#empitthy

[klarsynt]

he nods quietly, intimate understanding in his eyes. ❝ i won't let you get lost. ❞ it's a fact and a promise. it's a vow, perhaps. he is determined to not let these be a selfish act, nor based on physical thirst alone. it is a privilege. she is giving him a gift and he intends to treat it as such. he will savor her. he will cradle her tenderly and feast upon her like a priest being allowed to taste the offerings on an altar. she is his everything and he wouldn't dream of doing anything other than worshipping the blood within her veins.

his arm winds around her shoulders as she caresses his chest. he holds her there even after she speaks. he just feels the warmth of her for several moments, breathing in the scent of the blood pumping just beneath her skin. the heat of her mortality calls to him. it draws to him as if she were a flame and he were the moth. that is what it is in the end, he finds. vampires are mere creatures pulled ever towards the warmth of life. an irresistible call. coming from her, it is impossible not to crave. emil presses one more kiss into her hair.

he reaches behind her and shuts the water off. emil releases his hold upon samira's shoulders so he can open the shower again. he steps out first, only so he can take her hand and guide her out after him. wordlessly, he takes up a towel and turns back around to her. with devotion reflecting deep in in widening, hungry pupils, emil drags the cloth gently along her shoulder, down her chest. he holds an arm and pats it down. he does the other side then emil bends, pressing his lips to the slope of that shoulder. when he draws away, he kneels down and begins to press the towel to her stomach. her thighs are next and as he runs the fabric over her legs, he tilts his head up to look at her with nothing but love and thirst in his expression.

he still watches her, even as he returns to his full height and begins to towel himself down. he is less thorough with his own skin. he hardly cares at all except he knows dampening the sheets and pillows would only cause some discomfiture and make her cold. as soon as he is done, he sets the towel aside and reaches for her again. he takes her into his arms and sets off for the bed, just as promised.

samira’s breath catches faintly as he touches her face again,  her eyes fluttering shut for the briefest moment beneath the soft press of his forehead to hers.  it’s not just the promise that undoes her — it’s the ease with which he makes it.  like it was never a question to begin with.  like he had already decided,  long before she asked,  that he would be whatever she needed.  her hands settle lightly against his chest as he holds her,  her cheek finding the place just beneath his collarbone.  the water washes around them like a hush,  like a veil drawn over the outside world.  her heart beats slow but certain against him,  as though it,  too,  knows this is a turning point. 

❝ i know,  ❞ she whispers,  so quietly the water almost steals the words.  ❝ i know you will.  ❞ her fingers curl against his skin,  gripping him a little tighter.  she takes in a breath,  one that shivers faintly on the exhale.  ❝ and if i get scared — just remind me it’s you.  that i’m safe. ❞ there’s no dramatics in the way she says it,  only truth — calm,  raw,  and a little tremulous in its vulnerability.  she tips her head back to meet his gaze,  her eyes reflecting nothing but trust.  and maybe a flicker of that nervousness,  too.  ❝ you’re the only person i’d ever trust with this.  with me.  ❞

she leans forward and brushes a kiss to his sternum,  a soft vow of her own,  one sealed not with blood but with closeness.  her breath is warm against his skin,  and it stays there for a moment as she rests.  there’s something intimate about the quiet.  something grounding.  she shifts only slightly to look up at him again,  steam curling between them.  her voice goes softer still.  ❝ i'm ready.  just …  yes.  okay? ❞

[stilloves]

asked by Samira Mohan : can I tell you a secret?

strap of bag is tossed over shoulder and crossing over chest, yoga pants pulled on and a too big hoodie that belonged to some old ex is dragged on. she has definitely felt better. as in way better. right now it feels like someone has chewed her up, spit her out and ran her over with a semi truck just to be sure. she imagine that is how this feels like at least. closing her locker with a soft clink, dark gaze lift to samira and there's hint of a smile ghosting across features. always loved gossiping perhaps a little too much, but mostly about other people. never cared for drama in her own life. that's why her hoodie belongs to an ex, and not to a current boyfriend. he knew who she was when they started dating, when he asked her to be his boyfriend . . . and he still complained about her hours. why she studied so much. spent so much time here and not with him. became an ex boyfriend pretty quickly after that. a soft hum leaves her, two protein bars are pulled from the sidepocket of her bag, handing one of the two over to samira before pushing the door open from the lockerroom. " is it a good kind of secret ? are you gonna swear me to silence ? " smile grows ever so little as she turns, walking backwards to fully watch her, sticking her hand up, pinkie out. " do we make pinkie promises ? "

@empitthy

[respondsfirst]

samira mohan ( @empitthy ) : reunites with jay in a hospital room.

he'd been shot, and honestly - the whole thing was a bit of a blur. it went to the side of his vest, he doesn't remember the logistics. all he knew was - he was going to be a dad, and now he might be dying. he manages to say her name, letting them know who to call. she was his next of kin. but he wasn't sure they'd check - and he didn't want the first call to be to his brother, but the girl he was going to marry. the person he would spend forever with. the mother of his kid. so he goes into surgery, having more to fight for than he's ever had. so he does.

waking up, his head feels so damn groggy - but he knows that squeeze of his hand, albeit, it's tighter than it ever has. she was there. so before he even opens his eyes, he's smiling. he made it home - back to his family. "hi beautiful," he whispers through a hoarse voice, weakly giving her hand a squeeze back. "hey," tilting her head with his eyes open. she looked so tired, and sad. one look he was used to, and one that he decides he hates. one he wants to change into a smile or laugh as soon as possible. "i love you. come here," holding out his other hand, the one hooked up to the iv - but he wants his girl for cuddles. "i don't care what your doctor brain thinks, come get your cuddles, sami." tapping the bed once as he scoots - with a wince.

[oncalls]

   ✱   [ comfort ]   . . .   @empitthy tries to comfort lucy chen .

DOD : 120919 . . . it wasn't just a series of letters and numbers. it was a day of death. it was supposed to be lucy's day of death. and now it was etched into her skin, a permanent reminder of the worst day of her life, that would haunt her every time she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror when she was changing clothes, right there on her ribcage in jagged black writing. caleb's handwriting. she had the hospital gown pulled up, fingers ghosting over the bumpy skin when a doctor walked in. no, not just any doctor. it was doctor mohan. lucy didn't play favorites, especially not the hospital. they were all doing incredible work day in and day out to save lives. but usually she was there as a police officer, not as a patient. if she did pick a favorite, it would be samira.

she tugged the dressing gown down, like that could make the letters and numbers go away. like every doctor and nurse working in that emergency room hadn't heard what happened to her, like they weren't all out there at the nurse's station whispering about her tattoo. arms wrapped around her middle, making herself smaller. maybe if she shrunk herself enough, she could just . . . disappear. maybe she wanted to. she was happy it was samira that came to check on her this time. "i'm fine," she lied, looking at the monitor like she knew what any of the lines or numbers meant. it was easier than looking at her . . . maybe doctor mohan wasn't her friend. they didn't know each other outside of passing in the hospital. but she was so friend shaped. she stared at the monitor too long and the only numbers she saw on it were 120919. so she looked at samira instead.

[klarsynt]

he tells himself he doesn't need words. not when she is showing him that she wants him. maybe the words don't matter at all. he has lived this long without them, learned to keep himself warm without it as well. her heat—that steady guiding vibrance within her that calls to him like a beacon—it is enough to sustain him. why does he need to hear her say what he already feels? he doesn't. he holds onto her tight and tells himself he doesn't.

❝ i'll always come back to you, ❞ he half whispers. ❝ you know i will. ❞

he moves close as they walk, brushing his lips across her temple before he straightens his posture again. they take several paces with a little rainwater still gathering on the ends of his hair. emil finally stops them again, however. without a word he bends down and circles his arm around samira's waist. he lifts her with ease. he did not know her when he was mortal but he thinks it wouldn't have been difficult than either. now, with his preternatural strength, she hardly weighs anything in his arms at all. ❝ this'll be faster. ❞

he holds her close to his chest as he begins to walk again. he doesn't know how it works, if he is moving quicker or if the world slows. he just knows that time sort of bends around him. it brings him to her doorstep as if it had always been a few paces away the whole time. even then, he doesn't have much desire to put her down again. he likes the warmth of her in his grasp. so instead, he tilts his face towards her again and seeks out her lips.

she lets her hand rest against his cheek even after he kisses her palm,  her fingers brushing the dampness in his hair,  soft as breath.  she leans into the closeness as he steps forward,  lets his forehead press to hers.  in the quiet,  she feels the weight of his need — not just for touch,  but for belonging.   &  she gives it to him,  not through promises or declarations,  but through presence.  through the steadiness of her breath.  through the way her fingers curl more securely around his. 

her silence is not absence.  it’s full of something else — something steadier,  deeper than language.  she doesn’t say i love you,  but the shape of it lives in her anyway,  threaded into the way she touches him,  the way she lets herself be still in his orbit,  unrushed.  her thumb sweeps the corner of his mouth once before her hand slides to the side of his neck,  palm warm against his skin.  she doesn’t try to anchor him.  she knows better.  knows he will always be something untethered to the day.  but that doesn’t mean he has to drift alone. 

❝ then come back,  ❞ she says quietly.  the words are low,  almost lost beneath the soft percussion of rain on pavement.  ❝ when the dark returns,  find me.  ❞ because he can’t stay when morning comes.  all she asks is that he keeps returning to her — night after night,  heartbeat after heartbeat,  until the world says otherwise.

when he draws back  &  murmurs about the rain,  her hand slips from his neck but not from his.  she follows his lead,  their steps slow,  unhurried.  the air between them still carries the echo of what passed,  still hums with everything unsaid.  ❝ deal,  ❞ she says,  eyes forward now.  ❝ but only if you agree to stay with me.  as long as you can?  ❞

[desafia]

@empitthy sent: “  do i ask questions or do i just help you clean up all this blood?  ”

❛ no! ❜

the word is signed quickly with an obstinate shake of her head, eyes a little widened as they look up at samira. he lifts a bloodied palm outward in a staying motion. magnolia is frozen in place for a moment, chest rising and falling with deep breaths. it's not her blood. that's the problem. it's not her blood and it's sticky on her skin, in her hair. she thinks there might be a little in her ear. ❛ don't help me. you can't help me. ❜ she is covered in evidence. if samira gets even a little bit on her...magnolia is convinced she will infect her with her problems, implicate her somehow. she already risks too much by the other ways she has helped. it's tempting fate. she'll be marked for death if she helps magnolia too much.

❛ no questions. ❜ she thinks to add. plausible deniability is everything.

[castlle]

@empitthy asked: “are you who i think you are?”

Frank blinked at her, slowly realizing she might actually recognize him. His arm is in a sling, it got dislocated, he jammed it in place while running someone down, but now he has to get it properly set again; otherwise it'll keep popping out of his socket.

"No." It's firm. There's no room to ask questions, but he knows she will. It's why he sometimes misses New York. People don't go poking further into your shit there.

"You the one who's gonna pop my arm back in?"

[vanhornrn]

“you’re going to get yourself killed on that thing.” (his bike lol)

⧽ ⠀ ⠀ ── ⠀ ⠀ random conversations in the pitt : @empitthy !

gaze flickers down to the bike helmet that must’ve caught her eye, half hidden in the corner of his staff locker where he’d tossed it that morning. the comment elicits the ghost of an eye roll, as well intentioned as it might be ❝ it’s always possible, yeah. ❞ perhaps a bit bleak but there’s no point in lying, right? he’s long since made peace with the idea that he could very easily become one of the countless people they see in a day. he's seen too many motorcycle collision cases come through their doors to not be displled of any illusions but if experiencing firsthand the aftermath still hasn't detered him from riding, it's unlikely anything else will.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ❝ never said i was known for my good choices — especially not when i know i got you here to patch me up if that day ever comes. i figure that should save me from the reaper for a few days, at least. ❞ a small smile despite the dry tone. no sarcasm here! … okay, maybe a little. ❝ you should be thanking me for the job security, actually. ❞

[squadthree]

samira mohan ( @empitthy ) : samira holds kelly's face while inspecting an injury he's got.

"i'm fine," he assures her - but despite his words, that soft and skilled doctor hand still touch his face, while she's checking out the temporary bandage he got at the scene. "acid burn. they washed it a bunch, still had to come here and get checked out. no need to fuss -" but he knows he's speaking for deaf ears. he knows she's going to fuss. that she won't get him another doctor - she was now wife and doctor. maybe even a little more the latter. "how's the girls? did you see them at daycare?"

maybe it was a bad thing to bring up their kids right now. the same ones who'd look at his booboo and possibly cry. he could not handle the triple sets of doe eyes looking at him like that. impossible. so he tilts his head, leaning in to kiss her forehead. no curl out today. which meant it might've been a quiet day so far. "i saved a kid - it was worth it." it wasn't a hero trick, he hadn't just been reckless without a cause. he'd saved a life - a life of someone who was devi's age - and if that wasn't worth it? he doesn't know what is.

[traumedical]

yoinking jack and @empitthy over to here

samira’s breath catches — not from the question,  but the way he asks it.  his fingers graze her temple,  light as a promise,   &  she leans into the touch before she can stop herself.  she’d spent so long wondering what his hands would feel like when they weren’t gloved in professionalism or restraint.  now she knows: steady,  warm,  devastating.  ❝you didn’t hurt me, ❞ she says,  voice gentle,  laced with the kind of certainty she usually reserves for the trauma bay.  her hand comes up,  catches his wrist before he can pull away,  thumb brushing slow across the inside of his arm.  her eyes hold his,  soft but clear.  ❝you were careful.  even when you weren’t. ❞ a pause,  her lips twitching into something small  &  private.  ❝i liked the bruises. ❞ her fingers trail down to his hand,  twining loosely with his,  her palm warm against his knuckles.  ❝but if you’re asking whether i’m okay because you’re not sure what this is … or what i want it to be …❞ she exhales,  slow  &  measured,  then tilts her head slightly,  the ghost of a smirk tugging at her mouth.  ❝don’t worry.  i came here on purpose.  stayed on purpose. ❞ she lets her gaze dip to his mouth,  then back up again.  ❝ &  i’d stay longer,  if you'd let me. ❞

a little hesitant, he lets his hand settle on her cheek. the confirmation comes and the thing that's wrapped around his lungs releases its grip, just a fraction. his throat bobs and he nods tightly, forcing himself to exhale. ❝good. ❞ he nods. ❝good. ❞ jack breathes in the way she touches him, letting his eyes flick shut for half a second at the gentle trace of her fingers across his skin. when she speaks, his lips quirk into something between pleased and amused, his head canting to the side. ❝duly noted. ❞

something blooms where her hand covers his, warm, tender. he has to fight off the feeling that he doesn't deserve this, which would probably be harder if it wasn't being drowned out by a voice reminding him that she's only a resident. and she's also a woman, an adult who can make her own choices. but he won't delude himself into thinking there's no possibility of a power dynamic here. every word she says, though, makes him forget a little– who they are, who he is in her world and she is in his. samira speaks and suddenly they're just people.

he smiles faintly when she does, like it's a reflex, and takes a long, slow breath. ❝ you can stay as long as you want. ❞ and then, catching himself, ❝ i'd like you to stay. as long as you want. ❞ another breath. he doesn't want to break the sweet spell they're just barely still under, the veil of the morning light that keeps the world at bay. but he's also desperate to kiss her again, and he can't do that until he does this. ❝we should talk. about what this is. what you want it to be. ❞

[klarsynt]

@empitthy sent: [  TEN  ] :  “ you’re over me ? when.. when were you under me ? ”

how does she not know?

there are days he feels far too transparent. he thinks it must be obvious to everyone in the whole damn world because the stronger he feels the harder it becomes to hide. it's impossible. yet she looks at him with an oddly dubious expression and he immediately wishes he had said nothing at all. he tells himself it's the wine. he had one glass too many and it loosened his stupid, stupid lips. he won't make that mistake again. emil is determined not to be so foolish again as his gaze falls away from hers. his jaw clenches, muscle feathering and then disappearing again.

he shakes his head, shoulders rising and falling in a dismissive shrug. ❝ guess you could say i had something of a... ❞ 'he trails off instead of finishing the sentence. crush' sounds childish. and untrue. what he felt was far deeper...what he feels. still feels. why the hell did he say that out loud in the first place? ❝ forget it. ❞ he sighs and moves to stand up from the table, gathering dirty dishes in his hands. ❝ you should go to sleep. you have an early shift in the morning. ❞

[gobagx]

sender kisses receiver to tease them.

it  makes  him  blink  away  his  focus.  ❬  which  means  he's  broken  eye  contact,  which  is  basically  against  the  law  for  jack  ❭.  the  kiss  while  jack's  trying  to  explain  a  very  serious  topic  to  samira…..  ━  what  television  was  like  way,  way  back  in  the  80s  ━,  is  meant  to  tell  him  how  cute  he  is.  cute  for  being  ancient.

 ❝  i  am  not  that  old.  ❞  isn't  he  though?

❝  and  before  you  ask,  yes,  it  was  even  in  color.  ❞  jack  leans  back,  arm  slung  over  her  shoulders.  neck  rolls,  so  he  can  see  her.  they're  seated  on  her  little  sofa,  empty  takeout  containers  littering  the  coffee  table  where  sock-clad  feet  rest;  apart  from  jack's  stump,  which  lies  on  samira's  knee.  it  won't  reach,  so  she  is  his  own  ottoman.  ❝  you  know  if  you  weren't  so  cute,  ❞  but  he  can't  finish  the  thought.  he's  drowned  in  her  big  brown  eyes.  jack  just  stares,  his  head  bobbing  but  his  mouth  not  forming  any  words  for  quite  some  time.  what  a  surprise  peck.  rendering  him  so  speechless.   ❝  ━  you  are…  something  else,  dr.  mohan  .  ❞ 

[cursedbirth]

genevieve stood at the sink, scrubbing with surgical precision, though her face remained untouched by urgency. her movements were efficient, elegant; there was no telling that less than thirty minutes ago, a man who should’ve died from blunt force trauma to the chest was now breathing evenly in room 14. no coding, no resuscitation. no explanation. and it wasn't a miracle; just a little of her blood, slipped into the iv bag when no one was looking. she dried her hands and reached for the crisp white coat to her right, making her way down the hall until she reached the breakroom. 'dr. mohan,' genevieve greeted softly, appearing in the doorway like a shadow coaxed into form. 'you stayed late again,' there was no judgment in her tone, only observation — a habit from a lifetime of watching humans. her voice was calm, with that faint, unplaceable accent that curled around her words like silk. she crossed the room, her steps quiet, her features inscrutable. 'i have to wonder when it is you sleep. i cannot imagine it is very often,' @empitthy.

[robinav1tch]

[ sick ] sender cares for receiver while they are sick | @empitthy

❝samira–❞ robby sighs, already far too exhausted for it to be this early in the shift. she's not the first person to try to send him home. collins, dana– hell, even whitaker stopped him in the hallway to ask if he was all right in that way that he knows meant get the fuck out of here. but if he leaves, they'll wake up jack or they'll pull shen away from his kids' birthday party. so yeah, robby can buck up and wear a mask for a few hours. it's hardly a sacrifice when he knows almost every single person on this floor has shown up to work feeling far worse than he does right now.

all that said, it doesn't mean he has enough energy to resist as samira drags him bodily into an empty exam room. he wants to make an actual effort to stop her, but god, he is so tired. ❝doctor mohan, the fact that there is an empty bed in this ed is a miracle and i really don't think we should be wasting it on me.❞

[oncalls]

LOOKING AT YOU

DO NOT PERCEIVE ME

i can fix him ( no really i can’t )

[of101]

“it’s soup, it doesn’t come with strings.” (idk it’s for bob tho)

"Uh…" Bob looked at the soup, carefully taking it in his hands and swished it around, eyeing it carefully---slightly suspicious of it. "Surreee, you don't." ---eyes squinting, steps carefully backing away from her.

"I don't really have a good track record with nurses. They—uh—assume I'm here to fake something, trying to get meds from them. They were right...yeah....they were right." He looks conflicted, nervousness rolling off him, he grips the bowl tightly, placing it on the side table by the hospital bed.

"If a group of people (assholes-minus one,-two?, ok maybe 3) show up looking for me, can you just tell them, I'm good." ---throws a thumbs up. "I just cut my hand cooking." (cuz' it's my turn to cook, but the chart says John! but you have to look useful Bob, you gotta do something! can't pull everyone down, don't want to get kicked out).