the pitt-verse masterlist | 2k celebration event (open!)
summary: your favorite regular at the farmer's market never fails to leave you weak in the knees
contains: implied age gap, reader has enough hair to fit into two braids but otherwise no physical description
a/n: new reader alert! i wrote this in a whopping 2 hours in a freckle-induced hallucinatory fervor. i hope you enjoy <3 | divider from @strangergraphics
A little girl and her mother thank you for helping them pick the ripest peaches in the pile, then leave you to your booth.
Around you the North Shore Market flows, spray from where the Ohio River meets the Allegheny making for a cool, refreshing breeze. It’s more than welcome in the June heat, which has yet to beat down on the bustling Saturday morning market.
Customers flit from vendor to vendor, filling canvas totes with fresh produce, flowers, and other wares boasting attributes like ‘homegrown’ or ‘artisan’.
For a side hustle, working the booth for your friend’s farm isn’t so bad. The canopy keeps you in the shade, the patrons are friendly, and you’re usually all wrapped up by one in the afternoon, leaving the rest of your Saturday ripe for the taking.
Of course, that typically just means a long, afternoon nap, but that’s beside the point.
You should be reveling in the start of what is meant to be a serene Saturday, but there’s something holding you back.
It’s a buzzy, humming feeling in your chest. Not quite anxiety, not quite excitement, but it's been there all morning. As you set up the canopy and the folding table, stacked your peaches and tomatoes so the ripest end up on top, and even as you tied the crocheted bandana around your two braids — a necessary accessory to keep flyaway from escaping in the early morning breeze.
Anticipation. And as you swipe your hands over the apron looped around your waist, you glance down the aisle of booths, and spot the very person you’re anticipating.
He strides toward you with purpose, ignoring the surrounding booths.
A black scrub top and mocha brown cargo pants, accompanied by work boots that have seen better days. He looks worn down, like he always does when you see him first thing every Saturday morning. But the lines on his face crinkle when he spots you, recognition lighting the smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Good morning, buttercup,” he says when he sidles up, eyeing the pints of strawberries. It's a simple booth: just a folding table filled to the brim with pints of berries, peaches, tomatoes, and a few jars of honey from a local beekeeper. “And how are you today?”
Buttercup. You glance down at the fruit-centric logo on your apron — Buttercup Farms, a locally owned small batch produce farm, owned and operated by your friend just ten miles past city limits. A nickname born out of weeks of shy, sideways glances and small talk, exchanged both ways until it became too late to ask for your name.
But you know his— well, his last name, at least. Spotted it on his hospital badge the fifth consecutive Saturday he came to see you.
DOCTOR, it said, in bolded white letters on a green background. Then, just barely readable from where his shirt covered it, a surname that you know but you’ve never been brave enough to test on your lips. Abbot.
You've found your thoughts drifting on more than one occasion, daring yourself to say his name aloud. Wondering how he might react if you said it to him. Wondering how it might taste on your tongue. Dr. Abbot.
“Good morning!” You chirp, taking your post at the end of the table. There’s some familiarity here — you, standing in the same place each week, and him, making a show of selecting the best produce while making conversation.
You tried to convince yourself he was just being polite, taking pity on the market girl running a booth all by herself every Saturday morning. But after two months of recalled details, week after week, you can’t help but think maybe he might like talking to you just as much as you like talking to him.
“I’m good today,” you pause, daring yourself to insert a cheeky Dr. Abbot into the conversation, but instead suffer an awkwardly elongated silence. You clear your throat. “How are you?”
"Oh, you know. Same shit, different day,” he raises his eyes from the strawberries to shoot you a winsome wink. “No blackberries today?”
You glance at the folding table with a start. Oh, no, no no. He's right. There are no blackberries.
“Shit!” You exclaim, hand flying to your forehead in a resounding smack. “Shit, shit, shit.”
“Woah,” Abbot chortles, extending his hand, but not quite touching you. As if he’s not sure if he’s allowed. “What’s the matter, buttercup?”
“I left the blackberries in the truck,” you drag both hands over your face. “I left the blackberries in the truck!”
“It’s okay,” his voice comes out firm and assured, as though he’s already hatching a plan. “Where’s the truck?”
“It’s—“ your hand flies in the general direction of the parking lot, all the way across the park. It’s probably half a mile, if you had to guess, it doesn't matter. You’re not allowed to drive in the grass. "Oh, my god."
Panic sets in as you rattle off context to the poor man trapped in a predicament he has nothing to do with. “One of the volunteers helps me unload the canopy and the table and all the produce each week, a-and it usually takes two trips, and I must have forgotten the blackberries!" Your voice comes out a puppy whine, reduced to uselessness when you're otherwise perfectly capable of handling things on your own. "Shit, and they’re so ripe, too.”
But it’s the fact that this isn’t your business that will suffer because you forgot the blackberries that sends you down a spiral. It’s your friend’s. Her profits for the week won’t be nearly as high as expected, all because of your thoughtlessness.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse so much before,” Abbot attempts a joke, to which you crumple even more. An exasperated whine is your only response.
“Hey,” his voice evens out again, and before you can register what’s happening, his beefy, calloused hand cups your bare shoulder. You glance up, meeting eyes the color of a carnival kaleidoscope. You can't decide what the dominating shade is: blue or green or gold. “It’s okay. Will you take a deep breath with me?”
With his free hand, he mimes a long breath in, then a sustained, steadying breath out. You follow his lead.
“There you go,” he murmurs, the rumble of his voice shooting electric shocks up and down your veins. “That’s a good girl.”
Your jaw goes slack. It takes everything in you not to shudder.
“How many pints of blackberries are in the truck, angel?” He asks, providing a quick rub to your shoulder before reverting back to his own space. Your skin feels especially cold now that his hand is gone.
“Twenty,” you gulp, guilt clouding over any lust for the older man before you.
Abbot reaches into his back pocket, tugging out a weathered, camo print wallet. “And how much are they going for this week?”
“Five dollars.”
He flips open the wallet, then tugs out two crisp fifties, and a twenty. He extends his hand to you, the bills poised between two fingers.
“What are you doing?” Your brow furrows, eyes dipping to the money, then back to him. The sun peeks out from the bottom of the canopy, striking him over the bridge of his nose. He's all polka dotted with freckles.
“I’m buying your blackberries,” Abbot husks. You swear the sentence sounds a million times more provocative than it should. Your knees give a little wobble. “You can give ‘em to a food bank or something.”
“What?” You blink.
“My arm’s gettin' tired,” he shakes the money at you, though not impatiently. “Take it, buttercup. Please.”
“What’s the extra twenty for?” You swallow, plucking the cash from him. You move with reluctance, your bones heavy with guilt.
“Whatever a pint of these strawberries is worth, and the rest you can use for a coffee or something,” he shrugs.
“That’s fifteen extra dollars,” you mutter, dumbfounded.
“Aren't you smart? Even when you’re stunned,” he smirks. It takes you longer than you’d care to admit to realize that he’s teasing. “Coffee and a pastry then. On me, okay?”
You nod, then shove the cash into the pocket of your apron. On him.
God, your thoughts are veering to a place that would rip the family friendly status away from this farmer's market.
Abbot lifts a pint of strawberries without looking at them, then cradles it close to his chest. “I’ll see you next week, alright, angel?”
A hum vibrates through you. “Okay…” you pause, nibbling your bottom lip. The breeze picks up, ruffling his delicious, greying curls. “Thank you, Dr. Abbot.”
The look of bewilderment on his face is enough to make you wish you forgot the blackberries every week.
He throws his head back in a sharp, heart-shattering laugh. He says goodbye a second time, then stalks off, only stopping to throw you one last grin over his shoulder.
JAMIE PHHHH MY SWEET JAMIE THIS IS SO SPECIAL THEYRE SO SPECIAL
“There you go,” he murmurs, the rumble of his voice shooting electric shocks up and down your veins. “That’s a good girl.”
“Aren't you smart? Even when you’re stunned,” he smirks. It takes you longer than you’d care to admit to realize that he’s teasing. “Coffee and a pastry then. On me, okay?”
Abbot lifts a pint of strawberries without looking at them, then cradles it close to his chest. “I’ll see you next week, alright, angel?”
^some quotes that had my jaw on the floor. pls do urselves a favor and read this <333
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in which jack abbot is the first to notice the wallflower resident of the ER.
summary; reader has always been used to being left behind, and eventually stopped trying to make space for themselves. she doesn't think anyone notices her, until jack abbot starts paying attention.
warnings; fem!reader. use of y/n, use of she/her, probably medical inaccuracies bc all my medical knowledge comes from shows lol, also NO AI used !!! i use em dashes sometimes but i PROMISE this is strictly a no-ai account!! also reader has a cat bc i said so
i might make a part two of this tbh but i wont label it as a series bc then my brain will start procastinating and i'll lose all motivation to write it LOL
The noise of the ER buzzed around you. The muscles in your neck ached, begging to be stretched and massaged. One of your hands came up to gently rub on your neck, the other slowly typing out the chart of your latest patient.
Some of the interns were huddled together, giggling to each other about something. It had become a habit of yours to listen in on them— on whatever gossip they had going on this time. Sometimes, you liked to pretend that you were part of it. That you got to gossip with friends just like they do.
That'd never been the case for you. In your intern year, you were the only one. Already feeling alienated, you struggled to find your place in the ER. Everyone seemed to already know who they were, aside from you.
For a while, you tried. You tried to include yourself. You joined the others when they went for a beer after a heavy shift. But as time went on, you didn't feel any closer to belonging. It didn't feel like anyone was making room for you either. So, you stopped showing up. And no one said anything.
Now, you just worked. You took all the patients no one else wanted. You stayed a little later to make sure another coworker could get home on time. You helped in traumas, then slipped away as soon as it was done.
This routine worked. It'd been your routine for years now. It wasn't that you were a bad doctor, no. You just didn't fit in.
A small wince covered your features as you rubbed your neck again. You truly couldn't wait to get off shift, and go home. You know your cat must already be sitting on the kitchen counter, waiting for the sight of you walking through the door.
"Nice catch, earlier." You heard a gruff voice behind you— one you recognized as your attending, Jack Abbot. Being the eavesdropper you are, you waited to hear the response of the person he was complimenting. You wondered if they'd be humble or gleeful. You know that if you were complimented like that, you'd be over the moon.
The light of the monitor made your eyes burn a little, but you just had to push through this last chart.
Then, you felt a hand tap your shoulder.
"Kid?" Dr. Abbot hummed, looking down at you, the corner of his lips quirking into a small smile. "Did'ya hear me?"
Your eyes go wide, and you swear you can feel your heart jumping up into your throat, making your breath hitch. He was talking to you. No one ever bothered talking to you, not if it wasn't necessary.
"I— er- sorry, what did you say, Dr. Abbot?" You cleared your throat, trying to get your heart to return to a normal pace, the chart all forgotten now.
He watched you for a moment, his gaze softening from playful to a more gentle one. "I said..." His hands gripped both ends of his stethoscope, the one he always had around his neck, "Good catch earlier. With the silent heart attack patient. Not many of us could've caught that."
The apples of your cheeks shifted into a deep red color, your eyes darting from him to your keyboard, then to your water bottle, the floor, keyboard, him...
"Oh- um, yeah, thank you, sir." You nodded in response, already mentally degrading yourself for being so awkward. This is your attending, for gods sake. You should be professional.
But that easy grin rested on his face, and he nodded. "Oh, sure, kid. You're one hell of a doctor. Keep it up." He gently squeezed your shoulder, and walked off. And that was that. He complimented you like it was nothing.
That simple compliment swam in your head the entire day. It made you smile as you prepared your lunch for work at home that evening. It made you hum with content as you settled into bed, curtains drawn shut to hide the rising sun.
Good catch earlier.
It started happening more and more. Abbot would pull you into traumas with him, let you take the lead on them, and then give you a small compliment, and one of those warm smiles. He'd linger when you charted, always trying to spark up small talk.
You never came out of your shell, though. It was driving him insane. He tried everything. But you always shut it down and got back to work. For a while, he thought you might just dislike him. But he could see the small smiles you gave him, and the pink tint in your cheeks at his compliments.
So, he tried asking the other residents about you. Imagine his shock when no one knew anything about you. Everyone just responded off-handedly.
'Oh, Y/N? Yeah, she's a quiet one. Dunno much about her.'
'Y/N? Great doctor. Haven't talked to her much.'
'Saw her a few times in her first year of residency. Then she stopped coming out.'
No one knew anything. That's what made Jack perk up a little more. He tried to subtly keep notes on you throughout the day. See who you spoke to. If maybe you left with someone. Maybe discussed patients. But he got nothing.
You were all alone.
The last straw was when he spotted you slipping into the abandoned wing of the hospital, settling yourself on the dusty staircase, and opening your lunchbox. You even hid away to eat.
He had to fix that.
So, he became a little more persistent. He'd ask you to eat lunch with him, and before you had a chance to decline, he'd already led you into the breakroom, making you sit down with one pinned stare.
He could tell you were a little anxious. So he always made the first move. He'd ask questions that required more than a nod for an answer, just to get you talking. And he would listen. Full attention, eyes glued to you the entire time you spoke.
No dismissive nods, no hums of acknowledgement in a way to just make you feel heard, no. He made sure you knew he was listening. When you mentioned your cat, he asked for its name. He asked to see pictures. When you made an offhanded complaint about the hospital coffee, he asked what your favorite coffee place was.
The next day, a coffee from said place was waiting for you.
Jack Abbot x Ms. Honey type teacher!reader 🥹 Dr. Abbot’s modern, minimalist bachelor pad is now home to lots of glitter, pipe cleaners, and colored construction paper. When Jack proposes to you, he does the same thing Ben Stiller’s character does in Meet the Parents, where he gets her kids to hold up signs with letters that spell out ‘Marry Me?’ On his days off from the hospital, he brings you lunch to your classroom. And when he gives you a quiet ‘Pick you up later honey,’ followed by a sweet kiss on the cheek, all the kids yell ‘Oooooh!’ and the class erupts in fits of giggles.
When he can, he likes to help you when you do fun days or excursions for the kids. He brings the muffins for ‘Muffins with Mommy’ day at school, he drops off those worksheets you forgot at home this morning - he even buys your classroom supplies if the school doesn’t have funding for what you want to do. They won’t give you the money to buy books for the class? Jack’s already placed an Amazon order. They won’t provide the funds for a field trip to that dinosaur museum? Jack’s paying for the day passes for your class and the chaperones. On career day he even comes to talk about what it’s like to be a doctor!!! And he somehow convinces Robby to come too. All the moms in the classroom are just fucking swooning over the both of them the whole time - some in front of their husbands 😭
As aforementioned, he also likes to take you to work and pick you up on his days off. You wave at him after school when you see him patiently leaning against his truck in the parking lot. He smiles watching you say goodbye and interact with the kids as they leave with their parents. One of the kids’ dads is taking his sweet ass time asking you questions about an upcoming field trip, including if you need any chaperones 🙄 Queue Jack strutting across the parking lot, puffing his chest out a little extra.
He walks right up to the two of you, greets you with a not at all quiet ‘Ready to go sweetheart?’ and wraps a warm and possessive hand around your waist. He takes your teaching bag for you and grabs your hand, interlocking your fingers as the two of you walk back to his truck. He opens the door for you and gives you a cheeky pinch on the ass for only the flirty dad to see - then waves smugly, just to make it extra clear you’re taken. You poke fun at him for it in the truck, only for him to respond with, ‘Don’t they know it’s Mrs. Abbot, not Ms. Abbot? Maybe it needs to be bigger on your classroom newsletter for the parents, baby.’
summary: hudson is your new 'volunteer' in the kitchen. and trinity tells jack exactly why thats a bad idea.
**contains written plot - not proofread - 1.2k wc
desc: 18+ blog MDNI, pastry chef!fem!reader, reader is nicknamed pumpkin, head chef!jack abbot, maybe OOC characters, cursing, mentions of toxic/manipulative relationship
ch. 13 | ch. 15
Jack had to get out of there. The air in the kitchen was starting to get stuffy and limit his breathing. Totally because of all the heat from the stoves. Not from the fact that every time he looks over his shoulder, he sees Hudson resting a possessive hand on the small of your back as you twirl a frosting bag over a plate. It’s not distracting, not a problem at all. She needs the help and this is the next best option, he told himself. That's what he should want for you, for Hudson to help hold you up when you feel weak, when you need to sit to rest your eyes and slow your breathing. You were in the hospital for christ's sake, if you wanted to ask for the whole month off, Jack would give it to you.
He pushed the door open and stepped out into the dark alleyway. The cold nipped at his skin, but he still felt like he was burning up. Undoing the first couple of buttons on his chef’s coat, he stops when he sees Trinity leant up against the wall. Her eyes found him before he could see her, a long drag of smoke escaping her lips. They stare at each other in silence for a few seconds, her stony expression rivaling his.
“Sorry… didn’t know you were out here.” Jack said as he started to take a few steps back.
“No it’s fine, you can stay. No where else for you to escape to anyways…” Trinity sighed, tapping the ash off of her cigarette.
Jack gave her a grateful nod, leaning up against the wall next to her, with a respectable distance. The clock was nearing 10PM, dinner service would be closing in on itself and then it’s time to go home and act like everything was normal. But lately, for both Jack and Trinity, nothing felt normal.
“Have you talked to her recently?” Breaking the ice, Trinity is the first to ask. Jack is surprised she’s talking to him at all.
“Not really… not outside of work stuff. And every time I try to, he’s around.”
Trinity nodded her head, not too sure how to follow up with that. Because she hasn’t talked to you in weeks either. It is an irrational decision on her part, impulsive even. She missed you, missed checking in on you in between tables. You are her best friend, one of the most important people in her life, and she’s holding on to the small sliver of hope that you’re still going to be there for her.
They stand with a deafening silence, the only noise heard is the faint honking of late night traffic in the background. The moonlight is enough to illuminate the both of them and keep them out of the dark. Jack can see the night, maybe even the week, is wearing on Trinity. Eyebags a faint purple color under her skin, hair swept up into a messy bun, and he’s not even sure when she picked up smoking. A deep part of him felt at fault for this. For causing your life or death medical emergency, for somehow putting a wedge between you and Trinity.
“I know you hate me now, and I’m sure you won’t like or forgive me ever. But, I need you to know that I would never do anything to hurt her.” Jack had been trying to tell that to Trinity multiple times, over text and that night they found you on the floor of the kitchen, twitching for air. It meant something more that he could say to her face. Expressing the guilt he has built and trying to make amends with anyone he hurt throughout this whole situation.
“But when I found her… in the kitchen. I didn’t know what to do, all I could think about was everything around me crumbling down. I thought I was going to fall through the floor.” Jack felt a burning sensation in his eyes, starting to leak salty tears.
“I wasn’t thinking about the restaurant. Just thought about her.” His had so much more meaning than what was said on the surface level. Jack has not even admitted to himself how much you grew on him. How much you mean to him.
“Do you care about her, Jack?” Trinity asked him.
“Yes, of course I do. Who doesn’t?”
“No— do you care about her?” Oh, such a loaded question. Dancing around the L word, like it could change anything once spoken into existence.
It would change anything, everything really. It would make Jack confront his feelings, and make Trinity confront reality.
“I— I do. A lot, too much even.” Jack made a nervous chuckle.
Trinity shifted her balance on her feet, straightening herself up and crushing the butt of her cigarette under her shoes. Turning over to face Jack, finally.
“You should know about Hudson then…” Trinity knew she shouldn’t be telling Jack about this without your permission. But she knew that if Jack cared— liked— loved you that much, he should know why Hudson needs to be out of the picture.
Trinity draws the entire line of events for Jack. How Hudson had met you in California, convinced you to move to Pittsburgh with him and start the bakery. Hudson was so kind in making sure he handled all the dirty business stuff, while you got to make your pretty little cakes and croissants. But, he couldn’t help co-sign on any of the loans. Says he had ‘too much bad debt tied to him’ and he didn’t want to ruin your business. You were all alone in the city at the time, no family or friends, just him. So his word was the only one you could hold on to. Asking him to taste test, Hudson would tell you to make it again, it wasn’t good enough to be sold, he’d spit it into the trash can, knowing you were looking. He used to tell you people thought the same, he’d overhear customers complaining. Over time, you realized he was probably lying. Hudson made you doubt your abilities of running a good business and being a good pastry chef.
Hudson kept himself in charge of the money. “You wouldn’t understand all the numbers, doll.” he would say to you. Whenever you needed to purchase more inventory, pay your rent, it all had to go through him. He became more distant, dismissive, and negligent of your needs. Until one day he left, took all of the money because he was authorized on the business account. Not even a note or a shitty breakup text. Him taking your money was enough of a fuck you. Finding out he never was paying off the loans, and leaving you with a massive pile of debt for you to take care of. You had to downsize your spending, sell the entire business, and settle into a smaller apartment.
Hudson left you broke and alone, thinking that somehow this was your fault.
It explained so much. Why you are so critical of yourself. The constant need for validation and feedback. Because you don’t want things to crumble again like they did before. Because the opinions of everyone else could make or break your career.
“What the fuck…” Jack said breathlessly. It was more than he thought it was. And he slowly understood why Trinity was becoming resistant to the connection brewing between you and Jack.
“I know she’s smart, that she can think for herself… But I don't want him to hurt her again.”
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puppy whimpering at the door when jack leaves and robby has to calm her down
18+ mdni HNGGGH it happens every time!! you’ll be whimpering and pawing at the door, all confused whines and needy yips :(( robby’ll ruffle between your ears. “It’s alright, pup. He’s not gone forever.”
but you’re inconsolable :( you plop right down by the door, keep trying to shove your hands under it and whining soooo sad :(( robby sits on the couch n tries to call you over, whistling and snapping his fingers and patting his calves. “C’mere, girl. C’mon!” but you don’t budge…
and even he isnt made of stone :( after a while he feels bad watching you mope and huff by the door. so he sighs and lowers his zipper, n of course he catches the way your ears perk up at the sound. “Yeah, hon, you want a treat? Come on.”
as he gets his cock out you pad over to where he’s sitting to kneel between his legs n wait like a good dog.
he pets your hair while he strokes himself to hardness, then gives you the go ahead with a quick nod. he groans softly when you dart forward and lap at his tip excitedly, tail finally wagging again <3. “Yeah, attagirl. That’s better, isn’t it?”
n eventually when he spills onto your tongue n down his hand he groans appreciatively as you eagerly lick it all up. “That’s a good dog.”
much to robby’s chagrin you quickly start to expect a treat whenever jack leaves :/ he notices you arent quite as whiny the next time— once the door closes behind jack you just turn right around, sat on your haunches, and look at robby expectantly.
he cocks a brow and gazes down at you, unamused. “What?” then he scoffs and shakes his head once he realizes. “Right. Of course. You learned that real quick, didn’t you?” he gives a mean pat to your cheek. “Where was this pattern recognition when I was teaching you to heel, huh? You only dumb when you wanna be?”
stomping my foot at jack when i’m frustrated (literally thumping it like a lil bunny) just to see him lift his eyebrow and tilt his head and motion me over with a “you needa cut that shit out immediately, baby. do you understand me?”
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just a lil cozy, tuesday morning thought <3 nsfw mentioned, jack being dad!bf, also pervy!slightlymiserableagegap!jack<3
jack loves a clingy girlfriend. like when you first start seeing eachother he’s trying to play it cool because he already feels like a creepy old man going after bright eyed, 25 year age-gap you. so he’s not overly touchy, though he desperately wants to be. but you? you’re giving him a run for his money and he loves it.
the first night you sleep over (after jack refused to let you drive home in a thunderstorm & you refused him to drive you home), you’re cozied in his bed, half asleep as he sits on the comfy chair next to it. reading his novel, glasses on his nose, you pout in a sleepy tone, “why won’t you come sleep, jackie?”
his heart stutters at the sight of you, braless in one of his t-shirts, cozy and smelling like him under his blankets. if he gets in that bed he isn’t sure how he’ll control himself; how he won’t instantly pull your face to sleep in his chest while he lightly places his big palm on your butt and sways you back & forth to sleep.
you’re still so young compared to him. call it jack’s major flaw, but he still feels paternally protective over you– the thought of any old fuck climbing into bed with you makes his blood boil. even if it’s himself. and his wandering hands.
“i’ll get in soon honey, just wanna read a couple more minutes, kay?” he reaches out a hand to smooth over the top of your hair soothingly. your eyes flutter shut, turning your body to face him as you fall asleep; watching him read in the moonlight.
when you wake up the next morning, you’re loosely aware of a cramp in your arm. turning your sleepy head, you feel warmth in your palm, the steady connection of you & jack holding hands in the night. still sitting in his chair, now completely asleep with his head tilted back and legs spread, jack’s hand clutches yours.
he’s too far away, too far, too far. still dazed and warm, you slide out of jack’s bed, taking his comfy blanket with you. sinking to the floor at his feet, you rest your cheek on the top of his thigh, your soft arms wrapping around his calves in a hug.
you fall asleep again just like that, nuzzling into his sweatpants like a kitten.
when jack wakes up a few minutes later, his hand instantly comes down to scratch at your hair. at first he’s cozy, then surprised, then his heart absolutely almost beats out of his chest.
his girl, his little angel is hugging his calf and sleeping. no matter how much distance he tries to put, how scared he gets to touch her, she always finds him. he gives up his resolve then and there.
affectionately, he rubs at your cheek with his big palm, voice gravelly as he coos “my sweet girl.” for a few more minutes he lets you sleep, just watching you at his feet, willing his cock to slow down on it’s pulsing. he brushes his thumb over your forehead, speaking a little louder, “alright babygirl, c’mon, let’s cuddle.”
your eyes are still closed as you whine, jack atrempting to peel your arms off of his leg as he stands. laughing when you squeeze him tighter, “c’mon sweetheart, ya wanna snuggle in bed with me? it’s still early..” for a minute he thinks he’ll have to repeat himself, maybe you’ve fallen back asleep, but suddenly you nod.
slowly getting up, when he stands his back cracks and it’s your turn to coo at him. “oh jackie, you want me to give you a back rub?” “baby, if you don’t keep your hands to yourself i’m afraid i’ll be asking for more than a back rub.” he laughs, keeping his tone light as he settles into bed.
your back to his chest, he’s breathing roughly to try and ignore you the heat of your soft thighs resting on his. for now, you can both sleep. he’ll hold you, and whisper about how much of a good day you’re gonna have, and rub his big hand over your belly to soothe you.
so when you wake up with his hand in your panties, thick fingers carding through your foliage, you know for a fact that jack likes you as much as you like him. <3
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