Multifander @multifander-is-writing - Tumblr Blog

Jun 6

Peter Pan x Autistic!Jewish!Reader (Well… Technically, Writer) Head Canons Part Eight- Held Hostage Under The Guise of Protection (NSFW)

[CW: Bathing in a cove together (not completely naked), vomiting, hickies, dirty talking, goes without saying but massive age gap between the reader and Peter. TW: Body insecurities, Peter being possessive, panic attacks, self harm, serious Stockholm syndrome, discussions about suicide, discussions about the September 11th attacks (this is relevant for the reader’s backstory), discussions about the Second Intifada (relevant to the reader’s best friend’s backstory). I may or may not have put in some Polin and Byler parallels in here. 😉 DISCLAIMER: I did not lose any relatives or friends in the 9/11/01 attacks. But I have lost a second cousin to terrorism. Point is, I do not intend to offend anyone who has been personally affected by the tragedy. Any reference to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. Also, Bold indicates flashbacks; Bold Italic indicates dialogue in flashbacks]

When you wake up, you feel a cold, wet cloth on your forehead. You notice that you are on a cot… that doesn’t belong to you. And then, you see the familiar ceiling of Peter’s tent above you. But you do not feel safe here. Before you can say anything about it, Peter himself appears in front of you. Upon seeing you, he freezes. But he smiles with relief. What could he possibly be relieved about? “Oh, good,” he says softly, “You’re awake. I thought that would never happen.”

You moan in pain when you try to sit up.

But Peter sits down on his cot next to you, gently hushes you and takes the cloth off your forehead. “It’s alright, my love,” he says softly as he starts to dab your face with it. “You’ve been running a fever for a while, but I’ve been treating it.” Off your pout, he quips, “I’ve done a good job taking care of you since your second day in Neverland, haven’t I? I know the very first day was difficult- my fault, obviously- but after that… I think I improved. Don’t you?”

“You did this to me,” you say, your voice weak.

Immediately, he shakes his head. “Y/N, I promise you that I didn’t use magic to do anything other than put you to sleep. The fever came all on its own.” And that’s the truth. Peter was sure you’d wake up normally after the spell wore off. But when you didn’t, it scared him. In all honesty, he thought you were going to die.

“You stole my life from me. I was with my people-“

“Darling, you heard the pipe. You’re a Lost Girl. You weren’t happy back home.”

“But my family was there-“

“And what did they do for you, hm?”

That question makes you pause.

Peter softens now. “Did they do anything to help you, love?”, he asks with deep concern.

“I can’t think, Peter. I don’t feel good,” you moan.

He sighs and puts the cold cloth aside. Then he moves your hair away from your face as he gently replies, “Just try.”

You’re very tired and sick… but you can remember how frustrated and tired your parents got after having to take care of you during the worst of your depression. You know it’s probably too harsh… but your resentment towards them has grown tenfold since the moment you started to receive the intense affection from Peter. “No,” you tell him flatly.

Tears appear in Peter’s eyes. With every new tragic fact he learns about you, he finds himself further regretting the torture he put you through when you first met. “They did nothing for you? Nothing?”, he asks as he tries to hold his tears back.

“Nothing that counted.”

He looks down at his feet with a deeply disappointed expression. “So, I was wrong,” he says softly, “Your family doesn’t love you.”

You shrug. Obviously, your family does love you… but you’ve felt very neglected by them. So you kind of agree with Peter here.

Your boyfriend looks back up at you, leans down and kisses your forehead gently before he says, “Well it’s a good thing I love you. More than anyone ever will. And more than anyone ever can.”

You suddenly feel like you’re going to throw up… and not because of what you just heard- shockingly, you actually agree with Peter said. No. You’re ready to barf for real.

Peter acts quickly, conjuring a bucket and gently helping you sit up. “It’s alright, dear girl,” he soothingly tells you as he gives you the bucket, “do it in here.”

As soon as your mouth is aligned with the inside of the bucket, out comes your vomit.

Peter rubs your back and holds your hair out of the way, ensuring that you’re comforted and clean. “Easy,” he coos softly.

You throw up about three more times before you collapse back onto the pillow in a fit of sobs.

And all the while, he soothes you with gentle and loving words that he’s certain you’ve never heard before. Not from your parents… or even from anyone. And that simply breaks his heart. He holds your hand in his own, stroking the back of it with his thumb. “Alright, princess,” Peter says as soon as your sobbing fades into silent crying. “Just relax now. I’ll take good care of you, just as I have been.”

You glance towards the tent’s exit as you try to consider your next move.

But Peter’s expression hardens when he clocks your glance. He towers over you and firmly pins your shoulders down with his hands, though his grip doesn’t hurt. “If you’re thinking of escaping… forget it,” he growls. “Once you’re back on your feet, you’re not leaving my sight.”

You tremble and whimper, but quickly swallow the scream threatening to come from your throat. What comes out instead is, thankfully, not vomit. “I’d rather go back in the cage.”

“Never gonna happen,” he quickly replies. “You know, I never should’ve put you in there. That was a mistake.” With each sentence that comes next, Peter softens more. His voice turns from harsh back to the kind, gentle, loving one that he uses exclusively for you. “I should’ve brought you here instead. Lay you down on this very cot. And you’d be warm, and you’d feel welcome.” He removes his left hand from your right shoulder and gently runs his knuckles down your cheek. “It wouldn’t fix anything that I’d done to you when you first arrived in Neverland but… at least you’d see that I truly care for you. And that I love you so, so much.”

You shut your eyes and shake your head. It’s too much, too frightening for you. All at once, the fear you felt on that very first day returns with a vengeance. But no matter how hard you try… you can’t stop yourself from crying. Even though it’s not Peter’s intention (as far as you know), what he’s doing to you still feels like torture. What’s worse is that he knows you so, so well now… and he could use that to hold you over.

But truly… he just wants to keep you safe. More than that, he wants you to feel loved by him. However, right now… he can see that you feel neither of those things. And that’s his fault. “Oh, no. Please don’t cry, love,” he begs as he quickly pulls you up and into his arms.

You can’t even fight him, you’re so sick. Maybe you don’t want to fight him at all? I’m so tired, you think to yourself.

As your sobs grow stronger, Peter tightens his grip on you. “I’m so sorry. I promise I’m not trying to frighten you.” When you don’t stop crying, he rubs your back and cradles your head beneath his chin, soothingly hushing you. Eventually, your cries do cease… but Peter is certain that the fear is lingering on. He pulls back and cups your cheeks in his hands as he tells you, “You are safe, and you’ll always be safe here. I know you don’t feel that way right now, Y/N, but in time you will.”

You sniffle and shut your eyes, feeling your world falling apart for the umpteenth time since you got to this island.

Peter shakes his head and kisses your cheek softly before saying, “Look at me, sweet girl.” When you open your eyes, he gently takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger as he asks, “Before that conversation at Skull Rock, did you feel safe with me?”

“Mostly,” you reply with a whimper.

He smiles. “Good,” he says as he lets go of your chin. He clears his throat before he conjures up an empty bowl and hands it to you. “You should really get some fluids in your body now,” he tells you softly. “How about some soup, hm?”

You shake your head. “I don’t like soup.”

Peter sighs and moves your hair over your shoulder to play with it. “Y/N, I need you to get better,” he replies sadly. “I know you think I don’t care about you… but I won’t let you stay ill.”

“Then make me better with magic.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not using magic on you anymore. It’s wrong,” he says.

You roll your eyes. “You’re just now realizing that?”

Peter ignores this and continues with, “I need to take care of you the right way. Magic is just an easy fix. And besides… maybe this’ll help you trust me more.”

You shake your head again. “I can’t trust you ever again.” You avert his gaze as you add, “You’re so old… and so evil.”

While that’s true- being old and evil, that is- it still hurts to hear… especially from you. Regardless, he attempts to reassure you. “Oh, princess. Of course you can trust me again. I know I’m old… and evil… but I do truly care for you and love you.” After Peter kisses your cheek, he sighs and says, “You really need soup. So… tell me what you’d want to have in the soup, and I’ll make it for you.”

“I’m not eating anything that you give me,” you force out.

He simply shrugs and replies, “Then I’ll force feed it to you. And I highly doubt you want that.” Those words make your face fall… which immediately tells Peter that what he said was way too harsh. Either that, or you’ve given up on fighting to escape. As happy as the prospect makes him… he’d rather not break you to get that. And then… you start to shed tears in silence. “Y/N, my sweet girl, I just want to take good care of you. That’s all,” he tells you softly.

You don’t respond. You can’t. There’s nothing you could say now. You feel so, so broken now. Perhaps it’s all your fault?

He sighs and holds your cheek, trying his hardest not to cry because seeing you like this is just too much to bear. “Please just tell me what you’d like in your soup?”, he begs softly.

You sniffle and respond with one word: “Chicken.”

Peter smiles and kisses your forehead. “Alright then,” he whispers softly. He lifts up the empty bowl and says, “You know what to do.”

And you do. Closing your eyes, you picture a bowl of chicken soup, with no vegetables of course. Just the chicken and the broth.

After a few moments, the smell of chicken invades your nostrils. It gets stronger and at a certain point, you swear you feel heat coming from the source of the smell. Sure enough, when you open your eyes… you see Peter holding the spoon up to your mouth with broth in it. He sees your hesitation and gently encourages you with, “Go on.”

Slowly, you take the spoon and start eating the soup. “Thank you,” you tell him softly when he gives you the bowl.

Peter simply nods and smiles. He watches you eat your soup quietly, wanting to make sure that you don’t stop. Not unless you absolutely can’t eat any more.

You feel a lot of pressure right now. But you eat as much as you can to appease him. It certainly doesn’t help that he’s keeping his eyes on you with a soft expression. You’re certain that his mood will change the moment you do something wrong. That anxiety causes you to lose your appetite.

This doesn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend, of course. “Y/N, is everything alright?”, he asks gently.

You can’t answer, your eyes darting around the tent as you start to rock back and forth. This is all so overwhelming, you can’t think.

Peter jumps to conclusions, his eyes hardening as he warns, “Don’t start plotting an escape.”

You drop the bowl of soup and start to hyperventilate… and then cry out in pain because the soup is very hot.

Any anger or frustration that he feels instantly disappears when he sees what just happened. Just as you start to sob, Peter quickly cleans the mess and tends to your burn. “It’s alright, my love,” he whispers.

“I’m having a panic attack,” you tell him, your voice cracking as you struggle to get your breathing under control.

He kisses the top of your head softly and replies, “I know.” But his face becomes stern once more. “Are you plotting an escape right now?”

You look him in the eye as best as you can and shake your head. And that’s the truth. You have no idea how you’d escape without being killed in the process. And anyway… you really do have Stockholm syndrome.

Peter takes your word for it, though there’s still a part of him that has doubts. But he believes you regardless. “Good,” he says softly. His gaze softens now, eyes showing nothing but concern for you. “What brought on this panic attack?”, he asks.

You wrap your arms around yourself, still rocking back and forth. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?”, he asks as he puts his arm around your shoulder and pulls you closer to him.

“Making you angry.”

He sighs and rubs your arm. “Well, don’t worry. I’m not angry with you at all. But I am very worried about you,” he says before he kisses the top of your head. “I assume you don’t want any more soup right now, yeah?”

You nod immediately. In doing so, you catch a whiff of your body odor… and you get nauseous immediately. You’re grateful when Peter quickly grabs what appears to be a fresh bucket and hands it to you. Thank g-d, because you’d probably puke twice in addition to the body odor induced barfing. But luckily, it’s just the one time. As soon as you’re done, you look at him. “I stink,” you say simply, wanting to justify your puking.

But Peter doesn’t need you to explain why you threw up. “I know,” he replies with a slight chuckle. But he quickly clears his throat. “I know,” he repeats himself with a more serious tone. He starts to gently play with your hair now, trying to soothe you and himself.

“You didn’t wash me when I was asleep?”, you ask, not realizing how childlike your tone is now.

But Peter does notice. Though he doesn’t say anything about it, he unintentionally responds in a fatherly voice. “That would’ve been a terrible violation of your body. And as I told you when we first met… that’ll never happen here.” That’s what makes him realize that he’s speaking to you as though you’re his daughter. It makes him sick.

“I thought everything on this island was your business, including me?”

“Yes. But I would never undress you without your consent. Nothing justifies that,” he replies softly, his voice no longer sounding very fatherly. Now, he’s using the tone that’s reserved for you and only you. And suddenly… this voice triggers something deep inside of Peter. Slowly, gently… he puts his arms around you and pulls you towards him. His grip is tight but not enough to hurt you. Still, it’s very protective. “I’ll never do that to you, Y/N. Ever.” He kisses the top of your head softly before he adds, “You have my word.”

You find yourself clinging onto him, suddenly finding yourself feeling so, so safe with him again. “Well, I wanna wash up and get out of this dress. I’m really uncomfortable,” you murmur against his chest.

Peter nods and pulls back to look at you. “Alright then,” he says as he cups your cheeks. “Put your arms around me.”

You furrow your brows in confusion. “What?”

“Come on,” he urges you gently.

Hesitantly, you do as he says. He starts to lift you up, which alarms you immediately. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! What are you doing?”

“Picking you up,” he answers in a nonchalant manner.

“I can walk on my own.”

Peter stops you before you wiggle out his arms. “No. You can’t,” he says urgently. “You’re too weak-“

“Let me try!”

He shrugs and releases you from his arms. “Okay.”

You stand up on wobbly legs. The world starts to spin… and then you stumble and fall to your knees.

Peter stands, picks you up and takes you into his arms bridal style. He sighs and says, “Like I said, you’re too weak.”

Hearing this from him makes you break down in tears. It certainly doesn’t help that you’re also suffering from a headache and fever.

Immediately, he can tell that you’ve completely misunderstood his statement. And he can’t blame you. “Y/N, I don’t mean that you’re generally weak. I just mean right now, you’re ill and you need to take it easy,” he explains softly. “You’re actually quite strong. And you’re so brave, and so very clever, and so stubborn.”

You feel guilt washing over you now. Hearing him say all these sweet things is only reminding you of how much you still love him.

“Now then,” he says with the same soft tone, “let’s get you washed up, shall we?”

You nod quietly, your head resting on his chest as he takes you out of his tent. The sound of his heart beating is soothing as always… but you desperately wish it wasn’t.

You’re brought out of your thoughts when you see that the camp is empty, save for about five or six Lost Boys. Before you can ask him about it, Peter informs you that he sent them out hunting. “We were running low on food.”

For a while, neither of you speak. You’re too uncomfortable; he’s just relishing in these delightful moments where he’s able to hold you in his arms while walking through the jungle. For decades, Peter used to roam Neverland all by himself (not counting the time he spent with the Time Lord, Scarn and Rutherford), and he couldn’t share all its beauty with anyone. But now, he’s got you, and he’s ever so glad he can share the island’s marvels with the girl he holds so dear.

You don’t feel like sightseeing. You just want the pain to end. I’m so tired, I want to die, you can’t help thinking. There’s something seriously wrong with me.

Peter frowns when he looks down and sees the look on your face. “Love, what’s wrong?”, he asks, his eyes soft and filled with worry. “You’re making that sad face again.”

You sniffle and look up at him, then let it slip. “I lied to you.”

The look on his face shifts to anger. “You do have an escape plan?”, he questions, doing his best to avoid yelling. Thank goodness, he’s successful.

“No! For fucks sake, I’m not going to escape!”

He huffs. “You can never be too careful.”

You groan in slight pain before you clarify, “I lied at Skull Rock.”

Any rage or fury that was on Peter’s face disappears… and turns into anticipation. “About what?”, he asks, trying to mask his eagerness.

You avert his eyes as you confess, “I do still love you, despite it all.”

His eyes immediately light up, and he has the biggest grin on his face. The vindication he feels is… it’s indescribable. “I knew it,” he states in the smuggest voice he can muster… because all he really wants to do is jump with joy and laugh. She still loves me! She still loves me, even though she knows the truth now!

“Don’t let that go to your head.”

The grin shifts into a smirk now… but the love and adoration in his eyes is impossible to hide. “Too late,” he replies smoothly. But when he sees that you’re still crying… any joy he felt quickly fades. “Why does that make you sad, Y/N?”

You can’t believe he’s actually asking you such a thing! “Because you’re awful. I’m a hostage here-“

“You’re not a hostage-“

“Yes, I am! I have fucking Stockholm Syndrome. And even though I really wanna go home… there’s a big part of me that wants to stay with you,” you sob. “I need you, Peter.”

The words “I need you” hit Peter like a rock. This past week (or so he thinks) has been very rough for him. He’s held it together for as long as he could… but hearing those words from you… it triggers a flood. He doesn’t full on sob… but he can’t be bothered to hold back his tears. Eventually, he catches his breath and tells you, “I need you too.”

Those words linger in your mind… but what you say next… it’s shocking for both of you. “I wanna have sex with you.”

Peter does a double take when he hears that. “What?”

“Umm… I want you to take my virginity,” you reply as delicately as you can.

It takes him a moment to think of a response. But when he does… it definitely doesn’t come out correctly. He shakes his head and says, “No. No, no, no.”

You’re pretty certain your eyes are puppy dog like right now. “Why not? I thought you said that any activity with me would be very appealing. And I got too excited after you gave me those two hickies-“

“Not while you’re ill,” Peter clarifies, hoping this will help you understand.

And it does. “You’re making an exception to the… “no adult activities in Neverland ” rule… for me?”

He nods and kisses your forehead. “Yes, I am making an exception to the rule for you,” he says softly. “And I promise I’ll make it as good as I can. Not sure how long I’ll last but… we’ll see.”

“I don’t care as long as it’s with you.”

Peter’s cheeks turn pink when he hears these words. “Oh, sweet, sweet Lost Girl,” he chuckles, “making me blush.”

You feel pretty proud of yourself for that. But that pride quickly fades into worry when you see him grimacing in pain. “Peter, are you okay?”, you ask softly.

He stops walking, having reached the cove he took you to on your third day here. Placing you on the ground carefully, he sighs and confesses, “Erm… I haven’t been taking very good care of myself in the time you’ve been asleep.”

Your eyes widen, your concern for him growing. “What?”

He rubs his eyes and sits next to you. “I haven’t gotten much sleep, if any. I can barely eat. And probably worst of all… I stink too.” He doesn’t expect anything from you, which is why he’s so shocked when you throw your arms around him tightly. Reflexively, he puts his arm around your shoulder and kisses the top of your head softly. “In my defense… I was so afraid you would die. Or worse: that if I left your side, you’d wake up without me there. You’d be alone… and you’d probably think I abandoned you.”

You sniff him, and you don’t smell anything wrong with him. He also looks perfectly healthy.

Almost as though he read your mind, Peter informs you, “I’m using magic to hide… all my agony. The only person who can see and smell it is me.” He sniffles and wipes away his tears. “Sorry,” he whimpers.

You look up at him and cup his cheek. “Peter, I’m right here. I’m awake now,” you say. “You can’t torture yourself like that. You’ve been taking care of me all this time, but when’s the last time you took care of yourself?”

The answer is easy for him. “After I laid you down on my cot.”

“Speaking of, where is my cot?”

He looks down at the ground in slight shame as he says, “I got rid of it. I didn’t see the need for it anymore. I just don’t want you sleeping on your own, because I thought you would be so lonely. Even with me right across from you.”

You sigh and kiss his cheek. “You’re right. I just wish you’d asked me first,” you reply.

He shrugs. “In my defense, I was in a rather emotional and heated state. But that’s in the past now.”

You nod and let go of him. “We should wash up now. And I don’t mind if you get undressed in front of me. Since I’ll be seeing everything anyway.”

“Alright then,” he replies. “Let’s not spoil anything for each other, keep it modest,” he tells you, referring to the private parts of the two of you.

“Yeah,” you say. As you watch Peter stand up and start to take his belt off, an idea crosses your mind. It’s one concerning your plans to lose your virginity to him. One you hope he’ll like. “Peter?”, you ask with a shy voice.

He looks up at you with a soft smile. “Yes?”

You gather your courage and then ask, “Can we make a deal?”

He starts to remove his tunic now. “Sure,” he answers with that soft, sweet voice, “Though it depends on what it is.”

“If we’re both better by tomorrow, can we do it?”

“Do what?”, he asks as he finally finishes undressing his torso.

You inhale sharply when you see his naked chest, but you quickly clear your throat to cover up how turned you are now. “Have sex,” you tell him, your voice semi-stable. G-ddammit, he’s so fucking hot.

Peter laughs softly and kneels down in front of you before he responds, “Of course we can.” Then, a caveat: “But, if that’s not the case, my love, we’ll have to put it off until the day after.”

You look down at your feet and pout sadly. “Okay.”

He gently lifts your chin and kisses your forehead. “Don’t worry, Y/N. I promise, you will have your first time. And it will be with me. And if at any point you no longer want that, you tell me. Okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. I doubt I’ll stop wanting that but… yeah.”

He shrugs as he says, “You never know.” And as he pets your hair, he drifts towards your face and seductively whispers, “In any case… I’m very much looking forward to making you feel good. I am going to give you the time of your life.”

You shut your eyes and bite your bottom lip to stifle a moan. You’re unsuccessful.

He smirks and chuckles. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you? Thinking about all the wonderful things I’ll be doing to you?”

You nod, and you try really hard not to moan again. But it escapes your throat regardless.

“Good,” Peter intimates, “I want you to think about what it’ll feel like when I’m between those lovely legs of yours. Touching you… tasting you… moving inside you… coming inside you.”

The thought of his mouth on you down there is what makes you give up on suppressing your moans. “Oh… yes,” you can’t help uttering, hoping that it actually happens. It’s something you’ve hoped for ever since you learned about it.

“Oh, have you been looking forward to one of these things in particular?”, he purrs softly.

“Mmhmm.”

“Tell me,” he requests with the same purr.

You whimper as you answer with, “Being tasted.”

He chuckles and kisses you. “Oh, you know about that, do you?”

“Yes. I’ve wanted it ever since I found out about it.”

His tongue enters your mouth now, and when he tastes you… he finds himself getting hard. “Oh. And when did you find out you wanted to be kissed on your cunt, my love?”

Your own tongue enters his mouth, and you’re obsessed with the taste. No wonder everyone likes making out! “When I was sixteen,” you reply.

Peter chuckles. “Well then, I’ll have to do that before I take you with my cock, won’t I?” He doesn’t allow you to reply. He just moves your hair aside to look at your neck… and then he grazes your pulse point with his lips as he says, “Such a shame your marks are gone.”

“Oh, Peter,” you can’t help but moan, grabbing the back of his neck to pull him closer to you. “Fuck.”

“I don’t want you to get too excited, darling. Have to save that for tomorrow, assuming we’re both well enough by then-“

“Please, Peter, just give me the fucking hickey,” you whimper, suddenly realizing how wet you are now.

He smirks and puts his hands on your hips, steadying you a bit. “What was that, love?”, he asks, his voice sounding a bit like a purr. “Do you mind repeating that first part for me?”

You know exactly what he’s talking about, and to your surprise… you oblige. “Please, Peter,” you beg, trying really hard not to plead with him for more. You know he’ll remind you of the deal.

He hums with satisfaction and starts to kiss your neck. “I guarantee you’ll be saying that to me quite a lot soon,” he tells you right before he sucks at your sensitive skin.

You gasp at the sensation and do all you can to not grind against him. You’re incredibly grateful for his hands holding your hips for this exact reason.

Peter chuckles against your neck, relishing in how desperate your moans sound. It merely spurs him on… though he definitely feels guilty for all this teasing, especially when both of you aren’t feeling great physically. But if it distracts from the discomfort you’re both feeling… so be it.

“Oh. Oh, g-d,” you whimper-moan in pleasure. “Peter, I can’t take this anymore. I need you to touch me,” you whine. “I wanna come so bad.”

That’s when Peter pulls away and cups your face, his lips swollen and his breathing heavy after all that time giving you a new hickey. “Sorry, princess. But we’ve got to honor our deal,” he intimates. “Silver lining here though. Now I know how you sound when you’re desperate for me to make you feel good.”

You’re too busy trying to recover from your hazy state to respond. All you can say is, “Peter, I’m so wet.”

And he says, “Oh, I’m sure.” He has the biggest smile on his face, so proud of himself for reducing you to a mess of moans. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand… and then promptly gets a whiff of his body odor. Disgusted, he pulls his hand back. “Aw, shit!”

“What’s wrong?”, you ask, unable to stop yourself from touching the spot Peter gave you the new love bite. It sends shivers down your spine.

“I forgot about the stench.” He shudders and starts to hurriedly pull his boots off. “Fuck.”

You immediately pull your knees up to your chest and hide your face in your arms, desperately trying not to cry. “I’m sorry,” you whimper.

Peter’s just about to take his pants off when he hears you. When he looks up at you, he realizes that you’re saying that because you think it’s your fault. Which, obviously, isn’t the case. Regardless, he walks over to you and kneels down again. “There’s no need to apologize, princess,” he tells you as he pets your hair. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You look up at him with your puppy dog eyes and pout. “But I feel really bad, Peter-“

He immediately shakes his head and cuts you off. “You don’t need to. I’m filthy too, remember?”

You nod with tears in your eyes. “I just feel like everything is my fault… and I just can’t fix it,” you say, your voice cracking.

He cups your cheeks and presses his forehead against yours. “Oh, my poor, sweet Lost Girl, there’s nothing you need to fix. Right now, all you need to do is take off your clothes so you can get cleaned up.” Before he speaks again, he kisses you softly. “Do you think you can do that?”, he asks.

You nod after a few minutes and hug him. “I love you,” you croak.

“I love you too,” he whispers. “Now let’s get out of these clothes and wash up, yeah?”

You silently nod and release him from your arms. You don’t wait for him to finish getting his pants off. You just strip down to your underwear and bra (one you conjured up with the power of belief).

Peter has also finished stripping off his clothes. All that remains is his… underwear? Boxers? Briefs? Britches? Whatever they are, they’re concealing his dick. Really, really concealing it. You literally can’t even see the outline of it. But you’re grateful that it’s not visible.

“My eyes are up here, love.”

The sound of Peter’s voice snaps you out of your daze. He’s completely right. You’ve been staring at his groin this whole time. Immediately, you lift your head and look at him with deep shame as you reflexively say, “Sorry.”

He shakes his head and bends down to put his arm under your knees. His other arm goes behind your back as he replies, “Y/N, I promise you, I will let you know if you do something that warrants an apology. Right now though, you don’t need to apologize for anything.”

“But I looked-“

He shakes his head and gently says, “Shut up.” He lifts you up and then pecks your lips. “I love you.” Another peck. “Shut up.”

You do as you’re told and lay your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes because your head really hurts and you just feel really, really hot. Not the good kind of hot.

Peter sighs and carries you into the water, a small frown on his face because he can practically hear all the self deprecating thoughts in your head. Even after spending so much time with you… all the pain you feel never fails to break his heart.

As soon as you feel the cold water on your skin, you moan in relief.

When he hears that sound, he smiles softly and then asks, “That feel good?”

You open your eyes and look up at him. “Mmhmm.”

“Very good,” he replies in his “you” voice. He puts you down in the water… only to pull you towards him again. “Do you mind if I put you in my lap?”

You shake your head. “No. It’s fine,” you answer softly.

Peter kisses the top of your head softly before he sits on the ground of the cove, then gently places you in his lap.

You’re about to start washing your hair when he grabs your wrist and takes it away from your hair. “What are you doing?”, you ask apprehensively.

He takes your locks off of your shoulder and scoops some water into his hand to wet them. “Washing your hair for you.”

You scoff. “I can do that myself just fine.”

He shakes his head. “No. You can’t.”

“Yes, I can!”, you insist.

“No! You can’t!”

You flinch at the rising volume in his voice.

Peter sighs and lowers his voice a little before asking, “Your hair pulling, it’s compulsive, yes?”

You nod quietly.

“Then you’re guaranteed to pull it,” he states sternly.

You shake your head. “No, I’m not,” you argue softly, now too frightened of angering him.

Although Peter isn’t angry, his voice still sounds as such. “Yes! You are!” And even if he is scaring you right now, he needs to get his point across. “You’ve proven that time and time again. So until you can prove to me that you won’t, you are not to touch your hair for more than five seconds- No. Better yet, one second. But even then.” He sees that you’re stimming now, so he puts his arms around your waist to try and soothe you. But his tone stays the same. “So no, you won’t be washing your hair. Or brushing it, or styling it. I’ll do all of that for you. Is that clear?”

You nod as you struggle to stay calm and hold back tears.

“Good girl,” he whispers as he removes his arms from around your waist, then nudges your chin up. “Lean back,” he commands softly.

You do as you’re told. You feel so frightened now. So overwhelmed. So… ashamed. You made him upset again. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I do anything right?!

But he’s not the least bit angry. He’s just really, really scared of losing you. As he begins to wash your hair, he kisses your cheek. “I love you,” he whispers in your ear. Because he really, truly does. And he doesn’t want you to think otherwise.

You don’t say it back. You can’t say anything. You’re just… so shell shocked by what you’ve been told. Your autonomy is being taken away little by little… and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

“It’s not forever, Y/N. It’s just until you can prove to me that you won’t hurt yourself,” you hear Peter reassure you. “And you can still wash your body. I trust you don’t need help with that.”

But that’s the thing: you can still hurt yourself… and that’s exactly what you do now. And you’ve hurt yourself this way before. So you’re pretty used to the pain. Your nails are pretty short from being bitten, and they’re sharp… which means they can damage your skin if you scratch hard enough.

As subtly as you can, you cut horizontal lines across the skin on your right arm. You’ve never been able to draw blood- you’d have to use a knife for that- but you can damn well try. After all… you’ve been a very bad girl lately. You deserve to be punished, and putting yourself through this kind of pain is better than having your freedom taken away from you by the boy you love.

Said boy has just finished washing your hair when he hears you sniffling. “Y/N, what are you doing?”, he asks with concern.

“Nothing.”

“No. No, you are doing something,” he says, his voice sounding very, very serious. He puts his hand on your shoulder to try and get a better look. “Let me see.”

“No,” you tell him as you tug your shoulder out of his grasp.

“Let me see.”

“No,” you repeat with a whimper as you cut faster now.

This only makes him more worried. “Show me. Show me what you’re doing.”

“It’s- It’s nothing, Peter. I promise-“

Peter hates to raise his voice with you. Especially when you’re already so, so afraid and very clearly on the verge of a panic attack. But he’s run out of patience… and your safety is at risk. “SHOW ME WHAT YOU’RE DOING!”, he shouts.

He’s right in your ear, which makes you feel extra scared. And it hurts your ears a bit as well because it’s so, so loud. You flinch for both of these reasons. However, you do stop with the cutting and reveal your arm to him. But you’re so frightened, you’re trembling and it takes you a minute to lift your arm up to show him.

As soon as he sees the red marks on your arm, his eyes widen in horror. And then his expression softens as he gently orders you, “Turn around. Face me now.”

You shake your head and shut your eyes. Tears stream down your cheeks now, your trembling getting worse every second.

But Peter asks once more. “Darling, please, turn around and look at me?” His voice is soft and filled with only kindness… but so, so much sadness as well. Shouldn’t be a surprise that he’s sad, since he’s just caught his girlfriend hurting herself… again. Only this time, it’s via a method he didn’t realize she used.

You’re so, so scared of being yelled at again, so you force yourself to shift your body towards him. You open your eyes and expect to see Peter’s angry expression.

But instead… you see the opposite. He’s frowning and has tears in his eyes. Peter sighs as he gently grabs your arm and inspects the scratches. “Why have you done this?”, he asks softly, still looking down at the red lines on your skin.

You’re sobbing now, so frightened to tell him anything. One wrong word and you’re dead. Why say anything if it’ll just make things worse?

He looks up at your face now, cupping your cheeks and kissing your forehead softly. “Oh, you poor sweet angel. I didn’t realize you were hurting this badly,” he says, wiping away your tears. “Now why would you do this to yourself, hmm?”

“Because I made you angry again… and I can’t seem to do anything right. I’m a mistake,” you cry.

He shakes his head and says, “My dear girl, you are not a mistake. And I am far from angry at you. Like I said before we left camp, I’m just… so worried about you.”

“So you’re taking away my autonomy because you’re worried about me?!”

The accusation shocks him to his core, and he’s quiet for a moment before he shakes his head and softly cries, “No.” He says it again, then adds, “You still have freedom, Y/N. Like I’ve told you so many times, you’re not a prisoner here. You’re under my protection. I’d rather let the hourglass run out than lose you.”

“I-“

Peter’s got tears streaming down his cheeks now. He’s really, really crying. “Please,” he begs, “You need to hear this. It’s important.”

You sigh and let him say his piece.

“Do you know how lonely I was before you came here? I know I said I was doing fine on my own… but the truth is, all I’ve been doing lately is business related to getting Henry’s heart. I’ve been so stressed and so frightened… I’ve forgotten how to be a boy.”

You don’t realize it but your hand is heading towards your hair.

But Peter takes it in his and holds it while he continues speaking. “When you came to Neverland, I thought you were going to be just like every other unwelcome visitor I’d send away, or kill… or lock up until they were of use to me.” He kisses your hand before he goes on to say, “But then you started to pull your hair, and you were so quiet… and so frightened. And when you started crying… that’s when you broke my heart. The more I learned about all the pain you have- the pain you put yourself through- the more I wanted to protect you. And comfort you. And then I saw how beautiful you really are… and how lonely you feel.” He sighs and kisses your cheek. “You were so, so lonely… far more than I was. And I think that’s when the, er… rapid love kicked in.”

You have no idea where he’s going with this… but you keep listening anyway.

“Y/N, do you remember when I told you I was going to make you a Lost Girl?”

You nod.

“I said something before that. Do you remember what it was?”

You shake your head.

Peter strokes your cheek and then tells you, “I said that I would’ve probably fallen in love with you even without that rapid love.” He smiles weakly as he sighs, “And guess what?”

You shake your head again, not wanting to believe him… because you’re so unlovable. Hell, he probably just agreed to have sex with you because he pities you. “No,” you whimper softly. “No.”

But his next words say otherwise. “Yes,” he replies as he puts his head on your shoulder and pulls you into a hug. “I have. And I love you so, so much.” He presses a soft kiss on your new hickey before he whispers, “So much.” He tightens his grip on you now. “Please, please don’t leave me. I can’t lose you. Not after all the time we’ve spent together.”

The pain comes rushing back now, and all these emotions are not helping. “Peter, my head hurts,” you cry quietly.

He pulls back now, deciding that you’ve been out of bed for too long. “Alright. Let’s get dressed and head back.”

You rub your forehead and add, “I feel hot.”

“Oh, sweet girl.” He waves his hand, cleaning you both up instantly. It’s only after that that he scoops you into his arms and carries you out of the water to the spot where your clothes are.

When you’re set down on the ground, you close your eyes and picture one of the presents you got for your birthday this year. When you open your eyes, you see the Disney pajama set in front of you and you smile. Immediately, you pull them on. Before you pull on the top, you change into a more comfortable bra so you can sleep better but still keep your breasts hidden from Peter.

Speaking of whom, he’s just finished putting his pants and boots back on (magically washed, of course) when he sees what you’re wearing. “Oh, those look comfy,” he comments with his “you” voice.

“Aren’t they cute?”, you ask through your pain.

He smiles as he answers, “Why, yes, they are.”

“They were a gift from Sarah’s parents,” you tell him with a sad smile.

Peter tilts his head and looks at you with a puzzled expression as he asks, “Who’s Sarah?”

You sigh and then respond with as much composure as you can, “My best friend who… jumped.”

The realization hits him harder than a punch to the gut… and he wishes he’d understood sooner! “Oh,” he sighs with sorrow. “You two must have been so close then.”

You nod, watching him put the rest of his clothes back on as you explain, “Well, the reason we were best friends was because our moms met at Mommy & Me.”

While Peter is carrying you back to the camp, you go on to tell him about how Sarah’s family became incredibly close with your own; how the stars aligned when your parents realized that Sarah’s parents went to the same synagogue as you; how you both made every effort to attend the same schools, and especially the same classes; how you two would act out the entire Peter Pan story in full costume (you’d be Peter, Sarah would be Wendy).

“You could almost call that foreshadowing,” Peter quips when you tell him about that last bit. “You played your own future boyfriend.”

You giggle before you agree. “I guess so.”

He allows you to continue telling him about your bond with Sarah. By the time you’ve gotten back to the camp, you’ve just finished talking about your b’nai mitzvot… and now you’re about to tell him about the hardships you both faced (in your case, still facing). As he lays you on the cot, you divulge how Sarah comforted you after losing your uncle on September 11th… which you need to explain to Peter since he doesn’t know about it.

“Uncle Issac worked in the South Tower of the World Trade Center. He was on the 70th floor, so… he had enough time to say goodbye to his wife- my Aunt Leslie- and my mom- his sister,” you tell him. “When my family and Sarah’s visited New York that summer to see my cousins… we surprised Uncle Issac at work. That office is gone now,” you say, still trying to process this even after four years. “He jumped out of the tower. It was either that, or burn to death.”

But now… you’re at the point you’ve dreaded talking about: the lead up to Sarah’s suicide.

“There’s a lot of bullies at our school. Mean girls, yes… but a ton of… horrendous boys as well.”

Peter freezes when he hears this. Oh no, he thinks to himself. Please don’t tell me she was physically harmed by them? Please, gods!

You continue, “They made life our lives hell. But it was a lot worse for Sarah.” Everything comes rushing back as you recount it all. “Her mother is from Israel, so… she faced way more antisemitism than me.”

The look of rage in his eyes says everything you need to know… and you’re glad he’s feeling rage.

“There’s this boy, Evan, who’s pretty notorious for not facing the consequences of his actions. And it’s all because his mom donates a ton of money to the school, and his dad is on the school board. The first time the principal tried to expel Evan, his bitch of a mother- as my mom and I like to call her- threatened to sue the school district and pull all future donations. The worst punishment he’s ever gotten was in house suspension for a month. And that was only one time.”

Peter continues to listen to this, an idea forming in his head… and it’s one he’s not going to tell you about. But it’ll be very beneficial for you in the long run.

“Anyway, he’s been in our lives since middle school. He’s made my life and the rest of Sarah’s life hell that entire time,” you say with a venomous tone. “When the Second Intifada broke out, Evan covered her entire locker with red paint and scrawled the words “baby killer” on it with his finger.”

“And what did he do to you?”, he asks with a slight growl.

You sigh and reply, “Not much… until the Twin Towers were attacked and destroyed.”

He furrows his brows in confusion.

“There’s this conspiracy theory that the Jews were behind the attacks.”

“You weren’t though-“

“I know… but there are people who think that we were.” You can’t help trembling at the memories of him taunting you. “Evan kept following me around school- he followed me to my house sometimes- and he’d always ask one question. Why did I kill him?”

“Your Uncle Issac?”

You nod.

“This… fucker!” Peter groans. “Y/N, I’m so sorry you’ve had to deal with-“

“It gets worse.” You take a deep breath. “About a month and a half ago, Sarah and I were at our homecoming party, which was at the Troubadour. Whenever we were at an event for school- or on a field trip- we’d always go to the bathroom together. It’s a thing girls do for safety.”

He nods, indicating that he understands. But his fury is growing as he hears more.

“Except… that night, the one time we didn’t go with each other to the bathroom… something bad happened to her.”

I’ll be fine, Sarah had said. It’s just changing a tampon. It takes, like, five seconds.

“She was on her period, and she needed to take care of herself. She said she’d be okay by herself, and that she’d be quick.”

You waited, and waited… and waited. But you felt a growing sense of dread within you… and something in your gut was telling you that there was something wrong. You tried to ignore it… but eventually, after half an hour, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Usually, whenever I feel particularly anxious, I try to ignore it.”

Peter can already tell where this is headed… and he doesn’t like it. It’s only affirming that he needs to put his plan into action.

“I waited thirty minutes… and then I couldn’t wait anymore.”

Sarah?, you called softly as you opened the door to the girls’ bathroom.

“When I went in… I saw… her tampon on the floor… and her underwear.”

He’s shaking with rage now.

I’m in here, Sarah answered from the handicapped stall.

You could hear the sniffles from her… which only added to your anxiety.

“I opened up the door to the stall… and she was on the floor… and her clothes-“ You shut your eyes and put your hands over them.

“He didn’t,” he says with gritted teeth.

You sob and reply, “He did.”

It was rape. The evidence was right in front of you but you couldn’t believe it. There was cum on Sarah’s thighs, leaking from her vagina… along with blood. Not just uterine lining… but actual blood. Her dress was ruined by all of that liquid, but what was even worse was that it was torn.

What happened?, you asked as you got on your knees beside your best friend.

Evan came in, Sarah explained through tears, and he didn’t leave. Not until he finished. He kept telling me that I deserved it. He was too strong, Y/N. I couldn’t stop it.

“It was my fault-“

Peter pulls you into his arms and hugs you like your life depends on it. “No. No, my love. The only one at fault is Evan.”

You had a panic attack that night… and Sarah didn’t blame you for having one. All she did was lie to her parents, calling them on the phone by the front desk. Something happened and I need to stay at Y/N’s house tonight. I’ll be home in the morning, she said.

“I stayed with her with her while she showered in my bathroom. I helped her clean up. She was on birth control for her period, so we weren’t too worried about pregnancy. I remember Sarah telling me that Evan said he was clean.”

This confuses Peter. “Clean?”

“It means you don’t have any sexually transmitted diseases or infections,” you explain.

He already knows what’s coming next. “That’s why Sarah jumped?”, he asks in the least angry voice he possibly can.

“Yes. It was two weeks after the assault.” You pull back and tell him, “Evan came up to me when I was in the front office at school waiting for my parents… and he told me that he was glad Sarah was dead. “One less oven dodger in the world”, he said.”

Peter desperately wants to murder that boy now.

But you’re not finished yet. “I was all alone. My grades fell… I stopped talking to most of my other friends. I couldn’t talk to my parents because I was so scared they’d ask me questions about the suicide.”

He softens, tucking some hair behind your ear. “My poor girl,” he murmurs.

“The day before my birthday- a Friday- I was at school. I forgot my textbook for French class, so I went to my locker to get it.” You put your head on your boyfriend’s chest, so desperate for comfort. “After I closed my locker, I turned around and saw Evan right in front of me.”

Again, Peter can already tell where this is going.

“I tried to run… but he pinned me against the lockers and caged me between his legs. He had this terrifying smile on his face… and then he said, “Happy almost birthday, cunt. It better be the last one. Cuz if I see you here on Monday, I’m gonna fuck you in the ass until you bleed to death, right here in front of everybody. And don’t go crying to your parents. Don’t go crying to anyone. Cuz they’ll never believe you. Just like they never would’ve believed your genocidal friend.” That was the last thing he said to me before he walked away.”

Peter’s arms tighten as his protectiveness grows. “Fuck,” he mumbles under his breath.

“I didn’t have a plan, Peter. I still don’t.” You hug him back. “I celebrated my birthday like I’d never celebrated it before… but then I remembered that it had to be my last one. I didn’t know what to do.” You sigh heavily. “And then I realized that the answer was right in front of me. Uncle Isaac jumped… Sarah jumped… so I jumped too.”

He smiles and pulls back to cup your cheeks. “Except you didn’t die. You came here instead.” He kisses your forehead softly. “And it’s a good thing you’re here now… cos you’re safe… and I’ll make sure that no one ever, ever hurts you.”

You kiss his lips and tell him, “I love you, Peter.”

“I love you too, Y/N,” he whispers before he takes your hands and kisses them too. “You need to sleep if you want to… lose it to me tomorrow night,” he tells you seductively, slowly trailing his hand down to your cunt. Cupping it, he smirks and then says, “I’ll kissing this first… per your request.”

You hold back a moan… but then another moan escapes you, only it’s from the sickness.

He takes his hand away. “But only if you’re well enough,” he says as he gently pushes you down, placing a fresh cold cloth on your forehead. “I hope your dreams are filled with joy… and that I’m in them.”

“I’m definitely having a wet dream tonight,” you flirt as you start feeling drowsy.

Peter shakes his head and lays next to you, removing the cloaking spell that covered his agony. “No, love,” he replies, “I mean, I hope all your dreams about me make you feel safe.”

You turn your head to look at him… and then you see the dark circles underneath his eyes. “Peter-“

He shakes his head and hushes you softly, putting his arm around you and placing your head on his chest. “I’ll be alright. I promise. Let’s just sleep now… yeah?”, he asks, his voice getting quieter with each word.

You nod, closing your eyes and yawning.

Peter relaxes after you become limp. “Good girl,” he says softly. He waits for his own subconscious to overtake him… but as he waits, he continues to develop his plan.

That boy will never know peace again, he thinks with his signature cruel smirk before sleep finally comes to him. Peter Pan never fails.

[Hi. Took a while… but I hope this was worth the wait. Also, apologies for the lack of gifs this time. Just a heads up that this story will be extended for plot reasons]

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Apologies for the long gap between updates. Rest assured, I am actively working on the next part! Thank you for your patience!

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