idk what episode but i remember near the end of s1 when that car ran into the gurneys and it shocked everyone who was outside but i remember replaying that scene because i swear that robby gripped both parker and john and sort of pulled them behind him, and i swear it was done in instinct because he was looking at that car in shock, and it just makes me so !!!! emotional because god wdym his instincts were to protect his kids wdym he was using himself to cover them wdym he was pushing them out of harmās way wdym
I put rhys and tamlin again as well so we can get the full story (not that it makes sense with the times I put but whatever let the vibes take you)
(Random notes: canon reason for jurian using shortened language is that he grew up when expensive parchment was around so he's still saving space. feyre loves emojis bc of the reading thing. please clock my silly jokes with the dates.)
Pairing: Andrew Pope Cody x lover!reader
Warnings: heavy angst, hurt, blood, injury, gunshot wound, knife wound, graphic descriptions of medical procedures, emotional breakdown, guilt, established relationship.
Summary: You begged Andrew to let you go on a job, but when things go brutally wrong, you are used against the Cody brothers. Left severely injured and bleeding out, Andrew is forced to stitch you back to life.
A/N request + my first bloody angst andrew fic !!
š based on this requestš
Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction and written solely for entertainment purposes.
Andrew had told you no.
Heād told you no at least a dozen times, trying to keep you in the safety of the house. āI don't have a good feeling about this, baby.ā heād muttered into your hair the night before.
But you were tired of being left behind in the house.
You begged. You told him you could handle it.
Now, you were choking on your own blood, tied to a chair as Andrewās worst nightmare was playing out in real time.
The plan was simple, or as simple as a Cody job ever got. A quick exchange, a lockbox of clean bonds, and out. But the crew they were dealing with wasn't looking to trade; they were looking for revenge since they noticed the Cody's were at his territory.
When you woke up, the metallic taste of blood was thick on your tongue. The room was dark, standing in the shadows was a man whose face you couldn't see, holding a burner phone.
And on the other end of the line was Andrew.
"I don't give a shit about the bonds," Andrewās voice came through the speaker. It didnāt sound like him. The usual calculating edge was entirely gone, replaced by desperation. "You touch her, and I will personally dismantle every single person youāve ever spoken to."
"She's alive, Cody," the man holding the phone drawled, stepping closer to you. He drew a hunting knife from his belt. The blade caught the weak light. "But the price just went up. You brought your own weakness to a jobā¦ not so intelligent of you, isnt it? That costs extra, I know you would give everything for her. Poor she. She's really beautiful, you know? Looks like an angelā¦ such a shame I have to make her bleed."
"Name the place." Andrew roared through the phone. You could hear the screech of tires in the background. "Weāll bring the cash. All of it. Don't fucking touch her."
"I don't like your tone, Andrew," the man said smoothly. Without breaking eye contact with you, he drove the knife down into your thigh.
The scream that tore from your throat didn't even sound human. It was an agonizing tear as the blade sliced deep, dragging through muscle and severing a major artery. Dark arterial blood instantly began to pump through your denim.
"No! NO!" Andrew shrieked over the line, the sound of his voice breaking completely. "Stop!"
"Relax, man, I'm just making sure you understand the stakes," the man said. He pulled the knife out with a sickening squelch. The room started to spin. You started losing blood, very fast.
"I'm going to kill you," Andrew whispered, a shaking promise. "I am going to rip your fucking throat out."
"Bring the bonds to the docks. Container 42. Then I will tell you where she is. You haveā¦ ten minutes maximum before she bleed out. And Andrew? No brothers. No help. Just you. You were the only one who knew about the lockbox."
The man hung up the phone. He looked down at you, tossing the bloody knife onto a table. "Let's make sure you don't try to run, pretty thing."
He pulled a gun from his waistband. You couldn't even move to cringe away. A bullet pierced your leg and shattered your calf muscle. The force of a kick to your side knocked you and the chair down completely. You hit the ground hard, the pain so blinding that your brain simply shut off the signals, leaving you floating in a numb void.
You couldn't breathe. You couldn't scream anymore. You could only watch the blood expand toward the floor.
You have no idea how much time has passed. Your body was cold, beginning to tremble slightly. The pain in your leg had disappeared; you could barely feel you lower body. Exhaustion was taking over your body when the door was kicked open.
Through the haze of your fading consciousness, you heard gunfire. Rapid, deafening, and relentless. There were no shouts, no warnings, just the execution of the men in the room.
Then, hands were on you. Untying you and then on your face.
"Hey, hey, look at me. Look at me, baby, please."
Andrew dropped to his knees in the puddle of your blood. His face was pale, his eyes wide and bloodshot. He looked entirely broken. The fierce Andrew Cody was gone; this was just a man watching his world end.
He ripped his flannel off, his hands shaking so violently he could barely manage it, and shoved it hard against the gaping wound in your thigh.
You let out a pathetic whimper, your fingers feebly twitching against his vest.
"I know, I know, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he sobbed, pressing his weight into the wound to stop the bleeding. He took your face in his other hand, his thumb smearing blood across your cheek as he tried to keep your eyes locked on his. "Stay with me, fuck, baby, please. Do not close your eyes. You hear me? You gotta stay awake for me."
"Andrew..." you breathed, the word barely a puff of air. "C-Cold."
"I know, I know, baby, I'm right here." He looked up, screaming toward the doorway. "Baz! She's bleeding out!"
Baz appeared in the doorway, his face grim, already calling a dirty backalley doctor. "All clear. Car's running. Move."
Andrew scooped you into his arms, lifting you gently despite the horrific injuries. As he pulled you against his chest, your blood soaked entirely through his shirt. He ran out into the pouring rain, holding you like you were made of glass, pressing his lips against your forehead over and over again.
"I shouldn't have let you come," he whispered fiercely into your hair as he threw you into the back seat of the truck, climbing in right after you to keep pressure on your wounds. "I should have locked you in the house. This is on me. This is all on me."
A deep agony appeared in his chest when your eyes started closing. "Baby, hey, open your eyes, don't do that," he desesperatly tried to keep you awake, and took your hand with his free one. "Squeeze my hand if you can hear me, please give me a sign, anything." You moved your fingers, interlacing them lightly with his, pressing gently. He sighed and screamed Deran to hurry.
The truck screeched away into the night and Andrew held you tight, his tears mixing with the blood on your skin, begging god to let you open your eyes one more time.
Andrew's hands were glued to your thigh. They couldn't go to a hospital, not with gunshot wounds, not with a Cody job gone loud. It had to be the house.
Andrew carried you in. When he laid you down on the hard wood, the bright lights showed the true horror of it all: the deep slice in your leg and the bloody mess of your calf.
"Get out," Andrew rasped after some seconds, not looking at his brothers. "Everyone out. Leave."
"Andrew, you need help withā" Baz said after starting an IV, but Andrew whipped his head around, his eyes were wild.
"Out!" he roared.
The brothers backed away, closing the doors to the room, leaving only him and the sound of your ragged breathing.
Andrew tore open the medical kit, his hands fumbling with the bottles of antiseptic, local anesthetic, and heavy nylon sutures.
He knew how to patch a wound, heād done it for his brothers a hundred times, but this was you. Every touch felt like he was breaking you further.
"I have to numb it, baby. I have to clean it first," he whispered, his voice cracking.
The moment the antiseptic hit the open laceration on your thigh, your body convulsed. An agonizing shriek tore from your throat, your fingers clawing at the edges of the table. Your hips buckled from the sheer, burning agony of it.
Seeing you twist in pain broke whatever fragile hold Andrew had on his emotions.
A choked sob escaped his chest. As he prepped the needle to start stitching, tears finally spilled over his eyelashes, hot and fast. He looked so broken in that moment, his massive shoulders trembling as he tried to thread the needle through his blurred vision.
"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry," he wept openly, a sound so raw it made your heart hurt worse than your physical wounds. "Itās my fault. I shouldāve been faster. I shouldāve kept you in the house. I did this to you."
The local anesthetic was finally starting to dull the sharpest edges of the pain into a throbbing ache. Through the haze of exhaustion and blood loss, you looked at him. You had never seen Andrew look so defeated. He looked like a terrified child trapped in a monster's body.
Slowly, weakly, you lifted your uninjured arm. Your fingers were trembling, but you managed to reach up, pressing your palm against his wet cheek.
Andrew froze at the sensation of your skin. He leaned heavily into your hand, closing his eyes for a brief second as if your touch was the only thing keeping him from losing his mind.
"Andrew..." you croaked. "B-baby." He looked down at you. "N-not your fault," you whispered, trying to force a smile through your trembling lips. "I... S-stop. Don't c-cry."
"You almost died," he choked out, his voice a broken whisper. He took a ragged breath, trying to steady his hands as he lowered the needle to the edge of the knife wound on your thigh. "I can't... I can't lose you. If you die, I don't survive it. I don't."
"'m here," you promised softly. "Fix m- me up. I t-trust you."
Hearing those words, knowing you didn't hate him, knowing you still trusted his hands to put you back together, gave him the focus he needed.
Andrew wiped his eyes on his shoulder and started working. He was meticulous. Every pull of the thread was agonizing, and you still cried out, your grip tightening on the table. Every time you gasped, he would mutter a soft "I've got you, I''m sorry, almost done, baby," using his voice to soothe you.
By the time he finished stitching your thigh and packed the gunshot wound in your calf with clean gauze, the sun was just beginning to peek through the sky.
The table was a mess of blood and medical waste, but the bleeding had completely stopped. Your breathing had evened out, a faint color returning to your body as the IV fluids Baz had quickly started before leaving the room took some effect.
Andrew gently lifted you from the table, carrying you into his bedroom. He laid you down on the bed with agonizing care, supporting your body as your head hit the pillows and placing the IV bag in an IV pole.
Baz and Smurf had already been inside. While Andrew was finishing the stitches, they had silently gone to work turning his bedroom into a makeshift recovery ward. On the nightstand sat a fresh IV pole, lines, and bags of O-negative blood, the benefit of having a dirty paramedic on the Cody payroll. Smurf had even left a clean, damp washcloth and a bowl of warm water resting on the dresser.
Andrew didnāt say a word, he felt a grim wave of relief that, for once, his family had anticipated exactly what you needed to survive.
You were entirely spent, your eyes half closed, skin still holding a pallor of someone who had lost far too much blood.
"I'm going to take very good care of you, I promise, I love you so much, I can't lose you," Andrew whispered.
He still didn't want anyone else touching you right now, so he did it himself. His hands were steady now as he spiked the blood bag, hanging it from the pole where the already started fluids where. He knew exactly how to find the veins, next to the other line.
"Small pinch, baby, I'm sorry," he murmured.
You let out a tiny hiss as the needle slid in, but you kept your half closed eyes locked onto his face. He taped the line down securely, and within seconds, the blood began to flow down the clear tubing and into your system.
Andrew let out a long breath and grabbed the warm washcloth Smurf had left and sat heavily on the edge of the mattress. With gentle strokes, he began to wipe the dried blood from your forehead, your cheeks, and your collarbone, cleaning away the horror of the night.
"The blood will help. It'll make the cold go away," he whispered, pressing the warm cloth to your cheek.
As the transfusion did its work, a faint warmth began to creep back into your skin. You felt the freezing numbness in your limbs slowly begin to lift. Weakly, you curled your fingers around the edge of her t-shirt.
"Thank you, baby."
Andrew closed his eyes when he heard your voice again, then leaning down to give you a soft kiss.
"Don't thank me," he muttered against your lips, his arms wrapping around you as he carefully climbed into the bed, mindful of the IV lines and you injuries. He pulled you against his body, his eyes fixed on the plastic bag as it slowly dripped life back into your body. "Just stay. Stay here with me. Don't leave me."
You were going to be okay. The road to recovery would be long, and Andrew would likely never let you within ten feet of a Cody job ever again. As he held you in the quiet safety of his room, the crushing guilt finally began to ease.
noah wyle is compensating for the fact that he's so upset online fandom didn't exist in the same monumental way in the 90s and he therefore was not able to send eriq lasalle endless hand drawn masterpieces of peter benton wrecking john carter's hole. it is therefore imperative that we redress this balance by drawing the above over and over. do it for him.
andrew cody who inspects your pussy after having sex
Heās just so fascinated. He did this to you, he ruined you like this. Watching his cum ooze out of your abused cunt, heās laser focused. Your sides all bruised w/ his handprints.
he was clinging onto you the entire time, groaning and whining about how good you felt. How tight, how perfect you squeezed his cock. His eyes glued to the space between you as he slammed in ān out.
he genuinely canāt believe you let him do this to you.
his fingers would spread your folds apart, looking at your fluttering hole in awe while you lay above him all sweaty ān disheveled.
its genuinely a fucking sight.
a/n i dont know what got into me somebody probably wrote this before but idk.
