#peter pan fan fiction

[neverland93]

Peter Pan Imagine/ You like me.

“You son of a bitch!” You yell at Peter as you walk away, but as you walk he grabs your arm and brings you back to him.

“Don’t act like you don’t like this.” He says softly

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!” You get defensive.

“You like being controlled, you like me.” He looks deeps in your eyes

You were taken back and could barely think.

“So, I’ll do whatever I want to you, whenever I want, and you’ll let me. Because you want it-“ he says

“No.” You say looking down

“And you need it.” He pulls up your chin with the tip of his finger .

You swallow your dry spit and try to come back to reality.

“So princess, Neverland or no Neverland, I own you. Now, go to your room, strip off whatever dress the fairies made you this week, get into bed, and wait for me. Say yes.” He looks at you

“….Yes.” You say walking away and doing exactly what he says with a smirk creeping through your lips.

[anne-chloe]

Imagine : Peter chooses you to be the Lost Boys’ mother

Summary : Peter Pan is fed up of hearing the younger Lost Boys cry for their mothers at night. When his shadow steals a 6 year old boy, Peter commands the shadow to take the boys sister too. You.

Peter Pan x Reader

Warning : manipulation, toxic behaviour, kidnapping

You could remember it like it was yesterday.

The shadow that crept in through your little brother’s bedroom. It had moved with such inhuman speed that it just didn’t seem possible. You had tried to protect Martin from being kidnapped into the night, but you were unaware of its intentions to take you too.

And so you were taken to Neverland, a world where children would never grow up. A world where an immortal boy ruled with cruelty and an iron fist.

Peter had greeted you with a smile so sinister it made you nauseous. “Welcome to Neverland,” he said with a chuckle, “the boys have been waiting for you.”

You had followed him, with Martin holding your hand, all the way back to his camp. There were boys of various ages scattered around a campfire, all talking amongst themselves, some soaking up the quiet and others causing chaos.

But the moment Peter stepped beyond the tree line, silence fell. The Lost Boys stood to attention and watched as Peter approached. “Boys, I promised you a mother, and I’ve picked the finest one.”

You.

You were to be their mother.

You rejected the responsibility at first. You stood your ground and you argued with Peter. “I’m not staying here, and neither is Martin. We have a mother at home, and you stole us from her.”

Peter closed the gap between you and him, his smile dropping and his brows furrowing into a deep, irritated frown. “Unlucky for you, no one leaves Neverland without my permission. I chose you to be their mother. So be a good girl and play the role.” Peter then looked to Martin, his green eyes glowing with something sinister and unrecognisable. “Or else there’ll be consequences.”

You hesitantly stepped into the role. The older Lost Boys weren’t fussed about calling you their mother, which you honestly were grateful for. But as time went on, and the days turned to weeks, and soon into months, none of the Lost Boys addressed you by your name.

“Mother,” Devin called out one evening. He held up his hand to reveal a squirrel he had caught during his hunt, a proud smile on his face. “I know you asked for rabbit, but none of them fell into my trap. Will a squirrel be okay for dinner?”

You gratefully plucked the squirrel from his hand. “It’s perfect, thank you.”

“Mother, I’m hungry,” Tommy whined, his hands holding his stomach as he stepped towards the campfire. “How much longer until we eat?”

You stirred the pot of stew carefully, it’s delicious aromas filling the evening air. “Soon, Tommy. Have patience, sweetie.”

“Mother?”

Martins voice was enough to make you choke on air.

You stopped stirring the stew and turned slowly to peer at your younger brother. He stood amongst the Lost Boys, his eyes large and innocent. “What did you just call me?” You slowly asked, your heart feeling incredibly heavy in your chest.

Martin stepped closer, his head tilting to the side, like he was confused. “Mother,” he repeated, sounding certain of himself.

“Martin…” you whispered, reaching your hands out and gently taking him by the arms. You knelt down so you were eye-level with him. “I’m your sister. I’m not your mother.”

Martin frowned, conflicted. “Then who is my mother?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but found the words stuck in your throat. The desperate, confused expression only served to shatter your heart completely, and you didn’t have the courage to stomp on his tangled thoughts.

You dropped the conversation and finished preparing dinner. You ensured all the boys were fed before seeking out Peter, who was a small distance from the camp and overlooking the bay from a great height.

You approached him, hands wringing your dress nervously. “Peter?” You called out, hesitant and fearful for how the conversation would end. “I… I need to speak with you.”

Peter, who was perched on a branch high in a tree, turned his gaze downwards to look at you. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “What is it, [Name]?” He asked.

You were unsure of where to start. You inhaled deeply to calm your nerves. “I want to go home.”

Peter’s smile dropped into a frown. He slowly dropped from the tree, landing effortlessly in front of you. His head tilted to the side, like he was a confused puppy, but you knew better than to mistake his expressions for anything other than cruel.

“You are home,” Peter pointed out.

You gently shook your head. “No, I mean I want to go home to the place you took me from. I want to go back to my own mother.”

Peter moved closer to you, his frown deepening. “And why would you want that?”

You struggled to keep steady. You fought the urge to shuffle back, to maintain a safe distance. But Peter would never take you seriously if you showed any fear. “I miss my mother, Peter. Martin, he…” you hesitated, struggled to finish the sentence.

Peter raised a curious brow. You didn’t even need to finish the explanation, because it was suddenly as though Peter knew anyway. His smile returned, and a deep chuckle vibrated his chest. “Oh, I see. Martin called you mother, didn’t he?”

Your silence only confirmed Peters guess.

“Isn’t that wonderful?” Peter pressed, smirking playfully at you. “The boys adore you. I couldn’t have picked a better mother if I tried.”

“I don’t want to be Martins mother,” you whispered defiantly. Your fists shook at your sides, though you were unsure if it was from fear or frustration. “He doesn’t remember our mother. It’s not fair.”

Peter scoffed. “Life isn’t fair. Get used to it.”

Peter turned to walk away, a clear indication that he was finished with the conversation. But you reached out and grabbed his hand, forcing him to stay and look at you.

“I’m begging you, Peter. Let me go home. Let me take Martin back home.”

Peter moved close to you, his nose almost touching yours. Your breath hitched in your throat as his eyes, so cold and cruel, bore into your own. “Nobody leaves Neverland without my permission. You aren’t leaving, ever. You’re the mother to my lost boys. You’re going to be their mother forever, whether you like it or not. And if you continue to defy me, I’ll lock you in a cage and throw away the key, and you’ll never see Martin again. Do you understand?”

You gasped and stumbled away, a sob catching in your throat from the cruel threat. “I understand,” you choked out, tears appearing in your eyes. “I won’t ask again. I promise.”

Peter snickered a laugh. “Good. Perhaps you should return to the lost boys now, before they start calling for their mother again, hmm?”

[the-bar-sinister]

The moment that Wendy first realizes Peter is killing the Lost Boys who show signs of growing up her throat tightens; her belly lurches. 

Horror. 

Not because of the bloodshed, no, Wendy would not be in Neverland if she were shy of violence and blood.

No— because it is the end of the dream.

Peter, she realizes, is the only fairy-blessed among them. It is only Peter who does not grow old.

It does not matter if she can make him love her the way she loves him. It does not matter if he remembers her face day after tomorrow.

Wendy will grow old, and Peter will not recognize her. Will not love her. Will shed her blood and forget.

For a moment there is a mad fantasy where Wendy, too, somehow grasps that youthful fairy-forever. Her brothers do not. She does not recognize Michael's face when she cuts him down for Peter.

She never wears a wedding gown. She never stands at the top of the Eiffel tower. She never writes her book. 

It is only her and Peter, young and mad and full of joy forever. Forever.

Wendy lets the fantasy pass and longs for her future instead. 

-

AO3 link

[theghostbunnie]

Christmas present for @redheadedratt I think he looks a little gay but whatever makes my princess happy 😁/ref

[savage-sinister]

Nibs was the boldest and the strongest of the Lost Boys, and he knew things Peter didn't.

Nibs knew how to read and write, and, as he had demonstrated to Wendy before, he knew what a kiss was as well. This, to his surprise, had delighted Wendy to no end. She'd become fond of dragging him off where the others couldn't see, and checking to make certain he hadn't forgotten.

He didn't mind, but he worried about what would happen when Peter found out. He certainly wouldn't approve, and Nibs was bravely anticipated facing down his wrath for Wendy's sake. 

-

AO3 link

[jisreal64]

So I have this idea for a unauthorized nonprofit web novel series that I want to write called “The Lost Continent”. It serves as both a fan-made adaptation of the theme park land of the same name at Universal’s Islands of Adventure Park in Florida, as well as a fanfic crossover between different media franchises, pieces of literature, and mythologies/religions. The series follows six children who discover that they are the saviors of a pocket dimension that features a parallel version of Earth with a mystical continent called “Antilia”, a which is home to various different lands and subcontinents such as Oz, Wonderland, Neverland, Middle Earth, Camelot, Narnia, Westeros, the Mushroom Kingdom, Hyrule, the Hundred Acre Woods, Far Far Away (Shrek), Andalasia (Enchanted), etc. There they are trained by teenaged versions Alice Liddell, Dorothy Gale, and Peter Pan to become heroes and fight off evil. The only problem is that I don’t know what website I should write upload it on, I could upload it here, but I feel like sites like AO3, Deviantart, and Wattpad are more popular for stuff like this, if you guys want me to see more of this concept and/or have any suggestions on what websites I can use, then please let me know.

[slotttralist]

[werothegreat]

That was the last anyone would ever see of Captain Hook.

Wendy, beaming with joy, turned then to Peter, and said, "Oh, we are now free, and we can go home! And of course you and all the Lost Boys must come with us back to London! I'm sure mother and father would be more than happy to make room for you all!"

The Lost Boys cheered, Nibs and Slightly, Curly and the Twins, and Tootles most of all, smiling so widely his head threatened to fall right off at the hinges. But Peter had neither cheers nor crows. It was as if a cloud had come over that enchanted face of his, that youthful visage never touched by time. "I..." he hesitated, his lips and cheeks twitching in distress. "I don't think I can, Wendy."

Wendy's face fell. "But whyever not, Peter? You say you want a mother, well, come have one! A real one." She reached for Peter's hands, and he let her take them, but he did not hold hers back.

"I remember when I first came here... I think." He gently pulled free of Wendy's hold, and with a short flight alighted atop Long Tom. "So long ago... it feels both like a million years past, yet also only yesterday..." He pressed one hand to his brow, wrinkled into more furrows than a freshly plowed field. "I... I know I keep forgetting things. Maybe it's because... because things are always the same here..." He looked up at Wendy, and for the first time she noticed a light in his eyes, a cognizance, an awareness that had never been there before. "There was... an old man. Only he wasn't really a man."

As he spoke, it was as if they could see it too, transported by Peter's words into his own memory. They saw Peter, a mere babe, toddling across the moss and ferns to a great being sitting criss-cross under a great willow tree. He was covered in fur, which was covered in moss and algae and toadstools, and sprouting from his forehead were two goat's horns, curling back into his matted hair. In his hands was a set of reeds, lashed together with flax twine, and they were raised to his lips as Peter approached. Through them he blew a mournful tune, a nursery lullaby they each half recognized, but couldn't fully place the words to.

Peter rose up on his hind legs like a bear cub. "Who are you?"

The old wild man finished playing, then dropped the pipes from his lips and his gaze to the small, eager child. "I am Pan. And this is my kingdom..." He gestured widely around him, encompassing the entire forest, the lagoon, the snow-capped mountain, and all the stars above. "...that which isn't, what cannot be, and what never was."

Peter blinked. "A Never Never Land."

Pan chuckled. "Yes, child. Such a perfect name, I should have thought of it myself." He played another tune upon his pipes, just as sorrowful.

"Why are you so sad?" Peter dropped onto his bottom next to Pan. The wild man has seemed so large and intimidating as he approached, but sitting next to him, the two were of a height. "I came here so I never had to grow up. Never to be a man or have responsibulliblees. Always to do what I want and never take orders from anyone. Can't that happen here?"

"Of course, that's what Never Never Land is for." Pan dropped his pipes again, wrapping one arm around Peter. "But I am old. I have been young and gay for so long that I am tired. I never did grow up, and I realize now that I missed the best part of my life."

Peter's nose screwed up like a pig's snout. "I doubt that. Being a child is the best. Being grown up seems awful and miserable."

"I thought as you did, once. But I am tired. The children forget me. They don't come here any longer. I am too old for them. They hear my pipes and it annoys them. Nymphs nor satyrs please them. Fairies, though, fairies never go out of fashion." Here he gave Peter a conspiratorial smile.

"I don't know what a nymph is, but I love pirates! Hearing about Blackbeard and Bluebeard and Davy Jones' Locker! Oh, and Indians! And mermaids!" Unbeknownst to Peter, the island around them began to fill with color. A galleon began to crest the horizon, headed for the lagoon, filled with subtle splashes and laughter, and atop the cliffs overlooking the water was a circle of wigwams that had not been there before.

Pan smiled then, a true smile, a smile of relief. "Then I leave my kingdom in good hands. Peter, you must be the Pan now."

The boy blinked. "Peter Pan?"

The old wild man closed his eyes for the last time, smiling, knowing he had passed on his legacy to someone worthy. Peter had already forgotten him, though, sprinting down to the lagoon to meet the mermaids he had just invented. All he left behind was a small mound of earth, covered in moss and algae and toadstools, with a few cattails beginning to grow out of it.

Peter turned from his memory back to Wendy. "There has to be a Pan. Neverland is... it's imagination. It's the wonder and joy of childhood. What would anyone have without it?"

The children turned to hear a sudden outburst of crying. Smee, still tied to the mast, was sobbing and shaking. "Why, that would be terrible! Even worse than no mothers! Children have to be children, don't they?"

Peter and Wendy shared a knowing glance, then Peter floated over to the old pirate, sword in hand. "And how much of an imagination do you have, Mr. Smee?"

"Who, me?" Smee blinked, his tears forgotten in the sudden attention. "Why, no more than anyone else, I suppose. Though I do daydream a bit, the cap'n, may he rest in, well, reptilian digestion, did yell at me and wave his hook at me whenever he caught me staring out at the island..."

Wendy sidled up next to him, grinning. "And what did you daydream about?"

"What? Oh, when I was a boy, I loved the circus. I used to wish I was in the big ring, leading around the elephants. Only never hurt them! I hated when they'd whip the animals, but just seeing them walking around, and the acrobats! Oh, to be an acrobat! How they got up there walking on that rope, I'll never know!"

Slightly, always the quickest to cotton on, hurried up. "And what else? Tell us, Smee!"

The old pirate chuckle. "Oh, I loved reading about Marco Polo's journeys. Camels, silks, Kublai Khan's court in China!"

Tootles had finally understood the assignment. "What about stuff that isn't real?"

"Oh, you mean like dragons?"

There was a sudden roar from the island, as of a great beast, and as they turned and looked, they saw a pillar of smoke rising up from the trees. And was that a pagoda peeking up on the far slopes of the mountain? And where the lagoon had been was now a great big colorful tent, covered in streamers and banners, and if they strained, they could hear the calliope music echoing out to them.

Smee blinked in confusion, his jaw slack, the tears drying on his cheeks. As he turned back to Peter, he gasped, for the boy was offering his very own sword to him, hilt first.

There was a catch in Peter's voice, a hesitance betraying how much will it was taking him to speak the question he now asked. "Smee, would you honor me in being the next Pan?"

Smee looked around at the lost boys, who had just finished untying him from the mast. When he looked back at Peter, he had the biggest, most purest, most beautiful grin on his face, and he took the sword.

Peter regarded the boy facing him, a mop of fresh curls almost covering his eyes, brandishing a sword almost too big for him, wearing pirate clothes barely clinging to a frame much smaller than they had been sized for. The boy once known as Smee crowed and clicked his heels together as he rose into the air, sword held aloft. "I'm the Pan! I'm the Pan!" And with a wink and giggle, he was flying out to find all his newly imagined adventures.

Wendy turned to Peter, holding out her hand. "Are you ready?"

Peter took the hand, softly smiling. "To grow up will be an awfully big adventure."

[roselynnthornwood]

Author IG: roselynnthornwood_author

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Artist IG: drea.d.art

Support her on Patreon!

[alastorsbride]

Hi I like to write stories I'm in love with Alastor from Hazbin Hotel, yes im aware that he's aroace. And that he doesn't exist 😭😔 but that doesn't stop me from loving him.

Im willing to write any story x reader from

Hazbin Hotel

Vox Machina

Once Upon A Time?

I'll add more as my obsession goes on. I'm a shifter. Also I get writers block a lot, I'm 17 and I love to write all sorts of fan fiction! And I love 18+ stuff so I won't refuse to do anything 18+ Request away I guess? I've never done this before so...

And for some reason I can't tag my other accounts so if anyone wants to know what they are then here you go

[shyfirerebelpeanut]

Yall are sheep controlled by the narrative, mindless drones brainwashed by the zeitgeist.

You probably don't even consider the opposite point of view before spewing your recycled rhetoric.

You probably think these 3 are villains:

Smh😔

[neverland93]

Peter Pan Imagine/ Respect

You’re having dinner at the table with the lost boys.

Enjoying the food, desserts, and drinks.

Peter leans in next to you and says “You know I respect you right?”

You look confused “ Yes of course … why?” You ask curious

He leans in even closer and whispers,

“Because when everyone goes to sleep, and I come into your cabin, it’s going to look like I don’t.”

[anne-chloe]

Imagine : They don’t realise that you can’t swim

Peter Pan x Reader

Summary : The Lost boys go swimming at mermaid lagoon, they toss you in and you nearly drown

Warning : Near death experience, drowning

“Come on, [Name]!”

You stood on the sidelines of the lagoon, fingers nervously twisting with the hem of your shirt. It was a bad idea for you to have even joined the Lost Boys in the mermaid lagoon, because you knew they’d want to swim deep and would drag you with them.

It was with this very thought that you resolved to back out, to announce that you were tired and you’d return to the camp.

But you were suddenly grabbed from behind.

You craned your head back to see Devin. His arms squeezed your waist as he lifted you up, your feet kicking wildly in protest. You gasped as he started to near the edge of the rocky slope, the deep water too close for comfort.

“No! Stop!” You shouted, wiggling your shoulders back and forth for release.

Devin snickered. “It’s a bit of water! Lighten up!”

Then, he threw you into the water.

The waters surface broke as you sank towards the bottom. Your entire body was stiff and tense, and you felt awfully like a rock in that moment. You let out a scream, air bubbles leaving your mouth as no sound came out.

You blinked, eyes stinging at the murky greens and blue of the lagoons depths. You couldn’t see the surface any more; you couldn’t see anything at all.

Surrounded and suffocated by the water, you felt your heart hammer wildly out of beat at the thought of dying in the mermaid lagoon.

A pair of arms wrapped around your waist before you felt the water rush past your skin. Within seconds, you broke the surface and let out a panicked gasp for air. You grabbed blindly at the person who had saved you; you were far too aware of the lack of ground beneath your feet.

“Calm down, calm down—“

Who was that talking?

You were pulled from the water and pushed onto the rocky slope. The hard ground brought immediate comfort and relief, and you couldn’t help but lie flat.

There was that terrible, salty taste of water on your lips, and your eyes stung horribly from the sea water. You coughed and panted for air, your lungs burning as water came rushing out your mouth.

“Look at me, [Name]— are you alright? Breathe!”

You squeezed your eyes shut, suddenly finding the afternoon sun too bright to handle. Then, when you reopened your eyes you found yourself staring into those familiar green ones. Instead of the usual mischief that you’d see, you found only worry and what appeared to be guilt.

“P-Peter…?” You stammered, another coughing fit cutting you off.

Peter sighed loudly and pulled you in for a hug. His arms around you gave the strange sense of ease and comfort. “Why didn’t you say that you couldn’t swim?”

“I-I didn’t think it was important,” you coughed again, watching in disgust as water dripped from your face. You couldn’t tell if they were tears or from the sea.

Peter glared harshly at you, his arms giving a small squeeze. “Of course it was important,” he scolded, “you could have died.”

You lowered your head, feeling awkward and ashamed that you had troubled Peter and the Lost Boys like that. “I’m sorry, Peter. I just didn’t think something like this would ever happen.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “The Lost Boys will think twice about doing something like that again,” he muttered.

As Peter held you close to his chest, you couldn’t help but wonder why he had been the one to pull you from the water. Usually, he was so cold and cruel with the Lost Boys, never stepping in to save them if they needed rescuing. His excuse was that “all Lost Boys should take care of themselves, if they can’t then they’re weak.” It was only fair to assume that the rule applied to you.

But with one subtle glance around the lagoon, you could see that the Lost Boys were just as stunned as you.

[the-bar-sinister]

Did living with the lost boys make any mark on her, Wendy wonders, staring into the mirror at her ringlet hair and her bright eyes. Unlike her brothers, Neverland failed to leave her with even one scar— not even the spot on her chest, narrowly saved by a button.

She wonders if she was born to be a tamed creature, like a horse broken and ridden. If it is her immutable nature, somehow.

She reminds herself that it is she who rejected Pan and stole his boys. 

She reminds herself that London, too, is wild. 

And that she is free.

-

AO3 link

[anulight]

George and Sabrina end up in the dream state together.

[writeblrwithfangs]

I did know a time before yesterday where I felt violated...a couple times really,but I try not to think about that . That same husk of an empty shadow that follows you around from the knowledge that, in the back of your mind somebody you’re unfamiliar with is staring at you.

It’s often metaphorical and literal when I describe how my the skin covering my body; the stillness from how overwhelming the unpleasant concept of that reality. I’ve always remembered the detail of the day when it occurred and of course the Rotton Guys name although that really didn’t work out in my favor...

For multiple reasons I assume (REDACTED) was already aware of. Which I wasn’t as socially aware as I am today. (I wonder if that’s a Trauma thing or something else.

I guess this helps the conflicting emotions I have on a daily basis. For worrying so much where I look out for safety beyond the same four walls I found myself in during multiple friendless years.

I am no longer alone now. But I do worry about the eyes from distant lands under a pseudonym of another(?),if I had to guess considering the FBI is involved.

when I became a statue made of ice and frozen away in time with the mirror and water in the bathroom of his house. After that day, I often imagined his home would go up in flames and the fire department would get called onto him to see a fire that’s not reallly there. With the devastating effects of isolation and loneliness towards the harm of toxic friendships and wholesome relationships. (Unexpected dramas!) that would soon be my current livelihood that led to that same violated feeling by another, or an organization of people using the image of myself...

My family...

It’s almost 3am and it feels like that day again.

That was a Thursday too.