strangers (04.)

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*smut ahead*

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*smut ahead*

phil and urbana were throwing a party to celebrate their 5 year anniversary. and it wasn't a regular party; it was an elegant one. there was a specific attire that the guests had to follow. women had to wear a stylish, sophisticated dress, while men had to wear a suit.

because you were helping her with hair and makeup, you both decided it'd be more convenient for you to get ready at her house.

"i am so excited, i can't wait," she gushed as you styled her hair. "i can't believe i've been married to that idiot for five years," you let out a small laugh, only to be interrupted by the devil himself.

"damn, y/n! you're making my woman look like a real snack!" he exclaimed, causing you to roll your eyes playfully. "no shit, phil. i am the best!" you said, snapping your fingers. he laughed and started talking to urbana while you continued on her hair.

about an hour later, you were finally finished. "oh, i love it! thank you so much!" she pulled you into an embrace, which you returned. "we have exactly two hours before the party starts. i will leave you here so you can start getting ready while i go boss people around downstairs," she rushed out.

you sat in front of the vanity, curling your hair and applying your makeup. once done, you got up and took out your dress from its bag. it was a black silky, long-sleeved dress with a slit that reached your mid thigh. you accompanied it with a silver choker and black strap-y heels.

you hadn't realized it'd took you an hour and a half to get ready and that guests should be arriving soon

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you hadn't realized it'd took you an hour and a half to get ready and that guests should be arriving soon. disconnecting your phone from its charger, you grabbed it and headed downstairs and out to the massive backyard where the party would be taking place.

there was a tent uplifting and under it was the long tables that were adorned in white tablecloths and flowers. there was also lanterns hanging from the tent, illuminating the entire backyard.

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