Hii quick heads up that I’ll no longer be checking in on this blog (besides for when I log in to reblog something), nor will I be answering asks and interacting here anymore
If you still wanna interact, be moots, whatever!- I’ll be over on @dollerinna full time. Absolutely no pressure to follow tho like… do your own thing babes 😂 but for those who are still down, feel free to come say hi lol
(oh and if i missed your follow, pls just send in an ask on @dollerinna ! I have my notifications turned off and I’m notoriously clumsy so sometimes I might not catch them 😭)
Anyways, won’t be deleting this blog cuz #nostalgia but yea I’m moving on completely. Byeeee
Hii quick heads up that I’ll no longer be checking in on this blog (besides for when I log in to reblog something), nor will I be answering asks and interacting here anymore
If you still wanna interact, be moots, whatever!- I’ll be over on @dollerinna full time. Absolutely no pressure to follow tho like… do your own thing babes 😂 but for those who are still down, feel free to come say hi lol
(oh and if i missed your follow, pls just send in an ask on @dollerinna ! I have my notifications turned off and I’m notoriously clumsy so sometimes I might not catch them 😭)
Anyways, won’t be deleting this blog cuz #nostalgia but yea I’m moving on completely. Byeeee
✉️ ⦂ first time writing for hannibal! I’m only on season 2 so hopefully nothing is too ooc [ wc ╱ 1.2k ]
The bedroom breathed low light—candle-flame stuttering on the dresser, moonlight carving thin slits past half-drawn drapes. You lay supine across the wide bed, naked skin drinking the icy bite of Egyptian cotton, arms stretched languidly above your head.
Hannibal stood at the bedside, crisp white dress shirt already stripped of its vest and tie, his sleeves turned to the elbow to reveal lean, corded forearms. His gaze drifted over your exposed skin, lingering on the curves of your hips and the soft seam of your thighs—a perfect little lamb arranged for sacrifice, one that was far too sweet for a man of his appetites.
Which, of course, was exactly why he wanted you.
He lifted a perfect ice sphere from the silver bowl, hand-blown glass catching firelight in fractured prisms. He held it suspended between thumb and forefinger, letting you watch the slow condensation bead and slide.
The sphere descended. Frost met your collarbone in an unforgiving kiss.
The cold seared instantly, bright and piercing, melting into a thin, glistening rivulet that arrowed between your breasts. You bit the inside of your lip to smother a whimper at the sting, skin prickling alive under his unwavering stare.
“You shiver already,” Hannibal observed, voice low and mildly amused. “Like a rare orchid forced into flower by the threat of winter. No exception to instinct, are you?”
He trailed the ice down to your chest, your nipples hardening instantly, shamelessly eager as he began to draw lazy figure-eights onto them. “Mmf… oh god…” Your breath hitched, back arching off the mattress in involuntary offering.
“Shhh,” he whispered, almost teasing. “Blasphemy is a poor substitute for breath.”
He continued—agonizingly patient—ringing each tight peak until they ached, flushing dark against gooseflesh. Meltwater pooled in the hollow of your waist, then spilled sideways across ribs, licking cold paths your body begged him to follow with heat.
When the sphere dwindled to a fragile shard he pressed it to your lower lip. “Open.”
You parted for him, mouth yielding like prey baring throat as he slid the remnant inside.
His eyes crinkled ever so slightly, pleased. “Good lamb,” he murmured. “Obedience suits you.”
“Now, suck.”
Your tongue curled greedily around it. Mineral-sharp sweetness dissolved against the roof of your mouth while you glanced up at him through damp lashes—wide-eyed and doe-soft, the very picture of innocence even as your pulse hammered at the base of your throat.
Hannibal tilted his head, ink-pooled eyes tracking every flicker of muscle, every swallow, practically cataloguing the mechanics of your hunger. He remained utterly composed—posture impeccable, breath measured—yet the fine wool of his slacks betrayed him: the thick, insistent outline of his cock strained against the fabric, a small dark bloom of pre-cum already darkening the tip.
He was starving. Not for food. For that frantic little pulse beneath the wool.
Another sphere. This one he dragged in one unhurried line down your midline—past navel, over the soft rise of your mound, then lower. His free hand nudged your legs apart until you spread completely exposed for him, your cunt slick and hot with no dignity left to hide behind.
The ice met your clit with a mean push. Shock lanced through you as soon as contact was made there, hips snapping upward before you could cage the reflex.
“Agh—- Hanni- too cold!…” Eyes squeezed shut, a wince.
His palm flattened over your lower belly, thumb stroking just above the cold press where muscle knotted tight from need, anchoring you like territory thoroughly claimed.
“Breathe,” he said, kinder now, yet edged with command. “Let the chill carve itself into you… right here.”
He punctuated his words with a press, circling your hypersensitive bundle torturously, admiring how your cunt pulsed and wept in spasmodic answer. Arousal mingled with meltwater in obscene, shining trails down your folds, soaking the sheet beneath as you squirmed.
The sight earned a hum out of him—deep and delighted. “Such eager little contractions. Your body blooms beautifully under duress.”
He nudged the next chilled sphere shallowly inside you—just the tip—then withdrew, leaving your sex fluttering around emptiness, walls clenching at the ghost of intrusion.
Your knees quaked nonstop, mewls splintering into fevered gasps as lungs mutinied. “W-Wait,” you swallowed, throat working around the word. “Please…”
Hannibal paused, the ice hovering a cruel millimeter from your swollen labia, his dark eyes flickering up to meet your teary ones.
“Yes?”
“It’s… intense. I-It’s too much.”
A small, genuine smile touched his lips, making your stomach twist with equal parts fear and want. “That’s precisely the point, my love.”
Gently, he set the bowl aside, kneeling between your thighs, lowering his mouth.
Warmth after frost was devastating. His tongue swept along the full length of your slit, gathering the mingled chill and juices in a series of greedy swipes that made your toes curl.
His lids fluttered closed for a heartbeat, savoring. “You taste even sweeter thawed.” he noted, features flickering with amusement. “How delightfully predictable.”
His thumbs pressed your folds wider, holding you open while he feasted in a way both unabashed yet deliberate—flat, broad laps over your clit that built into tight, lethal flicks, then sealing the puffy bud between his lips. A delicate, testing pull at first… then harder, a deep suction that locked your fists bone-white into the sheets.
A shattered cry ripped out. “Hannibal!—-”
You bucked against his face, the sculpted ridge of his nose rubbing ruthlessly into your nerves as his jaw worked, hips chasing the delicious pressure on instinct.
“Mmm… my greedy little pet,” he purred against you, vibration curling fresh lightning through your core. Fingers laced with yours, grounding you while his tongue plunged in further, skilled strokes gliding along each hidden ridge—relishing how his little lamb thrashed for the wolf’s mouth alone.
Your moans rang off the high ceiling as you finally came apart on his mouth. Your thighs clamped around his shoulders, flooding him in tremor after tremor. He drank you through it all until you collapsed in a sheen of sweat, glittering and spent.
Hannibal rose smoothly, lips gleaming in the candlelight, his breath measured except for one shallow pull he made no effort to disguise. Even he allowed himself a moment’s indulgence.
He moved over to brush a strand of hair clinging to your brow, studying the shivers still passing through you and the disarray he had authored.
“Beauty in extremis,” he said quietly, words heavy with near-reverence. “You fracture so exquisitely under pressure. It is a rare privilege to compose such ruin.”
Still trembling, you managed a breathless laugh. “That mouth of yours is going to kill me one day.”
The corner of his mouth lifted, satisfied rather than apologetic, thumb smoothing along your temple as if calming a startled animal. “Rest assured, I have plans that require your continued… vitality.”
He then kissed you slowly, feeding you the taste of your own ruin straight from his tongue, a move so brazenly possessive it felt like etiquette in reverse.
He withdrew just enough to look at you. “Shall we proceed? The ice remains, and the night is still young with untasted potential.”
You reached for him, aching readily for the next cut despite yourself. “You’re impossible.”
His fingertips ghosted the glossy evidence the ice had left across your thigh, cruel in its restraint. “Impossible?” A soft huff of laughter escaped him. “No. Merely inevitable. You invited the wolf in… now, you must feed him.”
He leaned in, the grip on your flesh suddenly tightening. “And I find myself quite famished for the sound you’ll make when you break again.”
✉️ ⦂ first time writing for hannibal! I’m only on season 2 so hopefully nothing is too ooc [ wc ╱ 1.2k ]
The bedroom breathed low light—candle-flame stuttering on the dresser, moonlight carving thin slits past half-drawn drapes. You lay supine across the wide bed, naked skin drinking the icy bite of Egyptian cotton, arms stretched languidly above your head.
Hannibal stood at the bedside, crisp white dress shirt already stripped of its vest and tie, his sleeves turned to the elbow to reveal lean, corded forearms. His gaze drifted over your exposed skin, lingering on the curves of your hips and the soft seam of your thighs—a perfect little lamb arranged for sacrifice, one that was far too sweet for a man of his appetites.
Which, of course, was exactly why he wanted you.
He lifted a perfect ice sphere from the silver bowl, hand-blown glass catching firelight in fractured prisms. He held it suspended between thumb and forefinger, letting you watch the slow condensation bead and slide.
The sphere descended. Frost met your collarbone in an unforgiving kiss.
The cold seared instantly, bright and piercing, melting into a thin, glistening rivulet that arrowed between your breasts. You bit the inside of your lip to smother a whimper at the sting, skin prickling alive under his unwavering stare.
“You shiver already,” Hannibal observed, voice low and mildly amused. “Like a rare orchid forced into flower by the threat of winter. No exception to instinct, are you?”
He trailed the ice down to your chest, your nipples hardening instantly, shamelessly eager as he began to draw lazy figure-eights onto them. “Mmf… oh god…” Your breath hitched, back arching off the mattress in involuntary offering.
“Shhh,” he whispered, almost teasing. “Blasphemy is a poor substitute for breath.”
He continued—agonizingly patient—ringing each tight peak until they ached, flushing dark against gooseflesh. Meltwater pooled in the hollow of your waist, then spilled sideways across ribs, licking cold paths your body begged him to follow with heat.
When the sphere dwindled to a fragile shard he pressed it to your lower lip. “Open.”
You parted for him, mouth yielding like prey baring throat as he slid the remnant inside.
His eyes crinkled ever so slightly, pleased. “Good lamb,” he murmured. “Obedience suits you.”
“Now, suck.”
Your tongue curled greedily around it. Mineral-sharp sweetness dissolved against the roof of your mouth while you glanced up at him through damp lashes—wide-eyed and doe-soft, the very picture of innocence even as your pulse hammered at the base of your throat.
Hannibal tilted his head, ink-pooled eyes tracking every flicker of muscle, every swallow, practically cataloguing the mechanics of your hunger. He remained utterly composed—posture impeccable, breath measured—yet the fine wool of his slacks betrayed him: the thick, insistent outline of his cock strained against the fabric, a small dark bloom of pre-cum already darkening the tip.
He was starving. Not for food. For that frantic little pulse beneath the wool.
Another sphere. This one he dragged in one unhurried line down your midline—past navel, over the soft rise of your mound, then lower. His free hand nudged your legs apart until you spread completely exposed for him, your cunt slick and hot with no dignity left to hide behind.
The ice met your clit with a mean push. Shock lanced through you as soon as contact was made there, hips snapping upward before you could cage the reflex.
“Agh—- Hanni- too cold!…” Eyes squeezed shut, a wince.
His palm flattened over your lower belly, thumb stroking just above the cold press where muscle knotted tight from need, anchoring you like territory thoroughly claimed.
“Breathe,” he said, kinder now, yet edged with command. “Let the chill carve itself into you… right here.”
He punctuated his words with a press, circling your hypersensitive bundle torturously, admiring how your cunt pulsed and wept in spasmodic answer. Arousal mingled with meltwater in obscene, shining trails down your folds, soaking the sheet beneath as you squirmed.
The sight earned a hum out of him—deep and delighted. “Such eager little contractions. Your body blooms beautifully under duress.”
He nudged the next chilled sphere shallowly inside you—just the tip—then withdrew, leaving your sex fluttering around emptiness, walls clenching at the ghost of intrusion.
Your knees quaked nonstop, mewls splintering into fevered gasps as lungs mutinied. “W-Wait,” you swallowed, throat working around the word. “Please…”
Hannibal paused, the ice hovering a cruel millimeter from your swollen labia, his dark eyes flickering up to meet your teary ones.
“Yes?”
“It’s… intense. I-It’s too much.”
A small, genuine smile touched his lips, making your stomach twist with equal parts fear and want. “That’s precisely the point, my love.”
Gently, he set the bowl aside, kneeling between your thighs, lowering his mouth.
Warmth after frost was devastating. His tongue swept along the full length of your slit, gathering the mingled chill and juices in a series of greedy swipes that made your toes curl.
His lids fluttered closed for a heartbeat, savoring. “You taste even sweeter thawed.” he noted, features flickering with amusement. “How delightfully predictable.”
His thumbs pressed your folds wider, holding you open while he feasted in a way both unabashed yet deliberate—flat, broad laps over your clit that built into tight, lethal flicks, then sealing the puffy bud between his lips. A delicate, testing pull at first… then harder, a deep suction that locked your fists bone-white into the sheets.
A shattered cry ripped out. “Hannibal!—-”
You bucked against his face, the sculpted ridge of his nose rubbing ruthlessly into your nerves as his jaw worked, hips chasing the delicious pressure on instinct.
“Mmm… my greedy little pet,” he purred against you, vibration curling fresh lightning through your core. Fingers laced with yours, grounding you while his tongue plunged in further, skilled strokes gliding along each hidden ridge—relishing how his little lamb thrashed for the wolf’s mouth alone.
Your moans rang off the high ceiling as you finally came apart on his mouth. Your thighs clamped around his shoulders, flooding him in tremor after tremor. He drank you through it all until you collapsed in a sheen of sweat, glittering and spent.
Hannibal rose smoothly, lips gleaming in the candlelight, his breath measured except for one shallow pull he made no effort to disguise. Even he allowed himself a moment’s indulgence.
He moved over to brush a strand of hair clinging to your brow, studying the shivers still passing through you and the disarray he had authored.
“Beauty in extremis,” he said quietly, words heavy with near-reverence. “You fracture so exquisitely under pressure. It is a rare privilege to compose such ruin.”
Still trembling, you managed a breathless laugh. “That mouth of yours is going to kill me one day.”
The corner of his mouth lifted, satisfied rather than apologetic, thumb smoothing along your temple as if calming a startled animal. “Rest assured, I have plans that require your continued… vitality.”
He then kissed you slowly, feeding you the taste of your own ruin straight from his tongue, a move so brazenly possessive it felt like etiquette in reverse.
He withdrew just enough to look at you. “Shall we proceed? The ice remains, and the night is still young with untasted potential.”
You reached for him, aching readily for the next cut despite yourself. “You’re impossible.”
His fingertips ghosted the glossy evidence the ice had left across your thigh, cruel in its restraint. “Impossible?” A soft huff of laughter escaped him. “No. Merely inevitable. You invited the wolf in… now, you must feed him.”
He leaned in, the grip on your flesh suddenly tightening. “And I find myself quite famished for the sound you’ll make when you break again.”
ⓘ FUN FACT! assumpção was one of the biggest contributors in "vanguarda paulista”—a brazilian avant-garde scene that emerged in são paulo during the late 1970s and early 1980s, which united artists who operated involuntarily outside of the commercial music industry
12. TOUMANI DIABATÉ & BALLAKÉ SISSOKO ~ NEW ANCIENT STRINGS (1999)
happy black history month! btw I’m aware a few artists like santigold and dean blunt aren’t obscure by any means, but I still feel like they’re overlooked at least on tumblr so including them anyway
also sorry in advance if some of the descriptors are weird, I got them from RYM if that wasn’t obvious enough 😭. It’s mainly just to give ppl a rough idea of what the music sounds like
ⓘ FUN FACT! assumpção was one of the biggest contributors in "vanguarda paulista”—a brazilian avant-garde scene that emerged in são paulo during the late 1970s and early 1980s, which united artists who operated involuntarily outside of the commercial music industry
12. TOUMANI DIABATÉ & BALLAKÉ SISSOKO ~ NEW ANCIENT STRINGS (1999)
happy black history month! btw I’m aware a few artists like santigold and dean blunt aren’t obscure by any means, but I still feel like they’re overlooked at least on tumblr so including them anyway
also sorry in advance if some of the descriptors are weird, I got them from RYM if that wasn’t obvious enough 😭. It’s mainly just to give ppl a rough idea of what the music sounds like
despite gaga’s mainstream presence it was REALLY hard finding similar artists for whatever reason?? so yeah I’m not super satisfied with this list but I did try my best! (btw posting this first cuz my ethel list is still wip)
despite gaga’s mainstream presence it was REALLY hard finding similar artists for whatever reason?? so yeah I’m not super satisfied with this list but I did try my best! (btw posting this first cuz my ethel list is still wip)
The Twin Peaks theme is my current obsession. I hope you listen while reading and see how I got my inspiration for this from it :)
The way he held you was an insermountable feeling. Like you were the only person on earth. Timeless and feather falling feelings rushing through your bloodstream like nothing else.
The way he watched you move throughout the rooms, no matter how you moved, it was like an effortless glide in his eyes. It made you giggle every time he mentioned it.
The way he stroked your cheeks with such grace like never before. Like he was touching something as delicate as air, unable to come back down from the heavens. You were his heaven, his grace in life.
The way no smile could compare to his smile. His grin stretching with pride, with such joy it was contagious. Hearts in your eyes whenever he smiled at you, falling in love over and over again like it was the first time you met all those moons ago.
While others were around, they couldn't not notice his admiration for you. Obviously, they teased. Being best friends with the two of you, how could you not? It was something they weren't sure they'd ever seen or experienced in their own lives, they'd ever felt.
But every time, they looked over at you two, they felt some semblance of hope, that it would be their time soon. To have someone look at them as he looked at you.
for your consideration: munch!peter maximoff with his vibrating tongue :)
thinking in sync... and thots. +18 MDNI
PETER MAXIMOFF ⊹ mentioning: afab/fem!reader, incorrect use of powers, squirting, and my older!peter. / not proofread!
ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY!! peter is an eater, i just know it. as a dedicated lover, he would totally worship his woman and be the kind of guy who gets "pussy drunk" like it is the time of his life. and having the powers to speed some parts of his body? goodbye sex toys!! (he would still help his partner with them for the fun, but the toys definitely would be super underused).
as the years go by with the relationship growing older and stronger, it's like nothing changes in that regard. peter is in his 30s and he still acts like a teenager intoxicated with horny hormones when he sees you after a long and tiring day at work. even if you didn't wanted to do anything after, he wouldn't mind at all falling between your thighs to feast your pussy like a hungry man while humping his hips in anything near to alleviate himself.
not a surprise that peter's favorite positions when it comes to oral sex are you seated on his face and a good old sixty-nine, that in most of the time he loves winning who pulls out an orgasm from each other first. — most of the time he doesn't ask for a competition because he knows sometimes it annoys you, but subconsciously he still does, it feels good for the ego.
i can't even phantom how easy it would be for peter to rip an intense climax from you by vibrating his tongue inside your walls or buzzing on your clitoris, now and then making you squirt. and when it comes to how many orgasms he can tear off from you? until he go out of oxygen or you say it's enough. the moment is always heaven-like, leaving your body trembling while you gasp and cry his name.
You reminisce about your lover, the days that you spent together during your years of being high school sweethearts. And on how it ended so quickly and so suddenly. You've grown older and as soon as you did, you left where the both of you resided immediately, the remembrance of him pained you. In hopes for one last connection, you buy his childhood home, which was now abandoned. Slowly you started to feel as if you see him everywhere, maybe it was your imagination.
!!!: kissing? violence (guns, shooting, death, etc.) & minor mentions of drugs
W/C: 3.5k
TATE LANGDON was his name, at first in the beginning, before the two of you first met you thought of him as sort of odd. He didn't really fit in, almost as if he didn't want to in a way. He had the looks, god he had the looks, short blonde hair and his dark eyes that made you still. You never really interacted with groups and sort of did your own thing, just minding your own business. Occasionally, you'd encounter Tate, you decided to only interact with him when it's really necessary.
You never really judged him, you just didn't want to partake in any social cliques and didn't have any friends really. Tate seemed to sense this, and it furthered his sudden interest in you, although you two weren't entirely similar. He felt a bond with you, you didn't feel it or didn't acknowledge it at first, and that was fine with him. He would study you from afar and felt as if you didn't belong with anybody here but him, but he was far too scared to interact with you. You felt the same, but you believed that he was constantly judging you whenever his brown orbs locked with yours.
Soon the two of you would look for each other in the rows of people crowding the long hallways. Forming a silent connection with one another, and slowly you would begin to openly communicate with each other. Just small hi's and hello's, yet both of you wanted to say more but never knew how to say it. Tate was smart, but that didn't seem to be his main catching point. No, it was the shy smiles he would give you once you two would sit together in the cafeteria.
It was how he would talk about how high school was just boring as ever and that the only two people that matter. Were you two. You were perfect in his eyes, everything that he's ever dreamed of, you didn't fit in, and you didn't want to. Just like him. It was almost as if you two were meant to be together, but you didn't realize it as quickly as he did.
And he was gladly willing to wait, I mean the two of you weren't even dating yet, so who was he to tell? Your relationship together did grow, eventually spending more time and time together. You always hung out at your place, him never wanting to be at his and finding comfort in your room. He loved everything about it, he loved everything about you, he loved everything you did and said. He was so infatuated with you.
As you were with him, it wasn't because he was different, it was because he simply was himself. He always sought safety with you, and you gladly provided that solitude for him. Tate was truly the most beautiful person that your eyes could ever lay on, his boyish charm drawing you in. He always made sure that you felt comfortable and swore to do everything to protect you from those judging eyes. It didn't matter to either of you on how you appeared to the rest of the world, only mattering to each other.
Eventually, both of you wanted more, but Tate was too in his head about it, so you decided to make the first move. He finally let you come to his house, but only when his mother wasn't home. You remember how he would cry to you about his troubles and worries with her, you despised the woman deeply. You remember him telling you about how his dad left, not really wanting to talk about it. And you never pushed.
You traced the items in his room, observing every corner and every object that you could come into contact with. He only watched you do so, basking in your presence, content with you being in his closure. Eventually, you seated yourself at the end of his bed, him crawling to lay beside you. Resting his head on your lap and placed your hands in his hair. You brushed through his golden locks and felt him ease into you, as he stared at you with those eyes.
You felt your chest tighten and butterflies fill your stomach, the feeling was new, so you turned away from him. Furthermore, you placed your hands on your side and closed your eyes, releasing a profound sigh. You hated that he looked at you--as if he was in love with you because you… you wanted him to. He quickly sat up and stared up at you, worry taking over his features, overthinking the situation. You felt him tense up beside you, knowing it was his insecurities taking over.
Opening your eyes, you looked at him and just gave a smile, it was enough to ease him but not enough to calm him. You thought for a moment, finally deciding to let your feelings take over. Lifting his palm, you placed it over your face and lightly kissed the end of his fingertips. Tate didn't know what to do, he only stared in awe as you let his hand cradle the side of your face. You stared ahead for a moment as Tate observed your features, wanting to know what you were thinking; what you'd do next.
He didn't expect tears to fall from your eyes as you trembled just beneath him, he perked up and held you more steadily. He was more concerned now and yet even though you were crying, he didn't see any hint of sadness on your features. Only disappointment, which he thought was far worse. Instead, he let you sob into his shoulder and grip onto him as if he was going to leave you any second. He could only whisper words of affirmations into your shoulder as tears also escaped him, the image of seeing you cry made him ache.
You both held onto each other, letting everything out that the two of you bottled and hid away from one another. Only then did you look at him in the eyes, wiping away the tears that slid down his face mournfully. And let the words escape you, "I think I love you." He stilled underneath you, a mix of emotions taking over his features, he was scared to do or say anything. In case you tried to change your mind, you took his quietness the wrong way and retreated away from him.
This made Tate scared, so he quickly, without thinking, reached over to you and kissed you. He kissed you as if you two were dying in each other's arms, and this was the last moment the both of you shared together. It was messy and horrible, but the feeling the both of you shared made up for all of it. You two belonged with each other. You both just rested your foreheads together, childish giggles escaping the both of you as you smiled.
It was like the both of you just received candy for the first time, it was like you two achieved the world together. You two only stayed there for a moment before laying back down together in each other's embrace. Oh, how you wish you could stay at this moment forever together, just with each other. Eventually you two had to depart, but instead of being sullen, you both looked forward to what is to come. Tate was over the moon that night, finally achieving the person of his dreams, he replayed the moment you two shared over and over again; before he eventually fell asleep.
The days and months passed by, and it was all wonderful, the time you two would share together. All the new things that you could finally do with one another, the dates were remarkable. You never thought you could love someone like you loved Tate, and he never thought he can love someone like you again. The ache that he always felt was eventually filled with you and you only, he made you feel like you really did matter. You two were just love sick fools, and it was the best thing in the world.
The years moved forward and everything began to change, and so did the both of you, for the better and for the worse. You decided to focus more with your studies, which meant less time for Tate, and he didn't enjoy it. Not one bit, he would try to reason with you, but he just wouldn't listen, he didn't understand. He didn't care about school, he just cared about you, and that was the problem. He brushed off on how difficult it was for you in school, it was easy for him because of his natural intelligence.
Every time he told you that you'd be fine, you felt as if he was condescending you because it was all just so easy for him. He couldn't understand you, and you began to not be able to understand him. Fights began to become frequent, and you couldn't take it anymore, you loved him, you really did, but you needed to focus on yourself. Before you could focus on him, and he didn't get that concept, so asking for a break wasn't easy. It was hard for the both of you, but Tate handled it worse than you did.
You sat him down in his room and stood before him, Tate suspected what this was about, yet he couldn't come to terms with it. So when your tone shifted to more serious, and you avoided eye contact with him, he denied everything you said. He wouldn't listen and began to sob hysterically and breaking everything he could reach, he couldn't accept it, he didn't want to. Tate wasn't listening to you, so you just decided to leave, you couldn't handle this. He fell to his knees and grabbed onto you, breaking down as he clung onto your legs.
He eventually let you go, and you turned away from his cries, this was only for a moment, you'll be back. But did he know that? You haven't heard from him ever since that day, he stopped showing up to the school. And he didn't reply to your calls and messages, maybe you shouldn't have done this. You began to regret your decision.
After a month or so he reappeared again, a black coat adorning his frame as he strutted past you, almost as if you weren't there. His expression was off, and he seemed out of it, usually he was, but not like this. It was unsettling. You brushed it off, just glad that he was finally back. You headed off to the library to study, since it was quieter there and you could relax peacefully.
You were settled into a corner of the room before you heard a loud noise, you looked around and everyone seemed just surprised as you were. Before it was heard again and screaming from the distance, it finally clicked. Those were gunshots. Everyone in the library began to panic, and the teacher tried to barricade the doorways as everyone hid in separate areas. You quickly rushed under two desks and enclosed in between chairs as silence took place. Then there it was, the sound of heavy footsteps approaching the library, you were terrified.
What scared you more was if Tate was hurt, he was always quick, so you hoped for the best. You hoped for his safety. Then you heard crashing and banging, you shook and held in your cries. Then there it was, they got in. You could only hold your breath as you heard the steps circle around the room.
And before you knew it, you heard mumbling, then a frantic voice and then a bang. You couldn't believe this, you didn't want to, you heard more yelling and pleads and just held your head in between your arms. You didn't want to die, not like this, you still wanted to reconcile with Tate. You still wanted to be with him. Through your fingers, you could see the corpses, but you couldn't see the perpetrator.
Fear took through you as you suddenly realized that they were standing before you, peering through the chairs. And you felt your heart stop, there stood the boy you loved for years. His once beautiful and soul driven eyes staring downward at you, lifeless. You stilled, and you felt tears cascade down your face as a pained expression took place. All you could do was shake and mouth a silent, why?
His expression didn't change, and the gun still was held within his grip as he took in your features. You only cowered beneath him and closed your eyes, sorrowfully content with dying by the hands of your beloved. But the more you waited, there was nothing, eventually you opened your eyes and no longer stood Tate. He was gone. You soon heard the wailing of sirens and the cries of students and teachers, you only laid frozen.
Why hadn't he shot you?
...
Years have passed, and the question still played in your mind, the guilt hasn't subsided. Why were you the surviving victim? Eventually you did grow from it and as soon as you turned 18 you left L.A, you stayed in a different city for a while before you returned. You didn't want to keep running away, you needed to confront it, yet it was still difficult. You stood in front of the house before you, it's much older now but still looked the same as before.
It was his house, you thought if you bought the place it would bring comfort to you. But it only felt unsettling when you stepped inside, you heard what happened to him right after the shooting. Being gunned down, before you couldn't even think about, but now it just leaves a bitter taste at the tip of your tongue. Exploring the house and the rooms, you felt as if you were already being watched, ever corner you turned. Ghostly eyes following your figure.
You've heard of deaths correlated with this house yet for some reason you weren't so scared about dying here. You eventually brushed away the thought and settled with staying in a different room, not wanting to sleep in his. That was the only difficult part in being in the house, so to distract yourself you got a job. You were gone most of the time, this time you decided you needed a few drinks with your coworkers. Eventually, you came stumbling home in a drunken state and laid in which room was the closest.
You felt the sheets beneath you as you tried to make sense of where you were, realization hit you as you gathered your senses. It was his room. Everything seemed to be the same beside minor differences, someone else must've lived here before. You could imagine his faint smell and basked in it for just a moment, you peered up as it felt like someone was staring down at you. There he was looking down at you, he held a confused expression, you shrieked and curled away from him.
Holding your head as you tried to recollect yourself, just telling your imagination to go away. It was silent, then he was gone. Were you hallucinating? Unsure of what to make up of what just happened, you just silently cried as you buried yourself into the bed. You missed him terribly, although you shouldn't, you cried yourself to sleep that night.
A ghost watched over you, he could only really stare from afar, afraid to scare you like he did before. Oh, how he wanted to hold you once more, he's spent so long without you, and he finally had you again. He couldn't ruin this, your absence broke him deeply and still hadn't fully moved on from you. He tried to with someone new, violet, but he knew in his core that he wouldn't love anybody like you. It ended as soon as it began, and now he had you again.
You awoke abruptly, the sun radiating through the room's window, were you dreaming last night? Brushing it off, you stumbled out of bed and went back into your room. Ever since then, every night when you would return home, there he stood, looking down at you. You could never make out what type of expression he was making, but it always felt mournful, you were too scared to reach out back to him. But as the months passed by, you stopped trying to hide and push away the remembrance of him.
One particular night when he would appear once more, just to check up on you, too scared to do anything more or less. You reached toward him this time, instead of telling him to go way, and held him gently as you observed his features. He avoided your gaze but let himself melt into your touch, he missed this. Even if this was just your imagination, you loved every second of it, he looked the same as he did before. "I've dreamed of this," was all you said as you held him a little longer, before eventually pulling away.
This felt torturous to the both of you, and you knew you shouldn't do this to yourself, he was only your imagination. So you let go, you pushed him away as you closed your eyes, and he could only stare down at you. He wanted to hold you like he used to, but he knew better, time will tell. Eventually he did show up more around different areas of the house, and you just took it as you slowly becoming crazy. Because he never spoke to you, only stared and let you do what you wanted while he was in your presence.
You didn't mind going insane, only if you could see and feel him a bit more, maybe then it wouldn't be so bad. This time you stared at his dark irises, taking in his form, he hasn't changed, just as you remembered him. "You know, I couldn't bare to say your name after what you did. I was too scared, I felt too guilty to even utter the first letter." Silence overtook you as his expression shifted into remorse, you didn't take notice, instead you continued.
Turning away from him, your throat began to feel dry as you stared forward, not wanting to look at him anymore. You buried your face into the palms of your hands as tears slowly began to take over. "Why'd you do it? Why would you do that? Was it because of me? Did I push you too far? Why would you leave me alive? Why...?" You didn't expect an answer, and you didn't get one, sobs raked through you as you clung onto yourself. What you didn't suspect was him to envelop you into a hug, something familiar.
You let him hold you, a strange feeling taking over you, he was physically there yet he felt so cold. "Why can't you be real?" Was all you muttered before you pushed him away from you and headed out the front door, needing some air. He tried to say something, but his words were caught in his throat as he watched you leave, time will tell entered his mind once more. You came home late that night, only to discover he was where you left him, patiently waiting for your return.
You only gave him a short glance before heading back to your room, letting your thoughts consume you. Staring upward at the ceiling before, you felt a dip in the mattress beside you. He was curled next to you but kept his distance on the bed, not wanting to bother you. He just wanted to be near you. You thought for a moment, slipping your arms around him and pulled him closer to your frame.
Holding him like you used to, a content sigh escaped his lips, relishing in the sentimental feeling. He missed this more than anything, you just holding him and comforting him, it was all he needed. You shakily kissed his forehead and let yourself cherish this moment, you really wished this was real. But you knew he would be gone by morning, and you would go busy yourself once more. "I love you."
The words unconsciously slipped through your lips as sleep took over, and you held him closer. He didn't say anything, he wanted to, but he knew if we were to he would have to answer questions he didn't want to answer. Sure, he was selfish for acting like he couldn't speak to you, but eventually he was going to have to. So, he was going to enjoy this as long as he could, and maybe he will come clean about his whole being dead thing. Just above a whisper, he hid into your arms for more closure, "I love you too."
He hoped you wouldn't have heard his confession, but you had, and a small smile formed on your lips. You would take all the drugs in the world just to keep seeing him and being near him. He was all you ever really did want in this godforsaken world, it was a blessing and a curse. Because in the end all you two ever wanted in the world was each other, one way or another you both were going to achieve it. What you didn't know was that maybe Tate Langdon wasn't just your imagination.
- I am back from writer's block, hope this was a sufficient apology
- Frank Ocean is my soul honestly
- Briefly proofread (skimmed)
- Maybe a part two if I'm feelin it
Hope you enjoyed and if you have any requests or questions please dm!
hiiii dawnie!! did you tune into The beauty?👀 i wanna know what you think and if Cooper Madsen is as good as colin
OOF I have nooooot tho im curious!! mostly for the plot and he’s kinda giving mean energy (could be wrong but that’s the vibe I got from ppl posting!), and I’m kinda in my fictional-men-who-are-assholes phase soooooo….
But if we’re talking about looks, I still prefer my bby colin a biiiit more but let’s be real is anyone surprised by that 😭😭😭
check out the other (not as essential) recs below the cut!
PLS LIKE, REBLOG, AND COMMENT
Redid this cuz I think I wanna make photos instead of textposts for this series 😭 lemme know which yall prefer! And then maybe I’ll do Ethel Cain next since she’s popular here
Anyways, follow for more and feel free to send in requests for your own fav artists!
