In On It
summary: When the Cody family’s crimes cross a thin line, Pope has to choose between blood and the one person he can’t protect.
pairing: Andrew 'Pope' Cody x fem!reader
warnings: Robbery, Canon violence, BAZ (Mf is a warning on his own), Angst, Guns, manipulative family
Word count: 5,337
a/n: Okay so, you don't have to read them but I did write this in the same universe as "Baby Boy" and "Contaminated". I think it takes place maybe a month or two after those stories! I have worked on this non stop oh my god. So just to hit on a few things I had two request that were pretty similar. I was originally going to wait until i got further into the show but this idea woke me up in the middle of the night and I had to write it. also I'm fully aware Baz probably isn't that bad but I hate him so he will always be the villain in my fics so sorry
Dividers:@strangergraphics
Pope knew he should have ended things with you before it got this far. Five months together, and you still didn’t really know anything about his family. What they did. What they’d done. He kept you at arm’s length, always feeding you the same line—family business. All you needed to know.
Until Baz.
Of course it would be him—Baz, who had a gift for poisoning anything good in Pope’s life. He came up with a plan for their next job. Low stakes, he said. A local credit union.
The alarm bells didn’t start ringing for Pope until it was too late. Out of the millions of credit unions in California, Baz had to choose yours. Pope tried to argue. The connection was too obvious—if they got caught, it would tie him to the bank, the bank to you, and you to them. It would damn you as complicit. It was too risky.
But Baz wasn’t wrong. It was the perfect hit: privately owned, no security, minimal staff. Everything would go off without a hitch… as long as they didn’t get caught.
Was Pope willing to risk that?
You didn’t love your job—who does? but you loved your coworkers. You told Pope about them all the time. Their inside jokes. Their monthly game nights at the bar next door. He’d even gone with you once to pick out a graduation gift for your boss’s kid.
None of that mattered to Baz.
And Pope couldn’t stop picturing it—couldn’t stop imagining the day they’d come crashing in. Guns drawn. Voices shouting. You, frozen behind the counter. The terror on your face when you realized what was happening.
The thought followed him all the way to Smurf’s house, where he sat at the table surrounded by his family. No one on his side—not that it was anything new.
“Pope, it’ll be easy, I promise. In, out, no one gets hurt,” Baz said, met with murmurs of agreement from around the table. Pope’s jaw clenched.
“And when she recognizes our voice? When something goes wrong—because when has a job ever gone to plan for us? What if she gets hurt? Or one of her coworkers? You wanna risk that? I don’t. I am not putting her in a position where she sees someone hurt or killed.” His voice rose, rough, his glare fixed on Baz from the corner. Shoulders tight. Arms crossed like steel bars.
“Look, Pope—” Baz began, but was cut off by the weight of Smurf’s hand on his shoulder. “Listen, sweetie,” she said, calm as ever. “We need this. Like Baz said—easy in, easy out. We’re doing it. If you want to sit this one out, that’s your choice, baby.” Pope gritted his teeth, breaking her gaze before it swallowed him whole.
“But…” Smurf stepped away from Baz, crossing the room toward him. Her hands slid up his chest, slow and deliberate, before cupping his face and forcing his eyes back to hers. “If you go, you can protect her. Leave the work to your brothers—just keep your eyes on her. And the others, if that makes you feel better. Okay, baby?” Her thumb brushed along his jaw before she finished with a light pinch of his cheek—a mockery of tenderness that made his skin crawl.
So that’s how they ended up here. Pope took extra care in stealing cars you’d never picture him driving anonymous sedans, forgettable colors trying to put as much distance between himself and this job as possible. Every choice was deliberate, every step meant to hide the truth from you for as long as he could.
The night before the job, Pope took you out.
He didn’t have it in him to be nervous—not outwardly. Instead, he went out and bought a crisp button-up and a bouquet of lilies, just for you. He waited outside the bank until you walked out, catching the exact moment your face lit up when you saw him. This would be the last time he had you like this—untainted, unsuspecting.
He drank in the sight of you as you bounced over, the warmth in your smile, the way your hand slid into his without hesitation. You talked all the way to the restaurant, your voice animated as you told him about your day. You didn’t take his silence as rejection—never had.
You babbled about Carolyn, your “recently divorced work bestie,” and the disastrous date she’d gone on. Pope barely spoke, just nodded at the right moments, letting your words wash over him. He wanted to memorize this. Your joy. Your trust. The way you filled the silence so easily, unaware of the storm coming.
Because tomorrow, he’d be the one to ruin it. He’d be the one to make you feel unsafe in the world. You already felt things so completely, so unabashedly—like your heart had no armor. And he was terrified to see what this would do to you.
He walked you to your door, tucking a stray hair behind your ear as you rattled off your plans for the week—how you were hoping to hit the gym after work tomorrow, or maybe go to the beach if he wasn’t too busy. You reminded him that he’d promised to teach you how to surf. Before you could keep going, he cut in without thinking.
“I love you,” he said, finally.
You blinked, startled, your next words dying on your tongue. Pope wasn’t an overly affectionate guy. In fact, most people found him off-putting, the way his stare could burn through anyone it landed on. Carolyn had once joked that he had serial killer eyes. Maybe she wasn’t too far off.
You tilted your head, searching his face, trying to figure out if he meant it. Before he had a chance to retreat or laugh it off, you answered.
“I thought I was going to be the one to say it first.” You grinned up at him. The way you looked at him in that moment broke him completely—like you truly believed he’d hung the moon and stars just for you. And he would. God, he would. But tomorrow, he was going to be the one to break you instead. He was going to be the voice that made you jump, the presence that made you flinch.
“Do you wanna come in? You’ve been quiet all night. I could run us a bath… rub your shoulders?” You were too good for him. Too sweet. Julia would have loved you. Pope gave you a tight-lipped smile and shook his head. “Nah… I— I gotta get back to the house. But I’ll see you this weekend, okay? I’ll teach you to surf.”
He reveled in the way your eyes lit up at the promise. You bounced forward, wrapping your arms around him and pressing your lips to his. When you finally pulled back, you kept your forehead resting against his.
“I love you too, by the way.” Andrew was going to hell. He knew that for sure now. For a while, he’d let himself believe that being with you might redeem him. That you might be the one pure thing he could keep untouched.
But like everything else in his life… he was going to ruin this, too. Andrew drove to Smurf’s house in silence. He ignored his brothers’ taunts and jabs, slipping wordlessly onto the couch. Reaching for the remote, he put on the one thing he thought might quiet his nerves—a nature documentary. He sat there, watching lions stalk antelope, his stomach sinking lower with every passing hour.
At 8 a.m., his phone buzzed.
Headed to work :)
A beat later:
Thanks again for last night. Had so much fun with you. Can’t wait to see you this weekend!
Pope shoved the phone into his pocket and rubbed a hand over his face. By noon, everyone was gathered around the table again. Supplies laid out—masks, gloves, a gun for each man, duffel bags stuffed with everything else they might need. Baz went over the plan one more time, his voice a low hum that barely cut through the pounding in Pope’s ears.
“Pope? You getting any of this?” Craig asked, elbowing his shoulder. Pope blinked, straightened, and forced his voice steady. “No one gets hurt,” he said, gravely.
Famous last words, obviously.
Four p.m.—one car rolled around to the rear entrance, and Pope’s car pulled up out front. His hands shook as he tugged the ski mask over his face.
Six minutes, he told himself. What could go wrong in Six minutes? Pope, Craig, and Daran jumped out of the car, boots hitting pavement in unison. Pope’s fingers brushed the gun tucked in his waistband as they pushed through the doors.
“Everyone down on the ground—now!” Craig barked, firing a shot into the ceiling for good measure. Pope’s eyes scanned the room instantly—Carolyn. Your boss. Three other employees. No customers.
More importantly—no you.
For a brief, flickering moment, he thought maybe he’d gotten lucky. Maybe you’d left early. Maybe you’d been sent out to run an errand. Anything to keep you far from this building.
Of course, he should be so lucky.
Baz emerged from the back room, gun pressed firmly to the head of a trembling figure. Your trembling figure.
Bile burned the back of Pope’s throat. His ears roared with static, drowning out the world. He heard your cry when Baz shoved you toward the floor, but his feet were lead—heavy, rooted, useless. “Alright, now—no heroes,” Baz said, his voice steady. “We want all the money in the safe, and no one gets hurt.” Pope’s pulse hammered in his skull as Baz’s hand tightened on the gun, pressing it harder into you. Baz motioned towards your boss on the floor.
"You. Get up open the safe up" Gun pointed directly at the man, This gave pope a chance to breathe. To revel in you not being in harms way for two seconds. Daran walked over to your boss and halled him up. The mans whimpering made him sick, When Pope got you out of here he would make it a point to make you get a new job. There's no way you could rely on your boss to keep you safe in an emergency.
"Please- I have kids I-" The mans whimpering turned into full fledge cries. You struggled against Baz slightly as he gripped you tighter. "Please wait- I- I'll do it just leave him alone" The air was sucked out of the room. Pope locked eyes with Baz and sent a pleading look to him.
"Well, looks like she's got more balls than anyone in this room" A pointed dig that Pope didn't have any time to process. He marched over to you and Baz and grabbed your arm wanting to tug you away from the man, from the danger, from everything. But he saw it. The way you flinched back. The way tears gathered on your lash line threatening to spill. He froze.
"Let's go, get her back there." Baz interrupted, So he's doing this. It has to be him. He wont trust anyone else with you. He nods his head towards the back hoping youd catch the hint. He wanted so badly to soothe you, offer you some kind of comfort but if he spoke hed surly give his identity away.
He followed you into the safe, close enough to feel the tremor in your steps. Your head stayed bowed, hands still slightly raised like you weren’t sure if it was safe to lower them. He hated it—the way you shook under his gaze. “I’m just—I’m going to start gathering everything, just please—” Your voice cracked, a sob jerking out of you mid-sentence. “Just please don’t hurt me. Oh God—” The words gutted him, like you’d been the one to put the thought of hurting you into the air.
Pope couldn’t look at you. Wouldn’t. He shoved the gun back into his waistband and took a step back, both hands raised in a useless gesture.
He watched in silence as you scrambled to grab stacks of cash, shoving them into the bag with frantic, jerky movements. Every so often you’d glance at him over your shoulder—then work even faster, like his stillness was more dangerous than if he’d barked an order.
“Three minutes!” Craig’s voice rang from the lobby. You jumped like the words were a gunshot. “Listen,” you started, turning to hand him the bag. “If you guys just leave without hurting anyone, I promise—I promise—we won’t say anything.” Your trembling fingers brushed against his as you passed the bag. A loose strand of hair fell across your face.
Pope didn’t think—his hand moved on instinct, brushing it back. You flinched, barely swallowing a yelp. You froze as his hand lingered a moment too long, his thumb grazing your temple before he pulled away. Your eyes locked on his. Something passed between you—recognition, disbelief, maybe even betrayal. Pope’s throat tightened, the words I'm sorry clawing their way up. He wanted to say it, to explain, to take the mask off and end this nightmare before it went any further.
But he didn’t.
“Load up—time to go!” Baz’s bark shattered it. Baz’s hand shot toward your shoulder—Pope swore that’s where it was aimed—but instead, it tangled in your hair. He yanked, dragging you out of the safe and back into the chaos of the lobby.
Pope followed, his hands fists at his sides, that unsaid confession burning like acid in his chest. You cried out when Baz kicked your knee, sending you crashing onto the thin carpet with a thud. The breath left you in a gasp as you tried to push up, but Baz was already cocking his gun, pressing the barrel to your temple.
The shouts from your coworkers spiked into chaos. Carolyn—God bless her—actually tried to lunge toward you, more spine than your Pope had shown all day.
“On the ground!” Daran barked, swinging his gun toward her, the muzzle leveled right between her eyes. This wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Things were spinning out—when it got like this, someone bled. “No one sees anything, no one says anything,” Baz barked, his voice cutting through the noise. “You wait fifteen minutes, then you call the cops.”
“And if you don’t—” He stepped closer to you, crowding in until you had to tilt your head back to keep his face in view. Your voice broke into desperate pleading, and that was it—Pope’s body moved before his mind caught up, every instinct screaming to get you away from him. But Craig’s hand clamped on his arm, yanking him back before he could close the distance.
“We’ll be back,” Baz finished, his tone almost casual—like a promise. Then he shoved you down. Pope’s gaze locked on you just long enough to see Carolyn scramble to your side, hands hovering, voice shaky but urgent. Craig’s grip on his arm yanked him back into motion.
He moved on autopilot, feet pounding to the car. The second he slid behind the wheel, he tore out of there, the engine screaming as his hands trembled around the steering wheel. They pulled into the drop-off garage, Baz’s car sliding in ahead of him. Pope barely threw his into park before he was out, rounding on Baz. His fist caught Baz by the collar and slammed him against the side of the car.
“What the hell was that?” Pope snarled, shoving him hard. Craig and Daran jumped out, closing in fast.
“She was in the back, man—what do you want?” Baz spat, shoving back weakly. “We went over the plan!” Pope’s voice cracked with fury. “We didn’t go over you using her as a hostage.”
Daran hooked his arms under Pope’s, trying to haul him away. Craig added a solid shove, finally wedging himself between them. “Fuck you, man—you were there. She volunteered.” Pope broke free from Daran's grip, his fist crashing into the taller man’s face. “You hurt her—You—I swear to God, if there’s a scratch on her—” He was jerked back again, Daran barking, “Cool it—”
Before Pope could respond, Baz’s voice cut through, sharp and mocking. “Or what? You didn’t do anything when we were in there. Know why? ’Cause you’re a fucking pussy.” He lunged at Pope, only to be held back by Craig.
“Enough.”
A sharp, commanding voice sliced through the tension. Smurf stepped into the garage, her heels clicking against the concrete, with J trailing behind. “Are you boys really going to let a girl come between you?” she asked, standing squarely between Pope and Baz, eyes flicking from one to the other. “Baby, are you going to let this girl come between your family?” She locked eyes with Pope.
Pope’s phone vibrated violently in his pocket—unknown caller. He glanced down, then back at Smurf, then back to the phone. He swiped to answer, pressing it to his ear. “Andrew—sorry, this is Carolyn—” Relief surged through him at the sound of her voice, even with the distant chaos of sirens and screaming bleeding through the line. “Something happened at work. We need you to come get her. She’s not hurt, but she’s shaken up.”
“I’ll be there in ten. Don’t leave her alone.” Pope cut her off and hung up. Without another word, he turned from the garage and started for his truck, ignoring Baz’s taunts and Smurf’s sickly sweet voice. His choice was made.
He sped through the streets until the flashing lights told him where to stop. The bank was cordoned off with police cars, their lights painting the night in red and blue. A lone ambulance idled in the lot. And there you were.
Sitting on the edge of its bumper, a silver shock blanket wrapped around your shoulders, staring blankly out into the dark. Staring at nothing. Andrew climbed out of his truck, shoulders tense, jaw set, and pushed past the officers trying to block him. The commotion drew Carolyn’s attention. She set a gentle hand on your shoulder before rushing toward him.
“It’s okay! He’s here to pick her up—I called him!” She grabbed Andrew’s arm and tugged him under the tape. “Look, Andrew—these guys, they robbed the place. She’s not hurt, but they had a gun on her. I don’t know what they said, but she won’t talk to me.” Carolyn’s words tumbled out as they approached. She stopped just short of the ambulance and turned to him, lowering her voice.
“You need to be… gentle with her.” Pope nodded once, sharp and curt, but his chest felt like it might cave in. Gentle. The word rattled around in his skull like a foreign language. Gentle wasn’t something he knew how to be, not really. But for you, he’d try—he’d break himself into pieces if that’s what it took.
He stepped closer. You hadn’t noticed him yet, eyes still fixed somewhere far beyond the parking lot, lost in the aftershock. Your hands clutched the blanket so tightly your knuckles blanched white.
“Sweetheart,” Pope said softly, crouching in front of you. His voice sounded strange in his own ears, rough and unsure, but low enough that only you could hear. “It’s me.” Your head turned slowly, eyes glassy, unfocused for a beat—then recognition flickered.
“Let me take you home,” he said softly. You shook your head, chest jerking with every sob. “I can’t—I… Can I go to yours?” The words staggered out, broken. His heart splintered. He stumbled over a half-formed sentence, some useless excuse, but you cut through it with one word.
“Please.” The plea gutted him. Because he knew. He knew he was the one who put you here, the one who broke you like this.
And still—he nodded.
He carefully guided you toward his truck, barely acknowledging Carolyn’s worried rambling. He opened the passenger door, let her wrap you in one last lingering hug before he gently lifted you inside. He muttered a promise to keep her updated, then shut the door with more finality than he meant to. Sliding into the driver’s side, he risked a glance at you blanket clutched, eyes unfocused before leaning across to buckle your seatbelt himself.
The drive was silent, suffocating. The only sound came from your occasional shaky breaths. When he turned onto Smurf’s street, a soft sniffle broke through the quiet.
“I thought he was gonna kill me,” you whispered, voice raw. Pope jerked his head toward you, throat tight. He opened his mouth, desperate for something to say, something that could undo it. Nothing came.
“The one guy… he grabbed me when I was alone. He put his gun—” You caught his hand and pressed his finger against your throat, right at your carotid. “Here.” Your voice cracked. “All I could think about was you.” The confession knocked the air out of him. His chest squeezed, guilt and longing and shame clawing up his throat.
“I kept thinking that someone was going to have to call you, tell you what happened. I kept thinking about how Carolyn would react, walking into the back and seeing me there. What would happen to the others if he shot me—” You were spiraling, your words coming faster, jagged. Andrew pulled his hand free only to curl it around the back of your neck, drawing you closer until your forehead pressed to his shoulder. His arm wrapped around you, solid, anchoring.
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you again. Do you understand me?” Your sobs had quieted to uneven breaths by the time Pope pulled away from you. He killed the engine, sat there for a moment with his hand still warm against the back of your neck. His chest felt hollow—how could he ever explain that it had been him? That he had been in that room? Instead, he gave your shoulder a squeeze and forced his voice steady.
“Come on. Let’s get you inside.”
You nodded wordlessly, still wrapped tight in the silver blanket, and let him guide you up the steps. He unlocked the door, ushered you in, and shut it quick behind you.
The house was dim and smelled faintly of smoke and beer—signs the others had already returned. Pope’s stomach knotted. Any second, they’d come down the hall. Any second, you’d hear their voices and maybe recognize them. He couldn’t risk it.
“Go on,” he murmured, steering you toward the bathroom. His voice softened when he added, “Take a hot shower, yeah? It’ll help.” You looked up at him with wide, exhausted eyes, like you needed him to confirm it was safe. He brushed your hair gently back behind your ear—slow, deliberate, nothing like the way Baz had yanked at it earlier. “I’ll be right here,” he promised.
You froze as you looked up at him. For a beat too long, your glassy eyes locked on his face, searching. The corner of your mouth trembled, like you were piecing something together—like you’d seen him before. His stomach dropped. He felt it—the shadow of the safe between you, the way his hand had brushed that same strand of hair back hours earlier, the way you’d flinched at his touch then, the way you stiffened now.
But then you blinked, lashes damp, and whatever thought had been forming seemed to dissolve under the weight of your exhaustion. You gave a small, shaky nod and finally let him nudge you inside. The bathroom door shut with a soft click, and a moment later the shower sputtered to life. Pope sagged against the wall, pressing the heel of his hand hard against his eye, fighting the rising tide in his chest. The muffled sound of voices carried down the hall—low, rough, familiar. His stomach sank.
He pushed off the wall and stormed into the living room. Exactly what he expected: duffel bags dumped open, guns sprawled across the table, bricks of cash tossed in careless piles. “Get rid of it,” Pope snapped, his voice cutting like a blade through their chatter. “She’s here now.” His glare swept across the table, landing squarely on Baz. Baz’s head jerked up, bewildered. “She—why the hell would you bring her here?”
“She’s scared,” Pope hissed, stepping dangerously close, chest nearly brushing Baz’s. Baz smirked, cold and knowing. “Wonder why.” Baz’s smirk widened, pushing just enough to set Pope’s blood boiling. Pope shoved him back a step, teeth bared, his voice dropping to something ragged.
“You don’t ever ever put a gun on her again.” Craig shot Daran a look, shifting uneasily, but neither moved to intervene. The room vibrated with the heat rolling off both men.
“Or what?” Baz sneered, tone sharp and goading.
“You gonna finally grow a pair? ‘Cause in there you froze. You always freeze, Pope.” His voice rose with the taunt, bouncing off the walls.
The bathroom door clicked open down the hall. Steam drifted out as you padded barefoot onto the hardwood, the hem of one of Pope’s shirts clinging damp to your thighs. You paused, hearing the edge in Baz’s voice, and crept further, peering around the corner.
Your breath caught. Baz’s raised voice, the snarl, the sheer grit. It was the same sound, the same cadence, that had been pressed against your skull in that back room. Your pulse skittered wildly. You crept around the corner, watching the exchange for only a moment before Pope slammed his fist against the table. The sound made you flinch, and you stumbled into the vase in the hall. The crash echoed. Silence followed. Every head turned. Pope’s eyes found you instantly.
Caught, you stepped out, gaze locked on Baz.
“It was you—” your voice cracked, trembling but certain. But then your eyes fell on the table. The guns. The masks. The stacks of money. Your blood turned to ice. You staggered back, hand reaching out blindly for balance. Pope moved toward you, instinctively reaching to steady you, but your voice cut sharp through the air.
“Don’t.”
You put as much space as possible between yourself and the men at the table, tears streaking your face. “I—I won’t say anything, okay? I promise. Just… don’t.” Pope finished your sentence before you could. “We won’t hurt you. Would never—” A sharp, bitter laugh cracked out of your chest, cutting him off. “You let your brother pull a fucking gun on me.” Your voice broke on the words, fury and fear colliding. “Do you—do you have any idea how scared I was?”
Your eyes swept the table, landing briefly on Craig. He wouldn’t even meet your gaze. Not exactly your friend, but close enough after the months you’d spent around him while dating Pope. Still—he looked away, shame painting his features.
“I thought you guys were going to kill us.” The confession scraped out of you, your face twisting with disgust. You shook your head, a disbelieving laugh spilling into your sobs. “And I—I actually felt bad for making you take me back here.” Pope took a tentative step toward you, his hands raised like he was approaching a frightened animal.
“Don’t—please,” he rasped. “You know me. I’d never let anything happen to you.” But you backed away, your hand trembling as you pointed toward the table. “I saw. The guns. The masks. Don’t—don’t tell me you weren’t part of it.”
His mouth opened, but no words came.
A low scoff broke the silence. Baz leaned back in his chair, arms folded casually across his chest, his smirk sharp enough to cut glass. “You don’t need to be so dramatic about this,” he drawled. “If it makes it any better—he made us promise not to kill you. Real sweet.” He jerked his thumb toward Pope.
The sound of his voice hit you like a bullet. It dragged you straight back into the bank—the smell of gunpowder sharp in your nose, the weight of the barrel digging into your skin, your knees buckling as you begged for your life. Your stomach lurched; bile clawed at your throat.
Your eyes went wide as Baz stood, his smirk still painted on his face, and stepped toward you.
“Calm the fuck down. No one got hurt. Insurance’ll cover what we took. Now what I want to know is—” He took another step closer. “We gonna have to worry about you running your mouth?” Pope’s hand shot out, shoving him hard in the chest. “Baz—shut up.” He drew back, ready to throw another punch, when your voice sliced through the tension.
“I won’t. I won’t say anything. Just—” Your words caught, jagged in your throat. “I never want to see you again.” Your eyes cut to Pope, sharp and deliberate, the weight of your words burning into him. “Any of you. You’ll never hear from me again.” Your chest heaved as silence fell.
Then, before anyone could stop you, you spun on your heel and bolted. Your feet pounded down the hallway, the front door crashing open as you stumbled out into the night. Cool air slapped your tear-streaked face, but it didn’t slow you—you just needed distance, any distance.
“Wait—!” Pope’s voice chased you, heavy footsteps following close behind. You spun on him the moment you hit the yard, chest heaving, fury ripping through the fear. “Don’t you fucking follow me!” you screamed, your voice breaking. “You lied to me—you sat there, you held me, and the whole time you knew. You knew it was you. It was all of you!” He stopped a few feet away, chest rising and falling, hands half-lifted like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare.
“I thought I was gonna die in that bank. Do you get that? I thought someone was gonna call my mom and tell her I was gone, that Carolyn would have to clean my blood off the floor—and it was you!” Your voice cracked, each word sharper than the last.
You shoved him hard, your palms slamming against his chest. He didn’t budge—he just stood there like a stone wall. You hit him again, fists pounding against his shirt, wild and desperate. “I can’t trust you—I can’t trust anyone again because of you!” Tears streamed freely now, hot and relentless, your fists losing strength even as you kept striking. Pope didn’t move, didn’t raise a hand, didn’t defend himself. He just took it—every shove, every blow his jaw clenched, his eyes breaking in a way words never could.
Your fists slowed, strength draining until you were just shoving at him weakly, broken sobs tearing out of your chest. Pope still didn’t move, his silence cutting deeper than if he’d shouted back. You staggered a step back, dragging the sleeve of your shirt across your face, smearing tears you couldn’t stop. Your voice came out raw, trembling with fury and heartbreak.
“I hate you.” His eyes flickered, but he didn’t argue. “Everyone was right about you. About your family.” You shook your head, a bitter laugh scraping past your lips. “You’re poison. All of you. And I was stupid enough to think you were different.” Pope opened his mouth, some soundless plea caught on his tongue, but you cut him off before he could breathe it into the air.
“I wish I never met you.”
The words cut through him like glass, sharp and final. Beneath the venom, another voice ghosted in his head—the one from just days ago, whispered with bright eyes and the promise of future plans, soft and unwavering: I love you too, by the way. Possibly the first time he had heard those words in years. The first time since Julia. It collided violently with the words you’d just hurled at him, twisting like a knife in his chest.
You turned and ran, feet pounding down the street, the night swallowing you whole. Pope stood rooted where you left him, his chest heaving like he’d just been gutted. He didn’t call after you. He didn’t chase. He only watched until you disappeared into the dark, every instinct screaming to go after you—while the sick weight in his chest told him the truth. You were gone. And he didn’t deserve you back.
