#LOOK THEY EVEN HAVE A YELLOW BAG

[aqqleshiqqing-archive]

im a bit late to talking about this since this was related to my recent appleshipping art, but

now that I see it. they have so many similar characteristics what do you mean they aren't SIBLINGS....

[ozzyfromthecafeteria]

being plural is all fun and games until you all have things you want to purchase but all have little to no money of our own to spend…

[kobochajunkbox]

Copypasta'd a charming quote I saw from the Mad Max game (2015) to search the source and-

[milo-is-rambling]

Quick Netflix play the Tuca and Bertie episode where Bertie has intrusive pastry pete memory/fantasy masturbation and then has panic attacks and tries to get rid of her vibe and her bed to magically fix herself. Umm. No reason why I wanna watch that one tho. It’s fine. No comment.

[barbieandkento]

₍^. .^₎⟆ synposis: soulmate!AU. nanami begins to find things that don't belong to him in his apartment. lipgloss. a single sock. a hair dryer. and in the middle of it all, a fluffy turtle keychain he wishes to give back to his unknown but destined lover. word count: 2.5k

it starts with a plush keychain.

nothing too loud or flashy, just a fluffy yellow turtle with a metal clip on.

gojo nearly falls out of his chair when he spots it tucked between nanami's array of books and reading glasses. it's clearly out of place, cute and plush against the pristine cleanliness and monochromatic chic of nanami's apartment, and nanami doesn't harbor any secret children (that gojo knows of).

"and whoooooose is this? or more likely, which lady's is this?" gojo sing songs, dangling the keychain from his pinky finger. nanami sighs, his back turned to gojo as his coffee finishes brewing, the clipped comment dying in his mouth when he spots what the silver haired man is holding.

nanami has a near photographic memory of everything in his apartment. he's damn near curated every inch of his living space. at first he thinks it's a joke.

"where'd you even get that, gojo." he grumbles, rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes.

"it was right here on your bedside table." gojo scoffs at the accusation.

the black coffee burns nanami's throat on the way down.

"if this is some kind of a prank, i'm afraid it's not that funny."

gojo actually pouts at that, like a little child that's been told off, before crossing his arms.

"I'm being serious, nanami! It was laying right here in between your books!" he pauses, before breaking into a big smile. "So you're either hiding a girl-"

"i'm not seeing anyone."

"or this is... the sign."

nanami pretends not to know, in an effort to calm his racing heartbeat.

"what sign?"

gojo's eyes widen.

"what sign? are you hearing yourself? this is your soulmate's lost item! this is so exciting! we have to celebrate! I have to text everyone we know, arrange flowers, there's this amazing restaurant downtown that does the most incredible s-"

whilst his friend rattles on, nanami's eyes remain fixated on the little turtle now sitting on his kitchen table, warmth blooming across his chest. he'd heard the stories of course. soulmates' lost possessions ending up in each other's homes. but he hadn't gotten his hopes up. not everyone in the world would have a soulmate. nor would it be so easy to say with certainty that finding strange items in your house would be attributable to a soulmate. but this...

his hands moved on their own accord, left hand brushing up against the toy. the keychain was soft in his hands, yellow fur and black stitched smile.

"and- hello? are you even listening to me?!"

nanami hums, if only to placate gojo, whose short attention span has now been diverted by a new text from geto. when gojo rushes out the apartment door, stealing a pack of mochi from the kitchen counter whilst rushing out goodbyes, nanami doesn't even bother to look up from where he's standing.

leaning up against the marble countertops of his kitchen, twisting and examining the soft plush from all angles. his heart flutters at the realization that he's holding something that belongs to... his one and only.

patting the small head of the toy turtle, he tucks it into his coat pocket, vowing to reunite it with its owner in the future.

a week later, on a lazy Sunday morning, he finds lipgloss where his extra toothpaste should be.

but not just a tube of lipgloss.

an array of different lipglosses of all shades - dark burgundy, cherry red, barbie pink, soft pink, sparkly peach. it makes nanami's head spin, pulling down one tube of lipgloss after another that have magically appeared in his bathroom mirror cabinet.

examining each one with surgical precision, he notices that one of the shades are clearly more used up than another. barbie pink. he makes a mental note of this, carefully placing away the lipglosses in a spare toiletry bag he keeps under the sink.

over the course of a month, that bag becomes filled with little remnants of his soulmate. nearly empty perfume bottles. a single sock with a print of a golden retriever. multi colored hair ties. a small travel sized shampoo and body wash set. these items appear randomly and suddenly without warning, often when he's having a bad day.

a late 1am return from work, his head pounding from exhaustion and dehydration? he nearly steps on the perfume bottle laying on the floor near his bedroom door. it's clearly well loved, with only a third or so left, and smells distinctively of vanilla and lavender.

a 7am rush as the city wakes up behind him, the streets of tokyo buzzing with energy as he clips on his shoes? he finds a multi pack of hair ties sitting neatly in between the gaps of his shoes in the cupboard.

nanami even almost misses the single sock - navy blue with a golden retriever print on it - hanging from his closet when he's cleaning, because of how natural it looks. when he takes it off from the rack, he turns it over in his hand and smiles: imagining how nice it would be to have her cardigan draped over his couch and pairs of socks tucked into his closet.

now whenever nanami can't sleep, he imagines what his soulmate looks like. is she tall? short? shy? extroverted? a coffee person or a tea person? the type to laugh loudly with her whole chest and heart, or giggle silently to herself in an effort to hide her laugh?

his hands inevitably find the soft turtle keychain sitting by his bed, stroking its fur and imagining what it would be like to hold her hand instead, as his mind starts to drift off to sleep.

he wonders if she'd have some things of his as well. nanami isn't a forgetful or clumsy type of person, but he is human. he can't really name the last thing he's lost - maybe a bookmark or a reusable straw - but he sometimes wonders if he should purposefully forget something so it would end up at her place.

he's not even sure if that's how these things work.

autumn fades into winter, the cold nights bearable only with the surprise of what he might find in his apartment today. he's actually disappointed when he returns to an 'empty' house, everything in place and just as he remembered. he starts to think the universe is playing a cruel joke on him (or that she's gotten good at keeping track of her things) when a full month goes by with no lost items appearing in his place.

then, he spots a portable charger that's not compatible with his phone lying on his bed, and he knows he has her back.

and when he finds three missing items in the span of one week during a particularly rough December - a fraying picnic blanket with square patterns, a pair of fluffy thigh high boots, and an expensive looking hair dryer - he wonders if she's losing these things on purpose.

all in all, his apartment is no longer looking like a one bed bachelor suite belonging to a single salary man. but more of a couple's living space with his and hers items adorning every shelf and table.

it's gotten to the point that having people over - even for a few minutes - is difficult, without being subject to many eyebrow raises and accusations of dating behind his friends' backs.

as the months now stretch into spring, the frostbite of winter melting away into gentle spring breezes and early sunrises, nanami finds himself getting impatient. when will he meet her?

he knows it's foolish, to even think that it'll happen. the fact that he's even been given a soulmate is something to be grateful for. but there's an ache that nibbles on the side of his ribs, a buzzing anticipation that never leaves his mind when he stands in the middle of a crowded place.

in every train station. public crossing. jam packed bar filled with cigarette smoke. he looks for her, one hand always in his coat pocket, stroking the soft pet turtle that started it all. he imagines it'll be like the movies, he'll come across a stranger and he'll just know.

his stomach will flutter, his vision will blur, and his heart will instantly make the connection.

but it never happens, much to his disappointment.

it's now April, a few months to summer. the cherry blossoms are finally out and nanami needs a morning run to clear his mind. a quick shot of espresso and light stretches in his living room are all he needs before his shoes are hitting the pavement, dodging cyclists and pedestrians enjoying their gentle 7am walk.

a few laps in the park later, he's back in his apartment just in time to fold his running clothes for the washing machine and take a long shower.

a man of routine, he combs his hair and applies his meticulous skincare routine, counting downards from ten. whilst adjusting his tie, he inspects his suit for any faults and finishes by spraying himself with the same vanilla and lavender perfume of his soulmate's.

lastly, out of habit, he makes sure that the turtle keychain is kept safe and secured in his coat pocket.

clipping on his watch on his wrist, nanami doesn't look onto the street as he exits the elevator. he collides with a body, the stranger letting out a surprised yelp and the sound of iced coffee splashing the pavement.

"I am so very sorry." nanami immediately says, lowering his glasses to look at you right in your eyes. you thankfully don't seem mad, just a bit sheepish, as you accept his left hand to stand back up on your wobbly feet.

"no worries. i should've been walking so fast." you try and laugh it off, your brain going haywire at just how good looking this guy is. he's blonde, tall, clearly athletic - from how the tight fitting suit is hugging his body - with a jawline that could kill.

he even smells like your favorite perfume, vanilla and lavender.

"not at all, i was preocuppied with my thoughts and didn't look onto the street before stepping out." nanami quips, eyes falling onto the spilled coffee. "could i buy you a new coffee as an apology?"

"oh, i don't want to bother you-" you start, though internally you want nothing more but to keep talking to this handsome stranger.

"please, you wouldn't be." he assures you, heart fluttering at how wide and genuine your smile seems to be when you accept. when you bend over to pick up the split coffee cup, his eyes land on your socks and his throat dries up.

mismatched socks. one plain black sock. and the other, a navy blue sock with a very familiar golden retriever print.

'stay calm, nanami.' he scolds himself as you walk alongside him on the way to the cafe, quiet conversation filling the air about what you both do for work. 'this could mean anything. it could just be a popular sock brand.'

the conversation is easy. you're witty, kind, you hold his bicep to stop him from walking into traffic when he doesn't realize the light has suddenly turned red. then, you get all embarassed, apologizing for grabbing onto his arm without asking.

it makes his heart so warm.

and when you arrive at the cafe, casually slinging your bag over to the other shoulder whilst ordering, he notices the array of keychains hanging from your bag.

his heart skips another beat.

"you like my keychains?" you ask with a quiet laugh, noticing how intensely he's staring at your bag. "i'm a bit of a collector with these things. i just think they make my bags look more... unique and cute."

"do they each tell a story?" he quips, lips curling at the end. god, he finds you so cute, especially when your eyes light up whilst delving into detail about each keychain.

"..but my favorite one I lost sometime last year." you say, thanking the barista as you accept the drinks. your fingers brush against his when you pass him his black americano.

walking side by side on the pavement, nanami's heart beats irregularly at that declaration, but you're none the wiser. only innocently tilting your head sideways and asking if his coffee is good.

"it's great." he lies, as if the bitter coffee isn't burning his throat from the anticipation bubbling in his stomach.

fuck it.

"what was it?" he blurts out, unable to keep it in.

"what was?" you ask, confused.

"the keychain you lost."

"a turtle." you say with a small laugh, licking away the foam of coffee on your lips. "silly, i know but my cousin got it for me."

he stops breathing for a second.

"... was it a yellow turtle by any chance?"

nanami stops in his tracks. you two are back in front of the apartment where he bumped into you. his blood is rushing so loud in his ears that he's worried you can hear it, as your eyes widen in surprise.

"h-how'd you..."

"a fluffy yellow turtle with white fins and a black stitched smile?" he finishes, smile so fond and wide that it blinds you.

you're at a complete loss for words, the gravity of the situation beginning to settle in, when he suddenly takes out (from his coat pocket) the very keychain you had lost and sorely missed.

"i've got it. and every other thing you've misplaced for the past year."

you stare at his open palm in disbelief, eyes carefully examining the object as you take the keychain from his hands and feel its fur against your fingertips. your heart is thundering in your chest, your soulmate smiling at you so brightly.

"i'm nanami, by the way. nanami kento." he introduces himself, ever so the gentleman.

"(y/n). (y/n) (l/n)."

there's an uniterrupted beat of silence, with nanami staring at you so intensely with burning adoration and you suddenly feeling the rush of embarrassment of how much you've lost in the past year.

"oh god, did you really keep everything i've lost?" you groan, nearly whining.

he only chuckles.

"yes i did. neatly categorized and filed in my apartment." he pauses, surveying your reaction. "would you like to come up and see?"

"yes." you say too quickly, before you're shaking your head sideways in an effort to calm yourself. "i mean, yes, uh, that'd be nice."

he turns to let you in, before he turns back around abruptly, stopping you in your tracks. you stare up at him, confused.

he only smiles, soft and gentle.

"hold on." nanami says, stepping closer to you. you're overwhelmed by his scent, mix of aftershave and vanilla lavender perfume, and how gentle his hands are when he takes the turtle keychain from your left hand.

he clips it onto your bag, giving it a gentle tug to ensure it's secure.

"there. don't lose it again." he says lowly, but there's a hint of teasing to his tone.

"and if i do?" you ask quietly, teasing him back, letting him drag you through the doors of his apartment.

nanami takes your hand, but this time, he doesn't let it go.

"you can come back to me."

a/n: ahhhh my first ever fic! i'm absolutely obsessed with nanami at the moment so i wanted to write something sweet for him. i remember reading a marvel fic with this soulmate AU idea a few years ago (soulmates find each other's lost possession in their apartment) so i wanted to give it a spin.

ᯓ★ likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated! ᯓ★

[bruisedboys]

your cute coworker clark overhears your conversation with lois, and takes it upon himself to get you some of your favourite things. requested here !

clark kent x fem!reader, 1k words (not proofread oops)

Clark likes watching you.

Not in a creepy way, mind you. It’s just, you’re really pretty, and he likes the way you talk with your hands, and how you bite the inside of your cheek when you’re concentrating. You’re always wearing the loveliest outfits, soft cardigans and pretty jewellery, and your hair is such a nice colour, and not to mention, your desk is situated right near the window, so for an hour or two a day, your features are bathed in golden sunlight, and you look even more like an angel than usual.

He supposes it is a bit creepy of him. But it’s not like he can help it. You’re totally mesmerising. Besides, his own desk is all the way on the other side of the room — it shouldn’t be humanly possible for him to see all the details of you so clearly, but he’s Superman. He can see and hear everything you do, even from this far away. He’s glad for it, too, otherwise you’d have called out his staring problem months ago.

“Sunflowers are too yellow,” you’re saying to Lois, passionate in your discussion about flowers and which kind is the best to receive. Clark’s been listening in, for research purposes. “And roses are too red.”

Lois laughs, “You can get roses in other colours, you know.”

“I know,” you say defensively, sticking your chin out at her. “But I’ve only ever gotten red. They’re so boring.”

“Well, what flowers do you like?” Lois asks, sounding amused, and Clark perks up.

“Hmm,” you tap your chin thoughtfully. Then, after a moment of thought, “I like lilies. The pink ones are so pretty.”

That’s how Clark ends up late to work the next day, a big bouquet of pink and white lilies clutched in his hand, their stalks strangled in his nervous grip. The cellophane crinkles against his suit as he weaves through bustling colleagues towards his desk. In his other hand is a brown paper bag, still warm, smelling of sugar and almonds.

Clark’s surprised, and a bit alarmed, to find you already standing at his desk, poring over your notebook. His heart suddenly picks up speed, and he considers turning tail and running the other way, but you look up as he approaches. Too late.

“Oh, Clark, you’re here. I just wanted to ask you about—“ You stop short as your gaze lands on the flowers cradled to his chest. You raise a brow, “Who’s the lucky girl?”

Clark feels suddenly really nervous. He wishes he could wipe his sweaty palms on his suit jacket, but his hands are full. He swallows.

“Um,” He starts lamely. His glasses start to slip down his nose and he pushes them back up with the hand holding the flowers. “You?”

You blink at him, looking understandably confused. “Huh?”

Clark flounders for a long moment. This is not going how he’d hoped it would.

“Uh.” He clears his throat and steels his nerves. “They’re… they’re for you, honey.”

He offers the flowers to you. Your features are still screwed up in skepticism, and Clark is immensely grateful when you take them from him, your fingers brushing his as you go.

“Oh.” You gaze down at the flowers, then back up at Clark, blinking rapidly. Clark wonders if you’re as nervous as he feels. He doubts it. “What for?”

Clark’s not really sure himself. He doesn’t know why he got them, he just knows that he likes you, and you like lilies, and maybe the logic got a bit lost in the process, but sue him for thinking you deserve nice things.

He shrugs. “I’m not sure. No reason, really,” he rubs the back of his neck with a warm hand. “I just thought you’d like them. Do you?”

You nod vehemently. “I love them, Clark. They’re so pretty, how’d you know lilies are my favourite?”

Clark hesitates. He’s not about to tell you he’s been listening in on your conversations. One, it’s definitely borderline creepy, and two, Clark Kent isn’t supposed to have super hearing.

He just grins, sheepish. “Dunno,” he says. “Just a lucky guess. I got you this, as well.”

He holds out the paper bag before he can psyche himself out. You put the flowers down on his desk, gentle as ever, and take the bag from him, opening up the top and peeking in.

“An almond croissant?” You say, sounding surprised and pleased at once.

Your shoulders start to creep towards your ears, and you bite the inside of your cheek like you’re trying not to smile too big. Clark knows almond croissants are your favourite. He heard you raving to Jimmy about the ones at the bakery down the street last week.

Before Clark can give you another lame explanation for his conveniently suitable gifts, you surge at him, throwing your arms around his neck with a pleased giggle. Clark, startled, catches you with his hands on your waist. His heartbeat goes suddenly frantic.

“Clark,” you gush, and his name sounds unbelievably sweet in your mouth. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know you skip breakfast most days,” he says, sheepish and a little bit panicked. His face feels like it’s on fire, worse when you pull back and smile at him like he’s hung the sun. “I figured you’d be hungry. I was going past the bakery, anyway. It’s no big deal.”

He’s rambling, but he can’t help it. You’re so close, and your smile is bruising.

You give him an exasperated look. “You’re downplaying it. Almond croissants are my favourite!” You steal your arms back from around his neck and hit him on the chest gently. He doesn’t feel a thing, but it’s cute anyway. “What are you, psychic?”

Worse, Clark thinks. He shrugs. “I told you. Lucky guesses.”

You squint at him, and Clark feels the heat of a million suns on his skin under your gaze. He almost spills his guts right then and there, but before he can, you break into a big smile.

“You’re cute, Kent,” you say decidedly. Before Clark can react, you push up onto your tiptoes, press a hand to his chest, and kiss his check sweetly. “Thank you.”

Clark goes a bit blind. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was steam gushing out of his ears right now. He’s gotta do this more often if you’re gonna react like that.

[inbabylontheywept]

she was dead silent on the drive home, but that was okay. sometimes, after band practice, she was just out of words. it was a short drive to her house. the only part where it actually felt weird was after i pulled up her parent’s driveway. 

after that, the silence stretched so far it smeared and left a weird residue. she kept looking at the car door like she wanted to leave, so i looked at the door too, then she looked at me, and i looked at her, and my first thought was that she was going to tell me that the door was stuck. i was used to that car always doing some damn thing. it was the car me and all my siblings had learned to drive in, and it was really beat to hell. there were dents all over the body, which we’d unsuccessfully tried fixing up with spackle. it had looked nice for maybe a week, but then the sun wrecked it - the spackle cracked up like the mud on the bottom of a dry riverbed and turned a sort of off yellow-white that made the car looked like it had been molded out of chicken shit. it also had a bullet hole it through the cabin that whistled like a toothless old man whenever the car went above 40, so loud it could drown out the radio, and a cabin that smelled so strongly of bugspray that even the arizona summer we drove everywhere we could with the windows down.

(if you have kids one day, you will maybe, possibly, begin to understand how much i loved that car.)

anyway, i was thinking about what else could possibly be wrong with the chickenshitmobile, and she just kept looking at me, and then i wondered if there was something on my face, and she just kept looking at me, and then the penny dropped and i realized she was trying to work up the nerve to break up with me. 

now, i’d seen her work up the nerve to do things like this before – it could take quite a while. and knowing it was about to happen made the waiting immediately unbearable. 

so i said hey. 

and she looked at me, very startled, and said hey back real small. like she’d been caught. and in a way, i suppose she had. 

and i said it’s okay. you can just say it. i’ll be okay.

i’m always okay. 

and she said: i’m really sorry. 

i loved her, you know? it was highschool, but teenagers are capable of love. the way people love changes over time just as much as the way they stand, or the way they talk, but things don’t stop existing just because they're different. opposite really – a thing only stops changing when it's fully gone.

and i said, nothing to be sorry for, and i meant it. she looked a little relived, and i was happy to give her that peace. then she left. i watched her make it through the front door, because that was just habit at that point, and then i sat there a while afterwards, checking how i felt. and the answer was not good, but good enough to make it home. good enough to limp on. 

so i put my car in reverse, took my last look goodbye, and immediately backed into her neighbor’s car. 

crunch. 

air bags didn't go off, which was good. i left a decent dent in the bumper of the other car. genuinely couldn’t tell if i did anything to my car – anything wrong with it just kind of blended together into the general ecosystem of hand mottled, sun cracked, chickenshit spackle. 

i checked my glove box, and my car insurance info was, of course, out of date. my phone was dead too. as a teenager, my phone was less my lifeline to my friends, and more my tether to my parents, so i wasn’t particularly conscious of keeping it charged. both my fault.

i sat there a few minutes, trying to think of the best way to handle things, and there was only one answer i could think of, and i hated that answer, so i spent a few more minutes trying and failing to think of a better one, and then a few more coming to peace with what had to be done. 

then i went back to knock on my now ex’s front door. 

her dad opened, which i was very relieved over, even if he seemed less than thrilled. he looked me over, and in a firm, but slightly apologetic way said: she does not want to see you right now. 

(i think he assumed i was going to try and talk her out of the break up?)

and i said not here for her. i just backed into your neighbor’s car, and i need to call my dad, but my phone’s dead. could i borrow yours?

and he looked at me, then back at his neighbors car, which sure enough was dented, then he looked at the chickenshitmobile, and if there was something wrong with it, it just kind of blended into the general Wrongness of the car, then back to me, and i could see him imagining the last ten minutes from my pov: getting broken up with, backing into a car, having to walk up to your exes door and borrow a phone, calling my dad to tell him that i just reversed into someone.  

and his expression shifted from stern and apologetic to truly sad, which felt more kind that i deserved. things only got here because i kept fucking up - forgot to look behind me, forgot to replace the insurance forms, forgot to charge my phone. it was my mess, but his sympathy meant the world to me. i probably would’ve cried if he said sorry, or patted me on the back or called me sport, but instead he said

stay out here – i’ll bring you a phone.

and then he left.  

i found a nice spot on the lawn in the shade under a sycamore, then settled into his grass.i was trying not to freak out, and was doing an okay job. he came out a minute or so later, not just with a phone, but a juicebox and a jar of green olives, which really threw a wrench in the whole try not to cry thing. soon as i saw those, a few tears squoze out. i was still hoping i could pass them off as Manly Tears but then he told me that he’d gotten the olives a few weeks before and had been meaning to hand them off to me, and that this was his last chance for that. then i made a sound like a horse drowning in a bog, and he patted my back pretty rough, four solid thumps, like he wasn't sure if i was crying or choking on an olive, and was trying to cover both bases at once.

then he went back inside, and i made a few more bog horse noises while finishing off the rest of the entire jar of green olives, and then i called my dad.

he was about ten minutes away that day, and luckily was home. he drove over, and we went to the neighbor’s house, and from there things actually went quite nice. the neighbor was a retired man who actually said he could fix the dent himself, no need for insurance. he said he appreciated that i didn't just drive off, and i said i was really sorry about his car, and he said he was really sorry about my car, and then he gestured to the chickenshitmobile and i laughed because it really was a disaster on wheels.

then we left.

i thought we were going to head straight home, but instead we went to a gas station, and we both got several slim jims that we folded into thick enough coils that we could put them on a hotdog bun because the growing up mormon equivalent of having a sad brewski with your dad is just choosing to make bad decisions sober. then he took me to the canals and we watched the sun turn all orange and pink, and he looked over at me and said:

brains are good at remembering bad days. so you gotta make sure that a bad day has a good part in it, so you can remember that too. remember that when you have a kid. try to do a good job on days like that - they're going to be a big part of how they remember you.

and then he gave me a big hug and said he was never going to eat another slim jim again.

---

the year after that i went to college, which kicked my butt in new and exciting ways. and on a lot of those bad days, after a test that went sour, or a faux paus that was particularly embarrassing, or some other hardship of my new adult life, i’d stop by the gas station and pick up leathery, half jerkied hotdog before heading to the canals to watch the sun set. i’d take a bite and imagine my dad next to me, grimacing through the slim-jim wad, asking what good thing i was going use that time to remember. 

and in my head, i’d say you, dad. 

i’m going to remember you.

[tonycries]

A Million Dollar Baby! - N.K.

Synopsis. Turns out, rent can be paid in much more than one way.

Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, landlord! Nanami (kinda), oraI (male + fem), cúmplay, reader’s a tease, unprotected, creampíe, down bad FERAL Nanami, spítting, bréeding, messing up his glasses, pantý-stealing, he’s sweet but fúcks so MEAN, mentions of Higuruma, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.8k (wild)

A/N. Decided it was high time I feed my Nanami girlies hehe.

“Just get the money and go.” Nanami deadpans, like a mantra. Giving a rapt knock on your apartment door, “I swear m’making him buy me lunch for this.”

Now, it wasn’t that Nanami was exactly upset about taking over Higuruma’s landlord duties for the day - no, in fact, he was the first one at his friend’s door with a bag of prescription medicine for the other man’s fever and the suggestion to take the day off.

But it was the thought of finally coming face-to-face with you - that mysterious new tenant that’d just moved into his building. The one that had Nanami wondering whether you were really as “sugary sweet n’ irresistible” as Higuruma raved you were. 

Though, he can’t imagine you’d be particularly happy about being woken up at 10am on a Sunday for overdue rent - he certainly wasn’t.

Seriously, he had no idea how Higuruma managed to do this every-

Click!

“Higu- you’re not Higuruma.”

Oh, and suddenly, Nanami gets it.

If he got to see this view, too, then he might just become the landlord himself.

It’s as if you knew you’d be playing with his sanity as soon as you opened that door, dressed in a fitted t-shirt that did absolutely everything to show off every bit of skin he shouldn’t be looking at. Your lips curving into a sinful little smirk when you notice his eyes dancing off that excuse of fabric you call “shorts”.

“Um…” you hum, after a few moments of silence. Leaning against your wooden door frame to give the tall man an appreciative one-over, “Nanami, right? You’re Higuruma’s friend?”

It’s as if the sound of his own name jolts Nanami right back into his senses, clearing his throat as he readjusts his glasses. “Y-yes. Nanami Kento.” And he winces, fuck he’s never stuttered like this. Never, even in the toughest of board meetings. Yet, here he was - making a fool out of himself. 

Knowing he’s completely fucked when your delicious grin only widens, he bows politely, “Apologies for barging in like this, ma’am. But Higuruma’s sick n’ m’here to collect the rent in his place.”

You wave off his formality, introducing yourself. “Ah, of course. I’ve seen you around, always been too nervous to come up and say hello, though.”

And, suddenly, Nanami’s glad you never came up to him to talk out of your own volition, he thinks he’s rather put off embarrassing himself for later. Coughing softly, “I apologize, s’my fault. It was rude of me to not introduce myself first.”

“Well, better late than never, right?” you continue in your smooth tone. Before your eyes catch down his broad shoulders, the bob of his Adam’s apple, the clipboard held between his long, long fingers. “Right- the overdue rent. I swear, Higuruma’s always such a sweetheart, he doesn’t bother to remind me.” Opening your door wider to give Nanami a good look inside your cozy apartment - something forbidden. “Come in come in, I seem to have lost my wallet somewhere in here though, maybe you can help me find it.”

Oh? 

And Nanami knows this is dangerous. He knows this is much more than his simple plan earlier of just “get the money and go”. He knows that little glint in your eye certainly does not bode well for him as soon as he steps through that door. 

Yet, he answers anyway, “Of course, lead the way.”

Every bit of small talk in your sultry voice has Nanami gulping, loosening his favorite yellow tie while he follows you inside. Averting his eyes from the curve of your shorts, he takes in the neat state of your apartment. 

That is, until-

“Here we are.” you lead him to a towering pile of clothes piled unceremoniously on your tv room couch. Gesturing airily at the mess, “I’m sure I left my wallet in one of my pants, so you can just sit here until I-”

“I’ll do it.” Nanami’s quick answer stuns the both of you momentarily. But before you can resist, he’s shrugging off his jacket, ignoring the heat of your gaze when he bunches up his sleeves to reveal strong, veined forearms. “It’s only fair, since m’bothering you so early.”

You chuckle, “Oh? What a gentleman, we can do it together then, handsome.”

So here he was - sat on your cramped couch, your thighs flush against his, tackling your laundry. This was definitely a far cry from getting the rent and leaving - but, alas, Nanami can’t find it in himself to complain when he neatly folds up your clothes. 

Whereas you were hastily throwing them god-knows-where, hissing, “Where- is it-” 

“Patience.” he’s humming, placing another t-shirt on your coffee table. “Higuruma’s in no hurry, he can barely get out of bed right now.”

You click your tongue in frustration, “But you, Nanami-”

“-are perfectly fine helping you out.” Nanami cuts in, flashing you a gentle smile. Your eyes widen at the sight of a soft dimple at the corner of it. Which makes him tear his gaze from that pretty pout on your lips to turn back to his dwindling half of the pile, “Besides, it would be a shame if such a nice apartment was messed up by- by-”

Fuck. 

Was that what he thought it was?

His fingers tremble, looking so fucking big wrapped around that those tiny strings of hot pink. Sinful. Obscene. Shit, if he tried he could just rip it to pieces with his bare hands right now - even if you’d been wearing it.

“Hm?” you’re gasping at the sight of the man before you, body stiff, ears a guilty red, gaze hardening at where he was holding onto one of your panties. Oh, shit. You pluck the offending piece of material from his hands, “Oh- whoops. Um- that can’t really be folded.” Throwing a wink at the flustered man - and the lingerie right back at him. “Evidently.”

It was all too much for Nanami, and he’s bringing a hand up to cover his blush - before ripping it off like it burned when he realized it was the same hand he held your panties with. 

Somehow, he manages to choke out, “Maybe- maybe we should try looking somewhere else.”

And it was true - the few messy clothes now leftover (and…Nanami couldn’t forget, your underwear) didn’t show any signs of hiding your wallet. 

“If you say so~” you muse, getting up from your seat - only to get down on your knees. Right in front of Nanami’s manspread legs. 

“Wh-what are you-”

“Under the couch.” you interrupt, enjoying this way too fucking much for the poor man’s sanity as you flash him a cheeky grin. And he smacks himself mentally for letting his imagination be toyed by your teasing whims. “I might’ve dropped it under the couch, so won’t you be a dear and help lift it while I look?”

He couldn’t get up fast enough, almost stumbling over his long legs to crouch down beside you - just anywhere away from this scandalous position. “Ready?” Nanami rasps, biceps bulging tight against his button-up when he easily tilts over your couch. 

“More than.” you take a second longer to admire him before going back to your mission.

Which - whatever’s left of the rational part of Nanami’s brain really thinks might just be to drive him insane instead finding that fucking- what was it- wallet? 

“Hmmm seems it’s not here either, right, Ken?” He doesn’t know what he’s reeling at more - the fact that you used his first fucking name or the way you were arched so teasingly like that. On your knees, spine curving into a delicious little bend that has the crotch of his pants growing just a bit tighter. And- shit he was wrong. So, so wrong. Because those weren’t a sinful pair of shorts like he’d initially thought after all, instead, they were more like underwear. Flimsy and thin, bunching up perfectly at the crease of your hips. 

You were captivating. 

At his heavy silence, you bat your lashes so deceivingly innocently, “Oh? Was it the name? Sorry, Nanami, you’ve just helped me so much that it ah- slipped out. I won’t do it again.”

“No.” he grits out, the both of you surprised by the ragged hitch in his answer. Already so disgustingly missing the sound of his first name rolling off your tongue. “I’d like it if you called me that- ‘Ken’ that is, if you want.”

“Well then, Ken.” you brush up unnecessarily against his sculpted body as you move to get up and dust yourself down. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my wallet’s not down there.”

Shit, he thinks, looking down at the empty spot of carpeted floor for the first time. You little tease, you knew what you were doing. 

Grinning unabashedly as you tug on his arm, “Come on! There’s one more place to look.”

As you pulled him along to the kitchen, Nanami had held out the hope that maybe - just maybe - this would be an actual attempt at finally paying off your overdue rent. Maybe he could walk out of this unscathed and holding onto whatever’s left of his dignity (and lacking the raging boner that was threatening against his slacks right now).

But every feeble hope of that was thrown out the window the moment you instructed him to hold the rickety, certainly unsafe chair propped up in front of your counter steady. 

“I swear I must’ve left it somewhere up there.” you grumble. Not wasting a moment before climbing onto it and rifling on top of your high cabinets. “No harm in trying, right?”

He gulps, palms getting sweaty on the wooden back of the chair with the effort to keep it still. “Are you sure you left it on top of there?”

“Huh? Yes yes, of course.” you answer absentmindedly. Your shirt snagging on your arms as you raise them even higher, “Think you can see something from down there?”

If Nanami could see the top of your shelves, then he didn’t want to find out - not when one glance upwards blessed him with a forbidden glimpse right up your t-shirt. All it took was a flash of skin before he was hit with the realization that you weren’t wearing a bra. 

“Ken~”

“Fuck!” he breathes, when he looks up involuntarily at the sound of his name. Face burning when you raise a brow, “U-um, m’not sure.” 

Yeah, he sure could see something - hell, he wanted to see more. 

He urgently swipes at the sweat slowly beading at his forehead, immediately regretting his actions when the chair tips ever-so-slightly. “Shit, I apologize, n’ I also apologize for what I’m about to do-” He gasps over your soft yelp, before wrapping two warm hands around the small of your waist. Searing. Soft. Planting you softly on the firm floor like some lil’ ragdoll, “-but I can’t let you put yourself in danger this way.”

Before you know it, you’re back in the safety of the ground. Stood right in front of a determined Nanami as he cranes his head up in your stuffy kitchen, backed up against the counter as he takes over looking for your wallet. 

“Let me, instead.” he grunts. 

But oh even with how genius he thought it was to look instead - even with how he stopped himself from looking at that sinful little slice of heaven - Nanami Kento had another problem. 

A problem that presented itself in the way that your body was pressed flush against his muscled chest, two of your thighs straddling his thick ones. Caged perfectly against him, exactly in the way he shouldn’t have been imagining - but did, anyway. And shit if he angled his body just right he could feel the heat of your core - the way your eager front was drawing in closer. 

“Ah-” he grunts when your soft palm glides lightly across his pecs. Jaw clenching while he tries to blink his hazy eyes back into the glaringly empty top of your cabinets, “My apologies, seems uh- your wallet isn’t- here-” 

Each word is wrenching out of his pretty, worry-bitten lips, a ragged gasp with every accidental brush of the pads of your fingers at the hem of his tight pants. 

“It isn’t there, hm?” you purr, a low honeyed tone that has all the blood in Nanami’s body rushing to his fat cock. “Well what do you suppose we do about that, Ken? Since I can’t pay the rent?”

Nanami doesn’t know whether you’re talking about the rent or that massive tent in his pants he really couldn’t explain away. Instead, he spits, “You knew what you were hah- doing, didn’t you, you lil’ minx? You don’t have your fuckin’ wallet here.”

And the air is so thick, so heady that he can only bring himself to pull away mere millimeters from where he was hovering near your face. 

But even that was too much - and in a split-second, you have your deft fingers wrapped tightly around his speckled tie. “And if I did?” Pulling close enough to ghost your lips against his, “You’re smart, Ken. So m’asking once again, what do you suppose we do about that?”

As if to draw out the answer from him, you’re giving a long, hard drag of your hot cunt along the outline of his swollen cock. You could almost feel every throb and nudge of his veins along the side, and it made you salivate.

“I suppose…” he answers, guttural, like some dark, primal part of himself is peaking its head out with each hot breath fanning your face. A large hand coming up to squish your cheeks into a pretty pout, pursing your lips perfectly for him. “That you hit me if you don’t like this, darling.”

And fuck for all how much of a gentleman Nanami acted - he kissed the exact opposite. All but ruining your lips in such a messy clash of teeth and tongue and him. Devouring you. 

“Fuck- shoulda known.” he’s letting out a humorless laugh, swiping his tongue across your glossy lower lips. “Should’ve known when you invited me in. Such a tease.” Drinking in your breathless moans, sucking on your tongue, “Such a- ngh- horny lil’ thing. This what you wanted all along?”

You hum into the kiss so drunk, “Maybe.” Dancing your hands all across where his toned muscles were fighting against the restraints of his shirt, “But you really can’t blame me.”

And maybe it was true - maybe this was inevitable. Either way, Nanami didn’t know, nor did he really care - not when you were letting out such sweet gasps when he bites down on your bottom lip - just a little punishment. Kissing his way down your heated skin, giving a languid lick at where he suspected that secret sensitive spot on your neck would be. 

“Oh! Ken.” you moan. Bingo. 

He’s unbuttoned his shirt now - or maybe it was you. Fuck, either way you couldn’t tear your eyes off of his pretty washboard abs. Curving and dipping like he was sculpted meticulously. 

And that’s all it takes for your already-dripping cunt to grow impossibly wetter, and he could feel it leaking through those flimsy cotton shorts of yours. Forming a messy sheen right at that damp spot of precum on his pants.

“You’re so fuckin’ wet, my love.” Nanami murmurs, swiping a thumb down that sopping wet slit of yours through your shorts. Just marveling at the way that simple touch makes another wave of your sweet sweet juices bead through the fabric. “Hah, absolutely dripping. This all f’me?”

At your half-delirious nod, he flashes you a smile so handsome that it only makes you squirm more impatiently. “How sweet.” Giving your nose a chaste peck, “So good to me. So needy.”

“You’re the same, though.” you accuse, hotly.

And it’s true - Nanami couldn’t deny the aching need of his cock, the way he all but moans in response, “Then tell me- hngh tell me what you want. I’ll give you- anything-” Managing to get out through hot, sloppy kisses planted right on your wobbly lips, “-anything.”

But, ah, you always did manage to surprise him. And instead of an answer, you’re getting right down on your knees in front of him like you did not too long ago - though, this time, you’re reaching up to fumble with his belt. 

“Wan’ taste you.” you huff when his expensive notches prove too stubborn. “Wan’ feel you in my mouth so bad, Ken.” 

“Oh yeah?” he chuckles darkly, easily loosening his belt and his pants along with it. Rock-hard cock sensitive and just smearing a pool of precum where his fat head springs up to hit your lips. Such a pretty shade of gloss. Nanami laces his hand on your scalp to guide you forwards, slowly, “Then take it. Take it f’me, pretty.”

He was so pretty that you possibly couldn’t not - a delicate blushing red at his very tip, glistening and absolutely soaked in precum down the long path to his creamy base, his heavy balls. So girthy that it made your cunt clench in anticipation.

And then there’s no more talking. Hell, you barely get enough time to admire Nanami’s massive cock before he’s bullying it between your lips. Wetting his thick, angry tip with your saliva, just enough to eye down at the way your lips bulge so prettily around him. 

“Gonna hafta open w-wider if you wanna take me, pretty. Open hah- yeah jus’ like that.” He’s reeling your head back, all the way till you were just kissing at his thick, angry tip. “Now spit on it, my love.”

Despite being the one to say it, Nanami’s mouth drops into a fucked-out little oh! of disbelief when you’re readily decorating his swollen length with a steady stream of spit. Your soft palms smearing the saliva along his length. 

You’re slurring, “After all, I still haven’t found my wallet, right?”

And oh he doesn’t even have to ask for what comes next - doesn’t even have to make a noise. 

Immediately, you take him in inch by fucking inch. The deliciously salty twang taking over your senses, and he’s so hot and heavy over your tongue. Veins pulsing in a dizzyingly throb! throb! throb! against the roof of your mouth.

“Are you- are you sure you can-” You shut up his doubts by rubbing your hot tongue along every sensitive ridge you could reach. Bobbing your head at a quick, ruthless little pace to milk his pretty cock for all he’s worth. 

Nanami’s eyes roll to the back of his head. Was this what heaven felt like? 

“F-fuuuck, oh you-” his words are catching in his throat with each flick of the tip of your tongue against his sensitive slit. Just the way he liked it. “-ngh guess that sharp mouth of yours wasn’t just hah- good for teasing, huh?”

He’s running his mouth a mile a minute - the complete opposite of the reserved man that’d come knocking on your door. Hips grinding up into your warm tongue mindlessly, slow. Languid - like he didn’t even realize what he was doing. “Oh you feel so heavenly- so fuckin’ good it should be illegal.”

You can’t help but bat your teary eyes up at him in response, blinking away the lustful haze to drink in that utterly obscene sight above you. Nanami’s neat, blond hair uncharacteristically disheveled, stray strands sticking to his furrowed brow. Only deepening with each wrecked sigh that leaves his plump lips every time his abs flex with the movement of his fat head hitting the gummy back of your throat. 

He looks so pretty it makes you moan. 

Those electric vibrations going all the way down that wet divot on the tip of Nanami’s painfully hard cock to his heavy balls. 

“Oh shit- shit shit shit feels too good.” his words are slurring together, drunk off the way you gag around him. “Don’t do that don’t-” This only makes you drag your sloppy mouth down him deeper, syrupy moans sticking to

him all the while. 

“Fuck!” Nanami shudders. And he’s pulling you down - hard - barely letting you get a feverish little breath out until your nose is hitting the neat patch of blond at his base. Rubbing up against his toned pelvis. 

Still moving in deep, relentless thrusts inside your gummy cavern. “S’real fuckin’ hard to treat you as nice as I want when you act like that, my love.”

And, of course, the only response he gets are your pathetic, wet gurgles as you take him in faster. Cheeks hollowing to massaging his every sweet spot. Your jaw grinding against his twitching balls with each smack of his hypnotized hips against your mouth, fucking into you the way he wished he could do with your cunt. Frenzied. Sloppy. 

Yeah, this was heaven alright - but you were the fuckin’ devil. 

Of course, you wanted him to treat you like such a slut - so he does. 

Just dragging your stubborn mouth off of his twitching cock, Nanami only reaches down to place an accomplished peck on the pout of your mouth before hoisting you onto the counter. “What? You think I’d really ngh- cum before my darling girl?”

He’s groaning into your mouth, licking at the seam of your candied lips as two strong arms of his spread your legs so far apart it burned. “F-fuck, Ken-”

“Aw look. You’ve got another slutty pair, huh?” he gestures down at the drenched scrap of fabric you so proudly called “panties.” Sliding a thumb underneath to glide it underneath your puffy pussy lips. He’s echoing your sentiment from before, “Said you can’t find your hah- wallet, right?” Well, ya better start makin’ up for that now.”

In all of two seconds, Nanami’s hooking two fingers over your underwear - pulling - ripping. He was right -  Nanami takes a moment to admire your dripping cunt, glistening and needy for him - he could rip those panties right off of you. 

With just one hand pinning you to the cool marble of your counter, the other thumbing open your puffy folds, he’s giving all of your pussy a hot, open-mouthed kiss. 

“Mmm fuck-” he spits into your sloppy hole. Once. Twice. Letting it form a saturated little pool of your juices, before surging back nose-deep with a pained grunt. Again. And again. And again and again- “Jus’ as sweet- as sugary sweet ngh-”

Nanami didn’t think Higuruma knew about this little treasure trove when describing you - though, if he did, then he was well and fully intent on tongue-fucking every little thought out of him right now. 

“Hngh! Shit-” you’re keening when his greedy tongue laps up every bit of your syrupy sweet slick. Alternating - methodically, indecisively - between rolling over your throbbing clit and just dipping into your awaiting entrance. “It feels so- so good, Ken.”

“Yeah that’s right.” he gasps, wrapping those pretty pink lips of his to suck on your clit. Harsh. “Say my name- no, louder. Louder.” 

It’s all you can do to not just scream out his name without your neighbors filing a noise complaint. Dragging your sopping pussy all over his mouth - glistening and obscene right down the bottom half of his face all the way up to smear against his clear glasses. 

Such obscene squelches ring through your kitchen as Nanami keeps making out so messily with your sensitive nub. Ringing in your fucked-out brain, so obscene, so addictive that you barely even register the thick fingers dipping their way around your hole. 

You jolt when the cool metal of his glasses kiss your skin, ��O-oh Ken what-” 

“Shhh shhh, darling.” he soothes. The tip of his manicured index circling around your elastic muscle. Hypnotic. “M’gonna take care of you. Gonna take such good-” With this, he’s bullying his fingers inside, “-care of you.”

Tears crinkle at the corners of your eyes at the sheer stimulation. Because for how sweet Nanami was talking you through this, he was absolutely ruthless on your cunt. Not half the man he was this morning - animalistic. Feral, even.

His sharp jaw grinding against your skin, fingers almost a blur with how depraved they were pumping in and out of you. Massaging every hidden corner of your plushy walls, yet you get the feeling that they were calculated. Nanami’s darkened eyes drinking in every whimper and twitch of your body over the glasses inching dangerously downwards. Searching, waiting for that one-

“Ngh!” You worry you’d have fallen off the counter if it wasn’t for Nanami holding you down. Body jolting at sudden electricity running through your veins, “Oh- fuck fuck fuck. Oh my god Ken, there. Right there–”

But before the sentence has even left your heavy lips, he’s hitting your g-spot once more. Easily finding the bullseye that has you bucking and arching into his mouth like such a slut. 

And this time - Nanami lets you use his mouth all you want. The fingers splayed out to pin you down moves to toy with your puffy clit. Rolling between his fingers while he hisses out syrupy sweet praises, “Shit, never liked m’name that much- ngh- but it sounds so pretty on your lips. So sweet. So- oh-” 

The sight of your cunt just beading with need has him kissing it once more. All over your sensitive nub, your ravaged hole, hell, even down to the mess of slick dripping down at your thighs. Faster. Sloppier. No rhythm or rhyme anymore. 

“M’so close.” you whine, weaving your fingers through his blond hair to help ride his face easier. Jolting with each purposeful flick of his tongue. “Gonna cum, Ken.”

“Cum then.” he answers, simply, grinning a guiltily glossy grin, “You’ve got a lot to make up for, right?”

And then you do - stars behind your eyes and that little nickname you’d made Nanami in your mouth. Over and over while he tonguefucks you through your high. 

“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck–” you whine, big fat tears rolling down your cheeks eat time he swiped at your sensitive spots, dragging it out longer. Until your soft whimpers were drowning out the squelches from below. Until you were blinking your spotty vision back. Until you were squirming your hips higher up the counter to pull away from Nanami’s unforgiving tactics. “M’too sensitive- Nana-”

He tuts, interrupting your orgasm-drunk babbles, “Tha’s not what you call me.” Pulling away just enough to hum, “All I did was eat this pretty cunt out, darling n’ you already forgot my name?”

You shiver - both at his mean little tone and the absolutely sinful sight between your shaky thighs. Nanami’s lips plump and irritated, eyes foggy - glasses even more so with all the sloppy dredges of spit and your slick.

Shit, you think he’s never looked prettier. 

“Is that so?”

It’s all you hear before you’re hit with his glasses being gently placed onto your nose bridge - followed shortly by the realization that oh, you said that out loud. But Nanami basks in your sudden shyness, giving your lips a chaste, lingering peck. “You dirtied my glasses, y’know. Now you have to make up for that on top of the rent.”

And by the feeling of his thick tip kissing at your pussy lips, you had a very good idea about how you’d be making up for it. Making a mess. Sliding the curve of his head up and down. Up and down up and down up and-

“B-but don’t forget.” you manage to grit out by the time he’s nudging his divot against your clit. “You have to make- hah- make up for-” 

In a fluid motion, you’re reaching your fingers to dig into the irresistible tan skin at his hips, all hard muscle and the thick fabric of where he’d pulled his pants down just enough. You press down on his bulging back pocket, smirk growing at the familiar flash of hot pink you could spy, “-my panties.”

The moment the obscene little accusation leaves your lips, you give a soft tug forwards. Nanami’s towering body being pulled easily to push his weeping tip past your puffy folds. 

“F-fuck.” he’s throwing his head back at the feeling. “You hngh- saw, huh?”

Oh, if he hadn’t been imagining this the moment he’d stepped inside your apartment then Nanami thinks he might’ve just passed out right then and there. 

Because you were so warm, so addictive wrapped around his cock - even when he’s barely even in. That he just has to keep going - after all, it’s for the rent, right?

It’s what he likes to think.

It’s what he whispers - over and over into your open mouth as he bullies his thick cock past your gummy entrance. Letting your plush walls suck the ever-loving soul out of him with each lazy, lingering grind just to fit himself inside. 

“O-oh! Shit-” your nails leave jagged red marks down Nanami’s broad shoulders when he stuffs you full. Desperate. “Y-you’re so big, Ken–” 

At this, you feel Nanami’s girth grow even wider, stretching your walls until it felt like he was molding your poor pussy to the shape. Just reaching into your lungs. You squeal, “Wait- you got bigger- what-”

“I know I know, You got it, my love.” he’s soothing your cries with sugary kisses at the corners of your mouth. Drawing slow, methodical circles on your clit in time with his experimental thrusts. “You got it. You can take it. Shhh shh-” He’s drinking in your cute mewls, cupping your pretty face with his free hand, “You’ll take it right? All of it, like my good girl? You’ve gotta make up for it, right?” At your delirious nod, “Words, pretty.”

“Yes, please.” You buck your hips in a sultry tandem matching his, the cool frame of his glasses still kissing at your skin. “M’gonna take it all like your good girl, Ken.”

Shit, he can feel himself growing even bigger just halfway into you, “Then-” Angling your teary face down to watch the mess down below. The way your greedy cunt was trying to milk each and every inch of him like it was delicious. “-look.”

You can’t tear your eyes away as he delves into you so filthy. 

Not waiting for your pathetic whines about him being “too big” - no, Nanami’s only pulling you back from escaping like some sextoy - his favorite one. Still toying sweetly with your clit while he pushes against that feeble ring of resistance. Once. Twice. Thrice. 

“Ken!” you’re yelping out when he finally bottoms out. Your swollen folds meeting his drenched hilt, blond tufts of hair brushing up against your pelvis. Sighing, ”Finally.”

“Finally?” he’s dragging out his words with an already-crooked, pussydrunk grin. Eyes wild - bewildered almost at how well you were taking him. “S-seriously? Did you say ngh- ‘finally’, my girl?” Each word has him tapping more strength behind those thrusts, faster. Harder. Spitting out so contendly, “Finally- hah. Such a slut f’me, hm?”

He’s plunging into you like such an animal right now, so harsh that it was almost difficult to pull back. To dare subject himself to not be buried inside your dripping cunt for even a split-second. 

In response, you lick a long stripe up the sensitive area of his neck, splaying out a hand to squeeze Nanami’s pec - and the rapid heartbeat you felt beneath it. “You’re not- ngh- any better.”

“I know.” Nanami leers, unabashedly kneading at your sore tits now. Fucking you harder and harder into the counter. Connecting his sweaty forehead with yours to look you right in the eyes as he gruffs, “I’ve been thinking about fucking this pretty cunt as soon as you opened that door, y’know.”

You feel his cock twitch wildly at the confession, dragging against your gummy walls with his tip. Hitting - oh-so-expertly - that one sensitive honeypot of nerves. Which makes Nanami’s mouth fall slack with what a treasure you were. 

“Y-you’re such a-” you’re moans are syrupy and slurring together now. Holding onto the larger man for dear life, “such a pervert, Ken.”

Shit, you were squeezing around him so hard that it was almost impossible to pull out. Abs straining to keep up the loud staccato of skin-against-skin, and Nanami’s long, jagged rams inside your wet heaven.

Nanami’s nosing down your pulse, letting his hot tongue loll out to catch the salty drops of your tears, “Mhm, only for hngh- you. Because you’re my girl now, aren’t ya?”

So easy for him to trawl out those addictive moans with each drag of the upwards curve of his fat cock. Thick tip hitting your g-spot, your cervix - as if he was branding his name into your pretty pussy from the inside. Sloppy. 

Leaving a bruising little Kento. With his erratic fingers pinching and rolling your clit at the same feverish tempo of his cock bullying inside your cunt - Kento. With his heavy balls smacking against your ass, sending jolts of white-hot pleasure all the way up to his sensitive slit, rubbing up against your succubus walls - Kento. With the way your heels were now digging into those dimples at the bottom of his spine, sure to leave marks with the way you were pulling him impossibly closer. So needy - Kento.

Only getting sloppier. The only thing in your mind right now - Kento Kento Kento-

So, really, it makes sense when that’s the only thing you’re capable of getting out once you cum. It sneaks up on you at first, and then all at once - and before you know it, you’re cumming so desperately all over Nanami’s relentless cock. 

Over and over.

Your thighs spasming, such a slutty ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth with each wave of pleasure he’s forcing out of you by targeting your ravaged g-spot. Only a few more of those sloppy, mean thrusts left in the man himself before Nanami’s spilling into your greedy cunt. 

Painting your gummy walls white with each painful squeeze of his balls, he’s still thrusting - as if on instinct. Shoving his seed deeper and deeper down your cum-filled hole until he’s sure it’s overfilled. 

By god were you a vision, he’s thinking deliriously. Tears pooling at your eyes, drool dripping down the corner of your mouth, throat to shoot to do anything but whimper when he keeps going in and out in and out in and-

And if he angled his head just right, he could see the hot globs of cum that take to trickling out from your puffy folds, pooling at a mouthwateringly creamy base around his hilt.

“Ah,” Nanami wastes no time squeezing his index into your already-bulging entrance, pumping the cum slobbering out back in. “Better- hah- better not waste any-” He could barely speak right now, cumming harder than he has in his whole life - in fact, his overworked cock was still shooting out wispy spurts of his seed. Like he couldn’t stop. “-after all, y’haven’t made up for all the overdue rent yet, my love.”

A/N. Concept inspired by this NSFW audio by IchigekiVA that my friend sent me <3

Plagiarism of work not authorized.

[shawtuzi]

ANGELEYES ꨄ ft. connie springer

a/n: she’s finally hereeee omg i haven’t had this much fun writing something in a minute so i hope yall enjoy it <333 also there is quite a bit of spanish dialogue and it is unfortunately from google translate so just bare w me lmao

synopsis: a tale about two childhood best friends who *gasps* turn into lovers hehe

wc: 16k//// cw include: super fluffy in the beginning they’re so cute, pretty angsty in the teenage part bc well . . . they’re teenagers, mentions of connie being a dealer as an adult, a lot of flirting and banter— now for the nsfw part: kissing, connie being a tease, oral f & m!receiving, fingering, connie humps the bed while he eats it, dirty talk in english and spanish, choking, protected sex turned to unprotected sex, finger sucking, slow sex n’ rough sex, connie cums in and on her pussy, cum eating, aftercare!!!

‘sometimes when i’m lonely, i sit and think about him. and it hurts to remember all the good times.’

february 14th, 2007 . . .

“c’mon y/n! i don’t wanna be late for the valentines party!”

“slow down con, you’re walkin’ too fast!” you cried out, little feet trying their absolute best to keep up with connie’s fast strides. the chilly wind whipped around you both, nearly knocking you over. “make sure you hold on tight to your valentines, i’ll be so sad if i don’t get one from you,” connie giggled, referring to the paper bag full of bratz themed valentines for your entire first grade class.

you responded with a nod, and an obnoxious sniffle, the icy breeze making your nose stuffier by the second. connie looked over at you and giggled once more, “you look like a giant pink marshmallow.” you joined him in laughter, mitten covered hand reaching up to adjust the pink wool scarf your mother had recently just bought you around your neck.

you were wearing a pink coat that was a size too big, along with a big fluffy hat and mittens to match. “momma said i had to wear all this if i wanted to walk to school with you.”

speaking of school, it was just right up ahead! just as you were about to cross the street, connie slammed his arm against your chest nearly knocking you over. “we gotta wait for the crossing guard, remember?!” you looked at him in pure confusion before a woman wearing a neon yellow vest approached you both.

“you two ready?” she asked with a sweet smile. immediately you froze up, the stranger danger sirens in your head blaring. “yes, we’re ready! c’mon, y/n, don’t be scared,” connie took your hand in his, his free hand grabbing onto the crossing guards. as you walked across the street you couldn’t help but be jealous at how connie was never shy around strangers, adults especially.

in his eight years of being on this earth, connie has always been a social butterfly. whether it’d be saying hi to strangers at the grocery store or playing freeze tag with a random group of kids at the park, connie was always a friendly soul to be around.

“thank you ma’am, have a happy valentine’s day!” connie beamed at the crossing guard before dragging you up the stairs to the school.

you immediately relaxed at the warmth that greeted you when you stepped inside. “c’mon, i’ll walk ya to class,” connie gave you a small smile, enveloping your hand in his once more. as connie walked you to class, various students from different grades said hello to him, some of the older kids even fist bumped him! it was amazing in your eyes

“lemme help you with your stuff,” he mumbled, setting his own valentines on the ground beside him. as you took off your mittens, connie unzipped your coat and snatched off your hat, grinning when you whined about him messing up your hair. “momma spent a lot of time making sure my hair doesn’t stick up,” you huffed, running your hand over the slicked part of your bun.

after hanging up your backpack and coat on the hooks outside your classroom, you turned around to see connie giving you a toothy smile, spider-man valentine in hand. you gasped, eagerly snatching the small card with a lollipop taped to it out of his hand. “thank you, connie! i can’t wait to eat the sucker!”

“i have something else for you too, but it’s a surprise! i’ll give it to you at the end of the day, i gotta go!” and with that connie gave you a bone crushing hug before literally sprinting to his classroom, which was just a few doors down.

while you were in the first grade, connie was in second. this however didn’t stop him from trying to see you as much as he could! sometimes when his class was in the hall you’d see that bald little head peek from the door, smiling at you while waving. during passing times for lunch or recess, he’d always look for the girl with the greased up face, and multiple bows in her hair—it was usually pretty easy to find you because you were always the line leader.

“come on, y/n! let’s get this valentines party started!” you heard your teacher call out. with one last glance at connie, your grabbed the bag containing your valentines before headlining into your classroom.

being the enthusiastic seven year old you were, you expected to get quite a few valentines from your fellow classmates, but unfortunately that wasn’t the case. you got a total of eight valentines out of the seventeen children in your class—apparently they thought it would be funny to skip over your basket.

this just broke your little heart.

by the time the day ended you were a puffy faced, crying mess. getting only a handful of valentines had put you in a sour mood, a frown etched on your lips for the entirety of the day. connie had noticed this, and for some reason it made his chest feel funny seeing his best friend in such sad spirits.

as you zipped up your coat you were startled by a familiar voice behind you. “hey! how was your valentines party?! ours was awesomeeee, i got so many valentines and candy—o-oh . . . why’re you crying y/n?”

midway through connie’s sentence you had burst into tears once more, fat, hot tears running down your cheeks and onto your coat. “i-i *hiccup* barely got any valentines *sniffle* f-from anyone,” you covered your face with your hands, tears seeping into the fabric of your mittens.

connie’s mind was racing. what would an adult do in this situation, better yet how would his mom handle it?

without thinking he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you impossibly close. his mommas hugs always made him feel better. he just held you for a minute and let you cry, glaring and sticking his tongue out at anyone who stared at you both for too long. “c’mon, let’s go before a teacher comes,” connie mumbled into your hair.

before you could even process what was happening, connie was dragging you away, holding your hand tightly in his. the second you walked outside and saw your mother along with connie’s waiting for you, a fresh batch of tears brimmed your lash line.

“what’s wrong with my baby?” your mother asked, her lips turning into a frown. you didn’t really pay much attention to the conversation, and you didn’t really care now that your momma was there to make things all better. you just jumped into her arms, buried your face in her neck, and cried your heart out.

“she didn’t get a lot of valentines,” connie muttered, grasping onto his mothers hand.

the walk back was pretty silent on your end aside from tiny sniffles and hiccups. connie held your hand the entire way to your apartment, he tried to make conversation but you just weren’t having it. before you knew it you were finally back home.

“this is for you,” connie mumbled, unzipping his backpack to reveal a pink teddy bear, along with a valentine’s day card.

suddenly the world stopped.

you were still as a statue, your lips turning into a pout as connie placed the items in your hands. “f-for me?” you sniffled, hugging the bear to your chest. connie grinned at you, nodding his head bashfully.

“how sweet! say thank you, y/n!”

you were still for a few moments before throwing your arms around connie’s neck, bringing him in for a bone crushing hug. “those other valentines were probably lame, you can have some of mine from the second graders.” that had you squealing so loud bystanders had to cover their ears.

“thank you con, you’re the bestest best friend ever!” you hugged the teddy bear to your chest again, snuggling it extra hard.

watching your mood do a complete three sixty made connie’s heart swell. which was weird. it wasn’t until lately that every time connie saw you his tummy erupted with butterflies, but . . . he actually liked it?

he liked being around you. he liked the way you always smelt like shea butter and fresh laundry, he liked whenever you would share your snack with him on the way home from school, but what he really liked was that you never tried to dim his shine. connie was a hyper kid, very talkative too, and kids were mean to him for no reason sometimes about it, but you . . . you were never mean to him. you always welcome him with open arms and a smile.

that night, connie talked to his momma about that strange feeling he gets in his tummy whenever he sees you—come to find out it’s called a crush.

“¿explica lo que significa de nuevo, mami?” connie asked, taking a sip of his apple juice. connie’s mom laughed, she folded her hands and rested her chin on them.

“it means you like her, and you care about her, and that’s good! y/n is probably still a little young to understand this, and honestly you are too, but i feel like you’re mature enough to know about this kinda thing. maybe one day when you’re older you can tell her, yeah?”

“yeah, maybe. that stuff is gross though.”

february 14, 2014 . . .

“c’monnnn, y/n. ¡date prisa, chica, date prisa! we’re gonna be late!”

“i know, i know i’m sorry! i totally overslept,” you called out to connie, securing your scarf around you neck. your nose scrunched at the wind that whipped at your face, your lips already beginning to feel dry.

on the decent down the stairs to the sidewalk you nearly slipped, almost busting your butt. “dios mío,” he chuckled, extending his hand to help you down the rest of the way. you quietly thanked him, ignoring the warmth flaring in your cheeks. connie hooked his arm around yours, “hold on to me, i don’t want you to slip again.”

you didn’t protest, you just nodded and quietly thanked him once again. the walk to your school was silent until connie spoke up, “happy valentine’s day.” you looked up at him, giving him a small smile and little nudge to the side. “happy valentine’s day, connie.”

trying to sound as nonchalant as possible connie said, “did you buy any roses to give to anyone? i heard today at nine is the last time to do it.” you quickly responded with a no, your eyes trailing down to the gravel below you.

“do you think you’ll get any?”

you thought to yourself for a moment before shaking your head, “nah i don’t expect it, but that’s okay.” you weren’t bothered by it completely, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t jealous of the girls who talked about getting roses from their crushes. but all was well, your plan for the day was to bury your nose in the latest romantic novel you purchased. the book was probably a little mature for you, but hey, a little make out scene between two star crossed lovers here and there never hurt nobody.

“what about you? did you buy any? plan to receive any?”

you rolled your eyes when connie burst out laughing, nearly stopping your walk entirely to catch his breath. “you’re so dam—d-dang annoying . . . you’re so annoying,” you huffed, unlinking your arm from his. connie wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to his side once again. “nah, nah, don’t be like that. it’s not my thing though. i didn’t buy any, and i don’t plan to receive any.”

you hummed, kicking a nearby rock with your foot. as you were walking you couldn’t help but smell a faint musky scent. you sniffed, and then sniffed again, this time you got a stronger whiff when you smelt connie. was he wearing . . . cologne?

“is that you smellin’ like that?” you giggled, stuffing your nose in his neck, and sure enough you smelt cologne. for the first time since you were kids you saw connie blush, it was kinda cute, but in a friend way kinda cute. at least that’s what you told yourself.

connie rubbed his glove covered hand over his freshly buzzed hair. “aish! yeah, i put on some cologne, but only because my mom sprayed on a little before i left the house,” he muttered, clearly lying through his teeth.

the truth was, he had asked his mom to buy him some for today, and after all her teasing and pesky questions she caved and got him some. he told her it was for another girl in his class, but really, it was for you to notice and you only.

as the years went by connie’s innocent crush turned into a full blown one. by the time he was thirteen, he kinda had a holy shit moment as he finally admitted to himself that he indeed did have a crush on his best friend. how cliche.

“well it’s nice . . . makes you smell, uhm, grown? i don’t know, but i like it,” your cheeks felt hot as you spoke, and you hoped connie didn’t notice the slight shakiness in your voice as you finished talking. newflash, he noticed, and it filled his chest with so much pride he felt as if his heart was gonna explode.

you noticed the grin on connie’s face and kissed your teeth, “don’t be weird about it, weirdo.” connie smirked, he pulled you in real close for a side hug, then released you. “you’re the weirdo. talkin’ about how i smell ‘grown’, whatever that means,” he cackled, running a few steps ahead of you to avoid getting a smack on the back of the head.

the two of you continued small talk until you, unfortunately, made it to school. “take my hand again, don’t want you to fall in front of everybody right?” seriously, you were this close to punching him. but nonetheless you took his hand, graciously thanking him inside your head for looking out for you.

“i’m gonna go, but i’ll see you at lunch yeah?” connie spoke softly, nudging your side with his elbow. you wanted to be selfish and tell him that he should spend the morning with you, but you bid him farewell nonetheless with a smile on your face. the second he was out of sight a frown took over your lips. you couldn’t help but wonder if he noticed you were wearing a new gloss today, or you changed your perfume scent from lavender to coconut. boys were so hard to read.

the day went by slow, as usual, but when the last period of the day came around things got a little interesting.

“valentine roses! we have valentine roses!” you heard someone shout from the door of your classroom. you took your eyes away from your book to see three students wearing various pink and red articles of clothing. “mm, whatever,” you hummed, looking back down at your book.

a few minutes passed, and just when you thought the commotion was over, one of the students approached you. looking up over your lashes, you raised a brow. “these are for you, all from the same person,” they said, giving you a small smile before handing you three red roses.

your mouth dropped, unable to find the correct words. there was no way this was real right? there was no way someone bought three roses for you. “w-who are these from?” you questioned, running your thumb along the soft petals of the roses. the girl tapped on a heart shaped card that was tied to the stems with a ribbon, “they had the choice to write a message in here. they either signed it or left it anonymoussss.” the girl gave you a tiny smile before walking away, leaving you completely dumbfounded.

with shaky hands, you opened the card.

‘U R 2 CUTE’ the card had said in bold, pink letters, and at the bottom in parentheses it said ‘for real :)’.

you recognized this handwriting all too well.

you nibbled on your bottom lip, a giddy smile making its way onto your lips. you couldn’t believe connie had done this for you. after all the smack talk and fake gag noises about anything romantic, connie was the last person you expected to receive a rose from. and what did he mean by ‘for real’ ? did he think you were cute, did he think you were . . . pretty?

for the rest of the period you sat there, admiring your roses. you had to ask connie about it, you had to! so when the bell rang you made a beeline for connie’s locker. thankfully he was there, unfortunately his friends were too.

when he saw you, he couldn’t help but smile, but then he saw the flowers you were clutching in your hand. there was nooo way he could let his friends find out he actually participated in the rose giveaway.

“um, i’ll see you guys around,” he muttered, slamming his locker shut before making his way over to you. once you were in reach he gently grabbed your wrist, “vamos a casa, m’starving and need a snack.” without any protests you let him lead the way with tiny, minuscule, little hearts in your eyes.

“you really got these for me?” your voice was tiny, barely audible, and if connie wasn’t so close to you he probably wouldn’t have even known you were speaking. he looked at you and then the ground, his cheeks turning bright red. “well, yeah. i thought flowers would be better than another teddy bear.” he smiled at the last part, remembering his last visit to your bedroom.

you were already into plushies and beanie babies big time, and he did no favors adding onto your collection. each of six teddy bears he got you were lined up neatly on your bed, not a head or paw out of place. connie, being the fourteen boy he was of course, wreaked havoc on the poor teddys, tossing them around and making them do obscene positions much to your horror. they all had names as well, but you have yet to reveal them to save yourself from anymore embarrassment.

“this was really nice of you con, i really wasn’t expecting you to do this,” you couldn’t hide the giddiness in your voice as you spoke, your lips breaking into a shy smile. “ay dios mío, please don’t make it a big thing. let’s talk about something else pleaseeeee!” connie dramatically threw his head back, his cheeks so hot if felt as if someone had placed hot coals on them.

“whatever, weirdo.” you giggled, gently backhanding his chest.

after a few minutes, connie pulled out his phone and headphones. “wanna listen to music with me?” you grinned at him, nodding eagerly before taking an earbud. connie only really listened to songs in spanish, and maybe some rnb on side, but he only listened to songs in spanish with you to help you learn the language better. you caught on pretty fast to the basics when you were younger from hearing him and his mom interact with each other, but as you got older connie wanted you to know more. sometimes he’d quiz you and sometimes he’d just say a whole sentence you didn’t understand over and over until you got it right—he was actually a pretty good teacher for a fourteen year old.

as you were walking you kept feeling connie’s fingers brush against your own. your heartbeat quickened, teeth clamping onto your bottom lip as you decided if you should engage or not. i mean, what if it was accident and he got creeped out? but then again, it wasn’t an odd thing for you and connie to hold hands outside of school.

your thoughts were interrupted when connie hooked his pinky around yours, securing them together. you didn’t say anything, too stunned and shy to mutter even a word, but you did give his pinky a squeeze to let him know the action was welcomed.

“did your mom tell you we’re coming over tonight?” connie asked, referring to him and his mother. you smiled at him, and nodded. “of course she did! it’s like—”

“trying saying it in spanish, chica!”

you hummed, racking your brain for the right words and pronunciation. “uhm . . . okay, uh, es como nuestra tradición?” connie tapped on his chin and hummed, he had the most unserious serious look on his face it almost made you laugh.

“¡correcto! i’ve taught my student well,” he smirked, giving your pinky a rough squeeze.

before you knew it you were outside your apartment building. “here’s your card, i’m happy you like the flowers.” there was a slight shake in connie’s hands as he held the card out, thankfully you didn’t seem to notice.

you took the card, an eruption of butterflies swarming in your stomach. without saying anything you wrapped your arms around him, and as you pulled away you left a tiny peck on his cheek. connie’s eyes widened, his body tensing. “t-thanks for the roses n’ the card. i’ll be sure to take care of them and, uh, i guess i’ll see you later!”

“b-bye y/n! prepare to have your butt kicked at mortal combat when i see you!” you laughed on the your way up the stairs, you turned around to give connie one last wave and smile before heading inside.

the second the door to the building shut connie exhaled a deep breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “was that my first kiss? nah, nah, can’t be . . . well, it counts a little bit,” he giggled to himself, turning on his heels to make his way home. the whole walk home all he could think about was the peck on the cheek you gave him.

he took off his glove and pressed his fingers against the spot on his cheek you kissed, he was intrigued to find out the area was a little sticky. he brought his fingers to his nose, senses immediately overwhelmed by the scent of strawberries. ‘strawberry lipgloss . . . nice,’ he thought to himself, a blush creeping up on his cheeks.

the second connie walked in the door of his apartment, he made a beeline for the only person worthy of knowing this information: his mom.

he found her in the kitchen, the smell of her famous pollo guisao wafting into his nose. “estoy casa, mami,” he mumbled, giving her a quick hug from behind. “one sec, hijo, i’m almost done with this. feel free to grab a snack, i bet you’re starving.” connie didn’t need to be told twice, his stomach growling at the thought of some kind of greasy snack.

“alright, that should be good,” she hummed, dusting her hands off on his apron before making her way over to connie, who was munching on a bag of chips. “¿cómo estuvo la escuela?” she asked, taking a seat on the couch next to him. connie hummed, popping another chip into his mouth.

it was silent for a few beats until she smacked him on the back of the head. “w-wha? ow! what was that for, ma?” he whined, rubbing the back of his head. “boy, you know what i wanna know. did you buy the flowers for that girl today?” connie nodded, not being able to fight the grin creeping up on his lips.

“it was y/n, wasn’t it? she’s also the one you wanted to wear cologne for, right?” connie’s jaw dropped, his fist unintentionally crushing the bag of chips he was holding. she smirked at him, reaching a hand over to gently run over his hair. “una madre siempre sabe cuando su hijo está mintiendo, mi amor.”

connie sank further into the couch, his brows furrowing in annoyance. how was she able to read him so easily? “whatever, mami, but yes, it was for her. the b-best part though was when he got to her house she kissed me!—well, on the cheek, but still.”

all connie’s mom could do was smile at her son—ah, young love. “you two are so freakin’ cuteeee!”

“mami pleaseeee stop!” he groaned, covering his face with his hands. her pesky teasing went on for a few more moments before she gave him a serious look. “i have something for you, wait here,” she spoke softly, getting up from the couch and going into her room. when she came back out she was holding a rectangular shaped box.

she sat next to connie and slowly opened the box, revealing a gold cuban link chain. “it was yours dads. i scrounged up every penny i had, and bought it for him on our two year anniversary. él llevó esto a todas partes.” she laughed at the last part, her lips turning into a sad smile.

connie took a closer look at the chain, his lips turning into a frown. “you sure, mama? i know his stuff is important to you,” he whispered, but his mom shook her head, letting out a little sniffle. “i want you to have it, mi cariño . . . he would’ve wanted you to have it. just promise me one thing.” she took the chain out the case, and gently placed it over connie’s head.

“excuse my language when i say this, amor—wear this shit with pride, just like your dad did. he was a good man, with a great life, n’ a good family and i want all the same for you, okay?” she chuckled when she saw a stray tear roll down connie’s cheek. “no tears, amor, no tears. just promise me that one thing.” connie sniffled and nodded his head—

“i promise, mami.”

february 14th, 2018 . . .

“this fuckin’ girl,” connie groaned, his head tilting back to look at the cloudy, grey sky. he had a card in one hand, and a bouquet of flowers in the other for none other than you, his lovely best friend. he settled on a bouquet of pink tulips this year, deciding to switch it up from the usual roses he gave you.

his ears perked up when he heard the sound of someone coming out of your apartment building. there you were, looking cute as cute as ever in your oversized baby pink coat, along with a hat and mittens to match. “i know, i know, i’m sorryyy,” you giggled, taking careful steps down the slippery stairs.

“yeah, yeah whatever,” he smirked, looking you up and down before holding up the card and roses. you gave him a toothy grin, happily accepting the gifts from him. “thank you con, eres tan dulce.”

connie tongued the inside of his cheek, “ah, it’s nothin’. c’mere.” connie reached an arm out, tatted hand gently grabbing your coat to pull you in for a hug. the smell of his cologne had you relaxing into the hug, your arms tightening around him.

if any stranger were to see you two right now, it would obviously look like you two were together, but unfortunately for connie, that was not the case. it gets worse, you actually have a boyfriend. some motherfucker got to you before him, and he gets mad about it everyday because he had so. much. time. to make you his. you’ve been with the guy for nearly seven months and connie’s jealousy never dimmed.

“alright, alright, let’s get going before we miss the bus,” you mumbled into his jacket, ever so slowly detaching yourself from his embrace. connie huffed, but nonetheless followed after you.

you didn’t link arms anymore, and he didn’t wrap his arm around you—apparently that was a big no no for your boyfriend. connie kinda understood him in a way, if you were his and anyone laid a finger on you he’d go ballistic. at least you were able to listen to music together on your walk to the bus stop, and on the ride to school.

you whipped out your phone and headphones, passing one to connie. “man, no you’re always listening to those korean guys. i can’t understand shit they say,” his chest puffed up if faux annoyance because he knew he’d listen to whatever you played anyway. “well, i don’t care about none of that so here.”

“mmcht, fine. una niña tan mimada . . .” he grumbled, playfully side eyeing you. he loved getting on your nerves.

“i’m not spoiled.”

“yes you are.”

“okay and what about it, constance.”

“woah, my government name? my bad buddy, didn’t mean to strike a nerve there!” he chortled, raising his hands in surrender. if you weren’t connected by a pair of headphones you would’ve pushed him. “anyways . . . how did it go with your mom last night? i’m sure she was so pleased to see the new ink on your hand.”

connie’s shoulders slumped, “bro, you would’ve thought i killed someone the way she reacted. she was saying shit in spanish that i didn’t even know existed, shit was terrifying.” you doubled over in laughter at this, your hand slapping against his arm for stability.

“tch, it’s not funny, y/n. my head still hurts from how hard she threw her sandal at me,” he whined, tenderly rubbing the back of his head. he was expecting his mom to get a little upset about the tattoo, but figured maybe she’d show a little mercy because it was a tribute to his father—that was not the case. my mans got a very stern talking to, and a sandal to the back of the head.

“tuh, well that’s what you get! you know how she feels about tattoos.”

with a huff, connie waved you off, choosing to tune into the music blaring in his right ear instead. you didn’t have to wait long for the bus to come, though you didn’t mind the comfortable silence. when connie found two seats, he allowed you to go first. he always sat on the outside of seats, or walked on the side where the street was—he was a gentleman through and through.

“are you and your mom comin’ over tonight? i convinced my mom to take your favoriteeee.” you snorted, and looked over at him, “but, connie . . . you hate salmon.” connie shrugged, nudging your elbow with his own.

“i don’t mind it too bad when i know you like it so much.” his heart clenched at your smile, but the feeling soon faltered when you frowned, your teeth pulling your lip back to pick at the skin. he made a noise of disapproval, “hey, don’t do that. ¿por qué te ves así? ¿qué pasa?”

your lip popped back into place, and connie’s frowned deepened seeing a small speckle of blood. “well, like, my mom will be going over there, just . . . not me. i’m gonna be out with—”

oh.

connie’s lip twitched, and then slowly turned into the fakest smile you’ve ever seen. “that’s . . . fine. it’s fine. i probably won’t stick around for too long anyway.” your eyebrow perked up, “oh?”

he adjusted in his seat, his knee no longer touching yours. you didn’t understand why it bothered you so much, but it did. it bothered you a lot, actually.

you poked his shoulder, “did you have other plans tonight?” connie shrugged, his focus now on plastic wrapped about his healing tattoo. “jean and ony were talking about this party goin’ on tonight, and you know, since you ain’t coming tonight i might as well join em’.”

“yeah, i guess.” you mumbled, shrinking into your seat. connie noticed the change in your body notice immediately. you thought he was mad at you, it was written all over your face. it couldn’t have been further from the truth, his anger lied with your boyfriend, the dickhead breaking your tradition for the first time since you were kids and stealing you away from him for the night.

connie grinned at your pouting lips. he tapped your chin, taking it between his fingers. this was probably crossing a boundary, but you surely weren’t in a rush to pull away from him, at least that’s what it looked like to him.

“no te veas tan triste. nestoy enojado contigo, así que deja de hacer ese puchero, ¿sí?” you hated when he did this, his eye contact was always so intimidating. your nod was slow, like you were still unsure if he was telling the truth or not. he hummed, releasing your chin. “i promise,” he spoke softly, grabbing the gold, cuban link chain around his neck, “that i’m not mad.” thankfully you seemed to relax after that.

connie was a lot of things, but a liar was not one of them. he took pride in being an honest, good man, much like his father was. but sometimes people, and by people he means you, are stubborn and not so easy to convince, so he started this little thing that whenever he grabs his his dads chain it means he is telling the honest truth, and nothing else.

your eyes lit up the tiniest bit, your frown replaced with a small smile. “te creo, connie. te lo prometo.”

“ooo, look at you using your spanish. una chica tan inteligente,” connie smirked, patting your head three times. oh, how connie loved the the language sounded rolling off your tongue. he noticed you sounded more confident nowadays, and it made his heart swell with pride. “heh . . . thank you. now move your behind, this is our stop,” you grumbled, nudging his knee with yours.

when you got off the bus you were elated to see your boyfriend, eren yeager, waiting at the steps for you. you turned to connie, “i’ll see ya later, thanks again for the flowers! i’ll leave them with ms. jones for the day, she’ll watch them for me.”

“i’ll see you at lunch, okay? we’ll get sum to eat, unless your boy toy already has plans with you.” connie’s eyes zeroed in on the brunette behind you, his lips curling up in distaste. he didn’t care for eren if wasn’t obvious. he had a reputation, and not a good one, and you were too sweet to deal with anything of that nature, but somehow the boy swept you off your feet and you were smitten.

when the most popular boy at school asks you to be his girlfriend, you don’t say no, it’s a clear no brainer—connie thought that logic was bullshit, but he kept that comment to himself.

“well lucky for you he didn’t mention any plans about a lunch date, although he didn’t mention dinner plans either . . . but i’m sure it’s just a surprise.” bells went off in connie’s head when you mentioned that, but he stayed silent. you always found the bright side in things, he admired that about you.

“mm, well, i’ll see you later then. have a good rest of your day, princesa.” he squeezed your shoulder tenderly before walking off. he side eyed eren as he walked away, and ugh, the boy just pissed him off so bad. his face looked entirely too nonchalant for having the most beautiful girl in the city all for himself.

the day went by painfully slow, and then it was lunch. connie waited for you in the foyer, already having a place in mind lunch, but you were nowhere to be found. when he checked in with your favorite teacher, ms. jones, he was shocked to find out you had went home early. apparently you weren’t feeling well.

he decided to text you and check up on you, only to find out your phone was on do not disturb. now this was odd. you were never the type to keep your phone on silent, unless absolutely necessary, afraid that you might miss an important call or message.

leaving school early? phone on do not disturb? connie did not like where this was leading.

he opened instagram to look at your profile, and sure enough, his suspicious were confirmed when he saw the highlight you had dedicated to eren was no longer there. connie’s grip on his phone tightened, he was pissed. this man had the audacity to break up with you on valentine’s day? absolutely not.

i’ll spare the details, but just know it was a very eventful lunch period for paradis high.

forty five minutes later . . .

“use this to ice that,” the nurse treating connie muttered, her tone filled with annoyance. connie huffed, slouching back. this folding chair was really starting to hurt his ass.

the door opened and there revealed connie’s very angry mother, her lips balled up so tight it had connie shivering in fear. “Levántate ahora,” she hissed, clenching her fist at her side. connie let out a long sigh, the knot on his head throbbing harder by the minute.

the walk out of the office was very humbling to say the least, his mother wasting no time cursing him out in spanish, and it continued like that until they got home.

“i mean . . . what were you thinking getting into a fight at school?! you know that stays on your record, tu idiota!” connie’s head fell in his hands, an exasperated sigh slipping past his lips. he really didn’t feel like talking about this. he just wanted to see you.

“imagine how y/n will feel knowing you started a fight with her boyfriend, she already must know you don’t like—”

“¡ya ni siquiera están juntos, mami! . . . he broke up up with her.” it was silent for a few beats. “¿lo sabes con seguridad?” connie shrugged, doing his absolute best to explain the situation with you leaving school early, your phone being on do not disturb, and his missing highlight from your instagram. all his poor momma could do was sigh. “this is absolutely no reason to get into a fight, and get suspended over, constance. i’m very disappointed.”

before connie could respond, there was a knock at the door. his mom looked at him and then the door, “yo lo conseguiré, tú quédate aquí. this conversation is not over.” connie slumped back into the couch, his heart stinging at that word ‘disappointed.’

he didn’t pay too much attention to the visitor at the door, until he saw who it was. there you were in your pink and red, heart patterned sweater, the jeans you were once wearing now replaced with hello kitty pajama pants. “i have to run to the store, so i’ll give you two a minute, but make it quick please, y/n. he’s in big trouble.” and with that you two were left alone.

you slowly walked over to his spot on the couch, taking a seat next to him. you sniffled, “ . . . why’d you do that?” he was silent, that only frustrated you more. “do you realize he’ll probably never talk to me again? he already thought i was cheating on him with you, this only made things worse! i know you don’t like the guy, but connie, i like him a lot, i-i think i might even love him.”

this had connie gritting his teeth, and balling up his hands.

“dios mio, y/n, give me a fucking break. you don’t love eren, you don’t even know what love is, you’re seventeen.” this had you scoffing, how dare he try to turn this on you? “and what the hell do you know about love? you’ve never even been in a relationship for goodness sake!”

“i may not have been in a relationship, but i can tell you whatever you and eren had goin’ on was not love. he never took you out, bought you gifts, i mean shit, the only reason the guy posted you online was because you begged him to, and it was only twenty four hour stories. don’t even get me started when he forgot your birthday—”

“that’s enough!” you cried, jumping up in front of him. connie followed suit, his chest nearly touching yours. you two have had your fair share of fights, but this is by far is becoming the most serious one.

“what? can’t handle hearing that your boy toy was a shitty boyfriend?” he hissed, narrowing his eyes at you. your hands balled into fist, your french tips pinching the skin of your palm. “w . . . w-why do you even care so much huh?! why does him breaking up with me effect you so much, con, it’s getting exhausting!”

“¡porq ue estoy enamorado de ti, chica estúpida!”

your body tensed when connie pressed his lips against yours. it was fast, and awkward. it was his first kiss.

when he pulled away, you couldn’t help but feel small under his intense gaze. his cheeks were as red as tomatoes, and his nostrils were flaring—he was breathless. your lips started to wobble, a fresh batch of hot tears brimming your eyes. “connie, i—”

suddenly the door opened, and in walked his mother. he looked at her and then to you. “deberías ir,” he muttered, taking a step back from you. each movement he made was like a hammer to your heart, shattering it slowly with each step.

“m’kay *sniffle* i-i’ll see ya,” your voice cracked at the last part, and it had connie’s heart clenching. this wasn’t supposed to happen, none of this was. when he pictured himself confessing his crush to you, him sending you out of his house a minute later was not apart of the vision.

that night you and connie both cried in your mothers’ laps, hearts aching and yearning to text the other, but too scared to at the same time, afraid it would make things worse.

“lo arruiné todo, mami. probablemente esté muy enojada conmigo,” he muttered, his eyes fluttering shut when he felt her nails scratch at his scalp. she tsked, and shook her head. “you didn’t ruin anything, amor. y/n cares about you so much, you two will work it out. te lo prometo, mi amor.” he muttered out something that she couldn’t quite hear, but she just let him be, allowing him to peacefully fall asleep on her lap.

while connie was asleep he received two messages.

new message from day one : i’m not mad at u, but i think we need to have a talk tmmr about what happened today

new message from day one : i hope you’re okay, ily

you and connie did talk about it, and after a conversation that lasted four hours, you both came to an agreement to not date. connie mentally beat himself up the entire way home afterwards, because that was in fact not how he felt, but just from your tone he figured you weren’t interested. little did he know you were.

after he graduated you two still talked, but not as often, until you just didn’t talk at all. by that time you were freshly graduated, and preparing for a summer full of fun before starting college. you decided to choose one in your city, too scared to leave your momma alone, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

connie took an interest in selling weed, and has since moved out of his moms apartment, where to? you had no clue.

february 14th, 2024 . . .

“girlllll, let’s go! you got thirty seconds to get down those stairs before i leave you!”

“you better not! it’s hard to get down these stairs with heels on!” you cried out, clutching onto the stair railing as you carefully went down. a sight of relief blew past your lips when you made it down safely. before getting in your friends car you tugged your skirt down, not that there was much to grab onto anyway.

“this skirt is entirely too tiny,” you grumbled, hopping in the passenger seat. anytime you made any sudden movement it was riding up your thick thighs, and you almost took it off, but you knew you’d be crucified by your best friend if you didn’t go through with wearing it.

you were heading out for a night at the club, and since it was valentine’s day, this certain club was allowing ladies to get fifty percent off all drinks.

the entire way there you were fiddling with your skirt, afraid that you were showing too much skin. “don’t worry about your outfit, ‘kay? you look good as fuck, y/n,” you friend grinned at you from the side, giving your arm a tender squeeze. “yeah, you’re right . . . i do look good. really good.”

before you knew it, you had arrived, your stomach doing somersaults when your friend turned the car off. she undid her seatbelt, and turned to you, she set her hands on your shoulders, and looked dead in your eye. “we’re gonna go in there and come out with some cuties, got it?” you let out a shaky breath, nodding your head.

the club was loud, and packed, but nonetheless there were some cute faces in the crowd. luckily your friend found two open seats at the bar, she was quick to secure them and immediately ordered a lemon drop for you. “i feel bad you won’t be able to drink since you drove,” you pouted, resting your arms on the bar.

your friend waved you off, insisting that she wouldn’t need the liquid courage like you would. it was shady, yes, but she wasn’t lying. you weren’t the slickest when it came to men, so it was a good thing you were a pretty girl.

“how’s your mom?” she asked, swiftly thanking the bartender when they set your drink in front of you. you hummed, tapping your fingernails against the glass. “she’s okay, we’re not out of the woods yet, but hopefully she’ll be in remission soon.”

a couple days after your twentieth birthday you had found out your mother was ill, and although you were willing to take a break from college and take care of her full time, she insisted otherwise. ‘this is your time to find yourself, and maybe someone special,’ she had said with tears in her eyes.

your friend gave you a warm smile, “that’s amazing, y/n. i’m really happy for you guys. now where are all the cute . . . guys, ” your brows pulled together as her sentence trailed off, her focus on something, or someone, behind you. “you see somebody?” you asked, taking a sip of your drink.

she nodded with a smirk, “there’s one right behind you. the one in the gallery dept. hoodie. he’s gonna be mine tonight.” you giggled, pushing your hand against the bar to get a look at the mystery man. your eyes widened when you realized it was onyankopon.

“oh . . . i—i know him. i went to school with him,” you muttered, turning your seat back. “were you two high school sweethearts, or something?” she teased, pinching your side. this had you scoffing.

“please. we were never together, but he was friends with my bes—um, ex best friend, connie.” her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “right, right. i remember you mentioning him. do you know if they’re still cool? *gasp* maybe they’re here together! i’ll call him over.”

“n-no, no no no. there’s no need to do that forreal,” it was hard to hide the nervousness in your voice. your friend hummed, tapping on her chin in faux thought. “you’re right, let’s go over there instead,” and with that she was hopping off her seat, her hand wrapping around your forearm.

you were stunned to say the least, your body stiffening as she tried to pull you from the bar stool. “but wait, wait, what if they actually are here together? y’know i haven’t seen connie in years and i just—”

you were silenced by a hand being placed in your face. “my dear y/n, no one on this earth go ahead in life by sitting in their behind, not come onnn.” you whined and protested when pulled again, spluttering out something about how you haven’t finished your drink. it took some serious convincing, and tugging, but your friend eventually got you up, wasting no time making a beeline for ony.

his back was facing you, but that didn’t stop your friend from tapping him on the back. “what’s good—oh, y/n! what’s up, girl?” ony grinned, pulling you in for a hug. you awkwardly hugged him back, giving his back a few gentle pats. “o-oh nothin’ much,” you were very grateful the music was so loud that he couldn’t hear the shakiness in your voice.

“what are you ladies up to tonight?” he asked, beckoning you more into his section. there were a couple other guys, and some girls taking up seats on the lounge couches, all immersed in their own conversations, besides one man. he sat on the farthest end by himself, a blunt perched between two tatted fingers. he was scrolling on his phone, his foot tapping along to the music every now and again.

“oh, you know, just a girls night out. i was actually hoping we could hangout with you? you seem nice . . . really cute too.” you couldn’t help but snort as your friend turned on her charm, ony immediately turning to putty in her hands. “why don’t you go mingle, y/n? i’ll have ony order you another drink, and don’t panic if you see you know who,” she gave you a sly wink before waving you off much to your dismay.

you decided to take a seat next to the loner with the blunt, wondering to yourself if he was even allowed to smoke that inside. your eyes drifted to the rings on his fingers, all coated with tiny diamonds. you leant to the side, close enough to where he could hear you, “i-i like your rings!”

and suddenly you were met with a pair of very familiar brown eyes staring back into yours. “connie . . ? !” you said his name as it were forbidden, your chest tightening. he looked at you for a moment, his brows pulling together as he examined your face, you figured it all clicked for him when he started grinning at you like the cheshire cat.

before you could say another word, he stood up, his reaching down for yours. “uh i—” you looked over at your friend who was already looking right at you. she had a giddy smile on her face, her hand waving in a not so subtle way to tell you to go with him. with no excuse left, you took his hand, the warmth from it sending shivers up your back.

as he lead you out of the section he passed the blunt he was smoking to ony, yelling something about how he’d back right back. while he lead the way, your eyes were focused on the way his hand grasped yours. it felt comforting, familiar.

when you got outside the cool, city air felt like heaven, but it didn’t stop goosebumps from forming on your skin when connie leant against a blacked out vehicle, his eyes zeroing in on yours.

“wow, s’really you.” his head tilted back in a laugh, giving you a small peek at the grills on his teeth. “¿cómo has estado, princesa?” his head tilted, awaiting your answer.

you wanted to speak, you really did, but the words would not leave your mouth. you were stunned to say the least, not only from seeing connie after years, but also how different he looked. he was way buffer, and now had a bit of facial hair, his signature buzzcut stayed the same. what caught your attention the most was the tattoos that covered his arms and neck. his few pictures on social media didn’t do him much justice.

“hello? anybody home?” he chuckled, waving his hand in front of your face. you blinked three times, your mouth opening, then closing.

“hi.”

you sounded strained, almost like you were in pain, it made connie laugh. “hi, y/n.” the way he smiled at you made you feel . . . weird. he was looking at like you like he wanted to devour you whole.

“sorry, it’s uh, it’s been a minute since we’ve seen each other in person. you look . . . different, i-i mean you look the same, but, not? i’m sorry—”

“hey, hey, relax. it’s just me remember? no need to be nervous, even if some time has passed.” he leant forward, grabbing your hand in his, he pulled you closer then let go, your hand twitched at the loss of contact.

he had a point. it was just connie, your childhood best friend, someone you’ve known longer than you haven’t.

you cleared your throat, clasping your hands behind your back. “well, i’ve been good. i’m sure you’ve seen that college is going well. met some new people, had a few failed relationships, you know, typical stuff.”

“thas’ wassup. i heard about your mom, i’m real happy for you y/n. ustedes dos no merecen nada más que bendiciones en esta vida.” warmth spread through your cheeks at his words.

“did that translate, or have you been lacking on your spanish, hm?” he teased, secretly hoping you have in fact been continuing to speak spanish. you giggled, waving him off. “i understand, and i really appreciate it. deberías visitarla algún día, le encantaría verte.”

his grin widened, “yeah? i figured she’d hate me after what happened with you and my mom. i’m sure you’ve heard some awful things from her about me.”

he was correct. whenever his mother did visit his name would somehow come up, and then it would lead to the same speech about how she felt like she failed him and how she hated his life choices. you agreed about the drug selling part, you weren’t very fond he chose that as a source of income, but when it came to the other awful things she spewed about him, you found it rather hard to believe. there was no way she was talking about your connie.

he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, his eyes drifting to the gravel. “i don’t blame her though, like at all. i gave her hell for months about . . certain things. i thought it was just best to keep my distance after i moved out. she hasn’t reached out to me, and vice versa.” this made you frown, and without thinking you wrapped your arms around him.

“oh, uh, thanks,” he stiff at first, but eventually relaxed into the hug, “feels good to hug you again.” you slowly nodded, sighing with content. it really was nice to be in his embrace again. his smelt different though, more mature, more expensive.

“you know, even though she says all that, she still misses you like crazy. momma told me so herself.” connie squeezed you a bit tighter, his chin finding place at the crown of your hair. “your momma has never been one to lie, so i’ll take your word for it,” he chuckled, leaning back against the car, taking you back with him.

your nose bumped into his sturdy chest, you looked up at him, giving him an apologetic look. he gently squeezed your side, “don’t worry about it.”

it was silent for a few beats. he cocked his head to the side, giving you his signature smirk, “why’re you lookin’ at me like that hm?”

“it’s just really good to see your face . . . i missed you connie. in case you don’t remember, you kinda stopped talking to me the summer i graduated.” connie licked his lips, the feeling of guilt slowly trickling over him. you looked like you had more to say, but as always you cut yourself off, your teeth picking on your bottom lip to stop yourself.

you nearly whimpered when his hand cupped your face, his thumb slowly pulling your bottom lip out. “veo que todavía tienes ese hábito. termina lo que ibas a decir, usa tus palabras.” you melted in his arms. his touch was so gentle, as if he was petting a week old kitten.

you took a deep breath, “well, it hurt connie. it hurt a lot, and like, i felt guilty, but i shouldn’t have felt guilty because . . . well, because i didn’t do anything! you kissed me, and then you ask me to leave like i did something wrong, a-and then when you agree to talk to me you acted like a fucking zombie, just nodding along to everything i said, not explaining literally anything at all. you completely ghosted me after you graduated, and then i have to hear from my mom that you’re fucking dealing?! i mean, what were you even thinking? and i don’t believe the bullshit about it ‘just being weed’, l-like y-you were an actual *sniffle* —

you hadn’t even noticed you were crying, you also hadn’t noticed you stepped three paces away from connie, too wrapped up in your anger. connie let out a shaky sigh, “sigue adelante.” connie was stunned. you were never one to raise your voice at someone, let alone yell at them. in a world full of people who ran over you your whole life, him included, he was more than happy to receive all the pent up anger you had built up.

you sniffled, lips wobbling as you choked down a sob. you probably looked crazy right now, but then again this probably looked like a normal situation seeing as you were outside a nightclub.

“you just left me hanging . . . friends don’t do that connie, n-not best friends that you’ve known longer than you haven’t. there was so much stuff i wanted to talk to you about, but i didn’t even know if you would give me the time of day.” by now you were close to hyperventilating, all the emotions you had been setting aside for years hitting you at once.

connie pushed off the car, outstretching his arms towards you, he pulled you in for a tight embrace, whispering little things in your ear to calm you down. “it’s okay, it’s okay, i’m here. i’m so sorry, you have no idea, cariño.”

“then explain yourself,” your muttered, words muffled by his shirt.

well, here we go.

“i wasn’t . . . i wasn’t being completely honest when we had that conversation. i didn’t want to be just friends, i wanted to be more, but then i thought ‘well, what if things don’t work out?’ so, i pushed you away. you have to believe me when i say dealing was the last thing i wanted to do, but if you want to live a good life as quickly as possible you have to do things you’re not proud of. you gotta understand, i was around some bad people for a while, the kind of bad people that would hurt someone i care about. i didn’t want that to happen, and my mom was already giving me enough shit so i left. i’m so sorry y/n, i wanted to explain but it was just too much, pero estoy aquí ahora.”

you didn’t say anything, so he continued. “el universo nos volvió a reunir por alguna razón, verdad?”

“yeah . . . i guess.”

“so stop those tears. y’know i hate seeing you cry, ‘breaks my heart,” he muttered, wiping a stray tear off your cheek. “do you hate me?” he whispered, and his chest filled with relief when you shook you head.

“nunca podría odiarte, connie”

connie inhaled deeply through his nose, his face moving another inch close to yours. your lips parted, but nothing came out except a weak ‘please’. he hummed, brushing his nose against yours, before softly pressing his lips to yours. it was slow, but desperate, which was expected since he’d been waiting years to do this.

what connie didn’t expect was for you to deepen the kiss. your lips parted, tongue swiping against his bottom lip in urgency. a chuckle rumbled in his chest, how cute.

he grabbed the fat of your hips and switched your positions, your back now pressed against the car. he cupped your jaw, his thumb pressing down on your chin. connie’s tongue traced over your lips before pushing into your mouth, earning a squeak from you.

“heh, te gusta eso?” with a gulp, you nodded. since when did he learn how to do that? it kinda irked you knowing some girl, that wasn’t you experienced these kinds of kisses from connie.

“get outta your head, we’re supposed to be kissing, not thinking,” he muttered against your lips, pushing his front against yours. the cogs in your head started turning when you felt something hard. was he worked up just as much as you?

connie cradled your jaw in both his hands, desperately kissing you with every fiber of his being. “c-con—”

“lo sé, cariño, lo sé. y’have no idea how much i’ve waited for this. from the moment you kissed me on the cheek ten sum years ago, i knew i didn’t wanna feel anyones lips on me, but yours.”

you whimpered. “and as much as i wanna bend you over my car, n’ take you right here, i have a friend who needs to get home safe, and so do you.” he pulled his lips away from yours, a thin line of spit connecting you. he was right, unfortunately.

“i wanna see you again . . . tomorrow, i wanna see you tomorrow. can you make that happen?” you were clutching onto him so tight, afraid he’d slip right through your fingers. connie smirked, his fingers dancing down your hips, and to the tops of your tights. he pulled the material forward before letting it snap back into place, earning a squeak from you.

“i can make that happen. should i roll us a little sum?” you shook your head, “eh, i don’t really like smoking, it makes me paranoid.” you laughed at the last part, and god, it was so nice to hear your laugh. your eyes trailed down to his lower half, then back to his eyes. with a slow bat of your eyes you said, “i like wine though . . . cuanto más dulce, mejor. do what you will with the information.”

connie’s dick twitched. “noted. very much noted, princesa.”

as happy as you were to know you’d be seeing connie again real soon, something kept crossing your mind. “um, connie?” you whispered, playing with the hem of his shirt. he noticed your eyes were avoiding his, you were nervous.

“those people, the bad ones, do you still deal with them?” it was a valid question, connie had a feeling you’d bring it up sooner or later.

“no, i don’t, i got outta that months ago. i found me a new supplier through a friend and now i sell a lil weed on side, nothing big. n’ then once i finish this apprenticeship at this tattoo shop i’m at, i’m done for good. no estaría haciendo todo esto si supiera que tu vida estaría en peligro.”

your eyes fluttered shut when he lips pressed against your forehead. he wrapped his fingers around the gold, cuban link chain around his neck, “you can still be skeptical, i don’t blame you, but just know i treasure your existence too much to play with it like that.”

“i believe you, con,” your voice was small, but connie was still able to hear. he kissed your forehead a final time, “c’mon let’s go inside, it’s cold.” your fingers laced with his, and a warmth that you’ve never felt before coursed throughout your body.

when you got back to his section of the club, you sat in the nearest open spot, your heart beating a mile a minute. after all these years wondering where you two had went wrong, you finally got a little clarity. you still had questions, but decided not to pry. as connie talked about his experience with those certain individuals, you could tell by the strain in his voice that it was a hard topic.

“by the smile on your face, i’m assuming it went well?!” your head whipped to the side to see your friend, a proud smirk on her lips. you nibbled on your lip, your eyes flicking to connie who was sitting by himself once again, blunt in hand. you would definitely call the conversation a success.

february 15th, 2024 . . .

new message from bffie ౨ৎ : i hope you like stella rose black bc that’s what i got

new message from bffie ౨ৎ : send me your addy, ima leave in 20

your stomach twisted in knots as you texted connie your address. you didn’t know what to expect from your hangout, all you knew was that there was going to be sexual tension and wine, a very dangerous combination.

with a shallow exhale, you stood up, quickly making your way over your full body mirror. you examined your outfit carefully in the mirror, it was cute, but something was missing. “ . . . i need a headband,” you muttered, scrambling to find the perfect, pink headband to complete the outfit.

before you knew it, connie was texting you that he was outside your apartment.

“momma! i’m gonna go out with connie for a while, i’ll be back soon.” you pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, and she mumbled something about how you looked like a doll.

when walked outside connie was waiting at the bottom of the stairs for you, flowers and card in hand. “lemme help you down, lord knows what’ll happen since you’re in heels,” he snickered, extending his hand out towards you.

“yeah, yeah, whatever,” you grumbled, taking his hand. you let out a tiny gasp when he pulled you close, his body pressing against yours. “mm, you look cute. i like . . . whatever this is,” he chuckled, pulling at the soft material of your jacket.” you mumbled out a thank you, your eyes drifting to the pink roses he was holding.

he held them out to you, his lips lifting into a sly smile. “i know i’m a day late, but these are for you.” the roses were the prettiest shade of pink, and the card had some cheesy pun about sushi on it. “gracias, connie. they’re beautiful.”

“you’re very welcome, amor. now c’mon, i got your seat all warmed up for ya.” he literally had the seat warmer up full blast, already knowing you were probably freezing your ass off in your skirt.

his car smelt like weed and pine scented air freshener, it was oddly comforting. “feel free to adjust the heat to your liking, it won’t take long to get there though, only like fifteen minutes.” you hummed, placing your hands neatly in your lap.

the ride was pretty silent, but you didn’t mind it because his hand was glued to your thigh the entire time. “m’not making you uncomfortable being too touchy am i?” he spoke softly, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze. you answered with a quick ‘mm mm!’ and eagerly placed both of your hands on top of his.

you were so cute, and you didn’t even know it, you were practically killing the poor guy.

“good . . . good. y’know i’ve come to realize i’m really hands-on when i want something, ‘specially if it’s a pretty girl.” your lips parted, then shut, unable to think of anything to say that wouldn’t make you sound dumb. when did he become such a flirt?

“eh, i guess it just came naturally as i got older.” connie chuckled, and you just about fell out when you realized you had in fact said that out loud. “sorry i didn’t meant to say that out loud, b-but it’s true! you keep leavin’ me flustered it’s annoying!” this had connie laughing so hard the corners of his eyes crinkled shut. “you want me to stop?”

“ . . . no.”

twenty minutes later . . .

“make yourself comfortable and—ah, don’t mind her. she loves meeting new people,” connie chuckled, patting the grey pitbull, that had started sniffing you the second you walked inside, gently on the head. you become quickly enamored with the dog, bending down and cooing at it excitedly. “what’s her name?”

“her name is kali, i got her a few months after i moved in here. she makes good company, very sweet, and very snuggly as you can see.” snuggly was indeed the correct word to use, and you were loving it. “she’s too precious, con, i’m sooo jealous,” you giggled, scratching underneath kali’s chin.

connie’s apartment was very . . . him. dark brown, leather furniture covered the living room, along with a sixty five inch tv mounted on the wall. his windows were huge, giving you a pretty view of the entire city, and along with them was a big glass door that lead to the balcony.

“this is . . wow.” your hands were clasped behind your back as you looked around, what caught your attention next the various pieces of art along the walls. “you’re into buying art?” you giggled, turning around to look back at connie, who was still by the front door. he pursed his lips, a hand coming back to scratch at the back of his neck.

“i dabble in it every now and again. shits way too expensive to have a whole collection,” he chuckled, finally making his way over to you. “which one do you like the most?”

you nibbled on your lip, taking your time to examine and admire each framed piece.

“i think i like . . . this one. the eyes look so real, it almost looks like a picture, and it looks like there’s some emotion in them, but i can’t quite pinpoint it,” you muttered, and connie hummed in agreement. he went on to explain that it was his favorite painting as well, and that it was the cheapest one of the bunch.

“this older guy was having a viewing, and barely anyone was there so he walked me through the whole exhibit. these eyes? they’re his wives, shit, everything he painted in there was of his wife. the day the viewing was held was the anniversary of her death, i thought it was kinda . . beautiful, so i bought it. only cost me fifty bucks, can you believe that?”

your jaw dropped the tiniest bit, you stepped closer the painting, taking in every little detail once again. “so i’m assuming the look in her eyes—it’s love?”

connie nodded, taking a step forward as well, he was behind you now, you could practically feel the warmth radiating off of him. “he said when he was painting this he was picturing the look she gave him on their wedding day, said he saw a spark in her eyes that day that he’d never seen before, and never saw it again. cool as hell right?” he whispered, leaning over to rest his chin on your shoulder.

“y-yeah, s’really cool,” you turned your head, your nose bumping into his, “it makes sense you’d have something like this it, uh, suits you?” connie grinned at your words, now standing up straight.

“thank you, y/n . . . you want some wine?”

you were quick to nod, your feet swiftly turning to follow him to the kitchen. he rummaged through he cabinets and pulled out two glass cups, “now i don’t have wine glasses, so these’ll have to do.”

as he poured the wine, you went ahead and made yourself comfortable on one of the bar stools at the kitchen island. your feet slowly swung back forth, and when connie slid the glass over to you, you wasted no time taking a long sip. “s’good? es lo suficientemente dulce para ti, linda niña?” he asked, leaning on the island.

you felt your cheeks get hot, recalling your comment from last night. “yes, it’s sweet enough, thank you.” you made brief eye contact with connie before looking back down at your glass, twirling it carefully in your hands.

suddenly you blurted out, “you have a lot of tattoos now.”

connie smirked, taking a sip of his own wine. “yes, yes i do. you wanna see them?” you nearly choked on your spit, breaking into a fit of coughs. see connie’s tattoos? you didn’t know if your heart, or your pussy, could handle that, especially at the rate you were drinking this wine.

connie took your silence as a yes, and before you knew it he was shedding his hoodie, leaving him in thin tank top. he was completely jacked now, the swirls of ink around his arms and chest only adding on to his attractiveness. he looked like a completely different person.

“wow, you really wasted no time taking your clothes off huh?” you giggled, raising two fingers to beckon him closer. connie kissed his teeth, he tried his absolute best to look annoyed, but he couldn’t! not when your laugh sounded like the prettiest of symphonies.

“man, whatever. now you wanna see just my arms, or do you want so see everything?” his eyebrows raised up mischievously, and you knew right then and there you were absolutely done for . . . and you were gonna need more wine. “um, i guess everything since you’re already stripping, but gimme some more wine first!”

after a topping off your wine, connie removed his tank top, revealing more inked skin. you eyes were as wide as saucers, your jaw nearly dropped to the floor. “oh my goodness, connie! didn’t this shit hurt?!” without thinking you extended your hand, you ran the tips of your fingers over his chest, shuddering at the thought of a needle piercing his tan skin all over.

connie’s breath hitched. “y-yeah, it hurt like bitch. took two sessions to finish too, but it’s hard right?” your head bobbed up and down in a mindless nod, your hand still glued to to his chest. “this one didn’t hurt too bad,” he grumbled, pulling the waistband of his sweats down slightly to reveal a tattoo that said ‘muérdeme’ right on his v-line.

“bite me . . ?” you mumbled, fingers trailing down to trace over the letters. connie let out a low hum, goosebumps rising all over his skin. “you like it?”

you blindly reached for your glass and took a small sip of the wine, you looked into his eyes while you swallowed before nodding. “i like it a lot, i love all your tattoos, s’making me a little hot actually,” you giggled, leaving connie stunned, and a little turned on. the wine was definitely giving you a little extra confidence.

he took a step towards you, and then another until your knees were touching the tops of his thighs. he didn’t lean down, no, he waited for you to tilt that pretty head up and look him right in his eyes. when you did you wanted to look right back down at the floor. he was staring at you like he wanted to eat you whole.

“should i put my shirt back on, or do you want me to keep it off?” he didn’t laugh, he give you that signature smirk, he looked more serious than you’ve ever seen him. his thumb tapped against your bottom lip, “¿me oyes, linda chica? ¿on o off?”

you let out a shaky breath, “o-off. off please.”

connie was quick to grasp underneath your thighs, and pick you up, his hands moved downwards to cup your ass for a better grip. “if you want me to stop you better tell me now,” he spoke lowly, setting you on the island. before even kissing you the first thing he did was nuzzle his face into your neck, inhaling your familiar, but now slightly different scent.

your hand gently cupped the back of his neck, “you still like me?” yes, you completely ignored what he said, but that question had been burning in your brain since the second you locked eyes with him the previous night.

he lifted his face out of your neck, now standing at his full height. “um . . . did you not see how quick i was to kiss you last night? or how quick i was to start taking off my clothes just now? c’mon, y/n, usa esa linda cabecita.”

your lips pushed into a pout, “don’t be a dick, just confirm it for me so i can have peace of mind.”

“yes, y/n, i do still like you, love in fact. i’ve only ever loved two women in my life, you and my momma, and that’s how it’ll be until i’m in my grave.”

“b-but connie, you’re only twenty four . . . don’t you think you might love another before your time comes?” he quickly shook his head, not even bothering to give your question any thought. “you and my momma. that’s it, that’s all—well, kali too, but you know what i mean,” you both laughed at the last part, but you were soon interrupted by connie smushing his lips into yours.

“mmph! w-well i have no other questions so please continue,” you panted against his lips, you shakily reached your hand down to tug him closer by the waistband of his sweats. your panties were starting to feel uncomfortably sticky, the soft cotton sticky lewdly to your folds.

connie wasted absolutely no time lifting you up once more, he mumbled something about taking you to his bedroom before making the slow, but successful journey there. his lips never once left yours, happily swallowing up every whine and moan you let slip out.

you eventually had to pull away for air, though he did not make it easy, his lips chasing yours each time you pulled away.

“i—i like your room!” your lips parted in a squeal when he dropped you on the bed, your headband flying off somewhere behind you. “not cool, eres tan molesto,” you huffed, sitting up on your elbows.

connie’s chest rumbled with a laugh, you were really too cute.

“what, you think just because i’m in love with you i won’t give you shit? estas muy equivocada, mami.” connie softly grabbed your ankles, pressing a kiss to each one before pulling you forward. “you mind if i peek up under there?” he chuckled, slowly getting on his knees.

“n-no go ahead, just . . . be nice. it’s been a minute since i’ve gotten a wax, m’goin’ for a more natural thing you know?” no, no he didn’t, but he truly didn’t care if you were bald down there or not, he was gonna eat it regardless.

his hand reached up to the button of your skirt, “i don’t care if you got a little hair down there, y/n. we’re both grown, yeah?” as he was speaking he undid the button, then the zipper. you didn’t say anything, instead you just nodded and lifted your hips up, allowing him to slip your skirt off.

connie slowly ran his hands along the insides of your thighs, his mouth watering at the sticky silhouette of your pussy. you gasped when he pulled your panties to the side, your dripping pussy on fully display for him. “dios mio . . . she’s prettier than i thought,” he mumbled, his fingers brushing over the small tufts of hair on your mound.

“constance. don’t p-pet it . . . that’s . . . w-weird . . .” your sentence trailed off into nothingness the second you felt his tongue circle around your clit. he was going soft, so soft you barely felt anything, and then he licked a fat stripe up your folds before sucking your clit into his mouth.

your elbows eventually gave up, and you flopped back on the bed with a soft thud. connie hummed against your pussy, his fingers tugging your panties to the side more to get his proper fill. when he felt your hand nearly smack on top of his head it gave him the biggest fucking ego boost.

“f-faster please,” he heard you sigh out, and he was more than happy to give you what you wanted, except your panties were starting to become a bother. “no problem, gorgeous, i just gotta—”

RIPPPPPPP

you picked your head up to see if your ears were deceiving you, and unfortunately they were not. connie had completely torn your panties in half, he tossed the garment aside like it was nothing and looked back up at you, a dopey smile on his lips. “you have absolutely no manners,” you panted out, too embarrassed to even glance at your torn, discarded panties.

he kissed the inside of your thigh, mumbling something you couldn’t decipher into the skin, probably something snarky knowing him.

“spread your legs mama, i’m gonna take my time with you—unless you have somewhere to be after this?”

you shook your head, grabbing the back of your knees to open them as wide as you could. “i texted my mom not to wait up on the way here, she’ll call if she needs me. now no more talking,” the last part came out rushed, barely audible to connie as you pushed his head between your thighs.

despite the well rounded man he had become, connie was still a little shit at heart, always teasing you even during moments like these. every time you’d moan, he’d moan just as loud, every time your hips raised the slightest he’d push them right back down, rewarding you with a nice pinch on the thigh.

he was a messy eater, not ashamed in the slightest at how sloppy he sounded, but at the same time it didn’t help that you were practically leaking like a faucet either. each time his tongue swiped over your clit another gush of wetness dribbled out of you, waiting to be lapped up by connie.

his cock throbbed in his sweats, tip drooling at the thought of you wrapped around him.

“o-oh connieee,” you gasped out, your head tilting back into the mattress. you were so wrapped up in your pleasure that you hadn’t even realized he pushed you further up the bed, making just enough room to lay between your thighs. the pressure felt sooo nice on his dick—now he could really enjoy this.

“te sientes bien, baby?” he asked, spitting on your clit, earning a shy whine from you. his hips started to rock into the bed, and with each movement it had him moaning into your pussy, the vibrations bringing you closer and closer to your peak.

you moaned out a weak yes, your hips circling around his tongue. he gave you full control now, allowing you to move your hips, and fuck his mouth as you pleased.

you nearly fell out when you suddenly felt him push a finger in, curling it almost instantly. he let you adjust at first, making sure you weren’t hurting at all before adding another finger.

shlick! shlick! shlick!

you were so close, he could feel it. you were dripping all onto the sheets, creating a creamy puddle beneath your ass, and if connie weren’t as pussydrunk as he was, he would’ve definitely teased you for it.

“i-i’m—!”

suddenly a hand wrapped around your throat and connie was towering over you, his chain dangling right over your nose. “do it, i wanna see your face when i make you cum for the first time. ven en mis dedos, princesa, déjame ver esa cara.” your eyes rolled back, hands grasping at connie’s wrist as you came a cry.

“there it is—mierda, such a pretty girl,” he groaned, slowly sliding his fingers out of your pussy. he rubbed three fingers between your folds, simply feeling you up now. “mm, i like your pussy. she’s cute n’ soft, just like you, i can’t get enough of either of ya.” your back arched into his chest when he pinched your clit, “you’re so responsive too.”

“t-thank you, can we—can we do some more?” you could spot the huge print in his sweats from a mile away, and you were just about done waiting to see what was underneath. you cupped his bulge gently, giving it a soft squeeze. “lemme see, con.”

“m’kay, baby,” he muttered, giving your lips three kisses before getting off the bed. with shaky arms you sat up, giving his lower half your full attention.

wow.

“what?”

“what?” you asked, blinking multiple times. he was looking at you like you had sprouted a second head. “you said ‘wow’ and i couldn’t decide if it was a good wow or a bad one, so i’m asking . . . duh.”

you kissed your teeth and scooted closer to the edge of bed, you couldn’t help but internally cringe at the wet sounds your pussy made as you moved. “come closer,” you whispered, moving to sit on your knees. he took two steps forward, his palms feeling clammy when you leant forward, nose nearly touching his cock.

he was hung, thick too, almost intimidatingly thick—but you were no bitch, and you liked a challenge. he let out a small breath through his nose, it sounded like a laugh. “¿crees que puedes manejar eso?” he mused, raising a thick brow. you looked at him through your lashes, “yes.”

your tongue poked out, giving his drooling tip an experimental lick. oh, you liked that.

connie’s head tilted back, his adams apple bopping with you wrapped your lips around him, your tongue caressing the underside of his cock. “d-don’t do too much, i don’t w-want to—fuck, bust in your mouth so . . . soon.” all thoughts, or any concept of one were wiped from connie’s brain when you started to suck, little droplets of drool spilling from your mouth and down his shaft. he was too far gone.

you made a noise around his cock when his hand cupped underneath your jaw, the other finding purchase on top of your head. he found a grip on your hair and slowly started to move his hips. you moaned around his dick, and relaxed your jaw, allowing him to sheath more of his cock down your throat.

“good fuckin’ throat,” he grunted, pushing your head down as low as he could get you. your hands smacked against the bed, hot tears brimming your lash line. you choked around him, and that earned you a very deep groan from connie, his head tilting forward to get a good look at you. you looked stunning with a mouthful of dick, his dick specifically.

he yanked you back by your hair, allowing you to gasp for some very much needed air. “you’re— you’re good at that *pant* so fuckin’ good at it.” he slapped his cock against your lips and cheeks, smearing any excess pre and spit on your lips and chin.

“how do you want it?”

you already had a position in mind. “f-from the side, please.”

that’s how you ended up on your side, stark naked, with connie behind you, his chest feeling scorching hot against your back. “im’a go slow at first, but after that i can’t tell you what’ll happen,” he chuckled, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. he took your hand in his, mumbling lowly for you to hold your leg up for him.

despite being on birth control, you both decided it was best for him to still use a condom, but that logic slowly faded away when you felt his dick slip between your dewy folds, fat tip nudging against your swollen clit. “goddamn, y/n,” he groaned into your shoulder, shallowly his hips back before pushing them forward.

“t-that feels nice,” you hummed, nuzzling your face into his pillow. connie tapped his tip against your sticky clit three times before aligning himself with your entrance, “you ready, mama?” you nodded, moaning out a pathetic plea for him to hurry up.

when he finally pushed inside you both gasped. you could already feel your arm getting weak from holding your leg up, and he wasn’t even fully inside you yet. “i got you,” you grunted, putting his hand over your own.

he started slow at first, real slow, making sure that you felt every vein and ridge that he had to offer you. it didn’t take long for your pussy to adjust, and before you knew it he was giving you slow, but swift thrusts. “joder, eso está apretado,” he all but growled, his fingernails digging into the fat of your thighs.

“y—you don’t know how long i’ve waited for this, to be close like this. eres un sueño, amor.” all you could do was moan, and nod along to his praises. you wished it was possible to be even more physically closer to him than you were, but this would just have to do to.

your hips suddenly had a mind of their own, moving back to meet connie’s swift thrusts. “yeah . . fuck me back, c’mon mami.” his eyes flicked between your bodies, your hips moved back against his with so much desperation it was almost too precious.

“c’mere.” his arm slipped underneath your head, his hand snaking around your throat. he hiked your leg higher, and pulled you closer, fully sheathing his dick inside you. “o-oh!” you squeaked out, hand coming behind you to cup the back of connie’s head. he let out a pretty moan right into your ear, his tongue lolling out to lick over the shell of it.

his pace had changed drastically, he was now fucking you like he hated your guts. his strokes were quick and shallow, his pudgy tip slamming against your g-spot each time he pushed in. you couldn’t help but think how nice this would be raw . . . fuck it.

“c-connie,” you whined, patting the back of his head softly. connie’s thrusts halted, he still deep inside you, cock throbbing almost painfully at how tight you were gripping him. “what’s the matter, mi cariño?”

“off . . . i wan’ you to take the condom off, if that’s okay.” it was silent for few beats, the only thing being heard were your labored breaths. “look at me,” connie whispered, not moving an inch until your eyes were on his. he slowly pulled out, gauging your every reaction as he did so. he quick to rip and condom off, blindly tossing it in the nearby trash can by his bed, and he was even quicker to thrust inside you once more, your mouths dropping in synch. you finally got feel him, all of him.

connie resumed his brutal pace, his grip on your throat tightening the tiniest bit. “h-harder,” you choked out, resting your hand on his. he snickered, squeezing your neck roughly before releasing it, “you like that? you like getting choked by me?” you head shook furiously, a raspy ‘uh huh!’ slipping past your kiss bitten lips.

the squelching of your pussy got louder and louder, alerting connie of your oncoming orgasm. “shit, you’re about to cum—aren’t you?” his question ended with a squeeze to your neck, and that’s what triggered your second orgasm of the night. your eyes crossed and your body spasmed, your pussy was clenching around connie so tightly it almost had him cumming.

“f-fuck yeah, get that nut out, baby. feel good f’me.” connie milked your orgasm as long as he could, even going as far as pushing down on your lower tummy to make sure you got it all out.

your body trembled in his arms, and to soothe your whines he whispered praises left and right into your ear, some in english, some in spanish.

it wasn’t long before that fluttery feeling in your tummy came around again, and just like that you were all over connie, your lips smushing against his sloppily in a clash of tongue and teeth. “l-lets go again, i wan’ you on top,” you words were muffled by lips, but he understood loud and clear.

he wanted you to feel him as deep as possible, so that’s why he had you hanging halfway off the bed, your knees pushed to your ears while he beat your guts in. each clap his thighs against yours had your skin tingling, your nerves feeling as though they were on overdrive.

“ohhh f-fuck,” you sobbed out, tears free falling from your eyes. connie’s thighs were practically shaking. he’d been holding back his load for so long there was no telling when he’d lose it. “tu coño es tan bueno mami, tan tan bueno, me encanta.” his eyes zeroed in on the way your pussy struggled take his cock, your folds were all soaked n’ puffy, you looked divine.

“m-me estás follando tan bien, connie, vas a hacer que me corra otra vez!” your hand smacked against his chest, fingers nails digging harshly into the tatted skin. that had connie pulling out with a hiss, a stray spurt of cum shooting from his tip and onto your tummy.

his head dropped pathetically, chest having as if he just got done running marathon. “can’t say stuff like that, baby, y-you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me,” he grunted, pushing his hips back so his cock was laying directly between your chubby folds. he slowly pushed inside, his eyes fluttering shut at the warmth that enveloped him.

his head drooped down, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss. “we got all night, con, jus’ do it. i won’t be going anywhere, don’t worry.” you words brought him bliss, a feeling of relief washing over him when he realized you weren’t going to allow him to slip from your fingers ever again.

he rolled his hips forward, teeth clamping onto his bottom lip so hard he was sure to draw blood. his hand found its rightful place around your neck, squeezing it roughly every now and again. “that’s that fuckin’ shit, so damn wet for me, mama,” he cursed, pressing his body into yours. he was so deep now, you could practically feel him in your tummy.

the air was suddenly pushed from your windpipe when connie squeezed your neck, his hips stilling as his orgasm washed over him. he wasn’t quick enough to stop himself from finishing inside, but still he pulled out nonetheless, jerking himself off until the rest of his cum covered your pussy.

connie wiped his forehead slowly with the back of his hand, his body feeling almost completely numb. he smirked at the white substance dripping from your hole, and without even thinking he scooped some up and brought to his lips.

“ugh, connie, don’t be nasty,” you whined and shut your thighs, only for them to be forced open by connie. he swiped his fingers over pussy again, this time he was offering you some. “c’mon just a little taste, you almost begging for some before, so here,” he pushed his fingers closer to your lips. with a huff you wrapped your lips around the digit, your eyes not once leaving his.

he smiled down at you, giving your head a soft pat, “buena chica.”

sometime later . . .

after a much needed shower, and some hot tea to help your sore throat, connie had you bundled up in his bed, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts. an episode of friends was playing quietly in the back on his tv, but you were more interested in watching the man laying next to you.

“con?” you whispered, poking his naked chest gently. his eyes slowly drifted to you, his lips lifting into a small smile. he had smoked before joining you in bed, the smell of weed still slightly attached to him. he raised a brow at you, “yes?”

“what are we?”

“y/n.”

“yes?”

“you wanna be my girlfriend?”

your lips parted then shut again, too stunned to speak. you couldn’t wrap your head around the situation at all, you went from speaking everyday, to not speaking for years, and now after just reconnecting he was asking you to his girlfriend—literally what the hell.

“yes . . . y-yes i’ll be your girlfriend connie. just stay out of that shit, i want us to be happy, lavish lifestyle or not,” you mumbled, brushing your nose again his. connie gentle stroked your jaw with his thumb, “you don’t gotta worry about me getting back into that, i got too much to lose now.” with a dreamy sigh you nuzzled into his touch, lashes fluttering shut.

that night for the first time in six-something years, connie got a full good nights rest, with you tucked by his side.

[bi-writes]

ok reverse the TROPE !!!!!! sugar-mommy!f!reader x retired!simon <333 (18+)

he got discharged on a medical injury. his knee flares up now, phantom pains that shoot up his leg and pinch his spine. he feels like a failure--a lieutenant in his prime, and now he has to acclimate to civilian life and grit his teeth instead of drown the voices in his head out with gunfire.

he's been deployed as much as he could be just to stay away from this kind of place. so he didn't have to get on a train, or take the tube. so he didn't have to think about looking over his shoulder in the shops or learn how to pay a wifi bill. he hates going to the doctor's office, and he hates learning how to properly open his bank account, just to learn that there's nearly nothing in it.

the numbers just dwindle before his very eyes. the rent is too high, even in his shitty studio. when did cable cost that much? why can't he go to the pub for just a few pounds anymore? where is the compensation for giving more than a decade of his life in service of his country just to have to wait in fucking lines to get his medication and argue over the phone about where all his fucking money went.

maybe he never had any. maybe it's all lost somewhere. he'd ask his former captain, but he's halfway across the world, and over his dead body would he hold a hand out and ask for charity when he's 36 years old.

"don't get that one."

simon turns his head, a snarl caught in his throat. there's a pretty thing standing beside him, also staring at the array of ramen packages in focus. you take the orange package out of his hand and put it back on the shelf before reaching for a different package. it's got japanese characters on it, so he can't read the label, but you smile up at him.

"this one is way better. good price for it, too."

"'s more expensive."

"yeah, but you get eight packets in this one. that one only gives you five."

at the till, you notice him subtly counting the notes in his wallet. you pretend not to notice, rocking back and forth on your heels, but just as he picks up his bag to leave, you speak up.

"you wanna get a drink? on me."

and fuck, he could use a bourbon. on the first one, he thought your presence was pleasantly tolerable. by the fourth, he's staring down your shirt, dark eyes mapping out what the curves of your breasts might look like in the palm of his big hand. by the sixth, you're pressed up against a sticky bathroom wall and holding on for dear life as he pounds into you from behind, knickers in his back pocket, manicured nails digging slits into his tattooed forearm.

you sink those claws in that night; and you do not let go.

the third night you ask him out, he sees your flat for the first time. in a nice building downtown, doorman holding the door open for you. the elevator ride is long enough for him to see the tops of buildings, and when you step inside your flat, he swallows hard when he realizes you are way out of his league.

gorgeous leather seats and couch. large tv with surround sound. a french kitchen with a gas stove. your flat is filled with knickknacks and candles, low yellow lights and wonderful collections of art and little glass vases and sculptures. your home is filled with warmth, and you don't belong with him.

just as he thinks about backing out of the place, you turn and grip the lapels of his jacket, tugging him closer. you touch your nose to his over his mask, smiling, and you push the door closed behind him and press him up against it.

"so, which room do you wanna christen first? i thought we could start in the kitchen."

you're a woman that knows what she wants, he'll give you that; and he doesn't have it in him to say no.

the sun wakes him up in the morning. he doesn't remember falling asleep--he doesn't like to make staying over a habit. when he sits up on his elbows, he takes a deep breath, realizing his back hurts a lot less. the mattress of your bed is wonderful, much more supportive than the flat mess he has on the floor in his own place, and he blinks himself awake when you come out of the bathroom.

you're freshly dressed, makeup on, and you're putting on your jewelry when you see him. you smile at him, coming towards the bed, and you bend down to kiss where his mouth would be under the mask.

"good morning, simon. sleep well?"

"mmm..."

you take that as a yes, cupping his jaw, and you kiss him over his mask again before going to get some shoes from your closet. he doesn't comment on the fact that when you open it, he realizes the closet there is only for shoes...

"you hungry, baby? want some breakfast?"

"i--oh..." simon lays back down when his back tweaks, and you reach for him when you see him fall back in the mirror. you smooth a hand down the side of his body, frowning.

"why don't you stay in bed? i'll have my assistant bring you something."

"no, tha's--"

"i'm not asking, simon, i'm telling you," you coo. you pick up one of his hands and trace one of his scars with your finger. you have long, almond-shaped nails. there's pretty chrome nail art over the wine red color you wear, and he focuses on it as you kiss his knuckles gently. "will you wait for me to come home?"

"where y'goin'?"

"gotta work, honey," you wink down at him. "and i want you to be here when i get back."

"tha' so?"

"mhm," you smile. "right here. in my bed--" you lift the covers a little and peek, giggling as you put it back down after getting a glimpse at his cock resting against his lower stomach. "just like this, simon."

he doesn't remember if he ever goes back to his flat. he thinks he went one more time, to grab a few bottles of his medication, but the tick in his knee hadn't been so bad with the great physical therapy you started paying for and the warm massages you gave him every night.

and his back--your bed always contours perfectly against the muscles of his back, and he finds himself sleeping a full seven hours every single night.

not to mention his new work outs. simon hadn't been to the gym much since coming home, but he knows he must be burning hundreds of calories with you. you test his limits. as soon as you're home, you jump on him, and the stress relief your pussy brings him is just what he needs to get the edge off. you're a fiend, especially after a rough day, and the way you bounce on his cock in every room of your flat keeps him up at night sometimes with the most glorious wet dreams.

you're up late that night. you're curled up on the couch in one of simon's shirts and a glass of red wine, and there's a mountain of papers around you that you're focusing on reading. you have a huge presentation tomorrow, and everything needs to be perfect. simon comes into the living room, shirtless, and you smile when you see him standing there. he's wearing the new sweats you got him, but you can't focus on that too much when you're staring at his pudgy, toned stomach and his nice pecs. you bite your lip, taking a long sip of your wine, and simon hikes up his mask to take a bite out of his bowl of ice cream.

"gonna be up late tonight?" he asks, and you nod. "want me to sit with ya?" you nod again, lifting up your legs, and when he takes a seat next to you, you drape them across his lap. you lean over to give his scarred cheek a kiss, and when you turn back to your paperwork, a thought comes across your mind.

"we should get married," you say softly, circling a note over something. simon keeps eating, as if what you said doesn't phase him.

"why's tha', love?"

"tax benefits."

"mmm..." simon drops one of his hands and thumbs against your ankle. the flat is warm. his stomach is full. his body hurts less, and his heart aches with something nice. "olright then."

you smile.

"good. cause i already bought the ring."

NEXT

[autism-corner]

yippeee i fixed my bag =w=bb

[erwinsvow]

𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 — 𝐣.𝐚.

summary: you're too young for me and this is wrong and i'm supposed to be teaching you float around jack abbot's head. but every time, knowing that he shouldn't, he still leans in to kiss you.

word count: 17.9k

tags: first year!reader (but no age mentioned + she has a stupid nickname), illicit workplace relationship, lots of guilt/we shouldn't do this (mostly from jack), yearning/pining, shea's version of slowburn and a bubbly reader and much too much dialogue, regular hospital talk/mention of injuries/death and fourth of july special scene <3 maybe out of character for the other doctors but i tried my best!, smut (fingering, orgasm denial, dirty on-call room sex, creampie because.. duh).

note: based off of the intern baking for jack during his bad week blurb, also known as i can't help myself

jack abbot stares at you, then down at the containers in his hand filled with cookies that you baked for him after he spent the better part of a week yelling at you, and then back at you. 

and then he laughs for the first time all week and wonders to himself—what the hell am i going to do with you?

because truly, you are something else. jack’s seen you in passing during day shift sign-offs at seven pm, and occasionally walking to the lockers a touch early. reflecting back, while placing the yellow tupperware into his own locker, he thinks he’s even seen you as early as six-thirty in the morning some day, if not most days.

he can’t resist—who told you about his sweet tooth, he’s not actually sure—but he opens up the lid. just like you had told him before you walked away to start your shift, the round chocolate-chip cookies don’t have any sea salt on them, not that he minds.

he bites into one and chews on it while trying to remember what else he knows about you—all that comes to mind is your teary eyes day before last when he yelled at you over something he can’t remember right now.

it hadn’t been that big of a deal—there was a patient presenting with disrupted kidney function and you hadn’t discontinued their nsaids on your initial evaluation. the solution, usually, is a stern conversation and to inform you for next time. no ibuprofen for the guy with bad kidneys, something you would have figured out in the next hour even if they hadn’t immediately caught it.

but for some reason (he knows the reason, he thinks grimly) he had yelled instead. raised his voice, caused a scene. every nurse nearby had looked up and started whispering—and he knows how the gossip goes in this place.

even ellis had intervened and dragged you away, glancing back to give him a look something akin to what the fuck, man? 

because he doesn’t yell—it’s not hardwired in him to do so. he was raised in a loud house but he’d almost looked to avoid it everywhere he went, trying his hardest to not become like his father in that way. 

the realization that he never yelled when his wife was still alive hits him like a slap to the face every time. he can’t help it, and he’s sure everyone justifies it for him. even when he’d yelled at you and you’d stood in front of him like a kicked, teary-eyed puppy, he hadn’t realized he’d done it again—taken out his frustration on the nearest thing. he’s sure that parker’s with you in some corner, telling you how he usually never yells and it’s his week from hell and you’ll see the real abbot next week. 

that doesn’t take away from the fact that he made you cry, though. 

nor does it erase the fact that you made him cookies. quite frankly, delicious cookies. maybe the best ones he’s ever had. soft and chewy and made with semisweet chocolate chips. before he realizes it, it’s seven pm sharp and he’s eaten the whole thing, shoving his go-bag into the locker carefully on top of the container you gave him and going out to join you for sign-offs.

and he doesn’t realize it either, not until you stare at him for a moment too long, garnering a cough from mckay as she tries to tell you about the patients from the chairs, the ones that you’ll be following up on and taking care of for the rest of the evening. 

there’s chocolate smudged on his fingers, and he’s licking it off, trying to pay attention to robby—who looks at him confused, and then glances at you, and turns back to jack almost… knowingly—while you’re paying attention to him.

and jack, well, everyone knows about jack’s staring thing. they call it just that—he has a problem with overdoing eye contact. he doesn’t know when he picked it up, though he’s sure it’s another one of those military attributes he pretends he doesn’t have. what he does know is that he’s always been able to tell when someone’s looking at him, like you are now.

jack turns his head just to look in your direction for a moment and he finds you already facing in his direction. your gaze quickly goes from his eyes to his fingers and then back to cassie, and he doesn’t have to be near you to know that you’re flushed.

then he stops himself—he doesn’t have any business digging around in your thoughts, wondering what exactly made you look away, was it the fact that he turned to look or that he already knew you were staring—and for the first time all night, he tries to pay attention to robby.

fuck. is this what it’s going to be like for the rest of your time on nights? resisting the urge to turn and lock eyes with you, to make sure you’re there and make sure you’re looking, even when he knows you are? 

no, no. he’s not that guy. he’s not the guy who obsesses over the nice, pretty intern and accepts her cookies when he’s the one who made her cry to begin with. 

you have a place in this hospital, and it’s to learn and grow and better yourself under his guidance, not stay nestled in his thoughts that linger somewhere between inappropriate and really inappropriate.

no, what jack wants to do is get you alone somewhere quiet so he can apologize, and make sure that you believe him. 

rarely does jack abbot get what he wants.

you’re talking with mckay still, going on about something at a mile a minute, in more of a carefree tone that he’s never been on the receiving side of. every time he’d spoken to you the previous week, he’d been angry and you’d been dejected. it’s not how teaching is supposed to be, especially not jack’s teaching. he’s always been proud of how he treats residents, how they flourish under him, how they end up liking nights like john and parker did. 

he catches the ending half of your conversation with cassie.

“-but the recipe doubles really, really easily, so if you make them and you feel like you want more, because, i mean, i made them for a bake sale once-”

“and it’s always a crowd pleaser?” cassie asks, tilting her head at you, looking as focused as jack has ever seen her. he doesn’t know the context, though he’s sure it has something to do with harrison and his school. 

you, on the other hand, are completely engrossed in the conversation. as though cassie’s son and his school’s bake sale are the most important things on the planet.

“always! it’s so good. but just make a test batch—it’s so easy. half the recipe, try it out, and then if you like it, you can use the extras to let people try it before they buy it-” you’re interrupted, parker calls out your name somewhere in the distance.

the day shift has began to filter out. robby pats jack’s shoulder firmly before muttering i’m outta here, but jack stands frozen in place, wanting for some reason, to hear the end of your conversation.

he didn’t know people could be so passionate about baked goods—but he guesses it makes sense. for you, that is.

“actually, that’s not a bad idea. you sent me the recipe already?”

“yes, i texted it. but i can email it if you want, or i-”

jack actually laughs—you’re so eager to get cassie this recipe. he thinks you have more energy right now than he’s had all day.

he hears cassie thank you, and he gets a glimpse of you beaming at her, a bright, pretty smile, before the charge nurse calls out his name and his shift really starts. 

shen jumps on with him and he sees you somewhere in the distance, probably running through your game plan for some patient in the chairs with ellis. you smile brightly at her too, and for the first time in a long time, jack has a thought that he deems in the category of uncontrollable. 

he’s a disciplined guy, always has been. thoughts don’t consume him like wildfire, rather they run through a series of checks and balances before he even fully thinks them. last week his system had been all off, leading to you getting yelled at in the first place, and right now, the whole thing seems like it’s gone haywire, focused on one thing in particular.

what does he have to do to get you to smile at him like that?

+

the night shift is a place of routine. jack wants to get you on a trauma with him, wants to show you what he’s like when he’s of sound mind and not thinking about how last week, a couple of years ago, he had the worst day of his life. and then a couple years before that, another worst day of his life. 

he has an overpowering urge to show you what he’s like on a normal week. he can even picture it in his head—handing you gloves and asking you questions that help you run the trauma, to get you in the habit of approaching the cases like he does. the questions are to make you believe in yourself—if you know the answers, you could have run this whole thing by yourself. if you get something wrong or don’t know, he throws in an easier one next time. 

you might be a little worried at first but you’d get the hang of it. and then, after the patient was stable and he got to tell you good job, you’d do it. smile at him, beam up at him like you’ve been doing to the others. the kind that makes your eyes light up, makes little lines crinkle in the corners of your face, lets him see your lips—well, that’s not important.

what is important is that you realize that jack abbot is there to help you, not to make things worse. that’s the side of him he wants you to see.

but unfortunately, the night shift is a place of routine. interns are on chairs, getting every move double-checked by a senior resident. there’s enough hands on the day shift to allow first years to jump on every incoming but nights are not nearly as well distributed.

so, you and jack fall into a routine—you both show up early for your shifts, walk to the lockers together in silence. sometimes you stare and he catches you, and other times you catch him. you think about asking him what he thought about the cookies, or if you can get your tupperware back, but then you stay silent and head out into the chaos.

one day at six forty-five, he sees you looking at him while mel is trying to tell you something that you are decidedly not paying attention to. after he looks your way, you turn back to her and start profusely apologizing.

he turns back to robby, missing half of what he said. 

“you okay?” robby asks, gaze flickering towards jack, and then back at you, somewhere in the distance. jack nods. “how’s she been doing?”

he doesn’t have to say your name for jack to know who he’s talking about.

“fine. good. i haven’t gotten much of a chance to teach her, so-”

“right. teach.” robby says it and looks at jack differently—as if he’s amused. 

“what?” jack snaps, suddenly irritated by the line of questioning.

“nothing. this week’s probably gonna be her last on nights, just so you know.” before jack can respond, robby puts his hands up in defense. “don’t shoot the messenger. apparently we’re supposed to be cycling interns and r-twos so they all get to experience nights. something about equality and fairness. i don’t know but you can read the memo.”

“fairness?” jack grumbles, though it’s mostly to himself. he’s annoyed, and he knows why, and he doesn’t like the reason why. “they used to put us on nights for three months at a time and the only memo i ever got was too bad.” 

“careful, jack,” robby says, a little too sing-songy for his current mood. “you keep talking like that and she’s gonna think you’re an old grump.”

jack glares up at robby, wanting to reply but nothing biting comes to mind. 

“you have a good night, jack,” robby says and jack mutters back a yeah, yeah. he turns to watch robby leave, but somehow, his gaze still ends up back on you, like it always does. it’s harder still throughout the course of the night, nerves somehow taking over him every time he wants to tell you to drop whatever patient’s hand you’re stitching and jump on this trauma with him. 

the vision he’s been chasing, aimlessly at that, seems further and further away as the hours pass each night. your shift is filled with first degree burns and sprained ankles and kind-of, sort-of allergic reactions, when it should be spent by his side, learning everything he has to offer you before you’re back with the day shift.

because that’s why he’s so invested in making sure you’re on a trauma with him—because of how much he has to teach. parker and john haven’t said a bad thing about you, and even the day crew during passing exchanges—nothing besides wondering how you have so much energy at seven am without a cup of coffee in your system. 

that is why he’s so invested—right?

on your last shift of nights for this block, you show up a little extra early. you think you can avoid jack by doing so, but he comes early too, wanting to catch you alone, if just for a moment. 

you walk with your hands filled with more tupperware that he recognizes. the very same containers are sitting on his countertop right now, the contents mostly eaten. he doesn’t want to finish the last of your cookies even though they’ll get stale soon. and why that is, he pretends to not know the answer.

he follows you into the break room at six twenty-five while you open the lids and set out napkins. 

“oh,” you say, surprised when you hear the door click behind you. you didn’t think anyone would have noticed you sneaking in there. “dr. abbot-”

“listen, kid, i need to-” jack’s eyes, without intending to, fall from your confused expression to the table in the room. you have more cookies—maybe snickerdoodle—in the containers. “what’s this for?”

“it’s my last day on nights.”

“so you made cookies?”

“it’s to thank everyone,” you ramble on, like you have to justify the idea to jack. “for being so patient with me. interns are already so annoying and then on top of that when they’re not sleeping. i just thought it would be nice. and there’s no nuts or chocolate so it’s more allergy friendly, you know. i-i’m gonna stop talking now.”

“no-” he says, too quickly, and you look just as confused as ever. your eyebrows knit and your mouth opens a bit and he stares at you, while you stare at him. in fact, jack wishes you wouldn’t look at him like this—cute and confused and too nice for your own good. “no, i mean-” 

what does he mean? what he really wants to say is please don’t stop talking, but all that comes out is—

“that’s…nice. i’m sure they’ll appreciate it. and interns, well, they’re supposed to be annoying. that’s how you learn.” jack pauses, thinking he’s done well, that this is a good place to stop. “not that you’re annoying, that’s not what i-”

“thank you, dr. abbot,” you supply, smiling at him. and god, if it isn’t exactly how he thought it’d be—your bright smile feels like it sends a halo of warmth over the person you’re looking at, and this time, it’s lucky him. your face changes too, the confusion and concern melt away and are replaced with sheer joy, like you’re thankful for every bumbling word in a fairly awkward conversation. 

he’s never been like this, he thinks, or maybe the confidence that surged through him during every trauma had nestled somewhere permanently, constantly hitched along into his real life. he’s never considered himself a don juan but he’s not a stranger to women either—and he certainly doesn’t stutter through sentences and backtrack because he’s worried he’s offended you. that doesn’t happen to him. it’s never happened to him.

but he supposes, taking in how you smile with your entire face and what else he can do to get you to stay smiling, that there’s a first time for everything.

“you were saying something? when you came in?” you ask.

“yes, uh-” 

damn it. what was he saying? he can’t remember. it’s distracting—you, the cookies, your radiant smile, all of it. especially when he thinks about a week ago today, when you were standing in front of him with your wet eyes and wobbly chin, when he was angry about something he can’t even piece together right now. right—the apology. 

“i just wanted to apologize for my behavior last week. i-i hope you-”

but before he can finish the sentence the door opens. it’s dana.

“jack, robby’s asking for you. three incoming mvc’s and mckay left early for something with her son and no one else is here yet, and-” she stops, glancing between you, jack, and the cookies on the table. “hey, kid. you jumping in?” 

you glance to jack when dana asks that, big eyes staring at him for permission. you really shouldn’t have done that, because he thinks you’re only making all the rest of this much worse, whatever he’s been pushing down and burying for the last week that seems determined to hit the surface today. 

“tell him we’re coming,” jack says, and though he had more to say to you, he has to stop for now. on the walk to the trauma bay, jack recaps how he runs through traumas with you. he ties your gown while you pull gloves in his size, and then the ones in your size.

when you hand him the gloves, he gets a look into your eyes—pretty, nervous, excited. in that order.

“what do we have?” jack asks, and trail behind him momentarily, taking a big breath before walking out and following him into the trauma bay. robby jumps on the first ambulance with heather and leaves the second to you and jack. you see frank and mel walking towards the third one, still driving up.

the paramedic starts rattling off the vitals and the patient keeps speaking over him, thrashing up and trying to crane her neck despite the c-spine collar wrapped around it. 

you know what you’re trained to do in these situations—listen to ems, treat the patient, figure out what she keeps interrupting for after you’re positive that she’s not going to die on your table. but some part of you just can’t let it sit like that. you can’t stand when someone thinks you’ve ignored a part of their sentence, much less ignore them entirely.

“wait, wait,” you tell the paramedic as they’re wheeling the gurney into one of the trauma rooms. all around you, the nurses have started their work, setting up iv’s and rolling in portable x-rays. they set aside blood and wait by the phone to call for the surgical consult or to clear up ct as soon as you and jack decide the patient needs one.

“excuse me?” he replies, turning to look at jack with an expression that asks are we listening to her? and even jack looks at you a little confused while you get closer to the patient, until you’re in her line of sight and she stops moving so much. the noise around you will never fully go quiet, but it dims down for thirty seconds.

“you have to stop moving so much, ma’am. what are you trying to say?”

“i really think we should-” the paramedic interjects, but you snap your head towards him, trying to figure out how to say shut up without really saying it.

“can you please, just give me a second?”

“my daughter, my daughter, she’s hurt, please-” she responds, not thrashing anymore, just crying.

jack looks between you and the patient for a moment. this case is surgical—she practically went through the windshield. there’s glass that needs to be removed, a concussion, possibly a chest tube, and an airway if she crashes. 

“you guys need hands in here?” you hear trinity ask from somewhere behind you.

jack knows you have a choice here, and he thinks, for a moment, you’ll tell her to find the daughter while you finish this trauma with him. it’s for your own learning, your education. it’s to show you what the some of the worst outcomes from car accidents look like, things to check for in the future even if your patient looks fine.

“i’m gonna find your daughter, okay? but i need you to stop moving so they can take care of you. because she needs her mom, too.” you turn to santos, and trinity jumps in while you walk out. jack catches one glimpse of you before turning to his patient, laying still and compliant, crying silently. 

an hour later, most of the day shift has gone home. trinity even stops at bed 19 where you’re suturing the little girl’s arm while she drinks a juice box and waits for a head ct in case she has a concussion too. 

“when is it gonna be my turn on nights? abbot is so cool. i put in the chest tube and got to bring her up to surgery.”

you get an uneasy feeling in your chest thinking about someone else on nights with jack in your position—not the yelling, but rather the apology he never got to finish. how sincerely he looked at you when you left to find the daughter instead of finishing up with your patient—maybe it was a mistake. maybe he’ll be upset with you, but it doesn’t matter, since it’s your last shift, anyways.

“and those cookies are fantastic. alright, thanks bubbles. i’ll see you back on days.”

“bubbles? wait, those cookies weren’t for you-” you call out after her, but she walks away without responding. you turn back to the little girl.

“there’s cookies?”

“yes,” you sigh, taking your seat again. her arm is nearly done, just needs a bandage. dad is on his way, the social worker is informed, and someone should be coming over to take over to watch her until ct is ready. “i can give you one after your dad gets here, if he’s okay with it. but for now you have to rest.”

she asks you if her mom is going to be okay, and in truth, you don’t know the answer. you should, but you don’t. you excuse yourself when one of the nurses gets there to monitor her, and try to find parker so you can move onto the next. 

jack must be in another trauma, because you don’t see him anywhere and though you’re not eager to get yelled at again, you do need to finish the conversation from earlier.

and you need your tupperware back.

you end up seeing six patients, getting four of them ready to be sent home and two waiting for beds upstairs and consults that are taking far too long. parker pulls you aside while she chews on one of your snickerdoodles.

“can you do nights more often? these cookies are great, bubbles.” 

“okay, when did this catch on? i know trinity likes her nicknames but this is the first time i’ve heard it. also, what the hell does it even mean?”

parker looks at you with a tilt of her head.

“seriously?”

“bubbles? maybe something like, i don’t know, crybaby, i would have understood.” you pause, hesitating, and then glancing up from the screen you’ve been staring at, your half-assed attempt at a proper note. “wait, how long has she been calling me that?”

“since your first day. but it doesn’t sound like nearly as much of an insult as it used to.”

at least parker will give it to you straight.

“can i ask you something? about dr. abbot?” you don’t know where the surge of confidence comes from, but you think you need to ride the wave to some answers before your shift ends. you glance at your watch while parker does the same. almost midnight.

“i’ll give you five minutes. by the way, he was in the break room if you want to ask him directly.”

“really?

“yeah. shoveling down cookies. you’re gonna give him pre-diabetes.”

“really?” and it’s hard to hide your smile, entire face lighting up. “it’s my favorite recipe. well, second favorite, i guess. my roommate in medical school had a nut allergy so i always made snickerdoodles for her, but those brownies i made for him are probably are my actual favorite-”

parker’s expression changes.

“you made him brownies?”

“yeah?” fuck. “it-it was to apologize. for last week, the nsaids thing.”

“he yelled at you.” she pauses, staring at you a little more quizzically. “he made you cry.”

“he was having a bad week?” you offer sheepishly. 

“right.” another pause. “what was your question?”

“i don’t remember. i’m gonna go see a patient now.” you save the contents of your note and decide to finish it later, during the three am lull with a hot cup of coffee and a cookie if there’s any left.

your question was going to be disguised with a ramble of some sort, asking ellis if she thinks jack abbot is the type to apologize for yelling at her or if there was something else he was going to tell her before those traumas came rolling in.

but lucky for you, you get your answer. four am, in the break room, running a little late on finishing your notes, behind on a schedule that you had invented in your own head. the last patient you saw had been really frightened of the hospital, as well as a language barrier that you had to wait thirty minutes to find a translator for at this hour.

you need a coffee, a cookie, and a computer to finish your notes. and then you need to leave the night shift and not be stuck in the hospital with jack abbot for twelve hours.

though there’s a smile on your face when you open the door, at the very idea that jack liked your snickerdoodles enough to shovel them down, or whatever parker had said. you look up and your smile gets replaced with surprise at the man standing in front of you.

it’s mental beetlejuice, or something. every time you think about him, boom, there he is. facing the counter, pouring black coffee into his steel gray tumbler.

“oh. hi.” how can you be so shocked that he’s in here? it’s four am with no incomings and it’s really not that big of a department. you passed the other two doctors on with you on the walk here—parker at central talking to a nurse and shen at a computer eating a granola bar.

“hey, kid. coffee? just made a pot.”

“yes, please.” you walk over, fetching your yellow mug from the cabinet. you glance at the table—your containers empty save for the crumbs of cinnamon sugar on the bottom. “was gonna have a cookie too. i should have made more.” jack pours you a cup and then hands you the creamer and the sugar. you notice that his own coffee is drunk just black though.

“it’s john, i’m telling you. he’s got a sweet tooth worse than mine. and don’t let parker fool you. i saw her in here three times tonight.” jack takes a seat in one of the chairs, but first he pulls one out for you.

you sit down and smile, laughing at his comment.

“well, she said that you were in here shoveling them down, so, i don’t know who to believe.”

“she said that?” you nod, taking a sip of your sweet coffee.

the coffee in the break room is notorious for being just fine. it’s never great, or even just good, it’s just fuel. but it tastes a lot better today.

“i’m gonna plead the fifth on that one.” 

you laugh again. you look over, realizing there’s one cookie left in the container.

“one left. but you can have it,” you say, the caffeine and this conversation doing wonders for your energy levels. “i had a bunch at home earlier today and i make them all the time, so-”

“nah, kid. we’ll split it.” jack breaks it in half and slides it towards you on a napkin, and you smile at him again—warm, generous, compassionate. 

a lot of big words to describe the smile of a resident he just got to know better this week, but he can’t turn it off. the radar in his head alerting him that the person he’s been thinking about for hours is sitting in front of him now, nibbling on half a cookie.

“that was a nice thing you did, earlier. with the mom and the daughter. she was completely compliant after.”

“i figured. i can’t believe the paramedic didn’t listen to her the whole ride in, though.” you take another sip of coffee before putting your mug down on the table. “not that he did something wrong. i know he was trying to help and they’re trained to focus on the patient and all that. but she was moving around in a c-collar, so i figured-well, i’ll stop rambling. they said the surgery went good so that’s all that matters, i guess.” you go quiet, taking another bite just so you stop yourself from talking too much again.

“both things can be true. he should have listened and he did his job. how’s the daughter?”

“good, good. i gave her stitches and she had some minor cuts. i think the mom thought she was bleeding a lot worse. dad’s with her, so…” 

“you had the chance to jump on the trauma but you left to take care of the kid.” jack doesn’t say it with any sort of tone, presents it to you plainly, like a statement.

“is this the part where you’re gonna yell at me?” you blink up at him, worried again.

“no, no. i just-” he pauses, thinking about his words carefully. he smiles, like he’s about to laugh. “it’s just the sort of thing i can’t teach, so-”

there’s a knock on the door, and you audibly sigh. is it the worst thing in the world to ask for some privacy for five minutes in this place, to be able to finish a conversation with your attending for once?

it’s john.

“incoming. three minutes out. aw, man, are those the last of the cookies?”

you do get to jump on the case with shen and abbot, though the man isn’t in bad condition at all. took a spill on his kid’s toys and bruised his tailbone, but his wife called for an ambulance. he waits for a head ct and x-ray and the room clears out, and you wonder if you’ll get a chance to finish out your conversation with jack abbot.

you don’t.

he stays behind to tell robby something and parker and john usher you out for a celebratory latte—decaf, obviously—to finish your first small taste of nights. you carry your empty containers in the tote bag you brought them in, and realize you didn’t even get a chance to tell him to bring your containers back.

(whether you want the containers or an excuse to talk to him again, you don’t know. it’s a can of worms not worth opening now that nights are done—though you’re sure he must have finished the contents by now. the idea of your yellow tupperware sitting on his counter or his kitchen table, well… it leads your mind to wonder about other things.

what does his place look like? did he sit on his couch with brownies and farmer needs a wife, like you had suggested? what about in his bed? jack doesn’t seem the type to have a television in his bedroom, or the type to eat in bed, though sometimes you’ll make an exception for dessert, and maybe he can be convinced.

and then you cut the entire thought out of your head, because it’s downright unprofessional and you have no business spending time wondering about his bed or his couch or anything else. stupid tupperware. and what’s even worse is going home with the realization you might not get to find out what jack was going to say to you in the break room, either time.)

+

if you ask a hundred emergency room doctors what the worst day of the year is, you’ll get a hundred different answers. halloween, thanksgiving, and new year’s are all up there. 

but jack abbot’s answer has never changed—fourth of july. 

a day littered with sunshine, grilling, and sparklers. to any emergency medicine specialist, it’s more about sun-poisoning, choking on hot dogs, and burn injuries from at-home fireworks. the hospital is flooded with back-to-back traumas, ranging from people passing out at the beach in the afternoon to full body burns by the evening.

you had always predicted the worst part is how a lot of the injuries are on children. they’re the ones left unattended while mom and dad drink themselves silly or let them play with firecrackers on the pavement, assuming they’ll be fine. you’ve done two emergency medicine rotations in school and you think you know what the fourth will be like, that you’ll be unnerved the entire day by the sound of crying children and trying to hold back anger on the irresponsible parents.

but walking through the doors of the hospital on your second week back on days, you realize you really don’t know much. 

like, for example, that jack abbot walks in beside you and mel at six forty-five. you look at him confused, and then turn to mel, who doesn’t match your expression but is also confused, you’re sure. jack is quick by the lockers—takes off his backpack and heads straight back out. 

mel speaks up first.

“i didn’t know dr. abbot does days,” she says, taking off her jacket and folding it neatly. 

“i didn’t either. do you know why?” it’s really an unnecessary question—it shouldn’t matter to you at all. but it does, and you’re terrible at burying things. it’s written all over your face that you want to know the answer why.

“well it’s likely just for overflow. i’m sure they’re expecting double the amount of patients today.”

“right. yeah, that makes sense.” 

“though it is surprising-”

“what is?”

“-that he didn’t take the day off, i suppose.”

“why’s that?” you ask, and mel shrugs.

“fourth of july is a usually tough day for a lot of veterans. when i was at the va hospital, some of the other doctors who had served would stay at home with their families. and the noise from the fireworks, too-”

mel goes on, but you have a hard time paying attention to the rest of her story. one thought washes over you, filling you with enough dread to last all day, making your blood feel icy cold in your veins. jack doesn’t have any family to spend the day with at home, so instead he’s here for the day shift, to help with the extra patients.

“i hadn’t thought about that.” you say quietly. you put your stethoscope around your neck and hold the familiar container in your hands.

“that’s okay, a lot of people don’t. i don’t think i did before my year there. wait, are those more cookies?”

it seems that robby shares some of your dread. you head out with mel, putting the star shaped sugar cookies with red and blue frosting in the break room. during sign-offs you tell parker and john to grab a few—just a few! leave some for the rest of us—before they head home. you smile politely at frank, who seems very concerned with making sure mel knows how hectic this holiday gets in the pitt and ask cassie how that bake sale went.

and then robby pulls you aside, leading you in front of central.

“i brought sugar cookies, i hope that’s okay. is something wrong?” you ask, gauging how robby is looking at you right now.

“yeah, everything’s fine.” he looks around distractedly, or maybe like he’s trying to make sure no one is eavesdropping. “listen, i know you just got back from nights-”

“are you sending me back? to nights?”

“what? no, no, we need you on days. i mean, you just finished nights and you were with abbot for a bit. how’d that go, by the way?”

“dr. abbot?”

“nights.”

“oh,” you say, feeling yourself flush. warmth spreads over you despite how cold it runs in the hospital. flustered, you continue. “it was good. um, busy and i learned a lot.”

“and you got to spend some time working with abbot, right?”

“yeah. some-uh, yes. i did.”

“great. because today is a bit of a weird day for him. he’s not used to days and we get overwhelmed pretty quickly. he’s here to help and it’s always great to have extra hands, especially his hands, but-” you zone out for a moment at the thought of jack’s hands. “-he seems a bit off and i want to make sure he’s doing okay, and he’ll just ignore me if i ask. so if you could—?”

robby trails off and you stare at him blankly, blinking after fifteen seconds of silence.

“if i could what?”

“just, check on him, y’know, throughout the day. just make sure he’s alright. thanks a ton kid, i knew i could count on you.” 

“wait, what-” but then robby is gone, and you’re left at central with dana behind you, handing you a tablet with a patient’s name on it and somewhere to your left is jack, immersed in a conversation with heather. you stare at him, and the he notices you looking, and looks back.

any other day, you’d turn and go straight to your patient, but not today.

today your attending has given you a task—check in on jack. make sure jack’s okay. and you are not the type of person to disappoint your superior.

you walk over to them, smile at both, and then watch as heather excuses herself. had robby told her about the task he’d assigned you?

“hey, kid. don’t tell me—america themed cookies?” 

you shirk under his gaze, the idea that felt very cute last night suddenly seeming exceedingly corny.

“it’s just festive,” you argue. “the frosting is made with blueberries and strawberries instead of food coloring. it’s healthier, i mean, it’s practically like eating fruit.”

“i don’t think you’re winning that argument, but sure, whatever you say. if parker and john left any for the rest of us.”

“i made a bunch this time. i figured there’d be more hands on deck today, i guess.”

(you hadn’t figured that. your logic with doubling the recipe and yielding twice as many cookies was that maybe there’d be some leftover for the night shift to take home with them—specifically one salt and pepper attending who already has two containers of yours at his home. what’s a third?)

“smart. we’ll need them. it’s gonna be a busy day.”

“that’s what i’ve heard,” you look up at jack again with a small smile—trying to disarm him without alerting him of your motive from robby. “how are you feeling, by the way?”

jack knits his eyebrows together.

“how am i feeling?”

“are you okay? do-do you need anything? i can go get you a cookie now, if you want, before they’re all gone. it’s not just the night shift, you know, trinity plows through them. and mel doesn’t have as much of a sweet tooth but since it has the fruit frosting, you know, i think she’ll like them.”

jack looks at you with a twinkle in his eyes, like he’s holding back a laugh, stopping it short at just a smile.

“i’m, i’m fine, kid. and that’s alright, i’ll go get one in a bit.”

“oh. okay. well that’s good.”

“are you okay?”

“yeah, why wouldn’t i be?” you lock eyes with him again.

“no reason. well, maybe we can go get that-”

“dr. abbot?” someone says, and you hold back the groan. it’s getting harder and harder to keep it inside. 

the people in this hospital really don’t want you to finish a conversation with your attending.

“yeah?”

he gets pulled up, and you do too—back to the chairs. it’s the usual residual patients from last night, but as the hours pass, you get more injuries related to the holiday. the allergic reactions and sprained wrists turn into burns from the grill and heat exhaustion. 

you find jack three more times in between seven patients—asking him he’s okay, how his patients are, if he wants that cookie now, or maybe water? all these people are dehydrated, it’s no good if their doctors are too, right? 

the next time you do it, he locks eyes with robby right after. you sneak your way past moving gurneys and crying patients, just to tap his shoulder and check in one last time before you sit down to debride a severe burn, one that’ll have you gone for at least an hour. 

“what the hell did you do, robby?” he asks, while they monitor a man who came in on the ambulance after setting half his body on fire trying to grill hot dogs.

“what do you mean? nothing.”

“that kid has-”

“did you try those cookies? they’re fantastic. no wonder you want her back on nights.”

maybe another two hours later, during a surge of ambulances, you realize you haven’t seen jack in a while. 

you pat your patient on the shoulder—a little girl with her mom who took a spill on the pavement while chasing her sister—and tell them you’ll send the nurse over with their discharge papers, and set out to find jack before sitting down with yet another burn—your tenth or so at least so far today. you close the curtain and look at the chaos in front of you—gurneys lined up against walls, patients crying and the entire place smelling of burnt flesh and salt water. 

dr. abbot is by the trauma bay, organizing patients as they come, and the whole thing feels more like a triage unit than it does an emergency room. 

you see trinity seeing the others from the chairs, heather jumping onto an incoming with robby. mel and frank are in one trauma room and jack is standing in the middle of everything.

is it the best time to ask him how he’s doing? no. that much is clear to anyone with a functioning frontal lobe.

but you are not just anyone, you’re you. you get slightly muddled in the head when it comes to jack abbot, and you definitely are not going to disappoint robby when he put you in charge of checking in on him.

you weave your way through the floor, avoiding nurses walking through with supplies in their hands and telling whoever you were supposed to be checking in with that you’ll be right back.

you dodge two gurneys that almost took your knees out just to get close enough to say his name and for him to hear you. you don’t see the one rolling right behind you.

“dr. abbot, are-” you’re interrupted by the sound of your own yelp, when jack reaches out to clasp his hand around your arm. he yanks you hard, pulling you out of the way, and suddenly, all the noises of the emergency room die down.

you hear the paramedic behind you, apologizing as he wheels the gurney out and back to the ambulance bay. you hear dana shouting from central to you—watch out, kid!—and even the wails coming from the trauma room robby and heather are in—a woman crying. 

but you don’t really hear any of it. your eyes are locked on jack’s hazel ones, his fingers still tight against your bare skin. his hands are softer than you’d imagined.

you blink at him stupidly, mouth falling open a little. you must look as dumb as you feel, almost getting hit by a gurney in the middle of a very busy shift. it’s like intern 101—things to avoid doing, especially in front of your attendings.

but jack doesn’t seem mad. he looks at you with concerned, pretty eyes, a focused expression. and then, at the same time—

“are you okay?” 

you both stare at each other for a while. you must look the equivalent of someone starstruck, staring with sparkling eyes, looking almost as grateful for him as you feel. that gurney would have taken you out of commission—at the very least you’d hit your head and be filling out paperwork under gloria’s watchful eye. 

but you’re fine, save for a large bruise forming on your upper arm with each second that passes by as you continue stare at jack.

“you two!” dana shouts over the other commotion, effectively snapping you out of it. all the noises return at once, making you wince, and what’s worse is that people are staring. “incoming, two minutes out. the rest of you, back to work-”

“come on, kid. you’re with me.”

you most certainly are.

+

at around quarter past eight on the fourth of july, you’re seated across from jack abbot at his favorite twenty-four hour diner. 

well, to be fair, you’re making more assumptions in the thirty minutes you’ve been sitting here with him than you have for the entire time you’ve know him. first—that this is his favorite diner. second—that he’s as interested in you as you are in him. and third—that you’ll finally get to finish the multiple conversations you’ve started with him and been unable to finish due to interruptions.

but there’s no interruptions here. post dinner rush, with a group of teenagers a few tables away and a couple in business clothes eating on the stools by the counter. there’s no nosy residents or gossipy nurses or incoming traumas. it’s just starting to get dark out, and you know the fireworks will start soon.

what you don’t know is if jack is going to be completely okay tonight. you don't care if you’re a temporary distraction from the noise, but you do care if you’ll be enough of a distraction for him.

the two of you order enough food to feed the entirety of the night shift at the hospital right now. the short staffing is the reason why you didn’t sit down to eat until seven forty-five, but it’s fine. as long as you’re here with him now.

you justify it mentally while jack steals one of your french fries—the ones he said he didn’t want half of when you asked—that you just need to finish the conversations from earlier. that it’s not wrong or inherently bad to order half the menu with your attending, one that was responsible for all of your anxiety three weeks ago. 

but staring at him like this, you wonder what you had been so worried about. in fact, over the last few weeks, you’ve realized he’s nothing like what you thought at first. 

“okay, i know this must be sound terrible,” you start, setting down your soda and reaching for another salty fry. “but that was amazing. like, the thrilling kind of amazing. does that make sense?” you stare at jack while you await his response.

“yes, it makes sense,” he says, but he can’t contain the laugh anymore. it comes out from his chest—unadulterated laughter, the rumble taking over his entire body.

“you’re laughing at me?” you ask, though you don’t actually seem upset about it. it’s hard to feel any sort of upset when you’re listening to what may be your new favorite sound in the world.

“no, no, i promise i’m not. you’re just so… you. even on a day like today.”

“what does that mean?” you reply quickly, sitting up straighter in your seat, expression turning deadly serious. “god, i’m so sorry. is that completely insensitive? i know it can be a hard day, i mean, well i didn’t know know. but mel brought it up this morning when we saw you and then robby told me to check on you and i thought i was helping until that stupid gurney almost took me out. but i just meant after that! the traumas and doing them with you. i-i hadn’t done any yet, with you, so i-” 

“when do you breathe?”

“sorry,” you sigh. “it’s a bad habit.”

“don’t apologize to me, please. it’s-” jack goes quiet, his mind searching to fill in the blank but coming up empty. 

it’s nice, he thinks. sweet. refreshing. funny. you’re all of those things and more. you don’t bite your tongue and hold back thoughts. you ramble until he can step into your thoughts completely—see it from your perspective like he’s inside your brain.

and jack—well, jack has friends. army buddies, guys he used to study with during medical school, a couple people from his residency that he stays in touch with. he has robby, though his friendship with him is going to be on thin ice after what he put you up to earlier, and dana. his parents are gone and so are his in-laws but he calls his sister when he really needs to talk about something and he checks in with his wife’s siblings once or twice a year, usually around the anniversary of her death.

(he hadn’t done it a few weeks ago, though, and he has trouble figuring out if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. but then he stares up at you, sipping your drink, patiently waiting for him to finish his sentence, before you, undoubtedly, ask him if he’s okay again. like if he tells you that he’s not—because really, he’s not—that you’ll make it your personal mission to make sure that he is. and that, well, what is he supposed to do with that?)

luckily the waitress interrupts the silence with the rest of the food—grilled cheese and waffles and whatever else sounded appealing in a hunger-driven craze—and he doesn’t have to finish the thought.

you two do talk about other things—how he’s sorry about yelling that week and how you completely didn’t deserve it. you tell him it’s fine and that he had a bad week and that you’re not upset, that it would feel wrong to hold that against him. he tells you about how good the brownies and the cookies were, and you beam at him with that smile again.

the conversations ebbs and flows—how it was nice of you to take care of that woman’s daughter. how great you did in the traumas today. how stupid robby is for asking you to check in on him—don’t listen to him ever again, just, come to me first next time. 

and then once the food is eaten and your drinks run empty, and the sound of fireworks is littering your eardrums, you just say it.

“i don’t think you should be alone tonight.”

“i’ve spent lots of july fourths alone, kid. i’ll be fine.”

he probably will be fine. he has noise cancelling headphones and though his apartment is close to the park where the fireworks are held—an oversight he didn’t think of when he moved in—he can distract himself enough to get through the night. he’s been doing it for years—taking care of himself when it comes to things like this.

“no, i-i know you will be. i just don’t think you should be alone.”

and then, for a split second, the force of your caring, of your affection for him hits him like a blow. it rushes over him—the feeling of how easy it might be to let you take care of him. to let someone else do it for once. reality seeps back in slowly, bringing his senses back one by one.

the first thing it does is remind him that you’re an intern.

“kid,” jack says firmly, sitting up straighter in the booth. he rests his elbows against the table, staring straight at you, boring into your soul like he always does. “i don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“why not?”

“well, for one, i’m your attending.”

“oh, who cares about stuff like that? it’s not like i’m gonna tell anyone,” you reply, as though the words had come to you quickly, like you really believed them. 

as if you’d already put some thought into your response before he’d asked you the question.

you don’t seem the least bit hesitant about basically telling him to spend the night with you—whatever that might mean to you. he doesn’t want to assume things, but it’s been a while since he’s done something like this. he doesn’t know what’s changed in the last decade and he certainly has never done something like this with a resident, much less an intern.

the whole thing is seeming much too bill clinton to him. he wants to express the thought to you, though it doesn’t make much sense—he’s not married and he’s not the president but you’re an intern and he was raised right so it feels wrong—and then he realizes it quickly. are you even old enough to remember that scandal? he shakes his head, as though he can dispel the thought by physically removing it.

“i care about stuff like that. there’s a power imbalance here, and-”

“i’m not even on nights anymore!”

“but you will be on nights again in the future. in a few months from now, when you’re a second year. you’ll do a whole month of nights in third year, too.” 

your lips curve up into a playful smile.

“getting a little ahead of ourselves, aren’t we?”

“kid-”

“i said you shouldn’t spend tonight alone. you’re thinking three years ahead. i mean, don’t get me wrong, jack, i’m totally flattered, but i think you should scale it down. one day at a time and all that.” his expression changes and so does yours—it’s the first time you’ve ever called him anything other than dr. abbot. “i’m sorry. is that completely unprofessional? oh my god, am i one of those people? is that harassment?” you whisper the last part, as though you’re worried he’ll leave to report you this instant.

jack wants to bang his head against the table. he thinks, not for the first time and certainly not for the last time about what he’s going to do with you. 

the waitress brings the check and he places his card in her hand before you can so much as glance at it.

“i… i just meant that, i think it’s a bad idea if you spend tonight alone. we can watch a movie or make cookies or whatever you want to do. it’s just-” you trail off, suddenly quiet.

“it’s just what?”

“if we both go home alone, i’m just gonna spend the whole time worrying about you, anyways. might as well worry about you while i’m sitting next to you.” you stare at the table the whole time you say it, and then your gaze flickers up at him before looking back down quickly. “that must sound crazy. i’m sorry-”

“stop apologizing to me, kid.” 

it’s hard on a regular day to resist the urge to listen to everything you say, to comply since he knows how good you are. made of a kind of sweetness that he really doesn’t know the first thing about—how you got to be this way, with an abundance of compassion, enough to make him feel like he’ll explode from the sheer strength of it.

what jack does know is that he wants to find out.

you both get up, and you put on your pullover from what can only be your alma mater, grabbing the containers you’d brought into the break room this morning. he swings on his backpack and you both walk outside. it’s dark now, and you can hear fireworks somewhere in the distance. the noise is loud and uncomfortable even to you, and you briefly wonder how it might sound to jack, and decide again that you really, really don’t want him to be alone tonight.

“listen, kid. i don’t want you to waste your night worrying about me. you should-”

“oh, trust me, it’s not a waste. i have an ulterior motive for wanting to go back to your place,” you say, nodding when jack tilts his head at you in confusion, wondering if he’ll bite.

“yeah? and what’s that?”

“i need my tupperware back.”

+

your back thuds against the wall beside jack abbot’s apartment door. you’ve never been here but you try to blink open your eyes to take it in, to see if it’s just as you thought it’d be while his lips—soft and wanton and kissing you—stay against yours.

it’s stupid—why are you worried about his apartment when your attending is kissing you like you belong to him? but then you remember something frank had once told you during your first week, something about adhd and how all of you probably have it, and then you start giggling against jack abbot’s lips.

his fingertips, which were brushing against the skin of your waist after sneaking under your shirt, tighten around the soft skin there. you can feel them digging in, but stupidly, deliriously, and a little light headed, you wonder if you’ll bruise if he pushes hard enough.

“y’know, kid,” he mumbles against your mouth, pulling away for just a second. his breath is hot against your lips and his touch makes goosebumps rise all over you, makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up tall. “i haven’t done this in a while but if you’re laughing, i must be doing something wrong.”

you should say something, say anything, so he stops talking and keeps kissing you, but nothing comes out besides another laugh. 

“i’m sorry,” you say, trying to catch your breath while jack’s hands hover over your hips. “i-” you glance up to lock eyes again, but when you see the way he’s looking at you, you stop laughing completely. 

“if you’re uncomfortable, we can stop. you don’t have to-”

“no! no, i’m not uncomfortable. i-i’m laughing because this is so funny. you’re my attending and now we’re kissing and i’m in your apartment and it looks, exactly how i pictured it. and you’re so nice to me, but it’s the fourth of july and i want to make sure you’re okay because-” 

jack interrupts you with another kiss, his lips pressing against yours. this time he doesn’t let up, his tongue slipping into your mouth while you collapse against the wall, knees suddenly very weak.

but it’s alright, because jack’s got you. he holds you up by your hips and your legs mindlessly wrap around him, his hands going to your ass to hoist you up and secure you around him. he lifts you up and starts walking, and you whine against him, impatient and fairly comfortable where you were.

it’s like he’s a mind reader.

“our first time is not going to be against a wall,” he mutters, mouth on the column on your neck, tracing kisses from your collarbone to your cheek and then back to your lips. you want to reply, you want to tell him that you would have been perfectly content against that wall, or the door, or the couch, or even the floor, but nothing comes out.

you pull away just for a moment to look at him in the dim light of his bedroom—flushed cheeks, breathing heavy, taking a moment to push a piece of your hair behind your ear before kissing you again. and then with his mouth on yours again, you realize that jack abbot has discovered some way to turn your brain off. 

his touch is rough on your skin—when your scrubs got peeled off of you, you don’t actually know. he throws them somewhere on the ground and you paw at his shirt until he gives in and takes it off. 

it should be slower, he thinks briefly, he should slow down and take his time and not even give in and slip inside of you until you’re already a writhing, aching mess. he’s out of practice but he knows how you are, knows what would make you fall apart piece by piece.

that’s what he thinks of when your hands go to the button and zipper of his pants. for everything he knows about you, you’re also impatient. and lucky for you, he is too.

jack is out of practice, but it doesn’t mean he’s forgotten everything.

“c’mon, kid,” he breathes against your collarbone, wrestling your hands away from and then pinning them over your head. “be patient.”

“i’ve been patient—!” you whine, but he doesn’t give in just yet.

“it’ll hurt, sweetheart. i have to stretch you out first,” he says, and you feel dizzy with lust. it washes over you and makes you dumb, and you, for everything you are, are not a dumb girl. at least—not normally.

jack skips the teasing this time, trailing fingers down your chest, between the valley of your breasts and over your stomach. when he gets to your leaking cunt, he collects the wetness there with two fingers, and when you start whining again, impatient and antsy and your entire body humming with want, he does it again.

reminds you to be patient, and then plunges a finger inside of you. a moan leaves your throat—choked and loud, but he wants you to be even louder. you don’t know when he adds a second, and then a third, but you feel the delicious stretch of your walls, how his palm stays in place for you to grind up against. your hips buck up and you’re ruining his sheets and crying for more though you don’t even know what you’re asking for.

and jack takes it all in. how wet you feel against his fingers, how beautiful the noises that you’re making are. so focused on you—the sheen of sweat on your skin and how responsive you are to his touch, the noises outside his walls get drowned out. 

“jack, jack, more—” you plead, but jack doesn’t listen. everything in your body feels ready to finish. your muscles ache, the knot in your belly tightens, and heat washes over you while your toes curl in anticipation.

and then jack just stops.

“no—” you whine, the rush disappearing all at once. “no, no, jack!”

“patience, kid.”

“you’re being unfair-”

“no, i’m not.”

“then why’d you-”

“because the first time i make you finish is going to be when i’m inside of you. understood?”

and for once, you’re silent.

+

“i would have gone to the roof, probably.”

you blink open your sleepy eyes. you’re pressed against jack’s chest, your head resting there while he trails his fingers through your hair. you’re wearing his shirt, sleeping in his sheets, a cup of water that he got you from his kitchen resting on the nightstand.

you can’t feel your legs, but that’s a problem for tomorrow—but at least you know now that you might have bitten off more than you can chew. 

“what do you mean?” you ask quietly. the fireworks stopped an hour or so ago, and the only noise you hear now is jack’s heartbeat thudding against your ear.

“the rooftop, at the hospital. i go there after my shifts sometimes.” 

a lot of the time—but you don’t need to know that. from the way you immediately sit up in bed, his sheets slipping a little and exposing more of your soft skin that you don’t seem to care about, he can tell you’re concerned already. 

his shirt looks good on you. 

“tell me it’s just for fresh air?” you ask, reaching your hand over to run your fingers through the hair near his temple. his eyes close when feels your touch there, and suddenly, it feels more intimate than it has all evening. jack takes a deep breath, and then sighs.

“something like that.”

“jack-”

“it’s just… i don’t know. i got used to it, i guess. at first it was just to see what it felt like being up there. then it just turned into something else. i go up there after a bad shift and look at all the people below and… decide if it’s still worth it, i guess.” his hazel eyes look towards you and jack nestles himself more comfortably against your hand that hasn’t left him. 

“what’s gonna happen if you decide it’s not worth it one day?” you ask quietly, wet eyes sparkling up at him.

teary-eyed and flushed in his bed, all for him. you feel your emotions so strongly that he can watch them flooding your body, taking their course, almost sense them radiating from you. 

that’s the second time you’ve cried because of him, and he decides he’s not going to let it happen a third time.

he takes the hand that you had extended against him into his own and presses a kiss against your palm. 

“i don’t think i have to worry about that anymore.”

+

you get back to your apartment around four in the afternoon—you have a rare day off today. jack’s back on the night shift at seven, and though he offered to let you stay the night while he was gone, you wanted to give him time to get ready before going into the hospital. everyone has a pre-shift routine, even if they don’t recognize it. 

now that you’re back on days, yours consists of waking up early to stretch and eat a big breakfast and leave enough time lay in bed for an extra ten minutes before you actually have to get up.

you don’t know what jack’s is but you’re sure you’ll find out soon enough. 

the two of you slept in, courtesy of his black out curtains. you’re more of a get up with the sun person, but exceptions can be made.

(you’ll be making a lot of them from now on. jack abbot made you cum three times in his bed and once in the shower, and then he washed your body with his soap, the one you can still smell on your skin now. he kissed you while making you breakfast—eggs and bacon—and then told you to stop apologizing every time you accidentally hit your foot against his prosthetic under his dining table. and finally, he gave you one of your containers to take back home, and said he’s keeping the other one here. why? you’d asked. insurance, he’d replied.)

so you go back home, make dinner for yourself and wash your singular yellow tupperware and text jack to have a good shift tonight. 

you set an alarm for five, get out of bed at five-fifteen and get ready for work, more giddy for a shift than you have been since your first day of intern year.

when you walk into the hospital, early like always, you see jack talking to parker. he looks in your direction and even parker can notice his gaze following something, but she doesn’t say anything. you look away before smiling to yourself, the grin being glued to your face the entire walk to the lockers as you recall memories of the last time you saw jack.

one of the perks of always being early is that there’s no one by the lockers when you arrive.

(you’ve never thought of it as a perk until now though.)

jack walks in behind you a few minutes later—right as you’ve tucked away your pullover and your bag and he stands beside you as you reach to pick up your stethoscope. 

“ah, hold on,” he says, taking the stethoscope of your hand and into his. he loops it around your neck carefully, setting it in place for you. “there you go.”

“really?” you ask with a laugh, closing the door to your locker. “when you walked in here i thought i was gonna get a kiss. wait, what did you tell parker-”

“c’mon, kid,” jack says, looking at you with an expression you’re not sure you could ever get tired of. “i’m not that obvious.” you stare at him. “yeah, okay. i told her to go finish the note from the last trauma.”

“lucky for you, i’m your best resident. these other chums don’t show up until much closer to seven. actually, one time, santos came five minutes late. so-”

and for the second time, jack interrupts you with a kiss. he leans in, pressing his lips against yours, and your hands go slack by your side. his mouth tastes like coffee and even after a twelve hour shift he still smells like jack, the way his sheets and his soap and his shirt had smelled when you wore it.

he pulls away, and your eyes blink open slowly, like you’re figuring out where you are. fluorescent lights and the smell of the alcohol wipes they use to clean everything lingers around you.

and, of course, your attending, the one who sneaks into the locker rooms before shift change to give you secret and likely highly forbidden kisses.

“my lips are sticky,” jack says, bringing a finger to his mouth and rubbing it against another. you can’t bear to look at his hands right now, so you look away, at the risk of being useless for at least the next hour.

“it’s this lip peptide thingy. i don’t know, it’s good for them, i think. better than chapstick and they have all these flavors. they say it-” you trail off, staring at jack while he stares at you. he licks his lips.

“tastes good, kid. see you out there.”

oh god. you lean against your locker and watch jack leave. a minute later, mel walks in with trinity.

“i don’t want to hear it, bubbles. i’m here extra early, and not just to prove a point-”

“well, actually, i think it is to prove a point, but not-”

“what’s wrong? did the cat finally get your tongue?”

“i never understood what that meant-”

oh god. it’s going to be a long shift.

and outside the lockers, robby finds jack.

“so?” robby asks, leaning against the counter while jack sorts through tablets. he hands one to parker and then another to john, and they go off to pass on their patients to everyone arriving. 

“am i supposed to know what you’re talking about?” jack replies, noticing you from the corner of his eye. 

you’re coming out with santos and king, a water bottle in your hand. he had filled it for you before you left his apartment, after you’d refused his offer of walking you home. you look in his direction, and then you both look away at the same time. jack picks up his coffee cup to take another sip—if he doesn’t get the taste of you and your lip peptide thingy out of his mouth, he’s going to have a freudian slip in front of robby.

“i’m talking about you and the kid.” jack sputters, choking on his drink mid-swallow. “woah. you okay?”

“f-fine. uh, what? me and the kid?”

“yeah. since the fourth, you know, are you two good again?” 

robby looks at him expectantly, waiting for him to fill in the silence with an answer. 

“uh, yes. yeah, of course.”

“good. that was my goal. she started on nights at a bad time, and uh, i mean no one blames you. but we don't want to scare away all our interns, either.”

“right.” jack looks back at robby. “anything else?”

“no.” robby arches a brow at him. “you sure you’re okay? because she’s back on nights soon, and i don’t want-”

“i’m good, robby.” 

“alright then. where are we with sign-offs?”

you on the day shift is something manageable. something he can handle, something that shouldn’t be too terrible for you two to figure out. you always come early and he always stays a little late, and he’s sure that it won’t look suspicious. 

if you’re on days, then he’s not the one primarily in charge of your post-graduate medical education. that falls to robby and heather and frank, and he can trust that none of them are going to accidentally interfere with you learning everything you need to learn to be a good resident. 

to be a great resident—because he knows you have it in you. you’re made of the stuff it takes to be teaching other interns one day—compassion and kindness and how to treat the person while you’re fixing the patient. 

robby and heather and frank can help you with that. but if you’re on nights, it’s an entirely different ball game. he’s responsible for your education, for approving your notes and questioning your decisions and making you jump onto incoming traumas and justify every choice you make. he’s also responsible for correcting you when you’ve made a mistake. making you drink a cup of coffee if he thinks you’re getting tired. waking you up if you fall asleep at your desk at three in the morning.

and that’s just the problem. for the first time, jack abbot wonders if he can do all of those things if you’re the intern he has to do them to. 

for god’s sake—he couldn’t even wake you up to ask how you wanted your eggs. 

that’s the conundrum he’s facing when you come back home that night, near seven thirty. he’s off tonight and back tomorrow night, which means he gets about eleven or so hours with you until you leave tomorrow morning.

“hi,” you breathe, when he opens the door to let you inside. you’re clad in your pullover and you drop your bag by the front door when you come inside. “it feels weird to not go straight home.”

“oh, sweetheart, you could have gone home. i could have met you there-”

“no, no, it’s okay. i have a noisy neighbor and, well-” you drift off, smiling up at him the way you usually do.

“well?”

“i’d rather wear your clothes anyways.” 

what’s he supposed to do when you say things like that? a couple of words that make him happier than he’s felt in years, lifting the storm cloud that’s been following him around since the conversation with robby this morning. 

but it’s an important conversation, one that needs to be had. jack is a lot of things, but he is absolutely not a meddler in the lives of pretty interns or in the business of hindering their education.

“did, uh, robby say anything to you today?”

“jack,” you start slowly, turning on the couch to face him completely. “he’s not a mind-reader, you know.”

“no, i know. i just meant—well, did he?”

“no. he was normal. he even apologized for giving me side quests on an already busy day.”

“oh. that’s good.” 

you bring your hand to his hair again, running your fingers through it. it’s almost an instinct to him now—jack closes his eyes for a moment and you watch his shoulders relax.

“what’s wrong? what’re you thinking about?” his pretty hazel eyes meet yours.

“i just want us to be careful-”

“hey, you’re the one who kissed me this morning-”

“i know, i know. i need to be careful, too. i don’t want-”

“i understand. i wouldn’t want everyone knowing i’m screwing the intern either. it’s kind of a cliche, honestly, we’re no better than-”

“what? no, no. i don’t want anyone to say anything that could hurt you, or for this to interfere with your education. it is a cliche, and i know you’re close with the others and people can act very differently when they think that-”

“jack,” you start, moving yourself closer until you can crawl into his lap. his eyes flick over you, settling to watch your lips before he locks eyes again.

“yeah?” he asks, his throat dry.

“in five minutes, i’m going to be wet and naked in your shower. you can either keep talking about this or you can come join me.” then you lean in to press a kiss to his cheek. “c’mon, i wanna hear all about how you spend your days off, old man.” 

and then you get up, peeling off your sweatshirt, and then your shirt, and leaving him a trail of your clothes that ends with your panties on his bathroom tile. 

jack is a lot of things. but stupid isn’t one of them—so he follows you in there and leaves the rest of the conversation for another day.

but that day doesn’t end up coming that quickly.

as it turns out, interns on day shift barely get to spend time with their attendings from the night shift. on top of that, he has no idea how anyone manages to have an affair with a resident—they’re at the hospital every single day, pulling eighty hour weeks and coming home, if jack is even at home, completely exhausted.

but he also learns that glimpses of you at shift change and sign-offs at seven am and seven pm are enough to sustain the two of you. 

it starts with conversations in the locker room before your shift starts. he makes sure his residents are distracted before sneaking away to get a kiss or two and leaning against the metal lockers like a lovesick high schooler.

“you know that patient i was telling you about yesterday? with the bleeder? well, i came to change my scrubs and trin was grabbing something and she saw me and asked if i was mauled by a bear.”

“oh, god,” jacks says from his position, watching you do the same thing you do every morning. put away your hoodie, grab your protein bar for later, tell him whatever you’ve been thinking about since he left you yesterday night. “what’d you tell her?”

you smile.

“something like that.” you laugh, so then jack laughs.

“that’s a little dramatic, no?”

“i also told her i’m clumsy, but i think she’s come to the conclusion that i’m a sex freak.” you close your locker, facing your boyfriend-slash-attending.

“well, i mean-”

“shut up. do not-” you start with another laugh, but your smile fades when you see mel walking in with frank.

“uh, make sure to check that with ellis, alright?”

“yes, i will, dr. abbot.” jack leaves, smiling politely at frank and mel and turning back to look at you once. he really shouldn’t but he’s gotten in a bad habit of it, even though one day, someone is going to notice.

“did you just tell abbot to ‘shut up’?” frank questions, and they both look at you, waiting for your answer.

“no! no, of course not. i was just telling him about something a patient said and, um, dr. ellis wants to document it. yeah, she wants, like, really thorough notes, so he was just telling me. about that. um-”

mel looks at you thoughtfully, before bringing her hand to frank’s arm.

“i have noticed that she writes her patient encounters in a very specific format,” she says, and you sigh without realizing it. you let her carry the conversation into how frank’s notes could use some work, and then the two tease each other while you quietly make your exit.

+

another morning, jack stands at central with dana and robby, filling both of them in on two patients who are due to come back in the afternoon and the three patients still waiting for a bed upstairs.

heather and frank are bickering next to the three of them like they always do, like they’re siblings fighting in front of the parents, when he hears what they’re talking about.

“well, now i feel bad, ‘cause she’s mel’s friend, but i don’t even have that kind of energy after two red bulls, so-” frank starts, before heather interjects.

“it’s not about energy, it’s just a conversation about burn-out. candles don’t burn on both ends for a reason.”

“okay, you lost me with the metaphor.”

“you can’t be that nice to every patient forever. at some point you have to pick.”

“be nice or save their life?” frank supplies. “so basically, when is she gonna become like the rest of us?”

“i mean…” heather trails off, turning to dana. “what do you think?”

“i think they call her bubbles for a reason,” dana says, pushing up her glasses. she cranes her neck to stare at the screen of patients, looking for the next empty bed. “and i think north-two needs to be discharged, so if you two are done-”

“let me test our theory,” frank says. he waves over the lot of you coming in for your shift—you, cassie, mel, and trinity. you look over at jack, and he looks over at you, before you focus back on frank. “need someone to discharge this bed and then go grab the next patient from chairs. dana—?” he holds the clipboard and looks over at all of you, but it’s only half a second before you chirp up.

“i can do it,” you say brightly. you smile at frank and dana, reaching for the clipboard, while jack watches it happen.

“thanks bubbles,” trinity says, while the others dissipate. you make a slightly dampened face at the use of the nickname.

“one other thing,” heather asks. “when are we gonna get more cookies?”

“oh! i’m so glad you guys liked them. i guess another holiday, if there’s one coming up? or someone’s birthday? actually, i think there’s just labor day and i don’t know what kind of themed cookies i’d make. well, chocolate chip cookie day is in august, i think-”

“kid?” dana asks. “the patient? north-two?”

“right. i’m sorry. i’ll come check in after i bring the new patient back,” you say, still smiling when you walk away with the clipboard in your hand.

“what exactly were you testing?” heather asks.

“i don’t know, but she’s definitely doing whatever your metaphor meant. are we taking bets yet? i wonder how long she’ll last-”

“alright, enough,” jack snaps. “do you two not have anything better to do? who’s this helping?”

“jack?” robby questions, his eyes flicking towards dana, who looks back at him with a shrug.

“why would you want her to be jaded? isn’t it better for our patients that she stays like that for as long as she can? i thought you’d try to keep her that way, but i guess-”

“jack-” robby interrupts. 

“you two, go help somebody,” dana says to heather and frank, before turning to jack. “what the hell was that about?” 

jack sighs, not realizing when his hand had turned into a fist. probably when your name was brought up.

“nothing, i just- bad night. that’s all.”

“o-kay,” robby whistles. “you going up to the roof, or?”

“no. no, i’m going home.”

jack walks away, not in the direction of the door, but rather towards the beds on the north side, almost instinctively.

“what the hell’s wrong with him?” dana asks.

“i don’t know. since when does he just go straight home after a bad shift?”

“i have no idea.”

(that night at six-fifty, trinity pulls you aside before you two head home. you’re antsy since you want to get a couple of quiet minutes with jack before you have to leave, but when she starts talking, you forget all about it. listen, trin says, i’m sorry about the whole bubbles thing, i didn’t think it was bothering you. but collins told me that abbot was yelling at them about it and he was pretty upset, so i- but sadly, you don’t hear much of the rest of the conversation.)

you walk away from her after she finishes, reassuring her that you’re fine, before setting out to find jack. he’s putting his backpack under the desk at the hub, and you go straight to him, not entirely caring that people can see the two of you, supposing it’s fine as long as they don’t hear you.

“what’s the matter?” jack asks, and then much quieter—”everything okay, sweetheart?”

“you defended me?” you ask softly. you’re normally full of words but it feels hard to find them just now, your head feeling cloudy. 

“no, no, i just told them to knock it off.”

“was it something bad?” you question, your expression knitting into worry. 

this is exactly why he got upset—why he didn’t like their conversation from the jump, why he knew that he wanted frank and heather to stop talking before someone else overheard and jumped in and you found out what they were saying.

it’s not bad, even you wouldn’t think it’s bad. but jack doesn’t like it. he doesn’t like anyone speaking of you in any way that he doesn’t like and he especially hates the idea that you’d be upset when you found out. 

“no. i just-” jack trails off.

“you just?”

“i don’t like anyone talking about you. and i don’t like that stupid nickname, so-”

you smile at him, not the sort of innocent smile one casts at their attending—the result of being told good job on a case or have a good night on your way out. no, you smile at jack the way you do everything—with the full force of every emotion behind it, wearing your heart on your sleeve. 

and jack couldn’t look away from you, even if he wanted to.

(the two of you look like idiots—googly eyed and lovestruck and every other way to describe people who like each other a bit too much. this time it’s dana who sees the two of you. she does a double take on her way to hand a stack of tablets to the night shift charge nurse and blinks twice to make sure she’s seeing the right thing. jack abbot, a regular on the roof, and the intern who they call bubbles, looking at each other like the rest of the hospital has faded away into nothing. and then she walks away, and decides she’ll wait for robby to bring it up.)

+

it’s mel next—she’s incredibly observant as it is, but even more so when it comes to someone she considers a friend, someone like you. trinity jokes about the continual bear attacks that explain the hickies on your neck and chest when you change out of your scrub top and pull on your hoodie, but mel knows it’s more than that.

she’s always known you get to work early, but recently, every time mel comes in to put away her belongings, the space that you usually occupy is already empty. your things put away, locker closed and locked, your yellow water bottle already resting by the computer that you usually write your notes at. 

and after that, it’s just a game of paying slightly closer attention. you walk out from behind a curtained bed and come say hi to mel, ask her how her evening was, how becca is doing. but when mel glances up at the screen to see what patient you were with behind that curtain, it’s empty.

that bed was empty. and well, mel’s not much of an detective (though she has her moments), but it’s worth a shot. waste a few minutes, stare at that curtain to see if she can figure out what, or rather who is behind it. she’s almost about to call it quits, frank was running late but he’s here now and there’s an incoming so she should start moving and then—

dr. abbot comes out from behind that same curtain. he leaves it open, comes to the hub, smiles politely at mel and tells her to have a good day, dr. king, and then he walks away.

more specifically, he walks in your direction. the back of his head moves slightly in your direction. you beam at the tablet in your hands. and then—

“mel? you okay?” frank asks, and she’s snapped out of it.

(she could have figured it out ages ago, she thinks afterward, reflecting on how dr. abbot never used to tell anyone to have a good day or hum while finalizing notes or look up and smile in your general direction before looking back down at whatever’s in his hands. the first time she met him, she thought he was the type of person you categorize in the debbie downer sort of group, whereas from the moment she met you, you were clearly more of a chatty cathy. but you’re her friend. and when she had told you about her feelings for frank, you had listened and supported her and never made her feel that it was anything less than okay.)

so the next time she sees you at seven am, already out by your computer or walking back from around an empty corner, when she notices dr. abbot trailing behind you, she doesn’t say anything. when dr. abbot hangs around late finishing up a trauma and you go ask him for his opinion on whatever patient you’re seeing, even when robby is free just over there, she doesn’t say anything.

even when frank brings it up over dinner with her and becca, a side conversation while they eat spaghetti—you noticed anything different with abbot recently?—she doesn’t say anything. 

in fact, the closest she gets to saying anything is when dr. abbot comes in early—maybe around five-thirty one evening—because they’re getting swamped and heather and cassie have the flu and it’s been a terrible mess of a day.

you and mel have been running around the entire shift, barely stopping to drink water or eat something. when jack shows up and flocks straight to you and leans in to tell you something, your hand moves to touch his arm for half a second before you remember where you are and put it down. jack pulls out a granola bar from his pocket and leaves you with it to jump on the next incoming.

mel watches the encounter and puts her head down when you look her way, pretending that she’s drinking her water and staring at a tablet. when she looks up, you’re gone in another direction, but dana stares at mel, both with an understanding of what they just saw.

and then they go on with their shift.

+

it all comes crashing down, just as it had the first time, after a particularly terrible night shift. it’s always hard when someone dies in the first few hours, leaves a horrible, bitter taste in his mouth that makes him want to walk outside and not come back in. 

it’s even worse when he knows he did everything he could, that there was no way this patient was making it off the table. that the devastated husband and the crying kids were completely unavoidable, that he still has to go back and jump on the next case and start fresh and try to drown out those noises.

drowning, drowning, drowning. he’s always trying to drown out something. if it’s not the fireworks then it’s the kids sobbing over their dead parent, and if it’s not that, then it’s how he relives his own worst day of my life every time someone’s wife dies in front of him. 

it’s been one of those days. you’re due to start on nights in two shifts from now, and he still has no idea how he’ll manage to be any less obvious when it comes to you.

(the last thing he keeps trying to drown out is how wrong this is. the voice in the back of his head keeps reminding him, seemingly unable to stop, no noise being loud enough to get it to stop repeating itself. you’re still a while away from being a second year, but is that even any better? or is that another excuse he’s invented to stop feeling so guilty about the fact that you sleep in his apartment every night and leave cookies for him on the counter so he has something nice to come home to? jack doesn’t know.)

you show up at six-thirty, smiling sweetly at parker and john, telling them to grab a cookie on their way out. parker asks you why and you tell her just because, and you want five minutes alone with your boyfriend before he leaves.

you’re impatient, always have been and always will be, especially when it comes to any and all matters related to jack abbot. you’re eager to go back on the night shift because you think you’ll be able to appreciate it so much more now—learning under his tutelage, being able to discuss those foreign medical journals he shares with you over coffee at four in the morning rather than through his illegible, scribbled print on post-its and your neat handwriting in the margins. 

you want it all, and you want it now.

so you made more cookies—oatmeal raisin—to make jack’s apartment smell nice, and you pack several of them to have a valid reason to distract the others so you can get those five minutes, maybe ten, in peace.

“hi,” you sing, while jack stands in front of you, tablet in his hand and blood on his shoes. “how was your night?” he doesn’t look up, but you don’t wait for an answer. “i made oatmeal raisin last night and i put some in the break room so i think we have five minutes. i want ten but i won’t be greedy, i mean, we’ll be on nights together soon, so at least that’ll be-”

“we need to talk, kid,” jack says, looking up at you with an expression you don’t recognize.

“what’s wrong ja- dr. abbot?” a nurse walks by just as you start your sentence, changing it mid-way. 

“that,” he says, coming out a bit louder than he meant it to. “that’s what’s wrong.” 

“jack?” you say it quietly. he doesn’t mean it like that—he doesn’t want you to be upset and worried about him when you have a whole shift ahead of you, one that you show up early to with distractions so the two of you can have a few minutes alone.

it’s all of it—it’s the fact that you even have to do things like that to get five minutes alone with him. it’s that you can’t let someone overhear you calling him anything besides dr. abbot.

it’s the realization that you deserve much better than what jack abbot can give you. more than five minutes behind a curtain or a couple minutes in the break room or thirty seconds at central hub before the charge nurse comes in with another incoming. 

“come on,” he says, leading you away for a moment. you have twenty-five minutes before your shift starts and he has two senior residents who can run the show until robby walks in. he leads you to the on-call room, four walls enclosing four beds. surgery has rooms of their own, but sometimes the trauma surgeon on deck will crash in there waiting for the next page, so he checks the room before letting you into it, closing and locking the door behind him.

“i thought you were gonna yell at me. this is so much better,” you say.

your mouth has gotten you into trouble before, especially with dr. abbot. in fact, it’s what got you into this whole thing to begin with, but where you expect jack to laugh in the privacy of this room, he doesn’t.

“kid, we need to have a serious talk about this.”

“about what?”

“this. us.”

“oh, jack, come on-”

“no, i-i’m being serious. this is not okay, it’s not sustainable.”

“you’re upset because we don’t see each other? honey, i start on nights in two days, i think we can make it,” you say, coming in closer to bring your hand to jack’s shoulder. “what’s going on? really?”

“don’t you think that… what i’m doing is wrong? you’re an intern. this is about your education, i-”

“why do you think you’re disrupting my medical education just because you’re my attending? i know i get stupid around you but i promise, i’m not gonna stop paying attention to my patient because you’re standing near me. i am a doctor, you know-”

“kid, i-”

“no, stop. half this hospital is dating each other. robby is heather’s attending and i don’t see you storming them into on-call rooms to debate about his influence on her medical education-”

“that doesn’t even make sense-”

“it doesn’t have to,” you sigh, out of breath and a little winded from how loud you’re being. “we make sense. you and me. we’re good together. a lot of things in this place don’t make sense but we do. people die everyday and i don’t want to die wondering what could have been if i’d just-”

“don’t,” jack interrupts, his hands coming to your waist. they feel tight, like the first time he’d help you like this. he brings his face closer to yours, foreheads almost touching. “don’t say that.”

“oh my god. i am so sorry. that must sound so insensitive, i just meant-”

“stop talking.”

“but i-” 

and this time, he doesn’t give you a choice, pressing his lips against yours quickly. you mumble against else against his mouth, but he can’t make it out, choosing instead to ignore it. like always, jack’s mouth tastes like coffee and you take it in—your boyfriend, your attending, and whatever else jack abbot is to you, kissing you like he’s finally realizing that he belongs to you, just as much as you belong to him. 

jack’s fingertips travel under your scrub top, hands roaming the expanse of your back and then settling onto your waist again while you keep kissing, realizing that when you go back out there, you’ll be flushed and warm and your lips will be swollen.

and then you realize that you don’t care, and you let your body lean against jack’s. he pulls away for a moment, but you don’t let him get the chance to stop, leaning in to resume the kiss, desperate to feel his tongue against yours again. 

jack does pull away finally, holding your jaw with his hand.

“this is so much better,” you mumble again.

“kid, we can’t-”

“yes, we can. we have so much time, jack,” you say, trying your best to sound convincing. 

“it’s seven in the morning,” jack argues, though he doesn’t resist when you pull his navy shirt off and over his head, exposing his chest to you. you run your fingers down the exposed skin, pressing your mouth against his shoulder.

“no it’s not,” you reply, leading hot, open-mouthed kisses from his collarbone to his neck, back up to his lips. “it’s six forty-something.”

“someone’s gonna-”

“no one’s gonna,” you say, smiling in that way that you do, the way that makes it impossible for him to say no. “not unless you stop talking, old man.” 

“oh. that’s how you wanna do this?”

“i’m not doing anything,” you say, pulling off your own scrub top, and then your shoes. 

“you’re gonna kill me, kid,” leaves his mouth as your hands go to the tie of his scrub bottoms, undoing the knot. jack brings his hands to either side of your waist and lifts, bringing you down onto one of the beds with all of his strength, making you squeal as your head hits the pillow. 

he starts with a kiss to your jaw, and then your neck, trailing down between your breasts while he undoes your bra. your hands find his shoulders, gripping him tight while he works his way down, littering your stomach with kisses until he gets to the drawstring of your pants. 

his fingers work on undoing it while you whine, and then try to push yourself to sit up against jack’s weight on top of you.

“oh my god, this is so embarrassing. i didn’t know we were doing all this. i have so many matching sets of underwear for this very occasion and the one day-”

“sweetheart, i love you, but you really need to stop talking right now.”

“you love me?” you repeat back. “you love me. oh my god, i-”

you lean in, lips crashing together hard, until jack moves and he’s on top of you again. he slides off your bottoms first, his fingers dancing around the waistband of your panties—navy blue with lace on the sides and he thinks they’re awfully great so he’s not sure what you were talking about—and then you start giggling. nearly uncontrollable.

“kid, that’s twice now you’ve done that-”

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry jack,” you plead, trying to keep a straight face but being unable to stop laughing. “i can’t believe this is how we’re saying i love you to each other-”

“you’re the one who wanted to date your attending-”

you burst into another fit of giggles, which jack effectively silences by kissing you again.

“one day,” jack starts, tugging your underwear down until it’s discarded somewhere by your feet, or maybe somewhere on the floor next to your clothes. “i’ll get to take my time with you again.”

that sentence leaving jack’s mouth makes your entire body tense up, a flood of want washing over you until you feel loopy. 

you pull him in for another kiss, and you feel him against you, memories of the first time he stretched you out on his fingers running through your mind. you two don’t have enough time for that today, and you both know it, but it still makes your cunt throb with anticipation.

jack lines himself up against you, running his thick tip over your opening, collecting wetness and making pleasure course through your body when he bumps against your clit. it’s electric—like a live wire hitting your nerves and making everything feel like lightening.

your limbs already feel like jelly, and you let jack maneuver your legs up onto his shoulders, watching him while he looks down at where you two are connected. 

he pushes inside and you moan—loudly and unfiltered—feeling that ridiculously amazing stretch again, your toes curling and every muscle tensing. jack leans in to kiss you and swallow the noises you make, but you still think it might not be enough.

when he pushes all the way in, your eyes roll all the way to the back of your head. 

“i’m sorry, kid, we can’t be loud,” he breathes, followed by a groan. he uses his hand to cover your mouth, pulling out and then thrusting back in all at once. the bed creaks as jack starts fucking you with an intense rhythm, the thin wooden frame hitting against the wall repetitively. 

you lock eyes with jack, moaning against his hand, feeling how big he is like it’s the first time all over again. 

every ridge and vein makes you see stars while you focus on how full you feel—full of jack, how you want stay like this forever if he’ll let you—in a tiny on call room with the door locked and people looking for the two of you. 

you repeat it against his palm—jack, jack, jack—while he keeps fucking you with an intensity that makes the coil in your belly keep tightening. he’s so deep inside of you that you’re sure you won’t be able to walk after this, let alone finish your shift, but the thought drifts somewhere far away when he changes the angle slightly. 

jack pushes his hand against your lower belly and thrusts back into you, while your back arches and tries to fight him. maybe you’re trying to get away from how good it feels, that overwhelming sensation that the ground is about to give out beneath the two of you. you stare up at jack through teary eyes, taking in how he looks hovering over you, taking care of you and watching out for you and thinking about you first like he always does. 

and then it happens, the hot sensation in your belly tenses, and then snaps, and it washes over you like a current. you feel it—the ringing in your ears feels like it’s making its way through your entire body and your walls clench and pulse around jack’s girth. 

your eyes snap shut but when they open, you keep looking up at jack, finally forcing his hand away from your mouth. 

“jack,” you get out, your throat dry and sore and lips aching. “i love you too-”

you hear jack groan, a noise that makes your walls flutter, and then you feel it again—jack’s hips stuttering, his grip on you tightening, and then warmth filling you, hot streams of cum coating your walls until it’s leaking out of you. 

you take deep breaths, head hitting the pillow while jack collapses on top of you, and then rolls over until he’s beside you. 

the room is silent besides the two of you breathing, until of course, you speak up.

“i can’t believe this is how we said i love you.”

“you already said that, kid.”

“i know. i just really can’t believe it. i figured it would at least be outside of the hospital, but, i guess that wouldn’t feel right.” 

“sweetheart-”

“am i doing it again? the not knowing when to be quiet thing?”

“no, but i-”

“wait,” you cry out, sitting up immediately. “what time is it? oh my god-”

“don’t worry about that right now. i gotta get you cleaned up before-”

“jack, i have never been late for a shift before.” you sigh dramatically before you keep going. “i just knew it. this relationship is completely affecting my medical education-”

jack shuts you up with a kiss before you can finish the sentence, capturing your laugh against his mouth. 

he starts making half a plan in his head, though what he wants to do is take you home with him right now.

“i think i’m ready for you to be back on nights now.”

“yeah? why’s that?”

“because at least we can sleep next to each other if you-”

“jack!” he hears robby’s voice shouting from the other side of the door, followed by three pounds that rattle the wood. “do not tell me that my intern is in there.”

“fuck,” jack whispers, while you stare at him with wide eyes.

“what should we do?” you mouth, while jack gets up, finding your scrubs and pocketing your underwear while he pulls on his own clothes.

“stay in here,” he tells you quietly. “just take your time.” 

“okay,” you whisper back, leaning in for another kiss with a smile. “i love you.”

“i love you too.”

jack pulls on his shirt and unlocks the door, closing it quickly behind him as he steps out to meet robby on the other side. 

“you’re kidding me, right?”

“i can explain, robby. we-”

“i don’t want to hear it. the on-call room? that’s disgusting, you know.”

“robby, i-”

“go talk to hr before gloria gets on my ass about this.” robby walks away, shaking his head. 

you open the door, poking your head out, and jack turns back to look at you.

“gosh. i sure hope hr doesn't think you’re interfering with my medical education-”

♡ thanks for reading!

[sageofunknownwisdom]

phainon being the definition of a yearner.

it's honestly kind of pathetic but it's endearing in a way that makes you feel unworthy. he's the type of man to know what he wants and chase after it, undeterred and just as passionate as the first time he's tried to (embarrassingly) flirt with you.

he looks at you as if you're a miracle, as if you're worth every damn thing in the universe and more. phainon kisses the ground you walk on, envies the wind that caresses you, and worships your very being. 

it's almost wrong for someone to love this much. you'd be concerned but then again, it is phainon. 

phainon who devotes his life protecting amphoreus and its people. the chrysos heir destined to bear the weight of the world on his back. the man who's spent countless lifetimes, doing everything he can to lighten the suffering of his people.

phainon who'd regressed for billions of years just to delay amphoreus’ destruction, losing his sanity in the process and yet he continues to fight— his wide back turned, and his sword pointed towards fate. 

what type of madman would fight against a predetermined path? a path made by gods, you definitely wouldn't and couldn't, even if you practiced for thousands of years.

maybe that's why it comes to no one's surprise that phainon loves you as if it's his only reason for breathing. why he grips his sword tight, unflinching as he runs towards a god, all for the sake of keeping his loved ones— more specifically, you.

terribly lovesick, utterly foolish, and sickeningly devoted. phainon loves as if that's all he could do, and perhaps it is. the scorching rage that engulfs him had been a product of love; the shaky sobs he lets out, clutching the remnants of his family, had also been a product of love. 

phainon is simply a man who loves too much, you conclude. 

you are not surprised when he holds your hand to his lips, placing delicate kisses from your fingers to your wrist. his reverent eyes look at you with so much need that it makes your heart thump rapidly in your ribcage, as if it wants to get out and place itself on a silver platter just for him.

phainon does not simply yearn, he burns– it's bright, blinding, and beautiful. he kneels to fix the lace of your boots, lowers his head so you can place a chaste kiss on his cheeks, listens to you like every word that falls from your mouth is gospel.

you could burn the whole of okhema down, laughing maniacally as you do, and he'd still love you then. he'll cry and wail as he delivers the final blow but there will never be hate in his eyes– try as he might, phainon could never truly hate you.

it's laughable how down-bad he is for you. running after you when he sees you walking in the market, offering a hand to carry your bag. like an excited puppy, phainon's boyish grin softens when you enter his peripheral. 

aglaea can only sigh, turning away as phainon gets distracted for the fifteenth time the moment your name gets mentioned. mydeimos scoffs, making a barfing motion whenever he sees phainon doing flashier movements when he knows you're watching.

phainon isn't embarrassed at all. he may act like it, scratching the back of his neck as a light pink dusts his cheeks but he'd rather listen to professor anaxagoras’ eight hour dromas lesson than stop being a fool for you.

you almost want to avert your eyes whenever he gazes at you, it's nearly suffocating. phainon's eyes have always been beautiful, mesmerizing even, and when it's full of this much adoration– the yellow pupils melt into liquid gold.

phainon looks at you like you're all that he could ever want, and he loves you as if you're his salvation.

A/N: idk man, he just a frfr yearner 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️ also this is my first work in this fandom erm! im an ao3 writer so compromising to the tumblr format is wow- hard!

[indouloureux]

should we just keep driving

— clark kent x fem!reader

— synopsis: the 4 times clark kent keeps his glasses, and the 1 time superman wears them

— a/n: just dorky cute clark kent, and a bunch of domesticity 

i. 

his fingertips are almost too big for his keyboard, and you think poor clark, needing to bend his back a little just so he could be eye level with the monitor. 

clark's eyes narrow, his lips pouting. he reaches for a yellow sticky pad, aiming to pull out just one but ends up pulling the whole stack. then he takes a pen that almost looks like a toothpick in his grasp, scribbles something down, and sticks it onto the corner of his computer... alongside the other sticky notes he's stuck onto his computer.

your brows meet together in curiosity. lois peers up the top of her monitor. "something wrong?"

"his monitor is covered in notes." you say, leaning back on your chair, bending backwards slightly. "he's... brainstorming."

"on superman's unwanted involvement with the boravian government?" she asks, taking a sip of her coffee that was a little less coffee and a bit more sugar. "surprising to see him be this infused when he always gets an interview with superman himself in a span of a minute."

"no i don't think he's brainstorming on that," you tilt your head to the side. you know clark can hear your conversation but doesn't show not even a single sign of his attention being diverted to you. clark bobs his head lightly to the music traveling through his earphones, tutting the tune. "i don't think he's brainstorming on an article at all."

you move your chair closer to him, wheels spinning on the marble floor. you see the icon of the mighty crabjoys on the corner of his screen, and the closer you get—

a blog. about how to make pot roast. clark is reading a cooking blog, and the notes that bedeck his monitor are steps, identified through tiny scribbled numbers at the top. he removed one earphone and turns to look at you, putting his elbow on the armrest. 

"can i help you with something?" he blinks, smiling a little as if telling you he's open to helping you with whatever it is. he sniffles just enough to push the glasses up his face, lens smudged with his fingerprints. 

you shake your head. "are you done with all your paper work?"

"yep."

"sure? 'cause if you haven't, perry's gonna hand you your ass."

"my ass is perfectly fine, thank you." clark bows his head and turns back to the monitor,

leaving one ear open. "just... looking for what to eat for dinner."

you lean closer. you place your head just beside clark's shoulder, chin grazing the fabric of his oversized blazer. you see the tips of his ears redden. "you miss home, smallville?"

clark nods. "i miss ma's cooking, that's for sure." he smiles at you with pretty dimples. you look at his crooked tie and reach out to straighten it for him. his throat bobs, blubbers out a shy thanks, blushes even harder when your hand stays. 

he reaches to place his hand on top of yours but ends up toppling the plastic cup that had his pens. clark yelps, his eyebrows meeting in an embarrassed frown, followed by a shy laugh as he picks up the pens that roll off his desk. 

you laugh and roll away. 

— 

as predicted—clark is hunched over in the small area of your kitchen cooking a rushed pot roast. 

he'd gotten home before you did, finishing up your latest article so that you wouldn't have to bring any work at home. you place your shoes beside his by the door, dropping your bag by the couch before entering the kitchen.

clark hears you even before you'd step foot in; "done with all the work?"

you walk towards him and wrap your arms around him, placing your cheek on his back; all muscles, with a scent that smells like soap and old paper and a bit of smoke. when he chuckles, it vibrates against your whole upper body.

"a bit tiring."

he turns the stove off and grabs a wooden spoon, taking a bit of the sauce into it. then clark turns a little and wraps a free arm around you before placing the spoon in front of your mouth.

"taste- oh! hold on—"

clark brings the spoon just an inch from his face and blows, a white dust escaping his pink lips, then brings it back to you.

"there, not too hot now."

you taste and hum in its delicacy. clark kent is many things; being a chef is one of his possible professions had he not taken journalism, because the sauce kisses the palate of your tongue the way clark would when he's ablaze. 

he smiles at his triumph to please you. "it's amazing."

"yay."

you realize just now that he's wearing an apron made by Martha—red on the edges with a white pocket filled with tiny little heads of cows. in the pocket was the sticky notes he'd placed earlier on his computer back at work. 

you look up and see that his glasses had fogged. you take it and wipe the lens on the fabric of his apron and say, "you're home, y'know? no need to wear the glasses, honey."

"yeah well, superman may be an alien, but his anatomy is close to a normal human being. therefore–" he leans down so you could place the large chunky frames back on the bridge of his nose "– as clark kent, i actually do not have 20/20 vision." 

"so you're immune to alcohol and fevers but not to bad eyesight?"

"i'm allergic to pollen and get a bad stomach ache when i eat too much seafood. sometimes, i have my own cons."

you chuckle and peer over the open pot. "no peas?"

clark frowns. "come on, you know i hate peas! that one specifically irritates me!"

ii. 

"i don't see why you can't just use super speed to help me clean up."

you're back at smallville for the holidays. and you find yourself eating breakfast at six in the morning, and doing chores at ten. martha and jonathan are at the market for the following holiday dinner, which leaves you and clark to do his daily routine that he'd always done back in his youth.

"because, my very lazy sweetheart," he closes the vacuum, the couch lifted with one hand. there's dust settling on the fold of his flannel just by his elbow, and his nose is red from inhaling it. "it's superman's vacation."

"you're using your strength right now!"

"this is an exception. this couch is heavy."

you roll your eyes and wipe the remaining water off a plate before stacking it up at the cupboard. "i love you and i love your family, but if we don't use your super speed, we'll be doing chores until twelve in the afternoon."

clark, just to tease you, uses his speed to give you a quick chaste peck on your mouth before going back to the living room. you gawp, his kiss more like a feather than an actual contact. 

"then it would be just in time for lunch. besides, this is bonding!" then he pouts at something by his feet. "oh gosh, there's a weird patch on the floor."

"but you said you'd teach me how to ride a horse." you pout, holding a towel in your hand. 

he moves and lifts the other couch up. "i will. after lunch, i promise."

then he flicks the vacuum back on.

—

back at metropolis, clark always used your car if you weren't available. but most of the time, he loved it when you drove. it was an exchange to the times he'd fly you anywhere. 

but here in smallville, clark had a red truck, kept under a sheet outside of his home. he's using it now to drive you somewhere deep into the farm's meadows in the late night.

the windows are down and you're peeking your head out, letting the wind kiss your face the way it would when clark flew you across the sky. in the driver's seat, clark has a hand on the steering wheel, and the other on the bottom of your spine to keep you steady, glancing at you every few seconds with a soft smile on his face.

"where you taking me, clark?" you say loudly, a bright smile on your face. and he thinks it's shining brighter than the super moon this evening, a glow more radiant and deeper than its crates.

"almost there, honey." 

clark stops just when the truck reaches a small hill. he takes the keys out, the vehicle rumbling to a stop. and when you click on the lock that unbuckles your seatbelt, clark jogs—jogs, not using his super speed—to open your side of the door. 

he offers his calloused hand to which you gladly take, fitting in like a puzzle, and you hop down. there, you see that he's prepared a blanket and a basket right in the middle of the hill. your brows raise and look at him.

the stars reflect off his lens and he's looking up like he's sheepish and shy, rocking back and forth between his heels, rubbing his thumb between the crevices of your knuckles. you laugh.

"is this why you left me with Martha earlier?" you pull him to the blanket and plop down, propping yourself up with your arm. clark mimics you.

"well, i figured last year i brought you up on one of the makeshift windmills behind the barn so you could see metropolis from afar. and a year before that, we spent the whole night having sex in my loft, and then the year before that—"

"get to the point, babe."

"i thought maybe this time," he opens the basket and brings out a few slices of Martha's apple pie from earlier. "i'd take you out stargazing. no polluted sky here."

clark stabs the plastic fork on the side where there's crust and filling and feeds you. you hum. "this is delicious."

you and clark converse on recent events until the slices are nothing but tiny crumbs in the tupperware. when you're both laid back, fingers laced and backs being poked with growing grass, you trace the stars with your fingers.

"see that one?" clark squints his eyes at where you're pointing. "looks like your insignia."

"oh yeah. i see it."

"that one, if you trace it," your finger connects the stars lightyears away, forming a shape clark can't even imagine. "looks like a crab."

clark, in an attempt to try what you're doing, points to the sky and traces as well. "this one's a heart."

you turn your head to look at him and he's already looking. you think it's fate on how every time your stares always sync and you catch each other staring, how it was like a string was wrapped around the two of you; the way your hearts beat at the same time.

clark, ever loving clark—the one who reheats your coffee with his laser eyes, the one who uses his cold breath to keep the apartment warm and save you from the ac's bills, the one who holds your hand to keep you from getting lost even though he towers over the crowd and could easily spot you either way.

the one who knows how much you value your independency and lets you rule the world, helping when you most need it. the one who knows how to handle the chaos of your emotions, the one who would stay in the bylines for you, write headlines about you, the one who would resurrect dead stars from millions of years ago just so they could shine for you every night. 

he's looking at you with so much love in his eyes it's sickening. and even in the dark, his irises—as blue as the ocean in the sun—sparkle in the evening, even behind his glasses. and you don't need to say anything for him to kiss you.

because he does, propping himself up in one arm and kisses you, slotting himself between your legs, an arm reaching down to grasp your thighs beneath your dress and kiss you feverishly. your hands come up to grasp his curls, to clutch his flannel, to cup his face and hold his cheeks between your palms. 

there's soft clicks and content hums between kisses. and you're grounded; he's as human as he's ever been when he's with you, when his warmth is your warmth, and when he gets to bring down his walls and be vulnerable. it's when you feel his muscles relax and you can feel the way he shrinks just the slightest, all the super in him tucked somewhere for tonight.

clark's lips on yours is soft, perfect. and you moan lightly when his tongue grazes yours, and whine when he pulls back to look at you.

"one day, when we're ready to settle," he takes your hand in his hair and kisses the back of it, eyes never leaving yours. "i'm marrying you on this hill and we're gonna grow old."

"in this farm?"

"yeah," then clark blushes. "o-only if you want to. no pressure."

you giggle, pushing the curls behind his ears. "i'd love to, clark."

then he smiles like you'd told him you loved him for the first time, and kisses you like it's the first time.

iii. 

grocery shopping with clark is...

well...

you'd known he never had much in his youth. he was privileged enough to have a full stomach given his metabolism, but he was never really given the chance back then to actually buy stuff he wanted to eat. 

so he looks like a hyperactive child walking across the aisles pointing out whatever has the most sugar and carbs. 

lucky charms. nutella. a variety of chips you can't even eat for the sake of a good health. a lot of processed food it's concerning.

yes, clark eats healthy; but every once in a while, when you bring him to go grocery shopping with you, he overindulges. what's usually full of vegetables and meat when you go alone is now a child's dream pushcart. 

"can we have this?" he carries four bottles of coke in his hands. and he looks excited. 

clark's glasses are crooked from moving too much. there is not a sign of superman in there— just clark joseph kent, a boy from smallville, who's had big dreams and a sweet tooth. 

"we gotta save space for the healthy food, honey." 

"we can always handle two carts," he pouts.

"yes we can. but can our budget though?"

he huffs and puts two bottles back. and when you give him a look, he puts one back and carefully puts the bottle in the corner of the cart, stumbling on his feet.

— 

jimmy and clark had a basketball game every friday. it was something you'd pushed clark to do despite his fears that he might get too competitive and hurt jimmy the way superman would. you'd reassure him that he wouldn't.

and he hadn't. 

he laughs boyishly, and you see a hint of his youth from the way his curls fall from the sweat and his glasses are askew. the ball is as big as his hands, and he's moving in a way he doesn't want jimmy to take the ball from him.

(he can't. clark is huge. he could basically just walk and toss it into the basket. the only way jimmy could take the ball is if clark's distracted.) 

you sit on the benches with cat and lois, who are arguing on which topics are more front page worthy — how luthercorp's tycoon causes local businesses to go bankrupt and big companies to bend under their will, or how single women are singlehandedly reshaping modern feminism with their independency. 

you think clark's handsome face is front page worthy.

the ball dribbles harder than it should be but jimmy's too pissed about it from his losses. but clark seems to enjoy himself, the way he laughs and trips on his feet, too excited over a game of basketball.

"uh, clark," jimmy pants, hands on his hips. "how 'bout we take a break."

clark hugs the ball to his chest like it's his. "yeah sure."

he walks to you, head ducked, dripping down his white shirt. but he's all smiley and giddy. sitting down beside you with his legs spread out. clark turns his head away to wipe the sweat off his face when he removes his glasses, then turns to you with flushed cheeks.

"can i have my bottle, please?"

you hand him and he thanks you with a kiss before you realize the reason why he's too energetic for a one-on-one basketball play.

"clark! is that the soda i bought you?"

iv.

clark knows how much stress you've been under when perry gives you the opportunity to pass an article for the front page. so when you've gone on a girl's night out, he offers to be your chaperone and waits all night inside your car just outside the club.

(you remember the day he'd gotten to be on the front page for the first time. he'd walked in, paper folded just the right way to show his headline and name, held by his chest frontwards so that anyone who would bump into him would see it. clark had a cheeky smile, saying hi to everyone with the hand holding the newspaper, blushing wildly. he had it framed in your apartment as well as if it were some kind of trophy, right next to your pictures.$

he's got it handled: staring intensely at the wall with x-ray eyes, watching you go haywire with lois and cat. clark thinks the bouncer by the door is starting to suspect him as some kind of perverted stalker, but he couldn't care less what he thinks. 

by two in the early morning, he jolts awake when he hears your laugh as you stumble out from the metal doors, a broken heel in hand. lois and cat, though inebriated, have worry interlaced in their own laughter. clark immediately exits the car and approaches you.

"kent!" lois yells, her voice echoing, and the bouncer snaps his head to their direction. "she's- she's drunk. too drunk. this is all cat's fault."

cat, who has your arm around her neck, rolls her eyes. "jus' get her in the car, big man."

clark bumbles. "y-yeah. i'll drop you two home first."

when the two settle in the backseat, clark sits you in the passenger, reclining the chair back and making sure lois isn't squeezed (she's fallen sideways onto cat, who's on the edge of vomiting in her sleep).

then he squeezes himself in the driver's seat, hunched over, his neck aching just the slightest. and he finally thinks then, when clark sees the bouncer following the car through the rearview mirror, that there'd be pictures of him with the word 'caution' beneath.  

after dropping off lois and cat (who he both walked up the stairs and into their apartments), he makes his way home, with you

sleeping humbly in your seat, reclining more now that lois had gone home. 

clark reaches over and puts his hand on your knee, laughing at your incoherent mumble. "what's that, sweetheart?"

"shawarma." is what he catches in your slurring. you whine and furrow your brows, turning to your side. "want one."

"okay. we'll get you one."

—

the shawarma is placed on the counter carefully, since he's carrying you with one arm bridal style. clark sets you on the bed, turns the lamp on, which sets an aureate golden glow that radiates off both your flushed skins. 

his glasses fall down his nose when he reaches down to remove the remaining heel. you reach down to push it back up, which makes clark look at you, flustered.

"drank too much, huh?" he puts a hand on your back and sits you up, your head lolling forward, forehead hitting his chest. 

"'s cat's fault."

"yeah, honey, i know." clark chuckles, taking your chin between his fingers. your half lidded eyes look at him, smiling drunkenly. "hi there."

"hi superman."

"no superman here," he nods. "just clark kent. up and at it."

he lifts you by your armpits until your wrap your arms around his neck, legs around his torso. he feels you nuzzle your face in the crevice of his shoulder, whining softly about needing to pee.

so when he enters the bathroom, he opens the toilet lid with his foot, free hand pulling your underwear down, and sits you on the toilet. then he reaches for a cleanser from the shelves, dabs it on a cotton pad, and waits for you to finish peeing.

clark gently stands you up and wipes you before flushing the toilet. he closes the lid and sits you down back again, pulling up a fresh underwear onto you.

"clark," you murmur, the cold feeling of cleanser wiping your face. "do you remember when we first met?"

he wipes it gently on your cheek. "yeah. it was when i was an intern." he taps your nose. "perry told me to get everyone coffee, and i remember yours being very specific. and you were very surprised when i got it right, 'cuz it turns out you did it to mess with me a little." 

even in an inebriated state, you flash a look of guilt. "sorry baby."

"i remember our first kiss as well," he tilts your head upwards. "i was walking you home. it was snowing. we decided to walk through centennial park, and by chance, we walked underneath a mistletoe."

"uhuh."

"and i remember you telling me that you wished i'd kissed you not because i had to, but because i wanted to. so i did."

your lips purse and he kisses you gently, his hand cupping your warm cheek. you melt. 

kohl on wet cotton, a faint taste of vodka, sweat and vanilla. when clark kisses you, it seems as though all his senses always settle on you, like you're the center of his universe. all he hears, breathes, tastes, feels, is you. even when under a state of carelessness; he kisses you like he wants to swallow all the love you have and give it back ten times more.

you find yourself in the kitchen a few minutes later, in new clean clothes. he stands between your legs while you sit on the countertop, drinking hot chocolate while you ate your laser-heated shawarma in content, feeling sobriety kicking in. 

and in that moment you think, that you could go through hundreds of nights just sitting with clark and eating cheap food, knowing that even if not all your dreams were kept, the most important thing was that you had him.

+ v. 

"oh shoot."

he lands clumsily, hands pressed against the sliding door. superman steps in, flapping something off his cape before setting his foot on the ground. the mug on your mouth lowers.

"clark?"

superman yelps, his hands waving in the air before setting them on his heart. you laugh. "you scared me."

"did you not know i was here?"

"i did. i just... didn't expect you'd speak."

you stand up from the chair, putting the mug on the coffee table. he walks towards you and hugs you tightly, hearing him inhale your scent as if it were a freshly baked pie. you hum.

"watcha doin' here, bud?"

he reaches for his glasses placed by the tv and wears them. all clark in a costume. "toilet break. i badly need to pee. unless it's a number two."

suddenly, his posture deflates and it's back to its usual hunch. you find his shift in persona endearing. 

clark kisses your forehead, hands on your biceps. in amusement you say: "close the toilet lid before you leave, 'kay?"

"yes ma'am." he makes his journey to the bathroom. then he stubs his toe on the corner of the couch and you wince, but he only stumbles and knocks off a book. he mutters apologies to it like it breathes.

and before he disappears behind the bathroom door, he says: "love you!"

[evilwoman18]

Y/N stood in the middle of a display aisle lined with bassinets, her fingers trailing over the smooth edge of one she’d been eyeing for the past ten minutes. At six months pregnant, her movements were slower, more deliberate, but there was a spark in her eyes that Simon hadn’t seen in weeks.

“This one,” she said finally, turning to him with the kind of finality that usually ended a debate before it started.

Simon crossed his arms, broad shoulders dwarfing the dainty furniture around them. “No. We’re not havin’ the baby sleepin’ in our room.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“In their own room, Y/N. Proper nursery. That’s what it’s for.”

She narrowed her eyes, one hand bracing instinctively on her belly. “You want me to get up and walk across the hall at 2 a.m. every time they cry?”

Simon hesitated, his voice dropping to that low, even tone he used when he thought he was being perfectly reasonable. “They’ll be fine. And you’ll sleep better without every grunt and whimper wakin’ you up.”

Y/N snorted, the sound sharp with disbelief. “You think I’m going to sleep with them down the hall? Simon, I barely sleep now with them inside me.”

“Y/N…”

“No,” she cut in, the steel in her voice unmistakable. “First six months, they’re in our room. Bassinet right next to us. I need to know they’re okay.”

Simon ran a hand over the back of his neck, trying not to let the tiny flicker of anxiety he felt show. The truth was, the idea of having the baby in the same room scared him in ways he couldn’t explain. Every sound, every breath, he’d be up all night checking, making sure nothing happened.

He sighed. “I just don’t want you runnin’ yourself ragged.”

Y/N softened slightly, reading more in his tone than in his words. She reached out, taking his gloved hand in hers and placing it against the curve of her stomach. “You’re not getting rid of them that easily, Riley. They’re staying close. For both of us.”

Simon’s jaw ticked, his mask hiding the complicated tangle of emotions running through him. After a long pause, he muttered, “Fine. Bassinet in our room.”

Y/N smirked, victory shining in her eyes as she turned back to the display. “Knew you’d come around.”

Simon just shook his head, the faintest edge of a smile in his voice. “You’re bloody impossible, Y/N.”

~

Y/N moved methodically through the rows of tiny baby clothes, her tentative eyes scanning each rack with the same intensity she usually reserved for weapons checks. Every so often she’d pause, pluck out a muted cream romper or a sage-green onesie, and hold it up to the light before nodding to herself.

“Gender-neutral only,” she muttered, half to herself. “I don’t want to know until I’m holding them for the first time.”

Simon followed a step behind, the growing mountain of clothes draped over his arm. He’d carried kit bags through combat zones that weighed less.

He watched her waddle down the aisle, the subtle sway in her hips more pronounced now that she was six months along. For the first time since he’d met her, hell, in the six years they’d been married, Y/N didn’t move like someone who could dismantle a man in three seconds flat. She moved carefully, a hand always bracing against her belly as if to shield their child from the world.

And it did something to him.

Every instinct screamed to take the weight from her, to make sure she didn’t have to reach, lift, or even bend. So he did, plucking packages from the higher racks before she could, guiding her around displays with a steady hand on the small of her back, carrying everything before she even thought to.

“Simon,” she said finally, shooting him a sharp look over her shoulder. “You’re hovering.”

He didn’t bother denying it. “You look like you’re about to topple over with every step.”

Her lips twitched, though she tried to suppress the smile. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t care,” Simon replied, adjusting the stack of clothes against his chest.

Y/N shook her head, returning to her hunt for soft yellows and muted grays. “You realize I’m still me, right? Being pregnant doesn’t make me fragile.”

“Maybe not,” Simon allowed, his voice low and steady. “But you look… different. Feels wrong not helpin’.”

Y/N froze briefly at that, her expression softening despite herself. She turned back to the rack, hiding the small, knowing smile tugging at her lips.

~

Simon juggled two overstuffed shopping bags in each hand and balanced a third against his hip, the pile of baby clothes and supplies threatening to spill with every step.

Y/N walked a pace behind him, arms swinging free and a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “You know,” she called, “normal couples split the load. You’re not a pack mule.”

“Not lettin’ you carry a thing,” Simon replied without looking back, his voice gruff with finality.

“You’re overprotective,” she teased, quickening her pace to walk beside him. “I’m pregnant, not porcelain.”

Simon glanced at her, the overhead sunlight cutting a line across his mask that covered only his mouth. His gaze inevitably drifted down, catching on the pronounced curve of her belly straining against her shirt.

“…You’ve gotten big,” he murmured, more to himself than her.

Y/N shot him a sidelong glare, eyes narrowing. “You’re not supposed to say that to a pregnant woman, Simon.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shifting the bags in his hands. “Not what I meant. You sure it’s just one in there?”

She rolled her eyes. “For the hundredth time, yes. And before you ask, no, I didn’t ask the doctor. I told them I only wanted to know if the baby was okay. Everything else can wait.”

Simon unlocked the truck and began loading the bags into the back, his movements slower than usual, thoughtful. “Feels like there’s two,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, leaning against the passenger door. “What, do you have some kind of twin radar?”

“Just sayin’,” he said, closing the tailgate with a soft thud. “You’re carryin’ somethin’ precious. Hard not to… want to take every weight off your shoulders.”

The teasing smile faded from her face, replaced by a softer, more complicated expression. “Simon…”

He turned to face her fully, meeting her gaze. “Can’t help it, love. You look so damn… defenseless sometimes. Never seen you like that. Feels wrong not doin’ everythin’ I can.”

For once, Y/N had no quick comeback. She looked away, fighting the warmth creeping up her neck, and murmured, “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Simon agreed easily, opening her door for her. “And you’re stuck with me.”

~

The hum of the engine filled the truck’s cab, a steady backdrop to the faint smell of cinnamon rolls still lingering from the box Y/N had insisted on grabbing before they left the store.

Simon kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift, his eyes flicking between the road and the gentle curve of her belly in the passenger seat. No matter how many times he looked, it always caught him off guard, how much she was showing now, how real all of this felt.

Y/N turned her head, catching him staring. A slow smirk spread across her face.

“You’re doing it again,” she said, eyes glinting with amusement.

Simon’s gaze snapped back to the road. “Doin’ what?”

“Looking at me like I’m smuggling state secrets under my shirt,” she teased, resting a hand over her stomach. “Still convinced it’s twins, aren’t you?”

Simon huffed. “Feels like it.”

She chuckled softly, leaning her head back against the seat. “Maybe you’re just not used to seeing me like this. All… defenseless.”

His grip on the wheel tightened imperceptibly. “Not the word I’d use,” he muttered.

Y/N arched an eyebrow. “Oh? What word, then?”

Simon hesitated, the weight of his stare briefly shifting to her before returning to the road. “…Precious.”

For a split second, the teasing look in her eyes faltered, replaced by something warmer that made her chest tighten. She turned back to the window quickly, hiding the faint flush creeping up her cheeks.

“That’s disgustingly sappy, Riley,” she said after a beat, her voice laced with forced nonchalance.

Simon smirked faintly. “You’re welcome.”

Y/N fought the smile tugging at her lips, choosing instead to prod at him. “You know, for someone who claims he’s not overprotective, you haven’t taken your eyes off me, or the alleged twins, for more than five seconds.”

Simon grunted, shifting gears. “Not takin’ chances.”

Y/N laughed quietly, the sound soft but genuine, and for the rest of the drive, the teasing subsided into a comfortable, charged silence, Simon still sneaking glances when he thought she wasn’t looking, and Eris secretly touched by every single one.

~

The room was bathed in soft, warm light, shadows pooling in the corners as Simon and Y/N lay close together on their bed. The air was still, filled only with the quiet rhythm of their breathing.

Simon’s face was bare, unmasked, the usual stoic barrier replaced by something softer, tired, but present. His dark eyes met Y/N’s as she traced lazy circles over her swollen belly, the glow from the bedside lamp catching the glint of her eyes.

Breaking the silence, Simon’s voice was low and hesitant, almost vulnerable. “I’ve been thinkin’ about names.”

Y/N paused, hand still resting lightly on her stomach. “You have?”

“Yeah,” he said, his gaze steady. “Not just any names. Ones that mean somethin’.”

She blinked, surprised by the seriousness in his tone. “I thought you didn’t want to get ahead of yourself.”

Simon smiled faintly, a softness in his expression she hadn’t seen before. “I used to feel that way. But now, knowin’ you, knowin’ we’re doin’ this… it feels real. I want the name to be right.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, and she moved closer, letting her head rest gently against his shoulder. “What kind of names are you thinking?”

“Strong ones,” Simon said quietly. “Names that mean something to us, to them. Names that remind them of where we came from, and where they're goin’.”

She smiled, warmth spreading through her chest. “You’re more sentimental than you let on.”

He shrugged, voice gruff but affectionate. “Only when it counts.”

Y/N leaned up, pressing a tender kiss to his cheek. “I like that.”

Simon wrapped an arm around her, fingers threading through hers, and in the quiet of their shared home, they both let themselves believe in the future waiting just beyond the night.

~

Let me know what you guys think! Night y'all.

Thank you for reading!💚

[eraserbread]

testin out the new lipstick your older boyfriend, nanami, bought u ✧ ୨୧ - based off this fanart by ayushnz

→ afab fem!reader, implied age-gap, pillow talk, teasing, sfw but suggestive

he drops a little shopping bag in front of you, mentioning, "i'm sorry."

"seems like you're always apologizing." you're digging in your gift before he even lets it go, recognizing the high-end makeup branding on the side.

"seems like you're always yelling and calling me an asshole."

"because you are a capitalistic asshole, but I can't blame you." you're gasping like a kid in a candy shop, pulling out a single box of your favorite designer lipstick. the shade marker on the bottom reads 'for the roses', and when you dig it out of its packaging, it swatches on your hand in a deep red. kento watches you over your shoulder.

"thought it'd be flattering on you."

"did you? or did your assistant?"

"give me a break."

you're breathing in the fluster he hides so well whenever he's not around you. now, out of the job, hair loose, and glasses off, he's yours to the core.

"there is a strange lack of mirrors at your place. here, hold it." you're pushing a pocket mirror you keep in your bag into his big hand, turning around in your chair to face him. he's towering, unimpressed when you boss him around, but too polite to tell you no.

so, right now, he'd be your mirror holder. he does want you to wear the lipstick—this'll have to be his sacrifice. he watches you pull the cap off the gold tube, marveling at the luxurious shade of red it holds before posing in the mirror, concentrated as you smear the color on.

he watches—no, marvels at you. the subtle grace, the unwavering beauty. it makes him smile. "I was right... it's stunning."

"mm, you're just tryna get in my pants."

kento tosses his head back in a sigh, pressing the compartment shut. "will you keep this up all night? pretending to be mad at me?"

"if it gets me what i want," you sit back in the plush rolling chair, skirt hiked up, hair mussed, and lips red. his amber eyes burn as they skate over your body. you bite your lip, staining your teeth as you nod. "...mhm."

"brat."

you laugh, leaning forward to catch the hang of his tie. you hate this one—the yellow-dotted one he swore was his favorite—but you love him, and you love the look on his face as you pull him down into a kiss. it's all lips, no tongue, but when ken pulls away, he's red-faced and red-lipped. your lipstick has transferred all over him.

"fuck. you're soooo cute." using that leverage you have on his tie, you pull yourself up. he doesn't even stumble, but he is reaching out to grab your ass. "I wonder how many lipstick stains I can leave all over you."

"one hundred, maximum. though, you'll hardly get to fifty before complaining about lip cramps."

"let's test it out, " you smirk deviously, turning him around in your arms and pushing him into the warm chair. he looks up at you with a gaze only you could read, teasing, telling you don't try anything.

you reach to reapply your lipstick, running a free hand through kento's tossed locks. he catches your wrist, pulling your hand to his lips to kiss. "might not let you get to a hundred."

"challenge accepted." you lean forward, snatching your hand away from him. starting at his face, you're kissing his nose, cheekbone and forehead, lingering over the top of his lip.

then they trail to his jawline, four kisses all smooshed in the area around his ear. he's purring, puffing out laughs when you hit a ticklish spot. you're at his neck, then to his clothed chest staining the blue fabric in waxy red.

and when you're standing up straight, admiring your handiwork, you've got him by the tie. "so fucking sexy."

he chuckles, head tilted to the side so you can see the number you did on his thick neck. "ha, don't be crude."