ʚᯓ ᴀʙʙᴏᴛ'ꜱ ꜱᴏɴ x ʀᴏʙʙʏ'ꜱ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴇʀ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ who absolutely can't stand each other, but are forced into close proximity because their fathers are best friends. – WC; 1.1k
It was a hot, sticky summer day, and you were practically melting after beating all the other kids in a game of tag. Everyone else had gotten into the pool for a swim, but your father had just gotten back from a twelve hour shift the night before and had completely forgotten to pack your swimsuit for the day.
You were upset, as any seven-year-old girl would be at her best friend's birthday party, and it showed in the way you sulked in one of the Abbots' porch swings.
"What's wrong, sweet girl? Why aren't you in the pool with everyone else?"
The voice was warm, motherly, even.
You looked up to see Ben's stepmother, a woman named Ziyana. She had a concerned pinch in her dark brow and a small frown curving her lips downward.
"My dad forgot my suit.." you mumbled, straightening up– almost embarrassed to admit it.
"Oh," Ziyana hummed before chuckling and ruffling your hair. "Come with me, I'm sure we have extra from my niece being over," she offered, holding out her hand.
You looked up at her in shock before sliding off the bench and taking her hand, the coolness of her palm a reprieve from the sweltering inferno you were surrounded by.
After a bit of rummaging around in the cozy guest bedroom, Ziyana eventually found a swimsuit the both of you could agree on– a tankini with lemons printed on the top and blue straps with matching blue bottoms.
You were more than ecstatic at the opportunity to just jump in the water with everyone else and continue your games, so you dressed quickly and thanked the older woman profusely.
"Don't worry about it, silly, now go back outside," she chuckled, giving you a guiding touch at the top of your back.
You ran down the stairs and out to the backyard, ready to get into the pool when you heard Ben talking with one of his other friends over a Caprisun.
"Why doesn't she look like her dad?" The other boy asked, looking over at your father as he did.
The words make you stop in your tracks and you could hear your pulse in your ears. It had always been a sensitive subject for you ever since you asked your father where your mother was and he explained how you weren't biologically his child.
Ben just shrugged at his friend's question. "I dunno, probably the same reason I don't look like my mom," he replied nonchalantly, sending relief flooding through your bones.
His friend seemed content enough with his response and went back to sipping his drink. You sighed and walked over to the pool, sitting on the edge to slide yourself in, until–
"What if she's adopted?"
Your heart sank to your stomach and your head whipped over your shoulder just to catch Ben looking at you too.
Ben laughed then. "No way, she's too cool for that– that's my best friend!" He shot back, shoving the boy lightly.
"I bet you won't ask your dad then!" The boy replied, shoving Ben back.
You began to panic, knowing if Mr. Jack was anything, it was honest and he would tell his son the answer. You scrambled out of the pool as the boys raced to Mr. Jack and ran to your own father.
"Hey, hey, slow your roll, kid. What's the matter?" Your dad asked as you barreled into his leg, setting his beer down and lifting you in his arms.
"They're gonna ask Mr. Jack if I'm adopted–" you breathed, feeling your body begin to tremble and your nerves light on fire.
Your father's brows pinched and he adjusted you in his arms. "What's so wrong with being adopted?" He asked gently.
You felt your little eyes well with tears. He didn't understand, of course he wouldn't– he hadn't been seven in a long time. "They're gonna make fun of me–" you tried to explain before the boys came running back.
"No, they won't, just go keep playing," your dad sighed, setting you back down on the concrete. You sniffled and tried to pull yourself together so you could go back to the party, but the task proved more difficult than expected.
You'd finally settled back on the edge of the pool when Ben and his friend came up behind you, their reflections staring up at you from the pool.
"Is it true your real parents didn't want you?" The friend asked, a stupid grin on his mouth.
You whipped around, bottom lip already trembling. "No! That's not true!" You shot back defensively, scrambling to stand up again.
"No, it is! You're adopted!" The boy yelled back.
"And we're gonna go tell!" Ben added in a sing-song tone. The boys ran off together, going to tell everyone else at the party.
"No! Stop!" You yelled, running after them, but it was no use. You were faster than them, but they yelled louder and soon everyone knew the ugly secret.
Everyone laughed and to the adults it looked like just a game, but you knew what it was. For the rest of the party, no one talked to you or asked to play, thinking your adoption status was contagious and their parents wouldn't want them either if they talked with you.
You ended up going inside and sitting at the dining room table with Ben's grandmother until your dad and Ben's parents came in, looking for you.
"Why weren't you out there playing with everyone else, kid?" Your dad asked as he came up to you at the table, turning your chair out so you faced him.
Your eyes welled up again and you could feel your teeth chattering in your mouth as you tried to speak. "They were making fun of me.." you finally managed, voice hoarse.
You could see Jack over his shoulder pinching his brows together in anger. He hated bullies, you knew firsthand after he yelled at a kid's parent because they bit Ben at the park.
Your father paused at your words and picked you up. "We're going home," he told you quietly. He turned and looked to Jack and Ziyana with a nod before leaving out the door with you in his arms.
On the drive home, his eyes kept flicking to you in the rear view mirror– the way you stared out of the window at the passing views and the Pittsburgh city lights.
"You know.. being adopted just means you were wanted way more than those other kids," he finally spoke, making your head lift from the window.
"Really?" You asked, almost silently.
"Yeah, really. I wanted you so much, I tracked you down and went through a really long process just so I could get my perfect girl," he replied with a small smile.
You sat in silence for a moment before smiling back.
"Because I like you?" You scoffed, shocked at the sheer audacity of his words.
You watched his face fall as he realized his assumption was completely wrong. "Well– I mean, yeah– you were kinda, like, checking me out–" he stammered, trying to explain his thinking.
You blinked once, then twice before laughing in his face. "Yeah, I checked you out. You're a guy! I check every guy out!" You shot back. "That doesn't mean I like you."
Ben's face scrunched in this ugly shape, like he was trying to figure out how someone like you– a girl, to be exact– could just check guys out without having feelings. "That's not–"
"–how that works?" You hummed. "No, it is. I have no interest in you," you told him seriously. "Don't think I forgot."
"Forgot what–?"
You slammed the door in his face, again.
You could almost cry because for a second there, the banter felt good, natural, and you almost let your guard down.
You grabbed your things from the cabinet and redressed before slinging your purse over your shoulder and opening the bathroom door, half-expecting him to still be there. He wasn't.
You walked down the staircase, seeing Ziyana and a few other moms chatting over the birthday cake as she finished adding the candles on it.
"Oh, hi sweet girl," she beamed as soon as she caught sight of you. "You're staying for cake, right?" She hummed excitedly.
Your heart clenched and you forced a small smile onto your mouth. You hated to disappoint, but you couldn't stay any longer– you already made your attempt for your father.
"No, I'm sorry, Mrs. Ziyana. I'm gonna just head home, stomachache," you replied to which she nodded.
"No, I understand, sweetheart. Go home and get some rest," she replied. "And limit your sun exposure tomorrow! You've had a lot today!" She called after you, like a true doctor.
You walked out of the house and found your dad still with Jack, talking over a beer, as always. You looked around for any sight of Ben, but couldn't find him. It gave you a weird feeling in your chest, like you wanted to find him again, but you pushed him away. You couldn't stand him.
"Dad," you called, making both the men turn.
"Yeah, what's up, kid?" Your father replied once he registered it was you calling for him.
"Let's go," you sighed. "I tried."
A small frown tugged at his lips before he caved and nodded. "Okay, let's go," he replied, tossing the beer into the nearby trash, making Jack shoot him a look. He noticed his friend's look and went over to put it into the recycling bin instead.
"Later, Rabbit," your dad sighed, patting his friend on the back.
"Later, Gator," Jack shot back before looking to you with a softer look. "Don't let them get to you, kiddo," he said as if he knew.
During the drive home, your father turned to look at you with a sigh. "What was it this time? Silly string in your hair? Crumbs in your swimsuit?" He asked, trying to lighten the tense mood.
You shot him a look before looking back out the window. "He said I liked him," you murmured.
He raised a brow at that. "And do you?"
You whipped your head to look at him. "Dad! You cannot–" you groaned. He laughed then.
"Hey, just asking the important questions here," he simply replied.
"No, I do not like him. I can't stand that idiot!" You retorted.
"Can't stand him, or can't stand that you still like him?" He hummed curiously.
"Okay, now you're pushing it."
"Okay, okay, sorry."
That night you sat in your room, picking at the exposed threads on your comforter as you thought about everything that happened through the day.
Ben's bold assumption, Jack's warning, Ziyana's look, and of course.. your father's words.
You knew you couldn't stand him– especially not after he made fun of you with his friends and never apologized or made up for it.
But at one point in time he had been your best friend and the sweetest guy you knew. Even from his reputation at school, he was still a massive sweetheart which only made you more conflicted. Then there was also the confusion he had at your words. Had he truly forgotten what happened at that party? The real reason you stopped being friends?
You sighed and flopped back against the mountain of pillows pressed against your headboard, unsure of what to think.
He was all grown up now– officially too– and maybe he had grown and changed. He sure looked it, and damn if that wasn't attractive enough–
You shook the thought entirely from your head and sighed before burying your face into the pillows.
You had no clue what the hell you were going to do.
a/n: holy hell, thank you so much for all the support, i really was not expecting this influx of people 😭. i love every bit of support though and you, my wonderful lovebugs, are so amazing! if the support for this stays this way, i might just have to post on my ao3 which has been sitting barren for almost a year now since ik aus are also loved there. but yeahhh, tell me what you guys would like to see more of and don't be shy to say what you'd like to see less of!
young jack abbot who’s your best friend’s older brother…
fem!reader (“girl”, described as being girly)
not that they’re necessarily close, but jack is always concerned about his younger sister and the friends that might be a bad influence on her. it’s parties every weekend, staying out late on school nights, and the over-use of the abbot residence for your group. he was sick of it.
chatter ran all around the house, because some reality show was on and you all had been hooting and hollering. he was in the kitchen, attempting to study for a french quiz. you padded in, tanktop and sweats with an empty glass in your hand.
with a smile his way, you turned to open the fridge, “hey, jacky.”
his eyes darted up, shifting in his seat. then, he was relieved it was you and not one of rachel’s more uppity, obnoxious friends. he kept his mouth shut anyway, turning focus back on his book.
there’s always been a soft spot for you. sure, you ran with that group, you were the mastermind behind a few harmless shenanigans. however, he tolerated— even liked you. maybe it was the way you spaced out your drinks, how you kept an eye out for allergies among the group, how you stuck around when someone felt sick. you were more… responsible.
after filling your glass with water, you moved to where jack was sitting and peered over his shoulder. immediately, he felt your presence on his back and your hand stable against the back of his chair.
“doing some reading?” you smirked, eyes moving to scan his face.
“i have a test,” he mumbled before turning to look at you. he was blushing, like really blushing, face hot and cheeks pink. you were leaned only inches above him, after all. face above his and arm around his chair.
“madame fowler?” you raised an eyebrow. slowly, he nodded. you continued, “cool, i have her for french 3.”
“you wanna help me study?” he watched as a grin danced on your mouth, terminating with a bite down on your bottom lip.
shaking your head, “i don’t know a lick of french. you’re on your own, buddy boy.”
with a harsh pat of his back, you made your way out of the kitchen. your pants rode low on your waist, creating a sliver of skin between your top and your sweats. eyes surfacing over your back, jack watched you sway away, shaking his head.
that's kind-of how it began. you'd slink around their house, around school, the neighbourhood, parties, anything to catch his attention. of course, he'd been watching, exhibiting perfect restraint.
when it started to get hot, though, something in him begged to differ.
the abbot pool was another go-to spot for your group. it was another excuse to prance around jack half-naked. this particular friday in may, it was you and naomi who joined rachel in her quest for tan skin.
jack had been coming home from playing pick-up basketball with his friends. shirt stained in sweat, red curls pushed back, biceps pumped out of his sleeves. if you hadn’t been wearing those huge sunglasses, it would’ve been obvious you were ogling at him. you weren’t sure why you came through the back, though.
he looked right back at you, eyes piercing at that turquoise bikini on your lotion-glazed skin. your head was tilted back, exposing your neck. you had a book in hand, jane austen from what he could see on the cover. It rested over your stomach, both hands on either side. your ankles were crossed, legs glistening in the sun.
he had never really stared at anyone like this. You were blinding in the best way, shiny and beautiful. it was embarrassing how his mouth hung open, embarrassing how his eyes softened at the sight of you, embarrassing how he just stood there like an idiot. he wasn't usually like that, he was known as a classic charmer.
naomi, sitting furthest most from the gate, tilted her head over and caught jack, “gawk much?”
quickly, he adjusted his position, rubbing the back of his neck. “uh, rach, mom wants to know if they’re sleeping over.”
rachel, who had been laying so still for 20 minutes that you thought she was asleep, opened her eyes and scrunched her nose, “yeah… now, buzz off.” she waved her hand in the air, “i can smell you from here.”
jack nodded, looking away and trekking to the house with a sarcastic yeah, sorry. he caught a glimpse of you before going through the patio door.
with a smirk, you closed your book and placed it on the ground. sitting up, you were ready to follow him inside. slipping your t-shirt over your head, your legs fell to face naomi and rachel. you slipped your flip flops on as you stood, prepared to move out.
“don’t even think about it.” naomi spoke, unmoved from her position.
“w-what?” you furrowed your eyebrows at her. turning her head towards you, she lifted her sunglasses. hand over your hip, you gasped defensively, “i was going to get water.”
“mhmm, thirsty as hell,” naomi shook her head sarcastically, “i see the way he stares at you, like he wants to eat you up like the little tart you are.” she laughed, the joke being more for herself than you.
“ew, guys, are you talking about jack?” rachel whined, turning over to face down. her voice muffled in her towel, “that’s disgusting. keep me out of it.”
"need anything?" you raised an eyebrow at naomi before you made your way inside.
"you clearly do."
in the kitchen, jack had been biting into an apple, sifting through the mail on the table. he was still in his workout clothes, dampness slowly fading from his shirt. you shut the door behind you, making your way over to him. his eyes darted up, and you pressed a finger to your lips.
“hey,” he said lowly, cheeks flushed as a slow smile grew on his face.
you neared him, palm pushing on the cold marble of the counter as your body entered his atmosphere. you nodded your chin up at him, only inches away.
"so." you began.
"so," he nodded back at you.
you saw jack press his lips together and his gaze fall to your mouth. his hand found your waist through the big t-shirt you'd thrown over. your skin was hot, but he didn't seem to mind.
leaning in, he was delicate with you. his mouth grazed over yours, kissing you softly. you giggled into it, not expecting him to be a good kisser. his body went flush against you, like it was meant to be there. it was soft little presses, the push of your head away, then the rebound back into him.
your hands met his chest eventually, patting lightly as you pulled away from him. his eyes eyes grew soft and wimpy, like he'd been available for you if you called.
"'kay, thanks." you whispered with a smile, moving away from him to return to the backyard.
you rendered him speechless, leaving him in the middle of the kitchen without explanation. he stood dumbfounded, embarrassed as he was when he had come home.
later into the evening, the girls had fallen asleep through dirty dancing, but you stayed awake. sneaking away from rachel's bedroom, you shut the door slowly as you spotted the light on in the laundry room.
knowing it was far too late for their parents to be awake, you toed your way over, catching a glipse of jack, who was messing with the dryer settings. in a t-shirt and his flannel pyjama pants, he caught your eye through the doorway and grinned.
"it's late," you said as the dryer started up.
he nodded, a smug, mocking look in his eye, turning to you, "'kay thanks? i don't think a girl has ever said that to me."
you got closer, resting your hands on his shoulders, batting your lashes at him, "well, how else was i supposed to thank you?"
he grinned, pressing his hands on your sides and caging you against the rumbling dryer. your fingers found their way up to his curls, running through just like you daydreamed of.
"i could think of a few things." he mumbled before pressing his lips to yours again.
note: this was definitely supposed to be a shorter drabble, but i think there will be more to this #soon ... stay tuned (thinking… of jack in the summertime… beach… pool… tanning… your back, beneath the sun, wishing i could write my name on it)
Summary: Letters to one random Folsom prisoner get you to Andrew, who needed you just as much as you need him.
Pairing: andrew "pope" cody x fem!reader
Contains: prison/s1 andrew, fluff, age gap, reader is in college, nickname "andy", dreams of domesticity, smoking (briefly), drinking mentioned, weed/drugs mentioned, touch starved reader & andrew
Word Count: 4.9k
Note: started ak recently ... expect more andrew in the near future ;)
You didn’t mean to get so attached.
Dear Andrew Cody.
It was a project for your creative writing class. Find an incarcerated person, and write them a letter of encouragement. Push your boundaries, learn how to comfort people. You mostly had done narrative writing for the class, but your professor was looking to expand horizons.
Cycling through the Folsom database, you chose Andrew on a whim, in between puffs of a joint. His mugshot was interesting. He looked angry— who wouldn’t be—, but there was a subtle sadness behind his eyes that you could catch through the black and white grain. You even joked to your friend how cute he was, that he had guard dog face.
You decided to handwrite it, thinking it would be the least effort you could put in what might be the worst written letter of your life. You wrote the usual “Stay Strong” spiel every example letter you found on the internet started with.
Throughout the letter, you found yourself trailing off, telling him meaningless information— the weather outside, what songs you listened to sounded like. You tried asking about himself without being too insistent or nosy, though you weren’t even sure if you’d hear back.
Finishing the letter unsurely, you attempted a friendly goodbye, trying not to seem like you looked down on him or pitied him in any way.
Respectfully, Yours
You didn’t expect to hear back.
Two weeks or so passed and an envelope from Folsom found its way into your mailbox. Having forgotten about the letter due to your event-heavy week, the government-style envelope scared you. Sure, you skipped Jury Duty once to go Cabo on Spring Break, but that didn’t warrant a direct summons from jail.
With the furrow of your eyebrows, you tore open the envelope and realized it was from Andrew. His handwriting was neat and meticulous, not messy and boyish like you thought it would be. The weight of the graphite, though, was heavy and strong, like it had been yelling at you.
Thanking you for the letter, he said he was surprised to hear from a stranger. He told you about his family, his mom and brothers, without any explicit details. You mentioned the beach and sunshine in your letter, and Andrew mentioned salt air in his, dropping that he’d grown up in Oceanside.
His letter was quite brief, sentences cut short and proper specificity thrown out the window. He didn’t say much about his conditions but he did end the letter with a
I hope to hear from you again soon. I don’t get many letters.
His slight vulnerability hit your heart with a pang. The honesty from him seemed like he really did need someone to talk to. You could’ve mistaken it as classic sympathy, but something tied you to him.
So, you wrote again, not as an assignment but just for you. Maybe you were lonely too, but a little letter could do no harm.
You told him how the initial letter was for a class, apologizing for formalities. You gave a neutral comment on his family, sharing about yours too.
Andrew? Isn’t that too formal? Andrew. I feel like I’m scolding you just writing it. Is Andy okay? I hope it is. I won’t use it if it isn’t.
Although he basically had your home address, you shared that you also lived in San Diego, attending the public university. You told him about your classes, your favourite simple things in life. He seemed to enjoy it when you described your scenery to him, so you did.
Writing back, he said he didn’t mind if you called him Andy. He said that no one really called him that, that his nickname back home was “Pope”— without an explanation. He shared that he didn’t finish high school, again, without an explanation, and said that you must be smart.
The letters flowed, maybe once or twice a month. Check-ins, details about your friends, things Andrew missed about the outside world, postcards, printed photos of the city, doodles of Rottweilers and Pitbulls in the margins (from you).
You even threw in a photo your friend took of you on Crystal Pier. Wide smile, eyes squinting, skin glowing, and the waves rushing down below. Quickly and dismissively, Andrew had slipped that he thought you were beautiful, which made you blush. (Strangely, this was the most action you were getting lately.)
Though he didn’t say, he pinned that photo of you up in his cell, and threatened anyone that commented or looked too close. He called you my girl, letting everyone interpret it as they would.
Eventually, it became a weekly thing.
Something about your gel pens scratching across the paper felt romantic to you. You felt like you were waiting for your husband to come back from war. Only, that wasn’t the case. On the off-chance you mentioned it, your friends never failed to remind you that you were writing to a dangerous man in his 30s that was locked up. It only thrilled you more.
Then, you started venting to him, telling him things you had a hard time saying aloud. Letters got deep, talking about your mental state and how you felt isolated. How much you loved San Diego, but was homesick half the time. How you craved proper human connection past fleeting moments at parties or networking around campus.
Andrew answered without judgement. He didn’t have much advice to give, but nonetheless offered his listening ears, or eyes. You never asked, but he told you about the bank robbery, how long they’d keep him in. Again, no details, you figured it was for safety. He told you about jail, the food, the walls, the boring days— nothing that mattered. He said he doesn’t get many visitors and how that made him feel even more lonely.
You shared how you wished you could visit, and you meant it.
You were acting like one of Andrew’s friends, and not some stranger that wrote to him for a school project. You wished him a happy birthday, as he did you. Although small, you continued sending photocards, ticket stubs to movies you saw, sometimes a lipstick stain if you were feeling cheeky. You grew so attached, yet you didn’t even know him.
One month in particular was rough. Having all your midterms condensed into two weeks drove you insane. You spent most of your time at the library, then holed up in your room if not. All your time went to studying, working, then exhaustion.
After your last midterm, your friends had mentioned Wine Wednesday and you jumped on the opportunity to go outside, only on principle.
The night was rough. Your friends had met some other people they knew at the party, and you trailed along like a beaten down horse. It was nice meeting new people, but you didn’t get comfortable. You got tipsy, though in a way that was no longer fun. When your adrenaline crashed, you decided it was time to take yourself home.
Missing your bed, you quietly toed into your apartment, locking the door behind. You thanked the gods that your roommates were on their own planets and far from your orbit. You just needed one cigarette, then to collapse and leave everything to the morning.
In your room, you reached for your light switch as you placed your keys on your table. You were mentally drafting how you’d change into your pyjamas, then head to the balcony.
As you looked up, you saw that the articles of clothing that you had thrown around in search of an outfit hours prior were neatly folded on the bed. In fact, your room was about 50% less messy than you left it. A man had been sitting on the foot of your bed, perfect posture, dark clothes, and watching you.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” You flinched as soon as you realized. Your eyebrows furrowed, more angrily than scared this time. You figured it must be a guest of your roommates, they were always bringing interesting characters over. You peered back into the common room, like you missed something, then dipped your head back to look at him. “Who the fuck—“
“You didn’t write last week.” His voice was simple yet gruff as he spoke, standing from his position. He didn’t come towards you and his arms remained at his sides, hands empty and unthreatening.
“What?” You decided you were too tired for this bullshit, sometime in between your breaths. It took you a second, but you squinted your eyes at him when you realized, “Andrew? What the hell are you doing here?”
His name on your tongue struck him harder than he thought it would. He’d lie awake some nights, attempting to give a tone and pitch to you. Were you sweet? Did you have a harsher voice? Or maybe you were loud and obnoxious (he didn’t like this one much, but decided he could live with it). He replayed what he thought your voice sounded like a billion times in his head, but it never matched up to the real thing, to this.
Andrew would read your letters to himself as if you were reading them aloud to him. Your writing led him to believe you didn’t sound dumb or obnoxious, maybe expressive, maybe relaxed at times. He never really settled on one thing, as your syntax changed day-to-day when he imagined you. What mattered wasn’t the persona he placed you in, just that it was you.
“You didn’t write last week.” He repeated.
You placed him side-by-side to his mugshot in your head. His hair was now short, untamed, choppy. His puppy dog eyes looked sweeter in person, even though there seemed to be heat behind them. The crease between his eyebrows was his most distinct tell to you, as was the flat line of his mouth that bordered on upset. He had a dimple on his left cheek, which you couldn’t see in your mental image of the photo.
“What, so you broke out of prison?” You furrowed your eyebrows with a sigh, reaching for your cigarettes and lighter on your dresser.
“I got out on parole.”
“You can’t just break into people’s houses, Andy.” You said, as if you forgot that he was a criminal.
“I wasn’t going to.” He offered, though even he knew it wasn’t true. “You’re usually home before this time.”
With a gulp, you nudged your head towards the balcony.
Sitting side-by-side in your patio chairs, Andrew told you about his good behaviour that allowed his parole, that they let him out after only 3 years. He also told you that he had just gotten back that day.
“You came to see me first?” You smiled before taking a puff of your cigarette. You looked at him, a twinkle surfacing your eyes. “I’m flattered… Even though you broke into my home.”
“It’s hardly a break-in if your balcony door is unlocked.” He stated sarcastically as you passed the cigarette to him. His tight lips had gone where yours had, and he coughed up a little since his lungs weren’t accustomed to the taste anymore.
“I’m on the third floor.” You said as he simply shrugged.
In between puffs and fingers gliding against each others’, he told you what he couldn’t say in letters. Not with visceral detail, but he told you about the guards, the isolation, the torture. There was a point in the conversation where his voice cracked and stalled, like he just might shatter in front of you.
“I did a paper on institutional abuse for my criminal justice class,” You told him quietly, “I’m not going to claim to understand, but it’s rough. I’m sorry you experienced that, Andy. You didn’t deserve it.”
He didn’t say anything, just a singular nod.
You placed a hand on his, which was resting on his thigh, “We don’t have to talk about it right now, if you don’t want to.”
Andrew’s lips quivered and his eyes hardened as he looked at you. He huffed, hand unmoving and body completely still. He wasn’t used to human touch— hell, it had been years since he'd properly seen a woman, but even before that… Genuine affection wasn’t a familiar concept. Everything, even a hug from his own mother, bore deadweight or pity.
When you had started being more than just nice in your letters— sharing how you’d thought of him throughout your day, how you anticipated each letter, how you felt connected to him—, he thought you were expecting something in return, money or whatever. Then, your letters carried on without manipulation.
It was so overwhelming how much you actually seemed to care about him that it made him lightheaded. Your words, your loopy handwriting, hearts above your i’s, was a drug to him. Hitting each syllable after the next, like it was his only escape. If your letters were a puff of a joint, then your touch was heroin.
You had cased his demeanor and observed his stillness. It was like his brain shut down, eyes vacant and looking into yours. His mouth fell from the paper-thin line he pressed it into as he tried to make sense of the situation.
He was unsure what to do, but then he realized you weren’t asking anything of him or forcing anything out of him— you were giving him grace. His wrist turned over and his fingers grasped yours gently.
“Did you mean it?” He looked into your eyes again.
“Mean what?” You tilted your head at him.
“If I could, I would visit you. I’d sit with you for as long as possible.” He recited from memory. His eyes stayed on you like a spot. “We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, or I’d talk your ear off if you’d let me.”
Of course you meant it, but you winced when he said it, “Was that too much?”
He swore he almost smiled.
“I swear I’m not as cheesy as I come off.” You looked away. “I just like to pretend.”
“Pretend?” He furrowed his eyebrows.
It was embarrassing, the way he made you talk. Andrew made you verbalize and illustrate how you felt in ways you ordinarily weren’t able to. The letters were that escape for you, but now, face-to-face, you felt you knew him too much to have a little whimsy without feeling ridiculous.
“I don’t know,” you looked back at him and gulped, “Just that I know you differently.”
“Differently?”
With a hesitant sigh, you admitted, “Like you’re my soldier away at war, and I’m waiting for you to come home… so that we can get married and have a family together.”
“Oh.” He wasn’t mocking, just acknowledging. The way his calloused hand went limp in yours, you didn’t know how to feel. His face was a hard read, always completely still and utterly stoic. Although that was basically what he did too, he didn’t know what to say without sounding insane.
“I know… Playing a fantasy? It’s stupid.” You said dismissively, looking away.
“No.”
You looked back at him, not ready for more of your stupidly vast imagination to come to light. His thumb ran over your knuckles as you did so, gently over then back then over again, like he wanted to remember this feeling beneath his fingers. He looked down at your hand, then back at you.
Tapping on your ring finger, “Sorry, I would’ve brought a ring if that was the case,” he joked in that deadpan voice of his.
You smiled, nearly giggled like a schoolgirl then stopped yourself out of embarrassment. You couldn’t even care that he broke into your apartment and most likely went through your things while cleaning.
Usually, you’d think of what your friends would say, the questions your family would have, the looks you would get, but it all went away. The noise of this is insane was blocked out with his real voice and his tangible body.
“Do you, um…” You cleared your throat. “Do you have somewhere to stay?”
Andrew remained silent, and you figured that was an answer.
You offered him clothes, some of your old boyfriends’ from years past and a big Snoopy t-shirt you got at a blood donation drive. He raised an eyebrow when you handed them to him.
“‘S all I have.” You pursed your lips with a shrug.
While he was brushing his teeth in your bathroom, you meekly approached the door, rubbing your hands over each other.
“I, um… I have class in the morning, but we can get lunch together after.”
Looking at you through the mirror, he nodded, face still emotionless. The t-shirt that hung on his frame casually and the loose fit of the sweatpants made him look like he belonged there. Serious face with your purple towels hung behind him and your flouncy shower curtain in the distance. Even with toothpaste on his lips, you couldn’t help but beam inside. Was it weird to extend your paper fantasy to reality? Was this unethical?
You stared at his hand grasped around your extra toothbrush, the yellow Minions one you had stowed away for no reason in particular. The flex of his forearm intrigued you, and you wanted to reach out and feel it. You wanted to map places you’d take him on the freckles along his skin.
When you realized he was staring at you staring at him, you snapped out of it, nodding and heading back to bed.
Coming out of the bathroom, he was headed for the living room, presumably for the couch.
You don’t know why you said it but it came out anyway, “Can you stay here with me?”
When he remained still and didn’t say anything, you patted the mattress beside you. What gravitated you to his physical presence was beyond you, and it made him furrow his eyebrows. Maybe you were just as touch starved as him, but having him stay might’ve pushed it.
“I shouldn’t.” He said.
With a pause, you asked in a small voice, “But do you want to?”
Sharply inhaling, he found the space on the left side of your bed. The mattress dipped as he laid down on his side, facing away from you. You watched him, nearly disappointed but glad he took your offer, and got under the covers yourself.
“Goodnight, Andy.” You whispered before turning off your lamp. With a sigh, you bunched the comforter closer to your skin.
Andrew didn’t sleep until he knew you were. When your breaths slowed, he allowed his to, shutting his eyes like it was medication. It took a few minutes of forcing himself to relax, but your bed was much more comfortable than his jail cell.
At some point in the night, you had unconsciously rolled over to where Andrew was, an arm resting along his waist and your face nudging into his back. You curled up behind him, desperate to feel the heat of him on you. If you knew better and were awake, you would’ve kept to yourself. Nevertheless, his hand rested on yours.
When the sun floated by your blinds, Andrew woke up, stiff under your touch like no time had passed between last night and the morning. He realized your forehead was pressed between his shoulder blades and your hand was clutching his abdomen. He looked over his shoulder as he patted your hand with his, checking if you were awake.
Your hair was a mess over your face, mouth ajar and body relaxed. As Andrew shifted away, you let out a disappointed hum, pawing at his stomach. Although there was a thin layer of cotton beneath your fingertips, his skin burned at the movement of your fingers.
“Five minutes,” you mumbled, morning voice hoarse and irritated.
He eased, turning over to face you. His eyes surfaced over your eyes shut tight and shoulders shrugged under your t-shirt. Your puffy cheek under the strands of hair, soft and supple, called him. His fingertips grazed over, pushing your hair out of your face and behind your ear.
Eyes fluttering open, you realized you had been clutching his middle and were now pressed against his shoulder. You inhaled sharply, sliding your hand away and onto the sheets.
“Sorry,” you mumbled, “Morning.”
You rubbed your eyes and Andrew watched how your hands came to your face and slipped down. He admired the spread of the thin fabric over your chest as you stretched your arms. He couldn’t believe this was real, that you were real.
“Did you sleep well?” Wide eyes waited for his approval after you adjusted to look at him.
He kept his lips pressed together as he nodded.
A smile spread across your face as you pulled the blanket tight to your stomach. He felt bewildered, watching the sunrays across your nose and your crinkled eyes. Andrew remembered dreaming of this moment, not exactly but waking up next to you with everyday comfort. The normalcy of your grin and your morning eyes warmed him, face turning hot as your eyes trailed his body.
“You’re beautiful.” He let slip, like his mouth had been connected to his heart.
You wanted to scoff or make some self-deprecating quip, but his honey-glazed eyes pulled you into the moment. With a soft exhale, your lips fell into a softer and more relaxed position.
Timidly, you reached your hand to his face. His eyes followed your fingers, unsure and intrigued. The pads of your fingers reached his hairline and your fingers ran through the short strands to find the back of his head.
By sheer force of will and desire, you moved closer to him, hovering and resting your arm on his chest. His eyes darted back to yours and, all of a sudden, you were only centimetres away. He held his breath in anticipation. Your lips fell into a pout as your eyes darted to the fine line of his mouth.
“Andy,” you began, voice hush yet sure, “Is it okay—”
“Yes.”
So, you leaned down and pressed your lips to his. It was less of a kiss, and more of an adjustment. His eyebrows furrowed and his eyes shut as he attempted to meet you in the middle. Your lips plush and soft against his, his chin had nudged forward, like he was kissing with his whole head and not his lips. It was like kissing a soldier’s statue, solid, strong, and unbreaking.
When you pulled away, he looked like he was trying, really trying, to please you. He hadn’t kissed anyone in awhile, and when he had, he wasn’t sure if he was doing it correctly. Eyebrows knit, he sought your approval.
“Relax for me, Andy. Please?” Your eyes went wide again, big and twinkling so you could take him in. The stress on his forehead released, as did the crease of his lips. “Open your mouth a little.” You guided, stabilizing yourself over his face.
He followed directions and you dipped your head back in. He followed your lead, allowing the muscle of your lips to guide his. This time, you felt the soft flesh of his lips. Your lips spilled into each others’ as your fingers found his jaw. Soft, testing presses became pleading sucks, then his hand found your neck, urging you towards him by the base of your skull.
Your mouth had fallen open when his grip tightened slightly, causing a noise to spill from your lips. He caught his breath when he pulled back to see you. Eyes shut with need, your mouth chased him with a heavy huff. And in this moment, Andrew discovered his passion for the art of kissing.
“Good,” You whined, eyes still closed in bliss, “Perfect, Andy.”
He nuzzled himself into you again, placing one kiss after the other, just the way you wanted.
Your fingers gripped into his hair as your body needily drifted towards him.
Before you could properly assess what you wanted, your phone buzzed on your nightstand with the voice memo speech your friend recorded while cross-faded. Andrew flinched beneath you and you ripped yourself away from him.
You groaned, “Shit.”
You rolled away and Andrew felt his skin buzz at the loss of your body. Reaching for your phone, you shut off your alarm and all the ones in 15-minute increments that followed. Placing your phone down, you turned back to him, now sitting up on your knees. He was watching you with those puppy dog eyes, consumed by how you made him feel.
“Sorry,” you laughed nervously, “I’d skip this lecture, but it’s new content.”
Face soft, he gave you a singular nod, like he’d do anything you said in that moment. He wouldn’t move until you did. He looked too good in your sheets against the morning glow, so you leaned back down, kissing him deeply again before you knew you really had to go.
Andrew ended up walking you to class, or he walked with you and you showed him around. The sun was bright against the white of the buildings and the sky was clear. He largely stayed quiet, observing the throngs of people and the breeze against his freckled skin.
In the middle of the morning foot traffic, he bluntly said he didn’t like the people on your campus, but his eyes said he was fascinated by the skateboards zipping by as you walked. You shrugged and agreed, too enthralled with his face in the sunlight.
You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him with you. Warm skin, coated in freckles and tough lines on his face, he was more gorgeous than you ever imagined. It was embarrassing to admit, but you’d grown accustomed to daydreaming this situation. You were simply walking with Andrew and your heart felt full at the corporeal image.
Reaching your building, you pressed your hands to his chest and grinned. You hated to know you’d be away, but you loved that he’d be there when you returned.
“I’ll be done in, like, an hour.” You said, reaching your hands to the side of his neck.
“I’ll be here.” He nodded, lips threatening a smile.
“I’m glad you’re here, Andy.”
You leaned towards him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. He sighed into you, surfacing an arm on your shoulder. Pulling away, you smiled at him before skipping away to class.
Andrew wandered around campus, while you learned about the Weimar Republic or whatever. He matched locations to places you described in your letters— the trees under which you liked to write letters at if you weren’t home, the benches where you had an overwhelmed meltdown before a Calculus exam, the booths in the library you fell asleep on for ten minutes at a time, the fast food place that you complained had bitchy cashiers. It was all there, the life before him and now the life with him.
When class ended, you were walking out with one of your friends, talking about the last episode of whatever show you were watching. When you caught Andrew in the corner of your eye, you smiled.
Angela trailed your eyeline and gasped, hitting your abdomen with her arm.
“No fucking way.”
Andrew was exactly where you left him. He stood with his arms crossed, eyes searching for you in the crowd. She recognized him from the mugshot you showed her, when you drunkenly shared that you were sending letters to a stranger. Looking back at your face, she watched a smile grow from ear-to-ear.
Scolding your name, she groaned, “Are you fucking serious? You cannot date a criminal.”
“We’re not dating… per se…” You mumbled, shoving your hands in your pockets
“He’s dangerous.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Neither do you.”
Softly sighing to yourself, you gazed back over to Andrew, who spotted the two of you among the moving passerbys. He kept that serious stare, not exactly threatening or predatory but saying he could pounce at any moment. His eyebrow rose when you turned away.
“It was cute when it was just letters, but—”
Looking back at her, you shrugged, “You don’t know him, Ang. Not like I do.”
Before she could respond, you shook your head and started walking away. Andrew tilted his head at you when you approached. Your hand slid into his and urged him to walk away with a slight tug.
“Who’s that?” He followed you slowly, fingers loosely clasping your knuckles.
“Just a friend.” You looked over your shoulder, where Angela was still watching from feet away.
“Is she causing you trouble?” He stopped you in your tracks with a protective squeeze of your hand.
“Uh,” you looked into his eyes, searching for any sense of seriosity, “No, no. Just some gossip.”
He nodded, allowing you to continue leading him.
“Are you hungry?” You nudged his shoulder with the side of your jaw.
“Mmmhmm,” He nodded, feeling the soft breeze against him.
Andrew’s eyes softened as he watched you talk about different food places nearby. Your face amongst the cloud-streaked blue sky, green trees that weren’t withering away, and buildings that didn’t look like security walls and barbed wire. He didn’t really care where you’d take him.
When you caught him staring, you looked down at your hands then back to his face. His cheeks tensed when you smiled at him.
ʚᯓ ᴀʙʙᴏᴛ'ꜱ ꜱᴏɴ x ʀᴏʙʙʏ'ꜱ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴇʀ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ who absolutely can't stand each other, but are forced into close proximity because their fathers are best friends. — WC; 1.8k
tw; adoption mention (reader is adopted by robby), alcohol mention
cred; @cannedibal on tiktok
pt. i
Benjamin was an asshole to say the least, and an absolute fucking douchebag to say the most.
If your father didn't have a practically codependent relationship with his dad, Dr. Abbot, you would not be here right now, sitting on their couch while your dads cracked open the third beer of the night.
Ben was sitting beside you, manspreading like his life depended on it, and playing some random first-person shooter game.
You scoffed and curled closer into yourself on your corner of the couch and fumbled with your phone in your hoodie pocket to try and occupy yourself.
"Hey, kid, what's wrong?"
Your head perked up at the voice, your father, of course. His footsteps were practically silent compared to Dr. Abbot's whose gait was slightly off and would clink with his prosthetic.
"Nothing, Dad, just.. tired," you sighed, tucking your phone into your lap.
Your father cocked a brow and stared at you over those ridiculous glasses he always wore. "You're lying," he commented without hesitation. The man always found your tells and could see right through you.
You looked between him and Ben briefly before fixing him with a look, your silent signal for "I want to go home, I don't like him".
Your dad nodded in understanding before ruffling your hair and patting your shoulder, his own silent signal for "Hold out a little longer and try to get along", before walking back to the dining room where Jack was giving him a curious look.
Ben finally died in his game then and looked over at you with a furrow in his brow and an upturn in his upper look that conveyed something like annoyance. "You made me lose with that freaky silent talk thing you do," he complained.
You raised a brow. "Then you must suck if silent talk made you lose your game," you retorted with a scoff before grabbing your phone from your lap to return to mindless entertainment.
Ben stared for a moment longer at your uninterested expression before mumbling something eerily similar to "piece of work" under his breath before returning to his game.
A few minutes of silence passed until that familiar gait caught your attention and you looked up to see Jack coming behind Ben's spot. The idiot was too immersed in his game to realize his father was behind him and he jumped when Jack's hands smacked right against his shoulders, making him lose instantly.
"Bro! You're actually so lame, Dad!" Ben groaned as he turned to face his father.
The two were so identical, it made you wonder what his mom looked like because her genes put in absolutely no work. Ben was every bit his father except his hair was a mousy brown shade while Jack had long since been salt-and-peppered and Ben had significantly more freckles from time in the sun– no one could fault Jack for that though, then man ran the night shift and therefore was a night owl.
"Tell our guests bye and go up to shower. I swear you haven't had one in two weeks," Jack replied, his dry voice holding a hint of teasing.
Ben's cheeks pinkened and he stumbled over his words before placing his controller down and looking over at you for a moment. "Bye," he muttered.
You nodded in acknowledgement before unfurling from your crumpled spot on the couch to leave. "Bye, Mr. Jack, see you later," you spoke politely before rounding the edge of the couch to find your own father in the foyer, pulling his shoes back on.
"Bye, kiddo!" Jack called back before looking back to his son and smacking him across the back of his head.
You stifled a laugh as you slipped your shoes back on and followed your father out of the Abbot's house and to his truck.
The night air was cool against your cheeks and you shivered lightly, more than eager to enter the warmth of the old pickup.
"So, Benji's having his birthday party next week. You should go," your dad spoke once the two of you were settled in the truck.
You quirked a brow. "Dad. No. No way–" you scoffed, trying to figure out if he was actually being serious.
"Oh, c'mon, kid. It won't be that bad. It'll be hot, they have a pool, plenty of Jack's barbecue," he began to list, trying to convince you.
"Dad, no– why would I want to go to his birthday?" You argued.
You had gone to Ben's birthday every year since you could remember because Jack and your dad were convinced the two of you would be best friends because they were. Every birthday party ended with the two of you fighting, though.
On his tenth birthday he pushed you into the pool and you pulled him in with you, leading to the two of you almost drowning by trying to fight each other to the surface.
On his fourteenth birthday, you slammed his face into his cake after he threw a water balloon on your new lace dress you had gotten from a box of your birth mother's things.
And of course you never forgot on his seventh birthday when he found out you were adopted and made fun of you with all his friends. You rode home crying that night and didn't see Jack or Ben for almost three months.
Your father sigh from the driver's seat caught your attention again and you looked back at him.
"I know you don't like him, kid.. but give this party a chance," he requested, looking over at you. "For your old man?"
You huffed as he pulled that card. Of course he would.
You laid in your bed that night, contemplating it. It was his eighteenth birthday and the two of you were graduating this year. If you went, this would be the last of his birthdays you'd ever have to go to and if he humiliated you, at least you'd barely see him around and could live down the shame at a college out of state where no one went to.
You rolled over to stare out the slightly ajar window before sighing. You would go. If only for your dad's sake.
The party was lively, and the scent of Jack's cooking wafted through the back yard that could barely contain the sheer amount of people invited.
Of course the extended Abbot family was there, but also so was the entire football team it seemed. You brushed past people, attempting to stay close to your dad so you didn't risk the chance of running into Ben.
"Hey! There's my bonus kid!" Jack grinned as you and your dad found him. The two shared a brief hug before Jack hugged you as well– always one to be affectionate to the ones he cares about.
"Look at this, all grown up," he sighed as he pulled back to grasp your shoulders. "Don't let any of these boys here ogle you," he added in a mock authority tone before patting your shoulder and going to his conversation with your father about kids growing up so fast or something along those lines.
You hovered, but looked around awkwardly, trying to find familiar faces that weren't people who asked you for the answers during class.
As you were preoccupied with searching the crowd, Ben came up to his dad and began asking questions about food.
You turned at the sound of his voice and saw him in just a pair of swim trunks, torso glistening like he'd just come out of the pool. Despite yourself, your gaze lingered, eyeing the slight chub on his bones from bulking and trailing the thousands of freckles that littered his skin. You were about to look away when his head turned and he met your gaze.
Fuck.
He smirked, because of course the idiot smirked, and returned to his conversation like he didn't just catch you sizing him up like he was a porterhouse.
You felt your cheeks get hot and you looked away to try and take your mind off that interaction because why did Benajmin John Abbot make you flustered? This was your mortal enemy! The bane of your existence that called you a piece of work!
But God, he was a really sexy enemy who grew into his body really well.
You shook the thought from your head before deciding maybe a dip in the pool would do you some good.
You headed inside and walked upstairs to the bathroom so you could set your clothes somewhere they'd stay dry and safe.
While you were tucking your clothes away in a safe spot in the cabinet with your purse and shoes, you heard a knock on the door.
Assuming it was a stranger, you cleared your throat and called out, "Occupied!"
There was a small chuckle on the other side. "It's me. Are you decent?"
Ben. Because of course.
Your brows furrowed and you felt your pulse leap into your throat. "Still occupied!" You yelled again.
"Dude, just let me in, I wanna talk," he replied. The words were followed by a small thud that sounded like his forehead hitting the door.
You sighed and closed the cabinet door before opening the door to reveal Benjamin standing there with a shit-eating grin, wet curls sticking to his forehead and a towel thrown around his thick neck.
"Wow, nice rack," he muttered, staring down at your bikini top, leading you to shut the door in his face. "Hey I was joking!" He called from behind the wood.
You contemplated shutting yourself in the bathroom for the rest of the party for a moment before slowly relenting and opening the door.
"Thank you," he hummed once the door opened again. "Besides, I only think it's fair from how you were looking at me earlier," he added in a teasing tone.
You sputtered for a moment, trying to come up with a valid excuse for practically drooling at the sight of him.
"Hey," he began defensively, holding his arms up. "It's a compliment from Miss Hates Me," he continued with another grin, this one softer.
Your cheeks burned again and your grip on the doorknob tightened. "Do you want me to slam this door in your face again?" You spoke, trying to keep your voice steady.
"No, sorry–" Ben quickly replied, rubbing the nape of his neck.
You rolled your eyes before looking at him, expecting him to say something– fess up the real reason he was here, for one.
Ben just stared unknowingly, brow quirked. "There– you're doing that freaky silent talk thing again!" He pointed out, making you groan.
"Why are you here?" You asked bluntly this time.
Ben's face morphed into one of realization before he grinned again. "Because you like me."
dads best friend bascolm finally getting his dirty hands on you <3
mdni 18+
warnings: age gap (legal of course), oral (f receiving), use of kiddo, pervy!bascolm, he lowkey cums on your panties, probably a little ooc, he calls reader dolly, i believe that’s all!
It was tradition at this point, going to the mountain house during the summer that your dad grew up in. You knew you’ve changed over the winter, and frankly you were excited to see Bascolm. You’ve always thought he was attractive but now that you’re in your early twenties you’ve noticed his gaze lingering sometimes, and it gets your heart going in your chest.
When you arrive at the house, you instantly exit the car, grabbing your bags from the trunk as your dad helps you. When you round the car you see him. On the porch. He’s smiling down at you both, sexy as ever. You smile back at him and wave shyly. When he makes his way down to you he gives your dad a long hug, patting him on the back in greeting.
Then, he’s looking over at you and smirking, pushing his tongue to the inside of his cheek. You speak up with a sly smile “Hi Bascolm” you study his gaze, it’s dropping down your body swiftly, if you weren’t looking you wouldn’t have noticed, but you did. “Hi sweetheart” he chuckles back, moving to give you a side hug, kissing the top of your head quickly before grabbing some of your bags and helping carry them inside.
You settle for the room upstairs, with a full size bed and a weird taxidermy deer hanging on the wall you’ll be trying to ignore all summer. You set your bags down on the bed just as Bascolm come in, setting the bags of yours he helped with next to the ones you just sat down. “All set?” He grunts a little leaning down before straightening up, stretching his back. You nod and smile sweetly at him. “Yes, thanks for helping me” you look at him.
He nods and waves you off “Don’t mention it” he drawls before he’s giving you a wink, leaving the room and closing the door. You’re left lying back on the bed, biting your bottom lip thinking about the long summer you’ve got ahead. The drive up here was long, and being cramped in the back of the car with your bags didn’t make for the best bed, so you’re tired, deciding to take a nap until dinner tonight.
When you come to, it’s dark outside, and the curtains are blowing in the cool night air. You rub your eyes a little and get up, moving to close the window. You can hear people moving around downstairs and figure it’s about time to eat. Changing quickly and brushing out your hair you exit your room rushingly, but as soon as you leave you bump into something, or more someone.
You look up and are met with Bascolms smirk, his hand running through his beard swiftly as you swallow at the closeness. “Shit, sorry” you chuckle awkwardly, stepping back a little only to be met by his hand moving behind your head, protecting you from bumping into the large wooden door. A little embarrassed you feel your cheeks pinking “Wo-ahoah” he chuckles lightly, “little clumsy thing ain’t ya’?” He smiles, finally taking a step back from you, eyes dragging over your body.
“Sorry” you shake your head, giggling embarrassed again. “That’s alright” he nods. “Was coming to get you for dinner.” You nod and smile, moving to follow him downstairs. Dinner goes fine, everyone talking about what they’ve been up to, how your schooling is going, Bascolm mentions how you’re growing up on everyone, it makes your cheeks blush.
After everyone eats you excuse yourself for a shower, grabbing a towel and heading to the bathroom. Your showers nice, you try not to think about how it faintly smells like Bascolms body wash, that woodsy minty smell that hits you every time you hug him. You finish up and step out, attempting to grab all your clothes you’d just had on and start walking back to your room.
On your way, you pass Bascolm, he’s got a towel in his hand and gives you a swift nod before disappearing into the still steamy room. You shrug it off and go to your own. After getting changed, combing out your hair, and applying your lotion you settle on your bed. You start scrolling on your phone quietly, probably won’t be sleeping for a while due to your long nap earlier.
After about 20 minutes of quietness there’s a soft knock at your door, figuring it’s your dad wanting to say goodnight you hop up, opening it, only to be met by him. “Oh, hey what’s up?” You ask looking up at him, his curls are wet and he smells like the fucking body wash that was in there.
He smiles and holds his hand up, and dangling between his fingers are none other than your worn panties you had on today. “Think ya’ forgot these.” He drawls lowly, looking at you closely. Your face drops, along with your stomach. Instantly grabbing them out of his hand and holding them behind your back like that made a difference now. “Oh my God, I’m sorry, I thought I grabbed everything-.” He takes a step forward into your room, cutting you off.
“Well that’s alright” he smiles, shaking his head and looking down at you, taking you in like this. “Just thought I’d return em to their rightful place” he smirks, peeking at your hands that are clenched around them, pressed into your back. “Thank you.” You nod, trying to to avoid his gaze. “Yer welcome” he chuckles lightly, finally stepping back, but looking at you once more. “Goodnight kiddo.” Then he’s gone, footsteps fading down the stairs.
You shut the door and sigh, the heel of your empty palm pressing into your eyes. You finally look at the panties you’d left, they’re nothing special, just black cotton with lacey elastic. But…looking closer, something’s on them. Your eyebrows furrow as you lift them closer to see better, something white and stiffening by the second sits on them. You figure you or him may have spilled some body wash or shampoo on them and toss them into the pile of your dirty clothes, shaking your head in disbelief.
The next few days nothing really happens, you actually try to avoid Bascolm for the most part, figuring if you’re not near him you cant embarrass yourself. But now, as you’re walking back up to the house you notice your dad’s cars gone. You tilt your head a little in confusion as you head inside. “Dad!” You call out, wondering what he’s doing. Instead of your dad coming down the stairs it’s Bascolm.
“Hey kiddo, your dad went to town, had to pick up some groceries.” He says, making you nod in response, moving to sit on the couch as he busies himself in the kitchen. After a while he joins you, plopping down next to you on the couch. You figure you’d ask while he’s here “Hey, the other night did you like, spill body wash on my underwear? I washed them today and it didn’t come out.” You shift your lips in confusion, watching him.
He thinks for a moment before his eyes meet yours “Nope.” He says bluntly. Eyes trained on yours. You weren’t expecting that, you were expecting him to say, “maybe, sorry” but not just plain “no.” You raise an eyebrow “Hm, that’s weird it just won’t come out.” You bite your nails in thought “do you have any idea what it could be?” You ask, maybe if you know it’ll come out easier.
“It’s cum.”
Your head snaps to meet his gaze, face scrunched in disbelief. His is neutral, like what he said was completely normal, like you’re had this discussion a thousand times. “What?” You bark in a weird, nervous laugh, surely you didn’t hear him right??? He shrugs, leaning in closer and lowering his voice to a low murmured drawl, “It’s, my, cum.” he says slowly, eyes trained on yours.
You’re speechless and frozen from your spot on the couch, mouth hanging open. He chuckles lowly and lifts his hand, pushing the bottom of your chin lightly to shut your mouth. Then his thumb trails across your bottom lip slowly, rubbing it in a little circle before he hums and pulls it back to his lap, adjusting his pants right there in front of you. “Ain’t stupid.” He shrugs “I see the way you look at me.” He smirks, gauging your reaction.
“Bascolm,” you let out a breath, genuinely at a loss for words. “I don’t, I don’t know what to say.” You say lowly, shyly, eyes trained on your lap. “Don’t gotta say anything dolly,” he leans in, brushing hair out of your face before cupping the side of it and turning your head so you look at him. “Just nod if you want poor ol’ Bascolm” he drawls, scooting closer on the couch to you.
You nod instantly, the feeling of his hand rubbing the side of your face before fisting in your hair, smashing hips lips to yours heavily. He groaned into your mouth as you whimper softly, before he’s hoisting you up around his waist and taking you upstairs to your room, kissing you and hands squeezing at your ass.
When he lays you down on you bed he moves to kiss down your neck, and is pulling at your shirt. “Been wanting you for a while-fuck dolly.” He says when you slip your shirt off with a heavy exhale, only left in your bra and some shorts, he moves to kiss down your chest and stomach, clipping your bra off instantly and rolling your pebbled nipples in his rough calloused fingers as he kisses down your stomach.
He moves and bites your shorts elastic before dragging it down with his teeth, you’ve got absolutely nothing on underneath them. He growls when he realizes this, lifting your thighs up and dropping his head to the back of one, almost as if the sight of you has made him weak. He lets out a couple shaky breaths against your skin before he’s spreading your legs with his hands, arms moving to your tits again as he kisses the inside of your thighs.
He watches your pretty face move and bite your lip while watching him. You can feel his moving beard against you as he kisses, and then, he’s latching onto you. His lips wrapping around your puffed up clit, fingers shoving inside your entrance. You’re arching your back off the mattress, hips grinding up into his face as your hands pull on his curls as he works you with his mouth.
The sounds that are coming from the room are filthy. Slurping sounds from him coming from between your legs, creaking of the bed as you grind your cunt against his mouth, your moans and whimpers filling the air. A few moans and curses slip from Bascolm as he works you. His fingers are curling just right, his tounge flicking against your button, you’re getting close.
“Basc, oh fuck- M’ gonna come.” You’re planting out, one of your hands moving to massage your breast. He nods against you, not removing his mouth, he’s like a leach to you. He speeds up his actions, beard rubbing the insides of your thighs raw. As you release on his face with a loud moan and arch of your back you can feel his teeth as he smiles against your sopping pussy.
He works you through your orgasm, talking you through it with a couple “doin’ so good, so good dolly.”. When you’ve come down, hands slipping out of his hair and laying beside you, chest heaving, you both hear tires crunching against the gravel outside. You sit up instantly, he’s moving off you with a chuckle, grabbing your shirt and throwing it at you and pulling your shorts back on you gently. He presses a quick kiss against your tummy before moving to kiss you deeply to the mouth. You can still taste yourself on his before he’s pulling back and disappearing out of the room.
Soon enough you hear your dad’s voice, with the shuffling of grocery bags and you sigh, falling back against your pillows, trying to make sense of what the hell just happened.
