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sp0o0kylights · 8 months ago

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There were a lot of things Mike hated in life.

The demogorgon, and how it had essentially destroyed his life.

Brenner, and the madhouse laboratory El had survived.

How each and every one of his friends now did something weird--were weird, because flashing lights or fireworks or some stupid tune a toy horse played dragged up memories that made their eyes flat and faces hollow.

Most of all though, Mike hated how much they relied on Steve.

There was no reason he should be the person to call when it started pouring and no one wanted to bike home from AV.

Steve wasn’t Nancy, or Jonathan, or a parent--he wasn’t even dating anyone related to any of the Party anymore so what excuse did he have to keep hanging around?

(Even if Jonathan was always working, and Nancy was always busy with some club or homework, and everyone’s parents all seemed to be in a race of who could get back to normal the fastest…)

They should at least try to get a hold of other people, instead of constantly going to Steve first.

“Why?” Dusitn had scoffed at him the last time this had happened, feeding quarters into a phone and staring at Mike like he was the one being unreasonable. “I’m not gonna waste money just to hear your sister tell us no again when we all know Steve will do it.”

Which was perhaps the most infuriating part of it all.

That Steve would do it.

Show up and help them, even if he bitched the whole time.

Hell, Steve Harrington knew more about Mike’s life offhand than Nancy did, and that made him want to punch a wall more days than it didn’t. Why the hell was Steve so involved?

It was stupid.

Weird, even! They weren’t friends, (even if Dustin and Max and El of all people said the opposite) he wasn’t being paid to babysit, (Mike had double checked; going round to ask Ma Henderson and Mrs. Sinclair, only to get an earful of how wonderful Steve was from both.) he had no reason to hang around!

It didn’t make sense that Steve could be harassed into picking them up from school.

Would take them to get ice cream, or hand over extra quarters for the arcade. He even gave out advice like some kind of--brother that Mike had never wanted.

Above all?

Mike hated that when he needed someone, the number he punched in on automatic was Steve’s.

“I need you to come get me.” He said into the receiver, mad at himself and the world, but mostly mad that beyond the normal amount of squawking Steve did, he shut up and came.

Drove up in his rich boy car, stepping out and herding Mike into it like the rain hadn’t already seeped into his bones.

“You wanna tell me why you snuck into a bar two towns over?” Steve asked, long after Mike had slung himself into the passenger seat, arms crossed defensively over his chest.

“No.”

One of Steve’s hands went right to his hair, running through it before adjusting the mess he’d just made.

It was a nervous habit, and Mike hated that he knew that too.

“Okay, well.” Steve’s hand fell back to the steering wheel, clenching tight around it. “Next time you want to do something dumb could you at least come talk to me about it beforehand?”

“What the hell would that do?” Mike bitched, staring firmly out of the window.

“Not waste my gas for starters.” Steve bitched right back. “But I dunno man, we could have taken some bats and gone and wailed on cars in the junkyard and talked or some shit, not--whatever this all was.”

‘This all’ was accompanied by a wave of his hand, indicating not just the bar Mike had been standing in front of, but his general sopping wet state.

“You’d actually go to the junkyard with me?” Mike challenged, doubtful.

Steve made a face. “Did you lose your hearing in there? I just said--.”

“Why?” Mike interrupted. “Why the fuck would you come out with me?”

Matching his entire aggressive tone, Steve said; “Because it’s better than trying to sneak into the one local gay bar when you’re barely fourteen, Michael.”

And that?

Steve being oddly aware of shit he really shouldn’t have?

Mike hated that too.

“You knew what the bar was?” He asked, his voice coming out much smaller than he intended.

“Everyone knows what that bar is, except it’s more of a biker bar than a gay bar.” Steve shot back--which did actually explain about ten different questions Mike had about the place. “Also, language you little shit.”

Under his breath, Steve continued in a muttered; “I swear I’m going to start carrying around soap.”

“You cuss more than we do.” Mike responded, and if his own voice was a little strangled as he fought back the sudden swell of tears, then that was between him and God.

He was not crying in front of Steve Harrington, he outright refused.

“The point I’m making is that there are way better bars to sneak into. That one’s not nearly as welcoming as people make it out to be, probably because they’re sick of all the rumors.”

Steve seemed to realize what he was implying because he quickly added; “Not that you should be sneaking into any bars at all!”

“You’re not my mom.” Mike’s voice turned wet as he lost his battle with his throat, voice cracking as he failed to choke the tears back.

“No shit Wheeler.” Steve said, and at least he was good enough not to call attention to Mike’s crying.

If he had, Mike was pretty sure he’d just up and die of embarrassment, right there.

“I don’t get why you care.” He muttered, angrily swiping at his eyes.

“I didn’t keep you alive this long just so you could die of something stupid.” Steve countered easily.

Which was kinda fair, if you thought about it.

Mike very much did not want to think about it.

Any of it.

Ever.

“Are you gonna tell my parents?” He asked after a painfully long moment.

Long enough that Steve had begun fiddling with the radio, trying to find a station as they drove back that wasn’t wailing country or gospel music.

“I’m not a narc, so no.”

“Not about the bar.”

Now Steve just looked confused.

Probably because he was, because he was without a doubt the stupidest almost adult Mike knew.

(Not that he could say that out loud--last time he had, Max had made one of her pissy faces and then El got mad because Max was, which led to a break up, which led to Mike having to beg his way back into his girlfriend’s good graces while explaining that he hadn’t meant it like that.

“How did you mean it then?” Max demanded, and Mike wasn’t sure how he managed to dodge that entire conversation but he had, on grounds that untangling his own emotions regarding stupid Steve made him want to pull his hair out and scream.)

“What about then?”

“You know. Don’t make me say it.” Mike absolutely didn’t plead, even if it did sort of, kind of, sound like pleading.

Steve flicked his eyes away from the road to give one long, weird look at Mike. The same one he gave Dustin when he went off on a rant about Cerebro or Lucas when he started discussing the stats of different D&D weapons.

Unlike those times, Steve’s face cleared.

“Oh.” He said, blinking, and Mike could practically see the light bulb flash above his head.

Then;

“Nah.”

Mike waited.

And waited.

And kept waiting as Steve went back to searching through radio channels, as if that was the end of the conversation.

It couldn't be the end of this conversation.

Not when this was the part that was eating Mike alive.

He didn’t know if this was Steve repressing it on purpose or if this was what he had to look forward to for the rest of his life if he kept trying to figure his own head out, but either way, he knew he had a choice to make.

To let the unspoken part of today die quietly. Go unsaid, and remain unsaid, for all eternity--or he could let it out.

Shove the “gay” part of “gay bar” in Steve’s stupid, jock face.

Make him acknowledge it, even if it got Mike kicked out of the car, and who cared if it did?

Steve wasn’t the person who should have picked him up anyway.

The anger climbed higher and higher in his chest, tears and rage combining until Mike spat it all out, furious.

“You’re not going to ask if I’m gay?”

Steve didn’t turn to face him, but Mike saw his eyebrow cocking anyway, given how he was currently glaring a hole in the side of the older teen’s head.

“Do you want me to?”

“No.” Mike bit out automatically. “Yes. I don’t know!”

Steve’s hand found its way back into his hair.

“Okay then.” Steve paused, clearly fishing for something to say.

Gleefully, Mike watched him struggle.

“Do you like guys?” He managed finally, looking like he was navigating a minefield more than just talking.

“I don’t know.” Mike stressed, sinking lower in his seat. “Why do you think I was at the bar? I was trying to figure it out!”

“Honestly I assumed this was some sort of stupid dare--but!” Steve held up a finger, before Mike could interrupt, “But let’s--shit, hold on, I had a speech for this but I kinda wasn’t expecting to use it this soon. Um.”

“You have a speech for me being gay?”

“Not for you.” Steve rolled his eyes. “For--in general! It was an in general, just in case speech!”

He rounded on Mike, for longer than the younger was comfortable with given Steve took his eyes off the road to do it. “Okay--you can like boobies, you can like, uh--not boobies, and that’s fine! It’s all totally fine!”

“You are not making it sound like it’s fine.” Mike said, feeling like he’d been taken out by hearing Steve say the word “boobies.”

Gross, gross, gross.

“Well it is.” Steve said, in a tone that felt like he was two seconds from adding in a smarmy ‘so there!’ at the end.

“But I’m dating El.” Mike whined, which really, was both the heart of the matter and the eye of the storm that had been growing in his head for months now. “I can’t be gay if I like her.”

“Don’t you guys break up and get together like four times a week?”

“No, that's Max and Lucas, El and I are stable.” Mike scoffed. “Or we--we were stable.”

Before he started to have thoughts about people that weren't his girlfriend.

Or women.

“Stable for being in middle school, sure.” Steve snorted. “You don’t just have to like one or the other you know. You can like dudes and chicks at the same time.”

Which Mike did not know, on account of being fourteen.

He did his absolute damndest not to show that realization, instead adding that to the list of reasons why he hated Steve Harrington too.

Steve shouldn't be the one teaching him about who you could like!

“The point is that who you end up loving isn’t a problem.” Steve finally looked back to the road. “Other people might be an issue, and those people we can punch in the face so long as the cops aren’t looking, which isn’t part of the speech so let’s not tell people I said that part, but whatever you do choose, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

Steve’s voice went firm, as he apparently recalled his speech or something close enough to it because his next words sounded a little rehearsed. “You have people who are here for you, no matter what. Okay?”

Oh God, Mike was crying again.

He wanted to punch Steve in his stupid face.

Wanted to hold onto the fury he'd built inside himself. Thrash around, throw himself out of the car, get away from the emotions that felt too big for his chest to contain.

Instead he felt it all break on Steve's acceptance. On word's he didn't know he needed to hear until they'd been spoken, and sniffed out a quiet; “Okay.”

Steve of course had to take it too far by reaching over and patting his knee, which they both regretted judging by how quickly Steve took his hand back and the face Mike made at his hand--but it…

It was appreciated, even amongst all Mike's rage.

Steve was appreciated.

Not that Mike would ever, on pain of death, tell him that.

Neither said a word for a while, Steve finally landing on a radio that was playing some Top 40 hit, Tears for Fears singing about ruling the world while Mike found himself trying to rebuild his own once again, tired of it having shattered so many times over.

At least he finally felt better, even if he refused to admit Steve was the reason for it.

He wasn’t quite done though.

There was a piece Steve had skipped over, that Mike felt was critically important, if only because it was partly the reason he was having thoughts about being gay in the first place.

He had to know if Steve saw it too.

That it wasn’t just him and his stupid head, making up things that weren’t there.

“Hey Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Who was the speech for?”

Steve sighed.

“Rule one of the whole queer thing Wheeler, you don’t out other people.”

Like there were written rules or something.

(Maybe there were, it wasn't like Mike knew.)

“Was it Will?” Mike asked, and pretended like he didn’t desperately want the answer to be yes.

Steve didn’t say a thing, but the fact he nearly took the car off the road was a pretty solid answer in itself.

“We’re not playing guessing games about other people’s sexualites!” He yelped, hands gripping the steering wheel as Mike felt a wave of relief crash through him.

Will was--maybe, possibly, also--queer too.

Which didn’t make this any better but it--wasn’t the not preferred outcome, either.

(It wasn’t just Mike struggling alone, trying to figure out if his best friend wanted to be more than that, if El was breaking up with him and more and more because she wanted to be less than a girlfriend, if things were changing and he would have no one--)

“I’m not out here picking Will up from a gay bar dipshit, I’m picking you up, and this is your reminder that next time, you should just come talk to me!” Steve ranted.

Mike snorted.

He absolutely hated Steve Harrington, but--

“Fine.” He said, talking so low he could barely be heard. “I will.”

--maybe Mike did have someone in his corner after all.

Even if it was just Steve.

xXx

Bonus:

“Between you and me, that kid is gayer than a two dollar bill.”

“Wow Robin,” Steve teased, “Isn’t that like, a slur or whatever?”

He snickered when she rolled her eyes and threw a roll of stickers his way.

“I’m just saying. Did you see the way he was looking at you when you were showing off your stupid biceps?” Robin said, nudging her shoulder into Steve’s. “Will’s gonna have a rude awakening later if he hasn’t already.”

Steve nudged her back, but kept his gaze on the Party as they trooped their way from Family Video to the arcade next door, the realization that they now had connections for free rentals making them downright gleeful.

Will was the last one in, and Steve watched him hurry so as to not be left behind.

He didn’t like to worry about the dipshits, but Robin was just putting voice to a thought Steve knew he wasn’t the first person to have.

And if he noticed it, then it didn't exactly bode well as being kept a secret.

“Should we like…talk to him about that?” He asked after a long moment, turning to face Robin.

“Us?” She pointed at herself, before turning her finger on Steve. “Why us?”

“Well you’re into girls.” He gave her a pointed look, glad that the store was empty of everyone but them so he could actually voice all this. “And I’m fine with it.”

“Yeah I’m sure he wants to know you’re fine with it.” Robin taunted, but she had her thinking face on, eyes out to the middle distance. “I barely know him. You barely know him--he’s the quietest out of all your kids.”

“They’re not my kids.” Steve argued automatically. “They're like a weird cross between shitty siblings and that kid in your class who never leaves you alone.”

A fact Steve no longer took for granted, even if he made it sound like the worst thing ever.

“I just think it’d be nice if he knew that he had people in his corner, you know? Who supported him and shit.”

“Steve, you compared my crush to a muppet, that wasn’t supportive.” Robin countered, but it too was on automatic.

Softer she admitted; “You’re right though. If I had known other queer people, if I had known people would accept me...it would have made things a lot easier.”

A very long pause, in which both of them stewed for a moment, before Robin abruptly slapped her hand down on the table.

“Okay, you got me. We're doing it, and I'm making us a speech.”

“A speech?”

“Yes dingus, a speech. I know you, you’re terrible when you’re put on the spot with this kinda thing, and trust me with things like this the moment will be spontaneous.”

“It’s Will, how spontaneous can it be?” Steve challenged back. “Getting a dinner order out of him is a chore.”

“Stop whining and hand me that notepad. Im telling you its gonna happen when you least expect it and then you're gonna thank me later.”

“It better not happen without you.” Steve sighed, but passed the notepad over.

God the things he did for those stupid kids.

Bonus x2

Steve would later go on to use the speech on himself, in a gas station bathroom mirror, eyes wide and freaked out after Eddie Munson called him Big Boy in a van they stole, while Robin snickered behind him.

He would turn on her, snapping that she; “Help me with this dammit!”

In return she’d remind him that Tammy might sing like a muppet but Eddie was the guy who stepped on lunches while giving speeches at lunch and sticking his tongue out, and “Really Steve, I think I won best gay awakening, here.”

Which would promptly start an argument regarding how it wasn’t a competition, which would continue for another fifteen or so odd years before finding its way as a reference into both of their speeches as each other’s best man.

Nancy and Eddie wouldn’t get it at either wedding, but Mike would.

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master-sass-blast · 7 months ago

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Let's (Not) Party, Baby.

Summary: You rub your swollen belly, both fond and exhausted. “I think it just feels weird to me. Like, the gender reveal party was to celebrate the healthy pregnancy lasting so long. But I just feel really weird about being, like, ‘I’m growing a human, come give me shit.’”

Kitty laughs as she unwraps another bar of chocolate. “Well, I think it’s the duty of the community to support pregnant mothers, y’know? It’s about equipping the parents with what they need to care for the baby.”

“Yeah, but everything I’ve read about and seen online is a whole spectacle,” you grumble. “And, honestly, I don’t have the energy for a party. I’m fucking tired. I feel bloated and sore. I don’t want to have a party where I have to put on real pants and eat melted candy bars out of diapers.”

Kitty stills, then slowly looks over at you with a wide-eyed expression of horror. “That’s a thing?”

“It’s a game,” you answer with a roll of your eyes. “You’re supposed to guess which kind of candy it is.”

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader, Kitty Pryde x Illyana Rasputin.

Rating: G.

Word count: 4.3k.

Set after "S'mores for Two."

Author's Note: Me? Posting more than once a year? Surely not.

In other news, my CFS/other body and brain shit is still overwhelming. It basically took dragging myself through editing to be able to post this latest round of fics (for those of you who don't check out my other works, no worries, but I like to post in little caches so that everything is updated mostly together). I'm not trying to vie for pity; I'm really fucking proud of myself for pushing through and being able to post. I had an unofficial goal of wanting to post more fics before April was over (because April is my birth month), and I did it! I am that bitch!

Thank you all for your patience -and all the comments! They really kept me going when the grind of editing was starting to wear me down.

Happy Reading!

“I guess I’m just not sure what to do.”

Kitty nods as she paints your fingernails a pretty shade of shimmering lilac. “Well, I think it just depends on, like, what you and Piotr want to do, y’know?”

The two of you are on the family room couch; you’ve both taken over the space a bit, actually. It’s a scheduled at home spa day, courtesy of Kitty. There’s dozens of bottles of nail polish lined up on the coffee table, next to two discarded face mask wrappers, a tub of coarse sugar scrub, a sleeve of cotton discs, and an entire store's worth of toners and moisturizers. There’s a half-empty pizza box on one end of the table, several bars of chocolate (and more wrappers), an open jar of pickles (the good, Kosher deli kind, according to Kitty), and a cereal bowl half-filled with peanut butter.

You swipe one end of a pickle spear through your bowl of peanut butter, then crunch down. I mean, I know that’s the point, but… “I think it’s more, like,” you begin once you’ve swallowed, “that I never thought I’d be in this position in life. And that if I ever did get to this stage in life–” you gesture vaguely around you with your munched-on pickle spear “–that I’d automatically know what to do.”

Kitty nods, curly hair bobbing with the motion of her head. “I get you.” She finishes your right hand, then screws the lid back onto the corresponding bottle of polish. “It’s, like, hard to wrap your head around.”

“Yeah. I mean–” You pause to load more peanut butter onto your pickle, which is harder than it sounds. “How are you even supposed to plan baby shower stuff?”

It’s a quandary that’s been gnawing on the back of your mind for months now. The gender reveal party, at least, had been easy. Tasty food, balloon with colored confetti inside, Aiden’s photography team because you and Piotr had wanted pictures, done. It’d been a celebration of having a pregnancy last long enough to see the baby’s gender –and a wonderful day where you and Piotr learned you’d be welcoming a daughter in a few months.

Trying to plan a baby shower, however…

You rub your swollen belly, both fond and exhausted. Your eviction date is coming for you, Masha, whether you like it or not. “I think it just feels weird to me. Like, the gender reveal party was to celebrate the healthy pregnancy lasting so long. We all ate food and enjoyed each other’s company. But I just feel really weird about being, like, ‘I’m growing a human, come give me shit.’”

“Yeah, but everything I’ve read about and seen online is a whole spectacle,” you grumble. You hold your hand out for a square of chocolate, then pop the piece Kitty gives you into your mouth. “And, honestly,” you continue as you tuck the chocolate into your cheek like a hamster, “I don’t have the energy for a party. I’m fucking tired. I feel bloated and sore. I don’t want to have a party where I have to put on real pants and eat melted candy bars out of diapers.”

Kitty stills, then slowly looks over at you with a wide-eyed expression of horror. “That’s a thing?”

“It’s a game,” you answer with a roll of your eyes. “You’re supposed to guess which kind of candy it is.”

She gags, then shakes her head. “Fuck that. That’s just gross.”

“Exactly!”

Kitty eats a few squares of chocolate, expression contemplative. Once she swallows, she says, “I guess I don’t see it as that big of a deal –not having a baby shower and all that. We don’t have baby showers in Jewish circles.”

“Oh.” Your brows lift upwards. “Why not?”

“It’s considered inauspicious,” she explains. “My best friend’s older sister’s parents kept all the baby stuff at their house until she gave birth. Then, they went over to her and husband’s place and set everything up for when she came home.”

“Oh.” You cock your head to one side, considering, then grimace and shrug. “We already have the nursery part way set up, though–”

“I didn’t mean that, like, that should do the same thing,” Kitty interjects. “I meant it, like, whatever you do should serve you and your happiness.” She offers you a reassuring smile. “There is no real rule about what’s normal or not. If a baby shower sounds exhausting, then don’t do it.”

“But people might be expecting for us to have one,” you sigh wearily, “so they can celebrate.”

“Fuck them and their expectations.” Kitty grins when you laugh. “I’m serious! All that matters is what makes you happy.”

“And Piotr,” you tack on once you catch your breath. “And he might want one.”

“Well, there’s only one way to find that out–” Kitty twists towards the front of the house when the front door swings open, then thumps shut. “Hey, speak of the man!”

Piotr pauses his conversation with Illyana as he looks towards you. He glances at you, eyebrows raised, then at Kitty, then back at you again. “Chto?”

“Your wife has a question for you!” Kitty hollers before flashing a dazzling, enraptured grin at Illyana. “Hi, baby!”

Piotr takes off his shoes, then strolls towards you. “You have question, myshka? Is everything okay?”

“Well, first things first.” You cock your head back so you can look up at him. “Will you give me a kiss, even though I’ve been eating peanut butter on pickles?”

He smirks, then bends down and presses his lips against yours.

“Aaw, what a man,” Kitty croons. She cocks her head back when Illyana approaches the couch. “Will you kiss me, even though I’ve been eating pickles without peanut butter?”

Illyana chuckles, then cups Kitty’s chin with her hand and kisses her girlfriend. She looks up when you and Piotr share a grin, then gently tugs on Kitty’s elbow. “Davay.”

“Help yourself to the pizza!” Kitty tosses over her shoulder as Illyana ushers her towards the front of the house (and away from prying eyes).

Piotr kisses the top of your head, then circles around the couch and sits down next to you. The couch creaks beneath him as he helps himself to a slice of cheese pizza, then again when he leans back and settles in. “Ty v poryadke?”

“Da,” you assure him. “I was just talking to Kitty about baby shower stuff.”

Piotr’s brows draw together as he chews a mouthful of pizza. He swallows, then says, “I thought baby showers were not held in Jewish communities.”

“They aren’t. It was more like…” You gesture vaguely with one hand and sigh. “I don’t know if I want to have a baby shower. I’m so tired, and I feel like a boat, and I don’t want to wear pants.”

Piotr lets out a bellowing laugh mid bite, then quickly claps one hand over his mouth. He finishes chewing between giggles, then swallows and sighs. “Oh, moya serdtse. One day, there will be pants that you like.”

“Doubtful.” You smirk, but it quickly gives way to weariness. “I mean… I just don’t know if I have the energy to deal with a baby shower, y’know? But if you want one, I don’t want to take that away from you.”

“What I want–” Piotr sets his partial pizza slice down on a piece of paper towel, then leans over and draws you into his arms. “I want you to be happy and well.” He kisses the crown of your head, then tucks your head beneath his chin. “Masha will be loved and cared for regardless of having baby shower. If you are tired, then you deserve to rest, myshka.”

“Yeah,” you agree as you bury your face in his burly chest, “but if everyone’s expecting us to have one–”

“‘Everyone’ does not get say,” Piotr interrupts gently. “If they wish to help or give gifts, they know where to find us.”

You sigh, then nuzzle against his shirt when he starts stroking your hair. “Maybe we can have, like, a nice dinner or something? With family and close friends? And some help to finish setting up the nursery?”

Piotr gently rubs your back. “That sounds nice.”

“Cool.” You sigh again, far more relaxed this time, then lean over and grab your jar of pickles. “Want a pickle?”

Piotr hums, then nods and plucks a pickle spear out of the jar. “Spasibo.”

“Konechno,” you say before kissing his cheek.

…

“Thanks again for driving me,” you say as you stretch your seatbelt around your swollen belly. “I’ve just been so tired lately that driving isn’t really a good idea.”

“Konechno, ptitsa,” Alex says as she starts the engine on her truck. “How did your appointment go?”

“Good,” you sigh as you stretch and settle into the passenger seat. “Everything’s looking good. Baby’s healthy. Blood sugar looks good. My iron’s still low, though, so I’m taking a higher dose of supplements and I need to be careful about overtiring myself.”

Alex hums and nods as she navigates out of the clinic parking lot. “What can we help with at home?”

“Uh…” Your face and mind go blank. You try, unsuccessfully, to kickstart your brain, then rub your face with your hands when your mind refuses to cooperate. “I think that’d be a difficult question without factoring in pregnancy brain.”

“Fair enough,” Alex chuckles.

“Man, I thought I was spacey before,” you lament. “And then it was bad enough weaning off my meds, but now–” You stop mid-sentence and gape when you see the sign for a McDonalds. “McFlurry.”

Alex laughs again, then changes lanes and drives into the McDonald’s parking lot.

One order for a large fry and an Oreo McFlurry later, the two of you are back on the road and headed for home.

You hum contentedly as you swirl a few fries in your McFlurry. Before you can indulge, though, your addled brain kicks back into gear. “Oh. Did you have a baby shower when you were pregnant with Mikhail?”

“No.” Alex pauses to turn, then explains, “It’s considered back luck in Russian culture. Most expecting parents won’t have one or purchase things for the baby until they are born.”

“Oh.” You blink a few times –the curse under your breath when McFlurry drips off your fries and onto your shirt. You shove your fries and remaining McFlurry “dip” into your mouth, then wipe down your shirt with a tissue (not that it does much good). Once you’re cleaner, and you’ve swallowed, you ask, “Then why was Piotr so ambivalent about whether we have one or not?”

“Because that boy will follow you to the ends of Earth if you asked,” Alex answers with a smirk. “And he’s Americanized a bit since moving here. Plus, we didn’t necessarily raise our kids to be so superstitious. Nikolai and I saw it as more to not ask about someone’s pregnancy unless they wanted to share, rather than luck related. We still prepared a nursery for Mikhail and stocked up on supplies.” She drums her fingers against the steering wheel while you wait behind another car. “To be honest, even if parties were part of our culture, I wasn’t in any shape for one.” She chuckles ruefully beneath her breath. “I was a wreck during that pregnancy.”

“Honestly, I feel the same way,” you admit with a heavy sigh. “I’m so tired, and sore, and I don’t want to wear pants.” You smile when Alex laughs, then continue with your griping. “Plus, all of the shit I’ve seen for baby showers just… doesn’t appeal? I don’t have the energy to decorate, and apparently there’s games you can play? But it’s weird stuff like melting candy bars in diapers, then having everyone try and guess what kind of candy it is–”

Alex grimaces. “That sounds disgusting.”

“Yeah. Plus, if I’m getting candy, I just want to eat the candy.”

“Understandable and wise.”

“We talked about having family and friends over for dinner,” you continue after grinning, “and to have some help around the house and finishing the nursery… but, like, how do you ask people ‘hey, come bring some food and hang out and help us with the nursery and house stuff because we’re expecting a baby?’”

Alex smirks and shoots you a sidelong glance. “That seemed pretty coherent to me.”

“That’s not what I–” You stick your tongue out at her when she laughs. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” she assures you. She brakes for a red light, then looks over and puts one hand on your shoulder. “Just ask, ptitsa. Ask, and we’ll be there.”

You smile, and place your hand over hers. “Thanks, Alex.”

…

“I was thinking of actually printing invitations? I don’t know why, I just think it’d be funny.” You spit toothpaste foam into the sink, then resume brushing your teeth. “We could print an extra one to keep. It’d be, like, a cute memory thing.”

Piotr smiles at you in the bathroom mirror, amused. “We could. What would these hypothetical invitations say?”

“I dunno.” You rinse your mouth and toothbrush, then stick your toothbrush in the little holder you keep on the sink. “‘We’re having a baby; come eat food about it.’ Whatever works, honestly.” When he chuckles, you turn to face him. “Do you have a better idea?”

Piotr laughs, shakes his head, then bends and kisses the top of your head. “I trust your creative vision, myshka.”

“Damn straight.” You smirk, self-satisfied, then turn back to the sink and resume your bedtime routine. Floss, fluoride, wash face… what kind of food are you supposed to serve at a baby shower? “What kind of food would we have?”

“Uh…” Piotr clears his throat. “I am not sure,” he calls from the bedroom. “Perhaps we should discuss in morning. Take night to sleep on ideas.”

Your reflection scrunches its face as you floss. “I don’t think it’s that serious. It’s just, like, a potluck dinner. Almost anything would work.”

There’s a pause, and then your husband’s heavy footsteps approach the bathroom. He leans around the doorway and meets your gaze in the mirror, lips pursed. “Da. However…” He tucks his tongue inside his cheek and looks away. “Your nighttime cravings are… ravenous. And unpredictable.”

“I am not that bad!” You blow a raspberry at him over your shoulder, then toss your used flosser in the trash. “Fine. We’ll talk about food in the morning.” You reach for the bottle of fluoride –then gasp and scamper to the bathroom door. “We should have pancakes for breakfast!”

Piotr laughs and nods as he turns down the bed. “Pancakes for breakfast, very good.”

“With blueberries!”

“With blueberries.”

Pleased, you smile, then head back to the sink. Once you’re done with your routine, you head to bed and heft yourself onto the mattress.

Piotr, the saint he is, helps arrange pillows behind you to support your back. He leans over to watch as you scroll through YouTube. “Ah, nighttime listenings.” He holds out one hand. “Would you like me to find Among Us gameplay for you?”

“I can do it,” you insist, frowning. “I’m pregnant, not missing my hands.”

“Nyet, nyet,” he agrees. “But–”

“‘History of Americana Diner Food.’” You gasp when you see a thumbnail displaying burgers, fries, and a milkshake. Your stomach growls, and you groan. “Oh, burgers sound so good.”

Piotr bites the inside of his lower lip when you gaze up at him pleadingly. He hesitates, then sighs and relents with a soft laugh. “Davay, myshka. Let’s get you burger.”

You coo happily, then leverage yourself out of bed. “Just for that, I’ll share my fries with you.”

…

“I meant to ask you something earlier.”

Piotr glances over as you rummage through your take-out bag, then turns his attention back to the road. “Chto?”

“Why –that smells so fucking good.” You stop to cram a few fries in your mouth, then continue once you’ve swallowed. “Why aren’t you bothered by baby shower stuff?”

There’s a long silence. Then, with quiet bewilderment, Piotr says, “I think I am not understanding your meaning.”

“I mean… Your mom said that baby showers are inauspicious in Russia. But, when I asked you if we had to do one, you seemed ambivalent about it all.”

“I do not believe much in luck,” Piotr says after a moment, shrugging. “Some things are beyond control, da, but choices are what impact outcomes. Not unseen forces.” He pauses to change lanes, then adds, “And I want to be sensitive to you. You had bad upbringing. If there was something you wanted in preparation for our baby, for healing, then I want to make sure that happens.”

“Not everything comes down to my shitty childhood,” you press. “I’m not the only person in this relationship, and this isn’t just my baby we’re expecting.” You wolf down a few more fries. “I don’t want you to set aside what you’re comfortable with just because I had fuckheads for parents. This is all supposed to be about compromise.”

“I am not making myself uncomfortable, dorogoy,” Piotr assures you, tone gentle. He takes one hand off the wheel and takes hold of yours. “I think baby showers as tradition –as mandatory–is foolish. But if you want one to celebrate our baby, that would make me very happy. And if you just want to rest, that makes me happy, also. Khorosho?”

“Alright.” You squeeze his hand lovingly, then reach into your bag and retrieve a few fries. “Open up.”

Piotr chuckles, then opens his mouth and lets you feed him fries. “Spasibo.”

…

The two of you settle on printing one commemorative flier, just for the two of you, then email your prospective guests. The promise is for a breakfast-style buffet of sorts; the two of you will provide the blinis, kasha, and some beef bacon (so Kitty can partake), and everyone else has been asked to bring their favorite breakfast dish.

You bust out laughing when Wade –with Nate and Russell in tow–shows up with a trunk full of Poptarts. “You would!”

“We are not keeping all of those,” Piotr mutters as he eyes the wall of blue boxes uneasily.

“Says you,” you tease. “I’m eating for two! These should last us… oh, about a week.”

Ellie and Yukio supply doughnuts and muffins, Neena comes with a box of freshly made breakfast burritos, and Alex, Nikolai, and Mikhail bring a veritable feast of traditional toppings for the blinis and set up to make fresh latkes.

Kitty and Illyana arrive last.

You blink rapidly when you see the numerous bags and containers carried between the two young women. “You didn’t have to–”

“You’re the one who said to bring breakfast foods!” Kitty interrupts with a cheery grin.

You eye the gallon plastic bowl in her hands with mild suspicion. “What kind of breakfast is that?”

“Okay, this–” she gestures with the bowl as she bustles into the kitchen “–isn’t breakfast, but my mom heard that you’re pregnant, and she wanted to send along some food to help you guys out. This–” she lifts the bowl again “–is cholent, and ‘Yana’s got some roast chicken and challah from mom, for you guys, too. Do you have room in your fridge? Anyway,” she continues as Piotr starts rearranging the fridge contents to make room for everything, “we brought good bagels and toppings for them, because you can’t have breakfast without bagels.” She turns, finally catches sight of all the food in the kitchen, and her jaw drops. “Oh shit.”

“If you leave hungry, is own fault,” Nikolai announces while grating potatoes.

“Hey, that’s my kind of party!” Kitty says with a laugh. “Let me get my skillet and shit set up, and then I’ll start helping you, Nick. Where should I drop everything?”

“We have counter space for you over there,” Piotr says, pointing towards the back of the kitchen. “And vegan pancake mix.”

“There’s dairy free breakfast burritos for you in the paper bag!” Neena calls out. “And the guy doesn’t use pork for any of his recipes.”

“And the pork gelatin free toaster pastries!” Russell adds.

“The doughnuts back there are parve, too,” Ellie pipes up.

Kitty beams. “Thank you so much. You guys are awesome!”

You smile, and pause for a moment to take it all in.

It’s been an inexorably long journey. As far as you’ve come from your past, there are times where you still can’t believe you’ve made it here –somewhere good, and healthy, and safe. It almost feels like a dream. Or a magical trance. Or like you’re watching a movie, and you’re waiting for the credits to start rolling and for the house lights to turn on.

But it’s real. You’re in a beautiful home, with a wonderful husband, surrounded by people who love, respect, and care about you and each other. And you have a baby on the way, on top of it all.

“Myshka?” Piotr places a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“I’m okay,” you assure him quietly as you wipe tears away from your eyes. “Just very happy.”

Piotr smiles softly, then bends down and kisses your forehead. “I love you very much, moya serdtse.”

“I love you, too.” You tug him down by the collar until you can kiss his cheek, then pat his chest when he straightens back up. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road.”

“Uh, only if you’re sitting down.” Kitty blocks you when you try to enter the kitchen. “Pretty sure you’re supposed to be resting? Doctor’s orders and all that?”

You purse your lips. “You guys are guests–”

“And we’re here to help.” Neena gently takes you by the shoulders and ushers you towards the couch. “So, let us help.”

“Resting is good, myshka,” Piotr starts when you protest.

“Aren’t we here to help both of you?” Ellie pipes up, voice flat but eyes glinting with unmistakable mischief.

“Yeah, but who’s gonna muscle Colossus out of the kitchen?” Russell stage whispers in reply.

All heads turn towards Alex.

Piotr’s confident expression quickly slips away as his mother looks him dead in the eye. “Mama…”

“Are you going to sit?” she asks in Russian.

“Bozhe ty moi –I am not pregnant,” Piotr insists. “I can help.”

Alex sighs, then rounds the kitchen island. “Alright.”

“Nyet, nyet, I am not, mama don’t –blyat!”

You laugh along with everyone else when Alex scoops Piotr up bridal-style.

She carries him over to the couch, then sets him down with surprising gentleness. “Be good,” she admonishes lovingly in Russian. She kisses Piotr’s forehead, then glances meaningfully at you. “Rub your wife’s shoulders.”

Piotr chuckles, somewhat exasperated, and rolls his eyes as his mother strides back to the kitchen. “I am grown man, you know.”

“Da,” Alex agrees without turning back. “You are heavy like one.”

You giggle when Piotr rolls his eyes again, then reach over and grab his hand. You fix him with your prettiest, most pleading eyes when he looks at you. “You don’t want to sit with me?”

“I always want to sit with you,” Piotr assures you, relenting immediately. He moves closer to you, then puts one arm around your shoulders. “Would you like me to rub your back?”

“Oh, always.” You lean against your husband, then relax as he starts rubbing your sore back with his thumbs. You groan, eyes sliding shut, and bask –in him, in the warmth of your home, in the happy chatter and delicious aromas wafting from the kitchen.

Your life certainly feels full of magic.

...

Epilogue:

“Insert Leg A into Slot G–”

“That doesn’t fucking tell me which shitbag it is!” Wade snaps. He snatches the instructions out of your hands, scans the page, then growls and hurls the paper against the floor. “You’re a goddamn rocking chair! No one fucking asked you to run the elementary school accelerated program!”

“Definitely comes with the same baggage,” Neena mutters.

Wade looks over his shoulder at her, then back at you. “Remind me why she’s being the peanut gallery again, instead of using her internal magic eight ball to help us?”

Neena rolls her eyes. “For the last time, that’s not how my powers work.”

“Not to mention they’re probably already maxed to keep you from throwing the materials through the window,” you mumble under your breath.

Things would’ve been simpler if you’d just purchased a pre-assembled rocking chair. Unfortunately, not many of them come rated from someone of Piotr’s size (or the wear and tear you’re both certain that your baby –and, eventually, kids–will put the seat through).

“I keep telling you guys, you’re going about this all wrong!” Kitty calls as she carries the vacuum cleaner down the hall.

“Yes, do enlighten us, Ms. ‘Quantumania Axed the Best Character,’” Wade grumbles.

Kitty stares at him for a long moment, face scrunched up in conclusion. “...Right.”

“KURT WAS A GEM, AND WE ALL KNOW IT!”

“Look, you guys just need to let Alex and Ellie do this,” Kitty presses on as she gestures to the mess of wooden slats and rocking chair pieces on the ground. “It’s butch magic. They’ll sort it out in, like, ten minutes.”

“I already told you, Katherine,” Ellie hollers from down the stairs, “I can’t assemble a fucking chair!”

“Fine, Ellen!” Kitty shouts back. “Then just let Alex do it! Honestly, you have a hyper-competent badass in the house, and you don’t stick her on IKEA assembly? The fuck is wrong with you all!”

“Let’s keep things moving, please.” Alex’s voice and footsteps echo up the stairwell. “And reasonably calm,” she adds with a knowing look at Kitty. There’s a pause until Kitty nods and heads off, and then Alex appears in the nursery doorway. “What am I doing now?”

“How good are you at assembling rocking chairs?” Neena asks.

Alex chuckles, then plucks the instructions off the floor. “I’ll give it a go.”

#sass writes #piotr rasputin x reader #kitty pryde x illyana rasputin #the aforementioned gender reveal fic will be coming soon #but this is what i had so they're gonna be out of order #x men fanfiction #deadpool fanfiction #colossus hyperfixation collection #i wrote a lot of this when i was hungry can you tell #the reference to quantumania at the end is for my bff ily mady

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