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drysaladandketchup · 2 months

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for the "things you said" writing meme -- matthew/leon, 12 :)

Thank you for the request <3 I realised very quickly I have no idea what constitutes a 'mini' fic. I struggle to write 'mini' anything lol. Hopefully this still satisfies :)

12. things you said when you thought i was asleep

It takes all of Matthew's willpower not to reach over and smash his phone just to shut up the alarm. All that saves his wallet and an awkward trip to the Apple store is the split-second realisation that the shrieking in his ear isn't his usual alarm.

It's a ringtone. Not his own, either.

He pries his eyes open to find the world through the window is still dark. One of the balcony doors is still ajar, letting in a cool night breeze. He's lying on his side in his own bed, the end of the all-star weekend memorialized by several aches and bruises.

His hips and ass are a little sore too, but that's unrelated. Technically.

The ringing stops. Someone huffs behind him.

Someone. Yeah, no, Matthew knows who it is. They may have met up at the bar once the media was done swarming, but Matthew was far from drunk. Painfully sober, in fact. If he's being honest with himself, he was hoping things would turn out this way.

One more time. One more moment. Because it's been a long time since they were them. Longer still since the sex was just sex, since hate became want. Matthew is strong in a lot of ways, but not against this.

"Davo." Leon's voice is low, and still gruff from sleep when he answers his phone. He sits up on his side of the bed, trying not to disturb Matthew, pulling the covers back up over Matthew's shoulder like he thinks he'll freeze to death in this balmy Florida winter.

Usually Matthew's a heavy sleeper. But never when Leon's around. He makes it impossible for Matthew to completely relax, to let time slip by. Leon's just too big of a presence, almost too much to bear. It was more important that everything linger, to bask in the strange comfort of their relationship, whatever it was. They had so little time. Even less, now.

"I know it's late. No, no, I'm not at the hotel. I'm... I'm with Tkachuk."

Leon says his last name like it's wrong, like it's rotting on his tongue.

When he corrects himself, says, "Matthew", it's better, lighter. Like it's ambrosia.

Matthew remembers when Leon Draisaitl saying his name wouldn't have meant a damn thing to him. When that simple act didn't fill him with fondness.

In the silence, Matthew can hear McDavid talking on the other end, but can't quite make out what he's saying. Matthew tucks up under the duvet, breathing quiet and even, trying to focus instead on the distant sound of waves and the ticking clock on his wall.

Ticking. Always ticking. Time bleeds out when they're together.

He doesn't even remember falling asleep last night, but he wishes he hadn't now. He wishes he'd stayed awake longer, just to... just too see him. To look Leon in the eye, to talk about everything and nothing until dawn, to feel big, too-warm hands on his body more and more and more. He wants to make sure he'll remember how Leon feels, sounds, tastes.

"Connor," Leon says, a warning, followed by a sigh. "I know. I know, okay? It was stupid, but..."

Maybe it was. Matthew has a good thing here in Florida. Better than ever. He was happy to leave Alberta behind and start over. So why did leaving make him feel like a coward?

Because leaving was about Calgary, and the Flames. About his career and his future. It wasn't about Leon. Leon was the wrench in the gears; the one thing he didn't expect to have to say goodbye to, the kind of hurt he never could have accounted for.

"I needed to see him." Leon sounds helpless. He's not the only one.

The only time he's heard Leon so lost was after his team was knocked out of the playoffs last season. The Oilers meant nothing--Matthew was pretty fucking glad considering they'd beat out the Flames--but he never wanted to hear Leon like that again.

He definitely never wanted to be the cause of it. Not like this.

Leon is still mumbling into his phone. "Yeah, I'm fine. He's... we're good. He's happy."

A hand settles on Matthew's head. Fingers play with his curls, nails scratch his scalp. A thumb presses just behind Matthew's ear, stroking the soft skin where only hours before Leon had put his lips, whispering sweetness and filth in equal measure.

It takes everything for Matthew not to groan, to whimper and surrender, roll over and climb on top of Leon and take all over again. Beg him to take something--everything--from Matthew.

"I don't know," Leon says then.

It's easy to guess what McDavid asked.

He's happy. But are you?

"I can't even tell him I still love him."

Still. Matthew didn't even know there was a before, let alone a still. Leon never said anything. Fuck, if Matthew wasn't busy trying to remember how to breathe, he'd roll over and punch him.

Then again, what did Matthew ever say? They never talked about it. Never let those closet hook-ups and slipping out back doors and little drinks and dinners and overnights excused as practical necessity be anything more than that. A bunch of chirps and half-truths and aborted discussions because it was all becoming too much. There was too much uncertainty. Too many ways it could go wrong.

It did go wrong. It became something. It became real.

Maybe that would have changed something. Maybe it wouldn't have changed anything at all. It doesn't matter now. Matthew left, and neither of them said a word about things like love, because it was easier to hope it would shrivel and die with distance and time.

"I know I'm being stupid." Leon pauses when McDavid interrupts, then huffs. "No, I am. Fuck, I really thought I'd get over it. Maybe I will. Eventually."

Don't you fucking dare, you piece of shit, Matthew wants to scream.

"Not sure I can, though." Leon swallows so loud Matthew can hear it. Then quieter, like he's not sure he's even allowed to admit it, he says, "I don't really want to."

He's still playing with Matthew's hair, occasionally dragging a finger over his bare shoulder or down his back, tracing imaginary lines across Matthew's flesh. Like he's something to be memorized and cherished.

They're both so fucking stupid. Matthew bites his lip and tries not to choke on the lump in his throat. Could be his heart, climbing right up and out of his mouth. He clings to the sheets with shaking hands.

"I'm not going to fuck up what he's got here," Leon says tiredly, voice thick with tension and pathetic resignation.

Leon's not here to drag him back. He wouldn't do that. So why is he here? Just to torture them both? Being with him doesn't feel like torture. It feels like winning. It feels like defiance and decadence and too much and not enough. It feels like what could have been and what could still be.

He didn't find Leon at that bar and bring him home out of pity, or nostalgia, one last fuck for old times sake. It was... it just was. Not an ending. Not some final goodbye. Proof maybe there could still be something. Getting over it was never an option, Matthew knew that well before he stepped onto the ice as a Panther and found himself staring Leon down all over again.

Matthew's vision is blurring. His eyes sting, warm and wet. There's blood pounding in his ears, and a hand clutching his heart, a vice around his lungs. He hardly remembers how to breathe.

He doesn't catch the rest of Leon's conversation, except something about meeting Connor back at the hotel tomorrow. Meaning he's staying the night, at least. He's staying.

When Leon hangs up the phone, Matthew finally comes up for air. He relaxes his shoulders, listening to the soft thump as Leon taps his phone against his forehead over and over. Then it clatters on the side table. Leon sighs, sniffs, and sinks back under the covers. He tucks right up against Matthew's back, still burning like a furnace, soft muscle and skin brushing Matthew's spine in all the right ways.

He throws an arm around Matthew and finds one of his hands, worming his fingers through the gaps to hold it. His palm is sweaty, not that it matters at all to Matthew. He can't help squeezing Leon's hand a little, but if Leon notices, he doesn't say a word.

Not until he's wrapped tight around Matthew, near suffocating, like any part of them that isn't touching is a sin.

"Love you," Leon mumbles, barely more than a whisper, pressing his lips right to the base of Matthew's neck. Matthew's body can't seem to decide whether to shiver or melt under the heat.

Leon says it like it's inevitable. Painful. Pitiful.

What he's saying is, I'm sorry I love you. I'm sorry I couldn't say it before. I'm sorry I don't know how to say it now. I'm sorry it's too late, it's the wrong place, the wrong time.

Like he doesn't think Matthew could ever understand. And that's the worst part of it all. They're still not on the same page. Tearing down what they never built.

If Leon's only brave enough to say it when Matthew's asleep, then Matthew will just have to be brave enough to say it in the light of day. He doesn't run, and he won't now that he knows he doesn't have to.

He stares into the night outside his window, listening to Leon breathe, feeling his heart beat through Matthew's chest like that's where it longs to be.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow maybe they can stop chasing time long enough to make the most of what they have. To make up for what they've wasted. And whatever happens after, well, maybe they can stop being afraid of that, too.

#hockey #mattdrai #matthew tkachuk #leon draisaitl #my writing #asks #i can take any prompt and shove angst into it just watch me #'mutual pining dumbasses who can't communicate' my beloved trope #i hope it's obvious this is happening during/right after the 2023 asg #i know 2020 was the sacred texts but I feel like we don't use 2023 for mattdrai purposes enough #poor connor always suffering through mattdrai bullshit #leon has a scrapbook full of pictures of matthew and will be like 'remember when my bf left me ;_;' and connor wants to jump off a bridge #'mini' fic they said. i don't think 1.6k is mini. it got away from me. but i have never been concise in my life why start now

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m1d-45 · 1 year

Text

wandering

summary: my scaramouche pulls, but make it sagau

word count: 1.8k

-> warnings: minor spoilers for sumeru (3.2) archon quest, author has not done 3.2 archon quest but had been spoiled by tumblr :/, probably ooc scara. based entirely on me and my prior pulls (pulled miko, pulled + built childe, has an itto), like two swear words?

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3

< masterlist >

scaramouche didn’t know what to think of the stars.

he’d kept an eye on them, out of curiosity, watching as constellations rose and fell, rose and fell, their cyclical nature never ending. he never saw any importance in them—not even when he heard of the forest watcher in sumeru being used as a vessel and his glass heart twisted—and hence never paid any attention, focusing on his mission in sumeru. he kept a passing eye on them, sometimes trying to guess how long the current rotation would be up during particularly boring fatui meetings, or trying to guess which constellations would light up when the stars began to fall.

after a while, he began to pay a little more attention to the patterns. he didn’t know why, but suddenly they drew him in more, even as he rolled his eyes whenever tartaglia boasted about a star crossing his constellation. never mind that that guuji from inazuma had hers too, no, he was the one that mattered.

and he was probably right. his bow had been replaced, he was a better shot than ever, and his water blades burned with skill. even the tsaritsa noticed his increase in strength, irritatingly, sending him a letter of congratulations on becoming a vessel. he’d even spent a whole day drafting a three-page letter to his family detailing it all, all the new skills and power he’d picked up by being with you.

what made him so favored?

he pulled down the brim of his hat, repressing the need urge to look up at the sky. he’d never been one to believe in astrology, or astronomy, or whatever that witch in mondstat wanted to call it. he wasn’t going to start now, not when his whole plan in sumeru was close to toppling.

he arrived at his camp. he accepted reports with a scowl. he marched to his office. he glanced through the window. he sat down.

he didn’t know why he was being so contradictory. he’d never felt this before towards anything, let alone something he actively despised. there was no reason for this. at all.

scaramouche picked up his pen, pulling over another dull report. the words bled together, the handwriting atrocious, and he was tempted to burn it. the only thing stopping him was the knowledge that it meant he’d have to ask for another from whatever recruit turned it in.

he tapped his pen on his finger. it was hard to focus, unnaturally, and he chalked it up to the weird feeling that’s been bugging him all day; the same one that wanted him to look at the stars. he sighed, adjusted his hat, glared at where a tassel caught on his chair, and picked up a pen again.

‘troops near chatrakam cave…’

purple eyes glared at his page, at where the ink bled a bit as he left his pen too long. what was his problem?

his eyes flicked to the window, to the curtains waving in the breeze coming though.

‘…have encountered no problems. all…’

‘…all…’

‘…all is going gwe-‘

scaramouche slammed his pen on his desk with a loud groan, standing from his chair and sending it skidding back. with stomping steps, he approached the offending window, reaching to shove the pale green curtains aside. he fumbled once on the lock but quickly pushed open the whole window, removing his hat to put his head through and glare at the sky.

“what the fuck could you possibly-…”

scaramouche stared.

his steel tongue was stilled, no quick remark or scathing quip coming to his mind. his thoughts were empty, his mouth suddenly dry as he looked upwards.

at his constellation.

he knew the moment he received a vision—how he wanted to see it shatter—that he had one, the image filling his mind alongside the elemental abilities. he knew what it was, he knew it’s name, he knew the six stars that composed it and the lines drawn between.

he didn’t know it was in the sky.

but there it was, blue stars shining brightly next to some orange bull, almost mocking him as he looked up at them. in his disdainful study of the stars, he knew that only a few were delegated to the prime positions in the sky, and that the latter of the two had been rotated in already. even if he didn’t, the way it’s stars outshone his made it clear.

curses rose and fell on his tongue, like a relentless tide that dared him to speak whilst taking away his air.

he knew what having a constellation in the sky meant. he knew it, and it was why he tried earnestly to destroy it the moment he got over the shock when he received it. he wasn’t picky about power, but power that came at the cost of being another gods puppet?

he’ll pass, thanks.

so to see himself in the sky, to know that at any moment strings could be tied around his wrists once more, that he could be jerked and pulled across a stage of another’s making-

the stars shone brighter.

his office fell away, his hat slipping from between his fingertips.

no.

he reached for it, he reached for his last semblance of a shield—he wouldn’t need it—from another god, but he barely felt the fabric before it was gone.

a white haze surrounded him, vaguely bubbling into clouds far beneath his feet as he stood on an invisible platform. a blurry rectangle was far out in front of him, a distorted voice warping through.

“-i have 45, that makes… i just have to get lucky, then…”

the voice was soft- you were soft, urging him to relax even as his rational mind fought. he could feel his heart speeding up in his chest, feel the war of emotions clouding his thoughts.

this wasn’t fair. you didn’t get to show up, after everything he’d been through, and expect him to fall into your lap. you didn’t get to do that, not to him, not now, not ever.

how he wished you’d catch him.

stars lit up the sky, one after another, and he saw one of them cross a flower-like constellation. you ooo’d and thanked whoever it was for answering—as if they had a choice—and sent out more stars, more wishes, the dust certainly fogging his head.

your voice grew clearer the more stars you summoned, his heart rate increasing in turn. how many did you have? would he be forced to go? why did he want to? would you wrap your divine hands around his and pull him into your team? why did his paper front of a soul leap at the idea?

emotions he’d never felt filled his chest, heat and warmth and icy frost pooling in his veins.

“50,” you called, voice alarmingly gentle in his ear. “please, scara, please?”

he should be proud to have a god so high begging for him. he should cross his arms and puff out his chest, he should smirk and glare with a comment about how even the divine can fall.

he was one of them.

“60,” you whispered, flaring the boil in his chest.

what did he do? what could he do? how did he get out of here? why didn’t he want to? what were you doing to him? what were these feelings? why did he never want them to fade?

“70. please? pretty please?”

he felt himself lurch as the star passed but gripped desperately to the invisible air around him, wide eyes searching for a way out. it was all clouds and stars, as far as he could see, with vague shapes slowly coming into focus around him. he saw something that he thought would direct your attention elsewhere, then realized it would take your gaze off him would only be temporary and saved his energy.

“80. come on, scara.. i promise i’ll be nice.”

nice? he wanted to laugh. he would have if he wasn’t so short on breath already- and yet somehow still lightheaded, his vision swimming as his fingers began to buzz. he could feel it, the invisible rope around his chest pulling as the purple stars whizzed by, and yet he held firm in his place amongst the clouds. he couldn’t answer you he wouldn’t be able to stay composed. he wouldn’t allow himself to be put under another’s jurisdiction again but he knew you were different, you were warm and soft and so different from her.

you would not have him yet.

you were not his god you were his true creator.

you laughed. he hated loved that it was edged with bitterness.

“damn. making me go to the shop again, huh?”

he wanted to apologize tell you it was a lost cause.

“well scara… 4 more wishes. i know it’s useless but… please?”

one.

the pull knocked the wind out of him, his treacherous to who? hands faltering their grip on the walls around him. in the blue light of the stars, he knew he was flushed with exertion.

he could feel it, the chance he was given. the choice to stay, to hear your voice falter and slip and plea, or to go. to answer the string pulling at his heart of glass, to trust and hope that you wouldn’t betray him like so many before.

two.

did he dare believe you? did he dare to trust the only one he could another god, to put his cracked trust in your palms and hope you wouldn’t drop it? did he go against his rules, did he follow the reputation he had built up, did he cling to the clouds before crashing down in regret his office?

who knew if you could be trusted? if he went, you’d have two harbingers under your thumb. what if you wanted to topple the fatui? what if this was a ploy to get him to trust you? what if you didn’t treat him like you did childe or any of the others, what if you wanted him to laugh and scorn and taunt? what if you wanted him just to see him try and pick himself off the floor where he landed, expecting nothing and yet still disappointed?

what if you wanted him for him?

three.

enveloped in gold, the wanderer could only wish that you would catch him.

#AY #I KNOW I POSTED TODSY AND ALL #AND I KNOW I HAVE 7+ OTHER REQUESTS TO DO #BUT I JUST GOT THE WANDERER #SO…. HERES THIS #genshin sagau #sagau #genshin #genshin impact #self aware genshin #scaramouche #wanderer #sagau scaramouche #sagau wanderer #my other gifts; journal; aviator glasses; clock puzzle; camera #genshin impact (2020): aye boss; we know it’s ya birthday n all: here’s a man with mommy issues and a god complex #he insults you when you run or use his burst; you’ll love him!#i do. thank you mhy 🙏#he’s my THIRD ANEMO DPS but i don’t care. me n the viridescent domain are besties (lying through gritted teeth)#ALSO THIS IS MY THIRD/FOURTH WON 50/50 IN A ROW?? sagau is real #YO AND LAST TIME I GOT MIKO AND CHILDE WITHIN 20 PULLS EACH?? god has favorites and im one of ‘em /j #oh and the readers dialogue here is a lie. i was calling scara a bitchand a rat fuck (affectionate) the whole time.#doesn’t make for a good fic though so. eh.#also i am on my hands and knees BEGGING you to do this man’s trial and spam his burst. it’s so pretty omfg—#WHO gave him the pretties burst in game??? i need to send them a loving letter IMMEDIATELY #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x you #scaramouche x you #wanderer x reader

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