Vox

God, you were just perfect in Vox's eyes.

The way you swayed your hips, the way your hands moved, the way you sang and filled the entire building with your voice-Vox loved it. He loved every second of it, from every eye wink to just your voice.

Seeing you at one of your concerts, Vox knew he had to try to get some form of attention from you. He wanted you to notice him, talk to him, look at him, touch him. He just wanted you.

He wanted your hands around his throat, you body on top of his. He wanted to know what your touch felt like, to know how you handled yourself. He wanted to know what your neck tasted like, where your sensitive spot were and what made your skin crawl.

Your concert ended with one of your more popular songs, leaving your, pretty large, crowd screaming and reaching their hands out to you as you said your goodbyes and walked off stage. Vox knew it was his chance, and he didn't waste any time to disappear into a camera and come out of the camera outside your dressing room.

He waited for the coast to be clear-no bodyguards or tech crew-before opening your dressing room door. He took one last look around the hallway, before closing the door and turning around, wanting to lay his eyes on you up close.