It's here! My first Buffy/Faith fic, so please be nice!
Rating: Mature
"I am either getting rusty or older. None in which I am very thrilled about," Buffy complains.
"Nah! You're in great form!"
"I wasn’t talking to you, Patrick," Buffy huffs at the vampire after a final kick to his chest. "But I appreciate you trying to humble me!" She adds cheerily before finally stabbing his chest with her pole to watch it evaporate before her eyes.
"How's it going on your end?" She turns to watch Faith take on a female vampire. Or, well. Watch Faith getting pinned up against the wall by the vampire. If she hadn't known what danger Faith was in (relatively), she would easily have mistaken the scene for something else. Maybe it's the way Faith moves her leg between the vampire's thighs in an attempt to get her off of her. Either way, it sure looks less like a fight and more like a…
Has it been that long? She thinks to herself, tilting her head to watch the vampire pressing up flush against Faith. Am I really getting affected by this?
"A little help, maybe?" She hears Faith gasp and Buffy springs into action and twists the pole deep into the vampire's back, deep enough for the pointy end to reach the heart and to suddenly be sprinkled by dust.
"Or maybe you're the one who's rusty," Buffy says as Faith brushes off the dust off of her arm.
"Yeah, well, you know, being a slayer kinda starts loosing its touch when it's the cool new thing among everyone these days," Faith huffs and leans back against the wall. "You sure took your sweet time helping me."
"You seemed to have a handle on it. Or she had a handle on you. Kinda hard to tell. Didn't wanna interrupt."
Faith laughs at that.
"Not gonna lie, she kinda got me going there."
"Knew it!"
"So, what, you were just gonna stand there and enjoy the show? Didn't know you had it in it, B," Faith teases, and Buffy feels her cheeks growing hot. This, of course, doesn't go unnoticed by Faith, whose smirk now widens. "Huh. That got you all hot and bothered, didn't it."
"Wha—? no! Shut up."
"Come on, B. Must have been a while since you got screwed real good. Betcha feeling a little extra frisky."
"Sex hasn't exactly been my focus lately," Buffy explains, as if that's an excuse. The truth was, there had been plenty of time. Now when she's no longer the slayer, there's been nothing but time on her hands.
She just hasn't had the will.
Not since…
"So, what, you've depraved yourself enough to watch me almost get my freak off with a horny vamp? Got a little tingly in your pu—"
"I'm begging you to not finish that sentence."
"I won't tell anyone," Faith hums. "I told ya she got me going, too. Might as well get it out of the system. Rub one out. Slayer to slayer."
"I—" It doesn't take a genius to know what Faith is suggesting. Nor was it the first time Faith had suggested it. Except, the suggestion hadn't been made since high school, and Buffy had always brushed it off back then. So why was she considering it now?
She turns her back against Faith, not wanting to look at her face right now. It doesn't seem to stop Faith's hands from moving to Buffy's hips though and suddenly feel the hot breath from her lips against the skin of her neck. "Come on, B. Two vampires are good enough, but a slayer isn't?" The ghost of breath sends shivers down Buffy's spine, and she finds herself leaning back against Faith's body, and by that, granting Faith permission.
Maybe it's a bad idea, but it sure as hell doesn't feel as one when she feels Faith's hand sneaking down from her hips to the front of her pants to— oh.
The touch of her cold fingers sliding between her folds is enough to elicit a moan out from her lips and for her to throw her head back in delight. It's been to long since she's been touched like this but someone other than herself.
"Damn, B. Already soakin'? That's so fucking hot." Hot lips kisses Buffy's exposed neck. A second hand trails over Buffy's top, right over her nipple. The touch is driving Buffy absolutely insane with want, so she hisses and pushes herself against Faith's fingers as her own hand fumbles to get inside Faith's pants to return the favor.
It's an awkward position. Her back still pressed against Faith, their hands shoved inside each other's pants and both moving and thrusting and moaning. But at least she's doing something right, because as she brushes a finger over Faith's clit, she hears the other slayer gasp softly and feels her other hand squeezing her tit possessively.
"Fuck, B," the brunette grows softly. "Shoulda done this sooner. Maybe next time I'll bring my strap—"
As absolutely tempting that idea is, Buffy can't will herself to talk about a next time right now, so she shuts her up with a kiss. It's sloppy and awkward in the angle they are in, but it works. Faith licks into her mouth as her fingers keeps fucking into harder and faster. They are both panting against each other's lips, breathing more than they are kissing. Buffy rubs Faith harder, and Faith finally starts paying more attention to her clit.
"Gonna come for me, B?"
Buffy hisses softly, and can feel the climax getting closer. Closes her eyes and lets herself ride it out until she comes far more intently than she's had in ages. Feels herself slump against Faith as she pulls her hand out of her pants to lick her fingers clean.
"Messy,' she murmurs, and then turns to now fully focus on getting Faith off. To press her back up against the same wall the vampire had had her pinned just a moment ago and spread her legs open using her own thigh as she keeps palming teasing her clit. Takes the opportunity to let her free hand touch the curve of her breast over her top with Faith now grinding over her thigh and moaning profanities into her ear. She feels Faith's body stutter and knows that Faith is coming. Rubs her harder to let her ride out her orgasm and grins in satisfaction.
"Fuuuuck."
Buffy's withdraws her hand. It's shaky. Cramping after being trapped inside, but it was all worth it to see Faith looking all fucked out. If she had known that this is what it'd be like, she probably would have taken her up on her offer years ago.
"You good?" She asks her fellow slayer, who laughs breathlessly.
"Ya damn right I'm good, B. Fuck, I think we both needed that."
"So…"
"Nah, don't make it weird. We did came, we slayed. Came again. Don't put too much thought into it, 'kay?"
Buffy was more than good with that.
"Okay."
"But, just to get the card on the table and all that," Faith then says, pushing herself away from the wall. "That totally wasn't the last time."
It's a statement, not a question, Buffy notices.
"I think I'm good with that," she agreed. After all, the strap Faith had mentioned had caught her interest.
summary: percy stumbles into your shared apartment after a drink luckily you're there to help him relax.
warning(s): established relationship, forehead kisses, mentions of alcohol (let’s pretend like percy can drink), domestic fluff.
requests are open !!
college was hard for percy.
he couldn't keep up with the long lectures or the fast paced speaking of his teachers, stumbling over his notes as he tried his best to take in everything they said. it'd be especially worse when the hour long period would end and he'd have to book it to the star bucks and few blocks down just so he could grab a coffee before he headed to the library.
the only thing good to came from this routine, percy guessed, was when he'd stumbled into you.
class had ended and percy had sure enough found himself on the same path towards the starbucks, digging around in his back pocket as he searched for any loose change he might have had. sadly, saving the world multiple times was job that was left unpaid. percy was just a broke college student, after all.
the opening of the glass door would alert you to a new customer, your head turning to see who'd came in with a slightly confused expression on your face. the place was empty - for once. poor percy - he was so caught observing the deserted place that he failed to notice you peeking at him from the counter.
a cough from you would tell him of your presence, stumbling over to the counter with a nervous laugh. for whatever reason, he couldn't shake the jittery nerves he'd get whenever he'd look up from the counter's marble material to meet eyes with you.
you made him nervous, embarrassingly so.
he'd hurriedly take his drink from your pretty hands, relishing in the 0.1 second of hand contact between the two of you as he pull his phone out, asking you for your number.
to which you happily agreed to doing.
you rubbed your clothed feet against the arm of your sofa, flipping through one of the hard cover textbooks you'd loaned from the library for your business class. the idea was to study for the upcoming exam for your class - though things happen. somehow you'd managed to start doodling small miscellaneous shapes and animals in your notebook.
you turned your attention towards the old wooden clock hanging just above your tv that displayed the words 10:30 PM on it. already past noon, where was percy? you leaned forward to grab your phone, opening it and reviewing the text message percy had sent you a few hours prior.
he and some friends had gone out for drinks after class to celebrate one of their birthdays. he'd asked if you'd be okay with him coming home late and despite your reluctancy to deal with a drunken partner, you set his worries to rest, insisting he went out with his friend requesting only for him to bring you back a slice of cake to which he only smiled and shook his head.
your gaze lingered over percy's caller id photo, chest growing heavy as you slowly found yourself starting to miss him dearly. you knew percy could protect himself, obviously. you just wondered if results would vary based on level of alcohol intake.
it was much too late to head out and find him too so the only thing you could seriously do for now is just wait for him to come home.
so, maybe the gods took pity on you this time. your head snapped towards the door as it creaked open suddenly, a slightly dazed percy scampering into the apartment. his dark raven hair was messy and sprawled across his face and his clothes, but a t-shirt and a some random jeans - were suddenly unkept and..stained.
percy mumbled out your name, a dopey grin forming onto his lips as he approached you with his arms out to you. shaken, yet relieved you allowed him to his crash his body into you, wrapping his arms around you tightly. it would've been a nice moment if his breath didn't reek of alcohol.
his grip was strong as ever, a stark contrast to the shakiness of his frame as he pulled away from you, grazing the side of your face with his hand. "were you okay without me here..?" he slurred, tilting his head to the left slightly.
"how much did you drink, percy?" you asked sternly, directing his hand from your cheek. "you reek."
percy shot you a confused look but didn't say much else, instead opting to rest his head on your chest as he cradled your torso. if you weren't so in love with him you would've likely threw him off the couch right there and then. yet, your fingers found themselves tangled in percy's hair, threading through the dark tufts gently as you picked out the various pieces of confetti that had landed it's way into it.
despite being holed up in a bar with his friends for a few hours, the smell of sea water still lingered as percy melted into your touch, his heart rate slowly every so slightly as he started to lull himself to sleep. a smile formed onto your face as you watched him quietly. he did stupid things - like jump into shark invested waters level stupid things.
but, you had to admit you could never stay mad at him for too long. one swift solemn glance from him and you'd cave immediately. you were sure, now more than ever, that no matter what happened to you - you wanted percy to be there with us along the way. things like made you realize it.
even if percy was buzzed right now, you never took a silent moment like this for granted at all. between percy's soft breaths and your pattering heart, you were sure all your fears from earlier were gone. another mutter of your name from percy catches your attention as you hum out a 'yes?'.
"i feel.." he hiccupped. "bad."
"yes, alcohol has that kind of effect on people." you joked, picking out a small pink confetti piece that was hiding in between his strands.
percy groaned. "no..it's not the beer." he turned to look up at you with a small frown.
"i ate your slice of cake.."
you stared at him momentarily before bursting out laughing, to percy's dismay. he muttered retorts to your amusement. you guess that was what the stains were. when your laughter finally ceased you simply watched percy with loving eyes, leaning forward to press a kiss to his forehead before cradling his head.
I'd love a little something Buffy/Faith with the prompt "you need me"
News about the reboot got me motivated to finish this little thing, which has been sitting in my drafts for forever. Thank you for the prompt!!! 💜💜💜
Season 7 (forgive me, pls) canon divergence. The crew doesn’t act like a bunch of clowns and vote Buffy out. Faith wrecks them for thinking about it.
-
Faith’s not a good person.
She’s trying. She’s really trying, actually, in the painful, cringe-inducing way—she did prison, did repentance, did the whole soul reclamation bit with Angel as her angsty guru, all mournful eyes and gelled hair and shirtless Tai Chi. Now she’s here, acting as B’s literal and metaphorical punching bag, trying to be a fucking mentor and saving her rage for the gym and the spiral notebook that’s sitting at the bottom of her duffel. She’s writing things out, being honest—what a fucking nightmare—and resisting the urge to burn the pages immediately so that no one in this fucking house can ever see.
So yeah, she’s trying to be a good person, to make amends, to really think before she acts. She’s trying to “be mindful,” as a pouty, brown-eyed vampire had put it as he meditated with her in his broody little hotel full of rejects and freaks including, somehow, Cordelia Chase who no question counts as both of those things these days. Jesus fucking Christ.
Okay, so. She’s trying.
But the trying, it takes time, that same cultish fuck she somehow counts as a friend told her, and she’s not there yet. She’s not there yet, so she’s not surprised at the feelings of satisfaction and vindication that bubble up in her stomach when B starts catching shit from the potentials and then from her own precious Scoobies. Her lips twitch a little, pulling against the skin, barely closed from Buffy’s fist in that alleyway, and yeah, this feels good.
The part of her that’s still seventeen, vengeful and ashamed and so fucking lonely, is basking in B’s confusion and anger. She knows what this is—the self-righteous Scoobies interrogating her after a hard decision, a mistake; Giles’s disappointed dad vibes; the scorn and judgment and isolation. It’s about fucking time.
Faith’s not a good person, and it feels like something she deserves when iron bursts bright on her tongue as she licks at her lip, fully split again from the smile she couldn’t quite suppress.
The guy next to her, Robin, who has been here for like fifteen minutes and somehow feels like he’s got a right to call shots, says, like he matters, “So we vote.”
There’s a flash of something in B’s eyes before she can tamp it down, and Faith’s suddenly back in her cot at the prison, tearing at her blanket and throwing her book to the ground as she falls out of a vision, hands and nails aching from clawing at velvet and wood and dirt, lungs screaming from deprivation. She remembers the stiffness and tingle of unused muscles, the panic and confusion and pain, her whole body like a raw nerve, consciousness yanked roughly back into the world and met with what she knows now was a closed coffin six feet under still.
She’s in front of B before she can really process what she’s doing, body coiled and voice steady and dangerous as she says, “Enough.”
She whirls at the hand on her bicep, snaps lowly at Buffy before she can get out whatever obnoxious bullshit she’s definitely going to throw at her, “I’m with you, B, so shut the fuck up for once, okay?”
Like a fucking miracle, she does, jaw snapping closed so tightly that Faith could’ve heard it even without her slayer senses and hand dropping back to her side. She shrinks a little, and Faith is reminded of how young she is, how young they both are. Not children, no, and Faith was never really a kid anyway, but still.
She turns back and eyes Giles, ever the Watcher, and lets her lip curl as he stares at her, opens the door she’s gotten real good at keeping closed in her murder rehab. She feels something in her stretch like a panther in one of the nature docs they showed at the prison–strong and hungry, lazy and confident, lying in wait. He flinches and the monster flashes its teeth in approval.
“Enough,” she says again, and lets her gaze cross the room. The Scoobies are unsurprised, which stings a bit, but this version of her, dangerous and defensive and slayer, even if nobody wants to admit it, is new for the potentials, and she clocks their reactions, which run the gamut from wide eyes and open staring to attempted nonchalance. She’s made it most of the way across the room, eyes lingering on Dawn and the little bit of hope in her eyes, the little bit of gratitude, when a voice sounds out beside her.
“Faith.”
This fucking guy. Her eyes narrow as she turns to Robin, and she knows she’s doing it right when he takes half a step back at her glare.
“Listen, Robin?” She says it like she isn’t sure, derisive and dismissive because his ego’s fucking outrageous, and she’s stretching muscles she hasn’t gotten to use in a long time. When he frowns, offended but clearly aware he can’t make a big deal of it, she bites back a smile. She doesn’t let it go further because she has a goal here, and she is trying, fucking still, can feel Buffy behind her waiting on shit to go sideways. Faith has no interest in proving her right.
Faith is not a good person, but right now, in a coincidence that works out super well for Buffy Summers, the not-so-good parts of her and her better Angels (gag) are leading her to the same result. She’d rather hurl herself through the front window of the house and do a coordinated dance routine with Drusilla’s bleach-blonde creep than feed Buffy’s superiority complex one more tiny morsel, which means she’s keeping her shit together.
“Robin,” she says again, with more certainty, her fit-for-public-consumption adult voice in place. “Gimme a minute here, okay? I think I deserve that.”
He nods, like it was really a question, and she lets him, because growth and not proving Buffy right and also helping Buffy. What a mindfuck. She imagines how good it will feel to let loose on the punching bag later.
Nobody has moved during their little exchange, and pretty much everyone is still avoiding eye contact. Faith can see Kennedy in the corner of her eye, her back and shoulders kept rigid with unearned confidence and entitlement, but Faith doesn’t take the bait. All she wants is attention. She can get it from Red.
Instead, Faith takes a second to think through how to do this, can feel Buffy’s anxiety rolling off her in waves. B hates the loss of control, but she’s not an idiot, never has been, and it seems like she has processed that Faith’s doing her a favor here.
“We don’t need a vote. B’s in charge.” She sees some shuffling among the potentials, Giles’s ever-present furrow getting deeper, Willow’s frown comically pronounced, Robin’s feet moving half an inch toward her. She breathes out, filling space like it’s hers, and it is. It always is, but she rarely reminds people of it, these days. And anyway, even when she wasn’t trying to be a good person, she didn’t love making the wrong people feel afraid.
Her shoulders roll back, her feet spread just shy of a fighting stance. A reminder. “Do you know why I’m here?”
“You broke out of prison.” It’s immediate. Faith hasn’t spent much time with Anya, but the literal answer, the deadpan delivery, both seem pretty on target with what she’s got so far. She fights an eye roll. Red doesn’t, and she feels a small, terrible burst of solidarity.
“Yeah,” she acknowledges.
“Where you were because you killed a man.” Anya’s voice has an edge to it now, and Faith’s patience is wearing thin.
“Right again,” she says, instead of telling her to go fuck herself, letting the potentials’ reactions to the exchange roll off of her. “But before that…” She catches Red’s hand grasping Anya’s forearm when it looks like she might speak again and the bite of gratitude is annoying as hell. Respecting her is one thing, but Faith’s nearly certain they’re going to be friends.
That’s for later. She focuses up. “You know the whole deal. Into every generation, a slayer is born, one girl in all the world, whatever whatever.”
Giles pulls some kind of face. She fights the urge to say something just to piss him off more, misquote the sacred misogynist texts or talk about the Council, maybe, while she stares him dead in the eye. I know who you are, you old fuck. I remember just as much as you do. She might call Angel after this, to brag on herself and her self-control.
“One girl. One slayer. Then she dies, usually pretty quickly, and another girl gets called.” Robin’s tense now, arms crossing, and ah. Maybe that’s it. Some slayer connection. Poor bastard. “That’s the drill. And we all know B’s the slayer. The one girl. But see, I’m a slayer, too. And I’ve never been great at school, but the math on that is easy enough.” She doesn’t look back as she asks, “How old were you when you died, B? The first time.”
“Sixteen,” Buffy answers, voice flat but clear.
“Sixteen,” Faith repeats. She eyes Dawn as carefully as she can, but small fry notices, because she’s no dummy. She’s got her jaw all clenched, looks so much like the little teenage shit she is, and the monster in Faith bristles in a mostly new way. Protective. She’s so angry, but not just for herself anymore. Dawn gives her a tiny little nod. “The Master drowned you, yeah? After taking a bite? Ugly fuck.”
The hum of affirmation isn’t loud enough to be heard by anyone but Faith but that one was rhetorical anyway.
“So one dead slayer means a new one gets called. But still not me. Not first, anyway.”
“Kendra,” Buffy says from behind her, loud enough to be heard by the rest of the room, but barely. Faith turns her head enough that Buffy can see her dip her chin in acknowledgement. She understands. Buffy needs to say her name. Faith does, too.
“Kendra. Kendra and Buffy, even though there’s only supposed to be one. But then Drusilla killed her.” William the Bloody’s been smoking cigarettes in the front yard, but she’s not sure that name will mean anything to them.
“Only some of them know,” Buffy says lowly, mind meld in full effect, and it makes her skin crawl as much as it feels like a warm blanket.
“A vampire with a special flavor of crazy,” Faith adds to the group.
“Do you have a point?” It’s Robin, arms crossed tighter and looking like Faith has personally kneed him in the balls, which she has spent serious time not doing, actually.
“Who even are you? You’ve been here for, like, five minutes.” It’s Dawn, lip raised in a look of disdain so purely Summers that Faith can’t help but smirk. Her split lip splits a little more, and she licks the blood away as she watches Robin try to figure out how to answer.
Buffy, uncharacteristically, remains silent, although Faith can practically feel her desire to rein Dawn in, can see in her mind the exact face B’s making, the pout of disapproval, eyebrows lowered in judgment.
“You know who I am,” Robin says, like small fry was being literal.
“Yeah, my principal. And that’s not what I meant, anyway.”
“What did you mean?” His tone is somewhere between genuine and careful, young lady, and yeah, a principal for sure. Gross.
“I meant,” Dawn says, words slow and deliberate and condescending, and Faith fights a snort as she watches Robin realize he’s miscalculated, “that I would rather hear from the actual slayers in the room. Faith’s talking. You should listen.”
She’s done with the conversation, which she signals by turning away from Robin and back to Faith. It’s impressive, given that she can’t actually turn fully away from him, but the vibes are there loud and clear. A big, teenage fuck off.
Dawn catches her grin and one corner of her mouth tilts up just a little and Faith can’t believe how much she likes Buffy’s only-still-kind-of-a-kid sister.
“My point,” Faith says with a measured look at Robin, “is that Buffy got called, alone, when she was fifteen years old. Then she died. She died saving all of you, even though none of you had any idea, because a group of old fucks decided she was expendable. That we all were.” She looks Giles dead in the eye because she’s never been very good at the passive part of passive-aggressive. He looks like he’s sucking a lemon. Good. “And then she got brought back, and she kept going. She got Kendra and lost her. She kept going. She got me and I was a massive fuckup who tried to kill her.”
B doesn’t interrupt her, but Faith senses the movement, slow and deliberate, and then there’s a small, warm hand on her back, a gentle press that stays there.
“And then she was alone again. And she kept going.”
“She wasn’t alone.”
Faith doesn’t want to fight with Xander. She doesn’t. But he’s wrong, and he needs to know it.
“She was, actually.” It’s Willow, looking at Xander with understanding and maybe pity, tone familiar and kind but not uncertain. “We loved her. We helped where we could. But neither of us is chosen. We could have walked away whenever we wanted. We still could.” Her face shifts and she’s looking at him almost the way she did when they were in high school, the way she probably has for all of their lives, if Faith’s got it right. It’s a kind of gentle that’s a little embarrassing to watch, even if it’s more complicated, more grown-up, than the half-love-struck thing it used to be. “It means something that we stay, but it’s a choice she will never be able to make. And the one time she tried to make it, we stole the choice away from her.”
It’s the last bit that does it, that keeps Xander’s mouth shut and makes Willow’s eyes tear, and sends Buffy’s body rocking just enough to let Faith know she wants to move—to go to Willow or to bolt or to punch something—but won’t. Willow can tell too, maybe, because she turns to Buffy over Faith’s shoulder and smiles at her, real and hard and unconcerned with anyone else and shit, yeah, they’re gonna be friends.
“She died again,” Faith says, carefully as she can. “Gave herself up for everyone again.” There’s a flash of pain at the memory of it, the burst of light from nowhere and the certainty that she was the lone slayer in the world, the certainty also that no one would be coming to tell her anything more. “How old were you that time, B?”
“Twenty.” Flat but clear.
“I don’t think dying repeatedly is a great argument for leadership.” It’s Anya again, and she sounds almost apologetic, but she can’t quite stop herself. Willow might murder her, if looks are anything to go by, eyes flashing dark and dangerous. Faith’s adding points to the Red column by the minute.
“She sacrificed herself.” Dawn’s voice is sharp, though not as sharp as it had been with Robin. “The point is, she chose to give up her life to save everyone, which she did, and then she was brought back against her will and is still fighting. It’s about why she died the second time. And what she did when she got brought back. Again.”
“What small fry said,” Faith offers with a nod, and Anya is quiet again. Faith gears up to give a speech that’s going to make her feel disgusting. “The point is that B is the only one who has been tested in the ways that this is going to test us, and she’s the only one who has made the choice to end her life for everyone else, and she’s the only one who has shown that she’s willing to do it again and again. I’m not saying we don’t need teamwork.” God this is so gross. She’s going to annihilate a bag later. “I’m just saying B is and always will be the leader of this team. At least as long as I’m on it.”
And there’s the threat. She can see them all process it, can feel Buffy behind her, palm flattening against her shoulder blade. Her body reacts the way it always has to affection from Buffy, but she doesn’t bother to lie to herself about what it means anymore. There are lots of things she wants and can’t have. She’s trying not to run toward mess these days, and anyway, this is bigger than that.
“We should keep a vote on the table.”
Her patience snaps, and her head turns slowly to Robin, arms easy at her sides, eyes running him over in a lazy calculation. “You still think we’re at the same fuckin’ table?”
His eyes widen, a little, but he looks like he might square up. In other circumstances, Faith might be impressed by the audacity. Now, though, she just lets her bleeding lip curl and tracks his eyes as they watch the red spread.
“Faith is right.” There’s not even a hint of disgust in Red’s voice, though Faith knows from personal experience how much that must have cost her. “Buffy’s the leader of any team I’m on.”
“Me too,” Dawn says, followed quickly by several potentials.
“We need a plan.” It’s Giles this time, and Faith watches relief flood Robin’s face, irritation making her skin crawl.
“We’ll make one.” Xander says, and then looks at Faith, past Faith, at the body that steps up beside her, close enough that their elbows are brushing. “Right, Buff?”
“We’ll make one. I’m not…I’m not the best at asking for help but I know I…” Faith begins to tune out, exhausted, and the hero’s back, her job done, but the minute she tries to take a step back, Buffy’s fingers are around her wrist. It’s a hold she could break easily, which they both know, and Buffy’s still talking, not acknowledging the conversation her body is having with Faith’s, but her thumb and index finger squeeze gently, a request. “I’m sorry.” Faith has no idea whether the apology fits with whatever else Buffy had been saying. She stays.
Later, forearms pressed against the porch railing, Faith flinches briefly at the creak of the back door and then relaxes again, scooting slightly to the right to make space for the reedy arms that settle near hers.
“I’m afraid we’re going to be friends.”
Faith snorts. Sighs. “Yeah. I think you’re right.”
Willow’s profile is as sharp as ever, but the curl of her lip is newly affectionate. The door creaks again a few minutes of quiet later, and Willow moves, body replaced by one Faith has never known quite what to do with.
“Thank you.” It’s real, makes Faith want to say something unserious and possibly offensive. She doesn’t, because growth, but she does let herself smirk, is rewarded with an eye roll. “And I’m sorry. About your lip.” Before Faith can figure out what to say to that, she adds, “About a lot of things.”
“Yeah,” Faith tries. “Me too.”
“You’re different.” It’s not a question. “I mean, I knew. But you’re…” Faith waits. She’s good at quiet now, when she needs to be. “I feel like I’m not as different as I should be. From the way I was then.”
“Yeah, well, I had a lot more room to grow. You weren’t out there staking humans.”
“That was an accident.”
Her immediate response, her certainty, is relief on a wound so constantly sore that it almost makes Faith gasp. “Thanks,” she says simply and without a struggle, “but what came after wasn’t.”
“No.” It’s a concession, not a dig, and Faith isn’t sure how much longer she can take this level of earnestness, this kind of honesty. “I can’t do this without you.”
Well, shit. But at least it’s a lie.
“Of course you can.”
“Okay.” Another concession. “But I don’t want to.”
“You saying you need me, B?”
She isn’t. What she’s saying is about a thousand times scarier. They both know it. Maybe a good person would reach for the truth. Maybe a good person wouldn’t run, wouldn’t hide behind a joke. Faith isn’t a good person.
“Maybe,” Buffy shrugs, pressing her forearm against Faith’s. It’s something, to know she isn’t the only one who needs a little distance from the full truth, good person or not.
She presses back into the contact and lets it lie.
hobie x f reader !! shes like really hurt after a fight and hobie takes care of her<33
𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓! 𝘩𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘹 𝘧𝘦𝘮！𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳
𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑨𝑰𝑵𝑺: blood, mention of injures, pet names (sweetheart, love), reader being kind of shy, ooc hobie? if i missed anything please tell me.
𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑴𝑨𝑹𝒀: what happens when you knock on Hobie’s door with tear stained cheeks and blood?
you were embarrassed to say the least, walking up the steps as you hug yourself tight. little gasps and tears escape your eyes as you grip your sides, it wasn’t anything serious. but it hurt badly, and you just needed someone.
you never thought that someone would be Hobie, you never hated him, you just found him annoying with his perfect eyes and cool personality, his teasing demeanor never failing to make you flustered.
you knock on his door, and when he doesn’t open right away you whimper, thinking that he’s not there. you knocked again and suddenly you heard his familiar cockney accent.
“jeez, fucking wait for a second!” he yells, he doesn’t know what will approach him when he opens the door, but he didn’t except to see you. so worn out, tear stained cheeks and bloody sides, hugging yourself
“woah, woah, hey what happened here? love, can you talk to me?” he asks, rough hand holding your face delicately as he lets you in.
“i just- it- i didn’t-“ you try to talk, you want to talk so badly, to explain yourself. but your sobs stop you and only thing you could do is just hug yourself tighter
“s’okay, sweetheart, s’okay. Just wait for a moment, yeah?” he says before going to the bathroom getting his first aid kit
he sits you his sofa, crouching down in front of you as he places both of his bigger hands on your cheeks, caressing them.
“M’here, no need to worry, it’s all gonna be okay.” he says before taking gauze, his hands now on your waist as he slowly and softly wraps it around.
“look at me, love.” he says, voice so delicate as he puts his one hand on my cheek, you look at him with your doe like teary eyes, a slight pout on your lips.
“there you go, sweetheart. A little better, yeah?” you just nod, tears still escaping your eyes as he looks at you.
“Need you to answer me, love. Can you do that?” and before you know it you’re in his arms, your head on his chest, babbling
“i’m fine-i’m fine. I’m so sorry H-Hobie, i’m sorry i-i didn’t wanna scare you.” you say it between little sobs and whimpers, he holds you tighter.
“Shh, shh. It’s alright, sweetheart, it’s alright. You gave me a good scare there, love. But all that matters is that you’re fine.”
“i’m sorry. i’m so-“ you whimper out before he shushes you again, holding you still. His hand playing with your hair, you don’t even know how this happened, but if it meant being in his arms like this, without a shame you would put yourself at risk again.
