Robbie Kay Imagines - COMPLETED

the one where the little bird snaps - aka Done With You - Rewritten

Y/N stood off to the side of the gathering circle. Her arms were crossed over her chest, hugging her arms tightly and blanketing herself from the chill of the evening air. The moon peered down through the branches of the evergreen canopy overhead. It cast dancing shadows in her eyes.

Y/N could barely remember her childhood anymore. She could barely remember the weekends she spent with her siblings, running up and down the street with a ball and no real set of rules that had her brother and younger sister shouting and kicking at each other. She could barely remember her mother gently waking her up or how it was so different from her father, who would barge into the room, clapping and singing an old Billy Joel song.

Worst of all, she could barely recall why she would choose to leave it behind for a monster that hid behind priceless emerald eyes and a boyish smile.

Peter jumped up onto a fallen tree trunk, his arms moving through the air as he retold a story of an evil pirate he once bested. He'd point to the spots on his forest green tunic where he'd been hurt. He referred to them as his trophy scars. He spoke about them in a way that painted him less heroic and more demented. Even from far away where she stood, she could see the glint of pride he took in pain, even if it was his own.

Y/N glared at the way he soaked in the cheers of the lost boys, manipulated by his perfectly tailored stories and arguments. She wondered if this is what her parents meant when they would mutter under their breaths about some wicked politician.

Peter stiffened atop the log he posed on. His head jerked to where Y/N stood small under the Hangman's Tree. He snapped his fingers and the camp went silent. Even the wildlife stilled for a moment.

Y/N's breath caught in her throat when she found her eyes held captive by his dark ones. She let her arms fall to her side, her fingers twisting and ripping the fabric of the shorts she'd already sewn back together once this week.

"Oh, little bird," Peter sang. He chuckled and beckoned Y/N over with his right hand. She stood stiff, shaking her head. She kept twisting the fabric around her finger, pulling at it, and focusing on the sound of the tears instead of him.

"Y/N," Peter said sternly, louder. His shoulders squared and jaw clenched tightly. The hand that he had waved at her was now balled up into a fist, his fingernails surely digging into the palm of his hand.

It wasn't unusual for Peter to snap at her. It was almost unheard of to not see it. At first, the boys were alarmed, worried Pan might just lose it on her. He never did. But that didn't make it any less chilling. Eventually, the boys started cheering it on. Y/N never paid any mind when they'd do it, but when Peter did, oh did it make his face all the more punchable.

"Y/n!" Peter was fuming. He dropped down off of the log and took only a few long strides to end up at her toes, huffing down in front of her.

Under his proud stature, Y/N felt insignificant. Peter was tall, but the way he stood with his shoulders back, chin tilted high and his feet firm where he planted them-powerful.

Y/N swallowed thickly when he tilted his head down to her and clicked his tongue.

"I've been calling you, haven't I?" He asked. "Have you gone deaf?"

"No, Peter. I have not gone deaf," Y/N said with a sigh. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.

Peter raised a brow and scoffed. He stood up tall and placed his hands on his hips.

"Oh, well, good. You worried there. Was afraid I'd have to replace my little bird." Peter smirked. "I'd be such a shame to get rid of a perfectly good servant. Be a good little bird and make me something to eat or something."