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eruden-writes · 2 months

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Room & Board - Part 20 (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?

Links under cut!

x x x x x

First | Previous | Masterlist | Next

x x x x x

In the end, Jemma’s location spell does the trick. Well, kind of. The enchantment leads you through paranormal markets under the city, finding the right people to interrogate. It turns out vampires have few friends in your city. People who seek out vampires are either signing their own death warrant or ready to stake a few of the arrogant bloodsuckers.

Either way, it wasn’t anyone else’s business. One lead turns into a dead end. Another has no substantial foundation. Yet another tries to extort money and goods out of you, which led to Jemma actually turning that informant into a toad. With each new bit of information, you’re all led further and further out of the city.

Eventually, weeks after Tabaeus left, a tip finally strikes solid and true.

Two states away from home, you sit in a rental car with Jemma, Ewan, Liuva and Bjarka at a late-night diner. Despite the time of night and the fact the building is shuttered up, the mall across the way from the diner is seemingly popular.

Even when you ask the waitress - Tess, she/her - if there’s an event going on over at the mall, she shoots you a puzzled look. When her eyes flick up to the window, you spot a glaze tinting her gaze as she informs you, “Nothing’s supposed to be happening over there. The old mall is about as dead as it ever is.”

Even as the waitress stares, you watch one group head into the allegedly abandoned building as others leave. Some are elegant, others are crude and punkish. Yet it seems Tess does not see or notice them.

As the waitress falls into her rehearsed spiel, you share a look with Ewan and Jemma. Tess doesn’t seem to acknowledge the dense air settling around your group as you all realize she - and likely the rest of the diner’s staff - is under some vampiric sway. You push the discomfort away before ordering.

Something burns in your chest. Tabaeus has to be nearby. This feels like the right place, but you have no reason beyond the smoldering in your chest. You never felt like this with any other lead before. Or maybe you’re just tired of searching, sick of getting your hopes up.

After you’ve finished your meal - saying nothing further of the mall to the staff - the three of you trudge to the parking lot.

“What’s the plan?” Ewan takes out his phone, swiping through random apps. It’s only when he points vaguely toward the highway that you realize he’s putting on a front for anyone potentially spying on you. His green eyes tilt toward you, uncharacteristic seriousness making his words sobering, “Are we heading in now or biding time?”

“We should bust in, magic blazing.” From the backseat, Jemma leans forward, her own phone in hand. She, too, has taken up Ewan’s ruse.

Unlike the other two, you don’t bother with a phone. Shaking your head, you fight the urge to flick your gaze back toward the mall. “I think we should be subtle.”

Silence settles over the car as Jemma and Ewan continue to look at their phones, their hands, you. Anywhere but directly at the mall. If anyone watched your little crew, they’d believe it wasn’t even on your radar, you think.

Finally, something glints in Jemma’s eyes as she meets your gaze, raising her eyebrows. “Don’t malls usually have skylights or vents on the roof?”

“They’ll hear us coming.” Another shake of your head. Besides, how would the three of you get up there without causing a commotion?

Ewan nods to the back where the imps-turned-sugar gliders sit with ethereal intelligence gleaming in their eyes. The two have been silent as potential plans have bounced around the car. Upon them being noticed, Bjarka and Liuvia exchange a look. Wordless communication flies between them until Bjarka nods and says, “We will do it for a pie.”

You frown at their little demand. “I thought you wanted Tabaeus back.”

“We do,” Liuvia says, but they smile in a way that reminds you they are supernatural, “But we also want pie. A strawberry rhubarb one.”

With a heavy sigh, you glance from the imps to Jemma and Ewan. They both return your look with mild amusement and shrug.

“Ugh fine,” you sigh as you open your door. “You could’ve said something when we were still inside.”

“You didn’t ask,” chirrups one of the imps, though you’re not sure which as the door closes. You trek back to the diner, still fighting the urge to look toward the mall. Despite your efforts to remain realistic, you can’t help but feel a little lighter. As if you were one step closer to a conclusion.

—

It’s early morning, just as the sun half climbs above the horizon line, when you decide to put your plan into action. Through a scrying mirror conjured up by Jemma, you watch as Bjarka and Liuvia embark toward the mall from the nearby woods you deposited them in the night previous. The two dart along the dwindling shadows as dawn rises. As squirrels, they easily scale the building and prance along the roof with light steps. They duck and bounce around, taking stock of their options as far as vents, grates, and skylights go.

As the imps decide their next course of action, the rest of you wait. Liuvia and Bjarka eventually pry a grate off a vent and clatter into the metal tunnel. The image on the mirror follows as they scurry through the twisty ventilation. The motion and lighting makes your stomach cramp, so you turn away.

You sit in the backseat with Jemma, who continues to watch the mirror, eyebrows furrowed. In the front, Ewan drives. Last night, after leaving the imps behind, the rest of you drove off and found a clearing to hunker down in for the night. Sleep hadn’t been easy and, now, exhaustion battles in your veins with mounting adrenaline as you near the mall again.

Your plan banks on the fact Lachlan and Tabaeus are different - older, stronger, more powerful - than the average vampire. That should make walking into the mall-turned-vampire-nest easier. Well, as long as Bjarka and Liuvia managed to unlock a door for you.

As Ewan pulls the car into the mall’s parking lot and settles the car in a spot close to the door, he turns to Jemma. “How’re the smallfries doing?”

“They can see us and they’re unlocking the door now,” Jemma answers and, with a wave of her hand, the scrying mirror fizzles off. She’s already climbing out of the car, stowing the mirror in her bag. Despite long conversations last night, Ewan and yourself weren’t able to dissuade the witch from coming along.

“Ready?” Ewan pops his door open, though he’s still turned toward you. Concern etches into his features, as if he’s on the brink of saying you didn’t have to come along. He could handle this, he could save Tabaeus in your place.

But he can’t. Something in you knows this. With a swallow, you nod and open your own door.

The trek into the mall is short and blessedly uneventful. There don’t appear to be any vampiric thralls or familiars standing guard. Perhaps it is hubris on Lachlan’s part, but you don’t dismiss the possibilities of guards or problems deeper inside the building.

Liuvia and Bjarka hitch a ride in Jemma’s bag as Ewan leads your group, with you smack in the middle. He tilts his face up, nose twitching. The barest of a transformation touches Ewan’s features. Some thicker hair, a slew of stubble, the vaguest shift of a nose becoming a snout. He’s delaying the transformation to keep the vampires from sensing him, but you’re sure he’s nervous.

Hell, you’re nervous. You strain to hear the smallest sound, nearly holding your breath the farther you wander into the mall. For the most part, it’s silent. You don’t see or sense anyone else around, other than your group. Though that’s not saying much, considering you’re just a human. With a glance to Jemma, then to Ewan, you confirm nothing seems immediately suspicious.

Though their features are pinched as they focus, neither says or indicates a danger is nearby.

Faintly, you wonder how long he can hold a semi-shift as your eyes take in the corridor. Illumination surprisingly spills in from the sunlights. The stores appear chained and locked, the windows blacked out. Squinting at the locks and darkness, you wonder if there’s more beyond. Is each store a vampire’s personal territory? Is it like a hotel here? Or are they all lower in the building?

All five of you remain as silent as possible as you journey deeper and deeper. Past stores, through the food court, to a stairwell. Jemma conjures up a ball of light without further instruction, lighting the stairs. The aesthetic of the mall holds firm with tiled walls as you descend to the underground section of the mall. A vague chill creeps along your limbs, realizing you’re now underground.

Apparently, the basement is still a commercial area, you realized as the stairs open up to another floor of storefronts. Here, however, the stores are larger and, if you squint, you realize there’s faded signs like ‘bowling alley’ and ‘community development’ hanging over the entryways. No light manages to filter this far down, though. You try not to think about that as you follow Ewan, who keeps close to the walls.

Along with the faint chill, the silence of the area weighs heavily in your ears. It’s too quiet, even as your group scuttles over the expanse of tiled floor.

Quickly enough, you’re led down a slightly obscured hall, before Ewan finds another door. Pushing it open reveals a second set of stairs. This time, the stairwell feels industrial. There’s no happy white-and-blue tiled designs. Just stark metal and industrial grey that devolves into shadows as you peer down into the stairwell.

There’s a brief moment when you look at Ewan and Jemma. Their gaze seeks yours as well, checking to see if you’re still determined to continue. As one, the three of you nod. Jemma hoists the light a fraction higher and it glows a little more intently as you all descend.

The atmosphere grows colder, now raking across any bare skin. Dankness tinges the air as you notice thick gatherings of cobwebs and dead rats on the stairs. Eventually, you come to a landing that leads to a heavy door. The air is locked in your lungs as Ewan slowly shoulders the door open, obscuring your view as he peers around the other side.

After a beat, he opens the door further and the scent of damp and mildew overpowers the air around you. You choke down a cough as Ewan motions for you to follow him into a darkened hall.

If possible, it’s even harder to discern your surroundings now as you follow the werewolf. The shadows seem deeper, darker, more dangerous. The chill in the air bites at your throat. From the light of Jemma’s magic orb, your gaze follows various pipes and catches on rusted, industrial machinery. You have no clue what this all is. Elevator and escalator mechanisms? Gas piping for the food court? Long-abandoned generators?

Whatever is down here, you feel the vague sensation of continuing to go downward, on a gentle slope.

A startle rocks through you as you freeze, hearing something skitter on the concrete floor and echo in the distance. The other two pause. In the span of a breath, fur sprouts from Ewan and his face elongates further, his limbs and muscles growing. A crackle of energy hisses behind you, but you can’t bring yourself to turn and see what Jemma has conjured.

A low rumble of a growl catches in Ewan’s throat as you all wait.

Nothing and no one makes itself known. Slowly, you all carry on in the darkness.

You’re not sure how far you walk when Ewan stops and turns suddenly. You follow as he stalks down an adjacent hall - one you barely even saw - and stops at a wrought-iron door. This time, he doesn’t look at you and Jemma.

Ewan reaches for the large handle, yanking it open so fast your heart trips.

Soft, warm light spills over you from the room on the other side of the door. Rapidly, you blink to dispel the blots of blurry color. The room slowly takes shape in front of your eyes.

Lanterns hang around a large circular room, glowing low and vague. The room is as industrial as the rest of the underground hell, with large pipes and metal and machines. At odds with the metal, however, are mountains of cushions and fabrics draped haphazardly around the room. The pillows and fabrics - of all colors and styles and sheerness levels - bring some color to the deary grey, but somehow that makes the room worse. It sends agitation scraping down your spine.

Then your gaze lights on Tabaeus.

They are chained to a hulking system of pipes, lounging on a smaller hill of pillows. They’re naked, covered only in bruises and fresh bite marks. Their head lolls back, their hair a tangled waterfall. Your heart cracks at the sight, the rest of the world melting away as you step closer to them.

“You’re free to try and take Tabaeus, but… Well, they likely won’t go. This is what they know, this is home.” Lachlan’s voice shocks you from your thoughts. Your attention jerks to Ewan and Jemma, both looking as startled as you feel. Their attention doesn’t snap to the door you just entered from - nor any other dark crevice on your level.

No, you realize their attention is tilted upward. You follow the angle of their gazes and dread curdles in your guts. Lachlan is positioned overhead, on some sort of walkway that snakes through the pipes. He sits on a railing, draped in a way that screams egotistical ease and surety. Others linger behind him, ranging in muted hues and wearing clothing from an array of eras. More pallid vampires start to poke their attention out from the dark shadows of the room, all watching you with red eyes.

Mounting dismay fills your chest before you see Lachlan’s smile twists into something smug. In an instant, rage flares in your chest. Your hands fist at your sides, your shoulders straightening as you glare up at Lachlan. Somehow, through the sick sensations in your stomach, you manage to bite out, “Let Tabaeus be the judge of that.”

Lachlan’s answering chuckle makes your blood boil as he languidly motions toward Tabaeus. “Be my guest.”

#vampire #vampire lover #vampire x reader #2nd pov #monster lover #monster boyfriend #monster fucker #exophilia #exo writing #werewolf #monster love #monster romance #monster x human #room & board #r&b #room and board #tabaeus #ewan #reader

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eruden-archives · 1 year

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Room & Board - Vampire x Reader

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?

Links under cut!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

📚 On Tumblr

🩸 Part 1 🩸 Part 2 🩸 Part 3 🩸 Part 4 🩸 Part 5 🩸 Part 6 🩸 Part 7 🩸 Part 8 🩸 Part 9 🩸 Part 10 🩸Part 11 🩸 Part 12 🩸 Part 13 🩸 Part 14 🩸 Part 15 - Vagina Version 🩸 Part 15 - Penis Version 🩸 Part 16 🩸 Part 17 🩸 Part 18 🩸 Part 19 🩸 Part 20 🩸 Part 21 🩸 Part 22 (coming soon)

📙 Read on Wattpad

📖 Spin-Off Stories

Consolation Prize (smut)

A Surprising Offer (smut)

"Who Did This To You?" AU Tabaeus x Abused Reader

🎨 Supplemental Art

My Version of Tabaeus

Fanart of Tabaeus - I love different interpretations of the characters. That's why I didn't describe them too much. :3c

Lore + A Sketch

Monster Form Tabaeus

Tabaeus in Outfits

Monster March Vampire

Sims of Tabaeus, Ewan, and Amata

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

*:･ﾟ✧ Patreon or Ko-Fi *:･ﾟ✧

#room and board #room & board #tabaeus #amata #ewan #rab

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deltoroist · 2 years

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Tabaeus

@eruden-writes remember a long time ago when I said I would draw Tabaeus? Inspiration struck

I know they're not supposed to have blush but it looked cute ngl

#behold! my inability to draw clothes!#monster #monster lover #room and board #exophilia #monsterfucker #vampire #art #mine #fanart

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eruden-writes · 3 months

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Room & Board - Part 19

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?

Links under cut!

x x x x x

Part 1 | Previous | Masterlist | Next

x x x x x

In your quickly fading consciousness, you realize Tabaeus has let go of your hands. Their own grip at your shoulders, long spindly fingers trembling. Turning your face toward the hand on your right, away from Tabaeus’s feasting mouth, you find your sight blurring.

Before unconsciousness claims you, you press a gentle kiss to the back of their palm. Driven to somehow comfort the vampire, even at such a discordant juncture. Their fingers flex, claws digging into your skin as something akin to another sob bubbles up from their mouth.

That’s the last thing you hear as darkness pulls you under.

---

The next morning, Tabaeus is gone.

They must have called to Lachlan in the middle of the night, swept off into the darkness. Faintly, you remember a touch on your cheek, whispered words, but it is all so muddled in your groggy head.

You sit in the kitchen, hunched over the table, head in your hands. The bowl of cereal you had blearily made for yourself sits uneaten, growing soggier by the second. Heat burns in your eyes, but the tears don’t fall. Just hover at the edge of your lids and burn at your nose.

“They thralled us while we slept. Probably to keep us dead asleep while they left.” Across from you, Ewan sits sprawled in his chair. His head leans back, his hand pressing to his own forehead. “Feels like a godsdamn hangover.”

“That fucking asshole,” you sigh, shoving your cereal further away. You cross your arms and lay your head down on them, trying to ignore the anger and sadness churning inside your chest. To know Tabaeus would still thrall you, even after you bent to their request, makes bile crawl up your throat.

You don’t even look up as Ewan asks, “What’s our plan now?”

“What do you mean, what now? Tabaeus is gone,” you mumble, words muffled by your arms. Depressed resignation weighs heavily in your chest and in your words.

You catch movement as Ewan shifts. Something in the air shifts and you think he’s looking at you now. “You don’t want to go find them?”

“Can we even find them?” Hopeless, you cross your arms atop the table and flump your head down into your arms. Lachlan was obviously powerful and Tabaeus was no schmuck when it came to his powers either. If neither wanted to be found, could you and Ewan have any hope to track them down?

Ewan’s silence answers your question. If Tabaeus didn’t want to be found, if he was so intent on just disappearing from your lives - both of your lives, really - could either of you find him? You don’t even know what kind of underground society vampires operated in. How hard would it be to dig them out? How many had centuries of experience, of power, to wield?

Silence descended on the two of you, as you both stew in woe. It was only when a small, unfamiliar voice interrupted the pity party that you looked up, “You can find him.”

On the table, the rodents Tabaeus had brought home stare at you. Confused, you push yourself up in a proper sitting position and glance around, ignoring the fact the sugar gliders somehow got out of their cage. The only other person present, however, is Ewan. And he’s staring wide-eyed at the sugar gliders. Without realizing it, you have braced for his question before he mutters, “Why are the sugar gliders talking?”

“We’re imps, thank you very much,” Liuva, the lighter of the two gliders, titters as their nose twitches. At the disbelieving look that you and Ewan shoot, they comically heave a sigh that makes the sugar glider equivalent of shoulders rise and fall. Before your very eyes, the sugar gliders shift, the fur falling away and becoming a cape, leaving two very small, human-ish figures standing atop the table.

Both spindly figures had dark black eyes and markings on their grey-toned skin, long pointed ears peeking out from their hair. The only distinct difference between the two was the color of their hair - wild tufts that looked as soft as dandelion fluff - which happened to be the same shade as their respective capes. Your eyes flicker up to Ewan, but he appears as shock as you are. Perhaps the two imps had perfected sugar glider stink to the point even a werewolf couldn’t tell the difference.

“When were you going to tell me this,” you hiss, returning your attention to the two imps. Another question rammed into your head as you leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “When was Tabaeus going to tell me!?”

Carelessly, Bjarka and Liuva shrug in response. Neither seem particularly wary as you loom over them.

Taking advantage of your outraged quiet, Ewan steps in, “What's your story, you two?”

The two imps half-turn toward Ewan, before exchanging glances with one another. A silent conversation seems to transmit between the two, before both give a relenting shrug. Liuva speaks first, their eyes flicking from you to Ewan as they speak, “We just wanted to be pampered.”

“We saw how humans cared for pets and took the form of something cute and fluffy.” When Bjarka speaks, you realize they were the one who spoke first. Their tone is deeper than Liuva’s own. Bjarka sighs dreamily, hands clasped together and pressed to the side of their face like some sort of 1950s schoolgirl lost in a pleasant daydream.

“Tabaeus knew what we were right away,” Liuva takes up the line, admiration coloring their voice and pitching higher. “But they were kind.”

“They didn’t treat us like problems,” Bjarka adds, their nose wrinkling as their tone sours.

That bitter tone is mirrored in Liuva’s voice as she adds, “Like annoyances.”

Turning to you, Bjarka’s expression turns dire and genuine. “But Tabaeus did want us to behave.”

“So we did.” Liuva solemnly nods, though you could swear you see their hand move behind their back. It’s a movement that reminds you of a child crossing their fingers behind their back.

The story seems rather scant, you think. Why would they choose to willingly be people’s pets? What about the man who ‘sold’ them to Tabaeus? You bite your tongue on the very questions. Those curiosities could wait. There is one question gnawing at your head, wanting answers more. “Why didn’t they tell me about you two?”

Once again, Bjarka and Liuva exchange looks. Concern crimps both their faces, but it is Bjarka who turns to you. “They were looking for the right time, but it never came around.”

“They were worried about freaking you out,” Liuva mumbles, giving you yet another shrug.

Swallowing heavily, you ask, "Did you see them leave?”

"Yes, they were with another vampire. Slimy and sleazy.” Raising their little hands, Liuva wiggles their tiny fingers and makes a face.

Ewan and you nearly speak as one as you both knowingly say, "Lachlan.”

Both imps shrug and make a sound as if to say ‘if you say so.’ Both sets of dark little eyes flicker between you and Ewan, quiet now that they had brought you up to speed of their own circumstances.

Your brain is still trying to process yet another turn when Ewan gets the conversation back on track, “Alright, so how do we find Tabaeus?”

Bjarka, the imp with the darker furred cape, turns those ink-deep eyes on Ewan. Something in their expression glimmers with vague amusement and practicality. “You already know a witch.”

“Jemma?” Ewan perks up and you can almost see a pair of canine-like ears standing tall.

Your head snaps to the werewolf, your eyebrows raised. “Jemma’s a witch-witch?”

Awkwardness causes Ewan’s shoulders to pinch, a wince of a smile tugging across his lips as he nods an affirmative to your question.

You knew your co-worker was into the esoteric stuff and some spirituality. Tarot and gems, woo-woo paranormal stuff, and the like. But those were just trends flooding the mainstream now. It didn’t seem like that much of a stretch to just believe she was simply a human dreaming of something more to life.

Then again, you were currently in your kitchen, discussing how to find a vampire with not just a werewolf, but two imps. Could you really be surprised?

“When did my life become a paranormal drama?” You groan and press your face to the table, arms outstretched around the two imps. If it bothers them, they don’t seem to notice. One of them - Bjarka you guess, judging by the position - pats your forearm consolingly.

You hear the apologetic smile that crosses Ewan’s lips as he teases, “I think that’s just what happens when you befriend a vampire.”

---

Soon enough, you find yourself at Jemma’s studio with your supernatural entourage. Jemma’s apartment is what you expected it to be, with all her witchy implementations in plain sight. Perhaps that was why the occult had gotten a boost in recent years. Magic users and the supernatural were tired of hiding.

Jemma’s home is cluttered, but comfortable. Being a one-room studio, there were no walls to delineate the kitchen from the living room, though Jemma had hung up curtains to separate her ‘bedroom’ from the rest of the space. Plants overran the kitchen, with leafy fronds hanging from the ceiling and pots clustered around the sink. A long table, covered in bottles and candles and even a small cauldron, separated the kitchen from the living room. Books and trinkets scattered about on any available surface.

“I might be able to track them through scrying,” Jemma sighs once you have brought her up to speed. Her lips purse and her eyes narrow as she admits to her potential inability, “but if they’re part of an old coven, they may be protected.”

By your side, on the frayed couch in Jemma’s living room, Ewan growls a quiet curse. You stare at the coffee table in front of you, eyebrows furrowed. A fabric drapes over the squat table and, upon the cloth, a candle and box of closed tarot cards sits. You still feel adrift, unable to think of anything effective in the situation. Perhaps it’s Tabaeus’s lingering thrall keeping you unfocused.

Against your chest, you feel Bjarka and Liuva shift in an inside pocket on your jacket. You’re not sure if it’s an imp thing, to sleep as often as they do, or simply a luxury of their life as pseudo pets. The thought invariably leads back to Tabaeus, how they had cared for the imps and how the imps had spoken so darkly of their usual treatment.

Before you know it, you hunch over, your face falling into your hands. You dig the heels of your palms into your eyes, the pressure relieving the pulse of frustration in your thoughts. Ewan’s warm, heavy hand sympathetically presses to your shoulder a beat later. There’s a long moment of silence as you breathe, before you drop your hands and glance to the man beside you.

He offers you an encouraging, if weak, smile. You return a smile just as flimsy as his. It’s Jemma’s rough voice that breaks your gaze from Ewan’s eyes, “Did either of you let them feed from you?”

“Yeah,” you reply, trying to fight down the embarrassed flush as you meet Jemma’s critical gaze.

“I did too.” Ewan raises his free hand, flinching under the look you and Jemma shoot him. His expression takes on a bashful edge, his gaze bouncing between the two of you though not meeting either look head-on. “It happened in the van after you fell asleep and we were, uh, getting to know each other still. They needed a boost.”

Unable to help yourself, you snort in amusement. Especially as you catch the increasing blush beneath Ewan’s stubble.

“Well, I think that's your answer.” Jemma leans back in her wooden chair, arms crossing over her chet. “If vampires feeding on Tabaeus, or vice versa, could remain connected, then you should have a connection too.”

Your attention flicks back to your co-worker, a furrow pinching between your brows. “How do we tap into that?”

“That is the million dollar question, isn’t it?” Jemma’s narrowed eyes rove over her work table as her fingers tap against her biceps. Just as you start to think this will need more research, Jemma stands and heads into the kitchen, riffling around in a drawer. She returns with a fresh pack of sewing needles and two little glass vials that remind you of bead containers from a craft store.

Jemma shoves the vials and needles toward you. “Prick your fingers and give me a drop, both of you.”

You and Ewan comply, carefully drawing and collecting the blood. Once the vials are handed over to Jemma, she turns away. In the short amount of time, she has her little cauldron filled with purple liquid and bubbling over a hot plate. The room fills with an indescribable scent as liquid boils in the small bowl and the witch references a number of books. She hums to herself as she throws more bits into the occult stew, making the liquid glow a gentle blue.

As Jemma toils, insecure thoughts creep into your brain. Should you even be doing this? Tabaeus chose to leave and wanted you safe. Hell, he might even be the reason why your brain is so fuzzy every time you try to think about saving him. By going against his wishes, could you really bring him home? Or would he stay where he was out of a sense of duty? Dread swells up in your stomach, pinching at your expression.

You feel Ewan’s arm snake around your shoulders, tugging you into his side and startling you from your thoughts. “Don’t worry, we’ll find them.”

“Maybe that’s what I’m worried about,” you admit, casting a glance up to Ewan’s face. Confusion paints his expression and so you go on, “Lachlan seemed powerful and who knows how many vampires are under his leadership? Even Tabaeus felt powerless against Lachlan.”

Ewan is silent for a long moment, his eyebrows dipped into a ‘v’. You don’t expect he’ll have anything further to say, but he surprises you by slowly feeling his words out, “I think that’s just what Lachlan wants Tabaeus to believe.”

“What?” Straightening a little from your slump, you gaze intently up at Ewan, trying to determine if he’s just trying to make you feel better or if he’s being genuine.

“Lachlan smells like a power-hungry creep and what better way to maintain power than to keep a threat under control?” Ewan’s gaze is no longer on you. He’s staring off into some middle distance, his thoughts churning in directions you can’t possibly imagine. Briefly, you wonder if this had something to do with his old pack. “Tabaeus is old and, from what I know, the older a vampire is, the stronger they are.”

You press your lips together, acknowledging Ewan’s point, but still worried. “Even if they were created as a Memory Keeper?”

“That I don’t know, but no one else seems to know either.” Ewan shrugs, offering you another of his helpless but hopeful smiles. For the first time since Tabaeus left, the expression makes something stir in your chest. Maybe a little of that hope is rubbing off on you.

Settling back, you consider what Ewan has said. No one else seems to know a blasted thing, that is true. Maybe there is hope to find Tabaeus, to bring him home, to rid all of you of Lachlan. The problem simply is figuring out how.

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eruden-writes · 25 days

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Room & Board - Part 21 (Vampire x Reader)

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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Lachlan’s answering chuckle makes your blood boil as he languidly motions toward Tabaeus. “Be my guest.”

Looking back to Ewan and Jemma, you find them both tense and glaring up at the enemy. Ewan has given up the partial transformation, fur sprouting along his whole morphing body as his snout elongates and a growl bubbles in his throat. Jemma’s battle-readiness is less obvious, but you feel a crackle in the air and swear her eyes glow, but it could be a trick of her light orb. At your movement, their attention bounces to you. Ewan nods encouragingly, though Jemma’s eyes quickly dart back up to Lachlan and the other vampires.

Briefly, regret thrums at how you’ve pulled the two of them into this fight, but you turn back to Tabaeus. You all knew the potential risks.

Softly, you step closer to Tabaeus and finally take in their state.

Nude and sprawled on pillows, manacles on their wrists and ankles, Tabaeus stares listlessly at the ceiling, seemingly unseeing even the other vampires crowded on the overhead walkway. As you come closer, their eyes swing slowly toward you. A lump catches in your throat at the sight of their red-rimmed eyes, the fresh bites on their body. Something about their flesh seems more sickly.

“Oh, is it feeding time?” Their words are so hollow and distant, it takes your mind a moment to realize Tabaeus is the one who said them. They push themselves upright, languidly standing in a smooth movement.

As they near you, you recall how their height once terrified you. They loomed over you that first meeting just as they loom over you now, but your heart twists as you blink back tears. You never thought you’d see them again. Relief and dismay clamber through your head as you see Tabaeus whole but harmed.

Tabaeus reaches out a hand and you unthinkingly mirror them. Just as your hand is about to graze their shoulder, theirs grabs you roughly by the hair. Pain arcs over your scalp as they yank your head forcefully to the side, baring your throat to them.

“That is not a meal,” Lachlan drawls, though dark amusement twitches at the corner of his lips.

“Is it not?” Tabaeus pauses, their red eyes flickering up and behind you to where the other vampire stands.

“No, this bloodbag seems to think you know them.” That amusement has turned to cruel glee and you hear a barely contained laugh catch in Lachlan’s throat. A wave of titters arise from the other vampires, like a colony of squeaking bats.

“No, I do not know any bloodbags.” Tabaeus blinks before regarding you with an empty laziness, still holding your head at an angle. You’re not even sure they’re trying to remember.

Too many words and feelings gum up your throat. As you struggle to swallow, only three words break through your lips, “Tabaeus, please remember.”

The use of their name makes them pause, their eyebrows ticking upward. Encouraged, a slew of words breaks past the lump in your throat as your hands curl around the wrist of their hand still buried in your hair, “You’ve lived with me for months, Tabaeus. We’ve gone shopping together and you’ve bought so many clothes. And you brought Liuva and Bjarka, your imp sugar gliders, off a man on a subway. We bought a house and you’ve made friends with me and Ewan and…”

You trail off as the words choke up your throat. Tears swell in your eyes, but try as you might to blink them back, they overcome the edge of your lashes. Instead you sniffle and nod toward Ewan, hoping Tabaeus will understand.

Their eyes flicker in the werewolf’s direction. You believe their eyes meet, for Tabaeus’s pupils first constrict then dilate. Like a cat spotting a dog before realizing they’re an old friend. Tabaeus’s attention jerks back to you.

Complicated expressions flit over their face. Disgust, intrigue, denial… You watch, hoping to spot recognition or fondness. Anything to let you know they didn’t truly forget. If such an emotion crosses their eyes, however, you do not spot it.

“I… I…” Tabaeus’s eyes trail over your face, watching as a tear cascades down your cheek. They swallow, harshly shaking their head to dispel the mental chaos their thoughts must be in. Their words come out the tiniest bit ragged, “I apologize, I truly do not know you.”

You open your mouth to challenge that notion, but you freeze as Tabaeus leans close. Their nose brushes against your throat, the gentle nuzzle sending goosebumps over your skin. Their words tease against your throat, “But you smell sweet. Delicious."

"Tabaeus, please you have to remember,” you desperately croak, blinking back tears as conflicting feelings spiral through you.

“Don't play with your food." From somewhere above, Lachlan’s voice sounds and cold hatred lurches through you.

Confusion dots Tabaeus’s brow and they look up toward the other vampire. “I thought you said they were not food.”

“If you don’t remember them, why waste prey that wanders so willingly into our den?” You can just imagine Lachlan shrugging carelessly, a sleazy smile tilted at his lips. For a brief moment, you think you see Tabaeus’s eyes narrow, something calculating behind their gaze. As if they don’t quite believe Lachlan.

That hope evaporates as they eventually intone, "Yes, master.”

You don’t get a chance to shout as Tabaeus descends on you. Somewhere behind you, you hear Ewan snarl loudly and Jemma make a strangled cry, before a scuffle sounds, punctuated by the hiss of what you assume is magic.

Tabaeus’s cool grasp is painful, unyielding, on your shoulder and head as they force you to bare your neck. Twin pains sink into your throat. A sob escapes you, the taste of blood dances on your own tongue.

But you don’t fight or pull away. Wrenching your eyes shut, ignoring the tears streaming down your cheeks, your arms wrap around Tabaeus. They’re tense under your touch, prepared to fight your struggles. When it doesn’t come, you think you can feel their confusion and curiosity wind through their body. Pulling them closer, you focus on your short acquaintance, wanting those memories to be close to the surface.

The frightening first night. The agreement. Shopping for new clothes for them. Getting a house and sharing the home with the sugar gliders. The journal. Going out with Ewan together, the food, the movie, and other delights. Every second of fear, friendship, love, lust, anger, frustration, uncertainty blends through the recollections. All the images and feelings flood your brain, tangling with the pain and fending off the memories of others that fight for screentime.

Pain throbs through your head, mirroring the ache at your throat, but you refuse to fall to unconsciousness, refuse to let the foreign images take root.

With a gasp, the vampire breaks from your throat. Blearily, you blink up at Tabaeus, their lips stained as red as their eye color. Their eyelids flutter rapidly, but a few red-tinged tears roll from their eyes and down their cheeks. You realize their hold quavers as they croak, “Amata.”

“You remember,” you softly breathe, a smile on your lips even as the rest of the world wobbles in your sight. Slumping in Tabaeus’s arms, boneless from relief and blood loss, you watch as their eyes desperately wheel about the room as they turn. When they’ve taken in the entire predicament, they still. Their brow pinches and you follow their gaze to where Ewan and Jemma scuffle with vampire underlings.

Tabaeus raises their hand, chain clanking against their manacle. Pressure pulses through the air and the vampires that surround your friends pause, eyes flying wide a brief second before their bodies hurl against the far wall. A flinch rattles through your body as you hear bones crack, but you’re too muzzy-headed to dwell on what you’ve seen. You hear some of the vampires above scuttle warily to the far reaches of the room.

The room shifts around you as Tabaeus hefts you in their arms, crossing the short distance to Ewan, who looks to where his previous opponents have been tossed. When his gaze flicker to your mutual friend, his eyes widen with guarded hope and uncertainty.

“Hold onto them,” the vampire orders and shoves you into the werewolf’s furry arms. You only faintly notice Jemma move closer, peering over Ewan’s arm to survey you. When she sees you’re conscious, a tension in her shoulder eases.

Ewan only manages to nod, bringing you closer to his chest in a protective gesture. Even as Tabaeus turns away, you can feel Ewan’s fur bristle and you wonder if it’s from adrenaline of the fight or wariness of the pressure surrounding Tabaeus. Peering up at the werewolf, you catch hints of the scuffle. Awry fur, blood – his or a vampire’s, you’re unsure – flicked across his maw and body, a long gouge bleeding at the juncture of his shoulder and neck. The tang of blood fills your nostrils as he draws you closer.

“You,” Tabaeus growls, drawing your gaze from Ewan. Your vampire’s gaze is tilted upward toward Lachlan. Shadows darken and dance along the floor and in the corners of the room. The temperature in the air drops a degree for every second the two maintain eye contact.

A crackling sound echoes through the air, your eyes widening as you find the source. Cracks form in the manacles, flakes of rusted metal fall off in chunks as the restraints slowly disintegrate.

All languid smugness has melted away from Lachlan, leaving only brittle fear behind. The vampire moves to stand atop the overly large pipe he has positioned himself on, hands raised in a placating manner. “Now, I’m your master, a kind one if I—”

An inhuman sound escapes Tabaeus – a discordant keen – and a pipe near Lachlan squeals, a crack racing along its side, effectively interrupting the other vampire.

“You are a neophyte compared to me, Lachlan Barrett.” Tabaeus’s eyes glow, their head adjusting angles like an animal scenting prey. A small contingent of Lachlan’s followers, no more than five, erupt from the shadows in a shrieking cacophony. Two angle toward Tabaeus, three toward you, Ewan, and Jemma.

Your werewolf tenses, hunching to shield you with one arm extended to fight, and the crackle of magic comes from where Jemma stands. Tabaeus doesn’t even turn as they make a slicing motion in the air, chain rattling.

The breeze of the motion wafts over you, gently, but the five vampires freeze mid-air. Then they fall, bifurcated at the same angle as your vampire’s hand movement.

Tabaeus’s fingers crook from their outstretched hand, flexing, before one arm yanks hard against a crumbling chain. The metal snaps loudly, but your vampire’s voice rings over the sound, “Or should I call you Locke Barista, the allegedly genius playwright who never sold a manuscript?”

Fear flutters through the vampires, all watching the Memory Keeper with wide eyes. You think you catch shocked mutters, confusion. How could such a vampire, considered weak and of no more use than a scrapbook, do this?

Concerned gazes flicker between the two and you’re not sure what keeps the others from fleeing. Is it macabre curiosity? An animalistic need to see which vampire comes out on top, to become the leader?

Or is it Tabaeus’s influence, that pressure that stifling weight that hangs heavy in the air? Are they somehow keeping the other vampires tethered to their spots?

With another snap of metal, your peripheral catches Tabaeus snapping the second chain attached to their wrist manacle as they continue speaking to their potentially captive audience, “Hector Tannud, the selfish Frenchman Casanova that lost everything at the gambling tables?”

The temperature in the room drops, shadows crawling out to meet Tabaeus’s own shade. Ewan tenses and, after a glance up, you find his ears pinned back, the fur along the crest of his head and back of his neck rising. Jemma, too, stills from fussing over you, her own glowing eyes warily on the scene.

When your gaze turns back to them, you share a quick sputter of the concern in Jemma’s features.

Tabaeus has morphed, so similar to that first night when they descended on you. Taller and lanky and turning a dark shade of purple-black, their long hair plastering to their body and becoming fur. Limbs spindly and inhuman and tipped in claws so sharp, you think they could slice a molecule in half. The sneer on their face becomes vicious and serrated, as their nose flattens and ears grow.

Darkness suddenly surges toward Tabaeus and you yelp, attention swiveling toward Lachlan, believing he was the culprit of the sudden movement. However, as soon as you spot the other vampire, your eyes widen.

Solidifying from the shadows behind Lachlan, Tabaeus has a hand on Lachlan’s throat, graceful hand coming around to grasp it from the front. Their claw traces the side of the other vampire’s face. The bump in Lachlan’s throat bobs as he struggles against the grip.

Tabaeus stoops behind Lachlan, a dangerous seductiveness painting their movements as they lower their head to the juncture of his throat and shoulder. In spite of the lurid sensuality of Tabaeus’s movement, their voice rings out harsh and mocking. “Hardwin the destitute tanner who smelled of shit and piss and would do anything, even sell out his entire village, to save his own scrawny throat?”

The other vampires still do not move, watching as Tabaeus blatantly demonstrates how their master – the strongest among them – is nothing but prey.

“I remember every insipid identity you took – every identity you all have taken –“ Tabaeus snarls, pointing their free hand, index finger tipped in a dark claw, at all present with a sweeping arch. Their words echo along the shadowy pipes, plunging into every dark corner. “You all are nothing more than quibbling little cum stains barely released from your progenitor’s quim!”

The anger in their voice echoes around the room, rattling through the pipes and making bolts quiver. Quiet weighs heavy a realization sinks in to all the enemies present. Tabaeus has been there far longer than any of them. They carry the memories of all present, know every little secret pleasure and vice and weakness.

Lachlan must find some frayed string of survival instinct in the following silence. Or perhaps it’s sheer fear that makes him act foolishly. With a pathetic gasping cry, he turns into a bat, flapping frantically for salvation above.

Even from down below and in such a beastly form, you see Tabaeus’s feature crimp with disgust. In a smooth movement, he launches himself upward, once more morphing.

Where Lachlan has taken the form of a bat, roughly the size of a football, Tabaeus is something far more grand. Still the size of a human – though far shorter than their usual form – with a wingspan that had to be as long as you are tall, they remind you of viral pictures you’ve seen of megabats. It’s no great feat when they overtake Lachlan, curling around the little creature like a white blood cell eating a virus.

Ewan seems to understand what’s happening faster than you and he stiffens, spinning around and hunching over you as the two plummet down. You hear their bodies hit the ground. The impact vibrates through the room and rattles through your bones. Something farther into the room creaks ominously before it thuds heavily to the floor, a litany of cries and shrieks bursting through the vampire crowd.

Trembling, you shove away from Ewan and peer around his form just in time to see Lachlan cry out and shift back to a more human form.

Beastly Tabaeus sits atop the younger vampire, their long-clawed hand pressing the other vampire’s face solidly into the metal floor. A disgusted sneer curls at their lips as their other hand claws down Lachlan’s back.

Beside you, Ewan shakes. Throwing him a sidelong glance, you find his eyes wide, nostrils flaring, ears pinned back, fur bristling.

With his face squashed down and hair in disarray, Lachlan looks even more pathetic, eyes red-rimmed with blood tears as he scrabbles to break free from the hold.

The rest of the vampire coven do not move. Eyes wide. Faces paled. Some look like they are about to be sick. Wildly, you wonder if Tabaeus is doing what Lachlan had done at the library. Have they frozen their audience in place? Stopped time? Your thoughts flick to the shrieks from earlier, wondering if the victims were unable to move due to whatever Tabaeus is doing.

Your mind swirls so fast with thoughts, you feel as if you’re going to get motion sick.

“You have kept my mind muddled with the memories, the thoughts, of this peanut gallery of vapid nightwalkers.” Tabaeus growls and draws your attention back to the two vampires. Their hand on the back of Lachlan’s head twists, grinding the other vampire’s face harder against the floor. “What do you have to say for your transgressions, Hardwin?”

x x x x x

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eruden-writes · 2 months

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Room & Board - Part 20 Preview

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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Eventually, weeks after Tabaeus left, a tip finally strikes solid and true.

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eruden-writes · 10 months

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Room & Board - Part 16 (vampire x reader)

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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After the eventful night, you awake the next morning to heat against your back and an arm curled around your middle. Sunlight streams through your curtains as memories sluggishly creep through your brain, realizing the heat at your back is too warm to be your vampire roomie. As if the encroaching sunlight wasn’t evidence enough.

Rolling over, you confirm your suspicions as Ewan squints at you groggily. He is no longer in wolf form, but sporting a light beard. Faintly, you wonder how often he has to shave to maintain his appearances.

“Morning,” he grunts, a roughness to his voice that is either sleep or after-transformation gnarl. Whatever the rasp is from, he still grins at you as he always does. Perhaps with a touch more fondness than usual.

You hum an acknowledgement, reaching up to smooth the wild tufts of curls atop Ewan’s head. The man gave an entirely new definition to bedhead, you muse as he tilts into your touch with a happy sigh. But you can’t forget the missing part of last night’s triad. “Where’s Tabaeus?”

As your fingers crook, raking gently over Ewan’s scalp, his eyes flutter shut and he sighs, “They’re bunking with the sugar gliders.”

Your hand pauses, eyebrows furrowing with confusion. “What?”

“They’re in bat form,” Ewan explains as his eyes open slowly, grudgingly resigned to no more petting.

More incredulous than confused, you repeat, “What?”

Ewan’s grin grows, amusement glinting in his eyes as he pieces together the reason for your surprise. “Haven’t they shown you their bat form?”

“No!” You try to ignore how Ewan’s grin broadens at your almost-pained exclamation. Tabaeus has a bat form and he was currently sleeping in the sugargliders’ cage? Your mind fumbles with the idea, half-upset for having missed the spectacle of Tabaeus morphing last night.

After you fumble out of bed for an oversized tee-shirt, and Ewan pulls on his jeans from last night, the two of you venture out of your bedroom. Down the hall, in a separate room relegated to Bjarka and Liuva, you lead the werewolf.

The door is ajar, no sunlight filtering into this area of the hall. As you step into the room, you find the curtains are drawn tight and the lights out. To your left, a huge cage sits, filled with enrichment and food and a potty area for the gliders. The cost of the set-up had been exorbitant, but you couldn’t say no to Tabaeus’s puppy dog eyes when they asked. Your money was mostly thanks to them, anyway.

Using the flashlight on your cellphone and setting it on a table by the door to give you some mild light, you venture closer to the enclosure. “Tabaeus?”

Something rustles from the sleeping pouch and soon something relatively small and furry pokes out. You squint, the creature is similar to a sugar glider but definitely not one. A bat stares at you with little beady eyes and, somehow, transmitting a groggy expression. Even the fur has a rumpled, askew look. Like a little bat version of bedhead.

Once the little furry creature seems to recognize you, their big ears perk up and they crawl - none too gracefully - toward the edge of the cage closest to you.

What is wrong?

You're startled to hear Tabaeus’s concerned voice in your head. They stare up at you, dark little eyes alert. Raising a hand to the side of your own head, you touch your fingers to your temple. "Can you transmit your thoughts into my head?"

Something in you believes you see shock cross the bat’s face, but there’s no way. Their features are too inhuman to emote. Tabaeus tilts their little head, their comically large ears twitching. What? Am I not using my mouth?

"You mean you little furry bat mouth?” You point to their face as you crouch down, becoming more eye-level with Tabaeus.

Yes? Tabaeus’s voice in your head sounds confused, before their ears twitch again. Oh, I see your point, but Ewan did not seem surprised when I talked to him in this form.

"Someone needed to close the cage." Ewan shrugs as you toss him a curious look over your shoulder. He stands near the door, leaning in the door jamb. You’re not sure if he’s giving you and Tabaeus space out of respect or if he’s keeping a careful distance for another reason.

"Well, on the topic of things I didn't know, we should probably hit the library today. Do some research." Your attention returns to Tabaeus, your heart twisting as the little bat shirks a bit under your words.

From the door, Ewan’s curious question rings, "Research?"

"The journal ordeal we mentioned last night,” you explain as you open the cage, not bothering to turn around. “You don’t have to come with us if you’re busy or have other things to do, Ewan.”

As you hold out your hands for Tabaeus to crawl to you, Ewan clears his throat. The floorboards squeak under the werewolf as he shifts. "Speaking of last night, how should I take what we did? The fun."

You blink at the sudden shift of topic. Right. Last night and the fun that had continued at home. At Ewan’s acknowledgement of last night, your body twangs with the ache of well-used muscles. Faintly, you feel Tabaeus’s tiny claws grappling onto your fingers, heft themself into your palms. They weigh much heavier than you’d expect of a tiny bat.

"I'm just trying to temper my expectations. I've liked you for awhile and things can get complicated when fun sex gets involved," Ewan babbles on and you can hear him fidgeting, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Looking up at him, you notice his tense body language. Almost as if he’s prepared to run away as his mouth continues on, "And I know I made that joke about becoming a roommate, but- "

Ewan trails off, shoulders hunching and unable to meet your steady gaze. On the other hand, you can feel Tabaeus’s eyes on you as they sit in your palms. Your eyes flicker to the bat, trying to decipher their expression.

It wasn’t as if you didn’t have the space in the house. There was certainly enough room for Ewan. Whether Tabaeus would agree with it or not was another question, but they kept their expression - or feelings? - distant.

And, of course, there might be a chance for more bonding, a salacious part of you thinks.

Besides having another person to help with chores and bills, another part of you notes that having a werewolf around might be good protection. While you were fairly sure you could trust Tabaeus, if something happened - like a curse or a return of human-hating memories or who knew what - Ewan might be a good guardian for you.

"I'd be fine with you moving in,” you say as you briefly glance up at the werewolf again and back down to Tabaeus. The intent look in your eye is self-explanatory.

Under your gaze, the bat squirms and you get the impression they turn their attention elsewhere. When Ewan joins in on staring, Tabaeus’s little body expands and deflates with a sigh. Well if I say no, I will look like a right ass.

"Glad we agree.” With a grin, you raise the bat up, booping your nose against theirs. Despite themselves, Tabaeus seems to be pleased with the action. From the corner of your sight, you see Ewan sag with relief. Getting to your feet, your thoughts turn back toward the day’s itinerary. "Now let's get you downstairs so you can rest or get a change of attire."

You can feel Tabaeus pout with uncertainty. How? There's so many windows.

“Like this.” The little bat squeaks as you pluck them up and stuff them down the collar of your shirt. Through the shirt, one of your hands supports the little furball as your other clasps around them. You hold Tabaeus against your chest, feeling their little clawed tips dig nervously a little into your skin. “Think this will work?”

I-It is… acceptable. Even through whatever telepathic link Tabaeus has established, you can sense their awkwardness and masked delight.

You give an amused snort, glancing up at Ewan who is leaning against a wall again and watching. His playfully narrowed eyes give you the impression he’s jealous of the little bat’s good fortune. Ignoring the pulse of amusement and heat, you exit the room. As much as you’d like to linger with them, have some more fun, you really need answers.

x x x

Hours later, you find yourself in the local library, sifting through old papers and files on a computer in a dusty basement alcove. Ewan sits at another computer, the sound of his click and scrolling sounding far more productive than it likely was. Tabaeus - after being smuggled via bat-form - has disappeared among the stacks of books and ledgers, oddly quiet. You try not to worry too much about them.

While you’re not even sure you’ll find anything, you at least have some starting points: Dr. Kieran Bennett, a Dr. Forsythe, and all of those dates in the diary entry.

After scouring student directories, you find three Kieran Bennetts who apprenticed or went through a university. Tracing through their schooling, their travels, their families… Occasionally, you have to stop tracing their paths and reference towns they had been through. At one point, you think you can eliminate one of the Kierans, before a realization hits.

With a groan, you lean back in your chair and press your hands to your eyes. “Why did so many fathers have to name their sons after themselves?”

To your left, you hear Ewan’s chair creak. You think he’s turned to look at you and you can imagine the concern in his eyes. “You doing alright?”

“Yes, it’s just so much information. I can’t keep it all straight,” you sigh, pinching at the bridge of your nose. Beside you on the table, the journal is open to cross-reference the hefty tome sitting open before you. Even as your eyes crack open, you blink as the numbers and words blur in front of your eyes.

“Maybe we should break for a little bit?” Ewan stands, stretching his arms over his head until his tee-shirt rides up to show a sliver of his lower stomach. The glimpse is quickly over as his arms drop and he nods to the stairs. “Get a snack at the library’s cafe upstairs, maybe?”

“That’s probably a good idea.” A part of you balks at the idea of leaving, of not learning anything yet. You convince yourself some food in your belly and a rest couldn’t hurt as you straighten your area and note which book you were currently perusing. As you step away from your workstation and place the Kieran’s journal in your bag, you turn to the rows of shelves.

A nagging concern nibbles at your thoughts. Odd, that they haven’t chimed in yet. Taking a step toward the shelving, you raise your voice to be heard through the room. “Tabaeus, what do you think? Coming with?”

Nothing answers back. Your heart trips in your chest, dueling senses of worry and betrayal coasting through your thoughts. Those feuding thoughts propel you forward with Ewan tagging behind you. Grasping tight to the strap of your bag, you continue to call, “Tabaeus? Tabaeus, where are you?”

Finally, near the edge of the aisle, in a far corner, you spot them. You call to Tabaeus again, but they still don’t answer. They don’t move or blink an eye. In their hands they hold a book, slowly flicking the pages. Something seems wrong, you think, as you raise your hand. You can’t bring yourself to touch them, though. Can’t bring yourself to disturb their trance.

It’s Ewan that steps around you, slinging their arm around Tabaeus as they wave a hand between the vampire’s face and the book. “Hey, Earth to the crusty old vampire.”

With a full-body jerk, Tabaeus is shook from wherever their thoughts were. Wide red eyes blink from behind their round red-tinted sunglasses as they turn to you and Ewan. They don’t even shirk away from Ewan’s arm still slung over their shoulders. Soft and a little muzzy, they ask, “What?”

Ewan squints at Tabaeus, his nose twitching. Was he picking up on something you couldn’t? Or was he just concerned that Tabaeus hadn’t risen to his earlier taunt? “Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes, fine.” The vampire nods their head as they snap the book in their hands shut. With a little more force than called for, they push the book back along its peers. With its spine so faded, you mentally note its location for later investigation. A strained smile parts their lips as they turn to you. “Are we leaving now?”

“Well, we’re not leaving the library.” Tabaeus’s smile remains firmly in place, in spite of the curiosity and suspicion painted over your face. You do your best to not glance back to the book they had held. Faint memories of what Kieran’s journal entailed waffles through your head, but you push the knowledge away. “Me and Ewan were thinking about going up for a bite to eat. Want to come with?”

After you ask, your eyes flick over Tabaeus, double-checking that their outfit will protect them from awry shafts of light. Though you’re uncertain their black bucket hat will protect them, the rest of their outfit - a long-sleeved checkered shirt beneath an oversized wine-red button-up and dark jeans - seems fine. You suppose the hoodie they have wrapped around their waist can be used for additional protection, if it becomes a problem.

Even as you look over them, something in your head wonders if you should worry so much about them. Instantly, you hush that paranoia. Tabaeus had plenty of chances to hurt you and hadn’t. They were just as lost as you, when it came to their past.

“Oh, I see. Yes, I think I would like to come. Perhaps see other areas of the library?” Their own question sounds painfully hopeful. As if they couldn’t take being in the dusty archives for much longer.

Something about their eagerness makes a pang shoot through your chest. Whatever they had been looking at, wherever their mind had taken them, it had hurt. You manage to smile up at them, giving a light nod. “Yeah, we look around.”

With Ewan flanking Tabaeus on one side and you on the other, the three of you climb the stairs to the first floor of the library.

x x x

After a quick nosh of smoothies and pastries from the library’s cafe, your little troupe ventures out into the library. At first, the three of you aimlessly wander through sections that interest you. Comic books, cooking, fashion. You notice how Tabaeus ignores when Ewan suggests the history section, the vampire instead moving toward Art. The obvious stonewall is even picked up by the werewolf as he exchanges a curious look with you.

The two of you follow Tabaeus, though. Without even talking about it, Ewan seems to have understood something tenuous is balancing in the air. All the same, he lingers close to your side, as if afraid something will happen to you. And you can’t say you’re not relieved at his presence.

Before Tabaeus can even step into the proper aisles, a display catches their eye. Their course diverts and you follow.

Displayed on a table are choice books for the month. You’re not sure what the theme is and, sometimes, librarians just prop open art books to catch interested eyes. That seems to be the case now as Tabaeus stares down at two paintings displayed on two opposing pages. As you step closer, Ewan remains at your elbow, but he cranes his neck to see what has Tabaeus’s attention.

While you are no scholar on the subject, the paintings appear to be a set, perhaps meant to give a panorama of a situation. Both depict crowds - of adults and children - in dress that remind you of Rome or Greece, every figure’s expression ranging from morosely resigned to contorted sobs. A dark smoky glaze reminiscent of ash coats everything as buildings crumble and statues are in the midst of toppling. Balls of fire streak through the dark sky, smoke ballooning through the atmosphere.

“I remember these paintings. I told the artist about this day.” Tabaeus whispers, fingers still on the print in the book. Startled, you glance up at them, finding that distant look in their eyes again. Their voice has gone soft again, pained and hesitant. “It was terrible, the shaking and the fire. The screaming and the ash and blood. People running with nowhere to go, the wretched screams and the children sobbing.”

You can almost hear the screaming, the woe, as fire hisses down and the world rattles angrily. Heat and smoke, the burn of tears.

Ewan thankfully asks the question you can’t force from your throat, “How did you survive?”

“I…” Raising a hand to their throat, Tabaeus’s eyebrows furrow as their lips tremble. “I agreed to become something.”

“A vampire,” Ewan says, voice uncharacteristically soft. There’s a curious lilt to his voice that makes him sound uncertain of his answer.

“Not simply that. I agreed to become something else.” Quickly, Tabaeus shakes their head at Ewan’s words. Their brows furrow as their hand transitions from their throat to their head. Angrily, they tap their fingertips against their forehead as they mutter, “Why don’t I remember?”

“Tabaeus?” Finally, you reach out, hoping to comfort them with a light touch on their shoulder. They flinch from your touch, turning their gaze onto you.

“It’s right there, but I can’t reach it. There’s just so much in my head. Images and sensations and emotions,” they croak, words painted with misery as their eyes glisten. All you can do is stare up at them, your hand still outstretched, with worry pinching your own brows. Tabaeus reaches for your hand, presses both their palms around it as they burble sadly, “Please, believe me, amata.”

Before you can respond, before you can even think to respond, Tabaeus pulls away. They turn back to the book of paintings, flipping through the pages at an erratic speed. “There’s so much I almost remember. Names and photos in the books in the basement, and these paintings and these artists, and–”

Their head abruptly snaps up, eyes wide and faintly glowing behind their sunglasses as they hiss. Startled, you stumble back into Ewan, only to find he is turned away. His arms are slightly extended, as if to shield you and Tabaeus from something. It takes you half a second to realize he’s glaring in the direction Tabaeus’s eyes snapped.

An unhappy electricity cracks through the air as you carefully peer around Ewan to see what has them riled.

A figure stands at the end of the aisle, seemingly flipping through a book and minding their own business. For the life of you, you can’t help but shake a dreadful sense of familiarity. You stare, trying to figure out if you truly know this person. Dark hair and sunglasses with transition lenses. Boring, yet expensive clothes. They look up, as if realizing they’re being watched, and tilt their head toward you.

As their eyes meet yours, instant realization washes through you. They smile and sharp canines flash in your direction as Ewan and Tabaeus tense. Your brain rattles as the person’s words, from the diner, ring through your ears. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you. I simply wish to tell you that your friend is very entrancing.”

“Dreadfully sorry. Allow me to introduce myself,” the figure chuckles, sliding the book back onto its shelf before turning and walking towards you. Behind you, you can feel Tabaeus tense like cat torn between fleeing or fighting. In front of you, Ewan growls a low warning.

The figure before all of you ignores both expressions of displeasure. Though they do pause a few feet away, tipping an imaginary hat as a broad smile crosses their lips. “You may call me Lachlan Barrett, he/him.”

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eruden-writes · 8 months

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Room & Board - Part 18

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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The shock of the run-in with Lachlan runs out by the time the three of you get home, the sun already beginning to set. Not even five minutes through the door, your brain is already churning with ideas, ways to fight back, ways to save Tabaeus. As you kick off your shoes and stride further into the living room, turning on lights, you turn to your two companions, “Alright, he gave us a day. We should plan what to do.”

“What do you mean?” Ewan shoots you a curious look as he flops down on the couch. There’s something wilted about his posture, as if he was a dog exhaustedly returning home after being dumped elsewhere.

Eager to get planning, your feet propel you into a back and forth pace as your hands gesticulate. “We could booby trap the house. If it’s all anti-vampire stuff, Tabaeus would need to stay somewhere safe, but-”

“No. There’s no way to defeat Lachlan.” Tabaeus suddenly steps between you and Ewan, casting a desperate expression between the two of you. Their movement has halted your pacing.

Your eyebrows furrow, confusion dampening your verve as your hands fall to yoru sides. “But-”

“There is no way,” Tabaeus hisses, that desperation in their eyes tinged with miserable fear. Their pointed ears droop a little as they step away, turning their back on you and Ewan. Removing his hat and setting it on a nearby hat rack, Tabaeus’s voice softens and cracks, “He always finds me, always drags me back.”

Ewan sits a little straighter, his concern piquing. You and the werewolf share a worried look, but say nothing. With the appearance of Lachlan, you’re not surprised that memories have finally triggered in Tabaeus.

Lachlan had been… a lot to take in. Intimidating and powerful, affecting a whole library with some sort of enthrallment. An icy sort of vileness in his movements and words. The promise of danger.

But you and Ewan don’t have the experience, the traumatic memories, that Tabaeus undoubtedly holds in reference to the other vampire. It’s a bit disheartening that, after so long trying to figure out Tabaeus’s amnesia, Lachlan is there to sully the recollections.

“What did he mean by punishments?” The words come out of you before you can consider them. Tabaeus’s back stiffens at the question, but they remain turned away. Licking your lips, you take a step forward and softly push, “Tabaeus?”

At the creak of the floorboard beneath your foot, the vampire half-turns to you. They don’t look at you and you get the feeling they can’t bring their gaze to you. Too ashamed or miserable to catch your eye.

After a long moment, Tabaeus sighs and turns around fully. “He killed Kieran and… others. The ones I sheltered with in all of my escape attempts.”

Conflict scrunches Tabaeus’s features further as their hand presses to their own chest. “If the people I am with have other ideas that could be construed as a punishment, Lachlan sits back and observes.”

Your lips thin, eyes narrow as you remember the autopsy scars marring Tabaeus’s torso. You don’t want to imagine what other torture Lachlan sat back and watched. It’s hard not to let your brain feed you awful scenarios.

“There has to be some way,” you say with soft earnestness as you touch Tabaeus’s arm. Their attention flicks to you, quick as a flinch, and your eyes flick over their face, tallying all the anguish crimping their features.

“No, nothing.” Shaking their head, Tabaeus dislodges your touch gently. They swallow heavily again, fighting down discomfort to continue speaking, “I suspect Lachlan can track me, hear me. Peek into where I am at. If not him, then others perhaps.”

Ewan has pushed himself off the couch by now and stands behind you, dallying at the edges of whatever is happening between you and Tabaeus. But at Tabaeus’s words, he presses, “Others?”

“Anyone who has used my… services.” The words sound bitter on Tabaeus’s lips, mixed with shame and frustration.

“For memories?” You’re still not entirely sure what that meant. The worrier in you thinks it’s something sexual or perhaps meant for a litany of experiences. Like a sex worker that will allow anything to happen to them, despite how they feel about it and despite little compensation. But you don’t think that’s all there is to it, even if a lot of vampire media loves the thought of bloodsucking debauchery and parties.

“Yes,” Tabaeus hisses, their lips puckering and eyes narrowing. “For memories.”

Lachlan had said something about making the memory of himself fresh in Tabaeus’s head, before they did a forced feeding. Something clanks in your thoughts, trying to piece together the meaning. Whenever Tabaeus fed on you, you saw things, hadn’t you? And there were moments where Tabaeus didn’t seem like themselves.

Did Lachlan mean that Tabaeus was used for memories in a more literal way?

“What does that mean exactly?” Ewan voices the question your brain suddenly churns over. He’s hovering behind your shoulder, his body heat warm. There’s a tingle along your back, as if you can feel the werewolf’s own anxiety.

“I am a vampire created to store the memories of other vampires.” Even as they answer, Tabaeus doesn’t bring their red eyes to your face or toward Ewan. They speak slowly, picking their words carefully as they explain something that, hours earlier, even they knew nothing about. “A receptacle for others to deposit or withdraw memories as they wish. As such, I am not supposed to make memories of my own, so they may utilize me to the fullest potential.”

Their explanation dips further into bitterness and frustration the longer they speak. Grim lines crease the corner of Tabaeus’s mouth.

“Why would they need that?” Ewan presses, eyebrows furrowed with confusion.

“Our brains are not meant to store centuries or millennia of memories," they explain, pressing fingers to their temple. As if the explanation causes some deep-seeded pain. “Remembrances deteriorate over time. Well, unless a coven has a Memory Keeper.”

Ewan voices the outrage that you feel, “Then let them make another Memory Keeper!”

“According to Lachlan’s memories, I am one of the last. He was not even my original owner,” they say, disgust radiating over the last word. “Ironic, the skills and ritual meant to create one of my own has faded from recollection.”

Driven by the unfairness of it all, you take a step closer and reach out to the vampire. “But we still have to try and stop-”

Before you can touch Tabaeus, they grab your hand in both of theirs. They clasp it tightly, the cool of their palms an unwanted balm against the heat of your adrenaline and determination. The fact Tabaeus is finally looking at you is a small consolation.

“Amata, I care for you. I love you. I do not want to risk you suffering Lachlan’s wrath.” The words come out rushed and watery as they give your hand a squeeze. Your heart stutters at their declaration, your mouth opening to say something but no words come. Their red eyes flicker to Ewan, continuing the earnest and pained timbre as they add, “Nor do I want that to happen to you. A werewolf would be tortured far worse than a human.”

A glance at Ewan tells you he agrees with Tabaeus’s words, his shoulders slumped and a discontented frown on their lips. From the way he holds himself, you can almost imagine wolfish ears drooping down and a sad sagging tail. Despite all this, Ewan quietly asks, “Then what do we do?”

“I will get my things in order and comply with Lachlan. It is the only way I can be sure neither of you are harmed.”

You can see where Tabaeus thinks the situation is unwinnable. A vile master of sorts that may be able to track or see through Tabaeus’s own eyes. If not Lachlan, perhaps others. Which made the situation worse, since even if they dispatched one enemy, more may come in their place. That wasn’t even considering the actual experience Tabaeus has.

However, you can’t help but want to fight. Rolling over and just letting Lachlan take Tabaeus sours your stomach. “But-”

“Please, this is hard enough as it is.” “Do not fight me on this. I do not wish to enthrall you and wipe your mind of me, but I will if I must.”

“Tabae-” They swoop forward, not letting you finish your plaintive dissent. Their desperate lips catch yours, their palms cradling the sides of your face. The force of the gesture makes you stumble backward into Ewan, whose warm hands catch you by the hips.

Uncertainty pulses from the werewolf, his fingers curling into you. “Tabaeus, I don’t think-”

Ewan’s disgruntled words cut off as the vampire breaks from you and lunges for him. The werewolf yelps as Tabaeus grabs him by the hair, dragging him into a kiss of their own. It has the same level of desperation as the kiss they bestowed on you.

When Tabaeus next pulls back, they hold you and Ewan closer, lowering their head between the two of you. Pained and miserable, Tabaeus sighs, “Please, allow me to have one more night, one more good memory, before it ends.”

Tension echoes along your body and you can feel similar uncertainty radiate from Ewan. Both of you are stiff, even as your arm reaches around Tabaeus and your hand brushes down their back. An ache throbs through your chest. You’d like nothing more than to comfort the vampire, give them another good night, but your heart won’t comply. “Ewan?”

“Yeah?” The werewolf’s reply nearly comes out as a whisper.

Hesitance causes you to pause for a beat, mentally struggling with your next words. Finally, you dismally ask, “How can we stop Tabaeus?”

The vampire tenses against you, an almost imperceptible whine keening from their throat. “Do not, amata.”

After his own beat of reluctance, Ewan finally answers you in a soft, sober tone, “I can go full wolf and wrestle him down into… whatever he sleeps in. Wrap it in chains, put it behind anti-vampire protections so Lachlan can’t get to them but they won’t be able to get out.”

Even as Ewan talks about the options, he doesn’t sound convinced. If you were truthful, you doubt either of you want to go that route. It was one thing to have Tabaeus’s cooperation, and another thing entirely to lock them down against their will.

“Enough!” The snarl lights fast from Tabaeus’s lips as they forcefully push you and Ewan away. The power of the shove sends you flying into the far wall, air knocked from your lungs. Across the room, you hear Ewan land against one of the end tables with a grunt of pain as wood splinters beneath him.

Sparing a short glance at Ewan, you can tell the werewolf is okay. Perhaps a little sore and shamed but overall alright. Your attention jumps back to Tabaeus, your eyes widening as you take in the vampire’s state.

They have ripped most of their outfit off, red tears streaming down their cheeks. Whatever fabric still clings to their body has darkened, moldered as if it has been in the ground for ages. Lights flicker around them as their hair plasters to them, becoming a layer of short fur that creeps over their body. Their pointed ears have grown large, wide, bat-like.

To your left, you hear the telltale cracks and snarls of Ewan shifting. You don’t even need to glance over to know he’s gone full lycan, a heady canine scent tinging the air.

“I have made my decision,” Tabaeus growls, their red eyes glowing behind the still intact sunglasses. Their eyes flicker from you to Ewan, their words taking a rougher edge, “Do not try me, either of you.”

Even with their shoulders hunched, it feels like they tower over you. Innate power crackles through the air, heavy and dark.

Recollections of your first night meeting Tabaeus careen through your head. This was what they looked like, except with different disintegrating clothing. Inhumanly tall and lanky, claws bursting from their fingertips, eyes glowing in a dark-purple complexion and dark fur.

The sight makes residual fear stumble through your thoughts, but care and concern for Tabaeus refuses to let you back down. “I’m not going to just let you walk back into Lachlan’s control!”

“It is not your decision,” they snarl, their claws flexing with agitation.

A sense of hopelessness descends through your thoughts as you blink back tears. Faintly, you wonder if Tabaeus is projecting or if it’s your own dreadful feelings. “Just because you don’t think you can fight him-”

“I said enough!” Tabaeus slices their hand through the air, the action silencing you as they take a step forward. Before you can line up an argument, a brown furry figure tackles the vampire with a growl of their own. All you can do is stare as a fully shifted Ewan grapples with the transformed Tabaeus, fur and obscenities and growls flying.

It takes you a few breaths before your brain kicks you into gear. Attempting to separate the two would only get yourself hurt. Instead, a thought blooms in your head: The vampire hunter box. Was there anything in there that would incapacitate Tabaeus without killing them? You can’t remember, can’t recall.

Where did you even put the blasted thing?

Your feet are moving before you even think, making a beeline for the stairs and up to your bedroom. That’s right. You left it on your dresser, before heading to the library.

As you clamber upstairs, you hear a gnarl of rage behind you. That had to be Tabaeus, realizing your destination in your noisy ascent. Which meant the following growl was Ewan, returning the vampire’s attention to him.

The sounds below become fiercer, with wood splintering and glass breaking. Shoving the worry aside, you focus on getting to your bedroom, getting to the box.

Your lungs ache as you get to the landing, bruises from Tabaeus’s earlier toss throbbing along your back. On auto-pilot, you fly to your room and slam open the door, scrambling wildly to your dresser.

The box sits there, innocent and ignorant to the chaos below. Grabbing it, you throw the lid open and riffle through the contents. It’s not until you hear a loud crash downstairs, followed by a whimper, that your fingers start trembling.

“Amata.” Tabaeus’s voice echoes up from the stairs, just before you hear the creak of the wood underfoot.

Each resounding footstep breaks your concentration further as you try to make sense of the items in the box. Glass vials of water, presumably of the holy variety. The stairs creaked. Silver trinkets. The footfalls got to the landing. A crucifix. Wooden stakes. Closer, the footfalls echoed along the hall. A jar of beans. Outside the door, the steps paused. A hand mirror. A shadow filled the doorway, bringing with it a sense of deeper darkness.

Wildly you look up, blinking back tears.

The clothes on Tabaeus’s form hung like rags now, but it didn’t matter much. Fur coated the rest of their body, their face morphed into something somewhere between a bat and a human. In the scuffle with Ewan, they have lost their sunglasses, leaving you staring into familiarly terrifying glowing red eyes. They took a step forward, into your room. Inky darkness trailed at their back, like they brought the night with them.

Without much thought, you grab the jar of beans and fling it at Tabaeus. You’re not even sure if the jar hits them when it explodes in a cloud glittering shrapnel, little dry beans scattering. As the beans clatter on the floor, Tabaeus takes another step in, ignoring the mess.

Vampires do not obsessively count beans. One bit of lore determined useless.

Grabbing the box, you stumble backward, trying to gain distance between you and Tabaeus. Your hand rummages around in the box, until you feel the silver crucifix. With a shaking hand, you bring it up, holding it in front of you. “What did you do to Ewan?”

“He will be fine,” Tabaeus simply states, cocking their head to the side. Their glowing red eyes narrow on the religious symbol and you briefly hope it’s working. They dash your momentary reprieve by stepping forward once. Twice. Undeterred by the cross.

“Tabaeus, please. Let us help,” you plead, your shaking hand abandoning the cross to the floor.

“No!” The vampire’s word shakes the window panes in your room and sends dust floating down from your ceiling fan. They close the distance on you, eyes burning with frustration and pain. Their eyes rimmed red with bloody tears. “You read what happened to Kieran.”

As you continue to back away and grapple for something of use in the box, your fingertips graze the wood of a stake. Your stomach lurches at the very thought. If the other bits of lore failed, however, maybe a wooden stake wouldn’t kill Tabaeus. Maybe it would simply incapacitate them until you could figure something out.

Clinging to that hope, you try to buy a little more time. “But we can-”

You don’t get a chance to finish your plea as Tabaeus, a dark smear in the air, suddenly pins you to the bed. The wooden stake in your hand falls to the bed, bounces, and clatters to the floor. A shriek rends from you as your arms and legs lash out.

“Please, let us help!” Hot tears stream from your eyes as you struggle against the vampire, but it’s no use. They’re too strong. Their clawed fingers wrap tight to your wrists as they peer down at you. The expression they give you makes that pain in your chest ripple again and the tears come harder.

“My apologies, amata,” Tabaeus quietly says as they move your wrists to one palm and lean close to your neck.

Your struggles increase in desperation as you arch and dip your back, writhe under their hold, trying to shake off the vampire. “No!”

The singular word is all you can shriek as you feel the prick of Tabaeus’s fangs sink into your throat. A fuzzy feeling swallows your thoughts quickly as that strange suckling latches to your neck, but you still feel the tears stream down your cheeks. Sensations fill your head, your chest. Confusion and delight and fondness and happiness. Brief snatches of your time together saturate your conscious thoughts, bringing more of your own tears to your eyes.

Nothing lasts forever. Good things always end. The foreign words echo in your head. Not yours, not Tabaeus’s. Perhaps something they were told long ago, something that resonates in this very moment.

Further heat trails down your neck, but you know the tears aren’t your own. They are Tabaeus’s tears, staining your throat with further red streaks. Through the haze, a harder sob bubbles up from your chest. But your struggles have lessened, fallen slack. The world, your thoughts, your senses are dimming, turning dark.

That’s the last thing you hear as darkness pulls you under.

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eruden-writes · 3 months

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Room & Board - Part 19 PREVIEW

paranormal fantasy vampire x human triad (vampire x reader 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?

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

🩸 Part 1 🩸 Previous Part 🩸 Masterlist 🩸

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That’s the last thing you hear as darkness pulls you under.

---

The next morning, Tabaeus is gone.

They must have called to Lachlan in the middle of the night, swept off into the darkness. Faintly, you remember a touch on your cheek, whispered words, but it is all so muddled in your groggy head.

You don’t even look up as Ewan asks, “What’s our plan now?”

“What do you mean, what now? Tabaeus is gone,” you mumble, words muffled by your arms. Depressed resignation weighs heavily in your chest and in your words.

You catch movement as Ewan shifts. Something in the air shifts and you think he’s looking at you now. “You don’t want to go find them?”

Silence descended on the two of you, as you both stew in woe. It was only when a small, unfamiliar voice interrupted the pity party that you looked up, “You can find him.”

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eruden-writes · 1 year

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Room & Board - Part 14 (Vampire x Reader)

Anon submitted this prompt: 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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The dinner passed without further hitch, thankfully. Ewan, Tabaeus, and yourself managed to fall into an ebb and flow of mild conversation while eating. Talking of experiences - mostly you and Ewan - and interesting tidbits of information - this time, mostly Tabaeus and yourself - had stumbled across recently.

Near the end of dinner, after leaving out your debit card to split the bill with Ewan, you duck off to the restroom. On your return, a prickle of agitations crawls up your spine before a hand closes around your elbow. With a start, you yank from the touch and spin around. With heart pounding, you find yourself glaring up into the face of a stranger.

They stand tall, raven black hair cropped fashionably and clothes milquetoast in style, but expensive. A pair of round glasses - with transition lenses - perched on their nose. You can’t shake the notion their deep brown eyes are somehow distorted, but focusing on that makes your head hurt. Their smile takes on an amused curl the longer you stare up at them.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you,” they finally chuckle, holding their hands up with palms toward you, as if to show they mean no harm. Before you can ask them what they want, they nod to your table. Tension weaves through your muscles as they say, “I simply wish to tell you that your friend is very entrancing.”

“Why tell me?” You cross your arms, shifting a little on your feet. “Go tell them yourself.”

The atmosphere around the stranger feels off. It raises your hackles and makes goosebumps rise to your flesh. Something is wrong. Without thinking, you throw a glance in the direction of the table. Neither Ewan nor Tabaeus seem to have noticed you and this stranger.

You wonder if something would happen, if either should look in your direction.

“You are funny. I wouldn’t dare get closer with that dog there.” Their chuckle is one without humor, though they continue to smile as they shake their head.

That gets your attention. With a whip of your head, you turn to face the stranger again. However, they are gone. You stare at the spot they were, realizing the sounds of the diner are suddenly loud and obnoxious in your ears. Had it always been so loud? Or had speaking to that stranger made everything else go quiet?

Shaking your head, you return to the table. As you approach, both Ewan and Tabaeus smile up at you. A new sense of dread - not as serious as with the stranger - crawled over your thoughts.

They are planning something. With food in their stomachs, you had half-hoped they’d forgotten their little joint venture to tease you. “What are you two grinning about?”

“We have decided on a theater venue.” Tabaeus claps their hands together.

“Theater venue?” Ewan snorts and rolls his eyes. He stands from the table, handing you your card and receipt. “It’s not that fancy. Just a drive-in.”

“A drive-in,” you repeat deadpan, raising an eyebrow. As you put your debit card and receipt away, Tabaeus also slides from the table. They take up a position at your elbow, close enough for you to sense their presence.

“Ewan explained it’s like a theater you can drive your car into.” Well, at least Tabaeus sounded excited. Their red eyes are shining with delight behind their sunglasses. You wonder if they’ve ever seen or been to a drive-in before, but something subtle shifts in their expression. A lowering of their eyelids, a hint of teasing in their tone. “And the dog says he has a roomy vehicle.”

“A roomy vehicle. Right,” you snort, heat licks across your cheeks as the pieces fully fall into place. Ewan did indeed have a van, but you also remember he’d tell quite a few stories about such set-ups. Mostly in regards to a girl he was hoping to bed. “With the mattress and pillows in the back?”

“Ah, you remember.” Ewan shoots you a wink before offering you his arm. Beneath your hand, you realize how warm the man is and, suddenly, you recall you’re wearing his own jacket. His scent has sunk into you, enveloping you. Woodsy and warm and tickling at something in your chest.

As you accept Ewan’s offer, Tabaeus flanks your other side, coiling their own lanky arms around your free arm. Where their skin touches you, you can sense the somewhat cooler body temperature.

Stuck between the two, your thoughts shift to the contrast of their relative body heats. Which distracts your imagination with other imaginings. Knowing it was a better idea to avoid such thoughts - especially as you climbed into the enclosed van with your companions - you try to focus on other things.

Which is a bit difficult, you realize, as you’re squashed in the three-seat front of the van. Pressed close to Tabaeus on one side and only having the gear shift buffering the space between yourself and Ewan. You try to focus on anything but your quickly guttering thoughts.

Overhead, a full moon hung bright, spilling across the environment. The van rumbles around you and the radio is low enough to miss but just loud enough you occasionally catch static. Tabaeus and Ewan manage to hold a civil conversation as you input vague replies in turn.

It’s not until you’re near your destination you focus back in on the situation at hand. You cast a curious look to Ewan as he drove past their presumed destination. “We’re not going into the drive-in?”

“Nah, I know a better spot that can still tune into the drive-in’s FM station.” Just beyond the opening of the theater, the van pulls into an almost-unseen road that cleaved through a copse of trees.

Your lips curl with a wry grin, very much aware of Ewan’s unorthodox penny-pinching ways. Your words are sarcasm-laden as you say, “Oh no, this is a plot to get me out into the middle of nowhere to have your way with me, isn’t it?”

“I am more than capable of protecting you from him, amata.”

You’re not sure if Tabaeus caught your banter or is merely playing along with the game. Either way, you shift until your back leans against their form, tilting your head back to look up at them. With your eyelashes batting, you croon, “My hero.”

“I do not know about that.” As Tabaeus stares down at you, there’s a brief catch of conflict in their gaze. You’re about to say something when their cool hand presses to your throat, pulling you back further against them. Then their hand is cupping your jaw, tilting your head to the side. Tabaeus leans down, their breath ghosting over the side of your neck as their free hand traces the front zipper - not undoing it - of the bat pajamas you were swindled into.

A soft sound escapes you and you angle your head, stretching your neck to invite further touch. Their teeth scrape over your throat, pulling a sharp gasp from your lips. Just as Tabaeus’s hand delves between your thighs, making you arch, Ewan yelps and the van suddenly swerves and bounces.

“Keep your eyes on the road, fleabag.” The words tear out of Tabaeus so fast and guttural, you almost don’t believe they said them. A flush bleeds across your cheeks as you move to sit up straight. You find yourself unable to with the vampire’s strong hold on your shoulder and palm against your crotch.

“Then don’t be distracting, bloodsucker.” Ewan refuses to look at you two, his hands tight on the steering wheel. In the light of the moon, you think you see their eyes flash briefly. Narrowing your eyes, you think his usual five o’clock shadow seems a bit fuller, but that could be a trick of your mind.

Tabaeus only hissed at the excuse, to which a growl rumbled from Ewan. Neither sounded particularly ferocious, reminding you more of play-fighting theatrics than serious antagonism. Though Tabaeus does grumble and loosen their hold on you, the sensual moment passed.

Soon enough, the van pulled into a clearing that overlooked the drive-in. After some maneuvering so the back of the van faces the screen and relocating, you find yourself once more between the vampire and werewolf. Over the van’s speakers, the sound from the previews plays.

It turned out the mattress at the back of his van was really the second row of seats folded down with something like a tatami mat rolled atop. Blankets and pillows littered the back, making for a comfy lounging space. With a dividing curtain separating the front from the back and the curtains blocking out the view from the side windows, it felt relatively cozy.

You lounge back on a pile of pillows, staring at the flickering images on the distant screen. The van’s rear door thankfully doesn’t have bisected windows, but a singular pane. Tabaeus cuddles close to your side, head on your shoulder, as Ewan sits a little further from you two.

“Do you sleep in your van?” Tabaeus asks, their nose wrinkling a little. You jab them in the stomach with your elbow, but it doesn’t seem to faze the vampire.

Thankfully, Ewan doesn’t seem offended by the rather judgemental comment. From the hunch of his shoulders, you still think he’s a bit awkward when answering, “Sometimes I do, when I’m between housing situations. I have an apartment right now, though.”

Unable to read the room or your displeasure, Tabaeus continues, “Huh, won’t your little pack of hounds help you?”

“Don’t got one.” Ewan shrugs a shoulder, leaning back against the wall of the van and turning his attention to the movie screen on the other side of the window.

Well, that seems like a big deal, you think. You hadn’t thought about it before, but now you realize you thought Jemma might have been another lycan. Most likely part of Ewan’s pack. Why else would she tell him about Tabaeus?

But Ewan had no pack.

Before you can stop yourself, you ask, “Why don’t you have a pack?”

His lips curl into a snarl more than a smile, though his tone is soft - if bitter - as he responds to you, “Well, the last one was my family pack and let’s just say I don’t get along with them.”

For a beat, you let that information sit with you. You knew Ewan couch hopped and changed apartments a lot. Hell, he also lived in his van on occasion, as he mentioned. Now you wonder how much of that was by choice or by necessity.

Likely by choice, you decide. Ewan had plenty of friends and positive acquaintances when you worked with him. Just as he was happy to help others, surely there were plenty willing to help him.

“Much like lone wolves in nature, a lone werewolf is a sad affair.” It seems Tabaeus’s thoughts traverse the same path as yours. Tilting your attention to them, you can’t help but feel the vampire is putting a little too much aloofness into their own words. “From what I recall - take that with a grain of salt considering my memory issues - most lone lycans are not the most stable.”

“No, you’re right.” Ewan still isn’t looking at either of you. With his face turned away and in the dimness of the van, you can’t quite tell what his expression conveys. Something in your chest knots at the sound of his voice. Resigned, quiet. “It gets difficult, but I find my ways.”

Tabaeus narrows their eyes. “How?”

“The stress of working to make ends meet, mainly.” Tilting his head toward you two now, a helpless grin tilts at Ewan’s lips.

“What about when your passions rise?”

Heat flares down your back and you push into a more upright position. You shove the vampire in their chest and hiss, “Tabaeus!”

Ewan snorts with good humor. “Come on, I’m a grown man that’s fully capable of controlling myself.”

“More than I can say for others in this van,” you sniff, crossing your arms and shifting your pillows to be a little more equidistant between the werewolf and vampire.

“No need to tell on yourself, dear,” purrs Tabaeus, leaning back on their hands with their long legs crossed at the knee and extended before them.

Another flare of embarrassed heat burns down your spine. Before you can control yourself, you’ve snatched up a pillow and whacked it into the vampire’s midsection.

Your strike takes Tabaeus off-guard and they squawk in surprise. Leaning close to them, you point in their face, mock anger making your voice lower as you frown. “I’ll remember that slander the next time you want a bite to eat.”

A pout puckers at Tabaeus’s lips, but before they say anything, Ewan’s laugh cuts them off. You both turn to the werewolf and something about him seems softer, wilted. “Sorry, it’s kind of surreal to hear you talk like that.”

“Like what?” You raise your eyebrows.

“I don’t know what it’s like for vampires, but I was always fed these stories of keeping my secret and not getting close to humans. We see it all the time in shows and books too.” Ewan rubs the back of his neck, a rueful smile coloring his lips. “It’s just nice, y’know? To not have to guard myself around you.”

Before you can even think to say something, something dark passes over you and the van shifts abruptly. Where Tabaeus once sat is their brown beret. In the blink of an eye, Tabaeus - through some ridiculous vampire super-speed, you think - has traversed the width of the van and is sitting astride Ewan. Something in the air shifts and the lycan tenses, eyes wide and a blush burning under his stubble. You can’t say your own expression is much better.

Once more, heat claws through you as you drink in the image of Tabaeus straddling Ewan, their skirt inched higher up their stocking-covered thigh. Ewan’s hands raise, fingers flexing, as if uncertain of what to do. Either to pull Tabaeus closer or push them away.

Tabaeus grasps Ewan by the collar, leaning close to the man’s face. “We came out for fun, not for further tense conversations.”

Ewan’s green gaze bounces from Tabaeus’s hands to their face. The flustered shock melts away when he meets the vampire’s gaze. You’re not sure if it’s bravado or not, but Ewan raises his eyebrows as a smirk curls at his lips, flashing sharp canines. His hands slide along Tabaeus’s thighs, until he grips their hips. “Oh, so you want to have some fun?”

“Perhaps. We did discuss some things at the diner involving our friend, did we not?”

“Oh, that’s right.”

Tabaeus turns back toward you, Ewan leaning to peer around the vampire. Their expressions are similar, but diametrically different in feel. Tabaeus peers over their round glasses with a soft cunning smile while Ewan’s roguish crooked smirk tilts at his lips. Both have a particular effect on you, bringing goosebumps to your skin and heat to your center.

Resisting the urge to fan yourself to bring the temperature down, you laugh weakly and nod toward the movie screen the three of you are supposed to be watching. “Hey now, what about the movie?”

As you speak, Tabaeus slides off Ewan and begins crawling toward you. Though you’re not against having the particular brand of fun they’re implying, you still can’t help but scoot back. Well, until your back hits the wall of the van.

“Yeah, see, I thought about that. Halflight is playing tonight.” Ewan laughs, also following Tabaeus’s lead.

When you finally register his words, your eyes widen. Halflight was a book series, followed by movie adaptations, that had a huge following nearly fifteen years earlier. The most notable thing about it was it entailed a human teenage girl stuck in a triangle between a vampire and werewolf. And the fans had been absolutely savage when it came to their ‘teams.’

The implications claw through you and you barely keep the laughter from your voice as you cry, “Why Halflight?”

As you’re trying to choke down amusement, Tabaeus’s cool touch brushes your cheek. Your gaze jumps up to them and they smile down at you. Amusement glitters in their eye as their thumb brushes your burning cheek again and you realize just how flushed you are.

“I figured we could roast the shit out of it.” Ewan’s voice tears your gaze back to him. In the dark of the van, your heart patters seeing his green eyes glow. With his shoulders hunched as he moves across the van and the way the muscles in his arms flex, Ewan appears much more animal. As he nears you, opposite of Tabaeus, you can feel just how hot his body heat is running. “Or we wouldn’t miss anything too engaging if we got, ah, distracted.”

In an instant, you recall your earlier thoughts concerning both companions’ body temperature. Hot and cool. The way it’d feel to be touched by both. Your breath catches in your throat, a tingle cresting over your flesh as you realize you might have some practical knowledge of that very musing very soon.

Ewan’s hand brushes against your leg, burning hot through the fabric of the damned bat pajamas. “So, what do you say? Wanna have some fun?”

A whimper bubbles out from you at Ewan’s touch - both of their touches - and you press your face into your hands. “You two are too much.”

The air in the van suddenly shifts. Tabaeus pulls away and you think the way the vehicle jostles, Ewan is sitting back on his knees. They’re both giving you space.

“Ah, my apologies, amata.”

“I’m sorry. Kinda much, I guess.”

Both of them speak at once, their tones synchronized with sincere apology. Slipping your hands a little down your face, you peer at them from just above your fingertips. Tabaeus appears uncertain of what to do, stricken even. Their hand is half-raised to touch you but not daring to close the final gap. Ewan has retreated some, a guilty expression on his face.

You let them hang for another beat or two, before piping up in a small, bashful voice, “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

Those words perk them up. Tabaeus’s hand finally bridges the last few inches, gingerly touching your shoulder as Ewan scoots closer, like a dog hoping for a treat. He grins, cocking his head to the side as he leans in closer. Your heart catches again, flicking down to his lips. “Sooo…?”

From Ewan to Tabaeus, your gaze swings. They, too, are leaning closer with anticipation. The way they smile makes you think they already know your answer. Part of you wonders just what sort of plans Ewan and Tabaeus could concoct to release the vampire of their jealousy.

They certainly had to be good plans, right? Can’t let good plans go to waste, temptation croons. Not quite believing your own actions - or maybe your good fortune - you let go of the breath you’ve been holding. Both of your hands reach out to the other two, hooking your fingers into the neckline of both their tops.

“Yeah, sure. Let’s have some fun.”

#exophilia #exo writing #vampire #werewolf #lycan #2nd pov #2nd person #vampire x reader #werewolf x reader #ot3 ot3 ot3 #tabaeus #ewan #amata #oh how attention from both a vampire and werewolf can make you forget about creeps #lol

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eruden-writes · 2 years

Note

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

When I sat down to write this, I didn't anticipate it becoming a 4.5k story.

I'm also dabbling in 2nd person, so enjoy!

---

You wake up late that morning with a groan, sunlight trying to force its way in through your closed blinds.

Everything hurts. Your legs, your arms, your back, your head, your neck, everything throbs. Still groggy, you try to remember what happened last night. You’re still dressed in what you remember wearing yesterday. You’re even still in your shoes.

Thankfully, you're in your own bed as well, you eventually realize as you push yourself upright. The sight of your familiar rumpled comforter and room eases some initial concerns warbling about your brain. But there's still more to have.

Partying or anything strenuous hadn't been on your calendar last night, so what hap-

Your fingertips graze over something on your neck. Something that feels suspiciously like a bandage. Narrowing your eyes, you force your wobbly legs from the bed and duck into your darkened bathroom.

The lights buzz overhead after you hit the switch. An anticipatory horror swells in your chest as your eyes settle on your reflection in the mirror. A bandage is wrapped around your throat. The image reminds you of an urban legend about a woman whose head falls off after the removal of a lifelong bandage.

Your shaking fingers touch it as the faintest memories shift in your mind. Last night, you went to see a movie! It was an old black-and-white movie at the vintage theater a few blocks away. While your friends had all declined to go with you, there had been quite a few bodies in the theater seats last night. And on your walk home…

Your eyebrows furrow. On your walk home, it had been dark. Strangely dark. Like the streetlights had failed to come on well into the evening dark.

And you had been walking.

Then running. You remember the sound of your sneakers scuffing desperately on pavement.

And the echoes of something behind you.

Movement behind you startles you. It takes a short second to realize it’s the bathroom door that caught your attention. It’s not even moving!

Well… until it does begin to swing.

Your eyes widen, stomach dropping, as a clawed hand reaches around the edge of the bathroom door. Survival instincts spin you around, hands fumbling for anything nearby, as the door latches closed.

Everything in your floundering mind stills as the thing behind the door is revealed.

It looks like a person. It is distinctly person-shaped. A tall and lanky person, dressed in layers of musty-smelling disintegrating fabric; the cloth so ruined, you couldn’t discern its original color. Over everything, it wore a large and far more well-kept trench coat that barely hit its knees.

But its spindly fingers are still inhumanly long, still tipped with curving claws that you remember grappling against. And how easily it restrained you. And you remember - you remember - its face shifting in the dark. Its mouth widening, its teeth growing into vicious little points, its nose becoming flatter and ears growing large and pointy and its eyes glowing red.

The sudden rush of memories nearly topples you over. This had been the thing you’d been running from last night! Your heart races just remembering it.

Oh, you had no clue when you started to run. Of course not. You thought someone was stalking you, intent to mug or sexually assault you.

“Many apologies. This mus-” The thing reaches a hand toward you, spindly fingers and claws crooked.

You scream, grabbing the nearest items from the bathroom sink to wing at the creature. Empty and full bottles of a number of toiletries hurtles in the air at it. It doesn’t even budge. Even as a toothbrush and a hefty bottle of mouthwash and a stick of deodorant and more come flying at it. The most it moves is a wince as a hairbrush smashes into its face.

Your chest heaves with panting breaths as you look wildly around, your potential projectiles now depleted.

“As I was saying,” the thing continued again, though this time they made a concerted effort to not move toward you. “Many, many apologies for this intrusion.”

Sense finally broke into your chaotic swirl of thoughts. Even with near-hyperventilating gasps, you yell, “What do you want? What did you do to me? How did we get back here?”

“I’m very sorry! I just awoke from a very long sleep and was a bit disoriented.” Its face creases with concern and misery as their hands, those fingers, grasp at one another. It tugs and fidgets with its own digits, its pathetic red gaze nothing but wretched. “I saw you at the moving picture and something just…”

It trails off and attempts to find the appropriate word by raising its hands. Its fingers wiggle, the claws catching the light of the bathroom.

At your uncomprehending look, its hands fall and its shoulders hunch near its pointed ears. “I just got very hungry.”

“And how are we here?” You demand, motioning toward the bathroom and implying your apartment at large.

“I’m assuming you’re asking how I know this is your home,” the thing mumbles, pointed ears drooping as it returns to fidgeting with its fingers. Your expression hardens as you nod, making a gesture for it to continue. It radiates wretchedness as it answers, “The blood, you see, carries memories and-”

You groan, running your hands down your face with crooked fingers pushing against your cheeks. This couldn’t be real! This was some sort of hallucination or even a dream! You couldn’t imagine why you’d be hallucinating, though, and you knew you weren’t asleep.

You weren’t ready to accept what this thing was telling you. You weren’t even ready to accept it actually being a physical entity! If you did, then you’d have to come to terms with a blood-sucking, bat-like creature existing in this reality and you- Nope! Your brain shut down the line of thought, like steel doors shutting out an invasion.

“I left penitence at your bedside,” they mumble, their red gaze once more on their own hands. With as high as their shoulders hunch, they look about ready to fold in on themselves.

You throw the creature a glare, which it seems to feel - even without looking at you - as it flinches.

Better than being terrified, you clung to the annoyance as you edged to the bathroom door. Being irritated was better than breaking down into tears as the world you knew suddenly fractured as fictitious things became reality.

Opening the door and ducking into your bedroom, your eyes scan the area. It was mostly as you left it. At least the thing hadn’t rummaged through your belongings. Then again, if what it said about blood and memories was true, it wouldn’t have to.

With a savage shake of your head, you dislodged the thought. No, it wasn’t real. It was fictional. You were hallucinating and your brain was just giving you too much to work with! That was it. Yep.

Your attention finally lands on what must be the thing’s penitence. With narrowing eyes, you slowly approach the small box on your nightstand. It appears to be made of discreet metal, dingy and old. With a careful hand, you flip the lid open. It opens easily and you stare at the offering.

Inside, a small fortune of gold coins sits in the velvet-lined box. As you sift through the coins, a small carved statue catches between your fingers. You stare at it, eyebrows raising as it reminds you of those fertility figurines you’ve seen in museums.

Pensive, you glance back over your shoulder, to the bathroom. The creature hovers in the doorway, half behind the door. Skepticism tints your voice as you ask, “You’re giving me all this for one meal of blood?”

They give an awkward cringe of a smile. You try your best to not be distracted by their interlocking rows of sharp teeth as they sheepishly answer, “I was hoping to stay until the sun goes down.”

You narrow your eyes, giving a hum of disbelief. The weight of the possibly ancient fertility statue shifts in your hand as your thumb grazes its curves.

“And maybe another meal?” They squeak, ducking further behind the door. Shame radiates from them, as if just asking for a meal with a room was the height of disgraceful. Given how they ate, you supposed it could very well be.

At that thought, your hand goes to your throat. You press your fingertips against the bandage and an injury aches beneath the pressure. Your stomach twists as foggy memories of teeth sinking into your skin as you struggle lights up in your head. Of blood dripping, tickling your skin. Of the creature giving a contented deep-chested rumble as they held you tight. Conflicting sensations knot your insides up.

“I need to do some things,” you suddenly inform the creature as you pocket the statute and heft the box into your hands. A sudden thought blooms in your head and you turn to glare at the creature, who still looks at you with doleful eyes from behind the bathroom door. “You stay there. I’m opening all the blinds before I leave, so fair warning.”

After the creature nods in acquiescence and closes the bathroom door, you go about your promise of opening all the blinds. Light floods your bedroom and the parts of your apartment that the windows’ light reaches. Thankfully, the creature didn’t acknowledge or realize your small home had pockets of forever-shadow, where no natural light hit.

Hastily, you shake the thought from your head. You don’t know what else this thing can do, like read minds or sense intent. You try to keep your mind blank as you place the box in a bag, with your keys and wallet. After a quick Internet search, you shove your cellphone into the bag and head out, locking your apartment behind you.

You try not to think about how you possibly just locked a vampire into your home, as you head toward the nearest certified appraiser’s office.

x x x

When you return, afternoon daylight is still forcefully streaming into your apartment. You check that the bathroom door in your bedroom is still securely shut, before sitting down at your computer.

Eyebrows raised at the appraiser’s office, when you brought in the coins and statute. The former appeared to be a particular mint, lost at sea to some tragic shipwreck. The latter was harder to pinpoint and required higher specialty to assess.

You’d left the office with not only recompense for about a third of the coins - the other two-thirds still in your possession, along with the statue - but a URL to a particular forum. You’d visited it via the bus’s wi-fi while en route to another destination. From the forum, you were given a list of further necessities. Whether you raised suspicions, you weren’t sure.

Hell, part of you wasn’t even sure what you were up to. The shock still hadn’t worn off. Nor had you completely accepted the fact you locked a vampire into your bathroom.

Even with the support of the Monster Research Forum, the facts refused to sink in. You thought, maybe, when you picked up the garlic from the grocer or the wooden stakes from the hardware store or even the silver from the thrift store or the holy water from the church, you’d feel more secure accepting the knowledge.

But, no. You still felt like it was all a farce.

Even signing into the highly secure, invitation-only forum felt like a joke.

Something just refused to click and you were afraid only one thing would cement the realization into place.

Sitting at your computer desk, the webcam on but not connected to any app, you unwound the bandage from your throat. Another piece of gauze stuck to where the injury had dully throbbed earlier. You stared at it through your computer screen, taking a deep breath.

There was no point in dawdling. Reaching your hand to the square of gauze, you gently peeled it away, bracing yourself for whatever you saw beneath it.

There were no blood, no scabs, no bruising.

Only two circular scars graced your throat.

The world sways under you as you slap your hand over the scars, your brain unable to understand why an injury received just hours ago was now a scar. You breathe through your nose, staring blankly at your keyboard, trying to still the panic in your head.

Fear-fueled anger rushes to your head again. Your eyes fall on the bag of accumulated safety measures; the stakes, the holy water, the garlic, the silver cross. With a shaking hand, you snatch up the bag and storm to your room, to your bathroom.

You pause only long enough to grab a stake, douse it in holy water, before yanking the bathroom door open. The thought to stop, to think, to consider was ignored by the panicked hate in your head.

It was easier to strike in anger, than wallow in fear as your understanding of the world shattered.

Thoughts of the fight to come, the tussle for survival, the shrieks and possible pain frothed in your head. But this had to be done. You wanted normalcy back. Not this knowledge.

The only thing that finally stopped you was the sight of it, hanging upside down by the curve of their feet hooked on your shower curtain rod.

Its eyes were closed and its sleeping features held a solemn expression, hands crossed over its chest. While marveling at their dignified face, you almost missed the way their trench coat ridiculously bunched up around their shoulders, the excess fabric pulled by gravity. The rest of their clothes didn’t fare much better. Ragged, dirty cloth bunched up, showing off ragged sneakers and socks and ankles previously hidden by trousers. Not to mention the way the shirt drooped toward its chest, leaving their stomach on display.

All of this detail only had the barest of seconds to register. As the bathroom door slammed open, the startled creature’s eyes flew wide. They jolted and the force of their movement made the flimsy tension curtain rod wobble.

With a cacophonous clatter, the creature and rod and shower curtain crashed into the tub.

You dropped the stake as all vicious thoughts dissipated. Without thinking, you neared the creature, alarm and concern taking control of you. “Are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” they groan, raising into a sitting position. There was further rustling as they freed themselves from the tangle of the shower curtain. When they finally managed to free themselves and set the rod aside, they looked ruefully up at where you stood. “Bit odd of you to ask, considering the stake and all.”

They nodded behind you and you looked, your eyes catching the forgotten stake on the floor, the wood still dark with the holy water.

You bristled, realizing they knew what you were up to. Your body tensed, bracing for retaliation, as you looked back at them. “What of it?”

“Just odd,” they shrugged. The creature still didn’t move to stand. They simply sat, legs crossed but knees awkwardly folded up awkwardly to fit the small tub, as they stared up at you. You got the impression they were simply resigned.

“You’re not angry?” Uncertainty hedged into your words, your eyebrows furrowing with confusion.

“No,” their voice was soft as a sad smile teased at their lips. There was the briefest parting of lips, the smallest sight of their sharp teeth, before they caught themself. Their attention went to their hands, resting between their awkwardly squished cross-legged position. “Being irate with you would be highly hypocritical of me. I cannot be angry with you choosing survival.”

You tilt your head, comprehension settling into your thoughts. “Because that’s what you were doing.”

The creature doesn’t look up as they nod.

Silence stretches between you two as you struggle to figure out what to do with this information. It doesn’t fit neatly with your fear or anger. It hits on something else that’s been dwelling in your synapses. A quiet sort of curiosity. Which is met with a grudging sort of understanding.

“Do not get me wrong, I am not trying to excuse my actions.” Misreading your quiet as further agitation, the creature suddenly looks up at you. It raises its hands, its spindly fingers splayed but lacking its claws from earlier. “I was slumbering for such a long time and, as I said, disoriented. When I scented you in that theater I-”

Before it could babble further, your surprise makes you blurt out, “You scented me?”

“I, I…” Panic paints itself across the creature’s face, their eyes wide. Their ears droop as you stare at them and their shoulders hunch. Their eyes avert from your face. “Yes. You were the most tantalizing scent I came across, since waking weeks ago.”

You narrow your eyes, curiosity taking the reins fully from shock and fear and rage. “Why didn’t you feed for weeks?”

“I didn’t need to, at first. Then I didn’t want to,” the creature shrugs, their nose wrinkling. “Nothing smelled good.”

“Until me.” Your words bring back their shame.

Once more, their shoulders hunch, their fingers twisting and eyes watching them. The creature makes a strangled sound in their throat, not really wanting to answer but affirming your words.

Awkward fully settles over them as you think. In your pocket, the weight of the statue lingers.

“A third of the coins you gave me covers a year of rent,” you begin to say as you crouch beside the bathtub. The thought is not fully settled in your own head, so you feel it out, glancing from a blank spot on the wall to the creature. If this thing could provide you money to live off of, while you pursued more fulfilling careers, perhaps they weren’t so bad of an opportunity. “I have no clue how much the little fertility goddess is worth, but it could be a lot.”

Something in your voice must prompt the creature to look at you. You find yourself pinned by their red eyes, an uncertain hope threatening to shine in them. Their fidgeting fingers still, giving you their full attention.

“I’m not making any promises,” you say suddenly, leaning back a little from their attentive gaze. A strange warmth creeps up your body and you try to mentally shove it away. “But if you want to overpay for room and board, who am I to stop you?”

Their eyes narrow and what they must think is a shrewd expression crosses their features. “And meals?”

The place they last fed, where their lips and teeth last touched, throbs. A tingle traces down your spine and spreads into your veins. There is a thought, a realization, you can’t quite latch onto. Perhaps a memory from last night that was locked away, whether by your own shock or the creatures yet known abilities.

“Provided on the contingency they stop indefinitely when I say so.” Even as you say it, you feel it’s against your better judgment. The creature’s eyes light up, forcing you to anxiously add, “And that you don’t suck me dry. And if you do anything that makes me fear for my life, you accept I’ll end you.”

“Agreed.” They sit up so straight so fast, you nearly fall backward, forgetting how tall they are when not in a perpetual slump. An awkward hopeful smile pulls across their lips and, with their fingers twiddling once more in their lap, they ask, “I’m hungry now, if that is acceptable.”

You shoot them a withering look, but apparently they have gotten over their initial reticence. They smile, partly cheek and partly awkward, as their shoulders arch.

With a resigned sigh, you scoot closer to the bathtub and their ears perk up. They, too, situate themselves a little closer, turning at their waist to better access you.

“Do you need to feed as often as humans?” The words come out laughably calm, despite the mounting anxiety in your chest. As if you had this conversation a million times before.

“No,” they replied, just as conversationally. Faintly, you wonder if they have had this conversation before. You try not to stiffen as their hands grab your shoulders, turning you so they can see your neck better. “I think I am just particularly hungry after my long slumber and following fast.”

“I see,” you mumble, trying to shove away the feelings of being little more than a prime cut for this thing.

Whether they sense your frustration or simply ignore it, you don’t know. Perhaps they are already lost in hunger, as their lips skirt your throat and they inhale deeply. A delighted sound comes from their throat.

You shiver, biting down a whimper and wrenching your eyes shut as their lips find the same spot as last night. Their mouth and tongue are warmer than you expected, making your stomach flip. Their fingers tighten on your shoulders, those curved claws forming at their fingertips and biting into the fabric of your shirt.

They pull you closer, a hiss escaping their mouth as their teeth sink into your neck. First it’s just a prick of pain, then a hot agony as their fangs sink deeper. Instinctively, your body tries to jerk away, but they growl and hold your shoulders tighter. Against the cool lip of the tub, your fingers tremble.

Then you feel your blood being sucked from your body. A strange sensation of pressure and suction that pulls the hemoglobin from your vein. Not altogether painful or unpleasant, but unnerving.

Despite agreeing to it, despite the relatively certain comfort they weren’t going to kill you, tears still leak from the corner of your eyes. Your hands drift from the tub to their arms, your own fingers mimicking their hold on you. You don’t know if you’re trying to push them away or pull them closer as your head presses against their shoulder, exposing your throat more to their hungry mouth.

Something disintegrates in you. The pain still echoes in your body, but it’s joined by a sense of pleasure.

Pleasure that sends sights and smells and sounds and sensations all through your brain.

Grappling togas and spilled wine and wanton excitement. A litany of smiling faces, of desire-glazed eyes, of lips stained with red. Powdered wigs and skirts made of miles of fabric and sinful sweet scents. Heeled shoes clacking and full bodied laughter. The scent of the sea, the sound of a storm. The smell of gunpowder, of graveyards, of spicy-sweet smoke. Familiar and unfamiliar touches all over your body. Nails dragging across every inch of your body.

“Please, Tabaeus,” you gasp, not entirely sure what you’re asking for. All you know is now you’re pulling them closer, wanting to drown yourself in these sensations and these images. A million lifetimes of experiences, of delight and desire and pain and death and uncertainty and success.

Your words force them to yank away from your throat. They stare down at you, their chest heaving with excited breaths and eyes wide. You stare blearily back at them, confused. Your attention focuses on the red coating their lips and their chin.

The plethora of feelings flooding your head, your body, drains away. Leaving you feeling cold and hollow and more than a little confused. Despite the feeling of cotton in your head, you push your face from their shoulder. As you move, your throat twinges with pain and you feel the blood ooze down your neck.

“I-I am sorry.” Tabaeus’s fingers flex against your shoulders, as if they want to simultaneously release you while dragging you closer. “That is something that happens on occasion.”

“What was that?” The question comes out confused and perhaps a little harsher than you meant.

“The best I can guess is my past,” they release you as they answer, their shoulders once more hunching. “Or maybe the lives of those I’ve… feasted on.”

You stare at them, eye tracing along their shamed features as curiosity - more so than disgust - toys at their words. “You don’t know?”

“No. This whole thing is very confusing.” They heave a heavy sigh, unable to meet your gaze. Their hands move as they speak, putting their frustration into actions. “Despite what I am, memories do get lost to time and I never was fully, truly, orientated.”

“I see,” is all you can manage to say as your inquisitive mind fights against a sudden fatigue.

Then turn back to your abruptly, their red eyes earnest as they grip at the lip of the tub. “If this alters your offer, I understand. I-”

Without thinking, you cover their mouth with your hand, your eyes closing. A desire for quiet settles on your overstimulated brain. You miss how their eyes widen and their shoulders slump at your touch.

“Give me time to process this,” you say quietly, cracking your eyes open to gauge their reaction.

They nod behind your hand, concern prickling in their eyes. Their attention flicks to something on your face and you realize there’s still dampness on your cheeks from your tears. With your free hand, you hastily wipe at the tears stains.

“For now, we should get cleaned up,” you say even while your brain is still preoccupied with what just happened. You had finally accepted the reality of vampires, only to find the one you know may have limited answers.

Despite your preoccupation, Tabaeus seems to have more direction. They rise from the tub and tend to your wound, albeit after cleaning their bloody face. You still sit on the floor, leaning against the tub, until they are finished.

It is only when they softly say your name, you realize you’ve nodded off. Obviously, blood loss does that to one. But your brain latches onto another curious realization. “How do you know my name?”

Once more, Tabaeus gives their awkward-shy smile, the one that is more reminiscent of a cringe than a grin. “I told you, there’s memories in blood.”

“Oh,” you say weakly. You glance toward the door, the thought of your bed sounding very good at the moment. Without a word, Tabaeus gathers you up in their arms. You don’t even have the wits to fret, before you find them depositing you on your mattress.

You’re a little shocked to realize how dark it is outside. Where did the time go?

As Tabaeus moves to straighten up, likely to leave you to rest, your hand catches them by the front of their shirt. Startled red eyes stare down at you. Sleepily, your tone takes on a playful lilt as your lips pucker, “Don’t go skipping out on rent now.”

For the first time since you met them, Tabaeus chuckles. It’s soft and gentle. Just like their manner of speaking, you realize.

“On my word, I will not skip out on rent,” they reassure you, as they gently remove your hand from their tattered shirt. They press their lips to your knuckles and, though it sends a flare of heat through you, you tiredly chalk it up to sealing their promise.

You close your eyes once more, hand dropping to our bed. Tabaeus’s footfalls punctuate the air as you feel sleep dragging you further and further down.

Before the darkness completely swallows you up, part of you is alarmed to realize something.

You desperately hope Tabaeus is still there when you awake.

#vampire #exophilia #vampire lover #monster lover #monster fucker #monster x reader #vampire x reader #2nd person pov #Tabaeus #reader #room and board #room & board #rab #r&b #room and board part 1 #room & board part 1

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eruden-writes · 10 months

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Room & Board - Part 17 (Tabaeus x Reader)

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?

x x x x x

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x x x x x

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Lachlan Barrett. Your brain swirls, trying to place the name with some snippet from the journal or some other odd place you've heard the name before. It feels strangely familiar but, at the same time, unfamiliar.

As you're thinking, Lachlan takes a step toward your group. Immediately, Ewan tenses, growling so low in his chest that you can feel the vibrations in your stomach. Simultaneously, Tabaeus hisses from behind you, quiet and soft and sharp. Sandwiched between your companions, you hardly feel threatened, but the predatory air - plus Ewan and Tabaeus's reaction - piques concern in your gut.

"Please, try not to kick up too much of a fuss," Lachlan chuckles, though he does not take another step closer. He inclines his head to Tabaeus and Ewan, flashing them a look over the edges of his sunglasses with a pointy-toothed smile. "We are in a library."

The meaning was clear. You look around at the other patrons of the library: children and teenagers and people just minding their own business. People that are likely unaware of the two vampires lurking in their midst. Glancing back at Tabaeus, noting their stricken look, says enough.

A sudden thought crests your mind, overcoming the shock of the moment. Given this man had just lightly threatened a whole library, was it too hard to imagine he'd kill a town? Or a doctor?

It was a shot in the complete dark, but you had to ask. Tabaeus admitted to blacking out the name, so perhaps Lachlan would fall for your question. "By chance are you the same Lord Barrett who worked with Dr. Kieran Bennett in the 1880s?"

"Ah, Kieran! Yes. That is a blast from the past, as the young ones say." Something in Lachlan eyes glow, but not in a pleasant way. It reminds you of the iridescent shine of a predator's gaze. In a theatrical way, as if he were playing for the nosebleed seats, Lachlan rubs at his chin in a thoughtful way and leans toward you. He ignores Ewan's warning growl. "I did know my pet showed you to one of the vaults, but to think they gave you that information. That is such a surprise."

"I am not your pet," hisses Tabaeus, low and soft. As if they were not entirely certain they wanted to be heard.

"Are you not? Let us think about this," purrs Lachlan, his gaze shifting to Tabaeus. His voice takes on an irritating singsong quality as he counts off on his fingers, "You are pampered and cared for entirely. You need not hunt nor stalk the nights, need not risk being caught by a hunter. You are beloved among covens all over the world and gifts of clothes and food are showered upon you."

The description doesn't overly surprise you. And the longer Lachlan speaks, the more Tabaeus bristles behind you. Glancing back to your vampire, you press a hand to their arm, but it does nothing to ease their upset. Their red eyes remain pinned to Lachlan, afraid to let the other creature out of their sight.

"In return, all you must do is what you were created for," chuckles Lachlan, a vile gentleness to his voice that sets your teeth on edge. Underneath his words, there's an implication you can't quite put a name to.

As your gaze bounces back to Lachlan, Tabaeus spits out, "And what was I created for?"

The other vampire takes another step forward, ignoring Ewan's bristling snarl and how Tabaeus flinches behind you. Lachlan's arms spread wide, as if for an embrace, as he smiles like a television evangelist. "For memories."

Your brain sputters for a second, before a slew of awful imagery comes to mind. Bacchanal and violent and not all to the consent of Tabaeus. Weren't those always a trope in vampire media? They would drink and have sex and be cruel? Something about enjoying the world in excess while being undead. Or perhaps trying to feel something in their dead nerves?

Before you can stop yourself, you wrinkle your nose and blurt, "Excuse me?"

"I won't explain myself to a foodbag or a fleabag." A brief darkness flutters over Lachlan's features at your question, pinched at the edges. He doesn't glance to either you and Ewan, but waves a hand in your direction. "Tabaeus understands, deep down."

"Tabaeus?" Once more, you turn to look at your vampire, hoping to prompt more revelation. They refuse to look at you, at Lachlan, at Ewan. Their gaze has gone distant, averted. Something strains in their expression and you wonder if they've been accosted by triggering memories.

"They get this way whenever I mention their purpose," sighs Lachlan, shaking his head as if he is speaking about an ill-behaved child. "Now, I'm not a cruel master. I will give you time to say good-bye."

"And then what?" Enough suspicion was evident in Tabaeus's voice, you could picture them squinting their eyes critically at Lachlan.

That irritating smooth smile widens across the other vampire's lips. "And then we leave."

You hear Tabaeus swallow and their tone seems to lack confidence as they murmur, "And if I refuse to go?"

"Well, that will be such a pity, seeing as you live with two liabilities." Lachlan tapped a finger against his chin, eyes flickering to you and Ewan. You never realized how long and black his nails were before. His unwavering smile made your skin crawl. "Who are you willing to sacrifice first?"

Tabaeus snarls at the question, making you jump. You can feel their rage prickle along your back. In the short span of time it takes you to turn, a breeze passes by and you are shoved forward, away from Tabaeus. Their snarl is cut off in a choke. You gasp, stumbling only to be caught single-handedly by Ewan. As you turn, catch the sight of Lachlan backing Tabaeus to a far wall, hand around their throat.

The people around you don't even blink, don't even falter in their actions. You wildly wonder if Lachlan has some sort of cloaking power or if he managed to hypnotize all present with his mere presence. Vaguely, you sense Ewan's arm curl tighter around you, keeping you close.

One question resonates as you stare, frozen at the vampire: How old, how powerful, is this man?

"A good owner disciplines their pets when they misbehave." You hear the hiss-laden words even from the distance. Lachlan gives Tabaeus's throat a squeeze, another sound choking from your vampire's mouth. "Do not make me discipline you. That gets rather messy, doesn't it?"

Tabaeus glowers at Lachlan, before their gaze can take no more and they turn their face away. They refuse to look at you or Ewan. Shame rolls off them in waves as the other vampire pats their head with his free hand. "There's my good darling."

You and Ewan barely take a step forward, before Lachlan moves again. He bites his own free wrist with a sickening rending of flesh, and holds the dribbling wound to Tabaeus's lips. "Now, so your memories of me are fresh."

At first, they refuse to drink, turning their face further away from the offering, smearing strangely dark blood across their cheek. But Lachlan is not having that. His grip moves from Tabaeus's throat to their hair, knocking aside their bucket hat as he forces their mouth to his bleeding wound.

It doesn't take long for Tabaeus to succumb, to eagerly feed on the oozing blood. They lick the streams up first before latching onto the bite. Their eyes flutter closed, their hands reach to grip at Lachlan's arm, holding him close.

You're frozen in place, watching with nausea rolling in your stomach. Desperately, you look to Ewan, hoping he has some idea or answers. Heavy breaths make Ewan's chest rise and fall, his eyes scanning the area and the vampiric scene. Feeling your eyes on him, his gaze flickers to you and his expression is akin to a fearful dog in the face of a greater predator.

The silent look makes your skin crawl further, your stomach lurch.

"That's enough," Lachlan finally purrs over the grotesque slurping sounds of Tabaeus feasing on him. When Tabaeus refuses to let go, Lachlan yanks them by their hair with a snarl. "I said enough."

A pained gasp escapes Tabaeus as Lachlan hauls them away, blood oozing down his arm and down their chin. That sound seems to spur something in Ewan and he launches himself at the other vampire. You barely had a chance to jolt, a chance to raise your hand. As soon as Ewan makes contact with Lachlan, mingling snarls erupt just before the werewolf flies backward, across an aisle, into a shelf of books.

Books clattering around him, you can hear the wind escape Ewan's lungs. He isn't down for long, scrambling to his feet and baring his teeth, half-crouched and prepared for another strike. Despite the tension and adrenaline, he hasn't gone full wolf, though you're sure his stubble is thicker and his eyes far too inhumanly green.

Your attention flickers to the surrounding people. They still haven't seemed to notice anything and, if they had, Ewan was still human enough to not cause a stir.

Tabaeus, too, is back on their feet, swiping a hand over their chin. Their sunglasses sit askew, their red eyes alight and the whites of their eyes darkening at the edges.

Both fall still as Lachlan's arms suddenly clamp around you, his hand curling around the front of your throat. He was too fast to see, too fast for you and your shock-stricken brain to register. Or perhaps he has you enthralled as well, just less-so than the other unaware bystanders. His ice-cold touch burns and is unyielding to the point you, too, freeze in his grip. You barely even breathe.

"I can see you need time to understand your situation. I will give you a day, twenty-four hours, to say good-bye to your consorts." Disgust swirls inside you as Lachlan bends close, nosing along your throat. Tucked against Lachlan, it's strangely quiet and cold. No heartbeat, no breaths, no body heat. It's worse than Tabaeus, you muse as you hold your own breath.

"You should already be aware of the levity of the situation. But if not..." Lachlan yanks your head to the side, exposing your neck further. Sharp pinpoints dig into your throat, a threat that doesn't yet break skin. Your eyes snap shut as you steal yourself, feeling his amused breath play over your neck, "Well, I do enjoy the screams. Twenty-four hours, Tabaeus."

And like that, Lachlan is gone. Dissipating into shadows or just misting from existence, you're not sure. It is only after a few breaths, you realize the library's ambient sounds are returning along with heat and sunlight from the windows.

How did you not notice how quiet and cold it had gotten near Lachlan? Had it been that way in the diner? Your mind whirls, as if it has been electrified with jumper cables. Was that a powerful vampire's ability? Or was something else at play?

As your thoughts churn, Tabaeus - re-hatted - and Ewan crowd around you. Both ask you questions, visually check over your body, but you can't find enough words to answer them. You stare at the two for a long moment, before you realize you are shaking.

"Hey, it'll be okay, alright?" Ewan whispers, looping an arm around you. His head dips toward you, pressing his fluffy hair against you. His body heat is a blessing, cutting through the ungodly cold that has sunken to your bones.

You don't have a chance to respond as Tabaeus gathers you in their arms, as well. The odd cool-warmth of them easing Lachlan's cold from your body. Their grip on you is firm and fearful, almost quaking. Something holds them back from allowing themselves to tremble though. Some need to appear stronger than they feel.

Your heart lurches as the very thought crosses your mind.

"May we go home?" They ask quietly, still holding you close to their chest. You're crushed so tight to Tabaeus, you're not even sure if Ewan still has an arm wrapped around you.

Still unable to find words, unable to connect synapses to work your mouth, you nod with a noiseless whimper. The three of you are quick to leave the library, huddled close as you return to the safety of home.

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eruden-writes · 29 days

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Room & Board - Part 21 PREVIEW

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?

Links under cut!

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If you like my content, please consider supporting me on Patreon!

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Briefly, regret thrums at how you’ve pulled the two of them into this fight, but you turn back to Tabaeus. You all knew the potential risks.

Softly, you step closer to Tabaeus and finally take in their state.

“That is not a meal,” Lachlan drawls, though dark amusement twitches at the corner of his lips.

“Is it not?” Tabaeus pauses, their red eyes flickering up and behind you to where the other vampire stands.

“No, I do not know any bloodbags.” Tabaeus blinks before regarding you with an empty laziness, still holding your head at an angle. You’re not even sure they’re trying to remember.

Too many words and feelings gum up your throat. As you struggle to swallow, only three words break through your lips, “Tabaeus, please remember.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Want more? Full chapter is on Patreon!

#vampire #monster fucker #monster romance #2nd pov #vampire x reader #vampire x reader x werewolf #vampire fucker #vampire lover #2nd person #2nd perosn pov #x reader #exophilia #exo writing #we're almost done with room & board!#:3c #kind of ominous given Tabaeus is about to eat you I guess #lol #tabaeus #ewan

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eruden-writes · 5 hours

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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?

Masterlist First | Previous | Next

x x x x x

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

*:･ﾟ✧ Patreon or Ko-Fi *:･ﾟ✧

x x x x x

"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.

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eruden-writes · 1 year

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Room & Board - Part 15 (Reader with a Vagina Version)

contemporary fantasy vampire x human eventual triad (x werewolf) 15 parts of ?? on-going

Summary based on 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?

Special Note About This Part: There will be 2 versions. One is a reader with a vagina and breasts, the other is a reader with a penis and no breasts. I'm only sharing one version in this preview, but both versions will be posted at the same time.

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SPECIAL NOTE: This is the version where Reader has a vagina. If you want the penis version, it is located here.

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First Part | Previous | Master List | Next

Or Read on Wattpad

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It isn’t long until the two had you stripped down completely, the bat pajamas and your undergarments thrown in a heap in the far corner. Tabaeus takes up a position behind you, forcing you to lean back against them, while Ewan hunkers down between your spread thighs. Anticipation crawls along your skin, your breathing already hitched with excitement. Stuck between a vampire and werewolf, you realize there’s little you can do other than enjoy their fiendish ways.

That thought solidifies further as Ewan’s warm lips skirt along your inner leg, scruffy jawline razing your flesh. Simultaneously, cool fingers cup around your breasts, deft fingers toying with your nipples. A soft gasp escapes you, your back arching into the touch on your tits as your thighs lightly squeeze against Ewan’s head. Your eyes flutter shut, heart thrumming in your chest.

Ewan gives a playful growl, yanking your legs further apart again as he continues upward. Against your throat, Tabaeus chuckles, breath and lips cool against your warming skin.

“You smell really good,” he rumbles against your leg.

In the dark of the van, Ewan’s gaze glows brighter and his hair bushier, more unkempt. The stubble dotting his jaw is becoming increasingly thick as he inhales. A thrill shoots down your spine, able to feel his inhalation tickle your thighs. Faintly, you think his mouth must be closer than it looks and your imagination supplies a subtly elongated jawline nosing its way up your leg.

“On that, we can agree.” Tabaeus hums, their nose skirting along your throat as they softly breathe in your scent. Their hands are still gently teasing and groping at you in lazy strokes. Against the pads of their fingers, your nipples are taut beads, twinging with delight at every little bit of friction.

With a grumbly huff, Ewan adjusts their positioning again. His hands slide under your rear, palms hot and rough against your flesh, as he maneuvers your knees over his shoulders.

Your eyes crack open, finding Ewan staring hungrily at your exposed slit. His eyes jump to your face, sensing your gaze on him, and a crooked smile splits across his lips. The shape of his hair has changed, you think, before you realize it’s tufted ears rising from his curls.

Sharp white teeth flash in your direction and, once more, your heart thrums. As you peer closer, you find fur has sprouted along his longer jawline, down his neck, under his shirt. There’s only a brief moment when you wonder what other changes, what other shifting, is happening beneath his clothes before he moves.

Ewan’s eyes flick back down to your pussy, watching the subtle clench of your muscles down there and his smile broadens. Heat burns at your cheeks, your eyes clenching shut again. His palms drag from your ass, over your outer thighs, grazing sharp claw-like nails gingerly over your goosebumps. At the same time, his head lowers to your folds, hot breath playing over you.

In perfect synchronization, Ewan’s hot wet tongue laps the length of your folds as Tabaeus’s cooler tongue swipes along your throat. The dichotomic sensations twist your muscles, another strangled gasp catching in your throat.

Two long fangs tease along your neck, raking hot paths in their wake.

With an impatient tug, pulling you closer, Ewan dips his head further against you. His tongue lashes and flicks desperately against you, as if your cunt is a blessed source of hydration and he’s a hopeless parched soul. A quick swirl around your clit, down through your folds, before back up to torment that sensitive bundle of nerves. With each pass, his tongue delves deeper and deeper in your folds, until - at some point - the appendage curls deep inside you.

With his tongue curled, he scrapes your slick into his mouth. Muffled groans reverberate from him, making your center ripple with delight with every drag of his tongue.

If Ewan is desperately drinking from you, Tabaeus takes their time, savoring you. Juxtaposed against the werewolf’s rash movements, the vampire’s hands continue to stroke with slow caresses at your tits. Though one hand does pull away, trailing down your front to toy your pulsing clit when Ewan loses himself in your pussy. The cool touch of their fingertips makes your insides twist, your heart jerks.

Beneath both styles of ministrations, your body isn’t sure what to do. You find your back arching and bowing, your heels dig into Ewan’s shoulders to press yourself further into his mouth. As you tilt your head, offering more of your throat to Tabaeus’s mouth, your palms layer over their hands. Needily, you squeeze their knuckles, hoping to convince the vampire to squeeze harder, to touch more firmly.

They simply smile against your neck, nuzzling their nose against you as they chuckle. Somehow, the vibrations of their little chortle make a harsher shudder lick down your spine. Heat and pressure tangle inside you, knotting tight but being kept at bay with the infuriating gentleness of Tabaeus’s touches. Writhing and groaning, the part of your brain that can still string together coherent thought can’t argue against their tactics.

Ewan keeps you strung tight, your muscles flexing around his penetrative tongue and quivering at his delighted snarls. Tabaeus cools you with their steady touch, keeping you a hair's breadth from tensing too tight, from tumbling over that edge of ecstasy. It is delicious torture that threatens to decimate your insides as your muscles flex and jerk and relax.

You’re not sure what it is that changes Tabaeus’s steady touches, but in the span of a breath, they bear down on you. The strokes on your clit become harder, faster. Their hand still at your breast squeezes tight, nails pinching and tweaking at your nipple. Hard and hot, they suckle at your neck, fangs just barely grazing your flesh but not yet a danger of penetrating.

But that's all you need. With a loud cry, your body spasms and one hand lands at the back of Ewan’s head, pushing him closer as your thighs clench tight. Fire sears flames along your body as your back arches, your heels dig into Ewan’s back as your shoulders shove back against Tabaeus. No matter how much your flex and jerk, neither release you from their hold. Both continue to touch, to lick, to nip at you.

The moment your release subsides, Ewan parts from your slit with one last lick. For the moment, it seems his transformation has stalled, midway between wolfish and human. The same ole Ewan is still there, but with additional features.

His jaw is drenched with your slick, eyes still hot and hungry on you as his chest heaves with panting breaths. A glance to his groin as he pushes to his knees gives you all the answers. Straining against the front of his jeans, his bulge threatens to snap the zipper down the middle. Ewan doesn’t give you long to stare as he yanks his shirt off over his head and undoes his pants, kicking them off. Brown fur brackets his sides, sprouting thick down his back. A tail arcs from the base of his spine, excitement making it twitch back and forth.

It seems his lower half is far more morphed than his top half. From the furry depths between his thighs, a proud erection stands. Deep red with pre glistening on his fat mushroom tip. Thick and throbbing, his member twitches as you stare. The powerful bounce makes your insides quiver, just imagining the same happening inside yourself before you spot the knot. Another heat flares through you as you bite your lip, mentally calculating the size of the thickness at Ewan's base, and equally imagining how it would feel wedged inside you; where it belongs.

“Keep staring at the mutt and I will get jealous, amata.” You turn at Tabaeus’s voice, completely prepared to see their pouting expression. However, the sight of them surprises you. They, too, have stripped their outer layers off and are lounged back on their elbows. You push yourself more into a sitting position and faintly wonder where they got the fishnet leotard. You haven't seen it before, but ultimately you brush the curiosity aside.

Other features catch your eye. Namely how violet streaks bleed out from the center of their chest, staining their skin a deep purple. Beneath your gaze, you watch the color crawl along their flesh. Beneath the fishnet, at the juncture of their legs, their dick strains the delicate material, pressed against their torso beneath the fabric.

You're surprised to see that, like Ewan, a bulbous knot throbs at the base of their dick, just above a set of taut balls. Unlike the werewolf's equipment, Tabaeus's dick is tipped with an arrow-shaped head and tapered shaft that appears entwined, as if they possess coiling hemipenes. Though you doubt that's the case, your insides still clench at the sight. Even if they're not two separate dicks, those deep twisty ridges are going to faint your inner nerves.

Their eyes shine red in the dark, watching your expression as you drink in their body. Their delight in your stare falters a bit as movement behind you catches their attention. With a sharp inhale, you realize Ewan looms behind you, a solid wall of heat and fur against your back.

It's when Ewan reaches an arm around you, you realize how much larger he is now. A veritable predator, twice your size now, at your back. The thought makes your heart jump in your throat, but you swallow the confusing mix of excitement and apprehension down. If Ewan notices your reaction, he makes no indication. His clawed hand lands on Tabaeus’s stomach, thumb brushing along the vampire's excitement. They swallow, wary eyes now following Ewan's hand.

Ewan's fingers crook, nails dragging over the fishnet with almost rending sounds. The sound of the sharp tips hisses in your ears, making you shiver.

"There's snaps, you uncultured plebian," Tabaeus yelps as the claws trail over the fabric, threatening to catch and tear.

"Are there now?" Ewan snickers, an undertone of a rasp in his voice as Tabaeus reaches to undo the clasps. You have no doubt he already knew that.

Regardless of the taunting, you spot the metal snaps sitting snug against the underside of Tabaeus’s balls. You’re the one that reaches down to undo them, earning little complaint from the vampire. They make a throaty sound as the strained fabric falls lax, their dick free to sway upward.

Glancing back up to Tabaeus’s face, you see them biting their bottom lip, shoulders hunched up to their ears. As you shift on your hands and knees, mouth lowering to meet the vampire’s dick, you hear Ewan growl behind you. Not in agitation or anger, but excitement. It takes his hands grabbing your hips - pulling you back a little as his member nudges against you - for you to realize your positioning must have tempted his wilder instincts, ones that revolved around animalistic presentation.

In lieu of stewing on your unintentional wantonness or Ewan’s wandering touches, you focus on Tabaeus. If they notice your position or the way your lycan friend rumbles, they don’t show it. Their red eyes are on you, unbreathing as your lips coast lightly over their tip. Tabaeus exhales sharply as you softly let your warm breath dance over them, as if you stole the air from their lungs.

When your tongue finally trails from base to tip, along the side of their shaft, a low groan escapes Tabaeus. Though Ewan’s hands continued to stroke you, knead you, there’s a distracted edge to his touches. As if he too is distracted while watching your tongue lick up, down, around that vampiric dick.

When your lips finally encircled the cockhead, inching down their length, Tabaeus gave a deep-chested groan. Their head lolled back, hips rolling forward in a soft request for you to take more of them into your mouth. You obliged, your own eyes fluttering shut against the burn of Ewan’s eyes on the scene. Giving a blowjob without an audience certainly lacked the excited thrill of extra attention.

They are surprisingly warm against your tongue, pulsing with need as you slowly move down and up their length. Your tongue explores the seemingly entwined shaft, traces the juncture of length to head. With each flick of your tongue, Tabaeus shifts or groans, rolling their hips needily against your mouth. All the while, the stroke of Ewan’s rough palms against your thigh, your rear, your breasts reminds you of his presence.

“Your mouth feels wondrous, amata,” groans Tabaeus, their hands finding their way to the back of your head. Gentle fingers thread through your hair, nails gingerly scraping across your scalp.

“Wait til you get your sloppy seconds,” Ewan chuckles from behind you. A shiver teasing down your back, feeling their breath on your back.

Like how your eyes, caught by surprise, blink open as the words register, you watch Tabaeus lean his head up, shooting the werewolf a questioning look. “My w-what?”

Ewan is quicker on the uptake than you, realizing the phrase is missing in the vampire’s lexicon.

“I’m gonna come in your precious amata and while they’re still dripping, gonna slam them on your dick.” His hands excitedly flex at your sides, a grin in his voice. “How’s that sound?”

To you, the plan sounds wonderful. An excited thrum burns through you, making your insides clench with need and anticipation.

To your surprise, Tabaeus laughs, the sound vibrating through his cock still in your mouth. “Quite the peace offering, mutt. Does you agree with this?”

Through the lust hazing your thoughts, you blink up at Tabaeus. Their lips are quirked in a grin as one of their hands escapes your hair, caressing the side of your face. It takes effort to remove your mouth from their member, re-wiring your own lascivious instincts to answer. “Sure, that sounds pretty fun.”

Just like that, it seemed the two agreed on a new course of action. Tabaeus shifts until their back is propped against the van’s wall as Ewan hoists you, settling you astride the vampire. You don’t get a chance to say anything as he lifts you by your hips, knees still on the floor but ass high in the air. His hand lands on the back of your head, pressing your face into the crux of Tabaeus’s neck and shoulder.

A blunt, hot, firmness nudges at your folds, coating Ewan’s cockhead in your slick. He pushes in and pulls out in slow, steady rhythms. You’re savoring the way your pussy stretches and flexes around him, as he carefully delves further and further in. Little gasps and sounds escape you with his every thrust. Tabaeus coaxes your hand to his own rigid cock, quietly reminding you to tend to him as well.

They don’t need to ask further as your hand grasps around their thrumming dick, stroking absently in time to Ewan’s thrust. Tabaeus catches your lips in a kiss, hands kneading at your breasts. You’re awash in gentler need. Pleasure teases through you at both your lovers’ touches, their soft exhales or grunts. The rasp of Ewan’s fur against the back of your thighs or how his hands grip your hips juxtapose the cooler, lighter touches of Tabaeus’s fingertips all over your body.

By the time Ewan sinks fully into you, the sheer amount of length and girth steals your breath. He stills his movements, letting you get used to him. Subtly, Tabaeus breaks the kiss, one hand bracing your shoulder as the other coils around your middle.

Something burns through the air. Anticipation makes your ragged breath catch before Ewan begins moving again. A slow retreat, a delicious reminder of the size he's subjecting you to, before he's lurching forward. You barely have the chance to breathe between his thrusts. They come heavy and quick, striking deep inside. With each impact, pressure tightens and delight explodes over your nerves.

You don't even realize your own hand mimics the new pace with your own strokes and harsh squeezes until Tabaeus keens, throwing their head back. Even as they do so, his free hand, the one not bracing you against Ewan’s thrusts, homes in on your clit. Deft cool fingers swirl around the bundle of nerves while your pussy clenches tight to the relentless intrusions.

Gasps constantly fall from your open mouth as your body rocks from force, thighs quivering and toes curling.

The creaking van is unbearably hot and your lungs ache from your ragged breaths. The excited pressure between your legs is subjected to unending strikes, sparkling ecstasy. Thought can't even piece your mind. All you can do is feel and listen to the creaking van and growling werewolf and the vampire gasping excited expletives.

Your toes curl when Ewan grabs the back of your neck with a snarl, you rock against his increasingly desperate thrusts. Needing him deeper, harder, faster. Something in you snaps, your body clenches tight as white-hot heat sears through you. Tremors lick down your body as you cry out, wringing tight around Tabaeus's member as your insides coil around Ewan's cock. The mess of hot heat between your thighs becomes wetter as you come.

Ewan’s dick answers in kind, jerking deep inside before liquid warmth kisses your insides. Over and over, spurts of heat graze your inner walls, feeling hot enough to burn.

Your cry hitches, turning into a shriek as Tabaeus suddenly surges up, sinks his teeth into your throat. A slurry of sensations slows into you, the vampire desperately humping his hips against your hand. Another orgasm is sucked from your depths as your body shakes, renewed sobs and affirmations falling from your lips as the vampire feeds. When the ropes of heat finally dwindle from Ewan, he makes good on his words to Tabaeus.

Dizzy from your own dual-orgasm, you whimper as Ewan pulls free, only to expertly drop you onto Tabaeus’s thrumming dick. An expletive hisses from Tabaeus, their mouth at one point leaving your throat. Their hips jackhammer up into you, desperately driving their own member into you.

It’s only Ewan’s arms, wrapped around your midsection and hoisting you up and down, that keep you from collapsing against Tabaeus. Trembles and tremors course through your body as you harshly jerk to and fro. There’s no way you could be riding the vampire if it wasn’t for Ewan.

With a final thrust upward, and a final drop onto Tabaeus, they cry out and arch off the floor. Another river of heat explodes inside you, coaxed to yet another orgasm with Ewan's rough fingertips also savageing your clit. A sob rends from your lips as you fall lax in Ewan's grasp, still trembling as your orgasm lingers, banking around inside you.

The three of you don't move, only the sound of your panting and the long-forgotten movie fill the silence.

Tabaeus is the first to move, to speak. Their hand brushes your blood-dripping throat as they swallow, “I’m sorry, i-it just overcame me.”

It takes a few beats, a few blinks of your eyes, to realize they’re apologizing for feeding on you. Up until that point, explicit permission was always necessary. Even if you weren’t in the midst of an afterglow, you knew you wouldn’t have minded. “It’s okay.”

“Let me handle that.” Ewan leans over your shoulder, still in a seemingly half-shifted state. Human-ish and wolfish simultaneously. His mouth opens, tongue hanging in an intent to clean your injury.

“W-wait,” you find the energy to mumble, holding up a hand to stop Ewan. “If you lick me, will I turn into a werewolf?”

He chuckles at the question. “No, but there’s healing properties in lycan spit.”

With a hum of acknowledgement, your hand lowers, but Tabaeus snorts.

“Got something to say?” Ewan shoots back to the vampire, lip curled in some strange mixture of annoyance and amusement.

“No, no, dog.” Tabaeus lazily waves a hand, leaning back against the wall. They stare up at Ewan, a mocking smile tilted at their lips. “Lick your mistrum, you’re good at that.”

“Aw, you’re warming up to Ewan,” you laugh lightly, though clamp your mouth shut as the werewolf’s tongue flicks over your injury. A tingling sensation sinks into your skin at the touch and, despite your exhaustion, heat stirs at your center. It’s just a reminder that Tabaeus is still fully sheathed in you and that you’re still brimming with various loads.

You’re thankful for Tabaeus’s curious look, drawing your attention from the embarrassed mess as you explain, “You complimented him.”

“I was mocking him.” The vampire still has enough wherewithal to sound affronted, though you note the faintest pink bite at their cheeks. Just enough of your blood must be coursing through them for that blush.

“No, no, they have a point.” Ewan’s face remains close to your shoulder, hunched over you. “What’cha gonna flatter me about next? My dick?”

You feel his hips shift and, from the way Tabaeus squeaks, presume the werewolf has nudged his dick against them. With the way Ewan’s grin broadens and the dick embedded inside you jerks, you just feel more set in the assumption.

An amused smile tilts at your lips as Tabaeus turns their face away, shoulders hunched. “I… I will admit it is appealing in a strange way.”

“Alright, love birds, let’s move and clean up best we can.” Your laugh interrupts the teasing session between the two. Behind you, you feel Ewan deflate a little. You’re not ready to leave the cozy warmth between the three of you, either. Glancing between the two, settling a hand on Ewan’s head and another on Tabaeus’s chest, you hedge, “We can head back home and maybe chill or have some more fun?”

Though Ewan doesn’t bounce entirely back, he smiles and rubs his head against your hand, before moving away. “I’ll get the wet wipes.”

Still astride Tabaeus, you turn to throw him a look, amusement edging your voice with a laugh. “Wet wipes? Do you regularly have threesomes in your van?”

“Let’s just say wet wipes are good for all sorts of messy situations.” You can hear the wincing smile in Ewan’s voice and can only imagine what sort of untidy situations a werewolf might be accustomed to. For now, you drop the curious thought, turning to look back down at Tabaeus.

As Ewan rifles through some supplies, you turn back to Tabaeus. Their expression makes your own smile falter a little. “What?”

“I am pleased - very pleased - with everything that has happened, but I fear it is temporary.” Their eyes focus on a far corner of the van, more so than your eyes. Your heart twists in your own chest at their words. The sentiment clearly shared in your own thoughts, though you hadn’t had a chance to really consider it.

“If you’re talking about the journal and your amnesia, it’s… fine.” You’re struggling to find the correct words to detail the situation, especially while the afterglow of good sex lingers. As Tabaeus casts you a dubious look, you hurriedly shrug. “I mean, it’s not fine fine, but we’ll figure this out. I’ll do some research and we’ll figure it out, maybe.”

Before Tabaeus can respond, Ewan returns with a pack of wet wipes and small rags. He tosses a curious look between you two. “Figure what out?”

“The journal and my amnesia,” Tabaeus answers, moving to help you off their own dick. Between the vampire and werewolf, you manage to slip off with minimal mess. Though you’re still extremely grateful for the wipes.

“Ah, right. You mentioned that earlier.” Ewan helps you clean up, after an affirmative nod from you, before lobbing an offer. “I could help, maybe. I have connections.”

After waving Ewan away, Tabaeus is left to clean their own self up. Their eyes narrow at Ewan’s words, a light suspicion coloring their words, “What sort of connections?”

“I know a witch that runs an occult bookstore. She’s got some historical sources.” Ewan gives a single-shouldered shrug, ignoring the uncertain chill wafting from the vampire. Looking between you and Tabaeus, he awkwardly smiles. “Also I know which websites are good for this kind of thing.”

“For vampire amnesia?” With skepticism, your eyebrows raise, but amusement twists your lips at the corners. The image of message boards or some messenger app filled with monsters tickles at your humor bone.

At your question, Ewan presses his lips together and rocks his head from side to side, obviously searching for the right phrasing. “For… questions the atypical being my have.”

“It couldn’t hurt, could it?” Hope swells in your chest. Maybe you are closer to an answer, to making these worries dissipate.

“I suppose not.” Tabaeus eventually says, after glancing up at you then turning to Ewan. The earnest optimism must be clear on your face. “Thank you, Ewan.”

“You’re mighty welcome, Tabaeus.” A sharp smile flashes their direction, but Ewan’s gracious expression is soon tainted by a thread of mischief. “But you can show your gratitude by…”

The van creaks as Ewan leans toward Tabaeus, grabbing the vampire by the back of their head. Red eyes fly wide as the werewolf’s maw presses to their ear in a muffled whisper. The pink darkens across their cheeks as they listen, before they yelp and Ewan is shoved bodily back. Even as he falls back, Ewan cackles with delight at Tabaeus’s expression.

“You are crude!” Tabaeus snatches up a pillow, tossing it at Ewan.

Leaning back on your hands, you smile to yourself as the two bicker, deciding to give them a few minutes. The task before you feels less daunting with another by your side. Regardless if Tabaeus could be trusted or not - and you dearly hoped they could be trusted - you had Ewan to back you up.

Yes, this was exactly what Tabaeus and you needed, you finally decide while watching Ewan playfully taunt the vampire.

x x x x x

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eruden-writes · 2 years

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Room & Board - Part 11 (Vampire x Reader)

Anon submitted this prompt: 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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x x x x x

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x x x x x

The next day, Tabaeus doesn't greet you in the hall or the base of the stairs or in the kitchen. Between it being a new home and the tension the two of you suffered last night, you try not to look too closely into it. It's better if he's pouting or sleeping in his box in the basement. That gives you time to yourself.

And, more importantly, to study the journal.

After checking in on the sugar gliders, refreshing their water and available food as they slept in their little pouch, you retrieve the book from the anti-vampire box in your office. Settling on the couch, you run a finger over the cover. It's certainly an old book, bound in what you hope is animal leather. That finger traverses the edges of the papers, finding them thick and uneven.

It takes you a moment to steel yourself for what you'll find out. If you'll find out anything. You flip the cover open, carefully, and read the first page. Only a handful of words sit on the first page. A scrawling script, one that you can imagine was done by quill and ink, reads:

Property of Dr. Kieran Bennett.

1882

You press your lips together. Okay, so it wasn't Tabaeus's journal. Or was it and his name is actually Kieran Bennett? Your brain is already buzzing with thoughts and theories and questions as you turn to the next, thick page.

March 10, 1882

In the spirit of research, I - Dr. Kieran Bennett - will be keeping records of the creature found in a long abandoned shed owned by one Thaddeus Thatcher.

As the account has been told to me, the town of Thistle had been plagued with "wolf attacks" on their livestock for the last half-year. A creature, big and shaggy and dark, appeared multiple times from the forest but would soon flee back into her dark recesses.

When residents of Thistle began to go missing, the townspeople accused the creature and began a hunt for it.

Over the course of three days, the town managed to flush the creature out. First, from a cave system. Then, from the aforementioned Mr. Thatcher's abandoned shed, upon which they caught the creature in a net and managed to shackle it.

It now resides in the local undertaker's basement, due to its need for darkness, locked in a cage with a collar around its throat.

I have yet to interact with the creature. I shall update upon progress.

So far, it seems Dr. Bennett is not Tabaeus. Part of your mind files the name away for later research. Perhaps the library will have some information, you think, as you read further.

March 13, 1882

It is largely believed the creature is a vampyr of lore.

As such we keep it fed on animal blood, which seems to suffice for the most part. Its appearance has confirmed it was feeding upon humans.

When it feeds upon animals, its visage becomes more animalistic. Inky black sprouts across the expanse of its body' its ears grow, becoming more akin to a chiroptera's large ears; its teeth become so large, the maw barely contains them and its eyes glow with the embers of Hell.

Adversely, when it feeds upon humans, it has the appearance of a man.

Without thinking, you raise a hand to your throat. Your palm is warm against the side of your neck, where two little scabs have made semi-permanent residence. Faintly, you recall that first night. How Tabaeus appeared so fearsome, so animal.

Had they been sustaining themselves on animal blood, until that point? Had they suffered an injury, resulting in hunting you down? Or was it just that you smelled so good to Tabaeus, for whatever reason, they couldn't resist?

We have yet to test any further hypothesis on the creature, though it has yet to harm anyone. On occasion, it has startled anyone that passes its cage with a sudden charge, but beyond that, it is capable of sitting for hours, doing nothing.

March 28, 1882

Sun burns the creature.

Silver burns the creature.

Cloves and garlic have no reaction.

We cannot test the efficacy of wooden stakes until we feel we are done learning all we can.

It makes the worst howling shrieks of pain.

My heart aches with every test, but we must learn all we can for humankind.

Your brows furrow, considering the slight jump in time. A little over two weeks of no entries, only to have rather scant descriptions of what they had found. Your lips press together, puzzling on the thought.

What happened in that time? Had Dr. Bennett grown closer to Tabaeus, at all? It doesn't seem like it, with the continued usage of 'it,' but you continue on, keeping an eye on the dates.

April 3, 1882

Tabaeus. That is what the creature calls itself. Doubtful it is a God-given name, but one assigned to the creature by the Dark Prince himself.

Though I find it hard to believe such a soft-spoken creature could be from the bowels of hell. Father Bartholomew insists it is, since the holy water burned its flesh. The screams had been wrenching, as two men of the town held Tabaeus down as the priest dribbled water upon its form.

Tomorrow, a renowned surgeon will come to town. The town's council knows this may hamper - if not end - ongoing investigation, but they hope to cut Tabaeus open to understand its innerworkings.

Perhaps there is a cure to wrench the unholy creature away from the source of evil consuming it.

Surgery? Your eyebrows tick up, the picture of Tabaeus's scars flashing in your head.

April 8, 1882

Dr. Forsythe has had to put off the surgery, due to insufficient - and often missing - supplies. It will take him time to attain enough to thoroughly investigate Tabaeus's anatomy.

I took the quiet day to question Tabaeus myself. In the past month, I have gained a familiarity with the creature few other researchers here have. I asked it questions, pressing it for answers, for I may not get another chance.

I also told Tabaeus this. Which seemed to loosen their lips.

Tabaeus remembers little of its life. They are scraps, unhinged and untethered. At times, it seems what Tabaeus remembers belongs to another source. They speak of the memories in an almost unattached way, at times.

It remembers times in ancient Europe and ancient Rome. Of travel with Nordic races. Of long journeys through deserts in Africa. It appears to remember so much of human history, but is incapable of tying it together in a coherent fashion.

Where it was born, it does not know.

How it became a creature of the dark, it does not know.

How it even functions is a mystery to it.

I do not think the creature lies to me, but it is most boggling how its own memory fails to function.

Perhaps there is a connection between its alleged longevity and the breakdown of its memory.

I do not know and I fear we will not find out once Tabaeus undergoes surgery.

April 13, 1882

I have attached copies of Dr. Forsythe's findings.

Pausing from the entry, you flip through the book, seeking these mentioned findings. Nothing seems attached or hidden in the pages. Likely lost to time or, perhaps, an intentional hand. You try not to think of it as you read on.

As an observer, there was much screaming and struggling. Tabaeus was restrained on the table. No anesthetic was used, so the patient could be aware and discuss should questions arise.

Very little talk happened. To be frank, I believe the lack of anesthetic, sedative, or even simply being knocked out was from cruelty on Dr. Forsythe and the council's part.

I digress.

They shaved Tabaeus, much as one would an animal, and cut into his form. They cracked his ribs for a better view. Tabaeus's insides appeared no different than a human's.

Except his heart was blackened, though it still pumped blood as a human heart would. Other than the odd coloration, everything seemed in proper working order.

By God's providence or cruelty, Tabaeus did not pass out of shock nor pain. They were awake and conscious throughout, sobbing or screaming at intervals. They would test their shackles and straps, the restraints creaking awfully under the force.

I was relieved when Dr. Forsythe stitched the creature up, but it was short-lived as he hinted at a need to revisit the site again in the near future.

Once the endeavor completed, Tabaeus could not stand, let alone walk. Four men were enlisted to haul the vampy back to his cage in the undertaker's basement.

I sat with him, quiet for a long time. No questions felt important enough to ask of Tabaeus, in such a condition. Even wrapped in bandages, I could see the uneven stitches trailing down his front in my mind's eye.

Tabaeus confessed to needing sustenance, to heal appropriately.

I offered to retrieve fresh cow's or pig's blood for them, but they shook their head.

"Human blood," it said, voice raw and cracked from screaming. "I need human blood to heal quickly."

Once more, your hand finds your throat. You already suspect what is about to happen.

I offered my blood, to which Tabaeus appeared startled at the offer. Their red eyes, puffy and ugly from their ordeal, found mine.

Instead of allowing Tabaeus to feed from my neck, I offered my wrist. They took it in a gentle grip, such a strange juxtaposition to their long, clawed digits.

The sensation of fangs plunging into one's body is both disconcerting and oddly alluring. I had closed my eyes as Tabaeus supped and images flickered through my head.

Images wholly foreign to me. Perhaps memories.

Whether they were Tabaeus's own or that of their victims' or something else entirely, I cannot say.

I only spoke to tell Tabaeus to stop, when lightheadedness made my thoughts fuzzy.

They did so, without argument. As they settled back in their corner, they murmured a small gratitude. Their glowing red eyes still on me.

I left not long after that, woozy from the interaction and intent upon a nap.

"What are you reading?" Tabaeus's soft words slap you across the face, making you sit straighter on the couch.

They eye you from the door between the kitchen and living room - where the basement stairs come up - with confusion, head cocked at your reaction.

You swallow a lump in your throat, trying to clear the heaviness away with a cough. Briefly, you consider hiding what you're reading. Maybe lying and saying it's a silly romance novel or something boring and technical. The longer you stare up at Tabaeus, the more you realize how miserable they appear.

They're wearing the same jeans and t-shirt from yesterday. Their hair is a tangled mess. Their cheeks appear sunken and bags hang under their red-rimmed eyes. It reminds you of someone who spent the night crying and frustrated and arguing with oneself.

There is so much obfuscation in Tabaeus's life, not clearly communicating feels wrong. Even if they cannot - or will not - be upfront, you can be. There's a small part of you that intuits there's something deeper, something more complicated, going on than what appears on the surface.

With your finger marking the spot in the journal, you hold it up. "I am reading Dr. Kieran Bennett's journal. It was in the anti-vampire box you gave me."

"Kieran?" That name makes Tabaeus's eyes fly wide as they strides over the distance between the two of you.

Something prickly climbs up your spine, but you shove it away. "Yes, do you remember him?"

They kneel by your knee, attention on the book in your hand. Tabaeus almost puts their hands on your leg, but hesitates and lets them fall to the couch cushion beside your leg instead. Their lips press together in thought, before they answer, "It is muddy."

You can't determine whether that is better than foggy or not. At least muddy implies there's something there to grasp, you suppose. Tabaeus's red eyes flutter shut, trying to pull the memories forth. Their head dips forward, their forehead almost touching your thigh. "I remember he was sweet, in person. A kind soul, but invariably a coward."

Their hand rises from the couch, softly touching their own lips. "He tasted of coffee and smoke and chocolate."

Something in your chest twinged, hearing such soft words about someone else coming from Tabaeus's lips. It almost sounds as if they are speaking of an old lover. Perhaps they were, you realize. Maybe you haven't gotten to it yet, in the journal. Or maybe Kieran was careful and didn't detail it in writing, considering the time and who would be the object of the doctor's affection.

Despite yourself, you find the question lighting from your lips, "What happened to him?"

"I... I am not sure," Tabaeus admits, their red eyes opening, but still not focused as their brow knots. They were still searching their muddled, conflicting memories. You watch as they raise a hand to their chest, rubbing along the spot where the autopsy scar cleaved their chest.

Though your stomach drops as they press at their own scar, you're not satisfied with that answer. With pursed lips, you turn your eyes back to the journal, lest Tabaeus's large, allegedly innocent, gaze interrupts your almost-damning information. "You told Kieran you had problems with your memory, as well. In 1882. That's almost 140 years of you having issues with your memory, Tabaeus."

"What?" Tabaeus breathes and you hazard a glance at them. The furrow in their brow has deepened, as if this is genuinely news to them.

"What am I supposed to believe?" You press, shaking your head as your tone further solidifies. "That you haven't had consistent memory for that long? Or that this is some sort of trick you like to play on humans?"

Your words make Tabaeus's focus swing to your face, their eyes wide with shock and pain. As if you even suggesting something like that was a slap to their face.

"Please, believe me, amata." Their voice crackles with desperation. This time, their hand does land on your knee, squeezing it gently. "I swear to you, I am not playing a trick on you!"

"That's a tall order, all things considered," you say, your attention falling to where their hand touches you. Their gaze follows yours and, as if previously unaware of the contact, Tabaeus jerks their hand away. A small part of you aches as they do so.

Slowly, the vampire tilts their gaze back to you, searching for something. "You think I am tricking you?"

Your eyes are finally drawn to Tabaeus's gaze, the pain that crimps their features makes their already obvious exhaustion worse. Do you think Tabaeus is tricking you?

Something in you can't give a certain yes, just as you can't give a certain no. As you think, your teeth sink into your lower lip. Why would a vampire go to such ends, just to get blood? Especially since Tabaeus could easily enthrall you and essentially make you their unyielding bloodbag. They have relegated a good chunk of their fortune to you, allowed you to buy a house, and seem into it when you are more domineering over them.

Or was it all a joke? A prank? Something to amuse themselves. Get a caring human to give them blood, willingly, while never having to fess up to their murderous past? That doesn't seem like the Tabaeus you know. Though you can't be certain the Tabaeus you know isn't a farce, there's something in you that's more sure of the vampire than it was in earlier instances of your partnership.

"I don't know what to think," you softly admit, rubbing the bridge of your nose as you set the journal to the side. "After last night, how heatedly you talked about Ewan, or even just werewolves in general, you talked like someone I didn't know."

"I, too, felt disconcerted." Tabaeus doesn't even hesitate in the confession. They heave a heavy sigh, their fingers fidgeting with the fabric of the couch. "I apologize for my behavior. I do not know what happened."

Your lips press together at the admittance, wondering how genuine their words were. Or if they were looking for an easy out in the situation. Again, something in you believes them. Maybe it's better to say something in you wants to believe them. But skepticism keeps you a little wary.

"I didn't feel like myself. I felt strange." Tabaeus shook their head. Their hand rises to their temple, tapping there. "There were clashing thoughts in my head. Rage and fear and disgust and hate. All for a person I never met who was a species I don't recall interacting with."

How Tabaeus talks about their experiences makes you think about how Dr. Bennett described their memories. As something detached from Tabaeus. As things spanning across multiple time periods.

That, coupled with their out-of-character reaction, feels like hints. As if you're closer to unraveling what it is about Tabaeus that makes them a mystery.

Once more, it sounds as if Tabaeus's memories - or some of them - are not their own. More than ever, that feels like the correct answer, but not the entirety of it. There's something you're missing. Something that is tantamount to understanding Tabaeus.

Pain throbs at your temples as your stomach cramps. With a deep breath, you loosen the thoughts from the grip of your concentration. The journal revealed more than you were prepared for. You should have planned better and eaten something first.

"I need breakfast," you finally mumble, realizing you have left Tabaeus hanging. You offer them an awkward smile, just as your stomach grumbles.

"As do I," Tabaeus sighs, a small and fond smile tilting at their lips. "Do you trust me to drink from you? Or should I suffice with cereal?"

"You're making me breakfast if I'm making you breakfast." Your retort is more playful than you feel, but you still muster the energy to stick your tongue out at the vampire. A little tension in Tabaeus's shoulders eases, relieved at the return of a more joking element to your interactions. Just before they move to stand, and perhaps even lean over you to latch onto your neck, you put out your arm. "Let's try my inner elbow this time, though. I want to go places and having to bandage my neck is such a pain."

The vampire settles back on their heels again, accepting your arm in their cool fingers. They hold you gently, giving you ample freedom to pull away if you change your mind. There's half a beat, where Tabaeus seems to be testing the waters, before they whisper, "You are too kind, amata."

You're about to ask facetiously if you're also a coward, like Kieran, but Tabaeus sinks their teeth into the flesh of your inner elbow. A sharp gasp escapes your lips, the pain sudden and bright in your synapses. Your head falls back against the couch, as your eyes flutter shut. Tabaeus waits, seeing if you'll stop him, before they begin to suckle.

That odd sensation of the blood pulled from your veins courses through you, making your stomach somersault. Though your toes curl, in a confusing mixture of intimate enjoyment and excitement, your stomach lurches with faint nausea. It's probably not a good idea to do this on an empty stomach, you realize.

The seepage of memories, you find, is less than when Tabaeus is latched to your throat. They are mistier. As if they're projected onto a fog, instead of a solid surface. It reminds you of a laser light show caught by clouds.

Some are memories you have seen before, in your feeding sessions. But there's always a new one to view.

Tabaeus parts from your elbow sooner than you expect. Or maybe you're just a little dazed, you realize, as you blink and lift your head up. There's darkness at the corners of your vision, but you see Tabaeus rise to his feet. They stoop over you, pressing their forehead to yours. There's a distinct beat when you believe they'll continue leaning and catch your lips against theirs.

But they don't, leaving a mingling of disappointment and relief meshing in your head.

"What would you like for breakfast?" They merely ask and you faintly smell the copper-infused heat on their breath.

"Crepes with hazelnut spread and bananas," you say, mostly as a joke as your lips curve at the corners. You don't anticipate the thoughtful look that crosses Tabaeus's features.

They cock their head to the side as they straighten. "Is there a recipe available I may reference?"

For a second, you narrow your eyes up at them, wondering if they are fucking with you. Tabaeus doesn't appear to be joking. And, honestly, you cannot say no to crepes.

You really should get Tabaeus a phone, you realize, as you pull yours from your pocket. After a bit of searching and scrolling, you find an easy looking recipe and hold it out to them. Tabaeus graciously takes the phone with a nod.

"It will be available soon," Tabaeus murmurs and turns to head into the kitchen.

Settling back onto the couch, you sigh and consider the actual chances you'll get an unburnt breakfast. It was hard to argue against Tabaeus's quiet assuredness. As you sink further into the couch, your eye catches on the journal.

Your thoughts loll about Dr. Kieran Bennett's words, the way he phrased things, what his relationship to Tabaeus was. There's a part of you certain the doctor wasn't entirely truthful in his entries. Whether he was taking care due to the time period and homophobia or due to the subject matter involving a 'vampyr,' you're not sure.

Although, the mental trek makes your considerations turn to Tabaeus and the subject of their jealousy last night. You jerk upright as a sudden thought careens through your head. "Hey! Don't you think about deleting Ewan's number, either!"

The rummaging around in the kitchen quiets and there seems to be a thoughtful pause. "Well, I was not planning to, but if that is an option..."

"Tabaeus!" You warn, as you push yourself off the couch and head to the kitchen. There the vampire grins at you and holds your phone high, out of your reach. They wiggle it, in teasing taunt.

The sigh you heave is put-upon as your gaze flicks from your phone to Tabaeus's face. Crossing your arms and leaning your hip against the counter, you choose a smarter route than pouncing on the vampire. "I'm trusting you to not delete his number. Okay?"

"Okay," Tabaeus sighs, lowering the phone. There's clashing emotions on their face. A sense of pride fighting against a small temptation. They hold your phone so you can see the screen, which hasn't left the recipe. "You can trust me not to hurt you, amata."

"Holding you to it," is all you manage to say before Tabaeus turns back to the stove, cooking the breakfast you requested.

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