Peter Pan OUAT One-Shots/Imagines

Untouchable (x Male! Reader Request)

Request for Jodie Fent

Warnings: Alcohol abuse, child abuse, very strong homophobia (including slurs), strong language 

He drank most on Fridays; he was violent most on Fridays. Granted, my father drank every day, but Fridays were the worst. 

His empty bottle broke against the wall and I flinched involuntarily at the crash. Guess I would be cleaning that up later. 

"You scared? Huh? You fuckin' scared, Y/N?" He laughed. 

That was a loaded question. Say yes and he'd be angry. Say no and he'd be angry. Say nothing and he'd be angry. 

"No," I decided, but the shake in my voice betrayed me. 

He cackled again, grabbing a half-empty bottle of gin off the counter to take a swing. Yeah, I'm a glass-half-empty kind of person. Sue me. 

"Good. Maybe you've finally got some sense in you." 

I didn't answer as he set the bottle back down. There was no point. 

"Let's test that sense. You done actin' like a faggot?" 

The words should have hurt. But I'd heard them enough that I was numb to them. 

"Answer me!" 

Safety or honesty? Avoid some of my beating or stay true to myself? It was a question I was faced with every day. I wish I had never been outed to my father, but my ex-boyfriend had shown up at the house and my dad answered the door, asking who he was, which he answered, not knowing about the violence behind closed doors. 

After that, he'd been sent away and everything got worse. 

"No." 

"Dammit, Y/N!" He swung a punch at me, knocking me in the face and sending me tumbling to the ground. His foot came down on my stomach hard, knocking the wind out of me as I struggled to breathe. "You fucking queer! You're sick, hear me? Sick!" 

I struggled under his weight, but that just angered him and he partially lifted me just to slam me back into the floor. "Stop! Please, please stop, dad... Please..." 

"Trying to tell me what to do? I'm the man of this house, understand? And no homo is going to tell me what to do." 

"D- Dad, please!" 

"You'll burn for this, you know? You're gonna rot in hell and I'll look down from heaven and laugh." 

My head spun as it was slammed into the floor again. I heard him say something else, but then I heard a new voice, a voice I didn't recognize.

My vision was blurred, but I saw a figure pick me up before I faded away. 

~+~

When I woke up, I puked all over the floor before realizing I had no idea where I was. A treehouse of some sort. 

Weakly, I tried to get to my feet just as the trapdoor opened and a boy entered. My knees gave out, but he ran forward, catching me and helping me back onto the bed just in time. 

"Whoa, careful. You've got a concussion." 

I scooted away from him. "Who are you?" 

"My name is Peter. Peter Pan. I have scouts to look for boys that need a better home. One of them suggested you, and I'm glad he did because your father probably would have killed you if I didn't show up when I did." 

"W- What? Peter Pan? That's a children's story." 

He shrugged. "So is Rumplestilskin. Your point?"