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Leo sat on the armchair, curled in a thick, grey blanket trying to read a book. His hands were shaking, forcing him to place the book on his legs to prevent himself from tearing the fragile pages. His breathing was labored, as if he had been running for many miles. Lifting black eyes, the little being looked out the window of the lighthouse to watch the storm briefly as it raged on. Leo was lean with blue skin and black eyes. His short black hair was tussled, stopping just past his pointed ears. He was about four feet, eight inches tall with wide, feathered, black wings that stretched about five feet long when flared. However, they were currently wrapped around his skinny body like some sort of comfort device.

After several minutes of watching the storm, Leo returned to his book, only to jump at the clap of thunder that seemed to shake the building in a rage. He yelped and dove under the blanket, gripping the book like one would grip a stuffed animal. The whites of his eyes were showing as he fought not to hyperventilate. The wind started to kick up, sending the rain ever faster on its quest to pelt the earth with its fierceness. There was a knocking at the door, but the small being did not dare to move from his spot where he was pathetically huddled like a scared child.

“Leo?” A familiar voice spoke, a hand was laid on the top of the blanket covering him. The dim candle light that lit the room returned as a pale, black winged woman raised the blanket and looked at him. She was about seven feet tall with narrow, feathered wings that stretched to about eight feet when extended. Unlike his slightly rounded ones, hers had a sharp look to it, as if they could cut through steel. He met her blue eyes, showing the fear in his own, but his superior said nothing, only raised him to a sitting position so she could hand him a cup of tea. She would then go into the small kitchen and start up a small stove. Leo could hear her making some soup and sandwiches. He exhaled sharply and took a sip of tea to calm his nerves. However, it was not working quite yet, so he just focused on the sounds in the kitchen. “How are you coping with being in the darkness?” Adelia would ask when she returned to the living room, carrying a tray with two bowls of soup and two ham sandwiches. Leo whimpered and gulped a mouthful of tea down before he spoke,
“It’s cold and hurts. I know I made the choice and that it’s The Father’s will, but it scares me. I’m…….”
“Yearning for the Light, still?” Adelia sat next to him, wrapping her wing around him as he nodded. She pulled him close to her before replying, “The feeling will fade the longer you’re a reaper, just relax and try to eat something.” Leo’s hands shook as he placed the tea on the tray and picked up a sandwich, stomach churning as he took a bite. He forced himself to eat the whole thing and drink the rest of his tea. A pained moan escaped from the reaper as his stomach clenched and twisted. The black wing around him pulled him into Adelia’s lap, laying him to lean against her opposite shoulder. A warm hand started to message his stomach as a low, nearly hypnotic voice spoke, “Just breathe, let your mind still, and your body relax.” Leo leaned into his leader’s embrace, eyes closing as he allowed her touch and warmth to calm him. “That’s it, just rest.”

Leo opened his eyes halfway, tiredly looking at Adelia, a purr sounding from his throat.
“You are very gentle for someone who is supposed to be the Archangel of Death.” He said in a teasing tone, a small smile gracing his lips for the first time in a while. His leader chuckled and wrapped the blanket around his smaller form; she wrapped her wings around Leo as he slipped off into slumber.

“Sleep well, Little Reaper.”




(I will be recording me reading this and starting a storytelling YouTube channel. Once I find the recording program on my laptop. Just wanna see what people think on here.)

i'm honestly a bit nervous. i've never actually posted any of my stories publicly before. i thought it'd be fun to change it up for once with a really short & quick one! a fair bit of triggering content is sprinkled within so please be aware!

Her breath hitched in her throat as she inhaled a sharp gust of air that grated against her newly grown teeth. her tongue shot out to slither across the porcelain surface of the first fang before she shifted the slick pink appendage to rub against the other. they had grown back even after her effort of ridding herself of them. this . . . this could not be so. it couldn't be. she had pulled them out. she had pulled them out! it wasn't a dream. she knew because the pain was so unbearably real as she plucked the fangs from her throbbing, bleeding gums. she had heard the horrid sound of ripping flesh and detaching tissue. she remembered the feeling of the pliers within her fragile fingers and even had a blister or two from how hard she had gripped the tool as she forced the fangs from her mouth out only from them to clatter against the crimson splattered sink. she had done it herself. she knew it was real. it had to be real! so why . . . why were they back? why could she run her tongue over bone? why could she taste blood in the back of her throat from how hard the tip of her fangs were digging into her bottom lip? why could she see them when she turned her crimson hues over to her canopy mirror? it was impossible and yet they were there within her mouth, taunting her cruelly and showing everyone just how disgusting she was. she turned her face away from the mirror and slammed a balled up fist against the comforter of her bed as she curled in on herself. she was so stupid as to think they'd simply vanish like that. they were such hideous things that demanded attention from those she chose to talk to. they were a curse. something that made her the thing she hated most; a vampire. she slammed her fist against her bed once more, the sheets crinkling against the weak attempts of abuse. she was a sad sight to see, wasn't she? how rightfully shameful.
Filomena tried to calm herself down, but the tears that she hadn't noticed until now kept trickling from her orbs of scarlet as blood slipped from the corner of her mouth in a thick rivulet. she blamed her lack of self awareness on the shock still running through her empty veins, but she knew that she simply needed to let this all go. accept that she would never be the human she craved so badly to become. so, so, so badly. a furious desire took hold of the vampire's heart right there and then. something vile, possessive, and cruel. it felt much like lust, but it was a twisted viper that wrapped around the inner workings of her non-beating heart instead of a passionate red ribbon. she needed to quench this deprived thirst. she needed someone to help her. someone to fix her for only a little while. it didn't matter who. maybe a human would do. yes. human. she needed to take a human. it didn't matter if there was no consent. it didn't matter if there was no burning passion. it didn't matter! not to someone who has lost everything and needs a fix that isn't caused by drugs. she, without a second thought, stood from her bed and reached for the robe that hung upon her closet door, shrugging the material on before exiting the room she had lived in since she was a mere child. a shuttering breath escaped her pale lips before her resolve hardened tenfold once she caught view of herself in another mirror positioned upon the wall beside her. she felt nothing but hate for what she saw and whirled away, robe fluttering behind her as she chose to exit her house. now was not the time for looking back nor regretting what decisions had been made within her mind. she was going to do this either way even if she had to blackmail someone into doing this disgusting body of hers. she had the perfect person in mind as well. his name was john cenaaaa.

Wow. This is really good. I like this. I like the hurt-comfort aspect of it, and also the visual descriptions and the uniqueness of the idea there (the reaper thing).

You're a good writer! That's very vivid and the premise of the story is very compelling. The suspense is already there. You're already asking yourself "What's going to happen to the human? How's he going to react to her? Will she go through with it?" That sort of thing.

* Content Warning for general references to sex and trigger warning for general creepiness at the beginning (a man breaking into a woman's house).

---

Drake stood outside Vicky's door, hesitating. His hand rested lightly on the cool, porcelain edge of the potted plant hanging from above. The key was in there. The key to the door.

She's going to think I'm crazy, he thought. I'm not supposed to be here. I'm supposed to be 4 hours away.

But none of that mattered. He was going to do it. It was just a matter of when.

The yellow porch light flickered and the light from it made the colors of his blue jeans and his tan button down shirt fade to grays and whites. Drake nervously ran one hand through his thick brown hair and cleared his throat, his adams apple moving up and down as he swallowed. His face was handsome, and cleanly shaven. His eyes, dark brown, a little darker than his hair. And as ridiculous as it seemed on such a crisp night, the tall man noticed that his palms were sweating. He scowled at himself and shook his head, wiping his hands on his jeans.

"Hell with it. Let's do this," he said aloud, his deep voice sounding more confident than he felt. Drake reached into the hanging plant and pulled out the key. His hesitation suddenly gone, but his stomach quivering, he put the key in the lock and turned it, then hastily dropped it back into the plant.

He looked around once, and, not seeing any snooping neighbors, he carefully opened the door and disappeared inside Vicky's apartment.

He was trying to be quiet so as not to wake her up, although it probably would have been better if he had. But that wasn't how it went in his head. So he didn't make any noise until he was standing right in front of her, watching her sleep.

This is just how I pictured it, he thought. He stepped closer. Her blonde hair was hanging over her shoulders, party covering the V-neck collarline of the white silk nightgown she was wearing, most of which was covered with her dark green blanket. Her skin was milky white, and smooth. Her closed eyes, slightly agape mouth, and her calm rhythmic breathing showed she was oblivious to his presence.

But that's the way it's supposed to be, he reassured himself. That's the way it is in my head.

Her skin. So smooth. It beckoned to be touched. He noticed that his hands were still sweating. It's now or never.

Drake reached out his hand to touch Vicky's cheek. The back of his hand brushed over it, and it felt--

A sudden scream rang out as Vicky's green eyes flew open and saw a man at her bedside. Those eyes filled with terror and rage, and instinct took control. Her right hand formed a fist and it flew into his jaw, causing Drake's head to snap to one side and almost knocking him over. As he turned to speak another punch flew at him, landing squarely on his nose and causing an unsettling snap. Drake reeled back in pain as blood gushed from his nose and he raised his hands to his face. Vicky grabbed the nearest heavy object, which happened to be a lamp and pulled it into the bed, ripping the cord from it's socket then with an unintelligible shout of some string of desperate, angry words she charged out of the bed and flew at him fully intending to knock him out with it.

"Vicky it's me!" Drake shouted, backing away from her, holding his still-bleeding nose.

"Drake?" Vicky said, narrowing her eyes at him. It was hard to tell with the blood and his hands over his face, but... "Drake! It is you, isn't it?!" She moved closer, still holding the lamp up. Her voice was filled with disbelief and fury.

"What in the hell are you doing in my house at night?! In my room! Watching me...what the hell is wrong with you? I'm calling the cops..." she turned and grabbed her cell phone off the end table.

"I was trying to act out the fantasy," Drake said, his voice flat. This had not gone the way it did in his head. Not at all.

Vicky looked at him with confusion and disgust as she held the phone up, ready to dial.

"Fantasy?! What fantasy? No--I don't even want to kno--"

"Your fantasy. The one of a guy showing up on a night your boyfriend's gone. And doing all the stuff that he doesn't do," Drake said, his voice still muffled by his hands still trying to control his bleeding nose. Vicky froze mid-dial and stared at him.

"I told you that in confidence," she said through her teeth. "In private. You said you'd keep it to yourself."

Drake frowned.

"What do you mean? I haven't told anyone. I wouldn't tell anyone. I've kept everything you said to myself," he said.

"You call acting it out by breaking into my house in front of all my neighbors 'keeping it yourself?'" she shouted hoarsely, exasperated. "You're-- you're insane! That's what you are! I should be calling an ambulance instead of the police, because you belong in a mental institution, you know that?"

There was a long pause as her fingers hovered over the number "1" in the emergency number she had stared to dial. Neither of them spoke. Neither moved.

After the long silence, Victoria finally sighed and put the phone down on the end table. She set haphazardly thew the lamp on the bed. Then she turned to Drake.

"What were you thinking?" she said, softly, shaking her head, almost to herself. "What were you thinking?"

"You told me not to tell anyone," Drake tried to explain. "You never told me I couldn't do it."

"Any sane person would know that," she snapped, pointing at him, then she sighed again and lowered her hand. "You're bleeding all over the place." She went into the bathroom and got a roll of toilet paper and brought it back and for the next 10 minutes they worked together on trying to stop his nosebleed.

"I think my nose may be broken," Drake said.

"Well that explains why my hand hurts so damn much," Vicky answered, holding his head back with a wad of toilet paper against his nose.

After everything was cleaned up they sat at opposite ends of the couch, staring at the TV hanging on the wall. It was set to a sports channel and Vicky stared at the replays blankly as the show played on mute.

"Maybe I should...go," Drake said after a moment.

"You can't leave me alone now! Do you know how impossible it's going to be to fall asleep again after that?" Vicky asked Drake without looking at him. "Can you imagine how scary it is to wake up and find someone watching you sleep?" She was fuming. She wanted to hit him. Break his nose all over again.

"I'm sorry," was all that Drake could think to say. He looked at her, then back at the TV.

"You can't do things like that, Drake. Fantasy isn't reality," she said.

Drake rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"No. No, it's not," he agreed, looking down and studying his fingernails. Kicking himself. Wishing he had never come.

Then Victoria turned her head to look at him. She looked at him for a long moment. She reflected on his idiocy. On his naivety. On his monumental lapse in judgement. On the conversations they'd had. He could feel her eyes on him, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, embarrassed, wishing she'd look away.

"What were you going to do?" she asked him.

Drake turned to look at her. "Hm?"

Vicky turned her body on the couch to fully face him.

"What were going to do after I woke up? What did you expect to happen here? You think I would cheat? Is that what you got out of all the things I've told you?" Vickie asked, disgusted.

Drake shook his head vigorously.

"No. No, of course not. Vicky...I didn't come over here to sleep with you," he said, turning his body to face her.

"You're saying you just came to -- bullshit. That's bullshit," Vicky said.

"It's true," Drake insisted.

Vicky rolled her eyes. But her voice, it got softer. She crossed her arms over her chest, protectively.

"What would you have done," she asked again, in her softer voice. "If I hadn't hit you."

Drake stared at her and she stared back. She dropped her gaze. Drake dropped his. Then he looked up at her again and stood up, repositioning himself on the couch so that he could reach her.

She didn't meet his eyes as he reached out. The back of his hand brushed her cheek gently and her milky white skin pinked with blush. His other hand found her other cheek and treated it the same. The back of his fingers brushed gently over her smooth, pink skin. Still she did not meet his eyes.

His hands rose from her cheeks to her hairline and he slid his fingers into her blonde hair, running them through her long locks, but starting each new stroke at the scalp, so that she could feel his ten fingers gliding over it, caressing her. Instinctively, Victoria closed her eyes as he touched her. This felt so good. So damn good.

Drake's hands then moved underneath her long hair and gently compressed the nape of her neck, tightening the pressure, then letting go. Tightening, then letting go. Tightening, then letting go.

After this he moved on to her shoulders. Massaging over the nightgown, rubbing, caressing, finding pressure points. After this his hands moved back up to her face, and he studied it, even as she looked away. He cupped her face with his hands, his fingers together, resting on either side of her neck just under her ears. His thumbs free he caressed her jawline with them and then her cheeks again. He dragged his thumb lightly across her lower lip before returning to caressing her cheeks, studying every inch of her pretty face in the meantime.

Finally, finally, Vicky looked up and her green eyes met his. As they held his gaze they filled with tears. He didn't stop caressing her cheeks. But then Vicky placed her soft hands on top of his, prompting him to stop. He brown eyes silently questioned her green ones.

"I won't sleep with you," Vickie stated again, looking back and forth between his brown eyes, checking for understanding.

"I know that," Drake said, with finality.

"Why?" she asked Drake, in a voice that was almost a whisper. Her hands still sat on his. "If not for sex, Drake, why? Why are you doing all this?"

He looked into her green eyes.

"Because I love you," Drake said, his own eyes growing moist.

Vicky dropped her gaze quickly and shook her head.

"No. You can't love me. I'm with Richard," she said.

"I know," Drake said.

"I won't cheat on him. I won't leave him," she said, letting her tears fall. They rolled slowly down her cheeks and she again looked up at him.

"I know, I know," Drake said. With his thumbs, he wiped away the tears rolling down her cheeks.

"But all we can ever be is--" Vicky added.

"I know," Drake interrupted. "I don't care. I love you."

"But--"

"I love you. I can't help but love you. I can't stop loving you. I'll always love you. And I want to give you...this," Drake said breathlessly.

"What?" Vicky whispered, a fresh round of tears filling her eyes.

"This..." Drake answered, waving his hand back and forth between them to indicate what they had been just doing. His eyes softened as he looked at her. "Everything that he doesn't," Drake added, his voice strained with emotion.

"Oh, Drake," Vicky managed.

She squeezed his hands, which were still below her own, resting against her face. Then lifting her hands, she embraced him, desperately pulling him into her arms. She pressed her head into his chest and held him tight as her body softly shook with tears over what she didn't have and what he was offering her and what he understood.

Drake held her back, as tightly as he could, his eyes closing, his every cell relishing the feeling of her body in his arms and every fiber of his heart and soul trying to send her comfort, as if through osmosis.

Vicky laid there in his arms for more than 30 minutes. Hungrily, thirstily, greedily, she soaked it in. She didn't want to let go. Because she knew that once she let go, she would never feel his arms around her again.

He ran his fingers through her long blonde hair, massaged the nape of her neck, rubbed her back. He already knew everything. He knew too much.

When she finally pulled her body apart from his, it was with more tears and an almost unbearable pain in her heart.

"Thank you," Drake said softly, not understanding the situation. "Thank you for letting me be--"

"You have to leave," Vicky said, firmly.

"What do you mean I have to l---"

"Drake..." she put her hand on his shoulder and looked into his brown eyes. "You did everything perfectly. You did everything right. But all it does is remind me of what I can't have. It's a mirage."

"It's real!" Drake yelled, angry.

"It's a mirage!" Vicky yelled back. "It's water in the desert that I can't drink, and the more I chase after it, the more I want it, and the more bitter the disappointment is when I...can't have it." She suddenly became conscious of her shoulder on his arm. The warmth their bodies produced together at that one point where they connected. The energy pulsing off of him.

Reluctantly, Vicky withdrew her hand and brought it to her side.

"I love you," Drake said, his voice desperate now.

"Drake. Go home. Please," Vicky said, turning away from him. "Go!"

Drake stared at her for a long moment. Then finally, he stood up and left. As the door shut behind Drake, Vicky listened to the sound of his heavy footsteps moving through the hallway until they grew more and more faint, then finally disappeared.

"I love you too," Vicky said to the empty room.

((Sorry, I hate unhappy endings as a reader, but for some reason I felt like this had to have one))