#milo redacted

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?"

part ii is out!

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.