A/N: This was... This was interesting to say the least. My dear friend, Nina (ryanhomosexualross on Tumblr) ships them...I don't know how or when or why she began to ship them but she did. So, for Christmas, I decided to write her a Vivitate fic.
I hope you guys enjoy ans please REVIEW, and tell me what you though. I would totally appreciate it :)
DISCLAIMER: I don't own American Horror Story.
After reloading his shotgun and preparing himself mentally, Tate finally walked out of the mansion noiselessly, to not wake up Constance and Adelaide. He was high off his mind, he knew, but he also knew why he was planning on doing.
And his conscious was very aware of it.
Tate was a psychopath and he was very aware of that. He didn't mind, though, as he walked out of the large house. And as he held on to the gun in his hand. And as he played with the lighters in his right pocket. He just wanted to take them all away from the shit and piss on the street and the only way to do that was to make them pass to the other side. He wanted to make a change, for better or for worse.
He didn't care. Not one bit. And, then, he thought, it's the house that is doing this to me. But he continued walking down the sidewalk, his eyes dead cold and his nose beat red from the amount of coke he had snorted before stepping out of the Murder House. Turning the corner of the street, he bumped into a woman, who fell on the floor and gasped, crawling backwards.
Tate looked at her wide eyes staring at his gun and he scoffed at her.
"D-don't kill me," she stuttered, tears spilling from the corners of her eyes.
Tate stared at the woman – not so much older than him – and extended his hand for her to grab. She chewed on her lower lip nervously, and with quivering hands, she got a hold of Tate's. He pulled her up from the ground and she stepped back – as far away from him as possible.
"I'm not going to harm you –"
"Vivienne," she interrupted, tears streaming down her face.
Tate stared coldly at her before continuing, "Vivienne, you're not the one I…I –"
"You're going to go kill people?" She shrieked out, and fumbled with the back pocket of her jeans to take out the large, black, Nokia cell phone she kept with her at all times.
Tate got a hold of the shotgun and rested the butt on his shoulder and aimed the gun at her and she threw the phone on the ground and covered her head with her arms.
"You call the police, and I will shoot you," he threatened and more tears spilled from her sockets.
"Okay! Okay, I won't," she pleaded, kneeling down on the floor and Tate put down the gun, assuring her that he won't harm her.
Vivienne looked up at the seventeen year old and grabbed her phone slowly, hesitation visible in her movements. She stopped before grabbing the phone and Tate pushed it over to her and looked away. She nodded quickly and took the phone, shoving it in her left pocket and standing up. Tate glared at her and pushed her against the tall wooden fence and she gasped.
"You tell anyone about me and I'll find you, Vivienne," he spat out and she closed her eyes as he breathed in her scent.
"I…I won't," she stuttered out.
"Good," he told her, stepping back. Tate noticed her shoulders relax when he moved away and he smirked. "Before I leave, I want to do one last thing…" And Tate got a hold of Vivienne's face and turned it to look at him, her eyes snapping open as he leaned in to kiss her.
When Tate finished, he stepped back and she fell to the ground, her knees giving in. Tate knew deep down that after what he did that day, he was going to die one way or another.
At least he wanted to leave this goddamn world with a good memory.