A/N: Um. I don't even know. Like, seriously, I have no idea. But it was Ronnie's (radarlincoln on Tumblr) birthday yesterday and she really loves Violate and so I wrote this short story for her C:

I hope you guys enjoy and review and tell me what you though ~

DISLAIMER: I don't own American Horror Story.

Tate lay on the bed. Thinking. Analyzing. His breath came out ragged and short and he turned on his side, his right arm laying under his head. He closed his eyes and thought of her lips. Her dark, deep eyes. Her long, golden locks. Her moans...

He snapped his eyes open and sat up immediately, running his fingers through his disheveled hair.

"Fuck," he breathed out, standing up and walking out of the small room.

Outside in the hallway stood a depressed Constance holding a dress. She was on her knees in front of the closet. The one where she would put the girls that acted in a bad way.

Where Addie used to be put in.

Tate bit the inside of his cheek and shoved his hand inside his pockets and strode away from Constance - to the back door of the house. Constance's heels echoed all over the small house and she stood in the threshold of the kitchen door. Tate stood silently in front of the back door and waited for Constance to speak her mind.

"You're going out? Could you bring mommy some chocolate syrup for the cupcakes I want to bake for Viol -"

"Don't you mean Ipecac syrup?" He spat and grabbed the door knob and twisted it.

Tate walked down the sidewalk and walked up to the "Murder House". Once in front of the large door, he knocked. Once. Twice. Thrice, until Vivien opened the door with a smile.

"Ben's not here today," she told the dead teen.

"I'm actually here to see Violet?"

Vivien gave him a look of discomfort and finally stepped aside, letting Tate enter the large house.

"You two seem to be getting along quite nicely," Violet's mom chirped up.

"Quite nicely..." muttered Tate under his breath."She's upstairs right?"

"Yeah."

With a slight nod on Vivien's part Tate ran up the stairs to Violet's room. He walked in soundlessly and stood leaning against the door frame of her bathroom. Violet held a razor in her hand and she brought it down to her soft flesh and blood gushed out, Tate walking towards her and grabbing her wrist.

"How many times do I have to tell you to not cut yourself?" He asked, bringing her arm up to his lips and sucking up all the blood.

"Stop doing that!" She said in a stern voice, pushing him away from her.

Tate got a hold of a towel and gave it to her. "We've talked about this Vi. No more cutting."

She chewed on her lower lip and looked at his rolled up sleeves. He had so many scars. So many cuts.

"Stop bullshitting me, Tate." She spat out, looking at him with a menacing glare. "Let me see your arms - your wrists."

"I haven't relapsed in a long time."

Violet gave no heed to him and tried to get a hold of his left arm. He grabbed her by the shoulders and tried to push her away. She pushed and tried to get a hold of his arm until he grabbed her and forcefully pushed her against the wall, holding her writs tightly - giving her bruises.

"Let me go, Tate."

"I'm not."

"Just let me fucking go, shithead."

Tate stepped back, her falling on the ground with a loud thump! He stared at her long and hard, his eyes narrowing.

"See? You are distant and cold towards me lately."

"And?"

Tate kept quiet. He grabbed Violet's hand and walked her to her bed. Violet gave him a perplexed look as he licked his lips.

"I...love you," he gulped, looking at her through his short bangs. "...you know I do. And I'm not sure if you love me, too. And I'm scared you'll try and kill yourself again Violet. I'm scared..." he trailed off, looking down at his feet. "I've never been scared before. Not until I met you."

Violet spread her arms and Tate leaned in slowly, carefully. "...come here," she spoke softly; as if in another different mood than five seconds ago.

She wrapped her arms around Tate and he rested his head on her shoulder. He took in her scent and slowly brought his right hand over to his left sleeve and pulled it up. Violet looked down at his scarred arm and closed her eyes, shifting to grab his arm and pull it up to kiss his cuts in a loving matter. The boy's eyes never wavered as she continued her sweet ministrations.

His breath hitched in his throat when she began to nibble and bite one of his scars and he lost it then.

He pushed her against her bead and sought her lips with his. Their lips slapped each other and he licked her lips and she opened her mouth sensually and their tongues danced. And at the moment, the only thing that mattered was the warmth that radiated from Tate's frame. That he was there for sure and Violet knew he wasn't leaving her anytime soon.

All their worries about cutting flew out the window and she brought him closer to her, their short breaths melting in each other's mouths as they pulled away.

"Don't be scared," whispered Violet near his ear. She gave him a knowing look and Tate responded with a nod and a smirk.

I love you, too.