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humanjarvis · 9 hours ago

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hello and wow i have been floored by the response to this so far. thank u for reading my unhealed academic trauma and desire to see strong men cry. in true iris fashion i’ve been watching the comments and rbs like a hawk and crying a bit myself at how nice they are 🥺🥹💕 i swear this happens every time i lose confidence lmao

anyway this was a good writing experience! zayne might be my favorite li to write for actually (but iris, what about the caleb amoeba in your brain? i know, i know). one thing i wanted to talk about though was the fact that even though zayne is really…compliant in this, he’s not necessarily comfortable with it? like he’s so exhausted and unsettled that he lets reader take care of him, but the next day, he tries to make up for it and reclaim the like. lightly dominant and dependable image i think a lot of us have of him.

it first happens when he holds the door open at the cat cafe. reader kinda squints at him a little bit, but then sees the anxious plea in his eyes and she’s like alright, fine. you can open the door for me. the next time is so minor that reader doesn’t even notice—it’s when he goes to order their drinks. and it’s like yeah haha silly sweet tooth zayne, but he’s also taking that initiative to reclaim his “responsibility” as the doer in the relationship. not that he’s some super masculine provider bf or anything, but reliability and taking care of people are just so ingrained in him. which, as you see, is kinda the problem.

anyway. reader starts to notice the pattern when he doesn’t let her pay/orders her another scoop at the ice cream parlor, and then again when he throws their trash away at the park (➡️ the chivalry convo). it’s just the way he subtly tries to rebalance things after displaying “weak” behavior, as well as the way reader notices but lets it happen since it will make him feel better (but still tells him it’s okay to be clingy/submissive/taken care of, and that she likes him that way, too). anyway. blabbing session over thank u again

an off day

synopsis: zayne has an off day, so you make him take one.

tags: reverse comfort, angst, fluff, heart to heart, zayne shuts down at the hospital one day, he cries in your arms on a bench, he’s having an existential crisis, i accidentally wrote overachiever gifted kid zayne, think of him like a confused baby deer, size difference, side character death, a very infatuated siamese cat, something something zayne’s subtle attempts to reclaim dominance/dependability after being taken care of (you notice them all). takes place in autumn because i yearn for it

pairing: zayne x fem reader

word count: 3.5k

a/n: zayne brain

Akso Hospital’s parking lot is the emptiest you’ve ever seen it.

The Wednesday starlight is partly to blame. There’s not much traffic at 8 p.m. on a weekday—which makes your current predicament all the more confusing.

It’d been a standard day at work: emails, meetings, and sneaking out 10 minutes early. But right before you’d stepped into the shower at Zayne's house, your phone had rung.

“Yvonne? Hello?”

“Um, hello! I’m so sorry to call like this, but we really don’t know what else to do. Dr. Zayne is really…shaken? He’s not hurt, but he’s not responding to any of us, and you’re his first emergency contact. Please come down to Akso as soon as you can!”

You’d re-dressed in record time.

As you step through the sliding doors, their glass panels reflecting the towering streetlights, you note the hallways are as empty as the parking lot. You suppose it’s a good thing—for a hospital not to be busy, and all—but the absence of friendly faces makes you quicken your steps.

At the end of the hall, you jam the elevator button to his floor, unease prickling at the back of your mind.

You sigh in familiarity when the doors open. A confused-looking Yvonne is speaking with the receptionist at the front desk, but she ends the conversation as soon as she spots you.

“Thank you for coming. I didn’t know what to do! I just—this doesn’t happen to him,” she rushes out, shaking her head profusely. “I see it with the others, but never him.”

You touch her elbow in gratitude and offer a smile. “Thank you for calling. You did the right thing. Where is he?”

Relieved, she turns toward the end of the hallway, where the edge of a sleek wooden bench protrudes past the wall. “Just down there,” she says, pointing a finger around the corner. “Thank god we aren’t busy tonight. It’s been deserted up here since the last surgery.”

The last surgery.

“Thanks,” you breathe, trying not to wonder what that could mean. “I’ll take care of it from here, don’t worry. You should go home and get some rest.” With a short wave, you set off down the hallway, passing vibrant anatomic murals and pediatric patient artwork. With every step, your breaths shallow and your pulse quickens. You don’t know what you’ll find at the end.

Your steps falter when you round the corner.

In all the time you’d known him, Zayne had never wavered. He offered tireless strength and support—displayed composure you could only dream of. He was your Atlas, except he shouldered the weight of the world not out of punishment, but out of duty.

But in that moment, he was an uprooted anchor, drifting through sloshing seas.

His bowed head, shaky hands, and shuddering shoulders. The sheen coating his pale face. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’d seen a ghost.

With an ache in your chest, you approach, but Zayne’s head stays low. Only when your favorite teal-and-white tennis shoes come into view do his glistening eyes snap up.

Shock and longing color his face a rosy pink, matching the fading imprint from his surgical mask. Wordlessly, he reaches for you.

Unsteady arms wrap around you as you move between his legs, cradling his head into the crook of your elbow. Your chin covers his hair this way, and you slant your cheek to nuzzle into him.

“Hi,” you whisper, gently stroking his soft strands.

“Hi.” By the rasp in his voice, it’s the first time he’s spoken in hours.

Your heart clenches. “Are you tired?”

A long exhale fans across your arm. And then, he nods.

You’re forced to blink back tears of your own when his drop onto your skin.

This was uncharted territory. Thousands of thoughts, thousands of actions mill about in your mind, but you’re not sure which to settle on. Right now, you can only tell him what you’d want to hear. “I love you.”

His voice trembles as his arms tighten. “I love you, too.”

You’re not sure how long you embrace him. When his breathing evens, you lift his chin, smiling gently down at his flushed face. “Is your shift almost over?”

He nods once, solemn.

“Let’s go back to your office. I’ll sit with you.”

You successfully coax him off the bench, guiding him through the halls to his empty office. But after a few minutes of signing paperwork, his gaze is on you. He eyes you forlornly, not saying anything—and he wouldn't have said anything had you not noticed.

Your lips quirk. “Your work is down there, silly.”

He blinks.

Chuckling softly, you rise from his guest chair and hang your purse on its arm. A few steps later, and he’s pulling you toward him and burying his face in your stomach.

You let him, but raise his head soon after. Again, he greets you with glassy green eyes.

“I’ve never seen you like this before,” you murmur.

“I’ve never been like this before.”

Quiet ambient music fills the car ride home.

Pulling into his driveway, you switch off the ignition and quickly circle around to take his hand when he steps out.

Pretending not to notice the way his cheeks flush, you lead him to the doorway and press his thumb to the sensor, letting out a breath when it lights up green.

Once inside, you head straight for his bedroom. In the dim lamplight, you help him out of his disheveled scrubs, smiling softly when he avoids eye contact. After undressing yourself, you tug him toward the master bathroom, where you run the shower on hot.

Through the mist, you lather soap over his body, washing his hair of the beads of sweat that’d gathered before your arrival.

You step out once you’re both clean. Zayne follows, reaching for one of your matching towels, but your hand intercepts his halfway. Shaking your head softly, you lift the towel from the rack and wrap it around him, catching the steam that still rises from his skin as you gently pat him dry. Through it all, he allows you, taking his nightclothes from you when you finish.

Under normal circumstances, you’d expect a smart remark—a sideways glance as he subtly reminded you he wasn’t a child. But tonight, Zayne is pliant. Deferent. He utters not a word of protest, his trusting hazel eyes trained on you as he waits for you to move him along.

Once you dry yourself off and slip on your nightshirt, you do exactly that: taking his hand and heading back toward his room, gently pushing him down on the bed. His grip tightens when you turn to switch off the lamp, and it takes a soothing grin and touch of his cheek for him to reluctantly let you go.

When you slide into bed next to him, his arms encircle you instantly. He tucks his head in your shoulder, and you reach up to stroke his raven hair.

“Good night” are your last words tonight.

“I love you” are his.

It’s late morning when Zayne hurries down the stairs, the pads of his slippers smacking against the floor. When he sees you at the kitchen counter, tapping your phone next to a bowl of cereal, he stops in his tracks. “When someone’s alarm doesn’t go off, it’s generally nice to wake them up in its place,” he chides, visibly trying to suppress his irritation.

“Generally,” you repeat. “But…what if you didn’t go to work today?” you ask, tone gentle so the suggestion doesn’t send him into shock.

It’s only slightly helpful. Suddenly wary, he narrows his eyes in suspicion. “What do you mean? My rounds are scheduled as normal, and I have several reports to complete.”

You scratch your neck. “But what if I already called Yvonne about it, and she and Greyson and your whole team agree you shouldn't go to work today?” you reveal with a sheepish smile.

“You….” His eyes fall closed in an intense grimace. “And all of them agreed?”

Smile widening, you put your palms up in defense. “Yes. But you don’t have to spend the day inside! I’ve been looking for things for us to do around town. Think of it like a short vacation!” you cheer, hopping off your chair to wave his arms in excitement.

Oversized sleeves billowing in the air, Zayne sighs in defeat. “What do you have planned?”

After a quick drive to the parking garage downtown, you walk hand-in-hand past closely packed buildings, coming to a stop outside a recently opened cat café.

Spinning around, you make a ta-da gesture. He snorts.

“The first time we tried to come, you got called in for an emergency surgery. So I thought we could go in today! But only if you want to, of course,” you say quickly.

The beginnings of mirth glitter in his gaze. Stepping forward, he holds the door for you like he always does—as if the way he’d let you lead him last night were but a distant memory. You study him for a moment, noting the quiet plea in his hazel eyes, before brushing a kiss on his cheek and strolling inside.

“Welcome!” the greeter calls as the strong scent of coffee hits your nose. “We’re glad to have you here! Feel free to take a look around and play with the cats, and order when you’re ready!”

Nodding your thanks, you shift your attention to the cats’ biographies on the wall to your right. “Look, Zayne! This one was rescued from a house fire an—Zayne?”

The man who’d walked in right behind you has disappeared. Panic fills you for just a second—until you spot him at the coffee bar, nodding along as the barista repeats his order. Him and his sweet drinks.

Marching up to collect him, you tuck your arm in his and settle at a table on the back wall.

Three white kittens, most likely siblings, chase balls of fuzz in the corner. To your left, an adult Persian cat lounges on a tower, its tail lashing with superiority. As you wait for your order, you and Zayne are so engrossed in your surroundings that you fail to notice the besotted Siamese in front of you.

Until it leaps and lands right on Zayne’s lap, that is.

Mroww, it purrs, affectionately bumping its head into his chin. Startled, he looks to you with wide eyes, hand hovering over the cat’s arched back.

You almost fall out in laughter. Almost. But instead, you spare him and nod encouragingly, guiding his hand down to pet its sleek coat. “Well, who’s this?” you chuckle, running your fingers through its short fur.

“That,” your server interjects, setting your drinks down and scratching the cat’s ears, “would be S’mores. She’s the oldest cat here. And very friendly.”

“Hello, S’mores,” Zayne murmurs, and she bumps his chin again.

S’mores doesn’t leave you—doesn’t leave him, rather—for the next hour. When he stands to throw your cups away, she meows in protest, digging her claws into his shirt. For a moment, he looks as though she’s going to eat him, but he schools his nerves quickly, this time. “Now, now,” he shushes. “We’ll be back.”

A few shops down from the café lies a retro ice cream parlor. The shopkeeper’s bell jingles as you step inside, surveying the pink stools and checkered floors.

“Hi!” you greet the teenage cashier. “He’ll have three scoops of green tea, and I’ll get one of taro, thanks.”

“Cups or cones?” the cashier asks, looking utterly bored with everything but the man behind you.

You smile at her in understanding. At least she has taste. “Cups, please.”

Hearing rustling behind you, you turn your head and see Zayne reaching into his back pocket. “Oh, I’ll get it,” you chirp, digging inside your purse for your wallet.

He barely spares you a glance before laying a generous bill on the counter. “Can she get an extra scoop, please?”

Taking small spoonfuls of ice cream, you follow the winding sidewalks outside the parlor in comfortable silence. Before long, a city park comes into view, its verdant grounds preceded by a shimmering pond. The ducks’ multicolored feathers are almost iridescent in the afternoon sun.

Pointing to the wooden feeder ahead, you slow your steps. “You want to?”

Before you finish the question, Zayne is already pulling coins from his wallet, handing them to you with a soft smile. “Of course.”

After you slide the coins in the machine, unappetizing pellets fall from the dispenser into a complimentary feeding cup. For several minutes, you take turns sprinkling them into the water, watching as the ducks paddle over to you with intrigue. The bobs of their sleek heads create turquoise ripples across the surface, while you rest your own on Zayne’s shoulder.

After a while, he takes your empty ice cream cup and heads for the nearest trash can.

You smile at him when he returns. “You’ve been so chivalrous today. It’s like I’ve stepped into a fairytale.”

He cuts his eyes at you before placing a hand on the small of your back, urging you down the twisting park path. “If you don’t feel like that every day, then it seems I need to work harder.”

“‘Work harder’ shouldn’t be in your vocabulary,” you chide. Then, your voice softens. “You always make me feel that way. Today, it’s just…extra. And I love gentleman Zayne—very much—but he’s just as cute when he’s clingy in his sleep,” you promise, nudging his thigh with your hip.

He clears his throat. “He’ll make a note of that.”

After a few more minutes of walking, a fork in your path prompts a moment of indecision. Go left, and you’re sure to have the conversation that he may not be ready for. Straight? An hour more of idle chatter before you head home in the setting sun. And right…well, to the right is the 4-foot-tall jungle gym, so you’re not too worried about ending up there.

Before you can ask which way, Zayne tightens his grip on your waist and turns left, ambling over to the blue and gray swing set.

You smile to yourself. He’s being brave.

As you settle on the sun-warmed swing, the tips of your shoes drag back and forth in the gravel below. Dust kicks up on the pristine leather, turning white to beige, but Zayne’s earnest voice interrupts your grieving.

“I had a good day today. Thank you.”

You’re not swinging very high—only a couple feet off the ground—but compared to him, you might as well be on Mount Everest. Chuckling softly, you reach down and join hands, pulling him with you into the air. “What was so good about it?”

He delays his answer, his startled eyes widening with each rock back and forth. Only when he gets used to the movements does he elaborate. “It was peaceful. I did things and went places I’d never had the chance to before. And I got to spend time with you.”

You hum. “So it has everything to do with where you were, and nothing to do with where you weren’t?”

He’s silent for a moment. Trees rustle in the quiet, their scarlet leaves dancing on wavering limbs before succumbing to the gentle autumn breeze.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don't want to.”

“It’s alright,” he murmurs. “It’s only fair I tell the one who came to rescue me why she had to.”

“It might be fair,” you nod, turning to meet his emerald gaze. “But do you want to?”

His lips twitch. “I want to.”

Digging your heels into the gravel below, you halt his and your momentum, giving him your undivided attention.

“A teenage patient received an emergency surgery yesterday. Complications with congenital heart disease,” he begins. “I’d spoken with him a few times prior, and we got along quite well. Aspiring physician, set to graduate at the top of his class. The only thing was, he’d often worry about…missed experiences. He didn’t attend school dances or athletic events. His older sister gave birth last spring, but he missed it due to a college entrance exam.”

“That sounds lonely,” you offer, rubbing your thumb across the back of his hand.

“Yes. He was very lonely,” Zayne agrees. “He was lonely up until the moment he flatlined on the operating table.” His hand flexes in yours, and you tighten your grip.

Blowing out a breath, you ask what you already know the answer to. “And he…?”

“Did not respond to resuscitation attempts.”

Your chest hollows at the words. To lose someone so young…to lose anyone at all…. “I’m so sorry, Zayne. If I had known—”

“Oddly enough, his passing wasn’t the main cause of what happened yesterday. It only exacerbated the issue at hand.”

Knitting your eyebrows, you wait for him to continue.

“Yesterday,” he pauses, “was a lesson learned. Because I realized I also lack those experiences. And I thought, if someone a decade younger than me left his life with so much regret, then….” He swallows thickly. “If I were to die today, I’d have dedicated my life to this pursuit. But what would I have done outside of that? What stories would be told of me, other than those that took place in a classroom or a hospital?”

A mix of emotions renews the ache in your chest. Pity, fear, surprise, understanding. “You saw yourself in him.”

Watching a group of boys climb on the jungle gym, he interlaces your fingers. “I did. For a second, it was me on the operating table. Is that selfish of me?”

Humming, you draw swirling patterns in the gravel. “I don't think so. I'd hope no one would,” you muse. “Zayne, you…are the smartest, most hardworking person I know. But sometimes, I wonder how much that took from you.” At the admission, you expect his eyes to widen, his lips to tug into a frown. But all he does is eye you expectantly, with all the trust in the world. And you know it’s okay to continue.

“You always knew what you wanted to do growing up—you wanted to help people. You wanted to save lives. You wanted to practice medicine. There was always a goal, right? And you were always sprinting toward it. I mean, you were in algebra when your agemates were still stuck on multiplication tables,” you recall, playfully wiggling his hand in the air. “But maybe in choosing what you wanted to do…you overlooked who you wanted to be?”

The question floats like the leaves in the wind, and for a moment, you think he’s just like them. Beautiful, vital, but just a little lost. He purses his lips, a contemplative pout forming on his face, but says nothing.

“Forget about medicine for a second, Zaynie. Don’t look at me like that—I know it’ll be hard, but try. Now, what sort of things do you like? What are you passionate about? When you look back on your life, what kind of experiences will you want to have had? A few minutes ago, you asked how others would describe you. But how would you describe yourself? Who is Zayne when he’s not striving for something?”

“I….” He pauses, voice dwindling into a whisper. Last night’s expression creeps back onto his face. “I’m not sure.”

“That’s okay.” Nodding your encouragement, you rise from your swing and stand just in front of his, slotting your legs between his knees and cupping his cheek. You’re just a bit taller than him like this. “To me, Zayne is a gentleman who likes sweets and animals and is adorably afraid to swing too high. He helps people, not because he’s a doctor, but because he’s kind and compassionate—even when he doesn’t show it. And he’s still figuring some things out about himself, but that’s okay because I'm proud of him.” You beam. “Your turn.”

Sometime during your speech, his face had softened. He chuckles lightly before obliging. “To me, Zayne is…a pragmatist. And he’s cautious, not afraid,” he adds, narrowing his eyes when you shrug. “He can be cold when he doesn’t mean to be. He’s curious, but often too timid to satisfy those curiosities without someone by his side. And he wants to be someone…who doesn’t live with regret for his missed experiences,” he finishes, hazel eyes twinkling up at you. “Perhaps that’s why I felt so happy today. You give me new experiences, every time we’re together. Which is why, if you’re willing, I’d like to make up for lost time and make more memories with you. What do you say?”

“I say,” you drawl, flitting your eyes to the structure behind him, “have you ever been on a carousel?”

His brows furrow as he turns his head, catching your hand in his when it slips off his cheek. “I can’t say that I have.”

“Then let’s go!” you giggle, hauling him up with all your strength. “The sun won’t set for another 30 minutes. And while we’re at it, I’ll race you there!”

#zayne gender studies brain dump analysis below the cut #i can’t shut up. i’m so sorry #iris overshares

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humanjarvis · 1 day ago

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is it too early to start conceptualizing halloween and winter fics because…well

#iris talks

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humanjarvis · 1 day ago

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Athletic care ! ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

context: zayne works as an athletic trainer at your college. you play a sport (unspecified) and you're recovering from surgery! (injury related)

a/n: super self indulgent bc i miss playing my sport </3

—

"Zaaayne."

You strut into the trainer's room, glancing around in search of your favorite athletic trainer. Of course, he's in his office, his head snapping up and eyes going all soft when he realizes it's you.

He lets out a tired breath as he stands and follows you through the room, but you just smile.

You know he's not annoyed.

He's never annoyed.

Not with you.

"Ankle?" he asks, already moving to the drawers to grab some athletic tape.

You nod, propping yourself up on the table. "And my knee," you say, your words growing quieter as you bend over to slip your sock halfway off, like you'll know what he'll say.

Zayne pauses when you mention your knee. "What's wrong with it?"

You sigh. You know that tone. That look. He's worried. More worried than he has any right to be. Some part of you likes it, another part of you dreads it.

"It's just been bugging me a little." You shrug and Zayne scoffs, moving in front of you and propping your foot on his thigh.

"You can't just say it's bugging you," he mutters. "What specifically is bothering your knee?"

You sigh and lean back, a strained smile still plastered to your lips. "Ugh, you're so serious, Zayne."

Zayne rests his hand on your ankle, the tape hovering just inches away from your skin. "[❀]."

Your smile falters. You hate when he says your name that way. All stern and broody. Especially combined with that look. The one that tells you he's about to call you out on something.

"When I put too much weight on it, it feels… a little weak, I guess," you admit, tearing your eyes away like that might erase the small twinge of guilt you feel.

"Have you been wearing your brace?"

You chew your lip. "I'm fine, Zayne. Can you please just tape my ankle?"

"[❀]."

Your glance back at him, brows pinched together in frustration. "Stop saying my name like that."

Zayne's eyes harden as he studies your guilty expression before lowering his gaze back to your ankle. He carefully starts winding the gauze around your foot, but not without giving you a lecture.

"Then stop avoiding my questions," he huffs, ripping the gauze and moving onto the athletic tape. "You're supposed to be wearing your brace."

He tries to hold back. Tries to reel himself in, but he can't.

"Why do you think you got one?" he asks, his voice steady, but laced with that undeniable lilt of frustration you'd learned to catch where others missed it. "It wasn't a gift, [❀]. It's meant to keep you safe while you play."

You sigh, looking away again. You'd been on the receiving end of his lectures one too many times.

It was getting old.

And maybe, if you didn't like the warmth of his fingers so much, you might hop off the table and tell him you could get the other trainer to tape your ankle.

But you do like it. Way too much.

"I'm serious," he adds, his fingers tightening around your ankle to secure the tape before letting your foot slide off his leg.

"I know you are," you huff, glancing down and testing out the durability of the tape by rolling your foot a little. Seems stable. "Can we stop talking about this now?"

Zayne sighs, his lips pressing into a thin line. For a moment, you think he might actually drop it, but then he continues, "My job is to keep you safe. So no, we can't stop talking about this."

"Zayne—"

"Why aren't you wearing your brace?" Frustrated as he is, Zayne is already grabbing more athletic tape to place over your knee.

Even though he shouldn't. Even though he should probably tell your coach you're not wearing your brace when you need to.

You don't answer. But Zayne doesn't push this time. He just grits his teeth and slides his hand up your leg.

The touch is too intimate for a trainer and an athlete. Too indulgent. But you don't push him away, and he doesn't stop.

Zayne pauses at your knee, eyes softening just a fraction as his fingers hover over your surgery scars. He glances up at you, like he's waiting for permission.

You just blink. It's not an answer. Not anything, but then you shift forward and nudge your knee against his.

So Zayne looks back down and rubs his thumb over the skin gently. "Have they been bothering you?"

"No," you answer quietly, your heart thudding in your chest.

Zayne hums. "They look better."

He pulls his hand away to start applying the kinetic tape. He's careful. Warm. Even after all your recklessness, he still treats you like you're something precious.

The strips cover each side of your knee and run up just a few inches before stopping. Zayne rubs his thumbs over the tape as if to flatten it.

He can pull away now, but he doesn't. He keeps his hand there, around your leg.

"Is it too tight?"

You shake your head, bending your knee just to test it out a little. "No."

Zayne hesitates before finally giving you some space. "Try it out."

You pull your sock back up and slip off the table. You walk around. Good. Hop a little. Still good. Then you straighten and bend your leg. Good.

You offer him a soft smile. "It's good."

Zayne nods, his voice tight as he replies, "Good."

You both stand there, unsure of what to say next. You know you should just thank him and leave, but you don't want to. Not yet. So, you stay there, hands in front of you and fidgeting slightly.

Then, Zayne steps forward, placing a hand on your arm. He doesn't have to touch you. He just does. "I don't lecture you for the fun of it."

You soften.

"I know."

Zayne swallows hard. "Okay... Good luck at practice today."

Your lips twitch in a smile. "Thank you. I'll see you after for ice."

"Mm."

—

@/cafekitsune for dividers!

ik i made a tag list for a reason, but i've been posting a lot so i thought i'd give u guys a break 😭

(and i'm working on ur guys' requests! dw)

#💕 love this and their dynamic #so comforting even though i am the least athletic person in the world #iris recs: 📖

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humanjarvis · 1 day ago

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i love the gatorade line so much and like. you know how when he reminds you your period is starting today and you’re like “no it hasn’t started yet actually…” and he acts like he’s horrible and useless and it’s the end of the world. well imagine him actually getting the wrong flavor. maybe you prank him and say it’s the other blue you like—why didn’t he get the other blue? and the light in his eyes just dies. he might as well have committed treason. he is ready to be hanged at the gallows

caleb headcanons for a reader who struggles with nausea cw: frequent mentions of nausea, having trouble eating

thinking about expert cook caleb, who doesn't have a single complaint when all you want to eat is the same meal for weeks.

caleb, who will cook the same bland food because it's all your upset stomach can handle right now, and praising you religiously and proudly even if all you can handle is a few bites.

caleb, who used to take the train to linkon when you were still in college. still in his pilot's uniform, sweaty from the day but smiling as he delivers you a lunchbox for your night classes. (the note he left inside is covered in his signature doodles and airplane stickers, the cute dork.)

caleb, who stocks your fridge with easy to make, ready to go meal kits with fresh ingredients every time he stops by.

caleb, who leaves little sticky notes in your kitchen, gentle encouragement to take bites of snacks when you need something in your stomach. maybe an occasional recipe with a few simple steps.

caleb, who knows your favorite gatorade flavor and has it on a scheduled delivery every two weeks (he would never get the wrong blue).

caleb, who puts a fresh sleeve of saltine crackers in your bedside drawer like clockwork every weekend, because he would never allow you to nibble on stale ones when you wake in the middle of the night with an empty stomach.

caleb, who keeps extras of all your anti-nausea remedies, from acupressure wristbands to motion sickness patches to peppermint tea bags, always on him 24/7 whenever you're out somewhere.

caleb, who's grinning when you ask for something a bit different to eat that night, and tries not to get emotional over how excited you are that you're not as nauseous and you can actually enjoy the meal.

caleb, who never gets upset if you can't eat something. doesn't matter how long it took to make it, he's packing it away for another day and making you some toast in your favorite way.

caleb, who loves to take care of you, no matter what.

#anyway i’ll shut up now. lovely work as always ⭐️#iris recs: 📖

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humanjarvis · 2 days ago

Note

“Yes. He was very lonely,” Zayne agrees. “He was lonely up until the moment he flatlined on the operating table.” His hand flexes in yours, and you tighten your grip.

I just want to say this part HURTS BRO

I love your writing so much!

I’M SORRY IT HURT i hope the fluff made up for it 💔💔 i tried to balance everything out—he has to be happy at some point. i mandate it

and thank youuu 🥹🥹🥹 i like this fic a lot (for now. i think) so i’m glad you enjoyed it! wrote it all out of order so it was like a puzzle but pretty fun 🥰

#iris answers

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