schmoosey
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Samira didn’t go out.
She worked around 60 hours a week, came home and slept, or sat on her futon reading journals until the words swam and her eyes burned. JAMA. NEJM. Anything that kept her mind occupied long enough to feel useful.
She told herself that it was enough.Lately, it hadn’t been.
Her mind had developed an annoying habit of drifting, usually when she was trying to focus on something important.
A line from a paper would blur, and she’d catch herself thinking about Jack. His gravelly voice, talking her through a procedure. The way he told her she’d done well, like it wasn’t just routine praise.
It made no sense to her. She tried to frame it as admiration. But it lingered, unhelpful and intrusive, like a symptom she couldn’t quite name.
So when Trinity texted drinks? followed by far too many emojis, Samira said yes before she could overthink it.
Bookmarked by schmoosey
10 May 2026
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Samira has laid her body and her mind bare over the past ten months in the prolonged and total absence of the former senior resident and still, she is nothing compared to Frank Langdon in the eyes of Michael Robinavitch.
Dr. Samira Mohan is fucking exhausted.
And something, inevitably, snaps.
Bookmarked by schmoosey
10 May 2026
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“You’re the smartest person I know in every room—but if you think I’ll have to pretend to have feelings for you, pretend like I’m fucking thrilled you chose me, then I will get on my knees right now and remind you that pretending is not necessary.”
Her stomach bottoms out, lips parting as his words sink in. Heat spreads through her body as her eyes flicker between his eyes and lips, voice light in a daze when she murmurs, “That’s not a bad idea.”
The corner of Jack’s mouth curves up. “Your mom’s right outside.”
//
or, Samira and Jack don't have a moment to enjoy their morning after when her mother shows up unannounced.
Bookmarked by schmoosey
09 May 2026
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She wants him so badly her teeth ache. She’ll never say it out loud. It will eat her alive. One day, when she dies and a pathologist cracks her chest (nipples to navel is no man’s land), they’ll see a heart calcified with the weight of these fatal fantasies. It would make an excellent case study, she thinks, ruefully. They’ll write articles about her– 29-year-old female, South Asian, presented as healthy but upon further examination, was deeply ill. Poor, poor Samira Mohan, besotted with her handsome, brooding, married attending. She died how she lived– desperate, wanting, and alone.
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Or, Samira has a crush. But that's putting it lightly.
- Language:
- English
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- Chapters:
- 2/2
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Bookmarked by schmoosey
09 May 2026
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Perfect Mix of Saturday Night and the Rest of Your Life by msculper
Fandoms: The Pitt (TV)
19 Feb 2026
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"It's not like I did anything —"
"So help me god, Samira, if you say you were just doing your job one more time. You're a damn good doctor. And you got there by going after things that other people don't."
Well. Damn. Consider her properly put in her place.
Bookmarked by schmoosey
07 May 2026