#tate langdon angst

[taintandviolent]

Tate Langdon and "don't ignore me" please

warnings: angst, underage reader.

“Don’t ignore me.” Tate whimpered, sounding like he was on the verge of tears. Again. He’d been crying a lot this week. He sensed a change in you, a change of heart. He wasn’t wrong; your heart had changed -- it had been ripped to shreds, corroded and decayed all in a matter of days. Information was deadly.

He looked so desperate, so desolate when he cried, and it killed you inside. But what he’d done… 

“Don’t ignore me…” he said again. 

But you did. You did. Even though it took every ounce of self control you had, you did. You had promised to have no secrets between the two of you, yet he had plenty. You wondered how he carried them all with such a stoic, couldn’t be bothered attitude. Was he truly not remorseful? At all? Everything he did? 

“Hey. Look at me.” 

Frustrated, you scooped your hair behind your ears, focusing hard on the paper in front of you. The words were blurring together because honestly the last thing on your mind was homework. Of any kind.

“LOOK AT ME!” 

Tate grabbed your chair, spinning it around to face you, and you cast your eyes to the floor, still avoiding him. You heard him grunt before reaching for your chin, yanking it up. 

“I said don’t ignore me. You can’t do that.” 

When your eyes still didn’t move to his, Tate frowned, his bottom lip jutting out slightly. The pout that usually worked, the pout that usually had you wrapping your arms around him, petting his hair. It wasn't working. He moved into your line of vision, forcing you to look at him. His eyes were welling up with big, fat tears. 

“Please…” He sniffed. “Please don’t ignore me.”

“Fine,” you whispered, before clearing your throat to find your voice. You yanked your chin away from his grasp, craning your neck to get away from him. With a sullen gaze, you focused on his dark eyes. “Fine, then… Tate. Tell me about Violet Harmon and her mother.” 

The way his face changed terrified you. He went from sad to sadder to a dark, roiling anger that you felt in the pit of your stomach. He set his jaw, wiped the tears with the back of his hand and said nothing.

“Who is ignoring who now?”

[temporarywelcome]

toxic till the end - Tate Langdon

Words: 2.3k

Summary: your relationship with Tate was toxic till the end (inspired by the song "toxic till the end" by Rose`

CW: toxic!tate (ofc), mental health struggle mentions, reader is burnt out trying to help him (remember ya'll, in the end, put yourself first!), threatened sewerslide, Westfield incident, reader's mom is religious but it's barely mentioned

____

Dating Tate Langdon started off simple. It started off great, actually, amazing. 

Y/N was the first to make a move. He was seated alone in the cafeteria, listening to music with his discman when she slid into the seat in front of him. 

“Tate, right?” she began casually, picking at her nails in an attempt to appear cool and nonchalant. 

He plucked out an earbud, “Huh?”

“Your name is Tate, right?” she repeated.

“Oh,” he took out the other earbud, “Yeah… I’m Tate. And you’re Y/N.”

Y/N nodded, giving him a small smile, “Yeah, I’m Y/N. You’re cute, Tate,” she was a shameless flirt, what could she say? She wanted him, and she was determined to have him. 

His cheeks flushed slightly, corners of his lips curling into a grin, “You’re pretty,”

____

It was a pretty easy start.

Two days after that, the two of them were going out on a date, and soon they were officially a couple. Not only was it an easy start, it was an amazing start. Tate was so attentive to her needs and desires, always getting her these little handmade gifts and spending as much time with her as possible. 

And that soon became a problem. 

As her phone rang, she let out a tired groan, sitting up in bed and rubbing at her burning eyes before blindly swatting at it before she was able to pull it off of the receiver, “Hello?” 

“Did I wake you up?” she recognized that voice anywhere. 

“...Yes, Tate, it’s four in the morning. Some people like to sleep,” Y/N replied. She usually wasn’t so nasty to him, but he’s been calling almost every single night at this point. She just wanted a good fucking sleep. 

He was silent for a moment, “...are you mad at me?”

“Of course I’m fucking mad, it’s four in the fucking morning. Go to sleep,” 

“But… But I need you,” that was always his line. Whenever he knew she was going to hang out with friends he didn’t like (which was all of them), suddenly he was calling her with his big ass Moterola that he desperately needed to upgrade, telling her he was depressed and anxious and needed to be with her. And every time she would fall for it, cancelling her plans and running to him, just to realize he only said that so she would go to him. 

She knew what he was doing, yet she still ran to him every time. Every. Single. Time. 

And like every single time, she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, “Come over. I’ll unlock my window,”

“Thank you, babe!” he hung up right away, and she placed her phone back onto the receiver with a grumble. She wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight. 

As she stood up and unlocked the window, she wondered what it was going to be this time. His mom was being an asshole again. His grades were slipping. His dark thoughts were taking over. 

Y/N cared for his mental health greatly, but sometimes it was too much for her. Sometimes she felt like his mental health struggle was negatively effecting her own. 

There was also the possibility there was nothing wrong at all and he just wanted her attention. He always wanted her attention. It was a bit suffocating at times. 

Within a few minutes, her window was opened and the shadow of Tate’s lanky form appeared before her. She didn’t bother turning on her bedside lamp, she was tired. “Hey, baby,”

“Hi, babe!” he said excitedly, immediately kicking off her shoes. 

She should be pissed off, she really should, but she found herself scooting over so he could slide into the bed next to her. He turned so his back faced her, signalling what he wanted. 

Arms circling his waist, she pulled his back to her chest, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, “So, what’s wrong?”

He hummed in response, grabbing one of her hands and interwining their fingers, “I just wanted to see you,”

“At four in the morning?” 

“Mhm,” he replied, “I missed you,”

“I see you everyday, love,” 

“And? I still missed you,” he said simply.

Y/N didn’t respond, already starting to fall back asleep. Until he tightly squeezed her hand to wake her up. “Hmmmm…?”

“Why were you talking to Todd today?”

“Huh?”

She couldn’t see, but he was pouting, “Todd. I saw you talking to him in the hallway,” 

“Oh,” she yawned, “Yeah. We were talking about a project we have coming up,”

“I don't like that you're talking to him,” he mumbled, releasing her hand so he could turn to face her, “Don't talk to him anymore,”

“Tate, babe, he was just asking some questions,”

“Sure,” he rolled his eyes, “Don't trust that fucker, he just wants to get in your pants. He's using that project as an excuse,”

“And how do you know that?” She mused, beginning to play with his hair.

“I just do. Stop talking to him,” he huffed, nuzzling into her neck, “Please?”

“Okay,” she knew an argument would come if she told him no, so she just left it at that.

She lost so many friends for him. 

Tate smiled, pressing a kiss to her skin, “Thank you, babe,” He looked down at their intertwined fingers, noticing she was still wearing some of her rings, “You slept with your rings on?”

“Mmm,” Y/N mumbled, starting to drift off again, “...was tired,”

And so he plucked the rings off of her fingers, smirking as he slid them onto his own. He always liked to borrow her stuff, she was sure he was the reason so many of her hoodies were missing. So him taking her rings didn’t bother her, despite the fact they were Tiffany rings. Expensive ones she had gotten for her birthday once. He would give them back, he always did. Eventually. 

She never got the rings back.

___

A few days passed, and within those few days, things changed drastically. 

Well, nothing really changed between them. It was how Y/N reacted to said things. 

She was already annoyed with Tate’s behavior. She hasn’t slept properly in days at this point. Whether he just wanted her attention or was genuinely struggling, she was the one who had to be there for him. 

Like right now. 

He was sobbing, curled up in her arms as they laid on her bed together once again. She felt awful for feeling this way. She felt awful for being annoyed. She hated seeing him so upset, and always tried her best to console him, always getting nowhere. It was draining. 

How much was too much? Y/N was constantly depressed because he was constantly depressed. How much more could she take? 

“Y/N…” he mumbled after a while, face still buried in her neck. 

“Yeah, baby?”

“Why won’t you comfort me anymore?” 

She paused, biting her bottom lip. She could feel his eyes on her as he tilted his head up slightly, his lip trembling and his face all red and blotchy. He was right, she had barely spoken since he had gotten there. Just rubbing his back in silence. 

When she didn’t respond, Tate sat up, “Y/N…”

“Hm?” she said dumbly.

“Y-You’re acting different,” he was starting to tear up again, “You’re acting different with me. What am I d-doing wrong?”

“Nothing, baby,” she just didn’t have it in her to defend herself. It was almost five thirty in the morning, she honestly just wanted him to fucking leave. 

His hands went to her shoulders, blunt nails digging into her skin, “What i-is it? What’s wrong with m-me? Just tell me!” 

Fuck. 

Why did she stay silent on her problems this whole time? Why didn’t she just tell him how she felt? Why put them both through this?

“I can’t do this anymore,” There. Done. She said it. 

And regretted it as soon as she saw his face completely crumble. 

“Wh-What?” Tate whispered, pulling away. His eyes looked wild, darting around the room as his chest rose and fell repeatedly. He was seconds away from hysterical. “I’m crying about my f-family problems and my depression an-and you decide you want to leave me?!” 

Well when you say it like that…

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

She groaned, pressing her face into her hands, “Tate-”

“-You’re not even calling me baby anymore!” he gasped. He scrambled off of the bed, looking down at her in both desperation and rage, “I didn’t do anything wrong! I thought you loved me!” 

“I do love you!” she whisper-yelled, not wanting to wake up her parents who would definitely be pissed if they found out Tate was in the room with her. “But am I not allowed to love myself too? This is stressful for me! I can’t do this anymore,” 

“Stressful for you, huh? Imagine how I feel,” he scoffed, “I’m the one going through it,” Crossing his arms over his chest, he began pacing the room, trying to hide the trembling in his hands. 

“But you always dump it on me! Don’t you ever think about how that affects me?” She could already feel another argument coming. They were arguing literally two days ago. 

“I always listen to you when you’re upset about s-something!” as he spoke, he pointed an accusing finger at her. Like she was the problem. “Why is it so hard for you to comfort me? Do you not care about me anymore?”

God she felt like crying now too. 

��I do care about you, Tate, but I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep hurting myself trying to help you,” she sighed, standing up as well. She reached out to him but he shrank away, as if she were poisonous. “I think it’s best we broke up. I’m so sorry,” she couldn’t even say an “it’s not you, it’s me,” because it entirely was because of him. 

He was hysterical now, tugging at his blonde hair in stress, “No! No, you can’t do this to me!” he shouted, definitely going to wake up the whole house at this point, “I can’t live without you!”

“Tate, please, don’t be like this-”

“No!” To her surprise, he swatted at the lamp on her nightstand, causing it to shatter, “If you leave me I’ll fucking kill myself, I swear to God. I’ll kill myself. And it’ll be all your fault!”

…what?

“You can’t be serious,” she gasped, “You’re being serious right now?! Trying to guilt-trip me into staying with you?”

“No! Fuck you!” he snapped, “I’m just telling you the truth! I’ll kill myself, you fucking bitch!” 

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Y/N finally shouted. Tate was already marching towards the window as she yelled, finally letting out her own anger. “You’re not even fucking trying to fix anything! Fuck you!” 

There was a loud knock on her door, making her jump. Fuck. Someone was awake. She was fucked. 

“Get the fuck out,” she practically shoved him out of the window. 

“Y/N, what is going on in there?!” her mother called from the other side of the tour.

“Coming, Mom!” she called, watching as Tate climbed down the tree by her window. Once his feet touched the grass, he looked up at her, angrily giving two middle fingers. 

Things always ended like this. And they always started right back up when he knocks on her window the next day like he always fucking did, with a bouquet of flowers or vinyls of the artists she liked. 

She always took him back. 

Shit. 

___

He did not come knocking on her window.

He did not come with flowers or vinyls or chocolates or any sort of peace offerings. 

The relationship was truly over. 

She thought the first few days would be terrible. 

She thought she would spend each day sobbing in her room and forcing herself to go to school. She thought she would be in complete misery thinking about Tate and their ended relationship. 

That was far from the truth.

Even on the first day, she was like a brand new woman. 

There was no one clinging onto her the whole entire day. No one forcing her to not hang out with her own friends. And certainly no little bitch in her ear telling her to wake up in the middle of the fucking night. 

It was fucking amazing. 

And Tate was alive and well (or more, alive and pissed), still going to classes and being his brooding self. 

So she didn’t expect the news. 

Every year, she and her family would take a short road trip during the school year to her grandmother’s house for her birthday. This year was her 71st. 

Tate knew this. Perhaps he planned it all out on purpose. 

Perhaps he knew after Y/N’s grandmother blew out the candles and the happy family ate cake, Y/N would turn on the television in the living room, flicking through channels. 

And stumbling upon the news. 

Westfield Shooting - Shooter Identified!

What? She missed one fucking day of school and this happened?

“Mom! Look at this!” she exclaimed, beckoning her mother to the living room. Since she was seated next to her comatose father, she shook him awake. 

“Oh my,” her mother gasped, hand going to her mouth as she watched he incident, “Thank the Lord you weren’t there-”

Then they saw who the shooter was. 

Last year’s yearbook photo of a charming young man with curly blonde hair and cute dimples. Eyes almost black. Tate Langdon. 

Holy shit.

Yes, perhaps Tate did do this on purpose. Perhaps he did, because when Y/N returned home, she was gifted a note from Tate’s mother, Constance. It came as a shock to her, considering she and Constance didn’t get along, for the simple fact Constance and Tate did not get along. 

Yet Constance Langdon handed over a handwritten note from her son, saying it was for Y/N to read. 

And so she did. And cried.  

“Dear Y/N,

This is all your fault ♡”

____

[blac-ivy]

One thing golden era Wattpad writers had going for them was that they knew the importance of a buildup. I'm of the opinion that the sexual tension is WAY more satisfying to read than the actual sex and quite frankly there is a serious lack of non smutty writing.

Like I really miss reading fics/ x readers that start from scratch. Meeting the characters, initial reactions getting to know them, the tension the jealousy the TENSION the freaking tension.

Looking and looking away when they get spotted, touches that feel like they linger but perhaps they didn't and they're both so hot for each other that they think it's wishful thinking. And I don't mean just sweet sunshine romances, darker works can have a buildup too but it seems like so much is just about getting to the smut instead of the psychological aspect.

Bring back the build up!!!!!!!

[fear-is-truth]

Since Tate died in 1994, he was alive for the broadcast of Nirvana’s MTV set (December 1993). I see everyone saying Halloween Date Night and raise them…Nirvana Date Night!!! Cuddles mandatory, of course!

-🍰

trigger warnings: making out/suggestive. angst. canon-typical violence. mentions of kurt cobain’s death // MDNI

los angeles doesn’t really get cold. at best, it merely dimmed at the edges—lawns withered to straw, yellowed like nicotine-stained teeth. light thinned out until it was nothing but haze suspended over cracked concrete. jacaranda trees stand bare and skeletal, their blossoms long since withered into gutter sludge. even the sky seems hungover: pale and slow to darken, veiled in a greasy smog that stains the sunset in industrial hues.

december 16th, 1993.

you’re under the blanket, warm and pinioned in the crook of his arm. outside, the sky is a deep azure bruising into full dark, no stars. tate’s already drawn the curtains and turned the overhead off. the crimson glow of the television stains his face in crude chiaroscuro, but to you, he’s never looked more beautiful.

onstage, kurt cobain perched on a stool, his posture almost concave. stargazer lilies encircle the stage in stiff, chemical bloom. candle flames flicker at odd intervals, as if mourning in advance. he leans into the mic, eyes distant.

“this is our first record,” he deadpans. “most people don’t own it.”

this elicited a dry, conspiratorial chuckle from you both. you feel the tremor in his chest as his arm tightens around you ever-so-slightly. you’re nestled against him like a spine connecting to a ribcage—anatomically compatible. inseparable.

as the opening chords of “about a girl” creep in, his fingers find yours under the blanket, tracing the slope of your knuckles before lacing through them. he squeezes once. you answer without hesitation.

his mouth finds your shoulder; lips slightly parted, breath warm. another kiss, this time, strategically placed beneath the slope of your neck. languid, open-mouthed. he lingers there, tongue hot on your skin, roving upward before sucking lightly at the edge of your collarbone. your back arches, involuntary. he’s already moving over you, blanket half-slid off your hips, his hand braced beside your head.

you kiss him back with ardour, which results in a brief clash of teeth. he laughs into your mouth, but his hands are greedy now—palming your waist, sliding under your shirt. the pad of his thumb grazes the underside of your breast, then circles your nipple through your bra until you’re gasping into each other’s mouths. he’s hard, the ridge of him hot against your thigh. hips rock into yours once, a clothed grind that coaxes a sound out of you you’ve never made before. he chooses that moment to slip his tongue past your teeth; nothing held back. the song still playing on screen, but you’ve lost the thread of the lyrics. he nibbles your lower lip, tugs it gently between his teeth before letting go.

“i love you so much,” tate whispers, nuzzling the crook of your neck. “i wish we could be like this forever.”

angst below, read at your own discretion ! if you’re here for fluff—just admire kurt here and don’t scroll down further

four months from now, rockstar legend kurt cobain will die with the barrel in his mouth and his brain spattered on the greenhouse wall.

six weeks after that, tate will bring a gun to school.

hours later, the feds will gun him down in his own house—on the very bedroom floor where the two of you first watched the broadcast.

fifteen victims. sixteen dead.

no, make it seventeen.

because after that day, there is no version of you that lives.

[whosbloom]

Lil angsty tate blurb-

“No, wait, don’t go.”

His voice pleaded with you, his eyes glossy with tears and his brows furrowed. His bottom lip was quivering, his words breaking as he stared up at you, a silent plea for you to just listen to him.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Please, I’lll be better.” He sniffled and wiped his nose with his sweater sleeve, his gaze falling off of you for a second as he stared down at the floor. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You didn’t know what to do, your body already halfway out the door to his bedroom, leaning back against the doorframe.

“Tate.. I can’t forgive you.”

He felt the pit in his stomach only worsen, letting out a broken sob as he hid behind his hands, not being able to see you as you finally slipped out of the room, leaving him alone in his own sorrow.

He laid back on his bed, clutching a pillow tightly as he buried his face into the soft fabric, his legs curling up into his stomach, leaving him in a fetal position.

[americanwh0rerstory]

Hi there beautiful!!

Can you do Evans character's reaction to their s/o wanting divorce/breakup?!

(like they were sitting in their bedroom until she walked in and told them she was tired of their relationship?!)

Love your work,

Real artist

the evan’s: breakup

contains: tate, kyle, james, kai,

Content warning: angst. a lot of it. murder, kai anderson is a warning himself.

A/N: tysm!!! im glad you like my works and i hope you like this one too. requests are open for anyone to send <3

Tate Langdon

“no. don’t do this, please Y/N”

would cry in front of you

if you’re a ghost he’ll follow you around the house begging for you to talk to him

he’s like a lovesick puppy.

you’re all he wants, all he needs

basically the same as the end of murder house + what we see in apocalypse towards violet

fratboy!KYLE SPENCER

“did i do something wrong?” he’d ask, wanting to know if he can change.

he just wants to make you happy

wouldn’t tell his frat brothers at first, not wanting them to hit on you now you was ‘available’

would cry silently in secret when alone

despite how sad he is, he’d wish you the best and want you to be happy.

JAMES PATRICK MARCH

“but why dearest? what have i done to fill you with such dread that you wish to leave me?”

he’d kill you without you knowing it was him, just so you’d have to stay at the cortez forever.

blames your murder on another ghost

would kill anyone who tries to date you

yet again blames it on another ghost

like the countess, you’d have dinner with him once a month

he’d give you lavish gifts he stole borrowed from his latest victims

he’d try and win you back with the gifts and the dinners

remember when queenie left with michael and he had to play solitaire? that’s the face he would make

that’s the face you’d get

KAI ANDERSON

no

you don’t get to leave him

did you seriously think you could break up with kai?

he’d initiate pinky power, find out why you tried to leave him, and use it to his advantage

he’d change for a week or two to lull you into a false sense of security

once you trust him again he’d instantly go back to his old ways

and you, the ever so trusting lamb, would fall for it. you love kai, right?

at least that’s what he’s lead you to think

A/N: i’ve never written this type of thing before so i hope it was good! if anyone wants more like this then feel free to ask

[persefolli]

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀��𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑

𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝟏:

𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 - 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲

𝐀𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐧 𝐈𝐧𝐯𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 - 𝐓𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐢

𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝟐:

𝐅𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧 - 𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 - 𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢

𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝟑:

𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐁𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 - 𝐊𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠

𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐝 - 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐞

𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝟒:

𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 - 𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬 + 𝐒𝐭𝐮 𝐌𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫

[aghostofmyformerself]

[sithsrevenge]

ALIVE - TATE LANGDON x READER

˙◠˙------ tate langdon x gn!reader

SUMMARY : after finding out the captivating boy they fell in love with was dead, no more than a phantom haunting their house, reader wants to join him in the afterlife. they needed to stay with him forever.

WARNINGS : (attempted) suicide, topics of death

GENRE : my crappy attempt at angst!!

───────────────୨ৎ───────────────

The little bottle of prescription pills should have worked its magic. But..

You were still alive.

Having lived in the so-called 'murder house', you figured your death would be inevitable; bound to happen whether you liked it or not. And frankly, you liked it. Being just another angsty teenager, you thought that maybe things would have gotten better,

And for the most part, they did. And who else was there to thank for that than Tate. The mysterious boy that drew you in like a moth to the flame. Maybe it was his cute dimples, or those intense near-black eyes that sent shivers down your spine every single time you looked at them.. Maybe it was the morbidity that seemed to follow him, how someone so angelic had so much baggage following him.. Whatever the case, you were both intrigued and smitten.

“I would never let anyone or anything hurt you” God, Tate had such a way of making you feel seen. Making you feel like the most special person on the planet, even if you thought of yourself far from such.

You were important to him, that's all that mattered.

'My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains', you were never one for poetry before you met the boy who seemed to pop up out of nowhere; but he sparked an interest in you like no other. Tate made you feel, he was the one who kept you grounded. Poetry ended up being one of the most important things in your life after he mentioned Keats once.

He was like a guardian angel sent from the skies to protect you. Whether or not the big man up in the clouds was real, you were certain that Tate was meant to be your savior. Your wonderwall.

Such an ironic choice of words, really. Oasis' frontman himself gave the explanation on what the hell a wonderwall was; an imaginary friend who could save you from yourself. There were so many layers to that, so many connections to what you were dealing with now..

Alas, you two had been so in love. Sappy, lovesick children who clung to each other like lifelines. Tate needed you, you needed Tate. His idolization of Kurt Cobain meant so many sessions where the both of you just sat together and listened to Nirvana, cuddled up on the bed. You were locked inside his heart-shaped box. All the comfortable sweaters he lent you to keep warm at night..

“I love you. I've never felt this way about anyone..”

You should have known it was all too good to be true. Someone who fits perfectly with you? Yeah right. You still couldn't forget the sinking feeling in your gut when you first read that news article that just so happened to pop up when you were looking for Westfield High's website--

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Westfield Highschool student Tate Langdon, age 17, shot and killed 15 fellow students, injured countless others. There is no motivation known as to why the boy went through with it- some speculate drugs and bullying might have been involved, but others claim he hadn't even dealt with much.

“I didn't really know who he was, I remember that he sat in the library a lot. Just sat there, like, me and a few of my friends would stop in there during our study hall and he'd just be seated, looking at whatever book he picked out for that day,” states one student we interviewed after the massacre.

Whatever led to such a tragic event, late yesterday evening, the FBI shot the class of 94' alumni and brought justice to the innocent students he murdered just earlier in the day. Was this an elaborate suicide act? We may never know the real reason behind the sickening actions of Langdon.

All we can say is, for the families of the lives lost at Westfield, don't give up. None of this is your fault...

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

It was all so sickening.

Tate. The boy you had clicked with, the boy you gravitated towards, quite possibly one of the first major loves of your life. This.. psychopathic monster was not the Tate you had grown so fond of. Sure, Tate was a little weird, there was obviously some sort of chemical imbalance, but he would never do anything so horrible.. Would he?

Every time you click on another article, the more dread filled the pit you feel deep inside you. All the glee that being with Tate had brought you so far since your move all seemed to crumble, along with the trust you had built. Tate was a ghost.

A ghost. Dead. Just a part of your imagination. At first, you believed that maybe you had heard the name somewhere before and created this delusion of a boyfriend. But that didn't explain how the pictures perfectly matched the appearance of the grungey blond.

That was your breaking point. The moment your seemingly recovered misery returned, it hit harder than ever before.

Tate was dead. He killed people. You didn't even notice the sting in your heart at first until you saw the prescription medication in your peripheral.

Maybe it was the need to be with Tate in the afterlife, maybe it was just the old ideations bubbling over, or maybe it was the guilt of 'dating' someone so damaged. Whatever the reason, the impromptu decision led you to where you are now; in the arms of the boy you loved, under the running frigid water of the shower.

You were still alive.

Feeling the wet, cold sleeves of a sweater wrapped around your waist, you leaned back into the person seated behind you. Curse Tate for being so strangely comforting! You weren't supposed to crave his touch anymore, you were supposed to hate his guts.. But you couldn't bring yourself to do that. You could never hate Tate.

Never.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Even hours later, not a single word was shared between the both of you guys. When he finally released you from the cramped tub and let you cope alone in your room, there was a strange pit inside of her, an emptiness that only Tate filled.

On your bed, you blankly stared at the ceiling and debated whether or not you wanted him there by your side in that moment. No matter which way you looked at it; he was the push factor for your failed attempt. Then again, it was worth mentioning that..

Tate saved you.

Contradictory, isn't it? The conflict is also the resolution. The usual pessimistic attitude you held would tell you that the negatives outweighed the overlying positive, but not this time. Your thoughts all led you to one need. Tate.

Weakly, you called out into your room, not nearly loudly enough to be considered a yell. “Tate..”

By your bedside appeared the tall boy, looking just as empty as you felt. He looked like the shell of what you knew him to be, there was no doubt that, just like you, he was affected by what happened. Why wouldn't he be? He loved you.

For what felt like forever, the two of you stared into the others dull gaze, searching for any sign of emotion to appear. It was quickly broken by him, voice shaky as he slowly sat down next to you.

“..Why would you do that..? Why would you hurt yourself like that..?”

For the first time in what seemed like forever, you didn't have some silly comeback. There was nothing funny about this at all. “I..”

“Is something wrong..? Was I not a good enough boyfriend..?”

“I'm still alive..”

The comment seemed to take Tate off guard, evident with the widened eyes and lack of a quick response. “You're-- Yeah. You're still alive..”

Alive. Because of Tate. For now, you decided to keep your awareness of what he did in his lifetime to yourself. Since, despite everything, he was still your savior. Misery loves company.

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≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼ ------ reblogs & likes are always appreciated, keeps me motivated to continue creating :)

A/N : first attempt at angst, totally rushed because it was my goal to just get something out before christmas. posting schedule is NAWT existent, sigh.

[lanadelreyisthearpy]

Anyone else sick of smut? Like i be tryna read the most gut ranching sad heart breaking angst or fluff if im feeling happy and all i see is smut. If anyone has any extra long extremely sad or happy wlw tlou or tate langdon fanfics please send them my way! Thank you i need help asap istg ive read everything on this app.

[bluerthanvelvet444]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝙿𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Frat boy Kyle Spencer x fem!reader

tags: slight angst, fluffy smut!

warnings: swearing, public sex, mentions of Kyle's abuse (poor baby), handjob, p in v.

summary: frat boy kyle being a sweetheart. that's all i have to say.

character count: 11k.

full fic under the cut ↓

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“I'm not going.” You replied, your voice firm and your eyes fixated on the math book that sat on the library's desk, trying to avoid the gaze-that you knew you couldn't resist-of the boy sitting in front of you. You heard him sigh as his doe eyes desperately tried to meet yours.

“But everyone is going…you can't miss it.” Kyle replied with his soft voice.

“I've never gone to any of those parties…why do you want me to go to this one so badly?” You spoke, with a noticeable hint of frustration in your voice.

“Because it's the end of the semester…something to celebrate. Plus, it's gonna be epic.” He said with a toothy smile plastered on his face.

“No, thanks. You know I don't roll with those frat boys.” You rolled your eyes, your words coming out harsh and spiteful.

“I'm a frat boy.” He said, raising an eyebrow, clearly confused by your statement.

“Yea- but you're…different.” You sighed.

It was true. He was indeed different from the frat boys he was friends with. You and Kyle met in Junior year of high school. You were paired up by your physics teacher, who suggested you could tutor Kyle, that at the time had terrible grades. You two clicked instantly, he was fun and outgoing, and you enjoyed spending time with him. Kyle had grown to be incredibly thankful for your help, in fact, he insisted that you were the one who made him passionate about physics, the subject that he used to despise and that now was his main department in college. Although he could seem like the usual asshole frat boy, Kyle was sweet and caring. You knew it, and no one could’ve made you change your mind on that. He was simply a sweetheart.

“Listen, I know my mates may seem rude or not well-behaved…but trust me, as a leader, I established some rules for them. They won’t act crazy, I promise.” His kind voice brought you back from your thoughts. You sighed, thinking about it.

“Brennan’s hosting the party in his summer mansion…it’s next to the beach- it’s so cool, I swear. I-I’ll take you there! I can pick you up and take you home…” He added, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Please?” He said in an adorable voice, his puppy eyes looking hopeful into yours.

You sighed, you didn’t wanna go, but it was utterly impossible to say no to him.

“Fine.”

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You were touching up your makeup. You were ready for the “big night” Kyle was so excited about. You decided to wear something a bit more revealing, a black minidress, because-okay, you didn’t wanna go- but you couldn’t be annoyed and unfashionable all at once.

While taking a final look in the mirror, you heard a knock on your door. You grabbed your bag and opened the door to see Kyle-in his usual frat sweater-smiling at you. He looked at you up and down, scaring you slightly. What if he didn’t like the dress or how it looked on you?

Fortunately, all your concerns faded once you saw his smile widening.

“Woah…you look beautiful. Seriously…you’re stunning.” He said, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you, he wasn’t used to seeing you like this.

You felt your cheeks heat up at the compliments.

“Thank you…” You gave him an awkward smile and bit your lip.

“Shall we get going?” You suggested, to which he nodded. He took your hand and helped you step down the porch. Kyle led you to his car, and opened the door for you with a cute grin.

The ride was calm, you chit-chatted here and there about random stuff, and you swore you saw him staring at your body a few times. After 15 minutes or so, you eventually arrived at the party. Kyle was right, the mansion was beautiful and it faced the sea. You could see lights and music blasting out of the house. He gave you an excited grin and helped you out of the car, walking with you inside the house. It was overflowing with people laughing, playing games and having fun. As much as it seems hard to believe, you didn’t know anyone of those many people. They had familiar faces, sure, but you couldn’t consider them your actual friends. You sighed and nervously looked at Kyle who, on the other side, was flashing smiles to all his fellow frat brothers and friends. You noticed how comfortable he was in his habitat, and how you envied him for that. He introduced you to many people-whom you couldn’t even remember the names of-that obviously didn’t care much about getting to know you, since they even could’ve sworn you did not go to that college. You were invisible even when the attention was on you, and Kyle clearly didn’t catch that. So when he was dragged by his mates to some kind of game, he told you with a chuckle and a rushed tone

“I-I’ll be right back! Chat with the girls, they’re fun!”

Fun. Right. You didn't mean to sound like an antisocial bitch, but they were everything but fun. You saw them from afar just taking pictures of each other-to show on Instagram how much fun they were pretending to have having-or teasing each other about their crushes. You felt bored, so you sat on a chair, sipping a cup of-what you hoped was-punch and waited for Kyle. Time passed, and he didn’t show up, so you got up and started searching for him. It didn’t take you much to find him. Kyle was on the karaoke stage, singing “Rosanna” by Toto.

“Meetcha all the way! Nananaaaaah…” He “singed” while laughing with his mates.

You were conflicted on what to do now. You didn’t want to be a bummer by clinging to him all night, but you were truly bored and felt lonely. So, you did what you believed was best for everyone, you grabbed your stuff and left. The moment you stepped outside, you were met by an unfamiliar feeling of peace, the view surprising you for its beauty and for being so…empty. It was quiet, the only sound that could be heard were the waves splashing against the sand, no people around. You smiled and made your way to the pier nearby. You sat on it and took your shoes off, allowing your feet to sink in the water.

You didn’t know how much time had passed, but you were brought back to reality when you felt Kyle's voice behind you.

“Here you are! I searched for you everywhere!” He was breathing fast, you believed he had been running while seeking for you.

“I thought I left you a message?” You tilted your head.

“Oh… Sorry. I can’t find my phone. Why are you all alone here? The whole fun is inside!” He replied with a giant boyish smile.

“I like it better here. It’s boring inside.” You turned your face to look at the sea again.

“What? How can you call it boring? There are plenty of games! And people inside-” you cut him off before he could finish his sentence.

“Kyle, I hate to break it to you, but I’m not popular like you. The people inside couldn’t care less about me. I feel less lonely here than in that crowded house.”

He looked at you confused.

“Aw, c’mon…don’t be like this. They’re nice people, you just have to make an effort to try to meet them, and I’m sure you’ll have fun.” You didn’t know why those words started a fire in you.

“They’re not my friends, Kyle. I can’t stand those people, I don’t get along with them. And trust me, I’ve tried to be social and friendly, but you may have to consider the idea that not everyone is like you. You’re easygoing and social, you're a freaking frat boy for fuck’s sake. It’s easy for you to say those things.”

He looked at you, mouth agape at your sudden outburst.

“…why didn’t you just tell me?” He looked at you like a sad puppy for bringing you somewhere that made you uncomfortable.

“And be more of a bummer? No, thanks. They already hate me, I don't wanna be a party pooper as well.” You crossed your arms.

He sat next to you on the pier and his fingers gently grazed your jaw to make you look at him.

“You’re not a bummer to me…a-and I’m sorry about that… I shouldn’t have left you alone. Sorry.”

You wanted to be mad at him, truly, but those cute brown eyes melted your heart in every way possible. You bit your lip as you admired him lovingly. He was so caring and sweet, how did you manage to get this lucky?

“I didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable, I- that’s the last thing I’d ever want. You know I care about you… I can’t stand you being mad at me. Please, forgive me?”

You felt your heart tighten at those words. You gave him a slight nod as your eyes travelled down his lips. You wanted to kiss him so badly, and he probably caught onto that, since he slowly leaned in to meet your lips in a sweet kiss. He pulled away slightly, mumbling against your lips.

“Was that okay?” You nodded, and he leaned in again, kissing you once more. This time he deepened the kiss, letting his tongue slip in your mouth and softly swirling it around yours. You let out a breath at how right that felt and how sweet he was being. You pulled him slightly closer and moved your hand to rest on his neck and caress the skin of it. After a bit, you moved your lips to peck his jaw a few times before trailing them down on his neck. Your lips worked sweetly on his skin at first, earning a few sighs from him. As the tension grew, you started sucking his neck, leaving red marks. He groaned and grabbed your waist, you subtly moved your hand down to massage the bulge from his pants. He let out a tiny gasp, and you felt him stiffen, not in a good way. You looked up at him with a confused expression.

“I-I’m sorry…please keep going…” He said with a nervous smile.

“What’s wrong? Did you not like that? It’s okay if you don’t want to…” You gave him a comprehensive look.

“No! I like that… I swear. Just…bad memories.”

“Do you wanna talk about it…?”

“No, I just wanna feel good now.”

You nodded and gave him a gentle peck on his lips before gently undoing his zipper. You ran your fingers over the visible shape of his dick through his underwear, earning a groan from him. You looked at him for consent before gently pulling his boxers down. You blushed as you saw him so vulnerable for the first time. Your fingers wrapped around his shaft, stroking him slowly. He let out a breathy moan.

“G-god…don’t stop…”

You smiled and started progressively speeding up. After a few minutes, you heard his moans grow louder, and you felt his strong hand gripping your wrist.

“I…wanna do it. Is that okay?”

You nodded, and he sat up to gently remove your dress and everything underneath. He was stunned by your body, staring at you as if you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He helped you lay down, with a massive gentleness, as if you were capable of breaking if handled too roughly. He hovered on top of you, caressing your face as he lined up your entrance with his dick.

“This okay?” He muttered under his breath, to which you answered with a nod. He gently pushed into you, allowing you to adjust to the new feeling. He groaned when he pushed himself all the way in. He held your hand sweetly.

“Can I start moving?”

“Mhm…”

He slowly started thrusting in you, earning moans from you both. He gripped your hand tighter as he felt how your walls clenched around him. When he felt like you were ready, he started going faster, gripping your hand tightly and kissing you repeatedly through the whole thing. You could've sworn you were seeing stars when he started hitting your G-spot with his tip. Soon enough, your moans got louder and you felt yourself coming on his dick. He tried his best to contain his moans and as soon as you finished he pulled out to come on your tummy. He collapsed onto you, pecking your face repeatedly.

“I love you…” He mumbled.

After some time had passed, he got up and cleaned you with the salty water, giggling like a teen boy receiving his first kiss. When he helped you gain your-and his-decency again, he got up, throwing an arm around you and walking happily towards his car.

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a/n: I love Kyle he's so babygirllll. also look at the cute picture i found on pinterest (the one under the title) that boy looks so much like kyle. got me screaming when I saw it. Anywaysssssss. I might post a part 2 of this with frankenkyle, but I gotta finish Peter fics first (spoiler). Let me know if you like it💕💕

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all rights reserved!!

[calummss]

Tate Langdon 1920s boyfriend headcanon

masterlist

a/n: he’s a little more submissive? or like the tiniest amount of ooc but like tbh i think it’s really believable. anyway not proof read!! it’s late at night and i have an exam tomorrow

he would be head over heals for you like literally

y’all remember bugs bunny getting heart eyes over lola??? yeah that’s him

buys you different flowers for every day of the week

his hand is always around your waist

always placing a kiss somewhere on your face even when others thinks it’s too much pda—he doesn’t care

he thinks you look amazing every day but on parties it’s like he falls in love over again

he’s such a puppy so so loyal too you

‘tate, you coming on friday to the bar?’

‘i’ll ask my wife and get back to you.’

they all just stare at him but he‘s looking at you in a crowd with a smile

or him dancing with you when most women aren’t bc they’re boyfriends/hisbands think dancing is overrated…

carrying your gloves and hat aswell as bag!!!

i literally fell to my knees

when you get bored you two find a bathroom and he drags his tongue up your chest looking at you with those big hazel doe eyes,, loving that he pleases you

lights your cigarette!!

holds his hand over your head when you get in and out of the car

the classic 1920s couple run through the rain holding your bag and newspaper over your head as you try to escape the sky

my favourite scenario; sitting on his lap. his hand stroking your thighs as you take a drag from your cigarette letting him inhale from yours as he stares at you, your smoke entangling in the thick air of a jazz club

and finally, surprising him with a flapper dance choreography at your go to club. he cannot take his eyes off you and has men telling him how lucky he is

trust me…after that little dance your dress is gonna end up on the floor as soon as you two are alone

he worships you like a god, taking good care of every part of you making you realise how lucky you are to have him

[spookievan]

i love your moods so so much 🩶 could you do another kai anderson one? i'm watching cult rn and i'm so obsessed with him 🤭

i'm your jazz singer and you're my cult leader <3

[drowningyoursorrow]

WHITE FERRARI

tate langdon x gn! reader

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!

[whosbloom]

this is basically a lil poem i just came up with, small warning for mentions of suicide because it’s tate, you know how this thing goes

apologies in advance

Skin to skin, his hand is in mine, but his grasp is cold and inhuman. The rain is hitting the window, the record is spinning in the corner, some old vinyl we found while exploring the house.

Skin to skin, his lips touch mine, but it feels wrong. His dead eyes meet mine, he says he loves me but I can’t believe it, how can someone so troubled love someone when they can’t love themself.

Skin to skin, he holds me against him, scolding whatever I just saw to go away, telling me it’s okay. But it’s not, I know it’s not. It’s wrong, all of this is wrong.

Skin to skin, he cried into my shoulder while holding my limp body, saying how he wish he found me sooner, how he can’t lose me, I can’t die on him.

Skin to skin, his fingers intertwined with mine, watching them take my body out of the house on a stretcher. “Finally,” he says, breaking the silence. “we can be together forever.”

Skin to skin, face to face, eye to eye. At least we’re the same. Stuck together in these walls, cold skin, dead eyes, the inability to love ourselves, but we love each other.

Skin to skin, my arms around him as I lay and think to myself. If only things were different, if only my lover was warm as I once was, if only my lover had life in his eyes when he looked at me, if only I believed when he claimed he loved me.

Skin to skin, his hand grabs mine, reminding me that I can’t have another. I’m stuck with him forever.

[fear-is-truth]

HEAD IN THE WALL

── tate langdon x reader | wc: 1.3k

⟣tags: angst ‧ toxic relationship ‧ implied su*icide ‧ death

a/n: english is not my first language, sorry if there’s any mistakes. not proofread as usual

Moving into the Murder House was meant to be a fresh start, a chance to leave behind the chaos and start anew. Your family needed it; you needed it. Little did you know, that change would be for the worse.

It all started with a boy.

You met him on a quiet afternoon, sitting on the edge of the brick garden wall. A solitary figure against the backdrop of the overgrown yard. Tate, he said his name was. Tate Langdon. He had a messy mop of blonde hair that framed a pair in dark brown eyes, eyes that seemed to see right through you.

He casually mentioned his admiration for Kurt Cobain, his hatred for his mother, and a peculiar interest in birds.

“Why birds?” you had asked,

“Because they can fly away when things get too crazy, I guess.”

There was a hint of wistfulness in his tone.

You smiled.

He smiled.

Initially, it was just casual conversations—small moments shared in the vast, empty rooms of the house. You were the new kid at school, isolated and friendless, while your parents were either busy working or fighting. Tate, however, was always there.

Gradually, these moments grew longer, deeper. Tate had a way of making you feel seen, really seen. You found yourself telling him things you hadn’t told anyone else— your fears, your dreams, the things that kept you up at night. And he listened, genuinely listened. In return, Tate shared bits and pieces of his own life, enough to make you feel connected to him, but never the full picture.

To you, he was a tragedy wrapped in a green and black striped sweater. There was a sadness to him, reminiscent of your own. It drew you in, like a moth to a flame.

It wasn’t the result of one grand, defining moment but a gradual accumulation of small, intimate instances— it began with the prolonged brush of his hand against yours, a fleeting touch that lingered just long enough to spark a flutter of warmth in your chest. The way his eyes would soften whenever they met yours, holding a gaze that seemed to communicate more than words ever could.

The first time he kissed you was a delicate, tentative exploration— a soft press of his lips against yours that was filled with a hesitant sweetness, as if he was testing the waters of your affection, worried that you wouldn’t reciprocate. The feelings that had started as a flicker now blazed into a full-fledged inferno.

You loved him, and he loved you. And that was the beginning and end of everything.

His love, you soon learned, was selfish. At first, it felt like devotion, but soon it began to feel like something else. Tate wanted you to himself, isolating from your family, from anything that wasn’t him. Every loving gesture was tainted with a selfish motive, a way to bind you to him and drown out the world beyond the 0.2 acres of property that was your new home.

Whenever you spent time away from him, he would accuse you of being distant and inattentive, twisting your natural need for independence into a personal betrayal. Each interaction with others, each glance or smile, was met with passive-aggressive comments and seething resentment. He subtly undermined your relationships, painting your family and friends as threats to your happiness, while insisting that you only needed each other.

Sometimes, you wonder if you even knew him at all. Cracks began to show, slowly revealing the darker layers you had subconsciously ignored. Each red flag you noticed was rationalised away, buried under affection and denial. But they were there, unmistakable if you had only dared to see them—Tate’s lack of empathy, and the unsettling pleasure he seemed to derive from the suffering of others.

At first, you dismissed it as dark humour, no problem in that. You convinced yourself that his casual cruelty was just a coping mechanism, a fucked up but harmless expression of his pain.

After all, you were a teenager in love, desperate to believe the best in the boy you loved.

The final revelation came in a way you could never have prepared yourself for—through an online search that you had hoped would answer your mounting questions. The truth about Tate Langdon, perpetrator of the 1994 Westfield massacre was laid bare before you, each news article, photograph, and testimony shattering a piece of your reality.

Your mind reeled, struggling to reconcile the boy you loved with the monster the world had condemned. You simply couldn’t believe it, didn’t want to believe it.

When you confronted Tate, you were met with tears and remorse. His normally pale complexion was now a distressed, rosy pink, cheeks streaked with tears that you couldn’t discern as genuine sorrow or a manipulative ploy meant to win your sympathy.

The sight of him, so broken, was both heart-wrenching and infuriating. For a split second, you felt a surge of raw hatred.

How dare you cry?!

You wanted to scream at him, to slap him.

after everything you’ve done, you have no fucking right to these tears.

Anger and fear were overwhelming, yet the impulse to comfort him, to hold him close, remained unbearably strong. It was in that moment of raw realisation when it struck you— despite everything, you were terrified of letting him go. Despite everything, you still loved him.

With trembling fingers, you reached out, brushing away the tears that stained his cheeks, the act of tenderness feeling like a betrayal to yourself.

“I love you,” he sniffled, voice cracking. “Remember our promise? Forever and always.”

“Forever and always.”

If only.

As the days went by, you began to close off from everyone around you. You isolated yourself from your family, retreating further into the crevices of your own mind. They said you were depressed, a ghost of your former self. They took you to a doctor who prescribed medication in an attempt to help. Yet, the more they tried to fix you, the more you spiraled deeper into despair. The pills only numbed you, dulling the edges of your pain but never truly reaching the core of it.

Your thoughts grew darker, increasingly fixated on the sharp gleam of the razor you had stolen from your father, now hidden away in your desk drawer. The thought of using it, the thought of escaping the pain, became a morbid obsession. Each time you looked at it, the temptation grew stronger, a way out of the heart-shaped box Tate had inadvertently locked you in.

You woke up on the cold bathroom floor, with the worst headache ever.

The harsh, blinding circle of light on the ceiling above pierced through the haze, intensifying the throbbing pain behind your eyes. As your vision slowly came into focus, you felt Tate’s arms cradling you.

It was a comforting and familiar sensation; something you had missed the past few weeks when you had shut him out completely.

His face, streaked with tears and flushed with the strain of his own grief, hovered above you.

“You died… loved,” Tate whispered, his voice breaking as he gently wiped the tears that had gone cold on your cheek. You looked up at him, your vision blurred with the residual tears you didn’t remember shedding.

You supposed you did. You had died, not just your soul, which had withered away weeks ago, but your body as well.

Whether out of laziness or love, there was simply no more fight left in you. As you gazed up into his tearful eyes, you understood that he would always find you, always be a part of you.

“For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo.” — The Prince of Verona (act 5, scene 3)

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