#hozier fandom

[doeshozierlikegodzilla]

The eyebrows are eyebrow-ing

📸: hozierpng (X)

[gwendoodlin]

Posting another Hozier drawing because I’m a sucker for backlighting

[undercottonandcallicoes]

Huh…I just found two copies of the same photo…

[luvwitheverystranger]

me every night before going to bed (real)

[mythologiestofollow]

[nfwmlily]

you asked for fic requests sooooo:

need me some filthy smut

perchance some solo hozier?? there's like 3 I've seen and I loved every second and crave more

or maybe like an ×reader mutual masterbation

thank yewwww

here's ur solo hozier anon 🙂‍↕️

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), minor discussion of the bodily stuff that goes with the sexual content, SOLO MASTURBATION AND SEXTING

tags: hozier x fem!reader, solo hozier, URUE tour, 2nd person POV (ex: 'you said, your cheeks flushed', etc), hozier smut, hozier fanfic,

word count: 1.6k

title: Angel of Small Death

SMUT UNDER THE CUT

Angel of Small Death

Andrew’s breath catches as he opens the video you’ve just sent him. 

He’s just gotten done with his 15th show in the U.S. this year, one of many to come on this run, yet… He’s managed to become strikingly lonely already. 

It’s not as if you haven’t been texting him nearly twice an hour every day from the moment you wake up, but texting is different from actual contact. It’s different from having your hands all over one another. Painfully different.

So, this video that you’ve just sent him nearly sends him up the beige wall of his hotel room. You’re in the shower, yet you’ve somehow gotten great lighting for the video, and one hand is running over your body, the other holding your phone out.

It starts at your collarbone, then goes over the curves of your chest, which is covered in soap. You pause for a moment, swirling the white suds around your nipples in slow circles, before you move downwards and past your sternum.

Andrew watches, completely enraptured, his cock already starting to strain against his pants as he watches the camera pan around to your soap covered ass, tilted down towards it. His eyes are fixated on the screen, and he watches your hands grab at your ass, intentionally jiggling the flesh around and emphasizing it. 

He plops down onto his bed and groans, wishing more than anything in the world you were here in Wyoming with him, and not back in Ireland, kindly keeping house for him. At least that way, he could text you back with the comfort of knowing you’d see it immediately, because you’d probably be awake if you were just in the same timezone as him.

And it only gets worse from there, because Andrew watches with bated breath as the view switches to your front again, and oh god, your hands are moving the soap around on your thighs, slowly getting closer and closer to the core of you, and your fingertips are so close to where he wishes his own could be–

It cuts off.

He’s taken aback. 

He restarts the video, closes and then reopens the messaging app again, and realizes it wasn’t a glitch. It just… ends there. And it makes him want to die a little bit. 

How could you do that to him? Why would you do that to him? He’s been dying to see you for so long, his fingers twitch at the very idea of running through your hair or resting on the small of your back, at the thought of rubbing your clit and making you mewl and whine like he wants to, or hell, even just holding your hand.

Andrew almost whines, his brows knitting together in the center. His photographer is in the next room over, so he can’t be ridiculous like he wishes he could be right now. 

But you’ve put him in the most frustrating situation possible. 

He closes the video and looks at the caption you attached to the video within the text.

love uuuu hehe, present for tonight :)

Andrew groans and looks down at the increasing tent in his pants, then shoves them down and off with his boxers, unbuttons his shirt halfway, and falls back onto the bed, his back propped up against the headboard.

He watches the video over, and over, and over again. He can get off on just tits, right? I mean, they’re your tits. He loves every part of you, those aren’t an exception at all.

Those 37 seconds are laughing at him.

He can’t help it, though, as his hand wanders down to his cock, and he grabs it and starts to pump up and down. He closes his eyes for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek with his molars, digging into the red flesh. 

His thighs are already tense. The fact that he’d been standing for two hours prior to this moment, for his near nightly performance, doesn’t help the situation with his tense muscles at all.

He watches as your manicured finger tips trail down your sternum for the thousandth time, and then come back up to palm at your chest. 

Andrew grips himself a little tighter, and a quiet groan he barely manages to suppress escapes his chest. 

“Fuck my life…” he whispers to nobody but himself. He thinks for a moment that he’s kind of pathetic, but puts it aside. He’s just super into his girlfriend, that’s all.

He allows his head to fall backward and his pace to get slightly fast, but he’s still looking down past his eyelashes at his phone, the light of your video radiating out from the screen like some kind of cursed halo.

And he’s back where he started, as he watches your fingers get so fucking close to your heat again, and then the video ends. The frustration only fuels his movements, though, as he runs the pad of his thumb over the tip of his cock, slick with pre-cum.

Andrew hisses and shuts his phone off, placing it face down on the bed. He can take it from here, with his hand and his brain running absolutely wild with thoughts of you. 

He grips the white sheets with his free hand, a strained, animalistic noise escaping him.

He’s trying to be quiet, he really is, but he can’t help but feel a little like a teenager again, palming himself and being as much of a non-disturbance as possible. He’s spent a lot of time trying to avoid being a disturbance, between the days when he recorded music in his parents attic, avoiding waking up his university roommate when he came home too late at night, and now… This. As a grown man, he’s still avoiding being a disturbance.

He can’t help but laugh a little, his movements slowing, but then he remembers the whole reason why his hand is wrapped around his cock right now. 

You.

You took a liking to him and put up with him and now you send him explicit (and immensely frustrating) videos while he goes all around the world to disturb entire crowds, and he runs his thumb over the red tip of his cock again.

Andrew sucks in a gasping breath and clears his throat, moving more quickly.

He thinks about the last night you two had before he left for tour, just a few weeks ago. You’d straddled him and rode him like nothing else mattered, leaning down to leave hickeys all over his chest and collarbone. “To make sure you don’t forget me,” you’d murmured as you bruised his flesh with your lips. 

He’d been wearing a lot of collar necks for this leg of the tour, just out of caution.

Andrew’s mind goes back to months before that, when you’d just gotten done with a dinner date, and you decided that waiting until the two of you got back to his house to indulge in the more explicit activities of the evening was useless. So, you’d tugged him into an alleyway, kneeled down with your purse under your knees to make sure they didn’t get scraped on the pavement, and given him the best blow job he’d ever had.

He holds himself more firmly as he remembers the various debaucheries you two had indulged in, moves more quickly, his chest heaving. 

His hips jerk a little, trying to meet the movement of his hand.

His eyes remain firmly shut, air puffing out through his nose every so often, jaw clenched.

Christ, forget the video entirely, his own thoughts turned out to be enough. What a miracle. 

His hand moves as quickly as he can will it to, and he gasps quietly, his hearing fading out a little as a familiar hot tightness begins to knot his stomach. His thighs twitch, and he knows he’s nearly there. Almost. 

Andrew continues to think of all you’ve done together, one particular instance coming to mind of how you just straddled his lap with him inside of you and wiggled around until you’d come while he fiddled with various lyrics in his notebook. That, he maintained, was still one of the hottest things you’d ever done. You staunchly disagreed, saying it was desperate. Compromise is an important part of every healthy relationship.

He moves more quickly, his hand shooting up and down around his cock rapidly, and suddenly, the knot in his stomach comes undone all at once, and his hearing is just a low buzzing. He groans as fire starts threading through his veins, his thighs twitching, his body sliding down the bed as hot strings of cum shoot out over his own stomach.

Eventually, he stops seeing stars behind his own eyelids, and he looks down at his pale stomach. His own cum is spread over it in lines, and his hand is sticky.

Andrew sighs and pulls his hand away. Yeah, he definitely feels like a teenager again. He wipes his hand off with a tissue next to the bed, and almost starts to wipe off his stomach before an idea comes to him. 

He picks up his phone, takes a photo of the mess on his lower stomach, and sends it to you.

Present enthusiastically received, darling. Next time, don’t do the teasing? Love you lots.

[padfootagain]

We’ll figure it all out

Hi!! Answering a request from an anon here!

Hope you like it! It’s kind of bitter sweet. Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem! Reader

Warning: angst, hurt/comfort

Summary: You think about the risk of your relationship with Andrew becoming known by the public, and start panicking. Will Andrew manage to soothe you enough to save your relationship?

Word Count: 2047

Hozier’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

You love him, you really do.

You watch him now, reading in his armchair, by the fire, in his living room. It’s warm, comfortable, domestic, this sight that reveals itself to your eyes. He’s focused, a small frown digging a crease between his brow. He’s been reading Joyce again lately. A story of leaving home, to become someone. The weight of being an individual. Changing. Becoming.

He looks up now, he felt your gaze upon him, insistent and not quite fond. Or rather… it was fond, but not just that. Fond and scared. Yes, when he looks up and catches your eyes, he reads fear in them, and his frown deepens. He doesn’t understand why…

“You’re alright, love?”

You shake yourself, emerging from a daydream. From a scenario your brain keeps on playing. It’s all because of the world outside this house, it’s nothing to do with Andrew, with the love you share with him. And yet…

He tilts his head in a silent question. It hurts. It breaks all of your defences.

You’ve seen another example on twitter and Instagram. You’ve seen the harassment towards someone who hadn’t done anything wrong. She just fell in love with an actor. Someone famous right now, you can’t even remember who. All you can think of is the pain in her eyes as she asked people to leave her alone, the poison in the words commented under each of her posts. You can’t understand it. You physically cannot. Your brain doesn’t have that ability. Why some people think it’s okay to send hatred to a stranger on the internet, a stranger who’s never done anything to hurt them?

Because they’re jealous and full of hatred.

That’s the logical explanation. It doesn’t make the pain easier to carry, the fear disappear.

“Honey? What’s wrong?”

You stare at his hazel eyes, think of how they’re caught in crossfire. How Andrew doesn’t deserve this, but you’re too scared not to act. You can’t ignore it, the banging on your heart, the pain through your skull…

You walk over to him, and he closes his book after nestling a bookmark between the pages. It’s a picture of the two of you, he carries it everywhere. From your first anniversary, last year. When things were obviously serious and yet they were simple too. No pressure. We’ll figure it out as we go. We’ll find something. Hey, we don’t even know where we’re heading, so why worry about what others think? We’ll keep this to ourselves, and it’ll be fine. That’s what he said by then. But a year has flown by, and now you live with him, and everything has changed.

The corners of the polaroid are bent and wrinkled, but your smiles on the picture are unwavering. A moment caught in time. A moment that passed.

He offers you his hand, and you take it. You don’t have a choice, that’s how it always is with him. You can’t resist, you can’t take a logical decision. Not when you love him so deeply.

“I know there’s something off, lately,” he speaks in measured words, in a calm tone, careful not to scare you. “Tell me what it is. Maybe I can help?”

Help? He can’t help. If the world learns about the two of you, you’ll get harassed like everyone else, and there’s nothing he’ll be able to do to stop it. And you’re terrified. You didn’t sign up for this. You signed up for Andrew. You signed up for the lad who blushed and stumbled on his words the first time he spoke to you. For the charm in his bright smile, and the warmth in his voice, and the gentleness in his fingers. You signed up for a man who is kind, smart, and funny in a kind of weird way. You signed up for afternoons spent reading with Andrew by the fire and drinking tea. You had to sign up for the long absences too, the phone calls in the middle of the night, the conversations spoken in a hurry. You had to sign up for hands refraining from reaching and holding in public, for kisses hidden, for lies to be heard in interviews. And it was okay. He was worth it, all of it.

But this… insane hatred? The thought that you could be the next victim on that list, it was making you question everything.

Was Andrew worth that, too? The pain, the violence, the tidal wave?

He pulls you closer, until you’re standing between his legs. On his nose, his glasses are a little crooked when he looks up, and you straighten them without thinking.

“I’m worried,” you admit.

“About what?”

“Us.”

Your answer is more direct than what he expected, shorter as well, and more painful. A dagger straight to his heart.

Us?

“What about us? What’s wrong about us?” he questions, his tone urgent and too revealing to his liking.

You trail your fingertips down the side of his cheek, lost in thoughts, it would seem. Then you cup his jaw, holding him in the palm of your hand.

“Nothing’s wrong about us, but…”

You pull away, take a step back, slip between his fingers, and Andrew’s too aware of how fragile his happiness is now.

He looks for what you’re going to say next in your eyes, but you hide them from him, averting your gaze towards the floor. You’re fleeing, he can see all your pieces folding over themselves. He can feel the wall that you build through the room…

He reaches out anyway, takes your hand, stops you from moving further, so you won’t leave for good, so the gap between you and him will not become insurmountable.

He’s noticed lately, how you spend a lot of time on your phone, how you zone out sometimes, how you sit just a little further from him on the couch in the evening, how you cling onto him almost desperately at night.

He’s been too afraid to ask before. Andrew is beyond worried. He’s freaking terrified. Maybe you have someone else, maybe you’ve realised his lifestyle is unbearable, maybe you don’t love him anymore…

“Baby…”

Your voice is shaking as you speak, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he gets up, takes a step closer, lets out a shaky breath out of relief when you don’t move away again.

He’s still baby, it has to mean something, right? He never wants to be anything for you but baby, love, honey, darling… He doesn’t want to be back to Andy, doesn’t want the stranger that Andrew has become on your lips.

He takes both of your hands now, holds them tight, clings onto them like hope.

“I know something’s off with you. I’ve been feeling it, lately,” he speaks softly, his voice fragile and deep. “If you tell me what it is, I’ll fix it. Did I do something wrong?”

But you shake your head.

“Christ, love… no, it’s not you. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Why are you acting weird, then? Why are you sad? Why are you saying there’s something wrong about us?”

“There’s nothing wrong about our relationship, I’m just… I don’t know…”

You heave a sigh, look up at him again, at last.

“I’m freaking out.”

“About what?”

“About… your fans.”

He frowns, taken aback. He knows what you mean, though, he’s far from stupid. Still, he doesn’t know what to say now.

“Did… did someone harass you? Did people online harass you?”

“No… no, they haven’t. I don’t reckon that anyone knows about you and me.”

He heaves a relieved sigh, but your gaze only saddens.

“But what will happen when they find out? When the world finds out? When I can’t go online anymore because I keep receiving hate and threats? When I can’t live my life as normal because of your career?”

You don’t like the accusation you throw at him, the way you say it’s his fault, when it isn’t. But then it’s not yours either, then who’s to blame?

He clenches his jaw.

“We can figure things out. No one knows for now, we’re not there yet…”

“No, not yet. But eventually, we will… and what then? What will happen then? What’s the plan? What will you do about it? And what if… what if I’m not ready to brace against that earthquake? What if I can’t cope with it? What if I don’t want to have to cope with it?”

He searches through your stare for a glimmer of hope, but he only finds doubt, and his heart drops.

He can’t say it. What will happen if you don’t want to choose him. He can’t say it out loud. And if you do speak those words, he knows that the proper thing to do is to take it in, to accept it. It’s your choice. It’s a lot to ask to another person, and you’re right, he won’t be able to do much about all of this shitshow if it comes to that, he would understand if you wanted to leave. What he should do then is try to make you weigh the pros and the cons, argue with you and try to find a solution, and then let you go with dignity if you decide he’s not worth that risk.

But he knows what he will actually do if you say it out loud. He’ll panic. He’ll start crying. He’ll beg. He’ll throw all self-respect out the window and will do anything to make you stay. He’ll drop to his knees if he has to, he doesn’t care, doesn’t give a shit about his ego…

You’re pulling your hands out of his grasp, but he tightens his hold. He can’t let you go…

If you don’t want to cope with it…

… then you’ll break up with me.

“Y/N… we can find a way out of this.”

“There’s no solution! If people find out, they’ll get crazy and I’m terrified of the violence that could come my way! But what’s the other option? Hiding forever? One day or another, people are going to put two plus two together…”

“We’ll face that storm together.”

“I don’t think I’m strong enough for that.”

“Of course, you are. We’ll just go offline while it soothes down…”

“What if it doesn’t…”

“It will. It’s just stupid people talking shit. They’ll lose interest.”

“After dissecting my entire life!”

He blinks, not quite ready to admit defeat, but there’s no answer to be given to your doubts, no reassurance to your fear.

“All I can do is promise you that I’ll do anything I can to protect you. That I’ll be here, by your side. That we’ll go through this together. I can’t control what people do…”

“I know.”

“You… you have to be the one to decide whether or not I’m worth enduring this. I can’t choose that for you.”

You start crying then, and Andrew knows he’s not far behind, feeling the prickling of tears at the corner of his eyes.

“I’ll make it worth it… I’ll do anything to make it worth it,” he adds, his voice pleading already.

One word, and he’ll fall to his knees…

But you shake your head, and whisper something about all this being wrong. The next second you’re in his arms, holding him so tight he can barely breathe.

“I’m sorry, I’m freaking out,” you whisper.

“It’s alright. Just… please, stay. We can survive this. I know we can. I love you so fucking much…”

“I love you, too.”

“Please, don’t leave me…”

You shake your head, hold him even tighter.

“I don’t want to. I love you.”

He closes his eyes in relief, holds you tight.

“For now, we can keep a low profile. We can still keep this to ourselves, protect our privacy. You know I won’t give anyone details about us…”

“I know…”

“And if things come out, we’ll figure something out. We’ll have to. We’ll have to, because I love you too much to lose you.”

You’re still scared when you nod, but Andrew’s right. You don’t have a choice. You’ll have to cross that bridge when you come to it. Because you love him too much for anything else to be possible.

“I love you too, baby.”

[theprisonerofreveries]

no one i repeat NO ONE has ever felt me ​​as much as hozier who wrote why would you be loved (we just have the same trauma)

[fatallyfaee]

Me when Hozier starts doing those little falsetto harmonies in the background:

[elvisinapotatochip]

[kawaiiwitchy]

Hozier and his rolled up sleeves and electric company shirt 😭😍🫠🩵

[gwendoodlin]

Hi, yes I remember this place exists sometimes!

Another Hozier expression sheet for y’all! This one clocked in at just over 15 and a half hours even though I told myself I wouldn’t get too detailed with it 🫡 I did try to keep that sort of sketchy/rough feel to it though.

[undercottonandcallicoes]

I lock in immediately.

[luvwitheverystranger]

HAHAH finally!!!! i know how to trap you guys!!!! you better sleep with one eye open 👀😏

[mythologiestofollow]

Hozier – To Be Alone

[hauntingoldhouses]

can't tell if he looks like an university history/literature professor who is able to find meaning in everything or a homeless man