the heart is just one bonfire | mohabbot blurbs
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She’s felt his gaze on her all night, as physical a touch as a hand between her legs. Good, she thinks; she’d gotten dressed with him in mind, piled her hair up high on her head and chosen this particular outfit so that when Jack hugged her in greeting, he had no choice but to rest his palm against the bare skin of her back and pretend not to feel her shudder at his whisper of happy birthday, birthday girl.
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When he goes to shrug the jacket off for a better range of motion, he is stopped by slender fingers to his wrist.
“Don’t.” Her voice is like glass. “Please.”
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I heard about last year’s patient with the football helmet made of raw turkey and didn’t want to miss out on this year’s capers, Jack could say; or, Robby might be content to ignore that you’re going to burn yourself out if you continue going at it alone, but I’m not. They’re half-truths, answers that would preserve their delicate embargo on confessions.
Instead, he says, “I wanted to spend the holiday with you, Samira.”
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one world ends (the other worlds keep spinning) by doctoralhashimi
Fandoms: The Pitt (TV)
30 Dec 2025
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Samira has half a mind to call him out on the myriad ways he keeps undermining their break—like dumplings from her favorite spot across the bridge, rather than from the more convenient place a block down from the Pitt—but she can’t, not without implicating herself, too. The half-drunk bottle of wine she pulls from her fridge to pair with their meal is a giveaway of its own.
Sure enough, Jack’s throat bobs as he recognizes the label: some skin-contact thing he’d once grabbed in part to appease the employee who had cornered him with talk of fermentation and maceration and other words he didn’t much care for, but also because of the joke of it, muttering yeah, I think I like this skin contact better before licking it off her collarbones, slotting his body over hers.
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