Milo Manheim X Reader Novels & Stories

Her words were firm, and diffused the first edge of the rivalry without undermining either man. Jace smirked, unconvinced, and leaned back, crossing his arms. “Fine. But if anyone needs hands-on demonstration, I volunteer…obviously.” His eyes flicked toward Mila, mischief in the glance. Ryder’s hand moved slightly, positioning himself between Mila and Jace. “We are not volunteers for show,” he said. His gaze locked on Jace with a quiet intensity that made the other man falter slightly. Mila could feel the heat of his presence that had been constant since her first day. She allowed herself a small, private acknowledgment of gratitude.

Third Person's POV Adelaide seized the opening. Her whip lashed out like a lightning strike, coiling tight around Milo's neck before she yanked him backward with a bone-crushing tug! Milo lost his balance instantly, stumbling and crashing to his knees right in front of her. Standing under the dim, yellow glow of a streetlamp, Adelaide looked down at him, her lips curling into a mocking smirk. "So, you're Milo Fernandez, the Commander of the Western Royal Guard. You lost."

I am trying to convince her that Ember and I aren’t a thing, not the opposite. Satisfied that the scent will be long gone before Amelia ever steps foot in my room, I lock the door and I go knock on Milo’s door. I hear some rustling from behind the door before Milo opens the door and closes it behind him. “Hey man, what’s up?” Milo wipes the sleep from his eyes. “Aren’t you usually up now? You aren’t exactly known as someone who sleeps in.” He scratches the back of his neck before he murmurs “Well it was kind of a long night man.” The blush building on his cheeks making me regret asking.

“I care about him.” Milo suddenly screams—a short, sharp cry that rips through the chamber. His small body arches as a shock of silver light surges outward, hitting the walls like lightning. I crawl forward despite Lucien’s warning and take Milo’s hand. His fingers latch onto mine instantly, gripping hard enough to bruise. “Elora—” His voice cracks. “I don’t want to do this.” “Do what?” I beg. His lip trembles.“The Rite wants to speak through me.”

He waits until the scent immobilizes a few meters away. Millan brings his hands over his face as if to rub the fatigue off of his face while opening his eyes again. He takes the opportunity to turn towards the beta. There, next to a fountain- this place honestly- sits a raven haired man, silently reading a small book, a peaceful expression to his face. Millan looks away as soon as he’s spotted him. It wouldn’t be as much fun if the man knew he’s not as subtle as he thinks. Happy about his current advantage, Millan eases off and surveys the peaceful area he’s stumbled upon.

the man roared, standing up. His one action received a wild reaction from the audience. A visible panic spread through the crowd as the man stood up. But it was nothing to Mila. "You must be an alpha," Mila replied calmly. "An Alpha?" the man asked, laughing sarcastically. "I AM THE ALPHA, you bitch." "You are Raul Collins?" Mila asked curiously. The alpha looked thunderstruck. The man with the book spoke, "He is the greatest alpha ever present, you cannot insult him by calling him by his name."

My burner phone tucked deep inside my coat, buzzed just once when I reached the outskirts of the property. Unknown Number: ‘Back entrance. Come alone’. The location pinged on the screen; an inconspicuous coffee shop in town. Harmless on the outside, but the person waiting inside could crack open Damien Crest’s secrets with a keystroke. I ducked into the coffee shop, my heart pounding. A man in a navy hoodie sat in the back corner, laptop open, fingers flying over the keyboard. His name was ‘Milo’, a ghost in the system, one of the best data miners money could buy. I hadn’t seen him in five years.

His weakness. Milo’s gaze lingered, helplessly drawn to him again. Dark hair, damp and curling slightly beneath his helmet. Tanned skin and sharp cheekbones. And those eyes—storm-dark, unreadable, and locked in focus. Eyes that didn’t flinch. Eyes that had already seen Milo stripped bare, even if only for a second. Milo’s breath caught. His thoughts betrayed him before he could stop them. He imagined being underneath that powerful frame, those broad shoulders caging him in, the press of muscle and heat and command—

"No, thank you." "Are you into murder mystery games?" Mila looked puzzled, "No, not really." "What about blackjack?" "No, I don't play." "Do you enjoy singing?" Mila shook her head. "I only sing the national anthem." "Do you do live streams?" the man asked. Mila, also known as the artist Inkwell with a large following, was aware of live streaming but had no interest in participating. She simply said, "No." The man's frown intensified. "Are you even from Earth? You seem clueless."

Milo greeted me with a wide smile on his face. Milo is one of my closest friends in Bendoveh Island's Sixth District. He is the only bartender who does not consume alcohol. He's been clean for nearly three years. We grew up together and have been looking out for each other ever since. I've been going to the 69ers Club every night, and Milo has been my spotter and wingman when it comes to women.