♥ blondetate wrote la petite mort 2/2 for sothereyougo
Title: la petite mort 2/2
Author: blondetate
Summary: Boston, where the leaves change and the seasons are different. The city seems like heaven to him. And every heaven has angels, don't they?
Spoilers/Warning/Triggers: Language, brief mentions of murder and death, sexual situations (between a minor and an adult)
Author Notes: AU. The title means little death in french, which is a metaphor for orgasm. I really liked the prompt, which was to write an older Violet with a younger Tate, and it was especially fun because I had been playing around with a similar idea for ages before I even got the prompt. I had originally said I would write this in second POV, but ugh... I guess I'm fickle? I don't usually write in first person POV, but I did now. The writing style is still not exactly common though, because I did a thing with conversations, you'll see. Also, I'm curious who you guys could imagine as a 45 years old Violet. Personally, I went with Vera Farmiga but I'm open to other suggestions if you have any?
( la petite mort 1/2 )
xxx
Whoever says insomnia is a curse is an idiot. That's my opinion that night, when I can't fall asleep for the life of me, wandering the halls of the house aimlessly. At first I'm annoyed too. I watch a movie with some popcorn, I drink a cup of tea, I read, and something still keeps me up at two a.m. It isn't even not being able to sleep which frustrates me, it's being bored. I have nothing to do. Until I walk by Violet's room.
The noises I hear coming from inside make me stop in my steps. Moaning. Quiet, small moans, but in the dead silence of the night, you can hear them just fine. Is it... is it Violet? Who is she with? I grit my teeth together, hands clenching at my side. I wasn't aware that Hugo was home, so unless he arrived back from his trip earlier than intended, she's with someone else. She's cheating on Hugo with someone who isn't me. God, that is just... insulting. I'm the one who spent countless days and weeks tearing her walls down, making her trust me, want me, and now she goes and fucks someone else to relieve her sexual frustration because I'm too young. Some stupid fucker stealing your woman after all your hard work, it makes me want to kick the door out and beat the guy to death.
And on top of it all, -
("Tate.")
I freeze. Did she say my name? Am I hallucinating? I step closer towards the door, mouth open in surprise. Is she thinking about me while fucking somebody else? Wait a minute... is she even with somebody else? I suck in a deep breath, blinking. Maybe... Pressing my ears against the door, I listen. I can hear sheet rustling, heavy breathing, quiet whimpers, but no sound which would come from a male. She's alone then. Alone and fingering herself.
While thinking of me.
So what do I do? Do I go in or not? Do I help her get off or do I stay and listen? I'm not sure how she would react if I did go in. In the heat of her passion, she might allow me to touch her, kiss her, maybe even fuck her, but later? What if she regrets it later? I might just be digging myself a hole if this doesn't go right. I want her to want this and agree to it, consciously, with a clear head, not while she's half over the edge, desperate for a release.
So I stay. And listen. And now that I've made sure she's alone in there, I can concentrate on the sounds she makes, which... I wish I had a recorder with me. It boosts your ego, to hear someone get off while thinking about you, moaning, crying out your name, but with Violet, it's even more special. I imagine her sprawled out on her bed, her legs spread, her head thrown back against the pillow in pleasure as she works her fingers in and out of herself. Imaging it was my fingers bringing her closer to her orgasm. In my head, her hair is all over the place and I long to touch it, thread my fingers through the locks and pull on them roughly, bringing her face up to kiss her. Her eyes are closed and she's biting down on her lips to keep from releasing any sounds, trying to remain quiet, but small desperate whines still escape every now and then. Her legs begin shaking as she nears her much anticipated high and with one last louder cry of my name, she tumbles over the edge, her body bowing up on the bed in pleasure.
The next thing I know, my hands are sticky, my body is spent and my mind is satisfied. The noises coming from the other side cease to be heard as well. Happy, I slump down to the floor in exhaustion, a huge grin on my face. There's the sleepiness I've been waiting for. And after witnessing this scene, my hope for us is stronger than ever.
I can go and fall asleep peacefully now.
xxx
Christmas is uneventful. Hugo, sadly, manages to make it home and Violet is delighted - or pretends to be delighted - but for some unfathomable reason to me, he still doesn't fuck her. Not that I don't appreciate it, oh, I do. But if I was her husband... well, she certainly wouldn't be so sexually unsatisfied.
Hugo says he'll try to come home for New Year's Eve as well, but he doesn't make promises. Ever since they got married, he goes on "business trips" much more often than he used to - or at least that's what Violet tells me - and I'm pretty sure he has a mistress. Or mistresses, who knows. I wonder why she doesn't confront him about it, but I think part of her just stopped caring at this point. They don't interact much, not even when he's home. For Christmas, he gets her a red diamond necklace which - just like her engagement ring - I know is too excessive for her, but she smiles and thanks him anyway. All I can think about when she presses a kiss to his cheek is that I don't think I've ever even seen her wearing a necklace before.
Violet's son, Gale, also comes to visit for the holidays and I would like the guy - he's a lot like his mother - if he didn't steal all of Violet's attention away from me. Nothing really happens besides that. It's a fairly simple, fairly boring Christmas we have.
But when she sees my gift for her - a mini Eiffel tower statue and a Russian nestling doll to symbolize her work - she gives me a huge, bright smile, a real smile, and that's the most exciting thing which happens in those three days.
xxx
Unsurprisingly, Hugo doesn't make it home for New Year's Eve after all. I watch Violet prepping all day - she chooses her dress, curls her hair, puts on her red diamond necklace and goes to extraordinary lengths - especially for her - to make sure her make up is perfect. When I question it, she explains that he's called to let her know he's coming home tonight and she wants to look good for him. I think she just wants to make him want her. I don't think she actually wants to sleep with him anymore - and why would she, when there's me, and when he's a total asshole who doesn't deserve such a magnificent woman as Violet - but I know it bothers her that he never showed any interest in her. Women pride and all. So she does her best to look stunning, and I'm sad to see her try so hard because I know it's futile. Not because she doesn't look beautiful - she would look beautiful in dirty, ragged clothes and the joke's on Hugo for not realizing that - but because I know he's not coming. He will cancel at the last minute, as always, and I think deep down, she knows that too. She knows I'm not going anywhere tonight, I have told her weeks ago, so if my calculations are right, it'll be just the two of us.
And I know that this is it. Tonight, it's happening. We've been dancing around each other for months and I've had enough. She's had enough. I just need to make her see it. By the amount of sexual frustration she must feel at this point, - which is approximately the same amount as my own - and by the anger she will most likely feel when Hugo inevitably cancels, it shouldn't be that hard.
But it is Violet we're talking about here. Better not to get too cocky.
Through the whole day, I drop hints and comments about kissing her once the clock strikes twelve - because it's tradition, of course - and then perhaps doing some more if she allows it, but she ignores them all, just as always. I'm too determined to let that bother me today. I'm calm, I know the secret. She'll be mine by the end of the day.
Year. Whatever.
Around eleven o'clock Hugo calls and I can tell just from her expression that he hasn't disappointed. He's not coming. She doesn't offer any explanations after she hangs up because she knows she doesn't need to say anything, and instead opens a bottle of champagne. I take it from her immediately because I don't want even a sip of alcohol clouding her judgement tonight and it causes a bit of a ruffle between us. She ends up storming off, her ass swaying in her green dress and I swear to God, she's doing it on purpose. She looks good, I admit. The dress is nice, not too slutty, but it clings to her body in all the right places and her dark make up highlights her eyes perfectly. Yet, I think I prefer her natural look. Because this woman, the one who wears short dresses, curls her hair and uses make up, no matter how good she looks, it isn't her.
Hugo would have liked seeing her like this, I think. Exactly because it's not her. He doesn't really want her, just a trophy wife. The bastard doesn't know what he's missing, but at least this way, I get to have her all to myself. Once she finally gives herself to me, that is.
A few minutes before midnight, I go knocking on her door, pleased to see that the dress and make up are gone. Only the curls remain. She doesn't look too mad anymore and she's willing to walk back to the living room with me for the countdown. I can hardly contain myself anymore, just about dying to finally kiss her again. If she thought I was just joking around earlier, she would be in for a surprise now. Somehow though, I suspect she knows I was being completely serious. I always am when it comes to her.
10.
The countdown starts and I stare at her the whole time.
9.
She stares back, an almost hoping look on her face.
8.
I wonder if she wants me to kiss her.
7.
No, that's a stupid question.
6.
Of course she does.
5.
It's just a matter of finally accepting it and embracing it.
4.
Her hungry expression intensifies as midnight draws closer.
3.
Her eyes wander down to my lips and I grin.
2.
Score.
1.
She wants this as much as I do and I know she's not going to pull away or try to stop me, not this time.
So I finally lean in.
I've only kissed her once before, when she was treating the wounds on my face, but that memory is forever etched into my brain and it served as my masturbation material for a very long time. This kiss is almost exactly like that one was. Her lips still taste of cigarettes, and I love it because it's so entirely her. I was originally planning on giving her a quick kiss - something which would be enough to get her going and ache for me, a kiss I could just blame on the holiday spirit - and then I would pull away, letting her make the next move, (which would undoubtedly be yanking me back and attaching her mouth to mine) but naturally, she ruins my plan. Her tongue, wet and warm, runs along my lower lip and I'm lost, our kiss deepening. My mouth opens for her and her tongue slips inside, my hand wandering down from her hair to her waist and then gradually to her ass. In response, her hand on my chest starts slipping down my stomach, stopping when she reaches my navel and then back up. She begins teasing my nipple under my shirt, making small circles with her fingers, and I know she's deliberately trying to rile me up. I'm not sure what kind of reaction she expects, but it works, I lose all my self-control, and the next thing I know, her legs are wrapped around my waist and her back is against the wall.
I swallow her surprised gasp with a kiss, but my mouth doesn't linger there for long, breaking away from her lips to give some attention to her neck as well. At this point her heavy breathing is audible in the room as I lavish her skin with kisses, moans erupting from her every now and then when I push my hips against hers. My earlier plan of giving her a quick, make-her-want-more kind of kiss resurfaces, and I have to marvel at how easily I lost control of the situation. All it took was to get her damn tongue involved too. But I don't mind, because although it's not how I imagined it to go down, it is happening. And I know that neither one of us is willing to stop now.
Despite that, I need confirmation and perhaps that's the only motivation I have to stop and pull away from her. Her head is thrown back against the wall, eyes closed, mouth open, still in an euphoric state from my earlier ministrations I guess, and she has never looked more beautiful. In fact, I'm so taken aback by the goddess before my eyes that the most I can do is rasp out her name in a throaty whisper, hoping to convey every unasked question I had in that one word. Her eyes flutter open and she only nods at me, understanding everything I wasn't saying. And with that one little nod, it's back on again.
Somehow, I don't know how, we end up in her bedroom with me on top of her, our legs a tangled mess. It takes everything in me to break away, because now that I have her, I never want to let her go, but I have to remove her clothes somehow. The whine she lets out when I pull away from her makes me feel better. It's not just me who feels this way, it's her too, she doesn't want to be away from me either. Grinning, I pull her shirt over her head but I'm not prepared to see that she's not wearing a bra underneath. Oh, fuck me.
I've seen her naked before on the pictures she gave me, the pictures I still have and often look at, but they're nothing compared to the real thing. It's an entirely new experience to see her like this, and although I'm no virgin, I feel like one with her. Which is not a good thing. I can't afford to fucking screw this up. I want to make this about her, make her feel good so she'll want more, and I need to focus. Get your shit together, Tate Langdon.
I start out by stroking her flushed cheek, gradually moving my hand down her body until I reach her exposed breasts, marveling at how uplifting it feels to touch her like this. Remember when I first saw her and was convinced her breasts were just the right size to fit in my palm? I was right. Oh so right. This is what it looks like when two people are made for each other, physically and mentally. I tug on her leggings, quickly pulling them down her legs while I attach my mouth to one of her nipples just to hear her moan for me, such a sweet sound. She's almost naked now, only in her panties, and even through the material I can feel how wet I made her for me. Perfection. My lips still sucking on her nipple, my hand explores her inner thigh, stroking her creamy white skin and coming close to touching her cunt more than once, but withdrawing each time. The small sound she makes when I do that makes me want to do it over and over again. However, I think she has other plans in mind.
Because with a surprising force for such a small woman, she pushes me off of her, straddling me before I could blink. The grin she wears when she looks down at me says "You have no idea what you're in for." Honestly, I can't fucking wait. I realize I'm still fully clothed which just won't do. Thankfully, she's one step ahead of me, making quick work of my buttons and belt, while she lowers her head down to pepper my chest with small, open mouthed kisses, chuckling when I give sound to my satisfaction. She swirls her tongue around my nipple and I let out some more of those noises while tugging on her last remaining clothing item, her panties. Gone, I want them gone as soon as possible. She lifts her hips, allowing me to remove them before I tore the material, chuckling meanly at my impatience. Fucking bitch. She's lucky I'm so damn into her.
I sit up on the bed, finding her neck with my lips, her hair falling all around us. Sucking on her pulse point, my fingers finally touch her wetness, no barrier between us anymore. I rub her clit at first, gradually applying the pressure to hear her breathing grow more and more unsteady by the moment. She gasps my name, ordering me to get naked, now, and of course, like a lovesick little puppy, I have to comply. Once my boxers are out of the way, she takes my hand, kisses my fingertips and then lowers herself down between my legs with an evil grin that promises both pain and pleasure. My favorite combination. My hips buck up on their own accord in anticipation, but of course, she doesn't give me what I want so easily. Instead she sucks on my inner thigh, probably leaving a hickey behind, but I don't mind. Nobody but me and her would see it in the place she left it, but even if they did... let them. The whole world could know about us for all I cared. Eventually, though, I have enough of her teasing and yanking her back up, I give her a long, searing kiss, my hands tangling in her curls while I flip us over. Now it's her turn to be submissive.
I give her a similar grin she gave me before she began her teasing, and then I disappear between her legs. I originally plan on paying her back for the teasing, giving her hell for a while, but much like my earlier plan, it doesn't quite work out. Because as soon as I'm close enough to smell her arousal, I need to taste her too. I build it up, start from her knee and make my way up, but when I arrive at my destination, I can't hold myself back anymore. I dive in, my tongue darting out to lick her sweet cunt, enjoying the immediate series of whimpers and curse words leaving her mouth. She tastes like honey, I think, except better. It's the closest thing I can think of to describe it. I fuck her with my tongue, pushing it inside her, and I don't stop until she's mewling, her legs are shaking and she's practically bowing off the bed, so desperate for her release. And then, I stop.
Of course she's horrified, disappointed and angry. She curses at me and I just chuckle, the evil grin still in place. Oh yes, payback is a bitch. But she won't have to wait long to get off anyway, because I don't think I can take much more of this foreplay either. The last few months have been enough foreplay, and we've played around long enough for tonight, it's time for the grand finale. I swear she sighs in relief when I finally climb on top of her, positioning my dick at her entrance. She wraps her arms around me, placing open mouthed kisses on my cheek and mouth, patiently - impatiently - waiting for me to make my move, and I do, I finally slide inside her wetness. From there on, it's all a mess of tangled limbs, breathy moans and harsh thrusts. My heart beats her name, every thump is in her honor. Violet, Violet, Violet... She's there in every heartbeat, every sigh, every noise. She's in my bloodstream, now and forever.
When I thrust, she mewls. I hoist her leg up higher, she scratches her nails down my back. I moan, she whimpers. I slow down to tease, she pushes me off and takes the lead herself. I turn us around again, she grabs my neck, bites into my shoulder. We take turns being on top, both of us wanting to be in control, the dominant one. She rides my cock eagerly, and I fuck her, hard and fast, like I know she wants to be fucked. There'll probably be bruises and marks all over our bodies tomorrow, and she'll be sore, maybe even struggling to walk, but neither one of us care right now. Not when it feels so good, so right to do this. Like we've always been meant to do it, be with each other. Be with her.
She comes twice before I'm able to get off as well, and each time, the look on her face is worth all the long months I spent trying to seduce her. Afterwards, we lie in bed for a while, speechless and breathing heavily, trying to calm our racing hearts. She runs a hand through her hair, turns towards me with a mischievous grin.
("Fuck me. You do have the experience."
"Did you think I didn't?"
"I don't know... you were always so full of yourself but I didn't know if there was any truth in it. I certainly hoped there was and you weren't just some inexperienced beginner looking for a quick fuck. Even if that means you probably had to sleep around a lot... didn't you?"
"I wouldn't say a lot. Don't be jealous."
"I'm not, asshole.")
She laughs and kisses me, nibbling on my lips playfully. I stroke her cheek, a content smile on my face as I watch her. She looks happy too, as happy as I feel. That's gotta be a good sign, right? I think it is, and it only makes my smile widen.
("Happy New Year, Vi. I'm glad you finally gave in."
"Happy New Year, Tate. I'm glad I gave in too.")
xxx
I enjoy playing with fire and I always did, maybe that's why I find it so amusing to steal touches and kisses from Violet while Hugo is around but not looking. God, the man is a dimwit. He has no clue I'm screwing his wife. Even when I sneak in while Violet is showering and get her off using my fingers, even when she tiptoes out of their room at night while he's sleeping to visit me, he doesn't suspect a thing. Or he just doesn't care. I suspect it's the first but either one works for me.
Violet enjoys our little game too. She's attracted to the danger just as much as I am, maybe that's one of the reasons why she felt so drawn to me as well. I guess I symbolize the danger here. And she's eager to play along with me. She grins when I place my hand on her thigh under the table while we're having dinner and responds by running her toes up my lower calf. I begin stroking her leg then, lightly, teasingly running my fingertips over the leggings she's wearing and watch as her face changes, alighted by it. Easy, it's so easy to get her going and hot for me. I lift my glass of water to my lips to hide my proud smile - not that Hugo would even notice, but it's half the fun to sneak around like two teenagers from their parents... No pun intended.
She lasts five more minutes under my ministrations, five minutes which I spend teasing her mercilessly, but when I decide to get a little brave and bold, and dip my fingers between her legs, she throws her silverware on the table and stands up abruptly. Clearing her throat, she addresses Hugo and I adjust my pants just a little, ready to follow after her with whatever made up excuse I can come up with.
("Uhm... I'm gonna go get some wine."
"I'll help her bring glasses.")
Once we're in the kitchen, she reaches up to open the top cabinet, but I have other plans and press her up against the counter from behind. The quiet appreciative moan she lets out is music to my ears. I slip my hands around her waist, hold onto her tightly, kiss her neck.
("I'm so tempted to just take you on this counter, right here, right now, Vi."
"Patience, Tate."
"My father probably wouldn't even notice."
"We can't."
"Are you sure?"
"Tate. T-tate.")
She turns around with a stern look on her face, but I can see the desire in my own eyes reflecting back at me. She's trying to warn me to stay put but her expression says otherwise. Still, I grin innocently and hold my hands up in a gesture to let her know I'll be a good boy from now on.
Maybe.
xxx
We end up sneaking out to the bathroom for a quick fuck, neither of us willing to wait any longer.
xxx
("I'm the one in charge today.")
Those words and a handcuff around my wrists are what I wake up to. Still sleepy and disoriented, I can only blink in confusion, watching her grin like a Cheshire cat. It takes me a moment, when she slips her hands inside my boxers, to realize what's happening. She's just made me her prisoner. Well, fuck me sideways, she's playing dirty.
But when she licks her way down my stomach, watching me the entire time, laughing meanly when I buck my hips impatiently as she hovers above my cock, I discover that waking up like this might just be the best thing in the world.
xxx
Things go great between us, maybe too great, and that's why I get a little ahead of myself and manage to screw things up with only one small conversation. It's not like it wasn't coming though. I had been dreading and anticipating to have this conversation with her for months, and ever since we... started our "affair", it was inevitable. I'm not someone who likes sharing, and as much fun as sneaking around is, I'd prefer to be able to take her out on dates and just let the world know that she is mine and I am hers. The only problem is that she's technically not mine, even though I'm fully hers.
It's bright in the morning and I'm freshly showered and very much naked as I come back to her room, finding her awake and watching me like a hungry animal. A half smirk is playing on her mouth and she doesn't even bother to be subtle with checking me out, staring at my dick quite obviously. She even licks her lips and I chuckle.
("Enjoying the view?"
"Always."
"You're insatiable, anyone ever told you that?"
"It's all your fault. You make me horny like a teenage girl. I guess your youth is contagious."
"You don't have to compliment me, you know. I'll fuck you either way.")
She laughs then, loud and happy. She grabs my arm to bring me closer to her and kisses me, hungry, eager and passionate. It's easy to get lost in her every time we kiss, or touch, and soon she's naked too, writhing beneath me and asking for more, more, more. I guess we're both still a little tired from our last night activities and neither one of us is in the mood for much foreplay, so it's quickly over with one last heated cry of pleasure and rasp of her name. Then, when I'm laying beside her, my arms thrown around her body, breathing in the small of her shampoo, all I can think about is how I don't want her doing this with anyone else. Not necessarily with Hugo because he obviously doesn't care for her, but anyone else. I want to be the only man in her life, the only one she really, truly loves, the only one who can get her hot and wet like I did just now. I don't want to share her with my father even on paper and I don't want to risk her falling for some other man. I couldn't stand it.
I guess I just want us to be official.
My lips find her ear, pressing a kiss to the shell, whispering quietly.
("Divorce him.")
The change in the atmosphere is obvious. For a moment she freezes up in my arms, then she's moving away quickly, disbelieving and shocked as she disentangles herself from me, my attempts to keep her with me futile. She grabs her robe from the chair, pulls it on hurriedly. I wonder what the fuck I've just done and if she'll just walk out on me or engage in this conversation which I know will turn into a row and perhaps a break up.
("What?"
"I... I said divorce him."
"You're not serious, are you?"
"Why not? You and him, you're married only on paper."
"I'm not going to throw my whole life away for some boy."
"I'm not a fucking boy. And what life are you talking about? He's never even around. I am your life here."
"You and I both know it's not that simple. There's nothing you can offer me, no kind of future."
"I wouldn't leave you."
"That's what you think now. But in five short years I'll be fifty, and then sixty, and you'll only be at the prime of your life. You won't want me. And I can't ask you to want me."
"So that's your problem still? The age difference?"
"YES. The fucking age difference, Tate. There's no tangible future we can ever have. I can divorce Hugo, I can go and live a few more years with you in bliss until you get bored or disgusted with me, and that's it. Why should I leave a life which makes sense, a life which is comfortable for something so shaky?"
"Take a chance..."
"It's not a chance if you know what's waiting. You know I'm right. I can't give you what you want either. Children, for example."
"I don't want children without you."
"You're young. You have no idea what you're talking about. I should have known better. This... we should end this."
"Vi,-"
"We always knew we had an expiration date.")
Yeah, I guess we did. If she's not willing to leave Hugo, we do have an expiration date. I just didn't think it would come so soon.
xxx
For the next few weeks, I'm miserable. She avoids me again, just like after the incident with the principal's secretary. She's not at home if she can help it, locks herself in the room again. If we see each other in the hallways, she barely mutters a quiet hello and avoids my eyes, hurrying away, while I'm left frozen on the spot, staring after her longingly. It's much worse now, now that I know what I'm missing. Now that I've fallen for her. Now that I know what it's like to have her and be with her, be inside her, make her whimper and cry out in pleasure, make her come while screaming my name. I miss her, plain and simple. I think she misses me too, that's why she tries so hard to avoid me. Either that, or she thinks it'd be too awkward for us to interact. Which is true, I suppose. But I'd take even the awkward interactions if it meant I'd have her back in my life again.
I'm not sure what I can do to get her back. Somehow, I doubt that stripping naked and using her shower will help this time. Too much has changed since then. Our feelings evolved, our relationship was taken to another level... It wouldn't be easy to win her back. But I have to try. It's simply not an option to just give up, because I need her like the air I breathe. I can't remember what it's like to function without her anymore.
I just need her back, in whatever capacity she allows me to be in her life. Friends, lovers... hell, I'll even be her "stepson" if she wants me to be. I'll take what I can get.
xxx
Hugo is home again and for once in my life, I don't mind. Because he's home and that means she stays at home as well. Now is my chance to act, to come up with something and win her back. Except I still have no freaking clue what to do. The best I can do is try and talk to her, make things okay again. I'll say whatever I need to say to get her to warm up to me again, but I think she senses my intentions and tries to surround herself around Hugo whenever she can. It's almost impossible to get her alone for more then a minute like this. She's always been a clever woman and I used to adore that about her, but now it's just a tad bit frustrating. If she only allowed me to talk to her, just for five minutes... I know I could make things right again.
I know Hugo isn't staying for long, he never does, and I'm quickly running out of time again. Desperate now, I almost result to sneaking into their bedroom at night or something similarly insane, when it happens. They have a fight. And it's a loud, crazy, earth shattering fight. She screams so loud I can hear her from my room with my door closed, and he yells back at her just as loud. From what I understand, she finally confronted him about his affairs and he denies everything, appalled that she would even say such a thing, while she's pissed he takes her for an idiot. Things quickly escalate and the fight reaches its peak when she bluntly asks him why he won't have sex with her, to which he doesn't have an answer. A few minutes later I can hear the front door slam shut and then dead silence.
I'm sitting on my bed, listening for any more noises, contemplating going downstairs to see who left and who stayed (my bet is that Hugo left, of course) when there's a knock on my door. Violet steps inside, her face tentative, hovering at the door. I shoot up from my bed, shocked but pleasantly so, reassuring her to come in. Okay, here's your chance, you can do this, don't screw this up.
She sits down slowly, watching me. Her face holds so many emotions, I can't even begin to identify them all. Sadness, guilt, regret, longing... just to name a few. I open my mouth to say something, but she holds up her hands to stop me. It takes her another few seconds to gather what she's trying to say.
("I'm sorry."
"What for?"
"You know what. I avoided you."
"If you're ready to be friends again, it's fine."
"Friends? Is that what you want now?"
"Well... no. But that's all I'm going to get, isn't it?"
"I'm not going to leave Hugo. But I missed you."
"I mi,-"
"In every way you can miss someone, I did. If you still want me..."
"Are you... do you want to continue our affair?"
"On the condition that that's all it's going to be. An affair."
"..."
"Well?"
"I'm fine with that.")
We waste no more time talking that night. We've only been apart for a few weeks, but I missed her tremendously, and we have a lot to make up for. When I finally thrust inside her again, hear her gasp, hear my own groan, I thank my father silently for chasing her back into my arms. It wasn't ideal, wasn't how I planned for it to happen, but I'm just glad she came back to me. Even if our relationship just continued where we left off, with me being her dirty little secret, and her being my whole life, it's better than nothing.
After all, I did say I'd take what I can get. For now, at least.
xxx
I watch her light up a cigarette, carelessly tossing the lighter away as she inhales deeply. She does that a lot, I realize, smoke after we had sex, still in bed. It's one of her many habits I've come to know and love. And I think lately, love became the keyword with us. At least for me. I suspect - or maybe I just hope, I don't know - that she feels the same, although she's never said it. Granted, neither have I, but it's in the way I look at her, in the way I touch her, hold her and have sex with her. And last week, on a whim, I wrote those words on her chalkboard while she was out shopping. She never said anything about it, didn't even acknowledge my words, but I know she saw it. How could she have missed it when it's there, staring in your face every time you step inside her room? Even now, if I lift my head up a little, I can still see it. Because she's never erased the words either. I don't think that's a bad sign, but the fact that she never tried to talk to me about it isn't exactly too encouraging either. That's why up until now, I didn't dare approach the subject, too afraid.
I don't know why I choose this moment to bring it up. She's always in a blissful state post-sex with her cigarettes, so perhaps I'm hoping it will make her more willing to have this conversation with me. I start slowly, cautious. Baby steps.
("If I was older... or if you were younger, if we were the same age, and we could have a future together. Would you leave him for me?"
"Tate."
"What? It's just a question."
"I don't know... I don't think about things like that."
"You don't? You don't think about what it would be like, if you and I could be together, for real? Never?"
"No. It's too painful.")
That is something. So she thinks that thinking about us being together is too painful because it'll never happen? Does that mean she wants us to be together for real? Why else would it be painful for her? I know it is painful for me, but sometimes I just can't help myself. Afterwards, I always feel sad and melancholic, because I know that the end of day my fantasies are just that, only fantasies. And I so desperately want them to be real, to be with her without complications and reservations. Does she feel the same?
Before I could ask her, she goes on.
("And I don't see why I should waste my time on such stupid little fantasies which will never come true, when I can just be here with you in the now and enjoy us in the present."
"So you do feel something for me, don't you?"
"What?"
"I know you saw my'I love you' on the chalkboard. It's still there. See? You never said anything about it, but-
"Because you shouldn't have done that, Tate."
"Why? It's the truth. I do-"
"Don't.")
I close my mouth, frustrated rather than heartbroken. She puts out her cigarette and closes her eyes with a sigh, settling back against the pillows. A few minutes pass in silence, and I just watch her as she pretends to be asleep or something. I know she's not. I've observed her sleeping for hours sometimes and that's not what it looks like when she's asleep. That's why I decide to stop this charade by climbing on top of her, delighted by the small moan leaving her lips. Her eyes flutter open and for a moment we just stare at one another, my hand stroking her hair, the other one holding her cheek. In those seconds, willingly or unwillingly, she says more to me than any words could. So when she leans up to kiss me, I let her, ready to drop the subject for a few days.
But when my lips press kisses against her breasts and my finger is inside her, moving slowly, I do utter those words aloud, I tell her I love her and she says nothing but whimpers. And when we have sex, it's the first time I feel like we're actually making love and not just fucking.
xxx
("I slept with Hugo last night.")
It's those words which make me stop and freeze in horror. It's around noon and we're laying in bed, entirely spent after celebrating for hours that Hugo thankfully left again, our clothes discarded, the handcuff still dangling from the bed frame. I was stroking her arm, making shapes and patterns on her skin, and she rested her head in the crook of my neck, but now my hands are stilled and her head is propped up on her palm, looking at me worriedly.
("Tate. Say something."
"Couldn't you have thought of a better time to tell me that?"
"I'm sorry. He's my husband, what was I supposed to do?"
"Tell him you're not up to it. Fake a headache, make up an excuse, anything."
"I did. I stalled it for days, Tate, he was trying to sleep with me since the day he came home. Eventually, I ran out of excuses, and I didn't think it was a good idea to make him suspicious."
"Great. Any reason you waited to tell me this until we had sex?"
"Because I knew you'd react like this.")
At this point I'm up and pulling on my pants, not bothering to find my boxers in this mess. The images invading my brain make my blood boil and my hand shake. Jealousy. I thought I knew what it looked like when I found out Violet was engaged to my father, when she married him, when she made such an effort to lure him into her bed. But... nothing could have prepared me for the feeling of this white hot fury when I imagine her writhing under him, moaning for him, coming because of him, and knowing that it did happen, it isn't just my overactive imagination.
I don't look at her even as she stands up as well, trying to placate me. I don't want to be placated right now. No, I want to destroy something. Hugo, preferably. Because I couldn't destroy her, not even now, not even when I'm angry with her. I love her. That's why this hurts so much.
("Tate, please. I told you because I wanted to be honest with you."
"Fucking hurray. Next time, don't be, okay?"
"I'm sorry this hurts you but it didn't mean anything to me. It wasn't even great. And frankly, you're being a bit immature. He's my husband. Did you think we would never ever have sex?"
"Well, he didn't have much interest in you before. I wonder why that changed.")
And that's when it hits me. The fury is momentarily forgotten, replaced by a sinking feeling of realization. He knows. Hugo knows about our affair, he has to. Maybe he doesn't know it's me, but he must suspect she's having an affair. Why else would he be suddenly so interested in sleeping with her when he never gave her the time of day before?
It makes sense. And it makes me sick to the stomach. Because in a few months, I'll be eighteen and if he does know I'm the one who's fucking his wife, he'll throw me out. He won't tolerate me here. And he won't let her go either. He doesn't really care about her, he just wants the trophy wife, a good obedient wife. And Violet, she'll choose him. She won't leave him, she's made that clear. Thus...
It's over.
Before I know it, I'm on my knees, head buried in my hands, chest heaving with the deep breaths I take. There are no tears I can shed. For some reason, my eyes are dry like a desert, but the sheer desperation alone is more than I can take. Violet is beside me, gripping my shoulder, holding my face and murmuring something I can't make out. Her tone of voice is worried. My voice is barely a croak.
("He knows."
"What?"
"He knows. That you're sleeping with me. Or somebody."
"Do you really think I'm so unattractive that the only reason he wanted to sleep with me is because he was jealous?"
"No, Violet. You're far from unattractive. But he obviously never realized that so why now? You know it makes sense."
"Okay, so what then? He knows, and?"
"And he'll throw me out. And you'll choose him.")
She deflates like a balloon, moving away. Away from me. Nothing but a quiet sigh leaves her lips but she doesn't have to say anything because I know I'm right, we both know it. Her eyes, so sad as she watches me, say it all. I guess I always knew it wouldn't last. That it was too good to be true. But this was unexpected, it threw me off balance. I thought, hoped that we still had more time. I thought I could just be with her some more, enjoy her presence for as long as I could. It wasn't enough, the time we had together. I never had the chance to take her out on a date, to buy her flowers, to make her say those three words back. I didn't have enough time to memorize everything about her - the exact shape of her lips or the shade of her eyes... I feared I would forget, with time. Not her, never her, but the little things. The details. I couldn't bear it.
So lost I am in my thoughts, that when I finally come back to my senses, it shocks me to see her eyes shining with unshed tears. It's unlike her. Violet didn't cry, she never cried. I don't think I've ever even seen her tear up before even though I probably know her better than anyone else. The fact that those tears are there in her eyes now lets me know just how deep her feelings run for me too. It should make me feel better, but it does the opposite. I hate to be the one to cause her pain like this, especially if she's feeling the same way as I do. Unspeakable hurt, unsolvable aching. I almost wish she didn't care for me like I cared for her.
I reach out, stroking her chin, pulling her closer to me. Her eyes close at my touch.
("Don't cry."
"I love you."
"I know.")
Those words send my heart racing, even though I've suspected it for a while now. I didn't think she would say it, and perhaps she wouldn't have if the inevitable end of our relationship didn't hang above us like the sword of Damocles. I know that's probably the only reason she brought herself to say it, but I don't mind. I know it doesn't make those words any less true. That's what counts, that they are true.
Eyes still closed, she hums softly, resting her head on my shoulder. I don't know how long we stay like that but despite the heartache we both feel, it's the most peaceful I've ever felt with her.
xxx
I leave that night after she falls asleep, pack my stuff and go without a word. I figure she would understand anyway, why I left. She doesn't need a goodbye letter. She already knows everything I could say to her, that I love her, that I would never forget her... If I left behind a letter, she might be inclined to keep it and if Hugo ever finds it... No, a letter would only be proof for him and we don't need that.
She'll know anyway. I don't think she expects me to leave so sudden, but when she discovers I did, she will know why. I wasn't about to stay, waiting for Hugo to throw me out, hanging around just to see her choose him. I would rather leave before that, on my own terms, save myself the heartbreak and save her the tears. Spare us both the awkward exchange of goodbyes. I feel it would only cheapen our relationship, because nothing I could ever say to her would properly express my feelings. Moreover, I never want to say goodbye to her because it feels final, real. And between us, I never want the end to be final. Because maybe we'll meet again someday.
So I leave, no goodbyes, no words, no note. I don't know where I'm going and I don't care. Anywhere. Everywhere. The only thing I care about is keeping my hope alive, that I'll see her again.
In another life. In the afterlife.
PROMPT GIVEN TO AUTHOR:
1. Please List Preferred Characters and/or Pairings: Tate, Violet, Violate, but supporting characters from all three seasons are fine, except for Dr. Arden and his shenanigans. Kyle/Chloe are welcome if you need them.
2. Squicks or characters/pairings you do not want in your gift: (Please be as specific as possible) No amputations or other extreme violence. Implied/mild to moderate violence is okay. No explicit non-con. Dub-con, such as ghostly or witchly trickery, is okay. Also, no raspers or explicit, gratuitous degradation of the mentally ill or physically handicapped please. If depicted harm is meant to critique societal norms of misogyny / suppression of female sexuality or fear / shaming of the mentally ill, I can go with that though. No torture and no Minotaur sex or bestiality please.
3. Possible Scenarios/Themes/Lines to incorporate: I’m fascinated by the examination of power dynamics in romantic / sexual relationships, especially role reversals and the clash of strong wills, especially with Violate.
Scenario: I seem to be craving an AU where Violet is about ten years or so older than Tate (It's fine to make him older too but no more than 25 or so please for this scenario.) He's seductive and charismatic, and she tries to resist and (naturally) fails. I'm thinking he spends some time watching her before making an approach without her knowing and possibly even as the relationship develops, so that would be some voyeurism. Decide for yourself how dark you want to make him, but I'm more interested in the idea of a secret relationship, the heat and excitement and the taboo of the older woman / younger man who are volcanically hot when they finally give in to it. So, yeah, that, as in "please bring the hotness." Hee. Play with the externals, such as Tate can be a ghost or not, etc.
I don't really have any quotes from the show to target, but I'd say the tone I'm looking for is very hot, a little dangerous, and feel free to add some kink. I like mainly het, but a little slash is fine. I also like voyeurism / exhibitionism, mild BDSM, and I do want Violet strong even if she isn't always in control in the story.
4. Youtube link a SONG to describe the overall theme you would like:
This song should give you the idea. PJ Harvey is the shit.
5. Preferred Rating: R to NC-17.
6. Strictly Canon, AU, Doesn’t Matter?: I've asked for AU, but feel free to include as much or as little canon as you like.
Author: blondetate
Summary: Boston, where the leaves change and the seasons are different. The city seems like heaven to him. And every heaven has angels, don't they?
Spoilers/Warning/Triggers: Language, brief mentions of murder and death, sexual situations (between a minor and an adult)
Author Notes: AU. The title means little death in french, which is a metaphor for orgasm. I really liked the prompt, which was to write an older Violet with a younger Tate, and it was especially fun because I had been playing around with a similar idea for ages before I even got the prompt. I had originally said I would write this in second POV, but ugh... I guess I'm fickle? I don't usually write in first person POV, but I did now. The writing style is still not exactly common though, because I did a thing with conversations, you'll see. Also, I'm curious who you guys could imagine as a 45 years old Violet. Personally, I went with Vera Farmiga but I'm open to other suggestions if you have any?
( la petite mort 1/2 )
xxx
Whoever says insomnia is a curse is an idiot. That's my opinion that night, when I can't fall asleep for the life of me, wandering the halls of the house aimlessly. At first I'm annoyed too. I watch a movie with some popcorn, I drink a cup of tea, I read, and something still keeps me up at two a.m. It isn't even not being able to sleep which frustrates me, it's being bored. I have nothing to do. Until I walk by Violet's room.
The noises I hear coming from inside make me stop in my steps. Moaning. Quiet, small moans, but in the dead silence of the night, you can hear them just fine. Is it... is it Violet? Who is she with? I grit my teeth together, hands clenching at my side. I wasn't aware that Hugo was home, so unless he arrived back from his trip earlier than intended, she's with someone else. She's cheating on Hugo with someone who isn't me. God, that is just... insulting. I'm the one who spent countless days and weeks tearing her walls down, making her trust me, want me, and now she goes and fucks someone else to relieve her sexual frustration because I'm too young. Some stupid fucker stealing your woman after all your hard work, it makes me want to kick the door out and beat the guy to death.
And on top of it all, -
("Tate.")
I freeze. Did she say my name? Am I hallucinating? I step closer towards the door, mouth open in surprise. Is she thinking about me while fucking somebody else? Wait a minute... is she even with somebody else? I suck in a deep breath, blinking. Maybe... Pressing my ears against the door, I listen. I can hear sheet rustling, heavy breathing, quiet whimpers, but no sound which would come from a male. She's alone then. Alone and fingering herself.
While thinking of me.
So what do I do? Do I go in or not? Do I help her get off or do I stay and listen? I'm not sure how she would react if I did go in. In the heat of her passion, she might allow me to touch her, kiss her, maybe even fuck her, but later? What if she regrets it later? I might just be digging myself a hole if this doesn't go right. I want her to want this and agree to it, consciously, with a clear head, not while she's half over the edge, desperate for a release.
So I stay. And listen. And now that I've made sure she's alone in there, I can concentrate on the sounds she makes, which... I wish I had a recorder with me. It boosts your ego, to hear someone get off while thinking about you, moaning, crying out your name, but with Violet, it's even more special. I imagine her sprawled out on her bed, her legs spread, her head thrown back against the pillow in pleasure as she works her fingers in and out of herself. Imaging it was my fingers bringing her closer to her orgasm. In my head, her hair is all over the place and I long to touch it, thread my fingers through the locks and pull on them roughly, bringing her face up to kiss her. Her eyes are closed and she's biting down on her lips to keep from releasing any sounds, trying to remain quiet, but small desperate whines still escape every now and then. Her legs begin shaking as she nears her much anticipated high and with one last louder cry of my name, she tumbles over the edge, her body bowing up on the bed in pleasure.
The next thing I know, my hands are sticky, my body is spent and my mind is satisfied. The noises coming from the other side cease to be heard as well. Happy, I slump down to the floor in exhaustion, a huge grin on my face. There's the sleepiness I've been waiting for. And after witnessing this scene, my hope for us is stronger than ever.
I can go and fall asleep peacefully now.
xxx
Christmas is uneventful. Hugo, sadly, manages to make it home and Violet is delighted - or pretends to be delighted - but for some unfathomable reason to me, he still doesn't fuck her. Not that I don't appreciate it, oh, I do. But if I was her husband... well, she certainly wouldn't be so sexually unsatisfied.
Hugo says he'll try to come home for New Year's Eve as well, but he doesn't make promises. Ever since they got married, he goes on "business trips" much more often than he used to - or at least that's what Violet tells me - and I'm pretty sure he has a mistress. Or mistresses, who knows. I wonder why she doesn't confront him about it, but I think part of her just stopped caring at this point. They don't interact much, not even when he's home. For Christmas, he gets her a red diamond necklace which - just like her engagement ring - I know is too excessive for her, but she smiles and thanks him anyway. All I can think about when she presses a kiss to his cheek is that I don't think I've ever even seen her wearing a necklace before.
Violet's son, Gale, also comes to visit for the holidays and I would like the guy - he's a lot like his mother - if he didn't steal all of Violet's attention away from me. Nothing really happens besides that. It's a fairly simple, fairly boring Christmas we have.
But when she sees my gift for her - a mini Eiffel tower statue and a Russian nestling doll to symbolize her work - she gives me a huge, bright smile, a real smile, and that's the most exciting thing which happens in those three days.
xxx
Unsurprisingly, Hugo doesn't make it home for New Year's Eve after all. I watch Violet prepping all day - she chooses her dress, curls her hair, puts on her red diamond necklace and goes to extraordinary lengths - especially for her - to make sure her make up is perfect. When I question it, she explains that he's called to let her know he's coming home tonight and she wants to look good for him. I think she just wants to make him want her. I don't think she actually wants to sleep with him anymore - and why would she, when there's me, and when he's a total asshole who doesn't deserve such a magnificent woman as Violet - but I know it bothers her that he never showed any interest in her. Women pride and all. So she does her best to look stunning, and I'm sad to see her try so hard because I know it's futile. Not because she doesn't look beautiful - she would look beautiful in dirty, ragged clothes and the joke's on Hugo for not realizing that - but because I know he's not coming. He will cancel at the last minute, as always, and I think deep down, she knows that too. She knows I'm not going anywhere tonight, I have told her weeks ago, so if my calculations are right, it'll be just the two of us.
And I know that this is it. Tonight, it's happening. We've been dancing around each other for months and I've had enough. She's had enough. I just need to make her see it. By the amount of sexual frustration she must feel at this point, - which is approximately the same amount as my own - and by the anger she will most likely feel when Hugo inevitably cancels, it shouldn't be that hard.
But it is Violet we're talking about here. Better not to get too cocky.
Through the whole day, I drop hints and comments about kissing her once the clock strikes twelve - because it's tradition, of course - and then perhaps doing some more if she allows it, but she ignores them all, just as always. I'm too determined to let that bother me today. I'm calm, I know the secret. She'll be mine by the end of the day.
Year. Whatever.
Around eleven o'clock Hugo calls and I can tell just from her expression that he hasn't disappointed. He's not coming. She doesn't offer any explanations after she hangs up because she knows she doesn't need to say anything, and instead opens a bottle of champagne. I take it from her immediately because I don't want even a sip of alcohol clouding her judgement tonight and it causes a bit of a ruffle between us. She ends up storming off, her ass swaying in her green dress and I swear to God, she's doing it on purpose. She looks good, I admit. The dress is nice, not too slutty, but it clings to her body in all the right places and her dark make up highlights her eyes perfectly. Yet, I think I prefer her natural look. Because this woman, the one who wears short dresses, curls her hair and uses make up, no matter how good she looks, it isn't her.
Hugo would have liked seeing her like this, I think. Exactly because it's not her. He doesn't really want her, just a trophy wife. The bastard doesn't know what he's missing, but at least this way, I get to have her all to myself. Once she finally gives herself to me, that is.
A few minutes before midnight, I go knocking on her door, pleased to see that the dress and make up are gone. Only the curls remain. She doesn't look too mad anymore and she's willing to walk back to the living room with me for the countdown. I can hardly contain myself anymore, just about dying to finally kiss her again. If she thought I was just joking around earlier, she would be in for a surprise now. Somehow though, I suspect she knows I was being completely serious. I always am when it comes to her.
10.
The countdown starts and I stare at her the whole time.
9.
She stares back, an almost hoping look on her face.
8.
I wonder if she wants me to kiss her.
7.
No, that's a stupid question.
6.
Of course she does.
5.
It's just a matter of finally accepting it and embracing it.
4.
Her hungry expression intensifies as midnight draws closer.
3.
Her eyes wander down to my lips and I grin.
2.
Score.
1.
She wants this as much as I do and I know she's not going to pull away or try to stop me, not this time.
So I finally lean in.
I've only kissed her once before, when she was treating the wounds on my face, but that memory is forever etched into my brain and it served as my masturbation material for a very long time. This kiss is almost exactly like that one was. Her lips still taste of cigarettes, and I love it because it's so entirely her. I was originally planning on giving her a quick kiss - something which would be enough to get her going and ache for me, a kiss I could just blame on the holiday spirit - and then I would pull away, letting her make the next move, (which would undoubtedly be yanking me back and attaching her mouth to mine) but naturally, she ruins my plan. Her tongue, wet and warm, runs along my lower lip and I'm lost, our kiss deepening. My mouth opens for her and her tongue slips inside, my hand wandering down from her hair to her waist and then gradually to her ass. In response, her hand on my chest starts slipping down my stomach, stopping when she reaches my navel and then back up. She begins teasing my nipple under my shirt, making small circles with her fingers, and I know she's deliberately trying to rile me up. I'm not sure what kind of reaction she expects, but it works, I lose all my self-control, and the next thing I know, her legs are wrapped around my waist and her back is against the wall.
I swallow her surprised gasp with a kiss, but my mouth doesn't linger there for long, breaking away from her lips to give some attention to her neck as well. At this point her heavy breathing is audible in the room as I lavish her skin with kisses, moans erupting from her every now and then when I push my hips against hers. My earlier plan of giving her a quick, make-her-want-more kind of kiss resurfaces, and I have to marvel at how easily I lost control of the situation. All it took was to get her damn tongue involved too. But I don't mind, because although it's not how I imagined it to go down, it is happening. And I know that neither one of us is willing to stop now.
Despite that, I need confirmation and perhaps that's the only motivation I have to stop and pull away from her. Her head is thrown back against the wall, eyes closed, mouth open, still in an euphoric state from my earlier ministrations I guess, and she has never looked more beautiful. In fact, I'm so taken aback by the goddess before my eyes that the most I can do is rasp out her name in a throaty whisper, hoping to convey every unasked question I had in that one word. Her eyes flutter open and she only nods at me, understanding everything I wasn't saying. And with that one little nod, it's back on again.
Somehow, I don't know how, we end up in her bedroom with me on top of her, our legs a tangled mess. It takes everything in me to break away, because now that I have her, I never want to let her go, but I have to remove her clothes somehow. The whine she lets out when I pull away from her makes me feel better. It's not just me who feels this way, it's her too, she doesn't want to be away from me either. Grinning, I pull her shirt over her head but I'm not prepared to see that she's not wearing a bra underneath. Oh, fuck me.
I've seen her naked before on the pictures she gave me, the pictures I still have and often look at, but they're nothing compared to the real thing. It's an entirely new experience to see her like this, and although I'm no virgin, I feel like one with her. Which is not a good thing. I can't afford to fucking screw this up. I want to make this about her, make her feel good so she'll want more, and I need to focus. Get your shit together, Tate Langdon.
I start out by stroking her flushed cheek, gradually moving my hand down her body until I reach her exposed breasts, marveling at how uplifting it feels to touch her like this. Remember when I first saw her and was convinced her breasts were just the right size to fit in my palm? I was right. Oh so right. This is what it looks like when two people are made for each other, physically and mentally. I tug on her leggings, quickly pulling them down her legs while I attach my mouth to one of her nipples just to hear her moan for me, such a sweet sound. She's almost naked now, only in her panties, and even through the material I can feel how wet I made her for me. Perfection. My lips still sucking on her nipple, my hand explores her inner thigh, stroking her creamy white skin and coming close to touching her cunt more than once, but withdrawing each time. The small sound she makes when I do that makes me want to do it over and over again. However, I think she has other plans in mind.
Because with a surprising force for such a small woman, she pushes me off of her, straddling me before I could blink. The grin she wears when she looks down at me says "You have no idea what you're in for." Honestly, I can't fucking wait. I realize I'm still fully clothed which just won't do. Thankfully, she's one step ahead of me, making quick work of my buttons and belt, while she lowers her head down to pepper my chest with small, open mouthed kisses, chuckling when I give sound to my satisfaction. She swirls her tongue around my nipple and I let out some more of those noises while tugging on her last remaining clothing item, her panties. Gone, I want them gone as soon as possible. She lifts her hips, allowing me to remove them before I tore the material, chuckling meanly at my impatience. Fucking bitch. She's lucky I'm so damn into her.
I sit up on the bed, finding her neck with my lips, her hair falling all around us. Sucking on her pulse point, my fingers finally touch her wetness, no barrier between us anymore. I rub her clit at first, gradually applying the pressure to hear her breathing grow more and more unsteady by the moment. She gasps my name, ordering me to get naked, now, and of course, like a lovesick little puppy, I have to comply. Once my boxers are out of the way, she takes my hand, kisses my fingertips and then lowers herself down between my legs with an evil grin that promises both pain and pleasure. My favorite combination. My hips buck up on their own accord in anticipation, but of course, she doesn't give me what I want so easily. Instead she sucks on my inner thigh, probably leaving a hickey behind, but I don't mind. Nobody but me and her would see it in the place she left it, but even if they did... let them. The whole world could know about us for all I cared. Eventually, though, I have enough of her teasing and yanking her back up, I give her a long, searing kiss, my hands tangling in her curls while I flip us over. Now it's her turn to be submissive.
I give her a similar grin she gave me before she began her teasing, and then I disappear between her legs. I originally plan on paying her back for the teasing, giving her hell for a while, but much like my earlier plan, it doesn't quite work out. Because as soon as I'm close enough to smell her arousal, I need to taste her too. I build it up, start from her knee and make my way up, but when I arrive at my destination, I can't hold myself back anymore. I dive in, my tongue darting out to lick her sweet cunt, enjoying the immediate series of whimpers and curse words leaving her mouth. She tastes like honey, I think, except better. It's the closest thing I can think of to describe it. I fuck her with my tongue, pushing it inside her, and I don't stop until she's mewling, her legs are shaking and she's practically bowing off the bed, so desperate for her release. And then, I stop.
Of course she's horrified, disappointed and angry. She curses at me and I just chuckle, the evil grin still in place. Oh yes, payback is a bitch. But she won't have to wait long to get off anyway, because I don't think I can take much more of this foreplay either. The last few months have been enough foreplay, and we've played around long enough for tonight, it's time for the grand finale. I swear she sighs in relief when I finally climb on top of her, positioning my dick at her entrance. She wraps her arms around me, placing open mouthed kisses on my cheek and mouth, patiently - impatiently - waiting for me to make my move, and I do, I finally slide inside her wetness. From there on, it's all a mess of tangled limbs, breathy moans and harsh thrusts. My heart beats her name, every thump is in her honor. Violet, Violet, Violet... She's there in every heartbeat, every sigh, every noise. She's in my bloodstream, now and forever.
When I thrust, she mewls. I hoist her leg up higher, she scratches her nails down my back. I moan, she whimpers. I slow down to tease, she pushes me off and takes the lead herself. I turn us around again, she grabs my neck, bites into my shoulder. We take turns being on top, both of us wanting to be in control, the dominant one. She rides my cock eagerly, and I fuck her, hard and fast, like I know she wants to be fucked. There'll probably be bruises and marks all over our bodies tomorrow, and she'll be sore, maybe even struggling to walk, but neither one of us care right now. Not when it feels so good, so right to do this. Like we've always been meant to do it, be with each other. Be with her.
She comes twice before I'm able to get off as well, and each time, the look on her face is worth all the long months I spent trying to seduce her. Afterwards, we lie in bed for a while, speechless and breathing heavily, trying to calm our racing hearts. She runs a hand through her hair, turns towards me with a mischievous grin.
("Fuck me. You do have the experience."
"Did you think I didn't?"
"I don't know... you were always so full of yourself but I didn't know if there was any truth in it. I certainly hoped there was and you weren't just some inexperienced beginner looking for a quick fuck. Even if that means you probably had to sleep around a lot... didn't you?"
"I wouldn't say a lot. Don't be jealous."
"I'm not, asshole.")
She laughs and kisses me, nibbling on my lips playfully. I stroke her cheek, a content smile on my face as I watch her. She looks happy too, as happy as I feel. That's gotta be a good sign, right? I think it is, and it only makes my smile widen.
("Happy New Year, Vi. I'm glad you finally gave in."
"Happy New Year, Tate. I'm glad I gave in too.")
xxx
I enjoy playing with fire and I always did, maybe that's why I find it so amusing to steal touches and kisses from Violet while Hugo is around but not looking. God, the man is a dimwit. He has no clue I'm screwing his wife. Even when I sneak in while Violet is showering and get her off using my fingers, even when she tiptoes out of their room at night while he's sleeping to visit me, he doesn't suspect a thing. Or he just doesn't care. I suspect it's the first but either one works for me.
Violet enjoys our little game too. She's attracted to the danger just as much as I am, maybe that's one of the reasons why she felt so drawn to me as well. I guess I symbolize the danger here. And she's eager to play along with me. She grins when I place my hand on her thigh under the table while we're having dinner and responds by running her toes up my lower calf. I begin stroking her leg then, lightly, teasingly running my fingertips over the leggings she's wearing and watch as her face changes, alighted by it. Easy, it's so easy to get her going and hot for me. I lift my glass of water to my lips to hide my proud smile - not that Hugo would even notice, but it's half the fun to sneak around like two teenagers from their parents... No pun intended.
She lasts five more minutes under my ministrations, five minutes which I spend teasing her mercilessly, but when I decide to get a little brave and bold, and dip my fingers between her legs, she throws her silverware on the table and stands up abruptly. Clearing her throat, she addresses Hugo and I adjust my pants just a little, ready to follow after her with whatever made up excuse I can come up with.
("Uhm... I'm gonna go get some wine."
"I'll help her bring glasses.")
Once we're in the kitchen, she reaches up to open the top cabinet, but I have other plans and press her up against the counter from behind. The quiet appreciative moan she lets out is music to my ears. I slip my hands around her waist, hold onto her tightly, kiss her neck.
("I'm so tempted to just take you on this counter, right here, right now, Vi."
"Patience, Tate."
"My father probably wouldn't even notice."
"We can't."
"Are you sure?"
"Tate. T-tate.")
She turns around with a stern look on her face, but I can see the desire in my own eyes reflecting back at me. She's trying to warn me to stay put but her expression says otherwise. Still, I grin innocently and hold my hands up in a gesture to let her know I'll be a good boy from now on.
Maybe.
xxx
We end up sneaking out to the bathroom for a quick fuck, neither of us willing to wait any longer.
xxx
("I'm the one in charge today.")
Those words and a handcuff around my wrists are what I wake up to. Still sleepy and disoriented, I can only blink in confusion, watching her grin like a Cheshire cat. It takes me a moment, when she slips her hands inside my boxers, to realize what's happening. She's just made me her prisoner. Well, fuck me sideways, she's playing dirty.
But when she licks her way down my stomach, watching me the entire time, laughing meanly when I buck my hips impatiently as she hovers above my cock, I discover that waking up like this might just be the best thing in the world.
xxx
Things go great between us, maybe too great, and that's why I get a little ahead of myself and manage to screw things up with only one small conversation. It's not like it wasn't coming though. I had been dreading and anticipating to have this conversation with her for months, and ever since we... started our "affair", it was inevitable. I'm not someone who likes sharing, and as much fun as sneaking around is, I'd prefer to be able to take her out on dates and just let the world know that she is mine and I am hers. The only problem is that she's technically not mine, even though I'm fully hers.
It's bright in the morning and I'm freshly showered and very much naked as I come back to her room, finding her awake and watching me like a hungry animal. A half smirk is playing on her mouth and she doesn't even bother to be subtle with checking me out, staring at my dick quite obviously. She even licks her lips and I chuckle.
("Enjoying the view?"
"Always."
"You're insatiable, anyone ever told you that?"
"It's all your fault. You make me horny like a teenage girl. I guess your youth is contagious."
"You don't have to compliment me, you know. I'll fuck you either way.")
She laughs then, loud and happy. She grabs my arm to bring me closer to her and kisses me, hungry, eager and passionate. It's easy to get lost in her every time we kiss, or touch, and soon she's naked too, writhing beneath me and asking for more, more, more. I guess we're both still a little tired from our last night activities and neither one of us is in the mood for much foreplay, so it's quickly over with one last heated cry of pleasure and rasp of her name. Then, when I'm laying beside her, my arms thrown around her body, breathing in the small of her shampoo, all I can think about is how I don't want her doing this with anyone else. Not necessarily with Hugo because he obviously doesn't care for her, but anyone else. I want to be the only man in her life, the only one she really, truly loves, the only one who can get her hot and wet like I did just now. I don't want to share her with my father even on paper and I don't want to risk her falling for some other man. I couldn't stand it.
I guess I just want us to be official.
My lips find her ear, pressing a kiss to the shell, whispering quietly.
("Divorce him.")
The change in the atmosphere is obvious. For a moment she freezes up in my arms, then she's moving away quickly, disbelieving and shocked as she disentangles herself from me, my attempts to keep her with me futile. She grabs her robe from the chair, pulls it on hurriedly. I wonder what the fuck I've just done and if she'll just walk out on me or engage in this conversation which I know will turn into a row and perhaps a break up.
("What?"
"I... I said divorce him."
"You're not serious, are you?"
"Why not? You and him, you're married only on paper."
"I'm not going to throw my whole life away for some boy."
"I'm not a fucking boy. And what life are you talking about? He's never even around. I am your life here."
"You and I both know it's not that simple. There's nothing you can offer me, no kind of future."
"I wouldn't leave you."
"That's what you think now. But in five short years I'll be fifty, and then sixty, and you'll only be at the prime of your life. You won't want me. And I can't ask you to want me."
"So that's your problem still? The age difference?"
"YES. The fucking age difference, Tate. There's no tangible future we can ever have. I can divorce Hugo, I can go and live a few more years with you in bliss until you get bored or disgusted with me, and that's it. Why should I leave a life which makes sense, a life which is comfortable for something so shaky?"
"Take a chance..."
"It's not a chance if you know what's waiting. You know I'm right. I can't give you what you want either. Children, for example."
"I don't want children without you."
"You're young. You have no idea what you're talking about. I should have known better. This... we should end this."
"Vi,-"
"We always knew we had an expiration date.")
Yeah, I guess we did. If she's not willing to leave Hugo, we do have an expiration date. I just didn't think it would come so soon.
xxx
For the next few weeks, I'm miserable. She avoids me again, just like after the incident with the principal's secretary. She's not at home if she can help it, locks herself in the room again. If we see each other in the hallways, she barely mutters a quiet hello and avoids my eyes, hurrying away, while I'm left frozen on the spot, staring after her longingly. It's much worse now, now that I know what I'm missing. Now that I've fallen for her. Now that I know what it's like to have her and be with her, be inside her, make her whimper and cry out in pleasure, make her come while screaming my name. I miss her, plain and simple. I think she misses me too, that's why she tries so hard to avoid me. Either that, or she thinks it'd be too awkward for us to interact. Which is true, I suppose. But I'd take even the awkward interactions if it meant I'd have her back in my life again.
I'm not sure what I can do to get her back. Somehow, I doubt that stripping naked and using her shower will help this time. Too much has changed since then. Our feelings evolved, our relationship was taken to another level... It wouldn't be easy to win her back. But I have to try. It's simply not an option to just give up, because I need her like the air I breathe. I can't remember what it's like to function without her anymore.
I just need her back, in whatever capacity she allows me to be in her life. Friends, lovers... hell, I'll even be her "stepson" if she wants me to be. I'll take what I can get.
xxx
Hugo is home again and for once in my life, I don't mind. Because he's home and that means she stays at home as well. Now is my chance to act, to come up with something and win her back. Except I still have no freaking clue what to do. The best I can do is try and talk to her, make things okay again. I'll say whatever I need to say to get her to warm up to me again, but I think she senses my intentions and tries to surround herself around Hugo whenever she can. It's almost impossible to get her alone for more then a minute like this. She's always been a clever woman and I used to adore that about her, but now it's just a tad bit frustrating. If she only allowed me to talk to her, just for five minutes... I know I could make things right again.
I know Hugo isn't staying for long, he never does, and I'm quickly running out of time again. Desperate now, I almost result to sneaking into their bedroom at night or something similarly insane, when it happens. They have a fight. And it's a loud, crazy, earth shattering fight. She screams so loud I can hear her from my room with my door closed, and he yells back at her just as loud. From what I understand, she finally confronted him about his affairs and he denies everything, appalled that she would even say such a thing, while she's pissed he takes her for an idiot. Things quickly escalate and the fight reaches its peak when she bluntly asks him why he won't have sex with her, to which he doesn't have an answer. A few minutes later I can hear the front door slam shut and then dead silence.
I'm sitting on my bed, listening for any more noises, contemplating going downstairs to see who left and who stayed (my bet is that Hugo left, of course) when there's a knock on my door. Violet steps inside, her face tentative, hovering at the door. I shoot up from my bed, shocked but pleasantly so, reassuring her to come in. Okay, here's your chance, you can do this, don't screw this up.
She sits down slowly, watching me. Her face holds so many emotions, I can't even begin to identify them all. Sadness, guilt, regret, longing... just to name a few. I open my mouth to say something, but she holds up her hands to stop me. It takes her another few seconds to gather what she's trying to say.
("I'm sorry."
"What for?"
"You know what. I avoided you."
"If you're ready to be friends again, it's fine."
"Friends? Is that what you want now?"
"Well... no. But that's all I'm going to get, isn't it?"
"I'm not going to leave Hugo. But I missed you."
"I mi,-"
"In every way you can miss someone, I did. If you still want me..."
"Are you... do you want to continue our affair?"
"On the condition that that's all it's going to be. An affair."
"..."
"Well?"
"I'm fine with that.")
We waste no more time talking that night. We've only been apart for a few weeks, but I missed her tremendously, and we have a lot to make up for. When I finally thrust inside her again, hear her gasp, hear my own groan, I thank my father silently for chasing her back into my arms. It wasn't ideal, wasn't how I planned for it to happen, but I'm just glad she came back to me. Even if our relationship just continued where we left off, with me being her dirty little secret, and her being my whole life, it's better than nothing.
After all, I did say I'd take what I can get. For now, at least.
xxx
I watch her light up a cigarette, carelessly tossing the lighter away as she inhales deeply. She does that a lot, I realize, smoke after we had sex, still in bed. It's one of her many habits I've come to know and love. And I think lately, love became the keyword with us. At least for me. I suspect - or maybe I just hope, I don't know - that she feels the same, although she's never said it. Granted, neither have I, but it's in the way I look at her, in the way I touch her, hold her and have sex with her. And last week, on a whim, I wrote those words on her chalkboard while she was out shopping. She never said anything about it, didn't even acknowledge my words, but I know she saw it. How could she have missed it when it's there, staring in your face every time you step inside her room? Even now, if I lift my head up a little, I can still see it. Because she's never erased the words either. I don't think that's a bad sign, but the fact that she never tried to talk to me about it isn't exactly too encouraging either. That's why up until now, I didn't dare approach the subject, too afraid.
I don't know why I choose this moment to bring it up. She's always in a blissful state post-sex with her cigarettes, so perhaps I'm hoping it will make her more willing to have this conversation with me. I start slowly, cautious. Baby steps.
("If I was older... or if you were younger, if we were the same age, and we could have a future together. Would you leave him for me?"
"Tate."
"What? It's just a question."
"I don't know... I don't think about things like that."
"You don't? You don't think about what it would be like, if you and I could be together, for real? Never?"
"No. It's too painful.")
That is something. So she thinks that thinking about us being together is too painful because it'll never happen? Does that mean she wants us to be together for real? Why else would it be painful for her? I know it is painful for me, but sometimes I just can't help myself. Afterwards, I always feel sad and melancholic, because I know that the end of day my fantasies are just that, only fantasies. And I so desperately want them to be real, to be with her without complications and reservations. Does she feel the same?
Before I could ask her, she goes on.
("And I don't see why I should waste my time on such stupid little fantasies which will never come true, when I can just be here with you in the now and enjoy us in the present."
"So you do feel something for me, don't you?"
"What?"
"I know you saw my'I love you' on the chalkboard. It's still there. See? You never said anything about it, but-
"Because you shouldn't have done that, Tate."
"Why? It's the truth. I do-"
"Don't.")
I close my mouth, frustrated rather than heartbroken. She puts out her cigarette and closes her eyes with a sigh, settling back against the pillows. A few minutes pass in silence, and I just watch her as she pretends to be asleep or something. I know she's not. I've observed her sleeping for hours sometimes and that's not what it looks like when she's asleep. That's why I decide to stop this charade by climbing on top of her, delighted by the small moan leaving her lips. Her eyes flutter open and for a moment we just stare at one another, my hand stroking her hair, the other one holding her cheek. In those seconds, willingly or unwillingly, she says more to me than any words could. So when she leans up to kiss me, I let her, ready to drop the subject for a few days.
But when my lips press kisses against her breasts and my finger is inside her, moving slowly, I do utter those words aloud, I tell her I love her and she says nothing but whimpers. And when we have sex, it's the first time I feel like we're actually making love and not just fucking.
xxx
("I slept with Hugo last night.")
It's those words which make me stop and freeze in horror. It's around noon and we're laying in bed, entirely spent after celebrating for hours that Hugo thankfully left again, our clothes discarded, the handcuff still dangling from the bed frame. I was stroking her arm, making shapes and patterns on her skin, and she rested her head in the crook of my neck, but now my hands are stilled and her head is propped up on her palm, looking at me worriedly.
("Tate. Say something."
"Couldn't you have thought of a better time to tell me that?"
"I'm sorry. He's my husband, what was I supposed to do?"
"Tell him you're not up to it. Fake a headache, make up an excuse, anything."
"I did. I stalled it for days, Tate, he was trying to sleep with me since the day he came home. Eventually, I ran out of excuses, and I didn't think it was a good idea to make him suspicious."
"Great. Any reason you waited to tell me this until we had sex?"
"Because I knew you'd react like this.")
At this point I'm up and pulling on my pants, not bothering to find my boxers in this mess. The images invading my brain make my blood boil and my hand shake. Jealousy. I thought I knew what it looked like when I found out Violet was engaged to my father, when she married him, when she made such an effort to lure him into her bed. But... nothing could have prepared me for the feeling of this white hot fury when I imagine her writhing under him, moaning for him, coming because of him, and knowing that it did happen, it isn't just my overactive imagination.
I don't look at her even as she stands up as well, trying to placate me. I don't want to be placated right now. No, I want to destroy something. Hugo, preferably. Because I couldn't destroy her, not even now, not even when I'm angry with her. I love her. That's why this hurts so much.
("Tate, please. I told you because I wanted to be honest with you."
"Fucking hurray. Next time, don't be, okay?"
"I'm sorry this hurts you but it didn't mean anything to me. It wasn't even great. And frankly, you're being a bit immature. He's my husband. Did you think we would never ever have sex?"
"Well, he didn't have much interest in you before. I wonder why that changed.")
And that's when it hits me. The fury is momentarily forgotten, replaced by a sinking feeling of realization. He knows. Hugo knows about our affair, he has to. Maybe he doesn't know it's me, but he must suspect she's having an affair. Why else would he be suddenly so interested in sleeping with her when he never gave her the time of day before?
It makes sense. And it makes me sick to the stomach. Because in a few months, I'll be eighteen and if he does know I'm the one who's fucking his wife, he'll throw me out. He won't tolerate me here. And he won't let her go either. He doesn't really care about her, he just wants the trophy wife, a good obedient wife. And Violet, she'll choose him. She won't leave him, she's made that clear. Thus...
It's over.
Before I know it, I'm on my knees, head buried in my hands, chest heaving with the deep breaths I take. There are no tears I can shed. For some reason, my eyes are dry like a desert, but the sheer desperation alone is more than I can take. Violet is beside me, gripping my shoulder, holding my face and murmuring something I can't make out. Her tone of voice is worried. My voice is barely a croak.
("He knows."
"What?"
"He knows. That you're sleeping with me. Or somebody."
"Do you really think I'm so unattractive that the only reason he wanted to sleep with me is because he was jealous?"
"No, Violet. You're far from unattractive. But he obviously never realized that so why now? You know it makes sense."
"Okay, so what then? He knows, and?"
"And he'll throw me out. And you'll choose him.")
She deflates like a balloon, moving away. Away from me. Nothing but a quiet sigh leaves her lips but she doesn't have to say anything because I know I'm right, we both know it. Her eyes, so sad as she watches me, say it all. I guess I always knew it wouldn't last. That it was too good to be true. But this was unexpected, it threw me off balance. I thought, hoped that we still had more time. I thought I could just be with her some more, enjoy her presence for as long as I could. It wasn't enough, the time we had together. I never had the chance to take her out on a date, to buy her flowers, to make her say those three words back. I didn't have enough time to memorize everything about her - the exact shape of her lips or the shade of her eyes... I feared I would forget, with time. Not her, never her, but the little things. The details. I couldn't bear it.
So lost I am in my thoughts, that when I finally come back to my senses, it shocks me to see her eyes shining with unshed tears. It's unlike her. Violet didn't cry, she never cried. I don't think I've ever even seen her tear up before even though I probably know her better than anyone else. The fact that those tears are there in her eyes now lets me know just how deep her feelings run for me too. It should make me feel better, but it does the opposite. I hate to be the one to cause her pain like this, especially if she's feeling the same way as I do. Unspeakable hurt, unsolvable aching. I almost wish she didn't care for me like I cared for her.
I reach out, stroking her chin, pulling her closer to me. Her eyes close at my touch.
("Don't cry."
"I love you."
"I know.")
Those words send my heart racing, even though I've suspected it for a while now. I didn't think she would say it, and perhaps she wouldn't have if the inevitable end of our relationship didn't hang above us like the sword of Damocles. I know that's probably the only reason she brought herself to say it, but I don't mind. I know it doesn't make those words any less true. That's what counts, that they are true.
Eyes still closed, she hums softly, resting her head on my shoulder. I don't know how long we stay like that but despite the heartache we both feel, it's the most peaceful I've ever felt with her.
xxx
I leave that night after she falls asleep, pack my stuff and go without a word. I figure she would understand anyway, why I left. She doesn't need a goodbye letter. She already knows everything I could say to her, that I love her, that I would never forget her... If I left behind a letter, she might be inclined to keep it and if Hugo ever finds it... No, a letter would only be proof for him and we don't need that.
She'll know anyway. I don't think she expects me to leave so sudden, but when she discovers I did, she will know why. I wasn't about to stay, waiting for Hugo to throw me out, hanging around just to see her choose him. I would rather leave before that, on my own terms, save myself the heartbreak and save her the tears. Spare us both the awkward exchange of goodbyes. I feel it would only cheapen our relationship, because nothing I could ever say to her would properly express my feelings. Moreover, I never want to say goodbye to her because it feels final, real. And between us, I never want the end to be final. Because maybe we'll meet again someday.
So I leave, no goodbyes, no words, no note. I don't know where I'm going and I don't care. Anywhere. Everywhere. The only thing I care about is keeping my hope alive, that I'll see her again.
In another life. In the afterlife.
PROMPT GIVEN TO AUTHOR:
1. Please List Preferred Characters and/or Pairings: Tate, Violet, Violate, but supporting characters from all three seasons are fine, except for Dr. Arden and his shenanigans. Kyle/Chloe are welcome if you need them.
2. Squicks or characters/pairings you do not want in your gift: (Please be as specific as possible) No amputations or other extreme violence. Implied/mild to moderate violence is okay. No explicit non-con. Dub-con, such as ghostly or witchly trickery, is okay. Also, no raspers or explicit, gratuitous degradation of the mentally ill or physically handicapped please. If depicted harm is meant to critique societal norms of misogyny / suppression of female sexuality or fear / shaming of the mentally ill, I can go with that though. No torture and no Minotaur sex or bestiality please.
3. Possible Scenarios/Themes/Lines to incorporate: I’m fascinated by the examination of power dynamics in romantic / sexual relationships, especially role reversals and the clash of strong wills, especially with Violate.
Scenario: I seem to be craving an AU where Violet is about ten years or so older than Tate (It's fine to make him older too but no more than 25 or so please for this scenario.) He's seductive and charismatic, and she tries to resist and (naturally) fails. I'm thinking he spends some time watching her before making an approach without her knowing and possibly even as the relationship develops, so that would be some voyeurism. Decide for yourself how dark you want to make him, but I'm more interested in the idea of a secret relationship, the heat and excitement and the taboo of the older woman / younger man who are volcanically hot when they finally give in to it. So, yeah, that, as in "please bring the hotness." Hee. Play with the externals, such as Tate can be a ghost or not, etc.
I don't really have any quotes from the show to target, but I'd say the tone I'm looking for is very hot, a little dangerous, and feel free to add some kink. I like mainly het, but a little slash is fine. I also like voyeurism / exhibitionism, mild BDSM, and I do want Violet strong even if she isn't always in control in the story.
4. Youtube link a SONG to describe the overall theme you would like:
This song should give you the idea. PJ Harvey is the shit.
Click to view5. Preferred Rating: R to NC-17.
6. Strictly Canon, AU, Doesn’t Matter?: I've asked for AU, but feel free to include as much or as little canon as you like.