Bite Sized Bits of Fic

MCU, Yelena Belova, buying her first vest

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Any, any Jewish character, having their bar/bat mitzvah

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Any, any F/F or M/M, getting married

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fresh-brainss.livejournal.com

“Oh,” Sassy says, face falling, eyes downcast in a thousand-yard-stare against the confetti-littered table. “Oh no.”

“Babe,” Michelle says cautiously, rubbing her fiancée’s shoulder in soothing motions. “That’s doesn’t have to be your name, you know. I mean, we can have any name! We can make our own!”

“Michelle Collins sounds nice,” Keeley says, sipping her champagne. “I’d trust Michelle Collins.”

“We already thought of that,” Sassy says. “I knew a Michelle Collins. Bit of a cunt.”

“That’s your cousin, darling,” Rebecca says.

“I know what I said.” Sassy plucks Keeley’s glass out of her hands and downs the rest of the bubbly. “Nobody calls me Flo. Nobody has called me that since…ever. Since you.” She motions at Rebecca. “And Michelle likes her name. It’s special to her, and I like that. I want that.”

She doesn’t reveal how Michelle never had much of her own for family, how she didn’t really have people before Ted. How she always felt like a Lasso, even if she and Ted were no longer in love. She wanted to keep the last name of her son, too. It was important to have people.

She wanted to be Michelle’s person. One of them, at least. She wanted to be a Lasso.

“Chin up,” Rebecca says, giving her one of those warm smiles she reserved for the special few. “It’ll be worth it. You know it will.”

Sassy finally looks up. Her friends are smiling at her, tipsy and happy, looking bright and gorgeous for her hen night. Michelle is smiling at her, and it breathes life into her like she never thought possible. This charming American woman with her gentle voice and iron-clad convictions.

“So worth it,” she says, and leans in to kiss Michelle, reveling in the whoops and cheers that fill the crowded pub.

“Drink up,” Keeley says, passing her another glass of champagne. “Sassy Lasso.”

“Oh god,” Sassy says again, dropping her head down to the table.

It’ll take some getting used to.

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cozy-coffee.livejournal.com

That was lovely! Thank you for the fic!

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Any, any, graduating from college

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DC, Lois Lane, winning the Pulitzer

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MCU, Steve Rogers, After getting accepted to the SSR program, he writes a letter to Bucky to tell him about it (which obviously never gets delivered). Slash or gen author’s choice.

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Star Trek The Original Series, Kirk/Spock, moving in together.

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MCU, Natasha Romanoff, After helping break the gang out of the Raft, telling Clint about the events of her solo movie.

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Star Wars (Original trilogy/Solo), Han Solo + Chewbacca, first flight on the Falcon.

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The Martian novel or movie, Mark Watney/Chris Beck, celebrating Mark’s first birthday back on earth.

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Author's choice, any character(s), buying their first home

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Author's choice, any characters, finalizing their divorce

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Author's choice, any character, winning a beauty pageant

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fresh-brainss.livejournal.com

Sometimes, Maddy still thinks about pageants.

She knows by now it’s all a scam. Those skinny white girls with their cornsilk hair and Vaseline-smeared teeth always had the leg up only because Daddy opened his checkbook for the newest gown, the flashiest earrings, the most exclusive tap lessons. They were born and bred for it, like fucking racehorses, with their shiny manes and pretty bows. It didn’t matter if they could barely tap out a one-two-three in the dirt with their hooves—as long as the cash flowed, so did the trophies.

It’s bullshit. All of it. And Maddy is smart, now, and older. She knows better.

But God, they look so good.

Sometimes the mall puts on pageants. Nothing like the ones Maddy used to do, where the girls actually had to have real talent, but little shows sponsored by second-rate fast fashion stores or perfume huts. The rich girls ate that shit up. They thought if they had one plastic crown or one bouquet of tiny roses that they ruled the world, even for just a second, no matter if their eyes were too close together, or they clomped across the stage in their heels like sasquatch, or their mom was fucking the judges.

Every girl wanted to be queen for the day.

Maddy is so jealous it makes her stomach cramp.

Cassie laughs at them, the pageant girls. She’s not being a bitch—really, it is funny, and despite her past, Maddy agrees it’s pathetic. They’re on the outside looking in; they stand on the second-floor balcony and watch from above as some sandy-blonde moron cries mascara tears in front of Sephora. Katy Perry’s “Firework” plays over the tinny speakers.

“I could hurl,” Cassie drawls, delicate brows raised.

Maddy watches. Each girl is posed identically, hand on her hip, spine arched in that perfect S-curve that accentuates ass and tits alike. Their smiles are incandescent in the fluorescent lighting. Their nails sparkle like broken glass as they wave into the tiny, uncaring crowd.

Queen for a day.

“Let’s get out of here before I jump,” Maddy says, turning on her heel, bags shuffling against her legs. As they walk to the parking lot, she can still hear the announcer’s canned voice congratulating the winners.

For just a second, Maddy imagines what she’d do on that stage. What she’d wear. Aquamarine silk, tight as a second skin. Swarovski crystals on my collarbones. Curls flowing all the way down my back.

And then she thinks about itchy white lingerie, and smudged eye makeup, and unwashed hoodies. She thinks about her little purple spandex costume, still lingering in the back of her closet like some kind of fucked-up souvenir.

If she was on that fucking stage, she’d kill them all. No doubt about it.

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Very interesting to see the pageant through the eyes of someone who is both insider and outsider.

Thank you!

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schweinsty.livejournal.com

Killjoys, D'Avin Jaqobis/Dutch, Wedding

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evil-little-dog.livejournal.com

MCU, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Telling Tony she's pregnant

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evil-little-dog.livejournal.com

Frasier, Martin Crane+Eddie, Adopting/Buying/Rescuing Eddie

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evil-little-dog.livejournal.com

Any Fairy Tale, Any Princess/Daughter/Maiden, The first time someone takes her seriously

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3am-moonlight.livejournal.com

Stargate Atlantis, John Sheppard + Patrick Sheppard, the last argument that caused the estrangement.

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cozy-coffee.livejournal.com

any, any/any, Falling in love for the first time

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Star Trek the Next Generation, Jean Luc Picard, his first command

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Prodigal Son, Malcolm Bright + any, those first days after turning his father into the police

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Fullmetal Alchemist, Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye, the first time he masters fire

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Prodigal Son, Gil Arroyo, Jackie Arroyo, (plus Malcolm Bright and whoever else you might want) their wedding day

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Smallville, Clark Kent/Lois Lane, Superman's first interview

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MCU, Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes, first kiss

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“Really, man? On the bed?”

“I put down a towel.”

Sam tosses the keys onto the table and closes the door, crossing to stand behind Bucky and look over his shoulder.

“Did you get it?” Bucky asks without looking up. He’s timing himself as he strips, cleans and reassembles his favorite Glock and he appreciates the distraction, it’s always a truer test of skill when half your mind is on something else.

A plastic bag rustles behind him and then something drops down on the bed next to the sheath for his Gerber.

“You remember the extra pickles this time?” Bucky asks, sighting down the gun. He nods to himself and looks at his watch. Nods again.

“You know some people might consider this a disturbing sight to come home to,” Sam remarks mildly, and Bucky finally looks up at him, then back down over the array of guns and knives spread out on one of the motel room’s two sagging beds. There are grease stains all over the towel.

“Good thing this ain’t really home then, huh?” Buck says.

Sam tips his head in concession before shrugging out of his jacket and digging into his own sandwich without ceremony, mumbling, “Good thing,” with his mouth full, leaning back against the edge of the table with his ankles crossed. “‘Ey! Go wash your hands, caveman!”

Bucky lifts his hands in surrender, dropping his half-unwrapped sandwich on the table and going into the bathroom. He lifts his voice to be heard over the sound of the tap. “I’m ready to call it, man. I think we’re chasing a ghost.”

“Yeah, well.” Sam’s voice is thoughtful and Bucky snags the hand towel, leans around the doorway to get a look at his face. Sam is watching him, eyes a little distant. “Kinda got used to chasing ghosts when we were looking for you, back then. Can’t say it’s outta my comfort zone.”

Bucky snorts and drops the towel on the sink, then picks it back up and hangs it carefully on the rack because just that morning he told Sam he’d try to do better.

“Extra pickles?” He asks again, picking up his sandwich.

“Extra pickles,” Sam nods, and Bucky spares him a small grin before tearing into his dinner.

“What I mean is,” Bucky says, dropping back down on the bed in the middle of his gear, “Even if there’s a real person on the other end of this Flagsmashers Revival stuff, I don’t think they’ve got real followthrough. Karli had heart, you know? Conviction. I’m starting to think this is just talk.”

“Maybe,” is all Sam says, and Bucky drops it. His sandwich is amazing, like even if the lead comes to nothing it’ll be worth the trip just for the life-changing discovery of the delight known as the Cuban Sandwich, and even if they end up shipping out tomorrow morning he’s gonna make Sam stop so he can get another one for the road. Whatever, he spent like seventy years getting his nutrition from pills and fluids and before that eating whatever was put in front of him because there usually wasn’t anything else. He’s gonna eat ham and spicy mustard sandwiches loaded up with sweet pickles for breakfast if he damn well pleases.

“You want some time alone with that thing?” Sam’s grinning over at him, eyes all crinkled up with his smile, voice warm and amused and fond and Buck cocks an eyebrow at him, wipes his mouth with the back of his thumb and then licks the mustard off. Something in Sam’s expression shifts, just that fraction, and suddenly it’s a whole other silent conversation they’re having, the space between them in that tiny, airless room seeming to collapse and expand like they’re sitting in a shifting kaleidoscope.

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“You want to try it?” Bucky asks, his voice quiet but clear; no hesitation this time, no hairline fracture in his calm to turn into a impassable fissure before Sam can cross the distance between them.

“You sure?” Sam asks anyway, checking in, waiting for Bucky’s nod before he puts down his sandwich, wipes his hands carefully with a napkin, then crosses the room to stand in front of Bucky, their toes close to touching.

Buck looks up at him, his mouth dry and his ears ringing a little, no idea what kind of expression is showing on his face, until Sam cracks a crooked little smile and gestures to the debris around Bucky, spreading his hands. “You think I wanna sit on top of this mess? Shit, I can come back later if you’re busy.”

Bucky juts his jaw forward, his damn stubborn need to turn everything into a game and then beat Sam at it almost winning out until Sam starts to slide back a step and then, cobra-quick, he’s got him by the wrist, holding him there.

“Oh, s’that how it is,” Sam murmurs, his eyes blown dark.

“That’s how it is.”

Bucky lets go of him, lifting a finger and pinning him in place. He picks up the rags and the papers, the extra magazines and brushes and oil, dumps them into his tool box and pushes it out of the way. And then he gestures grandly to the spot on the bed beside him, mouth opening on a joke but then Sam’s dropping down at his side, hooking an arm around Bucky’s neck to reel him in. Sam is pausing just long enough for his eyes to flick back and forth between Bucky’s, and then Sam is kissing him.

Bucky thinks his heart might actually explode.

He feels cold and then hot so fast he’s dizzy with it, clutches at Sam’s shoulder to stay upright, fingers digging into flesh and oh, Bucky really likes the sound Sam’s making now, unselfconscious, needy, the hand that’s appeared as if by magic on top of Bucky’s thigh is squeezing, fingers flexing to the rhythm of their lips, their tongues. Sam’s thumb is stroking his jaw, coaxing him to open up, turning him and holding him just where Sam wants him, that easy confidence and skill and instinct to lead and guide and, and, and.

It’s Sam. It’s just Sam. It’s just who Sam is and Bucky cannot actually believe he spent so much time convinced they shouldn’t do this.

“Oh my god,” Sam murmurs against his mouth, touching Bucky aimlessly; his knee, his ribs, the shell of his ear. Then he pulls back, just enough to look Bucky in the face. His eyes are dilated, cheeks flushed. He looks intoxicated; he looks incredible. Bucky draws in a sharp breath through his nose and just looks at him. Sam blinks, gaze turning a little keener, and without looking away gropes for Bucky’s hand, entwines their fingers. When Sam speaks, his voice is hoarse like he’s been singing at the top of his lungs all night. “I think this is awesome. Is this awesome for you?”

Bucky has to close his eyes, shake his head. Then squint at Sam and repeat, “Awesome?”

“Yeah, man. Awesome. What, kissing can’t be awesome?”

“No, of course kissing can be awesome. If you’re, I don’t know, twelve.”

“Dude!” Sam’s chin comes up, he’s glaring. “Just ‘cuz the kids these days overuse the word it don’t mean I can’t use it when I mean it. Because I do. Or at least, I did,” he adds, with pointed emphasis. “Until someone in the room had to go and make it weird.”

”I did not make it weird, how did I make it weird?”

“Oh my god,” Sam groans, rolling his eyes so hard it looks like it hurts. “I don’t even know why I want to kiss you so bad when you—“

The rest of the words don’t make it out of Sam’s mouth, but he doesn’t seem to mind that much.

Edited Date: 2021-07-20 12:45 pm (UTC)

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Wow, this was incredible. I do love everything about it and you both captured their dynamic perfectly as well as their individual characterizations.

I just love how you set the scene, especially with Bucky and his sandwich. It made me giggle a lot, and their banter is just perfect. Sam's fond exasperation and Bucky's Buckiness is just too great and really enjoyable.

“You want some time alone with that thing?” Sam’s grinning over at him, eyes all crinkled up with his smile, voice warm and amused and fond
This painted an adorable picture in my head and it made me smile.

Then the way you shifted it into a completely different territory with such ease left me in awe. You could legit feel the tension through your words, and made it feel like this was something that they had been building up to for a while now, rather than just feeling sudden.

“Oh, s’that how it is,” Sam murmurs, his eyes blown dark.

“That’s how it is.”</i. OH This is so them. I can't even deal. And then when they went back to the banter was even more perfect. Also I'm always here for one person shutting the other one up with a kiss. Amazing. Wonderful job! Thank you so much for picking and filling my prompt. :D

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Awww I really enjoyed writing this one so I'm thrilled you enjoyed reading it! I do love Bucky loving on his sandwich :D

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MCU, Steve Rogers/Peggy Carter, proposing

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MCU, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, adopting pet/child

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Ted Lasso, Roy Kent/Keeley Jones, moving in together

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fresh-brainss.livejournal.com

“Oh, darling, it’s gorgeous,” Rebecca says, still gazing up at the high ceilings, the natural light flooding in against her face and making her look like an angel. “I can’t imagine you in a place any different.”

“Oh really?” Keeley snuggles deeper into Roy’s embrace. While Rebecca continues her look around the foyer, he’s only looking at Keeley, at every reaction, pride evident even in his stoic mien. “What about my old place?”

“Perfect for a single girl,” Rebecca says. “But this is a couple’s home. Much more elegant. Be careful, you two. You’ll be old and married in no time.”

“That’s the plan,” Keeley says, admiring the ring on her finger. Roy’s cheeks pink, just a bit. “But we’re already mostly there. He’s seen me in my Christmas pajamas Ted gave me.”

“I knew you were a woman who liked a good pair of jammies,” Ted says, appearing from the kitchen where he and the team are inspecting cupboards and flooring, as if they know what to look for. “Roy, do you wear—”

“No,” Roy says simply, and Keeley keeps the truth to herself. “Kitchen alright?”

“Kitchen’s a beaut, buddy,” Ted says, nodding in approval, and Roy practically has to hide his glowing pride in Keeley’s hair as he ducks down to kiss her. “Those marble countertops are a work of art.”

There’s a mild ruckus in the kitchen, and Keeley excuses herself to see to the group of footballers likely making a disaster with the gorgeous spread Roy painstakingly planned for their housewarming party.

Roy remains in the foyer, hands in his pockets, looking happier than he’d ever dared to look in front of other human beings.

“You and Keeley did good, Roy,” Ted says, clapping him on the shoulder. Rebecca nods in agreement. They’re both smiling, warm and sweet and proud, and…

“It’s just a house, you don’t have to make a thing about it,” Roy grumbles.

He keeps the truth to himself.

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