Cable and Deadpool Kink Meme
Hosting another kink!meme, this one based on the Cable and Deadpool comic. The main pairing is Cable/Deadpool obviously, but in the interest of fair play I shall allow any characters/pairings based on the comic series. Rules are as follows:
1. Anonymously post a pairing and prompt you would like to see written. Since this is a kink meme, there ( Read more... )
I.
“Look what I brought home for dinner!”
It shows all too goddamn sadly that his current roommates are too used to Wade’s special brand of crazy humor, because all he gets when Weasel pokes his head around his door to take a look at what Wade had just set down on the kitchen counter was a deep sigh, and all he got from Al was a crotchety, “Oh, for pity’s sake. I just wiped that down.”
“How do you know what I have here?” Wade asked, genuinely curious, as Blind Al shuffled up to the counter from her hibernation spot before the television.
“It’s making noises. Also, it’s obvious your brain died along with your nose. Weasel, go out and buy diapers. And baby powder. And milk solution. And a bottle.” Al picked up the squirming, giggling baby from Wade’s hands. “I’ll go see what I can do with one of your spare shirts.”
“Not anything collectible, please,” Weasel disappeared into his room, then emerged moments later with the black sling-bag that Wade had taken to calling Weasel’s ‘man-purse’. “Holy shit. Wade, what did you do to its eye and its arm?”
Obviously, some of his friends were also less clued in than even he was on one of his happier trippy periods. “I’ll give you a clue. His name starts with Nathan and ends, eventually, with Summers.” The baby let out an unhappy sound as Al picked it up and took a step away from Wade. “No, you go with Al, until you become less poopy.”
“Dead’poo,” Baby Nate said, a little more soberly, if with some rather unfortunate early word-association, as Al became a fast retreating old blind lady blur that somehow always managed to head accurately towards the nearest bathroom.
“Do I even want to know?”
“Nope.”
“Okay.” Weasel shook his head slowly. “Let me guess anyway. There was a cosmic accident of hilarious proportions, and then you stole the baby.”
“Stealing is such a bad and accusatory word. I prefer ‘permanently borrowing’.” Wade said, as he moseyed over to the couch, mission complete.
“Dare I ask why?”
“We need a pet now that Bob’s moved back in with the wife?”
“You can’t keep a baby as a pet!”
“But you can keep a HYDRA agent as a pet?”
“Especially not that baby!” Weasel groaned. “I’m going to amp up our defenses. I hope you weren’t followed, because we just paid the rent.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Wade said dismissively, “I told everyone before I hit the bodyslide that I was going to take him into the future to make sure he actually got the TO fixed.”
“And people believed you?”
“If they heard me above my guns, sure.”
“So you actually conducted an armed baby robbery. Kidnapping.”
“Everyone was discussing the best way of ‘properly’ bringing up a telepathic baby, in some cases involving words like ‘correct education’ and ‘peaceful upbringing’, so I thought I would contribute.”
Wade turned on the television and settled down with an air of finality. In the bathroom, the muttering grew louder, then there was a loud oath, a happy giggle, and the baby sped out, rather faster that little stubby knees and hands should technically be capable of, up until it reached Deadpool’s feet. Baby Nate sat back, a little heavily, and raised both chubby hands, making blubby noises until Wade picked it up and settled it absently onto his lap.
Little TO fingers. He could never get enough of the little TO fingers.
“That’s my limited edition Rorschach Winter shirt,” Weasel said, though he only sounded resigned, his expression a mix of mild horror and fascination as Baby Nate cuddled up and, with characteristically Nate decisiveness, abruptly fell asleep.
“Weren’t you getting baby stuff?” Wade asked, as the TO fingers loosed their death grip on his pinky.
“Yes boss…”
[tbc?]
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This is making me d'awwwww bigtime.
Moar please, anon!
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I am a very happy anon right now. Moar peese? <3 *bribes with candy*
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Wade with baby!Nate is just...yes. I want more of this please. :D LITTLE TO FINGERS. And bonus points to you, anon, for including Weasel and Blind Al. :D
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I look forward to more as well.
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*eyes fall out from the adorable*
Man, when Nate gets an idea, he sticks with it, even to reversed infanthood. Wade's gonna be a horrible father figure. XD
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I've been reduced to a "D'aaaawww"ing puddle now. Thanks.
Also, Blind Al FTW!
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Parenting seemed to involve a lot of milk formula temperature testing, random changes of clothes, one-sided entertainment and additional expenses, which was why Wade left everything to his minions and tried his best to take care of the last bit. Besides, as crabby as Al was, underneath all her increased grumble volume about Wade’s idiot ideas, deep down there seemed to be a small fragment of a maternal instinct. Which was a good thing, Wade had to admit, otherwise Baby Nate would likely have been fed on old cornflakes and cow’s milk.
Unfortunately, although this tiny fragment of a maternal instinct seemed to be good for changing diapers, preparing milk formulas and getting Baby Nate dressed in cheap K-mart baby shirts, it was also equally good at making sure that Wade was involved as much as possible, outside of jobs.
Trying to change the channel while cradling a baby while trying to feed it without choking it to death with the bottle meant a lot of inventive toe yoga. Especially since Baby Nate had somehow clued in that the television was the sole reason for Wade’s distraction, and kept moving the remote away, giggling over the bottle and dribbling warm milk at the same time.
When the remote gently slid under the couch, Wade sighed.
Al didn’t look up from the spare armchair, slowly knitting up something in a lurid purple color that looked rather like a tortured scarf, nor did she say anything, but Wade got the distinct impression of smugness.
At least Baby Nate didn’t seem to cry. Much. When he was around. Which was good enough for Wade. Nobody really cared about the noise aggravation levels of minions. And little TO fingers. Wade automatically opened his mouth, then bit down hard on his lip to stifle the instinctive broken baby talk that normal, functional human adults seemed to serve up on cute infants.
Tiny little fingers.
The phone rang.
With a great amount of effort and spilled milk, Wade managed to pick up, cradling the receiver against his shoulder and cheek. “Problems fixed, things stolen, exes murdered-”
“Wade.”
“Terry! How’s my favorite angry Irish girl?”
“Less angry now,” Siryn said dryly. From the receiver, he could hear passing cars, snatches of sidewalk talk. Public phone. Smart girl. “Listen, they’re all really mad at ye.”
“Tell me something I wouldn’t figure.”
“Is he okay? Uh, the baby.”
“Sure he is. I think I’m meant to burp him, but I’ve no idea how and it sounds pretty gross.”
“Cyclops is lookin’ for ye. Him an’ Tony Stark an’ some o’ the others. Just thought ye’ll want t’know, maybe ye should let off advertising your number.”
“It’s scrambled, don’t worry. I have a techie minion. Lives on pizza.” In his arms, Baby Nate hiccupped. Wade moved the bottle away, and the baby pouted, squirming and reaching for it, making disturbing gurgling noises. “I think you’ve had enough, kid. Better watch your waistline.”
“Want,” Nate managed, and added, when Wade didn’t move, “Now?”
“They’re working on a way t’reverse him back to adulthood,” Siryn said, sounding amused. “And I figure that actually… ye probably can’t do anythin’ too horrible t’Nate.”
“Can’t, really?”
“The last time he was lobotomized, don’t think anyone really put in effort t’fix him but ye-”
“Dead’poo! ”
“Besides,” Siryn added, dryly, “He likes you most, obviously.”
“You don’t say.” The bottle jerked out of Wade’s grasp, lined in pale blue, and squirted him in the eye with warm milk. “Ow! ”
“Wade?”
“Calling youbackbye.” Wade put down the phone, just as Nate began to giggle. “You are in deep shit, little man… hey! Watch the spandex!”
Stubby little fingers, reaching out. “Hugs?”
Why… this little… well… actually, TO fingers. Soooo cute. Damnit. “Fine.” Wade allowed Baby Nate to cuddle closer, pulling off his drenched mask and dumping it on the couch, catching the bottle when it fell.
Al was grinning at him when Nate finally dropped off to sleep. “Congratulations. It’s a monster.”
“It’s sleeping in the laundry basket today, that’s what,” Wade muttered. His arm was rocking the baby of its own accord. Had to be the eyeful of milk.
“I give you another day before you return it.”
“You’re on.” Against his arm, Baby Nate began to drool.
Wade sighed.
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I love the way Wade can't help but succumb before Nate's adorableness! ♥ I bet he won't be able to help spoiling Nate rotten XD
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This is so freaking cute and wonderful XD I can't wait to see what happens when Nate changes back.
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Okay, now that my brains are unscrambled from the OMG LEETLE TO FINGERS! WADE IN DADDY MODE IS THE MOST ADORABLENESS THING EVER I"M GONNA GO OVER HERE AND DIE HAPPY NOW, OK?
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So far the biggest problem Wade had with the Baby Issue (now reinvented with capitalization as it was an Issue) was that Baby Nate had learned that with some judiciously applied telekinesis, it could change the channel.
Or rather, it could stop the television from changing channels.
It could also, in depressingly rapid progression, crawl out from the laundry basket it had been deposited in the night before, make it over to the coffee table, switch on the television, and amp up the volume. At six thirty in the fucking morning. And then, if that wasn’t all, be asleep in a boneless baby sprawl over the TV guide and the newspaper when Wade woke up murderous and sleep-deprived.
On screen, some disturbingly deformed cartoon animals appeared to be torturing each other with household implements. Wade considered this ‘fit for children’ brand of violence for a brief moment, shook his head slowly, and turned off the television.
Or tried to. The buttons were all seemingly jammed shut, and the remote was nowhere to be found. Wade contemplated waking Baby Nate, scratched at his head, sighed, muttered a prayer to the television God, and unplugged the television.
He managed to get Baby Nate all the way back to the laundry basket before Nate woke, cooing sleepily and distinctively… fragrant.
Irritated and cursing under his breath, Wade made a quick about-face to the bathroom, dumped Nate in the sink, said, as firmly as he could, “Stay!” and went to hammer on Al’s door. Joys and sorrows, sharing is caring, and all that.
Wade had managed to enter the fuzzy half-awake world of happily dozing off, even over the sound of Al’s constant grumble and the baby burbling. There was the sound of something being deposited in a laundry basket, Al’s door slamming shut, then a confused, faint blubby sound that went on for a long, shocked baby moment.
When Baby Nate began to cry, Wade groaned and pushed his face into the pillow.
Fifteen minutes of cuddling and allowing Baby Nate to whack him with some constructively second-hand (stolen) plush teddy bear later, Wade prodded Baby Nate carefully until he was satisfied that the little monster was asleep, and went back to bed.
He woke up to Weasel screaming like a girl and Al swearing the air blue like a first class sailor, both of them huddled in his room, Weasel panicked enough to be shaking him roughly by the shoulder.
Wade tried to collect early morning threats along the lines of killing and maiming, but only managed an irritated “Mfght-”
“Make it stop!” Weasel yelped, and reluctantly, Wade’s brain allowed him to wake up all the way from a pleasant dream involving Victoria’s Secret Angels and a lot of honey, to the sight of Floating Baby Nate, giggling while he chased Weasel and Al around with what looked like a hella lot of kitchen knives and the toaster.
Wait, what?
Household implements.
Tom and Jerry.
“Nate.”
“Dead’poo! ”
“Put those things down now. Slowly.”
Baby Nate’s happy smile slowly creased downwards, then all the implements dropped with a loud clatter onto the ground, making Al flinch, just as the baby bounced down onto Wade’s toes.
“And don’t ever do that again. Weasel and Al can sometimes be a pain but they are minions and minions are necessary, okay? Nobody’s going to be changing your diaper if you kill them by accident.” Wade paused, yawning and scratching at his head. It was too early for parenting. It was too early for anything. “Uh, and don’t believe everything you see on television.”
Weasel paused amidst picking up the knives. “You let him watch Cartoon Network?”
“I don’t think ‘let’ figured anywhere in that,” Wade muttered, as the baby crawled into his lap and sat down, hands outstretched. “No, no hugs, because you’ve been… uh, now this is slightly awkward… you’ve been bad.”
Al gave the distinct impression of eye-rolling despite wearing sunglasses and, technically, blind.
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Baby Nate’s eyes scrunched up, his mouth creased down further, and he began to cry.
“Oh hell,” Wade sighed, rubbing at an eye.
“Good job, genius,” Al said, utterly unsympathetic despite currently not being skewered by knives due to yours truly.
Breakfast was a sullen affair.
IV.
Wade sat down on the edge of the fountain, eating a hotdog, a can of coke on his left and Logan on his right. Logan was smirking, his face turned away, and Baby Nate was on his shoulders, giggling and playing with tufts of spiky black hair.
The park had been cleared of civilians. Cyclops was an unmoving lump at the end of a deep trough of grass, Tony Stark was in a malfunctioning can of circuits somewhere in a tree, Storm and Beast were unconscious in the no longer operational flower clock, and a bunch of other costumes were beating a slow retreat.
“I think I’ve just had a great day,” Logan said, taking a bite of his own hotdog. “An’ that’s a first when you’re around, Wilson.”
“What was your favorite part?”
“Seein’ Scott hit that tree. You?”
“Probably when Mister Fantastic was used to tie up the Thing.”
On Logan’s shoulders, an impossibly powerful baby cooed. “Can’t say I didn’t try t’warn them. Didn’t think the baby was the loaded weapon, though.”
“Didn’t think so either.” Wade had been perfectly happy to start fighting, when confronted in the park by the large group of said costumed angry people bent on Returning Nate to his Father for a Proper Upbringing, when Baby Nate, perhaps abruptly cluing in onto everyone’s aggression, had taken care of it itself. Somewhere in between, Wade and Logan had helped themselves to an empty hot dog stand and some coke, to sit where they were now and watch the mayhem. “How come you showed up then?”
“Damage control, bub,” Logan shrugged, rolling shoulders making the baby giggle. “Didn’t want things t’get out o’ hand, but it don’t look like he hurt anyone permanently anyway.”
“So what’s the diagnosis?”
It appears, Professor X’s dry voice sounded in Wade’s mind - and probably Logan’s as well, as the mutant glanced up sharply then chuckled, That custody of the child falls to you for now, Mister Wilson.
“Did you decide that before or after it beat up a hella lot of the world’s best and finest?”
Nathan’s possessiveness was a surprise, the Professor admitted, though he sounded amused. Still, only pride, and perhaps a billion dollars worth of circuitry in Mister Stark’s case, was injured. Forge is on his way in the completion of a cure. If you would undertake to bring Nathan Summers with you to a neutral area of your choosing when the cure is complete, I for one would be happy to let matters sit as they are now.
“Hey, I prefer him in his not-baby form as much as you do.” At the very least, Adult Nate didn’t tend to cost something crazy in baby supplies.
Very well. Then it is agreed. Xavier’s presence withdrew.
“Hell lot o’ trouble for nothin’,” Logan said, though he seemed satisfied, even as a small TO hand clapped on his nose. He levered it off with a thick finger, inspected fingers as they closed tight on his, and chuckled again. “Cute.”
“I know.” It rotted brains.
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In the end they had flown Al and Weasel over to Providence as well, for the re-aging process. Forge appeared to have modified the teleporter tank substantially, making it now a jumble of weirdly shaped spotlights and wires (technology was not Wade’s strong point).
Baby Nate had somehow managed to fall asleep in transit, and was still asleep, despite the room being crowded with Interested Parties. When he was placed on in the tank, however, Baby Nate woke up instantly, blinking. “Da’?”
“This won’t hurt you a bit,” Wade said in what he hoped was a soothing tone, “Or if it does, there’ll be one pretty dead intuitive engineer behind me in a couple of minutes.” When had he become protective? When? It had to be the TO fingers. Or seeing Tony Stark being bounced up and down on an increasingly abused lawn.
Baby Nate looked worried as the glass came up between them, but he sat down, touching it with his fingers. “Stay?”
“Yeah,” Wade said, wondering why he was choking up, and swallowing quickly before anyone noticed. Behind him, the machines hummed to life. “This was fun while it lasted, kid. Mostly.”
The re-aging process was deeply disturbing, what with all the screaming and thrashing and limbs growing out in stop motion, but eventually, Nate stood, albeit shakily, picking scraps of baby clothes off his skin, tall and scarred and impassive as ever, even when stepping out naked in a room a quarter full of ladies and accepting a towel from Irene with dignity.
Wade supposed, not without some envy, that this probably came from having nothing to hide and something to show, instead. He barely listened as Nate gave some sort of short thank you speech, most of the costumes filing out after. When it was just Wade, Weasel, Al and Irene, Nate seemed to relax, almost imperceptibly.
“Irene, I wish to speak with them privately for a moment.”
Irene hesitated, glanced between them, then her face pinched, very slightly, and she stalked out of the room. Wooow. Angry lady. Even Al sensed the vibe. “Your ex?”
“No.”
“Your soon-to-be?”
“No.”
“What died up her-”
“She has just had a trying time,” Nate said, urbanely.
“Don’t give me any lip, son, I changed your diapers.” Al said shortly, though she grinned.
“I do recall you doing so,” Nate inclined his head.
“Hah! You’re a piece of work. Wade, how come you never bring him home?”
“Who are you, my momma?” Wade retorted, folding his arms.
“It don’t get better than this,” Al said, in cryptic old lady speak. “Come on, Weas. I heard this island has free food. Let’s go get some Thai.”
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