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im-ovulating · 1 year ago

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(A/n: I have no excuse or reason for this, but here ya go! lmao)

Word Count: 991

Summary: Even in death, Tate can't seem to shake his mother's insults. He DOES know how to make your legs shake, though.

Warnings: Praise Kink, Mommy Issues, Use of 'good boy" and 'pretty boy', Both Tate and Reader are a switch, Tate's a pretty crier

Age Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

(yes he gets 2 gifs, what about it?)

Tate Langdon x Fem! Reader: Shake

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"-fuck!"

You spread your legs a bit more to take him deeper, both of you gasping out at the new sensation.

"I'm good, right? I'm good for you?" Tate is in shambles beneath you. A run-in with the ever-deprecating Constance left him in desperate need of some positive female praise and you couldn't just say 'no' to the tear-stained, brown eyes that begged for your comfort.

"Ah~" A smile breaks across your face as you lean down to pepper kisses along Tate's jaw. "You wanna be good for me? Wanna be my good boy, Tate, hmm?"

His cock twitches in you as you make it to his lips, lightly biting down on his bottom lip before lifting up just enough to make eye contact.

His hips jerk up to meet yours at a particularly hard thrust of your hips. "God- Yes! Wanna be so good for you! Wan' you t' use me. Use me any way you want; I'm yours! Mmh, hah."

You slide your hands up his chest to tug at his shaggy, blonde hair. "Just lay there and look pretty for me, then, hm? Can you do that for me, my sweet, pretty boy?"

He takes a second to answer, focused on how ethereal you look straddling him; using his body as you please, knowing how to bring both of you over the edge.

That's one of his favorite things about you: When he needs you to take the lead, he knows that you'll only take what you both need. That you'll command without controlling. That you understand his vulnerability and will only push him as far as he needs you to.

A groan is punched out of Tate as you clench around him, effectively snapping him out of it. "I can- ohh..."

Satisfied with his answer, you press a searing kiss to his waiting mouth. It's all tongue and teeth but neither of you care, too wrapped up in each other to mind. You slide your hands from his hair to caress his cheek.

"Such a good boy~" You singsong as you sit back, moving your arms behind you to support your weight on his thighs as you slam your hips against his with more vigor. His moans sending shock waves down your spine, settling in your already soaked core.

His hands move to grip your hips hard enough to bruise, but all it does is spur you on.

"Fuck, fuck- Please~" He shifts underneath you, causing his pelvis to rub deliciously against your clit.

"Oh god~ Tate!" Your head drops forward at the spike of pleasure.

You grab one of his hands to bring to your clit, desperate for the stimulation again.

Determined to be the best he can be for you, his finger works in tandem with every gyrate of your hips to tighten the coil forming in your core.

Ever the expert of your body, Tate helps you spiral towards your climax faster than you anticipated. You're gasping for breath as your walls start to clamp down on his cock impossibly tighter.

Tate lets out a groan at the feeling, his head pushes back against the pillow, thumb still rubbing firm circles on your clit. His eyes glisten with unshed tears as he tries not to cum.

"Don't stop baby... oh fuck, please," His plea is hoarse and gravelly as he starts to properly slam him hips up to meet yours.

"Wasn't- AH- planning on it." You let out a breathy moan as you fight the forming burn in your thighs, trying to focus on the heat curling inside you like an inferno instead.

"Oh- Fu- I'm so close baby. Please tell me you're close too." You can hear the strain in his voice. "Wanna cum with you~"

You're tensed like a rubber band being stretched to its limits as you try to keep pace. Your legs are shaking with the exertion, and you can barely lift yourself up.

"Tate- Tate, oh god, Tate!" His name is spilling from your lips like a Hail Mary in a mixture of content and desperation.

"What do you need, beautiful?" Tate pants. "Just tell me- tell me what you need from me and it's yours."

It's now that your legs decide to give out with one last quiver, dropping you against his torso. Without missing a beat, Tate flips you on your back, resting on his forearms as he takes over.

The sound of your heavy breathing fills the room along with the obscene squelching of Tate's cock as it pistons in and out of you and it's all you can do to not scream his name for the whole neighborhood to hear.

Almost instantly, Tate's boxing you in - arms flexing beside your head as he pounds into you. Your hands pull at his hair, dragging him closer to press his searing lips to yours once more.

"Good boy," you mumble into the kiss, broken moans leave the both of you just to get swallowed by the others mouth. "So good for me~"

Tate moves to bury his face into your neck, small cries mixed in with his groans and whimpers. "I'm good? Your good boy? Only yours?"

His questions start to get more frantic as his hips start to jackrabbit; his fingers digging even further into your skin as you both near your climax.

"Pleasepleaseplease-" he whines, begging you to cum with him.

And who are you to deny him such a simple request? Especially when he asks oh so politely.

"Cum, Tate -" you gasp. "Be a good, sweet boy and cum for me?"

And he does; a wet sob rips its way from his throat as he buries himself inside you, coating your insides with the pretty pearl of his spend. The heat flooding you is just enough to tip you over the edge as well - your nails scratch down his back as your head tilts against the pillow and your thighs tighten around his waist.

#tate langdon x reader #tate langdon x reader smut #tate langdon smut #ahs smut #ahs x reader #ahs murder house #tate langdon

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americanwh0rerstory · 6 months ago

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THE EVANS: Turn ons

CONTENT WARNING: fem!reader, mention of murder (jpm), kai anderson. there’s nothing majorly extreme in this idk what else to put here

contains: tate, kit, jimmy, james, kai

NSFW BELOW THE CUT: MEDIA CONSUMPTION IS YOUR CHOICE

TATE LANGDON

your boobs. partially due to his mommy issues but he loves to bury his face in between them no matter how big/small

loves feeling your boobs against him when you hug

KIT WALKER

everything. he’s a sweet guy

would treat you like a glass princess with the size difference between you both

especially likes how dainty you are

JIMMY DARLING

post ethel’s death he definitely gets slightly obsessed with your boobs. he’d love them

your ass. no matter the size, he loves your ass. If he’s drunk then he’d spank it as he walks past

JAMES PATRICK MARCH

he’s a total simp for you

worships your body like there’s no tomorrow (when infact you have forever if you’re dead)

if you share his ‘hobby’ he’ll find it hot when you’re covered in blood

KAI ANDERSON

edging you. not for your own pleasure, because it gives him control over the situation. you’d be punished if you came

when you’re docile and submissive, whether it’s in the bedroom or the cult

being called ‘divine ruler’ during sex, or any name that boosts his ego and god complex

A/N: these were rushed and written at 2am. i don’t like how jimmy’s turned out but we’re going with it because i don’t have the energy to rewrite it

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gingerteafairy · 19 days ago

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𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 (𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐝𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

"I’d die and kill for you. I just don’t want to see you suffer, ever again.”

tags n warnings: ghost!tate, est. relationship, heavy angst, hurt/comfort(?), depression, suicide attempt, drugging, male validation, oc's, death, toxic relationship, murder, blood, daddy/mommy issues, language. word count: 4.8k. masterlist

You kept your eyes fixed on the clock, as if each second was dragging on purpose, like time itself was mocking your patience during this endless shift. 10:34. The display blinked. Finally, another minute passed, and you sighed, feeling the weight of the moment. 10:35.

It was strange, because normally you’d be staring down at your phone, lost in it, looking for anything to distract you — any distraction, just like the emptiness you knew others could see in you. A deep ego, a soul rotting from the inside out.

You’d made a mistake on the machine an hour ago. A simple mistake, but a crucial one. It hadn’t reset. The supervisor, with that cold stare, had reprimanded you. And deep down, you knew you should apologize, but you didn’t have the courage. Something froze you. The second you opened your mouth, you felt like you’d break. Cry, beg for forgiveness, like that one mistake was the only thing that could shatter what was already fragile inside.

"Hey." Cecília’s voice cut through your thoughts, interrupting the whirlwind in your head. She gestured with her hands, signaling that it was time for a break, time to step away for a bit.

You glanced at the clock again. 10:37. It was well past the usual break time, but who cared? This place, this job, was so flavorless, so lifeless, that if you passed out right there, the most anyone would do was check your blood pressure, or maybe run the machine with their own blood sample.

"Let’s go," you murmured, standing up with little enthusiasm. You followed Cecília to the kitchen, feeling your muscles tense, like your own energy was up for sale and no one was buying.

Once inside the break room, you slumped into a chair, the plastic of the seat almost cracking under the weight of your tired body. Cecília, always quick, began rummaging through her bag. A carrot cake, you noticed, when she held out the container to you — a silent offering, but loaded with unspoken intentions.

Something was off, you could feel it. The way Cecília’s green eyes fixed on you seemed to overflow with something deeper than simple concern. And when you met her gaze, you realized there were traces of last night's argument, the tension still hanging between you two. You hadn’t eaten anything all day, and you were starting to feel lightheaded. Even so, your blood had been taken to help the newer interns. Cecília was pissed. You could feel you were losing a friend, and you feared, rightfully so, that you might lose another — especially one who’d been by your side for so long, since college.

"I brought cake," you said, your voice quiet, as if just mentioning food could ease the tension in the air.

"Nice," Cecília responded, the word falling like a stone as she tried to force a smile, her eyes drifting to the small piece of orange cake with a thin layer of chocolate. You tried to smile back, forcing your eyes to look away from the floor and focus on the simple sweetness of that cake.

"It’s good. Bought a bunch," her voice was flat, like she didn’t have the energy to care about what was happening around her. She took a distracted bite, tasting it without really savoring it, while her eyes wandered back to the break room floor.

"Cecília..." You said louder, your voice sounding strange after the heavy silence that had settled between you. Your body shrank, like your own shame had become physical. You noticed the hallway door was open. A whisper wasn’t enough anymore. "Thanks for yesterday. For saying that... about me messing up and hurting myself. Thanks for caring."

Cecília fell silent, her hands resting at her sides as she let out a long sigh. The tension seemed to grow, as if the unspoken words piled up between you two, heavy and hard to untangle.

"I’m always worried." She remarked, the lump in her throat a warning of the depth of her words, like she was still shouting the same thing she had yesterday. "About my friends..."

"I... I’m not okay..." you finally confessed, what Cecília had suspected from your empty stare and dark circles. "My depression is worse, I feel like nothing makes sense. Nothing can be fixed. I…"

You stopped, you couldn't tell Cecília that you tried to commit suicide on Saturday and that's why you didn't answer any messages. You wanted to say goodbye with a letter or message when you started taking your insomnia medication, but you stopped you. Wondering if it was all worth it. If you were going to die or it would just be a scare, where you would sleep for a whole day. It wasn't worth it.

"I didn’t know it was like this," Cecília whispered, her eyes fixed on the cake, which now tasted bitter, like earth and ashes. You smiled, but it was a hollow, bitter smile, slow to reach your eyes.

"I can’t talk about it," you answered, clenching your fists like that physical force could stop the tears from coming. "I’m just withering away... without anyone knowing."

"I’m here for you." Cecília’s voice, always so firm, echoed a comfort you knew would be useless. But somehow, it still felt like relief. You had never known how to deal with comforting words, but at that moment, they were a balm.

"Thanks for caring, really," your voice was soft, almost breaking the rigidity you’d been holding onto.

"I’m here for you." She repeated, this time stepping closer. Cecília crouched down, getting on your level, her eyes just inches from yours. "Whatever you need, we’re in this together."

You didn’t quite know what to do with those words, how to fit that kind of support into the mess inside you. But still, you smiled. A tired smile, but genuine. "Thanks," you murmured again.

You decided not to eat. Maybe it was better this way. The juice you’d had an hour and twenty minutes ago, with the supervisor, already felt like enough for your body. It was strange, but something inside you felt more satisfied just by watching Cecília eat, smiling every now and then, as if her happiness had the power to fill the empty spaces within you.

10:50. Time seemed to stick to your skin, like each second was a constant reminder of your decline, an unrelenting countdown since you were fifteen. It was time to get back to work, try not to freak out with the feeling of failure. But when you ran another test, you messed up again. Christian had to redo it for you.

"You’re trouble. Wasting my time," he joked, his laugh slightly forced, while he fiddled with the test tubes. When he noticed the silence, he shrank, embarrassment painting his face. Maybe he wasn’t so good with jokes. "I was just kidding."

"I know." You hurried to respond, trying not to sound too shaken. You watched how Christian did everything with such precision, a skill that seemed to come so naturally to him. How was it that you couldn’t be like that?

"What time is it?" He asked, putting the small glass back in the machine — that same machine you had failed earlier.

"10:55."

"11:10, we’ll be done, okay?"

"Okay."

You gave in, once again, to the temptation of your phone, waiting for the digital reading. The screen lit up, and you opened your private social network, checking if Alexandre had accepted your friend request. You wanted him to respond to your funny post about gastritis. He didn’t. Of course, he wouldn’t. Instead, he had seen the ridiculous post you made about your issues with your dad, with rock music playing in the background, making it even more pathetic. He didn’t comment. Great. Perfect.

Jonathan didn’t respond either, just saw it. It wasn’t unusual, he was used to your depressive and self-deprecating rants. Even though he understood the deeper meaning behind it, he did nothing but leave a like.

Maybe it was too heavy. Gastritis and daddy issues. You laughed at your own choice of topic, but deep down, there was something bitter in that laugh. It was an attempt not to cry over how ridiculous you felt, desperately wishing to get any male attention, any way you could.

Lucy liked it. Maybe that was enough. A small gesture, a comment from your sister about how the song you’d chosen reminded her of herself. That could have been enough, but somehow, you still expected more. You wanted Alexandre to comment, to start a conversation, to care about what you posted. Or maybe Jonathan, with his unpredictable way, would use that information to jump into the conversation, like he always did. Or even Professor Ivanovich, with his harsh and Russian demeanor, might like the post and give it a touch of authenticity. But no. None of that happened.

It was already 11:12, and time seemed to crumble on top of you. You still hadn’t retrieved the machine’s result in time. Desperate, you tried to rush everything, but haste only led to more mistakes. Christian noticed the shadow of disaster before you did, as always, and rushed to fix it. In the end, he had to redo everything himself. You, on the other hand, just withdrew, shoulders slumped, without looking at Cecília. You didn’t know if you should or if you even could. The goodbye was quick, almost impersonal. The exhaustion, the weight of the day, it all seemed to drain through your veins, leaving you empty.

Going home felt like torture. Being in the lab, at least, was easier. In fact, being anywhere else seemed simpler than that suffocating reality. Constant arguments, yelling, cutting words. The house was a battlefield, and you didn’t know where to hide anymore.

Your dad, intense and loaded with cruel words, always made you feel like trash, as if it was impossible to please him. He said the worst things, things that cut deep, and then... then he’d send a message:

"Hey, I don’t want to be on your back. I care about you. Talk to me, I’ll try to understand. I promise."

It was funny, in a bitter way. The coward never said what needed to be said face to face. All that was left was the emptiness, the bitter taste of the fight that still burned in your throat, as you tried to drown it all out with your headphones, the muffled sound blending with the external noise, until everything became an unbearable mix.

When you got home, the door creaked, announcing your arrival. Your mom was there, as always, with a hug. But her touch, which should have been a comfort, felt more like a sickness, like her fingerprints were invisible bacteria, microscopic, spreading across your skin.

"What happened? You look down." She asked, touching your face, and you did your best to smile. But it was a forced smile, masking the deep disgust, the gastric acid churning in your stomach.

I’m so fucking tired of being here. That was the answer echoing inside you, but what came out was a simple, "I’m tired." And with that, you went up the stairs of that creepy house, which reflected, in its dark corners and dusty furniture, everything you felt inside. It was as if the walls were alive, absorbing the despair you carried.

Your room always felt the coldest in the house, and whenever you passed the door, a chill ran up your spine. But then you knew exactly what was waiting for you. Turning inside, you found Tate, smiling at you with that sweet, almost innocent smile, his arms outstretched for a tight hug. He was your secret, the only place you could hide from everything and everyone.

You couldn’t share the happiness with anyone, you couldn’t let the world know, or it could all disappear. He had been seen by your parents, but only on the important occasions when he insisted on showing up and proving himself to be a good man. He didn’t tell them everything, of course. After all, dating a ghost, someone as broken as you, was a dangerous kind of happiness.

It worked, though, since everyone liked Tate, even if he was the embodiment of darkness itself. But still, you knew you couldn’t live without him.

"I missed you," he confessed, pulling back just enough to look at your face, holding it in his calloused hands, which seemed made to comfort and destroy at the same time.

"I couldn’t stand being without you." You smiled, leaning your face into the coldness of his hands, feeling the relief of his presence.

"Good thing we have an eternity together," Tate softened, kissing your forehead with the tenderness of someone who had all the time in the world. "Now that you’re feeling better, I think I can offer you a game. I’ve been waiting for you all day."

Tate was sweet. Everyone liked him. Almost perfect, like a rare phenomenon, a celestial sight that anyone on the street would stop and admire. But you knew that Tate, behind those dark eyes and golden hair, wasn’t what he seemed. There was something much darker inside him. Something you felt, but didn’t have the courage to question. Because deep down, you loved that darkness as much as you loved the light he could still show.

You loved him for his darkness. For the way everything you thought and felt materialized in his actions. He was the nail, and you, the flesh, so fragile, so vulnerable to everything happening in the outside world. But with him, you felt whole. Even when the world around you seemed to be falling apart.

While you were caught up in the card game, you heard his unmistakable footsteps. With a subtle gesture, you motioned for Tate to hide, and you, without hurry, began to organize the colorful cards, some of them personalized with the drawings Tate had made, trying to look as normal as possible.

“Did you manage to study yesterday?” Your father asked, crossing his arms and standing in the doorway, a critical look that no longer surprised you.

You didn’t look at him. Your eyes were fixed on the little dinosaur drawn by Tate, trying to focus on the cards and not on the tension that was building in the air. “No.”

“Did you study today?” He repeated, with that annoying insistence, as if you were just a reflection of his expectations, a piece of paper that needed to be filled out in the right way.

“No.” The answer was automatic, without desire. You continued shuffling the cards, as if that were the most important thing in the world, but in reality you were just trying to avoid confrontation. You were exhausted from the last fight, the reason for it being trivial: you had fun with your friends and arrived late. “Yesterday I arrived very tired. Today, the same thing happened.”

“You really are unbelievable.” He laughed, shaking his head in disdain, searching the room as if he knew something you didn’t, as if the walls held secrets. “You can’t do something without making mistakes. You have to go back to those worthless friends of yours. It almost seems like you have no purpose. You have everything, but you keep complaining. You don’t have to blame anyone for your misery.”

“Yes, I don’t have to blame anyone.” You replied, exhaustion finally reflecting in your voice. Before, you fought, but now everything seemed like a tiring theater, a scenario that you no longer had the strength to change. You just left everything as it was, too lazy to make any effort.

“I’m glad you know.” He shrugged, his tone arrogant. “You should be like that boyfriend of yours, Tate. I want to see what he thinks of his girlfriend being a slut walking the streets at night.” He hissed, already leaving the room, closing the door with force, making the sound echo through the house. You turned your head quickly, seeing Tate locking the door behind him, as if he wanted to protect you from something invisible.

“You know he doesn’t mean it…” Tate tried to soften, sitting next to you on the mattress. “He’s just… weird. At least he takes care of you. My father would leave the house and let my mother beat me saying she’d have aborted me when she had the chance.” He spoke with a sigh, as if this was his reality, something so far from yours, but that somehow connected with the pain.

“Great care. They give me a place to stay and food. Quality service.” You scoffed, your voice sour, your eyes rolling, irritation rising to the surface.

Tate grimaced, pressing his lips together and sighing, before touching your hair, with a gentle gesture, trying to calm you down. “Hey, don’t be like that. Forget it…” He whispered, getting closer and kissing your cheek, as if that gesture would be able to dissipate the pain. “You’re not getting in the way of anything and you’re not an idiot... you’re perfect for me, you know that.”

“But I’ll never be perfect for them, Tate.” You murmured, letting the weight of the words fall on you. You lay down, trying to close your eyes, but the tears began to roll, silent and constant. He understood. It was your moment to be alone. Tate disappeared completely into the coldness of the room, leaving you alone with your own thoughts.

Another day began, and with it, the same endless cycle: work, college, fights. But this time, something had broken for good. The screams were louder, more threatening, and you had the feeling that, for a moment, he might actually hit you. Your mother didn’t say anything, she was as distant as ever, and your sister just stepped back, as if nothing had happened, as if it was nothing more than another episode that would vanish into thin air, without a trace.

It was just another family fight, the kind that made you lock yourself in your room, burying yourself under the covers, wishing you could be transported to another dimension—anywhere but here. You squeezed your eyes shut, but the screams still pierced through the walls, each sharp word making you cringe. Your chest tightened, your breath coming in quick gasps. You needed something—someone—to hold on to.

And as if he could hear your thoughts, Tate’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his warmth as your tears soaked into the pillow.

“I’m getting out of here,” you mumbled, your nails digging into his arm as your body curled into itself. “I swear to God, I’m leaving this fucking house and never coming back to this shithole again.”

“Shhh, I’m here. Shhh,” he mumbled into your hair, holding you tighter, his other hand making slow, gentle strokes across your scalp. “I’m getting you out of here. It’s going to be okay, okay? You know that. I’m working on it. You’re not who they say you are. They don’t deserve you.”

“Nobody deserves to be stuck with someone like me,” you choked out between sobs. “Nobody, Tate. Nobody. I’m nothing—I’m insufferable. I’m fucked up, I’m everything they say I am!”

“Hey, stop.” His voice cut through the air, firm but calm. Before you could react, he moved, hovering over you, his eyes burning into yours. “Don’t ever say that again. Don’t believe that shit.” His voice was low, intense, like a storm about to explode. “Don’t ever say that. It’s not fair—to you or to me!”

You choked back another sob, your eyes locked on his. He looked on the verge of breaking too, his lips pressed tightly together, his jaw clenched as if he were holding back a scream. His throat worked, swallowing emotions too big to contain.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice so low it barely reached your own ears, scraping against your throat like glass. “I’m sorry for being like this, Tate. For doing this to you.”

He shook his head instantly, his eyes shining with unshed tears. Without another word, he leaned in, pressing a desperate kiss against your lips, the taste of salt mingling between you. When he pulled away, he sniffed, running his thumb over your damp cheek.

“You’re nothing like that,” he murmured, kissing your forehead, then your temple, then your cheeks, as if he could kiss the sadness out of you. “You matter to me. You’re everything to me. Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

“I’m sorry,” you tried again.

“Stop fucking apologizing,” he murmured, his face twisting with something that resembled pain.

“I’ve been apologizing for things that aren’t even my fault for so long,” you admitted, closing your swollen eyes as fresh tears fell. “I don’t even know how to stop.”

“Well, don’t do this to me,” he said, squeezing your hands tighter, lacing his fingers with yours. “Don’t do this to anyone. You don’t owe anyone an apology for simply being you.”

“I’m afraid of losing everything, Tate.”

“You won’t lose everything,” he said firmly, his grip tightening as if he were making a promise with more than words. “You’ll always have me. It may not be much, but I promise—you’ll have me.”

“This means everything to me.” Your lips trembled, forming the faintest smile, almost invisible, but Tate caught it.

“You should stop crying,” he teased softly, brushing his nose against yours.

“I’m trying,” you mumbled, your voice still hoarse.

“Forget about them,” he whispered, shifting to wrap himself completely around you, like a human shield. “Those days? They’re not coming back. Stay with me, lean on me. For anything, everything. Always and forever.”

“I’m afraid to depend on you.”

“It’s hard,” he admitted, his voice muffled against your neck before pulling away enough to look you in the eyes. “But no amount of softness will change the fact that you’re strong. A hammer doesn’t turn into a nail.”

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it, small but real. Tate’s face lit up like the sun breaking through the clouds.

“You’re so damn beautiful when you smile, my sunshine,” he murmured, his voice thick with something tender, something that made your chest ache in a way that wasn’t painful. He traced his fingers along your jaw, as if trying to memorize you. “And I swear, I’ll do anything to see that smile every day. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll take you with me. I’ll be your peace.”

That night, you slept with an overwhelming serenity, an unexpected peace that seemed to wrap your body in a comforting embrace, but something woke you in the middle of the night. An agonizing, desperate scream tore through the silence of the house, followed by the muffled, dry sound of a gunshot.

The scream was your mother’s. Your stomach churned, and a cold sensation ran down your spine. You jumped out of bed, your feet slamming against the floor in an uncontrolled rush, nearly tripping over your own legs as you ran down the stairs. Each heavy step echoed in your mind, but it was the scene in the kitchen that made your body stop, as if time had slowed down.

Your mother was on the floor, covered in blood, her face pale and lifeless, her glassy eyes fixed on an eternal void. Beside her, your father was lying, the pistol lying next to his limp hand. The smell of gunpowder still hung in the air, mixed with the blood that stained the kitchen floor. Your heart raced, your legs shaking beneath you as terror took over your body.

You staggered backwards, almost breathless, until your eyes met Tate's, who was standing in the corner of the room. He was smiling. But it wasn't a smile of relief or empathy. It was a smile between tears, a tortured and manic smile that made your stomach turn even more.

“Tate…” you sobbed, your voice shaking, your hands cold, your fingers barely able to move. Fear seeped into your bones, making every movement harder to make. You were shaking so hard that you felt your legs buckle under the weight of the scene before you.

Your eyes roamed over Tate’s body, settling on the green sweater you loved so much, now stained with fresh warm blood. It was your mother’s blood. It was your own family’s blood. The shock was so intense that you could do nothing but take a step back, your body now pressed against the wall as if it were your only lifeline.

“You… What did you do?” Your voice came out as a broken whisper, each word leaving your mouth as if it were being ripped out by force, the terror visible in your wide eyes. Panic was taking over you, and a wave of nausea rose in your throat, but you couldn’t look away from Tate, even though you knew it was the gaze of a monster disguised as an angel.

He smiled, his eyes watering as he approached you, his steps slow, as if he were savoring every movement. “I told you I would help you,” he said, the words coming out with a smile that bordered on madness. Blood still stained his fingers, and you could see the tears rolling down his face, but they weren’t tears of regret. They weren’t tears of sadness. They were tears of twisted happiness. “I told you I’d give you the peace you so desperately need, baby.”

Those words. They echoed inside your head like a death sentence. “Peace” wasn’t what you felt. What you felt was dread. Dread of the person who had once made you feel safe, but who now seemed like a living nightmare. The sweater he wore, the touch of your hair—everything was a reminder of what he had become. You stared at him, eyes wide, breathing fast, trying desperately to get away from his presence, but the weight of what was happening paralyzed you. The blood was fresh, still dripping from your body as if it had been extracted from your family’s very life.

Noticing the terror in your eyes, Tate paused for a moment, his arms opening wide, as if it were his only way to offer you comfort. As if it was the only thing he could do to calm you.

“I said I’d be your peace, I promised,” he murmured, the tears now falling more heavily, but the smile remained. He seemed to be in ecstasy, as if he were carrying out a divine plan, something greater than the two of you. His smile was as grotesque as it was beautiful, a mix of twisted love and madness. “I always said I would do anything for you, and I always do what I promise.”

Terror took over every cell in your body, your voice cracking as you murmured, “I didn’t ask for any of this… I didn’t fucking ask you to do this…” The words came out slurred, almost like a cry for help, but Tate didn’t seem to understand.

"What? What... do you mean?" He stuttered, tearing apart. He stepped even closer, each step heavy and determined.

"TATE YOU FUCKING KILLED MY PARENTS."

“YOU CALLED FOR FUCKING HELP, DAMMIT!” he shouted, the fury and pain in his voice.

His voice made the walls of the house seem to vibrate. Anger and despair intertwined in his voice, as he calmed himself, running a hand through his hair, a desperate attempt to control himself.

“I’m sorry, darl’… I… ’m so fucking sorry for yelling at you. I promise, everything will be okay. I just wanted to help you…wanted to get you out of all this fucking bullshit. I’d do anything, I’d die and kill for you. I just don’t want to see you suffer, ever again.” It was a mantra, a manic justification that you didn’t know if you could believe anymore.

Fear still tighten your chest, but something inside you begins to give in. Tate’s words were starting to make sense in a distorted way. The small possibility that you had ignored was now expanding, growing like a poisonous plant. He was right, wasn’t he? He had always been right. He loved you. He would protect you. You should trust him. Her breathing calmed, and her shoulders relaxed, as the horror of what was happening seemed to dissolve beneath the weight of his embrace.

He wrapped his arms around you, pressing your body against his, and you had no strength to resist. Deep down, you knew that you were now hopelessly trapped, but something inside you, a sick part of you, did not want to be saved. Over Tate’s shoulder, you saw your parents lying in the kitchen, their bodies inert, your father immobilized by the fallen pistol, your mother in eternal silence. Your sister was not there. There was no more screaming, no more mocking. There was no one left to hurt you. There was nothing left but Tate and you, and he was whispering to you:

“You’re my life,” he muttered, burying his face in your neck, his touch warm and possessive. “And you will depend on me. Now and forever. There’s no one else but the two of us, my dear. Not anymore.”

Those words sounded like a condemnation and a promise, at the same time. And you knew, without a doubt, that you were lost. Forever.

#tate langdon x y/n #tate langdon x you #tate langdon x reader #tate langdon #x reader #imagine #reader insert #fanfic #evan peters #evan peters fandom #evan peters x reader #evan peters x y/n #evan peters x you #ahs #ahs murder house #american horror story #ahs fic

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yandereunsolved · 1 year ago

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tw(s): yandere themes, reference to sa, murder, mention of possible suicide

yandere Tate Langdon who first saw you when you moved in with your family. He was sitting outside listening to Hayden rant about Ben for the umpteenth time. It was like that hole that had been ripped in his soul by Violet was repaired. No, you seemed so different from her. Violet's heart called out to him but your soul screams for his loving caress.

yandere Tate Langdon who is immediately blocked by Violet and her mother when he tries to see you better. Both are insistent that he stays away from you. They bother threaten him but he's only half listening. He's standing on his tiptoes looking through his your our window. He practically has hearts in his eyes.

yandere Tate Langdon who is consistently cockblocked by Violet's family and Moira. Violet immediately introduced you to the fact that ghosts are in this house. Violet warns you that Tate is crazy and not to be trusted.

yandere Tate Langdon who attacks Violet and drags her down to the basement so he can spend time with you.

yandere Tate Langdon who manipulates you into thinking Violet is lying. He says that the mass murder part is true, but not the murdering of the gay couple and the sexual assault of Viven. He cries his heart out to you. He begs and speaks of his mommy issues. He pulls out all of his manipulation tactics.

yandere Tate Langdon who infantilizes himself around you to make himself seem more innocent. He is more vulnerable and soft.

yandere Tate Langdon who asks your opinion on everything. If you like it, he likes you. You hate it, he hates it. He begs you to like his things. He begs for your validation and praise. He craves it more than anything else in the world.

yandere Tate Langdon who always goes through your stuff without your permission. He always puts it back and has a fit if you catch him. He cries and begs for you to forgive him. He then cuddles into you and peppers you with kisses telling you how much he loves you.

yandere Tate Langdon who takes your stuff sometimes, a lot of the time, for private use later.

yandere Tate Langdon who has a private journal of his murder and sexual fantasies. He writes down everything he knows about you. He writes down sappy little love poems that he slips into your pocket(s).

yandere Tate Langdon who has made a hit list of everyone you dislike. As well as people near you that he doesn't like. He's written in his private journal about the ways he is going to kill your family and get rid of their bodies— just incase. He doesn't want their spirits staying in this house and interrupting your precious time together.

yandere Tate Langdon who asks you to rent books from the library. He asks a lot of different genres. He begins to get more specific with spell books and literature about witchcraft.

yandere Tate Langdon who plans on getting rid of the rest of the spirits with spells. He adds it to his journal for later use.

yandere Tate Langdon who watches you even when you don't know. When you are sleeping, showering, studying, changing, anything.

yandere Tate Langdon who respects boundaries only when they are convenient for him. He is always pushing your boundaries gently. He frames it as 'getting you out of your comfort zone'. If you get too upset or confront him he gets violent. He throws a temper tantrum and disappears for perhaps weeks. You think he has disappeared but he is just watching from the shadows.

yandere Tate Langdon who makes you so dependent on him that you'll believe anything that comes out of his mouth.

yandere Tate Langdon who will starve you of his attention and presence if you get mad or even just look at him the wrong way. He says that he is just establishing his boundaries and cooling off. What he's really doing is making you suffer.

yandere Tate Langdon who feels bad in some way. He doesn't want to manipulate you and be toxic but he has to! You'll get in danger and could even die without his guidance! He would rather get broken up with Violet for all eternity as opposed to losing you at the hands of the world.

yandere Tate Langdon who spends all his time with you. Or waiting for you to come back from where ever. Or hiding in his invisible ghost mode when your family is around.

yandere Tate Langdon who wants nothing more than to stake his claim on you. He wants your family to hear every noise fall past your lips because of him. He wants you to make him whimper and make him squirm. He wants your family to think you have some secret boyfriend. Where did those hickeys come from? Tate gave them to you when you were sleeping... he couldn't help himself. You just looked so warm and inviting. He didn't mean it at first. He just started kissing your skin and he got a little aggressive, okay?

yandere Tate Langdon who doesn't want you to ever leave the house. He hangs off of you and loves on you until you don't leave. If you have school/friends/work/alone time... nooooooooooooooo. He pouts and sulks when you aren't there. He lays on your bed and cries sometimes. He plots murder. He draws little drawings for you. He harasses your family— harasses your family?

yandere Tate Langdon who harasses your family and mentally tortures them. He uses the other ghosts to do. He'll purposefully cause arguments in your family. Put things where they don't belong. Make it seem like someone is cheating on someone else. Maybe your family member is just having a shitty day... Tate is gonna make it the shittiest day they have ever had.

yandere Tate Langdon who gets taught about the intricacies of technology by you. He hacks into your electronic and looks at your search history. By hacks I mean learns your password. He accidentally got a virus on your computer once. Any social media you have is immediately monitored by Tate. He creates his own account and boosts every one of your comment. Wants to commit another mass murder whenever someone gives you a negative comment.

yandere Tate Langdon who crawls into your lap at night.

yandere Tate Langdon who tells you his deepest and darkest secrets. Besides the entire stalking, manipulating, and murder fantasy stuff.

yandere Tate Langdon who has very special things planned for your first Halloween with him. A romantic picnic on the beach at night. A bubble bath with rose petals afterwards. Laying in your bed and listening to Niravna. Your enemies disappearing. Violet, Vivien, and Ben suddenly disappearing. Thanks magic! Now there are fewer obstacles in the way of your eternal and ever lasting love.

yandere Tate Langdon who helps your low mental health and constantly praises you. He love bombs you so very much.

yandere Tate Langdon who plans on having you commit suicide after the rest of the ghosts are gone, and your family. He'll convince you and won't let you leave the house until you do.

yandere Tate Langdon who is wrapped around your finger so tight. All he does is for you. You could even manipulate him if you are skilled enough— be careful though. He's an unstable mass murder with mommy issues.

yandere Tate Langdon who is ready to burn down the world for you.

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hatelangdon · 1 year ago

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Modern day! Post death! Tate headcanons

(For my own joy we're gonna pretend he didn't do any of the bad stuff he just has deep seeded mommy issues)

Drabble bc I was bored ~ Warnings (talks of stabbing briefly )

- He is a music elitist through and through. He's definitely the "name 5 songs 🤓☝🏻" guy if he sees you wearing a band shirt.

- secret swiftie, we all know he would cry to mirrorball & right where you left me, especially if you have the songs on vinyl. He'd listen over and over in your room while you're not with him.

- he literally doesn't need water, yet he's always drinking from your water bottle/Stanley cup. He loves it

"It's our emotional support water bottle"

- he also doesn't need to eat but guess who's always asking for "a little sweet treat" when you go out? 🤨

- back to music, he loves tvgirl, Alex g, & the 1975. He thinks that makes him so special 🙄

- he always claims that his stomach hurts because he wants to be held and coddled by you.

-if he actually does get sick, he'll start whining for his mother if he gets delirious enough. She was always sweet to him when he didn't feel good. You know not to get her though, it never ends well.

- he's very very touchy and very very sensitive and petty. If you push him away he will put a knife through his own heart just to scare you (he's fine the next day)

- the world's biggest crybaby, needs constant reassurance that you love him, he's comforted by your presence.

- Tate would love those Lego flower kits, he'd want to help you put them together.

- even though he is dead he appreciates the sentiment when you celebrate his birthday, he doesn't like counting the years but if you just bring him a cupcake or make him birthday pancakes with a few candles, it will make him feel loved.

- he's very sleepy, despite being a ghost. He recently discovered weighted blankets and he is constantly going in and out of consciousness

- this is not new info but he is always the little spoon. You could be napping on the couch by yourself and somehow he has ended up in your arms or on top of you.

- he still harbors a lot of trauma, please just listen to him and comfort him and don't open the door for Constance.

- for someone stuck in a house all day you think he'd straighten up, but no. He is messsssy there's sweaters, books, and other things thrown around the room by the end of the day

- he spends all day writing, drawing, and listening to music. He likes to leave his writing in places around the house for you to randomly find.

- scratching him behind the ears and rubbing his face with your thumb is the key to helping him when he's having a bad time.

***I forgot to add this but Tate would also love lil peep with 0 shame despite him thinking the "90's was the best era of music 🤓☝🏻", some of his songs are so Tate coded.

he'd be the biggest stan, he's probably his favorite modern artist.

#tate langdon #murder house #ahs fanfic #ahs fandom #ahs murder house #american horror story #american horror murder house #tate langdon fanfic #tate langdon headcanon #headcanon

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localcanadiancreature62 · 3 months ago

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Woe,GF fanchildren be upon ye.

Fiddlestan au but Fidds has children from both Stan and Ford. Lemme explain. Fidds ends up creating a robot child out of his and Ford's dna after losing the custody battle with Emma may and Tate,since it devastated him that much which is why instead of going insane with the memory gun he ends up grabbing hair from Ford while he's asleep and creates a robot clone child from their shared dna. He's already starting to use the memory gun at this point as this is after he quit the project and thus he's beginning to become unstable although he's still sane enough to take care of a child so he figured that he should just replace Tate if his ex-wife won't let him have his Tater. Thus,F-1N53AS aka Finneas "Finn" Mcgucket was "born". Meanwhile the Fiddlestan kid was "born" after Fidds ended up helping Stan with the portal and he suddenly decided to make a kid for them too when they got into a relationship n' the con was talking about wanting to have children lately. And so,F-R4NCH3SKA aka Francheska "Fran" Mcgucket-Pines was born. More under the cut cuz the info for this au is Longgg.

Finn acts a lot like Ford,being bright and passionate as well as in love with life. Finn is basically Ford but if he was untouched by the Horrors (Bill,portal,brother issues, etc). He is a very lively and enthusiastic boy,he's also into the sciences/research like Ford but instead of anomalies he studies regular plants and animals as he also has Fidds' anxiety (he's terrified of anomalies and monsters),he wants to be an Ecologist when he grows up as he loves how the animals plants and people work together to create such a wonderful,thriving environment. Finn may be a lot like his genetic templates,but he's also drastically different from them as he's shy quiet to the point of being nonverbal most of the time and also really jumpy as well as anxious 24/7.

Ford and Fidds may be generally introverted,but Finn is withdrawn to the extreme,he doesn't talk to anyone but his dad Fidds as he's otherwise pretty silent,so silent that his father usually doesn't hear him or notice his presence. Meanwhile Fran acts exactly like Stan but worse. She's a little shit bully that always blatantly insults adults and children alike, she's brilliant like her dad Fidds but also a delinquent like her papa Stan which often leads to her using her smarts for pranking people rather than for useful things like world changing inventions,she is feisty spunky and always confident but she's also lowkey feral. feral as in she's batshit insane and always uses her inventions to hurt people such as using her makeshift taser on the unfortunate children that annoy her or making a hyperrealistic spider robot army to scare her teachers. she ended up getting Fidds' pettiness,she commits crimes but at a smaller scale than her papa Stan. she isn't really into the criminal thing except for wanting to get into arms dealing one day,and Fran's specialty is weaponry rather than machinery. she often creates makeshift BB guns death rays and flamethrowers for fun. Also this is called the Mommy Mcgucket au (because Finn thought that since Fidds "gave birth" to him by creating him,he must be his mother after the hillbilly explained the birds and the bees to him when he saw a billboard of a pregnant woman in town. Fidds tried many times to correct him,but the kid's code is faulty and he wouldn't listen so he just let him call him "Mom". out of universe reason though,i thought it would be funny if Fidds a man was called Mommy loll and the term rhymes with his surname too sooo). Fidds ends up getting married to Stan after the grifter falsified documents of him as a woman and they pretended that "Stanford Filbrick Pines" was married to "Fidelity Mcgucket" since gay marriage wasn't legal yet,so even when it's under a fake name and identity,they're still technically married (Fidds was perfectly fine with everyone thinking he was married to Ford,as he knew that he married the con and not the insufferable bastard). Being with Stan was the happiest Fidds has ever been,he was married to a wonderful man and had two amazing children. He had finally achieved stability after that whole fiasco with Ford and the memory gun as well as Emma may,he was finally happy after so much suffering. Or was he? 😏.

While Fidds may have been a great husband,he was.. lacking as a father. Finn had various defects as a result of him being a quick snap decision made by Fidds' in order to save his sanity soon after the portal testing and him losing the custody battle with Tate,thus he wasn't given the careful planning and blueprints that a regular robot would have which meant that he malfunctions often and he has various disabilities (creating a child out of your and your ex's dna to cope with shit obviously ended up horribly). He's literally blind in one eye,his right leg gets stiff a lot due to the scrap metal used for it being very old and rusty,fingers from both hands fall off a lot as the screws were also rusty and didn't fit his model,he is Very sensitive to touch and both cold/hot temperatures as his sensors are fried from overuse (testing. too much testing) which is why he flinches at the slightest poke or warmth,and he gets tired very easily and thus he needs a constant battery change (physical disabilities,autism,and chronic fatigue syndrome allegories..). Due to how much attention Finn needs with his fragile condition,Fidds ends up spending more time with him instead of Fran. This leads to Fran acting out and being more chaotic than she usually is just to get her dad's attention. Plus Fidds thinks that Finn is Ford,as in he views his own son as an idealized version of Ford that is perfect and has never betrayed him ever nor will ever have the capability of doing so (he may have gotten over his feelings for Ford. But he never got over how Ford betrayed his trust as a friend,as a partner with him making it clear that the portal and the darn triangle are more important to him than the one person who has supported him since day 1). Whenever the boy acts negatively,he is verbally abused and given the silent treatment because "My Ford wouldn't do that",Fidds is entirely deluded by the fact that since his son acts like Ford he could shape him into the idealized version he has of his best friend/first love who would never betray him and always be nice to him. Finn is simultaneously degraded while also being praised for being a better man than Ford ever was,and Fidds outright discourages him from having any dreams or ambitions as he figured that if he got rid of the root cause of "Ford's" betrayal of him i.e his lofty ego and ambitions then he could live peacefully with his new genius.

Except the worst part is,Finn never wanted any of that whole "achieving a great destiny" thing that his other genetic template/daddy Ford sought after,he just wants to live a normal life while pursuing his passions and leaving a mark on the world instead of being an overachiever. Fidds never knew about this,or more like he did know but he ignored his son's explanation in favor of his idealized view on things. Fidds is actively encouraging the glass (disabled) child and normal child/golden child and neglected child dynamic with his insane view on things. He may not be insane from the memory gun as he quit soon after getting into a relationship with Stan,but he's insane from his trauma with Ford. Finn and Fran become distant from one another because of Fran secretly being jealous of her older brother (older cuz he was born a year before her) being their dad's special little boy while Finn thinks that Fran is useless cannon fodder just like Fidds does despite being close with her as kids as the hillbilly figured that the "lazy delinquent" was less important than his little Finny (also the fact that Finn is technically a replacement of Tate as well makes this worse. he constantly coddles and spoils Finn the way he was never able to do so with Tate due to the whole "leave your family to study cryptids in the woods" thing),congrats Fidds,you became an even worse version of Filbrick.

Also the other horrific part about this is that,BOTH Finn and Fran are brilliant like their father Fidds except Fran doesn't use her genius properly due to her being a little shit who favors making killer weaponry instead of helping people and making money with normal gadgetry while Finn is a total nerd that wants to study most of normal non anomaly flora and fauna (he loves animals plants and bugs. he's a real hippie-esque nature boy) in order to help the environment and deal with things like climate change when he's older. Also it's so painful that Fidds' new family was made through choice instead of it being forced on him (i hc that Emma may and Fidds were an arranged marriage by their parents) yet he destroyed it with his obsessive behavior,he chose happiness and didn't let others dictate his life this time yet he also chose to ruin it for himself. Fidds is a loving father,he cares about both of his kids deeply yet he also fucked up a lot.

Him fucking up his kids so bad is the reason why after college,Finn and Fran stay in Gravity Falls but they don't contact their father ever again. They only ever talk to their papa Stan and arrange hangouts with him because he was the only parent out of their two dads that actually felt like a parent and did his job of raising them instead of whatever insanity Fidds subjected them to,Stan often tried to stick up for Finn and make Fidds stop being so strict on him but he stopped trying after he concluded that his hillbilly husband is insanely stubborn while he also tried his best to support Fran and take care of her when Fidds failed in doing so. Stan realizing that Fidds is basically doing the same thing that Filbrick did to him and Ford to their own children made him become distant from the hillbilly as well,but he didn't once try to divorce him. He stayed throughout everything,as he knew that the southerner was doing this because he was hurting although he didn't know how to help when the man was so deluded by him thinking he was doing the right thing.

Everything else basically goes exactly the same as canon,except Fidds never went insane from the memory gun (although he still went insane but for a different reason) Stan has two robot children that often visit him stopping by at the Shack a lot plus the twins have a robot aunt and uncle as well as a third hillbilly Grunkle. Also Finn and Fran have to deal with Weirdmaggedon as well,but it's worse for them as they end up discovering that the man that their father destroyed their family over also ended up making a deal with a demon that caused the apocalypse. Fidds has a lot of explaining to do,and apologies are long overdue (woah that rhymed).

Bonus - The kids technically still "grow up" but via Fidds making new models every year and then transferring their code within the new bodies,thus they still technically go through puberty. Finn and Fran used to act like exact copies of kid Ford and Stan respectively the moment they were created as a 5 and 4 y/o since their code was made to replicate the Stans on purpose but after two years,they started to gain sentence and thus develop their own personalities. Finn and Fran are NOT twins,they were "born" a year apart from each other,they only have matching names because Fidds wanted to make it clear that they were his children (F letter names like him). The Mcgucket Siblings still look human despite being entirely machine,this is because they have silicone "skin" that feels and acts exactly like normal human skin with it being soft being able to get punctured etc and their hair is made out of fine wires that are made to look and feel like normal human hair. Finn and Fran are only as brilliant as they are because Fidds programmed his 30 years worth of studying the sciences into a 5 y/o and 4 y/o in order to make it clear that they're his children. Finn is the only one that calls Fidds "Mom" as Fran calls him "Dad",and he stops calling him that by the time he starts getting verbally abusive and switches to calling him "Fiddleford" although he returns to calling him "Mom" by the time they reconcile,by the time Finn is older at about 12-16 he actually recognizes the man as his father and not his mother but the nickname sticks. Finn and Fran are actually half siblings,as they have the same father but a different other parent. Stan is technically Finn's uncle,but growing up with him and being raised by the con instead of his own father throughout the years made him see the grifter as a father figure,Stan is proud to have him as a nephew since he greatly reminds him of Ford when he was younger but unlike Fidds he doesn't twist it into something messed up.

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