#he's ok his halo is just being consumed by the death angel of torture it's fine

[kelgrid]

A Dark Sun. All-Encompassing.

[hollandroos]

Heaven & Hell | Pt.1

King Of Hell!Tom X Fallen Angel!Reader

Summary: Who would’ve assumed that heavens little angel was the king of hells soulmate? 

Words: 4.1k (That’s an extra 2k words added in the edit ok)

Warnings: Brief mentions of abuse, vulnerable reader.

Collaboration with another author but she deleted, so I took to editing it and changing a few concepts so bare with me!  | THIS CHAPTER WAS EDITED AND REPOSTED ON  07/05/2019

"The prophecy states that when the king lays eyes on his gift, he'll know straight away. He'll feel almost overwhelming power flood his veins – coursing through every inch of his then crumbling form. She'll be pure, good and bring him to his full potential."

You were falling for what felt like forever. Everything was cold, then it was hot-, so goddamn hot and you swore that if it got any hotter you'd end up with third-degree burns and that was just the last thing you needed right now, wounds to go on top of wounds. Heaven was always warm enough to walk around in one of those ugly sundresses but never anything less, never cooling down or heating up in all of your time in the clouds but now you could practically feel flames on every inch of your flesh. It burned and you wanted it to stop– in fact you wanted everything to stop.

Out of all the places, you had to slip into Hell.

Damn hell where they plucked angels wings and questioned them to the point of insanity. Where your mouth was expected to run dry and if you were desperate enough, you’d rely on your own sweat for hydration. It sounded revolting. You could've landed anywhere on Earth, even the coldest place on that planet would've been better than this– at least from what you'd been told. From what you'd been made to believe.

You would’ve preferred to die by hypothermia instead of at the hands of a demon. Shivering, relying on blistered and split wings for warmth sounded better then being tormented for weeks, maybe months, some would assume centuries.

It was your own fault for slipping out of Heaven anyway. Heaven was perfect, streets lined with small, white houses with a bed and food and even the simplest of gardens to compliment the design. People always said hello when they ran past, bright smiles adorning their faces. it all looked perfect. But no one said hello to you, not a single person ever waved. Instead, insults were hurld at you.

Cruel, venemous words that you'd think would make angels grimace but not these angels.  

You were the weakling, the ugly duckling-, though you weren't ugly at all, in fact, you were glowing, radiant and on Earth, you'd receive compliment after compliment when you wandered the streets against the rules. But heaven wasn't fair, it was torturous and the angels segregated anyone that had even the simplest deficiency which was rare but existed even in a place deemed to be as perfect as Heaven. Yours happened to be the black feathers that decorated the white, as well as the fact that you were the only angel in history to be born without a halo. Halos signified an angels purity, proved their worth but you-, you were so much less. A disgrace one may say but you had to ask yourself if they were just scared of you.

You struggle to get the chains off of your wings, the same ones that kept them hidden from all of the other angels. But they wouldn't budge, refraining you from stretching them out. Surely the drop wasn't going to be that long, any second now you were sure you'd hit the ground, blood and guts would stain the rocks and you'd be nothing more than a memory if the angels chose to remember you that was.

You wondered if they’d have a funeral for you, choose to remember you through whatever positive memories they had gained over the last however many centuries. If there’d be good food and dancing– no, you were fooling yourself. Maybe it was the fall going to your head before you’d even hit the ground. You wanted to laugh.

You rip and tug until your fingers were covered in a crimson that at this point, could only be coming from your wings but you continue prying at the metal chains until they release and your wings were free. It was like breathing fresh air for the first time or taking a sip of water after being out in the sun for days. They were sore after being confined for so long, the feathers rough and dry as they rubbed against your back but you willed them to spread, to breath for the first time in weeks-, maybe even months. The wind was hitting your body making you spin and if it wasn't for your hair being tied back you wouldn't have been able to see.

But if you didn't get them to work soon-, if they didn't start fluttering and working their magic then you were as good as dead and as the ground came into view your heart rate picked up and you desperately tried to remember how to to use them, but nothing seemed to work. If only you’d been taught how to use them in the first place.

Your breathing gets caught in your throat, arms instinctively going over your face as the ground was getting closer, your eyes squeezed shut so tight that you almost missed your wings making their way around your body, holding you in a caterpillar type form and when you hit the ground, your body was safe, no damage done but your wings, that was a whole other story.

They ached, burned and throbbed. Dry and fresh blood made it's way down your left wing and onto your dirt covered palms and you were almost too afraid to look at the damage, almost positive they'd be too mangled to repair.

The pain was too unreal, unlike anything else and the last thing you remembered was red, lots of red before your head slipped back and darkness consumed you.

-

There was a quick knock at the door, three heavy thumps echoing throughout the room making Toms' headache even worse than it already was and he groans loudly, rolling onto his side. Even that move, just rolling onto his back-, it made him feel utterly useless. He was a king for christ sake– the king of hell!

And now he couldn't even role over without feeling death eating away at his corpse.

The king was weak, growing weaker as the days went by and no one could figure out why. No healer in the underworld could work out exactly why their king was growing grey, nor why he could no longer step out of his own bed or lift the soup spoon past his own lips. His large, raven wings were dropping and the ends were turning an ugly grey. Any sign of his strength was slowly disappearing. It was as if he was burning out and people were catching on. He didn’t even want to begin to think about what would happen in Heaven was to find out about his illness so he did everything in his power to hold them off, while keeping his defences strong.

Harrison stares down at his friend, a look of concern on his features. This wasn't his friend-, this was merely a corpse. Nothing more. This wasn't the same man that'd ruled over the underworld for centuries, acted nothing less then ruthless and tough in front of his people whilst been a sucker for a joke or two behind closed doors.

Two men walk in, red and deep blue outfits hugging strong forms and dead straight facial expressions as they eye their dying king which to many would be a sign of disrespect, just to look their king in the eyes like they were but not two men as high up as they were. They wore no trace of emotion. Just how Tom liked it.

Emotion made his stomach turn.

"We found an angel, my king. Female, around twenty-one in human years. Underworld years unknown."

Tom coughs, not feeling much-, but a small trace of energy makes its' way through his bones, crawling up his body sickeningly slowly. It was chilling, as if his power were coming back slowly, but surely. Maybe.

Many feared the king-, well in the past at least. Now they stared at him with pity, some with pleasure as he slowly decayed until soon enough he’d be as dead as the souls that were deemed to spend eternity in the pits. Tom was once a powerful being, seemingly holding the world in his hands but now he was crumbling.

"Get rid of her." His voice was hoarse, eyes fluttering shut. That wasn't the usual routine. The angels would need to be questioned, prove their loyalty to the underworld and in some cases, he'd pluck their feathers which was an awfully painful experience. But Tom felt that he had no time for wandering beings anymore. As the days drew thin he only grew more and more impatient.

"Sir, we-, we can't."

Tom didn't like it when people spoke back. He was the king, after all, the king of hell at that and while he was weakening, he wasn't dead yet. He still had enough power to take the two of them out, have them screaming for mercy. Begrudgingly, they take a step back upon feeling his rage and their faces fall for a second from rockhard, emotionless and stone cold to scared for their existence.

The dark walls barely illuminate the guards fear, of both the man sitting in front of them and the girl that had turned up in their realm. He was growing stronger, life returning bit by bit and it felt strange.

With little energy that he seemed to mistake for anger, Tom sat up in the bed, silk black sheets pooling around his waist. He could feel it, running through his veins and down his spine.

"Did you not hear me? Just get rid of her! Do what you have to do." He commands forcefully. Tessa growls, her ears pricking up.

The second guard speaks up, taking another step inside the room and they screw their nose up as they intake the smell. It was grim. "We can’t do that, at least not us anyway. We’re not– we’re not powerful enough.” He takes a breath that he very much expected to be his last. “She burnt Jacob, he’s in the med bay right now getting looked at– or at least we told him to go. It was deep.”

"She did that to him?" Tom was confused. Fire was something that could be wielded only by the king himself, and a few other demons such as his right-hand man, Harrison. He'd never heard of a girl that could hold the flames and he was instantly intrigued, as well as slightly concerned that this could’ve been a trap.

"Yes, Sir. He tried to pull her up and when he made contact with her hand, she burnt him. Third-degree, sir." The man refuses to look Tom in the eyes. Fearing the god just as much as everybody else.

"That's impossible," Tom whispers, his raven wings coming to life for a moment. They flutter back and forth, something they hadn't done for weeks now. One of the guards gulp and Tom resists the urge to laugh. To cackle.

"I can assure you, it's possible. Chris and Mark were trying to obtain her last I saw but they were struggling."

"Who else did you leave there?" Tom boomed, ignoring the burning in his throat.

"Harry's there too, even your father, sir. They were the ones that told us to come and collect you."

Harrison furrows his brows, standing up. "I'll check it out."

But something was tugging at Toms' chest, telling him to go despite the fact that moments ago he could hardly roll over. Nimble fingers pull the covers back and his wings only seem to grow in size until the height is threatening. Even his guards have to resist cowering back in fear at the sight.

"I'm coming," Tom demands. The covers had been providing him heat because even in the very depths of what the mortals would call hell, he struggled to find warmth around the endless flames. What once bought him warmth had only brought him sniffles and sneezes lately.

Harrison watches wearily as his king–, his best friend that only two days ago, couldn't even get out of bed, clambered onto his own two feet. At least his wings were up again-, that was good, and the colour was returning, fading from a sickening grey to the audacious black.

It was as if something had happened. Someone had snapped their fingers or battered an eye and Tom was showing signs of recovery in moments and it worried his friend to no ends because seconds before the guards came in, they’d been discussing what would happen if the king moved on. Maybe one last burst of energy, he didn't want to get his hopes up.

Harrison grabs Toms arm when he stumbles back. "You're not well enough. Regain your strength first and let me handle her."

Tom practically rips his arm out of Harrison's grasp. Sick of feeling weak, incapable or simply stepping out of bed.

"Don't tell me what to do!" When the men both lower their heads, Tom lowers his voice. "She can create fire with her bare fingers, Haz. Something that only you and I can do because we’re gods. Let me check this out."

"Tom-,"

Tom grips Harrison's arm, not enough to hurt the boy but enough to tell him that he had this. His eyes flash a wicked black.

"This is the best I've felt in days, Harrison. Let me go. It doesn’t – something feels weird about this.”

So he did. Tom threw on his gear as best he could with tingling hands before following men out and down the corridor, deep, blood red walls illuminating his face as well as the fire that fizzled on either side of the walkway. The fluorescent light drew out all of the Kings key features even in the dark. With every step, the king felt power wash over him and soon enough, he was able to release his deathly grip on Harrison's arm and pop his wings into a defensive stance. One that would have the humans on their knees.

-

You struggle, inching back further away from the men until your back hit what could only be a rock. With sweat (maybe blood) sticking to your brow, hands shaky and sore-, you were sure grazes coated them, you speak with a shaky voice as smokey air fills your lungs. It was nothing like heaven, that was for sure and even your eyes needed to adjust to the change in setting.

"Where am I?”

Demons. You were surrounded by demons with knives that could probably end your existence in only seconds and your heart was now practically beating out of your chest, hand shaky as you gripped a stone, nails digging into your palms. You had fallen from one death trap to the next in only an hour and while you’d feared you’d been close to death before, this was unlike anything else. It was staring you right in the face, teasing you and you were willing to just get it over with. Begging for your life seemed useless.

"You're in hell, sugar."

The guard you touched earlier glared at you, with a now bandaged hand. His eyes deep, bloody red. He held his hand tightly as he growled and seemingly cowered away from you but didn’t allow the bitterness in his voice to cease. The other guards get closer to you as you sat back in fear. Before you could stop one of them, their rough hand grabbed your wrist tightly. If you touched them, they would get burned. They restricted you, another demon taking a hold of your other wrist, forcing you up and against the wall and all you can think is ‘help.’

You wince in pain as your back hit the uneven rock behind you. One of the guards snarl as you struggle against them, hands once again feeling red hot-, though you didn't know why. From a distance Tom hears a voice in his head that isn’t his own– it’s struggled and dry and he shakes his head violently, ridding of the thoughts.

"You can possess fire but you look so fucking weak." The man glares at you. "Not even worth it."

You struggle, warm tears rolling down your cheeks mixing with the sticky, crimson red blood. Daring to take in a heavy breath you're overcome with the smell. It was like roasting marshmallows in the middle of winter over an open fire to the point where the marshmallow itself begins to fall apart and the gentle, sickly pink can only then be seen between charcoal cracks.

"Give me a knife." One of the other demons growls, grabbing a knife from one of his friends and moved closer to you. He held it close to your neck and you let out a whimper at the feeling. You take a breath, almost gasping at a newer feeling that moves throughout your body. It felt strange...nice but you didn't know the feeling. It grew closer and closer and you let out a breath, feeling weaker as it did.

Tom's wings flutter as he walks down the dimly lit hallway. Harrison watches him carefully as if he'd suddenly drop to the floor, but Tom feels strong. Stronger than he has in ages and there's power running through his fingertips, magic possessing him. His muscles feel tense but still, he relishes in the fact that he feels strong for the first time in a while. He hated feeling weak. A weak king is a dead king.

"How the hell could she hold fire, how can she even touch it and be okay. " Tom mutters. "This has to be a joke." Harrison lets out a breath and follows his friend as he turns the corner.

"She's strong I'll give her that, I can feel her energy from here." He speaks. Tom tries to ignore the invisible pressure against his neck, like a knife or some other sharp object but he found himself running his fingers over the skin, feeling nothing there.

The men came to the scene, unable to see the girl at first as she cowers in front of three of Tom's guards but he could easily make out white, almost ashy grey feathers scattered across the ground only meters away from the hot, raging fire. The guard's faces turn into that of excitement when they came face to face with their king, ecstatic to see exactly what punishment he'd dish out to the intruder. It was sick and sadistic but it was hell.

"What do you think sir?" One of the demon's hiss holding the angel tightly, a knife to her throat. "Take her wings? I think they're too screwed for that."

Tom freezes in place, his eyes finding the small broken down angel who was a few feet away. Her eyes were closed tightly, her cheeks damp with the tears continuing to flow down them. She was broken, bruised and bloody and Tom felt his blood boil beneath his skin. What the fuck? Her eyes slowly open, meeting his instantly.

You feel your chest constrict as your eyes find the figure in front of you. The King of the Underworld, you knew that much straight away. It wouldn't have been anyone else possessing such great, bad and dangerous energy. He stares at you, and you watch as the tiredness and pain he held in his eyes slowly fades upon seeing the broken angel. His wings are huge and black, looking horrific to put your hand on. He’s handsome...very, very handsome. Not expecting that at all, you regretfully look him in the eyes before looking back down as quick as lightning. Being in the same room was bad enough, but you’d just looked into the eyes of the king.

You were shocked by the milky brown shade, expecting a horrific blood red or jet black like what the other demons wore but Tom almost looked human.

You swallow and in an instant, you knew he was the reason for the unfamiliar feeling you felt, almost like a safety blanket. The feeling that made you calm, even when a knife had been pressed against your neck and threatened to end you in seconds. But he was meant to be cruel and manipulative– maybe that damn feeling was just part of the act and you'd fallen into mens traps for far too long.

Tom stares down at the little angel in both shook and concern. His powers seemed to have magically appeared as if a spell had been cast and once more, he felt simply euphoric. But he wasn't too worried about that– actually, he was ecstatic that his strength was back and feels heat run to his fingertips, a small flame igniting in the palm of his hand and he plays with him for a few seconds, the rest of the guards looking on in amazement but Toms eyes then go back to the cowering angel with the wings that were as good as gone.

She had appeared out of nowhere and moments later, Toms strength had been regained. It reminds him of a story his father would tell him when he was a kid, one he heard night after night about the girl that was made for the King, the one that could make him powerful enough to rule not only hell, but Heaven and Earth.

The ruthless king's eyes are drawn to the many bruises and cuts as well as your tousled wings that were covered in your own blood, the bones bent and twisted and it was sickening but not something he wasn’t used to seeing.

After centuries, Tom was used to seeing injuries like this and worse, far worse. But it was as if a flame had been ignited in his gut when he saw those bruises and cuts on the mysterious girl that'd fallen into his home. Flames around them, lining the flooring pickup wildly, heat becoming almost unbearable for anyone that wasn’t Tom or Harrison and that was a sign that the king was angry.

"Let go of her," Tom growls, anger moving through his veins. More anger than he thought he could have.

"What?" One of the guards furrows his eyebrows, looking at his king with confusion.

"I said let go of her." Tom's voice got louder, "Don't fucking touch her." His guards let go of the small angel and she tumbles to the ground, a painful whimper leaving her lips. Tom felt a stab of pain in his hip and he narrows his eyes at the angel below him. It was her. His chest constricts as he moves towards her slowly. He felt strong, really strong and the ruthless man that was never afraid to make a dent didn’t want to touch a single feather left on her figure.

"My King—" One of his guard's start.

"Shut the fuck up," Tom mutters, moving closer to her. He leans down, his black wings brushing against the stone floor. A name came to mind as he looks down at her. Her eyes close tightly as if she was scared. Fuck, she probably was scared but so was Tom, each of his senses overwhelmed. "Y/N." Tom murmurs softly. Her eyes slowly open and she looks up at him. Tom felt lightening run down his spine. "Leave." He growls at his men, his eyes not leaving the angel.

The guards quickly scurry down the hallway with confused expressions, none of them daring to speak up.

"Tom—" Harrison starts when the room was clear of guards. He had watched the entire thing and was almost ready to scurry out himself after seeing his best friend act so gentle with another being.

"You too, Harrison." Tom interrupts. The blue-eyed god nods and turns, walking down the hallway, leaving the two alone. But he wanted to stay– he did. To him, Tom was still sick and vulnerable.

Tom reaches his hand out, moving to cup her cheek before she flinched away, looking at him with wide eyes. Tom didn't stop, his hand still moving toward her and cups her chin in one of his palms. She gasps at his touch, her eyes widening. Tom feels a surge of strength and something else run through him and he knows that it’s coming from here– a mere angel. He almost wants to scoff in disbelief. It was like all light had been restored and Tom could feel the power rushing through his veins and with every second that passed, his adoration for the angel grew.

"I certainly wasn't expecting you." He whispers, his touch moving down her neck as his thumb caresses her skin. "Why now?" He asked, seemingly more to himself then the crouching angel only centimetres away.

"Please, get it over with." She whispers, flinching away from him. Her voice was soft and fragile and just the sound causes another feeling of strength to move through him. Tom furrows his eyebrows. He sensed what she was afraid of before he could even ask. Her words are rough and dry, still she meant no harm.

Everything hurt and your whole body felt as if it was on fire but the second he touched you, his surprisingly gentle fingers caressing your cheek, some of that pain disappeared and was replaced by confusion.

"I'm not going to hurt you, my treasure." He whispered, wiping a tear from her eye. “Wouldn’t even dream of it.”

PART 2!

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