Evan Peters Imagines, Smut & Preferences

Tate Langdon; Mommy Issues (PRE-DEATH)

Requested by @KaiNyeTheScienceGirl

@KaiNyeTheScienceGirl

(Kai, sorry but I HAD to dramatize this, hope you'll forgive me, love!)

You stood by the tree where you met him the first time, staring into the nightsky, waiting for Tate, your boyfriend, to show up.

He told you he'd meet you here at nine, it was a quarter after already and there was no sign of him.

You almost thought about going back to your room when you heard shuffling behind you.

You turned around and there he was, Tate.

But something was wrong, his eyes -even in the dark you'd recognize them- were bloodshot and he sniffed a couple of times.

He had been crying. Again.

'Tate?' You spoke softly as you walked closer to him, just a glimpse of light fell onto his fce and you gasped in shock of the sight.

His right eye was closed, swollen and a very dark shade of purple was painted around it.

He had a cut in his jaw as well, from shattered glass, you guessed.

You trailed your fingers around the marks on his face, they were barely touching his skin. 'What happened?' You whispered.

'That's not all.' He said, then took of his shirt and turned around to you. 

Dark purple bruises had formed around his shoulderblades.

And as he turned around towards you again, his ribs were painted a deep shade of blue, just like the nightsky.

Then he picked up his shirt, wincing as he did so, and pulled it back over his shirt.

'Who did this to you?' You asked, but you knew the answer.

'My mom.' He breathed.

You sighed, cupping his cheeks with both of your hands as a few teardrops wetted your thumbs, you wiped them away.

Then you embraced him, even though he was taller than you, you wrapped your arms around his neck, carefully pulling his head down to the crook of your neck as you stroked his blonde locks. 'You're alright, baby. It'll be alright.' You cooed.

'No, it'll never stop.' He mumbled against your skin.

You pulled back from your embrace and looked into his eyes. 'I'm gonna go talk to her.'

'No!' He yelled fastly.

'Tate, this can't continue like this. It needs to stop!'  You spoke, holding his hand and walking towards his house.

'She will get mad, Sammy.' 

'I don't care, Tate. You don't deserve this.' You said as you rang the bell.

It didn't take long for Constance to open the door, her hair was a mess, she was still a little drunk, you could see.

'Sammy! What brings you here?' She said with a wide smile, but as soon as she saw Tate her face fell.

You didn't know if it was because she didn't wanted to see him, or because she realized then and there what she'd done to her son.

She swallowed thickly as she stepped aside to let the both of you in.

You followed ttate's mother to the kitchen, she sat down, but you and Tate did not.

'Do you want something to drink?' She asked sweetly.

You couldn't believe this, she was being all sweet and kind while her abused son was looking her right into the eyes, and she didn't even flinch, it made you sick. 

'No.' You said sharply, then pulled Tate next to you and pointed at his face. 'What is this, Constance?!'

'That,' She said, pointing at her son as well. 'Is a failure, a shame to call my own.'

'You can't say such things about your own child!' You yelled, tears welled up in your eyes, partially from anger, partially because it hurted you rto see your beloved boyfriend in this state.

Constance didn't reply, she just poured herself another glass of whiskey and chugged it, then reached for the bottle again, but you fetched it from the table. 'Enough of this!' You shouted as you threw the bottle against the wall to get her attention.

Then you walked over to Constance, pulling her up from the chair by the arm and walking her -or in her case, stumbling- towards Tate.

'Look at him, this is what you do, to your own flesh and blood?!' You say, your voice was strong, but you weren't raising it anymore.

And then the tears started flowing. She was crying very hard, clutching Tate's shoulders who just stood there like a statue, as if he didn't even know how to comfort his own mother.

'Constance,' You started. 'You know you have a problem.'

She sobbed against her son's chest, who finally slumped his arms around her frame.

'I know, I swear, Tate, I swear I will find help! I am so- so sorry.' 

Tate swallowed thickly. 'I know you are, mother. I'm sorry too.' 

And finally they embraced eachother. 

Constanced glanced over at you. 'Thank you, Sammy.' She smiled.

You just smiled back, mission accomplished.