#tate langdon headcanons

[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

[heavenlytouches]

since it's cold here I got myself the famous "Tate Langdon" sweater and I decided to ask for female reader x Tate. Like, when he's alive and you're hanging out but it's cold so he gives you his sweater pls

Hello dear!! Awww I love this so muchh! And also, I have the same sweater, we're matchy now ^^. Let's get writing (also I wanna say, I'm so so proud of this banner, I'm getting good at designs TwT) El <3

Tate Langdon- lovely threads

*ੈ𑁍༘⋆

FEM reader

<3 (SFW)

TW!- none

Cozy but chilly spring night with Tate

Tate is alive in this one <3

Tate Langdon

The chilly spring night wrapped around you like a soft reminder of the world beyond your thoughts. As you laid on the grass outside the infamous murder house, you could feel the cool earth beneath you, the cold air prickling your skin.

It felt peaceful, though — surreal in a way that made every moment seem like an echo of a distant memory.

You hazily gazed up at the stars, wondering how many others had watched them shimmer over this haunted terrain. But it wasn't the sky that captivated your thoughts; it was the presence beside you, one that turned a spooky night into something warm and thrilling.

Tate Langdon glanced sideways at you, a smirk teasing at the corners of his mouth, eyebrows raised like he was in on a fantastic secret.

"Isn't it just beautiful?"

You finally turned to him.

He didn’t even pretend to look at the sky. Instead, he lifted a cigarette to his lips and took a slow drag. His eyes glimmered with amusement.

“Not as beautiful as you are."

He said, exhaling a cloud of smoke that vanished into the night. A rogue breeze caught your hair and ruffled it, and you rolled your eyes, hiding your smile behind your hands.

Tate had a way of disarming you, of making reality feel less like a tangible burden. You could see he had that effect on others—his charm like smoke, intoxicating and invisible, leaving a lingering warmth. But you knew him; you understood that beneath that staggeringly flirty demeanor lay a heart shadowed with darkness.

“Flirt all you want. It’s still freezing out here."

You replied, shivering ever so slightly.

He chuckled, an intoxicating sound that made your heart race.

“You need a sweater?”

Before you could respond, he undid the loose strings of his black and green striped sweater and pulled it over your head, pulling you closer to ensure it fit snugly around your form.

“There. You look better in it than I do, anyway.”

It was slightly oversized, wrapping you in Tate's scent—a heady mix of cigarettes and something distinctly him. It made you feel warm in more ways than one, and you bit your lip, trying to suppress the grin that threatened to spill over.

“God, I must look ridiculous.”

“Not even a little. It’s kind of cute.”

He winked, moving to lay back on the grass again, arms folded behind his head.

“You got that whole ‘lost wandering girl’ vibe going on, and I dig it.”

“Lost girl?”

You propped yourself up on an elbow instead, shaking your head in disbelief.

“You’re the one who’s lost, Tate. Half the time, you don’t even know what you want.”

His gaze shifted to you, curiosity shimmering in his brown eyes.

“Maybe I know exactly what I want, and it’s just sketchy around the edges.”

He took another drag, his focus unwavering as he studied you under the dim starlight.

“You’re not like the others. It’s like you can see through the bullshit.”

Your heart stuttered at his unexpectedly earnest admission.

“You say that like it’s a good thing.”

“It is.”

He turned onto his side, propping his head into his palm, and the intensity of his gaze almost made you forget about the haunted house behind him.

“You care. You’re real. Plus, it makes you cute when you blush like that.”

You felt heat creep across your cheeks, and you attempted to deflect his attention with a laugh.

“You just like corrupting innocent girls, Tate.”

“Who said you were innocent?”

He feigned innocence itself, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Maybe I'm just a sucker for messy girls who light up in dim places.”

You raised your eyebrows.

“That sounds ominous.”

“Guess it depends on the situation.”

He shifted closer, his hand brushing against yours, and the touch sent jolts spiraling through your entire being.

“Honestly? I just like being around you. Everybody else? They don’t get it.”

In that moment, the world faded, the murder house, the chilly air—it all dissipated, leaving just the electric connection crackling between you. Your breath caught in your throat.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re here, and it feels normal. For once, everything doesn’t seem so...”

He paused, searching for the right word,

“dangerous.”

His sudden vulnerability caught you off guard, and you weren't sure how to respond. You didn’t want to ruin the moment by recalling the very real darkness that surrounded him, that tried to seep into you every time you were together. Instead, you felt the urge to lean in closer, to let the suffocating anxiety drown in the warmth between you.

“Are you always like this?”

You asked, your voice almost a whisper, as if raising it would break the magic of the moment.

“Only with you.”

The honesty in his expression glimmered like the stars above. With a boldness that surprised you, you leaned in, close enough to see the way the moonlight danced in his eyes.

“I think you’re pretty damn perfect.”

“Perfectly messed up.”

He corrected, his expression playful but laced with truth.

Your laughter was light but came from a place of understanding—a recognition that neither of you was perfect, but still found something extraordinary in your connection.

“So, if we’re both messed up, where does that leave us?”

“Right here..”

He said, the distance between you nonexistent now. He brushed his thumb over your knuckles, leaving a soft trail of warmth you wished would last forever.

“Together in our own little world. What could be more perfect than that?”

You didn’t look back at the house, didn’t dwell on what horrors lived within it or what doom awaited beyond this fleeting moment. You focused on Tate, the way he effortlessly flipped the ordinary into the extraordinary. The chill of the night faded, leaving only the warmth of stolen glances, the gentle touch of friendships steeped in something deeper—something hopeful.

“Maybe this is exactly where we need to be."

You whispered, allowing your heart to speak in a way that your mind never could.

He leaned in, and as the world transformed around you, you surrendered to the feeling of promise hanging in the air—an intoxicating truth sealed with just an electric spark beneath the stars.

This was great for upcomming spooky season! I can write anything for any character babes and don’t forget- requests are always open and welcome <33

I love you guys so much

El <3

(all images were made by: El via canva & paint)

[my-own-walker]

could you write also headcanons for tate langdon a mix of smut and romantic/ fluff? please? ☠️

Tate Langdon - Headcanons

note: why yes of course my love. thank you.

+++

He is really emo. Like really emo.

That’s okay though because it makes him super emotionally available.

He’s totally willing and able to tell you what’s wrong when things are wrong.

He’s basically obsessed with you. He just wants you around and wants you happy.

You’re always happy around him.

When you two first met, he took on a dominant role because that’s how he assumed men were supposed to act in relationships.

You made it very clear early on how willing you were to be dominant.

Aka, during sex you call the shots. Always.

He has a mommy kink and a lesser known praise kink.

Makes sense considering he was raised by a narcissist woman.

You make it known how well he’s doing in bed. Very well known. And he appreciates it very much.

He’s a big old softie. Not a mean bone in his body when it comes to you. When it comes to protecting you, though? That’s entirely different.

He will do anything to make sure you’re safe and happy.

In bed, you’re the boss. Otherwise, he knows his way around and how to keep you safe and happy.

He gives you fresh cut flowers from his garden regularly. He can’t give you many gifts, but he does his best.

He actually hand makes you things as gifts. Yes.

He’s a writer. He loves to write you poems and stories. He’ll even draw you little pictures to go along with what he writes.

His poems and love letters consist of the most beautiful, timeless words you’ve ever heard.

He’s really well-read, so he uses his favorite phrases from books he’s read in his writings to you.

You and he love to listen to music together.

You bond over your mutual love of alternative music. Nirvana, Smashing Pumpkins, The Smiths.

You introduce him to new artists you like. In turn he’ll sing the songs to you when you need comforting.

[fbfh]

Tate Langdon dating hcs

wc: 1.4k

warnings/content: discussions of yandere behavior and how tate differs from that, general obsessive/codependant tendancies bc it's tate, optional creative arts!reader

pairing: Tate x gn reader (no pronouns/gendered descriptions)

a/n: tate is a babyboy who needs to be kissed on his forehead right fucking now yes I know what he did I'm not taking criticism on this. also I just posted this by accident and had to completely delete and reformat it so if you saw that no you didn't

EDIT: I finished coven and realized I used a gif of Kyle and Zoe instead of Tate and Violet which has now been fixed. I cannot keep these blonde boys straight.

Okay so I don’t even want call this a yandere fic bc this is just about Tate in the source material so I don’t want to label him a full out yandere

But like

He kind of is

The other reason I don’t necessarily want to give him the yandere label is bc most of the time (from what I’ve read at least) yanderes usually don’t have their darling’s best interest at heart/can be okay with them being hurt or in danger

That shit would NEVER fly with Tate

I wrote a whole drabble about this but I know a lot of people have said Tate would kill you so you can be in the house with him forever

Yandere!Tate, yes

Regular Tate?? Hell no!!

There’s an element of selflessness that Tate possesses that gives him an important distinction from the yandere archetype

Because a lot of times yanderes want their darlings all for themselves

They want to be their darling’s only one, which can manifest in very selfish motivations

But Tate?????

Tate cares about your feelings more than his

And he’s proved this by acting selflessly for your benefit over and over 

Even when there is literally zero chance for him to get anything out of it

He doesn’t care

Because his motivations regarding you are genuinely selfless 

You are his priority, point blank period

Because Tate is…. Very dedicated

The thing with him is that when he latches onto you 

He’s on for eternity

Not just for life bc he’s kind of an immortal ghost

He’ll be with you until you decide you don’t want him there anymore

And even then

He’s still going to love you just as much as he does now forever

Like he’s really not one to halfass anything

Especially how he feels about someone

Because he usually either doesn’t give a fuck about them or cares too much

He cares too much about pleasing all the women in the house

He cares too much about trying to make Nora happy, gain her approval and praise

And then there’s you

He either doesn’t give a fuck about someone, cares too much, or in your case, might end up deeply obsessed with and dogmatically devoted to you

Which he is

Honestly all it took was a few days before his heart was in your hands

You probably didn’t even realize for a while just how into you he is

But by the time he’s openly confessing his love for you

By the time he’s telling you that he would never let anyone or anything hurt you

That he cares about your feelings more than his

That he’s never felt this way about someone before

You have a pretty good idea of where he’s at

He doesn’t hide his feelings from you after that, he doesn’t think he could if he tried

Tate is hopelessly devoted to you

There’s no other way to describe it

We know he’s clingy

We know he’s affectionate

We know he’s a switchy bottom with raging mommy issues

We’ve established that

And you could tell all of that since you met him

But when he really lays his heart at your feet

When he really finds himself fully committed to you

That’s when all that in theory becomes in practice

When days go by and he’s glued to your side the whole time

Even just lingering nearby while you’re brushing your teeth or making food 

That’s when you realize that he really really just likes being your lapdog 

He loves it

He loves when you give him casual affection, he loves when you rest your hand on his back or brush hair out of his eyes

And he fucking loves when you use him as a reward or break from other tasks you have to do

Every time your little study timer goes off, you drop what you’re doing and run right over to pull him in for a kiss

He’s already thrown his arms around you

You just make out for like ten minutes until you have to start studying again

If it’s not for something super important he absolutely will try to distract you by kissing your neck and squeezing your waist

If it is super important or a subject you struggle in, he’ll help you study

He doesn’t want to stop kissing you, but he will

Because he knows how important this is to you

So he’ll pull away and start reading you flashcards 

And like

He���ll be happy to do it

He won’t complain or be upset

He won’t have anything else he’d rather be doing

Tate Langdon took “if he wanted to he would” and fucking ran with it

Oh my god

And god help you if you do anything artistic or creative

Because as soon as he finds out that you’re an artist or a writer or an actor or musician or singer or dancer or sewist

Or literally anything else

It will once again alter his brain chemistry

The second you start showing him your art or writing or songs

It fucking changes him

Like

The weight and significance of the renaissance and every major artistic movement and cultural moment ever influenced by the arts is now residing in you

That’s how he feels

He takes one look at what you do and he gets it

He never really cared until now

But jesus fucking christ everything you do needs to be in a museum

Sometimes you see him just staring at your art or rereading your writing and poetry or flipping through your sketchbooks

Watching videos of you in musicals or plays or dance recitals 

Because when he sees the world the way you do

Whatever medium that might be through

Everything makes sense

He understands it, and he feels understood

He feels like you’re talking to him through your art

He feels a sense of peace, tranquility

If you think he couldn’t put you up on an even higher pedestal

Surprise

Not only are you the greatest person in the world

But you’re also an artistic genius 

There’s this deep sense of like

Privilege he feels to see everything you’re creating right now 

Even just your diary entries, the way you shape words, the flow of your stream of consciousness is so beautiful

He watches you so much more closely now, seeing the way you dance in your everyday movements

The way you channel and portray characters so flawlessly when you’re telling him about your day and the drama that happened at school

He could spend days looking through the boxes and albums of photos you’ve taken

He probably has

Because there’s no way to be closer to you than taking in these organic, raw forms of passion and self expression

He can’t get enough of it

Tate is dedicated to you

Not only as your boyfriend

But as your number one fan

Even if you’re not as creative

He still believes you have the best taste of anyone he’s ever met hands down

The books you like, the shows and movies you watch together

Even your music taste

Tate hasn’t liked a single song that’s been released after 1994

Until you handed him a pair of headphones and said you think he’ll like this

You sat him down and listened to the entirety of the black parade by my chemical romance

The whole album

And it changed his whole worldview 

Yet again, one move and you’ve altered his brain chemistry 

Even with other stuff he wouldn’t normally like

He likes it because you like it

He’ll watch Love Island and 90 Day Fiance with you for hours and love every minute of it

He loves feeling close to you, he loves that you want to share things you enjoy with him

He especially loves after a while when you’re starting to get kind of sleepy 

Because you look so soft and adorable like that

But also because he knows he can put his head in your lap and you’ll play with  his hair

You’ll run your fingers through his soft hair and scratch his back

And he feels so close to you

Which is all he ever wants

It’s always going to be you you you

And right now, he has exactly what he wants

[dionvsian]

masterlist !!

theodore nott

theo meeting hogwarts cool girl

[redroses07]

real

[nolovelingers]

hi omg i loved ur hcs for ethan landry as ur bf <333 do you think you could write something like that, but for tate langdon, please?

TATE LANGDON AS YOUR BOYFRIEND ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧

ೄྀ࿐ requested ! ˊˎ-

headcanons — // cw ! : dark themes ,, obsessive tendencies,, nsfw !! similar to ethans i try to keep these as realistic as my silly little mind is able to think !! very toxic relationship 🌀 talk of self harm & smoking

——————————————————————————

 SFW !!

TATE LANGDON AS YOUR BOYFRIEND . . . is like meeting someone who’s not like anyone you’ve ever met. there are no duplicates, copies or a person even remotely similar to the dark eyed boy.

there’s always been something about his odd personality that has a strange charm to it. he’s always held himself up to his own standards and even back before the entire westfield high situation he’s been very picky about his living style and the people he surrounds himself with.

so therefore when he met you, the stilled silence to his violent tornado, it was as if everything else in the world dimmed and the spotlight shone to you.

he would never leave you alone. not when you move rooms, not if you try to have people over, not when you stormed into the backyard and sat under the flickering moon as you desperately grasped for alone time. not even when you go to the bathroom.

the second he came into your life and you allowed him to, privacy no longer existed. the only time he would ever leave was if he had his own emergency to partake to or if your guardian(s) were around.

at first it was cute, you couldn’t really deny the fact that having a boyfriend so attached to the hip and dependent made your heart flutter in some sort of way. but you quickly learned that even as dreamy as it sounds it’s not all that great.

if you run to the bathroom and lock yourself inside the langdon boy is fast to follow suite, confused on where or what you were running from until he watched you shut the restroom door and he slid his back against it; knees brought up to his chest as he patiently waited for you to come back out. and trust me, he will wait. doesn’t matter if it’s hours or even half of the day. he won’t move an inch.

you hardly invite friends over but the few times you do you’re fast to regret it. you tell him your friends coming over, hoping he’ll take the hint to leave, and he’ll only blankly stare at you; face devoid of any emotion as he mutters a gentle ‘oh’ before returning to looking through your collections of whatever it is you have an abundance of. maybe books, cd’s, vinyls, comics, posters, crystals/rocks, stuffed animals, funky socks or a hoard of animal bones; there’s nothing in your room tate hasnt gotten his hands on.

even after you alert him of the approaching company unless you plan on shoving him out or repeatedly asking him to leave he doesn’t plan on going anywhere. he’s terrible at reading social cues and you have to spell out the simplest things for him.

he’s quick to judge your friends, not one of them is good enough for you in his mind and he’ll be sure to voice that. sometimes even straight to their face; with a blank expression and no emotion behind his eyes. it doesn’t matter how close or how long you’ve known someone, could even be your whole life, they’re not good for you like he is.

he often says the most terrible and disgusting things about them to your face, judging you heavily for the people you hang around and making you feel insecure.

he is definitely the type to drive wedges in between all of your relationships. just with your friends at first but as the relationship furthers he begins to do the same to your family too.

obviously he can’t leave the house but if there was ever a time you ranted about someone you dislike, hurt your feelings or overall anything spoken poorly about them he would remember it till halloween and carefully map out their murder. i mean, you wanted them to die right? why else would you tell him about it?

tate is extremely oblivious to your emotions. he loves you so much and it’s clear to him you must be meant for each other. so no matter how you feel back, reciprocated or not tate would assume you liked him too. he refuses to be in the friend zone and throws a hissy fit if you ever even try.

as we all known he’s one of the prettiest criers out there and this is very useful when it comes to manipulating. he knows you have a weak spot for seeing his tears and now anytime you try to lecture him, kick him out or he feels as though you’re not understanding his (rather malicious) side of the story the tears are quick to fall. but the tricky thing here is that they are always real tears of sadness and regret; it’s just as though he’s reprogrammed himself to cry at any minor inconvenience.

his favorite cuddle position is spooning and he often likes to be the little spoon. no one in his life has ever cared for him enough (or at least in his eyes they haven’t), and when you have your arms securely around him, pulling him into you; it’s like heaven on earth. he feels so safe, warm and comforted. there are of course days where the rolls switch but there’s really no denying he prefers to be the one being spooned.

id definitely say he’s a sort of pathological liar and even when he doesn’t mean for it to happen lies fall from his mouth as easy as tears stream from his eyes. it could be about the stupidest shit or it could be actually serious as he tries to work his way out of a situation he’s actually at fault for.

this makes it really hard to trust him, because it’s eerily scary how easy it is for him to lie straight to your face with even blinking, or come up with excuses on the spot. i know people like to claim they’re usually good at picking up when people are lying to them but with tate it’s a huge challenge. he’s unnaturally good at it and doesn’t hesitate.

it’s not easy to pick up on his fibs in the moment but there are a few times you’re able to realize later on; as his stories don’t add up or he forgot his lie in the first place and comes up with a completely different one when asked the same question from before.

and even then once he gets caught; deny deny deny. you’re the one in the wrong for accusing him of something like that when he just has a poor memory and suddenly you’re the bad guy for pointing fingers even though you’re the one with evidence and he just throws out empty accusations.

if you smoke i think he’d love to break into your stash a lot, he didn’t use weed before his death but once you introduce him i see him as a sort of mini-stoner. he’ll use your stuff without even asking. he kind of contradicts himself in that way because for the most part when he was still living he thought people who smoked or drank were stupid, ruining their body. he looked down on them. when you’re dead though you cant really destroy your body and though he still doesn’t like drinking he’ll indulge in smoking.

if you do any sort of after school activity or club he’ll encourage you to quit, telling you how it’s all stupid and a waste of time that you could be spending together. if you refuse he’ll try to sabotage it for you the best he can while being confined to the house. maybe sending a nasty email to your teacher/coach or by ruining a uniform or equipment you use.

there’s definitely times when he’s asked you to drop out of highschool to which you immediately declined and there’s not really much else he could do about this nuisance.

langdon will put you onto his likes and interests, music or movies he has a taste for. he’ll try the stuff you like as well but he’s quick to judge and doesn’t do second thoughts or tries. if he doesn’t like it he won’t even pretend to and will harsh out negative reviews before you turn it off. and then he’ll act confused on why you suddenly stopped it but he’s very glad you did. he couldn’t stand it.

and because of this when you’re hanging out it’s all about what tate wants to do. the music he wants to play. the things he wants to talk about and the films he wants to watch.

jealousy is a major problem for him and the mention of really anyone, but especially if it’s a guy, will have his blood pumping and his head spinning.

to him, he only has you. it should be the same way around, he absolutely hates that you have and know other people that aren’t just him.

tw? — if you ever try to leave him he goes all out and puts on the most dramatic show you’ve literally ever seen. throwing himself against walls, screaming and crying his eyes out, burying his head in his knees and clutching at his hair while begging and pleading for you to stay. he doesn’t get angry at all but turns more pathetic and desperate as he clings onto you. lots of “ill do better”, “you can’t leave me”, “tell me what I did wrong” and “you’re all I have”’s leaving his lips. if this doesn’t work he’ll harm himself in front of you, smashing his head against the wall or even using a sharp tool to cut into his arm while only asking one thing. “is this what you want?”

tw? — it’s a very draining relationship and can impact your mental space a lot. if you self harm he will catch you eventually, whether it’s while in the act or the scars/scabs from after. he’ll grab your arm (not assuming that’s where you sh, just so he has a grip on you), asking you how you could be so selfish (which is his way of caring) and then asking you to cut him instead anytime you wanted to hurt yourself. this is obviously off putting and drives a wedge between you for a while, which he will trap you back by guilting you and apologizing. (even though he was completely serious when asking and still is.)

the blonde haired boy lives for your validation. he’s constantly asking for reassurance and pestering you with loads of questions. whether if it’s if you like his outfit to if you still had feelings for him or not.

he’s a huge listener than he is a talker and could sit for hours, happily criss crossed and a toothless and content smile on his face while you go on about every little detail of your day.

he’s definitely asked you to do his eyeliner before but would rather die (again) than have anything else applied to his skin. it would cripple his masculinity.

overall he’s very touchy, craving for any contact he can get with you. resting his head on your shoulder, holding hands, his hand on your thigh or pinkies intwined. he always has to be touching you in some way.

recommending books and songs are one of his all time favorite things to do and he does expect you to read or listen to all of his suggestions. he’ll ask you about it a few days later after initially suggesting it and will get upset if you still haven’t looked into it.

tate hardly gets angry, he’s very sensitive as we all know and most of the time it ends in his hysterical sobs; but when the fire inside him lights it’s terrifying.

if you weren’t the one to make him angry you’d usually be okay, he’d rant about it to you while you played with his hair; describing all of the horrendous ways he wanted to see the person or thing he’s mad at crash and burn. if he’s angry at you it’s like he moves on his own, putting you in a chokehold and slamming you against the wall, yelling and pointing fingers at you. pushing items off your desks/dressers/shelf’s and you make him go away; scared of him hurting you. he wouldn’t, not intentionally, but it was a very scary sight to see.

of course within hours he’d return, tears streaming down his face and begging on his knees for your forgiveness, arms latched around your legs as he sobbed into them and refused to let go until you forgave him.

as much as he loves you and wants you to be together forever, he would never purposefully go to the extent of killing you in the house so you could stay with him forever at the age you are. it sucks, he knows it sucks, but he does have a boundary set for that. he doesn’t want you stuck there for the rest of your life. he’s just hoping you’ll stay in that house with him willingly anyway. he’d let you go after crying his heart out for days, but he’d never let you forget him or move on. and being honest; he would probably start to regret the decision.

his love for you goes beyond words, it consumes him completely. he knows now his purpose. the day he died in that house and the years that passed waiting up to the day he met you.

he was made for loving you, in his own sick way. you are his entire heart.

NSFW !!

tate is a switch in the bedroom, but he’s so easy to dominate which makes him lead towards being more submissive. of course he’ll be in his dominant moods, there’s no doubt, but it’s laughable how easy it is to take control back over him.

he loves to overstimulate you, fucking you or relentlessly giving you head for hours, not giving you rest inbetween as you beg for him to stop through shattered moans.

(if you’re a female) — we all know about his mommy issues and he definitely incorporates that into the bedroom in some ways.

(if you’re a female) — he’s a tits man rather than ass and anytime you’re going at it your shirt has to be off, he doesn’t care what size breasts you have all he wants is to attach his mouth around your nipples and tease them with his tongue, sucking lightly before leaving hickeys all over them.

(if you’re a female) — he has the best fuck me eyes the worlds ever seen and when he’s bottoming he can’t stop himself from calling you ‘mama’.

he’s very kinky, and he has put on the infamous leather suit before to fuck you. it makes him feel more powerful, like he’s in control.

when he’s topping he’ll have one hand pinning one of your arms above your hand while using his other to interlace your fingers, crying into your neck with all the pleasure he’s feeling.

he’s not the greatest on cleaning up afterwords but he always snuggles you, cuddling up to you in a ball and resting his head soundly on your chest as his breathing slows and he drifts off.

but the most important thing to know — tate is godly at sex. he doesn’t have the most experience in the world but he definitely wasn’t a virgin by the time you met and he knows what he’s doing.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ a/n : thank you sm for requesting , made my day !! i hope that this is to your liking, i appreciate the compliment ab my ethan headcanon i tried my best <33. my inbox is open to all !!

started 08.06.23. finished 08.07.23.

©️nolovelingers 2023

[vi0l3tluvsu]

Dating (alive) Tate Langdon Headcanons

-> constantly stalking you. You can feel His eyes on you but you never see him

-> he’s stolen your clothing more than once, and hasn’t returned it. “I don’t know where it went! Why would I?”

-> He scared off most of your friends so that he’s the only person you have

-> Crawls into your arms and falls asleep super quickly

-> Loves to play guitar for you

-> he’s more peaceful when he’s awake than when he’s asleep (plagued with nightmares)

-> lets you see his bullet wounds

-> highly competitive when it comes to card or board games

-> his big doe eyes get him everything he wants

-> before you started to date he found out what all your socials were and created fake accounts so as to “support” you

[fear-is-truth]

WARNINGS: perv!best friend!tate langdon﹒flirty!fem!reader ﹒suggestive themes ﹒MDNI A/N: for everyone, but specifically 🃏anon.

TATE LANGDON’s crush on you is almost painfully obvious to every resident of the murder house but you. you’ve always been naturally flirty, and your friendly touchiness only adds to the confusion. you love wrapping your arms around your friends in quick, affectionate hugs, not noticing how tate takes advantage of each one.

every time you hug him, he pulls you in just a bit tighter than necessary, holding on longer than any of your other friends would. you laugh it off, always thinking it's just tate being his clingy and pathetic self, but for him, it’s closest he can get to having you. you never seem to notice how his hands linger on your waist or how he buries his face in your shoulder—breathing in the sweet scent of your shampoo and perfume. more than often, under the guise of being playful, tate will grip onto your waist as he begins to rock back and forth slightly, grinding his clothed crotch against your ass. the movement subtle enough that you remain obliviously unaware to the hardness forming behind you.

the way you run your fingers through his golden curls or press your cheek to his feels innocent on your part, just another part of your naturally affectionate nature. but to tate, it’s everything he dreams about. painting a picture of you laying beneath him, cheeks flushed and kiss-swollen lips after having your cervix abused by his cock.

the way his name rolls off your tongue, a friendly, high pitched squeal of “tate!” brings his mind straight to the gutter. oh, how he’d like to hear your voice all scratchy and broken, viscous cum dribbling down your lips having just stuffed the length of his dick down your tight little throat.

[frankenkyle19]

I Bet I Could Scare You

Word count: 3k

Tate Langdon x reader smut

description/warnings: smut with little plot, fingering (barely), handjob, p in v sex, unprotected sex, Emotional Tate because he’s a psycho 24/7 and I think that’s it. This is based off a recent dream I had. Oh also barely proofread so there’s probably (definitely) mistakes.

You had a long time fascination with the infamous Murder House. You couldn’t help it! Curious beyond belief about what the walls held inside, you had been planning ways to get into it for weeks now. It was currently sitting abandoned, a few window panes broken and Ivy beginning to grow over the bricks, trailing across it in waves of green. It looked absolutely beautiful, an aura of mystery and danger seemed to surround the place, but it just intrigued you more. What was that saying? Oh right. Curiosity killed the cat. 

Curious by nature, you couldn’t just not explore the house, having started with scoping out the perimeter, looking out for other people as you adventured around the side, finding your way into the backyard and exploring further. There was a beautiful gazebo set up in the backyard but as pretty as it was, the second you approached it, you felt an unexplainable sorrow, something that burrowed deep into your bones and left an ache in your chest. 

When you finally built up the nerve, you went inside. Stepping over the threshold of the door, a chill settled against you as you wrapped your arms around yourself in an attempt to warm.

That day you didn’t stay long, not even venturing upstairs to see what was hidden up there. You also didn’t go into the basement either. You left after only looking around on the ground floor, hearing what sounded like a whistle  down the hall and practically running back out the door, not looking back.

That was until curiosity got the better of you. You found yourself standing in the doorway once more before stepping inside, hands clenched tightly at your sides.

Today was the day you’d finally explore the rest of the house. Deciding that upstairs was probably less creepy of a start than the basement, you made your way up the stairs that creaked with each step. You winced at each minute sound, practically holding your breath as you finally reached the top steps. 

You wiped the cold sweat that had formed on your brow before continuing. Each door was thankfully open so you could see inside without having to open them individually. This was a beautiful house, and from the looks of it, the previous owners had just… abandoned everything and left. Weird, but you’d have to question that later. Maybe they died here? The question lingered in the back of your mind but you didn’t focus on it for too long when you heard shifting and what sounded like footsteps downstairs. 

Had someone followed you in?

Swallowing hard, you peeked down the staircase, seeing what appeared to be just the outline of a man. He didn’t appear threatening, but of course you had no real clue. He seemed to be dressed in an oversized sweater and ripped jeans. He had dirty blond hair and honestly seemed to be around your age. Was he some dumb boy who had seen you wander in here and decided to follow you to either scare you or… perhaps do something worse? 

Against your better judgment you began to creep down the large staircase, following the man just out of sight. You felt a need to keep your eyes on him. Like he’d disappear if you so much as blinked. The longer you followed him around the abandoned house, the more you realized that this was quite literally the dumbest thing you’d ever done. How everyone died in horror movies. Jesus, how stupid could you be?

Finally, you saw him walk to the entrance of the basement and go down the steps. That was it. You were not going down there. You made your way to the top of the stairs and looked down into unending darkness, trying to squint your eyes to see into it with no luck. You turned around to finally get out of there when you crashed into the chest of someone. A man. The man you’d been following for the past ten minutes.

His chocolatey brown eyes met yours with a softness you hadn’t expected from them. No matter, you let out a shrill scream, backing up away from the boy before nearly falling down the basement steps. In fact you would have fallen down them and probably broken your neck if he hadn’t reached out a hand to catch you. His hand was cold to the touch as it wrapped around your wrist and you noticed just how pale he was in comparison. A ghostly white..

He used his free hand that wasn’t gripping your wrist to cover your mouth to stop the scream that bubbled up from your throat. The noise died in your throat as you looked at him with a mix of shock and absolute fear. There was literally no one else here, this man could easily kill you if he wanted to.

You blinked a few times, trying to steady your breathing as he carefully tugged you away from the stairs to safety before letting go of you all together, giving you space.

“What’re you doing here?” He asked, tone accusatory as he furrowed his brows in a gentle manner.

“I could ask you the same thing-“ You replied, raising a brow as a frown settled on your features. 

The boy opened his mouth to speak before pausing. Telling you wouldn’t prove to be easy, and you may even laugh at him in disbelief.

“I live around here-“ He lied. Well… was it really a lie if he had lived here? In this very house? Years ago..

“My name’s Tate.” He continued, looking at you expectantly as if this was some sort of normal, everyday interaction.

You told him your name, against better judgment, feeling drawn to him in an odd, messed up way. There was a sort of darkness in him. One similar to what lived inside of you. 

“Pretty.” He said offhandedly, seeming completely unbothered by the whole entire situation. What a strange being he was..

You shrugged at his comment, rolling your eyes a bit. If he was trying to flirt with you, it definitely wasn’t going to work. You didn’t get the hots for random people that followed you into an abandoned house… Despite how.. Cute they might be. 

Part of you questioned how exactly Tate appeared behind you so fast despite having seen him just walk down the steps in front of you. It sat in the back of your brain and you knew something about it all wasn’t right. The only problem was Tate was so charming you didn’t want to believe anything was wrong. You just wanted to stay blissfully oblivious for as long as possible.

And that’s exactly what you did. Over the coming weeks you and Tate grew closer, much to your surprise, and despite having a suspicion that he wasn’t exactly who he said he was, you decided to ignore it for now and just enjoy having him around. 

You knew something was up when he said he could only meet in the house. Not around the neighborhood or anywhere else. You knew then… You knew it but you didn’t want to face the fact that maybe the person you were talking to wasn’t exactly… Alive.

It was a hard concept to grasp at first, I mean.. One of your only friends just so happened to be a ghost? How does one just go about their life after learning that kind of information? You’d always believed in ghosts but you never knew they could be so… real. So apparent and able to communicate with you..

Today when you walked into the murder house, something was different. It was as if the spirits that resided there now knew what you had discovered about them, and they didn’t seem too happy about it.

Suspiciously you couldn’t find Tate. He wasn’t in the living room or kitchen like usual when the two of you would meet up and some searching around the house left you empty handed. It was as if he disappeared. 

With your only other option being the basement you made your way to the steps, swallowing back your anxiety as you tried to control your breathing. You stared down into the nothingness once more and just contemplated on if you should walk out of the house and never come back, knowing he wouldn’t be able to follow.

You took a step towards the first stair when you paused, feeling a presence behind you. Without turning around you knew exactly who it was.

You felt breathing against your neck and a cold hand brush against your own. He didn’t say anything, just stayed like that, waiting for you to speak.

“T-Tate?” You whispered, shivering at the feeling of him breathing down your neck. You were a bit uncomfortable but only because he was acting so different from his usual self.

“You know.” Was all he said, tone almost sounding hurt as he pulled away just a bit to cut all contact with your body.

Whipping around, you made eye contact with the boy, his own eyes dark and filled with a sort of sadness that you didn’t quite understand. A longing and a disappointment.

Your stomach dropped at his words. You know. About him being a ghost? Well, that was true. But how did he know? Had you been that obvious? 

You nodded slowly, never once breaking contact with his eyes, yours staring into his soul. “Mhm, I do.. I-“ You were at a loss for words, what exactly was there to say because you were completely stumped. 

“How?” Tate asked. You didn’t like how he used very few words, compared to his talkative self that could never seem to shut up. This Tate was different, darker. 

“I figured it out- it wasn’t- that hard.” You said, fidgeting with your hands nervously 

“You’re always so cold, you won’t meet me anywhere besides this house? The way you appeared behind me at the top of the stairs that first day I met you? I put it all together, Tate.”

Tate nodded, contemplating what to say.

“You’re smarter than I thought.” 

You weren’t sure if you should take that as a compliment or an insult, because it sure sounded like the latter.

“Thanks,” you replied, snarky. Your breathing had luckily calmed but the second he took a step forward it sped up again.

“Are you scared of me?”

“No.”

“I bet I could scare you.” He took another step towards you.

What exactly did he mean by that? 

You stood your ground as he towered over you, bodies almost flush against each other as you slowly looked up and met his eyes once more. 

He leaned down and captured your lips with his, kissing you softly. Despite the ghostly chill that rolled off of him, his lips were surprisingly warm and soft against your own and you found yourself closing your eyes and kissing back.

Tate deepened the kiss, wrapping his arms around you as he gently ran his thumb down the small of your back, reveling in the way you arched away from the feeling closer to his chest.

“I’ve wanted to do this since I saw you.” Tate whispered, leaning down and peppering kisses against your neck

A quiet moan slipped past your lips as you felt him gently grind his hips against you, the beginnings of a hard on definitely felt even through all your layers of clothing.

You cursed under your breath as you pulled Tate up for another kiss, nipping at his bottom lip which caused him to whine softly. Were you really going to do this? Sleep with a ghost? The answer was hell yes.

You two tugged at each other's clothes as the kisses intensified tenfold, each trying to pull the other to the couch.

You pushed Tate back against the couch before climbing onto his lap, kissing him eagerly as your hands roamed his clothed chest.

Tate’s hands wrapped around to grip at your ass, pulling you closer to him as he arched up into you, rubbing his clothed erection against your already soaked pants.

He managed to get your shirt up and off of you before working on your bra, and much to your surprise he actually managed to get it off with little struggle. Hm. So not his first time, okay. You’d keep that in mind.

You then struggled to get his shirt up and off him before tossing it onto the floor, hands coming to run across his now bare chest, reveling in the way his muscles moved against your hands. 

Tate flipped the two of you over, getting on top of you and beginning to shimmy your pants down your legs and off your body, eyes widening at the wet spot in your panties.

“Are you a virgin?” He asked, panting as he fumbled with his belt before pulling it off and managing to get his jeans halfway down his thighs.

You furrowed your brows a bit. What an odd question..?

“Uh- no? Are you?” You decided to ask, but from the way he acted you presumed he wasn’t.

And just like you had expected Tate shook his head no, pulling you closer as he ripped your panties off in one harsh tug.

The fabric ripped from your skin hard, leaving a mark but you were too desperate to even worry about it at the moment.

“No I’m not you’re just- so wet-“ He panted, using his middle and first finger to part your folds, reveling in the way your slick coated his fingers.

“Well of course I am-“ you chuckled. Was he not familiar with how the female body worked? Maybe not.

You moaned softly as he thrust one finger into you, your home greedily sucking him in, to the knuckle and when he curled his finger upwards just the slightest bit, you were arching into the touch, desperate pleas leaving your lips for more. More more more. 

Tate chuckled, shaking his head “patience.” Yeah okay, screw that.

You pulled him down for another kiss as you dragged his boxers off of him, taking him into your hand and slowly stroking him to full hardness.

A quiet whine slipped from his lips as he pulled away just enough from your lips to make eye contact with you, urging his hips forward until his tip slid across your entrance, collecting some of your slick.

“Patience, remember?” You teased, brow raised as you chuckled softly, helping to guide him to your entrance before he pushed into you.

The slight pain from him stretching you out was a welcomed feeling which soon faded and turned into pleasure. He filled you up perfectly and you were able to feel each and every ride and bump of his cock.

Tate gripped onto your shoulders as he gave an experimental thrust, looking you over to make sure you weren’t in any pain.

“N-not hurting you, am I?” He asked, swallowing hard as he looked between the two of you, watching as your hole greedily swallowed his cock.

You gently cupped his cheek, pulling him down closer to you. You felt his hot breath against your cheek as he leaned into your palm.

“No, Tate. Feels so good- you feel so fucking good inside me, baby.” You groaned out and this seemed to trigger something inside of him because he steadied himself once more before pulling almost all the way out and slamming himself back in, balls slapping against your skin as he hit a spot inside you that made you seize up.

He seemed to like this reaction out of you because he did it again and again and again. Each time the air was knocked out of your lungs and you kept making pathetic little whines as he fucked you.

“‘Mine,” He growled as he thrust into you “All mine.” His tone was harsh but also a sense of desperation was hidden inside it as well. 

Your bodies rocked against each other, the air around you thick with the scent of sex and surely the other ghosts were not very happy with the two of you, but you couldn’t care less right now, you just knew you never wanted Tate to stop fucking you.

You clutched onto his shoulders, digging your nails into his skin, leaving marks that would soon disappear thanks to him being a ghost. Much to your dismay though. You’d love to see him all marked up.

Tate’s thrusts became uneven quite quickly as his body trembled, his eyes giving you a look that said more than any words could. He was close. 

You reached down and circled your clit with your fingers, arching up and pushing his cock deeper inside you, practically hitting your service and a twinge of pain spiked through you, a shock to your senses but it also seemed to intensify the pleasure tenfold. 

“Fuck- Tate I’m close-“ You groaned out, your hips rocking against each others as he pounded into you, burying his face into the crook of your neck as he cried out, biting down onto your shoulder to conceal his grunts and groans.

You felt warmth burst inside you and by the way Tate froze, bucking weakly a few more times before nearly collapsing on you, you knew he had come. The feeling of his warmth filling you and how he replaced your fingers with his own, circling your clit roughly, you came, squeezing around him and milking him for all he had.

Tate gasped, wincing a bit at the over sensitivity that took hold of him in mere seconds after his release.

He pulled out of you and he panted before collapsing next to you on the couch, chest rising and falling heavily.

You pulled him into your arms, peppering kisses across his face as the two of you came down from your high.

A quiet chuckle bubbled up your throat until you could contain it no longer and begin to laugh almost hysterically, causing Tate to look at you, concerned. 

“What? What’s so funny?” He asked. Surely you weren’t laughing at him?

“I just-“ You tried to say through your fits of laughter.

“I just had sex with a ghost.” You laughed, wiping the tears that had formed in your eyes. 

Tate gave you a blank stare before nodding.

“Yup. Yeah you sure did.”

[ahqkas]

♯WICKED GAME ; tate langdon

PAIRING! tate langdon x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS! the world was on fire and no one could save you but him

WORD COUNT! 2.3k

WARNINGS / TAGS! fluff, angst, kissing, mention of tate’s past, reader is described to have hair

NOTES! the first song is ‘lavender moon’ by haroula rose , the second one is ‘wicked game’ by chris isaak . all credits to the pretty devider below belong to @menschenopfer !

THE LATE AFTERNOON SUN FILTERED THROUGH THE CRACKED BLINDS, casting golden streaks across your room. Dust motes floated lazily in the air, caught in the dying light. You were sprawled out on your bed, headphones in hand, scrolling through your playlist for something that matched the mood. Tate was beside you, perched on the edge of the bed, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. He'd become a fixture in your life, as constant as the house itself, though infinitely more complicated.

You pressed play on a random song and handed him one of the earbuds. He took it without a word, his fingers brushing against yours in a way that sent a shiver up your arm. The touch was brief but electric, a reminder of the strange, magnetic pull that had drawn you to him from the start.

❛ White walls always weep

When I try to fall asleep

In this city by the sea

Walk the memories

Just me and the lavender moon

She knows

My heart belongs to you ❜

There was something about Tate — something dark and dangerous, but also deeply comforting. Maybe it was the way he always seemed to know what you were thinking before you said it, or the way he looked at you, like you were the only person in the world who truly mattered. It should have scared you, how easily he got under your skin, how effortlessly he'd slipped into your life and made himself at home. But it didn't. If anything, you welcomed it, welcomed him, because with Tate, you didn't have to pretend. You could just be.

❛ Filled with secrets like these

Haunted by long gone dreams

She bends down low

Walks me home

Just me and the lavender moon

She knows

My heart belongs to you ❜

The music played softly between you, the familiar rhythm of a song you'd heard a thousand times before. Tate closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall, and for a moment, you just watched him, taking in the sharp angles of his face, the way the fading light softened his features. He looked almost peaceful, like this was where he belonged — right here, beside you. Like an angel.

A few more songs passed in comfortable silence, the kind you'd grown to cherish with him. No need for words, no pressure to fill the quiet with meaningless chatter. Just the two of you, together, in a world that often felt too big and too empty.

❛ The world was on fire and no one could save me but you

It's strange what desire will make foolish people do ❜

You glanced at Tate through your lashes, wondering how he'd react to the song, but his expression remained unreadable, his eyes still closed as if lost in some distant memory.

It was impossible not to think of Tate when you heard those words. Impossible not to think of the way he'd become your world in such a short time, the way you were drawn to him despite the warnings in the back of your mind, the ones that whispered that this was dangerous, that Tate was dangerous. But you ignored them, like you always did, because nothing else mattered when he was around. Nothing else made sense without him.

You felt his gaze on you before you opened your eyes, a slow-burning intensity that made your heart skip a beat. When you finally looked at him, he was watching you with that familiar, unreadable expression — part longing, part sadness, all wrapped up in a kind of quiet desperation that tugged at something deep inside you.

"Do you think," he began, his voice hesitant, "it's wrong to want something you can't have?"

The question hung in the air between you, heavy with implication. You knew what he was asking, what he wasn't saying. You knew him well enough by now to recognize the way he danced around the truth, always skirting the edges of it, never fully diving in. It was as if he was afraid that speaking it aloud would make it real, would make it hurt more.

Your throat tightened, and you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "I think . . . we can't help what we want."

His eyes darkened, a shadow passing over his features, and for a moment, you thought he might look away, might retreat back into that guarded place where you couldn't follow. But he didn't. Instead, he leaned forward, closing the small distance between you, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"I want you," he said, the words raw and unfiltered, like they'd been torn from somewhere deep inside him.

You should have been shocked, maybe even scared. But you weren't. You'd felt this moment building between you for months, a sweet burn that you couldn't have stopped even if you wanted to. And you didn't want to. You wanted him too, even if you weren't ready to admit it, even if the thought of it terrified you.

Tate reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek, and you leaned into his touch like a starved animal without thinking, without hesitation. His hand was cool, but the warmth in his eyes more than made up for it. He watched you with a kind of reverence, like you were something precious, something fragile that he was afraid to break.

"I know it's wrong," he continued, his voice trembling just slightly, "but I can't help it. You're . . . you're everything."

The music swelled, Chris Isaak's voice echoing through the room like a ghost. ❛ What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you . . . ❜

You reached up, covering his hand with yours, holding it against your cheek. The connection between you was undeniable, an invisible thread that pulled you closer even as your mind screamed at you to stop, to think about what you were doing, about what this meant.

But you couldn't stop. You didn't want to.

You were already hooked and Tate was the one reeling.

"Tate," you whispered, your voice shaking as much as his, "I want you too."

The admission hung in the air, a confession that felt both liberating and terrifying. Tate's eyes widened slightly, something unreadable flashing in their depths — hope, maybe, or fear, or something darker that you couldn't quite name. But whatever it was, it was enough to make him close the distance between you, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was as soft as it was desperate.

It was a kiss that spoke of everything you both felt but couldn't say, a kiss that was filled with all the longing, all the fear, all the desire that had been building between you for so long. His hand tangled in your hair, his fingers tightening as if he was afraid you might disappear, might slip away like a dream.

But you didn't pull away. You kissed him back with everything you had, pouring all your confusion, your need, your want into that single, fragile moment. The world outside the room didn't exist — there was only Tate, only the way he made you feel, like you were the center of the universe, like nothing else mattered.

When you finally broke apart, you were both breathing hard, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to catch your breath. The song was still playing, the final notes fading into silence, but neither of you moved to turn it off.

"I don't want to lose you," the boy whispered against your lips, his voice raw and vulnerable in a way you'd never heard before. "I can't lose you."

You squeezed his hand, trying to ignore the way your heart twisted at his words. "You won't. I'm here, Tate. I'm not going anywhere."

When you made the promise that day, you meant it.

Weeks after, you step into the room, the weight of the house pressing in on you like a too-tight garment. The air is thick with history, with secrets embedded in the wallpaper and worn into the grooves of the wooden floorboards. Every creak beneath your feet echoes in the silence, a reminder that this house is alive in ways it shouldn't be.

And then you see him.

Tate Langdon stands by the window, his silhouette framed against the dying light of the afternoon that reminded you of the old time all too well. The sun bleeds into the room, casting long shadows that stretch toward you, but they don't touch him. He's like a figure from another time, a ghost etched in shades of grey, all the life drained from him except for his eyes. Those eyes — honeyed and haunting — lock onto yours, and the world narrows until it's just the two of you, caught in this moment that feels like it could last forever.

You can't move. Your heart pounds in your chest, each beat a reminder of your own mortality. You wonder if he can hear it, if the sound cuts through the heavy silence that wraps around him like a shroud. His gaze is intense, unwavering, and it draws you in, pulls you closer despite the chill that crawls up your spine. You know you should be afraid — everything about him screams danger, from the way he stands too still, to the way he looks at you like he's trying to unravel all your secrets with a single glance.

But you aren't afraid. Not of him.

You've heard the stories from Moira a while ago, the whispered rumors about the boy who died too young, who left behind more than just memories. She said his spirit haunts this house, trapped in the echo of his own sins. But the boy standing before you now — he doesn't seem like a monster to you. Not really. He seems . . . lost. Like he's searching for something, or maybe someone, to bring him back to life, if only for a moment.

You step closer, drawn to him despite the voice in your head screaming for you to turn back, to leave this place and never return. But you can't. Something in his eyes, in the way he watches you, holds you captive. It's a wicked game, this dance between you — dangerous and intoxicating, with no clear end in sight.

He doesn't speak, but you feel the pull of his presence, the magnetic force that tugs at something deep inside you. You reach out, your hand trembling as it crosses the space between you. When your fingers brush against his, a shock runs through you, like touching ice and fire at the same time. You've never questioned the lack of warmth in his touch before. His skin is cold, too cold, but there's something warm in his touch, something that makes your breath catch in your throat.

For a moment, the world around you fades. There's only him, only Tate, standing so close you can feel the faint whisper of his breath against your cheek. He's not like anyone you've ever met, not like anything you've ever known. He's darkness and sorrow and something else — something tender, hidden beneath layers of pain and regret. You feel it in the way his fingers tighten around yours, in the way his eyes search your face as if he's trying to memorize every detail.

You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't want this. But you do.

The song plays in your mind, a haunting melody that echoes in the empty spaces between your thoughts. ❛ No, I don't want to fall in love . . . ❜ It's a lie, you think, because you're already falling, slipping into the abyss with no way to stop yourself. There's no safety net, no promise of salvation, only the cold comfort of his presence and the unspoken connection between you.

Tate moves closer, his other hand lifting to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. His touch is gentle, reverent, as though he's afraid you might be the one to disappear if he presses too hard. His gaze drifts to your lips, and you wonder if he's thinking the same thing you are — that you could close the distance between you with a kiss, that you could taste the darkness on his lips and make it your own again.

But you know better. You know this game is dangerous, that it can only end in heartbreak. And yet, as he leans in, you can't bring yourself to care. The world outside this room, outside this moment, doesn't matter anymore. There's only Tate, and the way he makes you feel — alive, despite the coldness of his touch, despite the fact that he isn't really alive at all.

It's ironic how a ghost can make you feel.

When his lips finally brush against yours, it's like a spark igniting in the darkness, a flame that burns bright and fast, consuming everything in its path. The kiss is soft at first, tentative, as though he's afraid of what might happen if he lets go. But you can feel the desperation beneath it, the hunger in his actions.

And maybe that's what you want. To be drowned, to be consumed by him, by this feeling that defies logic and reason.

The kiss deepens, and you lose yourself in it, in him, until there's nothing left but the two of you, entwined in the darkness. You don't know how long it lasts — seconds, minutes, an eternity — but when you finally pull away, you're breathless, your heart racing in your chest. His eyes are still locked on yours, and you see something in them that takes your breath away. It's not just desire or longing — it's something more, something raw and real, something that terrifies you because you feel it too.

You're falling, and there's no one to catch you.

You're not dreaming. This is real, as real as anything else in this house, as real as the boy standing before you, a boy who's more ghost than flesh but who makes you feel more alive than anyone ever has.

And as you stand there, your hand still in his, you realize that you don't care about the consequences, about the danger, about the inevitability of heartbreak. Because in this moment, with Tate's cold fingers wrapped around yours and the memory of his kiss still lingering on your lips, it's all worth it.

Even if it's just a wicked game.

[heavenlytouches]

Could you do a Tate x Male reader fic. Where the reader is like super alternative (gothhhh). And Tate and him somehow became best friends and the reader’s just giving him a make over, maybe some kissing near the end?

Hello sweetie! Thank you so so much for a request! Also I'm so biased, goths are one of the most amazing groups of people :O So let's give Tate a makeover!

El <3

Tate Langdon- baby bat

*ੈ𑁍༘⋆

MALE reader

<3 (SFW)

TW!- none

Tate and reader are besties :3

Tate gets a goth makeover!!

Tate Langdon

(Tate is purple in this fic so lines don't get mixed up <3)

The sun began to set behind the dilapidated dark house, casting shadows that danced across the wooden floorboards of Tate Langdon's bedroom.

The room, with its peeling walls and vintage horror posters, was a sanctuary for two misfits: you and Tate. It always had felt more like a refuge from a mundane world that never understood you both.

You flopped onto the worn-out beanbag chair while Tate sat on the edge of his bed, fiddling with a dark gray hoodie that clung to his slender frame. There was a distinct gloominess about him that you had grown accustomed to; his brooding demeanor was an alluring kind of darkness, fitting with your own dark colored alternative style.

You took pride in your appearance: today's makeup was a mix of deep purples and blacks that enhanced your pale complexion, your eyes lined with sparkly eyeliner that caught the last rays of sunlight filtering through the dusty windows.

“You know, you’re way too invested in this."

He mumbled, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips as he watched you set up your makeup products across the floor.

“Just trust me, Tate. You’re going to love it.”

You laughed, a soft, playful sound that filled the otherwise silent room. The atmosphere buzzed with excitement as you pulled out your arsenal of lipsticks, eyeshadows, and brushes.

“Makeovers and all that- it's not really my thing, you know.”

He pouted, running a hand through his tousled blonde hair, which fell just above those hauntingly beautiful eyes.

“Doesn't matter. You’re going to look hot. Plus, it'll be fun.”

You said, your voice dripping with enthusiasm as you leaned closer. The scent of his cologne mingled with the stale aroma of the old house, grounding you in this moment.

With an exaggerated sigh, Tate finally relented, rolling his eyes in that endearing way that made your heart race.

“Fine. But if I don't like it, you owe me.”

You immersed yourself in the task, gliding a foundation brush across his pale skin, trying to hide the scattered freckles that dotted his face like constellations. You teased him about being a vampire, given the way light seemed to avoid him.

“See? You look great already.”

You said, trying to lighten the mood as you started on his eyes with a dark, smoky shadow.

Tate looked skeptical, inspecting his reflection in the mirror.

“I feel like I'm about to perform some dark ritual or something.”

He chuckled, but the sound was more serious than light-hearted.

“Trust me! You’re just channeling your inner goth prince!”

You quipped, adding a dab of silver to accentuate the darkness surrounding his dark brown eyes. As you pinched his cheeks for a light blush, he swatted your hands away, gently, but a smile crept onto his lips.

“Okay, okay! Maybe it’s not so bad.”

He muttered, pretending to focus on anything but you. You loved how he always softened for you, gradually letting down the walls he built against the world.

As the makeover progressed, you smeared a dark eye pencil over his lids, stepping back to admire your handiwork. He caught your gaze in the reflection of the mirror- confused, bold, and distinctly… Tate.

“I look like a hot mess.”

He teased.

You smirked, leaning closer, whispering conspiratorially.

“Tell me you don’t love it!”

Right then, he turned his head to meet your eyes, a flicker of something deeper passing between you. You could suddenly feel the air thicken with tension. Without hesitation, you absentmindedly brushed a hair from his face, lingering just a moment too long. It felt right.

“Yeah, I don’t love it.”

He replied, lips curling into a smirk that didn’t quite match his words,

“I love you.”

His tone was playful yet serious, sending a jolt through your heart.

You felt warmth rush to your cheeks.

"What?"

You managed to get out, the sudden vulnerability making your heart stumble.

“Maybe I meant it, maybe I don't.”

He said quietly, the smile fading into something more earnest. But before you could respond, he leaned forward, brushing his lips against yours, barely a whisper of a kiss that sent shockwaves through your body.

It was surreal. In that electrifying moment, the glossy red of your lipstick stained his lips and mingled with the taste of something more profound- a thousand unspoken confessions laid bare in the soft graze of connection.

You didn't pull away; you pressed into it, your hearts mutual in that shared moment stolen from time.

As you pulled back- only slightly- you were greeted with a curious arch of his brow.

“What was that for?”

You fumbled for words, excitement and confusion knotted in your throat.

“I don't know. It felt right.”

He said simply, the sincerity in his eyes causing your breath to hitch.

“More than friends then?”

You whispered, half afraid of the answer.

“Maybe?”

He replied, his breath warm against your lips.

“Maybe we’ve always been.”

You were both gleaming with that newfound clarity as laughter mingled with a deeper understanding of what was simmering between you.

You broke the silence first, your voice teasing.

“You DO look like a hot mess, but at least now you have the confidence to own it.”

Tate chuckled, the tension ebbing away as if it had never been there. He raised a finger to his lips, as though contemplating something profound.

“Tell me I don't look stupid like this, and I might just agree to more makeovers.”

His playful demeanor returned, the laughter echoing in the room, clearing out the tiptoeing emotions that had filled it moments before.

“Only if you’re willing to kiss me again.”

You replied, heart racing from the challenge, a smile creeping back across your face.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, the darkened room was lit by flickering candlelight, igniting shadows that danced across the walls within the painted confines of comfort. Tate stared at you- hauntingly beautiful.

In that faded horror house, surrounded by the remnants of forgotten lives, you found truth in each other's fleeting touches, weaving together the essence of two souls that shunned the world but found solace in one another.

This was great request! I loved working on ths one! I can write anything for any character babes and don’t forget- requests are always open and welcome <33

I love you guys so much

El <3

(all images were made by: El via canva & paint)

[my-own-walker]

Hi :) I came with a request for Tate’s headcannon when the reader is depressed! Like your Peter and Kyle ones) you’re sooo good at this 🤍 thank you from all the depressed readers 🤍

How Tate Is When Reader Is Upset - Headcanons

note: im gonna try to get as much done as possible today! it’s hard to find time to write lol. Thank you for the request darling.

+++

The thing is, we know Tate is an extremely traumatized and emotional individual.

When you’re depressed, odds are he is too. I mean literally dude is trapped in eternal purgatory being spoken to by the devil or whatever

But that doesn’t stop him from being an absolute sweetheart when you’re upset.

He’s been there. He’s surprisingly good at empathy. Especially when it comes to you.

He totally gets it when you start feeling numb and unable to get out of bed. He will crawl in with you and cuddle with you for as long as you need.

Your tears make him cry. He hates to see you sad.

Like he will actually start crying slightly when you cry. He just feels so deeply and totally gets your pain.

When you’re anxious and experiencing anxiety attacks or anything of the sort he’s a very good grounding force.

He will talk to you for hours about your feelings.

When you’re actively panicking, he tends to hold your hands, look you in the eyes, and count with you. If that doesn’t work he will try the five senses grounding trick (he learned it online after you showed him how to use google)

As in, five things you see, four things you can touch, etc.

He’s already dead, so he doesn’t have very many needs, which means he will take all the time you need to make you feel better.

He can’t leave the house, obviously, but he will try his best to get you things that comfort you.

The main thing that comforts you, though, is him.

He’s a cradler. As in he will hold you like a baby. When you’re super sad, he wraps you up, acting as a human blanket.

Once you’re feeling a bit better, he tries to distract you from what’s upsetting you by playing card games with you or helping you explore the house.

He’s extremely patient. Even if it takes you days to feel better. He will help you clean your room, get you water, etc.

[lostreverb]

REACTIONS TO YOU WEARING THEIR JERSEY HEADCANONS

(NSFW) tate | kyle | warren

a/n: some of these might be ooc idk... PLEASE FEEL FREE TO WRITE FICS ABOUT THIS PLEASEEE

__

TATE LANGDON

• would act mildly intrigued but overall indifferent

• "adorable, you look like one of those jock groupies"

• in reality he loves it (and will be thinking about it for days)

• i mean you're literally telling anyone who looks at you that you're his

• "you look so pretty with my name on you..."

• will jerk off to the idea of fucking you in it when you're not around

KYLE SPENCER

• will not make a move on you first but if you do, he'll get the hardest boner he's ever had

• other guys minds would go to something sexual, kyle's mind goes to how sweet you are for wanting to show your support

• will ask you if you're cold and insist on you putting on his varsity jacket cause he's obsessed with how you look in it

• promises he'll continue to do well during the season so you can be proud of repping him

• "wearin' this for me? i'm honored"

• especially if you whisper praises in his ear related to how well he played in his last game

WARREN LIPKA

• immediate boner, no shame at all

• "that's so fuckin' hot- c'mere"

• this boosts his ego like 100000%

• fucks you in doggystyle so he can see his name on your back while he just absolutely ravages you

• will rave about it to spencer later (when he's high so yk he'll blab away abt how sexy you looked and how much he loves you)

• forces you to wear it to all his games so he can show you off to his teammates (he hates them)

__

tags (ask to be added or removed anytime!): @fear-is-truth @juliamaximoff @jazz-berry @violetsghosts @quickreider @tiffysdeath @honeymoon8 @wcnderlnds @lacucarachapisser @xrag-dollx

[spookievan]

high school sweetheart <3

[xrag-dollx]

-What the AHS Evans- -------wear in bed-------

Tate:

• shirt of his favourite band and a messy pair of sleeping pants, you can expect them to be all gross and worn out

• he never ever cared abt cleaning the clothes at least once a week so he basically wears the same sleeping clothes like 365 days a year

• thinks bc he's a ghost nobody would ever care

• when he isn't around you, you exchange the clothes and make sure he's having new sleeping clothes bc the smell really annoys you when you're in bed with him

• is actually thankful that you're exchanging his clothes ❤

Kit:

• sleeps in pyjamas during wintertime but prefers to sleep in speedos and a top in summer

• exchanges his clothes at least every week but during summer like every 2nd day (bc u both are a hot mess during the night 😏)

• he mostly keeps track on having new clothes but when his week was too stressful he might forget about it

• so you carefully put his new clothes on his bedside and he always comes around you and thanks you with a kiss on your cheek ❤

Kyle (frankenkyle):

• is wearing the cutest pj's on earth

• like the ones which make u look like a dinosaur or a tiger

• could wear pj's 24/7

• you always need to remind him that he can't go out in his dinosaur pyjamas

• is crying for 15 mins

• you convince him to get a new pyjama if he gets out of his current one just to go out in his normal clothes

• when you see Kyle yawning or sneezing in his dinosaur pyjamas it literally makes your heart melt in cuteness

Jimmy:

• likes shorts and a top in summer and a pyjama in winter

• when he's getting drunk he falls asleep in his actual clothes bc yea why not

• normal clothes = most comfortable clothes

James:

• darn expensive silk pyjamas

• but in summer he'd prefer something like boxers and a top

• exchanges his sleeping clothes like every 2nd day bc he's a hoe for tidiness

• doesn't need to care abt changing the old clothes himself at all, Ms. Evers takes care of it (as for everything else)

Rory:

• loves to sleep naked (and loves to walk around naked at home bc why not)

• in wintertime he's pretty okay by wearing a shirt and some long sleeping pants

Kai:

• he's basic af so just a shirt and shorts (in summer probably shirtless)

• never really exchanges the sleeping clothes unless winter is doing it (bc she's a good lil sissy)

• has to care abt more important shit than sleeping clothes

• does he even sleep at all???

• I guess not, too busy on taking world domination

Mr. Gallant:

• is never underdressed, not even while sleeping

• prefers to sleep in fancy pyjamas bc he thinks when he sleeps without anything on he feels gross

• wears nothing else than Gucci and Versace pyjamas

• goes shopping like every weekend to get some new ones (bc his nana has the cash 💸)

Austin:

• could never go without his silk robes and pyjamas

• has a favourite store in paris so when he's on vacation he gets TONS of new ones

•basically lives off this shit

•they are like his 2nd skin

• likes to brag and shows it to EVERYONE

• when he's got a new writing idea he runs downstairs so his long robe is hovering dramatically over the stairs (thinks it looks freakin cool while doing this)

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Tags: @fear-is-truth @am3ricanh0rrorwh0re @trueangel420 @lacucarachapisser @evanpeterspeter