#remote coaching for professionals

[invinciblecareer]

If you’re trying to find a new job or work more effectively with colleagues in your current job, you need the best of both worlds.

We’ll never put the remote work genie back in the office bottle. So, you need to make the best of virtual relationships and interactions.

But I’m also going to encourage you to tap back into the power of face-to-face conversations and meetups.

[georgiasedify]

Be come a Member of Georgia's Edify and also booking is available.

[leadlikeaqueen]

What Makes Me Nervous? Remote Work is H.A.R.D.

What Makes Me Nervous? Remote Work is H.A.R.D. Watch video, read full article, and take survey to help me prepare for season 5 of podcast about remote work.

Daily writing promptWhat makes you nervous?View all responses Why Am I Continuing to Be a Remote Work Entrepreneur Despite It Being H.A.R.D.? Even though entrepreneurship as a remote worker scares me and makes me nervous, I am continuing to do it anyway because: The success is mine all mine, just as much as any failure or hardship is mine when it happens. My personal and professional growth…

[drjuliedonley]

Dr. Julie Donley Coaching for Healthcare Leaders

Website: https://www.drjuliedonley.com

Address: Greater Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, United States

Dr. Julie Donley offers a range of services focused on leadership coaching, primarily for healthcare professionals. Services include individual leadership coaching via phone or Zoom, emotional intelligence assessments, leadership development, group coaching, and keynote speaking. Her approach integrates compassionate leadership with business objectives, aiming to create a culture of appreciation, psychological safety, and high-performing teams in healthcare settings.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/virtualassistantlori/

Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC_oUnKYA7Ky0GGeD5UkcdCA

Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/drjuliedonley/

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[titagrayconsulting]

Website: https://www.titagrayconsulting.com

Address: Long Beach, California, United States

Tita Gray Consulting, led by Dr. Tita Gray, specializes in empowering women to overcome career obstacles. With over two decades of experience, Dr. Gray, as a career coach, focuses on helping individuals remove fear, follow their purpose, and eliminate barriers. Her approach is deeply influenced by her personal journey and respect for diverse beliefs and backgrounds.

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/drtita1226/

Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/titagray/

Keywords:

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[greynatomy]

who even are you?

katrina gorry x reader

this was a request from wattpad. finally wrote about another matilda. my writing block is slightly going away.

this is one of the ones that’s been sitting in the drafts

part 2 part 3

———

You met Katrina at the beginning of 2021. You were in Australia on a vacation when you nearly knocked her down walking to a café. Your tall frame towers over hers by almost a whole foot.

As an apology, you invited her to have breakfast with you, connecting with one another instantly. You talked about what you did for work, intrigued when she said she played football professionally. She also opened up about always wanting to become a mother and recently finding out her ivf procedure worked and was currently pregnant.

You hit it off pretty well, hanging out everyday, which turned into you asking her on a date and becoming official by the end of your month long vacation. It was difficult when you had to go back home to England.

Months passed and you talked whenever you could, missing her more and more. You talked to your boss about wanting to go remote, but would fly out only when necessary and surprisingly to you, he agreed.

You talked about it to Katrina and she was ecstatic. You moved in with her just before her final weeks of pregnancy.

In the delivery room, once a little baby girl was born, which Katrina named her Harper, she asked if it would be okay if she put your name in the other box for parent. You cried into her shoulder, wanting nothing more.

After some time, you’d gotten married in a small private ceremony months after Harper’s birth, moving into a bigger place. You both couldn’t be happier.

Two years later, the Australia’s Women’s National Team were currently in training for the Olympic Qualifying Asia. Harper was off to the side of the pitch playing with all the toys that she brought with her.

The coach calls the team for a water break, Mini’s two other kids, Kyra and Charli, rush over to Harper.

“Havin’ fun Harps?”

“Yeah!” She raises up her little doll to show them.

Catching their breath, the three play with each other, all in their own world, until the coach calls them back in for a scrimmage. It was a close game, playing like it was a real match.

As everyone was focused on the game, Harper saw someone familiar in the distance, instantly getting up from her blanket, running towards the figure.

“Mama!” She crashes into you.

“Hi, Harper. You been good for Mommy?”

“Yeah!” Harper sees a ball and tugs you by the hand. “Mama, play!”

“Wanna play some football?”

In your own little world, the team’s scrimmage finished, everyone eager to change out of their sweaty gear. Kyra and Charli took off to Harper’s blanket wanting to spend some time with their little sister. The thing is, Harper’s not in the blanket.

“Charli, where’s Harper?”

“How would I know?”

“You’re supposed to keep an eye on her.”

“Me? What about you?”

“How’d we lose a baby?”

“Hey, guys!” Startled, they turn around to see Mini. “Good training today, huh? Where’d Harper go?”

“Uh-well-um—” Charli started malfunctioning.

“Wait! Look there!” Kyra pointed to the distance, seeing Harper with someone she’s never seen before. “Hey! Get away from her!” Before the other two know it, Kyra was already running to where Harper and the supposed stranger are, grabbing Harper out of your arms.

Katrina realizing that it was you, runs after Kyra, hearing her daughter let out a cry.

“How did you get in here? I’m gonna call security!”

“Can you just listen to—”

“—Why should I listen to you, you-you kidnapper!”

The rest of the Matildas are now aware of all the commotion, going up to it.

“What’s happening here?” Sam asks, seeing Kyra hold onto a crying Harper tightly.

“She’s trying to take Harper!”

“What? No, I’m not!”

“Who even are you?”

“If you’d let me expl—”

“I don’t wanna listen to what you have to sa—”

“SHUT UP!” Katrina yelled, everyone going silent, except for the cries of Harper. “Look, this isn’t how it’s supposed to go, but conclusions were jumped into so I’m doing it now. This is Y/N and she’s my wife and Harper’s other Mom.”

“You’re married?” “Wife?” “Other mom?” “Since when?” “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Okay! Shut up! I’ll answer everything after we’ve all showered and dressed. Kyra give Harper back to Y/N.”

Handing Harper back to you, she gives you and apologetic smile.

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s alright. Just a misunderstanding.”

As they all go into the changing rooms, you greet your wife with a kiss.

“That was something, huh?”

“Definitely not how I wanted it to go.”

“‘Least it’s out of the way. Can we get some ice cream after?”

“I sceam (ice cream)!” Harper suddenly has a burst of energy.”

“Ice cream!”

“I have two children at this point.”

“Don’t Kyra and Charli call you Mom?”

“Four children. I have four children and you all drive me insane.”

[uzumaki-rebellion]

Soon come..."His New Coach"

Summary:

Misha Livingston's family have been trailblazers in basketball since she was a little girl. Her grandfather was recently inducted into the NBA Hall of Fame, and her father is the head coach for the Dallas Mavericks. Misha is an Olympic gold-medal basketball champion and a former WNBA player turned coach. When she's given the opportunity take an assistant coaching job in the NBA, she's pit against a popular player Terry Richmond, a former marine who has recently made the unusual leap into professional sports. Terry struggles with instant superstardom that may hinder Misha's ability to coach her new team into another championship. A chance encounter on a remote island in the Maldives shows Misha that she has the power to get Terry back on his game.

[kitashousewife]

suggestive, MDNI

“you are impossible!” you’re standing in oikawa’s living room, fists at your side, glaring at the man who smirks from his spot on the couch.

“awh, is someone a little worked up?”

you’re fuming, absolutely livid. if it was possible, you’re sure smoke would be coming out of your ears right now. unfortunately, this is nothing new. oikawa knows exactly how to push your buttons, and you know how to push his.

“you literally pay me to manage you. let me do my fucking job!” you snatch the tv remote out of his hands, turning off the show he’s been distracting himself with. he glares up at you.

“if you did your fucking job,” he mocks you, slowly standing up to tower over you. “we wouldn’t be in this situation, hm?”

you started as oikawa’s manager 3 years ago, right before he left japan. things started out great. you got him a couple brand deals right off the bat, kept his schedule clean and clear, all while making sure he was okay.

about a year ago, something changed between you two. now every time you’re around him, you want to claw his eyes out. that, and he’s been getting into trouble more often than not.

in front of his teammates, the press and coaches, and anyone else, you two appear to be the best of friends. oikawa praises your efforts constantly, having nothing but good things to say about you. but behind closed doors? it’s like a cage match.

“right, cause i told you to make those stupid comments post game the other night.”

he chuckles. “aren’t you always telling me to ‘speak from the heart?’”

you pinch the bridge of your nose, walking towards the door to grab your things. clearly, this isn’t going anywhere.

“that doesn’t mean you should say terrible things about the other team. that gives you a poor image. do you want to be known as the biggest jackass in men’s volleyball?”

he laughs again, and you know he’s doing it to get on your nerves. it’s working.

“i bet you would, it gives you more attention,” he’s right behind you now, and your heart is racing at how close he is. “that’s all you want, right?”

“what?” you turn to face him, only to have him be directly in front of you. he takes a step towards you, and you take a step back.

“awh, c’mon. it’s obvious. is someone feeling a little under appreciated?”

“i-i’m going home,” you say rather unsure, still walking back with each step he takes towards you.

“doors that way,” he nods behind him and pouts. “i’m sorry i didn’t see it sooner. your attitude, your short temper; you’re working so hard, isn’t that right?”

your back hits the wall now, and cages you in with his hands, fingers splayed on either side of your head.

“i work hard because you can’t behave like a professional.”

he smirks, eyes narrowing as he leans closer, if that was even possible. he looks at your lips, then your eyes, and then coos.

“and you work so hard,” he breathes on your lips and you feel dizzy. you’re stubborn, and you don’t want to admit defeat. but you’re also not blind, and you’re very aware of how attractive the man in front of you is.

“let me thank you for your hard work, will you let me?” he nudges your nose with his and you let out a shaky breath.

“yes,” you whisper, and he smirks.

“then jump.”

[invinciblecareer]

[georgiasedify]

Mindfulness

What is Mindfulness? Book your next session with Georgia's Edify thanks.

Mindfulness, as a life coach, involves helping clients increase their awareness of thoughts and feelings. They also focus on their surroundings in the present moment. It’s about teaching them to focus on the here and now. They should avoid…

[iznsfw]

Give me your best minju femdom

just how much are you willing to give for a dream that big?

IZ Days of Christmas: Day 7 - Kim Minju

IZ*ONE's Kim Minju x Male Reader Smut

7,397 words

Categories | dominant_curator!Minju x aspiring_artist!you; mommy kink; MINJU LIKES BEING CALLED DADDY; degradation; #DomJu; femdom

Content warning | pegging, SLIGHT DUB-CON, harsh criticism/insults from Minju

You asked for it.

"I'll think about it."

Four words. Four words that are designed to make it seem that there's still a possibility lingering here, but actually pose a definite answer: no. And you would have believed in a potential answer of yes if it weren't for the curator's amused smile as you exhibit your artworks to her. There's no chance anymore; just by looking at her pink lips, you know what she actually means.

Your whole world falls apart. There's your hope, there's your lifelong dream, all cut into hopeless little fragments on the ground. And all you can think is: why? You've worked so hard for this. You've taken so many classes, so many days of coaching and endless painting. It's a difficult world out there, but you are certain that you deserve better than a " I'll think about it."

You deserve to have your painting in the country's biggest gallery. You deserve the recognition, the praise, everything. But the curator of this museum isn't quite convinced, and although she doesn't say it directly, her bored eyes say it all. To her, you're just another artist with a superiority complex, just another artist she can reject and move on without.

Even her quirked lips tell you that she's unimpressed. Probably even disgusted. How dare a niche artist like you demand to come to her personally and ask to have this... art—(if she can even call it that)—displayed?

Her heels clack on the marble museum floor as she runs her fingers along the frames of your paintings. "Honey," she says, testily, throwing you an amused glance, "this isn't even Picasso level talent. And, in case you don't know, Picasso was a pretty shit artist."

You're taken aback by plenty of factors in that condescending statement, because for one, Picasso was an excellent painter. He's your role model in the world of painting and the medium of art itself. You've visited museums in places you aren't even remotely interested in staying just to see his art in person. Hell, you took classes to be able to replicate his abstract style. How dare this woman speak of him as if he weren't one of the biggest names in art? How dare she? You bet that she probably doesn't know how to name any painting besides Starry Night.

"This one"—and then Minju reaches her bare arm, exposed by the loss of a sleeve attached to her black turtleneck top, to glaze her fingers across one of your pieces—"is probably my least favorite. It's rushed, it's not even colorful enough to attract attention. Not even gray enough to capture a sad mood."

How many pointed bullets has she shot at you this afternoon? You're losing count. "Well," you answer, quite shaken, "I don't believe in colors very much. It's the drawing that should matter. You see—"

"I don't want nor care enough to hear about your nerdy art bullshit."

The umpteenth bullet. It strikes your heart right through the core, and through the flat of your back. You take two steps backward for a reason you aren't sure of. It's a big museum, filled with towering sculptures created by lone artists many decades ago and paintings that take up two blocks, yet what intimidates you more than any of them is this woman:

Kim Minju, curator of the biggest art museum in Korea, and a professional asshole. You had to find that put the hard way the moment you started to crush on her. Who wouldn't? Her features—doe eyes, pointed nose, and thick pink lips—blend in together so perfectly, as if she were another masterpiece in the museum. But looks, you learn, are deceiving. Kim Minju is not as kind as she looks, nor are her words as pretty as her face.

Dress pants sway freely around her slim legs as she walks back to you. Her expressions never vary away from boredom, condescending, and angry. It's like those are the only emotions she is capable of having. She's such a complex person—you understand that although you've only been with her from eight o' clock today to three—but so, unbelievably uninteresting at the same time. You have no idea what to make of her yet, except for the fact that she can be pretty cruel.

Minju approaches you with crossed arms, then pauses when she's just another breath away from you. You try to meet her gaze, but it's too good at holding yours. Besides, the hate you have for the fact that she's taller than you doesn't help either. But you have to hold your ground. If you don't, there will be more pieces to pick up than your broken dreams.

"I'll give it to you straight," says Minju airily, "my museum doesn't have the time for your art."

That's another shot. One more and you're dead. Your cheeks already flush from embarrassment, but she drones on, clearly not caring about what you feel. Not that that's an unusual thing for her.

"I spent all day trying to listen to you talk about your credentials and art whatnot," she continues. "But I'm getting bored, and I don't like your tacky style or you. So I suggest you find another smaller place to start posting your art, like a kindergarten teacher's art class billboard."

You've died at least a hundred times with each word she spits. You're utterly humiliated; you've been through terrors of teachers but you have never received words from them as harsh as Minju's. Every syllable was fashioned to hit just the right spot, because yes, your art's first criticism is its tackiness from when you first started. Yes, it was a risk you took when the first place you decided to hang your art is the biggest museum in the country. But you're not like the other artists. You've improved so much over the years, and your art is nothing less than pleasing to the eyes now that you've found your own style.

You have to admit that they do slightly look out of place with all the other gorgeous paintings, but you can be as good as them. You just need a jumpstart, and you'll get to it. You swear on your own life.

"Miss Kim," you answer, not sure what to say, "I can be as good as Van Gogh, or whoever artist it is that you like. I just need a place to start, and I think your museum is a good place for that."

Minju laughs. "Van Gogh was as shitty as Picasso, dear thing. And your art is not good enough for this museum to be good. So please, take my advice and start at the nearest preschool. I'll hear from you when you've finally gotten into second grade."

Dear thing? Dear thing?! Oh, now she's royally pissed you off. Now, it's your turn to be cocky. Kim Minju is about to find out that two can play at this game.

"For your information, Minju," you reply, now with more confidence, "I'm not your dear thing. And I'm the best artist of my generation right now. You're going to be so sorry if you don't accept my art right now."

Minju nods condescendingly, as if she were listening to a small child rambling about dinosaurs. There's a laugh on her face, which makes you even more infuriated because she is just not getting the point. If she does, she doesn't believe in it. Oh, not in the slightest.

"'Best artist'? Let's not get ahead of ourselves right now. Your style is not unique. The topics you draw are not game-changing. Not even close."

"You just don't have the eyes for it," say you with gritting teeth. You hate how your lips are quivering. "You're, you're not even an artist yourself. You're just a curator."

"And a good one at that." She's just as assured in her own abilities as you are. Minju is unfazed by your amateur insults. She could hear better from a sixth grader. "You can drone on all you want, honey, but that won't change the fact that I'm not interested in taking you in. You can go or kill yourself in front of me. Either way, I won't care."

That's your breaking point. Your hands start to form trembling fists. You can't cope with all this right now, or with Minju. She's just another self-absorbed curator. What does she know about art?

But you've relied your dreams on her. If she doesn't give in, you're nothing. You'll never have a chance to make it big. Nobody cares about art nowadays, except for the classicals, making it even harder to make a name for yourself. You want to become so big in the world of craft that you're credited as inspirations centuries from now. You want to be the best that no one ever was. If Minju doesn't like you or what you make, you don't have a chance.

Gone is your oversaturated arrogance. Gone is the front you were trying to put up before Minju. Most importantly, your dreams are gone, snapped into pieces just like that by words. You're more than hurt; you're devastated. If you can't be a renowned artist—the only steady dream you've had your whole life—what are all your efforts worth now? They will remain fruitless if you don't put one foot forward.

Minju is your wall blocking the path to fame and recognition. A goddamned gorgeous wall who won't falter nor break for anyone, especially not you. No punch can break her foundation. No word from you can make her bricks detoriate.

Try to hold it back, but the tears are forming in your eyes. You're a mess, you truly are. You've been a fool for your dream, and you are just realizing now at the present that it was all for nothing.

"Please," you whisper. Break the staring contest with Minju and look at your shoes instead. Look at the marble floor no one would cross to see your works. Look at the ground where the pieces of your hopes and desires have broken.

"Please what?" Minju is clearly enjoying this. Her crossed arms quiver as she tries to hold back a laugh. Oh, she loves seeing pathetic men admit that they're nothing. It's what she feeds on. She can put their tears in a bowl and put cereal in it for breakfast.

"I'll—I'll do anything. Is that enough? I'll do anything for you to accept my works."

There's the smallest hope in you as you see that Minju is considering this. For a woman like her,and a man like you, she can make you do anything. She can make you mop the floors of the museum and yell "hakuna matata" on its roof and know that you would do all that just for her acceptance. That's what makes it so, utterly satisfying.

"That depends, to be honest," she says slowly.

Minju leans down a little and places a finger under your chin. Her nails are sharp, and they scratch your skin as she tilts your face upwards. Her smile is teasing; you hate that you like it so much. You hate that despite her clear description of how much she dislikes you as a person and you as an artist, your magnetic attraction to her remains.

"Just how much are you willing to give, boy toy, for a dream that big?"

She's degrading you again. It's strange how much it makes your skin tingle.

"Like I said," you sniffle, "anything. I'll give anything."

"Oh, you'll sooo regret saying that."

With a woman of her caliber? Of course you will. But you're a desperate person. It's your sheer need and your willingness to do whatever it takes to get it that get you to places. It's both an advantage and a disadvantage, a pro and con, light and dark. Chiaroscuro, if you will.

"W-what do I have to do?" you ask shakily.

"Simple." And she says this without any shame or sign of shame: "Call me mommy."

It takes a moment for you to register, and Minju uses your confusion as the perfect time to pin you to the wall, like you are a masterpiece, too. Not that she sees you in that light; you are too weak to be one. Too easy to be played with.

Minju is kissing your neck. Lipstick leaves fresh marks on your skin. And when she bites... oh, your knees do more than buckle. You almost collapse to the floor. Thank God (or not) for Minju's hands popping your shirt buttons; they keep you standing. They keep you knowing that all this is real.

She kisses you again, crudely. "What did I say?"

"Call you mommy..."

"Say it then."

She swiftly pulls off her black top, and in the bat of an eyelash, tangles your wrists in between its fabric behind your back. All the while, her kisses rampage your skin. She can't get enough of your pathetic submissiveness. She plays with you as if you were a toy, her toy.

Her mouth traces your torso like a pencil. Her teeth come out to play at times, specifically to see the alarm in your eyes. But nothing prepared you for her lips right above your jeans, or her daring eyes looking up at you and shooting glares into your soul.

"Say it."

"Mommy..."

That's the ticket. The zipper and button are undone by Minju's eager fingers. Your cock is easily fished out and taken into her mouth as if it were nothing. Your body tenses as your mouth falls open.

Although she is the one on her knees, Minju shows that it doesn't change that she's still in control. Her technique and pacing alternates between harsh, rough suckling to a snail's pace of blowing.She sucks you off not for your own pleasure, but for hers. Clearly, that is what she has put first most in this world.

"Fuck!" you can't help but cry out.

Minju spits on your cock and squeezes it tightly. Your hips jerk forward at the tightness and pain. "You're not allowed to talk unless I say so," she says firmly. She's serious about this, too; her eyes show clear and unbridled anger. "Is that clear?"

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, hnghh!" Your moan echoes in the wide museum. Her lips have rounded your head again and provide great suction. "Y-yes, mommy!"

Satisfied, Minju continues to suck you off. She's unlike any other girl you've had sex with. The others put on innocent faces to entice you whilst their lips worked on your cock, and picked up the pace if you pleased. They let out the prettiest of tears as they called you daddy, whimpered out the sexual title in the midst of the shoves of your cock down their throats.

But Minju... she's a woman with the unhinged desire to belittle you. Even in sex, she remains taunting—the licks at the sides of your dick and in the tiny slit you have are only done to make her laugh at your shivers. It's pleasurable, yes, but degrading, too. Degrading in the sense that she's simply doing it to see you break yourself into something more pathetic, into the writhing, needy mommy's boy that you aren't.

Or... ?

"This dick is so fucking small." Minju spits on the shaft with disgust. "I bet you can't even fuck me properly, not even if I guide you along."

"I—I can," you say, defensively. Minju's saliva coats your cock with more liquid than the continuous stream of pre-cum, which she licks off, of course.

Minju rises to her feet. It is only then that you admire her body. You would say that her face is the real deal, and it is, but you're still rendered shocked by her form. Her breasts are not the biggest, but they're still pretty eye candies. Their nipples are tiny pink things atop small handfuls of flesh. Her hips are what tempt you the most; they're so fucking wide, bringing more shape to her slim stomach.

"Show me," she says. She smiles again, marking a new challenge. "Put that cock inside me or you'll never make yourself recognized. I can fucking crush your dream with a snap of my fingers, baby, so I suggest you move fast."

You can't do anything. Besides the fear of never making it in the real world or as an artist bubbling inside of you, she's so tempting. Even with her all-black outfit: black heels, black sleeveless top, black dress pants, a style you are not fond of almost as much as you aren't fond of pineapple pizza, she attracts you. It's like there's invisible magnets taped to her skin that pulls your fingers to her hips, pulls down the long pants, and grabs her close.

Like magnets, you rub together. Your cock lodges in the hole between her legs. It's met with an immediate contraction, but Minju shows little appreciation on her face. Yes, her jaw drops and her eyes are suddenly round and wide, but she doesn't care to tell you how good it is. Your quick thrusts outnumber the fucks Minju gives about catering to your wants.

"Yes... fuck, yes, fuck that cock into me." Minju humps your entering and exiting shaft determinedly. "Suck on my tits, toy. Suck them until they're red and sore."

That's not something you're adamant to disobey. Like her lips lubricating the shape of your cock earlier, your mouth finds her nipples and captures it. You do as she says, sucking it cleanly and hardly. It feels amazing in your mouth. You knew it would even before it slipped in between your lips. Minju lets out sighs of gratification. That was the only thing it took for her to be louder. She would have to turn up the volume, though; the slaps of your cock into her cavern are starting to boom.

While her breasts are a beauty of their own degree, Minju's cunt is just perfect. It's wet, grasping onto your cock and covering it with a sheen of juices, just like she coated it with saliva during her blowjob earlier. Her mouth was considerably warmer though. But you aren't one to complain when you're clearly the toy in this situation.

Besides, the texture of her walls is a welcome addition to the stimulus on your shaft. Your cockhead repeatedly dips onto the patches of sensitivity, provoking a surefire reaction of the tender walls closing around it tighter. Jerk your hips forward; if you were only more powerful, you could reach her cervix and make it a finishing line. But no, your focus is on sucking the life out of Minju's boobs, just like she commanded.

Minju whispers soft curses under her breath. Arms wound around your neck, she silently tells you to go deeper. No, it's not just a matter of telling; it's a command, as brazen and firm as her earlier order to tell you to suck her tits. She expects you to comply, and if she is disappointed by you not doing so, she'll discard of you. Simple as that.

Release her nipple from your lips and prove that you're worthy. Prove it with more powerful thrusts of your hips into her tiny hips. You string together every might in your body, although most of it is being drained by Minju's humps on your shaft, into pushing your cock deeper. Minju cries out in pleasure. Continue the cycle and never break it. Eyes closed, head tilted to the sky, and arms almost choking your neck, you know you've proven your value to her. All you have to do now is to maintain that.

"Fuck, that's right!" Minju yells out. Even she can't handle your pounds. You're knocking he rinto oblivion. "Fuck mommy's cunt like that, slut! Fucking stretch her out!"

You're already stretching her out enough. It's hard to see since Minju is so adamant on fucking herself on you, but your girth is practically spreading her pussy lips apart. Wonder if she'll become tighter if you fill her up to the base of your cock.

Test it out. Cock stiff and a compelled mind in action, you shove yourself as hard and deep as you can.

"Oh fuck!" Minju's fully penetrated by you now. Your cockhead nudges the end of her tunnel and slams into it repeatedly. Minju's high on the pleasure. She's fucking herself onto you as if she were possessed by a succubus. She's sex-crazed, she's rabid, she's a feral fucking vixen who won't play around when it comes to what pleases her. And right now, what's giving her so much bliss is your dick. She's never letting it go.

But she thinks she wants something else to add to the mix.

"Finger my asshole," Minju says bluntly. Another command. She takes your hand, undoes it from its constraints, and guides it to her round bottom. "Do it."

"B-but..." You're not used to butt stuff, to put it cleanly. You've never touched or inserted yourself in any of your girlfriends' asses. It has always been purely excluded from sessions like these. "I'm, I'm not—"

Minju leans over conspiratorially and rasps in your ear: "Now."

Can you still continue proving yourself worthy? Even if you can't, you have no choice. Your chance at making it big is in Minju's hands. Besides, you're pretty curious yourself. Does it feel good there for her, too? How good, exactly?

Pat your finger on the tensing brown circle. Minju's breath hitches in response. Hide your uncertainty by meticulous teasing, rubbing your fingertips around her asshole and only slightly putting some inside. But Minju is becoming impatient. Whimpers still escape her lips, but she makes herself clear with the reverse of her ass into your hand. She knows what you're trying to do, and she's not letting you get away with it.

Hold your breath and plug one finger inside her. Turns out that's all you needed to do for Minju to put her all into hugging you with her walls, for her neck and head to throw back, for her to cry out a scream that sounds a little fox-like due to its pitch.

"Mommy's cumming, mommy's cumming, ffffuhh—! "

Her voice cracks. It's that momentary weakness that compels you to burst inside her like a popped balloon, except that instead of helium, you release hot strings of wet white cum. You don't have the mind nor the care for a few seconds to worry about impregnating her. The grasp of her walls and the push of her manicured nails into your skin are too mighty in turning your attention away from that.

However, to Minju, it doesn't matter if your cock is thick and big. She's paralyzed in shock. She can't believe you had the audacity to cum inside her.

"Fuck! What the fucking fuck did you do?" Her hands free themselves of their frozen to push you away roughly.

You only come to your senses after she slaps you. "I'm sorry, Minju," you say guiltily. Had you really lost all self-control after months without sex? Sex education literally revolves around protection! "Are you at least on the pill...?"

"Of course I am!"

The tension releases itself from your shoulders. At least God still has your back. "It isn't a problem then," you say. "We can—"

Minju pushes you again. This time, your back knocks hard into the wall. She grasps you by the neck tightly. There's true anger in her eyes now. None of it is an arrogant ploy anymore.

"Are you fucking stupid?" she asks, then rolls her eyes. "Oh, why did I even bother asking? Of course you are."

Ouch.

"The thing here, boy toy, is I don't want your cum in me! Clean me up!"

"D-do I get a tissue or...?"

"No. Lick it out of me."

You're stunned. What? Shake your head, bewildered. "No, I'm not gonna lick my cum out of your cunt, Minju!" you yell.

Her fingers grab your hair and pull it downwards. You fall to the floor in a heap. But you should get used to it. With the way she treats you like you're dust beneath her feet, you've always belonged here. It's only literal now.

You take a glance at her creampied pussy and cringe. It looks gorgeous; it's dripping out of her like a river. But now that you have to lick your own cum out of her, like you're some obedient little slave who can do nothing but obey and obey, it doesn't look so enticing at all.

Minju fires you another glare. It's a warning of the worse that's yet to come if you don't clean her up.

Oh, the things you do for your dreams. The things you do for money; for fame; for the tiniest bit of recognition...

How did you get to this point?

Fine, you'll lick.

At first, it's humiliating. Your ears burn red as Minju parts her legs and sits on your mouth, using you as a sex toy and chair. It's hard to support her weight on your face, even if she is light. It's easy to slip your tongue inside her though. You know it feels good when she moans softly.

"Come on," she pushes you on. Demanding, that's what Minju is. You wonder how she even became a curator with that kind of attitude. She slides herself up and down your tongue, which doesn't become flaccid in its licks due to the uncomfortableness of it all. "Clean mommy up. We still have a lot of things to do."

You take some of your cum from her creamed hole and drag your tip tantalizingly to her clit. Minju whimpers. Repeat the process for a few more seconds. You enjoy the shivers she does, and how tight she is around you. They make the experience much more bearable.

You haven't appreciated her thighs enough. She may be slim, but they are thick enough to choke the breath out of you. They encase the sides of your face tightly as she guides your tongue hotly. Her eyelids are fluttered lower than usual. Her breaths become more labored after the ones before them exit.

Glad that your hands have been freed from much earlier, you try to make this fun for you, too. Grab those honey thighs and push her down onto your mouth. Her gasp is satisfying. Her eyes flutter wide. They're all fun to watch: the shiver of her tight form, the expressions she makes, but pulling her down was a big mistake. Now you can't breathe at all. Your nose is nestled into her clit.

The muffled breaths you take end up pleasuring her cunt instead, much to your dismay. Minju doesn't mind; they make her more soaked than before. She sways her hips to and fro to get the feel of your nose swiping on her clitoris and your tongue entering and exiting her. The tip of your tongue excites her senses in the best way possible. She can't get enough of it. Hands on her nipples, she bounces herself on your pink appendage, overall satisfied with the work you've been doing.

"Such a good boy now," she remarks with a playful caress of your hair. "See how pathetic boys like you always end up in this position? Lick me faster."

The insults graze your pride because you know they are true. You became a whore for Minju. Her little boy toy. Weren't you just boasting about your own achievements a while ago? If so, why are you on your knees now? It's humiliating.

Close your eyes to stop the tears of embarrassment from flowing. The last of your dignity is gone. You can't give Minju the satisfaction of seeing you cry.

You increase the speed. Thrust your tongue inside her faster. Wiggle it around to hit the right spots. You discover that it isn't a matter of cleaning your cum up from inside her anymore. That was all a scam to get you to orally pleasure her. It shows in the way Minju refuses to let your tongue leave her hole, even to collect your semen. She's humping it too quickly for there to even be a chance of exiting her warm little hole. But it's too late to confront her about it now. You just have to wait until she climaxes again.

You have to admit: you do taste quite delicious. Turns out the girls whose mouths you pounded weren't pretending when they sucked off the semen from your tip. Your cheeks redden with the humiliation at that knowledge. However, there's a con in being aware of that. For example, it isn't so difficult anymore to lap at Minju's pussy. You willingly circle and dance your tongue inside her. It's fun to see her pleasured reactions.

When the opportunity presents itself, you pull your tongue out. Minju winces, but before she can voice out any frustration or order, you start to lick her labia back and forth. Her wide, shapely hips stutter. You have to take them in your hands and steady her to continue.

"Oh—mmmm! Fuck, such a good boy for mommy, eating her out so well!"

You would have been surprised at the compliment, but her silky voice never reaches your ears. Her thighs are compressing them too tightly for anything to be heard but wordless screams.

Her most erogenous part is her clitoris, clearly. She demandingly pushes that part of her center on your tongue. Twirl it at your tip, play with it, suckle it. Nibble at it to keep her on her toes. Show her how much you've tamed the brat in you, because once she did, it was apparent that there was no going back.

"Yes, that feels so good!" she cries. Her movements become more frantic and less graceful. It's like you're being waterboarded by a tsunami; she's a force of her own, a danger with the cleanest edge. "I'm gonna cum, baby boy! Mommy's gonna cum, she's gonna fucking cum all over your face---!"

When she does, it's like a sobering splash. Her screams symbolize the thunder, and the juices that squirt on your nose and mouth is the flood. There are no lifeboats anywhere to save you. Nor are there people that are going to. You just have to withstand the rain for a few more seconds

Close your eyes and wait for the storm to end. It takes a while to cease. You try to help yourself out by sticking out your tongue and catching her steady spray into your mouth, but you just choke on it. Minju finds her girl cum spilling down the sides of your lips and swirling in your throat amusing.

Through all that, her taste remains impeccable.

The stream stops. Minju's thighs are shaking. She slowly edges herself off your messy face. Her breasts heave with every heavy breath she takes. They're hypnotizing, but you file your eyes away from them. You have to remember that they belong to the cruel woman who told you to do away with yourself. This is still the same woman who used you. It doesn't matter if the only things you are appreciating in the moment are hr breasts; they still belong to her. She degraded and humiliated you in ways you never would have imagined.

Nudity is another form of art widely appreciated, for both aesthetic and gratification purposes. It returned and became popularized during the Renaissance and the Impressionism. Science was used to figure out how to create the right proportions for whoever is being sculpted, painted, or drawn. Mathematics was heavily involved, too. The golden ratio was used to present the figures in an ideal manner, whether the figures were of gods or historical icons.

You are glad it became popular through the years. You are glad at how normalized it has become for Minju's body looks exactly like another stunning sculpture. She may not have the golden ratio, but she has something even better than that. She's naturally curvy, naturally beautiful. Back in the day, they would have written sonnets about her.

She may be cruel, but she is quite stunning.

"We're not done yet."

The curator puts a stop to your daydreaming. Raised brows, fine creased lines on her forehead that scold you, Minju is flattered that you think this is over yet. It's quite entertaining to her, actually. You don't really think she's gonna give in after just a few sessions of fucking, do you?

Pocket your sore pride and face the challenge head-on. "What else is there to do?"

Her smile is haunting. "You're gonna find out soon. You might even like it."

-

The museum is closed today. There's a big sign outside with "CLOSED" plastered across the letters spelling "Now Open!". Minju had to shut its doors for the day due to your endless requests for a chance to have your works exhibited. Oh, if you knew what you had to do to get her to agree, you wouldn't believe it. You'd call it bullshit.

You and Minju clean yourselves up. There's no point in reusing her turtleneck; it's blotted with her squirt. And you have no business going out with a face drenched with the same liquid. So, while Minju gets into a change of clothes, you go to the bathroom and splash cold water into your face. You don't want to look in the mirror. You don't want to see the slut the man it reflects has become, because, if you were able to admit it to yourself, you'd say that you liked the way Minju treats you. You like the power she has over you that she achieved through such a short period of time.

But you can't say that. You refuse to.

Apparently, you were in the bathroom for too long. Minju's fist knocks three short sounds onto the door.

"You can't hide there all afternoon, babycakes!" she reminds you sweetly. She fires another five knocks. "Come out, come out!"

Roll your eyes with a tired huff. You weren't exactly planning to, but hey, that could work. She can't do anything about it but look stupid pounding onto the door like a maniac.

You get out. You find Minju dressed in a gray, sleeveless top with a jacket matching its color. She has undone her black hair and let it fall to her shoulders.

She gives you a wide, scheming smile. "Let's go?"

Minju does not wait for a reply. She simply takes hold of your wrist and pulls you through the swindling doors, colorful galleries, and parked cars. She leads you to her own vehicle. It's a modest black car that's been around for ages, but still works as if it were new. You can tell from the light rust on the knobs.

"Get in," Minju says. She already peeks at you from the rolled-down window. Gesturing to the empty passenger seat beside her with a tilt of her head, her brows rise and stay at their impatient height until you get into the car.

You only learn later that it's more than mandatory to have a seatbelt on when Minju is your driver.

There's that red light she easily breezes through. And another. Your eyes are wide. "What the fuck, Minju?" you yell. Your hands frantically fly to your seatbelt and fasten its buckle into place. Not without flying around, of course.

"What?" she asks, really not knowing what's wrong. "You need a water or something?"

Anddd a near miss with a bus. The honk of the horn is deafening. "Do you even have a license?"

"Ha, nope. This car isn't mine. It's my—hey, fuck you, too, you old shit!" Minju gives an angry driver who nearly collided with her sideview mirror the middle finger. When she turns back to you, she grins calmly. "Anyway, it was my brother's. He taught me to drive when I was eleven."

"Well, that explains it," you mutter to yourself sarcastically. And you'd think that since she learned from an early age, she'd drive better than most. That's her second deception of the day, and the twenty-third broken law.

The car swerves and spins into curved roads as if it were dancing. You're constantly on the edge of your seat. Minju, however, is unbothered. This isn't an out-of-place habit for her, breaking at least thirty traffic laws the moment the wheels of her car start rolling. Nor is it for the traffic guards in the middle of the roads, it seems. They yell at Minju with a a warning, but disregard it after a few seconds. How many almost-crashes did it take for them to realize there's no dealing with her?

You almost break into song of religious praise when Minju finally parks near her house. But it's too early to celebrate. God has fashioned this day unpredictably.

Her home is as large as a mansion. It's not exactly a mansion, of course, but the combination of paint and placing is satisfactory enough to pass as a modern house. It stands out in the suburban division like a sore thumb, if a sore thumb were fancier.

She throws open the door. The interior of her home is just as impressive as the exterior. Posters and drawings decorate the walls. The space in each room is wider than the first floor of your own home. You'd give in to jealousy if you weren't more surprised at the thing Minju is brandishing.

"Surprise, surprise," she says. She sticks it in your face for you to see it better, but it's too close for you to even understand what it is. It is only when she moves it back does it finally sink in.

A foretelling personification, really. It's a strap-on. Or is it a dildo? Oh, it's whatever you call a pink plastic shaped like dick. But your difficulty in naming what it is isn't the biggest problem you'll encounter this day. Oh, you have bigger fish to fry soon.

"What the fuck, Minju?" you ask in disbelief. Shake your head again and again, still not coming to terms with what she plans to do. "I'm not gay! I'm not getting fucked in the ass by—"

"I never said you were gay," Minju points out. She's good at that, finding Freudian slips in the middle of your sentences to turn against you."I just wanted to try fucking a guy's ass, that's all. And since I have you... I thought that today is the day."

"Minju!"

"Babycakes!" she says, with a grin that's a distorted mirroring of your worried frown. She grasps your chin and kisses you on the lips. "It'll be fine, I promise. You have nothing to worry about."

She really needs to stop calling you babycakes. It's annoying you already. But more than that, you don't trust her words. What if she's just using you again? What if she's lying to you, like she did when she said that she would think about taking your pieces in? When she's done, she'll surely throw you away like a trash bag, as if you were never really there, and replace you with a new and prettier one to dump everything she wants in.

But you find yourself walking to her bedroom. Slipping your jeans down. Putting them on the floor as Minju fastens the strap to her hips. Lying down on the bed and just waiting for it.

Wait, why the fuck is your dick hard?

There's a cold feeling on your asshole for a while. It's because of the lube Minju's lathering onto it, "for safety purposes," she says. "Damn, I'm pretty big! D'you think it'll be funny if I actually put a condom on the tip?"

But she doesn't, after an unamused roll of your eyes, and the pink tip penetrates your lubed hole. The intrusion is fought with the receiving hole's tightening. The sensation is weirder than anything you've felt before. Of course, you've never done this before, so you never could imagine what it felt like. But now, you discover that it's a sickly mix of pain and pleasure.

"Fuck, Min—"

"That's not the right word, honey," Minju corrects you. The drags of her cock in and out are slow. "Tonight, I'm not Kim Minju. I'm your daddy."

"Mmph! Please, Min— daddy," you whimper out. The word feels right when it slips past your mouth. "Daddy." Daddy, daddy, daddy. You're usually on the receiving side when your previous girls uttered it, but maybe it's actually fun to say it, too.

Minju's cock prods at your ass. It slips further inside as she giggles musically. "That's right. Open up for daddy, sweetheart~"

Even if, let's say, you refuse to, there's no other choice you can run to. You're on the bed, naked, with a woman whose hips wield a fastened dick. You can't escape.

Minju's strokes are almost loving. It's slow, sensual, and timed. She must have taken sympathy on you, for what might be the first time. Of course, her hand wraps around your own dick to provide an "everyday" stimulus, too. That, you enjoy, better than the pegging. You jerk into her hand with a clear need never spoken through words, but a series of helpless mewls.

"What a twitchy little cock," laughs Minju. She wraps her hand around it like a ribbon, and fastens it with quick, bold strokes. They're bolder than any step or curve you've drawn, any controversial piece you've made. "Your cock really likes daddy's dick, doesn't it? And her warm hand?"

You're leaning towards the latter as of now, but you nod anyway. What else can you do? Your virgin asshole can't do anything about it, your leaking cock can't do anything about it. Hell, your tears can't, either. But there's a secret joy formed inside of you at being under Minju's control, with nowhere to run or hide. It's sick, you know that, but you can't help what you feel.

Maybe you like being used and pegged by this harsh curator. Maybe you like her evil words, her tempting body, and her attitude that would make any grandmother die on the spot. Maybe you like the way she treats you like you're a particularly crude inconvenience in her way.

You're shaken by that realization. But what shocks you more is her hand slapping your ass cheeks hardly. You cry out, but the sound is quickly silenced by Minju's free fingers in your mouth.

"Shhh, quiet, baby," Minju coos softly. She leans over to kiss your back and neck. "I want to hear your cute cheeks slap together."

It's a sentence that can easily be used for comedic relief in a fucked-up sitcom. But to you, it's nothing but sexy. The way the words drip from her kissing lips just add to the hotness of her hand giving your ass a firm spank. Your bottom cringes, causing your legs to go weak. You've sunken onto the bed helplessly. At least it's a comfortable place to lie into. The bedsheets must be expensive. They have no other reason to be this silky and soft. Just how much is a curator paid? You might want to consider that career rather than go for being an artist.

Due to your fall, Minju takes your ass in a pronebone position. Sometimes, she isn't satisfied with your butt hole's gape, so she pries it apart with her own fingers. You squeal into the pillows. Pray the neighbors don't hear your scream when Minju takes matters into her own hands and slips a finger beside her strap.

Her strokes gain more strength as the present becomes soon. It's a sensation that you have no idea how to choose between liking and hating it. Your prostrate is constantly stimulated, and the brown walls of your butt are rubbed against, but there's the newness of it all. You aren't used to this. Part of you outright refuses to do it again, but the curious side of you is more than interested for another round. Maybe one or two more? You really wouldn't mind.

"P-please, please, daddy."

You start to beg of your own accord. Lewdly. Needily. You're starting to like this too much. With Minju corrupting your ass and her hand jerking you off, you accept your fate. Paintings don't matter anymore, just as long as it's Minju's cock lodged inside you.

[vastill]

If you are taking requests, can I request Rebecca X reader where maybe reader is pinning for Rebecca but keeps it professional. Rupert tries to lure reader away to work for West Ham , since Richmond has been making good results ,reader works as an assistant coach . Rupert even tries to belittle Rebecca in front of reader and reader is protective of her ( similar to Ted ), not thinking that Rebecca remotely likes her since she's younger and Rebecca is...well Rebecca a lioness. Hope it's alright you can change / spice it however you want 🙂 if not no worries.

What did you just say?

Rebecca Welton/fem!reader

warnings: some kind of slow burn, cursing, Rupert being an asshole:) i don't really know how to tag this so let me know if there are more!

words: 1600+

My requests are open!!

English is not my first language!

A/N: thank you so much for the request! i loved it!💚hope you will enjoy reading it! let me know what you think!!💚

AFC Richmond hosted another charity event. Rebecca and Keeley put in a lot of hard work to make the event happen, from planning and coordinating to decorating and catering. Their efforts paid off, everything was perfectly made. You were beyond impressed with how everything looked.

As you stepped in the first thing you noticed was Rebecca. She had a big smile on her face, greeting everyone who walked in. The dress she was wearing looked stunning on her, accentuating every curve in her body and showing the best legs you have ever seen. She looked perfect.

“You coming? Or just staring at Boss?” Ted said right behind you, giving you a scare. “Oh shit, sorry didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Don’t worry Ted and I wasn’t staring.” You said as a blush crept up your cheeks.

Ted laughed and patted you on the back. “I'm just teasing. But seriously, grab a drink, and let's go mingle.” You nodded, grateful for the distraction, and followed Ted to the bar. As you sipped your drink, you couldn't help but notice Rebecca across the room, chatting with some other guests.

“You are doing it again. Just go to and talk to her. She doesn’t bite.” Ted said to you catching you again.

You took a big breath, maybe it’s time to clarify your relationship with her. From your early times in Richmond, you and Rebecca were friendly flirting and teasing each other. However, you were never quite sure if there was anything more to it than that for her. She was older than you and had a reputation to uphold and you were only a coach assistant who just started a career. You never had a chance with her. But despite that, you started to develop genuine feelings for her.

You decided to take Ted's advice and make your way over to Rebecca. As you got closer, you could feel your heart rate increasing, and your palms becoming sweaty. When you approached her, she turned to face you and gave you a warm smile that made your heart skip a beat.

“Hi, amazing event. I’m impressed, really.” You said awkwardly.

“Thank you, sweetheart. I hope you are having a good time.”

“Now that I’m with you, yes. You look amazing tonight.” You said, feeling your cheeks burn.

Rebecca smiled, “Thanks, you are not looking too bad yourself.” And with that, the two of you fell into an easy conversation about the team and overall life.

“I wanted to ask you-” You started, finally having the courage but suddenly you were interrupted.

“Rebecca! How lovely to see you here!” You heard someone say from behind you.

Rupert. Rebecca’s ex-husband. Fuck.

You felt Rebecca stiffening beside you, “He wasn’t invited, what is he doing here.” You heard her mumble under her nose, “Rupert, hello. I didn’t know you will attend.” She faked a smile.

“I would never turn down a party, you know me,” he said as he leaned to greet her. “I don’t think we got to meet, you must be a new coach assistant, I heard a lot about you. Rupert Mannion, owner of West Ham.” He introduced himself giving you a hand to shake.

“Hi, nice to meet you,” you said, stealing a glance at Rebecca to make sure she is okay.

“How is Richmond for you? They treat you well?”

“Yes, Richmond is exceptional. I really love it, I’m thankful to have a job there,” you said, sending Rebecca a smile.

“Looking at your records, I thought you will pick a better team. Maybe you have some savior syndrome?” He laughed at his own joke, “Picking a club as good as Richmond won't lead you anywhere.”

“I don’t agree, Richmond has some of the best players who make an amazing team, and we-” You couldn’t finish your sentence as Rupert interrupted you again.

Rupert rolled his eyes, “Yes, I noticed the progress but soon you will realize you are wasting your time there and move on like everybody else. It’s just Rebec-, sorry Richmond curse.”

“Rupert,” Rebecca said lowly.

“I’m sorry? What did you just say?” You were stunned. You couldn’t believe what you just heard. You felt a surge of anger bubbling inside you, Rebecca is an amazing human being, and you had no intention of letting some prick bring her down.

You looked at Rebecca, her jaw was clenched, but she remained silent, her expression unreadable. You took a deep breath and tried to compose yourself before responding, not wanting to make a scene at a charity event.

You looked him squarely in the eye. “I’m sorry Mr. Mannion, but you are wrong. I’m proud to be a part of AFC Richmond and I believe that I’m exactly where I should be. And Rebecca is the best person I have ever met. She does everything she can to make her team better. She cares about us ad treats us like people, not some marionettes she can throw away. Like some of us do, from what I heard.”

Rupert's expression changed from smug to hostile, and you could tell that you had hit a nerve. “Well, it’s your opinion. Believe me, I've been in this business a long time, and I know what it takes to succeed. And it's not by settling for mediocrity.”

“Oh, I believe you! Looking at you, I can definitely see how long you have been in the business, but I'm not sure if you learned anything in these years. Or maybe I should say decades?” Rebecca coughed as she tried to hide a chuckle she left out at your comment, you only smiled and continued, “I guess we will see who is mediocre when Richmond and West Ham will go against each other.” Rupert’s face darkened, clearly not used to being spoken to like that.

He was about to respond when Rebecca stepped in. “Rupert, but I think it's time for you to go.”

Rupert looked like he was about to protest, but Rebecca's tone brooked no argument. “Well, it was nice meeting you.” He muttered, shooting a parting glare at you as he did.

“My pleasure, we will see each other at the match,” you smiled at him sweetly.

As soon as he was out of earshot, you sighed in relief. You hadn't realized how tense you had been until the moment had passed. You turned to Rebecca, “Sorry about that, I hope I didn’t ruin everything with that.”

Rebecca sighed. “It's not your fault, darling. Rupert is just a prick. He always has been. He has a way of getting under people's skin. Especially mine.”

You nodded. “I know, but I didn't want to make things worse.”

“You didn’t make anything worse. Thank you for standing up for me, I really appreciate it. No one ever did it for me.” Rebecca said, giving you a small smile.

“I’m glad I did that, I would hate to stand there and listen to him belittling you. I would hate to let you down like that. He had done enough harm to you, now he can fuck off.”

“And I will drink to that!” Rebecca laughed. You were happy to see her more relaxed after the incident. “And for the record, you could never let me down, sweetheart. But let’s not talk about it now, we have the rest of the night to enjoy.”

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. You spent some time with Rebecca before she was dragged away by some guests. Then you mingled with the other guests and even danced a little when the mood struck. But no matter what you did, your thoughts kept drifting back to Rebecca, and your unfinished conversation.

As the party was winding down, you decided to look for Rebecca and try to talk to her. You found her in a quiet corner of the room, sipping a glass of champagne.

“Hey,” you said softly. “Mind if I join you?”

Rebecca looked up at you and gave you a small smile. “Sure, go ahead.”

You took a seat next to her and poured yourself a glass of champagne. “Listen, I wanted to apologize again, I'm sorry about what happened earlier. I hope you know that all of his words were bullshit.”

Rebecca sighed. “It's not your fault, darling. Thank you for your concern, it’s really sweet of you.” She smiled at you, leaning her head against your shoulder.

“Thank you for tonight, it was amazing, you really outdid yourself,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence between you.

“I'm really glad we got to spend some time together,” Rebecca replied, her voice soft.

“I know it's been a crazy night but I have been meaning to talk to you about something.” She looked at you with a curious expression. “Rebecca, I know we've been dancing around this for a while, but I must say it because I don't know how long I can hold it in,” you took a deep breath in, “I have feelings for you, and I have for a long time. And I just wanted to know how you feel about me.” You closed your eyes, too scared to see her reaction.

“Darling, look at me,” Rebecca's eyes were wide in surprise, and you could see the emotions flickering across her face. “I…I had no idea,” she said softly. “I wasn't sure if it was just harmless fun or something more. But yes, I feel the same.”

You felt a surge of relief and happiness wash over you at her words. “Really?” you said, unable to keep the smile from your face.

“Really,” Rebecca confirmed, “I like you, a lot.”

“I really want to kiss you right now.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

You felt a grin spread across your face as you leaned in to kiss her. It was a soft, gentle kiss, filled with all the emotions you had been holding back for so long. It was unlike anything you had ever experienced before. The way Rebecca's lips felt against yours, it was electrifying, like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

“You are amazing,” you said as you parted from the kiss.

“If that's your reaction only after the kiss I’m not sure you will survive more,” Rebecca laughed and your cheeks turned red.

You swatted her arm gently, “I take back everything I said, you are an awful, horrible woman.”

Rebecca pouted and leaned closer to you, “And you are an awful liar. You would never even think that.”

“Yeah, I wouldn't,” you said stealing one more kiss from her, smiling against her lips.

This event couldn't have ended better.

[t1oui]

percy, marcus, penelope, and oliver headcanons because these four are best friends and you cannot convince me otherwise

percy and marcus are slytherins, oliver is a gryffindor, and penelope is a ravenclaw

percy and marcus became friends first, then percy and penelope, then penelope and marcus, then percy and marcus pulled oliver into the group

percy plays quidditch but is not nearly as obsessed with is as oliver and marcus are

penelope hates quidditch with a burning passion

they do not care about sitting with their houses, the four of them sit together nearly every day for meals at either ravenclaw or slytherin

oliver, percy, and marcus are the only people allowed to call penelope “penny” or any other nickname (other than her family)

all four of them are hella powerful. they mostly use this power to make spells and become animagi

(percy’s a cat, oliver’s a stag, penelope is a weasel, marcus is a magpie)

percy and marcus snogged a bunch in third year but they’re just friends, it was mostly because they were bored

they find the room of requirement in first year and have secret meetings there regularly

they have matching friendship bracelets with their birthstones in them + charms with their friends’ animagius forms

when they graduate they all get tattoos of their animagius forms as well

their kids are godsiblings

percy dates oliver and penelope dates marcus but they get together years apart. percy and oliver start dating in fourth year while penelope and marcus don’t get together until after the war

percy & oliver’s kids are lucy, skye, and katie while penny & marcus’s are devyn and cedric

the four of them have big study groups together which is mostly penelope and percy studying, oliver trying to study but being unable to because adhd, and marcus goofing around

they have group gossip sessions in the room of requirement (sometimes the secret meetings are serious, but not often)

percy doesn’t play quidditch seventh year because he knows how much oliver wants to win the cup and doesn’t want to compete with him. marcus never lets him live this down and is endlessly annoyed about it

oliver likes to draw and when he can’t focus or is stressed out he calms himself down by drawing his friends

the group often spends a few weeks each summer with penelope and her older sisters

the four of them vow to keep harry from getting himself killed at school and do everything in their power to protect him, even if he doesn’t really notice

percy took draco malfoy under his wing and now draco is friends with all of them

(percy and penelope are also scorpius’s godparents)

percy and marcus are english, oliver is scottish, penelope is irish

penelope is the only one remotely good with fashion in the group and she dresses the four of them every time they go to an event

they were constantly breaking into each other’s dorms during school. penelope would break into slytherin only to find percy’s bed empty because he already went to gryffindor (no one sleeps next to marcus because he snores like crazy)

percy was head boy, penelope was head girl

the four of them get a flat together after graduation and live together until penelope and marcus start their family (their oldest is 2 years older than percy and oliver’s)

percy becomes head of the dmle, penelope is one of the senior undersecretaries to the minister for magic, marcus does professional quidditch for about 2 years before deciding to become an auror, oliver plays for and then coaches puddlemere united and then he and angelina open a business writing & illustrating children’s books together.

might do a part 2 at some point because i adore these four :))

[eyeofnewtblog]

Things that happen at work:

Spent a solid ten minutes today listening to a body builder (our night dispatch guy) just…go the fuck off about eating chicken.

In no particular order:

1)eating for utilitarianism frees up SO MUCH TIME AND MONEY

2) eating chicken every day is awful because he actually prefers fish but chicken is cheaper for the quantity of protein needed

3) contributes to the routine, it’s so quick and easy to just do the calculations once and then eat the same three meals forever

4) protein intake has to be at a certain level, chicken is the cheapest and easiest way to do it, but YOU CAN NEVER FRY IT

5) NO FRIED FOOD AT ALL EVER UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES (it’s okay to dream and fantasize about going to Red Lobster and getting the giant fried plate of seafood and taking as long as possible to eat the entire platter so that the server brings as many of the cheese biscuits as possible…) BUT! Nothing fried!

6) an air fryer is apparently a body builders best friend (who knew? I certainly didn’t…)

7) and this is really more of a personal observation, but body building probably comes with a lot of grumpiness from not eating yummy nom nom nom food, insecurities about looks and social acceptance, and like…personal history. If you ever meet a body builder, just compliment him (or her) on how much effort they put into looking so good.

8) this particular body builder that I know was coaching a younger guy, who was recently in a competition and took second place in two categories (so obviously great for both of them, and honestly YAY because second place is still awesome regardless of what or who or where or why) but then, in order to be a supportive coworker, you have to look at pictures of a young, very fit man, in nothing but a Speedo while he holds a trophy. Which is fine. Not even remotely close to professional in anyway whatsoever, but fine.

[findingnemosworld]

𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝? - 𝐫𝐮́𝐛𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐬

・𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲: 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐬

( 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐞𝐧 𝐱 𝐬𝐡𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐟𝐟? 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜? 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐬…𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐬 (𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭) 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐞𝐬𝐩 𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐠𝐨𝐝. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐚 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐟𝐟 × 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫. )

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝.

She wasn't the most talkative person by any means, she liked to listen more than speak which helped her work even more efficient as part of the medical staff for Manchester City, having started her tenure a year and a half ago, she'd fallen into a good rhythm with everyone, from the coaches to the players - they'd all made her feel less like a nervous student on her first day and more like a family member, some of the players were also quite friendly, Phil being the closest in age to her was the first to approach her and befriend her along with the Portuguese defender, Rúben Dias.

The first few weeks of work went quite well, the only people who frequently and unfortunately were injured were either Jack, Kevin, Kyle, Ilkay or Bernando - and she'd kept up the professional façade as best she could as she naturally felt shy around them.

The players were always respectful for her, sans Jack who'd often throw a ridiculous comment every now and then that she obviously brushes off as she doesn't have the energy to deal with him at times.

The only person she seemed to enjoy being around aside from Phil was Rúben, he'd keep her company whenever they were free and would spend hours talking to her about his hometown as well as teaching her some words in Portuguese, and while they both knew that their bond was completely platonic, the whispers were definitely loud, and she heard every bit of them.

He totally likes her.

I bet they're sleeping together.

She's so lucky to be this close him.

While it may seem on the outside that she can handle herself, she was actually quite sensitive; she did not bring up the issue with Rúben, instead ignoring the outside noise to help strengthen her friendship further.

Rúben had unfortunately picked up an injury and was in the midst of rehab sessions, he was due to come to her office to perform a check up before going to physical therapy, and while she waited for him, she spent the time going through her emails and answering the ones she had from friends as well as adding a few more details to her on going thesis regarding athlete injuries and how to tackle the proper methods of treatments.

Her thoughts were broken by the sound of a knock on the door causing her to look up and see Rúben, he seemed to be in better spirits than he was when he first picked up the injury a few weeks back, " Morning " he smiles.

" Morning " She smiles back and shuts her laptop, she gestures to the bed. " Come on big boy, sit down "

Rúben chuckles, before assuming his seat. She stands up and grabs her coat to slip it on, along with clipboard; she went through the standardized questions, before the part she hated the most, the physical check up, he watched her with a curious expression which turns into a teasing smile the second he noticed how her cheeks were visibly pink as she went about with the physical check up. " Are you ok? "

" I'm fine " She squeaks out, avoiding his look.

While she'd never felt anything remotely romantic towards Rúben, she wasn't blind to the fact that he is quite handsome - on top of being soft spoken, polite and intelligent, he was the perfect package for any girl, she'd often wonder why he wasn't dating anyone yet he unlike the majority of the players focused more on his career rather than other aspects.

Rúben chuckles, " It's ok you know " he said before adding with a teasing. " I know I'm so sexy it's making you so shy "

She looks up with a mock horrified expression, " Relax, I'm not a crazy fan girl like those that thirst over you online "

Rúben laughs, " Then why did you get all shy then? "

" I just do ... " She shrugs.

Rúben looks at her for a moment before he finally understood why she was behaving like this, " It's about the comments right? "

" It's fine Rúben " She smiles, " I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself well enough "

" I know you can " Rúben echoes, " But I don't want you to overthink them, you're my best friend "

" I thought John is your best friend " She retorts with a laugh.

Rúben shrugs, " He's been demoted " he leans over and whispers. " Don't tell him that! "

She giggles, " your secret is safe with me "

Rúben then grabs her hand and smiles, " Relax alright, they can talk all they want "

" I promise " She smiles.

[twosides--samecoin]

Hi!! Happy weekend! I’d love to hear about some of your ocs headcanons 🍬🌻💩 :]

Here's Jack and Olivia, 2/3 of Long Time Running's main cast - with a bonus heacanon unique to my Dogmeat! You can read the fic -> here <-

Jack Ward is my canon M!SoSu. He was a professional boxer and retired when he was conscripted for the Anchorage campaign and sent to FoB Juneau.

When Med-Tek failed, Jack pushed RJ on a vertibird destined for Vault 150 - a remote Canadian Vault that tested Duncan's illness on its residents. Two weeks later, Olivia Dallaire, my OC F!SoSu, stepped out of a vertibird and onto the hill overlooking Sanctuary and Boston. She'd be an Olympic judoka if there was still Olympics.

🍬On the topic of family: One of the themes in my fic is about the intersection and contrast between found family and adoption as well as miscommunication. Jack sees a younger version of himself in Olivia, but in a subversion of the failed-coach-training-his-actually-promising-protege trope, Jack had the title fight successes and Olivia really never will. All the same, he takes a shine to her. After meeting Father at the Institute, Jack let go of the idea of recovering his family. When he met Olivia, he felt like, "My god, this is the child Nora and I were supposed to have". Problem is, she's uh, a grown-ass 23 year-old woman. Who just immigrated to a different country and has her own trauma to unpack. And the sudden reemergence of his want to be a dad is moving faster than his ability to discuss being family with her. He faces serious role strain between his best friendship with RJ and the fatherhood he feels toward Olivia when he sees RJ differently as he begins to feel protective over her.

💩 Something ridiculous: My Dogmeat can break the fourth wall. The characters cannot hear him in the fic, but the reader can read his thoughts. One of my childhood fave movies is All Dogs Go To Heaven. The main dog is a German Shepherd, voiced by Burt Reynolds. This is how I hear him.

I was born in '94, so those 80's-90's "talking animal" genre movies were really formative for me. Anastasia, An American Tail - themes of lost family, adventure, immigration. Even RJ's story has strong Secrets of NIMH parallels. I'd reached a point where my fic felt self-serious, like it was so grounded in harsh reality and dumpster fire mental health that I forgot to have fun. Saluting Don Bluth by imagining Charlie B. Barkin and Anne-Marie the Orphan as Dogmeat and Olivia was me throwing my hands up and saying, "Fine! Fuck it! We can have fun!"

🌼 Happiness, how'd you get to be happiness: Lately, getting to know each other has been a source of happiness for both Jack and Olivia. Jack as the canon SoSu has all the problems we do when we play the game - wrangling several warring factions that all expect his presence; ignoring Father/the Institute; managing a small empire of settlements. Olivia as the SoSu of her own Vault is navigating immigration and being around people again. The heart-meltingest fluff I have published so far is father-daughter moments. Excerpt below the cut!

Long Time Running Chapter 13: Sabré Olvidar:

Jack glanced at Olivia’s marigold cable-knit sweater and jeans, rolled up at the cuffs. He realized most of her clothing from home that wasn’t her Vault suit was oversized and patched several times over. 

A deep flush of sadness erupted within. He coughed and returned to the topic of conversation. “Well, um.. What.. What do you think of the animals you let go?” 

“I just thank them for giving me a pretty view. I mean, just look at them.” She let go of their hug and stepped back. “If you look at it like this, the window makes them look like a painting.” 

She beamed at the radstag pair - four heads and too many legs. 

Jack obliged the request and stepped back. The window framed the radstags, trees and tall grasses well, like a living photograph. He appreciated the scene with the same intensity as a painting in a museum.  

He broke his gaze away and looked around at the cabin. “Well.. What brings us down here today, anyway?” he asked.

“I was thinking,” she turned away from the radstags. “Um, there wasn’t anyone here last time I visited, and there’s no one here now, and.. Y’know, it’s pretty close to town.. Does anyone own this place?” 

“Truth be told, Miss Olivia,” he replied. “I don’t think anyone’s taken interest in this cabin since the bombs fell. Doesn’t seem to me like anyone owns it.” 

She wrung her hands and shifted her weight as she looked around. “Um.. can I..” 

Jack awaited the question with patience and a smile. “Yes?”

“Can I have it? Please?” she pleaded.

His heart melted anew. Oh, Jesus, not that face, not that face. He decided to mess with her and put on an apprehensive tone. “I dunno.. It’s a big responsibility, being a homeowner..”

She hung on his every word with wide-eyed worry. 

“The cost for materials, the labor.. In this economy, too.. Ouch.” He grimaced, both to ham up the theatrics and to force his mouth away from a smile.

“I-I’ll work, I’ll get a job, I promise-” 

He could no longer keep up the act. “Oh, fine, sure. It’s yours!” 

Olivia gasped and threw her arms around Jack’s torso. Coffee spilled out of her mug with a graceful dive and landed on the floor with an audible splash.

“Thank you thank you thank you thank you- Oh, I have so much work to do-” she let go of Jack and listed the repairs. “I need a door and I have to clean the fireplace and I need to find new windows and-” 

Jack beamed as she bounced around the room. Her braid whipped through the air as she tallied up her needs. Getting to know his little bundle of contradictions was fun. 

“-nails and lumber and.. And that spot on the porch that’s sagging.. I have a lot to do if I want this ready for winter.” 

“Alright, then, that settles it,” he said. “Let’s get a move on.” 

“Where to?” she asked.

“Well, like you said, winter’s on the way. Let’s get building.” 

She smiled, somehow wider than her smile already was. “Yeah! Let’s do it!”

She ran out the door and jumped off the stairs instead of walking down. “Where can we go shopping for supplies?” she asked, turning back to him.

Jack followed and took the steps as normal. “We’ll see what we have in Sanctuary before we look elsewhere. I’ll have to get you a workbench down here.” 

Olivia hopped and skipped ahead. “My own workbench, I-” 

She wasn’t watching her step and nearly tripped. 

«Tabarnak!» she swore. Olivia threw her hands up in mock-offense. “Who put this root here, eh?” 

She laughed off the transgression, tucked the stem of the hubflower behind her ear and turned her pirate smile toward Sanctuary.

Jack Ward, ol’ 111 himself, was thoroughly charmed. Miss Olivia Dallaire contained multitudes. 

Sweet, funny, capable, sensitive. A reader, a fighter, an animal-lover and an occasional jokester who stopped to smell the roses.  

He remembered the leadup to Arturo’s last title fight, when he lived at the house with Jack and Nora. 

One night in the later stages of her pregnancy, Nora laid on the couch as Arturo and Jack sat on the floor surrounded by the pieces of a yet-to-be constructed crib.

Arturo lectured their unborn child on the syntax, phonetics and style guide of French Canadian cursing.

«Esti de câlice de tabarnak!» Arturo exclaimed. "That is what we say when the baby crib is hard to build! You better like it!"

Jack wiped a tear from his cheek as he followed Olivia to Sanctuary.

Arturo would have been so proud to be your uncle. So proud.