Male Fairy x male reader (nsfw) (Patreon)

I've had this one planned out in my head for a while, so when the male reader x male monster results started to gain traction on the poll, I knew I was going to do this for July's story. Then I got some new patrons, and the votes changed a bit, but I stuck with this one. I hope that's ok. 

Well, it's come out at nearly 8000 words! I've totally fallen for this character, and I really really hope you like him too!! Don't forget to let me know by leaving me a like or a comment if you feel like it! It helps me more than you know if you engage with what I put on here if you like it. 

Slight warnings for brief mention of blood and an attack, but nothing very graphic, don't worry.

Finally, you were at the end of what felt like the longest day you’d yet had at this job. Most of the tests you’d run on your project had failed because your colleague had sent you some really shitty code, and searing pain had started up behind your eyeballs sometime after your manager had informed you of yet another project you were going to have to babysit practically single-handedly. The headache had only intensified as the day wore on. 

A fine drizzle misted down on your just-a-bit too long hair and tiny drops speckled across the lenses of your thick glasses as you walked from the station through the early autumn evening, thinking of nothing but the beer in the fridge and an evening on the PS4. 

Eventually your little garden gate swung into view and you exhaled in relief. The chill of the approaching autumn crept slightly down the collar of your well-worn, brown leather jacket, and you shuddered as a trickle of rain slithered down your neck under your plaid shirt. 

The gate swung open with its usual, raucous creak, but your footsteps faltered and frowned as another sound reached your ears: sobbing. Dreadful, awful, agonised wailing. It wasn’t loud, but it cut through the noises of the night easily enough. It also appeared to be coming from your own small front garden. 

“Hello?” you called, pausing. The sobbing didn’t stop, and perhaps they hadn’t heard you.

You turned your head this way and that, straining to catch the direction of the faint sounds, and as you did, something a few paces ahead of you caught your eye, flashing in the automatic light from the porch.

Metallic, glimmering, almost magical: you squinted and realised that what you were seeing on the pathway were two dragonfly wings. Pale gold, with an iridescent sheen to them, they were fine and beautiful and, you noticed as you knelt down close to them, flecked with what looked like blood. 

Recoiling instantly, you withdrew your curious, reaching fingers and made to stand up shivering involuntarily, when you caught sight of a tiny, fragile, pale body, lying face down in the grass at the edge of a very overgrown herb bed in the front garden, not two feet away from the path. 

At first glance you thought it was a miniature doll, no taller than four inches. Pale skin shone in the harsh, LED light, but there was blood visible, trailing down the figure’s back, and, you realised with a jolt as the figure moved, that the sobbing was coming from them. 

“What the…?” you breathed, jumping half a step back in alarm. And then against all rational thought, you dropped your laptop bag on the path and crouched down beside the prone figure. “What are you?” you asked. 

For a moment, the figure didn’t respond. He was top-naked, and you could see tiny, sculpted shoulders and arms, and a strong-looking back with beautifully-defined muscles. The remnants of what looked like green cloth lay around him, tattered and ripped to shreds and stained red with more than just dirt. On his lower half, tight, dark green leggings hugged his lean, perfect little legs, and his feet were bare.

“What are you?” you repeated.

“I’m nothing!” a tiny voice hissed back, raw and brimming with pain. “I’m nothing now.”

“You’re hurt…”

“Leave me alone. Leave me… there’s nothing… nothing now…” he choked. 

You told him your name, asking afterwards, “What’s yours?”

A snort of derision caught you off guard. “You think I’d give a filthy human my name? Even like this?” And the injured figure tried to push himself upright enough to glare at you, but he cut off with a sharp scream of pain, face crumpling, and fell flat into the grass again. 

“Please, let me take care of you. What should I call you?”

“That’s a bit different,” he snorted, clearly seeing a difference between ‘what’s your name?’ and ‘what should I call you’, which you did not. “I’m cursed now. You shouldn’t want take care of me. I’ll only jinx you.”

Jinx. Something about the word stuck like a burr in a woollen jumper. Maybe you could call him that for now? At least in your own mind, if not out loud. “I don’t believe in curses. But I’ve got to call you something,” you said, as the fine mizzle worsened to a steady, pattering rainfall.

Each fat raindrop that landed on the little creature’s back drew a new howl from his tiny lips as he lay trembling in the went grass at your feet.

“Please, whatever you are, and whatever your name is, I’m not leaving you out here in this. I just can’t.”

And with that, you picked up your laptop bag, swung it onto your shoulder, and carefully, delicately, scooped up the tiny person in one hand. 

“What are you?” you asked again as you fished in your pocket with your free hand for your keys.

“I was a fairy,” came the petulant, pained response. “But fairies have wings. Now, I don’t even know what I am.”

You almost dropped him at that, but he didn’t react as he was jostled slightly in your hand. He lay limply on his front in your palm, his tiny ribcage rising and falling with the rapidity of a terrified dormouse. You stared with horrified understanding at the wounds on his back, thinking back to the beautiful wings on the path. 

Not dragonfly wings. 

Fairy wings. 

His wings. 

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” you breathed. 

“Why… Why should you be…?” he wheezed, sounding faint. “You didn’t do this to me.”

You hurried to open the door and get him inside. You dumped all your things in the hall and took him straight to the bathroom in the upstairs of the old cottage, and laid him on a freshly-washed and neatly-folded hand towel. 

You washed your own hands thoroughly, lavender soap calming your racing heart a little as you inhaled the scent of it. You rinsed out the sink just to be sure it was clean, and filled it a little way with warm water. 

“Will you let me clean you up?” you asked. 

The fairy turned his head weakly to look at you, and you noticed for the first time that his hair, behind the mud that stained it, was a delicate, pastel green, and his intense eyes were like tiny cut-emeralds set in a porcelain face. “Why?” he whispered, tears brimming in those eyes. “You should have just left me out there.”

You shook your head, smiling sadly. “I couldn’t. You can stay here, heal. Whoever did this to you won’t hurt you here, I promise.”

He looked at you then with a vagueness in his features that should have warned you, but then he just slumped forwards into the soft towel and lay there, barely breathing. 

You cleaned him gently, supposing that it was probably for the best that he was unconscious. When he was clean all over, you cut a small square of non-adhesive dressing and bound it around his chest, under his arms and over his back where the vicious-looking damage was. He seemed so fragile, so tiny in your fingers that you were terrified you were going to hurt him. 

As you worked, you wondered vaguely if you should have collected the wings up and kept them, or disposed of them discretely, rather than just leaving them lying out there in the rain like fallen autumn leaves, but in the end, your patient took precedence. 

You laid him down on the towel again once he was bandaged and, not having anything that he could wear, laid one of the silk handkerchiefs over him that your uncle had given you for Christmas and which were still in their original packaging. 

You fetched the shoe box which had been sitting out since you’d bought a pair of shoes the previous week, and took the lid off and turned it upside down. With a soft cloth folded over to act as a mattress, you then put one of the silk handkerchiefs over it like a bedsheet. After making up a little pillow, you laid him down on it, carefully setting him down on his front with his head turned to the side, and covered him once again with the silk sheet over the bandages. 

“Are you going to be cold like that, I wonder?” you mused aloud. Digging out a thicker, clean face cloth, you laid that over his lower half to keep him warm. 

You stared at him a long time.

A fairy. A real fairy, here in your home. And with his wings torn off too. You shuddered. That had been no accident: it had been done to him. But by whom? Another of his kind? Something else mythical? Or some animal predator?

You sighed, your stomach growling, and you took him with you downstairs. You soon had the wood-burning stove crackling away, and you set him on a table near it while you went to fetch some supper. Deciding not to fire up the PS4 in case you disturbed him, you took down a book from the shelf, and opened it once you’d emptied your plate. 

You were only a chapter from the end, midnight fast approaching and the heist in the book almost over, when you heard a tiny gasp and a grunt coming from the upturned lid of the shoebox on the table beside you. 

“Hey, you’re awake,” you smiled, leaning forward and setting the book down, dog-earing a corner to keep your place. 

“You shouldn’t do that, you know?” he said, pushing himself up and eyeing the book. 

“What?”

“To your books. It ruins them.”

“It’s only a cheap paperback,” you said. “How are you feeling?”

“Can we not discuss that?” he snarled. “Where am I? And –” he broke off suddenly, lifting the handkerchief covering him and flushing scarlet from his dainty collarbones to his delicate ears. “You stripped me?”

“I’m sorry,” you said, your own cheeks heating. “You were covered in mud. I cleaned you and bandaged you up. I’m sorry. I didn’t have much choice.”

“You should have just left me,” he said again, slumping down on his side, facing away from you, the bandages showing a hint of pink through the wrappings. 

“Rest,” you said. “We’ll deal with what comes next when it comes.”

His breath hitched oddly at that, but he remained obstinately silent. 

Your unnamed patient drifted in and out of consciousness for the next few days. You had to leave him by himself while you went to work, but you left soft, wholemeal bread cut into tiny squares, with a bottle-cap full of honey. You even made a little plastic knife for him to spread the honey with, using the plastic lid of a tub of butter. You left him plenty of water to drink in another washed up bottle-top.

When you came home the first day, he was lying in his bed, almost exactly as you’d left him that morning. 

“Hey,” you said, rushing over to him. “Hey, you ok?”

He grunted and ignored you. 

“You haven’t eaten anything,” you said, a pained expression on your face. “You need your strength.” You reached into your bag and pulled out the punnet of raspberries you’d bought from the supermarket on the way home. “I know it’s not really fresh-fruit season, but maybe you’d like one of these instead?”

He cracked an eye open and stared at it for a while. “I don’t want anything.”

“I know you don’t,” you said gently, crouching down so that you were on the same level as the table that his bed was on. “But please. You need to heal.”

He fought off a sob and looked away from you, curling up under the silk covering and ignoring you. 

“Alright,” you said, pushing yourself upright. You left him a raspberry and refreshed his water. Returning, you asked if he’d like to stay downstairs or come up with you, and he snorted a laugh from under the silk handkerchief. 

He scoffed, “You probably snore like a hedgehog with a cold. No, leave me down here.”

There was a worrying undercurrent to his voice, but you left him as he wished, and went upstairs, worry weighing heavy on your heart. 

Your routine continued unchanged after that. One evening, about a week after you’d first found him, you stumbled in through the front door, frazzled and drained after work. As usual, you stopped by the living room where he’d been sleeping in his shoebox lid most of the week. 

Your chest clenched with fear at the sight of his empty bed. 

“Where are you?” you called, not knowing what to call him, since he’d refused to speak to you at all for the past few days, only eating a little of whatever you left for him, from cheese and apples to bread and little bits of cooked egg. “Are you still here?” Images of him having fallen behind something, knocking himself unconscious, flooded your head, and your eyes darted frantically all over the room, seeking the slightest movement.

A moment or two later came a sullen, “Here,” from the windowsill all the air left your lungs in a rush. 

You crossed towards him, but came to a halt a respectful distance away, not wanting to crowd the poor guy. “How’d you get up there?” you smiled. He was wearing his green leggings again, but his torso was bare.

“Climbed,” he said dully, and you realised as he said it that you probably couldn’t have been much more insensitive. 

“How’s your back?” you asked awkwardly, since that seemed the next, inevitable step after your initial blunder. 

He turned to look at you properly then. “It hurts,” he said despondently. Something told you it wasn’t just the physical pain that was hurting him. 

“Is there anything I can do for you? Anything I can get you? Anything you need?” you asked, running your hand through your floppy hair. “Can I get you back to your family?”

His eyes hardened at that. “No,” he said flatly. 

You sighed and turned your face to the ceiling for a moment in frustration. It wasn’t his fault, but you didn’t even know what to call him, let alone how to help him.

“Why are you still doing this?” he snapped after a moment. “Why do you even care?” The vitriol in his voice was stunning. “You didn’t even know about fairies until you found me, and now you’re bending over backwards to help me, and I don’t even want it.”

“That just makes me want to help you twice as much…” you said before you could stop yourself. You pushed your glasses nervously back up your nose and stepped back with a sigh. “I’m not going to force you to do anything, or keep you here against your will or whatever, but I do want to get to know you, and I want you to heal as best you can while you’re here.”

He stared at you with piercing eyes, and then let out a sigh of his own. “I’m not telling you my name,” he said eventually. 

You had to laugh. “I’m not asking. Though I am going to need to call you something beside what I’ve come up with for you.”

He cocked his head to one side at that. “You’ve given me a name?” He sounded more than curious now, as though his cold persona was forgotten. 

“Yeah,” you said, deciding to play this out as long as you could. 

“Are you going to tell me? Or is it just ‘the ruined fairy’ or something?”

You huffed a nervous little laugh and shook your head. “Jinx,” you said. 

He seemed to consider that, and then smiled. “I suppose that will do,” he said, his hand twitching as though fighting the urge to touch his shoulders. The bandages still covered him, and you knew they’d need changing. When you said as much, his jaw clenched and his eyes went dead. 

“I’m serious,” you pressed. 

He sighed. “Whatever.”

“I’ll change them before supper,” you said. “Just let me grab a shower and get out of my work stuff.”

When you emerged he was still sitting on the windowsill overlooking the garden, staring at the sunset that gilded the weeds outside. 

“You like it here?” you asked, making him jump. 

“What? No, it’s a dump,” he snorted immediately, but you laughed and shrugged, looking at the garden beyond. 

“I suppose it is,” you said, rubbing your fingers across the stubble that was growing on your chin in a shadow. “Gardening has never been my thing. This cottage belonged to my mother, and when she passed, I decided to come and live here rather than sell it. It’s close to the station for commuting, so it works out alright…”

He turned carefully, minding the painful tightness in his chest, and frowned at you, curiosity creeping into his intense eyes. “You didn’t live here with your mother?”

You shook your head. “My parents divorced when I was young,” you explained, reflexively running your hand through hair again. “I lived with my dad in the city, and my mum used to come up on the train to visit once a week.”

“Explains why you have fuck-all idea about plants,” he said, raising an eyebrow at all the overgrown, leggy, brown weeds outside.  

An idea hit you, and you grinned. “Maybe you can teach me,” you said. “When you’re better.”

He scoffed again at that.

“It’s a shame to let such a nice garden go to ruin…” you pressed. 

He didn’t say anything. 

“Come on, Jinx. What do you say to some supper. What shall we have?”

“Why are you still bothering?” he snapped. 

“Because I want to,” you retorted. “What do you want?”

“I don’t care.”

You just sighed at your obstinate guest, and once you’d changed his bandages and commented on how well his wounds were healing, you ended up cooking pasta. You gave him a pasta shell with some tomato sauce, with a cube of pancetta and a little chunk of mushroom, and tried not to smile as he hungrily cut into it with the new little plastic knife you’d made him. 

Over the next weeks, Jinx seemed to soften almost imperceptibly to you. He let you bathe him in the ceramic butter dish you had literally never used – fully naked, but you promised him you wouldn’t look too closely – and change his bandages, and feed him, and eventually he started to open up to you. 

He never touched you, and he rarely left the little shoebox bed you’d made him, not until one Friday evening when you were exhausted and falling asleep on the sofa with your dinner still in your lap. The nearly empty bowl of egg-fried rice – some of which you’d syphoned off for him before hand, with a garden pea on top for decoration– was slipping dangerously out of your slack fingers when you felt something sharp zap you on the tip of the nose. 

You jolted awake, almost dropping the bowl altogether. “What the –?”

And then you caught the sound of it: the cheekiest, most mischievous laugh you’d ever heard. You blinked, looking up to see Jinx standing on the arm of the sofa, a ball of what looked like lightning crackling between his hands. 

“Well, it’s good to hear you laugh,” you said, adjusting your posture and yawning. 

“You nearly dumped your food on the floor like a baby,” he said, splitting the ball of energy into three and juggling them absentmindedly. 

“Thank you,” you said, not pointing out that him zapping you had nearly achieved the same end. “That’s impressive,” you said, watching him juggle, and he rolled his eyes. 

“That’s nothing,” he said, sending the balls of light whizzing around his middle. “We can do so much more than little party tricks like this.”

“I’d love to see it some day perhaps,” you said, stretching your back out and setting your bowl down on another little coffee table. You didn’t use ‘his’ table for anything now, wanting him to have at least some space of his own.

“I’m cold,” he said suddenly. “I need some better clothes. Or, like, just clothes,” he added, looking down at his bare torso. He still had the bandages on around his upper chest, and he was still wearing those green leggings. 

“I guess we could cut up a shirt of mine?” you said, which made him laugh again. “What?” 

“I’m not wearing matching top and bottoms,” he giggled, his hands going to his hips. “That would look ridiculous!” and just like that, he broke into a fit of hysterics that had you both laughing at the image. Jinx was actually bent over at the waist, and little tiny tears of laughter splashed onto the mat of the coffee table. 

“Come on,” you chuckled, making to stand up. “Let’s find you a couple of shirts we can cut up at least.”

“It’s alight,” he said, “You don’t have to ruin your shirts for me.” He stopped laughing and seemed to go serious again, the light dimming in his green eyes. “You’ve already done so much for me.”

“Hey now,” you said, sitting back down on the very edge of the sofa cushion so you could look him in the eye a little easier. He seemed to appreciate not having to crane his neck up. “I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t want to, ok? I’m really glad I met you.”

“Found me in a flowerbed, more like,” he said. 

“Meh,” you shrugged. “Met, found: semantics.”

He flashed a lopsided grin at you and eyed your shirt. “You have terrible taste in clothes, by the way,” he added. “I’m not sure I want to wear anything of yours…”

You raised an eyebrow. “You want to come shopping with me then? Be my personal stylist?” 

He snorted at that, and then went still. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

You shrugged and nodded. If it would get him out of his shell, why not?

“No,” he said. “I… I don’t think so. I’d like to stay here a bit longer.”

“Alright. Well, I’ll bring some shirts downstairs tomorrow morning and we can decide. I should warn you though, I don’t know the first thing about sewing. I think I have a sewing kit in the cupboard from when I needed to put a button back on…”

He snorted another little laugh out of his nose. “Who do you think made these?” he said, slapping the back of his palms against his thighs. 

“Fair enough,” you said. 

You took your plate out into the kitchen and refreshed the water in the bottle cap for him. As you brought it back in, you saw that he was sitting cross-legged on the top of his bed, not looking like he was about to go to sleep at all. 

“Everything ok?” you asked. 

He looked up at you with his big green eyes all wide and suddenly very vulnerable. “Can… Can I come upstairs with you tonight?”

You smiled, shoulders releasing tension you hadn’t realised you’d been carrying. “Of course you can,” you smiled. “C’mon.”

Holding the bed in one hand, you carried him carefully up the creaky wooden staircase. 

Jinx looked around him curiously now, taking in the photographs on the walls and the layout of the upstairs of the small house, until you pushed the door of your bedroom open with your toe, your other hand carrying his water ‘bucket’. 

“Where do you want me to put your bed down?” you asked. The room was small and modestly furnished, with a small double bed in one corner, the eaves of the roof coming down sharply on the opposite side, and a little window cutting through the slope of the roof. He pointed at the little desk below the window and you pushed your books out of the way. 

You turned around and began to get into your pyjamas, and when you glanced back at him over your shoulder, you found, to your surprise, that he was staring at your bare back. He flushed deeply and looked away immediately, but you couldn’t help smiling. Yes, Jinx had already come a long way from when you’d first found him. 

Drifting off to sleep, careful to lie on your side to reduce the risk of snoring ‘like a hedgehog with a cold’, you smiled. In the dark of the room, with the curtains drawn, there seemed to be a faint, blue light emanating from the other side of the room, and, cracking your eyes open just one more time, you realised it was Jinx, glowing softly. You had barely had the thought of asking him what was happening before you found yourself tipping back into sleep, exhausted. 

A slight movement on the pillow next to you jolted you softly awake, and you inhaled deeply, eyelids flickering open again. It was still dark, and it felt like you’d only been asleep an hour or so at most. When you saw the soft, faintly blue light glowing on the pillow, you pushed yourself upright a little way and stared. “Jinx?” you asked in a whisper. 

“I didn’t want to be alone,” he said as he settled himself down beside you on the soft, cotton pillowcase. “Go back to sleep, and don’t you dare crush me, you big clumsy human.”

You raised your hand to the pillow and reached carefully for him with a finger. “May I?”

“May you what?” he asked warily. 

“Touch you?”

“You’ve already touched me,” he said testily, touching his hand to the bandages around his chest. 

You fixed him with a flat stare. “This is different. I’m not bathing you now; I’m not taking care of your bandages…” You paused. “It’s alright if you don’t want me to.”

He shook his head, which you took for a ‘no’, but when you lowered your hand again he quickly said, “No, it’s fine. You can. I trust you.”

With as much tenderness as you could manage, you trailed your fingertip down over his incredibly soft hair and down his arm to his waist. “You’re very beautiful, Jinx,” you smiled. 

Tears brimmed in his eyes at that, and he looked away, unable to meet your gaze. “I’m so broken,” he choked, his blue light sputtering out. “I miss flying. Sometimes I can’t breathe because I miss it so much.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you just kept stroking his hair until his breathing evened out again, and eventually he began to snore softly. You had to smile at that. As he lay there, the glow started to come back, steadily at first and then to the brightness almost of a nightlight. Realising he was lying top-naked on your pillow with nothing to cover him for warmth, you rose as carefully as you could, and fetched the silk handkerchief to keep him warm. 

Jinx continued to get better, and you ended up ordering him doll’s clothing off the internet for the winter which he actually seemed to enjoy a lot.  Some of it he modified, but most of it he wore straight out of the packet. His favourite was a snuggly jacket that he wore outside with some boots which he’d made for himself out of some fake fur you’d picked up at a craft shop. He was really good at making things, and he even patched up a couple of your work trousers for you so well that you couldn’t even see where the rips in the pockets had been. 

Within a month of him coming to live with you, he had started to venture outside into the back garden, exploring a little while you sat on the back step, watching him. Not being able to fly was clearly agony for him, and after his first patrol of the garden, which he declared the biggest dump he’d ever seen, he asked to go back inside. 

However, as the autumn progressed, he would stay out for longer, rummaging around in the undergrowth and checking out every inch of the garden, sometimes for hours. He made you lift him up to inspect the boughs of trees, checking their health, and often directing you on what to cut back what to pull up, and what to leave alone.

The first snows fell, and Jinx stayed inside when they got too deep for him to venture outside practically. He hated that, but he asked you for some paper, and stitched himself some miniature books. During the day he would draw, and he would never show you anything, so you stopped asking. From glimpses you got, it looked like architectural plans. 

You had no family to speak of, so Christmas was a quiet affair, and by the time the spring came round, you and Jinx had reached a near-perfect symbiosis. He occupied himself during the day and spent the evenings with you, listening to you talk about work or colleagues or friends in the city. You even took him in your pocket into the city once. His emerald eyes had gone wide at the sights and sounds, but he’d found it exhausting, and had fallen asleep in your breast pocket after a couple of hours, so you returned on the train, not even waking him as you laid him down on top of his bed, fully clothed. 

Once it warmed up enough, you installed a cat-flap in the back door so that Jinx could come and go as he pleased, and you tried not to worry about him getting attacked by a cat or something while you weren’t there, especially since he couldn’t fly any more. He never spoke of what had happened to him, and you never asked. 

One day you came home earlier from work than usual to find him in the back garden, using the set of miniature tools you’d found on eBay. They were perfect for him, and fully functional, made of sharp tool steel, and he had cried when you’d given them to him for his project. 

“How’s it coming?” you asked, and he jumped, so absorbed in his task that he hadn’t noticed you open the back door. 

It was chilly, but he’d clearly been sawing for ages, and was wearing only the little leather apron and a pair of his favourite leggings, his torso bare. His green hair was longer now, and he tied it up in a dinky ponytail that bounced whenever he moved. A sheen of sweat sparkled on his brow and he grinned at you. He looked radiant. 

Jinx turned around and eyed the tree stump behind him at the side of the garden. He’d discovered it at the end of autumn, and he’d been slowly hollowing it out ever since. Now the interior was almost complete, and he was making a front door to fit the opening he’d carved in it. “Alright,” he chirped. “Starting to look like home.”

Suddenly you felt tears prickling your eyes, emotion rising in your throat as you looked at the home he was making for himself in your garden. He spoke your name, setting the saw down and coming closer. 

You knelt down and smiled at him. “I’m so happy you want to stay here,” you sniffled, fighting back tears. “I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you’re making a home for yourself in my garden, Jinx.”

He grinned and held his hands up, making little grabby motions with his fingers: his signal for you to hold out your palm for him to climb into. Normally he would ride around the house on your shoulder when he did that, but this time as you set him onto your shoulder, he moved to your neck and hugged you. 

“I love you, Jinx,” you breathed, smiling. “You mean the world to me.”

He pulled back at that. “You mean that?” he said, and you nodded. He sighed, sitting down heavily on your shoulder with a little thump. 

“You ok?”

“Yeah,” he rasped. “I just… I wasn’t expecting, you know…?”

You smiled and sniffed, pushing back your emotions again. “I should let you get on with your work, I guess,” you said. “You want anything special for supper?”

“Pizza,” he said immediately, but he didn’t move. He breathed your name again and you turned to look at him. He pushed himself up again, balancing carefully on your shoulder, opened his arms and then pressed himself against your cheek. “Thank you,” he said. “You…” he breathed out, swallowed, and tried again. “You didn’t just give me a place to live, you know,” he said. He worked his jaw a moment, as though chewing on his words before speaking. “You gave me a reason to live.”

Tears spilled down your cheek and he hissed, pulling back so he didn’t get soaked in salty water. 

“I wish I could hold you,” you said, voice cracking. “Without, like, crushing you, I mean.”

He grinned. “I’m not quite strong enough yet, but I might have a surprise for you in a few months,” he said. “Now, put me down. I’ve got a home that needs a front door.”

You bought him some furniture from doll’s house supply companies, and helped him move into his little home. He spent a lot of his time indoors with you, but you found him a pipe that was perfect for a chimney flu, and once it was properly insulated, you helped him install it into his house, drilling very carefully down with an extra long drill bit until he yanked a cord attached to a flag outside to signal you to stop. 

He was warm, cosy, and independent, but he would often climb in through the cat flap and make his way to your room at night. You would wake to find him sleeping on your pillow, glowing softly and creating a matching puddle of drool to your own, if a few times smaller… 

Finally when summer came, he was able to give you his surprise. You’d been working together throughout the year on the garden, with him pointing at things that needed pruning, or removing, or training up a wall, and by the early summer it was looking truly beautiful. All your mother’s hard work had not been completely undone by your negligence. 

You lay on a picnic blanket in the middle of the modest lawn, hands behind your head, chest bare, light linen shorts on, staring up at the blue sky above you. It wasn’t overly hot, but it was definitely nice to have a weekend just lounging around in the sun and not staring at a computer screen. 

Jinx had said he was heading over to the hedgerow nearby to find a couple of things he needed for his home, and he wasn’t yet back. Condensation misted the outside of your glass, the bubbles rising slowly to the surface, and as you looked up and lazily flicked a fly off it, you sat bolt upright with a start. You adjusted your glasses and gaped.

Standing in the corner of the garden was a figure that was intimately familiar to you and simultaneously utterly foreign. The pastel green hair was tied back as usual behind delicately pointed ears, the cheeky smile was there, bringing his lovely cheeks up into perfectly round, rosy apples, his strong, graceful hands rested triumphantly on his hips, his feet slightly apart, and his stunning green eyes glittered. 

It was Jinx, only… bigger. 

Now, instead of four inches tall, he stood at around three feet. 

“Jinx?” you breathed, astonished. “How…? What?”

He threw back his head and laughed. He was bare chested, the muscles of his lean torso rippling and shifting as he laughed, and he had on his old green leggings. Whatever magic he had used to make himself larger obviously applied to his clothes too. 

“You should see your face right now,” he said, his voice just the same, only a little louder. 

“Get over here,” you said, holding your arms wide open. 

Jinx ran to you and hurled himself at you, knocking you flat onto your back on the rug with a soft ‘oof’. And then in a heartbeat, his lips were on yours. He kissed you passionately, his strong fingers tangling in your hair, tugging as he pulled his body closer, grinding himself against you in the privacy of the cottage garden you’d built together. 

You felt the blood rush to your groin as he rolled his hips against you, moaning, breathing hard. 

“Stop, Jinx, stop,” you panted, pulling back as best you could. 

“Don’t you want this?” he asked, looking crushed. 

“Of course I do,” you said, “But how is this possible?”

“My magic has returned to full strength,” he said, still lying along your body. “All fairies can make themselves bigger, but we rarely have any reason to. This is as big as I can get,” he said, looking suddenly bashful. “I hope it’s enough for you.”

“Jinx,” you murmured, cupping his beautiful jaw in your hands and marvelling at the difference between the porcelain pallor of his skin and yours. He had colour in his cheeks again now, and you rarely caught him staring wistfully at the treetops. “Jinx, you’re perfect, however you are. I love you so much.”

And then he kissed you again. “I want you,” he snarled, his teeth biting your earlobe before his clever hands moved to your chest, tweaking playfully at your hardening nipples. 

He ran his hands over your torso, seeming to sculpt you to life with every stroke, until he got to your waistband. “Off,” he snapped, and you hurried to obey. 

He swung his leg back over you to kneel beside you while you shimmied inelegantly out of your knee-length shorts, and as you cast them aside, you glanced at your boxers too and he nodded. This was the most daring you’d ever been, but your cottage was pretty remote, and the garden was flanked on all sides by tall hedges and trees. 

He gasped as you sprung your cock free. You didn’t think it was anything special, but you felt it throb under the way he looked at you. And then, to your great surprise, he wrapped both his hands around it and gave a long, slow, gentle stroke. 

Your back arched and you gasped, collapsing back on the rug, heels digging into the ground as he began to work you. 

“I’ve wanted to do this to you for months now,” he said without breaking his rhythm. “Ever since I walked in on you having a shower…”

“Jinx,” was all you could gasp as he twisted his hands at the tip of your weeping cock, making your hips rise, seeking out his grip. The rhythm was perfect, and then he leaned down and paused. 

You glanced up and at that moment, he licked a stripe from the curve of your balls, torturously slowly up the length of your cock, before taking you gradually into the heat his mouth. 

You swore as he took you all the way to the back of his throat, a slight tightening the only sign that you might be a little much for him, even like this. 

“Jinx,” you grunted an almost embarrassingly short time later. “Jinx, I’m going to come if you keep doing that.”

He drew his wet lips slowly off you, licking the sensitive slit at your tip before speaking and sending electric pulses along your whole body. “That’s kind of the idea, you big, dumb human,” he grinned, briefly sucking his finger and as he trailed that wet fingertip beneath your balls, clenching his other hand around your cock, you just came. Hard. 

Some of your release splashed onto his cheek, but most of it went over his hands or onto your stomach as waves of white hot pleasure swept over you. 

Vision spinning, you slumped, breathing hard, glasses askew, heartbeat thudding in your throat, that dreamy feeling of release seeping into your bones. 

“Messy,” Jinx murmured approvingly, coming to lie down beside you, his head on your shoulder, fingertips idly trailing through the mess on your stomach, making you twitch every now and again. 

When you’d recovered enough, you reached for the paper napkin you had slid under your plate from your lunch earlier, and used it to clean yourself off a bit, enough to move about comfortably without making more mess. 

Jinx lay on the rug, one leg bent, cock clearly hard, looking up at you with a coy mischief in his green eyes. 

“Your turn,” you smiled, and you began to run your palms over his smooth, marble torso, the way he had done for you. If you had thought you were sensitive, that was nothing compared to Jinx. 

He shuddered and moaned, crying out and writhing as you played with his beautiful, small, muscular body. He had the figure of a lean, slender man in his mid twenties despite his small stature, and his muscles were all hard, not an ounce of spare fat on him. You kissed and nipped at him, drawing broken moans from his lips, his lovely tenor voice breaking and cracking the more he lost himself in your attention. 

Strong fingers, callused from all the hard work he’d been doing on his house, fisted beside him, rucking up the rug until finally he lifted his hips, his cock clearly hard beneath the fabric, and fixed you with a pleading look. 

You undid the lace at the top of his leggings and drew them carefully off his legs, springing his cock free. You squeezed the hard muscle of his quads between fingers and thumb, making him gasp, hips rising again, his slightly curving cock pressed against abs. You licked your finger and nudged your knuckle in a little circle against the tight ring of muscle between his cheeks. Something around him seemed to be glowing, even in the strong light of the midday sun and you paused just to admire him. 

“Please!” he all but screamed as your finger teased his entrance still. His thighs trembled desperately, his torso juddering too, his hands contracting against the fabric of the rug. His face was flushed pink and his shoulder-length hair was a tangle. “Please, please, make me come, please…”

And, smiling, you took him in your mouth, slipping that saliva-slicked finger easily into him at the same time.

His taste was not like anything you’d been expecting. Instead of the variations of bitter, sweet, and salty of any human you’d been in a relationship with, the fairy was sweet like a lightly floral honey and as you moaned at the incredible taste, humming deep in your throat, finger crooking inside him, his back suddenly curved and he came so hard he almost sat upright. 

His eyes rammed shut, his mouth fell open, and he yelled his pleasure for all the world to hear, body jerking and spasming as he filled your mouth with his sweet-tasting release. Pleasure rippled through his body over and over until you thought his heart might just beat itself out. 

You’d honestly never seen anything so beautiful. He was glowing all over now, that ethereal blue light which you’d seen in the dark of your bedroom a few times, and which you’d glimpsed a moment earlier, now blazed brilliantly, casting no shadows on his body. Around him on the rug, little particles glittered and glimmered in the sunlight. 

You pulled off him, swallowing him, and let his softening cock lie against his thigh. “Jinx?” you murmured after a moment.

He was breathing deeply and evenly, like someone either exhausted or fast asleep. Lying down next to him, you slid your arm under his neck and he smiled dazedly, letting you jostle him slightly as you got comfortable beside him. You ran your fingers across his chest and when you looked at your hand, you saw that it was covered with the same, fine, glittering particles as decorated the rug around his body. 

“Jinx, what is this?” you asked. 

He cracked an eye open and then smiled a lopsided, toothy smile, letting his eyelids fall closed again. “Fairy dust,” he said. “You made me come big,” he chuckled. “I haven’t made fairy dust when I come since I was a teenager…” he added. 

“You’re so beautiful,” you whispered, kissing his forehead. You suspected you now had some on your lips too, since they tingled slightly.

He smiled and rolled over, pressing the length of his naked body against yours with a small sigh, looping his arm over your torso. “I can’t hold this form much longer,” he said after a minute or two. “I can take it again but it’ll be a while before I can gather enough magic in my body to do it.”

“It’s ok. You do what you need,” you said. “I’m not sure I can move from here for a while though.”

He laughed softly and then his whole body began to shake. “Oh,” he grunted. “Oh I’m sorry. I can’t stay like this any more. I thought…” he began to pant. “I thought I’d have longer…”

He grimaced, as though trying to cling to his larger form. You raked your fingers through his soft, green hair one more time. “Let go,” you said. “It’s ok.”

And in a flash of blue light, he cried out and when the light died, you saw him curled up on the rug, breathing hard and curled in on himself. 

“Jinx?”

He pushed himself upright, shaking his head slightly as though to clear his vision, and looked up at you with a dolorous expression on his face. You lowered your hand down and he climbed shakily into your palm. You set him back on your shoulder and he snuggled down against you in the sunshine. 

He mumbled your name a while later. 

“Hmm?”

“My name,” he began, “Obviously it’s not Jinx. My name is –”

“Wait, don’t,” you said. “I don’t want to have any power over you.” He’d told you that giving your name to someone as a fairy was not something that was commonly done – and never to a human. A fairy had a name that people called them, but that was not their true name. Their true name was whispered to them by their parents when they were born, and used only by them and their family in private, and then, later, by their mate. 

“But…” he said. “I…” He honestly looked like he was about to cry with gratitude.

“If you truly want to tell me, then I won’t stop you, but don’t feel like you owe me anything, alright? Tell me when you’re ready, when it feels right.”

He sighed, his tiny hand stroking over your skin. “Thank you,” he breathed. 

And then he told you.