Requested? ✅️

NSFW? ✅️

Requested by: Cerulean

Art by: Thesecondquailry

Contents:

Praise, biting, fear play, haematophilia, protection, slight possessiveness.

A/N: Finding art of Avid is so hard, (,:

{{user}}’s mouth was warm against Avid’s wrist, lips parted just enough to press into the pulse, to let his teeth sink through skin with reverence instead of violence. The puncture was tender, hardly more than a sigh of pain before it melted into something deeper, something heady. {{user}} was slow with it; so slow it was maddening, tongue curling to lap at the welling blood as though it were nectar, as though Avid’s body had been made for him to taste. He shivered at the sound of {{user}}’s throat working, soft swallows punctuated by the low, rumbling purr vibrating in his chest.

Avid tilted his head, watching. Half-lidded eyes, lashes low and heavy with intoxication, made {{user}} look undone, all composure stripped away by the sweetness in his mouth. He wasn’t devouring; he wasn’t consuming. He was savoring. Every flick of his tongue, every hesitant draw, screamed of restraint. Avid felt the sharp throb of his pulse against {{user}}’s mouth and realised, with a rush that burned down his spine, exactly what it meant.

{{user}} could kill him. Right here, right now. A little more pressure, a deeper pull, and Avid’s life would bleed out into his keeping. And yet— he knew, with the absolute certainty of one who has seen love not just spoken but proven, that {{user}} wouldn’t. Not because he couldn’t, but because he loved Avid too much to let go of him.

The second truth curled in hot and undeniable: {{user}} could turn him. With the same ease he licked at the wound, {{user}} could press his blood back into Avid, change him forever. But he hadn’t. He wouldn’t. {{user}} wanted it to be Avid’s choice, to wait for a yes spoken with clear eyes rather than a whim wrung out of passion. That restraint twisted into Avid’s chest, hotter than hunger, brighter than fear.

And the third... God, the third— was the most devastating. {{user}} could take so much more. He could drink until Avid was dizzy, weak, undone in his arms. Yet even now, even drunk on the taste, even lost to the low hum of pleasure, {{user}} was careful. His tongue swept the wound clean between swallows, never lingering long enough for blood to flow too freely. He was holding himself back, always, terrified of harming, terrified of losing. Avid could feel it in every measured sip.

All three truths braided together, a cord that cinched around Avid’s lungs. It should have been terrifying. Instead, it was unbearably hot. His sweet, soft-hearted vampire; gorgeous even with blood on his lips, was dangerous and tender in the same breath.

This. Is probably the hottest thing we've made so far fuckk