connor bedard loves sucking hickeys on you and loves when u do it back to him also
Love Bites
pairing: Connor Bedard x female reader
description: Connor loves marking you and loves being marked by you in return.
TW: Hickeys, dry humping, established relationship.
masterlist
The soft glow of the lamp casts a warm haze across the living room as you shift on the couch, settling more comfortably against Connor's side. His arm is wrapped around you, fingers tracing idle patterns on your arm as the movie plays on, forgotten.
"Comfortable?" he murmurs, his voice a low rumble against your ear.
"Mmm," you hum contentedly, tilting your head back to look at him. "Very."
He smiles, that lazy, half-smile that always makes your stomach flip. "Good. Me too."
His lips find yours in a slow, gentle kiss, soft and sweet like honey. It's the kind of kiss that melts you from the inside out, all warmth and affection. When you part, you're both breathing a little heavier.
"Missed you today," he says softly, his nose nudging yours.
"Missed you too," you reply, your fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. "Even though you were just at practice."
"Still missed you," he insists, capturing your lips again.
This kiss is different, deeper, more demanding. Your fingers tighten in his hair as his other hand slides down your back, pressing you closer. You can feel the steady beat of his heart against your palm, a rhythm that matches your own.
Your free hand moves to scratch gently at his back, just the way he likes it. He groans against your mouth, a low, appreciative sound that sends a shiver through you.
"Keep doing that," he breathes, his lips trailing down your jaw to your neck. "Feels so good."
You continue scratching lightly as his mouth explores your throat, nipping and sucking gently. When he finds that sensitive spot just below your ear, you can't help the soft moan that escapes your lips.
"Found it," he murmurs triumphantly, latching onto the spot and sucking harder.
You know what he's doing, knowing you'll have a mark there tomorrow, but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when it feels this good.
"Connor," you gasp as his teeth graze your skin. "People will see."
"Good," he says, pulling back to admire his work. "Let them see. Want everyone to know you're mine."
His eyes are dark with desire as he looks at you and you feel a fresh wave of arousal wash over you. There's something about his possessiveness that drives you wild, the way he needs everyone to know you belong to him.
"Again," you breathe, tilting your head to give him better access.
He grins, clearly pleased by your response. "Greedy girl."
But he obliges, his mouth finding a new spot on your neck. This time he's more deliberate, sucking hard until you're squirming beneath him, a mix of pleasure and slight pain.
"Beautiful," he murmurs when he pulls away, tracing the newly formed hickey with his finger. "So beautiful marked up like this."
His lips move lower, down to your collarbone where he leaves another mark, this one smaller but just as deliberate. You're arching against him now, desperate for more friction, more contact.
"Connor, please," you gasp as his hips press against yours.
"Please what, baby?" he asks, though he knows exactly what you want.
"More," you manage. "Need more."
In one fluid motion, he flips you, positioning himself above you with his knees between your thighs. The change in position sends a thrill through you, him looming over you, all broad shoulders and intense gaze.
"Patience," he chides, though his voice is thick with desire. "I'm not done marking you up yet."
His mouth moves lower, trailing kisses down your chest, your stomach, until he reaches the waistband of your shorts. He looks up at you, silently asking permission, and you nod breathlessly.
He makes quick work of your shorts, tossing them aside before settling between your thighs. The cool air on your heated skin makes you shiver, but it's nothing compared to the feeling of his mouth on your inner thigh.
"Perfect," he murmurs, sucking gently at first, then harder. "All mine."
He leaves a trail of hickeys down your inner thigh, each one a possessive claim. By the time he's done, you're writhing beneath him, desperate for more.
"Look at you," he says, admiring his handiwork. "So beautiful like this, covered in my marks. Everyone will know who you belong to."
The possessiveness in his voice sends another wave of arousal through you. You want to be his, want everyone to know you belong to Connor Bedard.
"Your turn," you say suddenly, sitting up and pushing him onto his back.
He looks surprised but pleased, watching as you straddle his lap. His hands immediately go to your hips, gripping tightly as you lean down to capture his lips in a hungry kiss.
"Want to mark you too," you murmur against his mouth. "Want everyone to know you're mine."
His breath hitches as you begin your exploration, starting with his neck. You take your time, finding sensitive spots and sucking hard until you're satisfied with the marks you've left.
"Fuck," he breathes as you move to his collarbone. "That feels… so good."
You can feel his hardness beneath you and you grind down experimentally, earning a groan from him. His hands tighten on your hips as you continue your assault on his neck, leaving a matching trail of hickeys to the ones he left on you.
"Baby," he gasps as you suck particularly hard on his shoulder. "Gonna… fuck."
"Like that?" you ask, though you already know the answer.
"So much," he replies, his voice strained. "Love knowing you're marking me up. Love that everyone will see these and know I'm taken."
You grind down again, harder this time and he whimpers, a sound you've rarely heard from him and one that goes straight to your core.
"Again," he begs. "Please, baby, again."
You oblige, sucking a hickey right over his pulse point where it will be impossible to hide. His hips buck up against yours as you do, seeking more friction.
"Yours," he gasps as you continue to grind against him. "All yours."
The possessiveness in his voice has changed now, it's not about marking you as his anymore, but about being marked as yours. And you love it.
"Mine," you agree, sucking another hickey into his skin.
You continue like that for what feels like hours, marking and being marked, grinding and being ground against until you're both breathless and desperate.
"Need you," Connor finally gasps, his hands stilling your hips. "Please, baby, need you now."
Warnings: smut, cheating, oral sex (f!receiving), unprotected vaginal sex
Word Count: 1.3k
You weren’t proud of it. You knew it was wrong. You felt guilty for weeks after every time it happened.
But it was too good to stop.
You had once confided in Connor about how your boyfriend couldn’t satisfy you. When you asked for his help, this wasn’t what you’d meant, but it turned out to be exactly what you needed.
Every couple months, you got too pent up and had to go to Connor to fix it.
He always said, “you know where to find me and I know what you need.”
So there you were again, knocking on his apartment door. When he opened it, he smirked at the sight of you.
“Back for more?”
“Connor,” you spoke quietly, “please.”
“Come on,” he opened the door wider for you to step inside.
After he closed the door behind you, he pressed his hand against the small of your back and started leading you to his bedroom, “that dead beat still not doing it for you?”
“He’s not a dead beat,” you mumbled.
He rolled his eyes, “any man who can’t satisfy his girl is a dead beat as far as I’m concerned.”
You huffed out a disapproving sound and sat on the edge of his bed.
“I don’t understand why you’re still with him,” he said, standing in front of you, his finger hooked under your chin so you’d look up at him.
“I love him,” you whispered.
The words made him cringe, “you shouldn’t,” he snarled.
You sighed, “I didn’t come here for your advice.”
His snarl turned to a smirk, “oh I know exactly what you came here for,” he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours.
He only pulled back long enough to pull your shirt off over your head, then his own. His hand snaked around your back and he unclasped your bra with practiced ease. Once your top was bare, he pushed you back onto the bed and climbed on top of you.
“Don’t worry, baby,” he whispered, “I’ll take care of you. I’ll satisfy you. I’ll make you feel good in ways your boyfriend’s never dreamed of.”
“Please,” you whined.
He pressed one more kiss to your lips before moving down to your chest. He kissed the soft skin of your boobs, then took one of your nipples into his mouth. You arched your back into him and your fingers laced through his hair, tugging on it every time a jolt of pleasure shot through your body.
After a while, he moved further down your body, pulling your pants off to expose your cotton panties. He pressed a kiss just above the little bow on the waistband, then took it between his teeth and pulled them down. The sight made your heart race.
Your boyfriend never did anything sexy like that, he was almost mechanical in his actions during sex.
Connor pressed his face between your thighs, his tongue finding your clit instantly, making you gasp. You let out little whines and moans as he licked and sucked on your most sensitive area.
You didn’t get this from your boyfriend either, his idea of foreplay was a few kisses and a compliment as you took your own clothes off.
But now, as Connor slipped two fingers inside of you, your orgasm was already fast approaching. His mouth sucked on your clit and his fingers curled inside of you to press against that spot that he never missed.
“O-oh!” you pressed your hips against his face.
Your orgasm was sudden and intense. He slowed his fingers, working you through it until you sighed and slumped back on the bed. He pulled his fingers out of you and sat up to take his pants and boxers off.
“How do you want me this time?”
You watched with an appreciative gaze as he revealed his dick, which stood proud against his stomach.
“With my legs over your shoulders,” you requested.
“Anything you want,” he said with a kiss, gripping your thighs to throw your legs over his shoulders.
With your knees hooked on his shoulders, he pressed his dick into you, slow and steady. Your hands pressed against his chest, rubbing and caressing his muscles, all the way down to the line of hair at his navel. His body moved easily above you, his thrusts practiced and precise, hitting you against that perfect spot over and over again.
“Connor,” you moaned, “Connor, you feel so good. So good, you’re so- fuck.”
“I know, baby,” he kissed you, “your boyfriend doesn’t fuck you like this, does he?”
You shook your head.
“Say it,” he grunted.
“N-no, he doesn’t fuck me like this.”
“He doesn’t hit you in all the right spots the way I do, does he?”
“No,” you gasped, “he doesn’t.”
He smirked, his thrusts a little harder now. His breathing was uneven and he let out little grunts with every thrust and every touch of your hands on his torso.
Your boyfriend didn’t sound like that, didn’t make noises that spurred you on and brought you closer to the edge. He hardly ever made any noise at all, you never knew if he was even enjoying it until he came.
But Connor… Connor’s noises drove you crazy. The way he grunted into your ear, the way he groaned your name under his breath, his deep, rough breathing, the way his moans got higher pitched just before he came.
“Connor,” you gasped out in pleasure.
“I know, baby,” he kissed you again, “I know. I know exactly what you need,” he leaned down to whisper right in your ear, “remember that, baby. I know exactly what you need. I always know exactly what you need. Your boyfriend doesn’t know what you need like I do, does he?”
“No,” you admitted, “not like you.”
“He can’t satisfy you like I can, huh?”
“No,” you repeated, “not like you can.”
With that beautiful smug smirk of his, he reached down and pressed his thumb to your clit, rubbing firm circles around it. The added stimulation brought you right to the edge. Your hands moved up to his neck in some attempt to steady yourself.
“Connor!”
“I know, baby,” he groaned, “let go. Feel it.”
So you did, with your eyes glued to his, you let your orgasm wash over you. The pleasure came in waves, your back arching off the bed, your hands all over him, his name falling from your lips like it was the only word you knew.
“Oh, fuck,” he pulled out of you quickly, stroking himself quickly until he came across your stomach with a loud moan.
He carefully took your legs off his shoulders, massaging your hips for a second before he stood up. He pressed a quick kiss to your lips.
“I’ll be right back,” he went into the bathroom and came back a couple minutes later, wearing a pair of boxers and carrying a wet washcloth. He wiped your skin off, his touch gentle, “you okay?”
You nodded, sitting up as soon as he was done, “thanks… could you hand me my clothes?”
He picked your clothes up off the floor and handed them over to you, watching as you got dressed and stood up from the bed. As much as he wanted to ask you to stay, wanted to cuddle with you and fall asleep pressed against you, he didn’t. He knew you would never agree. So he just walked you to the door.
Before he could open the door for you, you turned back to him, “thank you, Connor,” you kissed him on the cheek.
“You’re welcome, baby,” he squeezed your waist and opened the door.
“Goodnight,” you said, walking out into the hallway of the apartment building.
“Goodnight, baby,” he spoke the words in that deep, tired voice of his that you loved, “remember, you know where to find me and I always know exactly what you need.”
Connor Bedard Fanfiction
Summary: Connor Bedard has an allergic reaction during Team Canada camp.
Warnings: Severe food allergy, allergic reaction, anaphylaxis discussion, EpiPen use, hospital/ER visit, medical anxiety, panic, swearing, hurt/comfort
a/n: this is not x reader, this is just a connor bedard fanfic :P
Word Count: 1,348
requests open :)
The first thing Connor does when he arrives at the Team Canada practice site is find the food staff.
Not because he's picky, not because he's difficult, but because he's allergic to nuts.
Severely.
The kind of allergy where "oops" can become an ambulance ride.
So while everyone else is getting settled into rooms and wandering around the facility, Connor finds the catering coordinator.
"Hey, you've probably already been told, but I just wanted to let you know I've got a nut allergy."
The woman immediately nods.
"Of course."
"I carry EpiPens and everything, but just wanted to make sure."
"Absolutely. We'll note it."
"Thanks."
Connor smiles.
Problem solved.
Or so he thinks.
Because Connor's lived with this allergy his entire life.
When he says nuts, he means all nuts.
Peanuts.
Almonds.
Cashews.
Walnuts.
Hazelnuts.
Pistachios.
Everything.
It never occurs to him that someone might hear "nut allergy" and mentally translate it to "peanut allergy."
So he doesn't elaborate.
And unfortunately, neither do they.
A few days later, Team Canada has a long practice.
Everyone is exhausted.
Hungry.
The dining room is packed.
Guys are shoveling food onto plates while talking over each other.
Connor ends up sitting between Macklin Celebrini and Nathan MacKinnon.
Sidney Crosby is across the table.
A few other players are scattered nearby.
The atmosphere is easy.
Relaxed.
The kind of environment Connor loves.
No media.
No cameras.
Just hockey players eating dinner.
Macklin is halfway through telling some story about development camp.
"No, because you're acting like this wasn't embarrassing."
"It wasn't."
Nathan points a fork at him.
"It was."
Connor laughs.
"He's right."
"Traitor."
"You were literally crying."
"I was not crying."
"You were."
Sid is already laughing.
"How old were you?"
"Eighteen."
The entire table erupts.
"That's worse!"
"It's not worse!"
"It is absolutely worse."
Connor's laughing so hard his stomach hurts.
For once he's not Connor Bedard.
Not the face of a franchise.
Not hockey's golden child.
Just another guy at dinner.
Then something feels weird.
He pauses.
His tongue brushes his lip.
Tingling.
Just slightly.
Connor frowns.
Maybe he bit it.
Whatever.
He keeps eating.
Keeps talking.
Keeps laughing.
Five minutes later his ears start itching.
Not outside.
Inside.
Deep.
Impossible.
His smile slowly fades.
No.
His stomach drops.
Not immediately.
Just enough.
A warning shot.
A little voice in the back of his brain.
Pay attention.
Connor shifts in his seat.
Nathan notices first.
"You okay?"
"Hm?"
"You look weird."
"I'm fine."
Nathan stares.
Connor takes another sip of water.
His lips definitely feel weird now.
Warm.
His throat feels...off.
Not tight, he's not whezing, but it's not normal.
He puts his glass down.
"Actually."
The table quiets.
"I'll be right back."
Nobody thinks much of it initially.
Connor stands and heads toward the catering area.
The farther he walks, the worse he feels, because now he's thinking.
He's replaying every bite and worrying about every ingredient.
Every possibility.
A staff member looks up.
"Everything okay?"
Connor forces a smile.
"Yeah. Can I see the ingredient list for dinner?"
"Sure."
The guy grabs a clipboard.
Connor scans the page.
Or tries to.
Before he can even read it the staff member smiles.
"We made sure there weren't any peanuts."
Connor freezes.
Slowly.
"What?"
The staff member's smile falters.
"We made sure there weren't any peanuts."
Connor's heart immediately starts pounding.
"What nuts were in it?"
The man's face falls.
And Connor knows.
Before he says a word.
He knows.
"There was almond flour in the pasta."
Silence.
Connor just stares.
The staff member immediately realizes how bad this is.
"Oh."
"Oh?"
Connor laughs.
One sharp disbelieving laugh.
"OH?"
"I'm so sorry."
"Are you serious right now?"
The man's face goes completely white.
Connor rubs both hands over his face.
"I said nuts."
"I'm so sorry—"
"I said nuts."
"We thought—"
"Just peanuts?"
The staff member visibly winces.
Connor closes his eyes.
His chest feels tighter.
Not dangerous yet.
But enough.
Enough.
Enough.
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
The guy looks like he wants the floor to swallow him.
"Connor?"
Nathan's voice.
Connor turns.
Nathan is already walking over.
Sid is behind him.
So are several other players.
Apparently the raised voices got attention.
Nathan looks between Connor and the horrified food staff.
"What happened?"
Connor laughs again.
That same stressed laugh.
"I'm allergic to nuts."
Nathan nods.
"Yeah?"
"There's nuts in dinner."
The realization slams into Nate immediately.
"Oh, fuck."
Sid is beside them now.
"Do you feel ok?"
Connor gestures vaguely.
"Lips."
"Okay."
"Ears."
"Okay."
"Chest feels tight."
Sid's expression changes instantly.
Captain mode.
No hesitation.
No panic.
Just focused.
"Do you have an EpiPen?"
"Yeah."
"Where?"
"In my bag."
"Go get it."
Connor groans.
"I don't want to."
"Connor."
"I hate this."
"I know."
The surrounding players are now fully invested.
Mitch Marner appears.
"What's going on?"
"Nuts," Nathan says.
Mitch immediately goes pale.
"Oh shit."
A few others are already asking questions.
"Do we call 911?"
"Can you breathe?"
"How bad does it get?"
Connor suddenly feels like everyone's staring at him, which they are, but he hates it.
Because now he's overwhelmed.
And scared.
And embarrassed.
And he doesn't want any of those feelings.
"I haven't had a reaction in four years."
His voice comes out smaller than intended.
Nathan's face softens immediately.
Connor looks away.
"I just forgot how much this sucks."
Sid steps closer.
"Hey."
Connor looks up.
"We aren't worried about whether it sucks."
A beat.
"We're worried about you."
And that almost makes Connor cry.
Which somehow makes everything worse.
The EpiPen comes out.
Connor hates EpiPens.
Everyone with severe allergies hates EpiPens.
Because they hurt.
And because once you use one the hospital trip becomes mandatory.
No negotiating.
No arguing.
No staying home.
Hospital.
Every time.
Connor stares at it.
Nathan notices.
"Need help?"
"No."
"Okay."
"You can look away if you want."
"Absolutely not."
Connor rolls his eyes.
Then presses the injector against his thigh.
Click.
The needle fires.
Connor immediately swears.
"FUCK."
Several players jump.
"Language," Mitch says automatically.
Connor glares.
"Shut up."
Mitch laughs despite looking concerned.
The medication starts working quickly.
Heart racing.
Adrenaline dumping into his system.
The familiar awful feeling.
Shaky.
Jittery.
Uncomfortable.
Safe.
Easier to breathe.
But uncomfortable.
Sid checks his watch.
"We're going."
Connor sighs.
"Yay."
The drive to the ER is strangely quiet.
Sid drives, Mitch rides shotgun, Connor is laying across the seat in the back, holding a bottle of water to his warm forehead.
Trying not to think.
His heart is still pounding from the EpiPen.
His body feels wrong.
Everything feels wrong.
Nobody talks for a few minutes.
Then Mitch turns around.
"How you doing?"
"Like I got stabbed and drank seventeen energy drinks."
"That is essentially what just happened."
Connor manages a small laugh.
Then goes quiet again.
Sid notices through the mirror.
"You okay?"
Connor shrugs.
Not really.
Not emotionally.
Not mentally.
Not any of it.
He stares out the sunroof window.
"Just feels stupid."
"What does?"
"The whole situation."
Neither Sid nor Mitch answer immediately.
Connor keeps staring outside.
"I told them."
His voice is quiet.
"I literally told them."
"I know."
"I've had this allergy my whole life."
"I know."
"I should've been more specific."
That gets an immediate response.
"No."
Sid's voice is firm.
Connor looks up.
"No?"
"No."
"You don't think—"
"No."
Sid glances at him in the mirror.
"If you told them you had a nut allergy, you did exactly what you were supposed to do."
Mitch nods in agreeance.
"One hundred percent."
Connor swallows.
Because logically he knows they're right.
But emotionally?
He still feels like the sixteen-year-old kid sitting in a hospital bed again.
Scared.
Embarrassed.
Wanting his mom.
Wanting somebody else to take care of it.
And somehow Sid and Mitch seem to understand that without him saying it, so nobody makes fun of him and nobody tells him to toughen up and nobody tells him he's overreacting.
They just stay with him, all the way to the emergency room, exactly like teammates are supposed to.
cute lil bedsy fic tomorrow? i think my writers block is finally starting to fuck off and i’m getting my energy and motivation back. i have so many fics to get caught up on but i’m gonna start with this one because it’s short so it should be easy enough and smth short is probably a good way to ease back into writing.
so if anyone wants it i’ll work on it tomorrow and if i’m right about my block being gone it should hopefully be out either tmr or tuesday!
Summary: Your neighbor Connor invites you to one of his games.
Part 1
If you had left five minutes ago like you’d planned, you would’ve missed him. Thank god for always being behind schedule. You’re locking your apartment door, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder, when his door across the hall opens.
And once again, he’s carrying that massive black bag with ease. You glance at it, then up to his face.
“Morning.” You say.
“Hey.” His voice is soft like normal, baseball cap pulled low on his head.
You both walk towards the elevator in silence. Once you’re inside he starts shifting awkwardly, opening his mouth and then closing it, like he has something he needs to say. You look at him and he clears his throat.
“We’ve got a home game this Friday.” He says casually, like he’s telling you about the weather.
You nod. “Oh, that’s cool.”
The elevator hums as it descends.
“I, um… I could leave tickets for you. If you wanted to come.”
The words hang there in the space between you. He sounds almost hopeful. You stare at him.
“Like… to watch you?”
He smiles slightly. “Yeah, I mean… that’s usually how it works.”
You let out a small laugh at that.
“I don’t know.” You tease. “What if you’re bad? All that explaining and you might not even be able to skate.”
He laughs, his shoulders releasing the tension from how nervous he was.
“Guess you’ll have to see.”
Before you can overthink it, you say, “Okay.”
He looks up at you, surprised.
“Okay?”
“Yeah. I’ll come.”
Something warm flickers across his face. He smiles.
“I’ll leave two tickets at will-call. In case your roommate wants to come.”
“Oh, she’ll be there for sure.” You laugh.
The elevator dings and the doors start to open.
“Friday,” he says.
“Friday.” You confirm.
⊱ —————- °.• ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ •.° —————— ⊰
Friday night finally arrives and the excitement is palpable. Your roommate is practically vibrating the entire Uber ride to the arena.
When you finally get to the United Center, it’s overwhelming. The noise, the lights, the crowds. You find your seats, which are right up against the glass (you’ll scold Connor for this later, you think). You’re close enough to see the players faces and hear the scraping of skates on ice.
Next to you, your roommate grips your arm.
“There he is.” She whispers.
You glance across the ice and then you see him, wearing number 98. He’s talking with a teammate as they do a few laps. When he passes past your section, you can tell he’s looking for you.
His eyes scan the glass, searching. And then he sees you. He smiles, small, but it’s real. Then he’s back to what he’s doing, talking and passing pucks.
Your roommate is screaming next to you, but you’re still smiling at him, even though he’s halfway across the rink by now.
When the puck finally drops, you realize how much faster the game is in person. You understand more than you thought it would.
“Come on, that was hooking!” You say, more to yourself than the ref who’s apparently blind.
Your roommate stares at you. “Who are you and what have you done with y/n?”
You ignore her.
Midway through the second period the puck breaks loose. Someone passes the puck to Connor. He skates past the defense, shoots, and scores!
The arena explodes as the horn sounds. You’re on your feet with everyone else, cheering and clapping.
Connor immediately gets swarmed by his line. But before he completely disappears into the chaos, you see him looking at you. He’s smiling again, bigger this time, and he looks so happy.
And you know that this is his world, all the chaos and the noise, he thrives in it. But he’s still looking for you, like you’re supposed to belong here too.
⊱ —————- °.• ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ •.° —————— ⊰
The game ends in a blur of flashing lights and cheering with the Blackhawks winning. You and your roommate follow the signs down toward the lower level where the family room. It’s much quieter down here, fewer people, security posted by the doors.
Around you are families in team jackets and wives who clearly know the routine better than you do. You pull on the sleeves of your jacket, suddenly feeling very out of place.
Before you can back out, the doors at the end of the hallway burst open and players start filtering through. They’re still in partial gear, their hair damp and faces red. You scan the group, looking for Connor.
He steps through the door last. A hoodie draped over his shoulder, hair messy, and he’s animatedly talking with a teammate. But when he looks away his eyes immediately find you. His whole expression softens as he says something to his teammate and starts beelining to you.
Your roommate squeezes your arm, letting out an excited noise before stepping back.
“Hey.” Connor says, stopping right in front of you. His breath is still uneven from the excitement of the game.
“Hey.” You reply, smiling up at him, hoping he can’t tell how nervous you are.
“You came.” He says, voice soft.
You squint at him. “You invited me.” You remind.
A small grin forms on his face. “Yeah, I did. He shifts on his feet, almost looking shy now. “What’d you think?”
You think about it, trying to put the whole experience into words.
“It’s loud…” you start, and he laughs. “And it’s fast. And kinda insane. But you were really good.”
His face turns pink, not from the game this time.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. That goal? That was awesome.”
He smiles big. Then someone calls his name from down the hallway, it’s a staff member waving him over. He looks back at you reluctantly.
“I’ve gotta finish up media stuff.” He hesitates. “Are you heading home now?”
“Yeah, probably.”
He nods quickly.
“Thank you for coming. I’m happy you did.” He says sincerely.
“Thanks for inviting me.”
His eyes flick over your face like he’s memorizing this moment.
“I liked seeing you out there.” He whispers.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He breathes out. “It gave me someone to play for.”
You feel your face heat up. He lifts his hand up, hesitates, and brings it back to his side. He takes a deep breath.
“I’ll see you when I get back tonight.” He says.
You smile, nodding. “Okay.”
He takes a few steps backwards before turning toward the doors where media is waiting. Before he disappears, he throws one last look over his shoulder and smiles.
“Oh you’re cooked.” Your roommate says, walking back over and seeing the look on your face.
You shove her shoulder lightly, shaking your head and trying to hide your smile.
“He’s nice.” You tell her.
“Nice? Yeah, I’m sure that’s all it is.”
But you’re already walking ahead of her, opening the Uber app to get back home. But you’ve given up trying to hide the smile growing on your face.
⊱ —————- °.• ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ •.° —————— ⊰
The next morning you wake up to your bedroom door slamming open.
“Hey. Get up.”
You groan, pulling your pillow over your head. “If this is about the game again—“
“It’s about you.”
That gets your attention. You sit up just as your roommate settles onto your bed, shoving her phone into your face.
On the screen is a blurry photo. But it’s you. Against the glass during warmups, Connor on the ice a few feet away, smiling right at you.
The caption says: “mystery girl at Bedsy’s game???”
Your stomach drops like you’re on a roller coaster. You scroll down, even though you know you shouldn’t. There’s more pictures, zoomed in, one after his goal where he’s looking in your direction again, so much speculation.
“Who is she?”
“I’m gonna start a rumor”
“He looked at her the whole game”
Your chest tightens. You stare at the comments.
Your roommate lowers her phone, putting a hand on your leg comfortingly.
“It’ll probably die down.”
You nod, but everything already feels different.
⊱ —————- °.• ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ •.° —————— ⊰
Later in the day, there’s a knock on your apartment door. You don’t even glance at the peephole, you know it’s Connor. He’s standing there with his hands in his pockets when you open the door.
“I’m sorry.” He says immediately.
You raise an eyebrow. “Hello to you too.”
“I didn’t think about it.” He says, clearly frustrated. “The cameras, how people act. I should’ve thought about it.”
You shake your head. “It’s not like you told them to take pictures.”
“I know. But I didn’t mean for you to get dragged into stuff like that.”
You shrug, trying to sound unaffected.
“It’s just… weird, I guess. I’m not used to random people having opinions about me.”
He nods like he understands that.
“You don’t have to come to another game. Or I can find somewhere less obvious for you to sit. I just—“ he pauses, finally looking at you again. “I like having you around.”
Your heart melts at that. He’s giving you a chance to step away, to decide that it’s all too much. But instead you step towards him.
“Okay.”
“Okay? Yeah?”
“Next time, we do something normal. No crowds.” You propose.
A relieved smile spreads across his face.
“I can do that.”
“Good. Because I don’t want to be hockey Twitter famous.” You laugh.
He laughs too, nodding along.
“I promise we can do normal.” He tells you.
⊱ —————- °.• ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ •.° —————— ⊰
Normal, you come to find out, involves the two of you cooking dinner in his apartment.
It’s simple, pasta on the stove, music playing quietly from his phone. It’s almost domestic.
You bump into each other more than you mean to, awkwardly reach for the same spoon, laughing about how nervous you both are.
At one point he hands you a spoon with sauce on it.
“Be honest.” He says.
You nod as you taste it, thinking. “It needs more salt.”
He feigns offense. “Wowww.”
You grin, hitting his shoulder gently. “You said be honest!”
Later, you’re sitting on the couch with your bowls, a show playing in the background that neither of you are watching. Connor’s looking at you rather than the tv.
“You know, I’m glad you didn’t know who I was at first.” He tells you.
You shrug lightly, twirling your fork in the pasta. “Why?”
He leans back on the couch, resting one arm along the back behind you. “Because you treat me like I’m just some guy. It’s nice. Different.”
You glance at him, a small smile playing on your lips. “You are just some guy. You just… happen to be really good at hockey.”
He laughs, shaking his head.
“But I’m happy too. I’m glad you were just my neighbor first. It made you more approachable.” You add.
Something in his expression shifts, like that meant more to him that you know.
And you think about it, how when you met for the first time he was just a random dude with an absurdly large bag. And yeah, the version of him you saw on the ice was impressive. But the one who knocks on your door in a hoodie? The one sitting next to you with that stupidly handsome smile? That’s the one you’re starting to fall for.
