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damn-daemon · 6 years

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Healing and Heartache - Part 5 Nick Jakoby x Female Reader

See Part 1 here. See Part 2 here. See Part 3 here. See Part 4 here.

A/N: Hello my pretties! I am back! Oh gosh I hope you guys like this one. Feels of all varieties up in here!

Warnings - no smut, slight angst, nose abuse

Sometimes, affection is not so hard to believe in.

Dating an orc hadn’t been something you’d considered growing up. Like every other girl in town, your far-flung preteen fantasies had consisted of cute, human boys. There had been the occasional elf, but the stuck-up personalities most seemed to possess quickly killed that affixation. But there were never orcs. Apart from your father’s farmhands, who were more family than anything, you hadn’t known any growing up. The orcs in your town kept to themselves, and were homeschooled.

Maybe, you wonder, things might have been different if they went to school with you.

Then again, maybe not.

You don’t know why you’re thinking about this. It’s just another random thought in a series of thoughts that have been flooding your nerve-wracked brain since you woke up.

After a couple weeks of sorting, shifting, and bending over backwards, you and Nick finally found a decent amount of time off to allow your proper date to happen. Honestly, you can’t remember the last time a date caused you so much trouble or emotional response, albeit the last legitimate one was somewhere after college graduation. Since then, it had been a series of single serve meals and one night stands to get you through the real tough weeks. Which was fine. You never thought of yourself as lonely. Just tired as hell mostly.

Now Nick was making you question everything.

You kinda want to hate him for it, but you know you can’t.

“C’mon, (Y/N), you already bore your soul to him once,” you whisper to yourself, tilting your head. “More than once. Dinner should be nothing.”

And it might have been if your nose wasn’t completely bruised and bandaged.

Honestly, the fact that you had hoped nothing physically damaging was going to happen to you in the ER before a major personal event proved you were still, in some respects, utterly naïve.

You take a breath, through your mouth of course, and move to open the door of your truck. A broken body had never stopped you before, and it wasn’t going to stop you now.

Dinner is at Nick’s. He insisted. Obviously, he meant that he would be cooking a meal, but somehow you’re still surprised to see a clearly flustered orc with oven mitts on when the front door opens.

When his gaze immediately fixates on your new facial feature, you shrug. “Like I said before, relatively good condition.”

“You weren’t kidding,” he says.

“No, I was not,” you reply with a smile. You give Nick a once over. Oven mitts aside, he’s dressed rather stylishly in well pressed slacks and a light blue button up shirt. Oddly, it doesn’t clash with the markings on his skin. It compliments them, in fact.

The silence becomes a bit too drawn out for your taste. “May I come in?”

Nick snaps out of his reverie. “Oh, yes, yes, sorry, come right on in. Make yourself at home.”

He had been mesmerized by you; he couldn’t help himself. You’re absolutely stunning in your lacy red dress. It shows off your figure better than anything else he has seen you in, a lot better. Your hair is beautiful, framing your face perfectly. And even with your nose all wrapped up, which he has no problem with – it reminds him of the things you do and how far you’re willing to go for strangers, your face is still the loveliest thing he’s ever seen. Your eyes are bright, filled with joy despite whatever pain you might be in, and your smile is all for him.

It makes him feel horribly self-conscious. You’re an incredibly attractive human, and you’re here, with him, an unblooded, universally hated orc.

How fair is that to you?

His gaze trails after you as you enter his home, gazing around with great interest. He catches the way your hips sway and has to take a breath and look away.

“I know I was here once before,” you start, gazing over the furnishings in his home. Everything is incredibly well kept, neat, orderly, a far cry from the mess hiding in your apartment. The furniture is older, but sturdy, classy, family pieces perhaps. “But I, uh…I didn’t really get the chance to actually look. It’s a lovely place.”

Nick chuckles, standing beside you as you gaze up at a small painting on the wall. “Now, I can’t take credit for any of this, really. My mother hunted down everything in this house, wanted to make it feel just right. My dad and I never had the heart to change anything after she passed.”

The tug returns, and you turn to say something, but Nick has already ducked back into the kitchen. You hear pots and pans being shuffled, and him muttering under his breath. Suddenly you wish you could smell through your nose without feeling the urge to cry.

You move over to his bookcase, hand gently running along the spines of his books. He has quite the collection, most of it nonfiction. History, botany, and quite a bit on magic, theories, practices, how it’s influenced the modern age. And then your fingers come across a small collection of worn westerns.

You smile. Cops and robbers to the very end.

“I want to thank you…for earlier,” you call out, glancing over old photographs of a happy family. Nick could not have been very old, five or six maybe. His dad was dressed in classic workman’s clothes and his mom was nothing but style in a sundress. The next picture had an older Nick, preteens, but only his dad was there. The smiles were much less enthusiastic. “I know it couldn’t have been very easy.”

“There’s no need,” Nick starts, his gaze fixated on the boiling water in the pot before him. “There’s no need to thank me.”

He looks over all the food he’s prepared, wondering if everything is ready to go, and then he hears you approach, your heels clicking against the wood floor. That’s a sound he hasn’t heard in a long time. It almost saddens him.

You’re leaning on the doorway for the dining room and kitchen, watching him work. He’s made quite a bit, and it all looks incredibly good. Though you suppose anything is better than hospital food and lean cuisine.

“Of course there is,” you say, surprised he would say such a thing. Well, maybe not surprised, just saddened. “I have friends who wouldn’t do what you did, and I’ve known them a lot longer.”

“They don’t sound like very good friends,” he says, not turning your way.

You shrug. “Different friends for different circumstances. I wouldn’t take you lingerie shopping.”

His ears twitch, and he stumbles ever so slightly. You smile.

“The point is,” you continue, sitting at the table. It’s more of a breakfast nook, lit with two candles. You’d never had a dinner by candlelight. “You deserve to be thanked. Some days, it feels like there aren’t enough good people in this world. Let me recognize you for that.”

There is a strange look in his eyes when Nick looks at you. You can’t quite decipher it, but you know it’s something deep, personal.

It sends a chill up your spine.

An alarm goes off. Nick jumps, fingers fumbling to shut the oven off. He curses in orcish before remembering one very important fact about you.

Sheepishly, he glances over his shoulder. “Sorry.”

“Hey, you should hear me when I stub my toe at night,” you reply, watching him balance multiple tasks at once. “I’d offer to help, but I still have to cross my fingers and hope nothing gets set on fire when I preheat my oven.”

Nick chuckles, finishing a few things. “I don’t have much left anyway. Just a few spices to put in, nothing you could do much damage with.”

“Don’t challenge me. I’ll win.”

He laughs again and sits down to the meal.

Dinner is amazing. The company is even better.

The two of you talked for hours, even after the food was finished and the leftovers grew cold. Eventually, you helped Nick clean up the dishes before taking the conversation outside.

It’s a warm, clear night, and though the light pollution keeps you from seeing the stars, you still gaze up at the sky in wonder.

You’re on the porch steps, beer in hand, heels discarded somewhere behind you. Nick is right beside you. Despite how comfortable the evening had been, he still sat with a respectable amount of distance between the two of you. You almost instantly closed the gap. Your arms are pushed against one another now, knees brushing. He tensed at first but quickly relaxed into the closeness.

“What made you want to become a cop?” you ask during one of the lulls in conversation.

Nick blinks, and then thinks. He’d been asked some version of that question a thousand times before, but under far less agreeable conditions. He has to stop himself from saying the automatic response he has trained himself to say, monotone, without a hint of hesitation. He’s not out to prove himself anymore. This is only a curious question that deserves an honest answer.

But how does he go about it?

He shrugs. “I just always wanted to be one.”

You shake your head. “That’s not good enough. Everyone has a reason.”

“And what was yours?”

“Easy.” You take a drink from your beer. “When I was about eight, my friend wrecked her bike, split her chin clean open. There was blood everywhere and she was crying, and I couldn’t calm her down. I didn’t know what to do. I panicked. And ever since that day, I never wanted to feel so helpless or useless ever again. I wanted to be able to look at any injured person and say ‘I can do something about that.’”

“You practice that in the mirror?”

You smile, taking another drink. “Every night before I go to bed. Your turn.”

Nick turns to his own bottle, watching the beer slosh around inside. “I don’t know. I just…always had this idea in my head. The police are supposed to protect people, be what separates right from wrong, and that appealed to me. Always has.”

He pauses. “You, uh…see a lot of things growing up around here, things that might have turned out differently if someone had just done something. And for me, becoming a cop is the best way of doing just that.”

You watch the emotions play out across his face and wonder to yourself what it must have been like growing up for him. It was clear his parents had done the best they could to shelter him from the worst of it, but eventually reality hits everyone.

But you don’t want to focus on that.

“I saw those westerns of yours.”

He chuckles, slightly embarrassed but also touched that you noticed. “Yeah, that might be what started it. Bedtime stories weren’t kid’s books for me. It was about outlaws and bandits and that lone cowboy saving the helpless travelers. Dad always told me that if I was ever in a position to help something, then I best do something about it.”

“He sounds like a good man.”

Nick nods, remembering a strong, proud orc who didn’t need a clan to find his place in the world.

“My father worked construction. He did it all his life. It was in his blood, and he was good at it too. It was hard work, but it kept him busy and kept food on the table. Jirak didn’t need to be blooded, so neither did he.

“And the humans that worked there, they respected him too. They were all close. Some even had dinner in our home. And they made him foreman too.

“Then things changed. Someone bought out the company he worked at, and the first thing they did was fire him. Didn’t matter what anyone else said. No orc was going to be working for them. And no one else wanted him either. All of his skill and knowhow didn’t matter. All they saw was a freak with tusks. It broke him.”

Was there ever going to be a conversation where Nick didn’t completely break your heart?

You just stare at him, at a loss for words, and he turns to you, and you see this deep, unending sadness in his eyes. It’s the kind of pain that never goes away. It dulls, only to sharpen again when you least expect it.

“He’d be proud of you, Nick.”

He turns away, unable to handle the honesty in your eyes. “That’s…nice of you to say.”

And there he goes again. All the self-doubt and lack of confidence tearing apart everything encouraging you say. It’s not going to happen. Not tonight. Not ever again.

You place your hand on his cheek, turning him back toward you. He tenses under your touch, but you hold him firmly in place.

“They’ve got you all twisted up inside, don’t they? You can’t even see your own value.”

How do you know him so well? He can’t fathom it.

Nick can’t hold your gaze. It’s too much. The adoration and care, and dare he say something more than that? Can he even hope for such a thing? You long ago stopped being a human who happened to be nice, but what he’s thinking of is so much more. It almost scares him, the possibility alone.

You sigh softly, placing your free hand under his chin. Nick doesn’t fight the movement, as he meets your eyes again.

Your hands burn where you touch him, but it isn’t a painful sensation. It just leaves him wanting more, a consuming desire that blows through him like a wildfire. You’re so close to him. All he has to do is reach out ever so slightly…

You smile. “You think too much.”

Then your lips meet his, slowly, carefully, afraid you might scare him away with anything more. You’re almost convinced you have when he doesn’t initially respond, but then you feel it, the relaxing of his shoulders, the happy sigh that blows past his lips to yours.

One of his hands grabs your hip, holding you steady as the other gently grasps your cheek. It shakes at first, but calms as you deepen the kiss, dispelling that doubt that lingers in his mind so much.

He tastes like dinner and the beer, and honestly it’s the greatest thing that’s ever met your lips. Distantly, you wonder how this could have happened had his teeth not been filed, but you push the thought aside, preferring the comfort of a mind adrift in pure bliss.

At some point, you break apart. It could have been seconds or an hour; it didn’t matter. What did was that dazed look on Nick’s face as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings again. You bite your lip as you watch him, ego enjoying a small boost.

“That was…” Nick trails off. How could he describe it? There was no possible way to describe it. He’d kissed before. He had, but it wasn’t…that. It wasn’t tender or soft or intoxicating; it had been awkward and something he’d wanted to end as soon as it started. But this, this was something he could have done for all eternity and been completely content with. Yet he can’t bring himself to say those words. “That was good.”

You laugh, and for a brief moment Nick wonders if he hasn’t offended you, but the look on your face tells him otherwise. Then you touch your nose gently and he has to wonder. He must have bumped it several times.

“Did…did that hurt?”

You’re laughing harder now. You lay your head on his shoulder. The laughter shakes his body.

“So much.”

As you continue to laugh until tears form in your eyes, Nick wraps his arm around you. No hesitation, no tenseness. Just comfort, and the need to hold you closer.

“So, I take it that’s a yes for a second date?” he asks, and you can’t help but notice he sounds more confident as he says it.

“That is a definite yes, Officer Jakoby.”

A/N: Alright guys, just a couple parts left. And I think a special edition type one where we follow the reader through certain events during the movie. It’s been a fun ride!

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#still love these dorks #bright fanfiction #bright netflix #nick jakoby #jakoby x reader #nick jakoby x reader #nick jakoby fanfiction

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