#grim scribbles

[ggrimboy]

i want (to be) you

[grimalkinmessor]

reimob, fluff, and feathers 🩷🩷

WING FIC TIME!!!!!! (⁠ﾉ⁠◕⁠ヮ⁠◕⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧

Reimob/Fluff/Feathers

———

"Sit still, Mob."

Shigeo stilled in his squirming, chastised but not embarrassed—not anymore. The way his wings fluttered around his shishou's fingers had once made him red in the face, mortified by the obvious pleasure he took from Reigen's fingers sifting through his feathers.

Now, they'd both been at this too long to feel ashamed about it.

Reigen huffed when Shigeo's wings shivered again, stopping his preening to swat Shigeo upside the head. "Still, I said! You keep jostling everything back out of place."

He sat behind Shigeo on the back of the couch, shoes off so his socked feet could rest on the seat cushion, bracketing Shigeo's hips. Reigen's deft hands carded through inky feathers and plucked and straightened and smoothed down anything out of place, occasionally dropping a few feathers in the small pile on the arm of the couch. Shigeo was getting big enough that soon the couch wouldn't be a good place for this, the tips of his primaries brushing against the edges of the seat even without being fully extended.

He wondered if Reigen would stop preening him, then. He hoped he wouldn't.

Reigen had been preening him for years at this point—ever since he was twelve, his newly grown feathers replacing old baby fuzz and making him so uncomfortable he couldn't keep it hidden. His parents preened him, of course; it was typically a family activity, shining up someone's wings before they left the house. Like helping a child brush their hair until they could do it themselves, and even then still sometimes after, just to keep close. To bond.

But by the time Shigeo had first stepped timidly into Reigen's office, his parents had all but ceased to preen his wings. His mother'd had to take double shifts at work to cover Ritsu's hospital bills, while his father had been playing diplomat to the angry parents of the other, older boys Shigeo had cracked against the pavement. Neither of them had time to do more than a few cursory cards over Shigeo's wings before ushering him out the door to school.

And Ritsu...

Ritsu had been another matter entirely.

Almost a year had passed like that, until the fullness of Shigeo's wings and they're subsequent twitchiness had caught his shishou's attention. When Reigen had offered, Shigeo hadn't had the will nor the want to say no.

Reigen's hands always felt like heaven in his feathers, quick but not painful, firm but not rough, gentle but not ticklish. He shines up the back of Shigeo's wings with an exactness that no one else could match.

"Shishou is too good with his hands," Shigeo said in faux-complaint, eyes closing.

A beat, blink-and-you'll-miss-it pause. Then Reigen was humming in amusement, seemingly unphased by the comment. "Get one of your little school friends to help you, then."

Shigeo frowned, almost a pout. "...My friends are too bad with their hands."

Reigen barked out a laugh, his hands resuming their work once more. "What's that supposed to mean, huh? Kids are supposed to be bad at this, you know. Practicing on each other is how you learn."

"I'm not saying they have to be great at it," Shigeo grumbled, slitting his eyes open to peer at the floor. "But I don't really want to be their test dummy either."

"It's good experience, Mob," Reigen dismissed, scraping his fingers down the seam of Shigeo's wing where it met the skin of his back, sending shivers racing up his spine. His wings gave another flutter, and Reigen huffed. "Still."

Shigeo obeyed, forcibly quieting his overexcited wings and bringing that old conversation to an end. Anything to keep Reigen's hands on him.

He closed his eyes again. "I like it when you do it."

Reigen didn't pause this time, but he also didn't respond to Shigeo's admission either.

Shigeo felt a bit miffed. Not wanting to let Reigen worm his way out of it, he asked, "Do you like it, Reigen-shishou?"

"...Yes," Reigen said after a moment. "I like preening you, Mob."

Head tipping back, Shigeo said, "I meant when I preen you, Shishou. Do you like it when I preen you?"

Reigen stared at him, eyes widened—deer in the headlights.

His own wings were tucked against his back, closed, as they usually were in public, the ends of them hooked down behind the back of the couch where Shigeo couldn't see. He knew that Reigen wasn't ashamed of his wings—they were beautiful, a lovely shade of tawny that almost looked gold in the right light—but Reigen also had very little people in his life that he was close to. Reigen was used to hiding his wings away because, for a long time, he'd had no one to help him preen them, so they always looked a bit messy, no matter how much he tried to do it himself.

Shigeo had asked to reciprocate after their first encounter with Claw, when Reigen had instinctively flashed open his wings to shield them both.

"When things go South, it's okay to run away!"

Moonlight haloed behind him, his expression open and earnest, his wings spread open and curled around them...

That had been the first time that he'd ever thought, 'Oh. Shishou is beautiful.'

The first, but certainly not the last. He was beautiful now, caught off-guard and striped with evening sun coming in from the blinds. He might even be remembering the first time that Shigeo had preened him, after that very same encounter. Sat in the office, Hanazawa gone home, Ritsu asleep on the couch as Reigen called their parents to let them know where they were, coming up with another another another lie to keep them from worrying. Shigeo had seen how out of sorts he'd been, his wings twitching, and had remembered how ruffled his feathers had looked. And, feeling grateful and guilty all at once, Shigeo had asked to preen him.

Reigen had frozen, hemmed and hawed and hesitated, but he'd ultimately given in, dragging Shigeo's desk chair around so he could sit on it backwards, allowing a smaller Mob to put inexperienced fingers to his wings. Straightening, plucking, brushing; feeling Reigen reluctantly shiver and croon beneath his touch and not yet knowing what the warm, hot feeling in his gut meant.

"Yes, Mob," Reigen said now, forcibly nonchalant. "I appreciate you helping me with it. Now, for the last time, be still would you?"

Shigeo obeyed, though he wasn't quite yet appeased. He let Reigen finish him up, then turned, wings still flared, and pushed up into Reigen's space. His gaze was focused, bright.

Insistent.

"Your turn, Shishou."

"Alright—alright, you pushy brat, give me a second to get situated!" Reigen barked, shoving at Shigeo's face in annoyance when his black wings crowded around him, hemming him in and herding him down.

Huffing, Reigen slid down onto the couch itself and sat crisscross, while Shigeo settled into Reigen's place on the back of the couch. He wasn't quite as tall as Reigen, not yet, but that just gave him a better vantage point to see what needed to be fixed. Shigeo buried his fingers in his shishou's pretty feathers, taking time to brush them through slowly. And, like always, Reigen relaxed instantly at his touch, his wings falling open wider, flexing.

A few feathers were loose, pulled out from between the others in Shigeo's hands, but unlike Reigen, he didn't pile them up to be disposed of later. Shigeo set every feather carefully beside him in a line a little disappointed that there weren't more. He supposed being a fully matured adult meant your wings shed less.

Reigen's wings weren't technically bigger than Shigeo's, not in height at least, but they were thicker. Longer. Sturdy, strong—capable of getting him places and getting him there fast.

Shigeo's wings resembled cormorants; fishing birds. Water birds. Built for diving, strength, weathering storms... Not for speed.

If Reigen ever decided to fly off without him, Shigeo wasn't sure he could catch him.

But he hadn't.

Many birds were sedentary. Many birds mated for life.

Shigeo hoped that, in that, he and Reigen were the same.

When he was finished, Reigen's wings gleamed like fools gold, straight and sleek. Shigeo felt pleased with himself, even more so when Reigen visibly had to wake himself up, lulled into a sleepy sort of contentment by Shigeo's ministrations. As he moved about the office, his wings fluttered and fluffed ever so slightly, as they always did when he was freshly preened and immensely pleased about it.

Hiding his smile by ducking his head, Shigeo tucked the few stray feathers he'd collected into his pocket. Then, as Reigen began to corral them both out the door for dinner, Shigeo slipped one of his own sleek primaries onto Reigen's desk. Center fold, unmistakable.

Reigen would find it in the morning. Shigeo hoped that he would tuck it away with the others Reigen pretended he didn't save in his desk drawer.

Then, when the time came, Shigeo hoped he'd wear them, as Shigeo wanted to wear his.

A symbol to the world that they belonged to each other.

[shadowdecidueye]

[acetrappolad]

nice to meet you, dilah spade!

[odds-and-bookends]

(Cloudcalling Book 3 Ch.3)

wHY WERE THEY SO MEAN...

fins wondering why hes cursed to hang out with all these rich jerks while he doesnt even have a bank acct....or parents....or a social security number....sigh

[monpalace]

leona kingscholar/reader. gender-neutral reader. ~700 words. there's one (1) line of dialogue in this entire thing.

there's a sleeping lion between your legs the second your hands touch his mane.

leona's head bobs and sways every time you comb your hands through the tangled locks and you're not sure if it's because he's actually asleep or because he's chasing your touch.

(you know full and well it's the latter.)

ruggie pops in and out of the room periodically to pull out leona's uniform and ensure he hasn't dragged you back into the bed. he's snickering and you can tell he's considering doing something for blackmail, but he's quick to talk himself out of it and leave with a wave.

leona's hair is softer than the first time you touched it. it's easier to comb through and braid since that time octavinelle tried to swindle ramshackle, weaving through your fingers like delicately grown grass with the occasional hiccup.

he takes better care of his hair nowadays, even if he does force you to do most (if not all) the work. better wording would be he's more willing to care for it, but you've been told of the effort he puts into a routine when you're not available.

(even if he denies it and says ruggie's a liar, you'd have to be blind to not see the amount of product littering his bathroom.)

admittedly, you were most thankful when he started braiding and tying his hair up at night. you remember how he'd squeeze your thigh or bite his hand whenever you'd try to untangle and style it after getting him up.

leona's tail swats your foot when you accidentally rake a hand over his ear, his teeth lightly scraping against the knee he laid his head on. a silent warning that you're quick to acknowledge by rubbing around the ear before smoothing the hair again.

your fingers glide through his hair as you braid it. he's compliant when it comes to not leaning into the way you pull and stroke to make sure no strand is too loose, a quiet, rumbling noise leaving him whenever you do.

when tapping and gentle shakes don't work, you have to stop touching him entirely for him to barely wake. his chin is sharp on your thigh when he finally turns his head, eyes trying hard as they might to glare at you through his tiredness.

a hand combing through the hair that frames his face gets him to turn until he can angle his head up at you properly. he lays his head down once you start planning where to start the first braid and all you're able to focus on is the way the waves of his hair have become defined coils.

they bounce back every time you pull a strand into the braid and you can confidently say it's the most fun you've had doing anyone's hair.

you have to press the braid between his lips to keep it from unraveling. his nose sniffs because he can feel a few stray strands tickle it, but he doesn't spit it out when you do gymnastics to reach the closest hair tie.

(there were at least thirteen scattered somewhere between the sheets. you think some of them snapped during the day and finally fell when he collapsed in bed, though there was also the possibility he just tugged them off when he settled down for the day.)

(that'd explain why all of them had strands of hair impossibly wound around them.)

muscle memory kicks in when you tap his head onto the other leg and start the second braid. taking the other tie and wrapping it around it, you wonder if he'll drag you back into bed or get dressed enough to drag you to one of his favorite spots.

while the thought of escaping to get yourself ready for the day is tempting, you know he'll only hold tight at refuse to let you go.

you're not sure why you didn't expect him to wrap an arm around each thigh, holding you in place after an unfortunate twitch. his eyes open as wide as they can like some sort of threat and the only answer you give him is a peck on the forehead.

"we have to get going," you hum, thumb rubbing against the apple of his cheek. his grip tightens and you're on the floor before you know it.

he's holding your head against his chest like he's protecting you from the dust on the ground and all you're thinking about is how you have to go through the entire process a third time.

[reshirambaa12]

chapter 131

[ramshackle-lost-n-found]

i think about how i missed platinum jacket Grim and i cry inside

[decentai]

[imnotgrimimjustagrumpyreaper]

Please tell me why as obsessed with them as I am this is the only thing I've managed to draw for ineffable bureaucracy 😂😅😭🫡🔥🔥🔥

[ggrimboy]

ive been playing isat with my partners and one of them made an edit i just HAD to redraw

[grimalkinmessor]

Aideku with blood (smut) 🙏❤️

Sorry this took so long, smut is hard 🥲How about a vamp AU? :3 Warnings in the tags ✨

Aideku/Smut/Blood

———

Izuku is nervous.

"Don't be such a pussy, Deku," Tsubasa jeers, shoving him forward. The mausoleum looms in front of them, haloed by the setting sun. "It's one night."

"Yeah, you can handle one night in an empty building, can't you?" Neiru laughs. "Or...mostly empty, anyway. Aside from a few corpses."

Izuku swallows. "I-I can do it! I just—"

"Good," Neiru interrupts, stepping up to open the big stone door. It opens with a grating moan, a vast expanse of black yawning beyond it. Neiru gives a mocking bow. "In you go then!"

Nails biting into his palms, Izuku sets his jaw. "...I do this, and you'll give me my picture back?"

Tsubasa throws an arm around Izuku's shoulders, leaning in close and making his skin crawl. "Aw c'mon, Deku, we're friends, right?"

They haven't been friends in years.

"It's just a little game. The picture's just insurance that you won't chicken out. We'll give it back if you make it the whole night without bailing."

Izuku doesn't believe him. But what choice does he have? If he refuses, he doubts they'll hand it over—it's more likely that they'll rip it up right in front of him. Besides, Izuku is less concerned about spending the night in a mausoleum than he is Tsubasa and Neiru letting him out in the morning.

But even if they don't, Izuku is crafty. He'll figure it out.

Tightening his hold on his backpack, Izuku strides forward into the tomb.

"Finally! Thought we'd have to throw you in," Tsubasa complains, and Neiru snickers as he begins to push the door shut.

"Have fun, Deku!"

Before Izuku can even reply, the door thuds shut, and the bar scrapes back into place over it from the outside. Izuku waits a moment before fumbling for his phone, turning on the flashlight to get a good look around. It's not that big of a space really, but it's full of cobwebs and coated in a thick layer of dust. It's clear that these ancestors haven't been visited in a very long time. There's about six plaques on either wall, some of them so old that the kanji has worn down so much he can't make out the names. They're so old that Izuku wouldn't be surprised if there were actual bodies behind those plaques rather than just urns full of ash.

And speaking of bodies—the biggest thing in the room is the long stone slab directly opposite the door. It has no plaque on it, but the seam between the heavy stone lid tells Izuku that it's likely a coffin, which means that he really is locked in here with a corpse.

Izuku gulps. It's fine. It's fine. He can handle this. There's nothing to be afraid of.

Shaking his head, Izuku finds a fairly clean spot in the middle of the room and sits down, shrugging off his backpack to rifle through it. First things first; he pulls out his actual flashlight, shutting his phone off to preserve the battery. He clicks his flashlight on and sets it on the floor like a tiny lamp, before tugging out one of his textbooks. Might as well get some work done while he's stuck here.

He's almost out of high school now, looking into nearby colleges so he can stay close to his mother—which makes it all the more pathetic that he's still getting pushed around by people like Tsubasa and Neiru. Granted, it's not as bad as it used to be, but it's still irritating.

Izuku tries to ignore his surroundings as he works his way through the next chapter, gnawing on his pen and occasionally jotting down notes in the margins. This works for a while; he manages to make his way through two whole chapters without much trouble. He loses track of time a bit, until—

—something skitters across his foot.

Izuku shrieks, throwing himself back on instinct, leg flailing as he tries to stand only to end up toppling harshly against the casket behind him. Yelping, Izuku crashes back to the ground, clutching his shoulder with a wince. It throbs when he touches it, and he hisses quietly. That's going to bruise.

Grabbing blindly for his flashlight, Izuku staggers back to his feet and looks around for whatever just tried to climb his pants leg. He sees a spider the size of his hand sprint into a crack in the wall, and Izuku shudders, making a soft 'blegh' sound.

Swinging the light around slowly, Izuku freezes when he realizes that his flailing has pushed the lid of the stone casket aside. "Sh-shit," Izuku whispers, anxiety spiking. He sets the flashlight down again, face up, the light dispersing throughout the tomb enough to give the place a dim glow. "Shit, shit, shit—"

Hands shaking, Izuku approaches the cracked casket and tentatively peers inside. He expects to see some withered husk of a thing, or maybe nothing but bones and dust given how old this tomb seems—he's very much not expecting what looks like the perfectly preserved corpse of a man who couldn't have died more than a year ago.

Izuku blinks, squinting. The flashlight glow is dim, but from what he can see it's a man with long, dark hair and a riot of stubble. The white and black yukata he's wearing is shockingly pristine, pale hands folded calmly over his stomach. There are no signs of decay at all, not beyond the ashen white of the corpse's skin. Unable to help himself, curiosity ad incredulity flaring, Izuku reaches forward and touches the man's cheek. The flesh is stone cold—not quite icy, but certainly not full of warmth. There's a bit of give there too, the flesh porcelain but still somehow soft.

Brow furrowing, Izuku slides his hand down to press two fingers to the corpse's white neck. He's no sure whether he's surprised or relieved to find no pulse.

Izuku barely has time to register this however, because mere seconds later a hand snaps out and fists in his uniform jacket, yanking him down and in to the coffin. Izuku yelps, panic spiking, as he crashes onto the cool body settled in the slab, mouth opening to scream as the stone lid of the casket slams back into place.

But no sound escapes his mouth, because in the sudden darkness he feels teeth slice into his throat—before pleasure overtakes him.

Izuku gapes at nothing as a solid arm latches around his waist, tight enough to bruise and yet somehow still seeming absentminded. The subtle rasp of stubble rubs against his neck, and Izuku smells the faint scent of blood as lips move and hum quietly against his pulse. The electrifying feeling of heat spiders out from the point of contact, spreading through Izuku's body and pooling in his gut. Izuku's eyes flutter, a weak noise escaping his mouth as his hands flex and paw at the chest of the-the thing beneath him. He's not sure whether he means to push it away, or draw it closer.

Izuku feels his blood spilling slowly down his neck, thick and hot, and the pieces slot together in his bewildered, fuzzy mind.

Vampire.

He is locked in a tomb—a coffin—with a monster of legends. It's feeding off of him, stealing his blood, likely killing him...

But Izuku can barely bring himself to care.

A ragged groan scrapes out of his throat as the vampire sucks out his lifeblood, ecstasy filling him in its place. He feels his cock stiffen, pressing tight against the seam of his pants as Izuku's eyes roll back in delirious elan. Through the haze, his ever analytical mind notes that the man's hands are skating up and down his sides, one fisting loosely in his hair to pin his head at a better angle. The chill of the corpse's skin is slowly being replaced by warmth, siphoning off Izuku's body heat as well as his blood.

Izuku gasps as a leg juts up beneath him, a muscled thigh slipping in between his legs and pressing against his erection. The pressure makes him tremble, little hiccups of sound lilting out of his mouth as he instinctively rocks his hips down in helpless little jerks, each movement giving him another jolt of pleasure.

A tongue swipes over his bloodied neck, the white-hot bliss of those teeth leaving him for a moment as the monster beneath him cleans him up. Izuku whines at the loss, a quiet desperation striking through him.

'No, no, come back, I'm almost...'

He moans shakily as he feels those fangs pierce the other side of his neck, drawing out his blood and sending him high once more.

"A virgin...?" a low voice purrs, sleepy and bemused and...in his head?

The hands on him tighten, and Izuku whimpers as it sends another spike of arousal through him. He has the vague sense of shame, of embarrassment, at the way he's humping the man's leg, rubbing the tent in his old jeans against the silky white fabric of the man's yukata—but it's a faint sensation. His anxiety is drowned out by the sheer amount of ecstasy coursing through him. Izuku feels it building in his stomach, coiling in his gut as his toes curl and his thighs clamp tight around the muscled thigh beneath him.

He's close, he so close, he—

Red glow fills the space, casting the figure beneath him in a crimson haze. His eyes are a brilliant, luminous scarlet, and the light of them makes the blood painting his mouth look black.

"Your lust..." the man rasps, hands skating up and down to fasten around Izuku's hips. His voice is low and wet, and Izuku can smell his own blood on his breath. "I can taste it."

Then the monster yanks Izuku's hips down, forcing him to grind up against the man's stomach. Izuku cries out, sobbing as the force, the crush, the smell sends him toppling over the edge of orgasm. He cums so hard his vision goes white, mouth open in a soundless wail as wave after wave of pleasure crests over him, shocking up his spine and curling in his scalp. He forgets to breathe for several precious moments, knocked breathless by it.

Vaguely, he feels the man's mouth on him again, trailing his tongue against the newest wound. Izuku's eyes flutter, and he collapses fully on top of him, lost in the afterglow. He's not sure whether the dizziness he feels is because of his orgasm or the blood loss, and he's not sure he particularly cares either. His limbs feel like jello.

"Mm, you're type O," that low voice muses, a hand trailing up and down Izuku's spine. "I thought it was merely that I hadn't fed in so long, but it's no wonder. Best way I've woken up in a long time." The hand pauses, and the red glow now saturating the inside of the coffin flickers. "Mind telling me what year it is?"

"It's..." Izuku begins, the question booting his brain back into gear. His thoughts begin to race as he blinks rapidly to clear his head, a myriad of questions and emotions and reactions flashing across his mind in quick succession. "I-It's 2237."

"A little over four hundred years this time," the man murmurs, brow furrowing in contemplation. "Odd. Someone usually wakes me up every turn of the century."

"U-Um, sir," Izuku tries after a moment, wriggling in mortification when he feels the mess he's made in his pants. "Can you, um, let me out now? If y-you're not going to finish me off?"

'Why would you ask that, WHY would you—'

"I would," the monster begins absently, licking a stray trail of Izuku's blood from the corner of his lips. He's looking at the faintest trickle of light that can be seen from the seam of the stone lid. "But it seems like it's still daylight out. The mausoleum must've collapsed..."

Izuku attempts to push himself up, but the idle hand on his back isn't as idle as he thought. Vampire strength, he realizes quickly. Biting his lip, he tries not to think of the bruises already blossoming on his hip. "No, that's just my flashlight! It's actually very late, so it's safe for you to let me out, I promise!"

Scarlet eyes narrow at him, grip tightening, and Izuku squeaks like a dog toy when those fangs scrape against his neck again. "You're not lying to me, are you? Little lust thrall?"

Izuku's face flushes brightly, and the man noses his cheek almost instinctively, as if following the blood flow. "I-I'm not! I'm not lying, I swear! Please, just—I don't want to die," he finishes weakly, hands fisting tightly in cloth pooling by the monster's sides.

The man's eyes soften slightly, and he sighs. The tang of warm iron feathers against Izuku's face. Reaching behind them both, the man swipes the lid to the side with one hand, the rough scrape of stone on stone making Izuku wince. Before Izuku can even move, he finds himself being hauled up and set outside the coffin on his feet. He staggers immediately, knees still weak, and nearly falls.

A calloused hand pushes against his back, keeping him upright. Izuku swallows and blinks away the spots crowding his vision, stumbling away to pick up his flashlight.

He turns again, cringing at the wet feeling between his legs. The man is sitting up in his box, peering at him curiously. Unable to help himself, Izuku tentatively asks, "So... you're n-not going to eat me?"

Tipping his head, the man gives him a hooded smile, dark hair shadowing his face as he answers, "Not anymore than I already have."

Izuku's face feels so hot he'd work well as a heat lamp.

The man steps smoothly out of his tomb and, to Izuku's surprise, folds into a bow. "Aizawa Shouta."

More habitually than anything, Izuku bows back. "Midoriya Izuku. It's, uh, nice to meet you?"

Aizawa smirks at him, the tips of his fangs flashing. "Well, Midoriya," he says, practically purring out the name. Izuku's breath catches. "Thank you for the meal. I hope you'll allow me the chance to taste you again. In a place where I can properly see you, this time."

With that, Aizawa rises from his bow and swirls into shadow, racing out of the doors of the mausoleum and leaving them banging open behind him. Moonlight spills into the tomb, and Izuku watches Aizawa's shadows zip through the cemetery and out into the night.

He has a feeling that he's just got himself into far more trouble than he knows.

[shadowdecidueye]

having a #durante moment

[manawari]

Grim Reaper!Lim Tae-gyu

"What? Never seen a grim reaper with a bow and arrow before?"

Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade.

There was a secret Lim Tae-gyu liked to hide in the depths of his soul.

Awakening for the first time, a malodorous aura brushed against his nose. Perhaps the mana of an S-Rank? Tae-gyu shrugged it off and continued on his way as his country's newest powerful hunter.

Nevermind the lurking darkness now resided in his hands.

. . . . .

The first strange sign was when Tae-gyu found a murder of crows flocking in front of his window. It was suspicious to see such a thing in the very morning, yet he elected to ignore it, believing he had nothing to do with the presence of those dark-feathered birds.

Unbeknownst to him, the crows followed him above the clouds. They flocked nearby his office. They accumulated on every surface he was beneath in. A sense of fellowship and reverence was drawn to the oblivious hunter, who was just then establishing his guild.

They saw him as their superior.

An entity they were willing to serve.

Time marched on, the clock whirled, and Lim Tae-gyu was caught in a difficult state. After defeating the boss in the dungeon, bodies littered the cold ground aimlessly, and incessant rivers of blood streaming through the open wounds; the hunter's eyes stretched in vast horror. The culprit remained stood, his blade covered in deep scarlet red.

A wicked, maniacal grin crooked across his lips. "Like what you see, Guild Master?"

Lim Tae-gyu's breath quivered. He could see the fallen hunters on the ground had begged for mercy and fought with all their might until their last breaths. Unfortunately, it had to be none other than a hunter's blade. Tae-gyu gritted his teeth— I did not create this guild for someone to kill his own people!

Without a passing thought, he stretched his bow and summoned an arrow, glaring coldly at the hunter as if he was a magic beast. He let go of the string and the arrow launched across the place, successfully piercing into the hunter's chest. His hands went rigid upon using his powers to kill a human. Nonetheless, it was a human who shed no mercy and comradeship.

Shortly after the kill. . . A dark grey shadow emerged from the body. It carried the same countenance of the hunter. Tae-gyu sensed the same vague feeling all over again, the gut-wrenching unpleasant stench, or could it be— the smell of death. The S-Rank padded toward the torpid soul, opening his mouth to say;

"May you rot in hell."

The spirit faded into existence.

Movements rose behind him, Tae-gyu turned to face the melancholic souls of the dead hunters. His chest clenched at their end. He knew they had a family, a life they could've continued, and yet. . . Fate had a twisted plan.

"Go rest now," he said to them. "I promise to not let this situation happen again."

A few smiled as they disappeared.

There was a weight that had been lifted from his shoulders. Tae-gyu glanced on his bow, remembering the past event occurred moments ago, the way the arrow struck and took a single life, summoning the body's spirit. It was as if it was an arrow of death. Lim Tae-gyu figured there must be more than to his abilities as they seemed.

When he got out of the gate, a crow perched on his shoulder, croaking. Tae-gyu stared at it and raised his finger to gently caress its head.

"You waited long, didn't you?" The crow blinked and fluttered its wings. Tae-gyu took it as a yes and watched it took off to the distance.

They say, a dark entity roamed the earth. It only wanted one thing: soul. Human or animal, it reap for spirits to collect and send to the afterlife. Only those who were near death would meet the entity. If it appeared, the end was near. A long cloak shrouded its figure, leaving trails of ruins at its wake, as each step insinuated the meanders of the Grim Reaper, looking for a spirit to escort to the other world where life could not go.

Rather than a scythe, the Grim Reaper used a bow and arrow.

As even from afar, no matter how far one could be from death, when their time was over. . . It would not hesitate.

Overtime, the crows became his companions and messengers. When a crow greeted him, Lim Tae-gyu knew there was a soul waiting to meet him.

He met various people and heard unique stories. In their eyes, he was not a hunter, but a grim reaper who came to escort them to the world where they would rightfully be. Only he could remain in the world and embrace death simultaneously.

"I'm sorry, but this is where it ends now," said Tae-gyu at the spirit. He perched above a garbage bin — a corpse laid beneath the spirit of a woman who had chosen to die alone in a tight alley, unable to survive the attacks of a dungeon break. "From the way I can see it, you were walking home from work, weren't you?" The woman looked sorrowful. "Don't worry, I'll make sure your body will be found either way."

It was the least he could do.

"Luckily, I don't run out of mana when doing these tasks." Tae-gyu muttered after the spirit had disappeared. The crow bobbed its head in agreement. He grinned at his feathered companion. "Summon your flock and I'll prepare a feast for you guys back home."

The crow instantly lit up and croaked in joy, fluttering its wings as it rose in the air. The crows had been keeping his loneliness at bay ever since he had embraced his new, yet strange powers, and there was no denying that Tae-gyu had formed a bond with them. Especially when both were association with death.

If death was immortal, could he, a personification, be as well?

It was a question he'd yet to find an answer.

[monpalace]

fem! twilight/fem! reader. non-graphic descriptions of a wound. twilight licking said wound like it's a kiss. she's a little feral. lime on the citrus scale. checked with grammarly. 762 words. my three (3) irls, you don't see this.

It was an ugly gash. You'd held a branch out of the way for Warriors and let go of it before you'd fully moved past it.

You hadn't even noticed it cut through your clothes until Legend pointed it out.

An accident.

One that Twilight had decided to take as her personal task— but an accident no less.

She'd helped you wrap it up with the bandage wrap you kept on your person until camp was set up.

The temporary fix was cut away once she was able to pull you away to a running lake. She'd brought you down to sit between her thighs, bare legs dipped into frigid water was a sharp wake-up to the way her eyes hooded over as she looked at the bloody wound.

The gash was on your back, somewhere you couldn't comfortably reach without straining a muscle.

She's picking at the dried blood left behind by the now scarlet bandage. Her other hand busies itself with squeezing your waist in a pattern you can't make out.

You don't know if it's meant to be comforting or predatory with the way her breath tickles your neck.

"Twilight?"

She doesn't respond with words. Instead, some guttural groan leaves her belly and you can't help but think of the wolf that sometimes accompanies you when she leaves.

You hesitate to speak again. If she were caught somewhere in her head, you don't want to bother her, but you're shirtless by such a cold lake, and your back was starting to ache from being hunched over, and you could feel the way your gash was starting to pulse with heat, and—

The tongue that lathes at your wound is slippery yet slow. It's hot, but not painfully so like the touch of your injury.

Split ends and a boyish cut are all you can see when you look over your shoulder. The overwhelming heat on your waist is instead cupped over your chin, forcing you to look forward again.

Another lick, this one instead followed by an open-mouthed kiss to the bloody cut.

The air feels muggy and you're not sure if it's because of the heat in the air or the way she panted so heavily against your skin. Your nerves were struggling to tell the difference between her hot and heavy breaths, her messy strings of saliva, and your own sweat.

Her teeth feel sharper than what you've seen and you think of that wolf again. She gently bites at the serrated skin, either trying to coax more blood from it or show her appreciation for its offering.

You don't jump or jolt or gasp or sigh even when the skin feels like it's been rubbed raw. Her tongue is exploring the surrounding expanse of skin as though she were entranced by it and you can't bring yourself to stop her.

Your nails dig deeply into the balls of your hands, making the skin raw. Past the thought the last time you cut them, you wonder if she'd let you grip onto some part of her body to alleviate the tension building throughout your body.

The way she gripped your chin earlier only tells you she'd manhandle both wrists into a single hand and force you still until she was done.

You squirm at the possibility.

When Twilight finally pulls away, you don't realize it at first. It takes her rubbing a digit on the overworked skin for you to gain some semblance of clarity.

She's muttering under her breath and licking around wherever her tongue can reach inside her mouth and on her face.

"'m sorry doll, I didn' mean t' go at ya' so hard, you'll be okay pretty girl, you'll be okay, I had to get ya' right before I fixed ya', you'll be right as rain soon, got that girlie?"

What was meant to be words of comfort sounded more like drunken rambles. She's petting along your spine and pushing her nose behind your ear, her free hand reaching somewhere at her hips.

A rip sounds through the air and you wince at the contact on your wound. Cool air and searing spit are suffocated beneath what you can only assume is the bandage.

Twilight wraps it around your shoulder round and round and round, tight enough to keep it in place yet loose enough to not restrict movement.

She's pressing her lips to whatever piece of skin she can reach, hands gingerly groping at your sides every now and again.

"Now let's go, yeah? 'm sure the others 're worried."

[reshirambaa12]

this is my second time redrawing this meme. you can probably look forward to it again next year