New Year's Haiz
With Hailee Steinfeld
Written by TheLW
Codes: MF, Alcohol, Cheating, Oral
Disclaimer: This FICTIONAL story was written for entertainment purposes only.
A/N: I know recently Hailee announced that she's pregnant, however, I started writing this prior to that news breaking, so for story purposes Hailee isn't pregnant in this story.
(https://thumbs2.imgbox.com/93/56/cKbrREPG_t.jpg) (https://imgbox.com/cKbrREPG)
The house on Sycamore Lane wasn’t just busy by the time Hailee Steinfeld arrived, it was buzzing in that very specific New Year’s Eve way where every person seemed convinced something unforgettable might happen to them before midnight. Fogged windows, low golden lights, and the constant swell of conversation gave the place a warm glow.
Hailee stepped through the doorway with the casual confidence of someone used to navigating loud rooms, though she appreciated the anonymity of a party packed with people too preoccupied with their own fun to make a fuss about her presence. Her jacket shimmered faintly under the string lights overhead, her hair caught the glow every time she moved.
She had just begun scanning the room for the drink table when she saw him.
Leaning against the kitchen island, beer in hand, head tilted back in laughter, Evan Hale. Dark hair a little messy from the humidity of too many bodies in a small space, sleeves pushed up forearms that suggested he actually used his gym membership. Something about him made her pause for a half-second longer than she expected.
He noticed.
Not in the overeager way some men did. No, his eyes flicked toward her with a small shift of curiosity, like he’d been waiting for the night to get interesting and she might just be the reason it finally had.
Hailee approached the drinks table, and Evan broke from his group, meeting her there as though drawn in.
“Beer?” he asked, lifting a fresh can.
“Depends,” she replied, pretending to study the options. “Is that a peace offering or a trap?”
“That,” he said, tapping the can’s top with one finger, “depends on how much you trust me.”
She exhaled a quiet laugh. “Surprise me.”
He cracked it open and handed it to her. Their fingers brushed, brief contact, accidental on paper, but it lingered in the air between them long after the touch ended.
“Evan,” he said, introducing himself with a simple nod.
“Hailee.”
“Yeah,” he said, like he’d figured as much. “I thought so.”
She gave him a look, not annoyed, more amusedly skeptical. “Is that your subtle way of saying you recognized me?”
“It’s my subtle way of saying I didn’t want to assume. Dangerous game, assuming.”
She tilted her can toward him. “That almost sounded smooth.”
“I’ve been working on it.”
They fell into conversation that flowed far too easily for two people who hadn’t known each other an hour earlier. The kitchen was warm, crowded, but somehow they’d carved out a pocket of space for themselves. He told her about a botched holiday flight that stranded him overnight in Minneapolis, she shared a story about her cousin’s disastrous attempt at deep-frying a frozen turkey.
Every few minutes, someone squeezed past them, forcing Hailee to shift closer. Every time she did, Evan adjusted just enough to meet her halfway, never too much, never presumptuous, just perfectly calibrated awareness.
When he returned with fresh beers, he announced, “Fair warning, I get more charming after my second drink.”
“That’s convenient,” she said. “I get more discerning.”
“Harsh. Fair. But harsh.”
She shrugged with mock innocence. “I have standards.”
“Good,” he said. “I work well under pressure.”
Eventually the heat of the kitchen became too much, and they wandered toward the back patio. The transition from the crowded interior to the cool night air hit like a reset button. Hailee leaned against the railing, condensation from her beer can cooling her fingertips. Winter air drifted around them, carrying faint echoes of laughter from inside.
“So,” Evan said, settling beside her, “honest question, what are you actually hoping for tonight? The big cinematic New Year’s moment? Or just a decent beer and a countdown that doesn’t feel forced?”
“Somewhere between those,” she said. “A good moment. Doesn’t need to be fireworks and violin music, just... real.”
He studied her for a second, enough to feel intentional. “I think you’ll get that.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Confident, aren’t you?”
“Selective,” he countered, throwing her earlier line back at her.
She gave him a slow smile, the kind that wasn’t just polite, it was responsive.
Inside, a distant voice shouted, “Ten minutes!”
People were starting to cluster near the living room TV, the atmosphere shifted as the whole party sensed the countdown creeping closer.
Hailee tapped her can against his. “Guess we should head in before someone starts herding everyone like cattle.”
Evan pushed off the railing with an easy nod. “After you.”
They walked back inside together, shoulders brushing, weaving through the excited mess of people gearing up for midnight. Something unspoken hung between them, an electric mix of anticipation and curiosity, like they were both aware the night had tilted in a direction neither had predicted, but neither wanted to pull back from.
Hailee glanced up at him when the crowd stalled near the living room entrance.
“You know,” she said, voice lower now, “this turned out to be one of the better New Year’s parties I’ve been to.”
“And it’s not even midnight,” he replied.
The crush of bodies in the living room tightened as the countdown neared. The TV’s glare painted shifting colors across faces, the room vibrated with the babble of overexcited voices waiting for the final seconds of the year to melt away.
Hailee and Evan stood near the back of the crowd, close enough that their shoulders brushed each time someone pushed past. The energy between them had sharpened over the last hour, lighthearted at first, then increasingly focused, like gravity was doing half the work for them.
Evan lifted his beer slightly. “Last one of the year.”
Hailee smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes the way it had earlier. “Feels like everything’s the last something tonight.”
He noticed the shift, the subtle distance that had crept in, even though she stood close enough for him to feel the warmth of her through her jacket. Something was on her mind. He could sense it. But before he could ask, the countdown on the TV hit thirty seconds, and the crowd erupted with anticipation.
Hailee’s gaze drifted downward for a moment.
It was then, in a slivered glance, that Evan finally saw it... the slim band on her left hand.
A ring she had tucked beneath her sleeve most of the night. A ring she hadn’t mentioned. A truth she had held close even while laughing with him, nudging his arm, leaning in a little too long during their conversations.
He swallowed. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, though her voice carried something more complicated. “Just thinking.”
The countdown hit twenty seconds. The room roared louder.
“Hailee...” he began gently, unsure how much to say, how much he had the right to ask.
She looked up at him sharply, like she knew exactly what he was referring to.
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” she said quickly. Then she paused, corrected herself. “Or maybe it is. I don’t know.”
Fifteen seconds.
The crowd surged forward. Confetti poppers were armed. Someone elbowed past them, laughing, and Hailee stepped closer to avoid being jostled.
“Evan,” she said, her voice low enough that only he could hear it, “I didn’t expect tonight to feel like this.”
He opened his mouth but didn’t speak fast enough.
Ten!
The entire room shouted the number like a command.
Hailee’s eyes flicked toward the TV, then back to him. Something resolved in her expression, a decision made in real time, against better judgment, against her own hesitation.
Nine! Eight! Seven!
She stepped in, close enough now that he could feel her breath when she spoke.
“I don’t want to overthink this right now.”
Evan’s eyes widened, a mix of confusion and shock. He was trying to be respectful, careful, aware of the line she was standing on. “Hailee... you don’t have to...”
Six! Five!
She cut him off with a soft shake of her head, a look that was equal parts conflicted and determined.
Four!
The moment stretched thin.
Three!
She reached up, hesitant, but sure enough.
Two!
Evan barely had time to react.
One!
As the room exploded into HAPPY NEW YEAR!, Hailee closed the distance and kissed him.
The kiss was brief, gentle, intentional, full of tension and undertow, but it knocked the breath right out of Evan. When she pulled back, her face was inches from his, eyes bright with adrenaline and something else, something harder to name.
He stood frozen, stunned. “Hailee... you’re married.”
She exhaled slowly, the reality settling between them like fog. “I know.”
Her voice wasn’t defensive. It wasn’t ashamed. It was simply honest.
“But tonight... I just wanted a moment that felt real.”
Around them, cheers filled the room. People hugged, champagne sprayed, fireworks burst outside. But they stood still in the center of the room, suspended in a moment that neither of them knew how to fully process yet.
A short while later, Evan and Hailee found themselves alone, in an unoccupied bedroom, Hailee laying on her back, Evan between her legs, eating out her pussy. Hailee's legs pressed closer around Evan’s shoulders, toes flexing and unfurling against his back. She’d never been particularly dramatic in bed, no wild, cinematic flailing, no performative sighs, but something in the way his tongue moved had her all knotted up and uncharacteristically selfish, hoarding each little zing of sensation.
Hailee’s fingers dug into his scalp, at first in a tentative thread-through, then a demand for more. She was trying not to make noise, the sharp, helpless little inhales at odds with her singer’s control. The way she held herself apart, chin tilted back, jaw set while her chest rose with a dancer’s discipline, she’d never lost that, not even now, body splayed and trembling and knotted with pleasure. But each time he flicked the tip of his tongue just so, he felt her resistance dissolve, tension melting into a kind of desperate surrender.
She could hear someone in the hallway, the rattle of a doorknob a few rooms over, but nothing could have made her unhook her knees now from where they bracketed Evan’s ears. Evan’s tongue worked her in slow, calculated sweeps, each pass deliberate, never hurrying, just savoring the taste.
Evan liked the sound she made, a quick, bitten-off “ah” at the end of an exhalation, liked the way her hips rolled into his face when she lost the plot for a second. His hands curved under her ass, lifting her just enough to open her further, and he felt the tremble shiver through her thighs.
He’d never eaten anyone out like this. Not with both hands wrapped under her legs to pin her to the mattress, not with his mouth so greedy it threatened to leave bruises, not with the sole intention of making her forget her ambivalence for a little while. Her breaths came faster, catching in her chest like she was climbing and climbing but never going to plateau.
Hailee dug her heel into his back, harder. He took the cue, she didn’t want him to go slow, she wanted the kind of oblivion you couldn’t walk away from. He pressed his tongue flat, then slipped two fingers inside, curling them in a way that had always driven his exes wild.
Evan felt her clench around his fingers, the quiver hitting his tongue like an aftershock. Hailee’s thighs quaked tighter, her hips arching up, and Evan caught the first uncontrolled surge in her. She said his name, not as a word, but as the start of one, bitten off, and her grip tightened on his hair. He kept his mouth flat against her, chin damp, not letting the moment run away wild, guiding it, coaxing it fuller, one hand still under her ass, the other pumping her slow and steady.
Hailee broke then, not with a sound, but with a full-body tremor that almost bucked him off. He eased up, but not away, he stayed until the aftershocks rolled through and her legs went from rigid to limp, until her thighs trembled against his cheeks and she drew one shaking hand over her face, covering her eyes as if she couldn’t stand how raw the world felt.
She didn’t let him slow her down. Her hands were everywhere, down his chest, under his shirt, yanking at his belt with practiced urgency. The ring glinted again, caught in the lamplight for a split-second before she dragged his pants down and threw them to the side, not caring where they landed.
He fumbled for a condom, surprised to find the packet where he didn’t remember stashing it. The condom wrapper crinkled, he held it up without speaking, almost like asking for permission. Hailee snatched it, ripped it open with her teeth, letting the plastic drop to the floor.
For a moment, Evan stared at her, the way her hair fanned out messily against the bedsheets, chest still rising sharp and urgent, lips parted but unsmiling. She controlled her own pleasure, he realized. Even when she was falling apart, she kept her grip on it, always one step ahead in the game she was pretending not to play.
He pushed in slow at first, not sure how much permission he actually had, not wanting to get this wrong. The moment he filled her, her body tensed again, but she matched every movement, hips rolling up, arms braced around his neck. She kept her gaze locked on his, refusing to let him close his eyes and vanish into the feeling.
Evan found a rhythm soon enough, a real one, steady and deep, torquing himself against her in a way that absorbed all his awareness. Hailee’s legs curled around his hips now, knees locking at his back, and she was greedy for every inch. The ring on her finger scraped faintly along his neck as her hand snaked up, pulling his face to hers. He kissed her again, messier this time, her teeth catching his lower lip. It wasn’t deliberate, just collision, but he liked the way it left his mouth tingling and raw.
Hailee swore, softly, into his cheek. He drove into her harder, and she arched up, crush of bodies, slick wetness, the whole world reduced to the point of contact and the sound of his name on her tongue. The first time she gasped “fuck” it was half-shame, half-want, like she didn’t know she was allowed to need this from a stranger who saw her wedding band and stayed anyway.
He lost his sense of caution and let her take the lead, let her set the tempo with the clamp of her thighs, her nails dragging valleys into his shoulder blades. She tilted her hips to meet each thrust, the bedsprings squawking, as they fucked.
There was a looseness in her, now, a release, but also the stubborn, flaring hunger that Evan had seen beneath her surface all night. He didn’t think she’d want anything soft, not after the way she’d torn at his belt, so he split the difference and held her down, not rough, but with enough insistence that she couldn’t squirm away even if she changed her mind.
Hailee didn’t. She grabbed him harder, desperate, a little wild. Her teeth found his shoulder, the dull animal pressure of it stoking something in him that made him move harder, faster, until the pace threatened to fly apart. He felt the mattress frame biting into his knees, her legs locked tight, the heat and friction and sweat and the tangled sheet clinging to their skin.
Every time he thought she’d reached her limit, Hailee shifted just so and pulled him deeper, chasing her own edge, unembarrassed by the guttural sounds she started to make. No more careful control, now she swore into his neck, her voice hoarse, her hands roaming frantically along his chest and back and finally his ass, dragging him to her with full, unguarded need.
She wanted this, and Evan gave it to her. Fucking her hard, then harder, until her heel jabbed into his backside and he understood, don’t slow down for me. He drove into Hailee with the full force of his tension, not pounding but piston-steady, relentless, as if he could pin her doubts and shame flat against the mattress by the thrusting alone. Her exhales came out as little animalistic noises, half-swallowed and breathless, and she was so wet that every thrust sounded obscene.
She pulled at him, greedy and a little mean with her hands, blunted nails digging into his skin, wrists crossed at his shoulder blades like she wanted to bind him to her body. He could smell her, the raw and unfiltered want, mingled with sweat and the faintest note of her perfume, the kind that usually lingered in elevators and hotel corridors long after she was gone. Here it was a ghost, outmuscled by the scent of sex and urgency.
Hailee planted her heels, arched, and met him thrust for thrust, her jaw locked tight, teeth bared in something almost like a grin but not happy, not performative, just intent. She looked up at him, dead-on, no shyness now, the mask dropped entirely.
She didn't even blink when Evan lost the pace, hips bucking in short, unsteady bursts. The condom felt alien, tight and artificial against the rawness. It didn't matter, he wasn't going to last more than a minute, not with Hailee's thighs biting into his sides and her arms yanking him down like she needed his weight, his whole body, pressing her into the heat-damp mattress.
Hailee pulled him down, locked him against her, and the smell of sweat and arousal crowded his senses until he almost couldn’t breathe. He wanted to say something, warn her how close he was, how all it would take was one more shift of her body, one more unguarded noise, but Hailee didn’t give him the chance. She wrenched his head down and kissed him hard, open, bruising, her tongue filling his mouth, her hand twisted in his hair. She bit him, sharp, and the pain jarred him just enough to hold out a heartbeat longer.
He tried, he actually tried to slow it, but she bucked into him, biting his lower lip, her tongue wild and hungry, and he couldn't hold back. The orgasm ripped up through him, a full-body detonation, joints locked, every nerve white-hot and shaking. He groaned into her mouth, all pretense gone, and felt her clamp down around him, another aftershock wracking her as if the pulse of his release set hers off again. For a second, he saw only black, then red, then Hailee's face beneath his, panting, glazed, hair wild across her cheeks. The world shrank to the tiny space between them, frantic and exhausted.
She kept her arms around him, knuckles gone white on his back, until the trembling left them both. Only then did she slacken her grip, let him tip to the side, the two of them sticky and breathless atop the tangled sheets.
Neither said anything. Hailee stared at the ceiling, one hand splayed in her hair, the other pressed palm-down against her sternum as if she was keeping herself from flying apart.
Evan glanced at her, skin flushed and sheened with sweat, lips parted, eyes fixed on nothing. The ring was there again, a bright, impossible fact.
The End