Requested: Alive!tate x f!reader, the reader is new to Tate’s high school, and he takes her under his wing. The two of them get close and from friends, a natural and genuine love blooms. Reader dresses like Nancy from The Craft. Set in 1993/1994.
song played/lyrics mentioned: All Apologies by Nirvana
warnings: swearing, bullying, Tate is protective, lots of fluff. Writers Block throughout, didn’t proof read. Mention of reader wearing specific grunge/gothic clothing. Cliche plot/tropes.
word count: 2.1k
Moving to Los Angeles in 1993 wasn't what you had planned; you were comfortable in your small town and content with your small group of friends who considered themselves outcasts and weirdos, but life had other plans, ones you couldn't change, no matter how desperate.
Westfield High became your new hell: a shark tank of cliques that didn't tolerate deviations, and instead of having a new familiar friend group, you were alone, vulnerable and a new fixation for bullies who ripped you apart for how you presented yourself to the world. Your thrifted flannels and combat boots, once symbols of your carefully crafted identity, now made you an easier target.
First came the laughing as they passed you in the halls, then came the pointed fingers behind your back and whispers, the occasional 'accidental' shove into your locker with insults attached; you were tormented all day, every day, being pulled apart piece by piece.
You were hoping and praying that this move to LA was temporary and you'd soon be off to College studying your passions out of this hellhole state in no time, but your parents were up to their eyeballs in debt, and your entire college fund got washed down the drain with their savings at the casino. Your parents were desperate for a new start and were hoping the move would distract you from the focus of college, but it was all you could think about until you met Tate.
You tried to navigate the minefield of round tables in the cafeteria, but then you saw them: three silhouettes with waist-length, glossy hair and pink coordinated outfits that were an eyesore amongst the sea of denim and backwards caps. You spun on your heel, feeling sick and sweaty. Suddenly, a hand clamped onto your sleeve like a vice.
"Nice trench coat," the leader drawled, her voice cutting through the noise. She hauled you backwards, "You look like you're going to go on a frenzied killing spree."
To the crowd, this was just background noise; they didn't even look up from their trays, usually a the crowd would be looming nearby, watching and listening in, hoping for a fight. Cheering on the trio as they claw at your face and pull at your clothing. You braced yourself for the inevitable beating.
The other two girls started to smirk at you from behind the ring leader, looking you up and down, obnoxiously chewing their gum, "and what the fuck have you done to your hair?" She came closer to you, sniffing at you and grimacing, "You smell like some sort of swamp witch."
"Please, can you for one day, just leave me alone?" you said quietly, snatching your arm back from her grip, "This is the last thing I need today."
Inching closer and closer, she reached over again and snatched one of your many long and beaded necklaces. She clenched the beads in her tight fist and aggressively yanked down with such a horrific force that your necklace snapped at the back of your neck, causing the tiny black and silver beads to drop and rush across the floor.
"Hey!" a loud voice shouted from behind them, who were howling with laughter but appeared to shrink in size, "fuck off and leave her alone," the tall lad demanded, pushing himself between you and the ringleader.
The smirks quickly slipped from their faces, and their chins dropped into their chests, the three of them staring down at the floor. A cold prickle of dread raced down your spine; if these monsters were afraid, what kind of predator was standing behind you?
The tall figure walked in front of you, briefly glancing at you from over his shoulder, the breath caught in your throat, he watched the trio scramble away and turned around to focus on you again. His angelic features were so soft you wanted to reach out and stroke his cheek.
His intense dark eyes studied yours, and a charming smile crept across his face, "Nice nose ring, I dig a girl with piercings." He murmured, his voice a low velvet hum that vibrated in your chest.
The deep, prickly heat started to spread across the back of your neck, crawling up the edges of your ears and across your cheeks, your skin turning a deep shade of pink.
You opened your mouth to speak, but the words died in your throat as he suddenly sank to his knees, quickly and carefully picking up the loose beads all over the floor, placing them into the palm of his hand.
"You really don't have to do that," you said softly, joining him on the floor, picking up the last remaining beads.
"Are you kidding?!" His intense eyes twinkled in the light of the warm sun breaking through the large open windows, "What kinda asshole would leave you here and humiliated?" he held out his hand and opened out his palm, "Here,"
You retrieved the scuffed beads from the palm of his large hand and placed them into the deep pockets of your trench coat, losing yourself in his dirty blonde hair that swept across his forehead.
"Nice coat, I've got one of those somewhere in my laundry pile," he paused and tilted his head, his gaze lingering on the sharp line of your dark, plum-stained lips. "Wait, are you new? I don't think I've ever seen you here before."
"I moved here a few months ago," you cleared your throat, focusing on maintaining eye contact "pretty late to the academic year; my parents just moved us out of nowhere."
He seemed to listen carefully and nodded his head, "Well, that's parents for you," he hesitated for a moment and stood up, helping you to your feet, he took your small hand in his. You felt so tiny next to him, but for the first time since moving to LA, you didn't feel afraid.
"I'm Tate."
From that moment, Tate Langdon changed your life.
The long and dreadful days at Westfield High suddenly became exciting, and the hours slipped through your fingers. When you were with Tate, walking down the plain halls or sitting in the dull library together, reciting depressing gothic poetry, you felt on top of the world.
As Winter flourished into Spring, you were always at his beautifully decorated and big house, sneaking past his mother and sister.
With Tate, there was nothing to hide, and you could be yourself; you stopped reaching out to your old group of friends; the desperate letters remained unwritten, and you no longer lost nights crying over them. For the first time since your move, escaping to college had completely slipped your mind.
You sat on the edge of the mattress, nodding your head to the low hum of Alice in Chains, whilst Tate sat cross-legged on the floor. He was a blurred portrait of perfection with his hair still damp from the shower, sticking to his forehead in messy clumps. He flipped through his record crate as his eyes scanned the cover art.
You slid off the bed and padded over to him, the cool floor smooth beneath your feet. "Got any Kurt Cobain in that hoard?" you asked softly, leaning over his shoulder.
Tate’s entire face transformed from a fixed and frustrated concentration to a genuine and electric beam. He lunged forward as his fingers danced over the sleeves until he snagged a bright, mustard-yellow cover.
"In Utero," he replied excitedly, holding it up like a trophy, "I was the first guy who bought it at our local store on release day."
Tate carefully lowered the needle, causing a brief crackle of static and then opening chords of All Apologies poured through the quiet of his room.
"Why did you help me?" you whispered, the question hanging heavy in the quiet room.
What else should I be?
All apologies
What else could I say?
Everyone is gay
What else could I write?
I don't have the right
What else should I be?
All apologies
Tate walked over to his bed and sat down on the edge of it. He leaned down on his side, pressing into the mattress and patted the space next to him, causing more creases on his bedsheet.
Your heart fluttered like a lone butterfly under a tree, and you suppressed the growing heat that was desperate to spread across your face, and bravely followed and sat next to him, his shoulder brushing yours as he leaned in.
In the sun
In the sun, I feel as one
In the sun, in the sun
Married, buried
He reached out, his thumb grazing the edge of your jaw, just below where your dark lipstick started.
"Because you're different," he murmured, a shadow of a smile playing on his lips. "I used to think I was the only one who could see the darkness, who could reach out and grasp it with my fingers without losing control and letting it take over me, and then I met you."
You melted into his thumb, your eyes pouring into his as he inched closer and closer, “I felt like that too, that I was the only one who knew what that attraction to the darkness felt like, and you completely changed everything, you’ve opened me up to every possibility of gaining control over my life."
I wish I was like you
Easily amused
Find my nest of salt
Everything is my fault
I'll take all the blame
Aqua seafoam shame
Sunburn freezer burn
Choking on the ashes of her enemy
The softness of Tate's features sharpened, and his gaze dropped to your lips, "Do you have anywhere to be tonight?" he asked, his voice low.
Your eyes watched Tate and his hunger. You bit your lower lip and shook your head, "No, not if you don't want me to be."
Tate finally closed the gap between the two of you as the tip of his nose teasingly brushing against yours. You could smell the expensive herbal shampoo in his hair and the scent of the woody soap lingering on his skin. "Good," he grinned.
In the sun
In the sun, I feel as one
In the sun, in the sun
Married, married
Married, buried
Yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah
Tate's lips grazed yours at last and the taste of face wash and iron spread across your lips. Tate moved with ease and slowly eased you onto your back as he towered over you, propping himself up on the mattress with his elbows; you couldn't bring yourself to pull away from the intense and long-awaited kiss.
Tate gently tugged at your bottom lip with his teeth before sucking on it. Your heart thumped uncontrollably, and your hands reached up as your long fingers got tangled in his clean, thick hair. You didn't want this moment to end, how could you? Endless thoughts of spending the night with Tate burst through your erratic mind, and you got excited by the possibilities flashing in your brain.
Your close embrace felt as if the two of you were floating off the bed in one large fluffy cloud, the kiss deepened when a quick and frantic rapping of knuckles sounded sharply against his heavy wooden door.
"Tate? What are you doing in there? Turn that music down!" His mother raised her voice from behind the door, twisting the doorknob.
Tate instantly breaks the kiss and leaps up from you, his body becoming rigid, and the angelic softness in his eyes vanished, replaced by a cold flash of resentment. You were quick to sit up and scrambled into a cross-legged position in the middle of Tate's bed, trying your best to smooth out any creases on the sheets and fixing your hair.
"I'll turn the music down," he raised his voice, refusing to open the door, "just leave me alone, alright!"
"Tate!" She shouted, now banging on the door, "Unlock this door!"
Tate turned the music down and glanced at you, and for the first time you noticed that there was a deeper concern than first met the eye when it came to the darkness surrounding him and now you.
In the pit of your stomach you could sense dread but quickly pushed it away, bringing Tate into the warm comfort of your arms.
