#something about his render always makes me laugh... it just gives off Big Asshole energy

[todayisafridaynight]

with my standing being in the Top 20 Of Mine Fans i'm legally allowed to say mine's render kinda goofy lookin. he kinda long lookin.

[yandere-sins]

The denki ghost anon inspired me to do this khgjgjc so one time i was running for cross country and i tried doing the "pretend you're being chased" so I thought "ok I'll pretend a yan Bakugou is chasing me" so i did that and in short, shit got real, i cried. Any way you would wish to interpret this into something? If not i understand lmao

I sure would like to interpret this!! You and ghost anon are really interesting requesters!!! Big brain requesters even! I love this, but please don’t imagine him chasing after you the next time you go for a run xD Thanks for requesting!

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Panting, you cut the corner, pressing yourself against the cold, brick wall of the building casting a shadow over you. You were out, you made it. But what now. Think, you thought. Think about what to do next. Find a place to hide, wait for him to pass, find someone to help you while he lost your track.

It wasn’t a spectacular plan, but at least in your head, it made sense. As you heard the menacing footsteps approaching, you turned your back to where you had come from, racing down the dark alleyway as fast as you could. You tried to keep your mind focused as your thoughts drifted off to a cinematic of you being chased by your murderer in the horror movie you thought you were starring at. The momentum was too great as you reached the end of the alleyway, your hands outstretched as you caught yourself on the wall, scraping your cheek but quickly looking left and right to see where to go.

On your left, the streetlight at the end of the sideway invited you to come, and you didn’t think twice as you ran towards it, hoping to finally reach a more crowded area, but you were out of luck, another empty street spreading out on both sides. Making decision was hard, but the chuckle behind you didn’t give you a moment to freeze now.

So you decided to go street upwards, turning right. In a maze, keeping your right hand along the wall was going to get you out, right? So maybe, this would be your lucky charm here too. You felt the exhaustion all over your body, the air thinning as you kept up a speedy pace. When would you finally meet someone? Someone who’d help and defend you from your attacker. It couldn’t be that you were the only person out here on the streets, there had to be someone else. It wasn’t even that late, right?

“[Name],” did it call out from behind you. He was just as tired as you were, that’s how he sounded.

You shouldn’t have, but you spared a glance behind, seeing his blonde spikes of hair in your field of view. He was coming, and he was faster than you. You hurried, urged by his approach. The open street didn’t give you a place to hide and no time to rest. It was where he could see you, and you could see him. Prey and hunter, and you didn’t have the favorable spot in this.

“[Name], hey,” you heard even louder this time, and you flinched to the side, ramming your shoulder into a wall from shock. He wasn’t there yet, but he was close, so unbelievably close. With Bakugou’s better physic, his endless training, the simple reason that he was allowed to go out and move as he wished, he was in better condition than you in every aspect. Never should you have thought you could outrun the monster he was, you could be happy he hadn’t used his explosion yet. Otherwise, he would have caught you already for sure.

But you had no time to think about why he hadn’t used them yet. If you gave up now, and slowed down, it would have been all in vain. All the energy put into running away from him, on escaping his clutches would have been for nothing. You’d never get another chance like this, that much was certain. Freedom was so close you could taste it if only you could find some other soul in the darkness of the night. “H-Help!” you pushed out past the lack of air in your lungs. You had to voice your distress if no one was going to come on their own, even if it didn’t come out as loud as you wished it would.

But someone had to hear it, right? All those houses, they couldn’t be unoccupied, and someone would see him chasing you when they listened to your cries! Desperately, you tried to convince yourself that help would come if only you tried enough, your screams becoming frantic as you tried it again, and again-

The sudden shake on your shoulder made your voice cut off in your throat immediately, your heart sinking to rock bottom as your eyes widened. You wanted to swing around, hit him as hard as you could, but you lost your steady footing from the tug, falling before you could dodge him.

He caught you in mid-air, his arm snaking around your waist, fingers digging roughly into your side. “Gotcha,” he smirked, and you stared into his face, stunned. Bakugou was the most self-centered asshole you ever knew, he would grin wildly whenever he got praised or got to hunt down a villain. But you had never seen this look of absolute victory on his face, shadows falling over everything except his wide grin and open eyes that were fixated on your fearful expression reflected in them.

You could feel how he took control of your body as you plummeted to the ground, your ears ringing as your head hit the asphalt. With him on top, you were rendered immobilized while Bakugou licked his lips as if you were an especially delicious meal he was about to devour. The last thing you remembered before blacking out was him laughing in your face, taunting you for loosing to him, before you heard him say your name loudly, everything fading to more darkness.

“For fucks sake! [Name], wake the fuck up!”

Groggily, you felt yourself be slammed into the mattress again as he shook you awake, eyes opening very slowly while the light from the bedlamp blinded you. “W-What...” you muttered, expecting nothing less but an angry answer from him.

“What ‘What’?! You are the one screaming bloody murder here in your sleep, crying for help, and no matter what you do, you wouldn’t react to me calling your name! So what’s going on, you tell me!”

Katsuki was hovering over you, seemingly having tried to wake you with everything he could. Behind the anger in his gaze, you could see worry, and also exhaustion, and turning your head, you saw it was only half past four in the morning, still early.

“I... I had a bad dream...” you muttered, wondering how you could have made such a ruckus. You barely remembered what happened, but the sweat on your forehead and heavy breathing conveyed the feelings of fear and urgency you must have felt as you had dreamed.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered as he finally got off you, angrily turning off the lamp. “Sorry--” you started, hoping to apologize for causing him such inconveniences. After all, he was so busy with his hero work and needed this sleep desperately, which you were ruining for him. “Safe it. You better dreamed of me; otherwise, you know what’s coming.”

“E-Even if it was a bad dream?” you stuttered, suddenly feeling uncomfortable at his side, even though his back was turned to you, posing no threat to you at the moment. You knew telling him you didn’t remember wouldn’t suffice. It was Katsuki’s dream to be your number one after all.

“Of fucking course, you should only dream of me, no matter what.”

Maybe, you thought. Maybe it was a dream about him.

It wasn’t always easy, being his partner. He could be awfully moody, despite you knowing he loved you. But days - or nights, respectively - like this made you feel terrible about your relationship, and you wished you could flee from it somehow.

But that wasn’t going to happen. Katsuki wouldn’t just let you go, he’d fight for your ‘relationship’ after all. And how else would you do it, run away, and hope to not have him chase you anymore at some point? As if you could do that, he’d be caught up with you in no time.

So you simply turned around, leaving this question for another day, and instead wondered why you had such a headache all of a sudden. Bringing your hand up to your head, you felt the pain intensify as you touched it, warm wet transferring onto your fingers.

“Sleep,” he demanded before you could even make out what you had just gotten on your hand, not knowing it was blood dripping from a fresh injury.

Next you knew, you struggled for air, as your pillow got pulled out from under your head and pushed into your face. He didn’t need you to be aware of what had occurred that night, it being a bad dream being sufficient as an explanation. And now that he knew you were alive after he knocked you out, it was time for you to really sleep for a change and forget about your pitiful try to escape forever.

[thinkyoureholy]

Your Name Remains The Same [14]

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Warning : mentions of blood....slightly

Pairing : Park Chanyeol / [FEM] Reader

Genre : Angst, some fluff, future smut, Mafia!AU

Words : 2.2k

Pt 1. Pt 2. Pt 3. Pt 4. Pt 5. Pt 6. Pt 7. Pt 8. Pt 9. Pt 10. Pt 11. Pt 12. Pt 13. Pt 14. Pt 15.

- 5 Months Later -

“Just where the hell do you think you’re going?” I snapped out, reaching out to grab his collar tightly.

I had given him a good beating so he was already pretty weak but surprisingly enough he still had a little bit of fight in him.

“You think you’re going to escape? Oh well I hate to break it to you sweetie but I’m just getting started,” I said, showing him a sickly sweet smile before pulling my arm back and swinging it forward, landing a hard punch onto his cheek, “Where is he?”

“Go to hell.” The man snarled out, spitting the blood that was in his mouth at my face.

I closed my eyes in irritation, pushing him away from me roughly. I let out something in between a scoff and a chuckle, wiping the blood off my face with my sleeve. I smirked at seeing him try to crawl away, another chuckle leaving my lips as I walked to stand in front of him. He made the mistake of leaving his hand out in front of him when I made my way over to him, making it easier for me to step on it and that’s exactly what I did. As soon as I put my weight onto the foot that was on his hand he started squirming, a groan of pain leaving his lips. He clutched onto my ankle but he was so weak I could barely feel his hand. I twisted my foot, satisfied when I heard a sickly cracking sound coming from his fingers.

“I’m gonna ask you one more time...where is he?” I questioned him, my voice low as I crouched down in front of him.

He remained quiet, clutching his hand to his chest. With a sigh I looked towards Jongin and Sehun who stood at the back of the room, giving them a nod. That was all they needed to march over to where I stood, lifting the man off the floor and onto a table before strapping him down. I grabbed the cloth that was draped over a nearby chair. Before I could even get close the them I felt a hand on my shoulder, stopping me. I looked back to see that arm belonged to Jongdae.

“Stop, he clearly doesn’t know anything.” Jongdae said with a frown on his face.

“You can’t seriously think that.” I retorted, turning around to face him completely.

“You’ve been at it for the past three hours and he hasn’t said anything yet what makes you think he’s going to say anything once you’re through with him?”

“He’s lasted longer than the others, he knows something and I’m going to find out.”

“Y/N…”

“Look Jongdae if you don’t want to see this then that’s fine with me, the door is that way.” I told him, about to turn around when I froze at what he said next.

“I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

“How do you think I felt when I realized you weren’t the same man I called my best friend five years ago? You think I was thrilled to know six months ago that that same man was now a complete stranger? Doesn’t feel so good now does it?” I asked, noticing the way his face fell at my every word, “Now if you’re just going to get in the way I suggest you leave before I have to force you out.”

“Y/N-”

“Don’t test me Jongdae...now get out or stay out of the way just don’t try and stop me.” I said as I turned to walk away.

“Y/N?”

I froze at the sound of that voice. I knew that voice, it was a voice I’ve been dying to hear for the past five months. I turned to look in the direction of where the voice came from, my knees giving out at the sight. I felt Jongdae reach out to catch me in his arms as I looked into the eyes of the man that stole my heart. Not even a few feet away stood Chanyeol, my eyes tearing up at the sight.

-

-6 Hours Ago; Chanyeol’s P.O.V-

“When do you think he’s going to wake up?”

“I don’t know, there hasn’t been a change in his vitals in the past two months. I’m starting to think he’ll be like this for the rest of his life.”

“Don’t let Y/N hear you Kyungsoo, she’ll have your head for even talking like that.”

Y/N? Where is she?

There was silence before I heard the door opening, the pitter patter of feet across the floor was the only thing that was heard.

“Uncle Kyungsoo...I’m hungry...Uncle Min is busy, I don’t know where Uncle Yi is, and I didn’t like what Uncle Baek made me last time.”

At the sound of his voice I felt my eyes twitch as I went to open them but I was unsuccessful in doing so. I went to open them again but nothing happened. I needed to see that he was there and I wasn’t just imagining his voice. I vaguely heard Kyungsoo say to Junmyeon to stay in the room with me and a let’s go to Jihyun as they left. I let out a soft groan, barely audible as I concentrated all my energy into opening at least one eye. I managed to get it open but by only a hair. I clenched my jaw tightly and tried again, this time opening them wider, seeing Junmyeon standing about a foot away, his attention on his phone. I sighed softly before mustering up the rest of the energy I had left and lifted my hand off the bed slowly. I wanted to reach out to grab him, to let him know that I was awake but I was still too weak, my handing falling back onto the bed. Junmyeon must’ve heard the thump, looking up from his phone. I gave him a small smile when our eyes met, Junmyeon dropping his phone from the shock. Without a word he ran to the door, yelling out for Kyungsoo.

“Chan can you hear me?” Junmyeon asked in a soft voice, leaning down towards me so I didn’t have to strain my ears to hear him.

I nodded slowly, reaching out my hand for him, Junmyeon taking it immediately. I could see that he was trying to hold back his tears. I chuckled at seeing the emotions swimming in his eyes, wincing slightly at the pain coming from my chest at the action.

“Don’t strain yourself.” He scolded, his tone still soft.

“What are you yelling-” Kyungsoo started as he walked into the room but cut himself off as his eyes met mine.

He stumble back slightly, his mouth hung open as he was rendered speechless. It took him a few seconds to recompose himself but once he did he wasted no time in calling for the others. He made his way over to my bedside, Junmyeon moving to the side but still kept a strong hold on my hand as Kyungsoo looked down at me in shock. I could see the layer of tears that appeared in his eyes. Before he could say anything the others ran into the room, all of them stopping short as they noticed me...with my eyes open. Slowly, they all made their way over to me, Baekhyun punching my arms softly.

“What the hell took you so long you asshole?”

......

“Where are the others?” I asked, looking around to see that there were four people missing, Y/N included.

Seeing as she wasn’t here I started panicking, thinking that she never made it off the damned bed. My heart rate spiked at the mere thought.

“Chanyeol calm down, Y/N’s fine. She woke up three days later.” Baekhyun explained, worried at the loud beeping coming from the heart monitor I was hooked up to.

“Then where is she?” I asked, getting more agitated by the second.

“She...she’s trying to hunt Jiho down.”

“What?!” I yelled, groaning at the slight pan I felt as I was already pushing myself too much.

“Chanyeol we tried to stop her but you know how she is, she even more stubborn than you are.” Yixing said.

“All we could do was send Jongdae, Jongin and Sehun with her. She wouldn’t take no for an answer.” Minseok spoke up from his place at the foot of my bed.

While he was talking I swing my legs over the side of the bed, throwing the blanket off of me. I pulled the IV need out of my hand, throwing it to the side as I went to get up. As soon as I stood up my legs gave out, Junmyeon and Baekhyun barely managing to catch me before I hit the ground.

“You’re out of your fucking mind if you think you’ll be able to get to where she is in this condition.” Kyungsoo said, his face hard as he tried to put the IV back into my hand.

I pushed his hands away but froze as I heard a voice coming from the doorway, “Uncle Baek why are you taking so long?”

He froze at seeing me awake but that didn’t last long before a huge grin spread across his face, “Oh? The man with the big ears is awake.”

I could feel my eyes well up in tears at seeing that he was perfectly fine with my own two eyes. I reached out to him, beckoning him over.

“Jihyun…” I all but whispered his name out.

As soona s he was within arm’s reach I pulled him into a tight hug, burying me nose into the top of his head. I felt the tears sliding down my cheeks before I even knew what was happening. I let out a small laugh of relief at finally being able to hold him in my arms.

“I can’t...breathe…”

I let him go immediately at hearing that, holding him at arm’s length only to see a huge grin on his face, “Is it true you’re my dad?”

I froze at the question, the others not knowing what to do at the sudden question. I opened my mouth to say something but nothing came out, instead I just closed it again.

“Mommy told me that you were my dad...is that true?” He asked with a tilt of his head.

I let a grin overtake my features at knowing that it was Y/N that told him and it wasn’t the others that let the fact slip. This meant that she was ready to accept me, to let me be the father I’ve always dreamt of being, of the father I should’ve been from the start. I nodded to answer his question, my tears falling at a quicker rate hen he flung his little arms around my neck and hugged me tightly. I hugged him back just as tight, placing a lingering kiss on his temple, looking around to see the other staring at us with giant grins on their faces.

“Where did you say Y/N was?” I asked them, not letting go of Jihyun, “ I need to see her.”

-Present Time; Y/N’s P.O.V-

I slowly pushed myself away from Jongdae, taking wobbly steps over to where Chanyeol stood. I stood directly in front of him, reaching over to cup his face in my hands, the tears flowing down my face.

“You’re--you’re awake…? Since when?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Chanyeol smiled softly, bring his hands up to grab at my own, “A few hours.”

At hearing his voice again I choked on a sob, throwing my arms around him as I clung to his frame. Chanyeol hugged me back just as tightly, burying his head in the crook of my neck. I felt the relief of seeing him away and talking wash over my entire being, my body shaking as a sob wracked through my body. The man, along with the other three in the room were long forgotten, my sole focus on Chanyeol.

“I-I thought I lost you...again.” I sobbed out, fisting his shirt in my hands tightly and pulling him even closer.

“I’m right here...I’m not going anywhere, not this time.” He said, his voice full of emotion.

I pulled back to look into his eyes, slapping his chest lightly, “Don’t scare me like that ever again or I swear I’ll bring you back and kill you myself.”

He chuckled softly at that, nodding before he leaned in to plant a kiss on my forehead, “I promise I’ll never put you through that ever again. I’m done with this life, I want to be the father and partner Jihyun and you need...that is if you’ll have me…?”

I grinned through my tears at his words, grabbing onto his collar and pulling him in for a kiss. I felt him smile against my lips before he deepened the kiss, our lips moving in sync. No words were needed, the simple action answer enough.

Tags : @yoopiye @yeollieollie @sweet-honeywood @iconicchankai @baekyeolbeom @girl-obsessed-with-things @syville23

[mogdaze-blog]

In My Line of Work - Short Story

I've always found it funny that people like to call prostitution "the world's oldest profession." It doesn't speak all that highly of the human race's priorities, does it?

Paint on cave walls.

Discover fire.

Pay someone to fuck you senseless.

Get that in Latin, and we could engrave it at the base of every statue the world over - or better yet, build new statues, all shaped like giant brass cocks at full salute. That's the human mission statement in a nutshell right there: here, we have two types of animal, the ones with the dicks, and the ones getting fucked by them. And we will always - I repeat, always - be the ones with the dicks.

Yes indeed, the world's oldest profession.

I can think of an older one, but we'll get to that later.

It's outside of a motel called Restin' Easy that we lay our scene. Picture this: a gorgeous woman stands up against a sand-blasted brick wall, dressed to the nines in designer silks and a leather jacket. She's taking a long, sincere drag off a slender cigarette, and leaving blood-red lipstick rings on the unburnt white paper of the shaft. She's got the good looks of a 1960s movie star - a regular Audrey Hepburn in the making. Her black hair falls just above her shoulders, and sways gently in the night's breeze.

That's me.

The balding middle-aged man in the tan jacket with a face like a slapped ass, that's Dave. Yeah, Dave with the greasy skin that tosses back the neon rays of the glowing "VACANCY" sign above us. Dave the big spender, flashing the wad of hundreds in his faux-leather wallet.

Dave the asshole. Dave the John.

"Crystal recommended you to me," He says in an unbearably cocky tone, like I'm a new brand of aftershave he's been meaning to try out for a while, "She said you do things no other girl will do. That right?"

"More or less." I say, feigning a provocative grin.

When you've been in the business for as long as I have, you get pretty good at sizing up your customers with a glance. Sometimes, it's necessary to survival - you look the wrong way in this line of work and you've got a seven-inch stiletto buried between the links in your spine. Sex does weird shit to people's heads.

Dave, for all his faults, is easy to read. He wears a look of contempt, like he's too good for the situation he's putting himself in. He's wealthy, and entitled. He doesn't know why he's paying for sex - a man of his stature should be beating the ladies off with a stick, surely.

He probably sells used cars for a living, I think, suppressing a smirk.

"What can I do for you that Crystal can't, sugar?" I ask with an innocent flutter of eyelashes,

He grunts, one side of his mouth curling into a sneer.

"She was a little too...safe, for my taste."

"Too safe for you, huh? Ever considered trying to fuck a bear?"

"No, not like that. I mean, she was too vanilla. She wasn't comfortable with the things I wanted."

I raise an eyebrow and place a well-manicured hand on my hip, cocking my pelvis slightly to the side. Guys like Dave are almost like video games: once you know all the cheat codes, you're in the clear.

"Tell me, honey," I whisper to him in my most sultry drawl, "What is it that you want?"

What I expect is an answer, what I get is a grubby hundred dollar bill fumbled into my palm. Dave keeps scanning from side to side throughout, as though he's afraid of someone seeing him.

That's always a red flag.

"How about we go somewhere private, and then I'll tell you." He says, his voice oozing disdain.

I breathe a plume of smoke into his face and snuff my cigarette against the wall. On one hand, his rudeness pisses me off, on the other, I want it over with sooner rather than later.

The interior of Restin' Easy is everything that the facade would lead you to believe - old and chintzy, but with a certain charm to it, if you can look past the fine layer of sleaze. Think off-white shag carpeting, lamps that haven't been replaced since the seventies, and a pencil-moustached manager picking particles of cocaine from underneath his dirty fingernails. In short, it was my kind of place.

"Hey, John," I call to the manager with a playful smirk, "You got a room for me?"

His name isn't John, I know that much. But he reminds me of John Waters, so the name stays.

Not-really-John flashes me a grin back and fiddles with the lapel of his velvet suit, the lacquer in his hair rendered iridescent by the fizzing halogen tubes that hang above.

"Same as always?" He asks, his lisping voice softer than coffin-lining, "Number Seven's available."

I nod and he tosses me the keys, keeping Dave in tow. He's scowling like I've just spat in his face.

If anything's clear to me, it's that Davey-boy is used to better. He's a pervert with standards.

Smash-cut to room seven, an amateur porn set if ever there was one. In a certain sense, all hotel rooms - big and small, expensive and dirt cheap - feel like the same place, the same liminal area between destinations. They have the same walls, the same beds, the same dusty bibles in the bedside cabinets. Nondescript art of ports never visited and generic forestry grace the walls, and a minibar sits in the corner looking shameful, almost like it knows what it is. A shitty little robber with a conscience.

Dave looks out of place here, like he's being doctored into this image in real-time. He's still wearing that I-can-smell-rot-in-here scowl and avoiding eye contact with me for whatever reason. It doesn't exactly do wonders for my self-esteem, I'll tell you that much.

"So, uh, you ready?" I ask him, searching for an answer buried in the creases of his face, "I hope this doesn't take too long, honey. I'm hungry and the McDonald's closes at ten-thirty."

"It'll take as long as I need it to." He growls, loosening his tie.

I figure the uptight bastard would come-out a handful of sand after a perfunctory screw. He's never made love in his life - just fucked, and fucked badly.

In that moment, my hopes of having any fun tonight die on their asses.

Before I know it, he's pushing me onto the bed and starting to disrobe, revealing to me his fleshy, pale frame. There's a kind of solidness to him - not brick shithouse solid, but drying clay solid. As though with enough warmth, you could start twisting him into the right shape again.

I take off my leather jacket and shirt, and kick off my jeans, until I'm just in my bra and underwear. Without sounding too arrogant, I can tell by the look in his eyes that I'm better than he's had in years - but he's not appreciative, oh no. He looks at me the way I'm assuming Christopher Columbus looked at America - the look of a man ready to fuck shit up royally to assert his limp-dicked dominance over something beautiful.

I'd go into more detail as to what I look like without all those pesky clothes, but it'd cost you, sugar. And I don't come cheap.

Hell, with most of these guys I don't even come at all. See? Little bit of on-the-job humor, just to lighten the mood. What happens next is a little grimmer.

Once he's down to his underwear, Dave starts opening a briefcase he's brought in with him. I start wondering whether he expects me to sign a non-disclosure waiver or some shit, until I realize what he's producing from the case is a leather paddle covered in metal studs.

Naughty, naughty Dave.

"That looks painful," I giggle, fluttering my eyelashes, knowing the absence of fear would emasculate him, "I can see why Crystal turned you down. For a second, I just thought you must have had a funny-shaped dick."

For the record, his dick was of a relatively average shape and size. Nothing terrible, but not exactly remarkable either.

He just grunts, and runs his big, rough hands over the studs.

"You can't get this kind of action at home, huh?" I ask.

"Never in a million years," He says, finally turning to me, "My wife wouldn't allow it. But, then again, my wife isn't here."

He chuckles like a bad villain from a sixties movie would chuckle.

"Y'know, I've seen a lot of hookers, but none of them have been quite as mouthy as you," He says, taking tentative steps towards me as his erection began to bloom in anticipation, "I like that. Breaking you is gonna be a challenge."

I climb further back onto the bed, edging towards the pillows. The quilt feels cheap and rough on my skin - though I don't exactly have any high expectations for Restin' Easy. I don't come here for the comfort, after all.

"Word of advice, Davey-boy," I say with a salacious wink, "Take me before you break me. It'll make the beating more satisfying, don't you think?"

He doesn't say a word, refusing to concede to me, but he agrees. There's a soft thump as the paddle falls to the ground, and he crawls across the bed to me like a goddamn puppy.

I'd have laughed if I wasn't so excited for what comes next.

As expected, the sex is boring. For a man who carries a spiked paddle around in his briefcase like Patrick fucking Bateman, he's got a surprisingly dull preference for the missionary position - a position I'd always thought of as the mayonnaise of sex: good when you're in the mood for it, but too much of it and you lose the will to live.

He does tug my hair, though. I find that a little annoying, especially considering the price of having your hair done these days.

Once he's done and his body practically coughs into mine (thank god for condoms, or I would have caught his cold) he just collapses onto me, gasping and exhausted. It'd take another hour before the sad bastard would have enough energy to beat me.

And I've never been all that patient.

"Wow, slick," I find myself saying, with all the enthusiasm of a text-to-speech generator, "That really was something."

"Y'think?" He asks, wanting me to stroke his ego.

"Well, normally good sex can leave me satisfied," I muse, "But that just left me hungrier."

He gives an annoyed grunt and tries to hoist himself up, still awkwardly straddling me while he does it.

My painted lips are pursed into a tight grin, while my teeth begin growing from my gums and sharpening into vicious points. I have a mouth full of scalpels, and poor, ignorant Dave is none the wiser. This is something I've done before, so I know how to keep it hidden right up until the moment it all ends.

That moment, my dear readers, is now.

Without warning, I grab Dave by the fat folds on the back of his big, sweaty head and pull his face down towards me. My lips curl up over my teeth into a manic, open-mouth smile, showing him the piranha thing I had going on inside.

"Carol sends her regards." I hiss through my fangs with a cruel giggle.

There's a glimmer of terrible recognition in his eyes when I say that name. The universal look of "oh fuck, I've been caught" is plastered liberally across his face. The vain little turd looks terrified before he's even noticed my fangs, or that I've cribbed my one-liner from Game of Thrones.

He doesn't get a chance to respond. Within the next second, I've pulled him down further and clamped my jaws around his thick, piggish neck. He thrashes, but I wrap my legs around his waist and grab his arms, completely immobilizing him.

When I'm not hiding my strength, he's nothing to me.

Dave thrashes weakly while twin geysers of blood evacuate his throat, giving me a warm, refreshing drink - like coppery cocoa, that's always made me feel a little better about it.

It doesn't take him long to die, and when he does, the real feeding starts.

I'll admit, I have a tendency to black out when I'm in the middle of a good meal - like a premature food coma, you see? But, when I come back to the land of the living, I can see by the radium-green numbers on the bedside alarm clock that it's only taken me about fifteen minutes to do the damage I'd done.

When I looked down onto the remains of Dave Whatshisname, I see there's only bones left, and that I'm wearing a stylish, crimson apron courtesy of my meal.

Then, it hits me how full I'm feeling, and I collapse back onto the bed.

Cheap quilts. Easy to replace when there's spillage.

"Dave, you irritating fucker," I say with a groan, poking my bloated stomach, "If I can't button my goddamn jeans after this, I'm charging your wife extra."

Crap. That reminds me.

I lean over, feeling another pain deep in my belly as I do so, and grabbed my phone out of the pocket of my discarded jeans.

Carol. Carol. Carol. I've got her on speed dial.

When she picks up, she just says, "Is it done?"

"What? No 'hello'? Most people are polite to their hired killers, lady."

My indigestion is so bad that I barely have the strength to be sarcastic - oh, who am I kidding? I always have the strength to be sarcastic.

"Just tell me if my shitbag husband is dead."

I give an agonized groan as my stomach gurgles, as though dearly deceased Dave was protesting.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Dead, devoured, digesting. Whatever. You paid me yet?"

There's a long sigh down the receiver. Most people have that reaction when they find out I've murdered their husbands, but - to my credit - I never do it without being asked.

They need people dead, and I need to eat. Seems a fair trade to me.

"The money should be in your account."

"Sweet! And it couldn't have come at a better time, Carol. After your lard-ass husband, I'm probably gonna go up a fucking dress size. You owe me for my new wardrobe."

"You don't have to eat them, you know." She says, trying to pretend she's above it all.

"You're saying that from a human perspective. I'm not human, and ergo, we have different dietary needs," I say, wincing again from the pain, "But if you're satisfied with your service, I'm gonna save the biology lesson for when your husband isn't killing me from the inside. Okay?"

"I guess..."

"I need to hear you say it, Carol."

She sighs. Again.

"I am satisfied with my service. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Bye."

I hang up on her unceremoniously and collapse back onto the bed, throwing my phone to the side.

"Ten thou isn't enough for this shit." I groan again, my stomach ache ebbing and worsening as though on some kind of nonsensical schedule.

"Jesus Christ, look at this mess you've made!" I hear a shrill, effeminate voice ring out from the doorway, "I thought I told you to lay down a plastic tarp when you're doing your weird, hitwoman stuff!"

It's John. Not-really-John.

I find myself rolling my eyes at him, as he sashays into the room with a plastic bag and starts picking up the bones.

"That'll blow my cover, John," I say, like it's the most obvious thing in the world, "I'm posing as a sex worker. You know that. And nobody wants to have sex in a room that looks like the interior designer was Dexter Morgan. It's a pretty major boner dethroner."

John just shrugs and carries on picking up the bones. I always give him a little cut of the proceeds, so he doesn't mind doing some of the cleanup - I ate most of the mess, after all. And now, I'm just laying there, on the precipice of an actual food coma.

I love a happy ending, don't you?

Like I was saying earlier, I've always found it funny that people like to call prostitution "the world's oldest profession." After all, it's not just corny, it's patently untrue.

Before people even dreamed of paying to fuck someone else, they were paying to have them killed. And that, my dear readers, is why I'll always be in business, and why cheaters never prosper.