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drysaladandketchup · 2 months

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5 mattdrai for the writing meme please

I wasn't entirely sure how I wanted to handle this prompt, but I hope it's still to your liking, anon :)

5. things you didn’t say at all

"Hey."

Matthew really isn't in the mood for this right now. He was having a good time being back home in St. Louis for his first All-Stars, talking to some of the best players in the league, watching the skills competition, going out with the guys, and now the game is in a couple hours--

"Tkachuk."

Yeah, no, he's real. That's Draisaitl yelling at him. Well, he isn't yelling, but since he apparently is so hard pressed to even be around Matthew, it'll probably escalate to that soon.

I'd probably get off the ice.

Even if it was a joke--and maybe Matthew is willing to entertain the idea that it had been, coming from mister 'taken out of context'--it makes sharing the locker room awkward.

The thing is, he kind of likes Draisaitl. Admires his game, anyways, even if he is playing for fucking Edmonton. If Matthew had actually been drafted by the Oilers back then, like he thought, they probably could have been friends.

If he's being honest with himself, he kind of likes Draisaitl beyond hockey, too. Because he'd watched Leon's interviews, checked out his Instagram a little--he was curious, sue him--and because McDavid talks a lot when they're training at Gary's. Also, come on, Matthew's not blind. He hates the concept of him in Edmonton, but it's not fair to say Matthew genuinely hates the guy.

Right now though, this may be the first time he's heard Draisaitl ever actually say his name, and he wishes it was anyone else.

"Hey. Hang on." Draisaitl is in front of him now, stony and unreadable, and only then does Matthew realise like a fool that he has actually stopped. They're face-to-face, alone in one of the maintenance halls, the hustle and bustle of the arena a distant hum.

Matthew stares at him, not unkindly, because his mom taught him some damn manners, but not openly friendly, either. Not until he can get a gauge on what Draisaitl wants. Leon. It's Leon. That feels like the only thing Matthew really knows about the guy, sometimes.

"Did you want something?" Matthews asks coolly, leaning against the bricks with his hands shoved deep in the pocket of his sweater.

Leon glances down the hall, up to the buzzing florescent lights, running fingers through his hair. It's hard not to follow his tongue when it pokes out to wet his lips. Damn it, he has no business looking this good.

"I wanted to talk to you," he finally says, and even after all this time Matthew is still caught off guard by how soft he sounds.

"Talk to me?" Matthew narrows his eyes. "I didn't think you'd even want to be seen with me."

Which is a shame, because they'd look pretty damn good together. In his opinion, anyways.

Leon doesn't take the bait. "I saw that interview you did."

"Buddy, you're going to have to be more specific. I've done a few lately. It's the All-Stars."

"Before the break. I don't remember with who. NBC, I think? They asked you about me. What I said."

He doesn't need to elaborate. Matthew raises a brow, scratches the sudden itch at his neck. The air in the hallway is stuffy and warm.

"What about it? I said you were a great player."

"After that, though."

Leon doesn't need to elaborate on that, either. The intensity of his stare does the job well enough.

What did Matthew say again? I probably can't answer that or he'll get mad at me.

Yeah, because the only thing running through his head when he heard what Leon said was, Well damn that sucks because I wanted to find out if he fucks better than he fights. He remembers biting his lip because his brain unhelpfully supplied him with some tempting ideas that were not exactly family friendly. He's twenty-two, he's got hormones, what's he going to do?

But he was pretty sure declaring he wants to fuck a rival player wasn't going to win him any favours with anyone, let alone Leon. And maybe that comment irked him a little in the moment, but no one's opinion matters to Matthew more than his own. Accidentally outing himself during an interview was not high on his list of career moves, so he'd played it safe, locked it all down, and assumed that'd be the end of it.

"I didn't say anything," Matthew says.

This feels strange. Leon doesn't look pissed, he looks curious. Piqued, like he's waiting to hear something specific.

"I know."

"So what's your problem?"

"What were you going to say?"

Matthew cocks his head. "What, you thought I was going to burst into tears because the German Gretzky doesn't like me?"

Except he knows Leon's not an asshole. Not all the time, anyways. Not off the ice. Which makes it fucking hard to just blow him off.

"You were all over us that game," Leon says. "Kass was pissed. You're a fucking pest, what the hell did you expect me to say?"

"Is this you trying to apologise? Because if it is, you're doing a hell of a job."

"You never hold back on anything."

"Why the hell does it matter?" Christ, it's like Leon is trying to pick a fight.

"You looked like you had something to say." There's a hint of suspicion--of implication--in Leon's voice that makes Matthew tense.

"You think I'm an asshole, so I don't know why you care."

Maybe this is a prank. Maybe he figured it all out and he's waiting for Matthew to break down and declare, I think I could fall in love with you if you let me.

Leon shuts his eyes briefly, shoulders rising and falling as he takes one long, deep breath through his nose.

"I didn't mean it how it sounded."

"Yeah, I heard." Matthew's stomach rolls in ways it shouldn't. "I don't know what other context you want me to take it in, though. It's not even a big deal, anyways. I mean, yeah, it kind of sucks finding out a guy you like thinks you're a piece of shit, but it's whatever, right?"

"I didn't call you--I don't think you're--"

Groaning, Leon thumps his head against the wall and dragging a hand down his face. He takes a minute to compose himself, staring up at the ceiling, then down between his feet, face screwed up in thought. Finally, he looks back to Matthew.

"You like me, eh?"

It's been a long weekend; Matthew's too tired to backpedal and try to make up some excuse. Part of him just wants to drop it out in the open and be done with it. Just come out and say, Yeah, the 'I want to take you home' kind of like. The 'I want you to make me scream' kind of like.

Just to see what Leon would do. At the very least, he probably wouldn't punch Matthew. He's not a glove-dropper, after all, and he's not so scary without a stick in his hand.

He tries to imagine Leon's wide eyed, slack-jawed expression. Maybe the little 'Oh' that would slip through his lips. Because yeah, 'Oh' would be about right. It would be the most embarrassing conversation of Matthew's life; more embarrassing than when he came out to his family and Brady asked him to rank his favourite players by 'fuckability'.

"It doesn't matter." Matthew shakes his head, clears his throat, looking anywhere but at Leon. "Look, man, let's just go back to beating each other up on the ice and pretend this never happened, okay?"

"No, hey, don't"--Leon grabs Matthew's arm as he pushes off the wall, fully ready to disappear and never talk about this again--"It does matter. Tell me."

Matthew would rather go dunk his head under the sink and rub the embarrassing flush from his cheeks. He's hot all over, from the beating in his chest to the blood in his veins. Where Leon's touching tingles with an intimacy they've never had. It may be the first time they've touched without the aggression of a game to justify it.

And damn, Leon's looking at him like he can read Matthew's mind, or trying to get Matthew to read a little of his own. It's all heat and intensity and a look that says, I don't think you hate me, and I don't want you to think I hate you.

"What do you want from me?" Matthew says. "Why's this so important to you?"

It's possible he imagines the way Leon's eyes flit down and back. They're pressed almost right against each other now. That must be why Matthew's overheating, struggling to catch a full breath.

"i just want to know..." Leon swallows the rest of his words as he takes half a step closer; a little too close to be innocent. That brick wall of a chest is pressed up against Matthew's arm, nearly crowding him against the wall.

"Know what?" Matthew barely gets the words out.

It's scary to wonder. Ideas are forming in his head--excited, hopeful ones. Matthew won't pretend he's never wondered about Leon; what he could do with him. To him. How his mouth tastes, how his hands feel, what it'd be like having him over and under and around and inside.

And Leon is looking at Matthew like he genuinely cares how he feels. Like maybe, just maybe, he's thinking, too. Wanting.

Wouldn't that just be the biggest fucking drama of Matthew's life?

There's still too much they're not saying.

Neither of them gets the chance.

Something clatters down the hall, followed by the echo of voices.

Leon lets go abruptly, hand dropping to his side. "Shit, sorry. I should, um... Never mind. Just... forget it."

He spins and walks away, just like that, shoulders hunched and hands shoved in his pockets. For a guy who never backs down from a challenge, it looks a little too much like running away.

But it's not like Matthew can call him a coward when he can't even get his own voice to work. Breathless, he slumps against the wall and tries to piece together what just happened, how they managed to say everything and nothing. It feels like he's been through a tornado.

Fuck, he can't deal with whatever this is right now. He cannot be thinking with his dick come game time, let alone worry about whatever the hell his heart is doing.

He stands alone in the hall for a good five minutes, waiting for his nerves to settle, until he finally has the courage to head back, falling into the bustle of players and staff and media.

He avoids Leon in the locker room as best he can. On the ice, too. They don't talk and they keep enough bodies between them on the bench.

Once this is over, they can crack open that can of worms again, figure out what's going on. But there's more important things right now.

They play the All-Star game like they're bitter rivals.

Matthew feeds him a slick pass that turns into a goal.

He skates off without a celly, and Leon gives him a "fuck you" with a smirk and a tongue between his teeth.

But it's fun. Really fun. And despite it all, they're both smiling at the end. Leon's smiling at him.

And Matthew wants to believe that means something.

#hockey #mattdrai #matthew tkachuk #leon draisaitl #my writing #asks #this fic gave me a hard time for some reason #I didn't want to to do the obvious 'the thing you didn't say was that you love me' but I guess it kind of became that anyways lol #really my first thought was just 'matthew never said what he thought about leon's get off the ice comment and it haunts me' I NEED to know

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zombiekillerbiceps · 1 year

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Aftercare

Notes: thanks for the request anon! I decided the aftercare was going to go both ways. Hope this is fluffy enough for you 🥰

Content: 1k words, 18+, aftercare, implied rough sex, LeonxReader, g/n reader, fluff

You stared up at the ceiling, trying to catch your breath. Leon laid down next to you with a huff. His breath was still heavy, his eyes closing with post-release drowsiness. You took a moment to take him in. His blonde hair was falling into his face, gently outlining the sharp angles of his cheeks. His lips were parted slightly as he panted for air. You admired his aquiline nose, so straight and strong, but most of all, you loved his eyes. Light blue and usually so serious, it seemed sometimes like these moments were the only times he ever looked soft.

One eye popped open and he looked at you, grinning.

"What?"

You felt yourself giggling, "that was a lot of fun."

"Yeah?" He propped himself up on one shoulder, pushing the hair out of his face. His biceps curled as he supported his weight and the usually straight lines of his shoulders sagged as he relaxed. He almost looked like a painting. Narcissus or something.

"Yeah," you agreed. He leaned down and kissed you softly. Sweetly. When he pulled away, those blue eyes were so serious again. "How are you feeling?"

His hands were warm as they traced your body, gently tracing where bruises and bite marks were forming. A bite mark on your shoulder was deep enough to draw blood, and it looked like bruises were already rising on your thighs in the perfect shape of his fingertips. You reached up and took him by the jaw, tilting his head towards you so he could look you in the eyes.

"I enjoy all that stuff, you know." You reassured him. You knew sometimes he got scared of his own strength. "Even when it hurts, it feels good. I know you'd never really hurt me."

His fingertips brushed your cheek, eyes softening again.

"You're avoiding the question," he said. You smiled up at him.

"I'm pretty sore. Tired. A little bit overwhelmed I mean... Babe five times? Five times."

"Would have been more if you'd let me," he flashed a cocky grin at you. Then he sat up, breaking the moment of comfortable afterglow. You sighed. You should probably use the washroom, get cleaned up and all that. You went to stand, but your legs shook, refusing to support your weight.

You fell into Leon who supported your weight like it was nothing. His hands held your elbows while you steadied yourself. He helped you to the washroom where you cleaned up a bit, and when you swung the door open again, he was there waiting with your fluffy housecoat.

"Babe, you didn't have to..."

He wrapped you up in it. When you were all cozy, he wrapped his arms around you and nuzzled into you. He was so warm, so comfortable. He took your hand then and walked you into the kitchen, where he sat you down on a chair.

He pulled the little first aid kit from under the sink and then produced a tube of polysporin from that. He dabbed a bit of the white cream onto a q-tip. You pulled down the shoulder of your housecoat. He wiped the bite mark off with an antibacterial wipe, then applied the polysporin.

"Thank you, Dr. Kennedy," you teased. He didn't say anything. He just smiled up at you softly, then returned to doctoring your battle wounds.

"Do you want an advil for the bruising?" He asked as he packed up the first aid kit. You hummed a negative. He tossed the first aid kit back under the kitchen sink and then crossed over to the freezer. You raised your eyebrows in a question, then almost squealed when he produced two tubs of ice cream.

"Babe is that... No way." You took a tub from him greedily, reading the simple label. "The honeycomb ice cream from that mead place! You didn't have to go so far out of the way just for me."

"Just for you? No, c'mon, these are both for me."

"Over my dead body," you snapped it away from his lunging grasp. You brought your feet up to his hips, holding him off while you stretched your hand as far from him as possible. The chair rocked backwards. His reflexes never failed. He braced himself against the table with one hand, catching your chair with the other. His tub fell into your lap.

You looked at each other, then burst into laughter while he pulled the chair back into place.

"My hero," you teased.

"Grab us some spoons and meet me in the living room," he says, still smiling at you.

You oblige, gathering your fluffy house coat around you. You pulled the last two clean spoons from the drawer and meandered into the living room at an easy pace. He was lounging on the couch, sweatpants and a faded t-shirt hugging the form of his body. One arm outstretched as he flicked through the options. He saw you and opened his other arm, beckoning you to lie with him. You do, resting your full weight on him, knowing he can handle it. Both tubs of ice cream sit on the floor, cracked open and within easy reach.

"Can we watch something funny?" You ask.

"Have you heard of Always Sunny?"

"Ew," you scrunch your nose, "I hate that show. Do not."

He laughed and conceded.

"How about the Simpsons?"

"Okay! But only before s-"

"Before season eleven, I know."

You hummed happily, comfortable in this domestic moment with him. Your hips still hurt, and you were still tired, but the ice cream and classic Simpsons raised you from your sub drop. He stroked your hair, the two of you content in each other's company. By the end of the first episode you were feeling much closer to normal again.

"Thank you for this," you eventually mumbled around a mouthful of ice cream.

"Thank you for always reassuring me. After. I just... Need to hear it sometimes," Leon replied, kissing the top of your head.

"I know." You leaned your head up to him, giving him a kiss. It tasted like cream and honey and sugar. "I love you."

"I love you too."

#re4r fanfic #re2r fanfic #resident evil fanfic #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy imagine #resident evil fluff #the Always Sunny joke is a reference to that egg in a trying time meme thats popular i thought i was being cheeky #as always if you liked this consider reblogging or leaving a comment!#this was so fun to write someone gimme more fluff #the honeycomb ice cream is based on ice cream my husband buys me when I'm Big Sad or menstruating and it's the best thing I've ever had #so I'm sharing my honeycomb ice cream with you reader

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