Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4263129.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      American_Horror_Story:_Murder_House
  Relationship:
      Violet_Harmon/Tate_Langdon
  Character:
      Violet_Harmon, Tate_Langdon
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-05-20 Words: 2921
****** 200% ******
by captivation
Summary
     Violet is finally with her coach, Tate, but can they keep their lives
     together until graduation?
Notes
     The requested sequel to 100% I hope you enjoy!!
 “Vi, please don’t do that.” Tate weaved his fingers into Violet’s and pulled
her arm away from her eyes. “I want to see you.” She dug her calloused heels
into the backs of Tate’s thighs.
In a throaty voice, she said, “you can look at me all you want, Coach.” She
closed her eyes but Tate watched her anyway. She was gorgeous, twisted against
his sweaty body, writhing and whimpering.
One week ago, Westfield had won States and Tate had won the girl of his dreams.
Their nights, spent in Tate’s apartment, had been full of laughs and kisses and
endless sex, minus the sobbing.
Shit had hit the fan at the Murder House. Violet’s mother caught her dad with
the maid and kicked him out, despite her new pregnancy. She failed to notice
when Violet didn’t come home from school. The one time Violet attempted to
spend the night there, she heard her mother and the security guard fucking,
called Tate, and he picked her up immediately.
“I know my dad’s a dickbag,” she had complained from the mess of blankets on
Tate’s bed. “But she literally never even acknowledges my existence. Maybe I
should just emancipate myself, get out of her way.” She pulled the comforter up
over her head.
“Violet, hey, things are just messy right now. Stop, come here.” Tate found her
hands and pulled her body against his. “I’ll always be here.” Violet rested her
head on Tate’s chest drowsily, and just when her fingers were prying under the
waistband of his briefs, her phone rang from the floor.
Tate watched her thin body bend down and find the phone, watched her panties
shift on her hip, revealing more pale, flawless skin. She perched on the edge
of the bed while talking. Tate couldn’t help reaching and touching her spine,
each notch.
“I’ve just been at a friend’s house, Mom. No, it’s fine. Why? Fine. Fine.
Yeah.” Violet smashed a few buttons on her phone and then threw it, sliding
across the dark carpet. She stood, finding her shirt in the corner.
“No, Violet, don’t go. Was that your mom?”
“She wants me to come home. I guess she finally noticed I was gone. Ha.” She
dropped her shirt and wrapped her arms around Tate.
Next thing he knew, Violet was on his bed, naked, and he was standing, gripping
her thighs, one on each of his hips. She looked away when he pushed inside her,
and draped her arm over her eyes.
She always tried to do that, cover her face.
“Coach,” she said again.
“Mmm?”
“I’m happy. Right now.” Her back arched and her heels dug into his thighs, then
she was cumming and mewling and it was the most beautiful thing Tate had ever
seen.
…
October 21, 2011
Frankly, I don’t care about my parents. My dad can go wherever he wants, and my
mom can fuck whoever she wants and have as many babies as she wants. It doesn’t
matter. I have Tate.
He doesn’t understand why I cover my eyes so often. I just can’t believe I have
this.
…
Just the next day, Tate’s phone rang after school. Violet had gone home to
please her mother, and he was expecting complaints. Instead, she was crying.
“I saw him again, Coach, the man in the basement. The fucking kids.”
Tate’s stomach clenched. He pictured Violet alone, huddled in the corner of her
room, scared shitless. He remembered his own childhood, doing the exact same
thing.
“Okay, when you see a ghost, just close your eyes and tell them to go away. It
works every time.”
Violet laughed sarcastically. “That’s it? Seriously?”
“That’s it. Are you going to be alright? Can I come get you?”
She sighed. “No, my mom is planning some awful dinner, just the two of us,
bonding or something.
“That doesn’t sound bad.”
“No, I would just rather be with you.”
“You know I would rather have you with me all the time, safe.”
“At least I’m safe at school.”
Tate flinched. That word. School. A harsh reminder of the scum Tate truly was.
The place where their relationship was forbidden and fucking illegal. When they
were at school, Tate just wanted it to be June, so he could scoop up his 18
year old Violet and whisk her away, to a place they could be together. He could
hold her hand in public, and take her on dates, and introduce her as his
girlfriend.
…
October 22, 2011
I know my mom’s being a bitch nowadays, but I love her, and I’ll always be here
for her. Just, that fucking cop. Does she even know where Dad’s sleeping?
…
Weeks passed. Violet’s parents reconciled and were as sickeningly happy as
before. The house left them alone, and turned to Violet.
Tate waited every morning for her to show up and tell him what had happened the
night before. With her parents together again, she could almost never sneak
away to Tate’s apartment.
Violet was much stronger than Tate at that age, but he could tell it was
starting to get to her. He saw it first hand when her parents invited Tate to
dinner. Violet tried to get him to say no, but he showed up that night, clean
and fresh, with a bow tie and semi-neat hair.
They had just sat down to eat when Violet’s mother put a hand to her stomach,
grimaced, and hurried to the bathroom, Ben close behind. Violet and Tate could
hear her vomiting.
I’ll just go check on her, I guess,” Violet said and left the room. Tate sat
awkwardly, smoothing the tablecloth. “She said we should just eat without
them.” Violet moved her chair closer to Tate’s, so their shoulders touched.
They ate in a comfortable silence.
“Are you okay being here, Tate?” violet asked as she was leaving their plates
in the sink. “Is it just like you remember it?” She leaned against the counter.
“I was worried.” With a glance towards Vivien’s bathroom, Tate trapped Violet
between the counter and his body. “But I’m alright. I’m different now.”
“You’re my big, strong, man.” Their lips touched. Tate kicked Violet’s legs
apart, fitting himself between them as her mouth opened.
They breathed each other in heavily, slowly, until a door opened. Tate sprung
away quickly and Violet touched a hand to her mouth as her parents appeared.
“I’m so sorry, Tate, I have to head to bed. This baby…” she trailed off, an
affectionate hand on her stomach.
“It’s perfectly alright, Mrs. Harmon. I understand.”
“Stay as long as you like, really. Goodnight.” Ben shook Tate’s hand
professionally.
Tate looked to Violet when they were gone. She was smirking.
“How long would you like to stay, Coach?”
“Vi, my car.”
“We’ll leave early, get breakfast in Silver Lake.”
She cornered him and slid her hands down his chest, tickling his neck with her
breath and lips.
How could he say no?
Just a few minutes later, they were in her bed, music on, clothes off, Violet
trapped underneath Tate, the muscles of his back twisting and stretching.
He woke up a few hours later to a muffled scream from down the hall. For a
second, he was a scruffy teenage boy in the Murder House again, awoken by bumps
in the night. Then he remembered Violet, and his heart seized.
He flew out of her bed and to the bathroom, where he assumed she must be.
Backed against the sink, Violet was crying as the heavyset nurse sulked in the
bathtub.
“Go away!” The words came out of Tate’s mouth simply, like he had still been
yelling them every day. The nurse vanished and Violet turned to him, desperate,
scared, grasping for him. Tate folded her in against him and led her back to
her room. She pulled Tate down with her quickly and traced her fingers up his
neck and into his hair.
“I’m so weak, Tate.”
“No, Vi. It’s the house, I promise.”
“I hate it here.”
“I’m going to get you out. Don’t worry.”
…
October 28, 2011
This house makes me so fucking scared and it’s not fair. I need to get out of
here. I need to be with Tate, somewhere far away.
…
The weekend came, and Violet convinced her parents she was staying at a
friend’s house. Tate snuck her into his car behind the grocery store and
dropped her off at his apartment while he went to a meeting at Westfield.
He paid very little attention to his colleagues, because how could he focus on
in-service days when Violet was waiting for him, when she was going to be in
his bed in just a few hours.
Tate wasn’t expecting his apartment to smell like food and hugs. He found
Violet in the kitchen, stirring something in a pot on the stove.
“Vi?”
She whipped around. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair held back with a thin
black head band.
“Are you wearing an apron?”
She smoothed her hands self-consciously over the flowery fabric tied covering
her waist and chest.
“Uh. Yeah.”
“Are you cooking?”
“Yeah.”
“For me?”
“The dinner at my parent’s house was so weird. I wanted to have a real dinner
with you.”
“No one’s made me dinner in years.”
Violet stepped towards him. “I figured. I have to feed my man.”
As cliché and sexist as it was, the sight of Violet in his kitchen had Tate by
the dick. He wanted to eat a delicious meal with her, then fuck her on the
counter.
Instead, he kissed her, and she tasted like wine. She went to the cabinet and
pulled out a glass, filling it with red wine.
“How did you get this, you sneak?”
“Stole it from my parents.
“Typical.”
“Don’t distract me, go read or something.”
Tate resisted her pushes out the door.
“I want to watch you!”
“Get out of here! You’ll mess something up.”
He retired to the living room, working on a crossword puzzle, chuckling as
Violet talked to herself, cooking a meal for him.
Tate thought about how nice it would be to take Violet to a real restaurant,
where they could eat good food and not have to make it themselves. But that was
impossible, unless they drove miles and miles away. Violet never talked about
all the things they couldn’t do as a couple, but Tate saw it in her eyes
sometimes, when they snuck away, or walked right past each other in the
hallways at school. He would give her the whole world if he could, but he
wasn’t even allowed to take her on a typical, average date.
But then she was calling him back into the kitchen, untying her apron and
refilling their wine glasses. Everything tasted fantastic of course—because
Violet was perfect—and she looked so happy, watching him eat.
“So. It’s almost November,” he said, knowing where this conversation would go.
“So?”
“Deadlines for applications are soon.”
“Yes they are.”
“Have you looked at any schools?”
She put her fork down softly. “You know how badly I want to get out of that
house. But I can’t deal with fucking applications and college visits and tours
and bullshit.”
“Then what’s your plan for after graduation?”
“To be with you.”
“But what about school? You’re so smart, Violet.”
“Tate, why did you bring this up?”
“Because it’s important!”
“I don’t want to talk about this. You know I don’t want to talk about this.”
She stood up, opening the fridge and putting a pie on the table angrily.
“Fine, it doesn’t even matter. I applied for you.”
She froze, knife buried in apples and crust.
“You weren’t going to do it, and I know you want to go to college.”
“What about the essay? What about my transcript? Were my parents in on this
too?”
“I just told your dad to send out the transcripts. He thought I was giving him
a message from you. I used entries from your journal for the essay. I might
have added some of my own stuff.”
She sat down, taking tiny bites of pie, not looking at Tate.
“Are you mad?”
“Yes. But thank you.”
Tate grinned, finally relaxed.
“So, where did I apply?”
“A few schools in Boston. I know you miss living there.”
“What about you? What about your job?”
“There’s a high school there looking for a track coach. I think they like me.”
They were silent for a minute and Tate let himself imagine them together in
Boston.
“Well, dessert’s done. Is there anything else you want to do? Here? In the
kitchen? With me?” Violet winked at him and stood up.
Tate backed her against the counter and she hopped up, shoving her skirt around
her waist to reveal her lack of underwear. Tate’s pants dropped to his ankles
and then they were together and Violet was moaning and grabbing at his shirt.
“Oh, my God, Violet, oh, my god,” Tate said when he was completely inside her
and their skin was pressed together and flushed. Violet’s head fell back
against the cabinet.
“This is good, Tate, so good. Don’t stop.”
He reached up and held her hair tightly in his fist, fucking her hard now, and
she’s losing it, he can tell.
She cums and pulls his own orgasm out of him with his own name, tumbling out of
her lips.
…
October 29, 2011
Tate is such a dick for applying as me, but I’m surprisingly glad he did. Now
we can get out of this town and just start over. And we can go on dates. Fuck.
…
The good news came on a Tuesday. Violet waltzed into his office first thing in
the morning, dropping a substantial letter onto the desk. The stamp said Tufts
University.
“You got in.”
“I got in.”
Tate pulled out his own envelope.
“I got the job.”
“You got the job.”
After a second, Violet squealed in a very un-Violet way, and rushed around the
desk into Tate’s waiting arms. Not worrying about his open door, Tate lifted
and spun Violet around, because she had been accepted to a school in Boston,
and Tate had gotten a job at a high school in that very same town.
Locking Violet’s legs around his waist, Tate backed them against the door,
closing and locking it. Safely hidden, they kissed, smiling. In between kisses,
Violet put her hands on Tate’s cheeks. “I love you,” she said, and Tate said it
right back after a quick kiss. They were new words between the two, but they
had been there for months.
Tate had always stopped Violet from trying anything at school, because it was
fucking school, but when Violet undid the belt on Tate’s dress pants—it was a
suit day, Violet loved when Tate had meetings and had to dress up—he didn’t
stop her. He would have fucked her right there if she’d wanted him to.
But she brushed his hands  away from her thighs.
“Just let me…” she trailed off, her hand circling his dick. Her breath was hot
on his neck. “I like how you feel in my hand.”
Tate was speechless, knowing how close they were to other students, other
teachers, and lost in the way Violet’s hand expertly did just what he liked.
“Talk to me, Coach.”
“Suck my dry,” he said, knowing what her response was going to be, but it came
out one word, low and grumbly.
“Fuck you, blow jobs are disgusting. Tell me how great things will be in
Boston.”
“Shit, Vi, ugh, we’ll eat in public every fucking day. I’ll take you on one
million dates. We won’t have to hide ever again.” Violet’s head fell back and
Tate kissed her pale neck, her legs dropping to the floor, landing on her feet
again.
Her hand was still working, squeezing, tugging, and Tate didn’t care if he
could do this to himself. Everything felt better when Violet did it, because
she was his gorgeous, amazing, wonderful Violet. Their relationship might have
been wrong in so many ways, but this, Violet pressed to him, her hand around
his cock, was perfect.
One of Tate’s legs was tight against the hot space at the top of Violet’s
thighs, and she ground on it in time with her smooth strokes. Her mouth
suddenly dropped open and she barely held back her cry, her thighs gripping his
tightly. Tate watched in disbelief of how erotic she was.
She took a deep breath and focused back on her hand. He was loose and
trembling, whining.
“Come on, Tate.”
Her voice, saying his name, the hard “t” sounds, her tongue, was always enough.
“Shit, Vi, I’m going to, where should I…” he stuttered and Violet looked around
panicked.
“Shit, shit, shit, um…” She slid down the door quickly, her hands splayed on
his thighs, then she was swallowing him, deep into her mouth, giving one hard
suck as he came into the soft warmth of her throat, somehow much different than
her cunt.
She released him with a fast lick to the tip that made him want to cum again.
“Huh,” Violet mused, straightening up, “that wasn’t awful.”
“Yes. Not awful.” Tate was still shaky.
Violet’s smile was sweet. “We’re gonna be free in just a few months, Coach.”
“I love you so much, Violet.”
“I love you too, Tate.”
Just a few months. And until then, they had each other and everything would be
just fine.
 
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