#*half price rentals

[bibleofficial]

LOVE ordering things online, HATE waiting at home for them to arrive 😭😭😭

[iwatcheditbegin]

I’m seeing so many people flying to Seattle for taycouver

[jellogram]

Currency conversions are such bullshit. I'll throw a price in a converter for work and it'll be like "1000 in XYZ money is 10 in USD" and then I'll read that you can buy a full meal at a restaurant for the calculator equivalent of 5 USD. Like if your conversion isn't "what is the equivalent buying power of this currency compared to yours" then what is even the point of converting??

[dreamersparacosm]

Girl we need a smut blurb for them , im talking wild sex . I’ll take anything I know they’re both freaked out

well, well, well. you put two overachievers in a bed and what’s going to happen? magic, that’s what. or maybe he’ll just use your vibrator as part of your scheduled stress relief. whatever.

the price of desire — epilogue blurb 3!

prompt ; in which stress relief takes on a whole new definition.

warnings ; sex toy usage, fingering, jungkook cums in his pants

There are worse problems to have, you tell yourself.

Ever since you and Jungkook officially started dating, things have gotten a little… out of hand (and by “out of hand,” you mean fucking each other senseless across multiple continents.)

Obviously it started in New York and Seoul. Then it was Paris. You two dabbled in exhibitionism during a trip to Bali. Now it’s whatever remote, paparazzi-proof destinations your travel agent nervously books for you at 2 in the morning.

Hotels, apartments, rental cars, bathrooms you’re pretty sure were not designed to withstand the kind of behavior you’re inflicting on them. At this point, it’s becoming a global crisis. International security agencies may want to get involved.

It’s getting so frequent, so mind-numbingly good, that you’re starting to worry about yourself a little. Like, is it normal to see god every weekday?

Unclear.

But it is nice, really nice, to relieve that stress that weighs on you after a workday. (And god knows you have plenty of that to go around.)

Jungkook is, if nothing else, very committed to the cause. He takes care of you painfully well, as if it’s his full-time job and the only acceptable performance review is your legs shaking too hard to stand.

Case in point: you’re currently spread out across your bed in New York, lips swollen from a makeout, hair damp from the bath he ran for you, and he’s kneeling between your legs, big palms dragging slow strokes up and down your thighs.

It's a perfect Wednesday night, all safe and soft and steady until he drops his suggestion into the quiet.

“Let me use the vibrator on you, baby.”

Your brain, already half-melted from the hour-long slow burn he’s been subjecting you to, scrambles for purchase.

You are not equipped for this on a Wednesday night. Especially not after a 14 hour workday, 2 back-to-back global strategy calls, and a last minute crisis involving a Calvin Klein store opening in Shanghai.

You open your mouth to respond, yet nothing makes its way out.

Jungkook smiles at you with amusement and reaches over to the nightstand like it’s the most casual thing in the world. As if he didn’t casually drop a bomb into the atmosphere of your previously scheduled stress-relief session.

With bulging eyes, you observe as he pulls open the drawer, rummages around for a second, and then holds up your light purple vibrator in his hands.

The device is small and sleek, manages to look mockingly innocent resting in his palm.

You stare at it, then at him, mouth working like a fish suddenly introduced to the concept of air.

"I—" You stutter eloquently.

He responds with that signature grin, the one that makes you want to throw a pillow at his face and climb him like a tree. "Come on, baby," he coaxes, "You said you were stressed. Think of this as... advanced relaxation techniques."

You narrow your eyes suspiciously. "This wasn't exactly what I meant by 'stress relief.'"

"What's the worst that could happen?" he asks innocently, setting the vibrator down beside you before leaning close to press a kiss against your inner knee. "You enjoy yourself too much?"

"The audacity," You roll your eyes, trying and failing to suppress the shiver his touch sends up your spine.

"It’s like.. a scientific experiment," he continues, trailing featherlight kisses up your thigh. "Testing the effects of a vibrator on stress."

"Did you just turn my vibrator into a science fair project?"

His laugh rumbles against your skin. "I'm innovative like that. Always thinking about my subject’s satisfaction."

"You’re not selling it," You sigh but there's no heat behind it.

"I'm persistent," he corrects, looking up at you with darkened eyes. "And also extremely dedicated to your wellbeing. Just say yes."

You can’t look at him. With his mess of black hair falling over his forehead, with his eyes displaying a glint of mischief and the stupid Calvin Klein white t-shirt that drives you crazy. He’s so fucking hot, and it brings you to the brink of temporary insanity. That’s how you got in this mess in the first place.

What you need to be doing is saying no. Set some kind of a boundary. Be a strong, independent woman who does not immediately fold at the suggestion of midweek sex toy experimentation.

You do none of those things. Rather, you sigh and flop back against the pillows, one arm flung dramatically over your eyes.

“Fine,” you mutter like he’s inconveniencing you. “Whatever. Just don’t break my toy.”

You hear him laugh, a rich velvety rumble that vibrates through you while the mattress dips beneath his weight as he repositions himself closer to your core.

Before you even take your next breath, he’s kissing up your thighs, hands stroking the backs of your knees, your calves, your hips.

The vibrator hums to life; it’s soft at first, a low sound and your stomach flips violently.

Curiosity compels you to emerge from behind your self-imposed blindfold just in time to witness his gaze fixed upon you. He is a hungry man, you’ll give him that much.

Which leads you to your next thought: you’re not even sure why you bothered putting on underwear after the bath. A small, defeated part of you wants to blame some lingering sense of dignity, some naive attempt at not being completely easy just because your boyfriend washed your hair like a Disney prince and kissed your shoulder after.

Whatever weak attempt at decency you made is long gone the second Jungkook hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and starts dragging them down. Thumbs brushing over the dip of your hips like he’s memorizing every line, every secret part of you he already owns.

The cotton peels away from your thighs, and the cool air hits your core, makes you shiver. He works them down over your knees, then your ankles, tossing them somewhere behind him without a second thought.

You’re already squirming a little, hips shifting against the mattress, thighs clenching reflexively, but he just chuckles under his breath before reaching for the hem of your oversized T-shirt. (Technically his T-shirt. Technically yours now. He stopped fighting that battle months ago.)

Slowly, he pushes it up, bunching it around your waist, exposing the soft skin of your belly, the slick glistening between your legs that you’re trying very hard not to feel embarrassed about.

A single finger gets dragged between your folds, dipping into the mess he’s barely even touched you to create, and you can’t help the broken little gasp that escapes your mouth. “Oh—“

Jungkook lifts his hand and holds it up between you. Your slick clings to his finger. Shining in the soft light your lamp provides.

The bastard. How dare he provide proof of your demise.

He raises a brow smugly. “Already this wet, baby?” He teases.

You glare at him, or at least try, but it’s hard to summon the proper outrage when your body is practically vibrating with need.

“Shut the fuck up,” You grumble.

He laughs and settles himself back between your thighs. The toy hums softly beside you, still on the lowest setting and when he picks it up again, your stomach nearly exits your body.

He strokes the inside of your thigh with his free hand, “Ready?” He asks. Jungkook’s always been sure to consent; you do know he’s genuinely asking for permission.

You nod, frantic, willing to sell your soul if he would just please, please touch you already.

Oh god.

Oh fuck.

For the love of everything holy.

You jolt forward violently the second the vibrator touches your clit. Even on the lowest setting it’s too much, white-hot pleasure snapping up your spine and exploding behind your eyes.

“Fuck—” You gasp, whole body twitching, hands scrambling for something to hold onto.

A string of curse words falls out of your mouth before you can stop them, completely and deliriously out of your control.

Jungkook smiles, presses his palm flat against your thigh to pin you down. “You’re so sensitive tonight,” He notes, somewhat amused.

You might cry. God damn him for being so perfect to you that he’s holding a vibrator to you and not making comments about how “he could do it better.”

You settle for grabbing a fistful of the bedsheets and moaning helplessly when he adjusts the angle slightly, nudging the vibrator a little higher until your hips are jerking against the mattress.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, thumb rubbing slow circles into your thigh. “Let me take care of you.”

Alright, you’re not afraid to admit — maybe you didn’t care much for his definition of stress relief before.

But now? Now you need it more than anything.

You’re a mess; panting, moaning, hips twitching up and it’s still on the lowest setting.

You risk a glance down your body, and the sight nearly undoes you. Jungkook is watching you intensely, brows drawn, lip ring caught between his teeth, arms flexing where he’s bracing you open.

The look on his face alone could make you finish.

“Please,” you gasp. “M-More.”

He nods once, like he’s been waiting for you to ask. “Yeah, baby?” he’s clearly out of breath, thumb brushing over your thigh in grounding circles. “I got you.”

Jungkook clicks the vibrator up to the medium setting, and the second the stronger vibration hits your clit, your back arches clean off the bed, a cry ripping from your throat. There’s a hum that comes from low in his throat while he presses a kiss to your inner thigh.

“You’re so good for me,” He says against your skin. “So desperate already. Bet you could cum just like this, couldn’t you? Just from how good it feels?”

His tattooed fingers squeeze your flesh harder, holding you open, keeping you steady, and the way he’s looking at you makes you want to sob, truthfully.

Jungkook drags the vibrator in slow circles over your clit, keeping you teetering right on the edge before mercifully setting it down beside you. You barely have time to breathe before he’s spitting into his hand and sliding two fingers between your thighs.

The second he pushes them inside your entrance, you buck violently, a whine tearing out of your mouth. “F-fuck—”

You feel impossibly full already, walls clenching around the stretch, the slick sounds embarrassingly loud in the otherwise silent room.

Jungkook groans mostly to himself, head dropping forward to watch where he’s sinking into you.

“God, baby,” he exhales, curling his fingers in that way that makes your toes curl too. “You’re so fucking wet.“

You moan helplessly. Obviously, the man must be trying to kill you. A death wish of sorts. He works his fingers inside you, dragging them along that sweet spot that has you keening into the mattress before reaching over with his free hand to flick the vibratot back on.

He sets it to the highest setting — and holy mother — you nearly catapult off the bed. The intense, overwhelming buzz against your clit paired with the slow pump of his fingers inside you is absolutely lethal.

You choke on some form of a gasp, thighs jerking. All thoughts of work, stress, the world outside this room — gone. Obliterated.

Jungkook, flushed and sweaty, arm veins flexing with every stroke of his fingers, can’t take his eyes off the mess you’re making on your sheets beneath you.

Your thighs are trembling violently now, little spasms you can’t control. You try — god, you want it noted you do try — to keep your hips still, to hold off a little longer.

But the man is evidently on a mission. Fingers fucking into you deep and steady, the vibrator merciless against your clit, voice rougher than normal: “Cum for me, baby. I wanna see it. Wanna feel you cum all over my fingers. Please.”

You’re way past the point of rational thought. Spinning out. Every nerve ending burning hot under your skin.

“Fuck—” you sob. “Kook— I’m gonna— oh fuck, fuckfuck—”

Neither of you get to find out what you’re “gonna” before the orgasm tears through you viscerally, a full-body convulsion that has you crying out and grabbing onto his wrist.

Your toes curl involuntarily against the sheets while your thighs close around his head, stomach muscles clenching before your whole body lets itself fall into the pleasure.

For one disorienting moment, your vision actually blurs at the edges — a genuine blackout that some doctor could probably explain but you're certainly in no condition to contemplate — while somewhere in the distance you hear yourself gasping his name in a way that makes you grateful these walls are soundproof.

You’re panting when it finally ebbs, chest heaving, pussy clenching desperately around his fingers. Jungkook presses a kiss to your thigh again, slowly eases his fingers out and shuts off the vibrator that's become both your nemesis and savior in the span of minutes.

There’s a quiet that feels almost startling compared to your thundering heartbeat.

You’re floating somewhere, the bed seeming to perform a gentle carousel spin around you when he grabs your face gently with both hands and kisses you. You kiss him back automatically, pulling him closer by the front of his shirt.

Through the haze, you murmur against his mouth, “Take your sweatpants off. Wanna fuck you.”

He responds with a groan, pressing his forehead against yours. Insistently, you tug at the waistband, whining a little when he resists.

“Come on,” you mumble, still half-drunk off your orgasm. “I need you.”

He makes a choked sound and pulls back to look you in the eye. His body moves to lean against your headboard, and you scooch over to kiss down his neck while he tries to come up with whatever excuse he can.

And then comes the confession, tripping awkwardly from his lips. “I… uh…”

Your eyes narrow into spiteful little slits, pulling away from him.

He winces, a full-body cringe that would be adorable under other circumstances but currently only amplifies your confusion.

“I… I came already,” He confesses, so low you almost don’t catch it.

Jeon Jungkook? The Jeon Jungkook… came in his boxers like a teenage virgin.. from using your vibrator against you?

You blink repeatedly, brain attempting to process this unexpected plot twist.

“What?” You say dumbfounded.

He covers his face with one large hand in the universal gesture of mortification, ears betraying him by flushing a deep crimson even in the room's low light.

“You— you… came? Just from—?”

Your boyfriend groans, clearly exploring the possibility of spontaneous human combustion as a merciful escape route.

“You looked so good,” he murmurs into his palm. “I couldn’t— fuck, I tried to hold it—”

You stare at him for another second. Then, completely against your will, you burst out laughing. It spills out in waves that are equal parts exhaustion, affection, and perhaps a whisper of mockery, but your attempts to suppress it prove to be futile.

Jungkook glares at you weakly through his fingers.

“You’re an idiot,” you giggle, “My idiot.”

He grumbles something unintelligible while pulling you firmly against his chest, a transparent attempt to muffle your laughter and hide his reddening face but your giggles persist. At some point, you do take the opportunity he presents to nestle your face into the warm crook of his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne, a chuckle exiting once every few minutes.

All things considered?

Not a bad way to spend a Wednesday night. Not bad at all.

masterlist + ask

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

Game that's a dating sim/time management style game, but you don't date anyone (or at least if you do, dating isn't the point). The premise is that you've gotten a new entry level job in your dream career in a town that's WAY too expensive for you to live in with zero available rentals, but due to a stroke of amazing luck and a distant family connection, you're able to score a rental in a nice community for a price you can just about handle. The catch is that you have to join the homeowner's association. Your landlord is distant, but expects you to keep in line with the HOA or get evicted.

The game consists of carefully managing your out-of-work time to keep up with the HOA's increasingly stringent list of rules about the appearance and maintenance of your property. If you don't spend enough time on yardwork and maintenance, you'll start to get violation warnings, but you also need to go to community events to avoid getting on the other members' shitlists and making enemies who'll look more critically at your property. You can buy leeway if you spend time schmoozing the other HOA people, helping them with crises, and siding with the more powerful figures in disputes. Your dream career is a background event in your life, focused more on keeping a roof over your head, but if you skip work to tend to HOA stuff you risk getting fired, and conversely if you put in extra hours and do really well you can get bonuses which you can use to pay a professional gardener or housekeeper and free up some more time. The power dynamic in the HOA can change, so be careful putting all your eggs in one basket relationship-wise lest your friends be on the outs and your enemies start looking for ways to get rid of you. But if you change your alleigances too often, you'll get a reputation as a fair weather friend, which can be equally dangerous. Getting too close to someone who ends up in a scandal could tarr you with an equally scandalous reputation, but you won't know what scandals are going on in the neighbourhood . Getting evicted or fired are both, of course, loss conditions, but showing up for work and [honing it in isn't too hard; you've always wanted to work at... uh... whatever it is that you're doing again. Never mind that. The most important thing in your life is making sure that the grass in the front lawn doesn't grow more than half an inch above the prescribed length.

[robertreich]

How Wall Street Priced You Out of a Home

Rent is skyrocketing and home buying is out of reach for millions. One big reason why? Wall Street.

Hedge funds and private equity firms have been buying up hundreds of thousands of homes that would otherwise be purchased by people. Wall Street’s appetite for housing ramped up after the 2008 financial crisis. As you’ll recall, the Street’s excessive greed created a housing bubble that burst. Millions of people lost their homes to foreclosure.

Did the Street learn a lesson? Of course not. It got bailed out. Then it began picking off the scraps of the housing market it had just destroyed, gobbling up foreclosed homes at fire-sale prices — which it then sold or rented for big profits.

Investor purchases hit their peak in 2022, accounting for around 28% of all home sales in America.

Home buyers frequently reported being outbid by cash offers made by investors. So called “iBuyers” used algorithms to instantly buy homes before offers could even be made by actual humans.

If the present trend continues, by 2030, Wall Street investors may control 40% of U.S. single-family rental homes.

Partly as a result, homeownership — a cornerstone of generational wealth and a big part of the American dream — is increasingly out of reach for a large number of Americans, especially young people.

Now, Wall Street’s feasting has slowed recently due to rising home prices — even the wolves of Wall Street are falling victim to sticker shock. But that hasn’t stopped them from specifically targeting more modestly priced homes — buying up a record share of the country’s most affordable homes at the end of 2023.

They’ve also been most active in bigger cities, particularly in the Sun Belt, which has become an increasingly expensive place to live. And they’re pointedly going after neighborhoods that are home to communities of color.

For example, in one diverse neighborhood in Charlotte, North Carolina, Wall Street-backed investors bought half of the homes that sold in 2021 and 2022. On a single block, investors bought every house but one, and turned them into rentals.

Folks, it’s a vicious cycle: First you’re outbid by investors, then you may be stuck renting from them at excessive prices that leave you with even less money to put up for a new home. Rinse. Repeat.

Now I want to be clear: This is just one part of the problem with housing in America. The lack of supply is considered the biggest reason why home prices and rents have soared — and are outpacing recent wage gains. But Wall Street sinking its teeth into whatever is left on the market is making the supply problem even worse.

So what can we do about this? Start by getting Wall Street out of our homes.

Democrats have introduced a bill in both houses of Congress to ban hedge funds and private equity firms from buying or owning single-family homes.

If signed into law, this could increase the supply of homes available to individual buyers — thereby making housing more affordable.

President Biden has also made it a priority to tackle the housing crisis, proposing billions in funding to increase the supply of homes and tax credits to help actual people buy them.

Now I have no delusions that any of this will be easy to get done. But these plans provide a roadmap of where the country could head — under the right leadership.

So many Americans I meet these days are cynical about the country. I understand their cynicism. But cynicism can be a self-fulfilling prophecy if it means giving up the fight.

The captains of American industry and Wall Street would like nothing better than for the rest of us to give up that fight, so they can take it all.

I say we keep fighting.

[ruesol]

HAND(S)Y - one shot

(JOHN PRICE X READER)

PLOT:

you make the mistake of assuming that your veteran neighbor offered to do your apartment’s maintenance work out of the kindness of his heart (wc: 4.8k)

tags and cw: fem/afab reader, age gap, dubcon, coercion (sort of), explicit sexual content, size kink (again, kind of)

AO3 LINK

—

“And you’re sure the landlord didn’t mind removing maintenance costs from the rent?”

It was all too good to be true. Apartment (almost) smack-dab in the middle of the city, fifteen minutes from your new workplace (even with public transport), and amenities like a gym and grocery stores just a skip away. The rent was a laughable price. Sure, it didn’t include maintenance, but who cares? It’s a new building, and you have an en-suite bathroom.

Sally, the rental agent let out a long, exasperated sigh as she rubbed down her nose bridge. You almost felt bad for pestering her with your concerns, but who wouldn’t feel a little perturbed after suddenly receiving a call about how the apartment they had just rejected for the high rent was now being decreased to almost half the initial markup.

“The owner himself called me this morning. Said he couldn’t find anyone who could afford the rent and decided to take a chance. He’d rather get any kind of profit than have an empty flat eating up maintenance money.” She pulled out her copy of your lease from her shiny leather tote to give you further proof. A little condescending knowing that she had just seen you sign the contract in front of her on your new apartment’s kitchen countertop.

That was another mystery to you—the owner hadn’t met you yet. You weren’t someone of a concerning background, and nor was your criminal history too colorful (only a few slap-on-the-wrist instances of underage drinking), but it felt strange knowing that the owner wanted nothing to do with his own building. Him refusing to meet you even when you requested to speak to him.

Though, you weren’t sure if he’d be as friendly as the rental agent working for him—as rude as she may be. You could chalk it up to the exhaustion of constantly having to speak to people. You didn’t blame either of them. You weren’t much of a people person either.

The rental agent mentioned that your neighbors were quite alright too. A germaphobic old lady and a man in the army—two other people besides you on your floor. Manageable and silent.

It didn’t take you long to turn your apartment into a home. After a couple shopping sprees, you could officially feel the dread of emptiness seep out of you. A quaint one-bedroom apartment with a lovely kitchen unit that, compared to your old place, actually had a working oven. Even the air conditioner didn’t spit out ice after being switched on for too long.

Maybe your standards had been lowered after staying in bad-to-mediocre places with vents filled with mothballs while in college.

It warmed you to know that your start to official adulthood was going to be in a lovely home. Something that truly showed your personality.

Except, you were still waiting on your mattress and had been crashing on the uncomfortable yet artsy couch you bought off of a broke fashion student in some unseen corner of the city. You should’ve known the price wasn’t worth the discomfort when you saw her skip away with a month’s worth of your old part-time pay—notes leaving your account before pennies could trickle in.

–

There were many times when you wished you were a man: at the mechanic’s, comfortably sitting with your legs spread only to shut them close, being shoved and bumped into when using public transport, and now–moving your very new and cumbersome mattress into your apartment.

You heaved as you tried to push it through the door, the floppy heap of cotton and springs discouraging you with every budge. It almost felt like the heavy thing was mocking you. You were a victim of your own high-strung and eager spending.

“You must be the new tenant in 492. I live in 494. Need some help?” The voice behind you was gravelly thick, like moist tar after a rainy day. Your eyes landed on his broad shoulders first. They were held back high like he was happy carrying the weight of the world. Veteran neighbor. From your assumptions and amateur knowledge of the military, formalities were a huge thing for soldiers, so you extended your hand to him to introduce yourself.

Of course, another thing that was very important in the military was structure, so you bit your lip to stop yourself from guffawing at how his large, calloused hand almost engulfed yours. You couldn’t help but self-consciously tuck a small piece of hair behind your ear when you realized how intensely he was staring at you as he said his name–John Price.

A few moments later, you decided to thank John with a glass of chilled boxed lemonade. And for the first time, you were embarrassed at how bleak your fridge was. It was self-explanatory in college with how students don’t really have the money to fill the box to the brim, but as an adult, it was mortifying. It showed you weren’t careful. That you were careless and didn’t know how to take care of yourself, already losing momentum at the beginning of the race. His presence felt large and looming, making your apartment feel comically small. You wondered how he fit into his unit.

The drops of sweat behind your neck pooled down to your lower back as John’s blue eyes darted around your apartment from his seat at the kitchen barstool. With everything being done under obligation, you weren’t given much opportunity to customize your life, so decorating your first apartment felt like a childhood dream come true.

An immature girl. That’s probably how the soldier saw you even though you were one when he was well into adulthood. Probably already climbing the ranks.

“You’re one unlucky girl,” he chuckled as he took another sip of the citrusy drink. Your vision was never the best, but you swore you could see juice droplets drip into his beard.

“What do you mean, Mr. Price?”

“John’ll do, sweetheart,” he said to you through a grin. “You just happened to walk into a trap. There’s always a new problem with this place. I reckon the owner didn’t tell you that, did he?” A child. An immature, stupid, too-new-for-the-world child.

“He even got rid of the maintenance charge from the monthly rent,” you sheepishly admitted while playing with the fraying threads on your shirt sleeve.

“Yeah, that’s how they get ya. Can you afford to break the lease?” Your eyes are too busy staring holes into your sleeve to notice Price’s bright, blue, inquisitive gaze settled on you.

“I can’t afford to find a new place right now.” It felt like the world had chewed you up and spat you out. One hurdle greater than the next. You wondered just how people did not want to give up after coming out of the warm cocoon of their childhood.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he murmured to himself. He could tell you were disturbed by your delayed replies. His long legs carried him to where you stood, heavy thumping boots bellowing echoes with every step. A large hand sits at the back of your neck, your dewy skin sticking to his palm like honey. You were emotional to the point of pliancy, so it didn’t take him much effort to angle your head up to him.

“You tell me if you need any handiwork done. It’ll be our secret,” he cajoles calmly, staring into your eyes. The smell of bitter tobacco emanates from him as his broad body shields you from the light coming in through your windows. Your delusional mind patterns the afternoon sun to create a golden halo around his head. The fulfillment you got from feeling stable after a long time was a different kind of high. But you couldn’t accept it so quickly. Life has the cruel habit of snatching things away when you clutch them in your palm.

“I couldn’t do that to you. You must be so busy–”

His grip on the back of your neck tightened as his face got closer to yours. Blue irises boring into your tired, red eyes as his lemony, sweet breath hits your lips with every long second. “Hey, it’s nothing. I always do my own handiwork.”

“No, John, at least let me repay you,” you didn’t mean to whine, but you couldn’t help it with the way his fingers were now trailing into your matted and sweaty hair. “Course you will. Just give me a little more than lemonade next time.”

–

John was like a phantom after that day. You’d only just miss him as you’d enter your apartment building, the door to his flat swinging shut as soon as you exited the elevator. It felt like he was trying to keep your little arrangement under wraps for everyone–which was funny as you barely saw the other building residents. But alas, one could never be too sure. Maybe John was much more sociable than you.

Summer was as unforgiving as ever. It felt like the sun scorched everything in its path, from skin to paper to puddles of water. A week later, You were compelled to knock on John’s door with a sheepish smile and your t-shirt sticking to your body with sweat. He agreed to your request with a grunt, soon following you into your apartment with a toolbox. He navigated the place like his own, automatically knowing where the troubled AC was. “It’s in the same place in my unit,” he explained with his signature grin, meticulously styled beard lifting with the apples of his cheeks.

Feeling useless, you trudged to your kitchen to put out some cookies and a glass of lemonade as a sign of gratitude. Also the unbearable heat made you want to stick your head in your freezer.

The sound of John’s throat clearing pulled you out of your temporary paradise. You whipped your head only to see his eyes flit from your hips to your face. Your inner voice prayed that he wasn’t standing there for too long.

“I’ve fixed it. Should take about twenty minutes to cool up the place. Are those for me?” He pointed at the plate of chocolate chip cookies you had baked the night before, definitely not preparing for the ‘something extra’ the man was expecting for his favors. You vigorously nod as you drag the cookies and lemonade across the countertop, but the clicking of John’s tongue stops you. “My hands are dirty, love. Do you mind feeding them to me?”

You weren’t sure why your first thought was to put the confection up to his chapped lips, why you didn’t think of letting him wash his hands in your kitchen sink (only three steps away.) You weren’t even sure if he meant what he said until your cookie reached his mouth. He took a big, hearty bite, making brown sugar crumbs rain down your fingers. Your heart quickened at the feeling of his slick tongue grazing the tips of your fingers. His eyes never left yours throughout.

“Thanks, love, I’ll be taking this with me then.” And just like that, your friendly neighbor John Price left with his glass of lemonade, and only then did you realize you were wearing your white cotton see-through shorts with a pair of black panties underneath.

—

John was no longer the phantom you assumed him to be after that day. You’d occasionally see him around the building while collecting mail, buying groceries, or by the bus stop (where he’d stop his car and offer you a lift to your workplace). You were seeing him everywhere. Literally. The only place you didn’t see him was at work. The repairs around your apartment were too many to the point where he was at your place more than his.

The man had this strange talent of almost always materializing next to you. Even down to picking you up from work. It felt strange, but you were glad you wouldn't have to spend money on public transport. The more you could save up, the sooner you could move out. Taking advantage of John’s help wasn’t fair to either of you. It was eating up his spare time, and for you, well, you couldn’t catch a break whenever you’d see him walk in with his toolbox and bulging muscles.

Also because his demands were starting to get more…personal.

It all started when he had fixed your bathroom pipes for you, blasted thing giving out right when you were about to leave for work. You were lucky to have built a good enough rapport with Price that he let you into his unit and freshen up, even offering you his shower. You weren’t sure if the germaphobic old lady would’ve been too keen on letting you even be in a three-foot radius of her.

Price was about to leave your apartment with yet again, more cookies and a whole bottle of lemonade, when he had stopped just before going out the door.

“Everything alright, John?” you asked as you walked over to him, shoving your wallet and your keys in your work bag in a hurry. “Can I have something for my compensation this time?”

Guilt seeped into your bones when you realized that you had been giving him the exact same treatment for everything he had helped you fix. No matter how complex the task.

You had wished your cooking and baking skills were more intricate and refined, but chocolate chip cookies and boxed lemonade were all you had to offer.

Though you could always switch out lemonade for so—

“Give me a kiss,” he demanded. Not even a question or suggestion. Just something branded with molten hot iron onto your brain without your awareness.

“I-I’m getting late. I’ll see you later.” Yes, it was best if you just pretended if you didn’t hear him. You try to brush past him but he’s quick to block your way. “On the cheek. Not asking you to take my lips. Although, I’m not against that either.”

You were really hoping that the last part was a light joke.

“John—“

“You’re getting late and I can’t drive you today.” The man was a brick wall, blocking the entirety of your apartment door with just a slightly wider than usual stance.

He bent down, his face coming into level with yours. He didn’t bother turning his cheek to you for the minuscule possibility of you leaving a sweet kiss on his lips instead.

You glanced down at your watch and the bus was going to be at the stop in five minutes. You could make it in time if you took the stairs and ran.

With an uneasy mind and bite to the inside of your cheek, your pressed your lips his cheek. You try to wipe off the faint tint of peach left behind by your scented lip balm but he’s quick to walk back to his apartment.

Kisses on the cheek soon turn into kisses on the lips. They start off with quick pecks, something you hope to finish as soon as he leans down.

Until one day, he suddenly stamps his large paw on the back of your head and slips his tongue past your lips, savoring the taste of your hot mouth with his.

His citrusy breath lingers in your mouth and ingrains itself in your mind till the next time something goes wrong in your apartment. You aren’t sure when the right time to stop is. On the one hand, John grinds his hips against yours as he makes out with your mouth after fixing your sink, and on the other hand, you barely have enough funds to pay for maintenance and move into a better apartment.

So you endure it.

However, it is thrilling to know that there is a man out there who wants you so much that he growls in your mouth and squeezes your waist and under your shirt as soon as you kiss him back.

–

All your restraints break loose on the day you find your roof leaking. You’re quick to call John, knowing that it only takes two rings until he picks up. The burr of his voice, even through the phone, shackles your feet to the ground. They only move when he tells you that you can stay in his apartment while some of his handy friends check out what’s really causing the leak.

So you gingerly make your way across the hallway, laptop in hand and last night’s dinner in a lunch box as a thank you for John.

All three of his friends are similar to him–tall, burly, thick accents that make them sound like they’re spewing insults with every syllable that escapes their mouths.

The man with the dirty blond hair and surgical mask is oddly fascinated with you, though. His light brown eyes constantly shift between you and John–almost like he can detect that there’s a sliver of an unconventional relationship between you two.

You don’t give him the opportunity to ask when you briskly walk into John’s apartment with your head trained toward the floor.

Since John’s unit is similar to yours, there are not many places for you to work on your laptop besides sitting next to him on the couch. Like most men his age, his apartment is sparse, with no extra furniture than what’s required.

Even his couch feels like it was brought just for the sake of keeping something for guests. It’s comfortable yet small, only big enough to fit two adults. And even then, with John manspreading, you’re shoved into the corner, having to use the arm rest to support your weight on your elbow.

Deep down, you knew your efforts to keep a respectable distance were futile. He had already had his tongue down your throat not too long ago; what’s a little clothed thigh-to-thigh contact while sitting on the couch?

The man is unapologetically himself, with his beer in his hand and his arm extended at the back of the couch. He makes sure to take up space wherever he goes.

The television loudly blares his sports match, and the sound of the referee distracts you to the point where you end up writing ‘what a spectacular goal’ in your work report. You don’t have the courage to ask him to lower the volume, so you shut your laptop and place it on the equally small coffee table in front of you.

“I’m not gonna bite you. Sit comfortably.” The arm behind you nudges your shoulder, and you comply, slowly spreading your legs to the point where your knees touch. He sighs and slides his arm around your shoulder, and drags you closer till you’re entirely pressed up against him.

“Much better isn’t it.”

You nod, and he slides his hand down to your waist and squeezes it. “Use your words, love.”

“Yes, John.”

“Good girl.”

His scent is thick with tobacco and Old Spice as it clouds your senses. He hadn’t moved his hand from your waist and simply rubbed as his fingers slowly crept down to the hem of your shirt.

You can only play with fingers your in your lap as you watch the team he’s supporting score yet another goal.

The match was only background noise now. A distant whirr failing to compete with the churning gears in your mind.

“Come to think of it, you haven’t compensated me for helping you today.”

“...what?”

His hand moves further up under your shirt, resting just below the band of your bra.

“Compensation. My friends are busy men, you know.”

“Oh, right.”

You turn to face him, sweat already pooling at the base of your spine as you lean in to kiss his lips.

But he stops you–squishing your cheeks together with a single hand as he pulls you away and smirks at your flustered state. The hand inside your shirt begins to caress your skin.

“I want something more.” His request reverberates in your skull till you almost go cross-eyed. His heady gaze has a hint of amusement as his fingers dance just beneath your bra, skirting around the band.

“Sit in on my lap.” The burr of his voice has you acting like a mindless zombie as you straddle him, hovering just above his semi-hardened crotch. With a click of his tongue, he pushes your waist and makes you sit directly on top. You gasp, holding on to his shoulders to steady yourself and your sanity.

“That’s more like it,” he says. His calloused hands run up and down your thighs, occasionally pushing his fingers into your shorts and grazing the hem of your panties.

“Did you wear these for me?” he whispers before nipping your earlobe. “Wanted to tease me, didn’t you?”

“I wasn’t trying to do anything,” you reason.

“If you weren’t, then you wouldn’t be sitting on my lap right now,” he counters before his lips latch onto your neck. The collar is tight, not giving him access to your decolletage even when he tries to pull down the fabric.

So he rucks up your shirt and takes it off you, ignoring your weak protests while throwing it away in some corner of his living room. “So soft,” he murmurs into your neck as his hands travel around the expanse of your abdomen, fingers digging into your sides to pull you closer till your chest meets his.

You bite your lip to keep yourself from letting out tiny cries when John sucks on your skin. He chuckles when he notices your chest falling and rising at the pace of a rabbit’s heartbeat. It feels like mockery. You’re giving him what he wants with minimal obstruction, yet he acts like he could take you whenever.

He licks your bottom lip as he orders you to take off your bra and sit on your knees so that your breasts are almost face-to-face with his mouth.

It horrifies you to think about how selfish it would be of you not to help him. The man is a veteran and has many things on his plate. Offering yourself to him on a silver platter after making him do all that labor for you is the least you could do for him.

John only watches you unclasp your bra with shaky hands. He does not make any effort to touch you or even quicken your pace, surprisingly patient. But his lascivious gaze says otherwise.

“Been waiting so long to see this. Had to make it the perfect moment. Ease you in.” His paws are quick to latch onto your breasts as soon as you pull down the straps of your bra. You gasp when he places his mouth on your nipple, flicking his tongue on the pebbled nub as his hands squeeze and push your other breast.

It’s far too late to stop and truly contemplate how fucked up the whole situation was–how easily you had just played into whatever he wanted.

His hands travel down your chest to the apex of your thigh and pull on your shorts. “Take these off too, love. Wouldn’t want you to take advantage of my kindness and not give yourself entirely in return.”

Your hands are frozen on his shoulders, baffled at how brazenly commanding John’s being. Seeing this, he sighs and grabs ahold of your hands in his and shoves your thumbs in your waist band. “Come on, down they go.”

“Look at you, all soaked.” John leers at the wet spot on your panties as you hover over his lap, knees uncomfortably digging into his couch. John pushes his thumb throw your labia and drags it from your slit to your clit, lightly pressing on it. Your nails dig into his shoulder. It was horrifying yet arousing. You’d only ever read stories about heroines paying off their debt using their bodies, but seeing it happen to you, in reality, was another thing.

It was all too humiliating–being so naive that you inadvertently trusted an older man with ill intentions. Your lips were still tingling from the wet kiss he left earlier, all tongue and no mercy. And then he moved to do it again, hot mouth devouring your mewls. His other hand, situated at the back of your knee, moved up to your ass, squeezing along the way and fixing itself underneath the cotton of your underwear. Thick fingers dug into soft skin like a clutched cushion.

“You wanted this to happen, didn’t you? That’s why you’re so ready for me?” he teases as his fingers move faster. “Bet you broke things in your apartment just so I could come in and see you half-dressed.”

“No,” you weakly stammer out.

“Sure, lie all you want. I already know you wanted this dick to fill you up the whole time. Don’t worry, I’ll stuff your cunt, sweetheart–I promise you that.”

He pulls the saturated gusset of your panties to the side and strokes a thick finger up the seam of your cunt. He kisses away your gasp when he enters your hole, hands playing with your nipple as he shoves another finger in, slowly increasing his speed.

You whine as you rub your clit, trying to find some sort of relief, but he immediately pulls out and shoves your hand away, slapping your clit to keep you in line. “You’ll get what you want if you’re patient. Now pull my cock out my pants.”

You meekly nod as tears threaten to spill out your dewy eyes. With ginger hands, you slowly unzip his jeans. His bulge is intimidating, already hard and straining against the cotton of his boxers.

You gasp slightly when you see the damp circle of precome on his underwear. His heated gaze and the intimidating outline of his dick make you shiver in your spot. When you pull him out, you nearly feel like running away. The sheer size of him is nothing you’ve seen before. Most of the people you’d hooked up with weren’t as girthy or long.

John groans as you wrap your hand around him, stroking the tip with caution.

“Come on, don’t be afraid—sit on it.” The timbre of his voice pulls you out of your momentary daze and you gulp.

John’s hands grasp your hips as he slowly pulls you down. He hisses when the entrance to your warm, wet, cunt meets his tip. The stretch you feel as your walls slide down his length is painful, his engorged cock fitting snugly.

“What’s wrong, love? Need a moment?” It almost feels like the older man is mocking you. ‘Have you really never taken something this big before?’

And before you can adjust to his size, John bucks his hip up into you, making you squeak as your body jerks.

“I think I’ll just need to fuck myself into you to fit well, don’t you think, darling?” he whispers in your ear before leaving a scorching kiss on your mouth.

You’re breathless after he pulls away and you nod dumbly, too overstimulated to do or say anything. His thumb strums along your clit, making you weep and wrap your arms around his neck. He rocks on top of him, viscid walls familiarizing themselves with every nerve that bulges out from his cock, slick collecting at the base.

And before you know it, he moves his hand away from your hips, only watching you bounce on his lap like you’re chasing your own high.

“I’m so—so full,” you whimper as John massages your breasts. You feel his muscles tensing under his t-shirt and he pulls you into another heated kiss as he pinches your nipple. You whine, almost at edge, as he tongues your mouth, groaning from the depths of his chest as he feels you contracting harder around his length.

“Come for me, honey,” he mumbles into your mouth, hand going down to your clit.

The elastic knot in your abdomen tightens till it snaps, rendering your spineless as you fall into John’s embrace. You both breath heavily as John reaches his own climax, his spend painting your walls white.

You were too exhausted to worry about birth control at the time.

—

You weren’t sure how long you had slept for, but you were sure that you had been out for longer than an hour considering that you were wearing John’s old military training t-shirt and had a sour taste in your mouth. Your cunt began to ache as you remembered the reason why you were so exhausted.

John is nowhere to be seen, so you drag yourself out of bed, limbs heavy as you crawl across to the foot.

That is until you hear John’s phone buzz at the night stand.

Curious, you crawl back. The thought of privacy briefly crossed your mind before you brushed it away. You’d bared your body to that man. A small text didn’t matter.

Your huffed at what you read. Eyes wide with sleep quickly vanishing by the nanosecond, It was the realtor who’d shown the apartment you were presently living in.

Sally M. : Hello, John. I just wanted to confirm how quickly you were planning on emptying unit 492. I know a few people who want to see it already.”

[angel5ofp0rn]

♡ part nine ♡

ExHusband!Price x f!reader

You and John have been pretty distant during the past two months, basically just coparenting in the same house.

You decided that depending on how this goes, how John and his ex wife interact, how the kids all get along, that's how you’ll decide the next step for the two of to get back together.

On the train from London to Bath, John holds your youngest in his lap and listen to her ooh's and ah's about being in a new country.

Meanwhile, you listen to every little question your oldest asks you about the new country, about the plane ride, about why everyone here “talks like daddy”.

After a while the train finally arrives at the station. John takes the lead out the door, carrying your oldest on his back as you carry the youngest on your hip.

The two of you are pretty silent, only talking to the children rather than each other.

The kids go crazy, suddenly getting a burst of energy as they explore the rental John booked for this trip.

They’re clearly more interested in the temporary house than anything else.

"So," you look at John as the kids giggle and wrestle on the floor. "When do we meet them?"

John takes a deep breath before he speaks. "Tomorrow morning. I thought the four of us could get breakfast and then head out to Nadia's house." He speaks carefully as if he’s trying not to say something that might upset you.

You just nod, turning your attention back to the kids.

He doesn’t say it, but he’s just as nervous as you. He doesn’t know what it’ll be like tomorrow, if the kids will all get along, if you and his other ex-wife will get along.

The kids definitely don’t sense any tension, that's for sure.

•••

You and John tucked the kids into bed in the larger room of the house, letting them share the king bed. It’s just John and you in the second room, separate beds, as had become the norm for the two of you.

John's quiet in his bed simply staring at the ceiling, his mind filled with thoughts of the following day.

"John..?" You sit up in your bed and look over at him.

John turns his head, a tiny bit surprised to see that you're still awake. He just gives you a small smile.

"Can't sleep?"

You shake your head. You’d been trying to sleep for the last two hours but the anxiety isn't letting you.

"Yeah... Neither can I..." John rubs his face and lets out a small sigh. He lifts his covers. "C'mon, love."

You should put your foot down or tell him off... But you don’t.

He has you. Divorce, secret family and all.

You slowly get out of your bed and crawl into his, instantly cuddling up to his warm body.

John wraps his arms around you, pulling you to his chest. He closes his eyes, savoring this moment with you.

You're in his arms, and although things between you two are still tense, you're at least here with each other.

Things are okay as long as you two are together, he thinks to himself before slowly starting to drift off to sleep.

•••

After breakfast the four of you head off. You have John park your rental car down the block hoping that the fresh air would help calm your nerves…

Or maybe you were just stalling.

John's leading the way, carrying your youngest in one arm and holding the oldest’s hand with the other.

The kids are both pretty excited to meet Theo. They took the news that their father has another child very well… That wasn’t surprising, as they're just kids and don't fully understand.

You, on the other hand, are a nervous wreck. You thought of what would happen if Nadia hates you, since John meeting you made him leave her, or what if Theo wants nothing to do with your kids, his half-siblings.

What if Nadia and John still have feelings for each other?

John looks over at you, noticing the slight panic and anxiety on your face even though you're trying to hide it from the kids. He keeps his expression calm, even when his heart feels like it's pounding out of his chest.

He knows you're going to have questions and feelings about this no matter what, but he just hopes the two of you can get through his visit with his other family without any more damage.

The four of you continue walking, the house that Nadia and Theo live in coming into full view. John's grip on your oldest’s hand tightens slightly, you could notice. He lets go of the five-year-old’s hand once you're all at the front door and he rings the doorbell.

After a moment Nadia stands in the doorway, her blonde hair pulled back in a claw clip, a small smile on her face...

Damn it, she's gorgeous.

She's older than you, John's age, with these gorgeous green eyes and the prettiest long eyelashes and full lips… She even has the cutest dimples in her cheeks.

You felt like couldn't even blame John if he decided today that he wants to go back to her.

John didn't really think much about Nadia's appearance. To him she was just an old flame of the past. She was beautiful, sure, but he had moved on years ago.

She was just his son’s mother.

But, seeing how you looked at her caused John a bit of pain. He knew it was bothering you. He wanted to assure you that there was nothing to worry about between the two of them, but he didn’t have a chance to do so just yet.

Instead, John smiles a bit as he starts to introduce you all.

"Nadia... Uh, this is Gabriel, my son.” Your oldest, just excited to see his older brother soon, waves a bit, "and this is Linnie, my little girl.” Your youngest, feeling shy around the stranger, buries her face into John’s chest.

John then gestures to you, turning his head towards you then glances back over at Nadia. "And this is Y/N... My, erm..."

"Ex-wife." You offer, blushing a bit. No need to complicate it. "It's really nice to meet you, Nadia. Thank you for letting us all be here."

Nadia smiles, genuinely. "Of course. I'm glad this is all finally happening. Come in, come in. Tea's on."

You follow behind John as we walk into Nadia's house, holding Gabriel's hand tightly.

John walks in with you and the kids, a lot of nervous energy still adiating from him. You sit at the table with everyone, holding your youngest in your lap now as your oldest sits between John and yourself.

"Where's my brother?" Your oldest whispers to John as Nadia sets tea in front of John and you, then herself as she sits across.

John looks down at your son and smiles, his nervousness temporarily gone when asked about Theo. "I'm sure he'll be out of his room in a moment."

Nadia just seems to be staring at John for a moment, her expression hard to read, before she smiles and gestures to the children. "These two are adorable."

"Thank you,” you laugh a bit. "They're a couple of little monkeys."

Nadia laughs as well, finding your description of your children funny. She takes a drink of her tea as she sets her cup down on the table. "They're beautiful. They really look like Theo when he was their ages."

As if on cue, Theo walks into the dining room.

Of course he’s gorgeous.

He looks like ten year old John.

He see's his dad and immediately runs up to him and hugs him tightly. You watch as John smiles widely, hugging his oldest son tightly.

Your oldest, upon seeing that John is now hugging his big brother, starts to get excited. He hops out of his seat and goes running towards Theo as well.

“Big brother!" The five year old’s arms immediately wrap around Theo and hugs him tightly as well. Theo hugs him back, unfazed, as if he's know him his entire life instead of this being their first time meeting.

"Oh my God…” You smile, the sight warming my heart.

Nadia seems to be having a similar reaction to you, grinning broadly as the two boys hug each other. She turns to look at your daughter for a moment, who just watches intently, taking in the sight of her brothers. She seems excited too, wiggling around in your lap to see them better.

"Do you want to meet Theo as well, little one?" Nadia asked her gently.

Your youngest nods shyly.

You put her on her feet, and the oldest child kneels down, anticipating a hug from the toddler.

Instead, the little one runs to Nadia and climbs into her lap for a hug instead. You and John both laugh, surprised by this.

Nadia smiles and wraps her arms around Linnie, hugging her tightly. Her embrace is comforting and reassuring to the bashful little one.

"It's nice to meet you, Theo." You finally smile at John and Nadia's son. "I'm Y/N."

Theo's smile grows as he sees you, his bright blue eyes studying you carefully almost like he's trying to memorize your appearance. "It's nice to meet you, too.”

"Can we play?!" Your oldest asked John’s oldest, then looked back to John for permission as well.

John nods quickly, giving him permission to play with his older brother. Nadia, meanwhile, just smiles and nods as well. "Theo has loads of Legos in his room. Go ahead. Get to know one another as well."

Your oldest smiles widely before following his “new” big brother to his room. Linnie just clings to Nadia's chest, looking between the two of you, trying to take everything in.

"I might just keep this little one." Nadia teased, hugging her a bit closer.

You can't help but smile. This isn't at all how you thought this would go.

It's so much better.

The boys are now playing in the room, building Legos and just enjoying each other's company. Your daughter seems content to be with Nadia, who's holding her in her lap, stroking her hair softly with her fingers and talking quietly with her.

You feel John take your hand under the table, squeezing it a bit as he sips his tea.

John leans in closely, whispering to you as Nadia speaks with your youngest. "Everything's goin’ well... right?"

You nod with a small smile, then sip at your tea as well. You watch as Nadia gets your little one to open up a bit, getting her to talk and giggle.

It only takes a few minutes before Nadia convinces the two year old to go into Theo's room and play with her big brothers, and to get to know Theo a bit. Now it's just her, John and you at the table.

John looks around and seems to sigh in relief, leaning back in his seat as he continues to squeeze your hand.

Nadia and you finally get a chance to have a proper conversation as the two of you continue to talk and sip on your tea.

Everything has gone so smoothly; especially now when Gabriel and Linnie seem to have just bonded with Theo like the three have known each other for years rather than just having met today.

John sighs a bit, smiling over at Nadia and you as she holds a conversation with you, seeming more than happy that things are working out.

For the first time in a long time, today he feels at ease, like everything's going just like it's supposed to go.

After spending the entire day together, You decide it's time to get the kiddos back to the rental and get them into bed.

John helps Nadia with the dishes after dinner while you help the kids clean up Theo's room after playing.

•••

You and John finish bathing the children after their long day and tuck them into the king bed once again.

John follows you into the other bedroom, shutting the door behind him as he goes over and sits on the edge of his bed. He just takes a deep breath in there, sighing as he rubs his face.

Today went well, sure. But that doesn’t exactly change anything between the two of you just yet.

You sit on John's lap, his arms instantly wrapping around your waist. It was just natural.

John just exhales. Your warmth against his chest helped him to feel at ease for a moment.

"Nadia is gorgeous." You sigh. "You didn't tell me that part."

John chuckles softly. "Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

"How can I not be?"

John rubs his thumb over the top of your thigh. "She's my past, love... We don't have... We've never had what you and I have."

You look at him, meeting his eyes. You try to find even a tiny hint of dishonestly.

That makes the next part harder.

“I don’t understand how you could have done that to them.” You start slowly. “The man I married isn’t a man that would just abandon his family for some random girl at a bar.”

You could feel John tense at your words. You stand up off of his lap now, pacing the room a bit.

“I didn’t abandon them-“

“You left your wife and child in a different country. What would you call that?” You retort.

“You don’t understand how things were between Nadia and I before I met you.” John insists. “It’s not like I left a happy marriage.”

“You still left your child.” You shake your head. “If you visit fucking Italy right now and meet a younger woman, would you leave Gabe and Linnie back in the states and only see them once a month? I always thought, ‘maybe John and I aren’t a good match, but at least he’s a good dad’… But I don’t know if I believe that anymore.”

“I’m a damn good dad. To all of them.” John defends himself through gritted teeth.

“You’ve been lying to my kids their whole lives!”

“Your kids?” John quirked an eyebrow at that.

“My kids.” You double down, arms crossed.

“I don’t wanna fight.” John sighs finally, rubbing his eyes. “Can we talk about this in the morning?”

“Fine.” You exit the room, going back to where the kids slept, leaving John alone.

<< prev next >>

[ms-demeanor]

if we're like, showing graphs and stuff, this is the type that i think a lot of people on tumblr are thinking of when they think about the economy.

Only one third of people with family incomes below $50k spent less than their income each month. I would guess that a lot of people on tumblr who get aggro about this topic (and the vast majority of people on r/povertyfinance, who discuss this sort of thing a lot) fall into this earning category.

Real wage increases only matter if you got a raise (one third of workers got a raise last year, which means that 2/3rds didn't - included in the economic wellbeing report linked above). Whether or not rent is outpacing wages only matters if you're not going to be rent burdened (more than a third of renter households are cost burdened in every state and 12 million rental households spend more than half their income on rent). Employment rates lose a lot of meaning when you're working multiple jobs to make ends meet (the percentage of multiply employed workers was falling in the US from 1996 to the 2010s, when it plateaued, then it started rising slightly then collapsed in 2020 and has been rising steeply since then and it's too soon to tell if it's going to go back to the plateau or keep going up).

Four in ten adults in the US is carrying some level of medical debt (even people who are insured) and 60% of people with medical debt have cut back on food, clothes or household items; about 50% of people with medical debt have used up all their savings.

Tumblr is the broke people website and yeah, people who are working two jobs to afford $900 for one room and utilities in a three bedroom apartment are not going to feel great about the economy even if real wages are raising and inflation-adjusted rents are actually pretty stable. "The Rent is too Damn High" has been a meme for 14 years so, like, yeah. Even if it's pretty stable when adjusted for inflation it is stable and HIGH.

It's hard to feel good about the economy when you're spending the last few days of the pay period hoping nothing unexpected hits your account, and it's VERY frustrating to be told that the economy's doing well when you've had to start selling blood to buy groceries.

Sure, unemployment is low, that's neat. It's good that inflation has stabilized (it genuinely has; prices are not likely to fall back to pre-inflation rates and eventually you'll likely be paid enough to reach equilibrium, but a lot of people aren't there yet).

But, like, it costs eight thousand dollars a year out of pocket to keep my spouse alive. I'd guess that we've paid off about a third of the 40-ish thousands of dollars he's racked up since his heart attack. His medical debt is why I don't have a retirement plan beyond "I guess I'll die?" So talking about how good the economy is kind of feels like being chained in the bottom of a pit that is slowly filling with water while people on the surface talk about the fact that the rain is tapering off. Neat! That's good! But I can't really see it from where I'm standing.

Inflation really is getting better. My state just enacted a $20 minimum wage for fast food workers. The Biden administration has worked hard to reduce many kinds of healthcare costs. A lot of people have had significant portions of their student debt cancelled.

But a lot of people are still having trouble affording groceries and it doesn't seem helpful to say "your perception of the economy is decoupled from the reality of the economy" on the "can I get a few dollars for food today?" website.

[red5cars]

all that remains, pt.2

simon x soapsdaughter!reader | past ghoap

cw: discussions of death, soap is dead, alcohol/drinking mentions, brief instances of homophobia (not from simon nor reader)

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synopsis: after going no contact for nearly two decades, simon riley gets the closure he's always needed with his sergeant. except its through his daughter.

simon can count the funerals he’s been to on one hand.

the first was his gran's, a distant woman whose more memory than material. despite that, he can still make out the many lines on her face, the portrait that they used, and the way his mother squeezed his hand, the other half resting on her protruding belly.

second funeral, which he's unsure if he should count it, comes a year after his gran's. the year 4 class pet, findleton fishgerald, was found belly up upon walking into mrs.barett's room. playtime was instead used as a period for mourning, him and his fellow classmates listening to their teacher give a speech about the poor goldfish.

(now that he thinks about it, fish looked more like a corpse each passing day. it was only matter of time before the little guy kicked the bucket. well, swam out of it)

the third funeral was for multiple people, but they were mourned and packed into an urn on the same day so it counts as one. the contents of said urn include his mother, brother, sister-in-law, and his nephew.

it sticks with simon. his nephew in particular. he died when he was four, his first (and last) encounter with death beating simon's.

the few days after were a blur, but he can still taste the aftermath of his carnage, as well as the whiskey he drank following it.

now, he's attending his fourth funeral. johnny's.

well, 'attend' is an overstatement. stalking is a better describes simon. sitting in the shitty rental he got, parked in the second lot over of the cemetery, away from everyone who claims to love johnny.

bet they didn't love him like he did.

if he wanted too, he could walk over to the gas port, remove the cigarette from his chapped lips and toss it in there. last thing he sees would be this rusty pick-up, his soul barreling towards damnation.

he won't, knowing the muppets that come across his remains will leave him here, too close and yet too far from his johnny.

to others, it may be difficult seeing the gathering, but a trained eye like simon sees everything. he can make out gaz and price from the crowd, as well as johnny's mum.

age has not done her any favors, looking as bitchy as the day he met her. still, she was an important person to johnny.

if only she accepted he was too.

briefly, he thinks about getting out of his car, walking towards what would be a scandalous, bittersweet reunion. sure, price and gaz'll be there to defend him if things get ugly, but blood is thicker than water. even if the string binding johnny and him was red.

(is it severed because he's dead? or does it go deeper? six feet under and unfrayed)

he decides to let them mourn without his interference. the last thing he needs is that hag telling him this is all his fault, with his agendas and whatever the fuck they rant about at churches now.

without sparing a glance, he starts the rental. a small part of him is thankful for parking so far away, the obnoxious rumble of the engine would reveal his location if he were a few feet closer.

he backs out of the spot before heading south, vowing to come back later. only johnny and him.

and the groundskeeper, if his unlucky streak continues.

——————————————————————————

it continues.

shouldn't have. he came back in the middle of the night, the witching hour. while he isn't into the paranormal, a foolish part of him thought johnny's spirit might say some parting words. unless he already left the plane. bastard.

if anything, he was prepared for an intimate moment with the scot, say what he's wanted to say, or at least attempt to. the only feeling he can properly communicate is anger, this aching sadness an unwelcomed yet familiar weight on simon.

that's what he was ready for.

he wasn't ready to find a woman dressed in pajamas and an arm sling kneeling in front of johnny's gravestone.

while he can still see quite far, the night obscures more than it used too, only clocking her when he's a few feet away.

strange, he doesn't recognize her from the funeral crowd. then again, he didn't care for anyone else besides the corpse.

he thinks about retreating, would probably be best to visit when the sun's up, rather than lurk like some ghoul.

simon's begun to turn on his heel when a scream pierces through the air.

he turns back around to find the girl, hunched over the tombstone, clutching it with her free arm. her screams are alarming, like a siren going off in the middle of the night. it might just be a loon, having escaped the bin and is hugging stranger's tombstones because they aren't sane (neither is simon, but he has a semblance of common decency).

it's another sign he needs to go, do a 180 and come back in the morn. though, he pauses upon hearing the girl let out a strangled cry that vaguely resembles "dad.."

no, that can't be right. he knows the crash didn't just involve johnny, his whole family too (unfortunately not his mom).

he knows for certain johnny's wife didn't make it, but the daughter.. the daughter..

he turns back around, zeroing in on her like she's a target. it's hard to see her features, and from what he can see she looks nothing like johnny.

but she is injured. and a girl. and she keeps crying for her mom and dad rather loudly and-

fuck.

there's no denying that before him is johnny's kid. johnny’s daughter.

a mess of a woman, snot and tears running down her face, her skin stretching after she lets out another sob, curved lines surrounding her anguish.

he has to retreat now. simon has, and wants, no business with any of the other mactavish's. if she's anything like the rest of them, he's sure the girl hates him, will damn him to an eternity in hell if he so much as approaches her.

so for the third time that night, simon begins to turn, set on leaving this cemetery and never coming back. what's another twenty years without johnny? he's lived his life in constant pain, won't stop now.

he's taken about three more steps when something rustles underneath him. simon looks down, his foot landing on a pile of leaves. it isn't loud, but it's loud enough to get johnny's daughter (whose cries have quieted down by a few decibels) attention.

"..hello?" it comes out just as tear-filled as her other proclamations have. his back remains turned. if he can't see her, she's not there. this is all some fucked night terror, and he's going to wake up in his johnny's arms in 3, 2, 1-

"i said hello," her voice is a bit more firm, as if she's fully materialized into a person rather than some grief-stricken thing. reluctantly, simon turns , the girl now standing before him. the soft light of the moon illuminates her tear-stained face, the knees of her pants dirtied from kneeling over her parents' grave.

to think, his johnny would have a kid without saying anything. it might be low, but given how simon reacted to their split, he can't blame the man.

the silence continues to stretch on between them. poor kid, probably waiting on simon to break it. he's surprised her first instinct isn't to run or scream for help, but people in mourning tend to forget themselves in their grief.

simon knows firsthand.

a frown stretches across her face when she realizes simon isn't going to say anything. she sighs, wiping her damp face with the back of her hand.

"look, i'm not on anything, and- and i was here earlier for a funeral i just..," she takes in a shuddering breath, her whole body becoming loose as she exhales, "i need more time with my folks," a pause, "alone."

it's a sentiment simon knows all too well, having lost many people. even the damned fish, he wished he was able to spend more time with it.

and simon's ready to oblige, bid her 'goodbye' wordlessly, make her think he was just some hallucination her sorrow conjured up. be nothing more than strangers in an awkward situation.

although, this isn't just a stranger. this is johnny. well, his daughter. and even if she's annoyed at him, its not for the reasons he thought it be.

in another universe, he's already left. hell, he hasn't even shown up in the first place. but in this one, he doesn't do any of that.

instead, simon does the unthinkable;

“pint for your troubles?”

he offers her a drink.

[hollowmem]

Ooo thank you! What about if Johnny and Reader has to babysit, sprung on them out of nowhere. Maybe Captain’s toddler or baby? They’re frazzled but pull through just peachy. 😍 There are some hilarious mishaps though feat. precocious child thoughts that got them thinking of having a bairn of their own. Reader teases that Johnny needs to give her a ring first.

Week of leave

AFAB !Reader x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

You and Johnny were all set to head off for a proper week of leave — no drills, no alarms, no MREs. Just the two of you, a rental car, and plans to do absolutely nothing productive.

You were finishing up paperwork in the common room when Captain Price walked in, his little girl balanced on one hip, holding a worn elephant plush by the ear. She was looking around with sleepy curiosity, thumb in her mouth.

“Hey, Cap,” you greeted, raising an eyebrow.

“Got a favor to ask,” Price said and came straight up to you. His voice dropped to the kind of tone he usually reserved for classified ops. “I wouldn’t ask if I had any other option — but my sitter bailed, and I’ve got to be on a flight in two hours.”

You glanced between him and the toddler, already half-suspecting where this was going.

“She’s comfortable with you,” he said. “And you’ve got good instincts. More mature than most on base.”

There was a pause. Then, like an afterthought, he added, “MacTavish’ll be with you, right?”

Johnny, who had just walked in with a bag of chips and a look of betrayal, sputtered. “You sayin’ I’m not mature?”

Price gave him a flat look. “You once duct-taped a GoPro to a pigeon, Johnny.”

“That was science, mate.”

You bit back a laugh and looked down at the little girl, who was now trying to poke her tiny fingers into Johnny’s tactical boot.

“She’s good,” Price said softly. “Sweet. Just needs someone to keep her safe for a couple days while I’m out.”

You exhaled. “Yeah. We can do it.”

The next few days were a delightful disaster.

You’d been tackled at 6 a.m. by a giggling blur in dinosaur pajamas. Johnny had discovered that she would cry every time he stopped reading The Very Hungry Caterpillar — so he’d read it seven times in one morning. The living room was a graveyard of half-chewed snacks, scattered crayons, and one suspiciously sticky throw pillow.

At night, after she finally passed out in her makeshift cot, you and Johnny would collapse on the couch, exhausted but kind of glowing.

One evening, Johnny watched her sleep, arms tucked under her chin, that elephant plush beside her.

“She’s a handful,” he said quietly. “But she’s… I dunno. Makes things feel real.”

You looked over, heart thudding.

“She called me ‘MacFish’ again today,” he added after a beat.

“She likes you,” you said, smiling. “She trusts you.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I get why Price picked you, know. You’ve got this… steadiness about you. Like you already know what you’re doing.”

You tilted your head. “And what about you?”

He shrugged, then glanced at you. “I think I’d figure it out — if you were figuring it out with me.”

You smiled at that, but something in his voice made your stomach flip. It wasn’t a joke. Not this time.

You both fell quiet, watching the rise and fall of the toddler’s breathing, the peace of it — the weird, warm glow of the moment. For the first time, it wasn’t just funny or chaotic or sweet.

It felt... possible.

“You ever think about it?” he asked softly.

You blinked. “About what?”

“Having one. A kid.” He cleared his throat. “A family. With me.”

Your heart stuttered. He wasn’t looking at you, but you could tell he meant it — not some flippant joke or playful nudge. He was serious. Nervous, even.

“Yeah,” you said after a moment. “I do.”

He turned to look at you then — really looked — and you saw it: the hope. The longing. The love.

You reached over and took his hand. “But if we’re doing the whole family thing,” you teased gently, “you better start thinking about rings.”

He chuckled under his breath. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about that, too.”

Outside, the world was quiet. Inside, between the two of you, something new had quietly taken root — a future that felt more real than ever.

[seat-safety-switch]

"Look, bud," started the jackbooted thug. He was splitting his attention between threatening me, and watching our waiter so he could tell him when he had "enough" grated cheese on his spaghetti combo. "We want you out of the business."

The waiter coughed gently. My opponent glared at him. Cheese continued to fall like rain between us, accumulating in a small mountain on top of the steaming 'sta.

For a couple years now, it has been like this. They simply do not know how to compete with my low, low prices. I accepted the offer to come out to dinner because, you know, free meal, knowing full well that I would be threatened and possibly whacked in the parking lot. As the grater runs dry, I wonder if there will be any parmesan left for me when it is my turn. The waiter notices I am staring at it, and shrugs a half-apology. There's no way they only brought out one chunk of the good stuff.

"If I agree to sell – and that's an if," I finally speak, "I never want to work again."

We both know now that I am a whore, and we are merely arguing on price. Tension has left the room. Unfortunately, so has the cheese. In disgust, the waiter disappears into the kitchen, leaving behind a dissatisfied mobster and, worst of all, a cheeseless me. My naked spaghetti gleams obscenely beneath the gently flickering Inexpensive House Brand® LED lighting.

So this is how it ends. I never wanted to be in the bouncy castle rental business anyway.

[lanormie]

blipped - mcu crossover au (pt. 5)

what if? the event of Thanos snap happened in the BNHA universe? you're forced to navigate the aftermath of The Blip, where half of the population get thrown back into existence after disappearing for five years. pairing: pro-hero!Shouto x f!pro-hero!reader (ft. slight katsuki x reader) read on AO3 previous part - next part

Hawks has you started right away, and you’re thankful for it. Time spent idle is time to dwell, even time spent with Shouto in Fuyumi’s room catching up with her stock of mangas does not occupy your mind enough to soften the agony.

So here you are, on a roundabout train route (cause who knows when the direct route is going to get restored) across town to your new agency at 5 in the morning. You’ll need to find a new apartment soon, commuting like this everyday will be time consuming, not to mention hellish with how much it allows you to steep in your thoughts. On top of that, Shouto is helping Rei bring his Dad home this morning, and even though the man will be unconscious, you’re not too keen on existing in the same space as him.

You and Endeavor share a mutual disdain towards each other. The whole time you grew up with Shouto and around the Todorokis, he didn’t speak more than a handful of words to you, only pinning you with a hateful glare whenever he called your friend away. Once severe wounds started showing up on Shouto and he started becoming defiant, you two would start coming up with schemes to get him out of training, or simply sneak away on days he didn’t particularly feel like dealing with his Dad.

And after you found out you also got into UA, your cousin mysteriously got a once in a lifetime job offer in another city, and you had to move away the week before school started, your dream of taking part in the most prestigious hero course crushed. Surprise surprise, you found out later that it was Endeavor who pulled some strings to relocate her, but there was nothing you could do at that point.

As soon as you became independent, you returned to your hometown to find the man had mellowed out a bit. But still, the bastard never offered an apology.

And you’re not about to spend any significant amount of time around him, no thanks.

You open up the rental app on your phone to start an apartment search around Hawks’ agency, and your eyes pop out of their socket.

.

You:

you won’t BELIEVE how much apartments are going for

i might have to sleep under my desk

Sho:

I was talking to Natsuo yesterday

He said a lot of housings were converted into commercial space

Since they were all sitting empty

And now the ones that are left are quickly filling up

You:

yikes

i doubt anything will get passed fast enough to stop the price gouging

anyway

you ready to see sleeping beauty?

Sho:

?

You:

your dad

Sho:

Absolutely not.

Thankfully I have some paperwork I have to do after

So I won’t have to stick around for long once he’s home

I have to go now

I’ll see you later

* * * * *

You’re only one step deep in the door before a feather snatches your bag away and another swoops you backwards and up into the air by your tool belt. You catch a glimpse of Touya two-finger saluting you from one of the upper floor windows on your way up to Hawks, who’s already on the move.

“Morning!” He chirps, looking five coffees deep already at 8AM. “My staff’s gonna handle your paperwork, you’re with me today, hope you don’t mind.”

“Are you kidding?” You flip over and speed up to catch up with him. “I’d rather be out here than sifting through 500 pages of jargon.”

“You’re speaking my language.” He calls the feathers back to his gliding wings now that you’re flying on your own. “Didn’t think you would call back so soon.”

In the whipping winds, you only mutter a barely audible ‘yup’ that tells Hawks everything he needs to know. He slows down to hand you an earpiece.

“If it helps, your old place has terrible PTO policies.” His voice crackles on comms.

“Hey!” You snort. “They were practically raised by Eraserhead, have you seen the man? How can they possibly know anything about time off?”

Hawks full-belly laughs at this, the echoes of his voice in the wind and the sound from your earpiece reverberate in a way that is kind of…foreign.

Right. You’re not with your friends anymore. Mina is not cackling on comms at something Toru said. Denki and Kiri are not talking over each other. Kyoka is not using the wrong channel to flirt with Momo. The one zooming in front of you is not Shouto, Izuku, or Tokoyami.

Or Katsuki.

A page has been turned, yet you’re still wedged in between chapters like a bookmark.

“Trouble’s ahead.” A voice cuts through your gloom. “Robbery on 35th.”

“Put me to work, bossman.” You straighten up, eager to put your inner turmoil on the backburner.

From this point on, you’re truly going it alone.

* * * * *

“You are not going it alone.”

Shouto looks up from his spot at the conference table, where you found him after coming back from patrol with Hawks. You had been led here to finish signing some papers, and you opened the door to Shouto sitting in front of his own contract. He reminded you that ‘I did say I would see you later’, as if that was enough information. So here you are, arguing about how a decision as important as an agency switch should not be made on a whim.

“You can drop the papers off by my desk when you’re done.” Hawks’ personal assistant gives you both a polite smile before making her exit, closing the conference room door behind her.

Trying to ignore the fact that you just made an awkward first impression on the lovely lady, you turn back to Shouto.

“What about your friends?”

“They’ve gone on without me for five years. I doubt my absence will make an impact.”

There’s a tick of something adjacent to sadness in his statement. It’s still spoken as evenly as ever, but it’s void of his usual nonchalance. You suddenly realize, that this is the first time in the past week he lets shown - albeit through a tiny glimpse - that he is not as unaffected by the whole situation as you thought he might be.

Shouto too was misplaced in time. He too is now a jagged piece in the puzzle. In one way or another, you two have each other to commiserate. 

That is until your pursuit of abandoning everything, where you’ve accidentally abandoned him as well.

Your argument dissipates into thin air.

“Do you think we’d ever catch up?” You take a seat next to your two-toned friend.

“I don’t think we need to.” Shouto pens his signature at the bottom of a page, then turns to you. “I’d rather focus on what’s right in front of me.”

You blow air through your lips, completely missing the hint of fondness in his phrase. “You’re probably right, things will get very tense very soon.”

Grabbing a pen nearby, you move to look through your own paperwork, just as a loud knock comes through the…windows? On the 8th floor?

You both look up to see Touya slap a piece of paper onto the glass before getting promptly yoinked away by Hawks. It says in obnoxiously large letters ‘5000 yens. On my desk. Tomorrow. Loser.’

Shouto looks back at you.

“You are very prone to being blackmailed.”

* * * * *

You had managed to explain it was a bet that you didn’t agree to take part in, instead of a blackmail, before Shouto dozed off like he always does on train rides.

You haven’t taken a train with Sho since middle school, so this is extremely nostalgic. You two would always start watching some show or video on his phone with shared earbuds, then he would slip right into a coma half way through, earbud still blaring.

Except now he is a head taller and when he tips over in your direction, his cheek would knock painfully against the top of your noggin.

“You got shorter.” He mumbles groggily, hand reaching for the hood of your hoodie and flipping it over your head.

“Maybe I lost some particles getting put back.” You snort, watching him put up his own hood. “Or maybe it’s your Dad’s genes finally kicking in.”

“That would not be good news for doorways.” He resettles on your head, now that it’s properly cushioned. “Speaking of my Dad, are you okay with him being there?”

“Sho, it’s his house.” You remind him. “Plus, he’s not exactly awake to stare me down or kick me out.”

“Still. He doesn’t inspire comfort.” He muses, perhaps more to himself than to you.

You shrug, and Shouto goes quiet for a while. For a moment you thought he'd fallen back asleep, but then you hear him suck in a breath and speak up again.

“If we can’t find our own apartment, would you like to split one with me?”

You want to turn to look at his face, but his cheek stays steadfast on your head.

You’ve never really co-inhabited with anyone before, except for your cousin. When you got an apartment, despite Katsuki staying over pretty regularly, it was still your own space. You used to prefer it like that. But now after everything, you feel like loneliness would consume you whole at any moment.

Moving in with your best friend doesn’t sound bad at all.

“Only if we keep the thermostat at a reasonable temperature.”

You swear you could feel him smile through layers of hair and fabrics.

“Deal.”

[rip2mycarradio]

AINT IT FUN

platonic with some tension…… just having fun in la with louuiss!

˚༺☆༻

you should’ve known what kind of day it was going to be when louis tomlinson showed up to your place in a graphic tee that said “cheryl, call me….. x,” paired with his most chaotic pair of sunglasses and a wicked grin like he’d just come back from causing trouble somewhere else.

“i’m gonna blow my savings on this,” he said, leaning out the window of the rental car. “also, i may have parked in front of a hydrant. speed is key.”

you’d barely gotten in the car before he was already peeling off down the street, one hand on the wheel and the other fiddling with the bluetooth so he could blast an old noughties playlist, complete with bowling for soup and the killers. you weren’t even out of your neighborhood before you were laughing so hard your cheeks hurt.

melrose avenue was hot and glowing with that classic la sunshine—the kind of golden light that made everything feel like a movie. the sidewalks were cluttered with influencers pretending to take casual photos and tourists in bucket hats, but louis walked among them like he’d grown up here. confident. loud. trouble.

“first stop,” he announced, sliding his sunglasses up into his hair. “sephora. we’re getting you that lip thing you always wear even though you pretend you’re not obsessed with it.”

“that’s a lie,” you said. “i fully admit i’m obsessed.”

he grinned. “good. i don’t trust people who lie about their lip balm.”

within five minutes, he’d accidentally spritzed a stranger with a setting spray and said something about “aligning her inner sparkle,” and you were being politely asked to leave.

“you’ve got a gift,” you muttered, pulling him by the wrist out of the store while he laughed his head off.

“what can i say? i bring joy and chaos in equal measure.”

you hit a handful of boutiques after that. the kind of places that didn’t have price tags and served you tiny cups of cucumber water the second you walked in. louis tried on three different hats just to irritate the shopkeeper. then, he slipped a cartoonishly large pair of sunglasses on your head.

“perfect,” he said, tilting your chin toward him. “you look like you just dumped a ceo and bought a yacht out of spite.”

“i hate you,” you said, blushing anyway.

“you wish you did.”

there was tension. it was always there with louis. beneath the jokes, the casual touches—his hand on the small of your back when you stepped off a curb, the way he looked at you a beat too long when you tried something on.

but you didn’t speak it aloud. instead, you let it buzz under your skin and watched him smirk every time your eyes lingered too long.

in one vintage shop, you tried on a sundress. nothing dramatic, just light and summery. when you stepped out, louis looked up from where he was crouched in front of a record bin—and stilled.

you were used to his compliments being playful. biting, funny. but this one was different.

“jesus,” he muttered. “you look…”

you tilted your head. “i look?”

“you look great,” he said, standing, brushing imaginary dust off his jeans. “and now i’m gonna have to fight someone off in the parking lot.”

you raised a brow. “jealous, tomlinson?”

“nah,” he said, all false cool. “just territorial.”

by the time the sun started sinking low, the car was full of bags and empty iced coffee cups. louis tossed his wallet to the dashboard and looked too smug for someone who’d dropped a lot of money on you without flinching.

“okay,” you said, pulling your legs up in the passenger seat. “now that we’re done pretending you’re casually rich—how much do i owe you?”

“nothing,” he said, stretching back in the seat with both hands behind his head. “it’s on me.”

you blinked. “louis—there’s, like, four bags of stuff.”

“i know,” he said. “and i picked half of it out.”

you tried to argue, but he waved you off.

“listen,” he said, turning to face you, voice softer now. “i like seeing you in nice things. especially when i bought them.”

your chest ached a little.

you leaned over, resting your head on his shoulder. “you’re annoyingly good at this.”

“being your best mate?”

“being annoying.”

he laughed, arm curling around you. “don’t tell anyone. i’ve got a rep to keep.”

you stayed like that for a long while, the car warm and full of music, the street glowing outside, the air between you thick with everything neither of you dared to say.

and just when you thought the moment might pass—

“you still owe me for the lip balm,” he whispered against your hair.

“do i?”

“yeah,” he said, grinning. “next shopping trip, you’re paying. i want sushi. and maybe a yacht.”

[allthemurders]

Walter Sullivan’s car

I spent literally four hours researching this for a throwaway line in a fic which doesn’t even apply anymore. Please appreciate my nerdiness so this doesn’t go entirely to waste 😭😭

This is Walter Sullivan’s car — a 1954 Jaguar XK120 Drophead Coupé (DHC), Special Equipment (SE) version.

These were manufactured in 1953–1954. Only 295 right-hand drive versions of the XK120 DHC were made, with less than 40 right-hand drive SE versions

The DHC SE was basically the “sport version” of the DHC. It had a 3.4 litre engine which produced 180–190 bhp, up from the regular DHC’s 160 bhp. I’m uncertain about its top speed, but the Open Two-Seater (OTS) model on which the DHC was based had a reported top speed of 125 mph, and could achieve 0–60 mph in 10 seconds. This made it the fastest production car in the world as of its debut in 1949, a title it seems to have carried until 1953

The DHC SE version had the following improvements on the DHC:

Wire wheels, meaning increased cooling to the brakes

Uprated torsion bars & rear springs

More powerful engine with high-lift cams

Dual exhaust system (this one was possibly an optional extra on top of the usual SE offerings?? Basically I found some sites that say the DHC SE had a single exhaust, except in the entirely unexplained “Super Sports model”… but also that might just be a difference between UK & US models, idk)

I wasn’t able to find information on original prices for the DHC SE, but you could probably make a rough estimate based on the following:

Apparently the OTS cost £1600 in 1953. (For context, the average house price was £1800 and the average salary was £10 a week)

The DHC probably would’ve cost more than the OTS, as it came with additional comforts such as a lined roof, external door handles, roll-up windows, opening quarter lights, and wood-veneered dashboards & door-caps

The DHC SE would’ve cost more than the regular DHC due to its further additional features and more powerful engine

Walter’s car in particular also has optional extras of Lucas fog lights and a Radiomobile car radio. It possibly also has (unseen) optional extras of a larger fuel tank and/or an underbody steel shield

Of course, after I’d spent literally four hours researching this (most of which was spent struggling to figure out if it actually was an SE version, or if it was just a regular DHC with some optional extras), I finally came up with the much simpler and easier idea of just. googling the car model + “hire”. Which immediately brought up the hire website for the exact car used in the show:

Although it doesn’t specifically say it’s the SE version, the 180 hp is a clear indication. Why did I not think to do this like three and a half hours sooner,,,,

Also put the registration plate through the DVLA checker to get the 1954 manufacture date! Apparently it was first registered in July 1954, if you want to be particularly specific

Anyways. TL;DR: Walter Sullivan’s car is only like a year old; it’s fast, fancy, and super rare… and most of all, it’s ridiculously expensive

[kenyatta]

Optimists blame these uncomfortable figures on inevitable volatility. Prices are choppy from month to month, and inflation tends not to fall in a straight line. Moreover, there is also a statistical delay: the lagged effect from a surge in house rents in 2021 and 2022. This is now the main contributor to high inflation data. The cost of shelter accounted for slightly more than half of the annual increase in core CPI in November. Although rent hikes have slowed markedly since the height of the covid-19 pandemic, house-price measures in inflation indices remain frustratingly elevated because they are based on rents for all tenants and, because rental contracts can be multi-year, the increases of earlier periods take time to pass through. The measures have started to decelerate, but are doing so slowly. “There’s a strong argument that shelter prices are just goofy. It’s a technical thing, and it needs to flow through,” says Luke Tilley of Wilmington Trust, an investment firm.