angel cake ♡ tom holland/sebastian stan/chris evans oneshots

Lap Dance // Sebastian Stan

   Your dress rode up when you sat down and you tried to pull it back down without standing. For the final time that day, you told yourself, you stabbed your fingernails into the flesh a little above the hem of your dress, calming yourself with the searing pain before releasing again. It was the only way you knew to stop the nerves, and when you drew blood, it was obvious, but you just wore black more and no-one noticed. Granted, there were probably better solutions to the anxiety whenever Sebastian brought friends back, but you couldn't help it. He did it often, because it was your shared house, he didn't need permission, and he always invited you down and looked ridiculously sad when you brushed the offer off. The only reason he lived with you in the first place was the fact he was rarely ever in the country and he fancied the beautiful author who casually mentioned him in a novel that one time, and you only lived with him because you didn't like always being home alone, and you had a crush on the gorgeous actor who eased you into his perfect life so so slowly because he'd calmed you down from panic attacks so many times before and would never push you too hard.

   He knew when no meant no.

   He respected that.

   And for that, you adored him.

   But he was having a little gathering that night to celebrate something or other (you were never one for remembering anything but the "important" stuff), and you felt obliged to go, to push the boat out and dress up a little rather than stay in the attic and write and listen to obscure music until you fell asleep fully dressed with half-eaten cereal in front of you. You pulled out a dress you hadn't worn in who knows how long, light blue-grey and perfectly fitting you to hide what you hated and flaunt what you were almost okay with, and Converse (because, when in doubt, Converse) Sebastian had bought you for your birthday, the first one you celebrated together (in which he demanded you didn't write all day and instead he took you out shopping and made you cheese pasta and brushed your hair the entire way through 10 Cloverfield Lane). You straightened your hair for lack of better option (and because Sebastian stared at you when you had straight hair) and did your make-up, just the basics because you didn't like too much attention. As long as people spoke to you, but not everyone all at once, you were okay. 

   You finally got up off your bed and went downstairs, where laughter was already filling the rooms and the smell of alcohol tickled noses. You went straight to the living room, where you knew everyone would be. You walked in and, sure enough, Sebastian's friends (who you would now consider your own) were all sat on sofas and stood around the table. They looked at you and cheered, smiling, and you did the same, tucking your hair behind your ear and walking further in, sitting on the sofa where Scarlett tapped. She squeezed you around the waist quickly.

   "Hey, y/n." 

   "Hi, Scarlett." You smiled back and she automatically passed you a beer. She raised hers to you and you did the same, rims clinking, and both of you sipped the drink. You fought the urge to pretend to throw up - you were never one for alcohol, and, even worse, you were an absolute lightweight. You nursed the same bottle for hours, laughing and pretending to down some every so often, Sebastian occasionally and subtly taking it from you to drink it for you before handing it back so it truly would look like you'd had some, smiling warmly every time he did and setting your insides ablaze.

   "Can we play truth or dare?" Chris eventually asked, grinning, eyes glinting a little. Everyone oohed excitedly.

   "Yes, yes, we must, it's a party." Anthony agreed enthusiastically.

   "That's a child's game, guys, really?" You protested weakly. Of course, that wasn't the only reason you didn't want to play - too many secrets for truths, too much anxiety for dares. You were always trapped in that game.