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householdcryptid · 2 months ago

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NFWMB

based on the ask i got about protective pope when on-call!reader gets decked by a patient! title is a hozier song that is so pope coded it makes me ill <3 cw:canon typical violence, religious themes sort of(done poorly, I haven't been to church in years), original male character, original female character, stalking(?), idk what else yall tell me if I missed something lol. 2.K

It happens in a flash, so quickly you hardly have time to react. The patient's fist collides with your face with a sickening crunch, and you’re on the ground before you can yelp in pain. Warmth drips from your nostril, painting your upper lip crimson, an ache blooming across the bridge of your nose.

A broken nose, the radiology tech tells you. Hairline fracture that will heal by itself, a nasty shiner to brag about for a week or so. The only thing you can think is that Andrew is going to be pissed. You’re stuffing bits of paper towel up your nostril when Claire, a fellow nurse, pipes up.

“Should we call your boyfriend?” A denial clings to the tip of your tongue. He isn’t my boyfriend. Goes unsaid, because to be quite honest, you don’t know what you and Andrew are. You wave her off and come up with some lame excuse about him being busy with work. It isn’t technically a lie, at least. He’s always busy with something or other, and you never ask for details. The only problem is that the girls won’t let you drive yourself home. So, instead of calling Andrew, you resort to drastic measures. Your stomach twists anxiously, at the receiver's pick up sound, and the, saccharine-sweet tone of Smurf’s voice meets your ears. “Hi there, Sunshine.” She greets, faux warm, the crooning sound of her voice making your face ache worse somehow.

“Hey Smurf,” You greet in turn, index finger and thumb cradling the bridge of your nose tenderly. “I hate to bother you, but I have a favor to ask you if you’d be so kind?” You cringe at your own voice, pitched up and nasally. “Of course, baby,” Smurf hums in what you think is supposed to be a soothing manner. It only sets your teeth on edge. “What happened, hm?”

“I need a ride.” Smurf had assured you, of course, that Andrew wouldn’t be bothered by your unfortunate injuries. An assurance in which you take with a grain of salt. Smurf doesn’t know Andrew as well as she thinks she does, after all. Or maybe this is her manipulative way to make you think he doesn’t give a shit.

It takes some convincing, to get her to take you back to your apartment, and not the Cody house. You aren’t sure you’re ready to face Pope yet, buzzing with anxiety still, the adrenaline from earlier finally waning, leaving your fingers trembling and your knees weak. It’s late that night when a heavy fist hits your door. You’re groggy, stumbling to the door with a grumble. “Who s’it?” A moment of silence, and then:

“Open the door.”

Shit. You duck your chin as you pull the door open for him, turning your head some in a feeble attempt to hide the bruise that marrs the skin beneath your eye in a bloom of reds and purples. “Hello, Andrew.” You greet, knowing you can’t escape him now. He doesn’t respond. Simply shoulders his way inside, movements a bit jerky, like he’s barely containing his rage. “Lemme see it.” He demands in place of a proper greeting, voice low, quiet like the calm before the storm. It makes you sigh, shoulders sagging, resigned to your swift coming scolding. You tip your chin back up, eyes averted from his own, shame-faced. His disappointment is obvious in the downturn at the corners of his lips, his anger is palpable. You’ve rarely seen Andrew truly angry, but it feels the same every time. Like something in the air has shifted, leaving it colder, the hairs on the back of your neck standing to attention. “It’s not so bad-” You go to downplay it, but one heavy sigh from his nose silences you. It’s quiet for a moment, the air seeming to go still, neither of you breathing for a split second. “Who?” He breaks the silence first, and it sets your nerves to fizzing all over again. “Andrew, there really isn’t a need for that-” You try to soothe, shaking your head gently, wincing when it revives the pain in your face. “Who?” He repeats, colder this time, demanding. His tone brooks no room for argument. It’s obvious he has no interest in half-assed excuses. You fumble for a second, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, before you nod. “A patient at the clinic this morning,” You mumble, reluctant to share the information. “McRoy. James, I think was his name.” His jaw clenches, a rough breath leaving his nose, nostrils flared like a bull ready to charge. You can’t meet his eyes, but you can see his fingers tense, wiggle gently, before curling into fists. “He was coked out, Andrew, wasn’t thinkin’ straight. Thought I was comin’ at him with a knife or somethin’.” You try to explain, but it comes out too weak, not convincing in the slightest. He just stares, shark-eyed, can’t look away from the bruise that mottles your pretty face. He can’t think, guilt and anger twining together in his chest, settling like an old friend. Someone hurt you. Some piece of shit put his hands on you and he wasn’t there to put the man in the ground.

He’s stock still for a long while, a handful of minutes that feel like an hour. Then he’s moving, stalking back out your front door, slamming it behind him so hard the blinds rattle loudly, breaking the tense silence. Shit, you think for a second time that night.

Andrew has a long-running relationship with anger. It clings to his soul, claws dug in long before he met you, the only constant in his life. This feeling? Whatever it is is ten times worse. Like his blood boils, making his skin itch, his ears hot. A white hot rage fills him each time he pictures the bruise on your face, imagines that bastard’s fist hitting your nose. Finding James McRoy isn’t difficult. A piece of shit, twice your age, covered in shitty tattoos and smelling of grime and the acrid scent of whatever he’s smoking out of that pipe.

Pope is efficient, a well-oiled machine meant to demolish. James goes down easy. Pope’s fist cracks against his jaw, once, twice, a third time. James crumples to the floor, shouting and kicking at Pope’s shins. Pope wonders if you fought back the same way, the idea of it makes something cruel well in his chest. His boot catches James in the stomach, hard enough to knock the wind from him, and then Pope descends.

It’s well into the wee hours of the morning when you wake again. You’d stayed up an hour after Andrew left, and then another, before realizing this wasn’t some awful dream. There’s someone in your bedroom. You wake with a grumble, the ache in your nose blooming across the middle of your face. You fumble at your bedside table, searching for the bottle of Tylenol you’d left there, when a warm hand presses two pills into your palm. You jump, startled fully awake, gasping sharply.

“The fuck-” You pause, blinking blearily as you yank on the chain of your lamp.

“Sorry.” Andrew mumbles, retreating to the chair he’d set up by your bedside, leaned back against the wall, but he isn’t relaxed. Then again, is he ever? When your vision finally clears, you glare weakly at him. Not upset, really, just a little annoyed at being spooked so early in the morning. You get a proper look at him, and something cold settles in your belly.

There’s blood splattered up his arms, on his shirt, his cheek. His eyes are a little wide, breathing heavy, a wild look you’ve never seen before. “Andrew..” You breathe out, a little pained, sitting up in bed, leaning towards him. “What-..?” You go to question him, but think better of it. You don’t need to ask whose blood it is, you don’t need to know details. You swallow down the questions, reaching out to take his hands in your own. He flinches minutely, fingers twitching, his eyes cutting to your own, unreadable. Your hands slow, but you don’t falter. You’d told him months ago you weren’t scared of him. He needs to know you still aren’t. “Let me see?” You ask, quiet, just above a whisper. You wait for his tiny nod, more a jerk of his chin downwards, before you take his hands in your own. His knuckles are split, an angry red that’ll scab over by morning, turn a pretty shade of purple in some places, but no fingers are broken. He tenses while you look over his hands, staring down at you, silent as the grave. You don’t know what to say, for once. With Andrew, it’s always been easy. Some inexplicable understanding between the two of you, no words needed most of the time. Now it feels different. You feel like you need to say something, show some form of gratitude maybe, even if it’s fucked up. But the words don’t come, and you end up thumbing over the back of his hand absentmindedly. “You should take the pills.” He mutters, gruff and low, his voice hoarse like he’d been shouting. His eyes are glued to where you’re cradling his hands. Transfixed, as if he simply can’t look away. It makes you smile for some reason, his worry. “Probably.” His eyes flicker up to your own, the set of his jaw slackening some. Your smile soothes him. You aren’t angry with him, you aren’t scared. “Had to do it.” He mumbles, lips twisted up, biting at the inside of them. “He hurt you.”

The words leave him like a confession, like he’s begging for forgiveness. “I know.” You reply quietly. “It’s okay.”The tension bleeds from his shoulders, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. It’s absolution, your assurance. His breath rushes from him, trembling slightly, his chin dropping to his chest. He brings your hands up, presses the backs of them to his face, and burrows into your touch. You think your heart might be breaking. “Andrew,” You whisper, sliding from the bed, kneeling in front of him, your hands turning to cup his cheeks. You duck your head, catching his gaze. “Thank you.” His eyes flit across your face, swallowing hard. He looks younger, frightened. You wonder how he was as a kid, sometimes. If he’d always been so intense, if there was ever a moment in his life when he felt good. He leans forward, sagging into your hands, presses his forehead to your own, breathing hard. His eyes close, and he just..breathes you in. This is all he needs, all he wants. To have you close, safe, where he can smell your shampoo, and that coconut body lotion you use. “Let’s lie down,” You suggest softly, thumbs brushing along his cheeks. “Yeah?” His eyebrows furrow some, warring with himself mentally, before he nods, sighing through his nose. Gentling him into your bed is easier than it should be, you think. You’d always imagined he might put up a fight, get closed off and stiff. But when you climb in next to him? He melts. Curls himself around you, presses his face to your chest, forehead at the hollow of your throat, head bowed, arms wrapped around your middle, pulling you in. You have no option but to wrap yourself around him in return. He sucks in a breath like he hasn’t been able to for the whole night, the exhale shaking a bit. It’s too easy to fall asleep like this when he’s so warm and nuzzling at the skin just below your collarbone absently. Your fingers find his hair, and he sighs against your sternum. Sleep finds you quickly, then, falling fast and deep. You don’t know what the two of you are to each other, still, but whatever it is? You hope it never ends.

#andrew pope cody #animal kingdom #pope cody #andrew cody #shawn hatosy #animal kingdom tnt #andrew cody x reader #andrew pope cody x reader #pope cody x reader #yada yada pope finding absolution in sunshines acceptance #andrew baby i'll never hate you #i'm proud of this one guys #be gentle im sensitive/j

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