Ace

Mohabbot Blurb | Ring (rated M)

Samira knew Jack’s hands better than she knew her own.

There was a roughness to his palms that came from working with his hands. Calluses that never seemed to disappear. They'd held pressure over bleeding wounds, stitched skin back together, and made her feel alive when they were buried deep inside her.

Her fingers skimmed his forearm and over his knuckles. Then her thumb met only bare skin where his wedding band should’ve been. All she could feel was the ridge of his tendon and the dip between his ring and middle fingers.

For as long as she'd known Jack, he’d always worn that black band on his left ring finger. To her, it was just as permanent as the freckles dotted on the backs of his hands.

Its absence was deafening.

Samira tried to convince herself there had to be a reasonable explanation. He could’ve moved it onto his right hand, although it was unlikely. Jack had never worn it there before.

Besides, his ring finger, along with his middle finger, was moving inside her, searching for that spot that made her moan in pleasure. She couldn’t feel the ring pressing against her labia. There was no cool kiss of metal against her entrance.

It shouldn’t have been that big of a deal, but her mind was making it one. That was how it always started. An anxious thought that grew and grew. She hadn't understood how quickly her thoughts could turn against her until Appa passed, when there were nights she lay awake, trapped inside her mind.

That part of her had always existed. The one that looked for warning signs before there was anything to fear. She told herself it was just how she stayed prepared. How she kept herself safe.

Right now her brain was writing the ending before Jack had even opened his mouth. It ran through every possible way this could go wrong. Him pulling away and admitting this had been a mistake. That he wasn’t ready and that he'd never be able to fully move on from Cara.

Samira wanted to sit up and create some distance while she still could so that if he left, it wouldn’t feel like he took a scalpel to her chest and carved out her heart. Before she could, he pulled her closer, his warm body pressing against her back. “I can feel your brain working from here. You wanna tell me what’s going on?” he murmured in her ear.

“I noticed your ring is off.” Her throat burned as the words left her mouth.

She felt his body go still. Jack withdrew his fingers, bringing his hand to rest on her hip. “I figured it was time to take it off.”

“Oh…” she paused, searching for the right words. “I don’t want you to think you had to do that. I know what she meant to you.”

“Samira, can you please look at me?”

She turned in his arms until she was facing him, though she wished she hadn’t. It was easier to look at his bare finger than his face. “I know losing someone doesn’t mean you stop loving them.”

“Good.”

Her eyebrows pulled together. “Good?”

“It’s good that you know that.”

Samira knew what it was like to lose someone you love. It had been seventeen years since her Appa passed, and not a day went by that she didn’t think about him. No matter how much time had passed, grief never disappeared. It was a constant she learned to live with.

She understood why Jack had kept wearing the ring for as long as he did. She had never wanted him to erase Cara for her. She would never ask him to pretend that part of his life hadn’t existed. The last thing she wanted was for him to end up resenting her for it.

“I'm serious, Jack.”

“I know you are,” he assured her.

“Then you understand why I’m asking.”

“I think you’re asking because you’re scared, even though you don’t have to be,” he told her, leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers.

Jack was right. When she first started dating him, she had tried to convince herself she could handle this. She could handle knowing that a part of his heart would always belong to someone else.

“I didn’t ask you to take it off.” The words came out harsher than she’d intended.

Jack didn’t so much as flinch. “I know you didn’t.”

“I promise you. I never would have. You could’ve worn it for as long as you wanted to.”

“Samira, honey, I know. I didn’t take it off because I felt like I was being forced to. This was my own decision.”

“Then why?” she pleaded.

He reached for her hand and interlaced their fingers together. “Because I wanted to.”

Her eyes burned as tears threatened to leak. “But why, though?”

Kintsugi

16.9 K WC

Jack Abbot x Samira Mohan , 18+ MDNI

Summary: Jack senses Samira’s heat before her.

Alpha/omega dynamics, grief, psychosexual sex, getting together, Down-bad and mildly unhinged behaviour by Jack, read rest of the tags on AO3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/88532716/chapters/234848551

Except:

He catches it in an instant.

Mid-July, sweltering thick inky air, heat settles on the nape of his neck, under his skin, an ice cold can of beer sweats condensation onto his palm. He cracks it open and takes a centring swig, loosens his prosthetic and takes another.

“It’s not my problem that you don’t have friends in high up places Donnie”.

Princess cocks an eyebrow, crosses her arms, puts her game face on like she’s not committed the cardinal sin of cheating on the PTMC betting board. That too info-farming from fucking Presby. It’s getting heated, she insists it’s not cheating, that it’s a “competitors advantage”, going so far as to pompously announce a public vote where the jury; Santos (with a shrug) ,Mel’s still nuanced “it’s cheating because you have asymmetric information” and Jesse just to spite her all unanimously side with Donnie.

Jack massages the back of his neck, exhaustion is the baseline, it’s rare he’s not exhausted, and there are reasons he doesn’t work days, there are reasons he does.

“Don’t know whats going on, but I’ll support you Princess—for a beer” she says.

“And, thats why you are my favourite Mohan”

Curls down, a tote bag on her shoulder. She flashes her dimples before languidly grabbing the beer, sides with Princess for moral support and plops next him in the empty seat he’d hoped she would fill.

“Needed that” She whispers with a soft sigh, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

Me fucking too, he thinks, breathes in, and it feels like the first breath he’s taken in hours, fills his lungs, exhales, it’s familiar, until it’s not, he catches something that slips through him like syrup, then hits him straight in the chest.

A warm blooded thing.

It’s imperceptible yes, But he knows her scent; warm honey, saffron, white flowers, saccharine sweet yet it’s warmer, cloying. Sweat glimmering on the the delicate nape of her neck, the high points of her cheekbone. Yes it’s hot yeah, yeah but It’s there.

She turns to him and gives him a dimpled smile, heavy lidded eyes. An acknowledgment ,a greeting, a gold tinged girl under the streetlight

A hint of heat. A ghost perhaps.

He’s gotten better at tempering himself but it still leaves with a gnawing pit in his belly, a rumble, a snarl of the beast he’s tries to keep on a short leash.

She bares her throat then, like her head weighs a ton and rolls her neck. A bird boned thing, all length and dainty curves; her slender wrists, the nape of her neck dipping into the smooth slope of her shoulder yet she moves clipped, exact, premeditated like she’s been programmed, her big brain so full—right now though she’s languid and heavy boned.

If he’d touch her cheek with the back of his hand he would find it warm.

It’s nothing, or so he tells himself, longs shifts, constantly on her feet, it’s conjured from the depths of his sleep deprived brain, because god knows he’s been running on empty, off his usual schedule, he needs to just get a fucking grip—

Yet, another inhale hits him in the back of his throat, his blood goes red hot; honeyed macerated jasmine, sickly sweet scent which clings to her skin, sweet just the way he knew she’s be, because she just can’t be anything else.

It’s not heat yet, not even pre-heat, just a shift, something so faint, yet there.

He gulps his beer; yeasty, acrid, familiar, washing her off the back of his throat, burning it off.

Samira Mohan is a knife in his gut he’s learned to breathe around. From the very first night he met her four years ago and now.

like at first samira is worried about abbot because he is injured but then he dismisses it and she just stops caring about him until he offers to help her.

and then she sees that he’s struggling with his wound. when she decides to help him, he becomes her patient, not just a coworker, and that’s why she shows care.

on the green with jack ⛳️🏌🏻‍♂️🌞