Devilish | T.holland

devilish | t.holland

{koh!tom x fem!reader}

summary: costume parties are usually reserved for halloween, but when your friend throws one for his birthday party in july, you go all in. how the hell does that guy Tom get his wings to look so real, though?

word count: 11,715

warnings: 100% pure, filthy smut with some plot. that's about it. alcohol. language. one brief mention of death + crime at the end (non-character death). REPOSTING BECAUSE I'M AN IDIOT AND DELETED IT!!! some minor edits + a bit more at the end (originally 11.4k)

18+!!!! MINORS STAY AWAY.

warnings:mean!dom!tom, spanking, biting, choking, fingering, oral (m+f receiving), some light ass play (oral + fingering), one instance of spit play, degradation, unprotected sex (wrap it up folks)

You never really paid all that much attention to any of the guests who visited the diner. An old 1950s style restaurant, complete with cracked leather booths and a rickety old jukebox, the place was far from popular. Most who entered were of the older generations, those who'd been coming to that same diner since they were young and now visited to gain a sense of nostalgia for what once was.

In other words, most of your patrons were geriatric cheapskates who grumbled nonsensically about how in their day a soda-pop only cost a nickel. Sorry to inform, Reginald, but that soda-pop is not still only worth a nickel and, no, you cannot give it to him for that price. Unfortunately, Margaret, a milkshake costs more than a dime nowadays and, yes, you have to be paid the full amount.

It was safe to say that your job could be miserable at times. Your feet hurt from running around to fulfill the endless demands of the elderly, and all the unspoken words that filled your brain often kept you up late into the night. Oh, how you wished to give old Marjorie a piece of your mind--that old bat had been giving you grief since your very first shift two years prior.

But, at the end of the day, it paid your bills and that was all you needed. Just a bit of money to keep you afloat until you finally, finally, got that degree you'd been working on for four... five? Yes, five years. Then you would finally be able to escape the hellish diner and start paving your way in the world.

That wasn't to say that you didn't miss at least some aspects of your job. There were some great locals who frequented the spot, far fewer than the old bastards who accused you of spitting in their food, but you'd certainly miss them dearly. Usuals like Miss Lucille, a little old lady who always ordered a chocolate milkshake with two straws to split with her young granddaughter, Lucy. And, there was Mr. Gustafson, a veteran who claimed that once upon a time he'd been seven feet tall. Now he was shorter than you, and he had a plethora of stories from his youth that always put a smile on your face.

You'd never tell, but secretly you hoped he and Miss Lucille would finally cross paths; they were both widowed and lonely, and oh, how you knew they'd make the perfect pair. Your favorite customer of all, though, was not of the previous generations. He'd become a bit of a celebrity with all the elderly women of the diner since he'd started coming more and more often, and it always brought a smile to your face to see them fawn over his blond hair and blue eyes.

"Speak of the devil," you teased, eyes twinkling as the bell over the door chimed, "and he shall appear."

Harrison shot you a playful scowl, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively as he shook the rain from his umbrella and stomped the excess water from his shoes. Harrison Osterfield was your most cherished customer of all, and he'd become your closest friend over the past year--one of very few patrons who'd crossed over from your work life to your personal one. The friendship was a strange one, and to this day you weren't entirely sure what had lead the man into the little diner hidden away in an alley.

Swiping a few lingering drops of water from his sleeves, Harrison removed the pressed suit coat and tossed it onto the bar top carelessly. The action made you cringe internally, already imagining the snagged threads that would surely come about from the jagged metal edge of the counter. This was what made your world so different from Harrison's--only a man with wealth could be so blasé as to throw a designer suit jacket onto a greasy, cracked countertop as if it cost nothing.

You were fairly certain one sleeve of the jacket alone cost more than a month's worth of rent for your apartment. Plopping down onto a stool that creaked under his weight, Harrison spun around a few times childishly before catching himself on the counter and facing you with a cheeky grin, "The usual, barmaid, at once!"

"Right away, sir," you played along, rolling your eyes at his typical behavior. For being such a serious (and successful) businessman, the blond was the most boyish man you'd ever met, "I'll be sure to add extra spit."

So, maybe there was a bit of a reason why some of the old bastards accused you of spitting in their food. You never actually did spit in the food, of course, but you often joked about it with Harrison. He wasn't much help, considering he played along just as heartily.

He licked his lips theatrically and rubbed his hands together, loudly moaning, "I love it when you talk dirty to me, (Y/N)."

Scowling at the few heads that turned, their eyes wide with disbelief and disgust, you hissed at him to be quiet. Marjorie glared at you with such ferocity that your ears burned, and it took a great deal of restraint to keep from snapping at the catty old lady to mind her own business. Harrison, of course, only laughed as if he were the funniest man on Earth.

Truly, it was a miracle the rich man hadn't gotten you fired yet. You loved his ridiculous antics, though, as proven by the fact that you often urged him on despite the judgement from the other guests in the diner. It was just how your friendship worked--something that had been happening since the very first time he stepped foot in the building, looking severely out of place and flirting with you relentlessly.

Since that fateful day just over a year before, you'd grown to be somewhat of a sister in Harrison's eyes, just as he'd come to be like a protective older brother to you. Well, protective was a light term as far as your friendship was concerned; often times he got you into more trouble than you could even imagine getting up to on your own. Like the time he'd accidentally spilled his drink on Mr. Tulson following a brazen insult he'd hurled your way for forgetting the sacred tomato slice on his sandwich. You'd gotten an earful and a written warning from the owner for daring to laugh at the scene.

As you pierced Harrison's usual order onto the spike for the cook to grab, the bell over the door chimed once more and Harrison's voice boomed, "Tom! I was beginning to think you'd gotten lost."

You scrunched your nose in distaste as you fiddled with your notepad and turned to a new page, already dreading what was to come. A few times Harrison had brought his work buddies with him to the diner, and each time had left a sour taste in your mouth. They were always snobbish and looked down on you, each friend disappearing from the blond's life following their brief introduction to you.

At least Harrison was loyal and true to his values, even if he had a habit of making shitty friends. He never let anyone get away with treating you as less than; you just wished he'd stop trying to force you into his fancy, uppity life so hard. Clearly, it wasn't working well.

"Just had to make a phone call."

The voice that spoke was like velvet, soft and alluring in all the right ways that had your body stiffening slightly. It held a certain note that hinted to wisdom and knowledge beyond your short life's experience, like a finely aged cognac. Yet, there was a tone of mirth that beguiled you.

Turning around, you were definitely not disappointed by the sight that your eyes fell upon. He was shorter than Harrison, but somehow his presence commanded respect like that of royalty. Soft, brown curls were hanging into his face, frazzled from the rain and dripping slightly; a glance at his suit showed watermarks telling you he'd foregone an umbrella entirely. The thought of it actually hurt your soul as you appraised the label of his jacket, which read Brioni.

Rich people were a different breed. Trying your best not to stare, a difficult feat with a specimen like the man before you, you asked, "Who's this?"

He spoke before Harrison had the chance to introduce him, holding a hand across the counter for you to shake with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, "Tom Holland, darling."

You really hoped he didn't notice how you shivered when he abruptly flipped your hand and held it delicately in his palm, bringing your knuckles to his lips in the softest kiss. Your hand felt like it was on fire from the contact, your entire body igniting as your blood boiled with the heat of his gaze. His smirk, however, widened and told you that he knew exactly the effect he had on you--and most likely all women who were attracted to men.

"Lovely to meet you, Tom, I'm (Y/N)." you replied, swallowing thickly as you averted your stare to Harrison. It was impossible how beautiful Tom was; practically painful to face head on, as if staring directly into the sun. How did his teeth glitter, literally, as if life were suddenly a cartoon with diamond twinkles on those pearly whites? Someone needed to get the memo that this was real life, not Home Alone, and teeth weren't meant to dazzle like that.

Tom settled onto the stool beside Harrison, unbuttoning the sleeves of his shirt and rolling them to his elbows. He didn't spin like your friend, instead locking his feet under the metal bar at the base of his seat and spreading his legs wide at the knee as if to further commandeer the space around him. "The pleasure's all mine, (Y/N)." he mused, winking, "What's a place like this have to offer?"

Harrison, who'd been watching the strangely electric interaction between you and Tom as if following an intense tennis match, seemed to finally snap out of his reverie as he launched into recommending his usual orders to Tom. He had one for each day, and went through the list as if reciting a script. "My personal favorite," he grinned, chuckling when you grimaced, "is the Wednesday special. A cheese sandwich with tomato bisque, from a can because this place is classy like that, and dear (Y/N) always adds her secret ingredient."

You guffawed, slapping the blond's shoulder and earning a curious quirk of Tom's brow. It was then that you noticed the peculiar way it laid all out of sorts, contrasting with the opposite that grew flat--somehow even the imperfection struck you as perfect. Harrison, of course, was cackling at his own joke and holding his belly.

"That secret ingredient is reserved only for you, idiot," you chided, "Tom's done nothing to deserve such treatment, yet."

Harrison opened his mouth with a throaty chuckle, "What about last week, when you gave it to poor Mar--"

Tom leaned back from the counter smoothly as you jumped onto it, slapping a hand over Harrison's mouth. "We don't speak her name, Haz. Unless you want to get me fired." you seethed.

Your eyes drifted down the bar top to the far end where Marjorie sat, stirring her coffee and glaring fervently at the three of you. Her white hair was tufted around her head in sparse curls, and Harrison groaned a laugh into your palm when she dipped her face to take a sip and revealed a lone curler still stuck in her thinning hair. Oh, old Marjorie was truly quite the character, and you even had to bite your tongue to keep from laughing as she sent another huffy scowl your way.

"Are either one of you going to explain what exactly you two are talking about?"

Snipping once more at Harrison in warning, you retracted your hand and rested back onto your feet behind the counter. He licked his lips and pouted, though you could see the way his lips quirked up at the corners and he chewed on his cheek to keep from grinning. It was then that you felt the moisture on your palm, retching as you wiped your hand on your skirt and subtly flicked him off.

His smirk was childish as he whispered, quite loudly, "(Y/N) spits in the soup."

Tom's face pinched, but you had no time to inform him it was a joke before Marjorie interrupted, "Excuse me?"

Her spoon clattered against the ceramic edge of her mostly empty soup bowl with a loud clang, and you pinched your nose with a sigh, "What, Marjorie?"

"Did he just say that you--"

Flashing a dazzling smile that had the woman stammering, her wrinkled cheeks flushing a deep red, Tom soothed, "I apologize, Miss, for my friend's distasteful joke. (Y/N)'s done nothing of the sort, I promise you."

His smile was powerful enough that even you felt a little off balance. The way he spoke left no room for doubt, his voice never wavering in strength for even a moment to let onto the fact that he damn well had no idea what he was talking about. He'd never even met you before--how could he truly know such a thing? Yet, you felt as if he could have told you the sky was red and you'd have believed it.

It was disorienting. Harrison was the wealthiest man you'd ever met, and only for a moment had he ever intimidated you. And yet, now there was Tom who spoke with such conviction and intensity that you couldn't help but to shrink back. He was powerful, and something told you it had nothing to do with his financial status.

Never before had you seen anyone so able to placate Marjorie. Before Tom, you'd have sworn that God himself could have walked up to her and she'd have spit in his face with disgust. How did he do it? How was he so easily able to turn her from the wicked witch of the west to a giggling little girl?

You and Harrison watched on with wide eyes and gaping mouths as the elderly woman smiled, gummy and mostly toothless, before patting Tom's cheek affectionately. The noise had turned to static as you watched the scene unfold in utter befuddlement. Before long, Tom was pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek and muttering something that had her giggling like a teenager.

She retreated to her seat with a lingering smile and fleeting glances toward the man who'd charmed her so effortlessly. Turning to Harrison, still blinking in bewilderment, you hissed, "Where the hell did you meet this guy?"

The blond man stammered, swiping a hand through his hair as he squeaked, "At work! He's only visiting."

Tom's chuckle brought your attention back to him, his arms folded over his chest as he watched the two of you whisper with amusement. You clenched your jaw to keep from gaping at the ripple of muscle that rolled along his arms, biceps bulging slightly as he teasingly flexed at you. This man was otherworldly.

"I'm in town for the week on business." he stated, smiling lazily, "I think I'll have what he's having, darling. Any other secret ingredients I should know about?"

"No," your eye twitched in annoyance with the way your voice cracked, spiking a few octaves too high, "I'll get that going right away." You turned away with hitched breathe as he winked again, clearly far too aware of all the things he did to you without even trying.

The two men slowly settled back into easy conversation as you returned to your duties. Steve, the cook, rolled his eyes as you called out to him to double Harrison's order--your hands were trembling just a little too hard for you to write legibly. It made you feel pathetic, almost, to be so affected by a man who'd not even truly flirted with you.

Had it been that long? You grimaced as you made your way toward Marjorie who was smiling into her soup, still clearly in a daze you realized with the way she brought an empty spoon to her lips after missing the bowl entirely. It had definitely been awhile; you hadn't had a boyfriend since you'd started university.

As Marjorie, normally so aggressive with you, patted your hand tenderly and dropped an actual tip onto the counter, you knew that the affect Tom had on you had absolutely nothing to do with your loneliness. He'd put Marjorie, the witchiest old woman you'd ever met, under his spell with a simple smile and kiss on the cheek! There was something off about him, something superhuman.

You had to chuckle to yourself over your ridiculous thoughts. What was up with you? He charmed the knickers off an old woman and suddenly he's the devil? A super flirt? You pinched your leg and cursed yourself mentally, it was definitely the dry spell in your love life giving you so much grief.

Listening in on Harrison and Tom's conversation, you busied yourself with wrapping napkins around silverware. There were still two other tables aside from them who remained, and you were anxious to get them out. The sooner they left, the sooner you could go home and try your best to treat the serious case of damp panties you were experiencing.

You really needed to get laid.

"How the hell do you do it, mate?" Harrison pried, and you giggled as you glanced at his awestruck face. The napkins grew far more interesting when Tom grinned at the noise, though, and you avoided his wandering eyes as best as you could.

It didn't help much, because no matter how much you tried to steady your hands you could still feel his hot, watchful gaze on your body. "A man never reveals his secrets," Tom mused, eyes locked on you as you risked another peek. He dropped to a soft whisper then, "Besides, if I told you, I'd have to kill you."

Harrison groaned childishly, but you shivered as you remained completely entranced by Tom's burning brown eyes. It was as if you were trapped there, unable to look away for even a moment, completely enraptured with the devilish way he undressed you with his stare. You knew, then, that it wouldn't have been hard at all; he wouldn't have had to say a thing to have you begging for him.

Grumbling, the blond huffed, "Whatever. Are you going to be in town for the weekend?"

Your thoughts echoed his question, and Tom only looked away from you for a moment as he replied, "Yes, my flight out is on Tuesday."

"I'm having a party for my birthday on Saturday, if you'd like to come." Harrison invited, and you stifled a laugh. Tom? At a costume party?

He smirked, questioning with a far too suggestive tone, "Will you be there, darling?"

"Of course she will be!"

You glared at Harrison for speaking for you, but he only shrugged as if to say it was the truth. Of course, it was the truth--the pair of you were as thick as thieves and you wouldn't have even dreamt of not attending his birthday party. A little part of you was still flustered, though, your mind reeling with the knowledge that Tom cared about whether you'd be there or not. He wanted to see you.

Clicking your tongue, despite how much you wanted to grin and giggle just like Marjorie had, you chimed, “You’ve forgotten the best part, Harrison. It’s a costume party.”

Deep in your brain, some part of you had been expecting Tom to laugh at the prospect of a costume party and find it childish. Adults playing dress up? Please. You were left breathless, though, when his smirk only widened as Harrison added, “This year’s theme is angels and demons.”

“Even better.” Tom mused, and there was that devilish smirk again. The way he chuckled to himself made you feel as though there was some deep, twisted inside joke that you were sorely missing. “Text me the details.”

✞ ✞ ✞

Friday evening you stood deep inside the local craft store, trying your absolute hardest to ignore the way the shop attendant glared at you. It was late—definitely later than any normal person was out perusing the best deals on crafting supplies. You’d just gotten off of work, though, and you needed a few things to finish your costume.

Maybe you’d procrastinated a bit, but what could you say? Between working in the dreadful diner and slumming your way through all of your classes, you were a busy woman. Tonight had been no exception.

Marjorie had been back to her usual self, and a part of you had wondered if maybe she’d been a bit more hostile than normal. You’d seen the way her eyes lingered on the door after Harrison had entered, and also the way her body seemed to deflate when nobody trailed in after him. Strangely enough, you’d found yourself doing much the same.

Even now, as you stood before an alarmingly large section of faux feathers, you could still see Harrison’s haughty smirk in your mind. He’d certainly noticed the fleeting glances you’d shot at the door before finally he’d informed you that Tom wasn’t coming. You’d punched his shoulder and told him to shut up, but he’d just laughed.

You set the boxed hot glue gun on the shelf beside you and picked up a bag of assorted feathers in black, white, and grey. It had taken you quite a while to decide on what you’d wanted to be; originally you’d been pretty set on being an angle. But, maybe a small part of you wanted to be a little different now that you knew he was going to be there.

Set yourself apart from the crowd and all that jazz. So, you’d settled on being a fallen angel. Straining your eyes to stare down the aisle, you bit your lip when you realized that the coast was clear. The attendant had finally stopped watching you, and you sneakily ripped open the package of feathers. If you were going to be wearing the damn things for an entire night, you were going to make sure they didn’t feel itchy and gross.

“Naughty girl, (Y/N).”

Yelping, you jumped in fright and sent a small shower of feathers through the air. “Tom!” you gasped, whirling around to face him and hitting his shoulder, “You scared the fuck out of me.”

He was laughing at you. It was a husky, mirthful sound that had your heart racing as his eyes crinkled at the corners and a beautiful smile split his cheeks apart. Your breath hitched when he extended a hand toward your face, fingertips just barely caressing your cheek before he pulled away with a feather in hand.

Still chuckling, Tom hummed, “You’re losing your feathers, Angel.”

Stumbling awkwardly over your feet, you stuffed the now half empty bag of feathers to the bottom of the bin. Your heart was still racing and you shot fleeting glances down the aisle in fear that the worker would return to find the mess you had made, but to your surprise they were nowhere in sight. Funny, how they’d made a spectacle of watching you so closely, only to disappear the moment you had done something worthy of being kicked out.

You snatched up a few of the unopened bags and clutched them to your chest, grabbing the hot glue gun as well with trembling fingers. The shivers that wracked your body weren’t from the fright Tom had given you—no, they were simply due to his… proximity. It was a strange thing you’d noticed from the first moment he’d entered the diner.

When he was near, it was as if the air was electrified between the two of you. Your body was constantly buzzing, your blood boiling, and your hair standing on end. It made no sense at all, the strange affect he had on you, but it was ever present. Even now, standing in a deserted craft store, you were vibrating as if you were about to run a marathon.

It was as if he dialed all of your senses up to the hundredth percentile. Your vision was sharper, your hearing clearer, and, fuck, if his cologne didn’t overwhelm you. Was it cologne? It wasn’t any scent you’d ever smelled before. A strange mixture of earthy scents, musk, and what you could only describe as the smell of fire.

Not wood, not gasoline, or the scent of charred remnants—but fire itself. Sometimes the peculiar smell would fade and make way for a heady gust of petrichor, only when he drew close enough that you’d barely need move at all to touch him. You liked that scent the most.

Like now, as he leaned close to reach behind you, you subconsciously breathed in and felt your stomach flip flop at the smell of oncoming rain. It didn’t strike you as cologne, but what did you know? He was filthy rich, for all you knew it was some luxury spritz that cost more than your tuition.

As he pulled back to reveal his hands filled with packages of sleek, black feathers, you giggled. Of course he would be going as a demon. He quirked a brow at you curiously, “Something funny, darling?”

“No, no,” you hummed, biting your cheek to keep from laughing even harder, “Just not surprised, is all.”

“About what?”

You motioned to the feathers with the hand that held your new hot glue gun, teasing, “You dressing up as a demon.”

Tom’s haughty smirk appeared, his pink lips puffing up as his eyes glistened. You could see the flicker of challenge that ignited in his brown irises, clearly enjoying your banter, and he tempted, “And why’s that, hm?”

He stepped closer, nearly bumping chest to chest with you as the smell of ozone consumed you. It wasn’t threatening, that much you could tell from the mischievous twitch of his lips, but it was intimidating. That power that seemed to radiate off of him wrapped around you like a cloak, burning your skin as you grew flustered.

Trying your best to remain steady under his gaze, you quipped, “You just don’t strike me as the angelic type, Tom.”

“Nothing gets past you, eh?”

He stepped back again, your senses slowly dulling from the heights he’d driven them to without so much as a single touch. Perhaps you should peruse the shower heads next, you thought, shuddering. Tom turned the focus onto you, then, as he asked, “So, what’ll you be then, lovely?”

His eyes trailed slowly down your face before falling onto the supplies in your arms. Was it just you, or did they linger for a long moment on your lips? Thoughtlessly, you licked them, and he narrowed his eyes. So, he was staring at your lips—did that mean he wanted to kiss you?

Emboldened by his stares, you teased, “Wouldn’t you like to know? I guess you’ll just have to wait and find out like everyone else.”

“Well, if you’re planning on being an angel, I just might have to convince you to fall from heaven.” Fuck, he was good. Tom only grew cockier with your sudden confidence, and his stance broadened arrogantly as he watched you falter slightly at his remark.

You hoped he didn’t hear the tremor in your voice as you sassed, “I’d expect nothing less from a devil like you, Tom.”

That smirk, oh how it did things to you. Once again you felt as if you were missing something with the way his lips stretched wider, an alluring chuckle escaping his mouth at your words. It was as if you’d said just the right thing, speaking some sort of truth that you were completely ignorant to.

His voice was dark and heady as he dared, eyes dancing with fiery temptation, “You have no idea, Angel, the devil I am.”

✞ ✞ ✞

Harrison shouted, cheeks flushed a deep red and words slightly slurred as he bounded toward you energetically, “You made it! Wow, you look amazing!”

You laughed at your friend as he swayed slightly on his feet, his fingers clumsily reaching out to grasp one of your feathered sleeves. “Thanks, Haz.” You grinned, and he hiccupped, “How drunk are you?”

Squinting his eyes and pinching his fingers together as close as he could, without actually touching the pads together, he cheered, “Just a little bit.” Somehow, you doubted that.

He was unsteady on his feet and his eyes were glassy, alerting you to just how far gone he truly was. He was still clutching the thin scrap of tulle you’d sewn onto a black, silk negligee, crushing a few of the greyscale feathers in his fist. You pretended not to notice when one fell off—you hadn’t been expecting perfection from a late night of hot glue, burnt fingerprints, and needle pricks.

You’d felt as if you were a little too risqué with your costume before you’d left your apartment that day. For nearly an hour you had fawned over it in your mirror, wondering if the dress was too short or if the lacy, black, thigh-high stockings were too trashy. Had the red pumps been bold, or tacky?

But now, as you stood inside Harrison’s massive home, you almost felt prudish. Women all around you were ambling about in heels and lingerie, and you swore you even saw one with nipple tassels. Now, your long, flowing sleeves of tulle and feathers felt like a blanket that wrapped around you. You were glad that you’d cut them short enough to not touch the floor, because if they had, they’d definitely have been torn from being stepped on.

Already you’d been smacked in the face by more fake wings than you could count, and one guy even nearly took your eye out with his devil horns when you’d been getting a drink. People were absolutely smashed, sloppy drunk, and you watched on with wide eyes. There was a crash in the distance, followed by cheering, and Harrison yelped, “Who broke that?”

He disappeared into the crowd again, stumbling over his feet, and you sipped your drink with a grimace. You didn’t know anybody aside from him, and you hadn’t seen Tom yet—for all you knew, maybe he had changed his mind. The thought of it had you pouting like a petulant little girl.

“Who is that?”

“Damn, I’d climb him like a tree.”

“Fuck, where did he get those wings?”

The party seemed to dull slightly as a slow murmur spread throughout the crowd, and your eyes flickered to the door only to do a double take. It was him. Tom was here, and holy shit did you suddenly feel faint.

He stepped through the threshold with a stone cold face, expression blank as he ignored each and every person who tried to talk to him. The evening sun washed him in golden light that sent rays around his head like a halo—except, he was no angel. From his back extended two large, sleek, black wings that were furled inward toward his body.

Eyes circling the room, you swore your heart stopped beating when they landed on you and a breathtaking smile finally brought some life to his face. It was like a trance that you couldn’t break out of, your eyes glued to him as he approached you steadily despite every obstacle that interrupted his stride. Women and men alike stepped in his path only to be brushed aside, and a few stray objects were kicked away like they were nothing.

He looked like sex appeal personified. A model in a magazine, only so much better; he was out of this world. His brown curls were fluffy and pushed back from his face as if he’d been dragging his hands through them repeatedly, and your fingers twitched with the desire to do much the same. Gone was the suit jacket, and he wore a silk dress shirt that was barely even buttoned half way—the fabric spilling open to reveal a godly chest of bronzed, rippling muscle.

You were fucking jealous of the delicate, silver chain that rested on his collarbones. His sleeves were unbuttoned once again and haphazardly pushed up to his elbows, showing off his strong, veiny arms that lead to sinful hands stacked with rings. His pants were tight, impeccably tailored, and they rose high onto his waist with the shirt tucked in messily. Even his shoes were oozing wealth, polished so blindingly that they could have been their own light source.

But those wings! How did he do that with those same cheap feathers? The very same ones that you had bought for yourself? He turned to dodge a vase that soared past his head, shattering on the wall beside him, and you gaped at the massive shreds in the back of his shirt through which the wings extended. You had to give it to him, he’d expertly crafted his outfit to hide the straps that held them onto his body.

Harrison paused briefly to greet him before racing off after the guest who’d thrown the vase, shouting with a red face and heaving chest. One last woman stepped before Tom, the one with the nipple tassels, and he brushed her aside gently. You pretended not to notice the hostile glare she sent your way as he finally came to stop before you.

“You look absolutely ravishing, Angel,” he purred, but you were frozen to the spot as you stared into his face in amazement. His eyes—they were black! Those brown eyes you’d come to recognize were gone, and how his irises were so dark you could no longer discern the difference between them and their pupils. “(Y/N)?”

Blinking, you released the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, “Sorry, sorry, uh—thank you, Tom. You look good, yourself.”

Tom simpered, eyes shining like polished onyx, “Just good? My, what does it take to impress you, darling?”

You squeaked, body igniting with a million emotions as you flustered. Impress you? He wanted to impress you? Your heart was racing and you desperately tried to focus on anything other than the way his eyes glittered at you, sucking you into their void.

His wings shone under the light like an oil slick. The full rainbow reflected off of them, a dance of holographic light that had you captivated. They were so convincing you’d have almost thought they were real, perhaps the feathers of a raven, had you not witnessed him buying the same craft store feathers that you had yourself. But, why didn’t yours look like that?

Tom brushed the tips of his fingers across your cheek and plucked a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear skillfully. The trail his touch had taken felt like the licks of white hot flames on your skin, and you were once again all encompassed by that smell of petrichor. He was so close—you couldn’t resist. You placed your hand on his chest to steady yourself, palm flat on his bare skin, and he hummed in appreciation.

He flicked the halo over your head, a cheap costume store headband you’d bought and spray painted black, and mused, “I like this. Not like all the other angels, are you?”

“Maybe I decided to fall from heaven for you all by myself.”

For a fleeting moment he looked visibly shaken by your words, blindsided by your sudden flirtation and confidence. It made your belly flutter with warmth as your body heated up, but his smirk replaced itself easily to keep you on your toes. Shivers wracked your body as he ran his fingers through your hair more deftly, before placing his hand over yours that remained planted over top of his heart.

It was warm, and his hand was somewhere in between rough and soft that had you longing to feel his touch on all of your skin. His fingers were calloused, but his grip was so delicate as he brought your knuckles to his lips for the second time, eyes never moving away from your own. “Dance with me, Angel?” he asked, and you nodded before he’d even finished asking the question.

He led you into the thick of the crowd, bodies writhing around the two of you drunkenly to the pounding music. You weren’t entirely sure how Harrison managed to keep the police away, surely causing quite the disturbance in his gated community, but money often solved most problems. All you cared about was Tom’s eyes on you, hands never leaving your own as he pulled you along behind him and dodged everyone who tried to sweep him away.

The song was practically impossible to hear with the heavy pumping of the bass, or maybe that was just your racing heart thundering behind your ears. He pulled your body flush to his, your back to his chest and his hands gripping your hips firmly. You stood frozen, but soon enough he used those hands to guide you, swirling your hips slowly as he pressed into you from behind.

Closing your eyes, you let your head fall back onto his shoulder as you took over. You leaned into the steady blaze he ignited in you, rather than shying away from it, and your hands came down on top of his as he let you take the lead. Bodies pressed tightly together, the crowd fell away as all that remained in the world was you and Tom.

Tingles spread through your nervous system like a wildfire when you felt his soft, skillful lips ghost along your neck, and you were all too eager to tilt your head perfectly to expose the column of your throat to him. He growled quietly under his breath, the warm air invading your ear and your senses went haywire, but it was nothing compared to the internal frenzy he started when he kissed your skin more fervently.

He latched onto the delicate skin of your neck, sucking hard until you couldn’t help but to moan. His tongue followed, soothing the deep bruise he’d certainly created, and you sighed. “You make such beautiful sounds, darling.” he cooed, his voice raspy as he whispered in your ear.

“Keep going.” you whimpered, and he dug his fingers into your hips, “Please.”

Tom spun you around so fast that your eyes rolled, your head nearly colliding with his before he steadied you on your feet. His eyes were darker than ever now, and you bit back a lusty moan just from the sight as you buried your face into his shoulder and stuck your neck out for him again. He didn’t have to be told twice, leaving a trail of marks along the tender skin greedily.

It wasn’t until you finally broke, losing all of your inhibitions and sloppily kissing his chest, that he stopped. His entire body tensed under your grip, and he inhaled sharply with a bruising squeeze of your waist. Voice tight and restrained, he choked, “Let’s get a drink, Angel.”

Confused, you nodded. You didn’t understand his sudden retreat until he turned you around again, walking you forward with your back pressed to his front tightly. Something hard dug into your bum, and your eyes widened—oh. He’d stopped because he was excited.

You had to admit, you were smug. Smirking to yourself, you giggled under your breath and ignored the subtle way he pinched your hip in spite, unable to resist the pride. You’d turned him on, and man, did it feel good.

He kept you there, pressed into his steadily growing erection for a long while. Traipsing you around the party to speak with whoever was still capable of forming words, hands never leaving your hips. He even pulled you into his lap at one point when you found Harrison on the sofa, and the look he’d given you when you playfully wiggled your butt had made your blood run cold.

Harrison had wandered away again after a while, but Tom kept you in his lap regardless. His arms were steady around your waist and his thumbs stroked circles onto your body through your silk dress. It was a little concerning, really, how easily he could pretend that he wasn’t practically bursting out of his slacks beneath you.

Adjusting in his lap again, he hissed, “Stop it.”

“Or what?”

He squeezed your hips so tightly you whined, and tugged you around until you were straddling him. Your dress rode up to your hips, exposing far more of you than was publicly decent, but you didn’t have the time to care as you blanched under his withering gaze. “Do you have any idea the things you do to me?” he questioned, deeply.

Tom’s hands were creeping up your thighs, thumbs still tracing circles of fire into your skin that had you sweating. “How did you get these to look so real?” you changed the subject, lips twitching slightly in a smirk as he glared at you.

You reached out toward one of his wings, brushing your fingertips along the feathers only to shiver. They were incredibly soft, yet strong and slightly oily like those of a bird. As you touched them, Tom stiffened, and your eyes flickered to him in surprise. His eyelids fluttered as you continued to caress the feathers, his nostrils flaring as he sucked in a deep breath.

“Can you…” you trailed off, mouth running dry as you more deftly pushed your fingers into the plush blanket of feathers. The massive wing twitched under your touch, and a growl rumbled through Tom’s chest. Frozen, you dragged your eyes to his face to find his eyes had gone completely black—the dark hue of the iris consuming the sclera. “They’re real.”

He blinked, and the black receded into his iris once again. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears ominously as you gaped at him, body buzzing with a strange concoction of feelings. You had to admit that you were terrified, but as you moved your hand once more and saw the way he writhed under your touch, the heat in your body flooded straight into your core.

Tom didn’t take his eyes off of you for a single moment, sitting stone still beneath you as he awaited your reaction. Blinking and taking a deep breath, you curled your fist into the feathers and surged forward to capture his lips with yours. He kissed you just as desperately, arms caging around your waist as he stood up easily with you wrapped around him.

He carried you through the house without pulling away for even a single moment, walking with confidence and intent as if he owned the place. A few people squealed and dove out of the way, but neither one of you cared one bit; all you could focus on was the addicting way his lips tasted. You needed more.

Opening a door and rapidly closing it behind him, Tom spun and slammed your back into the wood hard enough to receive a pained groan from you. The motion stung your back and you could feel some of the fake feathers on your sleeves stabbing your skin, your spine aching deeply. “Did you think you’d get away with teasing me, Angel? Did you think I wouldn’t punish you?” he seethed, and your eyes widened.

Tom’s hand closed around your throat, only one arm and the press of his body keeping you from falling to the floor. He squeezed expertly; your breathing only slightly restricted as you could feel the steady throb of blood flow being held up beneath his fingers. His smirk widened at the hushed wheezes that escaped your lips, the flesh parting slightly as you worked harder to get air.

“Answer me.” he taunted, squeezing a little tighter.

You gave a choked squeak, “I’m sorry, Tom! Please, I—I’m sorry!”

He tutted, but released his grip on your throat to let you gasp for air. Your head was spinning from the rush of blood, and your limbs were tingling slightly. “Sorry won’t cut it, Angel. Bad girls need to be punished.” he clicked his tongue at you, shaking his head reproachfully.

Tom dropped you carelessly and laughed as you stumbled, falling to your knees helplessly. Your palms and your kneecaps stung as you scuffed them on the floor, and you looked up at him timidly. What had you gotten yourself into?

The way he looked at you, though, eyes dark and glinting with lusty menace, made your mouth water. You knew that if he dipped his fingers into your panties now that you’d be soaking, and you clenched your thighs together subconsciously at the thought. Nothing got by him, though. He noticed, and licked his lips appreciatively.

He curled his fingers around your upper arm and heaved you from the floor in one deft motion, easily dragging you toward the bed. You grunted as he pushed you forcefully onto the mattress, your face slamming into the sheets hard enough to rattle your skull. “What are you—Tom!” you squealed, shooting up onto your hands and knees when his hand came down in a withering blow onto your behind.

Tom caught you before you could crawl away, shoving you back down as he crawled up the bed to straddle the backs of your thighs. You craned your neck to look behind you, only to gasp when you caught sight of the wings on his back. No longer were they furled inward toward his body; they stretched wide and tall behind his back, the tips nearly brushing the walls on either side of the room they were so massive.

“Holy fuck!” your startled exclamation toward his wings was interrupted when he spanked your cheeks again, palm squeezing the flesh aggressively following the stinging impact.

Three more blows came in quick succession, your eyes burning nearly as much as your sensitive skin with each hit. Your mouth was watering, though, and your body buzzing with anticipation as you rutted into his palm desperately. He chuckled teasingly as he brought both of his hands up to play with your bum, spreading your cheeks and tutting to himself.

He was toying with you, this thumbs dipping oh-so-close to your aching center with each squeeze of your flesh, but never quite touching you where you wanted him the most. “Look at you, Angel, so desperate for me. Dripping all over yourself like a slut.” he cooed, “These need to go.”

You yelped when he ripped at the waistband of your panties, tearing the garment on either side of you before yanking it off of your body. He shifted on the bed and crammed one knee between your legs, kicking them apart roughly until your slick center was exposed to the cool air. “Hey, those were—shit!” you shrieked as he slapped your ass harder than ever, the wind actually leaving your lungs from the force of the blow.

Tears bloomed in your eyes, but you blinked them away with a whimper. “Aw, is my angel gonna cry? Cry, darling, show me just how pathetic you are.” he taunted, and you bit your tongue to keep the tears from falling.

He was mean. His words stung and made your heart clench, but they made your belly tighten up even more. You liked it; hell, loved it, even.

Tom’s fingers slipped through your folds, finally, collecting your wetness and dragging it between your cheeks as he teased your forbidden hole. Your entire body tensed as you tried to scoot away again, but it was no use—he pinned your arms and leaned over you until his nose was brushing the shell of your ear. He murmured, “Tell me that you don’t want this, and I’ll go.”

Your lips parted in a hushed whine, shivering as he nipped at your earlobe, “I—Tom, please, I want you.”

“What do you want, Angel?”

His clothed erection ground into your bare behind, and you gasped, “I want you to fuck me!”

In an instant, he backed away from you and clambered off of the bed entirely. You struggled to catch your breath, wanting to weep as you’d thought he was leaving, but then you heard it. The faint sound of a zipper broke the silence in the room, and you flipped over to see him undressing.

His shirt was already gone, his full torso on display as he dragged his trousers from his legs. Language seemed to fail you in that moment as you appraised him, eyes wide and lips parted in amazement. His body was like an ancient Greek statue, hard yet soft in that peculiar way that only chiseled marble could achieve. His muscles rippled with every movement, and his wings dragged over the ceiling as he stood tall before you.

They were positively massive. It was impossible how they didn’t dwarf him with their size, somehow seeming perfectly in proportion with his body. His black eyes watched you closely as you admired him, fully bare before you. You shakily moved to peel your dress off.

“Don’t.” Tom warned, and you froze, fingers curled around the hemline of your negligee, “Leave it on.”

He stepped toward the bed like a hunter stalking their prey, eyes locked on you as he smirked devilishly and loomed over you. There was a threatening aura about him that screamed of power and danger, but it wrapped around the two of you like a warm cocoon. You weren’t scared of being hurt; though, you had an idea that you wouldn’t be walking away from him without pain.

Tom pushed you back to lay flat, crawling on his knees until he was perched between your thighs again. He sat back on his heels, his length resting against his thigh and weeping. You wanted to touch, but one look from him told you that tonight wasn’t about your desires.

It was about his. His hands yanked your dress up until it was bundled beneath your breasts, and you shivered when he playfully circled his thumbs over your covered, stiffened nipples. “You look good enough to eat, Angel.” he breathed, clenching his jaw as he stared at the dripping mess you’d created between your legs.

In a split second that left you dazed and confused, Tom was lying flat between your legs with his lips wrapped roughly around your clit. You gasped, arching off of the bed, and he nipped your bud with his teeth. “Move away again and you’ll regret it, Angel.” he hissed a warning, glaring at you, and you froze timidly.

His arms crossed over your hips to hold you down, your thighs draped over his shoulders, effectively trapping you in place. He dove back in, licking fat stripes through your folds and moaning at the taste. The vibrations mad you shiver, your thighs instinctively tightening around his head. Already your stomach was all wound up, just aching to explode as he ate you like his last meal.

Tom pulled away with a final tug of his lips around your swollen nub, smirking when you whined pitifully. Your whining morphed into a cry, though, when he bit down onto your thigh so hard you feared he might actually break the skin. Releasing your flesh from his teeth, he soothed the aching skin with sloppy, open mouthed kisses that surely deepened the bruises that would follow. He repeated his actions on both of your legs, over and over, tightening his grip when you weakly wiggled your hips and tried to pull your thighs from his mouth.

“What the fuck!”

Tom slapped his open palm onto your clit harshly, the smack echoing through the room until it was swallowed up by your shout. “Stop moving, Angel.” he shrugged, winking playfully when you huffed, “I’m not done.”

He forced his tongue through your entrance, chuckling when you moaned loudly, and his hands pushed your thighs up until your legs were tucked into your chest. Fully exposed and submitted to him from your new position, Tom’s nose nudged your clit before he wandered further south. You gasped when you felt his wet muscle circle your pursed hole, your wetness dripping from your core to follow his movements.

He teased the entrance with his tongue, dipping into it for a fleeting second before licking a long, broad stripe all the way back to your clit. Never before had anyone tried such a thing with you, but now that Tom had crossed that line—you wanted more. It sent shivers through your body and made you chase after his mouth with your hips.

You watched as he switched his focus rapidly, cycling through your clit and both your holes on repeat, black eyes never drifting away from your own for even a second. Your chest was heaving as you breathed heavily, feeling that coil in your stomach tighten for the third time in a row, only for him to pull away again just before it could snap. He was teasing you; bringing you to the edge of relief, over and over, only to pull the rug from under your feet and leave you hanging.

His thumb rolled rough circles over your clit as he focused his tongue on your dripping entrance, stretching you out with the muscle and making you beg for release, “Please, Tom, I need to cum!”

Hands squeezing your thighs, he pulled away with a grin. His face was soaked with your juices; lips, nose, and chin all glistening with your arousal as he sat up once more and let your legs fall pitifully to the bed. “You need to cum, Angel? Does my little slut want to cum on my tongue?” he pouted, tauntingly.

You nodded desperately, clawing at the bed sheets, “Please!”

“You’ll cum when I say so,” he jeered, slapping the back of your thigh that was already riddled with bite marks, “I’m in charge here, Angel. Got it?”

You clenched your jaw in frustration, earning a menacing scowl, but you nodded nonetheless. His eyes were alight with mischievous enjoyment, his lips spreading into his signature smirk as he jabbed, “Look at you, so pathetic for me, Angel. You’ll do anything I say just to feel my cock, won’t you?” When you nodded, bitterly, he squeezed your thigh, “Such a dumb little slut for my cock. Didn’t even have to work to get you to fall for me.”

Tom yanked you up by your hair, your mouth opening in a cry as he forced you to lift your head. He crammed a pillow beneath your skull before dropping you, and you blinked away the tears that filled your eyes once more. Already, your cheeks were streaked with tears from how many times he’d edged you, and you knew that was exactly what he wanted.

He crawled over you until he was hovering over your chest, knees on either side of your head and his feet digging roughly into your shoulders. You were pinned, unable to move as he gripped his length in his fist and pumped it slowly. “Open up, Angel.”

Opening your mouth, your eyes watered as he dove in to the hilt. You were gagging around him, choking, but he didn’t care; his eyes fluttered shut and he groaned throatily as your mouth wrapped around him completely. He looked truly threatening then; a bad omen sent straight from hell.

He towered over you, still buried deep into your throat, and his black wings stretched so wide that you couldn’t make out the ends of them in your peripheral vision anymore. They glistened in the lamplight, reflecting broken rainbows in their feathers. Tom’s skin was slick and shining with sweat, and he looked like a work of art; some ancient painting of the devil personified.

Pulling out slowly, you barely had time to suck in a breath before he thrust back into your mouth abruptly. He set a fast pace, fucking into your mouth fast enough that you felt like your head was spinning; your eyes were rattling around your skull as you tried your hardest to catch a breath whenever you could. Tom’s hands came down to grip your head, holding you so tightly you wondered if he’d be able to crush your skull like that.

“Fucking perfect mouth on you, Angel,” Tom moaned, rutting his hips into your chin and fisting your hair roughly, “such a good girl for me. You like it when I fuck that perfect mouth?”

All you could do was whine around his throbbing length, still pushing through your lips roughly. Your mouth had long since gone numb, lips tingling and tongue limp in your mouth; he loved it, though. Tom gripped your chin in his fingers, swiping his thumb through the spit that leaked out and smearing it across your cheeks.

With one final thrust, Tom pulled out and smacked your cheek lightly as you panted. You wondered how much of a mess you looked like right then, your mouth undoubtedly puffy and swollen from the intense friction he’d caused against your lips. You didn’t care, though; it was worth it to see the look of ecstasy on his face as he stroked himself and worked to catch his own breath.

Tom, still panting slightly, squeezed your cheeks in his hand as he stared down his nose at you. Wings stretching high above him, you shivered at the sight and pitifully squeaked as he forced your puckered lips apart and spit into your mouth. “On your hands and knees, Angel.” He murmured, leaning down briefly to suck your lower lip into his mouth.

You struggled on shaky limbs to roll over, your elbows on the verge of giving out as you worked hard to hold yourself up. Tom kneeled behind you, and you gave a shuddering sigh as you felt his hands softly caress your behind; the gentle touch didn’t last long. One swift, hard slap to your ass had you squealing.

Your elbows gave out on you, and your upper body crumpled back into the mattress weakly. Tom only hummed to himself, a dark and husky noise that made you arch your back in a silent plea for his touch. His hands were roaming your body, kneading your soft flesh and inflicting pain wherever he saw fit. A slap on your bum, a pinch on your hip, a rough twist of your nipple—all of it earned guttural moans from you.

Desperation was coursing through your blood. Your core was throbbing so hard it was growing painful, and all you wanted was to feel him. You wanted, no, needed him to fuck you. “Please, Tom,” you begged, your voice cracking, “I need you.”

He crooned, hands gripping your ass and spreading you apart once again, “Is that so? My angel needs me?”

“Yes!” you cried, “Please!”

His thumb dipped into your dripping entrance, and the noise you made was pornographic. Loud and theatrical, but it was full of need and desire. Tom chuckled ruthlessly as he retracted his thumb, amused by your pleas, and suddenly the digit forced its way into your neglected hole.

You cried out in a mixture of pain and surprise, but it was enough to have your knees quaking. Finally, he was giving you something. He pumped his thumb into you a few times, the palm of his hand lying flat atop your ass as his fingers dug into your pelvis to hold you in place.

Trembling, you could feel the tears coming. Just as a choked sob wracked its way up your throat, Tom teased his tip through your folds. Just the slightest tap on your clit sent you spiraling, the coil in your belly already threatening to explode the moment he gave you any sort of stimulation. Hooking his thumb and leaning his weight into the hand on your back, Tom slowly pushed into you.

He groaned and you shrieked, rocking your hips back toward him as you chased after him. “Fucking hell, Angel, you feel so good.” he growled, thrusting back into you deeply. His pelvis pushed into your bum, tip nudging your g-spot, and you wailed.

The slow pace didn’t last long. After a few seconds, Tom pulled back and plunged into your heat fast enough to shove you forward on the bed. He crawled after you, thumb abandoning your now aching hole to wrap his arm around your hips and hold you in place. You’d never felt anything like this before—never in your life had any man ever fucked you as well as he did.

It was like he was made for you, his cock filling you so perfectly as if every ridge fit just right into all the little crevices of your walls. Like two puzzle pieces finding home in each other, he drove you to heights you’d never experienced before. “Harder, Tom, please!” you begged, and he obliged.

His thrusts were relentless, his hips slamming into your ass so hard that you were fairly certain his arm was the only thing holding you up. “Are you mine, Angel? Is this cunt all for me? No man could ever fuck you like this, Angel.” Tom was spitting fiery, possessive words with every push of his hips.

“Yours, I’m yours!” you gasped, clawing frantically at the sheets as he rutted into you and rolled your hips into him, “Nobody could ever fuck me like you—oh!”

He brought his free hand around to your clit, fingers pinching and rolling your swollen bud rapidly. Black spots were clouding your vision as you forgot how to breathe, the combination of his deep thrusts and desperate fingers making your entire body seize up. “Cum for me, Angel, wanna feel you cum all over me.” he groaned.

With one final pinch on your clit, you shrieked and the world vanished around you. The coil in your belly snapped and you shook all over, legs trembling and face scrunching up in a silent cry. The fire consumed you as he fucked you through your orgasm, thrusting harder than ever as he hissed under his breath.

Abandoning your clit, Tom’s hand wrapped around your throat again as he pulled you up until your back was flush to his chest, squeezing until you gasped for air. “This cunt’s all mine, Angel, and don’t you ever forget it. No man’s ever gonna make you feel like I do.” he gritted into your ear, biting the soft skin of your earlobe.

You had no doubts that no man would ever compare. His thrusts were growing sloppier, his hips rutting into you more frantically as the hand on your throat clenched erratically. “Cum in me, Tom,” you croaked, the sound of your voice hoarse and airy as you fought to keep his grip on your neck, “I wanna feel you fill me up. Please, please, please—Tom!”

He dropped you and gripped your hips tightly as he slammed into you one last time, rocking into you slowly as you felt his length pulse against your aching walls. The warmth followed, and you realized for the first time that you were truly crying. Tears were streaming down your cheeks, hushed sobs escaping your lips as you gasped for air.

“Angel?”

Tom’s voice was softer, full of tender love and compassion, and you cried harder when he pulled out of you. “Angel, what’s wrong?” he asked, pulling you into his arms and swiping your sweat and tear soaked hair from your face. His eyebrows were furrowed, lips pouted, and those eyes twinkled at you with concern.

“Nothing,” you whimpered, lips trembling, “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

You really didn’t know why you were crying. He hadn’t hurt you—at least not in any way you hadn’t really enjoyed—and you weren’t scared. It was the best you’d ever had, but perhaps you were crying for that exact reason. Knowing what Tom was, you knew that this wouldn’t lead to anything. Never again would this happen, and nobody would ever make you feel the way that he had.

He was overwhelmingly sweet as he kissed your forehead, whispering, “I’ll clean you up, darling.”

Disappearing into the bathroom, he returned with a damp cloth that he first used to wipe your face. He swept away all of your tears and streaked makeup, smiling when your face was clear and clean once again. Then he cleaned up the mess he’d left between your legs, tenderly wiping the remnants that had leaked down your thighs. He was careful not to aggravate the bite marks he’d left on you.

When he returned once more, he pulled back the covers and tucked you into his chest, laying down as he wrapped himself around you. His wings curled around the two of you like a cocoon, and you could barely keep your eyes open as you laid your cheek onto his chest to listen to his heartbeat. It felt a little weird to hear it, knowing he wasn’t human, but was he alive? The thoughts were too confusing for you to get into.

“You did so good for me, Angel.” he praised, playing with your hair and kissing the top of your head, “My sweet angel.”

Smiling, you giggled. Tom squeezed you a little tighter at the sound, cheering, “There’s that beautiful laugh. Are you feeling better?”

You nodded, whispering, “I never felt bad, just… overwhelmed.”

He laughed, the noise making your heart skip a beat, “I told you that you had no idea the devil I am.”

“Are you?”

“Hm?” he hummed, and you propped yourself up to face him curiously.

You were genuinely curious as to what he was, and you asked, “Are you the devil?”

Tom just smirk, the black of his irises consuming the sclera once more before returning to normal. He was teasing you, that much you gathered from the playful glint in his eye, and you pouted. He didn’t leave you much time to think on it, though, because he darted forward to capture your lips in a searing kiss. “Think you can handle one more, Angel?” he murmured, and you hushed him with a kiss of your own.

✞ ✞ ✞

Come Monday at work, you felt as if you’d been hit by a bus. You and Tom had definitely gone for way more than just one more round, and you were suffering the consequences—both physically and emotionally.

Physically, your entire body just ached. Chairs were a no go, and your legs were riddled with marks that certainly would have raised some alarm if you hadn’t found those thick tights you’d hidden away in your dresser. But, emotionally, you were suffering, too.

Your heart hurt as you thought of the fact that never again would you see Tom. He was the devil, or something like that, and just like you’d thought on that first night—he was out of this world. Never had you expected to form a relationship with him, nor had you caught feelings for him, but it was really going to suck yearning for his touch.

The bell over the door chimed, and you raised an eyebrow at Harrison who staggered inside slowly. His face was as white as a sheet of paper, eyes wide and lips parted as though he’d just seen a ghost. “Haz?” you questioned, and he just stumbled into a stool without taking off his jacket.

Even old Marjorie shot him furtive looks of concern, penciled eyebrows creasing down the middle as she watched Harrison drag his palms over his face and groan. The two of you shared one fleeting moment of mutual respect before she turned away again, stirring her coffee and staring into her soup bowl once more. She’d been pretty strange ever since her encounter with Tom.

“Harrison, what’s wrong?” you tried again, resting your elbows on the counter as you leaned down to look into his eyes.

He blinked, his blue eyes slowly focusing on you as he breathed, “My boss is dead.”

Gasping, you stammered, “What?”

“My boss, the CEO, he—uh, he killed himself last night.” Harrison croaked, eyes welling up with unshed tears, “He left a note and… oh, fuck. It’s horrible.”

It took him a long moment to compose himself enough to continue, his body shuddering as he gritted his teeth to keep from crying. You cooed at him and squeezed his hand tenderly in yours, whispering to him that he could take as long as he needed. Never before had you seen the man so shaken up.

You certainly hadn’t expected, though, for him to tell you, “He, um, he confessed to a whole bunch of awful things. I guess he’d been running a human trafficking ring? The whole company is a sham. It was some insane money laundering scheme.”

Your jaw dropped as you gaped at him, and suddenly all the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. The puzzle in your mind was finally completed. As if compelled by some unknown force, your eyes were drawn to the window, and you gasped.

Tom stood outside the diner, dressed in yet another fine suit with no wings in sight, and he smirked devilishly as you made eye contact with him. You could vaguely hear Harrison rambling about the note and how he’d never have guessed this to be true, but you couldn’t focus on anything but the man staring at you from outside.

It all made sense, suddenly. Tom was the devil, and he’d come to collect a damned soul. Frozen, you watched with bated breath as he lifted his hand to wave at you cheekily, winking at you for the final time. In the blink of an eye, he was gone.

When you returned home that night, there was a lone black feather waiting for you on your pillow. Sleek, long, and shining all the colors of the rainbow—you held it between your fingers in amazement. It smelled of petrichor.

Marie Antoinette 2006, dir. Sofia Coppola

Hate Me - Anakin Skywalker

Warnings: SMUT! This is almost pure filth. There is some angst and cursing as well.

A/N: Blame @sarcastic-bubble for the amount of pure filth in this. That is all. (Don’t forget to send in requests!!)

“Canto Bight? That’s the super fancy, rich person planet, correct?” You ask, your chin resting thoughtfully against your hand. “Correct, General. And you’ll be going on this mission with Master Skywalker.” Obi wan explains, to which you let out a strangled groan. “I know of your feelings towards Master Skywalker, but please General, for the Republic, just get along with him.” “Easier said then done, but for the Republic, I will do as I must.” You agree, prompting Obi wan to place a tender hand on your shoulder. He offers you a smile before walking away.

You make your way to the hangar, delighted to find that you were alone. You quietly made your way up into the ship, sighing contently in the silence. You take the silence as an opportunity to meditate, and to hopefully level yourself before spending maker knows how long with the narcissistic, stuck up man that is Anakin Skywalker. Anakin and you had a past, a past that remains in secrecy. You and Anakin had previously been in a romantic relationship, which was kept between you two in order to protect yourselves from the Jedi Council.

Keep reading

Spoil Her Rotten (Chapter 2)

Pairing: Ivar x Reader, Hvitserk x Reader x Ubbe

Type: multi-chapter

Summary: You're pregnant with Ivar's firstborn and his brothers Ubbe and Hvitserk take care of you during this time. At the same time, you deal with a hard choice you made to keep Ivar happy.

AO3: amyponders || Spotify Playlist

Word count: 3.3k

Overall series warning: pregnancy, smut, love-triangles, polyamory, platonic sex, cheating + cuckolding, friends to lovers, light angst, hurt/comfort, domestic fluff, unhealthy relationships, sexual dysfunction, canon typical violence, blood, jealousy, possessiveness, my usual telenovela plot twists, heavy sibling rivalry, unbeta'ed

A/N: this chapter is full of pain & feels bc Reader is giving birth. also, I've never given birth so apologies to the mothers for any wonky things in the scene 🤣

Taglist: @xbellaxcarolinax, @flowers-in-your-hayr, @solinarimoon, @istorkyou, @mrsalwayswrite, @castielsangelsx,@funmadnessandbadassvikings, @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom, @punkrocknpearls, @pieces-by-me, @grimeundglow, @ecarroll1978, @youbloodymadgenius, @vikingstrash, @serasvictoria, @artemiseamoon, @quantumlocked310, @paintballkid711, @magravenwrites, @ritual-unions-gotme, @heavenly1927

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

You were serving a hot plate of food to Ubbe and laughing at some joke he had made when you felt it, the first wave of pain of the day. It had been more than twelve hours since the last one and you were wondering — full of hope — if maybe those nasty pangs were going to give you a break today. You knew that with the due date approaching it was less than likely, but still... you hoped.

Lately, it seemed all you did was recoil in pain and sit down around the house every time your contractions started. Usually, you waited until they subsided, but you did not like to sit around being idle for too long. You hadn’t cut down on your daily activities because of your pregnancy. As a matter of fact, you still went to the market every day to look for fresh produce to cook for your brothers-in-law who loved everything you put in front of them for dinner.

You’d become very close with them during the past months because Ivar had often been away from Kattegat for long weeks on end on ‘kingly business’. According to him, he’d left them with you so they could take care of you. Even if at this point you were not sure who was taking care of who. With the mischievous way they behaved sometimes you felt as if being near them was practice for your upcoming motherly duties. In any case, you had not let your belly dictate anything you did.

In spite of Ivar’s vocal complaints and his insistence upon you resting as much as you could. It is my baby. My first baby. I won’t let anything happen to you two. He repeated constantly, and more than once you found yourself forcing a smile in his presence — sometimes more convincingly than others — whenever you remembered that fateful night Hvitserk had spent in your bed, which had led to the existence of this baby that Ivar now unknowingly called his own.

Although having children had never been a priority for you, you were more than happy to help him fulfill his dream of being a husband and a father, through whatever means. And you were glad that he was not there now because the scream you let out would have startled him beyond measure. You knew how much your discomfort hurt him and you wanted to spare him the sight. Today was not shaping out to be one of those ‘push through it’ days if the way your stomach contracted was any indication.

The plate you were holding fell down with a loud clatter and the food immediately splattered everywhere, from the floor to the wooden chairs, to your pretty blue dress and Ubbe’s leather boots. You bent forward to grab the edge of the table and let out a puff of air. To say it took you by surprise would be an understatement.

Immediately, your brother-in-law was all over you. He cupped your face sweetly. “Are you okay, darling? Is it time?” He had been through this before with Torvi, so you could say he was kind of an expert at this point. He even delivered his last son alone with his wife.

You pressed your own lips hard to keep from yelling. “I… don’t think so. No. No. It’s not time yet. It’s just a regular contraction.” You tried to reassure both of you.

“It smells so good in here!” You heard Hvitserk say as he entered the kitchen with a slight bounce of his toes. “What did you prepare for us today?”

Another wave of pain hit you and you scratched the wooden table with your nails inadvertently, this time not able to hold back the scream.

Hvitserk’s smile vanished as he took in the scene.

Ubbe was standing next to you, one hand on your back now to support you, while his other touched your belly protectively so it would not hit the table as you bent forward violently.

Liquid started pouring between your legs and pooling at your feet.

This was it.

He shot a look over at his brother. “She’s going into labor!”

“What should I do?” Hvitserk sounded slightly panicked. “Do I call Ivar?”

“No! Do not call Ivar!” You shouted as you rode another wave of pain, your voice incredibly strained. “He will lose it!”

“Help me get her to their room.” Ubbe ordered Hvitserk, who passed an arm around your shoulders.

They intended to help you bounce over to your chambers but Ubbe suddenly withdrew. “No, you take her. I am going to go ahead and prepare the room.”

You reached the room with the help of Hvitserk who lifted you off the ground midway and carried you easily, rather than waiting for you to tortuously walk on your own. When you arrived, Ubbe had set down some clean towels, and a basin with water, as well as some medicinal herbs and oils you were keeping close now that you knew you were near the end of your pregnancy.

“Brother.” He began in a grave tone. “There’s been no news of the midwife we sent for a few days ago... so it has to be us.”

“Are you insane?!”

“We have to do it. We have to help her deliver this baby.”

“No way!”

Ubbe shot him a fuming look. “Hvitserk!”

“I don’t know what to do!” He tried to justify himself.

“Well, I do. Just follow my lead!” Ubbe tried to convince him.

“No! No, no, no.” He laughed nervously. “There is no way I am doing this.” He stood with a downcasted look and his hands placed firmly on his hips.

“By all the gods, Hvitserk! We don’t have time to argue!”

“I cannot deliver a baby!” His voice went up a few octaves and he started walking around in circles like a startled chicken.

“Do not tell me that the ever-fearsome-in-battle Hvitserk is afraid of a little blood.” Ubbe sounded pissed.

“No! No, it is not that.” He shot back and made an ‘I am so offended’ gesture that would've been funny if you were not in so much pain.

“Then what is it?”

Hvitserk stayed silent. You knew he was probably lying and thinking of an excuse to sneak out. And you could not exactly blame him. If you were a man and had the option of not being in the same room as a hysterical parturient woman, you’d take it too.

“You’ve killed your fair share of men, brother. Help introduce a new life to the world for a change, eh?” Ubbe smiled a bit strained, challenging him with his eyes as he shoved a towel on his hand.

“Nuh-uh.” Hvitserk shook his head and stepped back and Ubbe walked forward, invading his personal space and grabbing him by the shoulders.

The end of his patience was near. He whispered something emphatically at him while Hvitserk just stood there and took the brunt of his words. You could not hear their exchange now, but knowing Ubbe, he was probably insulting him. Everyone always thought that he was the most reasonable out of all the brothers and they were right. But he had his temper too, especially when it came to his siblings. He had practically invented tough love.

While they argued, you sat on your bed and started crawling to the center, trying to find a comfortable position to lie down but you could not find any. No position helped ease the pain. “Shut up, the both of you, please.” You managed to get out. They looked back at you lying sideways in bed while you grabbed your ankles, liquid and red soaking your dress.

“Is that blood?” Hvitserk exclaimed. “Oh, gods! Is she okay, Ubbe?” He asked, almost comically alarmed.

“She will be. If you help us.”

You shrieked again. Your back felt as if it were about to break, your heart was beating a thousand times per minute and your lower abdomen hurt worse than anything you had ever felt before.

“She needs to lie back with some pillows behind her!” Ubbe looked at Hvitserk as if it were obvious. “Well, move her!” He gestured with his arm, clearly exasperated at his brother before leaving the room.

At Ubbe’s command, Hvitserk snapped out of his trance. He grabbed your legs and waist to lift you, this time placing you down further up the bed and facing upward. You supported your weight on your elbows and threw your head back while trying to steady your breathing.

“Hey, hey, shhh. It’s alright.” Hvitserk leaned over you and tried to calm you by cupping your face.

“I am so sorry. But I had to.” Ubbe spoke when entering the room again.

What was he sorry for? You lifted your head and heard the floorboards creaking. You realized then that Ivar was trailing after his older brother. You did not want him there!

“Babe? Babe, I am here.” His voice trembled a little. “Why is there blood? Ubbe?!” He looked at him spooked.

Did they all expect babies to come out of the womb sparkling clean?

“It’s normal, Ivar.” Ubbe replied in a cool tone to a half-convinced Ivar, then he kept moving jars around trying to find some herb or another. He put a small twig near your nose and you inhaled. It was lavender. “Here, hold this for her, Hvi. It will help calm her down.”

You closed your eyes trying to focus on bringing down your breathing, but your womb chose this moment to wring itself out and make you grunt. You were sweating profusely, the crown of braids you wore loosening up and your hair sticking to your neck already. Was it normal to sweat this much? Your room had always been a cool place, but today in the middle of sommar, it felt particularly hot and humid.

You felt so uncomfortable and as time went by, you became hyper-aware of anything that touched your body, like the heavy fabric of your regal-looking teal blue dress that rustled against your skin, irking you and adding one more stimulus you did not need at the moment. You cursed the moment you had let Ivar convince you of wearing it today.

Ubbe climbed onto the bed and sat down behind you, opening his legs for you to lay back. His solid chest was a nice thing to have behind you; he was affectionate and reassuring to you, as always.

“You need to start pushing, my sweet.” Ubbe spoke next to your ear. He whispered more words of encouragement and you nodded.

You mumbled something back, thinking he would hear you.

“What was that?”

“My dress. By all the gods, take it off!” You murmured half deliriously.

“Help her, Hvi.” He said and you started writhing around.

You saw Hvitserk open his eyes wide before looking down at Ivar and shaking his head no. He was clearly afraid of what your husband could do to him and judging by the look on your sweetheart’s face, he was right to do so.

“Don’t fucking touch her!” Ivar yelled.

His jealous expression was amusing to you, even if he meant to be menacing, the alarm behind his eyes made him look so vulnerable. He knew he could not stop them and probably was not entirely sure he should either. His hesitancy was clearly drawn on his face. Right now he looked about as threatening to you as a wolf puppy, which was probably why you married him in the first place. He could try to pretend with anyone else but you knew he was just a child inside.

“Cut the shit, Ivar!” Ubbe replied briskly to his brother.

Ivar swallowed hard and you could see his mind was racing to try and find a counterargument.

“I-” Hvitserk choked on his words.

“For fuck’s sake, Hvitserk! Sit down behind her, then. And keep her calm! It is better if I oversee this anyway...” Ubbe barked at his other brother; he was trying to juggle the three of you at the same time and it was not exactly easy.

Hvitserk took off his shoes and sat behind you the way Ubbe had done before. However, he grabbed your arms and pinned them to the bed — gently, but firmly — to make you stop writhing.

Ubbe started unlacing the front of your heavy dress.

Inevitably, Ivar spoke again: “Hey! Hey! Is that really necessary?” He had sat down on a stool at the foot of the bed and was reaching at Ubbe. Ivar grasped at his shoulder, almost falling over but managed to make him turn around.

“What?!”

Ivar was frowning like a baby. A really angry baby. “Is it necessary?” Ivar repeated his question; his voice was more urgent than usual.

“Yes! It is. She is suffocating under that clunky dress.” Ubbe assured him.

He kept working the laces diligently but when he realized how long it was going to take, he started tearing at it with his hands. There went the fortune Ivar spent. The fabric gave way with a loud tearing noise and he threw the dress away. Ubbe then tore into your shift to free your body completely.

At that point, you didn't care if they saw you naked, but you were somewhat grateful — and surprised — when you felt Hvitserk look down to the side to avoid looking beyond your shoulders.

“I’m sorry brother, but how do you expect me to deliver this baby if I cannot even see where he’s going to poke his head out.” He said all matter-of-fact.

“No, no, no. I am not comfortable with this!”

“Yeah, guess what? Neither is she. And this is your fault. You did this, brother.”

Ivar frowned. “Excuse me? What?”

“Her insides are ripping apart because you wanted a kid. It is all because of you.” Ubbe tried to guilt him into giving in.

You felt Hvitserk shift uncomfortably behind you and realized you had not really considered how painful and disagreeable this situation must be for him too.

Ivar scowled and bit his inner lip. “Alright, alright.” He conceded lowering his voice, although his frown returned.

“Maybe relax and trust me, yes? I have done this before.” Ubbe laughed at the defeated expression your husband was making.

If he had something else to add he kept it to himself.

“Okay. It’s time, darling! Push!”

You started bearing down with all your strength and kept going at it for what seemed like hours. Or maybe they had been hours, you were not exactly aware of how much time had passed.

Hvitserk was doing better than you expected, he had not left the room as you had once predicted when it all started. And he was doing his best to comfort you, stroking your arms gently and pressing his lips lovingly to the back of your head.

Ivar was biting his nails furiously and breathing heavily, alternating his gaze between Hvitserk’s caresses and your contorted face of pain. You knew that the second this was over, he would not allow his brother to come within twenty feet of you until his jealousy subsided.

“Come on, love, come on. You are doing so well.” Somebody said and you were not even sure who.

If it was true you were doing well, you could not tell. You had lost count of all the times you had pushed, and inhaled, pushed, and inhaled. All you could sense was pain; a blazing agony that felt as if they were cutting you open with a flaming knife. You shrieked like a banshee when the baby’s head crowned, stretching you with a burning sensation, unlike anything you’d ever felt.

Ubbe encouraged you to keep pushing. “I can see the baby's head. Keep going! It’s almost over.”

All you had done for hours was push and push. You wished you could tell him to stop bossing you. You hated him in that instant. You hated everything and everyone. Why did you ever think it was a good idea to become pregnant? Immediately, you felt guilty. You remembered how you had cheated on your husband and how you probably deserved all the pain you were experiencing and more. Your emotions felt all over the place and you finally started crying.

“I cannot- I cannot do it anymore.”

“Yes, you can! You are so strong. That is what I love the most about you!” Ivar dropped to the floor when he saw the baby and crawled the small distance from the chair to the bed.

He lied on it and reached a hand over to your leg, placing kisses on the sole of your right foot before squeezing it in his hand reassuringly.

You fixed your stare on your husband, watching him as he watched you with entranced eyes.

He was fascinated by it, as much as he was repelled, anxious, and scared. You saw how all the emotions danced across his face.

“It hurts so bad. I can’t take it anymore!” Your words got muffled by your erratic sobs.

Hvitserk placed his hand on top of your stomach and rubbed your belly. “Come on, little dove. You are nearly there.” He whispered. “Have I ever told you that you are my favorite sister-in-law?”

You shook your head no. He was trying to distract you and you appreciated it.

“Well, you are… Now let me see my favorite niece.”

“Niece?” You and Ivar both asked at the same time.

“It’s a girl, you will see.” Hvitserk assured you. “And she will be so beloved. Uncle Hvitserk will spoil her rotten. I will bring her presents from every raid...”

Ubbe looked at you and smirked. “So will I.”

“I will watch over her when she starts walking so she doesn’t trip over everything as her mother does.” Hvitserk chuckled.

You would’ve smacked him over the head if you were not otherwise occupied.

“And I will shower her with kisses and teach her how to fight. I will chase away all the boys who come too close because no matter how big she gets, she will always be a little baby to me.” He laughed but you could hear the urgency — and the melancholic longing — in his voice. “But I cannot do any of that if you do not push her out.”

Ivar looked at his brother with conflicted feelings on his face but said nothing. You tried to stifle your cries.

“Please, do it one more time. Just one. I know you can do it.” The blond muttered against your ear and you nodded feverishly.

You sat forward, distancing yourself from Hvitserk’s arms to bear down with all your strength again.

“You are doing great, love. Keep it up, keep it up!” Ubbe urged you.

A blood-curdling scream came out of your throat and you felt the horrible pressure in your belly finally relent.

“She’s out!” Ubbe exclaimed.

“She?” Ivar asked, his voice breaking from all the emotions.

“Yes. You have a healthy daughter, brother.” You saw through your blurry eyes — wet with tears — how Ubbe grabbed your baby daughter and put her in Ivar’s arms after cutting her cord.

“I’m a father! I’m a father!” Ivar repeated incredulously through his tears.

“I told you.” Hvitserk spoke in a knowing voice near your ear again. When a hot tear fell on your shoulder, you realized then that he was crying as well.

You collapsed back on his chest and he did the same against the bed frame. You observed as Ivar held your daughter in the most delicate way possible as if she was made out of the most precious and fragile jewels and the look on his face told you he was happy beyond measure. All the suffering had been worth it.

While Ivar admired your daughter completely absorbed, you felt Hvitserk place one last kiss on your temple and move his soft lips against your skin, loud enough for you to hear. “Please, my love, name our daughter Inga.”

And you nodded as you sobbed.

Secret House Keeper (Link x Reader) PART THREE

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗶𝘁'𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹𝗲! 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗸𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗲!  𝗶 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗴𝘂𝘆𝘀 𝗲𝗻𝗷𝗼𝘆𝗲𝗱!

𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁! @gummy-dummy​

𝗣𝗮𝗿𝘁: 𝗼𝗻𝗲 || 𝘁𝘄𝗼 || 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

L was short for Link. That’s what he told you as soon as he woke up to the smell of you dropping off a bowl of Gourmet Meat Stew on his dresser. 

So of course, you had to stay. 

When he collapsed in front of you all those days ago, you really didn’t know what to do. Admittedly, you probably wasted a few precious seconds as you freaked out over his unconscious, bleeding-out body. Thankfully for you, the sound of your family quickly approaching over the bridge leading to his house was enough for you to pull yourself together. 

Before anything could be done, however, He had to be stripped of his shield, his sword, and his bow. The bow was new- something you didn’t recognize. The sword was obviously something Hylian. A traditional model that you had seen many times yet you learned the name. The shield was another Hunter’s Shield. Decorated with holes and dents from where it was obviously used to block arrows, it looked like it was on its last leg. It was not that different from the one that hung up on his wall right now. You wonder if he had a similar upbringing as you did with your own Hunter’s shield. The thought made your heart heavy. 

Rolling him onto his back, your parents go to work. They dressed his wounds, making sure you understood all the steps they took. While that happened, you flitted around his house for a clean pair of clothes and rags to soak up all of the blood. It was a messy process- messier than cleaning his house has ever been- but you gritted your teeth and bore it. You had involved yourself in his life already. It would be a shame to just leave so suddenly. Especially when someone is in their darkest hour of need.

An hour later, his life was no longer in immediate danger. 

Your parents had patched him up and moved him to bed up the stairs. Your dad took the liberty of changing his clothes, swapping his now dyed blood-red Hylian Tunic for an old, three-quarter-sleeved shirt that you found buried in one of the trunks in his room. His current Hylian Trousers were traded for a new pair that you estimated to be too big for his surprisingly little frame. 

At the same time, you got straight to work scrubbing the floor when he collapsed while your mother left to start on a nice, big pot of Gourmet Meat Stew. The dark red stain was hard to get out of the hardwood floors. Your fingers were starting to ache, and your knuckles turned white as you tried to buff the blood out of the floor. But eventually, you triumphed. Slowly but surely, you got your progress. And luckily for you, you had just finished cleaning up the last of the tiny blood splatters on the wall nearby right as your mother returned, stew in hand. 

Your parents sat at the freshly cleaned table, their stews in their belly as they admired all the weapons and shields on display and spoke mutely about what had just occurred. Their own little whispers about what they thought happened. You didn’t hear any of it. Not one bit. 

Instead, you found yourself sitting on the side of his bed, stew left unattended as you dabbed at his glistening skin. A bowl of his own sat next to yours, but they were both growing cold. You were fine with eating the stew when it was lukewarm, but if he didn’t stir soon, you would probably have to fix him something else. Something that wouldn’t sit in his chest if the dish was too cold. Maybe a nice, warm Meat and Rice Bowl would be a good idea. You could slice any of the leftover meat that wasn’t used in the stew into thin strips. Paired with a bowl of fluffy rice, you’re sure he’ll be able to take it down smoothly. Besides, a dish like that would be easy to prepare quickly.

It came as no surprise to yourself that you had already decided on being the one to nurse him back to health. Getting him wrapped up and off the floor was the first challenge. Even now, as he laid underneath his covers, unconscious but alive, you knew he couldn’t be left alone. You were probably the only one in your family with enough free time to tend to such a wounded patient. Not to mention, not knowing what had happened to him scared you. Stranger or not, you weren’t exactly thrilled with the idea of putting him in someone else’s care. Especially when the very boy you wanted to meet almost had his life slip away in front of you.  

 And with that, his recovery was another item on your To-Do list. A more fragile, delicate item, but another item nonetheless. It’s the least you could do. For invading his home. Just to clean it. Unannounced…

Anyways-

The hours began to blur after that. You sat by his side for a long time, watching the sun disappear and the moon rises into the sky. Your parents left after speaking to each other for a little while, coming up to see you before they turned in for the night. You managed to convince your dad to bring you a blanket as well as the ingredients for the Meal and Rice bowl while they were cleaning your empty bowl and L’s untouched stew. You spent hours tending to him, watching for any sign of a problem- discomfort, infections, anything. Luckily, you were met with nothing but a relaxed face and quiet puffs of air passing from his lips. All was well. 

Eventually, he did stir.

It was late at night when he did, and you had already turned off all but one lamp in his house for the night. His eyes were barely open, and his eyelashes fluttered as he tried to focus his eyes. Soft noises erupted from his throat as made quick work of steaming your rice and cooking the leftover, now sliced meat. You realized he was barely lucid when you returned to his side. You thought that would be a problem at first considering how he couldn’t feed himself in such a state.

Thankfully, you came up with the idea of spoon-feeding him- an idea that surprisingly worked. All you had to do was prop him up a little against the headboard of his bed. A gentle prod of your spoon against his lips was enough for his brain to recognize what needed to happen, even while he was in such a fuzzy state. It was a slow, slow process of feeding him, and the silence was only broken by your murmured words of comfort and encouragement. You eventually got him to finish close to half of the rice bowl and the majority of the meat before he turned his head away and his eyes fluttered shut. Near-silent snores filled the air after that. He had gone to sleep.

This process continued for six more meals over the course of the next two days. You would spoon-feed him. The first four meals were still Meat and Rice bowls. Always freshly cooked. Always nice and hot from the kitchen. You would blow on it gently before feeding it to him, and he would slowly eat your cooking in the same daze from the day before. He was slowly eating more and more as each mealtime went by. During the last two meals, he started to become present enough to handle something a little different. Your father had started a fresh pot of Gourmet Beef Stew for lunch on the second day after L had collapsed so you decided to bring a bowl for him. You focused on feeding him the broth mostly and were able to feed him some of the smaller chunks of meat while slipping in some veggies here and there. 

You were able to do that one more time before he woke up. 

“W-where..?” His whisper was hoarse, yet it rang out in the early morning air. “W-what happen-”

His words cut off with a harsh cough as he sits up. You sucked in a sharp breath, surprised to see him up so suddenly, but you instantly rushed to his side. In seconds you were reaching for the pitcher of water you had sitting out on the bedside table and pouring him a glass of water. His cheeks flush as he struggles to gain his breath again while you spend a couple extra moments rubbing his back softly and balancing a glass of water in your free hand. 

Eventually, the coughs stop, and he accepts the glass of water from your hand. He drinks it greedily, downing the whole thing in seconds before letting his hands fall to his side. Silence settles between the two of you as you eye him carefully, watching for any problems. You had been at his side for so long- only leaving to wash up or let your father change his clothes, so he was allowed privacy. The first night you had slept at the foot of his bed, just in case he turned too suddenly and ended up hurting himself further. Every night after that, you slept minimal hours in your own bed at home. And you always made sure to rush back to L’s house, never wanting to leave him alone for long. You’d be damned if anything happened to him now. 

When he turns to you, you’re met with a beautiful sight. You had admired his features while he was asleep sure, but now that he was awake, you couldn’t help but stare in awe. His eyes were big, round, and a gorgeous shade of blue. They were like fresh water from a stream or a clear sky. His eyebrows were thick and full, and for some reason, you could just tell they were almost always furrowed. His nose was small but fit his face perfectly. Coupled that with his long, messy, dirty blonde hair and you couldn’t help but be impressed by how cute and boyish he looked.

Before you started cleaning his house, you had always caught glimpses of him from afar. Judging by how he lived alone and would always be outdoing Goddesses know what, you figured he’d be a lot older. But despite how young you thought he looked physically, you knew deep down his age didn’t change the fact that he must be a seasoned adventurer. A fighter, an explorer- perhaps even a soldier in his past life.

When he had collapsed in front of you, that was just a mere moment of weakness. The L in front of you now doesn’t have the same appearance as the L you’ve been nursing all this time. He looked guarded. Tense even, as if he was ready to run at the first sign of a predator. Those beautiful, round blue eyes of his didn’t carry the innocence that most people usually came to associate blue eyes with. They were not as soft as a babbling brook or as dainty as the summer sky at noon. They were hard. They were walled up. And they were looking at you as if you were a threat. Who knew that someone so young could look so old? So experienced? Despite looking close to your age, you have never met someone who seemed so un-

“-like me…” Your thought finishes itself out loud before you’re able to realize what happened. Despite the words coming out as a whisper, L’s eyes narrow at you. The look he gives you is intense. It feels angry, almost. It’s obvious that he heard you. And it’s even more obvious that you have to now pick up the pieces and explain yourself. “Um- I wanted to apologize for coming into your home uninvited! When you collapsed, I knew I couldn’t just leave you there so I-”

“You’re the housekeeper.” 

L’s voice is firm, yet gentle as he cuts you off. There’s no question mark that follows his words. It’s a statement. Pure and simple. He sounds confident and completely sure of himself. When you look in his eyes again, you realize that it’s not anger that you spotted. His gaze is still cloudy from recovery, and his eyes look like he’s deep in thought as he speaks to you. It’s as if he’s trying to recognize you from someplace. You doubt he’s in much of a position to do anything but rest, but you couldn’t help but ask:

“How did you know I was the ‘housekeeper’?”

It feels odd calling yourself that since there was no initial formal agreement between the two of you. Despite this, being called the housekeeper so casually helped you feel like he doesn’t see you as much as a threat. Hopefully, at least. 

“I saw you.” He states simply. When you blink at him owlishly, tilting your head in confusion, he starts by clearing his throat and explains himself further. “Before I- before I fell, I mean. I saw you cleaning. So, I figured…”

A red hue appears of L’s face as he trails off, eyes casting off to the side. You hold in your giggle at his sudden bashful behavior. The aged look of anger and experience doesn’t suit him as well as this childish pout of his. It’s a rather cute look on him. 

“Is that so? Well then, you really must be the infamous L, huh?” You hum, a small smile gracing your face. “I’m glad we were able to patch you up in time. I was really worried.”

“I’m sorry about all that. Normally, I’m not that careless…so thank you…” Link murmurs, scratching the back of his neck absently. Your heart aches with the thought of just how many times he had to patch himself up while he was close to death when suddenly, his eyes snap back to yours and you’re floored with just how alive he looked for a second. “And, you…you don’t have to call me L…if you don’t want to, of course. It was just my signature. My name is Link, actually…”

“Link?” You try the name out on your tongue. It flows out perfectly, and you recall it was once the name of a legendary Hero of Hyrule from a long, long time ago. It suits him, you think. It suits him perfectly. “…what a pretty name. It’s nice to finally meet you, Link.”

The second time you say his name, his body loses all of its tension. His shoulders relax, and his body deflates. A smile stretches across his lips as he looks at you, eyes half-hidden by his messy bangs. It’s a quiet, gentle smiler as his eyes scan your figure, burning your image into his head It’s full of comfort, and it makes you feel safe- trusting. It doesn’t fit the look of a boy who collects swords, bows, and shields. It doesn’t fit the look of a boy whose eyes hold so many stories of fights and battles and danger at every corner. And it surely doesn’t fit the look of a boy who had almost bled out in front of you. Yet he wears it anyway. 

And he wears it well.

“You know,” Link starts, and the second he captures your eyes, the smile on his face evolves into a grin you didn’t think was possible on your sweet little patient. “It’s even prettier when you say it…”

Maybe he wears it a little too well.

I understand.

Pairing: MultiMale!Insert x gender neutral ! reader

Word Count: 418

Warning: riding, choking, dirty talk, penetrative sex, degrading, dom!male  x gn!reader.

18+ NSFW CONTENT UNDER THE CUT

“Look at me.”

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