summary: andrew cody has never been a man who smiles, not until you started waking him up by littering kisses onto every freckle on his face.
wc: 1.3k words
warnings: brief allusion to sex, just fluff basically
a/n: i was listening to olivia's new album and honeybee is so, so andrew coded. my baby just needed someone to love him. that's the fic. divider credits: @strangergraphics | soundtrack: honeybee by olivia rodrigo
For the first time in a very long time, Andrew Cody is dreaming.
The constant thrum in his head, the constant awareness that follows him even into unconsciousness, that thing that has spent years keeping him alive, all of it sits muted and distant for a few precious hours. Not gone entirely. It never really leaves him; it lives beneath his skin the same way his heartbeat does, a permanent thing, woven into him. But tonight it is quiet enough that he can ignore it.
And so he doesn’t dream often, no, but tonight he did.
Soft flashes of what transpired the night before, your face below him, looking up with reverence. Fingers threaded in hair as he pulsed gently inside you. The feeling of your soft fingers wiping his tears away as he finally stopped fighting the warmth rushing through him.
Comfort. Safety. Things Andrew has spent most of his life circling without ever quite touching.
When his body finally stirs into consciousness, he doesn't open his eyes. Instead, he feels.
Under the soft heat of the morning, something warm pressed against his side. Soft, familiar. It’s your body tucked against him, an arm draped around his waist, a leg over his, your face resting in the crook of his neck.
He can feel your soft breaths on his skin.
In, out. In, out.
He counts each one, eyes still closed.
One, two. One, two.
He isn't entirely sure how much time passes. A minute. Ten. Maybe more.
The rhythm settles somewhere deep beneath him, in that place where, over these last few months, something soft and molten has taken residence in his chest, unfurling beneath his ribs, spreading to heart. Finding solace there.
Andrew does not consider himself to be a man that smiles, that shows happiness through the muscles on face very often, not that he used to feel much of the emotion in the first place. Happiness was something that was something fragile, something transactional, something that could disappear the second he looked directly at it.
But now, he feels it. That flutter of joy he rarely ever felt with Julia, then momentarily with Cath, with Lena. And it’s brought on, by you.
The woman who lies tucked against him, trusting, her body pressed into his.
The course of the past few months has brought about stolen smiles, hidden beneath a soft snort, or pressed into your lips, smiling against your mouth.
He remembers your voice, the first time he'd let the muscles in his face soften, let them hold that gentle upturn.
“You’re so, so pretty Andrew.”
He'd fluttered his lashes, looking down, a pink hue spreading across his cheeks. Blushing.
Now, smiling is that much easier. Natural. The way it always seems to be around you.
Slowly, Andrew shifts closer, just enough that he can feel more of your warmth. He inhales the scent of your hair, of your skin. Pockets of intimacy he only allows himself when your eyes are closed.
Andrew closes his eyes and rests, lets your breathing guide him into that soft space between sleeping and being awake, that quiet place where warmth glows steadily beneath his chest.
In, out. In, out.
You feel his chest rising and falling under you, his breathing even, as you open your eyes. Seeing the peace on his face. The permanent tension that usually sits across his shoulders has disappeared, his jaw relaxed, mouth slightly parted.
You feel it bloom in your chest, love, swelling and beating. This man, who's spent every waking moment surrounded by violence and pain, is allowing you to rest against him, an arm wrapped protectively around you even in his sleep.
Carefully, you lift your head, brush a curl from his head.
Then, unable to help yourself, you lean forward and press a soft kiss against his temple.
Then the creases near his eyes.
Across his cheek.
His jaw.
You detangle yourself from his arms, shifting yourself over him, one hand resting on the bed beside him, hovering over his face. The other remains in his curls, thumb brushing gently against his temple.
His nose scrunches slightly, brows furrowing.
You smile, pressing a kiss in that crease.
His eyes finally begin to flicker open, tinged with sleepiness, the sort that's rested, calm.
They find yours immediately, your face hovering over his, close.
The furrow disappears, lips tilting up. Both his broad palms come up to encase your waist.
"What're you doin'?" he asks, voice gravelly and rough with sleep.
You grin wider.
"Counting your freckles.”
His eyes widen, morphing into that puppy-eyed confusion you adore. Your heart aches softly at the fact that he has never been privy to such mundane intimacy.
"Yeah?"
You nod.
"You have so many. They’re so pretty, Andrew."
And there it is again, that word only you seem to use to describe him with. Pretty.
A faint blush creeps across his face, pinkening the apples of his cheeks.
"Why?"
"Because I wanted to."
The simplicity of the answer catches him off guard, loosens something tight in his chest. You say it as though it's obvious. As though spending your morning sprawled over him, counting freckles and pressing kisses into his skin, is the easiest choice in the world.
The hand buried in his curls moves gently, slow circles against his scalp. His eyes flutter. He lets out something resembling a whimper.
"How many?" he asks quietly.
"Hmm." You tilt your head, pretending to think. "Maybe a hundred."
His eyes drop down to your mouth, his palms gripping your waist tighter.
"Think there's more than that.”
The words come out soft, shy. Hesitant. Still unfamiliar with this kind of intimacy even after all these months. But you've learned him. You've learned the language beneath his words, the way he hides meanings behind mundane words and questions, things he wants but struggles to ask for.
And right now what he wants is obvious.
So, you lean down and kiss his forehead again.
Then his cheeks.
His nose.
The corners of his mouth.
Your hand trails down to cup his jaw.
Immediately Andrew leans into it, nuzzling deeper into your palm, eyes staying on yours. He exhales softly, the sound almost a sigh.
Your heart aches, the good kind.
"My Andrew," you murmur, the words slipping out softly.
Andrew goes still. His lips press together tightly the way they do when he feels too much, that burst of something uncontrollable inside his chest. Too much. Usually anger, or jealousy, or grief.
For the first time, he allows himself to recognise it for what it is. Adoration.
He’s never been anyone’s before, not in the way you call him yours.
He's been Pope - the man who's Smurf’s son, his brothers' older brother, Julia's twin. Pieces of himself given away his entire life, bound by blood or circumstance.
But this is different. This is the first time somebody has come along and chosen him. Chosen him to be theirs.
Out of everybody in the world, you looked at Andrew, at his bruised hands, his scars, at everything broken and battered inside him, and said mine.
The realisation settles warmly inside his chest, in that space only you occupy, spreading until he can feel it beneath every rib, in his heart.
He tilts his head up, bringing a hand to the back of your head and guiding you closer, until your mouth is hovering just above his.
“Yeah?” he whispers. "Yours?"
You smile softly.
“Yeah, Andrew. Mine.”
Then he kisses you, a slow press of his lips against yours, lazy and unhurried, but filled with all the tenderness he can't make his mouth utter aloud.
You sigh into his mouth. He smiles into your lips.
And for the first time in his life, Andrew finds that he doesn't mind belonging to someone at all.
i have so many thoughts about little scenarios like this with andrew (i refuse to call him pope #sorry) and while i'm jobless and done with uni i may write a few based off songs from you seem so pretty for a girl in love, a little series of sorts perchance. #watchthisspace and give me ideas thank you
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summary: you're expecting a baby with your husband, Austin Butler
You didn't know what to feel, your brain couldn't possibly decide between excitement tinged with happiness or an infuriating heart attack. Even the act of going out to buy a pregnancy test made your hands jitter. Your breaths ere untamable, uneven, and you picked up the first one you saw and tossed it to the cashier. She gave you an unimpressed look as she chewed on her gum and scanned your article.
"Thank you," you mumbled in a hush and left as quickly as you had come in. Austin wasn't planned home until the evening, which meant that you had time to take the test, find out if you were pregnant as you predicted to be, and freak out, if necessary. An easy plan.
Your keys fell more than once as you desperately tried to get them to fit in the keyhole. You huffed and tried again and again, finally making your way inside of your home. "Good god." Your shoes slipped off your feet easily, your hands raising to brush sweaty strands of hair from your forehead. Then you spotted Austin's beat-up, good old, vintage boots.
"Oh fuck," you whispered to yourself.
"Babe?"
"No, no, no—" there was no way you'd be able to take that test with him in the house. You couldn't. You didn't know how you'd react, alone a man with a busy schedule booked three years ahead of him. His call for you received no response, so he stood up from the couch, his sock-covered feet thumping softly against the parquet. Austin's eyes lit up at the sight of you.
"Hello darlin'," he wrapped an arm around your elbow and inched you closer to him, kissing your lips with the outmost care and affection. You smiled into the kiss, your own hand trailing to fist the soft material of his sweater.
"You're home early," you noted with a small grin. "Did they kick you out? Couldn't remember your lines?"
Austin chuckled, his fingers squeezing your flesh. "No, I knew you were on the couch rewatching The Office, so I thought to join you. But you weren't home, which was a bummer," his brow arched in question. "Where'd you go?"
You felt your breath get stuck in your throat. "Uhm, I went out for... A walk. Yeah, I went out for a walk," you stammered, feeling crimson heat crawling from behind your neck. His blue eyes stayed on you, lingering like he was studying your answer.
"Okay," his answer surprised you. "How was your walk?"
You blinked. "Good. I figured I'd go out before it starts raining again." Your gaze darted on the floor as you slid your jacket off your body. "You know, it's supposed to be raining the whole week."
"You don't say," he said in surprise, taking your jacket. "You look a bit flushed, baby. Should I make some lemonade?" His hand lifted to your cheek, his knuckles brushing your cheekbones.
"Uhm, sure, I'll be in the living room," you nodded, offering him a smile. "Hey, what episode are you on?" You took in your living room and an easy smile found your lips. Green and yellow blankets were thrown over the couch, pillows from your bedroom and even the stuffed panda he got you when you were dating.
"Company Picnic!" he called from the kitchen. "It's hilarious."
You fell on the couch with ease, tugging your knees to your chest. There was nothing you loved more than to watch episodes of your favorite shows and spending time with Austin— both simultaneously. But what ruled in your mind was much higher, something that even the hilarious Michael Scott couldn't distract.
"—he's such an underrated character," Austin mumbled, tossing popcorn in his mouth. The blinds were all the way down, the warm blankets on your bodies and your head on his chest.
"Rolf comes back when Dwight has to hire Jim's replacement," you noted, your hand reaching in the bucket of popcorn. "He's stupidly funny, I'll give you that."
Then the episode neared the end and the scene makes your heart twist. Jim carries Pam off the volleyball court and to the nearest hospital as the opponents insist for her to get her ankle checked out. A tactic to get her out of the game, since she is their best player.
Only to find out that Pam was pregnant.
"I-I need the bathroom," you breathed out, pushing yourself off of Austin's chest. He gave you a confused look.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'll be back in a sec," you said, not even sparing him a glance as you grabbed your purse and moved upstairs. Your steps were quick, you even jumped over three steps, afraid to spill the mess that was your heart. Shaky hands grabbed the test from the purse, quickly skimming over the instructions and finally, all you had to do was wait.
Tap, tap, tap.
Your nails clicked on the counter, your gaze raising every now and then, only to notice the bewildered look in your eyes. It was all going to be okay, you reminded yourself, you knew you both wanted this— you wouldn't be opposed to that, neither would be Austin. Two years into your marriage as you gazed at tiny little shoes and cute onesies, you decided that whatever happened, happened.
But you were still nervous, because of course you were— A baby. A real human baby. A combination of the both of you, personality and looks. Good lord.
A knock made you flinch as you hissed, eyes shooting to the door.
"Y/N? You okay?"
You felt bad that he sounded concerned. A breath fell from your lips, short and tired, and your hand found the doorhandle.
"Baby..."
Unmistakable tears started burning in your eyes as you let out a weak sniffle. "I'm sorry." Austin wrapped you in his arms, his eyes trailing to every inch of your face, like he was looking for signs of unease.
"Are you sick? Do we need to go to the hospital?" You didn't even let him finish, your head was shaking, but you couldn't face him yet. Everything was too overwhelming— you were overwhelmed. "I need you to talk to me, baby. So I can help," his voice was as smooth as honey, his hands holding you so gently you considered staying right there forever.
"I-I bought a-a pregnancy test this m-morning." His hand stopped. "I-I didn't go for a walk."
"Really?" he asked, his tone careful and light, like he didn't want to startle you. You nodded, unable to say anything else. "Did you... Did you take it?"
Your teary eyes slowly looked up, only to find tenderness and love in his. "Yes."
Austin cleared his throat. "And?"
"I-I don't know... I haven't looked yet," you let out another tearful sniffle, taking a fistful of his sweater.
"Wanna look together?"
You hummed, giving him a simple nod.
"Okay... Let's do this," Austin's hand slid down to yours, your fingers intertwined as you both walked back in the bathroom. It never came to your attention the way Austin held his own breath or the way he squeezed your hand as a reminder to himself that you were there. You weren't the only one that was struggling to face reality.
You both put your hand on the test, eyes on each other, taking in the way they glistened from raw emotion. "On three?" he asked, his voice shaky. You nodded.
"One... Two... Three."
Two lines, one heartbeat.
A sob fell from your lips. "Oh my god." Austin's arms wrapped you up against him again, his own tears falling with no remorse. "We're having a baby. A baby." You could only nod against him, holding him impossibly tighter.
"I'm so happy— Thank you, thank you, thank you," he brought his hands to your cheeks, holding you firmly and then leaned in to kiss your forehead, moving to your nose and finally to your lips. You withheld a chuckle, then you started crying again as reality hit you one more time.
"Y-You're happy? R-Really?" you pulled away, setting your hands on his shoulders. Austin let out a teary sniffle, his finger reaching to brush your under eyes.
"I-I can't describe what I'm feeling. It's so much joy. So much," he laughed lightly. "Are you happy, baby? W-Why'd you hide that from me?"
"I was scared a-and nervous a-and— I don't know. The thought— The thought of being pregnant seemed so overwhelming. I was feeling everything all at once," you explained and his gaze softened, before his hands lowered to your torso, gently hovering over the area.
"I get it, baby..." Austin looked up, like he was asking for permission. It had just occurred to you that you hadn't even touched your stomach yet— even though there was nothing visible yet, there was life, a heartbeat made out of hope and love. You took his hands and set them right there, shutting your eyes for a short moment.
His forehead fell on yours as soft little cries ushered from his lips. "I love you so much, I'm so lucky."
A/N: every excuse is good to mention the office! hope you enjoyed 🎞️💋
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