TAPE TWO ─── APHRODITE'S POMENGRANATE TEETH
#summary of tape two. lost in the edges of everything violet, you dig deeper into violet's side hobby and she ventures further in the hearthstone of your heart.
#content warning. eighteen+, wc: 4k, of!vi x roommate!reader, threes*me (kinda), sevika cameo, fingering, voyeruism, vi being freaky, dub!con if you squint, somewhat (mild) petting, possessive!vi, poetic smut.
#rayneyaps. i’m trying to stay active so! we will see how long this lasts but wow, my brain has really latched onto this story and i'm very obsessed with it. been so long since i wrote some straight up filth. hope you freaks enjoy it. violet is my number one muse right now, and this story is quite a reflection of it. anything for a pretty butch. literally, i'll do anything. art credit: keidehoi on x.
Never did you think to be here. Trapped, desired, wanted—the curse of wanting to be loved by a tsunami taking its abrasive toll. They don't tell you what it's like to drown in the midst of one. How the water slowly rises. Inch by inch. Foot by foot. When it crashes, you would be lucky to be snuffed away. But drowning is nothing like it. Neither is love. Obsession. Addiction. It haunts until it consumes, and by the time its mark is made, you're already done for.
It feels crisp in your hand, a freshly cut diamond perfectly curated for you. Everything about it is so simple, so easy. Unequivocal pain jumps through every beat of your heart — why are you putting so much thought into this? Why do you need to be loved? Where can the craving starve the hunger? Endless thoughts loop. An everlasting cycle of destruction found on the shore of your affliction—a heart that wants more than it needs.
Her worth is summed up to undeniability.
Violet isn’t anywhere near your type. Her confidence bleeds into dripping arrogance. She pulls more women than anyone you’ve ever seen, as if it's as easy as taking a single breath. Each time you let your mind drift, you muddle a specific possibility.
Could it all be an act? Aimlessly searching for someone, Violet couldn't find—yet she could be someone who needed to be with someone. Loneliness isolates her until she feels nothing, so she grasps at straws, clinging to whatever cold body she finds. At any party, any event, any birthday celebration, she is never alone. There's always someone dripping from her arm, a soft reminder of how inaccessible Violet could genuinely be.
What grasps her heart when she's shredded inside? Who makes her feel like there's more to live for? None of these incoherent rumblings should even exist. She would never care about you.
Every night, Violet exists within your dream state. Keeping you in a clutch you couldn’t recall being in.
But the video, two of them to be exact, is a blade that threatens against your ribcage, punished to puncture the metal box around your heart. Her words ring like a phantom menace, cursing every breath you take. Entirely unable to let go of it — to let go of her.
Are you afraid you’re gonna fall in love when you watch me fuck myself?
There is nothing in the world you would have loved more than to toss Violet down the bowling alley, discarding her patronizing ego with her. Solitude would have been even better, but you could learn how to stomach this. The rest of the night, you avoided her, creating some distance. You needed to prove that she couldn’t get to you. Whatever game she took satisfaction in partaking in, you could only have hopes of survival.
Make it out alive before she rearranges your insides and watches you eat them out of spite. You are everything she hates, and Violet Vanderson would love nothing more than to destroy who you are at your very core. That's what addiction is. It could never be love.
Weeks jumble, time never exists, and you're nothing more than an evidence of pure avoidance. You know her schedule by heart, and you use it to full advantage. Leaving before she wakes up, but you still brew her a pot of her favorite coffee because it's the right thing to do. You do her laundry when she's at work because you need an activity to put your heavy mind at rest. And you only buy her favorite candle because the scent complements the aroma of the shared living space.
The only night you had free this week, your soft skin smothered in your silk sheets, a red-violet mullet taunting your mind, with her voice whispering everything she wants to do. It feels like you’re losing your grip with the thought alone. Every fiber in your subconscious is relenting to her control, even if you're doing your best to will your mind, your heart couldn't care less.
So here you lay, in the crisp of the ventilated air, a flimsy red lace set to keep you company, you clicked play on the first video violet sent. The next three wouldn’t get played. You’re telling yourself it’s out of necessity, curiosity even—not because of another failed hookup ending horribly—and there’s a secret hope she can give you a release.
She isn’t your type, and this wouldn’t affect you at all. She’s a cocky asshole; you don’t care about her. Violet Vanderson is a heartless, soul-crushing, imbecile, and you would be wise to remember the lingering fact.
This is only so you can tell her she has nothing on you. You don’t find the gray in her blue eyes attractive, or the tattoos that ink up her back in a second skin. There’s a nothingness about the freckles across her cheeks or her broad back that blends into adonis biceps. You’re not drooling, and she doesn’t have an unreal physique. None of these thoughts could be real. The sun doesn’t shine, and the moon no longer pulls the tides. She's the furthest from pragmatic, a disease invented to exist in another galaxy. She's nothing at all.
Right?
The first sight locks your body in place, forcing you into submission without even being around you. The familiar navy-blue sheets you’ve caught glimpses of when her bedroom door is open. Random posters strung up around the walls of her bedroom. Bands in the nineties she won’t let go of. There’s a canvas powder painted on for her, one that you know is there, but the camera cuts off most of it. You miss the frame in the corner, and the picture she holds inside it.
Two seconds away from pressing play, eagerness exposed more than you would have liked—the only thing pulling you out of it is another woman far above your league.
new messages. three notifications from sevika. 12:36 am: long day at work. sorry, i couldn't text you back earlier. if you need a pick me up before i get back in town, give me a call. ⤿ 12:40 am: couldn't stop thinking about the last time you came over. riding me the way you were. being so good for me and coming in my mouth. didn't even get to fuck you with my favorite strap. i guess that's my fault. couldn't keep my mouth off you and your pussy. my favorite one, babygirl. ⤿ 12:42 am: call me if you're up, alright? i want to hear from you. that pretty face. those sweet lips are bound to make pretty little moans for me.
An idea strikes before you can stop it.
Could you do this?
Sevika, hot and tall, sickeningly gorgeous. Silver-hued eyes subduing you in a trance, her warm skin you sank your teeth into that night. A one-night stand that turned into someone you casually texted. Due to her work, traveling across the country, she was rarely ever in town. But when she was, her mouth made home between your thighs—never daring to leave.
She always took care of you, making sure you came multiple times before the night was over. With Sevika fleeting from city to city every week, she wasn't looking for anything serious, just a good lay. After your ex-boyfriend, who couldn't be bothered to pleasure anyone but himself, you would take the win.
Fuck it, I deserve this.
Once the awkward introductions were out of the way, Sevika got right to it, not wasting a moment. Whispering slowly, as if her lips were pressed against your ear, "Now, put those pretty hands in your panties. I want you to feel how wet you are for me. Pretty girls deserve to drip their cum on their fingers, and you are the prettiest."
Sevika's words, sultry and sweet, makes home in a core that cries out for her. More than anything, you wish she were here, her gap-toothed smile with a quiet grin as she watches your face scrunch, mouth wide open as you give her neighbors something to complain about.
"Oh, baby, I'm so wet for you. I wanna cum for you."
Avoiding the space between consciousness and reality, you find yourself still staring at your phone, the screencap of Violet's video egging you on while Sevika is talking you through it. With satan's iron fist controlling your movement, doing what you told yourself you wouldn't, hitting play on your screen while Sevika instructs you to slip your fingers inside.
With her on speaker, and Violet on the screen — you nearly came. Of course, the video immediately starts with her vibrator buzzing on parted-pink folds, her hypnotic eyes channeling you through the lens, you're almost tempted to crawl into her bedroom and beg for mercy.
In an attempt to connect everything to memory, Violet's legs are spread like wings, careless and free, her breasts sitting nicer than they ever should, and only because she wants to terrorize you—her nipples are pierced. Silver barbells you thirst to toy with your tongue.
If I pulled and tugged, would she moan in my ear and beg me for more—just like my dream?
It's challenging to concentrate on Sevika's voice when Violet slides the vibrator in deeper, tossing her head back as she does so. Solid hips, entirely structured for this, sliding every inch she can take, which happens to be the entire thing.
"God, you've never been this loud before, pretty girl. Add another finger for me, yeah? Shut those pretty eyes and focus on me, yeah? think about me, my mouth, my fingers—it's only me." You give in to her demands, removing your attention from a figment of violet.
None of it was real. Don't do that. Never open that video again or any of the others.
"It's only you, fuck, please make me come. Keep speaking to me like that. I need to come. Please, I need—"
The faces morph in your mind, each one ghosting over the other. Who do you need? Whose fingers do you want curled inside you while they give every inch they have to offer? A fog of silver clouding your mind, laces of violet thread beneath your soul, a combination of blue and gray—you want to have it all at the edge of your fingertips. Grasping at what's good for you and who has the power to obliterate your soul until it meshes with another dimension.
"I'm right here, sweet girl. Everything you could ever need—I'm right here."
Sevika attempts to let the words ring true, one hand bleeding with the other tangling to stop the wound. It's soothing to be viewed favourably by someone. Even if she's far, you feel her in each word she speaks. The wants fluttering in her mind, new thoughts sprouting through refined memories, and you're embedded into each one.
It's her presence that sends you over the edge. Violet's name whispers on the edge of your tongue, begging to be released, so you scream it inside. A monster free from its cage, you swallow her—every bit of her bitter. The vowels of her name clench into a fist on the way down your throat as she settles in the pit of your stomach. Either way, she's found a way in. A part of you forever tethered in a way that confuses as much as it excites.
Each sound released as you spill into your hand, the friction of your palm rubbing against your clit, you think of her. You couldn't hear her. Sevika's moans overshadowed your own, Violet's even. But they were still there. Humming in the background, making their presence known. The subtle cries, the grunts, the quivering whimpers; what would you do to continue watching without the cost of your pride?
As you expect, Sevika talks you down, before bidding a whisper of goodnight underneath the moonlight. Then, you see it. It's stupidly obvious. How much of her had you felt? Was she there all along? The entire time? Watching, waiting, as if she had known of all of your devious, satirical devotion would be seen by her. When it came to the girl who gave the hooded look of powder blue, anything could be true.
"Quite a show, princess. Didn't know you had someone to keep you warm." Violet's calm, ever so collected, smirking beneath her fist. Nearly hiding her surprise , but she grins too widely. The upturn of her look, the slight blush to her cheeks. "But I did know you would crack so easily."
Violet's chin tilts towards the video, the display of her intentional indiscretion, depending on who's watching. Mouth open wide, a mere fawn in the headlights, looking for words to follow—but what could you say?
This isn’t what it looks like. I accidentally opened it. My occasional hook-up wasn't going to cut it, and I needed to see every part of you, whether I deserved it or not.
Not the latter.
Nothing.
Deny. Deny. Deny.
Maybe you'll be gifted with her absence. Make her uncomfortable. Do what she does with everyone else. Make yourself so disagreeable she'll have no choice but to leave. This might be her home, too, but it won't stop you from turning a disastrous situation into another level of turmoil. She has to forget this. If she doesn't, the monster inside you will grow limbs, tearing apart everything you could ever be.
Sinking into the mattress, sitting by your hips, she admires the position you're in. You know what's stirring behind her eyes—I couldn't have planned this any better myself—she's always been greedy. But this is a new level of low.
But why does it make you feel so high? An ounce of her affection shocks your brain with dopamine. Fingers caressing your soft stomach and the skin stretched around your ribs. Violet smiles when your body twitches. Effortlessly, you're hers.
"You should watch the rest of it." She looks at you like you're the only one ever to exist. "I want to watch you—"
You half expect her to talk about the woman on the phone. However, she leaves the lone snide comment in the dust. Violet doesn't seem keen on wasting time when she has you here right in front of her. Sticky, lace panties and all. She's played her hand, and with keen eyes, you doubt there's little to stop her from seeing it through.
You may wish her to push you to unhinged limits, but your stern resolve remains. You despise her. A burning hatred shouldn't be able to be wished away with the finality of a craved touch. Fingers reimagined into a slithering snake, the skin changing colors with each blink.
Violet nearly hisses, "Watch me."
She finishes the sentence with her own hands slipping over the lace, not under in the way you want, but she lets her touch become second hand to your pulsating lips.
"O-Okay." You shudder out enough. The hardening resolve slips, she applies delicate pressure, gliding along your slit as if she's the one who created it.
Her touch morphs into small circles, swirling around your clit, your cum sticks to the fabric and seeps into your skin like warm honey. With her soothing touch, healing every ache mixing within you, you hit play, turning up to hear her this time, and your thighs shut around her hand.
"No, princess. Open." Violet commands with a purr, and you do as you’re told. "What do you like about it?"
She keeps pushing, softly, with a gentle hand, almost like Violet knows she has the power to break you. It's not shocking the position she's placed you in, the same position as she's in on the video, but I can't believe how easily you give in. Shattering every promise you made to yourself, a bat of her long eyelashes, and you melt into her skin.
"I like how pretty your pussy is, the soft-pink hair, how slick it is." You stop yourself, not willing to work your own body before she does. Can you at least make her work for it? Even if it's only a little?
"Yeah? What else?" Violet practically whines.
Fuck.
Distracted by having two versions of herself at once, you don't notice when Violet slips her fingers inside you, two at once, letting you adjust to her with small, shallow thrusts. With the intrusion, she's already smothering the control out of you with slender fingers. Each breath falls heavy, labored as you struggle to control yourself. Her body dips thoroughly onto the bed, toned thighs adorned in boxers, sitting on your own. Leaning over, you glance for a moment at her before she tilts your head back to the phone, allowing herself to caress your smooth jaw as she does.
"You look so pretty. Pretty tits, pretty pussy, pretty eyes—" They're your favorite part of her. All puppy-eyed, pleading for more with this distraught look in your eyes.
"You like my eyes?" Of all things you could say, that might have been the worst, the compliment eggs her on. A steady rhythm blinding your judgement as you clench around her fingers, crying out when her thumb makes a few swipes for your clit.
"Yeah." You can't say much else. Dumb words could fall off your lips, stupid, pretty words about her. Millions are filling your mind, and all of them would lift her ego, a violent burst through the ceiling.
But there's a murmur in your ear, telling you she's looking at you differently, and you'll fight like hell to believe it's nothing but a lie.
"I have a secret like you're girl on the phone." Violet stops, releasing your breasts from the restriction of the plush lace covering them, suckling on your nipples until she's satisfied. The groan you release is enough to let her release it for a moment. "Each time I make one of these films, I think about you. Wishing I could feel your weight on top of me. You fucking me. Or wishing it could be like this, fingers deep inside you, having you moan for me like you were born to do it."
"Violet—you can't—"
"I don't care about her. Whoever she is. We both know the only reason you came tonight was not because of the amateur dirty talk she fails at. It was because of me. I know you were thinking about all the things you want to do to me, all the different positions I can get you in, and how hard I'll make you come."
"It's too much." You cry out, a dismissal, but you're bucking into her hand like you’re bound by faith. Meeting each thrust with equally matched religion.
"You know what might be too much?" This will end you. "I think about you every time I fuck on film. So, when your little girlfriend wants to reach for what she believes is hers, remember that you'll always be mine."
Sevika and you aren’t much, but the fact it pisses her off sends you reeling. The words alone would be enough, more than enough, but then she's coming on screen.
You've never seen anything like it. Aphrodite blossoming into fruition. Her abs clench, her tits bouncing as she rides against the vibrator, warm-white liquid spills from her pink-bushed cunt. Is she sweet? Salty? A bit of both. A bit of everything. And a bit of nothing. The cries, and your name, teleports you into her touch, and Violet doesn't waste a moment.
Exactly as you expected, she fucks you through it. Teeth ripping you apart, pomengrane for flesh—Aphrodite possesses Violet and feasts on your soul. With her canines as sharp as knives, she still sinks with a delicate bite. Drawing blood to the surface, sucking and nibbling, aiming to bruise the skin. She'll know, even if she doesn't bite hard enough to leave a mark, she could have done it because it pleases her and you.
"Don't stop. Violet, you're so good. Don't—"
A prayer laced in her name, whispered in the dead of night, Violet clings to it as you fall apart. Her mouth latches onto your breast, letting her hooded eyes leak through long eyelashes and fondling your perked nipples with her tongue. Adoring the sensitive skin—she makes home of your body. Leaving a scathing, memorable mark.
You're no longer hypnotized by a version of her fucking yourself to an idea. You have been smothered between two versions of Violet Vanderson. Raw flesh needing to lavish you in the best ways she knows how. Is this real? Will she move if it ends too soon? Are your edges too sharp? Not holy enough for the wrath of her muse?
The last buck, parallel to a wild bull, breaks you into another version of you that you've yet to grow into. But your sense of self cracks with abandon, falling into her overly skilled hands, becoming a little bit more like her and so much less of you.
She doubles down into your pussy, ravaging in each clench. "Princess, next time, I'll be fucking you with the same vibrator. Will you be good to me and take every inch? Everything I have to offer, will you take it?"
Brainlessly, you nod. She's infected you, painted you in the deepest shade of permeance.
You want to reciprocate, give something back, but you can hardly coordinate your body, especially when she's so comfortable caressing every inch of your skin. When Violet feels like you've had enough, she sucks her fingers clean—every lingering taste coating, even dancing on her pink tongue.
And before she leaves, she does the last thing you expect.
Violet kisses you. Delicate and quiet. Kept in the four walls of your bedroom, she pulls and renews the soul she reaped.
Pulling her tender touch from the moon, Violet Vanderson is soft. There's no gnash of canines. There's only love. The sweetness of her pomengrante rips your flesh. Each seed makes a home on foreign soil. You are met with Aphrodite. And her softened teeth.
