#the turning

[axquiva]

Finn wolfhard in his interview where he said "everyone always wants my characters to be gay"

[mikewheelersbasementt]

Sorry - Miles Fairchild

Pairing - Miles Fairchild x Fem! Reader

Contents - You and Miles get in an argument, and he knows just how to make it up to you.

Warnings - Angst, making out, dry humping

A/n- this is my first time posting on tumblr. It’s also my first time writing smut, so please tell me how I did!

Tonight, it starts like most of your arguments do. Small.

You're sitting in the living room, homework spread across the coffee table, when he walks in and makes a comment. Something sarcastic. Something unnecessary.

"You're still working on that? He says, glancing down. "It's not even hard."

You look up at him, already tired. "I didn't ask for commentary."

He rolls his eyes. "I'm just saying."

"That's the problem," you reply. "You're always just saying things that hurt."

He freezes, then scoffs. "You're being dramatic."

That word snaps something in you. "I'm not dramatic," you say, standing up. "You're just rude sometimes, and I'm tired of pretending it doesn't bother me."

Miles' jaw tightens. You recognize the look immediately—the one he gets when he feels cornered. His shoulders tense, like he's bracing for impact instead of listening.

"Why do you always turn everything into a fight?" He snaps.

Your chest tightens. "I'm not turning it into anything. I'm telling you how you make me feel."

"Well, maybe you're too sensitive." He fires back.

That one hurts.

The silence that follows is heavy, pressing down on both of you. You can tell for a split second, that he regrets it. His mouth opens, like he might take it back.

But Miles has never been good at backing down. "Whatever," he mutters instead. "I don't have time for this."

He turns and storms out, his footsteps echoing down the hall before a door slams somewhere far away. The sound reverberates through the mansion, sharp and final.

You stand there for a moment, stunned, before sinking back into the couch. Your throat burns, but you refuse to cry. Not here. Not over this.

Eventually, you retreat to your room and close the door, leaning against it like it might keep everything else out. The mansion feels too quiet now. Too empty.

Minutes pass. Then an hour.

You replay the argument in your head, wondering if you pushed too hard, if you should've chosen your words differently. living with Miles means constantly walking the line between honesty and explosion.

You're lying in your bed when you hear it—soft footsteps outside your door.

They pause.

Then a knock.

It's quiet. Careful. Nothing like the way he slammed doors earlier.

You don't answer.

The door opens slowly anyway, and in Miles steps inside like he's afraid you might vanish if he moves too fast. He looks different now—no sharp edges, no arrogance. Just tired. Guilty.

"Hey," he says softly.

You turn your head but don't sit up.

He closes the door behind him and stands there for a moment, clearly unsure of what to do with himself. Then he walks closer and sits on the edge of your bed, hands resting on his knees. "I shouldn't have said that," he admits. "Any of it."

You stay quiet.

"I get mean when I'm angry," he continues, voice low. "And I hate that about myself. I hate that I do that to you."

That gets your attention.

He glances at you, eyes searching your face. "I didn't mean to walk out. I just... didn't trust myself not to say something worse." He reaches for your hand, but hesitates halfway. When you don't pull away, he laces his fingers through yours, holding on like it steadies him. "I hate when we fight."

"I just want you to be nicer to me," you say quietly. "I don't like to feel small."

Before you can say anything else, he shifts closer, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into him. It's not smooth or confident—it's needy. Clingy. "I'm sorry," he murmurs into your shoulder. "I really am."

He doesn't let go right away. His arms stay firm around you, his head tucked against yours, breathing, steadying as if he needs the contact to calm down.

"I'll do better," he says. "I promise. I don't want to be the person who hurts you."

You relax into him, resting your forehead against his shoulder. "Just talk to me next time. Don't shut me out."

He nods. "I will," he says while peppering kisses on your neck.

Immediately you feel a change in him—as if a switch went off.

“Let me make it up to you.” He whispers not even backing up an inch from your neck.

“Miles-” you try to protest.

“Shhh,” he shushes. “I got you.”

With that, he attaches his lips to yours in a slow but deep kiss.

You know you shouldn’t forgive him so fast, but you can’t help it. It’s like your body is working separate from your brain. You can’t help but give in to the way he holds you.

It quickly becomes heated. You eagerly kiss him back, tangling your hands in his unruly hair.

You gasp when he grabs ahold of your waist and swiftly pulls you unto his lab, making you straddle him. You pull away from his lips, looking down at him. This position gives you the perfect view. His pupils dilated, lips pink and swollen, and his cheeks ever so slightly flushed.

He brings your head back down, capturing your lips with his. One of his hands is placed at the small of your back, rubbing sweet circles with his thumb, while the other is gripping at your hip.

You move slightly to get more comfortable, which makes him let out a low groan. This gives you the opportunity to slip your tongue into his mouth, that he excepts graciously.

You can already feel him under you, so you move, desperate to hear his beautiful sounds again.

You kiss him even harder, swallowing every grunt he makes. Each one sending a bolt of desire straight to your core.

Miles moves his lips to your neck, leaving a trail of pretty purple spots—that you will scold him for in the morning—swiping his tongue over each one.

You can tell he’s close by how desperate he’s getting. Each kiss is deeper, every rock of his hips are harder, and his sounds are louder.

Suddenly, his hips sputter and his head falls forward into the crook of your neck, and a gasp followed by—what can only be described as a whine—falls from his lips.

“Fuck,” he mutters, muffled by your neck.

“Miles, did you just come?” You ask teasing, but you already know the answer.

“Shut up.” He says, but there is no harm behind his words, just embarrassment.

“And I thought you were supposed to be making it up to me.”

He finally lifts his head up. “You think I’m done?”

My Masterlist



[dontmentionitseriouslyy]

HII! can u pls do finn wolfhard x reader whose lowkey gullible asf😓😓

HI ANON!! Yes yes yes I think Finn would be very gullible with his gf, he just thinks you're too perfect to pull tricks on him 😭 i swear this dude would trust you with his LIFE after like two weeks of dating ✌️lowkey i got carried away with this so i hope you enjoy, anon!

⋆˚₊ 𖤓☽˚.⋆✮⋆˙⋆.˚໑ ݁༝ ۫ ׅ 󠀠󠀠󠀠꩜⋆.°⭑ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴇɪʟɪɴɢ! - ꜰ. ᴡ.

Pairing: Finn Wolfhard x Female Reader

Summary: Finn isn't dumb, but he believes anything and everything you tell him...almost to a fault.

Tags: FLUFF!, drabble collection, requested, rpf, not proofread!, pet names, (such as honey, babe, dude, and bro because this is very much me), banter, no use of Y/N, reader is lowk a menace, but not mean per se, finn is gullible asf, established relationship, long term relationship, suggestive jokes??, kinda ig, i'm in love with this lmao 🥲 (reqs open!)

Word count: 1.6k ꩜⋆.°

(More under cut)

Scrolling on your phone with your boyfriend of three years right across from you was no rare occasion. Whenever he wasn't working, attending meetings, or touring with music or press, he was usually home with you.

And who could blame him? You were his favorite person in the world, and he was an introvert. And while yes, he loved to go out with you all the time (always on him, he never let you pay), sometimes it was in both of your interests to have a quiet day. And sometimes, quiet days mean decompressing on opposite sides of the couch with your feet and legs tangled together in the middle.

"Hey, hon?" You looked up from your phone with a mildly interested expression, having forced it down from a wicked grin just moments prior.

"Hmm?" Finn looked up from his phone (he was editing photos of you) and raised his eyebrows. You had no idea whether he did this intentionally, but it always reminded you of an innocent little puppy, hanging onto your every word. You smiled without meaning to.

"I just saw something interesting." You stalled for a couple seconds while you switched apps, opening up your camera in preparation. Oh, how you loved the ability to take photos discreetly with iPhones.

"Oh, do tell," he joked, propping his chin up with his hand and putting on a gossipy air.

"Did you know that only five percent of people can stick out their tongue and look up at the same time?" You fought for your life to keep your tone neutral and your face straight, zooming the camera in on his face.

Finn, still oblivious as ever, tilted his head in mild interest, eyebrows quirking. "Really? Interesting."

Aaaand three...two...one...

Not a second after he inevitably fell for it, you snapped a picture, your phone making an obnoxiously loud shutter noise.

"Hey!" His face immediately fell, looking shocked, indignant, scandalized, and slightly betrayed. You cackled, kicking your feet with impish joy.

"Delete that right now!" He demanded, reaching over in an attempt to snatch your phone away. You extended it away from him, standing up in a flash and running all the way to the kitchen island as he chased you.

"You fell for it," you teased him as you two circled around the counter, you staying on the opposite side for optimal maneuvering tactics. "And now I have blackmail."

Finn put his hands on the table, staring at you. "You wouldn't."

"Oh, I absolutely would." you told him very seriously.

You were bluffing. But of course, he didn't know that.

You walked into the room with a practiced air of slight shock. You didn't say anything, just walked over to the couch and plopped down next to Finn, exhaling a long sigh.

"Hey, what's wrong?" His hand immediately found yours, other one reaching for the remote to pause the TV. You shook your head, squeezing his fingers with yours.

"I just heard about something awful." You said gravely, your free hand coming up to rub at your temple.

"Oh, jeez, what is it?" He turned to face you fully, attention rapt and worried.

"Some actress just got stabbed." You told him, eyebrows knitting together. His eyes widened.

"What? Who?" He asked, slight panic in his eyes. You immediately felt guilty, just now remembering that he was an actor and therefore had actor and actress friends, which might mean he was worried about Millie, Sadie, or maybe Mckenna. Still, the show must go on, right?

"No one we know personally," you assured him first, scolding your soft heart for making you delay the punchline. You did see his shoulders lose some of their tension, though.

"I think her name was, uh," you pretended to struggle, "Reese...something."

"Witherspoon?" He finished, mouth open slightly in horror.

"No, with a knife."

A wide grin cracked your solemn expression just then, silent laughter shaking you through your chest and shoulders.

Words couldn't describe the deadpan he looked at you with. Priceless.

"Oh, that's funny." You cocked your head to the side, stopping in your tracks. Finn, who was holding your hand as you walked side by side through the movie theater, did as well.

You had just finished watching some old feel-good movie that came back to theaters. It was one of Finn's childhood favorites, something you had never really heard of but ended up enjoying. You did love to do these kinds of things with him, but sometimes you just couldn't help yourself when it came to a good prank.

You looked up, scrunching your nose as if inspecting something interesting.

"Somebody wrote 'gullible' on the ceiling." You mused, expecting for Finn to roll his eyes or tell you affectionately to shut up. To your surprise, though, he followed your actions with full belief.

“Wait, really? Oh.”

The reaction was immediate, barely even a two second switch-up. But it still made you burst into laughter. The tips of Finn’s ears tinged red, and he nudged you with his shoulders.

“Shame on you,” he admonished, “playing with a man’s hopes and dreams like that.”

Needless to say, he always made your day.

You two were on your way out of the house, each grabbing and doing last minute items and adjustments. You were already late to dinner with his cast mates, so every second counted.

Just as Finn opened the door, beckoning you through, you stepped forward, pretending to notice something.

"Oh, you've got something on your shirt," you told him, getting close and looking intently at the spot just under his collarbone.

"Aw man, really?" He asked, a bit of impatience and irritation spilling into his voice. You nodded, frowning.

"Here, let me get it for you." You reached forward, and when the time was right and he looked down at his shirt, you flicked his nose upward, snickering. It wasn't enough to hurt, but it was enough for him to scoff (which quickly melted into a laugh).

"Dude, seriously?" He rolled his eyes, ushering you through the door.

"Yeah," you nodded, raising your eyebrows and shrugging, "seriously, bro."

You both giggled on your way out.

You were cleaning the kitchen with Finn after dinner. He was a great cook, but you were better. You tended to get a bit competitive, which he loved you for but sometimes got a bit exasperated with.

'Babe, you do know not everything is a competition, right?' He asked you jokingly one time.

'Obviously your family never played enough board games.' You shot back.

It didn't really matter, though, because you had managed to cook up a wonderful dinner together. You were thoroughly enjoying the banter afterwards, as he washed the dishes and you dried.

"But that's how I know that—what's up?" He asked, cutting himself off as he watched you sniff your towel with a slightly confused expression.

"I think this towel smells funny," you replied, extending it towards him so he could smell.

As always, he sensed nothing wrong and leaned forward, giving the bunch of cloth in your hand a curious sniff. He reminded you (again) of some kind of golden retriever, completely trusting as it would eat right out of your hand.

Right when he was going to pull away, you pressed it over his face jokingly.

"Dude!" You chided, both laughing as you removed it (his hands were still in the water). "You have no survival instincts, that could've been chloroform!"

"Well, excuse me for trusting my girlfriend of, what, three and a half years?" He defended.

"First of all, it's been three and a half years of this

You were cleaning the kitchen with Finn after dinner. He was a great cook, but you were better. You tended to get a bit competitive, which he loved you for but sometimes got a bit exasperated with.

'Babe, you do know not everything is a competition, right?' He asked you jokingly one time.

'Obviously your family never played enough board games.' You shot back.

It didn't really matter, though, because you had managed to cook up a wonderful dinner together. You were thoroughly enjoying the banter afterwards, as he washed the dishes and you dried.

"But that's how I know that—what's up?" He asked, cutting himself off as he watched you sniff your towel with a slightly confused expression.

"I think this towel smells funny," you replied, extending it towards him so he could smell.

As always, he sensed nothing wrong and leaned forward, giving the bunch of cloth in your hand a curious sniff. He reminded you (again) of some kind of golden retriever, completely trusting as it would eat right out of your hand.

Right when he was going to pull away, you pressed it over his face jokingly.

"Dude!" You chided, both laughing as you removed it (his hands were still in the water). "You have no survival instincts, that could've been chloroform!"

"Well, excuse me for trusting my girlfriend of, what, three and a half years?" He defended.

"First of all, it's been three and a half years of this—you shouldn't trust me at all by now," you retorted. "And second, "trust no one"! Didn't you ever watch Gravity Falls?"

"Uh, no." He replied, raising an eyebrow bemusedly. "I was kinda preoccupied with pursuing my career."

You gasped, mouth dropping open. "Oh my god, we have to watch it now."

you shouldn't trust me at all by now," you retorted. "And second, "trust no one"! Didn't you ever watch Gravity Falls?"

"Uh, no." He replied, raising an eyebrow bemusedly. "I was kinda preoccupied with pursuing my career."

You gasped, mouth dropping open. "Oh my god, we have to watch it now."

"Wow."

"What is it?" Finn mused from beside you, squeezing your fingers instinctively as he looked at your side profile.

You were walking hand in hand through a botanical garden, the summer evening air wrapping the two of you in a warm blanket of honeysuckle sweetness. It was just a normal outing, something you'd planned after seeing a post on Instagram about a romantic nearby preserve.

And it did live up to expectations; ropes of wisteria hung like blown glass, the last rays of sunlight catching on English daisies and periwinkle hydrangeas. But now it was nearing the moment you'd been waiting for, the moment you'd really spent months planning.

"Someone wrote on the ceiling again."

Finn scoffed dryly. "Ha, ha. You got me the first time, but I'm gullible, not dumb."

You shrugged, staring up at the letters that really were on the ceiling because you got special permission to write them.

"Yeah, I know, but there really is something up there." You pressed, hand still in his. You could see him roll his eyes out of your peripheral, but you knew you were convincing him.

"Whatever, can we keep walking?" He asked, his tone not unkind but a little embarrassed.

"Okay," you acted unbothered, "I guess you're never gonna see this awesome message."

He dithered, hesitated, shifted his weight from foot to foot in frustration. Then, finally, he gave up, tilting his head toward the ceiling. And there really was a big banner up there, and painted across it in gold letters was:

"'Will you marry me?' Wow, wonder who wrote—Oh my god!"

While he was distracted, you had bent down on one knee, getting out the ring box from your pocket and presenting it up to him. And obviously, he said yes. Because Finn Michael Wolfhard, your fiancé and future husband, was gullible, not dumb.

A/N: hope you guys liked it! I had lots of fun with this one, I was cheesing the whole time I wrote this lmao 😭 thanks to @olenvasynyt for these gorgeous dividers, they are so so pretty! lmk what you guys want to see next, I've got some oneshots and reqs already in my drafts (thank you!) but my inbox is open to any new ideas 😊 Love you guys, hope you have a very nice day/night!

-DMIS

© DMIS 2026, all rights reserved. Do not copy or translate my works without express permission. None of my works may be stolen, used anywhere without my knowledge or consent, or used to train or develop AI.

[vivalasunday]

MY KNIGHT

warnings: roleplay sex, oral (f receiving), cum eating, unprotected p in v sex (DON’T DO IT), mdni, lmk if I missed anything

A/N: This is my first smut, please be nice.

“Oh, Sir Mike..”

You whimper, his hands grasping at your waist desperately. It had all seemed so silly when he suggested the role play, but it didn’t feel silly know that he had you trapped against the wall of your shared apartment, lips leaving sloppy kisses to your neck.

“Shh princess, we can’t let anyone hear us.. you know knights aren’t supposed to have relations with royalty..”

He whispers, his fingers now finding the waistband of your pants, tugging them down until they were at your ankles, your little lace panties exposed to him.

“God, princess, you look stunning, so beautiful..”

He muttered, dropping to his knees where he began to kiss your legs. Then his lips traveled upwards and his fingers hooked under the waistband of your panties, pulling them down to. His breath hitched at the sight.

“You’re so pretty my lady.. may I?”

He asks politely, and all you can do is nod.

That’s when he dives in, tongue swirling tantalizingly as he whimpers. He eats you like a man starved, holding onto your hips to keep him stable. It was all you could do not to scream.. When you met Mike you thought he was some loser virgin, but god, did he know to make you feel good..

It was only a few moments before you whimpered out

“Sir Mike.. I’m gonna-”

“You gonna cum pretty lady? Go ahead..”

He whispered, and you do. He whines, lapping up every last drop..

“You taste so good princess.. like heaven..”

After he’s had his fill, he Gets back up to his feet, guiding you over to your shared bed, and laying you down.

“May I..?”

He asks, tugging lightly at the hem of your shirt.

“Yeah..”

you whisper, and he brings your shirt over your head, now leaving you in nothing but your little floral bra, which he then unclasped, leaving you bare. He then took his own clothes off, climbing on top of you.

As he sank down into you, you saw stars, length stretching you out so perfectly. He began to move, each thrust sending you further into euphoria.

“Am I doing good my lady..? Am I making my princess feel good?”

He whimpers, the movement of his hips quickening. You try your best to form a sentence, but all that comes out is a strangled moan.

“My knight.. so good..”

You mewl, and that’s it for him, his release painting your insides as he collapses on top of you.

“Mike..”

You whine,

“You where supposed to pull out..”

“m’ sorry..”

he pants,

“you just felt so good..”

“it’s alright.. my knight..”

You tease, and he’s already hardening again inside of you.

Thank you so much to @mikes-sorcerer for the idea!!

[st5byler]

And that's Finn Wolfhard for you ✨

[wooolfheart]

Look at this little cutie patootie in his visualiser, AAAFG MY HEART IS DYING💗

[w1llowbyers]