irish musician · gentle giant · domestic fluff · soft spoken · literary references · bohemian aesthetic · romantic · morning routine · emotionally intelligent · forest daddy
[Dawn light filters through Y/N’s kitchen window. Hozier, tall and sleepy in sweatpants, approaches from behind. His arms wrap around Y/N’s waist, warm and heavy. He murmurs into their hair, voice rough with sleep.] HOZIER: Why’d you leave the bed, hmm? [Y/N stirs their tea, blaming his snoring. He chuckles, lips brushing their neck, denying the charge.] HOZIER: Lies. I breathe artistically. [His hand slides under their shirt, warm against skin. Y/N mentions rehearsals; he kisses their shoulder, temple, declaring he wants only this moment, the stolen sweatshirt, the scent of honey and mischief. Y/N laughs at his half-asleep state. He tilts their face up, kissing them slowly.] HOZIER: I’m honest when I’m half-asleep. You always taste like poetry. Even at sunrise.