Title: Belonging
Summary: Peter always considered Wendy as his. He never really reflected over the possibility the truth might be frighteningly different.
Timeline: AU 'cause I adore Rumple, I swear, I freaking adore his character, but I can't deal with Pan being the worst father in the world in this story, sorry! So AU for that, I guess.
Main Characters: Peter Pan, Wendy Darling
Disclaimer: I do not own OUAT, I do not, I do not!
Just a reminder, this story is (gonna be) M rated so, you guys are warned!
The realization doesn't come slowly.
It doesn't crawl its way into his mind, into his heart inches by inches. It doesn't sneak in silently, giving him time to get accustomed to it, time to gradually let his consciousness wrap around it and figure it out little by little.
No, it's nothing of the sort.
And all his claims he has her, he owns her.
Mine, mine, mine.
Like she's nothing but a possession, a thing.
His plaything.
All his smugness about how he owns everything in Neverland.
Mine, mine, mine.
Because he's the king and she's nothing special.
Just another toy, a doll he likes to spend his time with.
She should be grateful, so very grateful, he fancies her enough to keep her alive.
All of that, everything about him is such a constant display of cockiness and authority and power, seems like a mockery, a laughable fable, now because…
The realization hits like a rock thrown against his skull, a punch right into his gut.
It doesn't makes him bleed like a fist against his jaw would and he finds himself desperately wishing it did, instead.
Because somehow it feels the same, the hurt is the same, stinging and almost agonizing. And the worst part is, it feels like there is no real going back from it. He cannot think of a way back from it.
Instead, the realization comes with the ground of the island trebling under its own king's feet.
It feels exactly like that. Like falling to pieces out of sudden, like a castle of sand crumbling down at the first ocean's wave.
Like a hand shoving into his chest, contracting around his heart and squeezing, but not tight enough to crush it.
Never tight enough to crush it. (Oh no, Wendy Darling would never crush somebody's heart.)
But it's enough to make him wish for one awful moment, she just killed him instead.
Just to pull him out of that misery. (Because Wendy Darling is supposed to be merciful, isn't she?)
(Apparently when it came to him, Wendy Darling could be as cruel and cold-blooded as Peter Pan was.)
Mine, mine, mine.
She's his. She's his. She's his.
How good can he get at pretending to actually believe that?
How good can anybody get at pretending to actually believe that?
And not the other way around?
The truth.
That he's hers.
He's hers.
He's utterly, completely hers.
He's hers in a way he can't even start to comprehend.
And he doesn't want to.
He doesn't want to understand it, doesn't want to think about it, doesn't want to belong to her.
But deep down, he knows.
He belongs to her because he knows he'd do anything for her, anything. (She's the only one he'd do anything.)
He'd give anything she asks for.
And for the first time since ever, Peter thinks he's scared, utterly terrified, of what he'd do if he hadn't got his magic.
Because he could give her whatever she wishes for. She could name a thing and he'd give it to her in a blink of an eye.
But she doesn't ask. She doesn't ask for anything.
She has never really asked him anything. (If not seeing the mermaids and the fairies and the pirates and… giving him a thimble.)
(Because long gone were the times where she wouldn't stop crying, screaming she wanted to go home. Let me go, let me go, let me go home. I want to go home! And long gone were the times his chest has felt so heavy.)
And she owns him like that.
And no matter how much he hates her for it, she has him.
She has him.
She has him so completely.
In everything he can't give her, in everything he can't do, in every word he can't say, in every single emotion he can't feel.
It's awfulness.
It's the most awful thing he can think about.
And he killed, tortured people. Tortured and killed pirates and boys just because he felt like it.
It's scary as hell and totally petrifying. How powerless it makes him feel, she makes him feel.
It's like losing himself. But not in a way he's used to, in a way he is completely happy with.
It's not like the Lost Boys lose themselves trough the soft notes of his music. Not like he loses himself trough the notes of his music.
No, it's like he's not really himself for her.
Because she has him.
She holds him without chains and strings, like he does.
He tried to cage her and succeeded because Peter Pan never fails, but Wendy didn't even need that.
She didn't even need a cage, an entire island to get him.
She has him.
And she wears him in the chain around her neck.
Her palm is soft and smooth, a feather-like caress, as she strokes his cheek.
"Peter?"
Her voice is sweet, his name spoken into such a well-known, caring tone.
Wendy's lying on her back on the bed in the treehouse. Her thick, wild curls spread over the pillow, her nightgown raised up over her hips, her legs loosely wrapped around his waist.
Peter on top of her, has to blinks a couple of times, before he can actually see her.
His eyes shift down slowly. His tunic is open too, his own belt tossed on the other side of the bed.
He feels like he'd been awakened form a dream and he's not sure where he is, why he's there in the first place.
Then, he takes sight of the creamy whiteness of her legs, her naked knees parted over his sides. He feels her fingers still brushing his cheekbone.
His own fingers freeze on the bare skin of her thighs.
Oh, right.
Wendy looks up at him, eyes narrowing and a slight frown growing on her forehead. "Are you okay?" she asks, quietly.
No, he's not.
He's not okay.
But pretending is his second nature, so Peter just nods and leans down to kiss her, but his mouth is too delicate, too slow, his lips too gentle.
That's not him. That's not how he kisses her.
Wendy curls her fingers into his hair at the nape of his neck and gasps softly against his mouth.
And the sound it's so damn sweet, Peter has to break apart right away because he can't breathe.
He pants. His fists clenches around the fabric of the pillow on the sides of her head.
"Peter, what..." Wendy starts, deeply confused now. She searches his eyes. She meets them for a second and they're wild and vulnerable. He feels something already pricking, wetting them.
He's hers. He's hers. He's hers.
He leans over, his hand cups her jaw and kisses her again, his mouth forceful against hers, but he has to pull away fast.
She feels him moving, suddenly drawing away from her and she pops up on her elbows.
"Is everything alright?" She asks again and he hates that note in her voice, that concern of hers. That bloody motherly concern of hers. He hates it.
"We don't have to do anything, if you don't want to… I mean…" Wendy stutters on her words, cheeks heating up.
Peter breaths in and he shuts his eyes tightly.
He wants to. God, he bloody wants to.
He wants to take her and make her scream and make her beg for him. Exactly like he did times and times before.
He wants to take her and make it all go away.
He can feel her heat between his legs, his own aching below his waist, his own need to have her.
She has you.
He wants to take her and silence every single voice in his head.
She has you. She has you. She has you.
Every single monster in his mind that makes him insecure and helpless and weak.
He's hers. He's hers. He's hers.
His head suddenly spinning, he lets himself fall down on his back, his weight making the mattress underneath them hop a little.
Wendy turns to look at him. One of his arms dropped over his shut closed eyes and his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of his heavy breathing.
For a moment, Peter just wants to make her disappear.
Kill her, kill her, kill her. That's what he should have done years, a century ago.
He feels like he cannot open his eyes to even look at her.
And still, he can't pull completely away from her either.
He stretches his arm, wraps it around her waist and drags her against his side. Their legs get intertwined and he buries his face into her hair.
He holds her tight, so tight and she feels him still shivering and panting slightly against her chest.
When he loosens his grip just a little bit, Wendy tries again "Is there something wrong?"
The only thing he can think of is how on earth does she manage that?
How can she sound so genuinely concerned? Worried and loving and caring (does she really care? Can she really care? For… him?) when he can't remember the last time someone spoke like that to him?
Peter doesn't say anything, but Wendy doesn't stop talking, her voice little but heartfelt.
"I know you probably don't wanna talk about it, but… you know, you can tell me… if you ever wish it, you can tell me"
That's not at all what Peter Pan does.
Talk about feelings. Feelings that shouldn't be there in the first place. Wendy has to know it by now. They both know it.
Peter just takes her.
They, they… gosh, they just fuck. Isn't that the word? (He doesn't know for sure. He might have walked some steps right into adulthood because of her, always because of her, but he never really dived deep into that world. He never really wanted to.)
That's who he is. That's what he can deal with.
That's what he learned to deal with since she came into his life, with her perfect white dress and hidden kisses on the corner of her mouth.
But soon he realized the game he could play with her was not so different than others that he played if he knew how to set the board.
And he learned it pretty fast.
And it could be so much fun.
He takes what he wants -needs, needs, needs- He needs her so desperately sometimes he thinks he's gonna break.
And then he leaves her.
He leaves her bed, leaves her treehouse and disappears into the darkness where he came from.
Wendy lifts her head to look at him. Her eyes still confused but honest and even hopeful. (He never got it. The way she used to look at him so many times. He never got it. He never got her.)
The green in his eyes trembles.
Peter takes a deep breath, holds her close to him again and just lets his eyelashes shut close.
They fall asleep like that.
His clothes half discarded, her nightgown still raised up around over her thighs, one of his legs settled between hers, his arm wrapped around her waist, his face cuddled into the side of her neck.
His acorn, hanging in the chain around Wendy's neck, trapped between their chests.
Ok, so, my first attempt at doing something longer.
I guess this will have a few chapters, I don't know, I suddenly got this inspiration for Once!Peter and Once!Wendy.
I hope you enjoyed reading this, and if you'd ever like to leave a review, that will make me so very happy!