“Are you ever angry?” You ask quietly, head resting in Bakugou’s lap. His thumb pauses where it strokes your cheeks, the far away gaze in his eyes suddenly snapping into focus as he looks down at you. He looks…different than you remembered, before you both were cast out of the pearly gates.
His hair doesn’t shine as bright as it used to, and it falls a little flatter without the halo pulling it up, soft. His eyes still hold that hardened gaze as a battle angel, but they’re deeper now. More sunken in and hollow, the flickering ichor now a stained crimson. His face is scarred and his hands are rough after the fall but he’s just—different.
“About what?” He asks, his lips pursed in confusion. You reach a hand up, stroking over his bottom lip, smooth a hand through his hair. You can almost feel the throbbing light radiating from him, can almost see how broad and ivory his wings would spread and hold you tight to him.
“It all. Everything. The fall.” You whisper, try not to shrink into yourself with the way Bakugou’s lip curls back in disgust. He pulls away from you and you sit up, resting on your knees, looking at him in such a way that his heart pangs in his chest.
His heart, something he’s never had a reason for when he still had his fists bathed in heavenly fire and no ounce of rebellion hidden under sinless skin. It aches in his chest at the mention of life after being kicked out with the only thing he could hold onto—you.
“Why would I miss my thoughtlessness? My inability to make a decision for myself? Why would I miss being a pawn?” Bakugou is all snarls, all snapping teeth and jowls, but it doesn’t scare you. He’s never scared you, even when his gait was limp from the impact of hard soil, and his hands grew rough, and his back grew jagged from ripped feathers.
“I miss it.” You whisper so carefully into the humid night, hands reaching for his own trembling ones. “I want to be holy again, Katsuki.”
He hisses at you, snatching away like you’ve burned him, like you’ve seized his halo and ripped it into two until it split into horns. Looks at you with such heavenly fire burning in his gaze that you want to shrink beneath him.
“Well—well I don’t. Find someone else who will, cause it sure as hell ain’t me.” You wonder who he’s trying to convince here, with his shaky voice and fluttering eyes and trembling mouth. You stare at him for a long while, lips wobbling at the gravity of it all. Your head hangs low, gathering yourself in your arms, head bowed to him—it’s the only thing you’ve ever known.
“Just hold me for now.” You murmur, eyes low as you settle yourself in his arms, forcing your way into his hold. “Please?” You tack on, unafraid of his bite, his snarl, his growl. Bakugou sits there stiffly for what feels like a century, but you’re used to waiting.
He gathers you in his arms slowly, pulling you into his chest, his body covering yours completely. And if you let yourself relax enough, you can almost feel the warmth of his wings surrounding you again.
226 notes
·
View notes
22 Mattdrai please
Thank you anon! I hope you enjoy :)
22. things you said after it was over
Last year, it was Matthew's precious Flames that got punted out of the playoffs. To add insult to injury, it was at the hands of the Oilers. Which is why, that same night, he sent Leon a slew of drunken texts from some dingy downtown bar because he was not in the mood to even look at Leon, let alone go home with him.
Those texts included one declaring they were breaking up, which Leon didn't take to heart because not even five minutes later he got another message assuring him that no they were not actually breaking up Matthew was just going to hate him for the next 48 hours. That, Leon could handle.
Hell, he'd probably have gone for 72 hours. Minimum. And he had to rest his ankle anyways, if he wanted any chance of seeing ice-time the next game. He'd be there when Matthew was ready.
This year, it's the Oilers who go out first.
Leon just barely keeps it together through the post-game media frenzy. He doesn't want to look at the cameras, barely keeps the shudder from his voice, which is little more than a whimper because he just can’t breathe. Hunkered down with his hood up because it feels safe, the only barrier between him and a world that just crushed his dream. Again.
It's not like he can be mad at Matthew, because he fucked off to Florida, a whole other division, so Leon has no excuse for not answering any of his texts, or the six separate times Matthew tried to call after Vegas knocked Edmonton on it's ass.
Only once Leon's back home for the night, drained and exhausted and dazed, refusing to go out with Connor and the guys because he really, really doesn't want to exist right now, does he look at his phone.
Cuddling Bowie in his arms, he sits on the couch and scrolls through the avalanche of texts from Matthew. The last one catches him off guard, and he stares at it, reading it over and over.
come down and see me. please.
And... yeah. Through the doom and gloom of another lost season, he misses Matthew. Matthew, who's season isn't done. Matthew, who doesn't need Leon, but wants him. Wants him to be there.
So Leon books a flight to Florida, and starts packing.
The next day he goes in early for clear-out, says his goodbyes, and drives right to the airport. After an almost nine hour flight--including a layover in Denver that's great for his legs but not his morale--he lands in Fort Lauderdale just as the sun hits the horizon.
Matthew's waiting for him at Arrivals, dressed in board shorts and sandals and button-down shirt, sunglasses and that damn bucket hat. He smiles when he sees Leon, waves, and the simplicity of it chips away at the heavy stone sitting on Leon's chest. He always breathes better when he's with Matthew.
"What, not even a sign?" Leon calls out once he's in earshot. "I thought you were excited to see me?"
Matthew slaps the brim of Leon's hat down over his eyes. "Next time I'll bring confetti canons and air horns."
And fuck, just hearing Matthew's voice again without a phone between them lifts a weight off Leon's shoulders. It almost makes the defeat worth it.
His hands are too empty suddenly. He wants to hold Matthew's, wrap him up in his arms, touch him anywhere and everywhere, inside and out. Replenish old memories, make new ones. Never let go again.
Matthew gets the jump on him once they're in his car, dragging Leon over the center console by his shirt and into a sloppy kiss. It's all tongue and teeth, scratchy beard and plush lips, and as always, it's perfect. This too, aches like a phantom pain when they're on opposite ends of the continent. Phone sex and a bit of imagination with his own hand can't totally replace the sex, but it definitely can't replace the sweetness of a kiss.
When he pulls back, Matthew looks like he's going to immediately drop the one thing Leon really doesn't want to hear--the dreaded I'm sorry about what happened--so he jumps first.
"I missed you."
If Matthew knows he's purposely being cut off, he doesn't show it. He bumps their foreheads together and closes his eyes, like he's just soaking Leon in.
"Missed you too."
As the dusk fades to night, they drive, and drive, and drive. Not to Matthew's house, that's immediately obvious, but Leon doesn't ask where they're going. He slumps in the passenger's seat, leg tucked up against the dashboard, and goes between watching palm trees and glistening waterfront, to watching Matthew.
He tries not to think about hockey, but it was a long and restless flight, and Matthew's got a stupid little air freshener shaped like skates, and the playoffs aren't actually over, so of course the first thing Leon says to break the silence is, "When's your next game?"
Matthew taps his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music playing on the radio. "Thursday. Against Carolina. We're flying out the day after tomorrow."
"Hmm. So what are we doing with all that time?"
"Fucking, hopefully." Matthew glances sidelong at him, tongue poking between his teeth. "At least for part of it. I still have practice, and you need to relax."
"What am I doing while you're gone?"
"Waiting for me to come back? You can stay at my place. Come to the games when we're at home. My family's going to drop in too, so, you know, be prepared for that."
Won't be Leon's first tangle with the Tkachuks. Pretty sure he's an honorary member of the family at this point, even if he still struggles to keep up with the energy they bring to a room. Not that he minds.
The rest of the drive is quiet enough that Leon dozes off. When he wakes up, groggy with jet lag, it's dark aside from the street lights, and Matthew is pulling into a parking lot up from a small, deserted beach. Leon doesn't know which one; there's so many here. He follows Matthew out of the car and down the promenade, down the stone steps to the sand, where grains slip between his toes and the sound of the waves soothes the storm in his own head.
Which is exactly why Matthew brought him here; somewhere secluded, somewhere that can't hurt him. Because Leon loves the ocean, and Matthew loves him.
He follows Matthew along the beach, going nowhere in particular. Matthew walks purposefully nonetheless, head high and shoulders back, warm breeze tugging at his clothes and ruffling his curls. Something Leon loves to do too, and can't wait to do again.
This place looks good on Matthew. If only it weren't so far away.
"I'm glad you came," Matthew says over his shoulder, slowing until Leon catches up. "I wasn't sure you would."
Why not? The year-round heat and the beaches and the seemingly endless bars are a nice change of pace. But more importantly, this is where Matthew is. Of course he was going to come.
"Beats sitting around re-watching the second round wondering what we could have done differently," Leon says instead, because it's true, and because he doesn't need to tell Matthew what he already knows.
"Hey, that's not a bad thing. But it's not what you need right now." Matthew swallows, takes an uneven breath like he's the one getting choked up. "I saw your interview yesterday. After the game. Leon, you know I didn't call you down here for me, right? Don't get me wrong, I'd fucking love for you to be here watching us play, but the way you sounded... I was worried you'd end up sitting around your house all alone and depressed."
"I'm not depressed. And I wasn't going to. I was planning on going back home."
"Great, so you can mope around in Germany instead."
"I wouldn't have been alone."
"Much as I love Bowie, he doesn't count, babe."
Leon stops walking, staring at the sand until Matthew stops too, turning back and right into Leon's space to block the wind, which has taken on a chill.
"Leon--"
"Our season's over, Matthew," he mutters. "I really thought we could... I didn't want it to end here."
Matthew sighs, but his eyes are sympathetic. "Yeah. I know. But you're not done. There's always next year. And a bunch more after that."
The same platitudes, every time. It's empty words. Leon knows it. Matthew knows it. But what else is there to say? You fall, you get back up, you try again. Rinse and repeat. That's what this league is.
In any other circumstance, Matthew would probably make some crack about the Oilers and how assuming you guys can actually get your shit together, you may have a chance, but it's, you know, fucking Edmonton, so...
But he's being kind for Leon's sake. Because Matthew's forked tongue turns to silk when he's off the ice. He's so gentle at times like this, handling Leon with kid gloves like he thinks he'll shatter if he so much as breathes too hard.
"I'm just getting tired of it always being 'next year'," Leon admits easily, because it is easy with Matthew. "Every time we come close, we get knocked down. It feels like shit. I'm fucking tired of it."
Every time he climbs the ladder, he tastes victory. The higher the wrung, the sweeter it is. And every time he falls, there's a tiny part of him that worries he'll never get his feet off the ground again.
"Hey." Matthew cups his cheek, forcing Leon to look him in the eye, into pale blues that dance and shine even in the dark. "You're not giving up on me, are you?"
The question catches him so off guard Leon jerks like he's been struck.
"What? No. Fuck no. The hell kind of question is that?"
Quitting has never even crossed his mind. He didn't come into this league thinking it would be easy. He's worked his ass off to get where he is, and sure he's got his own liabilities to work through, but he'll keep going until something gives out.
"Good. Just making sure." Matthew looks so damn smug, but Leon's learned to find that endearing too. "Only place left to go is up, right?"
Right. Leon said something like that to Matthew, once. You win or you lose. Only two options. If you lose, then all you can do next time is win. If you win, you keep winning until you make it to the top. Anger into action, failure into fortune.
Matthew's hand slips down Leon's forearm, searching for his hand, but stops when Leon flinches, and brushes a callused thumb back and forth over the bruise there.
"This from Pietrangelo?"
Leon huffs. "Maniac, yeah. It's fine. It wasn't as bad as it looked."
"Want me to rough him up a little if I see him down the line? My treat. Actually, it'd be my pleasure."
There's that blinding confidence. The Matthew that's going to ensure they blow right past Carolina, through Dallas or Vegas, and raise the Cup. Who's dumb enough to argue with him?
"If you want." Leon's almost too tired to smile, but he tries anyways.
And Matthew softens too, cheeks pinked and teeth showing between his parted lips. It's hard to think back to a time when he would never look at Leon like this; like he's so fucking in love with him it's physically impossible to hide it. Leon can only imagine how he looks to Matthew.
"I'll make you another deal while we're at it," Matthew says.
"A deal or a promise?" Leon knows what's coming, because he knows Matthew. His heart still jumps up into his throat.
"I'll win the Cup for you."
They've learned to say I love you in a million different ways. Somehow, they keep finding new ones.
It's so stupid. Matthew's not arrogant. But then again, he seems to be playing a game no one else is, in a way no one else can. He oozes confidence and bleeds charisma, possesses the kind of karma that can change destinies.
If anyone could actually say it, and do it, it's Matthew. Damn if Leon doesn't believe it, too.
So all he has to do is smile, nod, and say, "Okay."
"Just to be clear," Matthew says, "I'm not doing it for the Oilers. I'm doing it for you. And for me and the Cats, obviously. Maybe... maybe a little more for me and the Cats. No offence, babe."
Leon snorts. "It's fine. It's yours. You earned it."
"So have you." Damn right he has. "Shit just sucks sometimes."
Leon scoffs and rolls his eyes to whatever unseeing deity keeps fucking him over. But he's done wallowing. He's got something so much better standing right in front of him.
"You said this was a deal." Leon tugs him closer, one hand cupping the back of Matthew's head, pressing the words against his mouth. "So what do you want from me?"
Matthew smiles under his lips. "I just want you to be there to see it."
28 notes
·
View notes
If you ask me to leave I will
Neil Josten picked up his phone as soon as he saw that it was Andrew.
“-stay. I don’t want you here anymore. Leave, run, like you always do.”
Neil’s entire world crashed. A screaming static rang in his ears and through it he heard the click of the phone call ended by Andrew. A phone, his phone, the phone that Andrew got Neil, clattered onto the floor and Neil went down with it, his legs giving out. Oxygen couldn’t reach his lungs because his lungs had collapsed within him, suffocating his heart while his ribs crushed it simultaneously.
Neil allowed himself just a second on the floor, heart bleeding out and then he pulled himself up so quick that his vision whitened. His duffel bag was packed before he even registered it, it took everything in Neil to leave the keys. Neil could not afford to linger, to look back, to even think for a second why and what did he do wrong. Maybe Andrew realised what a danger he was to his family. With the trials of Nathan going on right now and his ties to the mafia, it made sense. Neil had always been a liability and danger to everyone around him. Look at how his mother had turned out, and Seth and-
Neil stifled any remaining thoughts because if he even hesitated for a second he would not be able to make it out of the door and he could not stay when Andrew did not want him here anymore.
Andrew opened the door before Neil could reach for it. Neil was a greedy bastard because he allowed himself one last look that he would burn to his memory, a small diminishing candle that hopefully could keep him alive on his run. The thought of how Andrew and the foxes would be safe.
Andrew was frowning, his eyebrows furrowing that there was a wrinkle between his eyebrows and some tiny ones on his forehead, his lips were thinned and displease, probably annoyed that Neil was still here when Andrew had already told him to leave.
“I’m sorry, I’m going now.” Neil could not tear his eyes away from Andrew’s face. The silky blond hair tousled from the wind outside, molten gold eyes that was more precious and hard than anything else in the world, that could hold up even Neil’s most fucked up baggage and thoughts. Neil would cherished the time he had with Andrew instead of being greedy that they did not have more.
“Where,”
“Away,” Andrew looked even more tensed now, he had crossed his arms over his chest and he seemed to be blocking the door now. Neil couldn’t complain, whatever bought him more seconds with Andrew would be worth anything.
“Why,” that made Neil paused. Why would Andrew ask when Andrew was the one to ask Neil to leave in the first place. Neil looked more closely and realised how tensed Andrew looked, and not in an annoyed way. Andrew’s eyes looked the same way as when Neil had nightmares, concern for Neil.
“You told me to go,” Neil’s voice sounded ragged even to his own ears. He sounded pathetic and hurt and he cringed from it.
“I never did.” Now Andrew looked angry, the familiar rage settled Neil just a bit.
“You called me and told me to leave and run like I always do,” Neil voice cracked at the word always.
It took Andrew only a few seconds to piece everything together.
“I was talking to Bear.”
Now it was Neil’s turn to be confused, “Who?”
“The stray dog on campus,”
Neil’s lungs expanded and he could finally breath since the phone call. He didn’t even realise how tight he was holding the straps of his duffel bag until he let it dropped and his fingers started to cramp.
“Oh,” the relief must be apparent on his face and then the belated familiar panic attack came but the same steady hand clamped the back of his neck as well.
Neil and Andrew sunk onto the floor and Andrew shoved Neil’s face onto his shoulder. Neil began to laugh hysterically, I can stay I can stay Andrew never asked me to leave, were the only things running through his mind even though his chest was breaking and burning and his hands were shaking and sweating. The grounding hand on his neck was the only thing tethering him to the world and the only thing that made sense and got him to breath through the broken pieces of his body that had turned onto flight mode since the phone call.
Slowly, pieces of his body settled back and his breathing was almost normal. Exhaustion settled in and finally, Neil noticed that his hands had clamped onto Andrew’s hoodie, no his own hoodie, the bright number 10 on Andrew’s back. Finally, Neil pulled slightly away, still close enough that he could smell Andrew’s familiar cologne. He looked up and was met with Andrew’s angry glare. It made Neil smiled.
“I can’t believe you butt dialled me.”
Andrew’s biting hands and lips were the only answer and it was more than enough.
23 notes
·
View notes