Dark SBI & Fluffy Oneshots

Savior From The Other Side

A/N

a oneshot?? by me??? after disappearing to work on my multichapter for so long???

surprise bitches

hope you enjoy! this one isn't dark sbi because I've been having some writers block and needed fluff to cope. so this au appeared. (AND IGNORED HOW SCUFFED THIS IS IM LAZY)

TWS: Implied/referenced child abuse, scars from said child abuse  

hope you enjoy <33

Synopsis: Grim Reaper Tommy is sent on a mission to collect Wilbur's soul, but when he arrives, discovers that he's the equivalent of a baby grim reaper. cue the crimebois

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The room screamed of wealth.

That was the very first thing Tommy noticed.

Chandeliers dotted the ceiling, the candles atop glittering like diamonds, their warm light casting the room with a deep, cozy feeling. A large bookshelf protruded from the wall, directly adjacent to two leather couches, with its shelves lined with row upon row of ancient texts. Beneath him, the floor was lined with fluffy, thick carpet that felt like a pillow on his bare feet. Its white color was unmarred by any stains or speckles of dirt, twin to the pristine shade of walls and windows so clear they were practically mirrors.

It was nothing like the other places he'd visited. Here, he felt like he'd walked into not a gravesite, but a lively, lovely mansion. Home to thieves and cons, but thieves and cons that had an enjoyable life.

It was nothing like the pits of the Underworld that he'd grown up in. No, here he was out of place; his dark wings were void of color, his red horns earthy and chipped as they sprouted between golden curls. The mark of the Dead glowed gold upon his wrist, practically a light in itself with its perfect brightness.

Tommy was an outlier here. Even if the house did appear to be empty, with nobody to occupy the wealth that others would kill for, it was quickly apparent that he did not belong.

After all, he was a Reaper in a home of Life.

And he must collect the dying soul within.

Tommy's footsteps were practically silent as he stepped through a threshold, red eyes gleaming as he continued his trek forward. Behind him, his cloak–lined with dragon scales and silk so fine it flowed like water–dragged across carpet, making him appear to be some weightless, godless being; nothing but a shadow intruding on a flawless life. A scythe hung from his side, acting as a silent warning to anyone he met. Although he was invisible to all that he didn't intend to kill, marking their souls for the Underworld to claim, the scythe was a symbol that didn't warrant much explaining.

It made informing the humans of their darkened fate much, much simpler. At least, as easy as it could be.

In between their pleas and screams.

Stairs creaked as Tommy began to pursue the upper floors.

Paintings lined the inclined wall, all picturing white teeth and perfect faces contorted into expressions of faux love. They wrapped up the wall like a snake, as though placed to remind any who passed of their excellence. It was a sight Tommy had seen plenty of times while serving as a Grim Reaper, yet one that never failed to disconcert him. It was difficult to comprehend humanity, at times. Especially in comparison to his own family.

But, alas, his job was one that needed to be done.

As Tommy reached the top step, he paused, peering down the seemingly-endless walls of doors upon doors, each carved with unique designs and lined with marble frames. Matching chandeliers descended down the corridor, creating identical shadows amidst decorative tables and fake potted plants.