daddy!jack abbot pt. 2 electric boogaloo
daddy!jack who takes it upon himself to portion out your medicine when you’re sick. he knows you hate the cough syrup, but it just works so much faster than pills do (which logically, you know, but emotionally, blech), so he pinches your nose shut and tips the tiny capful of dark, viscous liquid against your lips until you swallow it aaaallll down (with minimal whimpering, you’d like to point out). your reward is an apple juice chaser and a kiss on the forehead, in that order.
daddy!jack who does outfit checks before you leave the house (at your request). truthfully, he doesn’t care what (or how little) you wear, because you’re a grown up, and moreover, he can fight, but — he does love the shy, eager little look in your eye when you give him a spin and ask, “is this okay?” the answer is always yes, except for when it isn’t, except for when you twirl around in a barely-there skirt and no fucking panties and jack has to march you back upstairs by the scruff of your neck to get changed.
daddy!jack who draws you baths after you’ve had a particularly hard day at work, and then sits on the lid of the toilet to wash your hair as you vent all of your frustrations to him. is the position murder on his back? yes. but it’s worth it to feel you melt under his hands, to watch you relax enough to scoop up a frothy pile of bubbles in both hands and blow them, giggling, in his direction.
daddy!jack who drops everything to comfort you at 3am after you’ve had a nightmare. he doesn’t give two shits that he’s at work; he tells dana that he needs to step out into the ambulance bay and then books it before she can respond. he calls you, soothes you, murmurs sweet nothings into the phone, takes deep breaths with you — “biiiig breath in, through your nose, there we go, now bloooowww it out, that’s it, good job, baby” — and doesn’t hang up until you’re sleepily slurring your words and dozing off in the middle of a sentence.
daddy!jack who buys you stuffies for completely innocuous reasons…at first. it’s such a simple, easy way to make his baby happy, and it’s not like a couple of them at a time are gonna break the bank, so before you know it you are positively inundated with stuffed animals of all shapes, sizes, and species. the best part? they all smell like jack. that’s the best excuse you can come up with, anyway, when he comes home early one night and catches you humping one of the larger stuffies, cheeks ruddy, chest heaving, eyes glassy. and he should be mad, and you should be in trouble, because you know better, but jack just grins at you and parks himself on the edge of the bed.
“don’t stop on my account, honey,” he says, eyes shining, head tilted, something dangerous and terribly exciting in his gaze. “give daddy something pretty to look at while he gets off too.”
daddy!jack who takes you over his knee the moment you’re about to cum, his cock rock hard and leaky against the soft give of your belly, because as good as you look, as sweet as you sound, you didn’t have permission to climb on top of your stuffie, and he’s not just gonna reward that kind of behavior. your pitiful, hiccuping sobs and gasped apologies fall on deaf ears, and when you kick or thrash against him he tsks and spanks you harder.
daddy!jack who buys you a new stuffie the next day anyway, but when you go to thank him, he juts his chin at the bed.
“go ahead and show me how much you like your new toy, baby.”