[fairytales]
summary: Life isn't a story, she says, and tries not to cry.
A/N: This is Hook/Wendy with Mr. Darling/Wendy overtones and some hinted at non-consensual sex, so hit the back button if this ain't your thing. I don't particularly like this story-- I think it's rather weak-- but I'm posting it to get everyone's opinions before I write a serious Peter Pan fic. So, please review and give me some constructive criticism. And BTW, none of these characters are mine. I do this purely for my sick entertainment.
Once upon a time, Hook tells her, there was a young girl who believed in fairytales.
Of princes, and a pumpkin with mice for coachmen, she thinks and laughs softly, wondering if she is the princess in this tale. But then, the prince on his white steed come to rescue her-- what of him? Above her she can almost feel Hook's eyes upon her face and she looks up, watching him the way father had watched mother sometimes, as though this is something not quite real. Hook smiles and traces her jugular with his claw, the chilly metal sending shivers down her spine, equal parts fear and pleasure. But you already know how the story ends, don't you?, his eyes seem to ask her, seeing through her and all of her all at once.
Wendy fights back the urge to nod and swallows instead, wide-eyed as Hook presses his claw into her neck oh-so-gently, the way father had held her sometimes, smiling as a drop of blood slides down her skin. She closes her eyes, squeezing them until fireworks burst behind her eyelids. She can feel his good hand on her cheek, warm as he wipes the tears from her face. Now, now, he whispers, father's voice caressing her skin. There will be no tears, he says softly, all comfort and love.
Wendy shakes her head slightly, not wanting to open her eyes and see her father's face in Hook's eyes. Father, with his ink-stained hands and quiet voice, kissing her goodnight, teaching her her multiplication tables. She can feel Hook's hand warm on her skin as he caresses her cheek, not-quite-father, but something undefinable and slightly dark that she cannot explain.
She opens her eyes slowly and looks into Hook's face with detached curisosity, his blue eyes so like her own. This never was a fairytale, she says, voice thick with unshed tears and-- no, she does not want to think of the other reason.
Hook smiles her father's smile and leans forward. Wendy does not move when he kisses her.
Afterwards, she tells him she is tired of fairytales and princes, and he laughs and helps her pull her nightgown back on because her hands are shaking, and she turns away from him. I knew you would understand, he says, and polishes his hook on the bloodied sheets.
Life isn't a story, she says, and tries not to cry.
summary: Life isn't a story, she says, and tries not to cry.
A/N: This is Hook/Wendy with Mr. Darling/Wendy overtones and some hinted at non-consensual sex, so hit the back button if this ain't your thing. I don't particularly like this story-- I think it's rather weak-- but I'm posting it to get everyone's opinions before I write a serious Peter Pan fic. So, please review and give me some constructive criticism. And BTW, none of these characters are mine. I do this purely for my sick entertainment.
Once upon a time, Hook tells her, there was a young girl who believed in fairytales.
Of princes, and a pumpkin with mice for coachmen, she thinks and laughs softly, wondering if she is the princess in this tale. But then, the prince on his white steed come to rescue her-- what of him? Above her she can almost feel Hook's eyes upon her face and she looks up, watching him the way father had watched mother sometimes, as though this is something not quite real. Hook smiles and traces her jugular with his claw, the chilly metal sending shivers down her spine, equal parts fear and pleasure. But you already know how the story ends, don't you?, his eyes seem to ask her, seeing through her and all of her all at once.
Wendy fights back the urge to nod and swallows instead, wide-eyed as Hook presses his claw into her neck oh-so-gently, the way father had held her sometimes, smiling as a drop of blood slides down her skin. She closes her eyes, squeezing them until fireworks burst behind her eyelids. She can feel his good hand on her cheek, warm as he wipes the tears from her face. Now, now, he whispers, father's voice caressing her skin. There will be no tears, he says softly, all comfort and love.
Wendy shakes her head slightly, not wanting to open her eyes and see her father's face in Hook's eyes. Father, with his ink-stained hands and quiet voice, kissing her goodnight, teaching her her multiplication tables. She can feel Hook's hand warm on her skin as he caresses her cheek, not-quite-father, but something undefinable and slightly dark that she cannot explain.
She opens her eyes slowly and looks into Hook's face with detached curisosity, his blue eyes so like her own. This never was a fairytale, she says, voice thick with unshed tears and-- no, she does not want to think of the other reason.
Hook smiles her father's smile and leans forward. Wendy does not move when he kisses her.
Afterwards, she tells him she is tired of fairytales and princes, and he laughs and helps her pull her nightgown back on because her hands are shaking, and she turns away from him. I knew you would understand, he says, and polishes his hook on the bloodied sheets.
Life isn't a story, she says, and tries not to cry.