|"Blur" Cable/Deadpool tentacle rape, with the TO out of control and Cable all psycho
||[Jan. 16th, 2010|09:44 pm]
Cable x Deadpool
Author's Note: This is an unbetaed fic bit I just wrote for the kink meme. I've been giving |my attempt to write writing, or rather posting it, a rest as I try to polish up my grammar, etc, but apparently, some people still like my smut posts, so here is this one! I'm a bit embarrassed to be posting so much plotless smut, but if anyone would like to have a request filled out by me, you could 'buy it' by making a donation to Red Cross. I'm okay with writing nasty things like this one, or pure fluff, but expect the result to be as fast as the rest. If you would like to buy other requests and/or have it filled by other people, you could try looking through help_haiti.
Warning: Tentacle Rape
Summary: Canon AU where Cable's techno-organic tentacles have taken over the world.
Deadpool's memory had never been very good, or rather, it had never been reliable, but a brain can't be blamed for misplacing things when it's running on cells born later than yesterday. He should still be grateful for having a healing factor (state of being the human cancer or not), because if his brain doesn't grow back, he wouldn't even have a brain.
What Wade was sure about (right now), was that his memory was better Before, or maybe Before was still in his head, just slipping constantly out of reach. He could still see pieces of it, Silver Manhattan, when it was still recognizably Manhattan, outlined beneath a writhing mass of techno-organic snakes. The snakes did not need eyes to seek out its preys, did not need mouths to devour, the unbreakable tendrils pulled people from their cars, off the pavements, and infected them with a single prick, absorbing and recruiting whole neighbourhoods in less time than it take for Wade to unsheathed his katanas at last.
On that day, there was no room left for Wade to run, surrounded by a gleaming sea closing in from all side to swallow him, he was at the center of the storm. Silver snakes winded up his limbs and bound him tight, silver tentacles squeezed him in their unbreakable grip. The narrowed tips pulled and lengthened from the loops around his torso and limbs, turned back to probe along the tore seams of his clothes, until each found a tear in the fabric or made one big enough to sneak through and fondle skin. He screamed from the pressure and the friction as the whole of his costume was torn away by the invasion.
What was left of Manhatten could hear him, Wade Wilson's voice, deep and smooth and textured like gravels and gasoline, until the tentacle around his neck, winded its tip up to his mouth, and shoved its increasingly thickening length down his throat. It was flesh composed of metal, it felt like his lips were stretched by a cock, but his teeth could make no impression. While Deadpool was choking, his desperately crossed ankles were separated by the grip around his knees, and he was spread so wide he would have screamed a like girl, if he could - he remembered being relieved that he couldn't. Then, the tentacle that was writhing between the curves of his arse, found entrance, lined its tip within the tightly clenched ring, and pierced him. It was pointed and it felt pointed, it felt like someone had shoved the handle of something up his arse, and kept shoving in and out, until it was deep enough to resume a writhing motion.
Deadpool remembered That Day in bits, everything skips, especially after what used to be Cable, got its tentacles on him, failed to infect him, but did not quit. Always, he was either Filled, or About To Be Filled Again, the tentacles were taking their turns, most times when he was lucky.
When it was Wade's Bad Day (Every Day), there would be an eager tentacle that could not wait, probing intently along the line between the tentacle already inside and the arsehole stretched around it, until it finally forced its way in to twist and twine within the warmth of Deadpool's insides, and, he blacked out, and maybe died, but Death never came for him.
Sometimes, Wade dreamt, Wade knew, that Nate, in person, or what was him, was here. What still felt like a tongue, licking the insides of his mouth. Hands upon his body, hands gripping him by his shoulders, by his hips, fingers, hooking around his ankles, and a warm steel smooth cock thrusting in and out of him until he was weak (or more so). Everything was silver and shrone as one beneath the sun, but though Wade was never left unmolested, it was different when he had Nate's greater attentions.
The world was united, but a singular desire remains, expressed through a mournful voice coming from every pore of the silver sea, "I still don't have you," what felt like needles, pricked into his brain agian, as what felt like teeth, bit into his shoulder, "but I will."