Nico di Angelo One-shots

Nico Carsick

Nico di Angelo X Reader

You and Nico were coming home from school. You have an appointment, but Nico doesn't want to be without you--even more so now since you're dating.

"Well, my parents are at work and so's Bianca, so you've got to come with me." you explain.

"I hate taxis." Nico grumbles.

"You hate cars in general."

"For good reason."

"Come on," you take his hand, "you'll be fine."

He sighs, his eyes dropping. You lead him by the hand to the road's curb, and you call down a taxi. You step in, and a reluctant Nico follows with a whine.

The car's engine rumbles. Nico immediately feels it coming.

The car begins rolling, and the notion begins to power over him.

He sighs, and squeezes your hand.

"(Y/N)." he croaks.

"Almost there, Neeks." you assure.

He nods.

After another five minutes, he closes his eyes and leans his head on your shoulders, but he's not going to sleep. You roll down his and your window for him.

"Better?" you ask. He groans in return.

Another five minutes pass. Nico's breathing starts deepening. He rolls his head off of you and leans forward, his arms on his knees. You keep your head in your hand, looking out the window.

The taxi driver seems not to notice nor care, probably used to carsick riders.

Nico muffles something too indecipherable for you. You touch his wrist with your fingers. You feel like saying something, but in all honesty you feel a little weird, even though you two are dating.

He let's out what was in the middle of a gasp and a sigh. You pat his spine, his hunched over frame bouncing with breaths.

"How much longer?" he croaks desperately.

"Like five more minutes."

"You said we were almost there."

"Traffic."

"Perfect."

The car takes a rough turn, and Nico grasps your hand. "Bag."

You frown, digging in your backpack for a plastic--even paper--bag. You find a brown paper one, and hand it over. Nico clasps it between his hands, scrunching up the edges and leaving many wrinkles.

The car makes a turn on a bumpy road.

Nico loses his lunch.

"Uh," he swerves and you grasp his shoulders. "Uhm."

"Two minutes." the driver calls back. Nico sighs.

Another time, Nico leans his head towards the paper bag, his stomach lurching and his breaths quick and shallow as his insides spurt out.

He whines.

"It's okay. About another minute and we'll be there."

He nods, leaning into you. You rub his shoulder and ruffle his hair, and touch your fingers to his wrist again. He leans to his bag but nothing comes out. Maybe he's just feeling it.

The car pulls to a curb and the engine stops with the turn of a key. You hand the driver his money and help Nico out slowly.

"Wasn't that bad." You rub his back as you walk to a bench.

"Yes, it was." Nico complains, arms wrapped in yours.

You check your watch. You have about seven minutes. You let Nico stay sitting on the bench and head to your appointment, glad to know that when you come back the fresh air has erased all signs of motion sickness.