narsone
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- The Pitt (TV) (17)
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“You must be the new owner,” he says as he makes his way to the bottom of the stairs, reaching out his hand for her to shake. “I’m Jack, the upstairs tenant.”
Jack.
Ms. Hobbs had always referred to the upstairs tenant as Jackie. Samira was expecting a young woman, a vague picture of someone sweet and serious from Ms. Hobb’s descriptions. Not this man with thighs the size of tree trunks, blinking up at her curiously as he waits for her to respond.
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Emery Walsh had come highly recommended by one of her colleagues so Samira is a little surprised when, on the morning of her dinner party, she opens her door to, perhaps, the most handsome middle-aged man she’d ever seen in real life.
“Samira Mohan?” His voice is deep and gravelly. He’s holding two large shopping bags, filled with groceries, in each of his big hands. Maybe this is Emery’s assistant, here to drop off supplies ahead of her arrival?
“Yes?” Samira is suddenly, acutely, aware that all she has on is a tank top and her skimpiest sleep shorts. She can feel her nipples poking through the thin fabric.
“I’m Jack Abbot, Emery’s replacement. I would shake your hand but uh,” he says with a grin as he lifts up the groceries bags with ease, making his biceps bulge out gloriously against the sleeves of his t-shirt.
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Dr. Abbot rifles through his pockets until he finds a piece of scrap paper and a pen. He scribbles something on it, using his thigh as a support, before offering the paper to her. “Take my number. In case you need to talk.”
Samira feels overwhelmed by his kindness. Her fingers brush against his as she gingerly takes the paper from his hand and Samira can’t help the shiver that runs up her spine at the brief contact. “Thank you, Dr. Abbot. I mean it.”
“Call me Jack.” Dr. Abbot – Jack – starts to make his way back towards the stairwell. “Take as long as you need, Dr. Mohan. I’ll handle Robby.”
Samira is left alone on the rooftop, fingers gripping tight onto that little piece of paper, ignoring the strange flutter in her chest.
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“Lemme see.”
Jack wets his lips at her command, hesitating for a second before reaching for his belt. The sound of his zipper echoes in the room. Samira waits with bated breath as Jack pushes open the flaps of his cargos to reveal the soft pink cotton of her panties.
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They’re pulling out of the driveway when his phone starts to ring, Robby’s name popping on caller ID along with a particularly unflattering picture of him half asleep with his eyes open on Jack’s couch.
Jack promptly declines the call.
His phone just immediately starts ringing again which Jack declines again, a tad more forcefully this time. Next to him, Samira huffs out a laugh. “What if it’s something important?”
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“Why are you hungry in my house?”
“Because it’s where I’m staying?” He scratches at the back of his neck, head tilted in confusion. “Did Dev not tell you?”
or
Samira’s brother’s friend is staying with them for the summer.
Bookmarked by narsone
24 Jun 2026
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Samira has long known that being friends with Robby is a character flaw. It had just never seemed so damning until now. It itched at her inion whenever Jack stared at her from across the ED. She pushed it away when he emailed case studies, because he was the only person not related to her who emailed her at all. She ignored it because she liked the way his callused hands brushed against the soft skin of her inner thighs and how his warm tongue felt heavy in her mouth. She craved the goosebump tingle that seemed to pulse at every nerve ending, at every millimeter of skin, whenever Jack’s attention focused solely on her at the end of a long day.
Bookmarked by narsone
22 Jun 2026
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“Look at him, Samira,” Jack says. The words seem lodged in his throat. He's forcing them out. “Sweetheart fucking face. And they were gonna kill him.”
He kisses the dog on the top of its head. And Samira usually finds that sort of behavior foreign and disgusting, but she puddles just a little more when she sees Jack Abbot do it.
“So you took a chance on him?” she says.
“What can I say?” Jack lifts the tags on his dog’s collar with a crook of his finger. Samira watches as they slide, metal on metal, identifying information, dents and dings—and she sees it, she aches as she sees it, that scrape of metal limbs and dog tags in gray matter memories. “I'm a sucker for lost fucking causes.”
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Jack rescues a tripod dog with a history of violence. Samira learns what they each have in common.
Bookmarked by narsone
22 Jun 2026
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Jack Abbot is many things: the crown jewel of the School of Public Health, for one, whose 5.0 hotness score on Rate My Professor might be singularly responsible for the record enrollment in the Conflict Epidemiology program this year. He is uncompromising where it counts, and intensely discerning, and is, therefore, a natural at organically weeding out the students who registered for his classes solely for the aforementioned chili peppers. But for those who truly want to learn, he is thorough and patient and fair, a born educator and leader.
What he isn’t is a mind reader.
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Fourth-year Public Health PhD student Samira Mohan needs a favor.
Bookmarked by narsone
19 Jun 2026
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Samira can't really pinpoint where the desire comes from. Can't say with certainty why the thought of Jack coming home from work, finding her asleep in his bed and pulling down the sheets to ruck up her shirt or drag her panties down her hips makes pleasure spark low in her gut.
Or: Somnophilia
Bookmarked by narsone
18 Jun 2026