boyfriend pope cody who learns you want a birkin, whatever the fuck that means, and makes it the goal of his entire week to acquire one for you because he would quite literally rather die than let his pretty girl down:(
after some clacking and grumbling and endless searching he's discovered two things: that they're highly lucrative, and really fucking expensive
sure, he could go to smurf (the woman has connections everywhere), but coincidentally he would also rather die than do that, so does the next best thing
and it starts, of course, with cornering you against your kitchen counter after he's let himself in with the key you gave him at the start of the year
you gasp, giggling as his thick arms stretch around your waist until he's rolling his palms over your stomach, "oh popey, i didnt even hear you! hi, baby," turning around swiftly and giving him the usual quick, tight hug
"we need to go to new york. now," he grunts and that really is all you get before you find yourself next to him in his big truck as he books it for the airport
"um.. baby? is this some kind of a midlife crisis sort of thing?" you hum, squeezing his wrist as he grips the gear stick tightly. "honey?"
blinking, he turns to you and offers a brisk head shake. "no. you'll see."
two hours and almost three airport meltdowns later, you're aboard a flight, legs curled up into his lap as you considered the turn of events the late afternoon had brought to you. "andy?"
his chin is atop your head, a bulky arm secure around your shoulder as he hums lowly, eyes deadset on the screen attached to the seat in front of him as it displays the flight path, as if he might urge it on with his deathly glare
shuffling slightly, you pulled yourself out of his grasp just enough to look back at him. "i don't even have any spare underwear."
"we'll be back before morning, honey," he assured you gently, a steady palm tucking you carefully back against his chest. "just need to do something."
okay, so maybe it wasn't the best thought-out plan in the world, given air traffic and runway traffic and ever sort of fucking traffic ever invented, each of them cruelly catching you both until you arrived in the big apple and his hands were tight fists, sharp eyes jumping to and fro desparately between buildings
"andy.." you whisper but it doesn't seem to reach him. he grabs your arm and begins tugging you down the street.
you only begin to realise what he could possibly be doing when you come to a sudden stop outside a large store, tilting your head back to read the sign above the door: hermes.
"baby.. oh, baby.." you're pouting as you turn back to find him grumbling about how it should still be open, and if your uber pick-up hadn't been late you'd have made it in time. his mutters come to a swift halt when you cup his cheeks in your palms and offer him the softest, sweetest look (that he thinks you should trademark because its not like anyone could do it half as well as you anyway). "andrew, did you bring us all the way to new york so you could get me a birkin?"
he nods slowly, eyes glossed over with exhaustion and disappointment and just that little twinge of self loathing youve been trying to snuff out ever since you crossed eyes and decided he would be yours.
"thats so sweet, andrew, thank you so much," you coo, drawing him down towards you with a finger curled under the collar of his dark grey polo. "how about we go find a hotel, and head back tomorrow?"
"okay."
the next morning, you wake in a hotel somewhere around the bronx, yawning as you pad to the en suite in search of your boyfriend who apparently fled the bed, only to fall short and wind up with three sticky notes in hand
the first read: 'birkin hunting again, flights are booked for 7pm. will fetch you fresh underwear as well. love, a.'
then the one he'd pressed right beside it on the night stand; 'sorry for sneaking out by the way, you looked too pretty to wake up:('
the third and final: 'ps. i ordered room service to arrive at 10:30 for you. dont answer the door for anyone else. be back soon, i love you x'
a quick glance at your phone's lock screen told you it was only just ten, so you swiped up and quickly located his contact, listening to the line ring and ring and r-
"hi, sweetheart."
"andy..."
"i know, i'm sorry, but i had to get here before they closed again. anyway, i think i've nearly got it, there's just some... complications."
in the back, you heard a woman start to mention credibility and lifelong customers and you sighed softly, falling back against the plush pillows as your eyes rolled all the way to the suite's ceiling. "andrew, i don't need a birkin. if it's too much hassle, just-"
"no, you're getting it. i'm going to make sure you get it. even if i'm here all day."
"andy..."
"baby. you want it, you're getting it." he sounds almost desperate and you can't help but concede with a soft sigh. "okay.. okay, baby, just call me when you're nearly here."
"i will. love you."
"love you,"
while you sat out on the balcony of the suite and waited for your breakfast arrive, andrew was in the middle of the hermes store, rich girls fluttering around in another section, babbling about their 'colours of the summer' while he gritted his teeth and watched two employees exchanged whispers near a door at the back of the store. they kept glancing over and each time they did his fingers tapped a little harder and a little quicker on the counter.
their approach was slow and steady and the apparent store manager was already beginning the condescending spiel about how birkins worked. he's not stupid, he knows how they're looking at him with his bulging muscles and big brown eyes and the tattoo of a kiss stain on his neck, and hell if he doesnt want to punch somebody right about now, but he thinks the better of it
"i just want the bag," he ground out, glaring at the man. "please. i'll pay double, triple, whatever, just- it is right there, i can literally see it."
"i understand you want it, sir," the manager started. "but these bags are-"
"it's a fucking bag. do you want my money or not?"
it's been almost two hours since the phone call, an hour and a half since you ate your scrambled eggs on toast and twenty minutes since you showered. still wrapped up in the fluffy white robe, you debate if you should call him again
then you hear the beep of the electric lock on the door, turning your head to see pope striding in with a smirk, hands held behind his back though the hermes bag he attempts to hide is too large to be properly concealed
"no way.." is all you can seem to mutter as you beckon him closer before springing off the bed and padding up to him, kissing his cheek firmly
"took a lot of arguing but..." he draws his hand in front of him, holding the handles of the bag as your eyes sparkle and you look down to peek beyond the paper
chuckling softly, he nudged you forward until you sat on the edge of the bed and pouted up at him, grinning when he finally rescinded the bag to you. your excitement is contagious apparently; hes grinning as he watches you dive in and pull out the exact bag you'd sent to him
"andy!" you squeal, holding it close to your chest tightly. "thank you so much!"
a little awkwardly, he'll reach out and skim his fingertips over your cheekbone, shrugging with one shoulder as he utters, "s'nothing."
you roll your eyes at that and set it gently on the floor before tugging on his arm until he's sat beside you, straight-backed with bags heavier than your brand new one under his eyes. frowning, you swing your legs over his thighs and perch in his lap, smattering gentle kisses on his cheek and jaw and the lobe of his ear
"cancel the flight.."
"mmm?"
"we should stay here for a while."
"we don't have clothes."
"we won't need them," you coo, curling your palm at the base of his neck and gently working to massage the tension you find there
—
an: ugh another boyfriend pope drabble because omg hes my boyfriend ok
not proofread, hope you enjoyed it anyway xx
