#Pierre Luc Dubois fanfic

[cellythefloshie]

;; You Are In Love

Dedicated to @senditcolton for her birthday bingo!

Summary: When your best friend Luc needs a plus one for his wedding, you don't question it. Even if the key term of pretending to be his girlfriend begs to be questioned.

Nicole's Bingo Card Tropes: Friends to Lovers | Wedding Season | Only One Bed | Argument Scene | Fake Dating | “Don’t you trust me?” | Playlists as a Love Language

Kinks & TW: unprotected sex (are we surprised?), mild choking, intoxication

Word Count: 11k+

A/N:  I refused to be too late with posting this, so I stayed up late to finish writing it. Fair warning, it's not edited. So there are probably going to be some grammatical and spelling errors throughout. Now, with those cautions aside... Happy Birthday Nicole! I hope you had a wonderful day! Thank you for being such a wonderful part of the hockey rpf community! I hope you enjoy this mess of a fic that I threw together for you - and I apologize if it feels rushed. I know if I took the time this fic could have easily ended up being a whole novel.

Playlist.

Act 1. 

Moving the prongs of your fork in circles around your plate, you pushed the contents that remained along the glass. You didn’t quite have the stomach to finish it, but couldn’t bring yourself to tell Luc you weren’t going to finish your plate. If you sat there long enough, if you held the casual conversation long enough, maybe you’d be able to finish it. But not even Luc had managed to clear his plate. Which you didn’t let go unnoticed. Luc had a routine, even during his off-season, and that included eating enough to maintain his busy training schedule. 

That was your first clue that something wasn’t right. The second clue was that he hadn’t met your eyes since the two of you sat down to eat at the island in his kitchen. Instead, you found his eyes staring out the grand glass window overlooking Downtown Winnipeg. You had thought he might have been distracted by the bumper-to-bumper traffic down Portage Avenue as every nine-to-five worker headed out to their cabin for the weekend, or maybe the wail of the sirens that were so frequent you almost didn’t hear them anymore. That was until you saw his gaze flicker over your features for but a moment before falling to his plate. He too was just pushing around what remained. 

Lowering your fork to rest across your plate, you pushed up to lean across the kitchen island, a little closer to your best friend. “Something on your mind?”

Your question drew his bright gaze back up to you, the corner of his lips curling up into a smirk that was framed by the mustache you had been trying to convince him to get rid of or at the very least blend into the rest of his beard. But not even his awkward mustache could distract you from his small smile as he pushed up from his seat and made the few steps that carried him to his fridge. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” Luc started slowly, piquing your interest and drawing a soft oh from your lips as you pushed your plate aside so you could rest your elbows on the countertop. He stood with his back to you for a moment, and you could see the muscles of his back grow tense as he reached up to pull a single piece of paper from beneath a magnet on the fridge. He only had to turn around to be able to toss the thick white cardstock down, the very weight of the paper and the flick of his wrist giving it enough of a push to send it drifting into your reach. 

It was an invitation, the text was a beautiful gold cursive and the paper itself was embossed with a beautiful floral pattern that was synonymous with a wedding. You traced your fingers over it slowly, your eyes dragging the two names that were only familiar to you because of Luc. He had spoken of the wedding when he had first received the invitation months ago. He and his girlfriend were to take the trip to Montreal together. But Luc was single now, and the wedding date was a mere week away. 

“I want you to come with me,” his words were a statement, not a question as he leaned back against the fridge, as if the distance between you both would make it less likely for you to reject his offer. 

It was a statement that left you staring at him, your eyes wide and your mouth agape, “No, no I shouldn’t.” Your hands raised, shaking from side to side as you offered your careful rejection. Then your lips fell into a ramble of excuses, “It’s really short notice. I won’t know anyone there and I would have anything to wear to something like-” 

As you rambled you looked around his kitchen at anything but him. So you didn’t notice as Luc left where he leaned against the fridge and rounded the counter to stand at your side. There he coaxed you to silence with the softness of his name on his tongue and the careful touch of his hands on each side of your face. His warm touch spread over your cheeks and carefully guided your face to look up at his. 

“I already have the plane tickets,” his words were soft, his eyes staring right down into yours as you pouted up at him, “and I will buy you a dress for the wedding. And one for the rehearsal dinner too, even if you like.”

“Rehearsal dinner?”

“Yeah,” his smile was a little crooked now as he was about to reveal just how busy your weekend would be if you agreed to go, “I’m in the wedding party and I ah-”

“You what, Luc?” you questioned, your voice firm. What wasn’t he telling you?

“And I told them I would be bringing my girlfriend.”

“Luc!” You shouted at him, your eyes going wide. 

He didn’t need to put it into words, you knew exactly what he was suggesting without saying it. Pierre-Luc Dubois, your best friend since he arrived in Winnipeg after a literal run-in at the airport, not only wanted you to be his date to a wedding in Montreal, he wanted you to pretend to be his girlfriend. Just the proposition of it all made your hands sweat. You weren’t girlfriend material. At least not NHL girlfriend material. You didn’t fit the stereotypical cookie-cutter mold that came to mind when you thought of a WAG - even if you knew those stereotypes weren’t always true. Being Luc’s friend, you had the luxury of meeting a handful of the Jet’s wives and girlfriends and they quickly challenged every belief you had about what they were supposed to be prior. Though, you would be lying if there weren’t a few that were the very embodiment of what a hockey WAG was believed to be. Which wasn’t always a bad thing. And maybe, just maybe, pretending to be one would be fun. 

“Okay,” you sighed after a moment of leaving him hanging in the silence of your contemplation, “I’ll come.”

With your words, you could practically see the tension leave his shoulder. They seemed to fall away from his neck and ears as his hands left the hot skin of your cheeks. But his touch didn’t leave you. His hand instead found your back as his arms would around you in a thankful embrace that echoed the thanks in his words as he spoke them into your hair. 

Act 2. 

Growing up in Winnipeg, you didn’t know all that much about Montreal. You knew what your school taught you; that French was their first language and there were often discussions about how they wanted to be their own country but beyond that you knew nothing about it, which terrified you as the plane made its landing in the historic city. That terror sunk further into your gut when Luc led you out into the airport where you quickly discovered your beginner-level French wouldn’t cut it. 

The rush of the French language being spoken so fluently around you left your head spinning and your stomach in knots. If you were alone, you surely would have thrown up and caught a flight back home, but Luc was your anchor. Your savior, as he reached out for your arm and kept you close as the two of you navigated through the airport and the city together. 

Luc spoke so you didn’t have to, the French leaving his lips so fluently it left you jealous. While, if you wanted to say anything there would be a long pause as you thought about what exactly you had to say. Even then, it was probably wrong, and you knew it was when Luc would give you a crooked smile and his eyes would water as he held back a chuckle that was threatening to creep up his throat. He did it in the cab, and again in the hotel lobby as you tried to keep up with the conversation at the check-in desk. But he didn’t comment on it until you were alone in the elevator, making the ascent up to your floor. 

“You know, you don’t have to force yourself to speak French, especially with me while we’re here. I have no issue with translating for you,” his words were kind, but they still tied your stomach into knots - or maybe that was just how quickly the elevator seemed to rise from the ground up. 

“It’s that bad, huh?” You tried to hide your insecurity, but your own voice betrayed you. It had broken as you spoke, and that alone only brought you more embarrassment. It left your palms sweaty and had the handle of your bag slipping from your hold. It fell to the ground in an awkward clamor, leaving you flinching and apologizing as you reached out for it, but Luc’s hands beat you there. 

He would be carrying your bags the rest of the way. 

“You’re doing your best,” Luc assured as the elevator chimed, you had reached your floor. 

He continued to speak as he led the way, “but you’re here as a favor to me. The least I can do is assure that you are enjoying yourself, and you can’t do that if you’re constantly trying to figure out what needs to be said.”

You stood behind Luc with your arms crossed over your chest and your eyes on his feet. You used them as your guide, not once looking up at him because you hated that he was right. The entire trip was going to be a struggle if you didn’t look to him for his help, but the last thing you wanted was to have to rely on a man’s help to do anything. You had gone years without a boyfriend. Years without needing a man to do anything for you, but now you needed Luc just to get through the simplest interactions. And it left you pouting. 

“I don’t want your help,” you pouted at him, following in his wake as he opened the room’s door and led the way inside. 

“Keyword, want,” Luc sighed, and you heard him place the bags down on the floor, “but you do need it,” he said your name so softly it had your gaze rising from the floor in search of his face. 

Your eyes didn’t find Luc, they had been quickly distracted by the simple elegance of the room and the one bed that had been placed at the center of a beautiful accent wall. You looked around quickly. The room was small, with a grand window just beyond the bed, and a television on the opposite wall. Then there were two doors. One that would open up to a  small closet and the other for the bathroom.

You swallowed hard, your eyes rolling back as you let out an exasperated sigh, “One bed? Really?” 

You shouldn’t have been so surprised. He hadn’t been single when he originally made the reservations, and you couldn't blame him for not requesting an updated room. You were both adults. You both knew where your boundaries had been set. And while you were playing pretend, you were friends. Luc respected you. You knew he did. If he didn’t, he would have tried to pull something stupid with you a long time ago. 

Yet, your stomach was left fluttering the nervous butterflies at the thought of having to sleep beside him. The thought of having to feel the warmth of his body so close to yours-

And you felt it then, pulling you from your thoughts before they could spiral as he came to stand behind you. Luc’s body was warm, so warm that you could feel it radiating against your own body before you could feel the touch of his hands against your arms. His touch dragged down in a reassuring caress before you could feel the strength of his chest brush against your back as you both stood together, looking over the king-sized bed. 

“Don’t you trust me?” He punctuated the question with your name, his words teasing as he reached up and took your jaw in the hold of one hand. Luc guided your gaze back to look at him, his face so close to yours you could feel his hot exhale as you muttered out a simple, “I trust you.” 

“Good,” Luc breathed out, then guided your head to the side just enough to place a sweet kiss on your cheek before every part of you was void of his touch and his heat as he returned to the bags, “because I was not going to offer to sleep on the floor.”

“Wow,” you gasped to mock him, “such a gentleman.” 

“I’m going to be on my best behavior for you this weekend,” he promised with a grin that left you wondering how close to lying he may be. Luc always did like to cause a little trouble, “but only if you start getting ready, we have to be at the rehearsal in just over an hour.”

Raising a brow at him, you looked at an invisible watch on your wrist, “I don’t know, Luc. I can’t get ready for such an important function in less than an hour.”

“You just have to change into your dress-”

“And do my makeup, and fix my hair, and-”

Luc stood up, taking a single stride to bring him to stand toe to toe with you. His bright eyes narrowed, his stare dragging over your face as he tried to compose himself, but you could see the smile that tried to creep up at the corner of his lips as he spoke, “Just get changed before I have to drag you down to a Taxi. Besides, you look great.”

And he wasn’t wrong. You did look great. You had gone to the salon the day before to get your hair and nails done just for the occasion. The stylist had given you a tight curl, something that when you slept on it the curls would still be there but softened. You wouldn’t have to do much more than smooth out a flyaway. And you’d keep your makeup simple. Mascara, eye shadow, lipstick, and brows were all soft and natural. It would only take you a few minutes, but you still took the opportunity to tease him and be a little dramatic for the fun of it. You expected him to threaten to rush you out like he had, but what you hadn’t expected was the compliment. And it left you biting down on your tongue, unsure of how to accept it from him. 

“That’s what the beauty sleep on the plane gifted me,” you joked after a minute of contemplation as you slipped into the bathroom, out of sight. 

Luc mocked you with exaggerated snores as the two of you got ready in separate rooms. You were in the bathroom, while he remained in the main room. You didn’t need more than five minutes in front of the mirror with your makeup bag. Everything going on flawlessly for the first time probably ever. But when it came to putting on your dress, you struggled to reach the zipper that ran up the center of your back. 

“I hate to do this but-” you spoke as you came to stand in the doorway, but your tongue seemed to swell before you could get your full sentence out. 

Luc was leaning back against the dresser, his suit pants undone and his belt threatening to bring them down the length of his legs if the weight of the buckle dipped down a little too low, and he had yet to button up his pale dress shirt. It hung off his shoulder, his bare chest on full display, right down the treasure trail that ran down his abdomen and disappeared behind the waistband of his boxer briefs. 

“What was that?” Luc’s hands were trying to fix his tie that had become unmanageable in his suitcase. But you barely noticed the silken fabric, you were too caught up in how his muscles tensed with his every moment. It left your skin hot, you could only hope you weren’t blushing. 

“I’ll help you with your tie if you zip up my dress,” you offered, your words softer, less playful than you had intended them to be when you first entered the room. 

“Can you tie one of these?” Luc arched his brow. 

“You can’t?”

He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes leaving you to glance anywhere else before he pushed up from the dresser. You couldn’t tell if Luc was embarrassed, or if he was just being kind and looking away from you as you struggled to keep the unzipped dress held against your body with the clutch of your own hands over your breasts. You clutched the fabric to your chest. Your own grip amplified your own cleavage as you went braless for the dress. It was a risk but also a comfort. But you couldn’t help but wonder if that was the very reason that Luc was so hesitant to be near you. 

Your friendship with Luc in many ways was still young, even if the two of you were close. But that meant the two of you had a lot of firsts left to experience together, including some things you didn’t think you’d ever experience together, which included pretending to be his girlfriend and standing in front of him so vulnerably in the middle of the hotel room. Clutching your dress a little tighter on his approach you stiffened up and stepped out of the doorway to give Luc room to stand behind you. And you held your breath as his hands found the zipper of your dress. One pinching the sleek pull tab while the other made sure it guided effortlessly up the zipper’s teeth instead of pinching your skin. 

His fingers dragged over your skin as the zipper traveled up, stopping only when the zipper had reached the very top and they were left to graze over your flesh. You could feel as the pads of his fingers stroked over you, in a way that you were sure was done without thought. Moving up until they found your hairline. Then, he followed it, finding where you had your hair thrown over one shoulder before fixing it to hang down your back. Even then his touch seemed to linger, leaving your breath held in your chest as your eyes fell to the floor. 

Luc had never touched you like that before. 

So carefully. 

So slowly. 

Hell, had he ever really touched you? 

Sure, the two of you had shared the occasional hug. Your hands would bump and collide on occasion. When the confines were close, you could feel the heat of his body. And he was never shy about taking your head in his hands when you weren’t listening to him or he wanted to assure you that you were okay, but this? This was different. This was his skin against yours. His fleeting touch in places you were sure he hadn’t even thought of touching you before. And it lingered as you stepped forward, cleared your throat, and reached a near trembling hand out for his tie that lay limp over the end of the dresser. 

It was only with it in your hands, distracted by the silken material that you found your composure. Then, you showed Luc how to tie his tie, pausing on occasion to make sure he was paying attention because you were only going to help him with this once. 

If there was one thing you were good at, it was faking your way through awkward situations. You could put on a smile, and hide any feeling of awkwardness with false confidence with ease. And you couldn’t have been more grateful for that as you found yourself consumed by the rehearsal dinner. You had hoped that you would have been nothing more than a fly on the wall. That you could make your pleasantries with small smiles and sweet I’m great, how are you’s, but you were wrong. You found yourself to be a popular wedding guest, all thanks to Luc. 

He wasn’t the only NHL player that was going to be in attendance, but he was the only one in the bridal party. Which made him a popular target for conversation outside the bride and groom. And by proxy, you were too. 

After the rehearsal itself, and sitting down to eat, when there was time left to mingle every single conversation started with an introduction. It was always the same, with Luc’s hand finding the small of your back and stroking it slowly as he said your name and introduced you as your temporary, fake title: girlfriend. And every single time it had the same effect on you. His touch would coax you in closer to him, your body leaning into his so casually, so effortlessly it was as if you had done it many times before. It made you smile too, so wide, yet so softly that you looked excited to meet stranger after stranger. It hid that you were completely overwhelmed by the introductions and the switch from French to English and back to French again in the conversation. When in reality, you just liked how it sounded leaving his lips, you liked how it left you giddy with butterflies in your belly. And you liked how his hand never left you for in that moment, you were his. 

It was so easy to play pretend with Luc. Your chemistry was so natural because that was how it had always been. The two of you had always been comfortable with one another, especially since you had always just clicked. It was all of the lingering touches and knowing glances that were new to both of you. 

Luc would meet your gaze med conversation, his lips curling into a smirk almost as if he was on the verge of laughter before he forced himself to look away. You were sure it was his attempt at trying to find his composure, that and how his grip on your waist, or hip if it had slid downwards throughout the conversation, would grow a little tighter. 

It left you on edge all night in the best way. Your heart racing in your chest right up to the moment the two of you took to the Montreal streets together after dinner. 

The streets were left wet from the rain that had started to fall sometime after you had arrived at dinner. It reflected the city lights, glistening beautifully even as your rushed footsteps splashed through the puddles. The rain continued to fall, hitting the ground hard and leaving you to shiver as it dripped down the angles of your face and down the curves of your body. It would not be long until your dress was soaked right through, and Luc must have noticed. 

The moment the two of you were forced to stop at a red light, a mere block away from the hotel, Luc was stripping off his coat. He draped it over his arms and held it up high over the both of you in an attempt to keep you dry. But it was already too late. Your dress was sticking to your skin, and Luc was only getting wetter. You could see it in the red glow of the stoplight. The cold, wet rain soaked into the white fabric, leaving it to cling to the muscles that had already threatened the tight shirt. 

While he was failing, you appreciated the effort, your heels clicking against the sidewalk as you stepped in just a little closer to his cover to keep you from the rain. The close proximity, paid with your unsteady feet left your body colliding with his. It was a gentle bump, one that left you reaching out to steady yourself against his chest, and laughing out an apology as you looked up at him. 

Luc’s features were aglow with the red tint of the stoplight, his expression one you could quite place. It left you to narrow your eyes, your lips parting in a slow, curious, breath. He wasn’t quite smiling, and his eyes fixated completely on you. It was a soft stare, one comparable to what you would have after a long night's sleep. After sweet dreams, and before you had to force yourself to get out of bed. But you weren’t dreaming. Neither of you were as you stared at one another, the glow of the lights going from red, to green and red again before Luc leaned in. 

You held your breath, your bottom lip trembling as his smirk grew. 

“Don’t you trust me?”

You let out an unsteady exhale, one that left your entire body shivering as you nodded. 

Frozen, your eyes didn’t leave Luc’s face as he lowered his coat back down to hang off his shoulders. The cold rain met the skin of your face again, but it was only for a moment. Then, all you felt was warmth. 

If came first with the touch of Luc’s hands against your cheeks. That touch alone had sent heat flooding through your entire body. It only burned hotter as Luc leaned, the very proximity of his face sending your eyes fluttering shut. And then you could feel him. His breath washed over your face in a heated wave that came crashing down on you with the kiss of his lips against your own. 

If you had the air, you would have gasped. 

But his kiss consumed you so fully, that all you were left to breathe was Luc. 

Every single one of your senses was met by him. You could taste him, and the drinks he had consumed throughout the night on your tongue. You could smell that distinct scent of his cologne. You could feel him, and the strength of his chest beneath your palms as your hands rested on his chest, so close to clutching at the fabric of the tie. And he was the first thing you saw as you drew back and let your eyes open. 

You wanted to ask him why he had kissed you, but you were at a loss for words as you stood there, and so was he. There were only smiles shared between you as his hand found your back and let him guide you through the crowded streets back to the hotel. 

It was a silence that hung over the two of you as you returned to your hotel room and split off into separate rooms to get ready for bed. You claimed the bathroom once more. It was there you struggled to unzip on your own, and as you struggled you battled the simple thought that you could ask Luc to help you with it. That he could unzip it for you. Yet, you struggled alone. It took you a long time to work the zipper free, your body straining and weakening with every awkward reach that would send the dress to the floor in a wet heap. Then, you washed your face free of the makeup that had held up surprisingly well in the rain, before you used the fluffy white hotel towel to dry your hair. 

Warm and dry, you went through the rest of your night routine which included brushing your teeth and pulling on a pair of pajamas you found yourself regretting. You had packed them thinking you would have your own bed. They were your favorite, comfortable, with fabric light to keep you from getting too hot during the night. And they cover enough. You had planned to wear them to lounge around the hotel room, knowing full well that Luc would see you in them. But sleeping next to him in them was different. You knew the fabric would shift and move in your sleep, and the risk of waking up with one or both of your breasts hanging out was a high probability. 

The risk sat like a rock in the bottom of your stomach as you stepped out of the bathroom and stood awkwardly for a moment in the doorway. The kiss was still heavy in your mind. You didn’t know why he had done it, what his intentions may have been. Maybe he was just caught up in the moment. In the love that filled the atmosphere of the rehearsal dinner and bled into every interaction with everyone afterward. But you didn’t let yourself look too much into it. Not when you knew you were just here pretending to be his girlfriend. But that didn’t mean you weren’t nervous to crawl in next to him when you could practically still feel the warmth of his kiss against your lips. 

“The bathroom’s all yours,” you told him from the doorway, and it drew his eyes straight to you. 

During your time spent in the bathroom, Luc had shed his clothes and sat shirtless on his side of the bed. His shoulders were slumped and his neck craned down to look at his hands before your words piqued his interest. 

“Thanks, I won’t be long,” Luc assured as you watched him place his phone face down on the bedside table, “just set the alarm. The downside of being in the wedding party is an early start.”

Your hands came together in front of your stomach, your fingers picking at one another as you stepped out of what would be his path to the bathroom. But you didn’t crawl into bed. You hovered around it, pacing up and down what you assumed would be your side of the bed as you listened to Luc beyond the threshold of the bathroom. He had left the door open, the water running and the buzz of his electric toothbrush too loud to be ignored, and it kept drawing your gaze.

“What time do you have to be there?” 

“They’re asking before eleven,” he called back out to you after you heard him spit into the sink, “enough time to get ready, and the session with the photographer before the ceremony.”

“Which was at what time again?”

“Three,” he answered simply, “gives you lots of time to sleep in and get ready, that is unless you want to come with me.”

“I shouldn’t-”

“But you can, they wouldn’t say no - they like you.”

“Do they?”

It shouldn’t have mattered if they did. You probably wouldn’t be meeting them again after this weekend, but it made you smile to know that you had made a good impression. That was the reason you were there after all, right? To be good company for Luc? The question crossing your mind left your brows to furrow. You never really did come to understand why you were there. He had asked you to go because he already marked down going with a plus one before his breakup. But why did he have to tell people you were his girlfriend? That you had never been answered. 

“Hey, Luc-” you started, moving to lean against the door frame of the bathroom. You peeked around it, the question on the very tip of your tongue only for it to be lost at the sight of him. 

Luc stood hunched over the sink, his hands pressing a towel to his face but it didn’t stop the water from dripping down the angles of his bare chest. The sight of it was enough to leave you mute, but when his eyes found you, his expression consumed by the softest of smiles as he waited for you to say something, anything, you choked out any words you could manage. 

“Is it alright if I turn the lights off?”

“Yeah, I’ll be right in,” Luc said, and you peeled yourself away from the wall. 

It hadn’t been what you wanted to say, and the question would eat at you all through the night - and maybe even the entirety of the trip - but you struggled to find your composure with Luc now. It had been easy before. He had been nothing more than your closest friend, but that was before he kissed you. 

It hadn’t been a simple kiss. Nor was it fleeting. Luc had stopped you there in the street and kissed you so deliberately, and you didn’t know why. There was so much you wanted to know, so many questions that needed answers, but you didn’t know how to ask them. 

So instead, you suffered in silence. 

You turned off the lights, sending the room into darkness with the exception of the warm glow of the bathroom light bleeding into the room. It illuminated your every moment, casting your shadow across the bed and dancing over the hotel room walls as you pulled back the blanket and crawled into bed. 

The cool, crisp sheets welcomed your body, sending a shiver straight through you as you hadn’t quite recovered from the rain’s cold. And for a moment, you thought you may never. That was until the bathroom lights went dark, and you felt the opposite side of the bed shift as Luc climbed in. He was more than an arm’s reach away. Yet, you could feel his warmth. 

You tried to ignore it, and how it radiated over the sheets and into the blanket. But then Luc rolled over, and his legs brushed yours so quickly it could have only been an accident. The feeling lingered against your skin, his hairy legs so coarse against your legs that you shaved before dinner and would shave them again before the wedding tomorrow.  The contrast of your contact should have left you flinching away, but it was drawing you in. Your legs bent a little more just to feel him. 

It was a slow, careful drag. The inside of your leg moving up and over his. It was then you realized just how small the bed felt with Luc in it. Just how close his body was to yours. 

Then he rolled over again. Leaving you flinching back as he tossed and turned. 

Both of you were restless. 

You were too afraid to roll over, and Luc constantly moved in an attempt to get comfortable. Both needed sleep, but it failed to take you. 

Your mind was too focused on the kiss and on his warmth. 

It left your body quivering with a heavy breath as you shifted from your side to your back, and finally to your other side where you finally came face to face with a sleepless Luc. 

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, his voice a low whisper, so low that it was almost a growl in the dark. 

You shook your head, your hair surely becoming a mess between your head and the pillow. 

There wasn’t much you could see through the darkness. But what you could see, left you holding your breath. There was a glimmer of light coming in through the window and you weren’t sure if it was a street light or if the clouds cleared and let in the light of the moon. No matter what it was, the light caught Luc’s eyes, his stare on your features. It dragged down from your eyes, down over the angle of your nose only to drop to your lips where they lingered before gliding back up again. And it illuminated his chain, a silver gleaming, as it hung off his  neck, down his chest and shoulder, and down onto his arm that he used as his pillow. 

It was a chain he always wore. One that hung off his neck all night, and all day, even when he was out on the ice. He kept it trapped between his equipment, his cross over his heart. And you knew it. Something so familiar, shouldn’t have been so captivating, but it was drawing in your touch. Your arm reached out, your fingers meeting the warm chain before they slipped and landed on his chest. 

Your lips parted, your tongue ready to curse for being so careless but your larynx was left weak. You couldn’t find your words, your throat closer to gasping as Luc was leaning in, closer. Closer. So close you could feel the heat of his breath on your skin and his lips found yours again. 

Unlike the first time, Luc didn’t ask for your permission. He didn’t need to, because you had been leaning in too. You welcomed his kiss as your fingers coiled around his thick silver chain. If you could have twisted it around your index finger you would have, but instead, you fisted it in your hand, using the delicate tension to draw Luc in further. 

You could not get him close enough, even with your lips joined together in a kiss that only grew deeper. You didn’t have to worry about being in the middle of the street now. No one was watching. It was just you and Luc, alone, together in the hotel bed. There was nothing but privacy, and no one to know that you had indulged yourself in the kiss of your best friend. 

The best friend that you told all of your other friends that you didn’t like Luc like that. That that two of you were just friends and it would be weird to be anything more than that. 

But there was no ignoring how good it felt to kiss him. To feel the roughness of his stubble against your face, and his tongue stroke along your own in your mouth. It had you melting, both metaphorically and physically. So much so that you pressed your legs firmly together in an attempt to combat the weakness between your legs that left your arousal to puddle in your panties. 

It was the only thing you could do in restraint, but any thought of holding back was quickly fading as Luc’s hands began to explore your body. They were warm, and calloused from his days spent training in the gym for the coming season. And they ran down the angles of your arms before dropping to your waist. Fingers wrinkled the soft fabric of your pajamas, bunching it up around your ribcage so he could feel the soft warmth of your skin against his palms. Luc’s touch sent a shiver coursing down your spine, and a soft groan from his lips. One that sounded so sweet to your ears, and you felt it against your lips. It was the first of what would be a symphony of sounds.

Soft moans became groans that he guided you to straddle his waist. Your body on top of his, his between your thighs. It coaxed out heavy breaths, and desperate sighs as hands touched what had once been untouched. And you welcomed it, encouraged it as your body became consumed by need, by instinct, and your hips rolled to tease the stiffness of his cock that you could feel pressed up against your clothed core. 

You could feel his smile grow against his lips at the simple action, his teeth coming down to tug at your lower lip in a playful nip that left your legs squeezing around his strong thighs. There was only so much more you could take, and he knew that too. He must have been able to see it, feel it, hear it as he pulled back and mumbled your name against the angle of your jawline. 

There was a fine line between friendship and more. The kiss had toed that line. It had corrupted your mind with the thought of more, and the two of you found yourself on the very verge of crossing a line there would be no coming back from. If you fucked him, you wouldn’t be just friends anymore. You would be caught between friendship and something more. Something complicated, and undefined. Something that could threaten your friendship. There would be no going back to how things were before. That was clear, even with your clothes still on. The kiss changed everything, and put your friendship in jeopardy. Which made the choice you had to make easier. 

You could lose him either way, so you would dive in head first. 

No regrets. 

“Take your clothes off,” you breathed out, a simple instruction, your decision made. 

Together your bodies fumbled, your clothes not coming off fast enough. Limbs collided, your hands pulling off your top before you fell to the side to pull your bottoms and panties both off in swift motions that left you bare. He didn’t help you, and you didn’t help him, but once you both were naked your bodies met again. His hands found your hips, drawing you back to where you had once sat in his lap, and his mouth continued its sweet assault on your lips. 

The first thing you did once Luc was between your legs again, your knees pressed down on the plush surface of the mattress, was let your hips resume their teasing roll. You had hoped to coax another groan from his lips, but this time you could feel his cock glide along your slick and it left you shuddering. If the sweetness of Luc’s lips hadn’t consumed your lips, you would have cursed him for just how good he felt without even being inside you. Your core clenched, and you did it again. And again. Your hips rolling, to and fro, Luc’s cock embraced by your body and coating him with your click. 

The feeling had him throwing his head back, a sting of French words you didn’t understand leaving his lips like a sweet melody. Part of you wished you knew what he said, but a part of you loved it. The mystery of not knowing was sexy. 

You teased Luc with the friction of your body, and the wetness of your arousal so much that it was almost a form of self torture. And he admired you the entire time you did it. His hands stroked over your body, along the curves of your body. Hands cupped at your breast, giving them a gentle squeeze, before trailing down. Fingertips left a grazing touch over your stomach, making the firm grapes of his hands around your hips all the more shocking. Biceps flexed as he lifted you up just enough to reach a single hand down to take hold of his cock.  

Hair fell down into your face as you looked down, your eyes on his hand as it stroked his cock. The careful guidance of his hand brought the head of his cock to your core, and for a second you thought he might tease you. That he would drag the tip of his cock along your dripping entrance until you couldn’t take the teasing. 

Luc had always looked like the type to want to tease his lover. To make them beg. 

But maybe you didn’t know him as well as you thought you did. Or maybe he was just desperate for you because he didn’t waste time with you. Luc raised his hip, pressing his cock up into your eager core before his hand found your hip again to guide you down along his cock. 

Legs quivered at the mere feeling of him, and your lips parted in a gasp at the fullness of his cock buried deep in your core. It left your head spinning, your eyes shut as you were seeing starts at the very pleasure of just feeling him. All of him. 

You rode him slowly, your hips rolling as your hands came down to brace yourself against the strength of your chest. And you rode him until the muscles in your legs burned and your lips parted in a panting breath. It was then that Luc took hold of you and flipped you over until you lay flat on your back, and not once were you void o his cock. It remained buried deep inside your walls, and deeper once he had you laying out on your back. 

His hands guided your legs to wrap around his hips, and your hips collided with his every impactful trust that left your core clenching. Yet, you were desperate for more. 

Your hand that had found the mattress in a knuckle-white grasp left the white sheets and sought blinding for one of Luc’s hands. You found it, taking it in the hold of both of your own and guiding it to where you wanted his hold. 

Around your throat. 

His grasp was careful, yet firm as you stretched your neck out for him. The simple action brought another string of words you didn’t understand spilling from his lips. 

Your core clenched. 

He spoke again so lowly it was more of a growl, and his hold grew a little tighter. Luc could feel the effect it had on you as he fucked you. His every thrust was deep and steady, leaving you gasping, moaning, and quivering as he brought you closer and closer to the very peak of your pleasure. It left you gripping at his shoulders, your nails leaving half-moon crescents in his flesh, and your legs winding tight around him as you were lost in the pleasure of Luc. You were so completely consumed by him, mind and body, that your head was left spinning. It was a dreamy daze of pleasure, one that didn’t feel real as Luc buried himself right down to the hilt of his cock and unloaded deep into your core. 

And he remained there, tired, panting, as he slumped down to lay in the bed, his hand finally falling away from your throat. Together, your bodies still joined as if they were one, you lay there. Panting, staring. Tired, but nowhere near ready to sleep. It was the perfect time to let regret and doubt consume you. 

But then Luc smiled. 

You smiled too. 

And you regretted nothing.  

When you woke up in the morning, Luc was already gone. He had gotten up early with his alarm, and left you to sleep in after your unexpectedly late night together. But it wasn’t without thought. Luc had brought breakfast back up to the room and had left the note. You would have until two in the afternoon to enjoy your day. Then, a town car would be at the hotel to pick you up. It would bring you to the cathedral, where he would meet you after the reception. 

You spent the day in bed, making no effort to dress in anything more than the complimentary robe. You picked at the breakfast he left for you and sipped the coffee that was left along with it. After the night you had, you would need the caffeine to get through the day. Then, when the time wound closer and closer to two, you stepped into the shower and washed away the salt of sweat that remained on your skin, and the remnants of Luc that had dried on the inside of your thighs. 

A part of you felt that what happened was all a dream. That you may be dreaming still. But little things brought you back to reality. The tenderness of your core with every stride around the hotel room as you got dressed. The heat of your curling iron when you held it a little too close to your neck. And the shrillness of your alarm at 1:30 all kept you grounded as you rode out the high of your night. 

There was an elegance in your stride as you made your way through the hotel lobby. One that had a bit of a hop in your step, and a confidence in your smile as you waved to the bellboy who admired your body in your dress as you made your way out the doors and out into the streets where you met the town car. 

It was a quick ride to the cathedral, and you fell straight into the chaos that came with a wedding. There were what felt like hundreds of people, and you were merely one of them as you found an empty seat near the back. You sat in the pew, your eyes admiring the stained glass, the beautiful architecture, and the almost sickeningly sweet atmosphere of love that consumed every person and every little detail in the cathedral. Normally, it would have left your nose wrinkled with disgust. You hated weddings. You didn't believe in love. But you were consumed so fully by the afterglow of sex, and it left you in love with the idea of love. 

Then, the music began to play, and the ceremony began. 

You were sure that you would be lost in the crowd. Just one face lost among family and friends closer to the bride and groom than you could ever be, but Luc found you the moment he stepped through the door with a pretty bridesmaid on his arm.

Your eyes locked, and you held your breath. He acknowledged you with a subtle nod, and your hand raised in a small wave as you admired him. Luc looked too good in his suit, the pants just a little tight around his thighs, and the color of his tie matched the hue of his eyes. It is a color you admire throughout the ceremony, his gaze finding yours as the bride and groom exchanged their vows, and again when they shared their first kiss as husband and wife. 

By the end of it all, you wanted nothing more but to kiss him. But could you?

Sure, you were pretending to be his girlfriend, but last night left you were too many unanswered questions. Did the night have the same effect on you as it did you? Was this more than just pretending? You wouldn’t get your answers. 

But you did get your kiss. 

Luc found you in the crowded church as the guests, his hands falling to your waist to draw you in. You stood flush against him, and one of his hands raised to capture your chin between his thumb and forefingers to guide you up for a slow, simple kiss. And when he pulled back, his soft smile silenced any question that sent anxiety coursing through you. 

It was the first of many kisses that peppered your evening. Luc kissed you sweetly when he left to sit at the head table and you were forced to mingle with strangers. He kissed you again when he found you after the first few dances, his hands guiding you out onto the dancefloor to dance together. And again before he left you alone at your table with the promise of returning with a flute of pink champagne. 

It would be your third, or fourth, drink of the night. You hadn’t exactly been counting. You had one to sip in your hands while you socialized and you needed another after dancing. One after the other, you welcomed its sweet taste and the feeling of the bubbles against your tongue. And you welcomed the warm fuzzy feeling that came with drinking it. It left you too comfortable in the crowded room. Too comfortable with having Luc’s hands on your body, and his lips on your lips,  as you spoke to his friends, to strangers, as his girlfriend.

The title garnered a crowd. Everyone wanted to know how you met, how long you were together, and every little detail that you were willing to offer them. The questions were easy to answer because you didn’t have to lie. And those you did have to create some kind of answer for, were born from truth. But handing it all alone in Luc’s absence, while he was taking longer than expected to get you a drink, left you overwhelmed and desperate for a moment alone. 

Excusing yourself with a smile, you promised to return once you found Luc, and you began to walk past the crowded dancefloor towards the bar. Your steps were unsteady, the buzz of the champagne coursing pleasantly through your body as you pushed your way through crowds. You kept your eyes sharp, looking for Luc in the winding line at the bar only for your brows to furrow. He wasn’t there. You stopped in place, turning in place slowly, trying to find where he could have wandered off to. 

You didn’t find him at the head table with the bride and groom who were still on the dancefloor. He was with the maid of honor who was trying to prepare the cake for cutting. And he wasn’t with the groomsmen on the way back from smoking cigars. No, you found him in the shadows by the bathrooms, tucked away from the chaos. And he wasn’t alone. 

You couldn’t see who he was with at first as you pushed through the crowd to meet him. But then, as you got closer, you wish you hadn’t. 

Luc was tucked away with his ex. 

They were standing a little too close for comfort. His hands were cradling each of her cheeks, her hands resting atop his,  as he stood, arched over so that she could hear him speak in his hushed tones. You could see his lips moving, but you couldn’t hear a single word. But you didn’t need to. His body said it all, as did the look on her face. Her eyes were glassy, her lips swollen, and her hands clutching at his tie. Your mind was quick to connect the dots, jumping to one conclusion, and one conclusion only. 

Luc had brought you there to make her jealous. 

And it worked. 

She wanted him back, and you were sure you had just caught them at the end of kissing and making up. 

There was a heaviness that consumed your gut. It was a coiling of regret and naivety sitting there like a rock as you were sobered by your own anger. How could you have been so stupid to think that this was the opportunity for the both of you to be something more? 

It left a sour taste in your mouth as you stumbled back, running into guests you didn’t know and drawing too much attention to yourself. You muttered out rushed apologies, your voice breaking but you were nowhere near tears. You were too angry to cry, but you knew you needed to get out of there before that anger boiled down to sorrow. 

Quick steps carried you to your table, your hand grabbing your clutch like you were Indiana Jones stealing a treasured idol and a large bolder was now in full pursuit. But your bolder was Luc. 

You could hear him calling after you as you pushed your way to the exit. You ran when you could, but it would never be fast enough. You couldn’t outrun him if you tried. And when he finally caught up to you, you were standing in the middle of the sidewalk, dazed by the rush of traffic on the busy Montreal street. 

There was nowhere else for you to go, so you turned around and you faced him. 

“You knew she was going to be here, didn’t you?” You threw your words at him, the question emphasized by the honking of Montreal city traffic as you stood in the center of the sidewalk, crowds from the wedding and general foot traffic moving around the both of you in a blur. And you just stared at him, waiting for an answer, an answer he couldn’t give you, because he knew you wouldn’t like it. He did know she was going to be here, you could see it in the ashamed look on his face, and the sad look in his eyes. And you should have known that too. They had been together for years. His friends were her friends too. 

It made you want to scream, but instead, you took a few steps towards him, your palms meeting the strength of his chest to shove him back towards the door of the venue. 

“You’re a fucking joke,” you said, your voice not once losing its harsh confidence even if it so desperately wanted to break like your heart already had deep in your chest. 

“You could have saved me and yourself a lot of trouble if you had just come alone, Luc. But no, everything is always so complicated with you. You can’t make anything easy. You’ve got to make her jealous right? So it’s all the more satisfying when you get her back into your bed.” 

Your name slipped from his lips, a desperate plea as he tried to reach out to you. You stared at his hand for only a moment, his reach so tempting to reach out to. He wanted you to take it, to hold your hand and draw you in. What he would do after that, you didn’t know. And you wouldn’t find out. You would rather step out into traffic. And you did. Your heels met the wet roadway, splashing through the shallow puddles as you came to stand between parked cars. 

“We were just-”

You almost groaned at the sound of his voice. You didn’t want to hear it anymore. So you cut in before he could try to feed you any excuse he could come up with. 

“Pretending? Your head cocked to the side, an unpleasant smile on your lips, “you’re right. We were. All of this was just fucking pretend. So I’m done pretending.” 

Throwing your hands up, you moved further from the curb to hail a cab from the chaos of the Montreal city traffic. But Luc was moving into the street after you, his footsteps making your shoulders tense up before you could turn around and see that it was him. 

“Can you just give me a second to fucking say anything?” His voice was strained with the frustration that was painted all over his face. 

“Why should I?” You bit back. 

“Just let me explain-”

“Explain, ha,” you laughed, “As much as I would love to see how you would justify this, I’ve given you more than enough of my time, Luc.”

The conversation didn’t end there. 

Luc always needed to try to get the last word. “You’re impossible!”

But you never let him have it. “And you’re an asshole,” you told him with a forced smile before climbing into the cab that was holding up traffic in the street. 

A symphony of honks was the background music as you told your destination to the driver. You would return to the hotel, spend the night there, and come morning you would catch your flight back to Winnipeg. After that, you hoped you’d never have to see Luc again. What he had done to you, in your mind, was unforgivable, and it sent you into tears as you sat alone in the back seat of the taxi cab. 

Act 3. 

It was the ring of the courtesy call that woke you up the morning after the wedding. Your flight was in a mere few hours, your checkout time dawning on you, and you couldn’t have been happier. The sooner you got home, the sooner you could try to forget what happened. You had tried to forget it already, but as you threw back your blanket, and swung your legs over the side of the bed to place your feet flat on the ground you were met by the biggest reminder of the mistakes you had made when agreeing to go to Montreal. 

On the floor, draped under a decorative throw blanket, was Luc. 

A sigh so heavy that you almost groaned rocked you. He sure had some balls to come back to the hotel room after what happened the night before. You had made it quite clear that you were less than impressed with him, and what he did. Surely he had to know the severity of his deceit. That it had not only been cruel to you but to his ex as well. The manipulation and the lies-

You stopped yourself midthought, your eyes falling to where he slept on the floor so peacefully. If he had come all the way out here playing pretend with you just to win his ex back, why was he here in the room? 

It was a question you tried to ignore as you quietly changed into a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt to wear on the flight home. And one you pushed further into the back of your mind as you took a quick inventory of the hotel room bathroom to make sure you hadn’t left anything behind. 

You shouldn’t care to know why he was there. But you did care enough not to let him miss his flight - or well, be the reason he missed it. Grabbing your packed back you nudged Luc in the back with your sneaker-clad foot on the way to the door. You didn’t greet him with pleasantries and instead met him with the same harshness he heard from you the night before. 

“Get up asshole, you’re going to miss your flight,” you stood in the doorway long enough to watch Luc wake up in a panic. The last thing you saw on your way out the door was his hand lurching out to grab his watch to check the time. 

You left him behind, your suitcase rolling in your wake as you followed the same route out of the hotel as you did the night before. You waved to the bellhop in the lobby, your smile a little weaker this time, and instead of meeting a town car, you found a vacant taxi and loaded your luggage into the back seat with you. 

“Trudeau International Airport, please?” You asked of him with a sigh, your head leaning back against your seat. 

You could have fallen asleep there, your eyes falling shut as you heard the turning signal of the cab begin its rythmic tick as he tried to merge into busy traffic. It was almost soothing, hypnotic, but it was broken by the abrupt opening of the back door. 

Your eyes opened quickly, your body lurching defensively away from the door as your heart raced, startled. Your lips parted to yell at the idiot who didn’t see that the cab was already occupied, but you were met with the familiar face of Luc. You wanted to be relieved at the sign of him, but your disgust continued to bubble deep inside your gut. You couldn’t even bring yourself to tell him to fuck off and find another taxi. Instead, you sat in silence, your gaze leaving him and looking out the window to fixate on the buildings as they passed. 

To your relief, Luc didn’t say a single word the entire ride to the airport. Not did he try to carry your bags when you arrived. Instead, he merely followed in your wake, until you came to the check-in counter. It was there you decided to let him go first. 

It was an innocent thing. Something he didn’t even question as he checked in for the flight. A first-class seat that would take him back to Winnipeg. And he even lingered afterward, waiting for you to check in as if it had been a show of good faith. But in reality, it was the only way you could ensure you wouldn’t have to sit with him on the flight home. 

“I was wondering if you had any other seat available?” You spoke to the airline representative who met you with a perplexed expression. 

Luc wore one of the same, your name leaving his lips as if to beg you to change your mind. 

You weren’t going to. 

“There’s nothing else in first class,” the representative told you as if it were going to change your mind. 

“Something in economy will do just fine,” you assured them with a nod, your grip on your bag growing tighter and you didn’t ease up on your grasp until the updated ticket was in your hands and you were ready to board. 

There was a relief in going home. A relief in being able to spend the flight alone, but it wasn’t without one last attempt from Luc. He spoke your name so softly, so gently, that for a moment you considered listening to him. You hesitated in place, your eyes raising to meet his as he reached out for your arm. He gripped it carefully, not too hard, just enough to keep you in place. Just enough to assure that you would listen to what he had to say. 

“I made you this,” Luc spoke slowly, his free hand raising to show you his phone screen. On it, Spotify was open for you to see, a playlist labeled i’m sorry the only thing you could see. It was a playlist of twenty or more songs, you wouldn’t quite see, and want to get close enough to see. “Listen to it on the flight home?”

Your eyes stared at it for a moment, your tongue parting your lips to lick over them slowly as your mouth went dry. “I’ll think about it,” was all you could offer him before you pulled out of his hold and stepped aside. First class was boarding, and you were in his way. 

Luc lingered for a moment more, his eyes fixated on you until he let out a defeated sigh and left you standing alone waiting to board. It would be some time before you were called to board, yet you stood, lingering where he left you. It was there, waiting for your call to board that curiosity got the best of you. 

Your thumb stroked over your phone screen, bringing it to life with its light and pulling open Spotify with the click of a single button. There, you found Luc’s profile and the playlist he had made for you. Twenty-five songs. 1 hour, 30-plus minutes long. It had artists you knew, and others you didn’t. Songs that were your favorite, and some you didn’t even know what they would sound like. It wouldn’t last the entire flight, but it would kill time, and maybe it would help you understand. 

Quickly you downloaded the list, and when you boarded the plane and found your seat, you pressed play. 

Kiss Her You Fool. 

Take Me to Church. 

Where Do We Go From Here?

Now or Never. 

They were just a handful of the songs Luc had compiled onto the playlist for you. The playlist you had listened to from start to finish, and then started again before you had landed in Winnipeg. It had taken you through a rollercoaster of emotions. You smiled. You laughed. You cried. And it left your heart heavy in your chest as you collected your bag and made your way out to hail a cab. 

You did not completely understand what Luc was trying to say with the song he put together. Some confused you. Others gave you hope. But what you did know, was that you owed him an apology. 

You fumbled with your belongings and your phone as you stood on the platform, taxis waiting for their next passenger in front of you, as you began to dial his number. You were halfway through it when the long honk of a horn drew your eyes up, and you found Luc leaning against his car, waiting for you. 

“What are you doing-” you started, your ace blanketed with confusion as you began to take slow, cautious strides toward him. 

He had reached through the driver’s side window to honk at you before rounding to stand at the hood of his car. Arms crossed over his chest, his tattoos on full display as he left his sweatshirt and back in the backseat of his car. 

“I owe you a ride home,” he told you simply. It had always been the plan, but you hadn’t intended to take him up on it after what had happened. 

“I think you owe me a little more than that,” you told him, trying not to smile as you tossed your phone at him. 

He caught it effortlessly, the screen on, and displaying his playlist. 

Luc smiled. 

“You listened to it?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“Explain,” was all you told him. 

“You’re my best friend,” he said your name, and it oozed with the pain he felt for the pain he caused you, “I didn’t do any of this to hurt you. I invited you because… Well,” he sighed,  “because you’re right. I’m a shitty person. The break up a few months ago, was because of you. She didn’t like how close you and I were. She wanted me to distance myself from you, and that wasn’t something I was willing to do. Then she gave me the ultimatum. You or her. And I chose you.”

A lump formed in your throat, you swallowed it back and held your breath. 

“When I invited you. My intentions weren’t the best. I wanted to mess with her, and that was wrong for me to do. Not just to her, but to you too. But I’m glad I did-”

“Luc-” you gasped out, both in shock at his words and his lack of regret for his actions. 

“I’m not finished,” he cut in, “I’m glad I did because playing pretend with you, fuck, it wasn’t just pretending.” Luc stepped away from the car, and you were frozen in place, watching him as he approached. Your bag slipped from your hold, falling to the ground as your hands reached out to welcome his body as he stepped so close to your own as he took your head in his hands and drew you in so close to his lips you could feel his words in a hot breath against your skin, “Because I’m in love with you. I have been for a long time.”

It wasn’t much of an apology, but it was the explanation you asked for. It wasn’t what you expected to hear, but you liked hearing it. It made you smile as you reached up, your hands finding the nape of his neck and knitting in his hair as you drew him in for a kiss. 

You loved him too. 

[flashyfucker]

trouble | pierre luc dubois ✷

MY MASTERLIST summary: a couple months ago, pld was a guy from tinder in your phone, mid-quarantine with nothing better to do than trade all-too intimate texts in the early hours of the morning. now he’s at a family dinner as your cousin’s new boyfriend, and all either of you can think about are the things you promised you’d do to each other. pld x fem reader. word count: 5.6k. warnings: smut. cheating / morally grey (morally bad, actually lmao). little hints of size kink & dom pld, nothing super significant though. very vague alcohol mentions.      

The first time you’d spoken to Pierre-Luc, it was moments after you’d swiped right on his dating profile with a scoff at the stupid one liner in the top line of his bio. Tinder had pulled your sharp attention from the jigsaw puzzle laid out like a big blanket over your coffee table, the quarantine days-blending-nights, online college and endless throwaway hobbies taking their toll on your circadian rhythms.

You’d barely realised it was 2am at all until Pierre-Luc’s grey bubble spelled here’s trouble.

And that did something, twisted your stomach, his understated flirting. He had you faster than either of you even knew.

only trouble for you.

      It’d taken not two days of back-and-forth, of his name lighting your phone at all hours, for cheap conversation about your classes and his career to fragment into slivers of deeper introspection. Three days before talks of big fears and big achievements were woven between voice memos recording broken pleas and lewd, slick sounds. Then wish you were here would be taped below ten-second clips: fuzzy and dark but where the lamplight glints golden on the slick of his cock, and you can hear him, hear your name groaned in the videos.

And it’d been a few weeks, more than a few nights where Pierre-Luc was there, practically. Where your snapchats would cut around your clay facemasks to show a little too much décolletage, and suddenly you’d have a hand between your thighs, ‘cause God Luc loved it, and he was really good at weaponizing his near-constant uniform of grey sweats and too-tight shirts.

But that was all it was. As your college gradually allowed you back on campus, and hockey made its valiant return, you both found your schedules filling out with things more important than sexting like horny teenagers, and the line died before the feelings did.

      Tonight the sky’s the colour of port wine and it’s late-spring, but it’s Winnipeg all the same: the wind feels like it should welt frost all along your legs while you’re stood on the kerb, waiting for a motley collection of your relatives to negotiate street parking. Your apartment’s barely two blocks away from the restaurant, and walking had seemed like a good idea until now: your shoulders tremble when you loosen them to wave at your aunt in someone’s passenger seat, the driver trying to reverse parallel, and your hair sticks to your lipgloss in the breeze, and maybe it wasn’t the walking, but the showing up at all, that was your mistake.

You think so, especially, when your cousin cheeps out your name from a little ways down the block, picks up her pace to jog into your arms, a hug with an intensity that takes you off guard, ‘cause your eyes are only on the guy following her up, the barest of furrows in his brow: far too familiar. 

The pathetic hope he’ll continue being a stranger, a passer-by, even just for tonight, it’s gone in the way your cousin looks back at him, smiles at him. Your brain whirrs like a cash counter, excuses to leave filing themselves into the dozens, but car doors are slamming nearby, and you know how your parents get about these silly gatherings.

      Your cousin’s smile glows and she’s halfway through something like how have you been, it’s been so long, before you come to centre, swallow around some throwaway answer and let a sigh die in your throat when Luc settles at your cousin’s side, pink-faced in a way he’s sure he can blame on the wind chill. He hopes, anyway.

But he knows the way you look under the fine silk dancing against your tight thighs, tonight, and he’s fucked. He’s fucked. Your cousin explains to a group of family, now, how “Pierre lives in the neighbourhood, so we walked. Isn’t that so romantic?” and you and Luc, you both see the train about to derail, here. Both feel the panic as it screams in your ears.

      He takes her hand when you all walk in, and drops it to sit wherever your uncle directs him to without complaint: opposite his girlfriend, adjacent you. It’s weird to watch it all: the sharp, wide cut of his knuckles flexing in a cup around her hand then letting go easily, and you know he’s not yours, but he sent stupid fucking hand pictures when you asked, one time, and you’d complimented this signet ring he wore, and, fuck. 

He’d said You want a ring? I’d run away with you if they’d let us out of the country. 

And you’d swooned, laid upside down on your couch, square-eyed and lost in him. 

i’d settle for that one against my throat rn. but i hear vegas is nice this time of year.

Inside you? We could even do Cabo. Maybe Paris.

i want it all with you. paris sounds nice, though.

And now he’s toying with his soup spoon like a kid in trouble, and if you don’t keep your elbows down you feel the warmth of him beside you, and that auric signet adorns the fourth finger on his right hand, and if you think about the way he’d ended that conversation, the almost-sincerity of his promise to take you to fuckin’ Paris? Bending you over on the hotel balcony and kitschy gallery dates? 

You’d spent an hour talking about the city with him, riding out your orgasmic afterglow on the phone together. It was nearly routine. For some reason, now, you think you could cry at this table. 

A healthy dose of jealousy found in the knowing you’d have him, maybe, if you’d tried a little harder. If you’d not both gotten so busy all at once, if the timing had been right. If you’d put more effort in when he kept swiping up on your stories for a few weeks. You shoulder it all, the onslaught, and smile while telling your relatives about this freelance gig you’ve got, how well it compliments school. How you’re thriving, really, on most fronts, but you stammer over the relationship questions, and how Luc’s knee leans into yours under the table, and you feel bad, but you don’t pull away from it.

He lets himself look at you, properly in this light, for the first time, when you manage “Tinder’s a bit of a lost cause, isn’t it?”, coated in an impressive fake laugh along with one of your perpetually-single aunts. 

      This joint’s got these too-expensive chandeliers curtaining honeyed light everywhere, and you’re smiling, gentle and measured and more polite than he’d known you to be, and he has to blink slow like he’s stunned, because he is, a little. It takes a moment to remind himself he’s not here with you, and it feels like a gutting. Luc barely knows what he’s getting at when he picks up his phone from where it’d rested, untouched between fine stemware, but he knows that sitting here without speaking to you feels like burning. 

His name in your notifications still tightens in your chest, all these months later.

She’s not my girlfriend Only came because she didn’t want to answer relationship questions tonight

You need something stronger than the iced water you drink, but it chills all the way down to your stomach, and it helps. The way your nerves prickle, brain buzzes— it somehow makes you feel like you fit in, here, match the roiling energy of this overstimulating restaurant. You can barely form a serious thought.

so what, you were bribed with the oysters and negronis on my dad’s tab?

You text under the table, subtle enough, but you’re thankful for the boisterous mouth of your dad explaining some unbelievable golfing story to his brothers. Moreover, distracting everyone from your shitty table manners. You keep your shoulders back, anyway, sure steeling your spine will save you from swooning into a hunch over your phone, how you’d always wound up for him. Your mom would really hate that, you think.

You catch Luc in your periphery, glancing around, trying to keep up. His eyes glint with feigned interest before they fall back to his phone, and your heart beats loud and uneven like it’s the blunt tap tap tap of his thumb.

Just the oysters. Got a PT session in the morning and I’m a lightweight.

of course you are

And you hope Luc will be done at your dismissal. That history might repeat itself on an abstracted scale, and he’ll reach out to one of your kid cousins across the table and bribe them to swap seats so he can sit beside the girl he came with, much to your uncle’s chagrin. You think about it, though, for a few seconds: where his knee touches yours, his elbow moves so close to your forearm you feel it, there, and then you think about him moving, and it’s nearly like panic. 

Any chance you still want that ring?

It’s selfish how you smile. But he’s smiling, too, and that makes it feel better, a little. Like if you’re doing the wrong thing, together, that makes it less wrong.

nah, just paris. being realistic here.

The hotel balcony or the Louvre?

You’re warm all over, delirious-drunken heat despite the lemon-spiked water in your glass, and it’s pathetic how quick he’s got you, a puddle in the palm of his hand, pressure between your thighs. The room is suffocating, overfilled.

You hear your cousin, for a moment, her high voice recounting shapeless words— hearing her but not listening. You’re glad she’s busy, but you think she might kill Luc when they get home, for the way he’s not partaking in the high frenzy of your extended family, like this wasn’t meant to be his debut and now he’s on his phone, lost under the ruckus. You might be annoyed, too, if you weren’t the reason for it. If the thought of a Parisian balcony and the man beside you didn’t make you shift in your seat.

don’t try to sext me rn

But he puts his phone down, and his knee skims your thigh again, and that ring tingggs against the glass when he hesitates before picking up his water, and you just can’t help yourself. You text again.

the balcony after a day at the louvre.

Your cousin falls back in her seat when Luc’s phone trembles on the table, screen alive again, and her deflation bites at you, but your body’s alight when Luc stands up, plucking his phone from the sparkling chaos of excessive silverware he doesn’t know the purpose of. He excuses himself, leaves without fuss from anybody, and he mustn’t be even halfway to the bathroom before your phone vibrates in the cradle of your lap.

How about the bathroom of this place, for now? I’ll book flights tonight.

i’m not fucking you here are u insane

Just wanna talk.

The free bread on the table’s almost gone and main courses are still miles away, and the tension is building between your mom and one of her sisters, so you go. You tell yourself it’s everything but Luc, but then there’s the stupid, incessant brush of his leg alongside yours, the silken jersey of his stupid-nice pants, tight like barely-holding around his thick thigh, pressing into you like a reminder, and he’s twice as head-spinningly attractive in person. Like all that had done nothing to you at all.

      He stands with his back against the doorframe of a single-stall in the little alcove of a hallway, and he calms when he sees you, visibly so: shy smile hiding teeth and his shoulders relaxing, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The cogs twining tension in your torso begin to come apart, letting your muscles breathe.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.” And you think that’s his idea of breaking the ice, ‘cause maybe you look a little meaner than you want to, expressionless with arms folded across your body, and you don’t really know why. Luc wants to ask if you’re okay, but that’d be dumb, he thinks. Neither of you have a reason not to be.

There are probably a million things in the air to be cleared, but none of them feel right to begin this conversation with. You don’t know why he wanted to get you alone, but you know you stand a little too close to him, and neither of you mention it. Something’s starting, here, energy between the pair of you, you feel it rising, an upward pull you can’t quite place. It’d be so easy to kiss him.

“Sorry I stopped texting.” Is an easy place to start, an easy way to shake the sly little thoughts about his beard and his shoulders and his lips— and you are sorry. God, are you. The word sorry doesn’t seem big enough for the pit in your chest, tonight. For how cuttingly good he looks in all-black, the dress shirt tailored taut across the expanse of muscle, licks of hair threatening to scruff around his ears. No word could be, you don’t think.

“So am I. Got a lot to catch up on.” Luc shifts like he doesn’t know where to put his hands, pocket-to-pocket and far, far too heavy by his sides. It’s darker here, in this sleek little hallway, and he hopes, if he’s as flushed as he feels, that you can’t tell.

“The girlfriend, probably foremost.” You finally smile, pretty and bittersweet, and it melts him, how your head tilts with it, and all his thoughts fall gooey in his chest. He feels like a bad guy. Maybe he is a bad guy. Maybe he doesn’t really care, though, because you’re here, now, and years of grinding out on the ice and quotes about hard work and planning and structure has marred his perception of fate and luck, but he knows this feels too right to not be something like that. On this date he’d only agreed on to be nice, he feels like the luckiest dude in the world to have found you again.

“If I told you we’re not exclusive would you kiss me?”

You stare dumbly, and you know you should tell him to fuck off, ‘cause the girl he came with is around the corner and a couple tables over, and, God, the nitty terms of their relationship shouldn’t matter, but he's afflicted and he looks it, handsomeness aggrandised by apple cheeks, an open mouth, caught between words and sensibility and what he wants, and it overcomes you: you need him so bad it thrums everywhere, shimmery and heavy in your blood. 

“Would you be lying?”

He answers quick and gaspy, desperate:

“Never. It’s been a month of talking. Nothing defined.”

And it’s not a romantic profession or gesture and it shouldn’t be enough, but it’s like a magnet’s pull on the iron in your veins, the excitement of it, and you're on him, kissing hard, pushing your way around into the single stall with his hands keeping you close, your chest flush to his sternum, his heaving ribs.

      Cutting shadows in the desaturated amber light of this too-nice bathroom, his hands stretch across plains of your body, hold tight— move rougher than his mouth. The juxtaposition is mind-spinning and hot and frustrating all at once, grappling with the gentleness of his kiss, and the way he handles you like you could slip away from him, and he’d do anything to stop it.

Backed against the wall, you spare a thought for what it might be like, later, when you’re not in heels and you have to pull and stretch like taffy to kiss him like this, and it’s all you can think about, the next time, the more more more. 

The idea that this will end flows in and spikes in your chest, and Luc’s tugging at your hair, a little hard, pulling your head back to mouth softly down the column of your neck when “Need you,” falls from your mouth like a plea.

Luc catches your eye for a moment, a touch of gentle concern on his face, seeking clarity as he pants “Here?”, and the understated respect of it takes you further into him, finding his mouth with yours once more.

“I don’t— Just need something Luc.” Your thoughts are disorganised, pathways from your brain to your mouth well and truly in meltdown, but he gets the idea. He gets this little smile on his open mouth when the hand in your hair tightens at the root, makes you gasp, your hips jolt up into him.

“I really wanna touch you.” He might’ve been shy about it, were the circumstances different: were you somebody else, somewhere else— somewhere the sense of urgency is not so overwhelming, the fear of loss not spurring on the need to do this, do it right. But he’s here, practically on top of you, and he knew he was fucked the moment he saw you out front, but he’s a wreck for you, now, long gone.

      He’s caught the fervent nod of your head before the breathy “Please.”, and the word is twisted into a gasp with Luc’s hand pushing between your thighs, fingers lithe and intuitive in angling against your slit, pushing heavy enough through the layers of tights and panties that your hips buck, chasing it.

Hand falling from your hair to your hip, Luc guides, helps you cant your pelvis in rhythm with the cyclical working of his hand, and he studies it, smiling: the look on your face, the lips open but brows tight, unclipped pleasure tingling out, “Oh, God, Luc,” and little uh-huhs falling unstifled from your glossed mouth. 

But footsteps thud outside the door, echo in the hall a little louder than the restaurant’s bustling hum, and Luc feels them, a familiar pull, like skates shredding ice behind him, the feeling of somebody catching up, and it’s like years of that has steeled his composure for nothing but this. 

He hates it, but the rush makes him impossibly harder, fizzes in his muscles all over. He quietens you gently, takes your jaw in his big hand and “Shh, sh, I’ve got you. Gotta be quiet.” falls so close to your lips, numb from his teeth, and he kisses you again as he tears at your tights and pushes beneath your underwear, cold rush of air and then his hand, hot and heavy.

You yelp into him when his fingers take featherlight circles over your bare clit, slow and purposeful and not nearly enough, and your nerve grows tenfold in the moments where you're trying, grabbing at his forearm and grinding, but he’s moved from cautious to teasing: you can taste the difference in the kiss made shallow by his fake-coy grin.

You find it in you, for the slimmest moment, to tune out your frustration, like it’s not beating between your legs cruelly, unsated by the hot little waves Luc’s revelling in, and you swallow hard, thumbing at his cheek so he meets your eye, stars in his, and he’s all you want, then.

“Let them kick the door in if they come looking, Luc. Need you inside me,”

      And the footsteps are long gone, and, like, ten minutes is maybe a generous estimate for the time you’ve got before phones start ringing and people start knocking, but he feels a little like the world might break apart if he doesn’t move you, sit you up on the marble counter’s edge and give you what you’re asking for.

He handles you with ease: it’d be graceful, maybe, if it wasn’t undercut by urgency, by your grasping at the width of him, trying to take down the pearlescent buttons of his shirt while he fumbles with the zip on his pants, all moving so, so fast. It’s mulled with panted hums and your voice, catching, when you see him, breathless with awe and intimidation and a little chagrin, maybe, at how you feel yourself pulse, leak filthily. 

“You okay?” He mumbles at your sudden quiet, nudging at your chin with one hand to look at him while wrangling his pants down his thighs a little further, and the red flourish of his cheeks flips your belly, makes this feel real, open. Like you know him, and he knows you, better than anyone.

“Y’wanna hear how it’s better in person? Can I show you?” It’s self-indulgent, how you reach between your bodies, run a tentative hand over the imposing length of him with a smile, satisfied with how it bests him so easily, makes the big man all blushy.

“Don’t have time,” He finally gulps, centring himself with a fist around his dick, so you can’t touch, and it nearly makes it worse, he thinks, because then you’re touching yourself, big, slow circles over your soaked underwear, the obscene hole in your tights, legs spread with your knees up. He can barely look, not here. Feels criminal to have you without having the time to do it properly, to appreciate you right.

“We have a little time...” You try, gaging, this time, daring, maybe, and he steps into it seamlessly, the tone you’d known from him when he’d shamelessly tell you exactly how to fuck yourself all those months ago, stringing up words over the phone line that would make you blush and writhe and thank him earnestly.

“You can make out with my cock when I get to lay you out and eat this pussy. Not before. For now— hey, look at me,” His eyes are dark and it makes them soft, sincere and dead serious as his words, “I’m gonna fuck you hard and quick and,” He pulls the sticky fabric of your panties to the side, “Then we’re gonna pretend this didn’t happen,”

Your whimper is a little pathetic, gauzy and mostly breath and equal parts the sick reality of the situation and the hot, swollen head of Luc’s cock teasing at your entrance, catching and slipping, “Till we can get back to yours and I can make you mine, good and well.”

And that gets you, and you don’t know if you really knew what it meant to see stars before, but when it pops in, abrupt, the hot stretch pushes deep and fast and with his hands all over you, thumbing at your lip, palming at your neck, you know, finally, you’re acquainted with them.

       It’s stream of consciousness, your comfort with him already prevailing as “S’ really big, Luc.” wavers your voice, shoulders dipped back against the cold mirror behind you, and Luc, for all he would love to revel in it, doesn’t let it preen him, more important things to worry about, his brow furrowing deep. 

“You good?” He strains, nearly bottomed-out, big hands finding their hold on your thighs, and it’s only met with “Please, Luc, need it,” from you. And he says something you think you miss, a little, ‘cause his hips jolt up almost involuntarily and you can’t really think straight, as it is, but it sounds like “Fuckin’ killing me.”.

He holds the back of your legs, pushing up up up to keep you open for him as your hips pull and twist and give way to this new cadence, the throbbing pleasure hitting in your lower stomach and building out, knotting you inside. 

“So wet... Makin’ a mess.” 

It mounts fast enough it could nearly be embarrassing, and it’s not at all helped by the way he runs his mouth, almost to himself, mindless and unfiltered. Rambles of pretty girl and so good for me, a new ballast to his ever-smooth voice: it damn near reverberates in your chest on every thrust, overwhelms you equal to the palpable surges along your nerves as you fall in time with one another.

Deep in the marrow of the moment, under the headiness of the stretch, the rock, waves of pleasure like a rising tide, impending— the pressing feeling remains: pleas of “Tonight?” cut from Luc’s mouth, panting as he grabs your hips and drives into you, his words unvetted by sense or foresight, and you nod, desperate, giggle dumbly when he clarifies “Got any plans later?”.

“Uh...” A little moan, wetting your lips as you collect your thoughts like a mixed up deck of cards, trying to focus like he’s not rutting his cock into you, hunting deeper, deeper, “Gonna... G’na be on my knees, I think...”

“Yeah?” There’s something flashy about his smile, the way his beard softens his face through the ecstasy, the pretty cut of his incisors under a curled lip when your back arches, helps him sink further, hit that spot. You’re done-for when he slows, shallows his thrusts and tracks a hand along your body, fingers lighting a ticklish path all the way down, slipping over your dress to split either side of your clit and stroke gently, back and forth and back, cyclical and unwavering.

It brightens everything, the chill glass along the ridges of your shoulder blades fuses with the uproar of heat and pressure in your pelvis— lemon over split ice, cracking and fizzing. Then it turns quickly, lips into an edge suddenly, brutally.

      It only takes the subtlest of upticks in his pelvis, the head of his cock rutting in just so, and you’re right there, rocking messy turns into his hips as you orgasm, chin tipped back, a cry you can’t contain, and everything slows down: Luc can’t help himself, hungry mouth dipping to your chest. You’re searing hot, skin sheening under the rich, burnishing light, reflexive grasping for his arms, his torso, and you’re so stunning like this, he nearly laughs.

“There she is, that’s my girl,” Is quickly bridled with wet little kisses along your collarbone, fucking you through the afterglow, quick snaps of his hips, now, fingers still there. Your cunt pulses around him, only made tighter by the sight of him when he rights his posture, his eyes rolling and fluttering closed and scrunching, turning your coherent thoughts into choppy whines and something that sounds a lot like thank you, Luc, thank you.

“Still with me, pretty girl?” He asks, but he’s about to lose it, too: the tremble in his voice, his choked breath, it’s not lost on you. You gasp as he reaches for the arch of your back, yanking you up into his torso, a hand feeling for your throat and thumb lining your jaw, heavy comfort like a blanket. His chest bumps into yours, heaving, panting, and you’re too far gone, now, to watch your words, your decorum, your head lolling into him.

“Do it inside me, Luc, please. Please.”

He’s rapt with it, the plea on your face, the gentleness of the ask, in awe of you. You whimper, his mouth pecking softly at your temple, as his hips tick up, he moans, “God. Say it again, baby. Say— fuck. What do you need?” 

You whine for half a moment, try to shove a hand between your bodies to play with your clit, but he’s mean about it, swatting your hand away, steadfast in that subtle cruelty until you give him what he wants, ‘till you say it.

“Need it, Luc. Fill me up. Make me your girl. Need your come, please, come inside me.”

He’s losing rhythm in favour of desperate, rabbity thrusts which shake you, and you can’t really tell, but you don’t think you stop talking, just lose coherency in all your begging, all your neediness, the titillation of hearing him say it: my girl, my girl, my girl while he pins your hips, fucks you into the counter.

With his fingers back on you, then, it’s unstoppable, inevitable. He’s burying his free hand in your hair to tip your head back, and kissing you hard, all messy licking, nipping, a growl when you’re coming, again, your cunt contracting and legs squeezing around his hips, hands clawing under his shirt— jaw hinged open to mewl his name. It’s all you remember when his hips stutter, shoving all the way in at once, barely pulling out before rocking back in, all his muscles wound tight tight tight.

He fills you up, hot and deep, threatening to flow out around where he’s buried. The stretch, the barely-fitting headspin is exacerbated now you’re both used and throbbing and— god, he huffs like he’s sobbing, groaning with the last of his load spilling into you.

You’re both breathing hard, like there’s not enough air to go around, and the oxygen on offer is heavy, hard to take down. Luc smiles to himself with his head bowed, and it’s strange, like the kind he wears after a bad loss but someone’s told a good joke in the tunnel, making dinner plans in the locker room, singing badly in the shower. Something akin to hope set behind it, held in tight: metal-gilded like the onyx in the ring he wears, warm gold.

      He pulls out slowly, and something breaks in your throat, disappointment, maybe, sudden emptiness carding up through your sinews, settling, cheesily, in your chest. You smell his cologne on yourself, shuddering off in waves when you move, find your footing on the ground despite shaky knees. 

You’re both deadlocked within yourselves, rearranging clothes, shakily praying your underwear catch the mess of him, the filthy flow. He’s pinching his buttons closed, and you find the top of your breast striated with long, blotchy rakes from teeth, sensibly covered by the neckline of your dress, but you don’t even remember when he’d done that, too lost in the fervour, the rush, since the moment the bathroom door shut behind you. It fills you, warmth in the smouldering pit behind your sternum, the proof he was there like a badge, or like a brooch. Either way, it’s yours to keep.

And the sweet is hard to keep out when the bitter makes it hotter. You agree you’ll leave first, and he’ll wait a moment before following, and he tells you he’ll call it off with her after dinner, and you nod like you’ve just shaken on a business deal. You should feel bad, but all you can feel is him between your legs, the tear in your stockings, exposed panties under the too-short-for-this dress, the dull ache.

It feels full-circle, like Can’t wait to taste you texted to your phone months ago, and, now, "I’m gonna spend, like, hours, eating you out, later,”, murmured against your ear from behind, matter-of-factly, his hand mapping a line up the side of your body, a sharp, playful little slap to your ass that makes you yelp, first, and roll your eyes after.

He laughs a soft “Huh. I’m serious, baby.”, rubbing at your shoulders.

“Yeah? Serious about Paris, too?” You’re fucking around, now. Almost high-strung, waiting for a knock, for someone to call you out, and this little swirling stroke of luck and fate or whatever the fuck, to fall apart. But, in your blurred afterglow, Luc slotted against you, still nearly-hard on your lower back, you don’t really care. You can’t imagine letting anything ruin it. 

“Mm. Leave it with me.”

      He kisses the back of your head before you finally break away, and pulls softly at your hand as you go. Your cousin sticks out like a beacon at that table when you round the corner to find your family, and the indecency of the mess in your underwear suddenly hangs like heavy raiment over you. 

Your seat and Pierre’s, both empty, jackets strewn and half-full glasses and crooked silverware from restive hands. It should be tell-tale, so obvious. 

But, there’s a blemish of maraschino on her pretty blouse, and she’s big-eyed and grinning and entertaining one of the aunts, not a care in the world. Maybe she hadn’t even noticed. You sit high on tense muscles, legs crossed tight under the table, and join the conversation like you’d never left, like fifteen minutes that felt like an hour or two hadn’t fallen away and changed so much with them. Maybe it’d been twenty minutes.

“Everything okay?” She asks, a genuine sidebar. So nice. 

“Yeah, turns out one of Pierre’s trainers is this guy I was seeing last summer. Got caught up talking about what an asshole he is.” The lie comes easily, and eases both you and her. Your phone throbs in your hand.

How soon can you get a few days off work?

A link to a hotel website comes through, next, then a screenshot of the balcony, a private terrace with a suspended daybed, sprawling city views. Your face must be candy-red.

i’ll see what i can do they’re gonna hate your québécois over there lmao

You wonder, briefly, if you look as out of place as you feel. As fucked-out as you feel. You’d smoothed your hair in the mirror, and he’d told you, doting look on his face, “You look... unaffected, mostly,”, trying to reassure you like your hair wasn’t tangled, makeup wasn’t blurred, the proof of your actions wouldn’t be glaring to anyone who cared to look. 

You could feel your pulse in your hands and throat and teeth, everything, asking “Did I feel unaffected?”. And he’d closed his eyes, groaned a desperate laugh through “Baby, don’t get me hard again.”. But he was already halfway back there.

      Luc, coming back out, walks with strides heavy and confident. Ruddiness crawls up from his collar and he smiles, asymmetrical dimples with his teeth seizing the inside of his cheek, trying to subdue it, the elation that’s so inappropriate, now.

Let em hate it. We don’t need to leave the suite, anyway.

He sits, and all the meals come out like it’s been rehearsed, timing impeccable. Luc pens one more message, and has to pretend that he hadn’t seen you freeze up, squirm in your seat. That he wants anything but to walk you home, now, give you everything he’s promised. With your elbows knocking under the table’s crest, though, it’s like neither of you had ever left. 

(Wait I do want pics of us in the Louvre, so we’ll have to leave for that, at least)

[hockeyboysimagines]

Happy New Year!

You all have been so amazing. You were so patient with my long hiatus, supportive of my return, and did so much to grow this blog this year. Pat yourselves on the back. Without you, I wouldn’t be writing like I am today, so for that thank you🤍 from the bottom of my heart. I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know.

All that being said, what are some things you wanna see in 2024? Send me in some asks that include-

New additions to my Who I write for.( Please check list, and completed projects before requesting to make sure I haven’t already done it)

New projects to add to existing storylines.

New prompts for blurbs.

A 1K followers celebration? I’m at 990.

Anything else!

Please let me know! So excited for what this year holds with all of you🤍

Just a reminder, blurbs are open for today only to celebrate the new year, so make sure you send some in. I’ve already received a few. They’ll be completed throughout the week. Can’t wait to see what you all send in!

[breezymichelle99]

2AM | Pierre Luc Dubois

Summary: You fight with Pierre Luc before a game. There had been too much stress with playoffs lately that he doesn’t realize he’s being an ass. but he finds a way to make it up to you. 

Warnings: angst, cursing, couple fighting, Relationship struggles, Crying, I'm sorrys, Female recieveing, sort of Hand Job, domish PLD, dirty talk, Threat of Orgasm Denial, Sweet PLD, (not really a warning lol.) 

You and Pierre Luc had been together for 2 ½ years. You'd been with him through his struggles with Columbus and through being traded to Winnipeg. You'd follow him anywhere. And he had never been more grateful to have you by his side through it all. But with the Jets making it into the Stanley Cup Playoffs the pressure had never been greater for the team or for Pierre. 

And your relationship was beginning to feel the stress of the season. Pierre had been extremely short with you lately and you were beginning to lose your patients with him. He was leaving for the arena, and usually you'd be drooling all over his pregame look but the two of you had been fighting all morning and you weren't In the mood to find him even remotely attractive right now.

But no matter how upset you were with him you still wanted to tell him you loved him and to have a good game, so you swallowed your pride and did so. He looked at you with sad eyes. Surprised by your words. "I love you Pierre Luc, please have a good game." You whisper. He kissed your forehead but said nothing in return, leaving you in silence. 

"Ughhhhh why was he so god damn frustrating." You slammed your fist onto the counter. You hated fighting with him because you were both so stubborn that it took forever for either one to give up and apologize and usually it was you because you couldn't stand it. You went to the bedroom to change before heading to the arena, to show your support for your boyfriend regardless of how mad you were at him. You threw on your "13 Dubois" jersey with black Jeans and cute booties, grabbed your bag, and headed out.

You got to the rink and walked down towards the ice hoping that getting around his teammates would have changed his attitude but it didn't. LB, the Jets goalie skated over towards you and began chatting with you. You thought nothing of it as you laughed at his jokes, touching his arm gently as he told you something Hilarious that Pierre had said to him earlier that day.. You stop laughing when you see the death glare you were getting from Pierre. A whistle blew in the distance, LB said goodbye, you shouted have a good game and then you were greeted by one angry PLD. “What the Fuck was that?” he shouts at you making a scene. “What was what? I was talking to YOUR teammate about YOU!!!!.” you shout back. “It’s not like I was making out with him or something like Jesus Christ, maybe if you wouldn’t have slammed the door in my face when you left tonight, and talked to me like an adult , then I wouldn’t have to talk to someone else.” you yell..eyes from around the arena gravitating towards you two. “So now this is my fault?...” you interrupt him, “You are acting like I was standing out there on the ice kissing him, YOU are my boyfriend Pierre, even if you are acting like a jackass right now you still are the love of my life. I'm not going to sit here and have you talk to me like this, I'll be at home when you decide you wanna grow up.” you shout at him once more as you head out of the arena. 

“Babe.” you hear him call to you but you just keep making your way out of the arena before you cause an even bigger scene. “Dubois.” you hear the coach yell at him, you look back to see him watching you leave the arena. You get back to your car and you sit there behind the steering wheel for a few minutes trying to catch your breath, tears welling up in your eyes. You loved that man, so fucking much. Like if you didn’t you wouldn’t have uprooted your life in Columbus to follow him here. You understood there would be difficult times, and things wouldn’t always be fun but it seems like lately you hated each other more than you loved each other and that wasn’t something you were proud of. 

You got home and you threw your purse onto the counter, stomping up stairs to remove your shoes and jeans. Crawling into bed at 7pm because you were just sad and upset and you didn’t want to be in this stupid fight with Pierre anymore. As you laid there in bed in his jersey you thought about how you two never use to fight, ever…how you always use to communicate with each other, and when you didn’t agree you worked it out, it just seemed lately that everything was a fight and you knew it was because of the high pressure of the season but you HATED it! 

You pulled Pierre’s pillow from his side of the bed into your chest, quietly sobbing. How did you get here, alone in bed crying instead of cheering wildly at the playoff game. You fell asleep in tears not even bothering to turn on the game or care if they won or lost because at this point Jets Hockey was ruining your relationship and you were not a fan. 

Pierre played like crap. He hated when you were mad at him, and maybe you were right if he stopped acting like an asshole and like everything was always your fault, Maybe he wouldn’t have found himself in this position; down by a goal and you nowhere to be found. You were the best girl he had ever known; you always rolled with the punches and you never ever gave up on him, and you loved him; always. You followed him to Winnipeg without question, took care of him when he got injured right after being traded, had his back when no one else did but for some reason he continued to feel the need to push you away when things got stressful for him. He knew he fucked up today, he knew it deep down in his soul and he also knew he deserved to play like shit tonight even if it was costing his team. 

The buzzer sounded at the end of the 3rd period; the Jets losing. Pierre slammed his fist against the wall as he skated off the ice into the tunnel.  He headed in but did not change. The rest of his teammates headed for home and he headed back onto the ice. He needed to clear his head before he went home. It was almost 1am before someone from the arena staff came out and told him he needed to go home. He hadn’t realized the time. “I'm sorry.” he says, grabbing his gear and heading back into the locker room. He took a quick shower, and turned out the locker room lights as he headed for home. He tried to call you but there was no answer. If you were mad at him before you were probably really mad at him now, thinking he wasn’t coming home. 

When he got home all the lights were off and you were nowhere to be found. He saw your purse thrown on the counter and knew you must be here somewhere. He left his bag by the door along with his shoes. He hung his suit coat on the back of the chair and he headed up to the bedroom, where he found you sound asleep in his jersey. The Dim light from the tv glowing in the background. He smiled. He turned off the tv and climbed into bed with you, wrapping his arms around you tight and kissing slowly on your neck. He hears you begin to wake up. “I'm mad at you.” you groan quietly. You hear him chuckle as you finally open your eyes to look at him. 

You look over at the clock on the bedside table. 2AM. “Did you just get home?” you ask him as you rollover in his arms looking into his gorgeous eyes. He smiles half heartedly. “Yeah, I worked out after the game. I needed to clear my head.” he says with a loud sigh. There was a long silence before he began to speak again. “I'm sorry.” he admits. His long fingers tracing over your cheek. You melt into his touch. 

He notices that you’ve been crying. Fucking idiot. He thinks to himself. “Pierre…” you pause because he stops you with a long passionate kiss, slowly he pulls his lips from yours as he begins to speak again. “I'm sorry.” he repeats. “I was a complete asshole, not just at the arena but this morning too. I've been under a lot of stress lately with playoffs and not producing as much for the team as I should be and I took everything out on you and I fucked up. You are my world, babe. Literally. I love you so fucking much and you deserve a better boyfriend then you’ve been getting lately and I promise to get my shit together. I fucking swear because I can’t lose you.” his eyes are staring at you so lovingly and so sadly that you felt bad for leaving him at the arena tonight. 

“You will never lose me baby.” you whisper, running your hand over his cheek as he looks down at you.. “I know it’s been tough lately, I know you’ve been struggling but you can NOT shut me out! I love you, Pierre alright, no matter what.. Even when you're acting like an ass, which by the way you should apologize to LB he was just being nice to me.” you say with a smile. “I don’t want you to have to go through these things alone okay, just talk to me I've got your back, always. I’m sorry for yelling at you and I'm sorry that I make it tough for you to love me sometimes because I'm so stubborn, but I really just want what’s best for you..” your words trail off with a moan as Pierre’s kissing you again shutting you up. 

You feel his warm hands under your jersey attempting to pull it over your head but gives up momentarily to try another tactic. “Pierre.” you whisper quietly. “Come on babe, you can’t stay mad at me forever.” he whispers onto your skin as he slowly begins kissing down your thigh now. “Mmm, I can try.” you groan as you feel his long fingers hook under the elastic of your panties pulling them down and tossing them to the floor beside the bed. He is looking up at you from between your thighs now. “We’ll see about that.” he smirks as he licks his lips. 

He knew there was one sure fire way to get you to forgive him. Your hands fell into his curls as he licked a long strip from your clit to your entrance. “Ohhhh Piereeeeee.” you moan loudly pulling his curls between your fingers. You feel him smirk against you as his tongue continues to work. “Fuck baby, your so wet for me already.” he couldn’t help but smile knowing alll too well you couldn’t resist him. You moan his name once again as his thumb begins slowly stroking slow even circles over your clit. “Fuck Babe.” you call arching your hips into him. “GOD Pierre I'm…” without another word he’d make you cum.”Fuck you taste so good.” he moans savoring the taste of you on his tongue.  “Lean up.” he demands seconds later. You do as you're told. He practically rips his jersey off of your body, tossing it to the floor. His lips kissing up your body till he reaches your lips, your taste yourself and moan into his mouth.your hands grip his shoulders as you feel him on your thigh. You reach between your bodies. He groans loudly against your neck. 

“Mmm you want to be inside me don’t you baby.” you moan in his ear as you palm him between your bodies. “Yes, please baby, please.” he begs and you smile as your hand continues to work him. His head drops into the crook of your neck as he moans biting your collarbone. “Fuck please baby.” you smirk listening to him beg for you now. You bite his neck, sucking a deep purple bruise into his skin that you knew would get you in trouble in the morning. 

You wondered how long he’d let you make him beg before he’d had enough; turns out he wasn’t a very patient man. He grabbed wrist roughly, shoving it above your head. “Enough teasing.” he growls. Your eyes light up. “Or what?” you challenge him. There was silence for a minute as he thought about what your punishment would be for being such an insubordinate little brat… “baby girl if you don’t learn to behave I’ll have you right on the edge so many times with no sense of release you’ll be begging me to let you cum.” His voice was deep and dark and raspy and almost made you cum like a command. 

You swallowed hard. “I'm sorry.” you whimper. “What did you say?” he asks, eyes boring holes into your body, with how intense they were looking at you. “I'm sorry, sir.” you repeat your answer with a smirk. “That’s what I thought.” he says with a cocky grin that had you almost begging for him now. His long fingers teased your nipples as he paid you back for teasing him. “Mmm Baby.” you moan. “I want you Pierre.” you beg for him. “Say it again.” his voice is a growl on your skin. “I want you inside me, Pierre please.” you beg him again. He’s getting everything he wants as he listens to your words again and again as you repeat them.   

“As you wish baby.” he groans as you feel him deep inside of you in a second. “Fuckk.” you cry out as your hips collide with his rough and sloppy, both needy for each other. Your nails are digging deeper into his shoulder blades with every thrust. You wrap your legs around him pushing him deeper into you making you both moan out loud into the darkness of your bedroom. “I love how my cock feels so deep inside of you, how you take every inch of me so fucking well.” His words are dirty and sexy and for a moment you almost don’t recognize this Pierre but something about this commanding side of him, demanding every single inch of you had you falling even more in love with him.  

“Fuck Pierre, cum inside me please.” your words barely make it out of your mouth as you find yourself tightening around him. “Fuck baby, cum for me, cum all over my cock.” he growls fucking you harder into the mattress, the rythm of his hips was erratic and careless and despreate for you to cum. You toss your head back into the pillow as you scream his name as he fills you up. “Fuck baby.” he moans his head tossing back as his rythm slows and practically stills inside of you. Bodies hot and sweaty, breathing erratic and uneven. He lays there a few minutes savoring how he feels inside of you before he pulls out of you. You whine. He can’t help but smile. 

He leans down to kiss your forehead as you lay naked and satisfied in his bed. “I love you and I’m so sorry.” he says. You feel the bed move as he leaves it, returning a few minutes later with a towel to clean you up. You kiss him slowly as you get up, placing the towel in the hamper as you walk to the bathroom. You notice a set of your own deep purple hickeys on your neck and chest. Your fingers trace them gently. You clean up a bit more and slide on one of Pierre’s Winnipeg Jets T-shirts before returning to bed with him. You crawl into his arms, head on his chest. 

“I hate fighting with you.” you say looking up into his gorgeous eyes. He smiles. “Me too baby I really do. It sucks but it’s because we’re both so damn stubborn.” he chuckles. You knew he was right. You smile.   “True.” you sigh. “I know that things are stressful right now, and the last thing I want to do is add more stress.” you say, leaving soft kisses on his chest, his fingers running through your tangled hair. “I know babe. I need to learn to stop shutting you out and just talk to you about shit going on instead of just taking it out on you.” he pauses because he sees you smiling. “I mean you taking it out on me isn’t all bad.” you smirk. He leans down and captures your lips with his, his hand gently rubbing circles on your back. 

He stops kissing you. “I love you Pierre Luc Dubois. I hope you never ever forget that.” you whisper as you try not to yawn. It is well after 2 am now and the two of you have another busy day tomorrow. “I love you more my love, forever and always.” he whispers, leaving soft kisses in your hair. “Forever and always.” you quietly repeat as you fall asleep on his chest. He pulls you into his arms tighter, snuggling his body in with yours as he too would fall asleep. The future in Winnipeg looking very bright for you both. 

The end.

[hockey-fics]

When You Touch Me ~ Pierre-Luc Dubois

Song inspo: Fever by Dua Lipa and Angèle

Warnings: Pretty much just smut (I’m sorry), language. 

Summary: You’re not sure what to expect when you leave the bar with a man you just met but sometimes the best outcomes come from risky decisions. 

Word count: ~2,300

A/N: I didn’t leave any time between writing and editing so hopefully I caught any mistakes but if not, I apologize. 

The apartment is quiet, dark. The only light in the room filtering through the open blinds, streams of yellow streetlight flooding the still space. Your shoulder blades press against the cool wall behind you, the sleeves of your jacket already slipping halfway down your arms are you stare up at the boy in front of you. His hand slides to your lower back, between your body and the wall as he steps in front of you, eyes focused on you as his free hand slides to the side of your face, thumb under your jaw, tipping your head back. 

And his touch feels like fire on your skin, radiating warmth through your body. Your breath leave your parted lips unsteadily. Slipping your hand up his arm you let it rest on the back of his neck, pushing yourself off the wall to stand taller, each move inching your lips closer to his. 

This wasn’t how you thought your night was going to end up when you arrived at the bar with your friends. When you were introduced to Pierre by Anna you never imagined a couple hours later you would leaving the bar with him. When Anna had pulled you through the bar, telling you about an old friend she wanted you to meet you had never expected it to be a tall, attractive brunette with enticing eyes and a charming way with words. 

He finally closes the distance, lips moving against yours. And it ignites a fire inside of you, fiery and hot. It only lasts a few minutes before you’re both clambering for more. Pierre pushes the sleeves of your jackets all the way off, the soft sound of the jacket hitting the floor audible in the otherwise quiet apartment. His hands are on your shirt a second later, tugging the fabric up. When you pull back and lift your arms over your head to help him you’re both breathing hard and fast. You lean back against the wall as you watch Pierre lift his own shirt off, your eyes trailing up and down his bare torso, your heart racing. Your skin feels electric when he touches you again, your waist this time. While he grazes his fingers around to your back and up to the band of your bra he leans down, lips on your neck. 

Easing your bra off your arms Pierre pulls back, eyes fixed on your chest for a second before flicking back up to your eyes. You swallow hard, holding the tense eye contact with him. The air feels warm and heavy and you’re ready to start begging for him to touch you again. 

But you don’t need to because a second later Pierre has his lips attached to yours again, kissing you harder and faster now. Eager and desperate as he unbuttons your jeans, pushing them down your hips till you take over, shimmying them the rest of the way off your body. When his hand trails up your inner thigh a quiet moan emanates from your lips and Pierre pulls back, watching your reaction as he slowly brings his fingers higher up your leg. 

You have to use every ounce of control you possess to remain still, your body aching to be touched in a way that he wasn’t giving you yet. “So fucking pretty,” Pierre remarks as his fingers brush over the lacy black fabric of your underwear. “And so wet for me already,” he adds with a smirk. And he wasn’t wrong. Your anticipation for this moment had been building since the first suggestive comment in the bar. 

You finally crack under his teasing remarks and movements, his fingers barely brushing against your fully clothed folds. “Then do something about it.” 

A deep chuckle comes from Pierre’s throat as he hooks his finger around the edge of your panties, pushing them to the side and sliding this fingers along your bare skin now. 

“W-what?” you stammer in response to his laugh, trying desperately to keep yourself cool and controlled. 

“You’re just different than I thought you would be,” Pierre mutters, fingers drawing some of your wetness towards your clit, grazing alongside it a few times. 

“What does that mean?” you croak, grasping at his biceps as you struggle to keep composed enough to have this conversation. 

“I didn’t think you would even leave with me tonight,” Pierre confesses and you think back to when he had asked for your number earlier in the evening, thinking it was strange if he was just planning to bring you back to his apartment an hour later. “Thought you were too innocent.” 

And somewhere in there was some truth. Normally you wouldn’t have left with someone you just met at a bar, especially not that early into the night, before the alcohol had a chance to cloud your judgment. But the way Pierre looked at you, the way your body flushed when his hand grazed yours at the bar. It did something to you that made you not able to wait any longer. “Just something about you,” you tell him, gasping as his fingers finally make direct contact with your clit. 

Pierre watches you in silence for a couple moments, brushing his fingers in circles over your clit. “I like that,” he finally mutters in response. His thumb takes the place of his fingers on your clit as they trail back towards your entrance. “Okay?” he whispers in your ear as he leans down, kissing down your neck. 

“Yes,” you reply eagerly, fingers curling into his hair as you moan quietly. This time he’s closer, hearing every part your moans, of your shaky breath. 

A throaty groan comes from Pierre as you whimper his name, fingers tugging the ends of his hair. You can feel a tension building in your core, Pierre’s fingers inside of you hitting just the right spot as his thumb continues to brush circles over your clit. “Like that,” you whisper, your legs feeling shaky beneath you. “I-I’m close,” you tell him. 

“Good girl,” Pierre mutters in your ear as he pulls back to watch you falling apart in front of him with his fingers buried deep inside you. 

His words of praise send a wave of pleasure through your body that you weren’t anticipating, reaching your climax seconds later. Your hands clamp down hard to his arms, feeling unsteady on your legs as you moan loudly. Pierre keeps going as you ride through your orgasm till you’re leaning on the wall for support and he brings his arm around your waist to steady you. “I got you,” Pierre assures you as you pull away from the wall, staring up at him with flushed cheeks and a racing heart. “You okay?”

And you were. You were more than okay. Because it was one of the best orgasms of your life and all from his hands. “Mhm,” you hum and nod. A couple moments later you lean up, pressing your lips back to his. He kisses you back eagerly, tongue pressing into your mouth, brushing against yours. You slide your hand down his chest, fingers grazing over the hard bulge in his jeans. “Can we go to your bed-.”

“Yes,” Pierre answers before you even have to finish the question. With your hand folded into his he guides you down the hallway and through the open door to his room. He lifts his arm holding your hand up, setting your hand down on his shoulder before placing his hands on your waist. He slowly pulls you towards the bed, spinning the two of you around before lowering you onto the bed. “Are you sure you want to? We don’t have to do this tonight.”

Leaning back on your arms behind you on the bed you smile up at him. “I want to,” you assure him, leaning forward and bringing your hands to his jeans. “I really want to.” 

Pierre inhales sharply as you unbutton his jeans and he pushes them off, your hands pulling his length free from his boxers. “Can I?” You whisper, leaning closer. 

“Fuck…yeah, yeah, of course,” he stammers, hand running through his hair as he tries to contain himself. 

Leaning in you run your tongue up his length, tongue brushing around his tip. Leaning your head forward you bring him into your mouth, hand wrapping around the base. Bobbing your head up and down you find a good rhythm based on the his quiet mutters of approval and heavy breathing. “Okay, okay,” Pierre mumbles a couple minutes later, pulling away from you. 

Wiping some saliva from your lips you stare up at him in confusion, watching him chuckle quietly and shake his head. “Full of surprises, aren’t you?” Leaning down Pierre presses his knees into the mattress on either side of you. “You’re almost too good at that.”

Giggling you scoot back on the mattress, laying back and watching him lean down over you, arms on either side of your body. He presses his lips to yours, softer than you expected as he slips one hand between your bodies to find your clit again. Your hips squirm under his touch, still sensitive. “Please,” you whimper, pulling back slightly, grasping against his bare back. “I want you.”

Pierre nods, moving his hand away from your clit to guide himself into you. “Oh, fuck,” Pierre groans and you bring your legs up to wrap around his torso. He eases into you slowly before gradually moving his hips faster and harder. “You feel so good,” he mutters. 

A few minutes later Pierre pushes himself up higher and you feel a wave of pleasure from the slight adjustment, eyes falling shut as your fingers curl around his forearms. “Holy shit,” you mumble, eyes fluttering open to look up at him. You knew it wasn’t unintentional, his shift in position. He knew exactly what he was doing, exactly how to make sure you were getting just as much pleasure from it. And his actions do just that, bringing you to another orgasm. “Fuck, I-,” you stammer, your body flooding with pleasure, hot and fiery. 

Pierre lasts long enough to bring you through your orgasm before pulling out, hand on his length to bring himself to completion. But you’re sitting up again before he has the chance, taking him in your mouth and letting him finish in your mouth. 

You’re both breathing heavy when you pull away, your lips swollen, eyes glassy, cheeks flushed. “Holy shit,” Pierre breathes out as he brushes his thumb over your lower lip, wiping away the remnants of saliva. “So gorgeous,” he mutters, leaning down and kissing you gently. “I’ll be right back,” he says, leaving a kiss on your forehead before disappearing out of the bedroom. While he’s gone you crawl towards the head of the bed, leaning against the headboard and taking a few deep breaths to compose yourself. 

Pierre returns a minute later, a glass of water in his hand that he gives you. “Do you need anything else?” He offers in such a genuine and kind tone that you’re caught off guard. 

“Oh, uh, no,” you tell him, taking the water from him and bringing the cool liquid to your lips. “I’m good, but thanks.”

Pierre climbs onto the bed beside you, laying down as you do the same. His hand gently circles your wrist, tugging you over him, your head on his shoulder, arm draped across his chest. Neither of you say anything as he brushes his fingers gently across your back till you both drift to sleep. 

The next morning you wake up to an empty bedroom. You look for your clothes for a second before your mind flashes back to being completely naked before you even made it to the bedroom the night before. Sighing you look around. In the light of day you take note of how organized and tidy the bedroom is, being enticed by the dresser on the opposite side of the room. You’re hesitant to open any of the drawers, hoping your guess is right as you pull open the middle one. Finding exactly what you’re looking for you pull out one of the neatly folded t-shirts from the top of the stack, tugging it over your body. You were incredibly thankful for Pierre’s large stature now as the shirt drapes far enough down your legs to cover everything. 

Walking out of the bedroom you find Pierre in the kitchen. He was standing in front of the coffee maker, his back to you. He had a pair of sweatpants on but was still shirtless. “Morning,” you say quietly. 

Pierre turns around, hesitating as he stares over at you in his shirt. 

A feeling of guilt quickly washes over you and you glance down at the ground for a second. “Sorry, I know I shouldn’t have just taken it but my clothes were out here, and-.”

Pierre chuckles quietly, walking over and setting his hands on his hips. “Don’t apologize,” he tells you, leaning down and pressing his lips to yours. “I just…you just look really good in it.”

Smiling you wrap your arms around his shoulders, kissing him again. You couldn’t get enough, the way his touch set off a fire inside of you. 

“Do you want coffee? Breakfast?” Pierre asks, keeping his hands on your hips as he pulls back to wait for your response. 

“Sure.” 

The two of you spend the morning together, getting to know each other in a way that maybe you should have done before you got to know each other as physically as you had the night before. But you didn’t mind, especially not when Pierre asked if he could take you out for dinner that night, promising to make up for not doing it before taking you home. 

[hockeyboysiguess]

Year One

a/n: coming up with this idea completely threw me off working the other day and i have no regrets. this has a little bit of everything in it. you like friends to lover? it’s in here. you like very large hockey players with tiny children? it’s in here. you like very soft smuttiness? it’s in here. you like cutesy dates? they’re in here. there’s a little bit of something for everyone in this one, so I hope you find a part you like!

warnings: swearing, mild smutty-sort of action, drinking, and a ton of cavity causing sweetness.

January

This party was definitely going to require another drink. It’s not that you weren’t having fun; it’s that all of your friends were having quite a lot of fun. You snuck away from your drunkest friend and headed to the kitchen to refill your cup. You sighed when you glanced over the counter holding your variously terrible options.

“Okay, what combination looks like it would taste the least like paint thinner,” you mumbled to yourself.

“Definitely the Strawberry Lemonade Svedka and the grape Fanta. It sounds weird but it turned out pretty good honestly.”

You turned toward the voice and you smiled a little to yourself. He was positively gorgeous. Strong shoulders, muscled tattooed arms, sharp jawline covered in stubble, and a smile that drew you in. He came over towards you and you noticed how much he dwarfed you and it made your mind wander.

“Is it?” you asked with a raise of your eyebrow.

“Look, your other possible combinations are objectively terrible. Like who buys birthday cake vodka?” he asked, his face scrunching at the idea. “I know it’s a birthday party but, yeah, no.”

You laughed and he smiled softly at you.

“I’m Pierre-Luc,” he told you.

“That’s kind of long,” you added after telling him your name. “Got any nicknames available?”

He laughed and scrunched his nose up as he looked at you, “I play hockey actually so I’ve got lots of things for you to chose from if you want.”

You grabbed the flavored vodka and the grape soda per his recommendations and poured them into your cup. You tried it and nodded softly. It wasn’t anywhere near as bad as you had imagined it would be. You grabbed the edge of the counter and hauled yourself up, letting your feet dangle against the cabinets.

“Hit me with ‘em and I’ll pick the best one you should exclusively use from here on out,” you said confidently, not sure if that confidence was you or the alcohol talking. 

“Pretty sure one nickname picked out by a girl is going to get me chirped to no end,” Pierre-Luc sighed, but it was playful. His free hand rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke, giving you a glimpse of the tattoos on the underside of his arm. 

“But I’m a hot girl,” you took a sip of your drink as he raised an eyebrow at you, a smirk forming on his face. “Oh don’t even. You’ve stared at my boobs at least six times since I met you three minutes ago. You’re averaging at least two looks a minute.”

A wide smile broke out across his face as he raised his hands in the air, feigning innocence. You took a sip of your drink as you watched him, as clearly as he could manage, rake his eyes up and down your body, pausing as various points that particularly interested him. You were relishing in the attention and he certainly didn’t mind giving it.

“Guilty as charged,” he said, his smile shifting from humorous to cocky. “So, I think you were about to judge the shit out of my name some more?”

It would have made for a fun night if not for someone running into the kitchen as soon as he finished his sentence. 

“Hey, you’re came here with that Kelsey right?” the guy said, pointing at you. “Because she just threw up like, everywhere in the bathroom and-”

“And gotta go handle that,” you mumbled, sliding off the counter begrudgingly. “Uh, I guess I’ll see you around?”

It came out more like a question than you’d meant it to, and Pierre-Luc nodded as he stepped aside and cleared the way for you. 

“Yeah, no, definitely. I’ll see you around.” 

February

Pierre-Luc had been easy to find on Instagram after the party. It was nice to confirm that your drunk mind was not remembering him hotter than he was, but you didn’t want to make the first move so you stopped yourself short of hitting the follow button on his page. If he wanted to talk to you, he’d come to you, you decided. However, that was almost four weeks ago. It was February now and you let it go, chalking it another temporary drunk connection and moving on. This is until you agreed to go ice skating a the local outdoor rink with Kelsey and a few other friends. He was already there when you arrived. 

Everyone exchanged pleasantries and names. Kelsey was introducing you to the people you didn’t know yet, but you barely remembered anyone because you were anxious to talk to Pierre-Luc again. You tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. He spun around to face you. A soft smile pulled up the corners of his mouth when he saw you and you instantly realized you hadn’t practicing saying anything beyond hello. 

“Hey.”

Well, now you were flying unplanned and anxious, a dangerous combination that put the threat level of saying something that was way too much extremely high. 

“Hi there,” he replied, his smile growing as he spoke. “How are you?”

Thank god he’d apparently thought at least one step further than you because it gave you something to respond to and something to ask him in return. He answered that he was busy since it was hockey season and all. 

“And yet, you’re here to skate on your day off?” you asked him. 

He shrugged and laughed a little, “Can’t get away from it, I guess. I don’t mind. I love skating.” 

“Might have to hit you up for a few pointers because I’m definitely super rusty and let’s be honest, there really isn’t much skill under the rust,” you joked with him.

“I can help,” Pierre-Luc cut in instantly, just a tad too eagerly, so he tried to smooth it over with a classic, “I mean, if you want me to.” 

“I need all the help I can get,” you huffed as you sat down on the bench to start lacing up your skates. 

You struggled to tighten the laces, giving them a pull with all your might as Pierre-Luc laced up both of his skates with practiced ease. You watched him tie off his second skate before you’d managed to get halfway through your first. Whatever he was doing was not at all applicable to you.

“That’s definitely half of your problem right there,” he teased you as he sat down next to you. “Your skates are way too loose.” 

“Well, strong hockey man, then fix it,” you sighed, letting the laces fall from your hands. 

“Not sure we’re gonna stick with that nickname,” he laughed. 

He stood up only to kneel down in front of you. Your mind practically ran to the imagine of his head between your legs for something else and you had to shove the thought aside as he picked up the laces to properly tie your skates. Where you struggled, he had no issues at all. Did you pretend your left skate was looser than your right after he asked you if it did? Yes. Was the left skate looser? You didn’t even have enough experience to really answer the question, but you really liked watching his muscles tense as he pulled the laces tighter. 

“Thanks, Luc,” you said as he stood up, finally satisfied with his workmanship.

“We’re going with Luc, eh? Pretty bland nickname choice.” He offered you his hand to help pull you to your feet. “You gonna be able to walk to the rink there, shaky?” 

“Sometimes the most obvious choice is the best choice,” you replied, “and yes, I’m fine. Thanks for your abundant concern.” 

You couldn’t see him, but you could feel Luc’s hand hovering near the small of your back in case you did fall even though you were sure you wouldn’t. You stepped out on the ice, your feet sliding a bit out from under you with the transition, but you managed to stay on your feet. You heard Luc slide onto the ice after you. He pivoted until he was in front of you, skating backwards in order to get face to face with you. You weren’t exactly looking at him though. Your eyes were trained on your skates.

“If you cut me off, I will fall over,” you warned him. You were entirely too focused on staying upright to pay much attention to him. “I learned how to go forward and sort of turn. Stopping was never in my skill set.”

“Sounds like you need a lesson from a master,” Luc joked, earning a glare from you. “Come on. It’s not that hard. I’ll show you. Trust me?”

March

“Jesus,” you muttered to yourself as some of your beer spilled on your hand. Luc had slammed some guy from the other team into the boards in front of you. “Are hockey games always this violent?”

“Have you really never been to a game before this?” Kelsey asked. “Well, free tickets right against the glass from your hot hockey player boyfriend is a hell of a way to be introduced to a live hockey game.

You shook your now beer-covered hand off and scrunched your nose up at Kelsey before telling her, “He’s not my boyfriend and you know that. We just talk.”

“Oh come on, the way he looks at you!” 

She practically shouted that sentence. One of her biggest flaws as a friend after her inability to keep down more than four drinks was that she could not control the volume of her voice under any circumstance. At least this time, the venue meant she wasn’t entirely too loud for the crowd.

“You know he’s not, Kels,” you told her after taking a sip of your beer. “I don’t even know if he would want that. Literally all we do is talk and Snapchat.”

“Shirtless snaps post-practice?” she asked you, a hopeful look in her eyes. You shook your head, so she tried again, “Lots of red heart and or red heart eyes emojis?” 

“Kels, stop,” you laughed. “I think it was just a thing at the party when we were drunk. It’s fine. Not everything has to be a thing. We can just be friends. I’m good with that.”

“Whatever.”

She waved you off, but at least the conversation was over. You weren’t trying to get your hopes up with Luc. You saw the way every girl in every room he went into looked at him and he was a really great guy to top it all off, but you’d been in this sort of situation before. You knew better than to try to wear your heart on your sleeve here. 

That didn’t stop your heart from pounding in your chest when you saw him post-game. The Blue Jackets had won 4-3, so Luc’s smile was on full display as he found you after the post-game interviews. His suit fit him so well, darting in perfectly at his waist, making him look impossibly broader somehow. The first few buttons on his white dress shirt were undone and his tie was loosely hanging around his neck.

Kelsey had gotten in your head. Now the only thing you could think about as you looked at him was how badly you wanted to grab the collar of his shirt and pull his mouth down to meet yours. 

“Ready to head out?” he asked you. He motioned down the hallway and you followed his lead, heading towards the blue double doors ahead. “I believe you promised me that I could pick the movie tonight if we won?” 

“A promise is a promise,” you sighed, “even though you’re going to pick something god awful.”

He smiled wider at you before asking, “Did you enjoy the game?”

“Yeah, actually. I had a great time. Kelsey ditched five minutes before the end. That guy she met at the bar last weekend wanted to grab drinks or something. i try not to ask too many questions I don’t want to know the answers to,” you told him. “Thanks for inviting me, Luc.”

“Thanks for coming,” he replied as you stepped through the doors and into the cool air on your way to his car. 

It was cold for March. Not all that cold for Columbus in March, but cold for most people’s definition of March. You still had your coat on, but thankfully it wasn’t quite gloves and hat and scarf weather anymore. You could see Luc’s breath faintly as you walked toward his car, but at least he world wasn’t quite as frosty as it had been last month on the outdoor rink with him. Something told you that your feelings for him were soon going to be inevitable, but for now his friendship was what you needed.

April

Luc’s empty beer glass slammed down on the bar next to you. He’d emptied it faster than you thought he even could.

“Fuck, I hate losing,” he hissed through his teeth. “Fucking game seven.”

You almost opened your mouth to say that at least they’d made it to the playoffs unlike sixteen other teams, but the first round exit was clearly hitting him hard. Instead, you made eye contact with the bartender, bringing him over towards you and Luc. Luckily, this particular bartender had been eyeing you since you walked in and it was definitely possible you were using it to get faster service. At least you were tipping him well.

“Yeah, can you just keep those coming for my friend here?” you asked nicely, putting on your best smile for him as you patted Luc on the back.

“Sure,” he said, smiling back you brightly. “And what would you like next?”

“Can I try the new sour you guys just made?” you asked, still keeping that smile dialed up as he poured Luc’s next beer and then handed it to him.

“Of course. I’ll be right back with that.”

The bartender slid past you a few moments layer, dropping your drink off with a thousand-watt smile, before moving on to the next customer. Luc looked at you with a soft smirk on his face and a slightly judgmental look in his eyes. He shook his head at you and clicked his tongue at you a few times as he brought his fresh beer to his lips for a few massive gulps from the glass.

“That’s not nice what you’d doing to that man,” he told you.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You took a sip of your drink to try and hide the shameful look on your face. “Just drink your beer and be happy.”

Luc laughed, the first time you’d heard a genuine laugh since the loss the other night before telling you, “It’s really not fair when you do that since you have zero intention of giving him your number.”

“You don’t know how I feel,” you retorted, even though Luc was correct.

“Oh, please. I know I’m right.” Luc set down his beer as he leaned in close to you. “He’s not your type.”

“And how do you know what my type is?”

You cocked a brow at him as you took a sip of your drink. Luc nodded softly as one of his large hands fidgeted with his glass. His cheeks, forever your indicator of his nerves, turned a light shade of pink.

“I mean, I’m pretty sure I’m your type.” His voice was steady and strong but, his hand was sliding against the slick glass between his palms and his cheeks were pink verging on red. “Something at the party was telling me if Kelsey hadn’t puked everywhere maybe the night might have ended differently?”

It was a question, but he already knew the answer to it. You tilted your head to the side though, deciding to play along.

“What do you mean, Luc?”

Your voice was soft and just a little curious, trying to force him into telling you exactly what he meant by that. Your heart was pounding as all you could think was maybe he was feeling what you had started to feel. Luc’s eyes turned to you. He was studying your face, trying to find some sign of what you were feeling. His eyes landed on your lips and your breath hitched in your throat.

“Fuck it.”

Luc leaned in quickly and you titled you head up so he could kiss you easily. He smiled down at you as one of his hands cupped one side of your face. He knew you wanted this too. His lips were inches from yours now and you could only smell his cologne and hear your heart beating in your ears as you were being enveloped by him.

“PL!”

Someone shouting made him yank away from you before his lips could meet yours. He dropped his hand from your face and his jaw tensed as he turned to look at Jonesy who you discovered was the culprit who ruined this moment

“Oh shit,” Jonesy said between closed teeth. “Uh, my bad, man. But Boone is super fucked up and I need some help getting him home and you’re the only one still here.”

Luc sighed and ran a hand over his face as he pull himself back to reality. He knocked back the last dregs of beer in this glass before he leaned back and grabbed his wallet out of his pocket. He thumbed through until he pulled out cash and handed it to you.

“Can you close my tab? Also, can you text me when you and Kelsey get home safe?” He dropped some cash on the bar next to you. “That should cover my tab and yours and a ride home.

Normally, you would’ve pushed the cash back into his hands, but the look in his eyes was telling you should take it because he wasn’t going to take no for an answer tonight.

“Yeah, yeah, no problem.”

Luc slid off the stool to his feet and went to head in Jonesy’s direction. He paused and turned on his heels to come back to you.

“Would you like go out with me sometime? Like a real date?”

May

“I did not think I’d be as bad at this as I am,” you sighed as you tried again to putt the ball into the hole on the course. 

Luc managed to get two under par on the same hole and you were about ready to throw your stick in the pond with frustration. You didn’t know you could be as bad at something as you apparently were at mini golf.

“Relax,” Luc’s large hands gripped your shoulders, applying pressure in an effort to make you calm down that only made you more tense. “Maybe this just isn’t your thing?”

“It’s very clear this isn’t my thing, Luc,” you informed him as you hit your club against the toe of your sneaker. “I hate things I’m not good at.” 

“Oh, competitive are we?” He took the first stroke on this hole, getting dangerously close to a hole-in-one and you knew you were about to, like every other hole, get absolutely destroyed. The score card had been accidentally dropped into the pong by hole seven and you clearly didn’t know how it happened. “Too bad I’m more competitive than you.” 

“Did you just try to start an argument over which one of us was more competitive?” You tried to verbally snipe back at him as you hit the ball, but you nearly hit it clean out the source and settle for losing this round entirely. “Must be a low moment for you to have to brag about being more competitive than a girl half your size while playing mini golf.” 

He reached for you, one of his large hands finding one of your hips and pulling you into him. You felt so comfortable against his chest that he reminded you of a certain feeling you couldn’t quite place, kind of like being at home. Luc kissed the top of your head, bring you back to reality. 

“You missed,” you told him as you looked up at him, meeting his soft eyes with yours.

He gave you a confused look before it was replaced with a look of understanding and he verbally added, “Oh, I owe you from the bar a few weeks ago. I see.” 

“You were about to do something, I think anyway, and then you had. totake Boone home and then you shipped your own ass off to Quebec,” you fake whined, pressing your palms against his chest, which somehow felt better under your hands than you could have imagined. 

“Hey, hey, I apologize,” he smiled down at you, “and I came back for you, right? That’s gotta count for something. Even if I’m destroying you at mini golf.”

“Couldn’t have just taken me to dinner?” you joked, your smile coating each word you spoke with a playful edge. 

“Too boring for a girl this far out of my league,” Luc replied. He reached a hand up to tuck your hair behind your ear, letting the strands tangle in his fingers before he spoke again, “I’m going to try and kiss you again now, just so you’re aware. And no one is going to interrupt me this time.” 

The entire world disappeared the moment his lips found yours for the first time. This moment was created and inhabited solely by the two of you. No one else could break in even if they tried. His mouth moved against yours and you felt like you were on fire. Everywhere his hands ghosted over felt like he lit it ablaze, leaving a trail of need and destruction in his wake. You were putty in his hands and he loved it so much. You wanted him and he was more than happy to meet you in the middle on a surprising cool May afternoon on a mini golf course just outside of Columbus, Ohio. You never thought that’s where the rest of your life would begin, but you couldn’t deny that it had. 

June

How Luc already had sunburn tingeing the tops of his ears and the tip of his nose less than twenty minutes into being outside was beyond your understanding and you had to tease him for being one of the palest people you’d ever seen. Maybe asking him to come the an outdoor arts festival and not bringing sunscreen for him was a mistake.

“How?” you asked, gesturing to his nose.

“This is me,” he smiled at you. “Take me or leave me, sunburn and all.”

“I think I’ll keep you?”

You said it like a question, but a smile broke out across your face before you’d even finished your sentence. A matching one formed on Luc’s face and he reached for you. His large hands set on your waist, pulling you into him as his mouth captured yours.

“Hey, get a room!”

You weren’t sure which one of his teammates shouted it at you, but neither of your cared. Luc smiled against your lips and you couldn’t help but smile back, ruining the kiss but not the moment.

“Why do we go places with them?” you fake whined a little, your hands pressing softly on his chest as your spoke.

“Because they don’t get out without us,” Luc muttered softly to you. “It’s charity.”

You leaned your head back and laughed. Luc’s hands moved to the small of your back, his long fingers lacing together to support you as his laughter joined yours. You leaned forward again so your eyes could meet his.

“We should probably catch up to them,” Luc told you before his lips found yours again. “They’ll wander into some booth and a little old lady is going to convince them to buy all of her arts and crafts or something.”

Luc knew he teammates well because that’s exactly the situation you found the other boys in. This particular little old lady was apparently into making three-dimensional crotched cats. She was showing Zach a particular one she’d made that apparently resembled her calico cat she had as a small child and how she only offered it to customers who reminded her of her long lost childhood love. You took a deep breath and headed into the booth to begin a very painful rescue mission.

You didn’t realize until you managed to escape, after buying eight of her creations, that Luc had disappeared. You grabbed your phone out of your purse to see if he’d texted you where he’d gone.

“Hey, did you see where PL went?” you asked Jonesy. He took a sip of his wine slushee he’d picked up half a block ago that was already mostly empty and shook his head no. You turned toward Josh and raised an eyebrow. “Josh?”

“Nope. He’s your responsibility anyway,” Josh replied.

You looked around on your tip-toes, trying to see if you could spot his tall frame anywhere, but you were definitely too short for the task at hand. You let out a frustrated sigh and rocked back on your heels. Seconds later, a strong arm wrapped around your mid-section, pulling you into a familiar broad chest.

“Hey,” Luc whisper in your ear. “Sorry, I thought I’d be back before you managed to break them out of jail.”

“I work fast,” you replied as you rubbed along his muscled forearm currently positioned across your stomach.

You heard something  rustling behind you and Luc’s other arm wrapped around you to present you with why he’d gone missing.

“Flowers!” you practically squealed, drawing a soft laugh from Luc and some chuckles from the other boys as you grabbed the flowers with both hands and pulled them into your chest. “Thank you.”

“Hey, hey.” Luc’s hands grabbed your hips and tugged, spinning you to face him. “You didn’t even let me finish before you took them so I hope your answer is yes or I’m going to have to take those back.”

You gripped the flowers protectively against your chest carefully so you didn’t crush any of the delicate petals. No guy you were seeing had ever actually bought you flowers before and Luc had remembered you telling him that on your first date, trying to figure out the right moment to fulfill your fantasy.

“Mine,” you pouted, trying to look as cute as possible so he felt bad about threatening to take them away. “What’s the question?”

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

He bit the side of his lip, a smile pulling up the corners of his mouth, as he waiting for your answer. It was one of the easiest yeses of your life.

July

“Cannonball!”

You weren’t sure who had jumped into the pool, just that they’d created a big enough splash that had caused water to spray up on you and Luc. Luc’s arms were wrapped around your bare stomach. His hands had been on you the entire afternoon so far and he was showing no signs of stopping soon. Some girl nearby was freaking out about how her swimsuit had gotten wet from the splash as apparently it wasn’t designed to actually get wet.

“Thank god I’ve got you,” Luc mumbled in your ear, one arm lifting off you to bring his beer to his mouth for a quick swig. “Who the hell buys a swimsuit that can’t get wet and wears it to a pool party?”

You threw your head back against his shoulder as you laughed, the drink he’d mixed for you sloshing in your cup at your movements. Luc kissed the side of your head and gave your stomach a little squeeze.

“God, you two are so cute it’s disgusting,” Jonesy told you.

“You wish you had this hot-”

Water splashing on the two of you again cut Luc off before he could finish his drunk, loose lipped sentence. You squealed a little since this splash had pretty much soaked you both.

“Wanna go inside and dry off?” Luc whispered in your ear.

You smiled, your tongue darting between your teeth as he chuckled in your ear. You quickly started to dowm the rest of your drink, nodding in response to him as you drank. You barely had a chance to finish before Luc was grabbing one of your hands and pulling you towards the house. He was trying to be subtle about it and sneak away, but he was 6’3” and still incredibly pale despite summer being in full swing, so you know several people took notice. Neither of you cared.

Luc found an empty guest bedroom and pulled you in quickly, his eagerness guiding his movements. He shut the door by pushing you up against it as his mouth met yours. Your hands grabbed at his broad shoulders as his mouth pressed hungrily against yours. He grabbed right onto your waist and lifted you off the ground. You wrapped your legs around his waist for support as his tongue worked against yours.

“Fuck, baby, you look so good,” Luc mumbled as he moved from your mouth to your neck.

You let yourself drop just a little deeper into his arms so you could find the friction you both desperately wanted. Your core ground against the hardness in his shorts and he groaned against your skin.

“Shit,” he breathed out against your skin. “Trying to kill me already?”

“We do not have time for your slow and steady teasing shit right now,” you replied breathless as one of his hands slowly started tugging at the tie of your bikini top around the back of your neck.

“You’re normally,” he took the edge of one of the cups of your bikini top in between his teeth and pulled it aside to reveal your hard nipple, “much more into it.”

His mouth was on your stiff nipple before you could respond and a moan left your open mouth instead of the words you tried to say.

“Fuck, Luc,” you said breathlessly. “Stop fucking around and fuck me already.”

August

You were fiddling with the strap of your purse across your lap. Your right foot was tapping nervously against the floorboard of Luc’s car. 

“What if they don’t like me?” you finally asked him. He’d been trying to get you to tell him how you felt the entire drive over to his parents’ house outside of Montreal. “I mean, I know you’re gonna tell me they will-”

“Because they will,” he cut in. “I know they will.” 

“But,” you continued firmly, “what if they don’t?”

“Baby, I promise you that they’re going to love you.” Luc reached across the console and grabbed on to your hands folded around your purse strap. “I wouldn’t lie to you about this, okay? You have absolutely nothing to worry about. I’ve told them all about you and they are really excited to meet this girl who has completely swept me off my feet.”

You smiled with closed lips at his words. Your nerves were still more prominent than any comfort he tried to offer you. You let out a long breath as you tried to pull yourself together a bit. Luc had been itching to get you up to Montreal since the summer started so you could meet his family before the first game of the season and with camp on the horizon next month, August was the only time that made sense. However, two months of preparation was nowhere near long enough to calm your nerves, but you weren’t sure if there was an amount that would have gotten the job done. 

“It’s just,” you sighed again, “I know how important they are to you and if I fuck this up, what’s going to happen?” 

“You’re pretty much physically incapable of fucking this up,” Luc laughed, giving you a sweet smile. “Look, if they don’t like you, you can punch me in the face for lying to you, okay?” 

You shook your head and tried to fight the wide smile he was pulling from you, but you couldn’t. Luc leaned in and placed a quick kiss on your lips. 

“Alright, get out of the car while you’re still smiling,” he ordered you. “Let’s go.” 

Four hours later as you sat back in Luc’s passenger seat on the way back to his apartment, you couldn’t remember why you’d been so nervous in the first place. His dad had decided you were good five minutes in and within the first hour, he’d moved you up to great status. His mom was harder to read, but you knew you’d cracked her when Luc prompted a conversation about baking and she took an interest in your family apple pie recipe which involved not one but two kinds of liquor in it. 

“You know they love you, right?” Luc told you. “They made sure to tell me when you went to the bathroom.”

You smiled and reached over to pat his knee. You weren’t going to tell him you’d heard every word his parents had said to him. 

“Luc, she’s great,” his mom had said to him. “Really, she’s welcome here anytime. She’s wonderful.”

“Looks like you learned a think or two from me about getting a women very far out of your league to date you,” his dad had joked.

“And she was worried you guys wouldn’t like her,” Luc laughed to them. 

“We could never dislike someone who made you this happy,” his mom replied. 

“She really does,” Luc sighed. You could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke about you. “She’s just, she’s everything, you know? Including so many things I didn’t realize I wanted. She’s beyond anything I’d ever thought about. I’ve just never met someone that makes me want to be a better person that she does and that’s way too much information. Mom, are you crying?” 

“You just, god, you’re so grown up. Look at you!”

When the moment shifted, you had  headed back to the bathroom just to give them a little more time. Luc’s voice when he spoke about you was on a loop in your head and it played like a broken record the entire car ride back to his apartment. He was so genuinely happy when he talked about you. It was the kind of joy that infected the people around you, pulling them in even though they didn’t quite understand it. Your mom had told you that you sounded the same way the first time you told her about him. You let your mind linger on what they could mean as you fell asleep wrapped up in his arms that night. You couldn’t quite figure it out, but you knew it meant he was important to you and you were important to him.

September 

The stress of camp and the approaching season had made you both crack at the same time on a cool September evening. You’d both said things you didn’t mean, hurling words designed specifically to hit each other’s weak spots. You’d walked out after a particularly sensitive verbal jab from him and he didn’t come after you, two major issues stacked together. He’d picked you up after you finished work today, so you didn’t have your car, a series of events you were currently regretting as you wandered aimlessly around his neighborhood. You’d passed the point of clearing your head and now you were just painfully aware of the fact that you left your jacket on Luc’s couch and it was colder than you’d thought it was.

You pulled out your phone and opened up Uber. Unfortunately, the nearest ride to you was over fifteen minutes away. Stupid Thursdays in the middle of the night in Columbus. You kicked a nearby rock with the toe of your sneaker as you sighed. Naturally, you had to fuck you the best thing in your life. It’s what you’d always done. 

“Oh thank fucking god.”

You looked up in time to see Luc running up to you, arms outstretched. He wrapped you up in his arms and you stiffened. He pressed his face into your hair to envelop you in him, ignoring how you were unsure what to do in the moment.

“Fuck, you just left. I was so worried,” he mumbled into your hair. 

You hadn’t even thought through your anger enough to realize that going out in the middle of the night by yourself might not have been the smartest idea. You slowly wrapped your arms around his waist. 

“I know I was a shit head, but please promise me you won’t just walk out like that again.” Concern coating each word as it left his lips. “I was so fucking worried. I’m so fucking sorry, baby girl.” 

"I’m sorry, Luc,” you mumbled against his chest. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispered back. “We’re both just stressed right now and I know I took it out on you and I shouldn’t have. You deserve a hell of a lot better than me taking the stress of the season coming out on you.”

“No, no.” You pulled back from him a bit so he could hear you clearly and you continued, “It’s okay to be stressed about the season starting. I took my stress about it out on you. I just, this sounds so stupid, I know, but I just worry that when we can’t spend as much time together that you’re not going to like me as much and something is going to happen because we won’t be together as much and I just really, really, really don’t want that to happen.” 

You knew you were rambling, letting your nervousness come out all at once. You were losing track of what was actually coming out of your mouth and what was just flying through your head at this point. You noticed Luc’s brows furrow as he listened to you. He was shaking his head softly from left to right as you spoke. He must have had enough of listening to your rambling nonsense because his lips crashed into yours as his hands cupped your face in an attempt to get you to focus your energy somewhere else. 

He pulled back from you an inch, “That,” then brought his lips back to your briefly, “is,” kiss, “not,” another kiss, “going,” another, “to,” again, “happen.” He kept his mouth on yours this time, his tongue sliding against yours for a few moments before he pulled back again. “What else could I possibly want when what I’ve already got is so much better than I ever imagined anyone could be?” 

You pushed him back against a nearby fence as you crushed your lips to his. Your mouth moved against his as his hands grabbed any part of you he could, moving from your face to your waist, grabbing your ass briefly, palming your breasts, anywhere he could think to touch. 

“We should go home,” you breathed out as he moved his mouth to your neck. 

“Oh yeah? Taking me home now, are you?” he mumbled against the sensitive skin of your neck.

His words with dripping in innuendo. Normally, you would’ve rolled your eyes at him and shoved him away jokingly, but there was a look in his eyes when they met yours again that went straight to your core and made your skin feel like it was on fire. So, you let him take you home. 

October 

"Luc!” you screamed. Your hands flew to his hair to try and get some stability as he started to lose his balance. “Luc!”

“I’m going to drop you if you don’t stop fucking wiggling,” he told you.

You glared down at him, not that he could see from your position on his shoulders. You squeezed your thighs in a little, applying gentle pressure on his neck to showcase your displeasure at how difficult he was making this process. 

“Choking is my job and not where there’s all these little kids around,” Luc sang softly at you. “Did you get it yet?”

You stretched your arm out as far as you could and still needed to lean forward just a tad to get your hand to rap around the perfect apple you’d spotted from the ground. 

“I got it!” you told him excitedly. 

Luc laughed at your excitement. It was just an apple, but it was an apple that could’ve sat proudly on a kindergarten teacher’s desk and now it was your apple. He gently sank to his knees so you could get off his shoulder without causing too much risk of injury to either of you. It was a pretty high fall from his shoulders after all.

“You’re so useful.” You pat Luc’s cheek as a thank you with your eyes never leaving your apple. 

“I feel like I’ve been replaced by a goddamn apple,” he said, annoyance permeating his voice. One of his heavy arms slung around your shoulders to pull you into his side. You sort of fell into him since there were already so many apples littering the ground of the orchard that you tripped a little, but he easily supported you. “Do you want to put your apple in the bucket or are you going to hold it the entire time?” 

You glared up at him, drawing a laugh from him. You knew he thought you were too cute to ever succeed at looking threatening. You still maintained your glare as you gently placed the apple in the bucket with all of the others you’d already grabbed. Having a tall man to go apple picking with was giving you far more apple options than you normally had. 

“These apples are indirectly for your mother, so consider the effort for your mother rather than for me,” you told him. 

She was coming to town to watch the game this weekend and Luc had a day off prior to her arrival, so you decided that getting some fresh apples and making her your family apple pie recipe would be a nice gesture since she was so interested when you visited her back in August. 

“You know she’d still like you even if you didn’t bake this pie and you’d just let me have my way with you all day.” Luc had whispered the last part in your ear, being careful that all of the children running through the orchard didn’t hear that. 

You rolled your eyes at him, but let him pull you into his chest more as he kissed the top of your head.

“Um, excuse me, mister?” 

You and Luke both turned to see a young girl, maybe five or six, standing a few feet away from you. Her mom was right behind her, watching the interaction carefully. Luc took his arm from around you so he could sink down, getting as close to eye level with her as he could. 

“Hi,” he smiled softly at her. “My name’s Pierre-Luc. What’s your name?”

“Annie,” she said, a bright, toothy smile breaking out across her face. “You’re really tall, Mister Luc. Could you help me get an apple?”

“You know, I actually just did that for my girlfriend,” he informed her, gesturing to you as he spoke. “I think I got one more lift in me though, if that’s okay with your mom.” He looked over to the girl’s mom, who enthusiastically nodded at him.

“Honey, can you show the nice boy which apple you want?” 

She pushed the little girl towards Luc and she immediately grabbed one of his hands and took off running, pulling him with her down the orchard. Her mom came to stand next to you as they came to a stop shortly, just a few trees over from where they started.

“Seems like you’ve got yourself a good one there,” the mom said softly to you. “I don’t know any guy close to his age that good with kids.”

You watched as Luc carefully placed his hands on his waist and lifted her up towards the apple of her dreams and you couldn’t help but smile. You’d seen him with the Savard children before and how good he was with them, but this one felt a little more real, a little more like this was something you could see in your future. 

“He’s a good egg,” you told the mom. “I’m really lucky.” 

“He’s cute too,” she said with a playful nudge of your arm. “Don’t let that one get away from you.” 

“Mommy! Mommy!” little Annie screamed as she ran back to her mom, a bright red apple in her hands. “Look what I got!”

“You did? Look at that beauty!” she replied.

“Thank you so much,” she told Luc. “You absolutely made her day. Thank you again.” 

“It’s no problem at all,” Luc assured her. “If she finds another one you can’t reach, come find me and I’m happy to help.”

You were pretty sure the mother thanked him at least seven more times before they headed off into a deeper part of the orchard. You looked over at Luc with a wide smile on your face and shook your head softly. 

“What?” he asked you as he titled his head to the side as he tried to figure out how you were feeling. 

“Just debating if you’re a Disney prince or something in your spare time is all,” you replied. 

He blushed in response and smiling impossibly wider and you were a goner. Relationship were always terrifying to you, having to put that much of yourself into someone and trust they’ll treat like like you deserve to be treated. The potential directions relationships could go were vast like the ocean. You’d typically gone out to sea in the past with looming storm and had never stayed to far from the shore. With Luc, you’d slowly paddled out to sea, trusting a storm wouldn’t come and overturn your boat. Now, you were in so deep you couldn’t see shore anywhere around you anymore and for some reason, it didn’t scare you in the slightest.

November 

“Baby, can you pass me the salt, please?” Luc asked you, hand outstretched toward you.

“Salt!” you shouted as you put it in his outstretched hand.

“Thank you. The pepper too?” he asked. You knew the ask was coming, so you were already prepared and slapped it into his waiting hand. 

“You two are so precious.” 

You hadn’t realized your mom had entered the kitchen until she spoke, making you and Luc jump a little. Luc had just enough time off right round Thanksgiving and your family was close enough to Columbus that you were able to make the day trip to spend it with them. Your mom had insisted you bring Luc along. She said she was going to make your good Canadian boy “American fat” for his first American family Thanksgiving. You knew better so by the transitive property Luc knew better than to try and resist your mom’s will, so you were both in the kitchen early on Thanksgiving morning helping make dinner. 

“Uh, thanks, mom,” you told her. 

Your eyes locked with Luc’s before you returned to chopping the celery for the stuffing you were making. He gave you a sweet smile before going back to stirring his pot. Your mom, the forever hoverer, headed over to observe Luc’s cooking, meaning she grabbed a spoon on her way there to taste his work in progress. When you’d first told her about him, you mentioned he knew how to cook and she didn’t believe a guy that young, that attractive, who plays that heteronormative-enforcing of a sport could cook. Based on her expression when she tasted the gravy, she realized how wrong she’d been. 

“Oh my god, that’s incredible, sweetie,” she told him, a look of pure shock still present on her face. 

“Thank you,” he replied as his cheeks tinging with pink in mild embarrassment.

Your mom patted him on the shoulder and threw her spoon in the dishwasher, knowing you’d get on her case if she’d come in and just left something for you to clean later, before she headed back into the living room where the football game was on. 

“Thanks for coming.” You were pretty sure you’d said it to Luc at least a hundred times since you drove down last night. You couldn’t express how much it meant for him to take some of the very little rest time he had during the season and spend it with your family, one of the least restful things you could think of. “I mean it, PL. I really appreciate it.”

“You don’t have to keep thanking me,” he told you, his eyes never leaving the recipe book in his hands. “You know I’ll do anything for you because I lo- really care about you.” 

You paused for a second and your breath caught in your chest. Had he almost just told you he loved you? Did you feel the same way? Did you just hear what you wanted to hear? Did you even want to hear him say that to you? 

You shoved the thoughts aside, deciding that rambling thought process was better saved for another time, and walked over to him. He must have heard your feet as you shuffled over to him because his arm closest to you was already up and outstretched and he’d shifted to holding the recipe book with one hand. You accepted the invitation and wrapped both of your arms around his waist, sighed contently when you were pressed against his warm body.

“I really care about you too, Luc,” you told him, “and I really appreciate you coming with me. Can’t thank you enough for coming.” 

“If you thank me one more time, I’m going to return a Christmas gift,” Luc sang softly to you, his eyes transfixed on the recipe. “Do you think it matters if I- oh fuck it, I’m just gonna throw it all in and see what happens.” 

December 

“Okay, you have to do this.” Luc threw the icing bag down on the kitchen table causing white icing to squirt everywhere. You were grateful you’d picked up a cheap table cloth just to do this like your mom always had. “My hands are too big for this.” 

You laughed and grabbed the gummy wreath and the icing bag from in front of him. You carefully coated the back in icing and put a little extra on the door of your gingerbread house to make sure it would stick before placing it gently on the door. 

“See, big man hands can’t do that,” Luc told you knowingly, making you laugh. 

“Think you can handle putting the Cinnamon Toast Crunch on the roof like shingles?” you asked him, offering up the box of cereal in his direction. 

“You are a creative genius with gingerbread, you know.” Luc took the cereal box from you. “You should quit your day job and become a gingerbread house designer.” 

“Are you going to financially support me in the off-season? Seems like a very seasonal job without a ton of revenue opportunities,” you popped a candy Christmas light in your mouth, “but a lot of free goodies seem to be included.” 

“Of course,” Luc replied without missing a beat. 

His concentration was mostly on gently placing each individual cereal piece on the roof in careful, slightly overlapping lines to create a decorative roof. His tongue poked out between his teeth as he lined up a piece right on the edge of the roof and you snorted a little at the sight. 

“Don’t laugh at me. I’m trying to support your vision here,” Luc told you in a jokingly serious tone. 

“Your support is incredibly valuable to me.” You rolled an icing covered ice cream cone in green sprinkles to create a green tree for by the front door of the house before continuing, “This project wouldn’t be where it is without your endless support.” 

“Mm,” was all he could say as he was back to the opposite edge of the roof again.

He cursed under his breath as his phone started to ring on the counter. He was covering in royal icing of various shades and sprinkles. 

“Baby, could you get that? It’s probably my mom,” Luc asked you. 

You got up and grabbed his phone off the counter. He was right. It was his mom. They’d just gotten to the airport they were connecting through to get to Columbus and just wanted to give Luc an update. You relayed the message and told her you were looking forward to dinner later with them, but you have an important construction project you needed to finish first so she wouldn’t launch into a conversation the length of their layover. 

“She’s mad she doesn’t get you Christmas,” Luc told you as you sat back down. “My mom,” he added when he saw your confused face before elaborating further, “She understands why, but she says you’re part of the family, so she’s mad you’re not actually going to be here for Christmas.” 

“My mom feels the same way,” you replied. “Not sure it’s you or your cooking she’s really missing though. Maybe next year we’ll bring everyone together here in Columbus? We’re going to need a bigger place though if we’re going to host that many people.”

“We’re going to need a bigger place for next year, eh?”

Luc emphasized the words “we” and “next year.” You hadn’t even realized you’d said that and now you realized that you’d suggested you were going to be together a year from now and that you would be okay with your parents meeting his at that point. You just jumped from casual banter to an incredibly serious future conversation.

“Well, I just- I don’t know. Forget it,” was all you could come up with as a response and you started fidgeting with the container of sprinkles in front of you as a distraction. 

“I’d love all of that.”

You turned your head to face him, your eyes searching his face for any sign of discomfort at the idea his part. All you could see was him looking at you the way he always had, since the first day you met him almost a year ago now. 

“I want you out of your shitty ass apartment with Kelsey. I want to see you on Christmas next year. I want to watch our dads try and interact.” You both laughed at that thought and then Luc continued, “I want you here with me all the time because I love you.” 

Your mind had been racing last month when he’d almost said those words, not sure exactly how you felt. In this moment where the words had actually come out, a wave of calm came over you. This didn’t scare you at all like you had thought it would. This feeling had been building since the first time you met him and you hadn’t been able to place it until he said those words out loud for the first time. You knew you loved him. 

“I love you too, Luc.” 

[zackcollins]

i would love to see you write something for PLD for a gender neutral reader if you write for him

There was no specific idea, so I just kinda went with whatever came to mind. Hope that's alright!!

Ma douce pêche - my sweet peach

Mon petit papillon - my little butterfly

(All the good vibes to your favourite team if you can figure out why I picked those petnames)

For the entirety of your relationship, you and Pierre-Luc had been writing snail mail letters back and forth with each other. There was just something about the anticipation of receiving a letter that appealed to both of you. You both were drawn to seeing handwritten sentiments from one another and cherished each letter like they were pieces of art from the Louvre. 

When a scheduled letter day came and went with no letter, you were a little concerned. Pierre-Luc had always been punctual with writing and sending his letters. He had never missed a day without first informing you through another means of communication that the letter would be later than usual. Part of you wanted to call him and ask if something was the matter but the logical part of yourself told you that the letter probably just got lost in the mail. The post office was extra busy during the pandemic with all of the online shipping orders so you knew the letter must’ve just got lost in the shuffle and would likely arrive a few days late because of it. There was no need to worry.

When a whole week passed with no letter, you were beginning to wonder if Pierre-Luc had sent a letter at all. As you paced your apartment with worry settling in your stomach, someone buzzed your intercom. You found that odd because you hadn’t remembered inviting anyone over or ordering anything. A thought quickly crossed your mind then. It was probably the postman with your letter from Pierre-Luc. You rushed to the intercom and punched in your access code for the building.

You didn’t realize you had forgotten to check to see who was on the other end until a knock echoed through the apartment. You quickly rushed to the door and opened it, once again neglecting to see who was on the other side. When you saw who was standing in the doorway, you had to do a double-take for you were certain that you were seeing things.

“Bonjour, ma douce pêche,” Pierre-Luc said, a smile on his face. He handed you the bouquet of lilies that he had been holding as you stepped aside to let him into the apartment. “Do you like your snail mail?”

You dropped the lilies on the foyer table and threw yourself into Pierre-Luc’s arms. Pierre-Luc chuckled as he wrapped you in a hug, pressing a kiss to your cheek. You sobbed into his chest, vibrating against him as he rubbed your back soothingly. He was mumbling soft French endearments into your scalp the entire time and it was doing wonders in helping you stay calm.

When you pulled back, Pierre-Luc wiped your tears away with the pads of his thumbs. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead and rubbed his thumbs soothingly across your cheeks. You leaned into the touch, humming softly. Pierre-Luc smiled, pressing another soft kiss to your forehead.

“How about you check the ribbon on the bouquet?” Pierre-Luc said, pointing to the foyer table.

You nodded as you reached for the bouquet. When you looked at the ribbon, you nearly dropped the flowers. Staring back at you was a simple engagement ring. Looking back at Pierre-Luc, you noticed that he was down on one knee and holding his hand out. You disentangled the ring from the ribbon and handed it to him. He smiled and held the ring towards you.

“Ma douce pêche, veux-tu m'épouser, s'il te plaît?" Pierre-Luc bit his lip and raised a tentative eyebrow as he looked at you.

“Yes! Yes! Of course!” You replied, holding your hand out for Pierre-Luc to place the ring on your finger.

Pierre-Luc smiled as he slipped the ring onto your finger before standing up. He grabbed your face and pulled you in for a passionate kiss. As you kissed, you felt your entire world coming together. Pierre-Luc had proposed to you. You were getting married to Pierre-Luc. You suddenly pulled back from the kiss because it was at that moment that you realized something.

“You’re in Winnipeg…” you started, blinking a couple of times. “Columbus doesn’t play games against Winnipeg this season.”

“Yeah,” Pierre-Luc nodded, smiling widely.

“Holy fuck. Holy fuck. You got traded to the Jets!”

“Yeah!”

You grabbed Pierre-Luc’s face and pulled him in for a bruising kiss. Pierre-Luc matched your pace, gripping your shoulders to steady himself. When you pulled back, you both were panting and had swollen lips. Pierre-Luc kissed your forehead and squeezed your shoulders. You smiled and dropped your head against his chest.

“I’m so glad you’re here, mon petit papillon,” you said, voice muffled by Pierre-Luc’s chest.

“I’m glad I’m here too, ma douce pêche,” Pierre-Luc replied, running his hands along your scalp. “I get to close the book on the villainous chapter of my life and open to the chapter where the protagonist and his love interest live happily ever after. That makes all the time with Torts completely worth it. Because you’re worth waiting for, ma douce pêche. And you always will be."

[rowansparrow]

No offense but who the fuck is putting National Hockey League smut fanfic on my dashboard?????

[seguinshands]

The Slightest Inconvenience

Pairing: Pierre Luc Dubois x Reader

Word Count: 1209

Warnings: Mentions of broken arm, pain, swearing, innuendo

Summary: The reader doesn’t want to go to the charity event that her boyfriend wants to go to, but he won’t take no for an answer.

Reader’s POV

“I am not going with this thing on my arm.”

Pierre rolled his eyes. “You look fine. Besides, you’ve gone to the grocery store with it on. Why is this different?”

I turned from where I was one-handedly hanging up the dresses I had pulled out as possibilities to give him a scalding look. “Ah, yes. Fancy charity event, grocery store. Tomato, tomato.”

There was a huff from behind me before his arms encircled me, pulling me back against his chest. “Y/N, just because you broke your arm doesn’t mean that you can’t go to the charity event.”

Whining and squirming, I humphed. “Well, I don’t wanna,” I pouted, gently hitting his arm.

His arms tightened around me. “Quit acting like a two year old.” I really didn’t want to do what he wanted, but my arm was starting to hurt, the deep ache that returned every once in awhile. Grumbling under my breath, I leaned back into his embrace. “Thank you. Now.” He released me with one arm to grab one of the dresses I had put back into the closet, deep blue that swept to the floor elegantly, lace sleeves that were shockingly comfortable, sweetheart neckline. It probably cost a lot. He’d gotten it for me for what he claimed to be my birthday, even though it not only was months from my birthday, but he also got me another expensive gift that same birthday. I had been hesitant, but he had told me that he enjoyed pampering me.

I eyed the dress up and down nervously. “How am I supposed to get my arms through the sleeves?” I said skeptically.

Pierre frowned. “I’ll help you, of course.”

Scoffing, I reached instead for the one dress that didn’t have sleeves. “C’mon, don’t be ridiculous. There’s no way I’m gonna be able to get my arm in, even with your help.” Pierre turned me in his arms and tilted my chin up. I should’ve seen it coming, the irresistible puppy dog eyes. “No way, Dubois. Not gonna happen.” He kept it up, hand that remained on my hip drawing small circles. “Nuh uh. No.” He pouted. “Ugh, fine!” I snatched the dress from him.

Laughing now, he released his grip on me. “Baby, I’ll help you.”

“I’m fine,” I groaned, but it came out really as much more of a whine.

His face turned stern. “I. Am. Helping. You. Now, sit.”

I shot him a look before sitting on the bed, laying the dress out beside me. “Are you sure you want to try and get my arm in the sleeve? It’s gonna take, like, 20 minutes.”

Raising an eyebrow at me, he gestured for me to raise my arms. “You doubting me?” Yes. He could tell by the look on my face. “Well, don’t. I can do this. I promise.”

Just as he finished his statement, the shirt got caught on my arm. “Ow!” I squeaked, wriggling.

“Shit. Sorry, m sorry.” He concentrated on carefully removing my arm from the sleeve, eyebrows coming together and tongue pressed between his lips the slightest bit.

Finally, the shirt was off, but my arm was aching more profoundly now. “Pierre, just leave me at home. I’m hopeless,” I insisted.

He gave me a look again. “I’m not giving up after this much progress. Sorry I hurt you, though.” His voice softened at the last part, face turning regretful.

I reached out to gently touch his cheek. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean to. Now, I think I can get my pants off myself.”

At last, his face split in a grin as he pressed my good shoulder back to the bed, hovering over me. “You sure?”

Feeling my face heat up, I pushed at his bicep. “We do not have time for that. C’mon, if we’re gonna do this event, let’s at least be on time.” Knowing that he would be using his full puppy dog eyes, I got off the bed and wriggled awkwardly out of my sweatpants without looking at him. “Okay, now I need help.” I turned toward him, still blushing a bit.

Pierre beamed at me, crossing the room to me. “Okay, which way does this one go on?”

Snorting, I patted his head. “Same way it comes off, bud.”

He was batting away my hand, but his cheeks were reddening. “Grab my shoulders as best as you can.” I obeyed, still giggling at my own joke. Kneeling down, he pooled the dress on the ground, holding the collar. “Step in, please.” Again, I did as he asked, careful to not step on the slick fabric as he pulled it up my body. “Okay,” he said when we were face to face again. “Alright. Now for the tricky part. Please put your good arm into the sleeve?” I nodded, carefully slipping my arm in and thanking him quietly when he tugged it into place. Then his fingers skimmed my other arm. “Now for this.”

Grabbing my arm once I nodded in permission, he tried to maneuver my arm into the sleeve. But each attempt was more frustrating and brought a sharp bite of pain. I squirmed in his hold. Finally, just as impatient as me, he huffed. “Would you just hold still?”

I groaned. “It hurts. Can we please just stay home? Pretty plea-Ow! You asshole!” I yelped as he pulled my arm quickly and untactfully into the sleeve.

Unfortunately, he was out of reach before I could smack him, zipping up the back of the dress. “Sorry. You were complaining even when I was barely touching you. No choice.”

As he stepped back into view, I smacked at his head. “You fucking asshole, that hurt!” I snapped, reminding myself that I had just got the pain in check, and that I would not cry, I would not cry, I would not cry.

Pierre barely flinched at the hit. “Y/N, you know I was just trying to help you. I’m really sorry that I hurt you.” Even though I could hear the regret in his voice, I still refused to apologize, moving toward the closet to try and find some matching shoes. As I sat on the bed, trying like hell to put the heels on, he leaned against the wall in front of me. “You look beautiful. You really, really do.”

I paused, looking up at him. “Huh?”

He pushed off of the wall and strode over to me. “You look stunning. Absolutely incredible. I’ll be a lot more careful when I’m taking it off tonight, okay?” I hadn’t thought of the statement in the inappropriate sense until he winked at me.

Making a sound of exasperation, I lazily hit at his shoulder. “Why did you have to ruin our moment?”

“Wait, we were having a moment?” Pierre’s face was absolutely priceless, a bit panicked.

Laughing, I stood and grabbed his hand. “It’s okay. I forgive you. I think I overreacted a bit. It didn’t hurt that bad, honestly.” I shrugged sheepishly.

Grinning widely down at me, he wrapped his arms around my waist. “C’mon. Let’s go. We’ll be late.”

“You owe me so big after that,” I grumbled, cut off halfway as Pierre leaned down to capture my lips in his.

[cellythefloshie]

Top 5 favorite fics you have wrote

Top 5 favorite fics you have read

(this equals the top 10 lol)

Top 5 Favorite Fics I Wrote in 2023:

Mama Bear - Jeremy Swayman/OC Alone with You Series - Mat Barzal/OC & Anthony Beauvillier/OC Just Me & You Series - Adam Lowry/OC Meant For Loving - Vince Dunn/OC You Are In Love - Pierre-Luc Dubois / Reader

Top 5 Fics I Read in 2023:

Breakable Heaven by @senditcolton We're A Bad Idea Series by @senditcolton Every Summer Has a Story by @comphy-and-cozy Work Wife by @hockeyboysimagines F*ck You Better by @holy-pucks

[hockeyhoeee-blog]

pierre luc dubois as a boyfriend

big boy

even bigger heart

he’s always thinking of you

like he’d just be walking down the street and he’d see something he thinks you might like and buy it

once bought you a bag of sour patch kids

once bought you a car

and you’d just be like woah

he had to stop buying he wanted for you after that

i feel like he’s really into cuddling

could spend all day on the couch with his head in your lap

loves having sleepovers with you

but would want to stay up all night watching movies

always wants to spend his off days in bed all day

but you make him get his lazy butt up

loves to make breakfast with you

he makes the eggs and pancakes

you pour oj and try to make hash browns

you suck at cooking

he’s the one that always cooks

but you always wash the dishes after so it’s fair

when you’re eating, he’d just stare at you

not in a creepy way

in a loving way

he’s super lazy in the morning

always wants to eat and cuddle

just a big ole sweetheart

[wyattjohnston]

It's August and all fics have been posted! I can't thank everyone enough for participating, and look forward to seeing you again in December for the next one. Click here if you want me to let you know when sign ups open!

Below the cut is a masterlist of all the fics, including who wrote them and who they were for.

I highly recommend reading them all, even if they aren’t for players you usually read.

Please heed all warnings on fics prior to reading. If a writer has marked something as smut or 18+ and you are underage, do the right thing and do not read it.

SUMMER EXCHANGE 2K21 MASTERLIST

ANAHEIM DUCKS

Jamie Drysdale

- four times he thought he didn’t love you + one time he realized he was in love with you by @brandtsclarke for @ idontgiveaflyinggrayson69

CALGARY FLAMES

Jacob Markstrom

- Swedish Summer by @matbaerzal for @ bqstqnbruin

Matthew Tkachuk

- Home to Mama by @ya-pucking-nerd for @ slapshot-to-the-heart

- On Your Right by @calgarycanuck for @ raysofcrosby

CHICAGO HAWKS

Kirby Dach

- Surprise by @selfindulgentpoorlywritten for @ leafs-forever

COLORADO AVALANCHE

- find somewhere to grow by @nugnthopkns for @ ya-pucking-nerd

Cale Makar

- You Say I Am Loved by @laurenairay for @ blueskrugs (pinch hitter)

Nathan MacKinnon

- The Night Everything Changed by @ghstandpucks for @ huttons

- Send For Me by @princessphilly for @ selfindulgentpoorlywritten

- Do I Wanna Know? by @danglesnipecelly for @ shelbsatans

- again someday... by @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69 for @ toplinetommy

- A Lie to Love by @fanfics-for-the-hockey-fan for @ broadstbroskis

- no better company than you by @broadstbroskis for @ ghstandpucks

Tyson Jost

- ONE LOVE, ONE KISS, ONE DRINK, ONE SONG, ALL YOU by @raysofcrosby for @ antoineroussel

- 4 times you ruined his plans + 1 time they were ruined on their own by @bqstqnbruin for @ sorryjustafangirl

- i wouldn't be here (if i didn't love you) by @blueskrugs for @ matbaerzal

- just put your sweet lips on my lips by @fuckyeahmattytkachuk for @laurenairay (pinch hitter)

Ryan Graves

- take the summertime to grow by @museinmind for @ nugnthopkns

NEW YORK ISLANDERS

- you ruined new york for me by @shelbsatans for @ rosesvioletshardy (Beauvillier / Reader / Barzal love triangle)

Anthony Beauvillier

- Summer Haze by @no-pucks-given for @ miracleonice87

Mat Barzal

- Always Be Venice to Me by @senditcolton for @ calgarycanuck

- Paradise by @romanseggy for @ texanstarslove

OTTAWA SENATORS

Tim Stützle

- what home is by @sorryjustafangirl for @ timstuetzle

Josh Norris

- common tongue by @timstuetzle for @ brandtsclarke

PHILADLEPHIA FLYERS

Joel Farabee

- fell in love with you in stages by @antoineroussel for @ museinmind

Travis Konecny

- Accidental First Aid by @luvsherleafs for @ fanfics-for-the-hockey-fan

PITTSBURGH PENGUINS

Sidney Crosby

- big, big plans by @miracleonice87 for @ danglesnipecelly

- worth the wait by @leafs-forever for @ princessphilly

SEATTLE KRAKEN

Jamie Oleksiak

- I Swear To You by @laurenairay for @ romanseggy

- maybe we can see the seaside by @texanstarslove for @ no-pucks-given

ST LOUIS BLUES

Colton Parayko

- can you believe it? by @slapshot-to-the-heart for @ goburkygo

VEGAS GOLDEN KNIGHTS

Nolan Patrick

- 4 times he tried saying i love you, and the 1 time he did by @rosesvioletshardy for @ luvsherleafs

WINNIPEG JETS

Pierre Luc Dubois

- Now That I Need You by @toplinetommy for @ senditcolton

[sabtalkshockey]

one of the things i hate most about hockeyblr is when people will get mad and throw temper tantrums online because they personally don’t match a hockey players ‘type’. they will hate on and tear down girls who do match a hockey players ‘type’ or who do date a hockey player. i can’t even count how many times i’ve seen people on here trash girls because just they’re blonde or say passive aggressive comments toward someone because they happen to be blonde or they happen to be slim or they happen to be upper class or a wag happens to be a stay at home mom or anything else. they will bitch and whine that a hockey player dates this type of girl or that type of girl. they will throw fits because ‘they’re not like other girls’ and hockey players should totally be dating them because they’re better than those dumb blonde bimbos. they will social media stalk and be creepy towards any girl (and her family & friends) who’s even pictured with a hockey player. they will straight up bully any girl who dates their fave hockey player. they will lie and start fake rumors to try to ruin a hockey players relationship just because they don’t like the fact that their favorite hockey player is dating someone that’s not them. it’s not right. you’re hating and bullying a random girl you don’t know because she has the audacity to date a guy who happens to play hockey for a living? girls support girls until you’re threatened by another girl, right? girls support girls until a girl has something you want, until you’re jealous and envious of a girl, right? girls support girls until a girl is a slim blonde who’s conveniently attractive or any of the above, right? it’s not ok. and it’s not like any of us are going to meet our favorite hockey players anyway. yeah the girl who lives in bumfuck north dakota will totally meet an nhl player and he’ll instantly fall in love with her at first sight just like a reader insert fanfic. yeah right. it sounds negative and mean, but it’s the truth. it’s very very unlikely that any of us will meet our fave hockey players and that they’ll want to seriously date us and there’s nothing wrong with acknowledging that. and why is it a problem when a hockey player hooks up? most of these guys are in their early/mid 20s for gods sake. they’re millionaire pro athletes and travel the world for a living. why are y’all making them out to be monsters because they hookup? if a girl hooking up isn’t a problem then a guy hooking up isn’t a problem. double standards much? besides we like hockey because hockey is a fucking awesome sport. yeah the hot guys are a plus but the sport of hockey itself is fucking entertaining as fuck on its own. i would still watch hockey even if the players were the ugliest dudes on earth because i genuinely love hockey. i still think pierre luc dubois is hot but i don’t stalk, bully, belittle, trash, gossip, and tear down his girlfriend just because she’s dating him. im one of the girliest girls i know and i’m honestly not being the ‘not like other girls girl pick me’ but female ‘sports fans’ are some of the most annoying pick me people i’ve ever encountered. there’s a reason why so many hockey players rarely post on social media and keep their relationships very private. y’all are the reason. y’all want more hockey content but they’re not going to give it to you if you keep stalking them and bullying their significant others. treat others how you want to be treated. we learned this in kindergarten. do better. - 🍭

🗣louder for the people in the back! i can honestly say that i haven't been spending much time on tumblr recently. mostly because there isn't much happening on here because of summer. i've never understood the girls who do "background" checks on players. like why is it any of your business what they do in their personal lives? why is it any of your business to take pictures off of private or public social media platforms to post on here? the taking pictures one pisses me off to no end. especially when it's coming from a spouse or friends instagram. some girls on here are very creepy and weird.

[hockeyboysiguess]

Put Me In, Coach

a/n: fluffy friday! more friends to something more stuff. some very mild swearing but nothing else!

“So let me get this straight.” Pierre-Luc drops the dish towel from his shoulder to the counter as he continues, “you spilled an entire beer on him, closed a car door on his hand, your ex showed up in the middle of dinner crying about wanting you back, and he broke his nose walking you home because you forgot to warn him about loose tile on the second step? That is literally the absolute worse date I’d ever heard.”

Luc’s hand rested on his stomach as he laughed, bending over in half as the image of the train wreck of a date you’d just had came into picture for him. You let your head fall to his counter as you let out a deep sigh. There was literally no way your dating life could get worse at this point though Luc laughing at you wasn’t exactly helping the situation.

“Look, here’s the good news.” He’s still laughing, but he is trying to be supportive more than anything, “I don’t think it can get worse for you.”

“You said that after the last one where my leftover container of pasta from the restaurant catapulted itself on the dashboard and windshield of that guy’s new car,” you whined as you picked your head up off the cool counter. “Face it, Luc, I’m supposed to be single right now. I need to just swear off guys until the luck from that mirror I broke in high school wears off.”

“I don’t think the mirror has anything to do with this,” he told you. “Maybe this is the universe telling you that you’re looking in the wrong direction.”

“I’ve looked on Tinder, Hinge, tried to get on Raya but don’t have the Instagram followers for that,and even let my roommate sign me up for JDate even though I’m very much not Jewish. I feel like I’ve looked in every direction,” you replied.

Luc practically snorted as he gathered the words to reply to you, “Yeah, let’s see you got left, right, and stooping very, very low covered there.”

You let your shoulders fall down as another deep sigh escaped your lips. You grabbed your wine glass that you were grateful PL has realized you were going to need before you came over so it was already poured and waiting for you when you arrived. Luc spun around to grab a spice off the counter behind him and you seized the opportunity to steal a bite of sautéed onions and peppers from the pan. Buying Luc his new favorite cookbook for his birthday has been sort of a gift for yourself, not that he’d realized that. That was your secret.

“Hey!” Luc shouted, giving your hand a smack as it travelled to your mouth, but not hard to prevent you from tasting his creation. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

“Oh, so you think I’m pretty?” You raised an eyebrow at him in response to his words.

“I mean,” a faint blush rose in his cheeks and he cleared his throat as he searched for the right response, “I mean, you think I’m hot and I have proof of that so, yeah.”

“You cannot keep bring things that up, PL,” you groaned, making him laugh brightly. “I was drunk and it was for a drinking game at a party full of mediocrely attractive men, okay? God, give a guy one compliment one time and he never forgets it.” 

Luc laughed as he took a taste of the dish. He smiled to himself, clearly please with how it had turned out. He poured the pasta into the vegetable mixture and stirred it all together. He knew you well enough to know that you had to be served first, otherwise you became intolerable. 

“And there you go, you little food thief,” he said as he dropped the plate in front of you

He slid into the seat at the breakfast bar next to you just as you shoved an entirely too large bite into your mouth. Pasta portions had never been your specialty. Luc laughed at the image of your cheeks puffed out with pasta. 

“Is good,” you mumbled through your full mouth, trying to get the situation under control. “Real good, PL. Keep cooking for me and I’ll keep showing up.”

“That’s the goal,” he told you. “You’re the prettiest, best smelling company Columbus has to offer.”

You rolled your eyes at him as you reached for your wine again, knocking the last few sips left in your glass into your mouth as you looked at Luc. He knew you’d be wanted more, so he already had the bottle ready to pour more into your glass by the time you set it back on the counter. You smiled at him and he smiled back. His eyes met yours and that color that was in his cheeks earlier returned. You gave him a curious look and he just smiled shyly and dropped his head back toward his plate. 

“I nominate you to do dishes,” he declared once he’d finish his last bite. “You’re not the best cook in the room, but you are a champion dish washer.

“I know the rules around here,” you reminded him, waving him off with your free hand and you scooped up the last remaining onions off your plate. “You cook, guest cleans.” 

“Cook,” Luc faked horror, “I’m a chef, I’ll have you know. A proper chef. Calling me a lowly cook is an insult and I take it as such. You should kiss the chef to apologize. But anyway, chef gets to pick the movie.”

You rolled your eyes at him as you yanked the plate from the counter. You still smiled though. He was still trying to make you feel better about the disaster that was your love life and he’d keep trying with bad jokes and endless pasta dishes until you were unembarrassed enough to try and go on another date again.

“Do you think it’s me?” you asked him as you put the last dish on the drying rack. “Like, am I just a walking, unloveable disaster or what?’

“You can’t actually be serious right now. The only unloveable thing about you is that you eat all of my leftovers.” The joke didn’t land like he’d hoped, so he tried to be a little more serious. “Of course it’s not you. You’re just maybe a little accident-prone and definitely haven’t met a good guy yet, but you’re very lovable.”

“This dude was in medical school and volunteers at an animal shelter in his free time.” You sighed as you dried your hands. “He was a good guy, PL, and I broke his nose.”

“Technically, the stair broke his nose,” Luc said with a smile, trying in vain to cheer you up, which did not work. He came over to stand next to you on the opposite side of the counter. “Look, I know it’s not you. You’re funny and brilliant and hilarious and you’re an incredible person. Broken nose and all, med school, puppy-lover boy would be lucky to be your guy, okay?”

You nodded softly and Luc wrapped you up in his arms, pressing you into his chest. You wrapped your arms around his waist, letting him hold up your weight for a few moments. PL pressed a soft, unexpected kiss to the top of your head after smoothing out your hair. 

“Besides, I mean, a girl that doesn’t get your nose broken and ruin your suit jacket every now and again doesn’t sound like a lot of fun. Sign me up for fun.” 

You laughed into his chest and his laughed into your hair. He was warm and strong and you let yourself fall into him for a few moments, before unraveling from his arms to reach for your wine glass. 

“Sign you up, huh?” you joked, echoing his words in a playful tone as he grabbed his glass from next to yours

“Put me in, coach,” Luc retorted playfully, a soft smile playing at the edges of his lips

“Are you flirting with me, PL?”

As soon as the words left your mouth, you desperately wanted to grab them out of the air and shove them back in before they could reach his ears. Your mind was racing. You couldn’t figure out where those words had come from and why they’d come out sounding like you hated that idea. Did it sound like you hated if he was flirting with you? Did you want to hate the idea of him flirting with you? You didn’t hate it, the idea of him flirting with you. You definitely didn’t hate that idea, but did that mean you wanted him to actually be flirting with you right now? Was he even flirting with you at all or did you just make that up? Did you really have this much time to think right now, or was your mind really moving this quickly?

“You finally noticed, eh?” he laughed, but it was a hollow sound and the smile that came with it was false, falling from his face the second he stopped willing it to be there. You’d definitely said it with some level of disgust because you’d never seen him look so rejected before. “And you’re clearly not into that so I’m just gonna go ahead and cut that out before this gets any more embarrassing for-”

You, the forever clumsy, over thinker probably should’ve tried to speak. Instead, you just reached for him and crashed your lips into his. Crash being the defining word there as you hadn’t quite managed to get your wine glass all the way onto the counter apparently in your efforts and it hit the floor, shattering into hundreds of pieces. You yanked away from him in surprise at the sound, but his hands found your face, tilting you back to him. 

“I don’t give a shit about the glass,” he told you, a genuine PL smile forming on his face as he spoke. “Just let me kiss you and you can break as much of my shit as much as you want, whenever you want, okay?”

“Put me in, coach.”

[zackcollins]

we don’t walk this road alone || pierre-luc dubois

masterlist

Author’s Note: Heyo, dudes. I’m back with another fic! I got this idea after seeing a post about how much PLD hates Trump. Which, go off, dude. He’s finally proving that hockey players, do, in fact, have brains. Speaking of brains... Mine decided that it wanted to make this have multiple parts. I was originally planning for a one-shot but my said: “No.” I don’t know how many parts there will be but expect more than one; that’s all I can tell you. GIF credit to rustytanev!

Warnings: Well. You see... since this is about PLD’s hatred for Trump, there will be Trump bullshit in here (not in this first part though). I do NOT support Trump. I am very much on PLD’s side in this scenario. So, this story will reflect that. Just thought I’d warn you so you know what you’re getting into. Oh. And it’ll also be set during the current pandemic because I figured that made the most sense. So, be forewarned of that too. I don’t think there’s anything else to warn about in this first part. Let me know if you see something though! I’ll add it to this for you.

Translations: There’s one French word because I couldn’t resist. It roughly translates to “Goddammit!”

Word Count: 1k+

Additional: I know I said to expect more than one chapter. That’s the truth but I don’t know how often I’ll be able to get them written. If I can grow a pair and actually use my adult words, I’ll most likely be getting Animal Crossing: New Horizons tonight. If I do get that, catch me never writing another fic again because I’ll be too busy catching bugs and fishing. Anyways... The reader is gender-neutral as of right now and I want to keep it that way. If I accidentally change it or my direction for the fic changes, I’ll make sure to let you guys know in my ramblings before the actual fic. I hope you enjoy this first part. I’ll try to get the second part done for tomorrow or the next day because I’m working on it right now.

When you arrived at the protest, you double checked to make sure all of your safety equipment was outfitted properly. When you were satisfied that it was, you gripped your steering wheel and let out a shaky sigh. 

“You can do this, (Y/N),” you said, puffing out your chest and fidgeting your fingers on the steering wheel. “Trump needs the reality check.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you let out another shaky sigh as you swung open your car door. 

“Sacrament!”

Your eyes flew open and your head swivelled to your left so fast you were surprised it didn’t snap off. 

What you were met with was a young man with tattoos on his arms, a Columbus Blue Jackets baseball cap, and a mask with a blue and white flag pattern that you didn’t recognize. The only issue was that he was sitting square on his ass in front of your car door. 

“Oh… oh my god,” you said, hands shooting out to pull the door closed.

You quickly turned the key in the ignition and pressed the switch to roll the window down. The young man gave you a lopsided look as he stood up and brushed off his backside. 

“Did…” you gestured vaguely to the car door as you switched the ignition off. The young man nodded as he leaned on the car beside yours. 

You felt your cheeks heat up as you sank down in your seat and covered your face with your hands. When you dared to look at the young man again, he had crossed his arms over his chest, raised an eyebrow, and tilted his head at you. You swallowed a nervous lump and cleared your throat.

“Sorry about that,” you said, nervously rubbing the back of your neck. “I wasn’t paying attention because I’m really nervous to be here. It’s my first protest.”

You think the young man smiled because his mask moved a little. He definitely chuckled because you were able to hear that, even through the anxious thrumming of your heartbeat in your ears. 

“It’s okay,” he said. You thought you heard the faintest of accents but you couldn’t place which accent you thought you heard. “I haven’t really been to that many either, so I completely understand being nervous.”

Chuckling nervously, you gave the young man a thumbs up. You think he smiled again as he chuckled and returned the thumbs up.

“My name is Pierre-Luc,” the young man said, holding his hand up in salute.

“I’m (Y/N),” you replied, holding your hand up in salute as well. 

“Would you like to get a coffee or dinner when this protest is over?”

You blinked a couple of times, somewhat taken aback by his offer. There was a part of you that knew you should say no, given the circumstances of everything. Yet…

“I’d love that,” you said, voice surprisingly chipper. 

Pierre-Luc grinned (at least you thought he did) as he reached over and opened your car door for you. You chuckled awkwardly as you stepped out of the car and back from Pierre-Luc. He hummed happily as he closed the car door and stepped further away from you to allow for more social distancing. 

Now that you were out of the car, you truly focused on Pierre-Luc. His eyes were soft, yet still intense in a way you didn’t know how to truly describe. His tattoos looked completely random to your eyes but you knew his eyes saw each of them as their own little story. 

You were glad that you said yes to his offer of coffee or dinner because you really wanted to get to know Pierre-Luc better. Just looking at his tattoos and what he was wearing—an oversized t-shirt with a hockey player on it, blue jean shorts, Vans, polka-dot socks, the Columbus Blue Jackets hat and that blue and white flag mask that you didn’t recognize the pattern for—he looked like the kind of guy you would get along well with. He seemed interesting and you were always one to enjoy being around interesting people.

“Are you ready to go?” Pierre-Luc asked.

You blinked, snapping out of your fantasyland. “Go? I thought the date was later…?”

Pierre-Luc chuckled, shaking his head. “I meant to protest.” He pointed over to the street where people were already beginning to gather. 

You felt your face heat up as you rubbed the back of your neck. “Right…”

Even though you couldn’t see the bottom half of his face, you could still tell that Pierre-Luc was giving you a sympathetic look. There was just something about how soft his eyes were that gave that away. 

A long silence befell the two of you. Neither of you said anything but the noises from the protesters and cars were still very much audible. It made the fact that neither of you were talking much more bearable.

After what felt like an eternity, Pierre-Luc cleared his throat and looked at you awkwardly. He rubbed the back of his neck and leaned against what you assumed was his car.

“I can go and we can forget about the date,” Pierre-Luc said, sighing.

“No!” You shouted back almost before he was finished speaking. Pierre-Luc stood there, blinking owlishly. You swallowed and stepped back a couple of times. “Sorry… I…”

Pierre-Luc chuckled and raised his hands in surrender. “God, we’re both awkward.”

You chuckled and gave Pierre-Luc some finger guns. Pierre-Luc snorted and shook his head. You chuckled again and smiled, though you knew he wouldn’t be able to see the smile through your rainbow mask. 

“Let me try this again,” Pierre-Luc said. “Are you ready for the protest?”

You nodded and took a few steps forward. “Yes. Let’s do this.”

Pierre-Luc gave you a thumbs up as he stepped forward, turned around and started walking toward the street. You shook your head and chuckled as you started following after him.

A loud noise to your left made you stop walking and drew your attention in that direction. You looked for a few moments but didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. Right as you turned to face forward, you came into contact with something solid. Before you could tell what it was, you were on the ground, on your back with something heavy laying on top of you. When you did realize what it was, you swallowed thickly. 

Laying on top of you was none other than Pierre-Luc without his mask. And he was incredibly handsome.