Look, I just wanna talk | Dmitri x Sergei | Crossover | 2k
Kraven the Hunter x Deadpool Crossover | 2k | Sergei x Dmitri; Deadpool x Spider-man| Teen
30 days, 30 fics | Aaron Taylor Johnson character masterlist | AO3: Otaku_girl
Summary: When Dmitri is kidnapped (yet again), he gives the same line he always does; Papa does not pay ransoms. It turns out Nikolai isn't the only one with enemies willing to kidnap the youngest Kravinoff in order to make a statement...
Author's notes: June of Doom, day 25 - Get in + random + basement. Light-hearted/ crack treated seriously 😅
Look, I just wanna talk
“Get in.”
Dmitri held his head high as the door swung open, revealing a plain concrete room beyond. There was a single metal camp bed shoved in one corner, a bare flickering bulb hanging from the ceiling. As far as kidnapping attempts went, it wasn't the worst place he had ever been taken to. At least his hands were cuffed in front of him this time.
“You do realise that he won’t pay you,” Dmitri said, coming to stand next to the red and black spandex-clad figure. He tilted his head to one side. A stray trickle of blood made its way down his cheek, dripping across his lips. He didn’t reach up to brush it aside; Dmitri didn’t want to give the other man the satisfaction.
The masked figure didn’t move, remaining looming in the doorway, arms crossed. Dmitri’s eyes flicked across him; he didn’t recognise the costume. Not that that necessarily meant anything. He was aware of superheroes and supervillains, of course; he watched the news as much as the next guy. But, as far as he was aware, most of the superheroes and villains were a problem for those doing business across the pond. Dmitri couldn’t recall hearing of any incidents in London recently. He wondered what Nikolai had managed to do to anger this one.
“Papa doesn’t pay ransoms. He never has.”
The masked figure’s white eyes widened, giving the impression of raised eyebrows. “Papa? Is that what the kids are calling their sugar daddies these days? Or do you really think…? Christ, kid; I don’t give a flying fuck who your Papa is. I’m after bigger fish. A bigger cat? Bigger prey.”
Dmitri paused, turning back, brow furrowed. He had been kidnapped for any number of reasons over the years; demands for cash, for more favourable business deal terms, for the Kravinoffs to move out of certain territories or to help with others were all commonplace. Yet one thing always remained the same: It was Nikolai they wanted to deal with. It wasn’t as if Dmitri knew anyone else who should be willing to pay the price for his safe return.
Unease settled in his stomach. He sent the masked figure a tight smile that didn’t reach anywhere near his eyes. “I think you’ve got the wrong person.”
“Nice try, twink-toes,” the masked man laughed.
Dmitri arched an eyebrow. “I think you mean twinkle—”
He held up a hand. “No, I do not. Now sit that twinkish ass down on the bed like a good little kidnapee for Papa Pool, okay?”
Dmitri’s face wrinkled in disgust. Deadpool rolled his eyes. “What? Are you saying I’m not Papa material? I’ll have you know, I have a twinkish type of my very own who loves calling me Papa Pool. Well. He would, if we ever got past the awkward first date stage… I think we’re up to double first date digits now.”
“You aren’t making any sense. And I don’t think it’s possible to have that many first dates…” Dmitri said slowly, eyes flicking to the empty doorway beside his kidnapper. He still wasn’t entirely sure how the other man had got access to his club. “Are you sure you have the right man? Really, I’ve got one of those faces; always getting mistaken for someone else.”
Ever since The Rhino’s last little kidnapping attempt and Sergei’s subsequent rescue, Dmitri hadn’t left the safety of The Den, other than the occasional ‘highly encouraged’ visit to the Kravinoff Estate to visit Papa when Nikolai grew frustrated with his absence. The last thing Dmitri could remember was finishing rehearsals for his set; there shouldn’t have been anyone outside of his staff in the building at that time of day. Had someone sold him out?
“Sure am. Unless you’re telling me you don’t know tall, dark, and holy-muscle-definition himself? Which, I’ll be honest? Not gonna believe you for a second. I’ve got the photos to prove it.” Deadpool tilted his head to one side, eyes narrowing as he took in Dmitri’s blank look. “Seriously? You know, your little pet wildman? I’ve gotta ask, is he as wild in the bedroom as he is on the battlefield, because let me tell you, that man is such a freak on the streets, I bet he’s—”
“Are you talking about Sergei?” Dmitri asked, eyebrows creeping up. What on earth was this man talking about? He tried to keep his brittle smile in place. It had finally happened. He had been kidnapped by an actual madman. Why would anyone want to blackmail Sergei? It wasn’t as if he had access to more than his trust fund and, no matter how many little hunts he liked to take himself on, Dmitri doubted that they were bringing in the big money.
“Ah. Wait. Shit. You don’t know about the whole—” Deadpool gestured with one hand, raising it like a kitty claw and snarling. Dmitri sent him a flat look.
“I have been kidnapped by an actual crazy person this time. And I thought The Rhino was an all-time low,” Dmitri muttered beneath his breath, trying to calm his racing heartbeat. What was it Papa always said? Show no fear and let them know who was in charge? He tried not to scoff. All he had to do, then, was the complete opposite, and he might stand a fighting chance. “Look, why don’t you just undo these cuffs, and I can call someone to come and pick me up? I don’t have to tell anyone about this little mixup, okay?”
“Hey! I’ll have you know, the crazy has nothing to do with why I’ve kidnapped you. Well, borrowed you. Without permission. For an indeterminate length of time.” Deadpool paused. Reaching up, he scratched the back of his head. “Y’know what? We’ll stick to calling it kidnapped. Seems simpler. It’s nothing personal, you know.”
Dmitri sighed. “It never is.”
“Yeah, well, maybe if you learned to keep better company, kid, this wouldn’t keep happening to you, did you ever stop to think about that, hm? Ah-ah-ah, don’t even think about it,” Deadpool said, hand reaching behind him for one of his kantanas as Dmitri’s gaze lingered on the doorway for just a little too long. “You aren’t going anywhere until I get to speak to the big guy himself.”
“I keep telling you, Papa doesn’t negotiate with anyone, not even if it was for Sergei. I’m sorry to tell you, you grabbed the wrong son.”
“Wait, wait, wait. Sergei’s your…” he trailed off, eyes comically wide. “I thought you and he were, y’know… bumpin’ uglies? Doing the horizontal tango? Playing hide the—”
Eyes narrowed, Dmitri’s voice cut across his, effectively silencing him. “I don’t see how any of this is your business.”
An awkward silence fell between them. Eventually, Deadpool spoke first. “I… don’t hear you denying it there, buddy. Eh; you do you, boo. Whatever makes you both happy, I guess. Now, if you could just look here for me a minute—there we are.”
Dmitri’s eyes widened as Deadpool pulled his phone out from somewhere — where the hell was he keeping that? His suit was skintight — holding it up to Dmitri’s startled face so that it would unlock. Deadpool began scrolling through Dmitri’s phone, clearly in search of something. Dmitri’s stomach clenched uncomfortably.
“Look, if it’s money you’re after, I might be able to raise the funds. I can’t afford anything on the same level Papa could, but I can still make it worth your while. We can just forget this ever happen—”
“Quick question; when are you next expecting to see the big guy? I mean Kraven, not SugarPops.”
“I… don’t know a Kraven?” Dmitri said slowly, mind flicking back to his time with The Rhino. That’s what they had called Sergei, wasn’t it? The hunter? Kraven? He swallowed hard, wishing, not for the first time, that he had taken more time to question Sergei about what the hell was going on. Dmitri thought they would have more time; to talk, to catch up, to reconcile. And yet, Sergei had seemed determined to get away as quickly as possible. Just like always.
Deadpool pressed a hand to Dmitri’s shoulder, firmly encouraging him to sit on the rickety bed. Dmitri did so reluctantly. “Sure you do. You really aren’t very good at this, are ya, bambi? We’ve been talking about him for a while now. So. When’s he next due in town? C’mon, you can tell your old buddy, ‘Pool. New buddy. Look, just tell me, so I don’t have to start getting creative and make you tell me, m’kay? Spidey hates it when I start playing with my food and, well, I guess he’ll like it even less when it’s someone villain-adjacent, rather than a fully-fledged villain themselves.”
Dmitri laughed. “Sergei is the furthest thing from a villain you could get. Sure, he might be more like Papa than he realises, but he’s not… he has good intentions. He has a code. He always has. He protects people. Well, animals more than people now. He—”
Deadpool bent over laughing, hand slapping his knee. “Oh, that’s rich. You expect me to believe that The Hunter himself protects animals and people now? Jesus Christ, kid. You really need to have a conversation with him. Or maybe I’ll just grab his file for you, I’m sure my baby boy has notes on him somewhere.”
“Sergei is a good man,” Dmitri said firmly, refusing to believe otherwise. This man was clearly out of it. Dmitri knew that he shouldn’t risk upsetting him, but he refused to hear anyone speaking bad of Sergei in such a way. Not while he could help it.
“Well then, you better hope that you’re right, and I’m wrong. How long d’you think it’ll take him to come if you text him? Or if you give him a little call?”
Dmitri’s breath stuttered, and his eyes dipped. Sergei wasn’t due for another visit for nearly six months.
“Aww, come on, now. Trouble in paradise, huh? How long will it be then? A day? Two?... a week? Fuck, I thought the two of you were supposed to be close.”
“We are. He only visits on my birthday, unless…” Dmitri trailed off. It hadn’t happened often, but it had happened more than once.
Deadpool laughed. “Somehow, I think kidnapping is going to count as a liiiittle bit of a priority for him. So. What’re we talking about here? Still days? Because—”
Above them, the sound of breaking glass rang out, heavy footsteps stomping above the pounding baseline. “Sorry about that. You know how rowdy these homes for wayward girls can get. I—” Another crash sounded, followed by a scream. Dmitri’s shoulders lowered, unease settling at last. “—y’know what? I should probably go and check on that. You just wait right here.”
The door slammed shut behind Deadpool, a resounding click echoing through the room. Dmitri stood; there was little point in making himself comfortable. It sounded like Sergei was making short work of whatever hired goons this joker seemed to have. It would only be a matter of time before Kraven made it through to the lower levels to retrieve what was his.
Maybe it’s time to ask him more about these little hunts of his after all. If I can keep expecting these kinds of interruptions, the least he could do is check in more often. And give me a little forewarning before he pisses someone new off.
There was no sound of approaching footsteps this time. No forewarning before the door clicked open. Dmitri raised his head, a small smile ticking up at the corner of his lips. Wide, wild golden eyes honed in on him and Dmitri relaxed. He was safe.
“It took you long enough. I think it’s time we had a little conversation about this little pseudonym you’ve picked up, wouldn’t you agree?”
A/N: This is a little one shot from my Musical Marvel Stories series over on AO3
If you want to listen along heres the link and start the music when Wade tells you to :)
Words in italics are Deadpool talking to you. Words in bold are Deadpool talking to himself.
Rated Mature, not suitable for minors due to Deadpool (he's his own warning) graphic violence and bad language.
Word count: 1.9k ish
Bom Bom
Well hello there! Your friendly neighbourhood Deadpool here!
What? Sweet little Petey doesn’t have the monopoly on being friendly, and…erm… in the neighbourhood. Although I sure would like to monopolise…[no…no…bad Deadpool…you’ve got a Colossus….I mean…erm…colossal…dick at home]…..anywho.....
Here’s a little look into a normal day in my life, which isn’t normal by anyone’s standards.
SCENE – EXTERNAL OF NAMELESS INDUSTRIAL ESTATE
A battered taxi splutters its way up the potholed road towards a dilapidated warehouse. The driver is a nervous looking, skinny man of south Asian descent. In the back, a tall slender man, dressed in dirty red spandex with black accents lounges across the seats, arms folded behind his head. The taxi lurches to a stop and the passenger slides solidly into the rear foot-well.
“We’re here Mr DP. Or at least I think we are.”
The passenger rolls onto his hands and knees and pushes himself up.
“Thanks Dopinder. Maybe head back down the track a-ways and wait for my signal.”
“What type of signal?”
“You’ll know it when you see it. I’ll know it when I make it.”
The passenger exits the taxi, heads to the trunk and removes a large black holdall, which rattles metallically. Tossing it over his shoulder he swaggers towards the doorway of the warehouse. One of the doors hangs on only the upper hinge, so the lower half of the door swings out from the frame slightly. Stopping outside the door the man in red rummages through the bag. He slides a pair of swords in to the holder on his back, and then a pair of pistols into his thigh holsters. He slides a variety of grenades into the bandolier slung across his chest and grasps a semi-automatic in his right hand. He moves to walk cockily into the building but just before he does…
Hit it!
MUSIC – BOM BOM by SAM & THE WOMP
The man pushes open the better of the two doors, wiggling his ass in time to the music only you and he can hear.
[What the fuck is the cat with the bass and drum? What does that mean?]
SCENE – INTERNAL OF THE WAREHOUSE
A dozen or so men are inside the warehouse. They have a general air of menace and scruffiness about them. Ripped jeans, steel toe-capped boots, vests and plaid shirts. Greasy hair, facial scruff and stereotypical tattoos. They are almost ubiquitous in their attempt at individuality. There are a number of rickety tables between them, loaded high with various film wrapped, white packets. Crates and barrels line the walls between the tables.
[Sixteen pints of rum, now she’s talking…]
“Hello boys!” The man waves cheerily as the men turn to face him. “Now normally I’d be making friends with you guys, big fan of your product. Unfortunately though, you decided to branch out. And you went for the little branches, the kiddy sized branches…and…well…that just fucks me off. So, whilst a permanently pissed off, teenaged friend of mine is currently dealing with the guards at your safe house, I thought I would come and see you fellas.”
He has their attention, but the men are still wary, shifting slightly from foot to foot, a huge juxtaposition to the calm aura of the man in red.
“So, the question is, punks, are we doing this the hard way or the easy way?”
[Excellent –a trumpet solo!]
One of the goons suddenly draws a pistol from behind his back, and shots at the man in red. The bullet passes through his shoulder, blooming a deeper red against his suit . The man looks down at the wound.
“Motherfucker! Ow! That fucking hurt!” He looks back up at the gang members facing him. His unexpected reaction has thrown them, and their eyes dart to each other. Then, as if by some unspoken command, the others draw their own guns. The man in red turns as if to look right at you…..
The hard way it is then!
….and then dives to the side as the gang members open fire.
“Yippee Kiyay!!” He lands inelegantly on his face behind some kind of metal storage box.
Well that was lucky. I mean, what are the chances that this would be right here? Anyway, it’s shootin’ time!
The mercenary comes up on his knees behind the metal box, resting his semi-automatic on the edge and starts to shoot. His opponents dive for their own cover, a couple of them flipping the tables they are stood at, and bullets hit the white packages with soft ‘thunks’, puffs of powder shooting up into the air as the bricks fall to the floor.
Our hero……yeah, imma goddamn hero…..clips one of the dirt bags in the shoulder, sending him spinning before crashing to the ground. If we could see the man in red’s face…trust me, you don’t wanna….he’d be grinning. But then, “click”. His gun jams.
“Well isn’t that just peachy? Time to get dirty. And I just love getting dirty.”
He tosses his gun overarm, and it hits one of the goons in the head, bowling him over. The man in red throws a gas grenade before he draws his pistols from his thigh holsters and launches himself out from behind his cover. He advances across the grey concrete floor, focussing on accuracy as much as he can, as the hail of bullets rip into his flesh.
“Ow, ow, ow, ow!” But he’s been doing this type of thing for some time and more of his bullets find their mark more than not. The remaining goons catch up the guns of their fallen comrades, but there are few of them left now and they don’t understand how their attacker is still moving. By all rights he should have bleed out on the floor several rounds ago. They back towards each other, unintentionally making it easier to pick them off. They are too transfixed by the strange wiggling dance to pay attention.
But then, one of them slaps his hand out behind him, striking towards the wall. A loud grinding sound can heard, despite the gunshots. The wall parts, creating a small gap. Four of the five remaining bad guys manage to back through it, but the fifth falls to the ground, a red hole in the front of his skull and his brains decorating part of the solid wall behind him.
Click…click… “Well these are useless now.” The empty pistol are thrown to the side, and another gas grenade is thrown, before the twin Katanas are withdrawn from their sheaths.
Please ignore physics here and how it is virtually impossible to draw a full length sword from a back holster.
A resumption of the grinding noise makes the man whip his head back round. The gap is slowly closing.
“Oh no you don’t!” He runs full pelt at the narrowing gap, making it through just in time….or rather, almost just in time.
“Oh for fuck’s sake!” He looks down at where his left ankle meets the closed wall, his left foot crushed and stuck between two pieces of cement. He hops around for a few seconds, trying to determine if he can free himself. He turns towards the last of his foes, who once again are struck dumb as their brains desperately try to process what their eyes are seeing.
“Well this is embarrassing. Just hang fire fellas, I’ll be right with you.” A flick of his wrist, a flash of steel and a spray of blood and he is free. One of the gangbangers vomits and passes out.
“And then there were three. I’d say I’d go easy on you, but I’d be lying. I like it rough and hard!” He hops forwards, blades spinning and one of the men loses his head. Literally. It bounces off the chest of the man next to him and the now lifeless body crumples, pumping blood across the cement. This spurs the final two into action. Their opponent is at point-blanc range now, so they let rip with everything they have left. But it’s all in vain. The bullets rip through the man in red but they don’t slow him. One goon screams as his arm falls to the floor, followed shortly by the rest of his body as it goes into shock. The final man fires, a last ditch effort, but his bullet ricochets off one of the swords towards some gas canisters that have foolishly, and, for plot purposes, fortuitously, been stored in this feeble attempt at a panic room.
Well, this is going to hurt! [bom bom bom!]
SCENE – EXTERNAL AT THE ENTRANCE TO THE INDUSTRIAL ESTATE.
The taxi driver is lounging in his vehicle, incongruously bouncing his head in time to some music, when a large explosion sounds from the area in which he dropped off his fare. The yellow car rocks as the shock wave reaches it, before the occupant rolls out of his door. In his disorientation he takes a few steps towards the carnage, when he suddenly realises he can no longer move. He turns his head and sees a large metal hand clamping onto his shoulder.
“Do not worry,” states a heavy Russian accent. “I will go and clean up the mess”.
SCENE - BLACKNESS
Yes, that absolutely fucking hurt. And why is it so black in here?
“Wade, I know you are awake. You need to open your eyes.”
Right, eyes, opening them…..
Our hero blinks, and as his vision clears he can see a metallic face looking down at him and….
“Is that a smirk I see on your handsome face, my chrome-penised friend?”
“You, Wade, are a constant idiot. идиот! You do know that, да?”
“You love it really, baby”
Colossus sighs and rolls his eyes.
Deadpool looks up at what he considers to be thesexiest hunk of metal to ever grace the earth, but realises that the world isn’t holding steady.
“Erm…why are you so far away big guy, and why am I swinging and…..” Realisation dawns. “Have you put me in my weapons bag? The indignity!”
“It was there and it works. I did not want to be completely covered in your effluent. Be thankful I did not zip it up.”
“You’re the best, Silver Balls. And when I’m recovered I promise to cover you in other fluids.”
“Shut up, Wade.”
There is silence for a moment, but then…..
“Soooooooo, what’s my damage this time?”
“Left foot, cleanly cut off, right arm and leg explosively removed. General charring down the remaining right side of your body.”
“At least I didn’t hurt my pretty face! And you’ll put me back together won’t you?”
Colossus stops walking and gently places the bag on the ground. He kneels down and gently lifts Wade out, cradling him as carefully as he can, a small smile shining on his face.
“I will always put you back together Wade.”
“But next time, will you be the one to take me apart first?”
The metal giant shakes his head, but a smile still partially remains.
“You always ruin the moment, золотце.”
“Yeah, because you never ruin m………” The sound is muffled as Colossus places Wade back in the bag, zips it, picks it up and resumes walking back to the taxi that is waiting for them.
FADE TO BLACK.
A/N: Colossus calls Deadpool an idiot and his precious, golden one in Russian
Deadpool is a strange fae with a stranger ability and one of his most useful abilities is the power of track whatever he pleases as long it moves the plot, his own words, and Rogue is thankful that for today, this bakery called Sweet Tooth is on the main plot.
"Rogue, I want to know...can you kill the owner of the said bakery?" Deadpool asked not looking at Rogue, but, rather at the nothing in particular and the fae wonders if he´s really talking with the Outer Gods.
Is this the price to pay to have those abilities?
Rogue shakes her head vehemently. Is much better sway away those notions and ideas than trying to understand and Deadpool is the one who has to live with the eternal audience of the Outer Gods.
"Yes, if that bitch hurt my brother...she´ll meet your girlfriend in one blow" Rogue promised with her eyes glowing as any vengeful fae should, however, Deadpool laughs amused.
The Sweet Tooth is having clients as usual and people are chatting about everyday events and not having the constant fear of the serial killer looming over them or at least no one is making this that apparent.
Ariel is in the kitchen listening to music and preparing the meals, even with the bakery full as right now, Ariel has a calmer demeanour in her expression and is talking with Kurt´s head.
"You told me you had a family, can you contact them?" Ariel asked innocently and Kurt is not grumpy but is not happy, well, Kurt´s emotions are too complex sometimes.
"Uhm, not right now...I did leave in bad terms with my family and I guess you could add to my list: reconcile with my family, once I got my body back" Kurt confessed "and you? any bad blood in your family?"
Ariel stops cleaning her cup and slowly puts on the kitchen site. "My family is dead for a very long time" she responds putting a lock of hair behind her ear and studying his expression "no, nothing grimly as you´re clearly thinking...they died of old age and well, I have my bakery and my friends as family"
"My sister used to say something like that...you would like her"
The strudel is ready and Kurt is grumpy than usual and it only hit her that he may be extra grumpy because of one thing. "You wish to eat?" she asked never once thought about this possibility. Kurt grimace is answered enough. "No, I want to look to the strudel some more and feel the smell of food I can´t eat"
"No need to be so grumpy, look, when you get your body back...you can eat the strudel and free"
The Sweet Tooth is closing and Ariel is waving at the last client who is compliment the good food and beverage and is entering in the car with his friends, finally, after all the tribulations, the Sweet Tooth is closing and nothing out of ordinary happens.
"Ariel, why you open a bakery?" Kurt the head asked having teleport to the front row of the bakery that is empty, excluding him and Ariel, and his tone is curious.
"Oh, I always loved how to cook and..." her line stops as her wall is once again being destroyed and a mysterious hand push her out of the shop and is dragging her outside.
A woman with brown-reddish hair and a white streak is facing Ariel with venom. "Oh god, please don´t tell me you´re one of his crazy exes?" and this is the worst thing to say as Ariel receives a punch from the mysterious woman that could have caused more damaged if Ariel didn´t use her phasing abilities right away.
"I´m his sister, you freak" and the woman named Rogue take her glove out and Ariel knows, she can feel in her bones, that this is far different than Damask.
And Deadpool arrives with the head as Kurt explains the situation to Rogue who has a broken nose and Ariel is spitting blood and has a black eye.
"Oh...I thought this human was the one who...Oh, Kurt, I was so scared" Rogue said looking relief. Ariel spit a few more blood spit and the faes can thank Pheonix for the healing ability Rogue got.
N/A: Here we go. Deadpool and Kurt D excellent adventure.
Deadpool is flexing his arms and is so pup up he´s speaking loudly. "Pup up? What lame line, but, I´m so happy to be here, Kurt, We´ll go kick ass and take names, aren´t you excited?" Deadpool asked to the nightcrawler who is flinching at this.
"Wade, SHUT UP" Nightcrawler speaks feeling bemused at the prospect of having to deal with Wade´s nonsense talking to the rest of the mission.
"And what you will do if I don´t stop talking?" Wade taunts amused and well, that´s a poor choice of word as Kurt Darkholme behead him.
Of course, this didn´t stop him from talking.
"So, wanna know how I get those scars? Aha I ´m referring DC here"
Kurt Darkholme only sighs at this as not even beheading Deadpool will make him stop talking.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Marvel Rivals (Video Game), Marvel
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Peter Quill/Thor
Characters: Thor (Marvel), Peter Quill, Guardians of the Galaxy Team Members (Marvel), Loki (Marvel), Wade Wilson
Additional Tags: Innuendo, Suggestive Themes, Multiverse, This Is STUPID, Variants (Marvel), Humor, Inappropriate Humor, Sexual Humor, Deadpool being Deadpool, Rumors
Summary:
Thor hears a salacious rumor regarding one of his variants and investigates.
