Request: Tate x reader where you were murdered in the house before the Langdons move in and when they move in the reader watches him grow up and after Constance decides to move back in with Larry in the murder house when Tate’s older she attempts to befriend him? thanks
a/n: my heaart tho
There’s a new family moving in today. You watch as the tall blonde woman enters the front door with a little boy. He looks around four, maybe five, and he has a pair of bright orange overalls on over a lime green t-shirt. His short blond hair matches his mother’s, pressed flat against his head.
“Tate, why don’t you go play with your toys?” The mother says, pulling a cigarette from her pink purse and walking outside. You scrunch your nose up in disgust. What a horrible mother.
The boy, Tate, holds his fire truck to his chest, climbing up the stairs; one tiny hand holding the railing. His feet struggle to get to the next step, missing it as his grip slips. Not thinking, you catch the little boy in your arms, making yourself visible for the first time. Big brown eyes stare at you in awe and the toy drops to the floor. “Wooooah…” He whispers.
As soon as he’s safe on the floor, you disappear. Confused, he races around the entire house, playing hide-and-go seek for you. “Mommy, there was this girl and she saved me!” He proclaims, peering at his mother walking inside. All she does is hum and nod, passing by him. He frowns. There was a girl, he knows it.
Tate Langdon grew up that’s for sure. When he steps in the house, you’re shocked. The little boy who you once knew is gone, replaced with a tall lanky young man. His dark green sweater shifts against his broad chest as he walks to his room; you follow him. “I know you’re here. Might as well show yourself.” He sighs, closing the door and plopping his ass on the creaky bed.
Focusing, you turn yourself visible, standing at his feet. “Boy, did you grow up.” You joke, widening your eyes; hair falling in front of them. “I remember when you were this big, Tate!” You laugh, putting your hand to your thigh. He blushes, criss-cross. “You never saw me though; only once.” You shrug, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“I remember that.” He muses, lunging forward. “I knew it was you!” He points, cupping a hand on his bare knee. “So you’re a ghost… How’d you die?” He asks, scooting closer to you; his blue jeans riding up. Those dark brown eyes huge like when he was younger.
You explain how you were murdered here for the rest of the afternoon. He asks many questions, as do you; talks about how things are now, school, music, etc. While talking, you realize something. You have a new friend and his name is Tate.