1111 Always

this place's different. falling apart. the chinese food smell leaks through the thick walls since there's a restaurant right next to the building and a huge stain in the ceiling right beneath her bed she don't want to inspect any further, afraid of the outcome as her sister's playful banter fill out the space.

"i think it's a really nice place, you're being dramatic since friday night" powder points out when opening the window, allowing the air to enter a room that seemed hermetically closed for too long — "cheer up cherry cake. a new place is always an awesome chance to re-start, the sunlight's much better here, and you have takeout food literally in the same block."

"easy to say when most of your clothes don't smell like a swamp" at least 70% of her belongings now hold this funny smell of humidity she despises, carrying more cardboard boxes from outside back to her new apartment — “the whole place smells like orange chicken, you know i like orange chicken right? it will make me sick in a week."

"well, i think this place will grow on you in a week" the blue-haired correct her words, "orange chicken or not. it's bigger than your last apartment and i tell you vi- seems better, you need to trust my vision."

the problem here is her powder has the attention span of a sardine, cause when she hears the door closing right next to her big sis place, she's running outside with a bright smile before vi can even try to stop her, quickly jumping across the boxes on the floor to instead, jump out in front of you, making you flinch as you seemed distracted by your phone.

"hiya, new neighbor" it takes you out of your bubble, making you pull out the earbud from your left ear as you accept her expecting hand, energetically shaking yours as she speaks again — "powder here. that's my sister vi. she's moving in today."

"hey," you greet them trying to be kind even when you're not really interested, "welcome to this shit-hole."

funny. pulls out a silent laugh from vi's lips as they curl into a smirk paying more attention to you: does she knows you from somewhere?

"seems like you two are neighbors" as far as powder's trying to see on the bright side, her plans are now failing miserably as you cement her casket calling the complex a shit-hole, and she has to awkwardly stop shaking your hand when realizing she's been doing it for too long "it's really nice to meet you- isn't it vi?"

tell her. fucking tell her it's nice to meet her you grumpy dog.

vi can almost hear her sister's words when nodding, adding some more to her pleasure only so she wont give her some unsolicited pep talk later — "yeah. nice."

it's something, makes her satisfied as your eyes dart around the apartment complex right next to your door, pretty similar to yours. the clean spaces and the boxes piling right over the other before you're taking in the sight of your new neighbor for a quick moment.

"good luck with the mess, vi" you reply, shoving your phone back in the pocket of your jacket as she can hear what you're listening to from the sound leaking out of the earbud "see you two around."

she don’t want to say she may know you out loud, cause she know powder’s going to be feral about it: where exactly did she know you from? she don't have an answer.

before her brain even starts to work, you disappear by pulling the tiny headphone back in your ear, moving your head to the rhythm of the music as you go down the stairs and vi's really thankful about pow-pow's life choices, cause she has the decency to wait for you to disappear before finally saying:

"holy shit, she's cool as fuck, did you see that?"

"yes, i did see that" she replies — maybe too grumpy, maybe too focused on her own anger of having to move out; you're pretty yes, but she has serious stuff to focus on and zero time to flirt, so vi looks at her sister, unfazed. "she's good, can we go back to you helping me organizing now? i need your help."

"boring, there's no need to take the fun out of everything you know?"

and vi might be too busy in that moment, but she has plenty of time to think about you the week after, when she's finally getting rid of the boxes and she's going back to the usual routine she keeps before the chaos, the three-hour sessions in the gym and the fights during the weekend; even when her ego's bruised.

where did she see you before? man, why is it so hard to remember?

the days go on by, and vi finds herself getting interested in you since she can't shake this feeling of knowing you from somewhere, not really catching on where exactly, but there in her stomach as she tries to have an answer to her thoughts: was it the lesbian bar? were you a bartender somewhere she has no memory of? a celebration after winning? she passes out most of the time, it would make much sense she don't fully remember you.

and it’s weird, cause by the days, she grows curious about it. starts like a breeze on a summer morning, slowly and barely there when she encounters you right in the hallway, usually listening your music with a big hoodie on. chaotic hair, you say hi just because she's saying it first, brushing off her existence as you rush somewhere else — every night.

maybe you're a dj? you have this look that goes with it.

frustrates her since she cannot wrap her finger about it, and she don't want to talk it with anyone else either, not powder, not her friends nor any neighbor from the complex even when she could ask on the most subtle way she can, not when they’re already making so many efforts in winning the new inquiline's heart.

7A baked her a bunch of chocolate cookies she's been chewing when she's suffering from muchies fever after smoking, 8B happens to have the biggest record collection in runeterra, 9D has at least three cats, and vi's already getting attached to the orange one that loves to sunbath in her window, so even as she tries to be this loner in the world — vi's sucked, inevitably into a welcoming community that does not waste time in making her feel welcomed.

by the second week she's being officially invited to this grill on her name, one scheduled for friday noon, and she cannot say no, cannot possibly think about rejecting the kindest old lady from 5C who's so lovely to give her a paper with all the information printed as she kisses her cheek with with pink lipstick since vi reminded her of her daughter: happy. people is happy she's living in the same apartment complex.

that's new.

she has no soul to reject it. in fact, makes her feel warm even to the thought of it — did you take part in this too? it says it's organized by the whole community. that includes her nonchalant girl next door.

friday. her curiosity stays on top even when it's monday, when she's fucking rotting in bed, holding her phone in her right hand as she scrolls through twitter publications; a silent like, a bookmark on important information until she comes across this video.

it takes her time to snap out of it, when she's staring at the image and she's blushing to the point she needed to lock her phone and toss it to the floor without caring if it breaks more than it already is.

and it hits her all sudden, no you aren’t a dj. the girl in the video — this, sex tape, getting absolutely railed in the mattress, censored in all the important places, blabbering mess, hair sticky to the face.

it's fucking you.

now, vi's not a big fan of porn.

tries to avoid it as much as possible since it feels distant. weird. fake.

it's not a surprise when she refuses to see the video that popped up even when the image's already plastered in her mind, hanging like a damn poster in the middle of her thoughts vi cannot avoid as much as she tries to do so — she can recognize your face, the hair, the curve of your jaw, your neck and fuck.

feels forbidden. like a fine line she wishes not to cross. it's something personal even if it's public, belongs to you and she's quick to pretend she didn't see anything even when it's all she's thinking about lately.

vi has to wrap her mind about it for a day or two: you make gay porn. she may have seen a video ages ago and that's why she's recognizing you, memories her mind must have block for now since she don't remember any of it, not knowing how she feels about it: does she want to remember?

no. it’s not right. it's downright shameful to remember your face because she saw something even if it was ages ago, makes her blush, so by friday? vi swears to herself she's fucking forgetting it all. no matter how.

so in response she's avoiding you to the point her polite salutations stops to instead, just give you a bare side-eye look whenever she encounters you getting out of your place, switching her workout routine an hour before usual since it seems you get out when she’s arriving home, and it works. works because vi don't think about it, even she wants to use twitter and she's reminded from her brain directly: do not fucking do it.

works until friday at least. friday. damn friday.

she thinks she got it all figured out by then, excited as she goes to the rooftop, freshly showered, ready to pull out this social personality vi lacks off since she wishes to fit in, be welcomed in a new place as nice as she's been greeted by now.

so the pit fighter's talking to everyone by the first hour, presented to so many people vi cannot remember anyone’s name as she drinks from a cold beer and eat hotdogs. even when most of the community are elders, she's happy to offer her help to the old lady from 5C to install her brand new tv, and officially let sunshine, the orange cat, take naps on her window with her owner’s permission.

she's pretty fine until you came into the picture, carrying this strawberry pie she looks at for a moment as you're chatting with the neighbors so tenderly vi cannot help but feel a cruel pang of jealousy in her stomach: jealous of 80-years-old since they seem worthy of this smile she catches on even from where she is seated, this warmth when she can’t even get a single hey, losing the thread of the conversation she's having already.

sundresses are made to kill. it's their only purpose in life as you're chuckling at the other side of the rooftop and vi needs to make a real effort to go back to the conversation she's submersed in before you came to ruin it all, scratching the back of her head while begging to not seem so utterly distracted.

you've always been this beautiful? is it an crush disguised as burden curiosity?

she notices when you're asking for her, leaving the pie in the table before approaching and vi's stiffening in response, in a slutty tank top she kinds of regret now, pretending to be too invested in the conversation before feeling your presence hovering, standing right next to her.

"hi," you say trying to get her attention before smiling to the rest of the group — "vi, right? i live in 3B, we've crossed in the hallways. i talked to your sister before? blue hair and space buns.”

you talk like vi would not remember you, like powder didn't make you stop out of nowhere; as if she would forget about the image of the video pushing back into her brain and she has to kick herself for it: disres-fucking-pectful.

“yes, my sister- powder” and vi tries to be casual as she drinks from the beer bottle, the strong taste being a reminder of keeping her cool alive while it lasted “she was helping me move.”

"yeah, seems really cool" she makes a mental note on saying the compliment back to her sister, and you're good on making her forget about the rest of the people, about the left conversation she gave up midway— "i'm sorry for not being very polite before" you say, and she's furrowing her brows at the words. "been a really shitty neighbor.”

"well not really," vi states, thoughtfully "you always put music too late in the night, but i'm really willing to see past through it if you're saying sorry."

so you give her this smile she got fond of suddenly and it's enough to make her eyes narrow and know, like a vision from the future, you'll mean nothing but trouble, trouble there as you there stand in her view, hair slightly messy from the wind.

"it's on low volume, you cannot possibly hear," you try to defend your case, annoying cause vi already know she’s going to let you win anyway, "i make sure of it."

"i'm just kidding, you don't need to say sorry" you're not a bad neighbor, all jokes aside she didn't expected to be welcomed in such an active community of people, the cold treatment being something she found usual; before them, she barely even talked to their own neighbors herself "you're good. your loud music is fine, i can live with it."

she's such an idiot. so lame around pretty woman.

"are you enjoying the place so far?"

"well, if you don't count the smell, it's very nice."

"i know," you chuckle, and vi’s liking this whole making-you-laugh thing so far, "most of the inquilines here don't really have sense of smell at this point, so it's useless to try and fix it, been there already."

"shit, i know. we must be the youngest people here" — "sides knuckles, clearly."

"he's twelve," you shake your head while looking at the little kid who lives in 9E with an old couple who's daughter died years ago "doesn't count, i know for a fact he loves the smell since he's always hungry."

and for once, vi's glad she's never seen any video. even when blatantly lusting over your face.

she doesn't want to be weird with you. not when you live next door. when you both share a damn wall, when you're funny; not in a way i-will-seduce-you-somehow funny, but in a sense of i-can-be-your-friend, and not a damn pervert.

"they are good people though. you'll learn to forget about the smell and you wont feel it anymore after a while," you try to stay positive as you’re stuck in the same place that she is "it would be worst if we had something like fried chicken and french fries. that sticks to everything. the food’s good anyways, have you tried it already?"

"not really, you've been here for a while?"

"a year or so," you try to recall the exact date — "they threw a party for me too, it's like a tradition. the last inquiline in 3A wasn't really nice as you are."

well shit, that was a smooth compliment, and vi’s stuck on it for a minute or two as her fingers tighten around the glass bottle she’s holding.

“damn, and i was already feeling special, think you just shattered my heart” there it is again. that laugh that fills out the space for at least three seconds “they gave you hotdogs too? they’re really clever with this, keeping the people in like a cult.”

“we were on a better budget back then an went with burgers,” you reply “don’t take it personal, if it counts, i think the hotdogs taste better.”

so shit. it feels like it would be way easier if you were an absolute bitch and not a kind girl who laughs about every corny joke she's doing, if you didn't look so beautiful as the sun comes down leaving this trace of messy colors behind, clouds submerged in an orange, purple and red color that seems surreal for a moment: did she drink too much beer? impossible.

she doesn't feel dizzy when she's talking to you for the next hours, telling you about the pit fight and her constant failure of boxing career since friday night, oversharing about the broken pipe as you seem invested in hearing what brought her there, pressing your lips in a tight line when mentioning the mold and dying by poisoning.

"you won't die for mold," you reply holding the laugh in "you may have gone a little crazy, some lung issues and such, i'd stick with the orange chicken if i were you."

"well fine, laugh all you want to."

how she's not going to want it? how does violet make herself less interested in getting to know you? by the end of the grill, going down the stairs with you by her side she knows, deep down it's there as a not-so-hidden secret: just like her, you too need a friend, and you're not going to make it easy for her.

violet vanderson knows how to behave.

she can handle a conversation on her own, the way your eyes sometimes linger on her arms as you spend more time back in her place invading her almost every day since the grill, can deal with your comfy looks when no one but her is looking, a new found confidence you share after always knocking her door in a funny pajama pants she laughs at.

vi can even deal with your subtle way of flirting, the same way she don't know if you're actually messing with her or not since it's not a fucking surprise she's developing this huge thing for you, on how her stomach revolves every time she think about the photo she saw on what feels are ages ago.

it has only happen once — twice. but it's not like she's doing it on purpose, like she can help it as her hand goes down her pants and she has to muffle the sound of her own moans with a hand pressing over her parted lips since the walls are thin and she's sure you can listen.

it's a slip anyway, guilt pours over her when she's rubbing on her clit and vi's too deep in her mind, in the constricted face of pleasure you have, your parted lips, full of damn sin. man. fuck hotdozed.

and her fingers itch in need to take her phone and see every fucking video on the page. her irrational part that pulls her on being an asshole overshadowed every single time as she won't even look at her phone in response: she don't want that image of you, that commercial side, no. violet's greedy enough to want the privacy of you, the part you don't let anyone see.

so she allows it to happen for just ten minutes, so wet the arousal coat her underwear, soaked when drool covers her hand and she's fucking herself with the thought of you, your blue sundress, the way you looked and it's enough to make a mess, to curse out loud when she noticed how she didn't put a towel beneath to the point she has to ditch her sheets to the floor, too lazy to change them as she sleeps wrapped in a wool blanket.

friends.

vi's trying hard to be friends. even when she's masturbating in silence fueled by pure imagination, trying to be good as her damn libido seems already over the top, she tries to be this friend you need when you're outside her door with takeout food smelling much better than the pasta she cooked and vi is falling again, cause just like every moment during that week, she's willingly letting you spend some time with her, get closer.

"you don't have to go out tonight?" she asks, sinking in the sofa. after smoking a joint, it seems like the cushions are engulfing her entirely as she shoves more orange chicken from the place she has slowly learned to love; turns out they have special prices for residents and they are good as fuck.

"no" you reply shaking your head "i don't have classes on wednesday."

"classes?" she cannot contain the curiosity when it slips away from her lips, weed made her bolder clearly, but since you've been hanging out with her so much, maybe vi has gained certain privilege in finally asking some questions — "you study overnight?"

"yeah, doing a physics major" you admit, reaching the shrimpy rice box you so happily eat from, like that didn't satisfied part of the hungry monster inhabiting vi's body, thirsty for any kind of information she can get.

"so you're like a huge nerd" the fighter teases, and it's annoying cause it only makes her brain completely stop for a moment like a warning she don't listen to, always too deep in her own needs "that's why you whined about watching twisters the other day?"

"please the movie is plain shit, you just wanted to see the actress."

"pretty sure that's the whole point, the movie being bad. passable bad."

behave. for the first month violet behaves — powder was right even when she don't want to admit it out loud: the place did grew out on her, the mornings when sunshine was meowing outside her apartment, scratching the lower part of the front door until she has to open, enjoying a cup of coffee while rubbing on the cat's belly; the people, the cat, her girl next door.

you spend your free nights with her without a previous need of invitation, invite her to cool places she's never been before and it's hard to not be wishing to become one with you, make you part of her skin and carry you with her. vi becomes aware now of the details and it's dangerous; knowing your favorite color, your favorite dish and the music you like when you shared your playlist and allowed her permission to add music she thought you'd like; dangerous cause she wants to keep getting closer even when knowing you have your guard up in letting people too close.

it's becoming a routine lately, like a strange and comfortable company you two keep on each other while being friends, without any pressure or need to fit in. you're too close and it's easy, easy to let you slip in her life like you were made for it, with strange movie choices and a tendency to follow recipes you find online with vi having to intervene before it's a total disaster.

paradise that come to sad endings.

"what do you mean you're moving out?" heaven has it expiratory date written in the back, must have known it when you dropped the bomb after you're there, fucking using her living room like an study spot, talking about formulas vi don't get at all since you have this huge test in a couple of days.

"been saving a lot of money from work, and i can afford something better," you admit, leaving your flash cards on the floor as you look up to the sofa where she's installed, her blue eyes already making the skin of your face burn when looking at you with the intensity she's pawning — "bigger y'know? that don't smell like food all the time."

"i'm glad for you" lies. partly anyway, cause she's glad you're doing better, but not having you close as in just a few steps away? makes her heart falter for a moment, a phantom feeling settling on her stomach, adding weight to her form as she pulls out this fake smile from her ass she don't really mean to, one you don't really catch on when your eyes light up to the comment, ruins "when are you moving? maybe i can help you out-"

"at least three more weeks, i want everything to be in order, i cant leave without a grill celebration either" you reply thoughtfully before checking on your phone calendar "we can go out to celebrate i survived my exam. i mean, if you want to."

"you want to celebrate that with me?"

it hits right on the spot, a knock out she'd be pleased to give in the arena, painted in black makeup, sweating and spitting blood to the floor, but now? it catches her off guard too, your reaction to her words, the subtle nervousness in your voice when speaking again, made her mouth dry as you try to make up excuses, something decent to say more than the fact that you want her around.

"yeah if you want it too, been bugging you this whole week with this, you deserve a night out, my treat."

"gonna be your sugar baby for the night, huh?" in reality, vi's her own very enemy when she's blushing at her own words before changing on the subject: she's flirting over and over again without any intentions to stop "can't say no when you put it out like that, m'am" — "when is it anyway? two more days?"

"two more days. in fact, thanks for adding to my stress."

well, she's knee-fucking-deep at this point.

you indulge her needs without saying anything two nights after that, just like you promised in her apartment when she convinced you to have some sleep so you could keep studying the next day. buying drink after drink, you're preventing her from getting into fights and pulling vi into the crowd to dance with her most of the damn night.

it's the contact what drives her crazy in the end, a brush of your fingers in her skin, your breathing colliding for a brief second against hers, teasing her all damn night as she has no other option to just observe.

you know you look extra good in that tight dress, that vi's a victim of insanity when your hair gets messy and you don't seem to care about it, skin glistening with sweat and this smile the boxer cannot erase from her mind, replaying it like a movie she overly-enjoyed.

you're dancing to the rhythm of the music, slightly drunk, already on cloud nine and through vi's gaze, it's enough to mesmerize her, following you around like a guard dog and preventing guys from trying their luck and get a way with you, she's not risking any chance.

"you look beautiful like this, when you have no worries stressing you out, and you're just enjoying" well fuck if that wasn't flirting, if that wasn't plain seduction fueled by the stupid amount of alcohol vi consumed, so at your smirk, it's a personal need; she needs to continue "always the hottest fucking girl around, do you have any idea of how hard is to get a grip around you?"

the song seems to pass to second place, transported to another dimension when you're pressing your back right against her chest and vi has the perfect path to just lean right against your ear, nose inhaling the scent of your skin, the cream you use that leaves a subtle shimmer down in your exposed shoulder and she's fucked: fucked, intoxicated, driven already by those guarded needs she keeps drowning deep underwater.

"quit fucking around," the whiskey burns in her throat, still in vi's tongue at the first warning, you're dancing against her, ass right against her jeans and the dress, that hell of a dress goes up with each movement and you don't seem to care enough like she does — "your dress- it's slipping up, gonna flash the whole club like this-"

"then pull it down," the way you say it's almost like a dare, and you love her attention, granting permission to vi's fingers who are quick to slip pass beneath the fabric, brushing against the skin of your sides as she's pulling it to her original state, keeping it there as it insists to fold right at your waist "can you keep it that way? help me out."

you know exactly what you're doing, rubbing yourself against her pants, breathing heavily as she keeps the fabric of your dress hooked in her fingers, a subtle way of pulling you closer against her, make you blatantly rest against her body.

the confidence comes up in this state and she just let it happen, sloppy kisses in your shoulder, vi can feel it against her lips as you make your hair to the side and you smile cause yes — you got her where you want to, hand in your thighs, fighting the urge to grab you by the waist cause it's not correct, you're friends and she values your company, the connection.

but vi's sinking in whiskey, and the way back home it's blurry by a cloud of necessity, impulses combined with a mass of lust at what it's now her worst behavior: she can't keep her hands off you, lingering on your waist, mumbling excuses about having to prevent you from falling, avoiding you from getting too far from her.

"you're not going to invite me back to your place?" you ask, resting against your door at just steps from her own, and vi's having trouble on finding the keyhole before suddenly freezing — "i'm drunk and i can fall too you know? a serious injury that could cost my life- and you won't even know."

it's a clear excuse, you both know it by then, and it makes vi laugh as she's resting her forehead against the wood, letting out an audible sigh soon after: she's doing so good so far. even when you tempted her with your worst, she didn't kissed you like she wanted to, didn't touch you any further even when you're rubbing your fucking ass against the front of her jeans, but having you alone back in her place? it's like asking to fuck with her patience.

"c'mere before i regret it" there's no sense to hide it when you stumble to her door, standing so close she can feel your chest brushing in her right arm, the soft fabric of your dress gently touching her skin as she opens the door and you're invading her once again; like you always fucking do.

you're like a force of nature, driving yourself like it's your place too. you grab her hand as she drags you to the kitchen, sitting in the counter as your legs swing in the air before vi's turning on the lights.

"you're going to kill me" you loudly say, using your hands to protect yourself from the white lights of the kitchen "turn it off- what are you doing?, we're vampires at this hour."

"vampires huh? who drink water after so much alcohol?"

"alcohol-sucking-vampires" you explain like it’s an obvious thing, tilting your head to the side as you watch her take the bottle of water she keeps in the fridge “we'd burn if you turn on the lights, and i won't burn by a kitchen lamp, not when you're near.”

so you’re hooking your finger in the carabiner vi wears in her pants, and her keychain tingles in the air as the only sound in the room, her breathing hitches back in her throat as you're pulling her between your legs, taking the water from her fingers before drinking from the bottle as you try to sober up with half the cold water.

“you okay there?” vi asks, refusing to look down to see the way your dress raises from over your upper thighs, she can already feel your naked legs closing around her waist and too afraid to act upon contained lust — “too drunk?”

“just perfect” it's enough to wash off the trails whiskey on her mouth, hands resting over the counter as all suddenly, vi's taking over your space, conquering the air you breathe as you rest against the white tiles of her kitchen wall behind your back and you seem aware now that there's no escape, nothing but the need to stay there, granting her the silent admission to keep going, wonder further in depth "are you too drunk?"

"maybe i am," it's not a lie, not when the alcohol travels down her blood and it makes vi's knee shake, when she's resting her weight in the counter, so close to you she can feel the warmth of the breathing that comes out of your parted lips "cause i feel that if you don't stop me, i'm going to start spiraling, and i don't want to fuck you here in my kitchen counter. turns me on- but it's impersonal for the first time i'm taking you."

the words roll of violet's tongue with an ease that scares, and when she realizes it, it's too late to take them back when you smile like you just won the damn lottery, this damn smirk she already knows from memory, that look you have when you get something you've been working hard for, an exam, her attention, her touch.

it's too much time being this miserable, too much time standing on her side of the room, keeping her thoughts in a glass that easily shatters with the slightest touch, so vi's allowing herself to surrender, let the guards in your body drive her to the the prisons of your soul, the maze in your heart she crosses with fire in her hands.

you're there. blending in her arms like the strangest material that sticks to her skin, making the limits go blurry cause she don't care now, they are nothing but a stone in your shoe; you're moving out and vi's already feeling a part of her missing, the need to hold you close before you disappear in her arms and never see you again.

the silk dress in her fingers is soft as it wrinkles following the form of your body, and vi wishes to be able to breathe underwater, have any sort of control over the chaos in her mind when she's sucking on your neck until her teeth marks you with a hickey she can see, like a proof she'll need to see tomorrow somehow, to believe all of it is real and not part of her dreams.

moans come out of your lips and that's what she's been missing out, the simple pleasures of life's she's been depraving herself from, her lips find a way to your jaw, working her way up in gentle touches, having you pressed against her body is simply not enough, not remotely sufficient.

"you taste so sweet," is it the whiskey on vi's voice? the soreness on her muscles after drinking so much? it does not matter at this point when her slender fingers grab your chin, angling upwards to meet her gaze "i swear, it's the greatest ambrosia from the gods."

you're not bulletproof, you can't resist the way her blue eyes search yours for a moment like she's studying any sign of regret in your eyes, dilated irises, it's you the very first who stole the kiss, the contact already clumsy, full of teeth and a constant fight, a need for control, demand and get more in response.

inebriates her to the touch, like lsd melting on her tongue to blend within her body; is it the whiskey? when your tongue pushes past her's and your chest graze against her own, vi's fingers sink in your hair to pull your head to the side and fucks sake, is it normal? how something so simple can feel so right?

it's the first kiss that gets vi on her knees already, the second, the third, the fourth: she loses count at that point, but it does not matter when your legs are wrapped around her waist impending any try of putting some space between you and her, when she can visibly notice the color of your panties she's been trying so fucking hard to guard the entire night.

"vi-" you manage to say, the sound of your voice give away so many details she's been overlooking, the raspy tone that wraps her own name — "vi. listen to me-"

"say that again" she asks, like an alcoholic ready for another drink — "violet this time, i need to hear it entirely."

"violet," you repeat, and she likes the way your tongue rolls in the syllables, didn't enjoy being called like that until that very moment when you're whispering it like it's a part of some important spell "listen to me-- i need you to tell me something."

"tell me, i'm hearing" she replies with simplicity as her hands finally raise your dress where it belonged the whole damn night, right over your waist as her hands close over the gloves of your ass and she's squeezing it tightly to prove her point "i can listen to you while i touch, tell me what's so important."

"it's about work, about what i do" she stops for a moment, looking down at you cause she couldn't care less now about the whiskey, the dizziness on her brain as she stares at your face "i should've told you sooner. i'm sorry okay? this escalated so quickly i didn't think we-."

nervous. you're nervous when you speak again and she just wishes to kiss you, make you understand that she don't really care about this whole cam-girl thing with actions more than words.

"i do, like- videos" you state, low like a secret you don't want anyone else to hear — "on my own, you know- well- cam-girl videos that's how i make so much money-- i let weirdos stare at me while i masturbate, pays good money and i get if you don't want to do anything, i needed you to know before uh-."

"you think that's going to make me not-fuck you?" she asks, genuinely interested in the answer "cause you do hot videos online?"

"have you watched them?"

"no, i haven't."

"either you're too polite to say it or a dinosaur when it comes to technology, cause i got a couple of videos blowing up in lesbian accounts on twitter and a bunch of subscribers thanks to that."

"cocky much aren't you? implying i must have seen it" — "you're that big of a deal here?"

"i'm not, i'm basing my data on actual numbers who back up what i'm saying" you try to prove your point rambling an absurd amount of words she don't really pay much attention to, pretty sure you're a top creator on that page of yours "are you even listening to me?"

"do you want me to see your videos?" she asks with new curiosity, blue eyes piercing yours and it's always a fight, a need for taking control and know who's surrendering first "is that what is all about? you want me to see your slutty masturbating sessions? what do you do hm? fuck yourself dumb enough to forget you're recording? got me curious now."

vi's nothing but impulses, kissing your cheek in a slow tender motion, fingers on your face that keeps you there, face pressed against her mouth as she feels your skin burn under her touch.

"i don't care about what you do," — "i only care if you want this too, peach. if you masturbate and record yourself, it's nothing but a huge, damn turn on."

so there it goes one more time like it wasn't enough the fist time, demanding kisses, needy touches to feed the monster inside vi's body: it does not matter, and the knowledge makes you the same it does to her, electricity coming up to your spine.

even when your lips are swollen it's not enough, not nearly proper to satisfy all her needs, but before you're even thinking about keep undressing yourself there this sound coming out from the hallway outside, and you stop before letting her kisses travel down to your collarbones, brows furrowing in curiosity.

"was that a meow?"

"damn fucking cat," vi curses out loud, rolling her eyes as she hides her face in the crook of your neck "gonna install sunshine a door at this point, she comes to sleep close to the window"

"well that's cute," you chuckle before vi's using her thumb to clean up the strings of saliva that connected you back to her mouth, swollen, red lips against her own "go on, don't leave her hanging, she comes to her safe place to rest."

it's physically difficult to remove herself from your body, cursing the way back to the front as the boxer's opening the door to find the small cat entering the apartment without even looking at her, quickly finding her way back to the window.

"is that the cat from 9D?" you ask when stepping out of the kitchen, looking at the cat already sleeping in her designated spot — "funny. i got a visitor like this too, but it's the black cat, rainbow."

"cat likes smart-asses, makes sense" vi teases to your offense before you're taking the bag you leave in the floor, looking out for your keys — "hey- i was joking, you leaving me?"

"i think, we both drink a lot tonight vi" you're right anyway, hangs heavy on her chest when realizing she still cannot feel the very tip of her fingers "and i want you to kiss me sober, touch and talk me like this when you remember me, us."

"i'm not that drunk-"

"come to my place tomorrow morning if you still think that way. i'll cure your hungover any way you want me to" the promise hangs in the air, and despite your words you kiss her again, because it's just another kiss, another one to the infinite you already gave her, lingering there and stinging in her skin like a constant reminder of the contact; quickly this time, soft unlike the needy ones dictated by alcohol "i don't want you to regret me. i need you on your four senses."

"tomorrow morning. i can do that."

she can't.

life would be awesome if violet vanderson wasn't a fucking pussy who can't knock on your door the next day since she's too embarrassed to show up out of nowhere: what if you don't remember anything? what if those kisses where nothing more than that? just kisses who are quickly forgotten?

being left alone with her own mind is dangerous, and karma's a bitch with her lately as vi's roughly pulled out of the car into the street and she's unable to hold her weight when falling into her knees, the cement scrapes her jeans as she can feel the blood already mixing up with gravel — "you owe us fucking big time, violet. we'll take it out of the prize from next week, do you understand?"

"yeah- fuck off."

she resists the urge to show them her middle fingers, the aching pain in her ribs being too intense to even raise her hand from over her shoulder as vi yawns in pain. she can endure the agonizing ache; the loneliness on the other side haunts her mind as she uses the doorknob to stand up, blood already coating her fingers as they press against her shoulder.

awful job. they did hell of fucking job on stitching her up this time: what fucking owing them big time were they talking about? she's climbing up step by step to the third floor, and vi's sure she's going to pass out any moment from now, crawling on her hands and knees — she's going to fucking puke at this point.

she deserves the treatment, this eviscerating cut to her ego, cause it's the second fight she loses now and fuck if it not affects her, not in the state she arrived to the complex; broken nose, injured shouldeer, she's almost surprised she's not bleeding internally. it's what she deserves for being this level of an asshole.

two weeks. what was she thinking when she began to avoid you? when she got scared to the point she's not acting out on her own feelings? when did she turned into this lame version of herself? this part violet don't recognize and now has to live with? not daring to see your face at any random moment of the day, avoiding you like you're the worst disease ever announced and she deserves it.

too good in learning your schedule, of course she's going to work hard in not seeing you, not cross you on the hallways by accident, not even in the morning by your running routines — and like everything before, it works. not seeing you it's medicine for the heart, a bandage of ignorance right to the eyes: what she cannot see, cannot possibly hurt her.

you moving out, leaving her behind: maybe put up some distance it's what she needs to do in order to survive, prevent her from gaining a broken heart, the embarrassment.

"don't sleep on me-" shit, when exactly did she passed out? your hand rub against her cheek as you keep talking to her, eyes open "violet. fucking wake up. don't fall asleep."

she can recognize the sound of your voice when talking to her, the way you seem to pull force out of nowhere as you're making her stand back on her feet, clumsy when you're walking back to your apartment without saying a word, physical effort as you close the door behind your back and you help her get to your bathroom.

"what happened-" you ask inspecting the bruises in her face under the accusing white light, and vi would like to say something, remark how she's fine even when she passed out thanks to the pain minutes before, but she cannot say much when a loud whine of pain escapes from her lips as your hands wonder around her figure looking for any wound "talk to me c'mon- how did you ended up like this?"

"the fight-" she manages to say before you're tossing her tank top to the floor, the black makeup only interfering with your work as you stare at the injury in her shoulder, a cut vi's sure she gained thanks to the pointy, metal brass knuckles her opponent hit her with, the bruises decorating the flesh like a damn universe of different kinds of pain; she'd be embarrassed of being so naked if not being so utterly in shambles.

"shit- you need to go to the hospital."

"no-" she's quickly to reply, too many questions she cannot answer honestly, don't want the authorities getting involved — "i checked out the most and it's already under control- 's this shitty thing in my shoulder- the stitches keep opening."

and violet's in no position to ask for anything, nothing at all when she's been so cruel to you, so distant even when you live at just footsteps, but she's looking at you with this eyes you already know, a pleading face you can't say no to as you're opening the med kit you keep in the bathroom shelf, shaky hands as you mumble something about not being a doctor, about not having any clue on what you're doing.

"look at me," the fighter asks, all that black painting only accentuating her blue gaze as you stare at her, not realizing your hands are being held down by vi's bandaged ones, keeping them steady over her chest, "i trust you. you just need to stop the bleeding. i know you got me."

works fine cause you take care of it, trembling hands, holding on your breath since you're victim of your nervousness, you seem to avoid her gaze so well vi knows, real as her current bellyache, that you're so mad at her you don't even want to look at her bruised face, tending the wound in a deadly silence as she's gaining more color now, better as your fingertips brush against her skin.

"thank you" you hate to hear it, the awkward small talk, her need to fill the silence "for helping me out."

"i don't want you dying on the floor, would be awkward if your ghost is bounded here."

it makes her laugh for a moment, the pain on her chest being a reminder of her poor state as she closes her eyes tightly trying to surpass the pain, the unexpected whine she let's out filling your bathroom walls as your digits press against the cut.

“you’ve been avoiding me,” vi cannot escape from the question now, struggling to breathe as she braces herself at the prospect of anger she deserves — "did you regret our kiss? is that why you're so ashamed of talking to me?”

"i don't-" even when her muscles are sore she's making an effort in denying your words, fingers covered in vi's blood; you're struggling just by breathing the same air "i thought you were going to forget- about me, of our kisses that night."

"do i look like i forgot?"

"let me finish," she insists, giving you a pleading look — "you taste like promises and warm words. like fire, me-- and the mouth is never mistaken. you're there, constant like the moon and the stars and it scares me a little, like i'm always in this ship and there's thick, dense fog surrounding it and sometimes you're the lighthouse guiding me back to safe land, but others you're the angry ocean and i don't know what to do about it. on the intensity of how i feel about you and your kisses, how you felt while holding you in my hands: seems like the only thing i can think lately since i last saw you drunk in my apartment are your damn moans, the face you give me when i said i wasn't going to fuck you in my kitchen counter, you."

"that's you didn't came?"

"guess i'm afraid," vi won't admit it before, won't admit it ever, the prospect of talking about her cowardice being similar to a mistake in her mind "you're leaving next week, and you'll forget about me and this place and i can't deal with that thought, not when you're on your best life and i'm stuck here losing fights, being damn miserable."

"you think i'll forgot about you?" — "that's your worrying?"

"it pisses me off, cause if affects me in a way you don't realize" vi's voice fill the bathroom walls for a moment, and you stop tending on her stitches for a minute; the color has returned to her cheeks, much better now as she barks the truth she guarded so secure — "you seem unbothered by it but i'm not okay with you leaving, with not having you at just inches from my bed- i get that you're winning more money, that this place sucks so much ass but you can't- you can't leave me behind."

"i would never do that to you," you reply in a low voice, and from the position you're in, right between her opened legs, you're kneeled in front of her to take care of injuries better, making vi aware of the way you're looking at her, much closer than you were in the kitchen as her shoulder does not matter now "this whole moving out thing- i'd never leave you behind, you're my best friend and shit- whenever i go, you do too."

"you say that now but what if-"

she cannot continue with the argument, not when you're carefully pressing your lips against hers and you're shutting her racing mind with a kiss; one that's different this time and makes her heart feel too small to endure the loud beatings it gave, sober, patient, vi notices the details that she missed out, the softness in your glossy lips, the taste of apple in your mouth, fresh breath as her hands tangle in your hair to make it impossible for you to seek any distance, any kind of air but what she can offer.

her shoulder hurts at the movements, but the pit fighter don't seem to care about any injury now when you're doing that thing you do that drives her crazy, how you steal kisses like they were yours to take since the beginning.

"stop that," you speak against her mouth "we don't live based on theories vi," — she likes the sound of your voice, that soothing way of talking to her when your eyes meet her's and your thumbs are following an invisible path in the sides of her face before talking again "it doesn't work like that, cause from the moment you threw bad jokes at the grill i can't get you out of my head and it's not that easy- i won't pull you out of my life like you're no one. i don't have much- people around me always leave and i'd never do that to you. not ever."

it's what she needed to hear, what the worms eating away her brain wanted to stop holding her hostage as you lean against her to steal another kiss: you're a thief a she'd let you steal them all without putting up a fight, all when they belonged to you.

"you're really important to me, violet" you admit, and the knot in her stomach tightens at the admission "not only as my neighbor, but as a friend, as the girl i like."

it hangs in the air for a moment, her personal fucking kryptonite to this point cause vi keeps the kisses coming even when they are similar to a fever in the middle of a flu, body tense, sick with tension she cannot get rid of when pushing you to her lap, the weight on her legs unexpectedly good, needed-

"hey- hold up you're injured and in no condition to do whatever you're trying to do here-"

"i'm okay, killjoy" she coos, even close to dying dramatically minutes before, vi's currently going through the strangest adrenaline rush, not even feeling her sore shoulder at this point — "you know i've never been here before in your apartment? it's very similar to mine, but like- the opposite version."

she stays silent for a moment, her lips move against yours but not for a kiss, instead it's a glance, a subtle and barely noticeable touch: "i thinks its a mystery how your life always seem to mirror mine so much."

"i'll make you a bath-"

"i mean it" vi continues on talking as you move around to turn on the water, sitting on the edge of the tub as you settle a warm temperature: she also needs the distance "this cat- what was his name? from 9D?"

"rainbow?"

"you get visits from rainbow, and sunshine's making my apartment her own" she reminds you, making you giggle momentarily — "you live in the apartment next door, my routines fit yours and i have to try- put up a lame show since i don't want to see you on the hallways cause i know the exact hours you leave for classes-"

"you know my routines?" shit. "what's your point with this, weirdo?"

"i mean, it's really obvious here," violet's pushing past her pain when straightening her back, still wrapped around dirty bandages that surely needs changing "i have this theory with a fair amount of proof, cause i think you were made for me, as much as i was made for you."

it's a normalized behavior she wants to keep, cause she likes this image of you when she's using her force to stole a new kiss, multiple ones she starts by giving you from the side of your face until she's touching the corner of your mouth with hers, invading your space like she's meant to do it, lips fitting so nicely against yours — you're sure she's right, that she has more than just proof to back up her words: you are made for her, she's made for you.

"the tub's ready."

"you're nervous" it's not a question but more like an observation as you move around, avoiding her gaze when you're too busy checking the temperature.

"i am," you admit in honesty, tongue travels down the inside of your cheek before adding "it's different. you're different- us."

"yeah?" vi's tone gives away her intentions by the time she's saying it — "tell me more about it, how different is this for you huh?"

"privacy, you need privacy. i'll leave you to undress and shower, is it okay if i get you some stuff to wear from your apartment?" it's so simple to make you like this, stumble over your words even when sober, cute rambles she's been missing the last weeks.

"sweetheart," vi's voice is tender, barely an audible whisper as she shakes her head in denial — "i can't shower alone. you know that."

"but i-" you try to calm yourself down as the vapor sticked to the mirror hanging on the wall, the intimacy vi’s been running from "i need to go find your clothes-"

"you don't have to" violet insists before her fingers begin to unwrap the bandages across her chest, face twitching with pain when making much effort in moving — "i want you to stay here with me. let me have this."

thing is you don't need convincing, not when she's stripping right in front of you, baring the lines of her muscles as you hold your breath for a moment: all this time being partly naked, you're fine with it until it takes a different turn, an unseen shade that got you looking to the floor for a moment when hearing the sound of the fabric falling into your vision field, the bandages that wrapped around her chest followed by a splash and the loud moan she lets out when entering the warm water.

"i won't spend more time without you," vi says from inside the tub, and it makes you malfunction for a long time, stay there for until you make sure you can hold your own weight when walking "please, sit here, stay close."

suddenly it's hard to snap out of it. the air's too hot at this point when she's panting the spot right next to her, looking up to you ready to beg and ask until you're granting her wishes. your heart beats so loud in your ear when you spot her smile only getting bigger as you sit down in the floor right next to the tub.

"tell me, do i look too fucked?" the bruised boxer asks when you're sitting close to her, back hitting the cold tiles as you're comfortably resting right on her side before turning to look, inspecting her face. there's a bruise right under her eye, creeping up to the side of her nose, slip lip, the wound in her eyebrow is closed with fake stitches but it's getting swollen now under the lights of rationality.

"no" it's a simple answer, even when violet looks like she's been paying visits to hell lately, you can't help it when your eyes follow the features of her face, the ring piercing on her nose, the freckles carefully placed over the middle section — she looks stupidly good even when she's at her worst, so your eyes roam against her naked figure in response, her bruised skin now hugged by a comforting warm, making her shiver case she can feel the weight of your gaze, the goosebumps that made her body move involuntarily "no, you don't look fucked."

"get in with me."

vi's as serious as she can be, and it's the kisses that win you over; her way of making you do stuff cause her lips are pressed against your own and it's like the greatest delight ever created.

"please get in with me" she asks again, cause vi wont forgot; she won't let go of the moment as her wet hands close around your neck and the drips of water are soaking through your shirt — "i need you so much closer, please."

even when there's a clear separation between her body and yours, her hands look past it when they're soaking through your pajama, the coldness from her hands as they touch your body like it's holy, wetting everything behind.

"the tub's too small" you try to be intelligent for a moment, a difficult task when she's placing the most gentle kisses in your neck "and your shoulder- i don't think it's a good idea."

"i swear to you if you mention my shoulder one more time-" to be fair, it's hard to think about a threat that's good enough to make you stop as you’re grabbing the sides of your shirt to toss it from over your head, close to the bandages in the floor, it got vi staring at your tits for a while, the lack of bra since you were probably sleeping before she came in like a hurricane really handy.

"you what?" you insist, wanting her to complete the sentence. little fucking tease mocking at vi's words while her hands tug on your shorts, the only thing preventing her from getting you inside — "gonna stop kissing me like you do? leave me hanging?"

"no," she would never mention it even, rolling her eyes in defeat "i have nothing to threat you with, cause all that i got is yours already- you know that well."

it's a composition, a testament as vi's hands roam against your exposed chest, fingers tugging on your nipples before your pants are falling to the floor in a disaster you want to happen, and the intimacy is there before ever undressing, in the vapor and the hot water as you make no sound in entering the water.

"too far," vi protests as you try to sit in the other side of tub, swiftly pulling you upwards just to make you glide against the water so you can rest in her chest, and she winces, a loud sound of discomfort as she moves you enough to not be resting over the bruises in her rib, that spot she knows it's sensitive — "don't move if you want me to keep living."

"fucking insane," it's impossible to try and argue as your chest is already pressed against her's and it turns very complicated to even think about enough reasons to leave the bathroom "the idea of a bath is for you to relax vi, not to have me crushing you."

"what if i want you to crush me?" she wonders as her hand travels down the line on your spine, the skin that's so soft in her fingers as she takes your hair out of the way, the strands out of your neck. vi takes her time in doing so, on treating you like you deserve when she's nibbling on your neck, holding you against her cause there's no pain enough to prevent violet from taking what she wants "do you understand? how fucked you got me? i'm already in pieces hoping you'll put my skin together with your love."

her words cut deep, deeper than any ache as they settle in your heart, you seem to be in sync with her, heartbeats that mix up like a lullaby and breathings that took turns; her chest expands when yours constricts in a silent organization, and it's good. your hair's getting wet, and vi's hand squeeze your ass with a controlled force. you belong there.

"let me touch you," she asks, her hand seems to grow curious by the seconds as vi pants your upper thigh and you seem to get the memo so you're finally straddling her, legs on each side as the water settles down to the level of your belly and she's looking at the skin already covered in drips with a tangible need — "i'll beg if you want me to- i need to have you."

she’s gentle, a need to show you how much she cares about you, how she needs you close, know more about your days. the words find their own way out of her mouth when vi’s admitting against your ear how much she missed you, the times she had imagined that very same scene in the darkness of her room, infinite fantasies that always resume around the same, this face of mischief when you're climbing up from the edge of the bed to sit down on her just like you are in that moment, tangled hair, her fingers make you shiver when they're touching so skillful.

just the same, you're in the perfect place to- worship you, and vi does so when her she's using a hand to make you bend against her mouth so your chest is exposed right to her face and that's what life must be about from now on: pleasing you. making your hair to the side, vi wonders for a moment if she fainted again, this time inside her supposedly relaxing bath.

a happy death, she wants a happy death, so violet vanderson wishes not to be awaken if so. let her die. let her experience an afterlife where she finally gets what she wants, where things go her way. it's an illusion, maybe a fantasy you're indulging like when you bought her drink after drink the night she went out with you, an abysmal difference now as your hand guides her own to you inner thighs.

vi wishes to imprint her fingerprints in your flesh, groping with enough force to make you gasp. she wishes to comply and do good cause she can do so much for you it's making her insane, hard to think in anything else when she has you like this, using a couple of fingers to rub on your clit already greedy for attention, depraved from her touch for too long.

"mmf-what the actual-fuck," the words slur together like a muffled sound when you're biting on your inner cheek — "shit that's so good."

the water moves with you when your hips do so, splashes at the movement before you're raising yourself from above it, leaking against her hand as her fingers push against your entrance, desperate to give you something to hold on to, push further.

vi's teeth pull on your hard nipple, a rough tug that it's delicious as her fingers work their way inside your cunt, wreathed by your pulsating walls who wishes to drag her further inside. knuckles deep, the pit fighter can feel the sting of pure pain when her fingers thrust inside you, the nervous endings pulling on her shoulder wound.

"ride me," she ask when your eyes dart out to her wound, caring about her even when you're drunk in a state vi wishes to see more than ever, nodding as you move against the palm of her hand — "there you go, i'm yours to use. you already know i'm yours to take."

"fuck vi-"

maybe the tub it's the least of the places that this should be happening, the space is to small, uncomfortable, induces to clumsy sex, yet when vi fucks- it's different. you’ve never been fucked like this by just two damn fingers, so devastating, overwhelming like she’s surpassing every barrier you've put out there with effortless grace until she’s there, under your skin, claiming each part of your body when it belongs to her.

“you’re gripping me so tight” vi gulps already feeling heady. a lewd sound filling the bathroom walls as her fingers move with vigorous force, slippery cunt as they curl right where you need her to be “fucking you with the strap must be hell of a ride huh? gonna have to prepare you every time.”

“m’so close-” you state, and she’s nodding at your words, brows furrowing together in understanding, a wish to get you there at any cost — “please vi- please.”

you’re begging even when you’re not sure why for, the mount of her hand hitting against your clit as your tits bounce on each movement you give on top of her, making vi absorbed by the sight, the marks she left on your skin, how you’re making the biggest effort on fucking yourself to oblivion.

“so full of my fingers, i know you’re gonna cum baby” she uses a coaxing tone to speak, only making you even more debased than you already are at her gentle words “let me feel you soaking up my hand- you’ve been doing so good already.”

you’re talking nonsense. an slobbering mess when your body stiffens at the impending release you’ve been holding before it finally coates down vi’s fingers, dripping down to the water in a nasty mix the pink-haired don’t mind as she keeps working you through it.

“make it last baby,” she says pulling you into a kiss, tongue plunging against yours in a salty kiss, swallowing your loud moans — “you have the sluttiest cum-face i’ve ever see huh? those little uh’s- i get why people pay, you’re fucking addictive.”

the comment makes you giggle even when you’re tired, sultry look when vi’s sucking on her own fingers, tasting the release that still makes them shine under the light.

“thanks for being so good to me, so kind with all of this- i know it’s not normal” you reply, big eyes staring at vi’s blue hues before leaving soft pecks in the valley of her chest “you make it hard not to fall for you.”

"there’s no need to thank me, peach” — “never saw your videos, but you are indeed, very popular on twitter. i did saw a censored photo back then.”

"and you never saw anything else?"

“no, i want you to cum because of me for the first time i’m seeing you” vi replies, simple and quick “not on a phone or laptop screen, but here against my skin, flesh and bones.”

“when did you find out?”

“before the grill? i dunno i was trying to be polite, i would hate to make you feel uncomfortable, it wasn’t my intention at all.”

“that’s months ago” you playfully hit her in her sane shoulder, earning a whine on her behalf — “and you resisted all this time?”

“i wanted to respect your privacy- i got curious about you way before twitter so again, privacy s’important.”

“privacy- i’m doing porn and you think about my privacy, sweet jesus i’m gonna eat you alive” your words makes her blush as you stay silent for a while before you’re looking up to her, the water’s already cold and wrinkling in her skin before you add with the biggest smile vi has ever seen — “i think you should stay tonight, really. we have some movies to catch on, science purposes.”

you’re kissing her until vi’s lips are red and sore before standing up and her shoulder’s fine. the stitches are fine. it’s a long nite and vi will have no trouble to survive, despite her usual negative way of seeing things; she’s staying positive this time.

for science purposes.

"you can take it," vi whispers as pushes deeper inside you, the perfect view of your drenched pussy taking her in, opening for the intrusion — "it's okay- make room for me you're doing so fucking good."

the sound of your moans mixes with the sounds on her phone speaker, the image of you spread against a wood desk collapsing her brain as you're there, in her screen while you're rubbing this fuck-doll against your cunt and you're so wet as you show yourself to the camera, it makes vi moan as she spreads your ass-cheeks further apart, using the same grip to pull you against the strap.

"take your time, beautiful" she says as a hand slaps the flesh of your back rear until it's red, fingers marking on the flesh before she's moving slightly, only to tease your reaction with her nestled inside "weren't you so cocky before? saying you can take massive cock like a regular tuesday?"

you're begging in the video, crying to be stuffed and it's not a distant view from what she has already, forehead pressed against the king-sized mattress, your breathing gets shallow when vi's pulling out almost entirely just to slam it back in, making your legs shake. it hits all the right places, tingles against her cervix as you present yourself to her like a christmas-fucking-gift. ready to be discovered.

"you feeling good?" her words are so kind even when her fingers are pulling on your hair, making your head backwards with a force that makes you get high on lust, nodding at her insistence as she keeps hitting it from behind.

"yes-" you struggle to respond for a moment, voice like you've been hitting the gym with hell of a cardio routine "fuck yes- yes do your fucking worst, please."

the bed creeks, the headboard smashes against the wall but vi cannot bring herself to care at the loud sounds you two make. her hips piston in a deliberate fast pace, and the sound of your skin smacking against hers makes her head spin; the sight of you rubbing your aching cunt in a recorded video goes so well with the one of your pussy wrapped up around vi's cook, already hanging on by a thread.

"look at that pretty pussy, the camera does not make you justice enough" she praises, pounding faster, deeper as she's making you watch the video with her, eyes glued as her fingers hold your face close to the screen — "all shaped up to take my fingers, my cock, my tongue-"

and your relationship with vi's always there in the site itself, making sure of commenting on each video, appear on every livestream asking you to go faster, deeper, moan out her name louder than the rest: when someone buys a pair of your underwear? she's there to make a mess with it, take the photos in seductive lingerie she fucks you in after, your girl next door, your formal neighbor who now invades your apartment most days of the week claiming she's tired of the orange chicken smell.

it's a routine you grow fond of: dates, messages, movies, music, fun, fucking, kiss, cuddle, showers, love, repeat.