
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12956190.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      American_Horror_Story, American_Horror_Story:_Murder_House
  Relationship:
      Tate_Langdon/Original_Female_Character(s)
  Character:
      Constance_Langdon, Larry_Harvey, Adelaide_Langdon, Tate_Langdon
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-12-08 Chapters: 4/? Words: 1903
****** Heart-Shaped Box ******
by Purple_Orchids
Summary
     Fate is cruel, and twisted, and absolute in its results. It's
     especially cruel to Tate Langdon and Lily Waites.
     The strings that connect everything, the way people's paths cross and
     twine and the way they drag each other down, down, down.
     The end is only the beginning, and the beginning is the trigger for
     the end.
Notes
     Okay guys so this has been totally gutted and rewritten...
     To be totally honest I'm basing Tate wayyyyyyy more off of Dylan
     Klebold from Columbine.
     Let me know what you think.
***** Chapter 1 *****
Fate is cruel, and twisted, and absolute in its results. Of course it is;
that's why it's called fate.
Fate. The steady path to death. Fatal. It always ended in death. The strings
that connect everything, the way people's paths cross and twine and the way
they drag each other down, down, down.
Lily lifted him up, though. But she could never lift him high enough to keep
his head above the tide. She'd already drown herself in the endeavour, anyway.
Four guns. Wait- five? Six? He only used two of them. Lily knew how to fire
three. Not the shotgun, though. Never the shotgun. He was convinced that she'd
break her wrist on the recoil.
He'd broken his nose with it when he shot Chloe.
67 rounds total. Most of them from the shotgun. A few from the Tec-9. It didn't
matter the number. Fifteen people were dead.
Sixteen.
Seventeen.
He was sort of upset that the cops hadn't given him the time to blow his own
brains out. Maybe he would've been at peace if he went out on his own.
Again, fate is a bitch.
It didn't take long for Lily to appear among the crowd. They weren't going to
let her into the house. She had managed to claw her way past them.
She managed to get the gun out.
Turned off the safety.
She managed to pull the trigger.
Just like he had taught her.
BAM!
Skull splinters and brain matter painting the front porch, right there on live
TV.
Poetic. Artistic.
Sick. Fucked up.
The end is only the beginning, and the beginning is the trigger for the end.
Ultimately, fate had it out for them from the start.
***** 2. *****
2.
Lily Waites hit her heels absently against the kitchen cabinets, thoughts
wandering as she watched Tate attempt to load the dishwasher.
“The cups go up top,” she murmured.
She could sit there and watch him all day. Even if he was just doing mundane
household chores, she was content to just observe him.
He glanced up, hair falling in his eyes. “Why though?”
Lily smiled and laughed. He was always so inquisitive, and he sucked up every
bit of information she shared with him.
“The water won't wash the things on the top if the cups are on the bottom.
They'll just block it all.”
Tate shrugged, opening the top rack of the washer. “Fair enough,” he shrugged.
“When we get a house you’re going to be in charge of dishes, though.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Reduce me to a common housewife, why don't
you.”
“Define ‘common’, because I'm pretty sure that's not something that describes
you at all.”
He stood up, looking down at the dishwasher. The plates were crooked and
silverware stuck out everywhere. He nodded at it.
“Yep. That's a dishwasher alright.”
Lily burst into laughter.
“I don't know what Constance expected,” he laughed looking at the poorly filled
machine. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, picking up a bottle of dish
soap off the counter. “How much of this shit am I supposed to put in there
anyway?”
Lily began laughing again.
“I can't believe that for how smart you are, you're so dumb around the house,”
she said, sliding off the counter. “If you put dish soap in there, you're going
to be mopping a flood of bubbles off the floor.”
He looked confused. She liked the way he chewed on the inside of his cheek when
he was trying to figure something out.
“Well what do I put in there then?”
Lily fished around under the sink, pulling out a green bottle.
“Dish detergent. It doesn't bubble, so it won't make a mess. Just put it in
that little compartment there.”
Tate tried to do as instructed, somehow managing to get the detergent
everywhere except the compartment.
“Oh my god, you dork,” Lily rolled her eyes, taking the bottle and jokingly
hip-checking him out of the way.
“This is why Constance is always mad at me.”
The change in Tate's tone sent a chill down her spine. It always did, no matter
how many times she heard the darkness starting to seep into him.
“Tate…”
“I fuck everything up.”
Lily closed up the dishwasher and hit the start button before turning to face
him. His shoulders were slumped, hair obscuring his eyes.
“You know she's full of shit, right?” Lily said softly, touching her fingertips
to his. “She shouldn't expect you to know how to do things she's never taught
you how to do.”
He shrugged, still keeping his head down. Lily reached a hand up and brushed
his hair out of his eyes before cupping his face.
“Listen, you're not dumb, and you don't fuck everything up. It's not your fault
that you don't know how to use a dishwasher.”
He half-laughed, half sniffled.
“See? It's a silly thing to be upset about.” Lily wiped away the single tear
that fell from his right eye.
“I don't know what I'd do without you,” he smiled.
“Probably die,” Lily joked.
“Definitely. Definitely die."
***** 3. *****
3.
-September 7, 1993-
Lily Waites stepped off the crowded city bus, thankful to be free of the
oppressing smells and sights that went along with public transportation. She
slung her worn embroidered bag over her shoulder, holding it close to her side,
and joined the swarm of students entering Westfield High School.
Other kids were greeting one another, hugging friends and laughing in their
tight-knit cliques; jocks, goths, preps, nerds, and Valley Girls.
And then there was Lily.
No one ran to greet her. The only notice anyone gave her were stares and quiet
mockery of her, especially among the preppy girls that seemed to dominate the
school.
Lily kept her head down as she navigated through the throng of students and
silently made her way to class.
She was struggling. With everything.
And no one was offering her help- not that she asked for it, anyways. She was
mostly resigned to her quiet, bleak life.
Until she met Tate.
***** 4. (Smut) *****
Chapter Notes
     So I'm not sure how I feel about this being the first sex scene
     because it's a little kinky, but oh well...
     Also, another quick note on the story setup, the chapters are in
     chronological order unless there is a date at the top. Those are
     flashbacks and are not necessarily in order.
     Enjoy~
“Would you kill for me?”
Lily looked up at Tate, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. He
stared into her eyes with an intensity that she had rarely seen before.
“Yes.”
He looked… relieved? He twined his fingers into her hair and buried his face in
her neck.
“Would you?” she asked.
“To protect you, yes.”
His breath was hot against her ear. She pulled his face up to hers and kissed
him hard.
“Would you die for me?”
He was staring at her again. Except this time, his gaze was hungry, almost
wild.
“Yes,” she answered without hesitation again.
His hand moved down her body, caressing her hip before pulling her against him.
She had become so lost in their conversation she had nearly forgotten that his
dick was entirely buried in her.
“How do you want to die,” he asked, thrusting into her slowly.
“I want you to kill me,” she murmured.
She heard his breath hitch and he made a sound in the back of his throat. She
loved the noises he made and the look in his eyes when he was fucking her.
“Kill me.”
She whispered it, unsure what his reaction would be.
She definitely wasn't expecting him to lock his hand around her throat. She
tensed up for just a moment before relaxing into his grip.
“I could do it right now,” he said, biting down hard at the base of her neck.
“You'd let me?”
She nodded, unable to breathe. He fucked her harder, hips digging into her with
each thrust, his body meeting hers with an obscene, wet sound.
She tried to moan, but the sound was lost in her throat, vocal cords vibrating
against his hand. Her vision was starting to go black around the edges. Despite
rapidly losing consciousness, she moved against him, throwing herself into his
punishing thrusts. It was too much, yet not nearly enough at the same time. She
managed to begin twisting her legs around so that her knees were bent - legs
under her, ass resting on the heels of her feet - granting him even deeper
access.
He finally let up his hold on her throat, but she complained. She had been
close, so close. He was doing it intentionally, she knew. She spread her legs
even wider, using the leverage gained by her position to meet him with even
more force.
He growled, a completely animalistic sound that matched the crazed look in his
eyes. His hand locked around her throat again, thumb and middle finger digging
into her jugular and carotid with frightening precision.
His mouth found hers, and he explored every inch of it despite the fact that
she was drooling, unable to move her tongue as it swelled with trapped blood.
She could feel prickling in her eyes. Petechiae, she vaguely recalled. Broken
blood vessels in the face and eyes, caused by strangulation.
“I'm gonna come,” he hissed into her open mouth.
She tried to nod, but she was entirely unable to move. She was sure her face
was blue. It didn't matter. He pressed his forehead against hers, and the last
thing she saw before her vision went out was his face.
He released her just as she was about to pass out, and just as she climaxed,
allowing her to scream as it slammed through her. He threw his head back, nails
digging painfully into her shoulder as he hoarsely yelled out some incoherent
stream of obscenities as he came as well.
Her breathing came in gasps, desperately trying to fill her burning lungs with
oxygen as her entire body trembled and spasmed. She could feel his dick jerking
inside her as her cunt milked him dry.
He collapsed on top of her, hands finding her shoulders. His breath was hot
across her chest, burning one of the many bruises he had left with his teeth.
“Fuck,” he panted. She could feel his heart thudding despite her own slamming
against her ribcage.
As soon he regained his ability to move, he began tracing over each of her
bruises with his lips, leaving wet kisses on each spot of abused flesh. He paid
special attention to the bite mark on her shoulder, and the indent on her
collarbone left by his thumbnail.
Finally, he trailed his tongue across the angry red line appearing across the
pale flesh of her throat.
When she opened her eyes again, his expression turned panicked.
“Shit,” he said, running a finger across her cheekbone. “Your eyes.”
“How fucked are they?”
“Pretty fucked.”
She didn't have the will to get up, so she was relieved when he got up to
retrieve the mirror from his desk.
“Ah, shit,” she mumbled, examining the blood-speckled whites of her eyes. Her
cheeks were equally dotted with tiny haemorrhages.
“I'm sorry.” He chewed the inside of his cheek, like he always did when upset.
“I'm really, really sorry.”
She set the mirror down, running her hands through his hair. “It's fine. It'll
heal. I'm not sure how I'll explain it until then, but I'll figure something
out.”
She kissed him, and immediately felt his dick harden against her thigh.
“Jeeze, ready for round two already?” she joked.
“I guess so. But I'll be gentle this time.”
She smirked, biting down on his bottom lip. “Maybe I don't want you to be.”
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
