#fae!tony

It takes less than a second for them to cross the distance and share breaths. They connect and Peter shamelessly pushes forward, rubbing his crotch against Tony’s thigh. A brief growl escapes Oberon’s throat and he pulls back, lips wet with Peter’s love. “Needy,” he tuts. “Always,” Peter teases, wiggling his eyebrows. Against Peter’s wants, Tony pulls back further and eyes Peter’s hand as he takes it back in from behind Tony. “What do we have here?” “I brought you flowers!” Peter excitedly exclaims. The gears in his head turn and he looks at it for a second before sighing. “Sorry, I guess I didn’t realize this gift is kind of useless… You can literally make flowers with a wave of your hands.” His arm drops. “You don’t need more.” “I want them,” Tony deadpans. Peter looks up surprised. “You do?” He scoffs quietly. “Yes, these flowers may be dying soon now because they’ve been cut, but they’re a gift from you. You thought of me when you got these. You made the effort to get me this. Part of your day was spent caring for me by picking this. Every gift is an honor to receive- especially from you.” Peter grins with delight and offers Tony the flowers. The Fae gratefully takes them and closes his eyes as he brings them up to take in their fragrance. “Mmm…” Oberon sighs content. “Do they smell good?” Peter asks shyly. “Lovely…” Tony opens his eyes. There’s a mischievous sparkle in them that has Peter’s gut tingle with anticipation. “But I know something that smells even better.” Peter’s breath catches in the back of his throat, but he manages to push the next word out regardless. “W-what?” The Fae’s irises light up and with his magic he tightens the bond that was created by sharing their names. All Peter can focus on now is everything Tony; this blissful yet unexplainable floatiness that comes with being near the Fae. Oberon pushes in, casually tossing the flowers to the ground so he can push both his hands under Peter’s shirt. “You.” Tony invades Peter’s space and presses gentle kisses on the shell of the young man’s ear, ocassionally leaving some kitten licks. Peter can only smile and let it all happen. “Your smell, your taste, your presence…” The growl Oberon lets out sends a shiver through Peter’s entire body. Tony’s fingers find Peter’s nipples. “You, my sweet, are divine beyond imagining.” Right at the enunciation, Tony pinches his fingers together, causing Peter to gasp and buck against Tony’s body. “You are a deity and deserving of a world I will gladly give you.” The speed at which Peter completely loses his intelligence around Oberon still boggles his mind. Right now, however, Peter is perfectly content with where he is. “But, you-“ “Just because I am the one who can perform magic, does not mean I am not the one utterly entranced by you.” One of Tony’s hands lowers back down Peter’s chest, tickling his skin. “By your voice, your eyes, your…” Suddenly, Oberon’s fingers breach the hem of Peter’s pants and curl around the hardening shaft. “…shape.” A quiet moan falls from Peter’s lips. “T-Tony-“ As a reward, the Fae squeezes and tugs, causing Peter to lean into it even further. “Again.” “Tony-“ Another reward, another moan. “Again.” “Please-“ “Say it, Peter. Say my name.” “Tony!” … Puck and Oberon lay in a clearing in the woods, surrounded by blooming flowers and a pleasant warmth. The breeze gently washing over them is slightly chilly, but more than welcome under the sun. They’re bare, staring into each other’s eyes as their hands tease hair and skin. Their heads are crowned with flowers, an indication of their reign of their small and contained makeshift kingdom. The corners of their lips are curled up indefinitely, showing no sign of ever pointing down again. They bask in the sunlight and each other, enjoying their flushed bodies and entangled legs. “Would you stay with me?” Oberon whispers quietly, eyes searching. “Forever?” Peter sighs content and scoots a little closer until his head rests on Tony’s chest. “And rule Winter Court?” “By my side.” It’s quiet for a second too long for Tony’s taste. “You can say no.” “No, I-“ Peter sits up straight, breaking the tranquil scene. He stares at the flowers, away from the Fae. “I want to be with you.” “Just not at court?” Peter nods quickly. “I wouldn’t fit in.” Tony laughs at that and joins Peter in sitting up straight. “Beck will probably try to kill me after what happened last time.” “First, he would not. If he even so much as tries to touch one hair on your beautiful head, I will have him lose his. Secondly, do you think I fit in?” His hand finds Peter’s face and moves a stray curl before cupping his jaw. “Am I cold and evil?” Peter grins. “Occasionally.” Tony huffs faux-offended. “Name one time!” “Hmm,” Peter teases as he grabs his chin, thinking carefully. “About an hour ago when you considered not letting me cum after three hours of edging?” The Fae bursts out laughing and quickly moves in until they turn and Peter is caged on the ground between Oberon’s arms. “What is the alternative?” Peter wants to swear at his cock, already betraying him again. He decides to play along, though. “You could just let me cum whenever I want to.” Oberon pouts at that. “Oh, but what’s the fun in that.” His tongue swiftly finds Puck’s bare chest and swirls lazy circles before he leaves a wet kiss. “Would that not bore you?” “Why don’t we find out?” Tony lowers his abdomen until both of their semi-hard cocks brush past each other. Peter gasps at the fluttering sensation, but it quickly turns to a whine when Oberon simply keeps teasing. “Tony-“ “You think you can go again already? Are you not tired?” Peter puffs his cheeks. The question is kind and considerate- Peter hadn’t even thought of whether or not he would actually be able to go again. It’s not soon and he does have the libido of a college student, but their three hour edging session did take a lot out of him. “Or do you need a hand?” Oberon smirks. A strangled moan escapes Puck’s throat when suddenly, Oberon grabs both of their cocks in his hand and starts stroking them while also lazily rolling his hips. The hand seems to glow slightly and Peter feels rejuvenated. Awake and present and… Fuck, he’s horny. “Evil,” Peter whimpers at Oberon's magic use, which causes Tony to slow down his movement. “I can stop if you want.” “No- fuck, no, keep going.” “As you wish.” Tony puts in a bit more effort now and seems to relish in the fact that Peter is already a mess again. His look darkens. “I’ll be as evil as you want me to be.” Even if that’s not what Peter meant – and they both know it – Peter doesn’t care anymore. “Our promise may be fulfilled after today, but I will make sure you keep coming back every time.” The student bucks into the Fae’s hand. “H-H… How?” Peter bares his teeth in a cheeky grin. As much as Tony teases Peter, Peter still likes to fight back. Puck moans unashamedly when Oberon’s magic envelopes and enters him, pulsating and caressing and simply straight up fucking him into oblivion. The edge nears dangerously fast and all Peter can do is take it. Oberon sucks a mark on Peter’s neck and growls. “By keeping you coming.” “Please-“ “Oh, what a beggar you are,” Oberon taunts. “How many times do you want to come, my flower?” His eyes sparkle with delight. “Once? Maybe twice? Three times? Or a thousand…” Peter grips some of the flowers next to him to ground himself. His chest heaves with his heavy breaths. “Answer me, Peter.” A scoff falls from Peter’s lips before he answers. The Fae certainly likes to use their newfound bond to make Peter do all kinds of things. “Until all I can say is your name.” Tony leans in, fully pressing himself against Peter now, rubbing their bodies together. He moves in to kiss Peter, but before he does, he whispers victoriously. “Now that is a reply.”

... “If it makes you feel any better, I could do a ritual for her?” MJ’s words struck a chord with Peter. He knows she’s always reserved about her Paganism, aware that it’s not a conventional religion. So, this came as quite the surprise. “I-” Peter is at a loss for words as he sinks down into the sofa, eyes locked on the dried, bloody patch in the cushions. This means a lot to MJ, which, in turn, means a lot to Peter. Her connection with her beliefs is strong and deep. She doesn’t say something like this to just anyone. “Yeah…” he sighs, absentmindedly tracing the stain with his index finger. “I’d appreciate that.” Peter hates how formal his reply sounds but MJ smiles encouragingly anyways. She sits down on the floor in front of him and grabs his hand away from the patch of blood and the sour memory attached to it, to make him look down at her. Her hair is up in a messy bun, the flyaways frame her face playfully and she grins up at him. MJ’s been helping him clean the apartment the last few weeks with zero complaints whatsoever. All she said was: “One day, I’ll need your help and then you’ll be there for me too.” It’s true. He’d do anything for her, as he would for Ned. And May . About two months prior, May had suffered a hypo so severe she had to be taken to the hospital. She recovered enough that she could spend the rest of her time at home, but the damage had already been done. Not just physically. Peter had to sell pretty much everything worth anything that he owned in order to cover even a quarter of the bills. Both his and May’s savings had gone into the treatment and now they had next to nothing left, which posed another issue: the insulin. They wouldn’t be able to afford her medication for a while, which meant May was at a constant risk. She wasn’t strong enough to go back to work, but the fact that the meds weren’t there to help her with her recovery meant that it wasn’t going fast. On the contrary. She was deteriorating. But she also decided to keep that from Peter for as long as she could. She didn’t want him to worry about her, nor did she want him to take any other measures in order to get her her meds. Peter noticed, though. May always hated wearing her prescription glasses. But a little over four weeks ago, while Peter was studying at the dinner table, she asked him to fetch them for her. And even as the glasses were on her head, she still squinted- still brought the book further and closer, further and further. Her eyes were getting worse, but she blamed it on her age. Peter knew better. May knew Peter knew better. With the lack of money, good food was out of the picture too. Everything May would need to recover and live a healthy life was figurative miles away- out of reach. It was difficult to determine her body’s needs without the right equipment and she felt lifeless and tired most of the time. She started dropping stuff, accidentally. And her walk became stick-like. Her hands and feet were ice-cold, and she had to wear her mother’s old compression socks to keep her circulation under control. It became increasingly more difficult for her to run errands, though she tried. There was no way she was going to give up. And there was no way she was going to let Peter in on it, regardless of whether or not he noticed. He’d experienced enough loss, she wasn’t going to burden him with any more anxiety. However, the fact that she didn’t talk to him about it, even when he asked or confronted her, only increased his fears. His nights were sleepless. Restless. His mind ran with doom scenarios. What if. What if. What if. A few days before MJ first helped him with the cleaning, Peter found May on the sofa again, casually reading a book when he noticed her leggings around her ankles were a deep red colour. Not the khaki shade he’d seen when he left for uni that day. “May, what’s that?” He’d asked. When she lifted the book - which she was now reading with a magnifying glass - to follow Peter’s glare, she exclaimed a surprised: “Oh!” May aimed to get up from the sofa, but ultimately lost her balance and dropped back into it again. The sofa cushion was stained, just like her feet were. Peter immediately ran over to her and helped her compose herself but she broke down. Tears streamed down her face and the only words that she could utter were unneeded apologies and heavy-weighing regrets. She sobbed against Peter’s shoulder and it took him every inch of willpower not to lose himself to his sadness as well. Apparently, May went downstairs to grab the mail and on the back way up, she tripped, hitting the lower part of her ankles on the steps. She thought it was okay- that she was fine, but she couldn’t feel the wounds underneath her clothes. She hadn’t noticed the blood seeping out from them, not even when she sat down on the sofa and blurred her sight even further with the book. When she was calm again, after taking in all of Peter’s encouraging, hopeful words, he told her to stay seated so he could patch her up. He carefully took off one of the compression socks and tossed it onto the coffee table. It’d be easier to get the stain off of there than the light rug he was now sitting on. Her foot was freezing and he swallowed when he saw the damage on her ankle. He grabbed the first aid kit and cleaned her up. After her first leg was all ready, he moved on to her other. Gently, he pulled at the hem of the other compression sock, but before he could toss it onto the table, he spotted her pinky toe. It was darkening. Dying. That’s when Peter broke. “I know you need a miracle right now to help with all of this and- well, I don’t really know anyone who’s good at that kinda stuff, but... “ MJ scoffs an awkward laugh before continuing. “I mean, the help of a Fae would be nice, but it’s not that those just show up if you ask them to.” “A Fae?” Peter chuckles, though his eyes don’t spark. “Like Puck? From the play we had to do at Summer camp?” “Sort of, yeah!” MJ grabs Peter’s other hand and places both of them on his knees, resting her own on top. “But I’m playing with you, Pete. It’d be a stretch to find one willing to help.” Peter smiles, but he makes a mental note nonetheless. Not that he thinks Fae are real; that’d be kind of insane. “Anyways, what I wanted to say is that… Well, whatever happens, I’m here for you, ‘kay? And for May, too.” “Thanks, MJ.” Peter’s expression softens as MJ stands up. “Now, let’s finish up so I can go home and perform that ritual.” She winks and helps Peter to his feet. He’s not sure how to express his gratitude any further. Should he ask to be there? Or is it private? It’s not like he knows much about Paganism anyways. He’s interested, though. Peter is desperate, sure, but he never imagined he would be this desperate. As soon as MJ is out the door, he grabs his notebook to scribble down everything he thinks he knows about Fae. Fairies- whatever. He even re-reads Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream , the play he had a part in last Summer. Puck’s lines- his lines- were still marked. “It’d be a stretch to find one willing to help,” MJ said. Lucky for Peter, he is quite flexible. … Peter knows it’s ridiculous. Fae can’t be real. It’s folklore. A story. Yet… Peter still finds himself seated behind the library computer that still runs on Windows XP, somehow. Every day, he tells himself he should stop looking up information on Fae. That he should study. Regardless of his attempts to set himself straight, his fingers still type the wrong things into the search bar. To say his obsession is bordering unhealthy is an understatement, to be honest. He just wants May to live a full and happy life. He wants May to live. And at this point he’s willing to try anything. He can’t lose her too; she’s all he has left. It’s nearly Halloween, or Samhain in the Pagan religion. On this day, the border between the world of humans and Fae should be relatively thin, which means the odds would be in his favor if he were to look for a Fae then. Samhain’s in two days, so there’s no time to lose. Every trick, every single thing that could harm Peter’s safety has to be ingrained in his brain. Yes, he would do anything to save May, but it’d be nice if he got to spend some time with her after. The most important things Peter noted for himself are “don’t accept anything from a Fae, especially not food,” “don’t listen to their music and definitely don’t dance with them,” and the one that Peter knew he would most likely slip on: “don’t give them your name. Under any circumstance.” Peter quickly decided that if any Fae asked for his name, he would just say his name is Ned, for a lack of creativity. … Samhain’s Eve, or Halloween. Peter squeezes his way into the train. He’s very grateful that the New York council had decided that students get to travel the subways for free. Otherwise, he’d have no idea how he would’ve gotten out of the city and into the suburbs. Towards the woods. May is with a friend tonight to give Peter some breathing space, but the opposite is true. The anticipation has knocked the air out of Peter’s lungs. Peter manages to sit down next to a few kids, dressed up for trick or treating. He offers them a nervous smile, clutching his backpack against his chest. The journey out of New York seems to flash by as much as it takes an eternity. After about two hours of travel, Peter steps out of the last possible station and breathes in the cold October air. With an old fashioned map of the area and a thrifted flashlight, Peter finds his way into the woods. He knows he has to get off the paths at some point, but the mere idea frightens him to the core. He’s suddenly not so sure anymore if this was a good idea in the first place. Maybe… Maybe he should turn around? Settle on the couch and watch some bad horror movies? That’d surely be a lot safer than whatever he’s doing right now. Peter’s feet don’t stop, though. He keeps going forward, his mind telling him to go back, but his heart cannot refrain from reaching out for May. For answers. For hope, no matter how little he may have left. He can feel his blood pump through his body, experiencing how it grows heavy with every step he takes. The distinct ache of loneliness in his chest grows tighter and tighter. It’s cold, it’s dark, he’s alone. Utterly and indescribably alone. His eyes are fixated on the path in front of him. So much so, that he doesn’t realize he loses track of his map. Worst of all, he only gets back to his senses when the flashlight starts flickering dangerously. “No,” Peter whispers, shaking the tool. “No-no-no-no-” “Need a hand?” Peter yelps and turns, stumbling backwards until he trips over himself and collides with the harsh ground. He looks up at the man, now towering over him, hand outstretched. The flashlight is on again, lying next to Peter and illuminating the fallen leaves, creating a pattern against the trees just off the path. The stranger has a kind smile. He seems to be in his forties, hair still dark and crow’s feet enunciating his smile. Peter sighs exasperated, reaching forward to take the man’s hand until… No, wait, who is this man? Peter turns his head to grab the flashlight and when he shifts back to the man, it flickers again. Peter loses his breath when the man’s irises seem to light up in the short dark moments. The man’s smile doesn’t falter, even when Peter’s expression drops. On the contrary, the smile turns into a smirk and all that’s left for Peter to look at when the flashlight finally dies is a pair of intense, golden glowing eyes. “What’s a young sprite like you doing in these woods? At this hour?” The man’s illuminated eyes lower and lower until he’s at eye level with Peter, who’s still staring at him. “I-I... “ Peter takes a deep breath. “I’m looking for someone.” The man leans in closer, near-hovering over Peter’s body. Peter tries to move back, but the man follows. “Are they lost? Like you?” His voice is strangely beautiful. Deep. Close. “No, no- It’s... “ “Do you have their name? If you give it to me, I can find them for you.” Peter’s nearly laying down now, the man’s hands caging him at his sides, but not touching him. In a flash of half confidence, Peter replies: “Are you a Fae?” A dark chuckle rumbles below the golden eyes that now squint with glee. “I am many things.” “I’m too, that doesn’t answer the question, though.” Shit. Shit-shit-shit, why did Peter’s sassy side decide to show up when he’s in the clutches of someone who is definitely not human and could probably kill him without thinking about it twice. Instead of getting angry, the man laughs yet again. “Fair enough, boy.” The eyes pull back and Peter quickly scrambles until he stands, so that he can look down at the man this time. “I am what you say I am.” The man pauses as he stands up too. There’s a short shuffle and suddenly, a small fire appears in the man’s palms. The way it lights up his face is an odd combination between warm and creepy. “Does that frighten you?” “N-no.” “Your stutter betrays your lies.” Peter wants to protest, but the man suddenly raises his hand, eyeing Peter curiously. “Were you looking for me?” The man’s words send a chill through Peter’s entire body. He presses his lips on top of each other and fiddles with his fingers. “Maybe.” “So, yes.” “Yes.” The man smiles again. “And why were you looking for me?” “I’m not looking for you specifically.” “Ouch,” the man chuckles. “You’re looking to use my power.” Peter’s jaw tightens. It almost feels like an accusation. Like it’s hurtful to the Fae that Peter’s only there for that. Peter swallows. Now that he puts it like that, it does sound a little mean. “Why?” “It’s… It’s a long story,” Peter says as he looks down at his feet. The light of the fire in the Fae’s hands creates a bubble of light around them. They’re still surrounded by utter darkness, save for a few faint silhouettes of the trees around them. “I have all night.” The man nods, but stops halfway down, seemingly mulling something over. “What did you say your name is, again?” “P-” Peter barely catches himself. Simply saying the first letter of his name already makes him feel a strange, otherworldly tug at his heart. He can’t say Ned now. He already started the word. What name could he possibly give to the Fae? Peter composes himself quickly as the gears in his mind turn fast. Fae. “Puck.” “Ha!” The man laughs bombustuously. “Fitting for a sweet and pretty young man as you. Though, you are not a Fae.” The man wiggles his eyebrows. “Or are you?” Peter opts to ignore the flirtatious compliment. “Am not. You and I both know I shouldn’t give you my real name.” Peter takes a deep breath, relatively pleased with himself for talking back. “You may call me Puck.” “Puck.” The Fae breathes in the name as he closes his glowing eyes. “I’ll call you Puck.” “And what should I call you?” Peter asks carefully. A playful smirk creeps up on the Fae’s face. “I go by many names in these woods. Some call me Inventor. Others call me Iron Man. You may call me Tinker.” Peter can’t help himself and bursts out laughing. “Tinker?” he repeats. “As in Tinkerbell?” The Fae sighs exasperated. It seems like he’s heard that before. “No.” He rolls his golden eyes. “I make things. I tinker. But I suppose you deem the nickname unworthy?” The flame in his hands grows bigger for a split second. “If you’ve got anything else, I’ll gladly call you that,” Peter chuckles. “Inventor… Iron Man. Wait, isn’t iron a Fae’s weakness?” The man laughs softly. “It’s why they call me it. I am one of the few who feels no effect from iron, or technology, for that matter.” The man nods at Peter’s pants. “So, the screwdriver in your pocket is quite a lousy weapon against me.” The playful smirk returns on his face. “Or are you just happy to see me?” “I- I-” Peter takes a step back, wide-eyed, and looks at the tool in his pocket. The man knew he had it on him. Peter shivers. “I like you, Puck,” the man says suddenly. He takes a step closer to Peter, who is stuck in place. The warmth of the fire in the man’s hand now reaches Peter’s skin. It’s… Nice. Comforting, somehow. “There is something about you that I can’t quite put my finger on.” “I’m nothing special, sir,” Peter says politely, breaking eye contact and looking down again. “I’m just here to help my aunt.” “Your… Aunt?” Peter tells him the entire story. About May’s diabetes, without mentioning her name, and the inevitability of amputations and likely death if things keep going the way they are. The Fae listens thoughtfully, not breaking eye contact with Peter the entire time. The man doesn’t flinch, not even when Peter’s voice starts breaking and tears threaten to spill from his eyes. “I shouldn’t be this vulnerable with you,” Peter suddenly interrupts himself, attempting to swallow away the lump in his throat. The Fae finally changes expression. A kind smile spreads on his face and he nods. “A wise assumption.” The man cocks his head and rolls his shoulders, still looking down at Peter. “Though, I am not interested in tricking you right now. I prefer my catch on guard. I like a challenge.” “Good to know,” Peter sighs, tightening his jaw again in an attempt to stop his emotions getting the better of him. “Company.” The Fae’s voice is soft, nearly melancholic. “What?” Peter takes a small step back and frowns, quickly wiping away his tears with the sleeve of his shirt. The soft breeze glides between the trees and tickles his face. It makes the flame in the Fae’s hand dance. Peter blinks once. Twice. “I’d much appreciate it if, in return for helping your aunt, you keep me company.” If Peter knew any better he’d say there was a hint of desperation seeping from Fae’s words. Is he lonely? The spark of hope grows brighter in Peter’s chest. May might just survive, if the Fae doesn’t screw him over. Peter takes a second to ponder his words. “How long?” “Bargain for it, boy.” Peter sucks at his teeth and takes a deep breath. He has no idea what kind of price he has to pay. What’s normal. Though, about a week ago he didn’t even think Fae existed, so everything was a wild guess at this point. “I- I don’t know… What would you ask of me?” Peter fumbles, wrapping one hand around the index finger of the other and pulling at it absentmindedly. It’s a nervous tick he couldn’t seem to shake and it betrays his uncertainty. Suddenly, the Fae pushes into his space, making Peter stumble backwards again. He barely keeps himself from tripping over and the Fae cocks his head playfully. “You and I both know I’d rather have your name, but you won’t give that to me, would you?” His tone darkens and he orders. “Bargain.” “Two days. Consecutive. So, 48 hours?” Peter tries. A bargain means the Fae will start with a higher price. If they’re going to work to a middle ground, 48 hours might be a good starting point. “Two days?” The Fae sighs dramatically and raises the back of his hand to his forehead. “You wound me.” The Fae stands up straight again, putting the same hand on his hip and puffing his chest. The flame in his hand grows brighter and brighter. “Eight. Consecutive.” “Mh, three.” “Six…” The Fae’s tone is threatening somehow, but Peter won’t give in that easily. “Four, separate meetings, not consecutive.” The Fae’s laughter shakes the trees and there’s a mischievous glint in his eye before he continues. “Is that all you think your aunt’s precious life is worth, Puck?” Peter jolts and immediately shakes his head. “Y-You told me to bargain!” “Hmm… So I did.” The Fae steps closer to Peter, refraining from touching him, but Peter can feel his hot breath on his skin. The Fae smells of pine and Peter has to set his mind straight to look away from him. He didn’t realize he’d been staring straight into the Fae’s golden eyes. “I really do like you.” Peter shudders. The Fae then pulls back again and nods approvingly. “Four days it is. How about we meet every upcoming celebration up until Beltane?” Peter doesn’t know how to reply, so instead, he keeps quiet. His silence isn’t taken kindly, though. The Fae clears his throat and looks at Peter from behind his long lashes. He smirks. “Have we come to an agreement?” Peter isn’t sure whether or not he should say yes straight away. There’s something that’s still missing from this contract and the last thing Peter wants is to be tricked. “Your medicine has to work completely, otherwise the deal is off,” he states resolute. The Fae chuckles. “Clever boy,” the Fae sighs as he circles Peter. Goosebumps spread over the young man’s entire body. “I cannot cure an illness like hers, but I can ensure she does not suffer. I will help your aunt live a long, full and healthy life, regardless of the ailment she carries with her.” The Fae sniffs once and cocks an eyebrow at Peter’s reply. “Whatever means necessary?” “Whatever means necessary.” “Deal.” The Fae grins and tilts his head slightly. “Good boy.” Peter shivers and takes in a deep breath. That voice . Those words . They shouldn’t do as much to Peter as they actually do. He should be scared. Yet, this whole thing is kind of… Exciting, in a way… Invigorating. “Do you think you can find your way back?” The man asks, snapping Peter out of his thoughts. He looks around and into the darkness, which causes his heart to sink. “I’m not sure.” “You can say no, Puck. It’s alright,” the Fae jokes. “If you are comfortable with following me, I can lead you back to the nearby town.” Peter eyes the Fae cautiously. “A human town.” “With a train connection into New York?” “If I knew, I’d tell you. But a town is better than infinite darkness, isn’t it?” The man grins cheekily and gestures around. Peter looks into the dark, realizing that if he doesn’t agree, the Fae will leave him here alone. Without light. “Please, take me there?” His voice is smaller than he hoped it was. “Only because you asked so nicely.” Peter isn’t sure how long they’re walking. The man doesn’t say much, but Peter can’t help but notice he tries to keep the flame close to Peter to keep him warm. He’s kinder than he thought Fae would be, but there is a small weight of dread in Peter’s stomach. What if the Fae did trick him? What if he’s being led somewhere else? His worries fade when he spots a brick house in the distance. He releases the breath he’d been holding and turns to look at the Fae.

... Oberon stayed true to his word. On November 4 th , Peter woke up to hearing May’s chipper humming in the kitchen. He stared at his ceiling for a while, simply listening to her sweet voice. He could hear the bacon sizzling in the pan, the smell of grease stinging the insides of his nose. A shaky breath fell from his lips as he blinked away the tears. The corners of his mouth curled up in a lopsided smile while he squeezed his eyes shut and silently thanked the Fae. It soon appeared May still had diabetes, as Oberon had said she would. She still had to watch what she ate, but whenever she needed medication of any kind, the next drawer or cupboard she opened contained exactly what she needed. Two Tylenols next to the water glasses when she had a particularly bad headache, insulin in the cutlery drawers before dinner… It was all awfully convenient, yet – strangely enough – no one questioned it. The large grocery store around the corner always seemed to have a discount running on the exact products May would need for her healthy cooking and soon enough May became energized again. Life returned to her and it suited her well. She was able to go back to work as a nurse and now, on December 21 st it was Peter’s turn to hold up his end of the deal. … “Oberon?” Peter calls out weakly. He feels so small surrounded by the tall imposing trees of the crowded forest. All is white, covered in snow, and Peter’s breath condenses in front of him, before he hides the bottom half of his face in Uncle Ben’s worn scarf. He squints, trying not to let the cold cut his skin, and wades through three feet high packs of snow. It’s three o’clock in the afternoon. He barely slept last night because of his nerves and after a near-full day of colleges, he’s already quite exhausted. “Oberon?” He tries again, using his gloved hands at his mouth to concentrate the noise. Peter turns as he walks while looking around, trying to find the figure, hugging himself to keep warm. After a long time of searching, Peter sits himself down against a tree with his legs pulled up. How could he ever find Oberon like this? It’s already starting to get dark. His eyes are still strained on the forest around him. He’s quietly frustrated with himself for not arranging a meeting point with the Fae. Maybe Oberon forgot? It’s cold. Peter’s feet have gone wet in his old sneakers and he shivers aggressively. This is no use. Freezing himself to death will do no one any good, but he also doesn’t want to leave. That would mean he didn’t hold up his end of the deal of spending time with Oberon, which will result in May losing access to her medication and newfound luck. Maybe if he- “ Puck ,” a voice whispers in Peter’s ear. The young man yelps startled and crawls away from the tree, looking up wide-eyed at Oberon, now towering over him. The Fae laughs gratuitously with his hands on his hips. When he’s done, he leans forward with a cocked head and a cheeky grin. “Found ya!” Peter scoffs amazed at the man’s mischief and scrambles to stand up. His breath is unsteady through his shivers. “Y-yeah,” he manages to push out with a grateful sigh. “You found me.” Now that Oberon gets to have a closer look at Peter, his smile falters. “You are cold.” It wasn’t even posed as a question. The Fae simply knows. It is rather obvious with Peter’s thrifted and weathered outfit. Peter is slightly stunned by the statement and his eye is drawn to the man’s body. He’s wearing an odd combination of weather appropriate and weather inappropriate attire. He is covered, but the fabric looks awfully thin. Peter nods weakly at Oberon’s comment and the Fae immediately pushes into his space, not allowing Peter to step away from him by caging the student between himself and the neighboring tree. “How long have you been searching for me?” The man’s eyes are intense, worry shaking his irises as he holds their gazes locked. “A while,” Peter says truthfully. “More than an hour.” He sucks at his teeth. “Maybe two.” Not even a second later, a flame appears between the two of them. Its warm glow envelopes Peter immediately. “I am so sorry,” the Fae confesses with twisted brows. “I was expecting you later today. Much like last time you visited. I never meant for you to go cold.” Peter blinks a few times, processing Oberon’s words before replying. “It’s okay. You found me.” A small smile creeps up on Oberon’s face. His voice is soft. Gentle. “I found you.” They stay there for a minute, simply staring at each other as their faces are illuminated by the pleasant heat of Oberon’s flames. “Would you…” Oberon’s voice trails off as he still looks into Peter’s eyes. The young man nods absentmindedly, no clue what he’s agreeing to, but it feels right, somehow… Wait. Peter coughs loudly to help himself snap out of it and he steps away from the fire. From Oberon. “Are you alright?” “Yes!” Peter yelps, startled by the crack of his own voice. “No! I mean-“ He nearly stumbles over again and it takes him a few seconds to regain his composure. “What did you want to ask?” Oberon opens his mouth and closes it again, seemingly taken aback by the question. “Did I…” He frowns and then nods. “Right, I- My house-“ he points away from them in the direction he had initially appeared to have come from. “It’s warm there.” “I shouldn’t follow you,” Peter says bluntly. He already nearly fell for whatever just happened- something that even Oberon didn’t realize he was doing, based on his reaction. “No, you’re right, you shouldn’t…” Oberon purses his lips and then makes another gesture with the hand that holds the flame. “But I do think it’s better to spend those twenty-four hours somewhere comfortable rather than out here, right?” “I think it’s safer for me if we just make a fire here,” Peter ponders out loud. The Fae’s face pulls together in discontent, glancing over Peter’s soaked pants. “No.” “No?” Peter parrots with a scoff. “You’ll freeze to death. I won’t have that.” “But-“

“And there are other Fae out there who aren’t…” Oberon looks away for a second to think his words over and sighs audibly. “…Like me.” Peter scoffs again. “Like you?” “Well-willing.” Peter frowns and pulls his head back a little. Oberon takes a deep breath and explains: “It is winter, Puck. This time of year, Fae who are part of Winter Court are particularly in their element.” He moves his flame from one hand to the other. “You should count yourself lucky no one else found you before I did.” Peter has read up on the different Courts, but didn’t expect them to be real. The Winter Court is considered to be malevolent and is often described as cruel and evil. If they are truly real, then Oberon was right. It would’ve been very bad for Peter if he had run into another Fae. Oberon breaks Peter’s train of thought. “For your sake, we have to go to my home.” Peter takes an uncertain step backwards, holding onto himself and eyeing Oberon with distrust. This might as well be a ruse to get Peter to follow him forever and that is not what he is here for. The Fae sighs agitated. “Fae cannot lie, Puck,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “I promise you that I have no ill intentions towards you and that I will not trick or harm you.” Peter’s features relax for as much as it is possible in the shivering cold. “You promise?” He wishes he sounded more confident. Oberon steps forward again, reaching out his flame-free hand for Peter to take. “I promise, with all my heart.” …

“So,” Oberon says as he rubs his hands together, squeezing the flame before giving it space again. Peter stares at the man’s feet as they walk. Where Peter wades through the snow, Oberon simply saunters on top of it, as if he weighs nothing. A thousand cheeky Lord of the Rings references lay locked in the back of Peter’s throat. He keeps them there, knowing the Fae probably has no idea what it is anyways. “How is your aunt faring?” Peter takes a bigger step, the snow becoming deeper and deeper with every travelled distance. “She’s doing well again,” Peter replies with a smile. “All thanks to you.” “Ah-ah,” Oberon tuts, glancing back at Peter over his shoulder. “Thanks to you .” The man points at Peter. The young man presses his lips on top of each other, clutching his upper arms in an attempt to keep the heat inside his coat. “If you had not gone looking for me, I would not have helped.” “I mean, yeah, but you did all the hard work.” Peter frowns, looking down at where his feet disappear in the snow. They ache with every step and he quietly hopes he gets to keep all of his toes “You could’ve said no.” The student stops and cocks his head. Oberon halts his walk as well, turning to look Peter in the eye properly. The wind picks up and it plays with Peter’s hair. He scrunches his face together at the cold air pushing against his skin. “Hard work,” Oberon scoffs, shaking his head before continuing his trek over the snow. “Subjective.” “It’s true, though!” Peter tries to rush after him, but the deep snow isn’t really working in his favor. “You, young man, need to give yourself more credit.” “Do I?” The Fae laughs out loud and spreads his arms. “We will be spending many hours together, Puck,” he chuckles, not looking back at Peter this time, but Peter can practically hear his giddiness. “I might just teach you a thing or two. Nobody knows self-love as I do.” “It’s not about-“ “How are you doing?” Oberon interrupts him, swiftly steering the conversation away. “Still cold?” “I-“ Peter pauses and purses his lips. He has no idea how far they still have to go until Oberon’s home and though there is something unsettling about the uncertainty, the Fae is disarming. Charming . Peter reminds himself that’s the whole deal about Fae. He’s supposed to make Peter feel comfortable enough to let down his guard- to slip. But he won’t. He can’t afford to lose like that. He can’t afford May to lose him, after everything they’ve been through. “Yeah. Still cold…” “And?” Oberon asks cheekily. “And what?” “Sounded like there should be an ‘and’ after that. And well, you know, something else, whatever your subconscious wanted to say.” Peter scoffs at Oberon’s bluntness and shakes his head. “Alright, fine, I didn’t sleep much last night so I’m tired.” The second the words leave his lips he grabs his mouth with his gloved hand. Why did he say that? Didn’t he literally just tell himself he shouldn’t let down his guard? “You’re… Tired?” Oberon sounds like someone just told him he won the lottery, which only fills Peter with dread. “I mean, not really-“ Peter tries, but the damage had already been done. “You’re tired.” The Fae says one more time, confirming it for himself- both of them. His tone immediately changes to something soothing and Peter isn’t sure yet if he likes it. “That’s alright. I did not expect you to stay awake for me for a full day.” “I’m not sleeping tonight.” “Sure, you won’t.” “No tricks,” Peter reminds Oberon quickly, sucking at his teeth at Oberon’s sass. “As promised.” Oberon shows Peter a kind smile. “It is alright to be wary of me, but as I said, we will be spending quite some time together. The last thing I want for you is to be uncomfortable. Neither of us would enjoy ourselves if you fear your time with me. If you need rest, I would like you to take it.” “I know, but don’t you want me to be awake?” “I asked for company, Puck.” As Oberon says it, the flame in his hand burns a little brighter. “As long as you are with me, the clock ticks. Awake- asleep, it makes no difference.” Peter gently shakes his head, glancing at the shoulder straps of his energy drink-filled backpack. “Not gonna sleep.” “We’ll see, Puck,” Oberon sighs content. “We’ll see.” … Somehow, the rest of the walk is pleasantly silent. It’s not long before a hidden cottage reveals itself among the trees. It looks about ready to fall apart, yet it’s apparently still sturdy enough to survive the dire weather conditions. Oberon opens the door and lets Peter walk in first. “This is me,” the man says shyly. Peter looks around in awe. The space is more like a workshop than a home, but it’s still cozy. Quaint. There’s a fireplace in the corner and the room is lit by a few candles. Peter nearly dares to call it romantic. “Is… Is it alright?” The Fae holds his hands together, waiting for Peter to comment on his home. Peter simply walks around the space, admiring the clutter and the little knick knacks, the herbs hanging from the ceiling and the collection of pillows and blankets on the floor near the fire. “It’s lovely,” Peter sighs breathlessly. A proud smile spreads on Oberon’s face and he immediately moves to what Peter could only describe as some kind of stove. “I’ll make some tea, to warm you up.” “Actually,” Peter interrupts, almost feeling bad about it. “I shouldn’t be taking anything from you, so I brought my own food and drinks.” The young man pivots where he stands, showing his backpack and tapping the side of it. “Well, you should know it’s not smart to refuse anything a Fae offers you.” Oberon cocks an eyebrow, smiling victoriously. “Aha!” Peter exclaims softly with a grin, raising his index finger. “You haven’t offered me anything. You just said you were going to make tea to warm me up.” “Well, I-“ “And since I have enough food and drinks with me to last 24 hours, I’ll be alright, thank you.” Peter swings the backpack off his shoulders and puts it down with a thud and a cocky smirk. “Such a smart boy,” Oberon laughs. “Then I will just make myself tea,” he pauses, eyeing Peter from the side. “While also trying to figure out how to get rid of that backpack.” “You wouldn’t dare,” Peter chuckles. Mischief sparkles dangerously in Oberon’s eyes. “Oh,” he sighs, licking his lips. “I would.” … After a little while of casual conversation and exploring the Fae’s humble home, Peter sits down at the fire. The snow on his clothes is starting to melt, so he decides to unzip his coat and take it off. The temperature here is pleasant anyways and his shoes are already drying by the fire. He shuffles a bit, quiet frustration rising in his chest when his arm gets stuck in the coat. “Hold on,” Oberon says softly, kneeling behind Peter and raising his hands. “May I help? No need to return with a favor of your own.” Peter stares forward, jaw tightened, trying to find anything untrustworthy in the Fae’s words. The frown on his face fades when he realizes there’s probably nothing wrong with what Oberon said. Probably. Peter nods carefully and twitches when he feels the Fae’s warm fingers against his neck, curling around the collar. Hiss shoulders slack and he lets himself be taken care of. Oberon also takes off Peter’s worn scarf and studies the holes in it for a few seconds. Then, he stands up swiftly, hanging the coat over his work chair, in Peter’s line of sight. Peter is startled when the man is suddenly behind him again, fingers gently caressing his shoulders. “What are you doing?” Peter whispers, trying to pretend the gentle kneading doesn’t feel like actual heaven to his stressed muscles. “I am helping,” Oberon simply replies. “You- but the coat?” Peter can feel Oberon’s grin in his neck, paired with his hot breath. It sends shivers down his spine. One hand pushes through Peter’s hair and Peter can’t help himself as he lets it fall back when the Fae’s hand has gone all the way through. “Never specified it was just about the coat.” Shit. The Fae massages a little harder, eliciting an unintentional gasp from Peter. “So tight…” Oberon whispers. Peter is slowly turning to putty. He wants to fight the attention, but he can’t help how good it feels to have his knots kneaded away. “So tired…” “Mm…” Peter’s head lolls forward and the sudden weight he has to catch has his eyes fly wide open. He gasps and pulls away from Oberon’s gentle hands, panting and shaking his head. “Wha-“ The Fae exclaims surprised. “You said no tricks!” Peter calls out offended. He then scrambles to snatch his backpack and clutch it to his chest, wrapping his legs around it as well. “You promised!” Oberon’s face drops. Peter expected him to be frustrated that his evil plan didn’t work out, but instead, he spots fear. “I didn’t mean to-“ “You did! You were-“ Peter pauses to wave one hand haphazardly in Oberon’s direction. “-doing something to me.” “…Giving you a back rub?” Peter opens his mouth to give Oberon a snarky reply, but nothing comes out. He presses his lips together again and frowns with a pout. “I cannot lie, Puck, I can guarantee you that I used no magic.” “But…” The student looks around the house, searching for answers. “Maybe you did something else?” “I did not.” “No… No herbs? In the air?” Peter sounds uncertain and based on Oberon’s loud laughter, the scene has become rather amusing. “Are you hearing yourself?” Peter immediately makes himself smaller, embarrassed. “No, Puck, I assure you; all I want for you is to be comfortable. You are obviously exhausted. I am trying to help you unwind.” The Fae stands up to go back to his stove, where the water he put on is nearly boiling. He grabs a pot from the counter and fills it with the water. “As promised-“ He looks up at the dried herbs on the ceiling and takes bits from a few, smelling them before tossing them in the pot as well. “-no magic. No tricks. It’s just you and me here.” “Then why did you seem so happy when I told you I was tired?” Peter shuffles where he sits, slowly relaxing his muscles again, but still eyeing the Fae – who now walks back to where Peter sat earlier to sit down himself – cautiously. “Because I am weird and find sleeping humans fascinating, next question.” Oberon obviously doesn’t want to linger on the subject, which makes Peter want to ask further all the more. “Elaborate,” he says simply. Oberon scoffs, placing the pot down in front of him on the small table. “Okay, then,” Oberon sighs deep and turns to face Peter. Their gazes lock and the Fae rolls his shoulders before continuing. “Your face. 42 muscles, right?” “Right.” “They’re engaged and stressed. You tighten them for all of your expressions, for when you speak…” It’s quiet for a second as he ponders his next words. He uses his hands to enunciate. “Your smiles and your tears are all accompanied by the use of your muscles.” The Fae repositions himself where he sits, crossing his legs and leaning in slightly. “When humans sleep, they lose all tension. They relax and drop their masks.” “You think I wear a mask when I’m with you?” “You wear worry. I wish for it to fade.” Oberon cocks his head the other way, his expression is soft and kind. “It fades when you sleep.” “You’re saying it as if you don’t sleep.” “Fae do not sleep. Well,” Oberon pauses and sucks at his teeth, nodding left and right as he looks up. “Not like humans. We can sleep and we do, but we don’t need it like humans do.” “So…” Peter looks down at his backpack, pressing his chin into it. “You want to watch me sleep?” He scoffs softly, but smiles. “That’s kinda creepy.” “Hey, I already said I’m weird.” Oberon shrugs casually and pours himself a cup of herb-infused tea. “You are very pretty, Puck.” The compliment catches Peter off guard and it has him sit up a little straighter. “Last time we met, when you cried, all I wanted was for your sorrow to leave. It is why I agreed on our deal- why I suggested company.” He puts the pot back down and gently nudges it away from him. He curls his fingers around the cup, holding it tightly. “I am a lonely man and you are a kid in dire need of some time to let go.” Peter’s shoulders relax again and he looks down, now awfully aware of the frown on his face. A frown Oberon just said he wants gone. “Lonely…” Peter mutters before looking back up at the Fae again. “You said there are others like you out there? Don’t you spend time with them?” Oberon immediately averts his gaze and takes another sip from his tea. “No.” He doesn’t say anything else, which naturally causes Peter’s curiosity to grow. “Why not?” Peter leans in slightly, placing his backpack next to him and scooting a little closer. “That is not important.” “Mmmmmmmmmmmm-it kind of is,” Peter says cheekily. Oberon pulls a face and cocks his head. “How so?” “Well, if you and I are – and I quote – ‘spending a lot of time together,’ then I think it’ll benefit both of us if we’re honest with each other?” Oberon immediately grins. “Then how about you start by telling me your name?” “Ha-ha,” Peter laughs sarcastically. “I meant it as in; you know all about me after last time, it’s only fair I get to know you too.” “I will tell you Puck,” Oberon sighs. “Just… Not yet. Not now.” The sparkle in his eyes surprisingly returns. “Besides, you are infinitely more interesting.” Peter scoffs. “Am not.” “Are too.” “How old are you?”

“Older than you think I am.” … By the time Peter’s clothes have finally dried, he is laying on the floor, staring at the ceiling. It kind of feels like he’s floating, surrounded by all the pillows and blankets. He’s comfortable and warm, yet also buzzing with his fourth can of Monster. He’s been chugging them one after another and part of him regrets raising his blood pressure and heart rate like this. Peter’s hands are folded into one another, resting on his stomach as he blinks in an attempt to keep his mind straight. Colors slowly fade together and the room seems to be vibrating. He can hear the beat of his heart thrumming between his ears and an occasional twitch prevents him from getting too comfortable. Oberon has left Peter to do some chores in and around the room. They talked for a few hours now and the man seems to understand Peter’s social battery has drained. Peter’s almost surprised how easily their conversations came when he let down his guard a little. Oberon seemed to stay true to his word and refrained from pulling any tricks. Now, he shuffles around the space, letting Peter alone with his thoughts. They have to stick together for the deal to work out, though. It’s not long before Peter swallows and closes his eyes, trying to regulate his breathing. Maybe starting that fifth can was a mistake. The room spins, even when his eyes are shut. He mumbles and his embarrassment about the situation makes him unsure if he wants Oberon to hear it. “I’m gonna-“ He can’t even finish his sentence before rolling over and catching himself, pulling up to hurl. Oberon is immediately at his side, offering a bucket for Peter to spill into. “There, there…” Oberon says softly, helping Peter through it by gently placing his hand on Peter’s head. “Was already wondering when your body would reject that chemical sugar bomb.” Peter squeezes his eyes shut and hides his face in the bucket to prevent Oberon from seeing his embarrassed red cheeks. He takes a minute to breathe before coming back up. He glances at his left and spots a wet cloth. He stares at it for a little bit, unsure of whether or not he can touch it. The Fae read his mind. “Take it. The water on it is warm.” Peter scoffs into the bucket in an attempt to conceal another gag. “What’s in it, chloroform?” Oberon chuckles above him. “If I really wanted you to sleep, you would’ve been out hours ago, Puck.” Peter smiles and shakes his head, but he does move to grab the fabric and clean his mouth. It takes a minute before Peter’s head is cleared again. He takes a shaky breath and turns to be met with Oberon’s intense stare. The Fae is leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees and hiding his mouth behind his hands to hold his head up. Peter raises his eyes questioningly, to which Oberon responds with a deep sigh as he sits up straight again. “What do I need to do to gain your trust?” Peter immediately looks away again, pressing his lips on top of each other and shaking his head slightly. “Dunno.” “Alright, alright,” Oberon says as he raises his hands and shuffles where he sits. “Remember that promise I made? The one where I said I wouldn’t trick you?” Peter’s eyes flick back and forth between the fire and Oberon. “Yeah…?” “I cannot break that promise, Puck. It would harm me if I did.” Oberon sniffs and shuffles closer to Peter, who can’t find the strength to move away. “Let me reiterate: I promise you that I have no ill intentions towards you and that I will not trick or harm you.” Oberon sucks at his teeth and raises his eyebrows. “Ever.” He glances at the fire, crackling softly, and continues. “That includes food and drink, song and dance, monologue and conversation. I will not use my magic to inflict pain on you, nor do I have any interest in your true name. I do not want it, though I may jest. I only want your company.” Sincerity drips from Oberon’s lips and it takes a second for Peter to realize he’s staring at them. At how plump they are, how soft they look… He blinks and turns away again. “I believe you.”