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Samira doesn't notice that Jack has drawn closer until he’s grabbing her right arm and lifting it to rest along his shoulders, her elbow bracketing his neck.
“What are you doing?” she asks, a bit startled. “Jack -”
“Hold on,” he tells her, and then he scoops her legs up with his right arm, sweeps her up, and he is carrying her. Strong enough to do so with only one arm.
a.k.a. Dr. Jack Abbot carries Dr. Samira Mohan home from a house party.
title credits: "Older" by 5 Seconds of Summer (featuring Sierra Deaton Hemmings)
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That was the thing about Abbot. He seemed to have that kind of chemistry with everyone—always a joke ready to go, a flirty smile or a wink received with a laugh. He wasn't sleazy about it. It wasn't the kind of thing that warranted a note to HR. He was congenial to a fault, but much to Samira's dismay, he never seemed to direct that kind of flirting her direction.
It was for the best, probably. For all she knew, he had shrewdly intuited her less than professional feelings towards him and was trying not to make things harder on her. And it should have made it easier. The buzzing feeling that wracked her brain when he was around would certainly be exacerbated by suggestive comments, but something about the way her brain was wired had her wondering what was wrong with her that excepted her from his charm.
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- Part 1 of no empty words
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Right. Because sex was the reason they were driving through the quiet streets of Perry North. Sex. Then sleep. Then pancakes, they’d agreed. And though desire burned through her veins, so too did apprehension.
Emotions warred inside of Samira, embarrassment somewhat quieted, overwhelmed by other feelings, sadness for Jack that sex had been something in the past that he'd used to avoid feeling, jealousy of the people he'd been with, even if, by his own admission, it had been lacking. Not for the first time that day, insecurity overcame her as she realized the chasm between their experience. A fear surfaced that she, too, would be a disappointment for Jack.
sequel to magnet heart and sentimental boulder
Series
- Part 2 of no empty words
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Samira wants to know why Jack’s scrub tops are different from everyone else’s so he shows her
Series
- Part 9 of Mohabbot Shorts
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When Melissa King is forced into making a tinder account by her best friend Trinity Santos, she is definitely not expecting to find the very man she’s been crushing on for fourteen months—Frank Langdon himself. She shouldn’t be surprised, recently divorced and desperate for something to busy himself with, casual dating makes sense. Only she is not expecting the it’s a match! sequence to appear when she “accidentally” swipes right.
That’s fine. Plenty of people match with their co-workers. What could go wrong—or right?
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“So which one is yours?”
The kids were breaking, a wall of blue jerseys dissipating back to their awaiting parents, when Ziya spotted her.
“Amma!” She screeched, making a mad dash across the field, dirt kicking up underneath her cleats.
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Jack and Samira had a baby five years ago.Series
- Part 1 of the ziya mohan-abbot cinematic universe
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Samira Mohan doesn’t have a thing for Jack Abbot, she just has a thing for older men, hopefully.
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The "Samira dates old guys" fic
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But on a Wednesday, in a café, I watched it begin again by Dr_Roslin for Tarzelladraws
Fandoms: The Pitt (TV)
30 Jul 2025
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“I’m going to dance at her wedding.”
He nods a little to himself, at peace, calm, centred. Yes, he thinks (confidently, sure), watching Samira Mohan marry another will kill him - and he will do it - for her.
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Wherein Jack Abbot misunderstands a great many things.
Series
- Part 1 of Mohabbot Musings
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It takes Samira Mohan longer than it should to track down the ugly rumour’s source - even longer to believe what she hears. Dragging Jack Abbot into the nearest available on-call room, she stares up at him, demands he confirm it.
“Why on earth would you tell Dana I’m going to leave you?”
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An angsty drabble posted for the Anxiety Avoidant August #Mohabbot eventSeries
- Part 3 of Mohabbot Musings
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He was meeting someone. And he was genuinely excited about it. He had been messaging a woman for weeks anonymously, and he was thrilled to admit they had real chemistry. It didn't erase the pull he felt for the R-3 standing next to him, but he was excited to make a connection.
"Well, I won't keep you. I'm just waiting,” she said.
"No trouble at all, Mohan." He glanced down at his phone and sent off a message.
(20:26) I'm here. By the bar. Blue sweater.
He heard the familiar ping that meant a message had been received from the app. He glanced back at his phone, but there was no message for him. Instead, Samira was looking down at her phone. Then back to him. Then to his sweater and then his face again. Her already large brown eyes doubled in size.
Jack felt realization wash over him. Shit.
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“Absolutely fucking not.”
“Oh, come on, Samira. It doesn’t even have to be a big deal,” Jack responded, voice a hair from pleading.
Samira sat crosslegged in the corner of Jack’s worn leather sectional, the pasta he had made for dinner balanced in her lap, her head turned to where Jack sat at the other end.
“Jack,” she said, slowly, as though speaking to someone particularly dim. “You cannot just pay off two hundred and fifty thousand dollars worth of someone else’s student loans. That’s crazy.”
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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."
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Jack Abbot was no stranger to the feeling of knuckles connecting with a mandible. He'd thrown enough punches as an unruly youth to know exactly how hard to jab to do the damage warranted.
Still, as his fist connected with the angled bone of Robby's jaw, a feeling of profound relief spread through his own body. Apparently, he'd been winding up to this for longer than he consciously knew.
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He'd gotten a text an hour into his shift from an EMS buddy. Your girl is at the scene of a 6 car pile up. She pulled over on the shoulder and crossed the freeway to help. Thought you'd want to know.
Jack couldn't blame the guy for not answering his panicked follow-up questions, clearly getting pulled into the trauma and chaos of a major wreck in the midst of a springtime downpour.
But it had been four hours, and all of his calls and texts to Samira had gone completely unanswered. He didn't know what hospital, if any she'd followed the EMS to, didn't know if she was okay. He'd gone out of his mind with panic—been in no state to treat anyone—so he called in a favor from Shen and asked to be relieved, racing home, in the hopes that Samira would be waiting for him there. He'd had no such luck.
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After one of the worst shifts of her career, Dr. Samira Mohan swears she is done with the ED.
But at 3 a.m., she comes back through the ambulance bay doors in heart-print shorts, a black coat, and blood on her hands, having saved a man’s life with nothing but instinct, nerve, and a pen.
Dr. Jack Abbott has always known Samira was good.
That night, he realizes she might be extraordinary.-
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Samira pulled up short as she rounded the corner to the kitchen and caught sight of Jack.
He had worn pajama pants slung low on his hips, and across his chest, stretched a black T-shirt, tight around his biceps. It was worn and faded, taut on him like it had belonged to a much younger, leaner version of Jack. Emblazoned on it was an inverted pink triangle, the words ACT UP in all caps beneath it.
Samira wasn't sure if it was the fit of the shirt or its message but something about the sight of him had her walking towards him before promptly dropping to her knees in front of him.
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Jack Abbot did not expect sex with Samira Mohan to be boring. Of course not.
But he also didn't expect it to be as thrilling as it turns out to be.
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She had miscalculated and today is the first time she's seeing him since she told him to kiss her in the hospital parking lot on Thursday morning, and he, instead of doing as asked, ran away. Since he tucked tail and bolted with a laughably weak excuse to hole up in his perpetually-dark bedroom, police scanner on full volume if Samira had to guess. The memory tastes bitter and Samira can feel the frown she's wearing. She doesn't like being wrong in general, but it feels infinitely worse to have been wrong about whatever this thing between her and Jack is. Or isn't.
Or:
the erectile dysfunction fic
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"What were you dreaming about?" Samira presses the words against his mouth, muffled and as soft and warm as her lips.
Jack hums, pushes her down, and rolls himself on top of her. "Heaven," he tells her, visions of white splendor and barren plains of brilliant, colorless sand flashing behind his eyes. The cold of it, so strong that it sizzled and burned, is stark in his mind. He remembers vividly, too, how he'd marred that unpainted slate.
Kinktober 2025, Day 8: Wet Dream
Series
- Part 2 of Kinktober 2025
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"I love bee—bee'n home," Jack mumbles into her sweater. "I 've so much to tell you.
Or:
Jack comes home drunk-
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