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