#Coaching

[paulcassidysstuff]

[horny-athletes]

What is true sportsmanship?

We endure the rigorous practices of the college basketball team because our coach teaches us true sportsmanship and the joys of team play with his own body in the locker room after practice every day.

We learn what it means to take team sports seriously every time we see the coach, who usually gives us a hard time, screaming his dirty little head off while we fuck him in the mouth and anus.

[noyasmashing]

After Hours

Sub! Ukai Keishin x Dom!reader

CW: Blowjob, calling him good boy, he calls you miss once, cum eating, a little crying

A/N: Sorry guy! Been pretty busy with college classes and my job lately.. gunna start focusing on quality or quality so for now, here’s a shitty draft. LOL

Ukai's breath hitched in anticipation as your lips drew near, tantalizingly close to his own, teasing him with the promise of a kiss yet withholding it just out of reach.

An unfamiliar whimper escaped his lips, his sweaty palms clinging desperately to the fabric of your shirt. This situation was still so new to him, the idea of the pretty, new, store clerk now seated on his lap, teasing him mercilessly after closing hours.

"Keishin, what do we say?" You teased, a playful smile gracing your features as you looked down at him. You could practically taste the cigarettes on his breath, and it took every ounce of self-control not to slam your lips against his in that moment.

A breathy "please" escaped Ukai's lips, his voice laced with need, earning a grin from you in response.

"That's a good boy," you praised, your tone warm and affectionate as you finally closed the gap between your lips, granting him the kiss he had been yearning for all day.

As your lips met in a fervent embrace, Ukai could feel the undeniable evidence of his arousal pressing against your thigh, his body betraying him in the presence of your intoxicating allure. He cursed himself inwardly for his uncontrollable reactions, his face flushing crimson each time you fluttered your eyelashes at him, rendering him powerless to resist your charms.

As you pulled away, a small trail of saliva lingered between your lips, evidence of the passion that had just transpired. "Missed my touch that much, did you?" you teased, a playful glint in your eyes.

His face flushed a deep shade of red as he attempted to muster a retort, but all that escaped his lips was a feeble "shut up," eliciting laughter from you.

"You know you love me," you stated matter-of-factly, sliding off his lap and onto your knees, positioning yourself face-to-face with the growing tent in his pants.

With a smirk, you hooked your fingers around his waistband, pulling down his track pants and pre-cum stained underwear, exposing his throbbing cock to the cool air. The sight only fueled your desire further as you leaned in, ready to give him the release he craved.

With a seductive lick of your lips, you pressed them against the tender pink tip of his throbbing cock, delivering a gentle kiss that sent shivers down his spine. He squirmed uncontrollably, his hips instinctively thrusting in search of more stimulation.

You cooed softly at his adorable reaction, trailing your tongue along his underside from base to tip, eliciting the cutest of whines from his lips.

Without hesitation, you fully engulfed his length, stifling a gag as he let out a surprised, loud moan of pleasure.

As you bobbed your head up and down in a rhythmic pace, he grasped at your hair desperately, attempting to slow your movements. He knew how upset you would be if he came too fast!

"Keep your hands where they belong, or I'll tie them up," you scolded, removing yourself from his cock entirely. Tears welled in his eyes as he nodded pathetically. He couldn't bear the intensity of pleasure you were inflicting upon him; it had been too long since he'd properly been with a woman, and he was overwhelmed by the sensations.

Resuming your previous sucking, you made sure to deepthroat him again and again nicely until your nose brushed against his pelvis, eliciting whines and moans of pleasure from him. He was weak to the sensation of being fully enveloped by your warm mouth.

His hands shifted from the bottom of his seat to himself as he struggled to resist placing them on you. Even in the midst of your efforts to bring him to climax, you could sense that he was just as nervous as ever.

Finally, your eyes met his, clouded with desire, and spit gathered at the base of his cock. The expression on his face made it abundantly clear that he just couldn't hold back any longer.

"Please, miss, I-I need it!" he pleaded, his voice heavy with desperation. "‘wanna fucking cum."

Your hand rubbed his exposed thigh reassuringly as you continued focusing your attention on his flushed and oh-so-sensitive tip. He was rather lucky you were being this nice to him today.

It had been only two minutes since your lips graced his cock but he was already ready to climax.

With heavy groans, he gripped the bottom of his chair, resisting the urge to touch you as he released his hot seed into your waiting mouth. His hips thrust up and out of his chair, meeting the back of your mouth as you pleasantly swallowed.

Pulling your head back and opening your mouth a bit wider, you swallowed the rest of his large load, making sure to maintain eye contact with his fucked-out, half-lidded face the whole time.

"You need to eat better, Keishin. That didn't taste very good," you scolded, withdrawing your mouth from your personal lollipop.

[aliaology]

COACH — PART II

part one

summary: jack was excited to get the girls number but is disappointed when she doesn’t show. except, she finally does, thirty minutes later.

pairings: jack hughes x single mom!fem! reader

warnings: arguments, bad dad moment! (connors)

running late was not a usual with you. no— in fact you were always early. you hated being late, so here you were, rushing your ass and your son to his hockey practice. make up was smudged under your red eyes.

connor sat in the back seat, quiet as a mouse. the arrival of your ex boyfriend was blunt and unexpected. it turned for the worst, ending with a screaming match. ending with you walking out with connor and heading towards the rink.

connor barely knew his father, only stories and the occasional pop in, but he saw a whole different side of him.

“mama… are we going to see mr. jack?” connor asked.

you sniffled and wiped your eyes as you drove. “yeah we are baby, and he’s gonna help you more with hockey, alright lovie?” you told him.

connor nodded. “i like mr. jack. he’s nice” connor told.

you smiled at him through the rearview mirror. “i agree.”

the rest of the car ride was quiet, music softly playing in the back. when you pulled into the lot and got out, you quickly changed connor into his stuff and picked him and his bag up.

you ran inside, seeing kids with their devils partner. you found jack helping his teammate and the kid he was paired with. you set connor’s bag down and brought him to the opening.

“go to mr. jack, okay baby?” you told him, placing him down.

connor nodded excitedly, putting a grin on his face and rushing onto the ice. you had to bite your lip so you didn’t chuckle when he fell.

jack spotted him and helped him up. “hey buddy— long time no see” jack grinned.

jack wouldn’t lie if you asked if he was worried. ever since last practice, you ran through his mind on loop. if he pressed skip, it would keep repeating you anyways.

he built up an overwhelming excitement over the course of the week because on wednesdays at four, he could see you for two hours. that, and because he was supposed to get your number today.

he was quite disappointed when he didn’t see you, did he scare you off? he had to double up with nico and the kid paired with him. his name was daniel. would it be bad if jack said he thought connor was cuter? probably, but connor was the cutest kid jack had ever talked to.

“hi mr. jack!” connor spoke excitedly.

“everything alright there bud?” jack asked, concerned.

connor nodded. “practice!” he said. jack laughed, taking his stick and poking connors arm slightly. “lets go warm up kid.”

you watched with a warm feeling in your heart. you hoped this would cheer connor up. you felt awful, letting connor see you in such a vulnerable state, one his biological father put you in.

you hated it, you hated him. you already had full custody of connor, you went to court and everything. what gives this man the right to try and tell you what to do with your son?

you hated that you allowed yourself to become so responsive to him. you hated how you could still hear your sons cries, how they were etched into your head.

you beat yourself up over it, but it ultimately wasnt your fault. you could only hope connor saw that, saw that you did your best. but he’s only five, you doubted it.

you watched jack handle your son with care. then you remembered, you told him he could get your number tonight, but did he remember? probably.

jack gave connor a slight push with his stick, allowing connor to get closer to the puck that had been near you.

“hi mommy!” he grinned, waving.

all of a sudden, he was tackled to the ground by another kid. you gasped and went straight up to the glass.

jack’s eyebrows furrowed as he rushed over. “woah woah woah, what happened?” he asked.

his teammate, dawson, rushed over as well. the kid must have been paired with him. dawson grabbed the kid off of connor.

“i don’t know what the hell happened” dawson spoke.

jack groaned and knelt down. “is he okay?” you asked, loudly.

jack wanted to nod, but when he saw connor’s crying face, all he could do was pick him up and walk out of the rink. he brought connor over to you and you three sat a little further than the rest of the parents.

one parent was scolding her son. “i wanted coach jack! its not fair!” he whined.

you sighed when jack sat connor down between you and him. you lifted connor’s helmet off of his head and brushed his hair back. connor’s lip was red m, stained with blood.

“jesus baby, are you alright?” you asked, finger wiping the blood off of his swollen lip. he squeezed his eye shut in pain as tears spilled.

“oh baby..” you whispered, you placed kiss on his cheek before looking at jack.

“do you guys have ice packs?” you asked. jack nodded and immediately went to grab one.

connor leaned against you as he sniffled. “mommy my lip hurts.” he cried.

you frowned and pulled him onto your lap. “im so sorry baby, jack is grabbing you an ice pack, okay lovie?” you told.

his little head just nodded. his cheek rested against your shoulder, his own shoulders shaking as he quietly cried. you rubbed his back and whispered how he was okay now.

jack quickly came back with the ice pack, holding it out to you. you set connor on the bench and wipe his tears. “put this against your lip baby, gently.” you instructed.

you wipe the dried blood off of his lip and brush his hair from his face while he places the pack on his mouth.

your hand lies to rest on his cheek, which he melts into. you frowned.

“i was thinking we go to grammies tonight, lovie. do you want to?” you asked. you wanted him to say yes, you knew your ex was most likely at your house still.

connor nodded. “can we go home now?” he whispered. you nodded.

“let me help you pack up” jack offered. you look at him. “you don’t have to—“

“i want to.” jack spoke.

you reluctantly nodded.

jack eventually helped you bring connor to the car yet again. he buckled him in as you set his stuff in the trunk. jack shut connors door gently and looked at you.

“are you alright?” he asked.

a wave of emotions hit you, and god you didn’t want to let them out on him.

“perfect, thank you” you give a small smile. he gives you a stern look.

“you can tell me, y/n. i know we just met last week but i can tell you aren’t okay and im telling you you can confide in me.” he told you.

you sighed and wiped your eyes. “connors dad, my ex, came to our apartment today. he was demanding to see connor and that connor was his son too. the only thing is, was that he gave up on connor the moment he was in my stomach. he signed every paper stating connor was under my full custody. he signed it all.”

you sniffled slightly. “im taking us to my moms house who’s like an hour away because with my luck he will still be at my house.” you explained.

jack didn’t miss a beat. he didn’t even hesitate. “stay with me.”

your eyes widened. “no no i couldn’t—“

“listen, again, i know we just met. but i already love that little dude in the car and i can tell his mom is an amazing person who just needs a break. you wouldn’t bother me, and you two can even take over my room. just please, let me help.” jack stated.

your eyes scanned his face, looking for any malicious intent or just straight lies. you didn’t find any of that though, instead you found adoration and the look of want.

“okay” you whispered.

jack broke out into a grin. “this mean i can finally get your number now?”

should i do a part three…

[cambrinkers]

MARCH MADNESS COACH P HAS DEFROSTEDDDDDDD

ignore how u can barley hear her pls

[savhearts087]

[mynishimurariki]

[grndgame]

Spencer Carbery and the art of trying to get a little bit better

[archived link to bypass the paywall; full article also under read more] really interesting feature on Carbery, his coaching philosophy, and his attention to players' individual development.

“Sometimes as pro coaches we get in this idea like: ‘This player is what he is. He is who he is. There’s nothing that can be done,’” Carbery said. “‘He can’t improve his shot. He can’t improve his skating. That’s it.’ But what if you can get him a little bit better? What if he gets 1 percent better? It’s going to help him, and then it’s going to help your team.”

-------------

Some data points that could help illustrate why the Washington Capitals went from the last team into the 2024 Stanley Cup playoffs to the top seed in the Eastern Conference in 2025: Aliaksei Protas went from six goals and 29 points to 30 goals and 66 points; Pierre-Luc Dubois improved from 16 goals and 40 points with Los Angeles to 20 goals and 66 points in his first season in Washington; and Connor McMichael jumped from 18 goals and 33 points to 26 and 57 in his third full NHL season.

Could that all be natural progression for players who are just 24, 26 and 24, respectively? Sure. But attend a single Capitals practice, and you’ll understand the roots of those individual jumps. On Monday — just a day before Washington opens its second-round playoff series against Carolina — there was Spencer Carbery, the Caps’ second-year coach, standing along the boards as none other than Alex Ovechkin took a knee in front of him, alone.

Carbery spoke and gestured. Ovechkin nodded and replied. Carbery coaches the team as a whole, and its success matters most. But more than any of the eight coaches in Ovechkin’s 20-year career, Carbery develops the individual — his skills, his habits, strengthening his strengths and minimizing his weaknesses — so that the team develops collectively. It is intentional. It is effective. It is his passion.

“If you ask me what I love about coaching, what’s your favorite part,” Carbery said last week in his office at the team’s training facility in Arlington, Virginia. “The games, the competition — that’s right up there. But the individual development part is my favorite part. To work one-on-one with a player, identify areas of his game that are really, really good that he can continue to get better at or areas that he has to improve and work on them — I love it. Absolutely love it.”

This might seem obvious. How could the team improve if the coach doesn’t get the most out of each individual? But it’s surprising how frequently coaches at the highest levels of sports have an idea of what they want their team to look like and try to shoehorn players into that vision. Carbery goes the other way.

“Sometimes as pro coaches we get in this idea like: ‘This player is what he is. He is who he is. There’s nothing that can be done,’” Carbery said. “‘He can’t improve his shot. He can’t improve his skating. That’s it.’

“But what if you can get him a little bit better? What if he gets 1 percent better? It’s going to help him, and then it’s going to help your team.”

This is all rooted in who Carbery is and how he grew up. As a self-described “marginal” minor league player, “I always wished a coach sat me down and told me, ‘Get better at X, Y and Z.’” But go back further still. Carbery’s father, Bryan, was a golf coach and swing instructor in Victoria, British Columbia, who mentored his son in that sport to the point that Spencer was winning junior tournaments and breaking par at 14.

“It was typical father-son stuff,” Carbery said. “He’d give me lessons, and I’d be like, ‘Leave me alone!’ But he was very simple with his instruction. It wasn’t like all these bells and whistles and do, like, 17 different things. It was like, ‘Just get through the ball.’ So I always remembered: Simple messaging.”

So he brought that into coaching hockey. Carbery’s path to his first NHL head coaching job was typical. But it was an atypical step he took along the way that further cemented what his approach would be when he got there. After six years with the Capitals’ affiliate in the ECHL — the first as an assistant, the last five as head coach — he made the somewhat unusual choice to take the top job with Saginaw in the Ontario Hockey League, the major junior circuit that culls the best talent in Canada.

“You’d get a player there in September, a 16-year-old, and he’d be like — unplayable,” Carbery said. “And then to see him five months later in January or February, it was like a different player. And you’re like, ‘Oh, my gosh, the amount of growth and development that this player had in five months of teaching, working, practicing, playing in games — all of the above — he just became so much better.’ So I’ve always remembered that, even at 25 or 22 or 26, there’s always room for growth.”

Carbery, 43 and a finalist for the Jack Adams Award as the NHL’s coach of the year, spent only one year in the OHL, but he took the approach he developed there to his next stop as an assistant with the Boston Bruins’ top minor league affiliate in the American Hockey League. That led to an interview with the Capitals for the head job with the Hershey Bears of the AHL in 2018.

“When you interview coaches for the AHL, a lot of the discussion is talking about developing players,” said Capitals General Manager Chris Patrick, who was the Washington front-office member in charge of Hershey at the time. “One, you want to make sure you’re getting a guy that’s not just giving lip service to, ‘Yeah, yeah, I care about development,’ and then you get them, and all of a sudden it’s like: ‘Hey, these guys you gave me aren’t good. I want to win.’ …

“And you could tell with him, he was sincere. In the jobs he had in his background — the ECHL, major junior in Canada, assistant coach in the AHL — you have to make players better under your watch to be successful in those spots.”

The primary objective in any of those rungs of the ladder is to make players better so they can climb. In the NHL, the climb would seem over. Carbery is insistent that each player who comes into his office to review tape of his play is still evolving.

“I’ve had the gamut of coaches, right?” said defenseman John Carlson, a veteran of 16 years. “He does like to get one-on-one more than most coaches.”

“There’s some back-and-forth as to expectations and what he’s looking for,” center Lars Eller said. “And you can air how you see certain situations, so there’s clarity as far as expectations.”

Which is partly because Carbery understands that winning hockey games isn’t the only goal of a particular player. And that’s okay.

“All of us have individual objectives,” Carbery said. “… I’m going to ask you to do these certain things that are going to help us win games because that’s what it’s ultimately about.

“But here’s what we’re willing to do as a staff to try and help you become a better player and help you earn a new contract or become the greatest goal scorer ever or become an all-star or become a point-a-game player and first-line centerman like you want to be, Stromer,” referring to center Dylan Strome, “or become a top-six forward, Protas, and score 20 goals. That’s where it marries the individual development and the one-on-one goals with the growth of the team. They can coexist.”

They aren’t just coexisting. They’re pushing these Capitals — individually and collectively — to heights no one expected when the regular season began and now into the second round of the playoffs for the first time in seven years. That’s not because Spencer Carbery has a specific system. It’s because Spencer Carbery has a specific approach: 20 players being pushed to reach their maximum performance level can result in a season of surprising successes — one that’s still going strong.

[twistedheartsclub]

Coach's Favorite Yandere X Fem Reader

⚠️ Warnings: Yandere • Age Gap • Obsession • Kidnapping • Noncon/Dubcon • Manipulation • Psychological Abuse • Stalking • Breeding Kink • Isolation • Violence • Possessiveness • Control • Dark Romance Themes ⚠️

This is a Short Story

The sun was brutal that afternoon. The high school field shimmered with heat, the sound of whistles and barking drills echoing across the grass. Sweat, testosterone, and intensity filled the air. Y/N sat on the top row of the bleachers, legs crossed, sundress soft and clinging in all the right places. She hadn’t meant to draw attention—but she always did. Especially from him. Coach Dean. Late 30s. All hard lines and black sunglasses, his fitted black shirt clinging to a body built from years of discipline. Former college star turned dominant, no-bullshit coach. He looked up once. Saw her. Didn’t look away. She felt it—the weight of his gaze dragging up her legs, across her thighs, to where the dress dipped at her chest. She shifted uncomfortably, the summer air suddenly thick. He didn’t smile. He just watched.

After practice, her brother ran up to her, laughing, sweaty, yelling something about needing a ride. She agreed. Dean walked past them toward the locker room, towel slung over his shoulder, bottle of water in his hand. “Y/N,” he said—low, firm. She turned, heartbeat kicking up. He nodded toward the parking lot. “Wait for him in the car.” A command. Not a suggestion. And she obeyed.

Five minutes later, her brother disappeared into the locker room, and Dean approached the driver’s window. She rolled it down. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” he said, leaning in close. His voice like gravel—low, deliberate. Y/N blinked. “What?” He reached in, ran his finger just under the edge of her sundress strap, watching her chest rise. “You come to my field looking like that…” He smirked. “…and you expect me to be a gentleman?” She swallowed hard. “I wasn’t trying—” His fingers caught her chin. Tilted her face up to his. “Don’t lie.” She hated how wet she got. And she hated that when he pulled back—just before her brother returned—she wished he’d kissed her. .

It wasn’t hard in the beginning. They met late. Parked down empty roads. She’d sneak into his place, panties tucked into her purse, his hands already on her the moment the door closed. At first, it was thrilling. Being his secret. The way he looked at her—like she was the only woman in the world he wanted to fuck. But weeks passed. Then months. And she was still hiding.

Her friends started to notice. “You disappear on weekends,” one of them said. “You never bring a date to group dinners.” “What’s his name, Y/N?” She smiled. Lied. Dodged. But inside? She hated it. She wanted to go on double dates. Share fries in a booth. Hold someone’s hand at a bar. Walk into a movie theater with someone who could be seen with her. Instead, she got rushed texts. You up? Come now. Door’s unlocked. Need to feel that mouth tonight. She was starting to feel less like a woman… …and more like a fix.

That night, she wore something new. Something soft and clingy. Her makeup subtle but glowing. She climbed into his truck, heart pounding. He kissed her, hard, fast—like always. But she didn’t let it escalate. Not yet. “Dean,” she said softly. “Can I say something?” He glanced over, one hand already on her thigh. “You’re not pregnant, are you?” She laughed nervously. “No, no. It’s just…” She looked at him. “I love you.” Silence. He blinked. Laughed once—dry, low. Then looked at her. “Don’t do that.” She froze. “What?” “This is fun, Y/N. That’s all it’s ever been.” She pulled her legs away, heart crashing in her chest. “But you—You said I was yours.” “I say a lot of things when your legs are wrapped around me.” Tears brimmed in her eyes. She turned to leave, but he caught her wrist—pulled her across the seat. “Don’t cry,” he whispered against her neck. “You’re so much prettier when you’re begging.” She gasped as his hand slid between her thighs. “Show me how much you love me then.” And she did. She let him fuck the heartbreak out of her right there in the truck, crying into his neck while he moaned her name like a reward.

The season ended with barely a goodbye. No more practice rides. No more excuses. Her mom took over the school runs. And Y/N? She buried herself in work and college classes. For the first time in months, her phone didn’t buzz with texts after midnight. It should’ve felt like freedom. But sometimes at night, her fingers would hover over his contact. Just to look at his name.

“Girl,” Bree said, sliding into the booth across from her, lipstick perfect and nails tapping her cocktail glass, “I’m saying this with love—you look like you’ve been ghosted by Jesus.” Y/N blinked, laughing. “I’ve just been busy.” “No. You’ve been hiding. No hookups. No dates. No life. Spill it.” “I… was seeing someone,” she admitted. Bree raised a brow. “And?” “I didn’t tell anyone because… it wasn’t real.” Bree sipped her drink, leaned in. “If a man isn’t worth presenting,” she said with a wink, “he ain’t worth it.”

His name was Ezra. He was soft-spoken, sweet-eyed. The kind of guy who asked her what kind of books she liked before even asking her for her number. He opened her car door. Texted good morning. Never pushed. He wasn’t hot like Dean. But he made her feel safe. They had three dates. Movies. Coffee. Holding hands under fairy lights. Nothing sexual. Not yet. And it made her realize just how used she’d been feeling. Which is why, when Dean texted her out of nowhere— Need you tonight. Door’s unlocked. —she knew she had to end it. But on her terms.

She wore black lace. No bra. Just a cropped hoodie and tight jeans that hugged her curves. When she slipped into his place, Dean was already leaning against the kitchen counter, shirtless, sweat on his chest, beer in hand. He looked her up and down. Smirked. “Thought I lost you, baby.” “You could never,” she said softly. He grinned. Walked over. Grabbed her face. Kissed her like he owned her. And she let him.

Clothes hit the floor like secrets. He picked her up—hands under her thighs—and pinned her to the wall. Her legs wrapped around him automatically. His cock was thick and hard, pressing against her, and she moaned just to feel it again. “Fuck, I missed this pussy,” he growled. He slammed into her, and she cried out, head falling back, nails raking down his shoulders. “You’re so tight,” he panted. “Always take me so damn good.” He fucked her like he was trying to remind her what she belonged to. What she could never forget. She rolled her hips in time with him, moaning his name, whimpering when he bit her neck. He threw her on the couch after and took her from behind, his hand tangled in her hair, the other on her throat. “You’re mine, baby,” he whispered in her ear. “Say it.” She did. But this time, her eyes were open. Already gone.

After, she slipped out of his bed while he slept—chest rising steady, arms stretched like he’d conquered something. She didn’t leave a note. She didn’t look back. She walked out with her underwear in her back pocket, hoodie zipped high, and deleted his number before she made it to her car.

The ghosting was clean. No calls. No response. No explanation. And when he finally realized she wasn’t coming back? Oh, baby… he lost his fucking mind.

It started quietly. Just dinner. Just Ezra. His hands never wandered. His compliments never lingered on her body. He looked her in the eyes when he said she was beautiful. And it felt… strange. She wasn’t used to being seen. Not like this. Ezra made her laugh. Asked about her writing. Brought her flowers wrapped in newspaper because “it’s more charming that way.” And when he touched her knee that night in the car, she didn’t flinch. She didn’t brace. She leaned in. And kissed him softly. It didn’t make her thighs ache or her head spin. It made her feel safe.

Dean checked his phone again. Nothing. No texts. No missed calls. Not even her name lighting up the lock screen the way it used to. At first, he was amused. She’ll crawl back. They always do. Then a day passed. Then three. He scrolled to her last message. Nothing romantic. Nothing meaningful. She’d never even said goodbye. His jaw clenched. He tossed his phone onto the counter so hard it bounced. That little slut. He paced the apartment, restless. But then—the memory hit. “I love you.” She’d said it with tearful eyes and a trembling voice, riding him like she thought it meant something. And he’d laughed. Now? He couldn’t stop hearing it. Couldn’t stop missing it.

The first time he saw her again, she was with him. Ezra. Laughing. Hair down, face soft, a sundress he hadn’t seen before—god, she looked good in those. Dean sat in his truck, engine running, window cracked. His cock hardened the second she smiled. He gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white. She used to smile like that for me. He didn’t get out. Just watched. Just let the hate and need twist inside him like wire.

She felt it one night. The hair on the back of her neck rising. A presence behind her when she walked to her car after class. No one was there. She told herself she was being paranoid. But then Ezra texted: That guy you dated. Is he okay? Why? He messaged me. Said he knew you. Wanted to talk. I blocked him. Her stomach dropped. She didn’t answer right away. Just closed her eyes and whispered, “He knows.”

Dean paced his apartment, breathing hard. Her fucking rebound blocked him? After everything? He threw a glass across the room. Punched the wall. Sat on the floor, laughing to himself—wild, cold laughter. “She really thinks she’s done with me.” He pulled out his phone. Scrolled through old videos. One of her moaning his name, crying on his cock. One of her saying, “You ruin me every time.” His hand tightened. “You don’t get to run,” he whispered to the screen. “You don’t get to belong to anyone else.”

One night Y/N stepped out of the bar with Bree. It was dark. Warm. A good night. Until her breath caught. He was there. Across the street. Leaning against his truck. Watching her. He didn’t move. Didn’t smile. Just stared. Her heart stopped. “Bree,” she whispered. “Let’s go.” And even as they walked away, even as her friends laughed and pulled her into an Uber, she felt it. He’d never let her go.

It was the last night before break. Exams were over. Everyone was buzzed on relief and cheap drinks. Bree grabbed Y/N’s hand, dragging her into her apartment. “You’re not wearing that,” she said, eyeing Y/N’s oversized hoodie. Fifteen minutes later, Y/N stood in front of the mirror. Thick thighs hugged by a leather skirt. A top that barely contained her curves. Hair wild and lips glossy. “You’re hot as hell,” Bree said, smacking her ass. Y/N laughed, a little unsure. But something about the way she looked tonight? It felt like payback. Payback for how small he made her feel.

SCENE: Ezra’s Message She texted Ezra before they left: “You sure you can’t come?” “Wish I could,” he replied, "Family stuff. But if you need me—call. I’ll come get you, no questions asked.” “You’re too sweet for me,” she wrote back with a smile She had no idea how right she was.

It was hot inside. The air thick with sweat, cologne, and smoke. Music too loud. Bodies too close. She drank a little. Then a little more. She should’ve stopped. But then someone handed her a red Solo cup filled with punch. “It’ll sober you up,” the guy said, winking. She drank it fast. She never saw him again.

Y/N sat on the edge of the porch, head in her hands. Everything was spinning. Bree was still inside, dancing. She tried to text Ezra, but her fingers weren’t working right. Her mouth felt dry. Her vision blurred. And then she felt it—someone watching. She looked up. And her heart stopped. Coach Dean. Leaning against a dark SUV across the street. Shadowed. Still. She blinked again. He was closer now. Too close. “Y/N,” he said softly. “You shouldn’t be here like this.” Her words slurred. “I’m waiting… for someone…” “I know,” he said. “I saw the text.” Her blood turned cold. “How—” He grabbed her arm. “Let’s get you somewhere safe.” She tried to pull away. But her body wasn’t listening. The world was slow. Numb. “Don’t—please—Dean—” “Shhh, baby,” he said against her ear. “You’re mine. I’m taking you home.” She didn’t scream. She couldn’t. As he dragged her into his truck, her phone slipped from her hand and landed in the grass—screen cracked, still open to Ezra’s last message: “Call me if you need me.”

Dean’s POV – She slumped in the passenger seat, legs open slightly, her dress tugged high up her thighs from how he pulled her in. Dean gripped the wheel hard, his jaw clenched. Her head lolled against the window. Face flushed. Lips slightly parted. God, she looked good—too good. He’d followed her all night. Saw what she wore. Saw how those little college boys looked at her. Like they had a chance. She giggled once under her breath, barely coherent. His cock twitched hard. She didn’t even know where she was. And that made something wicked inside him grin.

He carried her inside. The dress rode higher. He saw the curve of her ass, the band of her panties. Her breath was shallow, but warm against his neck. “Dean…” she mumbled, voice blurred, weak. “I’ve got you,” he said, laying her down on his bed. She blinked up at him, lashes fluttering. He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. Her skin was hot. Flushed. Soft like velvet. He touched her thigh. She didn’t stop him. “Always so fucking perfect,” he muttered, hand trailing under the hem of her dress. She shifted slightly, a sleepy moan escaping her lips. “I warned you,” he whispered. “Told you not to leave me.” He pulled her panties down slowly. She whimpered. “Mine.”

He climbed over her, kneeling between her thighs. She looked up at him—eyes glassy, unfocused. “Mmm… Ezra…” The name hit him like a fist to the chest. “What did you say?” he growled, voice sharp, dangerous. She blinked lazily, drunk and dazed. “Ez… Ezra’s coming…” Dean snapped. “Wrong fucking name,” he snarled. He grabbed her thighs and shoved himself inside her in one brutal thrust. She gasped—eyes wide, body jerking beneath him. “Dean—no—” “You gave yourself to me,” he panted, hips slamming into her, faster, rougher. “You don’t get to say his name.” Tears slid down her cheeks. Her hands clawed weakly at his arms. “Please…” she sobbed. But he wasn’t listening. He was rutting into her like an animal, one hand tangled in her hair, the other pressing her hips down. “Fucking tight,” he groaned. “Still fits me like a glove.” She cried harder, the drunken edge of her voice cracking. “You were mine before he even looked at you.” Her legs trembled. Her back arched. And when she sobbed his name—finally, his—he came inside her with a broken grunt, burying himself deep, panting into her neck.

She whimpered beneath him, eyes distant. Still crying. Still whispering Ezra’s name like a prayer. Dean kissed her cheek. Whispered, “He’s not coming, baby. Not ever.” And then he pulled the blanket over her, locked the door behind him… And went to check if her phone was still out front.

Y/N woke slowly. Her head throbbed. Her mouth was dry. Her body ached. And her thighs… were sticky. She blinked, the ceiling above her unfamiliar—wooden beams, dim light. She shifted and winced, every muscle screaming. The bed creaked beside her. He was there. Dean. Shirtless. Calm. Holding a cup of tea. “Morning, sweetheart.” Her breath caught. “W-Where am I?” “My place,” he said simply. “You were drunk. I took care of you.” She tried to sit up. Tried to speak. But his hand pressed gently to her shoulder. “You were beautiful last night,” he murmured. “So needy. You kept begging for me.” Her eyes widened. “No—I didn’t—” “You did,” he said softly, smiling. “You were perfect.” She shook her head. “Dean—what did you—?” “I made love to you,” he said. “Like you wanted. Like you’ve always wanted.” Tears welled in her eyes. And still, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

He carried her to the bath. The warm water stung between her thighs. She tried to cover herself, but he wouldn’t let her. “Nothing to hide from me, baby,” he whispered, washing her skin slowly. “You’re mine. All of you.” His fingers trailed over bruises he’d left. He kissed her shoulder. “Let me take care of you.” She didn’t fight. She just cried.

He dressed her in a soft nightgown—silk against sore skin. Sat her down at a small kitchen table and fed her soup. Spoon by spoon. She barely touched the bread. “Eat more,” he said gently. “You need your strength.” “For what?” she whispered. He didn’t answer. Just smiled.

That night, he laid her in bed again. Kissed her lips. Called her sweetheart. Told her how proud he was of her. Then he pushed inside her slowly, whispering how tight she was, how warm, how perfect she felt wrapped around him. She cried the whole time. But he kissed her through it. “Shhh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” His hands were gentle. His thrusts were slow. He stroked her hair like a lover. “You’re my good girl. My perfect little thing. You were made for me.” When he came, he held her tight, burying his face in her neck. And whispered, “I’m never letting you go.”

Elsewhere, her phone buzzed endlessly—unanswered. Ezra had texted. Called. So had Bree. Her mom. Her brother. The campus was talking. The town was buzzing. She was gone. Missing. And no one had seen Coach Dean in days either.

[rawhoneybliss]

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[sos717]

Hi, i hope you are doing well.

I am in the loa community since 2020😭 and I started to lose my faith in it. I really wanna know if someone has really manifested anything? Everything and everyone seems fake. I feel like im just wasting time here

and do you have any advices on how to stop wavering?

Hey, thank you I hope you gain some clarity from what I’m about to tell you. So to start off, yes, just to give you a bit of relaxation. But if we get deeper into it, it never stops, and let me explain.

The typical idea of manifestation and all of these LOA’s and Shifting and any practice that involves you and “making something happen” only exists as a misunderstanding of reality.

The way all of these things are worded makes it sound like you are a seperate object of a seperate world and are making changes or creating seperate things or events to come into fruition, see how insanely difficult that is to approach? Of course it is, because then you spend the rest of your time trying to make things change instead of realizing, wait, if it’s me that “makes things change”, doesn’t that mean it’s coming from me?

Doesn’t that mean that the real change is what I’m operating as? And wouldn’t that mean that what I am is what really needs to be understood?

Of course it does.

We find ourself so lost in our own desperateness that we completely put our identity into the shadow, you aren’t making anything happen as if you are something different and the world is something different, the world is a side affect of you perceiving yourself, it is always you, all there is, is you. I’m not going to get too deep on this reply because I do have that info on my page and I’m tryna clear my drafts and answer them too, so I hope you gained a little bit of clarity, I hope we talk soon. 🧘🪷

[sa-sa-blogger]

Lắng nghe trái tim nhưng không quên lý trí. Dù cảm xúc có mạnh mẽ đến đâu, em vẫn cần đặt ra những câu hỏi quan trọng: “Ai là người thực sự muốn xây dựng tương lai cùng em? Ai khiến em cảm thấy được yêu thương, tôn trọng và an toàn?”

Lời nói có thể ngọt ngào, nhưng hành động mới là điều chứng minh bản chất thật sự.

Nếu em thấy lạc lối, hãy tạm gác lại cả hai và dành thời gian tự hỏi mình thật sự muốn gì. Đôi khi, câu trả lời nằm trong chính sự bình yên của em, không cần ai khác.

Em không cần vội vàng quyết định. Những người thật lòng sẽ sẵn sàng chờ đợi em. Hãy chọn người khiến em cảm thấy là chính mình, được trân trọng và không bao giờ phải nghi ngờ.🌿

From: sa-sa-blogger - (Cre,please)

[quotelr]

If you have a dream, don’t just sit there. Gather courage to believe that you can succeed and leave no stone unturned to make it a reality.

Roopleen

[oldluvr]

[justayoungmom]

It's not about being perfect, it's about being consistent and not giving up🌹. fav fitness coach