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daisynik7 · 7 months

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“Into you” by Fabolous for Connie Springer- smut + fluff

(S4 connie ofc)

Into You

I think you’re truly something special, just what my dreams are really made of

Pairing: Connie Springer x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~2.4k

cw: super fluffy, kinda cheesy, college au, modern day au, lots of basketball terms (applies specifically to NCAA and NBA), explicit language, smut – PIV sex (cowgirl position), implied creampie

Summary: You and Connie Springer have been close since childhood, growing up as next-door neighbors and best friends. The bond the two of you share is undeniable, but you’ve never been able to admit how deep your feelings are, either to yourself or to him. You continue to support him as his friend while he pursues his career as a basketball player, trying to get drafted into the NBA. Though the journey has its ups and downs, one thing is for certain: The two of you will always have each other, forever and ever.

Author’s Notes: Hi anon! Thanks so much for requesting this song for the y2k karaoke party because it’s one of my FAVORITES! It really gives me Love & Basketball vibes, another favorite of mine that also happens to be a classic in the y2k era. This little fic is very loosely based off of that, so I hope you enjoy! Also, all the basketball/NBA tidbits are mostly from being with my boyfriend, who is a huge NBA fan, so yeah, sorry if any details are inaccurate lol. Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy! MDNI banner credit to @/cafekitsune. Header image from Pinterest (Slam Dunk manga).

“You have to pinky promise, okay?” Connie sticks his tiny finger out, wiggling it in front of your face, sucking on his cherry-flavored lollipop, lips and tongue-stained red. You’re both five years old, sitting cross-legged in the front of his yard, taking a break from playing hide-and-seek.

“What am I pinky promising?” you ask, voice squeaky and curious.

“That we’ll be best friends forever and ever! No matter what!” he exclaims, beaming at you with his eyes wide, twinkling earnestly.

You only need to think for a few seconds before you’re hooking your pinky with his, committing to this promise for the rest of your lives.

~~~

Ten years later, Connie makes it on the varsity basketball team in your high school. It’s rare for a freshman to make it to varsity at Ragako; the coaches must have seen that spark in him that you and his family have witnessed since he started playing at ten-years-old. You used to shoot around with him out in his driveway, where his father set up a little hoop. Eventually, the little one got upgraded to a real one, where the height was adjusted appropriately as Connie grew. You became his practice partner, no longer able to compete with him. Instead, you passed him the ball, watching in awe as he made shot after shot, sometimes deep from the street. He’d pick you up and spin you around, the two of you cheering together, impressed by his skills.

Year after year, he only improved. The way he handled the ball, expertly dribbling it between his legs, behind his back, one-handed, without looking. Or the way his feet gracefully shuffled along the court, the distinct squeak from his shoes echoing off the walls as you watch him on the bleachers, playing three-on-three against some of his buddies at the gym. One time, his friend Jean teases you. “You know, you should stop hanging around here or else people might think you’re his groupie.”

Before you can think of a smart comeback, Connie interjects, shoving Jean hard in the arm. “Hey! Leave her alone. I want her here. I only play like this when she’s around. And she’s not a groupie. She’s my best friend.” He wraps his arm around your shoulders, leading you towards the exit while Jean sputters apologies that go ignored. “Sorry about that,” he whispers to you. “Jean is an asshole. I want you around, got it? Forever and ever.”

You smile, leaning into him. “Forever and ever.”

~~~

It’s at the championship game during senior year that you realize that you’re in love with Connie.

Scouts have already contacted him about full-ride scholarships to university, recruiting him for their team. He’s the most celebrated point-guard in your school’s history, his average points and assists per game breaking records. Ever since he joined, your school has made it in the final round each year, last year resulting in a win, this year leading to a second.

With seconds left on the shot clock, tie game, Ragako with possession, Connie makes his move. He inbounds the ball to his teammate, quickly taking position at the right wing, his sweet spot. As quickly as it leaves his hands, the ball is passed back to him. He shoots it, and as it flies out from his fingers into the air, the buzzer rings, and he makes it. The crowd goes wild; one side of the bleachers erupting into a frenzy, jumping up and down with excitement. Connie’s parents hug each other first, then surround you in their arms, elated. You don’t expect him to celebrate the win with you, not with his entire team huddling around him, splashing water on his head, cheering his name. Not with all the cheerleaders and fans gravitating toward him, eager to be in the presence of a sure-to-be star in the making. So, it surprises you when you see him maneuver his way through the crowd, heading straight towards you. He pounces on you, giving you the biggest, sweatiest hug with tears streaming down his face. It’s a split second where the surrounding noise goes blank and it’s just the two of you there, basking in each other’s warmth. Soon, his parents join you, also crying happily, and it’s in this moment that you realize this is where you want to be: with him. Forever and ever.

~~~

It's no surprise that the two of you attend the same college together. Most people will see it as you following him, but in actuality, Connie agrees to go wherever you go. Lucky for you both, your top choice is a D1 university where he’s offered a scholarship to play for their basketball team. It works out perfectly, as if it were meant to be.

He’s busy from the get-go, practicing every day until the season starts in November. You become preoccupied with classes, and naturally, the two of you travel your different paths, meeting in the middle whenever you can. When the season official starts, you attend all his home games, cheering for him from the sidelines surrounded by the other students also chanting his name. Weeknights, he’s often too tired to hang out, retreating to his dorm room to fall asleep, only to repeat his busy schedule again the next day. He grows close with his teammates, spending most of his time with them instead of you, which is to be expected. After all, you and Connie are just friends. Sure, you’re completely and madly in love with him, but he’ll never know that. So, you watch from afar as he pursues his career without you in the way. It’s the way it has to be.

By the time spring semester rolls around, you and Connie barely see each other. You’ll still text, sometimes video chat or talk on the phone. He mostly vents to you about teammates or coaches that have gotten on his nerves that day. He’ll catch you up on the other schools they’ve defeated or the ones that they’ve lost to. Your school’s record is quite good thanks to Connie, who’s only gotten better since high school. If they continue at this rate, they will win the conference tournament, meaning a trip to March Madness, the most prestigious competition in college basketball. Most importantly, it’s one step closer to the NBA.

As expected, the team does win the conference tournament. That night, the entire campus is lively with students buzzing in school spirit, ready to party the rest of the weekend. All you think about is calling Connie to congratulate him, hear his voice and tell him that you’re so proud of him. You debate with yourself for nearly fifteen minutes, staring at his name on your screen, fingers so close to dialing his number. You decide not to go through with it, certain that he’s too busy with his team, too busy with his fans. He’s not thinking about you, not when his whole world is about to change. And you can’t blame him; you’re just friends, and this is the way it has to be.

The following night, your school organizes an impromptu homecoming for the basketball team, welcoming them as they arrive on the bus, fresh from their championship win. They have a couple days of rest before they leave for the NCAA tournament, but you’re sure they’ll be busy with press and practice until then. You’re not there to greet them when they step off the bus; instead, you’re sulking in your room, buried under the covers, feeling sorry for yourself for ever falling in love with Connie Springer. It’s a sad, pathetic sight, but at least you’re alone for the weekend to do it while your roommate is out visiting her boyfriend out of town.

You’re surprised to see Connie’s name flash on your phone a few hours later. You let it ring twice before answering. “Hello?”

“Where are you?” he asks. There’s shuffling in the background, as if he’s walking outside.

“I’m in my room.”

“I’m coming over now.” He hangs up, not giving you any time to respond. You sigh, mentally preparing yourself for what’s to come.

When you open the door to let him in, he wraps his arms around you in a snug embrace. “I missed you.” He pulls off to hold you by the arms, glaring. “Why didn’t you greet me off the bus?”

“I…” you start, unsure how to respond.

“I was looking for you and you weren’t there. Where were you?”

“I was studying in the library.” This might be the first time you’ve ever lied to him. You feel guilty and gross.

“Oh,” he says sadly, still staring at you.

“Congratulations, by the way. It was an amazing win.” You give him a weak smile, blinking away the tears welling in your eyes. You don’t even know why you’re crying; Connie did nothing wrong. You’re letting your emotions get the best of you, and you can’t help but crumble in front of the only person who knows you better than you know yourself.

“I don’t care about that right now. I care about you. What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, Connie, I promise.”

“Don’t promise me shit like that. I know you’re upset. Tell me. Please.” His eyes search yours, desperate for an answer.

You look at his feet, fixating on his shoes, scuffed on the sides from playing. Tears start to drop from your face and on the carpet. “I just…I missed you too. I miss you, Connie. I…I love you.” The confession slips from your mouth in a sniffle, and you’re so upset with yourself for letting it slide in this crucial moment. Neither of you needs the drama of your unrequited love right now. Not you, knowing he’ll be leaving again soon, and especially not him, who has bigger and better things to focus on.

He gapes at you, stuttering, “You love me?”

You nod, biting your lip.

“Like, love love? Or love like a friend?”

You’re tempted to lie, just to make it easier. But you owe it to Connie to be honest with him. “Love love.”

His mouth is open, eyes bugging out, completely shocked by your admission. Before he can respond, you add, “I’m sorry, Connie. I shouldn’t have told you this right before the tournament, but…I don’t know. It just came out. I’m sorry.”

He stammers, “You’re sorry? This is the best fucking thing I’ve heard in my entire life.” He breaks into a smile, laughing hysterically, an even more bizarre reaction.

You cross your arms, getting impatient with his ridiculous behavior, eventually grabbing his shoulders to shake him out of his fit. “Connie, what the hell?!”

He wipes his eyes, crying from giggling, beaming at you. “I’ve been in love with since we were kids. Been dreaming of hearing you say that since we were five-years-old.” He hugs you tightly, nuzzling his nose to the top of your head. “I love you and I want to be with you. Forever and ever, right?”

You nestle into his chest, inhaling the familiar scent you missed since he’s been gone. “Forever and ever.”

~~~

The two of you spend the night together, making love for the first time. His lips are soft against yours, and you smile into his kiss, remembering the day you pinky promised that you’ll be best friends forever and ever, no matter what. His lips were stained red with cherry-flavored candy, looking sickly sweet as he smiled at you. And as you kiss him now, he tastes just as sweet as you imagined he’d be after all these years.

You kiss him sloppy as you ride his lap, his cock buried deep in your pussy, filling you up to the brim. He moans your name into your mouth as he laps at the saliva collecting on your tongue, slurping your spit, swallowing it thickly. “Fuck,” he groans, hands gripped to your hips, rocking you back and forth on his thighs. “I’ve dreamed about this for so long, baby. So long.”

“Me too,” you whisper, starting to bounce on him, close to your climax.

“What would you think about? Tell me,” he demands, thumb pressed to your clit, rubbing it raw.

You whine from his touch, increasing your pace, resting your head on his shoulder. “You and me, just like this,” you huff, short of breath.

“Yeah? You thought about me deep inside you, huh? Fucking this sweet pussy until you come all over my cock, huh?” He thrusts up into you, grip tightening, fingers digging into your flesh. He’s close too, you can feel it.

You moan into his skin, sweat beading on your forehead, throwing your ass back against him in tandem with each pump of his cock. A few more strokes and the two of you come together, the mess spilling onto the sheets as soon as he pulls out.

He wipes you down with tissues and baby wipes you have handy on your bedside drawer. As soon as you’re both clean, he cradles you in his arms, spooning you from behind.

“I know this is going to sound super cheesy, but I truly feel like a winner now,” he says, kissing the nape of your neck.

You chuckle, squeezing his hand in yours. “Wait until you win March Madness. Then you’ll really be a champ.”

“Even if I lose, I’ll still have you. And that’s been my dream all this time.”

You shift your body to face him, gazing into his eyes. “I thought your dream was to make it into the NBA?”

He smiles, booping you on the nose. “It’s part of the dream, sure. But I wouldn’t be anywhere near where I am now if it wasn’t for you. You kept me going all these years. Knowing you were always on my side gave me the strength I needed to get here. As long as I have you, I’ll be living the dream.” He kisses you on the forehead. “I’m going to love you for the rest of our lives.”

“Forever and ever?”

“Forever and ever.”

~~~

In an upset, your school loses in the Final Four. It’s the furthest they’ve gotten in university history, and a large part of that is due to Connie and his extraordinary performance as their point guard. His efforts do not go unnoticed; his coaches and many prospective agents have contacted him, encouraging him to apply for the NBA draft.

June of the same year, Connie Springer is drafted tenth in the first round and you’re sitting right beside him with his parents, cheering for him. Just as you have throughout all these years, and just as you will for the rest of your lives. Forever and ever.

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rdgpcg · 6 years

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Never say never! Anything is possible! Damn the torpedos! Pick your expression . . they all seem to apply. The point is I am running again, at least a little for now. I’ve probably posted my last marathon or half-marathon story but you don’t have to run marathons to be a runner.

As I noted in several blog posts, whilst returning from core muscle and hip labrum surgery last year, I was diagnosed with post tibial tendon dysfunction (PTTD) in my right foot. I learned this after incurring a fairly minor foot twinge on an easy lunch time run. The upshot of said injury was the post tib tendon dysfunction diagnosis. Nothing good comes from post tibial tendon dysfunction, or really anything with the word dysfunction in it’s name. In this case, the foot flattens, the toes turn outward, job growth slows, global warming increases, and a new mosquito-born illness is discovered. I might be exaggerating somewhat but it is serious and the general advice is that, once diagnosed, one should consider alternative activities to running. I certainly have given this a lot of thought and the old college try but the fact of the matter is the alternative activities kinda suck. At a minimum they aren’t as much fun, require too much equipment, or don’t give the flexibility running provides.

After a couple months of backing out of the running world and trying to pretend to be happy riding my bike and swimming more, I began investigating people who still run with post-tibial tendon dysfunction. Immediately results were mixed with the first hits being links to some pretty ugly and painful surgery.

What PTTD surgery looks like

Then I stumbled across “Doc on the Run”. A doctor and Ironman athlete from California who specializes in PTTD. I read his website in detail. This was perfect except he is in California and I am in Pennsylvania. I’ve spent a lot of money on running but making routine flights to and from California for medical advice seemed a little over-the-top even for me. He offers phone consultations but due to the freakin’ awesome US healthcare system I can’t do that in Pennsylvania and still get paid by insurance. Moving on I finally stumbled across Dr. Lee Cohen in Philadelphia! In fact he is the podiatrist of the Philadelphia Eagles and also focuses on PTTD. I called and made an appointment.

Dr. Lee Cohen

Hymie

On the day of my appointment I made the drive to Ridley Park, PA checked in with Dr. Cohen’s staff, and was shown to an examination room. There was a dog on the examination table! Dr. Cohen’s Goldendoodle, Hymie, was curled up and sleeping in the middle of the table. My first thought: “This is the best!”. I was told to change into shorts on, leave my socks and shoes off and the doc would be in in a bit. After I changed, Hymie woke up, hopped off the table and came for a visit. We happily bonded until Dr. Cohen came in.

Dr. Cohen apologized for being late. He had just returned from the Eagles training camp. He and a colleague had examined 92 pairs of feet!

Dr. Cohen with Jeff Lurie

That’s a lotta feet. But now he was focused on my feet. And my hips, calves, hamstrings, and body. In addition to a thorough examination of my feet including my previous MRI, and some new X-rays, he performed a lot of flexibility and range of motion tests. Ultimately, he agreed on the PTTD diagnosis but said “no running” might be a bit extreme especially if I really wanted to run. The key would be not only custom orthotics to support the foot but also being very diligent about stretching and loosening up my calves, quads, hamstrings, and hips all of which were tight and inflexible. All these pieces work together and need to function properly. Between discounting the importance of stretching, like most athletes, and sitting at a desk all day, my body was tight.

Dr. Cohen and I discussed custom orthotics including how they are made, how they work, and how much they cost. He said if I were good about stretching and wearing the orthotics I could probably safely do some running. “Let’s do it”!

The orthotic process was interesting. They basically make a plaster wrap mold of your foot as a basis for the orthotic. Dr. Cohen also ordered an X-Ray leg length discrepancy test to determine the exact discrepancy before ordering the orthotics. You can bet I got that done ASAP.

Fast forward three weeks

While packing for our annual Labor Day camping trip in Chincoteauge,

Annual beach vacation.

I threw in all the necessary stuff for a week camping on the water at the beach: Fishing gear, wine, crabbing supplies, wine, beach umbrella, wine, sunscreen, and, for the first time all summer, my running stuff including my shoes with my brand-spanking new orthotics. Well, not exactly new. My instructions upon pick-up at Dr. Cohen’s office were to wear them ever more increasingly for two weeks and then maybe go for a short run before my followup appointment later in September. They weren’t real specific about what constituted “short” or “before” so the Tuesday after Labor Day I strapped on my new orthotics and ran to downtown Chincoteague and back from the campground. It was four miles of pure bliss! And let’s face it, compared to my old 30-40 mile weeks, 4 miles is pretty short. I repeated this same run one other time, and added in another 4 near the beach on our last morning in town. Note that I did not run ON the beach. For someone with PTTD this, along with any barefoot running, would be a really terrible idea. That didn’t stop me from enjoying a refreshing dunk in the surf post-run though. It would have been hard to do that in cycling kit.

Ready for a post-run splash.

True confessions time: I also tacked on another 11 miles this week with a 5 mile lunch run and a 6 miler with my Wegman’s running crew early on Friday morning. It was an absolute pleasure and highlight to my week to be back out with these guys and gals. I may never toe the line at Boston again or any other marathon for that matter but I’ve learned what matters most isn’t a finisher’s medal at a race but the good friends I’ve made as the pavement passes under foot.

We’ll have to wait and see how my foot holds up to a bit of running. If it seems there is risk or pain, I will back off and not push it. For now I am hopeful there is a flicker of hope in the running flame.

It Ain’t Over ‘Til It’s Over! Never say never! Anything is possible! Damn the torpedos! Pick your expression . . they all seem to apply.

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