Author's Note: Spot the innuendos.
QOTD: Cora, Hayden or Kate?
AOTD: Cora
You pulled the light purple notebook out of the drawer, laying it flat on your desk. You pulled out the white chair, taking a seat and picking up a pink pen.
You wrote To Do List at the top of the new page, smoothing out the corners. You neatly inscribed:
1) Buy eggs at grocery store.
2) Cash check at bank.
3) Bake cake for party.
4) Call grandma.
5) Kill Derek Hale.
Since the local grocery store wasn't open so early, you decided to start at the bottom of the list. You put your notebook away, and hopped into the shower.
When you got out, you changed into a pale pink sweater, leggings, and flats. A perfect killing outfit.
You went outside, and picked up the newspaper, eyeing the front page. There was a story about you! The title read Beacon Hills Assassin Strikes Again. There was even a cute little sketch of you on the side. It was very far off. They had your nose all wrong.
"Good morning, [Y/N]!" Your next door neighbor said, also picking up the paper.
"Morning, Ms. Baker!"
"Can you believe this?" She asked, holding up the front page. "Nothing like this has ever happened in Beacon Hills."
"Just doesn't seem real," you told her. "I'll see you at the block party tonight. Won't I?"
"See you then, darling," she waved.
You climbed into your car and started driving out of your suburban neighborhood, making your way to Derek Hale's house. You glanced at the backseat. Your gun was seated comfortably between a box of chocolates and 27 Dresses on DVD.
You pulled into the nearly empty parking lot, and took the elevator up to the floor of Derek's loft. There was a distinct lack of security around the building.
You knocked on Derek's door with the handgun hiding in your purse. You had already killed six werewolves with it, and the next bullet had Derek's name on it.
"Hello," you smiled widely when Derek answered. "May I come in?"
"Whatever you're selling, I don't want it."
"Oh, I think you'll change your mind once you see my product," you said, reaching into your purse.
"I don't want-"
You pulled the gun out, and fired. Derek threw himself out of the way, disappearing behind an empty bookshelf. You fired a few more times, not hitting him.
You stepped into the loft, walking slowly towards the bookshelf, ready to shoot. You looked where Derek had hidden, but he was gone.
"So you're the Beacon Hills Assassin?" His voice echoed through the loft. "Not really what I'd expected."
You started to search for him. "You know, I kind of thought the media would have been able to come up with a better name for me. Like the Assassin on the Hills or something at least."
"Maybe if you turned around and walked to the police station, you could suggest that."
You needed to keep him talking so that you could try to pinpoint his voice. "How about you show me the way?"
"You know, if I accompanied every pretty girl that broke into my apartment with a gun to the police station, I'd probably be dead."
You followed his voice to a nearly empty room, with nothing but a bed and a slightly parted closet door. You moved towards the closet, wrapping your fingers around the door knob, and swung it open, pointing your gun.
It was empty.
"Thought I'd be easy?" Derek said from behind you. You turned around and fired, but he grabbed your arm, and the bullet hit the ceiling. He took you to the ground, fumbling around to grab the gun. He was on top of you, and you punched him in the jaw, but he still managed to grab the gun, and aimed it at you.
"Nothing's that easy," you said, simultaneously kicking him in the nuts and grabbing the gun back.
He grabbed your wrist, forcing you to lower the gun to the ground, and put his other hand around your neck. "You know, killing humans really isn't my thing. So I'll let you go if you promise me you'll stop killing werewolves."
"No way! I need the money," you got out, still feeling his hand around your neck. It felt tighter when you spoke.
"Don't make me kill you."
"Can't you just kill yourself so I can get payed?"
"Is all you care about getting layed? I mean... payed."
"Layed?"
"Payed."
"Layed?"
"I meant to say payed."
"You said layed."
"I meant payed."
"Listen, Derek," you let the gun slide out of your fingers. He loosened his grip around your neck. "I need to bake a cake before my block party tonight. So how about you let me leave and we finish this tomorrow? Or even better, I'll kill you in your sleep tonight?"
"How much were you getting payed to kill me?"
"Don't you mean layed? And $4 million."
"Only $4 million? I'm worth way more than that."
"Did you have a point?"
"Okay, I'll give you the money, and you won't have to kill me."
"You have $4 million?"
"Of course I do."
"Fine," you said.
Derek kicked the gun under the bed, and stood up, offering you a hand. You glared at him, and let him help you off the floor.
You and Derek worked out an arrangement where he would pay you $10,000 per day, which meant that you would need to visit him every single day just to get your cash.
And even after he had gotten you all the money, seeing Derek remained on your to do list.
