Summary: "Dreams are necessary to life."- Anais Nin

Disclaimer: I do not own anything, even this idea.

Author Notes: This story is based off a dream sequence my friend and RP partner, Melanie wrote for our RP. It was cute, but I thought it was too cute to be so general. Like I wanted more because I am so fucking greedy. So here it is, I got her permission and I made it a bit longer a lot of it was actually used. Just to make things less complicated, he isn't Rubberman in this. Ben and Vivien are divorced.

11:11 PM

Violet lay in bed, around one in the morning, her body was curled into Tate's; soaking in the warmth of his arms. Her face pressed against his smooth chest; the sound of his shallow breathing lulling her to sleep. Sleep was something she looked forward to every day, it was the only way could escape her reality. She was dead, that should have been the end but there was no escape from this suffering. Sure, there was Tate and she loved being with him, but sometimes she couldn't help but wonder what their lives would be like if things were different, her subconscious gave her that.

Violet is in a familiar place now, one that she had never actually been before. She was standing in the kitchen of a big white house surrounded by the white picket fence, the kind of house one would call "a suburban dream." You could feel mid-Autumn atmosphere in the air; the crackling from the fireplace followed by a subtle hint of cinnamon, the warm reds, oranges, and yellow leaves that settled on the trees outside.

She stands in front of the counter, her hands wrapped around the counter, idly chopping, when she feels a pair of arms wrap around her waist. A smile plasters across her lips as she feels the familiar feeling of the warm lips on her skin peppering it with kisses, sending a shiver up her spine. Violet drops the knife on the counter; her hands covering his as she extends her neck back so her head rests against his shoulder.

"Hi," she giggles; trying to hide her neck from his playful assault.

"Hi," he breathes against her neck, causing more shivers up her spine; he still managed to do that after all this time. "Smells good in here."

Violet turns and wraps her arms around Tate's neck. "Yeah, everything smells about ready," she concedes. She takes in his appearance, he has the similar boylike features he has always had; the dimples, the unruly curls, just now plastered to a man who looks like he in his late twenties. More put together, but that smile that was always reserved for her lingered.

Tate tilts her head backwards, brushing his lips against hers. "I wasn't referring to the food," he mumbles, kissing her.

Violet smiles against his lips, pulling him closer, "My parents will be here soon," she mumbles, as he presses her against the counter.

Tate pulls away with a sigh, pressing his lips to her cheek. "You're lucky, I was going to get you, "he threats, impishly; pressing his lips to her cheek. "We'll continue this later."

"Continue what later?"

Violet and Tate turn to a small voice by the entrance of the kitchen, Adelle, she just turned five on Halloween; named after Addie. She's beautiful, obviously taking after Violet in stature with honey blonde curls and deep brown eyes; she's a perfect mix of the two.

Tate kneels down and scoops the girl up, holding her to his chest like she's glass , one of their finest possessions; probably because she was. "Nothing, love," he chuckles, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Adelle rests her head against Tate's shoulder; she was such a Daddy's girl. "I want to know, though," she whines.

Tate shrugs. "Too bad, you'll never find out," he teases. "Especially if I can help it, remember Rapunzel?"

Violet rolls her eyes, he was way too protective. "Tate," she chuckles. "Why don't you take her…and just get out of my hair."

"But I want to help!" Adelle exclaims, trying to wriggle out of Tate's grasp. She was stubborn, but Violet couldn't help but be proud; she reminded her of herself.

Tate kisses her cheek. "I don't think so, your Mom only cooks once a year, give her, her space." He speaks, coolly; walking towards the door. "Come on, Addie, Grandma will be here soon, maybe she will let you do her make up; torment your brother or something." He suggests as he exits with the little girl in his arms

The doorbell rang through the house, Violet didn't need to see who it was; she already knew. She heard the pitter patter of the children's footsteps. Tate returned to the kitchen, a smile plastered on his face. "Your parents are here," he chirps. "Brendon practically knocked Ben over," Tate laughs.

"He loves his Grandpa," Violet reasons.

Tate walks over to the oven, and pulls a side dish out, walking over to the table and setting it down. "You go say hi," he suggests. "I will take care of the rest of this."

Violet turns to him. "I promise I didn't burn anything," she huffs, walking towards him and punching his arm playfully for his earlier remark. "I would like to remind you, I make a mean cup of soup."

Tate wraps his arms around her waist. "Yeah," he chuckles. "And some mean burnt toast."

This is what she loved about them, he was her best friend and the love of her life all wrapped in one. She stands there squeezing him for a moment longer, taking in his scent; one she could never quite classify. She pulls away standing on tiptoes and planting a kiss on his cheek, before she walks to doorway.

Violet sees her parents standing in the front foyer; they're older and grayer which she isn't quite used to seeing yet. She isn't quite used to seeing them happy either, but she accepts that oddity. She watches as Vivien kneels down next to Adelle, a bag of presents hanging in her hand; just like her mother to spoil them. Ben was trying to maneuver their son, Brendon, off his leg.

Violet chuckled moving forward getting on her knees so that she was level with the back of the boy's head. She places her hands on the boy's shoulders and turns him so that he faces her; about to give him another lecture on personal space but she is captivated for a moment. The boy's face, it's like Tate's except plastered on the body of an eight year old. She doesn't speak, she lifts her hand to trace his features.

The next thing Violet knows is that she awake in her bedroom, Tate's arms are still securely wrapped around her. The room is still dim from the escaping night, Tate's breathing is still shallow and she was clearly the first to awaken. Violet looks up to his face, the little boy's face, the little boy that they would never get. She feels his grip around her shoulders tighten slightly, the same arms that held the little girl in her dreams. She hears a slight whimper from the next room; her mother's cries because she is alone and heartbroken. She is falling from the high of another dream.

Dreams are necessary to life, or in Violet's case the afterlife; necessary for her to live.

A/N: A little fluff in the middle.