#nh13 x reader

[hockeyluvrr]

sports car || nh13

series masterlist main masterlist

summary: You know exactly what this is—late-night drives, stolen glances, something that never quite crosses the line. But when Nico calls you after a tough game, voice low and tired, asking if you want to go for a ride, you don’t hesitate. This time, though, the tension is different. This time, he doesn’t want to take you home. And when restraint finally snaps, you realize maybe neither of you wanted to hold back in the first place.

warnings: smut (18+ mdni), semi public sex, car sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it my dudes), tension…I think that’s it idk

author’s note: so this was originally supposed to be around 2,000 words but I got carried away and ended up with basically 3 times that…enjoy I guess 😭

word count: 6,888

The city hums around you, headlights cutting through the thick Newark night like neon veins. Inside Nico’s car, it’s quieter—just the low thrum of the engine and the occasional sound of his fingers tapping the steering wheel. The air smells like leather, cologne, and something expensive you can’t name. He drives like he plays hockey—smooth, controlled, always knowing exactly where he’s going, even when you don’t.

You shouldn’t be here.

But you are.

“You’re quiet,” Nico murmurs, eyes flicking toward you before turning back to the road. His voice is low, laced with something unreadable.

You exhale, watching the city blur past. “Just thinking.”

He hums in acknowledgment, his grip tightening slightly on the wheel. “Dangerous.”

A smile tugs at the corner of your lips, but you don’t let it show. There’s a weight in the car, heavier than the silence, thicker than the tension stretching between you both. You wonder if he feels it too. If it coils in his chest the same way it does in yours—hot, insistent, impossible to ignore.

“You’re tired,” you say instead. “Long game?”

He sighs, tilting his head back against the headrest for just a second before refocusing. “Yeah. One of those nights.”

You nod, biting the inside of your cheek. It’s always one of those nights when he calls you. When he shoots you a text—Can’t sleep. You up?—and you tell yourself you shouldn’t answer. That you shouldn’t slide into the passenger seat of his car at 1 a.m. That you shouldn’t let him drive you through the city like you’re something fragile he doesn’t quite know how to hold.

But you always do.

The streets are mostly empty this late, just the occasional cab or someone stumbling out of a bar, but Nico keeps driving, like there’s somewhere he wants to go but hasn’t decided yet.

Or maybe he just doesn’t want to take you home.

You steal a glance at him. He’s still in his post-game suit, tie gone, top buttons undone. There’s a hint of exhaustion in his face, but his hands on the wheel are steady, strong.

“Did you even shower after the game?” you tease, trying to lighten whatever this is.

His lips twitch. “Are you saying I smell?”

“No,” you say, even though there’s a trace of sweat, cologne, and something distinctly him lingering in the air. “Just wondering how desperate you were to get out of there.”

He exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “Didn’t feel like staying.”

He doesn’t say why.

But you know.

You press your head against the cool glass, watching the lights smear against the dark sky. “You played well.”

“Did I?”

“Yeah. You always do.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he shifts gears, and the low growl of the engine fills the silence. You swear his fingers tighten on the wheel again.

“Not always,” he mutters.

You turn to look at him, but his gaze is locked on the road, jaw tight. There’s something unspoken in his words, in the way his grip flexes, in the way he won’t meet your eyes.

You know this version of Nico—the one who carries the weight of a whole team on his shoulders, who never lets himself falter, who never gives himself enough credit. You’ve seen him like this before. But every time, it makes something twist in your chest.

The car hums beneath you, the city stretching out in every direction. Neither of you say much, but that’s always how it is. Nico isn’t the type to fill silence just for the sake of it, and you’ve learned to be okay with that.

But something about tonight feels different.

He drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting against his thigh, fingers tapping lightly—like he’s working through something in his head.

You shift in your seat, pulling your coat tighter around you. “Where are we going?”

Nico exhales, glancing at you briefly before turning back to the road. “Nowhere. Just… driving.”

It’s not an answer, but it’s the truth.

You watch the way the streetlights reflect in his eyes, the sharp line of his jaw when he clenches it. He’s tense. Maybe from the game, maybe from something else. You wish he’d just say it—whatever’s on his mind.

Instead, you ask, “You ever gonna let me drive this thing?”

His lips twitch. “Not a chance.”

You smirk. “What, don’t trust me?”

“I don’t trust anyone with my car,” he says, side-eyeing you. “Especially not you.”

You place a dramatic hand over your heart. “Wow. I’m offended.”

His low chuckle fills the space between you, something warm slipping into the tension. It makes your chest tighten. Because this is how it always goes—this push and pull, this unspoken something between you.

You wonder if he feels it too. If it keeps him up at night the way it does you.

You turn toward him, studying his profile. “You okay?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His jaw shifts, fingers flexing slightly against the wheel. “Yeah. Just—” He exhales sharply. “Long night.”

You nod. You know what he means, even if he won’t say it outright.

There’s something about Nico—something about the way he carries everything so quietly, so carefully. Like he doesn’t want to let anyone see the cracks. Like if he lets go for even a second, everything might come apart.

And maybe that’s why he called you tonight.

Maybe that’s why you came.

The car slows as he pulls off onto a quieter street, the glow of the city fading behind you. You glance at him, brows furrowing. “Why’d you stop?”

His hands tighten around the wheel. “Just—don’t wanna take you home yet.”

And god. You shouldn’t feel your pulse jump at that.

But you do.

Your breath catches for half a second.

It’s not like he hasn’t said things like this before—things that toe the line of something more. But tonight, it feels different. He isn’t smirking, isn’t teasing. He’s just looking at you, fingers still curled around the wheel like he’s trying to decide if he should let go.

You shift in your seat, watching the way his throat bobs as he swallows. “Okay,” you say softly.

He nods once, as if settling into the decision. Then he cuts the engine. The sudden quiet is deafening.

For a moment, neither of you move. The streetlights cast sharp shadows across his face, highlighting the curve of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders. You think about how many times you’ve been in this car with him—how many times you’ve told yourself it doesn’t mean anything.

But sitting here now, the air thick with something unspoken, you can’t lie to yourself anymore.

“You ever gonna tell me why you call me when you can’t sleep?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Nico’s fingers flex against his thigh. His gaze flicks to you, then away again. “I dunno,” he mutters. “Just… easier.”

“Easier than what?”

He shifts in his seat, one hand raking through his hair. His jaw clenches for a beat before he exhales. “Than being alone, I guess.”

Your chest tightens.

It’s an admission, but not the one you want.

You glance at the city outside, at the blurred neon signs and empty sidewalks. “That’s all this is?” you ask, hating how quiet your voice sounds.

Nico doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he reaches for the dial, turning down the music that had been playing softly in the background. The quiet stretches between you, heavier than before.

And then—

“I don’t know what this is.”

The words are barely more than a murmur, but they hit you like a punch to the ribs.

Because that’s the thing, isn’t it? This thing between you has never had a definition. It’s late-night drives and stolen glances. It’s his hand on the small of your back when no one’s looking. It’s a text at 1 a.m. and an empty passenger seat that’s always waiting for you.

It’s nothing.

And yet it’s everything.

“You wanna figure it out?” you ask, pulse hammering in your throat.

Nico turns then, really looks at you. His gaze is darker now, more intense. His lips part slightly, like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead, his fingers tighten around the gear shift, like he’s grounding himself.

Like he’s trying to stop himself from doing something he shouldn’t.

But you don’t think you want him to stop.

The air inside the car is suffocating now, thick with everything neither of you are saying.

Nico’s fingers tap against the gear shift—once, twice—before he exhales sharply and drags a hand over his face. “You know it’s not that simple.”

Your chest tightens. “Isn’t it?”

He doesn’t answer. Just stares at the windshield, his jaw locked, something unreadable flickering across his face.

And you get it. You do. He’s Nico Hischier—captain, leader, the guy who carries more weight on his shoulders than anyone realises. He can’t afford distractions, can’t afford complications.

But you’re right here. And he’s the one who keeps pulling you closer.

You shift in your seat, suddenly restless. “You always do this,” you mutter, shaking your head.

His gaze snaps to yours. “Do what?”

You let out a humourless laugh. “You call me in the middle of the night. You pick me up. You drive me around like you don’t wanna let me go—but then you sit there like this is some impossible thing.”

His jaw tightens. “You think this is easy for me?”

“I don’t know, Nico. You tell me.”

Silence.

A muscle ticks in his jaw, his fingers curling into a fist against his thigh. And then, suddenly, he moves.

Not away from you. Closer.

His hand lifts, just barely grazing your knee before stopping. Like he’s not sure if he should. Like if he touches you for real, there’s no taking it back.

Your breath catches.

“You think I don’t want this?” His voice is low, rough. Nothing like the careful, measured way he usually speaks.

Your pulse thrums against your skin. “Then why—”

“Because if I start something with you, I don’t know if I can stop.”

His words crash into you like a punch to the stomach.

Because this is it, isn’t it? The reason for all the late nights, all the stolen glances, all the times he’s looked at you like he’s already thinking about regret.

He’s been holding back.

And now, you’re not sure if he wants to anymore.

You shift, the space between you suddenly too small. “Then don’t,” you whisper.

Nico swears under his breath, his head tilting back against the seat like he’s at war with himself. His fingers flex again—like he wants to touch you, like he needs to.

And then—finally—he does.

His hand slides over your thigh, slow and deliberate, fingertips pressing into the fabric of your jeans. Not enough. Nowhere near enough.

Your breath shudders out of you. “Nico—”

His name on your lips is all it takes.

The next thing you know, his hand is cupping your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek. He’s close now, so close you can feel his breath against your skin. His eyes flick to your lips, dark and unreadable.

“You sure about this?” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper.

You don’t even hesitate.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I’m sure.”

Nico doesn’t waste another second.

The second Nico closes the space between you, it’s like something snaps.

His lips press against yours—firm, searching—like he’s trying to make up for all the times he’s held back. His hand slides from your jaw to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss.

And god, you feel it everywhere.

The slow drag of his mouth. The heat of his palm against your skin. The way his other hand tightens against your thigh, fingertips pressing in like he’s anchoring himself. Like if he lets go, this whole thing might disappear.

You reach for him without thinking, fingers curling around the lapels of his suit jacket, tugging him closer. He lets out the faintest sound—a low hum against your lips—and something about it makes your stomach flip.

Nico pulls back just enough to look at you, his breath uneven. His forehead rests against yours, eyes dark, searching.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmurs.

Your fingers tighten around his jacket. “Then why didn’t you?”

He swallows, his thumb brushing along your jaw. “I don’t know. Because I’m an idiot, maybe.”

His voice is quiet, almost like he’s confessing something he shouldn’t. And you feel that—feel it in the way his fingers linger against your skin, in the way he looks at you like you’re something he’s afraid to lose.

But there’s no hesitation now. No more unspoken words, no more pretending. Just the weight of his gaze, the warmth of his touch, the heat building between you.

Your hand slides to the back of his neck, fingertips brushing against the soft hair there. “I’m not gonna go anywhere, you know,” you whisper.

Nico exhales sharply—like you just made a decision for him. And maybe you did.

Because the next thing you know, his lips are on yours again, hungrier this time, his hand slipping under the hem of your shirt, fingertips grazing bare skin. A shiver rolls down your spine, your breath catching as he presses just a little closer, his body warm and solid against yours.

This is new, but it isn’t.

It’s every late-night drive. Every lingering glance. Every time his fingers brushed against yours just long enough to make you wonder if it meant something.

And now, you know.

Nico’s lips move to the corner of your mouth, then lower, skimming along the edge of your jaw. His breath is warm against your skin, sending a slow, burning ache curling through you.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs against your neck.

Your breath stutters, fingers tightening in his jacket. “Then show me.”

His grip on you tightens. “Careful,” he warns, voice rougher now, lower. “I don’t think you wanna test me right now.”

But god, you do.

You tilt your chin, letting his lips drag lower, just enough to make your pulse trip. “Maybe I do.”

Nico groans softly, his forehead dropping to your shoulder for half a second, like he’s trying to rein himself in. But then he exhales, pressing one last kiss to your skin before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze.

His eyes are darker now, his expression unreadable.

“Get in the backseat,” he says.

Your breath catches.

He watches you for a beat, waiting. And then—slowly, deliberately—he leans in, lips brushing against your ear.

“Now.”

And you don’t even think about hesitating.

Your pulse hammers in your throat as you move, the quiet click of your seatbelt unfastening echoing through the car. Nico watches you the whole time, his gaze heavy, unrelenting. There’s something electric in the air between you—something charged, buzzing under your skin.

You push open the door, stepping into the crisp night air for only a second before sliding into the backseat. The leather is cool against your legs, but the temperature shift does nothing to settle the heat curling low in your stomach.

And then—Nico is there.

The door shuts behind him, sealing you both inside this space that suddenly feels much smaller. The city outside is nothing but a blur of neon and darkness, but in here? It’s just him.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just looks at you—the kind of look that makes you feel like you’re the only thing that exists. His jaw is tight, his breathing a little uneven, like he’s still deciding if he should let this happen.

Like he’s still holding on to that last shred of restraint.

But then you shift slightly, the movement pressing your thigh against his, and that’s all it takes.

Nico moves.

One hand finds your waist, the other tilting your chin up before his mouth crashes against yours. This kiss is different—desperate, all restraint gone. His hands tighten against you, fingers pressing into your skin like he needs to feel you, needs to prove that you’re real.

You let out a soft gasp, and he takes advantage of it, deepening the kiss until your head is spinning. His body is solid against yours, warmth seeping through the thin fabric of your shirt, and god, you want to be closer.

Your fingers find the buttons of his dress shirt, tugging the fabric loose, and Nico exhales sharply against your lips. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters, voice rough, strained.

You smirk against his mouth. “Good.”

His answering groan is low, barely audible, but then his lips are trailing lower—along your jaw, down the column of your throat. His hands slip under the hem of your shirt, fingertips grazing bare skin, and you shiver, your breath stuttering.

Nico pauses, just for a second, his lips hovering over your collarbone. His breath is uneven, his grip on you firm but careful. Like he’s giving you a chance to stop this.

Like he needs to hear you say it again.

You tilt his chin up, forcing his eyes to meet yours. “I want this,” you whisper. “I want you.”

That’s all it takes.

Nico’s restraint snaps completely, and he’s on you—lips, hands, everywhere. His mouth finds yours again, hungrier this time, and you lose yourself in the feeling of it. The heat, the urgency, the way he touches you like he’s been waiting for this forever.

And maybe he has.

Nico kisses like he plays—all in, completely focused, like there’s nothing else in the world but this. But you.

His hands slide under your shirt, fingertips dragging over bare skin, slow and deliberate. He’s not rushing—he’s taking his time, like he’s memorising the way you feel beneath his touch.

And god, it’s almost too much.

Your back hits the leather seat as he leans into you, his weight pressing against yours, warm and solid and so damn good. His lips trail lower, grazing the sensitive spot just beneath your jaw, and you feel the shiver roll through you before you can stop it.

Nico notices.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. His tone is somewhere between teasing and concerned, but the way his fingers tighten on your waist tells you exactly what it does to him.

You exhale sharply, your hands fisting in the fabric of his half-unbuttoned shirt. “Not my fault you’re—” You break off with a gasp as his lips press just below your ear.

Nico smirks. “That good?”

Cocky.

You roll your eyes, tugging him down into another kiss, letting your teeth scrape against his bottom lip just enough to make him groan. “Shut up, Hischier.”

His laugh is low, rough. “Make me.”

Challenge accepted.

Your fingers push the rest of his buttons undone, dragging the fabric over his shoulders. His skin is warm beneath your hands, his muscles tensing slightly under your touch. He lets you explore for a moment, but then his hands are on you again, gripping your hips, pulling you flush against him.

And damn, he’s strong.

Your head tips back against the seat, breathing uneven, and Nico takes full advantage, his lips finding the curve of your collarbone. His hands slide lower, thumbs brushing just beneath the waistband of your jeans, and a sharp gasp escapes before you can stop it.

The sound of it goes straight to his ego, because he lifts his head, his lips ghosting over your ear, sending a shiver sparking through your body. "You make the prettiest sounds," he murmurs, voice a low rumble that sinks right down into your core.

You open your mouth to retort, but the only thing that comes out is another gasp as his hand slips lower, fingers skimming along the inside of your thigh.

Your head falls back again, and he takes advantage, pressing his lips against the exposed skin of your throat. He’s barely even touching you, and it’s already making you lightheaded.

“Nico,” you breathe, your fingers finding the back of his neck, trying to pull him closer.

“Hm?”

Nico smiles against your skin, his thumb rubbing small, slow circles against the sensitive skin on your thigh. Not quite high enough to give you what you want.

Tease.

Your hips shift involuntarily as his touch skirts higher, and he chuckles softly, ducking his head to press his face against the side of your neck. You can feel the heat of his breath against your skin, the way his body is still barely touching yours, and somehow, it’s already driving you crazy.

“You’re not getting impatient already, are you?” he murmurs, his teeth grazing your earlobe.

"Shut up," you mutter, but the words come out more breathless than you mean them to. You can feel him grinning against your skin, and goddamnit, you hate that he’s smug about this.

His thumb rubs another lazy circle just at the inside of your knee, his lips skimming over the hollow of your throat. It should be impossible that he can make you feel this much with so little touch, but his fingers are setting your nerve endings on fire, making your thoughts blur together around a single word: more.

"Patience is a virtue, you know." The smirk in his voice is evident, and you have half a mind to smack him for it.

"I’m not exactly known for my virtues," you retort, but the words falter as his hand skates just a little higher up your leg, and god, you’re sure he’s playing with you now.

"Clearly."

His lips move to the other side of your neck, nuzzling against the sensitive skin just below your ear. You shiver when his body presses against yours, sending a slow, burning ache coiling through you.

His thumb teases over the seam of your jeans, tracing mindless patterns as he hums against your neck. "You always this impatient?"

"Only around you, apparently," you grumble, your grip on his shirt tightening as he chuckles softly.

The sound of it rolls over you like a wave. You hate that you love it—how affected you are just by his touch, his voice, his goddamn proximity.

His teeth graze the spot just below your jaw, and a sharp gasp escapes you. You can feel the smirk against your skin, the way your body reacts to his, and you just know he’s enjoying this.

"That so?” His voice drops an octave lower, sending a shock of heat down your spine. “Guess I should feel honoured then, hm?"

And goddamnit, he’s cocky. You want to wipe that stupid smirk off his face, but all you can manage is a muttered curse as his thumb moves again. It stays there, just teasing, and you swear you almost whine.

He hears it—of course he does—and he chuckles again, the sound of it rumbling against your skin.

"You know, if you want something, you should ask nice

Your retort dies on your tongue when his thumb finally starts moving again. His lips are on your throat, pressing open-mouthed kisses that are somehow too much and not enough all at once.

You’re barely holding it together, and he knows it. You can hear it in his voice, see it in the way his gaze keeps darting to your face, like he’s just waiting for you to crack.

“Ask nicely for what? This?” You mutter as you press your hand against the front of his dress pants to palm at his already hard cock, teasing him back.

His hands tighten against your waist on reflex, a low sound escaping him. The smirk finally disappears, replaced by a look of pure heat. It only makes you want to tease him more.

"Tease," he mutters, his grip on you tightening as you push him back against the leather seat. You brace a hand against the headrest, trapping him there, and his eyes darken as your thighs slide into place on either side of his thighs.

"You’re playing with fire," he says, but the warning is half-hearted at best. You watch a muscle in his jaw twitch when your hips shift, grinding down against him.

"Maybe I like it that way."

You lean down, catching his bottom lip between your teeth, grinning when his breath stutters at the contact. Then he’s kissing you, his hands sliding down your thighs, gripping with enough force to make you moan against his mouth.

He groans at the sound of it, and you can feel him growing harder beneath you. You press your hips down on purpose this time, and his fingers dig into your thighs, pulling you flush against him.

You’d give anything to see his self-control break for good.

This time, you can’t even hear his words in the rush of blood in your head. You’re all too aware of his hands on you, the way his body is hot and taut beneath yours, how he’s reacting to every tiny movement of your body.

But then he’s shifting, flipping you suddenly so you’re on your back, back pressed against the leather seat. He’s on top of you now, his body pinning you down, and you let out a little sound of surprise.

You open your mouth to speak, and your breath catches as he grinds his hips against yours—hard and deliberate. You’re fully aware of how he feels, of how much this is affecting him just as much as it is you.

"Are you gonna keep being a tease," he murmurs, his lips finding your jaw, "or are you gonna take what you want?"

He drops his head, lips dragging down your throat, and it takes all of your self-control not to arch up into him.

“Are you?”

You can feel his smile against your skin, smug, confident—cocky. He shifts slightly, grinding into you again, and you can’t help the gasp that escapes your lips.

"You wanna find out?"

“Yeah,” you can’t help but breathe out.

The smirk is back on his face, growing wider as his fingers skim beneath the hem of your shirt. You inhale sharply at the touch, goosebumps sparking across your skin, but he doesn’t stop there.

He tugs the fabric up, just enough to expose your stomach, and then his lips are on your skin—slow, teasing kisses across your ribs.

You shiver, your head tipping back against the leather. You can’t seem to think straight with Nico’s lips on you like this, his body pressed against your as he kisses and nips at the sensitive skin of your ribs.

Your hand slides into his hair, gripping the strands, earning a low groan against your stomach. He looks up then, his gaze dark and heavy, and god, you’ve never wanted anyone more.

He’s hovering just above your hip now, his nose skimming along the skin as his fingers dip under the waistband of your jeans. The feel of it makes you shiver, but he’s being too damn careful, his movements deliberate, like he’s trying to be good.

You don’t want him to be good.

You want him to crack.

You lift your hips slightly, desperate for any friction against your skin, but Nico’s hand presses you back down, a barely audible “patience” escaping him.

He’s still teasing, and you’re slowly losing your mind.

"You’re not being fair," you say, and his low laugh vibrates through you. You can feel the curve of his smile against your skin as he tugs gently at the button of your jeans.

"Not being fair would be me leaving you like this," he murmurs, teeth scraping over your hip bone. "You know, see how much longer you’d last."

You bite back a curse, your pulse racing at the thought. He hasn’t touched you where you want him yet, but every graze of his fingers has you reeling.

"You wouldn’t do that," you tell him, your breath catching despite your best efforts.

He hums noncommittally, his fingers undoing the button of your jeans now. He slips them off your hips just enough to expose a thin strip of your underwear, and this time a curse actually does fall from your mouth when his thumb skims along the edge.

His breath is hot against your skin. “You sure about that?”

You open your mouth to argue, but your words dissolve into a strangled gasp as his thumb brushes against your clit, and god, you swear your brain short-circuits for a minute.

He’s always had this kind of effect on you, but here in this car, barely hidden from the outside world, it’s more powerful than ever.

He murmurs something you don’t quite catch, and then his mouth is on your hip again, your hands grasping at nothing now, looking for something to ground you to reality.

His thumb presses back against you, a little firmer this time, and your breathing is almost too unsteady now. You try to form a coherent thought, but it’s impossible when he’s everywhere, lighting up every single nerve ending in your body.

His other hand grips your hip, holding you in place as his thumb moves in maddening, lazy circles, and you’re pretty sure he’s torturously, painfully aware of how much you want him.

“You’re already so worked up for me,” he murmurs, shifting to mouth at the spot just below your navel. “So goddamn sensitive.”

“Shut up,” you manage, but the words come out more strained than you mean them to, and you’re pretty sure he can tell.

He chuckles again, low and smug, and you want to wipe that stupid look off his face. But then he presses his thumb down against you again, just a little bit harder this time, and your thoughts go blank, replaced by a string of half-formed curses.

He’s driving you insane on purpose now, his thumb still moving in those torturous circles. You want to press against him, to relieve some of the desperate ache building inside you, but he’s still pinning you down and he’s not letting you.

The worst part is, he’s enjoying this, the cocky bastard. He’s doing it on purpose.

“Please,” escapes your mouth, and to your horror, it comes out as a whine.

He laughs softly against your stomach, and the sound of it makes you shiver all over again. This is borderline cruel, and he obviously knows it. “Please what, sweetheart?”

You bite back a frustrated curse, your hips involuntarily bucking up, searching for more.

“You know what,” you say, and this time your voice is more strangled, raw with need. “I swear, if you don’t—”

“If I don’t what?” he responds, feigning innocence as he nips at your hip again. His thumb is still moving maddeningly slowly, and you swear you’re going to combust if he keeps this up.

“Jesus, Nico—”

“What if I want to just tease you all night?” he murmurs, his mouth on your stomach again. “See just how desperate I can make you before you lose it completely?”

“Don’t really have time for that in a fogged up car parked in an abandoned car park,” you gasp out, tugging at his hair again.

He chuckles again, and the sound of it makes your shiver. He’s enjoying this far too much.

“True,” he concedes, but the deliberate motion of his thumb doesn’t change. “And it’s damn cold out here.” He tugs gently on your jeans. “Maybe we should take this somewhere else.”

“Absolutely not,” you scoff. “I swear if you don’t get inside of me soon—“

Nico goes still for a second, his fingers tightening on your hip. Your words take every last bit of his self-control away.

“That what you want?” he asks, his voice dark and low.

“You already know the answer to that.”

“I wanna hear you say it.” It’s a command, but the words are ragged, edged with a desperation that surprises you.

“Yes, it’s what I want.”

His hands tighten, and he’s suddenly everywhere, all at once. He lifts his head, looking down at you. Your breath is uneven, and you’re sure you look a mess.

“You’re sure?” He asks again, his gaze flickering over your flushed face, searching.

“Nico…please—“

He doesn’t need any more than that.

Everything happens fast, the sounds of unzipping and clothes being pulled off almost too loud in the cramped space. He shifts, pulling you onto his lap, and you shiver at the feel of his skin against yours.

Nico’s hands are on your thighs, fingers pressing into the flesh, and the position you’re in makes your breath hitch. You’re straddling his lap, your body pressed flush against his, and it’s too damn much.

His mouth is on your collarbone now, his teeth scraping at the skin, and you can’t hold back the whimper that escapes your mouth.

You’re pressed so close that you can feel every movement, every breath. You’re hyper-aware of the way he’s reacting to you, the way his fingers curl into your thighs with enough force to leave bruises.

He’s leaving marks all over your skin, everywhere his mouth can reach.

“Nico—“ you try to say, but his hips move up on purpose, and the rest of your words dissolve on your tongue as he swiftly, but slowly pushes his cock into you.

His lips are back on your neck, his teeth grazing the skin, and you shiver. His hands are on your hips again, moving in slow circles as he guides you to move against him.

He’s driving you out of your goddamn mind, and he knows it. He’s doing it on purpose.

Your head falls back against the window, your breath catching as he repeats the motion, grinding his cock into you again.

“You’re so goddamn sensitive,” he murmurs against your throat. “I could make you cum just like this, if I wanted to.”

The words make your walls clench around him, and my god, he feels it. He groans softly, the sound muffled against your skin.

He’s all over you, hands on your hips, your waist, fingers digging into flesh. You’re already so sensitive and he’s only just started.

You shift on his lap, your fingers gripping his shirt again as you tilt your head, searching for his mouth.

The change in angle lets his tongue slide into your mouth, and you moan against his lips, a sound you’re not sure you even recognise as your own.

He swallows the sound, the movement of his hips growing rougher now, and you swear your head is swimming.

His hand moves between your bodies, making you all too aware of his fingers moving against you, your breathing getting faster, shallower, as he moves against you.

“You’re already so wet,” he says, right against your ear, and the sound of his voice makes your stomach clench. “I bet you’re close, huh?”

You manage to shake your head, not quite trusting your words right now. You’re too far gone, the feel of his body and his hands and his goddamn mouth overwhelming you to the point of not being able to form words.

He can probably tell, judging by the smirk against your throat. “No? Are you sure about that?”

His fingers move again with purpose, thumb pressing down against you, and you can’t help the moan escaping your mouth. Goddamn him and his stupidly talented fingers. He knows exactly what to do, exactly where to touch, exactly how to make you squirm. And he’s enjoying every damn second.

He tugs your earlobe with his teeth, his voice right against your ear. “Come on, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “let go for me.”

The words almost do you in, but you’re stubborn, and you’re determined to hold out for as long as possible just to make him keep going. “Not yet,” you gasp out, your fingers gripping his shirt.

“Not yet?” He hums softly, his thumb doing an even slower, more deliberate circle. “I don’t know, sweetheart, you’re already squeezing and leaking all over my cock.”

His words make you shiver again, and damn him, he probably feels it. “I’m not that close,” you insist, but it sounds weak even to your own ears.

He’s laughing softly now, the sound low and ragged against your throat. “Liar.” His teeth scrape along the line of your collarbone.

There’s no point in denying it anymore—he probably knows more than you do at this point. You’re right on the edge, your body coiled tight, and he’s enjoying that fact a little too much.

You’re gripping his hair hard now, desperately trying to hold on to some sense of control. His thumb is moving faster, and every tiny movement makes your body shudder. You’re so damn close, the edge of that blissful oblivion within reach.

“Nico—“

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, his voice just as strained as yours now. “I wanna hear you. Let go for me, sweetheart.”

“You…you too…” you manage to practically whimper out.

“You want us to cum together?” He asks, and the low raspy sound of his voice in your ear only spurs you on more. You’re nodding, not trusting your words in the slightest.

His mouth finds yours again, his tongue sliding into your mouth, hot and desperate. He’s holding on to whatever control he has left, his body taut under yours, and you realize he’s already close.

You shiver at the thought. You want to cum together, want to push him over the edge with you. Just thinking about it sends an extra jolt of heat through you, making you gasp against his lips.

“Please,” you manage to breathe out, your voice ragged and broken. “I’m so close, I—“

“I know, sweetheart.” His mouth finds the spot just below your ear again, nipping gently. “God, I know. I’ve got you, okay? Let go for me.”

His thumb is moving again, faster than before, and you can’t hold on anymore. You’re right on the edge, the sensations all too much, your body trembling as you cum hard. You’re saying his name, a litany of broken syllables, and he’s murmuring something against your ear but you can’t quite make it out.

You’re still shuddering through the aftershocks when you feel him twitch inside you, his hands grasping at your body as he cums deep inside you.

You lay against him for a moment, both of you trying to catch your breath, the air in the cramped space heavy and thick.

His arms wrap around you, his breathing slow and steady again, his lips brushing against your forehead. You’re still trembling, your heart still hammering in your chest, but you’re too blissed out to form words.

Nico’s arms tighten around you, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back. “You okay?” he asks, his voice soft.

You manage to nod, your head still against his chest. “Yeah,” you breathe out after a minute. “Just…give me a minute. My brain is still rebooting.”

He laughs softly, and you can feel the vibrations reverberating through to you. “I might have done a number on you, huh?” He sounds unfairly smug, and you pinch his arm in retaliation.

“Don’t get too cocky.” You’re grumbling, but there’s no real annoyance behind the words. He’s right, and you damn well know it.

“Me?” He feigns innocent surprise, his hand slipping down to the small of your back. “Me? Cocky? Never.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re too relaxed to be truly irritated with him right now. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” You press a kiss against his chest, your fingers tracing lightly over his skin.

He hums softly, his fingers sliding up to your hair, playing with the strands absentmindedly. He’s still caught in that lazy, relaxed state, content in the quiet afterglow.

You’re silent for a moment, just enjoying the sound of his breathing and the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. “I should probably move,” you say finally. “This car is starting to get cold, but I don’t think I’m quite capable of moving on my own yet.”

He laughs softly, and you feel the sound all the way to your core. “It is getting pretty cold,” he agrees. “We should get out of here.”

He starts to shift, moving to sit up. His hands slide to your hips, gently lifting you off his cock.

You shiver as your bare skin hits the cold air, and Nico grabs his jacket, wrapping it around your shoulders. It’s a little too big, but it’s still warm with his body heat, and you pull it tighter around yourself as he pulls your panties and jeans back into place.

He pulls his own boxers and dress pants up, his shirt rumpled from where you’d been groping at it earlier. His hair is a little mussed, too, and the sight of it makes you smile. It’s nice to know you managed to wreck his composure, even if just a little bit.

He catches you looking, and a smirk spreads across his face. “Enjoying the view?”

“Always.”

[yvaineseleneposts]

Brother's best friend

A/N: Sometimes I know where I want the story to go but I cannot really start the story. So I am very sorry for the weird beginning...

Requested: no

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Reader

Words: 9k

Warning(s): none

It started with laughter from the basement.

I was home for winter break, curled up on the couch with a book and a blanket, when I heard my brother’s unmistakable voice. It was followed by another, deeper one—smooth, with a Swiss accent that never quite disappeared.

Nico.

My brother’s best friend. New Jersey Devils’ golden boy. And the boy I told myself I’d never fall for.

He had been around for years—quiet, respectful, funny in a dry sort of way. He always smiled at me in that polite, friendly way guys smile at their best friend’s little sister. And that’s all I was. The sister. The one who had braces for too long, who stole the remote, who tagged along to dinners when our parents forced him to include me.

But somewhere along the way, I grew up. And so did he.

He walked into the kitchen that night like he owned it, hair slightly damp from the snow, Devils hoodie slung low on his hips. He smiled when he saw me.

"Hey," he said. Just that. Simple. Like it didn’t flip my stomach every time.

"Hey, Nico."

“You’re home.”

“Yeah. College is off for the holidays.”

He opened the fridge like it was his. It always had been, really. He’d been eating our leftovers since he was sixteen.

"You want tea?" he asked, already boiling water. That was Nico. Kind without asking why.

I nodded, and we stood in silence for a beat. Not awkward. Just full.

My brother came in then, joking about some guy from high school who still hadn’t moved out of his mom’s basement. I laughed, but I watched Nico more. And he noticed.

Later that night, I was brushing snow off my jacket by the door when I heard the creak of footsteps behind me. I turned—and there he was. Nico, jacket half-zipped, cheeks flushed from the cold.

"You heading out?" I asked, trying to sound normal. Just normal.

"Yeah," he said. "Got practice in the morning."

I nodded, tightening my grip on the doorknob like it would ground me. “Don’t let my brother drag you into another midnight NHL binge-watch.”

He grinned, that crooked, easy grin that undid me every time. “He already tried. Told him I needed sleep. He accused me of getting old.”

I laughed softly. “He’s not wrong.”

Nico smiled, then looked at me—really looked. “You’re different this year.”

My heart paused. “Different?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “College suits you, I guess. You seem… older.”

“Time does that,” I said, my voice lighter than I felt.

He gave a small nod, like he wasn’t sure what else to say. Then, he reached out and gave my shoulder a brief, friendly squeeze. The kind of touch that meant nothing and everything.

"Goodnight, kiddo."

Kiddo. That stupid nickname he hadn’t used since high school. It landed like a stone in my chest.

“Goodnight, Nico.”

He left without looking back.

The door clicked shut, and the quiet came rushing in. I stood there in the dim hallway, jacket still in hand, heart a little heavier than before.

He didn’t know.

Of course he didn’t. Why would he? I had become a master of hiding it—smiling too casually, looking away too fast, pretending his touch didn’t burn through my sweater sleeves.

He still saw me as his best friend’s little sister. And I had no idea how much longer I could stand it.

The cabin was already warm by the time we arrived, logs crackling in the fireplace, the smell of pine and cinnamon filling the air. My parents were unpacking in the master bedroom. My brother was already knee-deep in a snowball war with our younger cousins. And me? I was pacing by the window like a girl waiting for something she swore she didn’t care about.

Nico was supposed to arrive today. He and his family had been coming to this ski lodge with us every winter since we were kids. It was tradition. Familiar. Safe.

And yet, this year, I felt anything but.

I kept checking the driveway. Every time headlights passed down the snow-dusted road, my pulse jumped. Every sound outside made me glance up. I’d even redone my braid—twice.

Pathetic.

“Someone’s antsy,” my brother teased as he passed through the kitchen. “You gonna throw yourself into the snow when Nico gets here?”

I rolled my eyes, too practiced to flinch. “Please. I’m just excited to beat you at Monopoly later.”

But inside? Inside I was a storm. Because no matter how hard I tried to shove my feelings down, they kept rising. Swelling. Tightening like a scarf too snug.

When the knock finally came at the door, my stomach turned over. I rushed to open it before anyone else could.

And then I froze.

There he was—Nico—his hair tousled under a beanie, cheeks flushed from the cold, grinning that easy grin.

But he wasn’t alone.

She stood beside him, wrapped in a perfect cream coat, sleek brown hair tucked behind her ears, boots too clean to have touched a snowbank. Her arm brushed his, her smile soft, confident. Like she belonged there.

“Hey!” Nico said, stepping forward. “Long drive, but—made it.”

I swallowed. “Hey. You’re here.”

He turned slightly. “This is Clara. She’s… uh, she came with me.”

Clara. Of course she had a name like that. Light and graceful and elegant in a way I never was.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, reaching out with a gloved hand. Her voice was honey and warmth.

“You too,” I said, somehow smiling even as the words cut my tongue on the way out.

My brother came barreling past me, pulling Nico into a one-armed hug. The mood shifted, laughter rising, bags being hauled inside, introductions being made. The energy buzzed around me like static, but I couldn’t move. I stood rooted in the foyer, watching the way she leaned into Nico’s side like she’d done it a hundred times before.

And the worst part?

He let her.

That night, while everyone played cards and passed around mugs of mulled wine, I sat in the corner chair, nursing hot chocolate that had gone cold. Watching Nico laugh at something Clara whispered in his ear.

He didn’t look at me once.

But I couldn’t stop looking at him.

He still didn’t know. And now, maybe he never would.

They were heading into the city—Nico, Clara, my brother, a couple of their mutual friends who had driven up for the weekend. There was talk of a club, a new place with velvet walls and overpriced cocktails. Laughter echoed down the hallway as they pulled on jackets, sprayed perfume, laced boots.

I lingered in the kitchen, hoping someone might say, You coming?

But the question never came.

Instead, Clara turned to me with a too-bright smile. “We’ll probably be back late. Don’t wait up.”

“Yeah,” my brother added, barely glancing up from his phone. “You’re not really a club person, right?”

I nodded like it didn’t sting. “Right. Have fun.”

The door closed behind them. Silence settled.

I ended up in the den, cross-legged on the carpet with our parents, playing card games and half-listening to stories I’d heard a dozen times. I smiled and laughed when I was supposed to, but it all felt muted. Distant. Like watching someone else’s life through a frosted window.

Eventually, the adults drifted off to bed, the house quiet again, save for the soft creaks of wood settling in the cold.

I stayed downstairs.

Curled into the corner of the couch with an old blanket and a book I couldn’t focus on. The words blurred as I kept glancing at the clock.

12:41 AM.

1:09 AM.

At 1:42 AM, the front door creaked open.

I heard them before I saw them—tipsy laughter, the clumsy shuffle of boots on hardwood. My brother first, grumbling about the cold and heading straight upstairs. Then Clara, giggling as Nico tried to unzip her coat, both of them flushed and close.

“Shhh,” she laughed, swatting at him. “You’re going to wake everyone.”

He murmured something back in Swiss German, low and soft, and she pulled him into her, hands tangled in the collar of his jacket.

I froze.

They hadn’t seen me yet—tucked in the corner of the dark living room. I could’ve said something. Cleared my throat. Let them know I was still awake.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I sat there, the book limp in my lap, watching the boy I loved wrap his arms around someone else.

She kissed him. Long and slow. And he kissed her back, hands gentle at her waist like they’d done this a thousand times. Familiar. Easy.

They whispered something I couldn’t hear, then stumbled upstairs together, laughing all the way.

When the silence returned, it was deeper than before.

I looked down at the book in my hands—half-read, forgotten. The words were still blurred, but this time, it was from something hot and heavy burning in the back of my eyes.

It hit me then—not just the jealousy or the sadness, but the space between us. The years. The life experience. The way they belonged in that world, and I was still here in mine.

The cabin looked like a postcard. Strings of lights framed the windows, candles flickered on the mantel, and snow drifted lazily outside like it had nowhere better to be.

Inside, everyone was dressed up for New Year’s Eve. Clara wore a deep red dress that made her look like she belonged in a magazine. My brother had on a pressed shirt and an old gold party hat. Nico—he wore black. All black. His sleeves rolled up, collar open, wristwatch catching the light.

And I?

I wore a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.

It was the kind of night I used to look forward to. Champagne, cheesy countdowns, the glow of a fireplace and the people I loved around me. But this year, I felt like a prop in the background of someone else’s story. Like I was just… there.

They all played games, passed drinks, told stories from the past year. I sat beside them, nodding, laughing at the right moments, but something was slipping. I could feel it. I didn’t want to be bitter. I didn’t want to be that girl.

But when Clara leaned into Nico and whispered something in his ear, and he grinned like it was the best thing he’d heard all night, I looked away so fast my neck ached.

Around 11:40, I stepped out onto the back porch, away from the heat, away from the noise. The snow was still falling, soft and steady. I pulled my coat tighter and let the cold bite my cheeks. It felt… better. Real.

The door creaked behind me. Footsteps. I didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

“You okay?” Nico’s voice was quiet, almost hesitant.

I forced a smile and glanced at him. “Yeah. Just needed some air.”

He stepped beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat of him. We stared out into the trees, lit faintly by the lights inside.

“You’ve been kind of... quiet,” he said.

I shrugged. “I guess I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

He studied me. I could feel it, even though I didn’t look at him. “Anything you want to talk about?”

Yes. You. Her. Me.

“No,” I said. “It’s nothing, really.”

He didn’t press. He just nodded slowly and looked back at the snow.

But I could tell he wasn’t convinced.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” he asked suddenly.

That caught me off guard. I looked up at him then—really looked. His brow was furrowed, eyes uncertain. Vulnerable, even.

“No,” I said, quietly. “Of course not.”

He let out a breath, his shoulders easing. “Okay. Just… wanted to make sure.”

I nodded, then turned back toward the trees.

It was almost midnight. I could hear the countdown beginning inside.

“…10…9…”

“Happy New Year,” he said gently.

“Happy New Year,” I echoed.

And then he was gone—back inside, back to her. Back to everything I couldn’t say.

I stayed out there a little longer, the muffled cheer from inside slipping through the windowpanes, the sound of a kiss I didn’t see echoing in my chest like a missed note.

The heat in Spain was different.

It clung to your skin, slow and syrupy, curling into your clothes and hair until it felt like you were wearing sunlight. The villa our parents had rented sat on the edge of a quiet coast, white stone walls and terracotta tiles, lemon trees blooming by the pool. It was beautiful. Picturesque.

And I didn’t want to be here.

Not because of Spain. Not because of the sea or the food or the lazy afternoons where cicadas hummed like background music. But because I knew who else would be here.

Nico.

It had been six months since New Year’s.

Six months since I’d watched him kiss someone else.

Six months since I’d promised myself I was over it.

I hadn’t seen him since. I buried myself in coursework. Internships. Projects. Friends who didn’t know his name. And it helped—kind of. The sharp edge of it dulled. The ache faded into a quiet kind of ache, one I could live with. Mostly.

Until now.

I arrived at the villa first. My parents were already relaxing by the pool, wine in hand, sunglasses on. His family was due that afternoon. I told myself I didn’t care. That I wouldn’t look for him. That it didn’t matter who he brought with him this time.

But when the front gate creaked open around sunset, I still peeked through the slats of the balcony shutters.

It was him.

No Clara.

Just him.

He looked the same, but also different. Tanned. Relaxed. His hair longer, pushed back from his face. A canvas bag slung over one shoulder, sunglasses tucked into the collar of his shirt. He was laughing at something my brother said as they hauled luggage up the stone steps.

I didn’t go down to greet them.

Instead, I waited until dinner was already underway, then slipped into a seat on the far side of the long table. I smiled when I needed to, passed bread, nodded when someone brought up university. But I didn’t look at him. Not once.

Not until I had to.

“Hey,” Nico said softly, leaning toward me as our parents dove into a story about the last time they'd been to this town.

“Hey,” I said, keeping my eyes on my plate.

He tilted his head, like he was trying to catch my eye. “Been a while.”

“Yeah. School’s been… intense.”

“You disappeared,” he said. There was no accusation in his tone—just curiosity. And something quieter. Wary.

I shrugged. “Life gets busy.”

He studied me for a moment. “You look different.”

“Spain’ll do that.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

I finally met his gaze. His eyes were searching. Familiar. Still brown and soft and too kind. I didn’t like what they made me feel.

So I smiled—polite, distant. The kind of smile people give to old classmates they don’t really want to reconnect with.

“Well,” I said, reaching for the wine, “cheers to reunions.”

He clinked his glass against mine, his eyes never leaving my face.

But I looked away again, pretending not to notice the way his smile faltered. Pretending not to feel the questions he wasn’t asking.

And for the rest of the night, I made sure to keep a safe, sunlit distance.

The night air in Spain was thick with music.

Laughter spilled from open doors. Streetlights buzzed faintly above cobblestone roads. Somewhere in the distance, someone was playing guitar, badly, and it somehow made everything better.

I hadn’t planned to go out.

They had asked — my brother, Nico, some of the locals they’d met at the beach. Tapas, maybe a rooftop bar, some dancing. I'd made excuses. Homework. Headache. Something that sounded reasonable enough to hide the real reason: I didn’t want to spend another night watching Nico be charming under dim lights.

But when Nico had stopped at the door and looked back, eyebrows raised, and said, “Come on — you need this,” something in me cracked. I grabbed my bag and followed them into the warm Spanish night.

And it was fun. At first.

Sangria in glass pitchers. A rooftop with views of the dark ocean. String lights over the terrace, laughter rising into the stars. I danced with strangers, let the rhythm pull me out of my head, smiled until I forgot why I didn’t want to come.

But then I had one more drink than I should have. And another.

And suddenly everything was too bright, too warm, too Nico.

He’d been beside me for most of the night — teasing me gently about my moves, offering sips of his drink, making sure I had water. He was always like that. Kind. Attentive. And totally, infuriatingly unaware.

We ended up leaning against a stone wall near the beach just after midnight, a little away from the rest of the group. The waves crashed nearby. His arm brushed mine.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low.

“Fine,” I said. Then laughed. “A little more than fine, maybe.”

He smiled. “You’ve been different lately.”

“That a bad thing?”

“No. Just… different.”

I didn’t say anything.

“I missed you,” he added, almost hesitant. “You just vanished after the holidays. I get it if school was crazy, but I thought we were friends.”

I turned to him, the alcohol swirling in my chest like smoke.

“That’s the problem,” I said before I could stop myself.

His brow furrowed. “What is?”

“I can’t be your friend.”

The words dropped like stones between us. Heavy. Loud. Irrevocable.

He blinked, trying to make sense of it. “Wait, what—what do you mean?”

But I just shook my head, suddenly dizzy. “Forget it. I shouldn’t’ve said that. I’m—just drunk.”

He reached out, touched my arm gently. “Hey. What’s going on?”

I pulled away, not harshly, but enough. “I can’t do this. Be near you. Laugh with you. Pretend like I’m fine.”

His expression twisted — confused, hurt. “Why?”

I met his eyes for a second too long.

Then looked away.

“I’m going back,” I mumbled, pushing off the wall.

He didn’t stop me. Just stood there, hands clenched at his sides, watching me walk back into the blur of music and strangers.

And I didn’t see the way he kept staring after me.

My parent’s had allowed me to have my best friend join us on during our holiday in Spain. Her name was Lila — bright, bold, loud in the best way. She showed up three days after the night out, suitcase in hand, sunglasses on, tossing her arms around me like we hadn’t just last seen each other a few weeks ago back home. The house instantly lit up with her energy. My parents adored her. Her tan lines and oversized beach hats became part of the scenery.

And I clung to her like a life raft.

Because being near Nico had started to feel like drowning in silence.

Since that night, we hadn’t spoken about what I said. He hadn’t asked. I hadn’t offered. But I knew he remembered. I could see it in the way he looked at me sometimes — unsure, like he was trying to read a map in a language he didn’t speak.

The more he watched me, the more I avoided him.

With Lila around, it was easy. She pulled me into plans, took up my time, shielded me with laughter and inside jokes Nico wasn’t part of. We sunbathed by the pool while the others played volleyball. We took photos at the market and wandered through little coastal towns. I only ever saw Nico at meals, where I made sure to sit at the far end of the table, always between Lila and someone else.

But he noticed. I could feel it.

One evening, as everyone got ready for a dinner out, I passed Nico in the hallway. Just the two of us. My breath caught before I even looked up.

He paused. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I said, still walking.

He stepped in front of me before I could slip past.

“Are we okay?” he asked, voice careful. Too careful.

I blinked. “Yeah. Of course.”

“Because it doesn’t feel like it.”

I shrugged. “I’ve just been busy. Lila’s only here for a week.”

He hesitated. “Did I do something wrong?”

I looked up at him then, and it physically hurt to see the confusion in his eyes. The guilt. He was trying. He just didn’t know why it mattered so much.

“No,” I said softly. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Then why won’t you even look at me?”

That nearly broke me.

I shook my head. “I can’t do this now.”

He stepped back, nodding slowly, jaw tightening like he was biting back something sharp. “Okay.” And that was it.

He let me walk past him, and I hated how much I wanted him to follow.

The house was quiet, save for the hum of the fridge and the distant sounds of waves crashing against the shore.

I couldn’t sleep.

I’d tried. Tossing and turning, pulling the blanket higher, pushing the pillow into a different shape, but the truth was, I couldn’t escape it. The knot in my stomach, the way my chest tightened every time I saw him — every time he looked at me like I was a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out.

So I slipped downstairs, hoping the cool night air would clear my head, my mind, even just for a few minutes.

The kitchen was dark except for the soft glow from the streetlights outside, casting long shadows across the counters. I moved quietly, reaching for the water bottle in the fridge, then poured myself a glass.

I was too lost in my own thoughts to hear the footsteps at first.

“Couldn’t sleep either?”

His voice came out of nowhere, making me freeze mid-sip. The glass was cold against my lips. I hadn’t even heard him approach.

I set it down on the counter and slowly turned around.

Nico stood there, leaning against the doorframe, his eyes searching my face like he hadn’t seen me in a hundred years. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up. The air around him was heavy, thick with tension.

“I didn’t think I’d find you here,” he said softly, but I could hear the hurt in his tone, the way it caught on the edges of the words. “But I was hoping it was you.”

I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but the words caught, stuck somewhere between my throat and my heart. He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Why are you avoiding me?” His voice was barely a whisper, the question coming out like a plea. “What did I do wrong?”

I wanted to back away. To put distance between us. But my feet stayed rooted to the floor. And before I could think, before I could move, he reached out, placing his hand on the counter next to me, trapping me in the space between his body and the marble.

“I don’t get it,” he said, his breath warm against my skin as he leaned in. “I’m your friend, aren’t I? But you won’t even look at me anymore. What changed?”

The way he said it… like he was searching for an answer he couldn’t find, something that had slipped through his fingers and now hovered between us like an unspoken confession.

I swallowed, fighting to keep my voice steady. “Nothing changed.”

“Then why are you so distant?” he pressed, his voice growing more frustrated now, though he was still gentle. “You keep pushing me away, like I’m a stranger. I’m not just some guy, you know?”

I wanted to scream at him. You’re not just some guy. You’re the one I’ve been in love with for years, and it hurts to be near you when you’re in love with someone else.

But instead, I just stared at him.

His hand was still on the counter, his other hand fisted at his side, and he was so close now. Too close. I could feel the warmth of his body, his pulse, the tension in his muscles as if he were holding himself back from something — from me. I couldn’t breathe.

“You’re hurting me,” he said, his voice softer, almost hoarse. “I don’t understand what I did, but you’re hurting me by acting like this.”

I wanted to cry. I wanted to tell him everything, to beg him to understand. To stop pretending that I could just be his friend when my heart was screaming something else entirely. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t let him see how broken I felt.

“I can’t talk about this,” I whispered, the words trembling on my lips.

“Why not?” Nico asked, his voice urgent. “Why can’t you just talk to me? I hate this silence between us.”

I finally looked up at him, and the hurt in his eyes knocked the wind out of me. I felt so selfish. But I couldn’t say it. Not yet.

“Please,” he murmured, his voice raw, the quiet desperation in it making my chest tighten. “I can’t just pretend everything’s okay anymore.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, squeezing them shut as if I could keep the tears from falling. When I opened them again, his face was inches from mine, his breath mingling with mine.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered.

I should’ve said something. Should’ve told him how it hurt to be near him, how I couldn’t keep pretending that I was fine. But I couldn’t. I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, I’d lose the fragile thread holding me together.

So instead, I pulled away, stepping back slightly, breaking the moment.

“I… I’m sorry,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “I just need some space.”

Nico stared at me, his expression a mix of hurt and confusion, but he didn’t argue. He let me slip past him, retreating into the stillness of the night.

The air in the kitchen was thick with unspoken words, but there was no escaping it anymore. Not for me, not for Nico.

I thought I could walk away, slip past him and retreat back to the distance I’d been keeping. But when I turned to leave, I felt him — his presence at my back like a magnet, pulling me back, stopping me in my tracks.

His hand landed gently on my wrist, just enough to make me pause.

“I’m not letting you go without an answer,” Nico said, his voice calm but insistent. “Not without understanding why.”

I tried to breathe. Tried to steady the wild thudding of my heart. I wanted to run. Wanted to go back to the way things were — where I could pretend I wasn’t completely falling apart inside. But I knew I couldn’t. Not anymore. Not when he was standing there, looking at me like I was the answer to a question he couldn’t solve.

“I can’t keep doing this,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I can’t keep pretending, Nico.”

He stepped closer, crowding me in the small space of the kitchen. My back pressed against the counter as he closed the distance between us, trapping me in place. My breath hitched, the weight of him so close, the scent of him—his cologne, fresh air, the salt of the ocean—overwhelming.

“What do you mean?” His voice was almost desperate now, low and rough, like he was holding himself together by the thinnest thread.

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my composure, but the words were slipping out faster than I could stop them.

“I can’t do this. I can’t be your friend anymore, Nico,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “It hurts too much. Watching you with other people. Pretending that everything is okay when it’s not.”

His hand moved from my wrist to the counter beside me, his knuckles pressing against the marble as he leaned in just a little closer.

“Why? What’s going on?” He was searching my face, his gaze so intense I felt exposed, like every hidden part of me was laid bare. “Why does it hurt?”

I closed my eyes, trying to steady my breath. This was the moment. The moment I either ran from everything I felt, or I told him the truth.

I took a step back, trying to gather my courage, but it wasn’t enough to push him away.

“I can’t watch you with Clara,” I said, the words falling out in a rush. “Or anyone else. I can’t pretend that it doesn’t break me inside. I can’t act like we’re just friends when I—when I’ve been in love with you for so long.”

The words were out, and for a moment, there was only silence between us.

I couldn’t look at him, couldn’t meet his gaze. But I felt his eyes on me, waiting, and I knew I couldn’t take it back now.

“You’re in love with me?” His voice cracked, and I felt it in my chest — that raw, vulnerable sound that cut through the air like a knife.

I nodded, my throat tight. “I have been for years.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t say anything at first. I could feel the weight of his silence pressing down on me, and I wanted to hide from it. But he wasn’t letting me go.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Nico finally asked, his voice softer now, but there was still that edge to it — like he was trying to understand something that didn’t make sense.

I met his gaze for the first time since I’d spoken. “I didn’t want to lose you. I thought if I told you, it would ruin everything. I didn’t want to risk our friendship. And I… I didn’t think you’d feel the same way.”

He took a breath, letting it out slowly, like he was processing everything I’d just said. And then he did something that made my heart stop — he reached out, gently cupping my face in his hand, as though I were something fragile.

“God,” he whispered. “I had no idea.”

I closed my eyes, leaning into his touch, feeling the warmth of his hand against my skin. I couldn’t believe this was happening. After all this time, after everything I had kept inside — he was here. And he was listening.

“I’ve been so stupid,” Nico said, his voice thick with regret. “I didn’t see it. All this time, I didn’t realize.”

My chest tightened as I fought to keep my emotions in check, but it was impossible. “It’s not your fault,” I said quietly. “I never gave you the chance to see it. I didn’t want you to.”

He shook his head, a small smile pulling at his lips. “You should’ve told me sooner,” he said softly. “I could’ve made this easier for you.”

“You couldn’t have,” I whispered. “I had to figure it out on my own. I had to realize that I couldn’t keep pretending.”

And then, without thinking, I stepped forward, closing the final gap between us. His hand was still on my face, and I leaned into it, closing my eyes as if that single touch could make everything make sense.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Nico asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he was afraid the answer would break something inside him.

I reached up and took his hand, holding it against my cheek for just a moment longer before pulling it away gently. “Because I was scared,” I said. “Scared of losing you. Scared that you’d never feel the same.”

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. Then, finally, Nico took a step back, and I felt a pang of regret at the distance. But then he looked back at me, his eyes softer than I’d ever seen them.

“You’re not going to lose me,” he said quietly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

My heart raced, hope and fear battling inside me. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Nico began, stepping closer again, his voice steady now, “that I’m not letting you walk away this time. Not without us trying to figure this out. Together.”

I didn’t know if it was a promise or a question, but either way, it was the answer I had been waiting for. And I couldn’t help but smile.

The silence between us had shifted. No longer heavy with the weight of unsaid words, but filled with something else. Something tentative and raw.

Nico was standing in front of me, his gaze searching mine, as if trying to find something — an answer, a sign, something that could assure him this was real, that we were real.

We were real.

I could feel it in the air around us, in the space between us that no longer felt cold and distant. But it wasn’t easy. It wasn’t the kind of confession that magically fixed everything. There was still so much left unspoken, still so much to understand.

I wanted to reach out, wanted to close the gap between us, but the words hung heavy in my throat. The uncertainty wasn’t gone, even if the fear was beginning to fade.

“So, what now?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper, unsure how to move forward.

Nico took a deep breath, his gaze softening as he stepped closer again. The warmth of his presence sent a flutter through my chest, but this time it didn’t hurt — it felt like something else entirely, something new.

“I think…” he paused, his lips curving into a small smile, “I think we take it one step at a time. No rushing this. We’ll figure it out, together.”

The simplicity of it took me by surprise. It wasn’t complicated. It wasn’t some grand gesture. It was just him, speaking to me with that same honesty I’d always known him for.

I nodded slowly, feeling the weight in my chest lift, if only a little.

“What happens if I’m still scared?” I asked, my voice barely audible.

Nico’s smile widened, and he reached for my hand. For the first time in a long time, I let him, my fingers intertwining with his.

“Then we take it slow,” he said softly. “No rush. No pressure. We take it however you need it. And if that means we go a little slower, then we do that. But I’m not going anywhere.”

I felt something inside me shift — a kind of relief that I hadn’t even known I’d been waiting for. He wasn’t pushing me. He wasn’t demanding answers or making things difficult. He was giving me space to breathe. To be.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I whispered, looking up at him, suddenly more vulnerable than I had ever felt. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“You haven’t,” he reassured me, his thumb brushing the back of my hand gently. “You’ve been hurting in silence, and I couldn’t see it. I’m sorry for that.”

I shook my head, the tears I’d been holding back threatening to spill. “It wasn’t your fault. I didn’t let you see it. I couldn’t.”

Nico’s other hand came up, gently cupping my cheek. He tilted my face upward, and for a long moment, we just stood there, staring at each other. The warmth of his touch was the only thing that felt certain in that moment.

“I know now,” he whispered. “And I’m not going to make you carry this on your own anymore.”

For the first time in a long time, I let myself believe it. I let myself believe that maybe — just maybe — we could make this work.

We stood there in silence for a while longer, and for once, it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was peaceful. Real. The kind of silence that speaks louder than any words ever could.

“Do you think we can be something more than just friends?” I asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

Nico’s eyes softened, and he smiled. “I think we already are.”

And in that moment, everything I’d been holding in — all the fears, the doubts, the uncertainty — melted away.

We didn’t have all the answers. We didn’t know where this was going. But we knew that for once, we were both willing to try.

I took a deep breath, a smile tugging at my lips.

“I think I’d like that,” I whispered, the weight of the words more freeing than I could have imagined.

Nico pulled me closer then, and I let him. For the first time, I didn’t pull away. I let myself feel what I had been too afraid to admit — that this was real. That we were real.

His lips brushed mine, soft and tentative, like a promise. Like something new that we were only just beginning to explore.

The world outside the kitchen still felt uncertain. But for the first time in a long time, standing in his arms, I felt like maybe everything would be okay.

And as I pulled away, just enough to look at him, I knew we had taken the first step.

The days after that night felt like a new beginning. Nico and I still didn’t have all the answers, but everything was different — in the best way possible. We weren’t just friends anymore, but we weren’t rushing into anything either.

We took things slow. And I realized, more and more, that I was grateful for that. The pressure was gone. I didn’t need to force anything to happen. Nico wasn’t asking for anything more than what I could give, and that was exactly what I needed.

But navigating this new dynamic was trickier than I’d imagined.

It was different to look at him and know I wasn’t just seeing my brother’s best friend anymore. I was seeing someone who meant so much more than that. Someone I had silently pined over for years, someone who had become even more important to me than I’d ever realized.

The way he looked at me now was different, too. His eyes no longer carried that same casual warmth that came from years of friendship. There was something deeper there now — an unspoken promise of more, of us, of the future.

But sometimes, that look made me nervous. It felt like I was standing on the edge of something I didn’t fully understand yet.

The first week after our conversation was peaceful, a quiet kind of understanding settling between us. We spent time together with my parents and his, casually hanging out, no pressure. Nico would catch my eye across the table, offering me a soft smile, and I’d return it, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. We hadn’t talked about anything beyond that first confession — the kiss, the feelings — but there was something unspoken between us that felt more real than any words could express.

But then, one afternoon, as we sat on the balcony overlooking the ocean in Spain, the stillness between us broke.

“You know,” Nico started, breaking the silence as he leaned back in his chair, gazing out at the horizon, “I’ve been thinking a lot about that night.”

I glanced over at him, my stomach tightening. We hadn’t really talked about what had happened since. I didn’t know what he was going to say, but the fact that he was bringing it up meant he had been thinking about it, too.

I nodded, my voice a little unsure. “What about it?”

He turned to look at me, his eyes serious now. “I think… I think I’ve been an idiot.”

I raised an eyebrow, surprised. “What do you mean?”

He ran a hand through his hair, his expression conflicted. “All these years, I didn’t realize how much you meant to me. I kept brushing it off, telling myself that we were just friends. But the truth is, I’ve always cared about you. I’ve always felt something. I just… I didn’t know how to handle it.”

My heart skipped a beat, the words coming out of his mouth echoing in my chest. It felt like everything was coming full circle. But I didn’t know what to say.

I opened my mouth to speak, but Nico stopped me with a raised hand.

“I don’t want to rush this,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “But I just needed you to know that. I needed you to know I’m not just here because I feel sorry for you or because I think I should be. I’m here because I want to be. And I don’t want to let you go. Not again.”

I felt my breath catch in my throat. This was different. This wasn’t the Nico I had known for years. This was the Nico who had finally admitted what he’d been holding inside. The one who wasn’t afraid to be honest with me.

“You’re not going to lose me, Nico,” I whispered, my heart racing as I looked at him. “I just… I don’t know what this means. I don’t know how to be with you in this way.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at me with an intensity I hadn’t seen before.

“I think we both need to figure that out,” he said gently. “But I’m willing to try, if you are.”

I felt a rush of warmth spread through me — a mixture of relief and excitement.

“I’m scared,” I admitted, finally voicing the thing that had been lurking in my mind. “I don’t know how to navigate this with you. I’ve spent so long keeping these feelings inside, and now everything feels so... different.”

“I get that,” Nico said softly. “It’s a lot to take in. But I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

We sat there in silence for a moment, the weight of his words hanging in the air. The breeze from the ocean ruffled my hair, but I didn’t move. I didn’t want to move. I wanted to stay right there, in that moment, with him.

The next few days were filled with more quiet moments between us — long walks along the beach, quiet dinners with our families, and those stolen glances across the room. We were learning how to be around each other in this new way, navigating the line between friendship and something more.

But the moments that felt the most real were the ones when we didn’t talk. When we just were together — a gentle touch on the arm as we passed each other, the casual way he would smile at me, like we were sharing a secret.

It was the little things. The quiet gestures that made me feel like everything was slowly coming into focus.

One evening, we all went out for a late dinner at a small restaurant along the coast. The atmosphere was warm, and the lights glowed softly against the fading light of the day. As the night went on, our families laughed and talked, but Nico and I stayed on the edges, watching everyone, talking in quiet voices.

“Do you think this is crazy?” I asked him suddenly, a smile tugging at my lips.

He looked over at me, his expression thoughtful. “It feels like a dream, honestly. But I don’t want to wake up from it.”

I laughed softly. “Good. Because I don’t either.”

And for the first time in a long time, I truly believed it. I didn’t know where this was going, and I wasn’t in any rush to figure it out. But for now, I was content to just be here — with Nico. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

It felt surreal, almost like I was waiting for something to shatter — some moment when I’d wake up and realize this was all just a fleeting dream. But with each day that passed, the more real it became. Nico and I weren’t just tiptoeing around what we both felt anymore. We were moving forward, slowly, steadily.

The moment we got back home from Spain, everything felt familiar again, the steady hum of life going on as usual. It should’ve felt like we were back to normal, but things between Nico and me were different now.

It was subtle, in the way we exchanged glances, in the way we leaned a little closer when we spoke, in the gentle touches we shared when no one else was looking. But mostly, it was in the way our connection felt stronger, deeper. I didn’t have to question whether Nico was in this with me — I felt it in every word he said, in every smile he gave.

Tonight was supposed to be a low-key evening. Nico had suggested a movie night, but I wasn’t prepared for how different it would feel — just the two of us, lying on the couch, watching a movie, while the world outside seemed so far away.

We started off sitting side by side, just as we had before — the same comfortable silence that had always marked our friendship. But now it felt… different. Every time I shifted slightly, our legs brushed together, and I couldn’t ignore the electric spark that traveled up my spine.

I caught Nico glancing at me out of the corner of his eye, a playful grin pulling at the corners of his lips.

“What?” I asked, raising an eyebrow, though I knew full well why he was looking at me.

He shook his head, his grin widening. “Nothing. Just thinking about how everything’s changed.”

I smiled, trying to keep it light. “Yeah, it’s kind of weird, huh?”

“Yeah,” Nico replied, his voice soft but warm. “But in a good way.”

His words sent a warmth spreading through me, and for a moment, we both just stared at the screen, lost in the quiet of the room. But the silence felt comfortable now. Natural. There was no tension, no awkwardness. Just us, together, sharing a moment.

I shifted again, this time allowing myself to get a little closer, and before I could stop myself, my head had found its way onto his shoulder. Nico tensed for a second but didn’t pull away. Instead, he relaxed into it, his arm slipping around my shoulders, drawing me closer.

“Is this okay?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, even though I was certain I knew the answer.

He let out a quiet chuckle, his breath warm against my skin. “More than okay.”

We settled into a comfortable silence again, watching the movie, but it was hard to focus on anything else but the way his arm was around me, the way his body was so close to mine, the way he was so completely present. Every small touch, every shift in position felt like something more — something I wasn’t quite ready to admit but couldn’t deny either.

My heart was racing, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to pull away. Nico didn’t rush it. He didn’t try to do anything — he just let me be, letting me get used to the idea of this. Of us.

The movie had long since faded into the background, our attention fully on each other now. Nico’s thumb was tracing small circles on my arm, sending a shiver down my spine with each movement. I could feel his steady breath, warm against my cheek, and the soft pressure of his arm around me that made my chest tighten with something I couldn’t name.

I lifted my head slightly to look at him, and he met my gaze almost immediately, his eyes dark and intense. There was something new in them — something more than just affection. It was the look of someone who was in tune with me, who understood what was happening between us.

“Nico,” I murmured, my voice barely audible, “are we really doing this?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing against my forehead in a gentle, tender kiss. “I think we already have,” he whispered back, his lips brushing my skin.

I closed my eyes, my heart skipping a beat. Every word he said made it clearer — we were already here. There was no turning back, no more hesitation.

When I opened my eyes again, he was closer, so close that I could feel the warmth of his breath against my lips. For a moment, everything else faded away. There were no doubts, no fears — just the two of us, here, together.

I reached up, my hand finding its way to his cheek, and I pulled him toward me. Nico didn’t hesitate. He kissed me softly, at first, like he was testing the waters, unsure but wanting to be sure.

The world around us seemed to melt away. His lips were warm against mine, gentle but full of promise, and I couldn’t stop myself from leaning into him, deepening the kiss. There was no rush, no urgency — just the quiet, knowing feeling that this was exactly where we were supposed to be.

Nico’s hand slid to the back of my neck, pulling me even closer as our lips moved in sync. My chest tightened, my heart racing as the kiss became more than just a kiss — it became everything we hadn’t said. All the words we had been too scared to speak, all the feelings we had buried under layers of friendship, now unfolding in this one moment.

And when we finally pulled away, breathless and a little dazed, I couldn’t help but smile.

Nico chuckled, his forehead resting against mine. “Well… I guess this movie night just got a little more interesting.”

I laughed softly, my fingers lightly tracing his jaw. “Yeah, I guess so.”

His smile was playful, but there was something more in his eyes. Something deeper. Something that told me we weren’t just two people caught up in a moment. We were building something real, something we both wanted.

The movie was long forgotten. But in that moment, as I lay against him, his arm around me, I couldn’t think of anything else I wanted more.

[stars1997]

https://www.tumblr.com/stars1997/754187410182733824/honeymooners

Pls do a part 2

Honeymooners

(Part 2)

Paring(s): Nico Hischier x Fem! reader

Warnings: SMUT!!! (18+), oral, Nico eats food off your body, hot tub sex

(Not edited)

Summary: What better way to celebrate a becoming husband and wife than fucking like rabbits on your honeymoon.

_

You have been at the beach all day. You make your way out of the water and back to Nico who had been relaxing on the loungers for the past few hours. When you finally reach him, he lifts his sunglasses to get a better look at you as you pick up your drink from the table next to him, finishing it.

“Would you like me to go and get you a new drink?” he sits up, moving his legs off out the lounger so now he’s facing you. you move closer to him so you’re now standing between his legs.

“That would be amazing!” you bend down to kiss him before moving out of his way so he can go get you a new drink.

-

It was now almost dinner time. Nico called room service and ordered the food for both of you. After being at the beach all day, you and Nico planned to relax back in the room.

You had just finished showering and getting dressed when Nico knocked on the door to tell you the food was there. When you walked out, you saw a huge cart of food in the middle of the room.

Nico grabbed the champagne and popped it open before pouring a glass for the both of you.

“That’s a lot of food, Nico. There is no way we’re going to be eating all that.” You remove the metal lids from some of the plates.

“Some of it is for later.” He sends you a wink before taking the rest of the lids off. There were two steaks with potatoes and mixed veggies, along with a couple of desserts.

“Nico!” you squeaked out his name, looking back at him in shock. He just sends you a boyish grin.

-

Nico had you on your back on the bed. His thumb rubbing your clit. He took the frosting from the chocolate cake and spread it on the inside of your thighs. He licks from your knee up to your core. Before he attached his lips to your clit. His finger moved down, thrusting them in and curling his finger up.

It didn’t take long for you to cum. He lifted away from you, looking up at your face. Your eyes are closed so you don’t see him take some of the frosting from the cake and smears it down your stomach. You let out a gasp.

“Nico! I’m going to be all sticky.” You look at him eyes wide.

“Oh, you’re going to be sticky tonight, but not because of the cake.” He gives you his cute smile as you try to swat at him, but he backs up before you could hit him.

“Just lay back and let me work” he lays his tongue flat on your stomach then licking up the line of frosting. His lips wrap around your nipple before giving it a tug with his teeth.

“I’m going to fuck you hard in this bed, then we are going outside into the hot tub, and you're going to ride me nice and slow” he kissed you on the before grabbing a pillow form above your head and sliding it under your hips.

He reaches his hand into his swim shorts and pulls out his cock before lining himself up with your entrance. He grabs one of your legs and rests it on his shoulder, his hand gripping your ankle. He slides in before grabbing your other leg and resting it on his other shoulder.

He didn’t give you much time to adjust before he started fucking into you. his thrusts are hard but slow. Your head falls back, and your eyes close as he brings his thumb to your clit. He slowly picks up the speed of his thrust. Your hands reach forward and touch his chest.

“Fuck, Nico.” He drops your legs down by his waist. Leaning forward and grabbing your chin in his hand before kissing you on the lips.

“You are so fucking amazing. My perfect girl.” He whispers in your ear. He lets go of your chin and brings his thumb down to your clit. You let out a loud moan. He picks up his pace, fucking into you faster.

You didn’t think you had anything left in you, but when Nico attached his mouth to your nipple, you felt all tension leave your body. You felt nothing but pleasure in that moment. You squirt all over Nico’s cock. you could feel Nico smirk against your boob.

As Nico slid his cock out of you, you let out a small whimper. He grabs your hand, pulling you so you are now sitting up. He nods his head in a way to let you know to follow him. he opens the sliding door to the back deck and makes his way over to the hot tub. He gets in, sitting down so he is facing you. you stand up off the bed and make your way over to him. His hand reaches for his cock, giving it a few tugs as you walk over.

You step down into the hot tub, climbing into Nico’s lap. You reach to grab his cock before sinking down onto him. He lets out a soft grunt as you grind against him.

“Fuck I’m not going to last as long as I thought.” He grips your hips helping you grind against him faster.

Your head falls back, and your hands grip his hair. He kisses your chest before resting his head on your shoulder. His soft moans in your ear bring you over the edge. He continues to rock your hips for a few more seconds before cuming inside you.

“Fuck I'm going to have a hard time when we go back home. Because what do you mean I can’t just spend all day fucking my wife.” He grabs your chin and pulls you in for a kiss.

-

You both spent the rest of that night in the hot tube talking about random stuff. You both finally got out of the hot tube, Nico wrapped a towel around you before picking you up and bringing you inside.

[puck-luck]

hiii can i get an espresso shot w caramel syrup (on the kitchen counter) w nico pls

Nico’s sex drive always increases tenfold after the season ends. Your theory is that once he’s not doing daily workouts and getting all of his frustrations out on the ice, he turns to releasing his energy through quickies throughout the house or longer sessions in your bedroom. You never know when Nico is going to pounce.

You didn’t expect him to sidle up behind you while you were brewing coffee first thing in the morning, hair piled onto your head messily just to get it out of the way and pajamas still crumpled from how they’d ridden up and shifted as you slept. 

Your clothes are always in disarray in the morning and while lots of that can be attributed to the natural wear and tear of being unconscious for multiple hours a night, the rest of it must be attributed to your octopus boyfriend, who will roll over in bed while holding onto you. He’s done it more than once, usually two or three times a week, where he’ll keep his arms tight around your waist and his sleepy breaths close to your ear as he lifts you into the air and then plants you on his side of the bed, facing the opposite nightstand. It always jolts you awake and Nico always stays asleep. 

The late night wakeups from your boyfriend’s sheer strength has not affected your coffee intake, but you still crave the rich taste each morning. It’s part of your routine and if it gives you a burst of energy, to help you get through the day, so be it.

The way Nico has you bent over the counter, coffee dripping into your mug and his fingers dipping into the space between your legs, is not part of that routine. ‘Dipping’ is too gentle a word to use, actually– Nico’s fingers are stroking your insides deftly, preparing your hole to take the cock that is pressing against your bare thighs. Your sleep shorts– Nico’s boxers– are pooled around your ankles and your nipples are cold against the marble countertop, even though they’re protected by the cotton of your t-shirt.

It’s the first thing in the morning and Nico is priming you for his cock. How is this your life?

Your nails attempt to dig into the smooth stone beneath you, unable to grasp on anything to steel yourself in the wake of the pleasure you’re feeling. He’s so talented with his fingers, so eager to make you moan and squirm beneath him.

His other hand is sure against your hip, a comforting presence. Nico bends over your body and kisses the back of your neck, mumbling sweet Swiss-German sentences that you don’t catch all of as he drags his lips down your spine. 

His fingers leaving your cunt feels like a loss, but it’s quickly replaced by the stretch of his blunt cockhead and the slide of his shaft into your body. 

“Mm, schatz,” Nico grunts lowly. His hips rock forward until his pelvis is flush with yours, which is when he pauses and hinges at the waist so that, for a brief moment, your bodies are aligned from shoulder to ankle. There’s no time for you to respond before Nico jumps into action, thrusting forcefully, chasing the feeling of your muscles clenching him so tightly. 

He pounds into you, knees knocking into the cabinets beneath the counter and sounding hollowly. They’ll be plenty bruised by tomorrow and you won’t even have gotten them by dropping down in front of Nico and worshipping the cock that has you so weak. 

By the time he’s coming, palms flat on the counter and creating condensation, you know that this won’t be the only time Nico takes you today. When he’s sinking to his knees and licking you out before pulling his boxers back up and fixing them around your hips, then stealing your full coffee mug to finish making your drink to your liking, you know that today is one of those days where Nico is just insatiable.

[theonottsbxtch]

BY THE WATER (MINE) | NH13

an: this is my first hockey fic and i forgot how much i loved writing about hockey players, anywhom this is apart of my 2k celly so enjoy a nico hischier fic - requested here.

wc: 3.4k

summary: she was just a uni student trying to outrun her past; nico was the rising rookie who never expected to fall. through late-night arguments, quiet mornings, and the ache of becoming, they built something neither of them had known they needed.

THE RESTURANT WAS HALF-EMPTY, the lull between dinner and late-night stragglers stretching into silence. She wiped down a table near the window, the hum of conversation from the bar blending into the low murmur of music overhead. Outside, rain misted against the glass, soft and unrelenting, coating the city in a dull sheen.

She had been here for six months now. Long enough to know which streets stayed busy after dark, which coffee shops opened earliest, which buses ran late. But not long enough to call it home. She wasn’t sure if she ever would.

The door swung open, letting in a gust of cold air and the low rumble of male voices. She glanced up out of habit, barely paying attention. Just another group of customers, another few hours to get through before she could go home, curl up under her duvet, and pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Except one of them stood out.

He was tall, lean but built like an athlete, his dark jacket doing little to hide the broad set of his shoulders. His hair was damp from the rain, pushed back in a way that made it look like he hadn’t thought about it at all. And maybe he hadn’t, there was an ease to him, the kind that came with knowing exactly who he was.

She recognised him. Not because she followed hockey, but because in a city like this, it was impossible not to hear his name. Nico Hischier. The Swiss rookie making waves in the NHL, the kid who had come from across the world and slotted into the team like he had been there forever. She had heard the customers talking about him, seen his face on TV screens when the matches played in the background of the bar. But up close, he didn’t look like the headlines made him sound, unstoppable, relentless, a rising star.

He just looked… young.

Like he was still getting used to all of this. Like the noise around him hadn’t quite settled into something real yet.

His friends took a booth near the back, but he hesitated, glancing around like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to sit or leave. His gaze landed on her for half a second, just long enough for a flicker of something, recognition, curiosity, before he looked away.

She straightened, gripping the damp cloth in her hand a little too tightly. It wasn’t the first time someone like him had walked through these doors. An athlete, someone who had already found their place in the world while she was still trying to carve out hers

It was the first time she had felt like it might matter.

She took her time approaching the table, tucking her notepad into her apron as she wove between empty chairs. The restaurant had emptied out even more, leaving only a few late-night diners scattered across the room. His friends were talking, their voices low and easy, but he wasn’t joining in. Instead, he was looking out of the window, watching the rain streak against the glass.

When she reached them, she pulled out her notepad. Professional. Detached. Just another table.

“What can I get you?”

His attention snapped back to her. Up close, his eyes were sharper than she’d expected, brown, but not the bright, striking kind. Deeper, more thoughtful. He didn’t speak straight away, letting his friends order first. Only when they turned to him did he glance back at her, the faintest trace of hesitation before he finally said, “Just a coffee.”

His accent was there, but not heavy. A mix of European influences, soft around the edges.

She nodded, jotting it down before disappearing behind the bar. When she returned, balancing a tray of drinks, his friends had fallen back into conversation, laughing at something she hadn’t heard. He was still quiet, fingers tapping idly against the edge of the table.

When she placed the coffee in front of him, his eyes flicked up again. “Thanks.”

She hummed in response, turning to go—

“You don’t follow hockey.”

It wasn’t a question. She paused, surprised, before looking back. He was watching her properly now, head tilted slightly like he was trying to figure something out.

“No,” she admitted. “I don’t.”

His lips twitched. Not quite a smile. “Everyone in this city does.”

She lifted a shoulder, shifting her weight. “Guess I missed the memo.”

One of his friends called his name then, dragging his attention away. She used the moment to leave, returning to the counter where she could breathe again.

She had been right about him. He wasn’t like the others who walked in here, loud, arrogant, carrying themselves with the kind of swagger that came with knowing the whole city was watching.

He was something else. Something steadier, quieter.

And she wasn’t sure if that made him easier to ignore or more dangerous.

It became a habit.

He came in late after practice, sometimes alone, sometimes with teammates. Always sitting near the window, always ordering coffee. And somehow, without meaning to, she started sitting with him when her shift was slow, letting their conversations stretch longer each time.

He asked her about university, about the classes she hated and the ones she didn’t mind so much. She asked him about Switzerland, about what it was like to leave home behind. He never talked much about hockey, and she never asked.

One night, they walked out at the same time. The rain had stopped, but the streets still glistened under the glow of the streetlights. He fell into step beside her, hands shoved into his pockets, his body carrying the slightest stiffness, tired, maybe, after a game she hadn’t watched.

“Where are you headed?” he asked.

“Home.”

He nodded, like he had expected that. Then, after a pause “Come with me.”

She blinked. “Where?”

His gaze flicked ahead, towards the river that cut through the city. “Just for a bit.”

She should have said no. She always said no when someone asked her somewhere. But tonight, with the cold air crisp against her skin and the world stretched quiet around them, she found herself hesitating.

“Alright.”

And just like that, she followed.

They reached the water, leaning against the railing as the lights reflected in broken patterns across the surface. He exhaled, the sound barely audible, like he had been holding something in all night.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” he admitted suddenly.

She turned to him. “The restaurant?”

His lips twitched again. That almost-smile. “No. Here. In this city. In this league.”

She frowned. “You don’t think you should be?”

A muscle in his jaw shifted, like he wasn’t used to saying these things out loud. “It happened too fast. One minute I was playing back home, the next I was here. People expect things now. Like I’m supposed to be…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“Unstoppable?” she guessed.

He huffed out a quiet laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Something like that.”

She didn’t know much about hockey, but she understood pressure. Understood what it felt like to carry expectations that weren’t yours to begin with.

“Maybe you’re just meant to be here,” she said finally.

He looked at her then, properly, like he was trying to believe it.

She didn’t look away.

And when he shifted slightly closer, when his arm brushed hers against the railing, she let him.

The weeks blurred into something familiar.

She saw him more often now. Sometimes at the restaurant, sometimes outside of it. Late-night walks along the river became routine, conversations stretching into the early hours until she could barely keep her eyes open in lectures the next day. She told herself it was nothing, that he was just someone to pass the time with, that it wasn’t real.

But then there was the first time she saw his place.

She hadn’t meant to go. Hadn’t planned on it. But it had been late, and they had both been exhausted, and when he had mumbled, Just stay for a bit, she hadn’t found the strength to argue.

It was a flat in a high-rise, modern and minimal, the kind of place that had been picked for him rather than one he had chosen himself. There wasn’t much personality to it. No photos, no clutter. Just a few unpacked boxes in the corner, like he hadn’t fully decided if this was home yet.

“You’ve been here for months,” she had said, nodding towards them.

He had shrugged. “Don’t need much.”

And maybe that was why, weeks later, when she found a drawer of her things in his bedroom, a spare hoodie she had left behind, a book she had fallen asleep reading, a bottle of perfume she had forgotten, something inside her shifted.

She hadn’t been looking for permanence. But somehow, without meaning to, she had found traces of herself in his world.

And then, just as easily, reality seeped in.

They had nothing figured out.

She was still balancing shifts at the restaurant with essays she could barely focus on. He was everywhere. On the ice, in the media, caught up in a world that never seemed to slow down. There were mornings when he was gone before she woke up, nights when he came back too late to do anything but press a tired kiss to her forehead before collapsing into bed.

She tried not to let it get to her.

But there were moments when it was hard.

Like the night she waited for him after a game, standing outside the arena long after the final whistle had blown. She wasn’t sure why she had come. She never did, but something had pulled her there, a need to see him when he was at his best, when the rest of the world was watching too.

But when he finally emerged, surrounded by teammates and flashing cameras, he barely saw her.

He was smiling, laughing at something someone had said, moving through the crowd with the kind of confidence that came with belonging.

And she didn’t.

She turned before he could notice her, before she could let herself feel stupid for thinking he might have been looking for her too.

Later, when he showed up at her door, breathless and still in his post-game suit, she didn’t mention it.

But the doubt had settled. And it was only a matter of time before it broke through.

The fight came out of nowhere.

It had started with something small, something neither of them would remember in the morning. But then it spiralled, long-held frustrations spilling over, words sharper than they should have been.

"You don’t get it,” she snapped, arms folded tight across her chest. “You have everything. You’re living the dream while I’m—” She cut herself off, biting back the rest.

His expression darkened. “While you’re what?”

She hesitated, jaw tight.

He took a step closer. “You think this is easy for me? That I don’t worry about losing it all? That I don’t—” He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “I never know if I’m doing the right thing.”

She swallowed. “Neither do I.”

Silence settled between them, thick and heavy.

Then, barely above a whisper. “Maybe this was a mistake.”

His face shuttered, something flickering in his eyes before he looked away.

She turned first, stepping back, reaching for the door. If she left now, she could pretend none of this had happened. Pretend it hadn’t hurt.

But then—

"Nico, just—" Her voice wavered.

He caught her wrist before she could move. Not tightly. Just enough to make her stop.

When she turned, his expression had softened, the frustration slipping into something more raw. More desperate.

“I don’t want this to be a mistake,” he said.

Her breath caught.

His fingers loosened, but he didn’t let go completely. “Do you?”

She should have walked away.

She didn’t.

The door clicked shut behind her, but she barely heard it over the pounding in her chest.

She needed to leave.

Needed to get out before she said something she couldn’t take back, before she let herself believe that this, them, wasn’t already falling apart.

Then, before she could doubt herself once more. She pulled away from him and opened the door once more. Men like him never went chasing after women like her, she’ll go and cry, he’ll sit there and find another girl. Wasn’t that what she’d spent her whole life witnessing.

The city was cold, the air sharp against her skin as she walked blindly down the pavement. It was late enough that the streets were nearly empty, just the occasional car passing by, headlights slicing through the dark. She focused on the sound of her own footsteps, on the rhythmic scuff of her trainers against the wet concrete.

She didn’t hear him coming.

Didn’t realise he had followed until his voice cut through the quiet.

“Wait.”

She froze.

He was breathless when he reached her, like he had run the whole way. He hadn’t even grabbed a coat, standing there in just his hoodie and joggers, his hair still a mess from where he had run his hands through it.

“What are you doing?” she asked, voice tight.

He stared at her like she had said something ridiculous. “Coming after you.”

She swallowed, turning away, but he stepped forward, cutting off her retreat.

“I love you.”

The words landed like a punch. She sucked in a sharp breath, her heart stumbling over itself.

He didn’t waver. Didn’t try to soften it. Just stood there, steady and unshaken, his hands curled into fists like he was willing to fight for this.

“I love you,” he said again, quieter this time. “And I don’t care how messy this gets, I don’t care if we have nothing figured out. I just—” He exhaled, shaking his head. “I need you to know that.”

She closed her eyes. “Nico—”

“No,” he cut in, stepping closer. “You think I have everything, but I don’t. Not without you.”

Her throat tightened.

“I don’t know what I’m doing half the time,” he admitted. “I don’t know if I’m making the right choices, or if any of this will last. But you? Us? That’s the one thing I’m sure of.”

The fight drained out of her all at once, her shoulders slumping.

And before she could second-guess herself, she reached for him.

His arms wrapped around her instantly, like he had been waiting for it, holding her tight enough that she could feel the rapid thud of his heart against hers.

She didn’t know how long they stood there, tangled up in each other, letting the city move around them.

Eventually, he pulled back just enough to look at her properly. “Come back inside.”

She hesitated. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she was scared. Scared that history would repeat itself, that love would always be something temporary. Liek her parents.

But when he laced their fingers together, warm and certain, she let him lead her back.

They sat on the floor of his flat, backs against the sofa, knees brushing.

Neither of them spoke for a while, the only sound the occasional drip of rain against the window.

Then, quietly, “My parents never got it right.”

Nico turned to her.

She stared ahead, picking at the hem of her sleeve. “They loved each other, I think. But they were never happy. They fought, left, came back. Over and over.” She swallowed. “I used to think love was just… something that slipped away. Something you couldn’t hold onto, no matter how hard you tried.”

Nico didn’t say anything, just reached for her hand, threading their fingers together.

She finally looked at him, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want us to be like them.”

He squeezed her hand. “We won’t be.”

She let out a shaky breath. “How do you know?”

“Because I love you,” he said simply. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

It should have scared her. Should have sent her running like it always had.

But with him, his steady hands, his steady heart, it didn’t feel like a risk.

It felt like something she could trust.

And when he leaned in, pressing the softest kiss to her temple, she let herself believe it.

She didn’t fall asleep that night.

Instead, they lay there side by side on the living room floor, his hoodie pulled around her shoulders, the weight of his arm draped across her waist like it was where it belonged.

It wasn’t glamorous. The flat still smelt faintly of take-away and damp rain, and her back ached from the hardwood. But there was something in the way he held her, like she was the one thing keeping him grounded, like this, the quiet, the closeness, was more important than anything else.

And for once, she let herself believe it could last.

The years didn’t pass without challenge, but they passed with meaning.

She graduated with a degree she had almost walked away from. The same week, Nico flew out to meet her, forgetting his media duties, having dropped everything just to be there in the front row, blurry-eyed and grinning like a boy who’d never been prouder of anything in his life.

They moved out of the flat six months later.

It had been time. Too many memories lingered there. Late-night fights, quiet make-ups, growing pains neither of them had known how to navigate. They found a smaller place in a quieter part of the city, where the windows let in warm morning light and the neighbours didn’t slam doors at 3AM.

She found work she loved. Something steady. Something hers. The kind of job that made her feel like she had finally stepped into her own life, not just existed on the edge of someone else’s.

And Nico?

He kept playing.

His name grew louder, his face on more screens, his jersey worn by kids who had never even heard of Swiss hockey before he arrived. He got that ‘C’ on his jersey like he’d dreamed as a boy. But no matter how far his world stretched, she remained the centre of it.

His grounding point. His girl.

There were days when he came home bruised and battered, eyes shadowed by exhaustion, shoulders heavy with pressure. She never asked him to explain it. She just curled into his side on the sofa, let his head drop to her lap, and ran her fingers through his hair until the tension melted away.

And when things felt too big. When the noise of the world threatened to drown him, he would whisper, Don’t let go, and she never did.

The proposal wasn’t a grand gesture.

There was no flash, no spotlight. Just the two of them, as it had always been.

It was autumn, the trees along the river burning gold, the same river they had walked beside that first night. He took her hand as they wandered beneath the leaves, the air crisp and the sky bleeding soft pinks into the horizon.

He was nervous. She could tell by the way he kept clearing his throat, fingers fidgeting slightly in his pocket.

She stopped, smiling faintly. “You alright?”

He nodded, then paused. “No.”

She raised an eyebrow. “No?”

He looked at her then, properly.

“You changed everything,” he said. “I came here thinking I had to prove something. That I needed to be someone I wasn’t ready to be. And then I met you. And suddenly, nothing else mattered.”

She felt her heart stutter.

“You’ve been my beginning,” he said, voice low, steady. “And I want you to be my always.”

And then, slowly, he pulled the ring from his coat pocket. Simple. Elegant. Her.

She didn’t cry. Not right away.

She laughed, because of course he’d be the one to say something that would undo her completely while standing in trainers and a hoodie that smelled faintly of his aftershave.

Then, she said yes.

Of course she did.

Because they hadn’t become her parents.

They had become them.

And when he slipped the ring onto her finger, she whispered something only he could hear, something about how he had been hers since that first cup of coffee, since that first moment he’d looked at her like he saw past everything she had tried to hide.

He kissed her like he remembered every second of it.

Because he had.

Because they were home.

the end.

taglist: @hzstry8 @isaadore

[oscquinn]

hii can i request tropes 11 and 15 for nico hischier? ty!

hi nonnie!! ofc, love this idea. only one bed + mutual pining. rated t. sexual references but no smut. very fluffy!!

nico watches you line up pillows one by one, creating a barrier between your bodies. he's propped against the headboard, one hand behind his head while he pretends to do something on his phone.

"there we go, that should be good." you admire your work before tucking yourself into bed. you face away from nico, you couldn't have him seeing you drool on the pillow, or your bangs sticking out in every direction.

"you know, i'm able to stay on my side just fine," nico mumbles. you feel the bed shift and know he's leaning over towards you.

you roll onto your back, momentarily distracted by his deep brown eyes. you stammer out your counter argument, "i-i don't wanna wake up to anything poking me."

nico laughs, low and hearty, and something blooms in your chest. "i can contain myself, too."

"men can't contain themselves," you scoff. "you're lucky i trust you, hischier."

nico smiles warmly, shimmying under the covers. "whatever makes you comfortable. sleep well, schatz."

your heart flutters at the nickname, wondering what it means. "goodnight nico," you whisper. you reach to turn off the hotel lamp, plunging the small room into darkness. all that's left is the sound of nico's breathing.

[toasttt11]

bruise

summary: reunited after a long road trip

request: “It’s not as bad as it looks like.”

nico hischier x reader

Nico barely had time to fully open the door before a body was barreling at him and he grunted for a split second at her hitting his chest but he didn’t care at the pain.

He was smiling more than he has in the past two weeks and immediately dropped his bags wrapping his arms around her and sighing in relief to finally be able to hold his girl again.

Nico just peppered kissed on the side and top of her head as he took a step forward kicking their front door close, “I missed you so much Schatz.” Nico breathed out inhaling the soft vanilla scent of her shampoo.

“I missed you to Neeks so so much.” She mumbled against his chest, she could cry with how happy she was to be back with her Nico.

They have dealt with many long road trips during their relationship but it never makes it easier or make them miss each other any less.

They both still have a shared countdown every time for when Nico will be home, even a small road trip.

“Are you hungry?” Her soft mumble was mumbled by his chest as she was pressing soft kisses to his chest not wanting to let go of him yet.

“No, maybe later.” Nico softly replied closing his eyes letting out a content sigh as his chin rested on her head, his girl was finally back in his arms.

“Cuddles?” She offered to him taking a deep breath as her nose filled with the cologne he’s always worn since she has know him.

“Yes.” Nico easily agreed, he immediately picked her up ignoring the twinge in his side because right now all he wanted was to hold his girl.

Nico let out a blissful sigh as she pressed a couple kisses across his cheek, jaw and neck.

Nico carried her into their bedroom and gently set her down on their bed and sadly let go of her and he cupped her face pressing a long but soft kiss to her for her making her hum and her eyes peacefully flutter shut, “One second Schatz.”

Nico stood all the way back up and started taking off his shoes and jacket. He changed his pants for a pair of sweatpants and he winced as he started taking his shirt off making her eyes immediately go to his face seeing a grimace.

She stood up just as he finished taking his shirt off and she noticed the dark purple bruises on his ribs.

She gasped softly and walked right to him, “Was this from the hit in the second?” Her fingers hovered off his bruise. She remembered the way he winced a bit after the hit.

“It’s not as bad as it looks like.” Nico quickly reassured her seeing her worried frown giving her a soft nod letting her fingers gently brush against his bruise, if anything her touch made it feel a bit better.

“Still.” She just softly mumbled and leaned down pressing a gentle kiss to his bruise making his hand brush across her hair looking down at her fondly.

“Come my love.” She grabbed his hand and softly pulled him to their bed, she will be worrying more about his bruise later but she will so they can cuddle as they both need to.

Nico just had a happy smile on his face as they got into their bed and he gets to hold his girl with no plans of moving for a good while.

[rowdyluv]

Ik you said you see Jack and Quinn dating a plus size girly, but I also feel Nico would to

I agree!!! To be honest neeks (or luke) would probably be the movement starter/statement maker. 🤭 I worked super early this morning and it was SO slow….sooooo when i finished with my tasks i threw this together its not it is not edited, hope you enjoy ❤️

sensitive themes below the cut!!

866 words

"Remember the first one?" The interviewer leaned in, a glint of excitement in his eye. Nico nodded, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "The first is always unforgettable, but this one meant a little more, we needed those goals,” he said, his voice echoing with the same energy as the night he first scored a natural hat trick. His eyes briefly drifted to his black Jersey sweater hanging in his locker, a silent witness to his triumphs back then as well as tonight. The room grew quiet as they all recounted the electric atmosphere of the stadium, the roar of the crowd, and the pure adrenaline that had fueled the team’s performance afterwards.

But the moment was cut short by a new voice, a sharp, nasal tone that pierced the nostalgic buzz like a misplaced slap shot. "Nico, I noticed your girlfriend in the stands tonight, and she's quite... substantial," the reporter said, her pen poised over her notepad like a knife ready to strike. Jack and Luke’s eyes widened in the corner of the room where they had been quietly observing. The two suddenly eager to jump up to the podium and speak for once, but were confident in their teammate, their sister’s boyfriend to turn this around.

Nico felt his stomach drop and his heart rate spike. The question was loaded, the kind that could turn the room colder than the ice beneath his skates ever was. He took a deep breath,swallowing hard, in an attempt to try and keep his cool.

"What I mean to say is, with your popular status in the NHL, you could have your pick of women. What keeps you with someone who... well, let's just say, isn't quite the typical 'hockey significant other'?" Everyone in the room seemed to hold their breath, each cameramen's lense zooming in, eager for his response.

Nico's eyes narrowed, and his jaw tightened. He knew Y/n was sensitive about her size and had always tried to shield her from such invasive scrutiny. He glanced over at her where she now stood Jack and Luke’s protective hold. Even through this she managed to give him a small smile. Always managing to be his light in the darkest times.

He had to handle this delicately, but firmly. He took a step closer to the podium, his fingers tightening around the edges. "My relationship with Y/n is none of your business," he began, his voice low and measured. "But what I will say is, she's the most amazing person I've ever met." The reporter's smile didn't falter, her eyes gleaming with the scent of controversy.

“Oh, come on," she pushed, her voice dripping with annoyance. "You're an elite star athlete in the NHL, you could be with a supermodel for crying out loud. What do you possibly see in her?" The room remained silent, eyes flickering between Y/n, Nico, and the reporter. The reporter had crossed a line, and she knew it, but she was like a shark smelling blood in the water. Nico's grip on the podium was so tight his knuckles were turning white.

"What I see in Y/n is what truly matters," he said, his voice steady despite the rising anger. "Her kindness, her strength, her humor, and her unconditional love." His eyes stared daggers straight through the disgustingly horrible reporter, leaving no room for misunderstanding.

He took a deep breath, ready to lay it all on the line. "She's got more heart than anyone I've ever met, and that's what makes her beautiful. She's smart, she's caring, and she's the reason I come home with a smile on my face after every game. She's not just my girlfriend, she's my rock, my confidante, and my best friend." The room was so quiet you could hear buzz of the microphones, of each recorder. "And let's be clear," he added, his voice taking on a sharper edge. "Her size has never been, and never will be, an issue for me. It's sickening close minded people like you who have a problem with it. She's more than enough for me, she's everything."

He closed his eyes in an attempt to center himself. Opening back up he glanced over to her two brothers, who stood ready to jump in and defend her this entire time if Nico didnt do his job properly.

Instead of stepping in, Jack let go of his younger sister and started clapping for his captain starting a collective applause from others in the room. The snooty reported stomped out of the press room displeased with Nico’s answers.

Nico left from behind the podium, headed straight to his love. His stride was powerful and commanding, every step with purpose through the room, leaving no doubt about his intentions. When he reached her, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into his embrace. The room watched in awe as he held her tightly, his athletic frame a perfect contrast to her figure.

Seeing them together like so left no room to question if they were made for each other or not. The answer was that they were the perfect fit for one another.

[honeydippedfiction]

The Silence Between Us {NH13}

Navigation

Synopsis: Y/N, torn between loyalty to her best friend Ava and burgeoning feelings for Ava’s ex, Nico, finds herself caught in a destructive emotional web that leads to betrayal, guilt, and heartbreak. As the consequences of her actions unravel, she grapples with the painful realization that love and loyalty cannot coexist without sacrifice, leaving her isolated and irrevocably changed.

Warnings: Emotional Distress and Trauma, Betrayal and Trust Issues, Guilt and Self-Harmful Thoughts, Relationship Dysfunction, Emotional Manipulation and Gaslighting, & Heavy Themes of Heartbreak and Grief.

Themes: Guilt and Self-Betrayal, Emotional Conflict, Betrayal and Friendship, Love as Destructive, Loneliness and Isolation, & Moral Ambiguity.

WC: 2.8k

A/N: been sitting with this for awhile, not sure how I feel about it.

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• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

The soft hum of the city barely reached the confines of Y/N’s apartment, its warmth washed away by the evening chill that seemed to seep into her bones. Outside, the New Jersey skyline glittered, the cold streets reflecting the faintest traces of light, but inside, the world was silent except for the slow rhythm of her breath. The weight of the day pressed down on her, more than the dim light or the soft tick of the clock on the wall.

Ava. Her mind kept returning to her best friend. The image of Ava’s tear-streaked face, her voice cracking as she tried to make sense of everything, had been etched into Y/N’s memory. “I don’t understand it, Y/N. He said he loved me, but then he just... left.” Ava had been inconsolable after her breakup with Nico—his Nico—her ex, and Y/N had been there, doing what best friends do. She had given Ava her shoulder to cry on, wiped away the tears, and tried to soothe the ache that Nico had left behind.

But in those moments, when Ava’s world was falling apart, something else had quietly begun to shift. Nico. The man who had once shared everything with Ava had started to share his vulnerability with Y/N, too. The truth was, she had always been drawn to him, but she had buried it deep, buried it under the weight of friendship, loyalty, and unspoken boundaries. Yet now, there was a spark—something undeniable. Something that made her heart skip every time his name popped up on her phone screen.

The first time they had met outside of the group, after the breakup, had been completely accidental. Y/N had been grabbing a coffee at a local café when she had run into Nico. He had been quiet, distant, the same way he always seemed when the weight of the world pressed on him. But something about the way he looked at her that day—like she was the only person in the room—had set something off inside her.

“Y/N,” Nico’s voice had been tentative, almost unsure, as if testing the waters between them. “I know this is... awkward. But I just... I didn’t want to lose you, too.”

She had smiled, her own heart inexplicably tightening at the vulnerability in his eyes. He was always so composed on the ice, so careful with his words in front of others. But here, in the quiet of the café, with the cold air between them, he was stripped bare.

“I know, Nico,” she had said softly, even though the words didn’t feel real. “You didn’t lose me. I’m still here.”

And she had meant it, in that moment. She had wanted to be there for him, for both of them, in whatever way she could.

But now, here she was—sitting in her apartment, staring at her phone, waiting for a message that she knew would come. Nico always texted at this time of night. It had become a ritual of sorts, a thread between them that neither of them seemed ready to sever.

Her phone buzzed.

“You up?” The message was simple, familiar.

Her fingers hovered over the screen. Her chest tightened as she debated what to do. She couldn’t lie to herself anymore. The tension between them was undeniable, and the guilt of it all—of the betrayal she was already committing, even if just emotionally—was unbearable. She had always known it was wrong to feel this way about her best friend’s ex, but there was something about Nico that made it feel like the most natural thing in the world.

With a deep breath, she typed back.

“Yeah. What’s up?”

A few minutes passed, then another text came through.

“Can I come over? I... I just need to talk.”

Her pulse quickened. She knew what this meant. The lines had already blurred between them, and yet here she was, allowing it to happen.

When Nico arrived, his face was as familiar as it always had been, but the weight in his eyes was heavier tonight. Y/N opened the door, stepping aside to let him in.

“Hey,” he said softly, almost too softly, like he was afraid of disturbing the air between them.

“Hey,” she replied, her voice unsteady, though she tried to mask it with a casual smile.

They sat on her couch, an awkward silence hanging between them. Nico shifted, fidgeting with his hands, his mind clearly elsewhere. Y/N didn’t know what to say—didn’t know what she was even supposed to feel. Everything about this felt wrong, but she couldn’t quite shake the pull she had toward him.

“I... I didn’t want to talk about her anymore,” Nico finally spoke, his voice low and guarded. “But I can’t stop thinking about it. About everything, you know? What happened between me and Ava... it’s all so messed up.”

Y/N nodded, unable to look him in the eye. "I get it," she said softly, though her heart was racing.

“You’ve been such a good friend to me, Y/N,” Nico continued, his voice quiet but intense. “I just... I don't know how to repay that. You've been there for me in ways I can't explain.”

Y/N swallowed hard. She wanted to say something reassuring, something that would bring him comfort. But in the silence that followed, the way he was looking at her—the way his eyes seemed to search hers—she felt it. The thing she had been avoiding for so long. The thing she could no longer ignore.

There was something there. Something between them that neither of them had acknowledged until now.

“Nico...” she began, her voice trembling slightly. “You don’t have to do anything. I’m just... I’m just here for you.”

And then, without thinking, her hand brushed against his. It was almost accidental, but it sent a jolt of electricity up her arm. The simple touch lingered, the space between them growing smaller, tighter.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. There was no need. The air had already shifted. The unspoken truth hung between them, heavy and undeniable.

Later that night, after Nico had left—his quiet goodbye lingering in the doorway—Y/N sat alone in her apartment, her heart tangled in a knot of emotions. She knew she was lying to herself, lying to Ava, lying to Nico. And yet, she couldn’t escape the feelings that had rooted themselves deep inside her.

The silence of the apartment seemed to press in from all sides, making everything feel heavier than it should have been. She closed her eyes, trying to push away the guilt that was rising like a tide within her. She could feel Ava’s pain, could almost hear her voice asking, How could you do this to me?

The thought of losing Ava, of betraying her trust, was unbearable. But at the same time, there was this pull inside her. A pull toward Nico. A pull she couldn’t explain, but couldn’t deny either.

She picked up her phone, staring at the last message she’d sent to Nico. “I’m here for you.”

But was she? Was she really there for him? Or was she just there for herself, for the comfort of a love that was never meant to be hers?

A knock on the door jolted her from her thoughts. She stood up, her heart racing once more. She knew who it was.

When she opened the door, Ava was standing there, her eyes red and tired, the weight of her heartbreak still visible on her face. She looked at Y/N as if she already knew something had shifted. She didn’t even have to speak.

“I need to talk to you,” Ava said, her voice raw with emotion. “I... I don’t know if I can do this anymore. This whole thing with Nico, I just... I can’t understand it.”

Y/N’s throat tightened. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t look at Ava and lie, not anymore. But how could she admit the truth? How could she tell Ava that the man she still loved, the man who had broken her heart, was now the one she was falling for?

The silence between them was a vast chasm, one that Y/N couldn’t bridge.

She wanted to tell Ava. She wanted to confess the guilt that was gnawing at her soul. But she couldn’t.

“I’m here for you, Ava,” she whispered instead, her voice faltering.

Ava looked at her, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. But Y/N knew. She knew that nothing would ever be the same between them again. Not after this.

Not after what had already happened.

And as the door closed softly behind her best friend, the weight of everything—of what she had done, of what she was still doing—settled on her chest like a stone.

For a moment, she wondered if she could ever forgive herself for this.

The door shut quietly, but the echo of it was deafening. Ava’s departure left a hollow emptiness in the room—a space that had once been filled with the warmth of shared moments now chilling in the wake of truth left unsaid. Y/N stood there for a long time, unable to move, her heart caught between the weight of guilt and the suffocating silence that stretched between her and the world outside.

Ava had looked at her, eyes searching, the raw edge of betrayal still too fresh to hide. Y/N knew what she had seen in her best friend’s face: the slow realization that something had shifted, something irrevocable had broken between them. Ava might not have said it, but she had known. She had known.

And Y/N—Y/N was the reason it had happened. She was the reason everything had fallen apart. Nico had been the catalyst, but it was her own hands that had turned the wheel.

In the quiet of her apartment, Y/N sank into the couch, her body trembling as the weight of everything hit her. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. But the truth was a beast that could not be tamed. Nico was no longer just her friend. She was no longer just Ava’s protector. The threads had unraveled, and now everything was in ruins.

Her phone buzzed again, and she didn’t have to check to know it was Nico. She could feel his presence, even through a screen.

“Can we talk tomorrow?”

Y/N hesitated, staring at the screen, feeling the tremor in her fingertips as she typed a response.

“Yeah. We need to talk.”

But what was there left to say? What could they talk about that hadn’t already been laid bare? There was no way to fix this. There was no way to make it right.

The next day came with an unbearable weight. Y/N hadn’t slept. She hadn’t eaten. The hollow ache in her chest only deepened as the minutes ticked by. Nico was coming over. And with him would come the moment of reckoning—the moment when the guilt would suffocate whatever remnants of their friendship had survived this chaos.

When Nico arrived, he looked just as exhausted as she felt. His eyes were red, his face drawn tight, like he hadn't slept either. The air between them felt thick, heavy with the unsaid, a tension so sharp it could’ve sliced through the room.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice soft but strained, like it physically hurt to say her name. “What happened?”

Y/N didn’t answer right away. How could she? What could she possibly say that wouldn’t make this worse? How could she explain the feelings that had crept in, uninvited and unwelcome, only to explode into something uncontrollable?

“You don’t get it, do you?” she finally whispered, her voice trembling. “This was never supposed to happen. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

Nico’s expression hardened, and he stepped closer. “Then why did you let it happen?” His voice cracked on the question, the accusation burning through the quiet. “Why did you let me get close to you like this if you knew it was wrong?”

The words stung, but they were true. She had known. She had known. She should have pulled away, should have shut the door the moment she realized where things were heading. But instead, she had let herself be pulled in—into something that had never belonged to her.

“I didn’t mean for it to go this far,” Y/N said, her voice breaking under the weight of the truth. “I swear to you, Nico, I didn’t... but it did. And now... now I don’t even know how to fix it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You don’t get it,” Nico repeated, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “You’ve been there for me, and I—I let you. I let myself lean on you because I was hurting. But I never thought—I never thought—you’d be the one to hurt me.”

His words cut through her like a blade. And she understood. She understood that she had done something unforgivable—not just to Ava, but to him. To herself. She had betrayed the one man who had trusted her the most, even after everything he had done to Ava.

A breath caught in her chest, suffocating her. She wanted to run. She wanted to disappear into the night and never face either of them again. But instead, she stood frozen, caught between the two people who had once meant the world to her.

"I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, more to herself than to him. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Nico looked at her, his eyes stormy with a mixture of confusion and rage. His expression softened, just barely, as if the anger was starting to crack under the weight of his own pain. “Do you love me, Y/N?” His voice was quiet now, but the question felt like a knife being twisted deeper.

Y/N blinked, stunned by the bluntness of it. She felt her throat close up, the answer heavy and unspoken between them. She could feel the guilt rising like bile, bitter and suffocating. She had wanted to deny it. She had wanted to tell herself it wasn’t real. But she couldn’t. Not anymore.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, the words spilling from her before she could stop them. “Maybe. Maybe I do.”

The silence between them stretched, suffocating. Nico’s face twisted, the hurt clear now. He looked at her with something that was almost pity—disbelief—and something deeper.

“Then you don’t understand what you’ve done, do you?” he asked, his voice low and deadly quiet. “You don’t understand how this is gonna break Ava. How this will destroy everything.”

The truth hit harder than any physical blow could. Y/N felt the weight of his words crush her chest, her hands shaking violently. The realization settled into her bones like ice: Nico wasn’t angry with her because he loved her. He was angry with her because he knew. He knew how much it hurt Ava, how much this would break her.

And it wasn’t just Ava. It was him. It was the fragile friendship they had, now irreparably damaged. It was the piece of herself she had lost in the process.

She wanted to say something—anything—but the words were lost. All she could do was watch as Nico turned away from her, his body rigid with the raw, jagged edges of betrayal.

It didn’t take long for the rift to become unbridgeable. Ava’s texts were sharp, biting, filled with anger and disbelief. She asked Y/N questions that were impossible to answer—questions that ripped at the very foundation of their friendship.

“How long, Y/N?” Ava demanded one evening. “How long has this been going on? How long have you been lying to me?”

And Y/N had no answer. No answer except the truth that was too painful to say. She had let herself fall for Nico. She had let herself become the other woman—the one who betrayed her best friend, the one who destroyed everything she had worked so hard to protect.

And when Nico finally stopped reaching out altogether, when he disappeared into his own world of ice and hockey, leaving behind nothing but cold emptiness, Y/N was left alone—truly alone for the first time in years.

The guilt became all-consuming. There was no peace to be found. There was no escape from the wreckage she had created. Ava and Nico were both gone from her life, and though neither of them had completely severed ties, neither could look at her the same way again.

Days blurred into nights, and the silence became unbearable. Every step forward felt like it brought her closer to a chasm she wasn’t sure she could crawl out of. She had lost herself somewhere in the mess of emotions—lost her own sense of right and wrong, lost her identity in the wreckage of love and guilt.

And the worst part? She would never get any of them back.

She would never be able to fix this.

There was no happy ending in sight.

And she deserved that.

[yvaineseleneposts]

A Rare Off Day

A/N: It's currently spring break which means it's time for me to do things that I never get to. So I thought I would write a little cute story about that.

Requested: no

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Teacher!Reader

Words: under 1k, she's a shorty

Warning(s): none, it's very fluffy

The sun peeked through the window blinds, casting golden streaks across the hardwood floor of your small Hoboken flat. It was 9:12 AM—a miracle. No alarm had gone off. No lesson plans or early practices. Just peace.

You rolled over and found yourself face-to-face with Nico Hischier, whose tousled hair and slow-blinking eyes made him look even more like a dream.

"Good morning," he said in that low, sleepy voice that always gave you butterflies.

You blinked. "Wait… don’t you have morning skate?"

He smiled, eyes crinkling. "Nope. Day off."

You shot up. "What?! Me too! Spring break started today!"

Nico sat up with a smirk, rubbing his hand through his hair. "I may have had a calendar reminder set for that."

You narrowed your eyes playfully. "You’ve been planning something."

He got out of bed and pulled on a hoodie. "Get dressed. Comfy clothes. I’m taking you out."

Half an hour later, you were driving down a scenic route in New Jersey, Nico's hand resting on your thigh while the playlist you made for him played through the speakers. You couldn’t stop smiling.

He eventually pulled up to a quiet little farm outside the city—a spring pop-up market filled with fresh flowers, pastries, and handmade crafts.

You looked over at him. "This is adorable. How did you even find this?"

He shrugged. "Asked some of the wives. Figured we always do my stuff—games, dinners with the team. I wanted today to be your kind of perfect."

You slipped your hand into his as you stepped out of the car, surrounded by blooming cherry blossoms and the soft hum of acoustic guitar from a nearby busker.

The two of you wandered through stalls, trying homemade jams, buying way too many candles, and laughing when Nico tried (and failed) to milk a demo cow at the kids' corner.

Later, he laid out a blanket under a big oak tree. From a basket he’d tucked in the boot, he pulled out sandwiches, chocolate croissants, and your favourite iced tea.

"I feel like I’m in a rom-com," you said, taking a bite of your croissant.

He leaned back on his elbows, watching you. "You deserve one. You put so much of yourself into your students, your job... I wanted to give you a day when you didn’t have to plan or think."

You leaned over and kissed him softly. "Well, mission accomplished, Captain."

He laughed. "Just wait. There's one more thing."

As the sun began to set, Nico drove you to the Devils’ practice facility—empty now, but a single lamp lit up the ice. He led you inside, and there, sitting in the penalty box, was a pair of rental skates and your favourite hoodie of his.

"You said you missed skating since college," he said shyly. "Thought maybe we could have the rink to ourselves."

You blinked at him, touched beyond words. "Are you kidding? This is perfect."

And it was. You skated hand-in-hand, occasionally falling, mostly laughing. You even scored on him once (he might have let you). And when you were too tired to keep going, Nico skated behind you, arms wrapped around your waist as you glided slowly across the ice.

That night, curled up in bed with sore feet and a full heart, you turned to him.

"Thank you for today," you whispered.

He kissed your forehead. "Thank you for letting me be part of your life, even when our schedules are crazy."

You smiled. "I guess we make it work."

And with his arm draped around you and the quiet hum of the city outside, you drifted off—grateful for the rare day when everything finally aligned.

[dearstvckyx]

Then we all grew up, shit got tough, shit just wasn’t simple enough - Nico Hischier

Nico Hischier and the reader, once childhood sweethearts, now captains of their respective teams—Nico for the New Jersey Devils and the reader for the U.S. Women’s Soccer Team—find their relationship crumbling under the pressure of fame, expectations, and distance. A heated argument exposes years of built-up resentment and emotional exhaustion. When the reader admits that growing up has made everything harder, Nico walks out to stay with a friend, leaving behind an apartment filled with memories and a love too tired to hold on. There’s no comfort—only the heartbreak of growing apart. - The Neighbourhood , Alleyways

Nico Hischier x Reader

Warnings: Angst, unresolved conflict, emotional distress, breakup themes, no happy ending.

The Neighbourhood Lyrics Masterlist - ⌂

The door slammed behind you harder than intended.

Bag hitting the floor as you kicked off your shoes, muttering under your breath. Another media day. Another press conference full of comparisons to legends and questions about whether you’d ever settle down. You were exhausted—physically, emotionally, spiritually.

The apartment was quiet, but heavy.

Too heavy.

Nico sat at the kitchen counter, a glass of water untouched in front of him, phone in hand but screen off. His Devils gear still clung to him, his hair a mess of frustration. He didn’t even look up when he spoke.

“Practice ran late again?”

“No. I just didn’t want to come home yet.”

Silence.

Then—

“Well, thanks for the honesty.”

You dropped your keys in the key bowl and crossed your arms. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting,” he said, rising from the stool slowly, voice clipped. “I’m reacting. To the fact that you’ve been avoiding me for weeks. We barely talk anymore unless it’s about schedules or grocery lists.”

“And whose fault is that?” you snapped. “You’re the one who disappears after every road game. I have to find out from Jesper that you’re okay.”

He rubbed his face, the weariness dripping off him. “We’re both busy. That’s not an excuse anymore.”

“Then what is this, Nico? What are we anymore?”

His eyes burned into yours. There were cracks behind them. Ones that used to only appear after a loss—now, they were constant.

“I don’t know,” he said hoarsely. “I used to think we were unshakeable.”

“Yeah,” you said bitterly, your voice trembling, “when we were twelve.”

He flinched. “So that’s it?”

You turned away, pacing toward the window and staring down at the blurred lights of Jersey below. Your reflection in the glass looked hollow.

“We grew up, Nico. And shit got tough for us.”

You turned back to him, voice rising. “You’re captain of the Devils. I’m captain of the U.S. women’s team. We’re both suffocating under the pressure of being everyone’s rock, and there’s nothing left for us. We used to be each other’s safe place, and now we’re just… another thing to survive.”

His voice cracked around the edges. “Don’t say that.”

“But it’s true!” you shouted. “Shit isn’t simple anymore. It’s press conferences and PR teams and social media managers. It’s late nights and missed calls and pretending we’re fine because we have to be. And I’m so tired of pretending that we’re okay to family and friends, when we’re not.”

Nico stared at you, stunned. Like he didn’t recognize the person in front of him.

Maybe he didn’t. Maybe neither of you did.

A beat passed.

He stepped back. Numb.

“Where are you going?” you asked, voice softer now, almost scared of the answer.

He reached for his overnight bag, the one always ready by the door. He zipped it slowly, carefully. Like he wasn’t ready to admit this moment was real.

“To Jesper’s.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but nothing came out.

Just silence.

Just heartbreak.

“I’ll text you,” he said quietly. “When I figure out what this means.”

He didn’t say goodbye.

The door closed gently.

And suddenly, the apartment—your apartment—felt like a stranger’s home.

You sank to the floor, knees pulled to your chest, surrounded by championship medals, shared photos, and the suffocating echo of the past.

What happened to us?

You already answered.

You grew up.

And it tore you apart.

[blueblossomcherry]

Next Story

[hockeyluvrr]

I’ve changed my mind, I was supposed to post it tomorrow but I’m posting sports car for nico at 10pm UK time tonight, so in like 1 hour lol 🫶🏻

[puck-luck]

get cucked | nicojack

warnings: MMF threesome, cocaine use, unprotected p in v, dom m, sub m, sub/switch f, oral m! and f!receiving, handjob, facial, coming untouched, use of handcuffs, jack is put in the cuck chair at one point, begging, praise, dirty talk, all those usual things, jack DOES get rimmed in this, there is slight feminization (one line), jack is a tit man and loves to suck on titties, use of chatGPT for swiss german sentences since i do not know the language and google translate does not have swiss german (just regular german), swiss german nicknames come from this site as always, please let me know if i forgot anything else  <3

pairing: nico hischier x jack hughes x fem!reader

wc: 6,682

Jack isn’t actually sure how he ended up in this position. It’s a blur. They were at the bar– him, you, and Nico, and then all three of you were at your apartment. Jack remembers the drinks, of course, and the way he’d been flirting with you and Nico like he always does, but a switch flipped somewhere along the way. 

Maybe it was when you’d pulled out that little baggie of white powder, smirking enticingly. It could’ve been when Nico did the first line, tipping his head back after he was done, revealing that long, tan, strong column of neck. Perhaps Jack got here because of the heavy weight of Nico’s hand on the back of Jack’s neck as he inhaled the powder off of the line of your cleavage. 

It was probably what happened right after. The lightbulb illuminated when Jack lifted his head and found Nico’s gaze, pupils blown out and swallowing the expressive brown irises. The tip of Nico’s nose was pink and there was a dusting of snow beneath Nico’s nostril and…

Fuck, Jack couldn’t hold himself back. He’s done so well since rookie year, when he and Nico had taken the tension between them and decided that it just couldn’t evolve into something bigger than friendship. For the sake of the team, they needed to remain friends. They needed to maintain some semblance of professionalism.

All of that went out the window when Jack lunged forward– or maybe Nico pulled him, considering the grip on Jack’s neck– and smashed his lips against Nico’s. Your gasp had filled Jack’s ears, but Nico was kissing him back just as enthusiastically. Kissing Nico was more intoxicating than the coke, so Jack can’t really be held responsible for the way the night has devolved.

He has a vague idea of how he ended up in this chair. It had something to do with the way Nico had removed your clothes and thrown you on the bed, while Jack stripped himself of his clothes. He expected to get into things right away, to have his dick involved from the get-go. Nico had another plan. 

After Jack had stripped, Nico pointed at you, laying on the bed with your legs wide, and told Jack to go. He told him to make you feel good, to get his mouth on you and make you come. And Jack… well, Jack– you see, he’s never been the biggest fan of giving head. He’d rather receive it and Nico should know that from the locker room talk he’s overheard. Jack went to remind Nico– murmuring a quiet “I don’t– what else can I do?” while trying to ignore how it sounded like he was seeking permission from his captain. Jack always values Nico’s directions and tries not to refute them, but he just– he doesn’t want to eat you out. He’ll kiss you, he’ll suck on your neck or your tits, he’ll put his fingers inside your cunt, but he wants his mouth to be free. He wants– he wants to kiss Nico again.

“Oh, well, if you don’t want to,” Nico said, shrugging. He was standing at your nightstand, digging around for something– he must know where you keep your condoms, you’d mentioned earlier that you and Nico had hooked up a couple of times before– and Jack didn’t see what was in his hands when he turned to quirk his eyebrows inquisitively at the smaller boy. Nico had caught Jack by the wrist and given it a comforting squeeze. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Jack.”

Jack let out a breath of relief. Nico started guiding Jack to your desk chair, settling him on the cushions. Jack went willingly, thinking that the plan would change and Nico might send you between his knees to suck him. 

“In fact,” Nico continues without even pausing. Jack’s thoughts had flown through his head, so fast that Nico hadn’t even paused. He guides Jack’s arms behind him, gently, subtly, so slowly that Jack barely notices. He just stares up at the pretty brunet in front of him, finally within reach after years of waiting, and doesn’t even snap out of it when a ring of cool metal surrounds his wrist and clicks. He’s listening for Nico’s next words. “You don’t have to do anything at all.”

And Nico left him there. Jack blinked, confused, and tried to follow. Something hard and biting stopped him. Jack tugged at the bindings on his wrist again and twisted his spine to try and see what restrained him. He caught a flash of silver and his fingers hooked on a thin chain. Jack took a sudden breath– Nico had locked him in a chair. With handcuffs.

He was hard already. Jack just didn’t expect to get harder the more he pulled on the restraints and failed to escape.

“Nico,” Jack says.

The man is taking off his shirt next to the bed, standing above you, when Jack interrupts. Nico looks over his shoulder and raises an eyebrow at Jack. “Hm?”

“What am I– what am I supposed to do?” Jack detests how unsure he sounds, but he’s really not… he’s not sure. This is new. Nico is new. A threesome is new. Coke was new. Now he’s in handcuffs, naked, dick straining and standing tall, and nothing is happening to him. Nico is making no plans to move you from the bed, it seems, considering how he’s climbing onto the mattress and kneeling by your side.

“Hey, schatz. Lay that way for me, will you?” Nico requests, talking to you instead of Jack. He waits until you’re moving, reclining with your head at the foot of the bed and legs stretched toward the headboard, to reply to Jack. Nico looks up and cocks his head to the side slightly. “What do you mean, Jack?”

“I don’t– what am I supposed to do, Nico?” Jack repeats. He can’t understand it, because he’s perfectly capable of coming up with ideas for the next move normally, but he’s lost here. He’s got this creeping feeling, warm and prickly, washing over him. He wants– it makes him want to listen to Nico. He wants Nico to, what, guide him? It’s probably just because he always listens to Nico’s ideas, right? Because Nico is smart and leads so well that he’s easy to follow? Right?

“I told you, Jack. You don’t have to do anything,” Nico explains. He walks forward on his knees and settles between your legs. He stares at Jack while his hands smooth up your thighs and hips, then over your sides. 

You moan when Nico’s thumbs brush your nipples. The sound steals Nico’s gaze and he has the audacity to quirk his lips into a smile when he looks down at you. 

No– Jack doesn’t like that. He wants Nico to smile at him. A noise that can only be described as indignant leaves Jack’s throat. It was involuntary, but it works. Nico looks back at the chair where Jack sits. 

“You didn’t want to eat Y/N out, Jack,” Nico says. “She let us come to her apartment, shared with us even though she didn’t have to, and you wouldn’t eat her out?”

“I don’t like–”

Nico looks down at you. “I’m sorry he doesn’t want to make you feel good, baby. I’ll make you come. You know I love how you taste. We don’t even need Jack.”

Jack doesn’t like that either, but before he can protest, you’re piping up. It feels like forever since you did. Jack had tunnel vision on Nico, he realizes. After wanting it for so long, he’d lost the threesome aspect. Greedy, he chastizes himself. That’s how he got here, locked up and looking at two beautiful bodies enjoy themselves without him. He was greedy.

“No, I want him here,” you pout. You arch your back and tilt your head back, eyebrows practically reaching your hairline as you look at Jack. “You’re so pretty, Jack. It’s about time you made a move. Nico and I have been talking about it for ages.”

Jack’s mind skips, purely out of surprise. “You’ve been– you talked about it?”

You open your mouth to reply, but Nico robs Jack of the answer by pressing his thumb on your tongue. He shushes you. “Don’t reveal our secrets,” Nico chides. “You’re giving him what he wants too easily.”

“You can’t just–” The words dissolve in Jack’s mouth when Nico leans forward and takes one of your nipples in his mouth. Jack has… he has a good view from this chair. “Oh,” Jack breathes out. His eyes go wide, fixing on the hollow of Nico’s cheek as he sucks your skin. Jack is silent while Nico kisses down your stomach and nears your pussy, but you are not.

“Nico,” you mumble when he sucks a hickey into your thigh. You moan out loud when he plants a sweet kiss on your mons pubis and drags his bottom lip over the hood of your clit. 

Jack swallows hard. You’re writhing on the bed, but Nico has placed his hands on your hips and anchored you in place. Your lower half is cemented to the bed, Nico’s mouth attached to your core, and Jack can almost feel the pleasure radiating off of you. And Nico– Nico’s eyes are boring into Jack. 

His glance could be construed for admiration of your body, as you arch your back and fall into the bed. He doesn’t tease you, which surprises Jack. He expected Nico to savor this, but he’s working his tongue against your clit with a level of skill that Jack can’t even imagine. At least, that’s how it sounds. You sound like a porn star, moaning in a way that is so over the top that it can’t be real… except that you’re sweating and panting and heaving too, and Jack doesn’t think you can fake a reaction like that. 

Jack was distracted by your movement, but Nico’s eyes catch him again. That dark, attentive, evaluating look hasn’t left Jack.

His cock jumps. Jack blinks. It throbs. Jack’s immediate first thought is to fit his fist around the length and provide himself a little relief. But then– then– the handcuffs stop him. The metal prevents him from making any move. 

“Nico,” Jack calls.

The eyes that stayed on Jack for the past few minutes look away. No, they don’t look away, Nico closes his eyes. He digs his fingertips into your hips and drags your cunt closer to his mouth, licking lower until his mouth disappears into your folds. 

Jack’s mouth opens and his tongue goes dry, Nico ignores Jack and focuses only on you. Jack watches as his nose brushes your clit, bumping into the nerves over and over again. 

You jolt with each nudge, moans breathy and whiny. One of your hands is clutching the comforter beneath you, while the other one is free to thread through Nico’s hair and pull. Jack loses himself in the way the strands of hair grow fluffy or jagged because of your grip, standing tall and messy on Nico’s head. The dark, long pieces on top of Nico’s head become highlighted when the light from your bedroom lamp falls on them just right and Jack loses himself in the mesmerizing changes. 

He hears Nico’s voice, muffled between your legs, but deep and gravely nonetheless. “Tastes so good,” he announces to the room. Jack doesn’t respond– he’s not involved. This isn’t a statement for him. Nico must be talking to you, punctuating his sentence by palming the fleshy fat of your behind. Jack wonders what those hands would feel like on his thighs. 

Nico has slapped Jack’s ass before, but it was always in an athletic setting. Or it was when they were celebrating– Jack remembers one time rookie year, before they’d decided to just be friends, when Nico had slapped his ass after a successful shot in pool and let it linger. His palm had been so warm through Jack’s jeans, almost impossibly so. Maybe it was the knowledge that Nico was there that made Jack’s blood grow warm, made his heart rate spike. Then, Nico’s hand had dropped and Jack had to bury the urge to follow Nico around like a lost puppy all night.

“Fuck, prinzli, don’t you wish this was you?” Nico continues.

Jack hears him quietly, barely audible over the rush of blood in his ears and the pulse in his untouched and yearning cock, and nods along even though the question isn’t directed at him. Nico’s hearty chuckle and the returning fixture of Nico’s eyes on Jack snap him out of his trance. 

“What?” Jack asks. The word is a pile of mush in Jack’s mouth, not nice or pristine like he thinks it should be, but at least it’s out. If Nico is looking at him again, then the question must have been for him.

“Don’t you wish you were over here?” Nico rephrases. His thumb fits over your clit and rubs a quick circle. Your volume increases and Jack has to strain to hear Nico. His mouth spits the words out, curling and dancing in the air. “This could’ve been you, J, and I could’ve had a hand on your cock while you did it.”

Jack’s stomach swoops and his cock releases a blurt of precum to match the movement. His lips part and his eyes go wide. “You would’ve–”

“Touched you, yeah,” Nico confirms nonchalantly. 

Jack imagines Nico’s thick fingers sliding along the vein on the underside of his cock. The phantom touch starts slow, but speeds up the more Jack thinks about it. 

“I thought it would be nice,” Nico continues. “You know, for you to put that smart mouth of yours to use, so you can show Y/N that you’re able to do more than just talk back to me. I was going to let you come in my hand while you licked her, Jack. I was going to finger you after and use your own come as lube.”

Jack can’t form a single thought. Nico’s words bounce through his brain, like an input of words in a computer code that are essential for the program to work. Smart mouth… talk back… let you come… lube…

The phantom touch on Jack’s cock, Nico’s invisible and imaginary hand, twists around the head of his cock. Jack grinds up into it, his hips lifting from the chair.

Nico purses his lips and lays an open-mouthed kiss on your clit, his middle finger coming between your legs and sliding into your hole. Jack can hear how you open up for him, how you welcome his touch with a whimper and a roll of your own hips– as much as Nico will allow them to move. His other hand is still pressed into your side, keeping you in place. 

You throw your head back and suddenly, there are two eyes on Jack. The attention makes him preen, makes him feel even more restricted by the handcuffs.

“I want–” Jack cuts himself off, surprised by how foreign and removed from his body his voice sounds.

Nico quirks an eyebrow and flicks his tongue rapidly over your cunt. He squeezes your side with his hand and you open your mouth to respond, like your mind is linked with Nico’s.

“What do you want, baby?” you ask. The genuine curiosity in your voice tips Jack toward desperation. 

“Let me– I’ll do whatever you tell me to,” Jack bargains. He tugs on the cuffs. The metal bites his wrist and hurts. It will probably leave a mark over his blue-green veins, just from the pure effort to keep Jack contained. He knows he’s strong, but not strong enough to break free. He needs Nico to let him loose. “Please, I want this. I can’t– I need–”

“Have you– oh– have you really earned that?” you inquire. Nico nibbles your clit gently to signal that that was the right response. He rewards you for your words by plunging a second finger into your entrance and curling them forward, your body mimicking the movement, but he doesn’t make any move to reward Jack. 

Jack doesn’t understand. He asked nicely. He said please. He offered to do whatever Nico said, even if he doesn’t want to. 

“But– fuck, Schao, I’ll– I’ll eat her out all night if that’s what you want,” Jack adds. There’s an edge to his voice that he doesn’t recognize, but he’s heard it from women he’s been with in the past. It’s pretty when they beg him for more and now Jack is reduced to begging for something. “You don’t even have to touch me. I can– I’ll do it myself, just let me be a part of this.”

Jack perks up when Nico’s lips turn up at the sound of his nickname. He hums as he continues to eat you out and Jack watches his fingers thrust in time with the twitching muscles under the skin of your thighs. It’s the only sign that he heard Jack’s plea, other than the slight smile on his face. His eyes drift shut and Jack balks. He’s– is he ignoring Jack again?

“Nico,” Jack whines petulantly. His hips twitch upward and he feels a flush cross his cheeks. “Nico, please.”

“I’m coming, sunneschii,” Nico chuckles. Jack can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic. “I’m going make our girl come first, then I’ll let you go.”

There’s another reminder that it’s not just Nico and Jack. Jack continues to get caught up in the aura of the man before him. He loses himself in the dark eyes contrasting against your skin, but Jack has to tear himself away. How he wants Nico– he wants him– but you’re here, and you’re an equal part here, and if Jack keeps forgetting that, then he’ll never get what he wants. 

So he closes his mouth and watches Nico’s fingers work inside of you. He watches them fill you, watches a third tease your entrance but never fully slip in. He watches Nico’s jaw pop and manipulate your skin with his movements. He sees how the flat lick of Nico’s tongue to your clit makes goosebumps rise on your skin and make your nipples stiffen into blunt peaks. 

Your view is almost as good as Jack’s. If you look down, you see a strong, athletic, European man holding you close and devouring you. The sprinkling of scruff along his jaw rubs your inner thighs while he eats you out, which he knows you love, so he doesn’t spread your legs like he did the first time he took the journey down. You can see how his motions spark the waves of pleasure that emanate from your body, although the connection dulls the sensation slightly. When you look away, you feel like his touch is a mystery and a surprise, and you get to see the ruined boy across the room. 

Jack’s not as put together as he thinks he is. His bottom lip is swollen from the way he’d been biting it when Nico first started ignoring him. He’s an attention whore and Nico didn’t give him the time of day– it’s entertaining how easily Jack will resort to begging and grinding his pretty cock into the air in order to regain Nico’s scrutiny. His cheeks are red and splotchy from how turned on he is and his cock leaks onto itself, brimming with pearly white droplets and spilling over. The precum cools and disappears as it makes its way down his cock, but his tip is shining and tinged with purple from his need for contact. If this is how he looks before Nico even touches him, then you’re in for a treat.

Jack sees your eyes roll into the back of your head. Your breasts sit high on your chest when you arch your back and he’s starting to wish that he was licking them. He might be, to be frank, insanely attracted to all of Nico, but Jack has always been a tit man and will always be a tit man. Your tits deserve his appreciation.

You make a long and wanton sigh when Nico drags you over the edge. Jack can tell that you’re finally coming when your body relaxes on the mattress. You’d been in near-constant motion while Nico was working, but now he’s lapping at your folds like a cat drinking milk in a cartoon, and you’re not moving a muscle. 

“Jack,” Nico murmurs.

Jack’s heart nearly bounces out of his chest. He’s– it’s his turn. “Nico?”

“I’m going to come uncuff you,” Nico tells him. You take a breath, hearing Nico’s calm voice and letting it soothe you. He kisses the juncture of your thigh and hip. “Are you going to listen to me when I tell you what to do?”

“Yes,” Jack declares. “Whatever you want, Ni.”

He revels in the proud smirk that Nico hides in the skin of your stomach. Nico takes the time to kiss over your stomach, between your boobs– never on them, which Jack thinks isn’t fair to the pretty mounds– and on your mouth. His kiss on your lips is chaste, but your lips slide against each other unhurriedly. Nico doesn’t seem to feel the pressure and impatience coming from Jack while he kisses you. 

Nico pulls away and you whine softly, trying to hold onto his shoulder, but it slips away as he moves off of you and approaches Jack. The key in Nico’s hands, dwarfed in his palm, catches the light and Jack has to hold back an embarrassing squeal of excitement. 

It takes a lot of effort for you to sit up. You feel like you rub slick over your bedsheets, but you want to get more comfortable. You’d like to sit up on the pillows and see what Nico wants to do next– and with whom.

When you turn around, you feel like your body freezes. You’re frozen, but there’s a batch of boiling water surrounding you and you’re cooking from the outside in. The heat of the room has been turned up to… an incomprehensible four thousand degrees celsius because Jack is clinging to Nico and claiming his lips with the ferocity of a rabid animal. 

His hands, pale against Nico’s warm skin, are everywhere. Jack doesn’t seem to know where he wants to touch the broader man now that he’s free. His fingertips paint lines down Nico’s neck and torso. His knuckles are tinged with pink somehow, blushing like the tip of his nose, and you love the way his hands settle on Nico’s waist and dig into the skin there. 

Nico seems amused. His thumbs brush over Jack’s jawline and he’s smiling between kisses, tilting his head this way and that to satisfy the desperate boy mouthing at him. Nico guides Jack toward the bed and Jack is mindlessly allowing his captain to mold his body however he wants it– so long as Jack can continue rolling his entire body to try and get some relief on his bleeding cock. There’s no actual blood, of course, but you use the word for three reasons: the precum is spurting from Jack’s slit like the beading blood on a little wound, his cock is red and angry like a splash of rouge on the walls of a murder house, and, if you look close enough, you think you can see his pulse driving through the veins in his cock. Even if he was being subtle about how badly he wants Nico, his dick would betray his true feelings.

“Okay,” Nico mumbles. He brings his hands down Jack’s waist and pat his sides. “That’s enough, prinz. I know. Why don’t you go give Y/N some love, ‘kay?”

Jack comes to you willingly. You’re almost surprised. Jack’s allegiance has been clear from the first second of this threesome. You and Nico had been pushing his limits, certainly, by flirting with Jack while you drank beer at the bar and snorted white powder at your apartment. Nico swore that Jack would’ve made a move on you first, but you’d known all along that Jack would break and go to Nico first. It’s obvious how badly he wants the approval of the older boy. It’s obvious how badly Jack wants to prove himself to Nico. 

His solid body collapses on your own. Jack presses you into the pillows and licks into your mouth with the same fervor he afforded to Nico.

Jack is so messy when he kisses. He’s sloppy. His hands card through your hair and get caught on the ends, twisting them between his fingers. He pants between kisses, whining when his shaft drags along your hipbone. He sounds so pretty.

“On your knees, J,” Nico instructs. “You can keep kissing her, but kneel for me.”

Jack bustles around atop you, bracketing your body with his legs. He makes a sad, reluctant noise when his cock loses contact with your skin. He rocks forward slightly and his tip knocks against your abdomen, leaving a line of precum to connect your bodies. 

Nico makes a sharp, castigating noise. Jack freezes. You pull back and look around Jack’s lithe body, finding Nico behind him.

“What’s up, Neeks?” you ask. 

“Don’t worry,” Nico reassures you. He squeezes your ankle comfortingly. “Just keep kissing Jack. Distract him.”

Jack’s eyes open and he frowns, trying to meet your gaze for an answer to his unspoken question. Distract me? You think he’s asking. What does that mean?

You’re not one to question Nico, so you wrap your arms over Jack’s shoulders and tug him closer to kiss him until he’s breathless and lightheaded. You feel Jack jolt in your arms suddenly, then jerk away from you. 

“Nico,” Jack says. His brows come together and he sounds worried. 

“Shh, it’s okay. Trust me,” Nico whispers. You hear him plant a kiss somewhere on Jack’s body. “You’ll feel good, prinzli. I promise I won’t do anything that isn’t good.”

You touch Jack’s cheek, tilting your head at him and meeting his eyes. “I know it’s your first time doing something like this, sweetheart,” you murmur. You pet Jack’s hair out of his face and kiss the tip of his nose. “Nico’s going to take care of you. You know how much he cares about you. He won’t do anything that you won’t like, okay? And we can always stop, if that’s what you want. It’s up to you.”

Jack is silent as he takes in your words, seeming to drink them up. He starts to nod, his hands clutching your waist like it grounds him. “‘Kay,” Jack whispers. “We can– yeah. Let’s…” he trails off, then leans forward and kisses you. He sounded a little lost, not knowing what he was saying, and you think he might have found solace in just doing something else, like kissing you.

You don’t have to look at Nico to know how he’s smiling, proud of Jack for taking the jump.

“Can you multitask, J?” Nico asks.

Jack hums affirmatively against your lips.

“Good,” Nico says. “Will you finger Y/N for me? Make her come?”

Jack is already obeying. His fingers are probing against your cunt, two digits sliding into your hole and curling inside of you.

“Good boy,” Nico praises. “Don’t stop until I tell you.” Nico’s hand finds your knee and pinches the soft skin on the side of the bone. “You can tell him to stop too, if you need it.”

“Will,” you affirm before Jack fills your mouth with his tongue and muffles your words. 

“One more thing,” Nico adds. He smooths his hands over the globes of Jack’s ass, digging his nails into the soft skin. Jack’s heart jumps at the touch. “My cock belongs to whoever lasts longer.”

Jack’s legs tense and his toes curl when he feels Nico’s tongue paint a wet stripe between his cheeks, passing right over his hole. The feeling is foreign and Jack kind of wants to push Nico away. His first instinct is to say ‘Get off me, Schao,’ because his asshole is not something he ever imagined another person would touch.

Then he gets distracted by the way Nico fits his fist around the tip of Jack’s cock and drags it down to the base.

He loses control of his fingers as his body melts into Nico’s touch. 

They still inside of you and you scoff indignantly. “Jack,” you groan.

He registers his name falling from your lips, but he doesn’t hear it. He mouths against your neck mindlessly, feeling you pull on his hair. When Nico repeats his name, Jack looks over his shoulder.

“Keep fingering her, büebli. It’s not a fair fight if you’re not doing your part.” Nico flicks the back of Jack’s thigh. 

“Sorry,” Jack apologizes breathlessly. He pushes back into Nico’s touch. 

Nico quirks an eyebrow. “Oh, you greedy boy,” he muses. He drops his hand from Jack’s cock and palms the globes of his ass, spreading him apart and tonguing along the puckered rim there. “Is this what you wanted?”

Jack whimpers, burying his face against your tits. “Mhm,” he affirms, nodding. His lips catch your nipple and he sucks, as if he’s soothing himself. His fingers have started moving inside of you again and his thumb finds your clit.

You roll your hips into his touch and look down at the two boys before you. Jack sucks on your skin desperately, leaving splotches in his wake. Nico has his eyes closed, showering Jack with attention.

Nico pulls away and brings his pinkie to his mouth, swirling his tongue around the digit. He winks at you, noticing how your pupils dilated as you realized what he’s planning to do. 

“Schao,” Jack keens. He’s on the verge of begging again. You can hear it in his voice. 

“God, Jack, listen to you,” Nico says. He circles Jack’s hole with the tip of his pinkie, but leans down to lick him and get him more wet, more willing to accept the finger. “You won’t eat out our girl’s pretty pink pussy but you’re falling apart while I eat yours?” He kisses Jack’s rim and nibbles, pushing the tip of his pinkie past Jack’s entrance.

Jack’s jaw drops and the mewl that leaves his mouth breaks halfway through its exhale. His hips drop and his tip finds the juncture of your thigh. It slides into the space between your legs and Jack bucks his hips once, twice, and– shudders.

You feel your face heat up, growing red to the tips of your ears. His cum slides down your thighs, dripping onto the bed below you. His teeth found your tit and bit down while he came– now, he’s licking along the indentations that he left behind, making sweet, satisfied noises in the back of his throat.

Jack feels a bit like he’s floating away. You’re so soft beneath him. He turns his head and closes his eyes, nuzzling against your skin like a pillow. Jack wishes he had something in his mouth, something to suck on… and like you’re reading his mind, you touch his lips. Jack takes your first two fingers in his mouth and swallows around them, humming. Nico is still mouthing along his skin, finding his way up to Jack’s lower back and sucking a hickey there.

“That was so sexy, schatz,” Nico murmurs as he kisses up Jack’s spine. “Coming like that. I barely touched you, baby. My desperate boy. Can’t wait til I get my cock in you one day, make you come undone for real.”

Jack turns his head and blinks his eyes open, finding Nico hovering near his head. You pull your fingers from his mouth and thumb away the bit of spit that collected at the corner of his lips. Jack preens when Nico brushes a thumb over his rosy cheeks, then moans aloud when Nico drops his head and sucks Jack’s bottom lip into his mouth.

“Aren’t you sweet,” Nico mutters. He pulls back and kisses him again, curling the waves at the nape of Jack’s neck between his fingers. 

Jack is smiling dopily, admiring the man before him like he hung the stars. 

“You wanna suck Y/N’s tits while I fuck her, baby?” Nico offers. He pinches Jack’s side, then tweaks his nipple. Jack squeaks at that and squirms away from Nico’s tickling fingers. He burrows into your arms, wrapping himself around you and hiding against your boobs. He starts to move his lips against your skin as soon as he makes contact.

You and Nico giggle together at how easy Jack is after he comes. He’s a sweet, cuddly boy who wants to kiss and suck the skin of his partner until he comes down from the climax. It’s a massive change from who he was before, but you can’t say you prefer either version. The brazen, flirtatious Jack Hughes who is touchy and sassy sets your stomach afire and makes your nose crinkle affectionately, but this version has you simmering and wanting to wrap him in the world’s warmest, fuzziest blanket and kiss all over his face. He’s an angel, either way, and you adore him.

With Jack tucked into your side, curled up and sucking one of your tits while his palm flattens over the other, Nico kneels between your legs. He lifts your ankle, brings it to his lips and kisses it before wrapping it around his waist. He then takes a pillow from the headboard and stuffs it under your hips.

“Do you want me to grab a condom before I start, babe?” Nico asks you, his hand wrapped around his base.

You shake your head. “Need to feel all of you, Ni.”

Jack swoons against your chest, evidently thinking of Nico’s cock in all of its glory. You bring your hand to his head and play with his hair, scratching his scalp and making him sigh as he nibbles the peak on your breast.

“You’re just as greedy as our boy,” Nico teases. He palms Jack’s hip and squeezes. “Hear that? She’s just as bad as you.”

“‘m not bad,” Jack mumbles. 

“No, J, you’re good,” you tell him. He grins and kisses your ribcage, then comes up to rest his head in the curve of your neck. His fingers toy with your nipples still, pinching and twisting and playing.

Nico fits the tip of his cock against your entrance and starts to push forward. You’re open enough from Nico’s mouth, fingers, and Jack’s fingers that he can slide in easily. Nico rolls his hips and grinds forward gently, until you’re lifting your hips and pouting up at him. Jack sees the pout and lifts his head, pecking the corner of your mouth over and over until you turn your head to meet him.

Jack’s kisses are much more subdued now, like his lips glide over yours. You imagine a waterfall painting sun-dried rocks with their mist. That’s how it feels to kiss Jack. 

“Ihr zwei luegt so schöön us,” Nico praises. You’ve never learned Swiss German, and you don’t think Jack has either, but you can tell from his tone that he’s saying something complimentary. 

“Danki,” Jack mumbles.

Maybe he does understand Nico.

“Ihr sind so guet zu mir,” Nico continues. He bends down and kisses Jack’s temple, then yours. His hips are still moving towards you, thrusts becoming more harsh, and Jack smiles into your lips. He doesn’t reply. 

Nico drags another orgasm from you slowly, taking you apart and murmuring in his dialect all the time. His voice lulls you through the climax and the aftershocks spike through your body when Jack suckles on your nipple, flicking the tip with his tongue and digging his teeth gently into your areola. 

“Gueti Meit,” he whispers. 

Nico slips from your cunt without coming. You draw your eyebrows together and tilt your head. “Nico?” you ask. You sound a bit like Jack.

Nico shushes you by holding a finger to his lips. “J, look at me,” Nico says. “Lay on your back.”

Jack’s eyes brighten and he rolls back. “‘Sup, Hisch?” he slurs out, his tongue seeming thick and swollen in his mouth again. 

“Hi, sünneli.” Nico caresses Jack’s cheek and straddles his chest.

You take a deep breath and roll towards them, batting Nico’s hand off of his cock and taking over. You start to stroke him, squeezing and twisting around his tip. You thumb over his slit and lick his frenulum, humming contentedly at the salty taste of yourself and his precum mixed together.

Jack is biting his lip and taking in the scene before him. Nico frees the lip with his thumb before planting both hands on the headboard and throwing his head back, groaning as you increase your speed and tighten your grip. Jack’s hands cautiously come to the back of Nico’s thighs, then grip on when Nico looks down at him and smiles that proud smile. Jack opens his mouth and hollows his cheeks and tries to make himself look as inviting and sexy as he can– he loves when a girl sucks him off and takes his cum all over her tongue and lips and cheeks and he wants to be as pretty for Nico.

The milky white spurts of cum streak out of Nico’s cock forcefully. He’s been waiting all night for this, holding himself back and focusing on the pleasure of the two of you, so his orgasm is strong. 

Most of the cum, stripped from Nico’s dick at your hand, falls onto Jack’s tongue. He pushes the muscle out, enlarging the canvas for Nico. He closes his eyes and you lick a stray stripe of cum from the corner of Jack’s lips, relishing in the taste. 

You loosen your grip on Nico when he’s effectively milked dry, and you bring a hand to Jack’s cheek to turn his head towards you. You kiss him deeply, working your tongue past his lips, tasting the cum and taking some of it into your mouth as you swap saliva. 

Nico separates you and kisses Jack first. Jack doesn’t even flinch at the change, he doesn’t open his eyes, nothing. He’s complacent and relaxed and so hungry to be touched by anyone. After Jack, Nico kisses you. It’s the first time you’ve kissed since he ate you out and you breathe him in.

Nico parts from you and guides your head back towards Jack’s. It’s easy, and you like kissing, so you and Jack fall into a routine. His hand comes to your jawline and pets along the curve. Nico leaves the bed, heading into your bathroom, and he comes back with a wet rag. You hear the shower starting and running in the background when he comes back.

“Okay, enough,” Nico murmurs, splitting you and Jack. He brings the wet rag to Jack’s flushed cheeks and starts to wipe the dried cum away, cleaning him up. 

Jack rolls his head back onto his shoulders and blinks slowly at Nico. 

Nico kisses his forehead, then uses the same rag to wipe between your legs. He kisses your forehead too.

“Are you up for a shower, or do you want a little more time?” Nico asks the two of you, wiggling his way between your bodies and wrapping his arms around you, pulling you tight against his sides.

Jack snuggles up to him immediately, tucking his head into the crook of Nico’s neck and sighing. You hug Nico’s middle and rest your cheek on his pec. 

“Cuddle now, shower later,” Jack decides. He kisses Nico’s pulsepoint. “You smell nice, Schao.”

“Thanks, büebli,” Nico replies. 

“And you’re so pretty, Y/N,” Jack adds. “Pretty tits, ‘specially.”

Nico chuckles and you giggle. “Oh, you think so?” you tease. “Couldn’t tell from all the hickeys you probably left.”

Jack picks his head up and peeks out at you, eyes shining. He’s grinning wickedly. “Sorry,” he apologizes, and you can tell that he doesn’t mean it at all.

[puckinghischier]

Falling

Nico Hischier x fem!reader

summary: reader gets hurt and nico is worried about her

notes: y’all i ain’t gonna lie, i went through a bit of a rollercoaster while writing this. i loved it at first, then halfway through started hating it, then somehow started loving it again towards the end. so if it seems a little all over place i’m sorry. also i know very little about how a dislocated shoulder works, so just pretended i didn’t if i got anything wrong. i hope y’all enjoy it!! happy reading!! 🫶🏼

request: from my 400 follower celly - “A hears that B got hurt and rushes over in a panic to see if they are okay” where reader maybe gets in an accident or gets hurt in their sport (nothing major). Bonus points if you add “I can braid your hair for you- I mean, only if you want.”

[4.5k]

part 2

“Yeah, Mom, I’m fine. Nothing’s broken, just a nasty dislocation,” you attempt to calm your mother’s nerves, trying to unlock your apartment door with your good arm while balancing your phone between your cheek and shoulder. “They reset it for me and told me to follow up with my primary care on Monday. Gave me some pain meds and sent me on my way.”

“Well, what about until then? What if you need help? What about work? How will you drive?” she rapid fires questions at you.

“I’ll figure it out, don’t worry. Since it was a work-related injury, I’ll still get paid. And they’re paying all of the medical bills, so that’s all taken care of,” you make your way into your apartment, shutting the door with your foot behind you. “Everything else I’ll handle as it comes.”

She doesn’t seem satisfied with your answer, tsking into her phone, making you picture her trademark displeased headshake.

“What about Nico? Why don’t you stay with him until you’re back to 100%? I’m sure he’d be willing to help out,” she suggests, her tone switching from worried to suggestive.

You roll your eyes, knowing exactly where this conversation is headed.

“Mom, how many times do I have to tell you, Nico and I are just friends. We work together. Just because you think you saw him look at me a certain way when you were visiting doesn’t mean I have to call him every time something goes wrong,” you tell her, placing your bag on your kitchen table.

Ever since your mom came in a few months ago to visit, she’s been on your case about making a move on Nico, it all starting when she witnessed Nico helping you across the ice during a pre-game practice while trying to get some action shots.

You work as a photographer for the Devils, not realizing that being able to ice skate would have been a nice addition to your resume.

Your college advisor arranged the interview for you right before graduation. You had no previous knowledge of hockey, having come from a football family. You told your advisor this, but she insisted you didn’t have to know anything about a sport to be able to take good pictures of it.

During the interview, you made sure to inform your now boss that you didn’t know how to skate, hoping it wouldn’t be a problem. He assured you that you could take pictures from the stands or the players bench, the chance of you having to step onto the ice slim.

For the first few months of your job, it was smooth sailing. You were mostly taking pictures from the camera holes in the glass or being told to cover locker room and arrival pictures. You worked with one other photographer, a seasoned sports photography veteran named Phil. Phil was a New Jersey native, having grown up skating, so he took over the duties of any major action shots the director wanted from on the ice.

Unfortunately for you, Phil’s wife had convinced him to retire early, losing his help right before the league’s short Christmas break.

Seeing as they had just hired you, and it was the middle of the season, the hunt for a replacement for Phil was put on the backburner, more important team matters taking precedence.

You were forced to take over Phil’s duties, meaning you were now responsible for any on the ice shots. You had found a way to slowly scoot across the perimeter of the rink, staying out of the way while also getting the shots you needed.

Your system was working well until the morning of a gameday, having gotten permission from your boss to bring your mother along to this particular practice, wanting to show her all aspects of your job.

For this particular game, the players were especially focused on practicing their skills and running drills during morning skate. You were doing your typical shuffle while clutching the edge of the waist-high wall when someone came zooming past you, causing your feet to start sliding uncontrollably, not being able to find your footing on the slick ice.

You felt the moment you were about to fall, waiting for the impact of your butt on the cold ice, but it never came. You felt yourself fall into a body covered by plastic pads, gloved hands shooting out to grab your upper arms.

You looked up, seeing Nico smiling down at you in amusement.

“It’s a bit slippery out here, huh?” he jokes, making sure you’re standing steady on your feet before letting go of you.

“Well, we are standing on ice, so….” You trail off, grabbing onto the wooden ledge again, preventing another near fall.

Nico laughs, looking down and shuffling his skates back and forth.

“Well would you look at that? We are on ice ” He flashes a smile, looking back up at you.

You stick your tongue out at him, earning another chuckle from the team’s Captain.

“You know, most people use these great things called ice skates when they try to walk on ice,” he tells you, lifting one skate up for emphasis.

Rolling your eyes, you scoff out a “Oh wow, why didn’t I ever think of that?”

“Just some food for thought,” Nico shrugged as he placed his foot back down on the ice, skating in a little circle, as if to say “See, told you so.”

You let go of the ledge to cross your arms, forgetting that you needed the stability. When you try to shift your weight from one leg to the other, you lose your footing again, this time falling forward into Nico. You let the camera in your hands fall, grabbing onto his biceps to stay upright, thankful for the camera strap around your neck.

His hands shoot out to grab your forearms.

“You know the sad thing is, even with the skates, I’d still be as clumsy, considering I have absolutely no idea how to use them,” you tell him, the two of you still holding on to one another.

Nico shakes his head at you, placing one of your hands on his forearm, moving you from in front of him to beside of him.

He starts slowly skating towards the bench while you shuffle your feet along, putting all of your focus on keeping yourself upright until you reach your destination.

When you finally reach the bench, you step off of the ice and let out a breath of relief.

“Thanks, Cap. Would’ve hated to make a fool of myself out there while my mom’s watching,” you thank him, looking over to where your mom sits, a smile on her face.

Nico follows your gaze and waves to your mom, matching her smile.

“Well, we wouldn’t want that now, would we? What if she found out her daughter was a skating fraud?” he teases, leaning in to whisper the last two words.

“It’s her fault for never taking me to the rink my town would throw up once a year at Christmas. Who knows, maybe I would’ve been a skating prodigy if given the chance,” you shrug.

A mischievous smile makes its way onto his face. “I think we should put that theory to the test,” he tells you, causing your eyes to latch onto his.

“Come again?” You raise your eyebrows and tilt your chin down.

“I mean, I can’t have some photographer out on my ice during practices that can’t even stand up,” he keeps his tone light, making sure you know he’s just teasing, “So, I’m going to teach you how to skate, and see if you really would have been a skating prodigy.”

He skates off, winking before resuming his practice.

You don’t have a chance to speak to him again until after the game, when you get at text from an unknown number reading “Rink, tomorrow, 2pm. I’ll bring skates, just bring your prodigy skills.”

After that, you meet with Nico twice a week for skating lessons.

The two of you quickly form a friendship, Nico bringing you coffee on gamedays and you slipping him snacks on the bench during games. You even started inviting him over for dinner after your lessons, insisting the least you can do is feed him to repay him for preventing you from making a fool of yourself on the ice.

Today, however, you did make a fool of yourself on the ice.

You were standing behind the net, telling the players to skate towards you so you could get some shots for the team’s Instagram account by request of the social media manager.

Once you were pleased with the amount of shots you had gotten, you left your spot from behind the net, skating slowly towards the benches, still a little wobbly on your skates.

You were looking down at your camera, thinking of how you’ll have to get Nico out here after the game to get some shots, knowing he’s currently doing pre-game interviews in the locker room.

You weren’t paying the slightest bit of attention to the pucks littering the ice in front of you, skating right into one and losing your balance, holding your camera up with one arm while trying to catch yourself with the other.

You felt the way your shoulder shifted, crying out in pain as players turned and started rushing towards you on the ice.

The team doctor came out and told you he was pretty sure your shoulder was simply dislocated, but sent you to the hospital to make sure nothing’s broken.

The ER doctor confirmed your diagnosis, putting your shoulder back into place before pumping you full of pain meds and placing your arm into a sling.

Which leads you to where you are now, back at your apartment, explaining to your mother why Nico can’t be at your beck and call.

“Honey, when are you going to realize that boy is in love with you? I’m telling you, the way I saw him look at you that day I came to visit, the skating lessons and dinners,” she starts, giving you her typical speech when you tell her Nico is just a friend.

“Mom, it doesn’t matter what you think you saw, we’re seriously just friends. And he’s busy, his schedule is too hectic to spend his time babysitting me,” you interrupt her, not wanting to hear her Nico speech for the thousandth time, regretting ever telling her about the skating lessons.

She sighs into the phone.

“I’m just trying to help you, you know…” you hear your mother start, but you tune the rest of her words out, focusing on the three loud knocks on your front door.

Your head turns to your door, the unexpected noise causing you to jump, the sudden motion tipping your bag over, the contents spilling all of your kitchen floor.

“Honey, are you alright? What was that?” your mom halts her one-sided conversation, worry in her tone.

“Shit!” you exclaim, watching the container of memory cards fly open, the small squares sliding across the linoleum floor.

You forget about the sling on your arm, crouching down and trying to reach for the cards with your bad arm, a searing pain shooting through your shoulder at the movement.

Letting out a loud yelp, you bring your arm back to its resting positing in the sling.

“Y/N, what’s going on? Did you hurt yourself?” you barely hear your mother’s voice through the phone speaker, not being able to think about anything other than the throbbing pain in your shoulder.

You hear three more pounds on your front door, this time a voice following the knocks.

“Y/N! Open up!”

You groan, trying to stand up, too many people trying to get your attention at the moment.

“Honey, talk to me. Is someone in there with you? I heard another voice,” your mother asks you as you stand, making your way over towards your front door.

“Someone’s knocking on the door,” you grit through your teeth, trying to think about anything but the pain in your shoulder. “I dropped my bag and tried to pick something up with my bad arm. I’m fine. Just hurts,” you tell her, opening your door to see a frantic Nico standing there.

His wide eyes scan your body, stopping once they see the sling on your arm.

You notice his wet hair and lack of socks on his tennis shoe covered feet.

“Are you okay? They told me you had to be taken to the hospital before the game started, but no one knew what really happened,” he rushed out, looking up at your face.

“Hey, Mom, gotta go, Nico’s at my door,” you tell her, a little stunned that the object of your conversation just appeared, hanging up the phone before she could make any comments about it.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” you ask him, pointing towards his feet, an amused smile on your face. The shock of seeing him at your door making you completely forget about the pain in your shoulder.

Nico looks down at his own feet, looking back up at you with red cheeks.

“Oh, uh, I couldn’t find my socks after the game and i couldn’t get you to answer your phone, so I rushed over to the hospital to see if you were still there, and they told me you left about an hour ago, so I hopped in my car and came over here to make sure you were okay,” he tells you, not meeting your eye.

You’re shocked at his confession, not expecting him to be so concerned about your impromptu trip to the hospital.

“Well, I’m here and still standing,” you awkwardly stand in your doorway, not knowing what else to say, thinking about how if you weren’t arguing with your mom over Nico on the phone, you might have gotten his calls.

“Yeah, I see that now,” he shoves his hands in the pocket of his hoodie.

The two of you stand there, not really knowing what to say to one another.

“Do you want to come in?” you ask him, moving out of the doorway to let him step into your apartment.

Nico shakes his head yes and walks past you, looking towards the mess on the floor in your kitchen.

“What happened here? Is this the crash I heard?” he asks you.

“Yeah, the bag fell and spilled everything. When I went to pick it up, I forgot and used my bad shoulder,” you gesture to your slinged arm.

Nico shakes his head at you, crouching down to pick up the camera disks all over the floor.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to-“

“Well you’re sure as hell not trying to pick them up again,” Nico interrupts you, standing and placing the now full box of disks on your table.

You roll your eyes at him, walking over towards your fridge.

“So, what exactly happened? Jack told me you hurt your shoulder?” he follows you over to your fridge, watching you scan its contents, or lack thereof.

“Well, I was looking at my camera and skated right into a bunch of pucks on the floor, then was too focused on saving the equipment instead of remembering how to fall properly,” you told him, remembering his words during your first skate lesson, telling you not to catch yourself if you fall on the ice.

“See, I told you to just let yourself fall. Never try to catch yourself,” he echoes his words in your thoughts.

“Yeah, well, it’s a lot easier said than done,” you deadpan, shutting your fridge door and looking at Nico.

Your stomach growls at that exact moment, making you groan at your lack of food in your fridge, not having eaten since before your accident.

“When was the last time you ate anything?” Nico asks you, looking down at your growling stomach.

“Uhhh, breakfast?” you recall.

Nico’s eyes widen. “It’s almost midnight. Did they really not feed you at the hospital?” he asks you.

“Considering they were busy doing x-rays and scans to make sure nothing was broken or torn, no,” you walk over to your cabinets, finding them also bare.

“Alright, go sit down and I’ll order us something to eat,” Nico shoos you out of the kitchen, walking over and opening the drawer where you keep all of your takeout menus.

You wonder how he knows where your menus are, forgetting for a moment that he’s over at your apartment at least twice a week after your skating lessons. Sometimes more, the occasional movie night making its way into your weekly routine.

“What do you want? Sushi? Chinese? Burgers?” he questions, flipping through your menus.

For some reason, your brain chooses this moment to register how much you enjoy the sight of Nico in your kitchen, looking through your takeout menus and offering to order you dinner.

You think back to all the times he’s helped you make dinner, laughter filling every moment of your time together. You think about how he always wear his pjs when he comes over for a movie night, bringing a different chocolate candy to put in the popcorn each time. You think about how he somehow learned your coffee order without you ever telling him, bringing you a coffee every morning, even at away games.

You think about your mother’s words, and how you didn’t even have to ask Nico to come over tonight, or to give you skating lessons. You think about how you never have to ask Nico to do anything he does for you – which is a lot, you’re realizing – he just does it. He does it because he wants to, because he’s kind and caring and wants to spend time with you.

“Hello? Earth to Y/N, what do you want for dinner?” Nico snaps you out of your sudden revelation.

“Sorry, spaced out for a second. Must be the pain meds,” you tell him, knowing that your mind isn’t the least bit impaired right now.

“Okay, go sit down, we need to get some food in you then,” he fishes his phone out of his pocket, mumbling out “Can’t believe they pumped you full of meds on an empty stomach.”

You make your way to your couch, sitting down and taking your shoes off, making yourself as comfortable as you can.

You remove a stray piece of hair that fell onto your face, knowing how awful it must look.

When you fell on the ice, the claw clip that was holding your hair in its up-do broke, causing it to fan out over the cold, wet ice. Once you got to the hospital, you were put in and out of so many different machines, you can only imagine the tangled, matted mess it is.

You get up and go to your bathroom, finding your brush and trying to comb it out. The task proving to be difficult with only one hand. The tangles keep pulling your head back and hurting your tender scalp, but you keep trying, whimpering each time the brush gets stuck on a particularly bad tangle.

You don’t even hear Nico approach your bathroom, just a sigh and “I told you to sit down,” before the brush is taken from your hand and you see Nico’s reflection behind you in the mirror.

Without another word, he proceeds to brush your hair for you, ensuring every tangle is gone before setting the brush on your sink.

The two of you make eye contact in the mirror, neither one wanting to break the silence during the surprisingly intimate moment.

You clear your throat, looking down after the silence got too intense, causing Nico to avert his eyes as well.

“I really wish i could wash my hair, but i know that’s a no go tonight,” you chuckle, wishing your bathroom was a little bit bigger in this moment.

“I can braid your hair for you,” Nico starts, staring at you in the mirror, watching your eyes snap up to meet his. “I mean, only if you want,” he stutters out.

“Really?” you ask him, a little stunned.

“Yeah. I used to help Nina with hers all the time when I was younger,” Nico mentions his older sister, grabbing your hair lightly and starting to section it off. “Anytime she would have a sleep over I would always weasel my way into the party. So one day, she made me sit in a braiding chain and learn how to braid her hair.”

You let out a giggle, picturing a smaller version of Nico sitting at the end of a line of girls, braiding their long hair.

“Then, Nina claimed I got so good at it she always wanted me to braid her hair before her volleyball matches, then her friends all started wanting me to do theirs, too,” he continues talking, nearly lulling you to sleep with the soft movements of his hands as you listen to him speak.

“I think that’s adorable,” you quietly speak, closing your eyes.

“What can I say? When a pretty girl needs her hair braided, who am I to keep my skills to myself?” he jokes, making you wonder if he meant you or his sister’s friends.

“I’m sure it’s any little boy’s dream to have an entire volleyball team at his mercy, all those pretty volleyball players begging him to play with their hair,” you tease him, handing him the hair tie that you always keep on your wrist.

“I don’t know, I think playing with a pretty photographer’s hair is better, if you ask me,” he ties the hair tie around the bottom of the braid, reaching up to pull the braid loose, making sure it’s not too tight.

You keep your eyes closed, knowing he can likely see the redness on your cheeks at his words.

“Alright, eyes open. Need to make sure you like my work,” he places his hands on your biceps, making sure to keep his touch feather light on your bad arm.

He turns you around so you’re facing him, holding a handheld mirror that was laying on your sink in front of your face, allowing you to see the reflection of the braid.

You’re shocked to see the flawless Dutch braid that cascades down your back.

“Nico, you’re like…really good at this,” you reach your good hand to the back of your head, running it down the braid.

“Told you, I had a lot of practice,” he shrugs, setting the mirror down.

You yawn, the relaxing nature of having your hair braided allowing you to realize how tired you are from the day’s events.

“Nuh-uh, gotta keep you awake until we get some food in you,” he tuts, taking his hands and patting your cheeks.

You groan, leaning into his palms that stay resting on your face.

“C’mon, let’s get you changed and on the couch,” he motions for you to leave the bathroom.

You walk to your room, Nico helping you carefully remove your sling before leaving and giving you some privacy.

You change into your pajamas, somehow managing to get your arm into an oversized Devils shirt you found at the bottom of your drawer.

Nico is standing outside of your door when you open it, helping you back into your sling.

He stands in front of you, staring at you with a look that you can’t decipher.

“Is…everything okay?” you question him, noticing his stare after adjusting your sling.

His eyes snap up to you, seemingly unaware that he was even staring at you in the first place.

“Uh, yeah, sorry. I just- is that my shirt?” he asks you, pointing to your pj shirt.

You look down at the oversized shirt, trying to think of where you got it.

It had just showed up in your laundry basket one day, assuming it was one they gave you when you got your job, but Nico’s question makes you think harder.

You realize, suddenly, you do remember where you got it.

During one of your post lesson dinners, Nico had spilled his drink all over his shirt. You offered to wash it for him after he changed to a shirt in his duffel.

You meant to take it back to him after you washed it, but forgot about it entirely, packing it away in your pajama drawer.

“Oh, crap, it is. Do you want it back, I can go change?” you ask him, worried he’s upset that you forgot to give it back.

“No…no it’s fine. Keep it. I have plenty,” he shakes his head, glancing down at it once more.

The two of you make your way to your couch, finding something to watch on tv when there’s a knock on the door, signaling the arrival of your food.

You start to stand to go get it, but Nico sternly tells you to stay put.

Rolling your eyes you sit back down, grabbing the remote and continuing to channel surf.

Nico’s gone for longer than you expect, causing you to sit up and turn back towards your kitchen, wondering what’s taking him so long.

You see him walking over to you, a tray full of food in his hands.

He had ordered from your favorite sushi place, figuring it would be the easiest for you to eat one handed.

As he sat down the tray on the coffee table in front of you, you realized what took him so long.

Nico had put a toothpick in each piece of your sushi, knowing using chopsticks with your non dominant hand would have been hard for you. He poured soy sauce into a small container, allowing you to simply pick up each toothpick and dip it in the sauce before popping it in your mouth.

He had also ordered you a bottle of cherry coke, which he knew was your favorite, and placed it on the tray with the lid unscrewed and a straw peeking out of the bottle next to a glass of ice, just incase you wanted it that way instead.

You looked up at him, feeling that funny feeling in your chest like you did earlier in your kitchen, blown away at how he always seems to think of everything he can to help you out, even when you’re not injured.

You must’ve been looking for longer than you realized, because he cocks his head at you, confusion present on his face.

“What?” he asks, not understanding what’s wrong. “Did you not want sushi? I thought you said it was always the one thing that could cheer you up?”

You shake your head at him. “No, sushi is perfect,” you tell him, a small smile on your face as you look up at him.

He smiles back for a few moments, then started scooting the coffee table towards you so you don’t have to reach to grab your food. He moves around the table to sit beside of you, the size of the small table causing him to sit so close to you that you can feel the warmness of his large thigh against yours.

You once again think about all of the things he’s done for you without you even having to ask. Now including coming over after a game—no doubt exhausted and sore—and taking care of you without even thinking twice. Braiding your hair and calling you pretty. Staring at you unintentionally wearing his t-shirt. Modifying your food so it’s easier for you to eat with one hand.

You sit there, staring at the man you fear you’re falling in love with, already planning out the apology text you’re going to have to send your mom.

[leaentries]

i wanna leave so many marks and scratches on nico that in the locker room the boys are just 😟

fuck…if yall could see into my mind rn…

-

just licking every inch of his skin— your teeth nipping at the defined ridges of his abdomen and chest. your nails are raking down his back as your fingers dig into the dense muscles. nico’s a groaning mess while you claim his body and skin as your own. one of his hands grips hard onto the headboard as he tries his best not to collapse on top of you. his hair is messy and tousled, falling over his forehead, his brow scrunched in pleasure. nico’s hips move inside you, stroking fluidly as the both of you lose your breath to each others bodies.

the next morning he walks into the locker room, eyes heavy from the previous night. some of the guys are at their assigned stalls, stripping and changing for morning skate. nico sets his bag down, reaching up to grab the back of his shirt and pulls it off in one motion before tossing it into his bag.

an immediate whistle echos through the room, “whoa, cap!” jack’s playful voice rings out, “someone had a long night.” some of the other players begin to chime in.

“where do i get me one of those?”

“does she have a friend?”

“nico got himself a little freak.”

“shut up,” nico mumbles as he tries to hide the way his face flushes. he makes his way to a mirror, his eyes widening slightly as he realizes the full extent of your marks. angry red scratches trail over his sides and back, adorned with purple marks over his chest and abs. he makes his way back to his stall, pulling on his gear quickly before picking up his phone and typing out a text.

neeks: all the boys loved what you did to me 🙄

neeks: be ready by the time i get home, schatzi. you’re not leaving the house until my name is spelled across your ass.