hello loverboy!!!!

Peter Pan Request: “One Insult from War”

Request: “Hello! Could you do 92 with Peter Pan please? I was also wondering if it could end in a smut way not angry. If you know what I mean? Thanks!”
      “You’re one insult away from starting a war.”

Warning: SMUT Word Count: 3,215 (Jesus, this is excessive. I didn’t realize how long it was until I finished. I wrote this all in one sitting, too. I got really into it, I guess… sorry, hope it’s not a drag!)

“Get away from him, Peter!” you cry out, rushing to aid the little boy pressed against the tree in fear, apple bobbing dangerously on the top of his head.

“Get out of the way, (Y/N),” Peter warns angrily, in a low voice.

“No,” you jut your chin out stubbornly. You pick the apple off the boy’s head and hid him behind you, standing in front of him protectively. You turn to Peter challengingly, and place the blood red apple on the top of your own head. “If you want to play, Pan, I guess you’ll just have to play with me.”

Pan raises an eyebrow, unable to hide his smirk. He looks impressed and taken aback. “You want me to shoot you, (Y/N)?” You raise an eyebrow sassily in response, waiting. “Don’t tempt me,” he hisses this time, losing his cool.

“Is that a threat, Pan?” you scoff. You egg him on, “Come on, prove you’re not just a little coward who needs to pick on kids half his size…”

Pan’s face twists into rage. “Be careful, (Y/N)…” he growls in a low voice.

“Or what?” you taunt. “You’ll pretend to shoot me?” You pause in mock thought. “Or maybe you’ll try to throw me in a cage?”

Pan’s jaw clenches. You take his silence as an open invitation to continue.

“Come on, stop being such a fearful little boy. Shoot me,” you goad him.

You smirk in victory as Pan raises his crossbow and releases an arrow aimed for the apple balancing perilously on your head in one swift movement. The sharp piercing sound seems magnified as your heart beats faster as soon as the arrow whizzes by you. You know Peter would never shoot you, but you can’t help a split second’s doubt.

“Didn’t know you had it in you,” you shrug simply. You pull the little boy out from behind him and urge him to leave; he scampers off, shaking half in fear and half in relief.

Peter crosses the distance between the two of you rapidly and pushes you back against the tree, crossbow in one hand, the other pressed against the bark next to your head, brushing against your hair. “Don’t ever challenge me again, (Y/N),” he threatens, his words released in the form of a growl deep in his throat.

“Why not?” you retort sarcastically, rolling your eyes. “You’re nothing but empty threats and an overinflated ego. Just because you think you rule this island, doesn’t mean everyone has to bow down to you and kiss your feet.”

“What is your problem?” Pan yells at you. “Why do you have to be such a pain in the ass?”

You laugh mirthlessly. “My problem? My problem is you, Pan. Keeping me in that God awful cage was my first cue you were a psychopath. But then you had to go and throw Danny in one, too, just because he admitted feelings for me. And now you’re keeping me on this island like a prisoner. I may be a Lost Girl, but I’m not your Lost Girl,” you spit back.

Pan’s eyes flash in pain, but he keeps his expression hardened. “Come on, let’s not pretend you actually cared for him like that. Now…” he lowers his voice and brings his face inches from yours. “Talk to me like that again, Lost Girl, and I’ll make your life a living hell.”

You lift your head up to look at him and narrow your eyes, infuriated, “God, you’re so stubborn and blind, Pan. My life already is a living hell, and you’re Satan.”

Pan throws his crossbow on the ground angrily and traps you in between both his arms angrily. “That’s it!” he snarls. “You’re one insult away from starting a war.”

You push your hand against his chest to push him off of you. “You’re on, Peter Pan.”


In the heat of the moment, starting a war with Peter seemed satisfying, maybe even thrilling. But ten seconds after the words escaped your mouth, you instantly regretted it. Peter Pan’s face betrayed no fear, and instead exuded self-confidence and determination. You knew he would never lose to anyone, let alone go down without a fight. You braced yourself for a long and dirty fight. But you never expected it to last this long.

It’s been two weeks since your fight. You had woken up the day after expecting Pan to be waiting outside your tent to drag you and throw you in the cages for a week, starving you out so you would have to beg for release, losing automatically. So you were surprised the next day finding him walking around camp casually, as if nothing was wrong. Except something was wrong. He was ignoring you. He never so much as turned to look in your direction, not even to throw you a glare or death stare. It continued like this all day. When the boys went hunting, you weren’t invited. You had shrugged it off - you weren’t going to complain if Pan was going to make less work for you. When they returned, you weren’t asked to help with the cooking. But when it came time to eat…

Jasen glanced up nervously at you. You looked at him funnily, raising an eyebrow questioningly when he didn’t place a piece of meat in your hand when it was your turn in line to receive food. He looked at you nervously, then glanced at Pan, who sat on a log cockily a few feet away. “Um…”

Your jaw dropped at his denial to serve you, and you scoffed. “Pan set you up to this, didn’t he?” You demanded.

“I’m r-really s-sorry, (Y/N)…”

You swallowed hard angrily and gritted your teeth. “It’s alright Jase, I get it.” You stormed off angrily, heading straight for Pan. He didn’t even acknowledge you, merely stared into the fire ahead contentedly.

“You’re going to have to do better than that, Pan,” you snarled in his face. “I’m your best hunter, you know you can’t starve me.” Peter smirked lightly when he heard you call yourself his hunter, but apart from that ignores you. You didn’t give him the satisfaction by appearing annoyed by his lack of response, not wasting time to return to your tent and grab your bow, preparing yourself to hunt, even if it was dark.

And so it continued, for days, you hunting alone. All the boys on the island refused to feed you whenever it was their turn to serve. You had stopped trying after the third day. As soon as Pan lost that battle, he shifted course.

On the fifth night, the night of the weekly bonfire, he started another game. That night, no one drank with you or spoke to you, not even Felix. You sat at the edge of the fire on a log, alone, but the boys danced carelessly to the tune of Pan’s fluting, paying you no mind. After an hour and a half of silent treatment and sitting soberly on a hard log, you clenched your jaw and mustered up all the dignity you had left and turned in for the night early. You sat in your tent, covering your ears, mentally begging for the melodious sound of Pan’s flute to stop carrying itself into your room, tempting you to go out and dance with the lost boys. You hated that it had that effect on you. I may be a Lost Girl, you thought to yourself bitterly, but I’m not your Lost Girl. Turning on your side on your bed restlessly, you covered your ears with your fluffy pillow, willing for sleep to take your consciousness from you.

It was now the second week, and you grew tired from hunting every day, alone, with no one to double up with you or build traps with you. No one was allowed to speak to you, and even though some of your close friends gave you sympathetic smiles here and there, and Felix sometimes a brief, faint nod of the head, no one dared cross Pan. Their fear of him was greater than any loyalty they owed you.

Your eyes formed dark circles under them and your face paled from countless sleepless nights and pure exhaustion and misery. Sometimes, you even caught yourself missing talking to Pan. You missed his smile, his green eyes on you, even the quirk of his eyebrows and his arrogant smirks. You hated that he was ignoring you, and even more, that it had an effect on you.

But Pan didn’t stop there. If he noticed your strife, he either didn’t care, or he was enjoying it. On the thirteenth day, he dragged a boy from the cages by the collar and dropped him roughly in front of where you sat, on a low tree branch on the outskirts of the forest. “Say hello to loverboy, (Y/N),” he spat bitterly, rousing you from your silent thoughts.

You jerked your head down, startled. “Wha – Danny!” you screamed, jumping down from the tree and running to where the poor boy lay on the ground, curled up pitifully, squinting at the light.

He looked at you sorrowfully. “(Y/N), I’m sorry…” He bit his lip, voice trailing off regretfully.

You shook your head anxiously and pulled him up by the arms. You wrapped him in a warm hug, sinking into the first human contact you had felt in days. “It’s okay, Danny, I should be the one apologizing…”

Danny pulled away uncomfortably and shook his head. “No, I don’t mean that (Y/N)… You don’t understand.” He looked up at you, his eyes simply begging for you to understand his meaning. You didn’t. You waited for him to explain. “I… What I said earlier… I didn’t mean that.”

“W-what are you talking about, Danny?” You couldn’t keep the edge out of your voice, and you simply stared at him in confusion.

He pulled in a deep, frightful breath before he spilled,  “I didn’t mean what I said. I don’t like you, (Y/N). I mean,” he clarified hastily, “I like you, as a person, but I’m not in love with you. I just said that that day because Rory dared me to. I-it was just a joke.”

You blinked at him, shocked, and pulled away from him, standing up. You couldn’t help a look of disgust passing on your face. You warned in a low voice, your eyes never leaving Danny’s. “Tell me Pan put you up to this. That he’s just making you say this now to hurt me.”

Danny gulped, but it wasn’t out of fear of Pan. It was out of fear of you. When he shook his head now sadly, you knew he wasn’t lying. Ouch. Pan was right before, you didn’t have any feelings for Danny, but it still bothered you. It bothered you that he thought he could mess with you like that, and it bothered you even more than Pan seemed to be standing there smugly, as if he knew the truth the whole time but held back until he could use it to hurt you the most. You swallowed against your dry throat, unable to say anything, and turned away running, your hair flying wildly behind you.


You now stand at the edge of the beach, by the glittering water of the Mermaid Lagoon, shaking with anger and disappointment and resentment. You can’t even decide who all these feelings are directed towards, but you know who’s the reason for all of them. Pan.

You toss a pebble angrily into the water, causing an angry splash. You huff angrily and toss another. You hear a light laugh from behind you, and you know exactly who it belongs to.

“Pan,” you announce coldly, not bothering to look back. You throw yet another pebble.

“Someone looks upset,” Pan chuckles. You don’t respond. He disregards your silence and continues on. “Aww, why so glum, sugar plum? Was it loverboy’s cute confession back there? That was cold, even for me.”

You face the water stonily, your body rigid, face contorting with anger and humiliation. “If you think a boy can have any effect on me –”

“Oh, but I do,” Pan drawls menacingly, right behind you this time. He leans his head in over your shoulder, breathing into your neck hotly. His hands snake around your waist and draw you in against him. “Now, don’t get me wrong, I know loverboy’s little trick couldn’t keep you down for long. But I think, in fact, I’m having an effect on you right now…” he lowers his head and brushes his lips against your ears. He bites it playfully.

You wrestle yourself out of his grip, unwilling to play his game, before your own body betrayed you. “Stop,” you growl at Pan.

“Why?” Pan clutches you tighter, now placing soft kisses behind your ear and down your neck. You almost pull your head back invitingly, but hold yourself back. You try to wrench yourself free again, raking your nails against his arm frustratedly. “Tell me you don’t want me, love…”

“I don’t want you,” you breath huskily. You don’t mean it, and Peter knows this. He smirks against your neck.

“Don’t play cat and mouse with me, (Y/N)… Aw, did I make you mad?” he asks innocently, raising his head up and turning you around to face him, his arms still placing pressure against your waist. “Was it the whole two weeks of torture thing?” he continues in feigned concern.

“I wonder what else it could be,” you retort through clenched teeth, glaring at him vehemently, which as much hate as you can muster in the moment.

“Oh, I’m sorry, love…” he starts tauntingly. “See, I was just trying to teach you a lesson. You were throwing yourself at that pathetic Danny boy, when he doesn’t even know how to treat a lady,” he snarls disgustedly at the mere thought of him. It surprises you.

“You knew about the bet the whole time, didn’t you?” you ask.

Pan looks down at you, eyes brimming with lust and fire. “Of course I knew. That’s why I threw him in the cages. I did it for you, (Y/N).” He pulls you closer, his eyes fixed on your lips, waiting to pounce.

You wrinkle your brow in confusion. “Why, Pan?” you whisper. You can’t help but feel that Pan was being sincere in his desire to protect you. In the only strange, twisted way that he knew.

Pan looks down at you, unable to keep the wild desire out of his eyes as he pants, “Because I love you.” He smashes his lips against yours, taking you by surprise. You push against his chest steadily, but as his hands begin to run across your sides and down the small of your back, you give in to his touch and the kiss. Your knees tremble as Pan pushes his waist against yours, causing you to gasp out in surprise against his mouth. He groans in reaction to the sound, hungrily pulling your mouth toward his again. “Oh, (Y/N)… you drive me crazy,” he moans into you.

You pant against him. “And you drive me crazy, too… because you’re still the most selfish, arrogant ass I’ve met.”

“Hold your tongue, love,” Pan warns, yanking your hair softly back in order to raise your eyes towards his. “Your careless insults are what started this war to begin with.”

You stare breathlessly up him, mesmerized by his eyes, no matter how angrily they look at you. You’re surprised you have this much affect on him. “Oh, are we still battling? If this is what war feels like, maybe I shouldn’t stop –” you raise an eyebrow suggestively.

“Peter Pan never fails. You should know that, (Y/N),” Pan smirks smugly, lowering his mouth to brush against yours, but not close enough for you to kiss him. Your lips part in obvious desire, and he cocks an eyebrow up victoriously. “So maybe I should just show you exactly how giving I can be.”

You push yourself up and kiss his sharply formed jaw. “That would certainly persuade me,” you respond sultrily.

Peter looks at you, surprised, his eyes darkening in lustful victory. “Oh, I can be quite persuasive,” he says, before sweeping you into his arms and transporting the both of you into his treehouse. He leans you back gently onto his bed, crawling up on top of you triumphantly. He lowers down onto you to kiss you, his tongue flicking against yours, wrestling for control. He dominates your mouth, smiling smugly, before lowering himself down to your chin, throat, and collarbone. He traces his thumb across your collarbone while kissing the other. He lowers his hand down, grazing your chest teasingly, then down your side and onto your thigh. He pushes your dress up agonizingly slowly. He makes sure to keep this thumb barely grazing against the inside of your thigh, causing you to breath heavily and arch your back in pure desire. He rubs against you through the thin cloth divide, driving you wild. You run your hands through his hair, yanking on his curls when waiting became too painful.

“Peter, please…” you beg. Pan looks up at you, surprised, instantly growing hard the second he heard you moan for him by his first name.

“Oh, I’m going to reward you for that,” he breathes lustfully. He finally pushes two fingers into you, making you groan into his shoulder and press yourself up against his touch, craving more. He curled his fingers against you, pulsing faster even as he returned to press his mouth against yours. Your moans vibrated against him, turning him on even more, making it harder to hold back with every passing second.

As soon as you felt yourself grow close, you cry out to Peter. He immediately withdraws, a sly smirk on his face. You moan up at him frustratedly, deprived of the release you need so badly. “Oh, I might be giving, love, but you gotta save yourself for the real action,” he remarks with a wink.

In one fluid movement, he pulls off his pants and presses his hips against yours, filling you slowly. You scream, grasping at the bedsheets, biting your lip from both pain and pleasure. Peter begins to thrust faster, more forcibly, causing your mouth to fall open breathlessly, only the sound of your and Peter’s moans enveloping you. You whimper as you grow close again, and this time Peter doesn’t stop. He takes you to your end, as you throw your head back in senseless pleasure, until he finally releases himself with you. He slows as you both ride out your highs, before collapsing next to you, drawing you into him lovingly. You gasp for breath, resting your head exhaustedly against Peter’s chest, curling yourself against him.

“God, I love you,” he whispers, his lips pressed against your shoulder.

“I love you, too, Peter,” you exhale tiredly.

“Is that a surrender?” he smirks cockily.

You sigh and turn to face him, your mouth only an inch from his. You focus on his green eyes. You give in to his piercing gaze. “Yes, you win, Peter Pan,” you whisper, before leaning forward to kiss him.