#made up fic title

[dreamlandcreations]

Hiya! Hope you're doing well! For the made up title fic, may I please request something for Alfie Solomons x reader with the following:

"A Right Proper Bastard"

Thank you so much 🖤

SEND ME A MADE-UP FIC TITLE AND I’LL TELL YOU WHAT I WOULD WRITE TO GO WITH IT

You watch the change in Alfie's mood. He's intrigued now, and so are you. So you watch this new game play out, your lips curl a tiny fraction upwards as you sense your grumpy bear's growing interest.

He re-evaluates the odds and baits his opponent with another offer but Tommy Shelby replies immediately with a percentage Alfie cannot accept. So much to Ollie's dismay, your Jew tells the Peaky fucker to fuck off.

Most people would stop there, but not Tommy fucking Shelby and you see the moment he earns Alfie's respect.

Alfie might have thought he caught him on the lie but the answering "Three of us dug ourselves out." felt genuine and that was even more intriguing.

"Like you are digging now?" Alfie asked, and you heard the same kind of fascination in his tone that you started to feel too and you were just in the right spot to see the tingle of a smirk in his eyes that probably resulted in Tommy's sudden and almost gentle but quickly disappearing smile too as he didn't hesitate to respond.

"Like I'm digging now."

The rest of it was wrapped up far too quickly and you know Alfie felt the same way, although he was still amused after Mr Shelby left and you sent Ollie to check for nonexistent explosives.

You sat in the lap of the King of Camden Town and pressed a kiss to his cheek as you played with a button on his shirt.

"You were right, darling. He is a right proper bastard." Alfie mused quietly as he started to play with your hair absently.

"I'm glad you found a new playmate, love. But I wonder if you plan to keep him all to yourself or can I play with him too?" you question as you nuzzle his nose playfully with yours.

"Hmm..." he grumbles, nipping at your lower lip in response and as a warning to behave. "What do you have in mind, my devious darling?"

SEND ME A MADE-UP FIC TITLE AND I’LL TELL YOU WHAT I WOULD WRITE TO GO WITH IT

[sassymajesty]

also something totally random: purple staircase

when she landed her dream job, lexa moved to this townhouse sight unseen. she didn't have time to travel to this city just to find an apartment, and it looked good enough in the pictures. in the past few months, she had grown to love her little home, but one thing still puzzles her: her upstairs neighbor.

getting inside the building, there's a small foyer where a mix of her own umbrellas and rain boots and her neighbor's — hers, somber black; her neighbors, a rainbow umbrella and bright yellow rain boots — live, along with parcels, forgotten grocery bags and once, even a cat toy. lexa has to take a right to get into her apartment, a spacious one bedroom with a bay window and an old fireplace. but her mind often goes up those stairs

they've never crossed paths. and it's been way too long for lexa to go introduce herself. but still, she wonders who those belong to, who's the woman who sings along to the mamma mia soundtrack at least once a month while making pancakes on sunday mornings, whose heels sound on her ceiling every saturday night

lexa goes out of town for a week long conference. when she comes back, the staircase is painted a soft shade of purple. not only that, but there are wild flowers painted on each riser.

she tries to shrug it off and get inside her apartment to shower the flight away. that staircase isn't part of her apartment, she doesn't care what color it is

except she doesn't last the hour before walking up them and knocking on her neighbor's door

send me a made-up fic title and i'll tell you what i would write to go with it

[diazsdimples]

Hiiiiii James ☺️☺️☺️

Made up fic title:

Twisted souls in the afterlife (I’ll find you, I’ll find you)

-❤️🪐

I see you're up to your usual angsty tricks there!

With a title like this, my brain can only go to the story of Orpheus and Eurydice. So I would do my own Buddie spin on this.

Buck dies. Buck dies and Eddie cannot live any longer because what is life with no Evan Buckley? Eddie finds an entrance to the underworld in La Brea and makes his way down to bargain with Hades. He begs for the soul of his loved one, begs him to let him bring Buck home. What would he give? Well, anything, really, except his son. Eddie would give his own life for Buck's, but then Christopher would still be missing a parent, so he must get them both home. Hades sees Buck's soul, sees Eddie's soul, sees how good and compatible they are, and something in his dark and twisty mind breaks a little, and he softens. Eddie is allowed to bring Buck back, but he is not allowed to see him. He must only trust that Buck is following behind him. "It's okay Eddie. Trust him. I'm right here." This follows Eddie the whole way back up to the top, every few steps he stops, the urge to turn so painful that he's almost going to do it, but he hears those words in Buck's voice and it gives him the strength to continue. But, just as he sees the light, Buck stops talking. He hears a quiet "no," and then there's a new voice, one just as familiar and just as heartbreaking to hear in this place. "Daddy?" Eddie turns, only two steps from the entrance to the mortal world and sees Buck looking back at him, his eyes big and full of tears as he curls an arm around Christopher's shoulders. They're fading, too quickly for Eddie to be able to do anything more than run towards them, his fingers slipping through smoke as he sobs and clutches at them. "Live for us. We love you, Eds." They're gone.

Hope that lived up to it!

Send me a made-up fic title!!

[aurorawritestoescape]

for made up fic title i’m going with ‘i drink my whiskey with ice and coffee with milk’ 😏😏

Oh I immediately imagine pre outbreak Joel Miller picking you up at the bar and saying this to you. ‘Will you make me a cup in the morning?’ He adds and it does sound a little cheesy but his charming smile and a playful wink is enough to let him do to you whatever he wants.

Which is to take you home with him, making out at every traffic light, and when you’re at his place he’s so impatient to taste you he pins you to the door and makes you come on his tongue.

Then he takes you upstairs to his bed and you fuck until dawn and then talk about everything.

You fall asleep in his arms and when you wake up you sneak out downstairs and make him that cup of coffee.

Thank you for the ask, Mac!!😘♥️♥️♥️

[darkhorse-javert]

Made-up fic title:

I Won't Wait To Be Asked

A Questions of Propriety

A Splendid Reciprocity

Let's see

1. I Won't Wait to be asked.

A 'back together again after years' Sam and Andrew, where Sam does a leap year-esque pull of matters into her own hands because Andrew is tiptoeing around her. Potentially Modern AU.

2. Questions of Propriety

I might honestly use this for the Sam visits-back-to-Lyminster fic I'm poking along at the moment.

3. A Splendid Reciprocity

Hmm... Really getting Granada Holmes vibes from this (something with each of them pining obliviously behind each other's back and Mrs Hudson about ready to bang their heads together over it) or else something Ausen or Regency AU .

[hippolotamus]

*tries to think of a lobster and crab related title*

Okay no I’ll be nice.

Uhm…because I want to encourage you to do more of what you love, I’m hoping this inspires Lutalia stuff.

“Always Keeps Me Wanting More”

hehehe thank you for keeping Lutalia in mind 😘

“Fuck!”

Lucy slams her palms on the mattress, gripping the sheets. As if it will do any good. As if it will make her forget the woman from the club.

She had been standing there so perfect and naive, Lucy almost felt bad for approaching her. Almost. The way she writhed under Lucy’s touch was so beautiful.

Lucy’s made women squirm and scream before. She’s reduced macho tough guys to whimpering messes. But this one… she was exquisite. With her dark curls and warm mocha skin. She didn’t have a clue what Lucy might have done. And still she followed her. Let Lucy do what she wanted and then some.

The woman is nobody. A hot one time hookup. The same as all the others. Except she’s not. Because weeks later Lucy can’t get her out of her head.

She doesn’t have a name or anything to go on but that’s irrelevant. She has to find her.

Send a made up fic title

[asirensrage]

"Back and Forth" for the fic title ask 🥰

Oooo thanks for asking.

Back and Forth would be a fic that would be mostly fluff and a little angst. Mainly it would be about a long-distance relationship that grows from friendship into something more. The fic would consist of mail (letters, emails, texts...depending on the fandom and characters) from one character to another. We would see the slow progressions of feelings and references to things that happen outside of the story (injuries, events etc). I think it could be really cute. The angst would only really play a part in the longing that would show up as they pass that threshold of friendship.

I don't think I've ever written a fic that was done like a series of letters or notes, so that would be interesting. (clearly, I did not choose any specific characters or fandom because it's so hard to pick! lol)

send me a made-up fic title and i’ll tell you what i would write to go with it

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

For the fic title game!

“We All Fall Down”

Thank you for the ask!!! 🥰 These are so much fun to do!!!

(this would be set at the end of 2x6 after Grogu is taken and the Crest is destroyed and focuses on what is going through Din's head at that moment)

Din knelt in the ashes of everything that he loved. There was nothing left. The pathetic remains of his ship lay before him, a crater with a few scrap pieces of metal. The child -- Grogu -- gone. It had been his job to protect him and instead, Din had stood there and watched as the Dark Troopers grabbed him right in front of Din. And he could stop it. As he stared down into the debris around him, Din noticed something gleaming in the sunlight. Brushing away some of the ash and dirt, he picked up the silver ball that Grogu had commandeered from his shifter. As he stared at it, he suddenly remembered something from his childhood. Something his mother whispered to him when he got hurt or made a mistake. "We all fall down, my son. But only the best of us get back up again and keep going." Din stared at the ball for a few more seconds, then rose to his feet.

send me a made-up fic title and i’ll tell you what i would write to go with it

[wildbornsiren]

Give me something to think about while I'm at work. (Plus it gives me a chance to stretch the writing brain)

send me a made-up fic title and i'll tell you what i would write to go with it

[universewolfpup]

Fic title: By Yourself, But Not Alone

<Incorrect-FNaF-quotes

the young boy had been sitting in bed for what seemed like hours, hugging at his chest and gently rocking back and forth, sheltered by his many blankets and plushies and pillows.

it had been a couple of weeks since his return to the real world, and he missed his family dearly.

he had never felt so alone.

"don't forget us" they'd said to him, with teary eyes and cracking voices.

"I'd never forget you guys" he'd responded back, his voice hushed.

'I'm doing it for them' he thought, hugging himself tighter.

'I did it to save them. now they can't get hurt. they can't die.'

he wiped the lone tear falling from his cheek and sighed.

if I don't stop here I never will skjfskjf

a Universe fic centered around Scout, thinking about the sacrifice he did to save his family, and how he misses them so much now that he's returned to the real world.

[dreamlandcreations]

requested by @ittybxttykxttytxtty 🥰

Success doesn't mean you can sit back and relax, business is competitive, and you didn't become one of the best by sitting around while others take up the best deals.

Others, like the annoying asshole who is approaching you, the bane of your existence, your most bothersome rival, Billy fucking Russo himself.

His smug smile is plastered over his face that you'd very much like to wipe off of him. He calls out your name, in an almost flirty tone and gives your colleague and friend a dazzling smile that would make anyone swoon.

"Russo," you acknowledge him with a resentful look but before you could add any clever remarks your friend enthusiastically cuts in.

"This is the infamous Billy Russo? You didn't tell me he was such a pretty boy."

And you see it again, the barely there flinch at that word you witnessed two other times since you've known him. Normally you would use every opportunity to get under his skin but, for some reason, this feels like crossing a line and before you know it you open your mouth to respond but it is to direct the conversation away from that word.

"Yeah, he's more like a petty boy who doesn't know how to share his toys, even though it wouldn't take a job from him if he stopped trying to cross us because his company doesn't deal with our field of security."

You take a sip of your drink and look up at him, just catching the confused look before he puts that annoying mask smirk back on. You wait for the next opening to start your verbal battle but his reply makes you speechless for the first time since you met him.

"You might be right, sweetheart. Care to discuss that over a drink?"

SEND ME A MADE-UP FIC TITLE AND I’LL TELL YOU WHAT I WOULD WRITE TO GO WITH IT

[sassymajesty]

Made up fic title: “fumbling in the dark”

polis is in a full blackout and no one can figure out what happened, how long the power is gonna be out or where their phones are. out of all days for this to happen, it had to happen when clarke is in a 90s party where the rules were 1. dress as if it's the 90s 2. leave your phone with the host (who currently can't even find her footing, let alone candles)

clarke makes her way outside trying not to step on anyone who has settled in with whatever booze was nearby and takes a deep breath. there's no city light to be seen, only stars and a waxing moon that doesn't help her sight

"it's beautiful, isn't it?"

the voice scares her soul right out of her, but when it comes back, clarke joins her blackout companion. "i didn't think we'd be able to see so many stars in our lifetime"

for the next four hours, they sit outside and listen to life standing still around them. clarke gets to know lexa, hidden away from the rucks still going inside, inching closer to this soothing voice with each secret they whisper in the dark. when the lights do come back on, their eyes are closed and their lips are tingling from their kiss.

send me a made-up fic title and i'll tell you what i would write to go with it

[fiannalover]

"We walk the tundra" for the made-up fic title?

Ensemble Stars Hiiai fic title

Small little flashback to Aira in a history class mentioning Napoleon's invasion of Russia at the beginning. Rest of the fic is Aira's interactions and Attempt To Understand Hiiro through the Main Story Part 1 and some.

It would be a bit of a somber thematic internal monologue discussion fic. The key ideas are associations with snowstorm, fire and soldiers, with Aira coming to see Hiiro's single minded focus and completely absent common sense as more of an unending blizzard, stopping people from getting close, than the burning fire one first associates Hiiro with, then wondering if these associations aren't him talking about himself.

Self-recognition through the other, plus a vow to go through it, together, as soldiers of ALKALOID.

[lettalady]

Made up fic title: the doll house

[ send me a Made Up Fic Title and I’ll tell you what I’d write to go with it ]

There were still things left in the attic when they moved in. It was stuff destined for the rubbish mostly. A cute little doll house that looked just like their new home and ... junk. They'd get to it, they said. Unpacking the mountains of boxes to make the little house feel like the new home they home to make it, that was priority one.

They should have started with the attic first.

[velarisdusk]

I Slept with Someone in Wings of Illyria

A Bat Boys Band AU

word count: 1.5k author's note: i have not been able to stop thinking about bass player az, nor have i been able to shut up about it (exhibits A, B, and C found here lol). i am so taken with bass player azriel that this was originally gonna be a one time thing to get the mf thoughts out of my head, but i may make this a collection of drabbles/one-shots/whatever the fuck. enjoy ! <3 ✦ . AU Masterlist . ✦ ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

The room is sweltering, the kind of heat that clings to your skin and wraps around your throat. Bodies pressed together, arms raised, the crowd surges with the beat, their cheers deafening as the final notes of the song fade out. 

Cassian tosses his drumsticks in the air, catching them with a grin as he leans back, his chest heaving from the sheer energy of his playing. His skin glistens under the stage lights, sweat dripping down the sharp cut of his jaw to his bare chest. Rhysand steps forward, guitar slung low on his hips, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair, the movement so casual it borders on taunting. 

The three of them are magnetic—untouchable—but your eyes are glued to Azriel. 

The bass still hangs low across his hips, his dark shirt clinging to his chest and arms, every inch of him shining with effort and heat. His hair sticks to his forehead in damp strands, but he doesn’t seem to care. There’s a faint curve to his lips as he looks out at the crowd, their screams refusing to die down even as Rhys steps up to the mic.  It’s Wings of Illyria’s last song of the night, and the air is thick with anticipation.

“Alright, alright,” Rhys says, his voice rich and smooth, but it barely registers over the roar of the audience. He glances back at Az and Cass, shaking his head with a laugh, and you catch the way they all exchange a look—silent, knowing.

Cass twirls a drumstick between his fingers, grinning wide. Rhys throws a wink at the crowd, and Azriel… Azriel holds up a hand, palm out, a subtle watch this gesture that has your stomach flipping. 

And then he steps forward.

The moment his fingers graze the mic stand, the noise dips. He leans in, his lips brushing the mic, and inhales sharply. The sound carries through the speakers, intimate, like he’s right there beside you. The crowd freezes, the energy shifting into something electric, breathless. And then, he chuckles.

It’s low, almost a growl, and it sends a shiver down your spine. For a moment, the room is still. And then, chaos. The screams erupt again, louder than before, like every single person in the crowd had been seized by something primal and uncontrollable.

Azriel laughs, throwing a glance over his shoulder at Rhys and Cass. They’re laughing too, Cassian smacking a hand against his drums while Rhys shakes his head, mouthing something you can’t make out. 

But then Az turns back to the mic. 

Your heart stops as he adjusts it slightly, his hand steady, his expression calm but sharp, focused. The moment stretches, and you swear he looks right at you before his lips part, and his voice spills into the venue. 

It’s not Rhys’s voice this time, not the smooth, cocky tone that usually owns the opening of this song. No—this is something darker, rougher, saturated with a raw kind of emotion that makes your knees go weak. You know this part by heart—hell, you’ve screamed it in your car more times than you can count—but hearing Azriel sing it? It’s like hearing it for the first time. 

He owns it, every word dripping with purpose, with heat. His voice snakes through the room, curling around you, pulling you under. The crowd is a blur, the sound of their cheers distant compared to the way your pulse pounds in your ears. 

And Azriel knows it. He’s fully in control, commanding every single person in the room with nothing but his voice and the intensity in his eyes. When he glances over at Rhys and Cass again, they’re grinning like they know exactly what he’s doing—and exactly what it’s doing to everyone in the room. 

You’re breathless by the time he finishes the verse, and when he pulls back from the mic with that faint, wicked smirk, the crowd surges again, screaming louder than ever. 

You scream too, the sound ripping out of you without restraint, caught up in the heat and the pounding bass still thrumming through the room. But then Azriel’s gaze sweeps across the crowd, scanning the sea of faces, and it lands on you. 

Your breath catches. 

It’s brief, a flicker of his hazel eyes locking onto yours, but it’s enough. Enough to leave you wondering if he’s seen you before—if he’s noticed you at every show you’ve managed to get into, always in your usual spot near the edge of the stage, close enough to feel the pulse of the speakers in your chest. 

And then he turns back to the mic, and your chest tightens all over again. 

It’s the way Azriel shifts his stance—shoulders squared, leaning slightly into the mic as his fingers curl around the neck of his bass—that holds you captive. His voice joins Rhys’s in the next verse, a low harmony that wraps around the melody like smoke, rich and addictive. 

When the lyrics take a turn—something dark and suggestive, dripping with innuendo—you swear he looks at you again. His lips curl just so around the words, and the way his hand moves on the fretboard has your pulse racing. 

It’s stupid, you tell yourself. Ridiculous, really, to think that someone like him would single you out of a crowd like this. But as the song builds to its peak, the heat of his gaze feels too intentional to ignore. And then they hit the chorus, when Azriel takes over the melody for one shining moment, he sings a line that makes your cheeks burn, makes your hands curl into fists at your sides. It’s not subtle. It’s meant to be filthy, meant to tease and taunt, and he sings it like it’s directed straight at you. 

The crowd loses it. You barely hear the screams over the pounding of your heart.

He’s still looking at you when the song ends, sweat dripping from his temple as he lets the bass hang low against his hips, his breathing heavy. Cassian slams his drumsticks against the snare one last time, punctuating the end of the set, while Rhysand tosses his guitar pick into the crowd with a lazy smirk. 

Azriel doesn’t move for a moment. He stays there, on the edge of the stage, as if waiting for something. 

And then he winks. 

It’s quick—blink-and-you’ll-miss-it—but you see it. You feel it. 

Your knees go weak, your grip tightening on the barricade to keep yourself steady. By the time you process what just happened, he’s already turning away, laughing at something Cassian said as they disappear backstage. 

The crowd surges again, desperate for an encore, but all you can hear is the pounding of your pulse. 

Your knees are still trembling as the crowd surges around you, voices raised in chants for an encore. You try to breathe, to ground yourself, but the memory of Azriel’s smirk and the weight of his gaze keeps playing on a loop in your mind. 

And then, just as the noise reaches a fever pitch, you see him again. 

Azriel lingers near the side of the stage, his bass slung over his shoulder now, his hand reaching out to clasp the shoulder of a man in a black security shirt. You watch, heart pounding, as they exchange a few quick words, the guard leaning closer to hear him over the din. 

It’s casual—normal, probably—but then Azriel points.

Directly at you. 

You freeze. Your pulse spikes. There’s no way, you think. No way this is happening. 

But it is. His arm extends toward the crowd, his finger cutting through the haze of heat and lights to land right where you’re standing, gripping the barricade for dear life. The security guard nods, glancing in your direction as Azriel leans closer, lips moving again. 

He says two words, slow enough for you to catch even at this distance.

“Blue top.”

Your breath hitches, your gaze darting down to the shirt you’re wearing. Blue. Not just blue—bright blue, standing out against the darker tones of the crowd like a beacon. 

You look back up, your heart slamming in your chest as Azriel straightens, throwing one last glance your way before disappearing offstage. 

For a moment, you just stand there, frozen, every nerve in your body buzzing. Did that really just happen? Your mind races, replaying the movement of his hand, the way his lips had formed those words. Blue top. 

Your gaze darts around, scanning the crowd. Maybe you imagined it. Maybe you’re losing your mind because surely he didn’t mean you. But your stomach flips again as you realize—no one else around you is wearing blue. Not a single person. 

It was you. 

Your fingers tighten on the barricade. He had pointed at you. You’re sure of it. And then you see him. 

The security guard is cutting through the clusters of venue workers. Your breath catches when his eyes land on you, sharp and direct. He doesn’t say a word, just jerks his chin toward the end of the barricade, a silent instruction. 

[jae-in-a-trenchcoat]

I think Darius finding ao3 on Brooklynn’s computer is gold (based on this)