rori-is-writing

[rori-is-writing]

The Gods have assembled a party for a great task: The God of War sent the strongest warrior in the land. The Goddess of the Forest sent her wisest druid. The twin gods of song and wandrlust sent their most storied bard. And the god of Luck drew *your* name out of a hat.

[rori-is-writing]

Hiya, can I please be added to the Life Line taglist? Thank you!

Of course!

[rori-is-writing]

Also a big fan of Anna's story. And all I'm saying is I think it would be neat if Robby came home early or Jack got called in because Robby is sent home early. 👀❤️

Normally I wouldn't post this until I've finished the fic request, but I might need you to elaborate a little more Anon. Do you mean that you'd like Robby to come home and get sick too (to complete the sick trio)? Or do you mean Robby and Anna should get to have some sexy/sweet alone time as she's recovering? Or are you asking for a whole different fic altogether at some different point in time where everyone isn't sick anymore? Just want to clarify! Thanks for the ask!

[rori-is-writing]

would you consider a follow-up to "what goes around" where Jack comes home and feels guilty seeing you sick knowing he "did this to you." I didn't realize how much I loved this throuple until I started reading your stories <3

Of course! I’m so glad you’re enjoying this little mini universe I’ve got going here! 💙

Guilty Conscious

The Pitt | Teen | Dr. Robby x OC x Dr. Abbot | 309 words ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ Summary: Jack feels some guilt over getting his girlfriend sick. ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ Tags: Caretaking, Minor Illness

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

Anna was just finishing her soup when she heard finally Jack come in. 

“Babe?” He called from the living room. 

“In here,” she called back—voice cracking—and then winced, rubbing her throat. Ugh. She hoped he at least stopped at Walgreens on his way home. 

Jack swept into the room immediately, a look of concern—and was that…guilt?—on his face. 

“I come bearing gifts,” he said, holding out a plastic bag full of various OTC meds like an offering. 

Oh thank god. 

“You do love me,” Anna joked, making grabby motions with her hands, but that only seemed to make his frown deepen. 

“I’m sorry. This is my fault.” 

She sighed, but patted the space beside her as he handed over his bag of goodies for her to riffle through like a feral raccoon. God protect her from sad, self-flagellating men with big brown eyes. They were both lucky she loved them. 

“I know you’re a kick-ass doctor and all, but even you can’t control the flu.” 

“No, but as a doctor I should know better than to subject my loved ones to a virus when I don’t have to.” 

“Honey,” Anna said slowly—patiently—as if she were speaking to a child. “You were delirious with a 104 degree fever. Nobody expected you to be making rational decisions at the time.” 

“But—”

“No.” She said firmly. “I don’t have the energy to deal with you beating yourself up today. Save it for tomorrow when I feel less like death warmed over.” 

“You’re very bossy when you’re sick.” 

“And you try to do everything you tell your patients not to do when they’re sick.” 

“Touche.” 

“Good, glad we had this talk,” Anna said, popping a ricola into her mouth. Ah. Sweet relief. “Now come over here and cuddle me.” 

Jack smiled. 

“As you wish My Queen.” 

Previous Drabble Request | The Muse Masterlist

If you would like to make your own drabble request, please see my Drabble Request Rules here.

Thanks for reading! 🩵

[rori-is-writing]

whoops - I think I wrote "you" in that last ask instead of "anna." Sorry - I'm just a basic bitch who will project myself onto any and all characters lol

That’s okay. We are all basic bitches on this blessed day. 😂

[rori-is-writing]

being a writer is googling "reddish pink color name" and not getting the objectively correct answer

[rori-is-writing]

"You’re so good for me.”

A The Pitt Drabble Series.

Drabbles | Explicit | Dr. Shen x Fem!Reader | 453 words ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ Summary: John has fun winding you up. ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ Tags: Dom/Sub adjacent, Daddy Kink vibes, Female Reader, Praise Kink

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

John is insufferably calm, even in bed. 

It’s both his best and most annoying quality. He’ll spend hours getting you all worked up into a lather. An innocuous touch at work. A slow smile at lunch. An innocent little remark at dinner. From the outside looking in it all must seem so normal. So harmless. 

But you know better. 

You know he does it to mess with you. To get you so excited and out of sorts that the moment you get home he barely has to do more than kiss you and slot his leg between yours to get you off. 

It would be infuriating if it wasn’t so hot. 

“Please,” you say one night, breathless and flushed and so fucking horny you can’t stand it. 

“Oh no,” he replies with soft, mocking clicks of his tongue. “Has my baby got herself all worked up again?” 

“Fuck you,” you grumble irritably. 

He smiles and you shiver. 

“That’s the idea, yes.” 

“Why do you do this to me?” You ask petulantly, pawing at his shirt like a cat in heat. 

“Because it’s fun.” 

You groan. 

Thankfully, he seems to take pity on you and nudges you with his knee. “Roll over baby. Show me how wet you are.” 

You scramble to do as you’re told, face and belly smashed into the duvet and ass lifted enticingly. He smoothes his hands along the back of your thighs like he’s trying to soothe a wild animal. 

“Look at you,” he says, fingers skating up your thighs until they reach the lips of your cunt, peeling it apart like a piece of fruit. “You’re very wet today. Is this all for me?” 

“Yes!” You sob into his duvet, fingers clutching the fabric so tightly you swear they’ll be sore later. 

“Does it ache terribly?” He asks. 

“Yes! Yes!”

“You just need someone to fill you up don’t you?” 

You nod frantically, restlessly, and you hear him chuckle behind you. He doesn’t make you wait. Within one moment and the next you feel something hot and hard slide along the lips of your cunt and you sigh. 

“That’s it,” he says, still infuriatingly calm. His cock catches at the mouth of your cunt and then, slowly, perfectly, he pushes his way inside. 

You grunt, beyond words now as he slots himself inside of you like he belongs there. 

“There you go baby,” it’s the first time today you hear his voice waver—just a bit—just enough for you to know this affects him as much as it does you. “You’re so good for me.”

You grin into his sheets. 

“Now show me how much you wanted this.” 

With a delighted shiver, you do as you’re told.

Previous Drabble | Drabble Masterlist

Thanks for reading! 💙

[rori-is-writing]

Life Line Chapter Masterlist

A The Pitt Reader X Soulmate AU.

Multi-Chapter | Explicit | Soulmate AU | Dr. Robby x Fem!Reader ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ Summary: You had always wondered what it would be like to meet your soulmate...Yet, of all the scenarios you had dreamt up over the years, meeting your soulmate in the ER as your lifeblood poured out onto the floor was not one of them.  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ Tags: Age Gap (20+ years), Brief mentions of near-death experience/shooting trauma, Caretaking, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Soulmates

Fancy Meeting You Here [2,110 words]

Coming Soon [WIP]

[rori-is-writing]

⎯⟢ Life Line ⟣⎯

⟪ ⟨ Ch 1: Fancy Meeting You Here ⟩ ⟫

A The Pitt Reader X Soulmate AU.

Multi-Chapter | Explicit | Dr. Robby x Fem!Reader | 2,110 words ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ Summary: You had always wondered what it would be like to meet your soulmate...Yet, of all the scenarios you had dreamt up over the years, meeting your soulmate in the ER as your lifeblood poured out onto the floor was not one of them.  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ Tags: Age Gap (20+ years), Brief mentions of near-death experience/shooting trauma, Caretaking, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Soulmates

Read on AO3 | The Pitt Masterlist

[ A/N: Inspired by @i-mushi's wonderful Soulmate AU, Strings That Bind.

For my dear @wisps-writes-fic. Happy Birthday (yes, I know it's not your birthday but I finished early)! I tried so hard to make this a one-shot and failed miserably. So you're getting a multi-chapter fic. Everyone is very upset about this I'm sure. 😂

I would just like to apologize in advance to all medical professionals who read this. I am not a doctor or any kind of medical professional so my knowledge about medical and hospital procedure is limited. Please forgive me. ]

You had always wondered what it would be like to meet your soulmate. 

As a child you’d always assumed it would be like something out of a fairytale. Some dashing faceless person come to sweep you off your feet and battle the monsters under your bed. And later, when you’d grown into a teenager you had begun imagining more realistic—but still romantic—scenarios. A meet-cute in a coffee shop perhaps. Or reaching for the same book in the library. 

Yet, of all the scenarios you had dreamt up over the years, meeting your soulmate in the ER as your lifeblood poured out onto the floor was not one of them. 

“Oh,” you slur when you lock eyes with the man who upends your entire world.  “You’re taller than I thought you’d be…”

It is a feeling like no other. A reordering of the universe. A wild, giddy elation that is headier than drugs and more shocking than a punch to the gut. Like a piece has finally slotted into place in your chest and you can finally breathe normally for the first time in your life. 

He’s handsome, your soulmate. With wide brown eyes and hair that has just started to go gray around the edges. You wonder what he looks like when he smiles. He’s not smiling now though. In fact, he looks positively petrified. You reach out and touch his cheek, inadvertently smearing your blood across his skin—a subconscious sort of claiming if there ever was one. 

“Hey,” you say, a little delirious, as if scolding a toddler. “Turn that frown upside down.” 

And then the blood loss pulls you into its seductive embrace. 

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It feels as if it’s only moments later that you see him again, though he tells you it’s been hours. 

“You’re lucky to be alive,” he says softly, an agonized look on his face. He sits at your beside, elbows on his knees, hunched over as if the weight of the world were dragging him down. 

You nod at him, not so sure what to say now that blood loss and copious amounts of morphine are no longer loosening your tongue. 

“We nearly…” he trails off, his eyes haunted by some unseen vision. “…I…nearly lost you.” 

You can hear the terror in his voice. The sheer, unadulterated fear of losing his soulmate only moments after finding you. 

“I’m…glad you…didn’t…” you say, your throat scratchy and raw from from what you assume was a tube that had been shoved down there while you were unconscious. 

You move your fingers across the blanket until they brush against his. He stares at them for a beat. Two. Three. And then, slowly, curls his fingers around your own with a gentleness that breaks your heart. 

“So…” you rasp with an awkward smile. “What’s your name?”

Your question must catch him off guard because he suddenly barks out a laugh, and finally—finally!—you see that smile you were so hoping to see when you first met. Somehow, you think, he is even more handsome than before. 

“Michael,” he tells you, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Michael Robinavitch.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

You’re not really sure what the protocol for meeting your soulmate is. Are you together now? Should one of you ask the other on a date? Or was it like that one reality show you liked to pretend you didn’t watch where a couple were expected to marry after a week of knowing each other? 

Truthfully, you didn’t actually know all that much about soulmates. They were uncommon enough that you’d never actually met anyone who had one, and the movies made it seem like some fairytale where the couple was swept up into some epic love story where the realities of real life were glossed over entirely. 

Luckily for you, you had more than enough time to figure it out seeing as how you were essentially chained to your hospital bed these days. The one time you tried bringing up going home Michael had looked at you like you had lost your mind. 

“I spent two hours repairing your liver.”

You blink at him, uncomprehending. 

“…Oh…kay? So I’m fine now?”

You certainly don’t feel fine—in fact, you feel a bit like you’ve been hit by a truck—but you figure that little admission won’t help your case so you choose to leave that tidbit out of your argument. 

As if he can hear your thoughts, he shakes his head with a ‘can you believe this?’ look on his face. 

Wow. Rude. 

“You’re not going anywhere until I say so.” 

You realize with slowly dawning comprehension that your new soulmate has a bossy streak a mile wide. 

How charming. 

(Not.)

There are other things you learn about your soulmate in the following days. He likes Italian sandwiches (delicious). His favorite genre of music is dad rock (you prefer bubblegum pop, much to his dismay). But, most importantly, he is a wizened fifty-three to your paltry twenty-five. Perhaps the vast age gape should bother you—and, in some small ways, it does—but instead you find it oddly…comforting. 

It’s just…nice. Knowing that your soulmate is so grounded and knowledgable. That he has his shit together when you yourself still feel like you’re in that wobbly, awkward stage of life where you have no idea what you’re doing. You may feel like a teenager still playacting at being an adult sometimes but he is a real adult. You bet he even has a retirement portfolio. 

(What must that be like?)

On the flip side, you wonder what he must think of you. What does your mysterious, soft-spoken doctor think of having a soulmate just over half of his age? Do you seem naive to him? Childish? God, you hoped not. 

Eventually a week in, you try to suss the information out of him through careful—i.e. blunderingly obvious—questioning. 

“So,” you say nonchalantly as you watch him squint at your chart on the computer monitor. Technically he isn’t your doctor anymore as you’ve long since been moved upstairs into one of the surgical recovery wings…but that certainly hasn’t stopped him from visiting you every day before, during, and after his shifts to check up on you and critique your care team’s work. 

“Mm?” Michael grunts in acknowledgment, still distracted by whatever he’s reading. 

“What’s your type?”

You see the moment the question finally breaks through his focus because he frowns, eyes flicking to the side to stare at you through those black-framed glasses of his. 

(Have you always been attracted to men with glasses? Or is it just him? Much to think on.)

“My…type.” He doesn’t say it like a question, but like he’s parroting the phrase back to you to make sure that is indeed what you said. 

“Yeah. You know, like some guys like blondes, some like brunettes…” you trail off, urging him to pick up where you’ve left off because this isn’t going nearly how you’d expected. Most men loved talking about themselves. Especially about the kinds of women they were into. It was practically their favorite subject outside of sports and the Roman Empire. 

Or maybe that was just men your age…

What did older men talk about anyway? Stocks? Their aching backs? The AARP? 

Michael just stared at you, a furrow between his brows like he can’t quite figure you out, before turning back to the monitor. 

“Can’t say I have one.” 

Now you’re the one to frown. 

“Everyone has a type.” 

He shrugs. “Not me.” 

“Who was the last person you dated?” 

You can see his jaw working, like he’s fighting a smile—or a grimace. “Have you always been this chatty?”

“It’s not like I have a whole lot else to do in here,” you insist. “There’s only so much daytime TV and TikTok I can consume before I start wanting to grill all the nurses about the local gossip.” 

This is, in fact, true. You’ve probably learned more from the nurses about the inner workings of this hospital than even some of the doctors are privy to. 

“Oh?” He asks, amused. “And, pray tell, what have you learned?” 

“I can’t tell you that,” you say gravely. “I was sworn to secrecy. On pain of death.” 

“Death?” Yep, that’s definitely a smile. “That seems a little extreme. Do I have to fight the nurses?”

“No, because I would never give them up.”

“Good, because if it came down to me and the nurses…my money is on the nurses.” 

You nod sagely. “You’re so wise.”

“Years of experience,” he says, and then frowns—as if only just now realizing the age gap between you. 

Ah. So he hadn’t thought about it. Well, in fairness, he has been very busy lately. Poor thing. Taking pity on him, you reach over and pat his shoulder. 

“Don’t worry,” you tell him sagely, suddenly feeling much more calm about this now that you know he’s just as hopelessly in over his head as you are. “We’ll figure it out.” 

He stares at you, long and hard, before finally nodding—like he’s too afraid to voice whatever he’s feeling. 

And later, after he’s left for the night and you’re settling into a doze, you suddenly remember that he never actually answered your question. 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

“Who are you?”

You blink awake to a strange new doctor scrolling through your chart on the monitor beside your bed. A doctor that is, distinctly, neither your usual doctor nor your soulmate. He looks around Michael’s age—middle-aged or close to it—with soft curling hair that is almost as much silver as it is brown. He turns to face you, seeming surprised to find you awake. 

“Doctor Abbot. I’m from downstairs. Robby asked me to check up on you.”

“Robby?” You ask groggily. While you’re grateful for the drugs that knock you out every night, you’re not so thrilled about how lethargic and fuzzy they make you feel every time you wake up. 

“Michael,” he corrects. “Your…well…you know.” 

Yes. You certainly do know. 

“Mm,” you say instead, as good an acknowledgment as any. “Is he busy or something?” 

“Surgery,” he explains simply before turning back to your chart. “It’s a complicated one so it might be a bit.”

“I see.”

You wonder then if this will be what the rest of your life will be like. Waiting around for your more important other half as he saves lives and is late to see you. But almost as soon as you think it you feel guilty. Of course whoever is being operated on takes precedence over you. You don’t get to monopolize the man just because you’re bored and have gotten greedy with his time. 

Ugh, you needed to get the hell out of this place. 

You eye Doctor Abbot then, wondering if he’ll be more open about your care than Michael is. 

“When do you think I’ll be able to go home?” 

His eyebrows raise, but he doesn’t say anything, just scrolls through your chart. 

“It says here they’ll likely discharge you in a week if you continue the way you have.” 

You make a face. “Ugh.”

“I didn’t realize I was such terrible company,” he says, lips quirking into small smile. 

“No offense, but I hate hospitals.” 

“This might surprise you, but most people do.” 

“I just…feel like I’ve been in this bed forever,” you complain, the floodgates finally bursting open after a week of your soulmate’s constant hovering. “I feel useless.”

You can feel tears of frustration beginning to well at the corners of your eyes, which only makes you more upset. You’ve been independent since nearly as long as you could remember. You’re not used to just sitting around. And yet all it had taken to derail your entire life was some dumb fucking idiot with a pile of guns who probably spent way too much time on 4chan or 8chan or whatever other creepy website weirdos like him hung out on. 

It just…it wasn’t fair. 

“Hey,” Doctor Abbot says softly, attention now turned fully to you. His eyes are brown, you realize. Just like your soulmate’s. “You’ll be home before you know it. You’ve been doing real well. Your chart says you’re healing on schedule. We’re only keeping you here a little longer because we need to make sure your liver will be alright once you’re on your own. Okay?” 

You sniff, feeling simultaneously pathetic and reassured. He squeezes your shoulder, a strange mirror to you comforting Michael only the day before.

“We’ll get you through this kid. Just let us help you.” 

You nod. 

“Okay.” 

Next Chapter | Life Line Masterlist

Thanks for reading! 🩵

If you would like to be added (or removed) to this or future tag lists, please let me know!

Tag List: @emma8895eb, @li22ie2017, @lonelyheartsm, @pocket-of-possibilities, @sebastianstangirl01, @silas-aeiou, @steviebbboi, @wisps-writes-fic

[rori-is-writing]

After reading your last ficlet, I'm now obsessed with the idea of Robby x OC x Jack and passing an illness around their house (they try to take preventive measures, but it was going to happen) and them taking turns caring for each other.

Probably not quite what you had in mind but I couldn't fit all three of them taking care of each other into a less than 500 word drabble. 🥲

What Goes Around Comes Around

The Pitt | Teen | Dr. Robby x OC x Dr. Abbot | 320 words ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ Summary: Michael takes care of his girlfriend after Jack gets her sick. ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ Tags: Caretaking, Minor Illness

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

She woke up feeling like death. 

Between the crushing fatigue, body aches, and bone-rattling chills Anna was sure she had angered some long forgotten pagan god. 

Dammit. God-fucking-dammit. She knew that virus Jack had last week would circle back to the rest of them. Michael had told her over and over again that they’d be careful. They had scrubbed every surface with Lysol and avoided unnecessary contact and still she’d known it wouldn’t be enough. 

“Woah, you feeling okay?” Michael stared at her with concern as she shuffled into the living room like a zombie, pressing the back of his hand against her cheek. “Jeez, you’re burning up.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted stubbornly, even as she felt the air in her throat scorch its way down into her lungs. 

“No, you’re definitely not.” 

“I can’t be sick,” she continued, as if he hadn’t said anything. “I have work.”

His brows nearly rose into his hairline. 

“Oh, is that how it works?”

Anna clenched her jaw, even as she fought a wave of shivers. “Yes.”

“I don’t think so. As your doctor I’m telling you to go back to bed. I’ll call the hospital and tell them you’ll be out for a few days.” 

“You’re not my doctor.”

But he just gave her an unimpressed look and shooed her back into bed like she was a petulant toddler refusing to take a nap. 

“This isn’t fair,” she sniffed later when he brought her a bowl of soup and a bottle of pedialyte. “All that cleaning and what do I get for it? The damn flu.” 

“Mm,” he hummed sympathetically. “Sometimes it can’t be helped. Now eat your soup. And drink all of your pedialyte. It better be empty when I get home. Jack should be here soon to take care of you.”

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” Anna protested. 

He smiled at her indulgently. “Yes you do.” 

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If you would like to make your own drabble request, please see my Drabble Request Rules here.

Thanks for reading! 🩵

[rori-is-writing]

Looking to make some friends in The Pitt fandom? Well look no further than the first ever The Pitt Gift Exchange 2025 to be held this September 25th - 28th!

Never participated in a fandom gift exchange before? No problem! We welcome any and all participants wether you have been in the fandom since the beginning or you're just discovering the show this week. Wether you are a writer, artist, or just enjoy making edits and playlists we're open to all gifts to our exchange.

Sign Ups are currently open until July 6th so get in there while there's time!

Have questions? Check out our pinned post on our blog! Or, alternatively, drop an ask into our inbox! We'd love to answer any questions or concerns you might have!

We hope to hear from you soon!

[rori-is-writing]

[rori-is-writing]

guys is 13-15k words insane to post as a one shot? it’s not finished yet but i am at like 10k and i fear it is becoming a monster. what do y’all think??

[rori-is-writing]

"Go home and let Robby take care of you alright?” - whew, honestly there's nothing hotter than that. Being told by your attractive man to let your other attractive man take care of you... wowwie. Look im a strong independent woman but my fantasy will always be showing vulnerability.

Saaaaame.

I am a very liberal, independent woman but when it comes to fiction I love nothing more than problematic tropes and romances. Gimme hurt/comfort where the protagonist is saved by a big strong man. Gimme age gap workplace romances. Gimme sugar daddy/sugar baby vibes. All the stuff I would absolutely hate in real life I need in fiction.

[rori-is-writing]

Robby is a dog person. Abbot is a cat person. Discuss. 👀

[rori-is-writing]

And Shen is a raccoon person.

Robby is a dog person. Abbot is a cat person. Discuss. 👀