Captains Birthday
“this is my favorite place to be.”
1.5k words
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.
It’s his birthday.
But the love filling the room?
That’s yours together.
ITS NICOS BIRTHDAY 🥺
