Author: ScarlettWoman710

Title: All We Are Is All We Are

Summary: He knows it's just a matter of time before she forgives him. Tate Langdon's lived in the house long enough to know what it does to people, how it changes everything they were and lets them become everything they've ever wanted to be. Tate/Violet

Rating: M

Warning(s)/Kinks: Language, Sexual situations, slash

Spoilers: Post-finale.

Disclaimer: I don't own American Horror Story.

A/N: To Grayglube, who's recent "The Devil's Advocate" inspired a bit of the smutty Violate goodness at the end... thank you! And a thank you to Tyler Shields, for the video he released yesterday that inspired another part of the smutty goodness (if you haven't seen it yet, walk, don't run to google immediately). Also, this is my first time writing from Tate's perspective, so bear with me. It's not an easy head to crawl into...

He knows it's just a matter of time before she forgives him. Tate Langdon's lived in the house long enough to know what it does to people, how it changes everything they were and lets them become everything they've ever wanted to be. It's the lack of consequences that does it. It's hard to feel guilty about taking a life or two lives or raping a woman when you know that there's nothing that anyone can possibly to do you. You're already in jail, essentially. You can't leave with the exception of the annual Halloween reprieve. Death penalty? Ha. They kill each other for sport sometimes, just ask Hayden. No, there isn't a single punishment anyone can make stick, and that includes the one he's experiencing right now.

He misses her so much. He misses everything about her, her mean little mouth and the way she could cut him with her eyes, just like she did in basement last Halloween. He likes her so much better like she is now, which is how she was before only better. There was a period in between swallowing the pills and realizing that she was dead that he didn't like, she was too sad and too mousy and nothing like the girl he fell in love with, though he still loved her just the same. She was the light, he was the darkness, and they met in the middle to form a beautiful shade of gray that allowed them to have a little bit of both. That's the way he liked her best - a little bit mean, a little bit cruel, and strong. He likes her backbone. And as much as he misses her, he likes the fire in her that caused her to turn her back on him. It's what he likes best, as long as he can see it. She's stopped being invisible to his eyes and lets him watch her, knowing it's the worst possible punishment she can give him.

He does feel bad for the things that he's done but not because they were the wrong things to do. He feels bad because he made her sad. He'd do anything for her, and if she wants him to not hurt anyone else he will. He's sorry for what he did to Ben and Vivien both but only because he cares so much about her. He supposes it's that line his mother said to him many times before: "You're not sorry you did it, you're sorry you got caught." Either way, he is sorry for something for the first time in his life. It's an experience he ever felt before. She really did change him. He liked the feeling of her light washing over him, going through him, changing him into something new. He'll hold on to that until she comes back to him and he can feel it again.

She thinks she hates him, but that makes him happy. It isn't him she hates, it's herself, because he knows that she still loves him. If she didn't her face wouldn't have twisted with rage and pain when she saw his desperate face over her shoulder as she decorated the Christmas tree. She would have given him a sneer of indifference instead, if she didn't still care about him. Hate is still passion, just in a different form.

He meant what he said to Hayden as he watched the family in the living room. She won't hate him forever, and he has the time to wait.

He watches her sleep. He doesn't need to sleep - she doesn't either - but she likes it and he likes to watch her do it. He never dreamed, not even when he was alive, but she still does. Her eyelids flutter and he wants to press his lips to them to still them. He wants to run his fingers over her cheekbone, let them drift down her neck and sweep over her delicate clavicle, and then he wants to trace the same pattern with his lips and tongue. He wants to make her moan.

She wakes up with a start. He freezes in his chair across the room.

"Go away," she whispers, and he opens his eyes and finds himself in the basement.

He always thought it would be Violet to take a life first. She was always darker and angrier than her parents, and justifiably so. He knows how being dead can make you horny (and he's got the cum caked rags in the attic to prove it) and she's got nobody to help her damper the burn. She'll never grow up, never get married, never have kids. She'll never get a life of her own. It would be enough to make anyone crazy, and he knows that it's pushed Violet close to the edge. He knows that she's shoved Hayden from the attic window a few times, he watched her laugh when she did it. He figured it was only a matter of time before Violet added to the collection of ghosts taking up residence in the Murder House.

He was so sure he was right. Imagine his shock when five years after her death, it's Vivien that brings new ghosts into the fold.

There was a new family that lived in the home. The Harmon's had planned to scare every living soul off the property until the end of time, but that was back when they thought that the house was hell and not heaven. Tate knows the truth - it can be and is both - but the Harmon's were too into their happily ever after to keep up the charade. The family that lives there now is young - two parents in their mid twenties - and a pair of twin six year-old girls. They've got blond hair and blue eyes and are so adorable that anyone that meets them wants to just eat them up. Tate has played with them many times, he knows that Violet watches but he pretends not to see her there because the truth his he's doing it because the girls are fun, not to win any brownie points from her. He puts together the Barbie dream house that their father bought but never seemed to find time to construct. The mother and father each think that the other one did it and laugh every time the girls talk about their imaginary friends, a boy named Tate and two little girls that are on fire. When Tate's not there and their mother is off at one of her many parties or pampering sessions and the bored babysitter is on the phone with her boyfriend, Vivien tucks the girls into bed and tells them stories. He knows that they remind her of Violet when she was little.

Vivien is without question the mother of the house. The ghosts flock to her, especially Lorianne's little girls, who call her Auntie Viv. Tate's jealous and sad and wishes that she could be his mother too. As much as he's changed, he still is a lost little boy looking for a mommy and Nora can't ever remember who he is.

He saw the change in "Auntie Viv" before anyone else, even her own family. He thinks it's probably because he's all to familiar with what the house can do to someone, he's been there himself. He starts shadowing her, invisible to her eyes, and watches her watch the parents. They're not bad parents - they don't beat the little girls - but they had them much too young and aren't ready to throw away their pert young bodies and social circles just yet. They view the girls as more of a burden than a blessing. Tate doesn't like the cold look that settled over Vivien's eyes but he knows he's in no position to stop it.

While he's watching Violet sleep one night in a guest room the parents have set up, he hears the girls giggling as Vivien whispers to them. It's late, they shouldn't be up, and he knows Vivien knows that. He tiptoes in the hallway to see her leaning over them, talking with a conspiratorial grin.

"Now, you're going to hide in the basement. You can't come up until I say, okay? Angie and Margaret are there, they'll play with you. We're going to play hide and seek from your mommy and daddy for awhile."

"For how long?" one of the twins whispers back, reaching up her hand to stroke Vivien's hair.

"Well, your mommy and daddy are going to go away, but we're going to take care of you. Me and Lorianne and Nora, and Chad and Patrick. You can stay with us forever. Won't that be fun?"

The other twin takes her sisters hand. "We won't see mommy and daddy anymore?" she whispers, not scared but excited.

"No, no more boring mommy and daddy," Vivien teases. "Just us, and we're going to have so much fun! But you have to go hide first."

The twins squeal and run down the hall to the basement. Vivien ducks back into their room. Tate follows, already knowing what he's going to find behind the door.

The girls look peaceful in death, little angels in pink nightgowns snuggled deep into fluffy comforters.

Vivien glares at him. "I don't like you," she said harshly. "In fact, I hate you. But if you have any hope of having a pleasant afterlife, you'll help me get rid of their bodies."

A lump rises in his throat. He's sad for the girls, for Vivien, for what this house did to her, for what he helped this house do to her. "It might be better if they find them," he says hoarsely. He's never spoken to her before. "They'll be less questions. If they don't find the bodies, they'll call the cops. There's a lot of things in this house that we don't want them to find... Violet's body, among them."

She blows her hair impatiently out of her eyes. "Fine. Fine. They like you, God knows why, so you can help keep them in the basement. If their parents see them, they'll never leave."

He wants to ask her why she did it, to hear her voice it out loud, but he already knows. He knows how this house can make the most horrible thing you can think of sound like the best idea in the world. He knows how the house can make it seem like you're doing the right thing when you make someone else hurt, how it makes it seem like you're doing someone you love a favor. He's sure that Vivien thought she was helping the girls, freeing their parents of responsibility, letting them live in a world where they can be pretty, pretty princesses forever. Giving Angela and Margaret the two little playmates they've always wanted.

"You should keep their things," a voice says from the doorway. Vivien and Tate both jumped.

"Go back to bed, sweetheart," Vivien says to her daughter. "We'll take care of it."

"I can help," she says sadly, looking at the bodies, pristine in their beds.

"It's okay. Go rest." She gives an uncertain smile to Violet.

She sighs and turns to go back to bed. "Make sure to keep the dollhouse. It's their favorite."

Tate looks down and sweeps it into his arms. Once the parents found their little girls dead, they won't even notice that a few of their toys were missing. He nods to the case that holds their Barbie dolls. "They like those too," he says, nudging it forward to Vivien with his toe. "We should bring that one. And their dress-up clothes, those are Angela's and Margaret's favorite."

Vivien bundles the toys into her arms. "Where are we going to put this stuff?"

"The attic. Beau will leave it alone, he's happy just to play with his ball."

They climb the ladder to the attic and set all the toys in a secluded corner. Beau stirs in his sleep and Tate goes to him, tucking the comforter around his brother.

When he turns back, Vivien is staring at him.

"What?" he asks nervously.

"I know you've been putting flowers in the study, where I died. I know you do it every Mother's Day."

Tate looks at the floor.

"You're the only one in this house that still keeps track of dates."

He shrugs.

"Why?"

He looks up, tears in his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Vivien," he whispers. "I am. I never meant -"

"Shut up."

His mouth snaps closed.

"I don't forgive you." He nods. He knows. She looks over at Beau, then looks at the pile of toys they've hidden for the twins, beautiful little girls, forever innocent six year-olds. "This house makes you do things," she says abruptly. He nods again. He knows that better than anyone.

She gives him one last long look. "Just stay away from me," she says, pushing the ladder back into place. "I told Ben... told Ben he should talk to you. But you need to stay away from me."

She disappears from the attic. Tate materializes back by Violet's side, settling in his chair to watch her sleep.

The parents were devastated at the loss of their daughters. They left the house full of their belongings and went to stay at one of their parent's houses across the country. They kept swearing they could hear the girls giggling and it was driving them insane. They had plans to sell the house but for now it languishes empty to those who walk by but full to the point of bursting to those inside.

Violet had dragged the bed she had been sleeping in back to her bedroom with Chad's help. Chad and Violet had formed an unlikely friendship, with their shared bitterness and fondness for cigarettes. Tate was happy that she had found someone that made her feel less lonely but was disappointed that it was Chad, who always seemed to know how to get under his skin.

He's watching her sleep again when he hears her breath hitch and a soft moan escape through her lips. He leans forward, intrigued.

"What are you dreaming about?" he whispers soundlessly into the darkness.

He watches her hand slip under her covers, moving up and down between her legs. He wishes he could get up and throw the blanket aside.

Her eyes open into little slivers and stare at him. He braces himself for her to tell him to go away.

She doesn't.

Still staring at him, she throws the covers off her legs. Her thighs part, soft and white in the darkness. He could see the shine of wetness on her thighs, dripping out of her purple panties. Her eyes widen as she hits a spot that must have felt good, her hips rocking forward.

"Come here," she whispers, barely audible.

Tate's heart jumps in his chest. He stands up and come to her side, sitting on the bed uncertainly.

She reaches out with her free hand and grabs his wrist, dragging it to the elastic waistband of her underwear. She hooks his fingers inside, then gives his hand a gentle shove. Tate, dazed, realizes what she wants him to do and he slides her panties over her thighs, dragging his fingers over her creamy white skin. He pushes them over her ankle and stuffs him in his pocket and grins sheepishly at her.

"Pervert," she says with a mean smile. He's missed all the ways she could be mean. It was one of the things he likes best about her. In fact, this whole thing could be one of her mean little tricks. She could be playing with him, torturing him. He didn't care. If she was, the joke was on her, because he had a pair of panties in his pocket that were soaked in her wetness and he could jerk off into those and be satisfied for at least another five years.

Tate smiles back and drags her further down the bed by her leg. He lifts it up and over his shoulder, pressing a kiss into the inside of her thigh, just above her knee. Her back arches, hard pink nipples pointed up at the ceiling. He drags a finger over her sex, dipping between her folds lightly to swirl over her clit.

"You're soaking," he teases, pressing a finger inside. She hissed.

"I keep dreaming about you fucking me," she breathes. His heart thudded in his chest. "I know you watch me sleep. I keep dreaming that you crawl into my bed, caress my soft skin, make me purr like a little kitten..."

"You've been reading through your dad's old files," he says. He bites the inside of her thigh, making her yelp. His dick twitched at the sound.

"Do you still jerk off thinking about me?"

"What do you think?"

She gives him a bitter smile as he pumps a finger lazily in and out of her. "You need new material."

"I don't want new material. I just want you."

She sits up, reaching for his head and pulling it in between her legs. "Show me," she says, raising her pelvis to meet his lips.

Tate settles in between her legs. He feels her thighs, hot and wet, pressing against the side of his face. He didn't tease her, he was too eager to taste her again and he didn't want to give her time to change her mind. He runs his tongue over her clit and added a second finger to the first, fucking her with his fingers. She moves with him as he laps at her opening. He knew what she liked best, even though it had been a long time since she had let him anywhere near her body. She grabs fistfulls of his hair and pulled, arching her back and grinding against his mouth. He opens his eyes to watch her cum, that was always the best part. Her brow furrows and her mouth opens and closes. He loved the way her tongue moved like it was trying to recreate the same movements he was doing. He could tell she was getting close.

"Does this feel good?" He murmurs, lifting his head slightly. She groans and shoves his face back into her cunt. He laughes, letting the vibrations roll off his tongue and onto her clit. She moans softly and he reaches down to palm his dick through his jeans.

"You have to beg for it," he breathes and dips his tongue inside her, feeling her tighten around him. He knew he was pushing it, but he wanted to hear her beg. It had been so long, so fucking long, and he just needed one little moment of her pleading voice so he could burn it in into his memory, make it last for another hundred years if that was how long it would take for her to forgive him.

"Please," she whimpers breathlessly, tugging at his blond hair.

"Please what?"

"Please make me come, Tate. Please."

He groans and rubs his dick harder, curling his fingers inside her to reach the spot that he knew she couldn't reach herself, not with her short fingers. He swirls his tongue over her clit and she presses her hips insistently against his mouth and she cums, clenching around his fingers and giving a low moan that felt like a lightening bolt straight to his dick. He pumps his fingers lazily for her to ride it out as long as she could. Eventually she stopped clenching around him, though her legs still twitch beside his face.

He moves from beneath her to lie next to her. She turns towards him, feeling his hardness against the top of her thighs.

"Feeling better?"

She nods and brings her hands to his face, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. "I won't tell you to go away because I don't want you to end up in the basement with your dick all hard like that. The girls are down there."

He frowns. "What?"

"You have to get the fuck out of my room," she says sweetly, meanly.

"Why?"

"Because I said so. Because I hate you still."

He knew he should feel angry but he doesn't. She didn't hate him, couldn't hate him, because she was way too much like him and he could never hate her. She was still angry but she was thawing, the fact that she had just let him fuck her with his tongue proved that. Best not to push her though, let her think that she was still punishing him. He stood up to leave.

"Wait."

She reaches for his hand, dragging it over her sex, filling his hand with the wetness that was still glistening on her thighs. "There. Now go jerk off. And quit watching me sleep."

He doesn't even waste time walking into one of the empty rooms in the house, he just materializes there. He reaches into his boxers and started stroking his cock with her wetness acting as lube. He squeezes and pretends it was her, her mouth, her cunt, clenching, squeezing. He remembers her voice begging him to make her come and runs his tongue over his lips. He could still taste her there. His dick twitched and he cums, saying her name with a gasping choke.

He smiles as he laid down in the empty bed. He'd be in hers soon, he'd just have to be patient.

He figured that Ben would fuck someone else eventually, he just didn't know who it would be. It had been two years since the twin girls had joined their little family, seven years since the Harmon's had died, and Ben was bored. Tate knew as much from their conversations. They met in his study, not for therapy but to sit and talk about books and their respective shitty childhoods. Vivien had grown more tolerant of Tate and allowed him to be in her sight, never telling him to go away but never speaking to him either. Tate was as close to happy as he had ever been in his life and afterlife, with one exception. He and Violet still hadn't made up.

She hadn't let him touch her since, the one night years ago clearly a mistake in her mind. Every time he saw her he wanted to cry. He was so sure that they were on the road to recovery but she had frozen him out completely. She barely let him see her anymore when she was awake.

He thought about climbing into her bed as he watched her sleep, thought about forcing her legs apart and pinning her body down with his arms, but he pushed those ideas out of his head. He didn't just want to fuck her, he wanted to love her. He wanted her to love him. She really has changed me, he thought bitterly, watching her play with the girls in the backyard. He wished she hadn't. The old Tate's wants and needs were simple. The old Tate only needed a can of gasoline or a sawed off shotgun or a fire poker to be happy. The new Tate got no thrill from death or destruction. The new Tate just wanted her.

He couldn't watch her anymore. He decides to go find Ben.

He heads down to the study and was surprised to hear Ben groaning. He rolls his eyes. He and Vivien were always going at it, but Tate had seen him look at the Dahlia and, even in his most desperate moments, at Hayden. Tate knew it was only a matter of time before he fucked one of them, or both at the same time. This house has a way of making you be unafraid to take what you want. Look at Vivien and the twins.

He nudges open the door to see if Ben was fucking himself, his wife, or someone else, and his jaw dropped in surprise.

Patrick knelt in front of him, his mouth full of Ben's dick. He takes all of him in a swallow, Ben's head thrown back in pleasure. His eyes open into little slivers and then spotted Tate. His eyes open wider and he starts to move but as he did Patrick's cheeks hollow and his mouth sucked, and Ben's hips rock forward. He must have came, because Patrick swallows and pulls himself off of Ben's cock.

"Tate," Ben whispers, scared.

He turns around to find Violet behind him hidden from Ben's view. Her eyes are wide and a little smile plays at her lips.

Well, fuck.

This house sure is full of surprises.

He's sitting on the stairs, smiling as he watched Ben and Vivien play peek-a-boo with their son. Ben had been so uncomfortable when he had talked to Tate later. Tate just held up his hands and said, "No judgment." No person in this house was in a position to judge anyone else. They were all saints and sinners both - no villains, only victims. It was different for Tate and Violet, they had each only ever fucked one person and didn't know how someone else's mouth felt on their dick or dick felt in their cunt. It was impossible to want something else if you didn't know any different. It was the first and last way that they were innocent. Ben didn't have that luxury.

The house was like a magnifying glass, taking their wants and desires and enlarging them, putting them into focus. Vivien had loved being a mother more than anything and the house kept giving her ways to find more children. Ben was bad in different ways from Tate and the house let him live out all his little fantasies, from putting a bullet in between his wife's eyes to finding out what it felt like to have a man's lips, firm and strong, sucking his dick.

He's happy for them, but he wonders how much longer he'd have to be punished. True, he was worse in life than Ben and Vivien had ever been before their deaths but he had done his penance.

"Hey."

She slides down next to him, pressing the outside of her leg against his.

"Hi," he says cautiously.

"What are you doing?"

He nodded at her family. "Watching."

She reaches in her pocket, pulling out her pack of cigarettes and her lighter. She lites one, taking a long drag.

"This house fucked my parents up," she says finally, exhaling smoke into his face.

"I know."

"My mom killed two kids. My dad's getting blow-jobs from a guy."

"Being gay isn't a crime. Murder is, but those girls are better off without their shitty parents anyway. She was doing them a favor."

"Don't defend them," she says sharply. "They're fucked up now. Just like you. Just like Chad and Patrick. Just like everyone else."

"This house doesn't fuck everyone up," he says softly, afraid to look at her. "You're still you."

"I'm not. I'm the most fucked up out of everyone," she says, taking another drag.

He shakes his head. "No you're not," he says. "You haven't killed anyone, haven't hurt anyone. Why would you say that?"

"Because I forgave you five years ago."

He freezes. "What?"

"I did. Five years ago. I could see why you did the things you did, and I forgave you." She rolls her eyes. "The house made me do it, I think."

"The house makes people do lots of things."

She nods. "Yeah. And what's worse is that I wanted my parents to be fucked up enough to understand why you did what you did. I wanted them to be like this, because as soon as they were, I could go back to you."

His heart pounds in his chest. "You wanted to come back to me?"

She looks at him with her eyes narrowed, like she was talking to a child. "Don't ask questions you already know the answer to. You're smarter than that." she quotes his words back to him. He looks at back at her, a small hopeful smile on his face.

"I may have forgiven you, but I'm still mad at you."

He nods. He knew.

"But I'm sick of pretending I don't want to be with you. I'm sick of pretending I don't love you. And I'm not going to do it anymore."

"Okay," he says, his voice thick.

She reaches up and caresses his face. Then, without warning, she turns the cigarette into his cheek, burning a hole into his skin.

"Jesus!" He shrieks, shoving her away. He disappears and materializes in her room, holding his burning cheek.

"Don't be such a baby," she says, appearing a second later. "If you're going to be with me, you're going to have to deal with my anger management issues."

"That fucking hurt!" He yells, tears streaming down his face.

"I like to hurt you. It makes me feel better. It makes me feel less guilty for loving you."

He shakes his head, eyes still watering. "You're a bitch." He says with as much anger as he could muster - which was admittedly not much. If she was going to be with him, he'd let her torture him forever.

"Want me to kiss it better?" She asks, pressing herself against his body. He nods dumbly, dazed at being so close to her, at the knowledge that she would be his again, that he'd never have to pretend he wasn't watching her sleep every night.

She stands on her tiptoes and runs her tongue, pink and wet, up the side of his face. He watches their reflection in the bedroom mirror, watches and feels himself go hard. She brushes her knuckles over his cock and he shivers.

She takes a step back and pushes her panties down, swaying her hips as they fell to her ankles. She reaches for his belt buckle, tugging and snapping until she could reach her little hand into his pants and stroke his cock. He groans and dips his head, capturing her mouth with his.

"Fuck me," she murmurs against his lips.

He pushes her back against the bed, watching her flop on the mattress. She reaches down for the hem of her dress and pulled it over her head, leaving her naked below him, wanting.

He can't get his pants off fast enough and he can't make his hands work. She laughs at him, a mean little laugh, the kind he liked best. He finally worked himself free and climbs on top of her, kissing her neck, running his tongue over her breast.

She slaps his face, stinging the spot where she had already burned him with her cigarette. "Don't be gentle," she chides. "We've got forever for that. I didn't say 'make love to me,' I said 'fuck me.' So fuck me."

He growls at her but gives in. He would always give her what she wanted. He sits on the bed beside her and reaches under her back with one arm, lifting her up and pulling her onto his lap. He slides them down the bed so they sit in front of the mirror.

"I want you to watch me fucking you," he mutters, his mouth lined up perfectly in her ear. He pulls her earlobe into his mouth and sucks, then nips with his teeth. He positions her over his dick and pulls her into place, her hips slamming against his. He groans into her neck. He had forgotten how good she felt. Her sex clenches around him and she squirms.

"Is this what you want?" He breathes in her ear, gripping her hips. She moves with him, rocking forward and pulling herself nearly off his dick with a sucking sound and he pulls her back into place. She moans. "Do you like the way my cock feels when I fuck you?" she nods, and he looks at their reflection in the mirror. "Open your eyes," he growls, nudging her back with his chest. "Watch. I want you to watch me do it."

Her eyes open and she glares at them in the mirror. "Don't look at me, look at your cunt," he says, bringing his hand forward to tug on her nipple. "Look at me fucking you. Look at the way your pussy swallows my cock." Her eyes roll back. "Watch," he hisses, and her eyes open again, watching herself pump on top of him. She brings her hand up and threaded her fingers in his hair and pulled, hard enough to pull some hair out. She gives a breathy laugh and pulled again. He grins at her in the mirror, sweat dripping down their chests.

He takes the hand that he'd used to tug her nipple and put it in her mouth. Her eyebrows raised in surprise. "Suck," he orders, pressing his fingers against her tongue. Her cheeks hollow and he pulls his fingers out of her mouth, dragging them down her stomach and then swirling them over her clit. Her eyes drift closed again.

"Watch," he commands again firmly, his hips rising to to meet hers. "I want you to see yourself cum. I want you to watch and know that I'm doing it. I want you to watch and know that I'm the only one that will ever do this to you."

She pumps faster, breath heavy. Her eyes widen and narrow, her hips jerking more erratically. He presses his fingers over her clit and just when she started to cum he leaned forward and bit her shoulder, hard enough to draw blood. She screams and clenches around him and pulls his hair. Her hips jerk and her legs twitch as she rode out all of the last tremors, and then she smiles at him in the mirror. She kept moving above him, her wetness gushing around his cock.

She runs a finger over the cut on her shoulder and twirls it over her breast, coating her nipple in blood. His breath catches in his throat. She brings her fingers to his mouth. "Suck," she says pointedly back to him, with a nasty grin. He takes her fingers in his mouth and sucks the blood off of them, licking them clean. He loves the coppery taste of her against his tongue. She leans her head back and whispers into his ear, "You're the only one that's ever fucked me. You're the only one I'll ever cum for. Just you. I'm yours. And you're mine." And with that, she brings his fingers to her mouth and bites down, hard, hard enough for his fingers to break. His cock twitches and he comes undone inside her, filling her up with a sticky heat as her velvet walls crush his dick.

She stills and leans against him, sweaty back pressing into his chest. He snakes his arms around her waist and pulls her closer still. Any distance between them was too much.

"I love you," she says softly, gently running her fingers up his arm.

It was only the second time she had ever said it. He felt his heart swell.

"I love you too," he says reverently. He loved her. He worshiped her. He would do anything for her.

"What happens now?" he asks a moment later, gazing at her in the mirror. She meets his eyes and smiled.

"We nap."

He grins. "And after that?"

She shrugs. "We'll figure it out as we go along," she says, sliding off his lap and on to the bed. She pulls him down with her, pressing her body along side his. "We've got forever to figure it out."

He buries his face in her neck, breathing in the smell of her hair. "We do," he says happily. His eyes flutter closed, and he drifts off to sleep - the first time he had slept in years.

When they wake a few hours later, they dress and she places her small hand in his and leads him out of the room. "Where are we going?" he asks, looking at her with such love that he was sure she could see it dripping out of his eyes.

"We're going to go stir up trouble."

He smiles and they drift outside, off to find a new way to be bad.

Next up from me - perhaps going back to my little universe in "The House Always Wins" and doing more missing moments from that story. More Violate smut, surely, in some form or another.

There are so many authors that are writing such amazing things in this fandom. Three recent pieces that are really amazing are Mel like Mellow's Cough Into Your Sleeve, Caspell's Violate Delights, and Loginandgetresults' Yesterday is Done Tomorrow Never Comes. Fantastic, beautiful pieces. I'm not normally into AU works but Tjoek's Sucker Loveis a must read for every Violate fan. Finally, my muses (really ladies, your works pretty much inspire me so, every time I read something of yours I feel a compulsive need to start writing) ohyellowbird and Gray Glube have been on an absolute tear recently, writing things that are dark and twisted and so hot that you might need to go roll around in the snow after reading them. In particular, their joint works with ohyellowbird's character Langdon are... well, read them yourself. You'll find that there is no words. THAT GOOD. And to everyone else that keeps writing, thank you for your stories.