#classic tray ceilings

[visionify]

Dining Room - Transitional Dining Room

[styckywycket]

Family Room Open in Miami

[robynravenclaw]

Denver Dining Room Example of a large, elaborate, enclosed dining room with a medium-toned wood floor and yellow walls.

[introvertedthinking]

Living Room - Transitional Living Room Example of a mid-sized transitional formal living room with an enclosed medium tone wood floor, gray walls, and no fireplace or television.

[written-in-wonder]

Minneapolis Master Example of a large transitional master carpeted bedroom design with white walls

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Infernal Shadows 02

Synopsis: Being one of the most powerful overlords in Hell, you like to keep up with colonies and overlord plans. Recently with the new extermination date out, you hold your annual gala sooner than usual. You hadn’t expected to get in the middle of the already heated feud between the Radio Demon and the head of Vox Tech.

Warnings: She/Her pronouns used for the reader, mentions of blood, voodoo?, Angel Dust being a horn-bag, Reader is referred too as Madame to the public. Vox and Alastor feud because I live for it.

Song for this chapter: HAUSER - Adagio (Albinoni)

A/N: I’m so glad part one did well! I really liked this idea and hoped other people would too. As always comment if you want to be tagged and I will tag you in the next post! I wanted this to be three parts, but depending on how much I can fit in this chapter and the next one, I’ll see if I need to make four parts. The song at the beginning of this chapter is meant to be played when the line “ The music picked up” Is read. Skip to 5:35 for it to play smoothly, or as smoothly as possible.

Word count: 3.k or something over that idk I got too lazy to count :(

Taglist: @dollops-of-delusion @nebusokuxp @scrunchss @rosedasy @valluvz @chesstras @pishybowl @iaaeav @forgotten-blues @22carolina08 @roboticsuccubus83 @doflamingadonquixote

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!! // Serendipity Writes (event) // Part One. // Part three.

Within, the grand foyer unveiled itself, revealing a sweeping staircase adorned with a rich, mahogany handrail in stark contrast against a black and white color scheme. Crystal chandeliers, dangling from lofty black ceilings, cast their brilliance upon white walls adorned with ornate mirrors. Plush Victorian-era furnishings, upholstered in rich black and white fabrics, adorned the parlor rooms, establishing cozy settings for guests to assemble and engage in enriching conversations. Each room murmured tales of a past era – intricately patterned black and white wallpaper, frames gilded in black to showcase classical art, and a subtle aroma of aged wood and lavender lingering in the air, harmonizing with the monochromatic elegance. The guests walking in all marveled at the details of the mansion.

Charlotte and Vagatha both stepped in, Charlotte in awe of the detailing. A shadow figure bent down slightly to offer her a drink, to which she happily took.

“Vaggie this is all so beautiful. I hope I can make a good impression.” Charlotte said, turning to her partner to ease her nerves. Vagatha just smiled, a hand on her shoulder lovingly.

“You’re gonna do great babe, besides, there’s so many people here, if one likes it I’m sure other people will get on board too.” Vagatha said.

“Or they can laugh at you if one person points out how ridiculous it is.” Husk said, chugging his drink before placing it back on the servers tray.

“Thanks for the kind words Husk.” Vagatha said sarcastically. He just shrugged, looking towards the bar area which was practically calling him over.

Upstairs in your room, you stared at yourself in the mirror as your shadows made the finishing touches on your outfit. Draped in a long, elegant black gown that gracefully embraced your commanding figure, the fabric cascaded like shadows. Delicate chain motifs intertwine with the dress, creating an alluring dance of darkness. A chain belt cinches your waist, a subtle nod to your captivating ability to ensnare and command over your shadows. Completing the regalia, silver chain cuffs adorn your wrists, reflecting both power and refinement.

“Madame, the guests are all in the lobby awaiting your arrival.” One of the shadows said. You nodded, stepping down from your showcase, winking to yourself in the mirror before chuckling to yourself. A shadow approaches you, bowing in respect before holding out a tray with your drink, a contrast to your dark colors. You take the glass in your hand, another shadow lightly putting a thermometer in your drink so it’s the perfect temperature for you, fifteen point five degrees Celsius. The liquid is a light yellow-ish green, Lafite-Rothschild, an expensive French wine you tried in 1906 when you were alive. Lifting it to your lips, you take a long sip and sigh, the spicy and earth notes, mixed with a hint of tobacco and red Barrie’s dance on your tongue like a performance of Gavotte. You pull back with a sigh, setting the glass down, a perfect Ridel Vinum Bordeaux, personally crafted for you as the bottom of the glass is a Smokey black, fading into clear glass towards the top.

“Let’s get this Gala started shall we~?”

In the lobby, guests were socializing amongst themselves. Velvet, Vox and Valentino had split for a short while. After the incident outside, the two overlords wouldn’t stop tantalizing the picture box about his fit of frustration dealing with the Radio Demon. From the lobby, there were large crystal doors revealing the back exterior of the house. The greenery was just perfect, with cobblestone flooring revealing another bloody fountain. Vox stood with his drink, speaking to some sinner he couldn’t remember the name of, about how well his business was going.

“You ever get,” Vox asked, eyeing one of the shadows who stood in a corner, white eyes soulless as they held out drinks to guests. “Creeped out by those, things?” Vox asked, turning back to the sinner. He just scoffed.

“Please, they’re always around and as far as I know, harmless.” The sinner said. At that, a shadow appeared between the two, taking their empty glasses and replacing it with new, full ones. Vox tried his hardest not to seem alarmed at this, and took the glass silently, sipping his drink slowly as it floated away. It was then he took in the shadows appearance. They all looked the same. Tall figures, Smokey outlines, but no feel or hands, just a faded end to their limbs. Their eyes were white and soulless, almost as it they were vacant, a shell of what they used to be. There were no facial features, just two white circles and a thin white line for their mouth. Each one however, had a light Smokey chain around their chest, wrapped in the shape of an X.

“What are the chains for then? They’re pretty much smoke, what do they need chains forever?” Vox asked. The associate laughed, but before he could answer, another overlord stepped in.

“They have chains because they’re claimed souls.” Fredrick Von Eldritch says, his sister Bethesda in toe. The two grin, a shadow following behind them with a tray of their drinks. “If you get invited to the gala long enough, you get a personal one.” He said with a wink, gesturing to the shadow behind the two.

“They’re quite cute once you get used to them.” Bethesda said with a smile, cooing at the shadow lightly. Yet, it still remained expressionless.

“Actually, now that you say that.” The sinner says, looking around for a moment. “It’s been awfully quiet with a laugh track being played.” He says, referring to Alastor. Vox just rolls his eyes.

“Who gives a shit about where that old timey freak is?” Vox asks. Fredrick and Bethesda snicker to each other, catching Vox’s attention.

“Probably hunting for his dear Madame.” Bethesda said dramatically, laying her head on her brothers shoulder and batting her lashes playfully. Fredrick and the sinner laughed at his sisters antics, but Vox grew serious.

“What does that mean? He knows her?” Vox asked, to which Fredrick scoffed, finishing his drink before reaching for another off the shadows server tray.

“Of course he does. She died before him, and they’re the closest overlords in time period. Well, aside from Zestial and her.” Fredrick explained. Vox didn’t say anything else, instead looking to the red ‘moon’ of hell, before glancing at the blood fountain. He had heard rumors about being at the Madame’s table, and how she gave the inside to all her projects and plans before the next extermination. Apparently, this year was supposed to be ‘different’ as people had been talking.

“When does this dinner start anyway? We’ve been standing out here for two hours.” Vox said annoyed.

“In a few minutes, Madame will make her grand entrance. She will socialize with the guests as it is polite to have one on one time with them. Then she will spend the rest of the time while the orchestra gets together deciding on contenders to sit at her table.” A shadow walking by said, stopping to stare at Vox. “Madame is always watching.” It then said, turning to serve other guests. Vox said nothing, instead turning on his heel and making his way inside the mansion. How could someone feel suffocated outside? Fredrick and Bethesda said nothing, watching him go, but sharing a glance between each other before making their leave too, leaving the sinner all by his lonesome.

Inside, Charlotte and Vagatha conversed about how she could get people behind her project.

“Maybe if I sing-“

“Please no. These people are too…” Vagatha said, glancing around the room. Everyone seemed too, fake. Vagatha knew Charlotte being herself around these people would do absolutely no good to the hotel, and though she hated telling Charlotte these things, she knew her kindness would be frowned upon, and made fun of. “Serious for that kind of thing.” Vagatha finished, taking a sip of her champagne. She settled for champagne in a flute while Charlotte drank water, wanting to hydrate herself in hopes to calm her nerves.

“I heard that Madame might be making her entrance soon.” Charlotte said nervously, looking around. She half expected her parents to show up, but knew how they rarely liked getting involved in overlord affairs. She’d be surprised if they showed up.

“Then when she does you can try to pitch your idea to her.” Vagatha said supportively. Charlotte just smiled and nodded, hoping someone would listen to her. She had tried practicing on two sinners moments ago, to which they both laughed and called her delusional. The defeat was beginning to get to her, and she hadn’t even started yet.

With Velvet, she began studying the interior of the old-styled mansion. She was trying her hardest to not be too rude about it, but of course she had her comments, but ultimately kept them to herself. Cramoisie, your fashion line, was the top fashion brand in hell, everyone wanted a piece of it. Velvet had never had an article for herself, despite trying her hardest to get something, anything, even a sample. But people feigned for it like drugs. Velvets line was successful sure, but with your validation and guidance, she could become perfection, the same way you were. Everyone in hell looked up to you, shit, you had even gotten Lilith’s praise as she was photographed wearing a custom piece you designed for her. Your work was art in its purist form, and Velvet kept a close eye on her other colleagues to make sure they didn’t fuck your chance up. Velvet had her assistant hold samples and sketches of designs Velvet had been working on, wanting to show you her best work in hopes of winning you over. She could brag about having you support her line, and her fans would die of excitement. Maybe, she could get you to design her a custom piece, or Velvet could design one for you. The possibilities were limitless, if you agreed to meet with her of course. But that was all the more reason why she needed to make sure she had a seat at your table tonight. She needed to get close to you.

“Are you fucking high?” Velvet whispered to Valentino, who just chuckled softly at her.

“What’s the matter hermosa? Just enjoy the Gala, we’re here to have fun right?” He asked with a giggle. Velvet huffed, deciding to find Vox, hoping he could straighten Valentino out. Valentino would not fuck up her chance tonight.

Near the large staircase in the middle of the room, Alastor stood, glass of whiskey in his clawed hands. He smiles, humming to himself while quietly back up into a wall, careful to scan the room quickly before he disappears into the shadows. Then, moments later, appears in a room separate from the gala. It’s a study, your study. Alastor takes a step forward and quickly the shadows in the room seemed to deepen, casting larger, more dramatic silhouettes that seemed to dance on the walls. The interplay of darkness and light only heightened the mysterious allure of the study. In the midst of this chiaroscuro ambiance, Alastor found himself surrounded by an atmosphere that mirrored the complex nature of the figure depicted in the portrait hanging above the fireplace, which was in the far back wall of the study. It was the only light source in the room. Black wooden shelves lined against the tall walls, showcasing famous pieces of literature, all hand picked and to your liking. The fire place, crafted with dark marble, commanded his attention. Above the mantel, a striking portrait of Madame hung, capturing his focus, like a trance. The image portrayed a being universally admired, yet equally feared; someone who elicited both admiration and intimidation all at once, you.

“Hm, hiding now are we?” Alastor asks with a grin, tutting lightly. “That’s not very proper of you Madame~” He says, calling out to you. Seconds later, a dark shadow appears in the corner of the room, taking up the entire corner, before a shadowy figure steps out. Similar to the servant’s out in the lobby, Alastor’s eye twitch’s slightly.

“Oh don’t be so pissy. You know no one gets to see me before my entrance.” You say, the shadow expressionless, but Alastor can hear your tone through the figure, taunting him. He sighs, setting his staff on a slant along his foot.

“And here I thought I could connect with an old friend.” Alastor said with a chuckle, staring down the shadowy figure, hoping his gaze would ease you to show yourself to him. But alas, stuck in your ways, you didn’t show yourself, instead laughing, though the figure did not open its mouth, making your ‘shadow a-presence’ all the more eerie.

“If you really want to speak with me it can wait until my entrance. I should be done soon.” You say, before Alastor just smiles, tossing his staff from hand to hand.

“Well if you’re really going to make me wait, mind you speed the process up a bit? You know it doesn’t take much to make you look breath-taking.” Alastor compliments, but earns a scoff from you.

“Oh please, don’t start with me ‘Radio Demon.’” You mock, before the shadow figure begins to step back.

“Wait, a moment before you go.” Alastor says, standing his staff on the floor. The shadow figure stops, before you speak again.

“Make it quick. You know how much energy it takes to keep this up.” You say.

“So, about this hotel business. I know she’s planning to talk to you about it.”

“Yes the idea you tell me so much about.” You say sarcastically. Alastor had told you bits and pieces about the princess’s project, but didn’t tell you what it was for exactly, leaving you to wonder how important it really was if even he wouldn’t speak on it.

“Well you know how much I crave entertainment. Is it possible to make a request for the seating arraignment tonight?” Alastor asks. You laugh, figure still unmoving.

“Humorous to think you even have a seat. You’ve been gone for what? Seven years?” You say with a scoff.

“You’ve been gone decades my dear, you didn’t even show up to your last twenty gala’s, having your pity shadows do it for you. I doubt you should be speaking on the matter.”

At that, you chuckle to yourself before the shadow begins to back into the corner, black smoke enveloping the corner like a cloud. “I presume you would be correct. Well, I’m off now. Don’t sneak into my quarters again.” You say finally before disappearing. Alastor just grins, stepping into his own shadow, joining the other guests.

The shadows had slowly but, eventually ushered the guests into the lobby, everyone gathering around the staircase as the shadows lined up against the railings, the orchestra playing the music you had specifically requested. You were about to make your grand entrance, something you hadn’t done in centuries. Everyone stood around, awaiting your arrival, the shadows momentarily disappearing to give the guests more space to crowd around. Candles lit along the walls, as well as floating lights appearing going up the staircase. There, the shadows took their place, two on each step on opposite sides, facing each other. The music picked up, the lights focusing at the top of the stairs. Black smoke began to roll down the steps slowly, the anticipation for your arrival growing. The music gets calm for a moment, a larger shadow figure standing at the top of the staircase. It’s larger than any of the other shadows in the room, standing at fifteen feet tall. It speaks in a monotone voice, but loud and commanding.

“Thank you all for your attendance tonight. The Crimson Gala is held once every year to start the new year with all those who survived the extermination. This being said, Madame would like to say her personal congratulations for not being apart of the bloodshed this year. While the past years she has used me to say that she will unfortunately not be in attendance, I am pleased to say that tonight, along with all the new guests, she will make her grand entrance. Presenting to you, the prowess of darkness and queen of shadows, Madame.”

The lights shine bright, and the shadow vanishes quickly. Velvet shushes Vox and Valentino, eyes practically bulging out of her skull to see you. Alastor just stares, waiting in anticipation. Charlie claps her hands quietly to herself while Vaggie just smiles. Rosie sips her glass, eyes waiting to see what outfit you’ve put together this time. At the top of the staircase, a large black smokey circle opens at the bottom of the floor, smoke swirling upwards slowly in a tornado form, smoke getting quicker as it swirls around itself. It gets larger, and guests closer to the stairs have to back up a bit as the wind picks up. Carmilla turns her face to the side, not wanting the wind to mess up her hair too much. Finally, the music picks up again, the peak point in the song, which lasts eight seconds, before the smoke falls to the side in one swoop, leaving you in the midst, now on display for all guests to see. The music continues, the chains against your dress glistening under the light. The music continues the play as you take steps down, looking at the guests. There’s a serious expression on your face, but somehow neutral all the same. Your shadows had added last minute black lace gloves, which went up to your forearm. The bottom of your dress had a lace trimming, as well as the bodice being laced with trim along the bust area. The jewelry was a simple black diamond crystal on a metal chain around your neck, paired with black diamond earrings. The cuff links on your hand remained all the same though. Finally reaching the end of the steps, everyone clapped, now finally being graced with your presence.

Velvet was in awe, staring at you with wide eyes like a child being gifted the most precious thing. Her excitement grew enormously, watching you shake hands and socialize with guests. She had never seen you before, after you had gone ghost for centuries, hardly anyone had photos of you. Hell she didn’t even know what you sounded like.

Charlie was so excited to meet you. She hadn’t seen you in, forever, and was now finally excited to be seen as your equal. Well, that was what she had hoped at least. Having seen a portrait of you in her parents' home when she was younger, she learned of the close relationship between Lilith and you. The anticipation had built over the years, and now, finally, she looked forward to being seen as your equal. Her hope was to hopefully get your support for the hotel, aiming to elevate her standing in the eyes of others. With your backing, she believed people would take both her and the redemption project more seriously, fostering a genuine desire for redemption. Maybe it would even work.

Husk smiled as he watched you socialize with guests. He was glad to finally see you back out again. He never knew why you went into hiding of course, but he never had the balls to ask, so he just stood quiet. When you disappeared, it was after a particularly rough extermination, and he knew something had happened, he just didn’t know what. Since then, the world only had glimpses of you to go on. Some sinners were starting to think you were a myth, since you never showed your face at the Crimson Gala, especially since you were the host.

Vox was taken aback, a sense of confusion and unease settling within him. Your presence had caught him off guard; he had anticipated something different, perhaps an older figure. The unexpected impact left him feeling uneasy, realizing the gravity of your influence. It dawned on him why Velvet had stressed the importance of making a favorable impression. Apart from Zestial and the twins, you stood as one of the strongest and most enduring overlords. In Vox's mind, securing your alliance was imperative for the success of his company. Your potential support would make his endeavors foolproof. Everything had to be flawless – not for any personal reasons, of course, but solely for the sake of his company. He needed you.

Making your rounds to guests, you began to get closer to your colleagues. With a wave to Stolas, and a nod to Zeezie, you run into the Radio Demon himself, Alastor. He grins, sharp teeth getting you. He smiles and nods his head, and you nod back. Alastor takes in your stoic expression, before carefully taking in your outfit.

“My, my, Madame, you’ve truly outdone yourself tonight. Your choice in attire is as captivating as ever – a perfect blend of elegance and sensibility. Quite the spectacle for the grand event, don’t you think?” He asked, holding his arm out to you. You take it, and the two of you walk around the lobby together, conversing.

“Well you don’t look to bad for yourself. Maybe going into hibernation was perfect for you.” You say back, and he grins.

“You’re too kind darling.” He says, dead heart quickening. He puts a hand to his chest, mocking fragility. “Your words leave me breathless my dear.” He says with false dramatics. You roll your eyes and smack his arm playfully.

“Oh please, your ego is quite large enough already, yes?” You ask. He doesn’t say much else, but instead, gently moves you to the side while you look at your shadows, now waltzing around in the middle of the lobby, putting on a performance.

“Did you plan that?” Alastor asks. You shake your head.

“No, but the music is perfect for it, so I let them be. They’re already trapped with me, I might as well make them useful.” You say, and Alastor just hums, a laugh track playing. However, as the two of you walk, his track screeches to a halt upon seeing Vox approach the two of you.

“Madame.” Vox says, nodding his head. His expression is serious, and though you’ve heard of him, you’ve never seen him.

“Ah hello. Vox I presume?” You ask, free hand reaching forward to shake his own outstretched hand. The two of you shake hands, and Alastor can’t ignore the way he fights to keep his smile. Why he could just shove his staff right into that flace faced fuckers scree-

“Alastor, I suppose you’ve met Mr.Vox before, correct?” You ask. Alastor nods with a smile, and you notice the way it stretches almost painfully across his face. It makes you uneasy, but you ignore the feeling. He’d surely tell about what this is about later on in the night you supposed.

“Why yes we have! I’ve made him loose his signal quite a few times.” Alastor says with a laugh, his laugh track playing. Vox doesnt say anything, though he doesnt have too as his eye twitching had given enough away. The two clearly did not like each other. Than again, you had felt the same way about Alastor when you first met him, so the feeling was understandable.

“Madame, a dance?” Vox asked, turning his attention back to you. You thought for a moment, before untangling your arm from Alastors and nodding to Vox, taking his outstretched hand to you and leading you to the dance floor, which now had a couple other sinners dancing as well. Alastor held onto his staff tight, but relaxed as you discreetly slid him a card. In white with black lettering, cursive font. Seat number five. He was invited to your table. Guaranteed a seat. That was enough to have him back in light spirits, now searching out his dear friend Rosie to share the good news.

Velvet had been looking for you all over, her assistant close in toe. She had tried her hardest to get to you when you initially made your enterance, but alas you had been too overcrowded with people for her to get to you. She had heard rumors about how you hated rudeness and disrespect. That meant no interruptions, and no loud speaking, or vulgar language. She was sure to keep herself in check, and that meant her colleagues too. So, naturally, you could imagine her shock upon seeing Vox dancing with you on the dance floor, black dress twirling at your feet. You looked so regal, so elegant, flawless. She wanted to be just like you. She waited patiently on the sidelines, waiting for the dance to end. She could see the two of you having a conversation, but couldn’t pinpoint what about.

“So, I presume you’re one of the, newer overlords?” You asked as the two of you danced. Vox chuckled, leading you slowly.

“New? Well, maybe to you I would be. I heard you haven’t really left your own head for quite some time.” Vox says lowly. You nod, letting him dip you.

“Yes that would be correct. So what are you supposed to be exactly?” You ask, quite unsure of his purpose. Overlords are meant to have a strong leading purpose in hell, so what was his?

“Well, you’re looking at the head of Vox Tech. A software company.” He says, and you hum in understanding.

“So modern technology.” You confirm, and he nods, pearly whites shining brightly back at you.

“You’re looking at the future Madame.” Vox says, spinning you quickly, before bringing you close by your hip.

“Interesting. So, what’s your social influence?” You ask. Vox thinks for a moment, before laughing to himself.

“People have televisions in all their homes. Any piece of modern technology comes strictly from me. With a little mind control, there isn’t any influence I don’t have.” Vox says, noticing a sinner walk by with a smart watch, to which he holds a finger up to you, sending himself through it, and then to another sinner with their smartphone, making his way around the room in seconds before he’s back in front of you, stepping in time for the next number. “See? Nothing I can’t do.” He says with a wink. You nod slowly, looking around the room. Being back out in the spotlight after being gone for so long makes you feel a bit, behind. But with an overlord like this in your circle, maybe this could be a way for you to keep up with the current world, get you back up to pace. The dance finally comes to a close, and the two of you bow to one another, before you summon a card, handing it to Vox. Seat number nine. Vox grinned at you, giving you a nod. You nod back, before looking at another sinner who’s asked to speak with you. With that, you leave Vox at the dance floor, white card in hand. His spot at your table was secured. But, this made his emotions churn even more. What was this feeling he had? He was happy yes, but for the companies sake. But, maybe for once, he could mix just a little business with pleasure.

Charlotte had lost her partner at the bar and had been looking for her for quite some time. However, instead of finding Vagatha, she found you instead. You had seemed to be finishing a conversation with Vox, and though she disliked him, she took her chance the moment she saw you walking away.

“Excuse me, Madame- Miss- Um.” Charlotte said quickly, causing you to stop in your tracks. She got closer to you, now a few inches away. It was then she realized how tall you were compared to her. You were easily around seven feet, or just under that. With your heels that was. You looking down at her made her feel intimidated, small, like the child. But, feeling her nerves rise, she began to ramble again. “I know you probably have a lot to do tonight and I don’t want to take up your time, I just want you to hear me out, if that’s okay with you of course.” Charlotte said quickly, pausing to inhale. You narrowed your eyes at her, snapping your fingers and causing a shadow to appear next to you, singular glass on the tray. It was the same tall shadow from earlier, with the same drink. Again, using testing the temperature of the drink, before nodding to you so you could take it. You lifted the glass to your lips, maintaining eye contact with Charlotte as you drank the wine in one go, putting it down on the tray with a sigh.

“Go on.” You replied, now intrigued. You knew who she was. “You’re the girl with the hotel? Lucifer and Lilith’s child, correct?” You asked. Charlotte smiled, stars appearing in her eyes as she gushed.

“You know who I am?” She asked surprised. You nodded, cracking a small smile for the first time tonight, causing many eyes to stare in shock. You hardly ever smiled. In fact, there were three counts ever of you smiling in hell. Once, when you first got to hell, killing and claiming territory, and smiling once you finally settled down. The second being after World War One, when so many souls came to you seeking ‘help’ yet only being met with contracts. Third, being just before the extermination you disappeared after. You had gone through your belongings from Earth that managed to get brought to you from the surface, and was looking at family photos with one other overlord. Zestial. Now, at the gala, here was Lucifer’s brat, as some would call, making you crack a grin at her giddiness.

“Of course I know who you are. Do you forget I know your mother? You’re practically a niece of mine at this point.” You say, motioning at Charlotte to walk with you. “Now, what is this hotel I’ve heard about?” You ask. She beams at this and follows excitedly.

“OkaysobasicallyIhavethishotelandit’scalledthe’HazbinHotel’whichisforsinnerswhowantobebetterandredeemthemselvestotryand-“ You stopped her, allowing her to take a breath of air after rambling for so long. You lead her outside, finding a nearby bench to sit on. With how quickly she spoke, she needed all the ‘fresh’ air she could get right?

“Why are you speaking so quickly? Also, sinners who want to better themselves? Where would you find those?” You ask with a laugh, the same tall shadow appearing with a glass for you. Again, you sip on your drink as Charlotte collects herself together.

“Usually if I explain slowly people cut me off and I never get to finish, so I’ve gotten used to just saying everything as quickly as possible so they don’t cut me off and actually listen to what I have to say.” Charlotte says, again rather quickly. “Like I was saying; the Hazbin Hotel is a place for sinners who want to better themselves to possibly try to get into heaven through redemption, and I know what you’re thinking, we’ve all died and got sent here, but I believe people can change and that everyone deserves second chances.” Charlotte explained. She saw the look of confusion on your face, and began to speak again. “We already have two residents, who are making strides to be better people every day with group activities and I believe it’s working. If I could just get other people on board, people like you on board who actually believe in my cause, then we can get rid of extermination and maybe save some people here.” Charlotte explained. You thought for a moment, and the fact you hadn’t laughed in her face yet gave her some hope that maybe she had gotten through to you. You stood up, setting your empty glass on the tray before the shadow disappeared.

“Honestly,” You said with a sigh, looking around, your eyes landing on your shadows serving other guests. “The entire project sounds delusional.” You said sharply. Charlotte looked down at this, defeated, before standing as well.

“Well, thank you for hearing me out I guess. You’re the only other person who has aside from Alastor. So, thank you for your time.” Charlotte said, turning to walk back inside the gala, head hanging low with tears brimming her eyes. Maybe it was the connection to her mother, maybe it was because she reminded you of her mother. But, something had to change.

“I didn’t say we were done speaking Charlotte.” You said sharply again. She stopped and tensed up at that, before turning around, wiping a tear that slipped down her cheek.

“W-what?” She asked. You stepped forward to her, putting your hands flat together before smoke encased them. Then seconds later it was gone, and in your hands was a white card. You handed it to her with a nod.

“It sounds delusional. But, maybe someone will like that about you.” You said. She read the card, face dropping once she realized what it meant.

“So, so I can sit with you tonight? I can pitch my idea?” She asked excitedly. You nodded, patting her shoulder.

“Yes you may. I’ll allow you to have your time. You get thirty minutes, there will be overlords and royalty there, I’m sure someone is bound to take an interest in it.” You say. Charlotte squeals excitedly before jumping up and down, clapping her hands.

“Oh my goodness! Thank you so so so much!! You won’t regret this I swear!” Charlotte said, and you just nodded.

“Of course I won’t. I don’t make mistakes.” You say, before walking past her. “Oh, and thank Alastor for that. He was insistent you be present at my table tonight.” You say to her. She’s left standing outside in shock, watching as you walk back into the lobby to socialize with other guests.

It seemed Velvet had finally caught you, rushing her assistant to follow you as she made her way over to you.

“Madame, you look absolutely breathtaking tonight! Your presence here is like a beacon of individuality and charisma,” she exclaims, eyes sparkling. You look her up and down for a moment, stopping in your tracks to listen to her. Something feels, odd about this one. “I’ve been ardently following your unique style for ages, and it’s truly an honor to be in your presence. The way you effortlessly blend boldness with subtlety, it’s unparalleled, truly outstanding. Now, I’ve ventured into a daring new fashion brand, and I can’t help but envision you as the unrivaled star in my collection. Picture it: the illustrious Madame, gracing the world with a revolutionary expression of style. This would be the perfect way to make your way back into the public eye, and of course you would look ravishing doing so.” Velvet said, her assistant handing you sketches of Velvets designs, and photographs of some of her work on her models. “So, what do you say Madame? Will you be the luminary of a new era in Hell’s fashion?” Velvet says. You grow quiet for a moment. Aside from Rosie, you’ve had no other overlord come into the fashion realm, and Rosie is only partially in it as a side hustle, but everyone knows it’s your thing. The designs are things you would never wear, bold and odd colors together, like a child’s clothing line.

“Is this for children?” You ask. Velvet nearly chokes and her assistant tenses up.

“No Madame. It’s modern fashion.” Velvet says cautiously. She knows what she’s doing. Correcting you. No one ever does that. You don’t need to be corrected because you know what you’re looking at. A sad fashion designer who wants you to slap your name on her sloppy work so if it goes up in flames it’s your reputation taking the fall, not her’s.

“So all your models look like they came from a whore house? Correct?” You ask. Velvet’s jaw drops and her assistant hides a laugh. Velvet, inhaling softly, tries her hardest not to cry on the spot. You’re her idol. She can’t fuck this up.

“No Madame! Not at all!” She says, showing you a design she had made personally for you. Based on your other collections, she knows your favorite color is black, so that’s a plus. All she had to do was add a bit more, of her flair to it. It was a black jumpsuit, with a fur coat that dropped down to the knees, black with white fur around the edges of the coat and the cuffs. The sketch wasn’t half bad, and quite frankly better than the others. Maybe it was the forgiving mood Charlotte had put you in. Velvet hands you the design and you skim over it, taking in the details, the hair and eye makeup, the shoes and jewelry notes written on the side. The sketches aren’t bad, but modern fashion isn’t your fashion.

“I’ll consider it. Do you mind if I keep these?” You ask. Velvet shakes her head, handing you the folder from her assistants hands.

“Please, take whatever you’d like Madame!” Velvet says. You nod, flipping through the pages.

“You’ll hear from me soon. In the meantime, I want new sketches of these designs. Modern fashion is fast fashion. Nothing stays memorable that way. You want to be good?” You ask her, and she nods quickly. “Then be better. Modesty and elegance are what people strive for. It radiates power, and everyone is greedy for that. If you can sell that through an item, you won’t ever go out of style.” You say, handing her back the folder, keeping the sketch she’d done for you. Well, at least you liked something. Vevelt nodded her head and watched you walk away, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Um, miss?” Her assistant asked.

“What?” Velvet asked annoyingly.

“She left a card on the folder.”

At that , Velvets eyes snapped down at the folder, before she screamed in excitement. Seat number six. She was invited to your table. Mission accomplished. Now, with only six seats left to fill, you were off to talk to your other guests. The night had proved to be interesting, and you knew your encore would not disappoint.

[revolverthemes]

Traditional Kitchen - Enclosed

[sebastianchris]

Traditional Living Room - Enclosed

[loveyubrides]

Bedroom Master

[swanatlast]

Formal Living Room in Atlanta

[chloemoretz-news]

Contemporary Bedroom - Master

[celestialsam]

Wallpaper in London

[kahvikirahvi]

Moscow Bedroom Wallpaper

[katesimblr]

Willow Creek make over - Art Gallery

Part 1 of the Willow Creek make overs is the art gallery. It is in an old building with high ceilings full of paintings and sculptures from different eras. On the top floor there is also an exhibition of modern art. In addition to the classic exhibition space, the gallery also offers a place to paint and a store where you can buy art prints or enjoy a coffee in the light-filled annex after the exhibition.

Thanks to all creators who made this house possible with their CC, like @baufive, @k-hippie, @kkbsmm, LadyMoriel, @meinkatz, @msteaqueen and many many more.

Download CC

Download Tray files

[steviewashere]

If Found, Return to Me

Rating: General CW: Implied Sex (Mild), Mild Panic Attacks Tags: Post Canon, Post Season 4, Established Relationship, Humor and Hijinks, Eddie Munson is a Little Shit, Steve Harrington is a Little Shit, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Panic Attacks, Dork Eddie Munson, Dork Steve Harrington, 3+1

Okay, the idea was going to be a 5+1, but I couldn't get past three ideas without feeling the crawl of burn-out, so I lowered it to three. But this is based on This Post from @apomaro-mellow

👕—————👕 1. He grips the hem of his shirt and tugs. Chin tucked into his neck so that he can read the text, which is bold and black and dark on the white background. ‘If found, return to Steve.’ Eddie groans. “Do we seriously have to wear these?” He whines.

Steve stands in front of him. Hands on his hips. One foot cocked. “Yes, Eddie,” he answers emphatically. Even a little annoyed. Which, sue Eddie for having to ask over and over, but it’s sort of embarrassing. Especially when his boyfriend is wearing a similar shirt that just reads: ‘I’m Steve’. Makes Eddie look sort of childish, if you were to ask him. “If I’m taking you out of town, to a place I’ve never been before for a convention—something I’d probably never even go to—you absolutely have to wear that shirt. Knowing you, you’ll see some action figure stand and I’ll be abandoned by the comic books.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Or, y’know, we can just link arms and walk around the convention center?” Steve only widens his eyes and raises an eyebrow. He groans again. “Okay, fine! We’ll wear these stupid t-shirts.” His head tilts back, eyes to the ceiling of their hotel. Huffs through his nose. “I don’t even know how you got these,” he grumbles, “I’d rather not know.”

Sure, Eddie’s prone to running off. He gets excited, okay? Especially when it’s something he knows a lot about, or something he’s been hunting down for literal years, or if it’s a thing he can surprise the people around him with. Thinking of the last time he wandered off and Steve had to practically scruff him, it’d been while he was purchasing a dice set for Dustin’s birthday. So maybe Steve has a point. And maybe it’s sort of a genius idea. Eddie just wants to be stubborn about this, it’d save him the humiliation.

Except, he’s still wearing the shirt (Steve in his matching one) when they finally get through the doors of the convention center. There’s people in costumes all around them: Spock and Kirk, Marty McFly, Indiana Jones, Predator, and a few kids with their dads all dressed like those ponies that Erica likes. Something in Eddie trills. And he’s already a few steps ahead of Steve before he knows it. Steve trails behind him, wonder and awe shining in his own eyes, trying to keep up with Eddie’s frantic nature.

But then they’re not even close to each other. They buy lunch a couple hours in. Steve gets a large lemonade and downs it like he’s never had something to drink before. And then Eddie’s being told, “Please wait here by the bathrooms. Don’t go do anything stupid.”

He’s leaning against the wall that reads: ‘Restrooms’. Arms intertwined over his chest. Legs crossed on one another. In the distance, his eyes lock onto a Dungeons & Dragons booth. There’s tall shelves stocked with every mini figure he could ever pray for. A few long tables that showcase various maps, dungeon master screens, and little trays for dice. However, there’s an odd rack in the booth. A hat stand. And on it, he spots the perfect thing for Steve. It’s probably expensive, Eddie debates with himself, but it’s Indiana Jones’ hat. His feet are moving before he registers the people walking past him.

And then he’s there. Holding a classic fedora hat between his hands. Turning it around in his hold. Thumbing at the material; marveling at how smooth and buttery soft the fabric is. He spots the price tag, ‘$8.00’. It’s not a terrible price. Isn’t damaged in any way. So he keeps it in his left hand, grabs a paladin mini figure in his right, and purchases both items. Bag in hand, he moves to leave the booth, but is stopped by a gentle hand tapping on his right shoulder.

He turns and is met with a girl. She’s level with his chest, eyes wide and calculating, hand retreating back to her side. “Hi—um—you don’t know me at all, but I found somebody named Steve looking for you,” she states, “I saw your shirt and figured you were the guy he was talking about.”

Eddie slumps. A part of him can’t believe the stupid shirt even worked. “Yeah, it’s probably me that he’s looking for,” he sighs. “Take me to him.”

She’s hard to follow in the crowd of people. Shorter than most and extremely quick. But she links his arm with hers and practically drags him back towards the bathrooms. And there he is, Steve Harrington with his hands on his hips, a furrow to his brow, mouth thin-lined. “Eddie,” Steve greets. He smiles, though it’s not all that sweet, but kind enough for this stranger that had to shepherd Eddie. The girl leaves them. And Steve steps closer to Eddie, crosses his arms over his chest, and then has the gall to snort. He raises a hand and plucks at Eddie’s t-shirt, directly on the word: ‘Found’. “Looks like my stupid t-shirt worked,” he snarks. The sass to this guy is unbelievable.

“Yeah, har har, laugh it up,” Eddie says dryly. “Maybe you don’t want the little gift I got for you.”

Steve perks up. Eyes glowing with curiosity. “What’d you get?”

Eddie rolls his eyes and smirks. Digs into his bag and flaunts the hat. “Saw it at a D&D booth, surprisingly. Probably would’ve been something we walked by, had I not…wandered.” He steps a little closer into Steve’s space, sets the hat on top of his head, and nods in approval. “Think that this purchase was a success. You look dashing, Mr. Jones.”

In a flurry of movement, Steve snatches the hat from off the top of his head. Gaping at it. “Eds,” he breathes, “this is so fucking cool.” He places it back where it was, pulling it tight to his hairline, and grins brightly. “Thank you, but also please don’t leave me alone here,” he says, “I got worried.”

“Sorry,” Eddie murmurs sheepishly. “Just thought about how excited you’d be about the hat and couldn’t resist. Won’t happen again, promise.”

Steve chuckles. “I know it will, but that’s what the stupid shirts are for. Anyway…Can we go look at the Lego set-up that we passed by in hall E? I think I saw a spaceship and—“

“Lead the way, Indy.” He might have to buy his own shirts with how Steve bounds away from him.

——— 2. “If…Lost?!” Eddie exclaims. “Steve, what the fuck? Why—How—Where the hell are you getting these t-shirts?” He asks. They’re at Steve’s house, getting ready for a day trip in Chicago. And, sure, Eddie’s never been in his life. Doesn’t know the streets of Chicago like the back of his hand. Maybe Steve does know more about where they’re going, but that doesn’t change just how ridiculous this shirt is. How it glares at him in the bathroom mirror.

Steve sidles up next to him. His t-shirt the same as the one from the convention. He wraps an arm around Eddie’s waist. Rests his head on his shoulder. “I have my ways,” he states ominously. “And, again, I know you. Your sense of direction is practically non-existent. You can’t deny that, baby. The only reason you found Skull Rock is because you stumbled upon it.”

“I was on the run, couldn’t exactly look at a map,” he grumbles. “But do we have to—“

“Yes,” Steve sighs. “Now, can you come out to the car with me? I’m ready to go.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but does as he’s asked. Sits in the passenger seat. Shuffles through the radio stations. Teases Steve for his taste in tapes. But then they’re parking, getting out, walking around the city.

He follows Steve…for a while. Into a record shop. In the back of a diner, playing footsie under the table. Then he goes down a side street. Following a guy in a white t-shirt, hair high on his head, Adidas sneakers on his feet. However, the guy turns slightly. And…that’s not Steve. Eddie’s not sure how long he’s been following this stranger, or when he started, or from where he started from. Tries to rake through his brain to the last time he heard Steve talk about the street they were originally on, but there’s nothing. The words and names escape him.

He’s stranded in a city he’s never been to. Down a street he should’ve never come across. Wearing the most humiliating t-shirt known to mankind. Somewhere, again he’s not sure, behind him Steve is probably standing by some shop entrance, hands on his hips and a scowl perfectly framed on his face. And Eddie can’t help but panic. Standing with his back against the nearest wall. Breathing through his mouth like he’s about to beef it on the sidewalk. Eyes darting over and under and left and right. Trying to find semblance of normal, any little speckle of Steve. Something.

It’s not until he’s nearly sick to his stomach, churning and flipping and knotting, that a different stranger makes their presence known. They gently invade his space. Voice soft as they notice his panic. “Hey man, are you Eddie?” They ask. He nods way too quick, but sidelines the blur to his vision because talking to this stranger seems hopeful. Especially since they know his name. “Okay, cool,” the stranger mutters, “I ran into your…friend. Steve was on the verge of a nervous breakdown when I spotted him, said he couldn’t find you, but didn’t know where to look. So I volunteered to find you. And—well—judging by your shirt, I can gladly and safely reunite you guys. If you…If you wanna follow me.”

“Please,” Eddie murmurs, “I don’t know where I am.”

The trip back to Steve is arduous. Through crowds of people and past noisy cars. Bustling shops and the waft of various seasonings from a number of restaurants. But sure enough, Steve is on some precipice. His hair a mess and face pinched nervously. Then, he spots Eddie. Eyes lighting, clearing and glistening. A look of ‘I want to touch, but know I can’t.’

When he sidles up next to Steve after the stranger leaves, he carefully joins their hands. “I followed a complete stranger for probably thirty minutes,” Eddie admits, whispering. “His hair looked similar. And he was also wearing a white t-shirt. I got so scared, Steve.”

“Well, at least our stupid shirts worked again, right?” Steve asks, breathless and still verging breakdown.

Eddie squeezes their hands. “Can we go home, please? This is gonna sound crazy, but I think I prefer middle of nowhere Hawkins. At least I know where everything is.”

Steve nods rapidly. “I need to touch you in ways I can’t right now. Let’s go.” And then he tugs their hands, pulling them along sidewalks and through groups of people, down a couple side streets. It’s partially worth it, in the end. Definitely with the way Eddie’s skin is now decorated with Steve’s love, sticky and warm with it, too.

——— 3. The shirts end up following them to the Indiana State Fair.

Steve stops them at the front entrance, right after the ticket booth, and makes Eddie face him. “Listen to me,” he murmurs, voice low and near demanding. “If I turn my back for a second and you are gone, I will lose my absolute shit. Got it? Do not make me have to keep a rope tied to your belt loop.”

Eddie groans. “I get it, Steve. Can we at least try and enjoy ourselves?”

And they do for the most part. Steve plays at a few game stalls. Eddie carries the prizes. Their legs interlock underneath a picnic table, sharing greasy funnel cake and way too sour lemonade freezes. They watch a few performers, pet some fair animals, judge prized pigs like they know what they’re doing.

But then the ferris wheel comes up and Eddie sees an opportunity already forming. Like dots connecting or the stars aligning. He wants to drag Steve through the line and sit with him in one of the seats, wait for the wheel to stop at just the right height, and kiss him as the lights dim low and the darkness of the sky envelops them. Though, because he always misses a few steps in his plans, he doesn’t tell Steve that they’re going to the ferris wheel. Just starts walking. Shoving past other couples and accidentally sidelining a couple kids. He sneaks around large families. Maybe bribes a few people to let up on the ride’s queue.

Then, Eddie turns to his left. Where Steve is.

Or…Where Steve should have been.

“Shit,” Eddie spits. “Steve?” He calls over his shoulder. Frantically, he whips around in line. Eyes wide over people’s heads. Shoving them out of the way, albeit a little rough. Spreads the line into two little rows. But he comes up unsuccessful.

Until, right on cue, a stranger is tapping on his shoulder. Instead of letting them go into their whole spiel, he just sighs defeated, “Take me to him.”

There are no words exchanged. Not when Eddie follows behind, head bowed to the ground, dragging his feet like a petulant child. And then he stops where he sees Steve’s shoes, the bright blue Adidas sneakers he’d recognize anywhere.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Thought you were with me.”

Steve just sighs. Something kind of disappointed that shrivels Eddie slightly. “Where’d you even go?” Steve calmly asks.

Eddie finally looks to him, his eyes pleading. “The ferris wheel, but…But! In my defense, I thought you were with me. And I was going to get us a seat on the ride. Was gonna wait until it got up to the highest point and do something cheesy like kiss you…or blow you, whatever. But I—“

“Why didn’t you just ask me, Eds?” Steve laughs with his full body, deep from within his stomach. “We can do that, babe. All you gotta do is ask, y’know?”

“I didn’t think—“

“I know you didn’t,” Steve teases. “Seems like my stupid t-shirt idea worked again. That’s three times, you dork.” Eddie can only groan. He knows that he has a bad habit of wandering, doesn’t mean that the idea is any less annoying or dumb. “Come on, Eds. Stop throwing a fit. Let’s do your thing.”

“You sure?”

“Eddie, if you don’t kiss or blow me on that ferris wheel, I’m banning D&D at my place for a month. Let’s go.”

When they get off and start walking back to the car, Steve tugs on the back of Eddie’s jeans. He yelps, startled, but quickly shuts his mouth when he’s faced with a stern look. “You know what I just remembered?” Steve asks him. There’s mirth in his eyes. Eddie doesn’t trust this at all. “Earlier, when I was telling you about wandering, I mentioned maybe tethering you to a rope. I might have to do that. Since you can’t behave.”

Eddie heats from the inside out. A coil tightens in his stomach. “You couldn’t even if you tried,” he bites back.

Later, he finds out, Steve is exceptional with rope. What a fucking boy scout.

——— +1 The Mall of America didn’t earn its title for nothing. The place was huge, that much Eddie could discern. Which made perfect sense when buying the new and improved: ‘If found, return to…’ shirts. However, this time, it was Steve with ‘If Found’ t-shirt.

At first, Steve didn’t know how to feel about the new shirts. Simply because he didn’t seem to see a reason for why he’d get lost or wander or be found in any capacity. But given the surprise Eddie had for him, the reason definitely fit the bill.

What Steve didn’t know, that Eddie one hundred percent knew, was that a Lego store was opening up at the mall. Or, has been opened at the mall. It was the perfect time for a little road trip. A little Fall of 1992 trip to Minnesota. Driving by trees and such. Parking in the Mall of America’s lot. Figuring out what stores to hit first, what food they wanted to eat, where the bathrooms were located. Typical day out sort of things.

However, one moment Steve was with him and the next…Eddie was scouring the food court for his fiancé. Trying not to throw up the meager lunch he just had. Swallowing down panic after panic after panic that rose in his chest like tsunami waves. This place was too big for either of them to wander or get lost or have a mind of their own. Not with the way they impulsively purchases things, an awful habit they both exuded—today is the worst day to do just that.

Which leads him to tapping on the shoulder of a guy around his age. Who’s carrying two large yellow Lego bags. Just sitting back in one of the food court chairs, minding his own business. Until, he whips around to find Eddie startled and red faced. “Uh…Can I help you, man?” The stranger greets.

“Sorry, hi,” Eddie says. “I just—You look like somebody who can maybe help me. I’m looking for my…friend, his name is Steve. Uh—White, around my height, dirty blonde hair. He’s wearing a pair of near skin tight Levi jeans, light wash and a white t-shirt that matches mine. Except, his says ‘If found, return to Eddie’. I’m Eddie, by the way. Anyway—Uh, you probably just came from the Lego store, yeah?”

“Sure,” the guy says, completely unsure of this interaction. “Why do you need to know—“

“So you can like lead me there? I’ve never been there. And like he’s really obsessed with those damn sets and like that’s really cool or whatever, but I need to know where he is because we’re from out of town and I have no fucking clue what I’m doing in this mall or where to—“

“Alright, dude, calm down,” guy placates. “We’ll find your friend. Just…That store is pretty fucking busy. Really popular, you know? I’ll take you there, but with how panicked you are, it would be best if you waited by the entrance of the store. Is that…”

“That’s perfectly fine to me!” Eddie nearly shouts. 

He follows on this person’s heels. Bobbing and weaving through crowds of other over-consumers. Maybe shoving a few of them out of the way just so he can stay with that guy. But eventually, they make it to the outside of the rather precarious Lego store. Its yellow storefront nauseating to Eddie. Almost—Genuinely frustrating him beyond belief. And he sees Steve. Standing near the back of the store. Staring up at one of the shelves, but he lets the stranger he found grab Steve for him. Because no way in hell is Eddie going to survive being swallowed up by the awfully large crowd swamping the store.

Steve emerges from the crowd, a bit offended and a lot upended. But then has the gall to appear sheepish when he’s led directly to Eddie. With a nod and a tight smile, Eddie waves the stranger off. Almost wants to run back and get his name, send him a thank you card from the Hallmark store he saw on their way there.

He turns to face Steve, though. Leans them into the wall. “Jesus, Steve,” Eddie groans. “Is this what you put up with?”

“Is what—“

“The fucking panic? The—The whirling around and checking in the weird obscure places? Tapping on stranger’s shoulders only to see if they have a single goddamn idea where anything is…ever? Like—“ He sighs. “I thought that I’d never find you, Steve! You could’a at least told me you were going to go somewhere on your own. Maybe give me an idea of where you’re going?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Oh, so now that’s important to you?” He petulantly mutters. “Can’t go off and have fun without being pestered—“

“I’m not pestering, Steve!” Eddie grits. “I’m being concerned! I’m—You scared me,” he admits quietly. “And you ruined my surprise.”

“Ruined?” Steve echoes, confused. “What do you…oh. Oh. I—“ Then, Steve looks down to the floor. Eyes ashamed and arms tight to his body. “I didn’t…I was just excited, I’m sorry. The store was on the directory when we first came in and I like—“ He chuckles a little bit, loosening up. “—I fucking memorized where to go. What path to take. Because I just really wanted to look in there. They’ve got—Eddie, they have this one set in there, it’s a freaking spaceship and it’s called the…The Galactic Meditator or something? I can’t—That doesn’t matter,” he rambles. Takes a deep breath and pushes himself tighter into Eddie’s space. “I’m sorry, baby,” he murmurs, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Eddie gives a single nod. Closes his eyes and staves off the rest of his panic and anger. He’d be a hypocrite if he lashed out right now. He knows that. And, honestly, seeing Steve geek out about toys…of all things…is kind of endearing. Maybe even doing something for Eddie.

He puts on his best smile, something genuine and pulled from within him. “It’s alright,” he whispers. “I—I should’ve known that you were going to come over here.”

“I mean, you did a little bit, right? Had to find somebody that led you here?”

“You got me,” Eddie breathes. “Y’know all my tricks.”

Steve hums beside him. “I’m actually sorry, though, that I ruined the surprise you had in mind. This is a pretty cool thing.”

Eddie smirks. “Steve Harrington admitting to a geek thing being cool…When did the tables turn?” He teases. “Seems like God has heard my prayers,” he jests. With a quick sneaky look around, he grabs Steve’s hand. Squeezes firmly and exhales the last bit of his panicked nerves. “Does my fiancé want to…Oh, I don’t know…Get a Lego set?”

The hand in his tightens with a harsh, unbelieving amount of strength. He almost winces. “Really?” Steve asks, perking up. If he had a tail, it would most definitely be wagging. “Can we actually? I really want that one that I found in there, the uh…Galactic whatever it was called. I’m bad at the names, which is weird because I’ve been building these sets for a while, but I always seem to get the names wrong and I—“ Eddie interrupts with a squeeze to his hand again, a smile bright and plastered to his face. “Sorry,” Steve sheepishly says, “Let’s go in there. I can show you and maybe…you can get one of your own?”

“Lead the way, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs against Steve’s cheek, leaving a very chaste but all the same kiss there.

The panic was worth it in the end. Because watching Steve in his element, nerd-ing over toys and how to best put them together, really makes Eddie’s chest warm. In a way that tells him he’d put up with wandering all his life, if only to get Steve to smile the way he does when proudly displaying his new spaceship.

👕—————👕

[amethystarachnid]

Can you write New Year’s Eve Countdown with Tony? Tony organized a party for all the Avengers, Tony and reader are in a “mutual pinning” situation and they’ll share their first kiss at midnight and promise to stay together forever as a New Year’s resolution 🤍🤍🤍 it’s for female reader

MIDNIGHT KISS

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.5k

ᯓ★ Summary: Y/N and Tony Stark share a mutual but unspoken attraction as they navigate a New Year’s Eve party filled with tension, playful flirting, and subtle jealousy. After a series of near-confessions and teasing moments, Tony finally gathers the courage to kiss Y/N at midnight, asking her to be his girlfriend as part of a New Year’s resolution.

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The Stark Tower is alive tonight, pulsing with energy as if the building itself knows the year is ending and something bigger is coming. The city skyline glitters just outside the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the top-floor lounge, a perfect backdrop for a party only Tony Stark could throw. You stand off to one side, a glass of champagne in hand, watching the room fill with some of the most powerful people on the planet. Quite literally.

Tony’s spared no expense, as usual. Golden lights drip from the ceiling like falling stars, illuminating the room in a warm, inviting glow. There’s a live jazz band playing in one corner, the music melting into the buzz of conversation and laughter. Waitstaff weave through the crowd with trays of expertly crafted hors d'oeuvres, and the bar is fully stocked with bottles that probably cost more than your rent. You shouldn’t be surprised. Stark’s New Year’s Eve parties are legendary, and this one seems determined to outdo all the rest.

You catch sight of Tony across the room, looking effortlessly sharp in a tailored suit that somehow manages to be both classic and undeniably him. His tie is slightly loosened, the top button of his shirt undone, and the glint of his arc reactor peeks through the fabric like an open secret. He’s holding court, of course, surrounded by people hanging on his every word. The way he commands attention is almost hypnotic, like a gravitational pull you can’t resist.

He must feel your gaze because his eyes snap to yours suddenly, like a magnet locking in place. The smirk that spreads across his face is slow and deliberate, a challenge wrapped in charm. You take a sip of your champagne, feigning nonchalance, but your heart is beating faster, traitorous and uncooperative.

"Y/N!" Tony’s voice cuts through the air moments later, rich and teasing, like he knows exactly how to unsettle you. You blink, and suddenly he’s standing right in front of you, all charisma and mischief. "Looking good tonight. Is that new, or have I just been too distracted to notice?"

You roll your eyes, but there’s no stopping the warmth creeping up your neck. “You’re always distracted, Stark. I’m surprised you even remembered my name.”

He laughs, a deep, genuine sound that sends a ripple through your chest. “How could I forget? You’re the one who keeps me on my toes. Besides,” he adds, leaning in just slightly, “it’s my job to notice when someone outshines my own party.”

The air between you tightens, crackling like the champagne in your glass. You glance around, looking for an escape route, but the room seems smaller now, the crowd fading into the periphery. It’s just you and Tony, standing too close and not close enough at the same time.

"Careful, Tony," you say, forcing a casual tone. "If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were flirting with me."

He tilts his head, considering you with a mock seriousness that’s entirely too disarming. "And if I was?"

Your breath catches for a split second, but you recover quickly, masking it with a smirk of your own. "Then I’d say you should work on your timing. There’s a whole party waiting for you to be the center of attention."

"Ah, but you see," he says, his voice dropping lower, "I’ve got everything I need right here."

A laugh escapes before you can stop it, and you shake your head. "Unbelievable."

"That’s what they say," he quips, straightening up but not stepping back. He gestures toward the bar. "Another drink? Or are you pacing yourself for midnight?"

You hesitate. This is dangerous territory, and you both know it. But there’s a thrill in the way he looks at you, like you’re the only thing worth paying attention to in a room full of gods and heroes. Maybe just one more drink couldn’t hurt.

"Sure," you say, handing him your empty glass. "But make it something good. None of that cheap stuff you probably save for people who don’t know better."

His grin widens, all teeth and trouble. "As if I’d ever let you drink the cheap stuff."

You follow him to the bar, weaving through the crowd that seems to part effortlessly for Tony. He orders something in rapid-fire bartender lingo, and the mixologist nods, setting to work with a practiced efficiency. While you wait, Tony leans against the counter, his attention back on you.

"Having fun?" he asks, his tone casual but his eyes anything but.

"It’s your party, Tony. How could I not?" you reply, dodging the weight of his gaze.

"That’s not an answer," he counters smoothly, his smirk returning. "Are you really having fun? Or are you just standing around, trying to pretend you don’t want to bolt?"

You sigh, leaning your elbow on the bar. "It’s a little overwhelming, okay? Half the room could level a city block with a flick of their wrist, and the other half probably have no idea who I am."

"I know who you are," he says, the flippant edge in his voice softening just slightly. "And trust me, nobody here could miss you if they tried."

Your cheeks heat again, and you’re saved only by the arrival of the drinks. Tony hands you a glass, and your fingers brush briefly against his. It’s nothing, just a moment, but it lingers, sending a jolt up your arm like static electricity. He doesn’t pull away immediately, and for a second, you wonder if he feels it too.

"Cheers," he says, his voice quieter now, more intimate. He raises his glass, and you tap yours lightly against it, the crystal ringing out like a bell.

"Cheers," you echo, taking a sip. The drink is perfect, just as you knew it would be, but you barely register the taste. Your mind is spinning, caught in the push and pull of whatever this is between you and Tony.

The band strikes up a livelier tune, and Tony’s face lights up with the kind of grin that usually means trouble. "Come on," he says, grabbing your hand before you can protest.

"Where are we going?" you ask, your voice rising slightly as he pulls you toward the makeshift dance floor.

"You’ll see," he says over his shoulder, his grip firm but not unpleasant.

When you reach the center of the room, he spins to face you, releasing your hand only to offer it again, palm up. "Dance with me."

"Tony—"

"Don’t overthink it," he interrupts, his expression unreadable but still magnetic. "It’s just a dance."

It’s never just anything with Tony Stark. But the challenge in his eyes is impossible to resist, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you place your hand in his.

The next few moments are a blur of movement and music, your world shrinking down to the rhythm and the feeling of his hand on your waist. He’s a better dancer than you expected—confident but not overbearing, playful but precise. You can feel his eyes on you, and every look sends your pulse into overdrive.

"See? Not so bad," he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

"Don’t get cocky," you shoot back, but your breathlessness undermines the bite.

"Too late," he says, spinning you out and pulling you back in with a flourish. The move leaves you dizzy, your balance tipping slightly as you crash back into him. His arm steadies you instantly, his hand splayed against your back in a way that feels far too intimate for a public setting.

"You okay?" he asks, his tone soft now, almost concerned.

"Yeah," you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

You’re not sure how much longer the dance lasts, or even what song is playing anymore. All you know is the way Tony’s hand feels on yours, the way his smile makes your chest ache, and the way the space between you seems to disappear, little by little, until it feels like you’re the only two people in the room.

When the song ends, there’s a smattering of applause, and you step back reluctantly, your hand slipping from his. You’re hyper-aware of the eyes on you now, curious and speculative, and you can’t decide if you’re relieved or disappointed when Tony takes a step back too.

"Not bad, Y/N," he says, his smirk back in full force. "I might have to make this a tradition."

"Don’t push your luck," you reply, but there’s no real bite to your words.

"Wouldn’t dream of it," he says, but the glint in his eyes suggests otherwise.

The party surges back to life around you, but the world still feels slightly off-kilter. Your heart hasn’t quite settled from the dance, and you’re certain Tony knows. He’s standing closer now, close enough that you can smell his cologne—a warm, intoxicating mix that suits him entirely too well.

"Where were we?" he asks casually, as if the last few minutes hadn’t already shifted the entire dynamic between you.

"You were probably saying something obnoxious," you reply, a little too quickly. Your drink feels suddenly essential, so you take another sip, hoping the bubbles will dull the edge of your nerves.

"Obnoxious? Me?" He places a hand over his chest in mock offense, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. "I’ll have you know, I’m the very picture of restraint tonight."

You arch a brow. "Restraint? Is that what we’re calling it when you hijack the DJ, commandeer the dance floor, and steal someone’s drink all in the span of twenty minutes?"

He grins, unrepentant. "Admit it. You’re impressed."

"More like exhausted," you deadpan, but your lips betray you, tugging upward in a smile.

Tony notices—of course he does—and his grin only widens. "You’re terrible at hiding it, you know," he says, leaning in slightly. "The fact that you’re having fun."

"I didn’t say I wasn’t," you counter, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks again. His proximity is dangerous, intoxicating, and the way he looks at you makes it almost impossible to think clearly.

"So you are having fun," he says, victorious. He raises his glass in a mock toast. "To progress."

You roll your eyes, but the warmth spreading through your chest makes it hard to muster much of a protest. "You’re insufferable."

"And yet," he says, lowering his voice just enough to make your pulse stutter, "you haven’t walked away."

"Maybe I’m just waiting for you to run out of charm," you quip, though your words lack conviction.

Tony steps closer, just enough to blur the already thin line between playful and something much more precarious. His eyes search yours, the teasing glint in them softening into something warmer, deeper. "Careful, Y/N," he says, his voice low and almost serious now. "I’ve got a lot of charm. You might be here all night."

Your breath catches, and for a fleeting second, the party seems to dissolve entirely. It’s just the two of you again, caught in a moment that feels both inevitable and utterly unexpected. You’re not sure who looks away first, but when you finally blink, the world snaps back into focus.

"So," you say, desperate to break the tension. "What’s the plan for the rest of the night? I assume you’ve got some ridiculous surprise lined up?"

Tony leans casually against the bar, his confidence returning like a switch flipped. "You’ll just have to wait and see. I can’t give away all my secrets."

"You’re terrible at secrets," you shoot back. "Half the room probably knows already."

"Maybe," he admits with a shrug, "but not you."

"Is that supposed to make me feel special?" you ask, arching a brow.

"Depends," he says, his expression unreadable for a moment before his trademark smirk returns. "Does it?"

You shake your head, laughing despite yourself. "Unbelievable."

"I’ve heard that one too," he says, clinking his glass lightly against yours.

The night stretches on, and the two of you fall into an easy rhythm of banter and stolen glances. Every so often, someone pulls Tony away—Pepper with a logistical question, Thor with an enthusiastic slap on the back that nearly sends his drink flying—but he always returns, like some invisible thread keeps tugging him back to your side.

At one point, you’re standing by the windows, staring out at the glittering expanse of New York City, when Tony appears beside you again, holding two fresh glasses of champagne.

"Figured you could use a refill," he says, handing you one.

"Thanks," you say, taking it gratefully. The view is breathtaking, the city alight with the promise of a new year, but you can’t help noticing that your focus keeps drifting back to Tony.

"Pretty spectacular, huh?" he says, nodding toward the skyline.

"It is," you agree, though your voice comes out softer than you intended. "But I’m guessing you don’t spend much time appreciating it."

"Not as much as I should," he admits, his tone unusually thoughtful. Then he glances at you, his expression shifting back to that familiar mix of charm and mischief. "But I’ve got a good excuse tonight."

You give him a look. "You’ve got about twenty of those running around here," you point out, gesturing vaguely at the crowd. "I think they call them ‘the Avengers.’"

"Yeah, but none of them are standing here with me right now," he says, his voice dropping just enough to make your heart trip over itself.

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can, Sam Wilson’s voice booms from across the room.

"Yo, Stark! We need a ruling over here!"

Tony groans, looking momentarily torn before he turns back to you. "Stay right here. I’ll be back."

"Take your time," you say, forcing a casual tone. He narrows his eyes at you briefly, like he knows better, but he doesn’t push it.

The second he’s gone, you let out a slow breath, the tension finally breaking. You glance back out at the city, but it’s no use. All you can think about is the way Tony looked at you, the way his words lingered in the space between you like an unfinished promise.

You’re in trouble. And it’s only 9:30.

You’re still standing by the windows when a voice pulls you from your thoughts. It’s smooth and confident, but it’s not Tony’s.

"Beautiful view, isn’t it?"

You turn to find a man standing a little too close. He’s tall, with sharp features and the kind of tailored suit that screams money. His smile is polished, a little too practiced, but polite enough not to send you running.

"Yeah," you reply, offering a noncommittal smile. You glance past him instinctively, wondering how long Tony’s going to be caught up with Sam.

The man extends a hand, undeterred. "David. And you are?"

"Y/N," you say, hesitating briefly before shaking his hand. His grip lingers just a second too long, and you step back slightly, trying to create some space.

"Y/N," he repeats, his smile widening. "I don’t think we’ve met before. Are you with the Avengers?"

You laugh lightly, shaking your head. "No, definitely not. Just a guest tonight."

"A shame," David says, tilting his head. "I bet you’d make a hell of a hero. Or is this more of a behind-the-scenes thing? You know, the brains behind the operation?"

"Not quite," you say, trying to keep your tone light.

David takes another step closer, ignoring the subtle shift in your body language. "Well, whatever your role, I’m glad you’re here. It’s not every day you meet someone as striking as you at one of these things. Stark’s parties can be… overwhelming, don’t you think?"

"Sometimes," you admit, taking another sip of your champagne in hopes of ending the conversation.

"Maybe I can make it less so," he says, his smile turning more confident. "What do you say we—"

"She’s good," a familiar voice cuts in, sharp and unmistakable.

You glance over and find Tony standing there, his jaw tight and his eyes locked on David. The easy charm he usually wears like a second skin is gone, replaced by something harder, sharper.

David straightens, clearly surprised by Tony’s sudden appearance. "Tony," he says smoothly, offering a polite nod. "Didn’t see you there."

"Funny," Tony says, his tone dangerously casual. "I’ve been standing here for a while. Long enough, anyway."

There’s a beat of tense silence before David clears his throat. "Well, I’ll let you two catch up," he says, flashing you one last smile. "Nice to meet you, Y/N."

You manage a polite nod as he retreats, but the moment he’s gone, Tony steps into the space David left behind. His presence is overwhelming, magnetic in a way that makes your pulse race.

"Making new friends?" he asks, his tone light but edged with something unmistakably sharp.

"Not exactly," you say, raising an eyebrow. "What’s with the interrogation?"

Tony doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he takes a slow sip of his drink, his eyes fixed on yours. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and deliberate. "He was hitting on you."

"So?" you challenge, crossing your arms. "It’s a party, Tony. People flirt. It’s not a big deal."

"It is," he says, his voice hardening slightly. "When it’s you."

Your breath catches, and you blink at him, trying to process the weight of his words. "What does that mean?"

Tony exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. For a moment, he looks almost vulnerable, like he’s weighing whether or not to say what he’s really thinking. When he meets your eyes again, the mask is back in place, but the intensity hasn’t faded.

"It means I don’t like sharing," he says simply, his gaze unwavering.

Your heart flips, and you feel a mix of frustration and exhilaration bubbling to the surface. "Sharing what, exactly? Because last I checked, we weren’t—"

"You know what," he interrupts, his voice quieter now but no less firm. "Don’t act like you don’t."

The air between you feels electric, charged with the weight of everything unsaid. You open your mouth to respond, but no words come out. Instead, you find yourself searching his face, trying to make sense of the storm in his eyes.

"Tony," you begin, your voice softening.

He steps closer, closing the already minimal gap between you. His hand brushes yours, a fleeting touch that sends a shiver up your spine. "If you don’t feel it," he says, his voice barely above a whisper, "just say the word, and I’ll back off."

You swallow hard, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. The truth is, you do feel it—every stolen glance, every teasing remark, every moment that lingers a little too long. It’s been building for months, and now it’s here, staring you in the face, impossible to ignore.

"I didn’t say that," you manage, your voice trembling slightly.

Tony’s expression shifts, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. A slow, almost disbelieving smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "No?"

"No," you say, more firmly this time.

His smile deepens, and for a moment, the confident Tony Stark you know is back in full force. "Good," he says, his voice low and warm, like a promise. "Because I wasn’t planning on letting him win."

The night stretches on, and the party seems to gain more energy with each passing hour. The room is alive with laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the hum of conversation, but your focus keeps drifting back to Tony. Even when he’s across the room, talking to Bruce or trading stories with Thor, you can feel his presence like a gravitational pull.

Unfortunately, it seems David can too.

Every time Tony is pulled away, David reappears, slipping into the space Tony vacates like clockwork. It starts small: a comment here, a compliment there. At first, you consider brushing him off, but an idea forms in the back of your mind, reckless and enticing. If Tony wants to keep circling his feelings, maybe it’s time to push him out of orbit.

"So, Y/N," David says as you linger near the bar, his smile sharp and calculated. "I was going to wait until later, but I can’t resist. Care to join me for a proper drink upstairs? The private bar’s a little quieter. We could actually hear each other talk."

You laugh lightly, deflecting. "That’s a generous offer, but I think the view’s better here."

David doesn’t back down, leaning closer. "I think the view’s perfect right where I’m standing."

It’s bold, more so than his earlier attempts, and while his confidence is starting to border on arrogance, you decide to let it play out. After all, you’ve already caught Tony glancing your way more than once. If this doesn’t make him take the leap, what will?

"I’ll take that as a compliment," you say smoothly, sipping your champagne. Your tone is warm enough to keep David interested but neutral enough to maintain plausible deniability. It’s a delicate balancing act, but you’re determined to see it through.

The effect on Tony is almost immediate. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him pause mid-conversation with Pepper, his gaze locking on you and David. His jaw tightens just slightly, the kind of subtle shift most people wouldn’t notice. But you’re not most people. You know Tony Stark better than that.

When Tony finally makes his way back to your side, he doesn’t waste any time.

"David," he says smoothly, his tone polite but razor-sharp. "I didn’t realize you were still here. Thought you’d left hours ago."

David straightens, clearly picking up on the tension but choosing to ignore it. "Not a chance, Stark. I wouldn’t miss the chance to get to know your… esteemed guest here a little better."

Tony’s smile is all teeth. "Esteemed is right. Y/N’s got better taste than to waste her time on second-rate charm."

David laughs, but there’s a flicker of irritation in his eyes. "Funny. I thought she seemed interested."

Tony steps closer, his hand brushing your arm as if to remind you—and David—exactly where you belong. "Y/N’s a lot of things," he says, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge. "Interested in you isn’t one of them."

You feel your cheeks heat, but instead of stepping in, you let them spar, curious to see how far Tony’s willing to go. There’s a thrill in watching him tiptoe the line between his usual bravado and something far more personal.

"That so?" David asks, glancing at you with a cocky smirk. "She doesn’t seem to mind my company."

Tony doesn’t miss a beat. "That’s because she’s too polite to tell you to get lost. But I’m not."

"Tony," you say finally, your tone light but firm enough to draw his attention. "I think I can handle myself."

"Of course you can," he says, his gaze softening slightly when it meets yours. "But you shouldn’t have to."

David raises his hands in mock surrender, his smirk firmly in place. "Relax, Stark. I was just trying to enjoy the party." He turns back to you, his smile sharpening. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me."

Tony doesn’t even wait for David to disappear into the crowd before he rounds on you, his expression unreadable but brimming with something unspoken. "What was that?" he asks, his voice low and pointed.

"What was what?" you reply, feigning innocence as you take another sip of your champagne.

"You letting him flirt with you," Tony says, his tone laced with frustration. "You didn’t exactly shut him down."

You shrug, keeping your voice casual even as your heart pounds in your chest. "He was being polite. Mostly."

Tony’s brow furrows, and he steps closer, the space between you vanishing once again. "You’re not seriously considering—"

"Why do you care?" you interrupt, your voice sharper than you intended. The words hang between you, charged and dangerous, but you can’t stop now. "It’s a party, Tony. People flirt. You said it yourself—no big deal, right?"

His eyes search yours, his usual quick wit faltering as he struggles to find the right words. "It is a big deal," he says finally, his voice quieter now. "When it’s you, it’s—"

You wait, holding your breath, willing him to say what you’ve both been circling all night. But just as the moment stretches taut enough to snap, someone calls Tony’s name from across the room.

He hesitates, his jaw tightening, before finally stepping back. "Don’t go anywhere," he says, his voice firm but tinged with something softer. "We’re not done."

"Wouldn’t dream of it," you reply, watching him disappear into the crowd once again. Your heart is still racing, and you know you’ve pushed him to the edge. Now all that’s left is to see if he’ll finally take the leap—or if you’ll have to jump first.

You can feel the tension simmering just beneath the surface as the night wears on. Tony’s brief departure leaves you restless, the unanswered weight of your earlier exchange hanging in the air. You’ve played coy, let the jealousy simmer, and even pushed him to the edge, but he still hasn’t crossed the line.

It’s maddening, but you’re not ready to back down. Not yet.

When Tony reappears, he’s alone this time, his gaze immediately seeking you out. There’s a flicker of relief in his eyes when he spots you still standing by the bar. You take a deep breath and make your move, the kind of bold decision that would make Natasha proud.

"Hey, Stark," you call, your voice cutting through the crowd.

Tony raises an eyebrow as he approaches, his usual confidence masking any lingering frustration from earlier. "Back to last names now? That’s cold, even for you."

"Couldn’t resist," you say with a playful shrug. You set your empty glass on the bar and lean closer, just enough to draw his attention. "Dance with me."

The surprise that flashes across his face is brief but satisfying. "Dance? Again?" he asks, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. "You sure you can handle it this time?"

"I’ll try to keep up," you reply, grabbing his hand before he can argue. His fingers curl around yours instinctively, warm and firm, as you lead him toward the edge of the dance floor. The DJ has shifted the music to something slower, sultry, and the timing couldn’t be more perfect.

Tony doesn’t protest, but there’s a flicker of something unreadable in his expression as you pull him close. Your hand rests lightly on his shoulder, his settling on your waist, and for a moment, the rest of the room falls away.

"You’re full of surprises tonight," he says, his voice low and teasing. "What’s next? A karaoke duet?"

"Don’t tempt me," you shoot back, feeling the electricity crackle between you as your bodies move in sync. "You’re already out of your depth."

"I don’t know," he says, his tone dipping into something darker, more intimate. "Feels like I’m right where I’m supposed to be."

The words send a thrill down your spine, but you refuse to let him see how much they affect you. Instead, you step a little closer, letting your fingers graze the back of his neck as you tilt your head up to meet his gaze.

"You talk a big game, Stark," you murmur, your voice barely audible over the music. "But I think you’re all bark."

His eyes darken, the playful edge replaced by something more dangerous. "Careful, Y/N," he warns, his hand tightening slightly on your waist. "You might not like what happens when I bite."

"Maybe I would," you challenge, your heart racing as the tension between you reaches a breaking point.

Tony’s grip shifts, pulling you flush against him, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe. His face is so close now, his breath warm against your cheek, and the sheer intensity of his gaze leaves you dizzy.

"Is that what you want?" he asks, his voice low and rough, his thumb brushing against the fabric of your dress in a way that sets your skin on fire.

You don’t answer right away, your pulse hammering in your ears as the world narrows to just him. He’s holding back—you can see it in the way his jaw tightens, in the way his hand lingers just shy of something more daring.

And yet, he doesn’t move.

You tilt your head, your lips so close to his ear that your voice is barely more than a whisper. "You’re hesitating, Tony. I didn’t think that was your style."

The words are a calculated risk, and they hit their mark. Tony’s grip tightens almost imperceptibly, his composure slipping just enough to reveal the storm brewing beneath the surface. For a second, you think this might finally be it—the moment he stops holding back.

But then, just as quickly, he pulls away.

His hand drops from your waist, and he steps back, putting a deliberate distance between you. The mask slides back into place, his expression carefully neutral, and your stomach twists at the sight.

"Nice try," he says, his voice lighter now, almost teasing. "But you’re going to have to do better than that."

It’s infuriating, the way he brushes it off, like he hasn’t just unravelled you with a single touch. You force a smile, masking your disappointment with a flicker of defiance.

"Guess you’ll just have to wait and see," you reply, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest.

Tony holds your gaze for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Then, with a slight nod, he turns and disappears back into the crowd, leaving you alone on the edge of the dance floor.

Your hands curl into fists at your sides, a mix of frustration and longing swirling in your chest. He’s so close, teetering on the edge of everything you want, but still too stubborn to take the leap.

And the worst part? You know you’re just as guilty.

The night stretches on, the party’s energy climbing as the countdown to midnight approaches. The chatter grows louder, the laughter more uninhibited, and yet you find yourself slipping away from the crowd, seeking a moment of clarity amid the chaos. You end up back at the windows, staring out over the glittering cityscape below.

You barely notice Tony until he’s right there beside you.

“Good spot,” he says, his voice quieter than usual. His hands are in his pockets, his posture casual, but his eyes are locked on you. “Looks like you’re hiding.”

“Just needed a breather,” you reply, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “Your parties are a little… overwhelming.”

“Don’t I know it,” he says with a smirk, though it quickly fades into something softer. “But you’re not running away, are you?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you tease, but there’s a vulnerability in your tone you can’t quite hide.

Tony shifts closer, just enough that the warmth of his presence brushes against your skin. He hesitates, something uncharacteristic and almost shy, before finally speaking.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he admits, his voice low, almost tentative.

“You found me,” you reply, turning to face him fully. There’s something in his expression that makes your breath hitch, a mixture of determination and nervous energy you rarely see from him.

“I need to say something,” he says, his gaze steady. “Before the night’s over. Before it’s too late.”

Your heart pounds, the weight of the moment settling over you like a thick blanket. “Okay,” you say softly, bracing yourself.

Tony exhales, a self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve probably noticed I’ve been… off tonight. Holding back, maybe.”

“Maybe,” you say, unable to hide the faint smile that sneaks onto your face. “Subtle isn’t your strong suit.”

“Not usually,” he agrees, chuckling softly. “But tonight, it’s different. Because tonight, I wanted to do this right. And I couldn’t screw it up—not when it’s you.”

Your breath catches at his words, the sincerity in his voice stealing any witty reply you might have had.

Tony steps closer, his hand reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch is light, almost reverent, and his eyes search yours with a vulnerability that makes your chest ache.

“I wanted to wait until midnight,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Because starting the new year with you feels like the biggest win I could ask for. And because if I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it big. You deserve that.”

“Tony…” you begin, but he shakes his head, cutting you off gently.

“Let me finish,” he says, his lips twitching into a small smile. “I’ve spent so much time holding back, circling around this, because I thought it’d be safer. But the truth is, I don’t want to play it safe with you. I don’t want to keep pretending it’s nothing when it’s… everything.”

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat threatening to overwhelm you as he continues.

“So, here’s the deal,” he says, his confidence returning with each word. “When that clock hits midnight, I’m going to kiss you. And then, I’m going to ask you to make me the luckiest guy alive by letting me be your boyfriend—starting with a new year’s resolution to not screw it up.”

Your heart feels like it might burst, the intensity of his words sinking in all at once. “You’re sure about this?” you ask, your voice barely audible.

“More sure than I’ve ever been about anything,” he replies, his hand brushing against yours. “But it’s up to you. Midnight’s coming fast. If you want me to back off, tell me now.”

The thought is laughable—impossible. You meet his gaze, your own resolve matching his as you step closer, your fingers curling around his hand.

“Not a chance,” you say, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions in your chest.

Tony’s smile deepens, the relief and joy in his eyes unmistakable. “Good. Because I’ve been dying to do this all night.”

The countdown begins in the distance—ten seconds, nine—and the room around you erupts in cheers. But you barely notice. Your world narrows to just him, the anticipation building as the seconds tick down.

At the stroke of midnight, Tony closes the gap, his hand cradling your face as his lips capture yours in a kiss that’s equal parts fireworks and homecoming. It’s soft and deliberate, a promise in every touch, and it leaves you breathless.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, he smiles. “Happy New Year, Y/N.”

“Happy New Year, Tony,” you whisper, your heart soaring.

“So,” he says, his voice teasing but still brimming with emotion. “What do you say? Will you let me start the year off right by making you mine?”

You laugh softly, your fingers brushing against his cheek. “I thought I already was.”

His grin is blinding, and he pulls you into another embrace, the rest of the world fading away. In that moment, everything feels exactly as it should be.

The morning—or rather, early afternoon—sun streams through the gaps in the curtains, painting lazy stripes of light across the plush duvet. You stir, blinking against the brightness, your senses slowly coming online. The first thing you register is warmth—a solid, comforting weight wrapped around you. Tony.

He’s spooning you, his arm slung around your waist, his chest pressed against your back. His slow, even breaths tickle your neck, and you can’t help but smile, even as your mind pieces together the whirlwind of events from last night. Midnight kisses. His confession. Laughter that lasted far too late into the night.

You stretch slightly, careful not to disturb him, but Tony grumbles groggily, tightening his hold.

"Morning, sunshine," he murmurs, his voice still raspy with sleep.

"Morning?" you say, twisting to glance at the clock on the nightstand. "Tony, it’s past noon."

"Afternoon, then," he amends, nuzzling into your neck with a soft groan. "Still counts."

You roll your eyes, though your heart does a little flip. "You’re ridiculous."

"I’ve been told," he says, his lips brushing against your skin as he speaks. "But hey, you can’t complain. I mean, after all, you’ve been my girlfriend for a whole year now."

You let out a sharp laugh, turning in his arms so you can properly glare at him. "It’s literally January 1st, Stark. Don’t start."

His grin is unrepentant, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "I’m just saying, technically, we got together last year. You can’t argue with science."

"I can argue with you, though," you counter, poking his chest for emphasis. "And I will. Relentlessly."

"Sounds like a great way to spend the year," he replies, his hand sliding up to brush a strand of hair from your face. "Which, by the way, I still can’t believe you agreed to spend with me. You must really be a glutton for punishment."

You sigh dramatically, even as your cheeks heat at his tender expression. "I already regret it. This relationship is exhausting."

Tony’s laugh rumbles in his chest, and he pulls you closer, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. "Liar. You love it. You love me."

It’s a bold statement, but you can’t deny the truth in it. Instead, you bury your face against his shoulder, muttering, "Maybe. But if you keep making dad jokes, I’m reconsidering."

He gasps in mock offense, his hand flying to his heart. "Dad jokes? That was a finely crafted piece of wit, thank you very much."

"It was terrible," you say, giggling despite yourself.

Tony leans in, his lips ghosting over your forehead. "You’re lucky you’re cute," he murmurs. "Otherwise, I’d be offended."

"Likewise," you reply, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. The soft smile on his lips makes your breath catch, and before you can think twice, you lean in, closing the gap between you.

The kiss starts slow and languid, a perfect echo of the lazy comfort of the morning—or afternoon, technically. Tony’s fingers trail up your back, pulling you even closer as the kiss deepens. You lose track of time, lost in the warmth of his touch and the familiar spark that ignites whenever you’re together.

Eventually, you pull back just enough to catch your breath, your forehead resting against his. "We should probably get up," you say, though your voice lacks any conviction.

"Probably," Tony agrees, though he makes no move to release you. Instead, he shifts so you’re lying more comfortably against his chest, his fingers lazily tracing patterns along your arm. "But let’s not. It’s still technically the holidays. We deserve a break."

You laugh softly, unable to argue. "Fine. But only because I’m too comfortable to move."

Tony presses a kiss to the top of your head, his voice filled with affection as he murmurs, "Happy New Year, Y/N."

You smile, your heart full. "Happy New Year, Tony."

And as you lie there in his arms, the rest of the world forgotten, you can’t help but think that this is exactly how you want to spend the rest of the year—and all the years to come.