#pierre luc dubois imagine

[wyattjohnston]

never said a thing - pierre luc dubois

summary: everyone knows that luc wants a trade... you're just the only person he hasn't told directly.

word count: 2,667

main character: gender neutral reader

note: this is a very very late pinch hitter fic for @pcttymcrlecu as part of the summer fic exchange 2k23. thank you for your patience!

i had to fudge the timeline because i didn't realise luc's trade request happened post-season. i really feel like it happened before the trade deadline

You’d known about Luc’s trade requests before you met him—the entire city of Winnipeg, the province of Manitoba and the entire NHL fan base knew. It was inescapable, just like it had been when he was moved to Winnipeg after requesting a trade out of Columbus.

You were happier about the first one, less so about the second and that only got worse as time went on and the official third one came.

Meeting Luc wasn’t anything you’d planned but had still taken longer than you’d expected it to. Winnipeg wasn’t small, though it certainly wasn’t the largest city, and everyone seemingly had some sort of connection to the Jets—even if it was a Six Degrees of Mark Scheifele sort of deal.

A friend of a friend knew where the younger Jets players liked to spend their free time, as if that wasn’t widely known by everyone in their 20s anyway, and you found yourself in the same bar as Luc, Logan and Jansen.

You found yourself at Luc’s house a lot after that.

Nobody seemed to mind the weird, nebulous state of your relationship—situationship is probably the best word to describe everything that you were. It hadn’t mattered, not really, that you showed up at Luc’s house at the first text with little care for the time he sent his you up? text because he was always just as quick to show up when you sent him a photo of your empty bed without any words to accompany it.

It was always You and Luc, even though there was no You and Luc.

The trade request rumours go unmentioned in the time you spend together—the first alleged request being negated by a one-year contract and the second, the most recent, never coming up. You couldn’t forget them, though. You caught yourself looking at Luc when his back was turned, hoping you could will him to talk to you. Hoping he would explain the request. Hoping he would tell you directly.

Time passed, though, without any mention from Luc that he no longer wanted to be in Winnipeg. Without any mention that whatever You and Luc were had an expiration date.

The Jets lost four games in a row, ending their season in the first round of the playoffs. It hurt because they’re your team—a crushing disappointment especially after winning the first game so soundly and taking game 3 to second overtime—and you watched every game from start to finish.

It was another turning point in your situationship with Luc. As much as you were always a text message away, Luc never asked right after road trips. You never expected him to. It was a boundary set in place that you were more than happy to adhere to.

Except.

The text wasn’t even the usual you up? but an explicit come over that had your heart rate spiking. It was the most direct either of you had ever been and you didn’t know what it meant at all.

He’d barely arrived home when you were buzzed into the building if the suitcase at the door was any indication. He looked exhausted, standing beside the intercom with his forehead pressed against the wall.

You didn’t wait before moving towards him, your footsteps disgustingly loud in the otherwise silent apartment, and pressed your forehead into the space between his shoulder blades.

In a hoarse voice, muffled by the wall he was leaning against, Luc asked, “When’s it my turn to win?”

He wasn’t crying, something you were grateful for because you knew you were ill equipped to deal with it, but he may well have been. The sagging of his limbs, so tired and dejected that his muscles weren’t even tense, and the defeat in his voice were foreign to you.

“What do you need from me?” you asked, unable to think of anything else and not wanting to make a wrong move and upset him even more.

He signed, his entire body shaking with it, and admitted that he just wanted to go to bed.

You agreed, despite it being far from what you’d gone for. Moving him was easy; he put up no resistance as you led him down to his room. You’d never seen him so low, never moved him so easily, and, as many times as you had undressed each other in that very room, taking his clothes off was the strangest part of it all.

He helped you undress him in so much as he moved his limbs when he needed to, but he was very much just doing as he was told.

“You’ve got so many more years in you, Luc,” you said when you were finally laying in the bed.

“It never feels that way.”

Waking up in Luc’s bed wasn’t strange by any means, nor, quite frankly, was the morning wood pressed against your lower back. Being the familiar territory that it was, you roused Luc from his sleep and started your morning the right way.

He was visibly happier than the night before—or, maybe not happier but definitely less noticeably distraught—and falling into old habits was simple and welcomed by both of you. The closeness, physical and emotional, something he needed judging by the way he held you through breathy moans.

It wasn’t until you were showered and sitting at his kitchen island with a coffee as he got ready for end-of-season interviews, grumbling as he moved throughout the house.

Your timing probably wasn’t the best, waiting until you were standing at his front door saying goodbye just before he fronted the media, but you had never shied from the hard conversations. Even if you delayed them until the last—often worst—possible moment.

“I’ll see you when you’re back for training camp?” you asked tentatively, wringing your hands in your lap.

Luc hesitated for so long that you thought he might never say anything. He couldn’t meet your eye when he said, “Yeah. End of August, probably.”

You watched him carefully, scrutinising the painful casualness of his response, the lack of any giveaways that he was lying or that he hoped what he was saying wasn’t true.

You knew too much, though.

His casual demeanour faltered as you met him with an equally long silence—you weren’t hesitating for any reason other than to make him uncomfortable.

He shifted his feet and looked everywhere in the room except at you. He was opening his mouth to speak when you finally decided to keep talking, cutting him off.

“Are you ever going to talk to me about requesting a trade?”

Luc’s demeanour changed from confused to defensive immediately when he asked, “Do I need to?”

“I mean… yeah?” you asked, stumbling over your words. “You were really just going to leave for the summer and never come back?”

“I—” The colour drained from his face. “Yeah.”

With your hands pulling at the bottom of your hoodie, you felt your heart rise into your throat. There wasn’t anything else for you to say, which was a blessing because if you opened your mouth, you weren’t sure what would have come out.

You nodded once, stiffly, and then again after a beat before you let the barstool screech against the tiles as you stood. He didn’t make any move to stop you as you grabbed your purse, and you could feel him staring as you walked out the door. You cursed the apartment building for having quiet closing doors when all that would have made you feel better was hearing something slam behind you.

June came and went, July disappeared as quick as it arrived and August… well August dragged on painfully.

You worked through the perfect weather and the perfect photos your friends posted of their perfect vacations. It wasn’t all that different from every other summer since you graduated and it was no different to the previous summer because you didn’t see him then anyway.

A lot of energy had been spent trying to get him out of your mind, not least because all of your work colleagues seemingly spent their every waking moment talking about Pierre-Luc Dubois and his trade request. When the trade to LA had finally happened, all they could talk about was “eight years and eight point five million, who does he think he is?” or “he’s just going to ask for another trade in 2 years so jokes on them!”

You, though? Mostly you’d been able to move past it. August rolled around and you didn’t care about Pierre-Luc Dubois.

Until, that is, you were standing in The Forks Market, ready to eat your weight in mini donuts because it had been a long, long week, and, above every other head you saw him.

You couldn’t leave in the rush that you wanted to, or at least suddenly speedrun the market, because you did want your donuts more than you wanted to leave so you turned your head, tried to hide behind some other people and hoped that he’d never spot you.

That was too much to ask for, of course.

The stall called your name and you knew that everybody in the immediate vicinity had heard it but still you collected your food and tried to make a beeline for the exit only to have your name called again.

You stopped but didn’t turn around, hoping that maybe Luc would just turn and leave but you knew that was foolish. You felt his presence as he got closer, his body so much larger than those around him that even without seeing him you just knew.

He said your name, in such a deceptively soft voice that you had no choice but to turn around, to look at him and see a sorrow on his face that you hadn’t ever expected. Definitely nothing you’d ever seen before.

“You got something to say or?” you prompted when he just continued to stare at you.

“How are you?”

You recoiled at the question, your eyebrows pulling together, followed by an eye roll so rapid that it actually hurt. Luc flinched himself but didn’t rush to say anything else.

“That’s not the conversation I want to have,” you said, brutally honest. “Especially not with you. So, I’m going to take my food and leave. Enjoy LA.”

You stepped away, causing him to stand up straighter and reach for you—but only briefly before he thought better of it. Still, he said, rushed, “Come back to mine.”

“And why should I do that?”

“I have—” he cleared his throat. “I have to talk to you and I don’t want to do that here.”

You hesitated but ultimately agreed when curiosity got the better of you. As much as you’d not wanted to think about him, it had been impossible to shake the desire for any sort of explanation.

Walking into his apartment again didn’t feel like a bad idea, but it did feel weird to see it mostly empty with packing boxes stacked against the walls. You didn’t need to be reminded that he was going—gone—and yet the reminder still had you looking away instantly back to Luc.

Luc pulled out the food that he’d bought at the market—an actual meal—and set it down on the kitchen island where the only remaining seats in his apartment were, just three barstools.

“I hope they gave you a fork because I don’t have any cutlery,” he said sheepishly.

You sat down beside him, placed your own bag down and told him, smiling to yourself, “I don’t think I need a fork to eat mini donuts.”

The laugh that erupted from him shocked both of you. You more so, you thought, because you weren’t sure you’d ever heard him laugh so heartily, so carefree. It ended up being the reason for your abrupt silence, the joy being pulled from you and a donut being shoved into your mouth to avoid any questioning.

He didn’t seem to notice that your laughter had stopped for any reason other than deciding to eat, so he ate his curry still smiling and starting a conversation about Ryan Gosling as Ken that you had to admit was endearing even if you didn’t want to. Your own contribution to that conversation was minimal despite how much you had enjoyed the movie in the first place.

“Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?” you asked during a break in the conversation where Luc was getting ready to start playing the movie’s soundtrack. That was so far past normal that you had to get out of it, that you had to bring him back to the reason you’d even gone to his apartment in the first place.

Luc looked chastised as he put his phone back down on the table. He turned the stool so that he was facing you, the one stool still in between you, and all joy had fallen from his face. He reached one hand out, resting it on the empty stool, and inhaled.

“I asked for a trade.”

“So, I heard.”

“I can’t keep losing.”

“Oh,” you said, feigning sympathy, “Because the Kings got so much further than the Jets did. Understandable.”

Whatever was left of his openness disappeared, his face making it clear that he’d shuttered. You didn’t care, really, when that was the lame excuse you’d gotten.

“I don’t even care about that,” you said, waving off the poor excuse. “Honestly, I don’t care that you requested it because whatever it’s your career and your life, you can leave if you want—why didn’t you tell me, Luc? If I hadn’t asked, I really don’t think you would have told me.”

“I should have,” he admitted, without hesitation, his face relaxing into something somewhat remorseful. “I know I should have. Even if we’re just… casual, fuckbuddies, whatever we’re calling it, of course I should have told you. It just took me until you got mad for me to realise that.”

 “What? You didn’t realise I was human until that moment?”

“I didn’t realise you cared.”

That chastened you quite effectively, because it was true that you’d never given much—or any—indication that it was more than just sex. Not a great deal more, at least not until you thought you were going to lose him, but enough that the friends in friends-with-benefits had clearly meant a lot more to you than it did to him. You couldn’t have expected him to know that when your conversations were limited to if the roads were okay on the drive to one another’s place.

You admitted, quietly, your eyes averted to your lap, “I don’t know if I did until I heard you wanted out. Then I thought about it at length and by the time I asked you about it… Lying to me is just about the worst thing you could have done.”

“I didn’t think you’d bring it up,” he said slowly. “I really just thought you would leave; I’d go back to Quebec and then, when the season started, I’d be somewhere else and then you asked and… I realised I cared about leaving you behind.”

Your eyes fell shut, overwhelmed by what he’d told you. You were sure nobody had ever cared about leaving you behind before. You wondered, briefly, how long it would have taken Luc to contact you if he hadn’t seen you that evening, though it was something that could be found out later. More pressing was the confession you’d just received.

Your eyes opened, and Luc was looking at you with a softness and longing that overwhelmed you all over again. All you did was laugh nervously, shyly, to yourself, and tell him, “I don’t even know anything about you that I haven’t learnt from the Jets’ broadcasts.”

“I don’t think I know anything about you either,” he confessed, unabashed. “I want to learn; if you want to teach me.”

Please consider leaving feedback—reblog and write in the tags or send an ask, I’m not fussed. I just want to know what you’re thinking!

i forgot i have a tag list rip (very sorry if you’ve already seen the fic!!)

@fallinallincurls @spine-buster @2manytabsopen @xcicix @sorryjustafangirl @senditcolton @shinyfalcon4 @laurenairay @jarmorie @diary-of-jj @its-bitchin-belle-bitches @sssstarstruck @pr3nt1ss

#pierre luc dubois fic #pierre luc dubois imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #hockey fic #homemade fic #the summer fic exchange 2k23 #a patented antoineroussel ending™️ #fic: kings

[gravestrain]

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.

#elle’s writing #nhl imagine #la kings imagine #pierre luc Dubois imagine #pierre luc Dubois x reader #la kings #the summer fic exchange 2k23

[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)

#i wrote this almost entirely on a whim so it's a lil messy but :) here we are :) hope u like it :) #pierre luc dubois #cw: smut #ff.doc #pierre luc dubois x reader #pierre luc dubois imagine #pierre-luc dubois #pierre luc dubois fic #hockey fic #nhl imagine #nhl fanfic #hockey smut #nhl imagines

[hookingminor]

“if you called just to get off on my voice, i’m hanging up. “ with pld please

“If you called just to get off on my voice, I'm hanging up.”

for a split second i wanted to make this a cheating fic what is it about pld that screams cheater idk idk (i didn’t bc i know that’s not everyone’s cup of tea)

(18+) phone sex, masturbation

-

It was a rare occasion that anyone called you on the phone nowadays, but it was even more rare to receive a call in the middle of the workday and from your regular bootycall nonetheless.

“Hello?” You answered your phone curiously. You could only assume it was a matter of life and death if Pierre was calling you at three in the afternoon.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted huskily. “You at work?”

“It’s three o’clock on a Tuesday, so yes,” you chuckled. “What’s up? Aren’t you in Pittsburgh right now?” It was just a little past four where he was.

“I missed you…” His voice trailed off for a moment, and you could hear the low rumble of the TV on in the background. “Are you alone right now?”

“Yeah, I’m in my office finishing up some paperwork,” you chuckled. “Isn’t the game soon?”

“We’re heading to the arena in half an hour,” he confirmed. “Can you spare me a few minutes of your time?”

It took a minute for the gears to click into place in your head, and mixed with the slightly ragged breathing and deep voice on Pierre’s end, you pieced it together.

“If you called just to get off on my voice, I'm hanging up.”

He protested immediately, and you expected nothing less, but he didn’t have to know you were already closing your door and locking it while he begged you to not hang up.

“Baby, just ten minutes please,” he whined across the line. “It’s been a week since I fucked you, and I’m dying here. You don’t even have to dirty talk me. Just tell me about your day and I’ll get there.”

“Really?” You teased. “Would telling you about my plans for running errands later get you hard?”

“I was hard the second you said hello,” Pierre admitted. “What are you running errands for?”

A faint rustle let you know he was shifting around, most likely to sneak a hand into his pants to stroke his cock.

Wanting to test his theory, you kept the facade up. “Grocery shopping for starters,” you said. “I need to get more cereal since someone eats all my Froot Loops when they come over. Probably get some milk, coffee, and bread. You know, the usual stuff. Quick trip to the post office after that before it closes at five to send out some packages to my family.”

“Any plans for tonight?” His voice was strained.

“Maybe watch the game while I make dinner…”

“Maybe?” He asked. “Not sure if you wanna watch us beat the Penguins?”

“You know I’m always going to root for Crosby over you,” you teased him.

“You’re killing me, you know that?” 

“Of course I will be watching the game,” you said. “I stand by rooting for Crosby though, but I guess I can spare some support for you. I’ll probably make some pasta for dinner and have some wine… maybe I’ll call you after the game so you can get me off when I’m in bed.”

“I’d love to, baby, but I don’t know if Lowry will appreciate me asking how wet you are.”

“I don’t mind him listening in. It’ll take more than that to dissuade me,” you added.

Pierre let out a moan of approval at your words, and you could tell his hand was picking up the pace. “Careful before I actually extend that invitation to him,” he warned.

“Come on, Luc, we both know you’re not the type to share…” Pierre was uniquely jealous even when it came to you. Not that you were together exclusively or anything, but he always made sure to mark you up whenever you had sex and kept a firm grip on your waist whenever you went out. 

“No one else would know how to handle you like I know how,” Pierre grunted. “And no one else could fill you up like me.”

“Mmm… You’re probably right,” you agreed. “Maybe I’ll get myself off tonight thinking about that…”

“When I get back in a few days, I’m going to fuck you sideways, I swear,” Pierre promised.

“Threat or promise? Either way, I’ve got a new mirror in my room to show you when you do.” Maybe you’d show it to him early and send him some pictures during intermission.

“Yeah?” He said, his breathing becoming more labored by the second.

“Mhm,” you hummed. “It reflects the end of my bed and is about eight feet tall. I can send you a picture later if you want. Maybe you can show it to Adam while you’re at it and see what he thinks about it.”

His groans increased in volume throughout your words, and by the end of your sentence you knew he was finishing across his stomach. A few more seconds of his heavy breathing went on before slowing down, and you couldn’t help but clench your thighs together as you listened to him work through his orgasm.

“I have to say,” you started after giving him a few moments to recover. “I didn’t think grocery shop talk would actually get you there.”

A deep laugh sounded across the line. “Only you could make me come talking about bread and mail.”

“We’ll have to see what other boring things I can come up with to say in bed,” you joked. “I hate to cut this off, but your ten minutes are up, bud. And you’ve got a bus to catch soon.” 

“Mood killer,” he stated, and you could imagine the smirk on his face. “I’ll call you later tonight, okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed. “Good luck tonight.”

Pierre said his goodbyes before you hung up. Only thirty seconds passed before your phone was lighting up with a new text message from Pierre, and in that message contained a picture of his softening cock with white ropes of cum decorating his stomach.

You bit your lip examining the image, sending a quick text back over to Pierre. Trying to focus on your work after that was useless, especially with the image of his cock burning in your mind, so you clocked out early and headed home. Maybe you’d have to make a quick pit stop at home before heading to the store…

#pierre luc dubois #pierre luc dubois imagine #nhl imagine #my writing #requests #blurbs #jets13

[sorryjustafangirl]

swain (noun)

a/n: this is from @antoineroussel 's surprise prompts challenge! i had a fun time getting back into writing, especially with someone who i hadn't written before - it was nice to get out of my shell :) my word was swain (n.) meaning a male admirer or lover.

word count: 1.1k+

pairing: pierre-luc dubois x gn!reader

warning: nothing i can think of

disclaimer:  this is a piece of fiction and real person fiction so if that doesn’t vibe with you, please don’t read! also, gif is not mine, all credit to the amazing creator.

“Flower delivery!” Your boss called out to the floor and every coworker you had turned their head to look at you. It was already strange to receive flowers considering you worked at a hockey arena in Winnipeg but for this to be the fifth time an arrangement came for you? Your face already felt hot before the courier came, a gorgeous bouquet in hand. 

You quickly signed for it, thanking them, before placing the flowers – red roses like always – on your desk. Nicole, the coworker sharing a cubicle wall with you turned work best friend, had already popped her head over to stare at you, a knowing smirk on their face. 

“Someone definitely has an admirer,” they said in a sing-song voice and you felt heat rush to your cheeks. 

“Until I know who they’re from, it doesn’t really matter if I have an admirer or not. All I know is I am blessed to get fresh flowers.”

“Maybe they’re from Duby.” Her words made you stop admiring the roses and think. 

Duby. Pierre-Luc Dubois. Center for the team you worked for. 

A friend. 

Right?

Yeah no, a friend. Definitely a friend. The two of you had met when you nearly ran him over outside the parkade. In your defense, who waits for a taxi in front of the garage door? You’d given him a ride back to his place (the least you could do really) and the next morning, he dropped off a coffee at your desk as a thank you. You’d been talking at work and texting outside of it, sure, but it was all platonic. Coffee between friends. Walks back to your apartment because it isn’t considered safe to walk alone in Winnipeg. But there were no hidden touches, no double meaning words – nothing he’d done indicated anything more than wanting to be friends. 

You, on the other hand, were totally falling for the Quebecois and Nicole knew this. Their simple words had heat rushing to your cheeks and you turned away from her to hide your blush. 

“Pierre-Luc wouldn’t send flowers.”

“Oh, so it’s Pierre-Luc?”

“That is his name,” You said, giving them a pointed look. 

“Maybe. But you’re the only one here who calls him that.” She winked and ducked their head back to her cubicle. 

You didn’t get a bouquet of roses for a few weeks, but you didn’t mind. Work had kept you extra busy as the end of the season neared and you’d been spending more time with Pierre. You’d visited the art museum together just last week and you swore you caught him staring at you a few times, but he’d always point out the artwork behind you and your heart would drop a little. 

“What’s this?” You asked Nicole one afternoon, holding up a small cream envelope with your name scrawled on it. The two of you had come back from lunch and it wasn’t there when you left.

“Only one way to find out,” she said, leaning over the cubicle wall. You ripped open the envelope and found a note inside. No card, just some scrawny handwriting. 

“What’s it say?” They asked impatiently. When you flipped the note around to show her, their smile grew. 

Tu es plus belle que toutes les fleurs dans le monde.  

“Okay, that is French. Duby is the only one who is French. Thus,” They spread their arms out. “Your admirer is him.”

You scoffed. “I’m sure he’s not the only one here who speaks the other official language.”

“You never know, he could be!”

“For the last time, it’s not him.”

“But–”

“Enough!” You took a deep breath before standing up to match her eye line.  “Nicole. Enough. Seriously. I appreciate how supportive you are of my crush on one of our team’s highest paid players, really I am. But I am tired. I am tired of your constant optimism when it is so obvious he doesn’t like me like that, okay? Every time we’ve hung out, he’s been nothing but polite and friendly. I can’t even call it leading me on because anything that might be more than platonic could be me overthinking it. If it was going to happen, it would’ve by now. So, please just stop. He’s not my boyfriend or beau or admirer or swain or whatever word you want to use, he’s not it.”

“But I want to be.” 

You spun around at the oh-so familiar voice of Pierre-Luc and your jaw dropped when you saw him carrying a bouquet of red roses. Just like the past arrangements. 

A thousand thoughts were swirling through your head but all you could muster was a meek, “What?”

Pierre cleared his throat and stepped closer to where you were standing in your cubicle. NIcole had conveniently (and thankfully) dipped out of sight. 

“I want to be. Your boyfriend or beau or swain or whatever you want to call it. I want to be that person for you.” When you continued to stare at him, your jaw slightly open, he continued. “Only if you want me that is. I can- I can pretend this never happened if you want.”

The man standing in front of you wasn’t like the one that you saw on the TV, the slightly cocky version, no, he was more like what you saw. A softer side, one that took a call from his grandpa in the museum, one that walked on the road side of the sidewalk, one that only you were used to seeing. But here he was, at work, holding red roses for you, his smile a little shaky and his cheeks already flush. That seemed to shake the shock out of your system. “Please don’t. Please don’t pretend this never happened. I just…I didn’t think you were interested, that’s all.”

“Amour, believe me, I’m interested,” He said breathlessly. “You just make me a little nervous, that’s all.”

“You’re over six feet tall and play on knife shoes but I make you nervous?” At your question, his face got almost as red as the roses he still carried. 

“I can afford to mess up the hockey thing but I really only get one shot at this.” Oh my gosh, was he trying to melt your heart? 

“Good thing you didn’t mess it up then,” you said, trying to suppress a smile while he let his show. 

“Really?” You nodded and he stepped closer to you, placing the bouquet in the vase you’d started keeping at your desk. 

His smile seemed to settle and his confidence came back. “In that case, would you like to go for dinner tonight?”

“I’d love that Pierre.” 

“I gotta get to practice but I’ll pick you up at seven, okay?”

“See you tonight,” you said, biting your lip to stop smiling so wide when he winked at you before leaving your cubicle. 

“I told you the flowers were from him!” Nicole said from her side of the cubicle wall. You told them to shut up but there was no malice in your voice. You went to gush to them about what just happened when his voice popped back. 

“Oh, and just so you know, I plan on keeping that vase full.”

You could only blush. “I’ll look forward to getting flowers from my swain then.”

translation: you are more beautiful than all the flowers in the world

taglist (join here): @heatherawoowoo @4ambagelbites @typical-simplelove @2manytabsopen @stars-canucks @lorrmorr @fallinallincurls @plds2000 @barzysandhughesbaby @yummygoldenfood @drei-mrssvechii @bananarantanen @pulpfixion

#pierre luc dubois #pierre luc dubois imagine #pierre luc dubois fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl x reader #winnipeg jets imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine #abby writes #pretty short for a fic but this got me out of my slump i think #also you can't tell me this man wouldn't be nervous asking someone out

[senditcolton]

Best Believe I’m Still Bejeweled

summary: when your boyfriend Adam continues to mistreat you, you decide the cure is a night out with your friends. and it’s there where you meet a handsome stranger who may just improve your life... or at the very least, your night.

songs: X X word count: 1.7k warnings: a little spice and a mention of infidelity

The sound of your heels on the wooden floor is the only noise that echoes in your empty apartment as you pace, glancing up at the clock and feeling your hope drain with every passing minute. You felt as if you had been waiting for hours and with one final look at the time, you decide that you had enough.

You grab your phone, pulling up your friend Danielle’s number and dialing. It takes her a few moments to answer but when she does, you can here the noise and pounding bass on the other end of the line.

“I guess I don’t have to ask if you’re all still at the club.”

“Yep, we’re still here. Why? Are you coming?”

“Yeah. Adam was supposed to be here ages ago for our date.”

“He stood you up again!” Danielle screeches.

“Yeah, and honestly, I’m done with this.”

“Good for you! Yes, come and join us!! I’ll tell Este and Alana to keep an eye out for you.”

“Thanks Dani. I should be there in a few; I just got to get changed.”

“Okay, see you soon babe. Love you!”

“Love you too,” you respond with a smile before hanging up the phone and letting out another heavy sigh. You take another glance around the room, a small sliver of doubt still echoing within you. But you quickly banish it; your ‘boyfriend’ Adam had been acting like this for weeks and he always came back with an excuse. And you always accepted it. But you quickly came to realize that he was taking advantage of you. For as much as you cared about him, he didn’t return the sentiment.

So, honestly, fuck him. You were going out tonight.

After calling an Uber and changing into your favorite shimmering black mini dress and over-the-knee boots, you were headed to the club to have fun with your friends. Because that’s what you truly needed; some fun.

And when your friends Danielle, Este, and Alana spot you and screech with joy, showering you in compliments about how sexy you look… you feel lighter than you ever had before.

“I’m serious, babe, you are the hottest person in this nightclub right now,” Este continues gushing, her speech slightly slurred from the cocktails she had consumed earlier. You just smile as you take a sip of your own drink. “No, I mean it. When you walked in, it was like, bam! All eyes on me!!”

“Please,” you say laughing, “I highly doubt that was the case.”

“Well, Este might be exaggerating a little bit,” Alana says, scooting in next to you. “However, there has been this guy who has been looking at you since you walked in.”

“Really?”

“Promise.”

“Where?”

“He’s to your right, at one of the tables below the bar.”

You give a hum before discreetly turning your head in the direction Alana gave. Your eyes scanned over the crowd in a noncommittal way before they finally locked with the eyes of a drop-dead gorgeous man. His face, his beard, the way his hands wrapped around the cold glass in front of him, the patchwork tattoos you saw inking his arms. He notices you staring and shoots you a charming grin, causing heat to rush to your cheeks as you shyly return his smile.

Whipping your head back around, you take another swig of your drink in an attempt to calm the fluttering of your heart. Your friends notice your flustered state but they don’t help you at all, instead choosing to laugh and hoot at your predicament.

“Stop it, it’s not funny,” you groan, setting down your drink.

“You like him,” Este coos.

“I don’t even know him!”

“Well then go talk to him, babe,” Danielle replies, playfully rolling her eyes as if it was the most obvious thing.

“No, oh god no. Uh-uh, not gonna happen,” you shoot out.

“Why not?”

“He’s, like, hot. Like really, really hot. I honestly don’t think I could say anything to him even if I wanted to. Have you seen his face?”

“Yeah, I have,” Alana butts in, “and it’s been making bedroom eyes at you for the past hour! Go!”

You huff out a breath, having clearly lost the battle between your friends before you kick up off your stool, grabbing your empty glass from the table top.

“Fine, I’m going to get another drink and then I’ll talk to him. But, if he turns out to be taken or a creep or an asshole, I’m blaming all of you.”

“We’ll accept that,” Danielle retorts, shooting you another playful smile. “Now go!”

You roll your eyes in jest as you turn away from them, weaving through the crowd and making your way towards the bar. While you were moving, you found your eyes flitting back towards the handsome stranger, catching his gaze a few times. And every time you did, you couldn’t stop the smile from appearing on your face.

It was stupid that a complete stranger had made you this dumbstruck without saying a singular word to you. But another part of you understood your dizzying reaction; it had felt as if it had been ages since you felt this beautiful, this desired. Adam sure as hell wasn’t giving you this kind of attention and there had been a nagging voice in your head blaming you for his lack. Now, here, you knew it wasn’t true.

And that became more evident when you saw a pair of tattooed arms slide up next to you at the bar. A smile pulls itself onto your face before you even look over to him. You are glad you did because when your eyes connect to his, the beautiful blue-green of his irises catch you off guard, adding to the insane attractiveness that he already possessed.

“Hey,” he says gently.

“Hi.”

“Pierre-Luc.”

“Cute.”

“Thank you.”

“I meant your name,” you tease, causing a blush to appear on his cheeks. “And the accent. French-Canadian?”  

“Yeah. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“How about your name to start with,” he says and it is your turn to blush. You tell him and his only response is a hum and another smile in your direction. “Can I buy you a drink?”

As if the universe heard his question, the bartender dropped off your drink in front of you as soon as the words were out of his mouth. You pick up the glass and turn to lean back against the bar, taking a sip, watching a small chuckle move through Pierre.  

“Already have one,” you say, gently laughing as well.

“Put it on my tab,” Pierre says to the bartender, earning a nod in return and Pierre’s eyes dart back to you. “So…”

“So,” you repeat. There’s a small pause before you manage to speak. “Taken?”

“No.”

“I was afraid of that,” you say, taking another sip of your drink.

“Why? Are you?”

“It’s complicated.”

“I’d still love to hear about it,” he replies, relaxing against the bar, his broad body now angled in your direction. You sigh, trying to put your thoughts in order, debating whether to tell a stranger your relationship woes. But before you can utter a word, you feel something touching your hand. You look down and see Pierre’s fingers dancing across your skin, outlining your fingertips, grazing your knuckles. And those delicate touches set a fire within you that you had honestly forgotten existed.

“Well, long story short, he doesn’t seem to give a shit about me. Tonight, we were supposed to go out on a date and he never showed. I was left standing in my apartment feeling like an absolute idiot. And tonight wasn’t even the first time he’s done this. But every time I confront him, he always comes up with some sort of bullshit excuse and I accept it. And I know that he’s taking advantage of my kindness.”

“Hmm,” Pierre hums, “well your boyfriend –”

“Adam,” you curtly say.

“Adam?” he repeats and you nod in confirmation. “He kind of sounds like a dick.”

“You have no idea.”

“Have you dumped him yet?”

“Not officially.”

“What a shame,” he muses, his fingers still grazing across your hand.

“Why is that?”

“I was hoping to take you home tonight,” Pierre replies smoothly, causing your heart to skip a beat at his forwardness. You look over to him, his blue eyes hooded and raking up and down your body. Normally, you wouldn’t really consider taking him up on his offer, perhaps a side-effect of your ruined self-esteem. But then again, when Pierre is looks at you like that, making you feel beautiful and wanted… it’s a feeling you never want to let go of. You take a breath, turning towards him and mirroring his lustful gaze.

“Don’t let that stop you,” you reply. It now your turn to shock him with your forwardness.

“You have a boyfriend.”

“Ex. Just because he doesn’t know it yet doesn’t mean it’s any less true.”

“Still,” he counters.

“Fine,” you declare, pulling out your cell phone from your purse. You pull up Adam’s number and quickly shoot off a text message, telling him that it was over and you were done. Once the text was sent, you turn your phone back to Pierre, showing him the messages.

“Over text?” he questions, his eyebrows raising. “Kind of harsh.”

“No worse than what he’s done to me,” you shoot back, putting your phone away. “Now,” you say, riding the high of your newfound freedom and the feeling of being desired by the gorgeous man in front of you, “are you going to treat me better than he ever did?”

A dark chuckle falls from Pierre and you watch as he lifts himself off the bar, rising to his full height. You have to suppress the shiver that wants to run through you as his fingers dance up over the bare skin of your arm.

“Sweetheart,” he says, his hand raising to cup your jaw and pull your face closer to his. He looks into your eyes with such intensity that you feel you might drown within their depths. He leans in to you until your lips are barely touching. “I’m fucking planning on it.”

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#nicole writes #midnights mashups #pierre luc dubois fic #pierre luc dubois imagine #pierre luc dubois fluff #winnipeg jets fic #winnipeg jets imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine

[blueskrugs]

Candid photos with PLD? 💚🎉

sorry only people who say please get blurbs

I apologize for formatting issues on this one, written and posted from my phone in a car!

1. candid photos

length: 593 words

You’re not sure when it started, really, or who started it. In the early days of you and Pierre-Luc dating, you felt like you were in this little bubble, so wrapped up in each other that you never noticed anyone else.

It was Josh Anderson who sent the first picture to you, though you were pretty sure he couldn’t have taken it, from where he was sitting next to you and PL on the couch. You suspected that half the team had already seen it. You held your phone closer to your face, squinting at the picture. Pierre-Luc pressed a quick kiss to your shoulder before hooking his chin over your shoulder to peer at your phone, too.

“Whatcha looking at?” he mumbled. You tilted the phone a little so he could see better.

It was the two of you, in the exact same position you were still in. You, sprawled across Pierre-Luc’s lap, where he’d settled you early in the evening, one of his big hands spread across the small of your back, and one of your arms hooked around his neck. You were talking animatedly with your free hand, and Pierre-Luc was watching you intently, a small smile on his face and love in his eyes.

“Cute,” he murmured then, pressing a kiss just behind your ear. You saved the picture to your phone before settling in against PL’s chest again.

The pictures continued throughout your days in Columbus, until you had enough to fill an album on your phone. You and Pierre-Luc holding hands in a crowd, blurry and taken by someone walking behind you. Hugging in an arena hallway, your face tucked into Pierre-Luc’s neck. You leaning heavily against PL in a dark bar, Pierre-Luc looking down at you with amusement. You falling asleep on someone’s couch after a team party, sleepily tracing the lines of his tattoos with your fingers. A piggyback ride home, both of you drunk and giggly, wrapped up in each other.

You thought it would end with the trade, but somehow the tradition followed you to Winnipeg. The photo album grew, and you never did manage to catch anyone actually taking the pictures of you.

Pierre-Luc caught you scrolling through the album on your phone one morning. He wrapped his arms around your waist and leaned against you, pinning you to the kitchen island.

“Do you have a favorite?” he asked.

You knew the answer immediately. It was a recent picture, and you quickly flipped to it. It was late spring, and Pierre-Luc had taken advantage of a warm afternoon to drive you out to Lake Manitoba. You loved any time near the lake, and you’d rushed ahead of PL, unaware of the photographer following you. You were standing on the shore—making a smartass comment about seeing Manipogo, probably—too caught up to notice Pierre-Luc pulling a ring out his pocket. In the picture, you can see the ring in his hand, late afternoon light glinting off the diamond, and you’re just beginning to turn towards Pierre-Luc again, still grinning, completely oblivious to the fact that you’re about to be proposed to.

The same ring now glints on your left hand in the kitchen light. Pierre-Luc’s arms tightened around your waist once.

“That’s a good one,” he said.

“Yeah, I think so too.” You giggle as Pierre-Luc turned you, your back pressing into the granite of the countertop. He leaned in for a kiss.

“I can’t wait to marry you,” he added.

You rest your left hand on his shoulder. “Me neither, Luc. Me neither.”

#I will try and fix it if I can when I get home tonight and have access to my laptop again #blurbs! #cait writes things #pierre luc dubois imagine

[mrpldiddles]

thinking about a pld fic to the "baby let me lick on your tattoos" lyric from agora hills…

#pld #pierre luc dubois #pld fic #pierre luc dubois fic #pierre luc dubois imagine #pld imagine #nhl #hockey imagine #nhl fic #hockey #nhl imagine #lord have mercy i’m boutta #hear me out hear me out #i need to be euthanized #and sedated

[domesticmail]

nhl masterlist

i no longer write for the nhl, but i used to write a LOT for them, so i would like to keep all my writing accessible! enjoy <3

fics

the one where you become parents | 2.3k

Mat Barzal x Reader

Your eyes brimmed with tears, hands shaking. The test quivered between your fingers, the sole focus of your attention, the cause of the anger and disappointment writhing in knots in your stomach. Your expression turned bitter as you looked away, biting your lips to keep the tears back, refusing to acknowledge the single blue line glaring back at you.

someone to you | 2k

Mat Barzal x Reader

Watching you was like watching the sun set over a beautiful horizon. As the sky darkens, the city glitters with light, alive and awake and moving. You are the lights of the cars, gliding through darkness with the floating quality of clouds, not quite fully present in the moment but still so alive, so full of energy and brightness and feeling. You are the stars in the night sky, shining, each one a planet so far yet so close, he wants to reach to the sky and pull you down to him, keep you close and safe and happy and free.

am i worthy? | Brock Boeser x Reader

part 1 | part 2

You slide your hand down his bare chest, fingertips tapping a light beat on his skin, the rhythm unknown to him but subtly familiar. There’s a softness in the ghost of your hand trailing down that spreads goosebumps across his sternum and causes a quiet shuddering breath to escape his lips. His hand finds its way into your hair, burying his fingers into a fistful of the strands and resting there. His thumb caresses the crown of your head gently.

one of them girls

Brock Boeser x Reader

A fic loosely based on the song "One of Them Girls" by Lee Brice.

blurbs

yoga | pierre luc dubois

waking him up | pierre luc dubois

waking you up | pierre luc dubois

why he loves you | pierre luc dubois

dancing after dinner | pierre luc dubois

meeting your family | pierre luc dubois

feeling like you don't deserve him | pierre luc dubois

pet names | pierre luc dubois

pillow | mat barzal

street fighter | mat barzal

mornings | mat barzal

baby's first nhl game | mat barzal

breakfast | mat barzal

parenting | matthew tkachuk

domestic bliss | matthew tkachuk

backlash | tito beauvillier

#nhl imagines #nhl fics #nhl masterlist updated #zoes writing #mat barzal x reader #brock boeser x reader #pierre luc dubois x reader #matthew tkachuk x reader #tito beauvillier x reader

[hockeyboysimagines]

A very Merry NHL Christmas

Warnings: Mild cursing, some sexual humor, talks of Christmas, Jesus and the holidays.

This was originally planned for last Christmas but ya girl had writers block. So enjoy this now. Let me know what you think!

Note: this is a small group of blurbs about all the couples currently in process on my Masterlist. This won’t include anyone who’s not currently being written about. Merry Christmas to all who celebrate, and happy holidays to the rest🤍

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, the kids were asleep, and Matthew and Brady were trying to get Keith into a Santa costume without laughing too loud.

Chantal had one hand over her mouth as she watched them struggle with the zipper before finally closing the suit, and adjusting Keith’s beard. Brady was red faced, and coughing to cover his laughter as Keith whipped around and glared at him, while Matthew had one hand braced on his knee, the other holding his side laughing openly.

“I’m never doing this again.” He grumbled as he stepped into the boots and straightened up looking for the sack of presents. The kids had set up a hidden camera earlier in hopes of catching a picture of Santa putting presents under the tree. Taryn was outside picking up the reindeer food they had left in the front yard and making hoof marks on the front walkway, the milk and cookies had been disposed of and Emma, who would be spending her first Christmas with them since they got married, was sprinkling sand by the front door because south Florida Santa had no snow to work with. Noticeably pregnant Hallie rubbed her hands together and smiled excitedly. Keith placed the presents under the tree, keeping his back to the camera.

“They’re going to love this.” Chantal said giving her hand a squeeze.

Matthew was smiling at her from the doorway as he watched his dad carefully set out gifts and made his way over. He glanced down at her baby bump and rested a hand on it.

“Merry Christmas in there.” He said softly rubbing it “Can’t wait to celebrate with you next year. And by that time someone else will be taking up your space.”

“Uh I don’t think so.” Hallie said shaking her head “This mama is done….for a little while.”

“How many fucking-freaking kids are you guys gonna have Jesus.” Brady said around a mouth full of Christmas cookie. They were all looking at them mildly interested and Hallie wasn’t really sure how to answer.

Matthew shrugged “I guess until I don’t get it done on the first try.”

Her face burned in embarrassment, and she couldn’t believe she had let him answer, but the others were laughing. He threw an arm around her shoulders “But who am I kidding, that won’t happen. I’m 3 for 3. A triple champ.”

“Yeah kind of like an ugly, skinny, Conor McGregor.” Brady said elbowing him.

That started a scuffle and Hallie crossed her arms shaking her head, eyes moving over their house. Over the pictures on the walls they’d amassed over their years together. The ones that started with just them, and then their family, and then their children. Over the decorations, and lights, and ornaments the kids made for them at school that hung on the tree. Her life was so full, so wonderful.

Taryn bumped her shoulder and smiled, eyes moving around before coming back to meet hers “So? Is it everything you hoped for?” She looped an arm around her waist.

She nodded, reaching an arm around her “It’s more than I hoped for.” And then she laughed when Matthew and Brady’s scuffle dissolved and he came over and grinned at her.

“If you don’t stop fighting with Brady you’ll end up on the naughty list, and you won’t get any presents.” She said, reaching forward to wrap her arms around him, as much as possible, with the baby bump in between them.

“The naughty list is more fun anyways. It’s how I became 3 for 3.”

*************

Music played softly in the background of Pierre’s apartment as snow fell outside. It was warm and cozy, the house smelled of cinnamon, and Mila and Pierre were snuggled on the sofa watching the snow fall.

“It’s so pretty.” Mila said off handedly, eyes following the flakes as they blanketed the ground below them, creating a fluffy white blanket on the ground.

“Not as pretty as you.”

She rolled her eyes and tilted her head up to look at him “Your so cheesy.”

“It’s all part of my appeal babe…which speaking of. I have something for you.” He nudged her so he could stand and disappeared around the corner and came back with a box.

“Here.” Pierre said handing it to her. It was long and rectangular shaped and she took it before looking at him.

“Didn’t I tell-“

“Oh shutup.” He said waving her off “Stop trying to police my spending habits on Christmas.”

She giggled and rolled her eyes “Okay Jesus.”

He held a hand up to his chest “Did you just take the lords name in vain…on his birthday?”

“Okay now you shutup.”

“Open it.” He said nudging his chin impatiently at her.

She pulled off the paper, which was no easy feet as it was wrapped like a car ran over it, and pulled out a long blue velvet box. Inside of it was a shining, glittery diamond bracelet.

“Pierre!” She said mouth falling open “This is-“

“Nope!” He held up a hand “It’s not too much. You are worth every single dollar I spent on that, which is none of your business before you ask.”

Mila bit her lip. It was gorgeous, platinum with what looked like a hundred tiny diamonds, held together by a small clasp with her initials on it.

“Well?” He was smiling widely “Do you like it?”

“Of course I like it.” she held it out to him so he could put it on. She turned her wrist so the light caught the diamonds and smiled a little before looking at him.

“Merry Christmas Mila.”

*************

“Wake up! It’s Christmas Eve!”

Vince felt a weight bounce across his bed, rip the covers off of him, and a body wriggle under the blankets, kicking him out of his warm spot.

Josie had come barreling in the room, smiling so wide it could light up a city’s worth of Christmas lights.

“Noooooo.” He groaned eyes closing again. He reached down and pulled the blankets up over his head, and then pulled her closer, leaning down to kiss her deeply but she pushed away from him and tapped him on the lips.

“Uh uh. Santa says no funny business on Christmas Eve until we do something fun!”

“Well Santa can-“

“Ah! None of that or you won’t get any presents!”

She jumped out of bed and pulled the covers off of him, pointing at a neatly folded pile of clothing, “Get dressed. We’re going somewhere.”

He sighed and rolled over with a groan, but when he saw the look on her face he sat up. She looked so excited, hands clasped under her chin as she stood in the doorway of his bedroom.

“Okay, okay I’m awake.”

She squeaked excitedly and bounced from the room, leaving him to get dressed and brush his teeth. She was bundled by the front door as he came around the corner.

“So where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

10 minutes later, he was chuckling as they stood in front of an outdoor ice rink, and he knelt down to tie her skates. He finally got them tied, even though her legs were shaking in excitement and looked up at her.

“Do you even know how to skate?” He asked as he adjusted her leg warmer over the top of her skate and then did the same on the other one.

“Nope!” She said brightly, tapping him on the nose and standing, hands resting on her hips “That’s why you’re going to teach me.”

He helped her out on to the ice and stood facing her, gripping both of her hands in his. He skated backwards pulling her along. It was slow going and he was laughing as she went split legged a few times.

“Hang on. I have a better idea.” He skated around her and pressed himself against her back, arms coming to rest around her waist.

“Hang on.” He said lowly in her ear.

Josie smiled with excitement as he started moving, allowing her to just let her skates sit on the ice without having to do anything else. She closed her eyes and breathed in, the winter air stinging her skin.

“Having a good time?” he asked from behind her.

“Always when I’m with you. Are you having a good time?”

“Of course.” He slowed down a little and walked over her shoulder to kiss her cold cheek “Even though I’m doing all the work. Santa had better reward me with a great gift.”

Josie giggled to herself thankful for Christmas with Vince.

And thankful that he didn’t know, she really did know how to ice skate.

************

“Smile!”

Mat snapped the picture of Leighton and Lucy in front of the tree and smiled.

“Beautiful.”

His first Christmas with his girls had been perfect. The entire month of December had been like something from a dream. Lucy had been to every possible Christmas event they could find on Long Island, often accompanied by her godparents, who were across town celebrating their first Christmas together. Snow angels, Christmas decorating, and even the first time she’d been in an ice rink had all happened in the part month and Mat’s heart felt so full it might burst.

“Let me see.” She squinted at the picture and smiled down at Lucy, who was looking more and more like her as she got older.

“Who’s that beautiful girl?”

He smiled down at them and stood up, setting his phone on the couch and picked up a box and went to hand it to Leighton.

“From Santa. I guess I’m not the only one who thinks you’re beautiful.”

She rolled her eyes and blushed, but pulled out a box and handed it to him. “Here open this first. I think you’re gonna love it.”

He sat on the sofa and pulled at the paper. It was small, enough to fit in his hand. The box was flat, with a cardboard lid and when he pulled it off he saw a blank sheet of paper that said “Pick me up.”

He glanced at her, to find her smiling brightly and she nodded “Go ahead.”

He gripped the paper and pulled, and from it another long sheet of paper fell like an accordion. He pulled it up to look at it and saw that it was t a sheet of paper.

It was a sonogram.

He whipped up his head to find that Leighton was now crying, cheeks red.

“Are you-Oh my god.” He reached forward to hug her, chin resting on her head.

“Are you happy?”

“More happy than I’ve ever been.”

She closed her eyes and breathed him in as he spoke again “This is the best Christmas gift I’ve ever gotten, and I love you.”

************

“Is this dress to short?” Ginny asked turning in front of the mirror. Beau leaned out of the bathroom and grinned in a way that was not appropriate on any level, but especially not on Christmas.

“Yes. You should definitely wear it. Can’t wait to take it off later.” He leaned back in the bathroom.

She smiled and looked at her closet for shoes. The Islanders Christmas party was in a half and hour and they were running a little behind.

She’d been on time until he came into the bathroom and cracked a joke about opening a present, which turned out to be his jeans and the rest of it was a Christmas story for another time. But not the kind you read before bed.

He walked out of the bathroom looking better than he needed to in a pair of grey pants and a black button up. Ginny paused while she slipped a shoe on, eyes moving from his face to his feet and then back up. He winked and smiled at her.

“Not bad huh? But you’ve got me beat. WOW.” He said as he took in her red dress, and heels. It had been a little over six months and she continued to surprise him by outdoing herself. This was the first big holiday they were spending together and tomorrow she’d be meeting his parents.

He stood staring at her “You look beautiful.”

She smiled and blushed a little. Though she was used to a slew of compliments from him, and she knew he was always being genuine when he said them. But it still made her blush.

“Thank you.” She said softly, slipping into her shoes and turning back to the mirror.

“Are Mat and Leighton coming?”

She nodded and sat at her vanity to find earrings “Yes. She said she has something for me.”

“Like a gift?”

Ginny shrugged “I’m not sure. She just said it was something I would love.” She smiled a little as she poked an earring in her ear.

“You know what I love? That dress. Gosh.”

She rolled her eyes and shook her hair over her shoulder to put in her other earring “Why are you being so nice to me? Keep being too good and I won’t let you unwrap my present later on.”

His mouth fell open “I think it’s supposed to be the other way around. Only people on the nice list get to unwrap presents.”

Ginny smiled at him over her shoulder “I much prefer my present openers to be on the naughty side.”

Beau leaned on the doorway, smile as wide as it could possibly get “Best Christmas ever.”

***********

“Stop laughing.”

“I’m not!” Nash giggled from the ground.

Travis was up on a ladder hanging lights from the archway inside the living room of their new house. She’d insisted for weeks that she didn’t want any there, until she announced she was throwing a Christmas party, and then decided the house wasn’t festive enough, which meant she’d shoved a bunch of lights into his hands and told him to hang them.

“Oh come on!” He yelled as he turned the bulb on one of the strings and the rest went out. He’d been fighting with them for 10 minutes “One goes out, they all stay on. One goes on they all go out!”

“Well at least we know that if hockey doesn’t work out, you won’t have a career as an electrician.” She said from the bottom of the ladder with a shrug.

He glanced over his shoulder “Ha Ha. I’m glad you’re having fun down there.”

“Of course I am. The view is fantastic.” She said with a wink.

Travis chuckled and went back to hanging lights, finally getting them all lit “Finally.” He turned to find her smiling at the bottom of the ladder, hands on her waist “How does that look?”

She nodded and pursed her lips “Perfect. Thank you.”

He shrugged “Don’t thank me. It’s the least I could do. And it makes you happy so it’s a win in my book.”

He made his way down the ladder and pulled her into his arms “Besides. A good deed on Christmas always gets rewarded and I-“

But he was cut short when there was an electrical pop and every light in the house went dark.

“It’s not funny.”

“I’m not laughing. You can’t even see me.”

He grinned “I don’t need to.”

She sighed and he felt her arms slide around his waist “We could just stay here…in the dark I guess.”

“But then how would Santa find our house?” As he said that the lights all lit up at once just in time for him to see her smiled widely at him.

“Who cares? Nothing he could bring me would ever be a better gift that the one I have right here.”

***********

“Merry Christmas!” Sawyer yelled as she pulled open the door to find Nolan’s parents on the other side. She pulled them inside and out of the cold Winnipeg winter and into their cozy house that was full of friends and family.

Nolan was parked on a barstool at the counter watching Sawyer. She was having the absolute time of her life and just looking at her made him want to smile.

It had been a hard year. A hard few years actually but this one in particular had been rough. They’d had so much hope for Vegas and it had only been more of the same, and no one was sure that he’d ever be able to play hockey again. It was sad and scary and she held his hand every minute, but he’d come to terms with it now.

But he didn’t have time to think about it because Sawyer herself came bounding over, hanging mistletoe over his head and kissing him on the cheek with a loud “smack”

“Come on you Grinch! At least smile a little.”

He smiled and she made a face “I mean a real one. Santa is watching.” She pointed upwards.

“I thought that was Jesus who lived up there.”

“Yeah well then he’s watching too. So you won’t get any presents and you might get struck by lightning and that will ruin the whole holiday.” She grinned “And I’ll have to take all these decorations down by myself.”

He chuckled and reached forward, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

“Thank you.” She said against his chest, quietly enough that only he could hear.

“For?”

“This.” She pulled back and gestured around “I know this isn’t your thing, but it means a lot to me that you let me throw this party.”

“It’s not that bad. I’d do anything to make you happy, you know that. My Christmas gift to you.”

She looked up at him and smiled the most beautiful smile “Your the gift that keeps on giving Nolan Patrick, and no gift could ever be better than spending my life with you.”

Nolan rested his chin on her head “Merry Christmas Sawyer.”

“Merry Christmas Nols.”

************

“Cash will you sit still!” Tyler grumbled as he tried for the third time to stick reindeer antlers on his head. Marshall, Molly and even Gerry were all sitting obediently, but Cash had shaken them off twice. Even though he was as uncooperative as possible, Ava was having so much fun. There was a magic in the air that only lasted one month out of the year that you couldn’t find any other time. The feeling of Christmas was unlike any other and it was the first one she was spending with Tyler, and the first one she could remember being excited for.

She was knelt down, phone in one hand, tennis ball in the other which had the attention of the other three dogs, waiting for Tyler to quit wrestling with their most unruly child.

“Freakin dog.” He said with a huff as he finally got them fastened and made him sit.

“Just like his dad.” She said smiling at him “Okay ready, hey guys!” She waved the ball so they all looked and quickly snapped several pictures before they all started moving with excitement.

“Got it!” she said tossing the ball.

All four took off running after it, skidding through the house and falling over each other like Bambi on ice, and Ava and Tyler both yelled “No!” as Gerry went flying right into the tree.

It swayed for a second before it fell in slow motion as Tyler raced forward to catch it, which he did, but not before it rained ornaments that hit the floor and rolled in all directions.

Ava covered her mouth the keep from laughing and hurried forward as Tyler tipped the tree back up on to its stand, and made a loud noise of annoyance.

“What’s so funny?” He asked when he saw her laughing.

“What’s funny is now you have to help me redecorate it. Since you conveniently seemed to be missing last time.”

“I was at practice.” He said eyeing her with a small smile.

“Sure. That’s why Jamie called looking for you.”

“That douche. Busted I guess. Okay I wasn’t at practice I was out-“ he reached into his pocket and pulled out a box “Buying this.”

She smiled and glanced up as she took it “That’s funny cuz I wasn’t here waiting for you, I was out picking up this.” She pulled a bigger rectangular box from under the sofa.

As they opened their respective gifts she heard Tyler make a noise like a gasp and an exclamation and she smiled. She’d had blown up and framed the first picture they’d ever taken together, them and all four of the dogs. It had been the first time Ava had let anyone take a photo of her in years, and Tyler was so proud of her for it. But she’d kept it hidden, telling him it didn’t take for months. This was the first time he’d seen it, and his eyes softened as he looked at it and then at her.

“I love this. Thank you it’s amazing. We gotta hang this.” He glanced around and picked a spot right by the front door “There. So people see it right when they get here.”

He turned as she pulled her own gift out, a silver locket with a tiny photo of the dogs on one side, and them on the other, and a date a time inscribed on the back.

“This is beautiful, but what’s this?” She asked pointing at the date and time that was engraved at the bottom.

“The day and time I saw you for the first time.”

“Oh my gosh.” She was blushing but he continued “That day and time changed my life. The only thing that could would have made it better was if you wanted to join the mile high club or something.”

She laughed and swatted his arm “Tyler!” She turned holding up her hair so he could put it on and then smiled “Thank you for this and for making every other day better than the one before.” She placed a hand on his heart.

“Thank you.” He said placing his hand over hers “For letting me.”

He squeezed her hand and then pulled her into a hug. He was warm, and she could feel his heart beating through his chest. Tyler smiled and squeezed her tighter. “Best Christmas ever. Don’t you think?” He asked glancing down. She nodded with a small smile.

“Better than all your others?”

“Everything with you in my life is better, Christmas included.” She closed her eyes and squeezed him tightly.

There really was something magical about Christmas.

************

“Ho Ho Ho!” Joel rumbled as he made his way inside of the Connolly’s house. He and Libby had gone home for Christmas and though they wouldn’t be able to stay long, there was no way they were missing her parent’s Christmas party.

“AH!” Heather screamed rushing forward to pull them both into a hug, as she had also voyaged home just for the holidays “Happy kissaversary lovebirds.”

Th house was packed with guests and family and friends, and Libby couldn’t stop smiling. It felt so good to be here in her parents house, on Christmas Eve, with Joel where their story had started. She’d kissed him for the first time right upstairs in her room, and at that moment their lives together began.

“What are you thinking about?” He asked from beside her, arm around her shoulders.

“Oh just about that Christmas Eve when I kissed you upstairs.”

“Uhm no.” He scoffed “It was me who kissed you actually.”

“Im thinking about-“ they turned to find Heather, standing with her sweater half open to conceal a bottle of wine under it. Discreetly they all made their way up to Libby’s room and out on to the roof, bundled in jackets as they each took sips from the bottle.

“Last time we did this we were teenagers.” Joel said from his spot next to Libby.

“The last time your mom had a party was when I was in Florida and you guys were in there making out, thinking we all had no idea.”

“Well you might, but my parents didn’t.”

Heather rolled her eyes “Yes they did Libby. They just didn’t think Joel had it in him so they didn’t care.”

Joel gave her a dirty look and an eye roll, and stared off into space for a second before he asked them “Do you guys ever think about what things would be like if you hadn’t moved here in 8th grade?”

“I don’t like to.” Heather said rubbing her arms “You moving here was the best thing that could have happened to us.” She said smiling at Libby “Because I gained a best friend and Joel finally found someone who would go out with him.”

Libby started laughing, breath turning into fog and Joel’s mouth fell open “On Christmas? Really Heather? Aren’t you already pretty low on the naughty list?”

“I live on the naughty list. Alright I’m not 15 anymore. It’s too cold for this, you guys coming?” She said as she climbed back in.

“In a minute.” She disappeared out Libby’s bedroom door leaving her with Joel on the roof. She reached forward grabbing his hand to hold it in her mittened one.

“If I hadn’t moved here in 8th grade, we still would have found each other some way.”

“You think?”

She nodded and looked out across town, at the black sky, white snow and twinkling stars above their heads “I do. Just would have needed some magic. Some Christmas magic.” She pointed at a star that streaked across the sky and disappeared before she rested her head on his shoulder.

“Can you think of a better way to spend Christmas Eve?” He asked.

She shook her head “No. I want to spend every Christmas Eve here, and every other day of the year with you until we’re old and grey. Promise me that?” She looked up at him, eyes wide under her glasses.

“Promise. Merry Christmas Libby.”

“Merry Christmas Joel.”

#joel farabee #nolan patrick #vince dunn #mat barzal #matthew tkachuk #anthony beauvillier #pierre luc dubois #tyler seguin #travis konecny #hockey fanfiction #hockey tumblr #hockeyblr #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #hockey fic #hockey imagine #hockey fandom #hockey blurb #hockey romance #hockey writing #hockey tag #hockey fluff #nhl fanfic #nhl writing #nhl oneshot #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #nhl fluff

[cellythefloshie]

;; Clinched A Winnipeg Road Wife Oneshot

Summary: With the new coach, came a new program: The Road Wife initiative is brought to the Winnipeg Jets for the 2022-2023 season. With only 2 games remaining in the regular season, the Jets only needed 1 point to clinch a playoff appearance for the first time since 2018. After a 3-1 regulation win against the Minnesota Wild, and fighting Ryan Reaves, Adam Lowry has one thing on his mind: Celebrating with the team's Road Wife. Kinks & TW: hockey fight (ryan reaves vs adam lowry), mentions of blood, height difference, sex work, unprotected sex, locker room sex, exhibitionism/voyeurism (PLD watches briefly), adam has a large cock, marking (hickies), implied possible rule-breaking, implied relationships beyond that designated by their contract Inspired By: The fight he had with Ryan Reaves, and this video posted by the Winnipeg Jets media team Word Count: 2800+ Taglist: @mp0625 , @starshine-hockey-girl

27.1 seconds. That’s how much time had been remaining when Minnesota Wild coach had sent Ryan Reaves out onto the ice for what could have been the final face-off of the game. The game was already lost for the Wild, with the Winnipeg Jets leading 3-1, so they had nothing to lose and Reaves? He had been looking for a fight all game. So, Adam Lowry gave him one. 

The fans in attendance had erupted as gloves were dropped, but it was all drowned out by the thump of Adam’s heart as it invaded his ears. It was all he could hear as Reaves’ fist collided with his arm as he struggled to get the reach he wanted. Reaves would manage a series of blows to the side of Adam’s helmet before Adam could get his own hit in. The momentum of his swing sent them both grappling as they met the ice. It was then the officials swooped in and the two fighters were separated. 

The darkness of the tunnel greeted Adam as he left the roar of the fans and the ice behind him - and in that darkness, his teammates waited for him. Brendan Dillion was half-dressed, having been sent from the game the play before for a slashing penalty against Ryan Hartman. With him stood those who had been scratched for the game, Logan Stanley and Axel Jonsson-Fjaliby among them, were dressed in their game day best all waited to greet him with the celebrations. 

Adam didn’t hear a single word as he walked through the group of them, and barely felt the pat of their hands against his chest, arms and back as his mind was still focused on the fight he had out on the ice. He could still only hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears and feel it against every pulse point in his body. Sweat glides down the angles of his body, and he can feel it soaking into his equipment. His dominant hand is slick with blood as it oozes from a knuckle that had been busted as it had impacted the side of Reaves’ helmet and that is all Adam feels as he disappears into the locker room with one thing on his mind. 

You. 

You had already made your way back into the locker room before the fight had broken out. With only seconds left in the game, the room would need to be ready for when the players began to flood in. Things needed to be cleaned, packed and stored properly as come morning they would be hitting the road for Colorado, and as the only woman on the staff of equipment managers you found yourself putting in the extra work to make sure you got to keep your job in the competitive industry. You had been bent over the large travel trunk that carried the jerseys when you heard the commotion in the hall outside. You had paid no mind to it, the Jets were winning, the boys were celebrating, and you had expected the celebration to carry on in the locker room but all you could sense with seriousness as Adam walked into the room. 

He walked with a certain swagger, and confidence, with his hair a sweaty mess as he held his helmet in one hand. Adam moved through the room, his eyes locked on his temporary stall as it was his destination and nothing was going to distract him from it. He slid his helmet into its place in his stall, and that was when his eyes lingered from their fixation on the wall. It was a subtle glance from the floor and up over the length of your body before his gaze was obscured by the removal of his jersey. It was with it off he froze, his back to the room, and let out a low, stern order: 

“Everyone out!” 

It was an order that had you hesitating for a moment, your brow quirking up as you cast him an unsure glance. He didn’t expect you all to clear out right before the game was ending, did he? Any second now the rest of the team would be coming in from the ice, and yet the rest of the staff - and some of the players - complied. A jersey slipped from your fingertips as you straightened up and began to move for the door. You had only managed to take two hesitant strides before the hold of a large hand wrapped effortlessly around your wrist. It was tight enough to hold you in place, to leave you feeling fragile, and draw your attention back. Adam had abandoned his place in front of his stall, taking a single stride to close the distance before reaching out to you. 

“No, not you,” he muttered, his voice a little softer as he loosened his hold on your wrist, his touch slipped down over your palm as he drew you in. 

“Adam-” his name left your lips in a semblance of a yelp that was rendered to silence with a single look that left your jaw slack and palms sweaty. 

While you were on the team's staff of equipment managers, it wasn’t the only position you held. You were also the team’s road wife. It had been an ill-formed habit, and unwritten rule, that Adam always got to enjoy you after a fight, but this time wasn’t going to wait until he could get you back to his hotel room. No, he was going to take you right there in that room, and he hadn’t even taken off his equipment yet. 

Adam drew you in close, each subtle step you took bringing you closer to his tower frame. Without skates, Adam already towered over you as he stood at a whopping six-foot-six, and in them, he stood closer to six-foot-nine. You had never felt smaller as your hands reached out to rest against the chest plate of his shoulder pad carefully. It was damp beneath your touch, not that you minded, nor did your touch get to linger long as when you were close enough Adam was gripping your waist and hoisting you up from the floor in a single effortless motion. 

Everything that happened next came from need and instinct.

Your legs wrapped around him just above the bulky waistline of his hockey pants, and his large hands began to travel up over the expanse of your back. It was his broad and desperate touch that supported you as Adam carried you away from the center of the room, and towards a table that rested at its edge. It was cluttered with refreshments that had been provided by the Wild organization for the players to enjoy between periods, but not it was all an inconvenience and in the way. With a single swipe of his arm, he cleared a spot on the table for your ass and sent it all to the floor. 

The clamour and mess were all lost on him as his mouth made its descent down onto your lips in a hungry kiss that wasted no time on being tender and coy. You could feel the roughness of his beard against your flesh, and with the careful rise of his hand to his jaw to guide your lips open you could taste him on your tongue. The flavours of his tongue alone, as it stroked along your own, was enough to leave you mewling. It sent a shiver right through to your core as your hands were desperate to seek out the drawstrings of his hockey pants. You worked blindly, your fingers merely hooking on the strings as Adam’s second hand came to join the other in cupping your face and deepening the kiss between you both. 

Your mind was left spinning, your chest heaving as you took in each desperate breath as you were left wanting more of him - but he was confined from you in his layers of equipment that you struggled to remove. “Adam,” his name was a mere breath against his lips as your hands found his chest and gave it a careful shove. He was a big man, so the shove barely phased him but it gave you enough room to begin to fight the layers from his body. You started with his shoulder pads that would join the mess on the floor - and then Adam was leaning back in, his mouth going to your neck as you loosened his hockey pants. You could barely focus on the knot that was there as your fingers worked desperately to work in free as his hot breath washed over your neck. As his lips moved sloppily, and his teeth grazed over your collarbone. He marked up your neck with great impatience all the while slowing you down, but soon his pants had been worked free and slipped down to rest around his ankles. 

It was at that moment, and only at that moment, you hated hockey players for just how much equipment they wore as beneath it all Adam was wearing his tight compression wear. Post-game it was like a second skin and it was a struggle to remove with how sweaty he had become during sixty minutes of game time. Yet, you made quick work of his shirt before working his pants down just low enough to work his eager cock free.

With Adam free of his confines, your hands were quick to abandon your cheeks and found the zipper of your team-branded sweater. He dragged it down, biting at his lower lip as he found that you were wearing nothing more than a bra underneath. Adam was nearly salivating at the sight of your cleavage, his palms lingering around each breast for a moment before he lets them drop to where the waist of your pants was snug around your hips. His fingers hooked them with ease, taking your panties with them as he drew them down your legs, and fought with them until they were left to hand from a single ankle, right above the sneaker on your foot. 

For a moment Adam stood in front of you, breathing heavily with anticipation as the rush of adrenaline from the fight was threatening to come crashing down as he stood between your legs. He must have underestimated how difficult it would be to undress with such haste and it left you wondering if he had changed his mind and decided to wait until you could get back to the hotel - but before you could ask he was hooking his hands behind your knees and drawing you to the very edge of the table. The tip of his cock dragged up your inner thigh as he stepped in close, the angle awkward as he stood a little too tall with his skates, but with the firm guidance of his hands angling your hips just right and a slight bend to his knees Adam thrust his cock into the warmth of your cunt. 

The careful force of his cock came with the familiar sting of taking a cock of his size. One that burned through your body like an ember that could only burn bright with every thrust. It was a pleasure that would build as he took his time with you, assuring that you could take all of him without discomfort - but today you weren’t granted the same pleasantries and you were thankful for the many nights you had laid with him preparing for this very moment. 

Adam’s thrusts were far from gentle as he rocked on the blades of his skate to gain just the right momentum to fuck you upon the tabletop. A single hand rested on your hip, gripping at the flesh of your ass so firmly for leverage that you thought you might bruise, while the other sought out the nape of your neck and tangled in your hair. He used that grip to force you to look up at him, to hold the intensity of his stare and to watch as your face melted into ecstasy as he fucked you raw for the first time. 

Each slap of his thighs against your own could be heard with his thrust, and the table shifted to and fro sending an awful grinding sound through the air that would undoubtedly be heard out in the hallway where the team must have been waiting as the game would have ended before you even had his cock out. Yet, Adam continued with no shame, and without any regard for the fact that at any moment his teammates or his coach would walk in on him as he railed you. 

Just the thought left your jaw slacking and your eyes fluttering shut, and before you could stop yourself you were letting out a soft moan. It was one that left a smile on Adam’s face, words of encouragement leaving his lips as he continued to test the limits of your core, “That’s it, get loud for me me,” he let out a heavy breath, “for the boys,” he was groaning now, “let them all hear how we celebrate.”

His words left you hissing out, “fuck!” and your hand reached up to work his hand free of your hair. With that freedom, you leaned in and buried your face into the strength of his shoulder. There you muffled your own moans as while he encouraged you, you have rules to follow and needed to maintain certain discretions. Discretions that Adam often left you wanting to cast aside, especially now as you clung to him and fell further into a haze of ecstasy.

In the crook of his shoulder, you lost your composure completely, your moans left to warm his skin and your lips dragging carefully over his strength. You clung to him desperately, your fingers digging into his shoulder blades and a single leg coming up to wrap around the strength of his thigh as if you could manage to take him any deeper. The pleasure was enough to have you throwing your head back, sending your hair cascading down your back, and your eyes opened to seek out his features again but you were quickly distracted by a figure standing in the doorway. 

Standing with his arms crossed over his chest and casually leaning up against the door frame to enjoy the show was Pierre-Luc Dubois with a small smirk playing on his lips. You didn’t know how long he had been standing there, but he didn’t look away nor did he make any attempt to leave when you had noticed him watching you. You met his stare, all the while Adam had reached a single hand between your bodies to stroke at your clit with his thumb, and it sent a wave of pleasure through your body that left you quivering. It was all quickly becoming too much, each stroke driving your body temperature to rise, sweat to build and your core to grip tightly around Adam’s cock. 

It was the grip of your climax that sent Adam deep into your cunt with one final, forceful thrust that left him to unload deep inside you. You could feel every twitch of his thick cock against your core, each surge of his cum as it was spilt inside you. 

“You all wrapped up in here, Lows?” Came Luc’s voice. It was a chippy, cocky tone that had you groaning at the double meaning it possessed. 

“He most definitely was not,” you muttered to yourself quietly, but it was just loud enough for Adam to hear as he took a careful step back and eased his cock from inside you. 

“Yeah,” Adam answered for himself after a moment of trying to stifle a bout of laughter. He masked it with ease, taking a heavy breath as he reached down to pull his layers back up. He wouldn’t speak again until his hockey pants were secured, and he stood merely shirtless in front of you - a human shield as you reached down to draw up your own pants and hide from Luc that he had just flooded your cunt with cum.

Reaching up, Adam carded a hand through his sweat-drenched hair, a knowing smile on his lips as he spoke, “The boys can all come on in now-”

Sliding down from the table, you did your best to compose yourself as the team began to flood into the room. You were just finished fastening your pants when you met with the cheers of celebration, and high fives from familiar faces as they passed - and soon as if nothing had happened at all, you and the boys fell into your respective post-game routines. Though, their night was a little different as they were celebrating: The Winnipeg Jets had clinched their wildcard position in the 2023 Stanley Cup playoffs.

#adam lowry #nhl imagine #nhl rpf #hockey rpf #hockey smut #hockey imagines #nhl smut #also features: #pierre luc dubois

[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

#pierre luc dubois #christine recommends audios #x reader #smut #hockeyblr #hockey players #hockey smut #winnipeg jets #nhl fic #nhl fan fiction #nhl fanfiction #nhl players #nhl imagine #nhl smut #Winnipeg jets

[jackhghes]

The Masterlist

my hockey boys ✷

Hello! Welcome to my Masterlist this Masterlist will consist of only hockey players. It'll be much appreciated if you call me JJ. I write both smut-angst. If I do make smut works it'll be for 18+ if you're a minor DNI. If you'd like to request then shoot me a message or press the button on my profile that says "Request Here"Please choose from my prompt list. Blurbs Series NSFW Alphabet Request Here

jack hughes coming soon

mitch marner coming soon

pierre-luc dubois coming soon

ross colton coming soon

matthew tkachuk coming soon

#matthew tkachuk #mitch marner #ross colton #pierre luc dubois #jack hughes #new jersey devils #nj devils #winnipeg jets #florida panthers #tampa bay lightning #toronto maple leafs #maple leafs #nhl imagine #hockey #hockey imagine #nhl hockey #avatar smut #masterlist #nhl masterlist #fluff #angst #nhl smut #hockey smut #nhl angst #nhl fluff #hockey angst #mitch marner fic #matthew tkachuk fic #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes fic

[hookingminor]

"I was worried something happened to you" with pierre-luc dubois

"I was worried something happened to you."

-

It was an unfortunate series of events, truly. 

Ice in the winter was deadly, but you never expected to be carrying groceries with your roommate when she slipped on the stairs leading up to your apartment, effectively shattering her leg.

An ambulance was called immediately, and you rode the entire way to the hospital with her. Due to the late hour, the emergency room was operating at its lowest capacity, leaving you in a waiting room chair for hours on end while you waited for an update. The EMTs declared her tibia had broken, along with some pieces of her knee splintering off. Conclusion? Emergency surgery.

It was almost midnight when you received a call from your boyfriend, who was on a roadtrip on the west coast. You presumed he was calling you before heading to bed, but you’d been so preoccupied with your roommate that you forgot he had even played a game tonight.

“Hey, baby,” Pierre’s scruffy face greeted you. He immediately took in the unfamiliar off-white walls behind you. “Where are you at?”

“The hospital,” you answered with a sigh. “It’s been a long night. I’ve been here since eight—”

“What the fuck are you doing in the hospital? What happened? Are you okay?” Pierre went into full panic mode, sitting up from his relaxed position on the bed and bombarding you with questions.

“Well I was with Carrie—” Just then, a doctor rounded the corner and called your name.

“Hold on, Luc,” you said. “The doctor’s here. I gotta go. Call you later.”

You hung up before Pierre could say goodbye, eager for any update the doctor had. You sprung up from the chair with shaky hands.

“Is she okay?” You asked.

“Surgery was successful,” he answered with a smile, immediately calming your nerves. “We had to remove the splintered knee fragments and reset her tibia, but she is fine. She should be waking up from surgery any minute now if you’d like to see her. She’ll make a full recovery but it will be a few months.”

The doctor ushered you to Carrie’s room and found her lounged on the bed, broken leg elevated in a fancy contraption and a tired look on her face.

“Yikes.” You couldn’t help but make fun of her situation.

“God, I know right? Wasted fifty dollars worth of groceries, and I won’t be able to walk for months,” she chuckled dryly. “At least I’m so medicated I can’t feel any pain right now.”

A nurse brought in a padded chair at that moment, sliding it over to you since you requested if you could stay the night with Carrie. You didn’t want to leave her in the middle of surgery to wake up alone, and with it being so late, it didn’t make sense to go back home.

Exhaustion washed over you now that you were reassured your friend was okay, and she gave you the extra blanket on her bed for you to curl up with.

In all your worrying about Carrie, you completely disregarded the phone buzzing away in your bag and the tens of text messages and missed calls from Pierre. You fell asleep in that hospital room with Carrie, oblivious to the heart attack you were about to cause your boyfriend.

A knock woke you both up around eight in the morning, the same nurse from last night making her rounds to check Carrie’s vitals. Her prognosis was good. They decreased the morphine in hopes of getting her off it completely, and when the doctor came back in an hour later to check in, he supposed she’d be able to be released the next day so long as everything went smoothly today.

A few seconds into his discharge instructions, a hurried figure rounded the hospital room door and bursted in.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Pierre cursed a breath of relief when he saw you, clutching his laboring chest.

“And you are?” The doctor asked not unkindly, but he didn’t appreciate the interruption.

“Luc? What are you—” You turned to Carrie and the doctor, feeling rude about the interruption yourself. “I’ll be just outside.”

You grabbed Pierre by the wrist and tugged him into the empty hallway, and his hands immediately cupped your face to search for any sign of injury. “You had me worried to death,” he said, still in the process of catching his breath. He’d clearly run from somewhere, probably through the hospital to find you.

“Of course I’m okay,” you said. “What are you doing here so early? Weren’t you supposed to fly back today?”

“I was,” he answered. “Until you told me you were in the hospital then proceeded to ignore all my messages, so I booked the first flight back. I was worried something happened to you.”

“Oh.” Realization dawned on you. “Oh, I meant I was in the hospital with Carrie. She broke her leg last night and had to have surgery. I’m so sorry, babe. I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” he sighed. “I mean, I feel bad for Carrie, but you nearly sent me into cardiac arrest.”

“I feel terrible. I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you, but it was late when she got out of surgery and we were so tired.”

Pierre brought you into a tight hug. “I understand.” He kissed your forehead. “Please don’t do that to me again though.”

“Promise,” you chuckled, wrapping your arms around his torso. “Would you mind taking me home so I can take a shower and grab some things for Carrie?” 

“Of course,” he replied. “I better let the guys know you’re okay. I think I freaked them out last night.”

“Oh god.” Remorse washed over you in waves. You hadn’t even spared him a second thought after that phone call because you were worried about Carrie, and here he was worrying all his teammates and coaches that something terrible happened to you. 

But there was another part of you that wanted to cry over your boyfriend’s concern. He flew all the way from California in the middle of the night just to check on when you wouldn’t pick up.

“We should get you home then. You’re probably exhausted.” You took note of his messy hair and tired eyes.

“I think I lost about five years off my life after that,” Pierre said dryly, obviously too fatigued to put more effort into his joke. “If I never step foot in a hospital again, it will be too soon.”

#pierre luc dubois #pierre luc dubois imagine #nhl imagine #my writing #requests #blurbs #jets13

[sweettomyhoney]

Request box is open yall 🥰just tell me what you want I got you

#photography #william nylander imagine #william nylander #andre burakovsky imagine #auston matthews x reader #nhl smut #nhl imagines #nhl #toronto maple leafs imagine #toronto #alexander nylander #alex nylander #washington capitals imagines #pittsburgh penguins #toronto maple leafs #morgan rielly #auston matthews imagines #auston matthews #colorado avalanche imagines #pierre luc dubois #hockey #being plus size #plus size

[senditcolton]

Prompt #7 with PLD?

ah PLD, the man i can never let go of. this prompt might be a little cliche but do you know why cliches become cliches? because they work!

Love doesn't have to be something that we hide behind the scenes.

“I think we should tell them.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, your voice quiet but assured. “To be honest, I’m kind of surprised we managed to keep it a secret for this long.”

“Well, to be fair, we didn’t really plan for this to happen.”

“I know, Luc. I was there when it started,” you tease and your heart trills at the sound of Pierre’s laughter coming from the adjoining bathroom of the hotel suite you found yourself in.

How did you get here? Well, it was a long story.

How you came to be staying in the same hotel as the Winnipeg Jets was an easy answer. Right before the season started, you got a job as a part of the Jets the athletic training staff and soon, you found yourself as part of the travelling team, an honor that you hadn’t expected to receive in your first year. So, technically speaking, you were supposed to be in this hotel with the rest of the players and staff. However, your assigned room was actually a floor below.

That lead to the story how you came to find yourself nestled in the bed sheets behind the hotel room belonging to one Pierre-Luc Dubois.

As previously mentioned, you didn’t plan on this happening. At first, Pierre was just another co-worker. An insanely attractive co-worker who maybe sometimes flirted with you in the hallways to be sure but that was all. You certainly weren’t expecting him to become something more than that, a brief infatuation that you would get over eventually and things would return to business as usual. The rational part of your brain also told you that it was impossible for you and him to become something more. You’ll be the first to admit that you had only skimmed the employee code of conduct but you were pretty sure there was a section that said no fraternizing with the players.

And you never planned to.

Not until one night in Tampa when Victor Hedman laid a particularly messy hit on Pierre, a hit that caused his legs to tangle underneath him and had him ushered off the ice to the training room where he sat as you checked to see what the damage was. And when you and Rob confirmed that it was serious enough for Pierre to not return to the game, you stayed with him in the recovery room, icing and taping his knee to make him feel as best he could.

You could confidently say those 30 minutes or so of you and him just sitting together talking was the turning point in your relationship. And shortly after, you found yourself falling into an easy romance that you now couldn’t imagine your life without.

The two of you knew that being together wasn’t the smartest plan, that it could easily cost you your job. But you managed to keep it under wraps for almost four months and no one was the wiser.

However, you knew you had to come clean at some point. And that’s what lead to this conversation in a hotel room.

Pierre emerges from the bathroom, his pullover and sweatpants covering his frame as he walks back over to you still in bed.

“Are you sure you want to?”

“I wouldn’t say I want to. I like what we have right now, I like being in this nice little bubble of just you and me. But I think it would just make things easier, less complicated.”

“I could kiss you in hallways instead of having to wait until we were alone,” Pierre adds and you laugh at his light teasing.

“If I keep my job,” you say, trying to keep your voice light but having to voice the harsh possibility.

“Oh, right,” Luc sighs, his eyes ducking down. You reach out for his hand, taking in his palm in yours as you intertwine your fingers.

“Hey, that’s the worst-case possibility,” you rationalize, trying to dissuade your fears as much as his own. “I could also stay in my current position, or I can’t travel with you guys, or I get fired at the end of the season instead of immediately so we’d still get about another month of this. We really know until we reveal… this.”

Luc chuckles at your stuttered sentences, his hand tightening around yours.

“If it does go badly, which I hope it won’t considering the fact that this has been going on for months and I’d like to think I’ve remained professional, I’ll just be like a normal hockey partner. Like everyone else,” you laugh and Pierre smiles at you.

“You could never be like everyone else,” Pierre says with a soft smile and you can’t stop the heat from flooding your cheeks. “But I think you’re right. I think it’s time we tell everyone.”

“Maybe not everyone,” you laugh. “Maybe, let’s start with my boss. I can talk to Rob on the plane today and we’ll go from there.”

“So, I still can’t tell the boys?”

“Not yet. Depending on what Rob and the rest of my bosses say slash decide, we can talk about telling the boys.”

“That works for me,” Pierre accepts, lifting himself up off the mattress and using the hand clasped in yours to pull you up from the sheets. You can’t help the giggle that falls from your lips and you and Luc fall back into the easy intimacy that had defined your relationship. The two of you finish getting dressed, Pierre’s bag packed and the two of you are causally talking as you step out of the hotel room, so caught up in the conversation that you don’t notice Mark Scheifele stepping out of his own hotel room directly across the hall at the same time.

You notice Mark first, your words pausing and eyes widening as you watch him take the scene before him; you and Pierre stepping out of the room, one of Luc’s shirts falling from your shoulders.

“Oh my god,” he says and the pleading look that you plaster onto your face is a millisecond too slow because before you knew it, Mark’s voice was carrying down the hallway, followed shortly by the sound of other doors being opened and more hoots and hollers joining in the noise.

“This is who you’ve been seeing, Luc?”

“Yo, Lowry you owe me 20 bucks.”

“I knew it the whole time. You two weren’t being subtle at all.”

These sentences and more surrounded you as you felt the entire teams’ eyes on the two of you, the heat that you felt in your cheeks earlier now multiplied by a hundred. But soon the embarrassment turned into contentment as the boys came up to you, hugging you and you felt like you were being welcomed to the team once again. And somehow, having the boys know before anyone else made you feel better about the prospect of telling your bosses. Because now you had an entire team backing you; a family that you would now always be a part of regardless of what happened.

Eventually, you feel Pierre’s hands on your waist, pulling your attention from the few bodies still lingering in the hallway to him. And when you connect your eyes to his, you see a matching smile stretched across his face.

“Well, that didn’t go as planned.”

#nicole writes #trinity of terror prompt night #another trope i love to see is the other players acting like siblings towards the main characters #found family energy!! #pierre luc dubois blurb #pierre luc dubois fluff #winnipeg jets blurb #nhl blurb #hockey blurb