(Disney) Unravelled
January 11th, 2011 01:31![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
salmon_pinkTitle: Unravelled
Fandom: Disney (Tangled)
Pairing: Flynn/Rapunzel
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1690
Notes: Bondage. Spoilers. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
100_men, prompt "tie".
A/N: So I finally wrote something new!! Except it's Disney smut. I don't even know what's wrong with my brain. Apologies for rusty writing.
Summary: When things go wrong for Flynn, they go all kinds of wrong.
Flynn Rider is having an off-day. What makes it all the more difficult to stomach is the fact that, up until about an hour ago, he was having an awesome day.
He’d successfully stolen the crown of the lost princess. He’d managed to not only shake off the Stabbington brothers, something he’d planned from the beginning to avoid splitting the loot, but had done so in a way that ensured their capture by the palace guards, meaning they’d be safely behind bars and unable to enact revenge. He’d found a hiding place so isolated that even that crazy horse wouldn’t be able to find him. Basically, he’d won.
Yep, best day ever.
And then something happened, and everything went south.
That ‘something’ is standing in front of him right now, her delicate features contorted in suspicion and the hold she has on that frying pan is anything but delicate.
The crown has been stolen away from him, hidden. Flynn is a prisoner. His head hurts from multiple frying pan wounds. A frog has had its tongue in his ear. Twice.
And the worst of it all (because Flynn has learnt that it can always get worse) is that his being tied to a chair means he can’t really do much to hide how damn turned on he is.
Flynn doesn’t have a bondage kink. Really. Really. He’s been caught before, tied up, shackled, bound and gagged, the works. Escaped every time, because he’s amazing like that.
He’s never found himself achingly hard because of it before.
It’s her hair. God, he can’t get over that, and he can feel a droplet of sweat trickle down the back of his neck. Endlessly long blonde hair, wrapped around him. Impossibly strong against him, but also soft and silky and when she lightly tugs at it, hands moving as she emphasises her point, the sensation of it gently contracting around him is like a caress.
All that hair, and it all leads back to her. Beautiful golden girl with beautiful golden hair, and his mouth goes dry just to look at her. She’s not even his type, beyond that whole beautiful thing. He’s always had a thing for older women, women who have seen it all before and don’t expect a commitment, just a good time. Which doesn’t explain why his heart had stuttered at the sight of her, stepping cautiously out of the shadows, frying pan raised like the dangerous weapon it’s proving to be.
She’s a total innocent, that much is frighteningly obvious. Scared of him, of his presence, but absolutely determined to make the most of it, to blackmail him.
It could almost be like a fantasy - find a girl hidden in a tower, a girl who appears to have never met a man before, and to teach her love. Well, maybe not love, Flynn doesn’t really do love, but lust, that’s an entirely different matter.
Except he’s tied up and straining against his breeches, so apparently she’s the one who’s teaching him about lust. Not that she seems to realise that. He’s kind of hoping she won’t, because he already feels more than acquainted with the frying pan, he doesn’t need the imminent beating when she notices how fiercely aroused he is.
She doesn’t even seem to notice the way he’s not so much breathing as he is panting.
She’s talking again, pacing a little. Laying out the details of this deal that she’s coercing him into.
As soon as she turns away from him, Flynn shifts as best he can. Wriggles his hips a little, hoping that his vest will fall over the obvious tenting between his legs, obscure it from her eyes. Except somehow he just ends up dragging the sensitive flesh of his erection against the fabric of his britches, instantly thrusting helplessly against the air in response, and then rubbing himself back against the solid wood of the chair.
Rapunzel turns to look at him, eyes flickering over him swiftly, and he’s an accomplished thief so he’s not sure why he feels like a naughty child caught pilfering sweets.
Thankfully she doesn’t shriek or throw the frying pan at his head. In fact, she doesn’t seem to notice his discomfort at all.
She apparently thinks his fidgeting is an attempt at escape, because she promptly wraps her hands more firmly around her hair (blonde tendrils looping around feminine fingers, and Flynn swallows thickly at the sight) and gives it a hard yank.
The coils holding Flynn to the chair instantly tighten, and he has to fight the urge to moan out loud.
Damn, the movement of it, the sensation, gentle but solid against his bare wrists, rougher friction where it rubs his shirt against him directly over his nipples, and he can feel them, erect and aching for more of that rasping contact. It’s like he can’t breathe, and he knows logically that the hair isn’t so tight around his chest as to cut off his air, but it still feels as if he can’t get enough oxygen, dizzy and gasping.
She’s so naïve, and he feels like he’s taking advantage of that without even touching her, and he can’t even tell if that makes it worse or better.
He wants more of it. Wants to feel that hair wrapped around his waist, insistent pressure of it low on his stomach. Wants it to bind his hands behind his back, just high enough up his spine to hurt him. Wants it around his ankles, holding his legs bound. No, wants it holding them open, leaving him spread and exposed, and he’s too lost in it now, and the tower room fades away, her voice echoes in his mind. God, he wants so badly, wants to lie on a bed of that hair, wants to taste it as it wraps around his jaw, presses over his mouth, muffles his voice so he can’t cry out. Helpless to this girl and her hair, this girl who should be the helpless one, and he’s on fire for it, heated and flushed and trying not to twist within her hold.
He doesn’t care if she sees anymore. Hell, he wants her to see. To see the power she has over him in that moment, never mind that he hates to feel out of control. Wants her to exploit it, wants her, wants her touch and yet wants her to hold it just out of his reach, keeping him restrained by the utter tease of all that damn hair, and there’s no stopping it now. He’s gone, rational thought leaving him, and he realises with something that should be horror but is probably more like conflicted excitement that he’s going to come like this, untouched where he needs it, bound to a chair by long, blonde hair.
He shudders, strains a little against the hair, but he knows it won’t give. Just wants more of that friction, and he can just imagine it, twirled around his cock, loose then tight, loose then tight, dragging over him as Rapunzel slowly pulls at it, that sweet smile turning sharp as she gently unravels his control.
“Do you want it?” she murmurs, her voice sounding like it’s coming from far away.
“Yes, so much,” he hisses in response, eyes falling closed and head tilting back, inviting her to do whatever she wants.
“Great, then we should get going!” she chirps and the tower feels like it’s falling on his head as reality crashes back down around him. “If you want that crown as badly as you say you do, you better start guiding me towards the lights straight away.”
And with an expert flick of her wrist, the hair jerks and quickly slips away from him, sailing back across the room to land at her feet.
It’s a miracle that Flynn manages to stifle his yelp, but that’s the limit of his finesse. The shock of it, of being snapped out of the fantasy, at the realisation of how messed up his own thoughts have been, it should all be enough to dampen the hormones in his system for the foreseeable future.
Instead, all he can feel is the tingling burn in his wrists where that hair had whipped away from his skin, the sudden release of the pressure over his nipples, the sight of all that blonde hair cascading to the floor in front of him.
Flynn realises that he’s just officially given up on pride or decency as he doubles forward and helplessly comes in his breeches.
It’s only shock that stops his hands dropping to his lap to squeeze and rub and touch himself in the way he needs. Instead they remain on the arms of the chair, their grip white-knuckled. He gasps once, twice, hips jerking slightly, cold sweat on his skin as desire and completion rock through him, leave him shivering uncontrollably.
And Rapunzel is happily chattering away, obliviously talking to her frog, as Flynn tries to come down from the weirdest orgasm he’s ever had.
He lets the world buzz around him for a few moments, vision edged black, until he can will the shudder from his thighs.
When he lets his mind return to the present, she’s standing at the edge of the windowsill, eyes huge and nervous as she glances at the world outside. All that blonde hair trails behind her like a velveteen snake.
“You ready?” she asks, and he can hear the way she’s using impatience and bravado to try to mask the fact that she’s terrified.
Flynn is weirdly terrified as well, but for a very different reason. There’s a warm wet patch between his legs, he can feel the flush on his cheeks, he’s breathing heavily, head ducked down and staring at her through the cover of his own hair. Looking debauched, no other word for it, and she still has no idea of the effect she’s just had on him.
He takes a deep, calming breath. “Sure. But first,” he says, and he can hear how husky and abused his voice sounds. “Is there a bathroom in this joint?”
Fandom: Disney (Tangled)
Pairing: Flynn/Rapunzel
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1690
Notes: Bondage. Spoilers. For
100_men, prompt "tie".A/N: So I finally wrote something new!! Except it's Disney smut. I don't even know what's wrong with my brain. Apologies for rusty writing.
Summary: When things go wrong for Flynn, they go all kinds of wrong.
Flynn Rider is having an off-day. What makes it all the more difficult to stomach is the fact that, up until about an hour ago, he was having an awesome day.
He’d successfully stolen the crown of the lost princess. He’d managed to not only shake off the Stabbington brothers, something he’d planned from the beginning to avoid splitting the loot, but had done so in a way that ensured their capture by the palace guards, meaning they’d be safely behind bars and unable to enact revenge. He’d found a hiding place so isolated that even that crazy horse wouldn’t be able to find him. Basically, he’d won.
Yep, best day ever.
And then something happened, and everything went south.
That ‘something’ is standing in front of him right now, her delicate features contorted in suspicion and the hold she has on that frying pan is anything but delicate.
The crown has been stolen away from him, hidden. Flynn is a prisoner. His head hurts from multiple frying pan wounds. A frog has had its tongue in his ear. Twice.
And the worst of it all (because Flynn has learnt that it can always get worse) is that his being tied to a chair means he can’t really do much to hide how damn turned on he is.
Flynn doesn’t have a bondage kink. Really. Really. He’s been caught before, tied up, shackled, bound and gagged, the works. Escaped every time, because he’s amazing like that.
He’s never found himself achingly hard because of it before.
It’s her hair. God, he can’t get over that, and he can feel a droplet of sweat trickle down the back of his neck. Endlessly long blonde hair, wrapped around him. Impossibly strong against him, but also soft and silky and when she lightly tugs at it, hands moving as she emphasises her point, the sensation of it gently contracting around him is like a caress.
All that hair, and it all leads back to her. Beautiful golden girl with beautiful golden hair, and his mouth goes dry just to look at her. She’s not even his type, beyond that whole beautiful thing. He’s always had a thing for older women, women who have seen it all before and don’t expect a commitment, just a good time. Which doesn’t explain why his heart had stuttered at the sight of her, stepping cautiously out of the shadows, frying pan raised like the dangerous weapon it’s proving to be.
She’s a total innocent, that much is frighteningly obvious. Scared of him, of his presence, but absolutely determined to make the most of it, to blackmail him.
It could almost be like a fantasy - find a girl hidden in a tower, a girl who appears to have never met a man before, and to teach her love. Well, maybe not love, Flynn doesn’t really do love, but lust, that’s an entirely different matter.
Except he’s tied up and straining against his breeches, so apparently she’s the one who’s teaching him about lust. Not that she seems to realise that. He’s kind of hoping she won’t, because he already feels more than acquainted with the frying pan, he doesn’t need the imminent beating when she notices how fiercely aroused he is.
She doesn’t even seem to notice the way he’s not so much breathing as he is panting.
She’s talking again, pacing a little. Laying out the details of this deal that she’s coercing him into.
As soon as she turns away from him, Flynn shifts as best he can. Wriggles his hips a little, hoping that his vest will fall over the obvious tenting between his legs, obscure it from her eyes. Except somehow he just ends up dragging the sensitive flesh of his erection against the fabric of his britches, instantly thrusting helplessly against the air in response, and then rubbing himself back against the solid wood of the chair.
Rapunzel turns to look at him, eyes flickering over him swiftly, and he’s an accomplished thief so he’s not sure why he feels like a naughty child caught pilfering sweets.
Thankfully she doesn’t shriek or throw the frying pan at his head. In fact, she doesn’t seem to notice his discomfort at all.
She apparently thinks his fidgeting is an attempt at escape, because she promptly wraps her hands more firmly around her hair (blonde tendrils looping around feminine fingers, and Flynn swallows thickly at the sight) and gives it a hard yank.
The coils holding Flynn to the chair instantly tighten, and he has to fight the urge to moan out loud.
Damn, the movement of it, the sensation, gentle but solid against his bare wrists, rougher friction where it rubs his shirt against him directly over his nipples, and he can feel them, erect and aching for more of that rasping contact. It’s like he can’t breathe, and he knows logically that the hair isn’t so tight around his chest as to cut off his air, but it still feels as if he can’t get enough oxygen, dizzy and gasping.
She’s so naïve, and he feels like he’s taking advantage of that without even touching her, and he can’t even tell if that makes it worse or better.
He wants more of it. Wants to feel that hair wrapped around his waist, insistent pressure of it low on his stomach. Wants it to bind his hands behind his back, just high enough up his spine to hurt him. Wants it around his ankles, holding his legs bound. No, wants it holding them open, leaving him spread and exposed, and he’s too lost in it now, and the tower room fades away, her voice echoes in his mind. God, he wants so badly, wants to lie on a bed of that hair, wants to taste it as it wraps around his jaw, presses over his mouth, muffles his voice so he can’t cry out. Helpless to this girl and her hair, this girl who should be the helpless one, and he’s on fire for it, heated and flushed and trying not to twist within her hold.
He doesn’t care if she sees anymore. Hell, he wants her to see. To see the power she has over him in that moment, never mind that he hates to feel out of control. Wants her to exploit it, wants her, wants her touch and yet wants her to hold it just out of his reach, keeping him restrained by the utter tease of all that damn hair, and there’s no stopping it now. He’s gone, rational thought leaving him, and he realises with something that should be horror but is probably more like conflicted excitement that he’s going to come like this, untouched where he needs it, bound to a chair by long, blonde hair.
He shudders, strains a little against the hair, but he knows it won’t give. Just wants more of that friction, and he can just imagine it, twirled around his cock, loose then tight, loose then tight, dragging over him as Rapunzel slowly pulls at it, that sweet smile turning sharp as she gently unravels his control.
“Do you want it?” she murmurs, her voice sounding like it’s coming from far away.
“Yes, so much,” he hisses in response, eyes falling closed and head tilting back, inviting her to do whatever she wants.
“Great, then we should get going!” she chirps and the tower feels like it’s falling on his head as reality crashes back down around him. “If you want that crown as badly as you say you do, you better start guiding me towards the lights straight away.”
And with an expert flick of her wrist, the hair jerks and quickly slips away from him, sailing back across the room to land at her feet.
It’s a miracle that Flynn manages to stifle his yelp, but that’s the limit of his finesse. The shock of it, of being snapped out of the fantasy, at the realisation of how messed up his own thoughts have been, it should all be enough to dampen the hormones in his system for the foreseeable future.
Instead, all he can feel is the tingling burn in his wrists where that hair had whipped away from his skin, the sudden release of the pressure over his nipples, the sight of all that blonde hair cascading to the floor in front of him.
Flynn realises that he’s just officially given up on pride or decency as he doubles forward and helplessly comes in his breeches.
It’s only shock that stops his hands dropping to his lap to squeeze and rub and touch himself in the way he needs. Instead they remain on the arms of the chair, their grip white-knuckled. He gasps once, twice, hips jerking slightly, cold sweat on his skin as desire and completion rock through him, leave him shivering uncontrollably.
And Rapunzel is happily chattering away, obliviously talking to her frog, as Flynn tries to come down from the weirdest orgasm he’s ever had.
He lets the world buzz around him for a few moments, vision edged black, until he can will the shudder from his thighs.
When he lets his mind return to the present, she’s standing at the edge of the windowsill, eyes huge and nervous as she glances at the world outside. All that blonde hair trails behind her like a velveteen snake.
“You ready?” she asks, and he can hear the way she’s using impatience and bravado to try to mask the fact that she’s terrified.
Flynn is weirdly terrified as well, but for a very different reason. There’s a warm wet patch between his legs, he can feel the flush on his cheeks, he’s breathing heavily, head ducked down and staring at her through the cover of his own hair. Looking debauched, no other word for it, and she still has no idea of the effect she’s just had on him.
He takes a deep, calming breath. “Sure. But first,” he says, and he can hear how husky and abused his voice sounds. “Is there a bathroom in this joint?”
no subject
Date: 11/01/2011 10:51 (UTC)This is awesome. I should probably feel guilty for liking Dinsey smut so much...but I don't. Maybe they should stop making their characters so hot.
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Date: 11/01/2011 17:45 (UTC)no subject
Date: 28/01/2011 00:52 (UTC)...I've really missed you, Salmon. Welcome back.
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Date: 28/01/2011 09:52 (UTC)no subject
Date: 23/02/2011 19:42 (UTC)Disney smut normally makes me all guilty that it "rapes my childhood," so I should be lucky that Tangled was released well into my adulthood. You rule. And you wrote that "Liquored Down" one, too. I'll be looking forward to anything else you write from now on.
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Date: 23/02/2011 20:25 (UTC)Yeah, I don't feel like I have to fight my way past the but-my-childhood block with Tangled, since I'm a smut-writing adult now. Which just makes me want to write and read delicious dirtybadwrong fic for it. ;)
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Date: 23/02/2011 20:29 (UTC)no subject
Date: 23/02/2011 20:38 (UTC)no subject
Date: 23/02/2011 20:45 (UTC)no subject
Date: 23/02/2011 21:37 (UTC)no subject
Date: 23/02/2011 21:41 (UTC)no subject
Date: 12/04/2011 05:49 (UTC)But seriously, beautifully written.
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Date: 13/04/2011 16:53 (UTC)no subject
Date: 13/04/2011 23:53 (UTC)Hahaha I actually ended up drawing it, too. Hair bondage tentacle porn, I mean. I COULDN'T GET IT OUT OF MY BRAIN. The link is here but it is SO NOT SAFE FOR WORK OH MY GOD (http://froggie.livejournal.com/449851.html#cutid1) XD
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Date: 17/04/2011 16:07 (UTC)in all honesty I lurk here for your One Piece smut, but this is just... I can't even FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF <3
moar tenthaircles plz?? x
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Date: 18/04/2011 23:53 (UTC)no subject
Date: 08/07/2011 01:55 (UTC)no subject
Date: 08/07/2011 11:27 (UTC)no subject
Date: 09/07/2011 04:39 (UTC)