch of chocolate chip cookies in the middle. He couldn't bring himself to eat in this state, but the gesture was nice.

“Andrew. I don’t like to think about it much, but you are a grown man. You should know at this point that denial will do you no good.”

“What do I have to be in denial about?”

“You know. This girl, you like her. You call me every day to talk, and all our conversations circle back to her. I’m not sure how much longer you can pretend.”

Another sigh escaped Andrew, though now it was more of annoyance rather than relief. He began to explain himself, the words flowing out once he started to speak.

“Alright. Fine. I like her. Is that what you wanted to hear? That I’ve only known the woman for a few months, and she already has this grip on me, this incomprehensible hold on my heart? That I can’t stop thinking about her, can't stop creating for her? That she's made me so… so crazy that I started writing songs again, just about her? Is that what you wanted, mum?” Andrew rambled, nearly ranted. His frustration was not truly aimed at his mother, but rather his own fear. He felt like this and was too scared to admit it. He had never even said it aloud. Well, not before that moment, at least.

His confession lingered in the air, creating a new atmosphere. Raine had opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Andrew had successfully rendered his mother speechless. His gaze went down to her fingers, now drumming against the table in thought. When she finally found the words, she spoke in a lower tone.

“You’ve really started writing again?”

Andrew nodded with a face of defeat.

“Every. Damn. Day. Couldn't stop if I tried. And I’ve tried.”

Her fingers continued to tap, a sign she was deeper in thought than Andrew expected. They sat in silence, a nervous expression on Andrew’s face and a concentrated one on his mother's. He finally piped up.

“So… what's the diagnosis, doc? Is it fatal?”

“Andrew. You are in love, my dear. There's not much I can do about that.”

He sighed, knowing his mother’s words were the harsh truth. He knew those words I Love You were lingering somewhere in the back of his throat. It was a matter of if he would say them or choke on them first.

“I’m frightened, Mum. I don't know how you can be scared of love, but I think I am. Scared to be open again, I suppose.”

The woman opposite him nodded, like she had felt the same emotion decades before he had.

“I know the feeling. I know it all too well. To love someone is to make a choice: you either open up, you let your skin get soft, and you end up getting hurt, or you close them off. Keep yourself protected. Take the risk of never taking a risk.”

“Or? There has to be one more ‘or’,” he replied. If those were his only two options, he wasn't happy with either.

“Or… you let someone in and it works. You think your father charmed me the first time we met? It took years of my showing up to his gigs until I realized I was willing to knock down my walls and let him in.”

“And wasn't that hard? To let him in without knowing what he'd do.”

“Of course. When your skin gets softer, it makes it easier to bruise, doesn't it? But, you don't always bruise. Sometimes it lets you feel comfortable.”

Andrew nodded pensively, turning over her words in his mind. Maybe letting you in, letting you under his newly soft skin, could be a good idea. He got up from his seat, becoming restless. Raine copied her son and did the same.

“I don't want to bruise.”

“Nobody does. That's a risk you have to be willing to take.”

He nodded once more, pursing his lips in thought.

“I think I’ll take the risk. I’ll do it scared, but I’ll do it.”

She broke into a smile, a toothy grin that practically radiated from her. There was a shine in her eye, a glassy look that indicated she might cry. She couldn't help it.

“I’m so proud of who you are,” Raine admitted, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “Come here, love.”

He leaned down, burying his face in the crook of her neck and latching on to her. If a stray tear ran down his cheek at the moment as well, neither of them minded. She patted the back of his head, the other hand rubbing up and down his bed. Andrew felt his tension dissolve, as if he could finally breathe again. When he finally pulled away — only done once he felt he was ready to let go— Raine left a kiss on his cheek. She looked up at him as he headed towards the door.

“Goodbye, my Andy. Best of luck.”

“Thanks, ma. I’ll need it.”

By the time Andrew had parked in the parking lot of his apartment complex, he'd tried about every method in the book to distract himself. Each and every thing he tried was to no avail. Turning on the radio made him think about writing songs, but sitting in silence gave him too much free time to sit with his thoughts. Caught in a catch 22 of his own creation, he couldn't feel his breathing return to normal until he turned his ignition off.

He sat in silence, running through the interaction with his mother again. There had been flowers in a vase when he entered; if he could remember, he could find out what they meant. It took a hot minute, but the name finally popped into his head. Daisies. What were daisies? Pulling up Google he hurriedly typed away, asking his search engine what the meaning was. His screen glowed back at him, and he scowled; the answer taunted him. Loyal love. God, the universe was laughing in his face at the moment.

Maybe it was a sign. He was taking more things as signs and not coincidences recently. Flowers on the street dictated how his day would go. A stray sighting of a crow was an omen. He was searching for meaning in the simplest of things. All because of what you’d unknowingly done to him.

All because he loved you.

The thought of those words strung together in one sentence gave him the chills. He loved you, yes, but could he summon the courage to admit it? Could be even form the words? Of course he could. He’d just written a whole song on the matter, hadn't he? The real question was if he could form the words in front of you. That question didn't need an answer just yet. But he was sure he’d get it soon.

[comehereoohlala]

Be still my indelible friend

Summary: You tease Andrew in the studio. He makes you pay for it.

Rating: Mature, 18+

Tags: dom andy, cockwarming, sub reader, penetration, explicit sexual content

Word Count: 1362

Author's Note: God this one took so long to finish. Betaed by @comehereoohlala and @man-i-love-fanfiction thank you I love you both

Requests are open if you're so inclined!

AO3 link / fic under the cut

You quite often spend time with Andrew in the studio. You aren't always paying attention to him, usually writing an essay or poem or highlighting another book to read for your thesis. But your presence is usually palpable, to him. Sometimes he curses the producers who feed suggestions to him when all he wants to do is open the door and grab you so that he can kiss you senseless.

On late nights, you often prove to be quite the distraction. Even if you, yourself, are absorbed in underlining sentences in articles, he is fixated on your presence, your fingers wrapped around your pen, how you worry the lid with your teeth as you read.

Most of the time, you really are just trying to work and keep him company as you do so. Tonight, though, seems to be an exception. You're wearing an outfit that shows more skin than usual, something he's now utterly convinced was intentional. He's noticed your tongue sneaking out of your mouth and wrapping itself around the pen, your fingers, whatever is nearby, in a manner that is positively sinful and certainly not a gesture of focus.

You're absentmindedly scanning the article, not really taking much in as you continue to lick and suck your finger. You jump when you feel his strong hands grip your hips and his body bracket yours. He leans down to whisper softly in your ear.

"Did you really think you could get away with teasing me like that and not get some kind of reaction?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"No?" He pauses, dipping his hands beneath your underwear before bringing them back up to show you the clear sign of your arousal dripping down his fingers. "Then why are you so fucking wet, love?" The way he licks your slick off his fingers almost has you coming undone right then and there.

"I- I- don't know."

"Hmm, I think you do. I think you know exactly what you've been doing to me." He pushes his fingers back into you again, drawing a sharp cry from you. His fingers move slowly, deliberately, reaching parts of you that only he can.

"Okay, okay m-maybe I was teasing you just a little bit."

"Just what I thought. Well, I think you need to be taught a lesson, don't you?" A sharp gasp escapes your lips as he gently brushes your clit with his thumb, his fingers not stopping their movements,

"Y-yes, Andy."

"I really do need to finish this bit before we can head home."

"Fuck, Andy, please"

"I think, maybe it's my turn to do some teasing, hmm?" He grabs your hand and leads you back to the booth, settling himself down in a chair. You look down at him in confusion, still clinging onto his hand.

"Strip, love." His voice is clear and commanding, and if you weren't already soaked, you're sure there would be a puddle at your feet at the words.

You remove your clothes slowly, a little nervous, but his clear look of lust and adoration banishes the anxiety as fast as it came. When your body is on full display for him, he runs his hands over you, unable to get enough of you. His hands stop momentarily to pinch at your nipples and you gasp in pleasure. When his hands finally still, he looks up at you and pulls you down for a sweet, gentle kiss. You can't help but nibble on his lip as you lean into him. He keeps kissing you for a moment longer before pulling his lips from yours.

"Now, I need to finish this, so you're going to sit on my lap and not move until I tell you to. Do I make myself clear?"

"Y-yes."

"And as much as I usually like to hear all those pretty noises coming from you, you're going to have to be quiet for me. Can you do that, sweetheart?"

"Yes, Andrew."

"Good."

He pulls you close to him and you prepare to straddle him, but he holds you back. It isn't until he frees his cock from its confines that you realise precisely what he has in mind. You swallow hard, knowing how hard you're going to find it to keep quiet with his length inside you. He moves his hands to your hips and indicates that you should get yourself into position. You're barely able to stop the hiss that threatens to escape your mouth as you sink down onto him.

"You look so pretty sitting on me like this, love."

You blush at the praise and hold on to him for dear life as he picks up his guitar and begins to play around you.

You clench around him almost involuntarily as he begins to sing, and he gives you a sharp look. You're on thin ice and you know it. Lord knows he's not above teasing you and keeping you denied if you don't follow his instructions. This might just be one of the hottest things that's ever happened to you.

About 5 minutes later, you're leaking down onto his jeans, rough against you and you can hear the cocky energy in his voice as he sings the sweet melody. You're almost dizzy with the need to move, to kiss him, to do something.

As he softly sings the words "I'm in love, I'm in love with you" your heart stutters, and you can feel yourself let out a small gasp of surprise, muffled into his shoulder. He tilts his head down to look at you and shoot you a warning look, but you can feel him tense his biceps in the closest approximation to a hug he can give you in this position.

As he continues singing oh-so-gently, his body is at odds with the sounds emerging from his mouth. He's tensing his thighs beneath you and rolling his hips slightly and you find yourself biting down on his shoulder to stop yourself from crying out. The effort of keeping still and quiet has rendered you hyper-sensitive, so that the smallest movement could have you losing control. He is absolutely going to have words to say about those bite marks later, so you press a few gentle kisses to his t-shirt by way of apology. He doesn't skip a beat, instead tensing both his cock and his biceps in tandem, telling you he loves you, but that this little game is nowhere near over yet.

He rolls his hips with such force you have to stifle a squeak as he has the nerve to softly croon at you to be still. You swear you can hear a smirk in his voice as he sings about how unbreakable you are, though quaking, the bastard. Your body is shaking above his, muscles straining from the exertion to keep perfectly still. You want so badly to be good for him, to earn your release, but you don't know how much longer you can manage, at least not while keeping quiet.

As he sings the final chorus, he renews the movement of his hips and you bite down so hard you think you might draw blood. You're barely holding back a whimper, eyes rolling back in pleasure as he fucks into you, his voice not betraying a hint of strain. His control is unbelievable and does nothing to tamp down the arousal engulfing you. As you try to keep yourself in check, he whispers a soft "That's it" in your ear, still recording. He turns off the recording just before you lose yourself in the sensation and moan right in his ear.

He puts down his guitar and kisses you hungrily, as if he was the one being denied pleasure. When you moan on top of him and your hands find their way beneath his shirt, he pulls back, pure need in his eyes. He licks his lips and you can see him fight to get his lust under control before lifting you off him as if you weigh nothing.

"Get dressed baby, we need to head home so I can hear you make all those pretty noises you've been holding in."

[comehereoohlala]

Just let me hold you

Summary: You're sick and your flatmate is out of town. Andrew comes to take care of you.

Rating: General Audiences

Tags: fluff

Word Count: 1298

Author's Note: Request for a sick fic from @cervidaewasteland No beta we die like the poor thing in the road.

Requests are open if you're so inclined!

AO3 link / fic under the cut

You and Andrew haven't been dating long. Not long enough for him to do this, really, but well - you're sick and your flatmate is out and you're alone in a new city. And he just really wants to see you. Between recording sessions and your work, he hasn't seen you since before you got sick. You texted him the code to the apartment building this morning and told him you'd leave the spare key under the neighbours' mat in case you were asleep when he came by.

He knocks, softly, not wanting to wake you if you've finally managed to fall asleep through the pain. He waits for a minute, knocks again, and when he doesn't hear anything he gets the spare key and opens the door. Christ, your flat is a mess. He knows he's no better, but every time he'd visited before it'd been- not spotless, but certainly messy with a system. This is just chaos, pure and simple. He picks his way through the haphazard piles, making a mental note to go through with a bin bag later and clean at least some of it while you sleep.

He gets into your room and his eyes rest on your sleeping form, lying on your stomach. He can't stop himself from huffing out a soft laugh. Your sleeping arrangements are, in a word, weird. You lie on your stomach, scooted almost entirely over to the left hand side of your king size bed, so far Andrew is wondering if he should scoop you up before you fall off. Your left knee is bent, on top of a pillow, while your right is fully extended. Your face is peaceful in sleep, resting on two perpendicular pillows, one arm wrapped tight around the vertical one, as well as a toy rabbit. Your other hand has a toy horse's leg in a death grip and an eye mask shades your sensitive eyes from the afternoon sun.

Andrew has stayed over before, of course, but you always clear the bed for other activities first, so he's never laid eyes on this little set up. You'd alluded to it a few times, telling him you were a determined and unforgiving cuddler, and he's spotted Thumper's ears in late night video calls poking out from beneath your chin. But the full sight is absolutely adorable and tugs at his heartstrings a little. Seeing you so comfortable, so still is a privilege he holds dear. He's touched that you allow him this glimpse into you at your most vulnerable, that he's earned your trust with that.

He pads back into the kitchen, making a cup of coffee for himself and a cup of herbal tea for you. He's not sure if the migraine has kicked back in yet or not, so he steers clear of anything strong smelling, but stirs in a spoonful of honey from his hives to soothe your raw throat. He carries both mugs to the bedroom and puts them both down on what's rapidly becoming his beside table, a spare notebook he's commandeered for lyrics and a book he's borrowed from you sitting atop it. He sits down on the bed as slowly and gently as he can, unwilling to disrupt your rest anymore than necessary, but knowing you'll want him close. He eases himself beneath the covers and you turn toward him, lifting the mask enough to let the light in. You blink and squint, and your face breaks into a radiant smile.

"Andy!" You croak out, trying to shuffle toward him.

"Hey love. How are you feeling?"

"Like someone threw me in a lake and then set me on fire. Not necessarily in that order."

"I mean, that would be the worse order, surely. Both practically and painwise."

"Sorry, are you criticising the logistics of my simile? I'm sick, Andy, leave me be. Not all of us are born writers, you know."

His face flushes at the praise and he opens his arms, pulling you into them as soon as you start moving towards him. You snuggle into his chest, inhaling the scent of him as best you can through your blocked nose. You might not feel physically better, but having him here is a tonic for your soul nonetheless.

"D'you want some tea? I wasn't sure if the migraine had fucked off yet or not, so I just went with chai, I hope that's okay."

You smile up at him, heart glowing that he knows you so well, that he listens and cares and remembers.

"That's perfect darling. Migraine is right behind my eye at the moment so you're right, aniseed would've fucked me up."

He passes you the mug as you sit up against him, small hands unsteady at first. He only releases the mug when you've got a firm grip on it. You take a sip as he grabs his own coffee and the warmth floods your system, soothing your throat and your jagged nerves. You press the hot mug to your eye, willing it to leech out some of the pain and pressure.

"How bad is it - just behind your eye? Or are we at jaw and teeth territory yet?"

"Eye and sinus at the moment, I took a paracetamol and that's done something at least. I'm at eight rescue meds this month already, so I can't risk taking another one today."

It means a lot to you that he remembers the precise stages of your migraine, how you know when one is bad or bearable, that you can tell him how many meds you've had and he knows how many you have left. And most importantly that he believes you. You say you're in pain, so he believes that you are. You say you can't do something, and he takes it at face value. Not having to fight to be believed has freed up so much mental space you honestly don't know how you used to cope. It's not been long, but from the beginning, when you had to cancel one of your very first dates because of the pain, he's been there, solid and warm and caring. You were due to go out for dinner and a movie when you called him to cancel, stomach rolling with the guilt of it. You were at about a six out of ten, you could probably push through, but you'd be rotten company and you'd pay for it dearly when you woke.

He'd been to pick you up at your apartment before, and you'd talked about the foods you gravitated towards when you were sick when you were deciding where to go for dinner. But it was honestly a surprise when he turned up at your front door, managing to catch your roommate on the way out to let him into the building. He'd brought all the foods that you could stomach when you were like this, all fresh and appealing even beneath the nausea. He had offered to go, to leave you to lie in bed and recover on your own, but you wanted nothing more than to be held by him. So he stayed, held you as you slept, made a mini picnic when you woke and kissed you gently. After that day, you were completely gone for him.

He takes the hot mug from your hand and turns you so that your eye presses into his shoulder. You breathe a sigh of relief as the pressure of it shifts the pain into a more manageable sensation. Still unpleasant, but nothing you can't handle. He rubs soft circles up your back as your breathing evens out and slows down. As you drift off back to sleep, he grabs the book off the bedside table, content just to hold you as he reads.

[comehereoohlala]

Your hand in my pocket, to keep us both warm

Summary: Andrew gets cold at a party. You lend him your hoodie.

Rating: 16+

Tags: fluff, implied sexual content

Word Count: 476

Author's Note: Did I have a concept and then write a thing about it instead of doing the many many WIPs I have in the works? Yes. As always, thanks to @man-i-love-fanfiction for betaing

Requests are open if you're so inclined!

AO3 link / fic under the cut

Andrew isn't used to being taken care of. Well, that isn't exactly fair. Plenty of girlfriends have taken care of him, but there's definitely some residual bullshit about chivalry that tugs him into the protector role.

It's a cool night at a party, the two of you standing outside with drinks in your hands, chatting and taking in the night air. Andy is shivering, cold despite his many layers, and before he can stop you, you've taken off your hoodie and offered it to him. It doesn't happen often, he's too tall and too gangly to fit in anyone else's clothes but you live in oversized sweaters and giant hoodies, so when he tugs it on at your insistence, it wraps him up like a warm hug.

He worries that you'll be too cold now, as you both sit down on a bench, and he says as much.

"Keep me warm then." You say it simply, innocently enough, but with an undercurrent of something.

He wraps his arms tight around you, and you cuddle into his side. This is just friendly behaviour, right? He's terrified to read too much into it, to get too attached just because of a kind gesture.

"You okay?" He asks, gentle and kind and full of concern.

"I'm fine, I'm not made of glass! I don't get as cold as you do." Your argument would be more convincing if your teeth weren't chattering as you made it.

"You might not get as cold as I do, but you still get cold. Tell me where so I can keep you warm properly, yeah? I don't wanna wrap my arms around your elbow and it's actually your fingers that are freezing."

His breath hitched as you pointed to your lips, and he hesitated for a moment, licking his own before reaching in and kissing you gently. It was soft and sweet and when you parted, you were both smiling.

"Where else?" When he spoke, it was barely above a whisper, but there was so much want in his voice it took your own breath away. You pointed, and within seconds strong hands were lifting you into his lap, the heat pooling in your core as you sat on him. When you kissed this time, it was nothing gentle; it was all desperate need and biting at lips and you came away panting.

"We need to- we need to go inside." He could barely get the words out through his laboured breaths.

"Why?" You asked, confused, perfectly happy to stay here kissing him for the rest of the night.

"Because," he said, trailing kisses down your jaw, "if we don't go inside right now, I'm going to fuck you right here on this bench, and that seems like a bad idea."

"Maybe in summer." You said, climbing off him and leading him back inside.

[comehereoohlala]

Dreadful Need in the Devotee

Your phone is dead. Your car is dead. The blizzard of the century is coming. Thank god there's a kind man in the woods willing to give you shelter for the night.

Word count: 23k (whoops)

Pairing: female!reader x hozier

Tags: Smut (18+!), snowed in trope, regular shmegular sex, but also something crazy happens while he's eating pussy (take a wild guess), unsafe sex just pretend she has an iud and magic std barrier i guess, oral (f rec), also don't forget to pee after sex guys!!!, strangers to lovers

Warnings: Guns, mention of animal death (hunting), near-death experience, hypothermia, panic attacks

a/n: surprise! i'm a hozier stan now too! hope you all enjoy!

AO3 Link

“Shit!” You smacked a hand against the dashboard of your car, pointlessly hoping it would make the lights on the display stop flickering. “Not here, not now, god fucking damn it!” Despite your pleas for the car to keep running just a little longer, it was no use. It chugged a few times, just enough for you to pull off onto a side road, and the engine quit.

You were left with just the soft tink, tink of the car cooling down, and a silence so loud your ears were ringing. You fought not to panic, trying to remember every tip your dad had taught you if you ever found yourself in a situation just like this one. To your dismay, your constant dismissal of his worries was now your downfall. You reached over, pulling your insurance card out of the glove box.

Out here, in official bumfuck nowhere, it would take ages for them to get to you. The cold outside was creeping in, and quickly. Of course this had to happen today, of all days, in the middle of the mountains, during a snowstorm. Just your fucking luck. You shrugged on your coat, and pulled out your phone to type in the number for roadside assistance. A tow from out here wouldn’t be cheap, but payday had been yesterday, and–

Your phone didn’t wake when you tapped the screen. The lock button didn’t work, either. Your heart started to sink. Panic rose in your throat as you held down the button to turn your phone on. With a measure of fright you didn’t know you could feel, you recalled that it had been close to dying even before you’d gotten in the car. Maybe it just turned itself off. Maybe it’s being stupid. Maybe–

The icon on the screen made you feel far away from your own body. A battery, with only a small bit of red on one side. It was dead. Your phone was dead, and so was your car. How did you even let this happen? You knew you should have plugged your phone back in after that hike, you’d taken so many pictures it had drained it to nearly empty, but you figured it would be fine, you knew the way home. You tried the key in the ignition, praying that by some miracle it would at least turn on so you could get a bit of charge in your phone. But it didn’t even turn over. It was completely dead.

Dead. Like I’ll be, soon, I guess. Died out in the cold in the mountains, trapped in her car. You started to spiral. You couldn’t remember the last time you passed another car, or even a sign. You’d taken a back road, one that was easier on your clearly ailing car, but took you far away from other drivers, and civilization. In your panic, you got out of the car, popping the hood to take a look. As if you had any idea what you were doing, you peered inside, and saw nothing out of the ordinary. It all looked ordinary to you, anyway. There has to be some way out of this, you thought, over and over. I’m not freezing to death in the woods. Fuck that. Within seconds of being outside your fingers had gone numb, your cheeks stinging in the freezing wind.

You peered out into the twilight-lit darkness. You were sandwiched between two mountains, in a small valley. The road ran parallel to a stream, which dipped below a bridge a few hundred feet back the way you’d come. The valley was filled with thick, hardy pines, only the strongest of them able to withstand the harsh weather out here. It was quite picturesque, with the sunlight fading behind the range of whited-out peaks. The silence was eerie in a way, but calm. An interesting juxtaposition to your current state of panic. You turned in circles, searching for any sign of life out here in the snow.

You stopped, staring at the area which you'd pulled into. A small dirt pull-off on the side of the road. Or, that was what you thought. Looking closer, it seemed to be a path just wide enough for a car to fit through the trees. Though it clearly hadn’t been plowed – the snow was at least a foot deep that you could see. It looked every bit like a driveway.

You debated with yourself for what felt like far too long, the wind rising and falling with its screams through the pine needles, your eyes squinted against the cold. If it was a driveway, that could mean there was someone at the end of it. But going that way was risky. It could be several miles long, only to end in a dead-end, a settlement that never panned out. Or, it could be inhabited, but there was no guarantee it wasn’t some crazy mountain man who would shoot you on sight. You figured you’d take your chances. The storm was bound to only intensify within the next few hours, from what you’d heard in the forecasts. And getting stuck with some crazy man still sounded better than freezing to death in your car.

You knew it wasn't smart, but what other choice did you have? You wanted to kick yourself for being so stupid, for putting yourself in this situation. This is exactly how people die out here. But you began the trek down the driveway. Every possible scenario ran through your mind as you trudged through the snow, trying to ignore how brutally cold it was, and the way you already could not feel your toes through the icy, wet fabric of your socks. Your hands were shoved deep into the pockets of your coat, though it brought you no extra warmth. The path was filled with many twists and turns, and you had to keep a careful eye out in the dark to stay on its path. One wrong move and you’d be lost in the frozen woods – an absolute death sentence, for certain.

The suddenness of the breakdown, followed by your phone dying, had been so shocking you hadn’t quite existed inside your body for a bit. But now, walking along this frozen path, fear crawled into your skin and shook you down to your bones. Every shadow of every tree was a bear or moose jumping out to kill you, the wind whistling through the trees was a spirit come to claim your soul once you’d passed. You’d felt alright at first, but as the heat which the sun had blessed the earth with faded up into the sky, a chill settled on you. It came quickly, starting off as being a bit cold, but comfortable enough in your thick clothes and heavy coat. Then your fingers began to get cold. Then, no matter how deep into your pockets you shoved your hands, you could not find an ounce of warmth in your fingers.

Your legs grew weaker with every step, the snow deep enough that you could not high-step over it, you had to shove your legs against it, some drifts reaching as high as your knees. The well-traveled trail you’d been hiking on had been packed down, nothing as bad as this unclaimed patch of wilderness. Or, you hoped, claimed by somebody, far at the end of the road. Every piece of survival advice you’d repeated like gospel was coming back to you now, completely forgotten in your panic, what felt like hours ago. You shouldn’t have left your car. You’re always supposed to stay with your car in the event of a breakdown. Maybe you’d had a portable charger somewhere in there, maybe in that one backpack in the trunk, you’d taken that one on vacation recently and…

You stopped, in the middle of the road. Your legs were soaked with the snow that melted against the dwindling heat of your body. Even if you could make it back to the car, you would not survive the night with both of your legs. The thought was far more terrifying than death. The pain you were in already was beyond excruciating, you couldn’t imagine bearing it for hours more, perhaps days, until someone finally came across your car – or, came across your corpse. The snow kept falling in fat, heavy flakes, entirely indifferent to you.

It sank in all at once. This was not some game, this was not happening to someone else, this was your reality. Not a thing in the world was funny or uplifting. This may very well be the end for you, if you could not find shelter soon. You tried to shake that thought from your head, trying to recall every story you’d heard or read of people in much worse situations coming out with their lives, only a lost finger or toe. Your thoughts chased themselves in circles, the fear threatening to drown out the last bit of hope you had. You trudged ahead, seeing no reason to go back. At worst, there would be some kind of structure at the end of this, something you could at least shield yourself from wind with. You had matches in one of your pockets, and could potentially light a fire if need be, though you didn’t believe your fingers would cooperate quite enough for that. In your delirium, you tried to imagine how your hands would look without fingers.

Every step was agony at this point, every screech of wind through the pines a brutal reminder of your mortality. But you thought you smelled something. You kept walking, sniffing the air, keeping your eyes trained ahead into the darkness. All you could see was white, blowing snow from the treetops. Every so often, a trick of the light would make you think you saw an orange light in the distance. You thought you might be losing your mind. But you did smell something. Something familiar, something calming, something warm. A fire. That scent of burning timber, one you’d smelled so many times before. Your mind filled with memories of childhood, standing outside on a chilly fall day with a pile of wood in the fire pit. You could almost feel it, the radiant warmth of its orange glow.

Orange glow. There was that trick of the light again, orange playing against the white of the snow. But it didn’t fade this time. And it seemed to be growing bigger. You didn’t dare allow hope to rise in your heart as you drew closer. Then, a shape made itself known through the clouds of snow. A cabin. Your mind wasn’t working right, and you could feel it, but you could not fight it. All you could do was walk. Whether or not you were going in the right direction was unclear. Why was there a cabin? Why were you out here? How did you get here? Questions you thought that maybe you could answer, but your mind refused to cooperate. You just kept walking.

It could have been an hour, it could have been five minutes, when you finally collapsed into the snow. Your legs would not carry you any further. Laying, sunken partially into the snow pack, a nap sounded quite nice. You were very tired, after all. You'd been walking for miles. Had it been miles? The sun was gone. How long had it been since you'd seen it? You should check your phone. Oh, right, your phone was in the car. You wondered why you hadn’t just driven away.

A burst of clarity rushed through you, your pulse pounding against the skin of your neck before slowing. You couldn’t lay here. You were confused, and lost, but you knew you couldn't stay in the snow. You would die, right? You half-walked, half-crawled, your gloved fingers entirely numb to the feeling as you pulled yourself forward into the orange glow from the windows of the building a few dozen feet away. After another five hours, maybe five minutes, you were in front of a door you didn’t recognize. A wreath of pine needles was hung on it, the grain of the wood swimming in your blurred vision. You were still half-crawling, on a hard layer of packed-down ice and snow. Someone must live here, you thought. Someone had shoveled for this door. You raised your hand to knock, preparing for whatever may be behind it. You prayed it would be a woman, someone kind, someone willing to help–

The door swung open a few inches after your knuckles met with it. A blast of warm air hit you dead in the face, combined with the smell of cooking meat and firewood. A man stood in the doorway. You only had a moment to register his shoulder-length hair before the door slammed shut in your face.

“Please!” You screamed, almost frantically, pounding a weakened fist on the door. Instinct took over, and you began to wail helplessly, the last of your energy fading and your eyes threatening to shut. “Please let me in!” You waited, listening, hearing the shuffle of feet behind the door, though not walking away. Whoever that man was, he was your last hope. Despite all your confusion, you knew you would, given your current state, not survive another few hours. Not soaking wet, and freezing cold. You felt like you were crying, though tears did not fall from your eyes. “Please, sir,” you begged, banging on the door again, your strength on its last reserves.

The door swung back open as you collapsed down onto your stomach, no longer able to hold yourself even partially upright. Out of some kind of divine reverence, you stared at his feet, clad in thick woolen socks against the hardwood floor. The warmth from inside the house felt like a meal to the starving, medicine for the ailing, something you must obtain under any circumstances. “Please,” you repeated, weakly.

The man spoke, in a gravelly voice and a thick accent. “Come in. I don’t want a dead body on my property.”

That mortal panic creeped in again, when you tried to lift yourself only to find your legs had failed you completely. Numb from the knee down, a searing pain in your toes, you could not pull yourself up off the ground.

“I can’t,” you whimpered, tears falling from your cheeks into the snow.

Two arms wrapped around your armpits, lifting you just enough to drag you past the threshold of the door. You couldn't register much besides the all-consuming warmth of the home, the way it creeped through your clothes into your body.

He shut the door, closing off the room from the wind and snow that had howled through the opening. With great effort, you rolled onto your back and finally lifted your eyes from the floor, up to him, your savior, your god. You hadn’t been mistaken about the long hair, curly, brushed forward over his shoulders. His hands were shoved into the pockets of a thick pair of black sweatpants, his arms covered by a sweater. And a face that could kill. Hazel eyes stared down at you on the floor as you started to shiver again, harder than you ever had in your life, the convulsions wracking your body.

“Look at you,” the man said, shaking his head and kneeling down to your level, placing a warm hand on your soaked and frozen hair. “Poor thing. The hell were you doing out there?”

His words left you a bit uneasy, but whatever he planned to do with you, it couldn’t be worse than being out in the frozen hell of these mountains. “I’m s-s-sorry,” you mumbled through chattering teeth, not entirely sure what you were apologizing for. “I d-don’t kn-know. I sh-should l-l-leave.”

“You sound hypothermic. I thought you were already dead when I opened the door.” He stood, and you watched as his feet padded over the creaky wooden floor to a couch, with several quilted blankets hanging over the back. He picked up the largest and thickest of the bunch and started to shake it out. “Glad you’re not.” He held out a hand to you. “Come on, let’s get you warmed up.”

You reached for him, and he hesitated before pulling the gloves off of your hands slowly and tossing them back towards the door. He didn't move for a moment, seemingly just assessing you. Without warning, one arm ran under your knees, the other across your upper back, and he lifted you into his grasp. The feeling of his warmth against your body made you gasp, and you thought this might be what heaven is like. This must be what it feels like to be lifted into the arms of a god. It was then that you registered how tall he was - significantly bigger than you, his arms easily able to wrap around you to carry you. He seemed like some mythical giant to you. “God, you’re soaked,” he mumbled. “You need to change.”

He sat you down on the couch gently, before disappearing behind you. You glanced around the room, taking in the space through half-lidded eyes. It was tiny, but well organized. The living room centered around a grand fireplace, made of stone and built into the corner of the wall. A shelf hanging above the roaring fire had all kinds of knick-knacks upon it. Through your shivers, you could make out pots and pans, a few framed photos, a tambourine, and some nondescript boxes and vases. And above all of that, a rifle, leaning against its wooden holders.

Just behind you was an arched entryway, and through it was a bedroom. The man was in there, leaned over the bottom drawers in a dresser against the wall, pulling out a few items. A bed sat in the center of the bedroom, the sheets neatly made. It was cluttered, as any space this small would be, but it was orderly. Even the pillows on the bed were resting neatly against the metal headboard. The light was dim, most of it being cast by the fire and a few lamps. Across the living room from where you sat, next to the fireplace, was a well-worn chair, with a guitar leaning against it. This little section was the only area in the cabin that seemed to actually be messy. Sheets of paper with illegible scribbles were scattered about the floor around the chair, and a small desk against the wall was covered in several journals, all of them open. To your left was a kitchen, just as cluttered yet orderly as the rest.

“Will these work?” The man’s voice came from behind you. He was holding up a pair of pants, similar to the ones he was wearing, and a sweatshirt that looked heavy enough to be a coat.

“Sure,” you agreed. The snow was beginning to melt off of you, and you were starting to realize just how wet you were, soaked from head to toe.

He came over to you, kneeling on the floor in front of your feet. “H-hey,” you stuttered. “What’re you d-doing?”

“Helping.” Quickly, he untied the knots on your boots, slipping them off your feet and setting them on the mantle of the fireplace. He took one of your hands in his, turning your wrist back and forth gently. “Your hands look frostbitten. I don’t think you have the dexterity to use them right now. And you’re exhausted.”

It was near silent in the room, but your mind felt so loud, it was hard to focus on anything. Anxieties and worries clouded with confusion, with the dull ache of pain overlaying it all. You felt miserable, but immeasurably thankful to him.

“Think you can get those on?” He asked, rising to his feet and gesturing to the clothes on the couch next to you.

“Probably.” You could only stare at him as the realization washed over you. In front of a complete stranger, in the middle of nowhere, in this odd little cabin, you’d need to strip right in front of him and wear his clothes. It would have probably bothered you more, if your mind were any less hazy.

“I’ll, uh, go over there,” he said, nodding towards the kitchen and turning his back. “Say something if you need me,” he told you, crossing the room in a few steps.

With shaking hands that barely cooperated, you peeled your soaked clothing off of your body, leaving it in a heap on the floor. As you pulled the pants on and slipped the shirt over your head, you thought there might be nothing closer to heaven than this. The pure bliss of warm clothing after nearly freezing to death was godlike, the soft fabrics like ecstasy on your frosty skin. You collapsed back down onto the couch, covering yourself in a blanket up to your chin.

“Done?” You heard the man’s voice from the kitchen. “I'm sure that feels a hell of a lot better, yeah?” He came over to you, looking you over as shivers still wracked your body under the blanket. “Let me see your hands again.” You held them out for him, fingers bright red. His hands closed around yours, wonderfully warm. “You should be fine. You just need to warm up.”

Another wave of confusion washed over you. “No I d-don’t,” you began to argue. “I n-need to drive home.”

He sighed, as if he'd ran this game a thousand times. “You’re confused. You can’t leave. If you go back out there, I’ll be the last person you ever see. Before you meet god.”

“No, no…” You were worried now. Where was your phone? Where had your backpack gone? It had been on your shoulders as you were walking earlier, you must have taken it off, but you couldn’t recall when. Or where. Or maybe you’d never picked it up at all.

“Do you like soup?” He brought one of your hands to his mouth, blowing warm air onto it. The sudden question managed to snap you out of whatever spiral you’d started on. “Beans and venison. Sure doesn’t look too pretty, but it’s good. I’ll get you some.”

You watched him as he walked to the fire, using a charcoal-stained, tattered cloth to take the lid off of a cast iron pot that sat on the stones of the mantle. Your eyes slipped shut, your body exhausted beyond belief, while you listened to the clatter of bowls and silverware.

“Hey.” His voice came from close by, stern and a bit loud. “Eyes open.”

You tried, but could only blink at him a few times.

His fingers snapped a few times next to your ear. “Open. You can’t sleep now.”

“But I’m so tired…”

“If you sleep now, you might die. You have to stay awake. I know it’s hard.”

You forced your eyes open, with massive effort, a bowl of rather unappetizing-looking soup greeting your gaze. You tried to grab it, though your hands weren’t quite working the way they should. “I can’t…” you furrowed your brow, trying to grab the bowl and the spoon, but finding your fingers would not close around either.

“Open.” He held the bowl close to your face, scooping up a spoonful.

Without thinking, your lips parted, and he slid the spoon past them. The soup was so warm, and tasted far better than it looked. That delightful feeling of warmth spread through your body almost immediately, your mind starting to come back to its normal function. It actually felt so good that a smile spread across your lips involuntarily.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to–” your words were interrupted by another spoonful at your lips. Though you felt some kind of guilt, and a lick of shame, for having to be fed like this, you were also deeply grateful. Without his help, it would be impossible, anyway. But you felt like an overgrown baby.

“Another hour out there and you’d be dead. Or down a few limbs. I’d rather be doing this than chipping you out of the ice.” The corner of his mouth quirked up in a slight smile. “I’m Andrew, by the way.”

You told him your name, and he repeated it back to you. “Nice to meet you. Wish it was under better circumstances.”

As your brain caught up with your body, pain started to seep back into the limbs which had gone numb. “Am I gonna lose my legs or something?”

He dropped the spoon back into the bowl, pulling the blanket away and lifting the leg of your pants. “Doesn’t look like it. But it’s going to hurt as you warm up. Not much I can do to help that. At least you’re alive.”

You nodded, flexing your aching muscles against the chill that still lingered in your body. “At least I’m alive.”

He set down the bowl, and lifted the blanket from your shoulders to drape it over your head again. “Your hair’s all wet," he mumbled to himself. You were so close you could smell him, the natural scent of his skin, mixed with the smoke of a fire. “How’re your hands now? Can you feel them?” He wrapped his fingers around yours again, rubbing his thumbs across the digits.

You figured it was purely instinctual, a primal survival habit to follow the warmth, when your legs clenched together tighter following his touch. His fingers were so warm on yours, so soft, and he could have simply touched a few fingers to you, but he did not. He wrapped his hands around your wrists, feeling his way over each palm to your fingertips, dancing over your soft and mottled skin.

“Fine,” you said, your voice a bit cracked. “I mean, not fine. Well, I can kind of feel them. They hurt.”

“That’ll happen.” He looked at you, his eyes piercing a beam straight through your brain fog. “I’m glad you made it here. It’s a bad one tonight. Temps are probably already below zero.” As if on cue, a particularly strong gust of wind shook the windows in their frames, making the house groan. You shivered in response on pure instinct. “Probably a few feet of snow coming, too. I can't believe you managed to walk all the way down the path in this.”

You nodded slowly, your eyes fixed on his. Another wave of exhaustion crashed over you as your body temperature started gradually returning to normal. You let your head fall back against the couch, your eyes slipping shut.

“Ah, ah. We already talked about this.” He tapped a finger against your cheek, startling you back awake. “You can sleep when you’ve eaten all of that.” He pointed to the soup, still steaming, on the table. “Think your hands are warm enough?”

You pulled your hands from his, watching them shake, though only slightly. “Maybe. I can try.”

He handed you the bowl gingerly, not letting go until he was sure you were able to hold on to it. “Try not to spill. I like that sweater.”

Slowly, with the last of the vigor you could muster, you drank down the bowl as Andrew milled about the room, glancing at you occasionally. He gathered up your wet clothes and disappeared into the bedroom, returning a moment later.

“So, who…” you cleared your throat between bites. “Who are you? Why are you out here?”

“I’m a singer.” He poked at the fire, adding another log to the cavernous space in which it burned. “I come out here every so often. Need to be alone, need to recharge the…creative batteries, I suppose.”

“Have I heard of you?” You said with a slight smirk, the movement hurting your windburned cheeks.

He turned back to you, a small smile on his lips. “Maybe.”

You gave him a smile back, dropping the subject. He clearly wasn't out here for attention, and you didn’t want to seem like some pushy fan. “How do you survive in this cold?”

He pointed to the massive pile of firewood stacked next to the fireplace. “That helps.”

“How do you even get out of here? Or eat?” You were feeling such bliss following your rescue, that even through the pain in your body, all you wanted to do was talk.

“Snowshoes to walk long distances.” He pointed his chin at the door, and you turned a bit, towards the pair of snowshoes hanging next to the door. They were the most modern-looking thing in this place. “I bring enough food for however long I need to stay. And if I want to, or need to, there’s plenty of animals around here.”

So, the rifle on the mantle wasn’t just for decoration. “D’you own this place?” You drained the last drops of the soup, reveling in the warmth of it settling in your stomach.

“Sure do. Bought the property a while back, had this place constructed. It isn’t as expensive as you’d think, if you do a good bit of the work yourself.”

You nodded slowly. This all seemed like greek to you. You enjoyed the outdoors, sure – that’s why you were in this mess to begin with. But the idea of this level of outdoorsy, being so far off the grid…it wasn’t something you could really see for yourself. Different strokes, you figured.

“I’m sorry to disturb your peace like this.”

“It’s alright. It gets lonely out here sometimes. You showed up at the perfect time.”

“Can I sleep now?” Your eyes were already closing as you asked.

“If you don't mind a bit of this, sure.”

The sound of him picking up his guitar reached your ears, followed shortly by him sitting in the chair in the same corner. He started to pluck softly at the strings while you laid down on the couch, unable to open your eyes again if you wanted to. You barely noticed yourself fading into sleep within minutes.

* * *

Everything beyond your trip down the road was a messy blur of images and shapes. You couldn’t quite remember the series of events that had led you here, other than your car breaking down, and your panicked slog through the snow. There were little flashes here and there, the sensation of Andrew dragging you into his house, the feeling of his clothes on your body, the way every muscle in you trembled as you’d managed to warm up. You opened your eyes to a mostly-dark room, glancing at the glowing embers in the fireplace. Footsteps creaked across the wooden floor, but you couldn’t find the strength to turn your head towards the sound.

“Good morning, darling.” Andrew’s face filled your blurred vision, a row of beautiful teeth arranged in a smile. “You’re alive. Good.”

You could just barely comprehend where you were or what was happening. Your head hurt something fierce, your mouth dry and your lips cracked. A dull ache throbbed through your fingers and toes, though you were grateful you could feel them at all.

A glass of water appeared in front of your face, held by Andrew’s hand. “Here. Drink.”

The icy water was a shock, a chill rushing over your body as it hit the empty pit of your stomach. But it felt good – you must have been rather dehydrated.

“You slept like a stone all night. Had to check if you were still breathing a few times.” He ran a hand through his hair, pulled back into a bun at the base of his neck. “How do you feel?”

“Everything hurts.” You shifted yourself up into a sitting position, smoothing your hair back from your face. You were certain it looked a mess, but you didn’t quite care all that much right now. “Like my fingers and toes got smashed by a hammer.”

“You’re lucky you can feel them regardless.”

You nodded, staring down at your hands clasped in your lap. “What now?” The question was heavy on your tongue.

Andrew looked out the window. The gray tinge of sunlight filtering through thick clouds was just barely creeping into the room. He threw some logs onto the fire, carefully arranging some kindling to get the flames burning again. “Let’s not talk about that right now. Let yourself wake up first.” His hands worked skillfully, and within a few minutes of comfortable silence, flames were licking at the wood on the fire. “Are you hungry?” He asked.

Through the general feelings of unwell and unease in your body, you weren't sure you could pinpoint hunger if you tried. But you replied with a yes anyway. He made pancakes and eggs, simple and easy over the gas stove in the kitchen. Only when the smell of food wafted over to you did you realize you were, in fact, starving. When he finally set a plate down on the coffee table in front of you, you devoured it greedily.

“What was a pretty thing like you doing out there all alone on a night like last, huh?” He asked, sitting on the far end of the couch with his own plate.

The compliment just barely registered through the sleepy haze your mind was still in. “Went hiking,” you replied, between bites. “Took the back roads, and my car broke down. And then my phone was dead.”

“Almost like some divine fate brought us together.” He shot you a look, one you couldn’t read. You didn't bother dwelling on it. “There’s only one way in and out of here. It’s pretty far from here to the road, and honestly, I’m surprised you survived in that cold.”

You shook your head slowly. “I am too. I have no idea why I walked all that way when I had no idea you’d be at the end of it. I just panicked, I guess. Thank god you were here, though.”

“You’re lucky it was me,” he said, his lighthearted tone dropping to a serious one. “There’s some real freaks out here.”

“How do I know you’re not one of them?” You asked, a devious grin on your face. Maybe you were a bit naive, to believe he wasn’t. But you could feel it from him, and you trusted your intuition to a fault. He was somebody you could trust. He wouldn’t have nursed you back from the grave if he had bad intentions with you. You teased a bit further, anyway. “How do I know you aren’t waiting for just the right moment to use that on me?” You pointed your fork at the rifle on the wall above the fireplace.

“Oh god, that old thing?” He followed your gaze up to the gun. “I’ve only ever used it once, to scare away a bear that just wouldn’t quit.”

“Figured you used it to hunt deer.”

He shook his head. “I could, but the idea of having to butcher it…” he shook out his hands and scrunched his face up, as if he was shaking the imaginary blood from his fingers. “Never.”

“Wasn’t there venison in the stew last night? God, I barely remember that.”

“I get it from a guy down the road.” He gestured to indicate down the road was actually quite far away. “And I’m not surprised. You were in a bad way when I found you.”

“I didn't lose a limb. That’s what counts, I guess.”

Without warning, he reached out and grabbed your hand, turning it over in his. You couldn’t stop a small gasp from escaping you. You hadn’t noticed through the haze last night, but his hands were far bigger than yours in a way that almost shocked you. “Your hands look okay. That’s good. They felt like ice last night.”

You only nodded in reply.

“Well, we should get started on helping you get out of here.” He stood from the couch, making his way to the front door, and your eyes followed him. “Signal out here isn’t great, but it should be enough to get some calls out.”

“You have a phone?”

“Of course. Can never be completely off-grid, unfortunately.”

Just one lucky break after another. You were grateful to have had a warm place to rest your head for the night, but all you could think about now was getting home. The mere thought of finally laying in bed after this whole ordeal was dreamy.

You stood up off the couch, taking a few steps around the coffee table towards where Andrew stood near the door. Waves of dizziness had been washing over you since you’d woken up, and they were coming stronger now that you were on your feet. Just exhaustion, you figured. You could walk it off.

“Let’s see how much fell last night. I should be able to get a tow for you. Will probably be a bit pricey, but–”

He swung the door open, jumping back a bit as a cascade of snow fell in through the opening. Your stomach sank, your hand flying up to cover your mouth against the shocked gasp that came from you. There were at least several feet of snow on the other side of the door, packed in the shape of the carvings on the wood.

“That’s not good,” he mumbled, to nobody. You could only watch him in silence as he shut the door, shaking the snow off of himself and turning around to stand next to you with his hands in his pockets, staring into the fire.

“What now?” You squeaked, your anxiety rising by the second. You swayed on your feet, suddenly struck with the need to lay down. But you were frozen in place, with pure shock.

“Well,” he sighed. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but the road you took is definitely closed. At least until a plow can get down here.”

“And how long will that take?” You were trying very hard not to catastrophize, to keep your cool in front of this total stranger. But you were failing quickly, your hands starting to shake and your head feeling fuzzy. You had obligations, you had to work, nobody would believe you if you told them you were snowed in at some random cabin down a boondocking road with some singer.

Andrew took a long pause before speaking, staring into the fire, his face expressionless. “At least a week. Likely two or three, if the roads are worse than the woods.”

You couldn’t say anything, only stare at him, motionless, your hands on the back of the couch. Weeks. Potentially weeks of being trapped here with this man. While any other day you’d gladly take a peaceful cabin retreat, this weekend had not been kind to you. And you hadn’t planned on this.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I knew that storm was going to be a big one, but that’s…more than I’ve ever seen.”

Your breakfast was no longer sitting comfortably in your stomach. “What am I supposed to do?” You were fighting back a flood of tears that stung your eyes. “I’m supposed to work tomorrow. People will think I’m missing. Nobody’s going to believe me if I tell them what happened. Do you even have enough food? Can I stay here? Will–”

“Hey.” He interrupted you, turning to face you and placing a soothing hand on your shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay. This has happened to me before. It’ll melt, or at least pack down enough that we can get out. The sun up here is intense. You just need to wait it out.”

“I can’t wait it out, I have an actual life out there!” You were shouting now, feeling borderline hysterical. “I’ll call the forest service, they’ll help. They have to help, that’s their job.”

“You don’t have any other choice.” He kept his tone level and reserved, refusing to match your state of panic. “And you won’t be calling the forest service. They’re not sending someone to save you when you're perfectly safe. Now please, calm down, you’re drained from last night. You need to rest.”

“I don’t need to rest, I need to– I have to leave, I can’t–” you rushed over to the door, about to pull it open again, in complete and utter disbelief at what you'd seen only moments earlier.

“Please don’t,” he urged, coming over to you as you paced back and forth between the couch and the door. “It’s rather difficult to keep the cold out.” He seemed entirely indifferent to your state of complete panic.

“I have to leave,” you repeated. “I need to go home.” Your vision was getting duller, and you could barely focus on Andrew’s face when he put a hand on your shoulder. Nothing felt right, something was wrong, you needed to go lay down.

“What you need to do right now is calm yourself. After last night, you…”

* * *

That was strange, how he cut off his own sentence. It was like he had gotten quieter, until he was silent. Your neck began to hurt a bit, then the back of your head throbbed something fierce. You could have sworn you were dreaming just a second ago, but you couldn’t remember what it was about.

“You in there?” Andrew’s voice, very close by.

You opened your eyes – that’s funny, you couldn’t remember closing them. Your vision was blurry at first, only the general shape of Andrew’s face discernible to you. Then the ceiling came into focus. You were confused, lost, disoriented. The cold hardwood of the floor registered on your skin, and you wondered why you had fallen asleep on the floor, and when.

“Would you look at that,” Andrew said, flashing a smile at you. “She’s alive.”

“My head hurts,” you mumbled, moving to rub the back of your head, where it felt like a goose egg was forming. Your fingers touched something warm, and you recoiled, before realizing it was a hand. Andrew’s hand, holding the back of your head.

“Sorry. I tried to catch you, but I only grabbed the back of your neck. You smacked your head a bit on the way down.”

“Down?” You groaned, your senses coming back to you gradually.

“You passed out.”

The pieces came together, and you suddenly understood why you were on the floor, with Andrew cradling you like a baby. A combination of your panic, and your weakened body from the events of the night before, had done you no favors. Just pondering on it for a second had dread rising in your throat once again, your breathing getting faster and your pulse quickening.

Andrew must have been able to sense it. “Hey, hey, no more of that. It’s okay. I’ve got you, just take a few deep breaths,” he soothed, in a calming, quiet voice. The cadence of his accent was rather soothing, you had to admit.

You fought against yourself for a few long moments, drawing in breaths slowly and exhaling them shakily, your eyes fixed on one particular knot in the beams of the ceiling. You tried to fight the tears, but they fell anyway, as an unfamiliar feeling of helplessness washed over you.

“That’s it,” he cooed. “You’re alright. Cry as much as you need to.” He was kneeling over you, one hand gently cupped around your head, the other flat on the floor next to you. It was a beautiful sight, really. You broke your focus away from the ceiling, choosing instead to look into his eyes. He looked rather angelic in this light, with his glowing skin and soft lips, his hair pulled back into a sloppy mess of a bun. You wondered for a moment why someone as gorgeous as him would be out here all alone.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled through sniffles, though not entirely sure what you were apologizing for.

“Don’t mention it.” You could feel his thumb tracing gentle circles against the side of your neck. “How do you feel? Did you hurt anything besides your head?”

“I’m fine.”

You finally managed to half-crawl, half-stumble over to the couch, with his help. Over the past day, it seemed like he had to help you do damn near everything. It was infuriating. You had always prided yourself on not being the kind of woman who needed a man to do anything for her, yet here you were, relying on this stranger for everything.

“You should drink some more water,” He said.

“Actually, I think I might throw up.”

“Don’t do that.” He nodded towards the bedroom. “If you must, bathroom’s in there, in case you don't remember.”

You glanced at the entry to the bedroom, a strange familiarity sweeping over you. You'd been in that room before. Last night, it must have been, but you barely remembered getting up off the couch. You must have been more out of it than you’d realized. As quickly as it came, the nausea faded, leaving behind uneasiness and something like fear. You were – or at least you thought you were – a calm, collected person. Given your proficiency for solo hikes in dangerous territory, you’d been able to keep your cool in situations that many others would not fare well in. Getting lost on trail, coming face to face with bears, finding your car has been towed from a desolate trailhead parking lot, it was all fair game. And you handled it well, for the most part.

So it didn’t make sense why you were losing it like this over what was, ultimately, not that bad of a situation. You had food, a roof over your head, and warmth. There wasn’t much you should be worrying about. So why couldn’t you keep your cool? You'd never passed out before, not even in the worst of situations. Something about this place, something about him, was bringing out a side of you that you weren’t familiar with.

“I’m sorry this is happening,” Andrew sighed. “I’ll try to make it easy for you. But right now, you’ve got some calls to make. I’m sure at least one person out there is worried sick about you.”

“Bathroom first.” You tried to pull yourself up off the couch, the entire room spinning wildly for a moment, forcing you crashing back down onto the woven fabric.

Andrew was there in an instant. “Need help?”

You swatted his helpful hands away. “I’m fine."

“Sorry,” he mumbled, backing away a few steps.

You could feel his gaze as you disappeared into the bedroom and around the corner through the bathroom door. The room was cold and dark, with all the standard amenities of a regular bathroom. You wondered how on earth he managed to get running water up here, much less hot water.

You tried to collect yourself, staring at your reflection in the mirror. You looked haggard, like last night had aged you fifty years. Tears threatened to fall again as you stared at your reflection, but you wouldn't let them. Crying wouldn't help anything. Splashing a bit of cold water on your face, you drew in breaths as slowly and deeply as you could. It would work out. It had to work out. Things would be okay. At the end of the day, you were alive, and that was most important, right?

Andrew was waiting for you outside the entrance to the bedroom. “Listen,” he began, once you were settled back into your spot on the couch. “You have nothing to worry about as long as you're here.”

“But, I–”

“I’ll cover anything you need. Money, a tow, hell, I could even throw a new car in there if you need it. There’s not a thing you need to stress about.”

You cocked your head at him, your brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“I mean what I said.”

You laughed, a bit uncertain of how serious he was. “Andrew, I appreciate the offer, but we just met. And I think I can manage.” You knew you couldn’t, but the idea of taking this stranger’s money was nauseating to you.

“You don’t have to ask.”

His eyes betrayed no amount of joking or sarcasm. He was, as far as you could tell, dead serious. This felt strange, in so many ways. Like someone trying to sell you a scam, or some kind of cult initiation. The comfort you once felt with him actually lessened a bit at his invitation to help you, somehow. “That’s ridiculous. Absolutely not.”

He came around to your side of the couch, taking a seat in the empty space near your feet. “You don’t trust me?” He asked, giving you a smirk. “I can spare a new car or two.”

“I wouldn’t have taken you for someone who’s swimming in wealth.”

“What made you think that? Is it the long hair? Or is the beard too long?” He scratched his chin. He seemed to be enjoying himself, a grin stuck on his face.

“I’m guessing you’ll ask for a generous donation first that’ll triple in the afterlife if I devote myself to your church, right?” You gave him a smile back, narrowing your eyes at him.

He tipped his head back, letting out a laugh, clear and still somehow carrying the sound of his voice, the kind of laugh that made you want to giggle along. “I’m serious, though. Whatever you need, I’m glad to help. You’ve been through hell and back in less than 24 hours, the least I can do is offer you some peace of mind.”

“I nearly die because of a stupid decision, crawl to your house, disturb your peace, you’re forced to nurse me back to life, interrupt your retreat, and now you’re trying to offer me money? Forgive me if I sound rude, but it sounds like you’re pulling a prank on me.”

He shrugged, putting his hands up in surrender. “If you don’t want it, you don’t have to take it.”

“Let me think about it.” You gave him a sly smile. This nonsensical, bizarre conversation had taken your mind off of the nasty spill you’d taken earlier.

“You should probably tell your friends you're not missing, while you think about it.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, resting it in your lap.

The next hour was spent fighting with your own mind, struggling to remember phone numbers you didn’t have memorized. He somehow had signal out here, and though not the best, it still worked. It was a blessing, allowing you to search for most of the numbers you needed – for example, your work. That certainly wasn’t a fun conversation, and went just about as well as you'd anticipated. Your boss said you were full of shit, telling you to skip the theatrics and just call in sick next time. He didn't take it well when you explained that it could be weeks before you were back. He didn't fire you, not over the phone, but you knew you'd be in his office being handed your papers the next time you stepped foot in that office building. Andrew gave your shoulder a soft squeeze when you hung up the phone, his expression pitying.

“Doesn't sound like he took it very well.”

You shook your head. “I might as well say goodbye to that job now.”

“What do you do there? Or, I guess, did there.”

“I was a secretary. Meaningless bullshit, for the most part. I didn't like it anyway.”

“Well, now you get a fresh start.”

“A fresh start at being broke, sure.”

He didn't push it any further, but his previous offer lingered in the back of your mind. When you finally gathered up the courage to call your mother, the conversation was somehow even less pleasant. She was nearly in hysterics – you had a deal with her that any time you went hiking, you would tell her when you’d be back, and text her right when you got home. She told you she had nearly called the police when you’d been unreachable. She certainly wasn’t thrilled about you being with some random man, but was nonetheless grateful you were alive. She agreed to let your other friends know what was up, since it would be far easier for her to reach them than you.

And just like that, the hard part was over. The phone calls were done, everyone knew you were safe. But given your incident earlier, you had a hard time letting yourself relax for the rest of the day. Not even when you stared into the fire, listening to the soft creak of his chair rocking back and forth as he strummed his guitar.

“You’re pretty good with that thing,” you said, staring across the room at him.

His head shot up, his eyes a bit wide for a moment, as if you’d startled him. The expression was quickly wiped away by a smile that tugged on his lips like he was fighting it. “I forgot you were here.” His eyes turned back towards his guitar. “I suppose I know my way around it, just a bit.”

“So, will you tell me who you are?” You asked, watching his fingers as they traipsed across the strings.

He shook his head. “If you don’t already recognize me, then it wouldn’t do either of us any good. Just pretend I’m some underground artist with a hundred casual fans.”

You pouted, though a smile formed on your face. “Well, what kind of music do you play?”

“The kind you’re hearing.” You could tell he was enjoying this already, this little guessing game you were playing.

“Do you play bars? Theaters? Stadiums?”

“Arenas. Festivals, sometimes,” he said, his tone casual.

Arenas? Festivals? That caught you off guard a bit. “Got any Grammys?” You asked, a smirk on your lips.

He looked up at you, smiling, and shook his head. “Nominated, but never won. Academy doesn’t like me very much.”

You nodded slowly, feeling as if this topic was far outside of your level of knowledge. “Sorry, I guess?”

He shrugged. “Just comes with the territory.”

He continued plucking at his guitar, the sound soothing and quiet accompanied by the wind outside and the crackling of the fire. You wasted the time on your own, spending most of it daydreaming while staring at the ceiling. When you got bored of that, you made your way over to a bookshelf tucked against the wall next to the couch. Andrew’s eyes followed you as you went, your gaze trailing over the books there.

“Read anything you'd like. I’ve already read them all.”

You nodded at him, gazing at the titles. It was all stuff far beyond the kind of casual reading you typically liked to do. At least three separate translations of the divine comedy, books on old music artists whose names you recognized, massive tomes on religion and mythology. You grabbed one at random, carrying it over to the couch and reading through it absently. It wasn’t particularly interesting to you, but it was better than doing nothing.

The day was easy and quiet, filled with the sounds of Andrew’s guitar playing, and the rare sound of him quietly singing a line or two before scribbling something in one of the many notebooks on his desk. You couldn’t make out many words he was saying, but his voice was heavenly on the chance you heard it. He cooked you dinner, another stew that looked just as unappetizing as the one he’d fed you the night before, but tasted just as good. The two of you chatted on the couch for a bit, mindless conversation and random questions. You didn’t really feel like strangers anymore, but you certainly didn't feel like friends. It was closer to the relationship you'd have with a coworker, a bit awkward but still caring.

When you finally turned down for bed, sleep evaded you, your eyes staring wide up at the ceiling. When it finally claimed you, your dreams were nothing short of horrifying. You were in the cabin. A storm raged outside, the storm of the century, wind howling and snow blowing. Then the walls began to crumble. Andrew was fast asleep, and you ran to him the way one runs in dreams, slogging through air like it was molasses. The wind and cold rained down on the two of you as you tried to start a fire with a single wet match that would not light. You were both freezing to death and you knew it, your body gripped by fear.

You could almost feel it, the way your hands started to blacken before a layer of ice encased them. The thing that woke you was your legs. When you looked down, and saw two misshapen chunks of ice where your legs used to be, and you screamed. You screamed for someone to help you as you watched Andrew suffer the same fate, even as your arms wrapped around him, trying to save him, trying to offer your dying breaths to him to warm him–

You heard your name, shouted. Your eyes shot open, to the dim glow of the fireplace lighting Andrew’s features. Inches away from you, his fingers clasped firmly around your shoulders, a worried look on his face. He said your name again, softer, reassuring. “You were screaming,” he said, his voice laden with sleep. “I got worried something was wrong.”

You couldn’t stop tears from welling up in your eyes, swiftly spilling down your cheeks. The terror of your dream lingered, poisoning your every breath, as if you were still trapped in that hellish wasteland of ice.

“Nightmare?” He asked.

You nodded, though his face was so near to yours that your forehead almost touched his. Without a single thought, and despite what would have been your better judgment had you been in a sound state of mind, you flung your arms around his neck. He allowed you to pull him closer, his body adjusting as he knelt on the rug next to you.

“It’s alright. Was just a dream,” he mumbled, his face buried in your hair, his breath warm on the side of your neck. His hand, shaking a bit, splayed out against the back of your head, gently rubbing your scalp.

You let out a few choked-back, barely muffled sobs into his chest. “It was so cold,” you wailed weakly.

He seemed at a loss for words, the crackles of the fire and your sniffling being the only sounds. You didn’t mind that he had nothing to say. There was nothing he could say to fix this. You only needed this time in his arms, an embrace so welcome even when given by a stranger. After what felt like far too long, you pulled your arms back. He hesitated for a moment, his fingers lingering on your shoulder as he stood up beside you.

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” you whispered.

“Hush,” he said, throwing an extra blanket on top of you. “I have all the time in the world to sleep. Now go back to bed. And only pleasant dreams this time.”

Sleep only managed to claim you after you’d spent an ample number of hours staring at the beams in the ceiling, fighting back tears and wishing you could live wrapped in someone's arms. His arms. Even still, your rest was not peaceful. Though, the dreams that plagued you now did so for an entirely new reason. You could see his face somewhat in the dark. Andrew. Above you, his features twisted into the faintest semblance of pleasure. He spoke to you softly, every word settling like a burning ember in the pit of your stomach. If you’d been awake, you would have never entertained such lewd and ridiculous thoughts. A part of that lucidity seeped into your dreaming mind, telling you to stop this, but no part of you wanted to comply. You could almost feel it, his hands running smoothly up your sides, the way his weight settled between your thighs, his name spoken so quietly on your lips.

And just like that, it was over, with a crashing sound from the kitchen. Your eyes flew open, still blurry with sleep, your limbs weak as you propped yourself upright. He was standing there in the kitchen, a pan still spinning to a stop at his feet, the sound of the metal against wood like bombs in the silence. He didn’t say anything, not at first. He just stared at you, an expression on his face that you couldn’t read no matter how hard you tried.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, bending swiftly to pick up the pan he’d dropped. He turned away quickly, his attention immediately diverted.

You were at a loss, your head spinning as you laid back down on the couch. It had all seemed to happen all at once, and you struggled to find which parts of it were reality. The nightmare, and your subsequent waking, your arms around him, the scent of his skin when you’d buried your face into him. Then there was the trouble of the second dream. It had felt a bit too real, and a familiar ache plagued you now. You tried to push it out of your head – such thoughts were not something you should be even attempting to entertain. This man was a stranger, for all intents and purposes. He was far, far, far out of your league. A famous singer, rich, a part of society you'd never touch. When all this was over, you’d part ways, without so much as a phone number left behind, and you would never see him this close again. That was it, that was the way it was supposed to be. But a small, quiet part of your mind asked a terrifying question: what if?

While you grappled silently with your feelings, trying to decipher how exactly you felt about all of this, Andrew was bustling around the kitchen, cooking up something that smelled wonderful. You dragged your gaze up from the patterned blanket over your legs to watch him from behind. There was something special about him, that was for sure. The way he moved, his long limbs, the slouch of his shoulders, his hair pulled back into a half-ponytail. That part of your mind spoke up again: what if? Aside from your dream, what would it look like if he was…

“Do you like bacon?” He asked, with that lilt that was so uniquely him.

“I do,” you replied, your voice cracked and far too quiet.

He turned back to face you, a puzzled look on his face. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, smiling to yourself at his concern. “I’m okay. Sorry, just tired. I said I do.”

He nodded, and turned back to the stove. “Not surprised you're tired. That was quite the nightmare you had.”

You found that you could scarcely look at him without flashes of that dream running through your mind, so you opted to simply keep your mouth shut.

He came over to where you sat, plopping down on the couch next to you, handing you a plate. You suddenly had no desire to eat, but you forced bites into your mouth regardless. You didn’t want him to think for even one second that you were ungrateful for anything he’d done for you. That, and if he asked if you were alright one more time, you just might lose it.

“You looked so frightened,” he said, turning to face you. “What were you dreaming about?”

You nearly choked on the pancakes in your mouth, having forgotten all about the nightmare that had preceded the dream. “I’d rather not talk about it.” That was the truth. Even trying to conjure up an image of that nightmare sent a shiver down your spine.

“I understand.” He poked around at his plate a bit more, his eyes drifting away from yours.

The once-comfortable silence now felt stifling, deafening. You had to break it somehow. “Where are you from, by the way?” You asked.

“Ireland,” he answered simply. “Have you ever been?”

You shook your head. “Never been out of the country before. Can’t afford it.”

“Well, maybe when all this is over, I could fly you out there. Show you around. It’s a beautiful place.”

You paused, your fork clattering down onto the plate much louder than you’d meant it to. He seemed to pause, too, as if his own words had only just reached his ears. His eyes flitted over to you and away a few times, his mouth opening as if to say something, hesitating.

“That sounded…I’m sorry, was that too forward?” He gave you a smile, the lightest hint of a blush on his cheeks.

You didn’t say anything, but a smile crawled into the corners of your mouth. This guy was unlike anyone else you’d ever met. Trapped in a cabin with a stranger would typically be your worst nightmare, but a part of you, a quiet part deep in the back of your mind, never really wanted to leave.

He spoke again. “I’ve been out here for a few months. The only human contact I’ve had since I got here has been you. A part of me sort of…forgot how to be a human. Socially. So I apologize if I’m, um, a bit weird.”

You shook your head, smiling at him. “Don’t apologize to me. I’m the one bursting in on your alone time.”

“It’s appreciated.” He ran his fingers across the palm of his other hand, a nervous little fidget you’d seen him do a few times. “I haven’t been out here in years. I forgot just how lonely it can get.” He smiled at you weakly. “It breaks a man down.”

You looked at him, really seeing him for a moment. As something other than just a stranger, or some mystery musician, or your savior. He was human, and he could be a friend. “I can’t imagine. How do you keep yourself from going crazy?”

“I couldn't tell you, really,” he laughed, crossing his legs under him and settling into his side of the couch. “I guess I just get so…immersed in the creative process that not much else exists.” He held up a hand, curling his fingers to try to illustrate the abstract concept. “It’s like a trance of some kind. Everything disappears. Sometimes for days at a time.” You stared at him with bated breath as he continued attempting to explain something that couldn't be explained. You were hanging on every word. It was fascinating to hear such insight from someone who seemed to have such a deep grasp of his craft.

“I can relate a bit, I think,” you said during a pause.

“Do you write music too?” He asked, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Not music, no.” You set your empty plate down on the coffee table and crossed your legs underneath yourself, subconsciously mirroring him. “Sometimes I write little stories. Snippets of bigger ideas, sometimes poems. I always wanted to be a writer, actually.” You smiled to yourself. “That didn’t pan out, clearly.”

“That’s wonderful,” Andrew replied, with a sincere smile. “I’d love to read your work some day.”

There it was again, that subtle mention of tomorrow. He seemed so sure of it, as if you two had been friends for much longer than two days.

“And maybe…” He spoke again, this time a little bit sheepishly. “Maybe, in exchange, I could read you my work.”

“Your songs?” You asked, the prospect exciting you. You’d been curious what his music sounded like.

He nodded. “It would be nice to have someone to run them past. I could sing them if you’d like.”

“I would love that,” you replied, trying not to sound as excited as you were. A little private concert sounded like the perfect distraction right about now.

“It’s a date, then.” He stood, taking your plate and his over to the sink to wash them.

You watched him go, trying to ignore the ache you felt as your eyes traced the shape of his shoulders. He moved so gracefully, a kind of otherworldly beauty seeping from every crevice of his body. Even the way he rolled up his sleeves, and the way the water from the sink dripped down to his fingertips. Memories of your dream started to slip through the cracks, and you fixated closely on his hands, his fingers wrapped loosely around the side of a plate, dripping wet–

You managed to wrench your eyes away just as he turned to face you. “You can play some music if you want.” He gestured towards the bookshelf, and the dusty-looking record player on top of it, sat next to a stack of vinyls. “Much too quiet in here today,” he added, to himself.

Not a single one of the records was one you recognized. The names of the artists were the kind you’d maybe heard of, a while ago, but didn't know any songs. The covers looked old, their edges frayed and print worn away from many years of play. You grabbed one at random, handling it carefully as you set it on the player. The sound came from two wood-paneled speakers, crackly and warm and rich. It was some old jazz, and it fit the space perfectly.

“Good choice,” Andrew said with a smile, wiping his hands on a towel hanging from the stove. He hummed along with the music, taking a seat at his desk and flipping open one of the notebooks.

Between flipping and changing records throughout the day, you tried to read through one of the ungodly dense books on his bookshelf. Occasionally, you’d stumble across a note in the margins. Written, you assumed, by the man sitting across from you now. Andrew had set down his guitar and was fluctuating between writing in one of his notebooks and chewing thoughtfully on the end of the pen in his hand. A part of you wanted to interrupt and ask what he was writing, but you decided against it. Boredom would not kill you, not yet.

* * *

The following days felt like a month, crammed together in this tiny space with Andrew. Though his company was welcome and enjoyable, he was not here to entertain you. And there was very little for you to entertain yourself with. You'd taken to journaling. On your third day together, Andrew had handed you a blank notebook, identical to the ones on his desk, and a pen. Use it for whatever you want, he’d told you. That had only lasted so long, until you found yourself running out of things to write. The boredom and the cabin fever were souring your mood, and Andrew seemed to be catching some of your irritation.

Obviously, you were an intruder here, and he owed you nothing. But it seemed that the cramped space was catching up with both of you. There were moments, where you’d catch him staring at you, and wonder how he really felt. Did he ever wish you’d never shown up? The dreams about him never stopped – this place had an energy about it that made it hard to have a dreamless night. You couldn’t ask, so you could only pray they were undetectable. You’d been known to talk in your sleep.

The sun had already long set on a day that had felt indescribably long. There was actual sun now, and moonlight; the storm had broken last night, after five straight nights. The lack of wind howling through the gaps in the walls was almost startling. Every noise seemed much louder without the background drone of a storm. Neither of you had left the cabin at all since you arrived, and the air was starting to feel a bit tense.

“How long have you been playing?” You asked, listening to his hands working through some tune you’d been hearing for the past several hours. If you had to hear it one more time, you thought you might just crawl up the chimney for a moment of peace and quiet.

“Couple hours?” He replied, starting the piece over from the beginning.

“No, I mean, like…”

“Oh. Long time.” The noise still didn’t pause. He was clearly in no mood to talk to you.

“Was it hard to learn?”

“I guess so. It never felt like work to me.”

Finally, the playing stopped. You heard the sound of his guitar softly thumping against the wooden floor, and the creak of him standing up from his chair. It was funny to you just how accustomed to that particular sound you’d become. Somehow, he’d already conditioned you to grow excited when that sound came, as it signaled some kind of interaction, a conversation, anything to pass the time.

“Sorry if I’m coming off a bit cold.” His steps were silent, his frame appearing in your peripheral vision so quickly it made your heart race. “It’s just that…” he trailed off, clearly having plenty more to say, but being unable to say it.

“It’s what?”

He stood with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders leaned back, giving the illusion of being relaxed. But he was clearly nothing of the sort. “It’s, well…ah, fuck.” He stopped himself short, his eyes trained on the fire instead of your face. “We need to get out of here. At least for a little bit. How about a walk?”

Your heart leapt at the idea of finally leaving the cabin. It had been far too long since you’d felt the breeze in your hair. “That sounds lovely.”

“Let’s go, then.”

You grabbed your coat, the feel of it in your hands so familiar yet so distant. It was strange to think that the last time you wore it, it had very nearly been your last day on Earth. You threw on a second pair of Andrew’s sweatpants, and slipped your feet into the boots you'd worn here.

“Likely won’t be long against the cold. But there’s something I’d like to show you,” Andrew said. “Not too far that way, there's a lake.” He pointed towards the back of the cabin. “The stars out there are something you’ll never see again in your life.”

Now fully bundled up, most of your skin shielded against the cold, you gave him a smile. “Take me there.”

He smiled back, a gesture of warmth that had been absent as of late, and pulled the hood up on his coat. The snow was packed high against the front door, but it had drifted in a way that at least allowed you to get out onto it gradually. It was thick, heavy stuff on top that had packed down, and you only sank in to just below the tops of your boots. If you sank much more, you wouldn't be doing much walking at all. Thankfully, the conditions cooperated, and you followed close behind Andrew as you made your way around the cabin.

Only a few steps in, and the cold began to seep in. It was the kind of cold that went straight down to your bones, the kind that made your teeth chatter and your shoulders shake. It chased the tiredness straight out of your body and all you could focus on was the crunch of your boots against the snow. You followed close behind Andrew, walking in his tracks, marveling at how broad his stride was.

But you couldn't hold your focus for long. The anxiety quickly followed the cold. It seemed to reactivate the pain of that fateful night, five days ago. Your fingers cramped, and no amount of balling your hands into fists helped. Your knees shook and your feet felt too heavy to lift. Every step became harder and harder. And the anxiety only grew. A thought looped nonstop in your head, that you’d unfairly cheated death the first time around, and it was eager to get its claws in you. Andrew heard your steps slowing down, and turned back. He saw you, shaking, your movements slowed to a halt, your eyes wide and terrified.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, his voice echoing off of the trees.

“I can't,” you replied. “I have to go back.”

“The hell do you mean?” He furrowed his brow, coming back the short distance to stand next to you.

“The cold. It’s too much.” You wished you could explain further, but you just couldn't. You couldn't even begin to try to find the words to explain how this felt.

“Darling,” he said, leaning down to your level and catching your gaze. “You’re not alone out here. You’re okay.”

It was almost as if he could read your mind and hear the fear you held there. The look in his eyes was soothing, and just a few seconds holding his gaze made your heart slow.

“You’re okay,” he repeated. He placed a gloved hand on top of your head, giving you a smile. “Come on.” He tugged at your shoulder, walking alongside you now. The first few steps were hard, but he pulled you along, not letting you fall behind. You could already see the lake up ahead, through a parting in the trees. He pointed it out, squeezing your shoulder endearingly. “See? We’re not even that far away. It’s right there.”

Turning back, you saw the cabin was remarkably close. It felt like you’d been trudging through the snow for half an hour, a time warp created by your anxiety. In reality, it had been maybe five minutes of a gentle downward slope towards the lake. The trees opened up then, giving way to a sight that you’d never seen, and would never see again.

A vast expanse of pure white lay before you. A ring of trees circled the sides you could see, and beyond that, three matching mountain peaks reached up to brush against the stars. And the stars – god, the stars. Clouds of faint purple painted a streak across the center of the sky, surrounded by innumerable little points of light. You understood, very suddenly, why humans used to believe the sky was just a covering with holes. You wouldn't be surprised if all of those little points were truly the light of heaven breaking through.

Andrew walked out onto the frozen lake, his head craned upwards at the sky. You followed suit, still sticking close behind him. With a sigh, he dropped himself onto the snow on his back. When you looked at him, puzzled, he laughed. “Come down here. It looks better like this.”

You dropped down next to him, landing on a thin covering of soft snow over what you figured was several feet of ice. He was right, it was better like this. You watched satellites move lazily through the bright points of light, and dying stars flashing every color you could imagine. The moon was just beginning to rise, too, so bright on the horizon it cast a glow over the trees. You didn’t even realize your hand was resting in Andrew’s until you’d been there for…a few minutes? A few seconds? You didn't know anymore. But, for whatever reason, you didn't move away. And he didn’t, either. When the cold finally started to become too much to bear, you turned to face him. He was already looking at you.

“Cold?” He asked.

“Just a little,” you replied with a smile.

“If only we were immune to it. I wouldn’t mind watching the sky all night.”

You stood, brushing the snow from the back of your head. “I wouldn't be here at all if we were. I’d have just walked home.”

He lifted himself from the ground, giving his head a little shake to get the snow out of his hair. “Then I guess we should count the cold as a blessing.”

* * *

It had been nearly three weeks now. Eighteen days, to be exact. Andrew was right, the sun up here was intense. Most of the snow had melted down into a hard pack that you could walk on without much trouble, even if it was a little slippery. It was shining brightly today as golden hour set in, the light filtering through the trees and casting dappled shadows on the floor of the cabin. You were reading through some horribly dense book about religion, while Andrew was deep in the creative throes of writing and playing.

Out of nowhere, he stood up. He clutched a few sheets of paper, holding them up triumphantly. “This is it.”

You looked at him over the edge of your book, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“This is it,” he repeated, coming to sit next to you. “I’ve been trying to capture a very specific feeling, and I think I’ve finally got it.” He spread the papers out on the coffee table, and you set your book down, leaning forward to read his scrawling handwriting.

The lyrics were beautiful, and it dawned on you as you read through them that you’d never actually seen the lyrics he was always scribbling down. There was a certain cadence to the lines, and an abstractness, that felt so perfect. You didn’t understand it, not after skimming it, but the words were thought-provoking.

“Will you listen to it?” He asked, already standing up and grabbing his guitar.

You hesitated for a moment. A part of you had grown so accustomed to this normalcy that you forgot he was, ultimately, a singer. You worried for a moment that hearing his voice would spoil it all. There was a very real worry that it would either finally jog your memory of who he was, or even worse, you’d hate his style. That one wasn’t very likely, though. You couldn't imagine hating anything about this guy. You shrugged, and smiled. “Sure.”

He took a seat back at his desk, and took a deep breath. Stillness filled the air as he began to strum quietly. He handled the notes well, even when he clearly was winging it. He obviously didn't know the song by heart just yet. You watched his hands, lithe and graceful, as they flitted across the strings. It was mesmerizing. And when he added his voice, you could physically feel it pulling at your heart. You had to consciously stop your jaw from dropping open, trying to keep your cool.

He was angelic, in body, soul, and voice. He hummed some lyrics where he couldn’t remember them, and went back over a few lines to change some notes. But the structure was there, the beautiful, perfect bones of a song. You still couldn't pinpoint it, but it seemed closer now. His style was somehow both entirely unique and a blend of everything that had come before him. The stack of records on the bookshelf made a lot more sense now, too. You could hear progressions and chords that you recognized from the vinyls.

His eyes were closed in concentration, his face occasionally scrunching up or his eyebrows raising as he hit notes higher than you thought possible for him. He looked incredible like this, with the sleeves of his sweater rolled up to the elbows, his hair down and falling into his face. He was still like some sort of god to you. That feeling never went away after he saved you. A vision of it flashed in your head, the way he'd looked down at you when he first dragged your limp body into the cabin. You’d scarcely seen a more beautiful sight. The dreams of him that still haunted your sleeping mind seemed to believe so, too.

The song ended, and you were silent for a bit, trying to remember how to be normal around him. He looked at you expectantly, waiting for your reaction. You smiled and clapped sarcastically yet enthusiastically, and only then did you realize tears had welled up in the corners of your eyes. You wiped them away, your cheeks going red, laughing a bit. “Sorry. That was just…really pretty.”

“Didn’t mean to make you cry, darling. But that’s a good sign.” He pointed at you with the pick between his fingers. “I was hoping for an emotional reaction.”

“It’s beautiful. You’re quite an artist.”

He gave you a sheepish smile, almost looking a bit embarrassed by the praise. “Y’know, I was thinking about this one part, the part that goes like…” He strummed out a series of notes, and hummed vocals alongside it. “Do you think that should maybe sound more like…” He changed it, just slightly, but enough to be noticeable.

You took his question very seriously, pondering it for several long moments. You had him play both a few times, ultimately choosing the second version. The two of you went back and forth like this for a bit, him asking your opinion on this and that. You felt entirely out of your depth, and you made that known, but he brushed your worries aside.

“Nonsense,” he replied, after you’d told him you were very much not cut out for this kind of advice. “Your opinion is worth a thousand other singers.”

“Why? How? I don’t even play guitar. I’m just giving you my personal opinion. I couldn’t tell you if one is actually better than the other.”

“Well…because it’s you.”

The reality of what he’d said set in slowly, the smile dropping from his face and his gaze shifting away. He cleared his throat and tried to speak again, getting caught up on every word. You didn’t know what to say either. You managed to land on a few words when he finally managed to blurt something out.

“Do you drink?”

You furrowed your brows. “Like…occasionally, I guess.”

“Listen, I’ve got this–” he stood up from his chair, nearly knocking his head on the lamp hanging above it. “Shit. Uh, I have this, um…” he rummaged through the kitchen cabinets for a bit, before pulling out a dusty looking bottle. “This. It’s, uh, some whiskey I’ve been saving. Emergency warmth.”

You watched as he opened the bottle, brushing dust off of it as he did so. The only cups in the cabin were mason jars, so he poured a little bit into the smallest ones he could find, which were still comically large for the tiny bit of liquid in them. He strode over to you, a smile stuck on his face. He seemed to be in the highest spirits he’d been in since you’d met him. You took the glass from him, swirling it around. The liquid clung to the glass in that way only alcohol does, and you watched it run down in rivulets.

“I think we should celebrate,” Andrew said, taking a seat on the couch next to you and raising his glass a bit. “Because you just helped me finish the last song for the album.”

“How do you know it's the last one?”

“Because I don’t want to fucking write any more.” He smiled at you over the rim of his glass, taking a swig of it. You had to suppress a laugh when he pounded a fist against his chest, narrowing his eyes and pursing his lips. “God, that tastes like shit. Definitely not worth the money.”

“Well, yeah, it’s warm and old.”

“Oh, shut up and just drink it.” He gestured at your glass, still untouched.

You eyed it up for a moment, taking a few slow breaths to steel yourself. You never liked drinking any kind of alcohol straight. But for him, you’d at least give it a shot. You tipped it back fast, swallowing down half a mouthful as quickly as you could. Andrew was right, it did taste like shit. You coughed a few times, reaching blindly for your water to chase it down.

“Awful, isn't it?” He chuckled.

You drank slowly, but you both were borderline drunk after only the first glasses. Figures, with how little you drink. Things seemed to relax between the two of you a bit with the added social lubricant. Tension you didn't realize was there dissolved, and you spoke more freely than you'd felt capable of. You couldn’t follow the line of conversation exactly, with how it jumped from one thing to another so quickly, but it was pleasant. You both shared laughs, told stories, reminisced on your lives outside of this cabin. Lives that seemed so small and far away, when compared with each others' company.

“Y’know, I’ll probably be able to leave soon,” you said during a break in conversation. The tension that had dissolved so easily came back with crushing force.

Andrew was silent for a moment, tracing his fingers across the jar in his hands. “Yeah. Back…back to real life. I’ll leave soon too, I guess.”

“Where will you go after this?”

“Home. Back to Wicklow.”

“Ireland?”

He nodded. He wasn’t looking at you, but what you could see of his face made your heart ache. “And what about you?”

You tilted your head back and forth for a minute, pondering. “Well, I guess I’ll go home. I’ll have to start looking for a new job. Sure I’ll be late on next month’s rent, too, so I’ll have to go beg my landlord…” you trailed off. Just considering the laundry list of tasks awaiting you made you sick to your stomach.

“You know, my offer still stands. And you could always work for me,” Andrew said quietly. He was looking at you now, his eyes dark and his gaze dead serious.

You let out an exasperated breath. “Andrew, that’s not my field. I would be entirely useless to you.”

He shook his head. “Quite the contrary. I would have never finished that last song if it wasn't for you. And your company, it…well, I’ve been in a rut. Honestly, I hadn’t been able to start or finish anything in a month. Then you showed up, and everything just…flowed. I don’t know what kind of witchcraft you carry in your bones, but I would love having it near me.”

The offer was enticing, you weren't going to pretend otherwise. But it was scary, too. There were too many unspoken feelings you refused to confront. Too many dirty dreams and daydreams and the like. You would deal with them when you left this place, and that would be that. It was none of his concern, and you certainly didn't need yet another rejection under your belt.

He could see the indecision and conflict in your eyes, and he sighed with a smile. He pulled himself up from the couch, sauntering over to flip through the records on the bookshelf. His lithe fingers drifted over the edges of the records, his eyes darting from one title to the next. Finally, he settled on one, carefully pulling it from the stack. He handled it gingerly, setting it on the player and carefully setting down the needle. Music drifted out, just loud enough to fill the room.

He offered an outstretched hand, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Dance with me?” The question was softly spoken, the same tone of voice he used to tell you good morning.

You dragged your gaze up from his fingertips, along the length of his forearm, along the texture of the rolled up sleeves of his sweater. “I can’t dance,” you replied, just as softly.

“I’m sure I’m worse,” he smiled.

Tentatively, you placed your hand in his. It was electric, and immediately your mind shot back to the night you’d arrived here, and the way he’d held onto your hands to warm them. He pulled you up off the couch, and without even a moment of hesitation, pulled you close to him. His hand wrapped around yours, his other hand on the small of your back, you swayed to the music slowly. You were only an inch or two from him, and you could swear you could feel the heat radiating from his body.

“It’s been really nice having you here, you know,” he said.

“There’s no one else I’d rather be stranded in the woods with,” you replied, a cheeky grin on your face. You heard him huff out a laugh in response.

You looked up at him, and he looked down at you, and you were struck once again by just how beautiful he was. The distance between your bodies sparked with energy, like some magnetic pull was telling you to move just a little closer. And in an instant, you couldn't resist it. You pressed yourself up against him, wrapping your fingers loosely around the back of his arm. His breath caught in his throat for a moment, his chest rising and falling against you quickly.

You laid your head on his chest with a contented sigh, trying to soak in this moment. The texture of his sweater on your cheek, the warmth of his hand in yours, the way his thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles.

“I think you'd make a great addition to my crew,” he said quietly, the rumble of his voice transferring into your body.

“What would you even have me do?”

“Well, you were a secretary, yeah? You could be my, uh…personal assistant. Or something like that.” You could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke.

“Yeah? I could run and get you coffee and wait on you like a maid, right?”

“Oh, come on,” he laughed quietly. “I wouldn't work you hard. It’d just be a title to get you on payroll.”

Maybe it was the alcohol, but it all felt so right. As if you’d done this a thousand times before, in a thousand lifetimes. The part of you that would normally be screaming at you to stop was quiet now. For just a moment, you let it all flow in, every feeling you’d refused to feel. You let yourself bask in his warmth, in the scent of him, the feeling of his body on yours. The two of you simply swayed together, not daring to move too much. You leaned back a bit as the song ended, and despite your better judgement, you looked up at him. He was already staring back, his eyes dark.

His hand crept slowly away from your lower back, trailing across your hip, up your waist, finally coming to rest with a finger beneath your chin. What was once electric touch was now like fire, each heartbeat coursing through your veins like molten rock. Keeping your eyes locked on his was a herculean task, because you knew what you would find there. His gaze burned straight through you down to your soul. Every thought, every regret, every dream and hope were all laid bare to him. And you could see it too, down into the depths of him. All of that longing and wanting you heard in his music was plain as day in his eyes. All of it directed straight at you.

You wrapped your fingers around his arm, pulling at him gently, testing his grip. His muscles were taught, but he allowed you to move him. “Andrew.”

“What?” He said it nonchalantly, as if you’d called his name from the other room.

You slid your free hand out of his grasp, snaking it along his waist. His sweater was warm under your touch. “Is this normally how you recruit your employees?"

“Not usually," He smiled. But his expression turned serious right after the words left his mouth. "If you’re telling me no, then I’ll stop right here, and we can forget we ever had this moment.” His voice was quiet, soothing to your ears. You hadn't even realized until right then that the music had stopped. “Are you telling me no?”

You dug your fingers tighter into his arm, your other hand tugging at his shirt. No words would come to you, each reply you thought up sounding just as incorrect as the next. Your focus faltered, your gaze darting between his eyes and his lips. You shook your head.

“Words, darling.”

He had done nothing but dance with you for a handful of minutes, yet he had you all kinds of worked up. Your skin was flushed and your heart was racing, your fingers trembling even as you held onto him tightly. “I’m telling you yes. But…”

He gently brushed a hair out of your face with a single finger. “But what?”

You knew where this was going, and you wanted it, wholeheartedly. You wanted him. But you were scared. “What happens when we leave here? If we do this…” you let him pull you a bit closer, your chest flush with his, so close that you could feel the thrum of his racing heart. “When I leave, will things still be…like this?” You could have gone on, but you stopped there. He got what you meant. You needed something more than just this. You couldn't, wouldn't, let this turn into a hit and run.

“Well, I thought I made it obvious earlier, but I was hoping you’d come with me, actually.” Your heart skipped a beat, and you searched his eyes for truthfulness. There was nothing but sincerity there. And it ran even deeper. He didn’t just mean for a little while, or as a friend.

“Andrew, it hasn’t even been three weeks we've known each other,” you said, your tone hushed.

“And if only you knew.” His breathing caught for a second, his eyes betraying something like pain. “If only you knew how disturbingly short the time was between dragging you in through that door and…” He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to. You knew exactly what he wanted to say, because you wanted to say it too.

You trailed your fingers up his body, across his shoulder, up his neck, coming to rest on the back of his head. You tangled your hand in his hair, just feeling him, his earthliness. Like running your fingers across the bark of a birch tree, it was holy. And when you leaned forward to kiss him, it was divine. His hands cradled the sides of your face, and even in the silence you could swear you heard some kind of sweet music. Maybe it was just the symphony of your bodies breathing together, your hearts beating together. You were certain it was the alcohol making it feel this way, but it didn't matter – you’d both needed this.

That need reflected itself in the frantic way you both tried to touch each other as much as possible. Like you were both worried the other would disappear. You sank your fingers into the fabric covering his chest, and he ran his hand along your arm, pulling up your sleeve as he went. You broke away from him with a gasp for air, and not a hint of regret lingered in his eyes. He turned his head to latch his lips onto your wrist, his gaze only leaving yours for a second to close his eyes in blissful reflection.

“Andrew,” you began, your voice impossibly small, most of the sound staying lodged in your chest.

He just shook his head and shushed you, moving once again to brush the hair from your neck so he could plant his lips on it. Slowly, so slowly you thought you might lose your mind, he moved lower. First pulling at the neck of your sweater to kiss along your collarbone, then pulling gently at the hem of it. He looked at you for permission, and you just nodded, incapable of much else. He pulled up your sweater just enough to kiss slowly along your chest, though his destination was lower yet. Soon, he was on his knees, his tall frame reduced to something small and pleading beneath you. His knees were spread wide, his fingers outstretched and dug into the fabric covering your thigh. His eyes met yours, half-lidded and begging, though he didn’t dare say a word.

“I didn’t realize how bad it was for you,” you said quietly, a hint of teasing to your tone.

“Was it any easier for you?”

“Not at all.”

He gripped at the fabric on your thighs, every inch of his body thrumming with desperate lust. “Can I? Please? The idea of going any longer without tasting you is just…god, please?”

His pleading, from anyone else's mouth, would have struck you as insincere, merely the launching point for a sob story about how hard it is to go oh-so-many months without sex. A string of words so pathetic should have had you wrinkling your nose and running out the door. Yet the look in his eyes was anything but insincere. Remarkably earnest, and honest, a longing so pure and deep it knocked the air from your lungs and you had to recall how to breathe. His fingers tightened fiercely around your thigh, and you could no longer make him wait.

You hooked a finger around the waistband of your pants – his pants – pulling them down just the barest bit, while giving him a subtle nod. He took the hint. His hands were shaking as he pulled at them, slipping the waistband over your hips until they fell down on their own. His hands snaked up your bare thighs, his eyes trying to take in every last detail.

He clearly was in no mood for a slow build. His hands wrenched your legs apart, throwing one over his shoulder, one hand splayed against your lower back to steady you. You nearly fell onto him, the wind rushing from your lungs as he buried himself between your thighs. He paused for only a second before his mouth was on you. His tongue ran slowly across your pussy, just tasting you, testing you. You clung to him for support, one hand knotted in his hair and the other wrinkling the back of his shirt. He didn’t seem to mind either.

Nobody had ever eaten you out like this before. He moved with such purpose, making a map of you in his head. He found what made your legs shake, what made you sigh and whimper and moan and grab at him harder. He was like a man starved, so desperate just to please you. Little sounds came from him, too – muffled whimpering, as if this was as good for him as it was for you. And you figured it must be, if the rhythmic movement of his hips against the air and the dark stain on the front of his sweats was anything to go by.

He pulled back to take a few deep gulps of air, his eyes half-closed and locked on yours, his lips shimmering and his beard nearly dripping with you. He looked a mess, a beautiful, perfect mess. You were his religion, and this was his worship.

“You’re so sweet,” he said in a gravelly, low tone, leaning forward again, his lips just barely grazing against your clit in a kiss. “Tastes like sugar water.”

He dove back in, this time pulling his hand from your thigh to trail a finger along your core. The combination of his hands and mouth was dizzying, and you suddenly could no longer stay upright. He could sense it, and helped ease you down onto the couch, though he only could manage to detach his mouth from you for a second. He was on you again once you were laid out on the couch, your feet up on the cushions.

This view was even more stunning than the last. From this angle, with him on the floor beneath you, he never had to look away. “Beautiful,” he murmured between licks, his eyes trained on yours. “So beautiful.” Gently, he trailed a finger through your wetness before sliding it into you, nice and slow. He was just as skilled with his hands as he was with his mouth, searching relentlessly for just the right spot. You could hear him chuckle when he found it, curling his fingers just right and making you nearly choke gasping for air.

“How’s that feel, darling?” He asked, a triumphant smirk on his face when you struggled and failed to answer.

You felt like you were losing your mind. He'd added a second finger, and curled both straight into the spot that had you seeing stars. It was so good, all of it was so fucking good. And his eyes – oh, god, his eyes, staring up at you, wide with lust, begging you to never make him stop. When he hit a particularly perfect spot, and you called out his name, it looked like he would lose his mind, too.

Your name, occasionally tripping off his tongue in low whimpers, seemed to be the only sound he knew how to make anymore. His eyes, pleading and desperate, were locked onto yours. You weren’t sure he could look away even if he wanted to. For all he’d done for you, for the chivalry and the favors and the masculinity that dripped from every inch of his skin, he was reduced here. Reduced down into something, still so chivalrous, that wanted – no, needed – to make you feel good. Even his hand, clenched against your thigh, shook with a measure of restraint. It was all about you.

You were close, a feeling which shocked you. It had been a while, obviously, but no man had ever gotten you this close, much less made you cum. It was hard enough for you to make yourself cum. But you could feel it, coiling hot and low in your stomach. Every movement of his tongue was perfection, the grinding of his nose against your clit, the way he looked up at you with those big eyes, fully black in the darkness of the room. It was that look that did it for you.

You tightened your grip on him, being rewarded with a soft moan as you pulled at his hair. It washed over you slowly, creeping up from your toes, pulling every muscle in your body taught. Your breathing stalled, then restarted as little hiccups of air, used up in an instant with quiet moans, then stalled again. It was like waves, the perfect kind of orgasm, one that hit you slow and rolled in like the tide. You could see stars, dancing across your vision in the firelit room as you cried out and called his name.

He got louder, too, like he was riding this high with you. And just as the breath started to return to your lungs, you realized that was exactly the case. You could only watch, slack jawed and still coming down, as his hand crept down from its perch on your thigh to grab his cock roughly through his sweats. His other hand dug into your hip hard enough to bruise, and he gave himself only a few strokes before his hips lurched forward of their own accord, his cheek now resting against your thigh.

Heavy breathing was the only sound in the room. It all hit you like a ton of bricks, and your legs started to shake from the exertion. Andrew stayed on his knees, his hands now resting in his lap and his head turned away from you. A fierce blush had crawled its way onto his cheeks, and a smile tugged at the corner of his lip.

You had to fight to keep your next words even. “Did you–”

“Don’t,” he said, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

A wide smile spread across your cheeks. “You actually–”

“I said don’t!” He turned back towards you, a big smile plastered on his face.

Neither of you could deny the hilarity of the situation, and the laughter that followed when he stood up and rushed off to the bathroom felt so right. You tried to relax in the minutes he was gone, pulling your pants back on and curling up on the foot of the couch. But your mind was almost unbearably loud. You couldn't manage to wipe the smile from your face, either. After what felt like eons of pining, you'd gotten what you wanted. Or, at least one of the things you wanted. By the time he came back – with a fresh pair of pants – you’d curled yourself up small, smile still stuck to your face. He didn’t look directly at you. In fact, he didn’t look your way at all.

“That doesn't– that’s never…” he stuttered through a painful attempt at an explanation.

“Baby,” you interrupted, the pet name catching him off guard just enough to make him pause. “That was really fucking hot.”

He collapsed down on the couch next to you, resting a hand on your back, the other hand dragging across his face as he groaned. “Listen, it’s been a long time, and– well, you’ve been here for three weeks, for christ’s sake.”

You giggled at his insistence to explain himself. “Was it just that good?”

He nodded, smiling over at you. “Divine, love.”

* * *

Things were different now, understandably. You looked at each other differently. Your typical nights of card games or story telling or music listening were now charged with some new energy. Both of you were waiting on the other, waiting for the moment when it became too much. When one of you could no longer fight it, and you’d need to come begging for more. But for now, things were in a tentative equilibrium. Tonight, things were focused on him, as he walked you through his life as a musician.

“So, like, what even is most of your music about?” You asked, fidgeting with a hair tie you’d found laying around. You were laying on the couch, one leg dangling off the edge, while he sat on the floor, his guitar in his hands.

“Most would describe it as a majority of love songs,” he answered, picking at the guitar randomly. “I think it’s a bit deeper than that.”

“How so?”

“A lot of them are…a lot more intimate than just a love song.” He scratched at his beard, looking for the words. “Like, sex, and beyond. And it’s not all about romance, either.”

“And beyond?”

“This is a bit tough to explain if you've never heard any of it,” he said with a smile.

You shrugged. “I’m sure I’ll hear it some day.”

There was a silence, not an uncomfortable one, but a quietness where you listened to him softly pick at strings. You’d become accustomed to this, the sound of a guitar and the sight of the beams in the ceiling. It was so familiar, now. Your mind wandered, pondering what he’d said. Sex, and beyond. He gave you a taste of that the other night.

It had never left your mind for even a moment. At times, the vision of him between your legs, staring up at you like you were a god, would hit you so hard you could barely speak. And more than once, you’d gotten so worked up thinking about it that you had to hide in the bathroom until you could calm yourself down. Tonight, you feared, would be one of those nights. It wasn’t easy being in such close proximity to him. You would get whiffs of the scent of his skin, or he would give you a light touch as he walked past you. Or he’d do as he was doing now, hunched over his guitar while he whispered melodies to himself, occasionally looking up at you through his eyelashes, like he was studying you.

You couldn't do it. You mumbled something about a shower, and disappeared into the bathroom. A shower ended up making everything worse. The soap smelled like him, the shampoo smelled like him, the conditioner smelled like him. Even the towels carried it, and by the time you got out and had a towel wrapped around yourself, you were feeling even worse than when you’d gotten in. It hadn’t ever been this bad, and it was starting to drive you crazy. You looked around the bathroom, clicking your tongue in disapproval as you realized you’d forgotten to bring a change of clothes.

You opened the bathroom door, your eyes trained on the ground, your mind far away and filled with images of Andrew. You didn’t even realize he was in the room until you bumped straight into him, at the foot of the bed.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, dragging your eyes up his body.

His hands were in his pockets, and he was looking down at you with a look in his eye that you couldn’t read. “You were in there for so long, I started to get worried. I was about to come knock.”

“I’m fine,” you replied, with significantly more snark than you meant to give.

“Oh, so now she has an attitude?” He raised an amused eyebrow and crossed his arms.

“I don’t have an attitude,” you snapped back, sounding like a total brat.

“What’s your deal tonight?” He asked, looking slightly concerned for a moment while you dug through the dresser for more of his clothes to steal. “Seems like you’ve got a lot on your mind, darling.”

“I’m…just thinking about stuff, that’s all.” You tried to slip past him and back into the bathroom to put clothes on, but he stopped you, blocking the path with his body.

“And what stuff might that be?”

You could feel a blush creeping into your cheeks, and you tried with everything you could muster to will it away. “Just– some things, okay? Now would you–”

“Am I one of those things?”

You turned your head away far too quickly. He knew, of course he knew. He could read you like a book.

“I’m only asking because…I’ve got a lot on my mind too.” He reached out, placing a finger on your chin to tilt your head towards him. “Maybe you could help me with that.” His voice had dropped to that low, silky tone he had only used once – when he was eating you out.

Neither of you could take it anymore. It was mutual, the way you moved towards each other, crashing together like rain to the earth. The towel around your body fell to the floor in a crumpled heap. His hands gripped your biceps, and you held onto his shoulders, fingers digging in as if he may be swept away. His mouth found yours, in a kiss so soft and delicate you might not have believed the way he was about to ravage you. He wrapped his arms around your waist, forcing you to drop the clothes you’d been carrying. He tossed you onto the bed, while you kicked your feet, trying to free yourself. You landed with a thud, giggling as you sat yourself up.

“Are you gonna eat me out for an hour? Or are you gonna fuck me?” You asked, with a sudden burst of courage.

He froze for a moment, a slack-jawed smile on his face as he took in the sight of your bare body. “Do you want me to fuck you?” He asked, his tone a bit more serious now.

Your giggly mood faded a bit as you thought about it, and you nodded. Of course you wanted that. “I do.”

Not another moment passed before he was on top of you, his lips locked to yours again as a hand slid down your body. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your breaths growing quicker as he teased his way down your torso. He was just as skilled with his fingers as you remembered, and within just a few minutes of toying with you, he already had you coming apart. He was two fingers deep, properly fucking you on them, finding all of your favorite spots.

You reached down between the two of you, hesitantly, to palm him through the fabric of his sweats. You obviously didn't hide the stunned disbelief that showed on your face very well, as he gave a small chuckle at your expression.

“You look scared.” A smirk was on his face as he pulled his fingers out of you, leaving you feeling empty and needy, instead leaning back to hook his thumb into the waistband of his pants.

“Yeah, I didn't realize you were toting a fucking weapon.” You laughed at your own comment, trying to hide the fact that you actually were a bit scared.

Just as he started to pull his pants down, you lurched forward, swatting his hands away. “My job,” you murmured, looking up at him.

You had to pause for a breath when you caught your first glimpse of him. The first word that came to mind wa perfect. You ran a finger tenderly across the underside of his cock, watching as it twitched in response to your touch, feeling his body shudder. Moving in a daze, you wrapped a hand around it, looking up at him when Andrew’s hand came down to close around yours, dwarfing it completely.

“You look hypnotized,” he said with a chuckle.

He was right. And you didn’t just look it, you felt it. Your entire being was consumed by him, now. You needed him, more than you needed air, more than you’d needed anything in your entire life. He saw it in your eyes, the desperation, and lowered you back down onto your back.

“D’you want it like this?”

You could feel him, warm and hard and leaking, pressing up against your thigh, and you thought you might just lose your god damn mind. You choked out a yes, please, and he didn’t wait another moment. He went slow, though you were certain it was torture for him, given the way his jaw was tightly clenched and his shoulders were stiff. Little whimpers left your mouth with every inch he added, sounds he reflected in his own lower pitch as your heat wrapped around him.

“That’s it, love.” His voice was soothing, calm and quiet, the antithesis of your trembling form beneath him. “That's it. Just relax.”

Relaxing felt like the last thing on your mind, your thoughts a swirling storm of emotions and feelings you hadn't felt in far too long. But with every inch deeper he sank, the more complete you felt. You could feel whatever force that tethered you to the ground slowly fraying away, your eyes slipping shut as visions of his slack jaw and half-lidded eyes danced in your mind.

His hands, warm and rough on your bare hips, were the only giveaway that he was anything other than calm, cool, and collected. His fingers dug into your skin, not hard enough to hurt, not unless you asked for it. He didn't want to hurt you – you’d been through enough.

“How does that feel?” He asked, his voice gravelly and low, when the gentle in, out, in finally slowed to a stop, bottomed out inside of you.

You were so full of him, like he was taking up all of the space you had inside of you. Almost like he was the only one who could fill that space properly. It was ecstasy, and you could feel tears starting to well up. You didn’t know for sure that you could speak, and you only nodded in response.

But he wanted to hear you. No, he needed to hear you. That voice of yours that had become his only comfort in the past weeks, he had to hear it, laden with lust and dripping with need. “Speak,” he said simply.

“Feels good,” you choked out, unhooking your fingers from the sheets to run them through the sides of his hair. You couldn’t fight the tears anymore, your vision blurring with them.

You could scarcely believe you’d ever seen a more beautiful sight. All the mountains, all the oceans, all the deserts could not compare to this; to the sight of him above you, long hair curtaining the sides of his face, the light from the fire in the living room silhouetting him. And the feeling of it all – so perfect. The fullness was sublime, like you'd been waiting your whole life to have someone fit you like he did.

“You okay?” He asked softly, brushing a tear from your cheek. “Want me to stop?”

You shook your head frantically, your eyes desperately pleading for him to not stop under any circumstances. “No,” you blurted out, a bit too fast and loud. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop, I– you’re so– god, Andrew, it feels so–”

He shushed you with a smile, his eyes so dark with arousal they looked black. “I know, baby, I know. I’m gonna take care of you, alright? Just relax.”

He started to move then, and you only caught a quick glimpse of the way his jaw fell open in a half-smile before your gaze shot upwards, your eyes rolling back. It was perfect, exactly what you needed. You felt his hand on the back of your neck, lifting you from the pillows.

“Eyes open,” he commanded, nearly bending you in half as he shifted back a bit. You followed his gaze down to where your bodies met, watching the slow drag of him as he slid into you. “Look at that. Look how well you're taking me, love.”

The sound of it was so obscene you should both be ashamed, made worse by the quiet fuck that fell from your lips as he found a steady rhythm. The sounds were the worst part of it all, in the dead silence of the cabin. Everything was amplified. His jagged breathing, your barely contained whining, the quiet, barely-there moans from his lips. Even the sound of your bodies moving against the sheets and the slide of skin was loud.

“You’re so big,” you squeaked out, your eyes squeezed shut.

He hummed a sound like laughter, and clicked his tongue. “Is it too much for you?” His tone was half-playful, half-mocking.

You shook your head, hitching your legs up just a little further. He shifted a bit, wrapping an arm under your neck to pull both of you closer. With his lips right next to your ear you could hear even the littlest sounds, the ones that he tried to stop, the ones that caught in his throat. Every stroke of his hips was pure divinity. You never wanted this to stop.

Everything faded away, everything except for him. There was nothing else in the world that mattered or existed outside of the scent of his skin, his moans in your ear, and the slow drag of his cock inside of you. He read every cue your body gave him, every clench around him, every spasm of your body, the way your fingers dug into him.

“Get on top of me,” he murmured in your ear. He didn't give you much choice in the matter, flipping the two of you over. You marveled at how easily he was able to manhandle you like that. He shifted himself up, propping himself halfway up against the headboard. Even though it was only moments, you felt so empty without him, and you scrambled your way onto his lap, your hands resting gently on his chest as he guided himself back into you.

Neither of you moved at first, yet it still felt so good, just being filled with him like this. He captured the sides of your face, pulling you in to kiss you. He was so gentle with it, his lips fitting against yours perfectly. “Have you pictured this, too?” He asked, his lips against yours.

You rolled your hips forward, watching his head tip back and his eyelids flutter at the feeling. “More times than you could imagine.”

“Oh, I’m sure I can wrap my head around it,” he smirked.

You lifted yourself up onto your knees then, clutching at his shoulders with a pleased sigh as you sank back down onto him. This position was perfect, particularly the way he wrapped his hands around your waist to help lift you as he thrusted up to meet your slowly bouncing hips.

It was like a symphony, all the sounds of sex echoing off the walls of the tiny cabin. You were so full of him that it was hard to focus on much else besides the twitch of his cock and the long, deep strokes into you. You buried your face into his neck as he thrust his hips up to meet you, whispering out a chain of expletives. He smelled so nice, just the naked scent of his skin, mixed with a bit of sweat. It enveloped you, floating off the sheets and being rattled from the walls.

His hand drifted down between your bodies, his fingers adding pressure to your clit where there had been none before. The feeling made you gasp and clench around him, met with his hand around your waist digging into your skin harder. It was all so overwhelming, in the best way, tears stinging your eyes and blurring your vision again.

“Baby, breathe,” he said, with a small smile. You hadn't even realized you were nearly hyperventilating. “You’re okay, you’re doing so good.”

“You just– you feel so good, oh my god,” you whimpered, between attempts to catch your breath.

“Yeah? Does it just feel so good?” He had a bit of mocking to his tone, and as much as you wanted to be irritated, it only made you clench around him harder. He was typically so meek, it was unbearably hot when he acted like a cocky asshole.

You nodded, biting your lip against a particularly obscene moan when he shifted the angle of his hips just a bit. You squirmed and grabbed at him, one hand twisting in the sweater he hadn't bothered to remove, the other grabbing onto his hair like it was your only lifeline. You rocked your hips forward into his touch, finding the perfect angle, the perfect pressure.

“That’s it, love.” He pulled you in closer, letting you bury your head into his neck, whimpering and cursing. “Just take it. Take what you need. I’m all yours.” His voice was the littlest bit shaky, the only giveaway that he was barely holding on. Every rock of your hips was like fire to his nerves.

You were so far gone that you could barely sense it as an orgasm began to well up inside of you, coiling up slowly. He could feel it, in the way your walls clung tighter to him, and your bouncing had devolved into grinding close against him. He ran a hand up the back of your neck and into your hair, using it to pull your head to the side to murmur into your ear. “You’re about to cum, aren’t you?”

You nodded, your eyes rolled back, your eyelids fluttering closed as you reached higher and higher. A stream of yes, yes, yes was all you could get to come from your mouth.

“Yeah, I bet you are. Go on, then.” His eyelids were heavy when he looked at you.

Your vision swam with the streaked shape of him. It hit you like a smack to the face, overwhelming and overstimulating in an instant. You dug your fingers so hard into his shoulders you were certain you’d bruise him, but he didn’t seem to care. His name fell from your lips like a chanted prayer as you clenched and coiled tight around him, squeezing out the last of the self control he had.

His hands grasped your waist tightly, your body limp and pliable under his touch. He never looked away from you, not even as he held you firmly in place, thrusting up into you with no mercy. He groaned out something resembling a warning, but you were too deep in your own throes to listen, your face tipped to the ceiling as you rode out waves of pure pleasure. You could feel it when he came, the pulsing of his cock, an unfathomable fullness, and a warmth that spread straight down to your toes. He mumbled praises into the side of your neck as he filled you, telling you how beautiful you are, how well you take it, how much he loves you. That one went right over your head, but a bit of your conscious mind still present filed it away for later.

You went limp in his arms, resting your weight against his chest as you both struggled to find breath again. You were floating in a dreamlike state of bliss when he finally did slip out of you, though you heard him let out a quiet groan as you dripped onto his lap. You thought for a moment that you might just lose your mind when he crawled down the length of you to place his head between your thighs.

“Andrew, baby, I can’t…” you protested weakly, though you knew you could never get enough of him.

“Quiet, love. Just let me take care of you.” he slid the flat of his tongue along you, and you watched in awe as he swallowed down the mess between your legs. Your breath hitched and you squirmed away when he brushed up against your clit, swollen and sensitive. But he wasn’t having any of it. He held you in place, going at you with such fervor you thought for a few moments he might be trying to kill you.

You were breathless, begging for mercy yet not truly wanting it, fighting tooth and nail against his hands that held you in place. He was rushing you faster towards a second peak, one who's height scared you.

“Shhh, darling, you’re alright,” he cooed, his mouth still pressed to your clit. “You can take a little more. You’re almost there.”

It was stunning how well he knew your body, that he could recognize the subtle cues that told him you were close. And you were, but you held back. The last one was intense enough to last a lifetime, the thought of another was frankly terrifying. You babbled nonsense as you writhed under his touch. “I can’t– fuck, it’s just– too much, it’s too much–”

“I’ve got you, baby.” He dug his fingers harder into your thigh, his gaze pleading. “I promise. Just let go.”

Your hand shot down to grab the back of his head, pulling at his hair likely a bit too hard. You couldn't hold back anymore, not with the way he was drinking you down like a glass of water. It hit like a gunshot, sudden and intense, while you muffled your cries with the back of your hand. The tears that had threatened to fall earlier now spilled down your cheeks, your lips curling into a soft smile as you started to float away on an endless sea of bliss. He lowered you down slowly, chuckling quietly as you tried to catch your breath.

“Good job, love,” he said softly, slinking back up towards you to plant a kiss on your forehead.

It was late now, and you were exhausted, almost instantly curled up on the sheets with your head on a pillow. Andrew laid behind you, wrapping himself around your trembling body, throwing a blanket over both of you. You were asleep before you even had a chance to process any of it. He held you close all night, not wanting to let even a second of this night slip by. You both slept soundly, your bodies slotted together like puzzle pieces.

* * *

You opened your blurred and bleary eyes to sunlight, streaming in through the windows and sending sparkles of dust dancing in the shafts of light. The sunlight was different in Andrew’s room than on the couch. You turned over, slowly, to find he was still next to you, sleeping soundly on his back. Your stirring roused him, though, and he opened one eye to look at you.

“Good morning,” he said, in a cracked and gravelly voice.

This was one part of the fantasy you’d never dared to imagine. And you were glad you didn't bother, because nothing you could have dreamed up could possibly measure up to the sight in front of you. His hair was a tangled mess, fanned out beneath him. The adoration in his eyes was tangible, something you could feel radiating outwards at you as he scanned over your face.

“You look tired,” he told you, with a smile.

“Yeah, I wonder why.”

The two of you giggled a bit together, and you had to stop yourself from cuddling closer to him. You didn’t know where the line was, and that fact was troubling you greatly. Twice now you’d been intimate, yet that could mean nothing. You still didn't quite feel like his world was one you belonged in, anyway. You wouldn't allow yourself to drag him down.

Andrew noticed the furrow in your brow, and reached out to smooth it away. “What’s on your mind?” He asked.

You shook your head, trying to look nonchalant. “Just wondering where we go from here.”

He sighed, looking just as worried as you for a moment. “That’s a heavy subject, darling. Let's save that for when we’re more awake, okay?”

You nodded, knowing he was right. It was much too early to be trying to work these things out. He crawled his way out of bed, stretching his arms with a deep groan and a yawn, still naked from the waist down. It felt so intimate to watch him as he pulled his hair back into a low bun, and slipped on a pair of pants. Like this was a part of him you were never meant to see, but you were grateful for it anyway. You followed suit as he walked out to the main room, stealing a clean pair of pants from the dresser and throwing them on.

Soreness hit you quickly, stumbling your steps out of the bedroom. Your hips and knees were shot, and you didn't even want to think about the ache between your legs. Andrew was at the kitchen counter, turning to face you as you set a hand on the back of the couch to steady yourself.

“You okay?” He asked, a knowing smile on his face.

“I’m fine,” you lied, sitting in your usual spot on the couch with a wince.

“Sorry, darling. Let me make you something to chase all that soreness away.”

He did just that, whipping up all of your favorites. He wasn't the greatest cook, but everything he made tasted like it was made entirely with love. While you ate quietly, there was a faint memory that poked at the edges of your consciousness, something he said last night. You couldn't quite put your finger on it, but it was something you needed to remember. It was something about–

“Love, does the coffee taste alright?” Andrew asked from the kitchen, where he was washing dishes.

“As good as always,” you replied. He’d somewhat gotten you hooked on shitty instant coffee.

“Thank god,” he muttered. “For a second I thought I grabbed salt instead of sugar.”

“Something on your mind?” You asked, knowing damn well the answer.

He sighed, shutting the water off and drying his hands. “There’s a lot on my mind right now. Same for you, I’m sure?”

You nodded, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. “We have to talk about it.”

“All of it.”

You both paused, trying to collect yourselves. You weren’t just nervous, you were terrified. You had never expected this moment to come so soon, and with so many unexpected developments. It felt like only yesterday you’d been dragged into this cabin, half dead and frozen, yet here you were, preparing for a conversation that could change the course of your entire life.

Andrew spoke first. “I don’t want you to leave,” he blurted out, a bit louder than needed. “I don’t want to be apart from you.”

“Andrew–”

“We only just met, I know. I know you’ll have a trillion reasons that I shouldn't feel this way. But I do. And I don’t think that our meeting was an accident.” He paused for a breath, and you only just noticed his hands were shaking. He ran his fingers along his palm again, that familiar nervous habit. “If I’m being completely honest with you, my heart has been in your hands since the moment you came through that door. I’ve never wanted the company of someone else until it was you. And it may be too soon to tell, but I think it’s love, darling.”

Time froze, you stopped breathing. That was it, iii that iii was what he'd said last night. Clearly, he had meant it. You couldn't find the words to reply. Of course you loved him too – wasn’t it so obvious now, that the cards were all on the table? But you couldn’t say it. Not yet. “I…can’t be away from you either,” you began. “There’s about a thousand things I’m worrying about at this current moment. But I have to trust you, don't I?”

“Listen. Even if…even if none of this works out, even if you hate me in a year, or half a year…I promise you won’t regret a second of it.”

You thought about it for a long while. You had two options. Return to your life, jobless and broke, going nowhere, at a dead end. Or, you could follow this man you’d entrusted your life to.

“And on a more selfish note, you give me way too much inspiration to just let you go. I’ve never been able to write the way I can when I’m around you.” He smiled sheepishly, averting his eyes a bit.

The choice was obvious. “Alright,” you breathed. “Where are we going first?”

Packed bags. An empty apartment. A flight to Dublin.

A trip to the countryside. A cottage by the sea. A ring.

Your things lived among his, now. Two pillows, two pairs of shoes, two sets of keys. You were inseparable. The crew loved you, the band adored you, and you excelled at a very simple job description – keep him in line. It wasn’t hard, not when he had you as his motivation.

You walked quickly down convoluted corridors of white cinderblock, your phone in your hand, ringing a number that wouldn’t answer. Stadium tunnels never got any signal, anyway. Your heels clicked loudly on the concrete floor, barely audible over the roaring that rumbled down the hallways. You reached a door, knocking with your fist before swinging it open.

“Andrew!” You shouted, holding your arms up, feigning exasperation. “You’re gonna be late, for the love of god.”

He was looking in the mirror, tucking a stray piece of hair into the half-ponytail he had his hair in. It was much longer now than three years ago, and more curly. “It’s fine,” he droned, turning to face you with a wide smile. “Who cares if I’m 30 seconds late?”

“Um, your assistant cares, thank you. Do you have any idea how much they expect from me? Everyone just expects me to do basically everything that involves you, and–”

“Darling, shush.” He strode over to you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you to his chest. The jean jacket he wore was rough on your cheek, but he smelled so good you didn’t really mind. “Why don’t you assist yourself in calming down a bit?”

“And why don’t you assist yourself onto the stage?"

He planted a kiss to the top of your forehead, letting go of you, though keeping a hand on your shoulder. “Alright, I’m going,” he conceded.

“Thank you, love,” you sighed, exasperated.

“I’ll see you soon.” He bent down to kiss you, softly and sweetly, as he always did before a show.

“I might keep an eye on you from the sidelines. Try not to get distracted,” you grinned.

“I will,” he grinned back. “Get distracted, that is.”

You gave him a playful shove. “Have fun, baby.”

He gave you one last kiss before he disappeared out the door. And a minute later, the roaring reached a fever pitch as he hit the stage. You half-sat on the back of the couch in the dressing room, just thinking for a moment. How far you’d come. So many had called you crazy. Even more didn't believe you. None of that mattered now, while you waited for your fiancé to finish his set and return to you. You grazed your fingers along your forearm, where a new tattoo sat. A little log cabin with two trees on either side. Thank god for that little cabin.

[comehereoohlala]

Dead Dove (Do Not Eat)

- Hozier x Fem!Reader

Summary: You, Andrew, and the band get together and play a drinking game involving fanfiction. what could go wrong?

Tags: Fluff, friends to lovers, drunken confessions, drunken kissing, no use of Y/N, FIC DOES NOT CONTAIN DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT CONTENT, it was just a title i swear, written for fem!reader but could be gender neutral

Word Count: 3139

Author's Note: THEY CALL ME A CHIROPRACTOR THE WAY I'M BACK‼️‼️‼️ like for realsies. i know i keep coming back like once a month and saying "i'm back" but i mean it now. anyways! i wanted to thank @cervidaewasteland and @sillycartoonhozier for coming up with this concept, as well as @deprivedmusicaljunkie and @uprightpillar for betareading!!! hope you enjoy because this is lowkey a crackfic. also yes i know the format of the texting is weird, tumblr hates me

read on ao3!

as always, fic under the cut :3

Touring with your best friend since your late teens was genuinely a dream come true. The moment Andrew first offered you a spot in the band, over ten years ago when his debut album was released, you’d said yes. Your love of music (combined with your looming crush on Andrew) made the job as easy as breathing. You wouldn't trade this job for anything, no matter how routine being on the road might get.

Another concert wrapped up. Another mostly flawless performance (Andrew flubbed the words to Cherry Wine, but what else was new). Another stay at a hotel that you never would've picked if you had the choice. And most importantly, another bed with too-soft pillows that was calling your name. That was, until Larissa called it first. You turned to look at her from down the hallway, pausing as she sped up to meet you. Once she reached you, you continued your pace towards your hotel room.

"The band’s gonna go to Andrew's room, have a little celebration since we don't have to hit the road until the morning. Are you coming?" She walked beside you as she explained. You could hear the eagerness in her voice at the possibility of your presence. However, at the moment you were much more enthralled with the idea of getting a good night's sleep.

"I think I’ll have to pass. I'm pretty tired, I —" your sentence was cut off by a yawn, like your body was proving your point. "I might just turn in for the night.”

"Please? We're playing your favorite game!"

You stopped in your tracks upon hearing the teasing of your favorite pastime on tour: an admittedly juvenile game that the band had dubbed “Fanfiction Book Club”. One member of the band would find some outrageous fanfiction written about Andrew — usually one written with grammar mistakes and plot holes galore — and take turns reading it aloud. You laugh, you drink. More often than not, it resulted in tour buses full of hangovers the next day, but you never regretted a second of it.

Your favorite part was the fact that it made Andrew squirm. It was consensual, of course; half of the time playing the game was his idea, and you were sure that tonight was no different. He seemed to enjoy it as much as anyone else, laughing and blushing and sometimes even muttering an That's actually a good line.

"Hmm... oh, alright. I'll be there in a few minutes, just let me get changed so I'm not still in my concert attire.” You finally gave in, gesturing to your all-gray outfit left over from the performance less than an hour ago. Larissa didn't seem to care when you showed up, her eyes gleaming with excitement the second you agreed. You said farewell for now and rushed back over to your hotel room, texting Andrew on the way there.

Hey. U ready to read some teenage girl’s flawless writing about u?

This is what i was born to do

Of course I’m ready.

I’ll bet you € 20 they misuse Gaeilge

I’ll bet you €30 there’s only

one bed

You got changed into a much more comfortable outfit, a simple old t-shirt and some shorts, something you knew you'd soon change out of. It seemed that by the time you entered, all the other members of the band had already arrived, and you took the only empty spot. All squished into Andrew's hotel room, you were all sitting in a makeshift circle, going across the floor and onto his bed. Everyone already had a drink in hand, and feeling a little left out, you went to grab a can from the room’s mini-fridge. Andrew was already sitting in front of it, ready to distribute drinks to those who asked. He handed your drink to you instead, and you wanted to kick yourself over the fact that your heart fluttered when your hands brushed.

You quickly scanned the room, noticing the only empty space to sit was between Alex and Melissa. Sitting criss-crossed on the carpeted floor between the two, you watched as Alex stood up from his spot, commencing the events of the night.

“Welcome to Fanfiction Book Club, my fellow musicians. I found tonight's selection on the modern day Library of Alexandria: Wattpad.”

Alex was almost always the ringleader, being an absolute menace and finding the fanfiction. Andrew supplied the drinks and the hangout space. Everyone else brought their spirits. Everyone had their small habits to make the reading more enjoyable. Deepening their voice drastically whenever they had to read for Andrew. Making sure to pronounce every spelling error just as it's spelled. Giving “Y/N” the most outrageous name possible, so that Andrew was about to go on a date with “William Shakespeare”.

The story of the night featured the main character being Andrew's backup singer who was a decade younger than him. They hated each other at first, but after a night in which they shared a hotel bed (you owed Andrew that money later), feelings were beginning to be reconsidered. The band especially had fun with tonight's pick, with jokes ranging from cradle snatching to HR violations. Andrew laughed along with them, taking everything in stride and even taking quite a few drinks of his own. The phone got passed around, and you had made your way through more than one drink already from the sheer amount of fun you were having.

Andrew seemed especially flustered when the phone got around to you. You read out loud about how the main character had confessed her undying love for Andrew in a rainstorm, despite only knowing the man two months. Her pining couldn't even compare to yours, you thought as you read. Two months versus almost two decades. Unfortunately, there was also a pang of discomfort you could feel, as some of the words you were reading aloud actually resonated with your situation. It almost gave you shivers to read someone describe how “in love” a character was with Andrew, and express thoughts that had crossed your mind daily. I love your smile. Your eyes are the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. Your kindness is overpowering. How dare words on a screen — likely written at two in the morning by someone with nothing better to do — relate to your situation so deeply.

You were able to keep it together and not laugh, likely thanks to your comparison between the fanfic’s story and your own. You passed the phone back to Alex, who was much more inebriated than he was at the beginning of the game. By the time his phone got back to him, his words were slurring.

"Everybody listen! Here's where it gets good," Alex yelled, effectively shushing the room and capturing everyone's attention. You leaned over his shoulder, trying to get a sneak peek at the next few words as Alex read them. You couldn't resist a laugh as Alex read. "'Andrew leaned in, and as his lips met yours, he kissed you with the burning passion of a thousand suns—' Oh my god," Alex read before being stopped by his own chuckles. Poor man couldn't even finish the sentence. When your gaze jutted over to Andrew, he looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die. He had thrown the hood of his zip-up over his head, like his thought process was if you all couldn't see him, he couldn't feel the shame. Alex had no aversion to making Andrew cringe like this, and a shit-eating grin was plastered on his face as he read out the next segment.

“‘You never would have known it, but Andrew could touch a woman just how she wanted to be touched, and look at her like the way she's always wanted to be looked at.’ Want to teach me your ways, there, Andy?”

“That's kinda hot, actually,” you joked, turning to Melissa as you took a voluntary sip of your drink. Andrew coughed, followed by dropping the hood and taking a deep breath. This caught your attention; you assumed he had just had a moment where he was choking on his drink. You raised an eyebrow, wordlessly asking Are you alright? He held up a thumbs up to reassure you, using his head to nod back towards Kellen, whose turn it was.

“Okay, here we go. ‘Your kissing quickened, until eventually his large hands were…’ oh, I don't think I can read that aloud,” Kellen said. He flashed the cellphone screen to Alex, who scanned the words on the screen, his eyes getting cartoonishly wide at the contents.

“And then they start having sex, so that, my friends,” he said, snatching up his phone from Kellen’s hands, “— is where we have to cut the story off.” This was met with groans, everyone upset that the game had come to a close.

“Additionally, if we go any further we run the risk of Andy turning the same shade as a stop sign,” Alex teased, gesturing to Andy who, true to Alex’s word, had now turned a bright shade of red. Eventually, the group conceded and began to leave the room, congratulating each other and laughing on their way out, sometimes mumbling a witty remark.

“Same time next week?” Rory asked as he left, followed by an agreement from Andrew. His exit meant you were the only two people left in the room. In the moment, you decided to make yourself at home, sitting at the foot of his bed and plopping your back onto the mattress.

“So… that was… quite the story, huh?” you said, stretching your arms out before crossing them over your chest. Andrew chuckled, nodding as he walked over and sat down beside you.

“Tell me about it. That had the grammar of someone who’s never heard the words ‘spell check’ before.”

"Plus, the way they wrote about you? It was like some... some cheesy BookTok romance novel."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

You scoffed, accompanied by an eye roll. Maybe it was his ego, or his intoxicated state, but he really couldn't see how absurd those words were.

"C'mon, Andrew. 'Kissed you with the burning passion of a thousand suns'? Be for real. You would not kiss like that," you explained. Your sentence dissolved into a chuckle towards the end, likely because you had been made more giggly thanks to the alcohol in your system. Your laughs subsided when he asked you a question that was without a doubt a result of the alcohol in his system.

"Wanna put that to the test?"

You laughed again — now from nerves and not from amusement — and shook your head in disbelief. Did he actually just say that? Fully sitting up now, a confused look came across your face.

"Andrew, what do you mean by that?"

"What I mean is that you keep saying those descriptions are inaccurate. You don't know that.”

Could he really not see that those words were completely asinine?

“You really believe you… what was the line… ‘touch a woman just how she wants to be touched’ and all that crap?”

“Well, y’know, any man would like to believe that. Won't know until you try,” he said with a nonchalance to it that made you almost angry. It felt like a life or death decision was being thrown into your lap, and he couldn't care less.

You thought for a moment, weighing your options. It was just one kiss. Just to prove some stupid point. If anything more happened, it would be blamed on the alcohol. Even the worse outcome to saying ‘yes’ still meant you got to kiss the man you had been longing for. What did you have to lose?

“Fine, Andrew. You can kiss me.”

He nearly lunged at you, grabbing the sides of your face and smashing his lips into yours. You felt a jolt down your spine at the sudden sensation, kissing him back.

Holy shit, he really was kissing you with the passion of a thousand suns.

Kissing Andrew, your best friend as well as your boss, was, to put it lightly, playing with fire. There was something about his lips on yours that felt like burning. You were more than willing to step into the fire and let it consume you.

His tongue ran across your bottom lip, asking you for permission to enter, which you happily gave. His tongue explored your mouth, hungry to memorize every inch of you that was available. You relished in the feeling of his touch, letting him pull you closer. He grabbed onto your hips, your lips still interlocked as your hands made their way to his untamed curls. Trapping his legs between yours, you accepted as he pulled you into his lap and let you straddle him. A soft moan escaped you as you felt Andrew's sudden grasp of your ass, and you wanted to do something in return, but you came to a realization.

Andrew probably thinks there's no feelings involved.

As much as it pained you to do it, you leaned back, pulling away from the kiss.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait.”

Andrew blinked up at you, his lips now red and slightly swollen. If you didn't know any better, you’d say he looked a little worried.

“What's the matter? Did I not meet your expectations?”

“No, no. It was great, but,” you watched his lips curve into a cheeky smile. Grabbing the sides of his face was the only way you could get him to focus. “Andrew, wipe that smirk off your face. I’m trying to be serious here."

“I’m sorry, but it's hard to be serious in this position,” he replied as you looked down at him (for the first time, thanks to your height difference now being reversed). You paused in hopes of taking a mental picture of the image to save it in your psyche forever.

“Yeah, well, try your best.”

A sigh left you. Your brain tried to articulate how to tell him what you needed to get off your chest. Thanks to the alcohol, even when you did speak, it came out much more simplified than you had hoped.

“Okay. I like you. I really like you, and I have for a while. I feel so stupid for saying it, but I do. I couldn't let this continue without letting you know that.”

To your shock, Andrew's reaction to your confession was to… burst into laughter. It felt as though your heart could escape your chest at any moment, the nerves now hitting you all at once. Hastily, you said your thoughts out loud.

“You're laughing. Oh no, you're laughing. Shit, I’m an idiot, aren't I?”

“No, no, you're not, I promise,” Andrew replied, shaking his head. He took a deep breath, composing himself before meeting your gaze with a new sincerity in his eyes. “I’m only laughing because I’ve felt the exact same way. Also for a long time. Just never knew when the right time to tell you was. And tonight… the opportunity just arose.”

You gave him a calculating look, like you were trying to make everything make sense in your head.

“So we’ve both liked each other for close to a decade, just said nothing about it for years, basically wallowing in our own self pities, until you decided you had enough liquid courage in your system to finally hit on me? Because of a fanfiction?”

Andrew exhaled, giving you a defeated nod after essentially he had been called out.

“Sounds about right."

The situation was almost comical. Really comical, actually, and you now understood why Andrew’s first instinct was to laugh. Your forehead rested on his shoulder as you laughed into his hoodie. Of course he had liked you the whole time, how could you have been so oblivious? Once you fully composed yourself, you pulled away, shaking your head in disappointment. “God, what a couple of idiots we are.”

“A right pair of knobheads.”

Andrew smiled up at you, a dumb grin like an idea had popped into his head. When he spoke again, his voice was lower.

“I wanted to ask you this when we were much more sober, but I guess no time like the present, right?” Letting out a small sigh, he continued. You could see his cheeks flush again, like whatever he was going to say would make him more flustered than the fact that you were sitting in his lap. “Would… ehm… would you want to go out sometime? I don't need an answer now, if you want to just let me-”

“Yes. Yes, please. I would want nothing more than to go on a date with you.”

The goofiest grin spread across Andrew's face. You couldn't help but think he was adorable.

“Grand. I don't know what I would've done if you said no.”

“Shoving me off of you would've been the best option.”

“Yeah, probably.”

You both laughed together once again, before your giggles where cut off by a yawn. Seemed that the tiredness you were feeling before the whole ordeal was beginning to catch up to you.

“I guess that's a sign I should retire to my bed chambers, huh?” You lifted yourself off of him, moving so that you were now merely sitting next to him. Looking over at Andrew, you could tell he had an idea forming.

“Maybe you could just… sleep here tonight? No one needs to know, and if they question anything, I’ll just say you passed out and I didn't want to wake you.”

Another way your night began to overlap with fanfiction: there was only one bed. Sharing a bed with Andrew was an offer you simply couldn't refuse. You nodded.

“Let's get comfortable, then,” you mumbled, shimmying back until you took up one side of the bed. Andrew maneuvered himself backwards to get comfortable. You watched him lay down, both of you on opposite sides of the bed. Buried underneath the covers, you gazed at him as he did the same; he looked perfect. He raised an eyebrow at your staring and gestured for you to come closer. If you nodded any quicker, your head would’ve fallen off. You let the both of you get fully comfortable with one another, shifting to find the best position to cuddle in for the night. Once you found a way, Andrew made it work. He enveloped you, holding you to his chest with one arm and cradling your face with the other. You placed a hand on top of his.

“I always did like when they mentioned how big your hands are,” you murmured jokingly, your eyes already fluttering. In reply, Andrew rolled his eyes before placing a kiss on your forehead.

“Good night,” he whispered.

“Good night, Andy,” you responded.

You had never felt more at peace.