#tate reader insert

Pressing the blade deep into your arm and moving it across multiple times, you sucked in a staggering breath, watching as the blood from your arm slid down in smooth maroon lines and splashed creating a small pool of blood on the dirty toilet floor. Looking at all of that blood was like a small dose of Heaven for you; a euphoria painted from blood within your own veins.

"Y'know you shouldn't do that in school." You heard a voice say from outside the chipped green coloured door. You were startled at first but soon realised it was a bathroom, and people did need to do the ‘do’ here. Before you could process his words and reply the stranger spoke again. "You wanna come out?" His voice was soft and calm, unlike any you had heard before. You saw a glimpse of his combat boots from under the gap in the door and felt very intrigued as to who the stranger was.

You unlocked the door slowly, leaving your sleeves of your dark green jumper to fall down by themselves and your blade to be abandoned on the floor. Making sure your legs were steady, you emerged from the stall. The stranger was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of you, a cigarette in his mouth and a box of matches in his hand. You had to admit, as much as you were wary of the stranger, you were very interested in him.

His blond curls fell into his dark brown eyes that looked as if they were searching your soul for an ounce of something that interested him. To your surprise, he didn't speak, but stood and turned on the tap from the sinks behind him. His cigarette remained unlit as he continued his task of dampening some paper towels and cooing you towards him. "Let me see them." He stated as more of a command. You had never shown anyone your self-harm scars and cuts before and you stayed where you were. The stranger noticed how wary you were and smiled in a much more understanding way than a pitiful one and you appreciated that.

Looking closer into his eyes, bags marking them as there own, you thought he looked as though he had carried a great deal of shit on his back lately. He took your arm and pulled up your sleeve, stained blood littering your arm and jumper. You winced as he pressed a damp paper towel across your wound. "You wouldn't want it to get infected." You wondered why he was helping you but before you could speak up he spoke again, in a much cheerier tone than his last, "I'm Tate. Tate Langdon."

You smiled at him the best you could. You'd heard his name before. Apparently, not a lot of people liked him around here which was utterly a mystery to you because you thought he seemed like a lovely boy. "And you are?" He asked as he finished cleaning your arm for you and lighting his cigarette. "I-I'm [Y/N][Y/SN]." You replied in a much more nervous way that you had hoped you would. "Well, [Y/N], cutting in school isn't the most sensible thing to do." "Neither is smoking." You replied sassily taking him by surprise. You thought he was going to think you were horrible after that but he just smirked and sat up on the sinks. You followed suit. "To be honest, I don't really care if it was sensible or not. Cutting isn't healthy in general. In school or not." "So why'd you do it then?" Tate asked, passing you his cigarette which you took a drag on thankfully. "I'm not entirely sure." "I understand. I did it too. It's sort of as though when you do it nothing else matters but all that blood y'know. You can forget about all the other shit." You nodded in agreement, taken back by how you managed to connect with his words.

He passed you a cigarette of your own and you took it with a nod. "Why did you help me?" You asked suddenly, breaking the silence between you two. "Well, for one, I couldn't just ignore a crying girl slicing her arm open in the men's bathroom whilst I contemplated my sanity. Two, I heard a lot of shit going down in the hallway before and I know how you feel and three..." You almost laughed at his ability to be so straightforward until you realised he had stopped and was staring at you. "Three?" You asked, eager to know. "You're really cute." He replied, smiling revealing his dimples. It suddenly dawned on you how attractive he was and you blushed at his compliment. "Thank you, you're not too bad yourself." You smirked and sighed. "You wanna get outta here?" Tate asked you suddenly. "As in the toilet or school in general?" You smiled, jumping down from the sinks and wiping your tear stains you assumed were there from your face. You thought of how kind Tate was for complimenting you, even when you were a wreck. "School? I think you mean shit-filled Hell-hole." He laughed, giving you concerned looks at your still bleeding arm and your look of shame as you walked away from the blade you had abandoned. "You shouldn't feel ashamed." Tate advised you, somehow knowing exactly what you were thinking, "Everyone deals with pain in different ways. And that's okay." "I know, it's just...God," you sighed, "I never wanted to be the girl that depended on someone else to take care of her mental stability. I didn't want to be a victim and to try and make that somehow a positive by getting a cute boy involved." Tate smirked at this. "You ain't a victim. You're a human." He smiled as you both ventured out into the school halls.

The bell had already gone, leaving the school halls completely barren, the usual daunting sounds of pale grey lockers slamming and endless bickering silenced by the welcoming sounds of birds amongst the outside world. You weren't new to skipping school due to fake sick days, however, you had never simply walked out before. It gave you a sense of pride to be able to leave willingly with a cute boy by your side.

Just as the feeling of doubt set in you noticed a group of kids who looked older than you; the rowdy popular footballing type. You prayed that your school skipping would be easy enough but it obviously wasn't that simple. As the guys started to shout things at Tate, heading straight towards the both of you, you rolled your eyes, gaining a little confidence by telling them to shut up. They ooo'd sarcastically at you, unable to focus their tiny minds on how annoyed Tate looked. It scared you a little. Tate thought it was nice you had tried to stick up for him considering you were a little shy, and carried on away from the group of idiots, hoping if they were loud enough eventually a member of staff would find them. The group didn't follow you and Tate off Campus which made you feel a little bang of rebelliousness bubbling inside you.

The walk Tate was taking you on was unfamiliar and you couldn't stop your eyes from taking in its beauty. Fields of green separated neatly with dried muddy paths that were lined with colourful flowers, butterflies and bees buzzing brilliantly, swimming in the sea of colour and pollen. It was cold yet the Sun still shone brightly, light hitting yours and Tate's face, making you focus on his features. Your eyes raked across his tall form. You knew not a thing about this boy but his name yet here you were, strolling along like you'd known him for years. The realisation of him being a stranger filled you with a dangerous feeling that you liked and you didn't understand why. Perhaps it was because of who the stranger was.

Soon enough you came to a small clearing where the grass was cut shorter in front of a huge willow tree, its vines long, almost touching the green of the floor's surface. Tate guided you amongst the vines of the tree, swaying past them swiftly and planting himself down beneath them. You joined him, taken away with the peace.

"How did you find this place?" You asked, taken aback. "Skipped school one day years ago and found it. I come here when I need to think." He said simply smiling sweetly at you. You returned the smile and continued, "So why did you bring me here?" "Because you need to think." "About what?" "About why you do that to yourself." He pointed to your arm, "What do you get out of it? Why? Can you stop? If not, why? Y'know. It's not a nice thing to do. I know it isn't. It isn't the only option." You did think. You thought for a while. And after a long time in blissful silence, you turned to Tate, finally fixed on how you were to turn your life around. To your surprise, Tate was sitting cross-legged picking up daisies and looping them through each other.

"Uh, Tate?" You smirked. "What?" He laughed, sensing your smile. "Nothing." You shrugged, instead, collecting yourself and sitting in front of his frame, helping him complete the end of his daisy chain and tying the ends together. "It is complete!" Tate raised his voice in a strange accent which amused you as he placed the daisy crown he had made onto your head, fixing your hair perfectly behind your ears. You smiled awkwardly, wondering how you could possibly feel so open around someone you just met.

"You like Kurt Cobain?" You ask, noticing his similarities to the nirvana member. Tate looked happy to answer the question and you both spent the afternoon joking around under the tree, singing and talking about what you each liked to do. You found out that Tate actually ran track at school and you both enjoyed reading. It seemed you had finally found a friend.

Pretty soon, however, the darkness began to fall and the moon persuaded the sun to fuck off and make some room. "Where do you live?" You asked Tate as you both proceeded towards your own home. "939 Berro Drive." Tate replied awkwardly. "Murder House huh?" He nodded in reply, "Cool. You got any siblings?" "Yeah, I have three." He continued to tell you about his siblings. About his father abandoning him. His mother's neglect and his constant fear of tipping over the edge and losing his mind. You were speechless at first of course but reassured him none-the-less. "You shouldn't stress yourself, take a break from the shit, get your mind away from your troubles." You smiled. "You're right. I did that today actually." He smiled at you. "What do you mean?" "Your pretty face distracted me." He chuckled and you shoved him, finally appearing at your run-down home.

It was much different than Tate's. The house was small and dirty with a tiny garden that was overrun with towering grass. The windows were hazy and the painted wooden window ledges were chipped and falling apart. You sighed in annoyance as you had to say goodbye to Tate and unlocked your rusted metal gate to make sure your father hadn't killed himself from alcohol poisoning. "Hey," Tate held your arm as you began to walk away from him, "I'll see you round okay? Tomorrow I'll take you for pizza on the beach?" "Deal." You smiled, leaving Tate with a kiss on the cheek and a whispered 'thank you'. You were content with the goodbye but hurt at the look in Tate's eyes.

You could not sleep that night as you tossed and turned to the sound of your fathers’ snores which gradually got louder; your scrap metal of a bed creaking as you impatiently awaiting what could possibly be an okay Saturday for once. Your mind drifted off to Tate. Tate Langdon. He was, well, wonderful. There was something about him however that worried you. The look in Tate's eyes when you said goodbye was sad, but it hinted something else. Something dark and menacing and you wondered why? It's not as if that sweet charm of a boy could do anything menacing, could he?

-

The weekend, of course, went fantastic at first. You didn't think you had ever been so happy. You and Tate spent Saturday trying to skateboard in the local mall and messing around together. You both ended up getting kicked out after taking stupid pictures together wearing silly hats and moustache's which you hadn't paid for, even though you were still in the store that you found them in. It was very amusing to you both. As agreed, you both went to the beach with pizza and sat yourselves in front of a burning hot fire as you talked endlessly about meaningless things.

"Oh, I forgot to give you this." You said as you bit into another slice of pizza and dug through your bag to pull out a little black and white bracelet. It was leather bound with a "T" engraved. You handed it to him nervously. "I know its weird since we only met a while ago but, you helped me a lot and I don't think I've ever had a friend before and, well, I couldn't remember how to smile until I met you." Tate looked shocked, which made you nervous, "I just wanted to say thank you. You don't have to wear it or anything if you don't want to I just thought that-" "I love it." Tate cut you off smirking, "I really really love it." He pulled you into a delicate hug, his arms caressing your form lightly as you relished in the comfort. He smelled like cigarettes and peaches and you smiled into his chest. "You're adorable, but I feel bad for not getting you anything." He said once the hug was over and done with. "You dork, do you not understand? You did give me something...you gave me happiness." You smiled shyly at him.

In that moment you wanted nothing more than to just kiss his perfect face, but it ended all too soon when Sunday came.

You had agreed to meet Tate at the mall at 12, yet you sat waiting alone until 1. You had bought cookies and a slush to share, but the person you were to share them with was nowhere to be seen. You didn't want to leave in case Tate turned up. Even if you did, you wouldn't know where to go and home was not the nicest of places. You thought calling him would be a good idea, however, without a phone or a number it was impossible. As it got close to 3pm you had no choice but to leave and sit in the library.

Books were your escape. You had to admit, you were worried. Worried in case Tate had gotten hurt, worried in case the bracelet and hug you shared had creeped him out and he would not go near you again. You forced the thoughts out by reading. Alone. Silent. Without a care. 'I shouldn't worry,' you thought, 'Tate will be fine.'

Except, Tate wasn't fine.

-

It was Monday morning and school was just another obstacle in your seemingly drastic life but you pushed on through. It seemed like a regular Monday, other than the fact you had a horrible feeling in your gut. The feeling only grew stronger as your first lessons had begun. The only thing you could think about at this moment was Tate. Would you ever see those ocean deep brown eyes, those perfect blond Cobain styled curls, that dorky little smile? Yes. You would. But in completely different circumstances than you originally thought.

As you tapped your foot in time with the clock on the wall, 11:30, ignoring the paper being thrown across the room by a kid called Kevin and the teacher attempting to calm down your class of fifteen. All too quickly had things changed from fun and games when a loud bang was heard outside the closed classroom door. Your heartbeat raised ecstatically as another bang erupted from outside in the hall along with the screams of pupils. Over the screaming pupils and shouting teacher, you didn't know what to do. As loud as everything was, all you heard was silence as a third shot rang out and the person behind it all stepped into view.

Tate.

He wore a Prussian blue American Civil War Union soldier coat and held a shotgun tightly in his hands. His face was plain and held more sorrow than you had ever seen before. He did not look sorry, he did not look scared, he did not look like anything. He was just...there. He pointed the gun at one student and pulled the trigger, blood amidst in the air like snow in the winter. The fact he had caused four deaths didn't seem to have bothered him a single bit. He continued around the class, a frenzy of bullets, screams and blood followed. A couple of students managed to escape as he continued his massacre. This could not be the same boy you had been friends with, could it?

"Please, stop this!" "What good are you doing!" "Why are you doing this!" The voices were endless and every one of them ended with a shot. The screams soon withered away and Tate caught your eye. He couldn't, could he? He raised the shotgun towards you, his lips pressed tightly together and his hand trembled. You did not blink or close your eyes, you did not beg or plead with him or question why, you simply looked into his eyes and gave him a weak smile. "Tate." You started, however you were unable to finish. His grip on the shotgun loosened and fell. He did not speak or explain. He just left.

You looked around at the blood covered classroom and tried to ignore the remains of your dead classmates as you stood up wearily and followed Tate threw the school. "[Y/N]," the voice of one of your teachers quietly spoke out to you, "Follow me, we can get out of here!" "No." You replied simply and followed Tate's footsteps quickly.

It wasn't quick enough. After the shots of six bullets, you walked into the library to find five bodies and one unconscious teacher. The blood never normally bothered you but right now it really did. You walked out of the exit Tate had gone through and followed him quickly, picking up your pace as you sprinted towards him. "Tate!" You shouted, not knowing why you weren't afraid of being potentially killed amongst the presence of him. "What!" He shouted back, coming to a holt on what you assumed was the way back to his home.

He wasn't himself. You knew that. Something had happened to push him over the edge. He had no empathy or regret in his voice. He did not look scared or sad. He was giving off signs of a full mental breakdown.

Once you reached him you didn't ask him anything out of courtesy, but chose instead to wrap your arms around his form and pull him into a hug. This was when his emotions finally gave into him. His tears fell from his eyes and did not stop for a long time. The shotgun he once had was now abandoned on the floor and he cried into your neck. Your ripped up baggy jeans were covered in blood as were Tate's. You caressed his hair lovingly and held him for a while. As he had done to you.

"I'm sorry." He sobbed. He attempted to ramble out an explanation for why he did it but you could tell whatever had happened was sure playing with his mind because he still didn't seem the same. "I don't care why you did it, Tate. Okay? We need to get you out of here, the cops will come and then- then-" "Yeah, I know!" He shouted through his tears, "Just leave okay? If they come they'll arrest you too. Just go!" "No!" You shouted back, "Why did you leave me? Why didn't you shoot me like everyone else?" You asked, your voice more delicate now. "Because." Tate replied. "Because what?" "Because nobody has ever been as nice to me as you before. Nobody I've ever known has listened to me ramble about stupid things. Nobody I know likes Kurt Cobain like you do. I like you, [Y/N]." I wiped his tears from his face and hugged him close. "I like you too. Maybe not at this point entirely but, I like you too. Dork." You smiled sadly, knowing the fate Tate had chosen.

It was silent between you both for a long time until Tate had to physically remove you from him to go into his house. "Wait!" You shouted, running up the path to where he was stood, shotgun in hand. You moved a strand of blond hair out of his eyes and stood on your tiptoes, pressing your lips against his gently. Tate was not at all surprised and kissed you back immediately. You don't know what overcame you. Perhaps you knew that you would most likely never see Tate again. Perhaps it was just because you craved the familiar taste of cigarettes and peaches. Even though it lasted shorter than you would have liked, it was the best damn kiss you ever had. It sent sparks flying up your spine and your heart did little flips.

With a tight squeeze of your hand, Tate said his goodbyes. His final goodbyes? It was never spoken between you two, but you knew it would happen and you had to come to terms with the fact you would possibly never see him again. You only allowed the tears to fall once Tate was officially out of site. Tate died later on that day. He was shot and killed by the SWAT team.

-

You had never met Tate's mother, but you thought to bring her flowers was the best thing to do. It was a week after Tate had died when you knocked on the door of the famous Murder House and you had become nervous. The door soon swung open revealing a distressed looking blonde woman. "I told you to leave me alone!" She almost screamed, looking shocked to see you standing at the door holding flowers. "Sorry, I don't mean to intrude, I just brought you some flowers." "Do I know you?" She replied, rudely, although it looked as if she didn't mean it offensively. "No, sorry. My name is [Y/N], I was a friend of Tate's." You explained, nervously. "Right, come in." You were stunned by how beautiful the house was and took everything in in a state of awe. You noticed tonnes of boxes piled sky high and dared not to ask. "Would you like a cigarette? Tate told me you liked them." "He spoke about me?" You asked, taking one thankfully and allowing her to light it for you politely. "Only once, but he seemed very fond of you." She spoke with a smile. You didn't find it hard to believe how she neglected Tate.

"I am sorry for your losses. I wish none of this would have happened." You spoke after a minute longs silence. You, by all means, hated what Tate had done. It was not an okay thing to do, however, you did feel very sad. Sad because you knew Tate didn't just do it because he could. He had a reason in his own messed up mind. A reason that was probably overlooked in the end. As much as you tried to fight the guilt, it was still there. You felt awful for not seeing that something was wrong, for not doing anything to stop Tate from falling over the edge. It was too late now though.

"Why? Everyone seemed so adamant about thanking the lord that the world was ridden of him." She replied, it was obvious she was hurt, after all, she had lost two of her children and people had been overjoyed about it. You thought about how the public had obviously had backlash at what Tate had done, yet you vowed to forget about what had happened. "Because. Tate was my friend. And, in my opinion, nobody deserves to be treated the way you and your family are being treated because of what happened." You avoiding eye contact as you took a drag of your cigarette. "I should be going, if you'll excuse me I-" "Thank you. For the flowers. And for your kindness." Tate's mother spoke, still seated at the table the both of you had been chatting at. She looked at you with a hopeful expression and a weak smile, her eyes welling up. "No problem. Thank you for your time, and the cigarette." You smiled back, making your own way out of the house, not for one second expecting her to see you out. She was grieving and you appreciated this.

As you stood facing the huge house. You smiled. You smiled in memory of your first friend. Your first real friend. The first person to have shown you any compassion, any humour, any kindness, any love in your entire lifetime. The first person to make you feel content with life. You vowed not to cry and to move on with your life as you fiddled with a leather-bound bracelet around your wrist than had the letter "[first initial of your name]" engraved on it. It matched the one Tate had. You kept the smile on your face as you turned your back towards the house and collided with a fast and hard object, sending your lifeless body into the air and smashing back down against the hard sidewalk.

The images that flashed before you were confusing. Screams, blood, sirens. Everything seemed confusing and before your eyes completely closed, they set themselves on a blond-haired figure leaning up against the familiar brick wall of the Murder House.

As your last breath left your body and your spirit was dragged into an eternity of trapped housing, you wondered what was exactly in store for you. The first image you saw when you awoke in a seemingly dark cement walled building was a red ball rolling past your head and the familiar voice of a certain Kurt Cobain looking teenage boy telling you that you looked like a dork when you died.