I Could Tag Some Mfs But Imma Keep It Very Cute Very Demure 😭

❤️the love of my life

A Hawks appreciation post 💖💖💖

Megan the woman you are 🥰🥰🥰

theestallion: MISS FEBRUARY ♒️ HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME 🎂🍰💕

I fucking hate FedEx dude I HATE yall

Megan please give me a chance

Megan’s Instagram Update (July 12, 2024)

Pussy Drunk Thomas Hewitt - Drabble

Thomas Hewitt x FEM!Reader

Tags: established relationship, cunnilingus, forced orgasms, talk of bruises, wet and messy, squirting, dacryphilia, overstimulation

Word count: 1.1k

fucking obsessed with the idea of Thomas getting absolutely, down bad, pussy-drunk as soon as he gets a taste

like his virgin-ass being too afraid of hurting you to fuck you at first and getting on his knees for you. he gets a taste, kind of pulls back and licks his lips and you can see his pupils dilate and his eyes fucking glaze over and he just falls face first into your pussy

sloppy, wet, spit slick, hungry oral from that man. his teeth bump into you in all the right ways sometimes. one moment he's whimpering into you and the next he's grumbling and trying to get his tongue deeper and deeper into you to taste more

and it does not matter to him when you beg for him to slow down and how you can't cum anymore. because you keep dripping on his face and tongue and making wonderful noises and you just taste so fucking good, how could he stop??

his arms wrap around your thighs and he holds onto them hard and firm and keeps you pulled close to his face. you can feel that it's gonna bruise and you're going to cherish those bruises for days

he doesn't even notice how hard he's gripping you because he's trying to get all of his senses filled with you. he tastes, smells and feels nothing but you. the only thing his ears can focus on are your moans and whimpers. his hands massage your thighs periodically and when he opens his eyes it's just to look at your face, thrown back in pleasure. the only thing better is when you're looking down at him with tears in your eyes, still moaning for him

Tommy is completely drunk off your taste. he loves the feeling of your pussy on his tongue and he loves the little whining groan you let out when he sucks on your clit

now, when he keeps going and going and your hand in his hair trying to push him away finally falls to your side, he doesn't even realize what he's doing next. it's all out of instinct when his hands readjust so his arms stay wrapped around your thighs but his thumbs are spreading open your folds. that's when he really loses it

because he can get his tongue even deeper like that. he can bury it inside you and find the spot that makes you drip a little more and that makes you moan all broken and needy. once he finds it he abuses the fuck out of it. keeps licking over it, poking at it with his tongue and savoring every drop of you that spills into his mouth

and then. his holy grail. you grab his hair again and moan louder. you're sobbing and begging him to slow down because it feels different this time. he doesn't listen of course. all he knows is you're about to do that thing again where he can feel your pussy flutter and twitch and your thighs squeeze around him and your moans get all whimpery

he keeps going until your hips lift up into him. he stays attached to your pussy and keeps doing what he's doing, knowing he can't stop. needs to keep going to get you to do that thing

suddenly you gasp and go completely quiet. then you moan so loud it's almost a scream. a sobbing sort of thing that's absolutely gorgeous to him. on top of that your hips start wildly shaking along with your legs and your pleasure starts gushing out of you

Tommy moans into your juices and gets closer if that's even possible at that point. he shakes his head so he rubs over your clit side to side while he keeps his tongue abusing that spot inside you. and fuck does he get drenched. he swallows down as much as he can of you and whimpers into it. anything he can't get, drips down his face and drenches his shirt and lap

once you come down you realize he's still going and you can't handle it anymore. you start crying more and weakly kicking your legs out which finally makes Tommy look up. he sees your devastated face and while he thinks the sweat mixed with tears and drool, as well as the tortured pleasure in your eyes is a heavenly sight, he listens to your weak pleas

he finally pulls away and you sigh in relief. Tommy stays away from your pussy (as much as he hates it) and spends his time licking your thighs clean. just a minute away from your pussy makes him whimper and look up at you pleadingly. your legs are still shaking and you shake your head at him

so Tommy whines and starts biting your thighs instead, getting closer and closer to your pussy until he's mouthing right next to it. you're shaking and sweating and still losing a coupe tears when he licks flat over your clit once. then your back arches and you gasp, trying not to make too loud a noise

you know if you moan he's gonna start again and you think he might actually kill you that time. he softly licks over your clit again, wraps his lips around it and you slap a hand over your mouth. but Tommy sees your lack of noise as a sign to keep going and starts sucking on your clit. when his teeth graze over it your hand whips away from your mouth to his hair and you yell out a moan that ends with a broken whine

immediately you know you're in for it. Tommy moans happily and grabs your thighs hard once more. he dives into you again and gets back to his sloppy, needy and enthusiastic pace without hesitation. all you can do is moan, whimper and whine as Tommy makes you see stars over and over again

he's obsessed with making you squirt on his face and listening to your whimpers as he tastes you. he loves the feeling of your heartbeat in your clit, pounding against his tongue

sometimes you can't get him off of your pussy until he's had at least a couple hours of his way with you. he's obsessed with your pussy and a single taste makes him entirely lose his mind. he'd do anything to fall to his knees in front of you

he would spend forever between your thighs if it was up to him

your pussy is his paradise and his salvation. every gush of your juices is a baptism of wonder. you are his goddess and he worships you at every turn

Consider leaving a comment or reblog along with your like, they're always lovely to see. Eitherway, thank you for reading! <3

I love a man who YEARNS 😫

Hey I just wanted to say I'm OBSESSED WITH chubby servant reader x knight 😭🙏 I honestly love anything you write with them

As much as I wanna be a horny pervert, I kinda want some fluff 😭 (I'm sure there are enough horny perverts in the ask to make up for this 💀)

One of the reasons I LOVE this series is the way they YEARN for each other, especially the knight 💜

Can I ask for some more pre-relationship shenanigans?

Ahhhh thank you thank you, i have become obsessed with them!! And your ask gives me the perfect opportunity to share his name!!

"How was the knighting yesterday?"

"Oh, quite nice. The ladies looked so lovely in their dresses. And the new knights are quite handsome." She looks at you with a smile. "And of course the food was magnificant."

"You flatter me, Cathy," you say, smiling back at her, going back to kneeding your loaf.

"I heard there was a man who was knighted that was especially handsome. Pray tell, is it true?"

"Ah, to some he is. He made the princess giggle when he kissed her hand." The women coo and lean closer to the speaker. "He was quite handsome indeed. Perhaps his jaw is sharper than his sword." The women fall into a fit of giggles but continue their work.

"Do you know his name?"

"Why? So you can try to seduce him?" The woman denies it but is blushing furiously, shaking her hands.

"Oh, but I'm curious, Cathy! Please, tell us his name so we may know who we are speaking of."

"Fair, fair." She brings her hands to her chest, looking off into the distance, thinking. "His name... oh, it was... Adam... Adam... Fischer! Adam Fischer, that is who he was."

He sees you by accident at first.

He was ordered to guard this section of the grounds tonight, and he takes his time to admire his new home in detail. The gardens here are lovely, vast and expanse.

He sees open windows, and the flickering of a fire. He decides to investigate.

When he approaches, he is able to see into the kitchen. He sees you sitting by the fire, your back to him, bonnet discarded and hair loose. You are writing something fervently, too enraptured by your words to notice that he is right there, watching you.

You put down your pencil and stretch upwards, moaning softly at the action. He stares at you, your free hair, the curve of your bodice. He has not seen your face, but he decides you are beautiful.

You rise from the chair and he panics, tiptoeing quickly to a nearby tree and hiding his frame, still watching. You approach the windows, leaning forward and closing your eyes, soaking in the moonlight. He sees the way it makes your skin glow, and his heart flutters.

You close the windows one by one. He waits, then moves back toward the kitchen window, to see if he can catch a glimpse of you again.

By the time he reaches the window, the fire is out.

The next time he sees you, there is more purpose behind it.

He has returned from training on the outer walls. He is tired, and so is his horse, but the two return together to the stables.

To his surprise, you are there.

He recognizes you from a distance as he dismounts his horse. You are speaking with the young stable boys, holding a basket over your arm.

He approaches, curious.

"What is one and one?"

"Two!" cheers one of the boys.

"Very good!" You hand him an apple from your basket. "Now, what is two and two?"

"F-Four!" chimes in another. You hand him an apple, smiling.

"And four with four?" The boys quiet, glancing at each other. One of them lifts his fingers slowly, staring at them.

"Sev... eight?" he asks, looking up at you. You clap with joy.

"Yes, yes! Very good, my love." You give an apple, which he takes happily. "Very good, my boys, very good!"

"I do not believe these are children, my lady."

You jolt, looking up at him. He towers over you, as he does with many others, but for some reason seeing you look up at him gives him a different feeling.

"I, um... no, sir, they are not mine."

"But you feed them and teach them numbers?"

"I... uh..."

"You are not in trouble, my lady. I am merely asking."

"I... yes, I do."

He hums. His squire approaches, takes his horse from him before walking away again. He raises his hand towards you.

"May I?"

You stare at his hand, then at your apples.

"I... what is... what is three fortnights?"

He stares at you, thinking you are joking. When you don't give him the apple, he thinks.

"It's... eight, two... forty two nights, my lady."

You blink. A smile creeps up on your face, and he does not think he has ever seen anything so lovely.

"Very good, sir."

You give the apple to his outstretched hand. He takes it, briefly admiring how small and soft your hands look compared to his. You clear your throat, making him look at you.

"I-I must be on my way, children. I have dinner to prepare. Now, what do you say?"

"Thank you lady Y/N!" they cheer in unison, making your smile widen.

"Very good." You turn to him and briefly curtsy before scurrying off to what he assumes is the kitchen.

He savors the apple after dinner. It is sweet, and he thinks only of you as he bites into it.

"What do you think of lady Y/N?" he asks on the next expedition. His captain glances at him, then back to the trail.

"She is a fine lady. She gives sweet things to the younglings and teaches them to write. Why do you speak of her?"

"I was merely curious," he lies.

"She is cursed!" one of the younger men announces, riding his steed closer. "She seduced a man before he went to battle, and then he died. She should not be messed with."

"Wha—"

"She is not a witch, Michael," another man chimes in. "They were in love. They were to marry, but the war started before they could wed. Twas merely battle that made him lose his life, not witchcraft."

"Regardless," Michael moves his horse closer to Adam, "you should steer clear of her. Besides," he gives Adam a knowing smile, "I heard the princess is very fond of you. Why not pursue her?"

"I have no interest in that brat." The men of the party 'oo' in shock.

"You should not speak of the princess in such a way, Sir Adam! She is a fine woman, who reads and studies art. You don't meet many women like that nowadays."

"You would, Sir Michael," he says, looking at the younger man, "if you knew where to look."

He kicks his horse and moves past the rest of the party, trying to clear his head.

When they reach a town, they find a tavern. They eat and drink and play silly games when a woman in the corner of the room catches their eye. She claims to be a witch. She has a ball of glass or crystal before her, urging them forward. The other soldiers go first, paying a gold coin to hear their fortune.

"Come, Sir Adam, have your fortune read."

"I do not wish to waste my gold on childish games."

"Well, then I shall give you a coin."

He is pushed towards the table, into the chair before the cloaked woman. She takes the coin from Michael, and smiles.

"Think of what you want most, and it shall appear to me here." She motions towards the clear ball. He sighs, sitting back and thinking. The ball becomes clouded, most likely due to a party trick, and she leans in close.

"I see..." She cocks her head, furrowing her brow. "I... I see..."

"Well? What do you see, woman?"

"I... my lord, I am sorry, but... are you perhaps hungry?"

"What?" The men crowd the table, trying to see into the ball. "What do you see?"

"I... I see a loaf of bread, sir."

Adam gawks, leaning closer.

"You... you see what?"

"Bread, sir."

"What kind?"

"I-I do not know, sir. Tis merely there, with a design."

"Can you draw it for me?"

She pauses.

"For another coin, I can."

He scurries to give her a coin, watching her take a pencil and paper and draw the design from the crystal ball. When she is done, he takes it, staring at the design, memorizing it, still thinking of you.

He carries it the entire expedition. Some of the men tease him for holding so tightly to a drawing of bread, but he does not care. Every night he stares at it, memorizing each line like scripture. He thinks of you all the while, even as he stuffs the drawing in his pocket and takes out his cock.

When the party returns from the journey, he rushes to the kitchen. If it is truly fate, the bread in the kitchen will have a score just like the one on his paper.

When he arrives, the bread is being pulled from the ovens. You are not there, much to his dismay, but he checks each loaf of bread regardless. When he finds that none of them look like the picture at all, his shoulders sag, the paper falling from his hand to the floor.

The other knights do not ask what happened when he returns. They can see the answer from his face alone.

He is still glum by morning, not wanting to get out of bed, not wanting to go to the dining hall to eat. But he must continue, despite everything.

The knights are giving him knowing looks when he finally arrives to the hall. They smile, raise their brows, and he squints in confusion. He finds his seat, reaching for the bread, although he's not sure he can stomach it.

The bread.

He bolts upright, grabbing the load before another soldier can grab it to cut. The design, it is exactly what the drawing showed, the drawing he memorized so clearly over so many nights.

The knights laugh as he runs from the dining hall, carrying the loaf of bread.

When he reaches the kitchen, he is breathless. The ladies working stop, stare at him, confused and perhaps frightened.

"Is something wrong, my lord?" one of the women asks, making you look up and stare at him. He stares back, panting.

"Who..." He inhales deep, standing straighter. "Who scored the bread?"

The ladies instinctively look at you. You bring your hands to your chest.

"D-Did I offend you, sir?"

"No, no, I..." He takes a step forward, holding the bread so hard that it cracks. "How did you come up with the design?"

"I... I found a drawing, sir." You reach into your pocket and unfold the paper he dropped, placing it on the table. "I thought it was quite lovely. I thought the queen would enjoy it, s-so I practiced on the loaves for the rest of the castle."

He huffs, his lips curling. You swallow, glancing at the other women, in search of help, but they stay silent.

"I-I am sorry if you do not like it, sir. I-I know that it is far too... delicate for the knights." You reach for the loaf in his hand. "I shall bring you a normal, fresh loaf in a moment."

"No!" The women in the room jolt at his booming voice. He brings the bread loaf to his chest, shaking his head. "No, I... I do not wish for another loaf. I shall have this one, and nothing more."

The silence in the room is overwhelming. He glances around the others' faces before falling back to yours. He bows and leaves.

He returns to the dining hall. He eats nothing but the loaf he had taken. The knights chuckle about it for the rest of the day, but he does not care. All he can think of is you.

I’m genuinely so tired of being human in this lifetime

I love when people write Vox pathetic ❤️

Boomerang (part 4)

Vox x Female!Ex!Overlord!Reader

Summary: Vox is determined to win you over, no matter what. You just want your damn peace back.

Warnings: some mature themes (mention of sexual arousal)

<— Part 3 Chapter Index

Vox gripped the bathroom counter, staring at himself in the LED outlined mirror. "You've still got it," he said to himself firmly, lifting a clawed finger to point at his reflection. "Just be cool, man."

He relaxed his face into his signature grin, leaning an elbow against the counter. "Hey Y/n, how's everything? I was wondering if you wanted to go for coffee sometime?" He threw in a wink for good measure.

A second of silence passed before he shuddered violently, breaking composure. "Ugh, no, no. Focus, man. Okay," he repositioned himself, shoving his hands nonchalantly in his pockets. He cleared his throat, mustering up his best confident, devil-may-care expression. "Doll, what do you say we get out of here tonight, yeah? Just say the word and I'll get us a private room at your favorite restaurant."

His smile twitched. Shit. That wouldn’t work on you either.

This was ridiculous. He started trends on a whim, charmed the masses to hang off of his every word, and yet—here he was, rehearsing in front of a bathroom mirror like a prepubescent boy with a crush. And failing miserably too.

He shook his head to clear it, hands grasping at the sides of his monitor so tightly it displaced the pixels on his screen. "Think Vox, what did you do to make her like you the first time?"

But if he was being completely honest, it was actually you who made all of the first moves. You who captured his attention like a vice. You who reeled him in, hook, line and sinker. There was no grand courtship on his part. In fact, he couldn't even remember the exact moment he had started to fall for you. It was all so easy, natural, seamless. He didn't have to do anything except for be himself.

He pursed his lips, turning back to the mirror warily. And—whatever, fine, fuck it. Not like anyone could see him debase himself like this anyway.

Vox sighed, his smile dropping like an overused mask. The desperation and vulnerability that he hated so much creeped back into his eyes, making him tense.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm such a damn idiot and—I just..." he trailed off, before groaning, dropping his head in his hands. "Fuck, this is pathetic."

What was he doing? Wallowing in self pity like some lovesick loser? For fuck's sake, he wasn't just some spineless bottom feeder, he was Vox. CEO of Pride's largest conglomerate. People would kill to be in his position.

A shaky grin forced itself back on his face as he lifted his head. Fuck, enough of this. Nothing was going to get done if he just sat here and twiddled his thumbs all day. It was time to make a move.

With his mental armor back in place, he marched to your room like a man on a mission. He may or may not have sent a drone on your tail to find it, since everyone else in this damned hotel seemed hellbent on pretending that they had short term memory loss when he asked. It was still a prototype, unreleased to the public. A camera the size of an ant, for incognito purposes of course.

When he finally reached your door, he pasted a confident, charming smile on his face. One that he knew used to fluster you once upon a time.

"Just act natural," he chided himself quietly, taking a deep breath before knocking on your door.

There was a moment of silence, before some shuffling was heard, and then the handle was turned.

Vox froze as you opened the door, dressed in baggy sweats with your hair in a disarray. Your shirt had ridden to the side at some point, and the rumpled neckline was exposing the enticing dip of your collarbone. He felt his mouth go dry.

And suddenly it struck him how much he missed you. God, he'd missed you. Your comforting presence, your lively humor, even the small things like waking up next to you or seeing your toothbrush next to his in the bathroom. And fuck, it hurt to have you just out of reach.

Your pretty mouth pulled down into a frown when you saw him, body language changing from relaxed to guarded in an instant.

Vox forced himself out of his trance, clearing his throat. This was his moment to shine. He'd practiced for this.

"Hey—" he started cheerfully, before the door was promptly shut in his face.

Vox blinked stupidly, standing in front of your room in shocked silence. Did—did you just—?

Frowning, he raised a hand to knock again. "Y/n?" He called out in confusion.

"Go away, asshole," your muffled voice came from somewhere on the other side of the door. "I don't want to talk to you."

"But—"

"I said beat it," you growled, before a glowing barrier materialized outside of your door. Fuck, if he touched that he knew he wouldn't stop bugging until tomorrow morning.

"Fine," he hissed under his breath, turning and storming away. So that was how you wanted to play it, huh? Fine, joke’s on you. He liked a challenge.

On the way back to his room though, he felt a familiar, pleasant tightness between his legs. Vox froze, slowly looking down at the noticeable tent in his pants in horror.

"Oh, come on."

****

The next few days could only be described as an intensely aggressive game of cat and mouse. He tailed your ass like a damn police dog, determined to get even a moment alone with you—but to his absolute irritation, you kept coming up with increasingly ridiculous ways to blow him off.

He invited you to take a walk with him after dinner? You suddenly developed a spontaneous stomach bug and now you were bedridden. He held a door open for you? You pushed open the other side of the double doors and maintained unimpressed eye contact with him the entire time. He couldn't even follow you with his micro-camera anymore, because you'd promptly discovered it and stabbed it to his bedroom door with a needle as a violent warning.

Nothing was going according to plan and he was growing more frustrated by the minute. What was the point of coming here if he saw you just as often as if he had stayed in his tower?

"How am I supposed to convince her to come back," his eye twitched, one night on a rant-filled phone call with Velvette. "If I can't fucking talk to her?"

Velvette looked at him like he was a dried piss stain on the wall. "Vox, do I look like I give a singular fuck about your dumpster fire of a love life?"

Ah yes, such encouraging commentary as always. Really, he didn't even know why he bothered to call if his abused ego was just going to get attacked while it was already rolling around in a fetal position.

"You're still on the call with me," he said pointedly.

Velvette rolled her eyes, scrunching her nose up at him in irritation. "Fine, since you're so pathetic, I guess I could spare some charity," she ignored his scoff, continuing without a hitch. "You need to fucking lay off, stop trying so damn hard to get her attention. It’s giving desperate and creepy."

"I'm not—"

"Yes you are," Velvette glared. "Listen. If you don't want to end up permanently dumped, you need to compromise. Stop acting on your emotions like a toddler, you can't fucking afford that right now. And neither can we," she grumbled the last part.

Vox dug his claws into the bedding he was lying on, tearing up the soft material. The thought of giving up on you physically pained him, but...this wouldn't really be giving up, right? Velvette was suggesting a temporary ceasefire, a way to make you let your guard down, which might not be such a bad idea. It was more like...a strategic redirection of his efforts. Something that would benefit him in the long run.

He needed to build up the trust you'd lost in him. Slowly, bit by bit, until you accepted his feelings again.

The gravity of the situation was daunting. Something told him that this was his last chance, that if he fucked up one more time, you really would be gone for good.

He couldn't afford to lose you like that. It would fucking break him.

A loud crash sounded in the background on the other line, jolting him out of his thoughts.

Velvette's face drew into an aggravated sneer as she turned around. "For fuck's sake. What the fuck is it no—"

The line went dark, cutting off the call.

Vox sighed, throwing his phone blindly somewhere on the bed as he leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

Sleep evaded him that night, but in its place he started to devise a new strategy. Velvette was right, if he kept pushing, he would only drive you away. It was time to change his approach, and as much as he hated to admit it, it was...time to put his pride on the backburner.

Because he could live without his pride, but fuck—he didn't even want to think about what an eternity without you would be like. Besides, it was only until all of this was over and you came back home. He just...had to be patient.

****

After taking a few days to regroup, Vox was now more than ready to put his plan into action.

He’d rehearsed an embarrassing amount of times in the bathroom mirror, popped a breath mint, chugged an energy drink, and slapped himself in the face for good measure. Not necessarily in that order.

Now, in the late hours of the morning, he waited patiently for everyone to filter out before making his move, quietly cornering you in the kitchen.

You were sitting in the far corner, hunched over a steaming mug just like he knew you would be. It was something you'd been doing since he first met you, always reserving twenty minutes after breakfast to enjoy a second cup. He didn't even need to look at the contents to know that there was only a single cream, but enough sugar to make an elephant go into cardiac arrest.

That precious information would forever be saved to his hard drive.

For a long moment, he just stood there like a certified creep, admiring the familiar scene with painful longing. You hadn't noticed him yet, so your expression was still the vision of perfect bliss, eyes closed with a slight uptick to the corner of your mouth. And suddenly, he wasn't in this shitty hotel anymore. The retro kitchen transformed into a sleek modern design, the white walls melting to light blue. It was one of the few lazy mornings both of you were able to spend together, and—

"What do you think you're doing?" Your irritated voice shattered his fantasy like a pane of rose-tinted glass.

"Ah, Y/n!" His grin slotted back into place like a puzzle piece. Fuck, he hadn't even said a proper sentence to you, and you were already looking at him like he was a piece of shit someone forgot to flush down a public toilet. He had to act fast or you'd walk out again. "Funny running into you like this," he chuckled, hiding his fidgeting hands behind his back. Electricity crackled between them. "Actually, I was wondering if—"

"No," you said sharply, cutting him off.

"I—What?" His grin twitched.

"Whatever it is that you're going to say, no," you snapped, turning your back to him for emphasis.

Vox went silent for a moment. Tone it down, he repeated in his head. Stick to the plan.

"Look," he started, softening his tone. "I realize that I haven't exactly been," he grimaced. "Fair to you."

You laughed bitterly. "Understatement of the decade, asshole."

"I'm sorry," he sighed, watching carefully as your shoulders tensed in surprise. "I'll stop, if that's what you want. I won't ask you out anymore or bother you with stupid, meaningless shit."

"But?" You said quietly.

"But I still want to be...friends with you," the word left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he swallowed it with a smile.

He chanced a quick glance at your face, and—well you looked like you didn't really buy it, but at least you didn't look like you wanted to kill him and dispose of his body in a ditch anymore.

"Alright," you said, after a long period of skeptical silence, your eyes unreadable. "I’ll hold you to it, then."

He closed his eyes. "Please, just consider—" he froze, processing your words.

You said yes? Fuck, you said yes!

He cleared his throat. "I mean, yeah, absolutely. Totally. Makes sense."

He caught the briefest flash of amusement in your eyes, before you turned to bring your empty mug to the sink.

"So, uh," he started giddily. Fuck rein it in man, slow down. "What are you doing later?"

“I’m busy today,” you shut him down immediately, making him deflate at your sharp tone. Then you paused for a second, seeming to contemplate something. “Well actually,” you said lightly, making him perk up again. “There is something you can join me for, but it’s a little…out of your depth.”

“Oh really? Try me,” he smirked confidently. As if anything would stop him from finally spending time with you today.

A vindictive spark suddenly flared in your eyes, making him hesitate. "Group therapy and trust exercises," you said smugly, and a jumble of odd noises quickly glitched from his head, his screen flashing briefly to show a giant, red exclamation point. "But since you're too busy with that billion dollar company and all, I thought you wouldn't be interested," you smiled sweetly.

Oh. You conniving little shit. You had him cornered.

Looks like he wasn’t the only one doing his homework.

“How f-f-fun,” he forced out, the words literally tasting like ash on his tongue.

“It is,” you nodded genuinely, making him double take. “I actually quite enjoy it.”

Vox pressed his lips together into a fine line, dread steadily welling in his chest as he realized that yes, you were actually serious. Sweet fuck.

For a second, Vox contemplated making a strategic retreat and calling it a day. He eyed the door behind him longingly.

But no, he couldn’t afford to back down from your little game just yet. If this was how you wanted to raise the stakes, fine. Bring it on.

Before he could lose his nerve, Vox mustered up a pained smile. "Actually," he said, making you raise a brow. "I'd like to give it a shot."

"Really?" You said incredulously.

"Yeah?" His grin twitched. "Why not?"

****

<— Part 3 Chapter Index

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