#pierre luc Dubois x reader

[snoopyhughes]

as the seasons change (p.l. dubois)

@bqstqnbruin Christina! writing for you has been such an honor. I've been following you since I joined Tumblr almost three years ago and have always loved your fics. to write something for you this time is such a joy. 💖

I'm sorry to both you and Demi for the late post. I work 60 hours a week in summers and I'm taking a class that has taken up all of my time. But I promise my tardiness does not dim the amount of love I have for you both (and this fic).

as always: this is a work of fiction. it's hard to imagine why anyone would move from LA to Winnipeg after college, but I tried my best to make it as realistic as possible.

Christina, I hope you love this as much as I loved writing it. It has been such a joy to write this for you. And as always, Demi, thank you for hosting such a wonderful event for our community. @wyattjohnston

3k words. loosely edited, please excuse any mistakes. flashbacks that are not separated by a breaker are written in italics.

You never wanted to hate hockey. Growing up in Southern California, you had always tuned in with the Kings, even attending a few games. But in your mid 20s, you found yourself muting everything to do with hockey, trying to block it out of your head entirely.

It wasn't always like this. In fact, there was a time in your life where it was your entire life. Until it wasn't. You had met Pierre-Luc Dubois shortly after his arrival to Winnipeg. You were living in Winnipeg, fresh out of college working part time on the weekends at a bar. You picked up a part time job to help increase your funds from your starting salary. You truly did have your dream job, but it definitely isn't the dream pay. And moving from your hometown to Winnipeg caused a lot of additional funds.

As soon as you met him, you quickly became aware of his charm, charisma, and unfortunately, his impact on you. And how you could you forget him, with his silky accent always calling you "honey," no matter what the conversation entailed. Every greeting, every question, every conversation, was always started or ended with him addressing you as honey. His reasoning?

"You're as sweet as honey," his deep accented voice told you one day shortly after meeting him. He quickly looked around to survey his surroundings, and then whispered in your ear: "I'm sure you taste like it too."

Of course, your cheeks burned immediately at that. It was definitely not a conversation appropriate for your workplace, under the neon lights of the bar you worked at. Of course, Pierre was the one who was starting those interactions, but you never shut him down, and truthfully you bashed in the attention. It made you feel wanted, it made you feel beautiful. You had your share of guys in college and even a couple in Winnipeg before you met Pierre-Luc, but as soon as you met Pierre, you were done for. There had been no one once you met him, and there had been nothing after him. You had found yourself reminiscing on the times that you and Pierre shared. You were both in love, and you wondered how a connection so powerful, so addicting, had turned into heartbreak.

________

"Holy hell, who is that," your coworker Jess muttered out when the two of you were getting ready to get behind the bar for the night. It was a Saturday night, the Jets fresh off an afternoon victory. You had known that the Jets would frequent the bar you worked in after wins, hell you had met a lot of them, but you knew you had never met him. You would have remembered a face like his, a voice like his. A smile like his. Or a smirk, should you say.

"That's Pierre-Luc Dubois, newly acquired by the Jets and the most beautiful man to ever walk through our doors," another coworker, Anthony muttered as he tied his apron around his waist, causing you all to infer that he was familiar with the hockey player. You weren't surprised that he knew him. "Sports gay," the self proclaimed title that Anthony gave himself long before you met was incredibly correct. He had quickly become one of your best friends both at work and outside of work in the short year that you had worked at the bar.

Jess strategically decided to start at the other side of the bar from the players, causing you the responsibility to serve them. You never minded, you never had an issue with any of them. They always tipped well and were kind and friendly to you. They never complained about any service issues, and some of them even went as far to ask you about your personal life. The ones who did knew that this was an extra job for you and always threw in some extra money on top of the tip.

You made your way over to them, trying to pretend that you weren't just having a detailed conversation about one of them. Trying to pretend that you were unfazed by the eye contact that you made with him, by the way that his button up perfectly squeezed his muscular, tattooed arms.

"How's it going gentleman, wonderful to see you all again. Win today?" you asked as you placed coasters in front of them, never bothering with a menu. They always knew what they wanted. As they informed you of their win and made a few side comments, an accented voice that had become familiar quickly spoke up.

"Hi honey, I'm sorry I don't think I got your name. I'll have a jack and coke please. And I'll buy the first round for everybody while you're at it." The way the pet name flowed so easily off his lips should've been a bigger red flag, but you couldn't help but feel your cheeks burn at the comment. "It's Y/N," you informed him as you placed the drink in front of him, trying not to act like you had been extremely flustered by his words.

"Well Y/N, I haven't been here long but I can promise you you're the most beautiful woman in Winnipeg," he charmed, causing you to blush but also roll your eyes. "Don't mind Luc, apparently French men think they can say whatever they want to innocent bar workers," Adam joked, causing the rest of the guys to laugh. You had become very familiar with Adam in the time you'd worked at the bar. He was like a brother to you, and you appreciated the way he loosened the tension because you were incredibly flustered by his words.

But above all, it was the way that despite the teasing from his new teammates, Luc never flustered, his eyes still smoldering your own, and you knew you were in for some trouble.

--------

You were packing up your apartment, two years since that day that you met Luc. You had decided to move back home. Truth be told, Winnipeg never felt like home. It helped when you were with Pierre-Luc, but the homesickness was undeniable, and following your breakup from Pierre-Luc, it only got worse. There was nothing keeping you there anymore.

Although you were ready to leave, it was hard to ignore the memories of the apartment you were packing up, both good and bad. The joy of being with Pierre and the heartbreak. The giddiness of first meeting him and the emptiness of what you assumed would be the last time you ever saw him. All of those emotions existed inside of the four walls in your apartment.

As you wrapped up picture frames in packing paper, you wondered why you still had these up. It had been 6 weeks since your breakup with Luc, but the pain felt like it happened just yesterday. Your heart constricted at the picture that was looking back at you, a picture of you in the snow. It was the first time you had been alone with him.

"We're closed," you muttered out as you heard the doorbell chime from the front of the restaurant. You were cursing yourself for not locking the front door yet, but you also wondered why people couldn't just open their eyes and read the closing times that were so clearly printed on the very door that they had just opened.

"It's okay honey, I'm not looking for a drink tonight." the accented voice behind you made you tense up immediately. You had to have been dreaming. There was simply no way that he had come back for you. You had been thinking about him for days since he had first come in with the team. You truly did have a soft spot for the Jets team, but they never came in alone. They always came in a group, and never not on their unassigned assigned day: Saturdays. It was a few weeks later, and to your knowledge, there was no one else with him. You turned towards the voice and found that your suspicions were true.

"Hello again, Pierre. Nice to see you, but we really are closed and I'm really trying to get out of here before midnight. After midnight the streets get crazy," you explained to him as you finished up sweeping from behind the bar. "Yeah, I'm sure the streets are really crazy from the inside of your locked car," Pierre joked, causing you to raise your eyebrows. You hadn't known him long, really he had no reason to be protective of you, but you had a sneaking suspicion that he would not approve of the words that were about to come out of your mouth.

"Oh, I walk." you muttered as you broke eye contact in an almost embarrassment. You weren't embarrassed that you walked, it was truly impractical to drive when it was only a few blocks and the streets were always mobbed, the parking almost worse. But you knew deep down it really wasn't safe, and it was embarrassing to be under the microscope like this. You really weren't used to it. You hadn't encountered many men who cared enough about you walking home alone. "Any straight man," Anthony's voice was like the devil on your shoulder in the back of your mind.

"You what?" Pierre grumbled, his eyes lighting up in an almost anger. "There's no way you just said that." He mumbled and you nodded your head. "Yes, I'm pretty sure I did. Did you even listen?" You were growing frustrated. You barely knew this man other than what you had read on Google, what right does he have judging your life decisions? "Yes, unfortunately I did hear what you just said. I can't believe you put yourself in danger like that." You scoffed at him, wondering if this was genuine concern.

"What do you care? I'm just the girl who pours your drinks." You muttered stubbornly as you brushed past him to lock the front door, trying to get back to what you had been doing in the first place: trying to close this damn bar so you could start your apparently infamous walk home.

"I know I haven't known you for long, but I already care about you. You're more than just 'the girl who pours my drinks.' I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. That's why I came back over here in the first place, to hopefully get a chance to talk to you." He was standing his ground, and you felt yours crumbling at his tone of voice, the care in his eyes, the warmth that was somehow radiating off of his body despite it being mid February in Canada.

"I know, I have no right to come in here and judge your routine. But at least let me walk you home. I'll never come back here again if that's what you want, but I simply can not come in here to see you and then let you walk home in the dark. I can walk 6 feet behind you if you want, but I'm not letting you walk alone." He took a step closer to you, reaching out to touch your forearm and you fought the urge to jump back, his touch almost burning you.

You begrudgingly agreed and let Pierre walk you home after you finished closing the bar. The task was surprisingly short, only lengthened by the presence and words of Pierre. You walked closely to Pierre, unconsciously trying to catch some of his body heat as snow was now steadily falling from the sky. It made you miss the warmth of your home, the beating sun, the rise and fall of the waves as you walked home from work a much better scenery than this, although the beauty of the snow was hard to deny.

As you walked up to the front door of your apartment complex, you turned towards Pierre and saw him smiling goofily at you. "What's so funny?" you wondered and he shook his head. "Nothing. You just look adorable in this snow. It's obvious you aren't from here." he chuckled and lifted his phone quickly to take a picture of you, an amused look on your face.

He turned his phone to show you the photo and you smiled, immediately falling in love with the picture. It's true, it was glaringly obvious that you weren't from Winnipeg. "We don't get much snow in LA," you muttered and Pierre gave you a quizzical look. "What on earth are you doing all the way out here?" He asked and you smiled. "My college roommate is from here. I was ready for a change when I graduated so I moved back home with her. I've been here for a year now and I'm still not too sure." you admitted, being more honest with him than you had been with anyone about your living situation, which surprised you.

"I've only been here a month. I've liked it so far, but it doesn't feel like home yet." The vulnerability between the two of you was sobering, reminding you of the weather. "Well it's cold, I don't want you to freeze. I'll call you an Uber back to the bar. Thanks for walking me, truly. I appreciate your concern." You admitted and he smiled. "It's nothing, really. But one thing. Can I send you this picture? I think it's really perfect." he complimented, causing your cheeks to burn. "If you wanted my number, you could've just asked." You joked, now causing Pierre to blush. "That too," he rolled his eyes in faux annoyance.

"Goodnight, honey. I'll dream of you," he swooned, causing you to roll your eyes. "Goodnight Pierre." You hummed back. You would never admit that you dreamed of him too that night.

Tears streaming down your cheeks broke you out of your sorrowful flashback, the picture of you in the snow staring back at you. You kept it up at first to remind you that you could feel joy in Winnipeg, but as you packed it up, you realized that was obviously a failure.

You placed the picture frame in the now full box and sealed it with packing tape, grabbing a sharpie to label it clearly.

DO NOT OPEN.

-------------

That was March, and now this was September. Somedays the breakup felt like yesterday and somedays it felt like a lifetime ago. There was still an ache in your heart somedays and other days you found yourself looking at other people.

It was mid-September, but the sun was still beating down hard. You didn't miss much about Winnipeg, but somedays the sun beat down just a bit too hard and you found yourself thinking about how the four seasons were so prominent there. You closed the door to the bar you had found yourself in back in LA, feeling a sense of deja vu as you turned the lock and pulled on the handle to ensure it worked.

"I seriously hope you don't still walk home in the dark alone after work."

There was no way his voice was behind you. You had to have been imagining it. The deja vu must've been getting too real. You shook your head out and turned towards the street. But there was nothing imaginary about the figure in front of you. You had spent so much time memorizing his face, his body, his heart. You knew him like the back of your hand.

"What are you doing here?" came out before you could stop yourself, your palm coming up to cover your mouth in embarrassment. "You didn't hear the news? 8 years upcoming with the LA Kings." You found yourself laughing out loud. There was no way.

"Well that can't be a coincidence." It was true that you missed Luc, a piece of your heart missing when he left. But that's exactly what he did: broke your heart. "Of course you were in mind when I signed. You're the love of my life." He admitted and you shook your head. "It sure didn't feel that way when you broke up with me."

It was probably an unfair comment, but you didn't care in that moment. He had shattered your heart when he left. Giving you no reason other than "it's the wrong time for us."

"That's not fair. I didn't want to leave you. I didn't have a choice. I was losing myself in that city and I couldn't let you watch it happen." He admitted and you scoffed. "So was I! God, Luc. I didn't think your pride was too big to admit that you needed help. You should've known I would've supported you." You came back at him with force, causing people on the street to stare at you.

"Of course I knew. I was embarrassed. I have loved you enough for three lifetimes and I couldn't even admit to you that I was struggling." You felt your heart crack. You knew that the toxic masculinity in hockey culture was unfair. You felt for him, that he felt he couldn't come to you with that. And while he loved you enough for three lifetimes, you loved him just the same. You felt tears brimming in your eyes, once again your self control leaving you.

"I missed you, Luc. So much," you told him tearily, causing him to bring you into a tight embrace.

"This time, I'm not going anywhere. I promise." And truly, you should've had more self control. You should've had more questions, more doubts. But in front of you was the man who walked you home the second time you met in a blizzard just to make sure you were safe. The man who helped you break down your walls and stood by you while you both fell and flourished. The man who would do anything to make you smile, make you feel loved. He was yours. He always would be.

You weren't sure how the universe aligned to bring you two back together, but as you held each other on the sidewalk, swaying back and forth under the street light, you knew you would be thankful for it everyday.

[buttercupjosh]

Y’all, please send me your hockey fic recs, I’m going to updating my fic rec list soon (my last updated list is here). Thank you in advance😌

Note: I don’t read smut

[2-fast-2-curious]

Can you please do another dom PLD audio

[M4F] Making you my theatre slut

[SFX][Voyeurism][Public play][Dominant][Trapped][Small girlfriend][Praise][Degradation][Public play][Thigh fucking][Resisting][CNC][I’ll leave it inside you, feel the space I’m taking inside you?]

Creator Reddit: u/JuggernautBrilliant2

[mrpldiddles]

the pld fic that currently lives in my head is gonna go insane once i finally write it y’all aren’t ready

[amsbabygurl]

dress - a.m.

made your mark on me, a golden tattoo - auston matthews x fem!reader

a/n - this will be my first actual fic so pls be nice...

this fic contains a lil swearing and s m u t - fingering (that's it... keeping it tame for now)

18+ below the cut!

you love going to events with auston, you really do. to you, there was nothing better than getting all dolled up just to spend the night on his arm, politely greeting all the members of the nhl while being whisked around by your gorgeous boyfriend. he also makes it incredibly hard to focus on anything around you, as his large hand splayed across the small of your back, dangerously close to your ass, rubbing small circles in the silk fabric.

you know he's just trying to soothe you, as a room full of people this important to him and his career could be rather intimidating, but instead of being comforting, it was making you feel other things.

you press your lips to the shell of his ear, "i'm going to get another glass of champagne, do you need anything?" you whisper. he turns his head to look at you and softly shakes his head.

"don't be too long now love," he whispers back, ghosting a kiss onto your cheek, so he doesn't ruin your makeup. you smile up at him and nod, slowly skirting away through the scattered crowd to the bar.

this might sound cliché, but damn, auston hated it when you left his side but he did love to watch you leave. you look incredible tonight, the dark blue dress he picked out for you hugging your curves so perfectly. damn is he ever lucky.

still staring at you as you stop at the bar to get another drink, mitch clears his throat, grabbing auston's attention. "dude, you're basically drooling. it's almost embarrassing," he observes with a low chuckle. auston whips his head around to look at him.

"i just don't like leaving her alone at these things when she looks that good," he emphasizes. he knew if anyone would understand it would be mitch.

in the meantime, you ask the bartender for another glass of champagne, and he nods, quickly moving out of sight to grab you some. you look up and down the bar, not recognizing anyone, until a soft hand presses into the small of your back. but it isn't auston's hand. you know exactly how his hands feel. you slowly turn your head, hoping not to appear too startled, and come face to face with no other than pierre luc dubois.

"what's a pretty girl like you doing here all alone?" he whispers, getting a little too close to your ear for your liking, feeling his hot breath on your face.

"i'm not here alone. i happen to have come with my boyfriend," you say to pierre, rather loudly, hoping to get someone's attention, hoping they might rescue you.

"i don't see him here though" he whispers again. you're growing more and more uncomfortable by the second, and with the bartender still gone fetching more champagne, your eyes scan the crowd looking for auston. he's not where you left him. an uneasy feeling settles in you as you give pierre a polite smile.

"i need to go to the bathroom," trying to give him an excuse and a reason to slip away and find auston. but he doesn't let his hand off of your back. "pierre, please let me go," you plead.

he starts to wrap his hand around your waist, when a deep voice comes from behind you. "i think she told you to leave her alone dubois."

auston.

you feel yourself physically relax, as his hand reaches out and wraps around your own, gently pulling you away from pierre's side. you grip onto his arm with your free hand, squeezing it gently in a silent thank you. pierre grunts, and with a nod, he walks away. you turn to face your boyfriend, his expression stern and hard.

"hey, it's okay. i'm okay my love," you say gently, your hand reaching up to cup his face. your thumb running soothingly over his cheekbone. he looks at you and his gaze immediately softens. you smile at him.

"i'm sorry baby, i shouldn't have let you off on your own. you look way too good for me to even think about letting you out of my sight," he whispers into your ear, both of his strong hands gripping your hips. you blush at his praise, leaning up to place a soft kiss on his lips. he must have other intentions than an innocent thank you kiss, as he presses harder against you, pulling your hips closer to him as he tries to pry your lips apart with his tongue.

"aus," you whisper, "we can't do this here. there's too many people."

"i know baby, i just want everyone to know that you're all mine," he whispers back, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your jaw "let's get out of here yeah?" you nod quickly, and he turns you gently so your walking in front of him, a hand on your back that slowly slides down until it's resting firmly on your ass. you can feel the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck. as much as pda isn't normally your thing, you can't help but feel a swell of pride wash over you. no matter what happens he always takes you home with him.

the drive home is tense. not because he was mad at you, auston could never be mad at you, but because the tension brewing between you is so thick in the front seat of his car. his large hand has found it's normal spot against your thigh, but it's slowly creeping closer and closer to the heat at your core. you've been aching for his fingers ever since he kissed you so passionately in that room full of people. like he was reading your mind, his hand slides further and further up, until the pads of his fingertips are tracing your slit through the lacy thong you had put on just for him.

"aus" you moan, feeling the way his fingers slowly made their way up to circle gently around your clit.

"what do you need baby, hmm? use your words," he says as he stops touching you completely. you whine from the lack of contact.

"i need your fingers in me auston, please," you beg. a smirk crosses over his handsome features as he moves your underwear to the side, giving him easy access, allowing his fingers to slip inside of you.

"shit baby, all this is for me?" he growls, as he starts to pick up the pace, thumb still circling your clit. you let out a moan, unable to say anything as the pleasure is building inside of you. "only i get to see you like this, becoming a sloppy little mess just because of my fingers." you let out a small mewl at his words. "tell me baby, tell me i'm the only one that will ever see you like this."

"i'm all yours aus, always yours," you pant out, words becoming harder and harder for you as you start approaching the edge.

"that's my good girl," he says "now i want you to come for me baby. let me feel you come undone on my fingers." with these final words of encouragement, you let go. clenching and unclenching on his fingers, as he continues his slow movements, working you down from your high.

you turn to look at him as he pulls into the parking lot at your shared apartment. his pupils are dilated, as he brings up his cum soaked fingers to his lips and sucks the taste of you off of them. he moans at the taste and you whimper from just watching the scene. he pulls his fingers out of his mouth, hand coming up so his fingers can weave into the hair at the nape of your neck, allowing him to pull you into a searing kiss. you moan at the contact and the taste of you on his tongue.

"c'mon baby, let's go upstairs so i can take care of you properly," he whispers into your lips as his hand comes you rest on your thigh once again. you nod, getting out of the car, grabbing his hand and letting him lead you up the stairs. you are in for a long night.

a/n - if you made it through this, BLESS. also lemme know if you want a part two hehe

[cuttergauthier]

Who I Write For

Hey everyone this is a list of who I write for.

If you have someone else in mind, send me an ask and i’ll let you know if i want to write for him. I’m not picky

Also if anyone would want me to start an AU let me know!

How to request

I DO NOT WRITE SMUT

New jersey Devils

Jack Hughes

Nathan Bastian

Dawson Mercer

Luke Hughes

Nico Hischier

Timo Meier

Brendan Smith

Vancouver Canucks

Quinn Hughes

Brock Boeser

Elias Pettersson

Cole McWard

Anthony Beauvillier

Dakota Joshua

Toronto Maple Leafs

Mitch Marner

Auston Matthews

William Nylander

Matthew Knies

Morgan Reilly

Buffalo Sabres

Owen Powers

Tyson Jost

Devon Levi

Erik Johnson

Jeff Skinner

Tage Thompson

Dylan Cozens

Casey Mittelstadt

Carolina Hurricanes

Michael Bunting

Andrei Svechnikov

Jack Drury

Pittsburgh Penguins

Pierre-Oliver Joseph

Ryan Graves

Ty Smith

Columbus Blue Jackets

Nick Blankenburg

Kent Johnson

Cole Sillinger

Adam Boqvist

Zach Werenski

Adam Fantilli

Vegas Golden Knights

Brendan Brisson

San Jose Sharks

Thomas Bordeleau

Tristen Robins

William Eklund

Henry Thrun

Luke Kunin

Anaheim Ducks

Trevor Zegras

Mason McTavish

John Gibson

Frank Vatrano

St Louis Blues

Jake Neighbours

Colton Parayko

Ottawa Senators

Josh Norris

Brady Tkachuk

Mathieu Joseph

Jakob Chychrun

Zack MacEwen

Tim Stutzle

Thomas Chabot

Minnesota Wilds

Matt Boldy

Brock Faber

Brandon Duhaime

Los Angeles Kings

Alex Turcotte

Quinn Byfield

Brandt Clarke

Pierre Luc Dubois

Alex Laferriere

Florida Panthers

Matthew Tkachuk

Sam Bennett

Mackie Samoskevich

William Lockwood

Aaron Ekblad

Josh Mahura

Brandon Montour

Colorado Avalanche

Cale Makar

Bowen Byram

Nate Mackinnon

Miles Wood

Detroit Red Wings

J.T. Compher

Dylan Larkin

Joe Veleno

Jake Walman

Boston Bruins

Mason Lohrei

Johnny Beecher

Jeremy Swayman

Jake Debrusk

Charlie Mcavoy

Montreal Canadiens

Cole Caufield

Arber Xhekaj

Kirby Dach

Christian Dvorak

Alex Newhook

New York Islanders

Noah Dobson

Mat Barzal

Philadelphia Flyers

Morgan Frost

Cam York

Jamie Drysdale

Joe Farabee

Tyson Foerster

Noah Cates

New York Rangers

Alexis Lafrenière

Adam Fox

K’Andre Miller

Braden Schneider

Chris Kreider

Zac Jones

Arizona Coyotes

Logan Cooley

Dylan Guenther

Clayton Keller

Nick Schmaltz

Chicago Blackhawks

Lukas Reichel

Seth Jones

Alex Vlasic

Connor Bedard

Tampa Bay Lightnings

Brandon Hagel

Anthony Cirelli

Seattle Kraken

Brandon Tanev

Jamie Oleksiak

Philipp Grubauer

Will Borgen

Dallas Stars

Wyatt Johnston

Jake Oettinger

Rope Hintz

Craig Smith

University of Michigan

Luca Fantili

Rutger McGroarty

Nick Moldenhauer

Phil Lapointe

Jacob Truscott

Tyler Duke

Marshall Warren

Frank Nezar

Ethan Edwards

Michigan State University

Red Savage

Isaac Howard

Maxim Štrbák

Ohio State University

Joe Dunlap

Cam Thiesing

Davis Burnside

Caden Brown

Matt Cassidy

Minnesota University

Luke Mittelstadt

Jimmy Snuggerud

Ryan Chesley

Oliver Moore

Brody Lamb

Boston College

Cutter Gauthier

Will Smith

Ryan Leonard

Gabe Perreault

Drew Fortescue

Jacob Fowler

Will Vote

University of Wisconsin

Cruz Lucius

Charlie Stramel

Zach Schulz

Random Teams

Nick Granowicz

Jay Keranen

Colton Dach

Nathan Gaucher

+ more

AU’s 

Nick Granowicz x Msu Reader

Josh Norris x Tkachuk sister

Trevor Zegras x Hughes sister

Cutter Gauthier x Hughes sister

Matthew Knies x Matthews sister

Jack Hughes x Mercer au

[cellythefloshie]

What are all the fics you have done for other people?

The following fics were gifted to others as part of events or exchanges:

ᴀʟʟ ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛ - Freddie Andersen x Original Character ɴᴜ Äʀ ᴅᴇᴛ ᴊᴜʟ ɪɢᴇɴ - Freddie Andersen x Reader ᴀʟᴏɴᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ - Mat Barzal x Original Character & Anthony Beauvillier x Original Character ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ - Pierre Luc Dubois x Reader ᴄʀᴜᴇʟ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ - Nico Hischier x Reader ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴛ - Nico Hischier x Reader ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ꜱᴘɪɴꜱ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ - Timo Meier x Reader ʟᴀꜱᴛ ᴄʜʀɪꜱᴛᴍᴀꜱ - Adam Lowry x Original Character ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴍᴇ & ʏᴏᴜ - Adam Lowry x Original Character

Readers also requested items from the 300 and 500 follower celebration events.

[pcttymcrlecu]

Psssst, it’s me! Your fic exchange writer! I hope you are as excited as I am for your fic! I have a couple quick questions for you so I can get started.

Love the list of players you have! Any chance you could give me a top 3? As a refresher, here is your list of gorgeous men: Andrei Svechnikov, Adrian Kempe, William Nylander, Josh Anderson, Brock Boeser, Pierre-Luc Dubois, Erik Johnson, Anthony Beauvillier, Nico Hischier, Colton Parayko, Mat Barzal, John Marino, Quinn Hughes, Elias Petterson, K'Andre Miller. (Can you see why I need you to narrow it down!? Your taste is excellent.)

Are there any songs or lyrics or quotes you love that you would like to see put into your fic?

If you do Spotify wrapped, what are two songs on there that fit your vibe?

What are the themes that have you kicking your feet? What themes would you be bummed out to receive?

Do you prefer reader-based fics or OC? If so, do you have a name preference?

You will be getting a happy ending! But would you perfect for it to be a full comfort fic, or have some angst to it as well?

hiii!! sorry this is a little late response 🫣 i am super duper excited though!!

I'm going to hide the answers under a read more so as to not bother people!

As a top three, I would probably choose (in no particular order): Andrei Svechnikov (I just adore him more than words can say), I am in my William Nylander era and because John Marino is new to my list this time around, I'll go with him!

Oooh I can definitely offer up some kind of input there but feel free to literally ignore it entirely. I do enjoy the whole vibe of At My Worst by Pink Sweat$ and Kehlani but also love Kodaline's Wherever You Are or these lyrics have recently struck a chord with me recently "I'm not a solider/But I'll fight through our darkest of days/Get on my shoulders/And I'll carry you all of the way" and also "I wanna slow dance in the living room like/We're eighteen at senior prom and grow/Old with someone who makes me feel young"

I don't do Spotify wrapped but I do use apple replay so hopefully that's fine for you as well! For this year: I think my vibe has been either anthemic or angsty so I'll give you one of each ahah - I'm Still Standing by Elton John and Unsteady by X-Ambassadors.

Anything Friends-to-Lovers/Idiots-to-lovers/the whole Requited-Unrequited Love thing gets me giddy all the time. Oh and how could I possibly forget Fake Dating. I'm a true hopeless romantic at heart so honestly if it could fit into the plot of a 90s/early 00s Rom-Com, it'll make my little heart sing. I really dislike miscommunication(in the sense of people not talking to each other - lost in translation/communication is okay). I'm not a big fan of pregancies (I prefer fun aunt/uncle/cousin vibes) but apart from that I'm not going to lie I'm pretty open, so long as it makes sense.

I like both honestly so I'm going to say it's up to you and what you're most comfortable with (I don't want to handcuff you too much) but it you want a firm response just let me know.

If it's 100% a happy ending, I don't mind a little bit of angst thrown in, you know - for character/dynamic development but I also would't be opposed to snuggling up with a cup of cocoa and the most wonderful piece of comfort prose to just destress a little.

I feel like I half answered a lot of your questions but please if anything is unclear and you need more clarification or you just want me to be decisive for once, let me know ☺️

[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)

[matthewtkachuk]

why do you think that strangers gonna mind with PLD??? 💚💚💚

hi love, hope you don't mind this being a little late ❤️

pairing: pierre-luc dubois x reader

warnings: mentions of cyber bullying, fangirls being mean :/

word count: 1k

why do you think that strangers gonna mind

You’re not a stranger to unsavoury comments made about you on the internet. In the eighth grade you’d pissed off the wrong group of girls in your school and ended up drawing their ire vis a vis facebook. At the time it had been the worst thing ever, with constant harassment and even a private facebook group made to shit talk you, but looking back it was pretty funny that they were threatened by your friendship with one of their (and you use the term very loosely) boyfriends.

Now? Now every bit of social media you had was locked down or deleted. Instagram and twitter? Private. Facebook? A variation of your first and middle names that you’d told everyone was because you didn’t want future employers finding you. LinkedIn and Pinterest? Deleted. Spotify? Fake name.

The reason for that was simple.

Your boyfriend was a professional athlete and fangirls be crazy. You’d managed to fly under the radar for a lot longer than you thought you ever would, lasting more than a year and an international trade before an errant ponytail on your boyfriend’s wrist during an interview had the internet sleuths of instagram on your tail.

The tiny, insignificant detail had brought attention to the fact that he was likely dating someone, and from there you can only speculate it was a careless tag that led them straight to you. In the beginning, you’d never thought of making your account private. Really, you had 300 followers tops, and most of them were people you’d gone to school with throughout the years. It never crossed your mind in the early months of dating Pierre, especially since you’d never actually posted him on your feed, only tagging him in your insta stories that disappeared alongside the experiences together.

Even after you’d been found out, it hadn’t been a cute selfie of the two of you on your couch that nailed the final nail in your coffin. In fact, it wasn’t Pierre at all, it was a totally cute, totally innocent picture of Pierre’s bulldogs sleeping alongside your lab daschund cross. That had been enough though, firmly cementing you as the mystery girl whose ponytail had been around Pierre’s wrist.

Very quickly, you’d had to limit your comments and not much longer you went private entirely. Yet, somehow, particularly determined fans were able to make their way to your filtered messages and sent you insults through the messaging systems of other less conspicuous apps. You can’t really explain why, but you don’t really tell Pierre the whole truth behind your social media cleanse. Deflecting a little, you minimize the situation, stating it was ‘only a fan or two’ and it was just a good idea to lock it down before things got too insane.

And then they’d found your LinkedIn, the one you’d made in college because the career guidance staff told you that you’d needed one. Luckily, you hadn’t updated it since you were a sophomore and so the only information anyone was able to glean from it was long outdated and didn’t tell them much. Although you were pretty sure that the restaurant you’d worked at part time through college was receiving an uptick in patronage. Honestly good for them, if they’d offered a better salary and health benefits and your boyfriend hadn’t been traded to Canada of all places, you might have stayed long term.

As it stands, you’re in Winnipeg and Pierre is too, and above anything else you’re young and in love and Pierre, rightfully so, wants to plaster you all over his instagram. It should make your face warm, cause your heart to beat a little faster than is medically necessary. It doesn’t though, it just fills you with an awkward sense of dread that is proven rational by the comments Pierre doesn’t see and the messages you don’t show him.

You’re relatively confident in yourself, having learned to love the body you were blessed with a long time ago, and you know that more than anything you have a good and kind heart, but yet you can’t help but let the awful things that strangers say about you take root in your heart.

It has you protesting the next time he wants to post a video of you playing with the dogs onto his story - at first, playfully wrestling for his phone to delete the photo until the air turns thick with tension as you all but demand he not post it.

It’s not until he asks what’s going on that you break, pulling your dog onto your lap and tearfully admitting you don’t want to hear what strangers on the internet are going to say about you.

“Why do you think that strangers are gonna mind?” he asks and you can’t help the sarcastic laugh that leaves your lips. Your dog whines quietly at the heartbreaking sound and you comfort her with a hand running down her back.

You admit it all then, the taunts and the insults and the threats. The real reason behind your social media purge and the twinge of fear that lights up your insides every time you see the little notification pop up on your phone.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” you tell him after he asks why you never told him what was going on.

“I want to know what’s going on with you always,” he protests and you relax into his embrace on the couch. “If you don’t want me to post you on my instagram anymore I won’t, but I like to show you off.” The grin on his face is so endearing, canine teeth on display that you can’t resist the urge to kiss it right off him.

You let him post it, and every other post he wants that features you, including one a year and a half later that focuses on a pretty little ring on your left hand.

After all, who cares if a stranger minds?

[ilyasorokinn]

🥥 with pierre luc dubois please!! i love your blog!!

thank you!!

yourusername

Liked by duber18, joshanderson_77 and 20,925 others

yourusername mom and dad’s night out.

tagged: @/duber18

View all 392 comments

duber18 ❤️

jetswags if they were my parents, i don’t know how i’d react.

duber18

Liked by yourusername, barzal97 and 8,294 others

duber18 my two favorite girls in the world 🤍

tagged: @/yourusername

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yourusername you’re our favorite guy ❤️

jetsfan oh to be their dog.

(photos not mine. found on pinterest.)

[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.

[2-fast-2-curious]

the audio you recommended for nathan mackinnon is killing me, do you have any others?

I listened to this and thought about PLD and now I'm in my feels

As it gets closer to October I wait with bated breath for my beloved hockey players to return and remind me that F1 is too fancy of a sport for a regular smegular working-class girl like me.

[M4F] You never craved me like this before [Mdom] [4thwall]

[savoies]

Things Changed - Pierre Luc Dubois.

Summary: Neighbors to lovers.

Word count: hopefully 1.6k

Warnings: hints of angst, a few bad words, mentions of sex, mentions of alcohol

A/N: Since I have a cute new neighbor I thought why not use the neighbors to lovers trope to live out all my fantasies. I had a lot of fun writing this with the help of a few close people so enjoy! (not proofread)

taglist: @hartsyhart​ ​ @nhlpetey​ @mitch-slap​ @frostythegoalman​ @ryanssuzuki​  @aria253264​ ​  @josty​ ​ @kaitieskidmore1​ ​ @kiedhara​ ​ @laurenairay​ ​ @teenagekook​ ​ ​ @alxvlasic​ ​ ​ @hockeyallthetime​ ​ ​ @barzy-baby​ ​ ​ @officialgritty​ ​ @bowenbyram​ ​ @mems06​ ​ ​ @joshsandersons​ ​  @connormcdavo​ @maattamatthews​ ​ @pierreslucdubois​ ​ ​ @selenophileangel​ @boqvistsbabe​ @ana-maa​ @stars-canucks​

tagging some friends: @npatrickz @beauvibaby @heybarzy @tkachuk-yeah @cozycozzy @2manytabsopen​

(*credit to gif owner*)

Y/N had recently moved to Canada seven months ago and honestly it was going just fine. Nothing major had happened other than wanting a change of pace and well she had gotten it. Well at least the most change her dog and her could get.

Today was a nice day so she decided why not head to the dog park that was connected to the apartment complex and just spend all day there. What she did not suspect was running into a cute stranger who happened to be her neighbor from a few doors down. 

Pierre had come to the dog park well to see the dogs. After the trade from Ohio to Winnipeg he decided that it was best to leave his dogs with his mom until he got settled in. He probably thought that most people would find a broading 6′ 3″ man sitting on a bench creepy but honestly he couldn't care less because the smile the dogs provided him as they ran by was worth the stares.

"Brody! Brody come back here." Y/N yelled as her dog ran across the yard in and around anything he could get through. As her dog ran up to a cute stranger sitting on a bench she couldn't mutter enough curse words to process why this was happening now and today. 

"I am so sorry about him, it's just we don't get out much." She replied and mentally shook her head, not understanding why she had to explain herself to a complete stranger.

"Oh it's totally okay, I love dogs. I actually have two but they are back at home. This might seem kind of straight forward but if you ever need a dog sitter I can offer my services." Pierre smiled at the dog and stranger in front of him.

Y/N knew that she shouldnt take up the offer but with work and life and a cute stranger who seemed actually genuine she threw away mostly all her morals and said why the fuck not.

"Really, that would be really helpful. I'm not sure if I should tell you my apartment number now or after I find out you're a murderer." She looked up at him. After assuring her that he was indeed not a murderer and just a normal guy who loved dogs they traded numbers and apartment info. I guess after all the dog park was worth it.

The First Time.

The first time Pierre earned his title of dog sitter was when you went away for a work conference. It had been three days. Honestly you were quite nervous since you had never really left your dog with anyone other than your family but after hanging out with him so often you felt like it was okay.

"Brody say bye to your mom, we are gonna have so much fun without her huh." He said as he led Brody into the living room and waited for you to give any special instructions.

"Pierre thank you so much for doing this. I want him the same way as when I left him." You hugged him as you said your goodbyes and gathered your things to head off to the airport for your departure. 

"Have some faith in me Y/N." He said as he closed the door and watched netflix with the dog cuddling into his side. 

The Second Time.

A family emergency had presented itself and as much as you wanted to take Brody with you you just knew it wasn't the best choice. Pierre had come over a few times to "spend time with Brody." Even though most of the time was spent joking around and talking about each other's week.

You had got the call when Pierre was over. Both of you sprawled out on the cold tiled floor. "Hello?" You answered as someone quickly informed you on what was going on. "Wait what, uhm yeah I'll go back home right now." You said as you hung up and quickly sprang up to your feet to pack.

"Pierre I know you're busy and you can say no but can you watch Brody, a family emergency has come up." You spoke hastily.

"Yeah of course, everything ok?" He asked worried.

"No but hopefully soon." You gave him a soft smile as you said your goodbyes and rushed out your apartment door.

The Third Time.

The third time was different. Not necessarily an emergency but mostly a way to make sure that your dog was okay for a few hours. Or at least not alone and spending it with one of his favorite people aside from you. You had gone out to a club with some coworkers and had dropped off Brody at Pierres earlier in the day. Of course you asked if he was busy and he said he had to catch up on some work so that's the only reason you really asked him to. You knew he had a life aside from your dog sitting escapades. 

Later on in the night as you arrived home with a guest you had asked him to wait by the door as you went to go pick up Brody from a few doors down. It was late and maybe you should have just done it in the morning.  But your mind being hazy with the few drinks from earlier didn't think about Pld being asleep and you knocked before you could stop yourself.

Pierre was slowly drifting off to sleep with thoughts of you in his head. How he had to adapt to this new city which he barely knew anything about but since you had come into his life everything seemed somewhat easier. 

There was a soft knock on his door and as he rubbed the tiredness from his eyes he walked up to the door with Brody close by to his feet and he saw you. "Y/N hey what are you doing here?" He asked confused on why you were here at one in the morning.

"Just here to pick up Brody." You smiled at him as he looked towards your apartment and his smile dropped as he saw the random dude standing in front of your door awkwardly. 

 He knew he shouldn't be making a big deal out of it. You guys weren't anything in the first place. But Pierre couldn't help what he felt towards you.

"You okay?" He asked before letting you head back.

"Yeah, I'll see you soon." You said as you walked away. 

After that things weren't the same. You could sense it. After getting the stranger out your bed you cleaned up and headed over to Pierres for your weekly brunch hang out but he didn't answer. That wasn't what made you realize that it wasn't the same. I mean you knew he had a busy life. Maybe it was the way that every time there was a knock on your door you were hoping it was Pierre hoping to "hang out with Brody" but it never was.

Or maybe it was that he was ignoring you. It had been a week since you had last seen him and as you walked to the elevator you tried to rack your mind with what you could've done to upset him.

As you reached the elevator there stood the boy that you so much wanted to see. Pierre rolled his eyes as you arrived, having deliberately been avoiding you for a full week and bumping into you in the only place he couldn't escape.

Y/N looked up at him hoping that he would talk. Hoping that somehow he would reveal why he was mad or at least why he was ignoring her.

"So it seems like you were just using me as a dog sitter huh.” Pierre broke the silence. He was feeling so many emotions seeing the person that made him feel good about himself. 

"What, Dubois what are you talking about?" Y/N looked up at him confused on why he would even think that. Cause honestly it did start like that but after that it grew into a friendship that she was so thankful for.

 Pierre just scoffed thinking of what he would say next. "The dude you brought back to your apartment."

"What about him?" Y/N asked.

"Look when i offered to be your dog sitter i didn't think it was for bringing guys around." 

"Look Pierre i don't mean this to sound rude at all but when you offered you said it was for whenever i needed a dog sitter and i brought Brody over because I thought you liked spending time with him. And honestly the guy is a one time thing.” Y/N spoke up suddenly feeling a bit vulnerable recalling the events from last night to her not so stranger anymore cute neighbor.

 "I do love dogs, honestly spending time with him was nice but why do you think I always came over to hang out with Brody?" He asked putting air quotes around hanging out. Then it clicked in Y/Ns mind. Him coming over more than two times a week, him ignoring her after her unfortunate night with a stranger, them now spilling their guts to each other in an elevator. He liked her. At least she hoped that she was right and was not about to make a dumb mistake.

"Oh." escaped from her mouth. As the door opened and Pierre smiled at Y/N waiting for somewhat of a reaction other than oh. 

"Pierre I've always been bad at reading signs so I'm really hoping that I'm reading the correct sign right now. Uhm would you like to maybe come over later, you know to hang out with Brody?" You asked as you put air quotes around hanging out with Brody like he had down earlier.

"I thought you'd never ask." He replied before placing a kiss on your cheek leaving you with a small smile on your face.

[snoopyhughes]

voices; pierre-luc dubois

I’m a little late with this, but here is my blurb for @antoineroussel surprise prompts for November :) I love Luc and I hope you guys enjoy this! Not a ton of dialogue but I’m really proud of this! 

Just over 700 words of dad!Pierre fluff :) There’s no pronouns mentioned for the reader, however the reader gives birth to the child so it’s a uterus bearing reader. 

i act like i know things i don’t, i just like the sound of your voice (song: all loved up)

Pierre knew everything about you. He knew what made you smile and what made you frown, he knew what you liked to eat after a long day of work and just how to massage out the sore spot in your neck. He knew which shoes you liked to wear when it rained and which when it snowed. And he knew what made your voice sing and what made it crack.

That was his favorite part about you, truly. Your voice. He loved to hear your passion and enthusiasm shine through when you talked about a good day at work, or your favorite song, or what one of your friends had said while you went out for happy hour. Even the sound of your shaky voice when you had a tough day, or you hurt yourself, or you were watching a sad movie. Your voice was so soothing to him. 

He never quite understood the magnitude of voices before he met you. He didn’t understand how a voice could make you weak at the knees like his dad always said about his mom. That was until he heard yours.

The little “Luc,” that would come out of your mouth when you needed something, or just simply wanted his attention.

“Luc,” your shaky voice had called out to him from the ensuite earlier that year, causing his heart to race. He ran into the bathroom from the bed and found you standing shakily over the bathroom counter. Three small tests looked up from you, one had a plus sign, one had two lines, and one said the word that conveyed all of those things: pregnant. 

Pierre felt his hands shake as he wrapped them around your biceps, pulling you into his chest softly. “Ma belle, please.” He murmured, smoothing out your hair. You trembled in his arms and Pierre was sure he felt the same way to you. The two of you had never been so scared of anything. You knew in your heart that Pierre would be the most amazing dad, but you were both so young and this was certainly a retch in your plans.

Pierre didn’t think he could love the sound of your voice any more until he heard your voice over the phone that March morning. Pierre was on a road trip, and you had gone and found out the sex of your baby. You told him you would wait to tell him until he got home three days later, but the both of you knew wouldn’t last that long. “Luc,” you exclaimed. “It’s a girl.” Your teary voice got the best of you, cracking as those three words came out. But Pierre didn’t even notice, his own tears falling the moment he heard the words come out of your mouth.

Over a year later, Pierre didn’t think he would ever find a sound he loved more than your voice. He had heard perfect songs and the chirps of the prettiest birds and he listened to his favorite albums on loop but nothing would ever compare to the way your honey smooth voice said his name. Until he heard Lennon’s.

Lennon Lucile Dubois, the other light of his life. She was almost identical to you, except she had Pierre’s eyes and his perfect smile. You and Pierre stared at your daughter and she laid on her stomach, playing with her toys on her own. You both found yourself doing this quite often now that the season was over, simply staring at Lennon, in awe of the creature you put on this earth.

“Phil, play nice.” Pierre warned the dog as he barked at Lenny to hand his toy back. Phil nuzzled into his sister’s tiny leg, causing her to giggle. “Da.” She chirped out, causing Pierre’s eyes to widen into saucers. “What did she just say?” He asked, not sure if he heard her correctly. “Lenny bug, what did you just say?” She had made countless intangible noises, but never anything that strung together to even resemble a word.

“Dada.” This time, it was clear as day. Tears fell from his eyes as he grabbed his baby girl, kissing her all over her face and then setting her down and pressing kisses all over your face. Deep down you knew Lennon would say dada first, she was truly a daddy’s girl. And you couldn’t find it in your heart to even be the tiniest bit jealous as you saw the way Pierre’s face lit up. 

Pierre didn’t know what he knew anymore. But the one thing he’ll always know, is that nothing will ever compare to the sound of his two girls’ voices. 

[prettyboybarzal]

Dancing With Our Hands Tied (7)

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Phone sex, daddy kink, masturbation

A/N: Let me know what y’all thank! :) ILY

Previous Chapter // Masterlist

You were on a date.

And Pierre was all the way across the country, in a hotel bed, next to Josh Anderson.

He wouldn’t have even known you were getting wined and dined by his next door neighbor if Josh hadn’t opened your Snapchat while he was sitting right beside him. Charlie was sitting across the table from you, smiling like a nerd over his filet mignon. 

The scoff that came out of Pierre’s mouth as a reaction piqued Josh’s attention.

“Oh, we’re fighting again?”

“We never stopped,” he grumbled, standing from the bed.

“No? You’ve been sort of civil lately.”

“That’s because I haven’t been around her, so I haven’t had to deal with her attitude.”

“Smile.” Pierre turned on a dime and flipped off Josh’s camera as soon as the flash lit up the room. Josh smiled down at the photo and murmured, “YN will love that picture.”

---

It was Josh’s damn Snapchat that did you in.

It was Pierre’s long middle finger and his unamused expression, the sweats that hung low on his hips that did nothing to hide the bulge hidden beneath the waistband. You were glad that you opened it after Charlie ran to the bathroom because you were 100% sure that you were blushing.

It’d only been a week since you last saw Pierre, but the time apart had you feeling needy. You’d never admit it out loud, but you needed him. 

You needed Pierre. 

“I was thinking,” Charlie spoke as he arrived back at the table. You stood, gathering your phone and your purse as his hand slid along your lower back. “Let’s grab a bottle of wine from the liquor store down the block and then finish it off at my place.”

“Um,” you hesitated, lifting your phone to check the time. It wasn’t even late, but you didn’t want to go home with him. “Charlie, I think I should get home.

“We can totally go back to your place.”

“No! I mean, I need to be alone,” you corrected. He looked at you, dumbfounded. “I’m just feeling super bloated and exhausted.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No! No, come on, you know that,” you urged, fake smile on your lips as you slid your hand in his to lead him out to the car. “Dinner was amazing and this restaurant is beautiful. I wish I was feeling better, I really do. I’ll make it up to you.”

---

Pierre knew he was in trouble when your name flashed across his phone screen just before he went to bed. He sat up against the headboard and picked up immediately, desperate to know how your date went.

“Hi, Luc,” you spoke as soon as he accepted the call. He felt a chill run down his spine at the sound of your voice, at the name falling from your lips. “I miss you,” you whispered like it was a secret. He smiled at your words, feeling his heart skip a beat, and then you moaned, “My pussy misses you.” 

And just like that, all his qualms about you being out with Charlie disappeared, if only temporarily.

He sucked in a deep breath and dropped his head back against the headboard, a groan ripping through his chest as he spoke, “YN, don’t do this to me right now.”

“Why not, baby?”

“You’re not being fair.”

“Would you rather I touch myself without you on the phone?”

“Fuck no!” he exclaimed. “No, no, that would--fuck--that would be torture.” 

“Then, talk to me.”

He loved the sound of your voice, low and sultry. You could read him the phone book and he’d probably still get off. 

“Are you touching yourself?” he asked, voice deepening to meet your level. You hummed affirmatively, a bit whiny as your fingers slid along your folds. “Good girl.” His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his sweats. “What are you wearing, angel?”

“Do you want to see?”

“Of course I do.”

You smiled happily to yourself, pulling your fingers from your folds to kneel on the bed and take a photo in the mirror you’d set up in front. The first was posed with your knees apart on the bed, hand on your breast, and the next, you slipped those fingers into your lace panties and inserted them into your cunt. Pierre could hear you moan and sat up impatiently.

“Don’t tease me.”

“Patience.”

You scrambled back up to the pillows and sent him the photos, listening in for the reaction you desperately needed. 

“Fuck, you’re so fucking sexy. I wish I could fuck you right now,” he spoke. You whimpered, fingers massaging your folds. “That mirror doesn’t belong there,” he pointed out. “You moved it?”

“Yes, daddy,” you responded, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth. Pierre cursed beneath his breath at the name, fingers curling around the base of his cock. “Wanted to watch when I fuck myself to your voice.”

“Fuuuuck,” he sighed. “I want you naked.”

You slipped your thong down your legs and unclasped your bra to toss it on the floor. He rid himself of his sweats as well

“And then what?”

“Spread your legs for me.”

“Are you touching yourself, too?” you asked, voice soft and sweet in contrast to the filth that was coming from both your mouths. Pierre chuckled.

“‘Course I am,” he spoke. “I’ve been touching myself since you sent me those photos.”

“You’re cheating!”

“Am not,” he responded with another laugh. “I’m waiting for you, just a little impatiently.” And then he heard a loud moan fall from your lips. “What are you doing, baby? Talk to me.”

“I’m catching up to you,” you answered breathlessly. You had a finger in your cunt, curling to hit your g-spot slowly. Each time, another whimper graced his ears. “Do you know why I really put this mirror here?”

“Hmm?”

“Because I can’t stop thinking about the night you fucked me in the bar bathroom,” you moaned, adding a second finger to your pussy. His breath faltered on the other end of the call. “I think about the way you watched me come undone in the mirror, the look in your eyes, every time I touch myself.”

“You’re so fucking sexy when you cum,” he whispered. “It’s like a dream. I love the way your pussy throbs around me, the way you sigh my name and close your eyes and arch your back.” He paused. “Circle your clit with your thumb, baby, the way I do.”

As soon as you added the pressure to your clit, you sucked in a breath, legs bending at the knee to grant you better access and a clearer view of what you were doing.

“I wish you were watching me right now, knowing you can’t touch me.”

“C’mon, YN, you know that you can’t stop me from touching you.”

“But I sort of am right now,” you reminded him. A loud moan ripped through your chest, somewhat performative to get a rise out of him. “Maybe I don’t need you after all.”

“You need me enough to call me after going out to dinner with Charlie,” he grunted. “Isn’t that right? You couldn’t go home with him because you were too busy thinking about me? Thinking about the way I make you feel?” 

Without even really working for it, you got the energy you wanted out of him. Pierre’s jealousy always did it for you and you could feel the subtle shake of your legs as he asked you, “Did you buy that set for him? You wanted him to take that off tonight?”

“No, I only want you to touch me. Only want you to undress me. Only want you to fuck me.”

“Fuck,” he grunted, head thrown back against his headboard. His hand was moving quicker now and he was finding it hard to speak through the moans that threatened to fill the air. “Tell me what you want me to do to you when I get home, angel. Whatever you want.”

“I want you to fuck me against every surface in our apartments,” you told him, picking up the pace of your fingers to match the sound of his hand on his member. “I want you to fuck me against the walls and the windows, and I want you to fuck me in the bathroom mirror like the slut I am for you, like the night at the bar.”

“You gonna scream my name? Make sure Charlie knows who fucks you this good?”

“Yes, Pierre, yes, yes,” you moaned, fingers hitting the right spot as he speaks to you. Every circle of your clit had you convulsing. “I-I’m so close.”

“Hold on a few more seconds,” he requested. “You’re gonna cum with me, okay, baby?”

You released a string of moans and whimpers in place of words as you continued coaxing your orgasm, and you listened to Pierre’s praises and quickened breath as he got close to his own high. 

“Give it to me, daddy, please, fuck!”

Your back arched off the bed, fingers working furiously on your cunt as he breathed in your ear, whispering praises, “So good for me. You wanna cum?” You whimpered, nodding as if he could see it. “Go ahead, baby, cum.”

You finally found your release, shouting his name into the speaker as your legs shook and your body squirmed. Your pussy fluttered as you fucked yourself through the orgasm, catching sight of yourself in the mirror to see what Pierre said he loved to see and you listened to him come undone, the sweet sound of your name on his tongue.

---

The morning after dinner with Charlie and phone sex with Pierre, you felt hungover. You weren’t even drunk the night before, but you still woke up in discomfort with a mix of guilt and anxiety and a dash of regret. So, after pulling yourself from bed, you opened the blinds in hopes that the vitamin D would do you some good.

Saturdays, in your opinion, always felt like your most productive day of the week. And, since last Saturday was commandeered by your parents and Pierre, you were dedicating this one completely to yourself. Your breakfast was slamming, your speakers were playing some feel good tunes, and you were going to spend the day tidying up and spend the night watching Netflix.

But all your self-indulgent plans came to a screeching halt when your phone started ringing and Sadie’s name flashed across the screen.

You didn’t speak to Sadie after Pierre spent your birthday with your parents because you knew she’d blow it out of proportion. She managed to do so through text, typing in all caps to let you know that mom told her Pierre was shirtless in your kitchen.

“I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to get you on the phone,” she barked as you as soon as you accepted the call. Her voice rang through the speaker, shattering the comfortable silence you’d once had. “You’re avoiding me.”

“I am not.”

“Yeah, you are,” she argued. “And I know why.”

“Oh, yeah? Why?”

“You’re in love with him.”

You dropped a plate in the sink, suds splashing up into your face as you scrambled to turn the faucet off and dry your hands. You were going to get into it with her.

“I’m not in love with you him! Where would you even get that idea? He was shirtless in my kitchen because we slept together the night before and I was in the process of kicking him out.”

“Mom swore there was no way you were just sleeping together,” she grunted. “What does that make him? Your enemy with benefits?”

“That makes him a booty call.”

“He spent the day with mom and dad,” she pointed out. “That’s more than just a booty call.”

“He did it to taunt me. Have you forgotten the whole basis of our drama?”

“And did it work?” she asked. “Did he taunt you? Or did you enjoy his presence?”

“Sadie, it’s just sex,” you sighed, exhausted by her line of questioning. “We hardly even know each other. We’ve never even had a real conversation without hurling insults at each other and we’ve never voluntarily seen each other without the promise of sex.” You paused. “Besides, I went out to dinner with Charlie last night.”

“Oh, fuck, you’re still entertaining him?” she asked. You hummed affirmatively, preparing for her onslaught of words about how mismatched the two of you really are. “I don’t get it. Can you explain it to me like I’m five?”

“You wouldn’t understand, Sadie,” you sighed. “I know he might be a little boring sometimes, but he’s a nice guy with a stable job and a stable life. And he always goes the extra mile when he’s trying to impress me. Last night, he took me out to this expensive restaurant I’ve been dying to go to.”

“And you had fun on your little date?” she asked, condescending tone to her voice. You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, it was good.”

“Did he make you laugh?”

“Yes.”

“He paid?”

“Of course.”

“And you went home with him after?” she finally asked. You didn’t want to tell her that you left him to call Pierre. That would be the final nail in your coffin. So, your answer was a long pause. “You had this man take you to dinner and you didn’t even put out after?” She scoffed. “And you say you like him!”

“I wasn’t in the mood.”

“Why?” she pried. “Because he isn’t Pierre Luc Dubois?”

Your stomach dropped.

“Would you stop saying his name like that?”

“I think you’re in denial,” Sadie declared. “And I know that you’re going to be like ‘what does my little sister even know about love?’ To that I answer, almost nothing. But, I do know quite a lot about you. You don’t want boring, YN. You haven’t been boring a day in your life, so why would you settle for someone who doesn’t drive you absolutely crazy, you know?”

“The type of crazy Pierre makes me isn’t a cute crazy. It’s a should-be-admitted type of crazy.”

“More like a ‘I’ll kiss you to shut you up’ kind of crazy.”

You couldn’t argue that.

“Whatever, Sadie, I don’t know what else to say,” you goaned. “Can we change the subject now?”

She agreed to let it go, though you knew it wouldn’t be long until she was bugging you about him again, and conversation to whatever was going on in Sadie’s life. But, as much as you’d wanted to change the subject, suddenly not even a different conversation could get your mind off Pierre.

---

When Pierre got back to Ohio, he was itching to get to your apartment and make all the things you said over the phone come true, but you weren’t even answering his texts. It’s not like you texted all that much to begin with, but when you didn’t ask him to come over after his flight landed, he knew something was up. Now, he had four unanswered texts in your messages from the past two days and he was yearning for your attention. 

Needless to say, he was off, and the entire team could tell.

Especially Josh. He noticed almost as soon as he saw Pierre, but he waited until practice was over to begin prying.

“Where’s your head at?” he asked.

“Hmm?”

“You look like your head is somewhere else.”

“It is.”

His answer was simple as he left for the showers, and Josh wasn’t straggling far behind, determined to get the answers he was searching for. After showering, they headed out to their cars and said goodbye, but Josh watched Pierre pull out of the lot and turn in the opposite direction of his apartment. So, he made the decision to tail him.

Imagine his surprise when Pierre traveled deeper into the city towards your apartment. He followed him the whole way, stopping at the corner of your block to avoid being seen while Pierre parked. And then, with his jaw practically on the floor, Josh watched him jog right into your building.

 ---

“What’s your problem?” Pierre barked the second you opened the door. His tone of voice was harsh, not soft like it’d been in recent weeks, and it immediately threw you off. “Are you on your period or something? Because it’s alright if you are. I’d be down for period sex.”

You slammed the door in his face.

He was joking. Well, he was trying to joke, like an idiot, and obviously not succeeding. So, he took a step back to gather his thoughts and tried again.

“That was an awful joke. Let me start over,” he spoke as soon as you opened the door again. You cocked your hip against the doorframe with your arms crossed over your chest. “Did I do something wrong? Is that why you’re not talking to me?”

“No, other than your usual annoying shit, you’ve been fine.”

“So, what’s going on? Why haven’t you been answering my texts?”

You rolled your neck with a groan and answered, “It’s just been a crazy week, Pierre,” you paused, glaring at him. “And, yes, I’m also on my period, not that it concerns you.”

“I hate when you call me Pierre,” he grunted and although you rolled your eyes, those words stirred something inside of you. “Can I come in?”

To his surprise, you stepped aside without contest and continued into the apartment leaving him to kick his shoes off and drop his jacket on the hook at the door. He found you curled up beneath a chunky blanket with the remainders of some fast food meal on the coffee table. He dropped onto the other end, kicked his socked feet up on the table, and smiled at you.

“Seriously, why are you here?” you asked. “I’m not having period sex with you.”

“I said that was a joke.”

“Okay, then why are you here if not for sex?” you asked, face twisted in frustration. 

His face mirrored yours as he responded, “Is it such a crime to just want to see you?”

“Yes,” you answered simply.

“Does it have to be?”

Although the question was loud enough for you to hear, it was soft enough to ignore if you felt it necessary. So, you ignored it, because you didn’t do this. You didn’t just hang out to see each other. He huffed as you began sifting through the collection of romantic comedies on Netflix. 

“I’m watching a movie, so either you stay and watch, or you leave.”

Pierre grabbed a pillow and dropped it onto the middle cushion of the couch before laying back, his feet elevated over the arm at the end of the couch. You followed his direction, dropping a pillow in front of his and throwing your feet over the other arm so that you’d be lying head-to-head. Before laying down, you gave him a blanket and wrapped another around your own body.

The movie began and the opening credits rolled, but you couldn’t focus.

How could you when Pierre was in your apartment and not tearing your clothes off? How could you focus when you’d so easily enabled the domestic scene laid out in front of you?

His hand hung limply off the edge of the couch and just looking at it made you feel all types of things. You could practically feel his skin on your skin and your mind began to wander, daydreaming about what it might be like to lace your fingers with his. And, before you could stop yourself, you were placing your palm against his palm to do just that.