brison

Season 1! Andrew is into pet play, except you're not a puppy, nor a kitty, not even a bunny, no you're some animal from the nature docs he watches (you're a lion cub, a deer, fuck it he might even make you a bear cub)

Season 1! Andrew definitely has OCD and I think since his brothers and Smurf never really supported him emotionally he resents himself. His self hatred of his OCD turns into him projecting it onto reader! Bonus points if you have any sensory sensitivity because he will absolutely use it against you to satisfy his sadistic nature and self hatred (he's a multitasking queen)

Season 1! Andrew doesn't necessarily have a piss kink BUT he finds amusement in making you hold your piss. And when he finally lets you go pee, he'll randomly tell you to hold it, and of course you listen, cause you'd rather bear the pain of discomfort before being punished by someone like Andrew

Season 1! Andrew isn't really a violent person per se, he just enjoys testing the boundaries of others and seeing them squirm (especially if it's you)

Season 1! Andrew isn't into incest exactly, but he loves relationships where there are blurred lines (I will not elaborate on this one, do with it what you will)

Season 1! Andrew LOVES manhandling you. He's not big on inflicting pain on you (choking, slapping, impact etc) but he LIVES for shoving you, pinning you down, even dragging you

Season 1! Andrew is actually into period blood. He likes the extra lubrication factor and the color of it. He may or may not write on your skin with it, or simply watch it exit your body. He's kinda a sick fuck.

Season 1! Andrew loves watching nature docs with you sat between his legs on the floor. He'll run his fingers through your hair (if it's soft) or he'll rub your shoulders, occasionally just holding you by the back of the neck (not unlike an owner holding their dog's collar so it won't wander off)

Season 1! Andrew loves the ideas of having control or authority over another individual, especially if they remind him of his younger self (bonus points if reader is neurodivergent, or bullied/abused as a child)

Season 1! Andrew is into gender play but doesn't know it. This ties into his desire for control and authority. He may force you to dress, act, or partake in things men would do ESPECIALLY if they're things you're not used to doing. He dresses you in boxers, randomly tells you to square your shoulders, makes you flex in the mirror, roughs you up like you're a boy, etc. Bonus points if reader does all these things with slight confusion and discomfort in her eyes.

Season 1! Andrew is hyper aware of many things, reader being one of them. He knows every small quirk about her, and knows very well what her sensory sensitivities are. He keeps them in mind to use them sadistically later on, but he would never use it in a way that would make reader immediately melt down. He enjoys pushing/testing her, not distressing her.

Season 1! Andrew freaks the fuck out if anyone even TRIES to push you to do anything or is rude to you. He carries the belief that he knows what's best for you and only he can push you

Season 1! Andrew and Reader have a confusing relationship. They're not dating, but they only fuck each other. It's codependent because they rely HEAVILY on each other emotionally, but they're not physically affectionate nor do they speak fondly of each other.

Season 1! Andrew and Reader know each other's weaknesses and strengths. They understand each other in a way that's unique to them, and frankly, it disturbs others

Season 1! Andrew has pet names for Reader, but they're often said with condescension, or they're just not cute pet names at all (Buck, Kid Sweetheart)

There was a lump in Andrew's throat that he couldn't seem to swallow. His eyes zoned out, looking down at the shower drain while water sprayed from above. He looked beautiful like this— sunset hues beaming through the bathroom window, setting his otherwise auburn hair ablaze into a fiery red, droplets glistening as they traveled down his defined torso, and his freckles much more prominent than usual. However, ogling your boyfriend was far from enjoyable with his current state. 

"Andrew?" you call out. It had been a long day for you and all you wanted was to finish it off with the comfort of your boyfriend and his home. 

Nothing. His hazel irises lackluster, breathing abnormally sharp, and entire body rigid. You ached in desperation to shake him from his daze. Peeking your head into the bathroom doorway, you weigh your options. Instead of speaking, you slowly step towards him.

Similar to how an individual might approach a stray dog, your feet softly pad towards the shower. The second your hand swings the foggy glass door open, Andrew flinches at the sound. It looked instinctual when his hand went yanking a towel to cover his crotch. Once recognition washes over,his jaw goes lax, but the tension remained dormant in his body. A comforting smile spreads across your face as he shuts off the water with a stiff motion. 

"Didn't mean to startle you…you didn't come to bed last night," you mention gently. 

It had become a ritual for the two of you. After a long week of errands, work, personal affairs, and simply adulting, you liked to dedicate your weekends to spend time with Andrew. He so Friday's consisted of you going straight to his place, having whatever he cooked for dinner, and then sleeping together in his bed. So for you to have fallen asleep alone, and then to wake up to find that he never came to bed at all was…alarming to say the least. 

Andrew's brows furrow and then unravel, not responding right away. He was sensitive when it came to the routines that he had; sleeping no exception. The only sound for a long moment being the last couple drips from the faucet. The silence, you've come to learn over the course of your relationship, is a form of self regulation for the older man. 

"Didn't wanna…bother you. You looked comfortable," he finally mutters. 

"Sweetheart, it's your bed," you giggle. "How would you be bothering me?" you question with a tilt of your head. 

Andrew's jaw flexes in discomfort, and he shifts to wrap the towel around his waist; making an effort to keep his penis covered. This doesn't go unnoticed by you, but you decide not to mention it. You settle on reaching out your hand to thumb at his cheekbone. 

"I was dirty," is all he says, averting his gaze even though he was leaning into your touch. 

"That's okay…you could've come to bed anyways, or we could've slept on the couch like last time. I don't mind if you're a little worn from the day," you jest. 

"No." he blurts "I'm dirty…I'm not…I'm not clean," he mutters shakily. 

You look down at his hands and they're about as shaky as his voice. In an attempt of comfort, you reach to place your hands over the rough, trembling ones before you. The second skin contact is made, Andrew violently rips his hands away, turning his face away. 

"Hey…Sweetheart…you're not dirty. I promise you, you're not okay? You just showered, you smell perfectly fine, I'm sure you scrubbed yourself thoroughly like always. We can get your old soap if you'd like," you suggest, attempting to cradle his face once again. He brushes your hands away, causing you to raise your hands in surrender. 

"No! This…this isn't about some soap. You're not…you're not listening! I'm dirty! I am dirty!" his voice climbs in volume the longer he speaks.

With wild eyes, his spine jolts up and begins pacing frantically. All his body seems to be capable of doing is shaking it's head no and pacing the same pattern within the small space of his bathroom. The way he clings that towel to his pelvis causes one of your brows to raise. 

"Baby-" you begin, but that pet name he was all too familiar with stirred him up further. You didn't realize your mistake as it fell from your lips, but the damage was already done. 

His nails now dig into his arms repetitively, causing deep crescents to litter his forearms. He mumbles the same words:Baby, Smurf, No, and Stop under his breath over and over in no particular order. He seems to be speaking to himself more than you. Those hazel irises of his become consumed by his pupils erratic pulsing.

"Shit sorry, Sweetheart…yeah good job…just keep looking at me, okay?" you whisper, an attempt to ground him. 

Those hazel eyes met yours as his pacing slows, now staring wide-eyed and desperate, silently begging you for guidance. For help. You have to grab at your thighs to prevent yourself from reaching out and holding him. 

"Yeah…there you go," you repeat with a nod.

Andrew then nudges his face into your chest with a whimper. Your hands hover uncertainly, not knowing if it was okay to touch him yet.

"M'sorry…s-so sorry I yelled," he apologizes as he nuzzles his face into your neck now. "Hold me…" he pleads while his burly arms squeeze around your torso, cheek flush against the slope of your shoulder, and his nose nuzzled into the side of your neck. 

"I know…I know…talk to me, hm?" you hum, finally holding him and running your fingers through his damp curls. 

"Don't patronize me," he croaks, yet he can't seem to let you go. 

You lightheartedly roll your eyes and huff out a sigh. This was a reoccurring dilemma where you would attempt to comfort Andrew, and he would interpret it as you mocking him. No matter how many times you reassured him, whenever the man was wound up emotionally, he fell back into old patterns. It was a belief instilled by the Cody matriarch that was about as reversible as a stain in a white tee shirt; it may never go away, but there's a chance it'll fade overtime. 

"Andrew…" you huff exasperated. 

He sniffles once and his grip on your waist becomes bruising. 

"Sorry…" he whispers, realizing what he said. 

"Will you talk to me? I'm getting worried," you press. 

He peers up at you through his wet lashes with the most adorable pout painted on his lips. Your heart fluttered at the sight and you could not resist brushing away a stray tear with your thumb. The gesture causes him to bashfully look away. Then, he rises to his full height, pulling away from your embrace. He looked so…small. Using such a word to describe the eldest born Cody seemed like an oxymoron. Yet, with him standing before you: eyes glossy, bottom lip wobbling, and face flushed, you couldn't ignore the innate desire to nurture him. 

With you, he felt like his identity of Pope Cody was an alter ego. With you, he was plain old Andrew. That's why the thought of sharing his murky past terrified him. He feared that the more you learned about his history, the quicker you'll run away from him. The quicker you'll run away from Pope; the unsettling, atypical weirdo that scared the shit out of people. He just wanted to be your sweet Andrew and nothing more. He would choose being a nobody over a Cody if it meant he could lead a life with you. 

"You love me?" he asks shyly. His face uncertain, but the way he was vulnerably laying out his heart made you believe that some part of him trusted that you cared for him. And Andrew's trust didn't come easy. 

Without hesitation you nod, cupping his freckled cheek in your hand. Carefully cradling his face with the fragility that you feared he may break if not held correctly. Once you press your lips light and lovingly to his forehead, you answer his question. 

"Wholeheartedly," you confirm. 

Suddenly, Andrew reaches for the tucked part of the towel wrapped around his waist. His movements are sluggish and hesitant, but there's a spark of determination in his eyes that really captures your attention. You provide the space he so desperately needs to reveal what has been buried for decades in the darkest parts of his subconscious. And when he freezes after barely untucking the towel, you're not sure what the shaken man is trying to convey. You suspect this is his way of trying to address your lack of a sex life. Except, you told him that you didn't mind going slow, especially since prison impacted his libido. 

"Sweetheart…I told you it's okay…I know you're not ready to have sex yet-" you begin, but he raises a hand, signaling for you to pause. You bite your tongue and nod for him to continue. 

Your eyebrows raise in curiosity as his towel slowly falls down his hips. The immediate thing you notice is how unusually bare below his navel is. It's flawlessly smooth and naked of any pubic hair. Mentally, you rationalize it as another manifestation of Andrew's particular nature. 

Then, he reveals his manhood and your hand immediately flies over your mouth. His shaft looked almost grotesque; littered with these round, discolored bumps one may mistake as an infection of sorts. Your brows furrow, and before your brain can formulate a theory as to what you're looking at, he brings your train of thought to a halt. You saw the way his bottom lip was already beginning to wobble, and how any second he might burst. 

"Cigarettes…" he chokes out before clearing his throat. "When I was little…every time she would put them out…w-wet myself," he grunts through strained breaths, tears pooling in his hazel eyes. 

Something overtakes his body and he practically collapses. You attempt to catch him, but in the end, his weight takes you both down. With all the strength a woman of your stature can muster, you pull him into your arms and Andrew lets out cries so pained, you can only assume he's been holding them in for years. With a heaving chest, he gasps for air in between sobs and tears freely flow down his face, the hot tears dropped along your arms and neck. All you can do is cradle him into your arms on this cold floor and pet his oh so soft coils, scratching his scalp every few strokes. 

"Oh my…" you whisper. "What did she do to you, Sweet Boy?" you ask earnestly. 

Your motherly tone seemed to evoke more sadness from the man. He let out a squeak that you could only imagine is what little Andrew sounded like crying for help. 

"M-made me…sit in my wet diap-pers…t-touched me-" he chokes out with the occasional hiccup, then an un-involuntary whine slips out. "Would use m-me…my m-mouth" he adds breathlessly. He attempts to say more but lets out a strangled noise as if speaking physically hurt him. You shush him soothingly and pull his head closer to your chest. His ear pressed against your welcoming chest, and the sound of your heart beating seemed to calm him. 

"Just breathe…" you lull him. 

Eventually, after many guided deep breaths and whispered affirmations, Andrew manages to recount the horrors of his childhood. He tells you of the horrific routine Smurf put him through: him wetting himself due to overwhelming anxiety, the witch of a woman making him sit in his filth before she would violate him, and then putting out her cigarette on his genitals as punishment for "getting too excited". It absolutely horrified you. It angered you. Most of all, your heart felt overwhelmingly heavy. You were devastated. The thought of your Andrew experiencing that. Your Sweetheart. Your loving, thoughtful, and loyal Andrew being exploited when he was a wee little boy made you sick all over. You had to fight the tears that threatened to fall at the mere idea of that small boy being taken advantage of. 

"Oh my goodness…" is all you say. 

You rub at his back, pulling the towel back over his trembling figure. 

"I know that…that it's gross and that…I know that it'd probably get in the way so…" he utters, sounding humiliated. 

"Andrew…nothing about your body could ever disgust me. You're only human. I love even the parts of you that aren't pretty, okay? You deserve to feel good in every way," you reassure him with a firm kiss to his temple. 

He lays there, unmoving, except for his back rising and falling with each breath. You continue to pet his head as he clings to you. He seems to zone out for a long moment, and you just patiently wait for him to come back, ignoring the ache in your lower back. 

"I hate my body," is all he says after a long while. 

You continue rubbing his back, letting out a hum to encourage him to continue. 

"It's never…clean. No matter what I do," his breath shudders on the last word. 

His eyes widen and he curls in on himself. His face begins to trembles and tears pool in his eyes again. His nails resume digging crescents into his forearms. 

"I…I just want to be clean. I try…I scrub and I rinse and I scrub and I rinse and nothing. Nothing! NOTHING!" he shouts, slamming his palm against his forehead repeatedly. 

He begins to scratch at himself, streaks of red puffing up along his skin. Your arms snake around his torso and you hold him as tight as your body will allow you to. The tears you've been keeping at bay finally slip out, struggling to keep up your strong front for him. More pained cries escape his lips, writhing in discomfort. You see him restraining himself from abusing his body, hands awkwardly contorting. 

"Sweetheart…I'm right here…I'm right here," you whisper, nuzzling against his temple.

He nods shakily before turning to bury his face in your chest again. 

Eventually, his breathing evens out and he pulls away, loosely hugging his knees to his chest. With eyes full of resentment, he stared between his legs at his flaccid phallus lying on the tile floor. There was a slight snarl on his face as he silently criticized his organ. You kneel in front of him, placing a gentle hand along his calf, rubbing up and down. 

"Is this what it was about?" you ask, and when he doesn't respond you elaborate. "Your…scars…is this why you didn't want to have sex?" 

"It's part of it…" he says after a moment. "Prison killed my sex drive…but I didn't really have one to begin with. Sex has always been…weird for me. I do it because I'm supposed to. It's like…everything else I do. I do what I'm supposed to," he mumbles, speaking in that unrhythmic cadence of his. 

"Well…do you ever want to have sex?" you ask. 

"Of course I do…you like to have sex so," he begins. 

"No, don't think about that. Without thinking about what I want, do you ever want to have sex?" you probe. 

"I don't know," he admits slowly. 

As the words fell from his lips, he seemed shocked they escaped. It was as if it was meant to stay as a thought. 

"Well that's okay. I don't want you to ever do something you're not comfortable with for the sake of me," you assure him. 

"I'd do anything for you though," he confesses. 

"Sweetheart…I know you would, but I never want to exploit that. I would never take advantage of your trust, but I need you to let me know when you're uncomfortable." you explain, pushing his curls back. 

"I…It's not that I don't like it. It feels good, but I just…I'm used to prostitutes I guess. It's always for something…" he mutters. 

"For something?" you repeat. "How do you mean, Sweetie?"

"My brothers or…Smurf…pay women to do it. I haven't really…been with many women. Not intimately. They always make me do stuff…" he complains. 

"Hm…like they tell you what to do?" you question, brushing back his curls again. 

He shrugs and a long pause is all you get in response. You realize he's told you as much as he's wiling. 

"Alright, Sweetie," you sigh. "Can I see something?" you whisper softly, hand hovering over his back. 

He nods weakly. You pull back the towel to really take in his battered manhood. It was just awful. The welted, raised skin, the discoloration and hyper-pigmentation. Simply looking at the site made your skin crawl. Yet, despite all the scars of abuse that littered his privates, your attraction didn't waiver. With the look on Andrew's face though, all he could seem to do is wallow in self disgust. 

"Hate it," he repeats, voice now hoarse.

Your heart broke further when he nuzzled his cheek against your thigh. The man who maintained such a stoic front was now baring his true self to you, and as painful as it was to watch, you were humbled that he trusted you enough to fall apart like this. It was so human in a way that was raw and ugly; something you could only admire if you truly cared for an individual. To love them at their most vulnerable was an act that could only be executed by love. 

"You're beautiful, Andrew," you whisper. "This doesn't change how good I could make you feel…if it's something you want I can make it happen," you coo, grazing his bare thigh with your nails. 

The hairs on his body began to raise. Your touch excited the man, how could it not? With the feeling of arousal though, disgust always came with it as well. For Andrew, the two things went hand in hand. The very act of sex was the most primal thing in his eyes. He'd seen it in the many nature documentaries he's watched. To Andrew, sex was something animalistic. It was something people simply do to channel their primitive instinct to reproduce. 

"I feel so gross…" he whines, and it scratches at a certain part of your brain. 

He then hides his face in your belly, and that sparks something in you. This desire— no, this absolute need to protect him. 

"The tingling, the heat…I just…think of what she did and I feel disgusting," he mutters. "Clearly my body wants it though," he grumbles, looking down at the semi that formed from your touch. 

"Hey, none of that," you tilt his chin to look up at you. "This only happens if and when you want it to. Your body is just a response system, it doesn't speak for you. You either wants this or you don't, and I'll love you the same either way, alright?" you say. 

"I…" he begins before letting out a sigh and nodding. 

"I need words, Big Boy," you say softly.

Andrew doesn't even want to begin addressing why that pet name causes his cock to stir. 

"I want you. I want it," he whines. 

"Want what? I'm not a mind reader, Sweetheart," you tilt your head. 

"Want your hands on it! I want you to touch me, but be gentle please," he whimpers out the last of his sentence. 

Your pupils widen at how pathetic he has become. It's utterly adorable. Tears prick at his wide puppy eyes, his bottom lip pink and puffy, nose flushed red, and blood rushing to his shaft. He looked so vulnerable, so weak, so innocent, yet so sinful. Slowly, your nails graze his pectoral before traveling downwards. This ignites a burning in his nether region, and a choked whine vibrates in his throat. You lightly graze his navel, then the base of his shaft before gently wrapping your hand around it. With pursed lips, a thin, clear string of saliva drips from your mouth and onto his cock. He lets out a hiss as you stroke him once. 

"This okay?" you purr. 

All he can do is nod and let out a whine, gasping out repeated ah ah ah's as you stroke him faster. Pre begins leaking, glistening as it dribbles down his tip. With every stroke the skin on his tip rolls back, sheathing and unsheathing his cock head. 

"I didn't know you were uncut," you tease. 

He looks up at you, desperate for validation, it seemed. 

"Is it okay?" he asks with wide eyes. 

"More than okay. You're perfect," You smile at his eagerness to please.

He grunts, eyes squeezing shut when your grip tightens. 

"I-it's so sensitive," he cries.

Your hand immediacy pauses. 

"Do you want to stop?" you ask worriedly. 

He shakes his head frantically, hips bucking upward to follow your hand. 

"Keep- keep going," he grunts. 

You let out a laugh before continuing your ministrations. 

"So bossy," you giggle. 

He mutters out a half hearted "sorry" as he rolls his hips up to meet your hand. God, he couldn't remember the last time he was touched by another woman intimately. He was so used to transactional sex that this, the love in your touch, made him feel like a fucking virgin all over again. The way your hand was moving wasn't just to make him finish, no your were dragging it out for him. You wanted him to ride the wave of pleasure, not just climax as quick as possible. 

"L-love you so much, so fucking much, fuck," he gasps, clinging to your forearm with a steel grip. Hips bucking ferociously. As much as he was enjoying this, it felt too good for him not to chase his orgasm. 

"I love you too, Big Boy," you coo. 

And it was those words that made him let out a pornographic moan and spurts of cum shoot out his cock. It was obscene really, the amount that came out. It's as if he hasn't touched himself in a long long time. With tears streaking down his pick flushed face he whispers "iloveyou iloveyou iloveyou" over and over like a mantra. 

So he was a crier when he came. Cute.

"Goood Job Sweetie," you praise, petting his hair.

Andrew just curls up timidly, cuddling as close to you as physically possible. He was spent, covered in his sweat, and cum painted across his tummy. Your heart fluttered at the site of him sniffling, his body trembling with every sucked in breath. Andrew, your Andrew who hid himself from you for so long, let you make him feel good. When he finally sits up, it's to nuzzle his face into your neck, hugging you like you slip between his fingers if he doesn't. 

"Sweetheart wait-…geez you got yourself all over me," you huff, not annoyed, but inconvenienced. 

He nuzzles into your neck further, his climax now smeared all over your shirt. His apology a weak "sorry". You let it slide considering how distressed and pent up he was. Letting him bask there in your lap, despite his weight crushing you, seemed like the least you could do for your frazzled boyfriend. After a while, you shake him slightly. 

"C'mon, let's get you cleaned up," you guide him up to his feet, ushering him back to the shower. 

"Yeah…" it comes out raspy, so he clears his throat. "Yeah okay," he nods.

Once he stands up, you can tell he's still shy, still hesitant, but no longer hiding his body from you. That inch of progress is enough for you to feel like maybe, just maybe, the scars that Smurf left on his heart weren't permanent. And for Andrew, he was starting to think that maybe he wasn't as damaged as he was made to believe. 

The rippling of the chlorinated water was about as mesmerizing as watching a dead goldfish try to swim. You stared at the deformed appearance of your submerged feet anyway. No matter how interesting you pretended your limbs were though, no matter how distracted you pretended to be, there was a set of eyes that were always watching, and nothing seemed to go unnoticed; Andrew Cody typically never missed anything. 

It had been going on for months now. Ever since you became friends with— and this wording always makes the older man cringe— his nephew J, you lingered. Much like the scent of pool water at the Cody residence. The same pool you regularly dropped by unannounced to use. Even in your absence, your mark has been left on the home in recent months. With your personal hygiene products in the bathroom, your undergarments somehow winding up in the family's laundry, and even your unfinished drinks that would sit in the fridge. It was undeniable that you've become a regular guest. Not that anyone minded. To Daren, Craig, and Baz; Andrew's brothers, you were simply another body in the house. 

Unbeknownst to you, the brothers' kept their distance from you in suspicion, worried you would relay what you heard to others. However, unbeknownst to them, you knew about as much as J did. J was your close friend so naturally, he confided in you about the "jobs" they would do. Quite frankly, you were the only person J could share such sensitive information with. Andrew knew that. He observed, borderline stalked, every reoccurring face at the Cody residence. With such obsessive analyzing, he gathered that you were aware of much more than you would ever let on. And that's what bothered him. Not just bothered, it unsettled him. 

It irked the man to no end that no one could see through your act. Why could no one see it? That's why he was watching you as closely as he currently was. In your peripheral, the man stood just in front of the sliding glass doors that led to the kitchen, arms crossed, brows low and furrowed. He observed with the same look one would give their skin once realizing their attempt to wash away the smell of chlorine failed. It was critical. It was disturbed even. In every flex of you legs, ever raise of your arms, every twitch, every movement, his suspicions heightened. There was irony in all of this with how unassuming you presented yourself. To the world you were simply a young woman breezing through her youth, modest enough to charm some people along the way. In Andrew's head though, he wasn't going to let some young woman be the downfall of his family simply because she was attractive enough to fly under everyone else's radar. 

"Andrew?" you test his name on your tongue. Loud enough for him to hear, soft enough for you to question whether his name really left your mouth. He didn't want to let his guard down so he stiffens, and grunts a "hm" out. 

"Why do you do that?" you ask curiously.

"Do what?" he counters. It's un-genuine. Flat. 

"Watch me every time I come around…What? You think I'm gonna drown or something? Are you gonna save me?" you attempt humor.

In the deep ginger-haired man's typical manner, he stares blankly. Not a single muscle twitches on his face. That certainly doesn't ease your anxieties from interacting with the eldest Cody one on one for the first time. 

"Tough crowd," you mutter flatly, but not unkind. 

"You think you're apart of this?" he squints, taking a territorial step forward. "You think because you're always around you're one of us?" 

Now that revives your amusement. A boyish smile spreads across your face. "Apart of what, Andrew?" you pry coyly. "Cause it sounds like to me you're implicating something." 

Unamused, he glares at you, standing his ground it seems. Not unlike a jaded dog that wasn't quick to trust. The pause of silence stretches, and once you realize he's not going to fill it, you continue. 

"Look, I'm not some lost little girl that's begging for validation. Let alone from a family as dysfunctional as yours, no offense. I'm not interested in what you all do, I'm interested in this and that," you point to the pool and the kitchen. 

His hazel eyes flit back and forth between your own. Analyzing. Assessing. "What's your deal? Huh? What are you really doing here?" he presses unconvinced, arms crossing over his broad chest.

You roll your eyes at his antics before picking up your drink that sat next you on the edge of the pool deck, continuing the swinging of your legs in the water. His figure shifts, no longer in your view point, and behind you the sound of boot soles meeting the concrete travels closer and closer. Your back suddenly goes cold, the warmth of the sun blocked, a shadow enveloping you and a warped reflection of the man's face ripples in the water. It's unwelcoming , of course. 

"Cut the shit…I know you're not stupid." he bites. 

You turn your body to look up at him, meeting his eyes. He has this annoyingly cautious gaze, like you're already guilty of whatever he's conjured up in his brain to accuse you of. 

His tense words are met with a sigh. "Andrew…I have an idea of what you guys do, I just don't give a shit."

He opens his mouth to argue, but it closes once yours opens. 

"Whatever sketchy shit you guys do in your free time is none of my business. I don't care. I don't want a cut. I don't wanna help." you sip your drink again before you partially turn your head to look at him and continue. "So…is there anything else you wanna grill me on, or can we get past this whole hostility phase?" you wonder, bored. 

He glares with pursed lips, the silence deafening, but you make it a point not to break it. It seemed to be a test. A stand off. One you wished to win because while you didn't care to impress others, the eldest brother's opinion was something you cared for. His mouth opens before he closes it, jaw ticking. 

A mischievous grin spreads across your face. "Refresh this while you think about it, yeah?" you joke, holding your glass out to him while swirling it a bit. He looks down at it with an unreadable expression before his gaze hardens once his eyes meet yours again. 

There's another long pause of utter silence. Surprisingly, he picks up your glass, and strides to the kitchen. Now it was your turn for your mouth to fall agape. It was a teasing gesture, you didn't expect him to actually do it. Yet your ego tells you to hold your head up high and enjoy the slight footing you were given. Even if Andrew was the one to give it to you. 

You turn your head and your brows furrow when he returns with two glasses, liquid within them a bright red. The older man holds one out to you. You squint at him cautiously before accepting it, hesitantly of course. Your eyes flick down at your drink—it was identical to the one you made earlier— and back up to him. The tension thickening as you take in his freckle peppered face through your lashes. 

"Did you slip me something, Andrew?" you inquire. This time not teasing, nor accusatory. You asked him in the same tone one would ask about the weather. And this he found adorable. He knows you're smart and wouldn't hang onto his every word, but he humors you regardless. "Course not" he mutters, and he's truthful when he says that. 

But of course, you knew better than to blindly believe the words of a man. So you dump the contents of the glass into the pool. With nonchalance, you set the cup back on the pool deck. This causes the corner of his mouth to twitch. 

"Smart girl," he drawls, giving you a curt nod of approval.

Your eyes graze up and down his body approvingly. His own eyes never leave your face though. It was more of an act of discipline on his end. Once your gaze reaches his face again, he sips his drink. The two of you staring at one another in a charged silence. His beverage looked the same as yours, something too fruity for his liking in your opinion. 

"How is it?" you grin. 

"Awful…it tastes like diabetes," he admits dryly before crouching down next to you to hand the drink off to you. A silent offer for you to finish it.

You giggle at his words which elicits a slight tilt of his head, much like an assessing dog. Decoding the reaction of a person in hopes of understanding. 

"What? You're funny" you muttered the words into the cup as you drank. 

Andrew was perturbed. Were you making fun of him? Mocking him in front of his face? No one found him "funny". Not unless they were laughing at his expense rather than at what he says. His face hardens as his ear tips redden in embarrassment, bracing himself to bite back. The man prepares to defend himself from your cruelty. That's until he meets your eyes again and sees the warmth in them. Your lashes flutter expectantly; not impatient, but curious. You're not soft, but you're genuine. He sees it. He feels it. You're kind, but far from naive. You're observant, but far from judgmental. It's the knowledge of that which relaxes the muscles in his face. 

"How did you know how I take my drink?" you question, amused.

You were patient, Andrew noticed. At least with him. You allowed him his pauses of silence to process things. He often got weird stares with how long he took to respond, but you waited with a curious head tilt. You seemed like the kind of person to prioritize meaningful conversation rather than filling silence with noise. You were a great listener, at least that’s what Andrew thought. You made him feel heard.

"I pay attention," he finally mumbles, scratching at his neck as he stands up again. It was automated. As if he was saying that because he knew it was the acceptable answer, as if the truth was something that he shouldn't share. 

That response makes you erupt in more laughter, but it's lighter this time. "You're adorable" you blurt out the words before you can overthink them. 

This time his neck and face are now equally as flushed as the tips of his ears. His hand that was once scratching his neck drops to his side, fingers beginning to twitch. His gaze travels to focus on something, searching for something to stabilize how unbalanced he felt. He lands on the water fountain he had previously assembled in the grass, searching for something to stabilize how unbalanced he felt. You notice the discomfort and decide not to acknowledge it, not wanting to add onto his discomfort. 

"Anyway…" you lazily trail off. "I know if you think I’m suspicious or untrustworthy, I can't change that…but I really don't have some crazy ulterior motive. Sure, J and I are good friends, but this…thing he's pursuing with you guys isn't exactly a passion of mine," you lamely explain. This doesn't land well with the curly haired man. 

"Everything I do is for my family," Andrew blurts. It's almost defensive if it weren't for how weak he said it. What the fuck was he saying? He didn't need to defend himself to you. Who cares what you think? Unfortunately for him, Andrew Cody does. Whether he consciously realizes it or not, his desire for forgiveness was beginning to bleed into this conversation. So much for him sussing you out.

You search his expression for a sign of what emotion his statement was loaded with. You expected anger, disdain, maybe even ego, an attitude of "you don't understand my backstory and why I do what I do." You end up finding nothing of that. Nothing even adjacent to any of those feelings is what you find. All you see is eyes full of hurt, they hope you understand, but expect you to kick him like an unwanted mutt. He braces himself for you to solidify his belief that he's a bad person. The vulnerability of it takes you aback. You don't want to ruin this moment or say the wrong thing. The last thing you want is to patronize him. 

"Is that something that you value?" you ask awkwardly, as if you're scared the question will anger him. After a moment of silence you clarify yourself out of nervousness. "Family…I mean." you add. 

"I know" he snaps out, voice raspy. He pauses to clear his throat before answering. "We all have our roles. I follow mine." he explains, aware of how vague and, frankly, lame it is. That's why his fingers twitch incessantly at his sides, sight zoned in on his water fountain. 

"Andrew…" you start, causing his head to snap back to you. Your eyes widened at how desperate his looked. His hazel eyes had this puppy like appearance to them. A helplessness that contrasted the carrier of them. His matured body the opposite of how uncertain his eyes appeared. He almost looked like a little boy begging for help. 

"Andrew, baby" the shrill of a familiar voice calls out from the kitchen. The man's entire body tenses up making you realize how relaxed he just was. Every ounce of vulnerability you managed to coax out evaporated the second the Cody matriarch spoke. His shoulders were practically to his ears. 

"What is it Smurf?" he asks gruffly, head half turning to call out behind him. 

"Why don't you go check on my car…it was making a noise earlier," she suggests, but neither you or Andrew is fooled by that tone. It was a demand. 

The freckled man clenches his jaw before begrudgingly walking off. He exchanged a look with you that you couldn't quite distinguish. It might've been a desire to stay put. It could've been a itch to argue with you. Before you can distinguish what it was, the gentle digging of nails into your shoulder grounds you back to Earth. 

"Sweetheart…it's best if you avoid talking to him alone…Pope can get quite…aggressive," Smurf warns. It almost sounds as if she genuinely cares about your well being and not her iron grip over her eldest born. 

You look at her cautiously. You search her face in hopes that her motive will appear on it. Of course that doesn't happen, but the woman continues. 

"Pope doesn't mean to hurt people, but he can't be trusted alone," she says. 

"I understand…" you lie through your teeth, hand tightening around your glass. 

"And it's best that you don't accept any of his…offerings," she whispers before patting your shoulder and slipping the drink from your hand. 

Your lips press into a thin line as she walks off. 

By the time you turn around to look at Andrew again, he's already staring at you. The entirety of his demeanor different from what it was just minutes ago. The warm auburn-haired man's eyes were heavy, darker in color almost. He knew you got the whole spiel of how he was "dangerous". While Andrew would never admit it, it hurt just the same each time he heard it. As you stared back at him, that look in his eyes came back. The subtle helplessness bubbling right beneath the rough surface. You realized in that moment you had an overwhelming urge to help the man. Not save him, not change him, not take care of him; you wanted to help him. This desire came out in the longing stare you unknowingly gave him. 

"You should probably go," he rasps, head tipping to lazily gesture towards the kitchen entrance. 

You hesitate, frozen in place as you internally fight between getting closer to him or leaving him to head inside. All you can muster is to stand up and give a curt nod. Your lips flatten into a thin line, making your internal dilemma as readable as an open book. Andrew liked that your expressions were so readable. It made you all the more disarming. God dammit, not even 30 minutes alone with you and he was already succumbing to your freakishly comforting nature. He was internally beating himself up over this. 

"Okay…" you squeak uncertainly. "uhm…the drink was good…thank you." 

His eyes softened slightly, but his face was still tense from Smurf's looming gaze through the kitchen. A hand comes up to scratch the bridge of his nose, and he pretends that he's rummaging through the tool box outside, it was next to the stack of bricks; product of his most recent house project. It's a lot of random motions of hands repeatedly taking out and putting back various tools. 

"Never take drinks from strangers…" he mumbles. His words sound dull, but there's that small change in his voice that tells you he's making a joke. You laugh. He can't remember the last time someone laughed at his jokes.

The older woman walks down the hallway, but not without giving her son a warning look. Yet, he brushes it off as he really took you in. Everything was noticed from the part of your hair, the nervous fluttering of your lashes, the way you nervously wring your hands, and even that endearing yet awkward face you made; eyes squinted in amusement and cheeks puffed out. In an attempt to express the most emotion he was capable of showing, Andrew's mouth twitches upward, and the corners of his eyes wrinkle just slightly. A smile almost. He found you adorable, he realized. 

You look down at the small puddle that formed below your feet, failing to bite your smile. "Bye Andrew…I'll see you at dinner," you attempt to say nonchalantly, but the older man can practically hear your smile. Finally, you wrap yourself in a towel, beginning to walk off while nervously chewing at your lower lip. His head turns just so with his brow raised. You were staying for dinner? After giving you a once over he mutters out a casual

"See ya"