comehereoohlala

[comehereoohlala]

Signs of a Body Lived In

Summary: Thoughts on stretch marks and what they mean.

Rating: General Audiences

Tags: fluff, implied sexual content I suppose?

Word Count: 360

Author's Note: This was pretty much just a stream of consciousness but I hope you enjoy! Betaed by the wonderful @comehereoohlala many thanks I love you

Requests are open if you're so inclined!

AO3 link / fic under the cut

Personally, you've never really minded your stretch marks. You don't love them, you don't hate them, they're just there. Little tiny lightning bolts, purple on your left, bright white on your right. You're not really sure when they happened exactly, but you've grown used to them. Most days, you don't even notice them.

But men can be cruel and your exes were certainly no exception to that particular rule. Snide little remarks about the weight you must have put on, the harsh comments about how he's sure you don't need that much on your plate, how you could be taking better care of yourself. Never mind that you're in a depressive episode, apparently commenting on your body takes precedence. So even though you don't hate them, you've internalised the idea that others won't like them. That you have to apologise for their presence.

You're single for a long while before you meet Andrew, comfortable in your skin with just a little insecurity from past loves that you can't seem to shake. When he sees your bare thighs for the first time, he feels you tense beneath his hands, though he's not quite sure why. He traces the path of your stretch marks with his fingers, so gently you can't help but hold your breath. When he lowers his mouth down to kiss every inch of them, you think you might cry. He makes you feel loved in a way that's been sorely lacking from your life, touching and adoring every mark on your skin, self-inflicted or otherwise.

It's an adoration that never fades. Whenever you're together, his hands are on you, often slipping beneath the fabric of your clothes to rest on the textured skin. When he has time, he makes sure to trace every single scar - to make you feel adored and worshipped. They're the marks that show him how you got there, to him, so of course he loves them, wants to cherish them. They're signs of a body lived in, of a live well lived and all he cares about is that he gets to be the body next to yours at the end of the day.

[comehereoohlala]

I come humbly bearing a request i need more fic from you asap. Perhaps a sickfic. I am in a lot of pain and it would make me feel better thank you you’re wonderful

Deer for your troubles

anything for you 🦌

might take a few days but it’s on the list <3

[comehereoohlala]

vastness

summary: 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.

rating: mature (16+)

tags: emotional hurt + comfort, established relationship, long distance, phone calls

words: 1,416

note: i really don't like this - it's not great. just swishing around some ideas i want to pull out and properly explore in other stuff. just know it was an impulse decision to post it and it may be impulse deleted

fic under the cut ❊

It's a late Sunday night. Everything feels empty without him. The house is too quiet. No one is here to usher you to bed, to tempt you with sweet gentle kisses or words that would land you both in the second circle of hell for eternity.

When you finally make your way to the bedroom, you find the bed is far too cold. Missing the warmth of his large frame that you could press yourself in to. His jacket doesn't hang over the chair. Only yours.

It's only a few weeks you tell yourself again. Until everything is done and you can spend three months following him around on tour. Three months of hotel rooms together. Of backstage kisses. Of dressing room shenanigans.

You moved in with him in the new year. Leaving everything and everyone you knew behind. New job, new college. New everything. People judged - but you had known each other for years and been together for… well the exact start of your romantic relationship was hazy, but that's another story for another day. This story is about distance, and how it was killing you both. So he spent all of December with you and your family, exploring and saying goodbye to the only place you'd ever called home. And he had asked over and over if you were sure; you said yes every time.

Wicklow became home quickly. Andrew's family and friends had done nothing but shower you in love since you arrived.

But he was the reason it was home.

Any and all symptoms of homesickness were easily cured by the taste of his lips, by the morning coffees made with love and delivered to you in bed, by his cooking, by the sound of his guitar fiddling, by his ever loving touch.

But now the house is silent, your cooking is loveless and only just edible, and you crave nothing but the softness of his skin.

That's when the phone rings - you don't even open your eyes before answering it.

"Hey… who's this?"

"Andrew."

You sit up. "Andy?"

You hear his deep breath through the phone, "I didn't think you'd pick up."

"Aren't you meant to be on stage?"

"Delayed. Weather. God it's so good to hear your voice."

His voice is so quiet. You cling on to the sound of it like a child with a blanket. Time differences have made it so difficult to call, you've mostly been talking through messages sent and read hours apart.

"Andy…" you close your eyes, "I miss you so much."

"Fuck I wish you were here… and I know, it's important that you stayed because you're your own woman and you're pursuing your dreams and doing amazing incredible things and I'm so proud of you," he rambles quickly, "but god… if I could fly you out here right now I would."

"You know I wish I could… but I don't want to screw all these years of work up now."

"I know… I'm sorry. You've worked so hard, I don't want to be the reason it doesn't work out. Really, I'm the one who should be there with you. I'm being so selfish."

"No, no, Andrew. Please. We're both just stressed and overtired. Two weeks baby. I'll be with you in two weeks."

"Two weeks," he says it like a mantra, like a prayer to keep him going. "…Hey darli-" he gets cut off by a knock on the door and a rather stern voice.

"Andrew! Come on we need to get you mic'd up! We called you like five minutes ago!"

You laugh. He's so predictable sometimes. "Good luck tonight," you say with a small smile, tears stinging your eyes.

"…I can't hang up," he admits, and you can hear the same pleading in his voice that's in yours.

You close your eyes, holding the phone close to your ear, as if it were him. "I miss you so much."

"Me too. I miss you too."

"You have to go," you say quietly, "…there's only thousands of people waiting for you," you try to joke, but it comes off more melancholy than you would have liked.

"I'm going to be thinking of you the whole time."

"Can I call you when the show ends?"

"I'll call the second I get back to my bus. Promise."

You smile, "not that I'll be waiting by the phone or anything. I am a very busy woman."

"Trust me I know you are. You've always been difficult to get alone," he teases, voice laced with sarcasm, and you can hear him walking down the hall.

You shake your head in disapproval, "now go be my rock star."

"And you go be the smart, beautiful woman you always are. Oh and get some sleep please. I love you darling, so much," he yells that last bit, clearly away from the phone having passed it on to his stage manager, who says a quick hello and apologises to you for having to prematurely end your conversation with your boyfriend who you never get to talk to these days. Not that you're bitter with her, you're just bitter with the universe.

You wrap a blanket around yourself and watch as peoples posts from the show start to slowly roll in. You don't know why you do, but sleep felt so impossible, and the way you were missing him was almost so unbearable that it felt nice to see what he was doing oceans away. Watching the way he glows up on that stage, his smile when the crowd sings back to him. Fully in his element.

A few minutes after the final videos come through you call him again, butterflies in your stomach like your a fan hoping to talk to the man whose posters you have hung on your wall.

He answers, "you're still awake?" He breathes out, you can hear him talking to and thanking people backstage.

"I saw your show… well I was up watching videos," you say quietly.

He giggles a little, "what did you think?"

"There was one guy who was really hot. Long hair. He could even sing a little. Play guitar too."

"Yeah," he says, you can hear him better now, the background nose dissipating a little as he walks.

"You sound flat, is everything okay?"

"Just tired, and frustrated, I feel like the world is against this tour and I miss you. I want to see your face, let me call you back."

You flick the light on in your room and lay on your side, trying to fix your hair a little.

Just the sight of his eyes when you answer the call and it's like everything makes sense again.

"Hey," he says softly, "that's better."

You nod, "much."

"What time is it for you?"

"5 am… I can't sleep. I haven't slept properly all week." Tears sting your eyes, and all of your strength and resilience from before seems to have dissipated whilst he was on that stage. "Please Andrew, I don't care anymore, I'll get on a flight as soon as I can. I'm so lonely here."

He nods, his eyes so full of love, glistening with tears, "I'm right here. It's okay."

"But you're not. Not really. This house is so big and so quiet and so cold."

He nods, "if I could be there right now I would be darling."

"I know. I'm sorry," you wipe your eyes.

He stays on the phone with you. Promises you that you have nothing to be sorry for.

He doesn't hang up even as people come in ask him to come do things, even as he eats, as he makes his way back to his bus and gets ready for bed. He tells you about the show, about the food he ate that day, and the coffee he drank and the little rain delay and everything else in between. You weren't always fully processing what he was saying, but the sound of his voice eventually lulls you into sleep.

When you wake up, your phone is dead. You blindly dangle your arm off the side of the bed and reach for the charger, rubbing your sore tired eyes while you wait for it to turn on.

The message he left you lights up your screen.

Keep going baby. You're the strongest, smartest woman I've ever met. You can do this. I can't wait to see you in two weeks. Then I'm going to spend every second I can with you and you'll end up being so sick of me. Promise. I'll call you as soon as I can. You know I love you. Beyond the telling of it. 🖤

[comehereoohlala]

whatever here that's left of me is yours

summary: life gets too much sometimes.

rating: explicit (18+)

tags: emotional hurt + comfort, anxiety, established relationship, comfort sex (idk?), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex

words: 2,130

note: my first hozier fic and my first x reader fic as well so don't have high expectations. mainly write just for myself, thought i'd give posting a go!

fic under the cut ❊

He's sitting by the window, staring up at the stars that light up the early night hues of soft blues and grey, guitar and notebook left haphazardly to the side. It gets dark so early nowadays. He hates the days you don't work from home. Which four out of five days of the week. Sometimes three, and those are the best weeks. But you working more means that when he tours you can take more time off, or negotiate to work away from home more. So he deals.

But it's late. Much later than normal. You are normally home by 6:00, 6:30 at the latest. But it's 7:00. By now, he's normally pouring you both a glass of wine while you make dinner together. He should have his hands around your waist and be pressing kisses to your neck while you chop up vegetables and tell him all about your day; and you should be hugging and leaning on his arm while he cooks at the stove and tells you all about the idea he just can't put into a cohesive verse. But the kitchen is draped in darkness, and he hasn't heard anything from you.

No phone call while you rush out the office "I'm so sorry baby, last session ran way over time," with the sound of papers quickly being put away, a laptop being slammed shut and the jingle of your keys in the background. And no quick "just leaving now see u soon <3" text either. And you didn't answer when he called just to check in.

He tries his best to push down that rising wave of anxiety that twists and turns in his stomach. The worst, the very worst, scenarios all come to him at once. He takes a shaky breath and tries to focus on the sound of the heavy rain coming down… it's probably just really bad traffic, because of all the rain he tells himself. But that only invites other scenarios and images into his mind. You've been late like this before, but something is different tonight, something is off. He can't place it, but he decides to by the window for you, just because… just because he can't help but worry.

He's rubbing his hand against his arm tentatively when your headlights finally turn into the property at 7:30. He feels every muscle in his body relax and he makes his way to the door to meet you outside in the pouring rain. There is nothing he wants more than to be holding you to him as soon as possible.

He pulls the door open just as your car comes to a stop at the end of his long driveway.

"I was about to call search and rescue," he joked casually, masking the anxiety that had been wracking him for the last hour.

The rain was so heavy his hair was practically soaked by the time he made it over to the car, and it was so loud he didn't hear your broken sobs until he was standing only a few steps away from your open car door.

You frantically wipe your eyes as you dig through your car "dammit I can't find my keys," you mumble quietly.

"Darling… hey…"

"Andrew please don't-"

"Here," he passes you the keys, "they must have fallen out when you opened the door."

"Oh, thanks."

He holds out his hand for you to take. You stare at it for a moment, knowing what comes next.

And it comes hard and fast.

The second his soft hand is wrapped around yours, you stand up out of the car, he squeezes it tightly, and everything comes undone. Your body finally giving up at the touch of safety.

Your legs give out and he grabs onto your arms to break your fall, as he sinks down onto the gravel with you. Your whole body is shaking, sobs that you feel like you've been holding in for so long leave you. He holds you close. So close. He rests his head on top of yours. You curl into him, and he rubs your back, uttering sweet soft things you can barely make out, all you can seem to hear is ringing, and the sound of pouring rain.

But the softness of his voice brings you down. The feeling of the gravel digging into your skin. One of his hand running up and down your back. And eventually the world starts to have sound again.

You make out something about going inside and you nod against his chest.

He helps you up, his hands gently on your arms, while you hold onto him like a lifeline; taking big shaky breaths, tears still streaming down your cheeks while he guides you inside.

You watch the droplets at the ends of his hair fall while he grabs you a glass of water; you're following him around, holding the too-long sleeve of his sweatshirt tightly. He leads you to the couch, hands you the water and kneels in front of you, taking your free hand. Your sobs have calmed significantly, grounded by the smell and comfort of the place you both call home. You take in the warm dim lights, the guitar laying on the couch, the candle burning and the feeling of his hand in yours.

"What happened darling?" He squeezes your hand, "talk to me."

You shake your head, struggling to even put into words what's happened. Because nothing and everything has happened at the same time. "…it's just… it's been a lot. Everything."

He nods, reaches up and tucks a piece of your wet hair behind your ear, "I know."

A tear rolls down your cheek silently, your eyes blink fast. "…I'm so sorry."

"Please darling," he takes your other hand and brings them both to his lips gently, "you never have to apologise to me. I love you."

"I love you," you echo back to him, voice still trembling. A beat. "…Kiss me."

He does. His hot, soft, warm lips meet yours. He pulls you carefully down to the floor with him. The glass of water he had poured you spills, but neither of you notice. You slide a hand under his shirt, and your palm stops right above his heart. You pull back from the kiss, resting your head against your forehead, and you focus on the steady, solid beating of his heart under your hand.

He's here, he's real.

He places his hand over yours, the fabric of his shirt separating keeping your hands from each other. You don't know how long you sit straddled in his lap on the floor, eyes closed and breathing to the rhythm of his heart.

But eventually his mouth finds yours again and you're tugging at his pants. His hands slip into your waistband, two long fingers slipping into you with ease. You fall against his shoulder as he slowly starts pumping in and out.

"Relax baby," he whispers, voice soft, low and husky, "just tell me what you need… let me take care of you."

"Need you," you breathe out, as he slips another finger in, "Andy…"

His other hand fiddles with the buckle of his belt, then the buttons and zip of his pants, and he shifts you back a little, not once stopping or haltering the gentle, but firm pace of his fingers sliding in and out of you.

You whine at the eventual loss of his fingers, but seconds barely pass before he is inside you. Every muscle in your body relaxes. He peppers kisses to your neck, across your collarbone, to your shoulders; muttering sweet somewhat nonsensical things as he does. Your hands find his wet hair, lacing your fingers through his damp curls as he lays you back against the carpet, and brushes the hair out of your face, his cock still inside you. He starts to move so slowly, so gently. You reach for his hand, the feeling of your fingers intertwined together keeping you grounded, focused on the sensation of him thrusting in and out of you.

You find yourself fixated on his eyes, the hair falling around his face, his eyelashes when he closes his eyes with pleasure, all of his overwhelming beauty. And in that moment, you know everything will be okay.

He moves faster, his hand breaks it's hold with yours to move down between you both, and you can't help but gasp, gripping onto his shoulders tightly, your head resting in between his shoulder and collarbone.

A quiet "I love you," stumbles out from him as his thumb works you to your peak, and his pace becomes more frantic, "my beautiful girl… come for me… let it all go. Let it all out for me."

You hold onto him tighter, letting your body succumb to him completely.

"Just like that darling," he praises quietly as you climax beneath him, but doesn't stop his movements even for a second. "Let it all go. Everything. Need you to let everything go for me baby." You bury your face in his shoulder, muffling your moans into his skin, and he continues to thrust, increasing the pressure on your clit as he rubs in circles. He brings you to heaven again, and again.

"You too… come too…" you breathe against him.

"No condom," he reminds you gently, pulling out and replacing his cock with his fingers.

He's still hard and you ache at the loss of him, but before you can say anything he moves to lay beside you, and the new angle somehow lets his fingers in deeper. You can't form words. You feel so sensitive, you think you've come three times already, but he's clearly not happy with that, evident with the continued, and devoted working of his hands. You bury your head into his bare chest, and your hips thrust to meet his movements.

"There's my girl," you hear him say, and at that, you fall apart. Screaming his name as he brings you to one last orgasm.

As soon as you do, the rest of the tears you feel like you've been holding in for god knows how long come spilling out. He pulls you close, "I've got you… I've always got you…"

You eventually end up in the bedroom, he orders from your favourite pizza place. You lay on his chest, listening to the sound of his heart while his hands comb through your hair gently, your body feels numb, tired but there's an aspect of peace too. Neither of you have spoken yet. He gets up out of bed when the food arrives. When he comes back he's balancing two pizza boxes, a bottle of wine and two glasses. With no hands left he resorts to having the push the door open with his leg, and almost drops one of the glasses in the process. You can't help but smile.

You sit crossed legged on the bed, only wearing underwear and one of his new merch samples he was sent this week for the new album.

"I like this one," you say softly, motioning at the jumper, "it's comfy."

"Yeah?" He passes you a glass of wine. "I feel like the logo should be in the middle."

He looks up to see your look of disapproval at his suggestion, and he smiles, "okay then, I'll approve it just for you."

"…Are you getting nervous?" You asked, alluding to the looming album announcement in a few weeks. It hangs over the air like a cloud, sometimes one of those nice hazy clouds, other times a thunder cloud. You've known Andrew for years, and every time an album announcement has rolled around he becomes a very anxious version of himself. Second guessing the track list, wondering if maybe the album needs 6 more months before it's ready, what if the name is wrong. And then all the meetings about numbers and data and charts and optimising release schedule and press, and it all just gets a bit too much when he's already panicking about showing the world his new creation.

"I'm actually okay," he starts, "it's ready to be out in the world and I'm proud of it," he reaches for your hand, "and I've got you."

You smile a little.

But despite your attempt at distraction, your dramatic entrance from earlier still seems to loom. "…I don't want to talk about it. Not yet. …But thank you for tonight"

He just gives your hand a squeeze, and there's that silent affirmation of love in his eyes.

"So… Saturday, does a day-trip to Dublin sound okay? Really starting to think I'm going to need a whole new wardrobe for this press run."

You giggle, and there it is - his favourite sound in the world.