baseball | connor bedard
Pairing: connor bedard x reader!gf
Prompt: you and Connor go to a baseball game and get exposed by the kiss cam, not that either of you are really complaining
“Explain this to me again?” You ask, wowed by the pure fascination on your boyfriend’s face. And as he smiles, then jumps back into explaining, you understand something clear as day. Connor understands baseball almost too well.
“Why do you know that?” You ask, turning to look at him, eyebrows raised.
Connor glances at you, seemingly unbothered with your continuing questions, one arm stretching along the back of your seat. “Because I watch sports.”
“You watch this?” You ask, swearing that you’ve never noticed that baseball is this important to him.
“Baseball is great.”
“Since when?” You question him, your smile wide. Since you’ve known him Connor’s life has heavily revolved around one sport. Hockey.
“Since always.” He gestures toward the field. “There’s strategies, superstition, stats. And even weird little rituals like goalies have. It’s basically summer hockey.”
You laugh and lean back in your seat, the summer air still warm even as the sun starts sinking lower over the stadium. “That might be the most Connor answer ever.” You say.
He grins, his hand resting on your knee, thumb rubbing circles on the side of it. The whole night feels easy from the second you get there. The ballpark is packed and loud, full of music between innings and the smell of concession foods. But you couldn’t ask for a more relaxing time. Time away from hockey arenas, away from shootouts and stress.
Connor keeps his hat low at first, but it only works for so long. A few people recognize him in passing, then a few more, and by the time the game starts he’s already taken pictures with two kids, signed a phone case, and gotten chirped by a guy in a baseball jersey for playing for the wrong sport. It has never bothered you when Connor gets recognized, you only smile, and immediately offer to take a picture for them.
“You’re too recognizable for your own good,” you tell him as he drops into the seat beside you. He takes off his hat, flipping it to wear it backwards since the ‘incognito plan’ didn’t work.
“You say that every time we go anywhere.” He says, bumping his knee against yours.
“Because every time we go anywhere, people look at you like they’ve seen a celebrity.” You joke, bumping your knee right back into his. But Connor turns his head, a smug smile pulling at his mouth.
“I am sitting next to the prettiest girl in the stadium. Maybe they’re looking at you.”
“That was very smooth.” You say after staring at him for a few seconds. “But I don’t think it’s me these people are asking to sign things.”
“I’m not sure what that’s about. If I saw you walking around in public looking the way you do, I’d fall on my knees and beg you to take a picture with me.”
You laugh at him, rolling your eyes and shaking your head, but you’re smiling too much to make the eye roll convincing.
—
The game starts, and almost immediately you realize he wasn’t kidding, Connor knows everything. He explains things under his breath in that low, easy voice of his, pointing things out before they happen like he’s got a crystal ball in his head.
“That guy’s stealing if he gets a chance,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on first base.
You look over just in time to see the player do exactly that.
“Okay, wait.” You say, your mouth dropping open.
“What?” Connor asks, as if he doesn’t already know, and he smiles into his beer.
“How did you know that?”
“He was leaning.”
“That means nothing to me.” You say, sinking down a bit in your seat so you could lean closer into him. “But I’ll make you a bet. You predict the next throw, and I’ll chug this beer.” You say, sloshing the drink around in the can.
“Easy.” He says, and you bask in the confidence that radiates off of him. “Curveball.” He says, seconds before the pitcher throws.
You watch, you listen, and sure enough, Connor is right. You turn your head slowly to your boyfriend, mouth open wide in shock.
“How the hell-“ you start to say, but he only looks at you with a cocky shrug.
“Start chugging, baby.”
And you, not one to ever leave something unfinished, down an entire beer.
—
Connor disappears during the third inning and comes back balancing two cold beers, hot dogs, and peanuts on one of those cardboard trays.
He sits down, not one thing slipping or spilling as he does. You’re truly in awe of him as he hands over a new beer, replacing the one you chugged, the can freezing, condensation already dripping over his fingers and now yours.
“For you,” he says.
“Thank you.” You say, taking it from him with a smile.
“Also for you.” He says, handing you a hot dog with all the toppings you love. How attentive he is never fails to blow you away.
“You got me everything.” You say, looking a little shocked at the spread in front of you both.
“Yeah. That’s usually how dates work.”
“I know how dates work.” You exclaim, his sass making you smile.
He grins against the opening of the can, and you settle in again after that, sharing food, passing the peanuts back and forth, talking quietly through innings and pitch changes. Connor explains why the manager’s decision to pull a player stupid. You tell him he sounds judgmental, but he responds quickly with, “that’s because they’re doing it wrong.”
By the seventh inning the sun is gone, the stadium lights bright overhead, and the whole place has that kind of electric energy sports game seem to have at night. The fans are louder now, a little looser too, and every big hit gets a bigger reaction than the one before. Connor’s sitting close enough that your thighs press together. Every now and then his hand drifts back to your knee without thought, like touching you is second nature.
“Watch this guy.” He says, leaning over and pointing.
“The batter?” You question, immediately following his finger to see what he’s pointing at.
“The pitcher.”
“Why?” You ask, squinting down at the mound.
“He spits before he walks someone.”
“You are making that up.” You turn to him slowly.
“I’m not, want to bet another beer on it?” Connor chides, his cheeks shaking slightly with laughter.
“Oh no. If we do you’ll be carrying me out to the car.” You joke, but Connor only looks at you, like what you just said was no problem to him. “You are not carrying me to the car.” You say, pointing your finger at him.
“I would.” He says casually, eyes sparkling as he lifts his drink up for another sip.
“No way he-“ but you stop mid sentence, watching in awe as the pitcher spits, then throws a ball, walking the batter. You whip around so fast you nearly spill your drink. “Okay, what the hell?”
“I told you.” Connor says as he laughs, shoulders shaking.
“You should be, like, deeply more annoying about this. Like this is a skill, more than a skill. I don’t even know what to call this but it’s freaking me out.” You say.
“I’m actually showing incredible restraint.”
You stare at him for a second, then lean in and kiss his cheek just because he’s smiling like that, and Connor goes a little softer around the eyes when you pull back.
“I think I need a little more for all my knowledge,” he says.
“You got a kiss.”
“On the cheek.” He deadpans.
“Be grateful, Bedard.”
—
By the end of the inning, more people around you have definitely started noticing who he is. It happens in waves, a glance, a double take, a whisper. Connor however, stays completely calm about it.
“You’ve been made.” You say, leaning closer.
“Made?” He questions, and you nod explaining.
“Spotted. Identified.” You whisper, a smirk on your lips.
“That’s devastating.” He says, arm slipping back around your chair.
“Yes, because you seem devastated.”
“I’m holding it together for you.” He says as you snort into your beer, but then music starts blasting through the stadium, and the giant screen lights up with people in the crowd.
You barely think anything of it at first because it’s all normal. A family dancing, the two little kids lighting up at seeing themselves, a guy chugging the last of his drink to a round of applause.
Then the screen flashes pink, and in huge lettering KISS CAM flashes.
You look up at the jumbotron at the exact same time Connor does. “Oh, that’s dangerous,” you say as Connor laughs softly beside you, already leaning back in his seat clearly entertained. The camera moves through the crowd, a couple in matching jerseys kiss dramatically, another pair gets shy and the whole stadium boos until they finally kiss.
But the screen moves again, and then suddenly it’s you. Your section erupts before your brain even catches up, but there you are on the massive screen, beer still in one hand, staring up with a surprised smile.
Then the graphic changes, not just hearts now. A bright banner pops up underneath the two of you with his name in giant letters:
CONNOR BEDARD - CHICAGO BLACKHAWKS
The crowd absolutely loses it.
“Oh my god,” you laugh, because it’s impossible not to at that point.
Connor looks up, sees his name plastered across the jumbotron, and shakes his head in disbelief. “That’s insane.”
People around you are already cheering, a couple of them standing now, pointing at the screen like that helps. Someone behind you yells, “BEDSY!” like Connor doesn’t know it’s him.
Connor turns to you, still smiling, no hesitation at all, one hand sliding around your jaw. There’s no awkwardness, no long pause. Just the bright stadium lights, the roar of the crowd, and his eyes flicking to your mouth before he kisses you like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and you kiss him back immediately.
The crowd gets even louder. His hand stays warm against your cheek, your cold beer pressing awkwardly against your leg because you forgot you were still holding it, and the whole moment feels less embarrassing than it should. When you finally pull back, both of you are laughing.
Connor’s forehead taps yours for half a second.
“Wasn’t expecting that.” He says, pupils a little wider as he looks into your eyes. You laugh and shove lightly at his chest while the screen finally moves on to the next couple.
The people around you are still cheering as Connor picks his beer back up and takes a sip like nothing happened, though the smile tugging at his mouth gives him away completely.
“You loved that,” you tell him.
“A little.” Connor answers with a glance sideways at you.
“A little?”
“Okay, a lot.” He shrugs, still fighting a grin.
“I knew it. I knew all this private shy guy shit was fake.” You say, even though you know it’s not, and normally Connor is pretty reserved in public.
“You kissed me back really fast.”
“You kissed me first really fast!” You exclaim, but he cuts you off, planting a quick soft kiss to your mouth once again.
—
As the game comes to an end and you both make your way back to his car, which he does kind of help you walk to after a few too many beers. Connor opens the car door for you, one hand braced on the top of it. Then he leans down and kisses you once, quick and sweet, before closing the door behind you.
By the time you get home, shoes are kicked off by the door and both of you are sprawled on the couch, the game highlights replaying on TV while your phones buzz nonstop on the coffee table.
“This is going to be bad.” He says, knowing the team is probably blowing him up.
“This is going to be excellent,” you correct him as he opens social media and immediately starts laughing hard enough that he has to lean into the couch cushion.
“What?” you ask, already grabbing your own phone, but watching his.
Connor angles his screen toward you, and the tweets did not disappoint.
Connor Bedard came to that game with a hot dog, a beer, and a dream
the baseball team won but honestly so did Connor Bedard
anyone else notice Connor Bedard locking in like he got sent over the boards for a shift???
“That’s my favorite.” Connor says, pointing at that one immediately.
“You did lock in.” You say, and your eyes move back to his screen as he keeps scrolling.
whoever ran kiss cam tonight deserves employee of the month and possibly a raise
By now you’re laughing so hard your stomach hurts, and Connor throws his phone down with a laugh and a sigh. One more post pops up on your feed, and this one makes you laugh so suddenly you actually snort.
Connor Bedard saw his name on the screen and said, understood coach
Connor goes still for half a second, then laughs so hard he folds forward into you. “Okay,” he says between laughs. “Okay, that one’s good.”
He drops your phone onto the couch cushion, still grinning, and looks at you with that fond expression he gets when he’s happy and not bothering to hide it.
“You know,” he says, voice quieter now, “I really did have a great night.”
The joking drains right out of you, warmth filling you.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His thumb brushes once over your hip. “Baseball, beers, kiss cam, you.”
“In that order?” You ask with a smile, and he only nods, kissing you deeply once again.
