Hello everyone! First 'story' upload!
I'd really like to take requests for this, so maybe give me a few ideas on who YOU'D like to spend Seven Minutes in Heaven with. I'll need a little help with Harry Potter and Hunger Games (character descriptions - I don't read/watch it, sorry! .)
Thankyou for reading! And please be nice ^.^
You weren't one to be late, but then again, you would do as much as possible to put off going to one of Alfred Jones' parties. Most of the time, the half-cocky American would end up spiking everyone's drink to intoxicate them into doing regrettable things. One time, you stole a quick snog from Captain Jack Harkness, although he didn't seem to mind. On another occasion, you went streaking with Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took. That didn't exactly finish decently. Then there was this other time and... Well, lets just say you gave Arthur Pendragon a well deserved ass-kicking.
They were just vague memories, you reminded yourself, clambering clumsily from your Brandeis blue Mini Cooper, roof and outer wing mirrors plastered with the Union Jack. Arthur Kirkland sure would be proud. Almost-deafening k-pop bounced from America's staggeringly huge house, with the occasional squeal of a girl or 'battle-cries' of boys, already picking fights with each other. Demon hunters, royals, timelords, warlocks and demigods await you in that house, as well as a great many other people.
You trudge up to the front door, almost tripping up on the last white, wooden step, and catching yourself on the windowsill. You hadn't even had a drink yet and your were already tripping over; an unfortunate trait that came with being completely uncoordinated.
"_! It's great to see you, buddy!" Dean Winchester swings in the front door, a cheeky grin playing at the corners of his mouth. He ushers you in briskly, or more, pulls you in by your wrists, slams the door behind and pulls you into a bone-crushing embrace. The smell of whiskey is heavy on his breath, and you wonder how many more drinks it would be until he was seriously pissed.
"It's good to see you too, man." You stifle against his chest, attempting to push back from him, "Where's Sam?"
"He went off with some weirdos who called themselves The Doctor and Thor, I think? They're in the living room, but I met this really cool girl named Amy!" Dean bounces up and down, taking you with him. You return to the ground, laughing shakily. You're no where near as strong as Dean, and that was pretty crippling.
"I guess I'll see you around, then. Go have some fun with Amy." You wink.
"_, it's not like that, dude. She's with some Rory guy." Pouts Dean, seeming pretty miffed, "But there was this cute little Natasha girl with them too! Ciao, buddy!" He turns to almost skip down the hall.
"Dean... Dean, no..." You call half-heartedly. There was no way Natasha Romanova was going to be hit on like that. You giggle to yourself quietly, scanning the hall for someone interesting to talk to. You can see Percy and Annabeth in a heated debate over their mythology (or history, whatever you preferred to call it) over by the staircase, Sherlock was off complaining to John about something or other and Tony Stark seemed to be sharing tactics with Jack. You're about to make your way over to Team Axis when cool, slender hands pull you back by the waist.
"_! You made it, dude! Your here!" Alfred's deep, American accent by your neck catches you off guard, making your breath hitch a little in your throat. America them proceeds to grab your shoulders and spin you to face him.
"Only because you asked." You scoffed, furrowing your brows together. "Last time I was at one of these, England was close to filling a rape report against France... For Italy."
"He was just messing about! Live a little!" Cries America, smile widening with each syllable. "And besides, look at all the /other/i people here! Last time it was just the nations. This time, I made a few friends. You could too, ya know..." He winks, gesturing to some of the Horselords of Rohan by the food tables.
"Yeh, and maybe I already have enough friends. Really Alfred, aren't there more important things then showing off and throwing parties?"
"Aaw, you're no fun, little dude." Mumbles Alfred, downed a little by your seemingly buzzkill attitude.
"Look, I'll try and have fun, but I'm pretty sure no one is gonna want a party pooper like me around."
"Haha, you'll see!" Screams Alfred, throwing his hands up in the air. "Don't leave until the end, 'kay? I have a surprise for you."
"Okay," You simper, "Thanks Alfred."
"See?! I TOLD you I'm the better hero!" He smirks, sprinting off to a lethargic-looking Aragorn leaning up against an antique plate cabinet. You both roll your eyes at America's arrogance. Whatever this surprise was, you hands would end up wringing Alfred's neck in the end.
{MAGICAL TIME SKIP OF AWESOMENESS}
The party is starting to break up; people making their good byes and crawling out the door. You had spent most of the party hanging in the back with Sherlock, both bored and unamussed by your surroundings. Dean passes you by now and again, sometimes to grope you, and other times swinging some poor, unfortunate girl over his shoulder. Yup, he's had enough alcohol for one night. You've actually managed to stay away from most of it, instead sipping at a single glass of lemonade. Well, you're pn your third one now, seeing as how Clive Dove stole your first one and you spilt your second over Canada. Poor guy, you thought, as he apologised furiously under his breath, mopping at his jacket before pouring you another glass.
"I'm really sorry, Matthew. I didn't see you there." A verbal waterfall flows from your mouth explaining how bad you felt and you'd make it up to him.
"I know you didn't." He sniffles. "No one ever sees me." Tears prick at the edge of his eyes and you rush to hold the most misunderstood country. His hands hook over the back of your shoulders as he cries into your jacket. You sway side to side, stroking his hair and telling him it's okay.
"Jesus, you too - get a room!" The shrill, aggravating voice of Randall Ascot echos through the room at you. Canada pulls back from you to look away at the wall, hiding his scarlet face with his hands.
"You're such a jerk, you know that Randall?" You shoot back. "I was just trying to make him feel better. Something you're not very good at."
Oh crap, now you're in for it. Randall's eyes narrow as he storms his way through the crowd, pushing and shoving as he goes. You can feel the colour from your face draining, a cold sweat beading on your forehead. Well done, _, you think, you just ticked some drunkard off, and this will not end nicely. As he reaches you, the room becomes silent, the faint chatter of people in other rooms distant. You stare him down, determined not to loose your cool.
Grover Underwood and Nick Burkhardt shake their heads from where they're standing, Damon Salvatore tenses, along with his younger brother Stefan and you see something orange flicker through Merlin's eyes. Even if it did come down to that, there's no way Randall would win - most of the people left had never heard of him, and had defended you in some way or another before.
"Hey dudes! What's going on?" America skips in, holding an old stenson in his hands. The smile from his face drops as he feels the tension of the room. You turn to look at him apologetically, sorry for ruining his party. Whatever. Randall started it.
"I am /terribly sorry/, Alfred." You stress. "What were you going to say, dear?" You could always count on your quaint, British colloquial to smooth out the stress.
"Oh, right!" Alfred exclaims, pointing his index fingers in the air. "It's time for your surprise, _!"
"My... My what?" You fondell back through your mind, picking at it for the mention of a surprise. "Ah, yes! Uhm, what is it...?"
"Well what happens at every great party?! Seven minutes in heaven, that's what!" He screams excitedly.
You mentally face palm. You were one of three girls still left, the other to being Natalia Alfroskaya and Guinevere Pendragon. You were out numbered greatly, and America's smile grew even bigger at your realisation. Sighing, you drag yourself into the other room along with Belarus and Gwen as Alfred calls "PUT AN ITEM IN THE HAT, EACH OF YOU NOW!"
"Who are you hoping to get, _?" Gwen asks you, staying collected, she was so chill, ya now? Nothing fazed the queen of Camelot, and she seemed to think she wouldn't be playing anyway. She's probably right - Arthur would sentence to death anyone who dared lay a finger on her.
"Uhm, I don't really know. I'm not that big a fan of this game." You really dod know who, but who you didn't know was Gwen, and you don't want to be telling everyone who you like. "What about you, Belarus?"
"Russia, of course!" She coos, eyes staring dreamily into space whilst her elbow rests on her knee.
"But, isn't he your brother...?" Gwen asks cautiously.
"Yes, so maybe he is!" Natalia snaps, "What do you know?"
Gwen shut her mouth tight.
"Okay, dudettes, you can come back in now! This is gonna be goooooood!" America calls. You follow Gwen in to sit on the cream, plush carpet in between John Watson and Clive, Randall snarling at you from across the circle.
"_, you're up first!" Alfred shoves the hat into your hands and you panic, trying not the drop it. A hush falls over the room as you delve your hand into the hat. Something hard, something squishy, something smooth... Eyes look upon you, some eagar, some aroused and some genuinely damn-well scared. Closing your eyes, you slowly pull out...