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annjo-wolfe · 5 days

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Room & Board - Part 22 (Vampire x Reader x Werewolf)

paranormal fantasy vampire x human eventual triad (x werewolf)

Anonymous asked:

For the prompt submissions a vampire that feels guilty after feeding/attacking someone so they leave obscenely valuable ancient artifacts as payment/an apology?

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"Tabaeus, you were created to be a repository for memories. That was your whole poin—" Lachlan's attempts to justify his actions come to a halt. He violently coughs as Tabaeus slams their free hand through his back. Bones crack before you hear – more than see – the sound of tissue and flesh tearing. Tabaeus's hand jerks back, withdrawing a pulsing organ from Lachlan.

Standing, the beastly form shucks away from your vampire, leaving their nude human like form. With a kick, they force Lachlan onto his back and pin them down with a foot. The other vampire's attention flickers to his own heart in the Memory Keeper's hand. Lachlan's chest heaves as his eyes dart from Tabaeus's face to their hand, then wildly around to the other vampires present.

His eyes are begging for someone, anyone, to step in. No one moves an inch.

When Lachlan's eyes return to Tabaeus, tears actively stream down his cheeks. He shakes his head wildly as your vampire considers him, their head tilted like a cat observing a mouse under their paw. Tabaeus flexes their hand around the heart and Lachlan jerks.

It's only now that you realize a darkness is creeping over the organ, much like how the shadows moved around Tabaeus and how rust crept along metal at their touch.

Tabaeus squeezes the heart again and Lachlan cries out, gasping open-mouthed. There's only a split second when you catch your vampire's eyes narrowing, as if debating mercy. Across the distance, they glance your way. You meet their eyes and all you can think of is how leaving Lachlan alive would mean always looking over your shoulder. Not just for Tabaeus or you, but for Ewan, Jemma, Bjarka, and Liuvia.

With a small movement, you shake your head and Tabaeus nods. Their gaze swings back down to Lachlan, who saw how your vampire sought your gaze. Lachlan's gaze is vicious on you and, though he is subdued, your stomach reflexively curdles with fear.

That seems to be all the confirmation Tabaeus needs. Their hand tightens around Lachlan's heart, crushing the organ with the easy flex. Rotten flesh and viscera and blood explodes in Tabaeus's palm as Lachlan gives an otherworldly shriek, convulsing savagely. Darkness creeps over Lachlan as he caves in on himself, withering. The weight of Tabaeus's foot is enough to shatter the husk into dust.

Stillness and quiet falls, different than the pressure and silence of earlier.

It's only when Tabaeus moves, tilting their head up from the pile of ash toward the others present, that a ripple runs through the other vampires. They slowly spin, catching every vampire in their gaze.

"Know that the most powerful among you was no match for me," Tabaeus's words loudly ring out, echoing off the ceiling. "If any of you wretched little pissants bother myself or those I call mine, I will end this whole coven. Now, begone!"

Strange sucking and popping sounds fill the air as hundreds of vampires escape Tabaeus's presence. All manner of vampires in new forms – bats, rats, and swarms of insects – flee. Others melt into shadows. Still others simply turn and run, their footfalls fading quickly into the distance.

Until the last sounds of the exodus die away, Tabaeus does not move. The dark black-purple fades from their limbs, the glowing of their eyes subsiding. With a vague surprise, you realize they're uninjured. All the bites and bruises you walked in on are now gone, leaving behind mostly unmarred skin, save for the autopsy scars.

They glare off into the distance, not turning toward you. You almost wonder if they're trying to ignore you, to forget you're even present.

"Tabaeus?" You take a step closer, shaking off Ewan's protective grasp while feeling Jemma's gaze on your back. Tabaeus jerks at the sound of your voice, their muscles tensing as you edge closer toward them. Just as your hand reaches out, brushes against their bare arm, they wheel toward you and grab your wrist.

"It was dangerous for you to come!" A steeliness glints in their red eyes, mingling between anger and worry. Their gaze flicks to Ewan and Jemma, their lip curling with rage. "It was dangerous for you all!"

Despite the heat of exhaustion pounding at the back of your eyes, you bite back and motion toward the pile of cushions, "If we hadn't, you'd still be chained up and used!"

"That is beside the point," they snap, but their gaze flickers to their previous sitting area. Something tenses in their body. The hard gleam in their eyes softens as their gaze flicks back to you. Their shoulders sag, their grasp on your wrist loosening a little. "Utterly beyond the point."

You stare up at Tabaeus, a flurry of feelings flitting through your head. Relief to finally see them again, frustration at their reaction, glad to finally have them – and not their listless other self – standing before you.

Before you can think of what to say, Jemma steps forward. Her hands fall to your shoulder and Tabaeus's arm, making you and the vampire startle. "Can we get moving, before those bloodsuckers decide to come back and try to gang up on us?"

Tabaeus's eyes narrow on her imperiously as they step away from her touch, though they still hold your wrist. "I am sure I can take them all."

"Yeah, well I don't want to test it," Jemma hisses back, her lips puckering with disagreement as her eyes flick to the still shadowy pipes and crevices overhead. Not waiting for you, she turns sharply and begins to leave the room. Over the flap of her bag, Liuvia and Bjarka watch you with big round eyes.

Tabaeus finally releases you, turning and muttering something about needing something to wear.

After securing one of the tapestries like a floor-length cloak around Tabaeus – saving both their modesty from public eye and their skin from the sun – your group retraces through the underbelly of the mall. All of you trudge on quietly, the way lit by Jemma's magic.

The eerie silence settles through the space, each of you mentally gnawing on your own thoughts, though the silence doesn't feel as dangerous as before. Just empty, which is unnerving in a different way. The only sounds are from your group's footfalls and the shift of the makeshift cloak Tabaeus wears.

"Why didn't you do all that sooner?" Ewan poses the question as soon as you step free of the basement stairs. He has shifted back to his human form, though a full short beard lingers on his jaw. In the light of Jemma's magic flame, you realize his clothes are more than a little bedraggled and torn, probably due to both the transformation and the fight. Catching your eyes, Ewan flashes you an awkward smile.

Tabaeus gives a hum, indicating they've heard Ewan's question though they continue forward. The image of them, back straight and draped in a cloak, oddly reminds you of an image from a book from your childhood. A prim matron, nose in the air, with her charges following at brisk pace at her heels.

Like the image in your head, you, Ewan, and Jemma follow after Tabaeus. The curious weight in the air making it apparent everyone was waiting for the vampire to elaborate.

"I was designated a Memory Keeper early into my turning," they finally begin, slowly picking their words like a novice plucking at lute strings. Their red eyes turn downward, toward their still bare feet, as their eyebrows furrow. "For a long time, there were many other vampires older than myself, more powerful than myself. I was handed down and inherited by others and each decade, there were more and more memories to retain and less Keepers for them."

When Tabaeus glances toward you, they realize Ewan and Jemma stare, along with Liuva and Bjarka from the witch's satchel. Their pace slows, registering the sudden attention as their shoulders rise awkwardly and the vampire weakly finishes, "I suspect the method for creation of a Memory Keeper was lost at some point."

"If there even was one to begin with," you retort just as your foot hits the ground floor, sunlight streaming in from the skylights in the ceiling. The words are out of you before you can think about it, but you focus on Tabaeus, judging their reaction. They don't flinch or cringe, but a new tiredness creases their eyes. If there was nothing special about being a Memory Keeper, then they were kept and used for no good reason. Others could have helped retain a coven's memories, instead of the duty falling squarely on their shoulders.

The other vampires just wanted to use Tabaeus rather than sacrifice any of themselves. That thought sends a brief rage through your body, but it dies down quickly beneath a dampening blanket of tiredness. Those other vampires don't matter now. With Tabaeus's show of power, you doubt any of the coven that bore witness would bother them again. Of course, perhaps that was optimistic on your part.

"Yes, if there was even a process to begin with." Tabaeus echoes your sentiment as their arm withdraws from their makeshift cloak to pinch at the bridge of their own nose. They sidestep the shafts of light that litter the floor, sticking to the shadows at the edges. "With greater numbers of vampires and fewer Memory Keepers, it perhaps caused me to... lose sight of myself."

From the other side of Tabaeus, walking blatantly through the rectangles of light, Ewan frowns. "I still don't understand why you didn't demolish them all sooner."

"To know what one is capable of, one must know oneself." Tabaeus sighs and scrubs a hand down their face. You can tell they're struggling to put words to their experiences and logic, though they seem to be keeping pace with the conversation. "Being near constantly in a fugue state and without an older vampire able or willing to guide me, I did not know what powers I grew into. Quite honestly, everything I did down there was instinct."

"You still seemed to be pretty out of it when we came, though. Until, well..." With a motion of your hand, you indicate your neck. Tabaeus pauses, causing everyone else to stop as well. With the sun streaming in, it feels less urgent to leave the mall behind. Something creases at the vampire's expression as they stare at your neck, again searching for the words they want to say.

"When I was with you, you allowed me to re-establish who I am to myself. Gave me the space to explore what it means to be me. When I fed on you, your memories and mine locked together to remind me of it all," Tabaeus begins, soft and slow. They lock their gaze with yours and you already know what they're thinking, what they're remembering. Those moments you two shared, from that first night they stalked you to the very last night when they left. Reaching out, Tabaeus presses their cold fingers to the shadowy side of your neck and it's only then you realize you stand half in shade, half in sunlight.

Still, Tabaeus doesn't break their gaze from yours. You think something akin to wonderment or reverence flashes behind their red eyes, making heat rise to your face. Their lips curl hesitantly into a gentle smile, worsening the warmth inside you as they take your hand in both of their own. "I owe my whole being to you, amata."

Words are lost on your tongue as heat intensifies within you. A flush crawls over your cheeks, painfully aware that Ewan, Jemma, and the imps are watching. Your eyes fall to Tabaeus's chest, where your hand his clasped against their chest. In an attempt to say something to fill the silence, your lips part, but slowly close again as Tabaeus's thumb skirts your knuckles, losing whatever thought you had.

It's Ewan who finds something to say with a kind of fondness teasing at the corner of his lips. "Corny ass."

Tabaeus's head snaps up to look at Ewan, though they don't move their hand from cupping yours. Their nose wrinkles as they hiss, "That as it may be, Fido–"

The grin on Ewan's lips twitches a tiny bit wider as he interjects, "Oh good. Still got anti-lycan sentiments, I see."

The vampire ignores him as they continue onward, tugging you along by your wrist. Ewan follows like a pup at your heels.

"–it is the truth. Amata and, to a far lesser extent, you," Tabaeus's lips twist into a scowl as they glance at Ewan, "allowed me to reinstate who I am to myself. Which I suppose I should thank you – both of you – for."

"Aw, it's nice to be appreciated," Ewan croons and you shoot him a tight-lipped look. You can't blame him for being an ass. It seems impossible to ask either Ewan or Tabaeus to treat each other civilly, at least perpetually. There's a brightness to Ewan's eyes that softens your pointed look at him. Relief flicks in his eyes, his body language relaxed for the first time since Tabaeus left.

Unaware of your realization, Ewan leans closer to Tabaeus, a smirk spread wide enough across his lips that his pointed teeth flash in the sun. "Bet I'm the only werewolf in history that has a vampire's appreciation."

Tabaeus shoots Ewan another withering look, but – like before – it has little heat. In fact, you believe they're more embarrassed than genuinely aggravated with Ewan. Regardless, the vampire shakes their head, still not pausing, before motioning to Jemma. "What I do not understand is why they are here?"

At that, Jemma snorts and rolls her eyes. "I helped find you. So, a thanks for me is in order too."

"But who are yo–" Tabaeus begins to ask as they turn toward her, before Jemma gathers up her hair in a ponytail and magics up her uniform's cap. As she plops the hat on her head, feeding the ponytail through the hat, the vampire's eyes widen in recognition. A delighted edge overtaking the previous aggravation in their words, "Oh! The iced cream purveyor! I thought I scented mana on you, but I thought it was, perhaps, the food."

"And I thought vampires couldn't eat food," Jemma returns as her hands fall to her sides again. This time, it's she who leads the movement back through the mall. The exit is in sight now. Through the large windows, you see the sun has crested the midpoint and is on its way down. A pang of hunger shoots through your stomach and you vaguely wonder if it's safe to visit the diner one last time before leaving.

Tabaeus still leads you forward, though their attention is on Jemma. "We can. Well, I can. And I do a great many things vampires reportedly cannot."

Once more, Jemma pauses. She eyes Tabaeus, an intrigued glint in her eye as she takes inventory of the vampire. "Interesting."

"Is it?" Tabaeus stops, their grip flexing on your wrist. For some reason, they seem nervous under Jemma's discerning gaze. Adjusting the hold, you slide your palm properly into Tabaeus's own.

"Considering the oldest vampires I know of are about 1000 years old and even they didn't eat non-blood meals, yes." Jemma hums briefly and you glance at her, unable to fully read the considering expression on the witch's face. You imagine you see old tomes and aged text flipping through the rolodex of her mind. "Is Tabaeus your given name?"

"I believe so," they answer, their brow furrowed. "Why?"

You can see where this is heading. Jemma's thought mirrors one you've had multiple times: how old is Tabaeus? However, unlike you, Jemma has experience and access to finding out more information about vampires. Or seems to, at least.

"When we get back, I'll delve into some research." Jemma turns away, pushing through the exit doors. "You may be far older than any vampire in recorded history."

"Excuse me?" To that, Tabaeus's eyelids fluttered rapidly, the thought apparently difficult to digest. Gently, you guide them out of the way of the shafts of sun that fan out on the floor from Jemma opening the door.

"One existential problem at a time, please, Jemma," you call after the witch as she briskly walks through the threshold. She doesn't seem to notice, her mind a million miles away in some archive.

Not one to pass up an opportunity, Ewan chuckles as he passes Tabaeus. As he does, he jostles the vampire with a shoulder bump. "Bet you wish you were a young pup now, you old bat."

Tabaeus answers with a hissing lunge toward Ewan, but the werewolf merely cackles as he dances into the sunlight. Instinctively, Tabaeus freezes at the light, before remembering their cloak. Your wrist forgotten; they pursue after a laughing Ewan to deliver retribution as the werewolf ducks laughingly in the car.

Inwardly, you stifle a sigh, realizing the road trip back home is going to be far more chaotic than the prior sober journey. With a backward glance into the quiet mall, however, you know any amount of friendly chaos is better than what lurked under your feet.

A loud curse comes from the car where Ewan and Tabaeus tussle. As you turn to look, you find Jemma glaring through the rearview mirror at the two, her lips twisted in reprimand as she speaks. A smile teases at your lips as you cross the threshold of the mall, leaving behind the lingering shadows.

It's time to head home.

x x x x x

If you like my content, please consider supporting me on:

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annjo-wolfe · 5 days

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𝓨𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓛𝓸𝓻𝓭

"𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝑜𝒽, 𝒾𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓂𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝒶 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒.” CW: Fem reader (she/her), possessiveness, suggestive Note: This is my first time writing something like this and posting it...go easy on me o(>< )o

The chandlers decorated the ceiling above the spacious ballroom, giving a gentle glow to the people filling said ballroom. The social season has just started to blossom, giving men and women room to court each other if one is blessed with the opportunity for such an experience. Catching the eye of a reliable suitor is quite troublesome– most of the men here do not fit any of your requirements, and if they did, they would suddenly be caught in a scandal of sorts, causing them to be an outcast. Not a good look on you or your family name.

You idly toy with the fan in your hand, your gaze sweeping over the sea of faces in the room. The task at hand feels insurmountable, and finding a suitable suitor in this town is daunting. Perhaps, you muse, debuting late was a misstep, a decision that now seems to mock you. You could always become a spinster…and ruin your reputation and lineage because you choose such an idiotic choice… regrettably it may be the easier option.

“Pray tell why you’re glued to this corner as if you’re some wallflower,” A witty baritone voice whispers in your ear, the hairs of your neck standing upright while a cold shiver runs down your spine.

The sense of familiarity washes over you, and the resentment still lingers from years ago makes its way forward. The Earl’s son, your childhood close friend, who left you without a word after he said he’d be there for you.

What a bastard

“Have you ever heard of personal space? Or have you forgotten the amount of lectures your mother ingrained into your head on etiquette when you were just a brat?” You bite back with venom coating every word you spit out. You place your fan on your left ear.

”Ah, I see.” He steps back and gives you space. “You’ve become cold-hearted towards me since my departure overseas. I was only gone for a mere moment.” He switches his position from behind you to in front of you. He takes up your whole vision, his maturity, more evident now since the last time you saw him as a juvenile boy. It's been a few years, hasn't it? Yet he still has his teasing nature; no boarding school or amount of lectures can take that away from him. He bows a little lower than he should, his right hand to the opposite shoulder and his left arm behind his back. He looks up at you with those oh-so-regretful grey eyes. “I wholeheartedly apologize for departing overseas in such an impulsive matter without even notifying you in any way. I should’ve sent you letters and a hoard of messenger doves to accompany you”. “But I did not, and for that, my Lady, I've made a significant sin in your eyes– I do not deserve your forgiveness, but oh, if you could grant me such a pleasure.”

His voice is as quiet and soft as a starving mouse stealing food from a kitchen, careful for only your ears to pick up his pleas for forgiveness. Just as though you were a goddess punishing him, which he should be reprimanded tenfold in his eyes, who was he to abandon you without a trace? Though the situation before was entirely out of his hands, he didn’t want to go to that goddamned private school that was away from you; he fought tooth and nail not to go. Every house servant had to push and hold him down because he kept fighting; even his family members were victims of his wrath. His father, The Earl, still has fading scars from that night years ago.

He should’ve fought harder for you.

People around you start noticing; who wouldn’t? One of the most prestigious Earls of this country’s only son is bowing dishonourably low, borderline grovelling like a peasant caught stealing a measly loaf of bread. You feel eyes turning onto you, women whispering between their fans to one another, wondering in what predicament the next-in-line Earl would be for him to be embarrassingly bowing to a one-of-a-mill daughter of a viscount—a rank lower than him and a woman at that; your fan placement is not making it look better. Immediately change the position of your fan from your left ear to twirling it in your left hand, hoping he understands the situation he has put not only him but you in.

He only smiles in return. “Stand straight; You look like a fool.” You hiss, “Do I have your forgiveness, Darling?” a scoff escapes your mouth. “That is either here or there! Be proper. Others are watching.” That doesnt deter him, nor does he care about them. “So my apology wasn't sufficient? Since you are thinking about everyone else but me.” More eyes make their way onto the pair of you, and whispers grow with the exchange of gossip. “You’re acting like a child-” He cuts you off. “Shall I go on my knees for you? I mean, I wouldn’t mind, but preferably, I would love to be in a more…secluded environment.” A smirk graces his lips at the thought. “Or shall I kiss your feet-”

“You are a soon-to-be- Earl! Has that school taught you nothing? God, you’ve become more insufferable, I swear.” Your face feels warmer now, and embarrassment takes over you from his childish yet sincere teasing.

The young lord’s eyes fixated on you, on your lips, how your dress accentuates your already perfect self, your hands, oh, how he wishes to feel them against his. The years it's been since he saw you, he could listen to you scold him for hours on end; it doesn’t matter what you are saying. Just hearing your voice is enough. God knows it's been too long since he’s been deprived of you. He thanks his past self for sabotaging whatever male decided to even think of courting you. Though he was far away, his social standing never changed.

The lord decided by the second month he was away from you to pay his old servants to send him as much information as possible on the vermins that would try to nestle their way into your life. He would…No, he has ruined anyone who wanted to get in between you two. And he’ll keep it that way. You’ve stolen his heart since meeting him as a lad.

“So you wish for me to kneel? As you wish.” He starts to kneel; gasps can be heard. But you stop him, holding his shoulders upright; his eyes widen as you touch him.

You’re so close

“I forgive you…I forgive you…”

“I forgive you, Ambrose…”

Oh…

His name on your tongue….

His mind blanks. Has he gone to heaven? Oh, you sweet angel, you have him wrapped around your finger. And he wouldn’t want it any other way.

His smile is blinding as he stands and looks down at you.

“Then now that's settled…May I have the honour of a dance with yours truly?”

.." Or shall I beg more?"

End Notes: Fun fact (not really): I based most of this post on The Regency era, and that includes fan language! That is why I described the readers' actions with it. Placing the fan on your left ear means "I wish to get rid of you." Twirling the fan with your left hand means "We are watched." Thought that would be something fun to add (^.^)

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