Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1058191.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Once_Upon_a_Time_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Wendy_Darling/Peter_Pan
  Character:
      Peter_Pan, Wendy_Darling
  Additional Tags:
      not_dark_but_dark_enough, canon_divergent_in_a_big_way, that_means
      ignoring_entire_arcs_and_relying_solely_on_headcanons, and_unshamedly
      hodge_podging_different_bits_of_peter_pan_lore_together, smut_with
      substance
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-11-25 Words: 2816
****** take you apart, and slowly ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     she thought it was safe to leave her window open again.
Notes
     the one in front will want to take you apart, and slowly. his deft
     and stubby fingers searching every shank and lock for weaknesses.
See the end of the work for more notes
Months have passed, but Neverland still dances behind her eyes and she is
plagued by troublesome thoughts of the Pan. She supposes this is her punishment
for choosing to leave (escape), commandeering his shadow to help her do so. A
fitting punishment, she thinks. For a queen to abandon her realm is the highest
sort of disgrace.
It's a wonder that he hasn't come after her yet, but as the days turned into
weeks and months without him or his shadow slinking across her windowsill, she
feels he has forgotten about her. Children are forgetful and careless, casting
aside their playthings and replacing them just as easily. It would make sense
for the eternal boy king to be the very epitome of this.
She wishes it wasn’t this way, a girlish wish, almost as silly as she’d learned
thimbles were in the face of the Pan’s ferocious desire for her.
After all, Wendy Darling should be glad she escaped Neverland. She should be
glad that its ruler hasn’t come looking for her to punish her for going against
his will.
The only thing she can bring herself to be glad of is that she managed to steal
her brothers away that night as well.
When she falls asleep at night, she dreams of a forest canopy over her head,
the weak morning sunlight filtering through, the sound of cicadas and panting,
sweaty limbs and pleasure so acute she is certain she may die from it.
                                      OOO
Wendy’s week passes without incident. She mostly spends it in the company of
her mother, having been deemed too old to remain with the children when she
turned sixteen. She is glad for this, in a way. John and Michael are a constant
reminder of her time in Neverland and, though they were too young to understand
the entirety of what happened to her, the sting of shame that curls sharp in
her chest is too much to bear.
Mother fills the silence with idle chatter about cotillions and the promise of
suitors now that she is nearing marriageable age. Even then she can’t help
thinking of the pseudo-husband she left behind.
He would be angry if he heard her and her mother’s casual conversations about
such things, she muses.
No, more than angry.
He would be furious. He’d proven time and again that he never did share well.
After dinner, a quiet affair as her father was away on business and John was at
a friend’s, she has a maidservant draw a cool bath for her. It is unseasonably
hot for spring and sweat mats the hair at the nape of her neck.
She crosses over to her windows and throws them open, leaning out and watching
the people on the street below. A cool breeze toys with her hair and Wendy
sighs. It is far too hot to sleep without the window open and after months of
no sign of Peter, she finally feels safe to leave it so.
Wendy can hear the rest of the household preparing for bed as she sinks into
the tub behind the elaborate screen partitioning it from the rest of her
bedroom.
Leaning her head against the rim, she thinks almost wistfully of Neverland, of
Peter Pan and their nights in the hollowed out Hangman’s Tree. He consumes her
every thought and it has occurred to her on more than one occasion that, were
it not for John and Michael, she would probably have remained by his side as
his heathen queen, fighting and clawing and spitting at him as he tried again
and again to exert his dominance over her.
The water begins to warm and she climbs out and gets ready for bed, pulling on
a plain white nightgown and finding her brush. Sighing, Wendy slowly begins
plucking at the wet knots in her hair, combing them out carefully.
When she is done, she lies back, curls up on her side and watches the sky.
She isn’t able to sleep; the heat is almost oppressive on her body. Neverland
was like this, but there she was free to run from the claustrophobia that is
plaguing her too. Now she can do nothing but hope for a kind breeze to visit
her window.
In the end, the breeze does come, but it’s what it brings with it that has her
less than grateful.
Wendy sits bolt upright, her eyes widened in shock.
The Pan’s soft leather boots touch the windowsill silently and it’s like she’s
seeing a ghost. But how could a ghost look at her with such barely disguised
lust?
Neither of them says a thing, Wendy too outright shocked to do more than gape
stupidly at him and he too busy savouring the moment and the expression on her
face and calculating how best to leave her bruised by his words.
“So this is what you left me for,” he finally says. “A soft bed and pretty
dresses. I suppose I could have given you that, had you asked.”
“You were always less than kind,” she spits, shock being quickly by boiling
rage, her first words to him in over ten months coming from a place of deep
bitterness and anger and a desire to hurt. “I wanted nothing from you. I wanted
nothing to do with you.”
A lie, she knows. But a lie meant to cut him to the quick.
A flutter of something crosses his features but it’s gone before she can assign
a name to it and crow with triumph.
“You’ve become bitter, Wendybird. You are growing up faster than I expected.
But it’s not too late to undo the damage. Some time in Neverland ought to be
enough to halt the growing pains, I think.”
“What makes you think I’m going to go back there?”
“What makes you think you have a choice?” he snarls. “You are mine. You belong
to me. The second you gave my shadow your hand, you became mine.”
Panic knots in her belly and something darker, more feral gathers in her chest.
He wanted her. It went unsaid. But some things don’t need saying. A different
kind of triumph swells in her chest, a womanly sort. That feeling that one gets
when faced by the desire of a man.
A hot lance of yearning slices through her and she wants to invite Peter back
into her body, give of herself the way she only has with him. But she cannot.
Not with her mother down the hall and Michael in the nursery alongside her.
Wendy understands too that to do so will mean she cedes to his wishes. And that
is the one thing she will not do. Peter has made her as wild and vicious as he
is and she will not be cowed this time.
“I am not the same girl who left you!” she snaps angrily.
Peter’s too thin face is impassive as he catalogues the changes in her body.
Her hair has grown, now a tumble of curls tidily held back from her face by a
soft pink ribbon. The angles of her face are a lot sharper. And her eyes. There
is dark knowledge in her eyes that he knows he placed there. His Wendybird is
more composed and yet at the same time more wild and savage than he has ever
seen her.
Wendy does the same and though she cannot put her finger on just what it is,
she notes that there is a change in him too. The longer she looks, the more
apparent it becomes that he is different. He also is not the same boy she left
behind.
When he rounds her bed and leans in close, she realises just what it is that
makes him so.
His eyes are hungry and cruel as they have ever been, but there is thinly
veiled torment in them too.
“Why are you here?” she is almost too afraid to ask.
Ten months is a long time and after all those nights of apprehensive waiting,
it seems almost anticlimactic that he would step over her windowsill on a late
spring evening without any announcement or prior warning There is no reason for
it either. By rights, she should have slipped his mind by now and he would have
led the Lost Boys forever while she moved on with the life she would build
here. It made no sense for him to be in her room looking as starved for her as
he had the first time he’d taken her on the furs on the floor of their
ramshackle home concealed within the Hangman’s Tree.
“You left. I never gave you permission for that.” His eyebrow quirks.
“I left to save my brothers,” she hisses. “I didn’t want that life for them.”
“You could have sent the shadow away with them,” His dark eyes flash angrily.
“It listened to you more than it did me. You didn’t need to leave.”
“Maybe I wanted to,” she ventures boldly.
Almost immediately, she realises just how stupid saying that was. Wendy is
pinned to the bed with the Pan hovering above her, dark and terrible and
furious.
“Liar,” he hisses, his breath hot against her mouth as he presses in. “I hate
it when you lie.”
“Why did you come?” she cries, wriggling against him and drawing a pained groan
from his lips.
“Your window was open,” he grits out.
“It being closed didn’t stop you before!”
“It was the first time you’ve left it open since you came back!” Peter snaps.
They both stop short at his admission. Fury unfurls on his face and the
realisation that she will be punished for this horrible show of vulnerability
washes over her. Surprisingly, she does not feel an ounce of fear. Only want
and that raw ugly triumph again.
His mouth descends on hers and when they meet, teeth clacking and drawing
blood, Wendy realises she could not have gone on without this. The Pan is an
extension of her as much as she is of him and Neverland. He forces his way in,
plundering her mouth unapologetically, swallowing her moans and keeping them in
his chest.
She gasps hotly into his mouth when he cups her through her nightgown. The
sweet ache that has lingered between her legs is a vicious throbbing now and
god she wants more. He pulls the thin cotton above her waist and over her head,
completely exposing her to him.
The look of approval that grows on his face makes lust burn in her stomach. She
knows she has filled out since leaving Neverland and she touched herself to her
imaginings of his reaction to her newly developed curves. She didn’t think it
would be anything like this though. She is burning so much that if he doesn’t
do something about it now, she might just scream.
Peter fists her hair and pulls back, exposing her neck for his exploration.
It’s Wendy’s turn to groan now and her eyes squeeze shut, blocking out the
image of the canopy of her bed so she can imagine a canopy of trees overhead in
its place.
He palms her breast, fondling roughly, strumming the nipple before dipping his
head and sipping it between his lips and grazing it with his sharp teeth.
“Peter,” she cries. “Oh, Peter, please.”
Peter’s long thin fingers rub the seat of her pleasure, ghosting over her clit
teasingly. Her hand joins his and she demands a more forceful touch, guiding
him to find her pleasure. Soon he is nudging her hand away and completely
taking over; two of his fingers crook within her while his thumb strokes her
nub. He watches her hungrily with those dark eyes of his and that growing sharp
grin causes a flood of moisture to gather between her legs. She is damp and
sticky and panting, her breasts heaving in a way that makes the Pan harden to
the point of pain.
Wendy peaks with a muffled cry, one that feels to her altogether too loud,
given the proximity of her parents’ bedroom, his name on her lips.
Lying splayed open before him, she watches as he hurriedly peels off his dirty
tunic, shucks his trousers and clambers towards her with all the eagerness of a
puppy. His mouth crashes against hers desperately and he relearns the sounds
and sensations that make her Wendy, his Wendy.
His cock brushes her mound and she whimpers against his mouth, trying to pull
away and get closer at the same time.
“Wendy,” he rasps.
His fingers bite into her thighs as he holds them open and he sinks into her,
eyes shut and lips parted and so savagely beautiful that it stops her breath.
It burns uncomfortably, but she finds that it’s better to think on the pleasure
that she knows she and Peter will find. He won’t stop to think of her comfort
so it is easier not to ask. He has always been a selfish, unthinking lover.
The Pan fucks her brutally, holding her left leg pinned to his thigh. Wendy
rolls her hips to meet him and they settle into a familiar rhythm that has them
both shuddering in mere minutes.
Peter leans forward, resting his chest on hers. His eyes glitter in the dark
and she can see purpose in them, an intention she cannot escape. She is not
sure she wants to.
“You’re coming back. We have more need for you than this place does,” he
snarls.
When he pinches her clit roughly, she gasps. “I can’t.”
A sneer appears on his lips. “You can. You will. I will not tolerate the
absence of you any longer, Wendy Moira Angela Darling.”
“No.”
His fingers bite into her thigh again as his face contorts with anger. “Why
not?”
“Because you—ah— haven’t asked me.”
Peter glowers at her, looking, if such a thing were possible, more irate than
before. “The Pan does not beg.”
“Ask me.” she insists, her hips canting up to meet his. If he can swallow his
pride and show her just how much he wants her… The thought is swaying
dangerously in her mind. She’ll examine it later; pick it apart for weaknesses,
but right now, if Peter asked it of her, she would return with him.
He wavers with indecision. She can see the confusion and conflict darting
across his face. But she will stand firm. Wendy Moira Angela Darling will not
be stolen again. If she goes, she goes willingly.
Peter sees the determination in her expression, knows then that she will not
come unless she is given the choice and he bends to her will.
“Come back,” he demands hoarsely against her breast, thrusting harder against
her with the end in sight. “I need you. Neverland needs its queen. Neither—of
us is whole without you.”
“Oh, God,” she whimpers.
“Say you will,” he pleas and that undoes her. The Pan never asks. He takes. And
he certainly doesn’t plea.
Wendy can barely form the word, she rolls it like a sweet on her tongue, but
when she does, a gleeful smirk splits his face.
“Yes, oh God, Peter, yes.”
His mouth finds hers and she can taste his victory, can trace it on his lips.
She finds her release with her palms pressed to his cheeks, drinking in his
elation.
With another pained groan, he spills inside her, staining her cotton sheets
when he pulls out and rolls to the side. Peter presses against Wendy, demanding
her attention when he splays his hand over the small of her back and draws her
close.
Their noses touch and he grins down at her triumphantly.
She is quiet, unsmiling.
                                      OOO
Wendy Moira Angela Darling strokes the mousey brown hair on her youngest
brother’s head. She smiles. Michael is as angelic in his sleep as he is in his
waking hours.
She would miss him.
From the other bed, John’s loud snores hitch and she stills and turns towards
him, but he carries on sleeping with a mumble and another snort.
She isn’t sure she will miss that.
That is unkind, she chides herself. I will never see him again. Today was my
last day with them.
After a heated argument, one which ended up with them clawing at each other in
rage, the Pan had yielded and given her one day to say goodbye.
Leaving home means leaving her family again. This time she knows it’s for
keeps. She will not be able to come back and that means no growing old and
leading a happy content little life, just savagery and cruelty and an endless
forever at the Pan’s side.
And though she is hardly sure what she has gotten herself into, somehow she
cannot bring herself to care.
Because this time she will not be stolen and this time she will not have to
leave.
End Notes
     i certainly didn't mean for this to happen but too many hours spent
     with nina screaming about junglesex caused a smut battle and then
     this. i am so ashamed because i filled this in less than 12 hours but
     i've been sitting with other prompts for more tha a month now. i
     guess the way to my muse is with smut. *shrugs*
     okay so my peter ended up being a sort of halfway between ouat and
     peter pan 2003 and my own wistful headcanons. i'm surprisingly okay
     with that because i don't think i could have pulled off a dark!pan
     fic. and my wendy wasn't supposed to be so pliable but i've always
     liked the thought of her being an extension of neverland so. heh she
     has pan's balls in her fist tbh.
     hey did you notice my reference to the hangman's tree. aren't i
     clever.
     shut up it was delightfully missionary.
     wow i really like the word triumph.
     richard siken is better than you.
     it's late. i need to piss off now.
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