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#fake fic title
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Fic title: What More Can I Say?
Sam Winchester x Reader
Well, this got out of hand. Dean was necessary or I would have kept going.
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“So, say I like this guy,” you explained in a very hypothetical manner.
Sam hummed in acknowledgement before passing on the chips you offered.
“We’ve been talking for awhile now, about most anything, and I want to tell him that I like him, but I’m worried about how he’ll take it.”
Sam scratched the side of his face thoughtfully, his mouth dropping open as he let out a “huh.”
“Do you think I should tell him anyway?” You peered at him, intently awaiting his response. Because there was no other guy. It was Sam, through and through. And so much hinged on his answer.
Like your happiness, his, and where you would both be sleeping that night.
Sam shrugged and leaned forward in his seat to clasp his hands together on the table. You mirrored his movement.
“I’ve got a similar situation. I’ve been thinking on it for a while. Do you want my advice?”
You liked him so much, you weren’t going to remind him that that’s exactly what you had just asked for.
“Yes.”
“Tell him. You and I have been talking a lot lately, so, and correct me if I’m wrong, I think I’ve gotten to know you pretty well. You’re smart, you’re brave. If you feel there is something between you and this guy, I’m willing to be that there is. And that you’re brave enough to do something about it.”
You were ready to spill your guts then and there, but Sam kept talking.
“For me though, I don’t think I’ve been brave enough to put myself out there where she would notice. I don’t think I stand a chance at all.”
He had been so lost in his confession that your crestfallen face caught him by surprise.
 “Sam, you’re the best! If this girl has no idea of how great you are, then she doesn’t deserve you.”
“You don’t have to say that.”
“But, it’s true!”
Sam smiled sheepishly, his gaze dropping back to the table. A pinkish hue flushed his cheeks and you yearned to cup his face in your hands and kiss him.
“You’re too kind, Y/N. I really think you should tell your guy-”
“OH MY GOD,” Dean interrupted from down the table.
Neither you nor Sam had noticed when he joined you, but he had an empty plate in front of him and a tumbler of whiskey in hand.
“It’s you, Sam. Y/N likes you. And Y/N, you’re the girl that Sam has been trying to get to notice him. Okay? You like her, she likes you. You like him, he likes you. There’s no one else. Literally no one else that you two are talking about – other than each other.”
Dean paused to breathe and when he fully realized that both you and Sam were doing nothing but stare at him in stunned silence, he threw his hands up and excused himself from the table.
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send me a made-up fic title and i’ll tell you what i would write to go with it
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balloonboyismyson · 2 months
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Fic title ask game: Just Seeing Things... Right?
<Incorrect-fnaf-quotes
"Just Seeing Things... Right?"
It has been a year since that night at the Pizzaplex, but Gregory is still terrified. He holds a brave face, but inside it feels like fireworks are constantly going off next to him. Sometimes after dark he will see something out of the corner of his eye and freeze. Because of this, Freddy told him he is no longer allowed to drive at night. The only other thing Gregory can do besides drive is sleep, but his insomnia is so bad he just sits there for 8 hours. Tonight was no different. As he looks out into the trees, he sees something move. Rubbing his eyes, he takes another look. Those do not look like an animal's eyes.
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Takes place after the van ending.
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quotemenevervore · 5 months
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Like a seesaw that only goes down
Hey @i-am-beckyu guess what I finished?
Part one at least, I have another part already a good chunk in the works and hopefully won’t take as long as this part did to come out ; - ;
(Tw for fear and panic, thoughts of dangerous scenarios)
Tommy hated camping. It was a simple fact. He didn’t like being outside, with all the bugs and he didn’t like all the physical labor that went into camping to begin with. He did, however, like Tubbo. So when his friend asked him to come with him on a camping trip, he couldn’t find it in him to say no.
He doesn’t see Tubbo too often anymore, thanks to the constant transferring of foster homes. Thankfully, the current home he was in didn’t really care about his whereabouts, which left him able to pack a bag and meet his friend at the park.
“Hey!” Tubbo happily greeted, a large backpack resting heavily on the brunette’s shoulders. “Geez, you bring enough stuff?” Tommy eyed the bag for a moment. “Yea! Got the tents, the sleeping bags, the cooking equipment,” rolling his eyes at the list, he looked around the park, trying to locate the other’s parents.
“Hey, Tubbo?” “Yeah?” He abruptly cut off his rambling. “Where’re your parents?” “Oh! They said I’m old enough to go without supervision. So it’s just us this time!” Nodding, he quickly turned off the train of thoughts that followed that both envied and worried for his friend. Old memories flickered through his mind of being on his own without being old enough to care for himself. Plus, as much as he hated to admit it, he really liked being with Tubbo’s family. It was endearing to watch them interact together, and a reminder to himself that maybe one day he’d fit into a family as close knit and kind as Tubbo’s. “Right, so same spot as usual?” “You know it! Let’s get going.”
~ ~ ~
Tommy groaned, flopping down on the hard floor of the tent. Tubbo simply laughed at him, sitting beside the blonde. “That was too much running.” “It was just uphill, Toms.” “Uphill! That’s the most difficult thing to run!” “You’ve got to get out more, boss man. I swear, one day you’re gonna need to run from a threat and it’s not gonna work out for you.” “Like it’ll ever come to that.” Tommy scoffed, turning his head away. Tubbo hummed softly, thinking of a new conversation topic.
“Y’know, I’m amazed that logs held up so long. I think that log’s been the bridge since dad started taking me here.” “You trying to jinx us or something? Don’t talk about how old the log is! What if it crumbles while we’re walking on it?” “Well, if you had good endurance it wouldn’t be an issue.” “Oh for the love of-“ he swung a hand over, attempting to hit the brunette, only for his hand to get caught and pushed back towards him. “Let’s make some food, then get some sleep. Since you’re just so exhausted.” Tubbo teased once more before slipping out of the tent, leaving Tommy scrambling to sit up and follow him, scowling at the jab.
~ ~ ~
After a short meal of canned soup and s’mores, the boys responsibly put the fire out and crawled back into the tent as the sun went down, intending on getting some sleep before having fun the next day. Or.. that was the original plan. Tubbo was sound asleep. Tommy wished he was, but his mind was as wide as his eyes, staring at the top of the tent. He was aching for something to shut his mind off, and eventually, his body found itself outside. Just a quick walk on the trail across, surely that’ll turn his brain off, right?
Of course, nothing ever went how it should have for him. Just as he made it halfway across the log, there was a loud crack that made him flinch harshly. What made him flinch harder was the sudden lurch the log gave after, and with his limited vision he was just barely able to see on the other side what had happened. The log came loose, and had begun to sink into the soft mud of the shores.
Fuck, fuck fuck!
He twisted around, finding that the log on that side had also begun to sink, leaving him slightly off balance and barely able to keep his footing on the sinking wood. There was shifting to the direction he had tried to go, and at first he didn’t pay any mind to it. But it grew deafeningly loud, and rattled the log, making it sink ever so faster. So he twisted his body to see the interruption.
And boy did he regret it.
Large- no, giant brown eyes peered at him from above the tree line. Equally brown curls covered the giant’s head, but that was all he could gather before his lungs stuttered and he was forcibly reminded to breathe. What. The. Fuck!?
Since when were giants real!?
He knew his eyes were wide and likely full of fear and disbelief, but it wasn’t just the giant that kept his veins running ice. The log sank into the soft sand once again, and he glared at the large eyes looming before him, struggling to keep his feeting on the wet log. Were he in a better state of mind, he may have noticed the concern in the eyes, but for the moment he focused on trying to lower down so he wasn’t off balance.
The log shifted again, and he fell hard with a yelp, scratching his arms up on the bark as he tried to sit back up. By the time he looked up, the log was moving again, sinking faster through the mud. His face paled when he realized the danger he was in. The river was running rampant, there would be no surviving if he got caught in the current. He was stuck in the middle of the log, and if he tried to run to either side, he’d probably fall anyway.
Then there was the giant. “Let me help you,” a voice boomed, though extremely softly. He’d come further out the tree line, and Tommy could barely see the yellow sweater the giant had. More importantly, he saw his hands twitching near the shoreline. Ice gripped his heart at the idea. It could eat him, crush him, rip him limb by limb-
The log sunk further, hitting a rock and jolting the entire fallen tree. Tommy yelped, almost slipping off the log and trying desperately to keep his tremors from messing up his grip. His mind raced with his two options. He could let the giant grab him, and do whatever may happen to him, or sink in the river.
He.. didn’t want to drown. It seemed longer than whatever the giant would do to him.. he couldn’t let himself think on it. He just had to do it.
“Help me!” He yelled back, and within the next second he was yanked away from the log with a force that disoriented him. It was suffocatingly warm, and he struggled briefly to be reexposed to the cool night air. After being raised up a few more seconds, something that made Tommy’s stomach drop, he was granted that wish. Unfortunately, his new sight made his stomach drop worse and his heart to hammer painfully against his ribs. He was closer to the giant’s face than before, cradled gently in his open palm. One hand was hovering slightly behind him, ready to grab him at a moment’s notice.
‘Probably doesn’t wanna lose his snack,’ he thought bitterly. “Are you alright?” The voice was soft again despite rattling through his bones, and Tommy was reminded once more of the immense danger he was in. “I’m fine. Thanks for the save, can I be let down now though?” His tongue felt slightly numb, and internally he cursed how stuttered and wrong his words came out. “Oh! Yea, I forgot humans don’t really like being held. Here,” the giant slowly lowered his hand to the ground, giving Tommy the ability to jump off.
Finally, he felt the ability to breathe return to him, and he took a moment to recollect the air he’d lost from the scare. “Are you alright? You’re not hurt, are you?” Again, the giant asked. “Uh, no. I’m good, big man.” “That’s a relief. I thought the log would last a lot longer than it did.” The giant frowned, and Tommy was quick to take a step back.
“Yea..” his attention was back on Tommy in no time, though. “I’m Wilbur, by the way.” Should he really tell the giant his name? He didn’t give it much thought, sure either scenario that would play out would result in him not caring much about the giant knowing. “Tommy.” “It’s nice to meet you, though I’d much rather it be in better circumstances. Speaking of..” There was concern in his eyes again. “Why are you out so late at night? Even the campers stay in their tents.” “Yea, I uh.. couldn’t sleep. Wanted to take a walk to clear my head. You saw how well that went.” He grimaced, looking towards the river.
“Is your tent on the other side? I can carry you over there.” “You’re gonna get in the river?” “I’m going to have to anyway, I have to fix the log. It’s no trouble, really.” The giant was quick to reassure, and honestly it should have made the blonde more wary, but it didn’t. A hand was offered for him to climb on- hah, climb on. Maybe he was just dreaming this all up- and with the sudden crash from adrenaline at that thought, he took it.
“You’re not camping by yourself, are you? You’re awfully young, where are your parents?” He frowned at the question, averting his eyes away from the giant. “I ain’t that young, I’m a big man. we’re old enough that they said we could come camping by ourselves. My friend’s over there.” Should he have really told this giant he had a friend nearby!? “Oh.” The man didn’t falter, but there was a strange emotion behind his actions. “That’s fine..” he nodded, seemingly to himself. “Getting ready to move, steady yourself.”
Tommy took a breath, pressing his hand against the palm under him in an attempt to keep himself in place as the hand slowly began to rise under him. It stayed as steady as the giant could manage, even as they began to rise and step through the foliage.
He looked up, catching the wrinkle of distaste on the giant's face. His stomach flipped, but before he could question it, they moved again, this time a huge step which he realized was them crossing the river.
“Not a fan of getting my clothes wet. It’s all I have to sleep in.” Wilbur sheepishly explained, carefully lowering himself down to the ground. “The campground should be close by.” His voice softened greatly as he was slowly lowered from the giant’s chest towards the forest floor. Sure enough, as his feet hit the ground, he could see their tent, the smoke from the fire having finally snuffed out.
He nodded to himself, lowering himself the rest of the way out of the giant’s hand, and tried not to flinch as the hand retreated. “Well, hopefully your night goes a little better.” “Yea, uh, back at you.” Tommy nodded to the brunette, who smiled and began retreating across the river again. But he was still unable to shake the feeling of being watched, and quickly made his way to the tent, hoping the next crash of adrenaline would knock him out.
As his brain finally let him drift off, he could hear the world moving around him, but.. it seemed unnatural. As if things were bigger than they should have been. He chose to leave it alone.
~ ~ ~
The last thing Wilbur wanted to hear was the loud cracking sound of the log pulling away from its anchor in the shore, and a small yelp. Curled up in the cave he normally hid in, he snapped to attention quickly, pulling himself out and quickly rising to his full height. It didn’t take him long to race to the pathway, worried about the safety of whoever had made that yelp.
He was a giant. Well, a giant shifter. He was already mentally preparing how to help this human as he finally came into view of them, but his mind completely halted when he took in the boys features. Not fully obvious from his standpoint, but enough; dirty, tangled hair and super baggy clothes. Most of the humans that came through here wore.. better clothes, at least better shoes than the raggedy sneakers the kid seemed to have on. Catching his eyes, he couldn’t see anything but fear, riling his instincts up secretly. But.. no. He couldn’t. He couldn’t destroy this kid’s trust, he needed to help him. It took longer than he hoped as the log continued sinking, and he was afraid he would have to grab the teen against his will, but he was given the okay and Wilbur was fast to pull him out of the risky situation.
Holding him in his hand, close to his face, he couldn’t deny it. This boy wasn’t being cared for. Multiple scars littered what he could see of his arms and legs, most looking like running into trouble be it nature or people. His clothes were a lot baggier than Wilbur would have liked, especially from first glance. The boy’s eyes, while still bright, had an achingly familiar dullness to them.
Phil needs to know about this.
He kept his introduction short, and helped ‘Tommy’ back to the side of the river he was meant to be on, with a ‘friend’. After that was done, and he no longer saw or heard the boy walking away, he tried to focus on his next task. The log was gone, so they would definitely need a new way to traverse the river. Thankfully, he knew just the tree to use.
An already dead one, the roots long and curled around anything it could. Wilbur took care this time to wrap the roots around the roots of the closest tree to shore, packing it down with clay and mud to hopefully make it stick this time. He’d have to leave the other side to the humans, if he went over there now he’d wake the poor boy he just sent to bed. Nodding to himself after finishing what he could, he made his way back to the cave he was residing in.
Curling back up in the cave, he found that those dulled sapphire eyes did not leave his mind. He sighed, knowing he was in for a long night.
Not only that, but Phil would be in for a long morning, when he could finally shrink back down to human size.
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Fic title of your name, "Don't Blame it On the Kids." What's it about?
Okay I actually have this written from a 2020 Spotify Wrapped Drabble ask BUT (and recently put it up on Ao3 if you wanna read the short)
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If I ever wrote a full length fic it would be Lin running interference when the Krew like do illegal shit/push back against unfair decisions
(Maybe flash back to Lin being young too, “Like Old Times” with Tenzin)
Like basically all of Mako B2 lmao
Lin’s doing everything she can to keep the heat off the kids because she knows they’re good kids with good intentions but maybe a bit more disregard to the law than she would like.
I hear this song and I hear Lin as the grown adult arguing for the Krew in council meetings and to the presidents. I see Lin taking on the red lotus miles from her city because the avatar is being stubborn. I see Lin jumping off the back of a sky bison for kids she’s seemingly Just Met because they can’t be forced to face the consequences of choices made outside their control. I see Lin episode one willing to look the other way at the first offer tenzin makes because she knows Korra will temper out into an amazing avatar and doesn’t need the law breathing down her neck from the start.
But she’s like 54 end of series and she’s fucking tired and has been chasing this young reckless avatar for years now trying to keep her safe and really only getting spat on in response (all of B3 😒)
The “watching me take the blame” line really is one my brain kinda goes off with when I’m thinking of fic for this
Thank you so much for the ask!!!
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inagetawaycarxo · 1 year
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Hi it’s me, the one that requested the fake fic titles I was wondering if you could all put it in one post like this one 🥹🥺
WWE/AEW FAKE TITLES
based on hese requests 1,2, 3, 4, 5 , 6
1 Step Forward, 3 Steps Back ❪ JIMMY USO ❫
With Jimmy it is always 1 step forward, 3 steps back, you are the love of his life, till you make him mad. Making you think does he even love you or hate you? You don’t understand
Bad Timing ❪ CHARLOTTE FLAIR ❫
Maybe it was something more, but Charlotte and you will never now.
You Smile, I Melt ❪ SAMI ZAYN ❫
Sami is utterly in love with you. Too bad you are the tribal chiefs girlfriend
Glimpse Of Us❪ DAMIAN PRIEST ❫
Damian has moved on from you, but he finds himself seeing glimpses of you, of him and you with his new girlfriend.
Stupid❪ JEY USO ❫
How stupid of you to think that you could ever have something more with Jey.
Lust And Sin? ❪ EDGE ❫
You shouldn’t have feelings for your tribal chiefs enemy, but you cant help it.
 Feeling Like Forgetting ❪ WARDLOW ❫
Wardlow helps you forget your ex.
You Broke Me First  ❪ JON MOXLEY ❫
You thought he loved you but you were so wrong
or //❪ MJF ❫
Mjf wants you back, telling you he misses what him and you shared, but why would you care when he broke you first.
Golden Hour ❪ KYLE O’REILLY ❫
Kyle cant help but fall in love with you.
Sweet Nothings ❪ ADAM COLE ❫
You knew the words Adam whispered to you in bed where sweet nothings, but you couldn’t leave without him, no matter how bad he was for your health.
❪ CHRISTIAN CAGE ❫
Midnight Fantasy (age gap)
Y/n finds herself having explicit fantasies about a certain Canadian dilf who is older then her at midnight. Unaware that said Canadian dilf is having explicit fantasies about her at midnight as well.
Nobody Does It Like You Do
Out of all the lovers y/n has had, nobody compares to Christian.
That Way
Christian and y/n are friends but friends don’t look at friends that way.
 Rubberband
You keep a rubberband on your wrist, and snap it whenever you think of Christian, after all the things he did to you, it’s best to forget.
Object Of Desire
Christian finds himself desiring y/n and will stop at nothing to make her his.
Like You Can
Y/n finds herself coming back to Christian again , because no one can love her or please her like he can.
The Lies We Tell Ourselves (age gap)
They tell each other that it doesn’t affect them, but when the odds are stacked against them the cracks start to show.
Nonsense
Christian listens to you rumbling nonsense till you confess your feelings for him.
[can either be a concussion or drunk rambles]
Another Love ❪ CHRISTIAN CAGE FT JEY USO ❫
Your new significant other Christian is a hard topic on Jey’s tongue, mainly because he still has feelings for you, he doesn’t understand how you can settle for someone twelve years older then he is but not him.
Déjà Vu
 Christians new s/o, looks similar to you, sounds like you, he does things that he used to do with you with her.
❪ ROMAN REIGNS ❫
Middle Of The Night ❪ ROMAN REIGNS FT JEY USO ❫
❪ JEY USO VERISON ❫
In the middle of the night Jey finds himself coming to y/n, one of Roman’s enemies.
❪ ROMAN REIGNS VERISON ❫
Bothered to another in love with another. Y/n is bothered to Jey but her heart belongs to Roman. She sneaks off in the middle of the night to Roman.
Flames Of Desire ❪ MOB!BOSS/SUGAR!DADDY ❫
Roman finds himself falling for his sugar baby..
Déjà Vu
Does Roman get déjà vu when he is with his new girlfriend?
She’s All I Wanna Be
Y/n finds herself wishing and comparing herself to Romans new girlfriend.
[Or ex]
Don’t Blame Me  ❪ MOB!BOSS ❫
Y/n finds out just how dangerous Roman
Lurking Shadows ❪ YANDERE!MOB!BOSS ❫
You don’t know it but you are HIS. You don’t see it but he is lurking in the shadows, watching you.
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writercole · 11 months
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If you’re still doing the made up fic titles…how about “You Only Have to Ask”? 😘
I'm always doing them for you.
You only have to ask. 😉😉
The sunset sparkled over the water, the waves glistening like diamonds in the dimming light. Beau Simpson led his wife, blindfolded, down the pier jetting out into the ocean.
"Beau, where are you taking me?" She giggled.
"Almost there." He stopped them at the edge of the water and removed her blindfold.
"Beau are we going sailing?!"
"We're taking the boat out for the weekend. No phones, no people. Just us."
"You did this for me?"
"Of course. I'd do anything for you. You only have to ask."
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nakedmonkey · 1 year
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school’s out for the summer (fake fic title)
Thank you so much!
When their respective break plans suddenly change, Barbara and Melissa unintentionally spend the summer together. Without the barrier of professionalism that work provides, Barbara's feelings bubble to the surface, and the last remaining wall she keeps around herself crumbles with every passing moment she spends with Melissa.
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geekordaus · 1 year
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inspired by @killmebythebeach Send me fake fic titles and I'll write a ficlet/drabble based on the title. :3
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flowercrown-bard · 2 years
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made up fic title: liep âne leit mac niht sîn ;)
thank you! ohh the possibilities! i feel like a soulmate au where you can feel your soulmate's pain would be fitting.
but i think i would write a Geraskier fic inspired by the scene in Parzival (I think?) where Schianatulander dies because Sigune asks him to bring that story back to her. Jaskier would be Sigune (high social rank, worried what will happen if he married someone below his rank, obsessed with a story) and Geralt would be Schianatulander (good fighter, lower social standing, devoted to his love)
Maybe I would also mix in some Erec and have a fake-out death instead of an actual death, where Geralt wakes up again bc he hears Jaskier's screams when he's in danger?
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swervesbootycall · 2 years
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Fic title “I know a spot”
It turns out that there are fewer “secret make out spots” aboard the Lost Light than Drift thought, leading to him and Ratchet’s “alone time” being REPEATEDLY interrupted. Comedy of errors ensues.
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Geralt meets Rick Astley *hehehehe*
This mysterious message is for this ask, the "Send me a title for a fake fic, and I’ll write a fake summary!"
So, your summary is as follows:
As a new and somehow prominent resident of Touissaint, Geralt is asked to join the jury of a highly decorated music festival. Of course, his old friend Dandelion can not miss this opportunity to shine. There's just one problem: a previously completely unknown singer named Rick Astley, who has recently won a few small contests in small towns, will also participate. Dandelion believes it's actually his old competitor Valdo Marx. He convinces Geralt to search Rick's room the night before the festival to find clues to his suspicions. However, Geralt, who joins in out of sheer good nature, is caught by Rick – and bewitched with a terrible song...
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I can totally see this fic, maybe written by @cecilia-ccc 😂
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Made up title: Bravery in the Depths
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader
Word Count: 314
dividers by the talented @talesmaniac89
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You cinched the strap tighter around the meat of your thigh, pulled against the buckles of the harness.
Dean approached with the heavy-duty carabiner in hand and a frown on his face.
“Thanks,” you said absently, accepting the carabiner. The line pulled through his fingers as you hooked it to the harness.
“You remember that night when we watched The Ruins?”
Nerves exhaled into a chuckle as you finally looked up into his face.
“Yeah,” you responded with a tone encouraging him to make his point. Of course, you remembered that night. Sam had had an actual date, though he had decided to lie about it for whatever reason. It was the first time you and Dean had really hung out, just the two of you. It was the first night you considered that there might be a chance for something genuine between you two, other than harmless flirting.
You were confused why he brought up that night now though.
As you looked into his face you could see that something  had lit up his features. Whether it was humor you couldn’t decipher, though because he cleared his throat, dropped his gaze and immediately his expression changed.
“I’m just saying, if a carnivorous vine comes to life and attacks you, you yank on this line, and I’ll pull you right back up.”
“Yes, sir.”
You hadn’t meant anything by it, the response coming naturally in a joking manner. But again, his face shifted, froze as if stunned. Then, just as suddenly, he turned to walk away…
…only he still held onto the line that was now attached to your harness, forcing you to plant your feet and grip the line tightly to keep from being yanked along behind him.
Once you were about ten feet deep into the hole, Sam leaned over towards his brother to comment:
“Smooth.”
“Shut up,” was the immediate response.
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send me a made-up fic title and i’ll tell you what i would write to go with it
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balloonboyismyson · 2 months
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Fic title ask game: Sorry, Who?
<Incorrect-fnaf-quotes
"Sorry, Who?"
All you wanted was to know what happened to Bonnie. One day he was up on stage making people laugh and looking so happy. The next, poof, it was like he never existed. When you asked the animatronics, they burst into tears. You felt especially bad for upsetting Freddy so much. When you asked Monty, though, he just gave a simple, "Dunno." The answer shocked you. He truly did not seem to care, and that made you extremely suspicious. After prodding for a while, you realize he does not even know who Bonnie is. He might be the only one who can help you solve the mystery.
A Security Breach fic. Could be from an adult or a child's POV. Monty got reset when he took Bonnie's spot because he got reprogrammed.
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indiaalphawhiskey · 7 months
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Fake summary please for this made up title:
Flip me off and I’ll flip you over
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🎸 Flip Me Off and I’ll Flip You Over
It had been an honest mistake, hand to God.
Louis had seen him last night, two rows away from the front, eyes closed and mouthing along perfectly to All This Time, his sweaty tendrils framing his forehead and the sleeves of his Faith in the Future tee artfully cut off.
They had made flirty - some would even say, obscenely heated - eye contact under the bright lights.
That’s how Louis knew about the dimples; that’s why Louis ran to the barricade three songs too early and a little too far to the left. He didn’t actually see if one of the hands that had so desperately clutched at him belonged to Dimples, but he’d thought it safe to think so. (No one stood that close to the stage, totally dolled up in their little outfit just to make eyes at the artist all night and not try to touch him. Please.)
But the thing was, Louis was also just a wee bit hungover this morning; cranky, headache-y, and severely under-caffeinated after a late night at the club and an inhumane five a.m. radio interview call time. Not to mention being unceremoniously manhandled into the car by Joni after some fans got a tad too excitable at the entrance.
So when he saw Dimples for the second concert in a row, now strategically stationed outside his dressing room wearing leather trousers in 36 degree weather, smiling at Louis like that…
Well, he’d just kind of… assumed.
“Bit too early to be this thirsty for a back room shag, darling, innit?” Louis snarked over the pounding in his head. Though he squeezed his eyes shut behind his dark sunglasses, he didn’t miss the startled look on Dimples’ face.
“W-wh—” he stammered, seemingly bewildered. “I—I beg your pardon?”
Louis would roll his eyes at the impeccable feigned innocence if he wasn’t so dizzy. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he peeked one eye open at the same time he lifted his coffee up to his mouth. Caffeine would save him.
He smirked a little at the deep blush on Dimples’ cheeks; at how caught out he clearly was. The movement only made Louis’ head hurt more.
“Posh little thing, aren’t ya?” He observed off-handedly, wincing at the reverberating sounds inside his head over the brim of his cup. Out of the corner of his eye, he clocked the pen in Dimples’ hand and he tipped his head as far as he could without giving himself vertigo to point at it. “Want me to sign your chest or something? Will that get you to leave me alone?”
Dimples narrowed his eyes at Louis in what seemed like the perfect cross between confusion and annoyance. “Ex-cuse me—”
“Come on then,” Louis interrupted impatiently. With a heavy sigh, he gestured with his palm to hand over the pen. “Just lift up your shirt and let’s get this over with—”
“Oh good, you’ve met!” Oli’s voice was so loud it made Louis flinch. Well, it was either his volume or the two forceful slaps he clapped on Louis’ back as he beamed as Dimples. “Louis Tomlinson,” he said, with a dramatic drumroll-type tone to his voice, “meet the legendary Harry Styles, youngest senior concert critic in Rolling Stone magazine history!”
To say those were the absolute worst words Louis could have possibly heard at that moment would have been incorrect. Mostly because the absolute worst words Louis could have possibly heard at that moment were the next six: “He’s here to review your tour!”
Louis lifted his horrified gaze to Harry’s face slowly. Their eyes locked, anger flashing across Harry’s features as he crossed his arms over his chest. Ironically, the lanyard of his press pass was now painfully obvious where it hung around his neck.
“Charmed,” he deadpanned.
Whoops.
— or, Louis Tomlinson’s World Tour was off to a great start until he royally fucked up by mistaking a world famous concert critic for a groupie. Then again, it’s not like anyone said Harry Styles couldn’t be both.
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missmeinyourbones · 2 years
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DON’T WANT YOU LIKE A BEST FRIEND
tags: post timeskip!megumi, best friends to lovers, fake dating, wedding AU, drinking & mentions of alcohol, lots of pining and yearning, me writing this and including a lot of megumi dialogue bc writers on here love to make him mute and indifferent >:( he is very passionate to me >:( | wc: 5.4k+
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He’s made a mistake.
Oh, Megumi has made a huge mistake. 
He knew he should’ve listened to that tiny, pessimistic voice in the back of his mind when you’d asked him to attend a wedding with you.
Granted, it’s not a terribly strange ask of you—you are best friends, after all. But Megumi should’ve denied your advance the second he discovered the twist to it.
He wasn't there to be just any old regular wedding plus one. He was there to be your date, your faux boyfriend for the night. To put on a show so your relatives could get off your case for being single. 
With hesitance, he agrees. He can’t not agree to helping you out. Not when you’re his best friend, not when he feels his heart skip a beat every time you so much as sigh in mild disappointment or irritation. 
But, god, was he wrong when he thought he could handle this.
He spends the week leading up to the wedding panicking over the unknown. What color would you be wearing? Would he have to dance with you? What’s the proper etiquette of a fake-boyfriend? Is there proper etiquette for such a role? Does he hug you? Hold your hand? Does he kiss you? The logical part of him is in complete shambles, leaving his idiotic instincts on autopilot.  
I mean, you’d barely given him any information other than two main points: one, your relatives are snobby rich assholes, and two, all he had to do was “sit there and look pretty” (which made the tips of his ears instantly burn with a warmth only you can seem to provide these days). 
Regardless of the way the passing comment made him feel, his sleepless nights and your lack of detail were enough to prove his inner conscience correct when it said that this was a mistake. 
Megumi pulls his black SUV into your driveway with a swift turn of the steering wheel. The overplayed pop tune lowly vibrating his speakers further irritates his already overstimulated thoughts. With a brash turn of the dial and muting of the radio, Megumi doesn’t think twice before sending you a text that simply reads:
“Here.”
Before he can even make an internal comment about how big of a douchebag move it was to text you instead of going up to your door, the buzz of his phone demands his attention.
“Be out in a few mins. Running a little late, sorry! :)”
He takes a deep breath. Okay, that’s good. You don’t think he was an asshole for texting you that he was here.
Actually, maybe it’s better this way. Maybe you would’ve thought he was weird for going up to your door. He’s never done that when picking you up before. And this is a fake date, right? Maybe he wasn’t supposed to commit to the bit too early and—
The shaking of his car door handle jolts him from his thoughts. You stand outside, a smile on your face as you patiently await for him to unlock the door. He does so, wordlessly.
You didn’t even get out and open the door, the agitating voice returns. A real boyfriend would’ve done that.
You get into the car with a quick and hectic greeting, paired with an apology for making him wait a few minutes for your final touches. 
Though a pair of scrappy heels clinks together in your left hand, and a water bottle (filled with a splash of liquid courage) balances in your right, Megumi can’t take his eyes off of you. He spares a glance to your dress—navy blue. He doesn’t know why the color makes him instantly sweat.
He doesn’t return your hello, or even appease your worry of keeping him waiting in the car. Instead, like a fool, he chokes on his own words.
“You—”
Nothing follows his stuttered response as you turn your attention towards him. Blushing furiously, he looks down towards his empty lap.
Composing himself, he manages to get out a shaky breath, “You look beautiful.”
He looks up just in time to see how your smile meets your eyes with a crinkle at his genuine compliment.
“Thanks, Megumi,” he swears he sees you blush, “you look really nice, too.”
The voice in his head asks him if the fake-relationship talk has started yet. Did you really think he looked nice? Or were you just practicing for later tonight, when you say it in front of your relatives?
He places an arm behind your headrest as he backs out of your driveway. The GPS reads an ETA of 45 minutes. Megumi’s not sure if he’ll survive the ride. 
“So,” he attempts to begin casually, though his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel says otherwise, “what’s the story?”
Your voice elevates with genuine confusion, “The story?”
Megumi looks a bit embarrassed as he sheepishly shrugs, eyes remaining on the road. “Y’know, like if people ask us questions, or something.”
“Oh, right,” you’d forgotten the scenario at hand. “Well, I guess we could just be honest.” It’s a statement, but your voice fluctuates in pitch towards the end, making it sound more like an uneasy question. 
Megumi releases the first of many nervous chuckles of the evening, “Honest, like ‘we aren’t actually dating, I’m just doing this to appease your snobby extended family’ honest?”
A giggle of your own escapes, not as nervous as his, but still riddled with a bit of unease. “No, god no, not like that.” 
Sliding your heels on, you fiddle with the strap by your ankle. 
“Honest, like ‘we met at school, hit it off instantly, became best friends’ honest,” you nonchalantly offer, before quickly elaborating, “except, we just say that we fell in love throughout the process.”
Easy for you to say, the voice echoes in Megumi’s brain. Because that is honest, he thinks bitterly, at least to him it is. 
He releases another quick sigh before nodding his head in agreement and turning up the radio to avoid any further conversation. Another trashy pop tune fills his ears, but he ultimately decides that it’s better than discussing the night’s possibilities. 
At first, Megumi was under the impression that he’d be lying like a sinner in church for the next few hours, but something tells him that this role might involve a lot more honesty than he initially intended. 
...
The country club is nice, Megumi notes as the valet plucks his car keys from his hands with a smile.
Alright, it’s more than nice. It’s insanely posh. Megumi almost feels like he’s imposing just by walking up the stone stairs of the entryway. His shoes aren’t expensive enough for this. 
Since the bride was an extended cousin of yours, you were lucky enough to skip out on the actual ceremony. Besides, with the stakes at hand, the reception was more than enough. 
The two of you float around cocktail hour, kindly smiling at a few strangers but making no moves to insert yourself into any conversations. You sip on the drink of the night—some lavender drink with tequila and lemonade, an ode to the couple’s first meeting (according to the embroidered napkins that you don’t care enough to read about). Megumi more so plays around with the ice in his cup, making a face of distaste every now and then he sips. 
The conversation is in whispers, consisting of hushed explanations of those around you. An older man with a red bowtie passes the pair of you, and you utter something about him being the father of the bride. You casually note that the woman standing behind you is your mother’s cousin’s godmother, but when Megumi turns his head to get a look at her, you pull his collar with a sharp “don’t stare!”
So far so good, is what Megumi finds himself thinking. This is easy enough. No one’s cornered you for conversation yet, he hasn’t had to introduce himself as your romantic counterpart, the faint feeling of your fingertips skimming his throat when you grabbed his collar still burns brightly. This is nice. 
Or it was nice, until he jinxed himself. 
You hear her before you see her, and the piercing sound of her voice is enough for you to identify a migraine forming.
“My darling! You look...” your aunt seemingly trails off as she scurries over to you, catching herself before fumbling over her syllables, “well.”
“Thank you,” you naturally reply with a nod of your head, ignoring how her voice wavers around the backhanded compliment, “it’s nice to see you again.”
Her eyes, almost predatory, squint with a cunning smile before seamlessly gliding over to where Megumi stands beside you. 
“And this must be the boyfriend,” she gestures to him with a tight-lipped grin. 
His heart nearly beats out of his chest at her simple words, ones he’s only dreamed of hearing in reference to you.
“Yeah, that’s me,” he awkwardly offers her a sweaty hand to shake, “the boyfriend.”
Your aunt accepts it eagerly with a look that he—although just meeting her—can immediately identify as judgment hidden behind an artificial smile. It’s in this moment that Megumi declares her as being similar to a vulture—hunched shoulders, sharp features, and glossy eyes reminiscent to those of a hunter. 
Quick greetings are exchanged. Routine small talk weaves its way in, out, and around your conversation. Your aunt asks you about work and you lie about a past promotion, which somehow segues into her own personal problems. She beckons her husband over from where he leans against the doorframe, while mentioning something about how the two of them haven’t been resting much between vacations and purchases and grandchildren. 
Your uncle doesn’t address Megumi—which you’d warned him of prior, as your snobby rich relatives don’t like to treat people they haven’t heard of with basic respect—and instead points an accusatory finger in his direction while addressing you.
“Is he good to you?” your uncle grumbles behind a glass containing a light-colored alcohol, as if Megumi isn’t there, standing right beside you with a similar drink in hand. 
“Of course,” you quickly stir with conviction, “he’s great, really.” 
You turn your head to look at your boyfriend beside you, only to find him already looking back at you. With a soft smile, for him and not your uncle’s accusation, you beam, “He’s my best friend.”
Not a lie in the slightest, but not quite the full truth, the words feel heavy on your tongue. Megumi is your best friend, but there’s an overlap—an overlap of some not-so-friendly feelings for your closest companion.
Your aunt’s shrill voice breaks the silence of the moment, and for once, you’re grateful for it. 
“I remember that honeymoon phase, being young and in love,” she coos at the two of you with a blushing grin. Megumi feels his hand hovering the small of your back twitch at her next comment.
“Doesn’t last forever,” she half-teases, “so don’t take it for granted.”
His hand tightens around his glass. 
It’s a joke, Megumi has enough personality to realize that she’s just poking fun at the differences married life can bring to a couple. But still, something inside of him churns at her light-hearted words. 
“I think it’ll always be like this,” Megumi is quick to blabber out.
Her eyes widen a bit at his abrupt reply. “Like this?” she searches for clarification. 
Megumi panics. He doesn’t dare turn his head to see your expression, though he can see your wide eyes gawking at him in his peripheral vision. 
Your aunt expectedly awaits his elaboration as your uncle shoots him an even dirtier look than before—which Megumi didn't even think was possible. 
He loosens his grip on his glass as he takes a deep breath, “Y’know, this…right.”
He hears a nervous laugh from his side, and when he quickly turns to face you, he swears that blush lingering on the apples of your cheeks wasn’t there before. 
Your uncle, face still incredibly sour, lets out an affirming hmph. Your aunt’s fabricated smile returns to her face once more. “That’s the spirit,” she mewls.
As the conversation wraps up, Megumi can’t help but feel like he’d just barely skimmed death itself. 
...
Cocktail hour ends without any more causalities, and Megumi finds his shoulders relaxing a bit as the two of you find your assigned table in the reception hall.
Luckily, it’s one you won’t have to share with an obnoxious aunt or intimidating uncle.
Taking a quick glance at the others in their seats, they all appear to be younger couples resembling Megumi and yourself. Megumi asks you if you recognize any of them, but aside from a possible distant cousin once-removed, you assume they’re all just friends of the bride and groom. 
Megumi scrunches his nose at the realization that you’ve been placed at the randoms table. The relatives who surprisingly brought a plus one. The leftovers. Surveying the crowd around him, he bitterly wonders if anyone else here is playing fake partner. 
Eventually, the DJ gathers the attention of the partygoers. 
With an obnoxious microphone horn and terrible dance music, the bridal party members are slowly introduced—the whole process is agonizingly slow. Each individual gets a brief introduction, including their relationship to the couple along with a fun and quirky fact. Megumi uses all of his willpower to refrain his eyes from rolling back into his head as he fights off visibly cringing. 
After what feels like hours, the head-turning moment arrives.
The bride and groom are announced, though Megumi can’t hear much of their introductions over the whooping and hollering of the audience. 
It’s cute, he supposes. They seem excited—to be officially married to one another, to have a room of people cheering them on, maybe even to get this wedding over with. Whatever their reasoning may be, the glow on their faces is evident through their smiles. 
An unwelcome thought enters his wandering mind. 
He imagines you in a gown, something white and delicate, maybe. He doesn’t really care for the details. He’s sure whatever it is would look godsend on you. He imagines himself by your side, permanently glued to your hip with an uncharacteristically wide smile as you cut the cake or listen to a loved one’s toast. He imagines Gojo taking the stand, giving a speech that embarrasses the living daylights out of him. He imagines Nobara and Yuuji jokingly complaining about the food and teasing him for the way he almost trips over your dress when the two of you have your first dance. He imagines simple rings decorating both of your left hand ring fingers.
He imagines marrying you, spending the rest of his life with you. He’s positive that he could do it, that it’d be a lifetime worth living.
Suddenly very aware of the weight of his heart in his chest, he shakes that thought from his head just as quickly as it arrived.
Your light tone pulls his conscience out of his daydream.
“They make a nice couple,” you nod sincerely towards the pair of lovers, who are now taking their seats at the front of the room. 
Megumi hums in agreement, and though he doesn't know these people, he trusts your judgement. They do make a nice couple. 
“Alright,” you sigh, returning to your seat and shaking out your palms from clapping. You turn to him once more, that look in your eye just as bright as he remembers.
You breathe, “You hungry?”
Megumi doesn’t think his stomach is strong enough to keep any food down—but if he’s going to survive the night, what he does need is another drink.
...
Dinner wraps up just fine, mostly because the two of you keep to yourselves.
Megumi lets you try a bite of his salmon entrée, chuckling as you scrunch your nose at the lemon baste that marinates the fish. You don’t finish your side salad, so he finishes it for you—picked out olives and all. You ask him if you need to fix your lipstick once you’ve finished eating, he thinks you look incredible as is. You wipe the corner of his mouth with a satin napkin when he has leftover crumbs hanging by his lips. Your thumb brushes against his skin.
The casual domesticity of all of it, the way it feels natural to dote and be doted on by you, leaves his head spinning where he sits. The air suddenly feels too thick, too heavy for his lungs to inhale and digest. 
With a quick comment about getting himself another drink and asking you if you need anything (boyfriend points, he mentally pats himself on the back), he manages to sneak away to the bar for a breath of fresh air. 
He takes a moment for himself—the first one he’s gotten of the night—as he slumps against the barstool and earnestly flags over the bartender.
He needs something strong, something that will make the hairs on the back of his neck stick up and distract him from the lingering feeling of your fingers by his lips. Not being much of a drinker, he orders something he’s heard of in movies (and from Gojo’s stories), a glass of bourbon. 
He knows he’ll hate it, but that’s alright. If it puts his mind at ease for an hour or so, it’ll be worth a few minutes of bitter burning.
Just as the bartender returns with a stout glass of the dark liquid, a body occupies the stool directly next to Megumi. He senses a figure in his peripheral vision, but his eyes remain on his drink as he swirls it around by the rim of its container.
He hears a familiar rasp croak from his side, “Oh, it’s you. The boyfriend.”
With unimpressed eyes, Megumi turns his head to be met with your uncle, of all people. Trying his best to maintain a good impression while simultaneously trying not to vomit into his drink, he simply concedes. 
“Yup,” he sighs into the condensation of his glass as he admires the irony of the simple statement, “the boyfriend.”
Your uncle bitterly laughs into his own watered down glass before shifting in his stool to face Megumi properly. He silently watches him for a few seconds (which feel like hours) before clearing his throat in a presumptuous way. 
“Can I ask you somethin’?” your uncle presses. Megumi knows he will, regardless of however he responds. With that being said, he plays along. 
“Shoot.”
His fingers tap an unfamiliar pattern against the bar, “Does being at a wedding ever make you think of proposing?”
Megumi should be choking on the drink he sips. He should cough and gasp for air as he tries to recollect himself at the sudden ask. His eyes should pop out of his head at the mere hypothetical insinuation of proposing to you. 
Instead, Megumi merely nods once more, certain in his words as he barely swallows. 
“Yes,” he breathes, “it does.”
This is silly, Megumi knows it as he takes another swig of his bourbon. He hasn’t even kissed you, and he’s dreaming of a marriage with you.
I mean, sure, he’s walked you home from late nights at the bar, wiped away your tears of ex-lovers or silly rom-coms. Hell, he’s even let you brush his hair—on nights when you’re feeling a little down and he’s fresh out of the shower, he lets you quietly twirl patterns into his scalp with a bristled hairbrush. 
That’s not anything worthy of marriage, right?
Your uncle laughs at his blunt response, and Megumi’s not sure how he should feel about his amused reaction. He doesn’t have it in him right now to be offended. 
Your uncle takes a guzzle of his own drink, “The hell’s stoppin’ you, then?” He wipes the corners of his mouth with his sleeve and Megumi is suddenly reminded of your gentle touch by his lips just a few minutes ago, “Any reservations?”
You could say that, Megumi aches to spew—but he bites his tongue and shrugs, “A few.”
Your uncle downs the rest of his drink in a single swig, before wiping the final remnants of moisture from his mouth with the back of his palm and declaring a frank, “Fuck ‘em.”
Megumi’s eyes widen at the unexpected advice. He wordlessly watches your uncle place his now empty pint onto a coaster before signaling for the bartender to come back around. 
After a moment of staring, the younger man softly chuckles to himself in both entertainment and disbelief. “Sorry?” he stutters. 
“Your reservations,” your uncle clarifies simply, “fuck ‘em.” 
Observing Megumi’s bewildered expression, he elaborates with a knowing smirk. 
“I mean that’s what love is, right? The ultimate jump, the landing that’s not guaranteed. All of that sweet bullshit.”
The liquid of his newly poured drink sloshes around the glass as he waves his hands around in an animated manner. 
Taking a moment to look at the bigger picture, Megumi thinks he might be right. I mean, sure, he’s an asshole who barely gave him the time of day before, but that doesn’t mean he’s wrong. He’s just as human as he is. Love doesn't discriminate against the wealthy or the poor, the brash or the meek, the boyfriends—fake or palpable. 
“Yeah,” he sincerely acknowledges with a realizing nod, “yeah, guess I never thought about it like that.”
With a simple pat on his back, Megumi finds himself blushing beneath your uncle’s knowing gaze. He’s smug as he insists, “Well, maybe you should start.”
Megumi quickly downs the rest of his drink, immediately signaling for the bartender once more. 
...
Megumi can’t fully feel his feet as they carry him back over to your table. He almost feels like he’s floating.
The room around him is slightly foggy, or maybe it’s just his hazy vision betraying him. Granted, he doesn’t know how long he spent wallowing at the bar next to your uncle—what he does know, is that he’s now tipsy enough to ask you a certain request.
It’s easy to spot him making his way towards you through the crowd of partygoers.
You’re not sure what is it that makes him so noticeable. Maybe it’s the soft smile adorning his pretty face that feels like it’s reserved for you and you only. 
Before you can ask him where he wandered off to for the past fifteen minutes, he manages to extend a wavering hand out to you. 
“Wanna dance?” his words are collected, though his actions are rather giddy. His face is flushed with a childlike rouge. His feet slightly turn in on one another as he sways where he stands. 
You smile earnestly, before remembering the weight of the scenario. Letting your mind get the best of you, you can’t help but ask the question that sits on the tip of your tongue.
“Are you asking me because you want to dance with me, or because you think it’ll look good for the crowd?”
Megumi’s blasé expression remains. “Does it matter?” he lightly challenges. 
Your heart falters a bit, because it shouldn't matter, but it does. 
“Guess not,” you brush off the pit settling in your stomach as you rise and accept his hand. 
He leads the pair of you to the dance floor, weaving you in and out of people’s way as he finds a spot he deems worthy. He eventually stops you, where you stand surrounded by a few other couples but slightly off to the side for some tasteful privacy. It’s the least he’s asking for out of this whole ordeal—just one private moment, one real moment, with you. 
He’s a bit stiff as he waits for you to make the first move, though realistically he knows he should be the one stepping closer to you. After all, he did have to get tipsy enough to light the fire beneath himself. 
You bite the bullet and wrap your arms daintily around the back of his neck. He wishes he could say he softens at your touch, but if anything, he tenses up even more at the feeling of your skin against his.
Slowly but surely, he follows through by placing his hands at a moderate position by your hips. It’s enough for him, it’s more than enough. 
He pulls you a bit closer when you rest your head against where his shoulder meets his chest. You don’t look at him, instead opting for counting the fairy lights on the ceiling as you gently breathe against him. 
“Thank you for doing this,” he hears your faint voice vibrate his core.
He places a hand to the small of your back without realizing, “Doing what?”
His stance feels more sturdy as he sways the two of you. He finds himself leaning into your touch as the seconds melt by without notice.
Your voice turns into what resembles an ashamed whisper, “Coming here and, y’know, pretending.”
Megumi’s heart drops. 
Right, pretending. Because that’s what he’s doing here tonight. 
“Oh,” he shakily swallows, “wasn’t too hard.”
He takes a wobbly finger to your chin, prompting you to look at him. The voice in the back of his mind returns, but this time it’s encouraging, void of it’s usual pessimistic mourning. Now or never, it burns. 
His movements are slow, hesitant, almost as if you’ll dissolve right beneath his fingertips. As he leans closer into your embrace, you feel like he’s moving in slow motion. The moment doesn’t feel real. It feels like you’re watching him through a film screen as he inches closer and closer and closer until—
His lips are on yours.
They’re soft, extremely delicate as they press themselves onto your own. It feels natural, like your lips were made and molded to fit directly against his. It doesn’t feel like a performative kiss with a faux boyfriend, because it’s not. 
In that moment, you know. The way he shakily exhales into your mouth as your tongue barely skims the plush of his lower lip, the way he tenderly holds your chin in place as if you’re the most fragile thing he’s ever touched. 
Somehow you know that without any words exchanged, the moment is real. It’s more than real to the both of you. 
When he pulls away, Megumi looks pale. He doesn't look like how his kiss felt, passionate and light and sure of himself. He doesn’t look like the rom-com protagonist, whose eyes are stars in the reflection of your own. He looks afraid almost, regretful. 
Suddenly finding himself alarmingly sober at the absence of your lips on his, the moment flees from his hands. 
He excuses himself with a incoherent mumble and a hurried departure. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but the voice in the back of his head hopes you chase after him. 
...
You find him outside.
It didn’t take you long to follow his exit. After a minute of standing alone in shock, you knew that you’d rather be by Megumi’s side, awkward and all, than be in a room without him. It feels lonely, cold without his heat burning beside you. 
He has another drink in his hand as he anxiously trails in circles around an empty golf course attached to the country club. You wonder when he found the time to grab it; did he make a beeline right for the bar once he’d left you? Did he go to the bathroom, then hit the bar once more before coming outside? Did he steal a drink right from the grip of a guest and—
“I didn’t want it to happen like this,” the crack in his voice catches you off guard. You didn’t know he’d noticed your presence.
Your fight-or-flight response kicks in. It tells you to fix this, that this is your best friend. That whatever happened can be forgotten as long as it means keeping Megumi as your own. 
You take a hesitant step forward in an attempt to calm his nerves, “Megumi, it’s alright, really, I just—”
“I didn’t want our first kiss to be fake,” he blurts out. 
It feels sharp. You can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or the weight of the situation at hand, but he’s being incredibly brave.
Or maybe he’s not, maybe he’s absolutely petrified of fucking this up. Maybe he can’t go another day without knowing, or rather not knowing. 
He finds himself rambling beneath his breath, “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, you were supposed to kiss me because you wanted to, not because you had to—”
“Wasn’t supposed to happen like this?” you mimic his prophetic choice of words.
Megumi’s too caught up in his worry to notice—to care—that he’s spiraled, he shakes his head and continues.
“No, it was supposed to be real. Not pretend, and to appease your shitty family,” the words are said harshly, though you recognize their intent as desperate, not malicious. 
A bit disbelieving, your tiny whisper ignites something inside of him, “You’ve thought about our first kiss?”
Megumi’s eyes nearly roll out of his head and onto the concrete pavement by his scuffed and worn-out shoes.
“Of course I have—I’m in love with you!”
His eyes grow comically large, as if he wasn't in control of the phrase that just fell from his lips. He’d surprised himself with his tangent, revealing his cards to you before folding his hand and waving a white flag in defeat.
When you don’t respond, the panic sets in. Now, it’s Megumi’s fight-or-flight kicking in—and boy, does he know how to fly. 
He immediately takes a step away from you, a defense mechanism. “I’m sorry, I should go, I—”
Your three steps forward cancel out his prior retreat, and before he can even manage to inhale, your lips are on his. Palms against the apples of his cheeks, Megumi feels the warmth of your mouth on his for the second time this evening—two more times than he’d ever thought he’d have the privilege of receiving. 
You pull away breathless and Megumi expects you to vanish. To let him down gently, to tell him he’s made a mistake.
Instead, he’s met with your hands cradling his jaw. 
“Did you mean it?”
He blinks a few times, still stunned from whatever the hell just happened, “Huh?”
“You’re in love with me,” you clarify a bit too quickly, “did you mean it?”
Megumi’s blushing expression is barely hidden behind his breathless shrug. “Yeah, surprise,” he attempts to joke around the confession. 
You gurgle out a bubble of laughter out of pure instinct. Megumi doesn't know why you do, but it’s music to his hears. 
You laugh and Megumi can’t stop himself from doing the same. The two of you stand, embraced in one another’s hands and giggles as you lose yourself in the sound of each other’s laughter. How silly. How utterly odd and awkward and ironic and now yours. 
Pulling away ever-so-slightly, just to get a better look at your best friend—your lover, a duality—you squeeze his hand. 
“That first kiss was real to me, by the way,” your smile beams as you whisper into his skin, “just so you know.” 
Megumi bows his shoulders in a way that’s far too nonchalant for having barely survived the longest night he’s ever lived. He smirks, one that’s boyish and dizzy. 
“Good,” he nods, “that makes two of us.”
The two of you stand there for a while, admiring one another and the little whirlwind you’ve managed to create. The muffled sound of the music from inside the banquet hall is background noise compared to the sound of Megumi’s breathing. 
After a few moments, Megumi scratches the back of his neck—a nervous habit you hope he never outgrows. 
“D’you wanna go back inside?” he meekly offers.
Your response is almost immediate, filled with seriousness and a twinge of offense, “Absolutely not.”
Megumi laughs and you want to taste it. So you do, leaning in and pressing your lips against his for the third time tonight. You feel him smile into the caress, teeth and all against your own. 
He mumbles into the kiss, “Now that you have a real boyfriend, you no longer need to impress your snobby family, right?” 
Pulling his leg, you remove your mouth from his with a bewildered expression. 
“Boyfriend?” you remark with a howl, “Take me on a date, first.” 
Megumi’s face drops at your words, and you bite back a grin from how easy he is to read. Grabbing his hand, you pull him towards the direction of the car.
Turning around and seeing his slight pout, you bring your intertwined hands up to your lips and press a warm kiss to his knuckle.
“Megumi,” you coo and it instantly grabs his attention, “I’m kidding,” you smile.
His hand tightens around yours. 
“Thank god.” 
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raina-at · 3 months
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Me then: This will just be a quick pre-Christmas romp, just a little fic, just a teensy tinsy little fic...
Me now, 10k in and just about done with setup: I don't know what I was expecting...
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