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what-is-your-plan-today · 4 years

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Real Life Tasks With Ransom Drysdale

An Advent Calendar of 24 Normal Human Tasks As Performed By A Huge Man Baby.

Day 1: The Case Of The Mysterious Shrinking Sweater.

Warnings: Bad Language words

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: So this all came about as myself, @sweater-daddiesdumbdork and @jennmurawski13 saw a post about Ransom doing everyday things…and yeah, it kinda spiralled. The series will consists of one-shots and drabbles, all light hearted…and the occasional little bit of smut thrown in for your pleasure and we hope a nice countdown to Christmas after what has been an utter shit-show of a year.

We will be taking it in turns to alternate posting so keep your eyes peeled for the next instalments as they arrive. I’ll be re-blogging and tagging my list.

Series Masterlist.

People say that being pregnant was an enjoyable experience, that you glowed and bloomed. But right now the only thing blooming was the feeling of nausea in the pit of your stomach. You lay still, hoping that it would go away, but as usual it didn’t. Swinging your legs off the side of your huge bed, you hurried barefoot over the plush carpet of the bedroom you shared with your husband before dropping with a thud to the floor of the en-suite, emptying the contents of your stomach into the porcelain bowl of the toilet. You repeated the motion again and again until you were retching dry air, your eyes watering, throat stinging and you let out a little sob.

At almost 22 weeks pregnant, this was ridiculous. The whole morning sickness was supposed to have eased off by now, but not for you. Oh no. Mind you, what else were you to expect given that you were expecting his baby.

The spawn of Satan…

“Y/N?” your husband’s deep baritone hit your ears and you turned to look up at him as he stood in the doorway, clad only in his boxers. Strong thighs gave way to a tapered waist, a flat yet slightly soft stomach ran into the hard planes of chest muscle and sculpted arms from years of playing polo (God forbid the asshole do any other form of manual exercise, well apart from the obvious one that got you into this mess in the first place that is). Broad shoulders stretched either side of a strong neck which supported that damningly handsome face with the jawline that could cut glass and those deep blue eyes that had ruined your panties the first time you’d seen them.

Hugh Ransom Drysdale was a beautiful bastard. And he knew it.

“You ok?” he asked. You narrowed your eyes before a fresh wave of nausea hit you and you retched once more.

“Do I look ok?” you shot back, sinking back onto your heels, wiping at your face. You felt Ransom move from the doorway and then heard the tap running.

“Here.” One hand settled between your shoulder-blades, the other handed you a glass of water as Ransom knelt besides you, his blue eyes bearing the warmth that he reserved only for you. You took the drink without a thanks, the usual sarcasm he would display at such an action remained unsaid as you drained the glass and passed it back. “Can I do anything else?”

“Fast forward to January next year so the baby’s here?” you grumbled “I can’t take another damned 4 months or whatever of this, Ransom!”

“Sorry Princess.” He chuckled, “I can’t help you there.” “I hate you.”

“So you keep saying.” He shrugged “But the fact you’re pregnant with my son…kinda proves that you don’t.”

“We were drunk. Besides, hate fucking is a thing.”

“Is hate marrying?”

“Yup.” You nodded. “I only married you so I could divorce you for your money.”

“Well that was almost 2 years ago so why you still here?” he drawled back and you looked at him, snorting as a smirk spread across his face before he tossed his head slightly to throw back the strands of his hair that had fallen forward over his forehead “Thought so.”

“Asshole.”

With a roll of his eyes Ransom helped you to your feet, glancing down at your chest, your swollen breasts visible down the front of your camisole top. His eyebrow arched a little as he raised his head to meet your eyes and you snorted.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Oh come on baby!” he whined, his hands falling to your hips, pushing up the silk of the top you were wearing, his thumbs skating over the curve of your bump “You know what seeing you like this does to me.”

“Seeing me like what? Red faced with puke in my hair?”

“Yeah the puke not so much.” He wrinkled his face, “But I can think of an arrangement here that could potentially eliminate that particular issue.”

“You’re not fucking me in the shower.” You shook your head.

“But…”

“No buts Ransom.” You looked at him as he glared back, his face now wearing the usual petulant expression he bore when he didn’t get his own way “Stop being a brat. I’m up now and I got stuff to do.”

“Yeah? Like what?” he folded his arms. You gave a groan of exasperation.

“I have a conference call with my boss at midday…”

“It’s a Saturday.”

“I know that, but we have a big case…”

“You don’t need to work, tell him to fuck off.”

As usual you ignored Ransom’s dig about your job. He could never understand why you insisted on keeping your role as a Legal Secretary, but then again what was to be expected from the trust fund Man-Baby who had never worked a day in his life. “And there’s a pile of laundry to do.”

“I don’t know why you won’t let me hire a maid….”

“I don’t WANT A FUCKING MAID!” you exploded. Ransom’s eyebrows shooting upwards slightly was the only reaction to your shouting that he gave. “This is our home...”

“Well with the baby on the way, maybe you might want to reconsider that stance.”

“Or maybe you could start pulling your weight.” You jabbed him in his chest. He glanced down at your finger, his eyebrow arched as he looked back at you.

“Pulling my weight?”

“Yes.”

“Exactly how?”

“I dunno…how about you start performing those little real life tasks that normal people do Ransom? You know, the laundry, cleaning the bathroom, loading the dishwasher, making the bed, cooking breakfast or dinner…”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He scoffed and you groaned “You know I can’t cook.”

“How do you think I learned?” you shook your head, before rubbing at your temple. “I practiced.”

“Yeah, not gonna happen Princess.”

“What a surprise” you shrugged “God forbid Hugh Ransom Drysdale get his hands dirty.”

“Don’t fucking call me that.” He snapped and you snorted. Of all the names you called him, it was his actual name that riled him so much. It was ridiculous, but also too good an opportunity to pass up. He was an asshole at times, and you took none of his shit. You never had done, not since that fateful day you met in that lecture hall at Harvard some 10 years or so ago. Truth be told, he’d often admitted it was the fact you gave him nothing but shit, called him out and basically ignored him for 6 months, despite the fact that you desperately wanted him to do very rude things to you. Your ambivalence provided him with a challenge and he pursued you with a dogged determination which you eventually gave in to towards the end of your first year of Study.

“Why not?” you shrugged, deciding to poke the bear a little more because, well, you could…that and you kind of enjoyed watching that vein pop in his neck when he was pissed “Isn’t that what the help call you? I mean I might as well be your help all things considered.”

“You’re my fucking wife.” Ransom spoke through grit teeth, his jaw set, neck strained (ah, there was that vein!)

“Well here’s a novel idea.” You smiled up at him “Why don’t you start acting like I am instead of some glorified housekeeper that you fuck and keep in your bed.”

“Ok, I’m gonna let that slide due to hormones.” Ransom’s hands fell to his hips.

“You’re gonna let it slide?” you scoffed

“Yes.”

“Whatever.” You took a deep breath “Now get out I need a shower.”

“So….just so we’re on the same page, you don’t want me to-“

“NO RANSOM!” you growled, shoving his chest. He sniggered, stepped back with his hands up, palms open as he backed out of the door, closing it behind him.

*****

Ransom could hear Y/N’s voice as it drifted softly through the closed door of the study into the hallway and he rolled his eyes. Her boss was a jerk, making her call in at midday on a fucking weekend, all because he was too incompetent to cope himself. She should be curled up on the sofa, watching junk, eating crap, wearing nothing but one of his sweaters. She’d been looking for her favourite one before, cursing when she’d realised it was in the laundry hamper and mumbling about how she’d pop it into the machine later.

“How about you start performing those little real life tasks that normal people do Ransom? You know, do the laundry…”

Ransom paused by the stairs, before he smirked a little. “Oh you’re gonna eat your words, Princess.” He mumbled, before he bolted upstairs and into their bedroom, through to the en-suite. Tipping the hamper up on its side he looked down at the pile of clothes and frowned. Y/N normally sorted them into separate piles, but he wasn’t sure how…or why now he thought about it.

Fuck it, there was nothing google couldn’t solve.

He soon found out, thank you Housewives Online, that they needed to be sorted according to colours. Whites, brights and darks. So, as his sweater was blue it could go in the colours pile. He nudged the other two piles to the side of the room with his foot before he gathered the one he wanted in his arms, wrinkling his nose at the fact he actually had dirty clothes in his hands and made his way downstairs. He wandered through the kitchen and into the utility room at the back, before he stuffed the items into the machine and then looked around for the detergent. He found it on a shelf over the back of the room along with the fabric softener. Grabbing them both he then paused as he realised he didn’t actually know where it went.

Okay, so this had to be a process of elimination. He pulled open the little drawer on the front and smirked as he noticed the sections were labelled.

“Piece of cake.” He poured in what he deemed enough of each and then shut it, before he looked at the digital dials on the front.

“For fucks sake…” he grumbled, punching a few buttons. Eventually the display kicked in, offering him a one hour-thirty hot wash.

“Well, who washes clothes in cold water?” he shrugged, pressing the green button. As he stood back the machine kicked into life and Ransom nodded, congratulating himself, before he decided he’d earned himself a beer.

****

“Son of a…” you heard the curse as you opened the door to the study and frowned. Whilst your call had lasted a little longer than it should have, surely Ransom couldn’t have gotten himself into that much trouble in the space of two hours. You followed his string of expletives down the hall, through the kitchen and into the laundry room to find Ransom holding what looked like a smaller version of his sweater in his hands.

“What are you doing?” you frowned.

“Singing a duet with Beyonce, what does it look like I’m doing?” he snapped.

“It looks like you’re doing laundry.” You ignored his shitty comment and arched an eyebrow, one hand falling to your small bump.

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“Where did you get that little…” you trailed off as you realised that it wasn’t a smaller version of his gorgeous navy blue, soft woolly number in his hands, it WAS his gorgeous navy blue, soft woolly number “You shrunk your sweater?” He glared at you as you started to laugh “Oh my god, you dumbass!”

“It wasn’t me it was that fucking shitty machine.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the machine.”

“Well why did it shrink then?”

“What programme did you put it on?”

“Programme?” he frowned “I just turned it on.”

With a sigh you rubbed at your temple “There are different settings depending on what you’re washing.” You stated “That’s wool. It should have been on a cool cycle.”

Ransom looked at the item in his hand and you watched as his shoulders sagged a little. “I wanted it to be nice and clean for you to wear later.” He sighed as he peeked up at you, a strand of hair falling over to his brow. Your heart instantly melted, little gestures like this from him meant the world as it was his way of showing he cared. He could buy you all the expensive shit in the world but these were the little things you craved.

“Oh baby!” you chuckled as you stepped forward, leaning up to kiss his cheeks. “It was a nice thought…” you took the sweater off him and looked at it “But even I don’t think I’ll fit into that. It’s tiny.”

Ransom looked at it before his face suddenly curled into a smile “Baby boy tiny?”

You let out a laugh “Maybe not baby boy tiny, but little child boy tiny, sure.”

“We’ll save it for him then.” He said, tossing it down into the basket of wet items that needed to be dried. “His first hand-me-down.”

You smiled as his hands dropped to your hips and pulled you closer. “You’re a big softy really, aint you?” you reached up to brush that stubborn strand of hair back of his forehead and he shrugged before he grinned, rocking his pelvis forward.

“I won’t be soft for long.” His head dropped and he nipped at your ear “Let me show you what Husband chore I’m actually good at.”

#real life tasks with ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale fic

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luminescencefics · 4 years

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the light inside

Natasha Reynolds is trying to figure her life out. She’s newly single, behind her deadline for her newest book release, and currently stuck in her best friend’s house while her home office is being renovated.

Harry Styles is just trying to complete this project. He’s in the midst of his own home renovation, but when he steps foot into Natasha’s townhouse, he finds that there’s more to life than just trying to rebuild.

A oneshot about starting over, learning how to cope, blonde haired toddlers, and finding the light that shines inside of you.

written for @majorharry‘s 20k fic celebration

prompt #27: “your hands are soft,” prompt #29: “stop looking at me like that,” prompt #33: :”I--I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

harry/ofc, 8k

Natasha Reynolds is losing it.

She’s currently sitting in the half-finished nursery of her best friend’s unborn child. It's the only room in Ellory’s home that has some semblance of quiet, and that is exactly what Natasha needs considering she’s about three weeks behind her workload. Her inbox chimes with a notification of a new email, and Natasha sighs, ignoring it as the red number on her laptop screen grows from forty-six to forty-seven. No doubt they’re all from her editor. And, no doubt that if she doesn’t respond in the next hour, her phone will start to ring incessantly.

Natasha’s life never falls out of order. She has always been a woman with a plan, ever since uni, and that mindset has paved a road of success for her that she never thought she would achieve at this early an age.

Right after uni, she drafted about twenty query letters and sent them out to various publishing agencies throughout the Greater London area. She had been penning her mystery novel series her entire last year of university, and with a stroke of luck her first book was being edited and published before Natasha could turn twenty-five.

The first book was a success. It became an even bigger hit overseas, and not long after was her agent proclaiming that she must develop a second book. Three more books and three and a half years later, the Midnight series was finished. It allowed her to travel the world, meet fans of the book, and earn enough money to own property in Mayfair.

But now that her series was complete, her editor and agent were begging for Natasha to release a new book. Natasha wanted to branch away from the mystery genre and come up with a brand new book, one that would not be developed into a four-part series.

And, considering her newly single status, it made sense to venture into romance.

As of lately, Natasha feels like she has bitten off more than she can chew. Sure, she loves writing. And sure, her relationship imploding definitely gave her the push she needed to start writing again. But she’s suddenly at a standstill—battling a difficult case of writer’s block.

On top of all of that, she’s been sequestered at her best friend’s townhouse because her home office was currently under construction. Natasha usually plans for these things, and she definitely would not have decided for her writing space to be completely transformed while she’s trying to reach her deadlines. But her ex-fiancé ended things abruptly and that office was the only space in her home that he had called his, so it only made sense to completely tear it down and start fresh.

If only the timing was appropriate.

Just as Natasha began writing the eighteenth chapter of her unnamed novel, she starts to hear high-pitched giggles get louder and louder down the hallway. She can hear the gentle thud of feet, and not long after is the door to the nursery thrown open.

“Tasha! Come play!” Maude calls from the doorway of the room.

Her hair is in wild curls and her cheeks have a gentle flush to them, no doubt from running away from Ellory and trying to find Natasha’s hiding spot. Yesterday, Natasha was hiding in the guest bathroom to get work done and it only took a few hours before Maude heard the toilet flush and suddenly found her.

Today, it only took an hour and a half.

“Hi Maude,” Natasha says with a small smile.

“Why are you in sissy’s room?” Maude asks, hobbling towards Natasha’s spot on the enormous bean bag chair in the corner of the room.

“Trying to get some work done. Where’s mummy? I thought you guys were supposed to be baking shortbread?” Natasha asks, tearing her eyes away from her computer screen and looking at Maude who has now become eye level due to the bean bag’s relativity to the carpeted floor.

“We did! Come see!” Maude’s sticky hands reach out towards the screen of Natasha’s laptop, and before her fingers can make a mess of it, Natasha slams it down with a gentle click. Maude starts giggling, reaching for Natasha until her forearms are sticky from flour and egg.

Sighing, Natasha follows after the three year old. There’s no way she’ll be getting any more work finished today.

Ellory looks up from the oven when she sees her daughter dragging her best friend into the kitchen. She gives Natasha a look, laced with an apology and a bit of pity. Ellory knows that Natasha is struggling. Her personal life has been shit the entire year, her workload is only increasing, and now her home is in a state of disarray.

“Maude, love, what did I tell you about bothering Auntie Tasha?” Ellory asks, her ivory hands resting on her cocked hip. She’s giving her daughter a pointed glare, but Natasha knows that it’s no use. Maude always finds a way of getting out of trouble.

“Sorry mummy. I just wanted to show Tasha what we made!” Maude says, holding her arms up so she can be placed on her chair by the kitchen island. Natasha just shakes her head a little, wordlessly telling Ellory that it’s okay. She wasn’t really being productive anyways, to be fair. Baking with her best friend and her daughter sounded better anyways.

“Any progress on the book?” Maude asks, pouring Natasha a cup of tea from the still-hot kettle on the stovetop.

Natasha just shrugs before slumping down on the chair next to Maude. “I’m still stuck on chapter eighteen. Diane’s going to ring my neck.”

Natasha’s editor Diane was nothing but a terrifying presence in her professional life. Granted, she was phenomenal at her job, and without her guidance the Midnight series would probably never have become the success it had, but Diane struggled with understanding how Natasha worked.

She knew about the break up. She knew that her life was in shambles. But Diane pushed through all of that. She was a career-woman first, and didn’t believe in distractions. Therefore, she continuously pushed Natasha to write.

Sometimes, Natasha just needed to breathe.

“You’ll get there, Nat. You just need to find some inspiration,” Ellory offered kindly, resting her hand on her baby bump.

Ellory was always ten steps ahead of Natasha. Starting in secondary school back in Hammersmith, Ellory was already thinking about where she wanted to apply for uni. Although they went to different schools, they still kept in touch. And while Natasha was struggling to finish her final exams and finish writing book one of her series, Ellory was falling in love with Isaac and already planning her wedding.

That happened four months after graduation. Isaac was in finance and came from a wealthy family, and not even a year later, Maude was born. Natasha was still living in her tiny flat in the center of the city, far too cramped for her liking. She was in the middle of writing book two, so her royalties from the first installment hadn’t come in yet. Ellory was already planning Maude’s first birthday when she encouraged Natasha to stop being a reclusive author and start dating, and that’s when she met Will.

Will was smart and posh and worked at the same office as Isaac. He was a career-focused, well-mannered, completely tailored gentleman, and for some reason he took a liking to Natasha’s abnormal life. They were the same age but he felt eons ahead of her. His flat was in a luxury building with a doorman, he owned more suits than he did casual clothes, he drank bourbon like her father did, and he never tried to understand why Natasha wanted to become an author.

He never pushed it though, and he never really tried to understand Natasha either. After she meets his family and they announce that their cousins are to be married, things began to change. Will’s family was very traditional, and when they found out that Natasha and Will had been together for two years and were still living in their own separate flats, Will hired a realtor and they started looking at homes in Knightsbridge and Belgravia, and they all felt too regal for Natasha’s taste. One afternoon when she’s visiting Ellory and newborn Maude at their home in Mayfair, Natasha comes across a dated townhouse that was for sale. It had crown molding and exposed brick, a dated fireplace and exposed beams that showed the true character of the place. With book three finished and her bank account expanding, Natasha puts a deposit down and they move in a week later.

Not even a year later, Will proposed. At the time, Natasha thought it was everything. She finally felt ready, and she thought that her and Will would be happy together. But then after that he started getting colder, and their relationship started feeling more rushed than ever before. She couldn’t even remember what she loved about him in the first place, and whenever she would ask him why he wanted to marry her, his response was always, “Because that’s what we’re supposed to do.”

Natasha was unhappy. And when they sat down a week after they had already mailed their wedding invitations to their guests, she told him that they shouldn’t get married. She expected Will to put up a fight and beg her to reconsider, but instead he gave out a deep sigh of relief.

A week later he moved out.

And three months after that he was engaged to another woman.

The ringing of the timer rips Natasha out of her thoughts and she laughs quietly when Maude starts jumping up and down in her chair, clapping her sticky hands when Ellory announces that the shortbread is finished.

“Tasha! Will you help us decorate?” Maude asks, grinning up at her mum’s best friend with wide shiny eyes.

“Of course,” Natasha responds, placing her arms under Maude’s armpits and lifting her off the chair and sits her on the granite countertop near the shortbread that’s resting on the cooling rack. Ellory lays out different colored icing, yellows and pinks and blues, and Maude greedily sticks a finger in the pink bowl and brings it up to her mouth when Ellory isn’t looking.

Maude starts to giggle when Natasha raises her eyebrows comically, before copying the three year old and digging a pointer finger into the blue bowl. Maude’s giggles grow louder when Ellory grows suspicious, but Natasha stays quiet, smiling at Maude as if they were sharing a secret.

Midway through icing the shortbread cakes, Natasha’s mobile begins to ring from the island. She groans, knowing that it’s probably Diane asking for an update, but when she gets closer she notices that the number isn’t one she has saved into her contacts, so she brings the phone up to her ear and offers up a quick hello.

“Hi, is this Ms. Reynolds?” a deep voice asks. It’s low and guttural and Natasha instantly recognizes it as the voice of the contractor currently redoing her home office a few streets away.

“Yes, this is she,” she says professionally.

“Right, this is Harry, we’ve spoken a few times before about your renovation. I just thought I’d keep you updated. The desk was delivered later than expected so we’re running a bit behind schedule,” Harry says.

Natasha groans because of course things were running behind schedule. It seemed to be the theme of her life these days.

“Sorry?” the voice asks, and Natasha slaps a hand to her mouth, realizing that her groan came out much louder than expected.

“Nothing. That’s fine, you can stay as late as you can in order to have everything back on schedule. I really would hate to push the completion date any further,” Natasha explains, ignoring the look Ellory gives her from the other side of the kitchen.

“No problem Ms. Reynolds,” Harry responds kindly.

“Thanks for the update,” Natasha says, saying a quick goodbye before ending the call and placing her mobile face down on the countertop.

Things really weren’t going her way.

***

Normally, Natasha leaves Ellory’s house by four o’clock the latest, and by four oh five, her house is void of contractors and construction workers and painters. Ellory offers for Natasha to stay for dinner, but after Maude throws a temper tantrum and Ellory grows increasingly tired from her pregnancy, Natasha decides to just head home. She could avoid the noise of the downstairs office by hiding away in her bedroom on the floor above, and she probably should respond to the growing number of emails in her inbox.

When Natasha arrives at her townhouse, she can already hear the erratic hum of the numerous power tools from inside the office. A large white van with Styles & Co. is parked right outside her front door, with a black pick up truck parked behind her parking spot across the street. Natasha unlocks her front door and is immediately hit with the smell of sawdust.

She closes the door a bit softer than usual so her presence would stay undetected. But while she slips off her flats and discards her jacket in the foyer, she hears the heavy sound of boots come closer and her head snaps up.

In front of her is a tall man with broad shoulders. His brown hair curls over the tips of his ear and stands taller in different areas around his head, most likely from pulling on the strands out of frustration. He has a thin layer of stubble surrounding his mouth and chin, and his green eyes are wide, searching her face the same way she was searching his.

“Ms. Reynolds?” he asks, and his voice has the same timbre as the one she was speaking to on the phone a few hours prior. She cocks her head to the side in surprise, taking in his long jean-clad legs, brown toolbelt, and white henley rolled up at the sleeves, revealing black ink etched onto his tan skin.

“Uh, yeah,” she responds, her mind growing a bit foggy.

He smiles in front of her, revealing a straight set of white teeth. “Hi, I’m Harry,” he says, wiping his hands on the tops of his thighs and extending a long toned forearm.

Natasha is a bit dumbfounded for once, because she figured the Harry she was speaking to on the phone for the past week and a half was someone much older. His deep voice reminded her of her father’s, and she had never come across a contractor so handsome in her entire life.

“Hi,” she responds after she realizes his hand has been extended a bit longer than normal. His eyes stay on hers as they shake once, twice, before her hands retreat back to her sides.

“Your hands are soft,” he says offhandedly, and she’s not entirely sure if he meant to say it outloud. His calloused hands are rough from his work, and when she looks into his eyes with a smile, she can’t see any ounce of regret or embarrassment.

“Thanks,” she says, shouldering her tote bag a little higher on her body.

“We’re almost done for the day, Ms. Reynolds,” Harry explains.

“Natasha’s just fine,” she responds, and she feels even warmer when she hears his Northern accent echo her first name to her.

She likes the way it sounds coming out of his mouth.

“D’ya want to see the progress so far?” Harry offers, hoping she’ll say yes.

Against her plans of retreating in her room to stare blankly at the whiteness of her screen, Natasha nods and follows Harry out of the foyer. The hallway splits in two and he takes a left, bypassing the staircase and entering the back part of the house where Will’s office used to be.

The room is much brighter due to the lighting fixture only having light bulbs without the lampshades. Natasha explained to Harry on the phone that she wanted the room to not be as cold and uninviting, and when he recommended painting the chandelier, she agreed instantly. White tarps were placed over the original hardwood flooring with paint buckets and rollers placed haphazardly around the room. Two other burly men were on the far side of the room near the big bay window, sanding down the large wooden desk and attaching different pieces to the furniture to make it the focal point of the room.

“Wow,” Natasha announces breathlessly, stopping in the middle of the room and looking around with wide eyes. It was such a contrast from what the room was before, and she could feel the weight on her shoulders growing lighter and lighter.

“It’s not nearly finished,” Harry says from behind her. Natasha just shakes her head, realizing that he probably doesn’t understand how much this room transformation actually means to her.

“Oi! ‘Arry! Where’s the cabinet?” One of the voices calls out. He’s older than Harry and has a few wrinkles surrounding his face, but he has kind eyes. His accent makes Natasha smile, and when he looks up he gives her a grin in return.

“Got distracted by the pretty lady, I reckon?” He repeats, and the man to his left cackles. Natasha looks over her shoulder just in time to see the flush creep up Harry’s neck, and she giggles a bit to herself.

“Enough of that, you two. Finish up and I’ll go grab it from the garden,” Harry says, his voice thinning as he retreats towards the back entrance of Natasha’s home where most of the furniture and supplies were situated.

“It looks great, guys. Thank you for your hard work,” Natasha says to the two men, watching as they stop their previous tasks and give her matching grins.

“No problem, lass. Reckon you’ll write another bestseller in this room, aye?” The darker haired man says. His accent is much deeper than the previous man and Harry combined, and Natasha laughs a bit when he mentions her writing.

Before she could respond, Harry is back heaving a large cabinet in front of his chest. Natasha jumps to the side, shocked at how strong he actually is. His long arms were wrapped completely around the piece of furniture, with his large hands fanned out over the doors in order to keep them from opening. He grunts as he places it on the floor in front of the two other men, standing up and wiping his brow with sweat.

Natasha really needed to stop staring.

She coughs to herself, averting her eyes even though she can feel the two other men’s gazes from across the room. She’s sure if she looked over they would have amused looks covering their faces.

“Right. Anybody need water or anything? Tea?” Natasha asks kindly, praying deep down that nobody actually needed anything and she could make herself a brew and hide away in her bedroom for the rest of the evening.

“We’re good lass, thank you,” the older men say, before grabbing a power drill and getting back to work.

“I’m all set, thanks though, Natasha,” Harry says, standing right in front of her. She really wished she didn’t love the way her name sounded leaving his mouth.

“No problem. I’ll leave you boys to it,” she announces, nodding her head before turning on her heel.

Before she enters the kitchen, she chances one last look over her shoulder, and she’s met with bright green eyes and a boyish grin.

She skips making her tea and runs straight upstairs, closing her bedroom door with a loud thud.

***

The next morning, Natasha wakes up much later than expected. After Harry and his crew had left, she went downstairs and made herself a late dinner. After an explosive phone call with Diane, Natasha managed to write two chapters that definitely were not up to her standards. It took her much longer than usual to write, and after a cup of black coffee that she only saves for emergencies only, she couldn’t fall asleep.

She wakes up to the sound of power drills and the smell of paint.

Ellory has called her twice already and texted her enough times to earn an eye roll from Natasha. She knew she was expected over there two hours earlier, but she needed rest. She responds as she’s traipsing down the stairwell in boy shorts, a tank top, and an old flannel button down. Her hair is in a bun and she hasn’t bothered putting her contacts in, and it’s only once she reaches the bottom of the stairs when she realizes that she isn’t wearing a bra.

Harry’s standing before her, green eyes blown wide. Natasha isn’t sure if it’s from her thin tank top and lack of appropriate undergarments, or if he’s just shocked to see her in general.

“Natasha—uh, hi.” He sounds breathless and she just gives him a tired grin, noticing the same two guys from yesterday hauling in different materials from the back garden. The door is open and the chill November air settles into the ground floor, and Natasha crosses her arms over her chest subconsciously.

She hopes Harry doesn’t notice, but she watches his pupils dart down for a millisecond before shooting back up, and her cheeks start to flush.

“Morning Harry,” she replies. “Want some tea? Coffee?”

She starts walking towards the kitchen without waiting for a response. Natasha can hear the heavy clunking of his boots, so she can only assume that he’s taken her up on her offer. He only responds once she’s filled up the kettle and turned the burner on.

“Uh, coffee, black. If you have it,” he asks cautiously. He’s leaning on the doorframe of her open kitchen, unsure if he should step further into the room. Natasha just nods before turning the coffeemaker on, adding grounds to the appropriate compartment and waiting for it to heat up.

She turns around then, resting her tailbone on the lower cabinets of the kitchen. Harry saunters forward, before sitting down on the barstool across from her, resting his arms on the countertop. She waits for him to say something.

“Figured you’d be at work or something,” Harry says after a beat.

“Slept in, I suppose.” Natasha shrugs, pivoting on her heel and grabbing two porcelain mugs from above and placing them on the granite.

“Sorry if we woke you,” Harry says, watching as she pours his coffee before grabbing her tea bag and pouring the hot water from the steaming kettle into her matching mug. He thanks her quietly when she places his mug in front of him.

“Nonsense. I should have been up hours ago,” Natasha responds as she’s steeping her tea.

She watches him idly as he wraps his long fingers around the mug. Without thinking, her eyes drift down to his left hand, second spot in from his pinky finger. It’s bare, and she squints under her glasses to try and see a tan line in the place where a wedding band should be. Maybe he doesn’t wear it while he’s working, she thinks to herself.

Harry of course is watching her, and he doesn’t need to mimic her inquiries in order to make an educated guess that she is in fact single. The foyer is filled with women’s jackets and high heeled boots, and in the two weeks he’s been working on her office, there’s been no trace of a man coming and going.

He doesn’t say anything, though. Just continues to let her stare.

“Will you be here all day?” He asks finally, watching as her brown eyes dart up to his face. She doesn’t seem embarrassed that she’s been caught.

“Probably. The glory of my profession—I can permanently work from home,” she offers with a hint of amusement, and Harry laughs softly to fill the space.

“Well, I’ll make sure we stay out of your hair,” he says, taking a large gulp of his coffee and standing up from the chair.

Natasha just smiles. “Don’t worry about me.”

Harry smiles back. “Cheers for the coffee,” he says, grasping the white mug in his hands and exiting the kitchen before taking a right and following the hallway down into the office.

Natasha goes back upstairs and writes three more chapters. When she checks the time and realizes that it’s a little past noon, she goes downstairs and hears silence. She enters her kitchen and prepares a small salad, and when she finishes to clean her plate, she notices the white mug resting on the drying rack.

She smiles for what feels like the fifteenth time that day.

***

Natasha and Harry have fallen into the habit of having tea and coffee together each morning. She starts staying home to finish her book, ignoring Ellory’s questions on what suddenly has changed for her.

“Inspiration,” Natasha would respond, offering nothing else.

They don’t really talk about much, her and Harry. She tells him about her book and he tells her about his house that he’s almost finished renovating in Chiswick. He tells her that he grew up in Cheshire and she tells him that her family home is about a thirty minute drive away. They don’t talk about the reason why she’s remodeling the office or why Harry is the only thirty-two year old Natasha knows who isn’t engaged or married.

Harry estimates that the remodel should be finished in about a week’s time, and Natasha somehow feels a bit sad about that. At one point she schemes of a way to delay the remodel, to ensure that Harry will be around for a bit longer than seven days. But she knows she’s ridiculous. She knows he probably has way better things to do than hang around her house in Mayfair.

One afternoon after she’s finished writing chapter twenty-nine, she hears a loud bang from the room below her. Immediately she flies down the stairs, takes a sharp right, and enters the office with wide eyes. In front of her, the coffee table that was supposed to be where the seating area would be is in shambles. The glass covering has cracked, and she checks the white tarp for spots of blood.

Rory and Gareth, Harry’s workers, are swearing at each other. They obviously figured that the glass would stay intact from the shipment center they ordered it from, but when they opened the box, they found that it was in twelve different pieces. She notices Harry in the corner, frustratedly pulling at his hair.

“Everyone okay?” Natasha asks, mainly directing the question at Harry. She can sense his annoyance from the other side of the room.

“We’re alrigh’, Natasha. The fuckin’ idiots who packaged the table clearly did a terrible job at it! It’s fuckin’ fallin’ apart!” Rory says loudly, his voice getting louder with each curse that passes his lips.

“It’s fine, I’ll reorder another one. Just please be careful when removing the glass from the house, I don’t want anybody to get hurt,” Natasha orders, watching as Rory and Gareth reach into their back pockets to retrieve gloves. They start picking up the glass shards slowly, before placing them into the cardboard box.

Harry just watches her, feeling the frustradness leaving his body. She’s very gentle, and watches the guys like a hawk, ensuring that they don’t get injured. Before they’ve finished, Harry announces that they can go and take their lunch break. Rory and Gareth thank him repeatedly, announcing that they need a smoke after the table debacle.

“I made too much stir fry, if you’re hungry,” Natasha says once the boys have driven off to eat their lunch in the park.

“Starved,” Harry replies with a grin. He follows her down the hallway and into the kitchen, admiring her long legs under her leggings. The jumper she’s wearing is big and warm, and his eyes latch onto her right shoulder, watching as the fabric hangs revealing smooth white skin.

Natasha fills up two bowls and they sit at the breakfast nook on the far side of the kitchen near four windows. He watches as she slides her glasses up her forehead, resting them like a headband in her dark hair. He thinks she’s the prettiest girl he’s seen in a long time.

“How’s the book coming along?” He asks after a few bites.

“Surprisingly, not as terrible as I thought. I’m actually right on target to finish it on the deadline,” Natasha replies. And it’s true—she’s gotten more writing done in her busy townhouse than she ever did in Ellory’s home, hiding away from Maude in closets and unused bedrooms.

“That’s great. You didn’t want to wait until your office was finished?” Harry asks, and Natasha can almost feel the follow up question coming.

“Didn’t want to fall behind schedule,” she replies quietly, waiting for him to just say it.

“Why did you decide to do a full renovation right before your deadline, then?”

And there it is.

It’s not like she still cares for Will. Because those feelings for him have been left in the past. Although it took her a little while to fix her messy heart, the sudden news of his brand new proposal practically catapulted Natasha into officially feeling nothing for him. But, whenever she tells the story to somebody, she’s always hit with a pitiful look. Everyone always tells her the same things: I’m so sorry, and, I couldn’t imagine how I’d feel, and, you’ll find someone much better than him.

She didn’t want Harry to look at her that way. She didn’t want to hear her name fall from his lips at the end of one of those sentences.

“You’re asking a lot of questions,” Natasha says, deflecting.

Harry pauses, knowing.

“Didn’t mean to overstep,” Harry says, holding up his hands in surrender.

Natasha just shakes her head, takes another bite, and racks her brain for anything else to say to take the attention away from herself and her failing relationship.

“So, what about you? Where are you hiding the ring?” She asks, noticing the way Harry practically chokes on his chicken and rice.

“Sorry?” He’s completely confused.

“Your wedding ring. I assumed you didn’t work with it, which is smart, because it’ll practically get ruined with all the hammering and sawing you do. Plus, you’re always on the phone in hushed conversations, and Rory and Gareth are always talking about the pretty girl you never shut up about, so I assumed…” Natasha’s voice trails off as she notices the pained look fall across Harry’s face.

For the first time in a long time, she’s said too much.

“Why do you assume I’m married?” Is what Harry chooses to ask her.

She’s grown quiet, unsure of how to respond. “Well, you’re in your thirties. And you’ve recently renovated a home in Chiswick. Most people who live in Chiswick plan on having children to fill those rooms up.” Natasha suddenly starts wondering if her logic is flawed.

The pained expression on his face grows bigger, and she watches as he gently places his fork against the glass bowl, seemingly finished with his lunch.

“I was in a relationship. We were together for awhile, and I was planning on surprising her with the house in Chiswick because I was ready for the next step. She wasn’t. She left and I spent a year renovating a house that had three bedrooms next to a school by myself.” He stands up, walking halfway towards the door before turning around and looking at Natasha.

“Is that what you wanted to hear?” He says, anger radiating off of him.

Natasha isn’t sure how to respond.

“I—I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Harry says sadly, shaking his head and looking down at the tiled flooring. “You never bothered to ask.”

And with that, he walks out the front door and she can hear the tires of his car skid away.

Natasha spends the rest of the night holed up in her room, typing and retyping chapter thirty. It stays unfinished.

***

Three days goes by and Natasha feels absolutely horrible. She tries to avoid going downstairs as much as she can, because she knows the second she sees Harry’s face she’ll start feeling even worse. She sneaks out the front door when she knows they’re working in the back part of her house. Instead of going to Ellory’s, she walks and walks around London. She ignores her emails, ignores her book, and starts analyzing why she’s so messed up.

It was horrible of her to assume that Harry was married. He’s spent the past few weeks drinking coffee and chatting with her, and he was the closest thing she had to a friend in a long time. All of her other friends were Will’s friends, sans Ellory, so when they broke up and he left, they stopped inviting her around.

Harry was the first person who actually tried to get to know her. And Natasha kept continuously keeping him at arm’s length. She didn’t want him to ask the questions that everybody else asks, but thinking about it all now, she knows that Harry would never look at her the same way the rest of them did.

She was forced into a world she didn’t fit into. She was simply Natasha, a girl who loves to write, can sometimes forget to make her bed, and always puts too much sugar in her tea. She ignores her scary editor and she can only make stir fry and scrambled eggs, and she spent the last few years of her life feeling vastly insignificant compared to Will and his elitist friends. She shouldn’t have made assumptions about Harry, because that’s what people have been doing about her for the better part of her twenties.

There’s a reason why her writing increased tenfold when things were going well with Harry. He was kind and beautiful and inspired her, and now that things are shit, her writing has been horrible. She’s having trouble connecting words into sentences and she knows that’s because she needs to set things straight with Harry.

When she gets to her front door, she doesn’t even stop to pull it shut completely. She’s on a mission, her legs dragging her down the hallway before she can even peel her trainers off her feet. She enters the room without saying hello to Rory and Gareth—instead she eyes the curly headed boy in the corner, leveling shelves before she calls out his name.

She watches his body turn rigid. Rory and Gareth look between the two of them as if they know too much. They try and get back to work, but Natasha can feel their eyes on her. Harry lowers the leveler and looks at her with a blank look on his face.

“Can I talk to you, please?” She asks, and she’s pretty sure he only agrees because he can hear the desperation in her voice.

He follows her out into the back garden, past the tools and materials and into the verandah. Most of the time she sits here with a book and a warm mug of tea and forgets about the world for awhile. But now, she’s hyper aware of Harry’s eyes on her frame, and suddenly she feels much smaller than usual.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters, brown eyes meeting green.

“Natasha—”

“No let me finish.” Harry’s lips shut tight and he nods slowly, watching Natasha take a deep breath in and out.

“I was wrong. I shouldn’t have assumed anything about you. The reason I asked you to renovate my office was because it used to be my fiancé’s. It didn’t work out, it was all too much, and then a few months later he was engaged to someone else.” She pauses, waiting for the look of pity, the awkward apology, the acknowledgement of her sadness.

Instead, his eyes are focused on hers. And she continues.

“I wasted too much time with him. He made me out to be this person I wasn’t, and whenever I was with him, I felt inferior. It felt like I had to dim my shine so he could glow the brightest for the both of us. I was so stupid, ya know?”

Harry doesn’t answer, and she doesn’t expect him to.

“I chose this house. Our agreement was that he got the office. But when he left, it took me a while to figure myself out. And then when I heard he was getting married, I changed everything back to the way I wanted. I got new linens. I bought new mugs. The last thing was the office.” Her eyes are downcast, staring at her Nike’s. She knows that Harry probably wasn’t expecting her to unload all of this on her, but she needed to do it.

Suddenly, she sees the toes of his leather work boots touching her black trainers. Her eyes shoot up and Harry is standing right in front of her, closer than ever before, and he’s looking at her so intensely and she feels warm all over.

“Thank you for telling me that,” he says so softly that Natasha has to lean in to hear him.

“I, uh—you’re welcome. I should’ve told you that a few days ago, to be fair,” Natasha replies, her cheeks feeling flushed.

Before he can say another word, or possibly step a few inches closer so their lips are touching, Gareth calls out Harry’s name and she can almost hear the whine lodged in his throat. He looks as if he doesn’t want to leave, as if he’s anchored down to the flooring of the verandah, but Gareth calls out again and Natasha just tells him that he should go, and their warm bubble is suddenly popped.

That night, Natasha writes three more chapters and has the best sleep of her life.

***

Before Natasha can even comprehend, it’s the last day of the remodel. When she wakes up, Harry is waiting for her by the foyer like usual. She makes him his black coffee and she drinks her tea, and just before they part ways until the afternoon for lunch, Harry asks her if she could step out for the day until they were completely finished.

“Are you hiding something from me?” Natasha asks, cocking her head to the side and trying to persuade Harry into telling her. She hates surprises, and was never fond of them growing up. So whatever Harry had up his sleeve, she wanted to know.

He just gives her that grin of hers she’s grown to love. “No more questions. I’ll see you at five.” And with that, he places his hand on her lower back and shoves her gently towards the stairs.

“You’re infuriating,” Natasha says, lying through her teeth.

“And no peeking on your way out!” Harry shouts from the back of her house.

Natasha begrudgingly obliges, deciding to spend the rest of her day at Ellory’s house with Maude. For the first time in a while, she goes over without her laptop. Instead, she brings a children’s book for Maude, and the three of them spend the afternoon playing games and running around. When Maude goes down for a nap and it’s just Ellory and Natasha lounging on the sofa, Ellory finally acknowledges her good mood.

“What’s got your spirits so high? Or should I dare say, who?” Natasha just laughs, shaking her head to try and distract from the growing redness creeping up her neck and settling on her cheeks.

“It’s nothing, El. For once, I’m just letting things happen without planning beforehand,” Natasha explains, this time actually believing herself.

“Well, I for one am excited,” Ellory says, grabbing her best friend’s hand and giving it a tight squeeze. No matter what happens in Natasha’s life, she’s always been grateful for Ellory’s love and support. And sometimes, that’s all you can ask for.

With four creeping up, Natasha starts getting anxious. Maude overheard Ellory and Natasha talking about the renovation, and she can sense her mother’s excitement in the air. She starts begging Natasha to let them come see it with her.

“Of course, Maude. You’re always welcome at my house.” Maude grins and wraps her arms around Natasha’s neck, and just like that, she feels her anxiousness settle.

Ellory wraps Maude up in a trench coat, and the three of them tread over towards Natasha’s townhouse. Natasha keeps clicking the lock screen on to check the time every thirty seconds, and Ellory just stays quiet, eyeing her best friend suspiciously. Maude is positioned between the two, her small hands grasping one of Ellory’s and Natasha’s.

When they reach the front door, Rory and Gareth are settling into the white Styles & Co. van on the street. Natasha walks up to the window, knocks gently, and waits for Rory to push the button to lower it.

“Miss Natasha,” Rory says with a smile. Natasha grins back, and there’s no denying that she’s grown fond of these two men the past two weeks.

“I guess this is it, boys,” she says sadly, watching as Gareth gives her a knowing look.

“I’m sure you’ll see us around, lass.” Natasha just rolls her eyes, because of course they know that she’s grown extra fond of their boss. They have been watching them for weeks now, laughing to themselves and saying more with just looks between the two of them than words ever could.

“Thanks again for everything,” Natasha says sincerely.

Rory just grins, reaching out and giving her forearm a squeeze. Words aren’t needed.

“Auntie Tasha, come on! Let’s go see!” Maude calls out impatiently from the front steps. Ellory is still holding onto her hand, but her eyes are on Natasha with an amused look.

Natasha walks by them and reaches for the door, feeling Maude wrap her tiny arms around her left leg. She grins down at the toddler before grabbing her hand and dragging her into the foyer, discarding her coat and boots at the door.

“Five on the dot,” Natasha hears from down the hallway. She starts to smile immediately, hearing Maude ask Ellory in the background who that voice was. Ellory looks just as confused as her daughter, and suddenly, Harry is in front of them.

He’s wearing dark jeans and a light patterned button down shirt, opened enough so that Natasha can see his thin white tank top underneath. For the first time since knowing him, he’s wearing Chelsea boots instead of his work boots. He looks even more handsome dressed up, and Natasha can’t help but blush when looking at him.

“Who’s this?” Ellory asks, although she can already tell that this is the boy who’s made her best friend unequivocally happy these past few weeks. Harry extends a hand in greeting, and Ellory looks at Natasha with a smirk on her face.

Maude is hiding behind Natasha’s leg, hand still wrapped around her kneecap.

“Maude, do you want to say hello to my friend?” Natasha whispers, watching as Maude’s big blue eyes look up at her, then over to Harry, then back to her.

She nods before walking in front of Natasha. Harry crouches down so he’s eye level with Maude, and Natasha can’t help but feel the swell in her heart.

“Hi there, I’m Harry,” he says, gently sticking his hand out to shake.

Maude wraps two of her hands around one of his, shaking it up and down a few times until she giggles quietly. “Hi Hawwy. I’m Maude.”

“That’s a pretty name. How old are you?” he asks, grinning when her personality starts to shine through in front of him.

“Fwee! Auntie Tasha says I’m the best fwee year old she’s met,” Maude announces, and Natasha grins down as Harry’s green eyes meet hers.

“I’m sure your Auntie Tasha is right.”

Maude begins to babble and Ellory reaches out to grab her hand, shushing her so that Harry can show them the office. He leads the way, and Natasha starts feeling butterflies flutter in the pits of her stomach. She’s not sure if it’s from Harry or the office or both, but she can practically hear her heartbeat in her ears.

Just before the office comes into view, Harry stops short and Natasha almost runs right into his back.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Harry starts, “but I found some boxes in the storage room and I figured an author should have a library so, I sort of took the liberty of making you your own bookshelf.” He looked bashful, but curiosity was eating her alive, because she knows exactly what boxes Harry’s talking about.

They were the culmination of her favorite books since she was a child. Collecting books was what made her want to write her own, and her tiny flat in the middle of London was filled to the brim with them. But when she moved into the Mayfair house with Will, he only offered her the bookshelf near the kitchen nook that only held about fifteen novels. She had kept the rest stowed away in the storage room, allowing them to fill with dust, unused.

When Natasha steps around Harry and the office comes into light, she’s floored. Her hand shoots up to her mouth in awe, and she can practically hear her heart beating out of her chest.

The original brick flooring that Will had covered up in favor of a more traditional hardwood look was finally given the light of day. Surrounding the wooden door on each side was an archway of bookshelves, curving around the door. It had seven shelves on each side with an eighth over top in the middle, each filled to the brim with all of Natasha’s books.

“Harry…” Natasha is not one for stunned silence, so this is a first for her.

Harry looks sheepish as Maude ogles at the sheer amount of books. “Mummy, is this every book in the world?”

“In Natasha’s world, my love,” Ellory responds quietly, watching her best friend in awe.

Natasha walks through the door and the room is lighter than anywhere else in the house. It reminds her of the verandah in the back garden that she’s grown to love, filled with white wood and green plants. The coffee table has new glass, the love seat and matching chairs are tan and pale yellow respectively. Her actual office desk is white and vast and exceptional. Her laptop and desktop are placed up top, with her best selling books framed on the side. A giant blush pink office chair sits on wheels with her favorite bay window behind her.

She’s absolutely floored. Maude being the toddler that she is runs straight into the room, gasping at everything in awe. She tries to climb on the desk chair and Natasha can see Ellory begin to scold her daughter, but all she can think about is Harry.

Harry.

She turns around and he’s right where she’s left him. His bashfulness has grown to sheepish, and with one enormous grin, she runs towards him and engulfs him in the biggest hug she could muster.

He leans back, surprised at the gesture, but then his strong arms snake around her back and settle on her tailbone. Her arms are locked around his neck, and she can feel him bend down and breathe into the crook of her neck.

“I don’t know what to say other than thank you,” she whispers, her lips falling over the swallows tattooed under his collarbone due to their height difference.

“You’re welcome, Natasha.” There’s her name again, falling beautifully past his lips. She removes her hands from his neck and leans back so she can look into his deep green eyes. They’re standing close to each other again, just like they were in the verandah, but this time they both have no desire to let go.

“The bookshelf—I just. It means so much to me. I don’t know how to repay you,” Natasha says breathlessly.

Harry just smiles softly. “You deserve it, Natasha. You don’t have to repay me. I wanted to do this for you.”

Before she could react, Maude suddenly appears below them, her tiny fist tugging at the bottom of Harry’s jeans.

“Do you think you could make me a bookshelf, Hawwy?” Maude asks shyly.

Natasha looks at Ellory, and for the first time in five years she actually feels something. She feels excited, she feels hopeful, she feels as if everything is starting to make sense to her. And Ellory knows this, and she looks at her best friend with the warmest smile she could muster.

Harry is crouched down in front of Maude. “Of course I can. Whatever you want.”

Harry looks up and Natasha is giving her a look that he hasn’t seen before. He can feel Maude giggle excitedly in front of him, her little hands leaning on his thighs, but all he can think about is Natasha and her brown eyes.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he jokes, standing up and wrapping his arms around her body again.

“I can’t help it, I’m just really happy,” Natasha replies, feeling the light inside of her burn brighter than ever before.

And for the first time in a long time, Harry can feel it too, and together they shine brighter than the sun.

#majorharry20k #harrystylesfanfiction #harrystyles #new fic #1dff #updates

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tundrainafrica · 4 years

Text

Title: Hacker

Summary:

"Education has reached a new frontier. Given the pandemic and the need to continue educating the youth, many companies have started developing ways to eliminate distractions in the online classroom. Eduguardian is an MDM solution designed to support our educators and guardians in their mission to create the optimal learning environment for children."

Brookland starts using Mobile Device Management solutions for the student's devices and Alex naively tries to find a way to bypass it.

Written for the SpyFest fic exchange, Dec 2020

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Prompt:

"Alex is noticed as having a lot of potential (be it while he's on a mission or just going home from school but is paying a lot of attention to his surroundings and gets noticed by some criminals - not the ones he's investigating- or by some other intelligence agency; either way, they don't recognise him as a spy) and someone tries to recruit him. MI6 isn't exactly happy with the whole ordeal, especially when Alex gives the offer some serious consideration (or he doesn't, it's up to you. MI6 is still pissed)."

Notes: I am so sorry I took way too many liberties with this hahahah. I hope it's still recognizable? An attempt at crack. (Do people actually follow me for Alex Rider content?)

When Brooklands got into the trend of holding both online and in-classroom classes, Alex was out on a mission.

In fact, he didn’t even notice that most of his classmates were joining him when he was doing modules his teacher so kindly sent him. Probably because his downtime to actually look at those modules consisted of those times in a helicopter minutes before he was to skydive and land onto the roof of another military headquarters.

The change was gradual but it was there. Alex though, having had too many things running through his head never did notice it. That is until he opened one of his devices during class to see the browser Safari was blocked on his iPad.

Your school has not provisioned this as a Class App. Please contact your school administrator if you believe this is a mistake.

“What the hell is this?” Alex whispered, mostly to himself.

“Oh yeah, it’s blocked. You have to use the Eduguardian browser now,” Tom answered from next to him. He reached out over Alex’s shoulder and clicked on something on the lower screen of Alex’s ipad, a green app with a badge on it

“What? Why?”

“Yeah, something about ‘educational technology being the new frontier’ and ‘having to protect children in an online setting’…”

With Tom’s mannerisms, Alex could almost imagine the speech drilled into his classmates heads while he was away. He didn’t have to imagine for too long though. An ad of Eduguardian was one of the few things they were at least allowed to access during class. For some reason, Alex found himself more interested in the ad than in the actual class.

Education has reached a new frontier. Given the pandemic and the need to continue educating the youth, many companies have started developing ways to eliminate distractions in the online classroom.

Eduguardian is an MDM solution to support our educators and guardians form a better environment for your children.

MDM?

“Eyes up.” And just like that, before Alex could even figure out the implications of an MDM, his screen froze then locked and he was left with nothing better to do than listen to his teacher.

The teacher flashed the questions on the board. “Pop quiz everyone!”

A link was sent to his iPad. It opened up to a google form with one essay question History was generally one of the easiest subjects to google.

How were peasants in western Europe similar to serfs in Russia? How were they different?

It was an essay so at least they were given time and space to research. Or so that was what Alex thought. Having been a student for many years, and for a long one year, having been a student who was constantly behind. Alex had built very efficient methods for research.

As Alex opened up wikipedia, he soon found out what cruel reality.

“They blocked Wikipedia?”

“Apparently, starting with wikipedia is lazy research.” Tom answered softly back, looking not at all convinced with the school’s strategy.

For the first time since his first mission, Alex was not happy to be back at school.

Hacker

“It doesn’t end there… When you get home, your parents have control of the gadget. They can set curfews, set up restrictions. This invention is fucking crazy,” Tom ranted as they made their way home that afternoon.

For Tom it was. Alex was sure though Jack wouldn’t be too strict about it. She never was. She was more like a sister than a parent to him after all.

All hopes of a normal day though were dashed when he came home to find Jack as confused as he was. “Brooklands never told me about anything like that.”

“You’re kidding...” That was a declarative statement. Alex did not want to even want to plant the possibility that maybe, just maybe she knew nothing about it. “Every student has to have an assigned guardian... “ Alex watched as Jack’s eyes widened in what could have been realization. As she did, Alex was starting to understand what she meant, having stumbled upon the same conclusion.

Hacker

“Alex, you have to understand, MDM is the new frontier. With the internet, we can’t just have kids running around watching porn or war movies without supervision.”

“This is a bunch of horseshit. You’re infringing on my right to privacy.”

“You’re acting like we have never done this before Alex. Besides, it’s not like we’re watching what you’re doing 24/7. Just enough to keep you safe… and your content age appropriate.”

Mrs. Jones’s justification had Alex rolling his eyes. He had checked his web filtering settings that afternoon to see that all violent Youtube channels and subreddits had been blocked. Keywords like blood, guns and suicide have also been filtered out. But you’re so ready to drop me at the line of fire when convenient. He would have wanted to say. By then though, Mrs. Jones was looking back at her paperwork and Alex knew any argument would have been futile.

Any argument towards Jones at least. Alex still had allies among MI6.

“Smithers, how much do you know about this MDM thing?” Alex asked as soon as he closed the door behind him. He was aware that the walls were soundproof and he made little effort to regulate his voice, having wasted too much of his patience talking to Mrs. Jones. He had twenty other things to say more insulting to ‘horseshit’ after all.

“Well, it’s all the rage now but it’s nothing new. MI6 has been using mobile device management systems since before to watch their employees.”

“Why does MI6 have to be the one assigned to ‘parent’ my school account?”

Smithers shrugged. “They are your legal guardians.” The man had a face about him, as if he didn’t want to be involved. Alex knew Smithers had a soft spot for him and he just had to use it to his advantage.

For a few more moments they were silent. Alex though continued to stare at Smithers, widening his eyes a bit and twisting his mouth into a little pout, or maybe a face of disappointment. All he intended to show though was a little bit of hopelessness and awareness of the unfairness of his situation.

It may have worked. It may have not worked. It was enough for Smithers to let out a big sigh, bring out a USB and connect it into his computer. Within minutes, he placed it on the table, gesturing for Alex to take it. “Don’t you dare tell Mrs. Jones about this.”

Hacker

It was a quick install virtual desktop interface.

It was a straightforward solution to the MDM that ravaged his iPad and within minutes of installation and booting it up, Alex finally had access to whatever else prepubescent boys usually preferred to search up privately.

Through the VDI at least. Alex noted. That virtual desktop had become Alex’s one stop shop for blocked content for both days at school and nights at home.

When in school, Alex already had a disadvantage when taking pop quizzes and for once he actually felt that MI6, or at least Smithers, was doing their part to undo the damage of missed classes. He had finished one of his quizzes for literature thirty minutes before the class ended because of the quick access he had had to sparknotes using the VDI Smither’s had given him.

“Alex, what the hell---” Tom whispered. Or it was a little too loud to be a whisper for a very paranoid and guilty Alex. He quickly pushed at Tom’s chair so the boy beside him would lose his balance and distract him. That gave Alex enough time to close his VDI and pretend to struggle as he reviewed his already completed worksheet.

Tom didn’t buy it. “Alex, you know something we don’t.” He had whispered to him soon after students started to file out of the classroom.

Tom was his best friend in Brookland. Within a few minutes of listening to Tom’s outrageous theories and rants, Alex finally caved in and requested for Tom’s USB. Within a day, he had copied that file to Tom’s USB and the latter had it installed on his laptop, just in time for their next exam.

Tom looking a little too relaxed for the next exam was what set off alarms for the whole class. Tom had a secret he didn’t want to share and somehow the class knew. No one just became above average overnight. Especially someone like Tom.

Alex was approached a few days after he had given Tom a copy of the file. It was when he had passed by the toilet which was reserved for things other than conventional uses of the toilet, did he run into someone who reeked of whatever they smoked inside.

“I have a business proposition for you,” he said, a whiff of smoke following suit.

Hacker

A week passed and suddenly everyone was finishing their exams thirty minutes earlier. The teachers had attributed it to the effects of a good MDM. Alex’s wallet was a little heavier so he wasn’t complaining.

That was until he found a black sedan in front of his home with a man in a suit and a quick message from Mrs. Jones.

The ride to Mrs. Jones office was been silent, save for a terse “go in!” as soon as he arrived in front of her office. He heard venom in that voice and was sure she was at least trying to be polite but was probably seething.

Mrs. Jones did not waste any time. “MDMs are an important part of national security Alex.”

“Yes. I’m aware of that.”

“Then what am I hearing about a mass production of VDIs packaged externally.”

Alex shouldn’t have been surprised that she found out about it. He found cold chill brush through him as she pointed it out. “Where did you hear that?”

“We had to investigate the suddenly very impressive results of the students in quizzes over a three week period. And they traced it to one school, Brookland.” Mrs. Jones glared at him accusingly. “You can’t just hack into MDMs!”

Alex brought his hands up defensively. “Why do you suddenly think it’s me?”

“Alex, no boy your age just suddenly stops watching porn for a month."

A week later, all devices were wiped and all USBs ceased. The damage had been done.

At least Alex got to keep the money.

#alex rider fanfiction #alex rider #tom harris #tulip jones #derek smithers #an attempt at crack

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lookoolah · 4 years

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love in every sip (1.9k) read on ao3 for the “coffee” square on my @tonystarkbingo flash card

Tony startled himself awake when he made a move to get into a more comfortable position on the tiny couch that was clearly not meant for sleeping on, which he certainly had a difficult time learning over the course of the years that the tiny couch had found its way to Tony’s workshop (with some help from Pepper, probably). He wasn’t sure whether he woke up in the millisecond that he was hovering in the air between the ridiculous couch and the ground or when he facepalmed into the floor, but awake he definitely was.

“Ow, shit.” He groaned, looking up vengefully at the stupid sofa. “J, as soon as you can, place an order for the biggest, comfiest couch you can find on the internet, thanks!” He gritted out through his teeth, hoping that the tiny couch felt insecure and unlovable.

“Right away, Sir.”

He looked up at the StarkPad displaying the time that he had perched on top of his coffee-table as a make-shift digital clock (whoever said he wasn’t one for interior design?). It was 9am, anyway, so he might as well be getting up now. That is if he was pretending to be a healthy functioning human being that didn’t spend the last 72 hours in his workshop and fell asleep 3 hours ago on this stupid, unlovable couch.

He made his way to the main kitchen, waving sleepily at the team that was lively bickering in the breakfast nook. Oh right, that’s what they looked like, other people. He thought it would be a good idea to brush his teeth before any silverware made contact with the inside of his mouth lest it immediately corroding.

After spending way too long sitting on the toilet because his body seemed to enjoy falling asleep in the most uncomfortable of places, he finally made his way back to the now-empty kitchen, where on the counter he found a steaming coffee in the Iron Man mug from the Avengers mugs set that Clint thought was the perfect $15 Christmas gift for the people that literally risked their lives by his side on day-by-day bases. Tony frowned, walking over to the island, unsure whether he blanked out and made coffee in the short interval of semi-wakefulness between sleeping in odd places. He spotted a napkin next to the mug, where a neat cursive looked back at him.

“Good morning, Tony. Please stop pulling all-nighters for three days straight,” it said.

Huh? Tony really only had the energy to ponder about when, by whom, and why the note was written and the coffee made for a total of ten seconds before his sleep and caffeine-deprived mind short-circuited and he gave in to the inviting aroma of the drink. And, well, whoever his barista in shining armor was unquestionably knew just how strong and sweet Tony liked his coffee (that being, real strong and real sweet).

☕.

He really didn’t expect it to become an ongoing thing. He didn’t expect that the next morning, upon walking into the kitchen (from his bedroom this time, thank fuck ) he would be met with the same Iron Man mug on the counter with another napkin neatly placed next to it, its edge tucked under the mug as if to make sure that the soft blow of air from the air conditioning wouldn’t blow it away, care written all over the scene.

“Good morning, sleepyhead. Glad you actually got some shuteye tonight, finally. Hope you have a good day.”

Tony read the note over a few times, twice in his head, and once under his breath, with a small smile that he didn’t notice was there until Steve, who was apparently in the pantry, called attention to it.

“Cheery this morning, huh?”

“Oh, uh,” Tony looked up from the napkin in his hand, trying to hold back the smile, “You tripped and fell in my dream, still laughing at it.” He lied, protectively wrapping his hands around the warm Iron Man mug.

Steve chuckled in response, putting down the box of Lucky Charms and reaching above the sink to grab himself a bowl.

“You want some cereal?” He asked, putting down a bowl in front of Tony without waiting for a response.

“So courteous of you, Cap,” Tony started filling his bowl with milk while Steve was pouring cereal into his, “And they say chivalry is dead.”

Steve made a face at him, probably about to give a schpiel about why would you pour the milk first, Tony?

“Why would you pour the milk first, Tony?” He said, handing Tony the Lucky Charms and taking the milk from his hands.

“Because I’m a certified genius, that’s why.” Tony winked, taking a sip from his coffee. Shit, so perfect again. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to see who made this coffee, would you?�� He asked tentatively, filling his bowl with cereal.

“Didn’t you make it?” Steve canted his head in confusion and brought the spoon to his lips.

“No, actually, I didn’t,” Tony took another sip of his coffee, “I wonder who did, though.” This time, as he looked down at the dyed marshmallows in his milk, he failed to notice both the involuntary smile he pressed into the rim of his Iron Man mug and the one Steve stifled around a mouthful of his cereal.

☕️.

The random coffee offerings in a particular Iron Man mug and a neat cursive turned regular from then on, and it was starting to become clear that his barista in shining armor was really more of a secret admirer expressing their affections through coffee beans.

The mugs waited for him at the counter almost every morning, the team off at a mission, the team just sitting down for breakfast, the team finishing up breakfast. The mugs were on a coaster on his desk when he fell asleep at it while working on a new design, while fixing an old design, while ignoring emails from some super important government officials. The mugs, for fucks sake, were sat on an old paperback next to the tiny couch that Tony continued to fall asleep on, even after the biggest, comfiest couch on the internet arrived.

“Good morning, hope you slept well. You look adorable with bedhead.”

“Heard you walking around late last night, I wish I could drive off all your nightmares with a broom.”

“Stop falling asleep at your desk, idiot, your neck will get stuck like that.”

“That couch looks like it’s not meant for sleeping on.”

Tony found himself growing more and more fond at every note, every word, every sip. He didn’t think that it was possible for him to look forward to his daily dose of caffeine more than he already did, but this new routine indisputably made him jittery with excitement every morning.

He started to watch the team closely, in an attempt to figure out their tells. Who saw me this morning with my bedhead? Who likes to broom? Who doesn’t like tiny uncomfortable couches?

But, alas, none of the notes had been specific enough to pinpoint someone or even narrow down the list, and Jarvis was refusing to give him any information on the grounds of some “No Stalking Protocol, Sir” bullshit.

That was, of course, until the afternoon that Nick Fury, somehow Tony’s saving grace in this mystery, called him up to his office. Tony plopped down on the chair in front of the desk, crossing his leg and taking a sip of his smoothie.

“You should really try this place from down the block someday, I hear they grow all their shit themselves.” He took another sip, the little to no remnants on the bottom of the cup loudly coming up the straw. “Ugh, to die for!”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” Nick rolled his eye, and Tony wondered whether The Nick Fury Eyeroll pre tragic eye loss accident was more or less puissant. “I need you to look over this report that Rogers submitted and discuss with the team whether or not every update that you insist on installing in their suits has really been necessary.” Nick handed him a transparent folder and Tony cringed at both the utmost ludicrous implication that advancement is not always necessary and at the prospect of paperwork. “It seems to me like on this particular mission they were more of a disruption rather than advantage.”

Tony flipped open the file and looked up at Nick through his eyelashes, taking one final loud sip of his Blueberry Mist smoothie.

“I’m sorry, did you just allude to that progress is not an essential part of human existence? My goodness, I did not know you to be such a conservative, Nick!” He clapped a hand over his heart, prompting another eyeroll. The eye patch, Tony thought, definitely made it more effective.

“Stop bullshitting me and just look over the report, Stark.” Tony chuckled and looked down at the paper, a neat cursive looking back at him.

“Uh,” He cleared his throat, flipping through the pages and staring at the way the letters braided into each other, just like on the napkins Tony read sweet nothings form every morning. He looked up at the top of the paper, where next to the printed “Name” it read in pretty, oh-so-pretty cursive, “Captain Steven Rogers.”

☕.

Steve woke up from a dull migraine that he had been nursing for the past week or so. He sighed, taking a large sip of the lukewarm water from the bottle he had discarded in his room a few days ago. Everyone was always talking about how important drinking water is nowadays, but Steve was never really a fan of health schticks anyway. As he made his way to the kitchen, he asked his own brain not for the first time this week why it wasn’t healed by the oh-so-magical properties of the oh-so-magical serum. A look at the digital clock in the elevator told him it was 7am on a Sunday, and he tried to remember what time it was last night when Tony excused himself to his bedroom from movie night, claiming that he was too exhausted for thrillers that evening.

Stepping into the kitchen, however, he was met with a sleepy Tony in an oversized gray Led Zepellin hoodie and plaid pajama pants, sitting Indian Style in the breakfast nook with an Iron Man mug in his hands, taking small sips from it and the smell of coffee traveling from the coffeemaker on the kitchen counter to Steve.

Oh. He felt the pang of disappointment in his chest at the realization that Tony woke up earlier than him. This week really didn’t like Steve much, did it?

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Tony broke the silence and Steve felt some of the disappointment dissipating at the raspy sleep-deprived timbre of Tony’s voice, “I made coffee,” he nodded over to the island that Steve was standing in front of, “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Why would I ―” Steve cut himself off when his eyes landed on the Captain America mug from the Avengers mugs set that Clint thought was the perfect $15 Christmas gift for the people that literally risked their lives by his side on day-by-day bases. Steve felt his heart skip a beat and he held his breath as he reached out and pulled the mug towards him. Under it, of course, there was a napkin with a blocky print scribbled over it.

“You’re not as slick as you think you are, Mr. Rogers.

Busy tonight?”

#tony stark august flash bingo #tony stark bingo fill #karina writes #stony #stevetony #stony fic #stevetony fic #steve/tony #steve x tony #steve rogers #tony stark #mcu fanfiction #marvel

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researchetcsblog · 3 years

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tidal energy marketing Advice - What You Need To Knows

tidal energy marketing has become an increasingly important tool in today's market. While many companies have already jumped into the tidal energy marketing arena, it is imperative that you are able to separate yourself from the competition by doing the research necessary to ensure that you are offering the best service and price to your clients. As the tidal energy industry grows globally, it is critical to stay ahead of the tidal energy marketing curve by engaging the best marketing experts on the Internet and creating a marketing plan that will generate the tidal energy marketing results you desire. By conducting a full-service natural gas liquids and crude oil research plan you will be able to determine which products are currently selling well, which would be a good candidate for a tidal energy marketing campaign and which would require some tweaking to achieve better overall results.

There are several natural gas liquids and crude oil research programs that are currently undergoing testing or have been tested, but which may be premature to launch as part of a full-service tidal energy marketing campaign. In most instances, the company has conducted the research after the fact when market conditions have been established to the point that you can confidently make an informed decision on whether or not the venture should proceed. This would be the ideal situation. However, things rarely happen the way they are planned. Due to the uncertainty associated with natural resource markets, there is always the possibility of a company launching a program and finding out that it would be more effective if they waited until market conditions were more favorable.

In most instances, waiting a year or two before investing in a full-service crude oil and natural gas liquids research program is sufficient. The reason behind this is that natural gas liquids are not as economically feasible as crude oil. Therefore, if your goal is to make a significant profit rather than just a small return on your investment, you would be best served by waiting. The same logic applies if your goal is to build a long-term relationship with an oil company. Waiting to invest in an expensive program now will only alienate your potential client base.

If you are considering tidal energy marketing research, your first step should always be to find out all that you can about the technology. While there are some well-known experts that provide credible information and recommendations for tidal energy, you should also try to find out as much as possible about the technologies, the industry leaders, and the suppliers. The Internet is a great source for this kind of research. While you will undoubtedly find some biased opinions in the tidal energy marketing forums, at least you will have an expert to consult who has done his or her research and understands the industry better than any of the amateur scientists that frequent the forums.

When you begin your search for information, you will undoubtedly come across a number of different opinions. Some will be good, some bad, and some will be completely wrong. The best thing to do when trying to determine what is what regarding tidal energy marketing advice is to find a consensus opinion about the topic. The opinions that you hear may not agree with one another but they should still be able to offer good insight into the subject.

When you have narrowed down your list of possible sources for information about tidal energy, your next step is to find out how you will pitch your products and services. This is where you can take your lead from the reputable forums. These individuals will have taken the time to speak with industry leaders and others who are in the know to get their opinion. After you have assembled the pieces of the puzzle, it is then time to set up a website to promote your products. While a blog works great for a marketing platform, having a separate website devoted to your business can help make sure that your efforts to get maximum exposure.

As mentioned above, research is the key when it comes to tidal energy marketing campaigns. Without thorough research, you could be setting yourself up for failure. Not only do you need to learn more about tidal energy, you also need to learn everything you can about the competition. If you aren't very competitive, you might have a harder time finding prospects. However, if you are too aggressive, you could see your profits decline. Researching each potential market space can help you ensure that your campaign is effective and profitable.

Overall, tidal energy marketing strategies can work for small businesses or large corporations. Even if you just manage to get one installation started, your name will be known by consumers and you will have created an important new source of income for your community. Take the time to learn more about this exciting and potentially lucrative opportunity.

Summary: According to XYZResearch study, over the next five years the Tidal Energymarket will register a xx% CAGR in terms of revenue, the global market size will reach US$ xx million by 2026, from US$ xx million in 2020. In particular, this report presents the global market share (sales and revenue) of key companies in Tidal Energybusiness.

Tidal Energy market development trend, sales volume and sales value (million USD) forecast in regional market, the main regions are China, USA, Europe, India, Japan, Korea, South America, Southeast Asia.

Sales forecast by type/application from 2021-2026

Industry chain, downstream and upstream information is also included.

World trade was already slowing in 2019 before COVID 19 outbreak, weighed down by trade tensions and slowing economic growth, such as uncertainty generated from Brexit, the U.S.-China trade war, the Japan-South Korea trade war.

Trade is expected to fall by between 13% and 32% in 2020 as the COVID 19 pandemic disrupts normal economic activity and life around the world, according to the study of WTO. The decline in exports has been mainly due to the ongoing global slowdown, which got aggravated due to the current Covid-19 crisis. The latter resulted in large scale disruptions in supply chains and demand resulting in cancellation of orders.

XYZResearch’s analysis shows that as China started reopening its economy, world exports initially recovered across the board. But estimates of the expected recovery in 2021 are uncertain, with outcomes depending largely on the duration of the outbreak and the effectiveness of the policy responses.

We split global market into several key Regions, with sales (K Units), revenue (M USD), market share and growth rate of Tidal Energy for these regions, from 2014 to 2026 (forecast), covering

China

USA

Europe

Japan

Korea

India

Southeast Asia

South America

Global Tidal Energy market competition by top manufacturers/players, with Tidal Energy sales volume, Price (USD/Unit), revenue (M USD) and market share for each manufacturer/player; the top players including

Aquamarine Power ltd

Carnegie Wave Energy Ltd.

Pelamis Wave Power Ltd.

Tenax Energy

S.D.E. Energy Ltd.

AquaGen Technologies

Atlantis Resources Ltd.

Ocean Power Technologies, Inc.

Ocean Renewable Power Company LLC

Marine Current Turbines Ltd.

Scotrenewables Tidal Power Ltd

BioPower Systems

Blue Energy Canada Inc.

On the basis of product, this report displays the production, revenue, price, market share and growth rate of each type, primarily split into

Tidal Stream Generator

Pendulor Device

Oscillating Water Columns

Barrage

Others (Lagoon and Turbine)

On the basis on the end users/applications, this report focuses on the status and outlook for major applications/end users, sales volume, market share and growth rate of Tidal Energy for each application, including

Commercial

Industrial

Residential

If you have any additional requirements, feel free to contact us.

Global Tidal Energy Market report offers great insights of the market and consumer data and their interpretation through various figures and graphs. Report has embedded global market and regional market deep analysis through various research methodologies. The report also offers great competitor analysis of the industries and highlights the key aspect of their business like success stories, market development and growth rate.

Global Toggle Light Switches Market

Global Toilet Seat Sanitizers Market

Global Tooling Composite Market

Global Toroidal Inductor Market

For more contact us: https://www.reportmines.com/

#tidal energy marketingtidal energy marketing Researchtidal energy marketing Research Reportstidal energy marketing Sharetidal energy marketi

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greenerdays420 · 3 years

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What Are the Different Home Improvement Messages?

Home improvement refers to any activity done to make the house better, more comfortable and useful. The concept of home improvement, home remodeling, or renovation is essentially the same as the concept of home renovation. Home improvement may include projects that upgrade the house interiors, exteriors or any other structural changes to the property itself. Some examples of such projects include home modifications like installing new carpets or upgrading the house interiors, erecting new walls or renovating and repairing the house roof. There are also some parts of a house which require little customization and may include kitchen remodeling or bathroom remodeling. One can also consider home improvement to be just as much work as a major renovation.

In order to get the best results in terms of value for money and comfort for the family, most people hire home improvement contractors. This way, they get a better idea of what the cost will be and they can plan and execute a budget. Most good renovation contractors use affordable and reputable materials and quality construction methods so that they can add value to a house in a most cost effective manner.

Home renovation contractors usually deal with one of two kinds of projects: the simple and the complex. For the simple project, the contractor will usually start by adding new tiles to bathrooms, adding new wall coverings and floor coverings and adding new sinks and toilets. They may even add new lighting systems and make minor aesthetic changes to the interiors. On the other hand, the complex project encompasses a range of activities like improving the heating system, adding new water heaters, installing new roofs and floor coverings. These projects are normally required to be completed before selling the house.

Most home improvement projects tend to go wrong because homeowners try to do too much. Sometimes, homeowners will hire a remodeling contractor who will propose everything in detail and this causes significant problems. Homeowners will end up spending more than what they expected and the contractor will not complete the tasks on time. For example, in the case of national syndicated house show champion Danny Lipford, homeowners made payments to the contractor's workers and paid a significant amount in commission fees.

The homeowner should take care when hiring home improvement contractors because it's possible to make mistakes when you hire professionals. When a contractor fails to follow the prescribed guidelines, he or she could receive a penalty or may be sued for not meeting legal requirements. It's therefore important to read through all the details and regulations related to your chosen home improvement projects. You should also get a written quote from the contractor based on your specifications.

The best way to avoid problems is by hiring experienced remodel contractors. You should ask the contractor to provide references and check out their website. If you find a number of complaints against a particular company, you should avoid them. Home improvement companies that have many negative feedbacks are usually the ones that don't follow through with their promises. For example, you can receive a home improvement contract without any work for your property but you may have to pay for a home improvement attorney who may recommend a remodel contractor.

The Home Improvement Lead section contains detailed information about remodeling and renovation. This section can be used for various reasons including; when you want to hire a contractor to remodel or renovate your property, when you want to engage a remodeling contractor, when you want to engage a renovation contractor and when you need help with renovating your property. You should learn how and when to remove this message (section has a red question mark). When you enter this section, you will find various contact information. You can view the person's contact details, his or her qualifications and years of experience. You will also learn the type of business, the contractor is in, his or her license status, type of insurance he or she carries and other important information.

The Home Improvement Citations/Notices section contains information about your legal obligations regarding home improvement projects. This section is used to report cases that infringe on your right to improve your property. The Home Improvement Citations/Notices section contains a detailed description about the problem, a proposed solution and the legal obligations involved. This page is used to help you keep track of various home improvement related cases.

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deans-baby-momma · 5 years

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Rebel Without A Cause-Epilogue #2 (The End)

A/N: This is it guys. The final installment of Rebel Without A Cause. Thanks everyone for reading, reblogging and commenting. And if you haven’t already check out The Padackles Link and Falling To Temptation. Those are the only two I have ongoing at the moment, although I am slowly working on the sequel/prequel to Past Haunts called Wounded Hearts. It’ll be out later this year, probably toward the end of summer.

While eating dinner a few days later, Dean brings up the subject. "Mags, can I ask you something?"

"You just did," Maggie laughs causing Dean to roll his eyes. "Of course you can, babe."

"You ever, ahem….think about us having a baby?"

Maggie smiles as she looks at her husband. "Only every single day."

Dean smiles widely at her, the love he has for her obvious. "Quit taking your birth control. Let's make a kid."

Maggie smiles and nods in response. 'This is happening!' she thinks to herself. 'Dean wants to have a baby with me.' Her insides quiver with excitement and anticipation at the thought.

A few days later, right before a concert, Dean corners Maggie in their bathroom. "Tonight, after the show. I'm gonna pump you full. Make you all round with my kid," he whispers in her ear and then nibbles on her earlobe.

"Dean it's only been three days. I'm not going to get pregnant three days after I quit taking my pill."

Dean growls as he lays a trail of kisses down her neck and across her shoulder. "Then I'll just fuck you until you are. Every night if I have to. And in the mornings too."

Maggie whimpers and feels her knees go weak at the prospect. Her and Dean's sex life hadn't simmered at all since the wedding. They still had sex multiple times a week, after the shows, sometimes before too. Dean hadn't once let on that he was bored or needed more to be satisfied. But knowing now that they were trying for a baby made Maggie's libido intensify. She can’t wait until after tonight’s gig.

From the side of the stage, Maggie stands with Rayne and watches as the Winchester Sex Bombs take the stage and listen as the crowd goes wild. Maggie knows it will only be a matter of time until her husband’s band is touring the country and even possibly out of the country.

“We’re trying for a baby,” she tells Rayne, casually. She looks over at her best friend to gauge her reaction. Rayne turns to Maggie with her eyes wide and her mouth dropped open. “WHAT?!”

“Dean and I are trying for a baby,” Maggie repeats. “I stopped taking my birth control three days ago.”

Rayne pulls Maggie down to her and hugs her tightly before letting go and jumping up and down excitedly. “Best news ever! I’m gonna be an aunt.”

If anyone had told Maggie that Dean Winchester had a breeding kink and that it would be so hot, she would’ve suggested having a kid a long time ago. Dean grunts in her ear as he pushes his hard cock into her welcoming cunt with force. “Damn baby, I can’t wait to see you full of my baby. Knowing I fucked a kid into you. Goddamn, I love you.”

Maggie has already had four orgasms, one on his fingers, two on his tongue and one just from the filthy diatribe coming from his lips. She is closing in on a fifth one and he is still pounding into her with no end in sight.

“Dean!” she screams as that coil deep inside her breaks and her vision goes white. “Oh my god, Dean. I can’t take anymore,” she whines but Dean disregards her statement and lifts her leg to drape over his shoulder.

“Yes, you can. That tight pussy is going to take this whole cock and every single drop of cum I give it. You’re going to be so fucking full, you’ll be dripping for days.”

Maggie’s eyes roll back and Dean begins a punishing pace as his thrusts get harder. “Fuck, Mags. Your pussy is so good. Squeezing me tight. Come on baby, play with your clit for me.” Maggie reaches between them surprised at how soaked she is. Dean chuckles and says, “I love it when you squirt all over my dick.”

Rubbing small circles over her sensitive nub, Maggie can feel another orgasm making itself known and she marvels at the phenomenon. She has never had this many, ever. She wonders if she could combust with desire. “Oh god, Dean. You feel so good. Fuck me full, babe. Put a baby in me.”

Dean somehow finds the stamina to begin thrusting into her even deeper, harder, and faster. The headboard of the bed begins colliding with the wall with each plunge. Suddenly Dean stills, buried deep inside his wife and she can feel his release throbbing out and coating her walls and cervix. The feeling causes her to have a small orgasm that makes her head spin.

“Well if that didn’t do it, I don’t know what will,” Dean chuckles as he rolls off her and pulls her to his side. “I love you, Mags.”

“I love you, Dean.”

Five weeks later, Dean and Maggie learn that one of their many lovemaking sessions was a success when the plus sign shows up on the test stick. It just so happens to be the same day that Dean gets the call that the Winchester Sex Bombs are wanted on a 25-city, 10 state country-wide tour, as the headliners.

“Dean Henry Winchester, I swear to fucking God. I refuse to let you turn this down,” Maggie states when Dean voices that he is thinking about throwing the opportunity away. “I am not going to be the reason you don’t get to live out your lifelong dream. Your kid and I will be just fine. Go rock the country and come back to us. We’re proud of you, Daddy,” she says with a smile.

Dean returns the smile in earnest. Hearing Maggie call him Daddy makes him feel proud. He is going to be a father. But he also doesn’t want to miss a single moment of her pregnancy and being out on the road will make him do just that.

“Baby, why don’t you come with us? I mean for the first few months anyway,” Dean suggests. “We can be together and I can help you through whatever you need. Please? I don’t want to miss anything.”

“You’ll be regretting that when I’m bent over the toilet, puking up the dinner we just ate,” Maggie says. Dean denies it with a shake of his head and he pulls her to him and places his large palm over her non-existent bump.

It is on the road that Maggie hits many firsts. The first time she denied Dean sex because her boobs are sore; her first mood swing over some inconsequential little thing; her first bout with morning sickness that lasted all day and into the night, making her miss the concert. The heartburn alone was horrendous but then the aversion to her favorite foods caused the first argument of their married life.

“You just ate this last week,” Dean says as Maggie covers her nose and mouth and backs away from the plate of lasagna. “It’s your favorite.”

“I know,” Maggie says nasally. “But it smells weird.”

“It smells weird she says,” Dean mocks as he takes a bite of his food.

“What did you just say?” Maggie looks at him admonishingly.

“What? Everything smells weird to you now, Maggie. First it was the chicken, then it was the cake. Now it’s the lasagna. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’m pregnant, you asshole!” Maggie screams as she retreats to the bedroom of the suite, slamming and locking the door. Dean looks after her and realizes where he fucked up.

Both Maggie and Dean are relieved when the second trimester arrives. Maggie’s sexual appetite is back with a vengeance, she no longer feels sick all the time and her favorite foods are her favorite again. Her only complaint, and Dean’s pleasure, is the weight gain. Maggie hates seeing the numbers on the scale going up every time she goes to the doctor. She had spent so long working to get the extra pounds off that it saddened her to see higher numbers. Dean, though, is pleased with the way Maggie’s body is filling out and is not ashamed to tell her.

“Look at how that ass pops!” Dean says one night as Maggie is getting out of the shower. “And Mags, those boobs! Makes a man want to bury himself between them. He sure would die happy.” Maggie laughs and rolls her eyes at her husband’s words and hurries to wrap the towel around herself. Dean might like looking at her growing body but Maggie avoids it like the plague.

Maggie has also become a permanent figure at the side of the stage once again, and the baby seems to really enjoy listening to its father rock the house. “Man, Rayne. The little one is really at it tonight!” Maggie tells her best friend as she places a palm against her bump. Rayne slaps her hand away and replaces it with her own. “Hey, buddy. You like listening to daddy and Uncle Sam play?” Rayne bends down to talk to Maggie’s belly.

The third trimester, though, sets everyone back a step when Maggie gets diagnosed with preeclampsia. Her doctors order her to stay home and rest. So while the rest of the band go on tour, Maggie and Rayne settle into the Winchester house in Lebanon, Kansas. Rayne insists on staying with Maggie to alleviate Dean’s worry and concern. Everything is going good until one morning Maggie gets up and as soon as she stands her water breaks, gushing over the floor and soaking her nightgown. “Rayne! Call Dean...it’s time.”

The cab ride from the airport to the hospital seems to take forever as Dean anxiously sits in the backseat, next to his brother. When Rayne had called this morning to tell him Maggie was in labor, Dean jumped out of bed and hurriedly got dressed as he called their manager, Crowley and the rest of the band to tell them the good news. Thankfully, Crowley was in a giving mood and told him that he would postpone all shows until further notice while Dean flew home to welcome his kid. That was three hours ago and Dean is nervously afraid he has missed the birth.

“Dude, calm down,” Sam says as Dean begins bouncing his knee. “You aren’t going to miss it. If I know Rayne, she will be demanding Maggie keep her legs closed so that the baby doesn’t come out until you’re there.” Dean threw a glare at his younger brother but he knew Sam was right. Rayne would do whatever it took so that Dean wouldn’t miss out on the birth of his first child. He was going to have to have a chat with his brother after all this was over. Sam needed to marry that girl.

The taxi pulls up to the hospital entrance and Dean rushes out of the vehicle, leaving Sam to take care of the fare. He practically runs up to the receptionist’s desk. “Margaret Winchester. She’s having my baby. Where is she?”

By the time Sam joins him, Dean has the room number and a badge to allow him entry into the labor and delivery floor. They both get on the elevator to take them to their woman. With each floor the car passes, Dean’s nerves become more frazzled. ‘This is it!’ he thinks to himself. ‘I’m about to become a dad.” The thought brings a smile to his face. He can’t wait to see the little one.

After he relieves Rayne of her duties, Dean steps up to Maggie who is laying in the bed, her hair matted to her sweaty forehead. “Hey, baby. I’m here. I’m here,” he coos.

“About damn time. Get this kid out of me,” Maggie growls and grabs his hand, squeezing it as another contraction hits.

Hours later, Dean goes out to get Sam and Rayne and bring them to Maggie’s private room to meet the newest Winchester. When Sam and Rayne walk in, Maggie turns her head and smiles.

“Uncle Sam, Aunt Rayne. Meet Everly Rayne Winchester.”

@pink1031 @spnbaby-67 @winecatsandpizza @joseyrw @kricketc29 @tftumblin @markofdean79 @sandlee44 @michellethetvaddict @lyarr24 @travelingriversideblues-x

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jjkpls · 5 years

Text

Love (G)

> genre : fluff

> pairing : kim namjoon x reader

> total words : 1.6k

> warnings/content : established relationship, tooth-rotting fluff (like really, namzoon makes me real shoft), writer!namjoon

“Mom, listen. I think I love him.” She's cooing in the phone, loud and ear-piercing squeals hurting your eardrum, you have to pull the phone away from your face to preserve it. Namjoon is watching you through his thick-framed spectacles. His pretty eyes are staring with an obvious alarm. They're twitching nervously, widening further at each blink. He's gawking for a minute before he starts pouting, cute lips puckered and jaw set in discontent. It makes you grin, giggle even, as he frowns deeper, genuinely upset, with a sweet flush on his honey cheeks. He’s patient though, waiting quietly for you to ramble a bit more to satisfy your mother's curiosity, wait for you to finish listening to the couple advices she has for you even though none really falls in a receptive ear and finally hang up. When you do, he’s been waiting for so long he doesn’t know how to break out of his silence. It’s your feet, snug under his warm thigh, sneaking further under that unravel his stiff tongue.

“You're so mean! What was that?” He exclaims right away. His voice is all low and rough, his alluring voice almost intimidating. He sounds like he used to to you when you first met him and you were a tiny little shy thing, just wanting to be noticed by the tall handsome monster of charisma. It was before you discovered he was just a giant nerd, lanky and clumsy and anything but daunting.

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, eyes searching the sky for an answer, you casually ask, “What do you mean?”

“I- You- can't just say it like that!” He can tell you're feigning innocence when you know damn well what you just did and it tickles his patience even more. “I was supposed to-” Here goes the sexy brain flushed down the toilet by your malicious amusement. You’re not mean. It’s just that he’s too funny to mess with. Anyway, he can’t be mad at you for saying you love him, can he? “I wanted to say it first. I've been- I've been working on a poem for you, you brat.” He’s done fighting, knowing his previous weapons of choice won’t work. You wanted to mess with him and he showed like a pure idiot that you hit just right. It’s pointless to fight back therefore he decides to whine. He doesn’t believe himself cute enough to have this technic effective but after months of being with you, he’s learned that you don’t know him the same way he knows himself. He’s proven it again as his whiny complain, although he cringes hearing himself, reaches you and so effectively brings all your guards down. You’re rising from your end of the sofa, making your way to him so you can install yourself on your favourite seat: his lap. He’s so comfortable under you, with his big meaty thighs and his broad chest that’s always supporting you so kindly. He’s still sulking when you appear in front of him, though his hands are already reaching to set on your ass. He likes to pretend it’s just a safety issue: he doesn’t want you to fall over and knock your head open on the corner of the coffee table. But you know your man better than that.

You lean in to work your magic on his mouth, smooching him generously before his jealous cheeks try to catch your attention by winking their lovely dimple at you and you give them the same treatment.

“I have to meet your mom before marrying you, right?” He asks so calmly, you’d think he’s just wondering aloud. The words shock your heart for a second. It’s more excitement and happiness rather than surprise. He’s said that a million times before. He’s never properly asked. He would just throw it out. During sex or when you’d cook for him or massage his taut neck when he’d spend twelve hours on end writing, he’d say “You’re really good at this. I should marry you, shouldn’t I?”. You’d be a mess of embarrassed giggles or snarky comments to bite him back for teasing you but that’d be about it. The thing is, he’s never looked at you like that while saying it. Or maybe he did but you’ve never noticed. This time anyway, you see so much adoration, you wonder if he’s not about to sneak a little black velvet box from under the cushion. There’s no box coming out so you brush away your stupid greedy and hasty self to joke around with him.

“You're not even going to ask me?” Because as any of the other times, it doesn’t look any close to a proposition.

“You lost the right to choose when you stole the first 'I love you' from me.” It makes you laugh in the crook of his neck. He sounds so petty, it’s the cutest. He is not that bitter though, as you chuckle, replaying the funny way he stressed the ‘stole’ in your head, he kisses the side of your face, his hand gently smoothing your hair out. He’s so sweet. Your boyfriend is the sweetest person you’ve ever met, and he’s yours for some reason. You straighten up to see his face, his eyes are searching for yours, saying ‘hi’ so lovely so when they do find them. He’s also the most handsome. Gosh.

“So I'll be wearing your name?” He nods, you press a peck on his smiling lips. “And then, we'll have little babies?” Your grin extends from one end to the other. You just think back to that time he babysat his nephew for a day. He was so excited, rambling on the phone about all the things he'd planned on doing with him that day, all the places he wanted to take him to. You can't recall the full list of all the projects, mixed between artsy places clearly age-inappropriate for the three-year-old and fun places for kids you just couldn't imagine his giant gangly figure to stand amongst the short crowd. What you can picture perfectly though, as if it happened just yesterday, is his pale face. The teary eyes, flushed nose and trembling lip. He looked half-dead, about to cry from how overwhelming and harassing the day had been. Children are a blessing. Made of love and fun, but they require a lot of work. He didn't know that or had chosen to ignore it to let the enthusiasm take over. He was far from ready to have kids of his own, you knew that much. But you want to have some with him eventually and fantasizing about it feels wonderful. “With your dimples?” You question with undisguised euphoria, asking and smiling with your palms pressed together, as if he was Santa Claus and you were begging him to please, please, please, grant you the present you wanted oh-so-bad.

“What if they don't get my dimples?” He challenges with a side grin.

“Well,” You start with a dramatic rise of your eyes to the ceiling. What an upsetting thought. “I'll have to love them anyway but I might cry a little.” It makes him laugh so you just keep it at that. Knowing he knows damn well that whatever your children take from him will be a gift. He knows because he thinks the same about you.

“I love you.” You say again because the way you said it earlier was way too entertaining but this man deserves to hear it softly too. “Do you really wanna marry me?” He kisses you softly. His plump bottom lip lingers against your own as if it just wouldn’t leave. He gives in, kissing you deeper for an instant. Short but strong enough to leave a deep impression on you, rendering your eyelids so heavy, opening them up is turned into a challenge. He always does that. Always takes your breath away. Always steal an additional piece from your heart. It's fine with you for he makes sure to replace each pieces he steals with one of his own.

“I'll never feel lonely again with you by my side.” It’s so genuine. So thoughtful. Carefully thought about. Namjoon even if he’s a man of art and beauty is also a very intellectual, logical being. You know he sees love as this beautiful, magical because fairly-unexplainable thing. But he also admits that love takes thoughtful dedication, time and effort. It’s a decision, it can’t just be something undergone, it'd be too easy. Too easy to feel and too easy to lose. When he’s looking at you with those eyes, his warm hands tender on your skin, feeling his frenetic heartbeat under your palm, you know he’s chosen you. You might cry, you realise. How lame would that be? He would love that, the hopeless romantic asshole.

“Was this in the poem?” You ask, turning your head to the side to avoid his stare as you sniff discreetly. Namjoon gasps out loud.

“Ok, it's on!” He exclaims before his giant hands are grabbing you by the waist to throw your back on the sofa. There’s an alarm in your head going off to remind you that this clumsy ass man has almost killed you multiple times just by having sex with you, therefore you know for a fact you don’t want to play wrestling with him because it’s too early to die, you’re not even wearing his name yet! But he’s a giggly mess as he starts tickling your sides, watching you, with pure teary adoration, squirm and cry for mercy and you gather that it’s fine. Dying by his side with his lovely laughter tickling your ears would be such a heavenly way to die.

a/n : another happy birthday to our precious namjoonie <3. i hope you guys enjoyed, lately i’ve found myself writing so much smut, i wonder if i’ve not become inept for fluff lol let me know! kisses!

#btswriterscollective #networkbangtan #thekimlinenet #bts fluff #namjoon fluff #bts fanfic #namjoon fanfic #bts drabble #namjoon drabble #rm fluff #rm fanfic #rm scenario #rm drabble #namjoon scenario #my writing

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mahalkitajohnnysuh · 4 years

Text

With Family (Part II)

This installment will be the last for now, but rest assured that I will write more of this since it’s something I have fun thinking scenarios of.

One of my many inspirations for this part aside from my personal life was Johnny’s outfits when he went to America late last year.

Heck, I even made a collage of it with one of Adam Driver’s looks in Marriage Story because both looked so similar but had different tones! Please see image below:

In short, I really like big and tall guys. Dude has to be since I’m also like that in real life. Well, I’m not that tall, but others think that’s the case.

Anyway, mahal ko kayong lahat! :)

–––

Summary: After meeting Essie’s mother and sisters, it’s time for Johnny to meet her estranged father. Also, read more about the couple’s dynamic at home. Can you relate to them, especially those who have been in a relationship or are in a relationship? Please let me know by commenting on this post!

POV: 2nd person

Word count: 1,600 + words

Warning: Italics are for foreign terms. Since we have songs mentioned here again, please scroll down to the bottom of the post to listen to them while reading or whatnot.

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“Baby, wake up,” you stirred at the husky voice of your boyfriend who was gently shaking you.

“I’m awake,” you mumbled, slowly opening your eyes. You saw him in his usual brown hoodie and sweatpants, and he looked worse for wear like you are right now.

“We have to leave the house at eight,” he pulled off the covers from your body, “since we’re going to have Mass with your family.”

You stood up straight immediately and shrieked. “Oh my god, I almost forgot about that!” You covered your face in your hands, ashamed that you were almost running late and at the thought of Johnny meeting your father for the first time.

He had already met your sisters and your mother a couple of weeks ago, but now he was going to meet your estranged father.

You and your father didn’t have any beef. It was just him and your mother who had a complicated relationship. You grew in a dysfunctional family because of that, but that doesn’t mean that you love one parent more than the other.

“It’s okay, baby. I’ve already met your family except…” His voice trailed off, afraid that you might not like what he was going to say next.

“Yes, you’re going to meet my father,” you dropped your hands on your lap and looked at him. He was concerned at how antsy you were feeling and kissed your forehead. “Don’t worry. I can handle him. Maybe he’s not going to handle me,” he chuckled, his hands taking in yours.

“Well, let’s see about that…” you squeezed his hands, “but we better get moving, shall we?”

He nodded and led you to the bathroom, wherein you saw your towels hanging next to each other on the rack.

“So, who’s going to take a bath first?” You let go of his hands and placed them on your hips. “Of course, I’ll be the one who goes first,” he pointed a thumb to himself as he went to the sink and plucked his toothbrush from the holder.

“Okay, why did I have to ask,” you grumbled, tugging on your shorts as you plunked yourself in the toilet. “And don’t look, just focus on brushing your teeth,” you pointed a finger at him as you shimmied yourself out of your panties.

Good thing Johnny was intent on brushing his teeth while you peed. Since he was intent on brushing all corners of his teeth, he didn’t notice that you were done until he heard the flushing of the toilet.

“Call me when you’re done with that, okay?” You said as you went back to the bedroom.

\\\

A few minutes later, Johnny was done and went back to the bedroom to tell you it was your turn to brush your teeth.

But before words came out of his mouth, he was speechless at the sight of you just in his shirt and your panties. Your butt was on full display for him as you lied on the bed scrolling through your social media feed.

He slapped your butt, and you immediately turned to see him smirking at you.

“You just had to do that, huh,” he whispered, pinching your thighs this time. You swatted his hands away from you and got up, pulling down your shirt, so he doesn’t see your panties anymore.

“Take a bath now, please,” you said as you got your toothbrush and squeezed a pea-sized amount of toothpaste. “Yes ma’am,” he purred as he removed his hoodie, revealing his perfectly sculpted body.

You tried your best to look away, but he didn’t let you – instead, he winked at you as he flexed his body in front of the mirror.

“Like what you see, baby?” He said, slowly approaching you.

You rolled your eyes in response, but deep inside you could feel your insides warming up. “Just take a bath now, please,” you said in between brushing your teeth.

He slapped your butt again before he cackled his way to the shower. “If only we weren’t in a hurry, I’d want for us to take a shower together.”

“Younghooooo!”

\\\

You returned to the bedroom again and groaned as you listened to him sing in the shower. At first, he sang ‘A Whole New World’ and you were singing Jasmine’s part silently. Then, he sang ‘Change the World’ (by Eric Clapton) and even did the guitar sounds of the song. The last song he sang was ‘True to Your Heart’ from the Mulan soundtrack, which you couldn’t help but sing along to loudly as well.

Once he was done, he emerged in the bedroom with his towel wrapped around his waist. “It’s your turn now,” he said at the doorway while holding a seductive pose. You flipped the bird on him before removing your shirt inside the bathroom.

“Damn baby, you’re looking finer each day,” he howled, his eyes focused on your chest. “Johnny, please! Get dressed now!” Your cheeks were burning as you stepped inside the shower.

“But really, your boobs are getting bigger and your ass firmer!” You heard him say from the bedroom, and you screamed in annoyance.

\\\

You left the house at exactly 7:45 a.m., and both of you wore burnt orange. You rocked your favorite corduroy skirt in that autumnal color while he wore it in a turtleneck, which fit him snugly.

“We totally look like a couple,” you said while you eyed your skirt and his turtleneck. “Well, aren’t we?” He replied, his hand slipping into yours as he drove with one hand as always.

“I know,” you looked at him in the eye, and he winked, earning giggles from the both of you.

“You’re such a flirt! Do you know that, my love?”

“Yes, I know. But only to you.”

\\\

You arrived at the church right before the Mass started, and you saw your family waving at you at the far right corner of the place. Your mother was beside your father, who looked dashing in his black shirt and jeans. Sitting beside your mother was your elder sister and her girlfriend, while beside your father was your eldest sister and her American husband. You decided to sit beside your elder sister and her partner, with you sandwiched between your boyfriend and your sister’s partner.

After the Mass, you had lunch at the nearest Korean restaurant, and Johnny was gushing how cute your parents were.

“It looks like your mom’s totally in love with your father still,” he whispered as you waited for the meat to be cooked on the grill.

“I know, but he doesn’t really feel that same anymore,” you whispered back, tightening your grip on his arm. You saw that his face fell, and you pecked him on the cheek to cheer him up.

“Don’t be sad, but that’s the truth. It’s rare for me to see my mother this happy though,” your eyes were focused on how your mother was feeding kimchi to your father, who took it hesitantly.

“I want us to have a loving and long-lasting relationship, baby,” he kissed your hand after he whispered those sweet words to your ear.

“Me too, love.” But before you could look at each other with goo-goo eyes, your elder sister cleared your throat and raised an eyebrow at you two.

“Some of us are trying to eat here, lovebirds.”

You and Johnny mouthed your apologies and went back to eating.

\\\

The day went by fast – everyone took a walk in the park and enjoyed what nature had to offer. Johnny was quick to assist your parents when they had difficulty walking or moving, and you followed suit. You endured the teasing you got from your family while your boyfriend tried his best not to join in and defend you.

But the highlight of today’s event was his bonding with your father. You overheard them talking about photography, and you couldn’t help but smile at their interaction.

“Essie, why don’t you set up a photo walk in all of the parks in the city? I know you did that before,” your father said as he noticed you observing them.

“Yeah, I know, but I’m not sure if all of my photographer friends are still in the country,” you replied sheepishly.

“Nonsense! There will always be people who love photography and would love to get to know people through it,” your father eyed Johnny with a smile on his face, “and let’s do it next week?”

You glanced at your boyfriend, who looked ecstatic at attending his first photo walk.

“Sure, Dad. I’ll do that.”

\\\

On the drive home, Johnny was beaming with all the things he learned from your family.

“Your dad’s so cool, baby! You never told me he’s like a master photographer of sorts! I can’t wait to borrow his medium format camera next week!” He was squealing like a teenage girl as he went into the nitty-gritty of photography.

“Well, now you know,” you grumbled, looking at the car window. “I’m glad you enjoyed today.”

“Yes, I did. I hope we’ll get to do this next time with my family,” He looked at your reflection on the car window and saw a panicked expression on your face.

“Baby, don’t worry. Eomma and Appa love you already,” he squeezed your hand gently. “And they can’t wait to see you again.”

You cried silently on the trip home as he held your hand. Although you have already met his parents, you still felt afraid of them. Your heritage was something that you thought they would have issues with, but they said that it was okay.

What mattered most was that Johnny was happy with the woman he loves, and they could see that whenever you were around him.

It was after that second meeting with his parents that he admitted of his plans of settling down, and you fainted because you knew what would come next.

He was going to propose to you eventually. You just had to prepare yourself when and where he was going to do it.

–––

FIN

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