witchy_grrl
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Summary
A mass shooting occurs at PittFest. Somehow, only Jack Abbot is aware that it keeps happening again, and again, and again.
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Summary
Abbot is all restraint, all talk and no bite. Samira knows he's been flirting with her, because she'd discovered weeks ago she's been flirting right back.
And if you think about it -
Eight months is a long time with just her fingers.
"Jack." Samira says and the reaction it elicits immediately sets her heart pounding. Dr. Abbot - Jack - inhales sharply, eyes widening. He takes a step forward, pure instinct driven, before stopping himself. And, oh. There's a power that she suddenly feels, coursing through her veins and setting her blood on fire.
"Walk me home?"
***
(pure smut loosely inspired by a tweet where someone said they want abbot to talk mohan through it.) -
Summary
He's not sure he can love again. She's not sure she can be loved. Two lonely people trying to be less lonely.
- Words:
- 31,401
- Works:
- 3
- Bookmarks:
- 37
Bookmarked by witchy_grrl
19 Apr 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
Funny and sob-worthy and hot and THEIR VOICES. SO GOOD
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Summary
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.)
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Summary
The car was too quiet.
Only the low hum of the engine filled the space, steady and controlled, just like him.
Emma Nolan sat rigid in the passenger seat, her leg bouncing uncontrollably against the floor mat, skirt riding up with the motion. She regretted the thought that she would celebrate the 4th with her friends after her shift. Her fingers curled into the sleeves of her jacket, pulling it tighter around herself, even though the heat inside the car was more than enough. The cold wasn’t physical. It clung under her skin, sharp and electric.
Brendon Park — “Shark,” if you asked anyone at the hospital — didn’t look at her.