#University college Cork | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bleubrri · 2 years

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۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ ˑ ɪᴛ’s ᴀʟɪᴠᴇ ! — ᴊᴇᴀɴ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

༄ؘ ˑ contains: best friends → lovers , mutual pining , costumes errywhere , dry humping , m!oral , jean whining n whimpering hehe , reader bein kinda bossy >:7 , black coded!fem!reader , vaginal sex , creampie [ maybe more idk bro it’s 3am @_@ ]

༄ؘ ˑ wc: SIGH 4k :/

༄ؘ ˑ a/n: this is for the if you really think that you can stomach me collab by the light of my life @strawberrystepmom !! i wanted to post it in october but i’m useless so forgive me T^T lil talk about protection in there—communication is sexc!! also pls use condoms + practice safe sex xoxo

"these are all awful." you whine, sitting against jeans headboard and scrolling through his 'costume ideas' pinterest board.

he’s got his head underneath the desk, trying to fish out the mario kart disc thats fallen down the back, so his response is muffled. "they’re the most popular ones from the last decade!"

"jean, i am not wearing any of these."

he shuffles back out, dust covered disc in hand and pouting down at you. "there isn't one that you like?"

"not remotely."

"you’re being picky." he says, slotting the disc into the console and tossing you the player 1 controller.

"i’m being honest." you mutter, scrolling past a particularly awful rendition of a cops & robbers costume. he flops onto the bed and rests his head on your shoulder, peeking at the screen.

"y'know I worked really hard cultivating this. hours of research and painstaking decisi—hey!" his head knocks against the headboard when you yank yourself from under his weight.

"you're so annoying.." you mutter, navigating the homescreen and selecting grand prix. the character and course selection are accompanied with jeans babbling (we’ve gotta pick a good one—the standards are high! maybe i should just pick and force a decision on you—) that earns him unconvinced grunts and looks of skepticism.

the subject gets temporarily lost in the chaos that naturally ensues when jean selects rainbow road, 3 minutes of screaming and curses and shuffling onto your knees to get a better vantage point. it isn’t until the final lap when your item box is shuffling that you pipe up, “i guess we don’t have to do something matching..”

jean almost veers off of the track.

he frowns, glancing at your profile as he tries to maintain his first place spot. “…what?” he says. you’ve always dressed up together. since you were kids halloween had been your guys’ favourite holiday, and yet here you were suggesting that you break a years long (albeit unofficial) october tradition.

“i mean we could just go as separate things? if that makes it easier.” and it seems like appropriate timing when you unleash a blue shell and obliterate jeans universe.

you’re glowing, shrieking in triumph as you pass the finish line and leave jean in the dust. he watches your characters parade around the winners podium with a clenched jaw and sinking feeling.

“sure.” he agrees, tight lipped smile making you pause. you didn’t really expect him to agree—you’d only suggested it in case he had a particular costume that he was set on wearing. jean had always been the one to pick your costumes, you just went along with it, and always ending up looking decent so you couldn’t complain. he was always more into the whole idea of dressing up anyway. but you hadn’t really anticipated him ditching your thing in order to.. what, impress some new college friends?

you blink at him, a protest like the cork of a wine bottle, stuck in your throat and threatening to choke you. “cool.” you manage, “just.. let me know what you’re going as, yeah?”

“tryna scope out the competition?”

you give him a good natured shove, rolling your eyes as a smile fights it’s way across your face.

something like that, you think.

this was a bad fucking idea.

as the rhythmic percussion from the speakers gets close enough to rattle your bones, it starts to set in that jean was right. people have taken their costumes really fucking seriously. there are a few token stragglers: eren, in a hoodie and a purge mask and a short, raven haired senior with faux fangs and devil horns. but for the most part all you can see is elaborate sfx gore, girls in animal ears and enough fabric to border on public indecency. and everyone looks great.

you feel pathetic, turning up in a matching costume unbeknownst to your best friend. what if he’s mad? you’d gone from feeling somewhat pretty to utterly mortified in the span of a tacky monster mash-grime remix. your internal debate of whether to bolt back down the road and uber home is interrupted by connie (gruesomely accurate stitches and foam kitchen knife complementing his chucky outfit) who tackles you in a bear hug that reeks of tequila.

“y’look great!” he slurs, clinging to you for so long that he starts swaying.

stifling a laugh, you detach from him and start guiding him back inside. “thanks con, you too.” you shout over the music.

after successfully delivering connie to mikasa (in a very expensive looking black swan costume) you start to navigate the crowd in an attempt to find something to drink.

jean had been developing a steady buzz in the hour or so that he’d been here. he wasn’t having fun. you’d rejected his offer of a ride and for some reason it had given him the urge to drink his blood volume in vodka cokes. he’d made pretty good headway so far, drowning out the compliments on his frankenstein costume with deep gulps from his glass. it felt weird, not having your complimentary figure beside him to admire all night.

somewhere between the fourth beer and third shot of rum he decided that he was mad at you. but it had dissipated pretty quickly—he was refilling his glass when he caught a glimpse of you.

connie was half-slung over your shoulder (gripping you awfully tight and saying something into your ear that has jeans teeth grinding together) but he could still clearly see the monikers of your costume. white streaks in your hair. blackened stitches along your jaw that mirror his own. jean feels the air get punched from his lungs when his eyes scan over your dress. the sheer, pale fabric practically glowing in the dim lighting. there’s a white corset that hugs your waist and follows the curve of your hips that jean can’t seem to tear his gaze from. the whole ensemble.. it’s hauntingly beautiful. you’re beautiful.

jean swallows down a forbidden feeling that claws at his ribcage, tears at the flesh of his throat in its frenzied attempt to escape.

he bolts down the hall to connie’s room, shouldering past vague acquaintances and slipping into his friends bathroom. the white knuckle grip that he has on the sink isn’t doing much to help ground him. his heart hammering in his chest and his head spinning unfortunately isn’t entirely the alcohols fault. scooping some cold water into his cupped hand, jean gulps it down and tries to cool the heat painting his cheeks and swirling in his gut.

bride of fucking frankenstein. is that why you’d asked what he was dressing up as? he groans, pressing the chilled tips of his fingers into his temple, mindful of the black face-paint stitches adorning his forehead. jean has spent almost 2 decades carefully steering you towards costumes that were safe—cute and perfect for the best of friends. jean has long since had his grand epiphany, long since resigned himself to keeping it all to himself, long since mourned the loss of what might have been. but he cannot risk a lifelong friendship with you on a gamble of ifs and maybes. so he straightens his jacket, plasters on his brightest smile and heads straight for you.

“well well well.” he drawls, coming up behind you as you’re mixing a drink. the sound of his voice has you sucking in a breath and turning to him with your bottom lip tucked between your teeth.

“couldn’t help yourself, huh? guess you’re just obsessed with me.”

you grin, glad that he seems like the jean you know and love. “please, this was a last minute ditch effort.” you shoot back, “i just couldn’t find anything else that looked okay!”

“ohh of course. forgive my wildly inaccurate assumption then.”

you chuckle, handing him a drink as you pour yourself another. “seriously though, dyou hate it?”

jean frowns over the rim of his cup, taking in your doe eyes and vulnerable expression that point to you being serious. “hate it? what would i hate it?”

“i don’t know.. you wanted to dress up alone this year so.. i thought you might be disappointed.” he stares at you blankly, cup hovering away from his lips. he’s got such pretty lips, you’ve always thought so. it would be.. weird to tell him that, right? though it’s probably weird how hard you’re staring at them right now and—oh god you’re staring.

“you wanted to dress up alone!” he says, confused.

“wh—i didn’t! i suggested it for you but.. i love our couples costumes.” you give him that shy smile that he adores and jean feels his insides turn to jelly. you have to know what you’re doing. you’ve baited him—hook, line and sinker and like the lovesick little guppy that he is he’s latched on and being stripped of oxygen.

“couples costumes?” he breaths.

“yeah i mean, we’re kind of like a couple.” you shrug, and jean almost faints. “we do everything together.” oh god, you need to shut the fuck up before you ruin everything. before he calls you out for overstepping and—

a whirlwind of colour that takes the form of sasha in a willy wonka costume (complete with crumpled wrappers spilling from her pockets) is suddenly ushering you both towards your group of friends before jean can respond and you can apologise. she pushes you down into the circle that’s forming, empty bottle of corona sitting menacingly in the centre.

jean groans, running a hand through his hair in a way that you can’t look at for too long or you might do something you’ll regret.

“what’re we? 16?” sasha just sticks her tongue out and slots down between macro and an on-the-verge-of-passing-out connie.

the games a hybrid—spin the bottle and 7 minutes in heaven, with people bending over the circle for a peck on the lips while the current 2 victims occupy the storage closet at the end of the hall. you find your eyes are focused on the fascinating items on the shopping list stuck to the fridge as jean locks lips with a pretty little blonde girl—hitch, you’re pretty sure. you don’t notice the glares that your best friend sporadically shoots in reiners direction when the bulky blonde kisses you for a little longer than necessary, earning whoops and cheers from your giddy friends. when the flick of erens wrist dictates that you and jean are next for the closet, the whole group groans.

“what?” floch says, clearly confused as to your apparent reputation.

“these are the worst.” mikasa deadpans, earning a playful shove from you.

“we are not!”

“what, they fuck super loud or something?” floch asks. jeans cheeks are reddening at the implication.

“hardly.” connie mumbles, suddenly following the conversation. “last time they were in there forever, found ‘em passed out after watchin’ a movie on his phone.”

you smile, pushing yourself up and extending a hand to jean. “i’m thinking insidious 2? maybe the conjuring?”

“stop. you know hocus pocus is more my speed.” he matches your smirk and laces your hands together, your friends’ booing accompanying you down the hall as you make your way to the closet.

you’re both settled on the floor, backs against the shelves and scrolling through jeans phone to find a movie. it’s dark, the only light coming from the small screen, but he can still see the outline of your figure in his peripherals, pressed up against him with your head on his shoulder, where it belongs.

“hey.” he finds himself blurting out. it’s the familiarity, the closeness that’s loosening his lips and making his iron resolve crumble.

“hey.” you smile up at him, and as he skims over your face, long lashes swept with mascara, pointed brows and lips sculpted with a dark crimson that almost looks black, jean has the startling urge to confess that he’s hopelessly, desperately in love with you.

“did you mean it? before..”

“what?”

“that we’re like a couple.” he presses.

“oh, i—” theres an apology on the tip of your tongue that somehow morphs under the intensity of his gaze, warm eyes piercing even in the low light. “i mean, we are, aren’t we? strangers always think we’re together. we’re just not, ah.. intimate like a couple.”

jeans ears are ringing. what might have been is beginning to look like what could be, what’s right at his fingertips.

“do you want to be?” it’s barely a whisper, his face so close to yours that when he swipes over his lips you can feel the heat from his tongue. your gaze flickers down, glued to his lips, and without a second thought you find yourself nodding.

“are you sure?” this time, he’s so close that you can feel the syllables against your lips.

“kiss me.”

and jean does not need to be told twice.

it’s a chaste thing, a sweet thing. just skin against skin. you both share a sigh against eachother and it’s filled with so much relief, so much longing that it’s only natural for his hands to make their way to your cheeks, coaxing your head back as his tongue starts to lick into your mouth.

wet smacking and heavy breaths are fogging the space of the closet as your hands curl around his wrists. jeans hands cup your jaw, a breathy chuckle bubbling up when he rests his forehead against yours. it’s so infectious that you find yourself giggling along with him, mirroring the shapes he traces into you on his pulsepoints.

“you have no idea.” jean finds himself mumbling between slow savours of your lips. “god, you drive me crazy.” and you do. he thinks he can feel his fucking brain chemistry altering with every brush of your tongue against his own.

it’s becoming harder and harder to ignore the desire pooling between your legs at the feeling of your best friend cradling your face like you’re made of glass and kissing you until you’re dizzy. your limbs feel phantom as you slowly push him against the shelves, your thighs finding purchase surrounding his long legs and hands slipping into his hair. his phone is still on somewhere, cool-blue light casting shadows over your figure. even straddling him, you’re only marginally taller, but jean loves it, your pretty face there for him to behold and your tits squished against the confines of your corset at the perfect level to latch onto. your cleavage being on display is more of an obvious byproduct of having breasts as apposed to a purposeful attempt at being alluring, but jean thanks whatever deity is looking over him and happily sucks a trail of bruises into the soft skin before him. he can feel your breathing increasing with every graze of his teeth, every violet mark etched into your skin. and when he delivers a particularly harsh nip, your thighs clenching around him and your grip on his nape tightening, jean thinks he has to be ascending.

the tent in his pants is considerable, poking into your core even through the whispy layers of your dress. large hands have settled on your waist when you start to rock in his lap, a sputtering groan spilling into your chest as his dick twitches in anticipation.

“fuck, jean—i need you.”

he’s frantic, bunching up your dress to expose your bare thighs and dampened panties. he perches you over his dick, stifling a moan from the pulsing heat of your cunt radiating against his bulge. the movements of your hips are aided by warm hands settled on them, grinding you against his cock as you gasp and moan at the friction. he almost whines in response, fingertips digging into your soft flesh. “don’t—oh shit—don’t have a condom.”

he can’t form a sentence, let alone a coherent thought. but like the angel that you are, you do it for him, tug his face back from where it’s buried in your neck, smiling fondly at his lidded eyes and parted lips. “i mean, i’m clean. and.. on birth control.” you whisper, as if he wasn’t nursing you day and night after your IUD appointment. tucking a strand of hair behind the reddened tip of his ear, you press your lips to the stubble that peppers his jaw. it’s rough, mildly grating in a way that brings heat to the surface of your skin and has you wondering how it would feel against your inner thighs. “and i trust you.” you smile.

a confession is dangerously close to bursting from his chest. jean might as well just plunge a fist through flesh and bone, part his ribcage and present his beating heart to you. he would do it, if you asked.

“fuck, are you sure?” he’s blindly scrambling for his phone. “i—i’m clean and everything but are you sure?” and suddenly the screen is being lit up in front of you with goddamn test results. you laugh, because it’s so sweet and so jean—giving you peace of mind despite your assurances, checking in on you again and again because he cares. you pull up your own recent results and present it to him, his eyes barely flicking over it before his gaze is relocked with yours. you chuck your phone to the side, palming his bulge in languid strokes with your free hand and shuffling down the length of his legs. “never been more sure of anything.”

jeans so hopped up on endorphins, on the taste of you and the arousal searing his skin that he hardly notices you flicking the clasp of his belt buckle. he’s shook from his stupor when he feels the cool air hit his dick, tip shiny with so much precum that its started to drip down to his balls. you weren’t sure what you were expecting, but the slight curve of his shaft, the bulbous head and mushroom tip, the length of it has your eyes wide and mouth pooling with saliva. you delight in the way his cock twitches and he shivers when you blow against his wet slit. and when you wrap a hand at his base, immediately pumping him with slickened strokes, he reels, arching into your touch and slamming a hand over his mouth to muffle his groans.

oh god, oh god you’re gonna ruin him, thumbing his slit and squeezing his cockhead until he’s leaking into your hand and planning your honeymoon. pink darts from between your teeth and you press the flat of your tongue against him, salty liquid bursting across your tastebuds that has you humming and taking the tip of his dick into the wet heat of your mouth. jeans nails are digging bloody crescents into the skin of his palm as he tries to hold back the sounds of his pleasure, but when you suckle on his slit and swirl your fucking tongue against the sensitive underside of his cock, jean feels his balls tighten and flames ignite under his skin.

“shit—shitshitshit wait!” and you’re pulling off of him with a lewd pop and a ditzy smile. there’s a string of saliva and pre that tethers him to your lips and jean doesn’t think you’ve ever looked so beautiful.

“god you’re so..” jeans panting, scouring his lust-dipped brain for a word that does you justice. his reaction has you preening, dragging down your panties and pecking his lips with a grin. “so’re you.”

your thighs return to their place around his hips, the bare heat of your sexes mingling when you press your clit into the underside of his shaft from its place against his stomach. jeans hands are guiding your mouth to reconnect with his, desire clawing at his chest. “let me taste you.” he breaths.

your pussy flutters at his request, baritone syllables making more slick ooze from your slit. “as much as i would love that,” you link your hands around his broad shoulders, pressing your weight into your knees to position his cock over your dripping entrance. you can see the beginnings of a protest shaping his pretty lips that you’re quick to silence, “i want you to cum.” and when his dick is enveloped with hot, wet softness, jean can’t do anything but gasp.

while the tightness of your cunt is threatening to milk him dry, he knows this can’t exactly be comfortable for you, the wetness of your shared arousal doing little to compensate for the lack of prep. gentle rolls of his hips accompany soft words and presses of his lips to the trail of bruises along your chest. “shh, you’re okay. it’s just me, just focus on me.”

slippery circles are pressed into your clit that have you relaxing under his touch and clenching around his cock simultaneously. “look how good you’re doing, baby.” he whipers, your hazy eyes blinking down to where you’re connected. you haven’t taken all of him, though he doesn’t seem to mind, his thrusts picking up and settling into a pace that has your toes curling. one of your hands slips from around his neck in a stubborn blur. he has to cum first. jean does more for you than he probably realises, doting on you like the angel that he is. they’ll be time for more later. but he has to have the first. your fingers trail the soft skin of his sac, nails grazing the cropped hair at his base that has him shuddering beneath you. you can almost feel his load churning under your touch when you roll the heavy weight of his balls between your fingertips.

electricity is sparking between you—it’s under your skin and in your gut and tethering the beating muscles in your chests.

“i—have wanted you—” his words are choked, impending orgasm a breath away, “—for so fucking long. i fucking—i love you. i’m so fucking in love with you.” his confession comes as he does, searing heat from his release coating your insides and splashing through the depths of your cunt. your foreheads are pressed together as you gasp and whisper against his lips, jeans hips fucking his load into you as he helps you chase your own high.

“i love you. always have.” it’s a little slurred, a little breathy. but when jean feels your pussy squeezing him in a vice, slick sounds of arousal bouncing off of the dark walls of the closet, he doesn’t think it could be any more fucking perfect.

reiner has his tongue shoved down bertls throat when you both emerge, blinking at the harsh light. the group doesn’t even give you a second look, at first. when reiner pulls back, leaving the brunet with pink cheeks and wide eyes, jean is the one to clear his throat and direct their attention to your disheveled figures.

“we’re, uh, we’re gonna head out.”

your hands are intertwined. which isn’t a foreign feeling at all, though his cum dripping down your thighs is certainly new.

“no fucking way.” connie seems to have sobered up exponentially, eyeing your mess of hickeys, wrinkled clothes and jeans wild hair.

“i’ll be damned.” erens smirking with his brows raised as you manoeuvre the little crowd and head for the door. throwing a quick wave over your shoulder, you flash a sheepish smile to your friends, stumbling out a goodbye as jean tugs you out the door.

“uh, happy halloween guys!”

as soon as the door slams jeans pulling you in for a kiss. his lips are quickly becoming your favourite thing so you are not complaining, looping your arms round his waist to pull him further into your orbit.

“so.” you muse, “what’re we now? like.. fuck buddies?” you joke.

jean thinks on it, dramatically squinting his eyes and humming in thought. “i’d prefer the term smash bros.”

the look of disgust that colours your face as you shove him away and head down the street has laughter bubbling in his chest and his hands pulling you flush against his chest.

“you’re so stupid.” you pout, barely masking your adorable smile. “can’t believe i slept with you. can’t believe im in love with you.” you’re teasing him, taking his lips for yourself and giggling against him. but if he’s being completely honest with himself, jean can’t fucking believe it either.

#: @luvkun4 @sheluvzeren @oxygenstarrved @wh0reforlevi

#jean x reader #jean x reader smut #jean x black reader #jean smut #jean kirstein x reader smut #jean kirstein smut #jean kirstein x reader #aot x black reader #aot x reader smut #aot x reader #aot smut #aot x you #aot x y/n #iyrtycsm collab #jean x you #jean x y/n

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whencyclopedia · 5 days

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Robert Boyle

Robert Boyle (1627-1691) was an Anglo-Irish chemist, physicist, and experimental philosopher. Boyle was a prolific author, made significant experiments with air pumps, and presented the first litmus test. A founding member of the Royal Society, Boyle bequeathed funding for a long-lasting series of lectures, the Boyle Lectures, which aimed to show that the Christian faith and science were not incompatible.

Early Life

Robert Boyle was born on 25 January 1627 in Ireland. His father was Richard Boyle (1566-1643), the English landowner who later became the Earl of Cork. Robert was privately educated and then attended Eton College, but unusually for a leading figure of the Scientific Revolution, he did not study at a university. Boyle's education was rounded out by conducting a grand tour of Europe between 1639 and 1642, taking private lessons along the way with a tutor in tow. Robert lived in a manor house in Stalbridge, Dorset, in southern England from 1644, which was paid for by his father. In the mid-1650s, he moved to Oxford. In 1668, Boyle moved again, this time to Pall Mall in London, where he shared a home with his beloved sister Katherine.

#History #1680 #25January1627 #Alchemy #WHE #[#]

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small-sinclair · 1 year

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It'll be Okay

This is for me because I need it right now. I just Lester to hold me and tell me I'm doing great.

Lester x fem!reader

Tw: none but there is some yelling and degrading (not from the Sinclairs!)

Bo’s comfort

"What's the matter, sweet pea? Ya haven't said a word. What's wrong?" Lester sits on the bedroom floor and leaned against the bed frame. The sound of the wood creeks under him as he sits. He swings an arm around you and pulls you in close. "Tell me what's wrong."

You rest your head against his shoulder, smelling the fresh cotton and lemon from his clean shirt. He hasn't left for work this morning, and you normally talk to him about your plans for the day, but you woke up earlier to him with a phone call from your family. You tried to have a chat with them to tell the surprise, but it wasn't going to plan.

You were getting ready to start your new job in a mouth at college; you're going to be a professor. You were going to call your family and tell them the news and how excited you were with this, but no one was for excited for you then the Sinclair Brothers.

They made it a day trip, going to the university, dragging Vincent along, too, and helped you get your office ready. They were shocked to see that your office was the same size as their father's, and one side of the wall was lined with empty bookshelves. Vincent helped you pile the books on the shelves, listening to you talk about how excited to finally have an adult job, and he listened to every word while Bo and Lester figured out how to build your desk and computer chair (Bo threw out the instructions, saying, "Instructions are for losers."). You had the radio playing on the classical rock station as the four of you made the office feel more like a happy and comfortable space. Bo and Vincent hung up Christmas lights while Lester helped you put up a large cork board. In the space right in front of computer, just above it, you stuck photos of the three: Bo fixing a car, one of Vincent by one of his arts, one of Lester kissing you on the cheek at the fair, Jonsey and the twins sitting on the tailgate, a nice "family" photo of all four of you and Jonesy, and Lester holding up a crawdad with Jonsey at his feet. The photos were around a little card, reading, "Do It for Them".

They thought it was the cutest thing that you would be working with a mindset of doing your teachings for them, but no one was more proud of you than Lester Sinclair. He hugged you so tight after the decorating was done, and he loved seeing your room filled with books and items you'll be using for classes. He even was able to place a raccoon and opossum skull on the shelf, symbolizing the two of you.

Everything felt like it was going to be a dream come true... then your parents called wondering if you're coming back home.

"I already told you I have a job," you hissed angrily over the phone this morning, Lester still sleeping in your bed. "I start in a month!"

"But what about your mother and I?" Your father snapped, causing you to flinch on the other end. "What about us, huh? Ever since you went down there, you've never call! What? Do you hate us or something? Is that it? You hate us, don't you!"

You didn't mean to sigh loudly as your ran your fingers over your eyes. It's too early for this shit. "I don't hate you. I haven't called because I got-"

"Don't you fucking talk back to me!" He snapped. "You know better than that!"

You clinched your jaw and listened as he degraded you over the phone as tears fell down your cheeks. You wanted to hang up, but you knew that would make it worse. So, you stood by the sink and took it as if you were back home and as if he was actually in the house, screaming at you, calling you a disappointment. By the time he was done, it was time to make Lester's morning coffee. You heard Lester stumbling into the kitchen, and he looked surprised to see you gripping the sink with bare white knuckles, silently sobbing, and your head hung low.

That won't do. Not in his house.

Lester walked towards you with urgency and took the phone away from you without asking. He normally doesn't do this-- it's more of a Bo characteristic-- but once he saw your defeated look he knew it was all over.

"Who t'fuck's 'is?" He snapped, his voice clear and calm.

You could hear your father over the phone, saying, "This is y/n's father. Who are you?"

He looked at you dead in the eye and answered, "'M their husband." If you weren't so worked up, you would be blushing, but your mind was more focused on the wired words ringing in your head. He swallowed hard, anger boiling as your puffy red eyes darted to the floor. "An' yer makin' my woman, my wife cry."

"Let me--"

"No," he snapped. "Ya don't talk t'er lik' 'at! Yer makin'er cry! Before their coffee!" He scuffed venomusly. "How fuckin' dare you to do 'at. At 'is hour!" He rolled his eyes at the voice. "Call back when ya learn some manners!" He hung up the phone before he could let your fathe get a word. He turned the volume down until it was on silence and tossed it gently on the counter. Once he turned back to you, his face fell. "Oh, come'ere, sugar-bee." He pulled you into his arms gently and let you sob...

And it's lead you to here, sitting on the bedroom floor with your head on his shoulder. "Talk to me, darlin'? Please?"

"I'm a disappointment," you murmured. "That's all I've been to them, little raccoon."

"Ya ain't a disappointment, y/n," he reassured, kissing your head. He started to thumb over your knuckles. "Far from 'at."

You nuzzled into his shirt as he placed another kiss in your hair. He wrapped his arms around you and held you close. "It's gonna be okay," he promised, holding you tighter. "I promise. It'll be okay."

He pulls away and lifts your face, cupping your cheeks. "How do ya know?" You asked meekly.

Lester gave you a soft grin. "Cause 'm yer husband, sug," he kissed your nose, "an' I'll do everythin' an' anythin' t'make sure yer folks never talk to ya lik' 'at." He pushes your hair back behind your ear. "Do ya wanna come wit' me today? Com'on my rounds? We c'n stop for lunch and feed t'ducks." He kisses your lips. "How does that sound, opossum?"

You thought and whispered, "Could you hold me a bit tighter today? And longer?"

"I'll hold ya until my arms giv'out," he promised. “An’ after everythin’, bathe together and snuggle ya to sleep.”

You take a shaky breath and starting to stand, Lester following you to help you. "Let me get dressed. Pack me some waters and snack."

"If we leave in five," he started, kissing your hand, "we could get drive-throw McDon's. Breakfast and oj… Yee favorite."

"That sounds perfect," you said with a smile.

#lester sinclair #house of wax 2005 #house of wax (2005)#house of wax fanfic #lester sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x y/n #lester sinclair x you #house of wax fanfiction #lester sinclair fanfiction #lester sinclair fanfic

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35mmproject · 3 months

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University College, Cork

[Check out our vintage photography store on Redbubble]

#ID 0379 #ID 0380 #ID 0381 #vintage #antique #photography #jwytpzw #Ireland #1968 #60s #exterior #urban #Architecture #grey #green

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stairnaheireann · 2 years

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#OTD in 2013 – Death of uilleann piper, accordion player, singer, composer, researcher, writer and lecturer, Tomás Ó Canainn.

The uileann piper was probably best known as a member of Na Filí, along with fiddler Matt Cranitch and whistle player Tom Barry, who brought Irish traditional music to an international audience in the 1970s. The Derry native was an engineering lecturer and in the early 1970s moved to work at University College Cork, where he also studied for a music degree with Seán Ó Riada as one of his…

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#Accordion Player #Co. Cork #Composer #Derry #Glanmire #lecturer #Na Filí #Researcher #Seán Ó Riada #singer #Tomás Ó Canainn #Uilleann Piper #University College Cork #Writer

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shuahoonie · 1 year

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message in a bottle | lee jihoon

pairing: non-idol!jihoon (svt) x reader

notes: college au, fluff, angst— only if you squint!, pining, swearing, platonic!svt x reader, friends to lovers, loosely basing it off on a taylor swift song

word count: 2.7k

summary: a message in a bottle is quite literally how jihoon found out you liked him— and you have to kill thank jeonghan for that.

part of the to x, with love mini series

shuahoonie's masterlist | to x, with love masterlist

the day yoon jeonghan came prancing around the library with a knowing smile on his face was the exact same time that you knew something in the universe has shifted and jeonghan was behind it.

“jeonghan, should i even bother to ask why you’re smiling at me like that?” you quirked a brow at him.

“no, because you’ll find out eventually.” jeonghan answered with a mischievous smile.

“have we not been friends for years, i would’ve been nervous,” you muttered as you continued to annotate the pile of research articles in front of you.

a restless jeonghan was waiting for any signs of curiosity from you but there was nothing— you were too engrossed with articles that concerned the influence of war in the romantic era of literature. i would rather die than have to do a close reading analysis ever again, jeonghan thought.

there was a brief silence before jeonghan furiously tapped the table with a pencil, causing you to slowly glare at him, in which he gave you an innocent smile in return.

“hannie, just tell me what you want,” you sighed in frustration, massaging your temples.

“what’s message in a bottle?” jeonghan asked innocently, though he knew very well what it was.

“uh, a taylor swift song?” you answered.

“oh, ha ha,” he rolled his eyes, annoyed at your answer “i’m serious.”

“well, i’m serious too.” you answered equally annoyed.

when jeonghan noticed that you weren’t going to give in, he knew he had to take matters into his own hands. “i was talking about the message in a bottle in your room,” jeonghan finally said. “the one that had the ljh initials written on the cork.”

as soon as those words came out of jeonghan’s mouth, you felt like someone poured a bucket of iced water all over you.

“you— i—,” you were at a loss for words “yoon jeonghan, what the fuck?!” you just had to yell, obviously frustrated.

“shh!” you heard someone hiss at the corner of the library.

“you, me, daily drip, now.” you said as you gathered your things in haste. meanwhile, jeonghan took care of the pile of books that you have, he was easily amused at the sight of you being obviously flustered.

as soon as you two exited the library, you couldn’t help but smack the back of jeonghan’s head, startling him and leaving a string of profanities.

“ya!” jeonghan yelled while rubbing the back of his head. “what was that for?”

“you know why, jeonghan!” you groaned “how did you even find—“

“ynnie! hyung! where are you two going?” seokmin yelled while walking towards you both.

“i’m off to murder jeonghan,” you grumbled, throwing daggers at jeonghan while jeonghan just laughed at your frustration.

“we’re going to daily drip,” jeonghan answered “yn’s finally going to talk about message in a bottle” he added with a knowing smile.

surprised at jeonghan’s words, you smacked his arms. “hannie!”

“what? seokmin already knows!” jeonghan said in his defence. “we were both there when we saw the bottle.”

you felt like your head was spinning. “i’m not caffeinated enough to deal with this.” you muttered.

the three of you arrived at the campus café, with seokmin practically stopping you from strangling jeonghan along the way.

seokmin cleared his throat, “how about i grab something for us to drink?” he offered, obviously awkward about the whole situation before leaving the table to order.

“oh c’mon, yn,” jeonghan nudged you playfully, trying to appease your mind again. “it’s cute!”

“it’s embarrassing,” you huffed, crossing your arms. “it’s even more embarrassing when it’s you, of all people, that saw it.”

“okay, but why would you have it on display if you didn’t want people to see it?” he asked.

“it was in my room, hannie! i don’t usually let people in there.” you reasoned out.

it’s not that they both entered your room without your consent. no, in fact, you asked them to wait in your room while you fixed something in your bathroom a few days ago. you didn’t want them to stay in the living room because your roommate had company over as well.

you just failed to consider that the message in a bottle project stood proudly on your bookshelf and that your friends are absolute menaces.

“i’m sorry, ynnie.” jeonghan pouted while he placed his chin over your shoulder. "not that it'll make you feel better, but we already had a hunch that you liked jihoon."

"hyung, i thought you were going to break it into her slowly," seokmin pointed out as he set the tray of iced americanos and cakes on your table.

"oh dear god," you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

"you're fine, it's just me and seok were just curious about what that bottle is for."

"it's a project from my creative writing class," you began to explain "we were tasked to write about our feelings that are bottled up, hence the message in a bottle theme— and it can be about a person, a memory. obviously, i chose a person."

"and that's it? you're just supposed to keep it forever?" seokmin asked.

"well, we're free to do whatever we want with it. we can keep it, give it to a person, or throw it over the ocean— it doesn't matter." you said, playing with the icing on your red velvet cake.

"yes, it does matter!" jeonghan protested. "i'm so sick of watching you pine over jihoon for years now."

“i have not been pining over uji,” you said defensively.

“ynnie, there’s no point in hiding it,” seokmin said. “we know you’ve liked him for years now. there’s even that message in a bottle to prove it.”

it's not like it's hard to like him, it's almost too easy. jihoon makes it so easy to like him. and being friends with him for a couple of years has been a testament to that statement. though he likes keeping things to himself, he would go out of his way for the people he values in his life.

he doesn’t like going out, but would be willing to accompany you if you asked. he's stubborn but he would always make sure that you would always cater to your needs. most times you don't even have to ask him for something, he would just know.

"aren't you curious?" jeonghan asked. you raised a brow at him, waiting for him to continue. "if he likes you?"

"hannie, please," you groaned, wanting to move on from this subject.

"what? you never know, he's always been extra attentive when it came to you. i'm actually jealous that he doesn't pay that much attention towards us." jeonghan raised his hands in defence.

"you are delusional," you pointed out.

"okay, think about it, ynnie." seokmin chimed in, making you groan. "i've never seen him stress over someone who wouldn't return their calls aside when it came to you."

"you all give me shit for not returning your calls sooner!" you argued, remembering that specific time you forgot to text or call back. "vernon was the only person who didn't get mad at me."

jeonghan rolled his eyes. "yes, because he didn't know you were missing in the first place."

"you all made such a big fuss! i was gone for two hours and my phone was dead!"

"that's still two hours of being terrorized by jihoon!" seokmin cried "those were the longest two hours of my life and from then on, we swore we're never letting you walk back to your dorm alone."

"so, were you going to give it to jihoon?" jeonghan asked, genuinely curious. "because i— jihoon!"

"give me what?" jihoon asked, suddenly appearing out of nowhere.

"hyung!" you almost spat out your drink in surprise "what are you doing here?" seokmin asked, startled.

"yn and i were supposed to meet here at 8" jihoon answered, trying to gauge the surprise on seokmin and jeonghan's faces. "and it's 8 pm."

"fuck i forgot," you cursed under your breath "i'm sorry, uji."

"hey, it's fine," jihoon said "i can wait if you want or do you just want to meet another day? i'm fine either way." he rambled on.

"no, you guys go on your date," jeonghan said emphasizing the word 'date', making you glare at him for his choice of words. "me and seok have to meet the guys anyway."

"oh, okay," jihoon was giving them a suspicious look but jeonghan and seokmin gave him an innocent smile. "if you two are also meeting chan, can you tell him to bring back the audio transmitter he borrowed?"

"will do," seokmin nodded. "we'll see you two later." seokmin wiggled his eyebrows at you before he and jeonghan practically ran towards the door.

"what's with those two?" jihoon asked as he grabbed the stack of books that you had with you, the same pile that jeonghan carried on the way to the cafe. he pulled out a folded tote bag from his pocket and put your books there as if it was second nature.

"oh they're just being weird," you answered, not that you were lying.

it was a quiet walk back to your dorm. they were all pretty serious about not letting you walk alone and they made a promise that one of them should walk with you every time, especially when it gets dark.

it's not like you and jihoon would always talk during your walks, but you could sense that he was on edge the entire time. something was on his mind.

"so what did you do today, uji?" you asked, nudging him playfully, trying to ease the mood as you were near your dorm room.

jihoon chuckled, the nerves seeming to dissipate from him. "you knew where i was the entire day, ynnie," he stated, "we were texting."

"no, i texted you and you replied with a thumbs up emoji," you rolled your eyes playfully.

"you asked me if i ate yet," jihoon said in defence "it was a yes, so i used the thumbs up emoji."

"i don't know how i put up with you," you muttered.

"please, i know you can't live without me, you love me." jihoon retorted but immediately regrets it as soon as the words escaped his mouth.

the words caught you off-guard but you figured this is just one of those playful banters that you and jihoon would always do. "okay, we're confident now are we?" you raised a brow at him.

"isn't it true?" he asked, leaving you confused.

"what do you mean, uji?" you asked quietly.

jihoon took a deep breath. now or never, jihoon, he thought to himself. "i read your letter," jihoon stated.

"what —" before you could even finish your sentence, he pulled out a familiar scroll. message in a bottle! but how?!

"i was really surprised, you know," jihoon cleared his throat, not knowing what to say. he wasn't big on confrontations.

"jihoon, you weren't supposed to read that!" you said in a frantic voice, not knowing how to react because all you wanted to do was to for the land to swallow you whole.

"i... wasn't?" he trailed off, now embarrassed. "is none of it real?"

"i—" you were hyperventilating. you could feel your chest tightening and all you could think was how this isn't how you envisioned you would die but you can accept it.

"okay, breathe, yn," jihoon tried to calm you down. "should we sit on the floor? let's sit on the floor."

you both sat on the floor in front of your dorm room as jihoon rummaged in his backpack for his bottle of water, giving you the bottle with the cap already unscrewed.

you quietly thanked jihoon before taking a sip of water, your nerves are slowly coming to ease.

"are you okay now?" jihoon asked as he rubbed your back softly.

you nodded, but now you're even more embarrassed. "i don't think I'll ever recover from this, uji." you whined into your hands, hiding your face from jihoon.

"ynnie, come on," jihoon removed your hands from your face, only for you to pout at him while he couldn't help but laugh at how cute you were being. "you're fine. it's just me. you should never feel embarrassed around me."

"that's easy for you to say, you're not the one that wrote a message and put them in a bottle." you moped in a pout.

"i thought it was adorable," jihoon replied, "it was honest and dare i say, romantic."

embarrassed that jihoon, of all people, would be the one teasing you about this, you punched his arm. you quickly regretted that action as you were greeted by his defined biceps. curse jihoon and his endless need to work out.

"i hate you," you mumbled.

"no, you don't," he gave you a cheeky smile. "if i remember well, i am the reason why you looked forward to sunsets. i would always pick you up when the skies are at their prettiest. the pink skies would bounce off my face, the air would feel lighter, and why some endings made sense because you would always end your day with me." jihoon recited as if it was scripture.

you could feel your face burning. you weren't sure if it's because you were embarrassed or if it was because jihoon is looking at you with admiration in his eyes.

"i may not be as good with words as you," jihoon started off before he pulled a disc from his bag and handed it to you, with the words 'i really love you, but i'm not good with words so here you go' written on the disc. "but know that the songs in that mixtape express how much i truly feel about you."

"jihoon, i—" for the second time, in front of jihoon's face, you were at a loss for words. no one has done something this special to you. that was the reason why jihoon had been cooped up in the studio all day, he was busy compiling songs and dodging your texts.

"i love you, yn," jihoon said softly, caressing the side of your face. "you were the reason why i started looking forward to sunrises because then, i will face a new day with you. and for a simple guy like me? that's enough." he whispered, placing a soft kiss on the corner of your lips.

tears kept rolling down your face, overwhelmed by the warmth and love from jihoon. "i love you too, uji." this time, you held the sides of his face and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. "but you already know that, don't you?" you asked jokingly as you pulled away, making him laugh.

jihoon nodded, the smile never leaving his face. "the message in a bottle was a great concept, made me feel really special."

"how did you even get that?"

"i think you know how," jihoon gave you a knowing look. suddenly, memories of jeonghan's mischievous smiles from this afternoon tied all of it together. that's why he mentioned the project!

"i'm going to murder that friend of ours," you grumbled, annoyed that you didn't even notice that the bottle was missing from your room.

"i don't know," jihoon intertwined his fingers along yours "if it wasn't for him, i wouldn't have known you liked me too."

"i'm certain we would've still crossed that bridge somehow," you responded.

"would you have told me you liked me, then?" jihoon asked with a quirked brow.

"only if you had enough guts to ask me out first," you replied.

"so, you wouldn't make the first move?"

"uji, you know how big my pride is. unless the world was ending, i don't think i can handle making the first move." you pointed out. "would you?"

"baby, i was convinced you liked jeonghan before i read the letter," jihoon laughed "i was ready to accept that my feelings for you will go to the grave with me."

"ew, please, jeonghan is the universe's gift to punish me."

"okay, so can we both agree to spare his life this time?" jihoon asked kissing the top of your interlaced hand.

"only this time."

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acesartemis · 2 years

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Asexual Study

Originally posted on AVEN's FB page

We have a research request from Sinead Kelleher, a PhD student in the School of Applied Psychology, University College Cork. You must be 18+ to participate.

The purpose of this study is to explore asexual individuals’ attitudes, beliefs and experiences surrounding their asexuality. Should you choose to participate, you will complete a questionnaire in which you be asked to respond to a series of questions or statements about aspects of your asexual identity. This is expected to take you approximately 8 to 10 minutes to complete.

Addition: you may skip questions if needed!

survey here

#asexual #asexuality #asexual community #gray asexual #demisexual #ace #ace stuff

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salvadorbonaparte · 6 months

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I didn't want to say the names out loud for weird reasons but now it's getting really real with deadlines and my first offers so here's my current PhD options:

University College Cork (already sent me an offer)

University College London (currently talking to a potential supervisor)

University of Massachusetts Amherst (had a very promising interview)

Columbia University (had a very promising interview)

I was also considering Turku, Bologna, Warwick, Berkeley and Harvard but for the first four I missed the deadline and Harvard wanted some weird expensive test I wasn't willing to take.

#Gradblr #phdblr

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berylcups · 2 months

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Yandere Files: Ghiaccio X Foreign Reader

CW: stalking, imprisonment, death (mentioned), jealousy, hostess clubs, masturbation, phone sex(is it if it’s one sided?),immigration, outercourse, mild toxicity

Notes: just a disclaimer- I have no idea how immigration works in Italy or how it works across other countries but I thought it would be a good point of conflict for Ghia to act up to. Also- Ghiaccio was a tough nut to crack. (No pun intended 👀) He’s not very sexually motivated as a character he seems so I had to really try hard with this one! I hope it’s not too OOC and you ice fuckers like it though~🩵Beryl

Minors DNI

Y/N has been living in Napoli Italy for about 4 and a half years now. It’s tough living on their own but it’s worth it. They’re in college for design and work a job that they love. They work in a nice cafe as a hostess and it pays ridiculously well! The only catch is… there’s a lot of mafia activity. Y/N hears and sees things they aren’t supposed to- but that’s okay because they look the other way.

Now this was a special kind of cafe. It took heavy inspiration from the east for its heavily…attentive service. Hostesses would be pouring wine for their guests, lighting their cigarettes/cigars, sitting with them, conversing, laughing at their jokes, stroking their ego, and even joining them on drinks - non alcoholic of course! We can’t have the staff getting tipsy on the job!

Melone being the creep that he is, surveyed this place out for good mothers for BabyFace. But he also really likes the atmosphere so he got his other teammates to go along. Even Sorbet and Gelato! The two had no interest in the women but they enjoyed being pampered by them. But Ghiaccio… he didn’t really like it. Why would he want some host/hostess to be bugging him every 5 minutes??? He doesn’t get it! That’s until he met Y/N of course.

Aesthetics didn’t mean much to the man but he thought they were very gorgeous- it didn’t matter how tall or small, thick or thin, light or dark they were. He was enamored by their open mindedness and that they were willing to just actively listen to him. They gave their full attention to this man, and gave out intelligent thought out answers-to the best of their language capabilities.

“Oh uh sorry… what was the correct name for that pasta again? Shit. I can’t remember! It looks like little corkscrews. Like the part of the wine bottle opener you use to screw into the cork .” Y/N struggled trying to find the name.

“I believe the one you’re looking for is fusilli.” He replied, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Yes! That’s the one! Thank you Ghiaccio. Well I had the fusilli alla checca the other day and I was surprised. I really liked it despite me not liking cheese very much. I’m glad I listened to you.” They said cheerfully.

He couldn’t help but smirk from having his ego stroked like that. Of course he’s right! He knows everything about Italy and its wonderful culture.

“Sigh… I’m really gonna miss it here.” They said looking down at their coffee with a sad smile.

Ghiaccio nearly spits out his coffee. “What?!” He yelled. “ I mean- what do you mean by that?” He lowered his voice trying not to cause a scene.

“Well as you know I’m graduating from _____ University in a few weeks… and my Visa is almost up. I only have about 3 months left before I have to go back home to _______.” They said gloomily. “I really don’t want to leave because I love it here so much.”

“Go apply for a permanent residency! They should take you in since you've been here almost 5 years.” He replied.

“I wish I could…but my mom is waiting for me at home and I’m all she has. And the wait time for the documents will take longer than I am allowed here legally.” They signed sadly. “Well… let’s not let this ruin our time together! We still have 3 months. Let’s make the best of it right Ghia?” They chirped trying to bring the mood back up.

He wanted to shake them by their shoulders and tell them that’s not good enough and they can’t just leave him but he can’t just have an outburst. It will scare them away! He has to think of a plan to keep Y/N here with him. PERMANENTLY.

“Yeah, you’re right Y/N. Let’s just enjoy the time we have left.” He said, faking a small smile.

He was seething inside. How DARE they try to leave him. Of ALL PEOPLE it had to be Y/N to turn their back on him?! Not on his watch! He was going to use his resources and connections to make sure that Y/N doesn’t leave the country of Italy ever.

————————————————

Now that he’s smitten with you, some of your regulars stopped showing up. You wonder why? It’s starting to worry you a little bit financially. You have to make sure that you have enough money for the trip home!

“I wonder why people are showing up less and less… am I not doing good enough?” You asked dejectedly.

“No of course not! Their wives/husbands probably found out that they were hanging out here and probably put them on a tight leash.” Ghiaccio lied.

Anytime he’d see one of the patrons get a little too flirty or handys with you he’d corner them in the back alley and beat them with an inch of their lives. Or worse, do what he does best-freeze them till they shatter like glass.

While you’re still here he follows you everywhere and you are too distracted by everyday life to notice it. Oh! He just happens to be near your university! How about a ride home in his nice car? It beats taking public transport. Or when you happen to run into him at the grocery store? How about he gives you a quick ride back home so you don’t have to carry all those heavy groceries home? He’s so thoughtful!

When he’s home alone , or on a mission he’s always thinking of you . He’s sexually frustrated because when he furiously masturbates his hand isn’t enough anymore . He wants to feel your hand around his cock instead or better yet your warm hole.

He calls you often at odd hours of the night just to check in with you. You two have long deep discussions about random things like how English is just ridiculous, or learning about your culture and food, your hobbies, his hobbies, just about everything! In person he’s usually the one talking but on the phone you’re the one who’s doing most of the talking. When he talks he sounds winded, strained? Like there’s repetitive smacking sounds going on in the background. He says he’s just “multitasking “ but with what?

He knows you love your job-he gets it. But… he can’t stand the idea of another pair of eager balls or a thirsty pussy near you. He doesn’t wanna take your joy away but he doesn’t want to live in a constant state of anxiety! You're his! So he’s a straight forward man, so he’s gonna confess his feelings to you when he’s certain that he has a chance. You clearly pay more attention to him, your eyes light up when he comes in through those doors. You eagerly sit in his lap and listen to his usual complaints of the day.

“Aww I’m so sorry that happened. What a douche! He should have known better, you were right to stand up for yourself. You have a reputation to uphold. Is there anything I can do to make it better for you?” You cooed.

“Just having you around is enough to turn my day around.” He said, softening his tone.

“Aww~ Ghia! You’re too sweet. You’re the one I’m gonna miss the most.” You sighed. “Hey… I’m not really supposed to ask this because this could jeopardize my job but…do you wanna go out sometime?” You whispered. “I really really like you and I’ll regret not telling you how I feel before I have to go home… if you’re okay with long distance relationships that is- I understand if you don’t it’s not that easy and I promise I’ll visit as much as pos-“

He put a finger up to your lips to stop your nervous rambling “ of course Y/N. I was honestly going to ask you myself.”he confessed. “As far as long distance goes, we’ll make it work.” He lied, he had his plans in order to make sure you’ll never leave.

He agreed to a long distance relationship because that’s not what he had planned at all. He already got a hold of your passport and other legal documents when you were outside of your home at university. He made sure they were absolutely destroyed. He has Melone currently making him a perfect fake permanent residency card for you. Now you’re NOT going ANYWHERE.

On the days that you’re free he takes you to historic places close by and acts like a more in depth tour guide to you. He hopes this will make you want to stay even more and it’s working. He’ll show you all the best restaurants- not that touristy shit or the Michelin star nonsense. Just real authentic Italian cuisine!

He likes to drive the scenic routes and show you all the lesser known beaches, forests, parks, vineyards, etc. The lesser known the better, so he has the privacy he needs to mercilessly fuck you into the back of his car. He apologized for your first time with him being on top of the back of an uncomfortable car but he just couldn’t help himself. You looked so good with the nice outfit you were wearing!

He’s very athletic so likes to pick you up against the wall as he’s fucking you. He’s all about hard and fast. He’s gonna want to bite at your neck and leave tons of bite marks and hickies all over your body. He wants everyone to know that you’re taken and not available for anything outside your job. He doesn’t cum just once he goes at around 4-5 times with a very insane fast refractory period.

He’s not big on foreplay but he has a fixation outercourse. Watching his cock slip through your folds/ass drives him feral. But he’s not selfish, whatever you want he’ll give to you- within reason. He loves you but he’s very impatient!

He has an obsession with boobs. 👀 big boobs, small boobs, no boobs , pecs… all boobs are good boobs to this tit lover. He likes to use his cold hands and watch the nipples harden and hear you whine that he’s too cold 🥶 it never fails to get a chuckle out of him to hear you whine for him to stop making you so cold!

When it’s nearly time to go home he plays along and helps you pack up all of what you plan to bring back to your home country. Since you’re only packing sentimental items and necessities, there’s not too many bags. Thankfully they all fit in his trunk.

You crash at his house the night before you leave. Only one teeny tiny problem… you missed your goddamn flight!

“You missed your flight and you lost your passport? You know what this means right Y/N? You’re stuck here in the country .” Ghiaccio said very calmly for a tense situation like this.

“ I’m an illegal now! What will I do???” You cried with tears staining your cheeks.

“ I already took care of the problem myself.” He said calmly. He pulls out a fake permanent residency card. It was as realistic as the real thing. Only thing is your last name is the same as his.

You can’t just stay! You needed to go home! This is wrong! You wanted to argue, but there was just something ominous about his demeanor.

“I love you too much Y/N. I can’t let you leave.” He said eerily calm, taking a step closer to you. Was it the anxiety or did the temperature of the room just drop.

“But… you know I can’t stay. I have to go home.” You whimpered.

He took a firm grip on your shoulders and made intense eye contact.

“Oh Y/N… perhaps you're not really understanding the situation. Allow me to say this in a language you understand: You’re not leaving me or the country..”he spoke in your mother tongue and he did it perfectly.

You can tell he’s mad, and you don’t want him to get worse. He’s a part of Passione, you know this. You’re not dumb! Now’s the time to do what you do best, be obedient and do what he says. After all, Ghiaccio knows best.

Once you accept your fate that you’re stuck here with him: it’s till death do you part. But don’t worry he still treats you as if nothing happened. Just as long as you don’t mention anything about it ☠️ or you’ll end up in the chilly basement for a few days. But it hurts him just as much as hurts you! He loves holding onto you at night as he’s drifting asleep. He’d never lay a hand on you, he just wants to make sure you never ever leave him.

But as long as you leave the past in the past (aka- your home and family!) you have a bright future ahead of you with this loving man! 🥰

#jjba #la squadra #jjba part 5 #jjba x reader #la squadra x reader #jjba ghiaccio #jojo ghiaccio #minors dni #ghiaccio x reader #jojo Ghiaccio x reader #jjba Ghiaccio x reader #la squadra esecuzioni #la squadra di esecuzione

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akariamai · 1 year

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Forgiveness

Part 1, Part 3

Pairing: Ex!Matt Murdock x Writer!reader

Word Count: 1627

As the poor college student you once were, whose heart was crushed in one of the worst ways possible, you’d had no clue what was awaiting ahead to surprise you. The dream which seemed unreachable at the time. There was a bright future shining over you. The book you wrote a few years after you graduated from Columbia University slowly gained attraction. Suddenly your life has become a whirlwind of good news. You were rising to become a well-known author. Your books began appearing on the shelves of your favorite book stores. Your childhood dream was gradually becoming a reality. You were ecstatic, truly.

You were currently planning a new mystery thriller series in your condo. A giant cork board covering your wall as each piece of the mystery hangs. The cork board contained the entire timeline of your mystery. Red string showcases how they all connect. At first glance, many would’ve chalked it up as a mess. To you, it was your ongoing masterpiece. Notebooks and lone sticky notes covered your work space. A cup of steaming hot coffee was held close to your lips as you looked at the chaos you’ve established. It was your chaos and you treasured it.

Your show of appreciation was disrupted when your phone rang. You very rarely kept the sound on. Writing was hard enough without distractions and while your multitasking had gotten better, it was not that advanced where you could listen to the television while working on the backbones of your series and having your phone on standby. Your friends understood and rarely messaged you with the occasional meme or invitation to go out which you greatly appreciated. They were the best and you loved them dearly.

You walked toward your charging phone, checking the name before answering, “Hello beautiful.” You already knew the reason for this call. It was a reminder to get ready to go out. “I just want to let you know I did not work today.” Lie. “But I did admire my work with a cup of coffee.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” Their voice echoed a scanty teasing tone. It supported the mental image, that you created in your mind, of them tilting their head before placing their pointing finger on the lower side of their check. Unintentionally, you were called out on your bullshit. “Maybe because you're a workaholic and refuse to rest your mind and soul.”

You rubbed your forehead gingerly before rushing to grab suitable clothing, “There’s nothing wrong with getting ahead of work. My deadline might seem long but you never know when that pesky writer’s block comes to bite me in the ass.”

They laughed as you searched through your closest. “One night won’t make a difference.”

“How would you know? I could have a revelation at the bar with no paper or pen and forget about when I get home. A true tragedy for my fans.” You were being dramatic and for good reason. It was simply fun to annoy friends. They loved you no matter how annoying you can be and the good ones stick till the end. “Taking advantage of this abnormal desire to write seems to be a hell of a way to spend my night.”

“Which you have last night and the night before that and the night before that. I don’t want you to burn out and feel uninspired. I know how you get when you're pressed for time.” It was not pretty. You basically have a complete and utter meltdown. Scurrying to finish to reach the deadline while also not disappointing your fans or doing such a disservice to your characters.

As you could not win in this playful argument, you relented. “See you there.”

~~~

The glass bottle clanked when they were slightly tapped against one another and you and your friend cheered for good fortune. The place your friend had chosen was, to the untrained mind, a dump but places like these were the best. The tap water however cannot be trusted. While it looked ghastly, it kept so many memories within its walls. A secret only the building will know when everyone ceases to exist and more memories continue to be harbored. Tonight you will be one of those secrets. Another body the bar sheltered and one that will soon leave when the night is replaced by day.

You didn’t notice them. Two old faces sitting in the same bar astonished you were so close yet in an entirely different universe. One watching with fond eyes, the other unable to do the same. One was ecstatic to see you once again, grown into the person you were meant to be, and the other, filled with guilt for how things ended. There was another with them, an unfamiliar face, and witnessing the jolting glances they sent to you.

“[Reader].” One whispered so lowly the others didn’t hear. The sound of your heart beat once again gracing his ears. He missed you. Once the tinted frames of Elektra were smashed away, he realized the devastating aftermath left in her wake. The relationship that was once wondrous and blissful was gone. Ruined and tarnished by his inability to not decimate his own happiness.

There was always one thing he wanted to say, after he freed himself from his own blindness, if he was ever granted the chance, was to apologize. His mishandling of the situation caused you so much unnecessary harm and there was only him to blame. He fell for Elektra charm and her assertions of being cut from the same cloth. Still there was no excuse for what he did.

“I’ll be right back.” He assured Foggy, who knew of his intentions, and Karen, who remained confused. Foggy remembered those late night talks after the whole Elektra situation detonated. Matt mourned the loss of a healthy relationship and shame remained to haunt him. If Foggy was being honest, he missed you. He loved to hang out with you and Matt despite the lovey-dovey gestures you’d paraded around him. It felt like a glimpse of what real love was.

Matt reached your table before asking, “[Reader]?” You had never known of his powers and yet always treated him like an able-bodied person. With the occasional but completely harmless quips surrounding his blindness. After all these years, he wondered of all the moments you would’ve shared together had he not doomed your love. He wondered if you laid awake flustered at the thought of his lips.

“Matt?” He looked different yet the same. The years have gone easy on him since the last time you’d spoken. He matured like fine wine. “What are you doing here?” Not in the bar. You wanted to add. Here by me.

He straightened his posture, “I wanted to speak with you.” And apologize. “Alone if that’s alright with you.” The conversation he hoped to have should not be for anyone other than yourself. At least for this specific moment. He knew friends (Foggy) would want an update.

Your friend gave you a look before you assured them that you would be fine. They walked away, too far to listen but not so much they’d lose sight of you. Matt took over the now empty seat and the two of you sat in silence. The agonizing tension striking the two of you like a club or, in this case, a cane.

“What did you want to talk about?” The relationship you once had was short-lived but memorable. Your first taste of what love should’ve been until it was spiked with poison. You had plenty of time to reflect upon your brief passion towards one another but you were still left with questions. Maybe they can finally be answered.

“I was - I’m sorry.” His head faced the stained table as if he was ashamed of himself and granted he should be. “I know we didn’t end off on the right foot and it was my fault. I should’ve handled it better but my naive younger self was thoughtless of the pain and anguish I’d caused you. There are no words to describe how embarrassed and ashamed I am for not apologizing sooner.”

There it was. The apology you’ve been missing for years and now you had it. Apologies are never enough, however, it is merely words seeking for an ounce of forgiveness. Forgiveness is a fickle matter to you. It is, in your mind, unnecessary when burying the hatchet of the past. Forgiveness is not for you but the person who hurt you. Moving on does not require forgiveness. Moving on, in its true form, is reflecting on what was done and finding a semblance of peace.

You found yourself only able to mutter a simple thank you and the tension heightened. There was nothing more to say. Nothing that truly mattered in this moment. “I’d like to make it up to you.” He offered, “A redo of sorts. We can go to that diner we've loved.”

The thought almost made you laugh. A redo. At the place where it all began and ended. Moving on was one thing but the memories will always linger. The pain never truly vanishes. It merely blooms in a different form.

Shaking your head, “No.” The word spilled out of your lips with such sternness. Matt tensed when they reached his ears. “I don’t think so. While I do appreciate your apology, I’d rather not exhume what once was. Our love, no matter how short, is and will forever always remain six feet under.” You couldn’t fathom his train of thought. How ridiculously seeming it was. “I’d rather leave the past where it belongs and I suggest you do the same. Do, however, say hi to Foggy. I have missed him.”

Masterlist

#matt murdock #matt murdock one shot #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock x reader #foggy nelson #karen page #netflix daredevil #elektra #elektra natchios #daredevil x you #daredevil angst #daredevil fanfiction #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock x you

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