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nautiscarader · 4 years

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kim/ron 20

Smutember day 20 - Adrenaline rush

Kim/Ron, E 2.1k

(Ao3)

If you liked my story, here’s a Ko-fi link if you’d be so kind ❤️.

==================

Just a moment ago, everything was okay. Kim laughed at Ron's joke, keeping her eyes at the horizon and hands on the yoke. And then, she was falling through the air, with Ron next to her.

In the last minute of their doomed flight she tried to see why all of the controls of the small private plane went haywire, and when she realised there was no way she would be able to land, she told him they have to jump.

She was holding her boyfriend's hand as she felt air blowing through their hair, like they've done a hundred times and then, and just when she wanted to pull her cord, she heard a scream, and saw Ron's arms flailing in the air, pulling his cord for nothing.

If she had pulled her parachute open, he would be falling away from her at nearly full terminal velocity, with no chance of catching him even with her grappling hook. Kim spread her arms, and looking only at him, she manoeuvred her position to let the wind steer her towards him.

She would not dare to look down. She knew they were getting to the ground faster and faster, fifty meters every second.

Ron reached his hand, and the second she felt his fingertips she pulled him towards her, and only when his arms tightened around hers, she pulled the cord, praying they were high enough.

They didn't collide with the ground. They were alive. She saw her boyfriend's face through tears, and only then she looked down at the green treetops of the Amazon, approaching them with significantly slower speed.

- I got you. - she whispered, her voice breaking. - I know, KP. I know.

Another reassuring noise came from Rufus, sticking his head from the pocket in Ron's jacket.

For the first time in a long, long minute, Kim breathed in the air whooshing around them and exhaled it with a sigh of relief.

- We're off course, though - she noted, looking around - We might have to land on that plateau. - I trust, you Kim. Also, try not to flinch around... Now.

Kim tightened her grip just when she heard a distant explosion when their plane with the rest of their equipment collided with the ground.

The two looked at each other, exchanging wordless thoughts.

- Ron, Rufus, brace yourselves, this might be hard landing.

Shielding him from the impact, she let her body take the majority of force, hoping the leaves of the bush she was aiming at would do the rest. A second stretched into infinity again, as she waited for Ron's voice, and when he finally spoke, she did something she wanted to do for a long time.

- Kim, I'm fine, are you-

His voice drowned in her mouth when she pulled him into a salty kiss, as tears began overflowing her eyes. At least for now they were safe.

- Uh, Kim, we're no longer falling to our deaths, you can let go now. - Never. - she spoke through tears - I'm not letting you go ever again.

============================

With all their limbs intact, the two started thinking of a plan how to get back onto their track. They were, after all in the middle of a jungle, one of the densest in he world. Kim's heart sank when she tried contacting Wade, as it would seem her Kimmunicator took one for the team.

The two spent the first hour walking around the rocky plateau, hoping to find some place of shelter there. The sun was setting down, and if they could find a place to set up a camp above the treetops, instead of on the ground, they would at least be shielded from wild animals.

An optimist would call it a cave; a realist, a slightly deeper hole in the rocky wall they were encircling. But at least it gave them the shelter, and a place to rest and ascertain their situation. Kim sat on her folded parachutes, doubling as beddings, trying to gather her thoughts, still racing through her mind.

- Okay, so, our equipment is gone, and we have no way of contacting rest of the world. We know where north is, shame we don't have a map... - We do! - No, Ron, I told you, the GPS isn't working, so- - No, a map!

Ron waved a thick, pocket-sized, battered book at her, and watched as her face brightened.

- Admittedly, it still has Czechoslovakia in it, and Germany is divided into three pieces, instead of two, so I don't think it-

Once again his voice died down when Kim's lips crashed with his as she nearly toppled him to the ground, peppering his face with kisses.

- Ron, you saved ut! Did you manage to bring anything else? - Er, I have some snacks. - he smiled, much to her surprise - The vending machine was dirt cheap... - Ron, you are always so considerate... - she cooed and toyed with his hair. - Well, I knew we might need it here, I mean, I gotta balance the diet of the fruits here with something slightly less healthy...

Kim smiled at him, and the two burst into laughter, listening to the soft crackling of the campfire. Her hands coiled around him, feeling the soft material of Ron's parachute underneath them, and as she pressed her body against his, something clicked in her brain, and she broke their kiss so she could undo her shirt.

- Ki-Kim?! - Ron stuttered, unable to trust his eyes - No-Now? Here?! - Ron, I-I can't wait... - Kim spoke in low, breathless voice, one she herself couldn't fully recognise, as her hands dug into his shirt - I-I have to know if you're alive...

In the corner of her eye, she saw Rufus giving them a contemptuous looks before he stuffed his earplugs in, and ran towards their only remaining backpack to give the two a bit of privacy. He will get over it, Kim thought. He always does.

She concentrated back on her boyfriend, and let out a gasp when she felt his hands doing a bit of work on her cargo pants, though with the heat growing between her loins, she knew she would do it much, much faster than him. She stood up and in one fell swoop she disrobed herself, before doing the same to her baffled lover, finally letting their naked bodies collide.

- Kim, I don't- - No talk, Ron. - she shushed him. - Later.

She straddled him, and as their lips met once more, she finally felt her lover between her legs, and that he was as much into her spontaneous, wild plan as she was. For a split of a second, she thought of his mouth on her sex, of the long and delicate foreplay Ron was spoiling her with almost every night; the sight of his blonde hair above her tiny red bush and her fingers in them...

And then she impaled herself onto his cock, bypassing all of that. Her loud, primal cry echoed around them, and Ron could swear that it made a group of birds fly away from a nearby tree, though he couldn't be sure, as all he could concentrate on was his radiant girlfriend bouncing up and down on his cock with a mad gleam in her eye he didn't expect to see, especially here.

Kim didn't want his tenderness and gentlemanly behaviour. She wanted ruthless, rabid rutting she knew he was capable of, though from the wide-eyed stare he was giving her, she had to jump-start him into that mood. Her hips and legs worked overtime, coating his manhood with more of her juices that in turn only allowed her to speed up her frantic bounces.

Their lips met in quick, aggressive kisses, short enough for the to let them breathe in their shared musk and heat with much needed air they were expelling, though Kim was doing it to a much bigger degree, fully justifying Rufus' earplugs. For a short moment Ron was glad, as her carnal moans and wails, cried into the night would surely repel any animals.

But as their spontaneous love-making continued, his voice slowly began rivalling hers, as his cries and grunts raised and harmonised with hers. His grip on her thighs tightened, fulfilling Kim's deepest desire to be as close to her lover as possible. Though the two never looked away from each other, in a split of second before the bliss consumed them, they saw the familiar sparks in their eyes, and as Ron pulled her against her, and onto his cock, Kim came, dragging him with her. But her initial cry was nothing compared to the series of high-pitched moans in quivering voice that reverberated against the rocky walls with each portion of his warmth Ron spilled inside her.

The two rocked their bodies together, as if competing against each other in some invisible race, fuelling their carnal desires.

A solid minute later, when Kim has calmed down, Ron massaged her backside, still shivering from the waves of orgasm, as well as the gentle breeze of chill air that was quickly combated by the heat from their love-making. Their lips met again, in a much longer, languorous, sensual kiss in which Kim explained in lengthy, silent details how much she needed him.

- So, do you think I'm alive? - Ron asked with a slightly croaked voice, trying to sound composed and cool. - Mhm I don't know. - Kim smiled - I think I need some more pro-OOF!

She yelped when her lover toppled her to her back, making sure that her head would land on his open palm first, as he slid the other, useless parachute for her comfort. Before Kim knew, her legs were on his shoulders, and the same man, who was surprised by the sight of her naked breasts a few long moments ago was now happily pounding her with a smirk on his face.

Kim let out a loud, unabashed "YES!" and let their bodies mingle once more. And as he exerted his dominance over her, first by mate-pressing her, and then taking her doggy-style, Kim had a sudden epiphany. This is exactly how they should have been doing it.

How it should be done at all...

Sure, delicate bedsheets were nice and all, but doing it in the wild, underneath a starry sky, has awoken a very primal part of her mind. True, they have done it in the park during jogging one time, and there was that incident in the changing booth in the mall, but those couldn't compare to this... Before she would let Ron climax again, though, she swiftly rolled to her back, temporarily losing the precious connection with him she regain at once when she closed her legs behind his back, locking him inside her again.

Their eyes met, and another, loud scream filled the air around them when they reached their shared peaks. And as Ron's seed continued to flood her womb for the third time, their moans and cries joined the sounds of the mating season around them, as the night was still very young for them.

==================

A long while later, they cuddled against each other, wrapped in their parachutes working as blankets. Ron was peppering Kim's shoulders, watching as she did the rudimentary math with Ron's pencil (he always carried one). She giggled when his mouth reached a particularly sensitive spot on her neck and turned towards him to give him another kiss.

- You want more? - Nah, I think I am all done for tonight. And for entire week, honestly.

Kim giggled.

- Well, we have to gather some strength through the night. We have a full day of trekking until we reach Manaus. - That's nothing for us.

He smiled and coiled his arms behind her back in a tight, loving embrace.

- Kim, I was gonna say earlier... - I know, Ron, don't worry. - she interrupted him - You brought the map, pencil, and snacks, those were more important than condoms. We will think of something once we reach the town. But even if not...

Kim paused and cupped his face, feeling his body tremble slightly underneath her touch.

- As I've said, I'm never letting go of you ever again either way.

She looked into his loving, brown eyes and watched as the uncertainty in them disappear with her reassuring words.

- Want something to eat, KP? I'm kinda famished after... after all that. - As long as Rufus hasn't eaten everything.

She laughed and gently moved their only backpack to see if they still had some food supplies left.

#kimron #kim/ron #lemon #nautiscaraderfics #Anonymous #kimxron #kim possible #ron stoppable #smutember #day 20

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linny-of-the-lakes · 6 years

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The F-word is 'Force'

Deadpool 2 fanfic, idk why I do these things

Summary: Don't be fucking mean, Nathan reminded himself, when a reproachful look from Domino made him realize he was glaring. Kid's an orphan. And abused. Probably in ways you don't want to think about. But at least he wouldn't have to grow up in a hellscape like Hope would. Well, fuck. It was his responsibility to prevent Firefist's future reign of terror, it was not his responsibility to like the kid. Which he explained to Domino when they were alone in the kitchen that evening, over weak beers that felt stronger on an empty stomach.

Dom just shrugged, looking nonplussed. "I get it. You miss them."

Nathan grunted, in what Louise would have called 'the hypermasculine-emotionally-closed-off version of a yes'.

"And anyway, he has Wade," she added, and for half a second there was the barest trace of a smirk in her eyes, before it disappeared into a look of complete poker-face sincerity.

Nathan had seen a lot of battle aftermaths. He knew even the victories could be hard on people. In those moments, he was used to putting the combat firmly behind him and kicking back for a couple beers with his comrades as if nothing had happened. Well, that was fucked now. He could have imagined after-combat drinks with Domino, all charm and confidence and enough raw skill to make him kind of want to buy her drinks all night and talk shop, not sex. Or the big Russian fucker. He looked like one of those by-the-book guys who took things serious, which Nathan respected, and he probably crushed vodka like a pro. Hell, he would even grudgingly sit down with Wilson. Wilson was a psycho, but Nathan had already decided he was worth keeping around, sealed that decision in the flow of the timestream, and lead, and blood. Wilson had found a solution to this whole mess, and if he could do that, then his fucked-up perspective was clearly unique enough to be useful. Wilson would flirt and natter at him in turn all night while they drank, and Nathan would let him, and each successive drink would make it easier to imagine Wilson filling the void of his wife, Louise, who nattered just like that in her wonderful way. Now so far away, but safe, and safer if he kept away from her. Separated by a couple decades. Yeah.

But then there was the fucking kid. Wedged in between him and Domino in the back of Dopinder’s (now rather bloody) yellow cab, all hunched up and quiet.

In the end, the X-contingent had taken Domino’s magic schoolbus back to the Mansion to negotiate getting Wilson and the kid taken off whatever official shit-lists Xavier might have power over and figure out what to do with several dozen shellshocked and traumatized mutant kids, which left Cable and Domino and Wade and Russell to get a ride with Dopinder back to the old blind lady’s apartment, because Wade had apparently blown his own apartment to shit not too long ago.

At first Russell had seemed to derive some kind of peace from the death of that creepy kidfucker headmaster. Domino had put an arm around him and murmured, “We outlived the bastard, honey, it’s gonna get better now,”. And Russell had grinned up at her with a little too much of a glint in his eye, making Nathan reach for the stuffed bear to reassure himself the thing was still free of ash and blood. Maybe the chubby little motherfucker wasn’t a mass murderer any more, but he still had a vengeful streak.

And Wade Wilson, thus far a necessary buffer between Cable and his quarry, had the audacity to fall asleep in the front seat on the way back. Domino soon followed, declaring that she could cat-nap anywhere. So now it was just Nathan and Russell fucking Collins, in uncomfortably close proximity, while Dopinder played some kind of self-help motivational bullshit at very low volume in the front seat. Russell had gone from animated to silent and overwhelmed-looking, and he kept casting nervous little glances in Nathan’s direction. Nathan, meanwhile, glared.

The kid was not what he had expected. The Firefist of Cable’s own time was close to a hundred years old, though he was effectively ageless thanks to the work of a bodysculptor mutant in his inner cadre. One of these huge six-foot-seven Pacific Islander guys, just built like a brick shithouse. Well, either future Firefist had been cheating with the bodysculptor for height and muscle tone or puberty was going to hit this kid like a fucking meteor. At this point in the time stream he was maybe five-foot-two in shoes and about as physically unintimidating as it was possible for anybody with flamethrowers in their hands to be. The scared brown eyes that peered up at Nathan through a fringe of sweat-flattened hair had purple bruises around them like he’d been slugged recently. If not for the powers and the weird-ass Kiwi accent, Nathan would have thought he had the wrong guy.

But as he’d had time to observe the kid, he’d seen the beginnings of Firefist’s resourcefulness and determination, and his ability to pull powerful people into his orbit (seriously, how the fuck had he managed to escape an ultrasecure prison transport truck and get the Juggernaut in his back pocket in one swoop?). And the anger. Oh, yes. The anger had been more than enough to convince Nathan he was too far gone, but Wade had known, somehow. And Nathan couldn’t say he wasn’t grateful. Future warlord or not, he didn’t want to have to kill a fucking kid. But that didn��t mean he had to trust Russell a single inch – no, he was going to be watching that little fucker, lest he drift back over the line and become the future monster all over again. “Are you still gonna kill me?” asked Russell, out of nowhere, as if he’d plucked the thought from Nathan’s brain.

“Nah.” Nathan stretched, dropping his glare hastily away. Maybe an explanation was owed. “Future you was on my shit list, but I think we changed time streams when you didn’t kill the pervert.”

“I wanted to.”

“Ya didn’t.”

“What did I do to you?” He chewed his lip momentarily. “Er. Will I do? Was I going to have done?”

“Yeah, I don’t think English has tenses for this shit.” Nathan sighed. He realized abruptly that he didn’t want to tell the kid he was, or even would have been, destined to become a monster. But he’d never been one for mincing words. “Long time from now. You kill my family. Wife and daughter. Burn them to death.”

The kid turned away, staring at his hands. “I was afraid of that,” he mumbled, in a thick voice. Oh, god, I made him fucking cry. Yep, the kid’s face was all scrunched up and there was moisture glinting in his eyes. And it was some kind of primordial physiological bullshit that made Nathan react the same way he would to his daughter Hope’s tears. Awkwardly. But wanting more than anything to fix it. So he held out the teddy bear.

“Do you see soot on this thing?”

Russell shook his head, not looking up. “I was just so angry, I-I didn’t – I don’t want to be like him-”

“So don't be,” said Nathan, a little too gruffly. On the other side of Russell he saw Domino crack a golden eye open in silent warning, and winced. Okay, try again. “You just need to keep… deciding not to murder people.”

This was probably even worse, but Russell stopped whimpering just long enough to arch an eyebrow at him. “No killing ever? That’s fucking hypocritical.”

“Huh.” Nathan took a moment to try to figure out how to articulate the need for dispassionate action in his line of work and how not one in ten soldiers actually had that quality but sometimes you could fake it with extreme discipline, took one look at the kid, and gave up. “You’re fourteen.”

“I’ve seen some shit. I’m basically an adult.”

“No you’re not.” Nathan sighed. “It’s not your responsibility to kill people like him.”

“Whose is it then?” Russell stared at the road up ahead, scowling.

“Mine,” put in Dopinder.

“That was dope.” The memory seemed to get a bit of a smile out of the kid. It didn’t last. “But we were in that place because everybody in the whole world thought we were somebody else’s problem.” Russell’s eyes had gone steely. “People knew, y’know. Essex wasn’t a fucking secret. People could have stopped him and nobody did shit.”

Christ. He had something like a point there, even if Nathan couldn’t afford to admit it. “Yeah. The system failed you. Thing about killing, though, kid. The first time you do it it feels good. But it eats you up inside after. The thrill ain’t worth the guilt. But every time after that it gets a little easier to take, and pretty soon it’s all thrill, no guilt. And in the face of that, you gotta keep hold of your morals. Nobody your age should have to work against that. ‘Specially not you.”

“Because I’ll fuck it up,” the kid surmised, bleakly.

“Yep. Not your fault, really. Just how it is.”

“I knew I’d never be a superhero.”

Nathan relented a little. “Come back in eight years when you know what you’re doing with your powers and maybe we’ll talk. Maybe.”

Russell made a frustrated noise and knuckled the tears out of his eyes, burrowing into Domino’s side for a cuddle. Nathan let his grip on the unblemished teddy bear relax a little. Alright, maybe watching the kid like a hawk would be overkill. He’d… keep an eye on him.

They spent the next day or so at Althea's apartment, nobody quite sure where they were going to go next. Nathan had long since perfected the military art of not appearing to give a shit about his physical circumstances, so their accommodations didn’t bother him, but he kept to himself, kept closed-off and quiet. He had been mentally prepared for death, or for going home to his family and to the familiar bittersweet guilt of an ugly victory. Not for this... horrible lukewarm limbo. He'd made the decision to save Wade Wilson, and even now, he didn't think it was the wrong one. His family were alive, and safer now that he was too far away to make them a target. He had an opportunity to fix the past and give his daughter the kind of life he'd never had. He just... might not see them again until he could get the time travel device fixed, and that might be years from now. Or never. So Nathan gritted his teeth and worked on gun repairs and made Plans, and tried to think about anything other than how Louise would have hit it off so well with Domino, or how Hope would have been amazed at the scrubby daylilies that bloomed in the front yard (real flowers were the stuff of fairytales in his time, gone the way of most green things you couldn't grow in underground vats).

Domino, who told him her real name was Neena, was a quiet blessing, a thoughtful cup of coffee or word of encouragement offered without excessive sympathy. Wade was too, in his own weird, twisted way. His burble of seemingly random commentary ended up being a very necessary distraction. He wanted to talk X-Force, and correcting Wade's various tactical blunders was a real intellectual exercise, but he also wanted to introduce Nathan to the wonders of the early 21st century. Nathan liked video games. The blam-blam stab-stab kind, mostly. Or The Sims. That game was like inhabiting the pages of a nostalgic, dreamlike history book where you could also make hideously ugly people and then drown them in a pool just by removing the fucking ladder. Great shit.

Russell's presence was grating. The kid was behaving, more or less, minus some bickering with Wade over shit that had gone down in the icebox and some standard teenaged whining about being made to help Althea with cleaning, but he didn't need to do anything to piss Nathan off. He was the reason Nathan had been forced to come back here in the first place. Any way you sliced it, future mass murderer or permanently redeemed, he was still the catalyst that had separated Nathan from his daughter. He should have been with Hope right now. His bright, effervescent daughter with her mother's beautiful eyes and her clever questions and the endless optimism of a summer's day. And instead she'd been supplanted by a mean-spirited, overweight juvenile delinquent, like the swapping of the infant Esmeralda for changeling Quasimodo.

Don't be fucking mean, Nathan reminded himself, when a reproachful look from Domino made him realize he was glaring. Kid's an orphan. And abused. Probably in ways you don't want to think about. But at least he wouldn't have to grow up in a hellscape like Hope would. Well, fuck. It was his responsibility to prevent Firefist's future reign of terror, it was not his responsibility to like the kid. Which he explained to Domino when they were alone in the kitchen that evening, over weak beers that felt stronger on an empty stomach.

Dom just shrugged, looking nonplussed. "I get it. You miss them."

Nathan grunted, in what Louise would have called 'the hypermasculine-emotionally-closed-off version of a yes'.

"And anyway, he has Wade," she added, and for half a second there was the barest trace of a smirk in her eyes, before it disappeared into a look of complete poker-face sincerity.

Ah, yes, Wade Fucking Wilson, mercenary and occasional coke-head with obvious psychoses and a soul rubbed as raw and bloody as Russell’s was. Not a bad guy. Nathan kind of liked the chatty freak, despite himself. But not father material.

“Wade, are you fuckin’ serious about this family shit?” Nathan asked him through gritted teeth, when Wade padded in for a beer and Russell was safely out of earshot.

Wade’s brown eyes looked almost hurt. “Yeah. Yeah, I am. I know me and ‘serious’ go together like Roseann Barr and twitter’s abuse policy, but this actually matters to me. Everybody else wrote that kid off. Including you. And the only thing I took from ninth grade English class aside from the precise, perfect shape of Mr. Hawthorne’s ass was that The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz was about a self-fulfilling prophesy and if you treat someone like a villain they'll become one.” Seeing the look on Nathan’s face, he frowned. “Right, you wouldn’t have read that book, you’re American. Future-American. Hey, how’s Canada doing in the future, by the way?”

“Shitty. The climate went to hell, your major cities flooded or got eaten by glaciers.”

“Is Ben Mulroney still alive? No, don’t tell me, nothing can kill him, he’s too powerful. ANYWAY. I fully intend to be the tragically disfigured dad that adorable little arsonist never knew he wanted.”

The really fucked-up thing was that Nathan believed him. Shaking his head in horrified amazement, he followed Wade to the living room, where he and Russell were halfway through some kind of... musical theatre film. Something evidently set even further into the past than 2018, which the case proclaimed to be Les Miserables. Wade plonked down next to Russell and gave the kid’s hair a short, tentative little pet.

To Nathan’s surprise, the kid not only let him, but rested his head against Wade’s shoulder.

Nathan shrugged, and sat down to watch. And was disturbed to find that it was giving him Emotions.

They killed the video over the last belted harmonic chorus, and Wade turned to Russell. "So, kid, what did you learn?"

"Fuck Russell Crowe. That cunt abandoned New Zealand and he can’t even sing."

"Excellent,” said Wade, with evident pride. “Not to mention he’s the reason we had to get discount Thanos, so fuck him, but like, morals?" Wade turned to Cable and Dom and flashed a thumbs up and a look how well parenthood is going grin.

Russell considered this for a moment. "...Instead of fighting my enemies, convince them to commit suicide?"

"I probably shouldn't have showed you Oklahoma! before this."

Christ. Nathan put his head in his hands. "All that shit about redemption and fatherhood and the futility of war and sparing the cop's life and that's all you two chucklefucks have to say?"

Wade grinned at him. "Whoah, so much depth! I could just dive into you, Terminator 2. You be Javert, I'll be Wolverine, we can get our Foe Yay on."

He felt like he’d just been either insulted or propositioned, but he wasn’t sure which. “I don’t want to be Russell Crowe,” Nathan objected, a little helplessly. Maybe he ought to have just been grateful the kid wasn’t in a murderous rage over the Thenardiers.

Russell shrugged, apparently unmoved. "Wade, have you got anything to eat?"

"Yeah, I keep some cereal above the sink."

Nathan raised his head, in time to watch with dawning horror as the kid got up, filled a huge bowl with milky Lucky Charms and settled back down on the couch. Nathan knew Lucky Charms. They were still selling them in his own time. Probably the same recipe and everything. They were, as far as he could tell, 90% sugar and 10% wood shavings. His daughter loved them and was not allowed them ever. "Wilson, you can't just give him fuckin' Lucky Charms for dinner."

Both Wade and Russell looked up at him with a mixture of offense and genuine confusion. Nathan didn't know why he was even surprised. Russell would take whatever he was given, and Wade was still a fucking child himself, so why on earth would he know any better? "It's not food."

This won him even more confused looks. "Sure it is," Wade argued, hopping up to investigate the box. "It's got... niacin, that sounds important, right?"

Nathan growled. A frustrated growl of defeat. Of responsibility. He turned and opened the fridge to conduct a rapid inventory of items he'd need to replace for Althea later. "I'll cook something. Wade, take that shit away from him. Russell, set the table."

"He cooks! Sweet Bea Arthur I'm in love."

"We haven’t even got a table,” Russell pointed out, glowering at his bowl of cereal as Wade snatched it away and started eating it himself.

“Well – set something. And go wash your hands.”

He was alarmed to realize he’d used the same autopilot Dad Voice he used on Hope when she was being difficult. To his surprise, it worked; Russell gave up trying to paw the cereal back from Wade and went off to dig up knives and forks.

“What voodoo was that?” asked Wade, staring with interest as Nathan chopped vegetables.

“It’s called parenting,” Nathan growled back. Too harsh, maybe, but now he was pissed off. Wade had said he was serious, and sure, Nathan had known not to expect actual good judgment out of him, but the kid deserved better than this, dammit.

He didn’t know when exactly he’d decided that the kid deserved anything besides a bullet in the spleen, but apparently he had. Probably the fucking musical making him soft.

Russell could not stay with Wade, in the end. There was a place for him at Xavier’s, thanks in no small part to Colossus and his two young wards. Xavier’s could offer him stability, training, education, and a huge extended family of almost aggressively supportive mutants; it was very clearly the best possible place for him. Nathan would have put his foot down if he’d needed to, but Wade seemed to accept and understand this, demonstrating more maturity and self-awareness than anyone had dared to expect. It helped that he’d been given carte blanche to visit whenever he wanted. The Professor hadn’t been happy about a known killer lurking the halls of his house - right up until, at the end of his very first day at the Academy, Russell had a sudden, apparently causeless freakout and nearly blew a hole through the handsome oak-panelled walls in sheer panic. Only Wade had been able to talk him down, eventually coaxing from the kid a panicky stream-of-consciousness babble of an apology.

“-They gave me my own room and there’s mutants using all their powers and everybody smiles at me, Wade, it’s a fucking trap, isn’t it, or – or I’m dreaming, that’s it, right? It can’t really be this good – Fuck, I don’t belong somewhere this nice, I’m gonna burn something by accident and get thrown out -”

Nathan had to leave halfway through because it was all a little too Emotional, but not before he got the basic picture. Russell, who’d accepted getting the crap beat out of him in mutant prison without batting a blackened eye, didn’t know how to deal with people being even minimally nice to him. Wade did an admirable job calming him down with a stream of jokes and weirdly sincere reassurances and more jokes, and nobody was questioning the need to keep him around after that.

Wade’s visits suited Nathan just fine, too. He’d been offered a place to stay for a couple months, and a part-time job to boot. Charles Xavier, who was every inch the serene all-knowing bastard the history books made him out to be, sat him down and told him, teach the students the skills they may someday need to survive. But more importantly, teach them not to make the mistakes that bring about a world where those skills are necessary. Teach them to fight wars by preventing them. And try not to let Cyclops know your real name, hm, Mr. Summers?

So basically the students knew him only as Cable, and he was their own personal warning oracle from the future slash hardass gym teacher. It was a useful day job. Put him in an excellent tactical position for moonlighting X-Force plans.

Today, Wade, in full red condom-wrapper suit minus the usual surplus of weaponry, found him at the edge of the Mansion’s running track, sweating in the summer noon sun and watching twelve teenagers do laps. And naturally the first thing that caught Wade’s attention was the pair of running shorts Nathan had on for the day. They were, admittedly, a little shorter than he was entirely comfortable with. It was hot out. And he hadn’t known Wade was coming, dammit.

He’d suspected, but that wasn’t the point. Wade tried to snap the waistband on him. Nathan broke his wrist.

“Oww. You know, I was gonna say the Richard Simmons look wasn’t ‘you’, but it’s really growing on me. ‘It’ being my erection. This is probably a conversation we shouldn’t have in front of running teenagers, huh?”

Nathan wasn’t touching more or less all of that. He stared straight ahead, face stoic. “Thought Canadians said ‘eh’, not ‘huh’.”

“Urban myth. The thing about the syrup heist is true, though. How’s our boy doin’?”

On the running track a hundred yards away, Russell was pulling up the very rear, red-faced and dragging his feet. “Swear the chubby little fucker’s never run a day in his life before this,” grunted Nathan, and then called out in the direction of the track, “Let’s see some hustle, Russell!”

Russell groaned and flipped them both the bird, but not before he picked up the pace.

It was hard to tell, behind the red mask, but Nathan was pretty sure Wade was staring at him. “Was that… was that… it was.”

“What?”

“A goddamn dad joke.”

Nathan played dumb. It was all he could do.

When Wade’s cackling had run down, he tilted his head at Nathan, managing to look imploring behind the surface of the mask. “Will you teach me? I want to know the Ways of the Dad. Ideally in a quick training montage to the tune of Cat’s in the Cradle. I want to barbecue and play catch and call him ‘sport’ and embarrass him in ten years by developing regressive political ideas.”

“Get yourself a fanny pack,” Nathan deadpanned.

“I knew it was a fucking fanny pack!”

“They’re better for lumbar weight distribution than a backpack,” Nathan grumbled. He wore one because he was getting old, his joints rebelling, and he did not give a flying fuck what anyone thought of him. And yet, with Wade, he felt the need to justify the damn thing. “I’m a pretty shit dad, Wade. Don’t make me your model.”

“You’re good with Russell,” Wade pointed out. “He does what you say even when he’s being a pen in the ass. Pain. I meant pain.”

“Yeah, well, discipline’s easy. Russell was a foster kid for ages before Essex got him. Needs structure, bad.” Discipline was easy, for an army joe like him. With Hope, he had always been the strict one, the parent who laid down the law. Although, funny, it was still him she always came to when she really wanted something. “I can’t do any of that emotional shit though. Louise was always sayin’ I wasn’t ‘present’.” He scrubbed at his face with his hand, mopping away summer sweat. “She was right. First couple years of Hope’s life I was one frigid son of a bitch to her. And now I’ve abandoned them to fix the past. Talk about a deadbeat.”

“Uh, you had to do that to save me,” Wade pointed out. “So really you abandoned your family for a man you’d just met, yet had unforgettable chemistry with – huh, I guess that’s worse, isn’t it?”

Nathan nodded, grimacing. It was probably too late to bother trying to convince Wade he hadn’t consciously decided to keep the merc around. “Worst thing is I kinda like it here. This era. Doing what I’m doing. What kind of father…”

“Oh my gooood.” Wade groaned. “I thought they were abandoning the whole messiah complex thing from the comics when you decided to kill Sarah-Connor-in-the-first-movie-before-she-could-do-chinups! Are you seriously beating yourself up about abandoning your family? Just Chronicles of Narnia that shit! As soon as you get your time travel McGuffin fixed just go back to the exact moment you left!”

“Huh.” He had known he could do that, obviously, but it hadn’t really sunk in that weeks or months or even years spent here, with Wade and Russell and Dom, didn’t need to change a thing for his family. If anything, his arrival time would be more precise if he delayed, as the time gap slowly shrank. Sure, he’d be a couple years older when he got back, but it wasn’t old age that was gonna kill him. “I guess.”

“See? Not a shit dad.”

“I’m still crap at the whole…” Nathan gesticulated vaguely, not sure how to say it. “…Emotional Vulnerability stuff.”

“Ahh, yes, you’re a repressed alpha male. The strong, silent, toxic masculinity type.”

That irritated him. “Go fuck yourself, Wilson. At least I’m fucking trying. It was always hard with my daughter. I learned to do it. Way too late. Russell, though? I look at that kid and I have no idea what he’s feeling.”

“It’s usually rage,” said Wade, helpfully.

“You said you’d been in his shoes.”

“Oh, Jesus, yes.” Incongruously, Wade laughed. “He’s a pyro, I’m trigger-happy, we get each other. Hell, there’s even national similarities. He was parentally abandoned in New Zealand, or as I like to call it, Down Canada.” It was unclear whether the implication that Wade had also been parentally abandoned was intentional. Prism of humour again. Wade burbled on. “Y’know, If we do get your time travel thingy fixed I want to re-do the orphanage fight again just so I can kill more pedophiles with a brick. It was therapeutic.”

“I think he needs you.”

Wade shut his mouth, turned, tilted his head. The wide-eyed, grateful surprise was visible even through the mask. “Vanessa said the same thing.”

Nathan smiled. Just a little. “Look, tell you what. You keep going with the bonding, touchy-feely-”

“-But not inappropriately,” Wade cut in, sing-song-

“-All that shit. You’re actually pretty good at that stuff. And I’ll stick around to make sure he does his homework and occasionally eats something green.” Nathan rolled his eyes. “God knows I don’t fuckin’ trust you to.”

“You mean… co-dad? Dad Team? Russell gets two dads?” Wade made a little high-pitched noise, leapt into the air and actually fucking clicked his heels. “DAD TEAM! DAD-FORCE!”

Nathan groaned. And to think, Hope had always said he was the embarrassing parent. “Can you not?” But Wade was already bounding towards their boy to tell him the good news.

Nathan still would have preferred to be home, all things being equal. But all things were not equal. If he was Jean ValJean, then these idiots were his Cosette. They needed him, and maybe he could use the second chance.

#Deadpool 2 #fanfic #Cable #Nathan Summers #Wade Wilson #Russell Collins #Firefist #Domino #F-word family #Dads

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tyranttortoise · 7 years

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Ok so this is gonna seem like an odd question but how does the US/SF Skelebros + Grillby react when their friend confesses to actually being dead and becoming a physical representation of something (Judgement, Justice, Death, Time, etc.) after death. I'm sorry this is so weird but its for a thing I swear.

(*Okay, so ever since this appeared in my askbox, I’ve been absolutely DYING to know what this “thing” is! Is it a fic? What is it?! You’ve gotta tell me, anon!)

US!Sans:

Justice.

Sans thinks this is amazing, but “OH WOWZERS, DID DYING HURT?? WHAT WAS IT LIKE? WHAT HAPPENED NEXT? HOW DID YOU BECOME LIKE THIS? WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU? ARE YOU ALL RIGHT? DO YOU NEED A GLASS OF WATER OR SOMETHING? WAIT, JUSTICE? DOES THAT MEAN YOU’RE A SUPERHERO? WHAT’S YOUR SUPERHERO NAME? DO YOU WEAR A CAPE? I MADE MY BATTLE BODY YOU KNOW (WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM PAPY) SO IF YOU NEED A SUPERHERO COSTUME, I COULD MAKE YOU ONE TOO! DO YOU WANT A SIDE-KICK? WHAT FORM OF JUSTICE DO YOU DISPENSE AND IS IT SWIFT???”

Blueberry barely pauses for a breath, he’s so excited. With every question, he leans in closer to his friend until he’s basically lying across the top of the table, the tips of his boots touching his chair, and his face inches away from theirs. His eyelights have never been this bright, and he’s already mentally designed both his friend’s costume and his own, and he’s coming up with cool backstories and trying to think of what justice needs to be done.

The first order of business is getting Papy to clean his room because it’s a GRIEVOUS INJUSTICE that Sans has to wade through that filth when he tries to do laundry.

US!Papyrus:

Judgement.

He stares at his friend, and chuckles lightly, leaning back in the chair at Muffet’s. Dead, huh? He takes a long sip of his honey, but he’s staring unseeing at a point just beyond their shoulder. His nightmares have been haunted with dust for so long that it’s not unreasonable to believe that his friend has died before. But for them to be dead now, and claiming to be.. something more, well..

He puts down his honey. "it’s a little hard to swallow there. you’re expectin’ me to believe you’re.. what? judgement?“

*i mean, that’s kinda my thing, pal.

The friend offers to prove it. Stretch looks at them for a long moment, before fishing a cigarette out of his hoodie’s pocket and lighting it up. "nah, i’ll pass.” He gestures toward their plate with the fingers holding the cig. "you gonna eat that spider donut or what? i’ve got a sweet-tooth.“

Yeah, judging people may be his thing, but being judged? Count him out.

Papyrus will make some judge puns from now on, but he doesn’t act any differently around his friend otherwise.. except for maybe being a little more careful with his actions.

SF!Sans:

Death.

“IF YOU HAD DIED, YOU’D STILL BE DEAD! AND WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’RE DEATH? ARE YOU IMPLYING THAT YOU CAN’T DIE? THE MALEVOLENT SANS CAN TEST THAT THEORY!”

Sans isn’t exactly thrilled. The idea of coming back from the dead baffles him, and he doesn’t believe his ‘friend’. Why would they make something like that up, though? Are they attempting to gain more infamy than him? If anyone represents Death, it should be him! After all, he’s got an impressive amount of LOVE, and there’s plenty of dust on his hands. Are they trying to be more badass than he is?!

Blackberry’s going to attempt to fight them. If they are who they say they are–well, what’s more impressive than fighting Death? And if they’re not, he’ll just make their death permanent.

Needless to say, Papy also gets involved in this brawl.

SF!Papyrus:

Time.

Time is relative. Points start and stop; paths branch and converge. Even someone without a quantum physics background can determine that much. But, for Papyrus, time has always been something that’s made his life in this hellhole even more nightmarish. His friend is the embodiment of time?

*nope.

They’re not his friend. A friend wouldn’t do this to him, wouldn’t make him suffer this way.. wouldn’t hurt his brother this way. Papyrus’s gaze darkens, and he inhales slowly, the tip of his lit cigarette glowing a vibrant orange.Just like his left eyesocket.

“heh, well now, pal.. are you tellin’ me that you’re the anomaly? that you’re the one that’s behind all this?” His baritone voice is low and gravelly, and smoke is coming out from both his nasal cavity and past his fangs as he leans in.

“you’re about to experience a bad time.”

SF!Grillby:

Greed.

His friend’s admission causes him to crackle pensively, his hand momentarily stilling in the midst of pouring tea. The whole death thing doesn’t phase him–the only word that truly resonates is greed. It’s something he’s innately familiar with, something that drives him to be ruthless. Gingerly, he sets down the teapot and rises, walking around the table with long strides. As always, his appearance is as sharp as his sudden jagged grin, and his hands are clasped behind his back. He leans in, the white-hot slits of his eyes visible just above his fogged glasses, and his flames burn an even more brilliant purple hue.

Slowly, he extends a hand toward his friend, brushing some imaginary dust from their shoulder and straightening the fabric of their shirt. His voice comes out low and cracked, distorted–yet smooth beneath all of that. Almost sultry.

“…you’re wrong.”

Abruptly, his hand pulls away and he snaps his fingers. Indigo fire bursts from all around his friend, erupting in a close circle that licks at their ankles and threatens to overtake their chair. Grillby leans in further, unaffected by the heat, and his jagged grin cuts a larger white line across his features.

“..it’s…me.”

And then he holds out his friend’s long-overdue tab in one hand, the other one extended palm-up for payment.

* I figured US!Grillby would just be a more chill version of SF!Grillbz.

If you were hoping for UT!Grillby instead, then I think he would just be in the middle of polishing a glass, quirk a fiery brow, and then slowly put the glass in front of his friend. Then, he grabs a bottle and pours them a drink. Yeah, it sounds like they’ve had a really tough time, so they really need a drink. He’s content to listen if they want to talk about it, and he doesn’t judge. In fact, there’s no indication one way or another whether he believes them or not.

#undertale imagines #underswap sans #underswap papyrus #swapfell sans #swapfell papyrus #swapfell grillby #they've got a weird friend but it was actually really fun to come up with what embodiment their friend would be

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