Could you do Jack Hughes x reader where he gets drunk and only wants his girlfriend
Jack Hughes x reader ~ Sloppy Drunk
3:34 a.m. The numbers on your too-bright-phone illuminate the room, temporarily blinding you. As you rub your eyes, trying to figure out what the hell woke you up, you hear it again. Soft bangs on your apartment door followed by your name being very insistently said, followed by a muffled groan that seems too familiar to mean anything good.
Your stomach tightens. Who even comes to someone’s door at three in the morning? And in New Jersey?!
You slide out of bed, stumbling a bit as your body gets used to moving so suddenly. You switch on the hallway light, blinking away the eyestrain. Making it to the door, you peek through the peephole and immediately sigh.
Nico. Cody. And between them, slumped like a ragdoll, Jack. One of his arms is over Nico’s shoulders, the other over Cody’s. His face is flushed, a thin sheen of sweat over his body, and even through the tiny fisheye lens you can see the stupid drunk smile on his face.
Seeing that there's no threat, you pull open the door, “What…?” You’re so confused. Why isn't Jack at his own apartment? Why did they bring him here? Why past midnight?
“Heyyyy” Nico offers a weak and apologetic smile. He looks tired and out of breath, like he had to chase Jack down. “He’s… uh…very drunk. He insisted he come here. I am sorry.”
Cody gives you another apologetic smile and shrugs. Jack weakly rolls his head to the side and lifts it up. Immediately, he gives a big toothy smile. “Babyyyyyyyy” He says a bit too loudly in the hallway.
You gently place a hand over his mouth to quiet him up. You can’t even be mad. Embarrassed? Yes. A little worried? Also, yes. But at least he’s not wandering around his and Luke's apartment again, getting into more alcohol or keeping Luke up with him.,
“I’m so sorry,” you say, already slipping your arm around Jack’s waist to take his weight. He’s heavier than he looks, all athlete muscle and zero balance. “Thank you for bringing him home..”
Nico and Cody nod, muttering ‘no problem’s and ‘for sure’s. They move his arms to go over your shoulders so you can drag him into the apartment. After you all give your quick goodbyes, you nudge the door closed with your foot and start to drag Jack into the apartment.
Inside, Jack starts muttering again, words blending together like melted snow. You catch maybe one out of five syllables. Something about fries. Something about you. Something that might have been an apology if either of you knew what he was trying to say.
“Shhhhhh,” you whisper, patting his back as you guide him toward the bedroom. His sneakers scuff against the floor. Every time his knee bumps the wall or the edge of a chair you apologize automatically, like it’s somehow your fault he forgot how to walk. When you eventually drag him into the bedroom, you realize how much more difficult this was than your original assumption.
Getting him onto the bed is a full Olympic event. You end up using your thigh as leverage and hauling him sideways until he collapses onto the mattress, arms spread like a starfish.
Bothering to finally move now that you no longer need help, he blinks up at you, eyes glassy but warm. “Hey beybeee,” he slurs, “ey lauv yewwww.”
Your heart does this stupid little flip it always does, even when he smells like beer and bad decisions. “Love you too Jackie. PJ’s?”
At his nod, you tug off his hoodie, then his shoes, then his jeans. He tries to ‘help’ by lifting his hips at the wrong moments and almost head-butts you twice. You grab a pair of flannel pants from his dresser, the soft red ones he likes, and wrestle them onto him while he wiggles like an uncooperative toddler. Finally, finally, he’s horizontal and semi-presentable. You crawl into bed beside him, pulling the blankets up and over both of you.
The apartment is quiet again except for the distant hum of traffic and the old radiator clicking like it’s thinking too hard. For a minute you just lie there, staring at the ceiling, letting your heartbeat slow back down. Thinking he’s asleep, you sigh and turn over, closing your eyes and trying to rest. It’s peaceful, the metronome of his soft breaths lulling you to sleep. You don’t know how long you lay there, but you can feel your consciousness slipping.
Suddenly, Jack rolls over on top of you, full body weight, face right above yours. His arms hook around your waist, his forehead presses into yours, and you wheeze a little.
“I luv yewwww,” he stage-whispers directly into your ear, breath warm and tainted with the smell of bud light. He plants an overly wet kiss on your cheek, making an ‘mmmmmmmwah’ sound like it would express his love more. And then, just like that, he’s asleep. Deep, unmoving, dead if he wasn’t snoring.
Despite the lingering stench of beer, the wet mark on your cheeks, and the interruption to your sleep schedule, you can't help but put a little peck onto his cheek as well. He may be a sloppy drunk, but he was YOUR sloppy drunk.
(established relationship) nico hischier x silly pop girl
a/n: abi lou said pop girlie fit Nico best, and kate said the idea was cute so here we are !!!
more of them!
yourusername: posted 26 hours ago
♫: Misty - Lesley Gore
yourusername: few more weeks before summer is ripped from my hands 👙
TAGGED: @/nicohischier
liked by nicohischier, sabrinacarpenter, madelyncline, charlixcx, jennaortega, jackhughes and 1, 287,784 others
COMMENTS:
nicohischier: Don't even remind me
yourusername: my apologies 😣
sabrinacarpenter: you're so beautiful
yourusername: Chill im easy
madisonbeer: The woman is very cute and beautiful! The man is also alive
liked by yourusername and others
djo: ☀️😎
yourusername: True? I suppose?
malcomtodd: Can you hear the ocean in the shells
yourusername: Ya duh
fan73: Pinterest in human form
friend7: Sexy woman
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nicohischier: posted 25 hours ago
♫ Jackie and Wilson - Hozier
nicohischier: Summer = ✅
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COMMENTS...
yourusername: this is the cutest ever
yourusername: sexy man
yourusername: Are you single by any chance 👀
nicohischier: My girlfriend bites
yourusername: im going to lick sweat off ur abs ☺️
friend7: Hey so we can all see this
jackhughes: 😮💨
yourusername: ew shut up (DELETED)
yourmother: Seems like you're taking great care of her! ❤️
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nhl: ☀️
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yourusername: posted 2 hours ago
♫: End Of Beginning - Djo
yourusername: chicago!!! u have my heart forever!!! @/magdalenabay thank you for opening for this stop 🤍 🪩
liked by nicohischier, sabrinacarpenter, tatemcrae, magdalenabay, djo, sukiwaterhouse and 991,293 others
COMMENTS...
nicohischier: Amazing
liked by yourusername
nicohischier: I would have given the world to be there
yourusername: @/njdevils why must you keep my boyfriend from me
zaralarsson: Truly majestic
yourusername: come open for my europe leg mama 👅
pinkpantheress: Gag
liked by yourusername
friend3: I lost my voice from screaming the lyrics to Diet Pepsi mind you
yourusername: wanna lose ur innocence in the backseat with me
fan838: How does she literally glow
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nicohischier: posted 8 hours ago
nicohischier: Season so far
liked by yourusername, jackhughes, yourmom, friend7, nhl, jackhughes, fan483 and 73,473 others
COMMENTS...
yourusername: back arched ass up on ice is insane
nicohischier: ?
yourusername: Ass fat face a 10
yourusername: about to dj the vj to this ☺️
quenblackwell: Girl...
njdevils: Cap 🫡
fan7373: Aurafarmer
friend7: The Stache™
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yourusername: posted 8 hours ago
♫: Margaret - Lana Del Rey (feat. Bleachers)
yourusername: Coachellaaaaaaaaaa 🤍🤍🤍🤍 my dress is inside out & I'm messy with the pen after performing for u 💋 thank you @/honeymoonavenue for having me 😇
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COMMENTS...
margaretqualley: the bestest!
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nicohischier: Watching every clip posted
yourusername: New Jersey sucks anyways you should have been able to come 😞
nicohischier: Headliner in my opinion
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honeymoonavenue: You were beautiful! Thank you for performing with me. 💗
yourusername: I'm at your beck and call
sabrinacarpenter: tried to convince Coachella to shorten my set so i could see you
yourusername: Doomed yuri, you and i
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nicohischier: posted 2 hours ago
♫: My Kind Of Woman - Mac DeMarco
nicohischier: Schedules aligned
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COMMENTS...
yourusername: had that dessert after if u know what I mean #dickeddown
fan83848: Does your PR manager hate you yet
yourprmanager: Nope! She's lovely!
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yourusername: had that cookie and then mine!
nicohischier: Not wrong
yourmom: The second the season was over! 😂
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njdevils: That food looks amazing!
fan92: It's so cute he only posts with a song when he's with her 😭
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yourusername: posted 2 hours ago
♫: Glue Song - Beabadoobee
yourusername: recents but my boyfriend is back and i love life & my boyfriend & life with my boyfriend
TAGGED: @/nicohischier
liked by nicohischier, yourbestfriend, tatemcrae, conangray, rolemodel, clairo and 1,472,839 others
Summary: You and Quinn Hughes agreed on nothing serious-just sex. Things change when Nico Hischier takes an interest in you, but a part of you keeps pulling back toward Quinn.
Warnings: Smut, love triangle, friends with benefits, jealous!quinn, fingering, angst, cussing, pet names, mentions of Jack and Luke Hughes, poorly written as usual.
Special mentions: @kawhh @ruinix
WC: ~1.8k
PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE
Nico doesn’t hide it anymore.
That’s what sets Quinn off.
It’s not the kisses — soft, careful, brief.
It’s not the way Nico sits close to you on the couch, arm resting lightly behind you like a question instead of a claim.
It’s the way Nico chooses you openly.
He brings you a drink without being asked. Laughs quieter when you’re tired. Leans down to murmur things meant only for you, smiling like he’s not afraid of anyone seeing.
Like he doesn’t even consider Quinn a threat.
And that’s exactly why Quinn feels it burn.
You’re standing in the kitchen watching Luke scurry around, cooking dinner for everyone. You have no idea what dish he decided but the smell of garlic and spices fill the air. Nico finishes setting the table, his fingers brush yours as he passes you a plate.
“Thank you,” you say.
He smiles. “Always.”
Quinn watches.
He’s leaned against the counter next to where Jack is seated, arms crossed, jaw tight. He hasn’t said much all evening — just short replies, clipped movements, a storm brewing behind his ribs.
Luke and Jack are trying to debate on who the best skater in the NHL is, roping Quinn into the conversation. The two of them getting louder and louder as they try to prove their points, almost as if they think the louder they are, the more correct they’ll be.
Nico comes up behind you, wrapping his arms gently around you, his chin briefly resting on your shoulder.
“You look good today,” he murmurs.
Your breath catches — not because of the words, but because you feel Quinn’s gaze sharpen.
You hum in appreciation, leaning into his touch slightly. You take a moment to step away slowly, heart starting to race.
“I’m just going to wash up before dinner is ready.” You announce. Jack nods as he continues his conversation with Luke, asking Nico what his opinion is of the matter.
That’s when Quinn moves.
You barely make it down the hallway before his hand closes around your wrist.
Firm. Warm. Controlled.
“Come here,” Quinn mutters under his breath.
You gasp softly as he pulls you into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you with a quiet click — not a slam, not a sound anyone would notice.
The room is small, almost suffocating.
“What are you doing?” you whisper.
He looks down at you, his eyes dark, anger simmering low and dangerous. His body towers over you as he corners you against the door.
“You let him do that,” Quinn says.
Your heart pounds. “Do what?”
“That,” he snaps quietly. “Act like he’s already yours.”
You cross your arms, defensive. “He’s just being kind.”
Quinn lets out a sharp, humorless laugh.
“He’s being obvious.”
The words land heavy between you.
“I hate how he looks at you,” he admits. “And I hate the way you look at him — like you’re something innocent.”
He lifts his hand, then cups your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip.
“When in reality we both know you’re not,” he adds.
Your pulse roars in your ears.
“Quinn…”
He leans in — close enough that your noses brush, breath mingling. You feel that electricity between you both. That feeling you can’t seem to shake away. The pull that keeps you locked beneath him.
Before you know it, his lips are on yours, his hands pulling you closer into him by your waist.
Your hands grab his shirt without thinking, pulling him closer into you.
He groans quietly — low and frustrated — and deepens it, like he’s trying to erase every place Nico touched you. His thumb brushes your jaw, possessive without saying the word.
This isn’t sweet, this is hunger. Quinn needs your taste in his mouth, needs your touch over him.
He pulls back just long enough to breathe.
“He touch you like this?” he asks hoarsely.
“No.” You manage to gasp out quietly as he grabs ahold of your thighs and lifts you up on the counter, the cool marble sending shivers up your spine.
His jaw clenches.
He kisses you again — slower now, heavier — like he knows exactly how to unsteady you. His forehead rests against yours when he finally stops, breath uneven, eyes shut.
His fingers dance closer and closer to your throbbing core. You feel his palm against your stomach, gently rubbing over your skin, a moan threatening to escape you.
“We can’t,” you choke out, trying to shut your thighs.
“I know,” he says immediately. His knee pushing between you to force your legs apart for him.
“But I’m not finished with you just yet,” he growls against your ear. His fingers push past the waistband of your pyjama pants and panties, finding their place over your swollen clit.
You breathe in sharply as you feel Quinn rub his thumb up and down your already sticky folds. “Yeah? That feel good?” He asks in a mocking way.
Your eyes roll back when he presses down onto your clit, his eyes watching your every move. You open your mouth to say something but immediately close it when Quinn presses again, this time drawing tight circles.
“You don’t have to answer that, baby, I already know,” he smiles darkly, enjoying the sight of you leaking all over his fingers.
Quinn suddenly moves his hand further down and pushes a finger into you, your slick cunt making it easy to glide in. Your clit is only abandoned for a second before he uses his other hand to give it attention.
His pace is slow and tantalizing as he thrusts his finger in and out of you.
You bite your lip when he adds a second finger inside of you, curling his fingers into your walls, but when his fingers find that special spot, an involuntary moan leaves your lips.
Quinn’s fingers immediately stop as his eyes leave your cunt to look up at you. His free hand reaches up and presses firmly over your mouth.
“Shh, baby you gotta keep quiet for me,”
The speed of his fingers gradually increase, making the sounds escaping your soaked cunt to become louder and louder.
You let out a whimper, your hands gripping onto his arm, your nails leaving little crescent shapes in his soft skin.
As you feel yourself reaching the end, it all becomes too much.
Your hips buck away from his hand and you try to close your legs to no avail. He uses his fingers to work you through your orgasm, constantly rubbing against that spot along your walls, making you clench around him.
He captures your lips with his, his teeth lightly nibbling on your bottom lip.
Quinn steps back first running a hand through his hair like he needs to ground himself. He watches you fix your hair and clothes through the mirror.
“You should go,” he says. “Before someone notices.”
You hesitate for a moment — lips still burning, heart racing — then open the door.
The noise rushes back in. The sounds of Jack and Luke still not having settled who won their conversation.
Nico looks up when you return.
“There you are,” he says warmly. “We were waiting for you to finish up before eating.” His smile beaming across the dinner table.
You force a smile as you reach for a plate to serve yourself.
Behind you, Quinn emerges a moment later — expression cool, unreadable — like nothing happened at all.
And now, every time Nico touches you gently, your body remembers the fire. Your legs remember the ache.
Quinn sits back, watches, and lets the contrast do the damage for him.
————————————————————————
“Getting groceries,” Jack calls out. “Anyone need anything?”
“Nope,” Quinn answers from the hallway, already walking away toward his room.
You hear Jack complaining about forgetting the list. Luke laughs, shoving him toward the car. You see Nico out there with them, giggling, you shut the front door, the sounds of the three boys fading behind the wood.
The engine starts. Gravel crunches beneath Jack’s tires as he drives away. The sound getting further and further away.
You turn around, hearing a familiar drawl from behind you.
“It’s like you’re doing it on purpose,” Quinn says quietly, “Right in front of me.”
Your chest tightens. “He’s allowed to be sweet.”
Quinn scoffs, rolling his eyes at the statement.
You swallow, heart pounding, then force yourself to say it. “You’re the one who set rules,” you remind him quietly.
His brow furrows. “What?”
“You,” you repeat. “You’re the one who said this was just sex. No feelings. No expectations. No getting attached.” The words feel sharp in your mouth, like you’re cutting yourself on them.
Quinn’s expression shifts into something of guilt. His nostrils flare at the venom spat into him by you. He bites the inside of his cheek.
You step back just enough to really look at him — the tension in his shoulders, the fire in his eyes, the way he looks like he’s standing on the edge of something dangerous.
Quinn drags a hand down his face. “Don’t do this,” he mutters.
He lifts his hand — hesitates — then brushes his fingers against your wrist.
Your skin erupts with goosebumps, a shiver running down your spine.
“You don’t react to him like this,” he continues. “Not the way you do with me.”
“You don’t know that,” you whisper.
His eyes flick to your mouth.
“I do.”
That’s when he leans in.
His hand comes up to your jaw, thumb pressing just under your chin, tilting your face up. His forehead rests against yours for half a second — a pause that feels like the last chance to stop.
You don’t. You can’t.
Quinn kisses you.
It’s heated instantly — all restraint burned away by jealousy and frustration. His mouth moves against yours like he’s been holding this in for too long, like he’s angry at himself for wanting you and doing it anyway.
You kiss him back without thinking. His hand braced beside you, your fingers twisted in his shirt. It’s quiet enough that you forget where you are.
“Hey, I—”
Nico’s voice.
You freeze.
Quinn turns slowly, like he already knows what he’s going to see. Nico stands at the end of the hallway, eyes wide, confusion flashing into something sharper — hurt, disbelief.
Silence stretches.
“What’s going on?” Nico asks, voice quiet. Too quiet.
You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.
Quinn steps back immediately, hands lifting like he’s surrendering, but the damage is done. Nico’s gaze flicks between you — the flushed cheeks, the heavy breathing. You both look like deers caught in headlights.
“Oh,” Nico says softly.
He swallows hard, and nods once, like he’s trying to hold himself together.
“I didn’t know,” he starts. “I thought… I thought I was just imagining things–”
You take a step toward him. “Nico—”
He backs away gently, like he doesn’t want to hear it. “I need some air.”
The door closes behind him, the sound of the click feeling like a bullet to your stomach.
————————————————————————
I think I’m going to leave this story open ended this way! You can decide what happens next!
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eure hoheit | knight!nico hischier x princess!reader
☆ summary: nico, deciding to keep serving his country, breaks his contract with the devils. he remains a soldier and climbs the ranks very quickly. one day, he’s entrusted with the most important job, ihrer hoheit princesa y/n’s personal protector. there’s just one catch - he can’t fall in love.
☆ pairing: nico hischier x reader
☆ content: forbidden love, fluff, soft!nico
☆ word count: 8.6k
☆ warnings: my german is not great
☆ note: this took me SO LONG to write. hope you enjoy <3
☆ listen to this for the best experience
The fluorescent lights of the Prudential Center's home team corridor hummed their familiar tune as Nico Hischier sat alone in full gear, his #13 jersey pristine against the scuffed wooden bench. Outside, twenty thousand fans cheered for warm-ups, their voices a distant roar that had once made his heart sing. Now, it only made his chest tighten with something like grief.
His phone sat face-up on the bench beside him, the email still open. Subject line: Contract Extension Negotiations - Final Offer.
Seven years. Ninety-eight million dollars. Full no-movement clause. The captaincy secured for the remainder of his prime.
Everything he'd worked for since he was six years old.
"You coming out there, Cap, or are you planning to win this game from the locker room?"
Nico looked up to find Jack Hughes leaning against the doorframe, his eyes bright with pre-game energy.
"Two minutes," Nico said, his accent thickening the way it always did when his emotions ran high. "I need two minutes."
Jack's smile faltered. "You good? You've been weird all week." He paused, his gaze dropping to the phone. "Is it contract stuff? Because if Fitzgerald is lowballing you, we'll riot. Literally. I'll organize it myself."
"No, it's..." Nico picked up the phone, thumb hovering over the screen. "It's good. Very good. More than fair."
"Then what’s eating you?"
Nico huffed a laugh despite himself. "Nothing."
Jack stepped fully into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him. The crowd noise dimmed to a muffled pulse. "Talk to me. You're my captain. But you're also my friend, man. What's going on?"
Nico set the phone down and started unlacing his skates slowly, trying to find the right words. How could he explain to someone who had always been meant for NHL stardom, whose whole life was hockey, that sometimes the rink felt too small? That sometimes, late at night, he still remembered holding the SIG SG 550 and the sense of purpose that came from serving something bigger than himself?
"Do you remember 2020?" Nico asked finally. "When I went home for mandatory service?"
Jack frowned. "Yeah, of course. Pandemic year."
Nico pulled off his right skate. "Everyone thought I was crazy. My agent, the team, the media. Why not defer? Why not get an exemption? I was the first overall pick. I had responsibilities here."
"But you went anyway," Jack said quietly.
"I went anyway." Nico reached for his left skate. "And something happened while I was there. Something I didn't expect."
"What?"
Nico looked up, meeting Jack's eyes. "I found out who I was when I wasn't a hockey player."
The words hung between them. Outside, the crowd began a rhythmic stomp that shook the walls. The Devils wanted their captain. The Devils needed their captain.
"Nico-"
"I'm not re-signing, Jack."
The younger man physically recoiled, as if Nico had slapped him. "What? No. No, you're not. You can't be serious. This is your team. You're the captain. You're the best thing that's happened to this franchise since-"
"Since you," Nico interrupted gently. "And Jesper. And Dawson. And all the others. The team doesn't need me anymore. Not really. You're ready."
"Ready for what?" Jack's voice cracked. "Ready to watch you walk away? Ready to tell the guys that our captain, the guy who taught me what leadership actually means, decided that we aren't worth it?"
Nico stood abruptly, his skates dangling from his hand. "It's not about worth, Jack. It's about duty. There are things happening in the world, things bigger than hockey, and I have skills that could make a difference."
"So go be a spokesperson. Do charity work. Pull a Crosby and show up at military bases for photo ops." Jack was pacing now, his stick clattering against the benches. "You don't have to throw away your entire career."
"I'm not throwing it away. I'm choosing something else."
"Choosing to what? Go play soldier? This isn't a game, Nico. This is your life."
"Exactly." Nico's voice came out harder than he intended. "My life. Not the team's. Not the league's. Mine."
The door burst open and Timo Meier stuck his head in, his expression annoyed. "Are you two coming or-" He stopped, reading the room. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Nico said.
"He's quitting," Jack said simultaneously.
Timo went very still. "Quitting what?"
"Hockey," Jack spat the word. "Apparently, we're not exciting enough. He'd rather go march around in the Swiss Alps with a gun."
"Jack-" Nico started.
"Is this true?" Timo asked.
Nico couldn't look at him. "I haven't made a final decision."
"Liar." Jack's voice was quiet now, which was somehow worse than the yelling. "You've already decided. That's why you look like that. You've already made up your mind, and now you're just waiting for the right time to break all our hearts."
"The season ends in three weeks," Nico said, forcing himself to meet their eyes. "I'll finish out my contract. I'll give everything I have until the final buzzer. And then-"
"And then you abandon us." Jack shook his head. "Cool. Great. Good to know where we stand."
He pushed past Timo and walked down the corridor. The sound of his skates on the concrete echoed behind him.
Timo stayed in the doorway, his expression unreadable. Finally, he said, "Is this about Valais?"
Nico looked up quickly. During his service, he had spent time in the Valais canton, helping with disaster relief after avalanches. He had pulled a family of four from a collapsed chalet, working through the night in freezing temperatures. He’d saved eleven people that week. Eleven lives that had nothing to do with goals or assists or playoff runs.
"It's about a lot of things," Nico said carefully.
"You saved those people because you were there. Because you had the training and the strength and the will." Timo stepped fully into the room, letting the door close again. "But you know what got you that strength? What gave you that will?"
"Timo-"
"Hockey, Nico. This game made you who you are. The discipline, the teamwork, the ability to perform under pressure. You didn't learn that in the army. You learned it here." He gestured around the locker room. "You learned it from your father, skating at dawn before school. You learned it from every coach who pushed you, every teammate who trusted you."
"I know that."
"Do you? Because it sounds like you're trying to convince yourself that this life meant nothing. That we mean nothing."
"You mean everything," Nico said fiercely. "This team, this game, it's shaped my entire life. But maybe that's the problem. Maybe I need to find out what else I can be."
"The Swiss Army doesn't just let professional athletes waltz back in and climb the ranks, you know. There are protocols. Commitments."
"I know."
"You've already contacted them, haven't you?"
Nico's silence was answer enough.
"Christ, Nico." Timo ran a hand through his hair. "When?"
"Three months ago. Just exploratory conversations at first. But then they mentioned an opportunity. Something specialized. They said they needed someone with my... particular combination of skills."
"What kind of opportunity?"
"I can't talk about it."
Timo looked at him for a long time. Nico could tell he was thinking about the secrecy, the timing, and the way Nico already seemed resigned to his choice.
"Does it matter?" Timo asked finally. "Whether I try to change your mind?"
"No," Nico said honestly. "But I hope you'll try anyway. I hope you'll all try, because it'll make this real. It'll remind me what I'm giving up."
"That's messed up, man."
"I know."
Timo moved to the bench and sat down heavily, his stick clattering to the floor. "How long have you known?"
"That I wasn't going to re-sign? Since January. Since the call came."
"The call."
"From Bern. From the Kommando Spezialkräfte command."
Timo's eyes widened. "The KSK? Nico, that's, those are special forces. That's not serving your country. That's-"
"I know what it is."
"Do you? Because those guys don't play games. They don't get summers off. They don't sign autographs and do charity golf tournaments."
"I know."
"You could die."
"People die playing hockey too."
"That's not the same, and you know it."
Nico bent to retrieve his skates, lacing them back up with practiced efficiency. "We have a game to play. Twenty thousand people paid to watch us play hockey, not have therapy sessions."
"Nico-"
"Please, Timo. Please just, let me have this. Let me finish the season as a hockey player. Let me be your captain just a little longer. And then we can fight about it. We can yell and argue and you can tell me I'm making the biggest mistake of my life. But right now, I need to go out there and do my job."
Timo watched him finish lacing up, his jaw working like he was physically holding back words. Finally, he stood and picked up his stick.
"You're still my captain," he said. "On the ice and off. That doesn't change just because you're being an idiot."
"Thanks, I think."
"And Nico?" Timo paused at the door. "Whatever this specialized opportunity is, whatever they want you for, be careful. The army isn't hockey. You don't get to respawn after a bad shift."
"I'll be careful."
"Liar," Timo said, echoing Jack's words. But this time, there was something almost fond in it. "You've never been careful a day in your life."
He left, and Nico was alone again with the muffled roar of the crowd and the weight of his choice.
His phone buzzed. Another text, this time from his mother.
Liebling, your father and I are so proud. Whatever you decide, we support you. But please, call us. Let us hear your voice. Let us know you're certain.
He wasn't certain. That was the hell of it. How could anyone be certain about throwing away the dream they'd chased since childhood? How could anyone be sure that the path not taken was the right one?
But certainty wasn't the point. Purpose was.
Nico stood, rolled his shoulders, and reached for his helmet. Through the walls, he could hear the announcer beginning player introductions. Could hear the roar that went up when they called Jack's name, then Timo's.
"And your captain, number thirteen, from Naters, Switzerland: Nico Hischier!"
The sound was deafening, worshipful, home.
Nico took a breath, opened the door, and skated into the light.
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･
A few weeks later, the season ended not with glory but with a gentleman's sweep in the second round. Five games against the Canes, each one closer than the last, each one a reminder that this team was good but not yet great. They needed another year, maybe two. They needed time to develop chemistry, to learn how to win when it mattered most.
They needed their captain.
After Game 5, the locker room was quiet except for the sounds of players taking off their gear and cutting away tape. Nico sat in his stall, still in uniform, letting the moment sink in. This was the last time he would wear this jersey, see this crest, and be with these teammates.
Sheldon Keefe, their head coach, stood in the center of the room, his weathered face carved with lines that spoke of a thousand games coached, a thousand lessons learned.
"Gentlemen," he said, his voice rough. "Hell of a season. Hell of a fight. You've got nothing to be ashamed of."
Silence.
"We're young. We're getting better. And next year…" He paused, his eyes finding Nico's. "Next year, we'll be back here, and we'll be ready."
More silence. Everyone knew. Somehow, word had spread, probably through Jack, who'd barely spoken to Nico in three weeks, and now the whole room knew that their captain was leaving. That there wouldn't be a next year, not with Nico wearing the C.
Keefe cleared his throat. "Hischier. Got something to say?"
Nico stood slowly, his legs shaking in a way they never did on the ice. Every eye in the room turned to him, Jack's angry and hurt, Timo's resigned and sad, Jesper's confused, Dawson's betrayed.
"I…" His voice cracked. He tried again. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what?" Jack asked, his tone sharp. "Sorry for quitting on us, or sorry you got caught?"
"Jack-" Timo started.
"No, he deserves to hear it. We all do." Jack stood, his hair still wet from the shower, his eyes blazing. "You're our captain, Nico. You're supposed to lead us. You're supposed to be the guy who shows us how to be better, how to fight through adversity, how to never give up. And instead, what? You're giving up."
"I'm not giving up," Nico said quietly. "I'm choosing differently."
"That's the same thing!"
"It's not." Nico looked around the room, meeting each player's eyes in turn. "I love this team. I love this game. But I can't be the man you need me to be if I don't know who I am outside of hockey."
"That's lies," Gritsyuk muttered.
"Maybe it is," Nico agreed. "But it's mine. My choice. My life."
"What about our lives?" Jesper Bratt spoke up. "What about what we need? We built this team around you, Nico. You and Jack. You're the foundation."
"Jack is the foundation," Nico corrected. "I was just keeping the seat warm until he was ready."
"Don't put this on me," Jack snapped. "Don't you dare make me the reason you're abandoning us."
"I'm not-"
"Yes, you are! You're standing there acting like you're doing us some kind of favor, like you're nobly stepping aside, when really you're just…" Jack's voice broke. "You're just leaving."
The room fell silent again. Nico felt something crack in his chest, felt the weight of every eye, every judgment, every disappointed heart.
"You're right," he said finally. "I am leaving. And I know that hurts. I know it feels like betrayal. But I need you to understand something, all of you. This isn't about hockey not being enough. It's about me needing to know that I'm more than a hockey player."
"Why?" Dawson Mercer asked, genuinely confused. "Why do you need to be more? You're already the best captain in the league. You're already leading us to-"
"To what?" Nico interrupted. "To second-round exits? To 'good but not great'? You don't need me for that. You need someone who wants this more than anything else in the world. Someone who doesn't lie awake at night wondering if there's a bigger purpose."
"And you think the military is a bigger purpose than this?" Jack gestured around the room. "Than us?"
"I think it's a different purpose. One I need to explore."
Keefe stepped forward, his hand landing on Nico's shoulder. "You served during the pandemic. You fulfilled your duty. Why go back?"
"Because they asked," Nico said simply. "Because they have a job that needs doing, and they think I'm the right person for it."
"What job?"
"I can't say."
Keefe studied him for a long moment, and Nico saw recognition flicker in the old coach's eyes. He'd been around long enough to recognize classified when he saw it, to understand that some things couldn't be spoken aloud.
"When do you leave?" Keefe asked.
"Tomorrow."
The room erupted.
"Tomorrow?!"
"Are you kidding me?"
"We don't even get a proper goodbye?"
Nico weathered the storm, standing still while anger and hurt crashed over him. He deserved it. All of it.
When the noise finally died down, Timo stood and moved to Nico's side, a united front even in disagreement.
"Listen," Timo said, his voice cutting through the tension. "We can be pissed at him. We can think he's making a mistake. But he's still our captain until midnight tonight, and he deserves better than this."
"He deserves what he's giving us," Jack shot back. "Nothing."
"Jack-"
"No, I'm done. I'm done pretending this is okay. I'm done acting like it's noble or brave or whatever plastic spin we're supposed to put on it." Jack grabbed his bag and headed for the door. "Good luck with your new mission, Cap. Hope it's worth it."
The door slammed behind him.
One by one, the others filtered out, some offering handshakes, some unable to meet Nico's eyes, some crying openly. Within twenty minutes, only Nico, Timo, and Keefe remained.
"You're breaking that kid's heart," Keefe said quietly. "You know that, right?"
"I know."
"He looks up to you. More than anyone. His whole family, his brothers, his parents, they all talk about how you took him under your wing. How you made him better."
"He made himself better. I just showed him it was possible."
"And now you're showing him it's possible to quit."
The words hit like a slap shot to the chest. "That's not-"
"Isn't it?" Keefe's expression was sad, not angry. "From his perspective? From all their perspectives? You're the guy who worked harder than everyone, who never complained, who always put the team first. And now you're choosing something else. How is that not quitting?"
Nico had no answer.
Timo spoke up. "It's not quitting if you're choosing to serve your country. It's not quitting if you're answering a calling."
"It's quitting this team," Keefe said bluntly. "And that's what they'll remember. Not the goals or the assists or the leadership. They'll remember that when things got hard, when the team needed you most, you chose to walk away."
"That's not fair," Nico said, but there was no heat in it.
"Life's not fair, kid. You of all people should know that." Keefe grabbed his clipboard and headed for the door. "For what it's worth, I think you're making a mistake. But I also think you know that. And I think you're doing it anyway because you're stubborn and idealistic and you've convinced yourself that suffering through this choice somehow makes it the right one."
He paused at the door. "Your new employers are lucky to have you. Just make sure you're not doing this to prove something to yourself. That's a terrible reason to throw away the best thing in your life."
Then he was gone, and it was just Nico and Timo in the empty locker room.
"He's not wrong," Timo said after a long silence.
"I know."
"You could still change your mind. Call Bern. Tell them you made a mistake."
"I didn't make a mistake."
"Then why do you look so miserable?"
Nico sank back onto the bench, his head in his hands. "Because loving something and needing to leave it aren't mutually exclusive."
Timo sat beside him, their shoulders touching the way they had a thousand times before. "Tell me about the mission. Even if you can't give me details, tell me why."
"Do you remember, I told you about Valais, when I pulled that little girl out of the snow? Maria, I think her name was. She was maybe six years old."
"I remember."
"She grabbed my hand when we lifted her out. Wouldn't let go the whole way to the hospital. Just held on like I was the only solid thing in her world."
"You saved her life, Nico."
"I know. And it felt, Timo, it felt more important than any goal I've ever scored. More real. Like I was finally doing something that mattered beyond the next game, the next season."
"Hockey matters," Timo said quietly. "To those kids in the crowd tonight. To the guys in this room. To everyone who watches and dreams."
"I know that too. But it matters to them. This, the thing in Bern, the mission they're offering, it matters to me. And I think I need to find out what it feels like to do something that's mine. Not the team's. Not the fans'. Mine."
Timo nodded slowly. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Yeah. I don't like it. I think you're being an idiot. But I understand it." He stood and offered Nico his hand. "Promise me something, though."
"Anything."
"Don't die. Because if you die doing some classified crap in the mountains, I'm going to be really pissed at you."
Nico took his hand and pulled himself up. "I promise not to die."
"And write to me. I don't care if it has to be in code or whatever. Just let me know you're alive."
"I will."
They stood there for a moment, two friends who'd been through everything together, now standing at a crossroads where only one of them could continue.
"For what it's worth," Timo said, "I think you'll be a great soldier. You were always too selfless for hockey anyway."
"That's not true."
"It is, though. The best captains are selfish. They want the Cup more than anything. They're willing to sacrifice everything, relationships, health, ethics, whatever, to win. But you? You'd sacrifice the Cup if it meant saving one person. That makes you a good man, Nico. But it doesn't make you a champion."
The words could have hurt, but instead, they felt like a kind of relief. It was permission to be himself, not just what others expected.
"Thank you," Nico said.
"For what?"
"For getting it. Even when you don't agree."
Timo smiled sadly. "That's what brothers do."
They embraced, a long, tight hug that said everything they couldn't put into words. Then Timo grabbed his bag and headed for the door.
"Hey, Timo?"
"Yeah?"
"Take care of Jack for me. He's going to need someone."
"I will. But Nico? He's not going to forgive you. Not for a long time."
"I know."
"Good. As long as you know what you're losing."
Then he was gone, and Nico was left alone with his memories and thoughts about all the games and choices in his past.
He looked around the locker room one last time, at his nameplate, at his stall, at the C hanging from his jersey. He thought about taking it, keeping it as a reminder. But that felt dishonest somehow. That letter belonged to the team, not to him.
So he just walked away, turning off the lights behind him and leaving the Prudential Center dark.
Outside, the New Jersey night was warm and sticky, the kind of weather that promised summer was coming. Nico stood in the parking lot, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and looked up at the arena one last time.
His phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number, just one word. Bereit?
Nico typed back. Ja
The response was immediate. Gut. Ihr Flug nach Zürich startet um 06:00 Uhr. Ein Wagen wird Sie um 04:30 Uhr abholen. Bringen Sie nichts mit, was Sie nicht tragen können. Alles andere wird gestellt.
Nico pocketed his phone and headed for his apartment, where he'd already packed everything that mattered into a single duffel bag. His passport, his Swiss ID card, a photo of his family, and a puck from his first NHL goal.
Everything else, the awards, the jerseys, the memories, he was leaving behind.
Because the thing about starting over, Nico had learned, was that you couldn't take the old life with you. You had to let it go completely, or you'd never be free to become someone new.
Tomorrow, he would climb into that car and fly to Switzerland and begin a journey that would test him in ways hockey never had.
Tomorrow, he would stop being Captain Nico Hischier and start being Private Hischier.
Tomorrow, everything would change.
But tonight, for just a few more hours, he was still a hockey player. Still wore the weight of that C, even if only in memory.
And he let himself mourn.
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･
Eighteen Months Later
The alpine wind cut through the valley like a knife, carrying with it the scent of pine and snow and cordite. Hauptmann Nico Hischier, Captain Hischier, although it meant something different now, lay prone on the rocky outcrop, his SIG MCX Rattler pressed to his shoulder, his breathing controlled and measured.
Below, in the simulated hostage situation, his team moved with the precision of a Swiss watch. Four operators, each one selected from the absolute best the Swiss Armed Forces had to offer, each one willing to die for the others.
Each one now under Nico's command.
"Viper Two, status," Nico murmured into his radio, his Swiss German crisp and professional.
"In position, over. Clear line to the primary target."
"Viper Three?"
"Ready on your mark, Hauptmann."
Eighteen months. That's how long it had taken to go from promising recruit to commanding officer of one of the most elite units in the KSK. Eighteen months of training that made his hockey conditioning look like a warm-up skate. Eighteen months of learning to kill efficiently, to make impossible decisions, to carry the weight of lives that depended on his judgment.
Eighteen months since he'd watched a hockey game, spoken to his former teammates, or thought seriously about the life he'd left behind.
"Execute," Nico said calmly.
The operation unfolded like poetry, breaching charges, flash-bangs, precise movements, simulated hostages extracted with zero casualties. Nico watched through his scope, tracking every movement, every decision, ready to provide covering fire if needed.
Not needed. His team was perfect.
"All clear," came the call. "Hostages secure. Zero friendly casualties."
Nico allowed himself a small smile. "Solid work. Extract and rendezvous at Point Charlie for debrief."
He was packing up his rifle when the radio crackled again, this time with a different voice. "Hauptmann Hischier, this is Command. You are to report to Colonel Weber immediately upon return to base. Repeat, immediately. Priority Alpha."
Priority Alpha. That meant classified. That meant something big.
"Acknowledged, Command. ETA forty minutes."
The drive back to the base at Isone was quiet. Nico's team, sensing his distraction, left him alone with his thoughts. Through the window, the Swiss Alps rose like cathedrals. Somewhere out there, on the other side of the world, the NHL season was starting. The Devils were probably watching from home again, still rebuilding, still learning.
He wondered if they ever thought about him. He wondered if Jack had forgiven him yet.
He wondered why it still hurt to wonder.
"Sir?" His driver, a young corporal named Fuchs, glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "You look concerned. Is everything alright?"
"Just thinking, Fuchs."
"About the mission?"
"About choices."
Fuchs nodded sagely, though at twenty-two he probably had no idea what Nico meant. "My father always says the hardest choices are the ones where both answers are right. It's easier when one option is clearly wrong."
"Your father sounds wise."
"He's a postman in Lucerne," Fuchs said with a grin. "But he reads a lot."
Despite everything, Nico laughed.
Colonel Weber was waiting in his office when Nico arrived, still in tactical gear, smelling of gunpowder and mountain air. The Colonel was a stern man in his late fifties, with iron-gray hair and eyes that had seen things he would never speak about. He'd been the one to approve Nico's transfer to the KSK, the one who'd taken a chance on an athlete with no formal military background beyond basic service.
"Hauptmann," Weber said without preamble. "Sit."
Nico sat, his posture automatic and correct.
"Your performance continues to exceed expectations," Weber continued. "Your team has the highest success rate in simulations, your tactical assessments are consistently sound, and your men would follow you into hell."
"Thank you, sir."
"Don't thank me yet. I'm about to ask you to prove all of that in a way you're not going to like."
Nico waited.
Weber opened a file on his desk, an actual physical file, which meant whatever this was, it wasn't staying on any servers. "Are you familiar with the House of Hohenberg?"
"The... the royal family?" Nico's brow furrowed. "I thought Switzerland didn't have royalty."
"We don't. They do."
"Sir?"
Weber slid a photograph across the desk. It showed a young woman, maybe twenty-four or twenty-five, with dark hair pulled back in an elegant twist, gray eyes that seemed to see through the camera, and a bearing that suggested she'd been trained from birth to carry weight.
"Ihre Hoheit Prinzessin Y/N of Hohenberg," Weber said. "Crown Princess of Liechtenstein."
Nico stared at the photo. Liechtenstein. The tiny principality nestled in the Rhine Valley, technically independent but with deep ties to Switzerland through defense and economic agreements.
"She's beautiful," Nico said, then immediately regretted it. "I mean, she looks, why are you showing me this, sir?"
Weber's expression didn't change. "Three weeks ago, we intercepted communications suggesting a credible threat against the Princess's life. The details are classified, but the gist is this: someone wants her dead, and they have the resources to make it happen."
"The Liechtenstein police-"
"Are capable but limited. This threat operates at an international level. It requires expertise and resources they don't possess." Weber leaned back in his chair. "The Prince Regent has personally requested that Switzerland provide a protective detail. Specifically, he has requested our most capable operator."
The pieces clicked into place. "No."
"Yes."
"Sir, I'm not a bodyguard. I'm a tactical operator. I breach buildings and extract hostages. I don't stand around in a suit looking intimidating."
"You will for this assignment."
"There has to be someone better suited for this."
"There isn't." Weber's voice was final. "You have the tactical skills. You have the physical capability. You have the mental discipline. And perhaps most importantly, you have the public profile."
"My what?"
"Hauptmann, you were the captain of an NHL team. You're recognizable, which means anyone trying to approach the Princess with you nearby will know they're being watched by someone capable. It's a deterrent."
"It's also a target on my back."
"Yes. Which is why you'll be provided with a full support team. But the primary responsibility, of being her shadow, her shield, her last line of defense, that's yours."
Nico looked down at the photograph again. Prinzessin Y/N stared back at him, her expression serene and composed. She looked like someone who'd never had a choice about her life, someone who'd been told from birth exactly who she was supposed to be.
He knew that feeling.
"How long?" he asked.
"Indefinite. Until the threat is neutralized or until she no longer requires protection."
"That could be years."
"It could be decades."
"Sir-"
"I know what I'm asking, Hauptmann. I know this isn't what you signed up for. But the Prince Regent specifically requested you by name. He's seen your file, your record. He wants the best, and right now, that's you."
Nico sat back, his mind racing. This wasn't a combat mission. This wasn't what he'd left hockey for. Standing around in formal settings, attending state dinners, playing dress-up soldier while real operators did real work, it sounded like a nightmare.
But then he looked at the photograph again and saw something in Prinzessin Y/N's eyes. A kind of loneliness. A weight.
"What's she like?" he asked. "Personally?"
Weber hesitated. "I've never met her. But the reports suggest she's... complicated. Brilliant, by all accounts. Speaks six languages. Studied international relations at Oxford. But also isolated. The role of Crown Princess doesn't leave much room for friendship or trust."
"Meaning she might not want a bodyguard."
"Meaning she definitely doesn't want a bodyguard. Which is why this will be challenging."
Nico closed his eyes, thinking of Jack's angry words in that locker room. You're just leaving. Thinking of Timo's sad smile. Don't die. Thinking of his own voice, brave and certain: I'm choosing differently.
This was different. This was service. This was protecting someone who couldn't protect herself.
But it was also standing still. Watching instead of acting. Being present instead of leading.
"Is there a choice here, sir?" Nico asked quietly. "Or are you just being polite?"
Weber almost smiled. "There's always a choice, Hauptmann. But some choices have consequences that make them less appealing than others. If you decline, you'll continue in your current role. No black mark on your record. No punishment. But you'll also know that you turned down a direct request from an allied head of state, and that might affect future opportunities."
"So, not really a choice."
"Not really, no."
Nico stood, came to attention. "When do I start?"
"Tomorrow. A helicopter will take you to Vaduz. You'll meet with the Prince Regent and his security team, undergo a briefing on protocols and threat assessment, and then you'll be introduced to Prinzessin Y/N."
"Does she know I'm coming?"
"She knows someone is coming. She doesn't know it's you."
"Because?"
"Because the Prince Regent thought it best not to give her time to object. She's... strong-willed."
"Fantastic," Nico muttered.
Weber stood as well, extending his hand. "For what it's worth, Hauptmann, I think you're the right choice for this. You have a rare combination of humility and competence. You'll keep her safe."
"Keeping her safe is one thing, sir. Keeping her from hating me might be harder."
"Probably. But that's why you make the big money."
Nico snorted. "I make the same as every other Hauptmann, sir."
"Then I guess you're doing it for the glory."
They shook hands, and Nico turned to leave. At the door, he paused.
"Sir? The file mentioned one more thing. About the assignment."
Weber's expression grew carefully neutral. "Yes?"
"It mentioned a... stipulation. About personal involvement."
"Ah. Yes." Weber cleared his throat. "The Prince Regent was very clear. Your job is to protect Prinzessin Y/N. Not to befriend her. Not to advise her. And absolutely, under no circumstances, are you to develop romantic feelings for her."
"That's an unusual condition."
"The Princess is in line for the throne. Any romantic entanglement with someone of your... background... would be politically complicated."
"You mean someone who's not nobility."
"I mean someone who, six months ago, was shooting targets in a training facility and not attending diplomatic functions. The distinction matters in her world."
Nico nodded slowly. "Understood, sir. Professional distance at all times."
"Exactly. You're there to keep her alive, Hauptmann. Not to fall in love with her."
"That shouldn't be a problem, sir. I'm very good at following orders."
Weber raised an eyebrow. "Are you? Because your file suggests you left a multi-million dollar contract to follow your conscience instead. That doesn't exactly scream 'good at following orders.'"
"That was different."
"Was it?"
Nico had no answer to that.
He saluted, received Weber's return salute, and walked out into the fading alpine sunset, wondering what the hell he'd just agreed to.
Behind him, in the office, Weber returned to his desk and pulled out another file. This one had no photographs, only dense text and redacted sections.
At the top, in bold letters: OPERATION HOHENBERG - THREAT ASSESSMENT - EYES ONLY
And below that, in smaller text: Note: Principal subject unaware of full scope of threat. Maintain operational security at all costs. Protective detail must remain vigilant for internal as well as external threats.
Weber closed the file and locked it in his safe.
Some things, he'd decided, the Hauptmann didn't need to know yet.
Some things would only make the job harder.
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･
The helicopter touched down on the immaculate lawn of Schloss Vaduz just as the sun broke over the eastern peaks, painting the castle in shades of gold and rose. Nico had seen beautiful things in his life, but there was something almost painfully pristine about this place, like a postcard come to life.
"Hauptmann Hischier?" A man in an impeccable dark suit waited at the landing pad, his posture suggesting military background despite the civilian clothes. "I am Herr Dietrich, Chief of the Princess's household staff. If you'll follow me, His Serene Highness is waiting."
Nico grabbed his single duffel bag, everything he owned, just like when he'd left New Jersey, and followed Dietrich across the lawn. The castle loomed above them, all white stone and red tile roofs, flags snapping in the mountain breeze. Somewhere inside those walls was a woman who didn't know her life was about to change.
Join the club, Nico thought.
The Prince Regent received him in a study that looked like it had been furnished in the 1700s and hadn't been updated since. Prince Maximilian von und zu Liechtenstein was in his early sixties, with the kind of aristocratic features that suggested centuries of careful breeding. His handshake was firm, his eyes assessing.
"Hauptmann Hischier. Thank you for coming on such short notice."
"Your Serene Highness." Nico bowed slightly, the way Weber had coached him on the helicopter ride. "I'm honored to serve."
"Please, sit. Coffee?"
"Thank you, yes."
They settled into leather chairs that probably cost more than Nico's first car. An attendant materialized with a silver service, poured, and disappeared without a word.
"I suppose you're wondering why I requested you specifically," the Prince Regent began.
"The thought crossed my mind, sir."
"I saw you play, you know. Two years ago, when the Devils came to Zurich for preseason. My grandson is a hockey fan, insisted we attend." The Prince smiled slightly. "You scored twice. But what impressed me was the third period, when one of your teammates was injured. You were everywhere, blocking shots, killing penalties, leading by example. I remember thinking, 'That's a man who understands duty.'"
Nico shifted uncomfortably. "That was just hockey, sir."
"Was it? Because from what I understand, you walked away from that life to serve your country. That suggests it was never 'just' anything."
"With respect, sir, protecting a hockey puck and protecting a person are very different things."
"Are they?" The Prince set down his cup. "Both require discipline. Both require putting yourself between danger and what you're trying to protect. Both require split-second decisions that can determine success or failure."
"A failed save in hockey means a goal against. A failed save in my current line of work means someone dies."
"Exactly. Which is why I need someone who understands the weight of that responsibility." The Prince leaned forward. "Hauptmann, my daughter is the most important person in this principality. When I die, which, God willing, won't be for many years, she will be the sovereign ruler of Liechtenstein. She will make decisions that affect 39,000 people. She will negotiate treaties, manage our economy, represent us on the world stage. She is, quite literally, irreplaceable."
"I understand, sir."
"I don't think you do. Not yet." The Prince stood and walked to the window, gazing out over the valley below. "Y/N was eight years old when her mother died. A car accident, black ice, a curve taken too fast, wrong place at the wrong time. Since then, she has been preparing for a role she never wanted, carrying a burden she never asked for. And she has done it with grace and dignity and absolutely no complaint."
"She sounds remarkable."
"She is. She's also stubborn, independent, and deeply resentful of anything she perceives as restrictions on her freedom." The Prince turned back to face Nico. "Which brings us to the current problem. Three weeks ago, we received credible intelligence that someone intends to harm her. We don't know who, we don't know exactly when, but we know the threat is real. And when I told Y/N she would be assigned a personal protection officer, she told me 'I would rather take my chances with an assassin than have some military thug following me around like a shadow.'"
Nico couldn't help it. He laughed. The Prince raised an eyebrow, and Nico quickly composed himself. "I'm sorry, sir. That was inappropriate."
"No, it was honest. Which is refreshing." The Prince almost smiled. "She's going to make your life hell, Hauptmann. You should know that going in."
"I've dealt with difficult personalities before, sir. NHL locker rooms aren't exactly known for being easy."
"Did any of your teammates have the authority to have you fired with a single phone call?"
"Well. No."
"Y/N does. She can't override my decision to assign you, I am still the Prince Regent, after all, but she can make working conditions so unpleasant that you'll want to quit. And she will try. Not because she dislikes you personally, but because she dislikes the idea of you."
"The idea of being protected."
"The idea of being controlled. To Y/N, a bodyguard isn't safety, it's a leash. Another reminder that her life isn't her own, that she can't make decisions without someone looking over her shoulder, that she's valuable as a symbol rather than as a person."
Nico was quiet for a moment, thinking about what the Prince was really saying. "You want me to protect her. But you also want me to help her accept being protected."
"I want you to keep her alive, Hauptmann. How you accomplish that is up to you." The Prince returned to his chair. "But I will tell you this: if you treat her like a fragile object to be guarded, she will rebel. If you treat her like a duty to be endured, she will sense it and respond accordingly. Your best chance of success is to remember that underneath the title, underneath the training and the protocol, she's a twenty-five-year-old woman who just wants to be treated like a human being."
"That seems reasonable."
"You'd think so. But you'd be surprised how many people forget." The Prince checked his watch. "She's currently in her morning language lesson, Mandarin, I believe. She'll be finished in twenty minutes, at which point Herr Dietrich will bring her here for the introduction. Any questions?"
About a thousand, Nico thought. But he settled for: "What does she know about the threat?"
"Very little. We've kept the details classified to avoid panic. She knows there have been 'concerns' but doesn't understand the severity."
"So I'm going to be a constant reminder of danger she doesn't fully comprehend."
"Yes."
"That's going to go well."
The Prince actually smiled this time. "I like you, Hauptmann. You're refreshingly direct for someone about to work in a royal household. Try to hold onto that. The palace has a way of making people forget how to be honest."
Twenty minutes later, Nico stood at attention as the study door opened and Herr Dietrich entered, followed by a young woman who managed to make simple athletic wear look somehow regal.
Prinzessin Y/N was smaller than he'd expected from the photographs, maybe five-foot-six, with her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail that suggested she hadn't bothered with formality for a language lesson. But her eyes, those gray eyes that had seemed penetrating in the photo, were even more striking in person. They swept over Nico with the kind of assessment that came from a lifetime of evaluating people within seconds.
She did not look impressed.
"Y/N, darling," the Prince Regent began, "this is-"
"I know who he is." Her voice was cultured, her English perfect but accented with the particular melody of German-speakers who'd learned the language young. "Nico Hischier. First overall pick, 2017. Captain of the New Jersey Devils until he quit to play soldier. The Swiss papers wouldn't shut up about it for months."
Nico blinked. He hadn't expected her to recognize him.
"I follow hockey," she said, as if reading his thoughts. "Or I did, before my schedule became too insane to watch anything recreational. You were good. Talented playmaker, excellent in the faceoff circle, surprisingly physical for your size." She turned to her father. "Is this a joke?"
"I assure you, it's not."
"You're assigning me a bodyguard who's famous? Someone every hockey fan in Central Europe will recognize on sight? How exactly is that supposed to keep me safe?"
"Hauptmann Hischier's profile is part of his value," the Prince said calmly. "His presence will be noticed, which serves as a deterrent."
"Or it makes me an even bigger target." Y/N crossed her arms. "This is ridiculous, Father. I don't need a babysitter."
"You need protection."
"I need privacy. I need autonomy. I need to be able to do my job without some," she gestured at Nico, "some athlete hovering over me constantly."
"I'm not an athlete anymore, Your Highness," Nico said quietly. It was the first time he'd spoken since she entered, and both she and her father looked at him in surprise. "I'm a soldier. And my job is to keep you safe, whether you want me to or not."
Y/N's eyes narrowed. "Oh, how wonderful. He has opinions."
"Y/N." the Prince warned.
"No, Father. If I'm going to be stuck with a shadow, I'd like to establish some ground rules." She turned to Nico fully, her posture aggressive despite her small stature. "First, you will not attend my private meetings. Second, you will not follow me into my personal quarters. Third, you will not offer unsolicited advice about anything. Not security, not protocol, not what I should wear or where I should go. You are here to stand between me and bullets, not to be my friend or confidant. Are we clear?"
Nico held her gaze steadily. "Crystal clear, Your Highness. With one modification."
"Excuse me?"
"I will absolutely attend your private meetings if I deem them a security risk. I will absolutely enter your personal quarters if I believe there's a threat. And I will absolutely offer advice when your safety is at stake, whether you've asked for it or not." He kept his voice level, professional. "Your Highness, I understand you don't want me here. That's fine. I'm not here to be wanted. I'm here to do a job. And that job is keeping you alive, which means sometimes I will make you uncomfortable, or angry, or frustrated. I apologize in advance for that. But I won't apologize for doing what I was assigned to do."
The room fell silent. The Prince Regent watched the exchange with something that might have been amusement. Y/N stared at Nico like she was trying to decide if he was incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.
"You can't talk to me like that," she said finally.
"With respect, Your Highness, I just did."
Her jaw clenched. "Father, I want him removed."
"No."
"I'm serious."
"So am I." The Prince stood, his expression sympathetic but firm. "Y/N, I know this isn't what you want. But it's what you need. And Hauptmann Hischier comes with the highest possible recommendations from Colonel Weber and the KSK. He's the best Switzerland has to offer."
"Then Switzerland's standards have fallen dramatically."
"That's enough." The Prince's voice hardened slightly. "You are a Crown Princess. You will treat the Hauptmann with the respect his service deserves, even if you disagree with his presence. Am I understood?"
Y/N's expression shuttered, becoming the careful mask Nico recognized from official photographs. "Yes, Father. Perfectly understood."
"Good. Hauptmann, Herr Dietrich will show you to your quarters and brief you on the Princess's schedule. You begin your duties immediately."
It was a dismissal. Nico bowed to the Prince, then turned to Y/N and offered a slight nod. "Your Highness."
She said nothing, just watched him with those gray eyes that seemed to catalogue every detail, every weakness, every angle of attack.
He followed Dietrich out, acutely aware of her gaze on his back until the door closed behind them.
"Well," Dietrich said as they walked through gilt-edged corridors, "that went about as well as expected."
"She hates me."
"She hates the situation. You're simply the most convenient target." Dietrich stopped at a door and produced a key. "Your quarters. They adjoin the Princess's suite. That door there connects, though it will remain locked from her side unless there's an emergency. You'll have access to enter if needed."
The room was larger than Nico's entire apartment in New Jersey had been, decorated in the same historical style as the rest of the palace. It felt like sleeping in a museum.
"The Princess's schedule," Dietrich continued, handing Nico a leather-bound folder, "is quite demanding. Morning language lessons, afternoon meetings with various ministers and advisors, evening state functions or charity events. Your presence will be required at all public events. For private functions, you'll maintain position outside the venue unless security concerns dictate otherwise."
"Does she ever relax?" Nico asked, flipping through the schedule. Every hour was accounted for, from 6 AM until midnight.
"Rarely. And when she does, she prefers to do so alone. Which is going to be a point of contention."
"When isn't it going to be a point of contention?"
Dietrich smiled slightly. "I like you, Hauptmann. You remind me of the Princess, actually. Both very direct. Both a bit too honest for palace life."
"She doesn't seem to like honesty much."
"She doesn't like being managed. There's a difference." Dietrich moved to the window, which overlooked a private garden. "Her Highness has spent her entire adult life being told what to do, where to go, what to say, how to behave. Every aspect of her existence is scrutinized and controlled. Your presence, however well-intentioned, represents one more restriction on her freedom."
"I'm trying to keep her alive, not control her."
"To her, those things feel the same."
Nico set down the folder. "How am I supposed to protect someone who fights me every step of the way?"
"That, Hauptmann, is the challenge. And I'm afraid I don't have an answer." Dietrich headed for the door. "Dinner is at eight, in the small dining room. The Princess expects you to attend. She wants to establish what she calls 'working parameters.' I'd suggest being prepared for an unpleasant evening."
"Great. Looking forward to it."
After Dietrich left, Nico unpacked his single duffel bag, uniforms, workout clothes, the photo of his family, the puck from his first NHL goal. Everything fit easily into one drawer. The rest of the room's elaborate furniture stood empty, waiting for a life he didn't have.
He picked up the photo, studying his parents' faces. They'd been supportive when he left hockey, confused but trusting. They'd be even more confused by this assignment.
His phone buzzed with a text from Timo, one of the few people who had his new number.
How's the new gig?
Complicated, Nico typed back.
Danger or boredom?
Both. Neither. I'll explain when I can.
That's cryptic even for you. Stay safe, yeah?
Always.
He set the phone down and walked to the connecting door, pressing his ear against it. Silence. Either the Princess was out, or she was very quiet.
Or she was on the other side, listening just like he was.
He stepped back, suddenly feeling like a creep. This was his job now, being close enough to protect her, but not so close that she felt invaded. It was an impossible balance, and he had a feeling he was going to fail at it spectacularly.
Outside, the alpine sun climbed higher, gilding the valley in gold. Somewhere in those mountains, someone was planning violence against a young woman who just wanted to be left alone.
And Nico's job was to stop them, while simultaneously being the person she wanted around least.
He'd faced hostile crowds before, had played through injuries that should have benched him, had led teams through impossible deficits.
But somehow, he suspected that winning over Prinzessin Y/N was going to be the hardest challenge of his life.
You can't fall in love, Weber had warned.
At the moment, Nico thought, that seemed like the least of his problems.
summary: jack and drea slip away to pack after he secures his own gold medal (nsfw)
a/n: it’s been too long lovelies
Adrenaline was high, clothes were off, and there was T-minus one hour until they had to officially leave the village. Luckily, Quinn was already gone with his luggage, probably spending his last hours in Milan with his girlfriend.
Jack and Drea—well, they were rather preoccupied. They’d told everyone that Jack still had more packing to do and that Andrea would help. Of course, this was unsuspecting to his family, but the rest of the team whistled at their departure from the celebrations.
Her knuckles were turning white as she fisted the sheets, knees digging into the mattress. Her perfectly curated gold medal game outfit was thrown askew across the floor, his right beside it. Jack smelled of beer and pure victory. They were practically bare—the only thing they hadn’t shed were their gold medals.
His hips drilled into Drea mercilessly, letting her little squeaks and moans fill the room. With every harsh thrust, his cold medal grazed her spine. Jack’s hands held her waist steady, sure to leave bruises later—but that was the last thing on either of their minds.
Sweat beaded at his hairline, like he was still playing the game, just in a different arena. His grip loosened slightly, one hand trailing south. As his hand dropped lower to her clit, he began rubbing clumsy circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves. Andrea’s back arched as Jack guided her flush against his chest.
The sounds of skin on skin filled the room as his lips found the gentle curve of her neck, letting moans spill from her mouth as he marked what was his.
Everything was too much for Drea; it was getting harder to hold herself up as her thighs shook. Jack could die a happy man with how tightly she clenched around him. She let the pleasure consume her completely, letting her head fall to his shoulder. His name left her lips in a broken whisper, and that alone nearly broke him.
His hips still met her ass in a broken rhythm, his arm supporting almost all of her body weight. Jack pressed his forehead against her shoulder, breath uneven, like he’d just come off another shift, filling her to the brim—not bothering to pull out just yet.
The room stilled as they came down from it all. They collapsed against the pillows, facing each other. This time her medal grazed his pec, sending a chill down his spine. There was a certain weight between them—like nothing they’d ever felt before, like they’d never feel this way again.
featuring ⬩➤ nico hischier x female wife!reader ft their two kids
genre ⬩➤ fluff
⬩➤ nico hischier masterlist
You wake before the sun does.
The house is still wrapped in that soft, quiet hush that only exists in the early morning hours—when the world feels paused just for you. Nico’s warmth is still beside you, his arm draped loosely over your waist, breath steady against your shoulder. He murmurs something in Swiss German in his sleep, brows twitching like he’s chasing a puck even in his dreams.
You smile to yourself.
Today is his birthday.
Carefully, you slip out from under his arm, easing yourself from the bed so you don’t wake him. The floor is cool under your feet as you pad into the kitchen, already mentally running through everything you want to make. This morning isn’t just any breakfast—it’s his breakfast.
Swiss German. Comforting. Familiar to the pair of you.
You tie your hair back, pull out the ingredients, and just as you’re about to start, you hear tiny footsteps behind you.
“Mama?”
You turn to see Isabelle standing in the doorway, hair a soft, messy halo around her face, wearing her oversized Devils hoodie that nearly swallows her. At seven years old, she already has Nico’s dark eyes and your smile.
“Hey, Izzy,” you whisper gently. “What are you doing up so early, love?”
She rubs her eyes and pads closer. “Is today Papa’s birthday?”
Your heart melts instantly.
“Yes, it is.”
Her face lights up like you just told her it’s Christmas. “Can I help?”
“Of course you can.”
She climbs onto one of the stools, legs swinging as you walk her through simple tasks—stirring batter, handing you ingredients, carefully sprinkling sugar like it’s the most important job in the world. You make rösti, warm bread, eggs just the way Nico likes, and a spread that smells like comfort and home.
Soon enough, another small voice joins the morning.
“Mama?”
Luca toddles in, clutching his stuffed devil plush under one arm, curls sticking up in every direction. At five, he is all energy and excitement, especially when it comes to his father.
“Papa birthday?” he asks, already bouncing.
“Yes, meine liebe. Papa’s birthday.”
He grins, wide and toothy. “I gonna say happy birthday loud.”
Izzy giggles. “Not yet. Papa’s still sleeping.”
Breakfast is ready just as Nico finally wanders into the kitchen, hair messy, eyes sleepy, wearing one of his old practice shirts. He pauses when he sees the table.
“Oh,” he breathes, switching into Swiss German without even thinking. “Was ist das??”
You smile softly. “Happy birthday, my love.”
The kids yell it at the same time—Luca does say it loud—and Nico laughs, pulling them both into his arms, kissing the tops of their heads.
“This is perfect,” he says sincerely, eyes meeting yours over their heads. “Thank you.”
You all sit together, the morning slow and warm. Nico eats like he hasn’t had a proper breakfast in years, praising everything, stealing bites from your plate, translating little bits of Swiss German for the kids while Izzy listens like it’s a secret language just for her.
Eventually, he sighs, glancing at the clock.
“I still have morning skate,” he says reluctantly. “But I’ll be home right after.”
“We know,” you say gently. “Go. We’ll be here.”
He kisses you long and slow, then bends down to hug the kids again. “Be good for Mama.”
“We gonna decorate!” Luca announces proudly.
Nico laughs. “I can’t wait to see.”
⸻
The second the front door closes, the house explodes into energy.
Balloons are everywhere—blue, white, shiny, matte. Izzy carefully tapes streamers while Luca insists on blowing up balloons himself, cheeks puffing dramatically. Two large blue balloons with 27 float proudly in the center of the room.
You move between them and the kitchen, baking the cake—chocolate, his favorite—while something rich simmers on the stove for dinner. You’ve invited the whole Devils crew. WAGs, kids, laughter. It’s going to be loud and full and perfect.
By the time the door opens again, the house smells like home and celebration.
“Papa’s home!” Izzy squeals.
He barely gets the door shut before Luca launches himself forward.
“PAPA!”
Nico catches him easily, spinning him around while Izzy wraps her arms around his leg. He laughs, breathless, eyes already soft with happiness.
“Hi, meiner kinder,” he murmurs.
He turns to you next, pulling you into a kiss that feels like grounding, like coming home after a long road trip.
“Something smells incredible,” he says.
You grin. “Go change into something nicer.”
He raises a brow. “Why?”
“For pictures,” you say casually. “Birthday pictures.”
He shrugs, smiling. “Okay.”
The moment the bedroom door closes, the house shifts into panic mode.
Everyone arrives quickly—teammates filing in, quiet laughter and soft chatter filling every corner. The living room is packed. Kids crouch behind furniture. Someone kills the lights.
The bedroom door opens.
“Okay, I’m ready—”
“SURPRISE!”
The lights flick on, cheers erupt, and Nico freezes.
His mouth drops open.
“Are you—” He laughs, stunned, eyes darting around the room. “Oh my god.”
You step forward, smiling through the chaos. “Happy birthday.”
He crosses the room in three strides and kisses you deeply, hands warm on your waist. “You did all this?”
“For you,” you whisper.
Dinner is loud before it’s even officially started.
The long dining table barely fits everyone—you had to add an extra folding table at the end—and even then, chairs are pulled close together, kids perched wherever there’s space. Blue-and-white napkins are scattered everywhere, and the smell of the food you spent all day cooking hangs warmly in the air.
Nico stands at the head of the table for a moment, watching it all like he’s afraid it might disappear if he blinks.
“This is insane,” he mutters, shaking his head with a fond laugh. “You invited everyone.”
You brush past him with a tray. “You only turn 27 once.”
Jack Hughes grins from his seat, already halfway through stealing a bread roll. “Correction—he turns 27 once. We eat like this whenever we can.”
“Jack,” Nico warns weakly, but he’s smiling too hard for it to land.
Jesper Bratt raises his glass. “Before we eat, I just want to say—happy birthday, kapten.”
There’s a chorus of agreement around the table.
“To our Nico!”
“To the Captain!”
“To the guy who still beats us in conditioning!”
Nico rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed. “Okay, okay—can we eat before you all make this worse?”
You finally sit beside him, and he immediately reaches for your hand under the table, thumb brushing over your knuckles like it’s instinct.
Luca climbs into Nico’s lap, clutching his fork. “Papa, Mama made your favorite.”
Nico looks down at him, softening instantly. “She always does.”
Izzy leans across the table. “I helped.”
“You did?” Luke Hughes asks seriously.
She nods proudly at the taller player. “I stirred and didn’t spill.”
“That’s very impressive,” Nico says, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Best helper.”
Across the table, Dawson Mercer nudges Timo Meier. “See? That’s why he’s like this. Dad energy.”
Timo laughs. “Explains the calm.”
Jack snorts. “Explains why he goes to bed at ten.”
“Hey,” Nico protests. “That is not—okay, sometimes.”
Plates are passed around—heaping portions, seconds immediately offered. Someone compliments the food loudly.
“Oh my god,” Amanda Markstrom says, pausing mid-bite. “This is ridiculous y/n.”
“Marry her,” Nicole Laud adds, pointing at you with her fork.
Nico looks at her with his boyish grin. “Already did.”
The table erupts in laughter.
“You’re lucky,” Jonas Siegenthaler says to Nico, nudging his shoulder. “Not just the food. All of it.”
Nico glances at you, eyes soft, then at the kids laughing together down the table. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I know.”
Later, when desserts are being cleared and drinks poured, Jack stands up again, tapping his glass.
“Oh no,” Nico groans immediately. “Please don’t.”
“Too late,” Jack says, grinning. “Speech time.”
You squeeze Nico’s hand as Jack looks around the table.
“Look, we joke a lot,” Jack starts, uncharacteristically sincere, “but Nico is the kind of guy who makes it easy to show up every day. He leads without being loud, cares without making it weird, and somehow manages to be both our captain and everyone’s favorite dad.”
Nico hides his face in his sons hair.
“And,” Jack adds, pointing at you, “we all know none of this works without you. So—thanks for taking care of him. And for feeding us.”
“Yeah!” several voices agree.
Nico exhales slowly, then stands, pulling you with him.
“Okay,” he says, voice steady but thick. “I don’t do speeches. You all know that. But… thank you. For being here. For being part of our lives.”
He looks down at Luca, who, Nico now notices, has fallen asleep against his chest, then at Izzy leaning into your side.
“This,” he says softly, gesturing around the room, “this is my favorite place to be.”
You lean into him, heart so full it almost hurts.
The night continues with laughter, kids drifting to sleep in random corners, teammates sprawled comfortably like family rather than guests. And through it all, Nico keeps finding excuses to touch you—to kiss your temple, squeeze your waist, press his knee against yours under the table.
WARNINGS : Angst!!, Infidelity, Jack’s self destructive but self aware, written with fem reader in mind but no detailed descriptions, use of pretty/gorgeous, bad writing, my attempt at angst, NOT PROOFREAD
A/N: I was listening to ‘iloveitiloveitiloveit’ by Bella Kay and wanted to write this.
Jack noticed you first, the new intern for the Devil’s photography team. You were pretty in Jack’s eyes, gorgeous if he was being honest. It was at one of the many events for the season starting.
Jack should’ve never approached you, but he did, he was self-destructive like that, and when Jack Hughes exploded, he always took casualties.
“You’re new, right?” Jack asked when he stopped in front of you. You’d expected this, actually, you were warned of it.
“Yeah, just started last week.” You confirmed. “Why?” You added warily. You’d heard about him, been warned about him.
“Just wondering,” He chuckled like your wariness was amusing.
If you’d known that small meeting would cause so many sleepless nights, you would’ve ignored him, but you got caught in his charming smile, the way he repeated your name, like he was testing it.
Or maybe if you’d paid more attention, you would’ve noticed that blonde girl at every single home game, waiting for him at the locker room. She wasn’t always there, she only appeared when Jack began memorizing your diner order, when he would randomly get a whiff of your perfume and would look for you to make sure you were smiling, when he’d wonder what you were thinking of when you stared off into space.
But you didn’t, instead, you noticed him. The way his hair slightly curled at the ends, the way his smile would falter when he got a little nervous, how his hands felt on your skin, how he’d grin before pressing a kiss to your shoulder at night, his stupid comments about random things that made you laugh, it all kept you blind to her.
“I can teach you,” Jack offered to you. you’d moved up from intern to a social media admin for the Devil’s page, and for one of the videos you needed to follow the players on the ice during media night, the main problem? you couldn’t skate.
So you let him. His hands on yours made your insides warm. “Let me do the work, you’re not gonna fall.” Jack murmured as he skated backwards while guiding you. Fuck, the soft tone made your stomach flip.
Jack thought about that moment a lot. It was the first time he’d held your hands, the first time he’d heard that soft laugh that made him a little dizzy. That was two days before he announced his relationship with the blonde.
He knew he hurt you. When you stopped responding to his texts, his days stopped seeming so bright, he started dreading going to the prudential center because that meant seeing someone else make you smile. When he was with her, he thought of you. He thought of the way you’d laugh at his corny jokes. He thought of the mischievous grin on your face when you teased him. He was miserable but it was no one else’s fault but his.
WARNINGS: smut, basically no plot, dry humping, tit sucking (?), boobjob, luke likes to dirty talk a wee bit, a whole lot of praise bc who doesn't want to be luke's good girl?, cursing
WORDCOUNT: 1.47k+
MESSAGE FROM ME: howdy my loves! this is my first writing since coming off my hiatus so bare with me please! i’m slowly but surely coming back and will be posting more often so be on the lookout! + feel free to hit up my inbox and chat with me or send in your smutty lil thoughts! 🧚♀️
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“Oh, fuck.”
“Shh, Jack’s gonna hear us, pretty girl.” Luke’s voice came in a hushed whisper as his breath hit against your ear.
Your hips buck against his thigh as it slotted between your own. Luke’s body pressed into your plushy one, pinning you to the wall of his room. You bit your lip in attempt to stop the moan threatening to escape at the friction against your swollen clit.
Your head tilted up, desperately searching for the respite that is Luke’s warm lips. The pure, unbridled need that churned deep in your gut gained control over every rational thought you could have wished to conjure up.
“So needy,” He mumbled, dipping his head to fulfill your wants.
You couldn’t help the small moan from escaping your throat as his lips clashed with yours. Luke’s tongue immediately licked at your own, savoring the taste of desperation mixed with the flavor of your lip balm. His hands gripped at your hips, guiding them in a gentle motion across his thigh.
“Please, Lukey,” Your voice came out as a broken plea.
“Please what, baby? What do you need?” He smirked against your lips, knowing how wound up you’d been after he left you high and dry before he and Jack left for morning skate.
“Need you,” You pant.
Luke felt his resolve breaking at the sight of your wide eyes gazing up at him. He could feel the way your breasts pressed harder against his front with each gasp for breath. He groaned, his eyes shutting briefly.
“You’re killing me here, pretty girl.” He says, opening his eyes and bending slightly to be level with you. “Pressing these…” He pauses for a moment, stooping lower to suck open mouthed kisses to the top of your ample cleavage, “Gorgeous tits against me.”
Your head lulled back against the wall with a low ‘thump.’ His hands traveled from your hips to slip under the material of your low-cut sweatshirt. He eagerly pushed it up, only separating from you in order to remove the soft fabric.
“Want these in my mouth,” Luke rasps, gazing down at you as his calloused hands cup your soft breasts, “You’ll let me have them, right, angel?”
You felt yourself nodding mindlessly, the thought of his lips around your stiff nipples sending jolts through your body. Luke carefully guided you to the bed, pulling you onto his lap.
“Arch your back a little,” He instructed lowly, one of his hands pushing at the middle of your back. He smiled as your breasts perked up further, now directly in front of his face. “Good girl.”
The praise buzzed through your bones, settling deep in your gut along with the warm feeling of arousal. Your eye fluttered closed the second his lips wrapped around the first peaked bud, swirling with intent. Your hands grasped at his shoulders for stability while Luke’s splayed possessively on your back.
“Oh, Lukey,” You breathed out, your hips rutting against his prominent bulge.
He groaned at the pleasure, the vibrations traveling through your breast. You yelped as his hand came down harshly on your ass.
“What did I say about being quiet?” He mumbled against you.
You let out a shaky breath, biting your lip as he bucked his hips to meet your movements. With the way he sucked on your nipples, paired with his clothed cock dragging deliciously against your throbbing core, you found yourself struggling to stay quiet.
Luke removed his mouth, gazing up at you, “Are you going to keep those pretty sounds in? Or do I need to keep you quiet myself?”
You felt yourself blush at his question. However, you quickly answer it by letting out a loud whine as his cock presses up against your clit.
“Thought so,” Luke mumbles, bringing up one of his hands to cover your mouth. He takes your nipple back into his mouth, biting slightly. You could feel your eyes flutter closed at the joint pleasure and pain. Luke switches to the other tit, giving it the same attention. In tandem, his hips maintained the pace against yours, his own moans muffled into your supple skin. He eventually pulls off, his chest heaving.
"Let me fuck these pretty tits, baby," He practically begs, his voice cracking with need, "Please?"
The sound of dripping sex poured from his voice, and you quickly found yourself scrambling to rest on your knees as he pushed down his sweats, revealing his swollen cock. You had to hold back a whine at the sight of his angry red tip leaking precum, the pearly white bead having your mouth ache with emptiness.
Luke wrapped his hand around the base, groaning softly, "Spit on my cock," He commands, "Be a good girl for me, angel." You immediately oblige, getting his cock slick enough to glide through your cleavage. "Such a good fucking girl, aren't you? Now, push those gorgeous tits together."
You let Luke nestle his cock in the valley of your breasts as you push them together snugly. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth as he slowly begins to thrust up into the warm plush. "Oh god, pretty girl," He groans out, "These tits were fucking made for me."
You whine at his crude words, your cunt dripping with arousal at this point. Shifting on your knees to try and gain some form of relief, Luke's eyes bore over your form intensely.
"Does my sweet girl need something?" He coos down at you as he continues his leisurely pace.
You nod desperately, "Uh-huh...h-hurts, Lukey" You whimper out. Luke tilts his head as he does his best to manage control of his breathing with the sheer amount of pleasure that is being shot through his cock.
"Yeah, baby?" He pants, "Reach down and rub your clit f'me." He says, bringing his hands to help you hold your generous boobs together. He watches your movements with sharp eyes, his breathing stuttering the second you begin to rub at your swollen bud. "Atta girl," He smirks as his breath comes out in short bursts, "Lettin' me use her like the perfect girl she is."
You whine at the praise, your lip slotting between your teeth as you move your fingers in small figure-8s. Luke's head falls back, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallows thickly. You can tell by the way his abs clench that he's beginning to near that precipice of pleasure.
"Just like that, baby, rub faster for me. Want you to cum with me," He grits out, his chest tensing as a sheen layer of sweat coats his pale skin.
"G-gonna cum f'you...be your good girl," You mumbled mindlessly, too lost in the strumming beginnings of your climax to keep your mouth shut.
Luke smiled, "You are, pretty girl," He praised, "All mine, baby. Always such a good girl."
Your fingers continue their movements bringing you teetering on the edge, but you don't let yourself tip over into that blissful state just yet, wanting to wait for Luke to give you permission. "Fuck, fuck fuck," You murmur under your breath.
Luke thrusts up into your tits at an unrelenting pace, chasing his oncoming high, "F-fuck, baby, be a good girl and cum for me. Cum for me now, sweet girl."
Not wasting another moment, you tip over into the surging waves of pleasure. Your hips buck against your hand, thighs clenching from the intense stimulation. "Oh, Luke, Luke, Lukey" You chant as your eyes squeeze shut.
"Fuck, that's it, baby," He pants, his own high hitting him like a train at the sound of his name falling from your swollen lips, "Gonna cum all over these pretty tits," He mumbles, his mouth dropping open in a low moan as he paints your chest, neck, and lower face with his finish. His pace falters, abs tensing with the aftershock of his orgasm. His chest heaves as he drops his hands from your breasts, letting his softening cock slip out from its place.
You gaze up at him, eyes glazed over in euphoria. His features soften as he takes in your state. "C'mon, pretty girl, let me clean you up." He says, pulling you gently from the floor and helping you sit back against the pillows before grabbing a warm cloth. Luke carefully wipes away the evidence of both your orgasms, before joining you on the bed. His arms wrap around your body, tucking your head under his chin as he strokes your back lovingly.
"You did so good for me, angel," He soothes softly, "My perfect girl."
You smile, humming contently as you snuggle closer to his chest. However, the moment is short-lived before the sound of a door opening echos through the room.
"You guys really couldn't have at least warned me first?"
Luke's laugh rumbled through his chest as you gasped softly, "We forgot about Jack!"
