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wlwloversreads · 6 months ago

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My little rant

I saw this fic on my feed, saw the old man Logan in the pictures gasped and then looked at the author and screamed. I knew I had to make time to read this, but also make time to write all my thoughts down. It’s fics like these that make me want to print them out and grab my highlighter.

The little bit of smut before the fic actually starts: subtle foreshadowing. TikTok teaches me new things everyday. Glad to see foreshadowing exists in literature. (Kidding)

NO BECAUSE SERIOUSLY. That hook. Oh im sat. Ok no. If I remember correctly I was lying in bed on my stomach. But when I read that part I started kicking my feet like a school girl. Red flags??? My favorite color is red so that’s actually very romantic of Logan.

I live for driver Logan cause I always think of the “Hey driver!” scene. Ugh gets me every time.

Yapper!reader is so special to me cause i just relate to her so much. Im a yapper…. Can you tell? Also i have no structure in this reblog. And I don’t plan on rereading. These are real thoughts #unflitered, hopefully it’s not annoying :)

“Your aura,” you clarify, motioning toward him with a light jingle from the many bracelets adorning your wrist. “It’s the energy that surrounds you.”

Idkkkkk there’s something about those little details that just reel me in. I think it’s because i consider it my weakness. Im so quick to get to the point. What’s plot? I only know smut. But you? Gosh those details have me resting my chin on my hand and just scrolling with a smile. I can just picture it in my head, I can hear the “little jingle from the many bracelets adoring in (her) wrist.”

Him engaging with the conversation???? Enough to make a girl wet. Also i need to see more of Logan texting…. The readers falling off the bridge of his nose, specially if he’s texting me? *faints*

Side note: i wish i put this much effort into my readings for college…. Anyway!

The honking…. is this a reference to La La Land or am I projecting? Him in the car is so cunty. His attitude.

I need to lick his fossil….. i say what i said.

Nonstop, you talk and talk, and Logan doesn’t mind one bit. Soon, he finds himself becoming an active listener—asking follow-up questions, chuckling at your jokes, even when they’re not funny at all.

YAPPER READER !!!! YESSSSSSSSS

Yet, you’ve got him by the throat, encouraging him to cough up disjoined pieces of his life, bits of his day, his thoughts, his feelings. It sounds stupid to him, but you make him feel alive.

Im giggling rn.

Ahhhh the more i read the more i realized how romantic he issssss.

So shit about to go down…. (Smut)

I took a mindfulness class…

to focus on this moment. I want you to live in the present, Logan.

This is literally so mindful of the reader. Kudos to her.

He would’ve never guessed how much you reveled in sucking cock, radiating enthusiasm with each of your movements.

Tehehehe gonna lie and say just his cock 🫶 also him trying not to come….. hes a silly man.

OLD MAN LOGAN MUNCH CONFIRMED !!!! YESSSS

Sorry… got lost in the sauce

Real pic of me reading the smut

And that ending!!!! Ugh gets me every time. The silent conversation always gets me. Im a yapper but im not a good communicator so this? This is amazing.

Despite this long reblog… im still speechless…… kinda. Love it. Love the way you write Logan. I love the ache, both in my heart and… somewhere else. Sending a really big thumbs up to you. And maybe a kiss. Muah!!

“YOU CAN USE MY SKIN TO BURY SECRETS IN” | 6.8k

old man!logan x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his brain. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?”

OR Logan had always known your generosity would get him in trouble.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing, drinking, pining, mentions of alcohol, dirty talk, age gap (reader's in her late 20s), logan’s POV, angst/self-deprecation (he just needs a little loving), feelings™, petnames, chauffeur!logan, oral sex (m receiving, tiny bit of f receiving), sort of dom!logan, doggy style, unprotected p in v, cream pie

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i could say i'm sorry for this, but i'm not. love love love this old man (#needthat). heavily inspired by the song "i know" by fiona apple. @lubdubology my partner in crime who keeps putting up with me, tysm!!! hope you all enjoy it <3

The line between being a good and bad person is thin. So thin, in fact, that Logan finds himself stepping back and forth across it constantly.

Rescuing a kitten from a tree? Good.

Punching a guy at a bar because he didn’t feel like being acknowledged? Bad.

Saving countless lives from mass destruction? Good—heroic, even.

But killing others to do it? Bad—condemnable, scum of the earth.

Where does that leave him? Which side has laid claim to his soul? He’s long accepted he’ll never see the pearly gates.

When the day comes that his body can no longer take it, and he only grows wearier, he’s pretty sure there’s a special place in hell with his name on it, etched in some grave awaiting to be filled.

Maybe Satan’s already counting down the days until he shows up at his door, who knows?

Yet, the more time passes by, the less afraid he is of what lies beneath the surface. He’s learned to coexist with the darkness, with the kind of pain and loneliness that would crush most men.

He doesn’t know how, but he survives it—the agony, the memories, the solitude that hits him from time to time.

And still, he doesn't lose himself entirely. He’s tempted, of course, to linger in the past—it’s always easier to drown there.

If he could go back, he knows he wouldn’t be alone in choosing that path. Some days, it feels like the only option.

But there’s no you in his past.

Logan inhales sharply when your tongue teases his slit, lapping at the precum pooling there. You hum at the taste, your hand resting on his bare thigh, fingers pressing into his skin. Your other hand lazily strokes the length of him, working the inches your mouth can’t take.

It’s clear you’re enjoying this. He can tell from the way your lashes flutter each time he thrusts a little deeper into your slick warmth. A win-win situation.

Letting a girl like you do this to him? That’s bad. Very bad. Red flags all around.

He meets you when he least expects it.

It’s a night like any other. He’s been driving for God knows how long. His joints ache from being in the same position for hours, and a part of his left knee he didn’t even know could hurt begins to throb.

It takes everything in him not to call it quits for the night, not to turn around and head home like a coward.

When exactly his life fell into this monotonous cycle, he’s not entirely sure, but it happened somewhere along the way. Now, it’s all the same: taking care of Charles during the day, catching an hour or two of sleep, then gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, driving through endless stretches of road, resisting any attempts at small talk from the passengers he chauffeurs around.

They all try—every single one of them. They think if they can crack his harsh and bitter exterior, he’ll open up, reveal something, anything to make their eyes go wide.

But why? Why do they insist on breaking through his shell? What do they hope to discover?

No one really cares what’s going on in his mind. They just want to feel good about themselves—like they’ve been kind, amiable, empaths intending to fill some empty and obscure corner of their own lives.

Logan refuses to be the person who grants them that satisfaction.

You slip into the backseat of his limo, closing the door with a soft click. The night clings to you, the scent of the bar still lingering on your clothes. The music is loud enough for him to hear from outside, and he sees the people lined up at the door, willing to cause a fight if it means securing a good time.

There's a slight frown tugging at your features, your lips pulled downward, though your voice is still polite when you blurt out your address.

Five minutes into the drive and you haven’t said a word. Internally, he’s savoring the silence, so happy he could jump on one foot.

This kind of peace is rare. He’d grown unaccustomed to it. The tension in his shoulders eases as the city lights blur past.

But, all good things come to an end, because—

“How’s your night going?” you ask, fiddling with the seatbelt to have something between your fingers. Logan glances at you through the mirror, his eyes catching yours just for a moment, long enough to see the faint, apologetic smile you offer him. He allows himself a heartbeat more to take you in before focusing back on the road.

You click your tongue, a soft sound of disapproval ringing in his ears. “Well, thank you.”

He lets out a quiet huff, grinding his teeth together. “I’d prefer if we stayed like we were before,” he mutters, his voice rough and gravelly. His attention flickers between the passing cars and the occasional glimpses of you that startle him every time he searches for the mirror. Cars. You. Cars. You. You. You. “Y’know, not talking.”

“But that’s no fun at all,” you retort, sliding more to your left, nearly positioning yourself in the middle of the backseat. It gives him a better view of you—whether intentional or not, he can’t say.

The lipstick on your lips is still flawless. A sparkly necklace glints just above the neckline of your dress, and matching earrings dangle from your ears. Wrapped in a leather jacket, you look effortlessly alluring.

This entire sequence is enough to confirm that by no means is he going to heaven. Straight to hell, he thinks, allowing his gaze to trace over each detail of your frame. Straight to hell.

You don’t give up. “Your aura is off.”

That prompts a crooked smirk from him, a shake of his head as he mumbles under his breath: “M’sorry, my what’s off?”

“Your aura,” you clarify, motioning toward him with a light jingle from the many bracelets adorning your wrist. “It’s the energy that surrounds you.”

Logan snorts, amused for a brief second. “Well, you weren’t exactly a beacon of life when you got in either.”

You chuckle softly, leaning back against the seat and looking out the window. “I’m much better now.” A pause before you continue, your tone shifting, losing strength. “My date stood me up. Last-minute cancellation.”

It’s not anger, nor is it disappointment, that laces your words. You seem more resigned than anything else. He’d have expected you to sound at least a bit more conflicted.

“I should’ve seen it coming. He’d been asking to move it forward for a while.”

Does he look like the type of driver who doubles as a therapist? He wishes he could understand why you're telling him all this.

“That sucks,” he still responds, because even though he hasn’t gone out with a woman in what feels like centuries, he understands that sensation all too well. “First time meeting him?”

Listen up, everyone—he’s genuinely engaging in conversation with another soul. This doesn’t happen often.

He hears you hum, eyes still trained on the outside world. You sigh, crossing your arms over your torso. “Would you mind rolling your window up? I’m kind of freezing here.”

“I’d mind that very much,” he says, his voice carrying its usual gruff edge. He fights the urge to grin, but then you unbuckle your seatbelt, leaning in closer to him. Your body is wedged between his seat and the passenger’s, and he perceives your stare boring into his side profile. “Put your seatbelt back on.”

“You’re fucking with me.” Your finger taps his shoulder once, twice. “First, I get all dolled up for an idiot who bails on me, and now you have the nerve to make fun of me? Give me a break.”

Your eyes stay on him, a smile plastered on your face, anticipating any possible answer.

Crack, crack, crack—you intend to break through his shell, watching him from the front row, waiting for the moment it gives way.

Before you can say more, he cuts you off. “Seatbelt.”

It’s a command, an instruction, and you comply without hesitation.

Warmth pools and stirs low in his gut as he notes how quickly you obey him.

Would you still look at him like that if you knew the blood he’s scrubbed off his hands? The flesh that his claws have shredded? The names of the lives he’s taken?

Would your warm gaze turn cold, filled with dread instead of curiosity?

Maybe this is hell. Are you the Devil in disguise, tempting him to cross a line he won’t be able to come back from?

A few minutes later, he pulls up to your building. A really nice one, he notes. You announce you live on the sixth floor. He doesn’t need to know that, does he? Why would you tell him that? Why give that piece of information to a complete stranger?

You linger in the backseat, as though you’re expecting him to turn and look at you. And he does, though not for the reason you might expect. “You got everything?”

Eager and full of life, you nod, clutching your purse to your chest. You avert your gaze to read his ID tag, the one that contains his personal details. “James?”

“Glad you can read,” he utters, pulling out a small bottle of liquor from under the seat. He drains it all in one go, savoring the fleeting burn as it slides down his throat, which is enough to keep him going. “C’mon, kid. I already charged you.”

“You drink while you drive?”

“Keeps me entertained,” he says dryly. It’s the only thing he knows how to do. Raising the empty bottle in your direction, he arches a brow. “Goodnight, darlin’. Leave me a good review on your way out.”

You roll your eyes at him, silent as you exit the vehicle, closing the door behind you. While fumbling for your keys, four words escape your mouth. Casual yet devastating, they ruin him: “I’ll see you around.”

For a couple of days, you don’t bother him again. Bother—notice the implication of the verb in question.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t think of you after that drive. Each time his phone buzzes, a small, restless part of him hopes it’s you, asking for his services, wanting him to be the one you seek out.

And it happens. The best things seem to occur when the moon hangs high and bright.

You: Hi.

He stares at the message, recognition washing over him. He knows it’s you; he can see the other texts you exchanged that night he took you home.

You: Are you working tonight?

You’ve got to be kidding him.

Logan: Why are you texting me?

He types the words with frustration, his thumb hovering over the screen longer than usual.

You: Why are you answering me?

Oh, you’re smart.

Logan: Take my advice. Talk to a guy your own age.

You: Damn. Already jumping to conclusions. I was just going to ask you if you wanted to have a drink with me.

Logan: I’m busy.

You: Well, what time do you get off?

Logan: I work all night.

You: Can’t even make a quick stop? I swear it won’t take you more than twenty minutes.

An impulse to throw his phone out the window surges within him, but he manages to restrain himself.

Then, as if on cue, the device vibrates again—of course, it’s you.

You: The drinks are on me. Let me know if you change your mind.

Do you think he’s going to let you pay for him? Absolutely not.

What surprises him more than the message is how easily he remembers your address. It appears to be ingrained in his mind.

He cancels his next trip, scheduled for ten minutes from now, his new destination being your building.

Once he pulls up, he does what feels most natural: he honks. Multiple times. Maybe he’s lucky and you’ll tell him to fuck off.

But you don’t. You’re laughing as you make your way over to the limo, sliding into the backseat in the same way you did a week ago. Your plan had succeeded—you had him exactly where you wanted.

Far from hiding it, you make it evident, obvious. Your heartbeat thrums in the air, and Logan can hear it loud and clear, like the bass in one of those funky songs he likes.

There’s no room for mistakes. He won’t deny it. Even if the feeling is mutual, he can’t shake the idea that he’s doing something wrong.

In his eyes, you’re the forbidden fruit—irresistible, the ultimate temptation known to humankind, camouflaged in the fur of a pretty woman.

You, his paradise on earth, could only lead to one thing: a longing for a chance with you, which he should never be granted in the first place.

He’s diving headfirst into disgrace, and the more he realizes it, the worse it feels. If he were to be scolded like a child, maybe he’d feel relieved, but he’s no kid. He’s a grown-ass man who should be able to resist.

Yet, self-restraint is like sand slipping through his fingers—never lasting long enough.

“You came.” Astonishment. Uncertainty. Amusement. Blinking your eyes at him, you sit very upright, and you don't even bother fastening your seatbelt. “Honestly? I thought you were going to block me.”

I can’t, he thinks. I wouldn’t be able to. I’m not that strong.

“What happened this time? Another failed date?” he inquires, still not starting the car. A look of perplexity appears on your features, puzzled about why he’s not moving. “Ain’t you forgetting something?” He tugs on his own seatbelt for emphasis, the fabric snapping back into place against his coat.

Once again, you follow his lead. “I don’t need to get stood up to want to see you,” you say, placing your hand on his shoulder for balance—or so he tells himself. It takes him all his willpower not to collapse right then and there. “Besides, I’m not bad company. I’ve been told I can be pretty funny.”

“I see…” he trails off, catching your gaze through the rearview mirror, not shocked in the slightest to find you waiting for him to look back. “Where to?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you should. You invited me.”

How easy it is to make your chest rumble with laughter, the genuine sound bubbling up, pure and unrestrained. He feels like some amateur comedian who has just realized his real passion is to cause this type of response in others.

Except, it’s not just anyone’s laughter he insists on provoking—it’s yours, and yours alone.

An unsettling sensation envelops him the second you retrieve your hand, not before squeezing his shoulder in a friendly manner. “There’s a bar I go to with my friends sometimes,” you suggest after a beat, shoving your phone in the pocket of your jacket. “We could try that one.”

The moment he steps inside, regret washes over him. Why is everyone here under forty? He feels ancient, like fucking Fred Flintstone.

A fossil out of place, meant to dwell in the shadows, not in a scene like this.

When he freezes in the middle of the bar, your fingers intertwine with his, tugging him along, and he follows after you like a lost puppy. The only thing he’s missing is the leash.

You’re met with his quirked eyebrows as you peer into his eyes over your shoulder, a toothy grin threatening to shake the floor beneath his feet. “You know, people usually sit down before they start getting shit-faced.”

“I’m not getting drunk tonight.” Logan exhales a deep breath, trying to hide his discomfort, his eyes scanning the room. “And neither are you,” he practically yells in your ear trying to make himself heard above the pounding music and incessant chatter. He wonders if you even hear him at all.

The two of you eventually settle at the counter, drinking in silence. Logan half-expects one of your comments to pierce through the quiet, but you delight in proving him wrong.

Instead, your head sways gently to the rhythm of the song playing in the background, and you take a trial sip of your beer.

He’s acutely aware of the stares from the rest of the patrons. He can pretend to be oblivious, but the weight of several pairs of eyes burning holes into the back of his neck doesn’t go unnoticed.

Being watched has never been his favorite pastime, and somehow, it feels even more uncomfortable with you by his side.

He knows what those looks imply, can nearly taste the hidden implications behind each fleeting glance.

What’s a girl like you doing with a man like him? A question that makes no sense.

Does he have money? A well-endowed reputation? Did he recently inherit any properties?

Are you truly that desperate for human contact?

Is your bed so cold that you decide to go for the first guy who can string ten words together?

Logan doubts whether this whole experiment is part of the community service you must be doing. Maybe he should look up your name online to see if any criminal records come to the surface.

Now that he takes a moment to ponder it, you certainly fit the mold of the criminal type. The kind who gets what she wants when she wants it, leaving a trail of intrigue on her wake.

His fingers circle the glass so tightly he fears it might shatter into a million shards. You notice his tension, nudging his arm with yours, aiming to meet his eyes.

When you do (because, as he said, criminals have their own ways), you smile, and he internalizes that gesture as something familiar, something he feels he’s grown used to. Something rankled in his memory.

It’s as if he’s known you for a lifetime.

“Thank you for coming,” you say softly, and he may be going down the path of hallucinations, but your attention remains a little too long on his lips. Then, just as quickly, it flickers back to the rest of his face, and you lean back to drink from your beer once more.

Straight to hell, he thinks, tasting the remnants of whiskey on his tongue, for ever daring to believe himself worthy of even a moment of your precious time.

You’re probably the first person to have his full, undivided attention. And that’s… well, that’s saying something.

Most days, you’re pretty talkative, a steady stream of conversation, your words pouring out in an endless flow.

You tell him about your family, your career, that pet of yours that died when you were six years old. You mention a friend you no longer speak to, and the events that led to the downfall of your friendship.

There’s also that dish from your all-time favorite restaurant, the one you buy at least once a week because it never fails to comfort you.

He sincerely cares about what you have to say.

This whole situation with you is beyond his comprehension. Before he realizes it, you start wanting to spend more time with him.

Sometimes, you ride along in the passenger seat while he drives aimlessly through the city.

Sometimes, you invite him over, cook a meal, and he always takes the leftovers with him, as if a part of you goes with him when he leaves.

Sometimes, you come over to his place, and the roles reverse—you’re the one with the mic, asking the questions, fully aware that you’re treading on holy ground.

Logan’s got a sign on his forehead that reads ‘Stop: do not enter.’ It’s rough around the edges, hardened by the years, all capital letters in stark blank ink. But in the end, you just take the sign and set it aside.

He never goes into too much detail. Not because he doesn’t trust you—it’s just that there’s too much to unpack, and you don’t need to know all of it. You’ll be better off not carrying the garbage he does.

Yet, you’ve got him by the throat, encouraging him to cough up disjoined pieces of his life, bits of his day, his thoughts, his feelings. It sounds stupid to him, but you make him feel alive.

You never judge him, never flinch when he brings up stories from his past. As he sits at your table one afternoon, you look at his hands, his claws fully extended, and you don’t shy away. You rub the pad of your thumb across the rough skin of his knuckles, right where the adamantium tears through his flesh.

You don’t care that he’s a mutant, that he’s killed people. You don’t try to deny who he is or what he’s done. Oddly enough, you just wish to be by his side, staring off into the void with him.

“But why?” he asks, partly flattered, partly frustrated. This could be compared to learning a new sport from scratch—he can’t figure you out, can’t understand why you haven’t run the other way yet.

He likes your company, though he’s always bracing himself for the inevitable day you find a better hobby and leave.

Your reasoning defies logic, and he’s afraid that at any moment, you’ll grasp the gravity of your choices.

Almost as if you could feel the turmoil brewing in his mind, you simply say: “You’re nice to be around.”

Nice. Nice. Nice. He’d cackle if he were alone. That word reverberates through him. When was the last time someone called him nice?

Bad-tempered, sure.

A pain in the ass? Definitely.

But nice? Not a term people employed to describe him.

It’s a quality reserved for you, with your endless charisma and kind heart, but not for a man of his kind.

He’s nothing more than a chauffeur, a driver, someone who does and says what’s necessary to survive. Does that make him nice?

When he tells you he’s probably going to hell, you don’t try to make him feel better. Anyone else in your position might try to soothe him, to offer some hollow reassurance.

Your intention isn’t to change him, for him to pretend to be something he’s not. “Then I’ll meet you there,” you mutter, your shiny eyes searing into his. Under the table, your hand finds his, tender fingers grazing over his knuckles, and for once, he doesn’t pull away.

Could it be that an afterlife catching fire doesn’t sound so bad after all?

As much as he likes to admit how easily you can shift his mood, today is not one of those days.

He’s had a nightmare—nothing new, but this one had been… different. The empty bottle on the nightstand hadn’t been of any help; it never does when they visit him in his sleep.

The ghosts of those who used to be his friends, his family, tiptoe around his dreams in the form of shadows.

Blood. Screams. Shouts of his name. He can’t save them all. Walking through the wreckage, he dodges the bodies of those he couldn’t protect, the knot in his throat tightening with every step, not allowing him to breathe.

Wherever he turns, there’s death, destruction. Sadness. Did he save them all?

It’s always the same routine. He wakes up, screaming, chest aching from the effort. His lungs burn, and he has to remind himself that the limbs attached to him are his own and not the remnants of an immobile corpse.

Sweat clings to his skin, pooling at his temples and nape. He wipes it away with the back of his hand, rubbing at the soreness in his neck.

His phone rings somewhere in the distance, pulling him from his dizzy state. He scrambles to his feet, accepting the call just before it hits voicemail.

It's you. Despite it being late, he swears he feels the gentle kiss of the sun over his brow. Your sweet voice chases away the lingering shadows of his dreams, replacing the bitter taste in his mouth with something real—a reason to get up, to start moving.

He holds onto every second of the brief call, replaying those thirty seconds in his head as he steps into the shower. When the cold water shocks his system, it pulls him fully back to consciousness. He has to get ready.

Even though you insist on getting a taxi, he refuses. He doesn’t mind the drive. His gas tank does, his wallet maybe, but Logan? He just doesn’t.

At the end of the day, he’s protective by nature, and who knows what kind of men are roaming the streets at night?

God forbid they’re anything like him—eager to prompt a smile from you, trying too hard to impress you. He arrives at the conclusion that he’d rather lose fuel and money if it means orbiting around you for longer.

You make him feel better, and tonight, he needs it more than ever. He needs you.

(Now he’s driving. He honks five times when he pulls up to your building. You get on the limo, giggling as you say: “My neighbors must hate you.” He grins. You kiss him on the cheek. Subtle. Not the first time. Still, it doesn’t get old. He feels the faint residue of lip gloss on his skin. He doesn’t wipe it off.)

Not in the mood to cook, you declare as you step into his place. The mouth-watering aroma of the Chinese food you bought fills the air, but when he reaches for the bags, you insist that he sit and relax.

Sure, he can take a seat. But to expect him to relax with you around, playing this intricate game? That’s simply impossible. You’re asking for too much. He’s a player at heart, drawn to the thrill of the chase, and he will play along.

What seems inconceivable is the expectation that he can act as if nothing is happening between these four walls.

His attempts to focus on you are futile, as his mind betrays him tonight. All he hears spilling from your lips is pure and plain gibberish. Your very presence is no longer enough to anchor him.

Already immune to your charm, Logan eats his noodles, occasionally nodding when your voice rises at the end of a sentence, indicating a question.

But he nearly chokes on his drink the moment he registers your serious expression, having never witnessed you like this before.

“Are you even here?” you ask, shoving your food aside with a swift motion of your wrist.

What should he answer? What is it that you want to hear? Of course! I’m here, listening to you. It’s a delightful night. Should I start by telling you about my most recent nightmare? Quite the entertainment!

There’s a shake of his head as he lowers his gaze, escaping your concerned expression. “M’sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.” You tug your chair forward, claiming a piece of his personal space. You know he doesn’t mind. “Want to talk about it? Did something happen?”

“My brain is just… off today.”

“Many thoughts at the same time.” Not a question. Have you completely figured him out?

“Yeah.”

He remains still, dragging his plastic fork across the now-cold steamed veggies, which have lost their appeal.

How amusing—your knees bump against his, drawing his attention. “Can I help you?” It’s new, the breathy tone you’re using, a whisper of agitation weaving through your calm demeanor.

“Can you erase my memory?” he shoots back, attempting to smirk through the wave of memories that flash behind his eyelids. When he looks into your eyes, the siren in his head blares.

Your pupils are dilated, blown wide, chest rising and falling rapidly. Sweaty palms that you wipe on your jeans. Tongue darting out to lick your lips. Your heartbeat accelerates, drumming wildly like the fluttering of a hummingbird’s wings.

He hasn’t been with a woman in ages, but he knows how they react when they see something they like—or, in this case, someone.

“Logan.” His name rolls off your tongue once more, tinged with an unmistakable need. The thought of checking his temperature dances through his mind, but the heaviness in his limbs roots him in place. He feels feverish. “I want to help you.”

Oh, no. No, no, no, no—

“What—what are you on, sweetheart?” Get up. Find your keys. Drive her home. “You don’t even know what you’re sayin’.”

Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his head. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?”

He’s no longer in control of his actions. His right hand crawls up your knee, palming the fabric of your pants. It’s numbing: a lapful of you, your rich smell, your quickened pulse.

Tempting. So fucking tempted to take you right now, just like this, without the need for words. Your bodies can communicate in a language of their own, one that transcends spoken phrases.

I want you, he lets you know through the way he gropes your breasts over your shirt, squeezing them together. He’s always been good with his hands. But what the hell am I supposed to do with a sweet thing like you?

His patience teeters on the edge of a precipice. “Tell me what you want.”

“I asked you first.”

“You’re gonna pretend you don’t know the answer?” He thrusts into the air, grinding against your clothed core, and you close your eyes. He’s rock hard beneath you, the bulge in his jeans shockingly obscene, bordering on grotesque. “We both know what I want, but I’m no telepath, baby. Need you to speak up.”

Twisting the locks of hair at his nape, you press your lips to his neck. “I want to make you forget, to focus on this moment. I want you to live in the present, Logan.” A bite on his earlobe sends shivers down his spine, and he grips your hips with a primal growl. “I can do whatever you want. Just tell me. Tell me, and I’ll do it, please.”

Please? He’s spiraling. Please? That’s it—he’s doing it. He’ll grant you your plea, which aligns perfectly with his own desires.

Once his back meets the mattress in his room, you get to work. With delicate precision, you pull down his pants, sliding his boxers off until only his thick thighs and the crown of short curls adorning his cock remain in sight. Your fingers tremble slightly before you wrap them loosely around his length, and it springs to life in your grasp.

Your gaze pierces into his, mirroring the intensity of his own. But something holds you back, prompting you to reach for his hand.

At that moment, it all clicks into place. Logan urges your head down onto him, and he’s welcomed by the slick warmth you provide.

Indeed, he’s very much alive.

“That’s it. That’s—fuck. There you go.”

His fingers dig into the mattress, clutching the cotton sheets, stopping himself from thrusting into your mouth. It’s not that he doesn’t want to—God, he does—but tonight, he’s on his best behavior.

He wipes the trail of drool from your chin, smearing it gently across your cheek, his thumb lingering as he watches your nostrils flare with a strained, muffled gasp.

Bringing his thumb to his mouth, he tastes the wetness on it the same way you’re sucking him: greedily, without any trace of mercy.

This proves I’m going to hell, he thinks, enraptured by the sight of his cock disappearing between your parted lips. Straight to hell.

You draw him back to the present, nuzzling your face against his thigh, your humid breath teasing his thick shaft, pulling him from a deep reverie. Your glossy eyes roam, exploring until they find his, and you gift him an authentic smile. Wrecked and blissed out, it’s as if the lights are on, but no one’s truly home.

He would’ve never guessed how much you reveled in sucking cock, radiating enthusiasm with each of your movements.

“Am I doing it okay?” you wonder aloud, hovering over the tip, swirling your tongue around the velvety head. He’s no fool, and neither are you; deep down, you know you’re doing more than just okay. Actually, you’re giving him the best blowjob of his long, long life.

Each panting, airy praise he huffs fuels your eagerness, making you even more receptive to his desires as the words slip past his lips.

“Fuckin’ amazing, honey. Got me so hard, y’see?” His tone is heavily charged with carnality, gripping himself and smacking the tip against your mouth, the wet sound echoing like music to his ears.

He pulses against your tongue, and you seize the opportunity to trace the thin veins scattered along his length. Gulping, with his gaze fixed on you, Logan notices how you’re still wearing your clothes, wiggling your hips against the mattress, rubbing your thighs together to get something in return. “Are you wet?”

Humming against him, you suck in shaky breath.

“Words.”

“I’m—I’m wet,” you rasp, voice hoarse. You try to guide him into your mouth and fail miserably, because his grip only tightens, stroking himself instead. “Logan,” you keen, stretching your neck in a silent plea, “don’t be mean.”

“Not mean. Just enjoyin’ myself,” he replies, pulling the foreskin back to expose the head, arching his eyebrows. His fingers curl around your chin, drawing your face nearer to his girth, fascinated by how your eyes flutter shut the more you surrender to the pleasure. “C’mon. Be polite.”

Blame him for it—he believes he’ll never get tired of this game.

“Please.” You whisper, returning to your begging while tenderly rolling his balls, staring at him through your lashes. And then you say it again: “Please.”

Your gaze burns a hole through his crumpled heart. He lets you have it, eager to give whatever you may ask him for. You dive back into it, engulfing his length and bobbing your head up and down with fervor. Hushed whines escape your lips, savoring another bead of his precum.

Logan almost loses it as you hollow your cheeks, instinctively cradling the back of your head. “Easy, baby. M’not going anywhere. Take your time.”

Whenever he feels himself approaching that long-awaited release, he forces his mind to conjure thoughts that will stall his impending orgasm.

The water stains from flooding on the walls.

The supermarket list.

The rising price of gas.

The—

“Fuck. Slow down,” he groans, utterly captivated by the way you point your tongue to draw imaginary patterns along his cock, seemingly memorizing every detail. “Don’t go too hard on me, remember?”

You mumble something under your breath, and at first, he can’t quite make it out. “What is it?”

“I said I want you to fuck me.”

Under no circumstances is he surviving this night.

“Really, doll?” Logan seeks the reassurance he desperately needs, fearing that this is all a dream from which he’ll awaken the moment he properly touches you. “You sure you want this old man to fuck you?”

You’re a rambling mess, murmuring Yes, Logan, please, until he maneuvers you to lie on his chest, his glistening cock sliding against your clothes, leaving a trail of dark spots. A whimper dies on your tongue as you brush your lips together, your hot breath enveloping him. “Give me a kiss at least.”

Tilting your head up, he connects his mouth to yours, growling as he detects the dull, sour tang of what must be him. He sucks your bottom lip, hardly aware of what his hands are doing until he shifts your positions, pinning you down.

Logan tugs at your clothes, peeling them away with urgency, his fingers dancing over your nipples until you’re grinding against his thigh, quivering beneath him. With a nip at your damp skin, his eyes flutter open as he studies your expression, casting you a glance that seeks your permission.

A ripple of desire courses through him when you dutifully turn over beneath him, pressing your face further into the pillow. He runs his knuckles along the curve of your ass, his throat going dry as you follow after his touch, arching your body in response.

Unable to resist the temptation any longer, he licks a long, slow stripe up your wet folds, keeping his tongue flat against your clit for a brief moment. Your arms give out and you stumble forward, stuttering as you mewl his name, fully consumed by the feeling.

So he does it again, and again, and again, flicking the sensitive bud, even though you’re already beyond soaked. It’s a pleasure he indulges in simply because he can.

Straight to hell, he thinks, coating his length with your arousal, teasing your entrance while pushing in only the tip. That motion alone is enough to make him draw a trembling breath before he continues, gradually feeding you his cock, inch by inch.

Straight to hell, the voice in his head utters as he buries himself to the hilt deep within your body, his heavy balls resting against your ass.

Like an intruder in your territory, he’s free to do as he pleases, and you let him have his way with you.

If only this moment could stretch into infinity—he longs for time to relent and never draw to a close.

What will happen after? Will you spend the night? Does he—

“L-Logan,” you mumble, having adjusted to his size. You rock back into him, impaling yourself even more on his cock. “Please, move.”

The pace he establishes is brutal. Your warm, inner walls exquisitely massage him, and the earth as he knows it stops spinning. Fire pools low in his abdomen, his hands holding you by the flesh of your hips to keep you anchored, each thrust driving you closer to the headboard with an intoxicating urgency.

“You wanted it from the very start, didn’t you?” He doesn’t know if a response will ever come, but these kinds of thoughts are impossible to contain. He’s just a simple man, powerless against the allure of a tight cunt. “Just got in my car and knew it would end like this?”

His next thrust punches a whine out of your lungs. Even as you clench around him, stuffed and filled to the brim, you beg for him to fuck you harder. He would’ve laughed at you were he able to catch his breath.

With a more deliberate rhythm, he rolls his hips, jackhammering your most sensitive spot, pulling you closer as he wraps an arm around you. When his fingers find your clit, drawing slippery circles, a cry escapes you, and your body merges with the mattress under you.

Your release takes him by surprise, urging him to continue as you reach back, encouraging him to chase his own climax. He knows all too well the struggle of bringing you to this point without succumbing to his pleasure too soon. Your nails graze along his thigh, leaving delicate marks in their wake, and somehow, the passion and bliss he’s been nurturing ignites into a fiery crescendo.

Shortly after, he goes completely rigid inside you, pressing his forehead against your back as he bites down on your shoulder to muffle his groans. His hand squeezes your breast tightly, riding out his high, blood buzzing in his ears, continuing to spill into you. You spam around him, milking him until the last drop of his seed, his release painting your insides with his warmth.

Logan tucks you under his chin as his vision returns to clarity. You nose his jaw, your fingers softly tracing the contours of his beard. He pulls you closer into his chest, gliding his hands up and down your back.

Half a minute of dreadful silence, then: “Can I stay?”

Oh, yes—pillow talk. He’s not great at this either. Despite that, his eyes soften, snapping to your face.

Logan pauses for a moment. “Sure,” he retorts, dragging his fingers along your shoulder blades. He’s a one-word kind of guy. Just perfect.

Tell her you like her. Tell her you don’t want this to be a casual fling. Tell her it’s more than just sex for you.

Or maybe don’t. Get ahold of yourself, will you?

“Logan?” you ask, resting your palm against his heart.

“What is it?”

“I know.”

You do?

Try as he might, he can’t deny it. He might care about you more than he ever realized.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

#drooling and not from my mouth #fav #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #old man Logan #also i didnt reread this…. so sorry if you can’t understand me… i think i was thinking too fast.#my fingers can only type like 50 wpm

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buckysfaveplum · 3 years ago

Text

no day but today

chapter 9

summary: bucky finds himself enamored with the girl upstairs who paints on the fire escape.

pairing: bucky barnes x female reader

word count: 2.4k

warnings: swearing, injury and mentions of violence, just all the feels, bucky stops being stupid

a/n: ahhhh last chapter😭😭 well there will be an epilogue but still! i hope u guys like this chapter and pls lmk what you thought of the series! i luv when y'all comment💗

series masterlist

masterlist

You couldn’t watch the news anymore. After another week of silence from Bucky, the clips online were too much. Watching as the new “Captain America” was stripped of his title and the fighting died down, you were given a bit of peace. Your texts all left on delivered, and your calls straight to voicemail.

You just wanted to hear his voice. Just wished he’d pick up the phone. If it was over, fine. If he didn’t wanna see you anymore, fine. You just needed to know he was okay. The torture of staying up at night worried you’d wake up to the news of his death was beginning to take its toll.

The second week was probably the worst. You’d watched as the fighting ceased, yet he hadn’t returned. His apartment was still empty and dark. You’d begun returning to your own bed, spending most of the day down in his place hoping for his return, only to grow tired and longing for your bed. It was draining, holding out hope that he’d even bother with reaching out.

Wine glass in hand, you scrolled through your phone, looking for a recipe to make. You’d let yourself slip in his absence, ignoring your health and wellbeing. As you began to ignore the news, you made the decision to focus on yourself again. After a day at the store, you’d finally restocked your fridge, deciding that tonight you would cook.

The hum of your television buzzed in the background, some talk show playing as white noise. Finally deciding on a recipe, you placed your phone down, heading to the fridge to pull what you needed. Digging through the drawers for spinach, the sound of the television suddenly caught your attention. Quickly turning around, you saw the words breaking news sprawled across the screen, along with clips of what looked like Midtown Manhattan.

Your hands shook as you watched the screen. The scene was chaos, cop cars, tactical gear, and running citizens. The voiceover told you of an attack on the GRC building, led by what they presumed was the Flagsmashers. Your heart clenched, praying to god Bucky wasn’t there. Your prayers were soon let down at the sight of Captain America, now decked in wings and a white suit, and your Bucky in different clips engaging in combat. Through the fuzzy images, you could make out dark bruising on his temples. You couldn’t handle it anymore.

Quickly, you searched for the remote, shutting off the television before throwing it towards your couch in a rage. You knew he didn’t wanna hear from you, he seemed to make that clear. But you just couldn’t shake the feeling of needing to call him. There was no way he’d answer, but you had to. Rushing back to the kitchen, you grabbed your phone.

You pulled up his number and waited. The shaking in your hands had now spread to your whole body. The phone rang. Dark thoughts began to take over. What if he was hurt? What if after you turned off the news broadcast, something terrible happened to him? The ringing continued. Your grip on the counter was iron tight, hoping to ground yourself while you waited. The ringing came to an end, and you were met with the monotone voice of the default answering machine.

Please leave a message after the tone

“Hey, Bucky…”

The pounding in Bucky’s head wouldn’t stop. God, he was fucking tired. Everything was finally over. The Flagsmashers were no more, Zemo was back in prison, and Sam had the shield. Everything was exactly how it needed to be. He couldn’t have been more proud of his friend. Yes, his friend. It was a long while coming, but he finally let Sam in. And he was glad he did.

He watched from his spot against a police car as Sam spoke with some officials, giving a few final details before the two headed out. He fished into the pocket along the inside of his jacket, pulling out his phone. He cringed as he saw the number of messages he had unopened. All no doubt from you.

He knew he should’ve texted you back, answered a call. But he didn’t wanna contact you while on a mission. For fear, his phone could’ve been tapped at some point, that the wrong person could see or hear. God forbid someone found out, and what happened to Sam and Sarah happened to him. It was all for your safety, but that didn’t make him any less of a dick.

The guilt crept in as he finally scrolled through the messages. How worried you seemed, how distraught you were. He watched as they went from long and thought-out sentences asking for updates, to short and pleading strings of words begging for a reply. Bucky chewed on the inside of his cheek, trying to stomach the pain he caused you.

Finally, he went to his voicemail. A couple of messages from you sat in his mailbox, all from the first week he was gone. Slowly, they stopped coming, till he saw they stopped. He didn’t wanna hear them, the texts were enough to know he hurt you. To know you were scared. But he couldn’t help but notice a message from less than an hour ago. Looking around discreetly, Bucky’s heart began to pound as he pressed play and raised the phone to his ear.

“Hey, Bucky. I know you’re probably tired of hearing from me. I promise, after this, I’ll leave you alone, but I just… I saw the news, what’s happening in Midtown. I…I know you’re there, Buck. Please, I just need to know you’re okay. I know you probably want space and this message is the last thing on your mind but… baby, I’m so scared. Please, just give me something. A call, a text, anything, please. I need to know you’re okay, honey. I love you and it’s killing me watching you out there like this. Please, just something, Bucky.”

Bucky couldn’t register the sound of the voicemail ending. He couldn’t register the sound for Sam’s boots on the blacktop and he made his way over. The ringing in his ears was too much. You loved him?

“Hey man, you okay?” Sam asked, clapping a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. He just stared forward, bringing his phone down from his ear. It felt like everything was in slow motion like nothing was real. His breaths were shaky and deep. I love you.

“I uh… I gotta go,” Bucky said, pushing his way past Sam and towards the nearby bike he’d stolen.

“Seriously, where you got to be?” Sam said.

“Home.”

You sat still on the carpet, watching the news play out the events of the night. You hadn’t seen Bucky, or Sam for the matter, for a while. The voice of the news anchors acted as filler noise as you stared at your phone, willing a response.

You wished you didn’t care this much. After everything, you wished you could just go on with your life like before. Never had you processed how much fear would come with being with someone like Bucky. Fear that every time he stepped out the door, there was a target on his back. That his job was to throw himself into harm’s way to protect others who saw him as a murderer. Fear that no matter how much you loved him, how much you wanted to keep him safe, and how much you would do, you were still human. Ordinary, powerless, human. It was a thought you never had, yet now it consumed you.

It was late, long past when you normally went to rest. You knew, deep down, there would be no response. Slowly, you gathered yourself from the spot on the floor and began to turn on the television. Grabbing your phone, you headed to the kitchen for the lights. Before you could head to your room, a pounding noise rang through the apartment.

Turning, you heard the noise radiating from the door. With caution, you made your way over. Peering through the peephole, you froze. On the other side of the door, was the man you’d spend the last two weeks in shambles over. You took a moment, composing yourself, before pulling the door open.

He lifted his head as he took you in. Your hair was a mess, dark circles had gathered under your eyes, and your brows were knit together. Your clothes matched, your favorite sweats covered in paint, your fluffy socks mix-matched, and one of his large shirts. You looked beautiful.

“Hi baby,” he said. Meeting his gaze, you took a deep breath before pulling the door back and letting him in. You stood at the door, as he stood awkwardly in the kitchen, waiting for you to say something.

Taking him in, you were distraught. Large bruises were beginning to blossom over his temples. You could see a small gash at the top of his hairline. His legs wobbled, letting you know something was wrong with his leg. His body shook, showing just how exhausted he was. You wanted nothing more than to pull him close and never let him go. But you were angry, right?

“I know you’re mad, baby. I get it. But I just… I- fuck,” Bucky stammered, trying to find the words to express how sorry he was. “I never should’ve left like that. I should’ve talked to you first. And I should’ve answered your calls. I’m the worst and I just-”

You didn’t let him finish before you rushed over, gently pulling him into your arms. Your grip was gentle but firm, holding him close. Quickly, his arms enveloped you as he melted into your touch.

“I tried to stay angry for as long as I could,” you said, finally letting the tears slip. You felt the chuckle he let out in his chest.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he said. You pulled back, your hands moving to caress the bruising at his jaw and cheekbones.

“You didn’t answer me, I thought you were… that we were over.”

“No, no, no that could never happen. How could you ever think that, my sweet girl?” he said, his hands reaching for your face, pulling you close. “I would never, I…”

“What?”

“I didn’t wanna contact you on the mission. I thought I was keeping you safe. But fuck, Y/N, I should’ve sent you something. God, I’m a dick-”

“Hey, no stop. I get it,” you carded a hand through his hair, desperate to feel him.

His hands rested on your face, his thumbs brushing softly along your cheeks. You turned, pressing a soft his to his palm.

“When I left, when I saw that Sam gave up the shield, I got scared,” he started. “I thought that if Steve was wrong about Sam, what else was he wrong about? Maybe giving me a second chance was a mistake. Maybe I didn’t deserve to be here and he was wrong.”

You frantically shook your head, reaching for his hands and trying to let him know he was wrong, but he continued.

“But I don’t need that shield to know why I’m here. I don’t need to rely on Steve and what he thought. Cause he left. But you’re here. I have you. I’m here because of you. And I may not deserve you, but god, I fucking love you, Y/N,” he said.

You paused at his words. Looking into his eyes, you could see how remorseful he was, how much he wished he hadn’t hurt you. But you also saw something new. The dark cloud he so often carried had lightened, dispersed slightly. He was changed, he let you in.

“You love me?” you asked. He nodded, gently resting his forehead against yours. “I love you, too.”

You stood in his embrace for a moment, your hands moving to his sides, while his remained at your face. You took in his scent, leather and sweat, and something distinctly Bucky. He was here, he was in your arms and safe. He was with you and he loved you. He fucking loved you.

You began to feel his feet sway below you, his arms grabbing at your shoulders to stabilize himself. His brows furrowed and he pulled himself back up. A grimace spread across his face.

“Oh my god, I forgot. Sit down, you’re hurt,” you said, your arms wrapped around his torso, helping hold him up.

“I’m fine baby, just tired,” he grumbled, resting his head on your shoulder.

“But you’re-”

“It’ll be gone in the morning, I just need to lay down,” he said.

Gently you lead him to your bedroom, dropping him tenderly on your bed before rushing for the first aid kit in your bathroom. Whether they’d heal soon or not, you’d feel better knowing he was taken care of.

“I missed your show,” he said, staring up at you as you cleaned the cut on his forehead.

“I don’t care about that, baby,” you said, focusing on the task at hand.

“I do. It was important, it was a big deal for you and I missed it,” he took your hands in his, forcing you to listen. “I fucked up, it matters and I fucked up.”

“It’s okay,” you said, finally letting him win.

“I’m gonna make it up to you, Y/N. I promise,” he said. You nodded softly at his words, you believed him.

Finishing up his last few cuts, you wrapped up the kit. Tucking away your supplies, you gave him some clothes he’d left at your place, allowing him the chance to fully rest. Free of his suit and clean, you pulled him with you into your bed, wrapping him in your arms.

Bucky couldn’t fathom what he did to deserve you. How after everything he’d done, everything thrown his way, at the end of it all he had you. You who looked at him like he held the world. Like he was your world. Who cared so much and pulled him from the darkest parts of his mind.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, pretty boy?” you asked, running a hand through his hair.

“Thank you,” he said, pressing his head further into the crook of your neck.

“For what?”

“For saving me. For loving me.”

“Every day, Bucky. Every day”

—-

taglist:

@enchantedbarnes @winterdrag0n @silentkiller2374 @xiernia @xxbuckysbxx @unlikelygalaxygiver @baby-banana @mattymurdocksbitch @a-o-m @youneedtocalumdown @blossomedfloweroflove @pogpixelz @themorningsunshine @boiled-onionrings @ardentkhloeee @mcueveryday @winterwhore

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #marvel #tfatws #fanfic #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #fanfiction

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tinyboxxtink · 4 years ago

Text

"Doppelganger" *Part 1*

**Note** Thank you to @chasingeverybreakingwave for this amazing cover!

Alright so I don't know if you've been following the slight drama of today, but I had an idea to make a sequel to "Black Magic", involving a "version" of Raul Esparza. But I got an anon that said the idea sounded icky, since it's basically RFP. But I thought in my heart the way I wrote it he wasn't really the ACTUAL Raul Esparza, I changed attributes him and what not-- anyway, long story short they still thought it was icky and since NOBODY ELSE would answer me, I decided that losing readers over an idea I had wasn't worth it.

SO that brings us here: Still a sequel to "Black Magic", BUT the doppelganger is... Nevada Ramirez! [From Trouble In The Heights]

Premise: Nevada's thugs see you and Rafael get engaged in the park and send a picture to Nevada, who realizes they have the exact same face. To which he immediately decides he is going to use for his full advantage....And that includes getting you.

Ah?? Ahhhh??? Do you love it? Do you hate it?

WELL I wrote a prototype chapter, and I like it. SO I'm putting it out to you. I hope the anon sees this, LOOK WHAT I DID FOR YOU ANON. Lulz.

IF you haven't read "Black Magic" I don't suppose it will TOTALLY ruin the story for you, but it would really be better if you read it first. Which you can, right HERE!

If you haven't seen "Trouble In The Heights", all you need to know is that Nevada Ramirez is a very, very evil man. Also so fucking sexy holy shit. Really that's it. You're caught up.

NOTE/WARNING/DISCLAIMER: This story contains situations/mentions of abuse, and sexual assault. Read at your own discretion.

PART 2

Alright here we go!

Tag List

@madamsnape921

@lolliepopsicle

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@milkshqke

@wanniiieeee

@word-scribbless

@gibbs274

@sassyada

@aprildecker-blog

@bookishfanfic

@stars-in-the-skies-world

@stars-trash-18

@omgsuperstarg

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

You were walking towards the exit of Central Park hand in hand with your now fiancée, totally oblivious to the world around you. All that mattered was you and him, you had worked so hard and been through so much, you just wanted a night to yourself. Chloe and Maria had run off, you had thanked the Charmed sisters and Harry, and now you and Rafael were so engrossed with each other, you didn’t notice a few rough looking men hanging around the fountain that you came from.

“Ay, isn’t this food from “Comida de Los Dioses?” One of them asked the other two while they picked up and dug through the food you had ditched when Rafael started his “musical number”.

“Si, I’d know those frijoles anywhere, the old woman knows how to pound ‘em,” One of the other two high fived the other one with a smirk for the double entendre.

“Who out here in the clase alta would know about food from el barrio?”

“Santa mierda, mira por allí!” One of them hit the other two, pointing to you and Rafael canoodling like teenagers.

“¿Qué diablos?” Another one stared in shock. “Nevada wouldn’t--”

The third one pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

“Nevada? Donde estas?”

The other two glanced at you, then back to the one on the phone anxiously as he continued to speak to someone on the phone.

“There’s a vato here in Central Park, y juro he looks like your clone,” After a second he hit one of the other ones. “Ay he says send him a picture,”

He pulled out his phone and discreetly snapped a photo of you and Rafael kissing in the moonlight and texted it to the person on the phone.

After about a minute, the one on the phone was nodding along with the conversation of the other person.

“Mmmhmm…Yeah his little puta is pretty cute, No voy a mentir,” He chuckled, nodding at you while licking his lips.

“‘Vada says we need to find out who that pendejo is,” The man instructed the other two as he hung up with “Vada”.

“Ay, let’s have some fun then boys,” Another one cracked his knuckles with an evil smile.

-----

You had almost made it to the edge of the park when Rafael noticed the three cholo’s trailing you, mischief in their eyes. He walked faster, putting a protective arm around you.

“Baby, wha-- what’s wrong?” You gave him a concerned look as you saw him checking behind the two of you nervously.

“Don’t panic Y/N, but I think those three cholo’s are trailing us,” He whispered to you.

“Oh god,” You glanced back at them. They were walking faster, and their smiles grew more evil.

“Hey!” One of them called as they caught up to you, the one speaking stood in front of you. “Where are you going so fast, ese? On such a pretty night?”

“With such a pretty lady…” Another one licked his lips as he eyed you up and down.

Rafael instantly stood in front of you, his eyes narrowed. “No sabes con quién estás tratando, idiota.” He growled.

“Ohhhhh, vato’s got some spirit in him, doesn’t he?”

“Hey he’s the fucking ADA of New York asshole, he’ll have you in jail so fast--” You tried standing up to him, but all three of them started laughing hysterically.

“Baby just let me do the talking, okay?” He whispered angrily.

“The ADA, eh?” One of them gave the other two a knowing smile. They knew Nevada could definitely use that to his advantage.

“Yeah, and I also used to fight with the Diablo’s, pendejo,” Rafael growled, making them laugh even harder.

“Did you now?” One of them laughed. “You think the Diablo’s mean shit to guys like us?”

“Guys like you?” Rafael raised an eyebrow at them.

“Let me guess, you grew up in el barrio--what, South Bronx?” The same man turned his head to one side, trying to size Rafael up.

“By St. Mary’s,” He nodded.

“Ooooh, big boy,” He said mockingly while the other laughed.

“I bet you never dared to go to the Heights, eh ese?” The words falling out of one of the man’s mouths made Rafael’s eyes flicker with fear. That was making you even more nervous.

“We need to go. Now,” He whispered to you sternly.

“Don’t worry, abogado, we don’t want to hurt you or your pequeña dama,” One nodded at you.

“What do you want?” Rafael growled.

“We just wanted your name, ese,” One answered.

“....And why do you want that?” He glared at the man.

“Ah, well it’s always good to know the constituents of our fine city, don’t you agree Rico?” He nodded to one of the others.

“Big word for a cholo,” Rafael smirked; causing one of the others came from behind and popped him over the head.

“Rafa!!” You screeched and grabbed his head, trying to assess the damage. He winced in pain as the three cholos laughed cruelly.

“Didn't they teach you manners in your fancy lawyer school, abogado?” One of them sneered.

“Rafa, Felix. Didn’t you hear the puta?” Rico pointed at you.

“DON’T call her that,” Rafael growled harder, his fists tightened.

“Just tell us your name, and you can run on home and play house with your little chiquita,”

“His name is Rafael Barba, okay? Can we please go--” You pleaded with them.

“Y/N,” Rafael looked at you with shock and betrayal in his eyes as the three cholos laughed in amusement.

“Ah, gracias mi reina,” Felix bowed to you overdramatically as the other two nodded and ran off into the darkness.

Rafael threw his hands over his head, then turned to you with fire in his eyes. “WHY would you do that?!”

“Wha-- They were going to hurt us!” You looked at him in disbelief.

“They weren’t going to do anything, Y/N,” He barked. “They’re not stupid,”

“Well, I mean they seemed pretty--” You half laughed, trying to make light of the situation but Rafael was not having it.

“This isn’t funny, Y/N!” He continued to yell at you. It felt a lot like when he was under Olivia’s voodoo, but this was all him. And you didn’t like it.

“What the hell, Rafa? Why are you being like this?” You asked him with hurt in your eyes.

“Those guys are from The Heights,” He sighed, still running his hands nervously through his hair.

“The Heights?” You looked at him curiously.

“Washington Heights?”

“I don’t…” You shook your head. You were from a small town in Jersey, you were hardly schooled in every neighborhood in the City.

“Look it’s like-- if you were scared of the place I took you to meet Maria at, you’d be ten times more nervous in The Heights. As you should be,” He explained.

“So it’s just a bad neighborhood?”

“It’s more than that, carino!” He threw his hands up in frustration.. “It’s like...a lawless country over there. Actually it’s worse than lawless, their law is criminal law,”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s run by a drug kingpin, Nevada Ramirez,” He explained. “Some slick, super smart, super elusive prick. Nobody’s ever seen him face to face, not anyone I know of anyway. He always has his cabrones out doing his dirty work.”

“So why were they all the way out here…?” You looked at him in confusion.

“I don’t know!” He yelled.

“Well why did that want your name--”

“I don’t know!!” He yelled again. “But I damn sure wasn’t going to just GIVE it to them,”

“Well I’m sorry I just--” You kept trying to talk but Rafael was in his own world.

“What would Nevada want with me? I don’t bother him, I’m not even looking for him!” He paced back and forth.

“...Do you think he’s going to come after you?” You asked softly, making him stop pacing and look at you.

“I’m not worried about me, mi vida,” He took your face in his hands. “Don’t you get it? I’m scared they’re going to come after you,”

“Me? What would they want with me? I’m not even a lawyer!” You laughed like it was the craziest idea in the world.

“It just-- It doesn’t make sense,” He began to pace again but you stopped him.

“Look, Rafa--” You took his hands. “Maybe...maybe they were just bored, maybe they wanted to know where you got that suit!”

“....I still don’t like it,” He looked off in the direction the cholos had run. “I’m putting a security detail on you,”

“Wha-- Rafael come on,” You rolled your eyes. “How am I supposed to go to class with some big bodyguard dude following me around? Do you want me to get shunned?!”

“I don’t care!” He put both of his hands on your shoulders. “Either you let me get you a bodyguard, or you’re staying by my side 24/7,”

“Oh my god-- Okay DAD,” You scoffed, but the horrified look on Rafael’s face made you realize the significant age gap between the two of you may have not made for the ideal ‘dad’ insult.

“I mean-- Oh you know what I meant,” You looked at him apologetically. “Rafael please, I can take care of myself,”

“I just-- I don’t want to lose you, mi amor,” He pressed his forehead against yours. “I just got you back,”

“I know baby, but look-- now you’ll have me for the rest of our lives!” You held up your engagement ring donning your hand with a huge smile.

“Right, right,” He shook his head with a smile. “We were in the middle of celebrating that, were we not?”

“We were,” You nodded happily as he took your hand in his again. He still eyed the streets warily as he helped you into the town car that was going to take you somewhere to celebrate.

------

Meanwhile

“Rafael Antonio Barba,” Nevada Ramirez read on his phone. “The Assistant District Attorney of New York City,”

“Dios mio Vada--” A busty, barely dressed woman hanging on his lap gasped as she too saw the screen. “That vato has your face!”

“That he does, amante,” He smirked, now looking at the photo Felix had sent him of the two of you.

“And we are going to take full advantage of that,”

#rafael barba #rafael barba imagine #nevada ramirez #trouble in the heights #law and order svu #nevada ramirez x reader #nevada ramirez x you #raul esparza #rafael barba fanfiction #nevada ramirez fanfiction #doppelganger

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agentsoftie · 4 years ago

Text

marry me? — spencer reid | ch.1

— false engagements

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summary: the one where you propose to your brothers girlfriend for him, and your boyfriend just happens to witness it

spencer r & fem! reader : 1.5k

warnings: pure fluff and confusion

authors note: a series! guys! ahh! omg! i can’t believe it! i’ll try to upload once a week with this series my loves! but ahhhh, i can’t believe it! hope you guys like this first chapter! also, thanks @feverdreamreid for reviewing this. love you kenna <3

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“Y/N, Y/N, could you come here real quick?” Mark nagged.

You and your brother, Mark, were both forced to go to a family reunion. And by forced I mean, they were forced to bring their partners. Mark and Y/N tried to stay away from family reunions, especially when it means coming with their partners. Because every time they came with them, the baby pictures and the awkward stories always came.

“What do you want Mark?” You sneered as you followed him into the empty room.

“Okay, woah, um, I’m gonna propose to Christy tonight ... I think.”

You were amused, “What? Oh my gosh! Do you have a ring? When did you know? Am I gonna have a sister-in-law?”

“Calm down Y/N,” he hushed while looking out the door to make sure no one heard. “To answer your questions, yes, I do have the ring on me, and no you can’t see it. And I just knew one night that I loved her and wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.”

“Mark! That’s spectacular! The only thing, can you wait for Spencer to come?”

“Y/N, I’m not gonna wait for your boyfriend to come and just so he can watch me either get a wife or be rejected. Plus who knows if he’s even gonna show?”

“Hey, okay, that’s kinda harsh. You know Spencer with his job! He travels a lot! It’s part of his work! He really does care for me you know. And, if you would bother to talk to him like one-on-one without me being there, you might actually become friends.” You said, defending Spencer. Good thing he wasn’t here yet, or else he would never let go of this.

“Okay well, I haven’t even proposed to her so whatever.”

“Speaking of that, you got something planned?”

“Well um,-” He was cut off by Christy walking in.

“Oh, there you two are! I was looking all around! Now come on,” she chirped while grabbing both of our hands. “Nana Rose found some new pictures!” And you both looked at each other with the same look you do every time they invite you over for a reunion.

Quickly letting go you rushed into the kitchen to pour yourself some wine. And by some, I mean lots. Quickly chugging it down, you noticed that people were gathering around the fireplace and so to find out why you quickly put your glass down and went over there. And to your surprise, there was Mark, in the middle of the living room on one knee.

A couple of people around him murmured some things, but he, on the other hand, couldn’t say anything.

“I- Christy um- I’ve- um-” He stuttered. It was almost as if he couldn’t move.

“Wow okay, I’m doing this.” You muttered under your breath while tapping on his shoulder to signal him to get up.

“Christy,” you said getting down on one knee. “Imagine as if I’m Mark right now, it will make things much easier, trust me. Christy, ever since the first time I met you and your beautiful blue eyes, I could t get you off my mind. Even if it took me 5 months to admit that I liked you, I’m glad I did. Because every day waking up to you, is a day I leave the house with a smile on my face. And frankly Chris, I like that feeling! And I want to feel it every day! So will you ... Christy Brie ... Marry me?”

“Yes ... Yes! Yes! Yes! Of course, I will! Mark, I love you!” She cheered as he quickly ran and hugged Mark. You got up and looked around, and saw him. Your boyfriend, Spencer. Standing in awe and amusement.

“I can explain.” You said as you went up to him.

“Oh I’m sure you can,” he smirked while trying to hide his laughter.

Mark and Christy came over right after and immediately went for a hug. “Oh Y/N I love you so much! I would marry you right on the spot if you didn’t have a boyfriend!” Mark nudged her a little, “oh yes and I wasn’t getting married!”

“Y/N/N how did you know what to say?” He asked.

“Mark, every time we’re together, all you do is talk about her. That’s all you do.” You deadpanned.

At this time, Christy had just hugged Spencer, “Spencer, I can imagine the shock on your face coming in, I’m so sorry if you felt any discomfort. I promise I’m not trying to get with your girlfriend.”

“Christy, It’s fine don’t worry. All that matters is that you, Y/N, and Mark are happy.” He kept his hands in his pockets, slowly jumping up and down, with a very mediocre expression on his face. You could tell he wasn’t uncomfortable, more just tired. Trying not to say that many words. His hair was still a little messy, and his socks were mismatched. It had looked like he just came from work since he was still wearing the suit he had left the house in.

Spencer and you had been dating for 3 years now. You moved in after the second though. He thought that it would make things easier on both of your ends. Not having to drive almost an hour to see each other. So you moved in with him (saying he had to go to work at a moment’s notice). Of course, you both did fight sometimes … It’s completely normal. No couple would never fight. Not even the best of them.

Although, sometimes … Most of the time, it would be about his work. You knew of course that his work was important. But sometimes even that couldn’t cut it. One time, you got vigorously mad at him when he missed a date. Of course, it wouldn’t make sense to get into an argument over something so small, but he had been promising you about this date for over two months. And this time, you weren’t gonna take any of his “oh I got stuck in work” or “I just got too caught up in a lot of paperwork”.

You had both seated for dinner now, all of you had. Your mom and aunt had just brought the warm food in, and you couldn’t wait to dive in.

“So, Mark,” my mother asked, “When are you guys getting married?”

“Mom,” he chuckled, “We just got engaged. We haven’t had enough time to talk about it.”

“Sure, sure.” She said in defeat. “Well, at least now I’ll have another daughter! You know how much your dad and I wanted girls! But, we got stuck with you and your brother Luke instead. Thankfully we had Y/N after. But even she left us. Promise you won’t leave me, Christy. Promise me.”

“Mom!” Mark and you both yelled in unison, causing everyone to laugh a little.

“I promise that I’m never going to leave you, Lucy,” Christy said chuckling.

“And Spencer now that Mark and Christy are off the market, when will you be proposing to my dear- dear Y/N?”

“Mom!” You yelled, jumping up slightly.

“I- um-” he stuttered.

You grabbed his hand from underneath the table. “You, you can’t ask that question to people. Especially my boyfriend!” You yelled in a hushed whisper voice.

“Oh, you can’t ask anything nowadays! Did you know that your father and I got married when we were only 25!”

“Mmm, okay well Mark’s almost 30, so nag him instead of me.”

“Okay, okay, no more fighting, I’m hungry. So can we eat?” Mark asked.

“Let’s eat!” Your mom said.

It was around 10 pm now, and you had just gotten home. Deciding to leave early, and a good thing too, because right after you left you got a text from Mark saying “SOS, Nana’s telling stories! Please save me!!!!”

“Okay,” you said getting into your bed, “I should probably explain what happened back there. If the whole proposal thing.”

“I think I already know what happened, but go ahead.” He spoke as he turned on his alarms for the morning. He didn’t really need it, but you did so he always put them on.

“Okay so, Mark had told me that he wanted to propose and I was like ‘What that’s amazing!’ and he’s like ‘Yeah, I know’ and so he does it but he can’t say anything. So me being the amazing and incredible little sister I am, got down on one knee for his girlfriend and proposed to her for him.”

He simply just laughed.

Laughed.

That’s all he did.

“Hey! You could at least say ‘I’m proud of you, or something! It’s not that difficult you know.”

“Y/N, Y/N calm down. You know I love you. And I’m really happy you did that for your brother … Happy now?”

“Whatever,” you mumbled while snuggling into him. “I’m tired, so goodnight.”

He kissed your forehead before turning off the lamp. Quickly, he made sure that you were asleep. He turned the lights on and then off 4 times to make sure you had no reaction, and then he called his friend.

“Derek, hey,” he whispered, while looking at you for any sign of movement, “think I’m finally ready … I wanna marry her.”

#marry me?#spencer reid fluff #mira writes #please i’m doing this omg #y’all #omg #YALL #OMG #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #reader x spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #y/n x spencer reid

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the-insomniac-emporium · 4 years ago

Note

i stumbled upon ur writing looking for lady d x non-binary reader fics and ur work has just been a godsend i’m obsessed. it’s inspired me to start writing my own even though i’ve never written for fandoms before. i’ve never written for other actual characters before either so i was wondering if u could spare any tips for writing for lady d and her daughters? 🙏🏻

I can certainly try! I'll divide the tips into lil sections for each characters. Might be less tips, more character observations that help me figure out how to write them? Putting under read-more for length. Also! If you ever want someone to look over what you write before you post it, I offer my services! I can't guarantee how fast I can respond, but I've been editing/proof-reading/giving general feedback for my friends for years, with everything from fanfiction to college level essays.

Alcina:

Large and in charge, literally. Regardless of the situation, Lady D wants to stay in control, or at least look like she's in control. Okay, minor exception being anything involving Mother Miranda, since she's the one person Lady D has any real respect for. Otherwise, Alcina maintains a good grasp on any situation, looking for ways to put herself in control.

For example, she often uses her height as a means to establish dominance, even within RE8 canon. If you watch a video of the Four Lords meeting, Alcina stands up once she starts arguing with Heisenberg, towering over him in an attempt to intimidate. We also see the aforementioned exception in this scene, as Lady D sort of "shrinks" a little when Miranda responds.

As much as Lady D wants to be in control, she's not always actually capable of it. In the game, we see her struggle to contain her emotions, and often releases them in outbursts. Such as the infamous vanity throwing scene (god I love that so much). It can provide some nice contrast in scenes, having Lady D be so in control one moment, then as soon as she's behind closed doors she's letting it all out.

Uses the most old-fashioned language out of her whole family. It's kind of hard to describe how one goes about writing this way, but I recommend trying to find some journals that were written in the early 1900's and reading them. Or just some classic novels (not Moby Dick, tho, that one's a bit much, in my opinion). One thing I can say is occasionally swap contractions (can't, don't, I've, etc) for the full version of the word (cannot, do not, I have, etc). Something about that always makes dialogue feel older, though I can't really explain why. Whatever you do, just don't rely too much on using synonyms. Replacing common words with their cousins can make dialogue feel "fancier", but you often run the risk of unintended connotations (feelings, positive or negative, associated with a word) messing with how a text is interpreted.

Puts up a front/facade around most people, as part of her noble background and need for control, with words like "stoic" and "composed" coming to mind. Very rough with troublemakers, no mercy. But!!! So very incredibly soft with her family/loved ones. I've seen some people accuse her of "faking" her love for her daughters, but these people either played a different game than I did, or they can't read emotions as well as I can. Gentle touches when she's checking if her kids are okay, little glances and gentle nods for reassurance, pausing a chase just to help her daughters, etc.

Bela:

Wants to make her mother proud. Legally obligated to make her mother proud, because she's the eldest daughter. Not that I know how that feels, being the younger of two children. Regardless, Bela is the most well behaved of the daughters, even when her mother isn't around. However, she does resent this position to some degree, based on in game dialogue/dialogue files that are in the game but aren't used. Personally, I see her as someone who's willing to let certain things go in exchange for favors/blackmail ammo.

Cleans up after her sisters a fair bit, sometimes literally. Feels responsible for them, to the point where their mistakes are her mistakes, and she's forced to compensate on their behalf. Because of this she ends up complaining a lot, though almost only when her family isn't around.

Still very protective of her family, she simply does most of her protecting behind the scenes. Knows how to manipulate a situation, which she probably learned from her mother, and can be quite convincing when she wants to be. Less likely to use violence to solve a problem than anyone else in the family. Will she use violence if need be, or if someone fucks up enough? Yes, absolutely, but she'll focus more on efficiency than misery (unless someone really fucks up).

Generally speaking she's more eloquent than either of her sisters, though not by much unless she's trying to impress someone (usually her mother).

Cassandra:

Two words: Angry. Horny. To her, they might as well be one word. Horngry. Cassandra struggles with her emotions more than either of her sisters, being a pressure cooker ready to pop basically all the time. It's not hard to set her off, but it can take ages for her to cool back down. Let's her frustration (of any variety) build up until she can bludgeon someone to death with it. Harshest on the servants, and spends the most time toying with others in the dungeon.

Like Bela, Cassandra wants to make her mother proud, but it's less of an obligation and more of a "I'm the middle child and feel like I don't get enough attention" type deal. Is more than willing to stoop to "tattle telling" activities in order to get the attention she craves. Usually sticks to obediently following her mother's orders or hunting down enemies, though.

Bit of an artsy type, and the most likely to take trophies from her victims. Gross ones, usually. Okay, well, that's debatable, but I'm talking about general consensus rather than my specific tastes. Personally, I don't care if she's got some weird blood paintings. Hell, I've got extra blood, and also am clumsy and bleed a lot anyway, she can have mine!

Hides her non-anger emotions as best as she can. Hates talking about her feelings (even if it helps), to the point where it's usually impossible to tell how she's feeling deep down. Remember, anger is a secondary emotion! No one is ever just angry, there's always something else hiding underneath, such as: Sadness, disappointment, loneliness, jealousy, etc. Keep this in mind when you're writing her. Make sure you pinpoint the center of her anger, and hint at it, letting her actions show her true goal.

Swears the most, easily. Tends to speak in shorter sentences than her sisters, and prefers being blunt to being eloquent/flowery.

Daniela:

Love, love, love, love, love, ahhhh deep breath... love. Loves love, or at least what she processes as love. Would do anything for romance. Except she also craves "natural" romance, creating a sort of paradox that adds to her delusions, as she engages in the pursuit of unintentional romance (not to be confused with "The Pursuit of Unintentional Humor", a song that I very, very much enjoy). Wants to be loved for who she is at the same time that she attempts to mold herself into a more lovable shape. Struggles with intimacy, wanting to feel vulnerable without actually being so.

On some level she understands that draining people of their blood, and then drinking said blood, is not equatable to a healthy relationship. But seeing as this is the most common form of supposed "intimacy" that she experiences, she refuses to acknowledge the true nature of what she does. Instead she clings to the idea of "forever bonding" with her partners, pretending that each one is still with her, even when she no longer remembers their names.

Hates being rejected, no matter how gently. "Ugly" cries, but only if she's alone, often turning her pain into anger, just like Cassandra. However, her outbursts don't seem to last as long. In reality, her breakdowns simply occupy the inside of her existence, rather than the outside. Sure, she's giggling and causing chaos, like usual, but on the inside she's breaking a record for most depressing internal monologue.

Reads a ton, but not always "quality" books. Goes through a dozen books or more a week, often rereading her favorites several times, mainly within the romance genre (obvs). This affects her speech a fair amount, making her both cheesy and occasionally smooth as hell.

#j says things #character study #don't wanna tag as tips cuz this is so specific to resident #resident evil

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o-king-of-suns · 4 years ago

Note

Hey! I've already sent this to other meta writers but I'd like to read ur opinion as well. I just noticed sb has shared these stuff on twitter and they make me feel so bad. I totally disagree with them. I'm new in tumblr and I'm not really used to reading negative posts.

Anyway, here's what they say apparently: "Don't forget in the forest scene when Levi wakes up, he never thanked Hanji by saving him & even though he heard them venting out, his thoughts were related about how he couldn't kill Zeke again & cut Hanji's words trying to tell him to rest bcs he wanted to fulfill his promise"

And there's even more: "I still laugh even thinking about it. Bless Hanji, just sharing their honest thoughts after being through whatnot and Levi's got is Erwin's brainrot"

I personally believe this is so unfair to Levi and Hange's relationship. I wish people would acknowledge & appreciate their bond more.

Hey!

I have seen that your ask has been answered by some of my lovely mutuals and they all have given wonderful satisfying answers :D

This what shippers do all the time, my friend. They deconstruct and over analyze a given text until it proves their pre-conceived interpretations & bias. It's a common practice that shippers engage in to either prove/strengthen their ship or undermine a rival one. You won't find a sensible, unbiased reader who will normally think that Levi , once he got up from a semi-coma after almost being shredded into pieces by an explosion and say:, "Where is this beast piece of sh!t?" and think: "ahhhh he is thinking of Erwin!" It is such an absurd claim! Zeke was Levi's responsibility. In Levi's eyes, he failed in his mission and let Zeke get away causing the activation of the Rumbling. He was pissed off! That's what a normal unbiased person will conclude when they read this line.

and Yes I agree with @ihaveaterribleheadache that it would have been nice to have Levi explicitly say thank you to Hange, but we have seen tons of scenes in the manga when characters helped and saved one another and never explicitly said thank you. I think he thanked Hange in his own special way. He re-opened the subject in ch 132, implying that he has been thinking all this time about they said in the forest, confessing in his clumsy, roundabout way his feelings, saying that he was listening, considering, caring and he does reciprocate Hange's feelings.

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shoyomp3 · 5 years ago

Text

amnesia

pairing: minho x reader

genre: angst + song fic

warnings: sad shit, cuss words, break ups, minho crying idfk😭😭

word count: 1,152

a/n: iGNORE THE TYPOS SNSNCNCNF ALSO DAMN I CRIED AXNNXNXMX I DONT WANNA BREAK HIS HEART LIKE THIS😭😭

i drove by all the places we used to hang out getting wasted

i thought about our last kiss, how it felt the way you tasted

and even though your friends tell me you're doing fine

are you somewhere feeling lonely even though he's right beside you

he missed you. he missed you so much. he missed you when you told him you were leaving. he missed you the day you left. he missed you and he always will.

minho loved you. loved. he doesn't really anymore. you broke his heart. you broke him. he remembers that stupid promise you made.

"i promise i won't leave you"

he was so gullible. he thought that was true. he was so wrong. he missed you and he hates you. you still had control over him.

when he says those words that hurt you, do you read the ones i wrote you

sometimes i wonder was it just a lie

if what we had was real how could you be fine

cause im not fine at all

when he heard you were coming back to see family he cried. he wasn't ready to see you. he knew he would have to though. your town was small. too small.

he'd run into you eventually and he had no idea what he would do. run? talk to you? yell at you? cry? no idea.

he couldn't focus on work anymore. he kept thinking about you. he packed his stuff up and left.

he was walking down the street when he heard some random girls talking about you

"omg did you know y/ns coming back??"

"wait really?! ugh they're so annoying I was so glad they left"

something triggered in him. he despised you but he had to defend you. like you were still together.

"how about you shut up and talk about something else. they're not annoying you are" he spat at the random pair, glaring at them, tears in his eyes. he walked off before doing anything stupid.

he let the tears fall. he started running. he needed to get to his bed and cry.

i remember the day you told me you were leaving

i remember the makeup running down your face

and the dreams you left behind you didnt need them

like every single wish we ever made

i wish that i could wake up with amnesia

and forget about the stupid little things

like the way it felt to fall asleep next to you

and the memories I never can escape

cause im not fine at all

he woke up the next day, in the same clothes. he fell asleep crying because of you. you influenced everything in his life. you're still in control

he got up and headed to the bathroom. he took a quick shower and put some clothes on. he grabbed an apple, running out the door to a random store.

he was walking down the snacks isle and turned his head. he froze. he saw you. he dropped everything in his hands, making a loud noise.

you turned your head to the sound and saw him staring at you. you smiled. that stupid, stupid smile minho thought.

you stepped closer, bending down to help him pick things up.

"hey" you said in that soft voice he loved.

he opened his mouth to say something but no words left him.

"im back in town. i hope its not awkward for you" you said with a nervous laugh

he grabbed everything and ran. he checked out and booked it home. why couldn't he just move on like you did? why did he have to feel all the pain.

the pictures that you sent me, they're still living in my phone

ill admit I like to see them, ill admit i feel alone

and all my friends ask me why im not around

it hurts that you're happy, yeah, it hurts that you've moved on

it hard to hear your name when i havent seen you in so long

it's like we never happened was it just a lie

if what we had was real how could you be fine

cause im not fine at all

he scrolled through your texts, the photos you sent him and took together. he missed those times. he missed being happy.

he opened his desk drawer and saw the small box. he grabbed it, running his thumb over the velvet. he lifted the lid and saw the diamond inside. the day you told him you were leaving, was the day he would propose.

it was your 4th anniversary and you didn't even remember. you broke his heart that day. its been 3 years and it still hasn't healed. it never will

i remember the day you told me you were leaving

i remember the makeup running down your face

and the dreams you left behind you didnt need them

like every single wish we ever made

i wish that i could wake up with amnesia

and forget about the stupid little things

like the way it felt to fall asleep next to you

and the memories I never can escape

his phone blew up with texts from chan. telling him about how you're back in town. he turned it off, throwing it at the wall.

he fell down, crying. he sobbed. he let out all his feelings. no holding back. he was officially broken. still wrapped around your finger.

if today i woke up with you right beside me

like all of this was just some twisted dream

id hold you closer than i ever did before

and you'd never slip away

and you'd never hear me say

he just wanted to hold you again. wanted to care about you and comfort you. to just have you again. was that too much to ask?

he stood up and walked over to his now cracked phone, picking it up.

he saw a notification from Instagram. he shouldn't have clicked it. you got engaged. he dropped his phone and fell to his knees again. you were really gone now. gone forever this time.

you'd be someone else's forever. he screamed, yelled, cried, everything to distract the pain in his heart.

you'd never love him back. you have someone else to love. he only had you. you still have control over his broken heart.

i remember the day you told me you were leaving

i remember the makeup running down your face

and the dreams you left behind you didnt need them

like every single wish we ever made

i wish that i could wake up with amnesia

and forget about the stupid little things

like the way it felt to fall asleep next to you

and the memories I never can escape

cause im not fine at all

no im really not fine at all

tell me this is just a dream

cause im not fine at all...

☆▪︎¤☆▪︎¤☆▪︎¤☆▪︎¤☆▪︎¤☆▪︎¤☆▪︎¤☆▪︎¤

AHHHH EJJSJCJDJJD bRO I CRIED SO MUCH I HATE THIS SJFJDJDJDJFJJF I FEEL SO BAD WKFJJD😭😭😭😭😭

@multi-net

#minho angst #lee minho #stray kids #skz #skz x reader #skz minho #stray kids minho #lee know #stray kids lee know #stray kids lee minho #lee minho angst #angst #skz angst #kpop ff #kpop writing #kpop #kpop au #kpop minho

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jpegjade · 5 years ago

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HI!!! I hope you’re doing well!!!!! I was listening to mr loverman by Ricky Montgomery and it reminded me so much of Spencer and Maeve and I just AHHHH or alternatively in the context of a song blurb maybe reader and Spence had to end the relationship because the job caused too much of a strain but they still love each other!! I don’t know!!! But the angst gods were like here!! Take this song! As a treat! And it hurts my heart but like we love to see it!!! Ahh I hope you have a great day!!

i’m screaming at the excitement in this one. it makes me so excited that you’re excited bc NOW IM REALLY EXCITED

post writing notes: ((i wrote this and now i WANT TO CRY BECAUSE I NEVER DO BREAKUPS? AND THE PAIN. THE ANGST. THE YEARNING.)) i wanna write this as a full fic tbh bc i thought of a fun way to write it unsub related style

“i will still love you. i will love you until my heart stops beating and every day after that.” was the last thing spencer said when the two of you broke up. he took it harder than you did, by far, but you had to do it. you couldn’t take the pain and guilt and terror you felt every day with his job. you both wanted a family but was this really the way to live as a family? you broke off the engagement and fell out of his life so abruptly that he felt like he never got a real chance to say goodbye beyond that night. even two years later, no communication between the two of you but the weight was lifted from your shoulders. you could leave the house without fearing someone would take you. you could turn off the lights at night and not fear for who would wake you up. you could breathe again although the weight on your chest from missing spencer was so immense that you didn’t know if it was worth it. spencer, on the other hand, was so broken that he had to take a month off from going into the office. two years later and he was still so broken and fragile. he still kept the engagement photo of the two of you even now because you were and still are the light of your life. he missed you every day, drafting texts to send you before realizing you probably changed your number to make sure the break was clean. he often zoned out thinking about you, having to work extra hard to concentrate on cases, especially when he first went back. so many sleepless nights, so many different nightmares, and so many times he listened to old voicemails you left him. he just wanted to hear your voice one more time before he slept each night. but he knew it was best to keep you safe. until it wasn’t. he walked into work and there you were, sitting at his desk, holding one of the picture frames in your hands. what was happening?

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine

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nitewrighter · 7 years ago

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I am a big fan of your work. A lot of people add too much detail in their descriptions to the point where the story is lost, but you always manage to balance that along with comedy, romance, action, and drama of the story. How do you do it so well and what advice would you give aspiring writers?

Ahhhh thank you so much!

Well I think fanfiction is like… somewhat easier to write with and doesn’t require you to hold the reader’s hand as much with regards to descriptions of the environment or the characters because you can trust that the reader knows what you’re talking about visually with just a few hints. Like, if I want to write Volskaya industries, I can usually trust the readers to know what Volskaya industries looks like and I only need to lay out a few rough details of the setting to just kind of place readers there (Big factory in a city, snow, icy river nearby, etc.) and most of the environmental details come into play when the characters are observing or interacting with them (moving platforms, suspended walkways, etc.) I tend to heavily think of the stories I write as… something kind of like an animated film. Like there’s a storyboard, and there’s certain ‘beats’ of the story I need to hit and most of the focus and movement is on the characters themselves.

In terms of balancing that along with comedy, action, and romance, for me that comes down to a combination of personal taste and lots of practice. I’ve been writing since…I’d say freshman year of high school, and I also used to do a lot of text RP’s which… were kind of like fiction thunderdome where, if I wanted the plot to go in the direction I wanted (And I always wanted that because I’m selfish) I had to quickly figure out how to balance immersive details with engaging action, and have a compelling character at the center of that bringing it together so that other people in the RP would be like “yeah let’s go with that. Let’s go in that direction.” I… also majored in creative writing in college so… yeah. Had a lot of workshops. Had a lot of practice. I’m also really lucky because my boyfriend @apocryphist is like… kind of my beta and my sounding board and my cheerleader all in one. He’s great. So I’ve been really lucky on a number of fronts with regards to my writing, but there’s also a lot of hard work involved.

So my advice would be to:

1. Write. A lot. Like a lot a lot. Write original fiction as well as fanfiction. Use the notes app on your phone to write on the bus. Carry a notebook with you. Write write write write write write write. Throw in visual concepts. Doodles. Idea bubbles. Flash cards. Approach the story from different angles. Keep writing. Keep creating.

2. Join a writing group where you can talk to people in person about writing. I know “Uggghhh socializing” but trust me it helps.

3. Be kind to yourself. You have to be the first person you write for. You. Know when you’re nearing a burnout and when to pull back and take a break. Be humble, but not self deprecating. There is always room for improvement, for everyone.

4. Read a lot! Read old books and new books! Fiction and nonfiction! Find authors you like!

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cmbynreviews · 7 years ago

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Prepare to fall for Armie Hammer and Timothée Chalamet in "Call Me by Your Name"

In the small canon of queer literature, Call Me by Your Name is tantamount to a religious text. André Aciman’s 2007 novel has become known for many traits – its wistful recollection of first love, its sun-soaked Italian backdrop, a sensuality that crescendoes with furtive embraces and swift yearnings. These hallmarks coalesce in the story’s signature scene: a teenager fornicating with a peach.

The book’s disciples will wonder how this tantalizing moment unfolds in the big-screen adaptation, which premiered Sunday at the ongoing Sundance Film Festival. Let me be one of the first to confirm you will not be disappointed.

In fact, the entire piece feels like heaven, a near-perfect exploration of dual desires and youthful uncertainties. It is the finest movie at Sundance, and I expect it will be one of the year’s finest, as well.

Credit goes to director Luca Guadagnino, the Italian maven responsible for the sensual dreamscapes I Am Love and A Bigger Splash, both starring Tilda Swinton. With Call Me by Your Name, Guadagnino outdoes himself. The maestro found two impeccable leads to carry this delicate story, which he adapted with James Ivory and Walter Fasano. First is Timothée Chalamet (Homeland, Interstellar), who plays Elio, a bookish 17-year-old American summering in Italy with his academic parents. The other is Armie Hammer, portraying Oliver, an alluring 20-something graduate student who spends several weeks under the mentorship of Elio’s esteemed professor father (a thoughtful Michael Stuhlbarg) at the family’s lush villa.

Chalamet and Hammer showcase some of the richest chemistry I’ve ever witnessed in a movie. It escalates as Elio’s sexuality blossoms, at first uncertain and later unavoidably palpable.

This is all the more welcome knowing that Chalamet and Hammer exhibit a rich platonic chemistry off-screen. When I sat down with the actors the afternoon after the film’s rapturous premiere, it was like watching two admirers reminisce about a fateful season during which they, too, came of age.

Because the tale’s roots belong to a book cherished by so many queer readers, Chalamet and Hammer understood the weight of starring in Call Me by Your Name. That’s part of what bonded them during last summer’s shoot. From rehearsals in Guadagnino’s living room to the intimate demands of depicting sexual awakenings (Oliver may otherwise be straight, and Elio has been running around with a French girl played by Esther Garrel), Hammer and Chalamet fashioned their own sort of quixotic courtship. When the time came to capture their characters’ peachy foreplay, the actors’ off-screen affection doubled as the closest two heterosexual men could come to understanding the throes of burgeoning gay romance.

“We were there early enough in time to get a feel for the town, for each other and for Luca”, Hammer said after I praised the pair’s effortless magnetism. “We rehearsed all the time. I mean, I couldn’t appreciate the compliment about the chemistry more because, like, I fell in love with Timmy in the process of making the movie. He’s fucking terrific and he’s also an incredible actor, so I had all of that. It was just this great experience where I think we all, in the process of making this movie, got that experience of that one summer where we were there and everything was perfect”.

By that point, several minutes into the interview, it was as if two old flames were evoking a fond engagement, enjoyed once and then left to the recesses of their memories. They turned to each other on the couch where they were seated – Hammer’s right arm in a sling due to a torn pectoral muscle – and swooned over flashbacks.

“Like, do you remember that restaurant where we used to get the chocolate croissants and the espressos in the morning?” Hammer asked Chalamet, who simpered in response. “Do you remember that little place on the piazza where they had the pizza and the other stuff?”

“Ahhhh, yeah”, Chalamet gushed.

“You remember everything”, Hammer said. It’s a play on a line from the novel’s end, when Elio and Oliver recount their brief affair.

“Speranza!” Chalamet recalled, referring to an eatery.

“Yeah, Speranza”, Hammer said. “Where they had the fish. I mean, Timmy’s got some great memories, too. It was an experience that was so surreal and such a treat that honestly if nobody saw the movie, if nobody liked it, if it didn’t go anywhere, I’d still carry it with me as such a point of pride”.

And that’s where the story of Call Me by Your Name further brightens. This movie will go quite far. Reviews have already declared it a masterpiece, making special note of Sayombhu Mukdeeprom’s sumptuous cinematography and the melancholic Sufjan Stevens songs featured throughout. Sony Pictures Classics purchased the film for a reported $6 million ahead of Sundance, possibly eyeing a fitting late-summer release. Hammer and Chalamet will get ample opportunities to speak of their time together, even if there’s nothing like the rush of a charmed festival bow.

Peach action aside, one moment in the movie’s back half particularly struck me. Once they’ve finally embraced their attractions, Elio and Oliver spend all of their limited time together. One night, they sit on the balcony outside their conjoined bedrooms, cursing themselves for waiting so long to probe their desires. Oliver will return to America in a few days. They face each other, leaning against stone posts, their legs touching. Laughter ripples through Oliver and Elio’s flirtations. They lean in as they commune, grazing each other’s skin. It’s more romantic than any of the movie’s sex – which is, for the most part, fairly tame – and more poetic than any of its swank European liberation. It is a man and a boy whose mutual fondness has at last blossomed, who have unearthed new parts of themselves, who are relishing unbridled bliss. It’s something we all want for ourselves. It’s sublime. Most importantly, it’s faithful to the tone of Aciman’s bible.

“It’s so funny when you talk to people about the book because either they haven’t read it or they’re absolutely insane about it”, Chalamet said. “And it’s funny, the putting-it-together process happened so quickly and it was in Italy, so I wasn’t in the States. The conversations with people that had read the book were always in a post-production setting so that I could go, ‘Wow, that person really loves Call Me by Your Name. Good thing I already shot it, or I’d be 10 times more terrified for them to see it’. And then again, in Luca’s hands, it was just really safe. We were very confident he was going to do the story justice”.

MATTHEW JACOBS | THE HUFFINGTON POST | 25 Jan 2017

#Call Me by Your Name #Guadagnino #timothee chalamet #armie hammer #andre aciman #james ivory #reviews #CMBYN #Elio #Oliver #Perlman #Chiamami col tuo nome

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unifiedsocialblog · 7 years ago

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How to Get Instagram Likes: 13 Tips that Actually Work

Want to be ‘liked’ by a billion people on their mobile devices (mostly)?

What a self-esteem booster that would be.

Of course, only the greatest ad ever known to man-or-woman-kind could do that.

But, that’s how big Instagram has gotten, with 85.5 million of those 1B users in the U.S. Only Facebook is bigger. Being #2 ain’t so bad, eh? Yet, Instagram is numero uno in growth per quarter, at 5%.

Watch out FB, Instagram is coming.

Instagram is the photo-and-video-sharing network behemoth for consumers and brands. With users sharing 95 million photos and videos per day.

And for your biz?

eMarketer estimates Instagram ad revenues will balloon to $10.87 billion by 2019. A 37.7% increase since 2017. Snapchat is for slightly more mature markets, using broadband and high-end mobile devices, mostly for millennials. Instagram however, is attracting even younger people in mobile-centric, emerging markets. Most users are between 18-29 years old.

With this humongous community, how are you going to get after it?

To get your brand in front of new fans?

Read on… we’ll show you how. Let’s get straight to it.

Oh wait, silly me… forgot one thing first…

What are Instagram likes?

“And why does it matter?”

Good questions.

Like with the other platforms, just click an icon to ‘like’ what you see and hear. Though unlike the others, you don’t have to be a follower.

‘Likes’ matter because they’re often the first contact between your business and a new follower. This makes it easy for anyone to appreciate your post.

On Instagram, the ‘like’ icon takes the form of a heart.

More likes = more cred for your brand.

Think of it as a long-term, stay-top-of-mind, marketing strategy.

Onward to the tips, for reals this time.

Bonus: Download a free checklist that reveals the exact steps an adventure photographer used to grow from 0 to 110,000 followers on Instagram with no budget and no expensive gear.

13 real ways to get more Instagram likes

1. Share high-quality photos and videos

Of course, great content requires thought and planning. That is if you want people to actually click that heart. Three tips to help:

Show your face. Or someone else’s. To increase your odds by 38%.

Know your colors. Primarily blue pictures get 24% more ‘likes’ than red ones. Single versus multi-colored also increases ‘likes’ likelihood by 17%.

Choose your filters. Thoughtfully. Filters that increase contrast, correct exposure, with a warmer tone get the best results. Just ask Yahoo and Georgia Tech. Use Instagram’s editing tools over their pre-programmed filters.

Keep things unique and varied, too. Instagram has tools for this. Here’s just 3 of them:

Boomerang to create video loops, frontwards and backwards

Focus to blur the background while keeping the face in focus

Superzoom to automatically zoom in while playing a dramatic sound

Here are some more tips on how to edit Instagram photos for maximum likeability.

2. Use hashtags wisely

Otherwise, you’ll make users angry. And Instagram, too.

You did your best to create great content, right? Keep up the pace with hashtags. These help others find you, even non-followers.

Finding you is the first step to liking you.

Best practices for appropriate hashtagging include:

Use relevant tags. Otherwise users will select the ‘Don’t show for this hashtag’ option.

Place them just right. Say, 2 or 3 of your most important tags in the photo caption.

Need more than a few? Fine, Instagram allows 30 per post. But post them as a comment, more out of the way than your main hashtags. Find out how to do this in our Instagram Hacks post.

Vary them up. Don’t use the same list for every post.

Which hashtags should you use?

Not the ones everyone else is using. Sure, #like4like is popular. But it’s pretty obvious to your followers that you’re fishing for ‘likes’ rather than connecting with like-minded peeps. Bots love these, too. Your stats will be meaningless, just like those tags.

Lebron James got in on the act with a vintage photo using #tbt (short for #throwbackthursday). That netted him 265,000 likes. Nice one, King James. Swish again.

View this post on Instagram

Wanna be one of the first to Congratulate you on this accomplishment/achievement tonight that you’ll reach! Only a handful has reach/seen it too and while I know it’s never been a goal of yours from the beginning try(please try) to take a moment for yourself on how you’ve done it! The House you’re about to be apart of has only 6 seats in it(as of now) but 1 more will be added and you should be very proud and honored to be invited inside. There’s so many people to thank who has help this even become possible(so thank them all) and when u finally get your moment(alone) to yourself smile, look up to the higher skies and say THANK YOU! So with that said, Congrats again Young King ????????! 1 Love! #striveforgreatness???? #thekidfromakron????

A post shared by LeBron James (@kingjames) on Jan 23, 2018 at 7:29am PST

One could write an entire article, just about hashtags. And we did.

3. Tag relevant users

Why tag someone? To encourage them to engage with your post and share it with their followers.

Or to credit them, if they took the picture/video.

Tag other Instagram users featured in your photos with an @-mention in your caption. Or, use Instagram’s tagging functionality. Either way, they’ll receive a notification.

4. Write darn-good captions

I was gonna say ‘damn-good’, but thought not to.

Anyway…

A nice visual plus text is like peanut-butter and chocolate. Readers will go ‘ahhhh’ (and tap the heart).

Write your captions with some TLC.

Tell your story, using words and pictures. Unlike Twitter, there’s no character limit. Make it long, or not. You get to decide. But make it count.

Some ideas:

Ask a question. It can make the reader lean in, with interest. Sounds less promotional, too.

Let your hair down. A little humor never hurt nobody. That ‘suit and tie’ approach… sucks. Especially for this crowd.

Show some love. Got followers praising you? Cool. Mention them in your caption.

That ‘less is more’ thing. True that. Sometimes a minimalist caption will highlight a striking image. Also, it can be a stylistic way to impress followers. One-liners, quotes, song lyrics… you’ve got options.

Short on caption ideas for your photos or videos? Get inspired.

5. Tag your location

Tagging your location puts your business on the map.

And, makes it dead simple for people to discover your photos and videos.

Plus, users view posts more that are tagged with a location.

Here’s how simple it is:

Tap ‘Add Location’

Search for your location

Select it and post the photo or video

This becomes a clickable field for the user. Clicking on the location shows all photos and videos for that place. Your brand is now associated with this location, like a shop, hotel, or head office. Or, make it more general, for a city or town.

We good? Moving right along…

6. Get on the Explore tab

Also known as the Explore page.

What is it?

Curated topics and personalized content you will adore. At least that’s what Instagram believes, based on your previous actions and engagement patterns. Wired calls it, “the most honest place on the internet.” Ah, how nice. Click on the magnifying glass to see for yourself.

Why use it?

For your brand to become more recognized. Placing high on the Explore tab can get you new followers and a steady flow of traffic.

How to get on it

It’s not completely known, but most likely, Instagram uses these criteria to place content in the Explore tab:

Content similar to what users engaged with

Content with high engagement

Content from accounts similar to accounts the user already follows

How to improve your chances

Know your audience. Like: your target customer, their interests, and who they follow. Create a persona to target your content.

Listen closely. Tailor your content based on how your audience is engaging with theirs.

Use hashtags. We talked about this above. Don’t skip it.

That’s the abbreviated version. Learn more in our post on how to get on the Explore page.

7. Post consistently

Why?

People will know what to expect. This keeps followers engaged with a consistent, versus overwhelming, flow in their feeds.

Establishes authority and credibility. You’ll be considered a thought leader in your industry.

Your brand will be recognized. By consistently sharing content with your target audience. 93% of organizations depend on this.

Engage with your audience. Which makes them come back for more. Loyal customers generate more revenue. Cheaper than acquiring new ones.

Generate leads. Give people useful, interesting content, they’ll knock on your e-door to learn more.

8. Post at the right time, too

Which is 12 p.m. to 1 p.m. Monday to Friday.

That’s what we do. Because our audience scrolls through Instagram during their lunch hour. Since we’re B2B, our strategy is weekday focused.

Instagram moved away from the reverse-chronological feed, but timing still matters. They explain on their blog, posts are ordered based on:

Likelihood of their interest in your content

One’s relationship with your brand

Timeliness of posts (an emphasis for us)

Timing is everything. What’s yours?

Find out by:

Knowing your audience

Testing different times

Measure what works, what doesn’t. Do more of what does.

9. Run a “like-to-win” contest

Say I offered you a free flight to your next holiday destination. You only needed to post a cool photo of yourself on vacation.

Would you do it?

Of course.

That’s the seductive play of an Instagram contest.

There’s a few types of these contests. We like the like-to-win one best.

It’s simple to do. Just ask users to like an Instagram photo of your brand, so they can win a prize. It’s a great way to connect with your audience and get people excited about your brand.

Set goals and metrics to see how it’s working.

For building brand awareness, measure follower count, engagement, and website traffic

For an annual sale, measure purchases, year-over-year engagement, and landing page traffic

You get the idea.

Bonus: Download a free checklist that reveals the exact steps an adventure photographer used to grow from 0 to 110,000 followers on Instagram with no budget and no expensive gear.

Get the free checklist right now!

10. Ask your followers to tag their friends

You can also encourage your followers to tag their friends in the comments. For example: “Tag someone you know who needs a vacation!” This can help expose your Instagram account to a larger network of people.

11. Comment and ‘like’ posts of others

Do this and Instagram will reward you, because they care most about engagement.

When a post receives a bunch of likes and comments, Instagram sees this as quality, engaging content that more people will want to see. So then…

Get on and scroll your feed

Like what you like

Write useful comments (not patronizing ones)

Participate in a social community that actually cares about each other’s posts. Not much more to say than that.

12. Share your Instagram posts on other channels

No need to keep things to yourself.

Increase your reach by sharing your posts on other social sites. But, alter them a bit versus just posting as is. So it works best for that platform and audience. For instance…

Address your Facebook friends differently than your LinkedIn connections

Edit your message to fit Twitter’s 280 character count limit

For Pinterest, post just the picture

Use formats wisely, too.

Multiple hashtags work well for Twitter and Instagram. But on Facebook or LinkedIn, you might not get the same results.

13. Use Instagram ads

Remember that $10.87 billion in revenue by 2019?

You want some of that, right? Just like 2 million other companies.

Here’s some ads to help you get more likes on Instagram:

Photo ads

Use these to tell your story and showcase your products using compelling images.

Parachute Home used these to promote a 60-night trial of their bedding, using a Shop Now call-to-action.

Their beautiful stuff aimed at 18-54 year-olds, for their core customer profile. The result? A 3.7 times return on spend. With a click-through rate 2 times that of ads on other platforms.

Video ads

As we now know, Instagram users are crazeeee about videos.

Videos were posted 4 times more than photos in 2017, compared to 2016.

Seems you should do the same.

OGX, a global hair care brand, created a video campaign around ‘Rock What You’ve Got”. This featured women celebrating their diverse hair textures and styles, targeted to millennial women.

This reached an impressive 61 percent of the target audience in the US. The same in Canada, UK, Germany, and Australia combined.

Video ads can be up to 60 seconds, but OGX shows a solid video doesn’t need to be long, as theirs was only 15 seconds.

Carousel ads

These let users swipe through a series of images or videos, with a call-to-action button connecting them directly to your website. Use more creative freedom to tell a longer story.

That’s what Kayla Itsines, founder of fitness empire Bikini Body Guide did.

She created and published a series of carousel ads for her workout app, Sweat: Kayla Itsines Fitness.

This showcased short fitness sequences demonstrating how users could exercise anywhere, anytime with the app. She targeted women aged 18 to 42, reaching 6.4 million people. With an incredible 21-point increase in brand awareness.

Woohoo! Gonna work on my bod right after completing this post. I’m inspired.

Sight, sound, and motion to inspire people around your brand and products.

Stories ads

These are full-screen ads appearing to users between Stories they’re already viewing from people they follow. 400 million Instagram users view Stories every day.

Choose how often people see your Stories ad. Stories expire after 24 hours, ideal for sharing limited-time offers and promotions.

Stories ads look like a regular post. The call-to-action works like a swipe-up feature, taking users directly to your website.

Good stuff for getting more Instagram likes using ads. Read even more about how to advertise on Instagram.

And that’s the story of how to get more Instagram likes

Now you know how to get more likes, which will get you more followers.

Nice.

But that’s not the only way to get more followers. Here’s 21 more ways.

A marketer’s job is never done.

And we can help…

Save time managing your Instagram presence using Hootsuite. From a single dashboard you can schedule and publish photos directly to Instagram, engage the audience, measure performance, and run all your other social media profiles. Try it free today.

Get Started

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