Your life is perfect. You're married to the love of your life, your career is thriving as you work at Trinity College, in Dublin. You've settled down with your husband, and it seems that life is perfect these days. And yet, there's a tugging at your heart whenever you see baby clothes, a longing for something more. What if you wanted to be a mother? Are you ready to let this new joy enter your life?
Pairing : Hozier x fem!reader
Professor! AU - This is a sequel to my fic Love in Verses.
Warnings: fluff (a disgusting amount), angst for secondary characters, smut so 18+ only
There are no warnings concerning the pregnancy (no infertility issues, no miscarriage, only tooth-rotting fluff)
The entirety of the fic is already written, chapters posted twice a week, every Monday and Friday!
Chapter 1: ‘I love you. I’m glad I exist.’
Chapter 2 : ‘When I came here first, you were always singing’
Chapter 3: ‘And, for me, the whole of you has been transformed into feeling’
Chapter 4: ‘Impossible to silence it. It weeps for distant things.’
Chapter 5 : ‘Maybe death isn't darkness, after all, but so much light wrapping itself around us — as soft as feathers —that we are instantly weary of looking, and looking, and shut our eyes’
Chapter 6: ‘The odor of acid and the little, pitiless tragedy of being imagined’
Chapter 7: ‘So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, be continually drunk! On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish.’
Chapter 8: ‘Still, as the old year tips into the new, I insist on the infant hope, gooing and kicking his legs in the air.’
Chapter 9: ‘Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; mere anarchy is loosed upon the world’
Chapter 10: ‘Just like moons and like suns, with the certainty of tides, just like hopes springing high, still I'll rise.’
Chapter 11: ‘Upon waking on the kitchen counter I find a half grapefruit carefully cut and sectioned.’
Chapter 12: ‘The nurse a passenger in front, you ensconced in her vacated corner seat, me flat on my back – our postures all the journey still the same’
Chapter 13: ‘Whatever happens with us, your body will haunt mine’
Chapter 14: ‘To whom I owe the leaping delight that quickens my senses in our wakingtime’
Chapter 15: ‘And everything is perfectly still until you catch the sound of something lost and shy beating its wings against those darkening stars. And then: music.’
Chapter 16: ‘Sweetheart when you break thru you’ll find a poet here’
Chapter 17: ‘Novel unbegun, half-loaf rising’
Chapter 18 : ‘In the morning glad I see ; my foe outrestched beneath the tree.’
Chapter 19: ‘She says to him, Listen to the little birdies, and he listens to the common sparrows talking in the hedge. He listens as they argue back and forth, their dialect of nature’
Chapter 20 : ‘But to prevent the sad increase of hopeless love, I keep away.’
Chapter 21: ‘And you think the hole in the universe, caused by the emission of your grief, is so deep it will never be rectified’
Chapter 22: ‘I'm a woman phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, that's me.’
Chapter 23: ‘Drink one last pull of starlight straight from the bottle’
Chapter 24: ‘And we discovered there love had the feather and muscle of wings and had come to live with us, a brother of fire and air’
Chapter 25: ‘But this dedication is for others to read: these are private words addressed to you in public.’
Chapter 26: ‘Never fear. We may let the scaffolds fall confident that we have built our wall.’
Chapter 27: ‘But Mitski in my speakers pulls me back to earth she keeps my hands on the wheel when I want and I so often want to die’
Chapter 28: ‘I know what my heart is like since your love died: it is like a hollow ledge holding a little pool’
Chapter 29: ‘Vague as fog and looked for like mail’
Chapter 30: ‘That sea with the open arms of perennial youth where my Hope alights’
Chapter 31: ‘That spring will be a green havoc’
Chapter 32: ‘If your hands were in mine I’d be sure we’d not sever’
Chapter 33: ‘Then someone lifted you up, and there was a sound, and they laid you on me, breathing.’
Chapter 34: ‘Her eyes are Neruda's two dark pools at twilight’
Chapter 35: ‘You are her soft miracle. So she gave you her eyes to see the best in the worst.’
Chapter 36: ‘Every finger shall have its ring and there won't be a single place dark or unhappy’
Chapter 37: ‘A day is long and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep’
Chapter 38: ‘Nach mór é an taitneamh mo stóirín ina leaba ina chodladh gan bhrón’
Chapter 39: ‘No one else will travel through the shadows with me, only you, evergreen, ever sun, ever moon’
Chapter 40: ‘What does it matter that my love could not keep her. The night is starry and she is not with me.’
Chapter 41: ‘I'd rather have the dream of you with faint stars glowing’
Chapter 42: ‘Her breath in mine, our fluent dipping knives – never closer the whole rest of our lives.’
Chapter 43: ‘I think I like myself a little broken’
Chapter 44: ‘So I imagine such love of the world — its fervency, its shining, its innocence and hunger to give of itself — I imagine this is how it began.’
Chapter 45: ‘I’m your guide here. In the evening-dark morning streets, I point and name.’
Chapter 46: ‘Take my hand. Stand by the window. I want to show you what is hidden in this ordinary.’
Chapter 47: ‘And, what is more, you seemed to know, although you are so small, that I was there, with eager arms, to save you from a fall.’
Chapter 48: ‘The world is at least fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative estimate, though I keep this from my children.’
Chapter 49: ‘Before the kite plunges down into the wood and this line goes useless take in your two hands, boys, and feel the strumming, rooted, long-tailed pull of grief. You were born fit for it.’
Chapter 50: ‘And if you missed a day, there was always the next, and if you missed a year, it didn’t matter, the hills weren’t going anywhere, the thyme and rosemary kept coming back, the sun kept rising, the bushes kept bearing fruit’
Chapter 51: ‘Even in another time’
Chapter 52: ‘And that orange, it made me happy. As ordinary things often do just lately.’
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.
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.
is this random? yes but i don’t care 🥰 LISTEN I KNOW sweet dreams, tn is a song by the last shadow puppets but let’s just use our imagination with this one ok? 😍
faceclaim orion carloto
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liked by billieeilish, carolamtz and 2,366,780 others
yourusername married the love of my life!
billieeilish BEAUTIFUL BRIDE 🤍🤍🤍
bellahadid beauty ✨
lilizneimer congratulations!!
landonorris am i still grounded?
yourusername we’re all good now 🤍
honeymoon such a beautiful ceremony ❤️ in love with your love
ynstyle was every celebrity and f1 driver at this wedding?😭
cherrywin3 girl apparently stevie nicks even performed 😔😭
formulatears I NEED TO KNOW WHAT SHE SANG
cherrywin3 landslide because it’s y/n’s favorite song 😭 y/n’s mom just posted a video of y/n crying while stevie sang it’s too precious 🥹
view all 45,466 comments
liked by landonorris, honeymoon and 2,665,890 others
hozier y/n, my heart is, and will always be, yours. ‘sweet dreams, tn’ a gift from me to my beautiful wife.
hozierarchive HE DROPPED AN ALBUM DURING HIS WEDDING??
ynspodium not just any album but an album full of songs that y/n loves covered by him and some original songs too!!
leclercstype STEVIE NICKS, LANA, LORDE, THE LAST SHADOW PUPPETS, NOAH KAHAN, LORD HURON HE GATHERED THE DEPRESSION AVENGERS AND MADE AN ALBUM FOR HIS WIFE 😭
f1wagsstyle WHEN WILL IT BE MY TURN??
yourmomsusername y/n is currently sobbing listening to the album!
ynwdc not mama l/n exposing her daughter 😭 but same!
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liked by hozier, gracieabrams and 2,366,390 others
yourusername 🇮🇪❤️☘️🎵🫶🏼✨💍👰♀️🤵♂️🤍
landonorris did you have a seizure or….?
yourusername you’re grounded again let me be in love with my hot irish husband on my honeymoon
landonorris you keep that to yourself
f1maeve my brother started watching f1 because of you!! (and he’s hoping to see hozier at a race)
yourusername thanks to your brother!! maybe andrew will finally make an appearance soon 🤍
crybabyprimadonna what’s your favorite song from sweet dreams, tn?
yourusername don’t make me choose!!😭 they all have my heart (but andrew’s cover of landslide with stevie is amazingly beautiful)
summary: "You don't have to come tonight." He offered, voice laced with concern as he watches you take the pills.
"I'm fine. I promise Andy, it's just cramps."
rating: 16+
tags: fem!reader x hozier. hurt/comfort, periods, brief mention of vomiting, pain, established relationship
words: 5,238
note: very personal vulnerable little story that i wrote / have been working on for myself. only sharing in case it might help someone else, cause these kinds of fics always help me <3 very much not beta read
fic under the cut ❊
It's another Saturday night at one of those completely over the top celebrity events that you both share a hatred for. But it's part of the job, important for "making connections" and "good impressions" and you should never turn down an invitation from someone as prestigious as this blah blah… or something like that. His managers words ring in your ear. At least while he's still in New York, Andrew had promised to go to as many of these prestigious little parties as he possibly could before hoping to vanish off to Wicklow with you for a couple of months.
All these parties has meant lots of new dresses, all beautiful, all very expensive, all gifted from high end brands who would love for Hozier's newly public girlfriend to be spotted in one of their pieces. Not just dresses, but shoes and jewellery and bags.
The attention had been overwhelming at first, the thousands of people requesting to follow your Instagram, digging up old pictures of you, comments about your body from users hiding behind anonymous accounts. "Not who I was excepting for him." "He can do better than that." "Who even is she?" "Not as pretty as the last one."
Most of it had been positive, but the other comments stick with you more. Andrew had told you before you had gone public to stay offline. He tried to distract you with a surprise trip back home the day after you had decided to just rip the band aid off yourselves instead of hiding around all the time, living in a constant state of panic.
Being his public partner came with a lot of new experiences. For one, now you get to come to these kind of parties. A prospect that had excited him, an opportunity for these events to be far less boring with you by his side. He had admitted one evening, as you were swaying on a dance floor, how much he loved to show you off to everyone. To introduce you proudly to everyone, to gush about all your achievements. "I can point to the most gorgeous woman in this room, and I can tell everyone she's mine."
Tonight, one of Andrew's industry friends were hosting a little gala with a charity. It was a good cause, and these were genuinely good friends. For once, you had both been happy to say yes to going.
The day had started fine, you enjoyed a quiet slow morning together. Limbs tangled in sheets, coffee delivered to your hotel room. He let you help him with his curls, and he picked out your dress. Maroon, A-line, floor length, the smallest bit of boning in the waist and subtle lace floral detailing.
It had started while he was sat behind you in front of the mirror, curling the back of your hair, a task he had become very good at over the months, while you blended your eyeshadow. He was already dressed, aside from his jacket. All black, his hair down, as per your request. He picked your outfit, you picked his.
He was focusing on making each wave in your hair perfect, before pulling it back into a half up half down for you, fixing it in place with an intricate clip you had both spent half an hour earlier trying to work out. He was curling some loose pieces when he noticed your face scrunched up in that all too familiar look of pain.
"Darling?" He started gently, "are you okay?"
You nod, opening your eyes again, "I'm fine. In my handbag, there should be-"
He moved before you even had to finish, quickly returning to your side with a couple of pills and a glass of water.
"You don't have to come tonight." He offered, voice laced with concern, as he watched you take the pills.
You shake your head. "I'm fine. I promise Andy. Just cramps."
But you don't feel nearly as confident as you sound. And it takes another 5 minutes of convincing and proving to him you are fine before he goes back to your hair.
The cramps do subside, becoming a dull manageable ache for about an hour. Enough time for you to finish your makeup without your hands shaking from pain. Enough time for him to help you lace up the back of your dress without doubling over.
For as long as this has been a part of your life, you've become pretty good at dealing with it on your own. At pushing the pain down and moving on, life doesn't just stop because you have bad period cramps. You have learnt that the hard and painful way. You learnt that when you were sixteen, trying to concentrate in class as it felt like you were being stabbed repeatedly. You learnt that when you eighteen at your first real job, crying on your break because it just hurt so much, there were no words to describe to anyone how much it hurt. You learnt that when you were twenty, at a party, trapped in the bathroom, the door too far away, and no one you could call. You learnt at 24, that you would never have enough evidence for any doctor. You have been putting on a brave face, every month since you were fifteen years old. At the end of the day it's just period cramps.
It's just period cramps. Stop being so dramatic. It's just period cramps.
It's just period cramps, but you can't help but wince bending down to put your heels on. And he's instantly on his knees, putting them on for you while you breathe through the wave of pain. Pain spreading up your back, across to your hips. He takes your hand, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles, "you don't have to come."
"It'll pass. I already feel better," you lied, forcing a smile, hoping he doesn't notice. The truth is, you don't want to be in this hotel room alone tonight. You've spent too many nights in your life, laying in a bed alone, curled up in agony. Andrew is the greatest painkiller you've ever had. His presence alone, his hand in yours… it doesn't make the pain go away, but it makes it more manageable. It will be worse if you're alone here, but you can't find the words to tell him that. So instead you just promise again that you are fine, and you will be fine.
His hand finds yours in the car, squeezing it gently, and you hold onto him tightly, not wanting to ever let go.
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The night starts well. You have a table in a corner which suits you both perfectly. You eat with his hand resting on your thigh. You mingle a little, and normally you pride yourself on being independent from him, trying to talk to people on your own, but tonight that just seems too hard. Your head feels heavy, your brain wanders off to no where. You hold onto his arm, and smile and nod through conversation, adding things and answering questions as best as you can, trying to appear as much of a functioning human as possible.
You eventually wind up back at your table, sitting alone, sipping on a glass of some sort of white wine. With all the formalities of the evening done, you watch as people dance to the live jazz band, and you tap your foot to the rhythm, trying to focus on the instruments instead of the growing pain.
Your eyes scan the room for him, finding him in a corner, laughing with a small group of people. He seems to be listening more than he is conversing, occasionally taking a sip of his whisky as he laughs. His back is slightly turned to you, and as you focus on all the instruments, you become memorised by the way his curls bounce as he moves.
You try, you try as best as you can.
You fixate on the music.
You try to memorise each curl.
But it's too much.
You throw back whatever champagne is left in your glass, and wish you had more. Anything that might make you feel a little more numb. Anything to get you through a couple more hours.
The pain rises. Moving up your back and down your thighs with a fierceness and determination. As if it has a simple goal of making you writhe in agony.
You need to be alone. Just while this passes. It comes in waves. It gets worse before it gets better. You can't be here right now. Your legs tremble as you stand, the pain goes from tight and binding to stabbing as you walk. Part of you wants to b-line straight to Andrew, fall into his arms, have him hold you close. But a bigger part of you just needs the silence for minute, just needs to be alone.
The florescent lights of the bathroom are blinding, headache inducing and the room spins. But the bathroom is quiet, empty. Your hands find the sink, clutching onto the banister for dear life as you hang your head, letting out a low groan.
It's a nice bathroom. Bit over the top. Very green, very pink. Ornate gold finishings everywhere. Paired with the bright overhead lighting, it's all a bit too much. Your head is pounding, your ears are ringing. The pain has become that consistent aching again, maybe the overstimulation of this bathroom snapped the worst of it away. Maybe it was done. You sigh, going to rest your head against your arm when it hits again.
It's almost like twisting. Like there is something in you twisting. You sink down onto the green tiles, your beautiful, expensive, gifted red dress sprawled out on this bathroom floor.
You arms cross over your stomach, you're not sure why, an instinctual feeling to cover yourself, maybe to protect yourself from anymore of the twisting and stabbing, maybe out of pure need for comfort.
Twisting and pulling and stabbing and you can't stop the tears. Stabbing and twisting and twisting and twisting and you can't stop the quiet yelps of pain that leave you.
You breathe. Breathe and try to picture his voice. Breathe through it. It will pass. Just a little longer. It will pass.
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Andrew has been trying to make it back to the table for a moment of peace for what feels like an eternity now. Every time he thinks he has escaped a conversation, another person pulls him away for a quick "hello" "how are you?" which turns into a one sided conversation where the other person monologues their whole life story to him and he must simply nod, adding in a word or two here and there.
Knowing you weren't feeling the well, the guilt over the fact he has unintentionally abandoned you for half the night is eating away at him a little. He just wants to make sure you're alright.
He finishes off another whisky, he's not sure what he's up to at this point, and finally makes his way towards the table, walking as quickly as he can so not to be interrupted by anyone else.
When he finally reaches said table, he finds it empty. He turns, scanning his eyes across the dance floor for you. He starts to walk around, his gut telling him that something isn't quite right — and he's praying it's just that you need a little help getting out of an awkward conversation with an overly drunk celebrity who doesn't understand your job or why you are here.
"You look a little lost Andy," one of his friends calls out over the music, handing him another glass, "here's that drink I owe you."
"Oh you didn't have to do that. You don't owe me, you never do," he says, still scanning his eyes around the room.
"You looking for something?"
"Any chance you saw my girl near the bar? Red dress?"
"Nope. Sorry mate. I can keep an eye out for you though? If I see her I'll tell her you're looking for her."
"Thanks," Andrew replies, bringing his drink to his lips.
"We're all just sitting by the red couches if you want to come over," his friend offers.
He nods, thanking him again for the drink and insisting he really should find you first, and that he'll come over once he does.
The friend (who for the purpose of telling this story we will name Matt), has known Andrew since he was in his early twenties. He knows when something is seriously worrying him.
"Come on, I'll help you look for her," Matt offers.
After about another ten minutes of futile searching, and your phone going to voicemail for the fifth time, Andrew finds himself back at the table. He rings you again, only for your phone to light up with a picture of himself tying up his hair. Damn.
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You get a minute, every now and then, when you think maybe it's over. It's always only ever a minute.
You feel like that fifteen year old girl trapped in the school bathrooms again.
But now you're in a gorgeous, gifted, expensive dress, that is making it too hard to breathe or move as you writhe in pain. Pain from fucking period cramps. A thought that leads you to the dawning realisation that you're likely bleeding onto this gorgeous, gifted, expensive dress, which only makes the tears sting your eyes more.
You reach to hold onto anything, you're not sure why. So now you have a hand pressed against the wall. It is doing nothing to help.
The knocking on the door grows louder. You know there's at least two other bathrooms. Why can't they just use those? You hear a voice, but their words make no sense to you. The room is spinning to much.
You're not sure how long you've been in here. Maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour.
Maybe if you could just get a hold of Andrew somehow. He could get you your bag with your medication and maybe that would make it better. Maybe. Shit. Your bag. Your phone. You left both on the table. No phone. No way to get a hold of him.
"Fuck," you swear, hitting your hand against the wall as the stabbing builds again. You have long abandoned silence, letting little whines of pain leave your lips as you curl in on yourself again. His name slipping out a couple of times too.
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"You all remember Andrew right?" Matt booms over the music to the group sitting closely at a table a little too small for the number of people there are. "Or should we call you Hozier at these kind of things?"
"No please," Andrew shakes his head with a smile.
Matt nods, directing his attention back to the group. Andrew zones out of what Matt is saying, waiting for a good time to ask if anyone might have seen you, the only reason he is now stuck sitting at this table.
His eyes start scanning across another section of the room again. He just wants to know if you're okay. He just wants to see you, see that you're talking to someone or getting a drink or something. Just so this sinking feeling in his stomach will go away.
He watches two people leave a little corridor and head towards the table. Everyone starts to shift again to make room for them, as does Andrew. Now finding himself squished in the middle of a table.
"Oh, hello handsome," one of them (who we'll call Bec), says sitting down next to him.
Andrew shuffles a little further across, trying to make his uncomfortableness as clear as possible.
"Sorry we were so long," the other friend starts, "pretty sure someone's locked themselves in one of the bathrooms. So of course there was a massive queue," she finishes with an eye roll before focusing on the new person at the table. "You're that Hozier guy right?"
"Wait that's you?" Bec exclaims, "I knew you looked familiar."
"Someone's locked in one of the bathrooms?" He asks quickly.
"Yeah," Bec nods, "so what are you doing in New York? Aren't you Irish?"
"Work stuff," he says with a small smile, "sorry, what bathroom was it?"
Bec gives him an odd look, "um… the first one on the left. Why?"
"Excuse me," he stands up, awkwardly trying to shuffle out of the table. He's pretty sure he hears a couple people asking where he's going, but he doesn't respond, and worrying about coming off as rude is not really high on his list of his priorities right now. You are.
After knocking on the door for what feels like forever with no response, he spends another ten or fifteen minutes convincing multiple staff members to use a master key — because even if it's not his sick girlfriend in there, someone else could be very much in need of help being locked in there for as long as they have been… or he could be making a terrible mistake and be interrupting something he shouldn't.
But when the door is finally opened by one of the security people, it is your red dress he is met with. You look so still, scarily so, with your back faced towards the door. The clip he had fixed in your hair hours ago, shinning and glimmering in the fluorescent light.
He pushes past the man standing at the door, sinking to the floor by your side, ever so gently turning you towards him, laying your head in his lap.
Eyes flicker open to meet his, and you watch as his eyes scan over you.
"Hey," he breathes.
"Andy… how did you-"
He shakes his head, "shh, it's alright, I've got you now."
You watch as he faces back at the door, and his words become inaudible as the pain rushes through you again. He pulls you closer, hearing the sudden change in your breathing. His hand finds yours, squeezing it tightly, reminding you he's here, he's real, he's right here.
"How bad darling?"
"Bad," you manage through gritted teeth. "Nine."
He nods, "okay, okay thank you."
"Please don't go," you whine.
"I'm not going anywhere," he reassures you softly, gently pressing a kiss to your forehead, "I'm right here baby. I'm so sorry I wasn't here sooner."
You shake your head, going to say something, but all that comes out is a low groan of pain. Your hand squeezes his, harder than you probably should. But if it caused him any pain, you wouldn't know. When your eyes open you see his expression, full of nothing but worry, his hair falling around his face.
He fishes through his pocket, finally pulling out a little container of your pain medication.
You sigh, tears stinging your eyes.
He gets two into his palm, looking for a way to get you some water.
"Why do you have those?" You manage quietly.
"Because… just because I worry about you. And you weren't fooling me with that I'm fine shit you were doing at the hotel."
He pulls out a flask from inside his jacket, reaching up to tip the brown liquid out of it.
"Just know you're the only person in this world I would tip out my favourite whisky for."
"I can't believe you actually bought that with you."
"Shh," he helps you sit up a little, wincing when he can see how much pain it's causing you just to sit up. He passes you the flask, now full of water from the tap, and the bright blue pills, "just take these for me. Sorry if it tastes like whisky still."
It definitely does.
Your back is against the wall now, he brushes some hair out of your face. "You're so beautiful."
"…I think I'm going to be sick."
He gives you a puzzled look, before his eyes widen and he reaches for the nearby little bathroom trash can. You take it from him instantly, heaving into the trash can. He moves quickly, pulling your hair out from your face, rubbing your back gently, offering sweet soothing words.
Your breathing is heavy, you eventually fall back to him, your knees too weak to keep you up any longer than necessary. Mascara stings your eyes. The tears silently fall again. He holds you as close as he possibly can.
You are trembling against him. He watches as your shaking hands find his jacket and your fingers curl into it.
"Breathe," he says gently, "you need to breathe my love."
"I… hurts so much. …Everywhere."
He nods, "I know. I know. Just breathe with me okay? In and out, slow as you can baby."
You try to follow his breathing. You turn to the side, hoping it doesn't make the pain light up. You try to focus on anything, everything, else again. Just like before.
Everything else you can feel.
His hand running up and down your back gently, finding where he knows the cramps travel up. The relentless stabbing. The cool tiles against your skin. Twisting. His soft palm in yours. Pulling. Stabbing. Twisting. Aching. His hand on your back. His palm in yours. His hair brushing against your face when he kisses your cheek. His lips. Your eyes stinging. Stabbing. Twisting. Aching.
It's too much. You can't help but scream.
It's muffled into your own hand. The tears come down uncontrollably.
His chest hurts at the sound. It aches. He feels completely and utterly helpless. He feels horrible for not insisting you stay home.
"I'm so sorry," he offers, his eyes stinging, watching you breathe heavy, eyes squeezed shut, knuckles white from how tightly they are curled into his jacket. "I- I wish I could make it all go away."
"Andy," you choke out, and it hits you in that moment. That no one has ever really cared like this. No one has sat with you. Not when you're like this. These are moments you reserve for when you are completely alone. Alone screaming into your hand in the bathroom.
Yet, here he is. There is most certainly vomit in your hair. There is even more certainly blood on your dress. There is mascara all down your face. But yet, despite all of that, despite all you were too afraid to ever let anyone really see, is him, here, holding you close.
"I love you," you barely mumble out.
"Oh, my darling," he says, shaking his head, "I love you. I love you so much. My beautiful girl. I love you."
Your eyes squeeze shut from the pain, your hand finds your mouth again to muffle the sounds of agony. Yet his voice is all you can hear, everything else just fades away.
I love you. I love you. I love you so much. You are so strong. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. My darling, I love you. I love you, more than I will ever have words for. I love you. …Breathe for me baby. I love you. Just breathe through it. I'm right here. I love you.
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Eventually you are on two feet. Two shaky feet, attached to shaky legs and a shaky aching body. His jacket is on your shoulders, he has a firm steady hand on your back, your left hand and arm using his other for support as you finally stumble out of the bathroom.
You move slow, stopping every now and then when the pain rises, and Andrew brushes off concerned party guests. Probably assuming you just can't handle your alcohol.
Andrew ushers you into a car. Guarding you the best he can from any flashing, with cameras eagerly waiting by the door for the drunk celebrities to come stumbling out as the evening goes on.
Your hand squeezes tightly into his on the way back to the hotel.
You are now sat in your hotel bed, an oversized black sweatshirt on, his name and face on the front. He is braiding your sweaty hair while you try your hardest to get some food down so you can have another dose of medication. He kisses your neck when he's done. Before sitting in front of you with a collection of pills in his hand.
And while the pills do work, giving you the most amount of pain relief you have had in hours, in a night that will certainly go down as one of the worst yet. The safety of his arms and the warmth of bed provide a different kind of reprieve. One that might take a while to get used to, to let yourself feel worthy of, but the exact kind of love you have spent so long dreaming of.
warnings: 18+ (MDNI), masturbation, fantasizing, post-nut guilt, no beta we die like icarus: overtaken by our own hubris
a/n: you might've been thinking you saw this fic on ao3, and you'd be correct. i posted it anonymously before i gained the courage to actually post under my name. i've decided to shorten the title and post it on here. i promise it's me (you can see my notes app to check lol) i would never plagiarize. may this hold you over while i work on new stuffs.
He steps into his hotel room, takes a deep breath, and settles into the fact that for the first time in 48 hours, he is completely alone . There's a freedom to it, a sense of rest that comes in the silence. No one is talking to him, or asking him to do something, or screaming his name while he's on stage. The only sound is the light hum of an air conditioner, barely adding an ambiance. He's alone. And it's perfect.
The first thing he does is hit the shower. He had a long day. His insistence to wearing multiple layers on stage doesn't help, so even though he's exhausted, he's sweaty first. After undressing and fiddling with the hotel's shower handle (it seems to be different at every location), he steps into the shower and lets the cold water prick against his skin. Before he even reaches for the body wash, he merely closes his eyes and stands there. He takes a deep breath as the water cleanses him, and rotates so that the water hits his back. Finally, once he actually begins to clean himself, his thoughts wander to his day. He thinks of words he should’ve said, things he should’ve done, comebacks to arguments that had happened months ago. And as the soap rinses off of him, he finds something for his thoughts to focus on.
You.
As he massages the shampoo into his scalp, he considers you. His crush on you was thinly veiled. Ten minutes couldn’t go past without you being on his mind. He thought you were a masterpiece, that you must’ve been perfectly sculpted by whatever heavenly being there was in the universe. Not only that, but you were intelligent, and funny, and had such a capacity for kindness. You had captured him, and likely didn’t even know it.
But no , part of you must’ve had some idea of the effect you had on him. Otherwise why would you stare at him from across crowded rooms, only breaking eye contact with a wink? Why would you search for him in crowds, or wear a revealing shirt when it was just the two of you. There had to be something there, there must be.
When it comes time for conditioner, his thoughts have begun to go down the gutter. He thinks of you in that tight dress you wore once. He made it a point to memorize your figure that night, so he could came back to it in moments like this. His vision had traced your outline so well he could recall it from memory. He rinsed his hair out, scrubbing once more as the suds left his head. Twisting the shower handle once again, he turns off the water and grabbed a towel to dry himself. When he looks down, he is met with a surprise.
He had become hard. That was a new development.
The best part of being alone meant that he could take care of his little predicament easily. He threw on a sleep shirt and boxers, which he had set up to get changed into. If his new plan was on the agenda, he would’ve skipped the step altogether. To preserve his dignity (and cover his bases incase someone needed him), he threw the clothes on. He sat down on the bed, adjusting himself so that he was against the headboard and propping his legs up. Tentatively, the waistband of his boxers came down, letting his cock spring free. He considers pulling up one of your social media accounts and using them as a base, but he’s grown a bit restless. Besides, his imagination will do him just fine.
His first touch is light, simple. He brushes over his tip, just to test the waters. When it twitches under his touch, he knows he needs more. The light touches turn passionate as he begins to stroke himself. The entire time, he’s envisioning you. The curves he knows in perfect detail despite being clothed. The occasional noise you make when you stretch or twist something, letting out a noise that could be lewd in any other context. His breathing quickens, along with his pace, as he envisions being the cause of those noises. He wishes it wasn't his fist wrapped around him, but the tight clench of your cunt, letting him fill you and spill his release inside of you. He moans at the thought, and his eyes shut. Tight. Images of you in unholy positions fill the space behind his eyelids. He begins to form them into fantasies, thinking of various scenarios as he bucks into his hand.
You're on top, riding him until the both of you are sticky and breathless as he begs you to fuck him senseless.
"Please," he murmurs, "I can take it. Please, baby."
You obliged, picking up the pace and rocking into him, bouncing up and down as well. The headboard squeaked loud, causing a cacophony of noises he was sure would cause him getting a noise complaint. In this moment though, he couldn’t give a shit. Not when he’s so close.
You both reach your climax; he releases inside of you, and your juices pour out of you. The sight is delectable to him. You pull yourself off him and grab a hotel towel he had set aside before. He cleans himself up, and watches in pure awe as you do the same, reveling in the sight of you. You toss the towel onto the floor, curling into him and you both fall asleep, exhausted and bare.
He opens his eyes and closes them again, resetting.
Now he’s hovering over you, thrusting into you with such a vigor that part of him is scared he might break you. The soft kisses he gives your face contrast the harsh words spilling from his mouth.
“My little slut. Look at you, pathetic and brainless. Can barely speak, just from my cock. Isn’t that right?”
He looks down at you, and a small noise leaves your mouth as you try to reply. He was right, you’re barely functioning. He isn’t complaining, he’s enjoying using you like this. Given you’d had a long conversation about it beforehand, he knows you’re enjoying it too. He’s about to be spent, and with one final jerk of his hips-
He releases, spilling onto his chest as a sinful noise leaves his lips. He sees stars in replace of your naked body, imagination overrode by pure pleasure. He’s grateful he chose a shirt and boxers; clean up is now much easier (and doesn’t require a second shower). He wipes whatever’s on his hand on his shirt. Unsanitary, sure, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s currently more worried about the fact that he feels dirty on the inside . His desire got the best of him and he actually jerked off to you. Who was he becoming?
He sits up for a moment, pulling his shirt off and tossing it onto the floor, which to him might as well be no man’s land. He settles back into bed and pulls his boxers back up. He’s shattered now, absolutely done for the night. He pushes any and all thoughts about you to the side. He can’t be arsed to think about the implications of what he’s just done.
For the night, he closes his eyes and tries not to stress about the awkwardness that will come with admitting his actions. The time will come when it needs to. He’s going to have to tell you about it eventually.
summary: your first dates and first time with andrew
warnings: cursing, fluff, smut, use of y/n, reader is irish, alcohol, porn with plot, reader is afab, i dont think i proofread this lol, lmk if there’s anything i missed!
word count: 5.5k
a/n: i wrote this a long time ago fully intending to make it way longer and possibly a series, but i decided i wasnt going to finish it and didn’t wanna leave it in my doc, so here you go. and honestly, this is just a pleasure fic i wrote with andrew in mind, but it’s not really him, yk? his name is just in there lol.
I always enjoyed going to farmer’s markets on the weekends. The fresh smell of vegetables and homemade treats always appealed to me. The people there were interesting, both the buyers and the sellers. Though I preferred to keep to myself and browse silently, it was always fun to look back on the insistent producers trying to convince me to buy their products. Or just to make small talk.
I never really had a certain thing I was looking for. Though it was definitely pricier, I enjoyed doing a little “grocery shopping” here, just to support the local farmers and artisans. Not that three candles and a loaf of sourdough bread was on my grocery list.
One thing I did enjoy keeping stocked in my pantry was honey. It went in nearly anything I made. I ate it on bread (which I would surely put on the luscious sourdough loaf I had just acquired), I put it in my tea, I used it to replace sugar in baked goods, most of the time. I even make these little honey cinnamon scones my friends rave about, though I swear they aren’t that great.
There were a surplus of honey stands at this farmer’s market, like there was every summer. Some of my friends raised bees, so they would be here every year. I was sad to hear the news that they decided to retire from the beekeeping business because they want more time for their family, and having so many bees wasn’t working for them. There was a possibility of picking up the hobby again in the future, with way fewer bees, but for now, they needed a break.
I really enjoyed talking with them as I browsed their many honey flavors and honey sticks. This year was my venture to find a new honey vendor, one with actual good honey, and not the fake stuff in the plastic bear bottle.
A few shops caught my eye, none extremely exciting. I bought a few sticks, just to sample. If I liked one, maybe I would come back later. I usually stayed here all day, smelling every candle, feeling every melon, buying one too many rolls and pastries.
One stand—though it was more plain, it had a homemade feel to it—caught my eye. There was a table in front of the tent, a yellow tablecloth draped over a setup for the honey. Different little mason jars sat on their respective pedestals, while inside the tent was a rug with three other tables holding the same honey. A man sat inside, behind his front table. He looked like the kind of guy to keep bees.
I approached the stand, looking around inside. It smelled like flowers and dirt, reminding me of the times when I would visit my friends and they would take me around their bees. There were no honey sticks for me to buy as samples, and I wondered if he would allow people to try anything. The little Byrne & Bloom label was adorable, sweet little pink flowers lining the label. Though, nothing really set his honey apart from any other vendor out here. It had the comb in it. It was in a mason jar with a tastefully designed logo, but it wasn’t the logo that was going to make me buy it.
“Want to try some?”
I turned around to face the voice, honey jar still in my hand. It was the man sitting behind the table earlier—the one who looked like he would keep bees. He barely fit inside the tent, the flyaways in his long hair grazing the top of the canvas covering.
“Oh—that would be great. Thank you.”
He turned his back to me to fish a wooden spoon and a half-full jar of honey off of a small table next to his chair. He opened the lid—with a little difficulty, since it was stuck—and dipped the spoon in. The amber-colored honey drizzled off, most of it landing in a glob back in the jar. He dug back in, successfully getting a sample-worthy spoonful. He handed the spoon to me and watched as I tried his honey.
The honey wasn’t too thick, but it was thin enough to drizzle like icing. I didn’t know if it was a specific flavor he sold, since none of the labels said otherwise, but there was a delicious undertone of orange and thyme. It tasted like bottled sunlight, warm and comforting.
“How is it?” the man asked, raising his brows.
I nodded, “It’s delicious. Wow. That’s amazing.” I licked any remaining honey off the wooden spoon, hoping to get another taste of that velvety goodness.
He smiled at me as I grabbed two more jars to add to my handful of tote bags and his other jar of honey.
“You’re buying it?” He said, shock covering his face. He acted as if I was his first customer, even though I had heard him make three sales while I was still browsing.
“Oh, yeah. I couldn’t leave this gold behind.”
His smile was genuine as he followed me to the front table. He scribbled numbers on a small yellow notepad—prices, I assumed—and I pulled my card out of my wallet that I had to keep handy at places like this.
He held up a hand, stopping me from giving him my card. He pointed to a sign, “Sorry, cash only. My card reader broke a few markets ago. Still need to get a new one.”
I chuckled as I looked down at my wallet. I learned quickly years ago that carrying cash with you to farmer’s markets was a necessity. He put the fragile jars of honey in a brown paper bag—two, since these were flimsy and the honey was heavy—and passed it to me. Our fingers brushed, and I quickly looked down to busy myself with putting my wallet back in my tote, which I didn’t really need to do. Because he was handsome and tall, and he made good honey. And that just so happened to be exactly my type.
“I’m Andrew,” he said. No hand shake, just his name like he was already in the middle of a conversation.
I looked at him and smiled. “I’m Y/n.” I paused, not knowing what to say. I settled on, “I’ll be back next weekend, if you’re still selling.”
His eyes crinkled with a smile. “I’ll save you a jar.”
Though, I would be buying more, that was for sure, I didn’t need anymore now that I had three of his jars. I liked honey, but I didn’t go through it that quickly. Still, it was to support a small business. And a handsome business owner.
The next week, I was back again. The sun wasn’t as blindingly hot today, and the humidity in the air made my hair feel dirty, though I washed it the night before. Little children ran around, begging their parents to buy them a little stuffed animal on display or a cotton candy.
Andrew’s station was in the middle of the chaos, but I made it my first stop. He was in a cream henley and a sage overshirt, sleeves rolled up at the elbows, crinkling a pattern into the fabric. His jeans were faded, and definitely had years of wear put into them.
He talked to an old woman who looked like she had many questions. He might have been standing there for a very long time, his weight was in one leg, and the lady was leaning on the table, cane in one hand. She seemed very interested, with her head craned as far up as it looked possible, while he still was farther back so he wasn’t towering over her. He talked with his hand, one of them occupied by his golden colored honey. He occasionally pushed his curls behind his ear as he spoke, the wind finding its way around the tent.
I walked up to the stand in the front. It looked almost the same as last week, just fewer jars of honey on the stands. He was probably going to sell out soon. If not by other people, then by me. As I looked at the honey (occasionally looking up to see how the progress with the older lady was going), he met my eyes. He smiled a warm smile, like he was happy to see me. For the rest of the conversation—which lasted around three more minutes—he smiled at her. He smiled at her the whole time, but this was a more excited smile. He somehow was more interested in the conversation than before.
When she finally bought one of his smallest jars of honey and hobbled off with her cane and faux-leather purse, Andrew brought his attention to me. “Welcome back,” he said, smiling with all of his teeth. “I saved you a jar.”
I looked around at all of the jars on display. Were they not all the same flavor? “You have different flavors?”
He looked sheepishly at the ground as he pulled out a jar of Byrne & Bloom honey from under the table. “No, I don’t. I suppose I just wanted to keep my word.”
I blushed as I realized he remembered our conversation from last week, and he was looking forward to seeing me. “Oh. Well, in that case, thank you.” I took the jar from him. Our fingers brushed—again—and he tried to seem careless about it, but the mischief in his eyes gave him away. He didn’t let me pay for that jar of honey. I begrudgingly thanked him, though it meant a lot.
I came back the next week. And the week after that. And the week after that. Every time, I would stay at his tent the longest. And every time, he would have a jar for me. We would talk and talk, usually about absolutely nothing. I looked forward to the weekends even more than I did before, just because it meant I could talk to him.
One week, he gave me my free jar of honey, with words scribbled on the top.
Crescent Hill
Tomorrow 6 PM
If you’re free…
***
I finally got the opportunity to wear my yellow sundress I bought last Friday, and I felt pretty. My hair was curled perfectly, I did my makeup well on the first try. I told Andrew I would bring some honey cinnamon scones to the picnic. It was probably not the best thing to be so stressed about if he would like my silly little scones or not. I used his honey, so he was bound to enjoy that part.
I made it to Crescent Hill just in time. I’d been here a few times before for family gatherings, but we usually met on the other side, where the gazebos were. There were around ten other people out here—couples, by the looks of their romantic picnic setups—and I searched them all to see if they were Andrew. When I saw the lone man, hair blowing in the breeze, I made my hike up and down the shallow-sloped hill to meet him.
He was sitting with his ankles crossed on the classic red-and-white checkered picnic blanket, flannel blowing in the breeze. A guitar laid next to him and there was a bottle of red wine and a few plates of sandwiches and sweets. It looked like we were having lunch for dinner.
“Hello,” I said, arriving within hearing distance.
“Hey, yourself,” He smiled.
I crouched down and sat the scones on the ground, next to the little lemon cookies that looked homemade. I scanned the selection of food, and felt guilty for only bringing one thing. “I wish you would have told me to bring more,” I said, grimacing at my own lack of thoughtfulness.
He waved his hand in the air, quickly telling me not to worry. “I like cooking, anyway. I really just want to try your scones. Were they honey and cinnamon?”
I nodded. He handed me a plate and we piled our food onto them, and then he poured our glasses of wine.
“I don’t know if you drink, but I figured I should bring it anyway. It seemed more romantic than bottled water,” He smiled as he watched himself pour.
I laughed and took a sip. “I enjoy a nice drink every once in a while.”
When we began eating, the first thing he did was take a bite of one of my scones. He chewed, stopped, and looked at me. “Oh, my God. These are absolutely perfect.” He closed his eyes, letting out a content moan at the taste of them. “You really think your friends aren’t obsessed with these?”
I wiped my mouth with my napkin, embarrassed by the praise. “I just assume they’re overreacting. They’re always dramatic.”
He licked the honey and cinnamon off of his fingers, and spoke with his food in his cheek. “You are not allowed to downplay your baking anymore.”
I smiled and took a bite of my sandwich. “Well, thank you.”
We talked until our stomachs were full and the sun was nearly set behind the green hills. He strummed a few chords and songs on the guitar as we talked. He played beautifully, and when I asked him what he was playing, he replied “Like Real People Do.” I had never heard the song before, but it was beautiful. I told myself that I would look it up tonight.
When we wrapped up, we agreed to meet again the same time next week, me with scones (and more food, I told myself), and him with the guitar. He walked me to my car, and we kissed. There was no warning, no reason for him to turn me around and place his lips on mine. But we kissed, and it was so tender, and so sweet.
“Next week for sure?” He raised his eyebrows, hands still on my shoulders from spinning me to face him again.
“Next week, for sure.” I grinned.
***
The night of our first date, I looked up the song he had played on the guitar. It was written by a man named Hozier, and I took a peek at some of his other songs. It surprised me that one of his most popular songs was called “Take Me to Church,” with such sexual lyrics. I wondered if Andrew knew any of his other songs, and if he listened to this one. He seemed so sweet and innocent, I couldn’t picture him listening to it.
That was when I delved deeper into Hozier. I looked up interviews, surprised at seeing Andrew’s face in the thumbnails. He spoke in interviews, talking about his songs. I thought the man singing in “Like Real People Do,” sounded oddly like Andrew, and that it only seemed fitting that he would like those songs, since it sounded like him singing it. Except, it was him singing it.
I brought it up on our second date, and he was bashful about admitting he was a famous singer. He only said he writes songs and he sings them, but never bragged about how big he was. Because, truth is, he had a pretty large fanbase.
On our fourth date, he took me to his favorite record store. He had bought us less than great coffee, but we sipped it anyway as we roamed the store. It was full of old and new records, crazy bands I had never heard of, and some of his favorite music. It smelled nostalgic, and the wood floors were definitely original. You couldn’t move without them making some sort of strange noise. We walked around, looking at album covers, laughing at the silly ones.
He would pull out many artists and delve into detail about how he loves them. Many were classics. He would tell me how Ella Fitzgerald is “absolutely amazing,” and how he grew up with John Lee Hooker and Tom Waits. It was adorable seeing his face light up when he found an artist he grew up listening to or still does.
I ended up buying an Ella Fitzgerald record, having grown up with a little bit of her music, too. We left right as the shop was closing, 8 PM on Tuesdays.
“I don’t have a record player,” I said as we walked out of the store, hands intertwined. I laughed as I looked at his face: smiling from shock.
“Then why did you get the record?”
“Because you convinced me to. And I like Ella Fitzgerald. Maybe I can have it as decoration in my house…”
“If you’re going to have it as a decoration, I think you need a record player, too.”
“I guess you’re right.”
That’s when the rain started. I felt a few drops earlier, when we were getting to the store, but now it decided to rain buckets.
I yelped and used the plastic bag holding my vinyl over my hair. I tried to drag him to his car, but he wouldn’t run. He pulled me back, and twirled me effortlessly.
“It’s raining!” I said, trying to urge him to get to the car so I didn’t ruin my hair.
He laughed, “I know!”
Laying his bag on the ground, in the middle of the empty parking lot, twenty feet away from his car, he put his hand on my waist and started dancing with me. I felt like a child dancing with her father, stepping on his feet and being tossed around like a ragdoll. I finally dropped my bag on the ground next to Andrew’s and danced with him. He twirled me, dipped me (almost dropped me), and by the time we finished dancing, we were completely soaked through.
We laughed as we got into his car, clothes stuck to us like a second skin.
“You’re insane,” I laughed, barely able to get a word out. My hair stuck to my face and neck, becoming a sensory issue. I quickly braided it to get it out of my face.
“You danced with me,” he replied, making it sound like I was the crazy one.
I laid my head back on the headrest. Turning to look at him, I met his eyes already looking at me.
“Can I kiss you?”
I blushed. “You don’t have to ask.”
We leaned in. He cupped my face and my hand rested on his shoulder. He kissed my lips, opening his mouth so I would let his tongue in. We separated, a line of saliva marking where we once were connected.
“We should get out of these clothes.”
He smiled at my suggestion. “Yeah?”
My heart hammered in my chest, making my body all warm and shaky. I nodded, though I quickly wondered how such a giant of a man would be able to have sex in such a tiny car. As he tried, and nearly failed to climb into the backseat, I discarded my cardigan.
“Jesus, this was not designed for people over six feet.” He leaned his back against the door, knees bent more than mine would have been. We look at each other. “Maybe we should do this at my place.”
I let out a choked laugh as he tried to climb back into the front seat, his gangly legs kicking anything in sight. “You’re gonna break something. Like a kneecap. Or the gearshift.”
“Not my fault. God gave me these legs.” He got into the driver’s seat, finally, and let out an exhausted sigh. “I think that’s the first time I’ve crawled into the backseat of a car.”
His house was definitely secluded. He had mentioned to me that he lived in the country, near the woods. He talked about the screaming foxes he would hear at night. How there were woodpeckers in the morning. It was very green, but so was the rest of Ireland. His house was a quaint, cottage-like building. There was water dripping from the trees, a sweet little flower garden in the front. I finally had a visual for “In the Woods Somewhere.”
He parked and told me to stay in my seat. He got out and ran around the car to open my door for me. I took the hand he offered me.
“Thank you, kind sir,” I giggled.
“Of course, m’lady,” he bowed, acting funny.
His home was beautiful. Even his front door was gorgeous, an amazing dark wood door, with little carved plants and designs. His house was cluttered, but in a charming way. There was a forgotten mug of tea on his windowsill, instruments laying in random places. You could see the whole living room, kitchen, and dining room when you walked in, it was that small. Bookshelves galore, a comfortable looking couch, a coat hanger with many of his jackets. It smelled like wood and books, which made sense with the full bookshelves and extremely old floors.
I was acutely aware of every droplet of water racing down my back now, our shoes making dark spots on the mat. He reached behind me to flick on a light, warm and glowing. “We didn’t get to finish what we started…” His voice was low.
I turned to him, his partially wet hair was in his face. He tucked it behind his ear, like I had seen him do so many times before. “I know.”
I pulled him by his jacket down to my level and pressed my lips onto his. His huge hands grabbed my head, damp hair and all, capturing me in a kiss. He pressed his forehead to mine. “Are you sure you want this?”
“Oh, yes,” I answered. He kissed me hard. He crouched down and lifted me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist as he somehow carried me effortlessly. He began walking blindly through a house he knew every inch of.
My back hit the wall; I wasn’t expecting it. His body pressed me into the wall, his hands moving from holding me up by my ass to my waist. He gave little pecks all across my face in between words, “You’re so…” His lips moved to make hot, wet kisses down my neck. I moaned as he found a sweet spot.
When he heard my moan, he moaned too, and stayed in that one spot that made me melt. He sucked on my neck, making sure there was a mark. He looked at me with dark eyes. “God, I can’t get enough of you.”
He set me down and began peeling off his clothes, and so did I. It was difficult trying to get wet clothes off your body when they really didn’t want to come off. My bra and underwear were soaked through, and so were his boxers. We stood there silently, both in our underwear, wondering where to go from here. Like we were both virgins. I stepped forward, kissing him again, his scruff scratching my cheeks. He grabbed my hand and guided me through the hall to his bedroom. More books, another forgotten mug of some drink. His bed was plainly made, but we messed up the covers when I fell back on the bed and he got on top of me.
He kissed me like he wanted to learn me. Like he wanted to learn every way to make me gasp, moan, whimper. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, darling,” he whispered into my lips.
His hand wandered down my leg, closer and closer to where I needed him most. He stopped at my hip, and rubbed light circles on the waistband of my underwear. He lifted one side off my skin, thumb hooked through. “Can I take these off?”
I nodded and lifted my hips up as he removed the damp cloth off my skin, tossing them somewhere into the oblivion of his room. I reached an arm behind me to unclasp my bra, immediately feeling more comfortable and free after being in it all day. I threw it in the same general direction that Andrew threw my underwear. He whimpered as I kissed him, the feeling of his hardening cock on my thigh.
“Christ, you’re unreal,” he palmed my breasts, mouth on my neck, his breath hotter than ever. I felt like I was already sweating, and we had just gotten our clothes off. Andrew was still in his boxers. I wanted to change that, but he was on his knees before I got a chance.
“You’re already so wet for me,” he smirked as his eyes took in my glistening pussy.
I leaned back onto my elbows on the bed. “That could be the rain,” I joked.
He laughed and looked up at me. “Are you saying I don’t turn you on?”
“Oh, you definitely turn me on,” I smirked.
“Good,” he growled, turning his attention back to where he wanted to be most. He grabbed my ankle and hooked my leg over his shoulder and mimicked the action with my other leg. His breath was hot against my heat, and I fell back on the bed, waiting for what was to come.
I didn’t dare look down at him, for fear my face would turn into such a red color I would embarrass myself too much. I felt his tongue lick a slow, steady stripe up my clit. He hummed. “Mmm. You’re everything. You hear me? Everything.”
He dove in, his warm tongue circling my bud and gently sucking. I arched my back off the bed, the pleasure making me curl my toes. He flattened his tongue, licking all of my juices. One of his thin fingers crept to my hole, pumping in and out quickly.
“F-fuck…Andrew,” I cried.
I was shaking, my knuckles were white from gripping the sheets. I wasn’t sure whether to cry, laugh, or beg him for mercy. But I didn’t want him to stop, God, it felt so good.
He groaned into my heat, and I felt the vibrations tingle all the way up my body. He hit my g-spot time after time, fingers curling just right. “Look at me, honey.”
I opened my tightly shut eyes to look at him as he stopped his ministration. Once I looked into his eyes, his tongue continued moving, bringing me closer to my climax. My eyes wandered from his back to the ceiling, feeling my face become hotter by the second. He stopped again.
“Love…”
He smiled at me, and his fingers worked harder and faster than before. I felt the heat in my belly swirl and tighten. Andrew pressed soft kisses to my thighs. “You gonna come for me, baby?”
I nodded and whimpered a restrained “Yes.” My eyes rolled back and my head dug into the mattress as my orgasm crashed down on me. He attatched his lips to me again, drinking me in. Groaning as he licked me clean, he stood up. His hard-on was very prominent, forming a tent in his boxers.
He was smiling like a man who just finished the Lord’s work, as if he just brought someone to Christ. It felt like I had just met him, so, in a way, he did. He’s trembling a little. “I need to be inside you, baby,” he said, a little laugh spilling through.
He pulled his boxers down, his erect cock slapping his stomach. He was big. I watched him, wide-eyed and breathing heavily as he took a condom out of his dresser drawer. The foil crinkled as he unwrapped the rubber. He fit it onto his thick cock, and looked back at me. His hand pumped up and down his length.
“You ok, darling?”
I barely heard him, my mind was swirling and fuzzy; and that was only from his mouth and fingers. What would it be like to actually have him inside me? hitting me deeper than his long fingers could? I nodded as he brushed my hair from my face, no longer wet from the rain outside.
“Breathe. I’ve got you,” he gently spoke. I knew he wasn’t going to rush me into anything, he wasn’t that kind of guy. It felt a little different though, more meaningful. Here he was, cock hard and ready for action, and he was softly rubbing my cheek, as if he could wait weeks for me to recover.
He kissed me softly, cradling my head in his hands.
“I wanna feel you,” I whispered into his mouth, voice trembling.
His eyes darkened as he leaned down to press a kiss to my jaw. “Yeah?”
“Mmhm.”
He pressed little kisses down my neck. “Tell me if you need me to stop, ok?” His voice was hoarse, like he was trying to hold back until I responded. “Please?”
“I will.”
His eyes searched my face, trying to find any hint of a lie. “I want you,” I promised.
He exhaled a breath that seemed like he’d been holding for hours. He climbed onto the bed in front of me, on his knees. Cock hard and practically pulsing. He pushed my legs apart; I had closed them earlier, bashful of having them open. He lifted my legs up and put two pillows under my hips to hold me up. My legs were settled on top of his, and I wrapped them around his waist. The tip of his dick prodded my entrance, just the slight feeling of something—anything—making him groan.
It was clear he was holding back. He inched himself inside me slowly, stretching me more than he did with his fingers. His head threw back, “Fuck~”
I let out a cry of pain and pleasure. I clenched my eyes shut, waiting for him to bottom out.
“You feel so good, Y/n”
He stilled as the base of his cock was flush against me. “Look at me,” his voice cracked.
I opened my eyes, almost crossing them from the feeling of him filling me up so well.
“There she is,” he pressed wet kisses to my jaw, neck, under my ear. “Tell me how it feels…”
I let out the breath I was holding. “It feels so good…you fill me up so well.”
He moaned at the fact he was making me feel good, like that was his one job: to make sure I was satisfied. He pulled out slightly, sucking in air between his teeth. The feeling was wondrous, once I got past the pain of him stretching me out. His hips slowly came towards me again, forcing the pleasure through my bones once again. He gripped my hips, as if I was the only one keeping him from fucking me like an animal. He was purposefully holding back, just to tease me.
“Please, Andrew,” I gasped. “More~”
“You want more, love?”
I nodded quickly, anything to bring more pleasure to my aching core.
His speed picked up. Not a lot, but enough to make me moan after each thrust of his hips, his cock hitting my g-spot, better than his fingers did. My thighs were shaking—I had no control over my body. My stomach heaving, chest trembling, arms tense. And he wasn’t even using his full power—I wondered what it would be like if he stopped holding back and fucked me ruthless. He would ruin me for anyone else, like he already had.
“You’re taking me so good, baby. Gonna make your pretty pussy come on my cock, yeah?”
I replied with a throaty moan.
“Do you want me to ruin you, baby?” His hand wrapped around my waist, lifting me off the bed and against his chest. He ran his lips down my throat while I leaned my head back, the slightly new angle hitting all new places inside me. My fingers found their home in his hair, tugging his curls as he bounced me up and down on his stiff length.
I pulled his face out of the crook of my neck and kissed his lips, fighting his tongue for dominance. A sound burst from his chest, like a groan. He rutted his hips into mine and bounced me up and down all at the same time, going at an ungodly pace. My moan cracked halfway, leaving me with a soundless open mouth.
“‘M gonna cum!” I yelled.
“Wait a minute, baby. Le’ me cum with you.”
He laid me down on the bed, able to have more control, changing the angle. I screamed his name in pleasure. He warned me he was going to come.
I came around his cock, my hole throbbing and pulsing. A moment later I felt the twitch of his cock and his warm cum fill his condom.
“Y/n!” He screamed as he came, his head thrown back in pleasure. His hips stuttered, unable to decide whether to keep thrusting or to stop for his convulsing cock.
His hands caged me under him. It took all he had not to collapse his huge body on top of mine, so he slipped out of me and landed next to me on the bed. Our chests heaved out-of-sync as we bathed in the afterglow of our escapades. The rain hammered on the window, almost like applause for the show we put on.
“You okay?” he asked, once he caught his breath.
My heart raced as I tried to get the answer out as smoothly as possible, without my voice shaking. “God, never better.”
