*ੈ✩‧₊˚ reef ⋆ 𖤓 ⋆˚࿔

fangirl girl | never lose ur whimsy every movie that i see makes me cry

[reefreads]

welcome to the reef!

about me: 21, she/her, lover of music~movies~all things fangirl

current loves: the pitt, audrey hobert (always), crossword puzzles, supergirl2026, audiobooks on 2x speed

asks&messages are always open! <3

~ dive down for my masterlist!🧜🏼‍♀️🌊💕🪼🏄‍♀️🐚~

THE PITT

Jack Abbot <3

Michael “Robby” Robinavitch !

Clark Kent (Superman) ☆

other fandoms i'm interested in/and/or currently writing for !: mcu, dcu, star wars, HP

[reefreads]

oneshots

total poser - clark/superman x reader

[reefreads]

total poser

superman/clark kent x f!reader - you’re a photojournalist for the daily planet, and a good one at that. this leads to scrutiny and rumors from rival papers and misogynistic journalists who have a hard time believing you could get such good photos of the superman without having some sort of special access

or - you’re sick of people accusing you of sleeping with superman (which is insane), your sweet coworker clark comforts you, and you may even get some reassurance from the hero himself?

OR - just a fun fluffy self indulgent drabble because school is kicking my butt and I am majorly struggling to write rn (no like fr please send help)

w/c: 4.1k

the ever elusive metropolis superhero has- yet again- been captured in perfect precision by a certain daily planet photographer. the question remains- is this supposedly skilled young journalist truly just that good, or does she have a secret in with the cape-wearing conqueror?

"original." you grunt from where you're hunched over your desk, flicking through files on your computer as jimmy reads the article aloud to you and your coworkers. "a rework of the last three articles they put out."

"you really shouldn't let it get to you that much." jimmy chuckled from his own desk. this makes your shoulders tense a bit. maybe if you'd been having a better day you would've been able to brush off your coworker's mildly annoying remark, but alas.

"well when you start getting smear articles about how your photos are only so good because you're secretly sleeping with the green lantern, you can chime in jimmy." you spit, standing abruptly from your desk chair and clomping a bit dramatically out of the office. your short heels clack harshly against the hard floor as you round the corner to the break room.

it's empty but for one person sitting at the table in the corner. clark kent. his ridiculously tall frame makes the small table look miniature, like a child's playset, his legs splayed out awkwardly so his knees don't smack the underside of it.

you silently pass through, coming to a stop at the counter where a hardly full pot of coffee sits. at least it still feels hot. you swing open the cabinet overhead for a mug and can't help but let out the frustrated sigh that's been building inside your chest all morning. the bottom shelf is entirely emptied of mugs, only a spare selection left way higher than you can reach. you try anyway, pushing up on tip toes and grappling with a hand to no avail.

"here." a deep voice speaks from behind you, much closer behind you than you would expect, and startles you back flat on your feet. your shoulders hit something warm and hard, and before you can even begin to turn around a long arm clad in rolled up sleeves is reaching past your head and effortlessly retrieving a mug for you. you whirl around as clark sets it gently on the counter, sparing only the briefest of moments to meet your eyes and smile sweetly down at you before taking a step back. you realize you'd been holding your breath as you let it out shakily, cold office air of the planet that had previously been blocked by your coworker's broad frame swirling around your body and sending a small shiver up your spine.

"oh. thank you, clark." you say softly, hand absentmindedly going toward the mug as you stare back at him.

" 'course." he replies simply, shaking his head minutely as if there's nothing to it.

when you'd first started at the daily planet, you'd been thrown into an office of coworkers with drastically varying personalities. ones like jimmy and cat, who were very easy to get to know due to how much they liked talking. then there was lois, who you spent the first few weeks slightly skirting around because you were afraid she didn't like you. it turned out she just hadn't even realized you were a new hire, and when you actually had a conversation with her for the first time you became fast friends, close friends outside of work even.

but then there was clark.

clark, who showed up nearly thirty minutes late to work on your first day, stumbling in with a briefcase that was unzipped and holding onto an assortment of files for dear life as its owner bounded into the office. glasses half sliding down his nose, hair looking unkempt and tie... he wasn't even wearing the tie. that was hanging out of his briefcase too.

you had read clark kent's articles, a handful of them actually, before you'd been hired at the daily planet. lois's too, of course. she was the only reason you'd even heard of kent. they were good. seemingly well researched, thorough, sometimes a bit more biased than you'd prefer but, to be expected. he seemed like a hard worker, and a serious journalist.

so when the bumbling, giant mess of a man had come rushing into the planet so late that first day, you would never have guessed it was the clark kent whose articles you'd been reading. maybe an intern, or a higher up who didn't need abide by the guidelines of the work day. he'd clambered right on over to the empty desk next to the man who'd introduced himself to you as jimmy- and hadn't stopped talking since- and sighed deeply.

"rough morning, clarkie?" he'd asked, and you were much more eager to take the opportunity to actually start working and get out of the conversation than pay attention to the new face.

"something like that." the man sighed in response.

"don't worry, told perry you were out on a source run. i don't know if he actually believed me, but it at least got him to stop pacing your desk waiting for you to show up." jimmy clapped the man on the shoulder.

"thanks jimmy."

you were logging into the desktop computer that the chief of the daily planet, perry white, had told you would be your workstation. it seemed brand new, all shiny and untouched. a huge upgrade from the tiny, dark photographer's room you'd been shut away in at your last job. your attention was caught by a reflection in the computer screen as you typed, the large frame of the man who'd come bumbling into the office a few minutes ago approaching you.

you turned slowly in your office chair, eyes meeting deep blue ones as he came to a stop at your desk.

"hello." the man greeted you, hands shoved in his suit pockets.

"hello." you replied kindly.

"i'm clark. clark kent." he extended a hand then, and it took you an embarrassing moment to realize he was trying to shake yours. how gentlemanly.

"nice to meet you, clark kent." you smiled, introducing yourself in return. "i've read a few of your articles."

a wave of pleasant surprise seems to spark over the man's face, his eyebrows lifting over thick glasses and shiny smile reappearing. it's endearing. it makes you want to smile back.

"really?" you'd nodded. he'd smiled harder.

"yes. i enjoyed them. even the superman superfan ones." you'd joked with a wink. clark had blushed madly, which you'd chalked up to simply being teased about the number of articles he'd written about the anonymous hero.

that had been your first interaction with clark. and you'd decided that he wasn't quite so easy to pin down as some of your other coworkers. he seemed clumsy, distracted, a bit... haphazard. you learned he was from a small farming town and had only moved to metropolis a handful of years ago. that he was late to work nearly every day, and would often "go out for meetings" and never come back.

but you also learned that he was a hard worker, one of the most hard working at the planet. that he'd probably gotten that trait from working hard on his parent's farm his whole life. he was kind, like genuinely kind. brought people coffee when they hadn't stood up from their desk in hours, distracted perry with his own shortcomings when jimmy was late turning photos in, let lois yell at him when there was no one else in the office to be yelled at. and for all his clumsiness and tardiness, clark kent seemed to have a knack for always being exactly where you needed him to be.

you'd seen him drop his own things more times than you could possibly count, but if a cup slipped out of your hand or files began to slide off of your desk- there he was, large hands scooping them up before they could hit the floor.

he was quiet most of the time, nodding along or shaking his head in amusement when the rest of your coworkers told stories theatrically. you often caught yourself watching him in those moments, and could never quite put a finger on why. but he was sweet, never holding back from complimenting a submission you'd put in or giving the credit for his articles to "the fantastic pictures you'd given him to go along with it".

"hard day?" clark asked, tucking his hands into his pockets as you picked up the mug and tapped your nails against it rhythmically, simply for something to do with your hands.

"you could say that." you sighed. he extended you a sympathetic smile, and you turned to fill your cup with the break room coffee.

"there's some of that creamer stuff you like in the fridge." he spoke from behind you.

"oh, I think I finished it yesterday actually-" you began to reply, but then there he was right next to you again, holding an unopened carton of your favorite coffee creamer out to you. "oh." you laughed awkwardly, taking the carton from him and popping the cap open. "thank you. I don't know who restocked it. that's nice of them." you hummed, somewhat to yourself, lost in thought. you weren't aware of just how well clark could hear you- or just how closely he paid attention to things. simple, normal things really. like how your mouth pinched when you were in a bad mood or how you hunched over your desk when you hadn't slept well the night before and what you liked to put in your coffee.

"what's buggin' ya?" clark asked, crossing his arms and leaning back against the table he'd previously been sat at.

you let out a long sigh, feeling your shoulders physically tense up at the question.

"it's nothing."

"it's not nothing."

you're quiet for a beat, and then another. and then you turn to look at him, mug clasped between both hands.

"they keep running those articles on me. I mean, it's not like they're putting my name or anything but. still. every time I get a few good shots- you know- actually do my job? they're accusing me of fucking a superhero. as if women can't just be good at what they do all on their own!" you add, voice a bit louder than you want it to be. when you meet clark's eyes, they're a bit wide, but he's trying his best to school his expression. "sorry, clark. I forget you're such a-"

clark huffs a laugh that stops your words in their tracks, and you realize you weren't even exactly sure what you were going to say. goody-two-shoes? something like that. you'd never once heard a curse word come out of clark kent's mouth.

"it’s okay.” he chuckles, eyes crinkling a bit at the corners. his face turns a bit serious then though, and he looks off as if thinking deeply before speaking again. “i’m sorry. i saw the article today. i didn’t realize there had been so many of them. it’s wrong, and obviously completely untrue. not that you need me to tell you that of course.” he adds quickly at the end, as if worried to further offend you. you laugh softly now.

“no, it’s okay. i appreciate hearing it. thanks clark.”

“nothing to thank me for.”

your conversation is interrupted then- and you aren’t quite sure why a current of striking annoyance zips through you- when cat walks into the room to fill her own mug. you bid both coworkers a polite smile and head back to your desk to finish editing your photos for the day.

the end of the day finally draws in, and you bend to retrieve your bag from under your desk as the clock strikes five.

the smarting hit to your pride had softened slightly since you’d send the article about your photos this morning, but mild annoyance was still bubbling in the back of your mind. it certainly didn’t help that the planet was running a story on the man of the hour himself this friday, and you by no surprise had been tasked with capturing some new photos for it.

apparently clark had scored another one on one interview with superman, caught him after the tussle with some freaky alien creature that had been terrorizing a coffee shop the other day and gotten a full two pages out of it. it was no surprise really, kent seemed to be a super magnet these days. you thought with mild annoyance that no one seemed to be writing articles on him having a nefarious in with superman, but the thought quickly faded when none other than clark himself appeared at your side with a warm smile.

“heading out?” he asked, his own bag slung over a broad shoulder. you nod in response, standing from your office chair and shrugging on your coat.

"finally." you reply, tugging out the locks of hair that were caught inside your coat. you met clark's gaze and he gave a soft nod toward the exit, motioning that he'd walk out with you. you smile in return and ignore the way it makes your stomach flutter a bit. you walk for a few steps in comfortable silence, bidding quiet goodbyes to your coworkers as you pass. then clark speaks.

"so, I read the article." he sounds almost hesitant to bring it up, and you don't blame him after how you'd been acting this morning.

"okay." you hum in response, unsure where he's going with it.

"it was trash. obviously." he huffs a laugh, and you're grinning before you even realize.

"obviously."

"I just thought I should let you know, you know- as someone who's done a few interviews with the guy, he doesn't make himself easy to get to."

"you've done more than a few interviews, I'd say clark." you say, a tone of slight teasing. it was still somewhat beyond your understanding how exactly he managed to have such luck reaching the elusive superhero. your coworker doesn't quite give you an answer, instead smiling in a way that makes you wonder if there's something he's not saying.

"anyway." clark starts as he reaches out for the door handle, long arm pushing it open and waiting for you to exit. you hum a quiet thank you as you pass under him. "don't let those idiots get to you. you're work is fantastic. it always has been."

you're blushing furiously, you can feel it. you pray that the evening light outside the planet building isn't highlighting every inch of your fiery red cheeks.

"thank you." you whisper, having a hard time meeting clark's eyes. you'd learned a long time ago that the earnest kindness the man extended was just a part of who he was. it didn't make it any easier to accept such flattering comments from your undeniably handsome and sweet coworker. you think he must be done, his flattery coming to a necessary close as the two of you need to part your separate ways to head home. but before you can turn away, hand still half raised in the air to wave farewell, clark speaks again.

"and even if you were working with an... advantage- anyone would be more than lucky to be posing for your photos. especially superman."

you're stuck still, heels glued to the pavement as you watch clark's head of black curls get swept up in the sea of pedestrians making their own walks home. only when a passerby accidentally knocks your shoulder, making you jostle and blink back into reality, do you turn on your heel and begin walking your own path home.

had you imagined that? imagined the subtle tilt of clark's lips as he'd spoken, made up the underlying tone of more than friendly flattery in his words? or had it really been there?

it was completely in clark kent's nature to be so kind- to extend compliments and reassurance to all of his co-workers when they needed it. but to so blatantly address the accusation of you having a more than friendly relationship with -superman- of all people, not to pile onto the unfounded rumors or joke about how crazy such a claim was, but to say metropolis's savior would be the lucky one in the arrangement...

that was a bit more forward and friendly than you'd ever witnessed the old fashioned gentleman being.

it had been about a week since your semi-awkward moment with clark, and to your credit you'd moved past it quite well if you did say so yourself. it was totally normal to be overly flattered by such a kind compliment, and you were simply a human woman with working eyes! anyone in close proximity with a man as endearing and handsome as clark kent would get flustered from time to time. nothing to obsess over.

and so you'd managed to put both the interaction and any lingering annoyance about the article out of your mind, getting back to your hardworking normal self and taking on a handful of completely non-superhero related articles for good measure. this could only last so long in a city that seemed cyclically plagued by extraterrestrial terrors, though.

it was a thursday morning, and you were jolted alert so suddenly you nearly fell right out of your rolling desk chair. perry had shouted for everyone's attention, jogging into the main office and flicking the channel on the tv. a few clicks and the screen lights up with an aerial view of metropolis's skyline, and the shining globe of the planet is center stage.

that's not what grabs your attention though. no- your eyes are following the blurred flash of red and blue zipping on and off the screen. it takes no solid form, but it doesn't need to to be recognized. superman is veering up and down, around buildings and under bridges as a robotic looking figure, all heavy dark metal and smoke, follows his path through the sky.

you're out of your chair, fist clamping around your bag as you head for the back door before perry can even finish saying your name.

"on it!" you holler over your shoulder, pushing through the door to the stairway and taking two stairs at a time. one hand is digging in your bag as you reach the top landing, and you pull free your camera as you shoulder open the door to the roof. a blast of air hits you dead on, strands of hair flying back as you make your way onto the roof only to be met with another in quick succession.

superman is circling the mystery assailant, and from all the way down here you can feel the distinct blast of warmth as red hot heat shoots from his eyes.

you whip around, camera held up to your eye as another blast goes by overhead- the unknown enemy your subject of attention is currently fighting against.

then, it all happens at once. a deafening crash that has your hands smacking against your ears, camera only saved by the strap around your neck as you fall to your knees and clutch either side of your head against the noise. smoke blooms behind you, and when you've blinked hard and shaken your head free from the daze of the boom you turn to see it. dust and debris scattered from where something hard has collided with the roof of the building. the roof you're standing on.

from the plume of smoke, you watch in frozen shock as the hulking metal of the robotic figure you'd seen flying through the sky just moments ago rustles and fights to stand. even with shaking hands your camera is raised, finger snapping photo after photo of the scene.

"ma'am."

"AH!" you whirl, once again nearly startled off of your feet as your eyes meet the figure that's materialized silently behind you.

standing on the roof ledge- no, no not standing. levitating a solid few inches above the roof ledge is a man, a tall, broad, smiling man in head to toe blue and red. his long cape billows behind him in the rustling breeze as he extends a hand toward you.

for all the talk about how well you'd photographed the hero over the past few months, you had truly never seen him so close- in all of his true glory. what surprises you most, takes your breath out of your chest most sufficiently, is how very human he looks.

"you really can't be up here." the man speaks again, and his point is only further proved by another hulking screech of metal from behind you. you turn to look, but before you can even fully turn a rush of air hits the side of your face, and superman is mere inches from you. you let out a soft and startled woah. "I'm going to pick you up now." it's all the warning you get before the world is spinning around you, camera bouncing helplessly against your chest as strong arms wrap around you and whisk you off the roof.

it's only mere seconds before your feet hit solid ground, and you're standing in the park across the street. you look up bewildered, eyes landing on the roof of the very building you'd just been on top of. you have the distinct feeling that you might throw up.

"sorry about that, miss." not for the first time in the past few minutes, you whirl in surprise to see the man standing just beside you, looking completely unruffled by the fact that you just flew off a damn building. "just trying to keep you safe."

your mouth opens and closes like a blubbering fish out of water, and superman gives you a kind nod and cheesily bright smile before blasting off into the air again, disappearing behind the daily planet. a few loud crashes and booms shake you out of your state of shock well enough for you to get back to work, camera at the ready as you once again witness the scene of the battle.

it hardly lasts another minutes, the caped hero grabbing the now dilapidated and smoking hunk of metal and whisking it up into the atmosphere. when it comes back earth-side, landing a few yards behind you in a deserted area of the park, there's hardly anything to take a picture of. you snap a few anyway, mostly of the thick plumes of smoke and sparks flying from the wreckage, before your lens is overtaken by a much more colorful scene.

you peer over the device to see a familiar face.

"I would offer you a photo, but I think we both know you don't need me to help you out."

you could almost swear he winks at you. you stutter over a response, but he beats you to it again.

"here's a direct quote for your next article. superman doesn't do any photoshoot favors. even for the best photojournalists." you know without a doubt that he does wink at you this time. he leans in a bit then, hands on his hips in a way that could only look natural on a man like him and speak just to you. "though I certainly wouldn't mind posing for you, miss."

he doesn't give you a moment to respond, to even process. he's up into the sky again, hovering a few hundred feet up only long enough for you to realize what exactly he's doing.

you raise the camera with still shaking hands and the shutter snaps under your finger, once, twice, a few more times as you get the clearest photos you've ever managed of the flying hero. in the last one, he raises two thumbs up and shoots you a shining grin, before disappearing in a blast of air.

when the article comes out on the attack the next day, lois indeed does quote superman directly, and includes not one but three of the pictures you'd gotten of the scene. you'd like to see any other journals come up with something to say about your work now that the superman himself has come to your defense.

you'd kept that last photo for yourself though. and when you stared at it sometimes, pulled up on your laptop as you worked in your apartment, you'd wonder why exactly that bright, warm grin seemed so very familiar.

y'all mind if a pitt girly goes back to her superhero roots for a minute ? -reef <3

[leahbear30]

confessions at the beach <333

mohabbot redraw of an illustration done by Pruett Carter 🤍

[reefreads]

#mohabbot #i am going insane over this

[ceriseangels]

on god we’re gonna get you some mood stabilizers and some emdr stat

[reefreads]

hey not to be dramatic but if i see another edit of jack abbot to tomorrow never came by lana i'm calling this shit off for good

[reefreads]

jack abbot x f!resident textfic part 7

guys thank you all so much for the incredibly sweet comments on the previous parts of this and on everything always!! I'm seriously in shock every time that people like to read what i'm posting it makes my heart explode :')))

[reefreads]

s3 jack abbot where is your wedding ring…. s3 jack abbot blink three times if samira is living her best life at different hospital and mohabbot is finally together…… s3 jack abbot speak now speak quickly

[reefreads]

tell me i'm your national anthem

jack abbot x f! pitt reader ; fourth of july barbecue at dana's fluff!

w/c: 3.2k

after the- to put it plainly- shitty fourth of July shift yourself and many of your coworkers had suffered through last year, a surprisingly large group of staff (whom you were fairly certain had been led by trinity) had swindled Gloria into giving a ridiculous amount of people the day off. usually at least a quarter of the people who were currently crammed into Dana's backyard were on call, if they weren't already in the trenches of a shift. but your coworkers at the Pitt were nothing if not persistent, trinity the most of all. and so here you all were, at the evening that had been advertised as a "casual staff barbecue" but was indeed a full blown holiday party with tablecloths and little sparkly blue and red decorations at each place setting and papers plates with fireworks on them.

you were very glad that you'd made the executive decision to bring more than the single bowl of potato salad that you'd been signed up for- opting instead for two large dishes (you knew your coworkers could eat) along with a few packs of beer that you'd picked up on the way. half of the attendees were still in the i'm a resident that can barely afford to feed myself one meal a day phase, and you'd been there not too long ago. you enjoyed being able to do things like this now that you weren't drowning in your own loans. and if you just so happened to know that the beer was a certain attending's favorite, well that was just a happy accident, wasn't it?

the heat was blissfully light, brushing against your face and through your hair in the way that made you happy it was summer, thankful to feel the warmth shining on your skin but not too hot, not too sweaty. you were wearing birkenstocks, a choice that made you laugh a bit to yourself when you'd walked out of the door and thought of how little your coworkers saw of you in regular clothes, and a gingham sundress that swished around above your knees. dana had told everyone to feel free to bring their swim suits, but something about splashing around half dressed in a pool with the adults you worked in a grueling emergency department with wasn't appealing to you.

you drove up to dana's gorgeous white home, which you'd been to only once before. it was a bit far from your apartment, a bit outside of the city. there was a big paper sign tacked to her fence that read come on in with a bold arrow toward the open gate. you could hear the distant thrum of voices as you ducked out of your car, then frowned at the piled full front passenger seat. there was no way you'd be able to carry all this in one trip. you grabbed the two large containers of potato salad, bumping the car door closed with your hip and making you way up the driveway and into the backyard.

cassie sees you first, and from behind her legs a head of wild brown hair peeks out too. harrison smiles at you brightly and bounds over, throwing his arms around your middle in greeting.

"hi buddy." you grunt at the impact but smile down at the boy softly. you'd babysat for cassie a handful of times over the past few years, usually when she needed some last minute help or her regular sitter fell through.

"hi honey." he grinned up at you, and you couldn't help but laugh softly at the nickname. the young boy hadn't been able to remember your name the first few times you'd hung out with him, but his mom always came home and relieved you with a thank you honey or you're a life saver honey, so harrison had decided that was close enough. you didn't want him to stop thinking you were cool, so you always tried to hide how the endearing name made your heart swell.

from a few feet away cassie gestured for harrison to take one of the bowls from you and he did, leading the way toward the table of food across the yard while trying to peek under the plastic lid to see what you'd brought. distracted and preoccupied, harrison misses the divot in the grass and goes tumbling, knees and face smacking down to the ground and potato salad flying.

quite literally flying. you watch as your prized vintage pyrex arches through the air and goes tumbling across the lawn. you vaguely register the lid popping off a few bumps in, but your eyes are fixed on harrison as you rush over to where he’s sprawled on the floor.

“OW!” the boy shouts dramatically, rolling over and looking down at a pair of bloody hands and knees. he’s also sporting a gnarly gash on his chin.

“you okay?” you ask with concern, though you must admit your stifling a laugh at the absolute commotion he’s caused. it was like something out of cheaper by the dozen; and a handful of your coworkers were now crowding around you.

“what the hell dude?” cassie’s voice calls from behind you as she jogs up.

“i fell!” he huffs at his mom, but you can see the tears the boy is desperately trying to keep in as he looks hopelessly at your ruined potato salad and his sore knees.

“hey, it’s okay bud.” you hum, a gentle hand coming to his back. “that’s why i brought two.” you give harrison a quiet smile and nod of reassurance, then lift him up gently by his tender scraped up hand. “i have some bandaids in my car, want to come with me?” his head bobs up and down a few times and you nod again, quickly standing to stow the bowl you’d been carrying on the table a few feet away and then doubling back with a wave for harrison to follow you. cassie give you a soft smile and silent thank you as you go, to which you simply shake your head. you loved harrison, and getting to care for a kid outside the often terrible circumstances of your workplace was something that truly brought you joy. you’d considered going into pedes for most of your rotation period before you’d landed in the pitt.

the two of you tread back out through the open gate and down dana's driveway, and you can hear harrison's faint sniffs from behind you.

"m'sorry." he calls, and you shake your head again.

"don't worry about it dude. it's just potatoes." your sandals skid against the sidewalk as you come to a stop at you car, popping the trunk to retrieve the small first aid kit stowed there. you nod your head in a gesture for him to sit, and he hops up to rest in the trunk with his bloody legs swinging below.

you stay like that for a few minutes, humming and nodding in attention as harrison tells you about school, and skateboarding with mateo yesterday, and the movie he went to see with his dad (who you hate, but continue nodding along with a smile anyway) last weekend. once you've washed the cuts on his hands and knees off, and dabbed his chin with hydrogen peroxide, you hand him a box of bandaids to put on as you go about tenderly taping some gauze to his still bleeding chin. the momentary silence, as you work in concentration and harrison creates a pile of crumpled up bandaid wrappers in your car trunk, is broken by a voice speaking up from behind you.

"woah. you get in a fight killer?"

doctor abbot.

your head jerks up over your shoulder, hands stalling by harrison's jaw as your eyes land on the man approaching. jack abbot is walking toward you in a faded grey t-shirt and jeans, which would be a completely boring and ordinary outfit if anyone else was wearing it. you have to tear your gaze away quickly, feigning focus on your task to hide the blush flaring as abbot comes up behind you.

"no." harrison says with a bashful laugh.

"you should see the other guy." you mutter, smirking up at him slyly and making the boy laugh again. from the corner of your eye you see jack sporting his own curious smile. "alright." you add with a huff, brushing your hands on your legs as you stand. "all patched up."

harrison hops down from his seat in your car. "thanks honey." he grins, turning to jog back up to the yard without missing a beat. you huff a quiet laugh at the pile of bandaid trash he'd left behind, tossing the first aid kit back in with it and slamming the trunk shut. dr. abbot is still standing there. you, though you know it likely comes across as completely rude, turn and make your way to the passenger side door of your car in silence. you don't mean to be unfriendly, but where jack abbot was concerned, you were not the one in control of how you acted.

"what happened?" he asks, taking a few leisurely steps to follow you around the car. you glance at him again as he tucks his hands into his jeans pockets.

"oh, nothing. he took a tumble carrying a big container of potato salad." you wave a hand in the air as you explain, ducking into you car to fetch the cases of beer you'd left behind. "the salad had it much worse to be honest." you say jokingly, standing up straight again and smiling shyly over at abbot. his gaze makes your skin prickle a bit, and it all but erupts in flames when he reaches out, knuckles brushing your bare arms as he takes the boxes wordlessly. "oh- you really don't have to do that." you stutter, shaking your head a bit. abbot doesn't even respond, just smiles at you. unable to keep standing there staring at his stupidly handsome smiling face, you quickly reach back into the car and retrieve the final case of beer, then shut the door.

"this is my favorite." abbot hums, lifting one of the boxes a bit as the two of you begin walking up the driveway. you're both going slow, nearly dragging your feet in the kind of way that makes it obvious neither of you want the opportunity to be alone together to end too quickly.

"oh, really? that's great!" you smile in response, voice a bit too high. dr. abbot just laughs softly.

"how are you doing? haven't seen you in a while." he goes on.

"i'm fine. i'm good." you nod. "things have been pretty normal. working too much, not doing anything else enough." you laugh quietly. abbot joins you. "how have you been doctor abbot?"

"please call me jack, we're not at the hospital." he says kindly, and you know you're blushing again. you could call him jack. no big deal. for sure. "by the way... honey? a nickname, or?" he trails off in curiosity. you laugh a bit, and explain the origin of the silly title. jack smiles fondly as you do. you both slow to a stop as you round the corner and reenter the festivity. you can already see robby approaching to greet his friend in your peripheral. before parting, jack speaks softly.

"it's fitting."

your eyes dart up, wide and surprised, to see him smiling down at you warmly.

"cause you're so sweet." the smile pulls up into a cheeky smirk, and he silently lifts the case of beer from your hand and leaves you standing there in stunned silence, cheeks burning.

you're thankfully pulled out of your trance by victoria, who comes up beside you and pulls you by the arm toward a group across the lawn. you settle down on a beach towel with her, along with mel, dennis, langdon, samira, and mateo- who offers you a seltzer that is apparently "firecracker flavored". you take it with a hesitant laugh, though have to admit it's much better than you'd expect.

it's nice than you would think to hang out with your coworkers outside of work. you truly did enjoy being with all of them, though the ED was obviously not an ideal social environment. you'd roomed with harper for a bit after med school, but ever since she'd moved to Oregon your social life outside of work had been nearly non-existent aside from events like this, which were few and far between. you were pretty sure the last time more than a handful of you had had time off together and were energized enough to actually utilize it was trinity's birthday a few months ago- and you honestly couldn't remember much at all from that night. it was really nice.

dana's husband was grilling more hot dogs and burger patties than you'd ever seen in one place, and people were even starting to jump in the pool. harrison had led the charge, unsurprisingly, and it only took a few seconds of convincing for mateo to jump in after him. the rest of you group was quick to either follow or wander off toward the food table, and you were now left sitting at the pool edge, legs dangling languidly in the water as your friends splashed around. you laughed as mateo performed a particularly dramatic canon ball, which of course prompted harrison to attempt to outdo him. it went on in a cycle of ridiculous jumps and poses, and you really weren't sure who was having the most fun.

you're alerted by someone coming up behind you, and turn to see sneakers and jeans and your eyes keep trailing up and up and up until you meet the eyes of jack abbot staring down at you.

"hi." you greet softly.

"hi."

you realize all at once that he likely doesn't want to sit here, the logistics of the pool and his prosthetic and the terrible sensation of wet jeans all working together, and push to stand. water droplets pool around the ground from your legs.

"not getting in on the canon ball competition?" he asks smoothly, and your brain is still trying to catch up to having a second conversation with him as you try to formulate a response.

"i'm taking my role as a judge very seriously." you say back, and your heart skips an embarrassing beat as he laughs softly.

"of course." jack nods, taking a sip of his beer. another skip of satisfaction as you realize it's the one you brought. you almost think he can tell. "can I get you a drink?"

"oh, i'm fine. I drank one of mateo's weird concoctions and it was way stronger than I expected." you laugh a bit.

"a water then?" he asks with a smile.

"sure, actually. that'd be great." you nod, and the two of you make your way over to the ice chest near the deck. there are groups of conversation and even some lawn games sprawled out all across the yard, but you feel as if you're alone in a room with jack abbot as he cracks the cap of a water bottle off and hands it to you, the icy condensation dripping. "thank you." you hum quietly. he just nods.

after taking a sip he hands the cap over, and you screw it on with slightly shaky hands.

"so." you hum. you really needed to work on your ability to sit in awkward silence.

"so?" he asks in amusement. that stupid smirk was going to make you pass out in dana's backyard.

"soo... what's new with you?" you laugh at your own clunky delivery and jack laughs too, but graciously moves on and answers.

"not much. night shift, swat shifts, the usual." you nod, brows pinching a bit when he mentions his insane hobby in a way that he can't help but notice. "you don't approve?" jack asks with a chuckle. you feel your face heating again.

"oh, no, sorry. sorry. I didn't mean to be rude, I just... it just worries me is all. I mean, it doesn't worry me it's just- it's worrisome, like-" he cuts you off, thank God.

"you're fine." the man laughs, hand tapping your shoulder gently. "worrisome is one of the nicest things people have had to say about it." it trails of with a sigh, looking away for a moment. his face grazes over with something serious and far away that you haven't seen on the man before. "I don't know. keeps me busy." he hums quietly, taking another slow sip of his drink.

you nod. it must be hard, you know, being jack abbot. having lived a life so full of things you can never truly put down, never leave in your past. his time in the service, his youth, his wife... he carried those memories every day- they were as much a part of him as his leg or the wedding ring he still wore. it couldn't be easy to go from active service in the military to trying something dumb like golf or fishing on his days off. just because you didn't love the idea of him running around in a swat uniform (not that it was your place to think anything about it at all) didn't mean you didn't get it.

you understand, you really do. and you know jack abbot is a smart man, it's not as if he doesn't understand the danger and risk in what he does, as if he doesn't understand his own life. you tell him as much.

"I know it's not my place to have any sort of opinion. I just meant it seems...very hard. all of it." you say decidedly, and his deep, thoughtful gaze is back on you.

"it's your place to have an opinion on whatever you want." jack says, and it's casual and matter of fact but he's looking at you like he really means it. "and I care." he adds, and you look up at him in question. "I care what you think."

this gives you pause, gets the words stuck in your mouth as you blink up at the man. you aren't sure what to make of the words, just as you commonly weren't sure to make of jack abbot and his warm smiles and lingering touches and too kind eyes.

"that's nice." is all you can manage, and you feel stupid hearing your own voice. he just smiles down at you and laughs, a short soft thing.

"you're nice." he hums. "honey."

he adds the name quietly, as if in afterthought, something he was only speaking in his mind for himself, something you weren't sure you were even supposed to hear. you pretend you didn't.

you sit together for dinner and smile to yourself when your knees bump under the table. you blush when jack rests his arm on the back of his chair as he talks to robby. your chest burns fondly when he offers you the watermelon he doesn't finish but keeps stealing chips from your plate. you breath deeply and think that you could live a life full of moments just like this and nothing could make you happier.

a/n: thank you for reading lovies!! I love writing shorter fluffy stuff like this .. I think I'll do more one shots of jack and this (honey) reader every so often because why have the become so very precious to me in the span of writing this!! please let me know what you thought! love youuUUUuu - reef <3

anyway, happy lana del ray miss americana steve rogers superman jack abbot day girlies. here's a little shortie of your favorite sexy veteran. times are very sad but grateful for everyone who truly represents the values of love and acceptance and belonging and freedom for ALLLLL!

everyone get more jack abbot pilled NEOW!

[reefreads]

Not really a question. Just wanted to sat that i just fined reading lover, you should come over and it so good!!!!! 😭🫶🏼 you’re writing is amazing!!!

Xoxo

stop tysmx10000000😭🥲🫪🩷 you’re the sweetest ever it means so much that you read and liked it!!

[reefreads]

the sweet escape

robby has been sent on a mandatory sabbatical to an all inclusive tropical resort, yet can't seem to escape what he really needs a vacation from- himself.

young, beautiful reader has her own set of life's issues to take a getaway from, and would like nothing more than to do so with the handsome stranger she's been watching at the resort pool.

💌dr. robby x f!reader💌

contains: michael (robby) robinavitch x f!reader, no specific descriptors used for reader, vacation au, reader gets a bad sunburn and obviously good dr. robby has to help with this OBVIOUSLYYY, robby on sabbatical but like not the self-sabotaging concerning kind, reader is a teacher on summer vacation, age gap (reader is late 20searly30s, robby is early 40s), robby BEFORE THE HORRORS*** because this is my happy fictional world and I say so, think robby 5-7 years before the pitt, but still lowkey an asshole obviously, brief mention of blood (reader gets minor injury), reader is embarrassingly down bad for that old man, that old man is embarrassingly down bad for reader, summer fling (or IS IT), commitment issues for everyone, one night stand (OR IS ITTTT)

💌word count: 6.7k💌

it had been nearly three hours now, since you'd come down to the pool. there was no chance the sunscreen you'd haphazardly applied on yourself was still doing much of anything at all against the blazing sun, and the previously full area of screaming children and drunk adults had filtered into the quiet hum of only a handful of guests besides yourself. you could even hear the birds again.

nearly three hours, and you hadn't managed to catch the eye of that handsome, frowning man on the pool recliner one single time.

you'd seen him the second you stepped down onto the pool deck, his tall, relaxed form stretched out across the blue and white striped chair and a ragged paperback book in one hand. the other had been pulled up behind his head, giving an insanely inappropriate view of his straining bicep pulling at the white sleeve of his t-shirt.

if nearly every single spot hadn't already been taken when you'd come down, you might've been brave enough to set your things down next to him. but alas. you'd dropped your resort issued beach towel and tote stuffed with your belongings under the first umbrella you saw, staking your claim for the day against the rest of the vulture-like guests looking for an open spot. you'd gone back to observing the mystery man then, discreetly, behind the cover of your giant sunglasses and the distance of the pool between you.

he was handsome. and yes, it may have partly been the you need to find someone to be attracted to on this trip so it isn't boring as hell virus in your brain contributing to your attraction, but still. he really was. tall, like, so tall that even laying down you could tell he was much taller than you. tufts of curly brown hair sticking out from under the baseball hat he was wearing. skin glowing under the sun in a way that made it clear he didn't spend much time out in the sun like this but was getting a nice sunscreen protected tan. older. quiet. hot. had been wearing the same pensive frown since you'd first laid eyes on him this morning. did you mention he was hot and older?

and so you'd watched him. and then you'd ordered a drink from one of the pool boys and waited for it on your chair and watched some more. then you sucked down the blended fruity concoction, stood up, and stripped the cover-up dress you'd donned for the walk down much slower than necessary. he still wasn't looking. you rolled your eyes a bit to yourself, cheeks a bit flushed and feet burning on the cement.

then, you'd splashed in the pool and chatted with groups who floated by cheerily about stupid, pointless vacation stuff and drifted back and forth through the water right in front of his chair. you'd lounged on a floaty bed and then lounged on the floaty on your stomach and even, at one low point, pretended to fall off of the floaty and made a loud splash.

he still didn't even glance up from the book, the only movement being made the idle crossing and uncrossing of his calves and the occasional slow sip of water.

and so now, now that nearly three hours had passed, and the resort pool was nearly empty, and your stomach was growling angrily, and the man still hadn't even moved his head in your direction- you were annoyed at yourself and a bit embarrassed and also a bit annoyed with this stranger who apparently didn't know a beautiful young woman in a cute swimsuit if she was splashing around right in front of him.

gliding to the far end of the pool, you slowly emerged from the water. you were immediately hit everywhere with the evening air, significantly more chilly than when you'd gotten in. in a rush for your towel, you clearly somehow managed to forget everything you'd ever been taught about navigating slippery pool decks and forego any sort of self preservation- because the heel of your bare foot caught a particularly wet patch that sent you careening toward the ground.

you landed flat on your back, not even able to catch your breath before a sharp pain jabbed its way through your foot. a few seconds later, you felt the vague sensation of heat seeping around your toes, though you couldn't currently see them from your position laid the fuck out on the pavement.

as if things could possibly get worse, a hurried set of footsteps were unmistakably making their way toward you. you try to sit up with a groan, but are interrupted by a deep, concerned voice speaking from behind you.

"woah, woah, woah, careful. are you okay?" big warm hands on your shoulders and the slight glimpse of brown hair from the corner of your eye.

"'mfine." you groan again, reluctantly allowing the voice to help you up to your feet. a deep feeling of dread settled over you, the kind where you already know that exactly what you don't want to be happening is exactly what is.

when you're on your feet, you immediately turn and plop down into the chair holding your belongings.

standing in front of you is the man. the man from the chair. the main who's attention you'd been trying to get all day like some boy crazy teen girl off two pina coladas. the man is standing in front of you and he is most definitely without a doubt looking at you now.

well, actually- he's looking at your feet. which is odd. not in a like, avoiding eye contact because he's shy or something way, in a very obviously examining your feet type of way. you glance down, momentarily self conscious, and see the pool of blood trickling from your left foot that has perhaps caught his attention.

"oh shit." you say, at the same time as the man says

"nice one."

your eyes snap back up at him, unamused and more than slightly annoyed at this whole stupid situation. you assume the frustration must show on your face, and can certainly feel the heat beginning to radiate from it, but the stranger mistakes it for embarrassment.

"don't worry about it. I think I'm the only one who saw." he adds, throwing you a quick smile that, if you weren't currently bleeding out via big toe, would have made your stomach twist. okay, maybe it still did a little bit.

"go figure." you huff in response. because really, go figure that you'd spent the last three hours doing amateur water aerobics for his attention, and the only thing that had finally gotten him to look up was you eating shit.

"what?" he's still looking down at you with the slightly amused smile.

"nothing."

"wait here, i'll be right back." he simply responds, already turning and jogging back to his own recliner on the opposite side of the pool. why wasn't he slipping in a cartoonishly large puddle of water?

he rifles through the small bag left resting on his chair and holds something up to you proudly, but you just shake your head, you have no idea what's in his hand all the way over there.

when he finally makes his way back over to you, you see that he's holding a tiny first aid kit. you swallow the smile you feel surfacing at the stupid grin on the stranger's face.

"here we go. never go anywhere without it." he hums, and then he's squatting down in front of you like he honest to God believes he's gonna wrap up your foot right here at the resort pool.

"what you think you're some kind of doctor or something?" you laugh nervously, foot jerking away in a motion that drags the raw skin across pavement and makes you hiss in through your teeth.

now the man is fully smirking at you, already pouring some sort of liquid on a cotton pad as his eyes flit up to you.

"yes I am." he replies matter of factly, before holding the cloth against your foot and beginning to gently wipe up the blood smeared all over it.

"you're a doctor?"

"dr. michael robinavitch, at your service."

"you're fucking with me."

"I am not."

"what are you doing here then?"

"they let me out of the hospital for a few days. for enrichment." he deadpans, this finally getting him to look up from his careful ministrations on your foot.

your cheeks flush at the stupidity of your own question, and then all at once your entire body heats at the sudden realization of the situation you've found yourself in. the man you found so attractive you'd spent three hours floating around and staring at him was now on the ground in front of you, foot in his hands as you sat dripping water and blood in nothing but your bikini. the realization has you jerking back like a spooked animal, hands planted on either side of your chair as you push yourself slightly back.

he jerks back too, clearly alarmed by your sudden reaction and searching your face in concern.

"did that hurt?" he asks, looking down at the innocent wipe in his hand with mild confusion. you let out a shaky breath and reach for your towel, quickly wrapping it around yourself.

"sorry. no." you reply awkwardly. "I got cold."

he looks at you for a moment with the same curiosity before shaking his head, it's fine, and going back to your foot without a word. he pockets the now bloody cloth, which has you actually believing that maybe he is a real doctor, and quickly wraps the deepest part of the cut in bandage gauze. slapping his hands lightly against his thighs, he stands to his full height.

"alright then. that should hold you over. i'd put a band-aid on it after you shower later. they sell them in the convenience store here." he pauses for a moment, then adds "they sell aloe there too." there's a soft smirk tugging at the corner of his lips and he's failing to hide it.

"what?" you ask, partly confused and partly annoyed that he seems to be making fun of you, though you don't even know what about.

"I'm just saying. you've been out here for, what, three hours? you're gonna be toasted by tonight."

"am not!" you huff.

"you didn't reapply sunscreen one time." he shoots back, brow raised and hands coming to rest on his hips. his incredibly tall and broad frame are almost blocking what's left of the sun, and you have to crane your neck up to see his face. "did you?"

you roll your eyes then, slightly infuriated that he's right and that you can already feel the prickly, tight sensation on your cheeks and shoulders from being in the sun for far too long. but then, it hits you, and creeps across your features in a growing smirk to rival the man in front of you.

"how do you know how long i've been here, hm michael? were you watching me?" you ask slyly, leaning forward a bit and, fine, yes, even letting the towel fall a bit loose around your shoulders. you peer up at him with wide questioning eyes and your stomach does a somersault of pleasure when you see his gaze stutter for a moment, cheeks a modicum rosier than they were a second ago.

but then the man leans in, eyes flashing down to your lips momentarily before meeting your eyes again, and whispers.

"don't act like you weren't trying to get me to."

your mouth drops open slightly, brain buffering in search of a response as he, michael, gives you another once over then takes a step back, and then another, and then turns on his heel and begins heading back to his own pool chair. he slows for a minute and catches your eye over his shoulder, and you can see his lips pull up just slightly when he sees you still watching him.

"fresh bandaid after you shower. and aloe. doctor's orders." he winks. you gather your things with a huff and slip out the gate before he reaches his chair.

"you're a doctor?" you asked incredulously.

robby tried his best to not be immediately offended at your clear disbelief.

he'd been trying and failing miserably for the past however many hours to sit in his pool chair and pretend he didn't see you, but the fact that he'd been reading and re-reading the same few pages of his book for the past forty minutes was pretty solid proof that that wasn't working out too well for him.

it was only his second day of this stupid sabbatical thing, and he was already fairly certain that relaxing vacations were a hoax created by some sort of insane person that liked being alone with their thoughts for an extended period of time. robby certainly didn't fit in the category.

"dr. michael robinavitch, at your service." he grins up at you, trying his utmost gentlemanly best to keep his eyes anywhere but your tan, dripping, bikini clad body sat on the chair in his direct eyeline. he focuses intently on patching up your bleeding foot, if for no other reason than to have anything else to focus on.

yes- for the past three hours, robby had been laying out on the pool deck and fighting every natural instinct in him to let his eyes drift from the pages of his book to where you were floating languidly in the pool. or say hi to you. or be so insane as you get in the water with you, which he'd almost worked up the courage to do twice before talking himself out of it. and thank God for that, for that very small shred of dignity and morality robby seemed to be dragging from the depths of himself that was keeping him away from you.

because here, now, sitting just a few inches away from you and really taking you in- he had absolutely no business with you. you were young, certainly too young for someone like him. and you were beautiful. he'd thought you were beautiful the second your loud flip flops had carried you out onto the pool deck- obviously, but you were truly gorgeous. big sparkling eyes peering down at him shrewdly as he worked on your foot, soft glowing skin and a bright smile even as you continued to doubt whether he was truly a doctor and very verbally critiqued his skills as he attempted to wipe up the trickling blood.

robby was fairly certain that if he didn't get his hands and eyes off of you as quickly as possible, he was going to do something he would most certainly regret.

and so he did, finishing up and standing swiftly, hands planting on his hips. a brief suggestion of how you should care for it going forward, as well as suggesting you put some aloe vera on your rapidly developing sunscreen.

you did not like that.

"how do you know how long i've been here, hm michael? were you watching me?" you asked, a mischievous tone to your voice that had his checks prickling with a faint blush. you leaned forward just slightly, and the towel you'd wrapped around your shoulders a few minutes ago slipped loose, revealing far too much and making robby's strictly contained gaze stutter- just for a moment, cheeks going even redder. you notice, he can tell, and it only makes you smile wider.

figuring that he's already let himself slip up this far, robby leans in a bit toward you, allowing himself the indulgence of his eyes flashing down to your lips just momentarily before whispering

"don't act like you weren't trying to get me to."

it's your turn to buffer then, to robby's self satisfaction, and your mouth drops open a bit as he takes a step back, and then another and another until he's turning on his heel, only slowing for a moment to peer over his shoulder and catch your eye one last time. he can't help the quiet grin his lips pull into when he sees you still watching him too.

robby was... stuck. for lack of a better word. he felt stuck in his own life. in the hospital, in his routine, in his sad lack of a life outside of work. he was stagnant, and bored, and, fine, a bit lonely.

sure, he had friends. even a few very close ones. but he worked with all of them. and there were some aspects of a relationship that even jack didn't really make the cut for. things like... well, things like all of the things he wanted to do with you, the beautiful fiery young girl he'd become enraptured with at the pool today.

when you'd left, and robby had made his own way back to his room not long later, he'd hoped that the fond memory of you would quickly fade, simply an attractive stranger and a silly interaction. unfortunately, your eyes and your smile and your shiny hair and the way your soft skin had felt under his hands as he'd brushed it cleaning up your foot decidedly did not leave his mind; no- they in fact seemed to have taken sole residence in his train of thought and were incessantly circling, circling, circling.

making him wonder what you were doing, how your foot was feeling, if you'd come here alone or with someone else. no- you couldn't have, not a partner at least. for all that robby had tried to ignore you down at the pool, he was mature enough to admit that you were most definitely trying to get his attention, splashing around like that for hours. you were far out of his league, but it wasn't the first time he'd been hit on by a woman before.

that wasn't the problem. the problem was that he was a forty something year old doctor seemingly going through mid-life crisis who couldn't even relax or enjoy a vacation at an all inclusive resort; even when the alternative was microwaved meals for one at his apartment in Pittsburgh and a fourteen hour shift in hell. this was the first real break he'd taken since he could remember; each time gloria had approached him about a sabbatical in the past he'd brushed her off with a laugh. she hadn't asked this time.

and so here he was, on a beach thousands of miles away from the only semblance of a life he had- a few check in texts from jack each day and the occasional chatter of the day-shift group chat that he checked embarrassingly regularly for someone who was meant to be "out of office". and the problem was not that a gorgeous, seemingly single, seemingly kind and funny and overall great woman had obviously spent the better part of the day attempting to flirt with him. it was that he was him, someone who had absolutely no business being flirted with by someone like you.

you, who couldn't yet be in your mind thirties, who had your entire life ahead of you and a light in your eyes that was reserved for individuals who hadn't sold their soul to a drowning hospital or spent the past few decades burning themselves out completely instead of fostering any sort of personal life. you, who had sat there in your bikini, hair dripping everywhere, foot bleeding out on the concrete, yet been so clearly focused on him. the way you'd blushed and shifted under his gaze.

it was only because you didn't really know him, robby kept telling himself. if you did, if you really got to know him and his bad habits and how much he worked and how uninteresting it could really be to date a doctor after the first few weeks... you'd look at him the same way the rest of the women he'd tried the whole relationship thing with had. certainly not with the wide eyes and blushing cheeks you'd had today.

you were too young, and too sweet and pretty and truly just a complete stranger that he would never see again after checking out of this resort on saturday. he had no business thinking about you any longer, or wishing to run into you ever again.

this is what robby repeated in his head over and over as he trudged downstairs from his room in search of something for dinner. he kept repeating it as he sat down at the same grill he'd eaten at last night and ordered a bear, and caught himself looking around to see if maybe just maybe you were there too. pathetic.

but when you appeared in the stool next to him about fifteen minutes later as if out of a dream, and looked up at him with that same wicked grin... robby wondered if maybe, just maybe, a bit of connection with someone he'd never see again was exactly what he needed.

doctor's orders. doctor's orders. you replayed the annoyingly smug parting comment from the stranger over and over in your mind, making his voice sound more annoying each time. a doctor. please!

how ridiculous. shouldn't a doctor be out doing important things or saving lives or whatever? not bothering your peace during your vacation. really, what kind of doctor was so comfortable posing a risk of drowning to the general public- laying out by the pool looking so hot and distracting like that? it was borderline criminal!

you weren't really sure why you were letting a complete stranger bother you so much. you were supposed to be enjoying this stupid vacation. you'd never taken a trip like this, at least not since you were a kid who couldn't appreciate what it really meant for your parents to bring you to a fancy resort. but you'd been teaching for eight years now, and hadn't taken anything more than a road trip out of state in terms of vacation. you'd been saving up for something like this for a long time, and after the year you'd had you certainly deserved to enjoy it.

your relationship with your long-term boyfriend, like- followed you to college out of state and got an apartment with you after graduation long term- had ended rather unceremoniously last fall, and it had unfortunately only been the set up for an overall shitty school year. shitty paying twice as much rent as you'd had to before, shitty students, shitty social life... shitty shitty shitty. you'd let yourself fall into a funk and ride it all the way through the year, and when summer had crept in you'd finally realized that you needed to pull yourself together and become a functioning social being again. and so here you were, trying to pour into your own cup as they say.

it was fine.

but you were restless. you'd spent the last ten months pretty much going to work and going home, intermixed with infrequent visits to the gym or grocery store runs. you were fairly certain you could count on your fingers the amount of times you'd actually hung out with your friends this year, let alone make any sort of more than friendly connections.

maybe that was why you'd become so obsessed with the man at the pool. michael. it wasn't like you hadn't seen a single other handsome man in the past year. but it was something about the vacation air, the need for something to spice up your solo trip a bit. and the fact that he was just super hot. you'd never been with someone that much older than you before- not that he looked ridiculously older, but he was definitely older. there was something interesting about him, something that pulled you in and excited you. if only you hadn't completely fucking embarrassed yourself falling on your ass like that.

he was a bit snarky though, wasn't he? you're flustered with frustration at the stranger's brashness all over again, remembering how you'd blushed so embarrassingly when he'd called you out for trying to get his attention in the pool.

the same train of annoyance was flitting around in the back of your mind as you slipped out the door of your room. the incessant pain of your sunburn only served to make you even more frustrated, every brush of your flowy white sundress against the tender skin making you hiss quietly. thankfully your toe was completely fine now; though again only served as a reminder of the infuriatingly handsome and annoying man that had patched it up for you.

you pad down the covered hallway of the resort, the soft sounds of chirping birds and water cresting surrounding you as the sun began to set. this place really did live up to the expectations of paradise. after waiting for the elevator for only a few moments, it takes you down to the main level of the resort, where you're now tasked with the decision of where to find dinner.

the resort was adorned with a handful of formal dining options, along with a few quicker options that you could bring up to your room or take with you to lounge outside, as well of course as the bars. you were fairly set on grabbing an order of the delicious fish tacos you'd had last night and cozying up in your bed where no one could see you grimace over your sunburn with each bite, but a figure catching your attention from the corner of you eye quickly diverts this plan.

your feet are carrying you in his direction before your mind can decide it's a bad idea, and you pull out the stool beside none other than Dr. Michael Robinavitch where he's sitting solo and enjoying his own dinner.

"good burger?" you ask, and his head turns toward you slowly, as if he'd already known exactly who'd sat down next to him. he continues chewing, eyes flicking over your face briefly before swallowing, slow and deep.

"great." he grins in response. something about his smug expression and seemingly abundant self-satisfaction makes you want to bite.

"yeah, I can tell." you reply dryly, dropping your eyes pointedly to where a smear of bright yellow mustard colors his cheek. he sits up a bit, hand coming up to his face then quickly reaching for a napkin. in a pathetic attempt at cleaning himself up, the man smears even more sauce on his face in a display that would be a bit repulsive on anyone less annoyingly attractive. "here." you say, rolling your eyes a bit as you reach for a fresh napkin from the dispenser in front of you.

you hold the clean cloth out to him, brain buffering a bit when he simply stares back at you, that same stupid smirk pulling at his lips.

"help me out?" he questions, voice soft but gravelly in a way that sends a shiver up your back. "you owe me one, I think." he then adds quietly with a wink, and you're rolling your eyes again.

you reach out, and with a matching smirk coming across your own lips, wipe roughly at the man's cheek a few times before dropping the napkin unceremoniously onto his lap and swiping a french fry from his plate, popping it in your mouth.

"there you go!" you grin. "all even now, doctor."

he's staring back at you with eyes that are burning with more than the soft amusement he'd been sporting a few moments before. you find yourself wanting to know more about what exactly is making him look at you like that.

the waiter behind the bar comes up and greets you before you can find out.

"good evening, miss." the man grins, leaning over the bar a bit as he speaks in a way that makes his loose hawaiian shirt fall open and reveal tan, toned skin. he's handsome. you feel the burning sensation of eyes on the side of your face as you greet the waiter in return. "what can I get for you?" as the man lists the specials, you let your eyes flick over, just for a moment, to peer at the man beside you. michael, just as you suspected, is all but staring you down from his spot beside you. when he catches you eyeing him, you pull a slow, sly smile and turn back toward the waiter silently.

"I think i'll take what he's got." you hum, head tilting slightly toward the man sitting beside you and the half finished burger on his plate. "and a watermelon margarita, please." you add, smile sticky sweet as the waiter goes off to put in your order. only when he's left do you slowly turn back to Michael, who- to your great pleasure- is still staring at you.

he looks almost contemplative, stuck in thought for a moment as he studies you before speaking again.

"moved on to flirting with the bar boy now, have you?"

your jaw goes slack.

"excuse me?" you ask incredulously, cheeks burning even stronger than before.

"it's not a judgement. just an observation." Michael says matter of factly, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of his beer.

"it certainly feels like a judgement." you huff, only quieting your voice slightly as the waiter returns and places your margarita in front of you with another too bright grin.

"s'not." he shrugs again. you just roll your eyes and ignore the small smile the action gives him. "you roll your eyes a lot."

"any other observations to share today?" you huff, turning away from him and taking a long sip of your own drink.

"well, I do have a few actually. but i'm not sure you really want to hear them." he replies simply, and when you eye him he's already backing to eating his dinner like you're having a casual, friendly dinner together and not two complete strangers in the midst of some sort of built up tension battle of wills staredown. you plant your cheek on a hand and look at him in an unamused gesture to go on. "I see that sunburn is working out well for you."

if you hadn't been frustrated by his attractiveness before, the slow, raking graze the man drags down and back up your body makes you stiffen in your seat.

"didn't feel like listening to me?" he goes on, voice getting all soft and quiet as he leans in. "doesn't look like you put any aloe on that at all." you feel the strange sensation of being watched by some sort of predator as you stare up at the man's glinting eyes and smile, but you're exactly where you want to be sitting here.

"I didn't have any." you mumble, shuffling on your stool a bit and trying desperately to hide your grimace at the burning sensation every movement sparks on your crisp skin.

"I told you the resort store carries it." he responds, and you take another deep sip of your margarita.

"geeze, are you always so bossy, doctor?" you grumble, glaring at the man. He stares back at you in silence, eyes making the same thoughtful, dark flicker over your face as he chooses not to respond and takes another bite of his food. at the same time, the waiter returns with your own plate, placing it with a flourish in front of you and pulling you out of your daze.

"how's your drink? can I get you anything else?" he asks, and you feel somewhat guilt for the sharp annoyance that flickers in your chest as he leans against his side of the bar, clearly in no hurry to leave you alone.

"it's great, thanks. i'm all good." you reply, a bit too sharp and short, then pointedly avert your gaze to your food in hopes the man will get the point. he seems to, mumbling something else about enjoying your food before departing to serve the other patrons filing in for dinner.

when you look up with a sigh, gaze returning to Michael's as you pop a fry in your mouth, he's already staring at you again.

"hm." he hums, as if reading between the lines of something you don't even know you've done.

"what?" you ask between swallows of french fry, somewhat defensive.

"nothing." he says with that same stupid smirk, but the spark of something exciting is back in his deep brown eyes.

your back slams against the door frame, cold in the night air and sending a searing shock over your sunburned back. Michael was fumbling with his key card on the handle near your hip with one hand, the other raking through your hair and pulling you into his mouth as if needing you impossibly closer. you only break apart when he tries and fails for the third time to open the door with a soft groan, and accepts he has to actually look at the thing to open it.

when it swings open behind you, you back peddle slowly into the dimly lit room, michael's hands slipping from your body as he swings it shut behind him and flicks a switch near the door.

you stand in front of him, arms loose at your sides and chest panting softly as you try to steady your breath. the two of you had all but devoured each other every step of the way from the bar to his room. now, standing in the middle of it in your flimsy white sundress, hair mussed from his hands and the weight of his gaze pouring over you from across the room- you start to feel a bit nervous.

when he takes a slow step toward you, and then another and another until he's right in front of you again, broad hands coming to rest on your hips, your stomach flips with an entirely new type of nerve.

"this okay?" he asks, and you're nodding, wide eyed and puffy lipped as you stare up at him.

"yes." you add, just a whisper. "yes."

and then he's kissing you again, hands pulling gently at the soft cotton and lace of your sundress and leading you gently backward until your knees hit the edge of his bed. you let yourself fall back, now sitting back on your arms and peering up at him. but he's looking at you with different eyes now, ones that seem full of distant concern and slight amusement.

"what's wrong?" you ask, hand coming up to tug on his loosed button up shirt. his eyes flick back to yours then with a quick shake of his head, before he gestures for you to wait a moment and disappears into the bathroom.

too overcome with the reality of the situation to question it, you fall back to lay on the bed and stare at the ceiling with hazy giddiness. in all of your preening in the pool earlier, you hadn't truly expected tonight to end like this. you certainly hadn't expected it when you'd spent the better part of two hours snipping at each other at the restaurant downstairs... until your banter had melted quickly into something much more charged and sparking and neither of you seemed to be able to drag your eyes away from each other. and then you'd let your hand drift up onto his bicep, then his shoulder, then the scruff of his hair- and he'd looked at you with eyes that showed he was fighting with all he could not to give in before he finally did. his hand on your knee, then your waist, and then and then and then. and then you'd kissed all the way up to his room, so frantically you didn't even remember the walk at all.

lost in replaying your memories of the night leading up to now, you don't hear Michael reappear in front of you. you do however, jerk to startled attention when big, warm hands juxtaposed by something chillingly cool begin rubbing up and down your lower legs. you sit up quickly, hands planting behind you to hold yourself up as your eyes fix on the sight in front of you.

michael, kneeling on the ground at the foot of the bed and gently massaging aloe vera gel over your tender red skin.

"wha-?" you start, but are cut off by him softly shushing you.

the sensation of the gel coating and instantly soothing your skin has your head dropping back with a soft sigh. you can hear the quiet chuckle from michael where he remains on the floor in front of you, but it feels too good to be embarrassed or even acknowledge at the moment.

"told you you needed it." he mumbles, voice somehow still cocky when he speaks so soft and sweet like this, and your eyes drop down then to see the familiar infuriating smirk on the man's lips.

"bossy." you hum again, though you can't hide the way your eyes stay glued on his hands or the soft smile your own lips pull into.

the two of you spend the next few minutes in silence as you allow him to continue the tender application of cooling gel to your legs, your tired eyes even blinking closed eventually as you lay back comfortably on his bed. when you hear Michael stand slowly, your lashes flutter open to see him standing over you.

from his towering position, he looks down at you with a gaze of appreciation and palpable want that sends a molten warm feeling all throughout your body that has nothing to do with the sunburn.

"what?" you whisper eventually, squirming a bit under his silent watch. he blinks and runs a slow hand through his brown hair.

"just looking at you."

after a few more quiet moments, Michael circles the bed, your neck craning to follow him as he comes up behind you and mounts the bed on his knees, bottle of aloe vera still in his hands. you sit up, crossing your now sticky legs and keeping your gaze on him. when he settles down behind you, long legs splaying out on either side of your knees, you raise a brow in question.

"may I?" he asks, gesturing with the bottle toward your back. it only takes you a split second to register what he's asking, and whether it's the overwhelming desire suddenly coursing through you to feel the man's hands on your skin again or... no, no it's definitely that- you nod earnestly. so earnestly that it makes him chuckle a bit, and you smack his leg with a huff.

the short lived annoyance fizzles straight out of you when you feel your hair being gently brushed to the side and over your shoulder. you reach up with a somewhat shaky hand to help him, pulling the rest of the wavy, sun-dried strands to the front of your shoulder and fiddling with them nervously. when his hand then settles on your shoulder and begins to gently push the flimsy white strap of your sundress down, you're more grateful than ever that you aren't facing him. you fight to keep your breathing steady.

the thin white cotton falls against your upper arm, then followed by the other strap, and you can see the stark tan lines left behind from your bikini top earlier. the silent rustling of the bottle being opened alerts you before his touch returns, this time coating the hot skin of your upper back with the soothing gel. you can't help the dramatic shiver that racks through your body at the feeling.

"sorry." you laugh softly.

"don't be." the response comes out gruff and quiet, nearly choked compared to when michael had spoken to you just moments before. you chew your lip and bite back a smile, craning your neck once again to peer at him. his hands are lower now and getting lower still, brushing first shyly under the top of your sundress before pushing further, spreading the aloe down until his broad hands are brushing your hips and trailing up and down the length of your spine.

michael doesn't seem to even notice your gaze at first, entranced by watching his own hands rub up and down your soft skin. when he does meet your eyes, his are blown out and sparkling with something new, something different.

when your lips crash into one another this time, you can feel it under the surface, the building and burning and wanting that can't be contained any longer.

a/n: what up baddies guess who's writing anything other than the series she's supposed to be working on again ayyyyy

this was supposed to be a short one shot don't even know what it turned into hope u enjoy pls let me know what u think!! love love love ya - reef🩷🍹🧜🏼‍♀️

[reefreads]

jack abbot x f!resident smau part 6

the group chat will probably be super normal and not annoying about this

[reefreads]

chapter three: million dollar man

mohabbot au💌

contains: modern day au, mainly set on east coast, samira is a struggling art gallerist in boston trying to figure her life out, jack is a high profile/wealthy philanthropist, samira is a workaholic (duh), age gap (pretty show accurate), slow burn like SLEEOOWW burn, strangers to lovers, we got the whole damn pitt cast up in here

part three!

chapter song: the less i know the better - tame impala

Samira realizes that she’s been holding onto the delusional hope that she and Victoria had somehow been seated together with the mysterious and annoyingly alluring Jack Abbot, but only when the ushers bring the two women to a table already full of guest who are distinctly not Jack Abbot. 

Samira wonders why exactly she seems to care so much about where a man who is a relative stranger has been seated as her eyes scan the room, looking for the broad frame and shiny silver curls of Jack Abbot somewhere in the crowd. 

Samira realizes that she is being much more obvious in her pathetic that she thought when Victoria bumps her knee under the table, once again wearing that annoyingly knowing smirk and gesturing toward a man she’d apparently been ignoring. On the other side of Victoria sits a tall man with black hair and a bright, charming smile, who’s extending his hand toward Samira in greeting. 

“John Shen.” He introduces himself, and Samira pulls on the most convincingly interested face she can as she introduces herself in return. She then wonders again why her mind seems to be pulling so incessantly back to something else, to someone else. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” John continues, settling back in his chair but keeping his gaze on her and Victoria. The rest of the guests seated at their table are mingling politely amongst themselves, the great room humming with chatter as everyone finishes filing into their seats. 

Samira notices almost immediately that, while the incredibly charming and seemingly kind man speaking to them has spoken the same words that Jack had by the bar, I don’t believe we’ve met before, there is no similar tingle of excitement or flutter of interest to be felt now; only the strengthening desire to be back in her conversation with the man she’d been speaking to only a few minutes ago. 

Victoria thankfully takes the lead in the conversation, explaining she and Samira’s roles at the gallery and why exactly they were here tonight. Shen doesn’t seem as familiar with Baran or their work. Or at least that’s what Samira has gathered from the small portion of the conversation that she tried to pay attention to, before her eyes at last landed on a familiar face. 

Well, familiar face was certainly being generous, but still. The face that she’d been looking for. 

About four tables away, and with the left side of his profile in her direct line of sight, Jack Abbot was chatting jovially with the guests at his own table. Samira is discomforted by the foreign twist of jealousy creeping it’s way through her chest, a quiet annoyance toward the unseen patron garnering the man’s undivided attention and conversation. What made them so important that they got to sit at that table? At Jack Abbot’s table? 

Woah. Wow. What had gotten into her? She didn’t even know the man, and if she did it was completely unlike Samira to feel so territorial, such irrational jealousy. Especially over a man. She absentmindedly thought back and confirmed that she had never experienced such a thing in any of her short-lived relationships. She then wondered why on earth she’d even connected the two circumstances, as if Jack Abbot had anything to do with her past attempts at dating. He didn’t. She was just... drawing natural connections. That’s all. 

“Did you hear that, Samira?” Victoria’s voice cuts into her thoughts again, this time holding a tone of clear concern at the woman’s scatterbrained state. “John said that he loves contemporary art.” Her friend is looking at her with eyes that are clearly trying to convey something deeper than what is being said, but it takes Samira’s preoccupied mind a few moments to catch up. 

“Oh? Oh! Yes!” She nods then, much more enthusiastic. “Any artists in particular?”  

John lists off a few names, mainstream and incredibly popular artists mostly that wouldn’t be sold in a gallery like Blue Oak. But then, he says something that has Samira truly locking in on the conversation, all thoughts of handsome strangers and borderline psychotic crushes temporarily pushed to the back of her mind. “Actually, I saw that Ornesta piece your gallery has here tonight. Really cool stuff.” John nods, leaning forward a bit in his seat as he sips from his drink.  

“Really?” Samira leans in as well, nodding with her mind already running a thousand miles a minute. 

Jack has decided that something completely uncontrollable and ridiculous has come over him, impairing his usual ability to be a functioning member of society and over-occupying his mind with delusions of grandeur. Perhaps a deathly illness or the psychotic break he’s been waiting to show up for the past decade. 

This can be the only possible explanation for why- at every possible second since stepping away from their conversation- he has been scanning the room for Samira Mohan. A woman he’d met for the first time less than half an hour ago, but whom was currently consuming every single thought and feeling rushing through his ridiculous, traitorous body. 

When Robby repeats a question for the third time and hits his arm in emphasis- Jack comes back to reality and realizes with a rush of embarrassment that was completely unbearable for a man of his age to be dealing with, how absolutely insane he’s acting. Tearing his gaze from its scanning for the woman across the expansive room, Jack focuses in on his friend- who is currently looking at him with a face of clear amused confusion. 

“What?” Is all Jack can muster, ignoring Robby’s raised brow and reaching for the fresh water glass in front of him. 

“I said that we lucked out with our table this year.” Robby whispers, nonchalantly jerking his head toward the rest of the gala attendees seated around them. Jack doesn’t have to see any of them to know he could not disagree any more, because Samira is still nowhere to be seen. How could he have lost such an eye-catching woman within moments of speaking to her? 

Jack obviously does not say any of this aloud to Robby, instead giving a noncommittal hum and nod of agreement. He’s vaguely familiar with everyone at their table, and would even consider the older couple on the far side of it friendly acquaintances. The McKitrick’s had been in the same circles as Jack’s family for as long as he could remember, and were some of the only people that Jack actually kept in relevant touch with out of his parents’ old friends.  

Patty spots him and a big red lipstick smile blooms across her face; and Jack tries his absolute best to focus on polite interaction and small talk- not on dark curls and big brown eyes and glowing skin and soft red silk... - no, not on any of that. He really does try. 

Ten minutes later, when all of the guests seem to have at last found their seats and waiters are beginning to bring out trays upon trays, Jack is set free from the claws of friendly catch-up conversation and finds himself near frantically searching the crowd once again. Jack Abbot, a typically well composed and overall confident man, was truly beside himself trying to find this stranger in the crowd- that was how absolutely enchanted by her he’d become in their short conversation by the bar. Jack wishes that whatever insanity has come over him would just do him in already, rather than let him go on in such an embarrassing state. 

Jack wishes this, because when he does spot Samira Mohan at long last, she is locked into a conversation that she seems to be enjoying much more than he likes, so much so that it twists up rotten and jealous in his gut in a way that makes Jack hate himself a bit. 

Yes, Samira Mohan is talking to a man that Jack is vaguely aware he’s met before, some son or nephew or cousin of a big business. Joey? James? Something with a J. Not Jack, that’s for sure. Some kid here to spend thousands of dollars on a yacht weekend or a trip to the Maldives or some shit,  ‘for charity’. Yeah right. 

And Samira looks... excited? Why does she look so excited to be having a boring fucking dinner conversation with some guy she doesn’t even know? She hadn’t looked that eager to be speaking when it was with Jack, had she? Right? 

Why was this whole thing making Jack get so worked up? He notes that his neck is a bit warm and his leg is bouncing under the table. Then Samira laughs, bright and big and open and far too amused and he can hear it faintly all the way from his table and Jack wants to stab something with his fork. Instead, he takes another sip of water and tells himself for what feels like the millionth time in the past half hour to calm the fuck down. 

The dinner doesn’t distract him, and the auction is even worse. Three courses that drag on for far too long and only stretch out the conversation Samira is still having with that guy. Jack finds a brief semblance of relief when the man turns his incessant attention more toward Samira’s coworker, and picks at his meal while pretending to listen to the conversation at his own table for about three minutes before his eyes find their way back over. He’s talking to her again. 

If tiny little angel and devil people truly lived on his shoulders like they did in cartoons, Jack was fairly certain both of his would be beating him over the head for acting so absolutely ridiculous. In all of his years of life, which was a sore enough subject as it was watching Samira chat it up with Mr. Young Hot So-and-So; Jack had never, ever, ever experienced such irrational, childish jealousy. He had just met the woman. Had one conversation with her. If Samira knew how long Jack had been watching her, how obsessively he’d been thinking about her and how much he wanted just a chance to talk to her again, she’d probably be hightailing it out of the damn museum. Jack wished he could do the same to his own brain at the moment. She was over there enjoying her night and talking to a man much closer to her own age than Jack was, and he was sitting here like some old freak who couldn’t let a friendly conversation be what it was, obsessing over a beautiful young woman that likely wanted nothing to do with him. 

Jack really wasn’t sure what exactly was pulling so strongly within him, what refused to let his eyes stray anywhere but Samira Mohan. Aside from the obvious fact of her being a strikingly beautiful woman, there was something about her that he simply couldn’t turn away from.  

Jack had been attracted to women- he’d been very attracted to women before. Had plenty of relationships and experience, thank you very much. But this... this all-consuming desire to be near this woman, to talk to her and get to know her more and find out if he could make her laugh ten times harder than the schmuck at her table (he could, obviously)... it was rattling around in his head without ceasing. 

And so, when the auction started, and the man sitting with Samira bid on not one, not two, but three pieces from Blue Oak Gallery- Jack was all but bursting into flames in his seat. 

“I see the Shen’s sent their big spender son to the gala this year.” Patty hums quietly to her husband, and that grabs Jack’s attention. John Shen. They’d met a few years ago at a VA event the man had attended with his grandfather. Jack had the vague memory of thinking John was nice enough. 

Looking up, his eyes landed on where Samira was reaching a hand across the table to rest appreciatively on John Shen’s shoulder, speaking with a soft smile. 

Jack fucking hated John. 

When the auction is finally over, Samira is all but jumping from her seat at the table. While most all of the party goers around her are chatting amongst themselves or even making their way toward where a band is playing soft dancing music, she’s already heading straight for the Blue Oak booth.  

The hope that John Shen would be the perfect buyer for her Ornesta painting was short lived, as he regretfully explained that he’d already spent most of his family’s budget for the gala on a three week boating trip. He’d seemed genuinely sorry, and even more so when he went on to buy three of the smaller pieces up for auction from Blue Oak- though Samira wasn’t convinced his motivation had anything to do with the actual art. 

Exiting the main room, where she’d left Victoria talking with Shen about who knows what, Samira approaches the booth and immediately feels a slight flutter in her chest at the array of little red SOLD signs displayed across the table. It’s momentarily dimmed by the fact that, no, there isn’t one on the Ornesta piece, but she hadn’t expected there to be yet anyway. Most of the gala attendees hadn’t even made their way out to the booths yet. Having so much success on even the smaller pieces already was a success that Samira would let herself revel in for at least a moment. 

Soon, more guests would make their way out to the booths, making their last donations before the night ended and seeing if there was anything else they wanted to spend their seemingly unending supply of money on.  Samira pulled out her phone, mostly out of habit, to see only a few text notifications from Victoria and a few spam emails. 

Where’d u go? This guy won’t stop talking about his boat trip snooze 

I think someone is looking for you.... 

I’m sending him ur way ;) 

What was she talking about? Shen? Samira had feared that the man had been trying to be bit more than friendly when bidding on those paintings in the auction. There wasn’t anything wrong with him, he seemed perfectly nice, but- 

Samira’s train of thought is cut off by the sound of someone clearing their throat in front of her. She looks up quickly, slipping her phone back into her clutch as she searches for the guest trying to get her attention- hopefully someone looking to buy. 

Her eyes land, wide and taken aback, on Jack Abbot. 

When Samira looks up at him with those same big, bright brown eyes he’d been picturing in his head for the past two hours since stepping away from her, Jack’s heart settles in a way he can’t begin to understand or name. 

“Hello.” He says, smiling at her with his best attempt at being charming and normal and definitely not at all far too excited to be speaking to her again. As if still catching up, she stares at him silently for a few moments before replying. 

“Hi.” She says back, placing the small purse she’d been holding on the table without looking away. “Mr. Abbot.” She adds, a simple statement as if to say she remembers meeting him a few hours ago. Jack’s chest puffs ridiculously at the simple remembrance of his existence. 

“Jack, please.” He replies, tucking his hands in the pockets of his suit pants. When she simply looks back at him, clearly waiting for him to go on, Jack untucks them awkwardly and folds them over his chest instead. He was the one who’d come up to her booth after all. “That’s a great piece.” He says quickly, pointing to the first one he sees, the huge framed painting just over Samira’s shoulder that’s displayed on the wall. He doesn’t even like it really, it’s one of those new, hip looking things with colors Jack found far too bright and contrasting and a picture he couldn’t quite make out any meaning of. 

She turns a bit, looking over her shoulder then back at him with a strained smile that sends a message. Jack is a perceptive man. Especially with subjects he would really like to understand, to get to know better. It’s clear that Samira is affected by his mention of that specific painting, and it doesn’t take long for him to realize why. 

In confirmation, his eyes land on the tiny placard below the painting, reading Roberto Ornesta. The piece Robby pulled out on. They still hadn’t sold it. Jack couldn’t say he was surprised, looking at the hefty price printed out just underneath the artist’s name. 

The gallery had done quite well tonight, Jack could see, nearly every single other piece sporting a SOLD sign. Not to mention stupid John Shen’s generous bidding on their paintings in the auction. Jack has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. 

“Yes, it is.” She hums noncommittally, brow a bit tense as she speaks without looking at him. 

Blame it on the clear distress on Samira Mohan’s face at her unsold painting. Blame it on the completely irrational spark of despair this sends through Jack’s chest and stomach and increasingly addled mind. Blame it on stupid John Shen and his annoyingly grand gesture of bidding on three of Samira’s paintings that evening. Blame it on Robby and his terrible board of directors for pulling out on the ridiculously expensive piece at the last minute and making Jack aware of its existence in the first place. 

Honestly, blame it on whatever the hell you want- Jack would likely choose claiming sudden onset insanity- but something came over him that dictated the next few decisions he made. 

“I’ll buy it.” The words are out of his mouth before he even processes them, before Samira has even met his eyes again. 

“What?” She sputters, wide eyed in disbelief. 

“I’ll buy it. The painting.” Jack repeats, nodding once at the large frame matter of factly. 

“Are you joking?”  

“Why would I be joking?” 

“You want to buy that painting?” 

“Yes.” Jack laughs softly, too overcome with the euphoric buzz of Samira Mohan staring at him like that and smiling at him like that to think about anything else, certainly not anything rational. 

“What did I miss?” A new voice cuts in, and Jack realizes Samira’s coworker has appeared behind the booth beside her. 

“He wants to buy it. The Ornesta painting.” Samira replies, voice still disbelieving as she turns to her friend. 

“Are you kidding?” The girl asks, though Jack is fairly certain it’s not meant for him to hear. Samira just nods silently, slowly. Victoria laughs, then laughs a bit louder. Samira laughs too. Jack wants to laugh more than he’s ever found himself wanting to laugh in his entire life, he’s pretty sure. 

The two young women ask a few more times if he’s serious, if he’s sure, if he’s sure he means that painting, and so on before he even sees a single pen or piece of paper. 

When he finally manages to convince them that, yes, he would like to buy that painting, he’s presented with the paperwork along with the whispered excitement of the two girls chattering to one another as he fills it out. When it gets to the delivery portion of the form, Jack pauses, then fills in Robby’s office address without thinking. Might as well. Jack didn’t want the ugly thing. 

Scrawling the final signature, Jack looks up to where the two girls are still staring at one another, wide eyed and whispering excitedly. Before returning the paperwork, his eyes land on a small marble stand holding an array of crisp business cards. They read, from top to bottom; Blue Oak Art Gallery, 1789 West Lake Lane, Owner: Baran Al-Hashimi (Contact Information), Head Gallerist: Samira Mohan (Contact Information). 

Jack is pocketing one before his brain catches up with his hand, then clearing his throat once again. Both girls jerk their heads in his direction, as if all of the sudden remembering that he’s even there. He lifts the paperwork toward Samira with a smile, and she takes it. 

“All set?” She asks as she does, and Jack nods. 

“Should be.” There’s a lull, a brief moment where Jack catalogues Victoria eyeing Samira pointedly, and Samira ignoring her pointedly, and an overall tense silence that he wishes he could fill with something more effective at ensuring this would not be the last time he spoke to Samira Mohan. The small rectangle of cardstock in his suit pocket burns with this hope. If Jack had anything to say about it, it certainly wouldn’t be. 

“Listen, Mr. Abbot...” Samira starts and trails off then, gnawing on her bottom lip for a moment in a way Jack has to force himself to look away from. 

“Jack.” He hums in quiet correction, nodding for her to go on. 

“I just want to say thank you. You don’t know how big of a deal it is for me to sell that piece. Just... thank you.” She concludes with a nod. 

Jack stares at the woman, eyes tracing over every feature of her face as she looks back at him, then fixes his eyes on her with as much attention and sincerity as he can convey. 

“Thank you, Samira.” 

a/n: hi my beloved oomfs i hope you have not lost faith in me🙏 hopefully my major writing slump and busy real life stuff are done kicking my freaking butt for now

thank you as always soooo much for reading. love hearing what u think and love u all a billion 💋🩷-reef

taglist: @lala-berry @nerdybutkindasortasexy @gottareadthosefics2

[reefreads]

me and my badass little dog that’s never listened to me a day in his life (he saved me) (i would kill for him)

[lily-s-world]

Kara who saw her parents wither away. Kara who carries the grief of an entire planet. Kara who doesn't share that grief with her cousin, because she thinks he could never understand. Kara who holds Krypto like her heart, because he is the only piece of her Krypton that is still alive. Kara who will tarnish her soul so Ruthye doesn't have to. Kara who has every reason to scream, cry and break things, but chooses to stay and make Earth her home because she also has many reasons to find again the happiness she lost. That is a Kara that I love.

[reefreads]

hello world i am so sorry to be completely mia on million dollar man pls don’t give up on me oomfs🫡😿😭😭🫪🙏praying and hoping next ch. will be up by saturday life is kicking my butt rn💻🪼🩷

[jackabbot]

Noah Wyle as John Truman Carter III ER (1994-2009) 5.02 • Split Second

[reefreads]

MEEEEOOOWW🫪😼😼🩷🩷🩷🫡🫡🫡🫡