#ouat x reader

[superson3oz]

Inbox open ♡

[candlewaxletters]

nothing feels worse than posting headcanons thats a little too niche and not getting a single interaction after an hour.

[veevid]

warnings :- suggestive, i digress way too much, mdni pairings :- killian jones, rumplestiltskin, robin hood, peter pan, david nolan x reader. (SEPARATE)

HICKEYS; HOW THEY'D GIVE AND RECEIVE

Killian Jones

Oh, you better BELIEVE that this man is going to leave his mark—and he’s not doing it gently. Losing a hand didn't make him less dangerous; it just forced him to adapt. Killian bites slow, deliberate, and agonizingly deep. He takes a twisted kind of pride in mapping out his lover’s skin with his teeth, treating their body like a canvas for his possessive streaks. By the time he’s satisfied, they look less like they’ve been loved and more like they’ve survived a genuine battlefield, painted in a mosaic of bruises.

And god forbid something makes him jealous. If he catches another person looking for too long, the subsequent marking becomes a territorial claim. He will deliberately ruin them for anyone else, focusing on the most public, high-visibility areas—the stark line of the collarbone, the dip of the throat, and the soft skin right beneath the jawline. It’s an unspoken rule: after a night fueled by his envy, leaving the house requires at least two or three heavy layers just to look respectable.

Does his partner mind? Absolutely not. There’s a thrill in carrying his weight around all day.

Flip the script, though, and Killian’s tough exterior fractures in the best way. On the receiving end of things, he becomes an entirely different creature—impatient, restless, and delightfully whiny. He hates the vulnerability of being serviced, his hand twitching for control he can’t quite grasp. But the second his partner's teeth touch his own skin? The complaints completely die in his throat. He’ll take every single mark given to him, sinking into the mattress and wearing those bruises like a badge of honor.

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

Rumplestiltskin

This man may be well over five hundred years old, but time has only sharpened him into a master of precision. He is no blunt instrument; when it comes to marking his lover, Mr. Gold doesn’t just leave a bruise—he burns himself into their very being.

Because of his cane and the slight physical limitations, he relies heavily on leverage, pinning his partner down with an unexpected, deceptive strength while his hands—accustomed to the delicate precision of spinning gold—hold them fast. His favorite marks are the ones hidden from the eyes of Storybrooke but agonizingly loud to the wearer. The tender skin of the inner thighs, the abdomen, or the vulnerable flesh right along the ribcage. These are strategic placements; they ache with every single breath, stride, or shift in a chair throughout the work day. It is a constant, throbbing, tactile reminder of exactly who owns them.

Jealousy, however, coaxes out the volatile nature of the Dark One. He has learned to control the violent impulses—after all, it isn't his darling’s fault that the world stares at what is beautiful. When his deep-seated insecurities are triggered by a lingering look from a stranger, his retaliation is quiet, methodical, and devastating. He will deliberately mark his partner's pulse point of the throat or the nape of the neck—high-visibility zones that demand a high collar or a heavy scarf to conceal. Each bite is a slow, deliberate brand, a silent declaration to the opposer: Look at what is mine, and despair.

On the receiving end, however, Rumple completely unravels. Decades of being unloved and feared make him incredibly touch-starved, yet intensely defensive. Give him service, and he goes absolutely still—tense, quiet, and hyper-aware of his own vulnerability. He won't whine. Instead, he chokes on his own breath, completely overwhelmed. If his partner leaves a mark on him? It shatters his control. Feeling teeth sink into his skin reassures his darkest insecurities, proving someone actually wants to leave an indelible scar on the Dark One.

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

Robin Hood

Robin might be a rogue and an outlaw, but when it comes to his lover, he’s a man defined by a fierce devotion. He marks his partner out of an overwhelming, breathless need to cherish. His touch is a contradiction of a thief's lethal precision and a gentleman's profound reverence.

Because he is a man of the woods—accustomed to tracking, survival, and the raw elements—his style is deeply tactile and grounded. His marks are dark bruises left by a mouth that lingers too long because he simply cannot bring himself to pull away. He favors the spots that evoke comfort and closeness: the slope of the shoulder where they rest their head, the crook of the neck, or the sternum. They are meant to feel like a warm, protective brand that pulses with his heartbeat.

Jealousy turns Robin into a protective wall. If someone dares to eye his partner, he doesn't scheme in the dark—he stakes his claim out in the open. His reaction is to pull his lover into his side, his hand gripping their hip right where everyone can see. That night, his marks will crawl up the throat and right along the jawline. He wants the world to see the shadow of his mouth on their skin the very next morning. It’s an archer’s arrow shot straight into the ground: This territory is occupied.

When the tables are turned and Robin is the one receiving, the bold, confident leader entirely melts away.

Robin thrives on the vulnerability. He is a provider by nature, constantly looking out for everyone else, so being taken care of makes him sigh into the mattress with a heavy relief. He is incredibly vocal—not whiny, but breathless. He whispers praise, mumbles half-formed words of devotion into the pillows, and chuckles softly at the sheer bliss of it, his fingers tangling tightly in his partner's hair. If you bite him, Robin absolutely unravels. To an outlaw who owns nothing, those marks are the only wealth that matters—proof that he belongs to someone, and that he finally has a home worth fighting for.

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

Peter Pan

This little shit is a creature of pure, unfiltered malice and eternal youth. He isn’t looking to romance his partner; he wants to consume them. When it comes to marking his lover, Peter doesn’t do it out of passion or insecurity—he does it for the sheer, sadistic thrill of dominance. He treats their body like a territory conquered, and he wants them to remember exactly who their king is.

Because Peter thrives on torment, he doesn’t leave marks where they can easily be shown off. No, Peter leaves his marks in the most agonizingly frustrating, high-friction places possible: the lower abdomen, the center of the sternum, and the sensitive skin curving along the side of the ribs. Every time his partner bends over, laughs, breathes deeply, or pulls his clothes on, the fabric rubs directly against those raw, stinging crescents. It is a constant, physical reminder of his teeth, keeping them trapped in his orbit even when he isn’t in the room.

Jealousy doesn't make Peter volatile; it makes him incredibly petty and wicked. If he senses another's eyes on his sweetheart, he will pin them down with a terrifying, ancient strength that belies his youthful appearance. He will deliberately cage them beneath him, sinking his teeth into those exact, agonizing spots on their ribs and abdomen until they are breathless and sobbing from the sheer sensory overload.

When the tables are turned, the dynamic becomes a high-stakes psychological game. On the receiving end, Peter Pan refuses to yield an inch of his power. Peter absolutely refuses to let his partner leave a mark on him. To him, a mark is a sign of ownership, and the king of Neverland belongs to absolutely no one.

There is only one single loophole to this rule: if he has genuinely angered his lover. If Peter has pushed them too far, played one too many cruel games, and sparked a real, blinding rage in them, he will allow it.

He would rather jump off the highest cliff in Neverland than admit it out loud, but seeing the dark, angry bruises and teeth marks his partner leaves on his pale skin turns him on immensely. Seeing the marks on him is the ultimate proof that he managed to evoke a passion so intense it became violent.

Yet, beneath the mind games lies a terrifyingly soft truth: his partner is the only person he has ever confessed his love to. Peter is a romantic in his own twisted, dark way. During every single one of their trysts, amid the heavy breathing and the biting, he will lean down and whisper those three words over and over like a mantra. He reminds his sweetheart of his devotion with a desperate, almost fierce urgency, ensuring that while their body belongs to his games, his blackened, immortal heart belongs entirely to them.

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

David Nolan

David Nolan is a prince, and his approach to intimacy is different. David is a man of duty, honor, and deep, overwhelming passion. When he marks his lover, it is an act of pure, unadulterated adoration—heavy, breathless, and incredibly possessive in a deeply traditional way.

Because of his background as a shepherd, David possesses a rugged, physical strength that he usually keeps carefully checked. But behind closed doors, that restraint snaps. He uses his broad frame to completely engulf his partner, pinning their wrists above their head with one large hand or anchoring their hips flat against the mattress. David marks with a deep, aching slowness, favoring the places that feel the most romantic: the muscle where the neck meets the shoulder, the soft underside of the jaw, and the inner curve of the wrists. His marks aren't sharp or cruel; they are deep, blooming bruises that look like flush, sun-warmed branding. It’s his way of anchoring them to him, leaving a physical testament to a love that survived curses and time itself.

Jealousy turns David quietly protective. If a stranger stares too long, his jaw tightens, and his hand immediately finds the small of his partner's back, a quiet, reassuring gesture. That night, his marking becomes an urgent, almost desperate reclamation. He will focus heavily on the collarbones and the high slope of the chest, areas that sit right at the edge of a shirt collar. He wants his beloved to look in the mirror the next morning and see the unmistakable shadow of his devotion, a silent warning to the rest of the world that they are entirely spoken for.

On the receiving end, the man who carries the weight of the entire town on his shoulders completely dissolves. David spends his whole life being the protector, the savior, and the leader, so being the one completely taken care of utterly unmans him. When given service, David loses all of his rigid, military alertness. He goes entirely melty and heavy against the sheets, his chest heaving as he surrenders control to his lover. He doesn't play games or hide his emotions; if his partner makes him feel good, he will look them dead in the eye, his gaze intensely soft, and tell them exactly how much he loves them, his voice thick with emotion.

fin-

[silentstyx]

can you write another pan x reader? i loved the other one!! how about something like pan tries to make the reader jealous by bringing wendy to neverland but instead wendy and the reader become friends? i feel like that’d be fun (and kinda subversive uwu) <3

not the reaction i was expecting ...

yes. he calls you sweet thing. also i luv this rec sm its so adorbs i luv it <3. also this is less hc's and more just a long blurb cut up.

tw: nothing rly pans just an ass.

well, he's just an ass. we been knew this girl. he just wants to piss you off so he's able to tease ya about it later boo.

"damn, sweet thing. didn't know you liked me that much?"

so he KNEW this plan would work. (thought).

he's been talking about Wendy all the time. how he's so excited for you to meet her. and, yeah, you were annoyed. one - he was constantly saying the same thing over and over again! two - he was talking about some girl over and over again.

so she finally gets to neverland. then you two like stop being around each other as much. again, annoyed.

so you walk away to blow off some steam. thats when you see her, trapped in a cage, no where near Pan!

lying bastard.

you let her out of the cage, introducing yourself.

"hey, I'm [insert readers name]. sorry we have to meet like this, it's so messy and weird." you say.

she introduces herself, "Wendy Darling. and yes, it's very 'messy' as you put it..."

you two talked more and more and hit it off.

you learned she was really sweet and she learned that you don't want to kidnap her and keep her in cage!

you guys were super close, seeing as how you were the only women on the island. you were able to do, somewhat, girly stuff together.

you get Pan to snag stuff for you everytime he brings a new kid. e.g. nail polish, certain makeup, certain clothes, skincare, haircare, snacks, etc.

so you brought Wendy back and you both had a girls day! you completely glammed out. the outfits, skincare masks, hair masks, the makeup after the masks, the whole shabang.

well. you expected it. when you guys were laughing and giggling in yours and Pete's shared tent, Pan heard you.

he came in and saw you two together.

"uhm, hey sweet thing. what- uh, what's happening here?" he said with a nervous smile.

you turn around to face him, big smile on your face, "i met her like you wanted me to! you're right, she's super sweet and pretty. we've had a girls day all day!"

you and her both laughed, not really knowing why but something in your connected minds was humorous right now.

Pan himself let out a nervous laugh, "well this was... not the reaction i was expecting ... "

©️ silentstyx please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work with out my permission. thank you!

[yurv-rainbow]

Hey, so like...is the OUAT fandom like...alive in 2025, or am I the only person kneeling for Regina Mills?

[imaginesfordifferentfandoms]

Remember

Click here for my masterlist.

Click here to add yourself to my taglist.

Prompt - "I thought you’d never remember.”

Notes - I don't even know if this fandom is still alive but I'm rewatching ouat so have this fic

The day he first saw her, Ms Emma Swan in Storybrooke, Gold was certain all the air had been punched out of his lungs. He’d played it off, of course, not letting it show just how impactful her sudden appearance was to him. 

It wasn’t until he was alone, safely inside his shop, hidden away in the back room that he let his facade break. A trembling hand came up to his mouth, he had waited so long for this, for their saviour to come. 

It was selfish really. He knew it was but he didn’t care, Gold would never care of such things like selfishness. Especially not when it came to you. 

Twenty eight long years had passed since he had held you, since he had felt your lips against his, since he had argued with you over nothing and everything, since he had held you tight. 

In another world you had been the one for him. The only one who looked beyond the monster, the legend of the Dark One, who saw more than a coward, more than a creature. You had only ever seen him, all the different parts of him, the parts that he loved and showed off and the parts that he loathed and tried to destroy, hide away from everyone. 

It had been so long. 

Now he was cursed to this life, to remember every detail of his love whilst she remained none the wiser. 

He was forced to steal glimpses, to watch as you eyed him with something he could never place, not mistrust, hell you might have been the only person in town to not fear him. No, you looked at him with something closer to curiosity. How many times had you stopped in his shop, Gold’s heart aching as you questioned all the relics and artefacts in there, aching as you laughed and beamed at his stories. How many times had he longed to tell you of your life, to pull you into his arms and hope to hell true love’s kiss worked. 

He never did it though. Instead he endured the ache in the heart most people believed he didn’t have. He let himself forget the tragedy for just a moment, let himself smile softly as your own smile lit up his dark shop, he indulged your questions and flourished his tales just to hear your laugh, he let himself remember what it was like to be this version of himself, no harsh words, no scathing remarks, even when the two of you argued, he let his sharp edges soften for you. 

Months had passed since Emma had arrived in Storybrooke and things had changed. Gold knew people had started remembering, just snippets of a life beyond their reach but it was enough, enough to give the man something he thought no longer existed. 

Hope. 

For the first time in a very long time Rumplestiltskin had hope. 

He never knew when you were going to waltz into his shop, it was usually a daily occurrence but never a set time, though it was rare the bell alerted him that anyone was coming to see him. So whenever the soft ringing went off, Gold couldn’t stop his heart from skipping a beat, something he cursed himself for but only half heartedly. 

“Gold!” You called into the shop, he could hear the bright smile in your voice before he even turned around. 

“Hello, my dear.” Gold murmured softly, unable to stop the smile that pulled at his lips.  

You were different in this world but you had managed to keep the very things that made you you. You were still too curious for your own good, often following danger without thinking about it. So overwhelmingly positive and optimistic, such a stark contrast to that man that loved you. At first he had found it sickening and then one day he found he couldn’t live without it. 

You were already wandering around his shop, fingers dancing over the trinkets, chatting away before you paused. 

Gold heard your sharp intake of breath, watched as your eyebrows knitted together before your eyes scrunched shut. 

“Are you alright, dearie?” He asked, stepping out from behind the counter and pausing when your head shot around to look at him, eyes watery with unshed tears. 

“What’s this one?” You asked the old familiar question softly, fingers closed around one of the many items in his shop. 

Gold frowned as he stepped closer, closing the space between the two of you and taking your hand in his, watching at how you seemed to become breathless with the contact. 

He let himself enjoy the contact as he gently opened your fingers and looked down, his hand holding yours and his own breath knocked out of him as he looked down at the object in your hand. 

It was a bracelet, one made of gold spun from straw. He remembered it well, remembered taking the time to sit and craft the bracelet, a golden heart resting in the middle. He remembered how nervous he had been to give you the gift, a strange feeling for him and yet one that was not needed, not when you opened it and your smile softened as you traced the gold, looking up at Rumple with watery eyes much like you were now, pulling him into a soft kiss and murmuring how it was the most precious thing anyone had ever given you. 

“It’s a bracelet, dear.” Gold told you softly, his own voice sounding far away, even as his lips tilted into a smirk. 

“You know what I mean, Gold.” You laugh, the sound light but half hearted. “Everything in here has a story.”

“Right it does and that bracelet is no different. In fact that bracelet is a symbol of the purest love. Each detail hand crafted for the man’s beloved.” Gold explained, keeping his voice barely above a whisper. 

You looked away from Gold, tracing the bracelet again and frowning down at it like it was a puzzle you couldn’t solve. 

“It’s mine.” You murmured, eyebrows drawing further together. 

Gold felt his heart pounding against his chest, praying to any force that would listen that you would remember, that this is what you needed to break the curse on you. He looked at you, desperately waiting, hoping that when you looked up again you’d truly recognise the man before you. 

Your heart was racing as your eyes fell shut. Memories assaulted your mind, a man, Mr Gold, except it wasn’t Mr Gold, handed you a green box, you pulled the bracelet out and pulled him close, another memory of the same man, arguing back and forth with you though despite the words there was a smile on both your faces. 

Memory after memory came to you until it was all too much and you gasped for air, reaching out and clutching the man before you, finally looking up at him, the tears that had been stinging your eyes finally pouring over and falling down your cheeks.

“Rumple,” You breathe out and Rumple laughs, he laughs in complete disbelief at hearing his name fall from your lips, forgetting what his true name had sounded like when you spoke it. “Rumple!”

You choked on a sob, throwing yourself at the man who caught you with ease, your arms around his neck as you buried your face in his chest. Rumple held you back just as tightly, like he was afraid you’d forget everything if he let go, his own eyes watery as he pressed his face against your hair. 

Oh how long had he dreamed for this moment.

“My love.” He murmured into your hair, watching as you pulled away, only far enough back to cup his cheeks, thumb brushing along his cheekbone as you brought your foreheads together. 

“I remember.” You told him softly, another sob leaving you. “Rumple, how could I ever forget you?”

“I thought you’d never remember.” He admitted, his arms holding you tight. “I’ve missed you 

so much.”

“I can’t imagine…” You trailed off, realising he had spent years remembering everything, years forced to watch you come to him every day and not remember. 

“None of that matters, dear.” Rumple assured, finally closing the distance between the two of you, his lips pressed against yours, desperate and full of longing, it had been nearly three decades since he had felt your lips against his and it took his breath away. 

You kissed him back, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer and feeling more and more memories come to light. You kissed Rumple, pouring years and years worth of love into the kiss, knowing there was so much lost time to make up for. 

You were both breathless by the time you pulled away, foreheads resting against each other as you just held one another. Neither of you were ready to move away, not just yet, not until you knew it was real, knew it was permanent.

The thought of forgetting Rumple again, your hands tightened around his suit jacket just at the thought and he placed a soft kiss against your forehead, keeping his lips there for a long while. 

Eventually the two of you did pull away, Rumple took the gold bracelet off you and gently fastened it onto your wrist, staring down at it with a mix of emotions on his face. 

“Took you long enough to find the bloody thing.” He finally muttered, causing a grin to spread across your face. “Picked up every other damn thing in this shop before you picked the one thing that belongs to you.”

You laughed, bright and loud, the sound filling his dark shop and Rumple couldn’t help but smile before drawing you into another breathtaking kiss, the sound something he had missed dearly but now he had forever to hear it. It sounded like a pretty good deal to him.

Thank you for reading!

Rumplestiltskin Taglist /

New character - Rumple and other ouat characters are now on my form so feel free to add yourself to the taglist - link is in bio!

[bloody-cupcakes]

Omg wait what about a dark/yandere evil queen who, once the spell was put over all the people and they were transported to storybrooke, she had her once unwilling darling there as her loving partner?

A/N: anon I see the vision here perfectly and I LOVE it

Tw: yandere/dark content, gender neutral reader, obsessive/possessive behavior, mentioned kidnapping, brainwashing in the form of memory wiping, dubcon in the sense that the reader wouldn't willingly be with Regina if they had their original memories

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Regina woke up in Storybrooke after casting the spell that would trap everyone in a realm without magic, it felt like a dream come true. Like one last hurrah from the Evil Queen, sticking it to everyone who'd ever doubted her.

She was ecstatic, not just that her spell had worked but also because of the wardrobe that came with the territory. I mean, for a place without magical elements, the clothes were positively divine.

Of course, none of that mattered nearly as much compared to the true victory here, the thing marked at the very top of her wishlist, which was naturally you.

The bed may have been empty when she got out of it, but the house wasn't, as she quickly found you downstairs, humming softly to yourself as you cooked breakfast. A small box TV sat on the kitchen counter, displaying the morning news.

"Oh, good morning, honey," you brightly greeted once you saw her, immediately moving to greet her with a kiss. "I already cooked the bacon in the skillet, but I haven't done the eggs yet because I wasn't sure how you'd want them."

She felt utterly flabbergasted, in the best way possible. Images flashed through her mind of the you she knew before, the one frequently captured by the Evil Queen in some desperate ploy to keep you as property, her mind clearly sick and twisted with how she saw this as a way to show you her love. (Though love may have been a bit of a strong word here. Obsession, more like).

But now? There was no screaming, no crying, no begging to be set free. No pleas of mercy for your family or friends that relentlessly and tiredly worked to help you escape, to bring you back home, because here you were home.

You were home with her, honestly and truly. Fear didn't fill your eyes like it did before when your gaze set upon her; instead, it was love.

The sound of your voice, soft and concerned, broke her free from her thoughts. "Honey, are you alright? You're looking a bit faint."

Your brow was furrowed, and she felt the strong urge to lean forward to kiss the slight crease between your eyes. She was certain if she did it now, you wouldn't flinch away from her touch like once before.

"Yes, dear, I'm fine," she smoothly replied, reaching a hand out to gently cup your cheek. Her heart swelled when you leaned into it, pulse racing when your head turned so you could place an affectionate kiss to the center of her palm.

So this is what it was like to have you love her back. Truly exhilarating. If she'd known it would be this heavenly, the spell would've been cast long ago. Who needed magic when she had you?

A smile graced her features, one that was that signature mix of delight and mischief. "In fact, I can confidently say that I've never been better."

[dovesdreaming]

Tides of jealousy

Summary: Peter Pan and the reader have always understood each other but when Wendy Darling arrives on Neverland, bringing her own spark and spirit, Pan finds himself questioning the one thing he thought he had a firm grip on: your heart. (Readers bi and pan gets jealous)

Requested

Masterlist

Neverland was Peter Pan’s domain, a place where he controlled the rules, and everyone answered to him. Every Lost Boy followed his lead, every creature in the forest feared his shadow. And then there was you his equal, his confidant, his partner in crime and affection. Your presence had always kept Pan grounded, the thrill of your shared chaos as intoxicating as it was comforting. Yet there was a part of you that still held onto the world beyond Neverland, a curiosity that Peter both loved and feared. It was that curiosity that had drawn you to Wendy Darling.

She had been brought to Neverland as a bargaining chip, a pawn for Pan’s games. But Wendy was no ordinary pawn; she was clever and compassionate, and it didn’t take long for her to see through Pan’s manipulations. What he hadn’t expected was how quickly she found a place among the Lost Boys, and beside you.

Peter had noticed it from the start: the way your laughter rang louder when Wendy was near, the shared glances, the whispered conversations. He wasn’t sure what bothered him more. The way you seemed to gravitate toward Wendy or the way Wendy looked at you with wide-eyed admiration.

Peters jealousy was at an all time high when the three of you sat around the fire one night, the Lost Boys already dispersed into their huts or fallen asleep on the ground. Wendy sat beside you, her knees pulled to her chest, her face lit warmly by the firelight. Pan leaned back, arms crossed, watching the two of you closely. Wendy’s voice was soft but animated. “I just... I didn’t think Neverland would be like this. There’s so much more life here than I imagined”.

“Life and danger” Pan remarked, his voice more clipped than intended. You nudged him playfully, a gesture that usually softened his mood, but tonight it barely dented the tension knotting his chest.

“It’s both” you agreed with Wendy, your smile warm and genuine. “That’s why it’s amazing”. Wendy’s eyes lingered on you, and Peter saw the glimmer of admiration there. Or was it something more? His fingers dug into his arms, his jaw tightening.

“I could stay here forever” Wendy said quietly, looking at you rather than the island.

The air felt heavy. Peter’s smile faltered, sharpness glinting in his eyes. “Forever’s a long time, Darling. Especially here”. Wendy’s gaze flicked to Pan’s, startled by his tone. She shifted slightly, her shoulders stiffening. You shot Pan a pointed look, a silent reprimand that only stoked the frustration twisting inside him.

Over the next few days, Pan’s unease grew. He saw it in every interaction, Wendy’s shy smile when you taught her how to shoot an arrow, the way you leaned in close to show her how to set a snare, the way you brushed dirt from her cheek with a tenderness that twisted in his gut. When Wendy began to spend more time with the Lost Boys, Pan thought maybe things would return to normal. Instead, you drifted with her, laughing as you showed her around Neverland, while Peter watched from the shadows.

One evening, he found you both by the lagoon, your heads bent close together as you whispered and giggled. The sound dug into him, sharper than a blade. He approached, his presence breaking the moment. Wendy looked up first, her face bright with excitement.

“Peter! We were just talking about exploring the caves tomorrow. Y/N says they’re incredible”. Peter’s eyes flicked to you, but your expression was unreadable. The uncertainty made his throat tight.

“Funny,” he drawled, forcing a smirk. “I thought the caves were our thing, love”.

You stiffened slightly, catching the edge in his voice. “They still are, Pan. We were just talking”.

“Just talking” he echoed, the forced grin not reaching his eyes. “Right”.

Wendy glanced between the two of you, the atmosphere now heavy and uncomfortable. She shifted awkwardly. “Maybe... maybe I should head back”.

“No” you interjected, your gaze locking with Pan’s. “It’s fine, Wendy”. But she was already retreating, her smile awkward and apologetic. Pan watched her go, his chest aching with something ugly and unfamiliar. When you turned to him, your expression was caught between irritation and confusion.

“What is wrong with you?” you demanded.

“What’s wrong with me?” Peter’s voice was sharper than intended. “Maybe I should be asking what’s going on with you and Wendy”.

You blinked, the accusation hanging heavy between you. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on” Pan snapped. “The way she looks at you, the way you look at her. I’m not blind”.

Realization dawned in your eyes, and you scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “Are you actually jealous right now?” Pan’s mouth opened, but no words came out. The accusation felt too close, too raw. “Wendy and I are friends” you said firmly. “That’s it”.

“But what if it wasn’t?” The question slipped out, a crack in his defenses. “What if she wanted more? What if you did?”

Your eyes softened, the sharpness of your expression fading. “Peter... I'm with you. I love you. And, yes, I'm bi, but that doesn't mean I want everyone who’s kind to me. It doesn’t change what I feel for you”.

The knot in Pan’s chest began to loosen, replaced by a guilty, aching relief. “I just... I see the way she looks at you, and I thought...”

“I care about Wendy” you admitted gently. “She’s amazing. But she’s not you. She doesn’t know me like you do”.

Peter’s gaze fell, the weight of his fear laid bare. “I thought maybe you’d realized I wasn’t enough. That someone else could give you more”.

You stepped closer, reaching out to touch his face, tilting his chin up until his eyes met yours. “No one could ever be you, Peter. No one else could ever matter like you do”. For a moment, the tension hung between you, a fragile, vulnerable thing. Then Pan leaned in, his forehead resting against yours, his breath shaky but steadying.

“Sorry I got jealous” he muttered looking at the ground.

You laughed softly, your thumb brushing his cheek. “I forgive you, Pan. Just... trust me, okay?” And for the first time in a long while, Pan let himself do just that.