mirchi
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Jack tells himself just one more drag. One more inhale, one more hit of nicotine, just to settle his nerves. Reclaim a small semblance of control. But the second he lifts the cigarette to his mouth, he knows he’s lying to himself. The filter meets his lips in the exact place hers had pressed in an unthinking, automatic motion.
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Samira narrows her eyes. “That was not an agreement.”
“That was me being polite.”
“And are you usually this polite?”
Jack taps the rim of his coffee cup against his lower lip. “I can be,” he says. “On vacation.”
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“This one is lopsided,” Jack says, stepping around the one she just pointed to, hands on his hips. His head is tipped as though he’s seriously evaluating an EKG and not a literal fucking tree. “It’ll lean once it’s weighted.”
Samira squints at it. It looks like a perfectly acceptable tree to her. It’s green. It’s tall. It’s also, most crucially, the closest one to the parking lot.
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Samira isn’t actively trying to psychoanalyze the man with the garish accessories; it just happens, the same involuntary way she assesses microexpressions during small talk or mentally revises treatment plans while picking up coffee.
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And isn’t that sort of her whole dilemma? How well he knows her, how easily willing he is to make her happy, to smooth over every rough patch in her life? She’s pretty sure there’s not a mountain in the world Jack Abbot wouldn’t scale for her if she asked. Sometimes, usually late at night, when she’s alone in her bed, already hot and wanting and aching, the thought makes her feel drunk with power.
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Recent series
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various mohabbot blurbs/snippets :)
- Words:
- 8,238
- Works:
- 6
- Bookmarks:
- 9
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“Let me get this straight,” Santos says, flat and disbelieving. “No one you’ve fucked has ever made you come?”
Samira glares at her, flushed with embarrassment. “Say it a little louder, why don’t you? The people upstairs might not have heard.”
"Samira,” Santos says, shaking her head. “This is a crime that should earn your exes fifty to life, no parole. Getting you off would be a fucking privilege.” A beat, and then: “Shit, if you ever want a hand with that, you could just ask me.”
Bookmarked by mirchi
11 Feb 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
Samira exhales long, inhales short. Gives her head a little shake, straightens her spine to start aligning the thirty-three vertebrae in sequence: L1, there, L2, there. One more breath, and a reminder to self: you can do it! This is only the second most embarrassing thing you’ve done in recent memory! “Um. How, like—how did you know you were gay?”
“The fruit fairy put a carpet munching license under my pillow,” Emery says, deadpan. “Why?”
Samira shakes her head, suddenly defensive. “I’m just curious.”
It’s a lie, and not a particularly convincing one either, but she can’t help it. She’s been this way for what seems like years now: wide open until it counts the most, then a door closing sharply on anyone trying to step closer. There’s a reason she used to have no life outside the hospital, and it’s not because she was choiceless in the matter.
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Despite his alpha designation and good looks, Jack Abbot is perfectly capable of maintaining professional distance, even where Samira Mohan is concerned. It would be entirely unethical for him to say that if she asked him to, he would smuggle her out of this hospital, take her back to his house, and fuck her.
But she does ask. It makes the fact that his dick barely works anymore feel like a minor hiccup.
Bookmarked by mirchi
24 Dec 2025
Bookmarker's Notes
"I should probably tell you—" Samira starts, wincing. "It's pronounced Mo-uhn."
Jack's face falls. "You fuckin' serious? I mean, of course you are, but—what, you've just been letting me get it wrong?"
"It's a lot of work to correct every person that you meet."
"Okay, but—fuck, Samira, we've known each other for years!" Jack scowls at her. "You've been treating me like an old white man who can't adapt, is what you've been doing. I could have been introducing you correctly to other people. For god's sake—"
"Well, I'm telling you now!"
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"Did you have something to say, or are you just ogling me disrespectfully as usual?" Robby asks, barely audible.
"Can't it be both?"
Tempting as it is to stand here and listen to all the little ways that Langdon likes to sexually harass him when no one else is paying attention, they happen to have a job to do. "We've got patients, Doctor Langdon."
"I know." Langdon sidles up and drops his voice further. "Cute little heroic show you put on there. Kinda hot to see you be all fatherly. Nice job, Daddy."
A flaming train slams into Robby's brain and sends the whole thing up in smoke. All trace of rational thought ruptures. The only thing that's left is the frenetic ball of lightning in his belly that lit it aflame in the first place, the one that's now springing up goosebumps all over his body like static—and the drip-drip-drip of smoldering debris straight into his cock. He isn't sure how to parse through it.
That's a bald-faced lie. He knows exactly how to pick it apart. But there is no way in hell that he's touching it when he's in the middle of the Pitt with three hours to go until shift change.
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Bookmarked by mirchi
29 Nov 2025
Bookmarker's Notes
Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. The word whispers through his neurons during every brief moment of peace, there and gone again, never meditated upon but a constant lingering presence, as though he were walking through the city at night while someone's gaze followed him for blocks. It's bullshit. It's completely fucking insane. Of all words, of all sexual concepts, this has to be the one that's plaguing him? How utterly predictable. He's a man in his early fifties messing around with a guy almost half his age. He already knows exactly what a psychologist would say about it.
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“You know what I think,” he said. “What I want you to do.”
Samira scowled, anger twisting her tongue before she could think to keep quiet. “Mommy never taught you how to share?”
“Never had to. I was an only child.” Robby held her gaze as he took a sip from his own mug. “Got all the toys I wanted.”
Series
- Part 2 of symmetrical lines
Bookmarked by mirchi
12 Nov 2025
Bookmarker's Notes
She unfolded herself from her stool. Stepped close enough to smell the sweat of him, the last notes of his spicy cologne. “Michael, right?”
He paused. Let his eyes crawl over her, ratty jogger scrub pants whose top she’d lost ages ago, an old shirt from a 4k she had only halfway run. Her hair unwashed from the past six days, reanimated by an ozone-killing amount of dry shampoo. But he looked at her like he wanted to eat her.
“Sam,” he said. “Right?”
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let me redeem myself tonight by slamdancepulse for yolandagarcia (majorleaguebi)
Fandoms: The Pitt (TV)
08 Nov 2025
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The topic of Langdon looms like a silent scepter over their heads. Like the sword of Damocles, threatening to fall at any moment, a single thread between them and impending doom.
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or, Yolanda Garcia isn't good at talking about her feelings. So she decides to have sex about them instead.
Bookmarked by mirchi
08 Nov 2025
Bookmarker's Notes
But there was something about Santos that Yolanda felt drawn to, from the moment she saw her. Santos was hungry, ambitious. Young, maybe, and unpolished, brash and acerbic to her peers, but she had potential. Her hand had been steady under Yolanda’s own as she guided her through the fasciotomy, standing close enough that she could smell the spice of Santos’s deodorant, that she could see Santos’s fingers flexing on the scalpel after she released her hand. Not even getting stabbed during a routine chest tube could deter her from wanting to get closer, to know more, to know her.