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jonesinghardy · 3 years

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SLIP OF THE TONGUE

PAIRINGS: Mat Barzal x Reader CONTENT: offseason, established relationship, day out at the beach / boardwalk, fluff (?), mentions of marriage WARNINGS: light PDA, kissing RATING: G WORD COUNT: 1.3k AUTHOR’S NOTE: Hi this is my first Hockey fic, I’m very new to to hockeyblr. I saw a tiktok that inspired this. All my love to @rosesvioletshardy for getting me into hockey, she did more in like a month than Canadian culture (andm y dad) has been able to do in 24 years. She got the first peek at this fic while we suffered through the last playoff game :’) hope you enjoy! It’s very sweet.

Mat holds your hand firmly as you walk among the light crowd out along the boardwalk. There are small rides, game booths, food stands, street performers, and vendors selling their wares. Which is why Mat hasn’t let go since you left the restaurant where you’d had a light early dinner.

Someone had gotten a little too much sun and that someone is now wearing your peachy red bucket hat that you’d chosen to match your bike shorts for the outing, and coincidentally (or not) also matched his t-shirt. Mat’s cheeks and nose are red, and his shaggy offseason hair peeks out from the hat in beachy waves.

At the car, before dinner, when you’d put your towels and bags away, you kissed his cheek after pressing your lips to an icy cold water bottle, and swiped some aloe onto his face while he held another water bottle to his neck after gulping down half of it.

“I think you were overly ambitious with boogie-boarding, baby,” you’d teased him lightly, watching him smile, eyes closed as you finished tending to his ails. He’d pouted, but he was laughing as he leaned in to kiss you, humming happily if not a little defeatedly.

Now that he’s eaten he’s regained a little energy, and the offensive sun is close to setting, lighting the sky in tones of purple and orange and growing the shadows on the boardwalk. You’re in search of desert, and a little more entertainment before heading back home for the night.

Mat squeezes your hand as the crowd thins out and you look back at him with a reassuring smile, still tickled by how your outfits matched today. Your linen top is cream with a peachy yellow partial circle shape on the front that you think looks like the sun, but Mat said looks like a fried egg. Your sandals match the yellow, his white shorts complement your shirt and make his thighs look scrumptious. Your hat matched your leggings and his shirt, but you think it looks cuter on Mat.

“There’s a soft serve stand over there,” he says, raising a brow and pointing with his free hand. You look in the direction he’s pointed and find it, nod, and start heading over to it together.

There’s a family ahead of you when you arrive, giving you both enough time to pick something off the menu. Mat wraps his arm around your waist while you wait your turn. You decide quickly, a cone with raspberry drizzle, but he takes longer to decide after he sees options for both chocolate drizzle and chocolate dipped.

The mother ahead of you is talking very loudly to the clerk behind the counter, prattling more like, going on about… my husband this, my husband that, in such a snooty and somehow simultaneously resentful way that it makes you grimace. You can’t even tell what her problem is.

“I never wanna sound like that,” you say under your breath, rolling your eyes when Mat looks at you and snorts trying to stifle his laughter.

“God, me either,” he says, shaking his head and giving you a little squeeze. “I think I know what I want.” He looks around and nods at a bench. “I’ll order, you wait here?”

“Okay,” you say, scrunching up your nose when he gives you a quick peck and heads over to the counter with a little bounce in his step.

You laugh and take a seat, looking around at the nearby stands and booths. The family has moved on, their kids' faces covered in chocolate and ice cream, but looking as content as can be despite what a grouch their mother seems to be. They’re passing a booth full of charming stuffed animals.

There isn’t any fixed carnival game to try to win to get a toy, just a man selling toys. Mat is still waiting and paying for your ice cream, so you get up and take a few steps closer.

“Babe!” you call, and watch him turn toward you, hands in his pockets, brows raised curiously. You point over at the booth and he nods, understanding where you’re going.

The toys are even more charming up close, your gaze travelling over them thoughtfully. You squish one of the sample toys and discover them to be utterly pleasant to press your fingers into.

Just when you think you’re ready to choose, the grouchy mother calls the vendor from the other side of the bench. He looks at you apologetically and goes to help her, and you hear her again; my husband likes… my husband wants, what do you think is best for my husband…

It only takes a moment, and you try to tune out her gratingly irritating voice, but finally you get your turn. You offer the vendor a smile, pointing to two bear toys that kind of look like loaves of bread, one beige and one brown. He turns to retrieve them.

“The beige one for me, and the brown one for my husband,” you say, the word slipping off your tongue accidentally. Your cheeks flush. The vendor doesn’t know that Mat isn’t your husband, but your face feels hot and you let out a heavy, embarrassed breath, almost dizzy with the thought of it.

The vendor turns around and pauses, a skeptical look on his face. Your eyes widen and you turn around, meeting Mat’s stunned, shit-eating grin, holding your ice cream in his hands.

“Did you hear that, man!” Mat says, voice cracking excitedly. The vendor laughs. “She called me her husband!”

Now your cheeks are burning worse than his. But if anything can be compared to the sun, it’s his beaming smile.

“I heard it,” the vendor replies, shaking his head amusedly.

“Oh my god, you’ve gotta come to our wedding, man,” Mat says, handing you your ice cream and reaching a hand out to shake his hand.

You break into giggles. “Mat, please,” you plead, fishing out a few bills to pay the man for the toys. He shakes Mat’s hand laughing, and puts the bears into a paper bag for you.

He’s practically bouncing as you step away from the booth, another disbelieving laugh leaving your lips as he loops his free arm around your waist and starts guiding you to the railing to watch the sunset.

“It was a slip of the tongue—“ you say, embarrassed, amused, but he silences you with a kiss that quickly turns into a grin between you both.

“Say it again,” he says, pulling back a bit to look at you, still playful but utterly earnest.

“My husband?” you reply, tummy full of butterflies. Somehow he grins even bigger and chuckles quietly to himself.

“I like how that sounds,” he says, “A lot. About as much as I like the idea of you being my wife.”

It’s your turn to grin, and you bite your lip, cheeks aching from trying not to smile too hard.

“Just the idea?” You tease, and he laughs again.

“You’re gonna be my wife.” He’s so happy and so sure you have absolutely no doubts about how serious he is. “And it’ll be an honour to be your husband.”

“You’re gonna make me cry in my ice cream,” you complain, playfully, pouting, but can’t help but laugh again when he kisses you.

“You’re okay with that right?” He asks, uncertain for a second.

You nod. “Are you proposing?”

He shakes his head sheepishly. “I’m proposing that I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he says, lifting his hand and stroking his thumb over your rosy cheek. “For now.”

“For now,” you agree, leaning up to kiss him again.

He holds your chin with his thumb and index. He tries to deepen it, and you indulge him for just a few seconds before you giggle.

“Save that for later, our ice cream is gonna melt all over us!”

He groans playfully. “Ice-cream? What ice-cream?” He kisses your cheek and steps back.

Mat lifts his slightly melted, chocolate dipped and sprinkle-topped cone to his lips and winks.

#mat barzal x reader #mathew barzal x reader #mat barzal imagine #mathew barzal imagine #mat barzal fic #my fic.

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