#human!peter

Tony dismisses it at first. Land animals and flying animals will often touch down on his waters. But then there’s a violent splashing in the water, the surface disturbed as a creature, a human, kicks and swims a few clicks to the west.

With nothing better to do, Tony goes to investigate. He stops underneath the frantic current, watching as all four of the human’s limbs flutter, desperate to keep afloat.

There are a few wooden beams that anchor the nearby structure down into the ground, and Tony wraps a few arms around one of them, climbing slowly to get a better look at the intruder.

He wonders if this human is injured— his swimming is lopsided, and Tony can hear labored breathing above the loud splashing and flailing of his limbs. Every so often, the human’s smaller arms will lift out of the water to grab the metal anchors on the side, leaving his bottom arms to hang freely in the water below.

Oh, the human is learning to swim.

Tony has never interacted with a human before, but he suddenly feels sorry for this one. The tiny limbs and slight muscles need development before they would be able to swim long distances, but this one looks old enough to at least know basic technique.

He huffs, pulling himself closer to where the human is resting. It probably wouldn’t be best to scare the poor thing, so he hesitantly runs the tip of his forearm against a curved, bumpy foot.

The human jumps, kicking and yelling angrily. Tony rolls his eyes— so sensitive. He peaks over the surface of the water, blinking away droplets as his eyes readjust to the humid summer air. When he can see clearly, Tony is met with wide pools of brown eyes, surprised and... horrified.

There’s a noise spilling from the human’s lips— words Tony can’t understand. He moves closer and the human flinches, but doesn’t flee. The beautiful eyes and lips draw Tony closer and he reaches out another arm, this time wrapping it around the human’s foot and holding on.

Tony. Safe.

He tries to project those words, and watches the moment they register to the human. Curiosity. He can feel curiosity through their small connection, and it makes Tony hum in pleasure. Not scared then.

And then Tony pulls. Not physically, no— he pulls emotions, drawing a few pieces of information from... the man. The human is male. He’s young, untouched, and devastatingly alone. Filled with loss and self-doubt, despite his beauty.

Peter. His name is Peter.

Tony pushes back the same emotions: male, fertile, alone. His own thoughts permeate Peter’s mind, and the boy in front of him blinks slowly, unsteadily. His pink lips turn into a hesitant smile as he murmurs a few more words, extending a hand with delicate fingers in Tony’s direction.

Oh. Okay. Tony’s arms pale in embarrassment, and he can feel his cocks take notice of the proposal. He’s suddenly aware of how bare this human is, how vulnerable and sweet he smells.

He lets his instincts take over for a moment, and a few of his arms snake out, wrapping delicately over Peter’s wrists and ankles and neck, feeling his pulse thrum and race. With a tug, he pulls Peter flush against his body, letting the smaller male feel the aroused wiggle of his cocks peaking out of the slit between his limbs.

Mate.

Peter nods in agreement and it’s all the permission Tony needs. Den, den, den, his instincts scream, and he holds his mate close, diving beneath the surface and heading back to his den. There they will be safe, there his mate can carry his clutch and take care of them.

Safe. Mate. Peter.

It isn’t until he’s halfway back to his den that he feels his mate’s pulse slow down noticeably, and Tony feels his breathing stop. He jerks to a stop and looks down into his young mate’s face, horrified to find his expression slack, eyes closed, and body unmoving— no breath, no sign of life whatsoever.

Oh seas, what happened? He uses a thin arm to snake down Peter’s throat, alarmed to find his lungs full of water. Shit. Tony has never swam so fast in his entire life, racing back towards the pier and throwing Peter’s limp body up on the wooden deck. It takes some coordination, but Tony manages to climb the metal structure, leaning over Peter to turn his head to the side, sliding his arm deep into the boy’s mouth and coaxing the water out of his lungs.

Tony breathes a sigh of relief when his small mate coughs, expelling water and bile across the wooden deck as his body contracts in heaving breaths. He looks so lost, so tiny, and Tony lays one of his own hands across the boy’s back, sending waves of calm and peace to comfort him.

He gets a dopey smile in response and a few more muttered words, soft, content affection returning to him in a soothing wave. Good, he didn’t hurt his fragile mate.

It takes awhile for Peter to stand back up, but Tony stays nearby the whole time, watching and waiting. With wobbly steps, Peter makes his way back towards the land structure, covering his lower half with a piece of fabric as he goes.

Peter turns back once before he disappears up the hill. His face splits wide in a sweet smile, and he waves his hand back and forth, whispering a few words.

... “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.