#naive peter

This is the long awaited part 2 to the Retired Mafia Boss Tony x Peter - Italian Edition drabble you can read here but you don’t need to read it to understand :) 

Retired Mafia Boss Tony needs something to fulfil his days, and fate gives him a pretty little thing stranded on the edge of the road. 

TW: abuse of authority, sort of kidnapping? I mean Peter goes willingly but that boy is way too innocent for his own good. Tony just wants to lavish him really, and Peter’s just a touch too clueless to say no. Susceptible Peter, easily manipulated Peter. 

Two weeks in, Peter is much more comfortable wandering around the villa. 

His ankle is healed, and Tony can only admire over the rim of his wine glass, as Peter flits from room to room. Each more extravagant than the last, filled to the brim with exotic treasures and ancient relics. 

How little attention Tony has paid them before. They only light when Peter casts his adoring gaze of sunshine on them. His little face beams with each story Tony recounts for him. 

Tony feels a peace within him that is suspiciously close to contentment. Could it be? He hopes so. Up until meeting this injured soul on the side of the road, Tony’s retirement had consisted of a restless longing. For what, he hadn’t known. The smell of gun oil had called to him, the rush of power and money had beckoned. 

He had thought, for so long, that running his Mafia, presiding over territories long-fought over, was his soulmate. 

He was wrong.

His soulmate is before him now, trailing his fingers over a painting worth millions of dollars, all because Tony had said he could touch it. 

He muses over Peter now. He loves to muse over this boy. His new muse. Eighteen years old and full of life. 

He’d managed to get Peter to stay the night, and then he’d coaxed the boy into staying the week, to make sure his ankle had really healed. 

And then, Tony, the master of persuasion that he is, had gently enticed the sweet thing into staying with Tony for the rest of his holiday. It only made sense. 

After all, poor Peter Parker was lonely in Italy. Tony could offer entertainment, luxury, and knowledge. 

He hasn’t let Peter out of his sight. He’d had people go and collect the boy’s things from the dingy hotel he was staying at in an over-trodden tourist hotspot, but Peter isn’t wearing his own clothes now.

He’s wearing the garments Tony’s had made for him. Tailored floral silks and cream lace and white satin. They’re figure hugging but flouncy at the same time, they show off Peter’s lovely skin under the guise of providing relief from the humidity of the Italian summer. 

Tony’s distracted by the flush of pink across Peter’s delicate cheekbones as the boy peruses his collection of books (that Tony bought on a whim he’s tremendously grateful for now- those daffodil eyes bright with interest) before noticing that Peter’s tea is untouched. 

He sets down his wine and clears his throat. “Cucciolo, you should drink.” He calls from the balcony, voice carrying past the parted curtains.

Peter, so obedient it makes Tony hungry, twirls around immediately before scampering over with a bashful smile. “Sorry,” he murmurs, for nothing, taking a seat beside Tony outside on the balcony, where the breeze caresses tumbling locks of hickory, “I got distracted. C-cuo-cucciolo this time, what does that one mean?” 

Tony watches as Peter blows on his tea. So delicate. “It means puppy,” he grins, chuckling at Peter’s scrunched up nose. “Now now, we can’t say it’s not accurate. You’ve got the puppy-dog eyes and the enthusiasm.” 

Peter giggles at that as Tony’s thoughts go down darker avenues. Peter’s little yips and whines of pleasure as Tony pounds into him-

“And- this morning,” Peter presses, “you said do…do-dolcezza.” 

“Sweetness.”

Peter blushes, ducking his head and taking a long drink of his tea. His bare toes curl up in pleasure. Such a reactive, appreciative, wonderful boy. “Mmm,” he sighs, eyes closed in bliss, (what would he look like, Tony wonders, in the throes of pleasure and orgasm?) “it’s like sipping liquid candlelight.” 

Tony laughs again, deep and full bodied. This is peace indeed. But contentment? Not yet. He needs the boy. All of him. 

***

Peter adores Tony’s sprawling vineyard. Endless to the eye. Tony lounges on the deck, while Peter disappears into the greenery only to come back ever delighted at discoveries he’s made. 

Peter offers Tony a little handful of grapes after one of his excursions, and Tony reaches out, thumbing a smudge of juice from Peter’s lip. 

The boy’s skin is sun-warm, it trembles deliciously under Tony’s touch. He presses his thumb more firmly, into the soft wet cave of Peter’s mouth when-

One of his attendants clears his throat politely. 

Tony briefly considers killing them, before letting it slide. 

“Signore,” the attendant murmurs, placing a piece of card beside Tony’s elbow. He reaches for it and Peter sits opposite him, curious but ever-polite. 

It’s a postcard from Harley. A picture of Montecarlo and on the reverse a simple: All’s well. Rest, old man. 

Tony smiles. 

Peter perks up. “Something good?” He asks, delighted by Tony’s pleasure. What a good, good boy. 

“My son,” Tony hums. He’s spoken of Harley to Peter before. It had helped lull the boy into a sense of security to think of Tony as a father figure, a family man. Even though Harley’s only a few years older than Peter the boys couldn’t be more different. Harley is a man, thick and brawny, deft and cunning like his father- mature and hardened in ways that made Tony proud. 

Peter is soft as a lily, fragile as a rose petal. 

“I should send my Aunt a postcard,” Peter chirps like a little english bird, “that’d be nice! Maybe we could go to town today?” 

Maybe, Tony thinks. A card would waylay any worry. The month is drawing to a close and Peter’s holiday will be over soon. He might want to go home. 

Tony will just have to coax him into staying. 

“We can go into town this evening for dinner, miele, you can wear the blue lace.”

Peter blushes, so lovely, lovelier than lavender, curls spilling into his forehead. “Okay, Mr Stark,” 

Tony wants to leave bruises on that slender neck, then soothe them with gentle kisses and sweet words. 

He doesn’t want a fight, doesn’t want his trusting, naive little Bambi to struggle against his new life- his new destiny. Tony likes him just as he is: demure, delighted, delicious. 

***

He mulls it over till the evening, his maid brushing lint from his suit jacket. The boy is sweet on love, that much is clear. The way he blossoms under compliments and swoons on receiving gifts. 

Does Tony love Peter? He’s not sure. He’s known the boy two weeks now and knows he won’t ever let him go. With Peter comes peace. Comes desire. Comes meaning. 

“Mirda,” he murmurs to the maid, “I think I might be in love.”

She smiles at him, and adjusts the collar on his shirt. 

When Peter comes down the stairs, he’s a vision in blue. A natural beauty. A wildflower. 

“Bello, Caro,” Tony breathes, not giving Peter a chance to ask, before opening his palm to show the tuscan pearls cradled within.

Peter doesn’t breathe. 

“For you,” Tony vows, looping the necklace across that slender neck and fastening the gold clap meaningfully. He whispers into Peter’s ear, feeling the boy shiver against him. “Do you believe in love, Peter?” He asks, and when Peter turns his head a little, Tony can feel the brush of those eyelashes against his cheek. 

“Mr Stark,” Peter whimpers, glorious and beautiful. 

TW: Dark Tony, Mind Control, Hypnotism, Dubcon, Mentions of Violence

Tony can’t help the slow, predatory grin that sweeps across his face as Peter twists away from his friends in the brilliantly executed double cross and comes to sidle up to Tony’s side instead. He wraps his arm around the boy’s dainty waist, and his blue nanotech retreats so he can kiss those rosy lips, and one hand squeezes appreciatively at Peter’s plump little ass. His boy giggles against him, tiptoeing to nuzzle against Tony’s beard. It’s obscenely adorable.

Peter’s stupid friends make noises of horror and betrayal, and MJ, quite the little deviant to his system of rule over New York, steps forward. “Peter,” she whispers in cold fury, “what are you doing? What are you doing? Have you been playing us? You’re giving in to Stark’s rule? He’s destroying New York! You pretended to be our friend-“

“No, MJ,” Peter whispers, shaking his head so adamantly that his tousled hickory curls tustle enthusiastically. “No, it’s not like that! I just- I needed to get you to trust me because- you don’t understand. Tony is good for New York. He’s what we need-“

“Oh my god,” she spits in disgust, her black-rimmed eyes narrowing in derision. “He’s completely taken you in. How can you think that? With all the things that he’s done-”

“Peter,” Ned gapes, still in the stages of dawning comprehension. “How could you?”

Flash is lost for words.

Peter looks sad, and Tony can’t have that. His princess shouldn’t ever be sad. He draws him closer to his side and presses a gentle kiss to his temple. “Don’t listen to them, sweetheart,” he coos, and Peter nods, but his eyes don’t sparkle like they do when he’s really happy.

Tony vows to restore it later.

For now- “I’m going to enjoy killing you.” He hisses, stalking forward, and MJ lifts her head defiantly, but Extremis coils bright and blue around Tony and he can see her flinch just a little. The others are cowering, and he’s lifting a hand- he’ll snap her little neck-

When a soft gasp and a hand at his elbow stops him. “Daddy!” Peter cries in surprise and dismay, “What are you doing? You said you wouldn’t hurt them! You promised!”

Tony grits his teeth, and MJ looks triumphant.

“Peter, baby,” Tony says as gently as he can, “that was a lie. I lied to you so you’d help me bring them here. I’m going to kill them all now, and I’d rather you didn’t see it. Go up to the tower, sweetheart.”

Peter comes even further forward, and Tony swallows hard. His Peter is perfect, and beautiful, with his dainty frame and slim, elegant limbs. He’s Tony’s finest possession. The only thing that Tony would risk anything for- but Peter can’t get in his way. “Daddy,” Peter shakes his head, standing between Tony and his friends, “you promis-“

Tony grips Peter’s chin gently, and his eyes flash blue and the nanotech slithers onto Peter’s skin across their bond. “I explained things to your friends,” he whispers hypnotisingly, watching as Peter’s eyes glint sapphire, “they understood that I am superior. They happily went back to work, but they don’t want to contact you- they’re too busy being completely happy in their new roles. You don’t miss them at all. Now go up to bed, get yourself ready for me, daddy wants to wreck your glorious little hole tonight, and you love it.”

He pulls away and Peter’s eyes recede back to warm brown.

Peter wriggles in excitement, as Flash and Ned make retching sounds. Tony watches his boy scurry away fondly, and then he turns back to the little rebels.

He grins at them: vicious and deadly.

“Time’s up,” he snarls, spraying their blood across the walls.

By the time he gets upstairs, he’s clean and eager. As is Peter, his precious angel, who’s writhing on the bed, two fingers buried in himself and calling for his daddy.

“Daddy’s here, baby,” Tony clucks, already pulling himself out. He’s rock hard, and he kneels on the bed, sliding in in one smooth motion, all the way to the hilt- Peter’s velvet walls gripping him exquisitely, as he runs his hands up and down Peter’s sides, crooning lovingly to him. “My little angel, fuck, baby, you feel so good. You’re such a good boy for daddy, aren’t you?”

Peter pants, nodding helplessly, rocking his hips back tantalisingly. “Daddy, daddy, daddy,” he pleads, “feels good- need it-“

Tony chuckles, gripping Peter’s hips and setting a brutal pace, making sure to hammer his baby’s sweet spot with each bruising thrust.

Peter’s got a new truth embedded into his brain. Hypnotism isn’t Tony’s first port of call. It’s more of a last resort. He’d wooed Peter properly. Wined and dined him. And Peter had fallen in love with him honestly, beautifully, like a little flower. But then Tony had become more and more powerful, filled with darker and darker desires to rule, and Peter had needed slight tweaking- here and there- so he could see Tony as benevolent and kind, and good.

And Tony likes it that way.

He likes that Peter thinks Tony is perfect. Kind and admirable. He likes that Peter brags about him. That his boy doesn’t know the truth about what happens down in the dictator-ruled streets of New York. About the chaos Tony enjoys causing. 

Besides, he treats his boy right, as Peter cums with a delighted squeal, clenching perfectly around him and Tony spills into him, he peppers kisses onto his face and holds him close.

He’d never let any harm come to him.

Peter yawns and snuggles into Tony’s chest, sated and beautiful. “I’m so glad MJ saw you for what you really are, daddy,” he whispers contentedly, and Tony grins into the dark.

Based off @starker-au‘s gorgeous aesthetic to be found here ft Evil witch Hela, hired bandit Tony, and lost prince Peter 

TW Peter is 17, obviously some background mild stockholm syndrome (Peter loves Hela at first) and mentions of kidnapping.

Tony’s been lying on the roof of the spire all morning.

As damp and dewy (read: slippery and difficult) as it had been to get up here, now that he’s in prime position, it’s all about waiting.

He has a pretty good view of the inside of the room if he hangs down low enough. The midday sun is beating hot onto his back and he can see the boy inside- nose buried in a book of poetry- but he knows better than to try and take him now. He’s been staking this place out for a while, and soon enough- the witch will come.

He resits the urge to scratch the sunburn forming on the back of his neck, instead he keeps poised and still, because right on time the witch arrives.

Tony grins, shaking his head, goddamn this was almost too easy.

A few months of searching and he’s found the lost prince- the King and Queen are going to lavish him with money and he’ll leave the Kingdom, maybe buy his own, become the ruler of the land.

It’s not bad for a 25 year old outlaw.

Of course, he’d been surprised when King Richard and Queen Mary had summoned him. Although, ‘summoned’ was a little…alright, fine, they’d caught him. And Tony had thought for sure he was going to be executed, but instead, he’d been taken to the Royal Court and told that if he were to find the missing prince, not only would he get his freedom, but he would be gifted with a thousand jewels.

Turns out that 15 years of the most intense search by the royal guard hadn’t turned up anything.

And it’s taken Tony two weeks.

He’s feeling pretty smug about it.

Oh, sure, maybe it was lucky that he fell down that ravine in the woods and ended up here- but it’s not about how, it’s about the fact that he’s here.

He’s pretty sure the 16 year old he’s been watching for a few days is the lost Prince.

Well, this is the first time he’s close enough to really see. He’s been staking out in the shrubbery, hidden amidst the long grass and near the creek. But now that he’s scaled the tower, spent the whole night doing it and nearly broken his leg, he can see the boy up close. He’s a gorgeous little slip of a thing, and he seems well cared for, and the witch that comes up into the tower treats him well.

Tony’s glad of that, at least. He wasn’t sure what he thought he’d find- wasn’t sure if the prince was even alive, but this boy is beautiful and he has his mother’s curls.

Even if he’s not the prince, by some obscure chance, Tony’s pretty sure he could convince the parents that he is.

Right on time, he catches the long dark hair of the witch.

Tony cringes back a little on the spire, and watches as she comes to the foot of the tower and calls up:

“Peter, darling! Mommy’s home!”

Not a second later, Peter- dressed in silky lavender robes- comes smiling and red-faced to the window. “Mom!” He chirps happily, and throws down the rope.

This woman cannot be the boy’s mother, Tony thinks. As she rises, he sees her more clearly- there’s magic radiating off her- green and sickly- and Peter is so pure and sweet-

When she steps into the room, Tony waits a beat, before poking his head down just a little to try and see.

Peter’s room is perfectly circular, and utterly gorgeous. With grey brick and vines everywhere, there are flowers well cared for, and paintings everywhere- all of landscapes and lights- and a dark wooden wardrobe and a small bed absolutely bursting with pillows.

Tony watches as Peter and the witch talk. She fusses over him, almost lovingly, which is…confusing. She cards her fingers through his hair and urges him to eat the berries she’s brought him from her basket.

Tony watches as Peter sits cross-legged on the chair by the table, his mother (not mother, the witch) opposite him, and tries not to make a sound.

“Tell me, darling,” the witch croons, even as she’s grinding up some sweet smelling fragrance into a little copper mug. “It’s your birthday next week. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

Peter sucks on the red juices staining his dainty fingertips, and Tony tempers down any attraction he feels because that would be- just no. The boy shrugs a little, looking shy. “Nothing, mom,”

“Oh come,” the witch urges, evidently done with her little concoction, and she turns to the mirror, and starts smearing it onto her face. “There must be something, darling. Mommy just wants to make you happy.”

Peter glances at the window, and for one horrible moment Tony thinks he’s been spotted, but the boy sighs and turns to her. “I was thinking, maybe…” his voice is sweet and quiet, “for my seventeenth you could take me to…” he looks down at the berries and Tony leans forward; intrigued, “...see the lights?”

The witch stops her movements immediately. There’s a suspenseful stillness. Before she turns, slowly, and her glance is cold. “Peter.” She chides, patronisingly, “you know you can’t leave here. They’d hurt you terribly and you’re out of your mind if you think I’m letting my darling boy get hurt.”

“We don’t have to talk to anyone!” He hurries eagerly, “I swear, just me and you- we can- we can hide! Somewhere out there, just to watch them! They always come on my birthday, mom, surely we can-“

“Peter.” She snarls, and there’s no room for argument in her voice.

Tony hates her. The boy sinks into his seat and nods sadly, picking at his food.

She seems to deflate after a moment, standing and wrapping her arms around him as he nuzzles into her stomach. “Sweetie, you know I’m just trying to protect you. You know I love you, don’t you?”

Peter nods, but doesn’t look up.

Tony watches as she cups his small face in her hands and forces him to look up at her. “My darling boy,” she sighs, “look at mommy. Give me a kiss on the cheek, sweetheart,”

Peter dutifully cranes upwards, and presses a delicate kiss onto her cheek and-

Tony nearly falls off the roof.

Where Peter’s lips touch her skin, streams of gold spread under the witches skin, and before his eyes- she seems to get younger. Firmer, more beautiful, and it spreads over her, until she looks as if she’s lost ten years.

Tony can’t close his mouth.

What the fuck?

The kid is- magic- what the fuck? This doesn’t- he must be the witch’s son, then, the boy’s a wizard or something, but-

But no. His birthday is the day they do the light memorial in the Kingdom. He has Mary’s hair and Richard’s eyes. He’s kept locked in a tower-

Tony stills.

What if this was why the boy was taken?

The witch had said people would want to hurt him- she’d taken him- to stay young-

And the boy doesn’t even know.

Doesn’t know he was taken- that he’s being lied to- used-

Tony tightens his hands into fists and grits his teeth. This isn’t right. He has to- he has to take this boy home. He has to save him.

He watches as the witch coddles her captive, and Peter bids her goodbye as sweet as a humming bird, before she’s lowered gently to the ground with the rope.

He watches as Peter tides the rope away, and then goes and sits by his easel, foregoing the paintbrushes, and just dipping his fingers straight into the paint, and setting to work.

It’s hypnotising to see, but Tony has to make his move. He lowers himself onto the ledge, grunting- grip excruciatingly tight so he won’t fall-

and by the time he manages to flip inside, he’s so cock-sure and arrogant, so relieved to be out of the heat, a smug grin on his face- that he doesn’t even see it coming when the frying pan whacks into his head.

*** There’s a sharp pain on the right side of his head when Tony blinks to awareness, but as he takes in his surroundings, everything’s dappled in an early afternoon light so he figures he hasn’t been out for too long.

And then he flexes and he nearly snorts. The bindings aren’t very good, but that’s okay, he looks around and catches sight of Peter, still brandishing his frying pan, and half hidden behind a painting.

It’s a good painting. Tony’s a little distracted by it.

There are splotches of gold lighting up the night sky, but they’re too big to be stars-

oh.

“Who are you?” Peter says, voice quivering a little, but he’s clearly trying to be brave and Tony just…god, he feels bad for him. But he's a little impressed by the kid’s moxie. “Have you come to steal my magic? Well you can’t have it!”

A ginger cat hisses at Tony and he jumps a little in surprise. “No, kid, listen,” he tries, wincing when the movement of his jaw makes him a little dizzy. His voice is a little rough too. “I’m here to-“

“My mom’s gonna deal with you when she gets back.” Peter informs primly, all cream skin and huge hazel eyes and-

mom. Oh god. Tony…he’s not sure he can. He’s not sure he can say it all and have Peter believe him, so-so- he does what he’s done best for a long time. He lies. “Listen, kid,” he tries, “I was just out for a walk when I saw this tower, thought it might have a few supplies, I thought it was abandoned. It clearly isn’t, so, I’ll be on my way. Back to town.” He waits a beat. “Gotta get back in time to see the lights.” Too thick?

Peter’s eyes snap up, and Tony bites back his smirk. Hook. Line. And sinker. “The lights?”

“Yeah, the lanterns.”

“Lanterns!” Peter gasps, turning to look at his painting. “That’s what they are! Oh, sir,” he turns back, eyes alight with a thousand ideas and it’s- goddamn, it’s a little endearing, “will you take me?”

Tony opens his mouth to say ‘yes’ when Peter cuts him off-

“No, you have to take me, or I’ll tell my mom you broke in and she’ll turn you into a frog.” He beams, rosy cheeks and sparkly eyes, and curly hair, and Tony thinks:

Peter keeps eyeing Tony’s devil food cake.

Tony sighs, and pushes the plate towards him. Peter looks up with big, guilty, honey eyes and shakes his head insistently. “No! I couldn’t, you eat it, Tony-“

“I’m not even hungry,” Tony insists, pushing the plate even further towards his companion. Peter’s cheeks go all pink and lovely and Tony wonders how he lasted the last few decades without seeing him. The last time must have been- oh god (ouch), it might have been the Second Industrial Revolution.

Peter’s just as pretty. With his huge eyes and his chestnut curls and his cream skin. He’s in a white floral printed suit, trimmed with gold, and it fits him perfectly. The tie is a faded pink, and it matches the rose hue of his lips.

“But it’s called devil’s food cake,” Peter points out, reaching for his fork anyway. He takes a heaped forkful into his mouth, all chocolate and cream and icing and Tony wants to kiss him.

He wonders what would happen if he did. He’s loved Peter for centuries, there’s no doubt about it, but Peter’s never shown any interest. He’s all naive and wonderstruck, Tony doesn’t think Peter quite knows about sex, if he’s honest.

Tony’s clad in a sleek black suit, and there are streaks of rouge through his dark hair. The sunglasses look a little odd, but no one is looking twice.

“I thought you had something to do with that horrible war,” Peter says, chocolate crumbs on his lips as he drinks the sweet, fruity cocktail Tony ordered for him. “I was so happy you didn’t!”

“That’s all the humans, I’m afraid,” Tony sighs, easing back in his chair. His whole body itches. Being away from Peter for so long has just reminded him how much he loves him. How much he wants him. “Come back to mine. It’s been too long, angel.”

Peter blushes again, and dabs his lips with the handkerchief. “I can’t, Tony. If the others-“ he glances up towards the ceiling, “-found out that I was hanging out with you-“

“Screw the others,” Tony insists, and he makes his voice soft, and thinks about the time he and Peter both tried to distract King Arthur so he wouldn’t find the fountain of eternal youth. He thinks about the way they laughed in the forest, surrounded by animals that were so much bigger than they are now. “C’mon, it’s been an age. Let me tempt you. I was just in Belgium. Scrumptious little truffles, you’d love them.”

His angel looks tempted, and if that isn’t Tony’s job, he’s not sure what is. There are little freckles dappled across Peter’s nose, and he leans forward, the white cotton of his suit touching Tony’s black velvet. “Maybe. They’re not too happy with me anyway.” He lifts his eyebrows up towards the heavens. “I accidentally performed a miracle again.”

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. “How many times do we have to talk about that?”

“It was an accident!” Peter exclaims, “The King has these gorgeous little girls, Tony! They just wanted a little freedom from the palace, that’s all-“

Damn it all to hell, Tony adores him. Peter’s sweet breath fanning over his face, those excited eyes, the stray white feathers here and there. “Come back with me.” Tony asks again, and his fingers shake with the urge to touch Peter’s cheek. “Please, angel.”

Peter beams, all pleased, and he nods. “Since you asked so nicely.”

*** Tony has a townhouse in the city, stained black here and there with ash and soot. Peter’s little cottage in Northumberland is almost overgrown with violets and honeysuckle. Don’t ask Tony how he knows that. 

Peter looks around in amazement, touching all of Tony’s souvenirs. He stops at a chalet of poison. He turns and frowns at Tony who does his best not to look too sheepish. “Tony,” he warns, “I hope you didn’t have anything to do with Rasputin.”

Tony shrugs, snapping his fingers so the kettle boils instantly. “Who can really tell, Angel? Here, have some tea. I have your favourite.”

Peter lingers a little by the poison, but is easily swayed, and sits down amidst the cluttered collection of burnt Bibles and stolen treasures. Tony takes the opportunity to sit right beside him, their legs brushed together.

He thinks he sees Peter blush, but he’s not sure.

“If I find out you had something to do with Rasputin, Tony…”

“If a crazy man wants to make a deal with a demon, Petey, what do you want me to do? You perform your little miracles, am I not allowed to break a few rules here and there? Besides, what’s the harm. He’s dead, isn’t he?” Tony had made quite sure of that. 

Peter scowls at that, but nibbles on the biscuits Tony’s provided, and settles in.

They talk about their recent travels, and Tony puffs out his chest when Peter leans in: fascinated, as he regales his adventures in South America. He, of course, makes sure to leave out any evil-doing, and just watches as Peter gives him all of his attention.

Night comes too quickly, and Peter yawns- surprising himself- and it’s so cute Tony almost leans forward and kisses him right then and there.

“Good heavens!” Peter exclaims, “I should be getting back. Tony, this has been lovely!”

“Don’t go,” Tony urges, because he’s not sure he can bear to be without him. “I have a spare room.”

Peter hesitates, but nods slowly. “Maybe that would be best. No turning into a Serpent or anything, okay?”

Tony laughs, full bodied and delighted, and he sticks out his hand to shake. “I promise.”

TW: naive peter, abuse of authority, dub con, mind control, hypnosis

When the fairy lands, Tony’s breath catches.

Oh, it’s one thing to know it’s coming, to plan, to trap, to embed magnets deep into the ground, but it’s another thing completely to see it in front of him. It’s something else entirely.

The fairy doesn’t look the way Tony imagined.

It’s not small and pink and glowing light.

It’s a young man- elfin, beautiful, shimmery and petite but ostensibly human if not for the half-translucent gossamer wings that catch the sunlight as it filters, fragmented, through the canopy.

The soil is rich and dark, and the dainty feet land on it, and gravitate towards the warm milk Tony’s laid out.

Little kids are told fairy stories. Tony never wanted to fuck tinkerbell, though.

As soon as the pretty brunet ambles gracefully into the trap, Tony flips the magnets on, and iron juts up an inch or so through the ground in a circle around the poor creature, and the boy makes a startled sound, immediately trying to fly away- only to crumple onto his knees and cry out.

His skin looks like cream.

Tony wants to bite.

The little fairy is so cute, the way he cringes away from the barriers, stuck in his little circle, desperately looking around the forest for a way out.

Tony’s more than happy to oblige.

He arranges his face accordingly, and plays the worried passer-by, who stumbles out of the long grass.

“Oh my god,” he murmurs, and the fairy looks up in startled relief, “what happened? Are you okay?”

The fairy makes the sweetest little chirping sounds, like a little bird stuck in a tangle of branches, and he gestures weakly to the bowl of the milk and the little iron forcefield. “I’m stuck,” he pleads, “help me- please, and-and I can give you a wish!”

God, he’s so pretty. All sparkly and soft with his pink, pink mouth.

Tony looks down at him hungrily. Sure, one wish. But if he finds out the creature’s name: infinite wishes.

He’s done his research.

He crouches down and pretends to exam the iron shielding. “I don’t know,” he sighs, “I don’t think I can.”

The fairy’s big honey-suckle eyes swim. “Please, sir! I’m a fae, and I can offer you a wish for your kindness, is there- is there nothing you can…?” his voice wavers, and he looks like he’ll burst into beautiful little tears.

Tony pretends to consider it. He thumbs one of the sharp edges of the barrier. “What’s your name?”

The fairy stills. “M-my name?” He repeats.

“I think I need it. The barrier it looks- magic.”

The pixie creature cocks his head. “Have you come across beings such as me before, sir?”

Tony lies. “A few times.” He murmurs, rubbing his chin. “I think there’s a spell, I just need your name. That’s not a problem, is it?”

The fairy wavers, and Tony can see the exact second the sweet thing decides to hedge his bets. “Alright,” he says slowly, “I’m Peter, kind sir. Can you free me now?”

“Oh yes,” Tony grins, trying not to get too excited. “I definitely can.”

He presses the button and the magnets drag the iron back down beneath the earth and precious Peter sags in relief: sparkling back to life. He stands, shaking himself off and wings glinting. “Thank you so much! And now, you may have anything your heart desires-“

“Peter,” Tony cuts him off, loud and testing, and the fairy immediately goes still, his eyes shine gold, and Tony grins. “You’re mine now, do you understand? Under my control. No one else’s. You will never leave unless I give you permission.”

Peter thrums, the little fairy already following Tony. He hovers like a humming bird a few inches off the ground, but Tony doesn’t mind that. He reaches up to cup that dandelion-soft cheek, and Peter nuzzles into him. “Yes, sir.”

Tony shivers with power. “And you’ll grant me every wish I want, won’t you, Peter?”

The command of his name works a treat.

Tony’s lucked out. What a naive little fairy this was. Too young to know the dangers of what lurks in the woods.

No matter.