omg can we PLEASE have more of older!reader and connor? that was so fire
Twenty, not Twelve
pairing: Connor Bedard x older!reader
description: You're on a date with Connor when a simple ID check triggers his insecurities.
TW: Fluff, smut, MDNI, age gap, jealousy, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, established relationship.
masterlist
The restaurant is intimate, with soft lighting and quiet conversation that allows you to actually hear each other. Connor has chosen it carefully, knowing you prefer places where you can talk rather than shout over music.
"The Pinot Noir," Connor tells the waiter with confidence. "The 2018 from Oregon."
The waiter nods. "Excellent choice, sir. May I see your ID, please?"
You stifle a laugh as Connor's confident expression falters. "Oh, uh, actually…"
"The wine is for me," you interject, reaching for your wallet. "He's not drinking."
The waiter's eyes widen slightly as he looks between you. "Right. Of course." He quickly moves away after checking your ID.
You can't help but giggle once he's gone. "My hero, ordering wine he can't even drink."
Connor's cheeks flush. "I wanted to surprise you. I know it's your favorite."
"I know and it's sweet." You reach across the table to squeeze his hand. "Very sweet. Especially watching you try to play it cool when you knew you couldn't drink it."
"I'm twenty, not twelve," he mutters, but there's a smile playing on his lips.
"Could've fooled me," you tease. "Still act like a baby sometimes. When things don't go your way, you know."
His eyes darken. "I wasn't acting like a baby last night when I made you scream my name."
Heat floods your cheeks as you glance around the restaurant. "Connor!"
"What? It's true." He leans back, smugness radiating from him. "Don't act like you weren't waking up the neighbors."
You laugh, changing the subject. "How was practice today?"
The shift is immediate. His shoulders tense, his jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "Fine. Same as always."
Throughout dinner, you notice the change. He's quieter, more withdrawn. His usual easy confidence has evaporated, replaced by a careful restraint that feels foreign. On the walk home, he stays glued to your side, hand possessively on your lower back, as if afraid you might slip away.
"What's wrong?" you ask gently as you approach his building.
"Nothing." But the word is clipped, tense.
In the elevator, his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you flush against him. He nuzzles into your neck, inhaling deeply as if grounding himself. You can feel the tension thrumming through his body.
Once inside his apartment, the silence stretches. You change into comfortable clothes, brush your teeth, but Connor remains quiet.
In bed, he pulls you close, holding you with an intensity that's almost desperate. His face stays buried in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.
"Babe?" you murmur, running your fingers through his hair. "What's wrong? You've been tense since dinner."
He doesn't respond immediately, just tightens his grip. "Nothing," he finally says, but the word is muffled against your skin.
"Hey," you tilt his face up to meet yours. "Talk to me. Is it about what I said earlier? About you being a baby? It was just teasing, I didn't mean.."
"Is that what you see?" he interrupts, his voice rough. "A baby?"
"No, of course not. It was just a stupid joke."
"Are you sure about that?" His eyes search yours, vulnerable. "Sometimes I wonder if you wish you had someone your age. Someone who can order you wine without getting carded. Someone who doesn't make people do a double take when they see us together."
Your heart aches at the raw insecurity in his voice. "Connor, look at me." You cup his face in your hands. "I don't care about your age. I care about you. The fact that you remembered my favorite wine, the way you listen when I talk about my day, how you make me laugh even when I've had a terrible day at work. That's what matters. Not some number."
His shoulders relax slightly, but uncertainty still clouds his expression. "Really?"
"Really." You kiss him softly. "I'm sorry if my joke made you feel insecure. It was thoughtless. You're more mature than most guys I've dated who were my age or older."
His lips find yours again, deeper this time, more demanding. The kiss ignites something between you, all the unspoken reassurance and desire pouring into it. His hands roam your body, relearning curves he's traced a hundred times before. When his fingers slip beneath the waistband of your pajama bottoms, you arch against him.
"I want to show you," he whispers, kissing his way down your body. "Show you that age doesn't matter when it comes to this."
He settles between your thighs, looking up at you with dark eyes. "No one else could make you feel like this," he says, his voice low and confident again. "No one older, no one more experienced. Just me."
His tongue traces patterns against your most sensitive flesh and your hands fist in the sheets. "Connor," you gasp as he finds that perfect rhythm that makes your toes curl.
"Tell me," he demands, sliding a finger inside you. "Tell me no one else could make you feel this way."
"No one," you moan, back arching. "Only you."
He adds another finger, curling them just right. "That's right. No one could make your pretty thighs tremble like this." He punctuates his words with a particularly delicious stroke of his tongue. "Couldn't make you come on their fingers like this."
Your orgasm builds rapidly, waves of pleasure cresting higher and higher. "Please," you beg, not even sure what you're asking for.
"You're mine," he growls against you. "And no one else will ever have you like this."
His words push you over the edge and you shatter around his fingers, crying out his name. He works you through it, prolonging the pleasure until you're spent and boneless.
When he finally moves up to kiss you, you can taste yourself on his lips. "I won't let anyone take you away from me," he murmurs, his body covering yours. "I love you."
"No one will take me away, Connor," you agree, pulling him closer. "I love you too."
