halloween night
tate langdon 𝔁 f!reader, word count 2000
summary: on Halloween night, Tate, your boyfriend, takes you out of the Murder House for the first time.
genre: fluff
warnings: none
author's notes: Happy Halloween! I wanted to post earlier, but I could only post now, but I hope you like it!! (And what do you mean AHS 13 with EVAN, JESSICA, SARAH, and ARIANA?! I'm very excited!!)
( ✧ requests open ✧ )
lTate saw you for the first time on the day you arrived at the Murder House. You were in the garden, struggling with a box of books that looked way too heavy for your arms. Tate immediately noticed there was something in your eyes, something that hooked him. Right then, in that moment, he knew you were different. That you could be his salvation, even if he was just a ghost trapped in these walls.
He stepped closer, trying not to scare you.
“Need some help with that?” he asked, pointing at the boxes you were awkwardly holding. His heart—or what was left of it—seemed to beat again when you smiled, surprised. “I’m Tate. I live around here. You just moved in, right?” he said, scratching the back of his neck, pretending to be just any guy.
You introduced yourself, and that name stuck with him.
Tate made a point of being around—garden, basement, your room at night. It wasn’t hard for him; this house was his prison, and you were the only ray of light that had ever entered it. You talked about Nirvana, about bad horror movies you loved, and he found himself actually laughing for the first time in a long time.
And then you started dating.
The relationship wasn’t defined by words, but by actions. It was Tate who pushed away the other malevolent ghosts when they got too close to you, even without you knowing it. His protection was the first proof of his love. And you started leaving your windows open for him at night, a silent invitation for him to enter your room, not realizing he was there all along. He’d sit on the floor, leaning against your bed, and you’d spend hours in companionable silence, listening to the rain tapping on the windows or just the sound of each other breathing.
But tonight is different.
The air in the house feels lighter for some reason, even though it’s Halloween. The night when the veils between worlds grow thin. The night when Tate Langdon can step outside.
You were lying in your bed, holding each other, when an idea seemed to flash through Tate’s mind.
“I think we should go out. A real date,” he says, his voice a bit rougher, more alive. “Actually, I’ve already planned something…”
Your heart skips. Even though you’d been together for a while, you’d never gone on formal dates like restaurants or movies like other couples. And even though it felt a little odd, you never complained, because staying home, kissing and hugging your boyfriend, wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
“Oh yeah? And where are we going?” you ask, your voice echoing your excitement.
A slow smile spreads across his face.
“It’s a surprise. But it’s our place. Just ours.”
He stands, his tall, lean figure hovering over you for a moment before extending his hand. His hand is cold, but the touch is firm, steady.
You hesitate for a second, looking at his hand. Then you take it, laughing softly as he gently tugs you, making you stumble into his chest.
“Careful, klutz,” he whispers, grinning that crooked smile that flips your stomach.
“You keep calling me a klutz, but you’re the one who looks nervous,” you reply, lifting your gaze.
Tate looks away, a little awkward. “Maybe I am. It’s our first date outside these walls. I want it to be… special.”
That sentence makes your heart race. You always knew there was a deep pain in him, a kind of shadow hiding behind his eyes, but you never pushed. You just loved him, the way he allowed himself to be loved.
Tate leads you to the back door. The house is quiet, except for the soft creak of the wood under your feet. Your parents were out, so they wouldn’t notice you leaving, and you weren’t coming back late anyway. The cold Halloween night wind hits your face as he opens the door, carrying the scent of wet earth and old leaves.
The night air on Halloween is crisp and alive, carrying the smell of wet soil and a faint sweetness of candy. You walk hand in hand down the streets to the place Tate insisted he wouldn’t tell you until you got there.
The walk is quiet, but not uncomfortable. You leave the neighborhood behind, following a dirt road you didn’t even know existed, hidden by a curtain of dense trees.
Then, he stops.
In front of you stands an abandoned amusement park. The iron gate, corroded with rust, gapes open like the mouth of a monster. Faded posters reading “Fun Guaranteed!” hang crooked, and moss covers the rusted loops of a roller coaster frozen in time.
The amusement park lights blink intermittently, some flickering, somehow still working. The stationary Ferris wheel looks like a sleeping giant, rusty, its cabins swaying gently in the wind. The entrance sign hangs crookedly, worn letters barely readable: Fairview Fun Park.
You stop at the gates, looking around with a mix of awe and suspicion.
“Tate… what is this place?”
He smiles, that enigmatic smile you still haven’t fully learned to read.
“Our private amusement park, love.”
“You’re kidding, right? This looks like it’s been closed for decades.”
“Maybe it has,” he replies, shrugging, pulling your hand. “But it’s Halloween. Everything that’s dead comes alive for one night.”
You laugh, thinking he’s being poetic. But there’s something in his tone, a different vibration—half nostalgic, half sad. Still, the way he looks at you makes you forget any hesitation.
You walk through the gates, the creak echoing loudly, breaking the silence. Inside, the ground is covered with dry leaves and scraps of colored paper, popped balloon remnants, and faded streamers. And even though it all makes the atmosphere feel spooky, you’re not scared—Tate makes you feel safe, even in a place like this.
Tate leads you to a shooting gallery. You fire the first three times, missing every shot, which earns laughter and teasing from your boyfriend. Then you grab an old toy rifle, aim—and surprisingly—hit one of the rusty targets on the first try. The metallic clang echoes through the air.
“You cheated,” you joke, crossing your arms.
“Maybe I’m just good at this,” he replies, laughing, moving closer and wrapping his arms around your waist. “I think you owe me a kiss for hitting the target.”
You open your mouth to argue, but he kisses you before any words come out. A slow, deep kiss, full of longing—even after spending the whole day together.
When it ends, he keeps his gaze on you, as if trying to memorize every feature. “I could spend eternity like this.”
You give a silly smile.
“Dramatic.”
“Just honest.”
He holds your hand and guides you deeper into the park. The booths stretch on both sides like a corridor forgotten in time. Suddenly, Tate stops in front of the Ferris wheel. The structure, though rusted and corroded, seems alive under the moonlight.
“Wanna go up?” he asks, that mischievous boyish glint in his eyes.
You widen your eyes.
“Tate, that thing looks like it’s going to collapse.”
“Trust me.” He holds out his hand again, and that look… that look makes you forget the world.
You hesitate but finally give in. “Okay, but if I die, I’m haunting you.”
“Promise?” he jokes, and his smile almost makes you laugh out loud.
You climb carefully into one of the cabins, a challenge in itself, and it sways slightly as you sit.
Tate stares ahead, but his gaze seems distant. “I used to come here as a kid.”
“Really?” you ask, curious.
“Yeah. My parents fought all the time… and this was the only place where everything seemed quiet.” He falls silent, lost in memories. You don’t know what to say, but you know you don’t have to—your presence is enough.
“I wish time would stop now,” he murmurs.
“Why?”
“Because when time passes, people leave.”
“I’m not leaving,” you say firmly.
Tate pulls you closer, his cold arm wrapping around your shoulders, kissing your forehead. You rest your head on his shoulder, feeling the rough texture of his jacket against your face.
“See that star?” he whispers, pointing to a bright dot in the dark sky. “It’s the only one that seems to be looking just at us.”
You smile, closing your eyes for a second. “It’s beautiful.”
“Not as much as you,” his voice a thread of sound, full of an emotion that went beyond words. Before you can respond, he interrupts you. “I brought something for you.”
After a moment of silence, he lets go of your hand to dig in his pocket. He pulls out a small flower, a red marigold. “It’s from my garden. The last one of the year, I think.”
Your heart tightens in a good way. It’s not an expensive or extravagant gift, it’s more than that—it’s sentimental. You accept the flower carefully, as if it were the most fragile treasure in the world.
“I’m keeping this forever.”
“It won’t last forever,” he replies, his gaze sad. “Nothing does.”
“This lasts,” you insist, holding the flower to your chest. “What we feel lasts.”
He sighs, but it’s not frustration. It’s relief. He leans his forehead against yours. The chill of his skin contrasts with the warmth you feel inside.
“You’re the most real thing that’s ever happened to me,” he confesses, his breath like a ghost against your lips. “Before you, everything was dark. Now, everything has color.”
You close the remaining distance, kissing him with a softness meant to calm all the shadows inside him. A sweet, slow kiss, a wordless promise. When you pull away, he’s looking at you like you just hung the moon in the sky for him alone.
“I love you more than you can imagine,” he whispers.
“I love you more,” you reply, smiling.
You give him one last kiss and nestle against him again.
“Cold?” he asks, holding you closer.
“Just a little.”
He drapes his coat over your shoulders, over his own. The fabric smells like him.
“Better?”
You nod, sinking into the shared warmth.
“Much.”
He buries his face in your hair, and for a moment, you feel the weight of his being rest on you—not as a burden, but as a sacred trust. It’s an intense love, born in darkness, yet insisting on blooming.
You stay in the cabin for a while, feeling the gentle sway of the Ferris wheel in the cold night wind. The silence isn’t awkward; it’s cozy. Tate holds your hand firmly but unhurriedly, as if storing every second for himself.
You finally get off the Ferris wheel and wander through the park afterward, aimlessly, exploring every corner. Tate points out little things you wouldn’t have noticed on your own—a broken popcorn cart, a worn teddy bear on the ground, an old soundtrack still echoing from forgotten speakers. He laughs at silly things, and you laugh with him, sharing a laughter that feels exclusive to you two.
At some point, he cups your face with both hands, bringing you close. It’s not an urgent or dramatic kiss, just a long, sweet touch, full of calm and attention. When you pull away, your eyes still meet, smiling without words.
But then the moment is broken by a call from your mom, desperately asking where you are. You tell her the truth, since surprisingly, she liked your boyfriend, but she says you should head back home—it’s late.
The walk back is calm. You barely notice the night’s cold because being together warms everything. Tate walks beside you, sometimes holding your hand, fingers entwined, sometimes just keeping his arm close to yours. The connection is silent but more intense than any conversation could be.
When you finally reach the back door of the Murder House, he stops, looking at you with that smile that twists your stomach. “Did you like it?”
“More than I could have imagined,” you reply, no need to embellish—everything had been perfect just like that.
He pulls you closer, resting his forehead against yours.
“So… should we make this a tradition?”
“Definitely,” you murmur, feeling you don’t need anything else. Just this moment, just him, just us. “Halloween is my favorite holiday now.”
“Mine too,” he replies, kissing you.
