#mb13 x reader

[yvaineseleneposts]

Eventually

Requested: no

Pairing: Mat Barzal x reader

Words: 5k

Warning(s): none

It was one of those perfect fall evenings in Long Island — the kind where the air is crisp, but not cold, and the sky burns soft orange before fading into navy. I was halfway through curling the last section of my hair when the door creaked open behind me.

"Going somewhere fancy?" That voice — smooth, familiar — drifted in from the hallway.

I didn’t even have to look. “Don’t you knock anymore, Barzy?”

Mathew leaned against the doorframe, that cocky half-grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Didn’t know I needed to. Still practically family, right?”

I rolled my eyes, trying to focus on the curling iron and not the fact that he was looking at me through the mirror. “Dinner. Just... dinner.”

He stepped into the room, arms crossed over his chest, wearing one of his usual all-black fits — joggers, hoodie, backward cap. Casual, effortlessly him.

“Who’s the lucky guy?”

I hesitated. Just for a second. Just long enough that he noticed.

“Tyler,” I said, turning off the iron. “You’ve met him. He plays baseball at Hofstra.”

Mathew didn’t respond right away. Just stared for a beat too long. Then he nodded once and gave me a soft smile — one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“That guy,” he said, almost to himself. “Yeah. Cool.”

He turned to leave, like it was no big deal, like we hadn’t grown up sneaking popsicles on the porch or dancing like idiots in my kitchen to ‘80s music. Like he hadn’t once told me, half-drunk on New Year’s, that he’d marry me if we were both single at thirty.

“Matty,” I said, voice catching. He paused, one hand on the doorframe.

“It’s just one date.”

He didn’t turn around, but his voice was low when he spoke. “It’s all right. I know that in the end…” He finally turned to look at me — eyes soft, unreadable. “We’ll be together.”

Then he was gone. And I just stood there in my room, heart thudding like a war drum, wondering when exactly everything between us got so complicated.

Tyler met me outside the restaurant, leaning casually against his car with a bouquet of wildflowers — not roses, not something cliché. Actual wildflowers. And maybe it was just the night air or the fact that I was still replaying Mathew’s words, but I felt something shift.

“You look beautiful,” Tyler said, brushing a piece of hair behind my ear.

“Thank you.” I smiled — it wasn’t forced.

Dinner was easy. Effortless, even. Tyler was funny in a laid-back, clever kind of way. He didn’t try too hard. He didn’t ask about Mathew — though I caught the moment he registered the name when the hostess greeted me like she knew me and casually asked, “How’s Mat? He hasn’t been in with you lately.”

Tyler just smiled through it. No jealousy. No weird tension. Just… cool.

And I liked that. I liked that he wasn’t from my past, that he wasn’t tangled up in family history or backyard hockey games or shared inside jokes from a decade ago. Tyler didn’t know that I broke my wrist trying to impress Mathew on rollerblades when I was twelve. He didn’t know how Mathew always made me pancakes after a breakup. Or that he kissed me once on a dare — and once when he really meant it.

Tyler just knew me, right now.

After dinner, we walked by the water. The breeze whipped a little too hard for my dress, but I didn’t care. Tyler offered me his jacket. I didn’t say no.

And when he kissed me under the streetlight, soft and slow — not demanding, not overthinking — I didn’t stop him. I kissed him back, because it felt right. And maybe it wasn't the fireworks I’d always imagined with Mathew, but it was something else: real. New. Warm in a different way.

But as soon as I stepped into my room later that night, the jacket still draped over my shoulders, the doubt crept in. The memory of Mathew’s voice echoed in my mind like a haunting:

“It’s all right. I know that in the end, we’ll be together.”

I sat on the edge of my bed and stared at my phone, thumb hovering over his name. Because suddenly, I didn’t know if I wanted him to be right… or if I wanted to prove him wrong.

I didn’t see Mathew for two days after the date.

Which might not sound like a big deal — except it was. We were always bumping into each other. Grabbing coffee, crashing each other’s family dinners, him showing up uninvited with leftover sushi and a stupid movie in hand. And now, nothing.

No texts. No random memes. No sarcastic “morning, sunshine” snap. Just… silence.

I told myself it was fine. He was busy — Islanders season was ramping up, he had practices, media days, workouts. But still, when I walked into my parents’ place for Sunday dinner and saw him already there — wearing that familiar grey hoodie, sitting at the counter like he belonged (because he kind of did) — something tightened in my chest.

His eyes met mine. Just for a second. Then flicked away. Cool. Casual. Like he hadn’t told me two nights ago that he thought we were endgame.

I swallowed hard and smiled. “Hey.”

“Hey.” His voice was low, unreadable. “Tyler not coming?”

So he knew. Of course he knew.

I shook my head. “No, he had plans. Family stuff.”

Mathew just nodded and went back to chopping vegetables, knife tapping against the cutting board like he had something to prove. I busied myself helping my mom, but I could feel it — the tension humming under the surface, like an electric wire between us. It wasn’t just awkward. It was... off.

Later, while everyone was outside watching the game around the firepit, I stepped into the kitchen for a drink. I wasn’t surprised when I heard him behind me.

“You okay?”

I turned, finding him leaning against the fridge, arms crossed.

“Yeah. Why?”

“You’ve been weird,” he said, eyes narrowing slightly. “Quiet. Different.”

I scoffed lightly. “Different how?”

Mathew shrugged, but there was heat behind his voice now. “I don’t know. Like your head’s somewhere else. Like maybe you’re trying really hard to pretend you’re not.”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. He took a step closer, and my heart started doing that annoying skip it always did around him.

“I saw you guys,” he said, voice softer now. “Downtown. After dinner. Looked like it went well.”

I swallowed. “It did.”

He nodded again — slow, resigned. “Right.”

There was silence, heavy and strange.

And then, without looking at me, he added quietly, “I just thought if it ever happened… if you ever felt something for someone else… I’d feel it. Like I’d know.”

I felt my breath hitch. He finally met my eyes. “But you’re not just into him, are you?”

God, why did he have to say it like that? I blinked, suddenly not trusting my own voice.

“Matty…”

He stepped back, like he’d pushed too far. “Forget it. I’m being dramatic.”

“No, you’re not. I just…” I trailed off, arms crossed, the weight of everything crashing in at once. “I don’t know what I’m doing. Okay? I don’t know.”

He gave a sad little smile. “You always used to say you hated love triangles.”

“Yeah, well,” I said, voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t know I’d end up in one.”

(Flashback)

It was the middle of January — freezing outside, the kind of cold that cracks your skin and makes your breath visible even indoors if the windows leak just enough. Mathew had just flown back from a West Coast road trip. I’d picked him up from the airport because his car was snowed in and no one else wanted to make the drive that late.

We ended up back at my place around midnight.

Not because we planned to.

Because we didn’t want to say goodnight yet.

We were sitting on my couch, legs tangled under a shared blanket, some movie neither of us was really watching playing in the background. He looked exhausted — eyes heavy, hoodie pulled low, hair still damp from the snow melting off him.

“Want tea or something?” I’d asked, half-rising from the couch.

He reached out and grabbed my wrist gently. “Stay.”

Just that. One word.

So I stayed.

It got quiet. The kind of quiet that has a pulse.

Mathew’s eyes didn’t leave mine. And suddenly the distance between us felt like nothing. His hand was still on my wrist, his thumb brushing back and forth like it belonged there.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t joke.

He just said, voice barely audible, “You know, sometimes I think I blew it. That I should’ve said something a long time ago.”

I blinked. “Said what?”

His jaw tightened. “That maybe I wasn’t just your friend. That maybe I wanted more.”

I don’t know what I expected. But it wasn’t that.

My heart was doing somersaults in my chest, and I couldn’t breathe for a second. He leaned in just slightly — not enough to kiss me, not really. But enough to feel his breath, to catch the flicker of hesitation in his eyes.

I didn’t move.

Not forward. Not back.

I froze.

“Matty…” I whispered, unsure of what came next.

He gave me a soft smile — one that hurt. “It’s okay. I’m not trying to screw things up. Just... had to say it once.”

And then he pulled away. Laid his head back on the couch cushion. Closed his eyes like nothing had happened.

We never talked about it again.

But I remembered every second of that night.

Especially now.

(Flashback over)

Tyler picked me up for lunch on Tuesday. He had that same easy energy that had drawn me in from the start — soft confidence, worn-in hoodie, eyes that smiled before his lips did.

“How’s your week going?” he asked as we slid into a booth at this tucked-away sandwich spot by campus.

“Busy,” I said, brushing hair behind my ear. “Family stuff. Some work things.”

I didn’t mention the fact that I’d spent the last two nights lying in bed, replaying a moment from almost four months ago — Mathew’s voice in the dark, the weight of everything unspoken between us.

Tyler nodded like he got it. “I’m glad we’re doing this. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you.”

“I have too,” I said. And it wasn’t a lie. But it also wasn’t the whole truth.

He smiled, reached across the table, and laced his fingers through mine. “You’ve got this energy about you,” he said. “It’s kind of… intense. Like you’re carrying a storm around, but trying really hard to keep it quiet.”

My breath caught — because how do you explain that the storm has a name?

He was still talking, gentle and curious. “I like it, though. It makes me want to know what’s underneath it. What gets you that way.”

I blinked, trying to push down the ache in my chest. “What if I don’t even know?”

“Then I’ll figure it out with you.”

He said it like a promise. Solid. Sweet. The kind of thing I would’ve swooned over a year ago.

But all I could think about was that night in January. Mathew’s fingers brushing my wrist. The crack in his voice when he said he wasn’t just my friend. And the worst part?

The way I hadn’t stopped thinking about that moment since Tyler mentioned the storm.

Because Mathew saw it too — long before Tyler ever noticed. He saw the whole storm. He was part of it.

I looked at Tyler, this sweet, steady guy who said the right things and looked at me like I mattered.

And all I could think was: Why isn’t it enough to let go of Mathew?

Why is part of me still stuck in a night we never talk about, in a promise I never made, in a kiss that never happened?

I squeezed Tyler’s hand. “I’m really glad we’re doing this too.”

And I meant it. Even if my heart was somewhere else entirely.

It was raining the next time I saw him. Not the kind of romantic drizzle that makes you want to dance in it — the real kind. Cold. Relentless. Soaking.

I was leaving the bookstore on Main when I spotted him across the street, hood pulled low, hands shoved in his pockets like he didn’t care that he was getting drenched. He didn’t wave. Just started walking toward me. By the time he reached the awning, I was already soaked from the knees down, clutching my tote bag like a shield.

“Matty—”

“I saw you.”

No preamble. No hesitation. Just three words, dropped like a stone in water.

I blinked. “What?”

He didn’t look angry. That was the worst part. His expression was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that comes right before everything breaks.

“That night. After dinner. By the water. I was driving back from the rink. I wasn’t following you or anything, I just—” He ran a hand through his wet hair, frustrated. “I saw you kiss him.”

I swallowed, throat tight. “Okay.”

“Okay?” he echoed, voice sharp now. “That’s all you have to say?”

“What do you want me to say, Matty?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the truth?” He took a step closer, rain dripping off the edge of his hoodie. “Tell me you didn’t feel anything. Tell me it didn’t mess with your head. Because it sure as hell messed with mine.”

I looked down, then back up at him. “Of course it did. But I didn’t owe you anything.”

That landed like a slap. He stepped back, jaw clenched.

“You’re right,” he said after a beat, voice low. “You don’t owe me a damn thing. But I thought—” He exhaled hard. “I thought maybe after everything… I deserved to know if I ever had a shot.”

My voice was barely a whisper. “You did. Maybe you still do.”

His eyes flicked up to mine — searching, like he didn’t trust what he’d heard. “Then why him?”

“Because he made things simple,” I admitted. “Because I was tired of wondering what we were. Because he didn’t make me feel like I was holding my breath all the time.”

He let that sink in. Nodded slowly, like he was filing it away for later.

“And me?” he asked, quieter now. “What do I make you feel?”

I didn’t answer right away. Because the truth? He made me feel like standing in the middle of a thunderstorm and laughing. Like being seen without having to speak. Like home and chaos and that one breathless second before a rollercoaster drops.

“Too much,” I finally whispered. “You make me feel too much.”

Mathew didn’t say anything. Just reached out, brushed a wet strand of hair from my cheek, and let his fingers linger for a moment longer than they should’ve. Then he stepped back.

“I’ll wait,” he said, voice steady. “As long as it takes. I’ll wait until you’re not scared of too much anymore.” And then he turned and walked back into the rain.

Leaving me on the sidewalk, heart pounding, soaked to the bone — and somehow, still burning.

I didn’t plan it.

Well — not really.

I knew the Islanders had a home game that night. Knew where to park without getting towed. Knew the guard at the side entrance of the arena well enough to get a pass if I smiled just right and said I was meeting Mathew.

What I didn’t know — couldn’t have planned — was how my heart would react the second I stepped into the cold concrete halls. Like muscle memory. Like my body knew this place because it knew him.

The game was winding down by the time I slid into an empty seat behind the glass. He was out on the ice, fast and sharp and maddeningly focused — the way he always was. Every movement, every shift, was electric. And all I could think about was that little kid from our backyard, skating circles in his socks, asking me if he looked like a pro.

I waited until the buzzer sounded and the crowd started filing out before heading down the tunnel. One of the staffers recognized me and waved me through with a wink.

“He’ll be out in a few,” the guy said. “He always takes forever.”

“Yeah,” I smiled softly. “I know.”

I didn’t mean to listen. Not at first. I was standing just around the corner, outside the locker room, when I heard his voice — unmistakable, even muffled through the concrete.

“I don’t know, man,” he said, and I could tell he was tired. Not physically — emotionally. “Everyone keeps saying it’s easy. That it’ll pass. That there are other fish in the sea.”

A pause. Someone mumbled something back, but she couldn’t catch it.

Then Mathew again, sharper this time — almost like he was laughing at himself.

“How long does love hurt?” he asked. “Why isn’t it just over? How long? A week? A year? Forever? I don’t know.”

Silence.

“I wish I didn’t still look for her in every crowd. Wish I didn’t check my phone twenty times a day for something she’s probably never gonna send.”

My heart lodged in her throat.

“She kissed someone else. I saw it. I know. And I still —” He stopped. Took a shaky breath. “I still feel like she’s mine. How messed up is that?”

I didn’t breathe. Didn’t move. Because hearing it — not in a fight, not in a moment charged with tension, but like this, raw and broken and just true — it undid me.

Someone else said something again. Joking, maybe. Trying to lighten it. But Mathew’s voice stayed soft.

“I loved her before I even knew what love was.”

And just like that, my feet moved. I turned around. Walked back the way I came and fast, because suddenly I wasn’t ready. Not for that kind of truth. Not for a love that deep and aching and honest. But just as I rounded the corner, I heard my name.

“Hey—” His voice, closer now. “Wait. You were here?”

I froze.

Slowly, I turned back.

He was standing in the hallway, half out of his gear, flushed from the game and still breathing hard — but his eyes were wide. Shocked.

“How much did you hear?”

I opened her mouth, but nothing came out at first. Then: “Enough.”

Silence stretched between them, thick as ice.

“I was going to surprise you,” I admitted, voice trembling. “Say hi. Maybe talk. But…”

“But you heard everything instead.”

I nodded.

He looked down, ran a hand through his damp hair, then met my eyes again.

“I didn’t mean for you to hear it like that.”

“But you meant it.”

A beat. Then: “Yeah. I did.”

And I didn’t know what to do with that — with the ache in his voice, with the fire still burning in my chest from words that weren’t even meant for my ears.

So I stepped forward.

Just once.

“Matty…”

And this time, he didn’t pull away.

I didn’t text Mathew after that night.

Not because I didn’t want to, because I did want to. More than anything. But some truths need time to settle before they can breathe.

Instead, the next morning, I met Tyler for coffee.

He was already at the café when I arrived, sitting by the window, sipping something iced. He looked like comfort — familiar, easy. The kind of guy you’re supposed to want.

“Hey, you,” he smiled, standing to greet me. “You okay?”

I nodded. “Just tired. Long night.”

He didn’t press. Just handed me a muffin and pointed to the drink he’d ordered for me — not my usual, not quite right, but close enough that it would’ve passed a week ago. Now, I noticed.

We took our drinks to go, walking aimlessly down the street. I waited, like always, for him to reach for my hand. He didn’t.

We passed through the glass door of a bookstore, and he let it fall shut behind him without glancing back. I caught it with one hand. It was nothing — a tiny detail. But it stuck.

Mathew always held the door. Always paused, always looked back. Even when they were barely more than kids. Even when they were mad at each other.

I shook the thought loose. Kept walking. Tyler pointed out a new sandwich place, cracked a joke about my inability to choose food when I was hungry, told me a story about his roommate’s weird late-night baking habit.

I laughed. Smiled. Played along but everything felt… off. Not bad. Just not right.

He didn’t glance sideways when we crossed the street — didn’t automatically shift to the outside like Mathew did every time, without thinking. He didn’t ask about my writing, or whether I’d started reading that book he recommended weeks ago.

I realized — slowly, quietly, achingly — that Tyler saw the version of me I showed on the surface. And he liked me.

But Mathew?

Mathew saw the chaos underneath. The cracks. The storm. And he still chose me.

Every time.

By the time we circled back toward my place, I was quiet. Lost in thoughts I didn’t want to voice, yet.

“You okay?” Tyler asked again, reaching for my hand this time. I let him take it. But the warmth didn’t settle the ache in my chest.

“Yeah,” I said. “Just thinking.”

He smiled. “Don’t overthink it. We’re good, right?”

I looked at him. Really looked.

He was kind. He was steady. He was everything I thought I wanted.

And he wasn’t Mathew.

My voice was gentle. “I need some time. Just to figure stuff out.”

His brow furrowed, but he nodded slowly. “Okay. I get it.”

And maybe he did. Or maybe he just didn’t see the storm at all.

It was nearly midnight when I got home.

The city outside my window was quiet — not silent, but soft. A kind of hush that only came with the late hours. The hum of a distant car, the occasional bark of a dog down the block, the low whir of the heater kicking on.

I kicked off my shoes and sat on the floor, back against the wall, lights off.

No distractions. No Tyler. No Mathew. Just me and the echo of everything unsaid.

I pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders and rested my head against the wall, staring into the dark like it might answer me.

This was the part no one talks about — the in-between. The space after the fall but before the leap. The part where you sit with the ache and ask yourself the questions you’ve been avoiding.

Did I love Tyler?

Not really.

I liked the idea of him. The simplicity. The safety. The fact that he didn’t come with a history I couldn’t rewrite.

But he never really saw me. Not all of me.

And Mathew?

God, Mathew knew me. Every version. Every messy, stubborn, loud, impossible version.

He saw through my silence, read between every sentence, held space for feelings I hadn’t even named yet.

He saw me. And it terrified me.

Because what if he saw too much? What if he was right — that they were endgame — and I still blew it?

My fingers traced the edge of the mug on the floor beside me, now cold. The steam had long since faded, but the ghost of warmth clung to the ceramic.

I thought about that night on the couch in January. The way his thumb had moved across my wrist like it belonged there. The way he’d said, “I wanted more,” like it was a confession and a promise all at once.

I thought about his voice in the locker room — quiet, cracked. Asking the universe how long love was supposed to hurt.

And I knew.

I wasn’t choosing between two guys anymore. This wasn’t about Tyler or Mathew.

This was about me.

Choosing to stop being afraid of the things that mattered most. Of loving someone who had always loved me back, even when I didn’t deserve it. Even when I was scared.

I whispered it into the silence, just to see how it felt.

“I love him.”

The words didn’t echo. They didn’t need to.

They just settled. Like truth.

And for the first time in weeks, maybe months, I let myself believe that it wasn’t too late.

It was raining again.

Of course it was. Same kind of rain as the night he saw me — steady, cold, and inconvenient. But I didn’t hesitate this time. I grabbed my coat, keys in hand before I could second guess, before doubt could talk me out of it.

The drive was short, muscle memory more than anything. I didn’t even have to think — I knew where he’d be.

His apartment was lit up when I pulled in. Warm light spilling out the window, familiar shadows dancing across the curtains. My heart thudded like it was announcing my arrival before I even got to the door.

I stood there for a second. Just breathing. Just feeling.

Then knocked.

It took a few beats. I heard movement inside — the scrape of a stool, a soft curse, the sound of feet padding across hardwood.

Then the door opened.

Mathew blinked at me, shirt rumpled, hair damp like he’d just showered. His eyes went wide, and then softened, like seeing me broke something in him and put it back together in the same breath.

“Hey,” he said, voice low.

“Hey.”

We stood there like that — silence stretching, comfortable and unbearable all at once.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d come,” he added.

“I wasn’t sure either,” I said honestly. “But then I realized I’ve spent so long being scared of the wrong things.”

His brow furrowed, but he didn’t say anything.

So I stepped closer. One breath. One truth at a time.

“I heard what you said. In the locker room.”

He looked down. Embarrassed. “Yeah. That wasn’t meant for you.”

“I know,” I said. “But I’m glad I heard it.”

That got his attention. His eyes met mine — guarded, but hopeful. Always hopeful.

I took a shaky breath.

“Matty… I’ve been trying so hard to move on. To feel something else. To prove that maybe you were wrong — that maybe we weren’t written into each other’s bones the way it always felt.”

I swallowed. My voice was trembling now.

“But no matter what I do, no matter how far I run — I still come back to you. I still feel you in every song, in every quiet, in every moment that should feel complete but doesn’t.”

Mathew stepped back slightly, like he needed to steady himself. Like my words knocked the air out of him.

“I love you,” I said, finally. “And I think I’ve loved you for longer than I’ve known how to admit it.”

Silence.

Then, slowly — painfully — he spoke.

“You mean that?”

I nodded, eyes shining. “I do.”

He stared at me like he was memorizing the moment. Then he reached out, gently, like I was something fragile. Like he couldn’t believe I was really standing in front of him.

His hand found mine.

And just like that — all the noise, all the years of almost and maybe and not-yet — finally quieted.

“I never stopped,” he said softly. “Loving you.”

“I know,” I whispered. “I think that’s what scared me.”

And when he kissed me, it wasn’t fireworks. It was something steadier.

Like rain on the roof.

Like a promise finally kept.

Like home.

[puck-luck]

i know you said a while ago that you’d consider writing for mat barzal but aren’t sure how to go about it and im just up late thinking about how barzy gives me suchhhh best friends to lovers vibes like hanging out ALL the time to the point where everyone assumes you guys are dating anyways, dropping literally everything when either of you needs the other, and things slowly progressing between you guys without either of you realizing it until one day one of your regular sleepovers is filled with so much sexual tension that you end up having crazy sex all over his apartment

closer than close | mat barzal

warnings: friends to lovers, fighting with friends (anthony beauvillier's ex emma simard), sharing a toothbrush (grosser than unprotected p in v IMO), (speaking of!) unprotected p in v, french kissing, booty callllll, sex in unconventional places (against a wall), fingering, dirty talk i guess, allusions to squirting but it's kind of left up in the air so... enjoy!

pairing: mat barzal x fem!reader

wc: 3,911

“You’re at Mat’s again?” Emma demands. Her outrage is no surprise to you. Ever since she and Tito broke up, she’s been more and more against your friendship with Mat. Sometimes you think it’s because she’s jealous that you remained friends with Tito’s friend after that ended, but sometimes you think she’s just mad that you’re denying something that isn’t there.

You shrug, untying the long socks from where they’re wrapped in your hair. The curls look good this time, unlike the last time you did heatless curls like this. Mat made fun of you relentlessly when they frizzed all over the place and curled all the wrong ways. “I haven’t left yet,” you reply. “I’ve been here all weekend.”

“Don’t you have work soon?” Emma asks.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m getting ready.” You squeeze a bit of toothpaste onto Mat’s toothbrush and pop it into your mouth. Emma makes a face at you and you make a face back. It’s simple– you forgot your toothbrush and Mat said you could use his. “And then I’ll probably come back. Mat’s injured and I’m bored in my lonely apartment, so we’re keeping each other company.”

Emma mumbles something you don’t catch.

“What?” you press. “What did you say?”

“All of this and you haven’t fucked,” Emma repeats, the look in her eyes growing sharp. “You keep denying it and keep denying that you want Mat and that he wants you, but you’ll spend three straight days at his apartment, sleeping in his bed and using his toothbrush. When are you going to admit that you guys are more than friends?”

“We’re not more than friends, Emma,” you say with a frown. “We’re close, but we’re not that close. I wish you’d stop saying that.”

Emma shakes her head and scoffs. “I have to go. Call me back when you figure things out.”

She hangs up and you frown, taking in the blank screen before you. You take only a split second to revel in confusion before you finish getting ready for the day. 

You try to push Emma’s comments out of your head, but they stick with you. You get to work and you’re still thinking about the look on her face through that tiny screen. You’re on your lunch break and start overthinking your friendship with Mat. You’ve always slept in the same bed because it’s easier– you’ve never wanted to mess up the pristinely folded sheets in his guest room. Plus, it’s not like you and Mat cuddle or anything. You stay on your side and he stays on his. You may have woken up with his arm over your stomach once or twice, but that’s a subconscious reaction to the chilly winter air. Mat keeps the apartment insanely cold. It’s not a surprise that his body tried to seek out your warmth. Even as you’re leaving for the day, you’re debating whether or not you should just go home to your own apartment rather than go back to Mat’s.

Your phone chimes with a text. It’s a picture of Mat and a steamer pot on the stove. He’s flashing a thumbs up in the picture and the accompanying message says, Making those dumplings you wanted! Hurry back or I’ll eat them all ;)

That sorts out your plans for the night. You don’t spare a second glance at the phone, nor the blue and orange hearts that you once put next to Mat’s contact name as a joke and never removed. 

The thought doesn’t cross your mind again until you’re laying on the couch with Mat, watching a movie before you go to bed. His head is on your lap and you’re carding your fingers through his hair. 

“That’s nice,” Mat murmurs.

It’s the first time he’s spoken in a while and it draws your attention to his lips. He’s practically falling asleep on your lap, eyes fluttering and nearly purring like a cat. Just this morning, you said you don’t cuddle with Mat, but here you are. He’s been pretty touchy today, or, maybe, you’re just noticing it more because Emma planted a seed in your mind.

You hum, twirling a strand of Mat’s hair between your fingers. You hope he doesn’t buzz it again. He’s done it twice now and, even though he can pull off the buzzcut, you prefer when his hair is this length. 

His lips are plush and pink and, well, Emma declared that you needed to figure it out. One little kiss, a tiny peck… that could be the end of it. You wouldn’t feel a thing, and neither would Mat, and you can tell Emma with absolute certainty that you and Mat are just friends.

You lean down and connect your lips for just a second. There’s no bright moment of realization washing over you, no life-changing feeling accompanied by a choir of angels. You kiss Mat and then you pull away.

He’s got that stupid look on his face, eyebrows raised and lips parted. “What was that?” Mat asks. 

You shrug. “Just wanted to see something.”

Mat seems to buffer. “By kissing me?”

“Yeah. Emma thinks we’re lying to ourselves when we say we’re just friends.”

“Emma… Tito’s ex?” Mat seems caught off guard. “She still thinks we’re hiding something?”

“I mean, she’s not the only one who thinks we’re more than friends. I’ve been thinking about it all day, so I just thought I’d go for it and see if I felt anything.”

Mat frowns and sits up. “You can’t tell something like that just from that measly little kiss you gave me. No one would feel anything from that shit. We have to actually kiss.”

A laugh bubbles up from your chest. “Actually kiss? What does that mean?”

“With tongue,” Mat replies. “If you still don’t feel anything after you kiss me with tongue– I’m pretty damn good with my tongue,” he sidebars with a wink, “Then you can tell Emma that she was wrong and you were right.”

“It just sounds like you want to kiss me with tongue,” you tease, squinting at Mat suspiciously.

He grins and wiggles his eyebrows at you. “We’re friends, but that doesn’t mean you’re not pretty,” Mat says. “I’m not against kissing you.” 

His words seem laden with a bit of seriousness, even though his smile and eyes are bright and joking. You don’t have the time to probe at that, not before Mat is reaching out and cradling your face in his palm. 

His smile is smaller, more gentle. His hand is warm.

When he pulls you in and parts your lips with a pass of his tongue, you feel a splash of dizziness run through your bones. Mat guides you, kissing you deeply. You can feel every curve of his mouth against your own. Almost immediately, you get the feeling that you should be memorizing this and noting the details.

Mat pulls away before you’re ready. “How was that?” he asks.

You blink at him for a moment, mouth opening and closing but not producing sounds.

He starts to laugh. “Speechless, huh?”

Your dumbfounded look turns to a glower. “Don’t brag, Mathew.”

“How can I not?” he teases. He thumbs at the side of your lip, wiping something from your face. “I just kissed you stupid.”

“Whatever,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest and turning back to the TV. 

You finish the movie without talking. His arm remains on the back of sofa during the duration of the film. You’ve never been more aware of Mat’s body next to yours, nor the space separating you. His arm is practically around your shoulders, but there are inches between your bodies, and your skin feels like it’s vibrating off of you. You go to bed with Mat, as normal, but in silence. There are miles between you and Mat in his king-size bed and for the first time in a long time, you consider going to the guest room.

The following morning is no better. You’re getting ready for work, packing your things up, making breakfast, and preparing to leave Mat’s apartment for at least the rest of the week. You assume that he’s still asleep, since he doesn’t have PT until the afternoon, but you hear footsteps padding down the hall as you reach the front door. He follows you all the way to the doorframe, resting his hand on the crown moulding and looking down at you.

“Have a good day at work,” Mat mumbles. “Are you coming back here tonight?”

You look away and shrug. “I should probably go home for once.”

Mat is silent for a beat too long. “Okay,” he says simply. “I’ll miss you.” Mat bends down and presses a kiss to your cheek, catching the very corner of your lips. He pats the doorframe and gives you a wave as you start down the hallway. Your first few steps are slow and confused, because what the hell is happening and why did Mat kiss you again, but you feel like running by the time he closes the door behind you.

You’re distracted at work. It’s worse than yesterday. You feel jittery. When you go home at the end of the day, your apartment feels empty. You crinkle your nose and rub your arms, trying to warm up. It’s weird being alone for the night after staying with Mat for a few days. You got really used to being next to him, eating dinner with him, watching stupid shit on the TV while laying on his couch, and sleeping in his bed.

You lay in bed, unable to sleep. You toss and turn, scroll on your phone, try and sleep again, and fail. It’s 2am when your phone vibrates with a text and you check it immediately, hoping for something interesting.

It’s Mat.

‘Miss you :(’, he says. There’s a picture of him pouting into the camera, his bedside lamp turned to the lowest setting, just bright enough that he doesn’t need to use the flash. 

Your mouth automatically matches Mat’s. You sigh, zooming in on his tousled hair. You scroll across the picture, lingering on Mat’s bare chest. You stare for much too long. Much too long… to be considered friends. Mat’s kiss has really messed with your mind and now you can’t stop thinking about him and his tongue and his hands and–

You bury your face in the pillow and groan. You don’t bother to change out of your pajamas. You throw on your bathrobe, just to combat the cold, and within fifteen minutes, you’re hitting the buzzer to call up to Mat’s apartment.

“Hello?” Mat’s fuzzy voice comes through the speaker. 

Idiot, you admonish in your head. Who answers the buzzer at 2am? Especially when you’re a desirable athlete… God, Mat, you’re so dumb.

“It’s me,” you say. “I couldn’t sleep either.”

You hear the door click, unlocking, and you push your way inside. Your foot taps impatiently as you wait in the elevator, arms crossed over your chest. As the doors open, you spot Mat waiting at his front door, leaning against the frame like he was when you left him this morning.

His face is lined with sleep and there are lines on his chest like he just scratched an itch. 

You’re kissing him again as soon as you get close enough. You throw your arms around Mat’s neck and he wraps his arms around your middle, lifting you up until you naturally twine your legs around his waist. 

Mat’s kissing you back, moving into his apartment and closing the front door behind him. His bottom lip is between yours. You suck and nibble it, soothing the skin with your tongue after you bite hard enough for Mat to groan. His hands are planted on your behind now, kneading the skin.

“So you’ve been thinking about it too,” Mat breathes out between kisses. 

“All day.” Your hands work up into his hair and pull.

Mat shivers and his mouth drops open at the tug of your fingers. He turns toward the wall and pushes you up against it, trapping you with his body and pressing his groin against yours. He’s deliciously hard and you grind down on the bulge in his sweats. Mat moans and separates his lips from your mouth, instead trailing them wetly down your neck.

“Bedroom,” you tell Mat, voice hitching when he leaves a bite on your pulse point.

“Fuck that,” Mat replies. He pushes your shirt up and over your head. “Can’t wait. I couldn’t sleep because I was thinking about this.”

“Fucking me against the wall?”

“Having crazy sex with you all over the apartment,” Mat corrects. “You know when you’re about to sleep and then you feel like you’re falling and you wake up?”

“Yeah?” you respond, confused.

“It was like that.” Mat comes back up to kiss your lips. “I’d almost fall asleep and then I’d see you here. I’d see you bent over the kitchen counter or the arm of the sofa. I’d have you against the tile in my shower, then over the sink and I’d wipe all the fog off the mirror so you could watch. You’d be laying on the dining room table and I’d be between your legs, then I’d be sitting at my desk and you’d be between my legs.”

“Sounds tortuous,” you joke. 

“It was torture to see you like that and not have you,” Mat says in complete earnest. “That kiss broke a fucking dam for us, I swear.”

“Emma’s going to brag about getting us together,” you say.

“Don’t tell her,” Mat replies simply. “I’m on Tito’s side of the breakup anyway.”

“That’s not how friendship works.”

“Clearly, we don’t have any idea of how friendship should work,” Mat laughs. His eyes are twinkling with mischief. “I’m about to fuck you against the wall and we’re ‘just friends.’”

“We’re going to have to talk about that,” you tell Mat. 

“Now?” he asks, his middle two fingers finding your clit over your panties and rubbing.

“After,” you confirm. You pull him back in for a kiss and roll your hips into Mat’s hand. “After, for sure.”

Mat chuckles into your mouth. He shifts your panties to the side and slides his middle finger into your cunt. “Wow, look at how you’re taking me,” Mat says. His nose knocks against yours when he turns his eyes toward your core. “So wet. Bet you taste good, too.” 

You whine when he removes his finger from your entrance, annoyed. That feeling vanishes shortly after you’re emptied, once Mat brings his finger to his mouth and hollows his cheeks around the digit. Your eyes go wide and your mouth drops open, drool pooling on your tongue. 

Mat smirks. His finger leaves his mouth with a pop and he then licks both his middle and ring finger, wetting them and bringing them back to your core. Mat leans in as he presses both fingers into your hole, his tongue sliding against yours as he curls his fingers inside of you.

“Oh my God,” you say to yourself when Mat’s thumb comes into contact with your clit. If his kiss was stuck in your head all day after just a few seconds with his tongue in your mouth, then this moment will be seared into the blank space behind your eyelids for weeks.

“Just me,” Mat teases. He kisses over your neck, sucks on the corner of your jaw, and gently takes your earlobe between his teeth. He tugs, then drops the soft skin and breathes cool air over the skin just beneath your lobe. 

You shiver and throw your head back against the wall, baring your neck to Mat. He takes full advantage of it, but the location of his mouth is the least of your worries. You’re too preoccupied with the way his fingers are dancing inside of you. You feel your insides jump when Mat comes into contact with your g-spot, playing with the soft spot fixed at a seemingly random and elusive point on your inner walls, biting down on your lower lip to stop an embarrassing sound from escaping you.

Mat’s hands are busy– the one inside of you and the other planted on your side, helping hold you up against the wall– so he can’t remove your bottom lip from the confines of your teeth. Instead, he hovers right in front of your face, just close enough to kiss, but he doesn’t make the move to unite. 

You get the message, dropping your bottom lip in favor of kissing Mat’s. He smiles into the kiss and squeezes a third finger inside of you. You can feel his muscles tensing, the rippling of his forearm and bicep traveling all the way up to the place where his arm meets his torso. 

“I don’t want to come like this,” you declare in a high voice, shaking a bit as Mat brings you right to the edge and nearly pulls you over. “I want to come on your cock, Mat, fuck me.”

“You can’t give me two?” Mat asks.

“It’s not that I can’t,” you whine. “I just want you inside me.” You dig your nails into Mat’s upper back when his fingers continue to piston against your sweet spot. “Fuck, Mat.”

Mat slows his fingers and relents. “Hold on,” he says. He presses you further into the wall, no space between your bodies.

You tighten your grip around his neck and lock your ankles around his waist.

Mat pushes his sweats and underwear down. They fall to his ankles and he tugs at the crotch of your panties again, making sure to tuck them securely out of the way so that he can guide his cockhead to your dripping center. 

You don’t realize that your nails are creating red half-moon crescents on the fleshy skin covering his traps until Mat captures your wrists between the fingers of one hand– his thumb and forefinger around one and his other three around the other– and holds them against the wall above your head. You whimper and tilt your hips forward, pulling him closer by the linked ankles at the small of his back. 

“Fuck, baby, I didn’t know you were so desperate that you’d claw me up,” Mat says. Humor is laced throughout his tone. He brings his shoulders up and tenses them, then releases the tension. His cock pushes inside you all the same, despite the discomfort he might be feeling. You barely hear him, anyway– not with his cock dragging against your walls and kissing your insides like that. 

Your mind is stalling, feeling like it’s trapped by the grip that Mat has on your wrists. “Mat,” you keen, trying to bounce on his length as best you can while hovering against the wall and contained by Mat’s body. 

He presses his lips against your cheek before shifting his hips forward and drilling into you, knocking the breath from your lungs. Your mouth opens in a gasp and Mat flicks his tongue against yours. His fingers squeeze your wrists with each thrust– the pleasure from his tip knocking into your cervix plus the pressure against your skin, arms raised up above your head, pairs together in a way that had your mind spiraling. 

The noises that come from Mat’s mouth don’t help– he’s grunting and groaning and his breath is heavy. He’s never silent, never, and you know that if you close your eyes, you could get off to his noises alone. 

“You feel so good,” Mat compliments in a low voice. His cooing tone fills your ears like how a sink drain sucks all the water away, creating a whirlpool and gulping for more. “Tight and wet and squeezing me, fuck, we should’ve been doing this for ages.”

You nod your head in assent, eyes shut tightly as a coil of pressure screws and tightens in your abdomen. Mat’s words dissolve in to babbles, the blood rushing to your head. Your pulse booms in your ears as he talks on. Mat’s hand digs into your side, the soft flesh of your waist giving in order to make room for his fingertips as he bucks wildly into your heat. Your slick and the slide of his cock creates a squelching, clapping sound each time that his pelvis collides with yours. Your clit, swollen and aching to be touched, brushes against Mat’s abdomen with just enough friction to send you over the edge, quivering in his arms and arching your back as your climax crashes over your being and overtakes you. Your jaw practically pops with how wide and unhinged it becomes, strangled and drawn-out mewls spurring Mat on while you come in his arms and on his cock. 

Almost simultaneously, Mat’s head dips and his hips stutter, white cum shooting from his slit and painting your walls. Mat continues fucking you through your aftershocks and his own, with gravity taking effect almost immediately– as he draws his cock out of you, just to shove it back in, the mixture of your cum drips from your hole and creates a mess that you and Mat will notice in the morning and gape at before breaking out the cleaning supplies. 

You breathe together. Mat’s movements slow and he crowds your body, plastering himself against you. His heaves are wet against your neck, drinking air back in. As Mat catches his breath, he starts to mouth against your skin, planting a series of kisses along your collarbone and shoulder. 

“Oh my God,” you repeat again. 

Mat’s grip on your wrists relinquishes and your arms drop to his shoulders. His cock slips from your pussy as it softens, but he places his hands again on your ass and keeps your legs around his middle. He hums and kisses your cheek, then your mouth. The kisses are less rushed and frenzied now, matching the original kiss he gave you that filled your mind and stayed there. 

“Take off work tomorrow so we can fuck all over the apartment,” Mat suggests between kisses. He’s finally on the move again, making his way to the bedroom with you in his arms. “That was only one of the ideas I had.”

“I can’t take off work for sex,” you reply. Mat lays you on the bed and you pull him down with you. “But I can stay all weekend again.”

“Yes,” Mat whispers in a celebratory voice, grinning widely when he pulls away. He disintangles himself from your arms and legs, collapsing onto the mattress beside you, in your normal spots. “Do I need to go and buy a toothbrush for you so you don’t have to use mine?”

“Get one of the good ones while you’re at it,” you tease. “Use that big hockey budget and get me one of those electronic ones that’s a waterpick when you swap the head out.”

“Careful,” Mat says. “If I buy that one, I’ll start using your toothbrush.” He pulls the covers over your bodies and holds his arm out so that you can cuddle into his side.

For the first time while awake, you curl up with your head on his chest and throw your leg over his thigh. Your hand comes up to cover his heart and Mat presses a kiss to your head. 

“We’re not going to be just friends after this,” Mat tells you.

You laugh. “No, I don’t think we will.”

[nylqnder]

CINDY LOU WHO MAT BARZAL

pairing: fem!reader x mat barzal

summary: after an agonizing breakup drove you from the country you return to long island for the holidays. but a chance encounter at a holiday party forces you to confront not only your unresolved emotions from your past, but also the revelation that mat had moved on with someone new.

warnings: talks of a breakup, mat being extremely a little bit dumb, talks of marriage, appearances from sydney + matt martin

wc: 4.82k

notes: based on 'cindy lou who' by sabrina carpenter. my first barzy fic and it’ll rip your heart out😁

The frost clung to the edges of your breath as you stepped out of your car, staring at the warm glow spilling from the windows of the house, sitting amongst the backdrop of a familiar city. Despite a new sense of distance, there was something comforting about being back here, among friends, with the garlands and wreaths hanging just as they had every December before you left.

Back then, everything felt simpler. Or maybe it was just the illusion of simplicity, the way the lights blurred the edges of things when the snow fell thick and heavy. That was before the break-up — the one that fractured your world and sent you spiraling into an impulsive decision. England had felt like a lifeline, a clean slate, though the flight across the Atlantic had been more of a desperate escape than a planned move.

Long Island held too many memories: the late-night drives down the shore, the coffee shop where you had your first date, and the little bookstore you stumbled into during a summer rainstorm. It wasn’t just the places; it was the people. Friends who knew too much. Strangers who seemed to know enough. It was suffocating, the way they all looked at you with pity when they thought you weren’t watching.

Being with Mat, Long Islands hockey star, meant living in a world where your private life was never truly private. Nearly four years together had built a life intertwined with his, marked by team gatherings, charity events, and being an active member of the Islanders community, where media and fans alike knew your name. Four years as Mat’s girlfriend had turned you into more than just yourself — you were part of a narrative. A love story people loved to romanticize, right up until it unraveled.

You’d known early on what you wanted — marriage, a family, a partner who shared your vision of the future. Mat loved you deeply, but when it came to tying the knot, he was hesitant. He didn’t know if he wanted to get married so soon, let alone at all. The conversations had been difficult. What started as tentative questions turned into heated arguments, and eventually, into something far heavier: the realization that this might be something the both of you couldn’t work past.

The break was supposed to be temporary, a chance to clear your heads and figure out if you could reconcile your hopes. But time apart didn’t bring clarity — it brought distance. Weeks turned into months, spent away from each other. You’d waited for a sign that Mat had changed his mind, that he’d decided your love was worth the risk of stepping into a future he couldn’t fully envision. But that moment never came.

Instead, you found yourself drifting further away, until one day, it hit you: you weren’t waiting anymore. Not for Mat. Not for the life you’d imagined together. The realization came with a sharp finality, one that sent you packing for England on a whim. Across the ocean, there was no history, no lingering reminders of what might’ve been — just a fresh start.

Yet, Long Island still had its pull. It wasn’t the lights or the traditions of the holidays that had rolled around, though they held their charm. It was your family, their persistent calls, their unspoken hope that a few weeks at home might be good for you. You told yourself it was just temporary, a chance to reconnect and recharge before returning to the quiet anonymity of England. But stepping off the plane, you felt the weight of nostalgia settling on your chest.

Your childhood home smelled of pine and cinnamon, the same way it always did this time of year. Your parents, ever nostalgic and sentimental, kept your bedroom a time capsule of your teen years, down to the posters peeling slightly at the corners and the worn-out bookshelf crammed with novels. It was strange, being back in this space as someone who had grown beyond it. The familiarity was both comforting and unsettling, like putting on a sweater that didn’t quite fit anymore.

A day after your arrival came the call from Sydney. Word had gotten around that you were back — you blamed your mother for that. Her voice had been warm, tinged with excitement, but she’d tread carefully, as if wary of unearthing old wounds.

“You have to come,” she’d said, the invitation carrying the same enthusiastic charm you remembered from the years you’d spent as her friend. “It’s a small thing, just a bunch of us catching up before the chaos of Christmas really hits.”

You’d hesitated, your instinct to protect the delicate emotional state you’d cobbled together over the past year. But Sydney had always had a way of wearing you down. “It won’t be weird,” she promised. “Mat was invited, but he didn’t RSVP. He’s so bad at answering invites, but honestly, he’s been MIA lately. He probably won’t show.”

Her words were meant to be reassuring, and at the time, they had been. But now, standing in front of their decorated idyllic Long Island mansion, with the weight of familiarity pressing in on you, you weren’t sure if you were ready for the possibility of seeing him. Sydney and Matt’s party had been a staple during the holidays when you and Mat were together, a gathering of friends, teammates, and their significant others. Coming here meant stepping back into a world that had once felt like home but now felt foreign.

You inhaled deeply, the crisp air stinging your lungs as you smoothed down your coat. The snow crunched beneath your boots as you approached the door, and the muffled hum of music and laughter grew louder. Sydney greeted you the moment you stepped inside, her arms pulling you into a warm hug.

“Look at you! You look amazing!” she exclaimed, stepping back to take you in. Her radiant smile was genuine, and for a moment, you let yourself relax. “I’m so glad you came.”

The house was just as you remembered it: garlands draped along the staircase, twinkling lights wound through every corner, and the scent of pine and cinnamon filling the air. Familiar faces turned toward you, some smiling, others with expressions of surprise. There were hugs, quick exchanges of “it’s been too long,” and the inevitable question, “How’s England?”

You answered politely, sharing anecdotes about your new life while carefully steering clear of the topic everyone probably wanted to ask about: Mat. You didn’t need to look around the room to know he wasn’t there. You would’ve felt it — the almost magnetic pull he seemed to have, even when you tried to ignore it.

The night unfolded like a nostalgic montage, full of laughter and rekindled friendships. As you caught up with familiar faces, it felt like no time had passed, like no distance had been shoved between everything you once knew. Sydney was an impeccable hostess, darting between guests but always circling back to you, her voice brimming with excitement over every little update you shared. It was easy to forget, for a time, the reasons you’d hesitated to come. You caught up with old friends, indulged in festive treats, and even found yourself laughing at stories you hadn’t thought of in years.

Matt, Sydney’s husband and Mat’s teammate, joined you two in the living room, his hearty laugh filling the room as he recalled an embarrassing moment from a long-ago road trip. It felt good, almost normal. For the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe you could exist in this space again, untethered from the weight of your shared history with Mat.

But then, a commotion from the front hall shattered the fragile peace.

Voices rose in unison, cheers and exclamations ringing out. “He’s here!” someone shouted, followed by a ripple of excitement that surged through the crowd. Your stomach tightened as the energy in the room shifted. Sydney exchanged a quick glance with you, her lips parting as if to say something, but before she could, you caught sight of him.

He stepped into view, his face unmistakable even amidst the crush of people greeting him. The years had softened some edges and sharpened others. His jawline was softer and less defined, the faintest trace of scruff along his chin. His hair, still dark and unruly, was shorter than he ever had it when you were together. And his eyes — those deep, expressive eyes — swept the room in a way that made your breath catch.

But he wasn’t alone.

A tall, striking blonde was tucked against his side, her arm looped through his. She was stunning, her lipstick a bold red that stood out against her crisp white trench coat. She leaned into him, smiling warmly at the people around them, and you didn’t need to hear the introductions to know who she was.

“Cindy,” Sydney whispered, confirming your silent dread. “They’ve been seeing each other for a while. She’s… nice.”

Nice. The word hit like a dull thud. You barely managed a nod, swallowing the lump rising in your throat. The warmth you’d felt earlier seemed to evaporate, replaced by a cold, sinking sensation in your chest.

“I need to get out of here,” you murmured, your voice tight as you turned toward Sydney.

She caught your arm gently, her grip firm but understanding. “Don’t,” she pleaded. “Please, just stay. You don’t have to talk to him. Avoid him if you need to. But I’ve missed you so much, and the team’s not the same without you. You said we’d catch up, remember?”

Her words tugged at your determination. You couldn’t deny how much you’d missed Sydney, how much you’d missed being part of this circle that had once felt like family. And yet, staying felt like stepping on a live wire, every moment charged with the potential for pain.

You nodded, the weight of Sydney’s words pressing against your reluctance. You’d promised her you’d stay, and part of you knew leaving now would only make everything harder. Still, you resolved to avoid Mat at all costs, to slip through the cracks of the party like a ghost.

The first hour wasn’t difficult. The house was large, full of nooks to retreat to and people to talk to. Every time you felt Mat's presence encroaching into the room, you quietly slipped away. When he moved to the kitchen, you migrated to the living room. When he lingered by the staircase, you found solace near the fireplace.

You clung to the edges of the room, weaving in and out of conversations just enough to seem engaged, but always slipping away before he got too close. Each time you caught a glimpse of him, your stomach twisted. He looked good — better than you remembered. It was unfair, the way time had seemed to sharpen his features, like it had been kinder to him than it had to you.

And then there was Cindy. She wasn’t just stunning — she was confident, poised, with a natural ease that made her the center of attention without trying. Watching her was like witnessing a carefully crafted version of the life you’d once lived, a life that had moved on without you.

You couldn’t stay in one place for too long. The walls felt like they were closing in, the air too warm and stifling despite the winter chill outside. You moved from room to room, dodging conversations that veered too close to the past, smiling politely but never letting your guard down.

But then, the spaces began to run out. The house wasn’t as big as it felt at first, and the guests were everywhere. You’d exhausted the kitchen, the den, and even the hallway by the coat rack. Finally, with nowhere else to go, you found yourself slipping out onto the porch, the cold biting into your skin through the thick knit sweater you wore.

The porch was quiet, the muffled sounds of the party fading behind the door. Snow was falling softly now, delicate flakes catching in your hair and melting against your skin. You leaned against the railing, your breath forming little clouds in the air, and tried to focus on the stillness of the night. The cold seeped into your bones, but it was a welcome contrast to the heat and tension inside.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there, staring out at the blanket of snow covering the lawn. Long enough for your fingers to go numb and your cheeks to sting. The quiet was a balm, but it wasn’t enough to dull the ache inside you.

The sound of the door sliding open softly pulled you from the brief daydream that consumed you, and you didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. The hesitant shuffle of shoes against snow got closer, then his voice cut through the silence, quieter than usual.

“Hey.” Mat spoke.

You froze at the sound of his voice, the word hanging in the air like a weight you couldn’t quite lift. Your heart skipped a beat, your breath catching in your chest. You didn’t want to turn around, didn’t want to face him yet, but your body betrayed you, slowly pivoting to see him standing just a few steps away.

Up close, the changes in Mat’s appearance became much more noticeable. You could see just how different he looked — older, in a way. The sharp edges of his jaw had softened, and his hair, though shorter, still had that messy quality that made you want to run your fingers through it. But what hit you hardest was the look on his face — uncertainty, maybe guilt, but there was something else there too, something you couldn’t place.

He stood there for a moment, unsure whether to close the distance or wait for you to speak. You felt the awkward tension between you both, thick enough to cut. He didn’t know what to say to you. You didn’t know what to say to him.

“Hi,” you finally said, the word tasting strange on your tongue. It felt like you were saying it to someone you barely knew anymore. The woman he’d left behind was still standing there, but the version of her that had once known him inside and out was now a stranger to herself, too.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he said quietly, his eyes shifting away from yours, as though he didn’t want to intrude on your space, but couldn’t quite bring himself to leave.

You nodded, your throat tightening. “It’s fine. Just needed some air,” you replied, your voice calm, though you were sure it didn’t match the chaos spinning inside you.

Another long pause passed, and you could feel the weight of everything unsaid hanging between you. He shifted on his feet, as if trying to find the right words. He didn’t speak again, and you weren’t sure what you were waiting for — for him to apologize? For him to explain? For him to say something that would make sense of all the things that had happened?

Then, just as you thought the silence was becoming unbearable, the door opened again. Cindy slipped out onto the porch, her arms wrapping around her torso tightly. “Hey, there you are.” she said, her voice warm and sweet.

Mat’s face shifted, a moment of hesitation passing through his eyes. He turned to Cindy, who was standing there with a bright, welcoming smile, unaware of the tension that had already settled in. Mat hesitated for a beat, as if he was trying to find the right words to introduce you, the person who had once meant everything to him, to the woman who now filled that space.

“Cindy, this is y/n,” he said, his voice tight, “y/n… this is Cindy, my…”

Mat’s voice trailed off as his gaze got stuck on you. You could see the thoughts rushing through his mind as the words got trapped in his throat. Cindy stepped forward, finishing his sentence for him with a laugh, her tone light and playful. “His fiancée!” she said, her smile gleaming bright in the porch lights. “I think Mat is still getting used to the title!”

Fiancée… Fiancée… Fiancée.

The word fiancée echoed in your mind, drowning out everything else. It was like a punch to the gut, a slap of cold reality that stung with more force than the night air ever could. The way Cindy smiled, the way Mat looked at her — there was no mistaking it. This was real. He was engaged. To her.

You tried to breathe, but the air felt heavier now, thick with a weight that pressed against your chest. You’d never imagined him moving on so quickly, not after everything that had happened, not after the promises and hopes you’d once shared. You had walked away, yes, but you had done so believing, in some quiet part of yourself, that maybe, just maybe, the door wasn’t completely closed. Maybe Mat would change his mind, maybe time apart would make him see things differently. But standing here, in front of him, in front of Cindy, it all came crashing down.

The confusion tangled with something else, something darker. Anger. It flared up inside you, hot and sharp, burning through the numbness you’d carefully cultivated. Mat had told you he didn’t want to get married. He had said it over and over again — he wasn’t ready, and didn’t think he ever would be, not seeing marriage in the future he’d envisioned. And you had believed him. You had let go of a future with him, moved halfway across the world to escape it, to build something new. But now here he was, with a woman he was so obviously ready to commit to, ready to marry.

How could he?

You could feel the bitterness crawling up your throat, but you swallowed it back, offering a tight smile to Cindy as she stepped closer, oblivious to the storm raging inside you. Mat’s gaze flickered between the two of you, his unease palpable. You wondered if he saw it — the hurt — but didn’t know how to address it.

“Nice to meet you,” you said, your voice steady but strained. The words tasted like ash, each syllable carrying the weight of everything unspoken, everything that had been left behind. “And, uh, congratulations.”

Cindy beamed, clearly unaware of the complex undercurrents swirling between you and Mat. “Thank you! It’s been a whirlwind, but in the best way.” Her fingers brushed against Mat’s arm, the small gesture so natural and intimate it made your stomach churn.

“I can imagine,” you managed to say, gripping the railing a little tighter. The air around you felt suffocating now, despite the cold. You needed an exit, a reason to leave before the fragile façade you’d constructed cracked.

Cindy pressed on as she mistook your smile for interest. “Yeah, who would’ve thought that a girl from Arizona would wind up getting married to a hockey player!” she laughed, her arm hooking around Mat’s. “I mean, it was such a funny coincidence — I was out with some friends, and Mat was there on a road trip with the team. We just hit it off right away.” She laughed lightly, oblivious to the way your grip on the railing tightened. “It’s crazy to think that was just two years ago now. Time flies, doesn’t it?”

The words hit you like a sucker punch. Two years ago? You did the mental math, your mind immediately circling back to the timeline. Arizona. A road trip with the team. Two years ago. It aligned too perfectly with the so-called “break” you and Mat had taken — the time you were supposed to spend figuring things out, deciding if your future together was salvageable.

Your heart pounded as the pieces clicked into place. He hadn’t just moved on; he’d started over with Cindy while you were still clinging to the hope of reconciliation. The realization stung, bitter and raw. While you had agonized over every phone call he didn’t make, every moment of silence that stretched too long, he’d been out meeting someone new.

Mat’s eyes flicked to yours, his expression tight, as if he knew exactly what you were piecing together. For the first time, Cindy’s presence didn’t seem to ground him. Instead, he looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but here.

“That’s… great,” you said, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. Your voice felt distant, as if it belonged to someone else entirely. “I’m glad you two found each other.”

Cindy beamed again, utterly unaware of the turmoil behind your words. “Thanks! I mean, it’s wild, right? Sometimes things just fall into place when you least expect them to.” She leaned into Mat, who gave her a small, absent smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Cindy tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “So, how do you two know each other? I thought I knew all of Mat’s friends, but then again he knows so many people.”

You opened your mouth to say something but nothing would come out. What should you even say? Tell the truth and say you and Mat used to date? Tell her that you were so head over heels for him, that you wanted to marry him, before he broke your heart and drove you from the country? Or should you lie, and just tell her you two don’t really know each other at all? After all, that wouldn’t be so far from the truth. You weren’t sure you really knew him at all.

But before you could come up with something to say, whether it was a lie or the truth, Mat spoke up, his voice tight but composed. “Y/n’s an old friend.”

Old friend. The phrase hung in the air, feeling both false and insulting. Once, you’d been everything to him, and now you were reduced to a generic label that erased the depth of your shared history. You bit back a sharp retort, unwilling to unravel in front of Cindy, who smiled, oblivious to the tension.

“That’s lovely!” Cindy said, her eyes lighting up. “It’s always nice to meet those who knew Mat before I did.”

You offered a faint smile, trying not to let her words sting. She wasn’t at fault. She was simply living in a story that had once been yours.

Mat shifted uncomfortably beside her, his hands buried deep in his coat pockets. His eyes flickered toward you again, but you refused to meet his gaze, focusing instead on Cindy’s eager expression.

“Well,” Cindy said after a beat, sensing the awkward tension but clearly unsure of its source. “I should probably get back inside before I freeze out here.” Cindy offered you another warm smile before turning back to Mat. “Come on, babe,” she said softly, tugging at his arm.

“I’ll be in soon,” Mat said, his voice quieter now. Cindy hesitated for a moment, her gaze lingering on him, before nodding.

“It was really nice meeting you, y/n.” She smiled warmly, then leaned up to press a quick kiss to Mat’s cheek before disappearing back into the house, leaving the two of you alone on the porch.

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the faint sound of music and laughter drifting through the closed door. Mat stayed where he was, a few steps away, his hands still shoved in his pockets as he stared at the ground. You didn’t move, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited for him to speak.

Finally, he broke the silence. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, well, surprise.”

Mat flinched at your tone, his jaw clenching as he looked up at you. “I didn’t mean for it to be like this.”

“Like what?” you shot back, your voice sharper than you intended. “Awkward? Painful? Completely humiliating? Which part, Mat?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t plan on this happening tonight. I—” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

You folded your arms across your chest, trying to shield yourself from the biting cold — or maybe from him. “Didn’t know how to tell me what, Mat? That you’re engaged? That you’ve managed to figure out what you want after telling me for years that you didn’t want marriage? Or is it just that you didn’t want it with me?”

His face tightened, and for a moment, he looked like he was about to say something, but no words came. The silence between you stretched unbearably.

“You could’ve told me,” you pressed, the anger bubbling beneath your skin now impossible to hold back. “You could’ve been honest. About her. About what you wanted. But instead, you let me walk away thinking…” You trailed off, shaking your head as your throat tightened. “Thinking it was me. That I was asking for too much. That I didn’t matter enough for you to even try.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Mat said finally, his voice low. “I didn’t know what I wanted back then. I was confused.”

“Confused?” you repeated, your voice rising slightly as you turned to fully face him. “You told me — over and over — that marriage wasn’t something you ever wanted. You were so certain, Mat. I believed you. I left because I thought I was respecting what you needed, and now…” You gestured toward the house, toward the life he’d built without you. “Now you’re engaged to someone else.”

Mat rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes avoiding yours. “Things… changed,” he muttered, almost apologetically.

You let out a hollow laugh, blinking back the sting of tears. “Changed? Just like that? Or was it never about marriage? Was it just that you didn’t want to marry me?”

The question hung in the air, raw and vulnerable, cutting through the tension like a blade. Mat’s head shot up at your words, his eyes wide with something like guilt — or was it regret? He opened his mouth, then closed it again, his silence more damning than anything he could have said.

“That’s what I thought,” you said softly, the weight of his non-answer crushing you. You turned back toward the railing, gripping it tightly as you fought to steady your breathing.

“It wasn’t about you,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I loved you — God, I loved you so much. But back then, I didn’t know if I could be the person you needed me to be. I didn’t know if I could… give you everything you wanted.”

You swallowed hard, your breath fogging in the cold night air as you turned back to face him. “But you figured it out for her,” you said quietly, the words cutting both ways. “You found a way to be that person for Cindy.”

Mat didn’t respond, and the silence that followed felt like the final nail in the coffin. You nodded to yourself, the last flicker of hope extinguishing in your chest.

“I need to leave,” you said abruptly, stepping away from the railing.

“Wait,” Mat said quickly, reaching out as if to stop you, but you took a step back, keeping the distance between you.

“I’m happy for you, Mat,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. “Really, I am. You and Cindy… you deserve to be happy.” You took a shaky breath, your lips trembling as you forced a small, sad smile. “But I can’t do this. I can’t stand here and pretend this doesn’t hurt. Because it does. It hurts like hell.”

Mat’s hand dropped back to his side, his face a mix of regret and helplessness. “I never wanted to hurt you,” he said softly.

“I know,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “But you did.”

You turned and walked away, each step feeling heavier than the last. As you reached the door, you paused for a moment, glancing back over your shoulder. Mat was still standing there, his shoulders slumped, his breath visible in the cold air. For a brief moment, you thought he might say something — anything — to stop you. But he didn’t.

With a final, resolute step, you slipped back into the warmth of the house, the sound of laughter and music washing over you like a distant echo. You grabbed your coat, said a quick goodbye to Sydney, and left before anyone could stop you.

Outside, the snow had started to fall more heavily, covering the world in a soft, quiet blanket. You stood by your car for a moment, staring up at the dark sky, the cold air stinging your cheeks. It was over.

As you slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, you made a silent vow to yourself: no more looking back. England was waiting for you, and with it, the life you had started to build — a life that wasn’t tied to Mat or the dreams you had once shared. It wasn’t the ending you had hoped for, but maybe it was the one that was best for you.

[residenthughes]

slow sundays - mat barzal

pairing: mat barzal x gender neutral reader

word count: 1k

tags/warnings: fluff, domestic fluff, no mention of y/n

summary: any day spent with barzal is always good, especially sundays.

notes: a little something i wrote when i should have been sleeping, oops! may write a longer version, may not but i'll definitely write up something else longer for barzy, as well as some other fics that i've started and am very excited to share, hehe! as always, hope this finds u well and that you enjoy this small ball of fluff. much love! <3

oh! forgot to mention, this post is inspired by this post by @novelbear! they spoil tumblr rotten with such adorable prompts! :)

Sundays are your favourite days of the week. The normal anxieties that creep in from a long lived weekend cease to exist in your timeline, a day defined by slow sweetness and sacred serenity. This year you’ve really lucked out with said day, most of Mat’s games scheduled another time and on the off chance he has practice, it’s before you can even pry yourself from the comfort of your cloud-like mattress. This is one of those Sundays, where you’re tucked away in citrus scented sheets, fast asleep as Mat presses a tender kiss on the bridge of your nose before he goes off to do what he does best, leaving you to emerge from your cocoon whenever you please.

You decide shortly after Mat departs to desert the covers, arranging them neatly with a sleepy pout set onto your puffy lips before starting your share of morning chores. Amidst the array of bits and bobs you cater to around your cosy home, you cook up a breakfast built for two - piping hot and ready to eat by the time Mat’s car pulls up the driveway. 

You drape your arms lazily around his nape, beaming a lovesick grin as you peck your long-time lover. “Good practice?”

“Great practice,” he breathes against you, minty fresh with the faint waft of his accompanying cologne. His strong arms pull you impossibly closer, your body snug in his embrace. “But I’ve got better things waiting for me right here.”

His large hands cup a handful of your butt, giving it a cheeky squeeze that involuntarily makes you jump against him, your cheeks crimsoning. “And to think, that’s the thanks I get for making us breakfast.”

Mat releases his grip as you back away, disbelief washing all over his sculpted features as he gives you a cocked eyebrow and a petty laugh. “Says the one who-”

Your hand comes up, an index finger raised. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

Wordlessly, Mat holds his hands up in surrender, brazen-faced as you send him an eye-roll with crossed arms. Despite the circumstances, your hands find the top of his zipper, opening up his coat before you hang it up near the door in perfect routine. The selfless action still warrants one of your favourite kisses from your boyfriend, kisses from side-to-side - a kiss on the cheek, nose and cheek again. A simple action but one that robs you of all oxygen, a lightness in your limbs and a tingle down your spine. You soon turn around with Mat trailing not far behind as you venture back to your spacious kitchen, settling at the quaint table for two - a single vase rose separating your plates packed with all your breakfast favourites.

Before you have the chance to take your seat at your baby blue painted table, Mat comes up from behind you, cradling you in his sugary embrace as he plants a delicate kiss against your temple, your heart overflowing with the magic of your slow Sundays together. “How’d I get so lucky?”

You hum blissfully, a hand delicate against his stubble-ridden cheek as you simply exist together, limbs tangled as you savour the moment like sand slipping through your fingertips. A quick kiss against Mat’s prickly cheek puts a pause on the moment, your grin giddy as your hand takes Mat’s as you direct him to sit, which he does - no questions asked, fuschia dusted upon the apples of his cheeks.

You fall into perfect routine, your brunch a show that consists of all your favourites: Mat’s cutlery glimmering in the soft rays pouring into the windowed kitchen as he cuts his food, ceremoniously offering you the first bite of his food with the same smitten closed mouth smile that he had the first day he met you. Happily, you accept his generous offer and take a bite, beaming with full rosy cheeks as he swipes the crumbs with such an earnest shimmer in his eyes that it makes your heart squeeze with joy.

Your brunch continues in similar fashion, two enamoured partners basking in the company of another as you bond over a hearty plate of food, time lost in endless dialogues and timeless ‘I love you’s. When there’s nothing but crumbs speckled across your ceramic plates, Mat shoos you away before you can get a protest in, you resorting to sulking on the edge of couch as the sounds of plates clinking together competes with the noise coming from the TV. 

When everything’s said and done, the washing up dried and packed away, Mat shuffles into the lounge, falling into the couch with a grunt as he positions himself as close to you as possible. You can never bring yourself to mind, head falling to his broad shoulder once he’s propped his feet against the hickory coffee table with his arm circling your shoulders. Another kiss atop your head tells you he’s settled and you melt into his side, no objections sounding from your long-time boyfriend as reruns of 'The Bachelor' blare from the TV. If anything, Mat immerses just as much as you. Well, as much as the slightly fatigue man can as his fingers absently fiddle with locks of your hair, the gesture a lullaby that aids your sudden drowsiness that links hands with the warmth emitting from Mat’s body that always fits against yours like a puzzle piece.

Before you’re able to drift away into a shallow slumber, a slumber you both shall share prior to your simple plans for the day, Mat’s sleep-laced voice calls out to you. 

“Waking up next to you is the best part of my day.”

And you chuckle softly because of the simple fact you know this to be true - evidenced in the way affirmations of love fall so easily from his lips, in the way he never allows you to walk near any busy roads and buys you flowers just because. And, best of all, when your precious Sunday comes and goes, your Monday view consists of your beautiful boyfriend as you reverse out of your driveway, a sleepy smile mellowed into his features as he sees you off, hollering one and the same line wishing you a great day at work, which is nothing but granted if you’ve got him by your side. 

[papis13]

BARZY GIRLS FAVORITE TIME OF THE YEAR!!!!!

[orphicdreamers-wp]

Taste — Mat Barzal

Synopsis; In which Mat Barzal’s long term girlfriend tastes you forever.

Content Warnings; mentions of sex, kinda emotional cheating if you squint, mentions of Maya Adler

Mat Barzal hadn’t gone to a club on a Friday night in over 4 years. However he was reeling from a breakup or maybe it was a break, it didn’t really matter to Mat. All he wanted was to get drunk and flirt with a woman he had no intention of taking home. However he didn’t account for the stroke of luck that you happened to be at the same club in upper Manhattan on the same night.

You weren’t necessarily looking for anything more than a casual hookup to keep you distracted from the fact that all your friends were settling down and you had no intention of settling down any time soon. You were young, attractive and an amazing actress, you didn’t want to settle. So you spent the night at a lavish club in upper Manhattan staking out your target.

You knew the second you saw him enter the club; ridiculously attractive, tall, tanned, messy brown hair pushed back messily, a black button up slightly unbuttoned. And the icing on the cake was the fact he seemed extremely confident. You smirk to yourself as you watch him sit at the bar and get comfortable. You slid from the barstool you sat in and approached the empty seat next to him.

You lean against the bar and wait for the bartender to approach. When she does you order a cherry vodka sour. You drank the drink as the song blaring through the club changed to a fast paced seductive sounding song, you leaned on the bar, “Dance with me.” The man looked at you bewildered for a brief second, “Okay.” Mar ended up taking you home that night. As weeks passed you and Mat grew close.

Many of his tshirts and hoodies came up missing and Mat knew where they were disappearing to. There were many nights where Mat ignored the pre-established rule of no sleeping over and asked you to stay the night. There were countless times where you and Mat didn’t quite make it to his bed so you decided that his living room floor was good enough. Mat began to pick up on your humor and steal your jokes.

A few weeks had passed since you had seen Mat last and you had taken notice of how his instagram had transformed to the Instagram of a man in a long term serious relationship. You knew he was back with his long term girlfriend, Maya. You didn’t really care, you weren’t looking for anything serious. However Mat Barzal was a picture of guilt whenever Maya asked about the missing clothes from Mat’s closet, his new sense of humor and his newfound desire to have sex on the living room floor. She sure as hell noticed the taste of cherry vodka sours on her boyfriends lips. Mat Barzal had gotten a taste of you and ingrained the closest thing to having you into his relationship

[wintfleur]

𝓗AUNTING ME ⊹ au masterlist

━━━ ❛ i know if I’m haunting you, you just be haunting me

🍂 ━━━ 𝓳ulie 𝓵eclerc the only female f1 driver, 𝓸ne world championship winner, world renowned superstar 𝓯alls in love with best friends 𝓆uinn hughes and 𝓂at barzal becoming the worlds most 𝓯amous throuple

pairing 𝗆𝖺𝗍 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝗓𝖺𝗅 𝗑 𝗃𝗎𝗅𝗂𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝖼𝗅𝖾𝗋𝖼 𝗑 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗇𝗇 𝗁𝗎𝗀𝗁𝖾𝗌

∿ ABOUT OUR GIRL !

Juliette’s profile

her discography (coming soon)

∿ HER RELATIONSHIPS !

her with mat and quinn

her with her brothers

mat & quinn’s relationship with her family

her with her besties (coming soon)

∿ BLURBS !

Lights, camera, acción!

It’s not living if it’s not with you ( headcanons )

∿ FICS !

∿ SOCIAL MEDIA AUS !

a nonsense christmas

∿ ASKS !

Juliette’s famous ex’s

more background on the couple

Juliette at the playoffs

long distance thoughts

cuddle thoughts

mat and quinn at her races

their favorite types of dates

nicknames

favorite short n’ sweet songs

∿ MOODBOARDS !

Juliette mb

∿ SMUTTY THOUGHTS !

roro’s note. THE BIG THREE ‼️ feel free to send in as many asks as you want, I love my little throuple!! please send an ask or comment if you would like to be added to the taglist

you can find everything for the AU under #🍂 ͡ ꒱ Juliette Leclerc

˖ ་ taglist : @cixrosie @toasttt11 @lovings4turn

©️WINTFLEUR ; you can't copy, translate, reproduce, repost my fic, use my plot or layout.

[chukys-mouthguard]

georgia on my mind - mb13

current mood: an nhl moodboard series

-> mat barzal - golfer au

-> genre - fluff

before the Masters…

Mat had been nervous the whole car ride, his palm sweaty in the grip of your hand. Your thumb had been tracing countless circles on his skin as he sighed. His gaze finally turning from the window to you as he gave you a nervous smile.

“Here we go…”

He undid his seatbelt, looking at the crowd beginning to gather around the car. Cameras flashing as people chanted his name.

“Hey”

You reached over, a hand resting on his cheek as you’d made him face you. Giving him one last kiss for good luck as you’d not see him again until his fate would be decided.

“You’ve got this. I love you so much and I’m so proud of you. Go kick some ass.”

the final putt…

You watched as Mat took a deep breath, his caddy giving him a pep talk as he eyed the final hole. All that was standing between him and the title was no more than three strokes. Looking up from the ball he’d made eye contact with you, a quick wink from him before he got set to putt.

The crowd silent in anticipation, everyone wondering if they’d witness the newest golfer on the scene stage an upset and win. Your heart was racing, you’d attempted to look away but couldn’t stand the idea of missing the moment.

His smack of the ball echoing as all eyes followed it, rolling quick across the green. Slight gasps emerging from the crowd as it closed in on the hole. Your eyes flashing from Mat to the ball, watching as his eyes began to light up, the crowd erupting in cheers as he’d done the unthinkable.

Mat jumped up and down, wrapping his caddy in a hug as they cheered, the crowd going insane as other players made their way to shake his hand and offer their congratulations. As he maneuvered through the growing crowd, smiling and thanking those who’d approached him, he kept his eyes locked on you. His path determined as he finally reached you, picking you up on his arms and spinning you around.

His lips crashing to yours as your hands knocked off his hat, fingers tangling in his hair.

“God I love you baby!”

Mat smiled down at you as he’d set you back on your feet, brushing some hair from your face as your hands rested on his chest.

“I’m so proud of you Mat, you did it! No go get that green jacket baby!”

further celebrations…

You’d done your best to keep up with the interviews and photo-ops that were being asked of Mat, but as minutes he turned to hours you were exhausted.

He chuckled to himself as he walked up to find you resting your eyes on one of the golf carts. Taking any chance to get some rest as you knew the celebrations would continue into the night.

“Baby”

His voice trailed off as he tucked some hair behind your ear, his hand caressing your cheek as your eyes fluttered open. Looking up at him you couldn’t help but if smile seeing him sporting his new Masters Jacket.

“God damn, who would’ve thought you’d look so good in green!”

He pulled you in for a kiss as you stood up, your hands brushing over the jacket as you took in the sight of your boyfriend.

“You think so? Well I think I’d like to see how good you look in this jacket, and nothinggg else.”

His arm tight around your waist as you headed for the car. His lips peppering your neck with kisses, a few playful bites at your skin following.

“Is that so? Considering you just upset the entire tour and won, I think that can be arranged.”

[bejeweledaus]

WHO’S HE? | Mat Barzal au!

*COMING SOON*

—

summary; in which Mat Barzal is crushing on model y/n y/l/n but she has no idea who he is.

pairings; mat barzal x model!reader

social media fic

—

Chapter Index;

• PROLOGUE (coming soon!)

[abilouwrites]

HOW YOU GET THE GIRL

Mat Barzal x fem!oc

Series Masterlist

ONE

I only like the bookstore during the night, when it’s slow and nobody’s around. The lights are flickering and the town suddenly goes quiet in contrast with the bustle of the busy mornings and heavy traffic of the day.

I only work here on the weekends for the closing shifts or the opening ones. Something to make a little more money to fall back on besides my adult corporate job. My parents are proud, more my father than my mother that I’ve begun my climb up the corporate ladder.

I don’t hate my job, far from it. Simply the long hours and bossy bosses that make me pull at my fingers and tug at my hair. Especially with my youth and admitted naivety, those at my job can be wary about me either in the break room or being hesitant to invite me out for drinks.

I’ve been told by my therapist that I rushed my childhood, skipping grades and taking collage classes while also taking highschool classes at the same time. I want to fight her on it, claim that I did have a childhood and had dreams but I know that I’m defending something I never had.

Two parents who were always fighting; hated eachother but swore to stay together because of their vows, “Hey Bella” I smile at the older lady standing at the counter as I tuck behind into the back room and set my purse onto the table and wrapping my apron around my body, “slow day?” I ask as I switch from heels to converse.

“Yeah, it’s the middle of the school season so all the kidlets are probably studying” she sighs out rubbing her tired eyes, “ok, I’m off. Be safe. Please” she reminds me as she pats my shoulder, “I’ll need you to come in a bit earlier tomorrow for the opening shift, we’re getting a new shipment of books for the month”

“Uhh, yeah yeah I can do that, so 5:30 instead of six?” I clarify, as I clock myself in on the timetable next to the register.

“Yes, thank you Emma. You’re a doll” She smiles and blows me a kiss exiting the building as the cold wind brushes against her; gently pulling at the greying blonde hair that’s always been tucked into a a little bun.

I turn on some music to keep my mind from straying as I walk around the store. Gently brushing my fingers against the creased spines and occasional leather covered book. Those nice collectors editions are always Romeo and Juliet, or Hamlet.

Personally I’ve thought Romeo and Juliet a bit childish and immature, but I’ve always been told I’m looking at it from a modern perspective. I believe that Romeo and Juliet is the way to not fall in love.

But then again, that’s coming from the girl who watched her parents try and fix an already broken marriage by having an abundance of kids and forcing themselves to stay together even though, everyone’s known they’d be better apart. Even their own kids.

I tidy up the reading corner, setting the old book. Princess and the pea back onto the shelf and searching for the one tomorrow.

My my fingers pull and push against the covers of the kids books, looking for something different. I don’t pay attention when the bell jingles and jangles while I hear a heavy step quickly become softer. I hear them physically relax as they walk the isles.

I eventually decide on a book with a unicorn and a blonde girl. Something I fondly remember of my own childhood.

I stretch up a little and let my hair down from its clip, it falls unevenly against my shoulders but I don’t mind or even care that much. This bookstore is my happy place; where I am safe and content within my own body. Here I will never care what I look like.

I view the man searching in the fiction section, something specific I can tell by his body language. If he needs help I’ll allow him to ask; yet I’m wary of going up to a man and guiding him to the book.

When he finally notices me watching him he turns around and asks, “do you know where I can find ‘The road’ it’s uh. Geez by I think by Cormac McCarthy?” He stumbles out; slowly dragging a hand across his face and brushing his shaggy brown hair out of his eyes.

His face is soft but sharp; his eyes evoke a warm bubbly feeling inside me. Eyes that make me feel comfortable being alone with him, “yes, I believe we only have a few left” I tell him, walking off to a different section of the store, “I know, our shop is set up weird” I explain.

“And why’s that?” He inquires, his pace isnt rushed or faster than mine. But relaxed and nonchalant. As if he has all the time in the world.

“The original owners, she has a special section called ‘Meine Leibe’ which I think translates to ‘My loves’ or ‘my life’ once she passed her daughter kept it the same so this little section would always be here for her. I find it endearing” I know I ramble on a bit but I’ve suddenly grown afraid of having a silence against the two of us

“It is, it’s just a little place with all her favorite books?” He keeps asking, as I turn into the cozy little corner. I thumb through the alphabetical order.

“Yeah, her favorite chair, pillows. Shannon was such a kind lady” I reminisce, “here is The Road, is there anything else I can help you with? Or will that be all for today?”

“Uhh, ha unless you have ‘The deal’ by Elle Kennedy then I’ll take that too” I think he’s being sarcastic but I can’t really tell.

“I think we do, are you a hockey fan?” I ask walking to the romance section.

“I guess you could say that, do you watch?” He asks, “do you need a hand?”

“I watch a bit, just the New Jersey Devils with my dad. Yeah it’s just above there” I point, even on my tip toes the store has ceiling high bookshelves. And because it’s night the ladders been locked up. I move to the side as he grabs the book.

“Are you from Jersey?”

“Yeah, I lived there before I came to New York for a work deal”

“I’m going to assume it’s not this job.. right?” As he makes his way to the register and I slink behind the counter

“Yeah, my uh big girl job as my mom likes to address it as” I hear the roll in my eyes as I scan the bar codes and ring him up, “will that be with cash or card?”

“Card” He pulls his wallet out of the front pocket of his jacket, “thank you”, he checks for my name eyes staring just above but also at my chest.

I poke my eyebrows up at him praying to god this man isn’t looking at my tits directly; not even with the slightest bit of discretion.

“I’m uh looking for your name to thank you— I swear I’m not looking at your uh. You know boobs” he almost whispers out the last bit before continuing, “not that they aren’t nice or anything but uh” the tips of his ears turn pink and his cheeks suddenly become flushed, “I will just pay now” he groans out softly; handing me his card and rubbing his eyes with his hands.

I ring him up and he puts his pin in, “thank you again, you never told me your name” he questions for that piece of information

“Emma”

“Thank you Emma, have a good evening” he purses his lips and grabs his books. Hands shaking as he smiles and starts to leave.

“You too, wait” I lean over the bar slightly, “you never told me your name?”

“Mat”

“Alright then, have a good evening Mat. Come back soon”

The door jingles as he leaves and I watch him through the window, I see him sigh and smack his books against his head. Though I don’t exactly hear what he says; noises muffled through the glass and the music.

“Huh. What a strange guy”

[yvaineseleneposts]

After Hours

A/N: Not really a plot...

Pairing: Mat Barzal x reader

Words: 4k

Warning(s): smut

The arena was almost silent now, save for the faint buzz of fluorescent lights and the distant hum of Zambonis polishing the ice. Mathew Barzal lingered by the locker room door, still in his Islanders gear, the collar of his shirt clinging to his throat, damp with sweat. The game had been long, brutal — a win, but barely. His adrenaline hadn't faded yet, and he wasn’t in any rush to go home.

Not when she was still around.

He caught sight of her in the hallway — the PR girl, the one with the teasing smile and the sharp tongue. Tonight, her eyes met his with an extra spark, something unspoken passing between them, electric and immediate.

"You waiting for something, Barzy?" she teased, tilting her head.

A slow grin spread across his face, boyish and devil-may-care, but the heat in his gaze was anything but innocent.

"Yeah," he said, voice low, "you."

Before she could laugh it off, Mathew closed the distance between them in two strides, backing her against the cool concrete wall. He braced one hand beside her head, caging her in. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, and she could smell the lingering scent of ice, cologne, and pure adrenaline on him.

"Been thinking about you all night," he murmured, his mouth dangerously close to hers. His fingers brushed her waist, featherlight, before tugging her closer.

Her reply was a challenge — a smirk, a daring tilt of her chin. "Prove it."

Mathew didn’t need more encouragement. His lips crashed onto hers, rough and hungry, all the frustration and pent-up energy from the game pouring into that kiss. She responded with equal fire, fisting the front of his jersey, pulling him tighter against her body.

He groaned against her mouth, one hand sliding up her thigh, squeezing, feeling the heat of her through the thin material of her skirt. Everything about this was reckless, dangerous — anyone could walk by — but neither of them cared. Not right now.

She gasped as Mathew's mouth travelled down her jaw, his teeth scraping lightly at her pulse point. His hand found the bare skin under her shirt, his touch burning a trail up her side.

"Still want me to prove it?" he whispered, voice hoarse against her skin.

She nodded, breathless, heart pounding.

Mathew chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against her neck. "Good," he growled, lifting her effortlessly as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He pressed her harder into the wall, the cold concrete a sharp contrast to the heat flaring between them.

Their bodies moved in a frantic rhythm, all sharp gasps and desperate touches, as the world outside faded away. In this moment, it was just them — raw, real, and completely, deliciously out of control.

Mathew’s grip tightened on her thighs as he pinned her against the wall, his hips grinding against her core in a slow, devastating rhythm. She gasped into his mouth, the sensation of his hard body between her legs making her dizzy.

"God, you drive me crazy," he muttered, his voice rough and wrecked with need.

Without breaking contact, he carried her toward the deserted training room, kicking the door shut behind them. The low lighting cast shadows over the benches and walls, making everything feel even more forbidden.

He set her down on a treatment table, his hands immediately pushing up the hem of her skirt, dragging it around her hips with a rough, eager tug. His knuckles brushed the bare skin of her thighs, making her shiver under his touch.

Mathew dropped to his knees in front of her, hooking his fingers into the waistband of her panties. He looked up at her with a smirk — cocky, devastating — before pulling them down her legs in one slow, agonizing movement.

"You’re shaking," he teased, his voice dark velvet.

"Shut up and —" she tried, but the rest of the words died on her tongue when he leaned in, his mouth hot and hungry on her inner thigh, kissing a path dangerously close to where she was already aching for him.

He looked up at her again, pupils blown wide, as if asking for permission — or daring her to tell him no. She grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled, a silent command.

Mathew chuckled low in his throat and then, without warning, buried his mouth between her thighs.

Her back arched off the table at the first stroke of his tongue — slow, deliberate, tasting her like a man starved. He groaned into her, as if savouring every second, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave bruises.

She moaned his name, half a whisper, half a prayer, and he responded by going harder, faster, his tongue flicking and circling, pushing her higher and higher. The coil inside her tightened with every breath, every filthy sound echoing off the empty walls.

"Mathew —" she gasped, nails digging into his shoulders.

He pulled back slightly, lips shiny, grinning like a man who knew exactly how wrecked he had her.

"You gonna come for me, baby?" he rasped, voice dripping with sin.

When she whimpered, nodding frantically, he didn’t give her a chance to beg. He sealed his mouth back onto her, relentless, two fingers sliding into her at the perfect angle. She shattered almost instantly, a cry ripping from her throat, her body trembling around him.

He stayed there through it all, coaxing every last wave of pleasure from her until she sagged bonelessly against the table.

But Mathew wasn’t done.

He stood, dragging his jersey and undershirt over his head in one swift motion, revealing smooth, sweat-slicked muscles that made her mouth go dry. He looked like sin incarnate — flushed cheeks, messy hair, and that look in his eyes that promised he was about to ruin her all over again.

He unbuckled his belt, slow enough that it drove her mad, before shoving his pants and boxers down in one rough motion.

When he pressed the head of his cock against her still-throbbing entrance, he paused — just long enough to meet her gaze, to make sure she wanted this, needed this.

"Tell me," he ordered, voice hoarse.

"Yes," she whispered, legs trembling as they wrapped around his waist again. "God, yes."

With a low groan, Mathew pushed into her, inch by devastating inch, stretching her perfectly. They both gasped at the contact, the raw intensity of it.

He didn’t move at first, just stayed there, buried deep inside her, savoring the way she clenched around him.

"Fuck," he breathed, forehead dropping to hers. "You feel so good. So fucking good."

Then he started to move — slow at first, then faster, harder, until the table creaked under the force of it. His hand slid up her back, cradling her to him, their bodies slick with sweat, moving in a frantic, perfect rhythm.

Every thrust hit deep, sending white-hot pleasure sparking through her body. He kissed her fiercely, messy and desperate, like he couldn’t get enough.

She clung to him, matching his pace, feeling herself spiralling again — closer, closer.

"Come with me," Mathew growled into her ear, his voice wrecked, his hips snapping faster.

It only took a few more strokes before she shattered again, crying out his name. Mathew followed with a low, broken groan, burying himself deep as he came hard, trembling against her.

For a long moment, they just clung to each other, breathing hard, their bodies still joined, the room filled with the sound of their racing hearts.

Mathew finally pulled back, brushing a kiss against her forehead, his smile boyish and utterly wrecked.

"You’re trouble," he said, still catching his breath.

"You love it," she whispered, smirking.

Mathew chuckled, low and satisfied. "Damn right I do."

The Islanders locker room buzzed with celebration. Another win. Another night Mathew Barzal had dominated the ice — fast, slick, absolutely unstoppable.

He could still feel the adrenaline humming under his skin as he peeled off his gear, the roar of the crowd ringing in his ears. But there was only one thing he wanted more than a post-game beer right now.

Her.

She was waiting for him again — leaning casually against the wall near the showers, wearing that same smirk that drove him crazy. No one seemed to notice her slip inside after him, but even if they had, Mathew wouldn't have cared.

He needed her too much.

The second the heavy locker room door clicked shut behind them, Mathew grabbed her by the waist and shoved her back against the cool tile, his mouth crashing into hers in a searing, messy kiss.

"You don't know what you do to me," he growled against her lips, breath hot and desperate.

He spun the knob on the shower, steaming water blasting down almost immediately. She barely had time to gasp before he stripped her of her clothes — tugging and pulling, frantic — until she was naked under the spray.

Mathew groaned when he stepped back to look at her — wet, flushed, breathing hard — and then pulled her under the water with him.

His hands were everywhere: gliding over her slick skin, kneading her ass, tracing the curve of her back. He hoisted her up easily, pinning her against the wet tile wall. She wrapped her legs around his waist, already feeling him hard and throbbing against her.

"You’re gonna kill me one day," he muttered, lining himself up.

"Shut up and fuck me," she whispered into his ear, teeth grazing his earlobe.

Mathew cursed under his breath and slammed into her in one deep, punishing thrust.

She cried out, the sound echoing off the walls, but Mathew swallowed it with his mouth, kissing her fiercely as he thrust again and again, water streaming over their bodies, slicking their skin.

He pounded into her with reckless abandon, the heat of the shower nothing compared to the fire between them. Her nails raked down his back, leaving red marks that only made him groan and thrust harder.

"God, you feel so fucking good," he gritted out, slamming into her deep enough to make her see stars.

The wet slap of skin against skin filled the air, filthy and desperate, both of them teetering right on the edge.

Her orgasm hit fast and brutal, ripping through her so hard she bit into his shoulder to muffle her scream. Mathew cursed, hips stuttering, before he drove into her one last time and came with a broken, guttural groan, holding her tight against him like he never wanted to let go.

They stayed there for a moment — panting, clinging to each other, the water washing away the evidence of what they'd just done.

Mathew finally set her down gently, brushing soaked hair from her face and pressing a softer kiss to her temple.

But before they could get their breath back, before they could even think about sneaking out —

The door creaked open.

"Yo, Barzy, you still in here?" came a familiar voice.

Mathew froze, eyes wide. It was Anthony DeAngelo, unmistakably.

He cursed under his breath, shielding her behind his body just as Anthony turned the corner — and stopped dead.

For a moment, there was dead silence. Anthony’s eyebrows shot up so high they practically hit his hairline.

Mathew just smirked, cocky and unbothered, dripping wet, completely naked.

"Bro..." Anthony said slowly, backing away with his hands up like he’d stumbled onto a crime scene. "I... did not see anything. Carry on."

The door slammed shut again before either of them could say a word.

She stared at Mathew, mouth open in horror — and then they both burst out laughing, bodies shaking, the adrenaline sparking all over again.

Mathew leaned in, brushing his nose against hers.

"Guess we’re not exactly subtle, huh?"

"Not even close," she giggled breathlessly.

He kissed her again — slow this time, lingering — like he had all the time in the world.

"Don't care," Mathew whispered against her mouth. "You’re mine now."

The Islanders' practice had just wrapped up when she showed up again, this time in professional mode — clipboard in one hand, phone in the other.

"Alright, boys!" she called out, her voice bright and bossy. "Need a few of you for a TikTok — something fun for the fans. Quick and painless, I promise."

Several players immediately volunteered, eager to get a few laughs — DeAngelo, Dobson, and even Sorokin hovered nearby, grinning and joking as they waited for their turn. She laughed easily with them, brushing hair behind her ear, flashing that warm, brilliant smile that Mathew knew a little too well.

He watched from the bench, towel draped over his shoulders, chest still bare from the workout. And he felt it — that dark, ugly spark in his gut — jealousy.

The way DeAngelo stood a little too close. The way she threw her head back when Dobson made some dumb joke. The way she lightly touched Sorokin’s arm when she gave directions.

It made Mathew’s blood boil.

She was his.

He shoved off the bench and stalked toward them without thinking, muscles tense, jaw tight. A few of the guys noticed him coming — noticed the look in his eyes — and smirked knowingly but said nothing.

When he reached her, she barely had time to look up before he grabbed her wrist, firm but careful.

"Barzy—" she started, confused.

He didn’t say a word. Just tugged her away from the group, leading her quickly toward a quieter corner of the arena where no one would bother them.

The second they were out of sight, Mathew spun her around, pinning her lightly against the wall, his body caging hers in.

"You having fun flirting with all my teammates?" he muttered, voice low, dark, dangerous.

Her eyes widened — half with shock, half with excitement. She could feel the possessive energy radiating off him, thick enough to drown in.

"It’s my job, Mathew," she said, breathless, pushing at his chest — but he didn’t budge.

He leaned down, nose brushing hers, hands sliding slowly down her waist to her hips. "Yeah? Don’t care. Hate seeing them make you laugh like that. Hate seeing you touch them."

He dipped lower, his mouth grazing the shell of her ear.

"You’re mine," he whispered, voice a filthy promise.

She shivered — partly from the cold wall at her back, mostly from the heat pouring off of him. She opened her mouth to say something snarky, but he didn’t give her the chance.

His mouth crashed into hers, bruising, claiming, utterly dominant. His hands roamed over her body, squeezing, gripping like he couldn't get close enough.

Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around his neck, arching into him. His thigh slid between hers, pressing up just enough to make her gasp. He grunted into her mouth at the way she moved against him, desperate and eager.

"God, look at you," he rasped, pulling back just enough to study her wrecked expression. "So fucking pretty when you're needy for me."

He grabbed her ass roughly, lifting her just enough for her to grind against the thick muscle of his thigh.

"Mathew—" she whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders.

"I should take you right here," he growled, grinding against her, making her gasp. "Let them hear how wrecked you get for me."

Her head tipped back against the wall, a soft, helpless moan slipping out. Mathew groaned, his cock hard and straining against his shorts, the thin material offering no real barrier.

But he forced himself to pull back slightly, breathing hard, eyes wild.

"Later," he promised, voice low and dangerous. "You’re gonna pay for making me this jealous."

He kissed her again — one last bruising kiss — before stepping back, hands still possessively gripping her waist like he couldn’t stand to let go completely.

"You better wrap that TikTok fast," he said, smirking wickedly. "Because when I get you alone tonight... you’re not walking straight tomorrow."

Then he winked, turned, and sauntered back toward the guys like he hadn't just absolutely ruined her against a wall.

She stood there, dazed, thighs clenching, heart pounding, still tasting him on her lips — and knowing, deep down, that Mathew Barzal meant every filthy, delicious word.

Later that night, the second she stepped inside Mathew’s apartment, she knew she was in trouble.

He didn’t even give her a chance to speak.

The door slammed shut behind her, and before she could blink, Mathew had her pinned against it — a hand wrapping gently, but firmly, around her throat, just enough pressure to make her breath catch.

"You think you can drive me crazy all day," he rasped, eyes dark and blown wide with want, "and get away with it?"

His thumb brushed over her racing pulse, and he shook his head slowly.

"Not a chance, baby."

She whimpered, body already heating under the intensity of his stare. God, when he got like this — all dangerous and dominant — it set every nerve in her body on fire.

Mathew grabbed the hem of her shirt and yanked it over her head in one smooth, rough motion. Her bra followed seconds later, tossed carelessly to the floor. He stripped her with a single-minded purpose, like he was unwrapping something that belonged to him.

When she was naked before him, trembling and flushed, Mathew stepped back just long enough to drink her in — chest heaving, eyes glittering.

"Get on the bed," he ordered, voice a low growl.

She stumbled backward, heart hammering, legs unsteady as she moved to his bedroom, climbing onto the bed. She barely had time to get comfortable before Mathew was there, stalking toward her like a predator.

He shoved his sweats down, kicking them off, his cock already hard, flushed, and perfect. He looked hungry — starving for her — and she felt the heat pool between her thighs just from the way he stared.

"On your hands and knees," he commanded.

She obeyed immediately, the cool air kissing her bare skin as she positioned herself for him.

Mathew climbed onto the bed behind her, rough hands gripping her hips.

"You’re mine," he said, voice deadly soft.

Without warning, he delivered a sharp slap to her ass, making her jolt forward with a gasp.

"Say it," he demanded.

"I’m yours," she whimpered, thighs trembling.

Another slap, harder this time, the sting blooming into sweet, aching heat.

"Louder."

"I’m yours, Mathew," she cried out, voice cracking.

He growled in approval and slid two fingers between her legs, groaning at how soaked she already was.

"Look at you," he muttered, voice dripping with filthy pride. "Already dripping for me."

He lined himself up, the thick head of his cock teasing at her entrance, rubbing slow, devastating circles until she was whining for him, desperate.

Then, without warning, he slammed into her with one deep, brutal thrust.

She screamed into the pillow, gripping the sheets, as Mathew set a punishing rhythm — hard, fast, relentless. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through her body, making her toes curl.

Mathew fisted a hand in her hair, yanking her head back gently so he could whisper filthy promises in her ear.

"Gonna fuck you so hard, baby... you'll feel me for days... gonna make sure everyone knows who you belong to."

His hand slid down her front, fingers circling her clit in tight, merciless strokes.

She was unravelling fast, the pressure coiling deep in her core, every muscle tightening.

"Come for me," he snarled. "Come on my cock."

It hit her like an explosion — white-hot pleasure ripping through her, her body convulsing around him, clenching so tight he cursed, slamming into her one final time before following her over the edge with a broken, desperate moan.

They collapsed onto the bed, sweaty, tangled together, hearts pounding like they'd just survived a war.

For a long moment, the only sound was their ragged breathing.

Mathew brushed damp hair from her face, kissing her forehead, suddenly so tender it made her chest ache.

"You’re mine," he whispered again, softer this time, like a prayer. "Always," she whispered back, clinging to him, still feeling every inch of him inside her, around her, claiming her.

And she never wanted to belong to anyone else.

[wondrluv]

୨୧ MB13

➪ player tag ; ⋆·˚ ༘ * ꒰ mat barzal ꒱

➪ taglist ; mat barzal

➪ most recent ; jealousy and puppy eyes

➪ last updated ; june 19, 2024

➪ © wondrluv ; do not copy, repost, or translate my work and designs on any other website or here

୨୧ WORKS

➪ anxious feelings ; mat goes out to celebrate their win but forgets to text his girl where he's going, sending her into a spiral

➪ jealousy and puppy eyes ; mat surprises his girl with tickets to a baseball game but he's not expecting to be jealous and use his 'puppy eyes'

[loveyatopluto]

omfg i feel like i’m gonna throw up this was so good

bro plz do a part 2 😭

CINDY LOU WHO MAT BARZAL

pairing: fem!reader x mat barzal

summary: after an agonizing breakup drove you from the country you return to long island for the holidays. but a chance encounter at a holiday party forces you to confront not only your unresolved emotions from your past, but also the revelation that mat had moved on with someone new.

warnings: talks of a breakup, mat being extremely a little bit dumb, talks of marriage, appearances from sydney + matt martin

wc: 4.82k

notes: based on 'cindy lou who' by sabrina carpenter. my first barzy fic and it’ll rip your heart out😁

The frost clung to the edges of your breath as you stepped out of your car, staring at the warm glow spilling from the windows of the house, sitting amongst the backdrop of a familiar city. Despite a new sense of distance, there was something comforting about being back here, among friends, with the garlands and wreaths hanging just as they had every December before you left.

Back then, everything felt simpler. Or maybe it was just the illusion of simplicity, the way the lights blurred the edges of things when the snow fell thick and heavy. That was before the break-up — the one that fractured your world and sent you spiraling into an impulsive decision. England had felt like a lifeline, a clean slate, though the flight across the Atlantic had been more of a desperate escape than a planned move.

Long Island held too many memories: the late-night drives down the shore, the coffee shop where you had your first date, and the little bookstore you stumbled into during a summer rainstorm. It wasn’t just the places; it was the people. Friends who knew too much. Strangers who seemed to know enough. It was suffocating, the way they all looked at you with pity when they thought you weren’t watching.

Being with Mat, Long Islands hockey star, meant living in a world where your private life was never truly private. Nearly four years together had built a life intertwined with his, marked by team gatherings, charity events, and being an active member of the Islanders community, where media and fans alike knew your name. Four years as Mat’s girlfriend had turned you into more than just yourself — you were part of a narrative. A love story people loved to romanticize, right up until it unraveled.

You’d known early on what you wanted — marriage, a family, a partner who shared your vision of the future. Mat loved you deeply, but when it came to tying the knot, he was hesitant. He didn’t know if he wanted to get married so soon, let alone at all. The conversations had been difficult. What started as tentative questions turned into heated arguments, and eventually, into something far heavier: the realization that this might be something the both of you couldn’t work past.

The break was supposed to be temporary, a chance to clear your heads and figure out if you could reconcile your hopes. But time apart didn’t bring clarity — it brought distance. Weeks turned into months, spent away from each other. You’d waited for a sign that Mat had changed his mind, that he’d decided your love was worth the risk of stepping into a future he couldn’t fully envision. But that moment never came.

Instead, you found yourself drifting further away, until one day, it hit you: you weren’t waiting anymore. Not for Mat. Not for the life you’d imagined together. The realization came with a sharp finality, one that sent you packing for England on a whim. Across the ocean, there was no history, no lingering reminders of what might’ve been — just a fresh start.

Yet, Long Island still had its pull. It wasn’t the lights or the traditions of the holidays that had rolled around, though they held their charm. It was your family, their persistent calls, their unspoken hope that a few weeks at home might be good for you. You told yourself it was just temporary, a chance to reconnect and recharge before returning to the quiet anonymity of England. But stepping off the plane, you felt the weight of nostalgia settling on your chest.

Your childhood home smelled of pine and cinnamon, the same way it always did this time of year. Your parents, ever nostalgic and sentimental, kept your bedroom a time capsule of your teen years, down to the posters peeling slightly at the corners and the worn-out bookshelf crammed with novels. It was strange, being back in this space as someone who had grown beyond it. The familiarity was both comforting and unsettling, like putting on a sweater that didn’t quite fit anymore.

A day after your arrival came the call from Sydney. Word had gotten around that you were back — you blamed your mother for that. Her voice had been warm, tinged with excitement, but she’d tread carefully, as if wary of unearthing old wounds.

“You have to come,” she’d said, the invitation carrying the same enthusiastic charm you remembered from the years you’d spent as her friend. “It’s a small thing, just a bunch of us catching up before the chaos of Christmas really hits.”

You’d hesitated, your instinct to protect the delicate emotional state you’d cobbled together over the past year. But Sydney had always had a way of wearing you down. “It won’t be weird,” she promised. “Mat was invited, but he didn’t RSVP. He’s so bad at answering invites, but honestly, he’s been MIA lately. He probably won’t show.”

Her words were meant to be reassuring, and at the time, they had been. But now, standing in front of their decorated idyllic Long Island mansion, with the weight of familiarity pressing in on you, you weren’t sure if you were ready for the possibility of seeing him. Sydney and Matt’s party had been a staple during the holidays when you and Mat were together, a gathering of friends, teammates, and their significant others. Coming here meant stepping back into a world that had once felt like home but now felt foreign.

You inhaled deeply, the crisp air stinging your lungs as you smoothed down your coat. The snow crunched beneath your boots as you approached the door, and the muffled hum of music and laughter grew louder. Sydney greeted you the moment you stepped inside, her arms pulling you into a warm hug.

“Look at you! You look amazing!” she exclaimed, stepping back to take you in. Her radiant smile was genuine, and for a moment, you let yourself relax. “I’m so glad you came.”

The house was just as you remembered it: garlands draped along the staircase, twinkling lights wound through every corner, and the scent of pine and cinnamon filling the air. Familiar faces turned toward you, some smiling, others with expressions of surprise. There were hugs, quick exchanges of “it’s been too long,” and the inevitable question, “How’s England?”

You answered politely, sharing anecdotes about your new life while carefully steering clear of the topic everyone probably wanted to ask about: Mat. You didn’t need to look around the room to know he wasn’t there. You would’ve felt it — the almost magnetic pull he seemed to have, even when you tried to ignore it.

The night unfolded like a nostalgic montage, full of laughter and rekindled friendships. As you caught up with familiar faces, it felt like no time had passed, like no distance had been shoved between everything you once knew. Sydney was an impeccable hostess, darting between guests but always circling back to you, her voice brimming with excitement over every little update you shared. It was easy to forget, for a time, the reasons you’d hesitated to come. You caught up with old friends, indulged in festive treats, and even found yourself laughing at stories you hadn’t thought of in years.

Matt, Sydney’s husband and Mat’s teammate, joined you two in the living room, his hearty laugh filling the room as he recalled an embarrassing moment from a long-ago road trip. It felt good, almost normal. For the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe you could exist in this space again, untethered from the weight of your shared history with Mat.

But then, a commotion from the front hall shattered the fragile peace.

Voices rose in unison, cheers and exclamations ringing out. “He’s here!” someone shouted, followed by a ripple of excitement that surged through the crowd. Your stomach tightened as the energy in the room shifted. Sydney exchanged a quick glance with you, her lips parting as if to say something, but before she could, you caught sight of him.

He stepped into view, his face unmistakable even amidst the crush of people greeting him. The years had softened some edges and sharpened others. His jawline was softer and less defined, the faintest trace of scruff along his chin. His hair, still dark and unruly, was shorter than he ever had it when you were together. And his eyes — those deep, expressive eyes — swept the room in a way that made your breath catch.

But he wasn’t alone.

A tall, striking blonde was tucked against his side, her arm looped through his. She was stunning, her lipstick a bold red that stood out against her crisp white trench coat. She leaned into him, smiling warmly at the people around them, and you didn’t need to hear the introductions to know who she was.

“Cindy,” Sydney whispered, confirming your silent dread. “They’ve been seeing each other for a while. She’s… nice.”

Nice. The word hit like a dull thud. You barely managed a nod, swallowing the lump rising in your throat. The warmth you’d felt earlier seemed to evaporate, replaced by a cold, sinking sensation in your chest.

“I need to get out of here,” you murmured, your voice tight as you turned toward Sydney.

She caught your arm gently, her grip firm but understanding. “Don’t,” she pleaded. “Please, just stay. You don’t have to talk to him. Avoid him if you need to. But I’ve missed you so much, and the team’s not the same without you. You said we’d catch up, remember?”

Her words tugged at your determination. You couldn’t deny how much you’d missed Sydney, how much you’d missed being part of this circle that had once felt like family. And yet, staying felt like stepping on a live wire, every moment charged with the potential for pain.

You nodded, the weight of Sydney’s words pressing against your reluctance. You’d promised her you’d stay, and part of you knew leaving now would only make everything harder. Still, you resolved to avoid Mat at all costs, to slip through the cracks of the party like a ghost.

The first hour wasn’t difficult. The house was large, full of nooks to retreat to and people to talk to. Every time you felt Mat's presence encroaching into the room, you quietly slipped away. When he moved to the kitchen, you migrated to the living room. When he lingered by the staircase, you found solace near the fireplace.

You clung to the edges of the room, weaving in and out of conversations just enough to seem engaged, but always slipping away before he got too close. Each time you caught a glimpse of him, your stomach twisted. He looked good — better than you remembered. It was unfair, the way time had seemed to sharpen his features, like it had been kinder to him than it had to you.

And then there was Cindy. She wasn’t just stunning — she was confident, poised, with a natural ease that made her the center of attention without trying. Watching her was like witnessing a carefully crafted version of the life you’d once lived, a life that had moved on without you.

You couldn’t stay in one place for too long. The walls felt like they were closing in, the air too warm and stifling despite the winter chill outside. You moved from room to room, dodging conversations that veered too close to the past, smiling politely but never letting your guard down.

But then, the spaces began to run out. The house wasn’t as big as it felt at first, and the guests were everywhere. You’d exhausted the kitchen, the den, and even the hallway by the coat rack. Finally, with nowhere else to go, you found yourself slipping out onto the porch, the cold biting into your skin through the thick knit sweater you wore.

The porch was quiet, the muffled sounds of the party fading behind the door. Snow was falling softly now, delicate flakes catching in your hair and melting against your skin. You leaned against the railing, your breath forming little clouds in the air, and tried to focus on the stillness of the night. The cold seeped into your bones, but it was a welcome contrast to the heat and tension inside.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there, staring out at the blanket of snow covering the lawn. Long enough for your fingers to go numb and your cheeks to sting. The quiet was a balm, but it wasn’t enough to dull the ache inside you.

The sound of the door sliding open softly pulled you from the brief daydream that consumed you, and you didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. The hesitant shuffle of shoes against snow got closer, then his voice cut through the silence, quieter than usual.

“Hey.” Mat spoke.

You froze at the sound of his voice, the word hanging in the air like a weight you couldn’t quite lift. Your heart skipped a beat, your breath catching in your chest. You didn’t want to turn around, didn’t want to face him yet, but your body betrayed you, slowly pivoting to see him standing just a few steps away.

Up close, the changes in Mat’s appearance became much more noticeable. You could see just how different he looked — older, in a way. The sharp edges of his jaw had softened, and his hair, though shorter, still had that messy quality that made you want to run your fingers through it. But what hit you hardest was the look on his face — uncertainty, maybe guilt, but there was something else there too, something you couldn’t place.

He stood there for a moment, unsure whether to close the distance or wait for you to speak. You felt the awkward tension between you both, thick enough to cut. He didn’t know what to say to you. You didn’t know what to say to him.

“Hi,” you finally said, the word tasting strange on your tongue. It felt like you were saying it to someone you barely knew anymore. The woman he’d left behind was still standing there, but the version of her that had once known him inside and out was now a stranger to herself, too.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he said quietly, his eyes shifting away from yours, as though he didn’t want to intrude on your space, but couldn’t quite bring himself to leave.

You nodded, your throat tightening. “It’s fine. Just needed some air,” you replied, your voice calm, though you were sure it didn’t match the chaos spinning inside you.

Another long pause passed, and you could feel the weight of everything unsaid hanging between you. He shifted on his feet, as if trying to find the right words. He didn’t speak again, and you weren’t sure what you were waiting for — for him to apologize? For him to explain? For him to say something that would make sense of all the things that had happened?

Then, just as you thought the silence was becoming unbearable, the door opened again. Cindy slipped out onto the porch, her arms wrapping around her torso tightly. “Hey, there you are.” she said, her voice warm and sweet.

Mat’s face shifted, a moment of hesitation passing through his eyes. He turned to Cindy, who was standing there with a bright, welcoming smile, unaware of the tension that had already settled in. Mat hesitated for a beat, as if he was trying to find the right words to introduce you, the person who had once meant everything to him, to the woman who now filled that space.

“Cindy, this is y/n,” he said, his voice tight, “y/n… this is Cindy, my…”

Mat’s voice trailed off as his gaze got stuck on you. You could see the thoughts rushing through his mind as the words got trapped in his throat. Cindy stepped forward, finishing his sentence for him with a laugh, her tone light and playful. “His fiancée!” she said, her smile gleaming bright in the porch lights. “I think Mat is still getting used to the title!”

Fiancée… Fiancée… Fiancée.

The word fiancée echoed in your mind, drowning out everything else. It was like a punch to the gut, a slap of cold reality that stung with more force than the night air ever could. The way Cindy smiled, the way Mat looked at her — there was no mistaking it. This was real. He was engaged. To her.

You tried to breathe, but the air felt heavier now, thick with a weight that pressed against your chest. You’d never imagined him moving on so quickly, not after everything that had happened, not after the promises and hopes you’d once shared. You had walked away, yes, but you had done so believing, in some quiet part of yourself, that maybe, just maybe, the door wasn’t completely closed. Maybe Mat would change his mind, maybe time apart would make him see things differently. But standing here, in front of him, in front of Cindy, it all came crashing down.

The confusion tangled with something else, something darker. Anger. It flared up inside you, hot and sharp, burning through the numbness you’d carefully cultivated. Mat had told you he didn’t want to get married. He had said it over and over again — he wasn’t ready, and didn’t think he ever would be, not seeing marriage in the future he’d envisioned. And you had believed him. You had let go of a future with him, moved halfway across the world to escape it, to build something new. But now here he was, with a woman he was so obviously ready to commit to, ready to marry.

How could he?

You could feel the bitterness crawling up your throat, but you swallowed it back, offering a tight smile to Cindy as she stepped closer, oblivious to the storm raging inside you. Mat’s gaze flickered between the two of you, his unease palpable. You wondered if he saw it — the hurt — but didn’t know how to address it.

“Nice to meet you,” you said, your voice steady but strained. The words tasted like ash, each syllable carrying the weight of everything unspoken, everything that had been left behind. “And, uh, congratulations.”

Cindy beamed, clearly unaware of the complex undercurrents swirling between you and Mat. “Thank you! It’s been a whirlwind, but in the best way.” Her fingers brushed against Mat’s arm, the small gesture so natural and intimate it made your stomach churn.

“I can imagine,” you managed to say, gripping the railing a little tighter. The air around you felt suffocating now, despite the cold. You needed an exit, a reason to leave before the fragile façade you’d constructed cracked.

Cindy pressed on as she mistook your smile for interest. “Yeah, who would’ve thought that a girl from Arizona would wind up getting married to a hockey player!” she laughed, her arm hooking around Mat’s. “I mean, it was such a funny coincidence — I was out with some friends, and Mat was there on a road trip with the team. We just hit it off right away.” She laughed lightly, oblivious to the way your grip on the railing tightened. “It’s crazy to think that was just two years ago now. Time flies, doesn’t it?”

The words hit you like a sucker punch. Two years ago? You did the mental math, your mind immediately circling back to the timeline. Arizona. A road trip with the team. Two years ago. It aligned too perfectly with the so-called “break” you and Mat had taken — the time you were supposed to spend figuring things out, deciding if your future together was salvageable.

Your heart pounded as the pieces clicked into place. He hadn’t just moved on; he’d started over with Cindy while you were still clinging to the hope of reconciliation. The realization stung, bitter and raw. While you had agonized over every phone call he didn’t make, every moment of silence that stretched too long, he’d been out meeting someone new.

Mat’s eyes flicked to yours, his expression tight, as if he knew exactly what you were piecing together. For the first time, Cindy’s presence didn’t seem to ground him. Instead, he looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but here.

“That’s… great,” you said, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. Your voice felt distant, as if it belonged to someone else entirely. “I’m glad you two found each other.”

Cindy beamed again, utterly unaware of the turmoil behind your words. “Thanks! I mean, it’s wild, right? Sometimes things just fall into place when you least expect them to.” She leaned into Mat, who gave her a small, absent smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Cindy tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “So, how do you two know each other? I thought I knew all of Mat’s friends, but then again he knows so many people.”

You opened your mouth to say something but nothing would come out. What should you even say? Tell the truth and say you and Mat used to date? Tell her that you were so head over heels for him, that you wanted to marry him, before he broke your heart and drove you from the country? Or should you lie, and just tell her you two don’t really know each other at all? After all, that wouldn’t be so far from the truth. You weren’t sure you really knew him at all.

But before you could come up with something to say, whether it was a lie or the truth, Mat spoke up, his voice tight but composed. “Y/n’s an old friend.”

Old friend. The phrase hung in the air, feeling both false and insulting. Once, you’d been everything to him, and now you were reduced to a generic label that erased the depth of your shared history. You bit back a sharp retort, unwilling to unravel in front of Cindy, who smiled, oblivious to the tension.

“That’s lovely!” Cindy said, her eyes lighting up. “It’s always nice to meet those who knew Mat before I did.”

You offered a faint smile, trying not to let her words sting. She wasn’t at fault. She was simply living in a story that had once been yours.

Mat shifted uncomfortably beside her, his hands buried deep in his coat pockets. His eyes flickered toward you again, but you refused to meet his gaze, focusing instead on Cindy’s eager expression.

“Well,” Cindy said after a beat, sensing the awkward tension but clearly unsure of its source. “I should probably get back inside before I freeze out here.” Cindy offered you another warm smile before turning back to Mat. “Come on, babe,” she said softly, tugging at his arm.

“I’ll be in soon,” Mat said, his voice quieter now. Cindy hesitated for a moment, her gaze lingering on him, before nodding.

“It was really nice meeting you, y/n.” She smiled warmly, then leaned up to press a quick kiss to Mat’s cheek before disappearing back into the house, leaving the two of you alone on the porch.

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the faint sound of music and laughter drifting through the closed door. Mat stayed where he was, a few steps away, his hands still shoved in his pockets as he stared at the ground. You didn’t move, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited for him to speak.

Finally, he broke the silence. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, well, surprise.”

Mat flinched at your tone, his jaw clenching as he looked up at you. “I didn’t mean for it to be like this.”

“Like what?” you shot back, your voice sharper than you intended. “Awkward? Painful? Completely humiliating? Which part, Mat?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t plan on this happening tonight. I—” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

You folded your arms across your chest, trying to shield yourself from the biting cold — or maybe from him. “Didn’t know how to tell me what, Mat? That you’re engaged? That you’ve managed to figure out what you want after telling me for years that you didn’t want marriage? Or is it just that you didn’t want it with me?”

His face tightened, and for a moment, he looked like he was about to say something, but no words came. The silence between you stretched unbearably.

“You could’ve told me,” you pressed, the anger bubbling beneath your skin now impossible to hold back. “You could’ve been honest. About her. About what you wanted. But instead, you let me walk away thinking…” You trailed off, shaking your head as your throat tightened. “Thinking it was me. That I was asking for too much. That I didn’t matter enough for you to even try.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Mat said finally, his voice low. “I didn’t know what I wanted back then. I was confused.”

“Confused?” you repeated, your voice rising slightly as you turned to fully face him. “You told me — over and over — that marriage wasn’t something you ever wanted. You were so certain, Mat. I believed you. I left because I thought I was respecting what you needed, and now…” You gestured toward the house, toward the life he’d built without you. “Now you’re engaged to someone else.”

Mat rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes avoiding yours. “Things… changed,” he muttered, almost apologetically.

You let out a hollow laugh, blinking back the sting of tears. “Changed? Just like that? Or was it never about marriage? Was it just that you didn’t want to marry me?”

The question hung in the air, raw and vulnerable, cutting through the tension like a blade. Mat’s head shot up at your words, his eyes wide with something like guilt — or was it regret? He opened his mouth, then closed it again, his silence more damning than anything he could have said.

“That’s what I thought,” you said softly, the weight of his non-answer crushing you. You turned back toward the railing, gripping it tightly as you fought to steady your breathing.

“It wasn’t about you,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I loved you — God, I loved you so much. But back then, I didn’t know if I could be the person you needed me to be. I didn’t know if I could… give you everything you wanted.”

You swallowed hard, your breath fogging in the cold night air as you turned back to face him. “But you figured it out for her,” you said quietly, the words cutting both ways. “You found a way to be that person for Cindy.”

Mat didn’t respond, and the silence that followed felt like the final nail in the coffin. You nodded to yourself, the last flicker of hope extinguishing in your chest.

“I need to leave,” you said abruptly, stepping away from the railing.

“Wait,” Mat said quickly, reaching out as if to stop you, but you took a step back, keeping the distance between you.

“I’m happy for you, Mat,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. “Really, I am. You and Cindy… you deserve to be happy.” You took a shaky breath, your lips trembling as you forced a small, sad smile. “But I can’t do this. I can’t stand here and pretend this doesn’t hurt. Because it does. It hurts like hell.”

Mat’s hand dropped back to his side, his face a mix of regret and helplessness. “I never wanted to hurt you,” he said softly.

“I know,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “But you did.”

You turned and walked away, each step feeling heavier than the last. As you reached the door, you paused for a moment, glancing back over your shoulder. Mat was still standing there, his shoulders slumped, his breath visible in the cold air. For a brief moment, you thought he might say something — anything — to stop you. But he didn’t.

With a final, resolute step, you slipped back into the warmth of the house, the sound of laughter and music washing over you like a distant echo. You grabbed your coat, said a quick goodbye to Sydney, and left before anyone could stop you.

Outside, the snow had started to fall more heavily, covering the world in a soft, quiet blanket. You stood by your car for a moment, staring up at the dark sky, the cold air stinging your cheeks. It was over.

As you slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, you made a silent vow to yourself: no more looking back. England was waiting for you, and with it, the life you had started to build — a life that wasn’t tied to Mat or the dreams you had once shared. It wasn’t the ending you had hoped for, but maybe it was the one that was best for you.

[yvaineseleneposts]

Skating on Thin Ice

A/N: Should I write a part 2?

Pairing: Mat Barzal x reader

Words: 3k

Warning(s): none

The bar was alive in that electric, low-key kind of way — not packed, but just busy enough to feel like something could happen. Warm lights flickered across faces and cocktails, laughter buzzed beneath the music, and the hum of a Friday night buzzed in my veins.

I wasn’t looking for anyone. Not really.

Then I saw him.

Across the room, near the edge of the bar, Mathew Barzal leaned against the counter like he belonged there — like the air naturally curved around him. He was dressed simply: a fitted black tee, dark jeans, a chain that caught the light when he shifted. His hair was a little messy, in a “just ran a hand through it after practice” kind of way, and his jawline? Criminal.

I froze for a second too long. “Emily,” I hissed, grabbing my friend’s arm. “That’s Mathew Barzal.”

She turned, pretending to stretch. “Where?”

“Black shirt. Leaning on the bar.”

Her eyes widened. “Jesus. You’re right.”

I tried not to stare, but it was like my eyes had a mind of their own. And then — he looked over.

His gaze locked with mine. Just a flicker. Barely a second. But I felt it all the way down my spine.

I laughed it off and turned away quickly, heat creeping up my cheeks. “Okay, I think he saw me.”

Emily smirked. “Think? That man scanned you.”

But when I looked back a minute later… he wasn’t looking anymore. He was laughing with some guys, sipping from a bottle of beer, totally unbothered. I told myself I didn’t care.

And then — ten minutes later — he looked again.

This time, it was longer. Slower. Almost… curious. His head tilted slightly, and I could’ve sworn the corner of his mouth twitched, like he was considering something. But just like that, he glanced away.

It became a game.

I’d glance across the room, and sometimes I’d catch him watching me. Other times, he’d be deep in conversation with someone else. But he never came over. Never waved. Never even smiled.

He looked. That was it. Looked, then looked away.

Another girl approached him — a leggy brunette with model energy — and I watched him smile at her. He leaned in, said something that made her laugh. His hand grazed her back.

Something twisted in my stomach.

I tried to act cool. I turned to Marcus, my best friend — all glitter and sass and oversized confidence — and muttered, “I hate how cute he is. And I hate that he’s talking to someone else.”

Marcus sipped his cocktail, eyes sharp. “Then do something, babe.”

“He hasn’t even said hi.”

Marcus glanced over. “He’s looked at you like, five times. He’s just being a coward.”

I shrugged. “Maybe I’m just being dumb.”

He set his drink down. “Or maybe he needs a little push. Come with me.”

“What are you—?”

He didn’t let me finish. He grabbed my hand and pulled me onto the dance floor, grinning wickedly. The music shifted into something with a deep beat, and Marcus wasted no time pulling me close, spinning me like we were in a rom-com montage.

I laughed, half flustered, half amused. “This is so transparent.”

“Exactly the point,” he winked. “Let’s give NHL boy something to think about.”

We danced like no one was watching — even though we both knew one person was. Marcus twirled me, dipped me, tossed his head back like we were in the middle of a musical. And all the while, I kept catching flickers of him from the corner of my eye.

And then… he moved.

Mathew stepped away from the brunette. Said something — probably an excuse — and started walking. Straight. Toward. Me.

I felt my heart thud against my ribs, and Marcus leaned in one last time to whisper, “Showtime.”

Then he slipped away into the crowd, leaving me standing there — flushed, unsure, and very much aware of the 6'0" athlete making his way into my personal space.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, warm, and exactly as magnetic as you'd imagine. “Mind if I cut in?”

Marcus raised a brow and gave me a wink. “She’s all yours, superstar.”

And just like that, I was dancing with Mathew Barzal.

I blinked up at him. “Was starting to think you didn’t dance.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t sure if you were with him.”

I smirked. “Best friend. Very gay. But thanks for noticing. You looked over like, six times.”

He laughed. “Noted. Yeah… I know. Regretted not walking over sooner.”

“Well,” I said, stepping a little closer, “you’re here now.”

He smiled — that slow, devastating kind of smile that made the wait worth it. “Yeah. I am. I’m Mat by the way.”

“I know,” I said, leaning in a little. “I’m [Y/N].”

Mathew leaned in slightly, just close enough for his scent to reach me — fresh cologne with a little edge of sweat and whatever magic lives in NHL locker rooms. “Can I buy you a drink?”

I smiled, trying to stay cool even though my heart was fully sprinting. “I mean… since you did interrupt my dance.”

He laughed, running a hand through his hair, and nodded toward the bar. “Come on. I owe you.”

We slipped through the crowd, the space between us charged but casual. Up close, he was somehow even more attractive — that laid-back, sleepy-eyed thing going on, but his gaze was sharp. Focused. When we got to the bar, he turned to me, elbow resting casually on the counter. “What’s your drink?”

“Tequila soda. Extra lime.”

He gave a little approving nod and flagged the bartender with one smooth gesture. I could see heads turning — probably Islanders fans clocking who he was — but he didn’t seem to notice, or care.

“So…” he started, handing me the drink a moment later, “what’s your story? You from around here?”

I took a sip, letting the lime hit before answering. “Born and raised. Got stuck here and never left.”

He smiled. “Stuck?”

I shrugged. “Work. Friends. Rent that’s too good to give up.”

He chuckled. “I get that. I almost left a few times. But New York has a way of keeping you.”

There was a pause. Comfortable. His eyes met mine, and I could feel the tension shift. Like the small talk was just scaffolding and we were finally getting to the part that mattered.

“I saw you earlier,” I said quietly, leaning in just a bit.

He tilted his head, teasing. “Did you?”

I rolled my eyes, smirking. “You looked over. A lot.”

He grinned, lifting his beer to his lips. “Yeah. I wasn’t exactly subtle.”

“So why wait so long?”

He glanced at me, then away, almost sheepishly. “I don’t usually approach girls in bars. Especially not ones who already have a very... enthusiastic dance partner.”

I laughed. “Marcus? Oh, no. He just wanted to make you jealous.”

He raised a brow. “It worked.”

The beat from the dance floor shifted — something darker, slower, heavier. I glanced back over my shoulder toward the crowd and then up at him. “Wanna pick up where we left off?”

He set his beer down. “Thought you’d never ask.”

We moved back into the crowd, and the second we were surrounded by people and rhythm and heat, it changed.

This time, there were no friends watching. No pretence. Just us.

He stepped close behind me, one hand resting on my hip like it had always belonged there. Our bodies moved together, synced in that easy, instinctive way. I let my head fall back slightly, his breath brushing my neck as he leaned in.

“Damn,” he murmured. “You’re a good dancer.”

I turned to face him, still moving, our bodies close. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

His hands slid around my waist, slow and deliberate. My arms looped around his neck. The space between us vanished.

The tension that had stretched all night? It snapped.

We weren’t just dancing anymore. We were pressed together, warm and reckless and dangerously close. His hand slipped lower on my back, pulling me in. My lips brushed his jaw — a near-miss — and he looked down at me like he was seconds away from closing that distance.

“Barzy,” someone called behind us, but he didn’t look away.

He was looking at me. Eyes dark, hungry, locked in.

“You good?” I whispered.

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Just didn’t expect this.”

“Did you want it?”

He leaned in, lips grazing my ear. “More than I should.”

The crowd blurred. The bass disappeared. And I knew — if we didn’t stop soon, we wouldn’t stop at all.

The space between us was nonexistent now — Mathew’s hands were on my waist, my fingers tugging lightly at the collar of his shirt. The rhythm of the music pulsed beneath our feet, but it might as well have been silence. The only thing I could feel was him.

He looked down at me again, searching my face like he was making a decision.

Then he kissed me.

Not a polite, testing kiss — but a real one. Like the kind that comes after a slow burn, a long night, and far too many almosts. His lips were soft, but his grip was firm, one hand rising to cradle the side of my face while the other pressed into the small of my back, holding me close.

I melted into it.

The dance floor could’ve fallen away. The music could’ve stopped. People moved around us, oblivious or maybe just pretending not to see, but in that moment, there was only the taste of tequila and lime between us and the heat spreading through my entire body.

When we finally pulled apart, I was breathless.

“You kiss like someone who knows exactly what he wants,” I said, a little dazed.

Mathew gave me that lazy, crooked grin. “I waited long enough.”

I laughed and ran a hand through my hair. “Okay — I need to go to the bathroom before I combust. Don’t go anywhere.”

“I won’t,” he promised, eyes locked on mine.

I turned and threaded my way through the crowd, cheeks flushed, heartbeat racing. Inside the bathroom, I leaned against the sink and stared at my reflection, trying to make sense of what just happened.

Mathew Barzal kissed me. On a dance floor. In the middle of a packed bar.

I splashed cold water on my wrists, fixed my hair, reapplied some lip gloss, and when I stepped back out into the noise and bodies — I scanned the room.

And he was gone.

I looked near the bar. Nothing. Near the spot where we’d danced. Empty. I even checked the corners where his friends had been earlier. Still nothing.

My chest tightened.

I did a slow walk through the entire room — twice — hoping maybe he’d just stepped away to grab a drink or say hi to someone. I even slipped outside to check near the entrance. But he wasn’t there either.

No text. No follow-up. Just gone.

Back inside, Emily raised a brow when she saw my face. “What happened?”

“I—” I looked around one more time, then turned back to her, stunned. “I don’t know. One second we were kissing… and then I went to the bathroom… and he’s just... not here.”

Marcus leaned in, frowning. “He left?”

I shook my head slowly. “I don’t know. I told him not to go anywhere. He said he wouldn’t.”

Emily put a hand on my arm. “Maybe he got pulled away? Or stepped out to take a call or something?”

“Yeah,” I said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Maybe.”

But the moment had passed. The connection was severed. And all I was left with was the ghost of his mouth on mine and the sharp sting of wondering if it had ever meant anything to him at all.

I told myself I wouldn’t obsess over it.

That maybe Mathew Barzal had a good reason for vanishing. That maybe he meant to come back. Maybe his phone died. Maybe a friend needed help. Maybe... a thousand excuses I didn’t actually believe.

But the truth was, I couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss.

It wasn’t just hot — it was something. Something that felt like it could’ve meant more if he hadn’t disappeared like a ghost in the middle of my favorite night.

By Sunday afternoon, I was pacing in my apartment, replaying the way he looked at me just before his lips touched mine. Like he was sure. Like I was what he wanted.

Then he was gone.

I texted Emily:

me: ok. i can’t take this. i need answers.

emily: i was waiting for this moment.

me: what’s your plan?

emily: we’re going to his game. tuesday.

me: is this stalker behavior?

emily: it’s hockey-fan behavior with a personal subplot.

And so that’s how, on a brisk Tuesday night, I found myself at UBS Arena, crammed between Emily and Marcus in seats that overlooked center ice. I wasn’t exactly a die-hard fan, but even I could admit: seeing him skate in full gear, focused and lethal, was enough to short-circuit a few brain cells.

“There he is,” Marcus whispered, pointing as Barzal lined up for a face-off.

He looked calm. Collected. Like a man who hadn’t kissed me breathless and then vanished without a word.

“Do you think he’ll recognize me?” I asked, suddenly unsure.

“Oh, honey,” Marcus said. “He felt that kiss. He’ll recognize you.”

The game was fast. Violent. Beautiful in a way I hadn’t expected. And Mathew — he was everywhere. Fast on his skates, sharp with his passes, scoring a goal that sent the arena into chaos. I clapped like a normal person, but my heart was flipping in my chest like I had something to do with it.

When the buzzer signaled the end of the third period — 3-1 Islanders — my stomach dropped. This was it. My chance. If I could find him.

Emily was already three steps ahead. “Players exit by the loading dock. We’ve got ten minutes to get over there.”

I blinked. “You’ve done this before.”

She shrugged. “I’ve dated musicians. Same principle.”

We slipped out of our section, weaving through fans, skipping past security with just enough fake confidence to not get stopped. By the time we reached the gated player exit, a handful of other fans had already gathered — mostly teenage girls with signs and sharpies.

I hung back a little, nerves fluttering.

The first players trickled out, some stopping for photos or autographs. Then he appeared — black cap, Islanders jacket, duffel slung over one shoulder. Mathew Barzal.

I froze.

He was halfway to his car before Marcus gave me a shove. “Go. Now.”

I stepped forward, heart pounding, and called out softly, “Mathew?”

He turned. His eyes scanned the small crowd — then landed on me. Recognition flickered. Then something deeper. Surprise. Regret. Something he didn’t hide fast enough.

He took a few steps closer. “Hey…”

I folded my arms. “So, you do remember me.”

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Of course I do. Look — about that night…”

“You kissed me,” I said, trying to stay calm. “Then I go to the bathroom and poof — you’re gone.”

“I know,” he said, voice low, eyes sincere. “And I’m sorry. I got pulled away — my teammate got into something outside, I had to help get him out of it. Then I came back in and you were gone.”

I blinked. “You looked for me?”

He nodded. “Everywhere. Even asked the bartender if he saw where you went.”

That stupid twist in my stomach uncoiled, just a little.

I hesitated, then said, “So now what?”

He smiled — not cocky this time. Just hopeful. “Now, I ask if you’ll let me buy you a drink. Not in a crowded bar. No games. Just… us.”

I tilted my head, letting the tension ease. “And if I say yes?”

“Then I promise,” he said, stepping closer, “I won’t disappear again.”

[yvaineseleneposts]

Plus one

A/N: Sorry I have been AWOL. I just got back from Paris/Disney with my exam students. Spring break has started so I am back! Leave me requests if you want to request something.

Requested: no

Pairing: Mat Barzal x reader

Words: 2k

Warning(s): none, it's very fluffy

Mathew Barzal hadn’t planned to ask her.

She was his friend — the kind of friend who knew the name of his childhood dog and called him out when he ordered two desserts “for the table” but ended up eating both. The kind of friend who texted him good luck before every game and made him laugh harder than anyone else could, even after a loss.

Which was exactly why she wasn’t supposed to be his last resort.

But three weeks before his cousin’s wedding, Mat sat on his couch, scrolling through his contacts, each name sending a small wave of reluctance through him. He couldn’t bring just anyone — not to a family wedding in Kelowna where every aunt would be sizing up his date like a draft prospect.

So he tapped her name. The phone rang twice.

“Hey, Barzy. What’s up?” Her voice was casual, warm. It made his stomach tighten in the way he never admitted out loud.

“I, uh…” He scratched the back of his neck even though she couldn’t see it. “Random question. Feel free to say no.”

“Now I’m intrigued,” she said.

“My cousin’s getting married. In Kelowna. It’s kind of a big deal — outdoor vineyard, crazy guest list, you know.”

She let out a small laugh. “Sounds fancy. Where do I come in?”

“I need a date. And, well... I’m out of options.” He winced the moment the words left his mouth.

“Wow, how romantic,” she teased. “You really know how to make a girl feel wanted.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly, then quieter, “I just didn’t think you'd say yes if I said you were my first choice.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

“Mat…” she said, her voice a little softer now.

“So?” he said, trying to keep his tone light, playful, like always. “Want to come crash a wedding with me?”

She laughed, and it was the kind that always hit him right in the chest. “Sure, Barzal. I’ll be your pity date.”

“I’ll have you know, it’s open bar. And I clean up well.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” she said. “Just promise me you won’t make me dance with your uncles.”

He smiled, a little too wide. “No promises.”

But the truth was, he’d only be thinking about dancing with her.

The wedding was exactly as over-the-top as Mathew had described. Rows of white chairs curved toward a flower-draped arch in the middle of the vineyard, the late afternoon sun painting everything gold. The bride was radiant. The view was unreal.

But Mat couldn’t focus on any of it.

Because she stepped out of the car wearing a dusty blue dress that made time feel like it slowed down. Her hair was half-up, curling softly around her face, and when she smiled at him — really smiled — his chest did something unfamiliar. Something dangerous.

“Wow,” he said, before he could stop himself.

She grinned. “You clean up pretty well too, Barzal.”

He offered her his arm. “Let’s go convince my family we’re not a total disaster.”

She looped her arm through his. “Too late for that, isn’t it?”

The reception buzzed with champagne and laughter. Mat’s cousins whispered and winked every time she walked past, and his mom already looked halfway convinced she was part of the family.

She laughed through speeches and toasted with his teammates who made the trip. She even danced with Uncle Rick, whose rhythm should have been illegal.

Mat tried not to stare. Failed, obviously. But watching her — head tilted back in laughter, eyes crinkling — something clicked into place.

She fit. Too well.

And that terrified him.

Later, as the sky turned navy and the fairy lights came on, soft music drifted through the speakers. The kind of slow, dreamy track that was made for swaying close on a summer night.

She was sitting at their table, heels kicked off, sipping a drink when he walked over.

“Dance with me,” he said. Not a question.

She raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you promise to protect me from this?”

He grinned. “That was before I realized how good you look under twinkle lights.”

She rolled her eyes but took his hand anyway. “Smooth.”

They stepped onto the dance floor. She rested her hands lightly on his shoulders; his went to her waist, almost too careful.

They moved slowly, in sync without trying. The buzz of the day faded into the background — just murmurs and clinking glasses, and the two of them in a bubble that felt too easy to fall into.

She looked up at him, eyes shining.

“This is surprisingly not awkward,” she murmured.

He laughed, a little breathless. “Maybe we’re just that good.”

A beat passed. The song drifted on.

Then he said it.

Quietly. So quietly she almost missed it.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

She blinked. “What?”

Mat froze. The words hung in the air like mist — soft, irreversible.

“I—” he started, then let out a shaky breath. “Shit. That wasn’t… I didn’t mean to say that now.”

She didn’t pull away.

“Mat,” she said, barely above a whisper.

He looked at her then, all the jokes stripped away, eyes searching hers. “I didn’t ask you as a last resort. I just... couldn’t think of a way to ask you without messing it up.”

Her expression shifted, softening, the weight of the moment sinking in.

“Then maybe you should’ve said that first,” she said, smile curling at the corner of her lips. “Because I might’ve said yes even sooner.”

His breath caught.

“Wait… are you saying—?”

“I’m saying you’re a dumbass,” she teased, leaning in slightly, “but you’re my dumbass.”

The music kept playing. He didn’t say anything else — he just pulled her a little closer and kept dancing.

The wedding wound down the way all good ones do — heels forgotten, ties loosened, and laughter spilling into the warm night. But Mat barely noticed. Not when she was still by his side, fingers laced with his as they walked back toward the guest cottages tucked behind the vineyard.

The stars were out in full force, quiet and infinite above them. Crickets chirped somewhere in the grass. The world felt hushed.

They stopped just outside her door.

Neither moved.

She looked up at him, the soft glow of the porch light catching the curve of her cheek. “You okay?”

Mat nodded. Then shook his head. Then gave a small, crooked smile. “No. Not really.”

She laughed under her breath. “Still spiralling about blurting it out on the dance floor?”

He groaned. “I literally had a whole plan to tell you… someday. Maybe. Eventually. Not during a slow dance in front of Uncle Rick and a bunch of shrimp cocktail.”

She stepped closer. “It was kind of perfect, actually.”

He looked at her then — really looked. “So… what now?”

She tilted her head, eyes soft. “Now you kiss me. Unless your plan was to confess and then run away?”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

The kiss wasn’t rushed. It was steady, sure — like all the months of unsaid things had finally found their place. Her hands slid to the back of his neck. His curled around her waist. And when they pulled apart, forehead to forehead, neither of them spoke for a moment.

They didn’t need to.

Sunlight spilled through the gauzy curtains of her room, golden and lazy. Birds chirped somewhere nearby, and the faint smell of vineyard earth and distant coffee lingered in the air.

Mat was already awake.

He sat on the edge of the bed, in his rumpled white dress shirt and black slacks, looking wholly out of place and yet somehow completely at home.

She stirred, blinking against the light. “You’re staring.”

He smiled, sheepish. “Yeah. Sorry. Just… making sure this wasn’t a dream.”

She reached for the nearest pillow and lobbed it at him. “You’re such a cliché.”

He caught it easily, laughing. “A devastatingly handsome cliché.”

She sat up, pulling the covers around her, and looked at him — really looked. There was something in his face she hadn’t noticed before. Not nerves. Not regret.

Just realness.

“How long?” she asked softly.

He didn’t pretend not to know what she meant.

“A while,” he said. “Long enough to be scared I ruined everything by saying it.”

She reached for his hand. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

He exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath for months.

“I don’t want this to be just a wedding thing,” he said. “I don’t want to go back to pretending I’m just your friend.”

“Good,” she said, scooting closer. “Because I don’t think I could un-know this now.”

Mat leaned in, brushing his lips against her forehead. “So… are we doing this?”

She smiled, warm and sure. “Yeah, Barzy. We’re doing this.”

And in that sun-drenched room, with the world soft and quiet around them, it finally felt simple.

Three Weeks Later

She’d been to plenty of Mathew’s games before. Cheered him on from the stands. Worn his number on a hoodie, shouted when he scored, even roasted him for missed passes in post-game texts.

But this time? This time, she wasn’t just his friend who watched hockey. She was his girlfriend. And somehow, that made everything feel new.

She smoothed down her Islanders jersey — Barzal’s name stitched across the back — and tried not to overthink it. But her heart pounded a little faster when she caught sight of his face on the Jumbotron during warmups. She smiled instinctively, even though he couldn’t see her. Yet.

“Alright, Ms. Barzal,” teased the friend sitting next to her — one of Mat’s teammates’ girlfriends, clearly already in on the news. “You’re glowing. It’s kind of gross.”

She laughed, cheeks warm. “Shut up. I’m not glowing.”

“You are, though. I respect it.”

The game was intense. Fast-paced. Mat was locked in, weaving across the ice like he was born on skates. He tallied two assists by the second period, and when the buzzer rang at the end of the third with the Isles taking the win, she was already on her feet, clapping so hard her palms stung.

When he glanced up at the stands before disappearing down the tunnel, his eyes found her like they always did.

Only this time, he smiled. Just for her.

She stood awkwardly near the corner, watching other girlfriends and family members mingle, sipping beer out of plastic cups and waiting for their guys to emerge. Her fingers tugged nervously at the hem of her jersey.

Then the locker room doors opened, and there he was — hair still damp, suit back on, tie loose, smile easy.

Mat’s eyes lit up the second he saw her.

“There she is,” he said, walking straight over. “You looked good in the stands.”

“I looked good?” she teased. “Did you even notice the game?”

“I mean, I noticed the win,” he said, slipping an arm around her waist. “But yeah. You were kinda distracting.”

She rolled her eyes but leaned into him. “You were amazing.”

“Two assists,” he said, smug. “Pretty solid, huh?”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” she muttered, smirking up at him.

Then he kissed her.

Right there — in the middle of the lounge, surrounded by teammates and families and a million pairs of eyes.

Not shy. Not hesitant.

Just… his lips on hers, his hand steady at her back, like she belonged right there next to him.

When they pulled apart, a few of the guys nearby whooped obnoxiously.

“Get a room, Barzy!”

“Finally made it official, huh?”

Mat grinned, brushing his thumb across her cheek. “Yeah,” he said, eyes still on her. “We did.”

And she realized, in that moment, that this — the hockey games, the post-win kisses, the teasing from teammates — this was real now.

They were real.nhl

[yvaineseleneposts]

Orange you glad?

A/N: It's officially King's day here in the Netherlands. So I have decided to write a very short blurb about celebrating it with Mat. Enjoy!

Pairing: Mat Barzal x reader

Words: 500

Warning(s): none

Mathew Barzal tugged at the hem of the bright orange T-shirt, glancing down sceptically at the cheesy lion graphic roaring across the chest.

"Are you sure this is what everyone wears?" he asked, brows raised, looking at his girlfriend, who was expertly braiding tiny orange ribbons into her hair.

She laughed — that musical, light laugh he was completely obsessed with. "Barzy, you have no idea. Orange is basically a religion on King's Day. You'll fit right in."

He gave a mock groan but followed her out onto the bustling streets of Amsterdam anyway, hand squeezed firmly in hers.

The city was alive. Every street corner exploded with music, boat horns echoed off the canals, and everywhere Mat looked, people were dancing, laughing, and wearing some version of outrageous orange. He even spotted a man in a full orange tuxedo and a woman wearing a literal crown made out of carrots.

"This is insane," Mat said, shaking his head in awe. "But...kind of amazing."

His girlfriend pulled him toward a street stand, where they grabbed cold beers and a cone of fries smothered in creamy Dutch mayonnaise. She popped a fry into his mouth, grinning when he gave an approving nod.

"Good, right?" she said.

"Okay, you win. Everything about today is awesome." He leaned down and kissed her quickly, tasting the salt of the fries on her lips.

They wandered through the crowds, stopping to listen to impromptu DJs spinning house music right in the streets, and Mat was pulled into a sloppy, joyful group dance by a group of strangers. She just laughed, recording the whole thing on her phone.

Later, they boarded a friend's boat, cruising along the canals surrounded by other boats packed with partygoers, all bouncing to the music as the water splashed playfully against the sides. Mat looked around — at the waving flags, the sunset turning the sky pink behind a sea of orange — and then back at Sophie, whose cheeks were flushed from the breeze and beer.

"This is the best day ever," he said, wrapping his arms around her from behind.

"You haven't even had the stroopwafels yet," she teased.

Mat chuckled, burying his face in her hair. "I don't need anything else. I’ve got you...and this ridiculous shirt."

She turned around in his arms, eyes shining. "Welcome to your first King's Day, Barzy."

He kissed her again, the boat swaying slightly under them, the entire city celebrating around them — and for once, the guy who was usually the fastest thing on ice was more than happy to stand still.