tea_andyaoi
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Samira looks at Robby and sees a father figure. Robby looks at her and sees himself. Jack Abbot sees them both so clearly.
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She can hear her college roommate’s voice in her head. “That sounds like a textbook case of daddy issues.” Which isn’t entirely wrong. Like many young women with unresolved father-shaped wounds, she has a tendency to imprint onto older men.
It would be less weird if Samira wanted to fuck Robby.
What she wants is so much worse.
And yet it feels just as inappropriate to imagine. He’s her boss. Her abandonment issues and aching loneliness should be checked at the door when she walks into work because she’s twenty-seven years old and this is a fucking emergency room.
And yet. It doesn’t stop her from wanting.
Bookmarked by tea_andyaoi
05 Apr 2026
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“Robby force you to take a break?” he asks when she’s close enough to not have to yell.
“Yeah.”
“Me too,” he huffs. “Like he’s my superior or something. Asshole.”
Samira laughs, bending down to put her coffee down, balancing her sandwich on the lid, and then leans her forearms on the railing, far enough away to still be able to look at the side of his face, but close enough that she feels a little more confident she’ll be able to do something if he… Well. “Should you be sitting over there?” she asks, staring at the slight slope of his nose, the shadow of his eyelashes across on the top of his freckled cheekbone.
“Probably not,” he answers in a casual tone. “At least I’m sitting.”
That doesn’t comfort her very much, but she figures there’s no point in fighting him on it, so she turns and sits down with her back against the warm metal, mirroring him. “You want half of my sandwich?” she offers, twisting her upper body to hold it out to him.
Bookmarked by tea_andyaoi
05 Apr 2026
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The flirting thing with Abbot had come easily. Jack Abbot was a known flirt. It didn't matter the person. Dana or Dr. Al or Myrna–Whitaker if he was really in the mood to make someone blush. He'd flash a crooked smile or a wink with a sly remark to anyone in his proximity.
So when Samira asked him over the hustle of the Pittfest MCI what else was in his go-bag and he'd just smiled and replied "Oh, just wait and see," the flirty tone had not surprised her, but the tug of intrigue in her stomach it had elicited caught her a bit off guard.
So the next time Abbot had asked in passing if she had any weekend plans, despite her intention to curl up in her bed with her laptop and refrain from human contact for forty-eight hours, she'd quipped back a coy, "Wouldn't you like to know, Abbot."
Bookmarked by tea_andyaoi
04 Apr 2026
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"I think there's something wrong with me." It's a whisper dragged from Samira's lips, from the very depth of her.
"I think I might be a bad person." Chokes on it, on the pain, on the terrible truth, the indictment of her soul, of her morality, of her humanity. The evidence - plain and simple - that Samira Mohan was rotten to the core.
***
or, The Evolution of Samira Mohan in three acts.- Language:
- English
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Bookmarked by tea_andyaoi
04 Apr 2026
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A full smile blooms on Abbot’s face. “Dr Mohan, you have your own go-bag?!” He looks absolutely delighted as she rolls her eyes and reaches down to her backpack, fighting her own smile.
“You don’t get the goods if you make fun of me, Dr Abbot.”
His right hand moves from his leg to rest over his heart. His eyes dance at her as his features slip into a farcical mask of shock.
“Hey hey, woah woah, this is awe I’m giving you, baby!”
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Jack and Samira become friends. It's totally fine.
(The Bench, and beyond.)