tedmustache

[tedmustache]

hey ! i absolutely love ur work :) i just had a question , what kind of fics do u write ?? like just fluff like ive seen , or do u also do angst or smut ? just curious for requests !!!

Hiii, thank you for asking! I write fluff and angst. I'm not that comfortable writing smut

[tedmustache]

the reader is a med student and accidentally refers to robby as "dad." She plays it off as a joke, but she actually has daddy issues that. Idrk tbh. Lol

Hey, I wrote a story similar to your request.

I hope you like it :)

[tedmustache]

Can you write a fic where the fem!reader is a med student and accidentally calls Robby "Dad." He starts calling her "kid" and it becomes a small thing for them. After a hard case, the reader is close to a panic attack and Robby is there to comfort them, just like a dad?

Hey, Kid

Pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Platonic!Fem!Reader

Summary: After a sleep-deprived mistake leads to the reader accidentally calling Dr. Robby “Dad,” the nickname “kid” becomes a quiet, constant thread between them.

Warnings: Medical setting (hospital trauma cases), Grief over patient death (minor character), Panic attack symptoms (breathlessness, shaking, emotional distress), Comfort after emotional distress, Mentorship and familial themes (reader/mentor dynamic, not romantic)

Main Masterlist

[...]

You’d been on your feet for thirteen hours, running on one granola bar, an energy drink you regretted two hours ago, and sheer panic. The trauma pager had been going off like it was trying to set a world record, and somehow every single attending had disappeared when it was time to present the new patient.

Except Robby.

Of course, it was Robby.

He stood across from you now, arms crossed, watching you like a hawk while you sputtered through a case summary that sounded a lot smoother in your head than it did aloud.

“…penetrating abdominal trauma, vitals unstable, FAST was positive—uh, positive… and we’re, I mean I was thinking we should prep for the OR—”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Unless you think there’s something else we should—”

“Finish your sentence before you second-guess yourself” he interrupted, not unkindly. “You're presenting. Own it.”

You nodded quickly, cheeks hot. “Right. Prep for the OR.”

A beat passed. Then he gave a small nod, turning to the trauma team. “She’s right. Let’s move.”

You exhaled, finally breathing, and trailed behind as they rolled the patient toward surgery. As the doors swung shut, you felt the adrenaline ebb from your system, replaced with the thudding crash of fatigue.

“Good call, kid” Robby said as he turned away from the board.

And before you could think. Before your caffeine-deprived brain could stop you, it happened.

“Thanks, Dad.”

The hallway went silent. For exactly three seconds.

You froze.

Robby blinked. You blinked. A resident walked by, did a double take, and wisely kept walking.

“I—I meant Dr. Robby! Sir! I mean—I didn’t—”

Robby stared at you for a beat longer

“Well,” he said slowly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “I’ve been called worse.”

You slapped a hand over your face. “I’m so sorry, that was—”

“Relax. You’re not the first sleep-deprived med student to do it. You just said it loud enough for the whole ER to hear.”

“Please let me die in peace” you muttered.

He snorted. “Not on my shift, kid.”

The nickname stuck. After that, “kid” became a thing.

He called you “kid” when he passed you in the hall. When you brought him a chart. When you correctly identified a spinal fracture. When you tripped over an unplugged IV line and nearly faceplanted into a gurney.

“You okay, kid?”

“Nice catch, kid.”

“Don’t touch that, kid. Do you want to get yelled at by Neuro?”

And despite your initial horror, it grew on you. It was nice, in a weird way. Especially because Robby didn’t just call anyone that. At least, not with that tone. Half exasperated, half protective, like he actually gave a damn.

And he did, you were starting to realize.

Even when he made you redo your discharge summaries three times. Even when he roasted your slightly incorrect anatomy sketch in front of Jack (you had been tired, okay?). Even when he acted like he didn’t care, but showed up every time things got hard.

Like today.

You’d just lost a patient. A teenager. Hit by a drunk driver while biking home from soccer practice. There’d been a window. A small and hopeful window, and you’d clung to it with both hands.

And then you watched it slam shut in front of you.

You stood in the supply room now, the door shut, hands braced on the counter. Your scrubs were stained, your gloves long gone, and your lungs felt like they’d forgotten how to expand.

Your heart was racing. Too fast. You knew the signs too well.

The edges of your vision pulsed. Your hands were starting to tremble.

No. Not here. Not now.

You bit your lip and counted.

In. One, two, three

Out. One, two, three

The door creaked open.

You didn’t have to turn around. You knew the voice.

“Hey, kid.”

You closed your eyes.

“Not a good time” you croaked.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “That’s why I’m here.”

You didn’t answer. Your hands tightened on the edge of the counter until your knuckles went white.

“I shouldn’t have—I should’ve caught it,” you said suddenly. “His pressure dipped and I hesitated, and maybe if I’d said something sooner, or—or run the second unit faster—”

“Stop.” His voice was firm, but not harsh. “That kid died because a drunk driver made a choice. Not because of you.”

You shook your head, breath hitching. “I didn’t do enough.”

“You did everything.”

Silence. Then the soft shuffle of his footsteps. You felt a hand on your shoulder, solid and steady.

“You’re allowed to feel it” Robby said. “That’s part of the job. But don’t carry what’s not yours.”

You finally looked up. He wasn’t glaring. He wasn’t giving you a speech about boundaries or toughness or professionalism.

He just looked… there. Real. Human.

Like a dad.

“I hate this part” you whispered.

“Me too.”

Your eyes welled up, and that was it. You let go.

You didn’t sob. There wasn’t time for that. But a tear or two slipped down your cheek, and when your legs wobbled, Robby guided you gently to sit on the counter stool like he’d done this a hundred times before.

Which, you realized, he probably had.

He stayed for a minute. Maybe two. Just long enough for your breathing to even out. For the shaking to stop.

Then he patted your back. “Come on, kid. Let’s get you a coffee.”

You wiped your face and nodded.

He opened the door, and before you stepped out, he glanced at you sideways.

“You know,” he said, “Dana keeps asking why I don’t have kids.”

You blinked at him. “And what do you say?”

He shrugged. “I say I already have one.”

You laughed, soft and a little broken. But it felt better than crying.

“Lucky me" you said.

Robby gave a lopsided smile. “Damn right.”

[tedmustache]

hi ! i would be veryvery interested in a ben wyatt fic ^_^ im not very good at requests so im unsure how to specify ,, but possibly just some simple fluff of ben & the reader finally getting together or something after like everyone (except chris ofcofc) was secretly rooting for them in their own ways & stuff … idk ! just a random idea, & u can change it however u want ! thank u very much in advance <3

The Dating Pool

Pairing: Ben Wyatt x reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Tension builds. Chaos unfolds. Love wins.

Requests are open

[...]

It started, as most mildly unhinged things in the Parks Department did, with Leslie Knope making a spreadsheet titled “Operation Get Those Two Adorable Dorks Together.”

“Look at them” she whispered to Ann, pointing across the bullpen. “They’re like Jim and Pam, but with more budget reports and less kissing! It's TRAGIC.”

“Do you think they know how obvious it is?” Ann asked, sipping her coffee.

“No” Leslie said, pulling out a binder labeled Ben + Y/N: Road to Romance. “That’s why we, as a department, must intervene subtly. With grace. With dignity. And also maybe with a fake work retreat where they have to share a tent.”

April, overhearing, added without looking up from her computer, “I already started a betting pool.”

“YES!” Leslie high-fived her. “That’s the spirit!”

The only person who remained completely oblivious to the romantic tension that had been simmering for nearly a year was Chris Traeger.

“I just want to say” he announced one morning, “that the synergy between Ben and Y/N is LITERALLY the most productive pairing I have ever seen in a government setting. Perhaps in any setting. Perhaps in history.”

“Cool, cool” Tom muttered, “Can I put forty on ‘Ben cracks by Thursday’?”

[...]

You had tried to be professional. Truly, you had.

But Ben Wyatt was infuriatingly handsome in a floppy-haired, budget-conscious, accidentally-charming way. And every time he adjusted his tie while blushing after you complimented his latest economic model, your resolve wavered like a raccoon at a salad bar in Pawnee.

It didn’t help that Leslie kept giving you and Ben joint assignments. Or inviting only the two of you to her weird, theme-heavy “Team Bonding Brunches.” Or sending emails with subject lines like “Just Two Smart Attractive People Needed For This Task – Others Don’t Qualify.”

Ben, for his part, was drowning.

He wasn’t exactly smooth. His flirting style could best be described as “mild panic" especially when you wore that blazer he once accidentally told Donna “radiated competence and charm and kind of made his knees feel weird.”

He thought maybe you liked him back. But what if he ruined things? What if you didn’t feel the same? What if he became the emotional Ice Town of your career?

So he stayed quiet. And longed. And ate his feelings in the form of an unhealthy amount of calzones.

[...]

Then came the Parks Department “Synergy Brainstorm” scheduled by Chris Traeger in a moment of extreme enthusiasm and a post-kale smoothie high.

“Ben! Y/N!” Chris beamed, placing two color-coded folders in front of you. “Your connection is LITERALLY the backbone of this department’s functionality. I would like you to remain here and brainstorm for an extra hour. No distractions. Just pure, focused, platonic synergy!”

And with that, he left, the door clicking shut behind him.

Ben looked at you. You looked at Ben.

And something shifted.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore” you said softly.

Ben blinked. “The synergy meeting?”

“No. This whole… pretending-not-to-be-slowly-falling-in-love-with-you thing.”

He froze.

“Oh my god” he said. “You too?”

You let out a nervous laugh. “Ben, we’ve been dancing around this for months. I’m pretty sure April made a voodoo doll about it.”

“She did” he said. “It winked at me once.”

Silence. Then, awkwardly, sweetly:

“Do you want to go out to dinner sometime?”

“Yes. Like, desperately.”

And then, Ben kissed you. It was warm and tentative and wonderful, like everything that had been building up between you had finally found a place to land.

Outside the conference room, the entire department (minus Chris) let out a muffled cheer.

Leslie burst into the bullpen fifteen minutes later with two sets of color-coded champagne flutes.

“I KNEW IT” she shouted, waving a glittery binder in the air. “You beautiful government nerds are IN LOVE, and democracy has NEVER been stronger!”

Ben, still pink in the face, adjusted his tie. “Um. We were going to try and keep it low-key, at least at first.”

Leslie looked personally offended. “Excuse you. This office has suffered for eleven months and three days watching you two make heart-eyes over pie charts. We earned this.”

"You count it?"

Tom held out his hand. “Pay up, everybody. Ben cracked first.”

“No way” Donna said. “She said it first. I’m getting my mani-pedi on your dime, Haverford.”

April typed something into the betting spreadsheet. “This is the most emotionally invested I’ve been since I found that bird with one leg and named him President Screech.”

And Chris?

Chris walked in moments later, holding a tray of gluten-free muffins.

“What’s going on?” he asked brightly. “Is there a celebration?”

Everyone froze.

You and Ben looked at each other.

“Uh” you started.

“Just… high synergy” Ben added quickly.

Chris smiled, thrilled. “Amazing! I LITERALLY had a dream last night that the two of you became co-managers of a regional morale task force. The synergy was off the charts!”

The entire department burst out laughing.

Chris, still oblivious, grinned. “I love inside jokes!”

[...]

From that day on, the dynamic changed.

Ben brought you coffee in the mornings. You “accidentally” scheduled your lunch breaks at the same time. Leslie started planning double dates in a wildly overzealous Google Calendar labeled “Power Couples of Pawnee.”

And Chris?

He remained joyfully unaware for two more weeks, until he walked in on you and Ben making out in the supply closet next to a stack of Welcome to Pawnee pamphlets.

He gasped. “You two are… DATING?!”

You pulled away, flustered. “We were going to tell you!”

Chris blinked. Then his face split into the biggest smile you’d ever seen.

“I AM SO HAPPY I COULD LITERALLY DO A BACKFLIP.”

And he did. In the hallway. With perfect form.

Everyone clapped.

Leslie cried.

Ben turned to you, dazed. “Did that really just happen?”

You smiled. “It’s Pawnee. Of course it did.”

[tedmustache]

bartender younger girlfriend, who gets brought in during Jack’s shift with a broken nose

Bar Fight

Pairing: Jack Abbott x Bartender!Girlfriend!Reader

Warnings/tags: protective!Jack, Hurt/Comfort, established relationship, age gap, physical assault (non-graphic), mentions of blood and bruising, medical setting, brief description of injury (broken nose)

Summary: A rough night leads Y/N to the ER, and Jack’s only priority is making sure she’s okay.

Requests are open | Masterlist

[...]

Jack Abbott wasn’t supposed to be on shift that long. He’d promised himself it would be a short one, just enough to help with the overflow, check on a couple trauma consults, and go home at a decent hour.

But like most promises in a trauma hospital, that one didn’t last.

He was just finishing up suturing a deep forearm laceration from a kitchen accident when Dr. Shen appeared in the doorway of the bay, his expression unreadable, which was never a good sign.

“Jack” Shen said. “You need to come to Bay 3. Now.”

Jack didn’t look up from his stitches right away. “Can it wait? I’m almost—”

“It’s Y/N” Shen said quietly. “She just walked in. Looks like a broken nose. Possibly more.”

Jack froze.

His hands were steady, but the world around him blurred for a second. He didn’t even register the nurse beside him offering to finish up the sutures. He set the needle driver down carefully, turned on his heel, and was gone without another word.

The walk through the ER felt like it took forever and no time at all. The second he rounded the corner into Bay 3, his chest tightened so hard it knocked the air from his lungs.

She was sitting on the edge of a gurney, shoulders tense, one hand pressing a bloodied towel to her face. She wore her usual bartending clothes, and her apron still hung half tied around her waist. Her lower lip was split, and blood streaked her cheek where it had run from her nose.

But she was upright. Conscious. Breathing.

“Jack” she breathed when she saw him.

He crossed the room in three steps, his hands already reaching for her but stopping short, hovering just in front of her face like he was afraid to hurt her.

“What happened?” he asked, voice low and tight.

“A guy at the bar didn’t like being cut off. Got grabby. I shoved him, and he hit me.” Her voice was slightly nasal from the swelling. “Security dragged him out. I’m fine, really”

“You’re not fine” Jack said. His eyes scanned every inch of her face, then flicked to her arms, her torso, looking for more injuries. “He hit you? With what? His hand? An object?”

“Just his fist. Straight to the nose. Guess he got lucky.”

He inhaled sharply, jaw clenched. “Lucky” he echoed. “Right.”

He turned to the nurse. “She’s with me. I’ll handle this.”

Y/N opened her mouth to argue, but the nurse nodded and stepped back, shooting her a knowing look before slipping out behind the curtain.

Jack finally touched her, gently cupping her cheek, brushing a smear of dried blood away with his thumb. His fingers trembled ever so slightly.

“You should’ve called me.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt your shift—”

“I don’t give a damn about my shift when you walk in bleeding” he said. “You could’ve passed out on the way here. What if you were concussed? What if he’d done worse?”

“I’m okay,” she said softly, leaning into his touch despite the ache.

“You’re bleeding,” he said again, like he didn’t believe it even now. “Come on. Let’s take a closer look.”

He helped her down gently and guided her to a nearby trauma room a little more private, quieter. Once inside, he sat her on the gurney and clicked on the overhead lamp, his eyes still dark with concern.

She let him work in silence as he palpated around her nose and cheekbones with skilled fingers.

“Definitely broken” he said after a moment. “Clean break, though. No eye socket involvement. You’re lucky.”

“I keep hearing that tonight” she muttered.

Jack didn’t smile. “I’m not joking.”

He grabbed supplies and paused when he turned back to her.

“Can I?” he asked, lifting the syringe gently.

She nodded. “Go for it. You’ve already seen me cry over Disney movies. I can’t embarrass myself any further.”

Jack let out a breath, a faint smile ghosting across his lips, and injected the anesthetic with careful precision. He watched her the whole time, not just the injection site, but her face, her breathing, any sign that she was flinching or hiding pain.

“Jack” she murmured when he stepped back. “You don’t have to baby me.”

“Yes, I do” he said simply. “Because you’re mine. And someone hurt you.”

The softness of his voice made her chest ache in a completely different way.

He splinted her nose with steady hands, but when he was done, he didn’t pull away. Instead, he sat on the gurney beside her, his hand sliding gently into hers.

“You could’ve been seriously hurt.”

“I’ve had worse bar fights.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

“I know” she whispered. “But I handled it. I’m okay now.”

Jack looked at her like she had no idea what her own face looked like. “You’re bleeding. Bruised. Shaken up. That’s not okay in my book.”

She reached up with her free hand and tugged at his sleeve. “But you’re here now.”

He exhaled slowly and leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers, mindful of the splint.

“I don’t care how many hours I’ve worked. If anything like this happens again, you call me first. Understood?”

She nodded. “Yes, Dr. Abbot.”

“That’s not fair” he said, finally letting a smile creep into his voice. “You’re not allowed to flirt while wearing a bandage I applied.”

She snorted, then winced. “Ow. Okay, laughing hurts. New rule: no jokes.”

Jack kissed the top of her head gently.

They sat in silence for a few more moments, his fingers laced with hers, the chaos of the ER muffled behind the curtain.

Eventually, Jack glanced down at her and asked, “Want to come home with me tonight?”

She looked up at him through tired eyes. “I thought you were on call.”

“My shift is almost over”

Y/N smiled and rested her head on his shoulder. “Only if you let me eat ice cream for dinner.”

“Done.”

“And let me control the TV.”

He hesitated. “Even if you choose reality dating shows?”

She looked up at him, smug. “Especially then.”

He groaned. “Fine. But only because you got punched in the face.”

She leaned into him, warm and safe. “You’re a very romantic trauma doctor, you know that?”

He kissed her temple again. “Only for you.”

[...]

Back at his apartment, Jack cleaned the last of the blood from her face, his touch impossibly soft while she put on the last episode of a reality show he didn’t know the name

"You’re gonna have a hell of a shiner tomorrow" he muttered, tracing the bruise.

Y/N shrugged. "Worth it. Dude’s banned for life."

Jack’s expression darkened. "He’s lucky that’s all that happened."

She studied him. The tension in his shoulders, the storm in his eyes, and sighed. "Jack."

"What?"

"You’re doing that thing again."

"What thing?"

"That thing. Where you look like you’re five seconds away from hunting someone down."

He didn’t deny it.

Y/N cupped his face, forcing him to meet her gaze. "I’m fine. I Promise."

Jack exhaled sharply, leaning into her touch. "...I hate seeing you hurt."

"I know." She smiled. "But you fixed me up pretty good, Doc."

He huffed a laugh, pressing a kiss to her palm. "Damn right I did."

“...I love you, you know.”

“I know,” he said, brushing his thumb across her temple. “And I love you too.”

And when she curled into his side that night. Safe, warm, his. Jack swore to himself that no one would ever lay a hand on her again.

[tedmustache]

In sync

Pairing: Jack Abbott x Wife!Reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Two doctors work in perfect sync, sparking curiosity among new interns. After shift, subtle truths begin to surface.

Requests are open | Main Masterlist

[...]

The Pitt was humming with life, chaos, and fluorescent light. It was one of those shifts where no one had time to breathe, much less eat, yet somehow, Dr. Jack Abbot and Dr. Y/N L/N never missed a step.

It wasn’t flashy. It was like muscle memory, the way they moved together. Jack would glance at a monitor, and Y/N would already be adjusting a vent setting. She’d murmur a stat order under her breath, and he’d be handing over the form before she finished.

“Jesus,” Whitaker muttered as he watched them intubate a patient in tandem. “It’s like they’re… psychically linked.”

“Or they have earpieces we can’t see,” Javadi whispered, eyes darting back and forth between the two attendings.

“They don’t even look at each other,” Dr. Santos added. “It’s eerie. What are they? Married or something?”

“Old,” came a voice from behind them. Dr. Robby strolled by with a chart tucked under his arm and a half-grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Old and terrifying. You’ll get there in ten years.”

The newbies blinked. Still, none of the new hires knew the real kicker.

Because no one told them.

The nurses, the residents, even the cafeteria staff. They all kept the secret locked tight behind knowing smirks and barely-contained laughter. It was tradition.

And tonight, the setup was perfect.

The shift ended just past 8:00 p.m. The team trickled out to the park across from the hospital. An unofficial post-shift ritual. Six-packs were cracked open, greasy takeout was distributed, and bodies collapsed onto benches and grass with groans of exhaustion.

Jack sat down on the bench beneath the park’s old oak tree. Y/N followed a moment later, plopping down beside him and handing him a cold beer without a word. He took it, nodded once in thanks, and rested his hand casually behind her on the bench’s backrest.

The newbies were huddled together with their drinks, watching the two of them closely.

“She just… handed him a beer. Didn’t even ask.”

“He just leaned closer. Did he smile?”

“Is this… are they…?”

And then, it happened.

Y/N, hair frizzed from the day, leaned her head gently onto Jack’s shoulder. He didn’t flinch or look surprised. He just shifted slightly so she’d be more comfortable, gave her a kiss at the cheek, and took a slow sip of his beer.

Javadi gasped audibly.

Robby was right there. He stood up with theatrical slowness and clinked his bottle against Jack’s with a smirk. “About time. PDA on the first date, huh?”

Jack rolled his eyes, and Y/N chuckled, nudging him with her shoulder.

“Wait, wait, what?” Whitaker sputtered, beer halfway to his mouth. “Are they together?!”

Dr. Santos, three bites into her falafel wrap, didn’t even look up. “Called it”

"We are married" Y/N said with a chuckle

“What?!”

Jack reached into his scrub top and pulled out a thin chain. On it, a modest gold band. Y/N mirrored him, revealing the matching ring around her neck.

The interns looked like they’d just been hit by a trauma case themselves.

“Four and a half years,” Y/N said with a shrug, sipping her beer.

“You knew?” Mel asked Langdon, stunned.

Langdon snorted. “Of course I knew. Everyone knows.”

“Everyone?” Javadi asked, eyes darting around.

A chorus of nods followed

Matteo added “We like to see who figures it out. It’s the only entertainment we get some nights.”

The newbies just sat there, stunned.

Jack and Y/N? Married? The most professional, zero-nonsense duo in the hospital?

Robby smirked at their dumbfounded faces and muttered to Jack, “Still can’t believe she said yes to you, man.”

Jack didn’t respond. He just leaned a little closer to Y/N, who was now resting comfortably against his shoulder, completely at ease.

And in that moment, everything felt exactly where it was supposed to be.

[tedmustache]

Hi! I wanted to send a request for Dr. Abbott. Reader and Abbott are married and she is also a doctor, they’re both on shift together and a particularly angry person assaults reader. Abbott is absolutely fuming but also is extremely worried about his wife, as she struggles with not only her injuries from the patient but also if she wants to continue working in the hospital after the horrible couple weeks she’s been having there. Thank you in advance!

Healing Wounds

Pairing: Jack Abbot x wife!reader

Warnings: slightly angst with happy ending, reader being hurt (not by Jack), fluff, protective!Jack

Summary: When an attack shakes Dr. Y/N Abbot, Jack helps her heal while she questions her medical career.

Requests are open | Main Masterlist

[...]

The emergency room buzzed with its usual controlled chaos. Monitors beeping, nurses rushing between beds, the low hum of overlapping voices. Dr. Y/N Abbot adjusted her stethoscope and exhaled slowly. It had been a brutal shift, and the past few weeks had drained her more than she wanted to admit.

Across the room, her husband, Dr. Jack Abbot, glanced at her, his eyes softening at the exhaustion in her posture. He flashed her a small, reassuring smile before turning back to his patient.

Y/N loved medicine, but lately, the weight of it all pressed down on her. The sleepless nights, the relentless pace, the occasional hostility from patients who didn’t understand how hard they were trying to help.

And then, it happened.

A man, broad-shouldered and red-faced, stormed into the ER, shouting at the nurses. Y/N stepped forward, her voice steady. "Sir, please calm down. We’re here to help you."

"Help?" he snarled. "You call this help?"

Before she could react, his hand shot out, shoving her hard. Y/N stumbled back, her hip slamming into a cart before she hit the ground. Pain flared up her side, but the shock of it was worse.

The room erupted.

Jack was at her side in seconds, his hands gentle as he helped her up, but his expression was dark with fury. He turned toward the man, his voice dangerously low. "If you ever touch her again—"

Security was already pulling the man away as he shouted curses. The noise faded as Jack’s attention snapped back to Y/N. His hands trembled as he cupped her face.

"Where are you hurt?" His voice was rough, not with anger, but with a raw and ungarded fear

Y/N swallowed hard. "I’m okay," she whispered, but her voice wavered.

Jack’s jaw tightened. He guided her to an empty exam room, away from the chaos, and checked her over with careful hands. A bruise was already forming on her hip, and her wrist was tender.

But the worst of it wasn’t physical.

Tears welled in Y/N’s eyes as she looked at him. "Jack… I don’t know if I can keep doing this."

His heart cracked.

Jack knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his. "Talk to me, sweetheart."

"The stress, the hours, the way some people treat us like we’re the enemy…" Her voice broke. "And now this? I love being a doctor, but I don’t know if this hospital is where I belong anymore."

Jack pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. He pressed a kiss to her hair, then another to her temple, his lips lingering. "You don’t have to figure it out tonight," he murmured. "But whatever you decide, I’m right here with you. Always."

Y/N buried her face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in. The familiar scent of antiseptic and his cologne, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His arms around her were an anchor, solid and sure.

Jack tilted her chin up, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. "You’re the strongest person I know," he said softly. "But you don’t have to be strong alone. Not when you’ve got me."

A small, tired smile tugged at her lips. "Even if I quit tomorrow?"

"Even if you quit tomorrow," he promised, kissing her forehead. "Though I’d miss working beside you."

She laughed weakly, leaning into him. "I’d miss it too. Just… maybe not the part where I get shoved to the ground."

Jack’s expression turned serious. "That’s never happening again. I’ll personally ban every rude patient from this hospital if I have to."

Y/N smiled, warmth spreading through her chest. "My hero."

He grinned, that boyish, lopsided smile she loved. "Damn right."

For the first time in weeks, the weight on her shoulders felt lighter. Because no matter what she chose, Jack would be there. Not just as her husband, but as her partner in every sense of the word.

And that was enough.

[tedmustache]

I love your "The Pitt" fics!

Omg, thank you so much😊😊😊

[tedmustache]

The Way You Stay

Pairing: Ted Lasso x reader

Warnings: panic attack

Summary: Loving him meant knowing when to speak and when to simply stay.

Requests are open | Main Masterlist

[...]

It happened on a Tuesday.

Nothing particularly bad had happened. Training went fine, the lads were in good spirits, and he even got a text from Henry with a picture of the Lego set they’d been building together over FaceTime.

But still, Ted couldn’t breathe.

The panic hit hard and fast, without warning. His hands started to tremble during a meeting. By the time he was halfway down the hallway, the world had narrowed to sound and heartbeat and the terrible feeling that he was sinking in place.

He managed to get to the storage room and shut the door before anyone saw.

Anyone except you.

You’d been looking for him. You didn’t even knock. You just knew.

When you opened the door and saw him. Sitting on the floor, back against the wall, breathing fast and shallow. Your heart cracked, but your face stayed calm. Because that’s what he needed.

“Hey, baby,” you said gently, stepping in and closing the door behind you.

Ted shook his head, eyes wide and glistening. “I—I don’t know what’s wrong, I just—” He gasped. “I can’t—breathe.”

You didn’t tell him to calm down. You didn’t ask what caused it.

Instead, you knelt in front of him and slowly, wordlessly, took both of his shaking hands in yours.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered.

“I—I don’t wanna be like this. Not in front of you.”

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead lightly to his. “You don’t have to hide from me, Ted. I love all of you. Even the parts that ache.”

His breath hitched.

You kept your voice low and even. “Do you remember what works? Breathing with me?”

He nodded—barely. You guided him through it, just like before. Inhale. Exhale. Over and over until the air didn’t burn so much, until his hands stopped shaking, until the storm started to pass.

Minutes passed. Maybe more. Time didn’t matter. Only that he was still here. Still with you.

When his eyes met yours again, he looked so tired. But safe. Safe in a way that told you he knew he was loved.

“I hate that you have to see me like this,” he murmured.

You reached up and brushed a tear from his cheek. “I’d rather see you like this than not see you at all.”

He let out a quiet, shaky laugh. “Guess I picked the right person, huh?”

You smiled softly and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You really did.”

He leaned into you then, his arms sliding around your waist, and you held him like something sacred. You stayed with him until the world felt normal again. You always did.

Because love wasn’t just the good days, or the wins, or the laughter.

It was this.

The way you stayed.

[tedmustache]

Reader x Robby or Abbot your pick but reader who's dating Abbot or Robby who becomes a mother figure to the newbies, they start calling them Ducklings so that sticks, and Whitaker ends up calling reader mama duck, so she runs with it despite his embarrassment, so at one point spring the day reader yells our "I need my ducklings cmon over!" And the newbies flock to them and they give their ducklings a peptalk and jack or robby are like "fuck now I have a bunch of adopted kids:

Mama Duck

Pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Robby's relationship gets a chaotic twist when the newbies start following his girlfriend like ducklings... And the nickname sticks.

Requests are open | Main Masterlist

[...]

It started small. Quiet. Barely noticeable.

You weren’t trying to be anyone’s mentor. You just knew how to get things done and the rookies? They noticed. They started asking questions, following your lead, sticking close. You offered advice, snacks, and a sharp glare when someone was about to do something monumentally dumb.

And without meaning to, you became their mother figure.

You patched up Whitaker’s scraped knuckles after his third fall in drills. You helped Delaney remember his locker code. You lent Freya your hoodie when she forgot hers in the rain. One by one, they fell into orbit around you. Loyal, messy, eager.

They started calling themselves your ducklings.

The nickname “Mama Duck” came from Whitaker.

He didn’t even mean to start it. You were leading them across the yard, newbies clumped together, tripping over each other when he muttered, “Alright, alright, Mama Duck’s on the move. Everyone waddle up.”

You stopped walking.

He froze.

“What did you just call me?”

Whitaker’s ears went pink. “Nothing. It was a joke. I—I rescind it.”

You smiled, slow and wicked. “Too late.”

And that was that.

[...]

Spring Training Day arrived hot and unbearable. Everyone was tired, sun-drunk, half-melted. The newbies were flagging. Sloppy in drills, low on morale. One wandered off. Another sat down mid-sprint and declared she was “emotionally cramping.”

You clapped your hands, loud.

“I NEED MY DUCKLINGS! C’MON OVER!”

The reaction was immediate.

Whitaker nearly tripped over his water bottle getting up. Mel shouted “Duck Squad, ASSEMBLE!” and within seconds, they were all around you. All sweaty, breathless, and grinning like idiots.

You looked them over like a general inspecting your troops.

“Alright, my little disasters. This isn’t the day we fall apart. You’ve got this. Push through. Head high, water bottles up, and if I catch any of you fake-limping to get out of drills again, I swear I’ll revoke snack privileges.”

“Yes, Mama Duck!” they chorused.

Robby, watching from nearby, groaned.

“This is getting out of hand.”

You turned to him, smiling. “Jealous?”

He walked over, arms folded. “They’ve been calling me Papa Duck, you know.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“For days. It’s a whisper campaign.”

You grinned. “Fitting.”

“Don’t start.”

Santos, still catching her breath, popped her head up. “It’s better than what we were calling you before.”

Robby narrowed his eyes. “Which was?”

“Stepdad Robby.”

You bit your lip, trying so hard not to laugh.

Robby just stared at the sky. “Why do I even come here?”

You bumped your shoulder into his. “Because deep down, you love having a flock.”

He looked back at the ducklings. All of them looking like a mess

And then he looked at you.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “I’ve got a flock.”

You kissed his cheek. “Yeah. And I love you for it.”

[tedmustache]

If you able/comfortable to could you do a Dana Evans x Female Reader, one many where the reader is either a nurse or not and she gets hurts and Dana finds out and it’s just hurt comfort and maybe some heavy making out (I feel like Dana would be the more dominant partner in a relationship). Thank you 3>

n/a: Dana is not on the list of characters I write, but I thought the request was really cute and I had to write it haha

Not Going Anywhere

Pairing: Dana Evans x f!reader

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Tension, Making Out

Summary: You get hurt. Dana finds out. She's not happy, but she's definitely not letting you go.

Requests are open

[...]

You didn’t notice the cut until you were scrubbing out after your shift, half-delirious from twelve hours on your feet. You and Dana had both been on call, two nurses in chaos, tag-teaming emergencies, trading glances across trauma rooms, sharing exhausted smiles between patients.

But now that the rush had calmed and your shift was over, the sting on your forearm hit like a delayed warning sign.

You glanced down. A thin but angry gash ran from your wrist toward your elbow. Probably from when you’d bumped into the sharp corner of that damn IV cart during the code blue. You hadn’t stopped to check. There was too much happening, too many people to help.

You were rinsing it under cold water, teeth gritted, when Dana’s voice came from behind you.

“Are you kidding me?”

You flinched, not from the pain but from the tone. Sharp. Fierce. Dana-level worried.

She was still in her scrubs, her curls pulled up, her badge lanyard hanging loose around her neck. Her eyes locked on the cut instantly.

“You didn’t say anything.”

“I didn’t think it was that bad.”

Dana was already moving, grabbing a sterile pack from the supply shelf with muscle memory precision. “You didn’t think it was that bad, so you just… didn’t tell your girlfriend you were bleeding?”

You shrugged, weakly. “There were literally people coding. I figured it could wait.”

She turned to you with that look, the one she gave patients who tried to joke through pain, the one that could silence an entire ER. But instead of scolding, she reached for your arm, gently turning it so she could see the wound better.

“You would’ve chewed me out if I did this.”

“That’s different.”

“It’s really not,” she said, eyes scanning your skin. “You don’t get to run on empty and then ignore it when your body tells you to slow down.”

There was something in her voice. Frustration laced with fear, the kind of fear that came from loving someone in a high-stakes world. You felt your chest tighten.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly.

Dana looked up then. “Don’t be sorry. Just let me take care of you, yeah?”

You nodded.

She cleaned the cut carefully, her touch warm, steady. Her fingers brushed against yours as she wrapped the gauze, and it made your heart skip. You’d seen Dana in every kind of emergency. Calm under pressure, laser-focused, but when it came to you, she wasn’t calm. She cared too much. And it made something ache sweetly in your chest.

“You’re lucky I was still in the locker room,” she muttered, taping the last edge down. “Or you would’ve gone home like this.”

“I wasn’t going home. I was gonna meet you first.”

Dana looked up, a smirk teasing her lips. “Even bleeding out, you’re still kind of a simp for me.”

You laughed. “Maybe. A little.”

She stepped closer, her hands now settling at your waist, her voice lower. “And what am I supposed to do with a girlfriend who gets herself hurt and still tries to flirt her way out of it?”

“I mean… seems like it’s working.”

Dana didn’t answer. She just leaned in and kissed you. Slow at first, then deeper. Her hands tightened at your hips, pulling you in, her body pressing yours lightly against the locker. You sighed into her mouth, letting her take over, letting the adrenaline and the tension and the affection all crash into one long, dizzying kiss.

“You’re not going anywhere,” she said against your lips.

“Good,” you whispered. “Didn’t want to.”

She kissed you again, harder this time, like a promise and a warning all at once.

And you let her, gladly.

[tedmustache]

Married Name

Pairing: Michael "Robbie" Robinavitch x reader

Warnings: jealous!Robbie

Summary: Robbie decides to casually reveal their marriage in the most dramatic way possible.

a/n: I had this idea and NEEDED to stop everything and write it.

Requests are open | Main Masterlist

[...]

There were a few constants in Robbie’s life.

One: shift change was never on time.

Two: someone always stole the last cup of coffee.

And three: he’d never get tired of watching Whitaker try (and fail) to flirt with his wife.

Not that anyone knew she was his wife. Not officially. It was a quiet, mutual decision. She didn’t want special treatment. Wanted to build her own reputation, not ride his coattails. And Robbie, proud bastard that he was, respected the hell out of that.

Didn’t mean he didn’t get a little twitchy every time some poor idiot looked at her like she’d hung the moon.

Especially Whitaker.

The kid had it bad. Could barely string a sentence together when she was in the room. Red-faced. Tongue-tied. Dropping things like it was a nervous tic.

It would’ve been funny, if it didn’t happen every single day.

Tonight, they were finishing rounds, both bone-tired and running on fumes. Robbie’s back was aching. He arched it slightly, trying to shake out the stiffness.

“You drink anything at all during this shift?” she asked, brow furrowed with that soft concern she reserved only for him.

God, he loved her.

He didn’t respond. Just gave her a smirk and one raised brow.

She huffed. Reached into her bag at the nurses station and handed him a bottle of water.

And there it was again: Whitaker, standing just a few feet away with a gaggle of residents, eyes all wide and stupid like a puppy who just witnessed someone else catch the stick.

Robbie took the water, unscrewed the cap, and took a long drink

And the look on Whitaker’s face?

Even better

He swallowed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and, because he could, leaned just a bit closer to her and said, loud enough for Whitaker to hear:

“I don’t know what I’d do without you. Good thing I’m married to you.”

Then he took another sip and strolled away like he hadn’t just dropped a nuclear bomb in the middle of the emergency department.

He didn’t have to look back to know what was happening. He could feel the silence. The stunned, heavy stillness. Could practically hear Whitaker’s jaw hitting the floor.

Collins’ cackle echoed from somewhere behind him.

Robbie didn’t stop until he hit the supply closet. Waited exactly ten seconds.

Then the door creaked open.

There she was.

“You’re insufferable,” she said, but she was smiling, arms crossed, trying not to laugh.

“You love me,” he said easily.

She rolled her eyes, stepped in, and shut the door behind her. “You couldn’t have waited until we got home for the PDA?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Robbie tilted his head. “Let the kid down easy. He was getting his hopes up.”

She stepped closer, poked a finger into his chest. “You’re jealous.”

He caught her hand and grinned. “Delighted, actually. Whitaker’s expression might be the best thing I’ve seen all week.”

“Mm.” She leaned in, just enough to make his heart pick up a beat.

And then, instead of kissing him on the mouth like he’d hoped, she pressed a soft, warm kiss to his cheek. “You’re lucky I like you.”

His grin widened. “I’m married to you. That’s more than luck.”

And she was still smiling when she walked out first, leaving him in the supply closet with a bottle of water and a satisfied smirk that lasted the rest of his shift.

[tedmustache]

could you something where both dr robby and dr abbott have a crush on the reader who’s a nurse? if not it’s all good! have a good day!

n/a: Hey, thanks for the ask! I hope you like it

Triage

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader x Michael "Robbie" Robinavitch

Summary: Amid the nonstop pressure of a Pitt emergency room, one nurse navigates long nights, relentless crises, and two doctors who are harder to read than any medical chart.

Warnings: impliced!jealous!jack, impliced!jealous!Robbie, clueless reader

Requests are open | Main Masterlist

[...]

The ER in the heart of the Pitt never really slept. Pain didn’t follow a schedule, and neither did the people crawling in from collapsed scaffolding, gunfire, or accidents no one could quite explain. It was all smoke, rust, and adrenaline.

She moved through it with the calm of someone who’d stopped counting emergencies. Her gloves were slick with blood from a deep gash across a foreman’s arm. The man winced, but she kept working, clean and efficient.

Jack Abbott stepped inside without a word. He didn’t need to announce himself, everyone knew when he was in the room. He stood nearby, arms crossed, eyes tracking the way she sutured with confidence, like this wasn’t the tenth patient of the night.

“Need a hand?” he asked, nodding toward the man on the cot.

“Sedative’s working. He won’t move again.”

Jack didn’t say more, just grabbed a bandage and started wrapping the cleaned area once she was done, like it was something they always did together. It wasn’t. But he made it feel like it was.

Then came the flap of the curtain being shoved aside too fast.

Dr. Robby, slightly out of breath, holding a tray of meds and his beat-up tablet, scanned the room until he saw her.

“They told me you were here,” he said, offering the meds. “Penicillin. And results from that worker with the lung infection.”

“Thanks,” she said, accepting both. She didn’t miss the way Robby’s gaze flicked to Jack or the way Jack didn’t look away.

“You eat anything yet?” Robby asked.

“Didn’t get the chance.”

“I can grab something for you—”

“She’s fine,” Jack interrupted, calm but firm. “She knows how to take care of herself.”

Robby looked over at him. “I wasn’t saying she didn’t.”

Her hands paused over the tablet. She didn’t look at either of them.

“If you two want to argue,” she said, not raising her voice, “do it somewhere that’s not my triage area.”

That shut them up. Jack left first, quiet as he came. Robby hesitated for a moment, then followed without another word.

Hours later, during one of those unofficial breaks that only happen when the bleeding stops for ten minutes, she leaned against the back wall of the ER with a paper cup of water, spine aching.

Robby passed by carrying two coffees. He stopped when he saw her.

“Got an extra. In case you still haven’t eaten.”

She took it silently, nodded. It was good. Hot. Thoughtful.

A few minutes after, Jack rounded the corner with a folder of reports in one hand and a tired look on his face.

“Need someone to help review these,” he said. “You’ve got the sharpest head in this place.”

She looked at both of them, then up toward the steel-beamed sky above the ER.

Neither said anything else.

And for now, that was enough.

[...]

From the other side of the hallway, just out of view, three nurses stood near the supply cabinet pretending to organize gauze.

“She’s got no clue,” Perlah muttered, peeking around the corner with a smirk.

“She’s too focused on keeping everyone alive,” Dana said, arms crossed. “But I give it a week. Tops.”

Princess scoffed. “A week? Please. Two days. The way Jack stares at her? And Robby bringing her coffee like it’s a love language? She’s gonna figure it out.”

“And then what?” Perlah asked. “Who do you think she picks?”

The three looked at each other, and grinned like it was the best kind of drama.

No one said anything out loud, at least not yet. But the bets were on.

And the ER, for all its blood and heartbreak, suddenly had something else running through its veins: anticipation.

[tedmustache]

Hi, may I request Jack Abbot x fem!reader with them almost getting caught going at it while at work by different coworkers and no one knows they're together, but the one that does catch them is Whitaker or Robby and Jack is like "I'm helping her find something." Pls and thank you! 🥰😁

a/n: I loved this idea! Hope you like it :)

Adrenaline

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader

Summary: In the nonstop chaos of The Pitt, two ER doctors find something dangerously steady in each other. Between late shifts, locked doors, and close calls, they navigate a secret that’s as thrilling as it is fragile—because in a place where nothing stays quiet for long, hiding how you feel might be the riskiest move of all.

Warnings: innuendos

Requests are open | Main Masterlist

[...]

It started in the quiet in-between moments, those fractured seconds where the world narrowed to the heat of a shared laugh in the break room, the electric brush of fingers over a patient’s chart, the way his thumb would linger on your wrist when passing a syringe.  

You told yourself it was nothing. 

But then came the late shifts, the ones that left your bones aching and your lungs raw with the scent of antiseptic. Nights when the ER’s fluorescent lights flickered like dying stars, and the only thing that didn’t feel heavy was him. 

Jack, with his stupid smirk and the way he could make you forget the blood on your scrubs with a single glance. That was the danger.  

You were ease in chaos. And chaos was all you had.  

No one suspected. Not even Perlah and Princess, who had a sixth sense for gossip.

But then again, you were both professionals.  

The first close call happened in radiology, wedged between filing cabinets and the ghostly glow of old MRIs. You were supposed to be pulling images for a pelvic fracture. Instead, you were pressed against cold metal, Jack’s mouth tracing your jawline, his hands mapping the bare skin beneath your scrub top like he was memorizing it.  

"Someone’s going to walk in," you breathed, half-laughing, half-terrified.  

"Then we’ll be quick," he murmured against your pulse. "Five minutes. Ten, tops."  

You shoved him back, but your fingers curled into his sleeves. "You’re the worst."  

"You love it."  

And you almost said something reckless—something true—when—  

Knock. Knock.  

"Anyone in there? I need Walker scans!"  

Dana

Jack moved like a soldier under fire. Smooth, practiced, already spinning a lie as he straightened your scrub with one hand. He cracked the door, all lazy charm and raised brows. "Just grabbing them. They were misfiled behind expired head CTs. Classic."  

Dana’s eyes narrowed. "Why’s the door locked?"  

"Security protocol."  

"That’s not a thing."  

"It is now, check your email"  

She scoffed but let it go. The moment the footsteps faded, you sagged against the cabinet, heart hammering.  

"Security protocol?" you whispered, biting back a laugh.  

Jack’s grin was pure mischief. "Looked convincing, didn't it?"  

[...]

The end of the charade came a week later, in the hushed glow of the imaging room. The ER had been a warzone all shift. Gunshot wounds, a code blue, a toddler with a bead lodged so far up her nose you’d almost laughed from sheer exhaustion. You and Jack moved in sync, though, a single organism with four hands, finishing each other’s orders without speaking.  

And then, between one breath and the next, he cornered you under the hum of the machines.  

"Missed you today," he murmured into your temple, voice rough with fatigue.  

"You handed me a scalpel an hour ago."  

"Yeah." His lips grazed your cheekbone. "Missed you while doing it."  

This time, you kissed him first—slow, deep, a silent confession in the dark.  

Cue the door swinging open.  

"Jack, do you—oh."  

Robby.  

The three of you froze. Jack shifted instinctively, blocking you with his body (pointless, but sweet). Robby blinked, processing, then slowly backed out.  

"I’m gonna pretend I didn’t see anything."  

Jack cleared his throat. "She was looking for something."  

A beat. Then, from the hallway:  

"Under your scrubs?"  

"Very thorough search," you called back, deadpan, before collapsing into silent laughter against Jack’s chest. He just pressed a kiss to your hair, like getting caught was nothing. Like you were everything.  

[...]

Later, in the ambulance bay, the city exhaled around you—streetlights bleeding into rain-slick pavement, the distant wail of sirens a reminder that the world kept turning. You sipped terrible coffee, shoulders touching.  

"So," you said. "Robby knows."  

Jack shrugged. "Yeah. Probably."  

"You’re okay with that?"  

He turned, eyes dark and sure. "I already have what I want." A thumb brushed your knuckles. "Let them talk. They don’t get to know what this is unless we say so."  

You nudged him. "And if someone else walks in on us?"  

Jack’s smirk was a promise. "Then I’ll say I’m helping you find something."  

"Yeah? What exactly am I looking for?"  

His voice dropped, stripped bare of jokes.  

"Me."  

And this time, in the quiet, no one interrupted. 

[tedmustache]

Doctor’s Orders

Pairing: Michael "Robbie" Robinavitch x Reader

Summary: Between long shifts, late-night triage, and the chaos of The Pitt, something quiet has been building between Dr. Robbie and Y/N. When one rough day pushes things to a breaking point, unspoken feelings come dangerously close to the surface and maybe neither of them is ready to pretend anymore.

Warnings: Mild medical content (ER setting, mentions of injuries, fever, collapse), Brief strong language

a/n: pure fluff with mutual pining, hope you like it

Requests are open | AO3 Link | Main Masterlist

[...]

The first time he hears you cough, he brushes it off.

The second time, during triage, while you’re elbow-deep in a gunshot wound and still somehow calm, he notices the hitch in your breath, the slight sheen on your forehead, and the way your voice cracks when you call for more gauze.

By the third time, he’s watching you too closely, and Collins catches him.

“You’re staring,” she mutters, handing him a chart. “Again.”

“I’m observing the technic” he replies, too quickly.

She smirks. “Uh-huh. Observing her technic of trying to sounds good even when she looks like she’s about to pass out?”

He tries not to react, but he’s already scanning the ER. You’re at the meds cabinet, hand braced against the wall like the world’s tilting.

Shit.

He crosses the floor before he realizes he’s moving, brushing past two residents and nearly knocking over a med student.

He reaches you just as your knees buckle slightly, nothing dramatic, just enough for concern and his hand catches your elbow.

“Whoa,” he says, a little breathless.

You blink up at him, eyes glassy.

“I’m fine,” you say, clearly lying.

He ignores that. “You’re flushed. And swaying.”

“I’m tired. Rough shift today”

“You’re burning up.”

Your mouth curls into a crooked smile. “Maybe it’s because you’re holding my arm.”

He really shouldn’t smile back.

But you’re you, and you say shit like that without realizing it drives him up the wall.

“Sit,” he says.

“Robbie—”

“That wasn’t a suggestion.”

He hears snickering behind him — Collins, probably — but he’s too focused on getting you to the empty gurney in the corner of the ER. He pulls the curtain shut. If anyone has something to say, they can say it later.

“You’re running a fever,” he says, snapping a thermometer under your tongue before you can argue again.

You roll your eyes, but let him work. He grabs a blanket, a bottle of water, and puts together a makeshift rest station like you’re one of his patients, which, technically, you are now.

He’s trying very hard not to look at how tired you are. Or how soft your expression gets when you realize he’s fussing over you.

“You’re off shift,” he says finally. “Doctor’s orders.”

You blink. “I’m not a patient.”

“You are today.”

“Are you going to tuck me in next?” you tease, smirking.

He pauses. “Do you want me to?”

There’s a beat of silence. Your eyes go wide. Behind the curtain, someone stifles a laugh — definitely Collins this time.

You swallow. “I think I can handle it.”

He nods, steps back.

His pulse is a mess.

“Hydrate. Sleep. If I catch you working before that fever breaks, I’m chaining you to the bed.”

“You’re very bossy when you care.”

That one knocks the air out of him for a second

“Just rest,” he says, and leaves before his expression gives anything away.

He doesn’t mean to hover.

Okay, maybe he does.

He checks on you twice. Three times. Maybe four. Brings you water, adjusts the blanket, shushes the interns when they get too loud.

You’re sleeping peacefully, curled on your side, cheeks flushed and hair falling across your face. You look… soft. Vulnerable.

Human, in a way people rarely get to be in The Pitt.

One of the drunk patients watching the whole thing apparently had enough and screams “You gonna sing her a lullaby, too?”

“Shut up” he mutters, not looking away "Someone discharge him, for god's sake"

He leaves a tray of food by your cot before he finishes his shift. Stale bread, mystery stew, and a single perfect pear. He was going to keep it. But then again, he was also going to not fall for the most competent, infuriating, stubborn doctor in the entire ER.

Too late now.

He scribbles a note on a scrap of paper and tucks it under the tray.

You forgot to eat. Again. - R

He doesn’t sign it with his full name. Doesn’t need to. You’ll know.

When you’re back on shift the next day, fever gone, voice rough but steady, he’s relieved. More than he should be.

You meet him in the hallway, lean casually against the wall.

“Thanks,” you say.

He raises an eyebrow. “For what?”

“The pear. The blanket. The whole, you know, aggressively caring thing.”

He shrugs. “I told you. Doctor’s orders.”

You smile. Slow and warm and devastating. “I think you care even when you’re off-duty.”

The same drunk patient snorts from down the hall. “Oh my God, just kiss already!”

You both freeze.

You open your mouth. Close it. Turn pink.

Robbie, somehow, stays composed. Barely.

“Don’t mind him” he mumbles annoyed

“I don’t.”

You glance up at him. Eyes soft, hopeful. For half a second, he thinks maybe, maybe, you’ll say something else.

Then an intern shouts about a bleeding patient in Bay 2, and the moment breaks.

You straighten, professionalism sliding back into place, but before you can walk off, Robbie reaches out, gently catching your wrist.

"Hey," he says, quietly. Just for you.

You stop. Look at him.

He hesitates. The hallway around you buzzes with footsteps, shouting, chaos. The usual.

But right here, with you, it's still.

"I do care when I’m off-duty," he says, voice low. “More than I probably should.”

Your eyes widen, but you don’t pull away. His fingers brush yours but not enough for anyone to see, but enough for you to feel it.

You smile, softer now. “You think I don’t?”

He huffs out a breath, not quite a laugh. “You’re impossible to read sometimes.”

“You’re impossible, period.”

You’re both smiling now. It’s ridiculous, almost in the middle of an ER, a trauma case probably seconds from crashing, but he doesn’t want to let the moment go.

"Look," you say suddenly, voice quieter, “I’ve been trying really hard to be professional about this, whatever this is, but the thing is…”

You trail off, shaking your head with a breathless laugh. “I think I’ve been falling for you since the shift with the twin stab wounds and the vending machine fire.”

He blinks. “That was—”

“—Four months ago,” you say. “I know.”

There’s a pause. Long enough for him to step just a little closer. His hand finding yours properly this time.

“I’ve been falling for you since you yelled at the trauma surgeon for calling you ‘nurse girl’” he says.

You laugh — really laugh — and he’s never been more gone.

“You gonna kiss me now?” you ask.

He does.

Right there in the hallway. Not dramatic, not performative. Just real.

Warm. A little rushed. A little messy. But exactly right.

You break apart a few seconds later, and your grin is pure sunlight. “Doctor’s orders?”

“Doctor’s orders,” he echoes.

The ER shouts around you. Someone yells something about a crash cart. Collins swears loudly in the distance.

You both glance toward Bay 2.

“Back to work?” you ask.

“For now.”

But as you both head back into the chaos, shoulders brushing, it’s clear something shifted.

Not just a moment anymore.

Something real. Finally said out loud.

And maybe, just maybe, the next time someone yells "just kiss already!", Robbie’ll just shrug and say:

“We already did.”

[tedmustache]

Coffee Swap

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader

Summary: It starts with coffee. Then it becomes something more.

Warnings: none, just pure fluff

Requests are open | AO3 Link | Main Masterlist

[...]

It started with coffee.

Black, no sugar. The kind most people couldn’t stomach. But she remembered. Every time their shifts overlapped, there it was, sitting quietly on his desk before rounds began. No note. No explanation. Just coffee.

At first, he thought it was a fluke. A mistake. But it kept happening. And after the third cup, he knew it was intentional.

She never said anything. Didn’t ask for thanks. Just left it there like it didn’t mean anything.

But it did.

He noticed her long before the coffee. The way she moved through chaos with quiet focus. The way she stayed calm when things got messy. The way her laugh—rare, but genuine—cut through the sterility of the ER like sunlight through blinds.

Jack had spent years perfecting the art of distance. He kept things professional. Efficient. Impersonal. It was easier that way. Safer. But something about her made that wall feel… thin.

So one Monday morning, after a hellish double, he got there early. Bought a second coffee. Sweet, with a splash of cream, the way she always ordered it.

He left it on the break room table and leaned against the counter, waiting.

She walked in, paused mid-step, staring at the cup like it might explode.

“You… got me coffee?” she asked, voice edged with disbelief.

He shrugged. “Figured it was my turn.”

She took a sip. Her eyes softened. “Thanks.”

He nodded, kept his expression flat, and walked out. But as he turned the corner, he felt something strange tug at his mouth. A smile, small and involuntary. He hadn’t smiled like that in a long time.

[...]

It became a thing. No one talked about it, not even them.

Some days it was coffee. Other times, food left in the fridge with his name scribbled in her neat handwriting. Once, she handed him a smoothie with a deadpan, “Don’t fight me on this, you need something green.”

He didn’t fight her. He never did.

It was easier not to think too hard about what it all meant. About how he found himself noticing when she wasn’t around. Or how he started showing up five minutes early on her shifts, pretending it was for paperwork.

He liked routine. Control. But this? This was different. It didn’t feel like losing control. It felt like giving it up, willingly.

[...]

Then one day, Dana cornered him in the hallway, grinning like a kid with a secret.

“So,” she said, “you and her, huh?”

He frowned. “What about us?”

She just laughed and walked away.

It shouldn’t have rattled him. But it did.

Later that night, he waited by the exit, two coffees in hand. He told himself it was nothing. Just routine. Just habit.

But when she saw him, her smile did something to his chest. Made it tighten, then ease.

“Late shift?” she asked.

“Nope.” He held out her coffee. “Just wanted to make sure you got this.”

Their fingers touched when she took the cup. This time, neither moved away.

“You know,” she said softly, “people are starting to talk.”

He looked at her. Really looked. Saw the question she didn’t say out loud.

“About what?”

“About us.”

And for the first time in a long time, Jack Abbot let himself smile. Fully, openly. No walls. No mask.

“Let them.”

Because he knew now: it was never just about the coffee.

[...]

a/n: I'm just in love with him

[tedmustache]

Check it out the series masterlist (also, requests are open)

Started cross posting here

Posted the first chapter of my Ted Lasso/OC fanfic called The Heart of the Game

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63623872/chapters/163071910

Summary: When Emma Welton, the slightly reserved assistant coach of AFC Richmond, crosses paths with Ted Lasso—the relentlessly optimistic new head coach—she expects chaos, not chemistry. Ted’s sunny disposition and unorthodox methods clash with her guarded but funny nature, but as they work together to turn the struggling team around, an unexpected connection begins to form. Amid the pressures of the Premier League, media scrutiny, and her sister Rebecca’s hidden agenda, Emma finds herself drawn to Ted’s warmth and sincerity. But can their growing bond survive the challenges ahead, or will the weight of their responsibilities keep them apart? A slow burn romance unfolds in this heartfelt story of love, trust, healing and second chances.