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capquinn · 19 days ago

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Perfekt | N. Hischier

summary: When Nico’s composure slips in the heat of the moment, his soft English praises give way to raw, unfiltered Swiss German pairing: nico hischier x reader content: smut, p in v, super vanilla, MDNI word count: 2.3k note: disclaimer: an english to swiss german translator was used. apologies for any incorrect translations <3 ↪masterlist

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“You’re not speaking English anymore,” you whisper against his lips, your fingers threading through his damp hair, nails lightly scratching against his scalp. The way he exhales, a shaky, uneven breath, sends a shiver through you.

Your lips trail away from his, moving to press soft, lingering kisses along his cheek and jaw, the faint stubble grazing your skin. He stays still, his body taut as though every nerve is focused on where you’re touching him.

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He’ll start in English, his voice calm and steady as he murmurs soft, sweet praises against your skin, like he’s savouring every inch of you. It’s deliberate, grounding, the kind of control that makes your heart race because you know exactly what it’s building toward.

But then his composure starts to crack. And when it does, it’s like a switch flips. His brain defaults to the language he grew up with, the one that feels the most natural when he’s overwhelmed and raw. It’s instinctual, spilling from his lips like a confession — Swiss German phrases so soft and quiet, they’re more exhaled than spoken. At first, it’s just a word here or there, low and rough, but as he gets closer, his control slipping further, the floodgates open.

“Mein Gott,” he breathes, the words tumbling out unbidden, barely above a whisper. My God.

His hips roll into yours with a steady, deliberate rhythm, each thrust deeper and more purposeful than the last. His chest brushes against yours with every movement, the heat of his body pressing into you as his lips graze your temple. His hands grip your hips, firm but reverent, like he’s anchoring himself in the feel of you beneath him. The drag of him inside you, the way his body moves against yours, is consuming, leaving you breathless with every deliberate grind.

“Perfekt,” he groans, the word slipping out rough and broken, his fingers tightening on your hips as he pulls you closer, deeper.

The muscles in his shoulders flex beneath your touch as your hands trace the line of his back, your nails leaving faint trails against his damp skin. His rhythm stutters, then quickens, his control slipping through the gaze of pleasure.

“Du fühlsch dich so…” You feel so… He doesn’t finish the thought, the rest of it lost in the way his lips brush against your temple, his movements growing more desperate.

“So schön,” he murmurs, the words tumbling out instinctively, his accent thick as his hips roll again, drawing a gasp from your throat. His hand slides from your hip, skimming the curve of your thigh, lifting your leg higher around his waist. The shift changes everything, his next thrust angling perfectly, hitting that spot that makes your back arch and a cry fall from your lips.

His lips find your jaw, trailing down to the curve of your neck, his breath hot and ragged as his pace grows more desperate. You feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles strain as he chases the heat between you, the flood of Swiss German spilling from his lips in a stream of reverent, unguarded words.

And then your voice cuts through the haze, soft and breathless as you murmur his name, your fingers curling in his hair. It’s not loud, but it’s enough to make him pause, his rhythm faltering until he’s completely still. He bottoms out in you, hovering above you as his forehead presses to yours, his body taut and trembling as he tries to catch his breath.

“What?” he murmurs, his voice husky and rough, his accent thicker now, like he’s too lost in you to even attempt to smooth it out.

His eyes meet yours, the flicker of uncertainty mingling with the heat still burning there. His chest rises and falls heavily, his breath warm against your lips as he waits, his hips still locked in place, his body pressing into yours like he can’t bear to pull away.

You tilt your head, your lips curving into a teasing smile before pressing softly to his. The kiss is warm, unhurried, your mouths moving together in a way that feels both grounding and electrifying. It’s a tender nudge against the tension humming between you, and you feel him melt into it, his grip on your waist easing slightly as his other hand shifts to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

When your mouth brushes over the curve of his neck, he exhales sharply, the sound low and rough. His hand tightens on your waist, his thumb digging in just enough to leave a ghost of pressure that makes heat coil low in your stomach. His hips remain still against you, but the tension radiating from him is undeniable, his restraint holding by a thread.

“Am I?” he murmurs, his voice rough, his Swiss accent thick as his lips curve into a faint smile.

You pull back slightly, your lips leaving his neck, your eyes searching his face. His are heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide as he stares down at you like he’s trying to gauge your reaction.

You nod, your lips brushing over his jaw again, lingering just long enough to feel the faint rasp of stubble against your skin.

“You are,” you whisper, voice low and warm, your fingers curling against the back of his neck, holding him close.

His breath hitches, his chest pressing harder against yours, and his thumb stills on your waist for a moment before resuming its slow, deliberate circles. His forehead lowers to yours, his breath mingling with yours as his other hand threads into your hair, his touch light but purposeful.

“Sorry,” he mutters, his voice thick and unsteady, his lips brushing yours as the word falls from him. “I didn’t even notice… Sometimes… I just forget.”

His hips shift slightly, a subtle movement that makes your breath stutter, but his pace is deliberate, almost cautious now. His lips ghost over yours, close enough to brush but not quite pressing, like he’s holding himself back.

“Why are you apologising?” you ask softly, your voice barely more than a whisper as your fingers trace the line of his jaw.

You feel the tension in his muscles soften beneath your touch, his chest heaving against yours as he tries to steady himself.

His lips twitch into another small, sheepish smile, the kind that makes your heart ache even as heat pools low in your stomach.

“Because I know you don’t understand,” he says quietly, his tone tender, raw. “I want you to know what I’m saying.”

Your breath catches at his words, your body arching instinctively against his, your lips brushing his in a fleeting, teasing kiss.

“I don’t care if I don’t understand,” you murmur, your voice steady despite the tremor in your body. “I want to hear it anyway. I want you.”

Something shifts in his expression, his eyes darkening as he lets out a low groan, his grip on your hip tightening. His thrusts slow further, each one deep and deliberate, and his forehead presses against yours as he whispers, “du bisch so schön… so perfekt.”

The words spill from his lips like a prayer, his voice raw and trembling, and though you can’t translate them entirely, the meaning is unmistakable. Beautiful. Perfect. The way he looks at you, like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to reality, says everything.

“More,” you whisper, your nails dragging lightly down his back as your body arches into his, chasing the heat of him. “Say more.”

His lips brush against yours, not quite a kiss, just a shared breath as he obeys, his voice breaking on every word.

“Ich lieb dich… so sehr. Dass ich ned gnueg vo dir becho chan.” I love you… so much. I can't get enough of you.

Your legs lock around his waist, the motion desperate, pulling him deeper, harder, as though you’re trying to fuse every inch of him to you. He groans at the sensation, the sound raw and guttural, vibrating against your lips as his hips snap into yours. His movements shift, losing the slow deliberation that marked the start, replaced with something more primal — driven by need, by the way your body arches into his, meeting him thrust for thrust.

The drag of him is relentless, each deep, deliberate roll of his hips stealing the air from your lungs. Your nails rake down his back, leaving faint trails that make him shudder against you, a breathless curse spilling from his lips in Swiss German. His forehead presses to yours, the damp strands of his hair brushing your temple, and the shared heat between you makes everything feel sharper, more electric.

His hand moves down your side, fingers digging into your skin like he’s trying to anchor himself. When he reaches your thigh, he grips it firmly, pulling your leg higher up his waist, opening you to him in a way that makes you cry out, your head tilting back against the pillow.

“You feel — mein Gott — so gut,” he groans, his voice broken and low, his accent thick as his lips trail from your forehead to your cheek, then down to your jaw. He bites down gently, just enough to send a spark of heat through you, before soothing the spot with his tongue.

The way he’s moving now is relentless — deep, grinding thrusts that have you clinging to him, your body trembling beneath the weight of him. Every drag of him against you feels like too much and not enough, your own moans mingling with his as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin.

“Perfect,” he whispers against your pulse, the word rough and reverent. His hips slam into you again, dragging another gasp from your lips, and the sound seems to push him further. “You’re so… mein… Du machsch mi verruckt…” My… You're driving me crazy…

His fingers flex against your thigh, gripping tighter as his rhythm becomes erratic, fuelled by the way your body responds to his every movement. It’s desperate and consuming, each roll of his hips pressing deeper, every breathless moan and whispered word unraveling both of you, piece by piece.

Your body trembles beneath him, every nerve alight as the tension coils tighter and tighter with each deliberate grind of his hips. It’s overwhelming, the heat pooling low in your stomach, building to the point where it feels like you might come undone at any second. His name falls from your lips in a breathless plea, the sound broken and desperate, and the way his eyes darken in response sends a fresh wave of fire coursing through you.

Nico’s movements become more frantic, less measured, his rhythm faltering as he chases the same edge threatening to pull you under. His hand tightens on your thigh, his grip firm and grounding, while the other slides beneath your back, holding you flush against him. His chest presses to yours, the damp heat of his skin against yours making it impossible to tell where you end and he begins.

“You’re so—mein Gott,” he groans, the words spilling out unbidden, raw and guttural. His forehead presses against yours, his breath uneven and ragged, his lips brushing yours with every shaky exhale. “Ich cha nöd… I can’t—ich cha nöd länger.” I can’t… I can’t last much longer.

The crack in his voice pushes you closer to the edge, the desperation in his tone mingling with the tension winding tighter and tighter inside you. Your nails dig into his shoulders, holding onto him like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded. “Don’t stop,” you whisper, your voice trembling, your legs tightening around his waist as your body arches into him.

“Ich wird nöd,” he gasps, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s searing and all-consuming. I won't.

It’s messy, desperate, his teeth grazing your lower lip before he presses deeper, stealing every breath you try to take. His hips slam into yours harder, his movements erratic and frantic now, the rhythm unraveling as his control slips.

“Ich liäb di… so sehr,” he groans against your lips, his voice breaking with every thrust. I love you… so much.

Your body tightens around him, the tension snapping like a taut string. A cry tears from your throat, raw and unrestrained, as pleasure floods through you, molten and all-encompassing. Your back arches off the bed, your legs trembling as you clutch him closer, every wave of release leaving you breathless and shaking beneath him.

The way you fall apart in his arms undoes him completely. His name tumbles from your lips, fractured and needy, and it pushes him over the edge. His hips stutter, driving deep one last time as a guttural groan escapes him. His body shudders against yours, his forehead dropping to the crook of your neck as his release rips through him, consuming him in its intensity.

“Mein Gott,” he breathes, the words trembling against your skin as his lips brush over your shoulder. “Das isch mis meitli... Braves meitli.” That's my girl… Good girl. His voice cracks on the last word, thick with emotion, and his arms tighten around you like he can’t bear to let you go.

For a long moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your mingled breathing, ragged and uneven, filling the quiet room. His body stays pressed to yours, heavy and warm, his skin damp against yours as he holds you close. His hand strokes over your thigh absently, grounding himself in the feel of you, his lips pressing soft, reverent kisses to your shoulder and collarbone.

When he finally lifts his head, his eyes meet yours, raw and unguarded, the intensity in his gaze making your breath hitch all over again. His thumb brushes over your cheek, a faint, tender smile curving his lips.

“Du bisch perfekt,” he murmurs, his voice soft but firm, his accent thick and the words carrying the weight of his love. You’re perfect.

He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, the heat between you still crackling like embers, even in the aftermath.

#need him so bad #me? writing about someone other than quinn? PIGS ARE FLYING #capquinn: nh13 #capquinn's writing #nico hischier #nico x reader #nico hischier smut

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