Summary: You call your hot bodyguard to help you in a time of need.
A/N: first full fic in a HOT MINUTE. but my head longs for a bodyguard!au with pope cody and a flirty popstar!reader. i don't think i really characterise pope that well, so apologies for that. BUT! this is an au where nothing bad happens, so he'd be very different, too. planning on making this a series of some sort, but i don't really know how i want to structure it yet. TELL ME IF Y'ALL WANT MORE!!
Warnings: reader is female/fem presenting, some slightly suggestive comments (not too many though), pope is going through an emotional rollercoaster - from being sarcastic and witty, to flirty, to submissive (let's act like it's a creative choice rather than a mistake to make myself feel better), FLUFF!!
This was getting ridiculous. Your manager insisted that you put together an outfit specifically for the airport. “Can’t be caught slacking,” he said in a lighthearted tone, but his expression said otherwise. When you asked if he was being serious, he threatened to call your stylist instead. Which was how you found yourself turning your closet inside out, searching hopelessly for an outfit that could be deemed “travel chic.”
Lying down dejectedly on your soft, pastel pink carpet covered in dunes of clothes, staring at the ceiling, you knew there was only one person to call in times like these. Fetching your phone from your pocket, you tapped Pope’s contact. It was visibly different from the rest, with his profile picture being a silly photo you took with the 0.5 lens, making his forehead look huge. Not to mention, his name was the only one decorated with emojis - a pink heart and a teddy bear. You’d usually just text Pope when you needed him to come over, but after shovelling through hundreds of clothes, your poor hands were too tired to type your situation out. Clicking the call button, you placed the head of your phone by your ear.
After buzzing only twice, Pope answered. “What’s wrong?” You giggle internally at the distress in his voice, hearing him reach for his keys on the other side. Always so prepared, you pondered. “Nothing’s wrong, Pope. Well, actually… a few things are going wrong, but not in the way you’re thinking.” You hear him muffle a relieved sigh at your words. “And you couldn’t just text me? Jesus.” He says, voice laced with annoyance, but you knew him too well to fall for it. This was his way of showing that he cares.
“My hands hurt.” You whine, rolling over onto your stomach, as your spine begins aching from lying on the floor for too long. Pope huffs, “From what? Filing your nails too hard?” You roll your eyes despite knowing he can’t see your face. “Ha, ha. No,” you respond sarcastically, “I was digging through my whole life’s worth of clothes.” Pope lets out a snort at that, “I wasn’t too far off, then.” He says as he starts his car, and places his phone into the cupholder. You tried convincing him many times of investing in a phone holder to place on his dashboard, but he always shrugged you off, saying it’s a waste of money. “Are you coming over, or what?” You groan, having enough of bickering with him. “What do you think?” He responds dryly.
“Andrew,” you say lowly - Pope knew it meant that you wanted him to take you seriously. Hearing him clear his throat on the other side was a sign that you’d won. “Yes, I am. Don’t worry.” He always got shy whenever you called him his real name. You’d find him as frozen as a statue and only answering in one-word sentences. “Good. Get here as quickly as you can. Please?” That was the final nail in the coffin. He arrived at your hotel in less than five minutes.
Opening your door to an out-of-breath Pope Cody made you smirk. “Hope you didn’t break any laws to get here as quickly as you did.” You say as you open the door, letting him in. He scoffs, “‘Course not. I’m not that careless.” You laugh, tugging his arm, leading him to your messy room, “Never said you were. Just worried that you broke the speed limit just to help me pick an outfit.” Pope stills at that. “You called me over… to pick an outfit?” His judgemental expression was comical.
“Not just any outfit. An airport outfit.” You respond, trying your hardest to put on a nonchalant front. Pope sighs and runs his hands down his face. “You do realise I’m a bodyguard, right? Not a stylist. Speaking of, don’t you have one?” You continue to drag him to your room while he rants, on the verge of replying with ‘yeah, I have a stylist, but I’d rather change in front of you.’ “Yeah, but she’s busy right now. I’d rather bother you instead.” You say as you try not to notice Pope’s physical reaction to the state of your room, with him being a bit of a clean freak and all.
“I just don’t understand what you expect me to do.” He says, keeling over to pick up a pile of clothes. “I don’t expect you to do anything. Other than tell me which outfit looks best for an airport.” Pope sighs for what feels like the nth time, “What does that even mean?” You snort, “I don’t even know.”
After some convincing, you finally got Pope to stop trying to clean your room and instead sit on the edge of your bed, waiting patiently for you to put on the first outfit. The first outfit being a plain, white hoodie underneath a blue trenchcoat with baggy pants. Pope raises an eyebrow at you, “A hoodie and a trenchcoat? We’re not in Antarctica.” You sigh, “It’s a look, Pope. Not trying to look too casual or too professional.” He wordlessly shakes his head, as if trying to say ‘next’! Groaning, you march back into your bathroom to change.
The next outfit you show him is a bit more colourful - a blue sweater with a white cat on it, paired with a pink skirt, white knee socks, and black doll shoes. Pope nods approvingly at the sight of you, “That’s nice.” After a few seconds of awkward silence, you fix him with a frustrated look. “That’s it?” He looks at you confused, “What else do you want me to say?” You groan loudly, “Pope! Women don’t wanna hear ‘nice,’ we know we look nice! We want to hear your thoughts on the outfit - for example, what’s nice about it? Does it compliment my hair, my eyes, my figure? Things like that.” You finish your ramble with a pout, wanting to look more than just ‘nice’ in his eyes.
Pope hums at that. “Okay, then.” He says while standing up, circling you like a shark hunting its prey. “This skirt compliments your legs. Makes them look longer.” He whispers in your ear, making you involuntarily shudder. “The sweater softens your appearance, makes you look… cute.” He clears his throat nervously, stepping away from you. Apparently whispering in your ear was fine, but giving a simple compliment was too much for him. You turn to face him, placing your hands on his chest. “You think so?” You say, looking up at him with doe eyes. Pope’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down at your words as he mutters, “Y-Yeah..”
You giggle at his reaction, “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.” Going onto your tip-toes, you place a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Looks like I’ll have to pick this outfit then, seeing as you like it so much.” Pope’s face is practically burning now, his hands hovering above your hips, as if he wasn’t sure if he wanted to pull you closer or push you away. “Are you sure? Don’t you have other options…?” He says without looking at your face, a clear sign that you were affecting him. Pope always had a staring problem, it didn’t matter who he was talking to, he needed eye contact. Lots of people found it scary and intimidating, but you never saw it that way. You knew it was his way of making sure that you were listening and making sure that you knew that he was listening, too. So now, in his flustered state, unable to hold eye contact, it made you somewhat proud that you were the only person who could provoke such a reaction.
“No need to try on any more, this is the one.” You say confidently, moving your hands up from his chest to the back of his neck, running your fingers through his soft curls. “I’ll wear it as long as you stay by my side at the airport, Andrew.” His eyes meet yours, nodding obediently. “Yes, ma’am.”
A/N: SIGH. not so much bodyguard action in this fic, BUT TRUST, THERE IS MORE TO COME. pls help me come up with a solid way to write pope by telling me if u prefer him witty, submissive or stoic, but im having such a hard time choosing just one.
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