Vox

Vox could never understand why you always considered yourself ugly. In his eyes, you were the most wonderful and special demon in all of hell.

He would give everything for you, he would bend down to worship the floor you walked on and he would break himself into pieces if you asked him to. Literally.

You had gone through a difficult time, Vox knew it, and he always supported you. Although now the consequences were summarized in insecurity for your body. You didn't like your scars, you hated seeing yourself in any mirror and you went outside as little as possible. Although Vox always found a way to make you feel better and help you.

"My god... you are so perfect"

He murmured against your skin. A few moments ago Vox had seen you see yourself in the mirror, your hands passing over your skin covered in scars of different sizes.

He didn't take long to take you in his arms and start worshiping you. He got down on his knees in front of you and his arms wrapped around your waist as he placed kisses on your belly. His claws gently caressed your back in a caress full of adoration. He murmured words of love against your skin.

Now you were on his lap, him sitting on the edge of the bed and your back against his chest while the mirror was in front of you. His hands caressed your waist and occasionally your stomach, his touch full of affection.

Vox kissed your shoulders, making sure to take care of every scar that ran down your arms. He pushed into you slowly while gasping every now and then. He raised his head and groaned in your ear, tightening his grip on your waist a little.

"I want you to see yourself in the mirror" He whispered, kissing the back of your neck while he himself also looked in the mirror.

"Look who's there, my love. The most pretty, beautiful and precious demon in hell. You shine like a thousand suns, sweetheart." He slurred his words, drunk with love, and punctuated his words with a thrust of his hips against you.

"I love you so much... every part of you, every inch" Vox gasped against your ear, a pitiful moan leaving his lips as he held you, thrusting inside you again.