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flashyfucker · 2 years

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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

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queenie-jinny · 4 months

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Erised fic claim: Lethe

Lethe by @QueenieJinny for @slythercrux

Explicit, 70k

Summary: A new form of vanishing sickness is sweeping across Britain. Healers Harry Potter and Hermione Granger are on the case. When Draco Malfoy is admitted to the isolation ward, Harry never imagines falling in love with him will be the easiest thing he’s ever done – and watching him fade away to nothing will be the hardest.

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Temporary Character Death, Dubious Consent, Doctor/Patient, Blood and Injury, Scars, Mysterious illness, Disability, Ableist Language, Slurs, Implied/Referenced Assault, Pandemics, Quarantine, Terminal Illnesses, mild body horror, Pregnant Minor Character(s), Smoking, Brief suicide ideation, Memory Loss, Patient Neglect, Withholding Information from a Patient, brief discussion of self-harm, implied/referenced drinking, Angst with a Happy Ending, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Sexual Tension, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Enemies to Lovers, Pining, Falling In Love, Slow Burn, Mild Sexual Content, Non-Linear Narrative, Illustrations, Art, Mixed Media, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, H/D Erised 2023, Minor Astoria Greengrass/Ginny Weasley, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, POV Multiple, Nightmares, Demisexual Harry Potter, Comes Back Wrong, Resurrection, Magical Tattoos, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Touch-Starved Harry Potter, Healer Harry Potter, Bathing/Washing, Poetry, St Mungo's Hospital (Harry Potter), Underworld

Huge thanks to my beta @citrusses without whom I would be lost

a tiny excerpt ^.^

“Aren’t you supposed to be taking notes already?” he said slowly, seductively, while sliding his trousers down the length of his legs, until they dropped to the floor with a soft thump.

He didn’t miss Potter’s worried wince at the translucent line across his hip and right leg, which had continued to expand during his absence. The guilty act. Draco had learnt to recognise it well.

He hitched his bad leg up on the sofa. To rest it – of course.

Potter’s eyes looked like they were about to burst out of their sockets. He was putting on a valiant fight but clearly failing at the sight of Draco’s crotch and long legs on display. Draco knew his best assets well.

“Are you doing that on purpose?” Potter asked dumbly.

Draco smirked. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“But… why? Are you enjoying torturing me?”

He looked so defeated, Draco almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

He raised an eyebrow and smirked at him. “When did I ever not?”

#drarry #drarry fic #erised 2023 #harry x draco #draco x harry #harry potter fanfiction

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binarystargames · 1 year

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Liminal Void/Valiant Horizon double header update

Hi there! Been awhile since I checked in about either of these.

Liminal Void

Since my last update I've proceeded to make a ton of ships (18 total). Mostly they're a stack of Integrity/Armor, a unique trait for each (like cargo ships always have extra cargo/storage/etc space, naval ships have integrated weaponry or are better with it, etc), a room loadout, and some Hardpoint tools/weapons.

Room loadouts are functional things like storage, medical bays, etc but they're also more standard stuff: where do people sleep? How good of a galley do you have? Is your head a broom closet or can you take an actual shower in there? Things like that.

These are super important because I'm thinking about not only functional stuff but how awful it is to live on a ship that's built solely for function. Unless you're living in the lap of luxury as far as your loadout, it's guaranteed to be worse than any living conditions you can find not on a ship. Maybe that's fine if you mostly expect to be getting rooms while in ports though! Decisions, decisions.

They also tell a story about what kind of crews typically run the ship: For example, for the Ore Hauler, there's a few nice bedrooms for officers and a bunch of awful, crowded bunks for the proles, because there's an expected hierarchical relationship between overseers and workers; but for the Brawler (a close-range gunship), it's tiny to fit more weaponry and only has one bunk with a tiny head, because it's not expected to be stayed in for too long and is expected to always have someone at the helm.

Likewise with Hardpoints. For example, unlike all other civilian craft, the Ship Carrier has weaponry because it carries other ships: it's a prime target for hijacking. Others have things like work platforms, external quarantine storage, and asteroid anchors, some of which can also be used in combat to awkward, but great effect.

Rooms are by "segment", which I'm thinking of as roughly a 15 cubic meter space. Multiple-segment rooms have an amplified effect, but take up more space on the ship - and if it gets hit, all segments of the room are probably damaged or ruined.

I also added rules for how to do stuff with them. It largely follows the Total//Effect Clashes and Dueling idea but I've made a few key distinctions here:

A lot of "combats" aren't really going to be combat as such, especially if you have a civilian ship. Mostly you just want to get out unharmed. Being in space combat is a really bad, expensive idea! And sometimes there's nothing to fight as such, there's just a big asteroid field trying to tear apart your ship. So there's some rules, mostly leveraging progress/resistance and threat/tension for that kind of thing.

I'm going with Integrity/Armor: Armor's cheap to fix and acts as ablative HP to Integrity's Real Shit HP. Much like personal injury, if you take Harm to Integrity, you're rolling to see if something really bad happens.

I also added ~The Economy~, the long-awaited rules for how to buy, sell, restock, etc. I'm following a lot of the SRD's Income and Expenditures but I'm introducing a few concepts that I'm probably going to back-port. The general vibe is:

Currency is Credits or Scrip. You can spend credits anywhere, you can only spend scrip at company stores. (Or you can exchange for credits, but it's rarely 1:1.)

Each thing you're getting/giving has a set Magnitude (representing what ballpark of price it's in) that's 1, 2, 5, 10, 20, 50, 100, and so on. (Values chosen for easy multiplication: most people can multiply by 2's, 5's, or 10's and it's all variations on that.)

But that Magnitude is multiplied by a Value: this one's a die roll depending on how much the buyer/seller values it, scarcity, negotiation tactics, etc. (Standard Total//Effect Low/Mid/High, except on the low end instead of Low - 1 potentially going down to 0, it bumps Magnitude down a step.)

Likewise with expenditures like fuel, food/water, repairs, etc., each has a value that's determined on purchase. Certain facilities on your ship can make this easier/cheaper or negate it.

If you can't pay for, or don't want to pay for, an expenditure, you can Risk It: this gives a chance every time the neglected thing's stressed to have it fail at the absolute worst time. (Like if you Risk It with fuel, well, I hope you're packing a distress beacon.)

I'm working on debt next but it's likely going to be like: you put down your ship as collateral for a loan, you have to pay interest every time you resupply (a portion of the load depending on how good a deal you got), if you can't or don't pay you might get a repo man after you.

I also wrote up some of the setting, specifically the three poles:

Earth's where it all started but it's kind of old and busted compared to the old days. It's still the breadbasket of the galaxy, so there's some life in it; but for the most part, it's very hard to live there unless you're already rich, having an atmosphere is a prized commodity.

Mars is where most of the galaxy's metal/hydrocarbon mining happens (as penal labor, largely). It's also where most of the shipyards are.

Ganymede was founded by techies and focuses hard on high-tech stuff and experimental working. They're also the ones most interested in pushing the limits of the known universe further out, but their corporations met stiff challenges from inhospitable regions, mysterious occurrences, and the desire of those out on the frontier to break free.

I wrote a few scattered things for these: a page of description each and a handful of plot hooks. This is about the level of setting I'm aiming for, but I'll add a few more categories later.

Valiant Horizon

On a less grim note than space capitalism, Valiant Horizon's mostly in "flesh out the soft stuff" mode - the main mechanics are basically done so it's mostly a matter of that and refinement. Specifically, I recently tackled Heroes/Classes as a concept.

The idea behind each Class is that characters in this setting were bonded with hero-containing Crystals. Classes are just the archetypes of these heroes. As part of the game, when you level up and when you meet new characters/heroes in the same position, you flesh out the story of that hero: starting with an In Media Res moment in their life, and adding more as you level up. You can learn up to 6 things about a Hero: this takes you through the 1st Tier (Fledgling, levels 1-3) and 2nd Tier (Famous, levels 4-6). At Renowed Tier (7-9), you're focusing on making a legend of your own.1 This has a multi-fold effect: not only are you describing the person in your character's head, you're creating the setting through anecdotes (which I love to do, see ANOINTED) and defining your character better in the process (as there's meant to be some kind of special affinity between the two: in defining the hero's life, it's also reflecting on their bonded character.)

So that's those! Major progress being made. (And I got an artist for Valiant Horizon. Hopefully more on that soon!)

I haven't written this fully in yet but at Level 10, the pinnacle at Heroic Tier, you perform the final thing that seals your legend: you come up with a Class based on your exploits that survives to the next game, and your character is now a Hero for someone in the future. ↩︎

#ttrpg #ttrpg design #indie ttrpg #valiant horizon #liminal void

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lesbianmarrow · 2 years

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okayyyyy well i watched legends of tomorrow 6.01 “ground control to sara lance” :O what a wild episode!!! i have to admit, it didn’t feel as season premiere-y as past season premieres, but it still does a good job of setting up what this season is going to be like, and it’s really compelling and entertaining. aliens!!!!!!!!

i watched this episode twice, and i’m glad i did, because it helped me get a better understanding of what the episode is doing with sara’s character. there’s a moment where nate brings up sara’s fling with alex danvers of supergirl, and ava brushes it off by saying “sara never liked to be alone.” and then it cuts to sara, wandering around the alien spacecraft, alone. sara has crazy assassin skills, and as this episode shows, she’s able to hold her own pretty well even in such a foreign disorienting situation. but for the past several years, she has had her team to rely on. so it makes sense that operating alone is a challenge for her. the inclusion of spartacus highlights this: he keeps talking about how he is such a valiant leader of men, and sara keeps reminding him that he doesn’t have his men with him. it turns out that on his own, spartacus isn’t a very formidable fighter at all. sara fears this may be true of her as well, that she’s become all bark and no bite. fortunately this isn’t true, but it’s still scary for her to be by herself on an alien ship.

worse than the tactical disadvantages of isolation is the loneliness. when sara nearly succumbs, it isn’t because she’s physically overwhelmed in a fight; it’s because she feels despair at being alone. sara has grown into a person who needs other people, and that’s a good thing, but it means that when she’s suddenly ripped from the legends’ side it’s hard for her to cope. ava’s astral projection reinvigorates sara because ava reminds her that the isolation is temporary, and that they will be reunited again. sara just has to stay strong until that point. that reminder that the loneliness is temporary is what gives sara the strength to break free, defeat the alien, and take over the ship. given that this season was written, shot, and produced during the pandemic, this plot of sara dealing with being separated from her loved ones feels very much like a response to quarantine. space is the perfect setting for a story that explores the impact of isolation, so i think it’s really interesting that the first season of legends of tomorrow made during covid is also the one that is set partially in space. i’m curious to see whether this idea comes up again in later episodes.

i have very mixed feelings on the reveal that gary is an alien. on the one hand i think it’s bold and brilliant to reveal that a recurring character (now part of the main cast) was actually an alien in disguise the whole time. and gary is so weird and awkward that in some ways he feels like a natural fit as an alien. but on the other hand revealing that the only(?) jewish character on the show is an alien who was sent to secretly infiltrate human society and whose species eats humans feels wildly, blatantly antisemitic. and like in an old-fashioned mccarthyist kind of way too. the implications are really really bad. i would be interested in seeing what other fans have to say about it but yeah i feel like they should have thought that one through a bit more.

zari/constantine stuff was fun. i liked when ava saw them together in bed and it made her nauseous. me too ava. i still feel like constantine is not made for long-term relationships but it is interesting to see how he and zari really care about each other. and how zari is sort of trying to “tame” him. i liked how she saved him when the magic was hurting him and she sat by him till he woke up but she was on her phone in order to maintain the facade of disinterest. it will be interesting to see how that develops. again even though i find a lasting relationship between them hard to believe i think the actors have so much chemistry that i don’t mind seeing them together. i also like how zari is pals with astra and asked about her network. i need zari to teach me some networking skills. i liked the insight into how astra is spending her time on earth and i loved the line about how she wants to learn to love earth the way the others do. i am excited to see her development as well.

dont have much to say on spooner except she seems cool and i look forward to learning more about her. i like that she’s a total weirdo. i feel like that should be a prerequisite to joining the legends, is being just a complete misfit. i liked seeing ava’s struggle of trying to bottle up her feelings and how nate helps her deal with those feelings. i was not thrilled about sara planning to propose to ava just because as i’ve said before i don’t think they should get married because marriage is stupid and bad and they’ve transcended those earthly conventions but it was kind of sweet i guess. i mean it’s the cw what are you gonna do. i am excited to watch further episodes and see everybody fighting ALIENS

#legends of tomorrow #sara lance #gary green #zari tarazi #legends constantine #astra logue #ava sharpe #syl posts

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masqsims4 · 4 months

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Strangerville (Strangerville Military State)

Hakzar Military Base

The Invasion Generation has hit Strangerville the hardest. Many valiant soldiers, brilliant minds, new advancements in science and medicine, and thousands of innocent lives, have been lost in a total of four Invasions around the world. Paranoia has begun to grip the survivors, with none knowing who was secretly Infected and who could be trusted. With death tolls rising, many are reluctant to join the fight, and the Strangerville Army is starting to dwindle.

Ruling General Kiana Sorco has been keeping a cool head, putting emphasis on scientific progress to see them through. She has given the Botanical Garden more power recently to expand their research, and the Science Base more power in the production of science babies. She has also given the greenlight for battle ready servos to reduce needlessly spent lives on the battlefield. Nothing has produced results yet, but General Sorco is not giving up and keeping options open to save the world once and for all.

(from top left to right) General Davon Kiraseindu, Ruling General Kiana Sorco, General Malakyte Strangreix, Base Commander (servo)

(bottom) Private Phoenix Hakzar

Hakzar Family Home

(top) Gael (servo)

(bottom) Mia Selina Sorco, Achila Sorco, Victoria Zalnal

(top) Lady Evangeline Hakzar

(bottom) Lady Mallory Hakzar

Strangerville Labs/Paranormal Botanical Garden

With the back to back Mother Plant Invasions, the Botanical Garden has been working tirelessly to find a weakness and countermeasure in the alien plant. They have been working with botanists around the world, and researching occult plants on Earth, from the Plasma Tree of the old Forgotten Hollow, to the Cowplant and Cowplant Mages from the old days of Glimmerbrook. But somehow seem no closer in slowing the spread of the Mother Plant and her Infections.

(from left to right) Head Researcher Zaiyah Hakzar, Dr. Kohei Kiraseindu, Dr. Shohei Kiraseindu, Test Subject Zero (Halcyon Hakzar)

Strangerville Science Baby Clinic

(top) Dr. Solomon Seindu-Hakzar

(bottom) Eden Seindu-Hakzar

Strangerville Asylum

A place created to quarantine Infected, and take samples to be used for vaccines. Lately, it has become a place to store those suspected of Infection, to keep them from public access. While patient Ayumi Maeda spent most of her young life, after being the girlfriend to a known Infected insurgent, her children were not cleared to be taken out of the system. However, the children currently have shown no signs of Infection at all, leaving heavy debates over whether or not it is morally right to detain children in a mental institution at all.

(top from left to right) Dr. Angelwood (servo), Carmen Vainu'upo

(bottom) Ellen Goldstein

Strangerville Military Academy

With many science children, born for battle and science, to keep the population of Strangerville steady, many have no ambitions outside of the military. Many are orphaned from the countless Invasions, and only know security drills desert sand. Life seems hopeless, but all still march on. Maybe one of them is the key to victory and world peace.

(from top left to right) Drill Sargent (servo), Private Hawthorne Hakzar, Private Jexa Sorco, Private Henry Zengaell

(from bottom left to right) Private Spencer Zengaell, Private Skylar Seindu-Hakzar, Private Summer Sorco

(from left to right) Dallie (servo), Private Gideon Kiraseindu, Private Pandora Hakzar, Private Maddox Seindu-Hakzar

Chestnut Ridge (Independent)

The old canyons of the Ridge were usually arid and dry like the desert, but boasted some of the oldest plant life on Earth. Hence, the locals didn't farm much, but had spacious ranches for animals and horses. It was the locals who introduced horse-back riding into the Invasions to get around the battle field faster. The Ridge became a welcome place for those looking to get away from the war, start over, or make their own living. Everyone governs themselves, and doesn't take kindly to royalty hoping to stake a claim. Life is simple, and self-sufficient, and everyone plans to keep it that way.

The Bongrin-Braie Ranch

By the time Griselda Bongrin-Strangreix was an adult, the Henford Elective she was set to inherit has dissolved and left her with nothing. As she had only grown up with knowledge of the arts, music and dance, and not actual farming experience, she decided to see the outside world with her husband. Meanwhile, Arjun Braie, who had no ambitions until he went to work as a ranch hand in Henford, became passionate about farming and animals, and once he graduated high school, purchased his own land in Chestnut Ridge to start a farm.

Upon moving in, the locals seemed hesitant in accepting a "crown princess" into their community, especially knowing who her mother was. Griselda assured the people that she never personally knew her mother, only having been around her for less than six months after being born, and was nothing like her. "Leave me to my vineyard, and I will leave you to your lives." she promised. "But if the community needs my help, I am more than happy to step up. All I want is a happy home." It was only a matter of time as her humble but loving nature made her and Arjun community leaders.

(from top left to right) Griselda Bongrin-Strangreix, Arjun Braie

(from bottom left to right) Abitha Braie, Aphra Braie

Araki Ranch

Yoichi Araki

Paranormal Botanical Garden

Strangerville, in exchange for not drafting the people of Chestnut Ridge into the Invasions, offered to put a branch of the Botanical Garden in the canyons to expand their research. They also offered to source healthy seeds for farming to the community. The offer was reluctantly accepted, although some of the population have been volunteering to go to war with no coercion.

Doctors Rianara and Madara have been working tirelessly to find ways to fight back the Infection, making new vaccines roughly every few years. But lately, Dr. Rianara may have found a breakthrough, and is eager to unveil it to the public, once she proves it's effective. Both have been on their best behaviors with the community, keeping distance but offering to help with land, sourcing seeds and produce and even keeping animals to make their Garden more self-sufficient.

(from left to right) Dr. Rianara Faltal, Dr. Madara Hakzar

Batuu (Independent)

Hakzar Home Farm

The Strangerville Science Lab decided to set up remote operations off planet, settling for the border world of Batuu on the Outer Rim. Adventurous Scientists Crisanto and Kunal brought their wives, who wanted to be far away from any form of royalty due to their trauma, purchased some land in Batuu's jungles and allowed their families to thrive at their own pace.

While the twin brothers explore the universe looking for any information of the Mother Plant beyond the stars, the twin sisters stay home and keep to hobbies, farming and child rearing. The household has become a good source of natural foods for the nearby Black Spire Outpost, and the locals let the family keep to themselves.

(from top left to right) Crisanto Hakzar, Kunal Hakzar, Amer Pilo, Yin Pilo

(from bottom left to right) Vashe Pilo-Hakzar, Igoi Pilo-Hakzar

#sixam royal family

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