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snowflakes-and-cupcakes · 29 days ago

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You never let me do this enough

I know this i a bit late. It's been sitting in my drafts. Sorry, I haven't posted in so long, I've just been so busy. Here is some Mathew birthday smut.

Pairing: Mat Barzal x actress!fem!reader

Warnings: Smut 18+ content, oral sex, male receiving, Mild swearing and talks of past relationships.

Masterlist

You’ve never had a boyfriend who didn’t just want sex for his birthday.

Which, honestly, fine — sex is great. You excel at birthday sex. You’d put a ribbon on your ass if it came to that. But Mat’s not like that. He’s never been like that. You know if you showed up in nothing but lingerie and called it a day, he’d love it, sure — he’d worship the hell out of it — but he’d still look at you with that soft, stupid grin and say, “You didn’t have to do anything, babe.”

So you do something.

You bake him a fucking cake.

Well, try to.

It’s one of those boxed ones — Betty Crocker or some other overly enthusiastic bitch with a red apron. The kind where all you do is add milk and eggs and stir it like a functioning adult. You even got funfetti, because he looks like a funfetti guy. You don’t know what that means, but it feels right. He’s sweet. Bright. Soft in the middle.

You do everything right. Pour it into the tin. Pop it in the oven. Set a timer. Try to clean the flour off your counter before it becomes part of the structural foundation of your kitchen. You're in one of his oversized hoodies and no pants. You smell like vanilla extract and chaos.

And then you fuck it up.

The cake comes out looking decent—until you try to get it out of the tin. And it… does not want to leave.

It sticks like it has abandonment issues. The middle collapses. The edges crumble. It’s breaking apart in your hands like your last relationship. You’re standing there with chunks of half-intact cake and a spatula, muttering, “Fuck me,” under your breath when the front door buzzes.

“Come up!” you yell into the intercom, because it’s his birthday and you’re too proud to admit you might’ve just ruined it.

When he walks in, you’re elbow-deep in failure and buttercream frosting. You try to block his view with your body like it’s a crime scene. He just laughs.

“Babe,” he says, “what is that?”

“It’s cake, asshole.”

“Where?”

You flip him off.

He comes up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist, chin hooking over your shoulder. “Looks edible.”

“Wow, thanks. High praise.”

“Smells amazing.”

You snort. “It’s literally leaking out the bottom.”

“So am I.”

“Jesus, Mat.”

You give up on presentation and just slap the whole sad Frankenstein of a cake onto a plate. Stick two half-melted candles in it. Light them. Sing “Happy Birthday” like a drunk Marilyn Monroe, except you're barefoot and still smell faintly of scorched sugar.

He’s smiling so hard it actually pisses you off.

“What?” you ask, cutting him the ugliest slice of cake known to mankind.

“This is the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

“You need higher standards.”

He kisses you, all tongue and frosting and dumb birthday-boy happiness. “Seriously. You baked for me.”

“Bitch, I tried to bake. There’s a difference.”

He shovels a piece into his mouth, moans obnoxiously, and says with a full mouth, “So good.”

“Liar.”

“Tastes like love.”

You roll your eyes so hard your skull should click. “Tastes like expired eggs and trauma.”

He leans back against the counter, smug as hell, licking frosting off his fork. “You didn’t even have to do anything, babe.”

That pisses you off even more. Because you wanted to do something. You wanted him to feel special. Not just because it’s his birthday. But because he’s… him.

And he always makes you feel like that.

So you lick frosting off your thumb slowly, make sure he’s watching, and say, “Well. Good thing there’s more.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “More?”

You nod. Slide a hand up his shirt, bite your lip a little, and murmur, “I mean. I still have to give you your real present.”

His breath hitches.

“Oh yeah?” he says.

“Mmhmm.” You tug him by the waistband of his sweats. “Starts with a B.”

“Blowjob?”

“Ends with a J.”

“Blowjob,” he says again, grinning like a fucking idiot.

“Correct. Happy birthday, baby.” You drop to your knees and wink. “Now shut up and unwrap it.”

You drop to your knees, barefoot on the cool tile, right between his legs. He’s already leaning back against the kitchen island, eyes half-lidded, lips parted, like he’s ready—like the anticipation alone might wreck him.

You tug at the waistband of his sweats, just slow enough to be mean. He groans.

“You never let me do this enough,” you mutter, eyes flicking up to his.

He grins down at you, breathless. “Terrible,” he agrees, voice low and rough. “So selfish.”

You hum dramatically. “I know. Poor me.”

You free him from his boxers, and the sound he makes is borderline criminal. He grips the edge of the counter behind him like his life depends on it. You look up, wicked and sweet at the same time.

“Happy birthday, baby.” You say as you wrap your fingers around his hot, aching shaft.

And then you ruin him.

You lower your head and swirl your tongue around the tip of his dick. You draw him into your mouth and eagerly start to suck. You love the noises he makes. Every single sound is music to your ears.

Sometimes he curses. Hisses. Groans. Placing your hands on the front of his thighs, you lean forward, taking him until he hits the back of your throat, making you splutter. You wrap your hand around the base and move it in rhythm with your mouth, moaning and gagging, looking up at him with watery eyes.

You take your time—slow, purposeful, almost cruel with how gentle you are at first. Like you’re unwrapping a gift with reverence. Like he’s something to be savored. His hand ends up in your hair within seconds, not controlling, just holding, grounding himself. His legs start to tremble a little. You smile to yourself. Yeah. You’ve still got it.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N,” he groans, and your name in his mouth sounds like worship.

You tease, you push, you let him fall apart. You make him fall apart. At one point he says something that’s just a string of half-sentences and a full-body shudder. You laugh around him, which is apparently too much because his whole body jerks.

His thrusts get harder and sloppy, telling you how close he is, and when you gently cup his balls with your free hand, he’s a goner.

He barely makes it through. When he finally lets go, it's a full collapse—his head falls back, eyes shut tight, hands gripping your shoulders like you're the only thing keeping him from floating away.

You stand up, smug and flushed and far too pleased with yourself. His eyes are glassy. Wrecked.

“Best birthday ever?” you ask, licking your lips just to drive it home.

He doesn’t even speak. Just nods and pulls you into him, burying his face in your neck, laughing against your skin.

“God, I fucking love you,” he mumbles.

You grin. “I know.”

And then, because you’re still Y/N, you whisper, “You’re welcome for your life-altering blowjob.”

And he just groans again. Real deep.

“Next year,” he mutters, “we’re skipping the cake.”

#yaaaaaaay I love this!#elle’s bookmarks

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snowflakes-and-cupcakes · 1 month ago

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a/n: a little mat and squeaks action for mat’s birthday!! a million years ago an anon asked for more beau, mat, and squeaks and this is one of the fic ideas that was born from that! i def need to add beau and mat’s dynamic to more fics, but for now enjoy this one! 😊

word count: 4.0k

tw: postpartum anxiety

summary: talia meets uncle beau for the first time

Beau and Emma come up to visit in early June, when you still should’ve been keeping Talia safe and warm inside of you for another few days, if not weeks. Instead, Mat’s little clone is seven weeks old and thriving, by all accounts. She’s still chicken-legged, as your mom had affectionately observed, but she’s got a full head of dark hair and she’s always looking around, trying to see what’s going on. She eats well and she’s hitting milestones left and right.

You, on the other hand, feel like shit physically and mentally and now that your mom and Nadia are back at their respective homes, as of this weekend, your anxiety about doing this alone is starting to worsen.

Not that Mat hasn’t been helpful, because he’s been the best, but you’re used to the safety net your mom and mother-in-law provide. Now it’s just the two of you and Talia.

Half the team’s met Talia at this point, each visit making you feel better and worse. Better because it’s nice to see your friends and because they’re all obsessed with your daughter. Worse because the more visitors you have, the more germs Talia’s exposed to. Which is why everyone’s met her out in the backyard and only Bo and Holly have held her and that was only because you’d been napping when they arrived and Mat doesn’t have quite the same hangups about germs that you do. He still made sure they washed their hands all the way to the elbow and didn’t kiss her face or hands.

“Hey,” Mat comes up behind you and ruffles his hand over the crown of your head, “they should be here in a few minutes. Do you need anything?”

He looks tired, but happy that his best friend is coming to visit, and you shake your head. You’re as dressed up as you’re going to get, in a pair of bike shorts that are two sizes bigger than your usual for comfort and an oversized t-shirt that makes you feel like you’re wearing a circus tent, but doesn’t chafe at your sore nipples or cling to the extra weight around your stomach. Your hair and face are washed and you even managed to put on a little makeup, so you feel okay. Not good, but okay.

“Talia should sleep for a little bit longer,” you murmur in reply, checking the time on your phone screen. “I don’t know if we should wake her before they get here? She might be fussy.”

Mat laughs warmly, “let her sleep. We’ll catch up with Tito and Emma and I’ll get her when she’s up. Let’s just take it step by step, okay?”

You nod and smile faintly when Mat drops a kiss to the top of your head. He heads off to the kitchen to see what food and drinks are available and when there’s a light knock on the front door less than ten minutes later, you wave him off so you can answer it.

Emma and Beau’s smiling faces greet you and before you can say anything, Emma says, “we didn’t want to ring the bell in case she was asleep, but tell us if you want us inside or straight to the backyard. We’ll follow your lead.”

Tears prickle at your eyes with Emma’s thoughtfulness and you have to swallow emotion before you can reply. “Backyard? If you really don’t mind. I just…” you trail off with a shrug and a wince.

“Backyard is perfect,” Emma chirps, still smiling. “Nothing’s better than a June day on Long Island.”

Beau leans in quickly to kiss your temple, his hello warm and welcome. You smile at him lightly, “missed you.”

“Missed you too,” he says. “How’re you doing? Mat’s filled me in a bit…”

You shrug. “Okay, I guess,” you chew at the inside of your cheek. “She’s so worth it. I can’t wait for you to meet her.”

Everyone is shuffled off to the back deck, Mat bouncing around like an overexcited toddler when he sees Beau, grabbing his best friend in a tight hug. You and Emma share a look, a genuine smile and laugh coming to your face. The guys’ friendship is your favorite thing to witness.

They fall into an easy conversation, catching up and leaving you to catch up with Emma. You’ve missed her while she’s been in Nashville, but it’s like no time has passed. She’s thick in the middle of wedding planning and you feel a twinge of guilt and sadness about the reception that you and Mat cancelled. No chance you want to expose Talia to that level of germs. Nor do you feel up to being the center of attention and “on” all day.

True to her schedule, the baby monitor crackles to life and Talia’s cry is audible even through the open screen door. Pushing yourself off the porch chair, you tell everyone that you’ll be right back.

When you get to her nursery, Talia’s settled a bit, kicking her arms and legs and waiting for you with a gummy smile. That’s relatively new, the smiling on purpose, and it makes your heart melt every time you’re gifted with one.

“Hi there, my little love,” you coo at her, stroking the slope of her nose with the tip of your index finger. “Ready to meet Uncle Beau and Aunt Emma?”

She gurgles and you lift her up, cuddling her close and inhaling the smell of her head before changing her diaper and getting her into the onesie Beau had sent when she was born - soft cotton with a screen printed guitar on the front and the words ‘my daddy thinks he’s a professional’ in block letters. Both you and Mat had laughed when you saw it, the gentle teasing much needed while you were still adjusting and more things made you cry than laugh.

“Here she is,” you beam when you get back outside, Talia cradled in your arms. “Uncle Beau, Aunt Emma, meet Talia B.”

Emma immediately fawns over her, her eyes going soft and wide as she grins and leans in. “She is so adorable, oh my god,” her voice is high pitched, baby talking already. “You’re going to be a heart breaker, aren’t you?”

“We’re already wrapped around her fingers,” Mat comments wryly, stroking the bottom of Talia’s foot.

“Guys, she’s the cutest baby I’ve ever seen,” Beau grins. Talia’s gaze tracks his voice and she babbles at him, making her little baby grunts and coos. You watch Beau melt completely and know your daughter’s got another hockey player wrapped around her fingers.

“We think so too,” you joke. “But then again, we’re pretty biased.”

“Be as biased as you want,” Emma reaches forward and pauses, hesitating until you nod to give her the go ahead to stroke Talia’s foot. “She’s a little angel. I wish we were closer so we could see her more often.”

“You’re slowly working your way back east,” Mat nudges Beau in the side. “Now you gotta go north. We’ll get you back on the Island one day.”

Beau snorts, “free agency has been interesting. Get your annoying ass into Lou’s office and vouch for me.”

Emma, still stroking Talia’s foot and making faces at her, says, “from your mouth to god’s ears. I miss it here.”

Talia wriggles in your arms and her face scrunches up before relaxing. She seems okay, but maybe her cheeks are a little flushed? Is she sweating through the onesie?

“Mat?” Your voice wavers a little and his head snaps to your direction.

“What’s up?” He’s squatting by your side in a second and you shake your head.

“Is it too hot for her? Does she look flushed?” Your heart is starting to pound a little and you know you must sound crazy to Beau and Emma, how fast the switch of your mood flipped from calm to crazy.

Mat’s hand is warm on your knee, thumb stroking in a soothing motion. “She looks okay to me,” he says calmly. “Do you want me to put up the umbrella? Or do you want to take her inside?”

You swallow around the lump in your throat, panic starting to claw at your chest. You’re comfortable, but Talia could overheat. She’s not fussing or anything, but you could swear her cheeks are pink under her little sun hat.

“I don’t know, god, Mat, I just..” you shake your head and essentially make a run for it, holding Talia up to your chest and ducking back inside, leaving Mat, Beau, and Emma out on the deck. You feel awful for leaving them so early in the visit and Talia squeaks against your chest - your arms are around her too tightly.

The screen door opens and shuts and Mat’s at your side, warmth radiating off of his body. “Hey,” he tilts your chin so he can look at your face, even though you’re actively avoiding eye contact, “T’s okay. You’re okay. Why don’t you hang out in here for a bit and I’ll keep Tito and Em entertained? Okay?”

“I’m wasting their visit,” you bite your lip to muffle a sob.

“You’re not,” Mat says firmly, cupping your cheek. “Hey, listen to me. You’re not wasting their visit. They’re here all week and they can come back any time.”

You shake your head. “But they’re here now and I panicked and I just want everything to be okay,” you hiccup. The dam breaks and tears fall fast and hot down your cheeks. You’d been fine, everything was okay, and now you’re a mess again.

Mat pulls you to his chest carefully, mindful of Talia in your arms. She’s relaxed, reaching a hand out for Mat. He kisses your cheek and lets Talia hold onto his finger, stroking her skin with his thumb. “You’re doing a great job, Squeaks,” he says in a confident tone. “T is happy and healthy and no one is mad or upset when you need to take a break.”

Talia gurgles in your arms, agreeing with her Daddy. It makes you smile shakily, resting your head on Mat’s shoulder.

“I just feel,” you hesitate, anxiety churning in your stomach. “I want them to hold her, but I can’t let her go, Mat. I get so worried if she’s not in my arms.”

“I get it,” Mat reassures you. And you know he does because he was just as helpless in the early hours of Talia’s life. “I’m not telling you to put her down or let anyone else hold her. Just, y’know, cut yourself some slack. It’ll get easier.”

You nod, his words registering but you know it’s easier said than done. His arm is sold on your back and you let yourself lean into him and bear some of your weight. Talia’s face crinkles and she turns her neck, rooting her face into your chest. She’s hungry and you take the out, saying, “I’ll feed her and then come back outside, I think.”

“We’ll be waiting if you want to join,” Mat says, leaning in to kiss Talia’s forehead. “But don’t feel like you have to. If you want to rest, rest.”

Talia grabs reflexively at his hair and Mat winces as she pulls, gently disentangling the strands from her tiny fingers. You shift her in your arms, already reaching for the hem of your shirt to pull it up. Breastfeeding has gotten easier, but it’s still a bit of a production to get Talia focused and eating. You’re always exhausted too after she eats, sore and emotional. More often than not, you find yourself crying too, for no real reason you can articulate.

Mat guides you to the couch and you settle in, pillows propped around your body and making sure Talia’s at the right angle. He doesn’t leave your side until she’s latched, bringing you your Stanley and a snack. “Shout if you need me,” he says, kissing you quickly and heading back outside, leaving you to your own devices.

Talia cooperates this time, eating quickly and falling asleep in your arms after a burp that almost startles its way out of her little body. You relax into the couch, studying her little features as she sleeps, feeling your anxiety start to recede. She’s solid in your arms, still light at nine and a half pounds.

You don’t want to move with her, but you can hear laughter from the back deck and your heart lurches because you want to be out there with everyone too. Giving Talia a few more minutes to really make sure she’s asleep, you get up carefully from the couch, your one arm hold secure, and grab one of the thousand muslin blankets you have laying around the house to drape over Talia’s body while she naps.

Mat has the umbrella up for you already, giving you a huge grin when you appear at the screen door. “Sleeping Beauty out?” He asks, jumping up to grab your elbow and guide you over the lip at the door. Once he’s sure you’re settled again in your chair, he flops back onto the couch.

“Mhm,” you hum. “I’m sorry she wasn’t awake longer. She honestly sleeps so much during the day and so little at night we’re starting to think she’s nocturnal.”

Emma and Beau wave you off.

“Oh, we get it,” Emma says before teasing, “it’s not like she’s a stellar conversationalist at this point.”

You laugh and conversation starts up again, the trio easily folding you back into the discussion about the baseball season.

Talia wakes up briefly and she’s alert long enough for you to think that she probably won’t go back to sleep just yet. As much as you try to keep her to the schedule, sometimes she has a mind of her own. Swallowing your anxiety, you gracelessly interrupt the conversation, saying, “Beau, she’s kind of awake. Do you want to hold her?”

All three of them look at you with a little surprise, but Beau nods immediately, jumping up to rush inside and wash his hands like a maniac without you even having to ask. Your laugh is amused and relieved and the lingering scent of your Mrs. Meyers hand soap follows him back outside.

Carefully, you pass her off to Beau’s waiting arms and your stomach clenches a little, but Beau is perfectly still, holding her like a china doll. Mat and Emma are beaming - but the difference is that Mat’s looking at you and Emma’s looking at Beau. Your husband mouths a ‘thank you’ and you smile back, knowing how important it is that Beau and Talia get to build a relationship.

“She’s so little,” Beau breathes, making faces at her while Talia stares up at him. Emma snaps a few pictures and bounces in her seat. Beau laughs and pokes fun at Mat, “I still can’t believe you’re a dad. Feels like yesterday I was getting Bieber serenades.”

“Now it’s Talia’s turn,” Mat jokes.

Beau grins, “I should’ve bought her a pair of headphones to block out your shitty singing. She can join me in therapy to forget.”

“Me next?” The question is directed at you and you nod, feeling a little lighter. Emma sprints off to wash her hands and demands the baby when she returns. Beau hesitates, looking like he’ll deny the request to hold her longer, but eventually relents and Emma cradles her like a natural.

Mat pats the couch cushion next to him and you move to join him, leaning against his side while you watch your best friends hold your baby. They coo over her and eventually Talia falls back asleep while she’s in Beau’s arms. She’s clearly so comfortable and happy in his arms.

“I can keep her for a bit,” he says easily, “if you want to rest your arms.”

It’s so scary having her away from you, even though she’s less than a foot away. But these are the baby steps Mat’s always talking about, so you nod. “That would be nice, thanks,” you reply, breathing in time with Mat’s hand stroking up and down your arm.

It’s easier, the longer Beau holds her, and you manage another fifteen minutes before you start to get antsy. Mat can feel you start to wiggle next to him, so he nods at Beau, not pausing the conversation they’re having about the past season and upcoming off-season training. He takes Talia easily from Beau and deposits her in your arms, your heartbeat steadying as soon as she settles against your chest, her weight warm and reassuring.

By the time Emma and Beau leave an hour later, you feel like a real person again and not just the anxious, terrified mom you’ve been the last few weeks.

“I’m really proud of you,” Mat says, lifting Talia into his arms so you can get up and go back inside. She flinches for a second before relaxing into his arms, looking so tiny compared to his frame. “Tomorrow’s supposed to be nice too, we could try for a short walk.”

You follow him inside, resisting the urge to adjust the blanket covering the baby, and nod absently. “Maybe just around the block?”

“Whatever you feel up to,” Mat agrees. He looks so comfortable holding Talia, his shoulders relaxed and his grip on her secure. The best part of the last few weeks really has been seeing Mat step into his dad shoes and grow in the new role. You’ve never been more grateful to have him at your side, even if you feel like you’re slowly losing your mind with anxiety.

Mat makes it look easy, even though you know it’s not, and you’re struggling sometimes to remember that. Every time he suggests something - a walk, renting a house out east and spending some time in the sun - you can only picture the bad things, how everything could go wrong.

It’s exhausting and you don’t know how to stop it for longer than a few hours at a time.

“She’s out again,” Mat says, coming up behind you. “Snoring and everything. The cute snores, not the ones that sound like our dads after a drink or two.”

You laugh faintly, your heart in your throat for no reason. Mat frowns at you and cups your chin in one hand, forcing you to look at him, “hey, what’s going through your head? You did so good today.”

“I should be better,” you blurt out, a surprised hiccup preceding the unexpected flood of tears. You fall into Mat’s arms, sobbing hard against his chest while he strokes your hair and back, murmuring against the top of your head. “She’s almost two months old!”

Mat’s arms tighten around you, squeezing you close in a hug that’s almost bruising in its force.

“You’re doing fucking amazing,” he says firmly into your ear. “I’ve never been more in awe of you than when I see you with T. She loves you so much and so do I.”

You wipe your face on Mat’s shirt, knowing he won’t mind since you’ve cried and snotted on him so many times in the last two months.

“I’m so scared all the time that something is going to happen to her,” you admit wearily, looking up at him through puffy eyes and wet eyelashes. “I’m so scared that something is going to happen to you or me and she’ll be alone. I know she was safe with Beau and Emma, but I couldn’t relax for the longest time.”

Mat’s face falls, concern written all over his features, and your heart sinks. Just another thing for him to worry about because you can’t get your act together.

You backtrack, “I’m being silly. It’s fine, I know Talia’s fine. I’m okay, don’t worry about me.”

“Bullshit,” Mat shoots back, startling you a little. He looks annoyed briefly, before his features rearrange into a more neutral frown, “that’s bullshit, you’re not being silly and you’re not fine. What do you need from me? How can I help because it sounds like you’re still struggling.”

His hands are warm on your back, fingers flexing, and you bury your face into his chest again, feeling too seen, too vulnerable. Even with Mat, it’s hard to ask for help.

Mat lets you cry and just holds you in place, rocking slightly from side to side like he does when he’s holding Talia. It works to soothe you like it does her and you feel your anxiety receding to a manageable degree. But with the anxiety dissipating, your embarrassment flares even though you know it’s stupid. Mat’s seen you through everything and loved you unconditionally, this is no exception.

“What we’re going to do,” he says quietly, cupping the back of your head in one big hand, “is take it day by day. It’s partially my fault, for not realizing how bad you’re feeling, but with the moms and Liana around and the end of the season, I dropped the ball.”

You start to pull back, to protest - it’s not his fault, he had so much going on - but Mat clicks his tongue at you.

“Nope,” he shakes his head, looking you in the eye, “I didn’t realize. But now I do and I’m going to make sure we get you back to fighting form. I’m making an executive decision, tomorrow we’re going to get T ready to go and we’re going to meet Tito and Emma for lunch. We, you need to get out of the house.”

“I get out of the house,” you pout, knowing he’ll argue with you.

Sure enough, Mat rolls his eyes. “Doctor appointments don’t count and neither does sitting in the backyard. We need to start getting into a routine, okay?” He ducks his head to look you in the eye. “Whatever you need, Squeaks, I’m here to give it to you.”

“What if it doesn’t help?” You ask quietly, twisting your fingers into the fabric of his shirt. “What if…I’m just all messed up now?”

“You’re not,” Mat counters, kissing your forehead. “But even if you were, Talia and I would still love you. Everyone would still love you. Maybe just getting outside won’t help, maybe you’ll need to talk to someone, but I promise we’ll help you feel better.”

You nod, believing him because what choice to you have when he looks so confident and sounds so solid.

“I love you,” you say quietly, tipping your head up and resting your chin on his chest. “I love us and Talia. I don’t want to be like this anymore. I want to enjoy the summer with our friends.”

“You will,” Mat promises. “I’m going to make sure of it.”

You smile a little, “sounds like a threat.”

“If it has to be,” he winks at you, smiling cheekily. His hand slips down to pat lightly at your ass. “Now, you can either try and take a nap while T naps, or you can come sit out in the sun with me and decide where you want to get lunch tomorrow. Your pick.”

“Outside, please,” you reply, tucking yourself against his side and pressing your nose to his shirt. “Vitamin D’s probably good for me.”

Mat chuckles, his fingers tapping out a nonsense rhythm on your hip. “You know you set me up for the easy shot, right?” He jokes.

“And yet, you didn’t take the layup,” you click your tongue, faking disappointment with a slow shake of your head.

On the way out the back door, Mat snatches up the baby monitor and clips it to the waistband of his shorts, a smooth move that makes your stomach flutter.

“Just waiting for my moment,” Mat grins at you, hand on your lower back to guide you back out into the late afternoon sunshine. He flops onto the couch, tugging you onto his lap and wrapping his arms around your waist loosely. You stiffen slightly, still uncomfortable with Mat’s touch on your soft and squishy stomach, but relax after a moment to lean against his chest.

A breeze ruffles the leaves above the back deck and delivers the fresh scent of mowed grass from one of your neighbor’s lawns. Mat’s arms are strong around your waist, his easy, relaxed breathing ruffling your hair slightly before he kisses the side of your neck.

The longer Mat holds you, the more relaxed you get, eyelids growing heavy until you can’t keep them open anymore.

#cried!#elle’s bookmarks

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snowflakes-and-cupcakes · 1 month ago

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Can you write something where Mat and Squeaks have sex together while he's wearing his hat backwards ?

oh backwards hat mat, my frat boy aesthetic beloved 🤍

summertime! it’s your favorite season because mat likes to spend it shirtless by the lake and toure more than happy to join him

skimpy little bikinis that barely cover your body and tossing mat the supergoop tube so he can rub sunscreen all over your back and ass and tits because “gotta make sure you don’t burn, squeaks”

his bathing suits usually have a 3 inch inseam and they wrap around his muscular thighs snugly, straining tight over his quads and across his ass. tighter still over his cock when you saunter out to the dock and he watches your body move

mat does a flip off the dock to impress you, like a teenage boy, and comes up for air flipping wet hair off his forehead. you giggle and hold up eight fingers, “minus two for excessive splashing”

he laughs and smacks his hand at an angle on the water, sending a splash of lake water your way. you squeal at the shock of cold water and he grins, teases, “looks like you’re all wet cause of me”

and once you confirm you’re the only ones out on the dock, on the water, you smirk at him and tug your bathing suit bottoms to the side and widen your legs so mat can see the glistening pink of your cunt, “mhm,” you hum, dipping two fingers into your folds, “definitely wet because of you”

mat hauls himself out of the water, biceps bulging as he pushes up on the dock, he grabs his hat off the planks and pushes his hair back, setting his hat on his head with the brim backwards before diving between your legs

he sucks at your clit and you gasp a moan, dropping back down off your elbows so your back is flat on the dock. mat looks up from between your legs, a stray lock of wet hair escaping over the adjustment band and dropping over his forehead. he shoots you a wicked smirk and presses his middle finger against your entrance, dipping in shallowly

“you taste so fucking good,” he groans, dropping a hot kiss against your hipbone and scraping his teeth against your skin

“all for you, mat,” you keen when his lips return to your clit, sucking harshly. two of his fingers massage your inner walls and before you know it, you’re coming in his mouth and around his fingers, gushing all over his face

mat pops back up, face red and dripping with your come. he beams, adjusts his hat and rakes his hand through his hair, “now i’m all wet because of you,” he jokes and you kick weakly at him for the terrible joke

he catches your foot and squeezes your ankle, bringing it to his mouth to kiss your instep. you wiggle your toes against his cheek

mat gives you a few minutes to recover before he bends your knees and pushes them open, pulling his thick, hard cock out of his bathing suit and notching the head at your entrance

he pushes into you with a groan, chin dropping to his chest. with his hat backwards, he reminds you of every frat boy you ever made out with in college, but the soft, gooey look he shoots you when he bottoms out in your cunt is a mat barzal exclusive 😇

#mat x squeaks smut my lifeblood #elle’s bookmarks

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snowflakes-and-cupcakes · 1 month ago

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The second I put my head on your chest She knew she's got a real sixth sense Now her name comes up once, then it comes up twice And without her even being here, she's back in your life Now she's in the same damn city on the same damn night Kinks & TW: exes to lovers, sending explicit photos, cheating if you consider hooking up with your ex when you're in an undefined relationship, unprotected sex, Mat POV Word Count: 2.4k+

It happened the second she put her head on his chest. Mat had seen it out of the corner of his eyes; the subtle glow of his phone screen brightened with a notification. While Mat had put the phone on silent, and placed it face down on the table to keep himself from the distraction of you, there was no ignoring how the light shone down through the glass table top. He watched it until the screen darkened, only for it to be brought to life again.

Mat didn’t need to look at it to know it was you messaging him. When it came to him being around other women, you had a real sixth sense. Without fail, you had always sent a text message, a snapchat, or called when he was with someone else.

It wasn’t like he was cheating. You were his ex-girlfriend, someone he had always told himself he had outgrown. But there was no ignoring the history you shared, the emotions that always seemed to linger there below the surface, or that you were in town for the first time in what felt like years.

You should have been easier to ignore, especially when he had already made plans with someone else. But just the thought of you left Mat struggling to do something as simple as breathe. Mat had to focus as he took in a heavy breath, his chest rising and falling slowly, and with every inhale and exhale of her head moved gentle with it.

She was snuggled right into him, her head using his peck as a pillow as the movie he was no longer watching played out on screen. He felt her squirm, his jagged breath forcing her out of her comfortable position. Then he felt her eyes gazing up at him, her warm breath washing over his neck as she spoke. “Are you okay? Your heart is racing.”

Mat cleared his throat, his hand going to the back of his neck and rubbing it slowly. “Yeah, ah, bit thirsty actually.”

“I can grab you something,” she assured and pushed up from the couch.

Her warmth was gone, leaving Mat suddenly cold as he sat there. His eyes remained fixated on her until she had disappeared, out of sight, into the kitchen. Exhaling slowly, Mat carded a hand through the thick curls of his hair as his eyes fell down to his phone as it still rested face down on the table with its screen dark.

Mat thought that he could ignore it as long as his phone remained lifeless. But knowing there was a message there, unread – from you, left him restless. It was like an itch he needed to scratch, and he could only do that by looking at the message you had sent. Only then, could Mat feel a semblance of satisfaction – that was before he spiraled. It would start by looking at the message. Then, maybe he would send you one. Tell you to get lost, only for banter to begin. Banter he always loved because it got his heart racing. Banter that would make him want to see you. Mat knew it was exactly what would happen if he looked, because it had happened countless times before.

And just when Mat thought he had found his restraint, the phone screen lit up again. Mat lurched for it.

One missed call.

Three text messages, but he only needed to see one of them to know what you wanted.

His breath caught in the back of his throat at the picture you had sent him. You were stretched out on some hotel bed, your hair down and effortlessly tousled, and your lips were parted slightly. He didn’t need to be there to know the sound you made when your face looked like that. Then, as if you knew you were finally looking at the messages you had sent – you sent another. This time, the shorts you were wearing were gone, your modesty remaining only because of the familiar oversized shirt you wore.

If he let you, he’d send another. Each picture you’d be wearing less and less, teasing him until he either sent you a picture in return or he put you in check. But there was no ignoring the first message that had a pin of your hotel's location. You were in the same damn city on the same damn night, and Mat wasn’t going to let the opportunity pass.

Mat's pulse quickened, his hand lurching for his keys before he moved towards the door. He took no time to say goodbye. He had no excuse he could give the poor girl when she came back with a drink for him. It would be easier to make up a lie later, when his mind wasn’t clouded by every desire to be in bed with you.

It was the only thought in his mind as he drove across the city to your hotel. The twenty minute drive felt like mere minutes before he was handing his keys to the valet and seeking out the door to your room.

His knuckles barely grazed the surface before the door swung open.

You were standing there, waiting for him, in nothing but an old dress shirt that he was sure was his. The white fabric hung loosely off your shoulder, and its hem brushed the top of your thighs as it was secured to your frame by one or two of the black buttons over your breasts.

His jaw slacked as he stared, a single step carrying him closer to the doorway to block the sight of you from anyone who may pass by. His eyes flicked up and down your body, taking you in during his mere moment of hesitation. Mat couldn’t remember the last time he had seen you like this in person. It was almost a shame to rush things, but he couldn’t deny himself from what he had driven there to do.

With quick strides, Mat stepped forward, his hands dropping to your waist. He gripped your tight, like you were a figment of his imagination that would disappear the moment he let go, and lifted you up with an effortlessness that only came from having done it countless times before.

Your legs wrapped around him, squeezing tight around his hips, as a breathy laugh slipped from your lips. Mat swallowed it with his kiss as he reached a single hand back, slamming the hotel room door shut behind him. And he didn’t stop kissing you until he walked deep enough into the room to feel the bed against his knees. It was then, he dropped you down onto the bed, your face recreating the same expression in the photo you had sent him.

One look at you laying there flipped a switch in Mat’s mind. His every movement–and his every breath–was made in pure instinct. He kneeled down on the bed, the plush cushion of the mattress bowing under his weight, between your thighs. Rough hands fell into a familiar path up along the length of your thighs. It was after the rise and fall of your hip’s peak, Mat found the thin strip of lace fabric of your panties. Mat gripped each side in a fist, and pulled until the fragile fabric snapped away from your body. It came to be a mere scrap beneath you as you spread your legs further, welcoming him into what was so clearly his.

He lowered his weight over you carefully, each of his arms coming to rest on each side of your head, and he pinned you down to the bed with the mere weight of his hips against your own. Then, with the careful rock of his hips, he dragged the seam of his jeans zipper along the slickness of your core. He knew he found just the right spot when he felt you shutter beneath him. Mat maintained the steady, rhythmic movement as he leaned in, his kiss all consuming as your tongue found the space in his mouth that he had been saving for you.

Mat’s eyes shut in ecstasy as your arousal soaking into his jeans and your teeth tugged as his lower lip hungirly. The playful action, one that you must have remembered always got him going, was enough to make him moan. Mat pulled his head back, his hair falling down into his eyes as he rutted against you, his force gaining some depth as desperation choked at him.

“I want to fuck you so bad–” he hald hissed, his hand dragging up to his back pocket to find it empty. He had lost his wallet somewhere between his soon-to-be hookup’s house and your hotel room, and with it the one condom he always carried with him. “Fuck! I don’t have anything. Do you?”

You pouted beneath him, your head shaking slowly from side to side. “I didn’t plan on fucking anyone while I was here,” you spoke to him in a soft tone that was almost convincing. Mat knew all too well that this, to some degree, was planned. You wanted to fuck him, which was why you were sending him those damn pictures that brought him there.

“Just me,” Mat told you firmly, pressing the stiffness of his cock against your core as it pressed into the confines of his pants.

“Just my fingers,” you told him, and Mat could feel his cock twitch at the thought, “I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

He shouldn’t have. He should have stayed at her house, fucked her and gone home like he had planned. Or went home into the privacy of his bedroom, away from anything that could distract him from you, take a few pictures and take care of himself. But there was no resisting you, now when he remembered just how good your body treated him.

“Should I go?” Mat asked slowly, his hips easing up their pressure on you.

The two of you stared at each other for a moment. Waiting for the other to take the opportunity to leave while they could. To walk away and avoid any bit of regret that could come in the morning if things went further than they had.

Mat didn’t move.

And you didn’t say a word. Instead, your legs carefully wound around his, drawing him back into the void between your legs slowly.

“I’m glad you came,” he felt your whisper into his neck as he settled back into place above you. “And I want you to fuck me.”

“But I-”

“I know you don’t,” you sighed, “fuck me and feel all of me, Matty.”

Mat shut his eyes tight, his face hanging down into the crook of your neck at the thought of taking you how he had wanted to for years but had never let himself give in before. He kissed the flesh of your throat in a heated, sloppy kiss as he reached down between your bodies to his belt.

His mouth did not once leave his body as he struggled to work his belt free as his hips returned to their desperate roll against you. Your hands came up to help him, fingers grasping and fumbling with each other as they desperately worked him free. The fabric of his pants wrinkled and slipped down his hips, but they weren’t fully dropped to his knees before his cock was inside you.

Your core welcomes him with ease, the very tip of him parting the way into your eagerness. Inch by inch he melted into ecstasy, your wetness dripping down onto his balls as they pressed firm into your ass. You took him fully as you always had, your core warm around you as he felt you bare for the first time. You flexed around him playfully, the walls of you tighter for a moment before they relaxed again.

“Fuck you feel so good,” he mumbled out into your neck, only for you to tease him again. You seemed to throb around him, sending his teeth gritting in response. If you weren’t careful, Mat was going to come before he had the chance to really fuck you. “Easy, easy, I don’t want to disappoint you.”

You laughed lightly against his sink, the heat of your breath washing over him as you wrapped your legs around him. “Then don’t disappoint me,” you told him playfully, your smile wide and only did it fall when your lips came together to meet his kiss.

Your mouth was his anchor, your exhale his inhale, as his hips began to roll. Slow and steady as first, testing the feeling of your cores embracing along his cock. But the tender care of each movement only wound him up further, sending him into the depths of a desperation he could not ignore.

His hands found your wrist and became heavy shackles that pinned you down to the mattress. His thrust hastened, falling erratic and out of rhythm. His every motion was primal, his thrust desperate for the friction. For the throb of your core, as the tip of his cock knocked on your cervix as if asking for permission to cum. And your body begged him with every flex that coaxed him. With every drop of arousal as it dripped down his balls and made a mess of his thighs. It built the pressure in the depth of his stomach, in his abs as they flexed and his ass as it drove himself in deep.

He hissed out his every breath, sweat building in a gentle sheen as he cautioned you, “I’m going to cum.”

Mat thought he’d feel you lurch away. To push back and direct his cock somewhere else. Your face. Your breasts. Your stomach. Somewhere he could see how he glazed you. But you didn’t. You were calm, your face melted into pleasure as your legs tightened around his thighs, your heels pressing against the strong muscle there.

“I want to feel all of you, Matty,” you sighed, your core coaxing him to unleash deep inside you.

The feeling left him dizzy, his head lolling forward and burying in your hair as she buried himself at the depth of your limits, filling you so fully that he felt his own cum ooze from you and down in the same trails your arousal had travelled. It was unlike anything he had ever felt with anyone before. It would be a high Mat would forever chase as even as sex clouded his mind, Mat knew that his, just as the times before, would end.

TAGLIST: @mp0625 , @starshine-hockey-girl , @wingedwheelprxncess , @kurlyteuvo , @couldawouldashoulda50 , @hagelpoint-3821 , @macklin-celebrini-71 , @m00nlightdelights , @laurenairay , @idonthaveaclue , @dasiysthings

Join my taglist.

#SO GOOD #elle’s bookmarks

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snowflakes-and-cupcakes · 1 month ago

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↳ MAT BARZAL ON VACATION IN ARIZONA | 5.13.25

#HAPPY SLUTTY SHORT SUMMER

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snowflakes-and-cupcakes · 2 months ago

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just saw pride and prejudice 2005 in the theatre for the rerelease & the audience erupted into cheers at the hand flex scene like it was a fucking avengers movie. sometimes this world is okay

#I did this last night lol

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snowflakes-and-cupcakes · 2 months ago

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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.

#so cute so cute so cute #elle’s bookmarks

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