Peter Pan Imagines

Peter Pan Imagine: The Sketchbook Boy

Requested by ​

"So I just got a great idea for you if you're willing. How about the reader keeps sketching this mysterious boy that she sees in her dreams, (yeah, I'm on the Peter Pan track :) and one night he shows up and takes her and her sketchbook to Neverland.. Then he finds the drawings please you can take it from there!! Love ya and your work bud!! 😁❤️"

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"Who's that?"

You jumped, slamming the sketch book, which sat in between your criss crossed legs. You looked up frightened, thinking nobody else was in the house with you.

"When did you get here?" you asked the woman who stood, watching you draw line after line in your book over your shoulder; your mother to be exact.

She shrugged, bringing some sort of liquid (which looked to be like grape fruit juice) to her mouth, "I just figured I'd come check on you, you've been quiet for a while."

You nodded, discretely nudging the book off of your lap as if it had never been there, "So have you, did you need anything?"

"No, not particularly, but now I'm curious who you were just drawing," she paused for a moment, sending you a suggestive eyebrow wiggle, "Is it a crush you have?"

You scoffed, giggling a bit at the absurd idea, "No, mom, don't worry about it; it's nothing."

That was a lie.

"Sure, " she said sarcastically, " I'll just leave you here to draw..."

You jokingly rolled your eyes at her as she practically bounced out of your room, giggling joyfully at the though of knowing one of your secrets. You waited until her bouncy footsteps retreated from your ears before bringing out the book of drawings once again, opening it up to continue the sketch you were working on.

You had told your snooping mom that this sketch was nothing, but that was far from the truth. It was actually almost scary how it seemed to be the only thing you could draw; it made you feel like a robot in a factory, mass producing the same thing over and over again. P

Every. Single. Time.

Was it at least seven times by now? How many times would it take until you did NOT get distracted and turn it into the usual thing; a boy with floppy hair, a botton nose, and an evil smirk.

You flipped through the most recent pages in the book, all filled with a different drawing of the same boy. You couldn't even recall ever meeting the handsome teenager, so why was he the inspiration for your art?

You sighed, confused, and shut the book with a smack. 

Taking it over to set it on your desk by the window, you then clumsily flopped into bed; being tired wasn't going to help you solve the mystery.

You curled up into a ball, dragging the blankets up to your neck and flopping around a bit to get comfortable. Snuggled up to your plush stuffed animal, which you had had since you were little, you went to work in trying to block the disturbing thoughts of the drawings out of your head. 

Before you knew it, you were fast asleep, caught in a dark, inky puddle of dreamy black.

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The next day at school you found yourself hiding your sketches from the teacher, blocking any view of the book with your bulky desk. You tried to pay attention to the lectures, you really did, but sometimes the constant droning of the woman's voice just set you over the edge. This time you swore that if you didn't have a distraction you would run out of the room before she could begin her first sentence.