Commissions for @vvhenan of their Vampire the Masquerade fic, Terror Management! That is so cool that they've written so much for their world and I'm so excited I got to be a small part of it! Thank you so much!!
Characters shown here:
Khadija Al-Kindi, Corvo and Tuuli, Blossia
Artamo, Kamran, Aerin
Kincade, Mara, Margaret
Kevin Jackson, Aicha Rana, Abraham DuSable
Eleventh Hour | Vampire: The Masquerade - Bloodlines 2
The metaphorical eleventh-hour actually reached the Court of Seattle closer to about four in the morning. So, either fashionably late or nineteen hours early, depending on who you asked.
Or: Safia, on a razor's edge, with everything she destroyed herself to save lying in ruins at her feet, steps back from the brink.
It's too late for too many.
Note: Hello!! Here is a short fic with Federico! Pre embrace Federico, so he's still human here. One moment in his life that brought him a lot of joy. He likes animals, dogs especially so he deserves a little fur baby :3. Here are some soft moments with the new puppy! There could be more fics with these two in the future, gotta also think of the name, but yeah! Building Federico's character and showing his love for animals! ^^
First fic for Federico! I hope I did good! :]
Please enjoy! <3
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It was a rainy day, yet Federico needed to get his lunch. He forgot his umbrella, so his hoodie had to be of help. Luckily for him, the diner place he usually went to wasn't far away, so he wasn't terribly soaked. His usual order was a grilled cheese with extra cheese, pancakes and coffee or tomato sauce pasta. This time he went with grilled cheese and a glass of ice tea. Due to rain, there weren't many people, just a few locals which was perfect for Federico. He always preferred when it wasn't crowded.
The rain seemed to pick up its pace by the time he finished his food, but he knew he couldn't stay for too long. He had things to do for his studies and it could take him hours for that. All he wanted was to enjoy his hobby that he started. It was drawing animals and writing random things when he would get inspired to do so.
So he paid for his food, and headed out. Yeah, the weather didn't calm down, people were hurried on the streets, cars occasionally honking, it was like the rain had an impact on people. Federico noticed the stray dogs that were hiding near the alley around the dumpsters, just trying not to get soaked from the rain, and he would often bring them some food to help them out, but he didn't have anything on him now. He still trotted towards them, just to check up on them.
The dogs greeted him with tail wags and immediately licked his hands, nuzzling against him. Even if they were a bit dirty, they still deserved head pats.
“I'll bring some food later, okay? I'm a bit in a hurry now,” Federico murmured as he rubbed one dog’s back.
However, he heard an unfamiliar and small whine coming from further away from a dumpster. It sounded far smaller than these dogs. Curiosity was pulling him towards the noise, walking towards it until he noticed a small brown coated puppy curled up against the trash. It looked neat, like it wasn't a full stray, or at least not for too long.
“Hey,” Federico whispered, slowly crouching and offering his hand. “You're so small…” The puppy was hesitating at first, but Federico was patient and not pushy. After a minute, the puppy sniffed his fingers, a little tail pointing up and wagging. It had a very soft, a bit curly, brown fur, ears down, but it was looking like a mix of golden retriever and another similar breed.
Deep down, Federico knew the puppy wouldn't survive alone outside, especially if the other dogs didn't accept it. He knew his landlord didn't accept animals, but dammit all, he couldn't leave this little creature outside. Not after it kept whining and trying to get into his lap. It was adorable, the pointy small tail kept wagging, and the little noises were melting his heart.
“You know what… how about you come with me?” Federico asked, picking it up and it let out a little bark. He kept the puppy pressed against himself to keep it warm, but he felt bad for the other dogs. “I'll be back later, I promise.” The dogs barked softly, and he took that as agreement.
He quickly arrived back home, thankfully no one was around as he walked upstairs to his apartment. He ignored the fact he was soaked, his only focus now was the puppy in his hands.
“You'll have to be quiet. Well… just try your best not to make much noise,” Federico said, placing the puppy on the floor and he wanted how it explored around, sniffing and trotting happily. “I know it's not much, but I hope you'll like it.” It was a small apartment, enough for him, but it was cozy.
He observed the puppy, how it was making itself comfortable in his apartment, maybe a little too comfortable since it crouched down into a position that Federico didn't register at first.
“Wait! No, don't!” Yeah, the puppy peed in a corner of the room. “Seriously? That's how you thank me?” Federico picked the small creature up, checking it before he cleaned the mess with paper towels. It wasn't too much of the mess, but still.
“So you're a little girl, huh? I'll take this as your way of thanking me.” He wasn't mad, he actually thought it was funny that it happened. The puppy shook her body and let out a small bark. “Okay, I get it,” he chuckled.
Other than that, he didn't have a bed or something similar for her. He had some dog food that he bought for the strays so that was good. “How about I wash you and then we figure out the rest?”
Federico brought her into his bathroom, placing her in the bathtub, and thankfully, she didn't protest that much. She was playful, trying to bite the water, trying to climb out but she was too small. She was funny, Federico probably laughed more today than in a whole month.
After she was washed, he dried her off with a towel he picked and decided it would be hers.
“Alright,” Federico sighed as he let her in the living room, and she charged past him. “I'm sure you're hungry and lucky for you I have dog food. I help out your friends.” He still wasn't sure for how long she was outside with the other dogs, he didn't see her before, so he assumed she was dropped off by previous owners. Well, she was looking happy now.
He poured some dog food into one of his bowls since he didn't have dog bowls, but it would do. The puppy gladly ate her food, the sound of her chewing sounded cute, and thankfully, the dry pieces of food weren't too big but just right for her size.
Some time had passed, Federico just couldn't stop looking at the small bundle of fur walking around and wagging her tail when she'd look over at him. He was supposed to be doing his studies, but really, he was just happy he helped a puppy. He allowed her on the couch obviously, stroking through her soft fur and she seemed to really like him already. She curled up on his lap, resembling a little fur ball.
“I guess I'm not moving now,” Federico murmured to himself, gently patting her. “We'll just have to be careful… I don't want my landlord to kick us out. He doesn't like animals.” He wasn't fond of the old man, but he had to survive somehow and this was the only place he could afford. He didn't want this little puppy to get hurt outside, she was small, other dogs probably didn't know how to take care of her and the streets just weren't safe enough. It was meant to happen, for Federico to find her.
“Hm… I'll have to give you a name.” He was already thinking about some, but none of them seemed right. “I'll have to get to know you more before that, alright? But you'll have a pretty name, I just know it.”
Federico knew he wanted to keep her, he always wanted a dog after all and animals were always better friends than people. He was glad he found her and managed to help. He just hoped no one would find out he has a dog, which was going to be a little difficult because of his studies, but he didn't want to think about that now.
Summary: Clement Gray (OC - bio here) loses a patient who looks like his sire and has a self-destructive episode. His protectiveness over LaCroix pulls him out of it. Image Source
TW: minor character death in a medical setting, thoughts of suicide, dissociation, lots of negative self-talk
The woman looks so soft even under the harsh lights of Trauma Care. Her short-cropped curls frame a face in the shape of a heart. She’s the spitting image of Sorcha, the sire whose soul sleeps dead inside of Clement Gray. And it’s been many, many minutes since she flatlined.
Ultimately, it only takes one person to wrestle the defibrillators out of Clement’s hands. But that person has to be a kindred. Clement has already bested three of his human coworkers and nearly electrocuted one of them on accident in his furious efforts to keep trying.
He gets out as soon as he realized that the woman is not coming back. Her vivid green eyes stare upward, unmoving. He doesn’t even know her name and now she’s gone, she’s gone because he was too late to help her. And Clement is an absolute hazard now.
He puts himself in the bathroom, much the way one puts hazardous waste in its proper safety disposal box.
He makes a strange noise too quiet to be a wail. Guilt presses against the back of his eyes like a physical nausea. In the mirror, his aura writhes violently with red and black pulsations. All three eyes are flooded onyx from the pupil dilation brought on by rage. He can feel his humanity slipping away, and whether it’s because of the loss of life, or because of his vicious response to his own guilt, he can’t say. But he looks at what’s in the mirror and all he can do is hate. Kill, says the beast. Kill whoever let that woman die. That would be him.
He's seen people looking this way plenty of times, and he found the beauty in it without even trying. LaCroix, for one. He doesn’t want to resent anyone for a fury like this, even himself, not ever. But here he is resenting it, and he’d better stop looking at himself or he’ll frenzy bad enough to break the glass (which is not his, and probably expensive).
At some point, he gets himself into a bathroom stall where he can’t cause a scene. At some point after that, he’s on the tile, slumped back against the wall. When did that happen? He can’t tell if there are people coming in and out of the surrounding stalls or if it’s just his imagination. It’s too chaotic inside his own head to distinguish that from the echoing footsteps around him. He’ll be useless tonight and maybe for several nights unless he does something.
Come on now. Don’t be a fucking coward who can’t even reach out for support. Do what you’d have Sebastian do. He slips something out of his pocket without looking down, still staring blankly at the stall door. A burner phone. LaCroix hates them. He’ll be glad for the excuse to throw both of theirs away.
He tries to type, “I’m not okay,” but it keeps slipping away into “are you okay” which frankly doesn’t make any sense as a first message. Instead he manages, “This a good time?”
“This had better be of the upmost urgency, Gray.” That’s a no.
Ugly thoughts break in. He’s already annoyed. He’ll hate you if you complain about your own mistakes like it isn’t your fault in the first place. He’ll hate you RIGHTLY.
No he won’t, stop it, stop thinking the worst of him. What, does no one except YOU have any mercy?
It’s not thinking the worst of him to think he’d hate your damned-to-hell self-pity. The man has taste.
He can’t tell which side of him is the beast preying on his own shame, and which is his better self. But it doesn’t matter. Clement feels something twist inside his gut again, enough pain to cut through the guilt. Just be honest. “I lost a patient.”
“I’m sorry.” Then, “It’s never easy. But such is the nature of taking responsibility for our fellow kindred. Such is life, and unlife.”
It should help, but it doesn’t. The thought of dismissing a life as easily as that sets him physically shaking. After pushing air in and out of his lungs a few times, he forces out a reply. “You’re right. But I can’t take that stance on it at the moment. Just not there yet.” That’s not the whole truth. How can he convey how bad things really are? “She wasn’t a kindred, she was human. She looked like my sire. I feel dangerous right about now.”
There’s no immediate answer. He can almost feel Sebastian’s impatience, his judgement – whether real or imagined. Suddenly it occurs to Clement that he’s not thinking about the girl anymore, he’s only thinking about himself, his own guilt, and guilt piles on top of guilt until it wrenches at him sickeningly again. Think about her, don’t think about her – it doesn’t matter. She’s dead. Nothing he can do will fix it. Nothing will help at all, except maybe to replace himself with another Salubri who won’t mess up so often. Find someone. Anyone. Go get diablerized before this can happen again.
LaCroix probably already threw away the burner phone. Maybe Clement is alone now. Better get his legs to unbend and get off the fucking floor.
He tries to send his legs the “stand up” signal. It’s not working. Not enough motivation. Why should he stand up, why should he walk out and be in public, if he’s the kind of person who lets someone die on his watch?
The phone buzzes, finally. “Forgive me, this isn’t exactly my specialty. A gentler tone is called for. What do you need?”
“No, it’s okay. I’m springing this on you like it’s nothing. You can tell me to stop talking, okay? But if you want to help, give me a task. Anything. I just want to do something. Be useful.”
There’s no hesitation this time. “Come home at once.” Clement's heart twists in desperate gratitude. The picture of Sebastian in his mind morphs: no longer scowling at the phone impatiently, but nervous, compassionate, probably pacing in front of his picture windows. How could he ever have thought otherwise? When it comes to matters between the two of them, Sebastian is really so kind.
“That’s not what I mean. Something for you.”
“I need you with me. You can’t worry me like this.” He types and erases several times. “Please.”
A switch flips instantly in Clement. “I’m coming. Destroy the phone.”
The legs are working now. He’s still zoned out badly enough that he’s losing pockets of time, but he’s moving. He’s in the hallway, saying something to his supervisor that he won’t remember later, about how he’s not fit to work at the moment. She’s far too kind in response, by his estimation. Then he’s at his locker, once again dressed in the clothes that LaCroix hugged that evening before he left for work. They still smell like his cologne.
Outside in the rain, he starts to come back to himself. He doesn’t trust himself to drive and calls a cab instead, but at least he’s not fighting his beast anymore. He’s in harmony with it. His own reflection looks back at him again, from the rain-streaked window this time. It’s still pouring off a radiant darkness. But Sebastian’s probably looks the same way right now, out of fear for his sake. How many soldiers did Sebastian lose, in how many wars? And yet the Prince deserves so much happiness.
Yes, reason is coming back now. How could Clement hurt anyone who even resembles the man he loves? He won’t, he can’t – he’ll stand against anyone who would. I am an instrument for his defense. I am needed. Fuck you if you come between Sebastian and what he needs.
The beast and the man chant in unison: Make it home for him. For him. For him. For him.
Stars twinkled in Lyda’s eyes. A sliver of them was visible through the jagged silhouettes of trees. The man’s teeth were in her neck, she couldn’t move. Something froze her limbs like ice. It wasn’t terrible, a pounding satisfaction flowed from his bite, causing her brain to buzz. Despite it she saw the edges of the trees, waving against the umber sky dotted with sparkling worlds. Her mind swirled as it faded.
Finally she fell limp. Lyda’s head slumped left over her shoulder. The view of the ridge caught her eye. Velvet white painted over shadows of the trees and hills. A mountain pool caught the sparkle of its gaze and Liza’s dying heart fluttered.
“I’m glad I can die here” she thought without hesitation. In that moment too she chose to embrace it. She drank in the view as much as she could.
“You’re so beautiful” he cooed. This stranger she met at the dance, he was so handsome and entranced her but now… she didn’t want his attention, she wanted to fade into the trees watching the ridge. “I can’t let your light leave the world” he lamented. His tone was mournful as he bit her again.
Lyda’s vision went faded, The stars still twinkling. Then she tasted it, hot thick iron flooded her mouth. She withdrew but it pressed against her tongue, flowing into her gut. The euphoria remained and as this new life entered she shook with energy and excitement.
So I'm a slut for Qadir. There's literally just one fic for him out there and I can't deal. This was born in my head a s horny little oneshot, then a two-part and now I'm thinking of many chapters more. We shall see. I am begging you fro validation, like five other people care about him except for me, and I need support.
Summary: Reader loves Qadir. Qadir loves reader's blood and maybe something else, but you know angst and all that.
Chapter summary: horny.
Wordcount: 3292
Warning: 18+ only please, Blood play kinda, vampires, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (vampires don't need condoms, but you do)
You enter the flat with arms full of groceries, knocking the door closed with your foot.
“Meow.”
“Hey, lil man,” You say to the cat, trying to guess where he is in the dark so as not to tread on him.
You hop around the hallway and press the lightswitch with your knee. Grace impersonated.
The day was hard. Work, more work, annoying people on every form of public transportation, annoying colleagues.
You move into the kitchen, putting things out of your bags away as you go.
“You won’t believe the day I had,” you say to the cat.
He jumps onto the kitchen counter, listening intently.
You peel off your hoodie and throw it on the table.
“First, my dumbass boss decided that all the work I did last week wasn’t up to his standards, even though he okayed it all on Friday, so now I have to re-do the whole motherrfucking thing. Then, I spilled coffee on myself while running up from the cafe - my fault, but I'm still pissed. And then…”
You stop talking, one hand on a packet of milk. You feel a slight breeze coming from your room, running along your ankles.
You smile, shove the milk into the fridge and quietly make your way to the bedroom.
He’s sitting in the plush chair in the dark corner of the room.
His body is half covered by the shadow, only the bottoms of his elegant trousers and his shoes visible, illuminated by the light from the hallway . You can discern the slight glint of his pendant, hanging on his deliciously uncovered chest. He needs to start buttoning that shirt up all the way.
“Hi,” You say, trying to suppress a smile.
“Hello,” He says, not hiding his own. A charming, predatory, ever so slightly warm smile, “We need to work on your stealth skills.”
“Yours, too,” You say, “You left the window open.”
“Intentionally. You were stomping like a rhino on your way to the bedroom.”
“I practically hovered!” You counter, feigning offence.
He smiles wider.
“We’ll work on it, I promise, darling.”
The “darling” always gets you. The way he purrs it, like he truly, really means it. And he does, sort of, but it still hurts oh so sweetly. You try to push the philosophical debate burning in your brain down, and concentrate on the man before you.
“Have you been waiting long?”
“A few hours.” He stands up and slowly walks towards you, his stride elegant, full of power. His jacket is discarded on your bed, his sleeves rolled up neatly, those annoying three buttons unbuttoned, revealing dark, thick chest hair.
“Got bored?” You’re suddenly very aware of the fact that you’re only covered by a lacy bra and jeans. Yes, the bra is thick and well made, none of that flimsy barely-there bullshit, but still. You hunch your shoulders instinctively.
“I read,” He says, getting closer, “Do you mind if I borrow The Secret History?”
“Not at all,” You smile, “It’s wonderful, we can talk about it when you finish it. I really like how it’s…”
He’s right in your space now, crowding you against the doorframe, and you have only a second to gather your thoughts as they’re racing through your head before he dips his head and kisses you hungrily.
You automatically wrap your arms around his neck and open your mouth, signing into him, relaxing into his embrace. His arms go around your waist and pull you into him. He is desperate, greedy - he hasn’t visited you in two weeks. It makes you ache to know he missed you too - he doesn’t have to say it. The way his cold skin warms up, heats up immediately as you kiss tells you everything. His breathing appears, then picks up and then he’s panting into you, pushing you harder against the door. Your panties were wet pretty much from the second you saw him, your pussy clenched as soon as he started walking towards you, but now you’re positively drowning. Drowning in him, in his smell, in his arms, in his needy kisses.
You pull away a fraction to ask him to make this horizontal, but he’s way ahead of you.
“Bed,” He says, panting and groaning softly. You can feel yourself get wetter, clenching desperately.
He picks you up - thank you, unnatural vampire strength, and carries you to the bed, nuzzling your hair. He puts you down and crawls over you, a black panther surveying its prey.
“Qadir,” You say, stretching your arms towards him. He leans down and gives you a deep, open mouthed kiss, and softly nudges your legs open, settling between them. He presses his pelvis to yours and you smile into the kiss. His pendant grazes your skin.
“I love the blush of life,” You murmur into him and lift your hips a bit, to rub against his erection.
“So do I, darling,” He whispers, his voice hoarse.
His silken hair falls in your face as he moves down, mouthing at your neck. You lean back, giving him access, bracing yourself for the initial pain of impact. But he just nuzzles your skin, licks a long, languid line from your collarbone to your chin, nips at your cheek, his breathing picking up.
“Don’t you want it?” You ask, chest heaving.
“I do,” He says, voice straining, “But later.”
“Tease.”
He chuckles in the darkness and nips at your shoulder. You look down at him, his dark eyes glistening in the dark.
“Open your mouth,” He says and you bite your lip in anticipation. He smiles and rolls his eyes, “No, not for that. Open it.”
You look at him, eyes wide, as he sits up between your knees. You lift yourself up on your elbows and open your mouth, sticking your tongue out. He shudders at the sight, his eyes half-closed.
“You are a horrible tease, my sweet one, “ He says, and before you can respond - he bites his wrist.
You gasp as a trickle of blood slithers down his arm.
“Drink,” Qadir says, lifting the cut to your lips. You spring up and grab his arm, press your mouth to the wound. You lap at it, the salty tang of blood coating your tongue and he moans. He moans like he does when he’s inside you, like he does when he’s pumping his fingers into you, like he does when you suck his cock, hungry for him. You drink, swallow the thick blood, and an unexplainable bliss hits you like a train. It fills your every sense, he fills your every sense. You can feel him inside your head, inside your veins, inside your stomach, you feel stronger, you feel beautiful and powerful, you feel so aroused you think you might burst. He pulls his wrist away with a groan and you let him, opening your mouth wide to pull in a few deep, ragged breaths. Your chin is smeared in red and you’re aching for him. He licks his wrist, closing the wound and pounces on you.
He falls you onto the bed and you wrap your legs around his waist. He starts to kiss you again, licking into your open, eager mouth. You moan unabashedly at his actions, at his roaming hands - on your thighs, squeezing, on your waist, pulling down your jeans and underwear, on your suddenly naked ass, up your stomach, pulling down your bra. He is ravenous, his skin hot now, his breathing panting, ragged, and you know he wants you so bad, so bad - just like you do him.
“I missed you,” You whisper into his hair - in these moments your cool and collected filter breaks down entirely and all you can do is pray the night never ends and he stays with you forever, makes you his slave.
He doesn’t respond - he never does when you say something affectionate. You know he won’t and it doesn’t hurt you anymore, even though you can feel a little pang of disappointment - but you squash it. Not now, not now, not now - you can brood on your unrequited love when he’s gone.
He says your name and you come back to reality, upset with yourself for drifting away.
“Yes?”
“Unbutton my shirt, baby,” He says, quietly. His voice is so tense, like his throat could snap from heat and pressure. You look at him, tracing his beautiful features with your eyes as your fingers go to the tiny buttons of his expensive shirt. You unbutton them, one by one, pacing yourself. You glance down. Oh, the chest hair - you just want to put your face into his chest and inhale, bite down lightly on his nipples, touch his soft skin.
You pull the fabric off his shoulders, taking in every movement of his - how his shoulder rolls to move out of the shirt, how he exhales in a rush to get back to your lips, how he presses his cock back towards you. You drag your nails down his chest, inching towards his belt.
“Qadir…” You moan, barely a whisper, and you feel him shudder softly and you smile to yourself. Any amount of power you have over this man brings you immense happiness.
“Unzip them,” He commands, just as you graze his fly with a tentative finger.
You don't lose any time in obeying and swiftly undoing his belt, the delicious sound of it’s clinking and the leather pulling against fabric not failing to arouse you. You unzip his trousers swiftly and push them down just enough to free his heavy cock from his underwear. You glance down, but your view is obstructed.
His left hand goes down and you feel a tug at your waistline. The jeans are finally pulled all the way down roughly, along with your underwear. He throws them aside and clamps a possessive hand onto your ass.
“Roll over,” You ask, and he smiles widely, looking at you. His eyes are dark, but almost glowing - he looks so beautiful like this, aroused, alive.
He doesn’t do as you ask, the tease, so you do it for him - the strength of his blood still egging you on - and straddle him, your hair tumbling out of your high bun. He immediately claws at it, latching his hand onto your scalp, pulling slightly - mine. Mine. Mine. You wish this is what he is thinking, and the song of his blood in you suggests it might be, but you’re never sure.
You lower your hips and rub your wet cunt on his cock and he jolts upwards, groaning, and grabs you tighter.
“You are so wet, my darling,” He whispers and pulls you down into his arms for more filthy kissing. His tongue is all over you, you can’t help it but moan and gasp into him and it heats your heart up that he squeezes you a bit harder with each sound you make.
You start to roll your hips slightly, dragging your aching clit along his hardness, and he meets your motions with gentle bucks of his own hips.
“Oh, my little one…” He says and pulls away, looking at your intently.
You freeze and stare at him, mouth open and bruised from his attacks. There’s something dark and swirling, hungry, unknown in his eyes and you will be damned if you don’t catch it.
“Come back here,” He says and pulls you back down, swiping his tongue along your lower lip.
You can’t wait anymore, so you rise slightly and angle him towards your entrance, teasing him with a few shallow pushes. He gasps and smiles, tries to push inside and you meet his motion, sinking onto him.
You moan, long and painful sounds, into each other. You feel full, you feel complete - you missed him so much. Two weeks of waiting, wanting, longing, worrying, two weeks of touching yourself at night, wishing your hands were his hands, your sighs were for his ears.
He’s finally here, here, here, inside you, enveloping you. His arms are tight vices around your body, pinning your arms to your sides, and you know you’ll be bruised and sore tomorrow and you revel in that knowledge.
You moan softly, unable to suppress the shallow breaths his rhythm punches out of you, and you can’t stop yourself from letting your mouth run.
“Oh, please, please…” You beg him, and he punctuates your pleas with kisses, one arm snaking down your back to grab at your hip.
“Yes, baby girl? What do you want?” He snaps his hips harder, “Tell me what you want, tell me, baby.”
He’s not sweating, he never does, but his skin is as hot as it can get, blushing, and his breathing as hard as it can go. His cock, hard and heavy and slick with your wetness slides easily into you and pushes all the right buttons. Your clit rubs against his pubic hair with every motion and you can feel yourself getting close.
“I want...I want…” you can’t articulate, how can you possibly wrap into mere words what you feel, what you need? you will go for the next best thing and just tell him, “you… I want… you, Qadir.”
You end his name on a filthy moan, your eyes rolling back into your head.
He growls softly into your ear and grazes your neck with his teeth. You can feel two protruding fangs and you push your neck further into his face, but he doesn’t bite. He just licks at your clavicle and pushes his hand between your bodies to rub at you. You immediately change your rhythm to get as much of his fingers and cock simultaneously, and he obliges.
“Darling,” He sighs, his hot breath fanning over your skin and it’s all you need to come, tensing up and pressing hard onto him.
You moan and stutter, your face falling into the crook of his neck, your body convulsing.
Hew keeps pumping slowly, his fingers tightly pressed against you, now unmoving.
“Can you hold on a bit more for me?” He asks.
“Yes, anything you want,” You slur, relaxing in his grip.
He laughs softly, thickly and quickens his pace a little, but it’s lazy, languid, he’s enjoying himself, enjoying you. He’s enjoying your post orgasm shuddering, your meowls and whimpers, how your body jerks when he moves his fingers.
He grips you and flips you easily, pressing you into the mattress. He fucks you deep and hard, every push and pull with a purpose.
“So soft and wet for me, baby girl,” He says, looking into your face. His eyes never stop on yours, they roam and kisses follow - to your lips, eyelids, forehead, cheeks, a deep wet kiss on the lips that just keeps going.
“Are you ready for me?” He asks, pressing his lips back to yours.
You hum in agreement and he moves quicker, rougher. You spread your legs wider, wrap them tightly around his waist and angle yourself towards him.
“Oh, darling, oh…” He moans.
His orgasms are powerful and all-encompassing, you always feel almost as if it’s more pleasurable than coming yourself - feeling him fall apart inside you. He’s not loud, he is growling and moaning softly right into your ear, groping you everywhere, pressing hard into you - and you can feel hot, thick liquid inside your cunt, trickling down your thighs and onto the sheets. You already know that you won’t wash them for as long as you can, just so you can sleep on top of his mess for a few days.
He’s panting and groaning quietly, holding you tight. You won’t want to let go - there’s no guessing if he’ll leave now and you’d rather not find out.
He stays on top of you for a full minute, allowing you to caress his back, stroke his hair. He nuzzles his face into yours like an animal and finally rolls off you.
He’s gorgeous. You can’t not look at him - whether he’s clothed or naked, his lean, strong body pulls you in. You can see every muscle, every scar, every dark little hair. He is slowly cooling down and you suddenly want to cry, but you’ll be damned if you allow yourself to cry in front of Qadir. You’ll be damned.
You look down. His cock is still hard, covered in thick, semi-transparent blood. It glistens on your inner thighs and his fingers and you feel aroused all over.
You want to talk to him, lean into him, pull the covers over the both of you and sleep with him, but you know it won’t happen. He might stay for a while and talk with you, drink from you, but he always leaves before sunset. You don’t know where he goes and when he’ll be back, but you will wait.
You put a tentative hand on his bicep. His skin is cool now, his breathing gone. His chest doesn’t rise or fall and you keep looking at it, trying to make yourself more used to the sight.
Qadir turns to you and smiles. A simple, open smile - just for you. You smile back and he stretches an arm to you, cups your face.
“My little darling,” He says and rubs his thumb on your skin.
“How are you?” You ask, “You’ve been gone a while.”
“Oh, you know,” He sighs, “Duties. Vampires to police, disputes to settle. Days to sleep away.”
You’d think he sounds sad if you didn’t know better. You want to ask him more, you want to know what’s eating at him. You want to keep him company and make his nights more pleasant.
Before you can find a way to do that, he turns and hovers over you. He moves the hair from your neck and sniffs at your skin.
“May I?” He asks and your heart clenches.
“Yes,” You say and incline your head to give him access.
The first second of it is always painful, but it’s a pain akin to a strike amidst ecstasy, just in the right place. And then - you float away. Then you can feel him drinking you, draining you. You know you might die and you welcome it. You are drugged and you are forgetting yourself by the second - the only thing you know is how good he makes you feel and how much you want to make him feel just as wonderful. You are willing to give him every last ounce of your precious blood, anything just so that he keeps his lips on you.
He pulls away and licks the punctures closed and your breathing is heavy and strained. Your eyes are glazed over and you want to straddle him once again and rub against him, but you have enough self control to restrain yourself.
You look at each other, both of you utterly happy and full of pleasures of flesh and blood.
“Stay,” You say, before you can stop yourself. This one silly word slips out between the tight gates of your restraint and you are terrified.
He seems to hesitate for half a second - but you convince yourself it’s your head playing tricks - then closes his eyes.
“No,,” Qadir says, “But I will put you to bed.”
You don’t know why he does this - it’s always his idea. He tucks you in and lies next to you, stroking your hair or talking to you gently about something you both find interesting until you can’t respond anymore and drift off. You suspect it’s his way of giving you something sentimental, something he doesn’t really have for you but feels he must provide if the blood games are to continue voluntarily.
And when you wake up, in the morning or in the night - he is always gone, and gone for days.
