Peter wasn’t really having a great patrol tonight. So far, a bank robber had nearly gotten away from him, a carjacker had almost run him over, and a mugger had managed to kick him really, really hard in a place he really did not want to be kicked.
And to top it all off, he was currently swinging around Brooklyn trying to locate what had been reported on the police scanner as a ‘Spider-man look-alike’. Because that’s exactly what he wanted; more wannabes getting hurt trying to be heroes.
He stopped and landed on a shabby apartment building as he neared the area that had been reported. He couldn’t see or hear anything that sounded like a crime in progress, but that didn’t really mean much.
Then, suddenly, a fuckton of gunfire erupted from the building across the street from his. Peter jumped and (despite his obvious courage and fearlessness because he’s Spider-man goddammit) ducked behind the edge of the building’s roof.
After a solid thirty seconds of the gunfire, it suddenly stopped. No final shots, no stragglers. It just…stopped. Very, very cautiously, Peter peered back over the edge of the building to look down.
And walking out of the building, with a much too happy walk for someone who should be riddled with bullet holes, was someone dressed…as a crappy Spider-man? Peter couldn’t really tell. They had on a red bodysuit, and had more weapons than Peter had ever seen in one place. And he saw Tony during his hyper-security phase.
Slowly, Peter climbed over the ledge and made his way down his building towards the man, who was luckily coming towards him. When he was reasonably close, but not spotted, he shot a web and stuck the man’s hands to the wall. The man promptly shrieked.
Peter jumped down and landed in front of him. “I’d suggest you stop struggling. It’ll just get stuck in your weapons.”
The man looked at him and gasped. “Is this your sticky white stuff? It’s nice sticky white stuff.”
Peter rolled his eyes. Another one of these guys. “Yeah, sure. Got a good explanation for having enough firearms to arm an entire police force? It’s kind of ironic, since you’re going to prison for this.” Peter said, pulling out his phone to contact the police.
“What?” the man exclaimed, sounding offended, of all things. “I don’t even get to fight for my freedom?”
“No, you don’t. That’s not how it works.”
“Why not? I won’t even use my guns! Or knives!” the man insisted.
Peter narrowed his eyes at him, even if he wouldn’t be able to tell through his mask. “Something tells me you have other weapons than just those.”
“Fine, I won’t use any of those, either. Now can we duel?”
“Nope. I’d rather just watch you get arrested, then I can go home and enjoy knowing that you’re in jail.”
The man narrowed his masked eyes at him, and somehow, Peter could tell. “Well, that’s just rude. Let a man have some pride, dammit! Fight me, you attractive stranger!”
“Not a chance in hell.” Peter said, leaning against the brick a few feet away and crossing his arms.
After that, to Peter’s surprise, the man fell silent. Peter sighed in relief and pulled out his phone again. May as well play Candy Crush.
Then, son of a bitch, the man took off down the street.
Peter nearly jumps out of his skin when he does. He has no idea why his spider-senses just failed him so spectacularly. After a moment of double-checking to make sure he didn’t just have a heart attack, he swears rather loudly and uses a streetlight to catch up to the man, who’s running and trying to get the webbing off of his hands at the same time. He swings hard and uses his momentum to launch himself to land on top of the runaway.
Instead of collapsing like a normal person, the guy stumbles, looks at him once, then just keeps running down the street with Peter on his back like he weighs nothing.
Peter, despite the situation and the fact that this man could be very dangerous, laughs. He laughs harder than he has all day. Because he’s in the middle of Brooklyn, a place he rarely goes, it’s three in the morning, and he just landed on top of a criminal who just decided to give him a piggyback ride.
The man looks back up at him over his shoulder, then starts to slowly laugh with him. He laughs just as hard as Peter, and there’s about three seconds of hilarity before the man trips over a crack in the sidewalk and face-plants, sending Peter flying.
Both of them sit there for a moment, laugh a little bit more, then Peter stands, walks over to him, and webs his feet to the concrete. When he reaches a hand for a knife, he webs that hand to the concrete, too.
“Aw, what? I gave you a piggyback ride!” the man complains, waving his only free hand.
“And it was fun. But you’re still a criminal.” Peter points out, looking down at him.
“You are the worst. We had fun!”
Peter rolled his eyes. “Who are you, anyway? Trying to be a superhero?”
The masked man somehow rolled his eyes. “No. I’m Deadpool. Anti-hero extraordinaire. Merc with a mouth. Or, if you’re special, Wade Wilson.” Deadpool said, holding out his only free hand.
Peter slowly shook it. “I’m Spider-man.”
“I know. Your ass has been in so many dreams of mine.”
Peter scrunched his nose. “Great,” he started, then heard sirens in the distance. About damn time. “Well, I’m gonna get going. Looks like you’ll be all taken care of.”
Deadpool (or Wade, Peter wasn’t sure what to call him) perked up at the sound of the sirens. “Ah, dammit. C’mon, Spidey, cut a guy some slack!”
“You literally shot up a building less than ten minutes ago.” Peter deadpanned, preparing to swing away.
“Spidey! Can I at least see you again?” Wade pleaded, begging with the one hand he had left.
“Sure.” Peter answered, then swung away, leaving him to the police and ignoring the pleas following him.
‘A date auction though!’ Louis sunk his head into his hands, his voice muffled. 'It’s like something from the fifties. Having to drag men onto the stage and bid money to spend time with them. I couldn’t even back out, as its for charity. No-one will bid on me, everyone will be at the free bar or bidding for Mitch from HR.’
Summary; If it’s just a game, then I like the way that we play.
Warnings; NSFW. Body painting leading to smut. Smut for smut’s sake. Here be no plot. Latex free.
A/N; Found this little gem saved in my
documents from months ago because I forgot about it. Heathens!Tyler is a work in progress. Thinking next week.
You know what to do fam. Leave me some noise and kisses.
Sorry this took so long for me to post, friends. I had a busy (stressful) week and it caused some writer’s block. Thank you all for voting in my poll, though! Here is the prompt that got the most votes. I love hearing from my readers, and finding new prompts in my askbox. It makes me feel amazing as a writer!
Warning: This oneshot is equally smutty and adorable.
Where are you?
I shot the question through the bond as I watched Elain. She
was sitting across from Azriel as he told her yet another story about
Truth-teller. After what had happened with the King of Hybern, Elain had wanted
to hear all about the sword, where it had gone with Azriel through the years,
and the history it had witnessed. Her small frame was turned towards him,
shoulders curved inward as her chin rested in the palm of her hand, her elbow
gently placed on her crossed knees. With wide eyes, she clung onto his every
My eyes shifted to where Nesta sat next to Amren in the long
chairs outside the sparring ring. My sister was watching the Illyrian
intensely, her lips pursed, but her gray-blue eyes longing. Mor and Cassian
danced around one another, jokingly, in their fighting leathers. Mor had
knocked him on his ass three times in the last hour. He had blamed it on his
injuries, claimed he was still healing.
Mor had claimed she was going easy on him for the same
Your missing out on
Cassian getting beat up by Mor, I heard him laugh through the bond as I
continued, it’s pretty amusing. And also
a little bit sad.
He deserves it, he
replied, amusingly. I miss you.
He glanced at his wife, her breathing steady and quiet, her
body outlined by the light of the moon. Rowan had been away with Aedion for the
last week, overseeing Terrasen’s new recruits, and he had spent hours making it
up to Aelin earlier that evening. Considering how often she moaned his name,
and the marks on his back from her nails, he figured he was forgiven.
With a smile, he pulled up the thin, white blanket to her
bare shoulders, and kissed her forehead gently.
“I love you, Fireheart.”
As he stood, he swore he heard her mumble Buzzard, but when he looked back,
eyebrows raised, she was still sound asleep. He pulled on his pants with a
chuckle and grabbed a blanket from the chair by the fireplace on his way out
The creaking of the stairs had stopped, and the
pitter-patter of small feet were now heavy on the main floor. Wrapping the
blanket around his broad shoulders, Rowan silently took the stairs two at a
He found her by the window, watching the city-goers walk by
their private residence under the streetlights. She had her chin perched on her
knees and her arms wrapped around her legs as she sat on the window sill, her
golden hair a mess and her pajamas rumpled. She was clinging to her white-fur
blanket, the one she was given by Gavriel the day she was born.
He leaned against the door frame, watching her, admiringly.
He thought back to the first time he held her in his arms, bundled in that same
blanket, when terror and love and utter joy flooded him. He remembered looking
into the eyes of his firstborn, his daughter, and knowing he was in trouble.
She had put him through hell since the day she’d been born, and she was only
four. There was a lot more hell to go.
And he loved every minute of it.
“Didn’t your mother tell you to stay in bed?”
The small figure jumped at her father’s voice, her cheeks
turning pink as she turned to face him. “Maybe….”
The silver-haired fae crossed his arms as he tried not to
smile, and failed. “Ana.”
When her lip began to wobble, he ran to her side and pulled
her into his arms. Once her small arms had wrapped around his neck, and her
head was lying on his shoulder, he sighed.
“Are you mad, daddy?” she asked.
Rowan sat down on the cushioned couch that sat in front of
the fireplace and wrapped his blanket around his daughter. “No, why would I be
“Mommy gets mad when I get out of bed,” she said,
He laughed. “Mommy doesn’t get mad. She just wants you to
get a good night’s rest, that’s all. So you can grow big and strong.”
“Does mommy get mad at you when you get out of bed?”
He pulled back and looked into those curious, pine-green
eyes. It was the only trait she’d gotten from him. “Yes. So, don’t tell her I
was out of my bed, and I won’t tell her you were out of yours. Deal?”
She held up her pinkie in answer, and Rowan wrapped his
“Deal,” she giggled, and fell into his chest.
“Why can’t you sleep?” he asked her, after a minute. “It is
“I thought you were on my side,” her high-pitched voice was
He held up his hands in defense.
The little girl sighed. “Uncle Aedion told me a scary story.
Aunt Lysy got mad at him, but he thought it was funny.”
Aedion and Lysandra had taken Aliana to the square earlier
that afternoon for lunch, and to find a dress for Friday’s gathering.
Apparently, Aedion liked to add his own fun to the agenda.
“Scary story?” he brushed her hair back behind her ear.
“About snow leopards.”
“Yeah, about how they eat little girls with-with blonde
Rowan made a mental note to kick Aedion’s ass tomorrow when
they met for their early morning workout. “Uncle Aedion was just joking, Ana.”
She frowned. “Well, he’s not very funny.”
The corner of Rowan’s lips tugged upward as the little girl in
his lap yawned.
“Go to sleep, Ana,” he kissed the top of her head. “I love
“Will you stay?” she asked, pine-green eyes growing wide.
“Of course,” he promised, pulling her tighter against his
Another yawn escaped. “Love you, too, daddy.”
They sat there, just the two of them, in silence as he
patted her back, giving her the comfort that only he could.
“Hmm?” he asked, realizing he was dozing off.
“Can I be a bird like you?”
It took him a moment to realize she was talking about
shape-shifting, and the thought made him laugh, breathily. “You can be anything
you want to be, my Little Fireheart.”
But, when he didn’t get a reply, and he looked down at the
four-year-old cradled in his arms, her eyes were closed, and her breathing was
A small flame rose, and grew, from within the fireplace.
Rowan glanced toward the door frame and gave its occupant a
soft grin. He whispered, “I thought I wore you out.”
She rolled her eyes, but there was humor there, and love. “I
came to see why I was the only one in bed.”
He held out his free arm, and before he could take another
breath, she was there, lying her head against his shoulder and taking her
daughter’s feet into her lap.
“She’s getting so big,” she sighed. “I don’t understand why
she thinks I’d be mad to find her downstairs. Remind me to kick Aedion’s ass,
by the way.”
Rowan chuckled. “I’d be scared of you, too, Majesty.” Aelin
stuck her tongue out at her husband. With a smirk, he continued, “How long were
you standing there?”
“Long enough to come to the conclusion that you two must
keep a lot of secrets from me,” she narrowed her eyes as if to say liars.
He shrugged. “A pinkie swear cannot be broken.”
She nudged him in the ribs, then continued to rub his chest
with her finger in lazy circles to the sound of his quiet laughter.
“She’s perfect,” Aelin whispered, as Rowan’s eyes closed. “I
still think that, every day, just how perfect she is. She reminds me of you.”
“She’s just like her mother,” Rowan whispered, back. “Yes,
she is perfect. And beautiful. And kind. And smart.”
As he opened his eyes, he caught the tear that had fallen
down his wife’s cheek.
“There was a time when I didn’t think I would ever have this
life,” she whispered. “There was a time when I dreamt of this life, with you.
Sometimes, it feels like a dream after all that we’ve endured.”
“I often have to remind myself that it’s not,” he kissed her
head as the flames in the fireplace grew. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“To whatever end.”
“Always,” she smiled. “To whatever end.”
Aelin fell asleep a minute later, and Rowan sat there,
holding them both tightly, lovingly, admiringly, until the flames turned to
embers, the logs turned to ashes, and sleep consumed him.