#constance ahs

Dried fall leaves crunch under your sneakers, as you walk up the stone pathway to the front door. Your knuckles wrapped against the wood, gazing down the street as you waited for the door to open. You waited for five minutes, before trying the knob. The door quietly opened, the creaking hinges drowned out by the loud music coming from up the stairs. You peeked around quietly, ensuring Constance’s absence in the home, before making your ascent up the old wooden stairs.

The music loudened as you approached Tate’s door, your hand lifted, pounding on the door in hopes he would hear you. You heard shuffling, before the music quieted and the door opened.

Tate stood in the doorway wearing a loose fitting vertically striped sweater, his jeans dark, his sneakers dirtied, one of the laces pulled loose while the other sat in a bow, his hair laying across his forehead in soft tousled waves. 

“ I didn’t hear you come in. ” 

“ You left the front door unlocked. Your mom isn’t home? ”

Tate shook his head, stepping back to let you inside his room. 

“ Can we put a movie on? ”

You saw the distant unfocused look in his eye, as he stared off blankly.

“ Tate? ”

His head shook gently, before he refocused.

You padded around his room getting more comfortable, toeing off your sneakers, sliding out of your day clothes, and into one of his sweaters, taking down your hair before bending down to pick out a film. 

Just as you were about to call out to Tate you felt two arms wrap around your waist, one hand sliding up to touch your bare stomach. 

“ Did you find one? ”

You nodded, feeling his lips against the nape of your neck. Standing straight you felt his hips push forward, grinding against you, turning to face him, you place the vhs in his hands, “ Hellraiser ”.

“ Is that okay? ”

Tate nodded, sliding the tape into the vhs player, watching your hips sway as you hurried off to get into his bed. He kicked off his sneakers, abandoning his sweater and jeans on the way to the bed. 

Your head laid against Tate’s chest, your hand on his abdomen drawing small circles, Tate’s arm laid wrapped around your shoulder, his fingers tangled in your hair twirling the locks. 

You weren’t much of a gore fan, when the scenes came on, Tate’s hand came to cover your eyes, smiling as you kept asking if it was over yet. Slowly Tate’s hand left your eyes, freeing your gaze to focus back on the television. 

The movie ended, the room going dark as the tape ended. Your eyes found Tate’s in the dark, his hands moving under the blankets, finding your hips. His lips came to press against yours, his tongue pushing past into your mouth, tangling with yours. His hands moved, pushing down your panties, the fabric caught around your thighs, his hands moving to his boxers.

Your eyes shut, a gasp leaving your lips, feeling as Tate pushed in with one solid thrust. His hips moved slowly, pushing deep, slow, and rough. His hips rutted against yours. Soft moans left you, your hips pushing to meet Tate’s, the room's silence was filled with the sound of skin slapping, paired with the soft moans and grunts that left both you and Tate. 

His face came to hide against your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses all the way until he met your bra, hands leaving your hips he unclasped it, tossing it onto the floor. His lips came to your nipple, wrapping around, his tongue circling the bud. Your fingers tangled in his dirty blonde locs, pulling at the strands. 

A cry let your lips, feeling Tate’s teeth gnaw on your nipple, the small bud rolling back and forth. Tate’s hips rutted against yours, his grunts, turning into moans, he was becoming needier as his orgasm neared. His thrusts turned sloppy, desperation evident, his teeth dug into your breast, a moan vibrated through your skin as he came. 

Your eyes rolling back, feeling as his cum filled you, a moan fell past your lips, your own release crashing over you like a wave. 

You received the call from Tate that his mother was out, or in his words, “ sucking cock. ” You climbed the wooden steps, making your way to Tate’s room, you pushed open the door, your eyes sweeping the room to see Tate bent over your desk.

“ What’re you doing? ”

A smile graced your lips, confused by his position, watching as his head raced, he turned to face you. Your brow furrowed as you viewed his appearance, white powder, almost flower like was on his nose, your gaze leaving his face focusing on his dresser, the powder laid on top of the dress, in neat white lines, a razor blade laying next to them.

“ What is that? ”

Your playful manner remained until you saw Tate’s expression, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

“ Tate what is that? ”

“ Coke. ”

“ Coke? Like.. Like drugs? ”

Tate's eyes couldn’t meet yours, his gaze focused on anything but your face.

“ Answer me, ” Tate couldn’t respond, silence filling the room. “ Answer me! ”

He looked like a small child, practically shrinking as he stood there, his head nodding softly.

“ You promised you wouldn’t get anything beside weed! You promised! ”

Tate remained silent, tears brimming his eyes, her hands coming to cover his ears. Within seconds it was like a flip switched, his arms dropping, his eyes drying, his posture straightening. 

“ Stop it, ” his voice was weak, but he repeated “ Stop it. ”

You watched as Tate stepped closer, his hands coming to grasp your arms, shaking you slightly. 

“ Mind your own business, you do not get to tell me how to live my fucking life. ”

Your hands came up to his chest, shoving him back. His anger was alive and vibrant one moment, and completely gone the next, the small hurt boy in front of you returning in an instant. 

“ Come find me when you want to be my boyfriend again. ”

You stepped away from Tate, scooping your bag up from its place on the floor, adjusting the strap over your shoulder. Walking down the hall you heard footsteps approaching, turning to face Tate, you saw his dark brown eyes become almost black. 

“ You’re just going to leave me here? I thought you loved me! ”

“ You lied to me! That’s all you do Tate is lie! ”

Your hands came up, shoving Tate back, before Tate knew what he was doing he shoved you back. You stumbled back, your hands grasping at the staircase railing, trying to catch yourself on the polished wood as you lost your footing. A cry left your lips as you fell, your back slamming into the wooden steps, your body flipping over yourself, head crashing into the steps, arms legs, ribs, you now laid in a heap at the foot of the stairs. 

Weak gasps left your lips, your breaths coming out as wheezes, the wind knocked out of you. Tate took the stairs two at a time, tears in his eyes as he reached you in seconds. 

“ No, no, no, no! ”

Your eyes followed his figure, unable to move, to in shock from the pain, he brushed the hair from your face, a soft whine leaving you as he touched a gash hidden in your hair. 

“ Don’t.. Don’t move. ”

You could feel his hands prodding at your body, waiting until he hit a point that made you cry out, or whine. Virtually every part of your body was sore, but still Tate lifted you, soft cries leaving you as he carried you up the stairs to his bed. 

Laying on his bed, with Tate beside you, his hands stroked your hair, tears streaming down his face as he apologized like a small child. 

“ It’s okay. ”

Those were the only words you managed to get out, your hand coming to stroke Tate’s hair weakly. Your fingers toyed with the blonde locs, his head coming to hide against your neck, pressing sloppy kisses to the skin. 

He didn’t call for help, didn’t take you to the hospital, he just held you that night, sleeping beside you in the bed. 

Tate’s eyes peeked open, a sleepy yawn leaving him as the sunlight peeked in through the curtains. Tate’s head lifted from your chest, your hand falling limply from his head, you looked peaceful, your eyes shut, face and body relaxed. 

Tate’s hand lifted to brush hair from your eyes, your skin was cold, not freezing but colder than his, brow furrowing he tried to wake you.

Tate’s lips pressed against your skin, that was always enough to rouse you from sleep, but now you didn’t budge. His hands came to grasp your shoulders, shaking your body, he watched as your arm draped limply off the bed.

- 

You woke in the bed, that evening, your head pounded, your hand coming to soothe the ache as you sat up.

“ Tate? ”

Your voice was weak but still you called out for him, quietly you crawled from the bed your hand holding your head still. As you wandered down the hall, Tate popped out from seemingly nowhere, his hands coming out to grab your shoulders. 

“ You should be in bed. ”

Nodding softly you followed him back to his bed, crawling in and under the covers. You laid beside Tate, watching as he stared at you, his hands stroking your hair. 

“ Do you feel okay? ”

“ Yeah, my head’s just pounding, just a migraine. ”

Tate nodded, you didn’t remember, didn’t remember the fall, didn’t remember the drugs, didn’t remember any of it. 

“ Let's go back to sleep. ”

You had been at Tate’s for two days, Monday was approaching, you had school the next day. You stood from the bed, dressing in one of Tate’s sweaters, and a pair of his sweatpants, brushing your hair out with Tate’s comb, you pressed a kiss to his forehead, watching him sleep for a moment. You quietly slipped from the room, grabbing your bag on the way out. You slipped out the front door, walking down the brick path, reaching the sidewalk, in a blink of a second you were back at the porch. 

Tears welled in your eyes, this was your fifth time reaching the sidewalk, and the fifth time you were set back on the porch. You let out a scream, a scream of frustration and confusion, tears pouring freely down your cheeks, you collapsed onto the wooden deck, completely broken. 

Tate woke to you looming over him, your lips puffy, your face red and tear streaked, your hands shaking.

“ What is happening to me? ”

Tate knew what was happening, not dead himself, but he had seen this happen before with Nora and the other ones who weren’t aware they had perished. 

He gently pulled you into the bed, stroking your hair, shushing you gently as you sobbed. 

“ Why can’t I leave? ”

Your questions continued paired with your heart aching sobs, Tate didn’t know what to do, what to tell you, how to explain. 

Gently he pulled you from the bed, grasping your hand in his, guiding you down to the basement, bringing you to a far corner where you saw what looked like someone sitting against the wall. Tate gently pulled you closer, a horrified scream left you. 

There you sat, bloated, discoloured, and slumped over, but how could that be you? How were you dead and you didn’t even know? Your legs gave out, falling onto the cement floor as you sobbed. 

Tate came to pull you against him, cradling you like a small child, pressing kisses to your head, stroking your hair. He knew you were horrified, hearing the agony from your cries. 

It had been days since then, you barely left Tate’s bed, watching every morning as he made his departure for school, coming back hours later to find you in the same space. 

On week days you would lay with your head in his lap while he read books, or did homework. On the weekends you would lay together, watching vhs tapes of any movie Tate brought home to you. 

You laid across his lap, your eyes watching the television. Tate had rented a handful of tapes to keep you occupied for the weekend, Jaws, IT, The Omen, and Scooby Doo, followed by a few extras. 

The weekend ended, Monday came, you laid awake, watching as Tate dressed for school. 

“ Stay.. Just for today. ”

Tate nodded, sliding off his jeans before getting back into his bed with you. His hands slid under your sweater, rubbing your bare back, soothing your nerves. His lips found your neck, trailing down, disappearing under the blankets, his lips found your bare stomach, kissing down to your clothed clit. His fingers hooked into the fabric, his warm mouth finding your cunt. His tongue lapped sensually at your dripping folds, parting them before pushing inside, his hand slid up your thigh, coming to replace his tongue. His mouth moved to your clit, sucking gently at the bud, his tongue swirling. 

The sounds of sadness and tears were now replaced by cries of pleasure, slowly riding Tate’s face as you gripped his head board, the change in position gave you everything you needed. Straddling his head in only one of his sweaters, the cold air in his room nipping at your bare skin, the only warmth being between your thighs. 

Your hips rolled, and bucked against his face, your clit pressing against his nose, his tongue pushing in and out of you. Your head was thrown back, moans falling freely from your lips. Eyes rolling back, body tensing, you soaked Tate’s face.

Gently Tate lifted you off of him, licking his lips , his arms wrapping around your waist, his head resting against your stomach. 

The next morning you woke to see Tate dressing, the outfit he adorned was unusual to say the least. His usual striped sweater or plain coloured cardigan was discarded on the floor, instead he wore a long sleeve plain black tee hidden under a baggy zip-up, paired with black jeans, and oddly topped off with a civil war era frock coat.

He padded over to the bed, leaning down to press a deep kiss to your lips.

“ I’ll be home early. ”

You nodded softly, pulling back from the kiss. 

Tate arrived home at 12:36 pm, he sat down quiet on the bed, his hand coming up to stroke your cheek. Watching as your eyes fluttered open, sitting up with sleep tousled hair, still half asleep. 

“ How was school? ”

A smile graced your lips, a rare sight these days.

“ It was.. It was school. ”

You nodded, crawling into his lap, pressing kisses to his neck. 

“ Can you go downstairs, get something for me from the kitchen? ”

You nodded, slipping off his lap. You hid yourself from view, walking silently into the kitchen where Constance sat, going unnoticed as you browsed. You heard a loud banging on the front door, following after Constance as she went to answer it. An armed Swat Team stood at the door, asking for Tate, shoving past Constance up the stairs. You hurried up after them, hearing Constance's screams for Tate in the background. There Tate stood in front of his bed, hands raised, all guns pointed at him, red dots on his chest. 

You stood watching horrified behind the Swat Team, your eyes meeting Tate’s as you appeared visible. 

Watching, you saw him dive for his pistol, not a moment was wasted before the team riddled his body with bullets.