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master-sass-blast · 4 years ago

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The Color of Our Love.

I LIVEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!

Summary: You and Piotr take the next step in making your house a home: painting the walls.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader.

Rating: G.

Word Count: 1.5k.

Set after “It’s Truly Magical.”

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @super-darkcloudstudent, @dandyqueen, @leo-writer

It’s the smell that gets to you the most. You’re used to soaring through the skies, drawing in gulps of fresh, pure air into your lungs. You’re used to smelling sun-warmed grass and fresh flowers and the dampness of rain in the air once a storm’s passed and—

“How do you deal with this?” You grimace, rubbing the bridge of your nose as your husband opens cans of paints and pours them into the trays meant for roller brushes. “I’m gonna get a headache.”

“You get used to it,” Piotr says as he unwraps the detachable brush head for his roller brush. He smiles sympathetically when you start massaging your temples and pats your shoulder reassuringly. “We can open windows. And take breaks.”

The two of you are starting the next leg of your journey to making your house a home: painting. Neither of you like looking at bland white walls.

It’s been a long process, though, of quibbling over color options, making sure those options match with the other choices for other rooms (as needed), and planning out which rooms to do when so you don’t inadvertently spend a whole paycheck on cans of paint.

You two decided to start in the master bedroom, for the sake of simplicity down the line.

Impatient, you pick up one of the paintbrushes Piotr had purchased for edging around window and door frames and smear a thick stripe of paint over an empty stretch of wall. “Chop chop, baby! We’re wasting daylight!”

Piotr laughs, loading up a roller brush with paint and letting the excess drip back into the tray. “After you, myshka.”

The two of you work for a while, chatting aimlessly while you transform the room from a sterile sea of white to something much homier –and less likely to cause eyestrain. Piotr handles outlining the window and door frames so there’s guidelines for the rollers and takes care of the high spots, while you flit around the room, alternating between the regular brusher and a roller brush as you fill in the places your husband’s prepped for you.

Eventually, though, your self-control starts to wane –and then your opportunity presents itself on a silver platter.

Piotr’s got his back to you. He’s working on painting the parts of the wall near the ceiling.

And, on prime display in a pair of old gym shorts, is his butt.

(God, he has a fantastic butt. Perfectly sculpted by innumerable squats and obscene amounts of protein bars. You can bounce a quarter off his ass –and, yes, you’re speaking from experience.

Not that you’d warned Piotr what you were planning on doing when you’d tried it.)

You bite on your lower lip, trying to stifle your excited giggles as you coat your hand with paint from your brush. Then, before Piotr can turn around, you dash across the room and smack your hand against his rear.

Piotr yelps. Jumps. Whirls around, twists to look at his backside, then faces you. His eyes are wide, mouth hanging open in a smile, as if to say, “did you really just do that?” Then, his grin broadens as he paints his own hand with his roller brush. “It is on.”

“No!” You squeal and sprint away, darting around your bedroom as you try to evade your husband’s pursuit of vengeance.

There’s only so much space, though, and your husband’s a large man. He catches you eventually, snagging you with his clean hand and locking you against him with his arm before pressing his paint-covered hand against your chest.

You bust out laughing, leaning back against his solid, warm chest; there’s not much point in trying to run away, now that you’ve been caught. “Not on my boob!”

“Serves you right,” Piotr teases, nuzzling against your cheek. “Naughty myshka.”

You tip your head back and grin up at him. “Yours.”

He grins back, then dips his head and presses his lips against yours.

***

Fumes aside, there’s not a single other thing you dislike about the painting process. It’s incredible to watch the bedroom slowly transform before your eyes.

“It’s like the feeling off the room has changed,” you comment as Piotr works on the delicate edging work near the crown molding; the two of you had opted for a soft, pastel color for the bedroom to promote rest and relaxation. “It feels cozier now. More relaxing.”

“Da.” He lays down a careful line along the crown molding –miraculously not getting so much as a speck of paint on the pure white border, which is why he’s doing this job and you are not—then dips his brush back into the pint can in his hand. “Is color psychology. Impacts our mood, perception of room.”

“I like it.” You stretch your arms, smiling as you admire the freshly painted walls. “It feels like it’s ours now.”

Piotr nods. He smiles as he finishes the last of the edgework, then sets his paint can down next to the roller tray. “Shall we rinse brushes, then take break for lunch before starting work downstairs?”

“I like the sound of the lunch part,” you say, offering up an impish grin.

“How about this,” Piotr chuckles. “I will rinse brushes, and you can make us lunch.”

“Okay, yes. Sounds great!” You shove your paintbrush into Piotr’s hand, then quickly skip out of the room and float down the stairs. “Love you!”

Piotr’s laughter echoes down the hall after you.

***

“Oh, yeah. This is it. This is how I want to work from now on.”

Piotr glances over his shoulder at you. A smirk tugs at his lips. “You are sitting on couch while I paint.”

“Correction!” You hold up your index finger. “I am sitting on the couch while you paint and staring at your butt. It’s a very integral part of the process.”

Piotr snorts and shakes his head. His cheeks flush –and, even though he’s trying to hide it, you can see the bashful smile playing on his lips. “My apologies, myshka. How could I forget?”

“I get it. I doubt you spend much time staring at your own butt –which, really is such a shame; you’ve got an amazing ass, babe.”

He laughs and shakes his head once more.

The reason he’s working and you’re not –aside from the obvious superiority of sitting down and staring at your husband’s ass—is because the family room and kitchen require a lot of edge work. You’d offered to help… and then gotten paint all over the baseboards, light switches, window frames, and crown molding within fifty seconds of starting.

You just don’t have the patience –or Piotr’s well-practiced, steady hand.

“Are you still going to do the zhostovo mural in the kitchen?” you ask as you watch Piotr work.

“Da. I have sketches in art studio, if you want look.”

You’re never one to pass up on seeing Piotr’s art, so you hop of the couch and scamper down the hall to his art studio.

Since Piotr’s art studio is fastidiously organized, it’s no trouble at all to find the sketchbook with the mural sketches in them. You flip through it until you find the various drawings of the bright, richly colored flowers, then lean against his desk as you gaze down at the page.

The bulk of the mural –which, based on Piotr’s sketches, looks like it’s going to be in the center of the wall between the fridge and the coffee counter—is comprised of large, delicately curved flowers. Roses, daisies, poppies, cornflowers… all of them weave together, bowing outward in dramatic flourishes of color. Vibrant green blades of grass form the base of the main mural, moving with the arcs of the flowers and leaves. You can see a few different designs for some edgework –to be placed on the edges and corners of the wall, so as to frame the main part of the mural—made of varying bits of filigree, Russian lettering, and tiny, white and purple tinged blooms.

You grin. Your fingers trace over the various filigree designs Piotr had been testing out. Wow. You amble back into the main room, gaze still focused on your husband’s designs. “These are amazing, sweetheart.”

“Spasibo, myshka.” Piotr looks up from his lining work, watching you –almost apprehensively—as you study his artwork. “Do you like design?”

“Piotr… I love it.” You let out a small, stunned laugh; as if there was ever a chance you wouldn’t like his art. “It’s so beautiful. It’s going to look perfect in the kitchen.”

Piotr ducks his head, cheeks flushing. His lips curve into a pleased smile. “Thank you, dorogoy.”

“Do you know which border you’re going to pick?”

“Not yet.” He shrugs. “Cannot find right ‘feel.’”

“You’ll get there,” you reassure him. “I kind of like the one you paired the Cyrillic. What does it say?”

“Is blessing,” Piotr explains. “Moya babushka made for family home, in Siberia. Illyana would have to do magic for it, but I liked idea of including words in design.”

“I like it, too.” You close the sketchbook and set it carefully on the coffee table (where it’ll be safe from potential paint splatters), then walk up behind Piotr and wrap your arms around his waist. “We have a home,” you murmur as you nuzzle your face against his back.

Piotr lets out a delighted giggle. His free hand clasps both of yours. “That we do, lyublyu.”

“I love you, Piotr. So much.”

“And I love you, Y/N, so very much, too.”

#sass writes #piotr rasputin x reader #colossus x reader #fluff fluff fluff #this is my wish fulfillment fic for house painting #because my fiance and i can't afford to paint the walls in our house yet #and the previous owner painted them fucking greyish poop brown #and i hate it #but soon #sooooon #deadpool fanfiction #x men fanfiction

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chromecutie · 5 years ago

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Not A Ghost - part 42 (epilogue)

A/N - Multi-part fic. Colossus x OC where OC has come home after being wrongfully imprisoned in the Icebox. Warnings for whole fic - references and flashbacks to harsh prison environment, including various types of abuse.

NEW WARNING - fictional police brutality. Takes place shortly after events in Deadpool 2. Whole thing will end up on my AO3 eventually.

Masterlist on my profile!

Taglist: @emma-frxst @ra-ra-rasputiin @holamor @empressme-bitch @marvel-is-perfection @hazilyimagine @marvelhead17 @rovvboat @angstybadboytrash @whitewitchdown @master-sass-blast @mori-fandom @mooleche @dandyqueen @emberbent @leo-writer @silver-stormy . Wanna be added or removed? Holla at me.

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Three years later.

After the Icebox rescue, Piotr had taken another leave of absence from the X-Men until he was sure Rhonda could take care of herself. The Rasputins argued for months about whether he should rejoin at all, knowing all too keenly the possibility of being snatched up by the DMC. They had settled on a reluctant compromise that he would alternate a month of active duty with a month off.

Rhonda never rejoined the X-Men, and never again tagged along with Piotr on a mission, no matter how Wade tried to bait her. She did, however, hammer into every single active duty member about being careful and made them promise that if they ran into DMC, to either kill them or run. Scott and some of the other members shook their heads and whispered about Rhonda being paranoid, but Piotr, Ororo, Ellie, Yukio, Hank, and Kurt knew better, and they frequently drilled simulations of fighting the DMC. Just in case.

When Piotr eventually resumed active duty, Rhonda was so anxious that she would be nauseous until he came home. Though she had been resistant to getting into therapy at first, she’d found an unexpected friend in Michelle. When they got past their tension and awkwardness of seeing each other as “the other woman,” Michelle made a lot of helpful suggestions. Rhonda started seeing someone Michelle had highly recommended - a therapist who was also a mutant and specialized in helping other mutants. They worked together well, and over time Rhonda worked past her trauma to a life she cherished.

A dance class sprang up at the Xavier School. It wasn’t quite ballet or modern dance, but it encouraged students to seek out multiple forms of dance and see how they can fit together. Rhonda studied and gained certification to teach aerial silks and started teaching a handful of students in an additional silks class. Yukio was her first silks student, and she became a skilled aerialist in her own right.

Rhonda found she enjoyed making choreography and videos to her favorite songs. She got her prison tattoos completely covered with a floral pattern that matched the zhostovo tray from her in-laws, just like the way Piotr had painted on her a few times. It was a lengthy process, but once her cover-up sleeve was done, Rhonda started posting videos under the pseudonym Zhostovo. When her following had built enough that people in the comments were begging for lessons, she realized she had outgrown the single room in the Xavier house.

A short drive away, Piotr and Rhonda found a great spot to build a larger studio. There was enough space to teach good sized classes and with the equipment put away, it converted to a beautiful soundstage for recording videos. Friends frequently visited and collaborated - Cable moved the camera or Rhonda herself for dreamlike effects, Russell had developed incredibly fine control with his abilities and was sometimes asked to help with some pyrotechnics. Piotr, Ellie, Yukio, and Wade found themselves in front of the camera a few times when Rhonda asked them to feature or perform a duet with her. Yukio was by far her favorite silks collaborator - it helped that they had similar electric abilities and made that part of their choreography as well.

Piotr lent his talents to paint gorgeous backdrops for some of the videos, and painted murals around the exterior of the studio, which eventually came to be called the Rasputin Performing Arts Center.

The court case against the DMC was messy, to say the least. Including Rhonda, there had been nine mutants who had been proven to be kidnapped and thrown into the Icebox with none of their rights honored - no phone call, no lawyer, nothing. For most of the Icebox Nine, as the media had called them, there weren’t even records of them in the Department of Mutant Control’s databases. The DMC itself dodged and weaved around accusations, using the lack of official record to try to discredit the prosecution, declaring it a ridiculous conspiracy theory.

Public perception was mired in reconciling the facts that there were many dangerous criminal mutants imprisoned in the Icebox, and also many who had been detained illegally - the true number of which was impossible to determine if they weren’t even on record. Never mind guessing how many had died over the years before they could be rescued. People didn’t want to believe both things were possible and true, and it gave Rhonda and Piotr a sick feeling their case would ultimately go nowhere, no matter how determined their attorney was.

Rumor had it that the DMC had closed the Icebox and had built a new prison in an undisclosed location. Professor Charles Xavier enlisted hackers to once again find whatever plans they could, but came up dry.

The Zhostovo YouTube channel grew quickly. Zhostovo herself was known for incredibly expressive choreography. At first, her videos were uncut wide shots of her rolling some floorwork across her studio space, or wrapped in silks in the air with her hair dyed to match, or sometimes moving through thin air, suspended by nothing the camera could see. She started with performing to songs from the early 2000s, before branching out to more recent hits. Her videos became more complex, with multiple camera angles, close ups, and special effects that at first viewers assumed were digital, until she published a video revealing that she was a mutant, and introduced the other mutants who helped make her videos by adding fire, fog, glowing sparks, and numerous other effects. In a matter of months, maybe a year, people started saying they preferred her videos over the musicians’ official, record label-produced videos.

Zhostovo’s performances for “Work Song” and “Someone New” by Hozier were what skyrocketed her channel’s popularity. There was a bone-chilling soulfulness she poured into those that resonated with many Hozier fans. Zhostovo made a few TV appearances, always flanked by her husband, whose steel form towered over everyone else, and at least one other mutant from the group she had introduced in her videos. She wasn’t young, but her hair was always dyed bright colors, and she had flower petals tattooed on one cheek, matching the folk painting style of the sleeve on her right arm. She was also an outspoken mutant rights activist, and made it clear that she wanted to show the world - humans and mutants alike - that extraordinary abilities can be used for fun and art and self-expression. She emphasized that most mutants were not the violent monsters conservative news stations made them out to be, and that believing them would cost lives every day.

On an early spring day, when things were green but there was still a little chill in the air if the sun wasn't out, Rhonda and Piotr were having a picnic on her grave, a special date they did a few times a year. The plot had been converted into a little garden, with just enough of a clear spot in the middle to fit two people having lunch. The granite headstone still stood with the erroneous year of death chipped away, but it was surrounded with rosemary and wildflowers. The season’s first bees bobbed along, looking for the most open flowers, and Rhonda’s grave was easily the brightest and most lively spot in the private cemetery.

Rhonda’s smile tugged at the flower petal tattoos that covered the old prison tear drops. She gently waved a bee away from her sandwich before taking a bite. Piotr plucked a little sprig of rosemary and added the leaves to his sandwich before starting in on it.

“You’re quiet today,” Piotr observed. “You seem like you’re in a good mood, but quiet.” He sipped some of the white wine they had packed. He had armored down, and was now able to hold it for hours at a time. He'd kept his beard - it was thick, neatly trimmed, and had just gotten its first touches of grey.

Her eyes crinkled more as she smiled around her bite of food. When she swallowed, she took a deep breath. “I got an email this morning,” she began. “I didn’t wanna say anything about it until I was sure it was real, you know?”

Piotr regarded his wife carefully, playful suspicion growing. “Sladkaya, an email from who?”

The cemetery was quiet, but she looked around anyway, as if checking for an unwelcome eavesdropper. The wildflowers and herbs rustled in the breeze. She grinned so big Piotr was sure he could count all her teeth. Her shoulders lifted as she took a deep breath, “Hozier wants to collaborate on a music video. A real one, not the copyright infringement videos I do.”

Piotr almost dropped his sandwich before he remembered it was in his hand. He set it down and reached for her. Rhonda jumped to her feet and hugged his head to her stomach, both laughing. “That’s wonderful news!” His fingers pressed into her thighs. “Amazing! Is it for a new song? Or one already out?”

She was bouncing with excitement and squealing for a solid minute or two before she sat down again, still fidgeting and twisting with excitement. “I think a new one! His people sent over a contract and an NDA I have to sign before I can hear the song he wants to work on. Do you think Matthew would look it over? I know he’s not an entertainment lawyer, but a contract’s a contract, right?”

“We can ask,” he agreed as they toasted their plastic wine glasses. He watched her eyes sparkle with tears of excitement, the way her curls bounced as she laughed, dyed dark green to match the foliage in her tattoo. The lush blooms and leaves that filled her arm still had a raised texture of the Xs they covered if you looked closely, but the black spaces and gold scrollwork were striking any time she moved. “Is this what you wanted when we were young?” he asked.

“When I thought I was gonna go to Julliard and join a dance troupe?” She thought for a long minute, then shook her head. “It’s better.”

They shared beaming smiles, Piotr’s eyes brimming with tears for his wife's joy, when a fat little bumble bee landed on one of the flowers on Rhonda’s arm. “Oh!” he exclaimed softly. “Hold still, Sladkaya.”

He pulled out the camera he always brought along for these picnics, and captured the moment of Rhonda's surprise, noticing the bee on her tattoo, as she delicately held her wine glass with her four fingered right hand, her gravestone behind her, sunlight playing on her forest green curls.

#not a ghost #piotr rasputin x oc #cooossus x oc #deadpool fanfic #xmen fanfic #colossus #marvel #piotr rasputin

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