When the Air Changes
Summary: As Nick Jakoby enters his orc mating season, you face it together.
A/N: This is a completely smut free piece! I only have a morning after non explicit scene in here. I wanted to capture softness and care with this one. Hope you like it!
The first sign is the way Nick stops sleeping.
Not pacing, not restlessness. Just a quiet alertness, like his body is listening to something you cannot hear. He lies beside you, eyes open in the dark, breathing slow but heavy, hand flexing against the sheets as if he is holding himself in place.
You notice the smell before he mentions anything.
Earthy, warm, unfamiliar but not unpleasant.
It clings to him when he comes home from work, stronger than soap, stronger than the city.
He stands in the doorway one evening, shoulders tense, hands braced on the frame like he is preparing himself.
“I should tell you something,” he says.
You set your mug down and wait.
“It is… an orc thing,” he continues, voice low and careful. “Seasonal. Instinctual. I did not realise it was this close.”
“Mating season,” you say gently.
“Yeah. That.”
You cross the room and take his hands before he can retreat. His skin is warmer than usual. His grip tightens reflexively, then loosens as soon as he realises what he is doing.
“I am not going to hurt you, I would never. I have control. I just thought maybe I should sleep on the sofa for a bit. Give you space.”
You look up at him.
“Is that what you want, or what you think you are supposed to do?”
His throat bobs. He does not answer straight away.
“I feel… more. Everything is louder. Wanting, protecting, needing. And I do not want you to think that is all I see you as.”
You step closer instead.
“Nick,” you say softly, pressing your forehead to his chest like you always do. “I know who you are. Instinct does not erase that.”
He freezes, breath hitching. You feel it in the way his chest expands, in the way his hands hover uncertainly before settling at your waist.
“I might be clingier. More touchy. More aware of you.”
You smile at him, hoping to calm him.
“You can want me. And if it ever feels like too much, we talk. That is how this works.”
His arms come around you fully then, firm but careful, like he is anchoring himself. His chin rests against your hair, breath warm, steadying.
“You smell different to me right now. Intoxicating. Comforting. Safe. It is making this harder and easier at the same time.”
You lace your fingers together behind his back.
“Then stay. Let yourself be close. You do not have to be alone with it.”
That night, he holds you like something precious. His touch lingers a fraction longer than usual. His breathing deepens when you shift closer. There is heat there, unmistakable, but also reverence. Control. Choice.
When you drift toward sleep, you feel him press a careful kiss to your shoulder, restrained and full of promise.
“Thank you, for trusting me.”
You smile, already half asleep.
“Always.”
It starts with the blankets.
You come home to find them missing from the bed, folded carefully and stacked on the sofa. Not neatly. Deliberately. Cushions have been rearranged, chairs nudged closer, the space narrowed in a way that feels intentional rather than messy.
Nick stands in the middle of it all like he has been caught doing something wrong.
“Oh,” he says, ears flushing faintly. “You are back early.”
You glance around, then back at him. His shoulders are tense, hands clasped together, that familiar look of uncertainty written all over his face.
“Did something happen?” you ask gently.
He hesitates. Then sighs, long and low, like giving in to gravity.
"I did not mean to make a mess. I just needed it to feel… smaller. Safer.”
Understanding settles in your chest.
“Nesting,” you say.
He nods, embarrassed.
“Orc instinct. It does not always kick in this strong, but this year it feels louder. Like my body is telling me to build something. To keep what matters close. To build you a safe place.”
You step into the space he has made. The cushions curve inward. The blankets smell like him, warm and familiar. It feels sheltered, almost cocooned.
“You can keep going, I do not mind.”
His eyes flick up to yours, wide and hopeful in a way that makes your heart ache.
“You are sure? It can get… clingy. Possessive, but not in a bad way. More like wanting you here. With me.”
You reach for his hand.
“I am here. Show me what you need.”
That is all it takes.
Nick relaxes visibly, tension melting from his frame as he pulls you gently into the nest with him. He adds more layers, adjusting pillows until you are both half hidden from the world. When he settles behind you, his arms wrap around your waist, solid and warm, his chin resting at your shoulder.
He exhales slowly, deeply, like something inside him has finally clicked into place.
“This feels right, I do not feel like I have to watch the door.”
You lean back into him, letting yourself be held.
“You do not. You are safe. We both are.”
His grip tightens just a little. His breathing steadies against your neck, warm and constant. Every now and then he nuzzles closer, a quiet, unconscious motion, as if making sure you are real.
You are ready to do anything he asks of you. Mating season is close and no matter how loving and tender Nick is, his instincts will speak instead of his mind.
But you are there for him. Because you love him.
---
The world is very quiet.
Not empty. Just hushed, like it knows better than to intrude.
You lie tangled together in the nest, bare skin pressed to bare skin, layers of blankets tucked around you both like a boundary the outside cannot cross.
The warmth fills not only the room, but your body.
The air smells like you, like him.
Nick is stretched along your side, one arm draped over your waist, his palm resting low on your stomach as if he needs the reassurance that you are still here. His breathing is slow now. Deep. Finally even.
You have never felt him this calm.
His head is tucked under your chin, cheek pressed against your chest, tusks brushing your skin every time he exhales. He is completely unguarded. No tension in his shoulders. No vigilance in his posture. Just weight, warmth, presence.
“Hey,” you murmur softly, fingers tracing idle shapes along his shoulder.
He hums in response, eyes still closed. The sound is low, content, almost drowsy.
“I feel… quiet,” he says after a moment. His voice is rough, spent, but peaceful in a way you have never heard before. “Inside, I mean.”
You smile, brushing your thumb through his hair.
“That is good. You deserve quiet.”
His fingers flex against you, instinctive, grounding. He shifts closer, pressing his forehead into your collarbone, breathing you in like he is memorising the moment.
“I was worried. That once it was over, I would feel restless again. Like something would still be pulling at me.”
“And now?”
He exhales slowly, long and satisfied.
“Now I just want to stay like this."
Your chest tightens at the honesty of it.
You pull the blankets higher around his back, cocooning him fully, and he makes a soft sound of approval before relaxing even more into you. His leg hooks loosely over yours, unthinking, possessive in the gentlest way.
“You did good. You stayed present. You listened. You trusted me.”
His eyes open then, dark and warm, fixed on your face.
“Thank you for not being afraid of me- Even when my instincts took over.”
You cup his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks, steady and sure.
“I was never afraid, I saw you choosing me every step of the way.”
He presses a slow, lingering kiss to your skin, just under your jaw. Then he settles back down, cheek against you again, one hand splayed over your heart.
The nest holds.
The season quiets.
And wrapped in warmth, naked and safe, Nick Jakoby finally sleeps without watching the door.
---
Normal comes back quietly.
There is no dramatic change, no sharp line where Nick wakes up and everything is suddenly different. It just softens.
The constant warmth fades. The restless tension settles. His touch becomes familiar again, rather than instinct heavy, though it never loses its care.
The nest stays, even after the season passes.
Blankets still live on the sofa. Pillows still get adjusted when one of you has a rough day.
It no longer feels urgent, just comforting.
That is how you know he is back to himself when the worry starts.
You find him standing in the kitchen one evening, staring at nothing, hands braced against the counter like he is holding something steady inside his chest.
He looks up when you enter, eyes searching your face in that careful way he gets when he is scared of being wrong.
“Can I ask you something?” he says.
You nod and step closer.
“Of course.”
He hesitates, ears flushing faintly.
“I have been thinking about the season. About… us. And I know we were careful, but orc instincts are not always logical, and I just keep wondering if I pushed something onto you. If you chose because of me instead of because you wanted to.”
Your heart aches immediately.
“Nick,” you say softly.
“What if you are pregnant?” he blurts out. “I would be there. Obviously. I just keep worrying that my instincts overrode your choice, and that is not fair to you.”
You close the distance and rest your hands on his arms, grounding him the way you always do.
“I am not pregnant,” you tell him gently.
He searches your face.
“You are sure?”
You smile, small and fond.
“I am very sure. I have a doctor who is extremely good at her job, and my birth control pills are working like a charm.”
The relief hits him so hard it is almost visible. His shoulders drop. His breath leaves him in a slow rush.
“Oh, okay.”
Then the guilt creeps in.
“I am sorry,” he adds immediately. “I should not have let myself worry you. I just keep thinking that during mating season, orcs can influence bonding urges. I never wanted you to feel pressured. I never wanted you to choose me because my biology was loud.”
You cup his face, steady and warm, forcing him to look at you.
“I chose you because I love you. Not because of instincts. Not because of heat. Not because of a season.”
His eyes soften, glossy with emotion.
“You were careful. You asked. You gave me space to say no every step of the way. That matters.”
He swallows.
“Even when I was not thinking straight?”
“Especially then. I am an adult. I know my body. I know my choices. And my doctor would absolutely not let me forget if something was off.”
That earns a weak laugh from him.
“She sounds terrifying,” he says.
“She is,” you agree. “And very thorough.”
Nick pulls you into his arms, holding you close, no urgency this time. Just reassurance. His chin rests on the top of your head, breathing steady and calm.
“I just needed to hear it. That you were still you. That I did not take anything from you.”
You wrap your arms around his waist.
“You did not. You gave me closeness. I gave it back. That is all.”
He presses a soft kiss into your hair.
“Mating season,” he murmurs.
“Or not,” you reply.
He smiles against you, calm settled fully now, content in the knowledge that what you share is choice, not instinct.
And that is enough.
~Masterlist~
