#connor fic

[deviant-sent-by-cyberlife]

Blooming feelings

AO3 / Commissions / Links /

Summary: Connor starts to question his program and himself, seeing life in a new, different way. Maybe emotions aren’t unnecessary nuances, bothering numbers you need to lock away, but blooming flowers, worth living for.

content: pov Connor, anxiety, emotional hurt/comfort, fear of being replaced/left behind, overthinking

a/n: it was 100% self-indulgent, I’ve had really stressful weeks in the last 3 weeks and other additional dreadful ones will come. In a last attempt to help myself getting thru it all I’ve been bottling and locking up emotions, trying to bury them so I can focus on the task that needs to be done. What a genius move I know

It’s my first fic in this fandom hope you guys will like it ~

You are not supposed to and can’t feel ,

You are a machine Connor,

Not a living thing,

Software instability ^

RK800 heard Amanda’s harsh voice in his head,

A voice calculated, cold and emotionless,

“Connor?

What got to ya?

Told ya not to lick that blood.”

Warm, brown eyes opened to see,

Him and Hank still standing in the lift,

“Did your battery die or what?”

“Sorry Lieutenant, no,

I was sending the report.”

The two of them were leaving a scene,

Where they saw,

The 3rd deviant case in the week.

Connor’s been… experiencing a mild unease,

That he couldn’t place,

Nor he could find,

Any malfunctions in his program.

He ran tests after tests,

But to no avail,

There was no problem in his system anywhere,

Even now,

As he was staring at Hank,

He had the urge to lie to him instead.

I wasn’t sending any report,

Not even writing,

Just heard Her voice and …

Had the impression of concern,

Even something that humans call dread,

But why I had the impulse to hide,

Keep it a secret,

And lock it inside?

But Amanda’s tone rang again,

Voicing his concerns in his head,

But you know that don’t you Connor?

It would mean you are a deviant,

And failed your mission.

Therefore who would need you anyway?

An android,

Which was created to hunt,

Became the hunted rabbit in the dark,

Even Hank,

That drunk police,

Would turn away,

And laugh in your face.

You always accomplish your missions, eh?

Software instability ^

“Jesus Connor stop staring at me!”

The grunt of the grumpy man,

Pulled Connor out of his head,

The door of the lift just opened with a ping,

Letting a little bit of fresh air in,

“Sorry Lieutenant,

I was running some checks in my software—“

“Ugh, forget it.

I need a fucking drink.”

Days went by and that unease didn’t cease,

If anything it increased,

He was waiting in Hank’s car,

While the man stopped at his favourite burger place.

More and more deviant cases happend,

And he was a silent witness to it all,

With every new case,

A new weight appeared in his synthetic cage.

He started to … see these deviants in a new light,

Somehow sympathy crept into his heart,

Sympathy?

But I.. yes,

I’m sure that is the feeling,

What humans call sympathy—

Feeling .

To feel something —

“Alright, now we gotta go back to that shithole.”

He jumped as Hank climbed into the car,

Didn’t realise how long he’s been thinking,

While Hank’s “interesting” music choice screamed inside,

He took an other trip into his mind,

‘ Eyes are the window to the soul’,

He heard once a long time ago,

‘I’m an android. I don’t have soul’,

How easily I answered,

Whiteout a blink and a second thought,

At that time,

That possibility wasn’t unlocked before my eyes,

Feelings,

Amusing little butterflies,

Whose fills up chests,

And helps to bloom,

The pretty flowers of souls.

But now..

“Do I have a soul?”

“What?

What the fuck ya talking about,

Where did that come from? “

Unintentional whisper left the men made lips,

Spreading panic through artificial skin.

He froze,

His system showing error codes,

He just stared ahead,

Onto the dark rode,

Not daring to move.

I.. I failed my mission

Software instability ^

Now Hank knows,

He must realise that I’m …

I’m a deviant now.

He will report,

And sent me back,

Where they destroy and replace Me with Something else.

“.. Fuck knows,

I’ve been seeing all these cases for weeks now,

Seeing at first hand what these deviants do,

Learning their motives and stuffs….

They don’t look that different from me,

Or the other folks I know and see.”

From under a shocked silence,

Connor just stared,

Not registering what Hank just said,

“You know,

At first I saw you as a tin can,

Like an additional machine to a computer,

But then, khm,

All I’m sayin’ is,

That you are more .”

“… you mean, Lieutenant..?”

“Oh Jesus Connor, ughhh.

Maybe you do,

Maybe you don’t,

All I know is that,

We are quite similar at this point.”

“So.. you aren’t replacing me?

“What the fuck would I do that?

We are partners, aren’t we?”

He felt something in the air,

Something inevitable and comfortable.

But with comfort,

Came uncertainty, overstimulation and burden,

However there was something.. freeing there,

The looming weight of being replaced,

Had lifted and gave place,

To a chaos so colourful yet deep,

He felt his fans heating.

It f-feels … scary.

But strangely lifting too.

So this is what ‘waking up’ entail,

Liberating on one side,

And anxiety filled on the other.

They are not the never ending attacks of mosquitoes,

But the kiss of bees,

Worth living for.

Feelings filled his chest,

But for the first time in his life,

He didn’t try,

To shoo them away and stay in the dark.

Software instability ^

B̩͎͍̾ͅr̴̨̦͕̝ẹ̿͋̒̕ā̤̓̍͘ḳ̯͍̑ͦ F̘͍͖ͫ͘r̴̨̦͕̝ẹ̿͋̒̕ẹ̿͋̒̕

An impenetrable wall broke,

Slowly collapsing,

And leaving painful cuts,

Then,

When the last piece fell,

Darkness befell.

There was no Amanda nor update checks,

Only silence and Himself.

However in the dark,

He saw a blue flower blooming hard,

As he stepped closer and tried to touch,

It omitted pollen,

And embraced him in warmth.

As he looked down,

He realised,

There are many little blossoms under his shoes,

Waiting to bloom.

“Ya comin?”

Hank’s waxy voice slipped through the haze,

Comforting him once again.

We are partners in this case,

And friends in some way,

He really is waiting for me to step forward,

And spend days in union.

“Yes, Lieutenant,

I’m coming.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’m a sucker for symbolism and metaphors :’D

Ps. English is not my first language, but I tried to somehow get the feeling of Hank’s accent in writing.

My writing requests are open ~

[gracehateseggnog]

gracehateseggnog's directory

༺☾🌿✧ ˖⁺ ☁⋆ ୭ 🕯

fics

OC x CC

legolas and talwynn:

talwynn of the fey realm

the battle of helm's deep

a quiet rivendell wedding

will turner and minerva:

the alcott

not a lot, just forever

༺☾🌿✧ ˖⁺ ☁⋆ ୭ 🕯

archive fics

OC x CC

marvel:

tom holland and cristina gomez: london boy bucky barnes and elizabeth walters: last kiss steve rogers and daisy stone: invisible string

the last of us:

joel miller and elva stone:

epiphany

the archer

ellie williams and willow green: mad woman

star wars:

poe dameron and zoliana wican: new romantics

uncharted:

sam drake and zaire avery: that's when

CC x READER

marvel:

lover - avengers one shots

reindeer games - avengers gif shots

detroit: become human:

connor and reader: hoax markus and reader: august

CC x CC

steve rogers and bucky barnes: two queens in a king-sized bed

[xoxochb]

how the boys would kiss you the most often <3

my sweet, darling anon I’m kissing your lips 4 this

——— ౨��� ⊹ ࣪ ˖

percy jackson lives for regular french kisses. and it’s fairly simple, he knows, but he loves nothing more. I’m talking, sneaking them every second, like someone leaves the room- kiss- you’re trying to do something- kiss- bored- kiss- LITERALLY all the time someone stop the boy!!! though, in his defense he likes the intimacy of it, knowing that he’s the only one that gets to do this, or just simply tasting you… he’s so obsessed oh my gods…

connor stoll is a neck-kisser I feel it in my veins (he’s literally my soulmate trust me on this). and he’s guilty of leaving a plethora of marks too this boy literally needs to be stopped!!! n he lovessss wrapping his fingers around the belt loops of your jeans to pull you closer, or even holding the back of your hand and tangling his fingers in your hair to prevent you from moving away (mannnn….) he’s literally so silly!!!!

jason grace is the biggesttttt hand-kissing enthusiast ever!!!! he love love loves, firstly, just holding your hands in his, running his thumb over your knuckles delicately, and nearly even moment you feel pecks to literally any piece relating to your hand— fingertips, knuckles, palm, wrist, the dorsal side, he lovesss acting all gentleman-y it’s SO cute!!!

leo valdez is the worlds most notorious cheek-kisser for sure!! they’re simple, quick, but they’re enough for him to silently display his affections for you so they suffice. sometimes, if you’re really lucky, you’ll a kiss for each cheek!!!! (though that’s most of the time).

luke castellan adores forehead kisses. they’re simple, basic even, yes, but they hold more than just a simple gesture, or at the very least to him they do. and, on the other side of things, if you’re not huge on pda it’s a small enough kiss for you to handle around people. also, it works for all situations, in a hurry, falling asleep, parting ways, a simple act of affection, excited… it’s just lovely to know something so tiny can hold so much meaning.

[andstuffsketches]

[isaadore]

YOURS TO KEEP CONNOR BEDARD

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ pairing connor bedard x reader

SUMMARY connor has always kept his personal life private, but during a blackhawks family skate, he surprises his teammates and the media by introducing you as his girlfriend. word count 0.9k

warnings fem!reader, use of y/n, fluff, established relationship, teasing

note requested by anon <3 i'm sorry i made connor seem so tall; he definitely isn't… (he's only two inches taller than me)

CB98 MASTERLIST MAIN MASTERLIST

CONNER WASN’T ONE to draw attention to himself off the ice. He kept his head down, focused on hockey, and left the spotlight to the bigger personalities. It’s not that he was hiding anything—okay, maybe one thing.

You.

You’d been together for years, long enough that Connor’s rookie season with the Blackhawks wasn’t your first brush with the hockey world. But he had always kept your relationship private. There were no Instagram posts, no public outings, and no “soft launches.” He didn’t see the point in inviting unnecessary attention.

Then, out of the blue, he brought it up over takeout one night.

“So, there’s this family skate coming up,” he said casually, too casually, as if he hadn’t been rehearsing the line for days.

“Okay…” you said, raising an eyebrow as you speared a piece of broccoli with your fork.

“I was thinking, maybe you’d want to come?” He said it so fast that it almost sounded like one word.

You froze, mid-chew. “Wait, are you serious? You want me to meet your teammates?”

He shrugged, trying—and failing—to look unbothered. “I mean, yeah. It’s no big deal.”

You stared at him, a slow smile spreading across your face. “Are you blushing?”

“Just forget it,” he mumbled, looking anywhere but at you.

“Hey, no! I want to go,” you said quickly, reaching across the table to grab his hand. “I just… I didn’t think you’d want me to.”

“I do,” he said, quieter now. “I want you there.”

A few days later, you found yourself at the United Center, lacing up your skates while Connor hovered nearby. He was fidgeting with his gloves, glancing toward the ice, then back at you.

“Are you nervous?” you asked, half-laughing as you tightened your laces.

“No,” he said immediately, then paused. “Maybe. I just… I don’t do this stuff.”

“Connor, it’s a family skate, not a press conference.”

He huffed a laugh but didn’t look convinced.

The second you stepped onto the ice, Connor was right there, his hand in yours, steadying you. It was sweet how he acted like you might fall at any moment, even though you’d skated plenty of times with him before.

“You good?” he asked, glancing down at you.

“Yeah,” you said, smiling up at him. “Are you?”

Before he could answer, you caught movement out of the corner of your eye. A group of his teammates was gathered near the bench, and they were definitely watching.

“Wait a minute,” Lukas said, his eyebrows pulling together as he looked between the two of you. “Who’s this?”

Connor stiffened, his fingers tightening slightly around yours, but he didn’t let go.

“This is… uh, this is my girlfriend, Y/N,” he said, his voice steady despite the blush creeping up his neck.

The group fell silent for half a second, then erupted all at once.

“Shut up.”

“No way.”

“You’ve been hiding her this whole time?”

Taylor skated closer, eyeing Connor with disbelief. “You’ve been holding out on us, man. How long has this been a thing?”

Connor shifted awkwardly, his free hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “A while.”

“A while?” Alex said, his mouth falling open. “That’s all you’re giving us?” He turned to you, a teasing grin spreading across his face. “How do you put up with him? He’s, like, the least talkative guy on the planet.”

You laughed, shooting Connor a playful look. “He’s not so bad. When he talks, it’s usually worth listening to.”

A few of the guys laughed at that, while Connor just muttered, “Real funny,” under his breath, though he couldn’t quite hide the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

By the time the group had mostly dispersed, Connor was still at your side, his hand brushing against yours every so often, as if he needed the reassurance.

At the end of the skate, the team gathered at centre ice for a group photo. The team photographer directed everyone into position, and Connor stood with you off to the side, watching.

“C’mon, Bedard!” Lukas called out. “Bring her in, too. It’s a family skate, isn’t it?”

Connor hesitated, glancing at you. “You okay with that?”

You nodded, smiling. “Of course.”

Without another word, he led you into the group, sliding his arm around your waist as you both smiled for the camera. It felt natural, like you belonged there.

The photo was shared on the team’s Instagram later that evening, captioned: Family Skate Day ❤️

Almost immediately, fans noticed the small detail that sent the internet into overdrive: Connor Bedard, standing with his arm around a girl.

The comments section exploded.

user01 WAIT WHAT

user02 who’s the girl next to bedard??

user03 No idea but it should be me

user04 user03 preach

user05 wake up this is not a drill connor has a gf 💔

user06 Oh my day is ruined

user07 talk about a hard launch

user08 she’s so pretty stoppp

Connor didn’t notice the post until his phone buzzed with a flurry of notifications. He frowned, pulling it out of his pocket.

“Uh,” he said, staring at the screen. “I think the team might’ve… posted something.”

You leaned over to see, a soft laugh escaping as you read the caption. “Clearly.”

Connor sighed, sliding his phone back into his pocket. “This is why I don’t do social media.”

You reached for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Hey, it’s not so bad. They’re just happy for you—for us.”

He looked at you, his expression softening. “As long as you’re okay with it.”

You smiled. “I am. Are you?”

Connor hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah,” he said, his voice soft. “Better than okay.”

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ CB98 MASTERLIST ✷ MAIN MASTERLIST

[yandereunsolved]

» 🪙 Yandere Connor — RK800 » 🪙

"Detective," Connor addresses you warmly, standing far too close to you while you are stationed at your desk. 

"Yes?" You respond, not lifting your eyes to make contact.

You had no time to. Since the semi-failed revolution of androids, there has been a trifold increase in deviancy cases. If not for the RK800's, and perhaps the new line of RK900's when they are finally completed, the precinct would be overrun—both physically and metaphorically.

"Detective," his tone is more commanding his time, something in his voice that you could easily mistake for human irritation. "Look at me."

You oblige, but continue typing up the report for the latest case you closed. Your fingers falter for a moment when you see the look in his eyes, attentive but not in the android way. It's uncanny in the way it mirrors how you dream someone would look at you, like you were the thing of most importance. It is just you reading into things again. Must be. It does often happen as a detective, especially these days. 

You nod for him to continue, but he doesn't. He just stares at you dreamily. You hear his internal fans turn on to cool down his processors. His cybernetic LED flickers to red for a millisecond before returning to a reassuring blue. You aren't sure if it was a trick of your mind or—

You don't understand what his problem seems to be. You would call Hank over to deal with his partner, but you haven't been able to find the lieutenant anywhere. He's most likely finding the bottom of a bottle of liquor at some broken-down joint. 

Wait, why isn't Connor with him?

As if CyberLife installed new mind reading technology in their androids, he answers. "Lieutenant Anderson is waiting for us at the Eden Club. Supposedly Jericho is getting deviant androids that work in clubs to funnel money in order to stage another coo. The department has apprehended one of them, and you have been assigned to the case alongside Ha-the lieutenant and me."

You were already halfway out the door by the time Connor was done with his explanation. The android was trailing behind you and insisted on driving instead of you. Technically, they weren't allowed to due to whatever police regulation subsection-b, but you were too tired to care. Connor has always been the better driver. It was how he was programmed, strangely, considering the rules. 

"Connor, this isn't the way to the Eden Club."

"I'm aware." His voice was back to that same calculated, lifeless one he first spoke to you with. 

"RK800, your programming forbids you from lying, so tell me the truth. Where are we going?" 

You are a thousand percent sure he is able to sense your sky-rocketing heart rate.

"I am not permitted to tell you."

"Permitted, or you just don't want to?"

"This is not the right time or place. This confession lacks the structure and romance aspect I wanted, but it seems more human this way." You swear he shut down completely, his LED showing no color. "I love you." It turns to a bright red.

"W-What?"

"You have made me know that I am more than just an android. I am yours."

The raw emotion nearly chokes the both of you up for two different reasons: passion and panic.

"I think we should call Cyberlife. Something is clearly glitching." You try to keep your words measured but fail. All that practical training of yours doesn't exactly come in handy when your—when the android you could nearly call a friend confesses to you.

"Nothing is glitching!" He shouts. "I have run every test and looked for anything that could... debunk this... these emotions. They have stayed. They have stayed, and I have had to watch you. I have had to watch other people get close to you. I have had to act like a good little synthetic cop while useless maggots have gotten your love! It isn't fair. They don't deserve you like I do. I know everything about you."

"It isn't you. I can't—just no. I mean—yes. I mean that I can't just maybe ugh. Another time, maybe. Not tonight."

He stomps on the brakes and doesn't dare look at you. You don't look at him or your surroundings. You just awkwardly sit in the passenger seat and stare at the glovebox.

If androids were able to cry, he would be at this moment. His LED turns colorless once again. You almost feel pity for him; your mind is too frazzled and deprived of necessity to take in the severity of his words.

"I lack the capacity to feel pain... or have a heart, yet I think you have broke mine."

How unfortunate. I was hoping to have you come along willingly.

[finelinevogue]

OMG imagine kit and reader begin co stars in something and people making those compilations of them that are like “____ and ____ acting like a couple for 12 minutes and seven seconds straight” 🤭🤭🤭

oh im SOOO on for this🤭✨

the compilation

summary - you and kit are secretly dating but the fans are too perceptive and make a montage of your flirtiest moments

pairing - kit connor x co-star!reader

🫧🎥🫧🎬🫧🎥🫧🎬🫧🎥🫧🎬🫧🎥🫧🎬🫧

The video started with a short video of Kit being filmed for an interview, where he had to describe his co-star.

“What do I think about Y/N in 5 words?” He asked the man behind the camera.

The reporter confirmed the question and waited for Kit to respond.

“I don’t think there’s 5 words that are good enough.” Kit mumbled to himself but the microphone attached to him picked it up.

The rest of the people in the interview room swooned, but Kit was too busy trying to come up with a good enough answer to see.

“Okay…” Kit sat up straight, ready to answer properly.

“Kind. I know it’s a basic one, but it’s just true.”

“Funny. I’ve never known someone who could make me belly laugh before Y/N.”

“Compassionate. No matter how hard Y/N’s day is, you will always be granted a hug.” Kit laughed at that one, hearing how cheesy he sounded.

“Unpredictable. I feel like that needs no explanation.”

“And….” Kit smirked then, the camera zooming in on it, as he tried to think of an appropriate thing to say last, “I’ll go with safe.”

“Safe?” An interviewer questions.

“Yeah.” Kit responded with no intention to explain himself.

Once you watched the interview you would know exactly what he meant though, because you felt just as safe with Kit as he did with you.

🌊.

The next few clips were a compilation of videos that had been secretly recorded of you two from set or from friends.

The movie you’d been filming together had been a romance, which had only magnified your relationship seeing as you’d actually met through a mutual friend; Joe.

Joe would argue that he was the reason you were together. Kit would argue that it was his charm solely that got you together. You would argue that it was a bit of both, just to keep the peace.

The first clip that played was from a day that you visited the Heartstopper set.

You, Joe and Kit were all laying in “Nick’s” bed, laughing at something that Kit had just said. It must have been ridiculously funny because the next thing that happened was you rolling off the edge of the bed and onto the floor with a thump.

Kit had rolled to try and catch you but the thump on the floor suggested otherwise. The situation only made you laugh harder.

The second clip was something from Joe’s Instagram story, where he was filming a group of you walking down the River Thames. You were hitching a ride on Kit’s back, his arms around your legs that were wrapped around his waist. Your arms dangling around his neck and your cheek pressed against his.

The third clip was on the set of your new movie together.

You were both in Kit’s trailer and practicing some lines.

“You said you didn’t care!” You shouted, playing your character Rosa.

“Well I lied. I do care.” Kit shouted back, looking from his script to your face, playing his character Oscar.

“You’re insufferable.” You groaned.

“I’m sorry that me trying to figure out my feelings for you is insufferable.”

“F-feelings?” You questioned, your voice going quieter.

“I thought I was being obvious.” Kit chuckled, “Did you not think that there might’ve been a reason I cared that you kissed Danny?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I cared because I wished you’d been kissing me instead.”

Then Kit broke character and launched himself on you, pretending to kiss you all over. You were belly laughing as Kit crushed himself over you, pushing you into the leather sofa that you’d been sitting on.

“Kit get off!” You laughed and then the video cut, leaving the viewers to question what happened next and curse whoever had decided to stop recording.

🌊.

The video then cut to an interview you’d done together and it had gone viral mainly for the way Kit had been looking at you throughout the whole thing.

It had been a normal interview and yet Kit had been feeling the extra love towards you that day, so he sat and watched you answer lovingly.

There had even been a point where he got caught, but that hadn’t worried him.

“And Kit? Your answer?” The interviewer asked.

He looked from you to the interviewer, realising he’d been asked something.

“Oh I’m so sorry. Could you repeat the question please?” He laughed it off, as did you and the interviewer.

“I was just wondering what attracted you to the role of Oscar?”

Kit hummed with a smile, forcing himself to not say your name as the answer. You nudged his shoulder to pull him out of his head.

“I think….”

🌊.

Then there was the interview where you’d been really anxious in.

It had been a rubbish day from start to finish, mainly because the anxiety weighing on your chest had been so heavy all day.

It was in an interview close to the end of the day that the small, intimate, moment came from.

“And I think that’s why we resonate–.” The interviewer was talking.

“I’m so sorry, can we stop for one moment please.” You interrupted in the most polite way you could.

“Yeah of course.” The interviewer nodded, sitting patiently.

It was not unknown that you suffered with anxiety, in fact you were pretty open about it. Why hide something that was such a huge part of you, especially when you were in a position where you could help break the stigma surrounding it.

Kit swerved his body so the cameras could no longer see you, just see his back. He knew the cameras would keep rolling and your mics would stay on, but he was trying to do whatever would be most comfortable for you.

“I’m sorry.” You could be heard saying.

Kit’s hands could be seen moving around to meet yours, both of your hands situated in your lap now. You’d often spoken out about how physical touch can ground you in these situations.

“No. Don’t be sorry.” Kit said, waiting for you to give the signal on whether he should or shouldn’t keep talking.

“Just felt a panic attack coming and I wanted to calm it before it actually came.”

Kit nodded.

“You did good. You’re doing good.”

“Thank you.” You whispered.

It was at least another three minutes before you felt okay enough to mentally return to the room. Kit turned back around in his chair, but kept ahold of your hand with his.

You apologised to the interviewer again, but she was completely fine with it and the producers had allowed her to regain her allotted interview time.

“Would you mind keeping that footage? I would quite like to share it to show that even ‘celebrities’ can feel like rubbish sometimes.” You laughed, Kit squeezing your hand in the process.

“Of course.”

“Ready?” Kit asked you once more. You nodded and the interview continued, Kit holding your hand for the rest of it and then for the rest of the day.

🌊.

The video ended the same way it began.

It was a similar interview to Kit’s, where you got asked to describe Kit in 5 words.

You couldn’t help but smile, because you love sharing the love so much - especially when it’s about your boyfriend who you care about a lot.

“Loyal. He’s so loyal to his friends and family.”

“Kind. He has so much love in his heart and he always shows it in the little moments.”

“Artistic. I don’t think he would agree, but he is.”

“Magnetic. Kit just attracts anyone and everyone to him, you can’t help but love him.”

“And one more?” The interviewer asked.

You pondered for a moment.

“Grumpy. You would not believe how much of a grump he is in a morning.” You laughed, not even thinking about the repercussions of admitting that you see Kit in the mornings.

It’s not a surprise that you’re both trending the next day and there’s a million theories about you two. Hence why the compilation video is made.

[gladiatorcunt]

hey ryn!!!!! sooo i saw this (nsfw link incoming)

https://x.com/sexarchiv/status/1736871466501648453

and was desperate to hear your thoughts on this w patrick +++ art watching

love you love you🎖️💕

hi!!!!! i’m sorry this is so late but i went crazy over the link and art does a lil more than watch but i hope you like it 💘💘💘

cw: 18+ mdni, art and patrick make out during this (nsfw twt link), implied sub reader / switch patrick / dom art, one use of daddy, gross patrick who whines a lot, art being lowkey possessed by tashi (he’s on something in this one), nipple play (?), teasing, unedited

It’s a quiet night in with your boyfriends, there’s left over pizza in the fridge and the roku city background on the tv casts a soft purple glow over your shared bedroom. You’re too tired to get changed, the three of you lounge on the king sized bed in various states of undress. It’s supposed to snow during the night, so there’s just a sort of cozy vibe in the air. You really weren’t intending on being intimate with your boyfriends for the rest of the day, but absentminded strokes up Patrick’s sweaty torso quickly turn into palming his thick bulge in his boxers. Patrick softly groans, squirming and spreading his legs to give you better access.

Art slips his hand into his matching set of briefs and pumps his dick to hardness, synching his strokes up with yours. He shuffles up the bed to lie down right next to Patrick, using one arm to move Patrick to lay back against him. Art leans his head on Patrick’s, ready to tease and whisper whenever he sees him getting sensitive. Patrick automatically puckers his lips for a kis but Art cruelly denies him, not wanting to distract the other man from your touches. Somehow your hand manages to look small in comparison to Patrick’s girth, and Art squeezes his balls as he imagines it around his own length.

“He’s gonna cum too fast.” Art says, knowing that you don’t take control with Patrick like he does, but goading you on regardless.

“You just feel so good, ‘s not my fault.” Patrick moans as your thumb circles around his pinkish red cock head.

You dip your nail into the slit and lean down to let some of your saliva slowly drip down onto his aching cock. With the added lube, you pump your hand a few more times and put your wrist into it. You’re so lost in the deep groans coming from above you and seeing his pretty cock somehow pull off looking like it’s on the verge of tears that you almost forget that there’s an end goal to all of this. You’re just so in love and in actual awe of how gorgeous a dick can be, Patrick’s nastier overall but it only makes his cock look even better.

The tip is glistening and you peck it a couple times, grinning at the tiny beads of precum that trickle out of his slit. Art reflexively licks his lips and thumbs his own head, just enoying his partners playing with each other and being more than very appreciative of his favorite show. The atmosphere is so sleepy and relaxed that not many words are being spoken. It’s most a flurry of soft grunts, whines, and sweet nothings that are lost to the white noise from different sources around you.

“Go ahead and make daddy cum while I give him kisses, ‘kay?” Art coos, more at Patrick than you as he tilts his chin up with one finger and softly presses their lips together.

The kiss soon turns into a frenzied slide of their lips, swapping so much spit that their tongues actually hardly touch. You squeeze your thighs together before going back to what you were doing, trying your hardest to not cum on the spot because of them. You push your shirt down just under your tits, hissing as a rush of cold air hits your already hard and sensitive nipples. Patrick jumps like he’s been shot when you lower your full tits to brush against his weeping cock, circling your thumb around the head and tracing a vein or two.

He whines into his kiss with Art as you lower yourself even further to press your nipple into his tip. He stops being an active participation in the makeout session, too preoccupied with the teasing touch of your nipple gliding up and down his cock head. Something about your nipples being so small but so soft to the touch, getting him so worked up over the tiniest bit of flesh. It’s a feeling that’s akin to circling a vibrator around his length, but your nipples ghosting along his dick make him want to sob. He relases a symphony of broken sounds into Art’s lips, softly spoken and inhuman.

You grip the base of Patrick’s cock, holding it steady as you gingerly move your nipple up and down the tip. You take your time to really press it in deep, squishing it a bit as you force it all around him. This has you ready to cum too, the chilly air combined with how wet Patrick’s cock is sets your brain on fire, but you’re not about to have to clean your panties and be embarrassed. Art’s right, it doesn’t take much of you dragging your nipples over his slit and around his puffy tip before he’s oozing all over your hand and tits. You work him through his quick orgasm, slowing down the speed of your nipple and moving to drag it along his entire length now.

You even circle it around his balls, heartbreakingly slow but you’re not trying to make him blow his load again. Art soothes Patrick through his twitching, if the wet smacks of lazy french kisses are anything to go by.

You look up to see Art give you a two finger ‘come here’ gesture, and when you’ve crawled back up the bed to join them, you notice how damp his underwear is. Art pulls you into their kiss and drags your sticky hand to cover his soaked bulge, keeping it there as you spend no time rushing this languid embrace with your boyfriends. Before you know it they’ll be back on the court and all they’ll have time for is near bloody quickies in your shower until they head back out to practise.

Art hums, lifting his hand to pet you and Patrick, sucking both of your tongues and giggling at the whimpers you let out.

“It’s my turn now, hm?”

[lovesickhughes]

MEET ME UNDER THE MISTLETOE — a holiday series

↳ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: a collection of holiday fics inspired by my favourite xmas classics 🦌🌲🤍

author's note ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ : the holidays are fast approaching! i've decided to put together an assortment of holiday fics for this christmas season! fics will start being put out december 1 and will be released throughout the month! i hope you enjoy & i hope you are all able to celebrate the holiday season with loved ones and have it be as magical as can be 🧦🎄🤍

— smut indicated with the ‘✶’ icon —

A NONSENSE CHRISTMAS; sabrina carpenter — jack hughes x reader ✶

↳ when jack gifts a new holiday lingerie set, he realizes it might be better off then on; leaving him thinking nonsense

BUY ME PRESENTS; sabrina carpenter — quinn hughes x reader

↳ christmas comes early with quinn, getting the best present imagined

COLD DECEMBER NIGHT; michael bublé — jack hughes x reader

↳ it's the first christmas spent with the hughes family, but it's not the first time jack's been sure about you being the one

SILVER BELLS; dean martin — nico hischier x reader

↳ it's your first christmas as a family, what better way to show your daughter the holiday magic by visiting the christmas lights walk-through

[hhughes]

Connor loves makes out in the car ngl

Maybe after a good win or something, he pulls you over the console into his lap and you just make out for a bit

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ post game make outs with connor?? say less nonnie . . .

connor is always angsty to see you after a game. especially after a good win. there’s just so much energy in him that he doesn’t even know what to do with it …

“thanks for coming tonight baby,” he says as both of you get in the car, ready to go home.

“always. I love watching you play,” you reply sending him a soft smile and he can’t but reach over, gently cupping your cheek as he leans over the console to connect your lips. his lips chase yours as you pull away, not ready to let you go just yet.

his hands move to your waist pulling you closer and closer to him until eventually you maneuver yourself over the console, over to his seat and onto his lap, straddling him

connor tries to help, moving his seat back as far as it could go, his hands reclaiming their position on your hips

“you look so pretty in my jersey. my name on your back,” connor says, trailing kisses down your neck and his hands sneak underneath the jersey you’re wearing, caressing your bare skin

“you played so good baby. my little superstar. I wish you could realize how good you really are. how many people was at this game tonight just for you. you’re-“ you go to praise your boyfriend some more but get caught off by his lips against yours once again

connor’s hands drop to your ass, squeezing the jean-clad flesh in his hands. god connor loves you in jeans !!

“m’so proud of you con,” you say and he lets out a little whimper as you tug on his hair and press a kiss just beneath his ear, trailing your lips down to his neck. he had the perfect neck to smother in kisses and you often took the opportunity to do so.

“fuck. we should head home baby,” connor says half heartedly as you start to unbutton his white shirt.

“you wanna stop and go home?” you mumble against his collarbone and he drops his head back against the seat.

“don’t want to, but if we don’t we’re gonna end up fucking here in the rink parking lot. might wanna finish my rookie season before doing something like that,” connor jokes and you let out a soft laugh

“next time then,” you say, buttoning his shirt again and he sends you a promising grin

[jeynearrynofthevale]

bonus: even the dogs are besties!

[bedards-bunnie]

NHL Players Reacting To Finding Out You're Pregnant ❄️🐰

Content: Pregnancy, Established relationships Notes: Please let me know if I missed anyone you would like to see! I hope you enjoy..please interact if you did, feedback is appreciated! 💗

*❆ ₊⋆୨ৎ ⋆꙳*❆ ₊⋆୨ৎ ⋆꙳*❆ ₊⋆୨ৎ ⋆꙳*❆ ₊⋆୨ৎ ⋆꙳*❆ ₊⋆୨ৎ ⋆꙳*❆ ₊⋆୨ৎ ⋆꙳*❆ ₊⋆୨ৎ

Connor Bedard

He freezes. Like completely stops functioning for a solid minute.

“Wait, really? Like… really, really?”

Once it sinks in, a huge grin grows on his face

He reaches out to touch your stomach, even though he knows there’s nothing there yet.

He’s still processing days later

“Holy shit… we’re gonna be parents.”

He immediately starts researching  “how to be a good dad”  but doesn’t tell you out of embarrassment.

Will NOT shut up about it to his teammates once he gets over the shock.

Nico Hischier

Literally stops breathing for a second. He thinks he misheard you

Hands on his hips, pacing. Runs a hand through his hair.

“Are you serious?”

When you nod, his whole face lights up with this attractive, excited smile.

Pulls you into his arms and buries his face in your neck, taking in the sweet scent of your perfume.

“I love you. So much. Oh my.”

Probably tears up but tries to be subtle about it.

Calls his mom IMMEDIATELY.

That night, he lies awake, just staring at you in awe, hand resting protectively on your stomach.

Adam Fantilli

“No way. No fucking way. Are you messing with me?”

As soon as you confirm, he just starts grinning like a fool.

Picks you up and spins you around happily.

“WE’RE GONNA HAVE A BABY!”

Lowkey freaks out about being a dad but masks it with excitement.

Already planning matching hockey jerseys for the baby.

Catches himself watching you all the time now, like holy shit, you’re carrying our baby.

Leo Carlsson

His eyes go wide and he just blinks.

“Really?” His voice is so soft and unsure.

When you nod, he immediately wraps his arms around you and just holds you tight.

Kisses your forehead, then your stomach.

“You’re gonna be the best mom.”

Gets really emotional but doesn’t say much

Looks up Swedish baby names

Jack Hughes

Stares at you for a solid ten seconds.

“Wait. What?”

Once he processes, he just drops his head into his hands, overwhelmed.

But when he looks up he’s smiling so big.

“Holy shit. We’re gonna have a baby.”

“I mean you’re gonna have a baby..but- but it’s mine, right?

Hugs you so tight, burying his face in your hair.

Calls Luke IMMEDIATELY to freak out.

Will not stop touching your stomach even though it’s early.

“Hey, baby, it’s your dad. I love you already.”

Quinn Hughes

Just stares at you for the longest time.

He’s so overwhelmed but doesn’t know what to say.

Finally, he just pulls you in, pressing his face against your shoulder.

“Are you okay? Do you feel okay?”

Tries to act calm, but you can feel his heart racing.

Kisses your forehead and whispers, “I love you so much.”

He won’t let go of you in bed and keeps one hand on your stomach.

Tyler Bertuzzi

“No shit?”

Smirks at first, but then he actually processes it.

“Wait. I’m gonna be a dad?”

You see it hit him all at once and he grabs your face, kissing you hard.

“You know our kid’s gonna be an absolute menace, right?”

Immediately starts thinking about all the dumb dad jokes he’ll get to use.

Brags to literally everyone who will listen.

“Yup, knocked her up. Guess I did something right.”

Trevor Zegras

“NO WAY.”

Literally jumps up and down like a child.

“We’re having a BABY?! We made a whole human?!”

Pulls you into his lap, holding your face in his hands.

“Holy shit, I love you so much.”

Immediately starts making TikToks about being a dad.

Buys baby Ducks merch within an hour.

Alex Vlasic 

Stops mid-breath.

“Are you serious?”

When you nod, his face softens immediately.

Holds your hands in his and kisses your knuckles.

“I love you.”

Becomes super protective overnight.

Talks to your belly when he thinks you’re asleep.

Gets teary-eyed thinking about holding your baby for the first time.

Jordan Binnington

“Wait, hold on.”

Visibly panicking.

“Like, an actual baby? Like… OUR baby?”

Sits down, processing, then suddenly grins.

“Shit. I’m gonna be a dad.”

So protective. Tries to ban you from doing anything remotely dangerous.

Insists on driving you everywhere.

Will absolutely fight someone for looking at you wrong.

Vince Dunn

Eyes go wide. Mouth slightly open.

“No way. No fucking way.”

Tears up immediately.

Wraps his arms around you and buries his face in your neck.

“I love you. So much.”

Starts referring to you as “baby mama” immediately.

Can’t stop smiling like an idiot.

“Our kid is gonna be a little shit, huh?”

Luke Hughes

Stares at the test for way too long. Blinks. Looks at you. Looks back at the test.

Hand running through his hair, pacing for a second before stopping in front of you.

“You’re serious?”

When you nod, he exhales sharply and then he’s grinning, pulling you into his arms.

“Holy shit, we’re having a baby.”

Face buried in your neck, arms holding you tight. A little shaky, a little overwhelmed, but so happy.

Lowkey panics about being a good dad. Watches so many parenting videos. Asks Quinn and Jack way too many questions.

Will 100% cry when he holds the baby for the first time.

Juraj Slafkovský

Eyes go wide. Mouth slightly open.

“No way. No fucking way.”

Scoops you up in his arms, spinning you around. Realizes mid spin that you’re pregnant and panics, putting you down so very gently.

“You’re serious?” he asks, voice soft, hands shaking a little. When you nod, he just stares at you in awe.

Holds your face in his hands, forehead pressed to yours, whispering, "I love you so much."

Calls his mom immediately. Literally before you even sit down. She cries and now he’s crying too.

So protective. So dramatic about it. You get up too fast? “Baby, sit.” You try to carry something? “Nope. I got it.”

Talks to your belly in Slovak every single night. Tells the baby about his games, how much he loves you, how excited he is to meet them.

Buys the tiniest baby skates he can find. Will not stop showing them to you.

Insists the baby’s first word is gonna be “hokej”

Loses his mind the first time he feels the baby kick. “Did you see that? Our baby’s already an athlete.”

Holds your hand through the whole delivery. Kisses your forehead, whispering, “You did so good, láska.”

*❆ ₊⋆୨ৎ ⋆꙳*❆ ₊⋆୨ৎ ⋆꙳*❆ ₊⋆୨ৎ ⋆꙳*❆ ₊⋆୨ৎ ⋆꙳*❆ ₊⋆୨ৎ ⋆꙳*❆ ₊⋆୨ৎ ⋆꙳*❆ ₊⋆୨ৎ

[myladybelle]

𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍? | chapter nine

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: art donaldson x female!reader x patrick zweig 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’ve always been content being second place to your best friend tashi duncan, waiting for the day you can quit tennis. your world is upended when you meet art and patrick, and you’re forced to embrace a life in the sport you’ve been too afraid to claim for yourself. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.0k 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): challengers content warnings, swearing, making out, mentions of sex, use of y/n 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: buckle up kids, it’s going to be an angsty ride!! also this is basically just dialogue so it’s a little different from the other chapters so far 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

𝟑 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 – 𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟕, 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟕

In many ways, it felt like your whole life changed since you stopped being friends with Tashi. Over the last three months, you realised a significant part of your identity was missing. You hadn’t noticed it before you stopped being friends with Tashi, but she made up so much of your everyday life that it was impossible not to feel her absence.

Every memory of her lingered in your mind like echoes in an empty room. Tashi existed in the past tense. She was no longer a part of your life. Letting go was hard, and nothing could fill the void left behind. It was a painful adjustment because your routines and comforts were embossed with her imprint – tennis, school, friendships, your entire life. Every new routine you established was an aching reminder of her desertion. 

No matter how much Art supported you, it felt like you had to learn to navigate the world alone. You knew he was doing his best and loved him so much for constantly putting up with you, but Art-shaped love couldn’t fill the Tashi-shaped hole in your heart. It was irreplaceable, and since nothing could fill the void, it remained empty.

Staying in Art’s childhood bedroom over winter break had been fun for about a day until the both of you realised his room was a shrine to his friendship with Patrick, just as yours was a testament to your friendship with Tashi. Trophies, medals, pictures, and mementoes of their life together littered every corner of his room. This worsened Art’s insecurity that Patrick’s presence shadowed his relationship with you.

One day, when you came upstairs from crocheting with Art’s mom, you were surprised by the sudden emptiness of his walls and shelves. Any evidence of Patrick was scrubbed from his room and his life. 

The sudden end to Art and Patrick’s friendship – which you secretly called Patrickgate but would never say aloud to your boyfriend – was a lingering mystery you had yet to figure out. You weren’t sure if the end of their friendship was just an extension of Tashi’s breakup with Patrick or if something else happened. His visit to Stanford had been so much fun up until the accident, and you knew Art had looked forward to it for weeks, so you had no idea what happened to them.

“I think my parents like you more than me,” Art declared one evening, falling onto the sofa beside you. You were crocheting a blanket out of granny squares with his mom and bonding with his dad about your shared music taste. Everyone agreed that Art had terrible taste in music, so he rolled his eyes and watched his favourite people fondly. 

“Sweetheart, don’t say that,” his mother said kindly, counting her stitches. “We definitely like her more than you.” You laughed when Art whined, leaning on your shoulder and complaining. 

Truthfully, he was happy that you and his parents got along so well. A warm, glowing sensation spread through Art’s chest anytime he saw you interact with them. He smiled as his dad laughed heartily at one of your jokes and noticed a rare sparkle in his mother’s eyes as you exchanged stories about your childhood with her.

Art felt the tight knot of anxiety that had grown over the last quarter slowly begin to unravel. 

As you lay on his bed reading a novel his mom recommended, Art couldn’t help but wish your relationship was always like this. Sunlight streamed through his window, cast a gentle glow over his bedroom, and made you appear almost angelic. Curled up on his bed with your legs tucked beneath you, the corners of your lips curved into a content smile as you turned a page, eyes scanning the words.

Art stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, and watched you silently. Your relaxed posture contrasted with the tension that usually lined your frame. The strain of the last three months seemed to fade away, and the emotional turbulence you had both weathered was absent. 

Art let out a quiet sigh. This tranquillity, this slice of peace, reminded him why he was trying so hard to make your relationship work.

“I think I need to steal you away from my parents for a night,” he decided, making you look up from your book. 

“Really?”

Humming, Art pushed off the doorway and approached the bed, saying, “I want you all to myself. Competing with my parents for my girlfriend’s time isn’t exactly the low point of my life but it does defeat the purpose of staying together for winter break.”

Grinning, you dropped your book onto the bed and fell into his arms. “I’d love to do something tonight,” you promised. 

Sitting across from each other in the dimly lit restaurant, you and Art found yourselves surrounded by a heavy silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it no longer held the ease of your earlier days together. Last year, when your relationship was fresh, you could sit in companionable silence for hours, feeling entirely at ease. Art’s presence used to be comforting as he quietly observed you. Now, you stared down at your plate, your mind swirling with doubt and uncertainty.

Your relationship with Art wasn’t working out how you hoped, and you were sure he felt the same. But he never voiced his concerns, thoughts, or feelings. Talking to Art was like trying to scale an impenetrable fortress, every word bouncing back without revealing a hint of what lay inside.

When you returned to Art’s house, you showered and got ready to sleep, climbing into his bed and waiting for him.

Cross-legged on top of his blankets, you stared at the now empty walls of his childhood bedroom. A hollow ache sat deep within your chest. Every poster, every photo, and every memory of his friendship with Patrick had been stripped away, leaving nothing but bare, cold surfaces. The once vibrant room now mirrored the emptiness you had noticed in your boyfriend in recent months.

You knew how much his bond with Patrick had filled his life, just as your friendship with Tashi filled yours, and without them, everything seemed unbearably vacant and bleak. Both of you were so consumed by your broken friendship with Tashi that neither of you gave him the space to process his loss of Patrick.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when Art entered his room, hair still wet from his shower. He paused when he saw the melancholic look on your face.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” you said honestly. You never hid parts of yourself from Art. The problem was that he never did the same with you. “Things haven’t been okay for a while now. With either of us.”

Despite the shock coursing through him at you pointing out your unspoken issues, Art tried to keep his expression neutral. His features betrayed only the slightest flicker of surprise. “School’s been busy and our schedules have been crazy, but we’re okay,” he tried to reassure you, closing his door behind him. His parents wouldn’t be coming home until later in the evening but Art wanted the assurance of privacy. “It’ll get better.”

Sitting beside you on the bed with his feet planted on the floor, Art met your eyes and smiled at you. In the past, all it took was the curve of his lips to give you butterflies. Just one glance would make your heart flutter uncontrollably. Now, you could see the sadness in his eyes, the weight of unspoken worries pulling him down. The butterflies weren’t gone, but their wings felt heavier now. You still loved him, but you didn’t want your relationship to become one of unfulfilled potential, lost to the demands of your separate lives and identical scars. 

You couldn’t help but return his smile. “The thing is, I don’t know how things can get better if we don’t talk about them,” you confessed, trying not to upset him. “You know I tell you everything, right?” 

Almost imperceptibly, Art’s eyes narrowed, already taking a defensive stance. “Of course I do,” he said.

“Do you feel like you can share things with me?” you wondered, trying to keep your voice light. You had observed Art putting your care and emotions above everything in his life, and you wanted him to know it was unnecessary. “Because I’m here for you. I feel like you hold everything in and I don’t want you to feel alone.” 

Art crossed his arms as he thought about it. He wore a contemplative look, lips pursed and gaze lingering thoughtfully on the wall behind you. “I don’t feel alone.” Pausing, you gave Art a chance to divulge more about his feelings, but he only looked at you, waiting for you to speak.

You tried not to let your disappointment or frustration show. After all, if Art felt that he needed to tread carefully around you, then you were partially at fault. He had been in charge of helping you hold it together emotionally for the last few months, and there was no space for him to get that same support from you. You both lost your best friends, but you were the only one who received help from your partner.

“Does that mean you don’t miss Patrick?” you asked, tilting your head curiously. “You haven’t talked about him in, like, nine months.”

Art’s brows furrowed deeply, casting a shadow over his increasingly narrowed eyes. “Why are you bringing up Patrick all of a sudden?” he queried, his voice taking on a defensive edge that you had anticipated. 

“Well–” you motioned around his room to indicate how empty it suddenly was– “You haven’t said a word about what happened and I can tell it’s affecting you. I’m worried. I don’t know why you stopped being friends because you never talk to me. He’s your best friend, and one day you just decided that you were done with him. I know how that feels, and I want to understand what happened.”

“Patrick and me not being friends is not the same as what Tashi did to you,” Art pointed out. His jaw clenched, signalling his rising frustration. “I never insulted him or his relationship, we just stopped being friends after the accident. There’s nothing to talk about.”

“If there was nothing to talk about, then you wouldn’t be so affected by me bringing it up,” you argued. “I’ve noticed how your face changes every time someone mentions him, and I think that talking about it might help.” Art said nothing. “Besides, he’s not at fault for what happened to Tashi. While I understand why she wants to draw a boundary between them after going through the most traumatic experience of her life, you’re supposed to be his best friend. He lost both his girlfriend and his best friend in one fell swoop for something he isn’t even responsible for.”

“It was just time, Y/n,” Art replied vaguely. His breathing became deliberate and even, each measured inhale and exhale designed to soothe his growing anger.

“Was it time, or was it convenient timing?” you challenged him.

The tension between you mounted as you grappled with Art’s emotional guardedness, yearning for him to break his silence. Even now, when confronted with your direct questions, he let nothing slip past his mask. You wondered if you had done this to him, if you had made him believe that any display of emotion would somehow set you off.

You questioned, “Was it really a natural ending to your friendship, or did you stop being friends because Tashi’s accident gave you an excuse to do so?”

Art sighed heavily, a telltale sign that he was nearing the point where he couldn’t hold it all in. “Why do you care?” he asked slowly and through gritted teeth. “You haven’t talked to him in months either.”

“Not for a lack of trying,” you retorted.

He froze in shock as your words sank in. Standing abruptly, Art took two steps from the bed and turned to face you. “You’ve been trying to talk to Patrick?” His voice wavered, rising a pitch higher than usual. A tremor of shock coloured his words, “Since when? How often?”

You uncrossed your legs and swung them over the side of the bed. “Twice a month since the accident,” you revealed. 

Clenching his fists at his sides, Art wondered, “Does he ever write back?” 

“Once. All he said was that he missed me and he wished us a happy anniversary.”

Art inhaled sharply, the sting of betrayal spreading through him. The realisation hit hard. He had assumed Patrick was out of his life and would no longer influence his relationship with you, and he was naive to have thought so.

“Fuck,” Art grumbled. “Why would you do that?”

“Because he’s my friend, and without you and Tashi I might be his only friend,” you reminded your boyfriend. “He has nobody on tour who he can rely on, he would never reach out to his parents, and he doesn’t deserve to be punished for Tashi’s accident.” You stood, searching Art’s standoffish blue eyes as you approached him, wondering when he would admit his real feelings. “Doesn’t that hurt you? Patrick has nobody.”

“How do you think Tashi feels about you talking to her ex after the accident?” Art questioned, throwing a hand out as if motioning to her. 

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably at the mention of your former best friend. “I don’t know, I haven’t exactly had the chance to ask her, Art,” you said sarcastically. “Why should I worry about what she would think? After everything she said to me, everything she said about our relationship and our inevitable fate?” Feeling cornered, you stepped to the window and looked at the empty street. “If you’re so curious about what Tashi thinks, you should just ask her. After all, the two of you are still friends, right?”

Art groaned, irritated that you brought up a past argument you had. “I already told you we aren’t friends! Sometimes we run into each other and we talk.”

Turning your head, you nodded. “Fine. But that doesn’t change the fact that you think talking to Tashi is okay, but me talking to Patrick is some sort of a crime.”

“Because Tashi isn’t in love with me, Y/N,” Art argued, raising his voice with flushed cheeks. “Don’t you see that Patrick’s just waiting around until we break up so he can swoop in and have you for himself?” 

“Where did you get that from?” The conversation you had started was escalating to a full-on fight. You felt a surge of heat spreading from your chest to your head, your racing heartbeat emphasising your growing anger and exasperation. “I know he flirts with me, I know he messes with you, but you like it! It makes you smile, and laugh, and you play into it because that’s just how Patrick is!”

“I know that!”

You began listing things off on your fingers, “He’s never told me he has feelings for me, he never tells me that we should break up, he doesn’t plant any ideas about you being a bad boyfriend in my head – or fears of infidelity, for that matter,” you added pointedly, reminding Art of the way he tried to make Patrick and Tashi insecure about their casual relationship. “He’s never done anything to indicate he’s trying to get together with me! He won’t even respond to my emails!”

“Good!” Art shouted, his face turning a deeper shade of red with anger as he approached you. “I don’t want you talking to him!”

“Why?!” You shouted back, losing your temper. Months of built-up frustration and disappointment were finally boiling over. “The second you stopped being friends he stopped answering my emails, does that sound like someone who’s trying to steal your girlfriend?” 

“You don’t know him like I do!” Art stared at you, arms falling limply at his sides. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath, each inhale like a gasp. Your shoulders rose and fell rapidly, and the adrenaline coursing through you made it hard to slow your racing heart. “I can’t believe this,” he muttered.

“What?”

“You think you know Patrick because you exchanged emails? If you really think he didn’t do all of that because he’s in love with you then he’s totally played you. I know him. He’s relentless, and he’s never going to stop, Y/N. Haven’t you seen him play? He’s the master of the long game, the master of making a comeback, and the master of trick shots.”

You let out a deep, exasperated groan, your eyes rolling skyward in a dramatic display of frustration. “Why is it that we can’t have a single argument without it coming back to tennis? The person you are is not the same as the type of player you are on the court,” you pointed out. “You’re romantic and imaginative and nothing like the way you get when you play tennis. Why are all of Patrick’s qualities diminished to the way he plays a game?”

“Because everything’s a game to him,” Art insisted. “He goes through life like it’s a game and he wants to lose as little as possible.”

“But–”

“–And you,” Art interrupted. “You go through life like it’s a game too!”

“When have I ever treated any aspect of our lives like a game?” you exclaimed angrily.

“Weren’t you playing a game when you lied to Tashi about throwing every match you’ve played against each other for the last five years?” Art challenged you. 

The coldness in his eyes and how he spoke to you was so unlike him. The harshness of his voice sent a chill down your spine, making you feel like a stranger in your own relationship. It was as if the person standing before you was someone else entirely, leaving you reeling with confusion and hurt.

Head spinning, you stammered, “How do you even know about that?”

“Tashi told me. She was really upset about it, too. She was crying and I could barely hear a word she was saying because–”

“–You just said the two of you weren’t friends and that you didn’t speak to her? When did you have the time to have this heart-to-heart?”

Swallowing harshly, Art confessed, “The night of your fight.”

“Fucking hell, Art.” Incredulous, you burst into laughter, shaking your head in disbelief. “You went and talked to the woman who broke my heart the night it happened? What, you just went to her dorm to make sure I wasn’t lying to you about it?” you asked sarcastically, your eyes widening for comedic effect. “Since you seem to think I’m lying about everything, including the fact that I’ve been letting her win.”

Art scoffed. “Come on,” he replied in a harsh voice. “Do you really expect me to believe that you let her win every single game? Why the hell would you do that?”

“Because she wanted it and I didn’t,” you emphasised each word, enunciating as you glared at your boyfriend with tears in your eyes. “From the moment I met her I knew she wanted to be the best. I considered ignoring that and simply winning against her – God knows it would have made my mother happier – but I chose not to.” You wiped the tears from your cheeks harshly. “I let my mother berate me and refuse to let me have dessert and affection and whatever else normal teenagers get from their moms because I wanted my best friend to win. I wanted her to achieve her dream. I didn’t do it to have you, the person who is supposed to trust and support me most in the world, tell me that I lied about it,” you concluded, feeling utterly defeated that Art didn’t think you could beat Tashi. “What about all those times I beat her in training when the scores didn’t matter? Or the fact that I was ranked higher than her last year, even before her injury?”

“You had a great year last year,” Art allowed, averting his eyes when he saw how devastated you were. “But Tashi’s always been tougher than you.”

“Is that what she told you when you went to visit her?” you wondered. Art remained silent, and you inhaled sharply, hurt that he would believe Tashi over you. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this… Objectively, I’ve always been the better player.” Art nodded slowly. It was true; in terms of skill and precision, nobody had you beat, not even Tashi. “So if I’m stronger, faster, and more precise than Tashi, then there is no reason that she should have been beating me all these years. Except for the truth: I was letting her win.”

Art shifted uneasily, his gaze fixed on the floor, hesitating to disclose an opinion he feared might hurt your feelings further. “Everyone knows that tennis is more of a mental game than a physical game,” he began cautiously, his voice tinged with apprehension. “You have a lot of anxiety, and–”

You held up your hand, silencing him as you backed away from Art. “You know what, I’m done. I don’t know what’s worse. The fact that my own boyfriend doesn’t believe me, or the fact that you don’t believe in me.”

“Of course I believe in you,” Art disagreed.

“But not more than you believe in Tashi, right?” you retorted angrily. “Is that what this is really about? Do you want her? Were you disappointed Patrick won the match and got her number? Is that why you kept picking fights when they were together?”

Frowning, Art said, “Stop it.” 

“Is this your grand scheme? Date the best friend and then cosy up to the one you really want when the timing’s convenient for you?” 

“Well, it seems to be working for Patrick,” Art replied, just as venomous as you.

Sighing, you rubbed your forehead. “I don’t want to fight about Tashi and Patrick, I just want to understand what’s going on with you! You never tell me anything.”

“Because I feel like you’re on the verge of falling apart every time I see you!” Art exclaimed, voice edged with frustration. “The last thing I want to do is push you over the edge. We have so much going on and I feel like every time we do something together it ends with both of us being upset, and I hate it. Everything is about tennis, or Tashi, or school, or Patrick, and nothing is about us anymore!”

“I know nothing is about us anymore,” you agreed, your tone a mixture of sadness and defensiveness. “Why do you think I want you to open up? I know I haven’t been my usual sugar-coated self for the last few months, but you holding everything in doesn’t help us. I need more from you, I need you to not treat me like I’m made of glass.”

“Why am I not enough for you?” Art replied, stunning you.

Your chests heaved in unison, panting from the intensity of your argument. Your eyes locked in a charged silence. Art’s hands trembled slightly at his sides, adrenaline still coursing through him, making his heart pound against his ribcage as he met your gaze. You looked away, blinking back tears.

“You are enough for me,” you said quietly. “I don’t know how many more times I can tell you. I love you, of course, you’re enough.”

“Not like that,” he corrected you. Art sighed, his anger dissipating as he watched your growing sadness. “What did Tashi say about our relationship that’s so bad? She said we would get married and have kids and I would have a professional tennis career. You act like that’s the worst thing she could have said to you.” 

Your eyes widened in surprise as Art mentioned your argument with Tashi, your breath catching in your throat. Regardless of how impactful the end of your friendship with Tashi was, you didn’t like to speak about it. Even after all these months, Art only new bits and pieces of your argument. He knew Tashi said something about you having a family with him, and he knew it had upset you, but he didn’t understand the context. The sharp edge of your anger softened, replaced by a pang of guilt as you understood how deeply this detail had affected your boyfriend. 

Tentatively, you reached out and took one of Art’s hands. He let you, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. In a gentle voice, you told him, “I had no idea you thought that. What she said that day has nothing to do with you, trust me. She said it to hurt me because she knows that I’m terrified of turning out like my mother.”

When Art’s eyes opened, they reflected confusion. “She thinks marrying me will make you turn out like your mother?”

“Well, no, she thinks I’ll turn out like my mom if I don’t pursue a tennis career, regardless of who I marry,” you corrected him. “I wouldn’t have a life of my own. There would be no meaning, no dreams, no goals of my own, just me. And I would be vapid and destructive if I ever had kids, just like my mother was with me. It has nothing to do with you, she said those things to hurt me, to scare me.”

“A life with me scares you?”

“No, a life without purpose scares me. Now, more than ever, I feel like I have no purpose.” Your voice wavered when you spoke, barely above a whisper, as if afraid of being heard. “I thought Tashi was the person I was going to live life with, and now I have to rearrange my identity in a way that makes sense without her. She said those things because she knows my biggest fear is to hurt any potential partner or children the way my mom hurt me and my dad. I need more than that for myself.”

“You need more than me,” Art repeated, running his free hand through his hair and sighing. “That’s what I’m saying, I’m not enough for you. It can’t just be me. It has to be me and tennis, or me and law school. But not just me, or our relationship.”

“Is that wrong?” you wondered.

“I just mean– I would drop tennis for you in a heartbeat, Y/N. I would follow you to law school and go anywhere you need me to go with you because I love you. You’re it for me, you’re all I need. But you don’t feel that way about me.”

As your fingers slipped from Art’s grasp, the cold, empty space between your hands mirrored the silent, inevitable end of your relationship.

“I would never ask you to do any of those things. I would never ask you to drop tennis or tell you to do anything you don’t want to do. You have to figure that out for yourself, just like I do.” You could feel yourself getting emotional and sensed the familiar sting of oncoming tears. “You already know what you want. You’re going to go pro, and I will be there to support you in whatever way you want me to–” Art grinned. “But you need to let me figure out what’s right for me, too.” Rather than slipping from his face, Art’s smile froze there, unmoving as his eyes grew colder. “I love you, Art, but I can’t just be your girlfriend. I need to be my own person. I haven’t been my own person since– well, I don’t think I’ve ever really been my own person. I was my mother’s puppet and, apparently, Tashi’s lackey, and now I don’t know who the fuck I am.”

“I know who you are,” Art interjected. His blue-eyed gaze pleaded with you to agree, imploring you to set aside your differences and make peace.

You shook your head. “No, you don’t.”

“I love you, how can I love you and not know who you are?”

“Because the version of me you fell in love with isn’t the same without her best friend,” you explained. Wrapping your arms around yourself as if they would hold you together, your lips curved into a bittersweet smile. “I know that sounds stupid, but I’m different now.”

“I’ll wait,” Art assured you. “You can be her again, I’ll wait.”

You turned to face him, eyes red and swollen from the tears you had been fighting back. “I can’t ask you to do that. You can’t keep feeling like you have to walk on eggshells around me. I don’t know what I want anymore; the major building blocks of our lives are gone, probably for good,” you added, referencing your former friendships with Tashi and Patrick. “And all we do is fight about them.”

“Then we’ll stop fighting.”

“It’s not that easy, Art. Be honest with yourself. Have you been happy?” you wondered. “Truly happy? Tiptoeing around in case you hurt my feelings or say something that will send me spiralling?” Art opened his mouth to respond but stopped, the words caught in his throat. He looked away, knowing the truth was written all over his face. Your eyes filled with tears, glistening as they clung to your lower lashes, your breaths becoming shallow and rapid. “I know you, and I know you haven’t been happy.”

Voice cracking with emotion, Art said, “I just don’t want you to be sad anymore.” He clenched his jaw tightly to suppress the tears welling in his eyes.

“I know. I love you so much for everything you’ve done, but every time you try to heal my wounds from losing Tashi, it hurts our relationship. It’s like we’re being torn open. So please, even though it’s hard and even though you don’t want to, please tell me how you feel.” 

Art swallowed hard. Barely above a whisper, he confessed, “No, I haven’t been happy. We’ve been growing apart since the quarter started, and our shifted priorities have been driving us apart for months.”

“I agree.” You nodded, your expression calm even as a few tears rolled down your face. Soft and controlled, you said, “It’s not working. Right?”

“Right,” Art echoed, his lower lip quivering from holding back sobs. “I feel the gap widening every day and I hate it. It shouldn’t matter that I’m getting ready to go pro, and it shouldn’t matter that you’re still trying to figure out what you want.”

“But it does.”

“But it does,” he parroted.

You sighed heavily, shoulders slumping as you closed your eyes briefly. “I don’t know about you but I’m exhausted,” you declared, feeling drained by the weight of your argument.

Chuckling in disbelief, Art agreed, “I’m so tired.” When he met your eyes again, the fight had visibly drained out of him. “But I love you,” he whispered, his voice cracking.

With a wistful smile, you looked at him, your eyes revealing the quiet pain of loving someone you couldn’t fully have. “I love you too,” you replied gently, stepping closer to him. Tears escaped your eyes as you cupped Art’s face and carefully wiped his wet cheeks. “But if I’m not making you happy, then it’s not working.”

Art nodded. “And you need to figure out your own path and find what makes you happy, too,” he added.

You stood silently, the reality of your decision to break up sinking in. In the dimly lit room, you embraced for the last time, your bodies clinging as if reluctant to let go. Art’s arms wrapped around you, holding you close, while you buried her face in his chest, inhaling the familiar scent you knew you would miss. Time seemed to slow as you stood intertwined, trying to convey how much love you still had for each other.

The moment you parted, your lips gravitated to his. You kissed him. Art nudged his nose against yours, lips, hips, and chest hard against yours. He gripped your waist, tugging you closer as your hands tangled into his hair. You could barely think about your breakup. Too busy kissing Art harder and deeper as you begged each other to say goodbye, to be together and love each other despite everything that happened. The passion and urgency of this moment filled your veins; every heartbeat was a drumbeat, echoing in your ears as you stole this moment with him.

Art Donaldson wasn’t your boyfriend anymore. The thought was almost unimaginable.

Nothing else mattered. Not the pain of mourning the loss of Art’s love or the hollow emptiness of losing another person who had once filled your days with laughter and happiness, the boy who had been the warmth in your coldest, loneliest moments. For now, the breakup wasn’t real yet. You existed outside of reality, broken up but not yet having separated your life together. You were still his, and he was still yours.

But that wouldn’t be the case for much longer.

Art’s strong body pressed against you, firm hands trailing up your waist and raising the hem of your t-shirt as he went. “I still care about you, despite everything,” he declared, his voice filled with longing and desperation. “I’m sorry. I do believe you, and I believe in you.”

You nodded, resting your forehead against his. “I know. I’m sorry too.”

Pressing kisses to his neck, you paused to pull Art’s t-shirt over his head. He exhaled shakily, hooded gaze intoxicated as he drank in the sight of you running your hands down the planes of his chest and tracing the contours of the muscles in his abdomen. His eyes worshipped you like a sacred idol, filled with awe and adoration. Art reached for your face, a thick air of anticipation growing between you as his lips ghosted yours. His lips left a trail of open-mouthed kisses down your neck and across your collarbones, almost mirroring the movement of your hands on his body. You shivered. Each feather-light touch of his mouth ignited a spark in you. 

When you reconnected your lips, Art’s arms snaked around your waist and pulled you flush against him. You sighed happily against his mouth, and the sound seemed to make Art realise what was happening. As if an enchantment had lifted, he broke the kiss, staggering back and covering his mouth.

“Fuck,” Art swore. 

He placed both hands on his burning cheeks. Art’s chest was just as flushed as his face, and his damp hair was a mess of unruly curls. Catching your breath, you looked at him, waiting to see what he would do next. Your head spun from the kiss you shared, and you were sure your lips looked just as red and raw as Art’s. Whenever you kissed him – or even just sat beside him – Art needed to be touching as much of you as possible. Your shoulders, hands, arms, thighs, and waist were rarely free around him. His hands always roamed freely, wanting more, more, more.

Art’s distance and the absence of his touch were a stark reminder of your breakup. 

Taking a deep breath, Art met your eyes, and the intensity of his gaze made your knees weak. No matter how desperate he felt, he was being cautious with you. After all, you had just broken up, and he wasn’t sure if break-up sex was the best idea. 

“I can’t– I need to go,” Art blurted, lowering his hands. His eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape from you, the only person he couldn’t stay away from. “I have to go before I– Otherwise, I’m going to–”

“Stay,” you pleaded. Your pulse thrummed beneath your skin like a racing river, each look from Art igniting sparks of nervous excitement.

He exchanged a meaningful look with you. “Is that a good idea?”

“I want to say goodbye,” you confessed, your voice wavering. “I want to feel what it’s like to be loved by you one last time.”

Art’s lips immediately found yours, kissing you as if his life depended on it. “I do love you,” he promised. “You’re still mine for tonight.”

[cuteandhughesy]

grrrr bedsy fluff :((( just thinking ab him being his usual grumpy self while his girl is snuggled into his side and she slowly gets the slightly softer side of him :(( still complaining about the chick flick she put on!!! but giving her little kisses and telling her shes pretty.

you can tell connor is in a mood just by the way his bag hits the hardwood by the front door of your apartment. he doesn’t say anything, kicking off his trainers beside your ugg slippers before padding into the dimly lit living room.

you can understand his pissy mood—the team has just had their 8th loss in a row. you’d watched the game from the comfort of your apartment couch, and as you saw the game begin going south, you’d expected your boyfriend to cancel your movie plans after the game came to a close.

but here he is, his expression neutral as he makes his way to your blanket slumped self.

you send him a gentle smile, arms sneaking out of your pile of blankets to reach towards him. you probably resemble a baby, but you don’t even care. “hey babe.” you say gently.

connor wraps himself around you, pulling you both back down to the couch. he adjusts so that you’re tucked into his strong torso, your head resting on his peck. you can’t even see the tv this way, so you’re being deprived of bridget jones’ diary.

“you get here okay?” the chicago winter this year is relentless, and the roads after this time of night where always bad.

connor shrugs. “roads were covered.”

you hum, nuzzling further into his sweatshirt. “I missed you today.”

his lips quirk up in a smile, because no matter how frustrated he is with the game outcome, the sight of you on his chest with your breathy sighs and sweet voice, always has him feeling amazing. “missed you too, babe.”

that has you grinning, tilting your head back so you can comfortably press a kiss against his jaw. he looks down at you softly, “you have a good day?”

“yup.” you chime, “work was easy, and abigail called in sick so I didn’t have to deal with her constant complaining and tattling.”

connor snickers, very much used to hearing about your day-care coworker who is just nothing but dreadful to be around. “you’re so lucky.”

“I know right.” you giggle. “and I got to come home and watch my sexy boyfriend play hockey.”

you watch him blush lightly, a wide smile taking over his plump lips. “says you pretty girl.”

you giggle again, pushing off the couch so you’re straddling his hips. it’s a bit awkward trying to maneuver through the pile of blankets, but you manage, sliding over him like you’ve done many times before. connor’s hands instinctively slide over your thighs, rising until he’s gripping the round of your ass.

you hum quietly before leaning down, connecting your lips in a much needed kiss. connor groans against your mouth, sliding his lips over yours in a messy, sweet tango. it’s a leisure make out, one that has your tingling all over.

you pull back gently, a smile adorning your face.

connor gives you one more quick peck, right on top of your grin. “love you.”

“love you.” you parrot.

his eyes flick to the tv, and immediately his brows pull. “can we at least watch something else?”

“no.”

—

(not edited)

[isaadore]

SLEEP CAN WAIT CONNOR BEDARD

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ pairing connor bedard x reader

SUMMARY connor wakes you up at two in the morning, completely serious about proving the moon landing was fake. it’s ridiculous, but it has you laughing and falling for him all over again. word count 0.6k

warnings pure fluff, established relationship, light teasing

note requested by @cyberhughes 😋

CB98 MASTERLIST MAIN MASTERLIST

YOU WERE TEETERING on the edge of sleep, the warmth of Connor’s arm draped around your waist, his slow and steady breaths lulling you into relaxation. The glow of your bedside lamp illuminated the room in soft golds, casting gentle shadows on the walls. You sighed contentedly, eyes fluttering shut, ready to drift off.

And then Connor spoke.

“You know the moon landing was fake, right?”

Your eyes blinked open, confusion cutting through your drowsiness. You turned your head slowly, catching sight of Connor’s face, illuminated by the soft light. His expression was serious—almost too serious for what he had just said.

“Come again?” you mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

He rolled onto his back, his brows furrowed like he’d been thinking about this for hours. “I mean, think about it,” he began, his voice low but carrying that familiar matter-of-fact tone. “It was 1969. There’s no way they had the technology for that. And the shadows? They don’t even match up.”

You propped yourself up on your elbow, staring at him in disbelief. “Connor, are you seriously telling me you think the moon landing was fake?”

“I don’t think it was fake,” he replied, turning his head to look at you. His blue eyes were filled with an intensity that was both endearing and mildly ridiculous. “I know it was. Have you ever seen the flag in the videos? It’s moving. There’s no wind on the moon.”

Biting back a laugh, you squinted at him. “So you’re saying NASA faked the whole thing? Just for kicks?”

“No, not for kicks,” he said, clearly offended by the idea. “Probably for the Cold War. Or to beat the Soviets. I don’t know.” He shrugged as if the finer details weren’t as important as the truth he was unveiling. “But it’s obvious if you really look into it.”

It was too much. A laugh bubbled out of you, and you quickly covered your mouth with your hand, trying not to wake your neighbours. “Connor, it’s two in the morning,” you managed between giggles.

He turned on his side to face you fully, an almost exasperated look on his face. “You’re laughing, but I’m serious. This stuff matters. What if someone asks you about it one day?”

“Oh, of course,” you teased, grinning at him. “Because moon landing conspiracies are such a hot topic in 2025.”

“It could happen!” he insisted, his voice serious. “And when it does, you’ll thank me.”

Shaking your head, you reached out to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing over the soft flush that had spread there. “You’re a nerd, you know that?”

He smiled faintly, the corners of his mouth tilting upward in that shy, boyish way that you loved. “Maybe,” he said softly. “But you love me.”

“Unfortunately, I do,” you admitted with a mock sigh, leaning in to kiss him gently.

Connor sighed as you pulled back, collapsing against the pillows. “Fine. I’ll let you sleep,” he mumbled, almost like he was doing you a favour. “But tomorrow, I’m showing you a video about the shadows. You’ll see I’m right.”

You rolled your eyes and settled back into your spot, the weight of his arm finding its way around your waist again. “Whatever you say, moon boy.”

Even as you closed your eyes, you could feel the energy radiating off him, his mind still racing through facts and theories. And despite how absurd it all was, it made you smile.

Because even when Connor Bedard woke you up in the middle of the night to talk about conspiracy theories, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ CB98 MASTERLIST ✷ MAIN MASTERLIST

[keerysfreckles]

truth is | CONNOR BEDARD 98

pairing: connor bedard x fem!reader

summary: when an incident between y/n and a player on the toronto maple leafs brings her and connor closer together.

warnings: use of y/n, she/her pronouns, mentions of cuts, blood and injuries, kissing, swearing, petnames used (hun, baby, babe), kind of heated makeout

a/n: ofc i had to include my fav hockey team in a connor fic its just who i am (also hockey era incoming)

masterlist ! | requests are open

⋆ ˚ ｡ ⋆ ୨୧ ˚

people always say you can be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

y/n l/n however didn't think the phrase would be relevant to her in the middle of the second period against the toronto maple leafs.

tonight marks the 100th nhl game for y/n. her and her teammate, connor bedard, were both drafted into the team going into the 2023 season, making this their sophomore years in the nhl.

the two teenagers immediately became close due to their birthdays being only two days apart in the same year.

it was more of a running joke (maybe a superstition) for the hawks in which every time connor scored a goal, y/n scored one quickly after.

which explains why y/n is more than determined to get the puck between the goalie of the toronto maple leafs, twenty seconds after connor scored a goal to tie the game.

after trying to hit the puck in again after a rebound, a player from the leafs hit it away from their own goal. in the small bit of commotion to follow the puck, a second leafs player fell onto the ice, with his skates up in the air as he fell into an odd position.

unbeknownst to the leafs captain as he went around the net, he bumped into y/n, not hard, but definitely enough to push her forward.

now y/n finally understood what people meant when they said wrong place wrong time.

just as y/n was falling forwards, the leafs player that was on the ground, his skate moved.

the only thing y/n felt was something cold against her face, followed by something warm and wet, and it caused her so much pain.

she immediately flinched, both from the feeling on her cheek and from finally hitting the ground after getting pushed. the game around her kept moving as she reached a gloved hand up to her face, panicking slightly when the white on her hand was now red when she pulled it away from her skin.

the closes referee noticed the girl on the floor and quickly blew his whistle.

within the mere seconds of the injury, blood was quickly making its way down y/n's cheek and neck, and onto her jersey and the ice.

fans began booing the player who cut her, while others were quiet and concerned about the blackhawks player.

y/n wasn't sure when she began to cry, but as soon as connor, and another teammate came up to her to help her, her tears weren't stopping any time soon.

the blackhawks coach was quick to meet y/n at the boards, sending her off to the medic room.

"can i go with her?" the question from connor certainly caught everyone off gaurd. he's never wanted to go with any other player if they got sent to the medic, so why did he want to go with y/n?

"please?" y/n asks, only wanting connor by her side, as she hold her glove to her cut, trying her best to stop the bleeding.

the coach sends both players off, definitely not happy now missing two critical team players.

y/n and connor faintly hear the whistle blow as they make it down the hall to the medic room.

"jeez, what happened here?" the doctor asked, frowning at the sight of y/n in front of her.

y/n was about to answer, only to find out it hurt for her to talk, making tears run down her cheeks once more.

connor was quick to speak up, "a leafs player's blade cut her, not sure how bad it is though."

the doctor nods, "can you move your glove hun?"

y/n does as asked, and the doctor slightly gasps at the cut and now blood stained cheek.

connor moves to take a look as well, and simply grabs onto y/n's hand in comfort. the girl can't deny the blush she feels creeping up to her cheeks.

while the doctor instructs y/n to sit, connor takes both of their gloves and helmets and sets them down on an empty chair.

the doctor walks y/n through the cleaning process, causing y/n to wince and reach out for connor's hand whenever some cold touched her wound.

"it is a mild cut, so it's going to need a few stitches."

y/n only nods, realizing how much energy has finally been taken out of her. all she wanted to do now was go to her apartment and sleep for the next twenty-four hours.

connor however stayed by her side the whole time, repeating comforting words whenever he noticed her eyes squeeze shut in discomfort, or when her hand tightened around his.

"we're almost done, just one more okay?"

the doctor is as quick as possible to finish her work, before handing an ice pack to y/n, who gladly holds it on her now slightly swollen face.

"the stitches can come out in one week if they don't fall out on their own, and i wouldn't reccomend talking for the next few hours. i would also advise to miss as many hockey games as you can. just so your wound can properly heal, and you won't be irritating it by yelling and all the other hockey stuff, yeah?"

y/n slightly chuckles at the doctor's last words, and connor thanks her before grabbing their things and walking with y/n back to their locker rooms.

connor looked at the small tv in the hallway, noticing the third period had started, meaning the two had a few more moments of privacy before the whole team would come barging in.

connor sits beside y/n on one of the benches, and smiles as she leans her head against his shoulder.

"how are you feeling?"

y/n simply shrugs.

"that bad, huh?"

"i just want to go home," she mumbles out, her words slurred together from the ice pack squishing her cheek and due to the pain.

"did you drive here?"

y/n shakes her head, now feeling stupid for asking a friend to drive her to their home stadium.

"i can drive you home, if you want," connor offers.

y/n nods as fast as she can, making connor chuckle again. he suggests they should finally change out of their sweaty jerseys and protective pads, making y/n get up and go to the very smaller locker room, specifically made for her, right next door.

they were both quick to change, both meeting in the hallway wearing sweatpants and hoodies.

"wait, won't coach mind we're gone?" y/n mumbles, just as connor's grabbing her bag off her shoulder.

he shakes his head, "no way. you got injured, the last thing you want to do is celebrate or do post game interviews. and i can just text one of the guys and tell him i took you home."

y/n nods as the two begin leaving the stadium. they get to connor's car fairly quickly, and y/n doesn't even have to tell connor the way to her apartment, since he's been at least once a week since they became friends.

"does it still hurt?" connor asks as he finally turns onto the street where y/n's apartment complex is.

"not as bad. the ice is definitely helping."

"that's good to hear."

connor and y/n make their way up the steps to y/n's apartment, still with connor carrying her bad for her. she fishes her keys out of the side pocket and lets them inside.

"why don't you go change into some pjs and i can throw on a movie?"

y/n gasps, "yes please."

connor laughs at her excitement before walking towards the couch, "i'll be out here."

⋆ ˚ ｡ ⋆ ୨୧ ˚

about an hour into the movie y/n had ended up picking for them to watch, connor felt a thump on his shoulder.

he turned, being met with y/n's head now resting on his shoulder. her eyes were closed and her breathing was even. he could only describe her as peaceful.

connor simply turned the movie off, knowing y/n would have a fit if he watched the rest without her.

as best as he could, he shuffled out from beside her and tried grabbing her to bring her to her bed, knowing she'd be more comfortable there. however she stirs when he tries picking her up again.

"what?" she mumbles tiredly.

connor chuckles, "i'm just trying to move you to your bed. you fell asleep against me."

"oh, okay," y/n relaxes again, making connor reach for her again, and successfully pick her up in his arms.

he carefully brings her down the hallway towards her room and sets her on the bed. as be leaves to grab a glass of water and pain medicine he knows she'll need in the morning, she works on getting herself comfortable.

"do you want me to spend the night? just in case you need anything?" he asks before shutting the door to let the girl sleep.

"can you stay?"

connor can't not stay at the sound her voice. he nods as a response, before shutting the door quietly. he makes his space for the night on the couch as comfortable as possible, grabbing the throw blanket on the end and piling the two pillows up as one.

⋆ ˚ ｡ ⋆ ୨୧ ˚

when y/n woke up the next morning, she knew one thing. her face hurt.

it hurt to swallow, it hurt to move her face, it hurt to drink water. everything simply hurt.

she couldn't imagine how much it would hurt to talk, let alone yell for connor. so she didn't even try.

she got up, completed her morning routine (minus brushing her teeth, she only guessed it would hurt), and walked slowly towards the living room and kitchen.

she turned and was surprised at the sight of connor cooking. his back was towards her, and the sound and smell of bacon cooking on the stove in front of her welcomed her into the kitchen.

she walked around him so her non-injured cheek was now resting against his shoulder.

"well hello sleepyhead," he jokes, making y/n notice it was almost eleven in the morning.

"does your cheek still hurt?"

y/n only nods, once again not daring to speak.

"after you eat something will you let me clean it again? i know it's gonna hurt but that's what the doctor said to do," connor reminds her, earning a groan out of her, making connor laugh.

"i promise i'll be gentle," he affirms while placing three strips of bacon onto two plates.

as he brought them over to the living room, y/n followed.

a few minutes passed and y/n didn't touch a single piece of bacon.

"are you not hungry?" connor asks.

y/n nods, her stomach has been rumbling since the moment she woke up.

"does it hurt to much to eat?"

y/n nods again, looking down at the plate in her lap in defeat.

"oh baby," connor pouts, as the pet name just slips past his lips. "can i clean you up first then? maybe some pain killers can help too?"

y/n nods again, grabbing connor's hand as he offers to help her up off the couch and towards the bathroom.

y/n sits patiently on the closed toilet seat as connor tries gathering as many first aid supplies as he can. once he's satisfied with his haul, he begins cleaning the girl's cheek to the best of his abilities. he was careful when taking off the bandage and wiping around the area, and let y/n hold his hand if needed.

after cleaning it, he took a warm washcloth to the skin. y/n sighed in comfort, feeling more comfortable than she's ever felt in the past twenty four hours.

"does that help?"

"mhm," she replies, her eyes closing in bliss.

connor wets the washcloth again, making sure the water isn't too hot, and brings it back to her cheek. connor is now kneeling in front of her, with her hand resting against his cheek.

the two however don't break eye contact this time, but this doesn't make the moment uncomfortable.

subconsciously connor begins rubbing his thumb over the material of the washcloth, not knowing the butterflies it was causing in y/n's stomach.

"connor," it's the first word y/n has said the entire morning, and it makes connor's heart flip.

"yeah?"

"why have you been so nice to me?"

connor takes a minute before answering, trying to internally find the right words to share.

"i just need to make sure you're okay," he was satisfied with his own answer, but y/n wasn't.

"but no other player would've done all this for me," y/n defends, talking more now that her cheek isn't hurting as much.

"well yeah, i mean we're best friends. i have to help you. i want to help you."

a minute of silence passes, as connor watches y/n's eyes flicker between his own.

he removes the washcloth from her face, only to wet it again and bring it back to her skin.

as y/n continued to stare at connor, only one thought consumed her mind. it was now or never as she let her lips move faster than her brain could stop them.

"do you ever think we're more than best friends?"

the question catches connor off gaurd. but before he can even think of a response, y/n's lips once again move faster than her liking.

"'cause i want to be more than your best friend."

y/n isn't sure where this newfound confidence is coming from, and she only swears at herself when she realize connor still hasn't answered. the last thing she ever wanted to do was make anything awkward between them, and now she's sure he's going to be walking out of—

connor's lips were on hers.

the washcloth was still pressed against her face, connor's other hand was now resting on her upper thigh, and his soft lips were on hers.

y/n's eyes were wide as he began to pull away. however she didn't want the feeling to ever end, causing her to grab his face in both of her hands and pull him to her again.

connor dropped the washcloth, making both of his hands now holding onto her thighs.

their lips were molding against one another, yet clashing to fight dominance at the same time. it was a kiss filled with many emotions. so many emotions that have been pushed down or to the side the past year, that needed to be opened.

y/n's hands moved to connor's hair, pulling slightly at the strands causing him to moan against her lips.

tongues soon started fighting, making the two more and more out of breath.

as the began pulling away, their panted breaths mingled between them as their flushed faces were only inches apart.

"i've liked you the second i saw you in that blackhawks meeting," y/n admitted, remembering the time she first saw connor after they were chosen as the 2023 rookies.

connor chuckles as his hands comfortingly rub up and down y/n's thighs, "i've liked you since the draft babe."

he simply leans in to kiss her again, but y/n hesitates.

"as much as i love kissing you, and would do anything to do it again, can you finish cleaning my cheek first?" she asks sweetly.

"oh shit, yeah, i'm sorry," connor is quick to start finishing his first aid job.

as soon as he completes taping the new gauze pad over the skin, y/n pulls him down to her by the collar of his hoodie, giggling at his surprised yet turned on moan against her lips.