#gravekeeper x reader

[detectiveinference]

General Relationship Headcanons: Andrew Kreiss x reader

(I'm so sorry in advance if it's ooc)

Similar to Matthias from the last post, you would need to have patience with him due to the trust issues that stem from his trauma.

Andrew was always in solitude, avoidant of others. He has lived alone for many years due to the way people have treated him in the past. It'll take a long time for him to get used to you talking to him and being around.

He eventually starts to develop feelings, but didn't confess for the longest time due to his intense fear of rejection. You two had a meaningful conversation about your feelings and he was finally able to be true to his feelings when you told him you felt the same way.

ꕥ He loves your company. Even if you two weren't talking. Andrew enjoys being around you and steal glimpses of you. He was nervous you would think he's staring at you; it was his way of appreciating you for everything that you done for him.

ꕥ You two go on midnight strolls, stargaze, admire the flowerbeds in the moonlight. Andrew is a fond of violet irises, he compares you to the flower as he finds the both of you really beautiful.

ꕥ Speaking of flowers, he associates chrysanthemums with you. Specifically, white and red chrysanthemums as they symbolize a strong, romantic love and deep passion, also symbolizing loyalty and honesty. He will go around the manor to find chrysanthemums for you, if he couldn't find any. He will take the matter in his own hands and some himself and hide the flowers deep in the flowerbed to surprise you when they fully blossom.

ꕥ Andrew will display some awkward gestures when he's around you such as:

Nervously fidgeting with his hands when talking to you

Planning elaborate romantic gestures but feeling self-conscious about executing them smoothly.

Trying to find the perfect words to express his feelings but stumbling over his thoughts.

You understand his habits and he learned that you'll never say anything negative about his behaviors. You are the reassurance he needed.

ꕥ One of the type of gifts I think Andrew would gift you would be handpicked flowers. He would walk around the field at night as you slept to surprise you in the morning with a breakfast in bed! He takes all his time to make sure it's perfect. Even when the flowers in a vase with water, some of them still wilted. You hold his hand and tell him that you appreciate the thought, a simple "I love you" sets his heart ablaze.

ꕥ Andrew has a picture of you in a locket that he bought so when you two were apart. He still had you close to his heart and reminded of the beauty that is his lover. A long lasting, intense yet hidden love.

[lemon-idol]

✰ booth seat | andrew kreiss

NSFW, afab! reader, you/your pronouns, wc: 4.7K, fast paced (i just wanna fuck him bro) In which the stoic and gruff Train Conductor and the Agent (you) use their time alone wisely. third POV (them/themself) on ao3 !! Train Conductor is described to be smug and cocky ehe get it

BTW I’M FIXING THE FORMAT I KNOW IT LOOKS WEIRD 😭😭

The rattling of the infinite train brings Andrew out of his thoughts.

There was a new addition to the train that had been plaguing his mind as of late.

He knew that you knew that he has been suspecting you. Which is probably why he finds himself always lingering near you throughout the endless night. He could feel your burning gaze everytime he strolled past the quarters you were staying in- not that he minded the attention. Which leads us to his current position. With the yearn for your gaze again, Andrew finds himself walking down the familiar hallway where your room was stationed.

Though on the side eyeing the designated window, he doesn’t find you in your compartment this time, which causes him to lift an eyebrow. As if his mind were an open book, it’s slammed closed after he feels a tap on his shoulder. Turning, his eyes land on the lanky figure of the Sheriff before him. The blonde’s permanent smile didn’t waver nor did it grow as he raised three fingers and motioned with his other hand to the door behind Andrew. Grateful, yet slightly embarrassed at being found out, the gruff man huffs through his nose and leads the way towards the following car.

He nods to you, the Agent, as he passes by and sits at the dining table behind them.

How the Sheriff was suspicious of you, but not Andrew yet leaves him a little puzzled. He knew Grantz would attempt to ask about the Agent’s mission and the lead up on how they appeared on the train, so he knew his interest as Conductor would not seem odd.

Although before he can lean back comfortably, he notices the fidgeting before Victor could even begin to pry out any information. This causes Andrew to clear his throat before standing up. The booth cushions squeak as they rise again for his company. “If you are too uncomfortable with talking to them, I’ll do it for you. Don’t rush your work, Mr. Grantz,” he clarifies, taking his coat off to place it on the back of the booth.

The blonde bows his head in return, mumbling out “Thank you, sorry”. Despite being a Conductor, Victor is aware of the albino’s experience. He is a quiet man but he can keep conversation when it comes to interrogations. Knowing that he has all the time in the world on the train, Grantz easily surrenders to sharing his work.

The blonde’s head snaps back up as if he had a lightbulb spark above his head, “That reminds me, a child was accompanying them too, right? Is it alright if I go speak with him while you interrogate (L-Name)?”. The broad man nods, “I do not mind- in fact, I prefer working alone in these situations.” Victor nods in return, relieved for his senior’s understanding of his well-being.

He bends down near the table in the narrow row to gather his dark leather case and give Wick a small rub on the nose.

Patting the back of his uniform as he heads to the door, he stops to bid farewell at the Conductor. The albino interrupts before he can speak, however, “Oh, I would like to mention, you do not need to come back here. I am sure that I will wrap this all up in a bit so you can head back to the first car after speaking to the child”.

The Sheriff's smile seems to widen in admiration at his confidence, “Alright, good luck and goodnight”. He nods to you and you respond back with a polite smile as he inserts his fingers into the opening once again and descends into the lit hallway after sliding the door shut.

Andrew waits a moment before walking towards the door. His uniform crinkles as he reaches up to the clips holding the curtains and releases them. Now, there will be no onlookers peering into the dining car as it was reserved for the very few staff anyway. Setting the clips aside, he walks back to where you are sitting, crossing his arms and leans against the clothed table.

Moments pass and you two are still gazing at each other, waiting for the other to speak up.

You sigh and rest your head on your hands, “So, what is it that you need out of me?”

Removing his gloves slowly, Andrew’s expression stayed the same, although the bottom of his eyes seemed to curl up just a bit to indicate the ghost of a smile. You raise an eyebrow as the Conductor strides to the booth seat, abandoning the silk white gloves onto the table before you and places a single hand on your jaw. He places a knee onto the booth seat before leaning down so there was only a bit of room left between your faces. Andrew runs his thumb back and forth on your cheek and you suppress a shiver at the feel of the gentle and cold cradle.

“Depends on how much I can get out of you.”

At that statement, you tilt your head up further to respond, “However much you need.”

Well, it seemed like he needed your cum out of you by the way you found yourself on top of him not long after.

You straddle the man’s lap, your plush thighs resting on either side of his.

It didn’t take long for you to give into his charm, but the other way goes around too. Hell, he even turned away their best (and only) officer just for the opportunity to get you two alone.

“Is this alright?”

“Kind of too late to ask now.” he scoffed, though the grip he had on your hips opposed the tone of his statement, relieved that you took the step forward.

“Hm,” your lips quirk up a bit before leaning in closer, your noses right by each other as you whispered, “Don’t act like you didn’t start this.” Preferring to get his dick wet rather than talking, Andrew closes the last bit of space and indulges in the tightened grip that was at the base of his neck. Your lips move against each other in a desperate cling, tongues slightly brushing the other’s lips but never fully entering. His lips leeching onto your bottom lip almost fooled you into thinking it was that of a lover’s embrace.

You felt the vibration of his groan on your lips when you ground your hips against his in search of slight friction, though it was hard to seek due to his uniform. His chapped lips collided with yours wonderfully, your tongue providing the nourishment he needed. With each move of his lips, his goal was seemingly to rid of the air in your lungs as you felt them begin to burn a bit. Hearing you inhale sharply through your nose had him pushing his head further into you, tongue sneaking out to pry your mouth open

You move back and smile a bit as he chases your lips, slightly annoyed that you ended the session so early. You tug at both of your guys’ collars to indicate that you want the hindrances gone. He rolls his crimson eyes but complies with your request seeing at how hard you were panting; seriously, you’re an Agent but your lungs couldn’t last that long? He begins to wonder if you were a behind the scenes agent rather than on the field. Yet he can’t help but bring his lips to yours again, purposely creating a small smack and letting his lips linger after separating.

Andrew took his time before his hands reached for your collar. Andrew did not indulge in the idea of him and his partner being fully unclothed; it felt too vulnerable, too exposed. Though he does have an exception if they’re in bed where they’re both covered with a blanket. He believed that clothes are what makes beauty stand out more, that they are simply displayed to frame people’s bodies. Similar to a red curtain unveiling the wonders, joy, and surprises of a play.

He leans forward to capture your lips again, occupying his hands by unbuttoning the mahogany shirt you were wearing. You jolted here and there whenever his bare, cold hands would caress your stomach as he moved down. He removes a hand to gently lay it onto your burning back and leans you over the edge of the table.

With you spread out and disposed to him, he can finally indulge into his fantasies. He grips the sides of your covered chest and presses them together as if he were a cat making metaphorical biscuits. He lays small pecks on your neck and trails down to the skin that your undergarment failed to cover; as much as he wanted to feed on you, it was far too cold to let them out. He opens his mouth and closes it all around the top of the chest as your skin sunk into his mouth, he is mimicking making out with the soft bosom. His thumbs make lazy circles around the nipples through the garment and you let out small sighs to encourage his ministrations. His teeth graze the skin each time, always on the verge of leaving a mark. But Andrew knew how dangerous it was to claim something on this train, something he has dreaded ever since his gaze landed on the ethereal being before him.

You let him play around a bit more before tapping and letting out an airy giggle at the furrow of his eyebrow. He gives himself a few more love bites and licks before he lifts his head from in between your breasts. He lets his chin rest in the valley of them, looking at you quizzically through one half lidded eye. You smile a little as you pet his head before speaking, “It’s a little unfair that I’m the only one semi-uncovered, don’t you think?”

The Conductor pretends to ponder for a moment before sighing, clicking his teeth three times to mimic a “tsk” sound. “It’s not unfair, I am simply doing my duty of revealing your secrets as part of the interrogation,” he replies, before continuing his doting on your chest. You let out a huff of amusement before you lift yourself up from the table and cradle his head as he refuses to move from your chest and slide onto his lap again, “You know, maybe they should interrogate you too.”

You glide your hand along his jawline before dipping under his chin to peck his neck. You move your face back up to his where his defined milky face waits and lightly grip his hollow cheeks together. “You’re not exactly truthful to your staff either,” you whisper as his uncovered eye narrows at the implication.

Placing his hands under your thighs, he made a motion to move you up to strip you of the dress pants and undergarments you were wearing. However, the liminal space only allows the clothing to get to their knees.

You’re not as bothered about this as Andrew is but he lets it slide as he indulges in your addictive lips once again. He moves one of his hands from your hips to in between your legs and runs two of his fingers up and down your slick to gather some up. You shudder at the ghost of his touch before wrapping your arms around his neck and giving his head a small squeeze to get him to stop teasing. He slowly departs from the kiss and instead moves to smooth lingering kisses around your mouth. He does it as an attempt to comfort you as he finally inserts the two fingers into you.

He’s patient with it, though he’s having a hard time controlling himself as it practically sucks him in with little resistance.

“I don’t even have to do much, hm?”

“Yeah...hah. I put in a bit of effort and made it easier for you,” you retaliated as he continued to softly press kisses on your jaw before snapping down to your collarbone and digging his teeth into your skin, his tongue then leaving a streak to soothe the sudden attack. Andrew proceeded to curl the fingers that were inside of you. He repeated the process at an agonizing pace, but the sudden force when he reached deep was enough to make you sigh in pleasure into the crown of his head. The arm that was wrapped around you tightened in an attempt to bring you even closer.

With his large hand practically cupping your crotch at this point, he uses his thumb to move one of the folds to reveal your clit. He moved the hand that was on your waist down to your lower back to push your hips forward. He pressed the heel of his other hand onto your crotch, followed by circular motions as his fingers paused inside of them. The addition of his callous hands on where you truly wanted it made you gasp and grasp his shoulders as your forehead fell onto his. Andrew stared at your flushed expression; the slight twitch of your flaming cheekbones, the open mouth where your tongue almost came out, and the disorientation of your eyes had him gaping. He almost stopped altogether to just simply cherish a view he didn’t think he’d get tonight.

You slightly grit your teeth and let out a whimper to signal the lack of coordination in his movements. He heard your dejected whine and he attempted to move, however he found it hard to do so in the cramped booth. He clicks his teeth as he settles to focusing on stimulating your clit; it had you jolting your hips and your breath quickened at the same time as he sped up. The contact of the burning moans on his ear had shivers travel down his spine and he found himself squirming a bit as well. His pants couldn’t hold much longer either, it was getting painful for him.

As you kept letting out broken moans above him, he felt your thighs enclosing around him which gave him the hint that you were about to cum. Andrew let the two fingers go in till the knuckle where he moved them in opposite directions, attempting to open you for him. He felt you open your mouth once again as if to speak, to warn him of what was coming, but he paused his motions. He tossed you an apologetic gaze the moment you slumped against him in disappointment of not receiving your climax when you were so close to it.

“As much as I’d love to see your expression, it might be easier and less tiring for you to move the other way,” he grumbles into your cheek. His arm lets go of its steel grip and he removes his hand from where it belonged, leaning back to give you space to turn around. You give him an unimpressed look as you try to catch your breath and lift yourself with shaky legs. Without shame, Andrew watched the display of your ass before you settled down into his lap again after turning around. Andrew notices the imprints on your skin where his touch was, his gaping mouth twitching upwards at the corner before placing his hands onto your sides once more.

With your loosened button down, he takes the opportunity to move it down to your forearms, kissing the skin that the shirt slowly revealed. He moves his mouth back up to your nape to nibble here and there, causing you to chuckle and cup the side of his head. He tightens his arms around you in a hug, his broad build encasing you from the biting cold that lingers in the car.

“You ready?” he mumbles into your flaming ear; you hum and eagerly nod. He pinches your thigh and moves his other hand up to cup your jaw, “Nuh-uh, I need a verbal confirmation.” You roll your eyes despite your heart fluttering at his demand for assurance and turn your head to the side to make eye contact with that gleaming ruby of his, “Yes, sir, I am ready to have my insides annihilated by you.”

Andrew holds back from barking a laugh, “You’re lucky you’re cute, that phrase was a little cringy.” You turn your head back to face forward, to avoid having a sore neck (though those “soft bites” were starting to make themselves known), and replied with “I know you’d love to, and maybe even more.”

“Hm, you got me there”, and wasting no more time, Andrew grips your hips once again and pushes them up so they hover just above his tip so he can use his other hand to grip his dick. The hand on the grip smooths over the hipbone when he feels your legs wobble a little. Knowing he was on the bigger side, Andrew attempted his best at inserting slowly but your anticipation rattled throughout your entire body. Your mouth began to open little by little from the pressure of being spread, your expression twitching in frustration of his size. Yet in the brief moment of numbness, you are still able to register the guttural groan that escapes Andrew.

Suddenly, you can feel Andrew further stiffen due to realizing too late that there were footsteps outside. Both of you were too caught up in the moment and it causes you to move in shock as you hear the farthest door on the other end of the car slide open.

“Shit-”

“Ah!”

In a frantic and panicked motion, you slam down onto him, both of your guys’ hips slotting into each other which creates an unwanted “slap!”. Andrew shoves his face into your upper back in an attempt to not let out a noise. Your thighs trembled at the uncomfortable stretch, wanting to have gone slowly, but the Sheriff’s entrance made you both lose whatever composure you were clinging to. Andrew let out a low groan into your neck before scrambling to get both his coat and a notepad out onto the table to set up a scene. He draped his navy coat over your laps and struggled to keep the pen still.

Victor waddled up to the booth you were both sitting at, holding his own trusty notepad. Andrew straightened up the closer the Sheriff got, pulling back the coat enough that it wrapped around his own hips. Despite your strange position, the Sheriff gave a light smile nonetheless before flipping over the notepad in his hands- maybe the temperature in this car was lower than in the others?

The Conductor eyed the writing and the notepad, ignoring the burning side eye you were giving him at his lackluster response in driving the Sheriff away. You hate how composed he seems, while you were here holding your breath, anticipating for any friction. In your frustration, you subconsciously tightened your insides which caused Andrew to stutter as he began to respond to the Sheriff’s writing.

Feeling the throb of his dick in you had you smirking behind your hand before it was your turn to stiffen up again when you feel a slight graze on your clit- a silent threat to get you to stay still.

Despite being able to respond to all of Victor’s written questions, the Conductor’s mind was elsewhere; he thought about how warm the person on top of him was, how soft they were on top yet rough below, the stretch marks on the insides of their thighs worth memorizing. Ah, thank whatever God was out there that he had experience on how to keep his composure due to his job, but it was hanging on by a thread at this point.

Most of what Victor was saying came in one ear and left the other, his mind too preoccupied with his current sensitivity.

He shows Andrew the notepad again with what was conversed with the child. But upon noticing the half-hearted nods and “Got it”s from Andrew, the Sheriff grows quiet. Victor concludes what he needed to say and bows his head as a silent farewell. Relieved about the possibility of getting into action again, Andrew tries to give him an apologetic smile, knowing he is not the best with words (but neither with expressions…).

Andrew shuffles forward to hand the blonde the notepad, the friction having your thighs close and meet each other. The moment Victor turns away, you shuffle your hips in a seesaw motion, similar to a runway walk, unable to resist the irritation growing inside of you. Andrew’s lips pull back, revealing slight fangs as his hand traveled up your front, fingers spread out as he used his palm to push against your abdomen, driving you further back into him. You stifle the groan that threatened to come out from your throat. Victor’s honey but sharp eyes glance over at you, finally noting your low but consistent sounds.

Your eyes crinkle while trying to maintain a wobbly smile in order to mask the turmoil your body was in to just be railed properly. About to write his concern, Grantz finally caught a glimpse of your attempt to hide the cleavage that was revealed from the open shirt. His body perks up as straight as an exclamation point before he scrambles out of the car faster than before, blood draining from his face but rushing to his ears.

Andrew’s attentive ears focused on Victor’s retreating footsteps; the car was silent aside from the rattling of the windows as the train blasted through the snowstorm. Confirming that there was no other noise besides that, he leans back, his hands reclaiming their throne on your hips as he lifts you and pulls back his hips as far as the seat allows him, observing his dick leaving your pussy halfway. Ha, it seems that staying in the still position is best to mold you into his shape now that your body begs for what he has to give.

He stays still for a moment and your coming protest is replaced by a low “ah” as he pushes himself back in. He repeats the motion, causing you to move your hips to begin bouncing each time your hips collide. Gripping the table to use as a stabilizer, you can’t help but crumble over the edge of it, that growing itch inside of you finally starting to relinquish. Being so full while hearing the low grunts of the man behind you has your insides twisting. You would be lying if you were to say that that itch didn’t begin growing once you saw more and more of him the past week you arrived. Though there was another catalyst to your neediness.

Having no one else to relieve the growing tension might also be the cause of why Andrew couldn’t help but grip tighter around your body. He wraps his arm below your breasts, his muscles flexing under his button up. The regret of not completely taking off your clothes seeps in for a second before it leaves again when a low moan leaves you. A burst of feeling broke in him, but it was soon muffled by the intensity of lust. His lips attached themselves to your skin in an attempt to memorize your taste, to maybe become one. The overwhelming crave for intimacy was what brought you two together in the first place and honestly? He wouldn’t have it any other way. Which is why he cared a little less about potentially being caught and let the dam break.

Such paced and shallow movements left all proper sentences to dissolve into the frigid air.

Drowning in your own bliss, you’re a little surprised at the sudden noises that emerged from Andrew’s throat. His rapid breathing and the drum of his heart could be felt throughout your entire body. You respond to his passion with your own airy groans and whines, rolling your hips to meet him the more you became lost in each other’s heat. Despite being so talkative earlier, the Conductor lost the ability to say anything, only mumbling out small praises and sighs.

“Almost…”

Was all you needed to know as Andrew’s gaping mouth made its home where your ear meets your jaw. You couldn’t help the ego boost that ran through your body knowing you reduced such a rigorous man to a grunting mess. Yet it passed when you felt the crawling sensation that went through your lower parts and braced for the impact of that euphoria.

Your body processed the climax before your brain could; your body jolted and tightened in an attempt to be replenished and the man behind you slammed his hips two more times before going stiff as well. Your eyes fluttered as you felt his cum spurt along your insides, the odd sensation made your hips move a bit as if to rub it properly in you. Your legs twitch in sync with his own small thrusts as he accidentally stimulates both of you even further.

Then you two stay still, your bodies adjusting and remembering the pulse and sensation of one another. Chests move up and down, minds recovering from the epitome of bliss.

With your mind still a bit frazzled, you mumbled, “Next time I should be quieter…”. Upon hearing this, Andrew leaned forward to peck your ear; you shiver as his hot breath travels down your neck, “Oh? So there will be a next time. We can go for a proper round right now if you’re that desperate for more.”

You ponder for a moment before your mind flashes back to the quiet officer that stumbled on you two earlier. “This might not be the best place to continue, even if I wouldn’t mind having an audience,” you sighed as you leaned forward to remove the soft member inside of you, despite wanting it to stay there. Andrew raises an eyebrow at the end of your statement before moving up as well and reaching over to the middle of the table where there’s a canister of napkins. He grabs a couple in between each finger before settling back into the seat and gripping the ass of you who is still bent over. “Stay still,” he whispers out before dragging one of the napkins up your crotch to soak up your slick. You jump at the caress as you feel your pussy still tingling. He continues to wipe your folds and clean any evidence of his cum, much to his displeasure.

Forgetting that he didn’t reply to your sentence earlier, the Conductor says in a sultry tone, “But you know…that is a good idea”. You didn’t even need to turn to see the faint mischievous smile on his face.

Once he finishes with wiping you clean, he graciously pulls up your underwear and dressing pants before giving your ass a smack and reveling in the recoil. Your brow twitches before you step sideways to get out of the booth, putting most of your weight on the table. The Conductor follows you and gathers his items before placing them back into the slightly damp coat that had fallen victim to his sweat. Placing it in his shoulders again, he places a hand on your lower back and turns to you to stare down at your flustered state.

Not being able to resist the man’s quiet antics any further, you reach out your hand to cup his hollow cheek. He gets the message and leans down, your lips meeting once more in a soft press. No rush, no tongue running past their teeth, just a simple lock that lasts a few seconds before you both gradually pull away.

With the final kiss of the night, you step back away from each other, still feeling the lingering warmth Andrew had on your skin. You both walk forward and past each other; him towards the front car and you to your sleeping quarters. Neither of you needed to look back because you knew that you would see each other again; it is the inevitable fate on this forever running train.

[turbulentscrawl]

Steamy Rescues

Sorry, I'm just thinking about hot men saving my life today. Let me drool in peace

Warnings: suggestive stuff, delicious men

Naib

Your time in the chair was nearly up when Naib suddenly slammed into it at full speed. One second you were struggling against your restraints, cursing and consumed with desperate thoughts of freedom, and the next his hands were next to your head. Initially you fell silent because you were startled, but that quickly melted into a perverted sort of awe as you looked over the mercenary.

He was looming over you, muscles tense, toiled taut like a spring. His tight shirt was torn open like he’d been caught by the collar and wrenched himself free, leaving a teasing view of his sweaty, scarred, heaving chest. Some of his hair had slipped free of his hair band and clung to his damp face and neck. He was out of breath too, each exhale fanning down on you, panting less like a rescuer and more like a predator who’s cornered his prey. There was a certain musk wafting off of him…it was a bit maddening.

“I know, I know,” Naib said quickly. “You can tell me I look like shit later. We’ve got to GO.” He grabbed the bar pinning your torso to the chair and, with a flex of his biceps and feral grunt, ripped it off you.

“I’ll tell you something alright,” you gasp quietly, briefly wondering if your nose was bleeding.

Naib seemed to pay no mind to your mutterings. The last cipher popped, and the siren blaring in the distance gave you both a rush of adrenaline that overrode any lingering pain. Taking that que, Naib grabbed your wrist and all but dragged you sprinting to the gate.

When you were home free, though, he held your gaze daringly and asked, “So what did you want to tell me?”

Andrew

You had heard the disturbance of dirt nearby, but were too preoccupied with struggling to notice the source. The next second, Andrew’s dirty blonde hair (literally) popped out of the ground between your legs. He was already cursing under his breath, and shaking, just a bit. You vaguely remember hearing about Andrew being claustrophobic…. But those thoughts are washed away when he roughly grabs your thighs for support and you realize the exact position you’re in.

He had emerged a little too close to the chair and was having trouble getting out without sliding his body up against yours. The chair wobbled forward a little, hanging you over him, as one of the feet dangled into the hole he’d left in the dirt. He grabbed your caged forearms next, managing to haul himself out enough to be level with your chest.

“Can’t you help me?” he hissed, face flush with embarrassment at his predicament.

“I’m a little preoccupied,” you snap back, thankfully still having sense enough for it. Andrew clicks his tongue, hangs his head in what’s probably supposed to be shame…but his mop of hair hides his face and most of your lap from view, bringing even mor lewd thoughts to mind. “Y-you know, I’m kind of on a time crunch here!”

“Shut up, I know!” Andrew shouts. As soon as it’s out he clenches his teeth and looks over his shoulder for the Hunter, and without bothering to climb out of his hole starts fumbling with your restraints. When you pop free, the angle and weight of him clinging to you throws you both to the ground, your chest right on his face.

He screeched like a schoolgirl, but his tomato-red face was endearing enough to override most of the fear you felt for the remainder of the match.

Luchino

Though no one called him such, Luchino was a healer in his own right.

His skilled hands had patched you up twice already this match, and though the pain from Michiko’s cuts lingered, you could hardly complain when you thought about how Luchino had loomed over you. He was a polite man, but no-nonsense. Whenever you appeared at his cipher, alone and bleeding, he shoved you to your knees beneath him and got right to work. You couldn’t say if it was the adrenalin, but you were acutely aware of the heat radiating off his body the whole time. Of the gentle ghosting of his claws on your back, making you shiver. When he tied the bandages tight—too tight, almost, but he said that’s how they’re supposed to be—he grunted and huffed in your ear.

“All done,” he said, smirking. “Take these, too.” Luchino straightened up, but instead of returning to his cipher he applied some of that mystery serum to his forearm—his sleeves rolled up deliciously—and peeled away a hard patch of scales. You were too entranced by the oil-slick glisten it left on his skin to question why he was handing them to you.

Before you could stand, a butterfly alighted on your shoulder. Luchino reacted incredibly quickly; you blinked and he was hunched over you again, arms caging you fully to his chest. A sound like cracking glass met your ears the same time as his displeased hiss. Before you could ask, he grabbed you by the waist and threw you into a forward sprint, ordering “Go!”

[heartshapedbubble]

hi! Is it okay if I ask for Andrew Kreiss with a reader that’s very shy and obedient and quiet? Like, I can imagine Andrew having to ask what reader has said because they’re very silent! Thank you very much! I love your work!

hellohello, of course!! and thank you 😭💕

andrew kreiss with a very shy s/o hcs🕸

i fear both of you are at a disadvantage now :,)

andrew can't stand up for himself, let alone anyone else... he's so conflicted because he gets paralyzed in any social situation YET he can't simply leave you alone to fight for yourself. that would be too cruel.

when he first met you, already so flustered and anxious, he felt bad on multiple occasions when he had to ask you to repeat what you just said or raise your voice a bit

if there's someone as shy as andrew in the room, there's two possibilities: either he'll take a step back into the shadows or - the rare alternative - try to help the person out of pity. it's going to be the latter, obviously. if someone cares for him he'll pay them back x10, one way or another, even if it means putting himself in uncomfortable situations here and there

you two often walk together, hand in hand, like an awkward teenage couple at prom. it's to combat anxiety, but you keep attracting unwanted attention from the other residents that gush over how clumsy and cute you are together

does the thing all tall ppl do when you're speaking. since he's pretty tall, standing at 5'11 (179cm), he bends down to your level so he can hear you better

to sum it up, you two cling onto each other for support. two minuses make a plus amirite

i've mentioned this before but andrew is a very panicky person, and would always ask you if everything is okay if you don't speak for a prolonged period of time

he just needs a lil reassurance from time to time and it would hurt him to find that he's the reason you're upset okok :c

not exactly raised with great manners but will try his best to treat you like a gentleman, think kissing your hand and escorting you to the matching room every time the two of you are separated. it's unlike him and the behavior might come as a surprise, but he's a sappy loser and just wants to be a great partner (and be regarded as one, after all)

just quality time as the primary love language between you two. no pressure to talk, and it can quickly turn into physical touch if the both of you are comfortable with it. he'd be more than happy you wanted to or even initiated it

often brushes your hair away from your face instead of checking in with a question. since he knows you're timid, he'd rather see your expression instead of prodding you to talk if you don't want to at the moment

surprise hugs from behind yayyy!!!!! he's protective of people he loves and in his eyes he kind of "shields" you from everyone else

has a large frame and wide shoulders so it DOES feel like equipping a large shield, especially when he wraps his long arms around you and his hair brushes against your skin. this way he's both close to your mouth and your body. surprise him with a kiss this way and he'll cover his mouth in fluster

[sleepy-fiction]

Please, God

○ andrew kriess x gn!reader

○ 5.8K WORDS

syn: you're a wicked temptation he should be running from, but you make him so hard. Please, God, let him cum.

tgs: NSFW reader bottom, undisclosed sex and gn sex terms for reader, andrew overcomes fear of sex (religious oppression), loaded religious terms, masturbation, unprotected penetration, silly virus, andrew busts 7 million nuts cause hes sensitive as hell, cutesy fluff, comedic, comfort

a/n: I had so much fun writing this. It was entirely self-serving. but for those who are scared that this will be mostly angst, lit dw I try to balance comedy and a whole lot of romantic sex within it!! It's not meant to be a deep dive but more so a sexy comfort fic looll. pls give it a read it's super funny and cutesy and ofc, sexy as hell

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Andrew knows he shouldn't. He's always set so behind others - he was born a monster - a sinner. He had to work harder to relieve the favor of his community, of his God. He can't stop now. He has to continue. But a wicked, beastly desire within him was stirring in his belly. Tormenting his soul. It raged like a fire within his heart, that sparked down brilliant flares to his loins.

He swallows thickly.

It all started when you came into town.

You were a foreigner, different in how you talked, spoke, and carried yourself. He could taste the sunny vibe you glittered as you talked to everyone, including him. He had learned from gossip that you were a traveling merchant, coming here to rest from your travels before you head to the capital. And though he tried to protect them from the contagious sin that was him- you never stopped talking to him.

You didn't stop either when you cornered him against the cemetery gate, demanding he homes to see you in your inn. Saying how cruel he was for running from you and assuming you didn't like his company for "forcing him away" as you call it.

You were so close, so angry, and so zealous about him visiting you. You demanded him to see you and even went as far as to confess that you loved his company- alone. He swallowed thickly. You said it all in innocence, but the way you made him feel wasn't. Your arm pinned him against the gate by his collar. All the while your face had such a serious expression he had never seen you wear before.

He said yes quickly because he wanted you away from him, so the glittering feelings would disappear. But you persisted, scolding him until you got your fill. You only stopped when you noticed his trembling breath and shaking hands.

Before you left, you told him one last thing, "Tomorrow evening. Dress nicely." He already knew what that invitation meant.

You were taking him to dinner.

If only you knew he was shaking, not because he was afraid of you but because of the wickedness in his body. He was afraid of how excited he was. Afraid of how his body seemed to tingle in a way, he thought he shut down when he was a preteen.

If only you saw the way he squirmed.

If only you could see him now.

Andrew stood naked from the waist down in his home's small bathroom, his hands tugging and pulling at his amazingly wet cock. His clothes bunched at his ankles. His dick dribbled and spat up like a hungry animal, creating erotically slick sounds for every tug.

He just had to make it go away.

His cock was boiling in his hands, his face burning a brilliant red as his free hand held up his shirt. His eyes slapped lidded, moans barreling out at the most sensitive touches.

It normally only took a few pumps, but God was this taking long.

He leaned back against the wall of his bathroom, sinking his back into it and lazily drooping his head down to look at his weeping cock.

He dropped his shirt, and his free hand greedily met his other in massaging his cock, the two-handed squeezing and rubbing causing his back to arch off the wall as his moans filled the bathroom.

Please, he hopes God--

"Just touching there?"

He hears the phantoms of your voice egging him on from the depths of his wicked mind. He gasped at the idea, the sound so clear in his mind that he even looked for you and found nothing. But it continued, "Play with your tip, while you stroke yourself." He groaned painfully at the thought.

He leaned down to watch himself. Obeying as his fingers fluttered, light circles into his tip, while his other hand stroked himself viciously. The friction had him cry out, his legs buckling and shivering under the pressure.

He was going to come.

His moans peaked, his mind betraying him. As he imagined you, staring at him with that intense glare. He bursts, shooting hot, thick streams that splatter against the toilet.

With a dry moan, he leans back against the wall panting viciously.

"What? You're finished just like that," you egg him in his thoughts.

He looks down frantically, staring at his still achingly hard cock.

A whimper flees from his lips, "Oh no..." He tries to shut his eyes, praying it all will go away.

"No what?"

"No... I can't keep..."

"Touch it, Andrew." You command.

He bucks his hips forward in delight. "No." He rushes out of his bathroom, haphazardly pulling up his clothes safely around his waist, rushing to his bed. He barrels into it face first, groaning at the minuscule friction it gives him. Uncontrollably his hips rock into the bed, his poor cock mewling for pleasure.

"Andrew," you tease, he moans in delight, "I want you-"

"No!" He yells. Andrew barrels up to his feet, running out of his home deep into the dead of night. "That house's cursed," he yells into the late air for none to hear. His feet clamored against the pavement, eyes following the streetlights, as he ran to the only place he knew.

Andrew ran into the local Inn before he even knew where he was headed. He burst through the large oak doors and was greeted by the blinding lights of the warm building. He hissed and covered his eyes with his hand. Yet, his bursting into the doors was not a pleasant sight for the innkeeper.

"Oh. It's Kriess," she grumbled. Amid his panic, he was delighted to note that she at least used his name.

But the delight quickly warped to horror.

Why did he come here?

What sort of wicked spirit is possessing him right now?

"I-I shouldn't be here," He squeaks, but it falls on deaf ears.

"Room Nine, third floor," the lady grumbles.

"W-What!" He barked.

"Are you raising your damn tone at me?"

"No, I would never--"

"Get out of here! Get you, white devil!" She barrels as she points to the staircase.

With a terrified gasp, Andrew ran up the stairs, not stopping until he hit the third floor. By now, he was shivering, his teeth clamoring together, his heart beating so fast it could burst. Paranoia ensues him, as his eyes flicker down the hall, left to right with no real substance.

White devil, white monster. He's here acting on his demonic instincts, trying to satisfy the needs of his flesh. What sort of prayer would get him out of this? He needs to know. Please, God he--

"Oh? If my eyes are correct, that's Andrew Kriess!"

You spoke.

He heard your chipper voice mumble. His whole body takes a much-needed deep breath. A mewl of delight escapes him, as his mind floods with serenity.

It was the real you this time.

His head turned to see you at your doorstep, with a cozy robe on. You were preparing for bed, even now you looked so radiant. Your eyes were filled with fondness that fondness that made his heart squeeze. "I was just going out to get - wait. What's wrong?" Your face droops instantly.

You move so quickly to get so dear to him, laying a hand on his shoulder and staring deep into his eyes with that intense look on your face. That's when his grateful tranquility flutters into pure embarrassment.

With a growl, he stammers, eyes trying not to look into yours. His hands fly up as he tries to speak, "I- I thought... It- was," yet nothing of substance comes out.

"Hey? Andrew? What the hell--"

"D-Dont curse," He squeaks as his face grows impossibly red.

"Well, I'm going to need you to calm down," you say, reaching and grabbing his hand. A disgusting squelch bubbles out from where your hands meet as a stocky substance smeared into your palm. "What the hell!" You shriek as you pull your hand away.

Andrew's heart fails him as he screams out horrifically, grabbing your forearms before you can look at your palms. He pins your hands down to your side as he leans forward, his head bows to the floor, but you're painfully aware of how sticky your palms are, and how sticky your forearms now are too. How hot red his ears are.

"Oh mercy! M-Mercy! You must believe me- and do not hate me!" He blabbers.

"What are you smearing on me, Andrew?" It's your squeak now, your face flushing with confusion and embarrassment. You try to pull away and successfully slip from his grasp, but that cold slick makes a disgusting sound and smears worse down your arms. "Ew! God Andrew, what is that!" You howl as you rush back to your room.

"N-No! Let me wash your hands, close your eyes!" He nearly screams, and that's when panic truly settles in for you.

"No!" You rush into your bathroom as you hear Andrew enter and shut the door behind him. You flicker on the lights to your bathroom, as whatever it is begins to rapidly crust and dry on your arms. "What the hell!" You cursed. Your mind raced.

"Oh please! Please," you hear Andrew cry as he fits up a beat red hand to cover your eyes.

You screech and dodge it. "No more touching people, Andrew!" You cry and notice how his hands are crusting now, too.

"I'm s-sorry! A spirit overcame me and I lost to it," he whimpers impossibly broken. His face is impossibly red, as humiliated tears prick the corners of his eyes. As you look at him, it all slowly begins to click.

"Andrew. Please do not tell me this is y--"

Before the words could fly out, he squeaks and grabs your crusty arms, turning on the faucet to the sink and burying your hands into it. He mingles soap and water into his hands, building suds and before laying them onto your arms. He had a hand slung around you, trapping you between him and the faucet so you wouldn't run anywhere. "Just let me wash you," he whispers so lowly.

You swallow thickly, as arousal and curiosity blooms in your body. "Alright, but after this you'll have to tell me what happened. And without any of the fancy mumbo-jumbo spiritual bollocks," You hissed.

He squeaks, his voice budding soft, "D-Don't curse..." His head leans and rests its weight on yours.

You've never had Andrew this close to you before. The water was perfectly warm, his touch was gentle as he stroked your skin, not leaving any side of you sticky with his... Juices. His hands were much larger and gritty than yours, rugged with the callouses of a working man. Yet they turned pink under the warm water, reminiscent of how pale he was. And you could feel his chest rising and falling against your back, his nervous, humiliated breath against the side of your face, too focused on touching and massaging you than actually washing you off.

He cupped warm water and splashed away the suds, but still, he held you there, softly running his hands along your arm again.

You're so warm and soft.

"That's enough, Andrew," you scolded, aware of how intimate it all was.

"Ah," He squeaked as he turned the water off. And you took the liberty to free yourself. "Don't look at me," he whimpers.

You sigh deeply, staring at his shoes. "You walked your shoes into my Inn. And you smell like the cemetery. Take them off and go shower, there's a robe there that you could borrow," You grumble, watching as he instantly fumbles out of his boots. "I'm going to clean the floors."

"A-Alright!"

🖐💦

The hot steam blew up from the shower head as he stood meekly in the porcelain bathtub. He raked his hands through his blond locks, feeling the hot water run down from his scalp to dribble at his feet. The bathroom at the Inn was much more modern than his smile water basin and shower pipe. He really could sit down in the bathtub if he wanted. Was he deserving to use your bathroom like this?

Oh God, he's in your bathroom, showering- naked.

The heat rushed to his senses as the reality of it all started to settle in. His face blew a stark red as he leaned against the tiled walls, shuffling a shaken breath. His forehead messed into the wall, as he leaned his palms against it.

He was touching himself to you.

That forgotten heat was still there, slowly creaking. His mind raced with it all, the idea, the sounds, the sights. He sucked in a breath one of his hands sneaking down to touch his half-sleeping cock again. It ruptured awake at the minuscule touch, aching into his palm. He swallowed thickly.

Were you naked under that robe?

He hissed at the thought, his eyes rolling back in delight, a subtle chuckle airing from his lips.

Your skin was so soft when he was touching you earlier. You were between him. He could smell you. You smelled of exotic fruits, the time the rich only seemed to know. His hand began to pump his length.

This was so evil of him.

He was letting his flesh win, but it felt so good. His hips bucked into his hand as your name moaned out from his lips. He was so hard he could feel his heartbeat pulsing in his palm. His cock weeping slick in a constant stream mingling in with the hot water and dribbling down the drain.

He wants to touch you like that, in different places too. It's so wrong but God, please, if you're watching him, just look away for tonight. He grips his base in a tough squeeze.

You're so amazing, so beautiful. Just let him touch you a bit. He swallows. "Please," he whimpers out into the air, his thrusting grew animalistic, the pleasure tingling in his back as his grunts grew loud.

He needs you, he doesn't care anymore, he needs you.

He's been needing you for so long.

When you first came here, he spotted you on his grocery trip. You were so stunning that the light seemed to cast a lovely halo on your sweet features. You were so stunning when you rushed to him, to compliment his looks, he moans out at the memory.

He's going to cum. Oh God-

A loud knock split his thoughts into two as he yelped, slapping his water-mixed slick-filled hand over his mouth. You call, "Andrew?"

He yelps again at the fluids on his chin, and at the alarming sound of your voice, "What's going on in there? You're taking a long time," you speak.

He frantically swipes his face and hand again, crying out, "I'll be out!" He immediately shuts the water off, hopping out and to the towels to wipe himself off.

"Andrew... I'm worried about you," you call, and his heart bursts.

He longs for you.

He stares at himself in the mirror, feeling his hard-on twitch.

"You know... It's quite terrifying for you to suddenly appear at my door. And frankly, you looked terrified, I thought... I thought someone had done something to you again..." You whisper, he can bearly hear you over his heart. His eyes flicker between the reflection of his eyes back to him, searching within himself.

He lays his palm against his heart.

"I don't like it when you censor yourself either. I hate it when you act like a holy fraud," You said. His hand clenches to a fist. Him, a fraud? "There's nothing in the world you could say that'd I hate. If there was, that's for me to decide. Not for you to decide for me... So tell me what's going on with you," you whisper into the wood of the door.

"I don't want you hurting. You're so sweet and kind. You're not a devil at all! And it pisses me the hell off whenever -" Your words get cut short, and the door opens, revealing Andrew, eyes lidded, wrapped up in a white rope.

He looks good in the color.

It's a shame he never wears it.

"Don't curse," he whispers, water dripping from his head to his shoulders. His chest heaving with every breath, desire flooding his gaze, lips cracked open breathlessly.

You're taken aback, your blinks are furious. "Sit," you murmur as you bring him to your bed. You both sit facing each other, your arms crossed.

You watch as his face heats up, as his eyes flicker up to see yours in a daze. You suck in an enamored breath, "Tell me."

"Y-You... You provoke my flesh," he whispers it earthly, leaning forward to you, placing a hand by your hip on the bed. Your eyes flicker between his, your blinks slow. "I... want you carnally. I desire you. I pray... N-No. I want you deeply." He's inching closer and closer with a sweet gentle voice, his other hand cupping your arm dear to him. Your hand finds his chest, glimpses of his pale skin underneath his robe. "I couldn't control myself tonight... I'm not sure I want to..."

"Andrew," you hush you between lidded eyes.

"I beg you, let me touch you, please," he's so close to you now, letting his nose brush against the tip of your ear, lips brushing against it for every word, breath mingling and fueling your desire.

You swallow so harshly, grabbing onto his shoulder for stability. He continues, "I can't help but think, isn't it so wrong for a man like me to want this? It's a wicked desire," you hear his confidence falter, and for some reason, it hurts more.

"Don't give up on yourself like that... Succumb to your desires, Andrew. Succumb," you whisper scantily, gripping chunks of his robe and slipping a leg on the bed to fully face him.

He groans viciously, the primal sound sending waves of pleasure through your body. You make the first move, licking a stripe up his neck, dragging the sharpness of your canines gently against his sensitive skin. He moans deeply, the beautifully breathy sound forces you to clench around nothing. It's been a while for you, traveling so much, you haven't had time to take care of yourself.

You lean up to suck briefly on his chin, fluttering your lips closer and closer to his own. But you stop just before to gaze into his eyes. He leans in for you, pressing your sweet lips together. His lips are deliciously delicate, the friction like a much-needed quench. It's barely long before the kiss deepens, as you feed him your tongue. Your soft muscle rushes in to meet his, as you swallow up his yelps and mewls.

His tongue gains its confidence, the shiveringly pleasing feeling of his foreign tastebuds sculpting up your hot mouth. You slurp on his sweet tongue. He grunts and bucks into nothing. Your lips pull away sloppily as he places a hand on you, pushing back onto the bed. "Mmh, wait let's get comfortable," you whisper.

He feels himself ache in his robe

He pulls away from you to follow you as the two of you shuffle to the heart of the smaller bed. "Lay down, I'm going to show you a few things," you tease.

"But I wanna' touch you," he begs into the air.

You shiver intensely at the sound.

"You will," you press him back into the bed, his head resting on his pillows.

He stares at you in disbelief and wonder, the cutest expression dotting his face. You brush his hair out of his face, smiling at his surprise. He's hiding a strong jaw beneath that meek bang, hid beautiful sculpted nose leading to two budding, pink tulips. You shuffle in between his legs, pulling the cord to his rope. His breath hitches, his chest rising and falling with a vigor to run a marathon.

The question pops into your mind as you pull back part of his robe to reveal his lovely chest. "When's the last time you've ever touched yourself, Kriess," you mumble.

"Uh... I suppose... I might have been fourteen," he blinks.

You giggle in disbelief, "Ten years? What a good boy you are. So holy," you hush.

He grunts viciously, "P-Please stop. Just touch me, touch me... Touch me..." He begs, shutting his eyes weakly.

You pull back his robe fully, flashing his wonderfully tone body to you. He was so muscular, so big in stature - the true power of a grave keeper. Your hands tail down his body to his hip, your eyes immediately shifting to toggle the incredibly pink cock of his. His tip was a bullied red as he pulled and twitched into the air. Dribbles of pre-cum touched his belly, and the wet scene was erotically sloppy. He was leaking like a faucet, and it sent your organs aflame.

You groaned at the sight, "So wet for me, Andrew. I'm scared I'll get you pregnant," you tease.

A humiliated squeak flies from his lips, "I-I- I'm sorry. I'm not so s-sure as to how you'd be able to--" but you wouldn't let him continue his lowly apologies as you bent over and pressed a deep kiss into the base of his needy cock.

He moans out into the open, his hands instantly flying to entangle themselves in your hair. You lick up a stripe to his tip, never breaking your stare at his gorgeous face. You pull back, slipping your robe off tantalizingly slow, watching as he whimpers. He gasped at your sweet body, his cock twitching to be touched more.

You gave him something to look at. You smirked.

You leaned down back to his pretty dick, grabbing it at the base and taking the tip into your hot mouth. He was average in length but thick as it filled your mouth. You greedily slurped up his runny juices, closing your eyes with a content sigh as you guided him deeper and deeper into your mouth. His hands clenched chunks of your hair.

The feeling of him entering your mouth was euphoric, as his sweet gasps and moans filtered the air. The sounds were on the quieter side but were sharp and filled with bliss. He chuckled out a delighted sound, his chest heaving as you began to suck.

You twirled your tongue at his piping-hot muscle, hollowing your cheeks and drinking him up. He moaned sweetly into the air, as his legs flew up on each side of you. You bobbed on him, carefully massaging all that you couldn't reach with your hand, lapping him up as if you were thirsty.

"Oh God!" He wailed. His grip grew blood-hot on your hair, the feeling enough for you hiss. You bobbed him viciously in retaliation, the overstimulation forcing his head to lean back. "C-Can't. Can't..." He groaned, he bucked deep into your mouth, gagging you as he held you there with his large fists.

He trusted deep into you, his back arching off the bed, his sounds vulgar and pleading. "F-Fuck, fuck. Please, please, please," he cried out a mantra of fucked out whimpers, riding his high at your expense. His voice picked up strongly, swear dipping down his forehead.

With one final buck into the back of your throat, Andrew pulled out, releasing into the hot crevice of your mouth, his hands releasing you, as they flopped to the side. His rugged fulfilled groans filled the air.

You slipped off him, coughing as you gagged on the intense mixture of your saliva and his slick. "I'm so sorry," you heard him cry as you wiped your lips.

You giggled tiredly, your voice hoarsely adjusting back to the feeling of a dick-free throat. "You're so lovely, 'drew," you leaned up to kiss his lips. The lingering taste of himself meeting him.

You redirected his hands to your chest, and greedily, he squeezed and tugged at anything he could, breaking the kiss so his eyes could oggle you with the passion of a starved man.

His fingers prodded at your nipples until they were hard, then they slipped down your body, feeling the curve of your belly. He instantly shot up as his hand reached down to cup your sex. You giggled out an estranged moan, reaching up to embrace him over his shoulders. "You're so needy," you tried to deflect, pulling your sex away from him.

"Please, jus- please lemme' touch you." He cries out like it pains him.

He the two of you up, not even needing an answer as he pulls you into his lap.

You whimper, leaning into his shoulder as his fingers massage your sex, his tongue frantically passionate. You're deliciously warm to him, and you feel your sex begin to slick his hand. He laughs blissfully at the feeling. The sound of it is soft and filled with childish delight as you rock into him. He speeds up his barrage of you, the friction causing you to rock into his hands, lapping at his neck with your tongue like a dog. Your sex feels painfully hot and messy as you buck into him like a wild animal.

You feel your hole begin to ache, as you push all the way into him, redirecting his hands to touch the puckering hole. "In there," he squeaks suddenly, but you leave no room as you grind down into him.

"Andrew, I was suppose to be devouring you," you whined.

"Haha, it's alright. We can try again later," he twists to see your face, pressing a loving peck against your lips. You blink in shock, his gaze filled with gentleness.

"I haven't had anything up there in a very long while," you whisper into his lips.

"Oh golly..."

⏳️⚰️🖐💦

You arch into his fingers, gripping chunks of the bedsheets. Andrew has you laid out beneath him, his thick, burly fingers playing in your thick walls. You huff into him, his fingers themselves coated in a dangerous mixture of your slick, his cum, and his spit. He's knuckle deep within you, his middle and ring finger plunging into you passionately.

His gaze never left your figure, not even for a second, as he drank up the sight of your trembling form. He leans down between your legs, planting a kiss on your sex the way he's seen you done his mere moments prior. "Andrew," you cry with all your might.

"You're so aroused... Am I that tempting to you?" He purrs, his eyes lidded, hair tucked behind his ear. He's gotten too confident.

You couldn't deny him for a second, "Mmhm, yes, Andrew."

He shudders, his name sounds so good from your lips.

He can't take it anymore.

He slips his finger out of your hole, grabbing himself as he lines up to fit inside. His tip bulged against your entrance, and you puckered kisses against the weeping muscle. He pressed against you, his head breaching into your body.

"Aah! Oh," you hissed. Peeking out from closed eyes, Andrew's face was tensed tight. His lips were glued, his eyes lidded, eyebrows furrowed and his cheeks were filled with air. His strong hands reached and grabbed your hips, squeezing so hard it stung deliciously. The familiar subtle burn of stretching as he pushed himself halfway in.

It was finally then did he released his first moans, the sound was strained and needy, his mind held by the single thread that he should hold himself back.

But by the time you sink into his base, your hot, warm, slicked-up insides are screaming at his senses. He lost all sorts of sensitivity. "Fuck," He cried, his voice burly, as he began to pump at a decent pace.

His head grew heavy as he plummeted onto his hands on top of you, his expression erotic. His toned pale body, his strong arms on each side of your head, his eyes that briefly rolled to the back of his head. "Oh, god," he groaned out. The sound fighting against the shameful sounds of your sexes bumping.

His moans abruptly peak again, his eyes rolling back with stuttering hips. Suddenly an abruption of cum spills into you, making you shudder an arch. "S-Sorry, tryna' hold back... Jus' hold on a bit more," he moans, speech slurred, drunk off your goodness. He was still hard after cumming inside you.

He pulls out slowly, all the way down to the head before plunging right in, causing you to cry and wrap your legs around his waist. You were extra slick now, with how his cock fed you more of his juices. His grip on your hips was intense as he buried his head into your shoulder, thrusting quicker as the heaving sensation of you eating up his cock overtook him.

Every sight, every smell, every taste and touch from you, sent him teetering over the edge. This was so dirty, so vulgar, so shameful, that it made his hips stutter in spiteful bliss. Like an animal, he pumped into you at the pace he liked the most, fueled by your irregular, overstimulated moans that rewarded him. You wrapped your arms around him in the tango, burying your nails into his skin as he hit your sweet spot, your jaw falling slack in disbelief.

He was so thick, so filling. Your belly was swarming in satisfaction, feeling all of your inside move and squirm to his every wild buck. He pulled out of your shoulder and pinned your head between him again. His reddish, blueish eyes found you like a greedy hawk. He was completely fucked out, staring down deep into your eyes, not looking away for a second, daring you to keep the gaze.

You whimpered and cried, holding onto his forearms, squeezing and jerking around his cock. He grunted deeply, etches of a delighted smile ghosting his fucked out expression. He was glistening with sweat, a non-stop pent-up sex-machine.

You growled in fear, feeling your orgasm overtake you. You arched down deep into his body, as you spilled out, crying out a useless, "An-Andreew," that fell on deaf ears.

"Please, p-please, please, G-God... Just a little more," he whispers to you. He presses his kisses on your cheek. But truly, he's unsure of who he's calling out to anymore.

He slows for your orgasm, grinding on you wildly, riding out your high as your head collapses back on the pillow.

He pulls out and turns you on your side, grabbing one of your legs and hooking it over his shoulder. "Just a little more, please," he cries, he's still hard, still twitching. He peppers sweet kisses on your eyelids, nuzzling his nose into your warmth.

"F-Fine, Andrew. Don't make me say it," you stutter, your face heating in this embarrassing position.

He leans to suckle on your collarbone, distracting you almost until you feel his abrasive length slip into your body again. You mewl out, listening to his shaky breath deep in your ears. He rests his head against the side of yours, your knee hitting your shoulder. "Y-You're very flexible," he praises with a giggle, it almost soothes the anger you feel at his wildness.

You can't even retaliate when he begins to thrust slower, as his wandering lips slip around to pepper kisses on your earlobe, your jawline, your neck, and even on the back of your leg. Your eyes roll at the tantalizingly slow thrusts, all paired with the sweet kisses. He gently cups your chin, turning you to face him as he leaves an earnest peck on your lips. "I love you," he whines childishly.

You giggle in surprise, "I know. I love you e-even more, Kriess," you manage between your pants.

"Oh, God," he whispers, bucking into you with a stutter. You gasp in shock, overstimulation brimming through your body.

"Don't cur- urse," you somehow manage out, grabbing chunks of the bedsheets.

He laughs lazily and begins to pump up the pace, leaning up and fucking into you fervently. You squeeze down on him at the sudden abrasiveness, arching and crying out with all of your body.

The wooden bed creaks, a sound that causes Kreiss' breath to hitch. A sound so dangerous you could see the thought process behind it. He pulls almost out and slams deeply into you again, your toes curling painfully- and yet to your dismay, the bed creeks again.

He laughs blissfully again, stuttering out between moans, "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum," he grunts, pistoning into you roughly, desperate to hear the animalistic creaking of the beneath you too. You cry out in overstimulation, your own orgasm building up, ready to spike.

"Please, pleugh... God- gonna... Oh!" A shiver overtakes him as his thrusts get sloppy and stuttering, as you squeeze and milk him of everything he has, your own high reaches its peak at the same time you're bursting with cum deep inside you, as Andrew thrusts into his base and grinds deeply against you, forcing you into an intense orgasm. "C-Cummin' cah..." You watch as sporadic twitch trails from his back, down his arms, and sparks into his fingertips.

His face is completely fucked out, his jaw relaxed, eyes rolled up to the heavens still in prayer. He finally, sweaty, heaving, pulls out of you, his penis going completely soft.

You've never been a religious person, but seeing him finally soft almost turned you into one. You were saved!

You dropped your head back onto the pillow your leg slipping off him as falls back onto his ass. You stare at the wall as you catch your breath, the room suddenly aware of how it smells like sweat and fluids. His cumming so much within you is going to be a problem, but a problem for later you.

Andrew weakly reaches and pats your ankle, and you turn to gaze at him. He's smiling panting out, pure joy bursting on his sweet face. You knew you were going to be so sore, and so tired in the morning but. It was hard to stay mad at a face like that.

He crawls over to you, sitting next to you as he rolls you onto your back. His fingers subconsciously rub circles into your belly as he mutters, "That was heavenly..." He hushes into your lips as he kisses them sweetly.

"Mmh... Andrew," you mutter.

He giggles ecstatically, leaning down and placing a hand on each side of you. He kisses up and down your neck dearly.

"I want to do this with you more," he mutters shyly in that familiar, raspy, airy tone.

And just like that, you were no longer religious.

"Please God save me," You cry playfully.

"Don't curse," he giggles into your neck.

[ch6douin]

I like to imagine either andrew is like naib in trying very hard to not like player, mainly cause of his religion and his thoughts on “omg what if its the devil?? I also am not allowed to have another god so stop” Or he’s like “god hasnt been answering my prayers so I think he’s abandoned me what is your deal?”

Andrew wants to trust you so badly. He wants to believe that you could turn out to be their(his) savior. But being born in a religious village influenced him deeply when it comes to faith. His prayers are empty and lack passion, he's holding onto a god that never spared a glance at him because that's what he was taught to think as the right thing.

But you always stay with him, good results or not, impure or not. And even if he didn't like you, you will stay nonetheless. And knowing that brings him another kind of warmth ice-cold statues never did.

[softheartedtyrant]

Yandere!Grave Keeper x Reader || Identity V ♡

tw: Yandere, stalking, kidnapping, implied violence, mention of injuries

Andrew is very used to scrutiny, disgust and contempt from other people. He was never accepted by others and always felt out of place, so it is no surprise to him that his life in the manor is exactly the same. But Andrew doesn't exactly blame the other survivors, after all, he dislikes himself all the same, a white-haired monster, as they call him.

Due to this, it would be enough for you to show genuine kindness and respect towards him for Andrew to become enamored with you. He is absolutely overwhelmed by something as small as you holding open a door for him, or inviting him to sit next to you at a table while eating. Not to mention, if you were to smile at him while greeting him in the morning, he would melt away completely.

To him, you're an angel. A gift. His chance at redemption. You're so kind-hearted, so empathetic, so pure and perfect. If he can protect you and make sure you stay safe, then all of his prior sins can be forgiven.

He doesn't even try to hide his newfound conviction. Andrew stalks you without even trying to blend into the environment, from now on you can be sure that there's always a watchful pair of eyes looking your way. It's almost like he is your shadow. Even if you tell him to stop, he won't. Should you hate him from now on, so be it, your safety is more important than anything else.

He doesn't see himself worthy of your presence anyways, infact, he thinks of himself as below you. In comparison to you, he's disgusting and vile, like vermin.

Andrew fights tooth and nail to keep you from being hurt in matches. He can take broken rips, bruises, cuts and even more grievous injuries if it means you're unharmed. This man would quite literally die for you if it was needed. Adding to this, he won't ever leave a match without you, and if he sees another survivor being extremely selfish or letting you down, they're sure to receive the full extent of his anger. You would never let anyone down. How could they?

If you allow him near you, despite how unusual he seems to act, he is overjoyed. He can't believe how lucky he is. He carefully listens to everything you say and if you ask him about his life and show genuine interest in him, you'll bring him close to crying tears of joy.

Andrew isn't the type to get violent out of jealousy. He gets extremely jealous, yes, but he condemns himself for it and tries to hide the feeling. It is definitely noticeable, though. The sour stares full of malice that he gives other survivors when they take up your time, how his eyes darken when you leave to spend time with someone else. Truth be told, Andrew looks very intimidating when he is jealous. That alone will probably make other survivors weary of occupying your attention for too long. Andrew would never admit this, but secretly, he is happy about it.

If you ever get seriously hurt during a match, it will unsettle him deeply, even if Emily does her best at patching you up and you end up recovering. It's not unlikely that this will cause Andrew to kidnap you and keep you somewhere safe. Somewhere you won't get hurt ever again. You can try to fight back, but Andrew won't budge. There's a good chance he will overpower you, too. After all, before he came to the manor, he made a living by lifting caskets and digging holes.

Andrew would be a gentle captor. Aside from not letting you leave, he wouldn't ever do anything you're uncomfortable with, and he'll even leave you alone if you want that. He hates to see you angry or sad, especially if you're crying. He will be especially distressed if you try to get him to let you go by hitting, scratching or biting him. Not because it hurts him, no, he can barely feel it, he is used to this kind of treatment by others after all. Andrew just hates to see you unhappy.

You're probably stuck with him for a long time, no matter what you do. Andrew doesn't care whether you hate or love him, because he loves you deeply, so so deeply. If you're upset, he'll hush you with soft words and brush through your hair with his fingers until you've calmed down. If you accept him, he'll be the happiest man on earth, and even if you don't, Andrew will protect you for as long as he can, in his own, special way.

[weeping-statue]

Hello!

I was wondering if I could request Andrew Kreiss and platonic Plain Doll (bb) with a GN!reader whos kind of like a grandpa?

Like, the best way I can explain them is that reader has an old soul and always gives candy to everyone who does a good deed, and reader is always telling old stories and repeats the same ones over and over again.

Like it’s to the point where (in the case of IDV) everyone calls them grandpa and if both IDV and bb they always look out for everyone and they try to keep everyone safe and make them feel accepted?

Sorry if this makes so sense chat💔 please and thank you!

Don’t worry lovely anon I got u ❤︎ I kinda only did Andrew, which im so sorry for, cause I kinda dunno how to write for plain doll😞 also I made two separate ones, romantic and platonic!

A/N: I’m sad to say that this is a tad self indulgent because I am the epitome of grandpa, like I’m too old for this body and my bones constantly feel like they’re a 90yr olds😔 also this is not proof read because I am tired as always 😞

Andrew Kreiss with an old spirit reader!

Cut for length ❤︎————————————————

Platonic!

First let’s just say, the name calling is insane.

Like your labeled grandpa, no matter your gender.

Survivors passing you by be like, “Sup gramps, got any candy?” Or “Yo! Grandpa! Take your meds today?”

The survivors like to hear your story’s, well most, but sometimes when you can’t remember that you’ve already told them, they’ll gently (as can be) be like “We know, you’ve told this one twenty times.” And you’d be like “I did? When?!”

Your bones constantly ache and your back and knees are always sore (I relate) so running away from hunters suck, and so does having to run around the manor with others. Which is why your best friend Andrew makes sure you’re not injuring yourself. Constantly lurking behind you, in a mood. Mumbling about how he’s “Like your nurse.” But he secretly cares, well -ish.

He’ll nag you about your meds (if you take them) and reminds you before you start another tangent about the same story.

He definitely doesn’t enjoy the teasing, at least he can handle some of it. But not too much or he’ll get grumpy for the rest of the day.

All in all tho, he means well and will take care of you if you take care of him. He especially likes the little salted caramel candy’s you have. The old people kind.

Romantic!

He will do all of this but more lovingly. Gently reminding you to take your meds instead of being up your ass about it. He’d listen to your story’s even if you do repeat them. Sometimes they get on his nerves if he’s in a mood but overall wants to hear your voice because it soothes him.

Will help you stock up on candy ❤︎

Definitely rubs your knees or back if their sore ❤︎

He still follows you around but he’s a lot more happier about it ❤︎

He likes calling you “My grandpa” as a joke (act how you will with this one)

Forehead kisses when you remember to do stuff but only in semi-public since he’s sort of shy with the pda. But he’ll squeeze your hand to let you know he’s proud of you or if you did good ❤︎

Holds your hand 24/7 if you’ll let him (mainly because he’s worried you’ll get lost) ❤︎

That’s all because i don’t want it to get too oc and just slander my beautiful boy😔

I’ll try to post the rest out but I’m rlly tired so take these headcanons 😞. ———————————————————————-

[abandonedbun]

Maybe Andrew and Norton with g/n (if possible) Reader who feels very little pain? (Example: They get struck by a hunter, but they keep running until at the end of the match they are like "bro you are bleeding")

Of course! ^w^

Also just a little note:Gender neutral is always possible! Bun will default the reader’s gender to neutral if the gender isn’t specified! So everyone of any gender can read it! :3

Andrew Kreiss

Oh lord

He was worried before but knowing you have a high pain tolerance…

At first he was alright with it, you don’t feel much pain so he was happy you didn’t feel much of it

BUT WHEN YOU ARE BLEEDING DURING A MATCH-

He gets so so worried because those injuries are not slight bruises

You are literally bleeding please patch yourself up so he doesn’t faint from shock

Yeah you’re a good kiter due to your higher pain tolerance BUT CMON

One time Andrew was waiting for you at the gate, he was relieved to see the hunter wasn’t near (they changed targets due to being pissed off)

Then he saw you bleeding

It sorta went like this

“S/O, you’re back. Let’s get back to the manor- OH DEAR LORD-”

S/O who’s literally bleeding out from their head: “Andrew? What’s wrong?”

Andrew: “DEAR YOU ARE BLEEDING OH GOD”

S/O: “Oh don’t worry it’s fine, doesn’t even hurt!”

Andrew: “YOU’RE STILL BLEEDING”-

Now he makes sure you’re always 100% patched up

Please let him take care of you, he’s gonna cry soon if he sees you bleeding too much

He really cares okay?? :(

After matches he always rests with you and makes sure you aren’t hurt

He doesn’t care if you aren’t feeling the pain, he’s taking care of all your injuries

Norton Campbell

He is emotionally attached to you

He really cares for you! He absolutely loves you

At first he was proud you had a high pain tolerance, he thinks you’re so strong!

But he gets worried when it comes to hunters because they don’t take mercy on survivors unless they’re going friendly (which is rarely)

Sure you can kite for longer, which is great but you’re still getting hurt

The hunter usually changes targets because they aren’t wasting their time chasing you because you don’t go down easily

Now for Norton’s scenario

S/O: “Norton!! I’m back!”

Norton saw you while he was waiting at the gate, he calmed down seeing you safe

Norton: “Good, you’re here, now let’s get going- wait. S/O.”

S/O: “Yeah? :)”

Norton: “Are you bleeding right now? Ō-Ō”

S/O: “Oh yeah but it’s fine! I can barely feel a thing!”

Norton: “… Nope”

S/O: “What do you mea- Norton put me down!”

Norton: “Nope. Too injured, you’re getting carried now”

S/O: “But I can walk on my own!”

Norton: “Nahh you’re getting carried”

He’ll literally just pick you up if he sees you as too injured

He’s like 184 cm tall so goodluck struggling free from him unless you’re close to his height, as tall as him, or somehow taller

He just carries you to Emily and says “Please patch them up, they don’t know how to do it”

S/O: “Yes I do!”

Norton: “Didn’t see you do it, so you don’t”

He seems chill but he’s panicking inside

Please just get patched up. Just do it

[nevermoreternity]

Hello ! How do you do ?

May I ask for an headcanon for Andrew Kreiss with a reader that is very head in the cloud and has verh creative ideas ? Like, they enjoy writing poetry, they get lost when they speak about topics they love and they constantly stumble because theh can't help looking at the sky

I thought it might be cute !

Thank you !

"That does indeed sound cute."

𝗪𝗛𝗬.

You were an individual rather devoid of thoughts.

Or perhaps, the right term would be that you were too deep into your own mind.

Or, is it that you're just... that simple-minded.

The gravekeeper had pondered over these theories for a while ever since he met you. An airhead, is what he would refer to you by.

He could count the amount of times you'd space out during a conversation, whether with him or someone else. The way you slowed your words until eventually falling quiet, eyes fixated on a certain area before your focus snaps back to the present. At first, Andrew thought you were a bit rude, especially when you were the one who came up to him first before giving him such a blank stare. Twinges of concern and suspicion flickered in his expression when you chatted about your interests before trailing off and staring distantly at the sky. Andrew couldn't understand what could have gathered your attention at that point, unable to spot anything apart from the spots of clouds.

“What's so interesting about the sky?”

Andrew noticed it was a pattern for you to stare at the vast sea of blue and white. Whether he found you like that already, or if you trailed off as usual to think, your eyes would always end up sliding up to gaze at the sky. So, when he felt confident enough to do so, he asked you about it. About what gravitated you to look up in pondering quiet, letting silence mix in with the wind. In a vague corner of his mind, another concern popped up about the sun burning your eyes with how long you would space out at times.

When you finally turned to him, or whether you just kept your eyes serenely trained up above, he wouldn't inquire any further. Regardless of your answer, Andrew drops the topic. Unable to get a fulfilling answer, he instead tilts his own head upward. The sky was simply the sky in his perspective — was it the cloud shapes that intrigued you? Was it the color? He didn't understand the appeal. Or maybe the albino just lacked the abstract view you had. He wouldn't know. At the time, he doesn't think he really wants to know either.

Andrew could feel himself regretting opening the door to his room, your familiar figure now stood inside of his small abode. You were rather persistent in your own way or maybe you found yourself waltzing in, maybe he even invited you in himself. Either way, it didn't matter because here he sat on his bed watching and listening to you with reluctance. It wasn't that he felt rude, he just couldn't figure out how to keep up with you. You spoke with a certain cadence in your voice, a spark in your eyes as you rambled to him about some creative expressive piece you've been keeping in the works. A canvas painting of some sort, or a new sentence jotted down in your journal, or a new picture you took of something others would find mundane.

How could someone have so much energy yet none at the same time?

How could someone wander life in such a daze yet have such a sharp spark when speaking of their passions?

Andrew pursed his lips, unable to find a conclusion for either question.

You continued talking, but it was inconsistent. A sudden pause in your step, a stumble in your words as you tried to find the right terms to describe yourself, even a lack of a reaction from him goes unnoticed as your focus drifts from his dusty shelves to his window. His window had its curtains blocking the light, you pointed out.

Andrew didn't know how to reply to your small observations, leaving the room in awkward silence when you cut your rambling off with a questioning stare. He stared back, not knowing where else to look, and so you stared at each other, until you began to look uncomfortable. Or wait- no, you had that distant look in your eyes that signaled you were deep into your own mind once again. He calls your name out hesitantly, waiting to see your eyes regain focus back onto him, realizing you had lost yourself in mental clouds yet again. The pinch of annoyance was familiar by this point, but he kept such a thought to himself, clutching the crucifix around his neck with a sigh instead.

He rubbed the necklace between his thumb and index finger before quietly asking you to resume speaking, recalling your last sentence to pick up where you left off.

You were simply confusing,

Andrew would conclude.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

“What are you doing?”

Andrew asks with furrowed brows and a small frown. There you were being a mess of thoughts again, your response making him question your current actions. You were staring at him again much to his discomfort. Were you dense toward his obvious wary attitude around you? Or were you ignoring the weak glares being sent your way?

He didn't realize he was staring right back at you.

He'd watch you, his own eyes fixated on you before he ends up embarrassed with your focused stare pinning him down. He would always be the first to look away. Andrew had so many contemplating questions about that mind of yours. No matter how many times he got an answer a new one would pop up. It was odd, the way you would sometimes fidget with your hands, blow a strand of hair away from your face, a spacey smile ‐ or a face close enough to be considered a smile, always settled on your lips.

The fact you were doing it around him made him grow even more puzzled. Those thoughts came after his questions, with the sudden realization that you were still so persistently hanging around him.

“Are you going to... leave?” Andrew asks with his hands clasped together on top of the table you share in the commons room. He would have sat farther from you, possibly even settled for the other side of the room. But even then, he would probably find himself stealing glances in your direction without knowing why. If you attempted to shuffle closer he wouldn't stop you, only grumbling about the fact there's much more space to pick from. Why did you choose the seat next to him? Why did you have to notice all the little things at this moment? Why were you commenting on the way he stiffened up when you got too close? Weren't you too busy in your own head to pay so much attention on him?

“I'm fine.”

Whether or not you called out his bluff didn't matter because the gravekeeper got up from his seat and left shortly after, hands still clasped in front of his chest as he feels himself speed walking down the hallway and away from you. He's not sure why he's even leaving in such a hurry. He just doesn't want your prying eyes on him anymore.

Andrew frowns to himself, a conflicted feeling bubbling in his stomach as he murmurs to himself.

Andrew could say you're too in the moment at times,

and other times, you aren't in the moment at all.

He got used to it after a while, a long while. He'd notice your change in pacing before they even occurred, recognizing the long pauses you would take when you drifted off, so that he'd snap his fingers in front of your face to pull you out of your trances. Andrew found those moments shifting from irritating and confusing to something much more standard. His feelings became more indifferent, albeit now tainted with a bit of worry. You made him question your whereabouts several times, notably whenever you turned up late to a meeting with him because you got distracted somewhere along the way.

Andrew found himself staring at you for longer periods of time whenever he spotted your eyes on him. He still always ended the prolonged eye contact first though, stammering complaints about your unnerving gaze, his face giving way to faint reddening when you parted your lips to question him.

He found himself changing and he didn't know if he liked it.

But... it also may not necessarily be a bad thing.

Andrew questions you again.

This time you two were under a tree, your time spent together being a regular occurrence by now. He couldn't exactly go under the sunlight as the fear and inconvenience of being sunburnt stopped him from doing so. He preferred the shade anyway, the heat was always too much. Even then, when he refuses to move from his sheltered spot, his eyes find themselves lingering over to you.

His head tilts to the side, his back pressed against the tree. Andrew noticed you were staring out into the scenery in front of you, that same absent look in your eyes. He didn't find any need to disturb you or break you away from your thoughts, since you two weren't having any previous conversation this time to begin with.

However, when you suddenly turned your head back at him to meet his gaze he found himself breaking out of his own trance, growing abruptly flustered at your glazed over yet distinct stare. “It's nothing.” Andrew answers when you curiously pry over his strange behavior, him placing a hand over his mouth in an attempt to hide away.

He was so conflicted with himself.

Why? Why was he so conflicted in the first place?

Andrew turned his head back toward you after regaining his composure, but seeing that you were still staring made him want to turn away even faster than before. With a subconscious grumble escaping his throat he hid his head into his own arms, his knees pressed against his chest. Still, you kept your eyes trained on him. Except now, you had that certain distant fog in your eyes. Clearly spaced out again, most likely unaware that you were even staring at all. So, without thinking, already used to bringing you back to reality, Andrew moves a hand up to touch your nose, flicking the tip of it. Your reaction to the sudden action amused him silently for a few moments, until he realizes the physical touch he just initiated. Just like that, he's back to how he was seconds before, retracting his hand and letting the embarrassment of brief contact swallow him whole while you tilted your head in confusion.

There were still so many questions Andrew didn't have answers for. He didn't know if he ever would have the answers to some of them. However, he had made at least one certain conclusion after spending so much time with you. You may have endlessly confused him, but, somewhere along the way, your behavior had grown endearing rather than puzzling. Now, when he looked at you, he found that you were actually quite...

cute.

— end.

[smittenroses]

⌞ask box open⌝ | ⌞commissions open⌝ | ⌞ko-fi?⌝ | ⌞Patreon coming soon⌝

— Pass the Peas

Fandom — Identity V Summary — it's dinner time and you two are back in your staring contest. Pairing — Grave Keeper | Andrew Kreiss/Reader Request — Andrew with a shy and nervous reader? (Gender neutral please!) Content Warnings — none Author's note — I will be honest, I was not inspired by this one but I did my best

He stared at you.

You stared back.

The clinking of utensils on plates and the sound of chattering around the two of you as you engaged in an endless battle, one only broken as one would look away to grab something from the middle of the table but always resuming.

The Gravekeeper found you odd.

You found the Gravekeeper odd.

Yet the two of you never seemed to say anything more than what you needed. Everyone else was aware of the odd attraction the two of you had towards each other, the Gravekeeper being a cold and soft spoken loner and you... you were just shy. A good teammate, a good comrade, the two of you had only ever said 'hello' to each other and yet you were as thick as thieves.

"Pass the gravy boat." Kevin said in the background, Fiona reaching between the two of you to pass the gravy boat to the cowboy, Andrew tilting his head to stare at you underneath Fiona's arm.

"Can you pass the peas?" Reaching out to grab the bowl of peas that sat between the two of you, your finger tips brushed against Andrew's before you pulled the bowl away, passing it to Patricia who sat to your right.

"Oh will they just talk to each other already?"

"No thanks."

"And now they're even copying each other."

[leighsartworks216]

"are you sure about this?" & nervous kisses for Astarion?

I changed the prompt quote a little bit so it would fit better. I also hope this is nervous enough for a nervous kiss lol

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: nervousness

Word Count: 563

Main Masterlist

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You cradle Astarion’s face in your hands, running your thumbs gently over his cheekbones. He looks up at you as though you are one of the gods who’d just given away all your powers just to hold him. His eyes are full of love and adoration.

The dirt of his grave cradles your knees as you kneel with him before the headstone marked with his name. The current year sits freshly carved beside the dates of his old life. The year of his new life. A life no longer governed by fear.

“Are you sure?” you whisper. “Are you sure you want this?”

He holds one of your wrists, keeping your hand in place as he leans into it, brushing his lips across the battle-calloused skin. “Yes.”

“Because we don’t have to. We can wait as long as you need before-”

“Darling,” he softly cuts you off. He smiles. A real, genuine smile. “I want this. I want you.”

You relax into his words, a smile of your own creeping on your face. You nod slightly. He slips your hand from his face and brings it to his lips. His eyes never stray from yours as he places gentle kisses along your knuckles, your palm, and your wrist. Intertwining your fingers together, he lowers your hand in his to his lap and cups your cheek with his other. You look at him like he’s made of pure starlight, as though he’s just come from the heavens to gaze at you like the brightest constellation in the sky.

He leans in slowly until your noses brush, and he stops. He wants this. More than anything. But he doesn’t quite know how. He’s followed a script this whole time - how could he possibly know what’s genuine? His eyes, previously admiring your lips, raise to meet yours. You squeeze his hand, understanding. You make no effort to close the gap for him - you simply wait until he is ready to.

The first time your lips touch, it’s barely a kiss at all. A light brush of lips, testing out the waters, getting a feel to know if this is what he really wanted. And yes, gods yes, it was. He sighs shakily and goes in for more. A proper kiss. Eyes closed, noses side by side. It was still slow, still uncertain, but it was so, so good.

He pulls away minutely so you can catch a breath, and the words fall from your mouth unbidden. “I love you.” A faint whisper in the cool night air. His eyes snap open, studying your face. Before, that admission - a true confession and not some silly lie - would have sent him reeling back, sent him running for any sort of barrier to build between you. But now, he couldn’t imagine a life without them uttered from your lips like a prayer.

He kisses you again, brief but passionate; meaningful. When he pulls away this time, he presses his forehead to yours. “I love you, too. I…” You open your eyes to watch as he finds the words. He sighs quietly, “I mean it.”

You know he does. You smile up at him, bright and sweet, and he can’t stop himself from tasting it. Again and again, until the gravekeeper shouts at you and shoos you off into the dark streets, giggling and holding hands and utterly in love.

---

Tag List:

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[heartshapedbubble]

frederick and andrew with an s/o that loves giving them words of affirmation and acts of service??

here you go anon!!💞

frederick kreiburg and andrew kreiss with a s/o whose love language is words of affirmation/acts of service hcs🎼🕸

frederick kreiburg🎼

he's not as anxious as andrew, absolutely, but the exact same question runs around in both of their minds...

"do i really deserve this? why me, out of all people?" he wonders, even asking you directly, but he shall accept your affection nonetheless, out of appreciation and good manners

always feels guilty as he doesn't know how to repay you for your kindness, so in response to your kind words and acts he never forgets to shower you in praise

i'd say that he, when giving out affection, is bigger on the act-of-service and quality time part, at least on the surface, so he finds taking you out for dinner or opera the best way to thank you, refusing your pleas to at least split the bill

the time and moment(s) when yours' and his words of affection hit the hardest are during the dead hours of the night, cloaked behind the wine red curtains of his bed, your bodies intertwined with each other and his brain numbed out to nothing but the vibrations of your voice whispering praise into his skin, him pressing his lips onto your temples and combing through your hair with his fingers

like any artist, he's starving for praise - although, obviously, he won't ever admit it as he's well-mannered - and will cherish every single compliment or affirmation you give to him, never forgetting to get back at you with one when you least expect it from him

andrew kreiss🕸

ashamed and his face completely pink the first time you insist on helping him with reading labels or you compliment his hairdo that day - not going to lie, he's going to become a bit selfish and start craving it even more, going to extreme lengths just to hear some more gentle praise seep out of your mouth or to feel the softness of your palm through his leather gloves as you lead the way

the sudden ego stroke is new yet so incredibly addictive to him to the point he might become clingy or way more affectionate than he usually is, not wanting to let go of this daydream he's living in

in response to your affection - he obviously has to shower you with twice as much love and care, no? it's the only reasonable thing to do in his eyes

as much as he's determined to get back at you he's still incredibly shy in delivery, muttering it out nervously and maybe even rushing whatever he wants to help you with in fear that stretching it out will increase the chances of him embarrasing himself and ruining the image of him you have in your eyes

it's scary, leaning his head closer to your face to kiss it, complimenting your appearance that day, tending to your injuries in fear that he might mess up the wound even more and cause even more harm, gifting you some fruit he picked from the garden - brand new opportunities, leading to hundreds of both good and bad outcomes yet if it's for you, then he shall combat his fear of failure

as much as andrew seems naive due to his upbringing he doesn't trust people that easily and now that you gained his trust he's going to become very protective of you especially if you two end up in a match together, not letting the hunter (or the other survivors) get a single hit on you

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Regret & Rememberance || Grieving!Ghost

Rating: M + DDNE Words: 2.9K~ Pairing: Gravekeeper!Reader x Grieving!Ghost CW: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT., death, child death, mourning/grief, canon 09 ghost backstory, dissociation, cemetery/graveyard, graves/headstones. Tags: you/your pronouns, gn!reader, angst, flower language/symbolism, hurt/comfort, platonic relationship. Summary: A hobby of yours causes you to cross paths with an undead man. a/n: for those who care about flower meanings, like me... ;)

You started volunteering at one of the local cemeteries after putting in a request with the town hall.

It was a simple thing, really. You were just providing extra help to the ground's keepers who did little else but mow the grass, trim the trees and bushes, and blast away leaves and dirt from the headstones and pathways with a hose.

You bought your own supplies with the help of a small voucher the town hall provided you, and then you went and cleaned the headstones at the cemetery.

You quite liked doing it. You always liked cleaning and polishing things until they were squeaky clean. And so, you'd carefully remove moss and overgrowth, and wash the engraved lettering in the old graves, and, sometimes, out of your own dime, you'd use a small paint brush and a little jar of enamel paint to fill in the lettering and make it readable again.

It was a passion project for you; you enjoyed seeing the graves come back to their original (or as close as you could get it) state, and even read up on funeral/cemetery/work/life records at the town hall to find out who was who.

It was peaceful, almost therapeutic. You tended to pick the times when you knew the cemetery would be mostly empty and you'd go row-by-row, eyeing the older graves and seeking out the ones that need caring.

It was during one of those times that you saw him for the first time.

As you meandered about, carrying a small caddie of cleaning supplies in one hand, and pulling the hood of your waterproof parka over your head with the other, you notice him.

It was a very lazy Saturday afternoon. Wintertime, Christmas had been just three days before. The sun was hidden behind dark clouds, giving the cemetery and even darker and gloomier atmosphere, the rain showering down over the entire city of Manchester.

He was tall, so, so tall, and with shoulders so wide and arms so thick, even below the hoodie he's wearing... And yet he looked so small, as he looked on at the graves at his feet...

You knew those graves, you'd memorized the majority. It was the Riley family. A really big tragedy, a recent one, just the year before, on Christmas Eve. The news had said the house burned down because of a faulty heater, and killed everyone, including a little boy.

You settled at a grave not far from him and regarded the man with knitted brows, trying to sneak a glance under his hoodie, maybe catch his eye, and offer him a smile and some courage... But underneath, he might was well have been a void.

The dark clouds and atmosphere only made it that his face was nearly completely shrouded in darkness, and the dark scarf wrapped around his neck and hiked up to cover his nose and mouth certainly didn't help.

You knelt by the grave you were going to clean and began removing the cleaning supplies from your caddie, grabbing a small bench scraper so you could remove the moss growing on the front face of the grave.

But before you began, you couldn't help but sneak a glance at the man again. He must have felt watched, however, because he turned his head toward you and from underneath his hood, all you saw were a few short blonde hairs peeking out.

You tried to do exactly what you intended, offering him a small smile and a nod... And then turned away to properly working, trying to give him space, or respect... You tried. Really. But... something about him... In less than a minute, you looked over again.

And he was gone without a trace. Looking around, you saw no tall, dark figures speed-walking away.

For some reason, a chill went down your spine when you noticed you were alone again... Almost like he had been a ghost, a figure of your imagination...

-

You saw him a lot more times after that. Or, at least, you were pretty sure it was a Him. Or, at least, you were pretty sure it was a Him.

You'd arrive and he'd already be there, almost like he timed it perfectly every time.

Never a word exchanged, though you looked at him from a distance and, sometimes, he looked at you too.

He'd always leave a small flower arrangement between the center two graves. Purple hyacinths, white chrysanthemums, and black dahlias.

And then he'd leave not long after you arrived.

Sometimes you wondered if you being there made him leave... If he wanted to avoid being there when you were, to avoid being stared at. But you couldn't help yourself from staring.

Truth be told, you'd go long weeks without seeing him, but he'd always come back...

And when he did come back, he'd come pay the graves a visit multiple times a week for a few weeks...

Whenever he wasn't there, you dared to venture toward the grave and gaze upon, especially right after he had left... And you'd pay you respects to the family buried there...

-

Sitting in the public library attached to the town hall, you carefully combed through the cemetery records of the last year, with a hot tea beside you.

Riley. There it is.

Obituary notices for five members of the same family, on the same date.

Joanna Riley, née Pearson, aged 57. Thomas Riley, aged 33. Beth Riley, aged 32. Joseph Riley, aged 4. and Simon Riley, aged 37.

Two mothers, and their three sons. An innocent child in the middle of it all. All killed by an accidental fire, with a starting point on a faulty heater, right before an important holiday.

Their obituaries said that Joanna had worked in a textile factory for most of her life, Thomas was a cook at a restaurant, Beth was an esthetician and Simon was a... soldier.

You looked at the pictures attached to the obituary, of each of them... So alive, so... free. Pictures taken from Facebook profiles or school records, in Joseph's case... All of them with big happy smiles...

Joanna had big eye bags, but she had wrinkles in the corners of her blue eyes, and deep smile lines, like she'd spent a lifetime laughing... Her hair was already fully grey, cut into a bob with a fringe.

Thomas was thin, and had prominent cheekbones and a dip in the cheeks themselves, as well as deep eyebags with bulging eyes, but a surprisingly pleasant smile on his face. He was a blonde.

Beth's picture showed that her nose tended to scrunch whenever she smiled, her dirty blonde, nearly brown hair, was hair tied back into a bun and a fringe falling over her blue eyes.

Little Joseph had a toothy grin and was wearing a school uniform, his blonde hair swept to the side by a comb and his blue eyes sparkling... You found your lip trembling at the thought that, perhaps, that was his first day of kindergarten picture...

And, lord, Simon Riley... He was halfway through winking when the picture was taken. He had the warmest brown eyes and the smuggest little smirk on his lips as he held Joseph in his arms, whose face had been partially cropped out of the picture, but clearly was mirroring his uncle, while holding a little teddy bear with a blue bow around its neck.

It made you sad, to see those pictures. Sadder than when you researched all the other graves' you've cleaned. Many of them included children too... But something... something about those kind faces...

-

You couldn't help but wonder who he was.

Maybe a family friend?

A distant cousin?

Maybe someone from Beth's side of the family, since she's a blonde and the stranger is too?

You hadn't dared approach him, striking a conversation but you were so full of questions.

Was it wrong to be so curious about a stranger who's only at the funeral to mourn and pay respects? (Definitely.)

You wanted to ask him everything.

Who is he?

Why does he come visit at the worst times and days, when it's rainy and dark, and empty?

Why does he disappear so often for weeks at a time?

Why does he keep coming back?

Someone had to pay for the funeral arrangements, after all... Maybe it was him. Maybe he's family.

Why else would he casually drop £200 worth of arrangements on the graves every time he comes?

...

Truth be told, you hadn't seen him in nearly two months. It was the longest it'd gone since coming to visit.

Around Christmas of the following year, and he hadn't come to see the graves... and you knew that for certain. Not only did you not cross paths with him, but there were no flowers at the graves.

Could it perhaps be that he's trying to move on?

Or maybe something happened to him?

You hated to think of the possibility that the stranger could've given up, moved away, or died himself.

Worse, it made your heart ache...

So you made a choice. One of those times before you went in to clean another grave, you stopped by the florist around the corner.

Dropping nearly as much money as he usually did in a gigantic arrangement, a couple of candles, you wobbled into the cemetery again.

-

Simon Ghost sat on his bed in the shitty flat he was renting from a nice old lady who didn't ask too many questions.

It was barely a flat, more so a cramped tin of sardines that the council allowed to be called a 'studio' because it had enough space to fit a bed, a counter, fridge and stove, and had an attached bathroom.

He had just gotten clearance from the military hospital to be able to walk around without his crutches and just his cast boot, and good thing too.

Christmas had been days ago and he hadn't gone to visit the graves just yet... he could feel the need to see them scratching in the back of his head, trying to get out, digging into his bowns..

After succeeding in tying the laces on his regular boot, he pushed himself up to his feet, a bit shaky and unsure as he attempted to shift his weight around.

But, after succeeding, he wobbled over to his small wardrobe, grabbing his usual hoodie and scarf combo, pulling them on.

He pondered about opening a window to air out the flat, the scent of hair bleach and chemicals still lingering in the air... But he decided against it.

He left the flat and locked the door, then carefully limped his way to the bus stop beside his block of flats.

...

It was already getting dark when he made it to the cemetery and past the gate, carefully limping his way to the graves.

He looked around the graveyard with narrowed eyes, seeking you out. He wondered if you were around, if you were also looking for him, or if you didn't even notice he had been gone.

Had he still been Simon, he would've already gone up to you, struck up a conversation... and he would now too, joke about how he'd been 'slacking off', mutter some nonsense of 'working hard/hardly working'...

And yet he wasn't Simon.

'Simon' was buried in the grave he was going to now visit and, unlike the rest of the Riley family, he was getting no pity.

Not like mum, Beth, Tommy and Joseph... And yet no one but Ghost was ever there to pity them, to mourn them. And once he was gone, no one would even remember them.

They deserved better than what they got. They didn't what happened to them. They didn't deserve a death that gruesome...

And t was thanks to Simon that they were dead in the first place. He didn't deserve any pity.

Ghost would not mourn Simon. Ever.

...

And yet, as he approached the graves, the large arrangement he always brought with him, tucked under his arm, Ghost stopped in his tracks.

A beautiful light arrangement sat in the same exact spot he usually placed his own... right between Tommy's and mum's headstones. It was light and feminine and... cute. A stark difference to his own, dark and moody.

He crouched in front of the graves, setting aside his own arrangement and, very carefully so, running a trembling hand over the petals of the flowers. Fresh, not just from the recent rain, but from being a recent addition. Maybe only a day or two old.

A mix of pink and white carnations, an overwhelming amount of baby's breath, and some kind of herb stems wrapped around them.

Carefully, Ghost plucked one of the stems of the herb and brought it up to his nose to smell it. The scent of chemicals from his hair bleach didn't make identifying the scent any easier, but, after a moment, he realized it was rosemary.

Rising to his feet and looking around once more, Ghost sought you out again, trying to find the sight of you hunched over, scrubbing away at one headstone or another. No sign of you.

Looking down at the graves again, his eyes got drawn to something out of the corner of his eye. A small statue that had not been bought by him, leaning against Beth and Joseph's shared grave.

A brown ceramic teddy bear... with a baby blue ribbon around his neck.

Just like the one he'd bought in a Poundland when coming back from deployment, in a hurry, after Tommy had called him to let him know Beth had gone into labour... not wanting to show up empty-handed at the hospital.

It had become Joseph's favourite toy, he'd sleep holding it, would drag it along behind him as he learned to walk, and would take it to kindergarten every day.

"Fuck..." Ghost hissed as he fell to his knees in front of the graves, his fingers digging into the wet grass and his eyes closing as his whole form was racked by sobs.

-

You didn't know how long he'd been there. But he was soaking wet, dripping all over, on his hands and knees, hiccuping and crying at the foot of the graves.

You noted the way his leg was in a cast inside a black boot, which helped ease your worries that he hadn't given up on coming, he'd just been unable to for a while.

Swallowing your fear, you bounded up to him, holding your umbrella protectively over the two of you as you stopped by his side.

He looked the smallest you'd ever seen him...

Taking a deep breath, you slowly crouched beside him and placed a hand on his broad shoulder, feeling him shudder, his breath hitching, audible even through the wind and the aggressive pitter-patter of the rain on your umbrella.

"Breathe... It's okay..." You murmured as you looked at him. "Breathe."

The man took a deep, ragged breath, shuddering with each one, his arms, impossibly strong, trembling and struggling to hold him above the grass which was now essentially more mud than grass.

"I'm sorry if I overstepped." You murmured and tilted your head so you could peek below his hoodie, to check on him.

Bad choice on your part, because only then did you notice that his scarf had been loosened by him, to allow him to breathe, revealing his face.

He was deformed, badly so. His cheeks were hollow and cut through by a jagged Glasgow smile, and his skin so red and blemished, you'd think he had been burned alive at one point in his life.

Those were no ordinary scars... from a small injury, or an accident... They were too precise, not random... Those were... inflicted on him.

He didn't reply, nor did he try to cover his face or turn away, he just shuddered more, hiccuping and sniffling amidst his tears.

"I hadn't seen you in a while..." You told him gently. "I was... worried that you'd never come back." You admitted. "So... I figured I should look after them for you."

He gulped, audibly so, deep in his throat. For a while he didn't speak though his lips pushed and pulled like he was chewing on his cheek, looking for how to answer.

"Thank you." He murmured, his voice gruff and raspy, the words sounding like they had been eating away at him, gnawing at his bones.

"Do you... want me to toss it all out?" You asked slowly, watching as he thrashed his head side to side and sniffled again, hissing through clenched teeth.

"N-No..." He replied and took a hulking breath, like it was the most difficult thing he'd ever done.

"Okay..." You added and nodded solemnly. "Want me to help you up... because of your foot?" You offered.

"No... I've got it." He added with a nod and swallowed the lump in his throat as he closed his hands into fists to keep himself from lying on the dirt.

You paused and looked between him and the graves. "I'll leave you be, then..." You replied and turned to collect your cleaning supply caddie from the path beside you...

Only for one of his hands to suddenly catch your bicep and stop you, which caused you to freeze. "Stay..." He pleaded as you slowly turned to face him again.

His face was turned toward you as well. His eyes were red and swollen from crying, his nose had a deviated septum, and his whole face was riddled with scars and blemishes...

And yet those brown eyebrows of his... and those brown eyes... the way they stared at you... Sorrowful, afraid, hurt but... warm... You remembered seeing them, in that fucking obituary notice months ago...

Sure he was a blonde and very deformed but... this was Simon Riley.

You were looking a dead man right in the eyes.

[fishermanshook]

Bonjour Bonsoir

May I request headcanons for Andrew Kreiss where he has to protect the person he has feelings for in a match ? Like all fluffy and stuff !

Thanks !

Of course I can do that for you!

You first, Your Body Second. (grave keeper x gn!reader)

Roxman_ on Pinterest

I've been writing for idek how long now and I still f up grammar and spelling. Warning as always.

What is love? And what lengths would you go to protect the ones you do?

But you don't have to worry about that. Not when you've got the Gravekeeper to protect you from the dangers that present themselves in every match you play in.

He'll keep you safe, always and forever.

-

The Grave Keeper has only felt so much love in his life, which really only amounts to a couple specs of sand. He can't wrap his head around the concept of it all-let alone the feeling of it.

Out of all places to fall head over heels in, he had to in this hell hole? Nobody expects it, and it's surely a surprise to all who welcome the feeling.

Which is something that Andrew doesn't do at first. The poor boy doesn't think he is anywhere near deserving of all the love and attention you give him.

Andrew hasn't differentiated the difference between being generally kind to going out of your way to do something for someone who's developed a crush. He knows what he feels, but can't figure out if your trying to tell him you reciprocate these undying feelings.

He's new to love, having been void of it for almost all his life he's forced to take baby steps. But for you? It'll be worth it.

-

Your one and only game today is a regular match, thank gosh.

None the less, you find yourself chatting it up with the Grave Keeper. The others cannot fathom the fact that you seem to be the only one in the manor who could keep up a regular conversation with the man. But to the two of you, this is just another chat.

It was weird y'know, how quickly the two of you seemed to click. Out of all the Survivors, you find him the easiest to talk to. It's so easy to find tranquility in each other's presence that you lose track of time. (You and Andrew may or may not have accidentally been late to a couple matches because of this.)

The Grave Keeper has told you more about his life than he's told anyone else. You've excepted him for who he is, scars and all.

It's more than enough for the man to catch feelings.

He isn't entirely sure how to show it though, but maybe this match will be the perfect time to demonstrate it.

-

"Two ciphers left!" The Priestess shouts into her radio which allows the rest of the team to know to keep up the pace. She's stuck having to take over the kiting while she bides time for the Doctor to self heal herself, which shouldn't take long.

You're halfway through decoding your cipher before you hear the sound of teleporting, you're soon greeted with the sly smile that belongs to no one but "Fool's Gold". Seems the hunters changed targets.

"Shit," you mutter into the radio as you quickly throw down a pallet, almost risking a hit. "Hunter's here, continue decoding at all costs!"

For the rest of the decoding period, you weave your way through pallets and windows. Unfortunately, you take a hit which leaves blood pouring from your back and you in excruciatingly pain.

In the distance, you see a blurry figure with hair white as snow running towards you.

"Fuck, Andrew? Andre you've got to get out of here-"

Your voice is cut off by Andrew picking you up and slinging you over his shoulder.

"Wait are you seriously going to kite with me on your shoulder?"

"Of course not, I'd never risk you getting more hurt than you already are now. Just hold in there, I won't let you get hurt again, I promise." Andrew says as he makes a mad dash across the map. You soon see a glowing blue and black portal.

"Go now, I'll take over the kiting."

"Andrew no I can't let you do tha-" Your voice is silenced (again...) from Andrews lips on yours.

Does it catch you off guard? Yes. But you soon lean into the quick peck, rapping your arms around his neck.

"Mh, Darling I'd love to continue but I'd rather you be safe okay?" With another quick peck on the lips, the Grave Keeper helps you through the portal, which is quickly destroyed by "Fool's Gold's" pickaxe.

"I'll see you soon, my love."

-

The whole match seemed to have been an entire blur. Even while you got bandaged up and the entire team was able to get out you still can't comprehend what just happened moments earlier.

I guess that confirms my suspensions then... You say to yourself as you make your way back to your dorm room. Only to be stopped when you feel a strong hand grip your shoulder, turning you around.

"H-hey, um, how are you?" Andrew stutters and stumbles over his words, obviously worried about the move he pulled on you earlier.

"Hi Andrew. I'm doing more than okay, how are you feeling?" You ask him with a smile tugging on your lips as you rock back and forth on your heels.

"I'm d-doing okay, uh, so-" You cut off Andrew with a kiss to the lips. Honestly you've been waiting too long to do this.

He leans into the kiss, putting his hands on your hips and you rest your arms around his neck. The kiss is slow but passionate and secretly sends him over the edge with happiness.

He promised to protect you, and for the first time in your life, you know you can count on it.

note: No, I am not an Andrew fan. No, I do not know why I made this fic so long. Yes this does suck ass but you still read it so (THIS IS SO OOC IM SORRY) (This is so ass what the heck)

©️2023 fishermanshook — do not steal, translate, plagiarize, or repost my work on any other platform

[ch6douin]

Andrew witnessing tiny plush Andrew being scolded by player.

Player: you little scoundrel have you been digging up the potted flowers inside?!

Plushie!andrew, got dirt on him: :<

Player, holds plushie!andrew like a baby: oh my sweet, i know you like digging but you gotta do it outside my love. I love you my sweet little man but please don’t do it again.

Player, gives him a gentle lil forehead kiss on the plushies giant head: ❤️

Plushie!andrew: :<

Andrew, witnessed the whole thing kiss and everything, hiding behind corner, gripping chest, very confused and unsure how to feel. Does that mean player likes him?!, escapes to his room to think about this for the rest of the day.

I'm not really a fan of babying the plushies too much and all but you go !!! (Also why the would he dig the potted flowers? Is he trying to bury the competitors? lol)

PS: Plushie Andrew gets easily offended if called any derogatory name, if you do call him a scoundrel you may or may not get hit by his tiny shovel and then see him tiptoe away.