Beauty, Peace, Harmony

May the Force of Inspiration & Love Be With You...Always🦋 (profile pic by @kajotko ; gif by @sistar19)

[uncahier]

[howl224tgeundying]

[falteringstars]

“she could go to jupiter, and he’ll still find her.”

a small blurb that was heavily inspired by what shawn hatosy has said about samira mohan from the perspective of jack abbot ♡ he’s always been so passionate about supriya’s characterization of samira so i obviously had to write something. enjoy!

wc: 2.2k

April 1st, 2026.

Samira hadn’t felt this giddy since she received her acceptance to the PTMC emergency medicine rotation five years ago.

Today was the day Artemis II would be launching. After years of meticulous planning and one failed launch the year prior, she would finally be able to witness humankind on the Moon, years after the Apollo missions.

They had to get it this time.

After requesting a few days off last year to travel to Florida to watch the space launch in real time, the failure to launch felt personal. Especially after her walk of shame back to Pittsburgh after having excitedly told everyone she would be witnessing history.

Except the only historical thing she had witnessed was a very drunk George Washington from the Fort Pitt Museum throwing up all over her scrubs during her double. And a very embarrassing picture that is still in Parker Ellis’s phone to this day.

“I’m saving it for yours and Abbot’s eventual wedding. This’ll make a hell of a start to a toast.” Samira threw a pen at Parker, the other dodging it skillfully.

So perhaps she was wrong about having never felt this giddy since her acceptance.

That one faithful night on the roof of the PTMC, rain pouring heavily from the sky as Jack Abbot, the man whom she had eyes for ever since her second year, held her face in his hands as if he were holding the entire world in his palms.

“I’ve loved you even before I made you do that risky pigtail catheter procedure,” he had said. She couldn’t tell if it was the rain or her tears falling down her cheeks at that moment, but she had kissed him with so much passion and fervor that all distracting thoughts had vanished within seconds.

For the first time in her life, she had felt confident about someone loving her in her entirety. How could she not, after he had risked his status as attending and his lungs to stand in the heavy rain just to pour his heart out to Samira?

It was a wonderful kiss. Unfortunately, the scale of the downpour resulted in the two catching nasty colds and taking the next two days off simultaneously (which had not gone unnoticed by certain nosy residents.)

So yes, she has not been this giddy since her emergency rotation acceptance and the day she found out her feelings were reciprocated.

As she nurses her mug of steaming chai, she anxiously checks the antique wooden clock hung above Jack’s wide-screen TV. There’s still time until the launch.

She watches the stream, voices filtering out and thinking of how her Appa would’ve been ecstatic to see the Artemis II launch. He had loved space. He had loved the vast, unexplored expanses of space and what it had to offer.

“Kutti, see that? That’s Callisto, one of Jupiter’s moons. Galileo discovered it centuries ago with a homemade telescope. Can you believe that?” Ten-year-old Samira stared at her father in awe. The gleam in his eyes was much more beautiful than the stars he insisted she look at through his Celestron Ultima 2000.

The same telescope she had to part with tearfully during a rather financially straining time last year. Jack had insisted on her keeping it, but they had barely been two months into their relationship and it felt wrong for him to take such a big step to support her financially.

She feels herself slowly falling into a depressive spiral, but the sound of keys jingling and the front door’s three locks being unlocked jolts her out of it.

Jack stumbles in with paper bags, kicking the door shut behind him. She quickly stands up to help him but he’s quick to place them on the counter before turning to Samira.

“Hey sweetheart,” he greets, voice gravelly. He pulls her against his chest and noses her hairline. She inhales his musky, pine scent while sinking into his embrace. Almost immediately, her chest feels less heavier and heartbeat begins to slow.

“I missed you.” She buries herself further into his chest. She feels the sudden urge to mold herself with him so she never has to leave the comforts of his solid chest.

Jack was always ever so thoughtful. To anybody else, this launch would’ve been something silly to take the day off for. But to Samira, it was something so sentimental. It felt like the only major connection to her appa after her mother had sold her childhood home back in Jersey. And understood her wholeheartedly.

He had taken the day off with her just so he could give her company. He knew that this would be an emotional time for Samira, and he had insisted on being there for her during every second.

They continue to embrace each other under the warm lights of the kitchen until Jack pulls away first. She pouts at him and he smiles, pressing a feather light kiss on her lips.

There’s something so blissfully domestic about watching the man she loves shrug his Carhartt jacket off and make his way over to the leather sofa to remove his boots and prosthesis.

She walks over to the corner in his living room to fetch his crutches as he’s finished removing the sleeve. She places them next to him, gently taking his hands from the stump and massaging the phantom pain for him. She places a kiss on his knee and she looks up at him.

He’s looking at her with the softest gaze one could muster. Regardless of how familiarized they’ve gotten with this now joint routine, the vulnerability and trust from Jack never ceases to tug at her heart. She slowly stands up, standing in between Jack’s knees spread apart.

“Have I ever told you how nice you look in synthetic nylon?”

He laughs, face warm in her palms. She strokes his cheekbone with her right thumb and counts the freckles that span across his face. Like the stars in those constellations she’d see through her appa’s telescope.

“No, I’d love to hear more on that.” He pauses, maintaining his usual intense gaze. “Except you looking at me like this has me thinking of other things right now.”

Her stomach does this little flip. She giggles, teeth showing and everything. She bends forward and slots her lips with his, like a puzzle piece being fitted in.

He tastes like the Aquaphor chapstick that she had insisted he buy. His tongue makes his way past her lips, and she can now taste remnants of dark roast and minty gum. He pulls her down onto his lap, giving him easier access to Samira as his big hands snake under the hem of her worn out crew neck sweater. His left hand traces her spine, the callouses on his fingers sending a fluttering sensation up her body. The other squeezes her ass lightly, drawing out a small moan from her.

He groans against her in response, voice deep with want. She so desperately wants this to escalate into being pinned down in his silk sheets, with Jack barely whispering filthy things into her ear as he plunges into her from behind. She’s even ready to call it a night as she feels the hardness in his cargo pants rubbing against her clothed cunt.

“Jack,” she all but whimpers out. “We have to watch the launch. I can’t miss this one.”

He exhales against her lips. They pull away from each other, and she suddenly fears she may have disappointed him by not taking this further.

“I’m sorry, I got carried away. But you’re just look so damn beautiful right now. Couldn’t help myself,” he rumbles. She presses her lips together, gaze faltering from his.

“Samira, baby, I can see you drifting off.” He strokes her cheek. “We don’t have to do this right now, and we’re here to do something more important. We’re okay, yeah?”

She nods. His deep understanding of her leaves no room for any further doubts.

Samira lounges with the array of pillows and her fuzzy throw blanket that now smells of a mix of her floral, tangerine scent and Jack’s pine, musky scent. She watches the crew talk about what their mission will entail while the bathroom sink runs in the background.

Her mind drifts off once again to wishing her appa was with her. Would he have been happy that she still keeps his love for space alive? Would he have been proud of her for scoring an interview with Presby for an attending position?

Would he have loved Jack just as much as she did? Unlike the harshness that had radiated off her Amma’s judgement towards her relationship?

“Samira, he’s fifteen years older than you! What is wrong with you? And a white man, nonetheless?” Samira gripped her phone tightly, tears threatening to fall. “Amma, I love him and he loves me. Isn’t that what really matters? Why can’t you just be happy for me instead of being so fucking cynical for once!”

She had missed her appa rather immensely after that fight. She craved the gentle cadence of his voice and his reassurance. He had always been a stark contrast to her mother’s fiery personality. Yet, somehow, that’s what strengthened her parents’ relationship. He was a patient man, so deeply in love with her mother. He never once had raised his voice at either her or Samira. In some cruel way, it made sense for fate to take away the one healthy masculine presence in her life before Jack came along years later.

She hears the creak of crutches on the wooden flooring behind her. She watches as Jack makes his way next to her, now dressed in a black t-shirt and those oh so distracting grey sweatpants. She fights the urge to stare at the obvious print for any longer and glues her eyes to the screen instead.

“How’re you doing, sweetheart?” She preens at the term of endearment. The sofa dips next to her and he positions them to have Samira lying back against the expanse of his chest.

“Doing okay, I think,” she murmurs. She plays with his fingers as she hums. “Just thinking.”

His chest rumbles behind her as he responds with a hum of acknowledgment.

“Anything you wanna talk about?”

She shifts slightly, half looking at the television and half her attention towards Jack.

“It’s just… ever since this launch, I’ve been thinking a lot more about my father. Just a rush of sentimental memories and all the things we used to do back home when it came to indulging in his hobbies related to Space. He was always so nerdy about it,” she laughs.

“He’d be so happy to see a woman on the crew, too. He always advocated for women in STEM. I wish he could’ve seen me become a doctor.”

Jack runs a hand through her curls. “And he’d be so proud of you. Samira Mohan, the smartest doctor of us all, and the future of medicine. I’m proud of you.”

She sniffles a little. “Stop, you don’t have to exaggerate.”

“Would I ever lie to you, baby? I’ve been saying that to everyone since you joined the PTMC. Your father would’ve been ecstatic to see you today.”

“I guess he would’ve.” Jack shifts under her to gaze down at her. She begins to count his freckles again, a habit that she can’t seem to let go of. The lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth look like lightning streaks across a starry, freckled sky.

“He definitely would be so, so proud of you. His love for Space continues to live across missions like these. You witnessing this today is a testament to his commitment towards your passion and his own. You’re continuing to fuel his passion and keep it alive as he supported yours until the end.”

She feels tears burning at back of her eyes. Moments like these make her wonder if Jack was a blessing sent to her by her appa.

“I love you,” is all she can muster out. But she truly means it.

“I love you, too, Samira.”

“I mean it, Jack. You taking the time off to watch this with me, even when you didn’t have to,” she smiles up at him. “You knew how important this was to not just me, but my appa too. I just know he would’ve loved you.”

Jack’s eyes widen slightly. His puppy dog eyes, as she’d like to call them. “That’s such a lovely thing to hear. Thank you, sweetheart. I know how much he means to you, too. I’d do anything for you, Samira Mohan.”

“You could go to Jupiter, and I’d still find you.”

She laughs. “You’re such a dork.” He smiles, crow’s feet showing.

“Only for you, baby.”

The two watch as the shuttle takes flight eventually. Samira is fixated on the screen, but Jack is more entranced by how the screen reflects off of the dark brown pools in her eyes, almost like stars.

As the two doze off on the sofa, limbs all tangled up, Jack’s phone lights up with a notification.

Your EBay order of the Celestron Ultima 2000 has been delivered.

this has got to be the longest blurb i’ve written so far, lol. and yes, jack did buy samira’s dad’s telescope back because he’s husband material like that. the first bit about samira going to florida to see the launch was based on what actually happened to me irl (tragic) but be on the lookout for an ao3 link to this soon! let me know what you think in the comments ⭐️

[jolenegifs]

SUPRIYA GANESH via IG

[detailspecialist]

Supriya Ganesh in

Grown-ish (2018 - 2024)

[tankbyseatbelts]

dr. samira mohan // burn it down by daughter

digital painting, june 2026

[samirasystole]

controversial but i actually don't really care that samira doesn't give a fuck about her coworkers. she's a good teacher and that's the most that's professionally expected of her. give us nothing girl, go home and forget they exist. you have enough going on. plus i think we should let women be antisocial and a little offputting sometimes

[loveyladyfingers07]

[manicmohabbot]

Just so you guys know I don't really care about season 3 of the Pitt.

The fandom decided we own mohabbot now, so that's what I focus on.

Canon is a vague map to me that I scribble on frequently.

[andremichaux]

And next thing I knew, I was on a plane to Mexico. I didn’t even pack a bag. I bought a bundle of novelty shirts at a nearby gift shop. This one says, “What’s up, beaches?” instead of “bitches” for humor reasons. But you hate humor. Well, I’m a joke now, so it suits me.

Brooklyn Nine-Nine (2013 - 2021) ⏤ 6.01, Honeymoon

[vonlipwig]

developing the hots for ryan gosling because of project hail mary is so fucking embarrassing I swear to god. that is a conventionally attractive man. a noted hollywood heartthrob. he's even blond, are you kidding me? did he win people magazine's sexiest man alive? I don't know. I'm not going to check but it wouldn't surprise me at this point. it's such a mainstream taste. such a clichéd celebrity crush. like oh I fancy ryan gosling and my favourite drink is coca-cola and my favourite snack is ready salted crisps. jesus christ. 'b-b-but i only like him when he's in a science pun tshirt and playing a dorky-awkward loner type!' doesn't matter. he's still ryan 'ken from barbie' gosling. it's so trite. I feel like the weird nerd girl in a teen coming-of-age romcom falling for the super popular jock. don't I know that I have a reputation to uphold here? cringe.

[fandomsandfairytales]

This post is the spiritual successor to that post about David Corenswet:

[thelittledaily-deactivated20260]

REBLOG THIS TO GIVE THE PERSON YOU REBLOGGED THIS FROM A GOLD STAR BECAUSE THEY’VE BEEN STELLAR TODAY AND THEY DESERVE IT ⭐️

[taibhsearachd]

To everyone who is feeling a little sad right now... close your eyes. Hold out your hands.

I am gently offering you Ring with Cat and Kittens, 1295–664 BCE.

[4thelovabob]

I Run Hot

Pairing: Boblena (Bob Reynolds x Yelena Belova)

Another summer, another Boblena one-shot born from a spicy heatwave prompt. Featuring thigh riding, hand jobs, and of course ice play.

New York was in the throes of a heatwave, and the AC in the Avengers Tower was broken.

The question was not, in fact, why didn't the power outage seem to affect greater Manhattan? Not, why did it seem specifically isolated to the Tower? Nor was it, why didn't the Tower itself have a high tech backup generator? It did.

No, the question was, who was causing the outage?

Unbeknownst to anyone, including himself, that person was Bob.

Ever since training to "get a handle" on his newly developed powers, Bob had a habit of making things happen with his mind without meaning to. It was a work in progress.

And right now, in this sweltering heat, he didn't really know how to make it cooler.

While the others had left long ago to find their own ways to cool down, ever since he sees Yelena, he can't help it.

She had just woken up from a long nap, her blonde hair damp and mussed, dressed in a pair of black boxers and matching zip up hoodie.

Bob had just woken up from his own slumber, already sprawled on the couch in basketball shorts and a muscle tee, sweat running in rivulets down his body. Sipping lemonade with a straw and reading a book, he's not sure she notices him as she strides into the common room.

"Jesus, it's hot as balls in here," Yelena moans, and with a quick zip begins stripping off the hoodie. The fluid motion reveals a cropped, clingy white tank top. Bob freezes, lowering his book slightly. She's not wearing a bra underneath, judging by the shapely outline of her breasts, and her skin is gleaming with sweat. "Is the ice maker on?"

Bob finally realizes the question is directed at him. Because something very distracting is happening in his shorts. "Oh, uh, I think so, yeah."

Yelena makes a beeline for the freezer, scooping up a handful of ice in her bare palm. She flops on the couch across from him, unflinchingly holding the cool ice cubes to her neck and clavicle with a long sigh.

Bob sucks in a breath, placing a splayed hand on his thigh in front of his tented pants in a way he hopes is discreet. He swallows as Yelena moans again, this time in satisfaction as the melting ice leaves a wet trail between her cleavage.

He tries not to ogle as he glances up from an unread page. He really does. But she doesn't seem to be aware that he's watching, or maybe she doesn't care. She's all too focused on the sweet, cool relief on her skin. Her nipples peak under the fabric of her tank top, and he finds himself licking his lips.

It's that exact moment that Yelena's gaze flickers to him.

"You're the color of borscht, Bob," she says in a husky tone, tilting her head back to allow more of the cold water to drip down her throat and chest. "Are you staying hydrated enough?"

Bob sets his book down, looking at his nearly empty lemonade glass, feeling sweat bead on his brow. "I don't know," he admits. For someone who should be able to regulate his own body temperature easily, it's not coming easily to him now.

Yelena inclines her head. "You have got to get some of this ice, at least," she insists. "In a glass, or on you. Can you die of heatstroke?"

Doubt it, but probably from embarrassment, Bob thinks as he shifts in his seat, wishing away his uncomfortably solid erection. "Um, I'll, I'll take some ice. Looks really nice," he says before thinking. He wants to bite his tongue off.

With her free hand, Yelena slicks back the cropped blonde hair plastered to her forehead, rising to approach him. The partially melted ice cubes in her other hand drip steadily between her fingers. For a moment that feels like forever, she just stands there observing him. He struggles to meet her hazel eyes.

"I can help with that, you know," she says, and her tone has changed to something...different. Smooth, soft as velvet.

"With, uh, the ice?" Bob demurs. God, he can smell her this close. The salt tang of her sweat, a seductive note of diesel-like fragrance, and - if he could dare to believe it - a musky, warm wetness between her thighs.

That just makes him even harder.

"I can help you," she repeats, lower and slower, "with that."

Her gaze trails down his navel, meeting the place where his hand covers his dick. Only then does he understand what a poor job he was doing of hiding it the whole time. Because, well, it's huge.

Yelena's eyes meet his. Her mouth is parted just slightly, as if to say something else, but she waits for him.

"Ohh, I..." The moan that emerges from him feels obscene. Sweat rolls down his face now, as he struggles to form words. "Yes, Yelena. Yes, fuck. Please."

"Take off your shirt," she murmurs at once.

Bob obliges without question, rolling the fabric over his head, freeing his toned arms. His body laid bare is slick with sweat, and he's shocked to see her staring unashamedly at his physique. Drinking in his broad chest, taut abs, and the trail of hair leading to the edge of his boxers.

She moves in closer, bending down so her breasts are at eye level. Holds out the ice, watching it drip cool droplets on his naked skin. "Feel good?"

"So good," he says through a tight throat, aching.

Yelena stops teasing, then. Leans over him, sliding the ice down the length of his torso, then back up to his neck. Bob lets out another moan, and he catches her smile out of the corner of his eye.

"How long have you wanted me?" she whispers against the shell of his ear.

"Since we met," he manages, his cock straining to be free from his shorts. "God, since I barely touched you."

The ice fully melted now, Yelena slides her cool hand down, breaching the waistband of his boxers.

"Me too," she exhales, and slips her fingers around his cock.

Bob goes rigid, gasping in pleasure as she palms him, slow and steady. The soft pressure of her fingertips alone is almost too much to take, but then she deftly straddles his thigh, her other hand joining in. Cradling, stroking his balls.

And Bob can feel the slickness of her pussy, pooling on his thigh as - ever so gently - she starts to ride it.

He's about to fucking lose it.

"You can touch me, Bob," she urges him in that deep, accented undertone.

With that permission, Bob's trembling hands find her ribcage, sliding under her shirt until his sweating palms cup her full, supple breasts. Yelena's breath flutters, soft and sensual.

"L-Lena," he rasps through gritted teeth. "You're so..."

She bears down on his length, pumping him in her grip now. "Say it," she commands.

"So gorgeous," he half-slurs, tilting his head back open-mouthed, his pulsing cock practically begging for relief. "So good at this. At everything."

"Good boy." Yelena smiles, savoring every bit of this. Knowing he's close already, and can't last much longer. "Say my name when you come."

At those words, Bob's cock spasms. Waves of pleasure consume him as he writhes under her, coming thick and fast in his shorts, keening her name on his lips over and over.

Yelena gasps, her hips bucking through her own orgasm, letting the friction of his thigh rock against her clit, soaking her panties.

They end up drenched in sweat, breathless and hotter than ever. Staying there for awhile, skin sticky and slick, panting in the intensity of the afterglow. Instinctively, Bob slides his hands around Yelena's hips, holding her there so he can feel her. Dripping just like icemelt on his thigh.

"That was hot as fuck," she says with a chuckle against his neck.

Bob grins in stunned satisfaction, squeezing her. "We're gonna need a lot more ice."

[vanessagillings]

Wanna be my friend?

[beestingfwm]

Happy mohabbot Monday giggling like a child when drawing this

[leahbear30]

jack got home from the night shift early today :)

[falteringstars]

Mohabbot x Princess Diaries 2

Brain has been overflowing with ideas for AUs that I most definitely am not capable of writing (but who knows)

I’ve never read the Princess Diaries books but I really did enjoy Garry Marshall’s take on the series and his addition of Nicholas Devereaux, so it got me thinking:

Imagine our beautiful ER princess Samira as an actual princess who must take on the throne after her grandmother. Unfortunately, that was also when people began to question Samira’s capabilities of ruling without a husband. Having graduated from Harvard with a double degree in Political Science and International Relations, she is much more than “capable.” However, her country is small and comes with rigid laws that nobody ever thought to change and now, Samira is left with the hard decision of having to find a husband.

Enter the charismatic and charming Jack Abbot, a duke from a wealthy family. His cunning uncle has plans to take over country under the guise of wanting his only nephew to be king. Jack and Samira have a flirty encounter before chaos ensues when it is revealed by the press that his family is competing for the throne. A now furious Samira wants nothing to do with the infuriatingly witty and handsome man. Sadly for her, Jack is on a mission to seduce the princess and hopefully break off her arranged engagement to Prince Frank Langdon.

I tried to reimagine that fountain scene with Mia and Nicholas and give my own slight spin to it. Probably a lot of inaccuracies but I wanted to focus on their dynamic because mohabbot!enemies to lovers?? Sign me up 🙏🏻 (Also minor implications of Kingdon just for the sake of the plot)

━━━ 𖤓 ━━━

It is 90°F and Samira Mohan can feel droplets of sweat and perspiration in places that never see the light of the day.

“It’s only a formality kanna. You know how it is. Us royals have an image to upkeep. Now that we’ve let the press in on your engagement to Prince Langdon, we must ensure that the other royals are here for the wedding festivities.” Her grandmother, Queen Vaidehi Mohan, had explained to her after Samira had collapsed dramatically in her chair during tea last week.

Samira thinks this is all bullshit.

Despite it being almost ten years since her royal status was revealed to her barely months before she graduated high school, she could never get over how painfully performative Royals can be with their money, status and lavish lifestyles.

Her mother, Priya Varma, had raised her in a fairly middle class neighborhood in New Jersey. She had never met her father, Prince Kailash Mohan. But she knew him through his handwritten letters. He always made sure to send gifts on her birthdays. He paid for her private school tuition. That’s what good fathers do, right?

When the letters stopped after her 17th birthday, time momentarily stopped for her. She watched her carefully crafted, safety-net backed life plan crumble when she met Vaidehi a week shy of her 18th birthday.

“A princess? Shut. Up.”

She twists the pendant dangling on her neck — the royal family crest with a diamond on the center of it. It almost makes her feel her late father’s presence. The last gift from her father. The last remainder of what she knew of Kailash Mohan.

What would he have said, seeing Samira basically being pawned off to another family just for her very rightful place on the throne? She tried to remember the kindness that emanated from his letters and the pictures in her mother’s photo albums. She wanted to imagine that he would be opposed to all of this. Besides, it isn’t like her non-royal mother has any say in this either. If her own father dared to defy tradition, marry out of love and nearly sacrifice his royal status, why can’t Samira Mohan rule without a man by her side?

Her train of thoughts are interrupted as she watches a shadow loom over her, blocking the harsh rays of sunlight.

“Emma, you know you don’t need to be glued to my side at all times,” Samira chastises gently. The young woman shakes her head, her braids swishing and almost smacking Samira’s shoulder. “I’m your lady in waiting, princess. It’s my job to be your side at all times!”

Isn’t that reassuring, she thinks to herself almost scornfully. She’s got enough eyes on her as it is. She side-eyes her assigned bodyguard Robby and his bodyguard in training, Whitaker. They’re standing a mere few feet away, expressions stoic and barely withering.

“I do have to say, your highness, you look beautiful today.” Emma shyly compliments her. A small smile forms on Samira’s lips. She’s wearing a sage green maxi dress with floral patterns, paired with a floppy hat to match. Not only is it a fashion faux paus, but the designer’s decision to use unconventional material renders it useless and blocks her vision if she isn’t holding it upright.

“She’s right. You really are a sight for sore eyes, princess.”

She freezes. She’d recognize that low, gravelly voice anywhere. She rips her hat off as gracefully as one can, shooting him a fake, exaggerated smile.

“I can’t say the same for you, though. I think you’ve seen better days, Lord Abbot.” A little white lie to throw him off. Annoyingly enough, he looks quite good. His built stature is draped in a tailored beige suit, a flower sticking out his breast pocket.

“Whatever you say, your highness.” His crooked smile shows that he’s unfazed. She resists the urge to stamp her sharp heel onto his foot again.

“Besides, what’re you even doing here? Last I remember, I didn’t send out any invites to aggravating, know-it-all royals with a tendency to lie,” she retorts. He smirks.

“Actually, the queen requested I be here today. It’s royal tradition. I’m sure you know that by now, unless you need to revise etiquette and hospitality. Did they not teach you that at Harvard?” He blinks at her, feigning innocence. “I’m only here to offer my well wishes.”

“You and I know damn well what you’re really up to, Abbot. And I will not fall for your schemes a second time,” she huffs.

“You mean for the third time.”

“What?”

“You remember, don’t you? Our little encounter in the closet—“ Samira slaps a hand over his mouth. Emma eyes them. Jack stifles a laugh behind her clammy palm.

“It was a moment of weakness, okay? I was already feeling on edge about the festivities,” she lamely replies. She swiftly removes her hand from Jack’s mouth.

“Not another word about any of this, Lord Abbot. I’m already on thin ice. People are talking. They think I’m not cut out for this.”

Despite their strange little rivalry, she finds it easy to be honest with Jack. He may be infuriating, but he never judged her. Never reprimanded her unconventional mannerisms and plans for the kingdom. Unlike her inability to be less than formal with her betrothed, Prince Langdon.

“Cut out for what?” A voice cuts through the tense air.

Prince Frank Langdon. His brown hair is brushed out for once instead being trapped under hair gel. Frank is smart, well-read and very handsome. He’s the picture perfect prince. Straight out of a fairytale. But not Samira’s fairytale. He’s a lovely man, but a lingering ache in her heart yearns for something more.

“Nothing, it’s not important,” Samira says. She looks between the two men before realizing this was their first encounter of each other.

“You must be the lucky man. I’m Lord Jack Abbot. Pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.” Jack extends his hand to Frank. Samira holds back a scoff. Frank takes his hand, shaking it firmly.

“Prince Frank Langdon. Pleasure is mine.” He smiles politely at Jack, taking Samira’s hand in his other. She smiles at how Jack’s expression nearly falters at that gesture. However, he quickly straightens up, smug smile taking over.

“Actually, I have somebody I’d like to introduce to you as well.” He gestures to someone behind them, and a young woman appears beside him.

“This is Duchess Melissa King. We worked together briefly during my time on the force. She’s a brilliant scholar and a gifted academic.”

She greets them shyly, fiddling with the hem of her dress’s waistband. “Oh, he’s exaggerating. And just Mel is okay. I’m not a stickler for formalities.”

Melissa looks young, almost around Samira’s age. Her blonde hair is tied into a bun to match the elegance of her midi lilac dress with puffy sleeves. Her gold-rimmed glasses slide down the bridge of her nose before she pushes them back up quickly. Something dark forms in Samira.

“Well, Melissa— sorry, Mel. I’m sure you’ve done your fair share of things, no doubt. In fact, I was just about to mention that Prince Langdon here is doing his residency at Johns Hopkins. Isn’t that right, Frank?” She squeezes his bicep, closing the gap between their sides.

Frank scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “Ah, well, I suppose it’s not that big of a deal. I’ve been lucky enough to be supported by my family.” Which is more than what Samira can say about her own.

“Oh, but it is! Don’t be so modest.” Samira nudges him gently, trying to spur Jack. He narrows his eyes at her manicured fingers wrapped around Frank’s bicep.

“Well, Mel here is not only a scholar with a doctorate from Yale, but she’s also served on the royal force while also graciously donating to charities and starting foundations for the betterment of veterans,” Jack states curtly. His hand lowers onto the small of Melissa’s back. Samira can feel that ugly sensation rising slowly to her chest.

She retorts almost aggressively. “Prince Langdon graduated with honors from The University of Pennsylvania while being at the top of his class. His family owns multiple charities and he plans on making STEM education more accessible in our country. Isn’t that right, sweetie?”

Sweetie? Samira has never called Frank anything besides Prince, Prince Langdon or Frank. She almost cringes. Frank seems to be caught off guard with the new nickname too.

“Right…” he trails off. This conversation is starting to get very awkward. Jack is about to open his mouth before Melissa interrupts him.

“How about we stop talking about each other’s achievements and get to know each other instead? You know, personal interests and all.”

Samira and Jack glare at each other. She pulls away from his steely gaze to look at Frank, who looks perplexed.

“Actually, she might be right. Frank, why don’t you take Mel here and introduce her to your family and my grandmother? I’ll join you in a moment.”

He hesitates for a few seconds before nodding. “Whatever you’d like, Mira. Come find me soon, okay?” She nods back at him, pulling him in for a kiss before letting him go. Frank looks almost shocked at her sudden brazenness. Jack’s jaw tightens.

Jack and Samira watch as Frank guides Melissa away from the palpable tension before Samira shoves her hat in Emma’s hands and storms away towards the royal gardens. She hears heavy footsteps behind her, the smell of pine and musk invading her nostrils seconds before a rough and calloused hand grabs her wrist. She spins around in an instant.

“What do you want, Jack? Can’t you see I would like some privacy?” She gestures towards the maze.

“I think we’ve abandoned all semblance of you needing privacy right now. What was all that about?”

“What was what all about?”

“That whole—” he lets go of her wrist to gesture around wildly, flailing his hands around for dramatic effect. “That whole competitive streak you started there? And don’t even get me started with your lovey-dovey act. You think I wouldn’t catch on to what you’re trying to do?”

Samira scoffs loudly. She folds her arms. “I have no idea what you’re on about. He’s my fiancé. Of course I want everyone to know that he’s brilliant.” She leans into Jack’s proximity, not breaking eye contact. “And that we’re in love.”

That finally stirs the pot. Makes the pot blow up, even. Because now, Jack Abbot feels green with jealousy. He doesn’t try to his suppress his feelings this time.

“Well I call bullshit! This whole act you have going on with Langdon? This engagement and fancy wedding to show how in love you two are? It’s all just a facade. I know how you truly feel, Samira. I’ve spent more time in the same space as you than even he has even getting to know who you really are.”

Now that stirs something warm in Samira. She feels something fluttering in her abdomen. But a hot flash of rage engulfs her almost immediately. She feels exposed.

“YOU DON’T KNOW ME!”

Heads are starting to turn.

“You don’t know what I want, Jack Abbot. I love Frank, and he loves me, period. We’re going to get married in three days whether you like it or not. I have my duties to carry out, and so does he.”

But Jack doesn’t give up. “Is that what you really want, Mira? To be chained down by someone who doesn’t even know you past this royal facade? Or how you like your tea? A relationship built on formalities, devoid of a real connection?”

Samira feels her body go warm. The nickname, the words he says. It feels almost like a confession of some sort. She suppresses those thoughts and attempts to push him away.

“I’m going. And stop following me!” She walks furiously towards the maze. Of course, Jack fails to heed her words. Jack and his stubbornness that rivals Samira’s.

He follows closely behind her. She feels anger building up in her. “Leave me alone, Jack. I won’t tell you again,” she says, gritted.

Once again, all her words are disregarded as he spins around and is pulled against his chest. There it is again, that warm and fluttery feeling. Her cheeks are flushed from the heat and their close proximity.

“Mira,” he rumbles lowly. “Stop trying to run away from this. You can’t deny that there’s something here.”

“I’m not running away. And there’s nothing between us.” But she doesn’t pull away.

“I’ve seen you look at me. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. That’s not the look of somebody who loves another.”

“And so what if I do?” Now she pulls away. “It doesn’t mean anything. Stop trying to analyze something that doesn’t exist,” she almost yells.

She makes a dash for the center of the maze, halting at the old stone fountain. Jack appears seconds later, huffing and puffing. “I said stop following—“

Before she can finish her sentence, his large hands engulf her waist and gracefully spin her around before he captures her lips skillfully.

Time stills for a moment. That warm feeling blossoms in her chest as her anger fizzles out. His lips are slightly chapped from the heat, yet they feel perfectly aligned with hers. All those pent up emotions, lingering stares, bickering with an undertone of flirting make her kiss him back with this desperation and want. He catches on quickly and holds her tighter, deepening their kiss and taking her lower lip between his teeth. She wraps her arms around his neck and inhales his musky scent. She feels her foot slowly rise behind her — the cliche foot pop. That hadn’t happened since her first love from high school.

She moans out loud. That’s when she snaps back to reality.

She is lip locked with Jack fucking Abbot. And they are alone. In a secluded area. People have definitely taken note of their absence.

A wave of anger and regret floods her and she jerks back. Unfortunately, she jerks back too hard. She slips on a wet stone and feels herself falling backwards. Jack unhelpfully tries to grab her as she yanks him forward by his tie. But it’s too late.

A huge splash ensues. The two are drenched in water from a fountain that was probably last cleaned a decade ago.

Samira has just about had it. She stands up, shivering from the cold but hot from embarrassment. It’s a terrible combination. She looks at him trying to stand back up from that humiliating tumble.

“I loathe you, Jack Abbot.”

Jack pushes his wet hair back from his face, smirk forming. “Is that why you kissed me back, your highness? With quite a bit of passion there, too.”

She feels a scream bubbling in her throat.

“Samira Mohan! What is going on here?”

She feels herself going cold again. She ducks her head in embarrassment. Jack bows behind her.

“Your highness, it was my mistake,” he tries to reason.

Vaidehi Mohan’s steely gaze is fixated on Samira. “No, Duke Abbot. Samira is well on her way to being the Queen soon and she doesn’t need to be spoken for.”

“You have a lot to explain here, young woman.”

Fuck.

━━━ 𖤓 ━━━

Alright, that’s all I got in the chamber there 🛠️ If you’d like to see more, I’ll probably make this a proper story on ao3. Hope you enjoyed this silly little blurb!