brainddeadd - Tumblr blog

brainddeadd · 2 days ago

Text

⍣ ೋ cw: tease tease tease. explicit sexual content. unprotected sex. overstimulation. fingering. oral. breeding kink. daddy kink. manhandling. power play. degradation/praise. mdni.

notes: in which you read something about chan having a daddy kink on stayville and run with it.

The afternoon was one of those perfect, lazy ones—the kind where time barely mattered, and the world outside your little bubble felt distant. Rain drizzled against the windows, a soft, rhythmic hum, and Chris was warm against you, his body curled into yours on the couch. His hand rested on your thigh, his thumb rubbing gentle, absentminded circles as you both scrolled through your phones, comfortably lost in the quiet.

“Hey,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Chris glanced over at you, his gaze filled with something soft, something only meant for you. He squeezed your thigh lightly, his thumb lingering for a second longer. “Hey,” he murmured back, voice low and fond.

You don’t even hesitate. “Is it true you like being called ‘daddy’?”

The air shifted.

Chris stiffened slightly, the rhythmic tapping of his fingers against your side coming to an abrupt stop. His eyebrows knit together as his phone lowered, and he blinked at you. “Huh?”

You bit your lip, barely holding back a laugh at his reaction. “I mean, I keep seeing things online,” you continued, keeping your tone casual, even though you were fully enjoying this. “Stay seem really convinced that it’s, like… a thing for you.”

Chris just stared at you. Then, in one smooth motion, he locked his phone, placed it on the coffee table, and turned his full attention to you.

“Give me your phone.”

You gasp, clutching it to your chest. “Absolutely not.”

“Give. Me. Your. Phone.”

“You can’t stop me from knowing things, Christopher.”

He’s fast, snatching for your phone. You let out a yelp, trying to yank it away, but he was faster, snatching it clean from your grip. “What did I say about staying out of Stayville? It’s dangerous there.”

You shrug feigning innocence. “I was just scrolling, and it came up.”

“What exactly came up?” He squints at your screen, scrolling with exaggerated judgment.

You whine, reaching for it, but he holds it high above your head, his other arm locking you against his chest. “Chris! Give it back!”

He ignores you, still scrolling, his expression shifting from mild annoyance to absolute horror. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

You bit your lip, barely suppressing your laughter as he scrolled.

Chris ran a hand down his face, shaking his head. “Why are they like this?”

“Because you—” you poked his cheek, “—give them material.”

He caught your hand, holding it against his chest. “I do not.”

“You so do.”

Chris huffs, clearly exasperated but also too amused to fully commit to his indignation. “I literally just exist, and they make up the most unhinged things.”

You give him a pointed look. “Chris, baby… be so for real.”

“Okay, fine. Maybe I—” He pauses, struggling. “Maybe I… give them some material.”

You grin triumphantly. “There it is.” You shift so you were leaning into him, your chin resting against his shoulder. "So, you're saying it's not true?"

His jaw twitches. He hesitated for just a fraction of a second too long, and that was all you needed.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, eyes widening in exaggerated delight. “It is true.”

Chris groaned again, dramatically flopping backward against the cushions. "It's not. I hate you."

"You love me," you corrected, poking his side until he squirmed. "And you also love being called—"

His hand clamped over your mouth before you could say it, his palm warm against your lips. "Don't." His eyes were dark, but his voice held that unmistakable lilt of warning.

You blinked up at him innocently, but the mischievous glint in your eyes betrayed you. You licked his palm.

Chris yelped, pulling his hand away like he'd been burned. "You animal."

You were cackling now, barely able to breathe through your laughter as he wiped his palm against your hoodie like you’d just infected him with some incurable disease.

"You're disgusting," he grumbled, but his lips were twitching.

"You love it."

"I tolerate it."

"You love it," you repeated, beaming at him. "And you definitely love being called—"

Before you could finish your sentence, Chris tackled you, rolling you beneath him on the couch, his hands pinning your wrists against the cushions. His nose was barely an inch from yours, his breath warm as he spoke. "Finish that sentence, and I swear—"

You blinked up at him, the challenge practically dripping from your smirk. "What? You’ll punish me?"

His eyes narrowed, but the way his lips twitched betrayed him. “Careful.”

“Oh no,” you gasped, feigning terror. “Are you gonna make me behave... Daddy?”

Chris groaned, letting his forehead thud dramatically against yours as a laugh bubbled out of him. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m your favorite,” you corrected, beaming up at him.

He huffed, though the way his gaze softened betrayed his amusement. “Unfortunately.”

______________________________________________________________

It started small.

A passing whisper in his ear when you walked by. A smug little smirk whenever you said his name just a little too sweetly.

An innocent stretch while calling out, "Daddy, can you pass me the remote?" like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Chris played it off the first few times. He’d roll his eyes, let out an exasperated sigh, and mutter, “You’re insufferable,” before going back to whatever he was doing.

But you saw it. The way his jaw would clench, how his fingers would flex like he was restraining himself. The flicker of something darker in his gaze that vanished as quickly as it came.

You weren’t dumb. You knew Chris. You knew that teasing him like this was playing with fire, especially because he was always so soft with you. You had him wrapped around your finger—he kissed the ground you walked on, always so patient, so gentle, even when you pushed him.

But patience had limits. And you were determined to find his.

You started pushing.

By now, you were convinced he was doing everything in his power to ignore it—to ignore you. But you saw through it.

You saw the way his jaw clenched every time you purred Daddy in that syrupy-sweet tone. You noticed how his fingers twitched when you batted your lashes at him, playing the role of the innocent little thing you so clearly weren’t. You caught the way his ears turned red when you leaned in too close, lips grazing his ear as you murmured, Thank you, Daddy—for the smallest things, like opening a jar or holding the door for you.

And yet, still, he hadn’t snapped.

So, you pushed harder.

One night, while sitting next to him at the dorm, you absentmindedly played with the chain around his neck, your fingers tracing the curve of his collarbone. The others were watching a movie.

Chris, ever the affectionate boyfriend, had one arm lazily draped over the couch behind you, his focus mostly on the screen—until you leaned in, lips barely brushing his ear.

"You’re so good to me, Daddy."

His entire body went rigid beside you.

A sharp inhale, a slight clench of his jaw—before, once again, he exhaled through his nose, choosing to ignore you.

You almost pouted.

But when you glanced up, you caught it—the flicker of something dark in his eyes before he blinked it away.

Oh, you were getting to him.

Later that night, as you lounged in bed, he propped himself up on one elbow, voice deceptively light. "You think you’re real cute, don’t you?"

You grinned, stretching languidly against the sheets. "I know I am."

Chris’ fingers traced slow, lazy circles against your hip. "You like testing me, huh?"

You hummed, shifting to face him, lips just shy of his. "What, you don’t like it?"

For a moment, you thought he might finally snap—but instead, he exhaled through his nose, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before rolling onto his back. "Goodnight, baby."

Disappointment.

You had expected him to at least call your bluff. Maybe flip you over, put you in your place. But no—he was still Chris, soft and loving, never pushing past what you allowed.

Still, it wasn’t enough.

So, you planned your final move carefully.

______________________________________________________________

Chris was tired. Not from work or the chaos of the boys—no, this exhaustion had a name.

You.

Weeks of teasing. A soft “Daddy” here, a sweetly smug smile there, and Chris held onto his patience with a white-knuckled grip. But you pushed—again and again. And he didn’t snap. Not yet.

He was at the studio with Changbin and Jisung, trying to focus when a knock interrupted. Jisung answered, revealing a delivery guy holding takeout bags.

“Uh... delivery for Daddy?” the guy announced, glancing at the receipt.

Silence.

Jisung and Changbin lost it, cackling while Chris stood frozen—expression dark, jaw clenched. Slowly, he took the bags. “Thanks,” he bit out, the door clicking shut.

Ignoring their laughter, Chris pulled out his phone and typed a message with deadly calm:

Be home by the time I get there. Do not make me come find you.

He pocketed his phone and left, tension coiled tight in his shoulders.

You weren’t home when he arrived. You could practically feel the moment his patience snapped, like a distant thunderclap on the horizon. But you didn’t rush. No, you dragged it out—lingering at a late-night café, scrolling through your phone with a smirk, ordering another drink just because you could. Chris wanted you home? Then home was the last place you’d be.

By the time you finally decided to return, it was late—far later than it should have been. The air outside was thick with the weight of your own defiance, every step toward your front door deliberate, measured.

You knew he was inside.

The apartment was eerily quiet when you pushed the door open, the usual hum of music or the soft murmur of the TV absent. Just silence. Heavy. Waiting.

You barely had time to set your keys down before you felt it—that unmistakable presence.

Chris sat in the dimly lit living room, sprawled on the couch like a king on his throne. One arm draped over the back, the other resting on his knee, fingers tapping a slow, deliberate rhythm. His eyes found you immediately, dark and unreadable. Not a single muscle moved, but the energy around him crackled.

“Baby,” you greeted, with a casual smile. “You waited up.”

Chris didn’t answer right away. He just watched. Studied. The air felt thick, suffocating in the silence.

And then—slowly, deliberately—he leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs, voice dangerously calm.

“Where were you?”

There it was. That quiet fury, simmering just beneath the surface.

You shrugged, toeing off your shoes. “Out.”

His tongue clicked against his teeth, his gaze unwavering. “Out.” A beat of silence. “You got my message.”

It wasn’t a question.

You swallowed, refusing to let the weight of his stare shake you. “I did.”

Chris exhaled through his nose, fingers flexing against his knees. Still eerily calm. Still watching. And yet, something about the way he held himself—the way his jaw ticked, the way his shoulders sat so unnaturally still—sent a prickle of unease down your spine.

“You do that on purpose?”

You took a step closer, tilting your head. “What if I did?”

Chris let out a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it. He pushed off the couch, moving toward you with slow, measured steps. The closer he got, the smaller the space between you felt—until he was right there, close enough that his warmth seeped into your skin.

His fingers brushed your chin, tilting it up just enough to meet his gaze fully.

“You think this is funny?”

Your breath hitched. “Maybe a little.”

Chris hummed—a low, unimpressed sound that sent a shiver down your spine. His fingers lingered against your jaw, deceptively gentle, his thumb brushing over your pulse point. You could feel it there—your own heartbeat, hammering wildly beneath his touch, betraying the nonchalance you were so desperately trying to hold onto.

“Is that right?” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost thoughtful. “You think it’s funny to ignore me? To push me?”

Oh, you were in trouble.

The kind of trouble that made your stomach twist, that sent heat prickling down your spine, that made your pulse stutter when Chris’s thumb pressed just a little harder against the rapid thrum of your heartbeat.

You knew exactly what you were doing—poking at something primal, something restrained, something that you weren’t sure even Chris had fully let himself acknowledge.

And yet, even as he loomed over you now, eerily calm, his gaze dark and unreadable, you still pushed.

You smirked. “I think it’s fun.”

Chris exhaled sharply through his nose, like he was barely holding something back. His fingers traced along your jaw, slow, deliberate, before trailing lower—down the column of your throat, pressing just lightly enough that your breath caught, that your lips parted in an unspoken challenge.

“Fun,” he echoed, his voice a whisper of something dangerous.

You swallowed, and his eyes flickered down, watching the movement with quiet intensity. His hand lingered for a moment longer before he took a step back, putting space between you that somehow felt heavier than his touch.

Then, he smiled.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t warm. It was something else entirely—something that made your stomach flip, that sent heat curling low in your belly.

“Alright,” Chris murmured, his tone infuriatingly casual. “You wanna play?”

His hand fisted in your hair, dragging your head back as his mouth crushed against yours—no hesitation, no warmth, just teeth and frustration and the weight of every time you’d pushed him past his patience. His tongue shoved past your lips, licking deep, swallowing the soft gasp you barely had time to let out before he was pulling back, teeth catching your bottom lip and tugging, like he wanted to hurt just a little.

Then he let go.

Your scalp tingled from the force of his grip, your lips slick and tingling from his bite, but he didn’t give you a second to process before his hand was on your throat, pushing—not choking, just forcing you back, walking you blind toward the couch until the edge caught the backs of your knees. You wobbled, grabbing his forearm on instinct, but Chris didn’t stop. He kept pushing until you fell onto the cushions, then he was on you, knee pressing between your thighs, caging you in, his palm still firm on your neck.

“You think this is fun, huh?” His voice was quiet, but there was nothing soft about it. “Teasing me for weeks, acting all cute, saying shit you knew would get to me?” His knee pressed harder, not enough friction, just enough pressure to make you squirm. “Go on, baby. Laugh. Thought it was real fucking funny before.”

Your breath hitched. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the weight of his body so close but still not where you wanted him. You knew what he was doing. This wasn’t the usual game where he’d pretend to resist, where he’d give in after a little bit of teasing. No, he was making you sit in it now. Making you feel the consequences.

Chris leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice dropping even lower. “You wanted my attention. Now you’ve got it. What the fuck do you wanna do with it?”

You exhaled sharply, fingers flexing against his forearm. “Chris, I—”

His hand moved from your throat to your jaw, forcing your head back. His eyes were dark, pupils blown, but his expression was nothing like the soft, eager-to-please boyfriend you knew.

“Try again.”

You swallowed, pulse hammering beneath his fingers. This was new. With you, he was always patient, always indulgent, always so fucking soft. But this? This wasn’t soft. This was something else entirely.

“I—” you started, but the words caught in your throat when he suddenly leaned in, lips just ghosting over yours.

“You what?” he murmured, his breath warm against your mouth, teasing, taunting. “Not feeling so mouthy anymore?”

Your fingers twitched against his forearm, nails digging in slightly. You knew better than to play dumb now. Knew you had pushed and pushed and pushed—until finally, you weren’t in control anymore.

But that didn’t mean you weren’t going to test him.

You wet your lips, your voice deliberately sweet. “I just wanted your attention, Daddy.”

Chris inhaled sharply through his nose. His grip shifted, fingers tilting your chin up higher, forcing you to hold his gaze. “Yeah?” he mused, his tone almost mocking. “That what you wanted?”

You nodded, batting your lashes. “Mhm.”

Chris’ jaw ticked, his fingers flexing—before suddenly, he let go.

For a second, you almost thought he was pulling away. That he was going to do what he always did—roll his eyes, kiss your forehead, and let you get away with it.

But then, his hand was at your throat again, pressing you back into the couch, pinning you there without so much as an ounce of effort.

“You want my attention?” His knee wedged between your thighs, spreading them wide, forcing you open. His other hand trailed down, fingertips barely brushing over your inner thigh—so close, but not close enough.

His lips curled as he pressed the barest hint of pressure between your legs, right where you needed him most. You exhaled shakily, hips twitching toward his touch.

Chris chuckled, shaking his head. “So desperate,” he murmured, almost fondly—before he pulled his hand away entirely.

You whined, arching toward him, but he tsked, pressing you back into the cushions.

“You’ve been running that pretty little mouth for weeks,” he mused, his thumb tracing along your lower lip, pressing in just slightly before dragging down your chin. “So fucking bratty, thinking you could do whatever you wanted and get away with it.” His eyes darkened, his voice dipping even lower. “What made you think I’d let you off easy, sweetheart?”

You shivered, swallowing hard. “I—”

Chris just smiled. “You thought I’d cave?” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Nah. Not tonight.”

His fingers trailed lower again, teasing, skimming along the edges of where you wanted him, never quite giving in. You whimpered, shifting against his knee, seeking friction.

Chris noticed.

“Oh, baby,” he cooed, mockingly sweet. “What’s wrong?”

You glared at him, lips parted, breath uneven. “Chan—”

He tsked again, his grip tightening on your throat—not enough to hurt, but enough to make you feel it. “Wrong.”

You swallowed, cheeks flushing. “Daddy—”

“There she is,” Chris murmured, lips barely brushing yours.

You thought that was it—that he was finally going to give in. But then, he was shifting, pulling away again, dragging out the anticipation.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” he continued, voice slow, deliberate. “You’re gonna sit right here, and you’re gonna take whatever I decide to give you.” His fingers traced along your inner thigh, featherlight, teasing. “And you’re not gonna come until I say.”

Your breath caught. “Chris—”

“Did I say you could speak?”

You sucked in a sharp breath, your thighs clenching involuntarily. Chris noticed that too. His smirk deepened.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you?” he mused, dragging his fingers higher, finally pressing them against your clothed heat, rubbing the softest, slowest circles. “You like when I tell you what to do?”

Your pulse thundered beneath his touch, but you forced a pout. “Maybe.”

Chris’s smirk was a slow, dangerous thing. “Maybe?” He pressed harder, just enough to make your hips twitch, to drag a broken whine from your lips. “Still got that attitude, huh?”

You wanted to fire back—something smart, something witty—but his fingers worked lazy, torturous circles, each drag and press igniting sparks of pleasure that made thinking impossible. The smirk didn’t fade as he watched you struggle, amusement flickering in his eyes.

“You wanted my attention,” Chris murmured, dipping his head to press his lips against your jaw—soft, teasing. A mockery of gentleness. “But you keep running your mouth. You think that’s a good idea?”

You whimpered, every nerve alight, but you managed a defiant little smirk. “I think you like it.”

Chris hummed, his mouth brushing your ear. “Oh, I do. I love it when you act out, princess. Just means I get to remind you who’s in charge.”

You opened your mouth to quip back, but his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your shorts, dragging them down your thighs with a deliberate slowness that had you trembling. He didn’t even look—eyes locked on yours, dark and taunting—as he shoved them aside, baring you to his gaze.

“Let’s see how long that attitude lasts,” Chris drawled, sinking to his knees.

He hooked your thighs over his shoulders, strong hands splaying possessively across your hips. His breath was hot against your bare skin, lips trailing lazy kisses up your inner thigh. Every inch of contact had your breath quickening, your resolve fraying. You tried to wriggle closer, but his grip tightened, pinning you in place.

“Impatient,” he chided, his tongue tracing a slow, maddening path closer—so close. “Thought you liked games, baby.”

A strangled whimper slipped from your lips, thighs quivering where Chris held you pinned. The wicked, taunting curve of his mouth made your pulse jump—anticipation coiling hot and tight in your stomach.

“You talk a big game, sweetheart,” he murmured, breath feathering over the most sensitive part of you. “But look at you now—already falling apart and I haven’t even touched you properly.”

Your hips twitched, the barest grind against his mouth, but his grip tightened, fingers digging into your thighs just hard enough to sting. A warning.

“Ah, ah,” Chris tutted, squeezing until you stilled. “You’ve had weeks to run your mouth. Now, you’re gonna stay still and be good for me, yeah?”

The teasing lilt of his voice sent heat prickling along your skin, a shiver rippling down your spine. You wanted to argue, but the words caught in your throat as his tongue traced a slow, teasing circle around where you needed him most.

The soft, wet heat of his mouth was a shock, a lightning bolt of sensation that had your head falling back, a choked moan spilling free. Chris hummed against you, the vibration a taunt of its own, lips curling into a smirk that you could feel more than see.

“Fuck, baby,” he drawled, fingers pressing bruises into your skin. “You’re already dripping. This what you wanted? Attention from Daddy?”

“Y-Yes,” you gasped, fingers curling into the couch cushions as he licked another slow, deliberate stripe.

Chris’s tongue flicked over you again—slow, deliberate, like he had all the time in the world to unravel you bit by bit. Your hands scrabbled for purchase, nails biting into the cushions as your hips twitched, desperate for more.

But just as you started to grind against his mouth, a sharp smack echoed through the room, pain blossoming between your thighs. You cried out, hips jerking back in shock, but his hands held you firm—pinned and helpless beneath his unyielding grip.

Chris looked up at you with a raised brow, eyes dark and unrelenting. “Did I tell you to move?”

You whimpered, the sting lingering, and tried to catch your breath. “N-No, Daddy—”

Another slap—sharper this time—landed on your swollen, slick folds, sending a shudder through your whole body. Tears pricked your eyes, but the heat pooling in your stomach only grew, arousal mingling with the ache.

“That’s right,” he muttered, tone low and warning. “You’re gonna stay fucking still unless I tell you otherwise. Got it?”

You nodded, lip trembling, but Chris wasn’t satisfied. His hand tightened on your thigh, fingers digging in just enough to make you squirm. “Use your words, princess,” he demanded, voice rough and unforgiving.

“Yes, Daddy,” you managed to choke out, voice barely above a whisper.

He hummed in approval, pressing a brief, almost gentle kiss to your inner thigh before his mouth returned to you—hot and wet, tongue flicking over your swollen clit with deliberate, calculated precision. Your body arched instinctively, desperate for more, but you forced yourself to stay still, the threat of his hand still tingling through your skin.

“That’s better,” he muttered between slow, lazy licks, his breath searing against your oversensitive nerves. “Such a pretty little thing when you’re behaving.”

Your whole body burned under the praise, the contrast between his harsh treatment and his soft words leaving you dizzy. You were barely holding it together, every flick of his tongue making your hips twitch despite your best efforts to obey.

Chris’s tongue never slowed.

Each flick over your clit sent sparks racing through your nerves, making your thighs tremble where he held them apart. You wanted to move—had to move—but his grip was unforgiving, fingers digging into your skin like a silent warning.

“Such a needy little thing,” he murmured against your skin, breath hot and mocking. “Spent all that time teasing me, and now look at you.”

You whimpered, back arching when his tongue flattened against your clit, pressing hard before dragging down to your entrance. He licked into you, slow and deliberate, groaning like he was the one getting wrecked.

“Taste so fucking good,” Chris muttered, voice muffled by the way he buried himself between your legs. “So wet for me. Bet you’d let me do anything to you right now, huh?”

You nodded frantically, breath coming in sharp gasps. You were already on edge, already burning—weeks of teasing, of pushing him, finally catching up to you in the most devastating way.

Chris pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips slick, chin shining with your arousal. “Use your words, princess.”

“Anything, Daddy,” you gasped. “A-anything–fuck–”

Chris hummed, pleased, before diving back in. His tongue was relentless, licking into you with obscene noises, lapping at every drop you gave him. And when his fingers joined—two thick digits pressing inside without warning—you nearly sobbed.

“Oh, baby.” His voice was low, taunting. “Haven’t touched you in a while, have I? You’re so tight.” His fingers curled, pressing just right, and your whole body jolted. “How do you think you’re gonna take my cock?”

You clenched around him, and Chris laughed.

“Yeah? That what you want?” His fingers pumped deeper, stretching you open, teasing that one spot that made your vision blur. “Want Daddy to fill you up? Make you take every drop?”

Your body was too hot, too tight—you couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but nod and whimper. Chris didn’t like that.

He smacked your thigh, sharp enough to sting. “Words.”

“Yes! Yes, Daddy, I—” Your voice caught as he crooked his fingers, fucking them into you with ruthless precision. “Want you to come inside me, please—please—”

Chris groaned, low and dark. “That’s my girl.”

Your orgasm slammed into you before you could even brace for it, pleasure surging through you in dizzying waves. Your thighs trembled, hands fisting the cushions, body locking up as you came with a broken moan.

But he didn’t stop.

Not for a second.

His fingers kept thrusting, his tongue kept flicking, dragging you through it—and right into another.

“Ngnn—Chri–daddy—fuck, I—” Your voice was broken, wrecked, your body barely able to keep up with the relentless pleasure tearing through you.

Chris just smirked. “Oh, baby,” he cooed, voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Too much?”

You nodded frantically, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, your body twitching and jerking beneath him.

He hummed, fingers fucking into you harder. “Nah,” he murmured, low and smug. “You can take more.”

Your second orgasm hit before you could even process his words. Your entire body locked up, your mouth falling open in a silent scream. Chris groaned against you, tongue lapping up every bit of your release like he needed it, his fingers fucking you through the brutal aftershocks.

Still, he didn’t stop.

Your body thrashed, your hands pushing weakly at his shoulders, but Chris was stronger, more determined, his grip unrelenting.

“Look at you,” he murmured against your soaked folds, voice dark and filled with something dangerous. His fingers slowed, but only slightly, pressing deep, grinding against that sweet spot inside you. His tongue flicked over your oversensitive clit, teasing, taunting.

“You wanted my attention,” he mused, watching the way your body twitched beneath him, the way your thighs trembled, barely able to stay open. “Now you’ve got it.”

You sobbed, your whole body shuddering, overstimulation tearing through you like fire. “Daddy—please—”

Chris groaned, his cock straining painfully against his sweatpants. “Shit, baby,” he muttered, voice strained. “You crying?” His fingers traced over the wet tracks down your cheeks, eyes darkening. “That good, huh?”

You could barely think, barely breathe—and Chris looked like he was barely holding himself together.

It hit you like a thunderclap—shattering, consuming, a pleasure so intense it almost hurt. Chris groaned, lapping up every drop, working you through it even as you trembled beneath him.

Only then did he pull away, lips slick and curved into something dark and satisfied. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, gaze locked on your wrecked form—your twitching thighs, your heaving chest, the way your body still shook from the aftershocks.

“Look at you,” he mused, dragging his hands up your legs. “So fucking messy already. And we’re just getting started.”

You barely had a second to breathe before he was tugging his shirt over his head, muscles flexing in the dim light. He undid his belt slowly, deliberately, watching the way your eyes followed the movement with rapt attention.

Chris chuckled. “That desperate for my cock, huh?”

You whimpered, nodding, your thighs still trembling.

Chris reached out, his hand gripping your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. His pupils were blown, his expression something raw and hungry.

“You wanted Daddy’s attention?” he murmured, leaning in, lips brushing yours but not quite touching. “Now you’re gonna take everything I give you.”

Your breath hitched. “Please.”

Chris groaned, his forehead dropping against yours for a beat. Then, his fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at him.

“You’re gonna let me fuck you as deep as I want.” His voice was low, almost dangerous. “Gonna let me fill you up—fuck my come so deep you’ll still be dripping with it in the morning.”

Your whole body shuddered.

You nodded frantically, every nerve in your body on fire. “Yes, Daddy, please—”

He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, fisting your hair as he dragged your head back, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark, blown wide with lust, his jaw clenched tight.

Chris smirked, sensing your reaction. He reached between you, stroking himself slow, teasing. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He tapped his cock against your swollen clit, making you jolt. “Gonna take me like a good little breeding toy?”

You nearly whimpered. “Yes—yes, Daddy—”

Chris didn’t give you a chance to brace. He pushed inside in one long, slow thrust, stretching you open around his cock.

Your back arched. The stretch was unbearable, too much, even with all the prep, but Chris just groaned, pressing deeper, inch by inch, watching your face contort with pleasure.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, pressing a hand to your lower belly. “Feel that? Feel how deep Daddy is?”

You did. He was there, pressing into something devastating, making your walls flutter around him.

Chris cursed, his hand squeezing your waist before he snapped his hips forward.

You cried out.

Chris groaned, watching the way you took him, how your body clenched and trembled. “Fuck, look at you,” he murmured, his voice thick with something dangerously close to affection. “So fucking good for me, baby.”

His thrusts picked up—hard, relentless, brutal. Your body rocked beneath him, every drag of his cock sending another sharp spike of pleasure through your nerves.

Chris’s grip tightened, his breath ragged. “You’re gonna take every drop, sweetheart. Gonna fuck you so full, gonna make sure it sticks.”

A wrecked sob left your lips, your hips rolling back instinctively, desperate. “Want it—please, Daddy, I—”

Chris groaned, slamming his cock inside in one deep, brutal thrust.

Your mouth fell open, your fingers digging into the sheets, pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain. Chris didn’t stop. He set a relentless pace, fucking into you deep, his hands gripping your waist so tight you were sure you’d feel it tomorrow.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, watching the way your body took him, watching how your slick coated his cock every time he pulled out. “You were made for this, you know that?” His fingers slid to your stomach, pressing down, making you feel every inch of him inside you. “Made to take my cock—made to be bred.”

You clenched around him, and Chris groaned, his thrusts turning rougher, more desperate. His fingers slid lower, rubbing your swollen clit, sending sparks of pleasure straight to your core.

“You’d look so fucking pretty, baby,” he murmured, his pace never faltering. “So round, so full of me.” He pushed in deeper, making sure you felt every inch, making sure you knew exactly what he wanted. “Gonna keep you like this, keep you stuffed with my come, fuck you full every night until you’re dripping—”

The words sent you spiraling. Your whole body locked up, pleasure crashing into you so fast, so intense, you could barely breathe. Your walls clenched around him, milking his cock, your release spilling down your thighs, making a mess between you.

Chris groaned, shoving himself as deep as he could go, holding himself there, letting you ride out the aftershocks. His fingers dug into your hips, his cock throbbing inside you, so fucking close, so desperate.

And then he was flipping you over again, manhandling you like you weighed nothing, pinning you beneath him.

“You’re not done yet, baby,” he murmured, gripping his cock, rubbing the tip through your soaked folds, smearing your release everywhere. “I’m not done.”

You barely had a second to brace yourself before he was pushing back inside, slow and deep, stretching you all over again. You mewled, pleasure so overwhelming it bordered on too much—but Chris just cooed, brushing your hair back, pressing soft kisses to your jaw.

“You can take it, princess,” he whispered, rolling his hips, grinding so deep it made you see stars. “Gonna fill you up, yeah? Gonna fuck my come so deep it stays inside you?”

You whined, legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. “Please—”

Chris groaned, something wrecked and raw, his thrusts turning messy, erratic. “Yeah? Want Daddy to fill you up? Want me to breed this pretty little pussy?”

Your entire body clenched, and Chris cursed, his cock pulsing inside you, right on the edge.

“Fuck—” His forehead dropped to yours, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Gonna come inside you, baby. Gonna make you mine.”

His hips snapped forward, his grip tightening—and then he was gone, his whole body tensing as he came with a wrecked moan, spilling inside you, so deep, so much. His cock throbbed, thick ropes of come filling you, making you feel impossibly full.

For a moment, all you could do was exist in it—the heat, the weight of him, the unbearable fullness that made you feel stretched, stuffed, ruined. Chris groaned low, his body twitching against yours as he gave you everything, pushing himself as deep as he could go, holding himself there like he could carve himself into you, like he could make it stay.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasped, voice thick and wrecked, forehead pressing against yours. His breath fanned across your lips, his nose brushing against yours as he swallowed hard. “Took me so fucking well. So perfect.”

You barely had the strength to answer, your body too wrung out, too wrecked from the relentless waves of pleasure. Your walls clenched weakly around him, still pulsing, still trembling, and Chris groaned, his hips jerking forward involuntarily.

Then, slowly—reluctantly—he pulled out, hissing at the way your walls fluttered around him, still desperate to keep him inside. A wrecked sound left him when he saw the mess between your legs, his come already spilling out of you, sliding down the curve of your ass, pooling onto the sheets.

His jaw tightened. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding them open as he watched the way you leaked, completely spent, completely his.

“Shit,” he muttered, running a hand through his damp curls. “Look at that.”

You barely had the strength to move, your thighs still shaking, your mind hazy, floating somewhere between exhaustion and bliss. Chris kissed your temple, whispering something you couldn’t quite make out, something sweet and soothing as he gently eased you onto your side, gathering you up into his arms. His hands rubbed up and down your back, slow, tender, the complete opposite of how he’d just been fucking you.

“Deep breaths, baby,” he murmured, lips brushing over your sweaty forehead. “There you go. You with me?”

You made a small noise, barely more than a whimper, pressing your face into his chest. Chris chuckled, though it was quiet, full of warmth.

“Too fucked out to talk?” he teased, his fingers slipping into your hair, massaging at your scalp. “My poor baby.”

You whined, and he cooed, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, your cheeks, every bit of skin he could reach. “S’too much,” you mumbled, voice slurred, wrecked.

Chris grinned against your cheek, his hand smoothing down your back. “You love it,” he whispered, nuzzling against you. “Love being full of me, don’t you?”

You whimpered, your body shivering despite the warmth of his embrace. Chris hummed, something dark and pleased curling in his chest. His fingers trailed down, over your stomach, rubbing softly, soothingly. He groaned, knowing his come was still inside you, knowing how full you must feel.

“Good,” he whispered, pressing another soft kiss to your shoulder. “So good for me, princess.”

"Let me clean you up," he murmured after a moment, shifting like he was about to move.

But as soon as he tried to pull away, you whimpered, clutching at him weakly. Chris immediately stopped, his expression softening. "Oh, baby," he crooned, kissing the bridge of your nose. "You want Daddy to hold you, huh?"

You nodded, too exhausted for words.

His arms tightened around you, pressing you fully against him. "Okay, sweetheart," he whispered, tucking the blanket over both of you. "M'not going anywhere."

He kissed your temple, his fingers still trailing up and down your skin, featherlight, absentminded.

“So pretty,” he murmured, his voice thick with something soft, something impossibly tender. “My pretty girl.”

You sighed, barely conscious, barely awake, and Chris chuckled, shifting just enough to reach for the wet wipes on the nightstand. He moved carefully, gently, wiping away the mess between your thighs, murmuring quiet reassurances against your skin.

But when he pulled back, his gaze landed on your entrance again—still puffy, still stretched from him, still leaking his come despite how much he’d given you.

Chris groaned, his jaw clenching, something dark flickering behind his softened gaze.

“Fuck,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. He was trying—really trying—to let it go. To let you rest.

But then his fingers were there, brushing over your swollen folds, pushing in just enough to spread the mess, to watch the way your body twitched in response. You whimpered, barely coherent, shifting weakly beneath him.

Chris exhaled sharply.

“Gotta make sure it stays, baby,” he murmured, almost apologetic, pressing two fingers inside, slow, deep, watching the way your walls fluttered around them, sucking them in, so perfectly pliant.

You whimpered, half-asleep, but didn’t stop him.

Chris swallowed hard, his cock twitching all over again.

Maybe he’d have to make sure again in the morning.

#bang chan x reader #° braindead reccs

2K notes · View notes

brainddeadd · 2 days ago

Note

Chan appreciating his gf’s big tits that’s it send ask

lovee asks like these pls send me more hard thoughts/thirsts PLS im begging <3

You don’t even notice it anymore, the way Chan’s hands always seem to find their way under your shirt. It’s just… Chan. The same way he kisses the top of your head when he walks past or hums little melodies into your hair when you’re cuddled up on the couch—except instead of that, it’s him slipping warm, calloused palms under cotton and settling over your chest like they belong there.

And they do. At least, according to him.

You’re tucked against his side now, blanket draped over the both of you while some drama plays on the TV, and he hasn’t looked up once. Not because the show’s boring—it’s not—but because he’s too busy palming you lazily, thumbs brushing in slow arcs over soft flesh. He’s not even trying to turn you on. It’s just his version of holding hands.

When you shift to grab the remote, his grip tightens like he’s worried you’ll take them away. He makes a soft noise, not quite a whine, not quite a grunt—just that little sound he does when he’s annoyed you’re moving.

“Stay,” he murmurs, not even glancing at the screen. His hands are still warm, still spread over you like he’s mapping you from memory. “Don’t move.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s pointless; you’re already settling back into him, letting his hands find their rhythm again. They’re so steady, so familiar, that it makes your whole body relax—until one thumb drags over your nipple and you feel the faintest curl of his fingers, like maybe it wasn’t as mindless as you thought.

“Chan,” you warn, and his grin is immediate, teeth catching in the corner of his lip.

“What?” He’s the picture of innocence, though his hands are still sliding under the band of your bra now, pushing fabric up like it’s in the way. “M’just getting comfortable.”

It’s slow, the way it builds. His palms mold to you like they’re made for it, thumbs brushing until the teasing edges into something heavier. He squeezes—just once—and the noise you make has his eyes flicking up to your face like he’s been waiting for it.

“Cute,” he says softly, leaning in to press a kiss under your jaw. “You don’t even realize how much I love these, huh?”

You’re about to answer, but he’s already shifting, turning you so you’re lying back against the couch cushions. His body slots in close, knees bracketing your hips, and then his mouth is on you—through your shirt at first, warm breath seeping through thin cotton.

His lips find your nipple easily—no bra, no barrier except the thin give of cotton—and he mouths at you lazily, like he’s not in any rush to get anywhere. The heat of his breath seeps right through, his tongue pressing against the fabric until it sticks to your skin.

You gasp when he sucks just hard enough to pull more of you into his mouth, the damp circle spreading under his lips. He hums at the sound, low and satisfied, the vibration going straight through you.

“Channie…” you try again, but it’s weaker this time.

“Mm?” It’s all he gives you, not lifting his head, his voice muffled against your chest. “Keep talkin’, baby. I like when you sound all soft like that.”

Your fingers find the back of his head, curling into his hair without thinking, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. He tilts into the touch but doesn’t stop, shifting just enough to nudge his nose along the curve of your breast before closing his mouth over the same spot again.

The wet fabric clings tighter now, every flick of his tongue dragging the cotton against sensitive skin. You shiver, and his hands tighten at your sides, holding you still like he’s afraid you might pull away.

“Feels good?” he asks, still mouthing lazily, the words warm and damp through your shirt.

You nod, but he pulls back just far enough to look up at you, hair mussed and lips pink. “Say it,” he murmurs.

“Feels good,” you admit, breathless, and his smile is quick, boyish, before he’s lowering his head again.

This time he takes his time switching to the other side, lips parting to breathe warm air over the nipple until you twitch under him. Then the slow, deliberate drag of his tongue comes, followed by another open-mouthed suck that has your back arching just a little.

“Pretty girl,” he mumbles, kissing over the damp spot he’s made, his voice almost fond. “Could stay here forever.”

You want to tell him he’s ridiculous, but the way his teeth catch lightly on the fabric, just enough to tease, steals the words from your mouth. The drama on TV fades into background noise, the room narrowing down to the steady press of his mouth, the heat of his palms, and the quiet hums he lets slip every time you breathe out a little too sharply.

And he doesn’t stop—doesn’t even seem like he wants to—just keeps mouthing you through the thin cotton, slow and sure, like there’s nowhere else in the world he’d rather be.

It’s like that everywhere. Grocery shopping? He’s got his arm around you from behind, chest to your back, using the excuse of “reaching for the pasta” to press you into his palm. Lying in bed? He’s asleep with his head on your chest, lips brushing your collarbone every time he breathes out, drooling on you just a little because apparently your tits are better than any pillow he’s ever owned.

It always escalates. Maybe it’s slow, the both of you tangled up under a blanket, his hands exploring every curve with greedy little squeezes until you’re sighing into his neck. Or maybe it’s fast, his shirt hitting the floor before you’ve even made it to the bedroom, his mouth already on you—hot and desperate—like he’s been waiting all day.

Chan doesn’t just touch your tits; he’ll spend forever kissing over every inch, sucking bruises into the swell, groaning when you arch into him. Loves fucking you slow with your shirt still on but pulled up just enough for him to watch, holding you still when you try to hide.

He’s relentless about it, too. The second you start squirming, trying to nudge him along, he just pins you down harder—one arm braced by your head, the other wrapped around your ribs so his palm can stay molded to your chest. “Patience, baby,” he murmurs against your skin, lips dragging lazy circles around your nipple without ever giving you what you’re silently begging for. “I’m not done yet.”

When he finally does close his mouth over you, it’s with a low, wrecked groan that vibrates straight through you. He suckles slow and deep, pulling off only to switch sides, keeping his eyes locked on yours like he knows exactly how much you’re unraveling from this alone. His hand never leaves the one he’s not mouthing—squeezing, kneading, rolling your nipple between his fingers until your breath stutters.

And then, without warning, he’s flipping you onto your back, sliding between your legs like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Your shirt’s bunched up under your chin now, and he’s looking at you like he can’t decide which part of you to devour first. He palms your tits together and dips his head again, tongue laving over both peaks in one long stroke before groaning into your skin.

Even when he’s fucking you, it’s never just about your sopping pussy. His hands are still all over you—thumbs brushing over your nipples every time he drives in, chest pressed so close you can feel the hot, ragged stutter of his breath. If you’re on top, he’s got both hands full, guiding your tits to bounce in time with your hips, eyes glazed and mouth falling open like the sight alone could get him off.

Sometimes, it’s not even your pussy he wants.

There are nights where he’s already half-hard just from making out, from having you pressed up against him in one of his hoodies with nothing underneath. He’ll drag you to bed, strip you down, and instead of settling between your thighs, he’ll kneel over you, slotting his cock between the warm swell of your tits.

“Hold ’em for me, baby,” he’ll murmur, voice low and wrecked, and you’ll squeeze them together just how he likes, soft skin enveloping him. The first thrust always knocks a groan out of him—deep, shuddering, his head tipping back as he watches himself disappear between them. His hands will still wander, even then, one sliding up to tweak a nipple, the other cupping your jaw so he can lean down and kiss you while he fucks your tits.

It’s filthy, the way he moves—slow at first, savoring every drag, then faster, hips snapping as precum slicks your skin. He loves it when you spit on his cock, loves the wet heat of your tongue flicking over his tip every time he thrusts high enough to reach your mouth. He’ll curse under his breath, calling you his perfect girl, his gorgeous baby, all while rutting between your tits like it’s the only thing he’s ever needed.

He likes it when you wear low-cut tops around the house, just so he can slide his hand in without asking. Likes it when you’re braless under one of his hoodies, so he can pull the fabric down and see how soft you look under the dim kitchen light. And when you’re in bed, all spread out and needy, he’ll spend forever playing with you—palms, lips, teeth—before he even thinks about fucking you.

Because yeah, Chan’s a tits guy.

The kind who can’t keep a thought straight once you’re bare for him, whose brain short-circuits the moment you arch your back and push them closer to his face. He’ll groan, deep and broken, like he’s in pain from wanting you, mouth latching onto one nipple while his thumb toys with the other, grinding against your thigh because just touching you gets him that worked up.

He’s greedy about it, too—both hands full, kneading and squeezing like he’s trying to memorize every curve, every weight, every shiver you give him. “God, baby look at these,” he’ll murmur, dragging his lips across your chest, eyes heavy-lidded. “Could live here. Ffffuck, I could just live right here.”

#bang chan x reader #° braindead reccs

657 notes · View notes

brainddeadd · 2 days ago

Note

Chan appreciating his gf’s big tits that’s it send ask

lovee asks like these pls send me more hard thoughts/thirsts PLS im begging <3

And they do. At least, according to him.

“Stay,” he murmurs, not even glancing at the screen. His hands are still warm, still spread over you like he’s mapping you from memory. “Don’t move.”

“Chan,” you warn, and his grin is immediate, teeth catching in the corner of his lip.

“What?” He’s the picture of innocence, though his hands are still sliding under the band of your bra now, pushing fabric up like it’s in the way. “M’just getting comfortable.”

“Cute,” he says softly, leaning in to press a kiss under your jaw. “You don’t even realize how much I love these, huh?”

“Channie…” you try again, but it’s weaker this time.

“Mm?” It’s all he gives you, not lifting his head, his voice muffled against your chest. “Keep talkin’, baby. I like when you sound all soft like that.”

“Feels good?” he asks, still mouthing lazily, the words warm and damp through your shirt.

You nod, but he pulls back just far enough to look up at you, hair mussed and lips pink. “Say it,” he murmurs.

“Feels good,” you admit, breathless, and his smile is quick, boyish, before he’s lowering his head again.

“Pretty girl,” he mumbles, kissing over the damp spot he’s made, his voice almost fond. “Could stay here forever.”

And he doesn’t stop—doesn’t even seem like he wants to—just keeps mouthing you through the thin cotton, slow and sure, like there’s nowhere else in the world he’d rather be.

Sometimes, it’s not even your pussy he wants.

Because yeah, Chan’s a tits guy.

#bang chan x reader #° braindead reccs

657 notes · View notes

brainddeadd · 2 days ago

Text

I’m just a girl Choi San

#please doesn’t he know I’m delusional?!#choi san #Ateez

40 notes · View notes

brainddeadd · 2 days ago

Text

bsf!skz reacting to accidental nudes >.<

pairing: skz x reader

tw: sexual content, sexting, pet names (baby, princess, kitty, puppy), general freak behavior

bang chan;

minho;

changbin;

hyunjin;

jisung;

felix;

seungmin;

jeongin;

a/n;

tysm for being here!!! requests are open :3

i have a few requests in my inbox, i’ll do them tomorrow!! i love bsf skz so bad <33

#skz x reader #° braindead reccs

951 notes · View notes

brainddeadd · 2 days ago

Text

bsf!skz reacting to you asking if they’re DTF

pairings: skz x reader (fake texts, smau)

tw: nsfw content! sexting, general freak behavior

bang chan;

minho;

changbin;

hyunjin;

jisung;

felix;

seungmin;

jeongin;

a/n;

hiii i hope this was good!! this is my first smau and i had a lot of fun with it :3

requests are open!! just click the button in my bio <3

#skz x reader #° braindead reccs

837 notes · View notes

brainddeadd · 2 days ago

Note

OMG I LOVE THE MINHO ALIEN FIC. finally the monsterfvck content on here

i saw you’re taking requests so can i please request an alien!channie? what would he be like? what color? how does he act? i wanna know everything!!

thank you <33

alien!bang chan x reader drabble i can’t stop thinking about

a/n: HAIII i know i am SO late getting to this (i just went into a depressive episode no biggie) BUT ALIEN CHANNIE IS COMING OUT TO PLAYYY!!!

pairings: bang chan x reader (alien!chan)

warnings: horns, fangs and claws, rough sex (MDNI!), unprotected (be smart), possessive behavior, spit and venom (paralysis, consensual!), size kink (chan’s large dong), thigh riding, mentions of blood (not graphic), brief cum eating ??, dacryphilia

you have never been the most… observant person.

matter of fact, you don’t pay attention to many things around you at all, mind always running too fast to keep up. but really, it would have been hard to miss this. even for you.

someone is outside your home, knocking around in your backyard and probably stomping through your meticulously planted garden. your strawberries!

it’s almost midnight. you’ve had a long day, work frustrating enough to make your eyes burn with unshed tears. the weather outside is sticky with early summer heat, brushing against you in the too-warm breeze. your home is your safe place; you love locking your front door and feeling like you have successfully escaped the crutches of reality. curling up on your couch, under a cozy blanket because your AC is full blast. but then-

crash!

the large potted plant on your back porch, right next to your swing, gets knocked off the small table it was perched on. your heart drops to your ass, spoon halfway to your mouth as you pause enjoying your late-night pudding.

someone is trying to rob you. someone is trying to break in and steal your lava lamp (the most expensive thing you own). the screen door by your kitchen is locked, stays locked because you only use the front door most days. to your horror, you hear the clinking sound of someone trying to pick the fucking lock.

you’ve never been the type to be a final girl candidate in a horror movie scenario. that doesn’t change tonight. as quietly as you can, you scatter to hide. the door clicks one final time, ominous in the dark, as you take residence behind your couch.

from this angle, you have a clear view of the back door and whoever is about to come inside. hidden by the shadows of your living room, you shake with fear and conjure up the worst possible images- a masked man with a gun, a serial killer with a jagged blade and blood on his pants- but none of that even comes close to what really walks into your home.

you see red. literally, skin painted pale red, almost pink, and hair that is crimson. the pit in your stomach grows deeper as you watch the man, the thing, creep into your space.

the light shining in from the security post in your back yard fades away as the door shuts. your home is thrown back into shades of black, the creature’s silhouette steadily exploring the layout of your house. your gut twists at the realization that he is impossibly quite, head turning back and forth to scan his surroundings in a calculating sort of way, no footsteps. a predator, you realize. an apex being, hunting and surveying the area.

you feel like prey. it feels like this is no longer your home, now taken over by the presence of a killer. something not human.

you freeze completely aside from the tremble of your fingers when the creature walks further into your space, feet soundless as he steps into the living room and scans back and forth. he stands unmoving, eerily silent, for a minute longer before slowly turning around and stepping closer to the hall once again.

you let out a soft breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. once the thing goes upstairs, you can dart out your front door. you can run to your neighbors house and bang on the door until they let you in. you can call- fuck. who do you even call when a monster breaks into your home?

a sound cuts you off, the audio sharp and causing your entire body to jerk in the stillness of the room. your stupid, cliche wall clock dings as midnight falls, a cuckoo bird swinging out to tweet obnoxiously. then, in your startle, your knee bangs against the back of the couch with a harsh thud! the creature pauses, still. the house is thrown back into silence and you swear your heart stops beating in the anticipation. maybe he didn’t hear you over that fuckass bird?

the creature’s head snaps in your direction, lightning fast and hard enough to break a human’s neck. your body lights on fire, eyes widening to full globes. you are so dead.

the sounds of footsteps on the ground doesn’t reach your ears, but you watch him walk forward. eyes laser focused, pinpoint precision heading towards the exact location where your knee had just bumped the couch. you know you’re caught- maybe that’s why you abandon the hiding spot to fling yourself at the front door. if you just move fast enough, run hard enough, you can make it outside.

you don’t even make it three steps.

a clawed hand grabs your waist, you yelp as the skin breaks under the rough treatment. suddenly, your back meets a sturdy, rock-hard chest and the wind is knocked from your lungs. the air in your house feels like the humid breeze outside- you can’t breathe.

a low growl, like an animal closing in on dinner, vibrates from the creature’s chest. when your body locks up, burning lungs fighting for air and throat constricting, the growl is cut off. it’s replaced with a noise that is almost… confused?

the grip on your waist slackens, and without the support you fall to your knees. you still fight to catch your breath, thoughts racing between oh my god i’m about to die, and jesus christ why was his body so hot. literally- you’re sweating buckets.

the monster kneels next to you, and to your shock the hand that presses into your back is gentle.

“i didn’t mean to hurt you, i didn’t know you couldn’t fight back.” a low, rumbling voice mumbles next to your ear. still panicked, your glassy eyes glance up in fear. you look at the creatures eyes and suddenly air comes back to your lungs.

his name is bang chan.

apart from the very scary, horrendous introduction- you’re quite fond of him. once the lights were turned on and you had an iced tea in your palms to cool your overheated skin, chan had explained he meant no harm. apparently, chan was in fact an alien. you couldn’t wrap your tongue around the syllables that make up his species name, but the way he grinned and showed off sharp, white canines when you tried made you want to try harder.

bang chan was driving a ship through your galaxy when he started to run low on fuel. imagine his shock when the planet he lands on, energy tank empty, doesn’t even offer the fuel he needs. matter of fact, the first human he comes into contact with tries to scream and murder him. when he tells the story he rolls his eyes, as if the idea of trying to fight him is idiotic. his red-toned, defined biceps flex and you gulp; the thought isn’t inaccurate.

chan had chosen your home to break into because he liked the strawberries in your backyard. you were a little angry when you realized he ate every single strawberry on the plant, but his crimson blush softened you a little. then, as if it happened overnight, chan just sort of… never left.

now, your bathroom holds an extra toothbrush. your couch seats two every night when it’s time for dinner. your dog, which had been locked in your room that first night, happily lays her head on chan’s lap and accepts the scratches on her belly- and she hates men. though, chan isn’t really a man, so you guess she rationalized it.

speaking of dinner, chan doesn’t really eat. at first you thought this was weird, had assumed red meat would be his diet, but chan shrugged you off. don’t worry about my nutritional habits, he had said casually when you asked. i’m not hungry.

but the thing is- you know that’s bullshit. chan looks different than when he first broke into your home. his eyes have dark burgundy bags underneath them, hair turning a faded color with each passing day. and every time you question him, the same words are spoken back. don’t worry about it.

you worry about it. so much so that you have no choice but to corner him and set a trap before he can leave.

it happens after dinner one weekend. you feel full, satisfied with the soup you had whipped up, but chan looks more frail by the day. although you have no doubt he could still beat you in a fight, he probably couldn’t beat anyone from his own planet if they all have his physique. which is worrisome.

“chan, will you talk to me?” you pout, arms crossed over your chest. bang chan hums, not looking away from the television screen. you huff- fine. if he wouldn’t pay attention, you would just have to make him.

you take him off guard and use that to your advantage, bracketing his thighs with your own on either side. you grip his muscular shoulders, shaking him a little in frustration as he blinks back at you.

“chan,” you groan, smacking a hand into his chest lightly. he doesn’t even flinch. “come on, tell me what you need to eat. you have to be like, malnourished by your planet’s standards.”

chan huffs an amused noise through his nose, hands wrapping around your waist to try and pull you off his lap. you double down on your effort, thighs squeezing tight around him to stay seated. he rolls his deep red irises at your attitude.

“how many times do i have to tell you not to worry before it sticks in your little human brain, hm?” chan hums, raising an eyebrow. something about that- about the way he looks at you like he is only entertaining your bratty attitude, like he is asking if you really want to act like this with him, makes you gulp. a drop of heat falls in your gut, spreading to your cunt and causing a single throb. chan glances down like he feels it against the hard surface of his thigh.

“you have to be hungry,” you mumble, suddenly shy and increasingly more aware of the position you’re in. you try not to squirm as his thigh lifts, only slightly, and presses that much closer to your core. you swallow the whimper building pitifully in your throat.

“you can’t give me what i crave,” chan says simply, as if it is the end of discussion. but you aren’t a quitter, and this feels like a competition. scary alien or not, you feel like your pride is on the line here.

“who said i can’t?” you ask, tilting your chin up defiantly and mimicking the raise of his eyebrow. chan huffs through his nose again, less amused and more tested. you don’t miss the way his hands tighten on your waist, the barest hint of claws digging into your skin. you remember the scratch marks that were left on your skin that first night and feel your pussy dampen against his athletic shorts.

chan’s first real reaction comes when you clench again, now noticeably wet and making the fabric of your cotton sleep shorts stick uncomfortably to your thighs. chan’s breath hitches, harsh inhale following soon after as if he smells something mouthwatering- staring at you like you’re the meal.

your stomach twists with anticipatory nerves. maybe what he’s been craving, what he feeds off of, is you.

testing his patience and your own limits, you softly shift your hips over the tough muscle of his thigh. the pressure on your sensitive clit makes you gasp into the air, eyes fluttering with the movement of your hips. chan growls suddenly, low and dangerous, and when you look back up you gasp again.

chan’s skin is vibrant, beautiful red tones painted over his neck, his face, and fucking horns. horns- honest to god, two twin horns, have grown from his head and curved upward like a cartoon devil. sharp and pointed, much like the fangs you see when he clenches his teeth.

“y/n,” he whispers, as if unable to hold back the tremble in his voice if he speaks any louder. “i play with my food, baby. watch what you do.”

a shiver runs up your spine, his hand drags up the same path. when you roll your hips again, grinding forward with intention, his hand fists in the hem of your shirt and he tenses the muscles of his thigh. you whine loudly this time, biting down on your bottom lip to quieten the noise. batting your lashes, you can’t help but moan, “please chan- eat me whole.”

that’s all it takes, really.

chan’s thick fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt, lifting it over your head and groaning low in his throat at the sight of your bare tits underneath. his eyes are half-manic, flitting over your body like he doesn’t know where to start. then he grips your hip tightly, other hand moving to pinch a nipple between two fingers, and his mouth attaches to your other.

you whine high in your throat, back arching and hips rolling forward again, harder this time. chan’s grip on your hip aids in the movements, not giving you a chance to slow down as he pushes and pulls you along the wide expanse of his thigh, clenched muscle rubbing against your clit through the thin fabric separating you.

“fuck, princess-“ he moans, both hands moving to grip your ass under your shorts and really control the movement of your body. “you feel so good, i can tell how desperate you are- can taste it.”

you moan as his lips kiss across the expanse of your neck, up your jaw and finally connect with your own. the kiss is immediately messy, spit and tongues and open mouthed as you whimper and whine into him. he lifts your hips, pulling you up harshly, and you help get rid of your shorts and panties in one motion. his shorts come off next, shirt following soon after, and suddenly the only thing separating the two of you is a pair of thin, black briefs. when he disconnects from your lips, chan lets out an entirely inhuman sound at the sight of your dripping cunt, clenching around nothing.

“get back to work,” chan purrs, pushing you back onto his thigh. the muscles tighten underneath you, tensing and pushing up to meet the filthy grind of your hips. you whine loudly, getting an evil grin and glinting crimson eyes in return.

“feels- so good,” you moan, hand threading into chan’s thick, curled hair. when your other hand moves to lightly grip one of the thick horns on his head, chan moans like you’re gripping his cock. you save that information for later. “need more, please channie.”

chan nods, now openly panting and almost drooling from the way his eyes track the slide of your pussy, the wet slick left behind on his thigh with every push and pull. his eyes clench shut with a broken moan when your hand tightens around the horn, making his eyelids flutter. when he opens them again, he looks starved.

“lay down, princess. i’m finally getting dinner.”

you are pushed onto your back on the couch cushions, pillow shoved under your head and hips as chan positions you the way he needs- legs spread wide open, arms above your head, wrists crossed and unmoving. you fidget slightly, trying to clench your legs shut under his impenetrable stare, and chan’s eyes snap up to meet yours.

“stop moving, or i’ll make you stop.” the look on his face makes heat pool in your lower stomach, breath coming in soft pants. he stares at you until you blink and look away, flushed from the intensity. he thinks he won- you make sure he knows the fight isn’t over.

“make me stop then,” you hum, entirely against your better judgment. you have no survival skills whatsoever, which becomes even more apparent as you lift one hand, flicking at the sensitive horns resting on his head and delighting in the hiss that is drawn through his clenched teeth.

“fuck- make you stop?” chan asks, breathing harsher now. his face is flushed, dark red dancing down his neck and chest contrasting with the pink tone of his skin. “okay, fine. don’t say i didn’t warn you, yeah?”

you feel the bite before the pain- sharp, intense fangs cutting into the skin of your inner thigh. then, searing sparks of heat travel outward from the wound. your skin tingles where chan laves his tongue over it, smiling against your thigh when you scream. then, a second blinding pain as incisors open your other thigh to match.

you fight the urge to cry, pain mixing with pleasure as your pussy throbs with sheer want. you can feel the wetness on your thighs, soaked cunt begging to be given attention. and you moan- not only from the pain, but also because a tingling sensation has started to travel from the matching bite marks on your thighs, curling up to your hips and down your calves. suddenly, you can’t move a single muscle in your legs. you blink at chan, and he grins back at you with blood stained teeth.

you almost cum on the spot when you realize chan is venomous.

“don’t worry, baby. i didn’t dose you enough to kill you,” he says, spreading your legs wider. you can still feel every touch, almost amplified now without the ability to move. “just enough to keep you still for the next hour or so. you know, keep you good.”

your responding moan sounds like an entirely different person to your own ears. you sound pitiful, desperate to be used. hell, you are.

without the barrier of your thighs clenching shut, chan spreads your pussy lips open wide with his large thumbs. he sighs blissfully at the sight of your hole clenching around nothing, empty and begging to be filled. when his thumb dips inside you, teasing and light, you feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

“chan! please, please, please- i need it, need you so bad-“ you whimper, unable to buck your hips. all you can do is take it, be used like you want to be. your cunt has never been this soaked. the couch cushions below you are damp.

“you sound so pretty,” chan murmurs, dipping his head down finally, breath ghosting over your wet entrance teasingly. he laughs then, amused at your begging. “okay, princess. you ready?”

you nod. chan eats.

he doesn’t start slow, doesn’t tease anymore once his mouth is finally on you. chan is reverent- abnormally thick tongue pushing inside your pussy and fucking into your walls like he is carving out space. you whine above him, hands clenching and wrapping in his hair, over his horns like handlebars. the moan chan lets out vibrates to your core.

no human has ever made you feel this way in your life. you’ve had decent sex, sure, but chan is insane; you have never felt the coil in your stomach tighten this fast, lightning spark up your spine this harshly, and all from his tongue. he hasn’t even touched you properly, hasn’t taken his briefs off, but he eats you out like your body is his only lifeline- and maybe it is. maybe the food he has been lacking, the nutrients he needs to stay alive, are wrapped up in your veins and firing off chemicals that keep him fed now, after starving for weeks.

chan grips both of your thighs with rough, calloused hands, keeping you still even though you couldn’t move anyway. it’s like second nature to him, he doesn’t think before restraining his meal.

you moan, high pitched and throwing your head back as you pull him in deeper by the horns. his tongue is long enough to brush against the bundle of nerves deep inside you, making your toes curl. you feel your climax approaching quickly, half-panicked as you realize you’re about to cum so fast.

“ch-chan-“ you whimper, trying to push him back now, failing with your weak upper body strength. chan is stronger than he had been half an hour ago; you can see the muscles in his arms roll underneath his skin, flexing and tightening under his brute force. the thought of causing him to be like this, strong and insatiable, makes you that much closer.

“you close, princess? fuck, that’s it, baby. cum all over my tongue,” chan rumbles against your cunt, tongue pulling out of you briefly before thrusting back in, a yelp slipping past your lips at the feeling of being fucked full.

all it takes is one more press of his tongue against the bundle of nerves inside you; you’re cumming hard, a scream ripping from your throat as you cunt pulses with each wave of your orgasm, clenching around chan’s tongue.

he groans against you, not slowing down the movement of his tongue until you whine and dig your nails into his hair. even then, he doesn’t pull out- just slows down, drinking you in instead of chasing your high.

a single tear falls from your eye, followed by more tracking down your cheeks. it feels so good, better than anything ever has, and you just know you will never experience this kind of pleasure again without chan’s guidance.

chan coos at you when he pulls away, crimson eyes turned brighter with life. he wipes his thumb over your wet cheek, bringing it to his mouth after. you whimper pitifully as you watch him suck the tears off.

“are you tired, princess?” he asks, still painfully sweet, almost condescending. you nod, eyebrows lifting upward and furrowed. then, chan moves closer. nuzzling at your neck, pressing wet kisses there, and whispering in your ear, “think you can handle my cock, sweet girl?”

and just like that, you’re wide awake. you nod frantically, thoughts of being fucked full and claimed the only thing racing through your head. you need him so badly, need to feel the way he stretches you out around his cock. his tongue was already one of the biggest things you’ve ever taken- so how big could he possibly be?

chan chuckles at your desperation, leaning back to pull his briefs down his muscular thighs. when his cock springs free, smacking against his abdomen, your heart drops to your stomach.

chan’s cock is… gigantic. thick, curved at the tip, and obscenely shiny with precum dripping down the shaft. you lick your lips subconsciously, watching the vein on the underside pulse in reply. there is no way- no way that thing is fitting inside you.

chan lines the red tip of his cock up with your still-dripping entrance, making your cunt clench in anticipation. he tsks at you, sliding two fingers in embarrassingly easy and curling them up.

“relax for me, okay?” he murmurs, shit-eating grin plastered on his face when you arch your back to attempt to meet the teasing pet of his fingers. “fuck, you’re going to feel so good squeezing my cock like that.”

chan fucks his fingers into you slowly, teasingly, until you relax under him. when your muscles soften, body relaxed in the heat, he lines up again. this time, you don’t get the chance to tense back up- chan thrusts his cock into you in one long, smooth motion, bottoming out with a groan that is barely heard over the animalistic moan that rips out of you.

you get time to adjust, barely, unable to focus on much aside from the filthy grind of his hips and the way his tip kisses your cervix. he doesn’t move other than that, doesn’t thrust, just pets at your hips and sweaty hair until you whimper under him and become restless.

“move, please-“ you cry, blinking up at him with glassy eyes. you feel the way his cock twitches inside you when another tear falls onto your neck.

“think you can take it?” he asks, voice still soft even as he pulls out slowly, eyes almost rolling back at the grip your pussy has on him. you can only nod, stuck on the broken moan that leaves your mouth when he pushes back in to the hilt.

that seems to be all the confirmation he needs, though. your leg is lifted, one staying spread wide as the other gets hooked over his shoulder. you still can’t fucking move- only able to take, take, take.

chan sets a relentless pace, hips snapping into you hard enough that the smack of his balls rings out against your ass. you can’t shut your mouth, moans and whimpers and half-formed chants of his name falling from your lips every time he hits your g-spot. your thighs are shaking, you notice the tremble in the leg he has thrown over his shoulder. although you can’t control it, your body is still responding to him.

chan suddenly moves his hand that isn’t holding your leg up, warmth running down the expanse of your chest as he touches you in a way that can only be described as worship. his hand pauses, pressing down right on your lower stomach, and your brain short circuits. his cock is so deep inside you that you can feel the press of his hand- can see the bulge of him fucking you in your stomach.

you cum- out of nowhere.

you’re caught off guard enough to scream once more, pleasure hitting you like a boulder in the gut. you clench so tightly around chan’s massive cock that he curses, long and low, pushing into you one last time before you feel him cumming too- deep inside you, painting your walls white.

you black out. you know you do, because when you come back to reality chan has already pulled out, leaning down to fuck his tongue into you shallowly and scoop up the mix of both your releases. you sob, moaning so pitifully it makes your skin flush scarlet. when chan moves away again he smiles, gripping your chin and sliding that damn tongue into your mouth like he wants you to taste his food.

he kisses you for a long time, by the time he pulls away your legs are tingling again. you slowly attempt to move, sighing when your legs stretch out and slide into chan’s lap. he grins at you, eyes reverent, and hands you a glass of iced tea he must have obtained while you were out of your mind.

“how do you feel?” he asks, hands massaging your thighs and calves. you hum, lazily sipping the iced tea.

“like i got ran over and survived,” you grin, laugh bubbling up and spilling out. chan matches your laugh with a soft chuckle of his own.

“well, that’s my bad. sorry i didn’t tell you-“

“no,” you cut chan’s apology off, shaking your head. your grin has softened, a small smile still tugging at your lips. “it’s okay, channie. don’t worry, i’m just glad you got to eat.”

chan’s scarlet blush is endearing, you practically purr when he lays down next to you on the small couch and pulls your body to lay over his. “well, i do feel full. so that’s good.”

you rest your head on chan’s strong chest, sighing softly when you feel the rhythm of his heartbeat. it sounds almost human.

“you can ask me for a snack anytime you want, channie,” you hum, giggling again when he groans and kisses your head.

“don’t say that, princess.” he warns, teasingly pinching your side. when you look up, his eyes hold mirth. however, there’s a sharp glint underneath. the same sort of glint you had noticed that first night he broke into your home.

“you don’t know how much i like to eat.”

a/n: thanks again, @jupitermarss for the ask!! i hope it lived up to your expectations, and i hope it wasn’t too long of a wait :3

requests are open! pls feel free to come say hi, i love writing for u all <33

#bang chan x reader #° braindead reccs

215 notes · View notes

brainddeadd · 9 days ago

Text

not much, but it said enough / nico hischier

small talk, he drives coffee at midnight.

/ or, the one where you and nico take a weekend road trip.

word count: 8.3K pairing: nico hischier x fem!reader warnings: just fluff with some implied fade to black smut. mild language. friends to lovers. everyone knows but them.

a/n: apparently i post a nico fic on shea's birthday every year. i couldn't dare break that tradition (it's still your birthday in my timezone, so this counts.) this is a short fic and it's just fluff with a bunch of inside jokes for the rats, but you can enjoy it too. happy birthday @sleepretreat — even though you're currently on hiatus as you gallivant through the mountains, so you probably won't even see this today. cringe.

part one, you can hear it in the silence

This was all Luke Hughes' fault.

Or, maybe it was a combination of both of the younger Hughes brothers that you could blame your current misfortune on. Regardless of who was actually at fault, the moment you next saw either Jack or Luke, they would be getting an earful from you.

Because this was your only long weekend that you had off from work all summer, and you had been looking forward to spending the time alternating between reading a book on your balcony as you baked under the July sun, and becoming one with your couch as you binge-watched the entirety of Peaky Blinders for the 50th time.

All of these plans were supposed to take place at your apartment in New York. Except for maybe the odd trip over the bridge to Jack and Luke's place, they had left you a key in case of emergencies, because their balcony was bigger and had a better view for people-watching.

Luke knew those were your weekend plans because you had been talking about them for weeks. Every time he had invited you to join the annual Hughes brothers Fourth of July bash, you had politely declined, insisting you were already fully booked for the weekend.

The last thing you wanted to do was spend half your time off in a car, driving all the way up to the Hughes lakehouse back in Michigan.

Until you got the frantic call from Luke a few nights ago, about realizing he forgot to pack the Hughes-a-palooza trophy to bring home for the summer. It was a ridiculous trophy that Quinn had made a few summers ago, to take their weekend beer Olympics to the next level with an official prize.

And the brothers took this very seriously.

Luke had won last year, his first year, finally securing the champion title. He had been so proud of the victory that he had obviously taken the trophy with him to New Jersey for the season, displaying it like a centerpiece on their coffee table. With the oversized and garish trophy residing in the middle of their living room, you had no idea how Luke had possibly overlooked the trophy and forgotten to pack it.

But alas, it was two nights before this year's beer Olympics were about to kick off, and Luke was calling you mid-panic attack, about how there was no way they could do the tournament this year without it.

Talking Luke down off the ledge had somehow resulted in you agreeing to pick up the trophy and drive it to the lakehouse for the weekend.

You were annoyed and had been reluctant to agree to the weekend plans, but Luke was one of your best friends, and hearing him so distressed pulled at your heartstrings enough to have you cave in quickly. It wasn't exactly what you had been hoping your weekend would consist of, but the Hughes brothers did know how to throw a party, and you knew you would actually have fun.

Plus, their house was on the most beautiful private lake, so when Jack inevitably started to get on your nerves, you could retreat to the dock and still enjoy your original plans of soaking up some sun with a good book.

It was also an excuse to drive your new car, something living in New York City didn't provide many opportunities for, as it was usually faster to walk or take the subway wherever you needed to go. You had been excited about the big purchase, finally upgrading your car for the first time in your life, rather than the hand-me-downs you had been driving since you first got your license as a teenager.

The best part of your new car? Apple CarPlay.

You no longer had to rely on aux chords or USB cables to connect your phone, now able to wirelessly play all your favourite playlists—and it would even read out your texts to you. That always got a giggle out of you when your car would try to read out emojis included in messages.

You had discovered this with Luke when you had changed his name in your phone to include a moose emoji. Often, he'd text you while in the car with you, just to hear the message, and it's included emojis, out loud. You'd roll your eyes when he did it, telling him it was childish, but you'd never admit it gave you a good laugh every time, too. And you looked forward to the string of unhinged emojis Luke now included at the end of every text he sent—just in case you were in the car when you got it.

Your excitement for the weekend road trip ended abruptly the night before, when Jack called you for a favour, too.

You should have known it was going to be bad news when Jack's name popped up on your phone.

It was a summer miracle because his captain, Nico, who usually spent his entire summers back home in Switzerland, had some press obligations with the NHL in New York City next week, and after some pressure from the Hughes brothers, had agreed to fly in early to join them for their weekend at the lake. Because Nico didn't spend his summers in New Jersey, his car had already been put into storage at the dealership for the summer, and he'd have to tag along with you for the nearly nine-hour drive from Jersey City to Michigan.

Of all the things to plan and dread about this weekend, you hadn't even considered Nico as being part of this equation.

But you couldn't say no, because you had already told Luke you'd be driving up with the trophy, and apparently Jack had already told Nico you'd be picking him up. If you backed out now, you'd have to explain why to all of them. And you weren't exactly sure how to put it into words that the idea of being alone in a car with Nico for that long made you nauseous to think about.

Not that you didn't like Nico. It was quite the opposite, actually.

You had always had a tiny crush on Nico. But who didn't?

When Jack and Luke first introduced you to their Swiss captain, he was so warm and friendly that you went home that night starry-eyed and stayed up way too late scrolling through his Instagram feed to try to find out if he had a girlfriend. Totally normal behaviour, of course.

It had felt like love at first sight for you. Maybe it was because he was so personable, the first of Jack's teammates who had ever really taken the time to talk to you and get to know you.

Every time after that initial meeting, he would go out of his way to find you in the crowd whenever you showed up at a team event, being the first to greet you the moment you arrived.

It drove you crazy, though, because he seemed that sweet with everyone, so how were you ever supposed to know if there was meaning behind the way he treated you, or if he was just one of those people that everyone fell in love with when they met?

As affectionate as Nico was, he was also intimidating. So, you never said anything, just quietly enjoying the attention and the butterflies every time he'd pull you into a bear hug that felt like it lasted longer than just friends would hug.

Until this last Valentine's Day, when you drunkenly told Jack about your silly little feelings for Nico after having too many glasses of wine on your bad Tinder date, and crashing at the Hughes apartment for the night, honestly, you didn't even remember saying it until a couple days later, when Jack made a casual comment about how you wanted to fuck their captain while he was in the kitchen making his morning coffee—in front of Luke.

Luke, who couldn't keep a secret to save his life, now knew your biggest secret.

There was no way Nico didn't know you were in love with him within 12 hours of Luke finding out.

So, you had been doing your best to avoid Nico ever since, too scared or embarrassed to have to face him. Avoiding him during the season had been more difficult, having to skip team parties and avoid the friends and family suite after home games. When he headed back to Switzerland for the summer, you felt like you could finally breathe a little easier, no longer anxious about accidentally running into him somewhere when he was no longer even in the same country as you.

When you picked him up that morning, he was his usual laid-back self. He had even offered to be the one to drive, saying he didn't mind driving long distances and felt bad about you having to chauffeur him around. But you politely declined, insisting that he was probably still jet lagged, and forcing him into the passenger seat.

It provided a nice segue to explain that the car was new and this was its first official road trip, leading to a safe and easy-flowing conversation about your car shopping journey and how unhelpful the Hughes brothers had been throughout the entire process.

If he knew about your unrequited feelings, he was at least putting on a good show and acting no different toward you.

It made you feel a tad guilty, if you were honest, about how much you had been ignoring him. Jack had mentioned a few times that Nico had asked about you, if you were coming to a party, or why you had missed a team dinner, and the memory of that was starting to weigh heavily on your conscience.

You should have given Luke more credit for keeping this secret. He seemed to have done a decent job at keeping his mouth shut.

Or, the reality was, Luke and Nico just never talked about you, so there was no opportunity for this to have ever even come up in a conversation. Nico was polite around you because that was how he treated everyone, but when you weren't there, you must not have been on his mind.

But you still had nearly an entire day trapped one-on-one with Nico in this car, plus the weekend at the lakehouse and the return drive home, so you needed to bottle these feelings and shove the intrusive voices to the back of your mind, or you were never going to survive.

Not when he was looking at you with those huge brown eyes, listening intently as you rambled about the new features your car had, as if it were the most interesting story he had ever heard. As if he didn't drive a car easily worth over twice as much as yours.

"It'll even read out your texts as you get them," you explained, taking your right hand off the wheel for a moment to tap on the center touchscreen display.

Nico chuckled as he watched you navigate from the homescreen to the Messages app, showing off your favorite feature. "I think most cars do that these days."

"Maybe your fancy rich people cars do," you scoffed, waving your hand to dismiss him, "but this is my first car that does that."

"Okay, okay, that's fair." He raised his hands to signal defeat, but he was still laughing as he spoke.

"It's when it reads out the emojis that really makes it," you continued to explain, not caring if he found this to be ridiculous. You scrolled through your old notifications, finding a text Luke had sent you the night before that you knew was safe to play out loud because it contained only a string of incoherent emojis. "Now Luke always includes a bunch of random ones when he texts me and knows I might be in the car."

You hit play on the old message, practically beaming as Nico let out a booming laugh, while your car did its best attempt to read out the collection of emojis Luke must have just keyboard-smashed together. His laugh was infectious, making your stomach flutter with butterflies when he found something genuinely amusing. Every time he threw his head back with a giggle, dimples popping, you were sure you could physically feel yourself fall a little bit more in love.

So you let Nico click the following message from Luke, enjoying the sound of him cracking up over the seemingly serious text about the entry code into their apartment's parking garage, followed by hot dog emojis, fireworks, puffer fish, and a snorkel mask.

"How did he even discover this?" Nico asked, scrolling to another message.

"I got a text while he was in the car with me one time, and it just kind of took off from there," you shrugged, not quite sure how to describe that this was just you and Luke's sense of humour.

"I'll make sure I'm using more emojis when I text you," Nico smirked, pressing the home button to return the display to its usual view. "I can't let Luke have all the fun here."

You wanted to mention that Nico never texted you, you weren't those kinds of friends yet, but you kept your mouth shut. Last night was probably the first time you had ever texted him, when a message from an unknown number had popped up, confirming what time he needed to be ready for pickup in the morning. He must have asked Jack for your phone number to help make coordination easier, rather than having to go through Jack, who usually took 3 to 5 business days to respond to a text.

There was a sarcastic comment begging to slip out of your mouth, pushing dangerously close to the line of flirting with Nico, when your phone chimed with an alert for a new text. Luke's name appeared in the push notification at the top of the touchscreen.

"Let's see what Rusty has to say today," he announced, leaning forward to hit the play button in the notification banner.

By the time you looked over at the screen, it was too late, and the message was already playing. Your stomach dropped as you realized the new incoming notification Nico had eagerly pressed play on did not belong to Luke Hughes. There was no moose emoji; this one just said Luke. But Nico wouldn't have known the difference or expected another Luke to be texting you right now.

"Text from Luke: Hey, it's Luke from the SoHo Yoga & Physio Studio. I'm sorry to be doing this over text, but-"

This was just Luke, the toxic yoga instructor and wannabe influencer you had met on Tinder and gone on a couple of dates with, and didn't even know his last name to save in your phone. It was only a few dates, and while the physical chemistry had been great, he was boring to talk to, and you knew it was going to fizzle out sooner rather than later.

You hadn't responded to his last few texts, hoping he would take the hint that maybe this was never anything serious, and it was time to move on. Now, you were sitting in an awkward silence with Nico as your car read out a robotic rendition of what could only be described as a horrific breakup text from Luke.

And from the sounds of his message, he had had a very different interpretation of your brief time together.

"I've been struggling to figure out the best way to say this. I need to do the right thing for both of us, and as much as my heart wants to keep fighting for you, I know deep down you deserve something steadier. Someone who isn't still untangling the mess inside themself. I thought what we had was special, but love, real love, means knowing when to step aside, even when it hurts. I have to let you go because it's the only way I know how to honour what he shared. Please don't reach out. I think it would be best if we both took the proper time and space we need to heal."

Your car chimed again, signaling the end of the message.

You and Nico both sat in complete silence, staring out at the road straight ahead. You weren't quite sure how to explain what that just was, or if Nico would even believe the real story about who Luke was. As casual as those dates had been, he had made it seem like this was some gut-wrenching, long-term breakup that you'd never recover from. Never mind the fact that you had been ignoring his texts for weeks already, or that it was so casual he had to introduce himself at the beginning of the text.

No matter which way you spun it, there was no good way for Nico to take this. The last thing you needed was this beautiful hunk of a man pitying you, because you knew he would be so patient and understanding if this actually had been a real heartbreak.

Nico was the first one to eventually talk. You weren't sure how long you had sat there in the heavy silence, but the longer it went on, the more your skin began to crawl with anxiety.

"I'm so sorry," Nico eventually blurted out. "I didn't mean to—I thought it was going to be from Rusty, and-"

"It's okay," you cut off his ramble, unable to stand hearing anymore from him. You were embarrassed enough as it was. His apology wasn't helping.

"No, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"Honestly, Nico," you raised your voice to quiet him again, "it's fine."

The silence that followed that outburst felt even heavier.

Maybe this would just be the rest of your road trip together. You'd sit in silence, the radio not even playing in the background, for fear that Yoga Luke would send you another unhinged message and somehow make this even worse.

It wasn't as if you could simply choose a new conversation topic and move on, either. Your mind had gone completely blank from the second Nico had walked out of the front door of his apartment building that morning, and all the safe or neutral ground stories you had brainstormed in advance for this trip had disappeared.

As your brain usually did when you were around Nico.

"Jack never mentioned that you were seeing someone." Nico's voice was so quiet, you barely heard him.

You weren't quite sure if you heard him correctly at first. Since when was he talking to Jack about your relationship status? Unless this was confirmation that Jack or Luke definitely told him about your desperate crush on him. And that was why the usually unshaken captain, whom you had never known to ever get nervous before, seemed so uneasy.

"Uh, yeah." You watched Nico frown, his thick brows knitting together as he scowled. It only fuelled your mortifying embarrassment. "But it wasn't, like—it wasn't serious."

"Are you okay?"

His question caught you off guard, whipping your head over to stare at him. "W-what?" you stuttered out, glancing back and forth between the road and his concerned expression. "Why?"

"Your boyfriend—or, I guess, sorry, your ex-boyfriend-" he cringed as his words trailed off, gesturing vaguely in front of him as if that was supposed to make any sense.

"OH!"

Evidently, Nico understood that text to be a lot more dramatic than it really was, too.

"God no," you laughed, unable to stop yourself. "He wasn't my boyfriend. We went on a couple of dates, but he was a bit too much, and I've been ignoring his texts for a while now. Honestly, it was more of just a convenient hook-up situation. That text made it sound a lot more serious than it was."

"Ah," Nico nodded, "right."

You hadn't just told Nico that this guy was a convenient hook-up.

You might as well have screamed it was just sex.

That almost felt worse than having said this was your fiancé or high school sweetheart—anything other than a fling you met on a dating app. Now, you must have looked depressingly desperate to a man who surely had thousands of girls willing to throw themselves at him. He could have his pick of any girl in the entire New York metropolitan area, and probably beyond, and here you were getting dumped in a text message from a Tinder date.

Not brave enough to look over at Nico, you could still see his awkward fidgeting out of the corner of your eye. His hands were preoccupied fiddling with the bracelets on his wrists, routinely sneaking glances at you before focusing back on his hands in his lap.

If this went on any longer, you were going to scream.

"Do you want to stop for coffee?" you asked as you passed an exit sign for a rest stop a few miles ahead. That seemed like a safe distraction. A new topic to focus on, or at the very least, a few minutes to get out of the car and not have to be stuck in this unbearable tension.

"Yes," Nico answered too quickly.

You both couldn't help but giggle at his all-too-eager response.

"Yes," he answered again, clearing his throat before he continued. "Coffee would be great, Schatz."

part two, you can feel it on the way home

"Soooo, did anything exciting happen on your drive up?"

Jack was practically singing, making no attempt to keep his voice down as he let himself into your designated guest bedroom, ignoring the fact that you had definitely not invited him in.

After you and Nico had finally arrived at the lakehouse, well behind schedule because Jack had called Nico and asked you to make a few pit stops at the grocery store in town, you had caught the two of them whispering to each other as they unloaded all the bags from the car. Jack had grinned when he spotted you, before waving you off and insisting you could go relax because they could handle it. Which felt entirely uncharacteristic of Jack.

He then spent the rest of the evening smirking at you, his mischievous grin only growing wider every time he caught you glaring at him.

Physically and emotionally exhausted from the day, after helping Quinn tidy up the dishes from dinner, you had excused yourself to bed for the evening. Luke had whined that it was way too early to go to bed, especially when he had such big plans for a bonfire tonight to celebrate the first official night of their beer Olympics weekend.

Unfortunately, shortly after you had arrived at the lake house, the weather had taken a drastic turn, and it had been pouring rain ever since. Even if the rain were to let up now, so you could all sit outside at the fire pit, the ground and all of the wood would be far too soaked to actually be able to have a fire.

So, you politely said goodnight to the group, making your way to your usual bedroom at the very end of the upstairs hallway. It wasn't the sunshine you had been hoping for, but lying back across the mountain of fluffed pillows with your book while listening to the rhythmic patter of the rain falling outside was a decent substitution.

You had only managed to get one chapter in before you could hear Jack's heavy footsteps stomping down the hallway toward your room. While he didn't knock to let you know he was entering, you could have easily heard him coming from a mile away.

Reluctantly putting your bookmark back between the pages to hold your spot, you hoisted yourself up until you were sitting and could look up at Jack.

"Did Nico already tell you?" you scowled. "God, word travels fast around here."

"So, something did happen?" Jack tilted his head to the side, a bit like a confused puppy. He finally closed the door behind him, stepping further into your room. "Is that why you were late? You two pulled over to fuck? Because Nico is never late—you're never late!"

Your jaw dropped at his accusation. "No."

"I thought you two were finally going to confess your love for each other, but it sounds like nine hours locked in a car led to a little more."

"We were late," you argued through gritted teeth, "because you sent us on a scavenger hunt across town for some stupid gluten-free graham crackers for a bonfire you can't even have because it's pissing rain outside right now."

"You're a little testy tonight," he smirked. "Is it that time-"

"Do not finish that sentence," you warned, pointing an accusatory finger at Jack, "or I'm going to go downstairs right now and tell your little girlfriend about the time you had ringworm. See if she still fancies you then, huh?"

"So hostile for no reason," Jack mused. But from the smirk on his face, you could tell he was loving this. There was nothing Jack enjoyed more than seeing how many of your buttons he could push. "I think someone needs to get laid."

"Ha. Ha."

"I know just the guy," Jack continued, ignoring your noticeable glare. "He just so happens to be downstairs, and a little birdy told me that you have a crush on him."

"I don't-" you started to protest, but Jack wasn't having any of it.

"That little birdy was you, by the way," he reminded, as if you could have ever forgotten. "A bottle of rosé deep, and you were blubbering in my kitchen about how Nico was the greatest guy you had ever met and you couldn't stop thinking about-"

"You have three seconds to get out of my room before I murder you."

That shut Jack up, his jaw dropping as he stared at you in disbelief. "Your room?" he gawked. "This is my house!"

"Three…"

"Okay, okay!" Jack laughed, throwing his hands up in surrender. "I'm sorry! I just meant-"

"Two…"

"Fine," Jack whined. He huffed as he folded his arms across his chest, like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum. "Message received. I'm leaving."

You went back to your book as you heard the door click shut behind him. It only took a few seconds for the door to open again, which you had anticipated, not bothering to reopen your book just yet. It wasn't like Jack to give up that easily, so he was due for at least another visit or two.

You did roll your eyes when Jack's head popped back into the door frame. All he did was raise his eyebrows at you, as if that was enough to understand his message.

"What, Jack?"

"Are you seriously not going to come back downstairs?"

"Nope," you shrugged, nonchalantly returning to your book. "I'm pretty content up here right now."

"I'm happy you're content, but Nico is down there moping all alone, looking like a lost puppy." Jack paused for dramatic effect, groaning when he realised his big speech wasn't working on you yet. "Come on. He needs a little cheering up because apparently, he found out you were sleeping with someone else today, and we all know he's too polite to come up here and talk to you himself because he doesn't want to 'invade your space' or whatever."

"I wish more people would respect my space like that," you mumbled under your breath.

From the way Jack sternly said your name, you figured he had heard your comment. He propped the door open a bit wider, leaning against the doorframe as he looked at you expectantly. "I'm being serious," Jack continued. "This guy's wound so tight I think he's going to snap. He needs a little-"

A pillow thrown directly at Jack's face shut him up pretty quickly.

"Apparently, you both need-"

"Jack," you warned, voice stern. "Get. Out."

He let out the most over-the-top sigh you had ever seen from the middle Hughes brother, making a dramatic show as he turned around and left once again.

If you ignored Jack, he would usually catch on eventually. You heard him mumble some more complaints under his breath before you listened to his footsteps retreat back down the hall. He'd more than likely be back in a few minutes to try again, whatever his end goal was here.

You were annoyed he hadn't bothered to close the door again on his way out, but that confirmed for you that he probably wasn't done annoying you for the night. For a moment, you contemplated getting up to close the door, and maybe lock it this time, but instead, you just focused back on your book, carefully turning to the next page.

As expected, you had just turned the page of your book when you could hear a set of footsteps coming back down the hall toward your room. The loose plank of wood in the middle of the hallway floor squeaked under the weight of your visitor's footsteps.

Jack usually avoided the creaking floorboards, preferring to try and surprise you with his drop-ins, despite how loud his footsteps always were. Clearly, he was trying to get your attention and see just how far he could poke and prod to annoy you before you finally caved in and followed him downstairs.

But you weren't going to play along today.

You were mortified enough from that car ride with Nico. So, you were taking every excuse to not have to be around him, before you had to somehow survive being locked together in a car for another 9 hours on your return drive home in a few days.

It was only a few seconds after you heard the usual floorboard creak that there was another soft knock on the frame of the door that Jack had left ajar.

"Jack, I swear to God," you groaned, not even bothering to look up to greet him. You weren't going to play along. You'd just jump right to the chase, too tired for whatever ridiculous story he was coming back with this time. "I'm not going to fuck your captain. Please stop asking."

"Oh-"

That didn't sound like Jack's voice. And Jack wasn't one to ever end up speechless.

The silence made your heart stop.

Your head snapped up, hoping to find Jack standing before you, only it wasn't him in the doorway. Instead, it was Nico, looking just as shell-shocked as you were, closed fist still raised against the wood trim of the doorframe where he had just knocked.

"Oh my God," was all you could manage to squeak out. You both stared at each other, not quite sure what either of you was supposed to say next.

Apologize! Yes, that's what you needed to do. Just apologize, and he'd go away. Maybe you could even fake an emergency and drive all the way home alone in the middle of the night, so you'd never have to see him again.

"Nico, I-"

"You know?"

All you could do was blink, trying to force your brain to focus on the words coming out of Nico's mouth. But everything felt and sounded a bit fuzzy at the moment. "What?"

Nico's hands came up to frantically rake through his hair, a telltale sign when he was stressed or worried. "Jack said he wasn't going to say anything."

Perhaps your brain simply couldn't keep up because this all made no sense to you. Was Nico trying to defend Jack, make excuses for his teammate about why he had spilled your secret? Actually, no, it sounded like Nico was in disbelief because Jack had told him he wasn't going to say something.

"To me?" you asked. It didn't make much sense, but the fraction of the sentence was all you could manage to stutter out at the moment.

It was Nico's turn to look confused. "What?"

"Jack wasn't supposed to say anything to you," you tried to clarify, but it only seemed to confuse Nico more.

"About what?" Nico shook his head, trying to clear his jumbled thoughts. This happened every summer; his English would slip away when he went back home, and it would take a while for his brain to adjust to switching back from Swiss German. "Sorry, this is too confusing. I don't think I even know what we're talking about anymore."

"I, uh-" your voice cracked as you tried to find the words. "It's nothing. Just forget it."

"I just walked in on you angrily telling Jack to stop asking you to sleep with me, so no," Nico let out a dark laugh, "I don't think I'm going to be able to just forget this one."

You groaned, trying to cover your flushed face with your hands as you sank backwards into your pillows. Perhaps if you shrank yourself small enough, you would disappear entirely.

"What did Jack say to you?" Nico asked, nervously scratching at the back of his neck as he remained firmly rooted in the doorway.

"Nothing! He's just—he's just teasing me about…" Your voice trailed off as you shrugged, too scared to actually say the words.

Because if you admitted your feelings out loud, that was it.

There was no going back. You were ruining any chance at actually having a normal friendship with Nico.

"Oh God, he did tell you," Nico sighed, leaning his head against the doorframe with a soft thud. He briefly closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to steady himself—the kind you were so used to seeing him take before an important face-off. "I'm sorry, I wanted to tell you myself, I swear! I just—I didn't know how, I guess."

Something wasn't adding up.

Nico was the one apologizing for something Jack had told you? You couldn't think of a single important thing Jack had told you recently, especially anything that would require an apology from Nico. Had you just blocked out whatever it was? Or maybe your memory was still a little fragmented, given the events of the last 24 hours.

"Nico," you tried to keep your voice steady, "what do you think Jack told me?"

"That I like you?" he answered, as if it were obvious.

He liked you?

The entire earth seemed to tilt off its axis at that moment.

Nico liked you?

You felt dizzy, as if your mind were playing a trick on you. You couldn't quite comprehend what Nico had just said. There was no way.

If Nico liked you—if Jack knew that Nico liked you, why had he just let you ramble about how much you liked his captain and never once said anything? Was that why Jack had been encouraging you to make a move? Because he knew Nico felt the same way?

He was pushing so hard because he was listening to both of his friends whine about their apparently unrequited feelings for each other. And he had been true to his word, never spilling Nico's secret for him, even if he was being a bit over the top with his not-so-gentle nudge to try and force you two together.

"Look, I just, uh," Nico let out another deep breath. "I came up here to make sure you were okay after today. And now I'm the one embarrassed here, so I'm going to leave you alone, and hope tomorrow we can pretend this entire day never happened."

Without waiting for a reply, Nico pushed himself off the doorframe he had been resting against and turned to leave.

He couldn't just tell you that he liked you and then leave. This was everything you had been hoping for, and now he was about to walk away?

But you hadn't said anything yet, you realized. You had been silent, your mind spinning too fast for you to get any sort of coherent words out, since Nico had admitted his feelings out loud. He must have taken your silence to mean you didn't feel the same.

Jack's earlier words popped into your head.

He needs a little cheering up because apparently, he found out you were sleeping with someone else today.

In an effort to downplay the embarrassment of the Yoga Luke fiasco, you had tried to use it being a casual hook-up as an excuse. Now, it seemed like evidence to back up the idea that you weren't interested in Nico because you were seeing other people.

Even though Nico was the one moping, silently trying to come to terms with the idea that the person he liked seemed to be seeing someone else, he was still the one going out of his way to come and check on you to make sure you were alright after everything that had happened today.

And now he was walking away, convinced you didn't feel the same, because you didn't say anything in response.

"No, Nico, wait!" You scrambled off the bed, carelessly tossing your book to the side as you did your best to stumble to your feet. Nico froze in the hallway, only a few strides away, slowly turning back around as you called his name. "Sorry, I'm just a little caught off guard, and I didn't know what to say."

Nico visibly cringed as you finally reached him, obviously taking your words wrong.

"In a good way, I promise!" you tried to reassure him. "Jack just—Jack never said anything."

You took another step forward, your toes practically touching Nico's as you stood face to face in the hall. Aware of how easily sound carried down this hallway, you lowered your voice. The last thing you wanted was for someone to overhear this conversation, and you could picture Jack and Luke hiding just around the corner, eavesdropping at the top of the stairs.

Your voice was barely above a whisper, forcing Nico to duck his head down to hear you. "Jack never told me that you liked me, too."

"Too?"

You nodded, eyes focused on watching Nico's chest rise and fall as he took a few laboured breaths. "So, forgive me that it took a moment to wrap my head around the idea that you could possibly feel the same way that I do."

Nico's hand hesitantly brushed against your own, the brief contact enough to send a static jolt of electricity through your veins. It made your heart rate speed up impossibly fast, your toes curling with anticipation.

"So, you really-" Nico's voice trailed off, quiet and hesitant like he still wasn't quite convinced.

"Yeah," you nodded, a small, breathless laugh escaping. "Yeah, I really do."

Your hands came up to rest on his broad chest, tugging gently on the fabric. Before you could second-guess it, you rose up on your toes and kissed him.

The kiss began softly, almost cautiously. The kind of kiss that felt like coming home after a long day, shoulders relaxing as you thought, finally. Nico froze for half a breath, then melted into you, his hands coming up to cradle your waist as if he was desperately trying to anchor himself to reality.

It was soft for only a moment before the years of almosts and what-ifs finally cracked open between you. Your fingers threaded into Nico's hair, pulling him down closer to you. His hands gripped your hips tightly as he leaned in, mouth opening against yours to deepen the kiss with a groan he didn't mean to let out.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless, you barely moved. Still wrapped up in each other, your foreheads rested together as you both tried to catch your breath.

Somewhere in the background, you could hear the faint hum of laughter floating up the stairs. It brought you back to reality for a moment, reminding you where exactly you were and the complete lack of privacy this intimate moment really had.

Jack's distinct laugh coming from downstairs made you pause. It was partially drowned out by the terrible country playlist one of Quinn's friends insisted on putting on, which meant he definitely wasn't waiting at the top of the stairs, and he probably hadn't heard any of this conversation. But it did mean he was awake, and would notice that Nico had left to go check on you and then mysteriously never returned.

"Is Jack waiting for you back downstairs for an update?"

"No," Nico shook his head, his hands coming to rest on the small of your back. "All I said was I was going to bed."

You nodded, biting your already swollen bottom lip as you watched Nico's smile grow. He must have had a similar trail of thought, because those adorable dimples only seemed to become more pronounced as he tightened his grip on you.

"Then let's go to bed."

Nico ducked his head down to capture your lips in another heated kiss. He began to walk you backward, kissing you harder now, deeper, as his hands slid under the hem of your shirt to feel the warmth of your skin. With your arms wound around his neck, you stumbled backward together, laughing into each other's mouths at your uncoordinated dance as Nico blindly kicked the door shut behind you.

You pulled apart for only a second, each holding your breath to see if your cover had been blown by the soft slam of the door.

But the noise downstairs continued on, no one the wiser to the two of you holed up in your bedroom, unaware of the way your breath caught in your throat as you heard Nico click the lock behind him. Satisfied that the coast was clear, you grabbed onto the collar of his shirt and softly tugged him backward, the music downstairs drowning out the shuffle of your feet on the old floorboards and the creaks of the well-worn bedframe.

Wrapped up in nothing but the thin cotton sheets, you could still hear the music from downstairs, having now switched from country to the rap playlist you knew Jack always played on game days to get him hyped up. There was still a fair amount of yelling because, apparently, they were betting on beer pong, and someone was convinced Luke was cheating.

Between the dull hum of the bass vibrating up through the floorboards and the soothing sound of Nico's steady breathing, you could barely keep your eyes open. With your head resting on Nico's bare chest, you closed your eyes for only a second.

"I can't believe you told Jack you liked me," you mumbled out, your half-asleep brain accidentally muttering the thought out loud. You could feel Nico laugh, the soft chuckle rumbling in his chest from where your head lay.

"I did," he agreed, his hand coming up to absentmindedly twirl a piece of your hair between his fingers. "A while ago, honestly. I'm surprised he managed not to say anything."

"How long is a while?" You couldn't resist asking.

Nico snorted, earning a gentle swat from you. "Are you trying to embarrass me here? Is this some sort of payback for that text from Luke?"

"Shut up," you groaned. But when Nico remained quiet, you decided to speak up first. "I told him on Valentine's Day. What a way to celebrate the holiday."

"New Year's Eve," Nico admitted quietly. "Two years ago."

You pulled back, propping yourself up on your elbow so you could properly face him. Nico was staring at the ceiling, breathing shallowly as he waited for your reaction to his confession.

"The party at Jonas' place?"

"Yeah," he nodded, eyes still focused on the ceiling. "Jack caught me looking for you before midnight. Called me out right away."

You tried to think back to that party, to see if anything about that night stood out at all to you. You remembered not wanting to go, complaining about how awkward it would be to have no one to kiss at midnight. Jack had just shrugged, insisting that you should come because it would be way more fun than sitting at home alone. And it had been fun, until you heard the midnight countdown start in the living room, and you hid in Jonas' spare bedroom, hoping no one would notice that you had disappeared in such a crowd of people.

Drunk, in the cab on the way back home, Jack had asked if you had kissed Nico at midnight. You had assumed this was him making a smartass joke or seeing through your facade and knowing about your crush on his captain that you hadn't yet admitted to, yet—and wouldn't actually tell him about for another two years.

Turns out, Jack had just assumed that Nico had actually found you that night and had worked up the courage to admit his feelings, or at least drunkenly kissed you to ring in the New Year. And when he hadn't, Jack would then spend the next two years making subtle hints to both of you that one of you needed to make a move.

"Oh no," you groaned, letting yourself collapse back onto the pillow next to Nico. "Jack is going to be so smug about this."

"He is," Nico agreed.

"Unless we don't tell him." It was your turn to keep your gaze fixed on the ceiling, too scared to see how Nico would react to your idea. "Not that I want to keep this a secret. I just-"

"Don't want to be stuck here with a self-righteous Jack telling you I told you so all weekend?" he finished for you.

"Exactly," you breathed out in relief.

"Whatever you want, Schatz," Nico laughed. In one swift motion, he rolled onto his side to grab you by the hip and pull you forward until you were tucked perfectly against his chest. You let yourself relax into him, burying your face into the crook of his neck to try and stifle your giddy smile as he pressed a kiss to the shell of your ear. "I'm following your lead here."

So, you didn't tell anyone.

Nico snuck back to his own room just before the sun started to rise, expertly avoiding all the creaky floorboards you pointed out. And no one was any the wiser.

The weekend turned out a lot better than you had thought it would. What had initially been absolute dread about the thought of having to spend the weekend at the lakehouse, only made worse by your catastrophic road trip to get here, had ended up turning into a fun game of stealing kisses when no one was looking, taking turns tiptoeing into each other's rooms each night, and holding hands under the table at every meal.

Jack was suspicious the entire time, but never actually said anything.

He had nearly caught Nico untying your bikini top in the kitchen on the final morning when you didn't hear his usually heavy footsteps. You and Nico had assumed you were alone, everyone already down at the dock while you two had been tasked with packing up a cooler full of drinks to take down onto the boat.

The two of you had jumped apart when you heard Jack call your name, mumbling out some excuse about needing help putting sunscreen on your back. Nico had assured you that Jack had bought the excuse, but you couldn't ignore the feeling of him watching you like a hawk for the rest of the day.

And you did catch Jack and Luke whispering to each other while glancing over at you and Nico during your final dinner together that night.

If Nico noticed their suspicious behavior, he was unfazed, his hand resting firmly on your thigh under the table the entire time.

Nico held your hand any chance he could, including on your drive home once you had waved goodbye to the rest of the group and pulled out of the long gravel driveway.

You had finally agreed to let him drive your car that morning, something he had been insisting was only fair since you had driven the entire way there. No longer dreading the thought of awkward silences or hoping Nico would just fall asleep in the passenger seat so you wouldn't have to try and make forced small talk, you agreed to let him drive.

Plus, this meant you could get comfortable in the passenger seat, unabashedly staring over at Nico the entire time. He didn't seem to mind the staring, glancing over to steal a glimpse at you too every now and again.

With one hand on the steering wheel, his other hand remained interlaced with yours, resting on the center console between you. It was sickeningly sweet, if you were honest.

You were giggling over some sarcastic joke Nico had made, entirely wrapped up in this honeymoon stage bubble you and Nico had created, almost not noticing that the music you had put on in the background had faded out. Your phone chimed with an alert, and a notification of a new text from Luke appeared on the center display.

Nico hesitated for a moment, clearly having flashbacks to your drive up to the lakehouse.

But this time, it was Luke Hughes' contact that the notification had come from, confirmed by the moose emoji you had added to the end.

"Let's see what Rusty has to say," you giggled, reaching over with your right hand to press play.

What could Luke have to say that could possibly be worse than last time?

"Text from Luke. Moose: HOLD ON A SECOND, DID YOU FUCK OUR CAPTAIN? Revolving light. Nauseated face. Revolving light."

Nico laughed, clearly amused by the youngest Hughes brother's message, including his usual mandatory emojis. As the message finished playing, the playlist you had initially been listening to faded back in.

You felt your cheeks going beet red as Nico gave your hand a reassuring squeeze.

You were about to apologize, a rambling string of incoherent words about not meaning to embarrass him, and you'll tell Luke it's not true if he didn't want anyone to know yet, or maybe ever, because maybe this wasn't something he wanted to ever tell anyone, because what even was this?

Love? Friends with benefits? Or something entirely in between that you would take your time to explore and figure out because you both clearly liked each other as more than friends, and honestly, you thought your chemistry worked so well together, and—

Nico brought your intertwined hands up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, instantly quieting your racing thoughts.

"Do you want to stop for coffee, Schatz?"

#nico hischier x reader #° braindead reccs

271 notes · View notes

brainddeadd · 9 days ago

Text

something just friends do / nico hischier

seems like we’ve run into a complication because you’ve made plans to be on your own

/ or, the one where you and nico get matching tattoos.

word count: 8K pairing: nico hischier x GN!reader warnings: mild language, mentions of anxiety, alcohol, tattoos & needles; friends to lovers.

a/n: the @wyattjohnston summer fic exchange strikes again. this fic is for @selfindulgentpoorlywritten. i tried to use some of your favourite tropes, based on the feedback you sent me and previous exchange anons! i also took inspiration from a few of your on repeat songs.

i always love using these exchanges as an opportunity to challenge myself outside of my usual writing style, so i've kept the reader and any OCs gender-neutral, which is new for me. i hope you love it! this was supposed to be published yesterday, but I tried to post it from my phone, which made the formatting all wonky, and I had to rewrite some of it. sorry!!!

part one: you can tell yourself we're just friends

"I think I've just met the love of my life."

It was the text your best friend, Riley, had sent you after meeting Luca Hischier.

Like some kind of fairytale, they had bumped into each other in a busy train station in Zurich, both running late to their respective trains and not paying attention to where they were going. You weren't there to witness it, but in all the retellings you had heard from the two of them, from the moment they crashed into each other, the rest of the world lost its colour.

Suddenly, all that existed was each other.

No longer worried about missed trains or wrecked plans, they stood in the middle of the train station just talking for so long that Riley's feet started to hurt. They eventually made their way to the small cafe to continue their conversation, and it was only when the crowd of tourists eventually dissipated as the station began to close that they realized how long they had actually been wrapped up in each other. They exchanged phone numbers before reluctantly saying goodbye to run and catch their respective last trains home, before they ended up having to sleep on the floor of the station.

Riley had sent you that text as soon as they had settled into their seat on the train home.

To this day, it still gives you butterflies every time you recall the message, knowing that they were so sure this was the person destined for them, after only knowing them for a few hours.

While you always hoped for the best any time Riley would introduce you to someone new, you could have never anticipated how quickly and how deeply they'd fall in love with each other.

The following weekend, Riley had caught the train up to Biel, where Luca was playing hockey, to spend a few days with him. They were officially inseparable from that moment on.

It was on the journey home from that visit where Riley had texted you, "I want you to meet him, too."

When Luca finally returned to Bern for the summer, they arranged a night out to formally introduce their friend groups. You had come by after work, albeit a bit later than Riley's invitation had listed. By the time you arrived, the small bar was now packed shoulder to shoulder with patrons, and you were silently hoping Riley had the forethought to save you a seat somewhere.

There Riley was, squished into your usual corner booth with a group of faces, none of which looked familiar to you yet. But when Riley saw you making your way over, their entire face lit up, excitedly shoving the boy sitting to their left out of the way so they could climb out of the booth to properly greet you.

Riley shouted your name as you approached, loudly introducing you to the group. "They're my best friend—my platonic soulmate," they proudly declared, "and you're all going to love them!"

Riley went around the circle, rattling off names you never anticipated remembering. Until they ended on the tall sandy-haired boy standing next to them, a well-worn white t-shirt showing off heavily tattooed arms.

"And this is Luca!"

Despite his overall intimidating appearance, once Riley said his name, his face lit up, extending his arms to pull you into a bone-crushing hug. "Riley's been telling me all about you," he greeted once he had placed you back down on your feet. "I'm so excited to finally get to meet you."

From the moment you met Luca, you knew your best friend was right. They were so very obviously madly in love with each other that you suddenly couldn't remember what life had ever been like before they were together. They fit so perfectly into each other's lives.

You met his little brother, Nico, that night, too.

Squished between Riley and Nico in that corner booth, you found yourself making easy conversation with the NHL player. There was something warm about him that didn't make him feel like a stranger. So, while usually a bit shy in large crowds like that, your nerves crumbled away fairly quickly as he laughed at one of your jokes, matching dimples carved into both his cheeks as he smiled.

The longer the night went on, the louder he laughed, and the closer he gravitated toward you. Your thighs were practically glued together, even as friends started to head home, resulting in plenty of space in the once crowded booth to stretch out. You didn't want him to move away, though.

As he stretched to rest his forearm on the back of the seat, you found yourself leaning into his touch. The entire time, he never took his chocolate brown eyes off of you, instead leaning in even closer to hear you over the music.

Was he flirting with you? It felt an awful lot like flirting.

His hockey boy image had that voice in the back of your head doubting his intentions, though. As quickly as the thought popped up, you were talking yourself back down, insisting there was no way you were his type. He must have just been being polite, given how important it probably was to his brother for him to get along with his new partner's friends and family.

But his brother seemed to be very much interested in Riley, your best friend, who you saw so much of yourself in.

Did that mean there was a chance for you, too?

How were you even supposed to know if someone was flirting with you? There was no handbook on how to navigate these kinds of things. But that night, you told yourself to ignore every internal instinct telling you to panic, to shut this down and run for the fences, and you just let yourself exist with Nico.

Nico took the final mouthful of his beer, placing the empty bottle back on the table. He seemed to be on the verge of saying something, his mouth opening and then closing a few times as he focused his attention on wiping up the condensation the cold bottle had left on the wooden tabletop.

"You look exactly like Riley described," he had said, almost under his breath.

"What is that supposed to mean?" you had laughed, a bit caught off guard by his comment.

His head shot up. By the speed at which his face began to flush crimson, you got the impression he hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"Nothing! I mean, nothing bad. You're just.. you." Nico smiled despite your skeptical scowl. "It's a good thing, I promise."

And then Nico Hischier fucking winked at you.

That had been four years ago.

It wasn't the beginning of the great love story you had always been hoping for, but it was the start of something new. You and Nico had kept in touch, spending nearly the entire summer together, with Riley and Luca. Apparently, Nico and Luca lived together in the summer, sharing a small apartment in Bern for the offseason. It was technically Luca's apartment, he liked to remind everyone, and he was oh so graciously letting his millionaire NHL superstar brother stay there for free.

You became fast friends, continuing to talk almost every day, even as he left Switzerland to head back to New Jersey for the NHL season.

You had assumed whatever friendship had begun to bloom was going to fizzle out once he was in America, and you didn't have Riley and Luca around to facilitate all your plans together. But he had texted you as soon as his plane landed, and you fell into an unofficial routine where he'd call you as he drove to morning practice and you would always call on your way home from work.

He'd often insist you needed to visit him in Jersey, but something about making that trip felt too real. In your current routine, you could exist in that comfortable grey space between just friends and something more, not needing clarification on how he felt, because the majority of your relationship happened when he wasn't around.

From a distance, this could be whatever you wanted it to be.

Because every summer, he'd return to Switzerland, and you'd be attached at the hip once again.

Rinse. Repeat.

You liked things just the way they were. There was no need to make any drastic declarations or ask questions that you didn't really want to know the answers to. You were in no rush to change things about your unconventional friendship.

Until this summer, when Riley called to excitedly tell you that Luca had gotten down on one knee and asked them to marry him.

Always a romantic, they had insisted on having the wedding on the anniversary weekend of the night all their friends and family had met. It was sure to be a grand affair, with what felt like the entirety of Switzerland having been invited to the lakeside wedding. They had rented a cottage for the week on the most beautiful lake, one that Luca said his family had grown up visiting on school holidays.

With the Alps overlooking the ceremony spot, it was a breathtaking backdrop for this day that had been four years in the making. Everything about this weekend screamed romance—the location, the date, the colour scheme. This was everything Riley (and Luca) deserved, and you could not have been more thrilled to be asked to stand by your best friend's side as they said their vows.

You were getting ahead of yourself, though.

Before you could let yourself get too teary-eyed thinking about what they were going to say in their vows, you had to actually make it to the wedding day.

The rest of the guests were set to arrive tomorrow, and there was a laundry list of last-minute things that needed to be done. But in true Riley fashion, you had woken up that morning to a text from your best friend telling you to clear your schedule.

"Luca has plans for us," was all the message said.

You weren't sure who exactly us was, but you weren't surprised to find the soon-to-be newlyweds and Nico to be the only ones piling into the car that morning. They kept the location of these supposed plans for the day a secret until Luca's rental car was pulling into the parking lot of what could only be described as the tiniest tattoo parlour you had ever seen.

In such a remote Swiss village, you were honestly surprised to even find a tattoo place.

Nico seemed to share the same disbelief as he stepped out of the backseat of the car, shaking his head as he looked between the sign hanging above the door and his older brother. You exchanged a quick look with Riley, who seemed to shrug, as if to say they weren't involved with the planning of any of this. You knew your best friend well enough to know that wasn't true, but Nico ended up speaking up first before you could question what exactly you were all here for.

"Where did you even find this place?" Nico asked, giving you an incredulous look when he heard you giggle. He looked as skeptical as you felt, which was oddly comforting to know you weren't the only one blindsided here.

"Google," Luca admitted with a sheepish shrug. "Tattoo options out here were a bit limited, so we're working with what we got."

"And why are we here exactly?" you asked as Riley shut the car door, Luca clicking the button on the key fob to lock the doors.

"To get a tattoo, obviously," came Riley's dry response.

"To commemorate the moment," Luca corrected, giving Riley a playful shove toward the door.

You looked toward Nico as the two of you trailed behind to the entrance. He seemed unfazed by Luca's explanation, or even by the idea of these plans in general. That had you curiously reaching out to grab his bicep, giving his arm a soft squeeze to get his attention. He instantly fell into step next to you, glancing over with his brows raised.

"Does he usually do this?" you asked. When Nico's brows knit together in confusion, you clarified, "Commemorative tattoos."

"Actually, yes," Nico snorted, earning a giggle from you. "Usually only on vacations, but I guess this weekend counts, too."

You knew that about Luca—Riley had mentioned this a few times before. He loved to get 'vacation tattoos,' as he would call them. Somehow, you had never found yourself roped into one of his group-themed tattoos before, but it shouldn't have come as a surprise that he'd want to do something similar for his wedding weekend.

According to the oldest Hischier sibling, the tattoo itself didn't really need to have meaning. It was more the people and places they represented that mattered most, like a snapshot in time of a perfect memory that he got to carry with him forever.

Nico always went along with it, too. Which was no surprise, he did pretty much everything his older brother did. He only had a couple of tattoos, but you knew for a fact that the one on his ankle matched a similar one on Luca's ankle from a similar situation.

Being no stranger to tattoos, and having already told yourself that this was a weekend to finally get out of your own head and just appreciate these moments with your favorite people, you surprisingly found yourself saying yes and following the group's lead. Your nerves felt a bit more like excited butterflies as Nico held the door open for you, gesturing for you to go first as you ducked under his arm and into the lobby of the shop.

Lobby was a generous word, though.

There was one tattoo bed set up behind the counter, a few feet away, and you were pretty sure if you stretched your arms out wide enough, you might be able to touch both side walls at the same time. You were all instantly squished in, standing shoulder-to-shoulder between Nico and Riley. As if sensing your hesitation, Nico took a small step forward to offer you more space, his hand coming to rest gently on the small of your back, as if to help ground you.

Luca had a quick discussion with the guy behind the counter, recapping that he was the one who had called about the appointments earlier, and that he had booked for some flash sheet special today. The man who you presumed to be the artist pulled out a thick binder from under the counter, blowing some dust off the top before he flipped to a laminated page full of small black and white designs. He briefly explained you could pick from any of the designs within these pages, and then asked who in the group would be going first.

As if they had discussed it earlier, both Riley and Luca immediately pointed to Nico, who looked a bit like a deer caught in headlights when he heard his name being volunteered.

"Wha-what?" he sputtered out.

"Come on," Riley nudged his side, "don't tell me you're backing out now."

"No, I'm not," he groaned, swatting Riley's hand away like a petulant child. "Just thought I'd have a second or two to think about what I want on my body forever."

"Don't think about it too hard," Luca reminded. He stepped aside to usher Nico up to the counter, pushing the binder of designs his way. "Just pick whichever one speaks to you the most."

You watched eagerly from a few steps behind as Nico scanned over the designs, flipping through a few of the laminated sheets. He looked concentrated, and you were appreciative of this moment to unabashedly stare at him as he seemed to be everyone's focus of attention. His thick brows were knitted together as he scanned the pages, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth, as he often did when deep in thought. It was one of your favorite things about him, how cute he looked when he was seriously concentrating.

Not to mention the way you could see the expansive muscles in his back flex as he flipped through the pages.

You must have looked like a cartoon character with heart-eyes because you felt Riley's elbow gently shove you, just as Nico looked up from the page and glanced over his shoulder at you. He gave you a wink when you locked eyes, which silenced any comment Riley was about to whisper to you.

"Okay," Nico declared, straightening up and turning back toward Luca. He pointed to one of the flash tattoos, the exact design of which was blocked from your view by the rest of his body. "Let's do this one."

"I knew it," Luca chuckled, clapping his hand on Nico's shoulder.

And with that, Nico was rushed away behind the counter to get set up, allowing for a bit more breathing space in the tiny lobby. Riley excused themself from the shop for a moment, needing to take a phone call from one of the vendors who was having an issue with delivery for tomorrow's ceremony.

You took this as an opportunity to flip through the book, settling on your own design fairly quickly. With ample time still to kill as you waited for Nico's tattoo to finish, you busied yourself with flipping through the rest of the book, admiring the designs this artist had put together.

The sounds of the buzzing tattoo needle faded to the background, a bit like white noise to soothe the chaos in your own mind. You could see now why Luca loved to do this, and why it was a wedding weekend essential. It was just a silly tradition, but with all the other chaos and stress that tomorrow was going to bring, this was offering everyone the brief opportunity to get out of their own heads and have a bit of fun, if only for a moment.

Not that Luca and Riley's wedding was particularly stressful for you.

They had been together forever and worked so perfectly as a couple. You couldn't imagine a life without the two of them together, so their wedding was a logical next step, one you had anticipated for a while.

But then there was always that small voice in the back of your mind, giving space to the anxious thoughts you didn't want to say out loud. Because what if something did change about your dynamic after this? As a married couple, what if they didn't have as much time for you? Would that mean you all saw each other less?

Or, even worse, would that mean you saw less of Nico when you no longer had Luca as your missing link?

You could sense Luca's presence without looking up as he came to stand beside you, looking over your shoulder at the binder. He stood quietly beside you, but out of the corner of your eye, you could see him rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, seemingly unable to stay still.

You knew the Hischier siblings well by this point. And you knew when they had something to say, but didn't want to speak up first. They would linger.

Like Luca was doing right now.

"What's on your mind, Hischier?"

He laughed, seemingly caught in the act of his lurking. "Just wanted to see if you needed some help picking one out," he offered.

From the cheeky grin on his face, it was evident that it was a lie, and he knew you weren't buying it. You didn't press him on the blatant lie, letting him use it as an excuse to slowly segue into whatever conversation he actually wanted to happen.

"Nah, I've already picked mine out," you assured him. "I knew right away, just killing time browsing while I have to wait."

He waited for you to flip to the corresponding page, smiling when he saw which tattoo you pointed to. It wasn't much, on the smaller side of the designs to pick from. You also weren't exactly sure what drew you to the design of the small six-sided die.

It didn't have to have any meaning, you reminded yourself. But it did oddly represent just how fortunate you felt to have these people in your life, and when you thought back to this moment in time, that was exactly how you felt—lucky.

"Good choice," was all Luca said. But he didn't leave, telling you he hadn't said what he wanted to say yet.

It took a moment longer, enough time for him to glance up at his brother, who was making polite small talk with the tattoo artist while he worked on the small tattoo on his inner forearm, before Luca turned his focus back on you.

"You know," Luca started. You braced for impact, unsure where he was going to take this. "Nico picked out the same one."

You hoped he didn't notice how your eyes bulged out of your head or that your fingers momentarily fumbled with the edge of the laminated page. You weren't quite sure how you could describe the strangled noise that came from your throat, but Luca's knowing smile only seemed to grow.

"Practically dumb and dumber," Luca had called you two. "Never seen two friends this in sync."

He pinched the shoulder of your t-shirt, giving the threadbare material a soft tug for emphasis. You glanced down at your shirt, or rather, at Nico's shirt.

You had grabbed the first shirt hanging on the line when getting dressed that morning. The same thing you did all the time. It wasn't unusual to wear Nico's clothes. It was almost as if he expected it, seemingly packing more clothes than necessary on every trip. You just didn't think anyone else had noticed, too.

Not wanting to give Luca the satisfaction of seeing how much his small comment had left you shaken, you shrugged your shoulders, flipping to the next page of the flash sheet designs as you did your best to keep the expression on your face neutral.

"Don't let Riley hear you say that," you mocked. "You know they're competitive about everything, and would never let Nico take their spot as my best friend."

That earned a snort of laughter from Luca.

It was a bit of a cop out response, but you were doing your best to try and keep the conversation light. You weren't oblivious to what Luca was actually hinting at, but you also weren't sure if that was a conversation you even wanted to have, especially not right here, right now.

You glanced over your shoulder for a moment, catching a glimpse of Riley pacing in the parking lot, phone still pressed to their ear. Despite the tension evident in their posture, there was still a smile on their face as they continued to pace back and forth. They had remained calm, cool, and collected throughout this entire wedding planning journey. You could only hope to channel a bit of that bravery yourself this weekend.

"Wait until you have to hear Riley say I'm their best friend in their vows tomorrow." Luca's joke pulled you from your thoughts, just as your nerves threatened to teeter over that ever-present edge you seemed to be walking lately.

"No shot." You shook your head, turning back to Luca with a smirk. "Riley could never say that. You're supposed to be honest in your vows."

"Okay, okay. I am trying to be serious here," Luca groaned, rolling his eyes at your joke. "It's just…"

Luca's voice trailed off. You couldn't help but notice his jaw tighten, as if he were grinding his teeth as he chose his following words carefully. It made your breath catch in your throat.

When did you become so dependent on what Luca thought about your friendship with Nico? You had never cared what anyone thought before—never even giving the notion space inside your brain. But Luca was probably the one person in the world who knew Nico best. They had always been similar, and he understood perfectly how his little brother's mind worked.

You had never even considered the possibility that Luca, or anyone, was passing judgment on your dynamic with Nico.

As if he knew you were talking about him, Nico glanced up from where he was watching the tattoo artist wipe away the excess ink pooling on the skin. When his eyes landed on you, his entire face lit up, eyes softening as he smiled at you.

Like a reflex, you returned the smile, hoping Luca hadn't been watching your quick exchange.

"It's nice to finally see him like this," Luca eventually finished.

part two: but this ain't something just friends do

You just loved love.

That was your explanation for the watery smile and constant sniffles as you tried to hold back the waterfall of tears threatening to fall as you watched two of your favorite people exchange their vows. Was there anything more beautiful than seeing two people so obviously destined for each other publicly declare their love for one another in front of their closest friends and family?

Everything about today had been beautiful.

The remote lakeside cottage Luca and Riley had chosen for their venue was the perfect combination of glamorous and laid back to represent their dynamic. They had exchanged vows on an old wooden dock behind the cottage, and then headed up the grassy hill where a tent had been set up for dinner and the reception. Red and white flowers complemented the lavish greenery, and as the sun set, strings of fairy lights and torches illuminated the property with a romantic glow.

You were trying to keep it positive, not spiral out of control, but that was easier said than done.

Riley had been your best friend your entire life. Everything about your dynamic worked so easily, and they were the first person you called with good or bad news, knowing they'd always answer. It was the friendship everyone deserved to experience.

And now they had Luca.

Not that you felt replaced necessarily, but you weren't naive to the fact that something was changing in your life today.

Perhaps it was the overwhelming theme of love that had been woven throughout every piece of this event, which left you feeling so uncharacteristically melancholy. Because, as happy as you were for Luca and Riley, you wanted something like this, too. Maybe not the same grand affair of a wedding, but you wanted that person.

The one you met, and your nerves would melt away. No butterflies or red flags to navigate, hoping they'd like whatever version of you they got.

Just the person that, as soon as you met, your head and your heart would just kind of go 'Ah, there you are—we've been waiting.'

Instead, all that internal monologue seemed to focus on today was when someone inevitably came along and stole Nico's heart next, leaving you wondering where that would leave you.

Watching from the outside as everyone else got their happily ever after, and you never learned to move on or adapt? You had no idea why you were suddenly so torn up over this. You had been fine with this dynamic for years.

Nothing had ever changed. Nothing had ever even hinted at changing. And now here you were, a nervous wreck in your own head on what was supposed to be a day of joy and love.

Luckily, during their vows, when Riley inevitably did call Luca their best friend, just as he said they would, the tears that your eyes welled up with could easily be mistaken for happy tears. And you had managed to hold it together well, not wanting to make a scene or make this day about you in any way.

As beautiful as it was, once the speeches had wrapped up after dinner, you found yourself needing some air.

As the reception party raged on, the DJ put on a slow ballad for all the couples to dance to, offering the perfect ruse for you to slip away unnoticed for a moment. It would just be for a second to clear your head, breathe some fresh air, and then you'd be good as gold to get back out there and celebrate two of the most important people in your life, like they deserved to be celebrated.

Making your way down the grassy hill to the water's edge, the noise of the wedding reception faded to soft background noise. Once at the old wooden dock, you kicked off your shoes as you approached the edge. Settling into a comfortable spot at the end of the dock, you let your feet dangle over the edge, letting yourself focus on the cool contrast of the cold lake water lapping at your ankles against the warm summer evening air.

You weren't sure how long you had been down there, losing track of the number of songs you had heard fade in and out from the party up the hill.

Even with the sound of the wedding raging on behind you, the distance and the still of the lake offered just enough peace and quiet to allow you to collect your thoughts. By the time you heard the soft thud of footsteps coming down the dock behind you, you had already talked yourself to insanity and back more than a dozen times.

You didn't need to look up to know it was Nico approaching, but you still smiled knowingly when you heard him softly call your name.

Hearing the soft clink of ice cubes against glass, you looked down to your left just as he placed a drink by your side—the exact cocktail you had been drinking all night.

"Your favorite," he explained, as if his actions didn't speak for themselves. "Thought I'd find you down here."

You took a sip from the drink to buy yourself a few seconds to mull over your reply. Because, of course, Nico would be the one to notice you had disappeared, and he would know exactly where you had snuck off to. Giving him a weak smile over the rim of the glass, you shrugged your shoulders indifferently. "I just needed some space for a second," you whispered.

"I know."

Of course, he knew.

Nico kicked off his shoes, pulled off his socks, and then rolled the legs of his linen suit pants up. You wordlessly watched him settle into the spot next to you, bare feet hovering just above the water line, mirroring your own position. The moment he sat down beside you, your anxiety seemed to quiet.

He was always like this, and that was part of the problem. No one's presence kept you grounded and sane quiet like Nico did.

"Scheisse," he cursed under his breath as his feet broke the surface of the water. "Sorry, I was not expecting it to be that cold."

You took another sip from your drink to stifle the laugh trying to slip out when he visibly flinched as another gentle wave of water crashed against the dock, bringing the water level up a bit higher to touch the parts of Nico's ankle that were not yet acclimated to the cold water. "You get used to it after a while," you tried to offer.

He shook his head in disbelief, but his signature dimpled smile told you he understood.

You watched him roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt, the top buttons already having been undone hours ago in the heat. Attention focused on his fingers as they expertly undid the buttons on his cuffs, like he had done this a million times before, you could suddenly feel his eyes on you. Realizing you had been caught staring, your cheeks began to flush as you abruptly averted your gaze back to look out over the lake again.

"I'm okay, I promise," you rushed out, hoping he might interpret your longing gaze as simply being caught up staring into space rather than actually at him.

"I know," he answered calmly, "I never said you weren't."

You nodded, trying to breathe through the lump you could begin to feel burning in your throat. What a silly thing to allow yourself to get so worked up over, but that had been your MO lately, hadn't it?

There was a pause as you didn't verbally respond—too long of a pause, in your opinion. Nico wasn't saying anything else, wasn't even glancing in your direction. You sat side-by-side, silently staring out over the lake's calm surface.

The longer the quiet went on, the more restless you started to feel. Was Nico waiting for you to say more? That had to be why he came down here, not to just sit here silently.

Where did you even start?

You couldn't tell Nico you were down here thinking about him, and how much you were going to miss him when he hadn't even left yet. And he left every year! This wasn't new. You were supposed to be used to it by now, and he didn't need to be burdened with your sudden fears that something felt different about him leaving this year, especially when you didn't even know what it was that had you feeling this way.

"So…" you tried to start.

Nico chuckled, and you could see him giving his head a slight shake out of the corner of your eye, still too nervous to look over at him directly. "We don't have to talk," he explained.

Finally looking over, you tilted your head, confused.

"I just mean, I know you came down here to clear your head. I'm here to sit with you, that's it," he explained, pausing to take a sip from his own matching drink he had brought down with him. "No sense being alone. Unless you want to be, in that case, just tell me to fuck off and I'll–"

"You can stay," you cut him off. "Thank you."

All Nico did was smile in response. A genuine smile, holding eye contact. You could feel your shoulders falling away from your ears, your body visibly relaxing as you let out a deep breath you hadn't noticed you were still holding.

True to his word, Nico just sat with you.

Feet dangling off the dock, the two of you sitting in a comfortable silence. You watched the stars come out over the lake, enjoying the fresh air. Nico took occasional sips from his drink, singing along under his breath to the songs from the wedding reception, the sound carrying down the hill.

As the sun completely disappeared behind the horizon, the lake seemed even more tranquil. There weren't quite enough words to accurately describe just how beautiful and calm the Swiss wilderness was.

Nico couldn't imagine ever being anywhere else. He loved playing hockey in New Jersey, but he looked forward to returning to Switzerland all year.

Because you were here. Nico would go wherever you went.

You couldn't imagine ever living anywhere else, never even feeling tempted by thoughts of leaving Switzerland. Until you had met Nico, that is. And then you found your mind wandering those few months every year when he was gone, about whether it would ever be worth it to try again somewhere else. Maybe you were limiting yourself by not expanding your horizons, quite literally.

"Do you miss this when you're not here?" you heard yourself ask. The words slipped out so casually, as your thoughts eventually bubbled up and over.

"So much," he answered without hesitation. "Jersey is great, but this—this always feels like home."

"I can't imagine being torn between two places like that."

Nico shrugged, and it had you worried for a moment that you had overstepped. Who was to say he ever felt torn? You were probably just projecting your own internal crisis onto him. That would be out of character, Nico always being the brave and composed NHL captain in every scenario life threw at him.

It was easily part of what made him so attractive to you. He exuded uncomplicated confidence, creating the illusion that he was never nervous.

"I see it more as getting to have the best of both worlds," Nico eventually explained. "It could be better, though."

He let his words hang in the air for a moment, taking a gulp from his glass to finish off the remains of his drink.

If you didn't know any better, it looked as though he was trying to muster up some liquid courage before he adjusted his position to turn and face you directly.

"Are you ever going to come out and visit me in Jersey?"

It was a direct question, precisely what your constantly overthinking mind needed. No vague invite of 'you would like New Jersey,' or something similar that would leave you questioning if he was just suggesting a sightseeing trip or if he actually wanted you to come see him.

Nico wanted you to visit him.

Plain and simple.

He was being honest and direct. This felt like as good a time as any for you to be the same.

"Yeah, I should." Nico looked a bit shocked when you actually nodded your head in agreement. Honestly, you were a bit stunned when you heard yourself agreeing. "I keep saying I will, but haven't actually done it. So, I should do it."

He beamed, a dimpled smile that had your limbs feeling a bit like jello, making you grateful to be sitting down so he couldn't see how pathetically weak in the knees he made you.

Your agreement seemed like enough of an answer to satisfy him, not pressing you further for details. Even the hope of you actually agreeing to come see him, to have a bit of you during the season when he missed you so desperately, was enough to keep him going.

Much to your horror, you heard yourself continue talking. As if on autopilot, nervous words kept spilling out, attempting to fill the silence between you.

"I guess I always convinced myself it wasn't a real invitation," you rambled. "It was more of a polite thing you would say to everyone, knowing I'd never take you up on the offer."

"Why wouldn't I want you to visit?" he looked offended as he asked. "When have I ever not been honest with you?"

"I don't know," you shrugged, not quite sure how to put all your thoughts into words. You flinched as you watched a wave of what could only be described as sadness briefly flash across Nico's face. "But you're right. I'd love to visit, and it would be nice to see my best friend more than once a year."

"Is that what you consider us?" The corner of Nico's mouth turned up into the faintest of smirks. "Best friends?"

"What?"

"Are we just friends?"

You were quiet, unsure of what to say.

Was this a trap? It felt an awful lot like a trap. Keeping your gaze facing ahead, your fingers gripped the edge of the dock to try to keep yourself grounded. If you didn't have a grand reaction, maybe Nico wouldn't know how many times you had asked yourself that same exact question.

Unable to look at him for fear he'd be able to see right through your little white lie, you shrugged your shoulders again. "I hadn't thought about it," you mumbled. "Thought we were just us, you know?"

"No, I don't know," he laughed softly. He gently nudged the side of your thigh, forcing you to turn and properly face him. He needed to see your face as he finally told you, "I think about you all the time. And it doesn't feel like just friends to me."

"Oh."

Tightening your grip on the dock's edge, you hoped he couldn't tell how badly your hands were trembling right now. When you tried to turn away, to stare back out at the water, Nico softly grabbed the wrist closest to him, whispering your name to get your attention back.

"This isn't a trap," he reassured you. It was as if he were reading your mind. He always did that. "This is just a conversation, I promise."

"Yeah," you scoffed, "a conversation with the potential to blow up the most important relationship in my life."

"How so?" Nico was so calm as he spoke, unshaken and confident. It was as if he was actually oblivious to all of the ways it was terrifying to finally put your feelings toward him into words, or what this could possibly mean for the two of you as friends.

All he saw was you and how badly he wanted to be with you. Not all of the worst-case scenarios you had been preoccupied with.

"I mean, there's a million ways, Nico!" You let out a breathy, humourless laugh. "You don't feel the same way. Or worse, if you feel the same way, we try this, but it fizzles out, or you realize it wasn't meant for you, and then we can never even be friends again. Which is going to make everything with Riley and Luca awkward because we'll still have to be around each other, until that relationship inevitably becomes too strained, and then it's all just over."

"I think you lied." Nico's voice sounded chastising, but the face-splitting grin told you there was no real malice behind his words. "You have thought about this before."

"Once or twice."

"Is that what you were down here thinking about tonight?"

You rolled your eyes, knowing exactly what Nico was doing. He was deflecting from your anxious rant, not bothering to give any weight to your greatest fears. It was something he did often, letting you get all of those dark cloud thoughts out of your head and out into the open, if only for you to hear them back yourself and realize how ridiculous they sounded.

These thoughts didn't sound ridiculous, though. They were still very real possibilities, but Nico didn't seem scared by them. It was as if he had already run through all of these scenarios and determined they were worth the risk of whatever happened next.

That confidence was contagious.

Because if Nico wasn't scared about how he felt about you, why should you hold back out of fear?

He raised his eyebrows expectantly, still waiting for a response.

"More or less," you reluctantly admitted.

The hand wrapped gently around your wrist gave you another soft tug, encouraging you to shuffle a bit closer until your knees were brushing against each other. Both twisted in your seated position, you were still facing each other, but the new lack of distance allowed Nico to lower his voice, his words a secret saved just for you.

"I don't think we've ever been just friends," he repeated for emphasis. "And I'm sorry if that's out of line, or if I've read this entire thing wrong. I'd rather be your friend than nothing at all, but I can't waste another year away from you, kicking myself for not taking one of these opportunities to tell you how I actually feel. To take all these feelings, I think we've both been too nervous to actually acknowledge, and give them some validity here."

At a complete loss for words, the only thing you could manage to sputter out was his name, sounding more like a desperate whine. His calloused thumb rubbed a soothing circle on the back of your hand, tracing over the skin on your wrist where your fresh tattoo was. The lucky die you had gotten yesterday perfectly complemented the matching one on Nico's forearm.

Looking down at the new tattoos, you could feel your eyes begin to prick with tears. How oblivious had you been this entire time that this wasn't blatantly obvious that this was the person for you? The one who calmed the chaos inside your head and had the patience to turn every bad day around.

Of course, it was always going to be Nico.

"I'm all in," he promised.

All you could do was nod your head in agreement, not trusting your own voice.

"I'm all in—at your pace," he whispered. "Always at your pace."

You leaned in first.

It was hesitant, as you would expect from two people who had danced around this moment for far too long. Nico didn't meet you halfway; instead, he waited, eyes searching yours to be absolutely sure that this was real. To be sure that you wanted this, too. When your foreheads finally touched, you could feel him exhale a shaky, relieved breath.

His thumb stilled on your wrist, as if even he wanted to pause and commit this feeling to memory.

The first kiss was soft, just the lightest brush of lips.

Nico's hand came up to cup the side of your face, fingers threading gently through your hair. You felt him smile, actually smile, against your mouth, and something in your chest finally cracked wide open.

The kiss deepened quickly, with a kind of quiet desperation that made you dizzy. When Nico ducked his head down, the angle shifted just enough to steal your breath with a quiet gasp into his mouth. Your hands clutched onto the undone collar of his dress shirt without thinking, desperately needing him as close as physically possible to you.

You had waited long enough for this moment, and you never again wanted to imagine a life where you didn't get to kiss Nico like this.

When you finally broke apart, Nico leaned forward to chase your lips for one last quick peck. Your foreheads still resting together, Nico's thumb soothingly rubbed along your cheekbone as you exchanged shy smiles.

"Finally," you managed to exhale, earning a soft laugh from Nico.

It wasn't the big, emotional declaration he had given you, but it said enough.

You were always enough for him, just the way you were.

Watching from the top of the hill, Riley rested their head on Luca's shoulder.

Knowing you two were completely oblivious to your audience, they couldn't help but smile at the sight before them. They had come looking for you, ready to remind you both about needing to be back up at the party in 5 minutes for the ridiculous dance Riley had insisted on everyone learning. But now, seeing the two of you together, they couldn't bear the thought of being the one to interrupt.

Not when this had been so long in the making.

"Finally," Luca chuckled, taking the words right from Riley's mouth.

All joking aside, he had been honest when he had told you yesterday that it was nice to finally see Nico like this. To see his younger brother, who meant the world to him, this unabashedly happy. He had known you two were the perfect counterparts for each other from the moment Riley had introduced you.

There was never a doubt in his mind about whether you would get together; it was always just a question of when.

"They're so cute together," Riley cooed. "I told you they'd be the perfect pair."

"I think we should leave them be," Luca whispered, giving Riley's hip a soft squeeze.

"You're right," they sighed, reluctantly straightening up. "And I'll pretend to be surprised tomorrow when they tell us all about it."

"Nah, nothing is surprising about that." Luca extended his hand for Riley to grab, intertwining their fingers before turning to head back to the party. "Nico always knew what he wanted."

"How so?"

Luca laughed for a moment, glancing back over his shoulder to catch one final glimpse of his younger brother. "Did I ever tell you what he said to me after the first time they met?"

Riley raised their eyebrows, silently encouraging Luca to continue.

He couldn't fight the smile on his face as he recalled the text he had received from his brother all those years ago, entirely out of the blue. But no context was needed because Luca knew it, too. He saw the way Nico came to life in a whole new way the moment you took the seat in the booth next to him.

"I think I've just met the love of my life."

#nico hischier x reader #° braindead reccs

164 notes · View notes

brainddeadd · 13 days ago

Text

Cute Moments

Bang Chan x Fem!Reader

Hoodie Thief

It starts innocently. You’re cold after a movie night at the dorms, and Chan offers you his hoodie without thinking twice. It's oversized and worn soft from too many washes, and it smells like him—cedarwood cologne and fresh laundry and something inexplicably comforting.

He doesn’t ask for it back.

Two weeks later, you're still wearing it. To bed. Around the house. Even on a grocery run. And when he sees you in it, messy hair and bare-faced, sipping coffee from your chipped mug, he can’t help but smile.

“That hoodie's seen more of you than it’s seen me,” he teases, nudging your side.

You raise your eyebrows. “It’s mine now. You can visit it on weekends.”

The next time he stays over, he leaves another one folded on your pillow.

2AM Producer Boyfriend

It’s a Friday night. Or technically, Saturday morning.

You wake up and realize Chan’s side of the bed is empty. Again. You find him in the studio, bathed in the soft glow of his monitors, headphones around his neck and a half-empty coffee mug forgotten beside his keyboard.

You don’t say anything. You just walk up behind him, arms slipping around his waist, cheek pressed to his back.

“You’ve been at it for hours,” you murmur.

He sighs, not annoyed, just tired. “I couldn’t get the kick to sit right in the mix.”

“You’re going to short-circuit your brain at this rate.”

His hand finds yours, tangling your fingers together over his stomach. “You make a compelling case,” he says, gently tugging your hand toward him. “Five more minutes?”

You stay like that—quiet, close—until he shuts his laptop and lets you pull him back to bed.

Lock Screen

You grab his phone while he’s in the shower and snap the worst selfie you can manage—eyes crossed, cheeks puffed, tongue sticking out. Then you set it as his lock screen and put the phone back like nothing happened.

You expect him to change it immediately.

He doesn’t.

Days pass. Then a week. And you catch a glimpse of it again when he's checking messages during breakfast.

“You still have that photo?” you ask, surprised.

He shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re still my favorite view.”

Grocery Store Gremlin

You're pushing the cart, pretending to be helpful, while Chan reads the list out loud like it’s a mission briefing. Every time he’s distracted, you sneak something in—ice cream, Pocky, spicy chips he definitely told you not to buy.

When he turns around and sees the additions, he sighs dramatically. “Y/N.”

“But look,” you argue, holding up a bag of gummy bears. “They’re on sale.”

He gives you a mock glare, lips twitching. “You are absolutely not allowed to do the shopping alone.”

You grin, triumphant. “So you’re saying we should always go together?”

He leans over and kisses your cheek. “That was the plan anyway.”

First “I Love You”

You’re watching a bad rom-com on his couch, legs tangled together under a blanket. One of the characters gives a sappy speech about love, and you laugh at how cliché it is.

But the moment softens as you turn to Chan, his face half-lit by the screen.

“I love you,” you say without even thinking.

He freezes for just a second. Then his entire face softens, all the sharp edges melting into something warm and gentle.

“I love you more,” he whispers, brushing his thumb across your knuckles.

A Song Just for You

He sends you a link out of nowhere.

It's a private SoundCloud playlist titled: for my girl.

You click play.

It’s filled with songs that remind him of you—some upbeat and silly, some heartbreakingly sweet. The last track catches you off guard. It's a soft melody with your name looped over a lofi beat, and scattered between the music are voice memos of Chan whispering things like:

“She likes her tea too sweet, but I drink it anyway if she makes it.”

“She sings to herself when she thinks I’m asleep.”

“I didn’t think someone like me could deserve this kind of love.”

You listen to it on repeat until the battery dies in your headphones.

IKEA Meltdown

You’re building a bookshelf together. It should’ve taken 20 minutes. It's been three hours. The instructions are in Swedish, one of the legs is on backwards, and you're both covered in sweat and sawdust.

But when you collapse onto the floor in exhausted laughter, he just stares at you, chest heaving, and grins.

“You know,” he murmurs, brushing your hair out of your face, “I could live in a cardboard box with you and still be happy.”

You laugh. “That’s good, because this shelf is definitely not going to stand.”

He leans down and kisses you, the kind of kiss that’s slow and quiet and sure.

Sleepy Mornings

He wakes up before you and just stares. Not in a creepy way—just that soft, dreamy look he gets when he thinks no one’s watching.

You eventually blink awake to find him running his fingers through your hair.

“Staring again?” you mumble, voice thick with sleep.

“Just admiring,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You’re so beautiful when you’re all sleepy.”

You hide your face in his chest. “Stop being cute.”

He chuckles. “Can’t. It’s part of the contract.”

Rainy Days and Waffle Nights

It’s pouring outside. Thunder rumbles. You're both barefoot in the kitchen, making waffles at midnight because Chan was craving them and you said no—until he made you laugh so hard you caved.

You dance around in socks while the waffle iron hisses, and he hums old songs into your ear. You feed each other syrupy bites over the sink. You kiss him with powdered sugar still on your lips.

And when lightning flickers through the window, he pulls you close and says, “Let’s make every boring day feel like this.”

You’re My Home

You're curled up on the couch one night, your legs draped over his lap, a record spinning lazily in the background. The lights are low. It’s quiet. Peaceful.

He runs his fingers along your calf, then looks up, eyes warm and soft. “I’ve moved so many times, been to so many cities… But I think I finally get it.”

You glance over. “Get what?”

“What people mean when they say ‘home isn’t a place.’” He pauses, then smiles. “It’s a person.”

You set your book down and crawl into his lap without a word. He wraps his arms around you instantly, like he was waiting for this.

Like he always would be.

#bang chan x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #° braindead writes

370 notes · View notes

brainddeadd · 13 days ago

Note

heyy i read your boone fics and i was wondering you could write one from your fluff prompt. prompt #7, he would 100% be doing something reckless doing a tornado and get hit by something and he make sure he’s all good and press little kisses to his bruise. just like really cute and fluffy. so yeah thank you!

Boone x fem!reader

lightly kissing on top of a freshly formed bruise

The storm had already passed, but your heart hadn’t caught up. It was still thundering.

Boone stood in the doorway of the motel room, soaked to the bone, a thin line of blood trailing down from his temple, disappearing into the curve of his jaw. You barely gave him time to speak before you stormed toward him, shoving his chest with both hands.

“You reckless son of a bitch.”

He blinked, stunned but not surprised. “Hi to you too.”

“You ran — to plant a damn probe—Boone, you could’ve died!”

“But I didn’t,” he said, grinning that stupid cocky grin, eyes crinkling like he hadn’t just scared you half to death.

You reached up, thumb brushing the sticky trail of blood, the purpling bruise already forming beneath it. Your fingers were shaking, but your voice came out steady. “You scared me.”

His smile faltered.

The room fell quiet except for the low hum of the backup generator outside. Rain pinged softly on the metal roof. You stepped closer, toe-to-toe now, the smell of ozone still clinging to his skin.

“Sit down,” you murmured, grabbing the first-aid kit without looking. “You’re bleeding.”

Boone obeyed, for once. He winced as he lowered himself onto the edge of the cot, eyeing you while you rooted through the supplies. You didn’t speak as you cleaned the cut, dabbing alcohol over the bruise that bloomed angrily across his cheekbone.

“Thought you liked the reckless ones,” he muttered, trying for playful.

“I like the ones who come back to me in one piece.”

That shut him up.

You paused, staring at the bruise. A tender, swelling mark right above his cheek, just beneath the eye. He’d have a shiner by morning.

Without thinking, you leaned in and pressed a feather-light kiss to the bruised skin.

Boone stilled completely.

Your lips hovered there for a moment too long—warm breath against sore skin—before you pulled back, eyes not quite meeting his.

“That’s for not dying.”

Boone reached up, fingers curling loosely around your wrist, grounding you. “What’s it take to get another one of those?”

You tilted your head, voice soft. “Try not getting yourself half-killed next time.”

His grin returned, softer now. “No promises, sweetheart.”

#Boone x reader #twisters x reader #twisters 2024 x reader #boone twisters #twisters boone #° braindead writes #° braindead answers

11 notes · View notes

brainddeadd · 20 days ago

Note

Sheeesss baaaaack!!! OMG how i have missed baby devil (or really any of your writing recently) so excited

Ahhh hiiiii

Thank you for your patience and kind words 🤍

#° braindead answers

4 notes · View notes

brainddeadd · 21 days ago

Note

i feel like we need to talk more about luke and baby devil and their friendship with playing at umich together

Flashbacks to University of Michigan + present-day NHL friendship

Luke and Baby Devil had been a package deal since Michigan. The two youngest, two fiercest, two most chaotic players on the Wolverines' roster. They’d come in wide-eyed and fast-skating, quickly building a bond forged on the ice and in the chaos of freshman dorms and 6AM lifts.

They chirped each other relentlessly, competed over everything—goals, assists, who could chug Gatorade faster—but at the end of every practice, every late-night study grind, they were shoulder to shoulder on the couch with ramen cups in hand, screaming at The Bachelor like it was the Stanley Cup Final.

Freshman Year, UMich

"Y/N," Luke groaned, sprawled across her twin bed, "Coach is going to murder us if you're late to video again."

"I'm not late if I never show up," she mumbled from her desk, aggressively trying to fix her eye makeup.

Luke snorted. "That logic is so bad it might actually get you expelled."

“Maybe they'll let me keep the jersey.”

“Delusional,” he teased, tossing a protein bar at her head.

But then, he saw her hand linger on the mirror, her fingers tightening ever so slightly. Her dad had just passed two weeks before the season opener, and she'd buried her grief in every shift, every shot, every 5AM skate.

Luke stood, quieter now. “You good?”

She blinked, and smiled. “Yeah. Lessgo.”

“Lessgo,” he echoed, softly bumping his shoulder into hers.

Present Day, New Jersey

“You’re still the worst roommate I’ve ever had,” she told him over breakfast at the Devils' training facility.

“Excuse me?” Luke gasped, mock offended. “I kept that mini fridge stocked with chocolate milk just for you.”

“And yet somehow my string cheese always went missing?”

“Coincidence,” he deadpanned.

They shared a look before both bursting into laughter, the kind of easy comfort that only comes from surviving both college hockey and dorm showers together.

On the Ice

They didn’t play on the same line, but every time she got in a scrap, Luke was there before she even hit the ice.

He’d throw an arm around her shoulder on the bench, chirp the guy who tripped her, and toss her a Gatorade without asking.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You want me to fight him?”

She laughed. “Nah. But keep that energy.”

“Always,” he grinned.

Their Friendship Today

When she got called up, Luke was the first person waiting outside the locker room, grinning like an idiot with a Michigan hoodie in his hand.

“You might be a Devil now,” he said, hugging her tight, “but you’ll always be my Wolverine.”

They never needed to explain their bond. It was in the inside jokes, in the shared grief of losing their dads young, in the way they looked out for each other like siblings on and off the ice.

Forever teammates.

#baby devil #luke hughes x reader #° braindead writes #° braindead answers #° baby devil

59 notes · View notes

brainddeadd · 24 days ago

Note

Would you do a Lewis Hamilton x Hughes reader?😓😓 Maybe the brothers not approving bc of the age difference but still thinking he is a good guy and slowly warm up to him?

HI HI I KNOW IVE BEEN MIA FOR MONTHS NOW IM SO SORRY

sorry this took me so long I got really sick (still am) and then spiralled into my depression pretty deeply.

“He’s how old?”

Quinn’s voice cuts through the chaos of the Hughes lake house kitchen. Jack drops a spoonful of peanut butter mid-air, and Luke freezes like someone just announced a trade deadline shocker.

You sigh, clearly prepared for this.

“Thirty-nine,” you say. Calm. Cool. Casual. Like you didn’t just drop a bomb.

“He’s seventeen years older than you, Y/N!” Jack blurts, scandalized.

“And?” you challenge, lifting a brow. “It’s Lewis Hamilton. He’s a legend. And he’s kind, grounded, respectful—”

“And old,” Luke mutters.

You roll your eyes. “He’s also not here to babysit me or treat me like a child. He actually listens to me. Respects me. Something you three could work on.”

Quinn pinches the bridge of his nose, the Captain in him screaming.

—

Two Weeks Later

Lewis is polite. He’s charming. He brings homemade vegan snacks when he comes over and talks hockey with Jack like it’s second nature. He even helps Luke fix his car and compliments Quinn’s defensive play in the playoffs.

Jack's still suspicious. Luke’s competitive. But even they can’t deny he’s patient and clearly gone for you.

“She lights up around him,” Luke says one night as they watch you and Lewis curled up together on the deck.

“Yeah,” Quinn admits. “And he doesn’t look at her like she’s fragile. He looks at her like she’s unstoppable.”

Jack sighs, cracking open a beer. “I still think he’s too old.”

“But?” Quinn asks.

Jack shrugs. “He’s a good guy. I get it now.”

—

Later That Night

Lewis is walking you back to your room when Quinn steps in front of you both, arms crossed.

“You hurt her,” he says calmly, “I don’t care if you’ve got seven world titles. I will take you out.”

Lewis chuckles softly, then meets Quinn’s gaze. “Noted, Captain Hughes.”

“Good,” Quinn says. “Now get inside. She gets cold easily.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help smiling. Because slowly but surely, your brothers are realizing what you knew all along.

Lewis wasn’t just worth the risk. He was worth everything.

#lewis hamilton x reader #jack hughes x sister!reader #luke hughes x sister!reader #quinn hughes x sister!reader #° braindead writes #° braindead answers

70 notes · View notes

brainddeadd · 26 days ago

Text

put this at the top of the list of things I didn’t want to see today

#nico hischier

463 notes · View notes

brainddeadd · 27 days ago

Text

HI HI I KNOW IVE BEEN MIA FOR MONTHS NOW IM SO SORRY

I got really sick (still am) and then spiralled into my depression pretty deeply.

I'm going back to uni, which will take up a lot of time, but I'm hoping it will also motivate me to write again.

Thank you for your patience.

I promise I'll be back with baby devil soon 🤍

#quinn hughes x reader #jack hughes x reader #luke hughes x reader #nico hischier x reader #oscar piastri x reader #twisters x reader #° braindead writes #the pitt x reader

23 notes · View notes

brainddeadd · 1 month ago

Note

Alexandra x Charles x reader where readers a really smart genius engineer that basically fixed ferraris problems so the fans love her but Alex is like hates so it’s Charles and reader comforting Alex

you belong — cl16 & alexandra saint mleux

smau + blurbs

when yn joined ferrari in 2025 as charles leclerc’s race engineer, no one expected the team’s fortunes to turn so sharply. but yn had never been one to follow expectations. brilliant, unshakable under pressure, and fiercely dedicated, she wasn’t just charles’ partner off the track anymore—she was the mastermind behind his winning streak. their relationship had always been the kind people whispered about in disbelief—dating since 2022, unshakably in love, and then—just as the world adjusted to that—opening their hearts in 2023 to alexandra. a soft, steady presence in their chaos. an unlikely throuple that somehow made perfect sense. at first, the world loved them. loved the victories, the public kisses, the unity. but as the wins piled up and yn’s brilliance took center stage, the tide began to turn—toward alexandra. whispers of gold digging. accusations of riding coattails. a sudden, brutal wave of online hate. and while yn and charles were too caught up in podiums and progress to notice at first… the cracks were forming. but yn isn’t just intelligent in engineering, she is emotionally intelligent as well. and she can read alexandra like no other.

fc : lissie mackintosh

(a/n) : obvs all the hate comments in this are completely fictional and i love alexandra with my whole heart and im so happy that her and charles are together!

—

scuderiaferrari & yn_ln

liked by yn_ln, charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc & 7,709,001 others.

scuderiaferrari : A new era begins. We are proud to welcome YN LN to the team as Charles Leclerc’s race engineer for the 2025 season. With a reputation for brilliance under pressure and a mind made for motorsport, she’s ready to rewrite what it means to wear red. Strategy. Precision. Power. Benvenuta, ingegnere. 🔴🏁

—

view 501,0188 other comments.

charles_leclerc : the best in the business. can’t wait to make history together, mon bébé❤️‍🔥

liked by yn_ln and scuderiaferrari

↳ username00 : oh these two working together is gonna be the death of me. so fucking cute.

lewishamilton : Incredible move. So excited to have you on the team and can’t wait to see you shine! 🫶🏽