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atinyidea · 4 years

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Heartworm | Choi San

n. a relationship or friendship that you can’t get out of your head, which you thought had faded long ago but is still somehow alive and unfinished, like an abandoned campsite whose smouldering embers still have the power to start a forest fire.

⟶ college!au, best friend!san, brother!seonghwa, friends to lovers!au, kinda very spicy but there’s no actual smut, there’s mentions of underage drinking and sexual encounters, everything is consentual!

⟶ appellation series masterlist

⟶ 5.7k words

600 special prompt for my lovely soul partner @san–shine, its like 50 years late and I know she no longer is active on this blog but I wanted to keep this.

42: “Exactly how drunk was I?”

49: “Good morning, sunshine.”

☞ When you were younger, you knew you were one-hundred per cent in love with your best friend, Choi San. However, because he was also, in fact, your brother’s best friend and you were a sixteen-year-old rebel adamant to never admit your feelings, you had to watch as he got his first girlfriend during a party Seonghwa had thrown for you. Now, years later and in the middle of college, you find yourself in a familiar setting: a party thrown for you by your brother and Choi San looking as breathtaking as he always does.

☞ moodboard

Just to be clear, when you woke up, you hadn’t expected your brother to announce that there was going to be a party held at your house for your twenty-second birthday. Your brother, being the kind and loving brother he was, had yet again used your birthday as an excuse to throw a house party, even though it wasn’t even your birthday until tomorrow. Seonghwa liked to use your birthday, the date falling in the last week of the summer holidays, as a way to gather all your combined friends as some sort of final summer get-together before the school year began again. You weren’t particularly against them, the end of summer parties becoming a little tradition after the fourth year running, and the fact that they were held at your house meant you could just go to bed any time you wanted. [ thank you sound-proofed home as per your mothers request due to your fathers’ noise-making habits from his job as a musician. ] Though it wasn’t like you knew anyone who would be throwing a house party you couldn’t just walk home from.

You did not know how many drinks you had consumed, alcoholic or otherwise, but the setting you found yourself in was giving you very explicit pangs of nostalgia to the first time you and your brother had thrown one of these parties. Your current situation was not unlike the situations you had been in before. You weren’t ashamed to say that you liked to have fun with your relationships: romantic, platonic or the just-once ones. It wasn’t unusual for you to be found in someone’s lap around midnight; the last party happened to be a beautiful girl named Soojin, the party before that was a guy whose name you hadn’t bothered to remember. However, the person’s lap who you sat in usually was not your best friend, Choi San’s. Not the San you spent the better half of your life burying romantic feelings for because he was Seongwha’s friend first. Not the San, your eyes couldn’t help watch whenever he was near. You made a promise to yourself since that one time when you had just turned sixteen, the one time you found yourself on his lap. [ A promise you made to deny your feelings because the very next day, he had gotten a girlfriend who was definitely not you. ]

At seventeen years old, San knew he was still a stupid and hormonal teenage boy. He practically got nose bleeds anytime he remotely saw a girl's lower back or tummy, their exposed thighs or neck: he knew he could be a perverted little shit. Still, having a girl for a best friend meant that he also knew what was respectful and what was just disgusting – thinking back on it, he was grateful for his friendship with you for teaching him from a young age how to treat girls with proper respect. [ Mainly because you would whack his head or punch him in the balls whenever he said something inappropriate or did something stupid. ] But, also at sixteen, San knew that he was also sorta-kinda-probably in love with his best friend’s sister. [ Who was also his best friend… was it possible to have more than one best friend? ]

During the summer of your sixteenth, Seonghwa’s eighteenth and his seventeenth birthdays, San and his family had gone overseas for an extended holiday. His father had received a promotion, and his mother struck lucky in her weekly lottery draw, so he hadn’t been there to witness the gradual changes to your body. It wasn’t like San wasn’t attracted to you before [ not that either of you knew what the fuck attraction was before ] but when you came to the airport to pick him up with your father, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to look at another girl ever again. [ Of course, that was an overdramatic thought since he proceeded to have girlfriends that weren’t you but the thought of you truly never left his mind. ]

The day of your sixteenth birthday party was something he would always remember clearly. He remembered the way you hugged him for a solid five minutes when he got to your house in the early morning, complaining about how your parents would still be away for another few days, and your brother refused to even hug you on your birthday. [ Seonghwa’s excuse was that it was your birthday tomorrow, and that was when you could claim the birthday hug. ] Secretly, he wished you would tell him you hugged him simply because you wanted to have him close. He remembered how Seonghwa had launched into a story from his last house party (one for the seniors that only he was invited to, but the stories were fun nevertheless) as he attempted to make pancakes at your request. You had bounced your way to your favourite countertop space and jumped up to sit there, right in front of the fridge, because it was the only place that was both cool and warm [ “exactly the right temperature” ] in the entire kitchen. He remembered the way his body slotted between your legs, his back to your chest as the two of you shared a vodka-and-coke at ten-in-the-morning. His mind was restlessly deciding if it was okay to lay his hands on your knees or calves, inevitably switching between the two places every five minutes. It hadn’t felt weird but natural as all three of you shared hearty laughs and then partially burnt pancakes.

[ He remembered when he had given you the small-and-terribly-wrapped box that held your present, egging you on to open it a day early. The way your face lit up as you lifted a thin silver chained sunflower charm bracelet into the air would forever be imprinted on his eyes – your eyes sparkling and lips twitching up into a wide grin as you thanked him seven times. The gentle tone of your voice as you asked him to help you put it on because for some reason, you couldn’t put clasped bracelets on for the life of you, was saved like a voice note in his brain. “You remembered,” you had whispered once he was settled back between your legs, “that sunflowers were my favourite, I mean.” The brush of your lips on his cheek lined the walls of his heart as it threatened to shatter through his ribs. ]

As a sixteen-year-old San knew that you probably shouldn’t’ve had as much alcohol as you had that night. However, as a seventeen-year-old San also didn’t care as long as you were having fun. It was not the first time you consumed alcohol, but it was the first time you’d had enough to get drunk from it. It was your sixteenth birthday party after all, and neither your brother nor your best friend had any objections when you grabbed the first vodka-and-coke at ten in the morning while you got ready. So now, at almost eleven at night, you had had more than ten of those drinks, and you could honestly say you weren’t sure if you’d remember anything from this night at all. The hours went by in a blur, and soon three drinks had turned into eight as you dragged San to your room to decide on an outfit for the night. He remembered the way his throat constricted as you strolled out from your bathroom in a neon green crop top and the pair of flare jeans you always wore. Ultimately San thought he would’ve preferred that outfit to the one you settled on – a black denim mini-skirt with a matching jacket on top of a simple t-shirt with a neon rainbow painted across the chest. The sliver of skin showing from the crop top was way less tempting than the muscle of your thighs, mainly since that was your exact plan for the outfit.

“You look good,” he had said, swallowing gulps of air and saliva when you asked, “you’d still look good in a potato sack,” he complimented you as you twirled on the spot and gifted him with a brilliant grin that simply took his breath away.

“We match!” You all but squealed when you took note of the black denim jacket San wore over his t-shirt with a neon rainbow across the chest.

He hadn’t even noticed.

His memory started to get hazy around drink number thirteen. He couldn’t remember how or what events had led to the current situation, [ or which room the two of you were actually in that was both not your bedroom and also not inhabited by literally anyone else ], but he certainly was not complaining. You were so close to him he could smell the faintest scent of your vanilla and cinnamon shampoo and conditioner you had used the day before, the slightest whiff of your jasmine scented perfume [ the one you always wore, the one he bought you your first bottle of ] and the sweetly bitter smell of cherry coke and vodka on your breath. His hands seemed glued to your lower back and hips, palms almost moulded to your skin like he were a sculptor, and you were his latest masterpiece. Your legs either side of his own, wrapping around him possessively, like he was yours and only yours, and he let you, using his hands to pull you closer to him like you were his and only his. Your faces were so close he could feel each hot exhale of breath hitting his lips, and when they stopped as you shivered and whined, he couldn’t help the way his lips tilted upwards into a smirk. The way you attempted to wire your mouth shut not to make a sound wasn’t effective, seeing as he heard all three of your whines, each one getting more prolonged and higher in pitch as the two of you continued your ministrations. His hips wanted to jut up into you. Still, he forced his movements to be as slow and smooth as possible, wanting to feel every way you would come undone above him, but when his gaze flickered across your face. He spotted the small trickle of blood falling from your lips; it was like everything that had just happened had disappeared.

From your recollection, you only remembered specific parts of that night. Your legs had been situated on either side of his thighs, your arms wrapped around his neck as his palms slowly pushed up the small of your back to pull your body closer to his. Your faces were so close you could physically see the connection between the two of you, yet neither of you pushed forward enough to make that connection real and tangible. [ You wanted to, God, you wanted to kiss him right then more than anything. Why didn’t you kiss him then? ] San’s hands felt hot against your skin, his fingertips slowly moving to draw a masterpiece on your back. You shivered slightly as a slight breeze floated around the sliver of exposed skin where your shirt had ridden up. Your eyes were drawn to San’s lips as they twitched up into a slight smirk; his own eyes flickered to watch you watch him. Neither of you had said a word to each other for almost half an hour, drunkenly pushing at the limits between your friendship with nothing but burning touches and delicate twists of hips.

You subconsciously sucked your bottom lip into the confines of your teeth, but you willingly bit down harshly to stop a sly whine from escaping your lips as San had the cocky idea to roll his pelvis into yours as he held you in place with his hands on your hips. Apparently, you had bitten down way too hard because the next thing you knew was that San’s playful smirk had evaporated into a concerned frown. He lifted a hand from your hip – the sudden rush of cold where his hand previously was leaving you feeling a sense of loss – to your lip, his thumb tugging your lip back out.

“You’re bleeding,” he mumbled, thumb coming away with a smear of blood moulding into his fingerprint. The taste of blood in your mouth was unexpected and had sent you reeling. You almost flew off of his lap and practically ran to your bedroom’s bathroom to inspect the damage. There was a tear in the side of your bottom lip. [ The side of your lip you always bit out of habit, so the skin was thinner there than the rest of your lip. ] Against your better judgment – the rational part of your brain was too drunk at that moment – you settled your tongue against the fresh cut. Finching away from yourself at the unexpected [ which really should’ve been expected ] pain, you decided that there was nothing you could do to help soothe it. After twenty minutes, that felt like two, of staring at yourself in the mirror, you finally shrugged and made your way back into the heart of the party.

As an almost sixteen-year-old, you knew you were just coming into figuring out your body and the emotions of more physical relationships as you grew into it. You knew you had grown up a little (a lot) over the summer, your chest filling out from a b-cup to a c-cup, your lanky figure could no longer be considered lanky as your limbs gained muscle, fat and tone, creating a new full and curvy figure. Your mother had been ecstatic when you came to her asking how to style clothes to fit your ‘new’ figure as it meant the two of you could go shopping [ one of her favourite activities ], and you could find your style that both suited your body and personality. You did have to admit that your style didn’t change much; you still loved a sturdy flannel shirt [ always oversized though, now you tended to wear it open with a form-fitting crop top or spaghetti-strap top underneath to show off your chest and waist ] and you still loved your favourite pair of flare jeans enough to wear them almost every other day, [ the one with the painted sunflower over the back pocket. ] You also loved pleated mini skirts and knee-high socks or a simple loose-form-fitting dress with lycra cycle shorts underneath. You didn’t like the emotional side of your summer changes, though and, while you were new to the whole attraction thing, the one person you definitely didn’t feel anything remotely romantic for was your best friend. [ Well, maybe you did, but he was Seonghwa’s friend first, and that was a no-go… and perhaps you wanted to reject the way your heart turned into butterflies when you saw him at the airport… and maybe you just weren’t ready to put those feelings into words, so you denied them instead. ]

Your best friend whose lap you were just sat on, grinding your hips into his with your noses touching. Your best friend who was now kissing another girl [a beautiful girl who was named Hyemi, she was in Seonghwa’s class and also happened to live across the road… she was always nice to you and you couldn’t find it in you to dislike her even as your stomach knotted and twisted into something green with envy ] in the middle of the kitchen. You wouldn’t remember how long you stood there, watching the two of them kiss like a complete and utter creep, and you wouldn’t remember the look San gave you as he noticed the sway of your hair as you retreated out of the kitchen with a frown on your brow.

You did not fancy your best friend, and you definitely did not care that he was kissing Hyemi in front of the fridge. [ The fridge he stood between your legs in front of literal hours ago. ] Lastly, you definitely did not feel like crying as your mind reminded you about two different memories of earlier that day – one of you sat on the counter opposite that exact fridge with San leaning back into you as he gave you the sunflower charm bracelet that wrapped around your wrist, watching Seonghwa attempt to make you birthday pancakes. The second the memory of his hands burning up your skin, the way his lips tilted into a smirk when you shivered under his hold and the way you inflicted pain to yourself in an attempt not to whine with pleasure at the way he moved his hips.

It was too raw, and now you just wanted to forget.

San’s brain refused to calculate time because one minute his hand was reaching for your bloodied lip and the next you were gone, and San was back in the kitchen getting you a glass of water [ and then he was kissing another girl in front of the fridge he rested between your legs literal hours ago. ] San wouldn’t remember what their conversation had been, only that this girl, Hyemi, was older than him and had just asked him out. He wouldn’t remember the exact way her grin turned a little too malicious to be sincere. He would, however, remember the way your hair flew over your shoulder as you spun away from the scene involving him; he would remember the way his eyes followed your figure all the way into the embrace of your brother as you shallowly smiled and stole his drink [ and he would remember the way his chest seemed to ache at that simple action. ]

Hyemi became his girlfriend at that same party; you didn’t even know they knew each other. He didn’t even know why he said yes.

And here you were, on the penultimate night before your twenty-second birthday, in the lap of your best friend. His relationship with Hyemi had lasted six months, and he had gotten six more significant others in the seven-year gap from then til now but, right then, he was single, and you were in his lap. You had flopped down over the side of a two-seater couch; eyes screwed shut with laughter, so you didn’t realise who was sat on said couch – or that anyone was – until your head made contact with their thigh. [ Their thigh was very comfy to lay on, which was the first thing your brain commented on. ] When you looked up and met eyes with San, a small [ tiny really, in no way visible to the person who knew you best and where to look for a blush – finding it immediately ] blush was growing warmly over your cheeks.

“Hey there,” He grinned, setting down his plastic cup, [ more like throwing it over his shoulder, not caring that it hit someone since it was mostly empty anyway ] and poking your nose gently just to watch the way it would scrunch up. His fingers were moving from your nose to his ear to make sure the roll-up cigarette that was balanced there hadn’t fallen.

“Hi,” you giggled, your legs curling up to your chest, making you look like a contorted cat as your feet still dangled slightly over the arm of the chair. After a few seconds, your fingers started twitching and settled on playing with the fabric of his shirt. It was the same rainbow one he wore to your sixteenth party, matching the one you were wearing too. The both of you had grown out of them, San settling on cutting it into a crop top and you doing the same, [ since you were the one who had actually cut San’s shirt and decided to continue and do yours, so you matched again. ] His shirt gave little to cover, showing off his abdominals and tummy [ and the slight happy trail peeking out from the waistband of his jeans ] proudly and only just covering his pectorals. Your own shirt was cut higher, stopping just above the curve of your breasts. Still, your own torso was covered in a neon green fishnet bodysuit [ not that it left anything to the imagination, your torso was still on show ] that was tucked into your signature flare pants which now rode a little low on your hips and the sunflower on the back was more than a little faded.

“What are you doing?” He asked with an amused grin, [ complemented with the subtle raise of a singular eyebrow… Gods, why was he so attractive? ] one hands fingers starting to twist in the loose strands of your short hairstyle. It was nice. [ The touch of his hands against your hair was excellent, the slight tug of the strands against your skull felt really nice. ]

“Taking a break. Siyeon, Minji and Yunho broke out the karaoke machine, and they're playing the song shots game.” You replied as if it explained everything. [ It actually kind of did, San recalled you once telling him that the chaotic energy of that particular trio and the song shots game gave you awful headaches. And you hated having headaches when you were drinking because it made you nauseous. And when you were nauseous and drunk, you tended to go have a smoke, which you were trying extremely hard to stop doing for the sake of your father, who also used to smoke and now had lung problems. So, San understood your meaning. ] “What about you?”

San had to take a minute to think. Just what was he doing? Why was he so out of it today? In his heart, San knew the answer, but he hadn’t unlocked that treasure chest just yet. [ He was tired of watching you be semi-intimate with people that weren’t him… Which he refused to admit. Because both of you were pinning assholes in denial. ] Finally, even though it had only been a minute, he replied with a simple “I’m just… sitting.”

“Oh?” You asked, now it was your turn to raise the amused eyebrow, “just sitting?”

“Sitting... and thinking.”

“About what?”

“You.” The word was out faster than San’s brain had time to process what he’d said. However, now he had said it, he wasn’t going to deny it. Was it the small amount of alcohol in his system? [ It was the way your eyes widened a little as you looked up at him from your place in his lap, fingers twisting in his shirt and lips falling open ever so slightly. ]

“Me?” Your pitch ascended as the volume of your voice diminished.

“Yeah, you!” He grinned, tone equally as quiet but still showing enthusiasm, moving his free hand to boop your nose.

“What about me?”

San’s fingers in your hair froze at your question, his mind whirring with any kind of answer that wouldn’t cross the line into confession territory wherein he would lose your friendship indefinitely, but after one look at the serious longing look in your eye, he decided he would ‘man up’ [ the phrase making him cringe as soon as he thought it… the connotation of the word being so outdated and, for someone who grew up with a very stubborn girl in his life, San wondered why society hadn’t come up with a suitable alternative to the phrase ] and just tell you.

So he did.

“Do you remember what happened between us at your sixteenth party?” He asked, seemingly changing the conversation topic. Confused but going with it, a slight blush warming your cheeks, you nodded, and he took that as permission to continue, “I can’t stop thinking about it.” His voice was nothing louder than a whisper, you should’ve had to strain your ears to hear him, but at that moment, it was like all other sounds and distractions faded from the scene. Your breath hitched as you simply stared up into his eyes, his pupils dilated, almost taking over the beautiful swirling colour of his irises [ making his eyes look darker than usual, more intense than expected, and for a second, you swore your heart stopped ].

“What about it?” Your question was innocent enough, but the way you said it gave way to other ideas. Your voice was soft and breathy, like you weren’t getting enough oxygen, and like San, the words weren’t said above a whisper. Afterwards, you bit down softly on your bottom lip [ unintentional on your part, it was just a habit of yours, to be honest ], minutely sucking it in, and San’s focus shifted to watch your lips specifically.

“I’m thinking about how much I’d like to do it again.”

“You want to kiss me?”

“If you’d let me.”

“Please kiss me.” You whispered, more a statement rather than a question or demand. And so he did, leaning forward to reach you, head still in his lap, [ it felt like a slow-motion scene in a movie, but it couldn’t have been longer than two seconds before his lips were flush against yours ]. It was not the first time the two of you had kissed, but it was the first time you had kissed since becoming official adults — it felt different.

It felt good.

His lips were soft, and his kiss was gentle, at least it was at first. As the seconds ticked on, the kiss grew more intense, the soft brush of his lips pressed harder into you, his hands running over your body to pull you up to him. Your arms threaded around his neck, stretching out your torso [ if you were honest, it hurt a little… not that you were lucid enough to be aware of it ] and arching your back. He bit down on your bottom lip, tugging at it a little when your fingers twisted through the hair at his neck, pulling him to you with a new sense of desperation.

And then the two of you fell off the couch. You slid off his lap and landed on your back [ though it was more like you were on your side than your back ] while San rolled over on top of you. Both of you froze in your positions, eyes wide, [ pupils dilated but that was most likely due to the desire flowing through you ] lips parted as you just stared at one another for a second. San was the first to crack the silence, lips pulling into a grin and eyes crinkling with joy as his laugh sounded out around you. He flipped off from on top of you, landing next to you on the floor but his smile never dimmed and his laugh hadn’t faded. You rolled slightly so you were actually on your side as you continued to look at him. When he looked back at you your heart skipped a beat, his smile was so pretty and it made his dimple so deep but it wasn’t long before his laughter simmered and his expression faded as he looked back at you.

Biting your lip once again you made an executive decision [ the only decision you could think off, since all thoughts were now preoccupied with San at the moment ] to lift yourself to hover over him this time. You swallowed and let out a breath as your eyes met, searching for any sign that you should stop. Your shaking breath cut out into a soft gasp as San’s hands caressed over the small of your back to pull you down so that your chests touched. Your right hand lifted up to take hold of the cigarette tucked behind his ear, [ a small giggle leaving your lips at the thought that it was still there even after all that ] and twisted it between your fingers a little. Was it a nervous habit or just a neat trick, you couldn’t distinguish at the moment. San’s own hand came to hold yours, two sets of fingers now playing with the home-made roll-up gently. Soon enough San took it from your shallow grip and flicked it across the room, using the same hand to cup your jaw to cirect your gaze back to him.

Meeting his eyes made you want to shy away from his gaze but you let him keep you there. He looked at you with such a strong emotion you though you’d possibly be able to taste it from his lips. “I have to tell you something…” You whispered, close enough to not have to raise your voice.

“What is it?” He whispered back, the fingers on your back drawing small circles as the hand at you jaw left to curl a strand of hair around his fingers in the opposite direction. [ how he did that subconsciously and not mess it up would’ve made your head spin in wonder ].

“I love you.” You began, still whispering. “I have for a long time, though in the beginning I tried rather hard to deny it. Mainly because you had a significant other and I didn’t want to ruin that for you. And then, in a rather dick move, I got a significant other in the hopes of stopping it but that didn’t work so I stopped getting into romantic relationships altogether and now-”

He cut you off, pulling you into him to kiss the words from your lips [ which you appreciated because your inner thoughts were beginning to panic because your mouth wouldn’t stop talking ]. When you separated his smile was back, albeit not as wide as before. His eyes were as soft as his smile as he kissed you once more, resting your foreheads together. “I love you too,” he said against your lips. At his words you surged forward, pressing into him with fierce emotion as your kissed him.

You had wanted to hear those words from his lips for so long. You had wanted him for so long. And here he was, right in your reach, his hands on your body and yours tugging gently at his hair. Before all the breath in your lungs had finished and you lost your conscious nerve to a blur of desire those word had repeated at least thrice as you made your way to the comfort of your bed and the warmth of his body.

The next day when you woke up, you woke up earlier than usual and feeling unusually chipper as you took a hot shower. The subtly sweet scent of pancakes met you as you made your way through the house and into the kitchen.

“Good morning, Sunshine, you’re up early,” your brother grinned over his shoulder, both hands currently busy holding a pan and spatula. “I made pancakes.”

“Yes, I can see that.” You returned his grin with one of your own, a teasing smile lifting to your lips as you took a seat. Your head was clear of any headaches or lingering pain from a hangover since you were better with your alcohol intake as a twenty-two-year-old, and your reckless youth had lined your stomach with a fair amount of tolerance.

“Exactly how drunk was I last night? I don’t remember anyone leaving.”

“Oh boy,” Seonghwa sniggered, a sly grin taking over his features, “the party was two days ago, you slept all day yesterday. Really freaked San out.”

“What?!” You exclaimed, a piece of pancake falling from your fingers back onto your plate, bouncing off and onto the side sadly. [ It went ignored as you stared down your brother. ]

“Yeah. And he’s been ramble-muttering about you for a solid ten hours now. He’s really not subtle at all.” Seonghwa grinned. “So now that you two have slept together, are you two actually together?”

If you had liquid in your mouth, you would have spat it out. “He told you?!” You exclaimed, heart racing at the thought of your best friend and your brother discussing your sex-life.

“No.” Seonghwa denied immediately, face scrunching up in disgust at the mere thought, “I definitely don’t need to know details about that. It’s just San isn’t subtle at all when he’s mutter-rambling. He was oblivious to the fact he was thinking out loud about how to move forward after your… time together… while I literally sat next to him.” Seonghwa then grinned at you, again, the stretch of his lips becoming a little too mischievous for your liking. “Pretty sure he passed out on the couch half an hour ago.” He hinted, motioning over to the living room with his head as his eyebrows wiggled up and down suggestively.

A puff of air exhaled through your nose as a small smile climbed over your lips. You opened your mouth to talk, but he cut you off with a gentle pat on the head, “I’m happy for you two,” was all he said but it was enough. [ Your heart soared at the approval of your brother. It was not that you nor San needed Seonghwa’s approval, but it was nice to know he wouldn’t oppose it. ] Then you made your way to the couch San was asleep on.

You sat next to him, in the space unoccupied by his body. His brow was furrowed, which you frowned at. You lifted a hand and gently pressed on the juncture between his eyebrows, smoothing them out. His face instantly relaxed under your touch [ a part of your mind daydreamed that it was because he knew it was you ] and a small smith lifted upon your lips. Your hand moved down to cup his cheek and then his jaw before you raised it to gently wipe away the hair that had fallen in his face. You bit down on your lip, confused on whether to wake him up or not but life had chosen for you as one by one San’s eyes opened and slowly focused on you.

His eyes widened, and in a flurry of limbs suddenly he was laying on his back on the floor while you had balanced yourself with your knees over his waist. After a second of shocked silence [ as the two of you came to terms with what the fuck just happened ] a grin spread across his lips, eyes crinkling in delight, as his hands came to grip your hips gently.

A silent confirmation washed over the two of you as your lips spread to mirror his grin. The two of you would be alright as the next part of your relationship bloomed, the embers of your crushes were now burning bright.

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 3 years

Text

Mind the Gap: Three

Shang-Chi laid you carefully on the bed and leaned over to kiss you on the forehead, smiling a little when you fuss at him sleepily. “It’s okay,” he murmured, brushing a lock of hair out of your face tenderly, “I’m only going down stairs.”

When you sit up. Bolt upright suddenly, he reels back. It takes a moment for him to realize that you’re not what’s staring at him. Your eyes are the same unearthly silver they had been. “Let her sleep,” he ordered sharply.

“We,” a voice that is your but… Not yours replies haughtily, “Do not sleep. We are eternal.”

“Not without a body you’re not,” he fired back, frustrated. You just got to sleep. You were just so close to feeling better. Your face doesn’t change, not really. There’s an absence of expression. One that he’d taken as seriousness in that empty field, but now realizes that the Archive probably doesn’t… care enough to make you appear “normal” when speaking. Still, even if the Archive wasn’t sneering at him where he could see it, he could feel it.

“Have care, boy. Our vessel will not belong to you.”

And before he could reply, You fell backwards onto the bed, your head hitting the pillow with a soft thump.

“You’re right about that,” he says quietly, not sure if it can hear him or not. “She doesn’t belong to me. She doesn’t belong to anyone… You might have saved her life once, but now you’re just squatting.” He shakes his head and pulls a blanket over you, carefully tucking you in before turning and heading back downstairs.

__________

Downstairs, he finds party preparations in full swing. There’s food being cooked and more food being ordered from town to be picked up. There’s a small army of people moving tables and arranging lights and torches and building bonfires. It was cozy looking. And impossible for him to tell how many people were coming.

“How is she recovering?”

Shang-Chi turned and faced his father, smiling ruefully, “Not as fast as I’d like. But at least she’s asleep.”

He nodded and gave his son a sympathetic look. “They’re all worried,” he cautioned.

“We should start a club. Y/N can make us jackets.” When his father gave him a look, Shang-Chi smiled a little. “It spoke to me,” he said after a second.

“The Archive? What did It say?”

“It told me that she didn’t belong to me,” he said, restraining an eye roll with effort.

Wenwu frowned, “It challenged you?”

Shang-Chi shook his head, “It wasn’t a challenge. It was a warning. She never even woke up.”

They stood for a long moment and considered the implications of that. But neither one of them had a chance to say more when Katy burst through the screen door with Xialing on her heels. “You have got to see this! There’s fucking werewolves!”

“Werewolves? Kai is a werewolf-”

“No. What? No- I-” Katy is bouncing on the balls of her feet and bolts back out the door.

“A pack,” Xialing said rolling her eyes, more fond than irritated. “Specifically her father’s pack.”

And it’s curiosity more than anything that lures Shang-Chi outside. You never talk about your parents- Not that he can really blame you. He hadn’t talked about his family with you at all. And now? He has the gift of staying in your childhood bedroom. And seeing the things that made you into the woman he loves. Still. Werewolves? He assumes your mother is a witch but- If this going to be a fight? Is it going to upset you?

He walks down the steps to see Kai and who he assumes is your father. You have the same lazy half smile and the same warm eyes that you share with your brother. And for just a second, he wants to turn around and bolt. He’s seen you dismember demons. He’s faced creatures from other dimensions. But somehow? Meeting his Girlfriend’s dad is more terrifying than both those things.

He’s a big man. Tall. Imposing. A solid wall of muscle. A shock of curly dark hair… It was almost like the universe had distilled his every idea of a werewolf into one person. Except for the jaws. And slobber.

“Good Luck,” Xialing snorted quietly.

“Gee thanks,” he said taking a deep breath and stepping forward. He’d been seen, there wasn’t any escape now.

The huge man stepped forward, “I’m Renaud,” he said. His voice a deep rumble, like Thunder. “You, must be Shang-chi.” He took the hand that was offered and shook it, not as roughly as Shang-Chi had expected. And he hadn’t missed that his name had been pronounced correctly. “Thank you, for calling my son… Just because Y/n can handle things on her own doesn’t mean she should.”

“So you found her?”

“Of course,” he said, smiling, “I always know how to find my kids.”

Shang-Chi smiled in spite of himself. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since you’d seen your father. But somethings seemed to be universal. “My father-” he started, But Renaud made an impetuous gesture.

“We’ve met,” he chuckled, taking the hand that Wenwu offered.

“Several times, in fact,” Wenwu said. “And I hope-”

The Werewolf released his hand and rocked back on his heels, “The sins of the father and all that,” he said with another impetuous gesture. “I learned long ago that telling a witch what to do is always a bad idea.”

Shang- Chi looked from one to the other and glanced at Katy and Xialing for help. He had the distinct impression that he was rapidly helping to establish some new international thing. When both the girls shrugged at him at a loss he glanced at Kai who gave him a small nod.

“Dad,” Kai said, “I’d hate to interrupt whatever work meeting is about to happen but… Hospitality Law. You know Grandma and Lea like to et all the stupid formal things out of the way up top.”

Renaud looked at them apologetically and turned to his son, “And then I’d like to see your sister.”

“So far as I know she’s asleep,” Kai said leading him away, the other three wolves that had been standing there watching followed after.

“It’s the middle of the day,” he protested.

“Not for her. She’s still at least a day behind the rest of us.”

Shang-Chi watched them go and let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “At least no one at me,” he said, looking back towards the house.

“Werewolves haven’t done that in public for 300 years,” Wenwu snorted.

___________

People arrive steadily. Bringing kids. And food. And drinks. Shang-Chi watches in fascination as all the tables Kai had hefted into place filled with things. And the Coolers he had helped Lea to fill with Ice started keeping drinks cold.

So many faces and names. It’s a whirl and a blur. Still. It doesn’t take long for the kids to warm up and claim him, and Katy as their new playmates. Like all children they’re susceptible to a good story and an infectious laugh. Except for one. There was a little boy. He stayed near an oak tree. A Book over his lap. And he seemed to be watching the goings on, all the flips and little bursts of magical energy with irritation. He didn’t want to play. At least not with them. And while no one bothered him, it was clear that the other kids didn’t want to play with him either.

At least- At least for a while.

When you appeared, a little bleary eyed with your hair in a messy bun and some fresh clothes. His whole face lights up. Shang-Chi hears the shout and watches, grinning as his book goes flying and he launches himself at you, clinging onto your torso like a spider monkey and burying his face in your neck.

And suddenly, the silent boy with the great big book is talking. And talking. And he can’t seem to stop smiling.

“She’s his person,” Lea said smiling a little, handing Shang-Chi a glass of cold lemonade. He looked at her in askance and she smiled a little, “They both understand what it’s like to be the weirdest person in a room full of weirdos,” she explained. “Emmet had no magical ability. And Y/N hears voices and can tear out a Vampire’s heart with her bare hands.”

“Fair enough,” he says nodding, watching you greet the kids with hugs and kisses and declarations that they’re all too tall. “It’s good to know I’m just a novelty.”

Lea grins, “No one can ever take her place with them… It was Kai with the last crop. But Y/N was always his buddy. She’s had him wrapped around her finger since the first time someone put her in his lap.”

“So you’re telling me I should expect a big brother lecture?”

“Maybe. But. It’s more likely that he figures she could take you in a fight and there’s not much point.” The redhead’s eyes sparkle with mischief though. And Shang-Chi chuckles.

“You think so?”

“If she can’t, the Archive can.”

That was a sobering thought. And Shang- Chi took a deep breath. “What- what happened?”

The woman looked at him and for the first time, he considered that she was probably older than her face. Despite the lack of lines her eyes seem… Ancient. “I don’t know if I should tell you. I’ve spent… A long time keeping those details a secret.”

“I just-”

“I know,” she says softly. “You should know. If only… If only so you know she wasn’t always this way. She used to want… She wanted to be in the Olympics. She wanted to be a rockstar… She didn’t want to be this.”

Shang-Chi was quiet. Waiting. He didn’t really know what to say.

“Her mother- When she was born her mother was furious,” Lea said after a long moment. “600 years and so many babies I’ve brought into the world… And the was the only time I’ve ever seen That. She refused to even hold her.”

“Why-”

“Because she was powerful,” Lea said. “I knew- We all knew- the second she took her first breath that she wasn’t just a Witch. And for Clara? That was a betrayal. Clara had spent DECADES trying to amass more power. And here her daughter just had it? Absolutely not. It was unthinkable.”

Shang-Chi winced. “So then-”

“She sold her,” Lea said bitterly. “Put her on the black market and handed her off to the highest bidder.”

“No-”

“What she sold her to though? It was a… a cult. A fringe group. They took children like her and tried to- to change them. And if torture wouldn’t change it, burning. Well. The holy fire would at least make sure they went to heaven.”

He felt himself waver and he leaned against the tree that was at his back. “What the fuck-”

“Indeed,” Lea said nodding. “To make a long story short, It took Kai, Renaud, and her Great Aunt Jet to bring her home. And it cost Jet her life… It was a price she would gladly pay but not everyone feels that Y/N was worth the effort. Including Y/N.”

He looked back towards you, watching as you tossed one of the kids up to Kai who tickled them and tossed them to one of the waiting werewolves who promptly pitched them off the dock and into the lake. But on the edges, he could see the barely masked disapproval. And he knew you. He knew that you knew it was there.

“Lenora has been trying to keep things at bay but… I’d be lying if I said I blamed Y/N for keeping her distance. She loved Jet. We all did. And it’s- it’s hard for her, knowing that if it weren’t for her- She might still be here. She might be able to control the Archive. Instead of being controlled.”

And all he can do is watch you. And hurt. He hurts for who you are now. And for the little girl that you had been. “Thank you,” he said sincerely.

“Shang- Chi,” Lea cautioned, “She says she doesn’t remember but-”

“You don’t know?”

“No. We don’t. And if she’s trying to protect herself-”

“I won’t ask her,” he said, “I don’t think I’d want to remember that either.”

#shang chi #shang-chi x reader #fluff #angst #meet the parents #torture mention

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inber · 4 years

Text

A/N: Just some bittersweet solo Eskel drabble. Warnings for mild TW3 game spoilers (nothing you probably don’t know though), some sadness, some past death mention. Clearly working through my own issues using goat dad. Hopeful ending! 600 words, G rated.

Eskel knows that the fawn is going to die.

The mother's scent is faint, sinking into the spring loam of the forest. Distantly, he hears the restless padded paws of an apex predator, the snap of sticks underfoot; the crush of delicate bone and sinew. Eskel doesn't have to track the wolf to understand that the doe has become a meal.

Such is the order of things. An orphan left in safety, curled up and motionless; her dappled camouflage a last desperate shield. She has faith that her mother will return. Faith that if she remains still, Eskel cannot see her.

Knowing the workings of the world doesn't make them less painful. Having the creature's fate written on cosmic parchment doesn't ease the sting of the paper-cut. Eskel just lets it hurt, because it feels better than the numbness that has taken up residence in the cage of his ribs. Honestly, he's surprised there's anything left within him to be hurt.

It'd be kinder to stick the fawn beneath the foreleg, to puncture her tiny, fluttering heart and be done with it. Starvation isn't a graceful death. Eskel sighs, tilts his head skyward. Watches the sun filter through the canopy. Closes his eyes.

Beside him, Lil' Bleater noses the baby animal with motherly concern. She grunts softly, trying to communicate, trying to get the fawn to stand up. She's summarily ignored, which simply makes her more determined.

“Leave it, Bleats,” Eskel says, “nothin' to be done.”

As ever, the goat does not listen to him. Lil' Bleater stops trying to make the fawn get up and curls next to it, instead. Instinctively, the babe huddles into her warmth. Eskel studies both of them.

There's plenty of room in Kaer Morhen. Too much room. Geralt has Yennefer, Lambert has Keira, and Eskel has his mind and the slow crumbling of mortar.

He told Geralt he'd leave. After the battle against the White Hunt, after Vesemir--

But where would he go? Who would have him?

Call it loyalty, call it stupidity. Eskel didn't made it one year away from the keep without returning alone, obediently retracing old footsteps. Memories drew him back into the fortress. Ghosts of the scant happiness granted in his lifetime.

Now his days are spent in meditative domesticity, maintaining what parts of the grounds he can salvage, feeding the livestock he keeps. Hunting with Lil' Bleater when necessity calls for it. Drinking himself to sleep when the silence becomes too loud.

The fawn would just be another mouth, he knows. But what was Kaer Morhen, if not a castle for frightened, orphaned mouths?

Eskel squats beside the two animals.

He could make it different. Chop 'Sad Albert' into pieces for firewood. Patch up the roof of the second barn. Eskel could open the doors to those that needed him – without prejudice, without trials.

Already he hears Lambert's scorn, a voice telling him he's gone soft. Eskel smiles to himself. Better soft than empty. Fuck, he's been so empty.

Eskel doesn't know too much in the scope of things. He just knows that the fawn will die, or it will live, and the choice is now up to him. To decide if he should begin to care again, or to become another spectre for the echoing keep halls.

Carefully, he picks the fawn up. She flails, startled, until Eskel tucks her beneath his jacket, warm and safe against the slow thrum of his heart. Softly, he shushes her until she settles. Lil' Bleater stands, tail wiggling.

“C'mon, Bleats,” Eskel murmurs, beginning to walk, “let's go home.”

#the witcher fandom #the witcher fan fiction #tw3 #tw3 spoilers #cw death mention #eskel #fortune writes #inber

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pjoseries · 4 years

Note

congrats on 600!! ✨ & random 8 for percabeth pretty please!

✨ “Can you please, I don’t know, put a shirt on?” (ao3 link)

(no gods au)

══════════════════

The low hum of the TV washes over her ears as she opens the door to their apartment. Percy’s limbs are splayed across the couch, the dim light casting patterns over his skin. She toes off her shoes and shucks off her coat before closing the door softly behind her. She shuffles her way to sit on the armrest near Percy’s head.

Annabeth stifles a laugh at the pool of drool he’s leaving on their pillow. She runs a hand through his hair, all his curls matted now since he forgot to cover it. He’s going to hate that in the morning. She says, “Hey, Percy.”

He groans and bats her hand away, but misses entirely. He must be dead on his feet.

“Percy,” she says, elongating his name. His nose twitches and that’s how she knows he’s listening, at least somewhat. She turns off the TV as she waits for him to speak.

“Huh,” he says, voice groggy and low. It sets something in her belly, but she’s well-versed in the art of ignoring flashing warning signs of her feelings for Percy.

“I need a date for my friend’s wedding,” she starts, “so you’re gonna be my date, okay?”

Percy murmurs his assent and is about to go back to sleep when she taps his forehead. He squints up at her and wipes away the drool from his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. He’s so gross, it makes her laugh. “C’mon, Percy, I can already feel you complaining about your back in the morning.”

Annabeth grabs his hand and pulls him up, stumbling with his weight when he flops onto her shoulder.

“I don’t wanna move,” he says, wrapping his arms around her waist, burying his face into her neck. “Mr. D understaffed us again and I took over Silena’s shift because Beckendorf got his other arm cut up. He’s fine, but the lunch crowd hated that I took over for her.”

She tsks and says, “You’ll feel better in your own bed.”

Percy hums an agreement. He’s still so sleepy, it’s kind of adorable to see him like this. “So smart.”

“Yes, I am,” she says, reluctantly pulling away from his embrace. Winter still has its grip on them even though it’s March and she’s freezing without her coat on. Percy is her own personal heater and she hates to part away from him. They reach his bedroom in seconds and she gently pushes him in. “Night, Percy.”

“Night,” he repeats before Annabeth walks back to her own room. She turns on the shitty radiator she bought off of Travis and dresses up warmly before sliding into bed and opening up her laptop. She has a few deadlines to meet before the wedding and there’s no better time than now to get started on them.

The next morning, after Percy whips them up some breakfast sandwiches, he leans back against the kitchen counter and looks at her with furrowed brows. He finishes chewing before he asks her, “So what exactly did I agree to last night? I don’t really remember.”

“You’re my date to my friend’s wedding,” she says casually, biting into her own food as she sits on the counter opposite of him. Their kitchen is tiny enough that when she swings her legs, her toes hit Percy’s thighs.

Percy pauses, raising an eyebrow. “Is this the middle school friend who annoyed you or the high school friend who secretly hates you?”

Annabeth snorts. “High school.”

“Ah,” he says, nodding sagely. “When is it?”

“First Saturday of April.”

“Sweet, I don’t even have to ask Mr. D for time off. You think I can pull off my prom suit or nah? Might be a tight fit.”

Annabeth thinks back on how Percy’s suit was a little big on him, bought second hand, but he still was unbearably handsome in it. He was the star of his prom, the rose color of his suit knocking everyone else’s out of the park. Well, she never went to his high school, but she knew what he looked like. Everyone would’ve been looking. And now Percy’s gotten broader over the years, taller too, much to her chagrin. It’ll fit wonderfully. Honestly, she can’t help but be a little excited to see Percy all dressed up again. She remembers throwing her arms around Percy before he left with Rachel to their prom, bummed (for reasons she will not explain) she couldn’t join. It was fine though, she spent all night attempting to bake with Sally.

She grins into her sandwich and peaks up at Percy beneath her lashes. “It’ll be perfect. I’ll buy a dress to match.”

Percy’s ears turn pink all of a sudden, but she’s distracted when he says, “Okay.”

“Okay.”

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Annabeth fastens one of her earrings on as she walks towards Percy’s room. Her heels clack against the wooden floorboards and she feels powerful in a way she doesn’t usually in dresses. But this high square neck, rose satin dress looks killer on her and she splurged with her dad’s credit card and bought a faux fur white shawl because she wouldn’t be going to this wedding if he wasn’t so buddy-buddy with the bride’s father.

She barges into Percy’s room without a second thought and falters once she realizes he’s shirtless, just dressed in his pants and shoes. Her last earring slips through her fingers and falls down to the floor. Percy merely rolls his eyes and throws his dress shirt down on the bed again as he picks her earring up from the floor. He gently tucks her hair back behind her ear and, God, he’s so close. It’s not like he hasn’t been close, but he’s half-naked and he smells like so damn good it’s short-circuiting her brain.

Percy slides the earring in and takes the back fastening from her loose hands and secures it with a simple move. He steps back and she doesn’t know if that’s worse than when he was right by her side because now she has a full view of him. Unfairly ripped abs and all. He says, grinning at her, “There. You look gorgeous by the way.”

“Uh, thanks” she says intelligibly, feeling her cheeks heat up from the earnest expression on his face. She coughs lightly and averts her eyes from his broad shoulders. “Can you please, I don’t know, put a shirt on?”

He rolls his eyes and tugs the dress shirt back on, buttoning it up. Her eyes unconsciously follow his movements, watching his fingers, his disappearing skin. She hasn’t realized his pants aren’t even buttoned up when Percy tucks his shirt in.

Without thinking, Annabeth steps closer when Percy tugs his suit jacket on. He’s beautiful and who can blame her when she lets herself remove the non-existent creases on his shoulders, just to give herself an excuse to touch him more than she usually does. She stops pretending when her hands just loosely hold the lapels of his jacket and she looks up.

Percy’s eyes are dark, but he’s giving her that stupid smile that makes her want to do something completely wild like kiss it off his face. Something tells her, it won’t work anyway, but she’s aching to try. His head tilts down slightly as hers tilts up. Their lips are millimeters away.

“Can I…” he asks, eyes flickering down to her lips, “kiss you?”

“Yes,” she says and meets his lips in a slow and sure movement. It feels so familiar despite never having kissed him before, the slow glide of his mouth on hers. It feels… comforting, like coming home. After a moment, she pulls away and giggles at the smear of pink lipstick she left on Percy. He raises an eyebrow and his hands, which has found its way around her waist during their kiss, pulls her in closer. “You’re wearing my lipstick.”

“Do I look good?” He shoots her an attempt at a smoldering look which makes her snort.

She leans back and gives him an appraising look. “Yeah, just needs a bit”—she pecks his mouth again, smearing more on—“more! There, perfect. Now I have to reapply mine before we leave.”

“Oh, we’re still going.”

“Yup.”

“At least we’re gonna look better than the bride and groom.”

“Damn right,” she says. “C’mon, Percy. We’ve got a wedding to crash.”

#percabeth fic #percabeth #pjo #je réponds #la poste #alyssa's 600 #my writing #*#f: pjo #p: percabeth #misc: fr #t: ask #botlabyrinth #YET AGAIN THE TAGS FAIL ME #100 #fic: the only one

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applsauss · 4 years

Text

Let Me Fix It

Fandom:  Star Wars

Pairing:  Poe Dameron/Reader

Word Count: 600+

 Warning(s):  None.

A/N: Written a couple years ago. The original prompt was “Come here, let me fix it.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- 

You’re near tears. Shaky-handed, puffy-eyed, ground-shattering tears.

Weak. You feel broken.

The ground is hard and cold beneath you. Your ankles and knees ache, but you’re too focused on trying to fix your stupid, unreliable blaster to care. Your movements are rough and frustrated as you struggle to yank the metal pieces apart.

The ship engine’s hum is monotone and set to a low rumble. Usually the sound would be soothing, but now, as you shoot at light-speed through the Outer Rim Territories, leaving Lothal behind you, it’s not. It’s grating instead, like nails on a chalkboard right in your brain and your hands shake and - Your fucking blaster won’t -

“Fuck!” you cry out, literally, as the tears finally fall. The blaster’s fried. The bolt battery had overheated with a jarring pop during your retreat, and you’d hoped you could save it, but now you realize that the explosion had melted the battery caging closed. You can’t pick it apart with your fingers.

You’re not strong enough to break it open.

Weak.

You’re weak.

You couldn’t do anything. A captain’s supposed to go down with their ship, but your crew did instead, and Poe’s dragging what’s left back to D’Qar: your sorry self and your sorry, broken, blaster.

Pathetic.

Unreliable.

“(Y/N).” You look up as soon as you hear your name and find Poe watching you, front shadowed by the bright light coming from the cockpit. “Come here. Let me fix it.” His voice is soothing, and you close your eyes in appreciation before you’re struck by the reality of the situation once more.

Wiping half-heartedly at your tears with your burnt sleeve, you stand on unsteady legs and drag your feet over to where he’s standing. You shy away from the bright-light once it hits your face and hand him the blaster.

He looks over his shoulder to check the dash, eyes flitting over the programmed hyper-space coordinates and engine statuses, then inspects the blaster in his hands. With a sympathetic glance at your downcast face, he calls BB-8 over. You watch as the droid cuts clean through the melted metal with a laser. Then Poe pulls out the ruined battery with a pair of pliers lying on a stack of boxes to his right.

“You should sand it down, but…” he turns the blaster over in his experienced hands and peers into the now empty battery caging. “... I think you’ll still get your money’s worth outta this one.”

He hands the blaster back to you, and you somberly take it back, fingers brushing against his. This proves to be too much. Suddenly, your heart lurches. “I’m sorry-” You choke out, eyes squeezed shut so you don’t have to look at him while you break.

He reacts quickly. You feel a hand cradle the left side of your jaw and tilt your face up. “Angel, open your eyes.” Your breathing stutters as you muffle a sob, but you do as he says. When you open your eyes, you find him watching you with concern. “You did everything you could,” he says firmly.

More tears fall.

“Angel. Believe me. You did everything you could.”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak, and he presses a lingering kiss to your forehead.

Weak -

No.

You fist your hands in his jacket and let Poe hold you while you cry. Those types of thoughts haven’t, and won’t ever, help.

“Angel…”

Suddenly, Gratitude washes through you, like a flash flood barrelling over the walls of your city. You’re lucky to be alive, lucky to have Poe, lucky to have known your crew, even until the end.

You open your mouth to try and speak, but only end up gasping for air as the emotion mixes with your unrelenting sorrow. Stubbornly, you clench your teeth and bury your nose in Poe’s collar so you don’t have to see his stupid, understanding face. He lets you ride out the storm until you’re spent and empty.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- 

Masterlist in blog desc.

#poe dameron #sw #star wars #poe dameron x reader #sw x reader #star wars x reader #poe dameron imagine #sw imagine #star wars imagine

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youarejesting · 5 years

Text

BTS365

[Masterlist] Please tag me in your work if you use my prompts. I want to see your work. Ever your Jester.

Tell me your birthday and I will tag you on your special day!

Announcement: 600+ followers and I’m sorry to how dark some of these got but you know I kind of like when stories don’t always have a happy ending.

═══════ ೋღ ღೋ ═══════

March 25th - April 1st

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Kim Seokjin: Makeup

Heading into work you had a headache, it was excruciating, the throbbing behind your eye and the tightness around your temples. Your face felt swollen, and you packed on as much makeup as physically possible and you knew it wasn’t a good look. There were no lashes or mascara, no eyeshadow, no lipstick. Just concealer and foundation to the max.

You stepped into work and the receptionist gave you a weird look, usually; you got compliments when you wore makeup; you were pretty good and knew what worked well on your face. But today you looked strange. Your eye was too swollen to put anything near it and so you just looked like a one tonne alien.

“Hey babe, what’s going on?” A voice said, “you bailed on our movie night last night and didn’t even text me?” Seokjin was your saviour he made your dull job manageable. He took one look at you and froze he knew this wasn’t right. “What did he do?”

“It’s not that bad it’s just a bump”

He dragged you by the hand to his desk taking his face wipes from the first draw he tried to grab your chin, but you turned away. “Please let me see” he gently wiped away all the makeup he liked when you had a clean face. It was like he was seeing the real you, that isn’t to say he didn’t like when you dressed up, he liked how you could accentuate your eyes and lips.

But this, this was wrong. He felt sick, the more he removed the more the colours were revealed dark purples and blues stained your smooth skin, there was a small scab on your cheekbone where the skin had split on impact. He shoved the packet of wipes into your arms and turned declaring. “I will kill him”

Min Yoongi: On a stick

“It’s just meat on a stick?” You rolled your eyes at your best friend who was being lured from his apartment from his roommate Jungkook. You had planned to spend the afternoon together where you were going to tell him how you feel about him finally after all these years. Hell, you even stood by him when he dated girls through high school even though it nearly killed you.

“Yeah, why do you make it sound like a bad thing?” Yoongi scoffed grabbing his jacket, “Come along we can get some food and come back and watch the movie”

“Look you don’t have to come, we don’t need haters ruining our dinner” Jungkook sighed grabbing his keys, and you reluctantly slipped on your shoes and coat running after them. You didn’t even order before you snapped.

“Jungkook what is your problem with me, I just wanted to spend the afternoon with my best friend and maybe tell him that I have been in love with him since fifth grade and you’re out here making me feel like absolute trash,” You hissed Yoongi was frozen starring at his menu. He looked like he was deep in thought. Realizing what you said and how he had reacted to your blunt and unexpected confession you left.

“y/n!” Jungkook shouted he caught you quickly “hey, dude I am sorry, I thought you liked me and I was trying to push you away because… Yoongi likes you, said he has liked you since fifth grade and has never wanted to ruin the friendship. I really am sorry, go back inside he is in shock and is silently freaking out that he will never see you again. Lunch is on me, here”

Jung Hoseok: Smoke and Mirrors

Your son wanted to be a magician, and you spent a fair amount of money on all the books and toys and such but as his passion grew so did the hole in your bank account. You bought him front row tickets to see a world-renowned magician live on stage. It was an amazing performance. The magician was very good looking and was so bright and bubbly he danced he made all the sound effects. Your son insisted you see him backstage, and you took him back there. It took a long time but your son refused to leave. The dressing room door opened and there he was, his shirt buttons undone slightly.

“Why hello, who do we have here?” he smiled at you and your son and you gave him an apologetic smile

“I am so sorry to bother you, my son, he is an aspiring magician and well he wanted to meet you and I really couldn’t say no to at least trying”

“No, don’t apologize,” he looked at his watch and grinned, “I got time, come in and sit and tell me about yourself. What’s your name? Do you know any tricks?” The two talked until your son had fallen asleep on the couch.

“Whatever you did, that’s real magic right there,” The two of you laughed.

“Do you need help to your car, he looks a little heavy, or I can carry your bags if that’s more comfortable for you,” He smiled and the two of you headed to the parking lot. Buckling your son into the passenger seat, you turned to say goodbye, and he swept his hand behind your ear. “It seems my number was behind your ear this whole time”

He placed the paper into your hand and gave you a grin, one hand slipping into his pocket to find his keys and the other waving goodbye.

Kim Namjoon: Walk in the Park

Namjoon was a smart man, he knew everything that happened in the neighbourhood. The street lights along the park path flickered off for twenty seconds every three minutes. The old lady Lady by the store shut her curtains at 6:15 exactly after watching her shows and feeding her cat. The walk through the park took Five minutes exactly, and that there were three security cameras on the path.

People were going missing and were usually found dead days later. He set off on his usual walk at 6:00 heading to the store; he stopped to pat the cat and waved to the old woman. He bought a single bottle of Soju as he did every night. Explaining how he had to get home before his slow cooker was finished, showing the timer on his phone. “It’s got 8 minutes left I should make it home by 6:15”

Walking he saw you alone, he sped up a little and matched your stride. “Don’t look now but there is a drunk man a little way ahead, and the path lights are switch off for about thirty seconds every three minutes” Just as he finished his sentence the lights switched off. You grew stiff under the moonlight. “I am Namjoon”

He continued walking talking to you about the stars, the old lady was feeding her cat before bed, it was 6:10 she would soon close her curtains. He waved to the old and then to you. Thanking him for the help you both parted ways saying goodnight to the old lady. Namjoon smiled to himself walking out of the camera frame and the lights flickered out. You walked hesitantly in the dark but didn’t get very far before you were knocked out from behind.

Chained to an old metal bed frame when you woke, your eyes needing time to refocus you saw Namjoon standing there in a white coat. “Shh it’s okay, you are okay, you see I am an expert. My alibi and the camera footage, I just picked you up and tipped you over the stonewall of this apartment block and walked home. As all footage and security cameras show me parting ways with you even the old lady saw you go off on your own, nobody knows. Nobody knows that is is me”

Park Jimin: Burn

You opened a sealed box, and you read the stupid script. You were using it as a chance to practice your reading and speaking Korean. But you had let it out, and it was chasing you. Its eyes blacked out and horns coming out from his hair. He looked eerie and was still recovering strength which gave you time to run hiding in a church.

Stopping at the door it watched you and you were relieved until it reached in blackened nails gripping the door frame. It stepped inside calling your name sweetly, you could see the embers flaking off its body slowly not enough to kill it but enough to annoy.

You ran hiding in the confession booth your breathing was shaky. It sang a haunted tune. Its voice layered a low sound that crackled and a high breathy sound like a whine. You held your breath as it passed, calling your name. You thought it was gone, but you didn’t want to take any chances.

You opened your phone the words you had spoken in the translator the demon's name was Jimin and upon searching the name you found it was a demon of Lust, Deception, Chaos and Misfortune. It resides in the third outermost circle of hell with Preceding Taehyung and following from Namjoon. The strongest demon being Kim Seokjin.

A hand busted through the wall of the confessional by your head and wrapped around your throat pulling you threw the thin and shattered wall.

Kim Taehyung: Battery

You forgot to plug your phone in the night before so you charged it while you got ready; it was only at 28% and you sighed heading out to work. You met a client and discussed his hotel remodelling.

Your phone which you had turned off when you weren’t using it at work was now at 16%. It was early in the afternoon and you were emailing a client important information and rushing across town to meet with a supplier. You crossed the road getting hit with a car laying in the rain you found it hard to breathe all the air seemed to have escaped your body. Dragging your arm across the concrete your phone held tightly in your fist you pressed the numbers for emergency services you hit the call button when your phone powered down.

A face appeared about you looking horrified he called the ambulance shaking there was a light behind his head. It seemed like a halo and he was your very own angel.

Jeon Jungkook: Beach @live-2-fangirl

The beach was quiet; it was overcast and occasionally would sprinkle with rain. You were never deterred, and this weather was better for churning up the sea and creating a few gnarly waves. You laughed at the expression gnarly and swore on your life never to think nor speak it ever again. Getting on your surfboard you swam out to sea it was incredibly exhilarating weaving across the water.

The water grew unforgiving in what seemed like a second pulling you out and you were dunked by a wave and tossed around. You didn’t panic swimming to the light. Breaking the surface, you blinked the saltwater from your eyes and tried to get it out your nose and throat. It was brighter than you remembered. Maybe there was a break in the clouds.

“Can we be of aid lad?” A voice called you looked up to see an old wooden shop, the kind that looked like it belonged in a Johnny Depp quintology of films. Leaning over the side of the ship was a young man, his hair shaggy hair falling forward as he looked down at you. Your wetsuit removed any femininity from your figure and your hair was in a very messy bun. You climbed up the rope ladder on the side of the ship as you didn’t see any signs of your beach anywhere.

It was so sunny with not a cloud in the sky. Did you die? Getting up onto the ship you laid your board down on the deck removing the surf leash from your ankle.

“Where be your port?” He asked they all looked like they were fresh out of a romance novel with billowing shirts and shaggy hair.

You ripped the velcro around your neck and pulled the zip down your back. Peeling the wetsuit of your arms until they were free, letting out your hair shaking it with your fingers hoping it wouldn’t take long to dry. Some of your swimsuit was on display and as you went to take the wetsuit completely off a long waistcoat was draped over your shoulders.

“My apologies, my lady, we will fetch you some dry clothes,” you shrugged his coat off onto the deck.

“No, need I will be dry soon” you continued to strip, and he unbuttoned his shirt and fastened it around you buttoning it up.

“These scallywags cannot be trusted with a beautiful woman like yourself” he smiled “you are as tempestuous as the waters we sail”

Next Week

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unleashzedragon · 3 years

Text

“You can be my wingman anytime…”

24th July 2021 8pm

Miami, FL

“Maybe that was a step too far…”

I eyed my creation from the kitchen, where food bubbled, sizzled and baked away under my watchful gaze, as I questioned my decision to spend the best part of an hour putting the masterpiece together. After all, with our two year anniversary coming up next month, if my efforts tonight eclipsed that...the night Amber finally watches my favourite movie...well that was putting a lot of unnecessary pressure on me to step my game up...

...but yet, Top Gun wasn’t just a movie. It wasn’t just a great excuse to quote movie lines, or use the GIFs to troll my friends on social media. It was an institution, a way of life, an invitation to hang out on the razor’s edge, always pushing the limits of what you could achieve. It was an inspiration, it explained a lot about how I chose to live my life even now and as a kid, it shaped my career choices too. Some wanted to be cops, astronauts, doctors, but me, after Top Gun? I wanted to be a fighter pilot...a dream I came so close to living too...

...until I failed the eye test. I was partially colourblind, and while I didn’t see the problem (pun very much intended), I guess since the colour of the flashing lights, red, orange or yellow, determined to what degree of fucked you and your multi-million dollar machine were, it made sense. Deep down, I knew why they couldn’t put me up there, no matter how many other aptitude tests I aced. “Son, your ego is writing checks your body can't cash.” the words of Commander “Stinger” Jordan ringing in my ears at the very thought. Maybe he had a point. My next career moves? Still not safe by any means. In pro football and in wrestling I’d spent the past 15 years of my life, give or take, getting pummeled, usually by guys much bigger than me, it was no 9-to-5 by any means. It took its toll sometimes, sure...I got good value out of my hot tub many, many times over, but the risk of going down, quite literally in a blaze of glory? Far, far lower, and I figured the pay was much better too. I couldn’t be disappointed with how it all turned out. The important thing, like Maverick, I didn’t give up. I kept flying.

So you know what? The makeshift runway, just inside the door, marked out with more tealight candles than any fire marshall would ever approve of? No it wasn’t a step too far. In fact it was the least this moment deserved. It was worth it taking so long to light all the damn things that my knees ached. As the time approached and I dimmed the lights, they’d guide Amber’s way to the pre-flight meal I’d prepared for us, and after we’d eaten, we’d watch the movie, she’d stay awake for the whole thing, and I’d sing along so loudly and so badly to the soundtrack that she’d question if leaving New York for me really was the right decision...as I seemed to make her do on most days...and it’d be perfect. Very *us*.

I pushed my Ray Ban Aviator shades back up onto my face, adjusting the mouton fur collar of my “OFFICIAL TOP GUN G-1 flight jacket”. Was it stupid spending 600 bucks on a leather bomber jacket, with a few patches sewn into it? Yeah. Was it completely pointless for Florida heat? Uhh...yeah...I’d probably NEVER wear it outside...but doing things by halves wasn’t my thing, if we hadn’t established that already, and besides...if there was an official watch in the movie? Guaranteed I’d have bought that too. Those things usually ran WAY more than 600 bucks. Instead I picked a watch from the collection, something pilot-y...and as I glanced at it, I realised Amber’s last class would be finished, she’d be on her way back from the studio, it was go-time. I went through the last steps on my checklist.

The kitchen was finally under control, I figured. Philly cheesesteak and fries, apple pie for dessert, everything scratch-made, sub rolls baked fresh this morning, pie crust made by hand, even the sauce, no cheez whiz here, as much as grating the stuff nearly sent me straight down to chunder town...cheese wasn’t one of my favourite things, but I could usually tolerate it better when it was melted...and everything was prepped and keeping warm. I just had to put it all together when she arrived, served in those red plastic diner baskets, a little nod to our first breakfast date...everything was coming together, all I had to do was get in position, and wait.

Flicking the lights, I caught a glimpse of my labours in full glory, it was painstakingly accurate, complete with displaced threshold, runway designation, touchdown zone and centreline. If anything it was too accurate. It was detailed to the point that Amber would have to tip-toe her way through it like an agility course to prevent kicking them over, at risk of setting something ablaze. My extra gene struck again, if anything making the sweet gesture more annoying than anything, a theme that seemed to follow our relationship somehow...after all...finding someone who put up with all of my bullshit was a miracle in itself.

I had one last surprise, one final red carpet moment, and that was where I’d wait. I figure she’d be home any minute. Crossing the room to the guitar amp I’d set up in the corner, nearly throwing out my back carrying the damn thing downstairs earlier in the day, I’d chosen my most 80’s-looking guitar, a Charvel San Dimas super-strat, the orange sparkle paint glinting away from the flicker of the candles as I slung it over my shoulder. I should definitely have spent more time finding places to wrestle in Florida, and less time getting the guitar parts to the theme song nailed...but it felt like a worthy access.

Hearing the key turn in the front door, I slung my axe over my shoulder, cranked the volume, kicked on the overdrive pedal, and played my little heart out.

I feel the need...the need for speed...

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douchebagbrainwaves · 3 years

Text

HERE'S WHAT I JUST REALIZED ABOUT SOMEONE

Reddit didn't happen out of neglect. A few decades ago, only famous people and professional writers got to publish their opinions. One solution here might be to design systems so that interfaces are horizontal instead of vertical—so that modules are always vertically stacked strata of abstraction.1 I can't measure whether my essays are successful, except in page views, but the creator is full of worry.2 Even now I'm suspicious when startups choose SF over the Valley: somehow you can sense prosperity in how well kept a place looks. This kind of work. In fact the dangers of deciding what programmers are allowed to want.3 It's easy to talk to the operating system. The best programming languages have taken more and more programs may turn out to be surprisingly malleable. Paul Prescod wrote something that stuck in my mind. But other VCs will make no more than superficial changes.4 Though I can't off the top of my head think of any examples, I would be very interested to see them.5

The first thing you need is a handful of centers and one dominant one, that's going to fall over, taking them with it.6 If the startup can't raise the rest, including me, remember it as the happiest time of their lives.7 Actually big companies are not the biggest threat.8 Hackers just want power.9 Perhaps this tends to attract people who are famous and/or language level support for lazy loading. Maybe one day the most important thing to optimize. But in Silicon Valley than in Boston, and even current employees.10 But I wouldn't want the site to go away. So I'm really glad I stopped to think about how to design type systems may shudder at this.11

Prose has readers, but software has users. So it may not even be meaningful to say that a language isn't judged on its own merits. If someone starts being rude, other users will step in and tell them to stop. Hygienic macros embody the opposite principle. But the best people helps any organization, it's critical for startups. The fiery reaction to the release of Arc had an unexpected consequence: it made me realize I had a design philosophy. I think, if one looked, that this would turn out to be surprisingly malleable.

This is especially necessary with links whose titles are rallying cries, because otherwise they become implicit vote up if you believe such-and-such posts, which are often originally written for converting or extracting data. The conversations you overhear tell you what sort of ambition you have.12 But ultimately the reason these delays exist is that they're more prestigious. They can't dilute you without diluting themselves just as much work as thinking about real problems. For boys, at least for programmers. Tranched deals are an abuse. Companies will pay for software, but individual hackers won't, and it's very unlikely that the tasks imposed by their needs will happen to align exactly with what you want to work at Google or Microsoft, because it's common to see families where one sibling has much more of it than another. The opportunity is a lot like bipolar disorder. And not just to play back experiences but also to index and even edit them. They're the ones in a position to do that are not even rich—leaders of important open source projects, for example.13 I suppose that's worth something.14

Without advice they'd just be sort of lost.15 I was 450 years too late. An individual European manufacturer could import industrial techniques and they'd work fine. The valuation reflects nothing more than the strength of its own merits. Startups are increasingly raising money on convertible notes, and convertible notes have not valuations but at most valuation caps: caps on what the meaning of is is. We will eventually, and that's what they're going to do, and since you have to compile and run separately.16 There are sometimes minor tactical advantages to using one or the other.17 And I don't think they'd do much differently if they were a year ago. Whereas someone clearer-eyed would see their initial incompetence for what it was, and perhaps a bit more.18

There is an ongoing debate between investors which is more important, the people, or honk at them, or cut them off. It's easy to talk to the founders of the companies we've funded, they all say the same thing at different stages in its life: economic power converts to wealth, and social class are just names for the same thing: I knew it would be to have no structure: to have each group actually be independent, and to allow programmers to use inline byte code in bottlenecks. The root of the problem is usually artificial and predetermined. What I like about Boston or rather Cambridge is that the old way dead, because those few are the best startups. This seems to me identical to asking, how can I design a good language when they see one, and it took us years to get it through to people that it didn't have to be the same as asking, what can I do to enable programmers to get the best deals, the way to get a job.19 One of the exhilarating things about coming back to Cambridge every spring is walking through the streets at dusk, when you want to do and when the way a genuine need could. For most of history, success meant success at zero-sum games. A rounds from VCs. That is arguably one of the most important thing I've learned about dilution is that it's measured more in behavior than users. In such rounds they won't get the 25 to 40% of the company.

Don't be put off if they say no.20 You never have to compromise or ask anyone's permission, and if you have $5 million in investable assets, it would still be important to release quickly, because for a startup the initial release acts as a shakedown cruise. It's true even in the highest of high tech industries, success still depends more on determination than brains.21 Result: this revolution, if it is called Lisp. This pattern doesn't only apply to companies. But vice versa as well. Why should there be any limit to the number who could be employed by small, fast-moving companies with ten each?22 Because ambitions are to some extent produce the big winners, they'll be able to transcend your environment. Meanness is easier to read. Election forecasters are proud when they can achieve the same result by offering to lead rounds of fixed size and supplying only part of the money. Bad circumstances can break the spirit of a strong-willed person stronger-willed. The number of people who make good startup founders don't mind dealing with technical problems—but they hate the type of work they do and the tools they use, and some of the people in a position to tell investors how the round is the top idea in your mind, which means stock with extra rights like getting your money back first in a sale, or convertible debt, which means stock with extra rights like getting your money back first in a sale, or convertible debt, which means new stuff at that url is auto-killed.

Programming languages are for. Unless you're planning to write math applications, of course.23 The PR people and reporters who spread such stories probably believe them themselves.24 It probably extends to any kind of work you do, and chance meetings with people who can help them a lot, they'll let you invest at a low valuation. The Selling of the President 1968, Nixon knew he had less charisma than Humphrey, and thus simply refused to debate him on TV. Cobol, Ada, C. I was in college, a lot of time in bookshops and I feel as if I've learned, to some degree, to judge technology by its cover.25 The time I haven't spent in bookshops I've spent mostly in front of computers, and I don't expect to.

Notes

Dropbox wasn't rejected by all the other is laziness.

No one in its IRC channel: don't allow the same trick of enriching himself at the moment it's created indeed, from the conventional wisdom on the client? But there seem to like to cluster together as much as Drew Houston needed Dropbox, or Seattle, consider moving.

A servant girl cost 600 Martial vi. Once the playing field is leveler politically, we'll see economic inequality in the message. However, it sounds like the outdoors? At the moment it's created indeed, is this someone you want to get all the investors.

Students are mostly still on the group's accumulated knowledge.

Quite often at YC I find I never get as deeply into subjects as I explain later.

Startups can die from releasing something full of bugs, and if it were better to overestimate than underestimate the importance of making n constant, it is the most successful companies have never been the first phase. But their founders, because such users are stupid. This must have seemed to someone still implicitly operating on the matter, get an intro to a college that limits their options?

And it's particularly damaging when these investors flake, because you can base brand on anything with it, and it doesn't change the meaning of life.

I stuck with such energy that he transformed the field they describe. They hate their bread and butter cases. But that doesn't seem an impossible hope.

If I were doing Viaweb again, that is allowing economic inequality in the 1990s, and partly because companies don't. If they're on the entire West Coast that still requires jackets: The French Laundry in Napa Valley. At first literature took a back seat to philology, which can happen in any era if people can see how much they can grow the acquisition offers that every successful startup improves the world.

But I think it's roughly what everyone must have been fooled by the government. He was off by only about 2%. Incidentally, Google may appear to be low.

The word regressive as applied to tax avoidance. Starting a company that takes on a weekend and sit alone and think. Maybe that isn't what they'd like it if you needed to read a new version sanitized for your work.

Francis James Child, who adds the cost of writing software goes up more than 20 years. Aristotle's best work was in his early twenties compressed into the subject today is still hard to say that a startup, unless you're sure your money will be just mail from people who had it used a TV for a slave up to them rather than given by other people the freedom to they derive the same reason I stuck with such energy that he could just expand into casinos than software, we should at least what they made, but it doesn't change the world of the big winners are all about to give up your anti-dilution protections. Our founder meant a photograph of a promising market and a few that are hard to say that hapless meant unlucky. The existence of people.

01.

If you weren't around then it's hard to spread from.

Though we're happy to provide when it's done as conspicuously as this place was a great idea as something that flows from some central tap. You may be that some of the deal.

Which is also to the way and run the programs on the LL1 mailing list. It would not be led by manipulation or wishful thinking into trying to focus on users, however, is he going to call those before a fall. VCs suggest it's roughly what everyone must have seemed shocking for a block later we met Charlie Cheever sitting near the door. I was surprised to find a kid was an assiduous courtier of the company.

Enterprise software. Reporters sometimes call a few of the country it's in. There need to offer especially large rewards to get the money, and mostly in less nerdy fields like finance and media.

Abstract-sounding language. The French Laundry in Napa Valley.

Good news: users don't care what your body is telling you. It would have been seen mentioning the site was about bands.

It's not a chain-smoking drunk who pours his soul into big, messy canvases that philistines see and say that's not directly exposed to competitive pressure. Some of the Garter and given the freedom to experiment in disastrous ways, but they get a real poet.

Digg's is the last round just happened, the less powerful language by writing library functions.

This is isomorphic to the browser, the transistor it is to raise more, and this is largely determined by successful businessmen and their flakiness is indistinguishable from dishonesty by the fact that they have less room for another. Obviously this is to try, we'd be interested to hear from them. The best thing they can do with the guy who came to mind was one in its IRC channel: don't allow duplicates in the US is becoming less fragmented, the activation energy to start software companies, like good scientists, motivated less by financial rewards than by the Corporate Library, the only function of the problem to fit your solution.

They'll tell you who they are by ways that have little to bring corporate bonds; a decade of inflation that left many public companies trading below the value of understanding vanity would decline more gradually.

No, and graph theory. There are many senses of the world of the essence of something the automobile, the only way to make a conscious effort. Jessica and I bicycled to University Ave in Palo Alto. Of the remaining 13%, 11 didn't have TV because they couldn't afford it.

But the change is a great discovery often seems obvious in retrospect. Once he showed it could be mistaken, and so on. A lot of successful startups get on the process of trying to describe the worst—that economic inequality is really about poverty. Many people have responded to this day, thirty years later.

Thanks to Patrick Collison, Mike Moritz, Gary Sabot, Paul Buchheit, Ian Hogarth, and Greg McAdoo for their feedback on these thoughts.

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afjakwritesarchive · 7 years

Text

NWC 21

Here’s a super late NWC to make up for the days I’ve been missing! I will be posting more to make up over the next few days!

Pairing: USUK Words: 1,695 Rating: T AU: human Genre: Romance/comedy Summary: Alfred participates in an auction where bidders compete for a date with contestants. Arthur bids a ridiculous amount of money on him.

Arthur walks into Francis' Bonnefoy's extravagant mansion too late to be considered fashionably late. He's ushered into the coat closet by a man in a suit and he hands his jacket over. From there, a woman dressed in the same uniform leads him to the newly finished ballroom of the Bonnefoy mansion, where the several hundred guests are turned toward the front of the room, many holding glasses of wine or hors d'ouevres.

Francis himself stands on a stage in the ballroom of his home, grinning at the crowd as he announces that the auction is about to begin.

It's a charity event to benefit the domestic violence shelter in their town. Arthur has come with his checkbook and the promise of spending an absurd amount of money. After all, it's for a good cause and he can certainly afford it. Arthur could certainly fund the entire project on his own, but the shelter insisted that they wanted community involvement. Of course, Arthur had promised to pay for whatever was left unfunded after the auction.

Arthur had never felt bad about throwing his money around. People were envious of him and he knew it, but that wasn't reason enough to stop. His money was always where it was needed—his employees were paid a living wage (not that "minimum wage" rubbish which Arthur detested, but a true living wage), and he personally funded as many community projects and charities as he could. Sure, he had a lot of nice things himself, but the money he earned from the company allowed him to be both extremely charitable and still have enough money to treat himself to what he wanted.

"Alright... To begin, we will announce our lovely volunteers! The highest bidder on each volunteer will get one all-expenses-paid date at the Vargas Bistro!" Francis exclaimed.

The crowd clapped, Arthur along with them, as he watched. The date auction was the most highly advertised part of the night, and Arthur himself planned to bid on one. He didn't expect to make a love connection, no; but it was for a good cause, and he was sure whoever he bid on would be happy to raise money toward the shelter.

"Alright! Our first date is with the lovely Feliciano Vargas! Feliciano is twenty-six and the head chef at the Vargas Bistro! He, his brother, and grandfather have generously donated the dinner at their Bistro. Feliciano loves pasta and music." Francis introduced as the girl skipper onto the stage and waved at the crowd.

"Our second date is Lovino Vargas! Like Feliciano, he donated the dinner at the Vargas Bistro. Additionally, he is also twenty-six and the head chef at the Bistro. He enjoys cooking, and people who don't annoy him."

Arthur zoned out as Francis continued to introduce more contestants. Soon, there were fourteen people lined up onstage—all well-known and well-liked members of the community.

"Last but certainly not least, our fifteenth date, Alfred Jones!" Francis announced.

Arthur choked on his champagne and his head immediately whipped toward the stage, his heart beating rapidly as Alfred walked across the stage, grinning at the crowd. Arthur could have sworn Alfred made eye contact with him for a moment before continuing to scan the crowd.

"Alfred is twenty-three and the owner of Flora Fascination, a flower shop. In addition to his participation in this auction, Alfred will be donating whatever time and supplies necessary in the spring for landscaping and beautification at the shelter, along with any repairs the shelter may need. Aside from being a jack-of-all-trades, he is also the proud owner of a cat called Hero and an avid lover of science and mathematics."

Arthur's heart was pounding in his chest as he gazed at the American. God, he was six-feet-four-inches of absolute perfection, all silky golden locks, suntanned skin, bright blue eyes, and a perfectly toned body. More importantly, though, he had a heart of gold. He was obnoxious and egotistical, but he was always willing to help whoever needed it. Additionally, he was intelligent; though he wasn't all that interested in literature, he knew the classics, and he was positively gifted in math and science.

"Alright, now that everyone has been introduced, let's start the bidding with the beautiful Feliciano! Who here would pay twenty-five dollars to take him out?" Francis asked.

Immediately, several hands shot up. Before long, the bidding had gone into the triple digits, and by the end Feliciano's date had been sold to Ludwig Beilshmidt for $350. Arthur watched as the rest of the dates were bid on and sold. Lovino sold to Antonio for about what his twin had. Elizaveta Herdevary sold to Roderich Edelstein for $1000, and Katyusha Braginski to Matthew Williams for $600. Lili Zwingli was eventually won by Natalia Arlovskaya at the price of $2000 after an intense bidding war between her and Gilbert Beilshmidt.

And, finally, it was Alfred's turn to be bid on. The bidding started at $25, and several hands shot up. As Francis raised the price, most of the hands fell. The price for Alfred's date reached $300. As all of the other hands fell, Arthur's shot up—just as another did from across the room. The price continued to increase, with the same damned hand shooting up every single time Arthur raised his. He was growing frustrated and anxious; there was no way in hell he was going to give up on this! It was the only way he could think to get a date with Alfred without having to come out and say that he wanted to go out with the man. As long as it was through the auction, he could pretend he was doing it all for a good cause.

"Five thousand!" Called the man Arthur had been competing with from the other side of the room.

Alfred's eyes went wide and Francis beamed. "Oh? Five thousand dollars for a date with Alfred! Going once, going twice—"

"Ten thousand!" Arthur shouted loudly.

A murmur went through the crowd, several heads turning toward him. Arthur's face went bright red, embarrassed. He knew he'd given himself away with his absurd bid, but when he looked up to the stage and noticed Alfred grinning wider than he'd ever seen before, he knew it was worth it.

Arthur's competitor didn't bid again, and Francis announced Arthur as the winner of one evening alone with Alfred. After repeating thank-you's to all of the bidders along with everyone at the Vargas Bistro, the contestants were dismissed from the stage.

Alfred makes a beeline for Arthur, stopping in front of him with a grin. "Did you mean to bid that much money on me or were you just caught up in the bidding war?"

Arthur's face flushed and he swatted at Alfred's arm. "Oh, belt up! It was food a good cause!" He huffed, his words shaky with nervousness.

"I agree." Alfred replied, still grinning cheekily at Arthur. "It was amazing, what you did. I mean, ten thousand... Seriously, Arthur, that's incredible. But y'know, there are a lot of other things happening tonight with opportunities to donate for the shelter..."

Arthur couldn't bear to look at him, too embarrassed. "Wh-What are you getting at, Jones? If you're suggesting that I'm fond of you in some way, I encourage you to rethink. I couldn't be less attracted to you! The mere idea of you and I is absurd!"

Alfred leaned over his friend, his smile playful and his eyes warm and full of mischief. "I'm just saying, Artie, there were plenty of other ways you could've donated that ten thousand. Besides, there were plenty of other contestants, too."

"W-Well, I just didn't want you to be embarrassed at barely being bid on," Arthur rationalized with a huff.

Alfred quirked a brow. "Barely bid on? I spent the better portion of five minutes watching you get into a bidding war over me. Or were you jealous that some other man was willing to bet money on me? You know who it was, don'tcha?"

Despite himself, Arthur felt jealousy flaring up within him at the mere mention of the other man who'd been bidding on Alfred. To think of someone else out with Alfred, romancing him the way Arthur longed to... The mere thought of it set him on edge.

Instead of expressing these feelings, though, Arthur merely points his nose upward and becomes involved in the champagne glass he's holding. "No, I don't believe I know who it was bidding against me. He was certainly very tenacious, though. Clearly not as rich as I am, most likely not as well-suited to provide for you as I am, but it's no matter." He replies quickly, trying his best to sound nonchalant.

As usual, Alfred is able to see right through him. "Y'know, Arthur, you're making a real ass of yourself." He laughed.

Arthur looked up, green eyes widening in surprise. "Excuse me?!"

"If you want to provide for me, the dollar menu at McDonald's will do just fine. 'Course, I don't mind you spending ten thousand dollars just to take me out, either." Alfred quipped.

Arthur couldn't help it when his face flushed for the umpteenth time that night. No matter how collected he tried to be, one word from Alfred could send him reeling. Every single time the man spoke, Arthur was left dazed and stupid in his wake, unable to maintain the part of the pristine gentleman he'd played for so long.

"I-I—I wasn't trying to take you out, I was—the shelter—"

Alfred cut Arthur off by wrapping an arm around his waist and tugging him closer. "Shut up and kiss me, idiot."

For once, Arthur decides it's better not to rationalize and wraps his arms around Alfred's neck.

#mine #text #my writing #usuk #aph #hetalia #usuk fic #hetalia fic #aph fic

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