#Sell Broken Phones for Cash

[bikashdas]

Ways to Sell A Damaged or Broken iPhone for Cash

[cellcashr-blog]

CellCashr - Sell Electronics For Cash

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[alnilaem]

you buy a second-hand laptop from a dodgy craigslist user only to make a carnal discovery hidden between the files.

cw for anal sex, face fucking, pet play, choking, masturbation, noncon filmed sex, overall dubcon, reader is fujoing out

ghoap (x reader)

-

You saw it in a flitting advertisement. Used Acer Aspire V5, female buyers only, and didn’t hesitate to contact the poster.

Ghost was his screen name. Macabre, but not something to dwell on because he’s selling the only affordable hand-me-down you can find. He insisted on meeting at a hole-in-the-wall pub, beneath a metal sheet awning. There’s a cigarette pinched between his lips as you approach, an overripe mask rolled over his broken nose.

“You’re our bird?” He asks in a Manchester hint, exhaling a plume of off-white smoke.

You stifle over that operative word—our—but push through it and meekly nod, preening at his feet.

Beneath the predatory glint of his eyes, you realize you’ve gravely miscalculated the calibre of this situation. Meeting a complete stranger in a gritty alleyway and waiting to pick up his scrap-metal laptop, all because it satisfies your budget.

“Yeah…” you mumble. Try to make yourself invisible even though it’s redundant—he already towers over you, his shadow eclipsing your body, his heat drinking you in.

“‘ere it is,” he grunts. “You’ve got our cash?”

You hand him the crumpled wad of paper, squirming as he passes his thumb over his tongue and folds through the money, counting it with a mean curl of his lips.

“That’s– is everything alright?”

He stuffs the money into his jacket and expells a deep prusten sound, like an idle predator. “Fine. Pleasure doin’ business with you, bird.”

Ghost turns on his mud-clogged boot and strays off, letting the shadows swallow him whole. You hold the bulky laptop to your chest and wield it like a weapon on your way home, finally settling into bed, ready to examine your new purchase.

The hinges creak as you pull it open. A grimace splits your cheeks at the dust crusted in the margins, the rings of juice gummed to the mousepad.

A few letters from the keyboard are missing, and a few strips of tape look dog-eared, peeling from the corners, exposing the laptop’s internal wiring. Gossamer-like, spiderweb cracks work across the edges. The screen is a blotchy eyesore, striated with horizontal lines.

You have to beat your knuckles on the laptop to keep it from jamming. You navigate the desktop with simmering irritation, invaded by the inkling that you’ve been utterly scammed. Nothing matches the photos advertised on Ghost’s account, and just as your annoyance is about to ripen into white-hot anger, something catches your eye.

It’s nestled into a nook on the desktop. It’s an unnamed folder that stares back at you, unassuming, the icon already half-opened and waiting to be examined.

You double click it, more like triple click, actually, since the mousepad decides to cramp, and squirm as the folder flares over the screen. It’s a collection of videos, their thumbnails all spotty and dark, eclipsed by the thumb of whoever’s holding the camera.

Their titles are as cryptic as their photos.

wet.avi; tail_plug.avi; no_prep.avi; with_price.avi.

You find yourself scrolling lower, your fingers working against the mousepad like a rapidly unfurling spool of thread. You decide to investigate one of the videos, one with a foggy, filmy thumbnail, and carefully heed the title before poising your finger above the open function.

johnny_leash.avi

The video is grainy, as if it was imported from a camcorder rather than a phone. The first few seconds are a blurry with grey-scale strobes running across the screen, radiating an aura of seediness that makes a hint of discomfort sink like sediment in your stomach, adhering to your viscera. A deep, damp squelching sound peals out, tempered with the sticky noise of something being broken in, hollowed out.

The camera ebbs, settles, then focuses all at once. You think you’re going to faint.

It’s someone’s puffy ass getting stretched out on a fat cock. It puckers and tightens with each piston-paced thrust, red.

A large hand belonging to the person recording enters the frame. Their hand tattoos stretch as they split their palm across the hind of their spine, the cameraman’s fingers digging sickle-shaped scratches into their back, clawing them down on their battering ram of a cock.

“Quit whinin’, Johnny,” the voice behind the camera loudly grunts.

The one getting split open, Johnny, snivels into the pillow. His spine is curved into the mattress, his ass pert and sticking in the air, rippling with the force of the cameraman’s hips.

A plume of dust travels over the screen, fleetingly concealing the image. When the soot thins into the air and bares the salacious material of the video, you gasp.

There’s a glint caught on something silver from the feeble lightning. It’s a chrome-plated chain, you see, connecting to Johnny’s throat. A leather collar cutting into his ruddy skin. The leash is wrapped around the cameraman’s hand like a reel, and each time he tugs, pulling his hand back as if winding up for an attack, Johnny gets peeled off the bed, his back arching so deep you’re sure it’s close to snapping.

“Shit, Simon—!” He squeals. “Can ye… slow down?”

The aforementioned Simon grunts. Animalistic, like a rabid predator. The camera whirls, the unromantic colours of the room they’re in bleeding into each other, and when it focuses, you see Simon’s large palm splayed against the back of Johnny’s half-shaven skull, gripping his hair, pushing him into the bed.

The man flails like a fish out of water, struggling under his hand. It prompts an emergency response out of you—the way he’s being fucked into the mattress, no doubt pressing a Johnny-shaped chalk outline like the ones at crime scenes into the bedding. Alarm seizes you, and the thought of submitting this to the authorities trumpets like strobe lights in your mind.

The video is written with inept non-professionalism, reeking with the sentiment of a found-footage horror film that it’s not the authenticity that rattles your bones like a wind chime, but the morality.

You tell yourself to stop the video, but as the thought squeezes itself between your ears, Johnny’s hoisting his neck back and peering into the camera, his striking-blue eyes flaring in all-encompassing horror. His lips pop open and wrap around a soundless scream, warbling.

“Yer recordin’ me?”

“Smile for the camera, Johnny,” Simon pants. “Who knows who might see this, right?”

Simon shoots his hand up and bullies his fingers past Johnny’s lips. He sinks his nails into the round of his mouth, stretching his cheek back into a repugnant curl. It’s paradoxial—how Johnny’s mouth is pulled into a smile, but his eyes are wide and wet, wordlessly begging.

Your body betrays your moral plight.

Your rapt ocular vein, the signals rushing to your mind, your nipples stiffening in your shirt. You feel as though you’re made of livewire, not matter, as you watch Johnny’s ass get spread open on Simon’s cock, his eyes rolling like unruly billiard balls to the back of his head.

His ass is red and patchy, burning up. Simon’s hand swats through the air and makes the sound of a whistle, flaring into a booming crack of thunder whenever he brings it down on Johnny’s ass. It makes you jump. Makes you feel as if your ass is being abused by proxy just by sitting, and watching raptly.

Instead of inching your hand towards the button that exits the video, your hand dips below your waistband and moves to cup your cunt.

The gusset of your panties is already hot, clinging to your dewy core. It sticks to your pussy, baring your puffy lips and swollen clit. You give it a few slaps and rub your fingers languidly, pace quickening.

But the video abruptly ends before the ascent to your pleasure is able to materialize. You yank your hand from your pussy, smearing your arousal on the mousepad as you search for another video.

You don’t heed the title—face_fuck.avi—before clicking it and readily spreading your legs, flushing at the sound of your lips parting.

The video starts, and you swear it feels like you’ve been hit with a brick.

Simon—or Ghost, you now recognize—is a behemoth. Huge would be an understatement for him. The camera is set up this time, somewhere across the room, but Simon still just barely fits within the margins. He’s folded over Johnny who sits on his knees with his back against the wall, his neck hoisted up at him.

Simon’s cock is fat and heavy. He’s hard—this, you’re sure of because of how red his balls are—yet still, his cock droops with weight, the bulbous tip scarcely teasing Johnny’s lips.

“You want your snack, boy?”

Johnny nods. He darts his tongue out and tries kitten licking the slit, but Simon isn’t having that. He grips the base of his dick and swats it against Johnny’s cheek, slapping him, the noise so thick and resounding it sounds like a palm that breaks his skin, not a cock.

“Greedy bitch,” Ghost snarls—you decide that name is more seemly for him—“Can’t wait when it comes to dick, huh?”

Johnny’s lips part, a response poised behind his chattering teeth. However, his reply gets snuffed out and shoved to the back of his throat as Ghost feeds him his cock, slamming into him with one, slick motion.

Johnny’s head hits the wall, his face puckering as pain blooms behind his skull. The action makes his jaw clench, clamping down on Simon’s cock, but Simon is quickly gripping his hair and puppeting his head back, sliding his cock deeper, until the tuft of steel-wool hair on his pelvis brushes Johnny’s nose.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Ghost grunts. “No teeth.”

The only mercy Johnny is afforded is when he sinks his nails into the sinews of Ghost’s thighs, scratching him striated, trying to offset the burn in his jowls. The back of his head thumps dumbly against the wall with each of Ghost’s jackhammering thrusts, his smaller cock springing up and slapping against his navel.

You keen. Rub your clit a little faster, tease your forefinger around your winking hole as spit and precome sticks to Johnny’s chin the same way your juices strings your fingers together. Johnny goes lax and the video abruptly ends, and you almost feel yourself going crazy, hastily exiting the video because you miss the phantom sensation around your cunt getting stretched. You click on another video that has your heart jumping to your throat.

It’s dated from just yesterday, two days after you placed the order with Ghost.

breeding_my_boy.avi

Your panties are completely soaked through at this point. The image of Johnny folded like origami under Ghost, eclipsed by his body, makes you gush. His knees are pressed against his ears and his ass is in the air while Ghost tugs his cock, towering over him and pressing his tip against his hole, slowly sinking into him.

Simultaneously, you hook two of your fingers up your cunt. Your arousal seeps out and pools into the divots between your knuckles, hot and wet, making a sucking sound as you draw your fingers out and thrust them back in, pawing your walls.

Ghost pulls his cock to the tip before driving himself back inside. He’s deeply-seated, knocking the air out of Johnny’s lungs with each stroke. Ghost draws his thighs close for leverage and sinks his fists into the bed, on either side of Johnny before snapping his hips, feeding him his whole cock.

You sink your other hand below your pants and blindly sweep at your clit, watching with keen eyes as Johnny gets pounded into the mattress, his legs thrashing dumbly with the force, his hands twisting into the moth-eaten sheets because he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands and according to Ghost, he’s “not allowed to touch his cock.”

You can barely see Ghost’s sweat in the coarse-grained, gritty video filter. It comes out as glistening dew, dribbling down his neck and onto Johnny’s cheek, to which he swiftly laps up.

It’s the same thing for Johnny’s tears—sparkling in the soft smoulder of light, smearing like spread as Ghost works his rough tongue against his cheek, licking up his brine.

Johnny’s whimpers and the crack of flesh against flesh emanate out of the janky laptop as tinny, thin. However as Ghost lowers his head, grumbling against the hull of Johnny’s ear, whispering, the thin sound travels out of the speakers and punctures your stomach.

“Wish I could breed you, pup…”

Pleasure gyrates in your belly, frothy. You curl your toes into your mattress and buck into your fingers, feeling your orgasm beginning to crest. You pinch your clit the same way Ghost snakes his hand low, trapping the tip of Johnny’s cock between his fingers to squeeze.

“Smile a’ the camera, dog,” he mutters. Takes him by the jaw and dimples his cheeks as he makes Johnny look into the lens, his eyes glossed over.

“Y’reckon she’s touching herself?” Ghost growls. “Watching you turn a mess?”

Your orgasm is on the edge now. Ghost looks at the camera, his eyes glowing like predators do on trail cams, a swill of molten rushing through you. He looks like he did beneath the awning—animalistic, as he seems to stare directly at you, snapping into Johnny’s ass.

“m gonnae come…” Johnny whimpers.

Ghost chokes his hand around Johnny’s cock, sliding his hand up and down to the pace of his thrusts. And with what happens next, your body girdles, throwing itself into the throes of your panoramic orgasm.

It’s Johnny. Bending his back off the bed and squeezing his thighs. He moans your name—your screen name—the one used to purchase the laptop. He treats it like something to bite on to defer the pain of his orgasm, trembling.

Thick ropes of come shoot from his cock just as an off-white liquid escapes you, splattering over the screen. You’re quivering as Ghost fills Johnny, watching as his balls tighten and breathe like a pulse as he comes inside.

The three of you are miraculously synchronized. Your laboured breaths simmer, thinning into nothing, as the two of them turn to look at the camera.

You undertake the decision to keep the laptop.

And a week later while browsing Craigslist’s homepage, you stumble across a familiar username.

Posted by Ghost 32 minutes ago.

Looking for a flatmate in Manchester. Two roommates. Three bedroom. Females only. Serious inquiries only.

A second doesn’t pass before you’re writing up your application.

[sell-phones]

Sell your used old cell phone and ipad online for cash at Recell Cellular. We accept bad ESN phones, locked phones, financed phones, and even if the phone is broken. We are the USA’s top online site that pays guaranteed most cash for your used phones and iPads. So just sign in and avail the best price offer for your used phones and for iPads.

[navybrat817]

Your landlord is elusive. You've been calling him for weeks about the broken washing machine, your rent checks have gone uncashed, and you can't even leave a voicemail.

When he finally shows up, bloody and bruised, it seems there's more than the washer to tend to.

Oh, this is long overdue.

You Get What You Pay For

Pairing: God the Bounty Hunter x Female Reader Summary: Your landlord shows up expectedly after weeks of radio silence and prefers a different form of payment as you patch him up. Word Count: Over 1.9k Warnings: Injuries, b/lood, v/iolence, implied n/oncon (you have been warned), God the Bounty Hunter (he's a warning, okay?) A/N: For Roo and @the-slumberparty 's May challenge. Prompt in bold italics. Beta read by @whisperlullaby (thank you!), but any and all mistakes are my own. ❤️ Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

"I’m sorry, but the mailbox you are trying to reach is full."

With a sigh, you hung up the phone and took your laundry basket to the bathroom. Your landlord hadn’t answered a single call of yours in weeks, which was about how long you had gone without a working washing machine. And because you couldn’t leave a message and didn’t know how to fix it yourself, you had to resort to washing your clothes in the tub. You refused to go into town to use the laundromat or call someone to repair it. Not because you didn’t have the money to pay, but because you didn’t want anyone to see your face.

He wouldn’t know to look for me here though, would he?

You suddenly missed your old apartment as you turned the water on. It was warm and cozy, the opposite of the cold, quiet place you now occupied. You tried to brighten it up with flowers, but the house wasn’t a home. Maybe one day, years from now, you could go back to the city.

If it was ever deemed safe enough for you to return.

Your stomach sank as you pulled up your bank account to check the balance. It was much higher than it should have been. Not only was your landlord not answering his phone, but he hadn’t cashed a single one of your rent checks. The instructions were clear that he didn’t accept direct deposit or cash from tenants. Only checks made out to a rental property. Thankfully you opened a new account before you found the place, knowing better than to use your old account in case anyone checked it for paper trails.

Why isn’t he cashing my checks?

You shut the water off and got to work, doing your best not to let your mind race. Was your landlord ignoring you? Possibly. He was a bit of an enigma. A handsome man, but still an enigma. In fact, you had only seen him once and he told you to call him God when he introduced himself. The cold look in his blue eyes told you it wasn’t a joke as he unceremoniously put the keys in your hand.

“Welcome home.”

What if he found out what I did? Will he kick me out? Where will I go? What if someone found out I'm living here and went after him? If something happened to him because of me…

You had gone most of your life with keeping your head down and minding your own business, but it wasn't living. Opportunities slipped by because you either played it safe or didn't have the means to otherwise. So you got a little bold and maybe a little greedy. Why else had you stolen from a powerful man? He wasn’t a good man and you didn’t think he’d notice anything missing, but that was no excuse to rob him. You should’ve known he didn’t miss a thing.

And I was so careful until he caught me.

"I’ll kill you, you fucking bitch."

Looking back, you weren’t sure how you managed to get away. It was all a blur. He didn't call the cops. He wanted to take care of you himself. If he ever got his hands on you, he’d tear you apart before you begged for death. Because no one who crossed him lived to tell their tales. How far would he go to find you? What if he found God and made him an offer to sell you out?

Maybe it was time for you to move on to another place.

"First aid kit."

You spun around and caught yourself before you fell to the ground, your heart in your throat. In the doorway stood the very man you were trying to get ahold of, his short brown hair disheveled and sporting a black eye and blood on the corner of his mouth. Were you so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear him enter the house? Or was he that quiet?

"Are you going to help me or stare at me?" he asked, clutching his ribs as he took a step inside. "And here I thought you were a hospitable tenant."

"Sorry," you whispered, tightening your robe. He hardly gave you any room as you got the kit out from under the sink. The bathroom wasn’t that small, so why was he practically on top of you? "Here, let me help."

You carefully guided him to the toilet, but he didn't seem to need your help. Even sitting down, his size and presence intimidated you. Was that blood on his torn shirt? And his jeans, too?

What the hell happened to him? Or does that blood belong to someone else?

"Are you okay?"

"Peachy," he answered dryly. "You should see the other guy."

You weren't going to push for him to say more.

He didn’t flinch as you cleaned the blood from his face. He didn’t take his eyes off you either as you carefully looked him over. You tried to ignore his stare, but the silence grew more uncomfortable with each second that passed.

"Why are your clothes in the bathtub?" he asked, surprising you by yanking on the tie to your robe. It, thankfully, didn’t open. "You know there's a washer for that."

"I'm aware that there's a washer, but it isn't working and you didn't answer your phone," you said, keeping your tone light instead of accusatory.

"Is that right? And you couldn't use the laundromat in town until you could get in touch with me?" he asked, an amused look in his eyes as you went rigid. Why did that gaze make you more uncomfortable than his previous dull stare? "I’ll look at it later. Sure it won’t take me long to fix it."

“I appreciate that," you said, wondering when you should mention the uncashed rent checks. "But let's get you taken care of first."

He grunted before he removed his shirt, tossing the garment in the tub with your clothes. "What’s one more, right?" he asked, sitting back and gesturing to his muscular torso littered with bruises and minor cuts. "Don’t think they’re too bad, but I’d prefer if you check."

"You do know I’m not a nurse, right?" you asked, even as you moved to look him over. There was a particularly dark bruise by his ribs, which was likely why he held them as he walked in. "just saying in case you wanted a professional opinion or if anything is really sore."

He hummed as your fingertips brushed along his skin. "Told you I'm peachy. And I'm sure you would’ve made a fine nurse if you really wanted to be one."

Your heart thudded in your chest at his use of the past tense, like you would never get the chance. Maybe your paranoia was getting the better of you. It was a simple statement. It didn’t mean a thing.

"School can be pretty expensive though," he went on with a tilt of his head. "Is that what kept you back? Finances?"

Your stomach turned at the question. He didn't blink and you hoped your expression didn't give your nerves away. Did he know? If he did, why dance around it?

"May I ask what happened?" you questioned as he furrowed his brows. "I'm sorry. It's none of my-"

"I killed some people."

Tension spiked in the small room, a nervous laugh escaping as you tried to figure out if he was joking or not. Dry humor occasionally went over your head. "You what? Y-You killed some people?"

"Yeah, I did. I kill a lot of people. Usually for money." he said unemotionally, clamping a hand around your wrist when you tried to pull away. "Not why I did it this time."

The ring on his third finger dug into your skin as you fought down the bile rising to your throat. He wasn't just an enigma. He was a killer. A man who spoke so casually about murder. Were you about to become his next victim? "Are you going to kill me?"

"Now why would I do that?" he asked as he stood, keeping a firm grip on you as he backed you against the sink, your legs almost giving out. "After everything I did for you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You think I didn't do my research on you? I can spot when someone's on the run, sweetheart. Though I didn't peg you for a thief," he answered as your eyes brimmed with tears. The sight didn't seem to inspire any sympathy considering he smiled. "You stole money from a powerful man. Dangerous, too. And you really thought hiding out here would save you?"

"I'm sorry," you whispered, finding it harder to breathe as he stepped closer. It wasn't an empty apology. You made a stupid mistake. "I tried to give it back, but he-"

"I don't care why you did it," he dismissed, toying with the tie of your robe again. "He was an asshole who robbed people blind for years. I did the world a favor by killing him."

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. "He's really gone?" you asked, shaking a bit when he yanked the robe open. "What are you doing?"

"I killed him and his bodyguards before they could get to you. They got a few lucky hits in. Stroked their egos a bit before I took them out," he went on like he hadn't heard you, grazing his fingertips along your skin. "I took a big risk going after him for you. Very high profile."

"I didn't ask you to do that," you tried to reason.

"And since no one paid me and you kind of owe me for saving you," he continued, his fingers stopping just above your mound. "I decided I'm going to keep you."

You weren't sure if it was a form of shock you were experiencing because your mind screamed at you to fight, but you couldn't move. You could hardly find the word to speak. "Keep me?"

"Yeah. Keep you. Gets lonely sometimes," he shrugged, gazing unashamedly at your exposed chest. "Plus I wanted to fuck you the moment you showed up here. Now I can whenever I want."

Your eyes widened as he lifted his gaze to yours, a flash of darkness in his eyes when you tried, and failed, to shove him back. "You can't just keep me!" you blurted out, trying not to panic. You couldn't stay trapped there with him. Was he delusional in thinking you'd agree to that?

"Did you not hear what I said? I saved your life. You should be thanking me," he said, frowning when you glanced toward the door. Maybe you could break free. "What, you think you can run away? Get help? No one is going to save you from me."

He was right. You had no one to go to. What if you did and he went after them? Who would help you when you couldn't help yourself?

"Please, let me go," you begged, your tears spilling over as he spun you to face the mirror. You hissed as your hips dug into the counter, but your discomfort didn't matter to him. "You can have the money. All of it. I won't tell anyone. I swear!"

"I don't want your money," he said, kicking your feet apart. You felt his arousal as he pressed against you and it was enough to make you whimper. "Why do you think I haven't cashed your checks?"

"God, please," you said, shutting your eyes when he wrapped his hand around your throat. You didn't want to see his dark desire in the reflection.

"You'll say that again before I'm done with you and you'll watch as I take my first payment," he promised, your heart dropping as your new reality began to sink in. "Now be good and welcome me home."

Oh, what have I done? Love and thanks for reading!

Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[klbwriting]

Broken Prism

Chapter 3

Fandom: Red Hood

Pairing: Jason Toddxfemale!Reader

Warnings: none, this chapter is actually just kind of fun

Summary: You are trying to figure out who Batman is and make him explain why he just replaced Robin, and maybe punch him in the face

You did a lot of research in the seven years since the color had come back into your life. You ran away from the group home, figured out life by yourself, established yourself as a runner and a finder. You stayed away from the drugs and the alcohol that seemed to flood the streets of Gotham, did work for the cops, for the poor, for those looking for lost loved ones. You didn’t want anyone to get lost in the shuffle, you didn’t want anyone else’s world to go grey, and you really wanted to punch Batman in the face. That mystery, who was the masked vigilante?, was still on your list of cases to solve. Once you figured out who Batman was you were going to find him, tell him what an asshole he was for replacing Robin, and then punch him in the face. It was the least you could do for the Robin before this one, the one who mattered. And hopefully this last lead would put a name to the mask.

You put on the glasses you had stowed in your backpack, mussing up your wig to look like you had just come out of the bar nearby. You giggled, stumbling some into a man waiting by the curb. He steadied you, taking in your features as you pretended to be tipsy. He smirked and you knew you had him.

“I’m sorry,” you cooed, righting yourself before giggling again. The guy whispered something to you, and you just nodded. Asking you to his place before your name? Classy Andrew. You knew him but he didn’t know you. One of Penguin’s guys, another one like you, getting information, selling it off to the highest bidder. In Gotham information was sometimes worth more than cash so if you were able to get some knowledge someone else wanted you were supposed to always expect threats. This guy, well, he was either new or thought he was invincible with Penguin’s money lining his pockets. Idiot.

You could see why Andrew thought he was hot shit when you got back to his penthouse. Sparkly clean and furnished with all the latest and most expensive trends. You played with your purse pulling out a syringe you had hidden there, giggling again, looking for a way to get him close before he actually tried to do what he wanted with you. He looked at you as you bumped into a couch, pretending to almost fall. He caught you, and you struck, injecting the sedative into his neck. He stared at you for a moment before his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed on the floor. You stood up straight again, brushing the wrinkles from your dress, and got to work. He wouldn’t remember anything in the morning, so you put him in bed, stripping him down to his briefs, discarding your dress on the floor and finding some clothes from his closet to wear. You made sure he didn’t have trackers on his clothes before sliding them on, finding a duffle bag also.

Once you were sure that his things couldn’t be tracked you started poking around for his files. If he was missing some random valuables he would just assume you were a thief, but if he realized you took the information he had stored away in his safe and laptop he would realize you were a finder. You didn’t need another bounty on your head, you had to be smart. The safe was easy find and considering you had his body around you were able to use the bioscanner to open it with ease. Inside was a hard drive that you copied, followed by a burner phone that you checked the messages on. Well, the cops could use a lot of this, looks like this trip was going to get you a bonus. Still, wait you wanted wasn’t there. He still had paper filing cabinets in a panic room he thought was hidden behind a fake bookshelf so you helped yourself to those, using your own phone to scan the paperwork. Nothing still. Grunting in frustration you tore apart the kitchen and then the bathroom, finally striking gold in the air vent. A USB drive, taped to the top of the vent. This had to either be pictures taking part in an orgy or the name of the most infamous vigilante in Gotham. You took it, replacing it with a blank USB, before putting everything back in its place. You took a few trinkets that looked expensive, stuff you could pawn, and headed out. This had been a good night, a clean getaway. Or so you thought.

Jason had no idea who this woman was, but she knew what she was doing. He had been staking out Andrew Garish’s apartment, needing to know exactly how much information he had on Bruce and Batman. He hadn’t had time to grab the USB before Andrew brought back this random woman, so he had slipped out, heading to the roof across the street to wait until you were done. He hadn’t expected the flash of a syringe and Andrew collapsing. He was going to intervene, thinking the woman was just someone working for another criminal overlord, but then she had put Andrew to bed and started searching. Jason was curious and felt an itch, like he should know this woman. She was blond, had glasses, walked with a chip on her shoulder, but nothing was familiar about her, still he couldn’t bring himself to go in there after her. He watched her finish her search and head out, deciding to follow her. He needed that USB drive if anything, and finding out what this lady was up to was probably a good idea.

At some point she must have realized that Jason was following her because she stopped, ducked into a hotel lobby and headed straight for the computer in the business center. One of the employees walked over and she spoke to them quickly, them nodding the whole time. Whatever she said worked and soon she was inserting the USB drive and reading whatever was on it. Fuck. Jason had hoped to corner her before that happened. She read over the contents, pulled it out of the computer and headed out of the lobby again, turning down a side alley. Jason expected to have to chase her but when he landed in the alley, boots barely whispering on the pavement, she was gone, all that was left was the USB, smashed on the ground. Shit.

You weren’t sure who was following you, but you figured you’d better get your information and destroy it. Jessica, one of your old high school friends, worked at a downtown hotel and she let you use the computers if it wasn’t busy and well, 2AM on a weeknight they weren’t busy. You had read what you needed, a little surprised at the name of Batman’s supposed benefactor, mind reeling at how simple the mystery was to solve if literally anyone paid close enough attention. You weren’t surprised that no one, including yourself, hadn’t thought that Bruce Wayne was bankrolling Batman. Who else would honestly have that kind of cash? But in Gotham Bruce Wayne was one of two things, a legendary playboy or a legendary philanthropist, why would anyone suspect him of funneling money to vigilantes? Either way, you hadn’t thought of it, but someone had, and they had, at least for a brief time, advertised the idea online and Andrew had found the last part of the dark web where the theory hadn’t been scrubbed clean. It looks like it's time to visit Mr. Wayne and see what he has to say for himself.

Wayne Manor was an icon in the city. Bruce Wayne allowed tours during some parts of the weekday, his trusted butler Alfred making sure all was well. You signed up for a tour, paying out the ridiculous fee to see this rich guy’s shit, and arrived during the bright and relatively sunny day. You were glad the weather was working for you rather than against you today. If it were rainy and dark like usual, then spotting the cameras and other traps scattering the lawn and the driveway would have been difficult. As it was you counted a dozen cameras facing the front of the house, pressure sensors scattered in the perfectly manicured grass, and inferred detectors by the front gate. You pretended to be absorbed in the guide in a hallway, taking a left instead of a right and hearing an alarm buzz. The guide called out and you looked back, feigning confusion.

“We mustn’t stray into the family’s private quarters” the guide reminded you with a tight smile. You blushed, forcing embarrassment.

“I’m so sorry, the information on the architecture of the home is just fascinating,” you said, brushing the brunette hair you donned today behind your ear. You noticed an older gentleman walking down the hall you had tried to sneak down, watching you. You caught his eye and waved, apologetic, as you joined the tour again. The house would be too hard to navigate, probably better to get stay outside, get Bruce Wayne to come to you. The next thing you needed to figure out was how to get that to happen. You were finishing the tour of the kitchen when you noticed a receipt in a drawer, the corner just sticking out. The group was standing by the fine china, discussing the origin of the pottery display, so you took a moment and slid the paper out. It was for a car that was being delivered that evening, a brand-new McLaren 750S. You let out a low whistle, then froze, looking at the tour group. They were still wrapped up in the conversation, so you went back to the paper, noting the time of the delivery. Good, it was to be delivered to the servants’ entrance where Bruce and someone named Alfred would be signing off on delivery. You slid the paper back into the drawer and followed the group.

You dressed in all black and waited in the shadows of the servants’ gate for the car delivery truck. It arrived and once the gate began to open you hit the button on the jamming tech you had to scramble the camera footage, just for a few seconds, while you snuck in behind the slow-moving truck. It stopped near the backdoor and you slid behind a golf cart, staying low and listening as the delivery men discussed things with Bruce and Alfred. She assumed that the butler was the British one, speaking to the delivery drivers more than Bruce. He only said ‘thank you’ once the car was out of the truck. You kept listening as the truck started up and headed down the driveway again.

“You can come out now,” you heard a gruff voice say. Well, guess they noticed the camera malfunction. You regretted not wearing a disguise now, at least then when they tried to give the police a description it wouldn’t lead to you. You stood, brushing the gravel off your clothes, taking your time. You glanced at Bruce Wayne and noticed that he was unbothered by your delay, seemed his had all the time in the world. You walked around the golf cart, eyeing the black car that now sat in the driveway.

“Nice wheels,” you said. “How much tech is in that thing?” Neither of the men seemed amused by your antics.

“What do you want?” Bruce asked. Alfred moved past you, keys to the new car clinking as he put them in his pocket. You looked back at Bruce, hearing Alfred shuffling around the car, probably checking for any damage you might have done to it.

“How much money do you give the Batman every month?” you asked. That seemed to throw Bruce and Alfred off balance a little bit. It gave you a chance to look back at the butler as he passed you, your hand sliding cleanly into his pocket and removing the new keys.

“Excuse me?” Bruce said, a moment too long in his reply. You smirked.

“Do you ever think about the fact that Batman just replaced Robin like he was yesterday’s trash?” you asked. This question brought a flash of anger and guilt to the billionaire’s face. He masked it quickly and said nothing. “Now my last question, are you the Batman and are you the man who I should punch in the face?”

“I mean, if you think you could, go ahead,” he said. It appeared he had regained his wit and you considered actually trying to hit him but stopped yourself for now. “Now please, I’m going inside to call the police, I recommend you get off my property immediately. Good evening.” He turned with Alfred and headed inside. You turned and smirked, sliding the keys out of your pocket. You figured it probably had a tracker on it, but taking a McLaren for a spin wasn’t something you got to do every day, or you know, ever, so why not?

Jason had listened to the conversation the woman had with Bruce, not surprised at the information she had garnered from the USB. He was surprised when she asked about his replacing Robin. That still wasn’t the information he wanted. He wanted to know who this new Robin was, find him, and pummel him before leaving him on Bruce’s doorstep. Look who’s better now Batman. Instead, he just felt another compulsion the follow this woman around. He noticed her steal the keys from Alfred and figured Bruce had noticed also but chose not to say anything. Maybe he was amused with this woman, maybe she would be the next Robin whenever the newer model didn’t live up to the Dick standard that Bruce had. She waited for a few moments before getting into the new car and revving the engine, just to rub it in, and took off. The McLaren was fast, but Jason’s bike could keep up just fine.

She drove the car towards downtown, not stupid enough to take it to East End or the Bowery. She kept to the nicer areas, finally parking it in the most expensive garage she could find, leaving the ticket in the glove compartment. As she exited the garage and headed down an alley towards the Diamond District, playing on her phone, probably getting a ride to her actual home. Jason landed in front of her and this time she hadn’t expected it, bumping into him. She dropped her phone, letting out a curse as she picked it up.

“Dude, what the fuck?” she said, pulling a small handgun out of her jacket pocket, stepping back and aiming it at his chest. When she noticed the helmet and the armor she sighed and tossed her hands up, gun going back into her pocket. “Alright, that’s useless, who are you working for?” She looked at him and his heart stopped. Those eyes, the ones that he saw in his dream. The ones that seemed to keep the rage at bay, those brown eyes stared at him. He would remember those for the rest of his life. He felt his throat constrict. Instead of doing anything he brought out his grappler and just headed back to the roof, leaving her very confused and alone. “That was fucking weird.” She continued down the alley and got in a car. His soulmate drove away and Jason stayed still, not sure when he would be able to move again.

[stupidsagestars]

𝐜𝐞𝐗 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫! 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : food play [ ice cream ] , mentions of marks and scratches, inappropriate language, raw sex ( I might be missing some )

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: matsukawa works at the local ceX to earn some extra cash, he meets you, a girl who has a bunch of odd stuff she wants to trade and a great sense of humor. One thing leads to another and things get spicy.

-★ this is so cheesy but I love it

---★---★---★

𝐜𝐞𝐗 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫! 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚 who's been working part-time at the cex near his college for the past month and god is it the worst. Everyday he's had to deal with sweaty, obnoxious people trying to trade their gross shit, and buy stupid things, he doesn't even get paid enough to deal with it all. Well anyway there's no point in complaining it's not like he wanted to quit, he needed any extra money he could get.

𝐜𝐞𝐗 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫! 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚 who quietly curses when he hears the doors open. He doesn't bother lifting his head to look at who enters, he's way too tired for that, instead he's playing subway surfers on his phone, tapping his fingers on the counter.

He snaps his head up at the sound of something hitting the counter. Immediately he locks eyes with the most beautiful woman he's ever seen in his life.

"Hi!" You say giving him a small wave.

"Hi. Uh what's all this?" He says, slipping his phone in his pocket.

"Just some stuff I'd like to sell." You hum, looking around awkwardly.

"You're welcome to take me through it." He mumbles.

"Great! So we've got this uh, half broken ukele." You say, pulling out a completely broken piece of loose strings and peeling paint.

Matsukawa scoffs. "Are you serious?" He asks.

"Excuse me this is perfectly playable!" You say, frowning at him.

"Oh my god, you're actually being serious." He says looking at you with shock although he was secretly enjoying this alot.

"Look, I can play something."

You strum the ukele and shockingly the last intact string breaks.

"Great." He says sarcastically.

"Give me a break, I'm sure none of the shit here is super clean and fully working."

He sighs before standing up and emptying the box.

"Let's make this quick for both of us." He says slowly.

"why'd you work here anyway?" You ask trying to make small talk. You couldn't help but steal glances at him whilst he looked through the junk you bought in. He was so goddamn attractive, it made you feel hot and bothered just standing next to him.

"college." he mumbles.

You scoff before saying, "I can't believe you!'

𝐜𝐞𝐱 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫! 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚 who looks at you confused. "What?"

"A college student can't help another college student out??"

He can't help but chuckle at what you said.

"Hot" He says giving you a flirty look.

"I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that." You say rolling your eyes at him although your mind is buzzing at the comment, A HOT GUY JUST CALLED YOU HOT Y/N!!!!!!!!!

"Did you go to a garage sale before coming here? There's so much random shit in here."

"Of course I went to a garage sale dumbass, I'm 21 years old why the hell would I have a toy xylophone lying around?"

He pretends to act shocked, "that's really mean because I actually own two of those."

You playfully stick your tongue at him to which he smiles at you.

He takes a look at the many items spread out on the counter.

" Well out of all these many, many, many things I'll trade 3."

"Lovely." You say sticking your hand out for him to shake. He firmly grips your hand making you feel incredibly flustered but you play it off quite well.

𝐜𝐞𝐗 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫! 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚 who is absolutely mesmerized by you. You were just so.. so attractive? Your humour matched with his perfectly, your voice was so, soothing, imagine having that moaning his name?? Imagine if he had you ride him on that same chair, he wouldn't even mind fucking you on the floor.

Why did you make him so horny, maybe it was because he hadn't fucked in a while, I mean this stupid store seemed to be repelling every girl away from him but what if he was attracted to you, like properly attracted?

𝐜𝐞𝐗 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫! 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚 who's trying to find the keys to his dorm when he hears a familiar voice from behind me.

"ceX guy!" you say but quickly regret it feeling your face get hot.

You're extremely surprised to see him, you're initially looking for your best friend Kiyoko who you're sure lived on this floor.

He turns round to see a familiar face behind him.

"sex guy?? so that's your little nickname for me?" He smirks at your stunned face that looked like it wanted to jump out of the window.

"shut up." Is all you manage to come up with.

"Well, here we are at the same college, we're in the same building, same year, we really are the perfect pair!" He laughs, scratching hair as he slowly eyes you up and down taking in all of your curves.

"unfortunately not, you play toy xylophones, I'm a bit more advanced I play toy keyboards." You hum, smiling at him.

He puts his hand on his chest in shock. " I can't believe you! How could you??"

Mattsun loves the feeling you're giving him just by talking to you, he hasn't felt this alive in ages.

"well I'll see you around, oh and do you know anyone called Kiyoko and does she live on this floor??"

"Tanaka's girlfriend? She lives upstairs I think." He mumbles, trying to think of an excuse to spend some more time with you.

"And also.. I mean I know I've known you for about 1-2 hours but can I don't know, have a fun little sleep over with you. I left my keys at the store."

You can feel your heart about to explode and your eyes about to pop out of their sockets.

"You?? Mr Sex Guy?? Sleep over??" You ask and he shrugs his shoulders.

"We could make the best fort and also I'm currently Mr ceX guy not Sex Guy unless you wanted the latter of course." He says enjoying the flustered look on your face

𝐜𝐞𝐗 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫! 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚 who ends up following you up to your dorm, throwing in some flirty comments throughout the journey.

"we are 2 adults. 2 sexy adults, 2 adults who should be no strangers to some very freaky sex which I think we should indulge in, it's human nature honey"

"Are you drunk?"

"no but I'm super horny, I bet you're super kinky." He retorts.

You kick him in the shins before opening the door to your dorm.

"Are you like the official advocator for sex?" You say.

"Just for you honey." He says letting the nickname roll of his tongue.

"This place is nice." He says, kicking off his trainers and taking a seat on the couch.

"Ice cream?" You ask him, walking over to the fridge.

"Ooh yes, what flavour??"

"Uhh I got either Mint, Strawberry and Rocky Road."

"Why not all 3?" He asks and you chuckle, coming back with a massive bowl of ice cream and two spoons. Mattsun's eyes immediately travel down to your ass, thinking about how fun it'd be to spank it till it's sore. He's definitely take a picture, your ass with his handprint clearly marked on it, damn would that be great.

"Hold." You tell him so you could get the remote to which he replies, " I've got slippery hands, I don't know if I can manage."

"Well if you don't you're licking it off the floor."

"I bet you'd love that."

"Maybe."

"Fuck. That makes me want to do it now."

"I'm not stopping you."

𝐜𝐞𝐗 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫! 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚 who's never felt better sitting down with a girl who he's extremely attracted to and watching fallen angels. This. This is the sort of life he's been yearning for. The two of you weren't cuddling or sitting closely with each other yet somehow each others presence seemed comforting.

"this film's so confusing yet so good." You mutter, eyes glued to the screen whilst you licked the ice cream off the spoon.

Even though this was one of his favourite films Mattsun was only interested in you. Your pretty little face that had the most angelic smile he had ever seen.

He immediately turns red when you turn to notice him staring at you.

"Are you admiring me?"

"Yes."

𝐜𝐞𝐗 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫! 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚 who can't control himself anymore and decides to move closer to you and kiss you. He was expecting to just give you a small peck on the lips but instead gets to indulge in a long sensual kiss.

You both are left to stare at each other breathless and drooling.

"Fuck." You breathe out.

"Well are we going to continue?" He says impatiently, biting his lip.

" I mean we might as well."

𝐜𝐞𝐗 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫! 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚 who's got you spread on your bed completely naked, his tongue alone has made you cum twice. He's got the bowl of ice cream in his hands and he's giving you the most sensual look ever.

"if anything you're the kinky one." You say in gasps, still unable to talk properly after continuosly moaning his name for god knows how long.

You immediately moan from the sensation of the cold delight touching your stomach.

Mattsun licks it with ease, sticking his tongue at you before swallowing.

"d'you want some?"

You nod at him, eager to know what he would try next.

This time he scoops a handful of ice cream and smears it across your breasts.

"oh no! I made a mess." He says in a raspy voice letting his saliva fall down onto your breasts.

You can't help but moan loudly at the sight infront of you. He lazily swirls his hand in the mixture of ice cream and saliva and shoves it in your mouth.

"tastes good doesn't it?"

You nod, making sure to swallow everything.

He slips of his boxers finally making him fully naked and immediately pushes his girthy length inside of you.

"oh my god- why is your dick so big." You moan thoughtlessly, seriously shocked.

"I dunno, d'you like it? I mean I've already shoved it down your throat, I'd assume you were used to the size by-" He stops himself with a deep groan.

Your walls are sucking him deeper and deeper into your pussy, the thought of having to pull out was so so painful.

"Ugh honey you're pussy is addictive." He moans out as he continues to pound into you at a shocking speed.

Your moans are so addictive to him, the way your eyes roll back, it's all so sexy.

Mattsun being Mattsun though, he can't just fuck your pussy boringly not without the bowl of ice cream that was lying next to him. There's still some left and he doesn't want to waste food. He lets one hand rest on your hips and uses the other to pick up the bowl.

His hands can barely hold the damn thing properly because of how weak he feels, how weak you're making him feel. Your moans are shorter and even more ragged which tells him you're close. He lets the ice cream fall onto the floor, ignoring how the bowl shatters, as he pulls out and cums on the sheets. You cum straight after and you don't have the energy to say or do anything. Your legs are sore and your whole chest is decorated with scratch and bite marks.

𝐜𝐞𝐗 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫! 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚 who has just enough energy to pull you under the covers with him before falling asleep.

--★---★

LIKE FOR A PART 2 WHICH IM HONESTLY SO TEMPTED TO DO, MAYBE LIKE A MORNING AFTER OR A FEW WEEKS? THIS WAS ACTUALLY SO FUN TO WRITE I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOYED , LIKES, REBLOGS AND FOLLOWS R APPRECIATED.

[the header is from Pinterest, credit to whoever made it!!]

[slamminslamminmcgill]

Castigo - Lalo Salamanca/FTM Reader (NSFW!)

DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT

This wasn’t happening. This didn’t feel real. You made one mistake. Granted, it was a big one, but you never would have thought the consequences would be this. You thought he loved you, that you were more than just an employee to him, but you weren’t. You weren’t even that. You were a plaything, a doll, a toy that he could throw away when it no longer did what he wanted. You didn’t do what he wanted, and that meant you were broken. You were broken, and you needed to be fixed. 

tags/warnings: cnc/noncon/dubcon, forced oral, forced penetration, forced orgasm, squirting, knifeplay, cutting, bloodplay, face slapping, degradation/humiliation, punishment, dacryphilia, physical/emotional/sexual abuse, gaslighting, homophobic slurs, dead dove: do not eat

anatomical terms: cunt/pussy, dick

words: 5,585

ao3 link

author's notes: fics to make my therapist read ♥ as always please correct me if you notice any mistakes in the spanish dialogue

Life as a street distributor was often as boring as it was illegal.

Sometimes, you’d be posted up against the wall of a building, your designated spot for the day, and told to just wait. That’s it. Just wait until someone asks you what you got. It wasn’t that bad, in all honesty. You’d definitely had worse jobs. The few weeks you’d spent as a front-line soldier of the cartel had already taught you quite a bit about patience and discipline. Plus, your supervisor Lalo seemed to like you, if the nights you spent in his bed were any indication. Nevertheless, you didn’t get any special treatment when it came to work. He knew better than to spoil you; he didn’t want you going soft on him. 

You were absentmindedly checking your phone when a regular customer approached you. You relaxed your posture and sighed in relief. Regulars were easy. As long as they had the money, and they weren’t wearing a wire, you were clear to sell. His name was Emilio and he was actually a cousin of one of your coworkers, Domingo. Everyone in the cartel trusted him, but you still had to go through the formalities. 

You gave him a fist bump and spoke with a firm but friendly voice. “Alright man, you know the drill. Shirt up.” 

Emilio groaned. “Man, I wasn’t wearing no wire when I bought from you last week!”

You weren’t budging. “‘S not my rule. C’mon. Lemme see.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” He begrudgingly lifted up his tank top and turned around, giving you a clear view of both sides. No cables. All good. He dropped his shirt and spun back around before handing you a fistful of cash. “Just need an eight ball.”

“Got it,” you replied, counting the cash. It was all there. “Okay, you’re good.” You knelt down on the pavement and reached for your backpack. 

“Damn right, I’m good. How’s Domingo been?”

You didn’t look up to answer him. “He’s been doing really well, actually,” you said as you unzipped the bag. You put away the cash and dug around for an eighth. “Rumor is he’s up for a promotion soon.” You grabbed a small bag of coke and got up from the ground, ready to hand it off when one word stopped you dead in your tracks.

“Freeze!”

Your neck snapped in the direction of the unfamiliar voice. A cop was pointing a gun at you. 

 Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. 

Lalo had told you what to do when this happened, but all the instructions he’d given went out the window the second you were actually staring down the barrel of a firearm. You figured going full deer in the headlights was the wrong move. With not many appealing options in front of you, your instincts were telling you to run. You dropped the coke and took off like a bat out of hell, bracing yourself for the sound of gunshots behind you. You didn’t look back. You didn’t check on Emilio. You just fucking booked it, heading wherever adrenaline would take you. 

Thankfully, you were only a few blocks from El Michoacáno. You ducked into a nearby alley and tried to listen for footsteps, but you couldn’t hear much over your own hyperventilating. You determined the coast was clear, and headed into the restaurant, swinging the door open and storming inside in a frenzy. 

Inside, Domingo and Lalo were set up at a table, and they both jumped when you flashbanged them with the door. Lalo got up from his seat and approached you, noticing the panic on your face.

“Woah! Hey, calm down, chico. Calm down. It’s over now.” He pulled you into a warm embrace and petted your hair, shushing you and rubbing your back. Lalo was always so soothing, so nurturing, you’d soon forgotten what trouble you’d just barely escaped from. You two weren’t exactly a secret, so he didn’t mind showing you tiny bits of affection in front of others, just as long as it didn’t reflect badly on him. He leaned down to kiss your forehead and spoke with a gentle voice, “Now,” he tilted your chin up so you could see him, “can you tell me what happened? Were you robbed?”

You shook your head. “N-no, I was… I was selling over by…” You swallowed some air you desperately needed, “...over by Los Pollos, where you wanted me, a-and I…” you raised a shaky hand and pointed at Domingo. “Your cousin came up and wanted to buy… so I gave him an eighth and a… cop… a cop saw us.”

“Emilio?” Domingo got up from his chair and walked over to you two. “Is he okay?” Lalo let you out of his arms so you could answer him. 

“I… I didn’t see… When the cop came up to us, he had his…” you gulped, “he had his gun out… and I didn’t know what to do so I just ran. I didn’t see what happened to him…”

Sure enough, Domingo’s phone started ringing. “That’s probably him. I’ll be right back.” He stepped outside to answer his phone, leaving you and Lalo alone together.

Lalo gripped your shoulders before he asked his next question. “So, you just ran away?”

You nodded.

Lalo sighed disappointedly, but he didn’t seem mad. He spoke like an exasperated teacher reprimanding a student. “I thought I told you, nene (baby). If that happens, you have to let them pick you up. It’s gonna make things worse if you run. I know it’s scary, but I promise we’ll come get you af-” He noticed something that stopped him mid-sentence. His brow furrowed, he let go of your shoulders, and his voice was more sinister. “Where’s your bag?”

What? What did he just ask you? You patted your shoulders, and your heart sank. You spun around to look for a backpack that wasn’t there. “Oh no… oh no no no no no… I must’ve left it there. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Lalo.”

“You left it there?” Lalo asked, contempt and disbelief dripping from his words. Thankfully, Domingo came back inside before he could question you further.

“That was Emilio,” Domingo said as he flipped his phone shut, “He’s down at the station. Cop was going after him ‘cause he had a warrant. He wasn’t concerned about you,” he gestured in your direction, “He didn’t even chase after you, but he took your bag as evidence. Must’ve thought it was Emilio’s. Apparently, whatever you had in there was enough to charge him with intent to distribute, too.”

Lalo stared daggers into you. If looks could kill, you’d be lying on a medical examiner’s table before you knew it. “So you weren’t even in any trouble…” He clenched his fist and swore under his breath. “Carajo (Damn it)… What's his bail?”

“He didn’t say,” Domingo shrugged, “But a repeat offense? Gonna be around $20k, at least, if they even give it to him.”

“Pinches cerdos (Fucking pigs)…” Lalo growled as he reached in his pocket. “No se pueden tomarlo de la mochila que robaban de nosotros? Maldita cosa probablemente tiene lo suficiente dentro. (They can’t take it from the bag they stole from us? Damn thing probably has enough in it.)” He grabbed two wads of cash and tossed them at Domingo. “Acá. Usa eso para negociar con los cerdos, y cuando vuelvas, dime que te digan. (Here. Use that to negotiate with the pigs, and when you come back, let me know what they tell you.)”

Domingo caught the cash and nodded. “Sí, Don Eduardo.” The title felt a little much, but he knew better than to risk disrespecting him right now. He went back outside and headed for the station.

“¿Y tú? (And you?)” Lalo turned his attention back to you, “You are going to come with me.” He grabbed you by your wrist and led you to the back of the restaurant. He let go of you to unlock the door to a room you’d never seen before. It appeared to be a makeshift office, and it was surprisingly roomy. There was a desk covered with papers, a chair, a couch, and not much else. “Get inside,” he demanded.

You could feel your heart thumping in your chest as you crossed the threshold. This was pure terror in every sense of the word. If you had known that this was the alternative, you would have turned yourself in to that cop the moment you saw him. You could hear Lalo lock the door behind you, and you turned around to face him, only to be met with a sharp backhand.

“¡Idiota! (Idiot!)” He slapped you again. “¡Hijo de puta! (Son of a bitch!) Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You lost us thousands, all because what, some donut-eating gringo pointed a gun at you? You got scared, so you drop everything and run away like a pathetic little bunny rabbit?” He spat bile at you, breathing heavily, veins bulging in his forehead. You had never seen him so angry, and you prayed to God you’d never see it again.

You could feel the tears bubbling in your eyes as you begged for mercy, your voice threatening to crack at any second. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry, Lalo… It’ll never happen again, I promise…”

“Oh, it won’t, I’m going to make sure of that.” He slapped you across the face once more, and pulled you up by your hair to look at him. “You need to realize something, cabrón (asshole). Working closely with me is a privilege. Everything you do under me reflects on me. If you look weak, it makes me look weak, and I am not weak. And I am not going to give the bosses a reason to think I’m weak. I have to show them that I do not tolerate cowards. Do you understand?”

You answered instinctively, but stopped yourself from making yet another mistake, “Yes, La-, I mean… yes, sir…” You dropped your gaze to the floor, too ashamed to face him. 

“You understand that you need to be punished?”

“Yes, Don Eduardo…” You could only imagine what that meant, and you couldn’t picture anything good. You closed your eyes as your tear ducts began to overflow, your body trembling in fear. 

“Bien.” Lalo reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black object. “Take your clothes off.”

“Wh… what?”

“I said…” His thumb flicked a switch on the object’s side, and out popped a sharp blade. “Take your clothes off. You gonna disobey this order, too?”

“N-no, sir…” You wept softly as you unbuttoned your shirt with shaking fingers. He’d seen you like this before, but this time, you felt an unfamiliar shame wash over you. Your face was on fire, and the tears did nothing to quench the flames. 

Lalo was unphased. When you’d undressed in front of him previously, he was excited, almost giddy even. Now, he just looked hungry. “From now on, you’re going to do exactly what I say, when I say it. You do not say no, you do not argue with me, and you do not run. I don’t care where you are, who you’re with, or what you’re doing. If I tell you to strip, you strip. You got that?”

You sobbed as you kicked your shoes off and slid your pants down. “Yes… sniff… Yes, Don Eduardo…” Your fingers stopped at the waistband of your underwear, and you looked up at him. You weren’t sure whether to ask for approval or mercy, but your pleading eyes conveyed the message regardless. 

Lalo pointed the knife at you. “Go on. Those too.” 

You dropped your underwear around your ankles, stepping out of your clothes and kicking them to the side. The room felt much colder now that there was nothing to shield you from the draft blowing through. In the same vein, Lalo’s gaze was much more chilling now that there was nothing to protect your body from him. You closed your eyes and braced yourself for his next move.

Lalo approached you with malicious intent. He took a fistful of your hair and shoved you to the floor. “Kneel,” he said, as if you had any choice in the matter. 

Your eyes jolted open when you hit the floor. Your vision was blurry from your crying, but you saw something. There was a faint glint in the dim room, a lighthouse that guided you towards it. You blinked the teardrops away and realized what you saw; your own reflection in the steel blade. You wanted to scream; you wanted to run, but you knew that would only make things worse. With fight and flight both off the table, you froze. 

Lalo caught you staring at the knife. He could tell what you were thinking. “Oh, this? This is just…” he pressed the flat side against your cheek, the cool, lifeless metal practically sizzling your burning skin, “to keep you in line, y’know? Seems like you need a reminder. Hopefully, I won’t have to use it. Now," His fingers detangled themselves from your hair, “you,” and shifted to undo his belt, “have a debt to pay. Isn’t that right? Because of your ‘quick thinking’, you owe me a lot of money. But, I’m feeling generous. I’ll let you pay it off another way.” He had an uncanny smile on his face, as if he had somehow forgotten how angry he was just moments ago. His belt dropped to the floor, the buckle clattering as it hit the ground.

You winced at the sound of the belt clanging against the tile. Reality became too much to bear, so you just sobbed into your palms. This wasn’t happening. This didn’t feel real. You made one mistake. Granted, it was a big one, but you never would have thought the consequences would be this. You thought he loved you, that you were more than just an employee to him, but you weren’t. You weren’t even that. You were a plaything, a doll, a toy that he could throw away when it no longer did what he wanted. You didn’t do what he wanted, and that meant you were broken. You were broken, and you needed to be fixed. 

Lalo crouched down, set the knife on the floor, and pulled your hands away from your face. “Shh… shh… don’t worry. It’ll be okay. You just need to do what I ask, sí? This is what happens when you don’t listen to me. Come on, tell me you’ll listen to me. I need to know that I won’t have to do this again.”

Talking felt impossible. Your throat was raspy and chafed, tears and snot coated your face. Your whole body jerked as you cried. You were suffocating on your own misery. 

Lalo cooed to you and stroked your cheek. He was staring right into you. It was horrifying, more so than when he was yelling at you. At least then, you knew he was upset. He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a gentle hug from a serial killer, a kiss from poisoned lipstick. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I don’t want to do this either,” Lie, “but I have to,” truth, “You need to know who’s in charge," two truths and a lie, “Just tell me you’ll listen to me.”

You choked the words out, or more accurately, you choked out a series of pained noises that sounded like the words he wanted you to say. “I’ll… sniff… l-listen… sniff… to… sniff… you…”

“There we go, good boy!” He ruffled your hair, an action you loved in the past, a nurturing gesture that showed he cared for you. Now, it just felt like an extra layer of mockery. He stood up straight again, though not before picking the knife up off the ground. “I’ll go easy on you, okay?” 

What sounded like a lie to you was the truth for him. This was going easy on you, as far as he was concerned. You didn’t want to think about what a second offense would entail, but no matter. After today, you would be the most docile, obedient henchman the cartel had on their payroll. 

“Alright, so, first thing I need you to do,” Lalo unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock, already hard, leaking precum from his slit. You were on your knees staring down on it, so it didn’t take you long to put two and two together. The knife pressed against your cheek once more, and you flinched. The blade was a harsher command than his voice, although the latter was still pretty harsh: “Suck it.”

You didn’t hesitate to take him into your mouth, though understandably, not as enthusiastic as you’d done prior. Your motions were slow, tepid, cautious of the deadly weapon up against your face, but Lalo didn’t care. This wasn’t about sexual gratification; this was about subjugation. 

Lalo sighed, tilting his head back and relaxing himself to truly savor your mouth. “That’s a good boy,” Ironically, this was one of the best blowjobs he’d ever gotten. The blend of tears and spit made for the perfect lubricant. If only you cried every time you gave him head. I could arrange that, he thought. “Cry all you want, muñequito (little doll), you brought this upon yourself.”

The truth of his statement hit hard. As much as you didn’t want to think of it, he was right. This never would have happened if you just did what you were supposed to. You stopped sucking and merely blubbered around him, and as your body convulsed, your teeth just barely grazed his skin. 

“¡Mierda (Shit!)!” Lalo shouted and flicked his wrist, slicing your cheek with the knife. You shrieked in pain and pulled off him, your hand pressing against the wound to stop the blood. The rage was back in full swing. “¡Pinche puto in��til! ¡No puedes hacer nada correcto! (Fucking useless bitch! You can’t do anything right!) I told you to suck, not bite!”

Your heart was pounding, your chest heaving, your naked body shivering on your knees, your mind racing. You were having a panic attack, an apt name for the symptoms. The only thing you could feel was panic. Sheer. Fucking. Panic. You couldn’t even make sense of what he was saying. Bite? Did he say bite? But you didn’t bite him! If anything, you barely nicked him! You didn’t mean to anyway! Didn’t he understand?! Why was he doing this to you?! You couldn’t even think of an apology, let alone a defense. You were running on instinct and adrenaline. You were the scared, helpless little bunny he saw you as. All you could do was sit there, hang your head in shame, and let your tears, drool, and blood drip onto the floor.

“Ay, ay, mírame. Mírame, te cabrón. (Look at me. Look at me, you bitch.)” Lalo yanked your hair to pull your face up from the floor. “Explain yourself. You wanna tell me what the fuck that was?”

You couldn’t catch up to your breath. The shallow hits of oxygen you could take were not nearly enough. You were gasping for air as you tried to speak. “It… I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…”

Lalo cackled, “Oh, I know, conejito (little bunny). Trust me, I know. You think I’ve forgotten what a whore you are? I know you can suck cock better than that! Here, lemme see.” He pulled your hand away from your cheek so he could examine the wound. Your palm was coated in blood, but it was just a laceration. You were fine, well, fine in this regard at least. Everything else about you was pretty fucking far from fine. “Looks pretty messy, but you’ll be okay. The bleeding’s already slowing down.” He said matter-of-factly, as if he didn’t just slash your face open over a bodily function. He laughed again, warmer this time, though he still had a sinister grin on his face. “Well, I guess your mouth is out of commission, eh? Too much going on?” He looked at you like he was waiting for a response.

The way he could switch personalities in an instant gave you whiplash. He just cut you with a fucking switchblade, and now he was laughing like you just told a casual joke at a dinner party, like there was nothing out of the ordinary. This was the worst day of your life, and for him, it was just another Tuesday. Same shit as always. You just stared at him petrified. There were no words. 

Lalo didn’t mind. “Hey, hey, I get it. It’s okay. I won’t make you do that anymore. I told you I’d go easy on you,” You sighed in relief, relief that was unwarranted, you’d come to find, “We’ll just have to do something else.” You barely got a millisecond to parse the meaning of that before he slapped his hand over your mouth and pushed you onto your back.

You tried to scream, but it was no use. His hand formed a tight seal over your lips. Any noise you tried to make would just vibrate against his palm. He shushed you, climbed on top of you, and pointed the knife at your face.

“Cálmate, chiquito, cálmate. (Calm down, baby boy, calm down.) It’s gonna be better this way, I promise,” He took his hand off your mouth and brought it down to your cunt, making your whole body clench up. “You don’t have teeth down here, do you?” He chuckled, clearly very satisfied with himself, “I’d better check.” He nestled his fingers in between your lips, elated to find that you were already wet.  It was from crying, sure, but that didn’t matter to him. “Oh, wow! Look at that! You like this? I knew it!” He cackled again, “I knew you were a dirty little slut! ¡Qué lindo! (So cute!)”

You didn’t answer. You just hid your face in your hands and bawled, smearing blood and tears all over your face. You didn’t like it. He knew you didn’t like it. He just didn’t care. He was going to say anything he could to make you feel like trash. 

“Hey, c’mon, look at me,” Lalo set the knife down so he could pin your wrists above your head, exposing yourself to him. His other hand slipped two fingers inside you, dragging them along your walls. You grimaced, but he was right there to talk you through it. “No, no. Don’t make that face. It feels good, right? Dios mío (My god), you’re acting like I want to hurt you, or something.”

You couldn’t even process the irony of what he was saying. Like “You’re acting like I want to hurt you” was a perfectly reasonable thing to say to someone whose face you just cut a fucking hole in. He continued to pump and twist his fingers inside you, stretching you out for what was sure to come. His eyes were locked with yours the whole time, reminding you that there was nothing you could do. There was nowhere for you to run. This was your punishment, your penance, your redemption. Though there were no words said, his uncaring facial expression conveyed the message: This is your fault. You heard it loud and clear, and all you could do was weep. He pressed into your g-spot, causing you to arch your back and cry out.

“That’s it! Good boy!” Lalo taunted, pressing into that spot over and over again. You writhed and wailed in agony. This was humiliating. Pure, unadulterated misery. You tightened around him every time you sobbed, and it did not go unnoticed. Lalo raised an eyebrow. “Oh? ¿Qué es esto? ¿Te gusta? Te lo debe gustar. ¡Me estás apretando tan fuerte! Yo sabía que lo querías. Es porque eres un guarro sucio, cierto? (What’s this? You like it? You must like it. You’re squeezing me so hard! I knew you wanted it. It’s because you’re a dirty whore, yeah?) Right? Come on, say it. Say that you’re a whore.”

You cried even harder, which made you grip him even tighter. Saying the words felt like acid bubbling in your throat. “I’m… a… whore! I’m a whore! I’m a whore!”

Lalo smiled and praised you like a dog, “Good boy! Yes you are! Oh, you’re so smart, so obedient. Go ahead, you can cum for me. Let me feel it.”  

He ripped your orgasm from you soon after, and you squirted against his hand, much to your despair. You felt like a sloppy mess. You were covered in blood, sweat, tears, spit, snot and now, as if that wasn’t enough your own cum. You didn’t even get a second to cry before Lalo shoved his fingers into your open mouth.

“Lick it up, whore. You need to clean up your mess,” He held his fingers in your mouth and let you suck them clean. He pulled out when he was satisfied. “Now, say thank you.”

“Thank you…” You really didn’t want to, but you didn’t have a choice.

Lalo smiled. “Did that feel good?”

Physically? Maybe. Emotionally? Not even close. But you weren’t going to say that. “Y-Yes…” You lied. 

“Aw, good boy. You’re welcome.” He grabbed your legs and wrapped them around his waist before pressing his forehead against yours. “This is gonna feel even better.” He whispered, caught your lips in a kiss, and pushed inside of you.

You screamed into his mouth and wrapped your arms around him. You weren’t sure why. Maybe you were seeking comfort. Maybe you did it so you could pretend that this was normal, that this wasn’t what you thought it was. Lalo wouldn’t do this, right? Lalo would never rape you. He would never hit you. He would never put a knife up to your face. He would never cut you. He loved you. He always told you that. You were his conejito (little bunny), his cariño (sweetheart), his cielo (sky), all those cute Spanish terms of endearment that gave you butterflies in your stomach; he meant every single one, every single time he said it. This was a bad dream. It must have been. You would wake up in his bed any moment now, and he’d be there to kiss you awake and ask you how you slept. You would say bad, you had a nightmare. You dreamt that he hurt you. He would be there to comfort you, to pull you into his arms, to tell you he wouldn’t dare to do something like that. This wasn’t real. The longer you kept your eyes shut, the less real it felt… 

…but the slap across your face felt all too real.

You were thrust back into your waking nightmare. Lalo was staring you down. You tried to blink the tears away, but you must have kept your eyelids down for a second too long. He slapped you again.

“Don’t. Close. Your eyes.” He growled and picked up the switchblade. “I need you to watch. I need you to see what happens when you cross me.” He pressed the knife against your throat. 

Your crying stopped dead in its tracks. One wrong move, and you would bleed out on the floor. You stared him down, quite literally watching your life flash before your eyes.

Once he was sure he had your attention, he started to move his hips, coring you out on the cold tile in the back of the restaurant. You sobbed in time with his thrusts, squeezing around him as you did so.

Lalo loved it. He threw his head back and moaned, louder than you had ever heard him before. “¡Ay, Dios mío!” He shouted, “Te sientes tan putamente bueno. No tienes ni idea que desesperadamente yo necesitaba esto, (You feel so fucking good. You have no idea how badly  I needed this.)” he sneered, “Quédate llorando, maricón. Tu panocha se aprieta cuando lloras. (Keep crying, faggot. Your pussy tightens when you cry.)”

You did as he asked you; you kept crying. Even though your throat was burning, your voice was hoarse, and you couldn’t see or breathe through the tears and snot, you kept crying. And he kept thrusting. And moaning. And enjoying every second of this torture. 

“Bien hecho, niño (Good job, boy)” He smacked you again, just for fun this time. He noticed the blood on his hand, and you could see the evil plan hatching in his mind. He dipped his fingers in your blood, and used it as ink to write something across your chest. You couldn’t see it, but from the way he was laughing at it, maybe you didn’t want to see it. “Oh, that’s good. That’s really good. You know what? I don’t think I need this anymore.” He took the knife away from your neck and tossed it to the side. “I think you get the picture.” 

You did. You got the picture. It was a picture of brutality. It was an impressionist landscape of the ninth circle of hell. Art conveys a message, and this painting’s message was “Do as I say, or I’ll fucking cut you.” You understood.

Lalo knew you did, but he still wanted you to prove yourself. “You do understand, right? Tell me you understand.”

You nodded, gasping for air in between broken speech. “Y-Yes…”

“No,” He replied, “Say, ‘Yes, Don Eduardo, I understand.’”

“Y-Yesss… Don… Don Eduardo… I under… I understand…”

“Good boy. Now,” He started to stroke your achingly hard dick, as if you needed any more stimulation right now, “Say you’re sorry. Tell me you’re sorry for being a stupid bitch.”

You wailed, bucking your hips up into his hand. “I’m s-s-sorry… I’m sorry for being a stupid b-bitch…”

“Say it again. Apologize and say, ‘Thank you for treating me like a slut. I deserve this.’”

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry… Tha-ah! Thank you for… for treating me like a slu-... like a slut… I… I deserve this…”

“That’s right. You do deserve this. You know why?” He leaned in to whisper right in your ear as he violated you. “Because you’re nothing without me. You’re nothing but a tight, wet hole for me. You’re garbage. You’re a dirty whore. Say it.”

You didn’t want to say it, but you wanted this to be over, so you did, as painful as it was. You recited your lines. “I’m no-oh!... n-nothing without you… I’m nothing but a… h-hole, for you… I’m g-ah!... garbage… I’m a dirty whore…”

Lalo did not relent. He could feel you throbbing and leaking out against him. It wouldn’t be long now. He jerked you even faster. “Say it again, come on. You’re almost there. Say, ‘I’m a dirty whore, Don Eduardo. I’m sorry I disobeyed you.” 

You spat the words out through a slurry of wet cries and moans. “I’m… a-ah! A dirty… wh-whore! D-Don Edua-ah! Don Eduardo! I’m… s-sorry I- Oh, god! I’m sorry! I’m sorry I disobeyed you!”

“Are you gonna cum for me?” 

“Y-Yes! Yes! Ah! Oh, god! Fuck!”

He slapped you one last time. “Then do it, bitch.”

Your fingers curled into his shirt and you pulled him tight against you as you came. Fluid rushed out of you and bathed his cock in your suffering. He pulled himself out, hissing as the cool air hit him, and stroked himself to completion. He came with a loud groan and splattered all over your chest. Great. Now you had another bodily fluid added to the mess. You had never felt so fucking disgusting.

Lalo took in the putrid sight before him, and he started to laugh. Because of course he did. He was proud of himself. This was a game to him. The game was “So you think you can decimate a human soul?” and he had the high score.

He stopped laughing for a moment to compose himself. “Oh my god! This is perfect! Man, I did a good job with you! Hang on, you gotta see this.” 

You just stared up at the ceiling while he dug around for something. At least it was over now, right? You could go about the rest of your life. The days would stack against each other, and eventually, the memory would fade into nothing. At least, that’s what you thought before you heard a camera click.

“Here,” Lalo handed you your phone, “Look at this the next time you think about running.”

You looked at the picture. It was a time capsule of your shame. Your beaten, abused, ruined body, captured on film. Memorialized in eternity. You got to see what he drew on your chest. It was the word “WHORE”, in all capital letters, written in your own blood. No sound came out of you as you wept. He had silenced you.

Lalo’s sadism was gone. His face and his voice had softened. “Oh, pobrecito, ven aquí, (Oh, you poor thing, come here.)” He pulled you into his arms and let you cry into his chest. Your lover was back, and it was like he never left. He shushed you and rubbed your back, mirroring the compassion he had shown you earlier today. “Let it out, chiquito. Está bien. It’s okay. It’s over now. You did it. I’m so proud of you, but just remember…” He pulled your face out of his chest and tilted you up to see him.

“I won’t be as nice next time.”

[insipid-drivel]

SSI & SSDI: What are they, who qualifies, and how to apply?

Prefacing this with "For USAmericans only" because our system is a special kind of fucked up. I'm sorry to say that this may not apply to people that are undocumented, either. The feds suck that way and I really wish life was easier for all of us. This is also gonna be a very long post.

I see a lot of USAmerican tumblr users in dire straights trying to scrape by with art auctions, selling homemade stuff, or straight-up begging (no shame intended; poverty fucking sucks and our system is broken), that really seem to qualify for the same benefits that I have, but underutilize or otherwise don't know they can apply. This post is my attempt to explain the differences between our federal benefits programs, who can qualify, and what you need to do to apply in the gentlest, most hand-holding way I can for those of you feeling daunted or scared.

First off:

1: What's the difference between SSI and SSDI? SSI is short for "Social Security Income", and SSDI is just the same thing but with "Disability" thrown in. SSI pays into benefits for elder care and retired seniors, but what a lot of USAmericans don't realize is that you can apply for SSI at any time if you are disabled and have never had a job because of it. SSI isn't the same as a 401k or a retirement plan through your bank/finance manager. SSI is the federal system through which people who, either through age or disability, cannot work receive federal compensation through tax dollars. I got approved when I was 30 due to the severity of my disabilities when the average American doesn't usually have to worry about SSI until they're nearing retirement age. SSI is also the system that people who have never been able to work due to being disabled can apply for life-long benefits through.

SSDI is specifically for the benefit of people who have worked before, but have become too disabled to keep working for whatever reason. I'm personally, actually, on SSI because I've never been able to work due to my disabilities and have been living with them since very early childhood. I had odd jobs at stables working with horses in my teens, but no paystubs to prove it since it was all in cash. If you've never worked a formal job and are too disabled to work now, you want SSI. If you've been able to work before and can prove it through pay stubs/taxes/employment contracts but are now too disabled to, you want SSDI.

2: How do I know if I qualify? By getting tired of struggling to work because of your disability and giving the process a real look. Are you making less money than if you were working a barely minimum-wage part-time job and still struggling with Being Okay? Then you're probably, to some degree, legally disabled and entitled to help. The threshold to apply for assistance is surprisingly low considering how much I've seen barely-hanging-in-there tumblr users suffering from their respective chronic issues toughing it out with nothing but duct tape, ibuprofen, and etsy shops, and SS(D)I programs really take a lot of care to pay attention to your psychological welfare when you have to work as well as your physical welfare when defining what "disabled" really means.

You can even call the SSA help line, reach an agent, describe your situation, and ask if it sounds like you should pursue an application and how to start at absolutely no cost and with no commitment; these are programs you have a legal right to access and apply for, and calling is completely free - there are no consultation fees, ever. A lot of Social Security agents WANT to help people get on benefits when they need them, but it's actually harder to get approved if you try to do the entire process digitally vs. keeping in contact over the phone with a real human.

While you can apply and get approved with 0 contact necessary up until a certain point with applying for federal benefits, you are much more likely to get denied and have to appeal multiple times, miss documents that you didn't notice you needed to have ready, or not hear about other benefit programs or assistance that you can simultaneously be applying for. Even if you're scared of phones, you want a good agent to advocate for you and advise you when it comes to SSI/SSDI.

For the record, it's NORMAL to be denied at least once, if not several times when you apply, and does not mean that you aren't disabled, or aren't "disabled enough". This is a tactic intentionally used by the SSA to filter out those "truly" in need from those that aren't by using the logic "truly desperate people won't quit applying while people with options will". It's bullshit, classist, ableist, and takes advantage of people with anxiety and social phobias, but that's the way it's been built to be, so you MUST be persistent and keep appealing if you get denied. There are no limits to how many times you can appeal your case when it comes to SS(D)I. Some people can be stuck with being denied and appealing for years, which is why I strongly advise keeping the names and contact information of SSA agents and resources you've been in contact with for help. Once you get people to see you as a person rather than an applicant, you'll start getting a lot more good advice and tips for how to get approved faster and even how to maximize your monthly benefit rates.

If you're struggling to hold down your life in a stable way because of having one or more disabilities that interfere with a regular, "average" person's expected work day (9-5, usually commuting at least a little by car, usually working with other people/customers, spending at least some prolonged times on your feet or sitting at a desk/computer), you may already qualify for more benefits than you're aware of. There are absolutely no legal ramifications for applying for SSI or SSDI and getting turned down, or applying multiple times. It's not a "three strikes and you're out" kind of deal. You will not be arrested or fined for applying or inquiring about what you're entitled to from our federal government. Go to the official Social Security Administration website and poke around! However, my protip is to first read what benefits are available, and then CALL THEIR HELP LINE DIRECTLY to talk to an actual human being. The person who answers the phone can listen to you describe your circumstances precisely and guide you through applying, as well as inform you of any programs you may not know about that you can apply for simultaneously.

My SSA rep was a champion that got me through the process while also dropping hints about how to write and describe my situation in the forms I had to fill out. Because I live with my family, I don't have to pay rent, but my representative loudly asked, "YOU PAY RENT, RIGHT?" as a heavy-handed way of telling me, "I can get you more in your paycheck if you at least say you're paying rent," which got me an additional $300 added to my monthly checks now. I actually do pay that $300 in rent now, because it makes me feel better and helps my family with other expenses, including a brand-new not-even-on-the-market-yet power chair that my mom bought for me recently so I don't have to limp along with a cane anymore.

3: How do I apply?

Go to http://www.ssa.gov/ and research based upon your situation (if you've ever worked before or not). I got so overwhelmed by the online application process that my mom, who does bureaucracy for a living, helped relieve a load of anxiety from me by filling out my paperwork for me as well as she could (she's legally my Power of Attorney and so having her handle my paperwork was totally fine) and then calling their help-line.

Generally, the hardest part about applying is the waiting and resisting becoming discouraged, because Social Security is a slow ass process, and you're lucky if you hear back within several months of an application for an update, much less approval. However, depending on your situation, you may be required to go to an SSA-approved doctor or therapist to review your records and verify that you're still as disabled as you were when you first started your application as a last step before your application process is officially complete. For me, all I had to do was answer a therapist's questions about what my quality of life was like (my answer was "What quality of life?" because I was That Miserable), how my mobility was, how well I functioned around strangers and peers, what chronic pain/problems I dealt with, how long I could stand to be on my feet, and generally gave a rundown of what I could and couldn't handle about an "average" person's daily life and typical expected work load in your stereotypical office or retail setting.

The most important thing about applying is getting the application started as early as possible and making contact with an actual SSA representative! Even if you never follow through with applying (again, you are not penalized if you drop out! You can pick up where you left off or start completely over at any time when you're applying for federal benefits like SSI), after you reach a certain point in being Acknowledged By SSA As An Applicant For Assistance, the clock starts. Your clock starts - and I mean that in a very, very good way.

Once the SSA receives your initial request for SSI or SSDI, they automatically begin calculating any and all back-pay THEY owe YOU when you get approved as long as you're still applying and appealing. For me, my first SSI check came in at almost $6,000, because it took me around 10 months or so after my initial application to get approved, and the absolute basest rate for SSI benefits at that time was about $600/mo. I now make a little under $1k/mo with SSI alone, with my payments increasing automatically with inflation or if a single billionaire bothered to pay any taxes this year. If a major financial problem occurs in my life, like if my mom were to suddenly want more rent, I can report it to the SSA and they'll compensate me for at least some of that increased rent.

SSI/SSDI is not going to make you rich or solve all of your financial issues, and you are not legally allowed to work without special permission and circumstances while receiving benefits, but it can help take some of the pressure off if you literally have no other way of getting financial help. Because they're both federal programs, you're able to receive SSI/SSDI benefits along with many of your state's local benefit programs, like state-funded insurance, welfare, and food stamps to further stretch your budget and help you financially.

Little things that helped me along the way:

I cried a lot. At first it was humiliating to feel my emotions drop out from under me in the middle of a conversation with an SSA rep, but when he heard me beginning to lose it and sob at how hard everything is all the time, he became even more helpful with my case. He was a very sweet man named Dennis from Georgia. The same went with anyone else I had to see or speak to; if I just broke down crying and showed my actual feelings of resentment and humiliation at being so broken down and disabled that I officially needed Federal Government Daddy's money, they'd be a lot more compassionate and helpful. Show your emotions. Be upset. Let the people you speak to know that you feel like crap because, in spite of all your years of trying and trying to Be A Normal Person, things haven't gotten any better and maybe have even gotten worse.

I spoke my truth. I had a lot of suicidal ideology going on when I started applying, and as difficult and scary as it was, admitting that I was feeling like I had no other way out or way to help my family not be burdened by me was through suicide. I said that I would rather be talking to a doctor about assisted suicide than talking to the person I was talking to about asking for basic federal assistance. The therapist I said that to was alarmed and heartbroken that I preferred the thoughts of suicide to the thoughts of pursuing SSI, and was very, very quick to reassure me that I wasn't a failure, and that she was there to see me and help me get what I needed now that I was asking for it. She praised me for telling the truth and being brave enough to keep applying and trying.

I let myself be symptomatic. No masking, no pain meds, nothing; when I had to deal with people assessing me for SSI (which weren't many, but the stakes to me were too high to try to mask even once), I went in exhausted, in pain, stinking from not showering because I was struggling, rushing to and from the bathroom with stress IBS, and very vocally in favor of dying rather than continuing to fuss around with paperwork. When the exhaustion and fatigue made me want to cry, I cried. When someone wanted to touch me - like to take my blood pressure at the doctor's - I allowed myself to jolt away and need to be asked if it was okay before I was touched by anyone. I allowed my Neurotypical Tolerance Level to reach 0, and to be the goddamn mess I really was inside, and still am.

I did not express optimism or hope. I made it clear that I was going through the motions because I "knew I was going to get denied anyway". I knew most people never get approved, and I was honest that I knew it and expected nothing but wasted time while I went through the application process as one final attempt to not be such a hindrance to the people around me.

That following October, I got a snail-mail letter in my mailbox congratulating me for being approved for SSI, and that if I was reading the letter and had not received my first payments, I would after a short time and was asked to call them if I didn't. It took about 10 months total to get through all of it once my mom teamed up with me to help me with the Official Process, and checked my bank account to find not only my very first payment sitting in my checking account, but the past 10 months' worth of payments I would've received if I'd already been on benefits. I used it to decorate my bedroom, which was so spare and empty it looked like nobody lived there, get new clothes I desperately needed (I was 30 and still relying on hand-me-down clothes and underwear from when I was a teenager), started paying my mom rent so I felt less like a leech and more like an investor in our family home, and am now in the process of getting a brand new power wheelchair, because my problems with walking and standing were what got me to start applying, and life has gotten better enough that I can now afford the mobility aids I need.

[sell-phones]

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[rfxiii]

There’s stuff about the Pre & Post-Ludendorff/North Yankton Era I need to know. Like, the fact that we don’t have a North Yankton DLC and will most likely never get one makes me so sad:

Was Amanda close with her family? Did they know about what Michael did? Do they still think Michael is dead? Did she cut all contact with them when they left for Los Santos? Or was Dave comfortable enough to let Michael and Amanda tell their families what was happening?

Were the guys close with their getaway driver that died? Or was he just someone they hired like the different heist members you can pick from during missions?

Did Brad have family? A mother or father? A girlfriend? Someone else besides Trevor who would have missed him? Someone who Dave also had to sell the lie, that he was in prison, to? If he did have family, were they ever told he was killed?

What did Amanda have to go through when moving the kids from North Yankton? Obviously nobody they knew would have known what Michael did for a living.. Until he was “killed” and it was blasted all over the news and the papers. Did she have to pack up, pull the kids from school, and get everything handled while the whole town whispered about her being the wife of the bank robber who just got killed? Or did Dave have the whole family packed up and moved out before the thing at the cash depo even went down?

Did Trevor try to call Amanda? Did he finally get away from the cops, have a second to breathe, and make his first order of business calling her house to tell her Michael was “dead”? Did she answer? Did she have to fake grief? Did she blame him? Or did the phone just ring? Did it go to voicemail? And did he have to sit in some shitty motel, grieving alone, and knowing full well Amanda would blame him for this? Or was he too afraid and broken to even try to reach out?

How long was Michael planning on betraying Trevor and Brad? A week? A couple weeks? A month? Months? How often did he have to laugh with them? Make plans for the future with them? Plan scores they’d never go on together? Did it bother him then? Did he ignore it until it was all over? Or did he wake up every night with nightmares knowing he was planning on signing two of his closest friends' death warrants?

[captaindibbzy]

I realise for people who have not been following me for so long they forgot a time I wasn't haunting their dash "my dad is getting weird shit off the Chinese" probably sounds bizzar.

Part of living with my dad is witnessing him go through phases, and some time ten years ago he got really in to Lazer cutters. While looking on eBay for things he got in touch with a company based in China that sells Everything. Just EVERYTHING.

They had something like 7 Lazer cutters just hanging around in a warehouse. When you order things from china it is exported and ends up in the UK it can not be shipped back to china, but by UK law they must accept returns of everything they sell online. So what do you do with all that stuff? Mostly it goes to landfill, but it needs to go somewhere first. You can't just ship it to the dump, and if they let you keep everything and gave you your money back it would be a bad business model.

So these Lazer cutters are sitting in a warehouse after being returned, usually for being broken but we'll get to that in a bit. Dad says, well you can send them to me, I'll look at them, see if I can fix them, and if I can I will. I'll sell them, and then I keep some money, you get some money.

Better than shipping things directly to the dump, so they say sure. He gets these Lazer cutters and for about a year our spare bedroom is full of Lazer cutters. And he does as he said, he checks them out, enjoys fixing them, or if they can be fixed he camabalises them to fix others. One I remember had a broken glass tube so the cooling didn't work, but it still had plenty of bits. He took it apart and sold the bits. He kept some money, and he sends the money on.

They get talking about other things in the warehouse and dad reaches this agreement with them where if they let him know they can send him electronics and he'll have a go at fixing them, and he'll sell them and split the cash.

Except it doesn't quite go like that. As mentioned they are Chinese and English is not their first language, so we start getting some Really Weird Shit. Memorable things include: a preserved rose, jewellery, a hammock with built in mosquito net, cheep lights (including one that has a hovering globe), and on one occasion a huge box of reusable physio bandages. Oh! There was the hoverboards. That was fun and also deadly.

Then one day they send us two pallets of projectors. I mean some poor sod in a lorry had to reverse down my very residential street to deliver two pallets to "the warehouse at [number][road]" which we are not. At which point dad gets in touch with them and says no, you can't just send me everything you don't want to sell yourself, or things that aren't electronic.

We have these projector's for years. We try selling the every which way. eBay, Facebook, giving them people. We saturated the local market with these projectors at a time when projectors themselves are very much going out of style as huge LCD TV's are getting cheep. We still have one or two somewhere in the house.

Things slow down for ages and we don't get many things for a while. We start getting letters though. Due to a change in UK tax law this company, which is more like a lot of companies in a trench coat, need a UK address to send mail to and dad does that. The letters come in and he sends them pictures of it so they can know what is said.

Then suddenly a few months ago they woke up from a hiatus that has been going on since the pandemic and started sending us things again. At first this is fine, electronics, things dad can fix. We've had half moon lights, phone screens, hair dryers, etc. Then the weird stuff starts creeping in again: the huge mechanical clock, the mirror made to look like a window. There's the very cute little kettle the other day. They sent dad a thermos for Christmas which was very nice, like an actual gift, not a return.

And today the rubber mouth with tongue that I do not want to Know.

I said above that most things are returned because they are broken, which is why they get sent here. Broken, dad fixes, then sold on. But actually most stuff that arrives comes in either perfectly functional order or cannibalised.

The working order stuff I figure people ordered cheep shit and wondered why they got cheep shit. Some doesn't fit UK regulation (the plugs on some of these devices! My god!)

But the cannibalised stuff is very interesting. Before we left the EU we'd get packages from all over Europe and Germany was the worst for this. People buy a device, take it apart, take out the part they need, then return it to the company saying the device doesn't work and they want their money back. Which they get, and we get the device. 👀 Sir. We see you sir. You cheepskate. Fixing things doesn't count when you're sending an identical one to landfill for the part.

And that's what I mean when the Chinese are sending us weird shit.

[duskwoodgirl4life]

Epilogue Part 1:

6 months on and MC was no closer too finding Jake he had sent her a few messages, the last one he sent said he had too go into hiding. MCs search had taken her out of duskwood and into the city she had just checked into a motel for the night as it was getting late. She dropped her bag on the floor as it was late she decided too order takeout. After placing the order she went too take a shower and freshen up she changed into some sweatpants and Jake's hoodie. MC sat down on the bed looking at her phone for any sign from Jake no new messages. Looking at the last thing Jake said made a tear roll down her face she felt her heart breaking.

Jake: I love you MC

MC: I love you Jake

MC managed too pull her self togethe just as there was a knock at the door, grabbing some cash from her bag she opened the door and paid for her takeout. Sitting down on the bed MC switched the TV on flicking through the channels V for Vendetta was on. MC left the movie playing while she ate her food, after getting rid of the Chinese containers she sat back down checking her phone again. Still no messages from Jake, looking at the last message Jake had sent.

Jake: I love you MC

MC: I love you Jake

Not being able too sleep MC pulled out her laptop and began too search for abandoned buildings in the area. A few came up in her search that she would check out in the morning. She checked on the tracker but is had stopped giving out a signal she had spoken too Victor about it, he said it was more than likely Jake was somewhere the signal couldn't get through. MC pulled up a map on her laptop trying too pinpoint exactly where Jake was but it was no use. The next morning MC woke having not really slept went too take a shower and got changed. She went too grab a coffee from the cafa on the corner after grabbing a coffee she got onto the car that her mum had let her use. Pulling up the locations of the abandoned buildings she made her way too the first one.

MC parked the car out of sight and went too check out the building, inside there was old broken machine's, bits of paper on the floor, dust everywhere. This place really was abandoned searching the lower level MC came across some stairs she made her way up slowly not too make a noise. There was no signs of life anywhere, no sign of anyone having stayed here. Having had no luck MC made her way back too the car. When she got back in the car she crossed the building off her list, MC started the engine making her way too the next location. Later that night after having no luck finding Jake she made her way back too the motel. Sitting on the bed she looked at her phone no new messages from Jake. Looking at the last message he sent her a tear fell from her eye.

Jake: I love you MC

MC: I love you Jake

Having feeling defeated she grabbed the left over Chinese takeout, while she waited for her laptop too start up she switched the TV on for some background noise. Not really paying attention too what was on the tele a news report came up. It was about a wanted hacker apparently he had been spotted in France the report said if anyone came across him too ring the police straight away. MC started too wonder if Jake ralyly was in France. It didn't matter too MC she would travel the world if it meant she would get Jake back.

MCs POV

I need too expand my search a little further, Jake as too be around here somewhere I have too find him. I need too try and narrow this search down why the hell does Colville have too be so big. Come on Jake give me a sign any sign that you are at least okay, I won't give up on finding you I will search for the rest of my life if I need too. Hell I'd even sell my sole too the devil if it meant I'd get you back by my side. By chance I take another look at the map and come across a few more places that I missed, should I go check them out now that it's dark I might get somewhere.

Right it's now or never if I am going out on this midnight mission then I need too make sure I'm well prepared. Come on MC you can do this remember you are doing this for Jake.

MC grabbed Jake's hoodie and a torch she grabbed her keys and headed back out into the night, she doubled checked the map before setting off. Taking a deep breath MC put the key in and started the car before she reached the first building she switched off her headlight's. Parking up MC made her way towards the building as she opened the door it made a loud noise echoing around th building. This building was completely empty nothing and noone was there. After feeling like she had checked everywhere she made her way back too the car. As she was leaving MC spotted a sign on the wall it was a red eye with Nym-Os written underneath it. Tears ran down her face this was a sign that Jake had been here. She was maybe getting closer too him, it's like he knew she woulr search here and left this sign on the wall.

Taking a picture of the sign MC made her way back too her car, feeling like she was getting somewhere MC decided too go check out the next place. Once again MC made sure too park put of sight grabbing her torch. MC made her way towards the building just like the last not much was in the building, in the distance she could see a light was it from a computer screen? MC decided too go check it out moving quietly as she got closer it was just an old TV and someone sleeping in the corner.

After making her way out she got back into the car, it was now 2am sleep was trying too take over her body. MC decided too check out at least one more place before going back too the motel.

Walking through the building she could hear all kinds of noises every movement made her jump. Fear started too take over before she knew what was happening she felt someone grab hold of her. They pinned her too the wall not letting her move an inch. When she finally got a look at the face it was a crazed homeless man pinning her too the wall by the neck. She tried her best too break away from his grip but he was just too strong. MC could feel the last gasps of air leave her body everything starting too go back. The only thing she heard before passing out was the crazed man dragging her away.

MC tried and tried too fight back but her body just wouldn't let her, MC just managed too let out a screem but the man didn't care he just continued too drag her way. Her screams started too get louder as she was being dragged away the man dropped her too the floor standing over her. He raised his hand but before his hand could make any sort of contact with MCs face someone grabbed hold of him. Pushing him too the ground and knocking him out the figure came over too MC and picked her up.

MC wasn't sure if it was from lack of breath but she was sure she could smell Jake's scent was her senses playing tricks on her? Was she really in Jake's arms, had he been the one too save her from danger. Had he found her before she had a chance too keep looking for him MC whispered Jake's name softly.

MC: Jake, is that really you? Have you come too save me?

Jake: it's me MC, don't worry I've got you you are safe now

MC: I love you Jake

Jake: I love you MC

As Jake was carrying MC out too the car she passed out in his arms, he put her on the back seat carefully. He knew the motel she was staying in so be drove back too her room once they arrived Jake helped MC out of the car. MC was still a little groggy so Jake lay her down on the bed. Jake saw that MC still had the ring on her finger and couldn't help but smile she really had waited for him.

[sellyourphone123]

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[little-sw33tie]

What is it gonna be

So what I have planned out for it is that, a lot of things are the same but this time casinos are involved, which still works for Spamton bc idk about you but I get a ton of spam mail for ‘totally legit casinos’!!!

Like the first chapter is all the same (at least for the most part!!)

The main differences will ofc be in chapter 2!! Though a majority of what I have planned is backstory for Spamton and Mike! But I might get that in another thing bc I know I’m gonna ramble a bit for just what I have planned for changes in chapter 2!

But basically with actual in chapter 2 stuff Kris still meets spamton in the alleyway, but this time instead of just being a regular salesman he’s the face of an old, non existent anymore casino! Though he absolutely did sell things on the side with partnerships and sponsor type things! And he tries to convince the player to go to its even better casino! Which is still his store in game but this time there’s broken slot machines and a poker table!!

You can still buy things with regular cash but it’s a lot cheaper with the game tokens the slot machines dispense!

Spamton Neo is apart of his plan to try and get rid of the bad rep he got when Mike’s casino (not called that) got shut down and become a [BIG SHOT!] again, but he still has the “I want freedom” stuff still because he was still strung around by Mike, who gave him success and then just. Poofed one day! Absolutely ruining Spamton

And the addisons talk about how Spamton was “Greedy” and “what was the phrase?? Flown to close to the moon??”

That one Addison though, they mention having worked at the casino for a bit to see what it was like and seeing everything that publicly happened and went down! “After the place officially shut down, I went to check on Spamton in his room at the castle to give him some of what I scavenged from the wreckage, but he was nowhere to be seen and the phone was ringing. But when I answered it there was only garbage noise, but I swear I heard something else but I don’t know what..”

Extra tidbit: queen had sponsored the casino since people were having a lot of fun there and all and that’s how she ended up favouring Spamton in this AU

(Also Spamton or a certain white dog will go onto the screen and break the fourth wall and give a little “be careful when your gambling” PSA)

[bread0nhead]

Long Nights and Fleeting Moments (18+) - Chapter One

Dabi x F!Sex worker Reader

This series contains dark content, including r*pe, dr*g use, strong language and sexual content. If you are not in the right headspace, please skip this series and check out my other work.

Chapter two will be released March 5th

•••

Bright headlights spread across your window, flooding the dark room with yellow. Knowing what’s to come, you grab your phone and wait for instructions to enter the luxury black sedan. The kind with a glistening hood ornament that signals wealth and a roaring engine letting everyone hear the car, before seeing it. On queue, your phone chimes with a message. You don’t even both to look at them anymore, it’s always the same two words; “Get in”.

You do a one over in the mirror, checking that every strand of hair is in the correct place, that your makeup hasn’t smeared and your cleavage is just the right about of exposed. Tonight your wearing a short emerald dress with a low and loose cowl neckline. The dress alone costed 140,000 Yen.

Your life wasn’t always lavish cars and designer clothes. It’s such a cliche that it’s almost embarrassing. Orphaned at a young age, broke and hungry you turned to cheap tricks and petty theft. Borrowed too much money from the wrong people and now selling your body and quirk just to pay it back. Again, total cliche. Luckily aside from only getting to keep 10% of your earnings, and the occasional roughing up from over compensating clients, you like the job enough. You have food, clean water and a roof over your head. Sure you wish for more, but that’s nothing more than a fleeting dream for someone like you.

Two honks from a car horn snaps you out of your thoughts. Broken gravel scratch under your red bottom stilettos as you rush to the car. Inside a middle aged man with a lean build and auburn hair with a stylish undercut waits for you with a grin and thirsty eyes.

“If you took any longer, I was about to come in there and fuck you myself.”

“Double what the clients payin’, and I just might let ya’”

“Damn, that’s how it is now? I remember when you use to let me fuck for free.”

“Then I came to my senses. If the sex is going to suck, might as well get something out of it.”

You could see in the rear view mirror how much he wanted to smack you right now. Good thing he knows better than to damage the merchandise. Instead he took his anger out on the road, slamming his foot down in reverse and peeled out fast enough to leave tread marks on the pavement.

City lights zip past, ushering you into a brief moment of calmness. Your forehead presses against the cold window as your fingers play with the hem of your dress. The hum of the engine lull you into deep thoughts.

You never get any information on your clients beforehand. For their own protection. Certainly not yours. But you’ve gotten good at predicting what your client is like just by the limited information you’re given. Where you’ll go and what to wear. The predictability is boring.

Married clients and politicians request discreet hotels. Master suits they can pay with cash. They’ll treat you with the full works. Five star room services and a fully stocked open mini bar.

For the single businessmen, it’s always at their private residence. They’ll give you a tour of each room, trying to give you small glimpses of what life would be like if you were to leave the life of a whore and become a house wife. They especially love to show off the kitchen.

Women are the most unpredictable. And the most fun. They’ll treat you well and lead you back to their private bathhouse, secluded inn or luxury hotel. You don’t know what to expect with your female clients, but you can always expect to cum.

“We’re here.”

Turning your attention to the front of the building, you see valet parking driving expensive sports cars. A decorative water fountain made of marble. Well groomed waiters in tuxedos ushering people inside through grand doors.

Shit…. It’s a hero.

Heros are the most predictable, most insufferable clients. The lower the hero ranks on the totem pole, the less they care about being seen with questionable company. So they’ll always invite you out for lavish dinner, fine wine then walk you to a hotel, just so you have to endure seeing all their fans swoon over them, before they fuck you sloppy. Not even the good, fun sloppy. The one sided, shit rhythm sloppy.

The high ranking heros, usually those who rank higher than 50, they’ll come to you. It’s why you were moved into a house with large privacy fencing in a secluded area. As if it’s not bad enough having to surrender your whole body to them, but also having them invade your personal space is torture.

Jin, your driver, opens the door for you and nods his head to the side, instructing you to get out. Your drivers are always quick to flee the scene, better to go unnoticed. Again, for their safety. Not yours.

You dig into your clutch and pull out a small pocket mirror to do one final check. This time you’re not looking for imperfection in your hair or makeup. It’s to check that your nerves aren’t showing. Clients don’t wish to see the human side of you.

“Ah, Miss Y/N. You’re expected. Please follow me.”

You clasp the mirror shut and tuck it away into your matching clutch.

The older gentleman dressed in a butler style uniform leads you to a private dining room, sealed by two red doors with decorative gold overlay. He doesn’t look you in the eyes once, not even as he opens the door or rises from bowing his head.

Inside sits a younger man, maybe in his mid 30s. He’s out of his hero costume, making him unrecognizable. You don’t expect to know his hero alias, you don’t care to know. You prefer it this way. It’s always weird when they show up in spandex, dressed like their role playing. Hell, sometimes they are. Who woulda thunk that heros like to role play as the villain so often?

“Damn. Pictures don’t do your beauty justice.”

He’s well built, with blue eyes and scruffy dark hair. His perfectly tailored suit slings to his wide biceps. Why do heros always have to wear such tight clothing? He’s sitting in his chair, legs spread open as his chin rests again his palm with a lazy smile on his face. He doesn’t bother getting up, clearly preferring you to do all the work.

You strut with a smile, locking eyes to keep his focus on you. When you’re close enough, you bend down and let a kiss linger on the side of his lips, while resting your hard on the side of his jaw.

“Thanks for inviting me out tonight.” You whisper in the shell of his ear, feeling a small quiver.

You sit next to him, crossing one leg and letting it drape over his thigh. This close up you can see all the signs that your his first proper escort. He’s hesitant with his movements, his hand hovers over your ass. You wonder what he’s thinking right now.

Can I touch her?

Does this cost extra?

Should I just take her to the hotel now and fuck her?

There’s a bead of sweat forming on his temple. Poor thing.

“You can touch. You paid upfront after all.”

So he does. His hand possesses your ass. He’s no longer gentle or second guessing himself. When it finally clicks that your nothing but purchased fun, all inhibitions are out the door. He doesn’t even think twice as he shoves your head down on his cock as he casually orders more drinks. Nothing alcoholic for him, but you, it’s straight dirty liquor.

He doesn’t even do you the courtesy of fucking you in the hotel he originally planned. Instead he orders the waitstaff to lock the private dining room doors and to remain out of sight for the next two hour.

Why do heros always act like monsters when the mask comes off?

•

•

•

You’re standing in the restaurants bathroom. Torn panties in the trash. A wad of tissue paper between your legs. Your hair no longer neat and makeup completely smeared. You looked the bathroom door and can hear two women complaining on the other side. Not that you care. Slowly you turn so your back to the mirror and lift up your dress, exposing the deep bruises on your left ass cheek. Looking at the aftermath no longer has any feelings attached to it. Once you wept, now you’re calloused.

With a deep inhale and exhale, you pull the makeup wipes out of your tiny clutch and try to present yourself to the world with some dignity. The cum filled toilet paper is thrown into the trash, with your lacy panties. You swing the door open and hear one of the women call you a whore under her breath.

“Bitch.”

You whisper just as loudly as she did.

Outside there is no one for you. You’re always dropped off, but once the money is made they don’t care how you get home. As long as you’re ready for your next job.

You watch as the bright full moon dips behind clouds and skyscrapers. Your shoes scrape and drag against cement, scuffing the red leather soles. The streets are calm as most residents have long retreated to the safety and comfort or their beds. There’s the sound chatter, the occasional honking of a horn and a low quiet hum of various neon lights. The walk home, with all the trains closed down for the night is sure to be long. An hour, maybe an hour and a half. Just thinking about it makes your feet hurt. Which is exactly why you never leave for a job without some over the counter pain killers tucked away in your purse.

“The hero killer Stain has been apprehended…”

A TV streaming the news through a front store window of a electronics resale breaks apart the usual sounds you expect to hear at this hour on the walk home. You turn and step closer to the window, listening and watching closely. Photos of the earlier events scroll through as the newscaster gives more details. In one photo, in the background you see familiar dark scruffy hair and and bulky build. The photo isn’t of him, your recent client, hell, most people probably wouldn’t of even realized he’s in the photo unless someone pointed him out. A background character. Guess this was his cause of celebration tonight. The capture of some villian he certainly had no lead in apprehending.

“While the hero killer lives out the remainder of his life behind bars, the stain he left on society will never be cleansed.”

“For fuck sake. Dramatic much?” You make the snide remarks to yourself, carelessly rolling your eyes as you’ve heard enough of this broadcast. You make a quick turn on your heals and reach for your cellphone at the same time, opting to call for a ride share. But before you can make that call for a saving grace of your feet, your phone drops to the cement as you walk into what feels like a wall. And maybe if your blood alcohol levels wasn’t illegally high, you wouldn’t have fallen on your ass with a new crack in your phone screen.

“Shiiiiit, that hurt…”

Opening your eyes you see two pairs of cheap black dress shoes and scarred purplish skin showing from the ripped dress pants being too short to cover. In front of your face, a hand with silver staples piecing together marred skin to undamaged skin, holds your phone in front of you.

“You better not blame me for the damage.”

The voice is rough and dry. The kind of raspiness that comes from years of sucking down smoke. You focus out of the drunken haze to see a male with black spiky hair, piercings, wearing a disheveled suit and looking at your with the brightness cyan eyes.

“And if your going to go commando, might want to avoid such a short dress while walking around piss drunk… Not that I mind the view.”

Your face beats red, any drop of booze in your body gets evaporated from the heat of embarrassment alone. You scramble off the pavement and snatch your phone from his hand with a scoff. You mumble calling him an asshole, which he must have caught since he’s grinning.

“Yes, very funny! Clearly it’s been a night!” Your attempts to hide embarrassment with sarcasm is a total miss.

Hoping to avoid anymore unnecessary comments from strangers, no matter how attractive, you hit pay on the ride share app and wait in silence.

Glancing back towards him a couple times, the strangers focus has gone off you and back to the news stream about Stain. He seems enthralled by the scene playing, committing every word and picture to memory. It’s like he totally forgot you’re even there, that you don’t even mind standing around with him as you wait for your ride. Neither of you try to mend the silence with small talk. But at the same time, neither of you bother to create more space. Standing within two feet of each other the entire time as he carefully watching the new through the store front window, and you mindlessly scroll through photos of beautiful women on Insta.

17 minutes passes and your ride pulls up with an older woman giving you a warm smile. A five start review smile. As you open the door, the handsome stranger casually wishes you a goodnight, waving you off before walking down the alley. You took one last look up at the news broadcast to see it’s still covering the Stain segment.

•

•

•

It’s been three days since your last date. You suspect you’ll be getting a new job soon, as you never go more than a couple days without earning money. Honestly, you’re getting restless for a good fuck. The last date was completely one sided, not to mention painfully quick.

As if god herself heard your plea, your work phone vibrates with a text notification.

“I’m coming over tonight. I have you booked for three hours.”

Ugh… guess it’s another dry night.

The text is from one of your regulars. A special privilege client. The kind that gets his personal contact saved in your phone. His visits have become so frequent over the past two years that you don’t even bother getting dressed up anymore. If anything he prefers you more casual. You hurry to take a shower, use his favorite shampoo that he buy’s specifically for his visits, and change into nothing put a loose tank top and ripped jean shorts. No bra. No makeup.

Not even 40 minutes later, you hear the doorknob of your front door turn and soon a strong presence is towering over you from behind as your preparing his favorite tea. Silently you turn around with a hot cup in your hand, offering it to your guest. His large hands take it from you but only to put it back on the counter. Two bulky arms move to cage you in as his hard body presses your back to the kitchen counter. He’s close enough that your nostrils fill with his cologne, but skin never touches skin.

You both stay like this for a dense three minutes. His nose hovers over the curve of your neck to your shoulder, breathing in your floral shampoo. You stand there silent and calm. Bored if anything. Patiently waiting for him to make a move.

“Are you actually going to fuck me this time? Or are we going to keep—“

A strong grip slaps over your mouth as his eyes beat down on you with furrowed brows.

“Shut your mouth.” He seethes “Don’t speak to me that way. You know the rules.”

Even this simple touch has his dick hard. That much is visibly evident. He’s quick to pull his hand away when he realizes. Trying to smooth the dryness in his throat, he reaches for his tea and moves to sit at your kitchen table. You don’t bother to join him.

“I don’t understand why you pay so much money to just… hangout.” Your voice is low, lacking confidence in your tone. “If my quirk effects you that much…”

You let the sentence die off, running a hand through your hair. The money is good. Really good. And in retrospect, it’s easy money. As awkward as these visits are, you don’t want them to end. You need to learn to stop poking the fire.

The first night with him should have been the last. But he kept coming back and paying obscene amounts of money for what seems like nothing.

Once a month, for the past two years he has come over doing nothing more than the occasional gentle touch over your cloths, while he lives this fantasy of a normal life doing mundane things. As you sit around watching TV, cooking dinner or simply orbiting in silence. You’ve watched him crumble apart more and more with each visit. His words always filled with guilt and anger. His desperate need to feel something, anything, other than his own self loathing. You offer him a world that he’ll never belong in.

“You should leave this… life” his hands gesture around your house “and come work for me as my support sidekick. You know I’ll pay whatever amount you put down.”

You grown at this conversation again. Every couple of months he insults your livelihood and tries to win you over with riches and a cushy job.

“I can protect you from your boss. I’ll track him down and throw him into the deepest pit I can find.” His voice gets deeper. He’s serious.

You sit on his lap, draping your arms around his neck and wait for his reaction. Oh! There it is. His discomfort with physical touch which you established. The way he tries to scoot out from under you. How he can’t look your way. And your favorite, the clearing of his throat like he’s literally chocking on your presence.

Charmer….

“And what, you’ll shrink me down into pocket size and carry me everywhere for my quirk? You know it only works…” you stroke his chest “when we touch” the last bit is a whisper, with your hand going lower with each word.

“Then train. You’re useless otherwise.” He grabs your wrist and yanks you off of him.

The chair under him scrapes against your wood floors as he pushes himself off. He’s already heading out of door, not even having enough time to take off his suede jacket.

“Enji, wait!”

The sound of the screen door snapping to the frame is the only response you get.

•••

Hey!

While this series discusses sex work, I would like to say I believe that sex working is a legitimate career.

In the US and many other countries, sex work is illegal and stigmatized. Sex work won’t go away by criminalizing it. It just makes the job dangerous for everyone involved. How can a victim of violence report to the authorities, when risk being arrested themselves just because of their job? How can someone feel comfortable going into a clinic, when they feel judged?

If you’re a sex worker, I just want to say… I’m so fucking sorry society and unjust laws have failed you. Stay strong. Keep being awesome. Find safe resources to keep yourself protected.