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yandereunsolved · 1 year ago

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Roses are Red; Violets are Blue - ,, yandere pre-death Tate

cw(s): yandere themes, suggestive themes, mention of cocaine, Tate's actions (the lighting of a human on fire and school shooting) a/n: Tate is aged up here and is in college instead of high school. He dies at age twenty-one instead of seventeen, because it feels weird to write an older teen as a romantic yandere. Mentions of Violet— she's eighteen and a senior in high school.

✧ You both grew up together, sort of. You were always someone Tate could never talk to. He was a bit too scared to speak with you. You just seemed so perfect, and he was not. You moved into his neighborhood when you both were much younger. His hellish 'mother' didn't like your family for a reason; he never quite paid attention. It was something about you all not being holy enough. About how you were going to corrupt her perfect golden son. There was nothing you taught Tate about himself that he wasn't bound to figure out. He learned about boners after peeping through your window one night while you were changing after a shower. He learned the true meaning of the words 'I love you' after he overheard you speaking of how excited you were for the new Nirvana album. You even taught him how to follow people and not get caught by that person or the authorities. All this, and he still hadn't had a proper conversation with you yet.

✧ You legally started your friendship relationship sometime early in your freshman year, on October 30th, 1991. It was just something else that made him fall head over heels once again for you. He was having an already shitty day when some athletic losers began bullying him. He was getting pushed around for the umpteenth time this week when he tried to fight back. He got knocked on his ass and a nose that was both broken and remarkably bloody. You rushed over and offered to help him. He brushed you off and was a bit snappy; he still regrets that to this day. He just didn't want you to see how desperate he was for your attention. He craved your touch. If it weren't for all the blood on his face, you would have easily noticed how flushed his face was from just being in your vicinity.

✧ You offered to take him to the nurses office, and he 'begrudgingly' agreed. He was bouncing on his heels in his mind, and he swears that his nose bleed got worse. You even offered to help him walk there if he was dizzy, and naturally, he leaned on you. He even took a whiff of your scent near your neck. He had to resist nuzzling into you because you just felt so warm, like home. Like a home he never had. He asked you to stay even after the nurse said you could go back to class. He'd made up some lame excuse about you being a witness and him having to report it. Such a fucking lie. None of the administrators would give a shit. Everyone in this godforsaken college is an adult. So 'bullying' doesn't exist, apparently. At least the college is near both of your houses.

✧ That's the best part. This is your first real interaction, and you are already inviting him over. You feel bad that his nose got sprained and that the nurse had to reset it. So you—

'Oh my god, you called me cute!? You said you saw me around the neighborhood all these years and were too shy to talk to me. You've always been so shy. You've always been someone who needed someone to take care of you. You'd take care of me so well. We could happily take care of each other. Wait, sorry. I'm rambling too much. Iris, get back with the headcanons before I go on about them for another three hours.'

Made sure that he didn't get left alone. You heard from around the neighborhood that his mother is kind of nuts. So you thought he would be the same, but he's actually kind of awkward and distant, and sweet. You two spent the entire night together and ended up having a sleepover. Tate likes it a lot more when the sleepovers are consensual and not him climbing through your window, crawling into your bed, cuddling into you, then leaving you right before you wake.

✧ Something you have to know about Tate is that he is undeniably a pervert. Constance ruined any chance he ever had to take a girl out on a date. Then, when his casual interest turned into an obsession, he was able to sneak out without alerting her. So just being around you makes his mind run wild and his hands perspire. He steals your undergarments the most—it doesn't matter what they are. It could be anything from a lacy bra to a pair of men's boxers. He always steals your oldest items because your scent is ingrained into their very fabrics. He hides the items he 'borrows' from you in a box behind a brick in the basement. He goes down there every night and inhales your heavenly scent. His eyes roll back in his head, and suddenly he has a problem that he has to take care of.

✧ That's not where his perverted nature ends, either. He suddenly became very interested in photography. He buys a secret camera to use whenever he 'sees' you. Whenever he watches you when you aren't aware. He takes photos of you doing the most mundane things: exercising, cooking, working on homework, walking, breathing, and blinking. He also takes photos of you while sleeping, getting out of the shower, stretching, and wearing those skimpy little clothes of yours. It makes his mouth water fervently. The photos quickly pile up. He keeps the physical photos in the same box behind the same removed brick.

✧ He buys you more pretty clothes. Most of them are revealing, but you seem to like that. At least that's what he's seen in you in your private life. Of course, you don't know they are from him. He's too insecure for that. So he wraps them up all nice and pretty and leaves them on your bed. He always writes down 'your secret admirer' on the packaging. He opens your window when you and your family are gone and leaves them then. If he is feeling more confident, then he'll open your window and put the package on the floor. You start locking your window after that. So he's constantly breaking the lock on your window. When the family gets the police involved, he gets extremely upset. He begins to ignore you, so you know exactly how he feels when you ignore his gifts and say it's from some 'creepy stalker'.

✧ You are understandably confused when one of your closest friends begins ignoring you. You think he might be scared of the fact that you have a stalker. It makes you desperate. You don't want to be left alone. You need your friend. That makes Tate all giddy inside. He gets to stay near you whenever he wants. As much as he pleases? You seem so scared of some hypothetical boogeyman. It's just sweet ole' him! Not that you know that. He understands, though. He'd be pretty upset if some random man started doing the things he's doing for you. No other man could be as devoted to you as he is.

✧ Slowly, the number of your friends and close family dwindles. Each of your friends either cuts contact with you or disappears altogether. Now, now, Tate has put so much effort into this for you. It wasn't easy. It wasn't something he could pull off on his own. He had to scrounge around for as much money as he could to hire a hitman on several occasions. He stole the money from his mother's various rich and fleeting boyfriends. She would use them up soon enough anyway. So there's no reason for him to care about their financial well-being. Besides, he is doing it for a noble cause—a war is yet to come.

✧ He takes a different approach when it comes to isolating you from your family members. He will get along well with your family. Insert himself as a shy, college kid that lives down the street and is best friends with their child—their only friend, really. His mother picks up on this and is immediately displeased. Of course she has only scratched the surface of the iceberg that is Tates twisted delight.

"As long as you don't fuck that godless slut, I suppose you can be around them."

He wanted to snap his mother's neck right then and there. Lucky for her, he had other plans. He inserts himself into every facet of your family's life. He slowly learns the skeletons in your family members closets. Did you know your cousin once had a lewd dream about your partner? Did you know your grandfather cheated on his spouse not once but twice? Did you know your Aunt once tried to poison you? Did you know? Did you know? Did you know?

Some of those may have been slightly exaggerated or entirely made up, but you completely trust him, so what is there to worry about?

Soon enough the only one you trust is Tate.

✧ You connect the dots somewhat, but at this point, you don't quite care. You just want this stalker to stop. You just want Tate. When Tate learns his feelings are somewhat reciprocated, the stalkings become less frequent. After all, if he is always allowed to be around you, then he doesn't have to stalk you anymore.

✧ He starts giving you love notes after the two of you begin dating. The stalker fades into the background, and suddenly only Tate is there. He is perfect for you. He is your dream boyfriend. He writes these cheesy and poetic letters about his adoration for you. Some of them are creepy—really creepy. You can look over that, though. It's just Tate being Tate. He was never confident enough to share them with you while he was just your 'creepy stalker'. Now he gives them to you freely. Sometimes they are just little doodles. Other times, they are cheesy words. Occasionally, they do have a tendency to get a bit violent.

'Me & U 4ever.' '1+1=Let Me Fuck You Up' 'Love you more than Kurt Cobain' 'Let's go to a music festival and have fun~ ;)' 'Wanna sneak out later when your parents aren't home?' 'Is that bitch bothering you again?' 'Commit arson?' 'The thoughts are back.' 'Need you' 'I just want to keep you in my pocket and then lock you in a cage that only I have the key to for all eternity.'

✧ Everything was perfect until it wasn't. For some reason, you started distancing yourself from him. You had found a new friend group. You had found someone more healthy than Tate. Tate's hold on you was beginning to crumble. It was like he was trying to hold your disintegrating heart in his hands. You weren't spending every single moment with him. Whether this was actually happening or if this was just his paranoia is unknown. It got to him, though. It got to him worse than anything else could.

✧ He lost it one day. He snapped. It was a comment that his mother's new boyfriend made. Well, multiple comments. He found a secret collection of your things. He had done a bit of digging and began to learn just how unhinged his girlfriend's son was. Instead of immediately reporting him to the police, he confronted Tate instead. He threatened him with calling the police. He said that he was going to tell everyone about how much of a freak Tate was. He was going to tell Tates, dear mommy, that her golden child was actually a depraved, perverted loser who got off on stalking his partner.

✧ He needed to be gone. That was the one thing that ran through his mind. They had gotten into a screaming match that night. Luckily, no one was home except them and the ghosts. The energy was charged and electrified. The Murder House had set its sights on its next victim, and it was more than eager to swallow him whole. The devil in his mind didn't whisper any longer; he shouted. He spoke in a loud and commanding tone and told Tate exactly what to do and when to do it. How to win your affection back.

✧ He snorted a line of cocaine and grabbed his rifle and some gasoline. He lit that fucker up at his work. He was no longer his mother's boyfriend. He was just a charred corpse. He had one problem taken care of. Now, just one more stop—your college, our college. He needed to get rid of those little friends of yours. So, he did. Every single one of them he shot dead in front of you. He looked you straight in the eyes and pointed the barrel at your head. There was no restraint or morality in his hazel eyes. There was only darkness—a certain unhinged spark you had only seen in fleeting moments. Now it was a mighty flame, and it was coming to burn everything you knew to the ground.

✧ He made you beg for your life. He made you like it. He took you right there at that table and acted like it meant nothing. He kissed you deeply and dug his fingers into your living flesh. He knew it would be the last time he would have you in such a way—as long as he was living anyway. You were covered in bite marks and his residue by the time the cops came.

You heard the next day that they shot him multiple times. You had mixed feelings. They had asked you if he had your consent. You said yes. They didn't believe you. You didn't like that. You didn't like that you liked it so much. You hated yourself for it. You couldn't help but admire the marks he left on you. They were like pieces of art. They'll fade, but the feeling of his fingertips ghosting your body in the most intimate manner won't.

✧ He gets extremely lonely; boredom overtakes him. He still has that box filled with your things, so he's always going through it. It's almost sadistically hilarious. He started with only his fantasies, and now they are the only thing he has again. At least he now knows what your skin feels like and how you taste. You have those things to keep him company. Not to mention, some of your clothes still smell like you. They're his comfort items. If any entity in the house tries to touch them, he will have an immediate meltdown. So, they've all learned to leave him alone when he's having his private time—his fantasies of you, him frenzily groping the cloth like it were your own soft, tender, plush flesh.

✧ He was surprised when you came to visit the house once again. Tate revealed himself immediately and hung on to you needily. He peppered kisses all over your face and neck. He was so unbelievably relieved by the fact that you forgave him. You promised to visit again and again over the years. It made his soul soar; he almost feared that he had passed onto heaven and that you were only an illusion in his mind. You both did what you always did. You seemed cautious at first, but some part of you just stuck with Tate.

✧ Many seasons passed, and you visited him less and less. You moved on to better and greater things in your life than him. He isn't exactly sure what happened to you. You just stopped visiting him one day. The entire house became a lot more frigid and foreboding after that. There would be no heavy make-out sessions that left the both of you breathless. There would be no more late nights spent talking about everything and anything going on in the world. There would be no seeing your age, your beautiful face, and your figure known only to his mind. There would be none of that. Only him. All alone...

✧ Now, after all these years, he admires a girl who reminds him of his first love. Those tendrils of obsessive ectasy sneak into his heart once again as he hears her name, Violet. It was like the world had regained its color—well, a singular color. One fact about you rang in his mind over and over like a never-ending church bell as he watched the new family move in.

"Oh, my favorite color? It's Violet, silly."