These Days I Think I Owe My Life
hozier × fem!reader
thank you to @lynsburner for the title inspo (and everyone else who gave me ideas) and @cervidaewasteland for beta-ing, ily both
tags: husbandzier, lockdown, domestic fluff, this has no plot, rip hoziers chronically online era, poetry readings, takes place during live stream, written with midsize reader in mind but can be read from other povs, mentions of sex but nothing crazy nsfw, I struggled with a way to end this so sorry if its a wee bit rushed lol
word count: I'm just gonna round it up to 2k
based off of this live stream
divider by @thecutestgrotto
There had been a time before, where you believed the love you desired could only be found between the pages of the books you immersed yourself in daily. That was until you met Andrew. Until the tall, gangly, irishman you'd met whilst trying (and failing) to reach a book at the university library, had stumbled into your life. His awkward words of endearment and wonky smiles working his way into your heart. After multiple coffee dates, clumsy kisses whilst being backed into each other's bedrooms, and years worth of valentines, the two of you had taken the leap of moving in together after Andrew's first world tour. A year after that, he'd proposed to you, all giggles and tears as he waltzed you around your dimly lit kitchen to his newest song: Wasteland, Baby! Almost a year after that, you'd walked down the aisle and bound yourself to him. Now, after another world tour, you were still going strong, as a married couple, to have and to hold throughout the current lockdown.
Now, driving back from your local supermarket, you still grinned about the fact that you'd come home to him. Just before you left the shop, a message came through from him, saying that he was going live to read some poetry. As you pulled up onto your drive, you could see Andrew through the large French windows you had in your kitchen. He was in a black jumper you'd lovingly crocheted, hair still wet from his morning swim and tied into a messy bun at the nape of his neck. Seeing him in your little domestic sphere always sent your heart fluttering, reminding you that this was your whole life now. You got out of the car- your shared car, slamming the door behind you and reaching for the two shopping bags in the boot. After closing that, you made your way to the front door, hearing the gentle mumble Andrew's lilting voice as you swung it open with your hip. He was reading the epic poem of Daedalus and Icarus you remembered him reading to you last night, your head in his lap as you helped him decide which poems to read on the live stream.
You placed your bags down in the hallway, kicking off your shoes and ridding yourself of the medical mask you'd been wearing every time you stepped foot out of the house. Breathing in the comforting smell of home, you picked the bags back up and- as silently as possible- moved into the kitchen to put the food away. Standing in the doorway, you admired Andrew. He looked like the english teacher you would have definitely had a crush on as a schoolgirl. His eyes flicked up to you, flashing a brief smile in your direction before turning back to the book he was reading from, not wanting to lose his focus too much.
As quietly as you could, you placed the shopping bags on the counter and turned to admire your husband. Andrew had taken up swimming in the sea down at Greystones most mornings, leaving you curled up in your shared bed with a kiss on the forehead, and most of the time, returning whilst you still dozed. Today however, he'd gone out at lunch time, wanting to take in the fleeting sunlight that made the Irish climate pleasant to exist in for about 1% of the time, meaning his hair was still a wet mess of seawater.
Andrew concluded the poem, gently closing the book and placing it to the side, phone in hand. "Poor lad… poor lad." He repeated, most likely about Icarus. You rolled your eyes, taking note of the 3 plant pots you kept on your dining table he could have propped it up on. He held the phone up to his face, reading the comments as if he'd never seen a phone in his life.
He muttered a string of garbled words as he skimmed the fast moving live chat before breaking out into a grin that lit up his entire face. "Yes, that is my wife that's just come in."
You uncrossed your arms from your chest, running your hands through your hair as you made eye contact, butterflies in your stomach like a teenage girl. Hearing Andrew call you his wife never got old- and the way he said it with such tenderness, such pride absolutely melted you.
"She's just come in from doing the shopping. I don't think a haul would be very interesting. Just showing you what we're having for dinner the next few nights." Andrew rambled on in a one sided conversation with the comment section. "Can we say hi to her?" He mumbled, reading aloud. He looked up at you, eyebrows raised in the question of if I wanted to be on camera. You'd never actively avoided any publicity from being a famous musicians wife, but you certainly never encouraged it and Andrew knew that, always asking for permission to show affection in public or appear on any videos that would be broadcasted to the world, hell, he even checked if you were okay with being mentioned on stage. And you loved him for it, always accommodating to your comforts.
You nodded, pushing off the counter and making your way around to the other side of the table, to where Andrew was sat. You crouched down a little bit, savouring finally being taller than him, then placing your chin on his shoulder. "Hello." You smiled, wiggling your fingers at the phone.
"She has graced us with her presence." Andrew said, clasping the cheek furthest away from his head in his large hand, a finger finding its way into your ear canal.
You couldn't help the giggle that burst from your mouth. "Oh my god. That tickled." You clapped a hand over your mouth as you watched Andrew close his eyes., silent laughter shaking his shoulders. "For those who missed that, Andrew John Hozier-Byrne just violated my ear hole."
"You could've phrased that any other way." Your husband grinned as you turned your head, kissing his palm, before pulling away and resting your chin on the top of his head instead to avoid any more awkward interactions.
"Anyways…" I'm gonna leave you with one more poem," He grabbed one of the 5 books he had scattered out on your kitchen table, "called 'Forgive Us Our Trespasses'… if I can find it, so help me God." You grinned, assuming he'd already been thwarted by his lack of bookmarks. He still held the phone, dwarfed in his giant hand, and now giving the viewers a beautiful close up of his left eyebrow, and the mole above it that your lips always felt drawn to.
"Andy, love." You muttered, detangling yourself from around his neck and reaching across the table for the potted gardenias. He looked up at you then, through his lashes and with such open tenderness in his face you felt like you'd combust. It was an expression he wore around you often, but it still made you feel so loved. You pulled the plant pot towards him, letting him prop the phone up, raising your eyebrows.
"See, this is why I just write music. You can do the… smart stuff." You laughed at that, earning a smile from Andrew in return. "Now I've just got to find this poem." He snorted at himself, self-deprecatingly. "Watch it not even be in this book." He murmured.
"D'you want me to check?" You asked, reaching across the table towards him.
"Good luck." He handed you the book he was flicking through, in favour of another one on the table.
Last night, on the sofa in your living room, you'd sat with your head in his lap, a pile of books on the coffee table. "I found a poem I thought you'd find funny." Andrew said, running his long fingers through your hair. His nails had grown slightly longer post tour since he was no longer hammering on his guitar strings every night, and they scratched your scalp perfectly. You no longer bit back the small noise of pleasure that bubbled from the back of your throat. Andrew hummed at your satisfaction, a smile in his tone. You couldn't see him, since your face was practically pressed into his tummy, covered by a ratty t-shirt he'd had since your first met, but you knew he'd be looking down at your messy hair fondly.
"Hmm, what's it called?" You mumbled into him, tiredness slipping into your mind as you wrapped your arms around your husband's middle.
He leant over gently, trying not to disturb your positioning, to grab the newest book he'd bought. "The Did-You-Come-Yet's of the Western World." You could hear the smile in his voice.
You stifled a small chuckle, knowing you were both thinking about the exact same thing. Whilst you and Andrew were still 'just friends', you'd constantly complained to him about the incapability of college guys to pleasure a woman. The first time you'd ever slept together, after your legs were shaking and your mind turned to soup, Andrew had laid himself down next to you, both of your ragged breathing returning to normal to hear him ask "Did you come?", accompanied by the tired laugh that you'd get to hear coupled with the same phrase many times over the course of your relationship.
"Oh my god." You wiggled around on to your back, now staring up at the ceiling. Andrew's had slid down your body, gripping on to the flesh now exposed by your hiked up shirt, fingers grazing over the stretch marks on your stomach. "Read it." You attempted to distract him from the blush now dusting your cheeks. Luckily, he got the message, beginning to read, but continuing his hand's advancement across the soft skin of your body.
Now, as you read over the contents of the large book he'd handed to you, you reminded him of your offer of the tabs you lovingly added to every book you read. "I have more than enough to spare." You rolled your eyes at him, now off camera.
"Didn't wanna hassle you." He shrugged, knowing you were half asleep on his lap by the time he'd hastily scribbled a list of everything he wanted to read in his self allotted half hour. "This is silly." Andrew mumbled to himself, brows furrowed and annoyance at himself radiating off of his bunched shoulders.
You went back to read over the contents once again, your eyes snagging on the start of the list. "You sure the poem isn't called 'And Forgive us our Tresspasses?'" You turned the book back round to show him where your finger was placed on the title.
Andrew let out a soft huff. "You're joking?" You shook your head as he took it from you, muttering a quick "fuck me." which you raised your eyebrows at.
"Enjoy." You grinned as you made your way out of the kitchen, blowing a quick kiss over your shoulder and making your way upstairs to make sure Andrew would find a pack of multicoloured tabs left on his bedside table for next week's poetry readings.
hope you enjoyed!! this is like my first hozier one shot so a bit nervous to post it but youre all lovely🫶
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