#stubbornness

[crazygnomenclature]

"Tough (pt. 3/6)"

Who knew doctors still made house calls?

Thank you to the real Dr. Ferdjallah for letting me use you in a comic, and to my EMT consultant Emma.

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[comfortingcatharsis]

A character not yet recovered from injury/illness, and really not recovered enough to be up and about for any length of time, insistent that they have to attend some event or occasion, be it actually important or not, and so determined to do so that there's no stopping them even if they're upright and conscious through sheer willpower alone and leaning heavily on their companions the entire time, masking their pain with visible effort and limited effectiveness and absolutely going to collapse as soon as the the event is over (or before).

[inkhours]

COMING SOON

masterlist navigation

1. JOHN PRICE x wife!reader – multiple chapters

now published

For two years, you and Captain John Price have been secretly married. As a medic working with the 141, keeping it quiet was the easiest way to protect your careers and your relationship. But the secret falls apart when Soap accidentally discovers a hidden ring box in Price’s office.

Cue absolute chaos: suspicious teammates, near-miss slip-ups, and Price trying (and failing) to keep a straight face as the 141 pieces the truth together.

Now your private world is colliding with the world’s nosiest task force… and Price can only mutter,

“…bloody hell.”

2. JOHN PRICE x f!reader – multiple chapters

After a string of painfully disappointing dates with civilians, you start to wonder if love just isn’t in the cards for you. Captain John Price has been quietly observing your romantic misadventures from the sidelines and he’s had enough. One honest comment from him shifts everything, revealing a tension neither of you can ignore anymore. Maybe the right person has been closer than you thought all along.

3. HARRY CASTILLO x f!reader – multiple chapters

Harry Castillo is used to having everything, but when it comes to the woman he loves, money can’t solve her pride.

Reader is fiercely independent, determined to make her own way, yet Harry can’t stand to see her struggle. As he tries to help without taking control and she fights to maintain her autonomy, their love is tested in ways neither expected.

[philosophybits]

Those obstinate in deeds are in greater danger than those obstinate in words, for there is greater risk in doing than in saying.

Baltasar Gracián, The Art of Worldly Wisdom

[theeg0ddessofspring]

Mars Sign Series: Mars In Taurus ♉︎⋆˙⟡

This is just a general reading based off of my experience, knowledge and intensive research as an Astrologer, Numerologist & Occultist. An entire chart reading needs to be done to fully determine this information. Take what resonates. 𓃓

With Mars in Taurus, you can be just as slow moving, slow acting + reacting as a Taurus Sun or Moon. Slow and steady wins the race. You despise being rushed. Unless Aries or a lot of aspects to Mars are present, such as squares, oppositions to Pluto or Mars aspects the ascendant, you are slow to anger. Like Mars in Scorpio, the shadow side of Mars in Taurus, your anger could be well hidden, giving people multiple chances to stfu, until you finally explode and start swinging or charging at them, like the bull you are, whether that be verbally or mentally. Scorpio is a lot more brooding, unforgiving, vengeful & vindictive when people cross the line. Scorpio Mars’ anger will boil, brood, bubble before it finally boils over and explodes like a pot of water. Taurus Mars’ anger slowly sizzles & simmers like a gourmet steak, even like a ticking time bomb. Your anger is always timed. Good things (even bad things) take time, like a firework show on New Year’s Eve when you’re counting down until the big finale. This could often shock people, leaving them fucking speechless. ( ˶°ㅁ°) !

That anger may not come as quickly as Aries’, but once it’s over, just like Aries, you could go right back to normal, like nothing even happened, but you could definitely hold grudges. Once that bull starts charging, how tf do you plan on stopping it? Their anger is no different than an actual bull with a red flag swinging in front of them. Taurus, like Scorpio aren’t called the constellations of Terror & Destruction for no reason. You can look it up in occult research or find out more about the signs in Greek Mythology, even in the bible. Ex : The Book of Enoch. My father has this placement and had a reputation of ignoring people’s bullshit (for their own safety lololol) until he finally had enough and would knock them out with only one punch. One punch !!! Lmfao, like he is literally one punch man. Pulling from Scorpio, your anger and aggression could be very unexpected, yet powerful. You can tolerate a lot of bullshit, until you finally crash tf out, like the Sun in Taurus. Not to mention, you can smell bullshit a mile away. You could peep everything and say nothing. However, you mess with the bull, you get the fucking horn. I can definitely relate to this as a Taurus Sun individual. ⋆˚✿˖°

Being ruled by Venus, which also rules over Libra, the sign of love, beauty and peace, peace is very important to you, so when people challenge it, you can go berserk if provoked enough and shut that shit all the way tf down. You are typically calm, cool and collected until provoked. Not only is Taurus co-ruled by Venus, but it is primarily ruled by Earth. Think of Mars in Taurus as the Earth itself, which is nature. Nature represents the balance between good and evil. It can be as beautiful and peaceful as a lovely spring day breeze, but it can also be very destructive like the hurricanes, tornadoes, tsunamis, earthquakes and volcanic eruptions that occur here on Earth. Nature, like Taurus, represents the balance between good & evil. ࿊

A Taurus Mars’ anger can come at you in all forms of which Earth represents, like a tornado Tasmanian devil, a volcanic eruption or a fucking unexpected, sudden and catastrophic earthquake. Don’t fuck with or sleep on Mars in Taurus. Speaking of sleep, if you are born with Mars in Taurus, you could burn out easily, but not as bad as a Mars in Libra. You could like to sleep a lot, take naps, breaks or indulge in food, sensual sex or luxury. You could be a bit lazy, even a homebody, but that doesn’t stop you from getting to the bag. Money and luxury is very important to you. Like most Earth signs, you may not know how to relax. You could sleep and lounge around the house all day, yes, but as far as mental and emotional relaxation, you could be very bothered when you feel as if you don’t have enough money in your pocket. 💸₊˚⊹

Earth signs, especially Taurus rules money. You could restrict yourself from going out, going on vacations, trips, dates, etc if you feel you don’t have enough money, even if you do. You may also avoid relationships until you feel completely financially stable or fulfilled, or else the romance is dead without the money. Even the simplest things in life that require little to no money, you could hold yourself back on, just because you feel as though every single thing requires money in order to have fun, when that’s far from the truth. You are very stubborn and will not budge when it comes to your values or beliefs, especially when it comes to mundane things, like money.

Like any fixed sign, it’s very difficult to change your mind and you’re a "I’ll believe it when I see it type of person." You like to see shit for yourself when people try to change your mind. Words don’t hold much weight with you. Like Cancer, you just value security to its highest degree. Know, that just a walk in the park to stay grounded could do you justice in getting out of the house. When in relationships, you could be seen by others as very "boring," because you don’t seem to know how to live & let go. Earth signs have a very bad reputation of being seen as "boring," which is completely false. They’re reserved. Not to mention, practical. Practicality is everrryyything. That reserved look can make you appear very stern and overly serious. Life is too short to be so damn serious all the time lol.

You could be always worried about saving money, but also quickly spend it, if you’re not the most responsible, despite being so conscious of your finances. You are very disciplined, but at the same time, in life, you want nothing but the best of the best. Your taste is very expensive, having an insatiable appetite for all the finer things in life. You probably buy a lot of shit you don’t even need or use, even something like a car, handbags, beautiful & expensive flowers, expensive shoes, etc, etc, the list goes on. Even your pet could be expensive as hell. Things could literally just sit in your closet or garage for months, even years, just collecting dust or dry rotting, especially if you don’t go out much. It’s not uncommon for a Mars in Taurus native to be a homebody or couch potato. You work, then come straight home, to your humble abode. Your peaceful sanctuary. You could spend a lot on takeout as well, unless you’re the type who likes to cook a lot. Either option, costs a good bit of money. Groceries ain’t cheap lol, especially not eating out everyday. ‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅

When it comes to sex, you could be very touchy, feely in the bedroom, unless you have a lot of Uranian traits that stifles this a bit. Taurus is all about sensuality and physical touch, while their opposite, Scorpio is all about sexuality. With it comes to physical touch, similar, but not the same as the Sun in Taurus, you could be really skilled at choosing things that are pleasing to the touch, even if it’s someone’s body. Physical touch and spoiling your loved ones with food is your love language, even gift giving. Taurus placements make excellent gift givers. You are great at picking out certain fabrics, etc, anything you can touch or feel. Taurus is the master of the 5 senses.

Touch, taste, smell, hearing and sight. You have a keen eye and judgement for the best of the best when it comes to foods, clothing, scents, music, etc, for some of you. You know when a dish or something as simple as a candle, perfume, or cologne is of good quality just by your sense of smell. The clothing, jewelry, shoes, fabrics, etc you choose are typically very expensive looking, before you even look at the price. Your eyesight itself is luxurious or expensive lol. All of these things are apart of comfort, not just the bed you sleep on. Comfort, luxury, money, food and security is what you value most. Venus rules love, beauty, money & pleasure for a reason. ⋆˙⟡♡

Again with sex, you could be into getting a foot rub before or after sex, taking a bath together with candles, rose petals & essential oils, getting a back or full body massage before or after sex, listening to music while you fuck, Netflix & chill, getting your hair done or played with after sex, breakfast in bed, even eating food off of someone’s body as a form of foreplay. Foot fetishes is also a Taurus thing. You could like sucking toes or getting your toes sucked in the bedroom, lmfao. If you’re a man, you probably like a woman to have "pretty feet." You could also love a lot of oral sex, pulling from Mars in Scorpio. Taurus rules the neck and throat, so you may like to give a lot of head or you could just very well excel at giving head.

You could just eat your partner up just as much as your favorite food. You could even like to have outdoor sex, for it represents Earthy things. You probably get sore throat a lot lol, not just because of sexual reasons, but because Taurus doesn’t adjust to weather changes very well, so people with strong Taurus placements may get sick often or get chills really easily. This could also come from a thyroid issue. Drink lots of tea with honey and lemon, especially during the winter. You take your time in the bedroom, so you may like to make love more than you like to fuck, unlike Aries, especially the women with this placement. You wanna feel every bit of your partner & your experience in the bedroom. You could also be the type to cuddle or fall asleep right after sex too lololol. Basically all of the sensual things in life that scream Taurus. Just remember to think about the 5 senses. ☿

Like the typical Taurus traits, you could be very possessive of your partner. At its worst, you could see your partner as a literal possession of yours. You could even be a really jealous partner, pulling from Scorpio. With Mars in Taurus, you could attract or be attracted to other people who have Mars in Taurus. This info could also apply to those who have Mars @ 2°, 6°, 20° & 24°. When it comes to the physical body, since not only the Ascendant, but the Moon, Venus & Mars also plays a role in your appearance, you could have a pretty nice, beautiful, decent or sensually appealing looking body if you take care of yourself and not overeat. Mars in Taurus has a tendency to not just overindulge with luxury, but with food. You’re like a dog who can’t stop eating lololol.

You are on a never ending mission for money, wealth, stability and security. You like to surround yourself with beauty and luxury. Mars also rules drive, so this is what drives you and keeps you going throughout life. You expect your partner to be just as stable as you are, and if they aren’t, you could help them build that and achieve it together or you’d choose to be left alone. You could have a lot of comfy furniture & blankets in the home, even lots of really nice collectables & plants . ᭄᭡ ͏ ͏ ͏ Satisfaction is key, just as romance & finance go hand in hand. The songs for this post is so Mars in Taurus, especially the second song, by Topaz Jones. Also, listen to "Ain't Nothin' Goin' On But The Rent" by Gwen Guthrie & you’ll know exactly what I mean when it comes to this sign & their money + love affairs . . .

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That’s it ! See you next time on Loner’s Blog (Z) ! 𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊

DO NOT 🧿 try to re-word, re-post, or re-blog my work, without tagging me first or giving proper credit. DO NOT post my work on other platforms. I will not tolerate plagiarism of any kind. Be prepared to legally suffer the consequences of it. This is your only warning ! This original post belongs to @theeg0ddessofspring aka @theegoddessofspring.

© 2025 theeg0ddessofspring.🐃 All Rights Reserved

[lyn31]

Making another ask to make a request hehe i hope it's okay with you 🥰 can you pretty please write about mc's early pregnancy stage? (If you're not planing to write it already) Like how would they feel with mc's job as a hunter? I feel like during this time they might have a little argument since zayne probably would want her to take a break from her job the moment they found out y'know since her job is very pyhsical and the risks of harming the baby but mc might be a little bit stubborn about it? imagine her fainting during her mission because of fatigue and how would zayne's reaction to it be? (maybeee just a little tiny bit of angst? but definitely with a happy ending cause i can't handle sad ending, you can add a bit of smut too if you want hohoho) I'm sorry if this is too hard for you to write 😭 anyway thank you for all the amazing stories, i'm looking forward to read more of your writings! 🥰

It ended up being a hurt/comfort 🫶🏻🥹 I never thought I'd write one of these, but then again, that’s what I said the first time I wrote smut 😂

Speaking of smut—I didn’t end up fitting any in. I was thinking maybe it could happen when they get back home. Obviously no sex smut since MC’s still in early pregnancy, but some comfort smut would be nice.

BUT I thought this ending already tied things up with such a great little bow :D

Hopefully you like it! Let me know what you think (good or bad—lay it on me) 💕

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Stubborn

Summary

In the aftermath of a close call, you navigate the haze of recovery surrounded by unwavering love—from your partner’s steady care to your sister’s fierce loyalty—until the weight of fear gives way to healing, one quiet moment at a time.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader Hurt/comfort, family feels, early pregnancy.

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Zayne closes his tablet with a soft click, his gaze already on you. He doesn’t say anything. Just looks.

You shut the door a little harder than necessary when you step back into Zayne’s office, the familiar scent of disinfectant and tea grounding you just enough not to explode. He’s still seated at his desk, calm as ever, reading one of his medical cases.

You just finished a call with the HQ.

“They’re not letting me work in the field anymore,” you huff, dropping into the seat across from him. “But if I really want to work, I can be support from base. You know—report duty, logistics, the fun stuff.”

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t give me that look.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he replies mildly, folding his hands like he’s a neutral party in a murder trial. “But if I had, I might’ve said this was predictable.”

“I know it’s not possible,” you groan, tipping your head back. “And I don’t want to be in the field anyway. I’m not trying to hurt our baby.”

He reaches for your hand, which you take immediately.

“But they didn’t have to say it like that,” you go on, toying with his fingers. “Like I’m fragile. Like I need to be wrapped in bubble wrap and locked in a temperature-controlled room.”

“They didn’t say that,” Zayne points out, far too calmly.

“That’s what they meant.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Did they also say it in a tone you invented for them?”

You shoot him a look. “You’re very smug for someone who’s supposed to be on my side.”

“I am on your side,” he says smoothly, standing up and walking over to you. “Which is why I’m supporting your decision to, what was it? Rot behind a desk with a highlighter and a clipboard?”

You groan again, burying your face in his stomach. “Don’t remind me.”

He chuckles, then leans down slightly, his cool fingers brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “They’re not saying you’re useless. You’re not.”

Your hands wrap around him. “I’m not.”

He tilts his head. “Then stop talking like you are.”

You purse your lips, stubborn, but you can’t hold the tension when he leans down, voice dipping just enough to soften the blow:

“You’re still you. Even if you’re not kicking down doors right now.”

That gets a small breath of laughter out of you, even as you lean your head back against the chair again.

“...I’m still going to complain,” you mutter.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Zayne murmurs, brushing a kiss to your temple. “But next time you get assigned report duty, I’ll make tea.”

You glance at him. “...With the good honey?”

He smiles faintly. “Only if you stop acting like being careful is a personal insult.”

You snort.

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The hum of the squad’s base is a quiet background drone—keyboards tapping, screens flickering, comms static fading in and out. You’re perched at the long center table, elbow-deep in reports you’d rather not be writing, a stylus clutched in your aching fingers.

Tara walks by with a cup of something steaming and suspiciously sweet-smelling. She pauses when she sees you still working.

“You’re aware no one’s asking you to finish all those today, right?” she says, eyeing your growing stack. “Unless you’re aiming for a stress-induced birth.”

“I’m behind,” you mutter, not looking up. “Someone’s gotta get them done.”

“You mean besides the two rookies we literally hired for this?”

“They’re slow.”

“They’re new.”

“They’re too new.”

Tara sips her drink and squints. “You know this is your villain origin story, right? ‘Hunter turns paperwork tyrant after desk job.’”

You give her a withering look. She grins and walks away.

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Later, Lara leans in behind you without a sound, placing a small snack packet next to your elbow.

You blink. “What’s this?”

“Protein and fiber,” she says with that calm smile of hers. “You skipped lunch just because your husband isn’t here to give it to you.”

“I did not—”

“You took two bites of toast and drank a coffee.”

You frown down at the packet. “I’m not hungry.”

Lara just squeezes your shoulder. “Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t eat.”

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The next day, you’re rearranging case logs and editing mission summaries—because, of course, no one else formats headers right—and your back is killing you. You stand to stretch when Rose walks in and catches you mid-pose, one hand bracing the small of your spine.

She crosses her arms, already judging you.

“You realize you’re not obligated to be the Association’s unpaid intern, right?”

“I’m just keeping busy.”

“You’re nesting in spreadsheets.”

You glare. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting. I’m continuing.”

She tosses a folder onto the desk, tone sharpening just enough to dig in.

“You don’t like this work. You’re not even supposed to be doing it. But you’re acting like if you stop for five minutes, the world’s gonna forget you exist.”

“I’m not—!”

“You are,” she cuts in. “And the worst part is, if I were doing this? You’d be the first to tell me to sit my ass down and breathe.”

You open your mouth, but the only thing that comes out is silence—and a wave of heat rising in your cheeks.

She sighs, more gently now.

“You’re not going to disappear just because you’re slowing down. You’re pregnant, not invisible.”

You drop back into your chair, tense and unwilling to admit she’s right.

Rose lingers a second longer. “You wanna prove something? Prove you can listen for once.”

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You're curled on the couch in the corner of Zayne’s office, tablet propped on your thighs, stylus dancing across the screen as you breeze through another stack of reports.

He’s been pretending to review scans, but he’s mostly been watching you.

“How many reports is that today?” he asks finally, eyes not leaving his tablet.

You don’t look up. “Just a couple.”

“That’s your third ‘couple’ since this morning.”

You sigh, the stylus slowing. “They pile up when no one does them.”

“There are other that can help you as well.”

“They’re busier than me.”

He hums, noncommittal. You recognize that sound—it means he’s noting everything and choosing silence for now.

He stands after a moment, crossing the room without a sound. You expect him to hover, maybe offer tea again. Instead, he crouches in front of you, cool hands gently taking your ankle before you can object.

“Zayne—”

“You’ve been sitting too long,” he says simply, thumb pressing into the soft, swollen flesh near your arch.

You let out a sharp breath—not from pain, but the sudden relief that spreads like warmth through your foot. It’s startling, how much it hurts and soothes at the same time. Like peeling off a pressure bandage you didn’t realize you were wearing.

“I’m fine,” you murmur.

“Mm,” he replies, entirely unconvinced. He keeps working, fingers precise, careful. “Do you want me to stop?”

The ache in your calves pulses in response—a dull throb reminding you of every hour spent hunched over case files and mission logs. You hadn’t meant to ignore your body. You just... forgot.

He moves to your other foot, and when he finds the sore spot along your heel, you twitch slightly.

The moment his fingers start to knead with practiced care, your shoulders sag. The tension there slips loose without permission—like your body had been waiting for someone else to give it the okay to stop.

“You didn’t even stretch today, did you?” he asks.

“I meant to.”

He glances up, expression unreadable—but the way he shifts, drawing your legs into his lap so he can rub deeper along your calf, says everything. You don't protest. You just let your head fall back against the couch cushion, exhaustion seeping out of you in slow waves.

“You’re not helping your case by spoiling me like this,” you murmur, eyes closed.

“You’re not helping mine by pretending you don’t need it.”

He doesn’t say slow down. Doesn’t tell you you’re overdoing it—you’ve heard that enough from everyone else. Instead, he presses his thumb gently behind your knee, finding the tight muscle you didn’t realize was sore, and stays silent.

It makes you feel safe enough to rest your hand on your stomach.

He notices that too.

After a while, he murmurs, “You’re not a machine.” His voice is soft, but there’s steel underneath. “Even machines get maintained.”

You sigh. “Don’t start lecturing. I already got one from Rose.”

“I’m not lecturing,” he replies, moving his hands to your leg. “I’m observing.”

You scoff. “That’s worse.”

He keeps his massage pace steady. “Your body’s telling you to rest. You’re just not listening.”

“Because if I stop, I’ll—” You cut yourself off.

Zayne’s hands still for a second, before he continues again. But he still waits. Doesn’t press.

“I just... don’t want to feel useless.”

“You’re not,” he says simply. “You’re growing a whole human. You’re working harder than all of us.”

You drop your gaze. Your hand drifts to your stomach, and for a moment, a flicker of guilt settles in your chest—before you brush it off.

He touches your knee gently. “And before you say that doesn’t count—it does.”

You exhale, stubborn to the bitter end. “I just want to do my part.”

“You are,” he murmurs. “Even when you’re tired. Even when you’re quiet. You’re allowed to take care of yourself and still be part of everything.”

He stands, smooth and graceful as ever, and disappears into the office kitchenette. A moment later, he returns with a steaming mug and a little packet of dried fruit Lara had slipped you days ago.

You blink. “You kept that?”

He shrugs. “I’m observant, remember?”

He hands you the tea, careful not to say more.

But when you settle against the back of the couch again, sipping quietly, his fingers brush yours—just long enough to remind you he’s still there. Still watching. Still ready to catch you if—or when—you finally fall.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The mission had gone smoothly—standard sweep, zero surprises. And just when everyone was ready to head back and clock out, the patrol assignment came in.

You straighten without a second thought. “I’ll come.”

Tara, still adjusting her gloves, pauses. “Come where?”

“On patrol.”

A beat of silence.

Rose levels you with a look. “No.”

You raise a brow. “It’s just a regular route. You said yourself it’s the quietest zone.”

“That’s not the point—”

“I’ve been sitting for days, my legs are cramping, and if I stare at another report I’m going to set fire to the desk.”

Tara mutters, “That’s valid.”

Lara looks at the sky. “Please don’t actually set fire to the desk.”

“I’ll stay in the middle,” you add, like it sweetens the deal. “I’m a support unit. Ranged. I’m not going to be diving into anything.”

Rose folds her arms. “You’re still—”

“Pregnant, yes, I know,” you cut in, already tugging on your jacket. “Not made of glass. I’m not even showing yet. And HQ already approved base-side support, didn’t they?”

“They didn’t mean outside the base,” Rose mutters.

“They didn’t not mean it.”

Everyone looks at you.

You lift your chin, undeterred.

Lara speaks next, dry as ever. “Fine. But you’re in the middle.”

“I was planning to—”

Rose cuts in sharply, “You’re. Staying. In. The. Middle.”

You squint at her. “You’re not the squad leader.”

Lara, hand on her forehead. “You’re staying in the middle.”

You roll your eyes. “Noted.”

Tara snorts, clearly enjoying herself. “I’ll take rear side. Can’t have mom-to-be dodging wanderer guts and ruining her pretty boots.”

“I hate those boots,” you mumble.

“Exactly. That’s how we know you’re tired.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You fall into formation—Rose at the front, Tara flanking rear-left, Lara bringing up the back, and you moving steady in the middle. It’s familiar. Easy. Your steps sync with theirs, your gun balanced at your side, Evol humming at your fingertips.

No one says it out loud, but they’re all subtly adjusting around you. Slower pace. Widened spacing. You catch it—but you let it go.

Because for the first time in weeks, your legs don’t ache from stillness. The air smells like rain instead of hospital antiseptic or your base’s office.

The zone is clean—stray wanderers here and there, nothing your squad can’t handle in their sleep.

You’re tired, sure—but this, you can handle it.

Until the air tears.

It doesn’t start as sound—it’s pressure. Your lungs forget how to breathe a moment before the world bends and tears open.

A Deepspace tunnel splits open in the middle of the street.

“Contact—two o’clock!” Rose snaps, a violet slash coming from her hands already singing through the first thing that crawls out.

You shift, instinct kicking in. Your Evol flashes, syncing instantly to Rose’s—sharpening her edges, accelerating her strikes.

Tara surges forward, intercepting another, and you link to her next, boosting her reflexes mid-movement. Lara flanks right behind with a glowing barrier.

It’s a tight formation. Efficient. You keep your distance, keep your focus. Your hands tremble a little, but you bite it back. One more boost—one more sync—

It starts getting hard to see clearly.

Your head pounds. Your knees buckle, unsteady.

You shift focus again, try to keep up with the flow, but your Evol stutters with jagged pulses, like it’s struggling to hold a signal. The edges of your vision blur.

Something disconnects. You think you hear someone yell your name—

And then nothing.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s the faint beep of a monitor you hear first. A soft rhythm, too steady to be anything from the field.

Then fingers. Wrapped around your hand, cool yet steady. Anchoring you.

Your eyes flutter open.

White ceiling. Hospital lights. The faint scent of antiseptic.

And Zayne.

His face is the first thing you see—tired, eyes ringed with shadow, but locked on you with absolute focus the moment you stir.

“You’re awake,” he says—relief and fear tangled in his voice.

His voice has that low, careful tone he uses with patients—except it’s thinner now. Strained around the edges.

Before you can say anything, he’s checking you, doctor-mode overriding everything. Fingers at your pulse, brushing against your wrist. A touch to your forehead. Gentle pressure along your wrist.

“No fever,” he murmurs to himself. “Vitals are stable... you fainted from exhaustion.”

You try to speak, but he’s already leaning in, brushing your hair from your face like he needs to see you fully to believe it.

Then, his hand lifts yours, holding it close. His lips press to your knuckles. Then your temple. Then your cheek.

No anger. No lecture. Just that quiet sorrow in his eyes.

“I was scared,” he admits, barely a whisper. “You weren’t waking up.”

Your chest tightens. You try to blink it away, but his hand squeezes yours, grounding you again.

He exhales through his nose, like he’s been holding it in for hours.

“I should be angry,” he says finally, voice low. “But I’m mostly just... terrified.”

You blink at him, throat tight.

“You could’ve gotten hurt. Worse. You and the baby.”

His eyes stay locked on yours, steady now—but not cold. Just bare.

“I know you want to help. I know sitting still drives you mad. But pushing yourself until you pass out—how is that helping anyone?”

Your lips part, but he shakes his head gently, thumb brushing your wrist.

“I’m not saying this to hurt you. I’m saying it because I love you.”

You swallow hard, your throat dry and raw. “I didn’t think it would get that bad,” you murmur, voice barely there. “I just… I thought I could still be useful.”

His expression doesn’t shift much, but his thumb stills against your skin. “You are. You always are. But not like this.”

He lowers your joined hands onto the blanket, his other hand trailing along your arm like he’s reminding himself you’re still here. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Least of all to me.”

You look away, eyes burning. “It didn’t feel that way.”

“I know,” he says quietly. “That’s what scares me.”

He leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours. His touch is cool, his presence a balm—but beneath it, you feel the way he trembles. Just faintly.

“I need you to take care of yourself,” he whispers. “Not just for the baby. For me, too.”

You nod—slow and aching, the fight bleeding out like water through a cracked glass.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” he says, and his voice shakes just enough to break your heart. He lifts your hand again, presses it to his cheek like he needs the anchor just as much.

“I know you were trying your best. But I need you to stop carrying all of it like it’s only yours to hold.”

His eyes meet yours—clear, but so raw. “You’re not alone in this. You never were. So please… stop acting like you have to be.”

You swallow hard. “I just... I didn’t want to be a burden.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, jaw tight, like the words cut deeper than you meant them to.

“You’re not,” he says. No hesitation. “You never have been. Not now. Not before.”

Your throat stings. “Then why does it feel like I am? Like if I stop, if I let go even a little, I’ll just fade into the background while everyone else moves on without me?”

Zayne shifts, leans forward, and rests his forehead against your temple.

“Because you're so used to holding everything up, you don’t know how to not fight for space. Even when no one’s trying to take it from you.”

You breathe in slowly. His scent, the warmth of his skin, the steady thrum of his presence—everything about him quiets the noise in your head just a little.

“I thought I was helping,” you whisper. “I wanted to help.”

“I know,” he says again. “But pushing yourself until you collapse doesn’t help anyone—not me, not the baby, not your squad. And especially not you.”

His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing under your eye where a tear slips free.

“I don’t need you to be perfect,” he says gently. “I need you to be here.”

Something in you breaks—not with violence, but with mercy. Like something brittle giving way to light.

You nod, a little shaky. “I still want to do better.”

Zayne presses a kiss to your temple. “Then rest. Let yourself breathe. That’s where it starts.”

And this time, when your eyes close again, it’s not from exhaustion—but relief.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You wake again to the sound of a quiet page turning.

Zayne sits beside you, long legs folded, a medical file in one hand—yours, probably—but his attention snaps to you the second your breathing shifts.

He sets it down. “You’re awake.”

His voice is softer this time. Less strained. The lines around his eyes are still there, but something in them eases.

You blink at him. “You’re still here?”

“I wasn’t planning to leave.” He brushes his fingers over your wrist, like he’s making sure your pulse is still real beneath his touch. “How do you feel?”

“Tired.” Your voice comes out dry and rough.

He nods once. “That’s good.” Then he picks up the glass of water from the side table and offers it to you. His fingers graze yours as you take it—but he don’t pull away immediately.

You pause, then shift your other hand to gently hold his, anchoring it there. Your thumb brushes over his knuckles, light but deliberate. He squeezes your hand in return.

“It means you’re listening to your body, not fighting it.” His lips twitch, just a little.

You exhale before taking a slow sip of the water, letting the coolness ease the rasp in your throat. His hand stays in yours.

When you lower the glass, you don’t let go.

And for the first time in hours, you feel more at ease.

Zayne’s thumb brushes lightly across your knuckles—once, twice. Then, gently, he says, “Rose and Caleb are here. With the twins. They’ve been waiting outside—Rose didn’t want to crowd you unless you were ready.”

You go still. “The twins?”

“They were very insistent about seeing their favorite aunt.”

You arch a brow. That’s your line—he usually waits for you to say it, then replies with, “their only aunt.”

But this time, he says it for you.

And something about that—gentle, unexpected—makes a strange, delicate flutter rises in your chest.

Tender. Fragile. But steady.

Hormones, yup, that’s why.

“Can I see them?”

Zayne leans in, kisses your forehead, brushes your hair back with careful fingers. Then he steps into the hallway. A few quiet murmurs follow. The door opens.

Rose is the first to step in.

She looks... fine. Hair tied up, usual jacket slung over her arm, lips pressed into a flat line. But her eyes linger too long on the monitor beside you. Her fingers twitch at her side like she wants to check the IV, double-check your vitals—anything to do something. Instead, she stops at the foot of your bed.

“You look like shit,” she says, dry as ever.

“Thanks,” you rasp, voice hoarse.

Rose exhales. Shoulders sink. “I mean. You scared the hell out of us.”

You open your mouth, but she holds up a hand. “Let me get through this without crying yet.”

Caleb enters with the twins—both wide-eyed and quiet for once, clinging to his hands. They’re three now, just tall enough to peek over the bed railing. Caleb gives you a small smile, nods once—like we’ll talk later—and steps aside.

“I shouldn’t have let you come on patrol,” Rose says, voice quieter now. “Even if it was routine. Even if nothing was supposed to happen. You’re my twin. My squadmate. I knew you weren’t at full strength. I just...” Her breath stutters. “I just thought if I said no, you’d push harder. And I didn’t want to be the bad guy.”

You swallow. “I wanted to be there.”

“I know.” She folds her arms, eyes wet. “But I should’ve been the one to stop you anyway.”

“You tried,” you say. “You did more than anyone. I just—” Your voice cracks. “I didn’t want to be left behind.”

Rose’s expression finally breaks. She moves toward you, voice shaking. “You’re not behind. You’re with us. And you always will be. Just—don’t do that again, okay? Don’t scare me like that.”

You reach for her at the same time she leans in. Arms wrap around each other tight—shaky, unsteady, clinging like you're both trying to fix something that cracked open between you. Her forehead presses to your shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she chokes out.

“Me too.”

That’s when the twins—silent up to this point—decide they’ve had enough of being observers.

They scramble up the bed, climbing over your legs like determined little puppies, wedging themselves between you and Rose, their small arms trying to hug both of you at once.

And then they’re crying. Loud and messy and confused.

“Mommy’s crying,” your niece says, and your nephew wails, “Why is Auntie sick—stop being sick!”

Rose laughs through a sob, pulling them in tighter. “She’s okay, baby. She’s okay now.”

It’s a mess of limbs and tears and sniffles on the bed, and for a moment, the whole room is soft with the sound of people trying to breathe again.

At the side of the room, Zayne stands with Caleb, arms loosely crossed, watching the scene unfold.

“Should we hug it out too?” Caleb murmurs, glancing sideways.

Zayne gives him a bland look. “No.”

Caleb grins and then sighs, dramatic. “I thought we had something, Zayne. Where’s my love?”

Zayne doesn’t even blink. “Buried somewhere beneath your need for theatrics.”

“Ouch,” Caleb mutters, clutching his chest like he’s been personally wounded. “Ruthless. No wonder your patients love you—you leave just enough emotional damage for a lasting impression.”

Zayne exhales through his nose, gaze drifting back to the bed where the tangle of you, Rose, and the twins is still unfolding—small hands clinging, Rose’s face pressed against your shoulder, the kids hiccuping their tears into your sides. The corner of his mouth pulls, barely, almost a smile.

Caleb watches him for a moment longer, then, softer. “...Glad she’s okay.”

Zayne doesn’t say anything to that. Just nods once.

And that’s when Caleb pulls out his phone. He doesn’t even hide it.

“I’m taking a picture.”

Zayne lifts an eyebrow, but doesn’t stop him.

“For the photo wall,” Caleb says, angling it just right. “Or the ‘look at your chaotic emotional legacy’ folder for when they’re teenagers. Whichever comes first.”

He takes the picture with the absolute stealth of a dad used to capturing chaotic moments.

Zayne watches, quiet. But this time, when the screen captures your face mid-laugh, he doesn’t look away.

Your hand in Rose’s hair. Little fingers tangled in yours. Tears drying slow on your cheeks. A smile caught between sobs, still glimmering. The moment is already saved.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Notes

This week is just serious week I guess... Are we all just in our period? Is that why? Cuz I am.... 🫠😂 Joking aside, hope y'all enjoy it! 🫶🏻🥹

[sempsimps]

Sick Fyodor x reader

This is my first Fyodor fic, sorry if it's ooc, but yk I'm trying to get use to his character. The illness isn't really described, just a general fever, ig.

You should have seen this coming.

You know Fyodor has no regard for his body, only seeing it as a vessel.

But that never stops you from trying to help him.

He was so engrossed in his plan for Meursault that he barely left his desk or room. You would knock and leave food outside to avoid distracting him, but when you'd returned an hour later, he hadn’t touched it. Annoyed, but still reheat the meal, go in and insist that he eat at least half of it.

You're currently lying down in his workroom on my makeshift bed, wrapping a blanket around the cold of your body. As your eyes began to close and drift off to the sound of keys clicking, your startled back awake by Fyodor’s occasional sniffle. With a grumble and slowly getting up, carrying the blanket. You draped it over his slouched shoulders. He jumped in his seat and quickly covered something on his desk.

Turning to look up. You instantly noticed his nose was red and sore from wiping it. Perhaps it was the faint purple lights, but he appeared even paler than usual.

"You're cold."

"No, I'm fine-"

You walked off and laid back down, ignoring whatever protest he had against it, curling up into my own body to stay warm in this ridiculously cold room.

This had been going on for days, and he was only getting worse, working himself to the bone. It wasn't different from his usual lack of self-care, but this was more concerning than usual. His words were sluggish and slow, and even his typically fast-paced typing seemed to require more thought.

During lunch, you brought him some Earl Grey tea with lemon, hoping it would help if his throat was sore. Walking in with a simple sandwich and the tea, placing it on his desk while cleaning up the mess of tissues, plates, and coffee.

As you were tidying up, you saw that among the scribbles on the papers, your name was written there, partially hidden under his arm.

"Thank you, my dear. What's in this?"

His voice was raspy and broken, he had to clear his throat after not speaking for hours.

"Tea, it should help. no medication in it I swear, I don't plan to do that, ever. again."

He seemed so tired his eyebags were the same colour as the coffee that was long cold, he rubbed his eyes. as he only hummed remembering the last time he was sick, not like he was ill now, no, of course not. You went through usual rounds of self-care suggestions.

"Why don't you have a nap?"

"I don't have time."

"As always."

He looked positively exhausted. Suddenly, he was coughing and holding a hand over his mouth. gentlygetting frail back and noticed a slight shive and not running through him. With a frown, you left him alone again, planning to return later. He probably wouldn't accept help, perhaps out of stubbornness.

In the kitchen, making a simple cup of soup that you just add hot water to. Once the water boiled, you poured it into a mug and stirred in the packet of powder, hoping it would be enough for now.

Returning to the office, opening the door, and stepping into the room. Your eyes immediately fell on the sight of the sick man. He was no longer hunched over the desk. Instead, he lay curled up on the bed. Visible shivers ran through his body as he clutched the blanket, rubbing his face into a pillow to relieve another headache, a low groan escaping his throat.

"Fyodor, you look awful"

No comment, just let out an annoyed huff and shot a glare from beneath the fabric. You rolled your eyes and placed the cup of soup on the floor, the spoon making a slight clink against the porcelain. With an annoyed scoff, you turned to leave, raising hands in mock surrender.

"Fine, fine, I'll leave, whatever."

"N-no. Don't go, my angel..."

You freeze, stopping all teasing and movement. He only called you that when he truly felt vulnerable. His voice was raspy, as if he were dehydrated. Without hesitation, you moved to sit next to him, pulling back the soft fabric to reveal his pink-dusted face. His purple eyes were unfocused and half-lidded. biting your lip, holding back a curse and a blush. As my hand reached for his forehead, feeling the heat radiating from him without even touching his skin. He was clearly overheating.

"Fu- you have a fever, damn it. Fyodor, you stupid-. now, will you let me care for you?"

"Mh.. okay, angel..."

Pushing the red blush down and sighing, walking out. A small whine reached your ears. quickly headed to get a bottle of water, but was stopped when the Russian got out of bed to follow. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath before looking at him. He was slumped against the wall, his shaking hands barely supporting his little amount of weight. His eyes searched for yours just as the blanket slipped from his ghostly form.

"Alright. come on your getting in that bath"

You shifted closer to him, feeling the urgency of the moment, and leaned down. Left hand wrapped firmly around his thin waist, while your right hand gently supported his thigh. With a soft grunt and bend your knees and lift his delicate body off the ground. As you did, Fyodor’s malnourished hip pressed uncomfortably into your shoulder, a stark reminder of his weakened form. A small groan escaped his lips, dazed and muffled, before he began to mumble incoherently against your lower shoulder blade, his voice filled with confusion and weariness.

"You're too kind to me, I don't deserve you, my angel..."

"Okay, you're getting delusional now"

You tried to ignore the heat on your face as you carried the man with little effort. walking over to the door, nudging it open with a foot, stepping inside, and placing Fyodor down on the countertop next to the sink.

When you turned around, his hands moved from your back to your neck, which then slipped from their grip on you. A soft whine escaped his chapped lips at the loss of contact. You turned on the tap, waiting for the water to get hot, before putting the plug in the tub and adding some muscle relaxant soap that is only used occasionally. Small bubbles formed, and you felt a sense of satisfaction knowing that you could get the stubborn man into the water, where he wouldn't move for a while.

You brace yourself for the most daunting task, peeling him out of his slightly damp clothes. You grasp the fabric of his shirt and pull it over his head, getting very little resistance. A success but unusual. As the shirt slips away to the floor, you lock your gaze with clouded purple, searching for a response. Instead of words, he offers a soft hum, and his head lolls against my shoulder, the weight of him causing you to stumble slightly.

The warmth of his skin increased worry as it rested there. Taking a pause before reaching down, glancing away at the bit, might have married the man, but now is not the time. And as a devoted Christian, you must not lust in your heart. But just one peek?..... Jesus Christ! Nope, no, no. He is clearly not well, don’t even think about it.

You used a foot to feel around the floor and push down to remove the fabric from his ankles. You didn’t want to look at his grabbable waist and his pale, easily marked skin. Your face flushed deep red, but you could blame it on the steam from the bath.

After some blind stumbling, finally you helped the stubborn, anaemic into the hot water. He grumbled about me being an angel once again, but you quickly brushed that comment aside.

"I'm getting you some water"

"Okay, angel"

Fyodor leaned back in the bath, his head resting against the tile wall. You covered my face with a hand, trying to block out a dirty image from your mind. Swiftly walked away to grab a bottle of water. On your way back, you just about remembered that he was hiding something.

You snuck into the office, scanning the cluttered desk for the paper you had spotted earlier with your name on it. When you finally located it, you were taken aback by the sight of a large, crumpled piece of paper, its edges tattered from countless folds. As you carefully unfolded it, it became increasingly clear that he was trying to find the best way to keep you hidden from his enemies while also ensuring the plan went smoothly.

A soft smile spread across your face. He doesn't often show much affection outwardly, so this was heart-melting how much he wanted to keep you safe. Refolding the paper before returning to the bathroom to sort out the love of your life, pretending to not melt over the reason he's so run down

I hope that was okay. This is technically my second fyodor fic, but I'm redoing the first posted one since i hated it. I don't really know how to accurately write him (his expressions and emotions fw my tisum wrongly)

But anyway, I have more bsd stuff I plan to finish soonish