ABSOLUTE BACKBONES P2 BABYY I Am So Happy Rn

ABSOLUTE BACKBONES 🔙🦴 P2 BABYY🥳 i am so happy rn

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

a continuation of early 20s, awkward college au thoughts

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

if you say "as one does" after any phrase nobody's allowed to think you're weird anymore. cheat code bypass for all standards of social normalcy