anyways i’m annah YES THE H GOES ON THE END IT IS NOT A TYPO.
i’m 22years old
•••
Minors: i don’t mind if you interact with my everyday stuff, like fanfiction, headcannons, etc but if i EXPLICITLY SAY “minors don’t interact” please please please don’t. thanks.
•••
errmmm
i really like
milo like a lot a lot a lot
some things about me
my favorite colors are orange and green
i wear glasses (🤓this emoji is literally me)
my favorite band is pink floyd (THE LUNATIC IS ON THE GRASSSS THE LUNATIC IS ON THE GRASS🎵🎵)
i can do that thing when you whistle with your fingers
im double jointed.
i can speak a little Italian and Spanish
I am a Christen, if my opinions offend you there’s no need to be hateful, just block me.
"That's completely unrealistic." David grumbles from behind the sofa. He was on his way to do something long forgotten when his attention was once again caught by Angel's latest game on the tv.
"I cook so much more now, how dare you!" Angel sticks their tongue out at him, eyes not leaving the screen. "And stop hovering, come sit with me!"
"Alright alright." He says begrudgingly, immediately settling beside them into his spot, (that they left clear for him always) and very happily tucks up against them. "Why is your mii frying a jpeg of a whole green pepper?"
Angel can't help but giggle at his incredulous tone, "They're a culinary genius."
"Your mii is so weird." He grumbles, wrapping his arms around them loosely.
Angel snuggles closer into his grip with a small hum, focusing on the tv.
The room is quiet but for the chattering of the game. Angel almost thinks he's dozed off (despite how vehemently he would deny it) until-
"Why aren't we dating in the game?" He grumbles, clearly not asleep. "It's possible, I saw it in that trailer you showed me."
They shrug, "just not happened yet."
"Ash and his mate are already married on your island."
They look up at him, eyes glinting mischievously. "Are you jealous?"
"No." David huffs, resting his chin on their head, "I just never want there to be a world where I'm without you by my side."
Angel melts instantly, dropping the controller, they start peppering kisses all over his face. He lets them, chuckling with each one before he catches their hands in his. He presses a soft, deliberate kiss to each knuckle; paying extra attention to their ring finger, before capturing their lips in a searing kiss.
Angel hums happily against him. He finally pulls back and they gently bump their forehead against his.
"You're so sweet."
"Only for you." He whispers back.
They wink, "don't worry, your secret's safe with me."
Something in David switching on when you’re being a brat and bite his lip after he leaned in for a “hello” kiss. The next thing you know you’re hoisted over his shoulder and whisked away to closed doors.
David tracing his lips down your body, giving your soft flesh a gentle nibble every now and then and leaving marks to show that you’re his and no one else’s. The smirk he has as he leans back and admires his work has heat running to your core.
David spreading your legs apart with his strong, rough hands on your thighs. He teases you, nuzzling his nose on the plush of your thigh so close to the apex before giving it another little bite. The more you squirm under his touch the more he’s tempted to tease, blowing hot air onto your wetness and watching you moan at the feeling, desperate for anything to get you off.
David holding you up so you’re pretty much upside down on the bed, his face buried in between your legs as he sucks and laps at your juices, your legs wrapped around his head as you pull him closer. He growls into your heat, the taste making him drunk on pleasure.
David pounding you into the mattress, his chest flush against your back and his hands caging you on both sides of your head. There’s nowhere to run, not that you’d want to anyway. Each thrust is amplified by the sound of wet skin slapping. His heavy set balls slap right at your core with every movement of his hips as he thrusts into you. He muffles his own moans by biting down on your shoulder and neck, making your eyes roll to the back of your head.
Angel sleeps in nothing but their underwear most of the time. They run hot, first of all, but the main reason for this is because they love the feeling of David’s warmth under their skin - feeling it directly without any fabric in the way.
Every night, David will rub his large hands over their back first to make sure they’re warm enough. Then he’ll tuck them in against him, their head on his chest, legs tangled with his, and his arm holding them against him. Somehow their body seems to light up with warmth wherever he touches them - perhaps that’s the bond manifesting in unempowered form?
Most of the time it’s nothing sexual, just two mates enjoying each other’s warmth in the most direct way.
It’s another way of making sure to keep each other close.
No PDA Darlin’ turns into Yes PDA Darlin’ when they’re drunk.
And Sam is all for it.
He loves it when Darlin’ is all over him when they’re drunk, clinging onto him and climbing onto his lap when he’s sitting down. They don’t talk much, but their actions do all the talking for them. It’s like they’re a cat with how much they’re rubbing up on him. It takes considerable effort just to push them away, not that Sam really wants to when they’re like this.
Even if they’re in front of the pack, they’re still grabbing onto Sam’s arm and nuzzling into his shoulder.
You’d think that Milo and Ash would poke fun at them about it, but they never mention it after, because the one time they did they got a death stare from Darlin’ that sent shivers down their spine and they promptly shut up.
honey who's a crybaby and lived with the embarrasment of that their entire life. Their stoic and deadpan nature always helped them mask the stinging of their eyes after someone raised their voice, or a movie scene hit them particularly hard, or a minor inconvenience ended up being the last straw.
+ guy who doesn't try to baby or coddle them when it happens, and gives them their space to compose themselves. sometimes he'll ignore it entirely unless they seek him out. it took a lot of communicating for him to understand how to handle it, and honey couldn't be more grateful for his patience
So last night I was on Patreon looking for something to listen to, am I tripping or was there not like 3 versions of a Gavin BA? I thought there was and there was nothing to be found when I looked, maybe they got taken down?
synopsis. spoiled vampire prince milo rebane comes home to you after restocking on some blood bags. you're there, but you're not. chaos ensues.
fooliverse!milo rebane x sweetheart.
cw. 2.7k wc. fooliverse milo pov & mild fooliverse spoilers (second person pov). suggestive content (flashbacks, not overtly explicit). light choking (action and references to). slight physical altercation but neither party is harmed. explicit swearing. gn sweetheart (they/them). it's a ficlet, so creative liberties were taken.
MDNI and do not feed my work to AI.
"Yo, sweetheart!"
Milo's voice echoes through the door, following the click of the undone lock and the creak of a door opening.
"You won't believe what I just heard from Sam and Porter. There's some sorta internal conflict happenin' in the Bennets! Might be related to the shit you were investigatin', though it just sounds like the stick up Christian's creepy ass is finally being shit out to haunt him. Could you believe that? 'Bout time he got some fuckin' karma."
Groceries, or stocking up, was always such a bother. Really, the only good thing about it was catching up with the rest of the vamps. They've always got great stories—they, being Sam and Porter.
He snorts. If Porter heard that from him, his head would inflate to an insane degree. He'd probably float off, if that lover of his (treasure, Porter called them) didn't hold onto him to keep him grounded.
"Oh, and–"
Something's off.
Milo only knows this because when he enters his place, groceries (see: blood bags) and all, you're no longer on the couch.
No wide-eyed, candlelight smile of a thousand portable suns gleaming at him the second he enters the door. No chirpy reply, no scattered belongings as you messily comb through whatever shit the Department has you assigned to now. It's like you up and vanished, Department mystery and all.
(Has he ever told you how much he despises your employer? Yes. Many times, as a matter of fact. Will he ever stop reminding you? No.)
Still. You're not in the living room.
And he can't feel your aura.
Well—he can, but it's so infinitesimal he pauses and wonders if you're even in the place to begin with.
"Sweets?" He tries again, tentative. The door shuts behind him, almost as quiet as the dead air.
The paper bags crinkle when he sets them down on the ground, kicks his shoes off.
"Hey, Sweetheart? You in here?"
You don't reply. Or, rather, there's dead silence.
"Where'd you go?" Milo mutters, blinking as he treads through the living room.
Again, no reply.
Stealths naturally have an incredibly minute presence, yes, but he'd like to think that for the months he's known you, he can detect your signature from the slightest pulse alone. Maybe it's also because your control is less refined than other stealths, but he can locate you from a mile away.
(He still thinks back to the panicked look on your face the first time you two met. Guilt still swells in his chest from time to time when reminiscing, but it isn't so bad now, when you've got your own compartment in his bleeding heart.)
Whatever the case is, you could breathe and his vampiric senses would pick up on it in an instant.
Call it romance, or something.
(Sappy shit he'd roll his eyes at every other day, but when it's you? Okay, it's kind of cute.)
He normally can sense it off a hair. But the thing is he can't right now. And it's kinda sorta maybe slightly freaking him out.
Cautiously, as if worried he'd somehow scare you away (wherever you are), he tiptoes to the couch. His hand meets the cushion, over the faintest pressure imprint on the surface. It's warm.
When he goes to check the kitchen, you're not there. Nothing got moved around there. That ticks off a few things. You didn't try burning the place down. You didn't go through his pots and pans. Or another way of putting it: you left no trace of any disaster.
Again, he can feel you; he knows you're somewhere here, you're still inside the place for God's sake, but for some God forsaken reason you chose to hide.
"We playin' hide and seek and you didn't think to send me a message beforehand?" He calls, a little smile on his lips. Well, catching you would be a fun ordeal, at least.
You seemed to like the thrill of his fangs when he bit you before; the thrum of your heartbeat rang loud in his ears the first time he sank his teeth in. The saccharine burst coating his palate still lives in the back of his head, the smooth fickleness lingering on his tongue. If he closed his eyes (which he just did), he could taste the tang of your blood when your excitement would spike and the memory of your thighs flush to his devouring mouth...
Okay, enough of that. Focus, Milo.
Grumbling at his own lack of self-control, he steels his resolve. One by one, each room in his place is checked. And with every passing room that he can't quite feel you or the remnants of any ebbing aura, the next room's doorknob splinters just a little bit more.
The bathroom. Zero.
The backyard. Zilch.
The hallway storage closet. Nada.
Hell, he even looked in his office. Nothing! Gee, you couldn't at least act interested enough to snoop through a guy's confidential documents?
He's just about to dial your phone before he feels it. It happens delicately. He pauses outside of the bedroom. Like a faint melody, a hum ripples through his body. An inner calling, of sorts. A known one, at that.
Even though it vanished as quickly as it came, Milo's grinning victoriously (despite there not even being an agreed-upon game of hide and seek yet).
"Gotcha."
He opens the door.
Again, silence. There's no tells when he pads in, quiet as a mouse, sharp eyes trailing over the crisp, untouched bedsheets and the desk with all his gaming equipment.
Been a while since he touched those. Although recently, at your insistence, he got back to playing some old games of his. Maybe he'll hop on the old multiplayer ones with David and Asher if they're ever free (and if he grows a pair and calls them).
"Sweetheart," he drawls, smug smirk and all. "Come out, come out, wherever you are."
At this point, he's nonplussed by the clamorous silence. If anything, it spurs him on. Your core is pulsing in that way it always does, though the pulsations are vague and only dimly felt if he concentrated. It's almost impressive how deeply he has to inhale and quiet his mind; only then can he pick up on your trail.
Have you been doing some super secret Department training with a Seer? When'd you learn to cloak yourself so well? He's almost sure you're able to phase through stuff too if you're this good at concealment.
Briefly, Milo thinks of praising your improvement, but that can come after the fun part: catching you.
"Don't wanna come out? That's fine. Y'know I always find you." He shrugs, casually marching straight to the closet.
He gives you a moment to own up to it, like the gentleman he is. Licks his teeth, drags the muscle over a canine. Feigns patience, even.
Your core sings. His eyes narrow.
"Found you."
Unceremoniously (ceremoniously? He likes the dramatics!), he swings the closet door open. It's a comfortable but cramped space, no thanks to the articles strewn here and there, hangers and such. But more importantly—
"Aha, gotcha, sweetheart!"
—you're not there.
Milo pauses. Blinks.
His jaw drops. He immediately sputters a confused "the hell?" because, God, he was so sure he felt it—that magical tether that's bound him to you and you to him. Barely there, but singing like a chord with every step he approached the closet.
But no matter how hard he tries to focus now, that previous sensation was gone. And you're not there somehow, even though this is the last place you could possibly hide.
"The fuck, sweets? Where'd you go?" He mutters, completely dumbfounded. He reaches in, only to make sure—
A hand.
A hand latches onto his arm, nowhere in his line of sight but he catches the way it presses into the leather of his jacket. With force. He nearly laughs, thinks it's you before he feels the slice of a foreign magic signature.
It's instinct when he moves. His hand shoots out to where the wrist would be, grabbing on tight. His nerves spike the second he hears a gasp—whoever the fuck this is seems to forget their corporeality—and his vampiric strength kicks in as he wrenches them out from the closet.
Of course, the person tries to resist. He feels the second they try to slip back into the magic. The hand begins to slip through his forearm and his own hand starts to slacken around air, but Milo's quicker. His other hand shoots out on a rough estimate of where the person's head is and he grabs hold of what feels like a neck.
A loud thud echoes in the room as he falls to the ground with the invisible intruder with a grunt. Their legs are kicking out under him, so he straddles the person, holding them down. They aren't screaming, but he can hear the labored breathing and borderline arrhythmic heartbeat.
This had to be another stealth from the department. Ten times as skilled, enough to have nearly passed through his body and entirely concealed themselves.
A core, so intricately concealed, and magic pulses that were abstract at best. Abstract but strangely familiar. But he doesn't have the time to process that as his heart races, pinning down an intruder in his own bedroom. One of his hands hold them by the neck without much threat, the other grabbing the invisible hands to pin those down above their head, too.
Again. Familiar.
"What the fuck— No, who the fuck are you? How the hell did you get into my house?" He spits, and something fiery and red hot shoots into his brain.
You'd definitely be scolding him if you heard the way he was cursing up a storm right now. Heck, he could almost see your furrowed brow and surly pout. Still, he doesn't know where you are, so that isn't really helping his temper. Concern surges, desperate in his throat.
"Take the fuckin' magic off. You from the department?" Milo snarls, lowering his face to the person's face.
"The hell did you do to the person you found here?"
He must look like a fucking lunatic sitting on thin air right now. Hell, he definitely feels like one since the person isn't replying and he's quite literally looking at the carpet, with the faintest hint of warm breath wafting over his face.
If this was the stealth, they could've activated their magic and ran away by now. But they aren't, for some odd reason.
"Better start fuckin' answerin', or else you're gonna know what it's like to have your neck between a vampire's teeth."
He imagines your face—fleeting, luminous, heartwarming—and he's angry all over again.
He's about to tear into this person. Shred them too, if they had a hand in your disappearance.
Then, a strained whisper, "vampire?"
He scoffs. He almost falls for the disbelieving tone.
"What? Didn't know you were on vamp territory? Sure, stealth. Heard that one a million times before."
Still, they don't uncloak. Ever so slightly, he tightens his hold on their neck. He's about to start putting pressure on the fucker.
"Start. Talkin'. Or I swear to God, I'll—"
"Stop!" Your voice rings out. "Stop, wait."
For a sudden, dizzying second, he's thrown off balance.
That's your voice. Crystal clear, he knows that for a damn fact, he's heard it so, so many times for the time he's known you, but why the fuck is it coming from the person under him?
He's almost a hundred percent sure he's hallucinating until their hands go fully intangible. He regains his footing and nearly growls, about to try and squeeze their neck again as a warning in case they try any funny tricks. Their hands instead manifest once more, grasping his wrist tightly.
A tendril of magic—yours, yours, yours slips into his core, wrapping around him that's undeniably you and he's baffled once more. A vampire core is weak, something fragile compared to the average empowered human considering the magic but something in his own core is reaching for yours. It's so painfully intimate.
And it's the strongest pull he's ever felt.
Another whisper, hoarse. "Milo."
He's releasing his grip before he can even process the kiss of his name on your tongue. The magic is lost, snapped and the connection dissolves as he jolts away like he was burned. You're manifesting amidst his startling, the magic unwrapping from your form.
You manage a weak, unsteady smile and his heart nearly collapses upon seeing that agonizingly pretty face.
"Thanks," you cough.
You. It really was you. The magic signature is— well, it's the same now that he thinks about it. But, he could swear that something else was off.
His jaw slackens for the third time since setting foot in the house. You look equally surprised to see him after a moment, and your hands shoot up to his mouth.
Milo jumps, stiffening as you hook your thumbs on his upper lip and push up on the plush skin.
"What the fu—"
There's a stunned expression on your face he can't quite understand. He knows there's no spinach between his teeth or anything, so the only possible conclusion is you're not looking for food between his teeth, but his actual teeth. He has no fucking clue why he's keeping his mouth open for you (you?). He could blame it on the adrenaline, maybe.
But, there's something sickly sweet about the wonder and bewilderment in your eyes amplifying tenfold while you press your thumbs to his sharper teeth. His eyes dart to the motion of your lips parting in surprise, so tempting in spite of everything.
Fuck. He's been fucked, he knows that, but fuck it all. Call that fuck squared.
"You've got teeth," you murmur, pulling him out from his thoughts. Hah, he's the vamp here but he's the one acting like he got tranced.
For a few moments, he chews on his words. You don't seem too impatient to get a response, based on how you keep rubbing the surface of his canines. So, so curious. As if they weren't the same teeth that have already drawn blood from you. (You? Is it you? Your core feels so, so familiar yet so different.)
"Well. All people got teeth, vamps or not. Mine're jus' gifts from Dmitri," he mumbles awkwardly, trying to keep his mouth agape for you for some inconceivable reason.
Hesitant, he licks his teeth, careful to not touch your wandering digits. Such consideration however might dwindle down if you keep staring at him like that and—ookay, you just followed his tongue with your eyes. Cool. Totally.
"Dunno what you're trying to say here, sweets— Uh." Would sweets be the right thing to call you-but-not?
You snicker from where you are under him. Seems like you're not all too bothered by his near attempt to lightly choke you out a few seconds ago.
"Actually, there're some dental disorders. Makes the teeth malformed or they don't have any when born. So not all people have them."
His eye twitches.
"Oh, ha-ha-ha, wise crack. You suddenly know how to cloak yourself and now you're all mouthy."
"I'm always mouthy, excuse yourself. And of course I do, it's me. Part of the job, part of the package."
Tracks the way you're smiling so smugly, shit-eating and all. That was definitely characteristic of you.
He hums, low. "Sure."
Huh.
A detective's expected job, sure, but that wasn't always part of your skillset, now was it?
Slowly, he moves back. As you sit up, Milo takes a seat beside you instead of fully moving back. As you adjust your clothes, his eyes latch onto the jacket you donned. He has an exact one just like that—but the scent of the one you're wearing is off. He picked up on it earlier when you leaned in. Though, it wasn't like he could put a finger on it.
Also, he has no idea if you know anything's up. You're acting as normal as you possibly could, stretching your legs and looking at him with that tiny, knowing smile. It almost soothes him. Emphasis on almost.
But, he tries to play it cool despite his rising bemusement. "Why the hell were you playin' hide and seek? Nearly scared the shit outta me. You're gonna give me a heart attack one of these days."
You tilt your head. Something along the lines of recognition flickers in and out of your eyes.
"Really? Didn't feel like fear when you nearly choked me."
Okay. He takes it back.
"Wouldn't be the first time you did it though," you comment before he could reply to your first quip. A flirtatious lift of your lips is all it takes before he clocks that you're gonna say something diabolical.
"It was definitely rougher and more pleasant in other contexts, however. Oh, and not with you, specifically."
He barks out an incredulous sound, a laugh, gazing at you in utter disbelief. Well, that mouth of yours clearly hasn't changed. You're definitely much more self-assured.
Wait, backtrack. Not with him?
He stares.
You stare back.
It's some weird fuckin' Mexican standoff between you, him, and the biggest elephant in the room ever. And he's never been a patient man when it comes to you, despite all he's tried to do to prove otherwise.
He concedes, grunting an accusatory, "you're not my sweetheart."
You don't falter, crossing your arms. "And you're not my Mate, Rebane."
Mate—?
Before he can dwell on that, you're lying back down on his carpet and groaning aloud like this was all one massive inconvenience to you.
You run your palms over your face, pursing your lips and sighing heavily. "Oh, Aggro is going to lose his shit."
Milo balks.
"How the fuck do you know Aggro?"
mimi's missive. . .
first time interacting with (and contributing to?) the redactedverse fandom since stumbling across it all the way in 2021, kinda nervous! ( ; ; )
it's fooliverse season!!! i miss fooliverse milo terribly, so here's me writing for our beloved feisty werewolf-turned-vampire prince. will write up one with regular milo and fooliverse sweetheart once i have the time. there's something so yummy about the concept of swapping listeners; main milo/sweetheart have such a healthy, secure, and well-developed relationship, meanwhile fooliverse milo/sweetheart had the funniest bout of "will they won't they" before getting together. seasoned veteran vs fresh-faced rookie, that type of thing.
might expound on this with other main/fooliverse characters if i have the time and/or interest! i take requests too, though fulfilling them is another matter entirely. inbox is open <3
synopsis. milo greer is left aghast with a distinctly rookie version of you. what the hell do you mean by where did his fangs go?
milo greer x sweetheart, milo rebane x sweets.
navigate to part i.
cw. 9.5k wc (the people asked for more. i delivered). milo-centric pov. universe crossing. mild fluff-angst-crack blend. explicit language. gender-neutral sweetheart (they/them). plain ol milo lovesickness. creative liberties were taken in imagining this concept.
MDNI and do not feed my work to AI.
The last thing Milo heard from you before he left for work was an "I love you" paired with a kiss.
"I love you too" —he leaned back in, stole another peck— "mm. Y'taste minty," he mumbled, remnants of sleep rough in his voice, grinning against your lips.
You pulled back, mirroring his grin and eyes glittering with mirth.
"One of us has to have a breath that doesn't smell like dick cheese."
He gaped, "Dick cheese? Oh, you ass, get over here—nah-ah-ah, none of that! C'mere, you–"
It was easy to simply view such a tradition; he was grabbing you the second you tried to flee, turning that goodbye kiss into a flurry of obnoxious smooches and chortling. Simply a momentary see you later, paired with chiming giggles as you pushed his face away. Not immune to the lovesickness himself, he was left snickering and blushing in a state similar to yours, wide smile and all.
Though, a doppelgänger was the last thing he expected when he got back home.
The security job went by smoothly. The whole thing was a quaint reunion for a class of D.A.M.N. alumni; the client wanted to make sure the event was safe for everyone and that it'd go off without a hitch, hence security. The job was originally meant for Asher, though Milo ended up joining in for extra security. Making sure no empowered bullshit exploded sounds easy in hindsight, but that type of crap happens way more than people give the general empowered population credit for. Last thing anyone needs right now is Covert being broken by a water elemental’s waterworks or the tornado of shame from an air elemental.
After the job, Asher suggested that they go to the nearby market. It took some time to really convince Milo—and some arguing over who was gonna pay for the damn food—but they got there eventually, parking a fair distance away from the function. People were filtering in and out of the streets and neighboring sandbox park, checking out the various booths and stalls offering food and merchandise.
It's local, not too shabby. Food's halfway around decent, a good tiptoeing balance between greasy junk and relative substance. There was a chance you’d enjoy the atmosphere, so maybe he’ll take you here on one of your days off; he could even take you here tomorrow (if you both didn't spend all morning cuddling and procrastinating laundry).
Sunsets in Dahlia were always lovely around this time, and the venue had a good spot for viewing it. Though, it was a shame he didn't have time to take a picture for you before feeling the sudden need to bolt.
Something happened based on how the bond—deep-rooted, intensely so—seemed to almost... fizzle, while he was sitting on a bench with Asher, ice cream in hand.
(Had he been any less keen, he could've brushed off the sudden core pain as heartburn from the atrociously spicy shit Ash had him eat a few minutes ago. Note to self, Milo: don't fuckin' eat whatever Ash gives you. You think you'd learn after more than a decade with the asshole.)
He practically shot up once the feeling slammed into him with the subtlety of a freight train. His back was ram rod straight, as if David was spiritually breathing down his neck for bad posture. A creeping sense of dread that gathered in his mind, and it was that sense that had him frowning and looking for his keys immediately.
"Think I'm headin' back," he grumbled hastily, standing up.
"Aww, you leaving already?" Asher chewed on a hot dog from beside him. "Thought you wanted to get somethin' for your mate before you left."
Milo doesn't need to look at him to know that the man was probably eyeing him sideways; to be fair, he was operating on a strange gut instinct that must've been out of place for the younger shifter. He was never impulsive like that. Sure, Ash might beat him in terms of equanimity, but in terms of rationale, it's gotta be a close tie between Milo and David. And no, cursing does not make him less rational.
"I could probably jus' take 'em here another time. Market's still open next week, right?" Okay, he got his keys. Next, his phone. He’s typing at lightning speed before sending:
something happen over there sweetheart?
The message is sent immediately, though it's left on that status. Sent. Not delivered. You'd normally reply after a few minutes if you were doing something else at the time. Let's hope that applies here.
"Yep." Ash was quick to pick up on the sudden mood change—he adjusted his lazy seating, leaning forward with a slight frown. "Emergency?"
"Something like that," Milo replied, feeling somewhat rushed as he slung his bag over his shoulder.
"Oh, shit. Everything good?"
"Yeah, yeah. I just gotta get home. Make sure everything's fine, and all." Nonetheless, he did feel bad for leaving so randomly. "My bad, Ash."
The other shifter shot him a comforting grin and shook his head. "Naah, don't worry about it. I'd do the same. Take care heading home, buddy."
He did take care. Didn't run any red lights, followed the speed limit, routinely checked if there were any notifications from you (and no, there weren't any). In his head, this simple orange-tier emergency was then bumped to a red-tier emergency.
Maybe the surprise was the fact that said "emergency" was oblivious to them being an emergency to begin with.
His sweetheart. His everything—he knows you like the back of his hand. He knows that he knows so. It's exactly what he says when he opens the front door and steps in.
"Sweetheart?"
What immediately greets him is the frazzled craze of you, at the glass coffee table, sitting cross-legged and looking existentially done. Oh, and the mess in your shared living room, surrounded by an eclectic array of leather folders and scattered paperwork from some terrible corporate nightmare.
"The hell?" He mutters, brows knitting together.
Aggro's up on his scratching tree, eyeing you in a fashion not unlike Milo's, but you're paying him no mind, pen in hand. Though, begrudgingly, there were slightly more pertinent matters besides his fur baby’s displeasure.
The bond. He can't feel it.
"Milo?"
He barely has time to figure out his next course of action with awareness reentering your eyes. You do nothing but stare at him from your place on the floor for a few beats, owlish. "You're home early."
He snaps out of it then. "Oh, uh. Yeah, we finished up early."
"Oh." You pause, then give him a bright smile. "Well, welcome home. I hope the trip went okay."
The glass surface is peppered with documents, some printed and others handwritten. He recognizes the Department's seals stamped on some of those papers—confidential and undoubtedly related to your work. Must be what you were working on prior to his arrival. You're relatively open and communicative about your job, sure, but this is definitely one of the few times he's seen you... disorganized? Is that the term? Regardless, you're continuing to smile at him with no intent of hiding your files.
Huh.
It should irritate him that the second he recognized you as not-you was when it hit that you were waiting on the floor instead of taking the chance to scare him a la menace-slash-stealth.
He closes his eyes for a moment. A test, surely. To see and to also reconcile the rising tide of conflicted feelings in his chest, of knowing something wasn't right but slightly out of place. Reaching into his magic and quietly searching for your presence through it in the same way he always did.
And he does get a response. Glimpses. Flickers of your magic respond to his own, but so very far away, like distant beacons in the void. So you aren't gone—he can be consoled by that for now. Though, it's hard to tell if such responses emanated from you or... you.
What the hell is happening? If you’re not here, then who is this?
When he opens his eyes, he offers an easy grin, affecting casual nonchalance.
"Aw, thanks, sweetheart. What're you workin' on?"
He takes his boots off, yawns a bit near the end. Would it be right to call you—er, them—that?
"Just combing through some periodical reports. Typical Department stuff, y'know the drill." You hum, stretching with a yawn mirroring his own, eyes scanning him for a moment.
He takes the time to trace the line of your body, the placement of your features. It isn't some sort of shapeshifting demon, from the looks of it. Neither is it a hallucination, because Aggro's responding to your movements with low grumbles, his tail fluffed and swaying.
It's then that you started sweeping the reports up into your arms, trying to fix them up. Not hurriedly or anything like you’re trying to hide from him, but casually. If he thinks real, real hard, it's almost an odd, parallel version of your first ever meeting with him, when he walked in on a total stranger in his old apartment. Thinking back on it now makes it more endearing. And, maybe he’s biased, but you seem real sweet like this.
"Oh, I was thinking of making dinner, but I know you wanted to restock on blood, so I wasn't too sure if you wanted human food."
Throw normal out the window.
"Blood?" He echoed, fighting for his life in trying to temper his tone into something that wasn't gross offense. Did you just say blood?
"I know, I know! Don't scold me for ransacking your kitchen again, please," you groan, pausing between cleaning to throw a pleading hand up.
As if you didn't just tell him he went out to stock up on blood—which he doesn't, by the way! He has no such blood stash, in this life, or the next!
"I still made food, but I swear on my job, I didn't burn anything. You didn't reply to my messages either, so you can't blame me!" You cringe. "Well, not entirely, but you get the point!"
You neatly stack the folders and papers prior to rising. He's left reeling with the mere mention of restocking on blood while you ramble your excuses. What's the next best response that isn't “what the fuck are you talking about” after hearing something like that?
It takes a few seconds before he processes that you're coming toward him in this very moment and he has to tighten the fuck up. Okay. Lock in, Milo. Get your head in the game. You’re better than this. You’ve gotten past various hurdles in your life. Surely, this is all one lucid dream and you’re comatose from the radioactive spicy food Asher forced you to eat. All you gotta do is burst the bubble of this person who looks like your sweetheart but isn’t really your sweetheart yet somehow moves and behaves and sounds the exact same as your sweetheart. Tense your muscles. Puff your chest. Clench your ass chee–
"Milooo," you groan his name and it sounds so whiny that all his defenses crumble into pure dust at that very second, especially when you wrap your arms around his neck.
He's so fucking fucked.
You gaze at him pleadingly, right as he thinks he's ready to calm down too, and he wants to throttle himself. "Are you upset?"
Milo's face scrunches up at the same time his heartbeat spikes. Or, well, it already spiked earlier from the stressful bewilderment over blood hoarding, but it spiked again, no thanks to your sudden surprise attack.
"I'm—I'm not mad, sweetheart," he manages, shaking his head. Racking his brain for a possible excuse, he slowly utters, "just a bit tired from…work. Y'know how it can be."
Curiosity flits into your eyes. "Oh? Was it Dmitri?"
Dmitri? Dmitri?
"Ah. Something like, uh... Like that, yeah."
Like, Dmitri Rebane? The Rebane that Vincent mentioned that one time they talked in the days leading up to the Monarchal Summit? That Rebane?
You push further with a concerned frown, unaware of the mental gymnastics his whole cerebral cortex was performing as your face nears his. “I thought the club was going to be closed for the next couple of days. Because some water elemental messed with the plumbing?”
Cartwheels, back flips, round-offs, spread eagles…
Why was he lying to you-but not-you again?
“Well, uh, they managed to, um, fix the pipes. Like, a couple hours ago. Which is why Dmitri called.”
He has no idea either.
You seem to buy it, momentarily astonished as you ponder this newfound information (or, a lie).
“Wow. That’s really fast, actually. I didn’t think Dmitri took Surge that seriously.”
“Aha. ‘Course he does. You know me and the guys. It’s practically our playpen.” Playpen? Really, Milo? Out of all possible fucking words in the English dictionary, you pick playpen?
At least he knows if the company ever goes bankrupt, he can go throw himself into the acting industry and possibly get cast as something other than extra no. 3. Oh, who is he kidding? David, Asher, and Tank would drag him wherever they went. Ash, especially.
And Lord above, you keep pressing yourself to him, wholly content with your arms around his neck and swaying side to side. Not a single inch of your body language gives off the air of someone who even recognizes something is off. All your touch comes naturally; you’re looking at him all delicate and sweet, your fingers playing with the hair at the base of his neck, worry sewn into the pout of your lower lip. It isn’t anything new—he’s picked you up, spun you around, tossed you around within reasonable bounds and then some, but extenuating circumstances have made whatever this is much more difficult than it should be.
“I don’t get why Dmitri has to go to you for that. Shouldn’t he talk to Sam? Or Vincent, even?”
Since when did Sam and Vincent become part of the conversation? You keep throwing all these names at him, expecting him to be all-knowing for all these questions directed at him that he doesn’t even know the answers to and—ah, you’re playing with his lips now.
“Your lips are getting chapped,” you noted, drawing him back into reality. You’re lightly pulling at his bottom lip, then his lower lip, while the other hand wanders across his chest. Like some child discovering slime and poking at it, he subjects himself to your display of affection while trying to understand his own circumstances. As you wander and fidget with your own devices (his clothing, it would seem), he takes the time to note down your appearance.
Curiously, there’s two faint punctures on your neck. Bug bites?
Somewhere along the way, he misses the way you’re scanning his teeth with prying eyes, tracing the logo of the company on his uniform shirt with a single, languid finger.
“Oh c’mon, sweetheart, s’getting cold out here in Dahlia. Cut a man some slack on his lips?” He asks, voice thickening with a faux search for sympathy at the end. You observe with a patient, innocuous expression of your own, contemplating his words.
Please fall for it. Otherwise, his next best idea is locking you in his own house (how would that even work? Can’t you just phase through?) or somehow prevent you from leaving.
He thinks you’re buying it, before he notices the relaxed manner by which you stare in his mouth. Dear God. Hopefully he doesn’t have anything between his teeth.
“Uhh. You good there?”
You’re staring, innocent. “Hm?”
“You’re…looking into my mouth.”
“Oh. It’s just” —you laugh— “I like your teeth.”
“Huh?” Where did that come from?
“I said your teeth, they’re nice.”
You lightly take his work bag into your hands and step back. Ready to brush it off, he picks up on the stiffness of your movement. There’s a certain clarity in your eyes that wasn’t there before, and he can almost feel the wariness seeping through your bones.
Why were you looking at his teeth?
“Sweetheart?”
You smile mildly. “You should go take a shower.”
There’s a newfound waver in your core that you try to hide through making distance, but it clicks before you can try to make your getaway. Actually—
He feels it; your magic, subtle, externalized, was detaching itself from him.
“Well, I mean, dinner can wait. We can have dinner together right now, I’m not that sweaty.” He rushes to speak, shaking his head and stumbling forward in his haste.
Every little piece of information you dropped minutes, heck, seconds ago replay in his head like a broken, stuttering record. Rebane. Sam, Vincent. The blood bags. His teeth.
Your gaze was hollow, brows knitted as you looked at him like he’s a total stranger. The earlier touches weren’t merely you playing cute; you took the chance, got close enough, and read his aura in the most subtlest ways while he was distracted by your proximity. You sensed it, identified him as a shifter. Perhaps as early as when he stepped in and your eyes met, you already felt the discrepancy in aura types.
His teeth. The bite marks on your neck.
You're not his sweetheart.
Ah, shit.
He takes a step towards you, voice cautionary. “Sweetheart.”
You take a step back. “Milo.”
Another step. Forward, back.
“Sweetheart.”
“Milo.”
“Can you… Can you hand over the bag?”
“I don’t think I want to.”
There’s nothing important in that bag, actually. He has no idea why he asked for it. Sure, there’s his water bottle, the lunch box, his wallet and the like. Mainly materialistic things that everyone carries with them to their work. Arguably the most important thing there is the polaroid of you two in the picture slot of said wallet. But even that pales in comparison to now, when the person holding said bag is far more essential than any identifying document.
He sighs, the breath slipping from his lips shakily. You know something’s off. So does he. There’s no point in trying to avoid it nor play it off. “Sweetheart, we can talk about this.”
Before he can even think to try and coax you from your position like a cat stuck in a tree, you just bolt.
“Oh, shit—”
Without much prompting, Milo sprints after you. Adrenaline shoots sky high in both your bodies as your footsteps thud on the carpet, then the tile of the kitchen. Aggro practically howls his disapproval of the sudden noise from his fluffy tower, but sometimes other things take priority. Your socks squeak on the floor as you swivel and round the corner of the kitchen island. He skids to a halt opposite of you, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape because are you two actually doing this chase sequence in the comfort of your shared home?
For a few nauseating seconds, it’s a game of mirrors. The type of game people have played with families, cousins, maybe siblings in a chase. You move to your left, he moves to his right. He moves to his right, you move to your right. It’s damn near comedic.
“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he tries, lowering his voice to what he presumes is a comforting level. Making eye contact with you, in hopes of convincing you he had no hostile intent. “I just wanna talk.”
“Sure you do. What did you do to Milo? Where are your fangs?” Sadly, his method does not work.
He’s almost ninety percent sure that if he were to shift into his wolf form right now, he would hear your heart racing. Even without it, from your widened eyes alone, he could tell you didn’t expect it to come to this. Neither did he, though if he told you that, he doubted you’d take his words seriously.
“Sweetheart, I am Milo.”
“No, you’re not.” That makes him frown.
“Yes, I am.”
“No.”
Your outright rejection of him is laughable. “Says who?”
“Says me.” You stubbornly jerk your chin up, face all scrunched.
Being outright denied passage to his own existence ticks him off a bit more than he expects. Even if it’s coming from you-not-you.
“I don’t even know what’s goin’ on! I know next to nothing about what’s happenin’ right now—you end up in my home, on my carpet, next to my cat, and I’m the bad guy for wanting to know who you are?”
“I want to know what you did to Milo!” You practically explode.
“And I want to know where my partner is!” He replies, clicking his tongue. Inhaling deeply to regain his composure, he fixes his gaze on you steadily. “I’m just as lost as you are, okay?”
“That’s what they always say,” you accuse, wagging your finger at him. Wagging your finger! The sheer audacity!
“What the hell does that even mean!?”
“I don’t know!”
This is a complete and utter shitshow. The security camera in the corner of the kitchen must be having a blast right now with this Tom and Jerry ripoff scene.
Gritting his teeth, Milo summons every ounce of patience left in his body to loosen his tense muscles, glaring daggers at your equally defensive person. His bag, again of no importance, rests snug on your shoulder, while your hands on the countertop for purchase. On the bright side, this is definitely no shapeshifter. Only you could rile him up this much, so authentically you, all the while being as stubborn as a goddamn five thousand year old boulder.
Man, he really should’ve taken you seriously that one time you asked if he believed in parallel timelines and alternate universes.
He scoffs and steps to the left. You mirror that, too. “Ha, well, you ain’t my sweetheart either. My sweetheart would mop the floor with your actin’ skills.”
Your glare seems impossibly more venomous. “My Milo could run you miles around your tail, wolf.”
“You sure he can function without his blood bags?” He fires back.
You’re quick, too. “Can you function without your leash and ear scratches?”
This has to be some morbid form of self-deprecation and intergalactic slander. Or it’s just friendly fire. Probably friendly fire. Definitely friendly fire.
“Sweetheart.” Milo purses his lips, takes his hands off the counter. Assuming a neutral position, he runs a hand through his hair, tongue flicking against the back of his molars as he tries to think of what could possibly calm you down.
“I don’t like it when you call me that,” you pointedly grit out.
His eyelid twitches at the same time his hand does. “Okay. Then, impostor.”
He sharply jerks to the right, honeyed eyes drinking in the way you gasp and scramble to move the opposite way. Just then, an animal reflex trickles into his chest, slithers around his heart, and forces the muscle to pump more blood to his rapid-firing brain. Heat gathers in his temples at the same time he cracks a disbelieving snort, mainly to himself because there is no way in hell he is actually feeling some sort of stimulation from this. Oh, but he is.
“This ain’t gonna work,” Milo breathily laughs. It could be the rush, or something else, but he can’t stop himself from finding any tidbit of pleasure in a good chase. Calm down, Milo, Jesus. This won’t go anywhere if you don’t hold some sort of productive topic to base the conversation on to begin with.
So, he tries again. “You and I both know—this game of cat and mouse, it ain’t gonna cut it. We can talk this out, like adults, over a cup of coffee, and preferably not with our teeth bared.”
You’re full-on frowning at him like he pissed in your cereal. “You don’t even have your teeth. Don’t talk about Milo like that.”
He can’t tell if he should thank you for defending his honor or not.
“I don’t have the fangs you keep yappin’ about, because I’m not a damn vampire! I’m a wolf shifter, if you haven’t already noticed, which I’m sure you did, considering how nicely you’ve been talkin’ to me for the past thirty seconds.” He huffs under his breath. God, some things just never change when it comes to you.
You bristle from your side of the kitchen island, but no longer reply. That blazing fire in your glower never dampens for even a breath as you contemplate your options. Eyes flitting everywhere in the kitchen, attempting to take snapshots of the layout for whatever escape attempt you were going to try and enact next. But it’s also out of place how desperately you scanned the space. You were a stealth, so you should be able to cloak and phase through objects with ease—no doubt that’d make this whole thing much easier for you, after all. It’s how many energetic nights of stolen clothes, food, and plain chasing played out in this very house; a lot of it came about because you kept phasing through walls to evade Milo’s attempts to snatch you mid-cloak.
You’re a stealth. You should be able to…
He squints.
“Why aren’t you cloaking?”
Like clockwork, you shrink back. Frozen. It’s like time stopped, for all but a heartbeat before it resumed. Guilt, shameful and ruthless and tentative, twists your expression. And it should be disconcerting how closely it resembled the first time he met you. His you. More specifically, of how you turned sheepish after he called you out for perking up when obtaining substantial information. You were so easy to read, and the same appeared to apply to the present.
He keeps going, realization dawning on him. “You could have hidden your aura from the second you heard me pull up in the driveway, but you didn’t.”
You don’t reply, pursing your lips down into a thin line.
“You…” He pauses, turns the words over in his mouth. “You can cloak, can’t you?”
“Yes, I can.” You snip, defensive. “I’m a stealth. Can’t you tell?”
“So why aren’t you cloaking? You could phase out this room, heck, the house, if you wanted to.”
“It’s none of your business,” you retort. But not even you can hide the mild panic in your eyes, the instability of your core.
He’s softening before he can think it through, the adrenaline gradually dripping from his system. He’s tempted to withdraw, hindered by the manifesting reluctance that he rarely sees in you. You may not be his, but it’s a reflection of the face he’s seen every morning for years. Someone he’s seen in the past, present, and probably will keep seeing in the future, and all the expressions that come with the gorgeous canvas of your face. The recurring nature, however, does not take away the emotions of seeing you disheartened. Cornered. Stressed. Scared.
He observes you in silence for what feels like an eternity, understanding closing in on him. The expression he has right now must peeve you, because you’re glowering once more.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
He exhales. “Like what?”
“Like—like that,” you stammer. “You know what I mean. Just, just stop.”
He doesn’t. He doesn’t, but he has an idea.
You gulp, strained, “You—”
“I’m not gonna hurt you.”
The second those delicate, disarming words leave his mouth, Milo could see the fight bleed from your body. You falter, blinking wildly as you bring your hands close to your chest, shoulders dropping. You’re surveying him with a mixture of discomfort, unfamiliarity, and incertitude pasted all over your surly mouth, skeptic twist of your brows. You’re anxious.
Gently, as calm as he could, he enunciated it once more. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I’d never hurt you. I’d never let you get hurt.”
He wasn’t the only one struggling with looking at someone who was a total copy of the person that meant something to them.
You’re gaping. Again, no response, but the conflict in your eyes and your mollified stance is all he needs for confirmation. It’s the cue he takes to draw in another stomach-deep breath, proceeding carefully with this lower, levelheaded, even-tempered approach.
“And I’m not just sayin’ this to get you off guard, okay? You have my word.” Punctuating his words by leaning in, his voice dips with sincerity. “I promise. I swear on it.”
(There’s a certain sadness, upset in his own chest that he can’t quite put his finger on. He was never one for describing these types of emotions when they rose up—at least, in the past.
Or, perhaps, until you came along. All you carried was a key to his heart and a determination to renovate a chamber or two for your occupation. That’s alright, he had thought. Temporary or permanent residence, the mat on the door only welcomed you. Decorated in the light of your smile, the color of your touch, the sugar of your words.
Empty as it was prior, maybe it was meant for you all along. In any way, shape, or form. Or time. He’ll be right here, key in hand, waiting for you to come home at the end of the day.)
“Listen. We’re both confused. We both don’t know what’s goin’ on, and we’re stressed. But we won’t get anything done if we keep fightin’ like this, if we keep runnin’ around the place, trying to one up each other. Let’s take a seat, I'll get you a drink, and we can talk about whatever this is. And if you wanna hit me even after that, hell, I’ll let you. But let’s try to unpack this before we get to that point. Is that okay with you?”
“This is not fuckin’ okay.”
“Profanity, Milo-two,” you yawn, opening his fridge like you owned the place. “Don’t get your panties in a twist.”
“Panties in a— first of all, don’t call me Milo two. Second, I do not wear panties. Third, get out of my fridge!”
To nobody’s shock, you ignore him.
The past hour has been the biggest doozy Milo Rebane has ever experienced in his lifespan. He’s blessed, or cursed, to live an existence bound to eternity, but his gut instinct is telling him this day takes the cake for the most memorable. From sensing something off in his home to crossing paths with someone who remarkably resembles you to an alarming degree, to currently trying to fend them off.
Fending them off was a generous way of putting it.
Right now, he was flabbergasted, watching from the kitchen entryway as you calmly navigate his home like you own the damn place. It’s an invasion without all the conquest. All your motions never radiated any semblance of reluctance or fear. It’s possible you traversed through the house before he got back home, since he doesn’t know when the swap happened. It’d explain how easily you were moving from room to room earlier and up until the present. How quickly you made yourself comfortable in a foreign place.
He’d practically hounded your ass with questions earlier. You didn’t complain throughout the process, surprisingly. It was all standard crap anyhow—your name, your age, where you lived, your occupation. It all matched up with what he knew of you. You had your own fair share of inquiries about who he was exactly, which he was fine with answering as well. Can’t really blame either of the two of you.
You groan aloud. “Jesus, do you have anything in here that isn’t caffeinated drinks?”
“All of those belong to you, investigator,” he hisses, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You bought them and set up shop here.”
“That does sound like something I’d do.” After some time, you stand back up with one of those flavored, iced coffee brews in hand. You hum in appreciation, turning the bottle over in your hand multiple times. He nearly snaps at you for taking one of your drinks, but there’s a weird, paradoxical undertone that stops him from doing so.
The lid cracks open with a faint click. “Oh, nice. It’s good to know that my taste never changed.”
This has to be a weird episode of Inception. Or a Truman Show fever dream. He never should have allowed that movie marathon a couple weeks ago—some cosmic entity had to have caused this shit after seeing him and you huddled up on the couch, holding hands and giggling over popcorn and taken it as a sign that hey, let me just fuck these two over!
He clicks his teeth, groans, and strides towards you. “Alright, out of the fridge.”
You blink. He glares.
“You heard me. Out, out, out. Eugh, you’re like a scavenger.”
Plastic bag dangling from his elbow, he shoos you away from the fridge to restock his own blood packets in one part of the fridge. He grumbles to himself, shoving the sanguine-filled sachets into the lower level of the fridge, just beneath the one holding most of your drinks. It was a comical sight; blood bags stored beneath a level of pure energy drinks and cold coffee definitely made an image worth snickering over. He just wasn’t in the mood for laughing right now, though.
Looking over his shoulder, you’re leaning against a countertop and drinking from the stolen coffee bottle. Not a single part of your countenance gives off anxiety. In fact, you’re exuding a languid confidence, gaze meeting his.
It would piss him off if it wasn’t a downright attractive look on you. Damn it all.
You smile crookedly. “You’re staring."
“And you’re not?” Milo grunts, standing upright.
He didn’t anticipate this at all, but it’s probably a good thing he stocked up on blood. In the past, you’ve offered him your blood for his routine feedings. It’s a generous act, really. It isn’t something that ought to bother him, especially since you’ve entered a serious arrangement not that long ago and he knows your offer came from a place of earnest consideration for his wellbeing. Any vampire would gladly take you up on that. Milo didn’t. Sure, he can bite now and then in the throes of pleasure, but he never does it solely for the feeding. He’d never subject you to becoming a blood bag supply for him to rely on; he would never engage in that, not when you mean so much more to him. And it took a horrendously uncomfortable, heart-racing, anxiety-painted confrontation on his couch following radio silence, hookups, and overall mixed signals to establish your newfound relationship.
He’d rather sit through a religious group’s attempt to exorcise him with garlic necklaces and prayers than run the risk of confusing your relationship once again. He has you and you had him, and he has had no plans of letting you go in the foreseeable future.
Hence, his fucking aggravation at current circumstances.
“No, no. I definitely am. My bad,” you laugh and finish off the rest of the coffee. As you toss it to the trash bin, you wander about the kitchen with a prying set of eyes. Curiosity ebbs off of you in waves, found in the awe of your o-shaped mouth and glimmering stare. “It’s definitely different. Your interior decor, I mean. Is it a vampire thing?”
“You’re gonna have to ask Dmitri that. Or Vince.” That was a funny thought. Dmitri would most likely shoo you away. Vincent would be confused, more than anything.
“Vince, huh… Rebane, I’m assuming.” You focus on him again, eyes like saucers. Reminds him of Aggro. When he nods, you cover your mouth with a hand, laughing a little. “Does he have a partner?”
The smoothness by which you deliver the questions throws him off, prompting stuttered answers. “Uh, he does. He has a partner. Calls them Lovely, I think.”
Recognition bursts in your eyes and you clap your hands like you won the lottery.
“Aw, so they’re together here too.”
He closes the fridge, the light shutting with a faint click. Tilting his head to gesture to the living room, you nod and follow his lead, leaving the kitchen. “Whaddya mean by that?”
“Well, the Vincent I know also has a partner. He calls them Lovely, too.” There’s a particular fondness in your voice as you recount these people he apparently knows but doesn’t.
“They’ve been through a lot. I don’t know if that applies here, too, but it’s a relief. That they’re sticking to each other, even now. Even if they don’t know about that other version of themselves.”
As you two take a seat on the couch, he leans back and surveys you blankly. Frankly, he has no idea what you’re talking about. You’re really, really fucking confusing, and you have been, since pointing out you were another version of his partner. His own bemusement came from his efforts in trying to comprehend how you could possibly be so at ease in this predicament.
“Sure. I don’t really talk to the guy all that much, so hell if I know,” he comments boredly. You shoot him a disapproving stare. “What? You think that just because vampires share a last name, we’re automatically hosting sleepovers and braiding each others’ hair? Ha, give me a break.”
“I don’t think that, thanks.” You cross your arms and sink back into the couch with a huff. A contemplative look replaces the wondrous one, looking over the living room as well. There isn’t much you could probably analyze, past some potted plants or geometric ornaments he bought from some depot store.
“I’ve actually been to that big congregation thing you vampires host, so don’t think I’m uncultured and unknowing.”
Milo squints, before his expression morphs into incredulity. “The Monarchal Summit? You attended one?”
As if picking up on his shock, you turn your head first before your eyes trail over him. Seeing his confounded face, your eyes twinkle with that same, fulfilling satisfaction.
(You have no fear of making eye contact with him. You must know of vampires and their ability to trance—but you’re not shying away from it. He ignores the implications, whether it be you being ignorant or being that trusting toward him. You don’t even know him.)
“I did. Surprised, vamp?”
“Cut the crap. No bullshit?” He doesn’t know why he asks. Even an idiot could tell you weren’t lying.
“No bullshit.”
He thinks you’re going to continue, but you look at him strangely instead. “Are vampires able to detect lies? Is that a thing?”
He barks out a laugh, déjà vu hitting him. You asked something similar the first time you met.
“If you’re asking if I just truth-checked you, fuck no. It’s a me thing, investigator.”
“Just making sure. But yes, I did attend one. Vincent invited me, and the others from the pack.”
The pack—the simple, innocent mention of them is enough to cause a visceral reaction. His face contorts as if he got sucker punched, muscles coiling with tension. It never gets easier. He knows that, but still—
“The pack, huh?” He echoes mutely. Two faces pop up in his brain, as hard as he tried to forget it. “That include Asher and David?”
If you notice his discomfort, you don’t point it out. (He’s grateful you don’t.)
“Mm-hm. David wasn’t too sure about the invitation at first, but it’s not like he had a choice. The Shaw pack got quite a bit of traction after…”
You trail off, suddenly reluctant to continue toward the end. He raises a brow.
“Wait, the Shaw pack?”
That takes you out of the mental space you nearly slipped into.
“Oh. Yeah, the Shaw pack. David’s the alpha.” You catch the puzzled face Milo’s making, interested. “Is he … not the Alpha here?”
“Like hell David’s the alpha. He’s the fuckin’ omega of the Talbot pack. Asher’s the alpha.”
“Asher?” You sit up abruptly, engaged and completely gobsmacked.
“Yep. Asher Talbot.”
“Asher? Like, bitch bottom Asher? Always late to the function Asher? Goofball and game tourney host Asher?”
He practically chokes on his startled laughter. There was so much to unpack with all of that, but he couldn’t help laughing at your shrill disbelief, increasing with every query. A lot of those things you listed—Lord, what the hell.
“I don’t know what Asher you know, but the Asher I know is… Aha. He definitely fits the bill as pack alpha.”
“No way! David was the alpha, Asher was the beta. Ash’s chaotic energy was either handled by David or his own mate. Those two were like, so complementary toward each other. Grumpy and sunshine!” You gush, leaning toward him. Unconsciously, he mirrors your posture, smirking in amusement.
“Oh, miss me on that shit, investigator. Next thing you’re gonna say is that David is perpetually grumpy and constipated.”
You snap your fingers, bouncing in place on the couch with a shriek of, “he is! Oh my God, he totally was!”
He can’t control it then—he fuckin’ guffaws. You mumble to yourself, “well, in the past at least, before his mate came along,” but Milo’s simply too busy imagining it in his head. Asher, pack beta, who apparently likes taking it from the back and operates on playful vibes and energy. That was somewhat imaginable. But David? David Shaw, that bashful, socially anxious, tail between his legs 24/7 shifter? Being the pack’s leader?
“David would totally kick your ass if he knew you were laughing at him like this,” you sing, albeit smilingly.
He wipes a tear from his eye, snorting over another cackle. “Here, the big guy would probably like that, as long as his mate was the one doin’ it. A bit too much, even.”
That garners more laughter from you. It shouldn’t take him aback as much as it does—it makes sense—but even your laugh is the exact same.
He tries real fuckin’ hard to ignore the aching pang in his chest. Pushes it deep into his subconscious, even. Think of something else, Milo. Think of Asher and David, two whole wolf shifters, mind you, standing aimlessly in a grandesque banquet hall adorned in ostentatious baubles and even more pretentious creeps known to vampirekind.
Back on track. Clearing his throat, he leans on his side, sinking slightly into the couch. Arm propped atop the cushion and hand resting on his head, he smirks. “So, those two went to the summit?”
You mimic his position, your expression far more cheery. “Yeah, and they took their mates with them.”
Mates. There goes that word again.
Throat clogged, he swallows. “So, I take it that you were one of them?”
“One of?”
“Their mates. You went.”
He picks up on the way your breath stutters, imminent. Implicative.
Dreadfully, terribly, you shake your head.
“No,” you murmur. “I was yours.”
Yours.
All at once, he’s being submerged. Water clogs his ears, bubbles cascading from his nose and mouth. It’s icy, and it’s cold, biting into his skin without mercy.
He’s silent for quite some time. Like a leisurely drip of tree sap, falling back to the earth in steady droplets, it’s a cruel reminder of what he could have had. It shouldn’t be so disorienting. It wasn’t.
Yours, yours, yours. Mine.
“Milo?” A call of his name, and he’s back to the present. “You good?”
He grunts, affecting indifference with a shrug. “Eh, beats me. But it makes sense. I was part of the pack n’ such.”
“Fair,” you sigh. Nothing about your outward reaction indicates anything other than nonchalance, but he’d be dumb to assume that you didn’t notice his thoughtfulness.
“The summit was chaotic. So much shit happened. But it was... It was fun.”
He chuckles. “Fun isn’t the word I’d use to describe the gathering of uptight, asshole vampires with superiority complexes, but we can agree to disagree.”
You snicker. “Sounds good.”
After that, there’s a lull in the conversation. You move around, lying down with your knees bent and head on the arm of the couch. He looks ahead at the blank television screen. No attempts are made to try and fill the vacant space between the two of you on the couch, and frankly, he prefers it that way. It’s difficult to make sense of the situation. The elephant in the room, truth be told, was fucking ginormous. How could you really ask the question of what the fuck was happening and how did you get here, when it was plenty obvious that both parties didn’t have a single clue as to how this happened? The only reasonable, suitable activity would be literally anything else in that regard. It just so happened to be exchanging stories of mutual faces, known events. Even if the divulgence of such information would only leave a path of breadcrumbs to other doorways, other possibilities.
One of those possibilities.
“Hey.”
You don’t glance, but you do hum quietly.
“Before I got back, how much did you snoop through?”
“I explored your kitchen for a bit. Then, your office. I ended up in the bedroom after some time, then the closet when I heard you come in.”
Hm. His lips twitch. “And yet, you don’t sound remorseful at all.”
“Sue me for thinking I was in the craziest lucid dream ever and I was in Luigi’s mansion.” The couch dips as you throw your legs over his. He scoffs, pinches your calf and savors the little yelp it gets out of you. (It’s novel, he admits, seeing you be so comfortable like this around him. Despite it not really being you, of course. All these emotions. So tedious, but so egregiously warm.)
“My place does not look like Luigi’s mansion, excuse you. How dare you compare such—uh, creative taste to something cartoonish and gaudy and old-school—”
“Milo’s mancave then,” you resolve, stretching with an obnoxiously loud yawn. “You could think about sprucing up the place more. Make it feel like home, if you really want to.”
“Y’think I haven’t thought of doing that before? Don’t act like I forgot your little comment on my kitchen, you little snoop.”
Rolling his eyes, he thinks back to every other time he’d contemplated the prospect while living here. Again, his hands are somewhat tied, but he at least had some agency in his life. Even if his Maker was kind of—well. His Maker, Invocation and all.
His eyes trace the walls. A lot of the decor was relatively plain and modern, but he could understand where the interest was. There were some old, ornamental plates held up on the walls and particular carved detailing on the wooden shelves and cabinets that you probably wouldn’t find in another place in Dahlia. Still life paintings framed in ornamental gold, the type of frames you see in museums—the whole shebang. Any other decoration around the home was left as it was.
Designing a home that wasn’t his could have helped him adjust more to his afterlife. There were a few things from his old apartment he thought of taking, too. But it was easier to occupy an already-filled, tailormade space than to find something to occupy the hollowed out, barren void in his chest after turning. Any reminder of the life he led might have been more harmful than benevolent. There was no room to doubt your existence when you’re thrust into the role of vampire princeling. He never felt the need to renovate this home—not when it came as a gift from Dmitri following his turning. A home befit for a prince, as he used to say. Milo played that role exceptionally well.
“Just some food for thought, Rebane. Don’t think too much of it,” you reassure. In his periphery, he notices the way you’re staring at him. “Who am I to intrude on a life that isn’t mine?”
He exhales a breath through his nose. Funny that you say that after the progression of the night.
“A bit too late for that when you did exactly that an hour ago.”
“Hey, it’s not like I asked to be transported here. I assure you: all I planned for tonight was making dinner, cuddling with Aggro, then cuddling with Milo.”
It’s weird to be referred to in third person, regardless if he’s aware that it’s referring to the version of himself you knew.
His head aches. “And all I wanted was to spend time with my sweets. Guess we both can’t get what we want.”
Your lips quirk into an amused little half crescent. “Cheers to that. Here’s to yearning.”
He chuckles quietly.
“Here, here.”
Another pause. Gathering courage to break the silence like this takes far more than he expected, but he can’t really complain about it.
But he doesn’t have to worry about carrying on the conversation when you’re sitting up.
“I wanna see something. Lend me your hand?” Your hand's extended to him, waiting.
His eyebrows lift, but he complies nonetheless. As he slides his hand over your extended one, he wonders what exactly is playing out in that pretty little head of yours. Damn near shivers when your other hand starts tracing his knuckles, his lithe fingers, the back of his hand with all the fleetingness of a feather.
(Maybe he could wait before diving into how or why you ended up here. For all he knows, this could be the after to his afterlife.)
It makes itself known then. The shimmer of something sleek and thin on your fourth finger catches his eye far faster than he thought possible—and, technically, much later, since he had plenty of times to analyze you and never once noticed the fucking ring sitting smack dab around it.
You haven’t noticed that he noticed. The revelation has effectively struck him dumb, brain rapidly emptying. There’s—well, humans tend to follow that custom, sure, but he never thought he would follow through with it. Even when he was a wolf shifter, he assumed—
“Oh, this?”
The hand he was essentially gawking at is soon lifted in front of his face and he jumps like it personally offended him.
“That—that ring,” Milo croaks.
There’s a bashfulness in your resounding giggle, and it makes his treacherous heart skip a beat. Fuck.
“We bought matching rings. You proposed it, actually.”
“We what?”
“This ring’s pretty,” you murmur, awe etched in your tone.
Milo’s hand comfortably rests in the cradle of your two hands, your fingers lightly touching the metal band on his finger. Aggro’s all but cozied up on your cross-legged lap, tail flicking fondly every now and then against your thigh. The little guy’s already acclimated to your presence, which isn’t too astonishing. (It’s still you, despite everything. Even with a slightly different core, a mellowed out personality, and slightly more reluctant countenance, Aggro and Milo would recognize you.)
Milo’s too busy drinking in the scene from his side of the couch—you beside him, of course—that he forgets to respond.
“Ah—sorry. I was thinking, what’d you say?”
You don’t appear bothered. “The ring. I’m assuming you picked it out with me?”
He’d be shocked at the astute observation, if it weren’t for the fact that you were pretty sharp in general. In the kitchen, he appealed to you using the kindest, most patient approach he could possibly come up with. When you two had freshly met, as odd as that is to say, he was polite and acting as per usual. It’d be more surprising if you didn’t pick up on the fact that he and you were closer than the average couple.
“Mhm. We got it a while back.” Following the two first engagements in the pack, you and Milo were promptly tossed into contemplative positions on where you stood. Marriage was a big step forward for everyone involved, and it clearly meant a lot to the guys’ mates for them. (Though, Ash got proposed to.) The conversation you two had sometimes plays out in the times he’s swarmed with nostalgia; it was a time characterized by your reaffirmed commitment and devotion to one another, without a need for legal documentation, and it never failed to make him smile. All that you required was right there: your mate, and a bond so fervid no waters could wash it away.
He has to pause from time to time and remind himself that the person in front of him isn’t you. Then again, the muffled, faraway buzz of the bond did enough in terms of alerting him that. It was strangely disembodied; the connection that you share is fundamentally bound to you, so its trail lingers around the person sitting on the couch, but it disappears there. Like an indistinct chain link, ghostly and not wholly there. At its core (hah), the bond ties him to you.
And the you right now has their own form of a bond—a vampire’s bite. A mark.
“Does it signify anything? Marriage?”
“No, not marriage. We’re mates. That’s practically marriage for us, what with the bond n’ all.”
You nod, pocketing the information. “I… I didn’t think parallel timelines were a thing. Or would it be alternate universes? I’m not sure.”
“You and me both, impostor,” he concurs. “I work for security, not for, uh, the time and space borders for galaxies, all that shit. Fuck if I know.”
You drop his hand and pull a face that’s not unlike a sneering rabbit. You’ve been doing that whenever he cussed, and he has to admit, it’s hilarious. Regardless of your displeasure, you don’t try to chastise him. Though, he’s sure you’ve most likely tried it with the version of him you’re more familiar with.
“You really are just like him. You both curse a lot.”
He smiles. “Call it the Milo stamp of verbiage.”
“Or you’re just foul-mouthed,” you grumble, looking down at Aggro and beginning to gently stroke his fur. The furball vibrates with glee, purring as you run your fingers and palm along the well-groomed coat. “Isn’t that right, Aggro?”
With an entertained grin on his face, he lounges into the couch as he focuses on the television.
“Good luck trying to get Aggro on your side. My son is very loyal to me, as you may know. As traitorous as he can be from time to time.”
“I’m sure,” you comment dryly, unconvinced by Milo’s way of speaking. Though, even you couldn’t hide the wry smile forming on your lips. It’s contagious.
It’s been an hour since the sun set, but time seems to go slower at the moment. Milo’s not sure if he should be grateful or anxious over it, but he doesn’t hate it. Still in the throes of registering this whole scrambled person thing and managing the inclement panic that comes with having an absent mate, he’d say he’s doing pretty good. Got you some water and some snacks before settling you down on the couch, letting you relax and get somewhat comfortable enough to speak. Nothing much else besides the television blasting something, a regular episode of some rotational show on a channel, but it serves as suitable background noise. Plus, it helped in getting you to gather your bearings after your near nervous breakdown in the kitchen.
Might as well break the ice and figure out what to do in the meantime. You’d judge him if he left another version of you unoccupied, bored, and without some form of entertainment. It’d be a bad look for him as a host, and as the other-boyfriend-slash-semi-mate. Although, he does find it more arduous trying to pry you from your reserved shell. He never thought this side of your personality would be more dominant in any way, but he does find it rather cute. You just need a little bit of poking.
He glances over. Aggro is purring aggressively—how is that even possible?—as you scratch his chin.
“So, what do you wanna do?”
“I should finish my paperwork.”
Well.
“Ah. Right. Your job.” The TV captures his attention yet again. Now what the hell is he supposed to do? It was already pretty damn awkward, since it's not like you did much talking past stiff niceties earlier. "Sounds... Sounds nice."
Long story short: he kind of sort of has no fucking clue how to talk to you right now.
As if picking up on his slight discomfiture in the face of being unknowingly denied, you poke his shoulder. “But I can do anything. I wouldn’t mind if you had an idea.”
“Say less,” Milo immediately replies, standing up from the couch. It causes the sofa to jostle, and Aggro meows loudly from his place on your lap, mild annoyance in his mewls that you try to shush through soft laughter.
You have the same laughter. He shouldn’t be fuckin’ startled by that, but even he isn’t immune to the sound and the swell of emotion.
There’s a part of him practically shouting your name from the hilltops, undoubtedly from the absence of your presence. Another part is determined to label this as a dream or nightmare that he’s yet to fully live out. But it feels too real, too tangible. He felt your skin against his, electric yet soft in the way it always was. He’ll make the most of it, he supposes. He’s sure you’re doing the same—this version of you assured him that you’d be okay, but his faith lies mostly in you.
His sweetheart. Who knew he’d end up so lovesick? No complaints from his end, though. He’ll hold down the fort for you in the meantime and possibly get to know this mellow version of you some more. What else could he do?
Holding up a remote, Milo shoots your curious self a smirk. “You play Smash?”
mimi's missive:
the pathetic, almost lovelorn yearning transcends dimensions
happy thursday or friday depending on your timezone!
i was writing this over the course of several days since posting part 1, and all my brainworms went into conceptualizing this. this concept plagued my brain since i listened to the fooliverse audios and chewed on the personality differences. erik, you brilliant-minded individual.
this was so much longer than i expected. i hope you enjoyed reading! there will also be a part 3 to wrap this up :)
exactly what it sounds like. this is nsfw obviously so be warned. i’m bored and the redacted tag isn’t as horny as i’d like so here i am
milo: 7 inches, where do we think all his inches went people, grower but still shows a bit, curves upward, EXTREMELY thick/fat, smaller tip, circumcised, neatly trimmed bush but it’s still thick and curly, cum spurts out in thick globs that drip down the length like a fountain and doesn’t shoot at all, twitches slightly with every spurt of cum, heavy balls that somehow don’t hang low, sucker for when you kiss the tip, twitches the most when he’s going down on you
david: 9 inches, shower, curves downward, very thick, fat tip that usually hurts to take, uncircumcised, barely trimmed bush, cum is very thick but can shoot a few inches, cums a LOT, VERY heavy balls that hang quite low, balls twitch visibly when he cums, doesn’t really clamor for blowjobs but knows that you want your mouth around him so he will initiate
asher: 8 inches, shower, curves to the left, VERY twitchy, not thick but not skinny, proportional tip shape, circumcised, does not trim or shave at all unless forced, cum is thin and can shoot FAR, cum is a bit too salty and kinda tastes bad (bad diet), smaller balls that are slightly uneven and stay snug up tight, will cum if you slap his dick
sam: 7 inches, grower, VERY FAT, hangs pretty low even when hard, fat tip, uncircumcised, trims bush but not very often, cum is pretty standard but there’s a LOT of it, orgasms last quite long, large balls that hang low, another sucker for cock worship
vincent: 7 inches, grower, skinny but not too bad, very prominent mushroom tip, VERY veiny, circumcised, hardly any pubic hair to manage at all, cum is on the thin side and gets everywhere, average sized balls that hang a bit
porter: 8 inches, shower, thick, small tip, twitches on command, leaks a LOT of precum, circumcised, trims bush neatly but not too short, cum is thick and shoots, large balls that stay snug tight, balls are pretty sensitive and likes them to be fondled, faint bite mark scars around the base from previous partners, absolutely LOVES when you gently scrape teeth on his dick while sucking it, would also cum if you slap it
william: 7.5 inches, shower, curves to the right, does not cum easily nor very much, just a few spurts and then done, doesn’t trim or shave at all, cum is thick and drips down the length, small balls
lasko: 6 inches, grower, curves upward, twitches SO MUCH it’s basically talking to you, FAT mushroom tip and it’s super sensitive at all times, average thickness, circumcised, hair is light and does not shave the bush too often, cum is watery and shoots far, always makes a mess because it twitches WILDLY when he cums, feels it in his prostate every time he cums, average sized balls snug up tight that also twitch noticeably when he cums, leaks like a faucet when he’s in his chastity cage
damien: 7 inches, grower, proportional tip, only twitchy when he’s pent up, circumcised, waxes when bush gets too wild for him, cum is very thick and even tastes good (he’s a health “nut” haha i’m here all week), can shoot pretty far, cum is pretty hot to the touch but it feels good on your skin, balls hang super duper low iykyk
huxley: 12 inches, has its own social security number and birth certificate, shower obviously, curves slightly downward, hangs SUPER heavy and low, uncircumcised, doesn’t shave or trim, balls are really big and hold heavy loads of cum, seriously his loads are huge and thick (also healthy), freckle right at the base that damien sets as a goal to reach when he deep throats, so thick it bulges damien’s throat
gavin: 8 inches, though technically he can change it but he doesn’t, shower, curves upward the perfect amount iykwim, uncircumcised duh d(a)emons were never babies, thickness is a bit above average, pink pubic hair that he loves shaving hearts onto, cum is completely flavorless (this is my hc for all d(a)emons), shoots extremely far he has probably made a competition of it at some point, balls are tight and average sized
avior: 7 inches, grower, very straight, slightly less thick than you’d want but he makes up for it with technique, uncircumcised duh, prefers to keep everything shaven, completely falls apart when it’s sucked, cum is flavorless, balls swell quite a bit when aroused and visibly shrink after he cums (he’s been repressed for awhile), prefers handjobs over anything because he wants to talk to you and be somewhat coherent
blake: 7.5 inches (claims it’s 8), shower, curves slightly upward, freckle right on the tip, just the right thickness, circumcised, cums VERY easily, EXTREMELY SENSITIVE TIP, leaks SO much precum it embarrasses the fuck out of him, twitchy and responsive, cum tastes just slightly off, cum is a bit watery but drips down his dick like a fountain, obsessively maintains pubic hair to a short “unbothersome” length, balls are on the smaller side, orgasms are very long and drawn out
elliott: 6 inches, shower, curves downward, a bit skinny, tip is fat tho, very wild unmaintained pubic hair, uncircumcised, balls are usually swollen, closet freak i feel like he likes ball stretchers
aaron: 9 inches, shower, curves to the right, very very thick, difficult to get your mouth to the base, tip is small thankfully, shaves regularly, uncircumcised, a bit veiny, secretly wants his ass played with but is working up the courage to ask, balls are big and hang low, cums a lot and orgasms last a while
hush: 6 inches, grower, thicker than average, straight, uncircumcised duh, has yet to experience an orgasm so i’m guessing he’s extremely sensitive, finds himself getting happiness/affection boners around doc more and more frequently, it twitches when they touch him and definitely when they kiss him, balls are swollen tighter than they should be (repressed)
vega: 11 inches, shower, thickest cock here, genuinely painful to suck and fuck but absolutely will not change it, straight as a rod, uncircumcised duh, cums buckets and it’s flavorless, balls are heavy and hurt when they slap against you, prefers going hairless (it’s less human), gets a bit twitchy around warden and it peeves him
james: 7 inches, grower, thick, straight, circumcised, his cock is just very pretty, trims pubic hair into a neat triangle shape, pretty sensitive but is good at hiding it (until his ass is being played with), feels orgasms in his prostate, cum tastes good and is quite thick, another sucker for handjobs, balls hang low but aren’t too big
anton: 8 inches, shower, THICK, always feels bad when you gag on it, curves upward just a tad, uncircumcised, so hairy oh my god he does not trim or shave ever and it looks so appetizing, pubic hair is very curly and soft when your nose brushes against it, tip is proportional and pretty sensitive, cum has an earthy taste and spurts in thick globs, heavy balls twitch when he empties them, balls are sensitive and he lovessss when you gently fondle them
marcus: microdick unquantifiable by inches
guy: 2 inches, stompable, dick cheese (insert pizza joke)
morgan: 6 inches, shower, average thickness, very average all around, sensitive and cums easily, shaves, prefers to always take his time to have the best orgasm possible, i also feel like he’s a closet freak but definitely has a difficult time admitting it/seeking out what he really wants
geordi: 5 inches, average on every possible level
azmidi: 12 inches, shower, very similar to vega in the sense that everything about his dick hurts (which is entirely the point), very willing to change the size and shape of it along with his whole body to increase fear, extremely thick, uncircumcised duh, it’s cold to the touch, balls are big, loads are bigger, cum is flavorless and also cold to the touch, leaks tons of precum especially on phone calls but hides it well, smalls tufts of pubic hair
camelopardalis: 5 inches, a-spec, does not get aroused very often so i won’t go into detail
lincoln: 8 inches, grower, hangs heavy and low, pretty thick, curves downward, embarrassed about his size because he thinks it’s too intimidating, veeeery sensitive tip, gets hard so incredibly easily, feels orgasms super deep, thick pubic hair that he sporadically grooms whenever he feels like it, balls also hang low, cums in big globs and twitches with each one, cums quite easily and fast
corvus: 6 inches, shower, very similar to hush in that he’s also never experienced an orgasm so he’s #sensitive, balls are average sized, he likes the growth of pubic hair and keeps it unmaintained, possibly a-spec i can’t tell yet
theo: 7 inches, average thickness, VERY twitchy, curves upward, gets hard all the time, closet freak i feel, cum is thin and makes a huge mess, balls are also twitchy and visibly move, veiny and smattered with tiny freckles
Where to find them easily, a list of links to each audio, and why they're not available on YouTube.
*Updated 16 / 03 / 26. If you can't find what you are looking for here, it may have been removed from Patreon on this date due to Patreon Guidelines (blatant censorship). This really sucks, I hope everyone is polite to Erik about it.
Where to Find Them
You may have heard about some audios through the grapevine, but they are missing from the character's playlist on the Redacted Audio channel. Not to worry! They are all free on Patreon.
Note that a canon audio that was removed from a character's playlist has a place in that playlist. The playlist will have a short filler video showing that a video from that place between the other videos in the playlist. That is how you determine the order to listen to these removed audios.
Format; start with the character's name. Then bullet points, which contain links (green) that go directly to a Patreon audio, and a brief description of the audio in brackets which can outline the audio's chronological place in a playlist, the HBS/HBW year, or which canon universe it's set in (e.g. Imperium Universe, Fooliverse, Non-Canon).
Audios are more or less in chronological order, however some were reuploaded to patreon at the same time, therefore the order is unclear. These have been marked with '***' so if you know what order any of the marked audios should be in, let me know!
Vincent:
Sadistic Vampire and Flirty Vampire Fight Over You (also includes Adam, extended version of ''Vampire Conflict'', read the trigger warnings)
Getting Hot Under the Fireworks With Your Vampire Boyfriend (HBS 2021)
Fireside Cuddles Get Hot With Your Vampire Boyfriend (HBW 2021)
Getting Hot Under the Moonlight With Your Vampire Boyfriend (HBS 2022)
Going All the Way With Your Vampire Boyfriend***
Seduced and Bitten By a Flirty Vampire in Your Bed***
Gavin:
Your Dom Incubus Confesses His Feelings For You (extended version of his confession video)
Hot and Heavy With a Dom Incubus at a Party (HBS 2021)
Getting Hot Off the Ice With Your Incubus Boyfriend (HBW 2021)
Gavin Hot Boi Summer (HBS 2025)
Sneaking Kisses With a Dom Incubus at a Party***
Video games Take a Spicy Turn With Your Incubus Boyfriend***
Aaron:
Taking Care of Your Overworked Boss Boyfriend (HBW 2021)
Celebrating With Your Dom Boss Boyfriend***
Getting Steamy With The Boss In His Office***
Celebrating Your Dom Boss Boyfriend's Promotion***
Geordi:
Staying Warm With Your Boyfriend the Fun Way (HBW 2021)
Teasing Your Boyfriend Telepathically at the Pool Party (HBS 2022)
Asher:
Romantic Picnic Under the Sun With Your Sweet Werewolf Boyfriend (HBS 2021)
Warming Up From the Snow With Your Sweet Werewolf Boyfriend (HBW 2021)
Massaging and Teasing Your Sweet Werewolf Boyfriend (HBS 2022)
Teasing Your Sweet Werewolf Boyfriend***
Ivan:
Your Boyfriend Tells You Everything He Wants to Do to You (Post Sadisms' Hold Ivan)
Guy:
Your Switch Boyfriend is Feeling Submissive... Mostly***
Getting Hot and Ready With The Pizza Guy***
Sam:
Getting Hot and Wet in the Pool With Your Vampire Mate (HBS 2022)
Hot Boi Summer '24 Sam Reupload (HBS 2024)
Sam Hot Boi Summer (HBS 2025)
Lasko:
Getting Hot at the Movie Theater With Your Submissive Boyfriend (HBS 2021, Non-Canon)
Getting Hot in the Office With Your Submissive Professor Boyfriend (HBW 2021, Non-Canon)
Beating the Heat With Your Nervous Submissive Boyfriend (HBS 2022, Non-Canon)
Teasing Your Submissive Boyfriend With Help From Your Incubus Lover (Non-Canon, includes Gavin, and is Lasko centric unless subscribing to the SO tier)
Your Needy Submissive Boyfriend Begs For You (Non-Canon)
Domming Your Nervous Submissive Boyfriend (Non-Canon)
Huxley:
Getting Hot at a Party With Your Himbo Boyfriend (HBS 2021, Non-Canon)
Heating Up in the Bedroom With Your Himbo Boyfriend (HBW 2021, Non-Canon)
Down and Dirty With Your Himbo Boyfriend (Non-Canon)
David:
Hot and Wet in the Pool With Your Tsundere Werewolf Boyfriend (HBS 2021)
A Steamy Shower With Your Tsundere Alpha Werewolf Boyfriend (HBW 2021)
Getting Steamy With Your Alpha Werewolf Boyfriend Under the Sun (HBS 2022)
David Hot Boi Summer (Public) (HBS 2025)
A Night In With Your Tsundere Alpha Werewolf Boyfriend***
Nick:
April Fools | Your New Submissive Boyfriend is a Neko (April Fools Shitpost)
Damien:
Getting Hot on the Beach With Your Tsundere Boyfriend (HBS 2021, Non-Canon)
Hot Tub Relaxation With Your Tsundere Boyfriend (HBW 2021, Non-Canon)
Hot and Heavy With Your Tsundere Boyfriend (Non-Canon)
Milo:
Showertime Fun With Your SoftDom Werewolf Boyfriend***
Getting Your Feisty Werewolf Boyfriend Hot and Bothered (HBS 2021)
Getting Hot By the Fireplace With Your Feisty Werewolf Boyfriend (HBW 2021)
Heating Up in the Bedroom with Your Feisty Werewolf Boyfriend (HBS 2022)
Milo Sleep Aid Rerelease
Fooliverse Milo Hot Boi Summer (HBS 2025, Fooliverse)
Elliot:
Exploring Your Fantasies With Your Dreamwalker Boyfriend***
Elliott Hot Boi Summer (Public) (HBS 2025)
James:
IMPERIUM AU | Reunited and Hypnotized By Your Childhood Friend (Imperium Universe, read the content warnings)
Porter:
Porter Hot Boi Summer (HBS 2025)
Blake:
Blake Hot Boi Summer (HBS 2025)
Why They Were Removed
In September or 2022, YouTube threw a hissyfit and removed a number of videos from Redacted Audio's channel for overstepping the guidelines regarding adult content. Technically justified, given the content, but it was quite frustrating for the fans and for Erik to deal with.
The channel was temporarily banned from releasing new videos as a result. Once the ban was over, Erik continued releasing videos as normal. There have been a few more bans since.
When a channel is temporarily banned, there is a period of time afterwards that the channel must not violate any guidelines or the channel will be permanently removed. With this in mind, Erik released the 2025 HBS audios on Patreon so that he could continue writing and releasing more steamy content while working in the YouTube post-ban timeframe. If that makes sense?
