charmed.

about me

curious are you? how adorable...

well you'll come to learn more with time, but i'll give you the basics.

they/he, black, catholic (i know, surprising huh?), and with a wide range of interests. the human experience is just so alluring to the undead, and you humans all just so fun to play with. even if romantic and sexual attraction isn't of my nature, that doesn't make them any less desirable. i'm sure some of you can relate.

what this blog isn't

OP: I’m not as well versed with Lincoln, so I’ll give you Milo! Admittedly, my hc is the Milo is trans, so I’ll be writing him as such! Also my apologies if there are any medical inaccuracies, I’m in the field but I have less direct experience with hrt. However I myself am trans, so I write this with the upmost respect.

“Milo!” Sweetheart shouts from the bathroom, wiping down the left side of counter with one hand while the other plucks items from the mirror cabinet.

“What?” Their partner croaks out, annoyed and tired. He mumbles half hearted complaints about “it being too early for this shit” as he pads over from the kitchen.

“Sit, baby. T-day.” Sweetheart says, patting the opposite side of the counter so he can sit. They sterilize and load the testosterone into the syringe with a practiced hand, chuckling when their lovely boyfriend groans and plops down on the counter.

“Hi baby,” Sweetheart says with a small sigh, cooing at his pouty expression.

“Morning.” Milo retorts quietly. He’s never been an early bird, but something feels off today.

“What’s wrong, love?” Sweetheart says, ripping open an alcohol wipe packet.

Milo shrugs, lifting his thick thigh up to roll up his boxers.

“It’s whatever.”

“Milo…” Sweetheart says, moving the wipe along in circles along the side of Milo’s leg. They place a kiss on his temple, which causes a shudder to go down his spine. He swallows.

“It’s just…not a great day to be having to do the shot.” He says, eyes looking down at his legs.

“I’ll talk about it later, let’s just get this over with.”

So Sweetheart does. As they have for the past few years, they give Milo their hand to squeeze, holding the syringe in the other. Milo takes it, but instead of squeezing, he silently presses his forehead against their shoulder. Sweetheart can feel him that a deep breath, so Sweetheart syncs with him.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In-

Milo winces as the needle goes into his skin, never a fan of this part. His face is turned away from that leg, his eyes shut tight as his breathing stutters.

Sweetheart finishes dispensing the medicine, kissing the crown of of his head and whispering sweet nothings as they always do as they remove and toss the needle, wipe over the area, and place a bandage over it. When Sweetheart tries to turn to clean up, they can’t move.

“Baby?”

“Please. Just…give me a second.” His arms wrapped around their waist, pressing his face deeper into their shoulder. Sweetheart lets him, wrapping their own arms around him and rubbing his back. The two lovers stay like this for a moment, sitting in a heavy silence.

“It hurts that I have to take medicine and shit just to feel like a man.” Milo says finally, unmoving.

“Oh.” Sweetheart says dumbly, because what do you say to that?

Sure, they could say something along the lines of “no, you are! What do you mean”, but they knows things like don’t work on Milo. Even if he knows they mean it, it won’t help at all.

Milo is stealth to everyone outside the pack. To the average person, he is often the most masculine person in the room with well grown muscles, a burly chest, and hair for days. His stubble is one he even complains at times, never one for large beards.

He never had the best role model for masculinity. His father was an ass, Asher’s dad wasn’t really close to him, and David’s father…while he left too soon, he was the closest he got. He was the leader of the pack, respected and revered across Dahlia despite his cheerful attitude and loving nature. Milo looked up to him, but couldn’t help but compare himself to his peers, his brothers.

He envied how easy masculinity came to people like David, big and tall and respected, or how Asher can feel so comfortable in his manhood to where he could wear his hair long, play with his fashion, or wear pink! It feels so stupid but even now, Milo can’t bring himself to put it on some days.

His head spins with these thoughts sometimes. Some days he looks in the mirror and could cry at how…right everything looks. But other days, he wakes up and just wants to rip his skin off. He looks at every curve and scar that stick out like a giant glowing sign screaming “girl”, “woman”, “not a real man”! Many of them aren’t even possibly noticeable to the average person. But they are to him, so that’s all that fucking matters!

It’s gotten to the point where sometimes he hates how similar he looks to his mother. He’s heard the comparison since he was a small child, and often takes pride in it. Thank God he looks nothing like his deadbeat of a father. He feels blessed to bear the face of a woman who has sacrificed so much for him, and is honestly the backbone of his pack. Not a single child of the pack has ever been deprived of her love.

But sometimes, he looks at her and sees the woman he failed to be. The daughter he never was. His mother never once made him feel less than, accepting him as her only beloved son the second she got to finally meet him. But he feels like he does all the mourning for her, grieving a person that is still alive, more than he’s ever been.

So when these thoughts hit him like a truck bright and early, he can’t help but spiral. When his loving partner, who has viewed him as nothing less than the man he is, calls for him to take a routine shot that he’s been taking for years just to feel like himself, it just adds salt to the wound. And he wish it didn’t.

Nothing in his head is anything he hasn’t told them before. And he doesn’t think that repeating it all over again will help right now. So when his partner replies with nothing but an “Oh.”, he chuckles sadly.

After a few moments, he hears them speak again.

“What do you need? How can I help?” They ask in a tone that makes his heart squeeze.

“Honestly? Just to get out of my head. A distraction.” He say, lifting his head with a sigh. Sweetheart cups his cheeks in their hands, and he knows that they can feel the warmth under them. He feels those damn cheeks get warmer as their thumbs caress over his cheekbones.

“You’re blushing.”

“I know,” Milo chuckles again, rolling his charming green eyes.

“Can I be greedy?”

“My baby is sad. Of course he can be greedy.” Sweetheart says, chuckling as well.

“What’s your request?”

“I know I haven’t really been all that in the mood recently — I’m sure you can guess why — but I’d kinda like to have your mouth on me. Is that…alright to ask?” Milo asks, more bashful than usual.

“What, you shy or something?” Sweetheart pokes at him.

“Sweetheart!” He groans, dropping his head back in compliant. Sweetheart takes this as an opportunity to press a languid kiss at the center of throat, earning a growly moan out of the shifter. Sweetheart traces down his neck and shoulder, grateful that their boyfriend sleeps shirtless.

“Yes, Milo?” Sweetheart purrs, holding one of his pecs in their hands, massaging over his nipple with their thumb.

“You’re an ass, and you know it. So much for makin’ me feel better.” Milo grits out, his voice catching in his chest as he tries to quiet his moans. He looks down at his partner as they trace kisses down his stomach. They lay their tongue flatly on it, licking up his happy trail with their eyes trained on him.

“I aim to make you feel better.” Sweetheart says, pressing their hand flat on his chest, ushering him to lean back. He listens, jutting his hips forward a bit. His sex presses against Sweetheart’s lips, earning a sharp breath from him.

“Fuck, you’re already hard?” Sweetheart giggles, pressing kisses through the fabric covering his cock. Milo groans, a soft “quit teasin’ me…” floating through the air.

“But it’s fun.” Sweetheart chuckles, kissing the inside of his thighs as their fingers stroke up and down Milo’s growing cock. He whimpers a bit, his hips bucking. Sweetheart bites into his flesh.

“Shit!” Milo’s hand finds the top of Sweetheart’s head. “Baby, sweetheart, honey…please. We g-gotta get the day started. We can’t spend it all torturing me, r-right?”

Sweetheart looks up, giving him a look that says “yes, I can and would”. He gulps. But luckily, before he realizes, his boxers are being pulled down his legs and the cold air is hitting him directly. He shudders, before the cold is quickly replaced by a deep, soothing warmth.

Milo hangs his head back as he always does, a deep, rumbling moan escaping his mouth as his baby gets to work. Sweetheart suckles on his cock, licking up and down the length, before their tongue moves deeper into his core, lapping up the evidence of his pleasure.

“You taste amazing, handsome.” Sweetheart says, before kissing his tip. They take a good look at him.

“Damn, it’s so cool to watch you grow when you’re aroused. You get so big, it’s insane.”

Milo looks down, really looks down, and sure enough, he is bigger than he thought. He has to be at least 5 inches, which isn’t even possible for the average human. Good thing shifters are well-endowed. He doesn’t like looking in that area much, but right now when he does he feels so much all at once.

He feels handsome.

He feels happy.

He feels even hornier than before.

His eyes droop a bit, and he runs his hand along Sweetheart’s face.

“Well, it’s basically begging for your attention. You’d better get back to work, sweetcheeks.” He says, gusto back.

Sweetheart’s mouth get back to work, and slowly their fingers join, making Milo melt under them. His baby takes care of him so well, and he couldn’t feel more happy.

Watching their head bobble as they suck his cock off makes him feel so proud, he could puff his chest out. (Jesus, the wolf inside never really chills out, does it?)

It takes everything in him not to grab Sweetheart’s head and push it deeper into him. Before he can even realize, he’s coming, the result of which splashing all long Sweetheart’s hand as it pumps him until he’s begging them to stop.

Sweetheart licks up his sex in a slow, flat motion, cleaning him up. They chuckle happily as they do so, before looking up at him.

“Better?” They say, standing up. Milo answers them by pulling them into a kiss, deep and hungry. He growls into it, tasting himself on their tongue. He reels in how Sweetheart’s hands scratch against the base of his neck, playing with his chain.

Once they break, he smiles at them.

“Yes. Much better. You want me to return the favor?” He says, kissing the tip of their nose.

“Breakfast?” Sweetheart asks sweetly, earning a hearty laugh out of Milo.

“Of course.”

However, while brewing a disgustingly black coffee for their lounging cowboy (who is definitely “not asleep, just resting his eyes” despite the fact that he’s silently sat on the porch with his chin almost all the way down to his chest, eyes half-lidded), their mind wanders.

Sam is deliberate with his touches. At first, Darlin’ thought it was just out of respect, which has a level of truth to it. But even now, he’s almost reverent with his touches. Like he wants it to mean something or whatever. Darlin’ chuckles, rolling their eyes before sobering up a bit, actually giving the thought some weight to it.

Their head. Chaste temple kisses before he goes off to work. Forehead kisses as casual as his arm around Darlin’s shoulder as the two of them stand together in public. Kisses to the crown of their head, whenever he hugs them for a little longer than usual. His lips always lingers in those moments, sometimes accompanied with muffled words that make Darlin’s heart swell more than they’d ever admit.

Their hands. Covered in marks from their past, mapping out the road that led Darlin’ to this very moment. Not a single one has gone unkissed by Sam. Sometimes it’s during a greeting, bowing his head as he brings their knuckles up to his lips, a rumbly “Hey Darlin’” or something of the sort tickling their skin. Other times it’s in moments of passion, when their hands are the easiest thing for him to reach as their bodies distract themselves with the task of becoming one. But Darlin’s favorite is when they cup his cheek in their hand, and he turns to press his lips against their palm. His silver eyes always look up at them, saying so much despite no words being spoken.

Their chest. Right above the heart. The spot he loves to rest his head against the most. They didn’t understand it at first, how sometimes he’d just kneel before them and press his head there silently. When they asked, the man mumbled something about Darlin’s heartbeat being soothing to him. When they were going to ask for elaboration, he shushed them. But by now, Darlin’ gets it. On the best nights, it’s a steady beat to breathe to, listen in on with all the other sounds of nature around them. It blends in with the cicadas and the creaking of their home settling. But on the worst nights, it’s a lifeline for Sam. Keeping him steady when words aren’t easy and his thoughts plague him. It comforts him along with Darlin’s kisses and brushed fingers.

Maybe there’s something poetic to be said about those being the three spots he kisses the most. The guy’s sentimental like that, even if he’ll claim otherwise. Either way, it makes Darlin’ happy. They’ve never felt unloved by him, and it makes them blink back tears when they realize they’ve never been able to say that about anyone else.

So forgive them when they make their way over the porch and cup their man’s cheek, kissing his nose to get his attention. Once his eyes flutter back open, they place a deep kiss right on his lips, trying to funnel these emotions pooling up in their chest straight to him. A silent “thank you for loving me” and a promise to repay it a million times over. Before his quick mouth can even question the action, Darlin’ puts the mug of coffee in his hands and rushes back inside the house, claiming to be grabbing a blanket. Sam chuckles before sipping on his drink, more content and safe than he’s ever felt.

But he’s only ever had it in a more non-committal context. Of course, that was more than enough for him at some point. But since getting with his Beloved…well, let’s just say everyone before feels like fast food to him.

The freelancer can’t remember the last time they didn’t feel some sort of touch on their person since getting with Gavin. Sometimes, the touches are rushed, desperate. Hands pull at clothes, mouthes press against skin, and there is little room for words between the moans and sighs coming from either partner.

But other times, things are slow, deliberate. And those are the times Gavin likes the most. Once, his Beloved made a joke about how he must love “savoring his food”, and that kinda stuck with him.

Moments of pleasure with them, no matter how sexual or kinky, don’t feel like feeding to him. He actually is adversed to the thought of even categorizing it as such. It makes a uncomfortable feeling sit in his gut, and even though weeks have passed, it’s still there.

So, when his Beloved comes to him with a glint of tease in his eye, he has two goals in mind.

One, to make his love feel good and happy, always the first priority.

Two, to unpack his feelings on…whatever this is. And well, Gavin’s more of a “learn as we go” kinda guy. So when a half-lidded freelancer pushes him backwards on the couch with a sultry “look, don’t touch”, he doesn’t complain.

His eyes drink in his partner’s form in front of him. Everything from their eyes, face, waist, thighs — they’re all so beautiful to him. He watches as their hands slowly reach for their top, the skin underneath peeking from beneath the fabric.

He can almost imagine his hands cupped on either side of their torso, or how their skin feels under his lips or better — fuck, his tongue.

As more and more of his partner’s stomach is revealed, he can trace the path that he usually takes all the way up to their chest. Like a map, he knows every area where he loves to stop and bite, kiss, suck. He knows what spots cause his Beloved to make the prettiest noises, ones that make his core sing.

The top being discarded casually on the ground breaks Gavin from his thoughts, his eyes meeting his Beloved’s. They comment on how blissed out he looks.

“Are you really that down bad for me?” They ask.

“Is that even a question?” Gavin chuckles, with slight disbelief. But he knows the comment is out of pure tease, and not insecurity. He tilts forward to reach, before being pushed back again.

“Stay.”

Gavin makes a noise between a groan and a purr. It catches in his throat once the freelancer hooks their thumbs on their bottom’s waistline. Gavin watches with an aching heart (and cock) as more and more of his love’s body gets revealed. His eyes brush over their body like a painter, taking note of every last detail. He can tell just from looking alone that his Beloved is reeling from the affect they’re having on him. Not being able to show just how much he admires them and their stunning form is genuinely painful.

“Baby, please.” Gavin says, a pathetic undertone to his voice. Not that he cares, he knows how to get what he wants.

“Please, what?” His love responds, lifting his chin up so he can look at them properly. He almost laughs at how much the power trip is getting to their head. But he will admit, this is hot.

“Let me touch you. I need to feel you, you’re just too gorgeous for me to just look.” He says, pressing his face against their chest, looking up at them like a puppy. He feels the chuckle rumbling through their chest in response.

“And what if I just wanted to soak in your attention? What if I don’t feel like going all the way right now?” They test.

“Then we don’t. But not being able to worship you is torture. And I’ve done nothing to warrant it.” He says between kisses that trickle from their collarbone, down their shoulder.

Like clockwork, the two switch positions, Gavin hovering and drinking in his partner’s glorious body.

“Fuck…” He mumbles before leaning in to kiss them. “You’re so beautiful.”

His lips press against every inch of skin in their path, his touch reverent as it traces the thighs of the absolute masterpiece underneath him.

This experience feels almost spiritual to him. To an extent, he guesses it is. He can feel his very core pulling towards his Beloved, imploring him to do anything to let him express just how overwhelmed with love he feels in this moment. The dam in his heart leaks through soft spoken praises, cherished petnames, and gentle squeezes.

Gavin feels as if he could spend his whole life doing this. Rubbing and kissing over the supple skin underneath him. Never did he think that someone’s beauty could bring him to his knees, especially without the expectation of oral, but here he is.

His Beloved’s leg hooked over his shoulder. Their eyes trained on him, looking from above with an expression of pure contentment. His lips and fingers drawing invisible tattoos of praise all along their body, a wish for them to feel just a fraction of what he does in this moment.

This doesn’t feel like a meal to him. It never has, and he’s never been more grateful for it. While his sexual instincts prove helpful in many ways, in others it can make him feel animalistic. In the worst of times, he wonders how much they affected his feelings for the freelancer. But moments like these are what mean the world to him.

To be of service to his partner, and kneel before them, worshipping them in ways that don’t even begin to express how he feels. That’s what feels right to him.