bottle of champagne

anonymous asked:

How do you think H would react if he had been neglecting the missus throughout the week, so she decides to punish him by giving him the silent treatment, and making him watch her get off without his help xx

Haven’t necessrily gone down the NSFW route with this… I didn’t feel like it… but I thought this worked better instead… 

He’s been busy with work and planning his sets for the tour and already in talks about his second single, so really, he hadn’t meant to have neglected her during the week. And, quite frankly, he didn’t think he had been. After a long day at work, all he fancied was a dinner and a cuddle on the sofa before heading up to bed during the early evening, bidding her a goodnight with a kiss to her forehead. He didn’t think that that was neglecting her.

So when he arrives home on the Friday night, a bouquet of pink roses and a bottle of champagne under his arm to bring in his successful week of promo and incredibly productive meetings, he’s disheartened when she doesn’t come into the hallway to greet him with a kiss. He’s stunned when she refuses to take roses from his hand and he frowns when he offers to pop the cork of the bottle and gets silence in return. He’s confused when he goes to sit beside her on the sofa for a cuddle after dinner, two glasses of champagne set upon the coffee table, and she stands up to move to another seat in the room. And, he’s upset when she turns her face away from his kiss and ignores him when he asks her questions about her day. And he’s almost angry with her because she’s behaving poorly and he has no idea why he was getting the brunt of her bad side.

And he had no intentions of starting an argument with her. Especially after such a busy and successful week.

“Yeh gon’a have to talk to me at some point this evening, love.”

Eyes scanning her movements as she continues to keep an eye on the telly. The latest episode of Love Island seemingly catching her attention more than he did. 

“S’not fair that you’re treating me so poorly when I’ve not done anything. Haven’t been here all day so I don’t know what you’re upset over,” he hums, leaning forward in his sea and resting his forearms on his knees, “do you wan’a ta-”

“Now you know how it feels to be treated poorly,” she hisses towards him, refusing to glance in his direction as she continued to watch the screen mounted to the wall, “this whole week you’ve treated me poorly, Harry. I know you’re busy with promo and meetings and everything but you came home and paid the least amount of attention to me. Ate dinner, sat with me, and then went to bed. By the time I come and join you in the bedroom, you’re spark-out and snoring and I feel guilty for waking you!”

“Why didn’t you just say something?”

“Because it would have made me look clingy. I don’t want to be that kind of wife who clings to you all the time and demands for you to sit with me and cuddle me and kiss me. But, you sit with me for one hour after dinner and then go to bed because you’re tired. I barely see you all day,” she whispers with a voice that rose an octave, “you’re awake and out the house before I see you and then when you come home, I only sit with you for an hour before you sleep. That’s it. I’ve seen you for 4 hours this week, Harry!” And he can hear her voice cracking. His chest aching and his heart rapidly beating, eyes hooding over and his lips drooping. “I’m not being clingy. I’m not. But, you’ve treated me so badly this week.”

Before he can respond, she’s letting out a sob. And he’s shooting out of his place on the sofa and slotting into the tiny gap beside you, left in the armchair, with upset written all over his face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, as she brings her knees to her chest and curls up on his lap. Head pushing into his neck as she covers her hands with the sleeves of her sweatshirt. “I’m so, so sorry. I sometime forget how my life at home has changed since you’ve come around. I forget that you have needs that only I can fulfil and I feel so guilty when you get upset because I’ve forgotten all of that,” he coos, cheek resting against her forehead and she snivels and clears her throat of the aching lump, “you’re about to become my wife. I should be making time for you and spending my down-time with you. I know I haven’t been the best boyfriend in the last week but I can make that up to you, can’t I?”

“Fiancé,” she mumbles into his collar-bone.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckles softly, “I know I haven’t been the best fiancé in the last week but I can make that up to you, can’t I?”

She nods silently, nudging her nose into his jawline before peppering kisses along his skin, softly whispering “thank you for the roses” against his lips before cupping his face in her hands.

“This weekend is ours. We can do whatever we like with it, okay? If you want to stay in bed, we can stay in bed. If you want to go for a trip to Cheshire, we can drive up there. If you want to fly all the way to Paris for a romantic getaway, we can catch a flight early-doors. If you want to take a trip to the treehouses, we can definitely do that,” he smiles, her thumbs running across his upper lip, the soft pads of her thumbs catching his stubble, “anything you want. It’s just me and you.”

“Can we just,” she pauses softly, bumping her nose to his, “can we just spend all day tomorrow in bed and all day Sunday in bed? Except Sunday morning. You can take me out for brekkie in that new café in the mid-Camden.” 

“Done deal,” he grins. xx

episode one :: Yuuri Katsuki is the most beautiful disaster that Victor has ever met in his entire life, and Victor has built his empire on beautiful disasters.



Victor isn’t sure he knows what he’s doing anymore by the time casting rolls around for season 22 of The Bachelor.  Okay, he knows what he’s doing, but it’s all autopilot.  He’s got a dossier of Chip Vanderbones and Tad Hardbeefs to look at, but is almost resigned enough to just give into Lilia and Yakov’s suggestion to cast Georgi Popovich, notorious histrionic Bachelorette season 10 runner-up, as this season’s lead out of sheer notgivingafuckness.  At this point Victor isn’t even sure whether he really wants to be in this game at all anymore, but what the hell else he would do besides sleep for a thousand years if he retired before thirty?  

And then Phichit Chulanont comes into his office to distract him during a conference call with Yakov to tell him a story about his friend who just crashed and burned at the Figure Skating Grand Prix Finals, and everything click click clicks into place: redemption narrative.  Twenty young men are going for the gold, but only one can win the heart of Yuuri Katsuki– he can hear the promos, see the character arcs unfold, and the narratives rush through him like they’ve always lived inside him and it feels–exciting.  

“Phichit,” Victor says suddenly, interrupting Phichit and grabbing him from across his desk.  “We have to get him.  He’s our next bachelor.”

“Oh my God,” Phichit replies, eyes widening, and then again, “Oh my God.

“Do you think you could get him?” Victor asks.  He’s seeing figure skating dates, thematic destination shoots in Chile and Finland and Iceland, “The Bachelor: Love on Ice” title screen flashing over two champagne glasses on the lip of an outdoor hot tub.  

“Do I think I can get him,” Phichit repeats dismissively, looking the closest to offended that Victor has ever seen him.  “What do you think you hired me for, Nikiforov.”

Keep reading

Harry is going to release a special limited edition fan package with the album, a pink silk robe emblazoned with his initials, a three-wick scented candle, a bath bomb, a bottle of champagne and a rose.

Truth about the 'Glamorous Lifestyle' of a Sugar Baby/Escort.

To Aspiring Sugar babies and Escorts

Listen ladies, I’ve been privileged enough to have been on private jets, exotic ‘vacations’, dined in x number of Michelin star dinners, worn the most beautiful dresses on the arm of SD’s, played that Pretty Woman scene when she goes shopping, etc….

I wish I had known the truth before joining, especially since I was so young.

Let me tell you this now: it’s not real. It’s not OUR reality. This is an example of a typical ‘upscale’ escort/sugar baby experience some will probably encounter at some point in their SW career.

Their reality: A sexy 18-29 year old in an even sexier dress hanging off of my arm. I can afford the caviar AND her. Every man in this bar is jealous, and trying to talk to her while I cop a feel of her ass. Another bottle of expensive champagne? Why not. She deserves to try the best. This is an incredible life.

Your reality: I’m in a foreign place where I don’t know anybody, wearing a dress that normally screams “rape bait” (at his request), with a man old enough to be my father, if not my grandfather. The host suspect I’m probably a “hooker” since I didn’t even know what the name of the reservation is under. This dress is making it difficult to breathe. Oh god, I need another drink of whatever it is in that bottle to get through another dinner where he’s trying to drunkenly fondle me under the table. I have to smile sweetly. Need to repeatedly remind myself to ignore the sneering glances from the waiters.

His reality later that night: I can’t wait to show her the top-floor suite of this place with the beautiful view. I even had my assistant go pick up some nice sets of lingerie from the store she mentioned she likes. I already made sure the rest of her envelope with her gift/donation is ready with her name on it. I’ll get the candles lit, have another bottle of wine sent up, and romantic music to top it all off. It’s gonna be a night of romance and passion with a beautiful girl. God, she’s gorgeous.

Your reality later that night: This view would be beautiful if it weren’t for the 50 year old behind me, nibbling his dry lips on my ear while I’m trying to enjoy the ambience. At least my rent money is in that envelope with a random name on it. He hands me a bag from Victoria Secret. I have to pretend to be super excited to get try on see-through lace for an old man now. He takes off his shirt, it’s just a forest of white hair and wrinkly skin. Next to the candle lighter, I see the magic blue pills. This is going to be a VERY long night.

Next day reality for him: I think I have enough time for room service before my flight. I’ll see if I can call the other SW from that other town to arrange another rendezvous for when I’m done with work. I should probably order two dozen roses, delivered to my wife so she knows I’m thinking of her. Note to self, call assistant to order roses and withdraw more cash. Oh wait, what’s that girl in my hotel room right now called? Ashley? Sarah? I’ll leave her a few hundred dollars as tip, save her number and I’ll call her again when I’m in town. I’m glad she really enjoyed the sex. She deserves it from all those times with unattractive and gross clients. At 54, I still got it.

Next day reality for you: Fuck, I have no idea how to get back to my own town without using all of the money he gave me for fare. My rent is due tomorrow, and tuition is due next month. I still have a client in 5 hours, my paper is due tomorrow but I haven’t even started. I have the worst hangover ever. At least I don’t remember much from last night, except his sandpaper tongue running all over my body. I shivered, but thankfully I fake moaned so it sounded like I was enjoying it.

Moral of this post: Don’t join the industry based on the glamorous lifestyle of the CLIENTS. Many of the blogs I see paint the image seen through HIS (the client) eyes, not YOURS (the service provider).

When your service is over, you turn back into a normal girl; back to grocery nights at Ralph’s, back to yelping the cheapest nail salon place, back to having fun with friends playing beer pong, back to being “Sarah or Ashley” because you have bills. Part of your service is renting you as a prop for their lifestyle. Never confuse that with YOUR lifestyle. ‘Vacationing’ in Cabo with him is NOT the same as doing so at your leisure with your friends.

If you still don’t quite understand what I’m saying, let me put it this way; bedazzled French pedicures are beautiful, right? You love being pampered in that massage chair, getting massaged, and ending up with a gorgeous pedicure. It’s stunning and glamorous experience, no?

Guess what. Not from the perspective of the pedicurist scrubbing your feet. There’s nothing glamorous about it for her because whereas she’s the service PROVIDER, YOU are the CLIENT. Same situation, very different experience.

This is something many of us learned the hard way. Yes, this lifestyle can come with many glamorous perks and experiences but there’s definitely a price to pay. Don’t be delusional. If this was all that easy, don’t you think every female on this planet would be in the industry?

After several years of experience I’ve learned to be immune to the ‘wrappings’ of the industry. You are here to make money. All those Roseshire roses, expensive dinners, fancy car rides, delicate lingerie are for HIS fantasy, and does very little for YOUR wallet. Don’t be blind sighted by the fancy tricks he pulls because it isn’t tangible. Never lose sight of your 'paycheck’. Once you see this lifestyle as what it truly is - a job; you become far less naive and more focused on your goals.

Always remember: There’s a price to pay for money.

Stay safe, ladies. 💸💸💸

Heathers Characters as Things My Friends Have Texted Me
  • Veronica Sawyer: I wouldn't shoot anyone in the leg for $10 million
  • Jason Dean: I call it "passionate"
  • Heather Chandler: Well you're the queen. Ur sharp. 10/10 dodecahedron
  • Heather Duke: If you're going to be abducted at least have good songs to listen to
  • Heather McNamara: She is cute, and you are too, and together you guys are just these clouds of cuteness that everyone want to get together
  • Martha Dunnstock: I WANT A CAT PARROT AND A CUTE SCHOOLGIRL UNIFORM
  • Ram Sweeney: I chench my churst with a bottle of champagne
  • Kurt Kelly: what's a poison dart frog to yo momma's fat ass
the signs as the 2011 bruins stanley cup party bar tab
  • aries: 18 sugar free red bulls
  • taurus: 136 bud lights
  • gemini: 10 bottles of grey goose
  • cancer: 7 jack daniels
  • leo: 1 kamikaze
  • virgo: 67 small fiji waters
  • libra: 3 bottles of captain morgan
  • scorpio: 35 jägerbombs
  • sagittarius: the $100,000 bottle of champagne
  • capricorn: 1 heineken light
  • aquarius: 1 bottle of bacardi
  • pisces: 4 bottles of rosé

@yuurier and I were talking so here’s some #highlights 

  • After the banquet Victor locks himself in the (Chris’) bathroom, downs a bottle of champagne, and cries while Chris threatens to break down the door. 

  • “I met my husbannnnnnd” “No, you drank 3 glasses of sex on the beach, told Yakov to plan the wedding, and then threw up on my Oxfords. Get out of the bathroom Vitya i need to take a shower.” 

  • Post “Victor is in love and he’s kind of freaking out” cuddles were Chris assures Victor that yes Yuuri loves poodles (He has a poodle actually which makes Victor cry more because he’ll be a good Papa to Makkachin then) no Yuuri won’t leave him if he loses his hair, and yes you should go to sleep so you don’t meet him with dark circles. 

  • When Victor knocks on Yuuris door in an Armani suit, bouquet of roses, and reservations for his favorite high class restaurant in Sochi he just stares at the maid cleaning it for 20 mins before calling Chris for emergency drinks. 

  • Phichit welcoming Yuuri back and ragging on him for 20 mins because Yuuri looks like shit (Can you imagine a hangover on a plane…) and he still has a sharpie phone number (smeared from his shower) on his chest. 

  • Yuuri expects Victor to be the god of flirting, romance, and pick up lines but nope the dude has literally learned all his dating skills from trashy romance novels. He still reads them, especially the gay ones, and pens to his favorite authors under a fake name. 

  • Victor literally buys “100 best pick up lines” at the airport on his way to Japan and has told Yuuri ALL of them by the end of the summer. 

  • After they start dating Yuuri loves them. He knows they’re bad, he knows Victor is LOVING how well they work, but god he just looks so happy whenever one “lands”.

  • When Yuuri dishes it back though Victor lays on the couch with a pillow covering his face asking God how many times you can fall in love. Yuuri keeps dropping them as Victor begs for his heart’s mercy. 

  • Y’know that thing where big dogs get excited and they slide around because it’s just 100 lbs of love heading for you? Literally Victor when he decides it’s cuddle Yuuri time. 

  • The amount of times Makkachin and Victor fight for Yuuri’s lap is every day. Yuuri loves it and has so many videos of Victor and Makkachin nose to nose “arguing” (aka Victor in Russian telling Makkachin in detail that is HIS fiance and Makkachin boofing and licking his nose) over whose turn it is to cuddle Yuuri. It usually ends with Yuuri sandwiched between Victor’s chest and a 100 lb dog (Who thinks he’s 10 lbs) asleep on his lap. It works. 
SKAM S04E09 Clip 2 - Your turn

[EVA: No, I still haven’t heard anything…. And you?

SANA: No, have you made Chris call William?

EVA: William isn’t answering either….

EVA: But think about it, they’ve been apart for a very long time, they’re probably just chilling, and don’t give a fuck about anyone else]

[BALLOON BOYS TALKING AND YELLING ABOUT THE GAME]

YOUSEF: Elias, try it.

MUTASIM: I’m so bad at this.

SANA: Hey.

ADAM: What’s up, Sana? Yoy doing well?

MUTASIM: Join us!

ELIAS: Join? We’re in the middle of a tournament. She can join later.

MUTASIM: Mikael, your turn.

MIKAEL: Easily.

Keep reading

I love the spark of a new connection.

That twinkle that only lasts a moment in their eyes when you catch them glancing at you before they dart their head away.

The slow moving, awkward conversations where neither of you know what to say but you both know you want to keep talking. 

The slight smirk that pulls at the edge of their lip when you muster up the courage to speak first. 

If this feeling could be bottled up it would be the best bottle of champagne I’ve ever tasted. 

Fireworks - H.S.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I mumble. The twinkling lights are mesmerizing and I just can’t seem to focus on anyone else, not even the amazing man beside me that brought me here tonight. When Harry only hums a response, I take my gaze off the fireworks ahead of me and stare at his sharp jawline.

Lately Harry had been acting differently. At first I noticed little things, like him closing off and disappearing into his own head for short amounts of time, but after a while he started raising these walls around him, pretending to be someone who is not even though the real Harry I had met two years prior was something I wish everyone had in his life.

Of course, Harry did not only have a name to keep, but also a reputation. Yes, he was pictured as a womanizer and I think he did won best dressed male again last year, although I don’t keep up with that. I keep up with what actual Harry is up too, what ticks him, what he enjoys doing. Most of the things the media bring to attention aren’t very good small details of a bigger picture.

I think that’s why this friendship works so damn well. That might also be the absolute number one reason I fell madly in love with this man. I’d never risk anything to put our friendship in jeopardy, because I honestly believe I’d never find someone like him, ever again. He was the only real thing in a world filled with lies and misinterpretations.

I’m actually terrified I’ll never get to see the real Harry again. And whatever I try, I just can’t seem to get through to him. So when he appeared at my door, giant grin on his rosy lips and a bottle of expensive champagne held up in one hand, I couldn’t decline.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Harry laughs, pulling his bottom lip between his pearly white teeth before his glance is cast in my direction. I can feel the rosy hue appear on my cheeks, but they’re transparent to Harry’s gaze due to the harsh lighting of the fireworks going off in front of us.

“This lighting is doing you good.” I decide to go with a true compliment, although that wasn’t initially on my mind. I love the smile that it draws on his lips, the way his eyes crinkle and how he then casts his glance away. “Do you say that to all men?”

“Only you.” I shrug my shoulders with a grin and let a shriek flow from my lips when I feel Harry’s elbow collide with my ribs. “Hey, I gave you a really nice compliment and this is how you repay me?”
“What do you want to hear? How beautiful you look? You always do, Y/n.” Harry huffs as he rolls his eyes and fixates his gaze back onto the sparkly lights disappearing as quickly as they appear.

“You’re one of the most kind-hearted people I know Harry, you deserve all of this success you’re receiving, you know that right?” I decide to bring up the new single, the one that’s supposed to come out in just a few hours – at midnight to be exact. He hadn’t mentioned it since I had heard it when he had initially finished it. It was his baby, his first solo record and he didn’t seem to utter another word about it. It had been months and it saddened me because it was so damn good.

“How is that new man of yours?” Harry’s voice changes tone, and when I decide to peek I see the frown that has set onto his eyebrow. I guess we’re still not talking about it, and I decide to drop it. Last time I had tried to initiate conversation we ended up not speaking to each other for almost two weeks. Which were the worst two weeks of my life, really. “That’s over and done with, didn’t I mention that?”

“Well no, you didn’t.” Harry sighs and I see the small smile tug at his lips. I scoot a little bit closer to Harry, although I’m not sure why. “Well, sorry then.”
“Why did you break up? I thought you liked him.” Harry throws his arm around my shoulder and I lay my head on his shoulder, taking in a deep breath as I focus back on the popping flashing of light.

“I never really did, I think.” I mumble, dropping my hand onto Harry’s knee and giving it a firm squeeze. “I’m searching for something else.” I finish off, feeling my heart throb in my throat. Indirectly, in my own head, I had confessed my love for Harry. He would never see it as such, but that didn’t take away any of the anxiety coursing through my body.

“Well it’s great that you know what you want.”

“Don’t you know what you want?”

“Yeah, but I’m sure she hasn’t even given it a thought. I think I’m nothing more to her than just a really good friend.”

“Who says that? Harry if you want this girl, go and get her. Do you even realize how amazing you are? You always put me up when I’m down. You watch the most horrifying movies with me whenever I want to, without any complaint. You once showed up at my door just because I sounded blue to you on the phone. I’m sure whatever girl you want is just as madly in love with you as you are with her.” I grin, squeezing his knee for emphasis as I let my eyes dart along the sky, trying to follow every firework going off.

“Do you know what sign of the times is about?” Harry suddenly questions and I feel myself stiffen in his embrace as he for the first time in weeks talks about his song or upcoming album.
“Well I interpreted it as hope.” I decide to voice my own thoughts and feelings as simply as possible.

“That’s the great part of it. I think – in whatever time of your life you are, it might – I don’t know – can be interpreted in whatever way it suits you.” Harry starts to stumble over his words as if he were nervous, his ring clad fingers toying with his jeans as he avoids my gaze as well as the sounds going on around us.

“So you’re saying I’m hoping for something?” I smile, somewhat feeling my own nerves bubbling in my stomach as I pull away from Harry, smiling brightly at his twinkling eyes.

“Yeah, you could say it like that. But I think we all hope something, right?” Harry grins right back at me and I slowly let my eyes close, nodding once, but firmly at his statement – or question.

“Hm.” I agree verbally, wanting to lay my head again against his shoulder but he stops me, his eyes searching mine tentatively as I keep frozen in my spot. I let a low breath slip past my opened lips, my tongue darting out to wet them before I suck my bottom lip into my mouth, slowly biting down on it.

Something seems to click in Harry’s mind and before I can completely comprehend what is happening or is about to happen, Harry leans in but hovers right before his lips are about to meet mine. He lets me decide if I want this – if I want to kiss him and as soon as my brain has caught up to current events, I lean the short distance and press my lips firmly against his.

Harry’s large hand cups my cheek and for a second I feel like I might burst out into tears of happiness, but instead I settle for a large grin which almost breaks up our kiss. I feel the vibrations of Harry’s chuckle against my lips as my eyelids flutter.

Harry pulls away, keeping his hand in place, as he seems to catch his breath. His lips press to mine once more in a gentle, simple peck right as the last few fireworks make their last pop in front of us, illuminating the dark night sky.

Summary: Harry spoke to actress and new friend, [Y/N] [Y/L/N], recently just before the awards ceremony. Now it’s the after party! Harry’s distracted, searching for [Y/N], and his “Dunkirk” friends take notice. Little does he know [Y/N]’s looking for him, too…

 The Oscars: “Have You Met [Y/N]?”

 “The After Party!”

It’s the Oscars after party where all the invited guests are gathered together, seated with new and old friends at round tables with food and bottles of champagne before them; and winners and honorable people give their second speeches. It’s a time for actors and actresses to enjoy a dinner party with their co-stars and colleagues, catch up with friends, and simply have a good time.

Harry stands in a circle with his Dunkirk costars, his feet close together and his arms folded across his chest. His eyes roam the room in search of [Y/N] who he had last seen on-stage accepting her award for best actress. He remembers to nod, chuckle, and mumble an “mmhm” every so often to continue seeming engaged in the conversation while his mind is fixed on finding the girl he had met a several hours prior.

And there she is.

He finds her a few feet behind Fionn, shaking hands and embracing the people who come across her and congratulate her on her award. He smiles in awe as he watches from afar as she interacts with others full of grace and humility.

“You alright there, Harry?” Fionn Whitehead asks, his eyebrows scrunching together.

Harry snaps back into the conversation, realizing all eyes are on him. He clears his throat and fixes his stance, “Erm, yeh,” he tries to sell, “Why?”

“‘Cuz you’re lookin’ at me like yeh wanna kiss me,” Fionn chuckles, the rest of the group’s laughter following.

Harry feels his cheeks burn and bows his head, his eyes now now at his feet. He shakes his head. “Yeh wish, man,” Harry laughs off.

“Who are you looking at?” Christopher Nolan, a man who has become like a mentor to Harry, asks, observing the individuals behind Fionn.

“Nobody,” Harry tries to tell him.

“Were yah lookin’ at [Y/N] [Y/L/N]?” Jack Lowden asks, looking in the direction Harry was. Harry remains quiet, fighting a bashful smile, and the younger boys cheer.

“Yeh like her!” Fionn confirms for him. They all face towards [Y/N] and watch her as she coincidentally makes her away closer to them.

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry says simply, waving it off.

“What are yah doin’ standin’ here and talkin’ to us? Go over there!” Jack insists, giving Harry a light shove forward on the back.

Harry feels himself hesitate. His body moves forward but his feet remain planted on the ground. He’s conflicted within himself. He doesn’t want to seem overeager but he doesn’t want to miss his chance either. There’s a part of him that’s brave enough and confident to strike up a conversation with [Y/N] while another part is surprisingly sheepish and full of nerves, already set to retreat without even having made a move.

It’s something about [Y/N]— her grace, her charm, her beauty. The way she carries herself. He sees kindness in her, sincerity— a rarity in the industry. She seems different and he wants to get to know her. Looking at her and being in her presence gives him butterflies he’s only ever felt during the big moments in his life.

“Here she comes!” Fionn whispers quickly, “Say somethin’!”

“Mr. Nolan,” [Y/N] says, approaching the group. She extends a hand, “Congratulations on your film, ‘Dunkirk’.”

Nolan returns a handshake. “Call me Chris,” he tells her, smiling, “And thank you. Congratulations, as well.”

[Y/N] then turns her attention to Harry, flashing a smile that send the butterflies inside him free. “Hi, Harry,” she says.

“Hey,” he responds, trying to sound casual, calm, and collected. He gives Fionn a look who quickly receives the message.

“We’re gonna—“ Fionn pauses to think of a solid excuse. “Go to the loo,” he comes up with, “Come on, fellas. I need yah to help me, I’m drunk.”

The young gentlemen follow Fionn to the direction of the toilets while Chris excuses himself to continue socializing, leaving Harry and [Y/N] to themselves. A waiter comes by with a tray full of champagne glasses. “Champagne?” he offers. Harry takes two glasses, thanks the waiter, and hands [Y/N] a glass. “To you,” he grins, raising the glass.

She does the same. “To you,” [Y/N] smirks, before taking a sip. “This is my fifth glass, you know. I’m starting to feel a little woozy,” she giggles as she continues to drink from her glass.

“I’ve had quite a few myself,” Harry chuckles. “Care to take a walk outside?”

“I’d love to,” [Y/N] agrees.

Harry and [Y/N] walk through the garden of the venue, breathing in fresh air and feeling the summer breeze against their skin. The conversation begins with simple questions. Starter questions. They make small talk, discussing work, and simple likes and dislikes. As the night progresses, they slowly open up by relating stories and personal experiences. They talk about where they come from, where they were born and raised, their family, how they got into the business. They come to find they relate well with one another and have many commonalities. Before they know it, the awkward tension is long gone and the night is full of laughter. They soon feel as if they’ve known each other for years rather than just a few hours. The conversation’s very natural with no awkward silence.

Harry notices how [Y/N] can carry a conversation. He likes how she opens up to him and makes him feel like he’s known her. He’s fond of her positivity and light. She can transition from laughter to solemn conversations and deep issues to lighthearted talks. She’s a refreshment to him. And he absolutely adores how she genuinely laughs at all his jokes, finding them surprisingly witty and funny.

On the other hand, [Y/N] is surprised by Harry. He isn’t like the picture she painted in her mind or the image the media created. He was better. He has truthfulness to him and passion. She admires the way he speaks about the things he loves and cares about. He can converse about something so deeply you’ll fall in love with it yourself. He has an infectious smile and is a lot funnier in person. And the best part is: he’s not at all short of being a gentleman.

Harry smiles down at [Y/N] as they sit inches away from each other on a wooden bench behind the tall bush hedges, parts of her face illuminated by the moonlight. She locks her eyes with his, peering into the green orbs in efforts to read what is on his mind in the silence. It’s no secret. He’s captivated by her. The way he looks at her says everything— his expression softens, his eyes in awe, his lips curve, his body relaxes. He takes notice of her every detail. His attraction towards her grows stronger the longer he’s around her. His desire for her builds. She fills him with a sense of wonderment and curiosity. He finds a need to know the heart behind the beauty.

Harry leans forward and presses his lips against hers, leaving all hesitation and rationality behind. There’s no more thinking.

He pulls away after a few seconds, slightly embarrassed by his impulsivity. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have. I—“

“Do you want to get out of here?” [Y/N] asks, perfectly interrupting his nervous ramble.

A smile slowly forms on Harry’s lips. “Yeah,” he nods. He slips his fingers through [Y/N]’s hand and feels her grip his hold. He leads the way to the parking lot filled with black suburban and calls for a driver.

Secret Identity

Stripper!Au Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Just a good old Stripper fic.

Word Count: 3,671

Warnings: Crack fic, Language, Drinking, Suggestive Stuff… (come on)

A/N: I don’t know what happened. It’s incredibly long… but I had fun ;) Since I don’t have anything better, this is my gift for 2.5k Thank you all so much ♥

Originally posted by ddee99

“Are you serious?”

“No, I’m Wanda,” your friend replied with a proud smirk.

You rubbed the spot between your eyes where you could feel a headache coming. Wanda was in charge of Natasha’s bachelorette party. You were supposed to spend the evening in a fancy restaurant, but clearly Wanda had other plans.

“I love it!” Natasha took your hand and made you follow her.

You paid the entry fee and walked into the strip club. It was noisy and surprisingly bright. You cringed as the smell of alcohol hit your nose. Wanda gave you her best innocent smile and looped her arm through yours.

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