#whoever has writer juices hand them over i need a sip

[averageclawcodeenjoyer]

Thinking thoughts again guys.

Thinking about Ganke (42)

More SPECIFICALLY thinking about Ganke as Doc Oct. Or at least, a variant.

I MEAN COME ON!!! TRYING TO GET ACROSS DIMENSIONS?? STUDYING THAT SHIT? That may be more of a 1610 Miles thing but I like to think that both Ganke"s are REALLY interested in it too. Or at least 42 is.

I feel like with the way their world is too, 42 Ganke is more likely to get a position at Alchemax. At the very LEAST for their science and tech and ease of access to stuff for his own projects.

But like. Come on. Look at him.

I just wanted to show that picture...

Assuming we know nothing(or little) about this Ganke's parents, is it too daring to think that, perhamps, his mother is Doc Oct? Or father, if we're being different. Just A PARENT in general?

And maybe I just like projecting onto them, but also maybe like... do you see what I'm getting at. Her ass probably hates kids. And isn't easily impressed. So imagine having a kid you probably don't even want (for science? Maybe.... more angst potential..) and he grows up absolutely DESPERATE to please you and get told that you're proud of him and that he's enough. And then he gets to an age where he no longer has to rely on you (or other people, her ass did nothing to raise him), and he starts thinking for himself, and since you're all bad and evil and stuff you realize something.

This whole entire time, the past thirteen long, dreadful years of your life, you haven't been using your full potential.

You have a pawn right at your fingertips.

A young mind full of turmoil and the overwhelming need to please you.

Someone who can be easily molded.

Manipulated.

Shaped.

Formed.

You have a tool.

Just sitting on the couch right in front of you. An entire person of just wasted potential. One who was sat on his ass for his entire life and done nothing (in her opinion)

And if you're all evil and bad, what are you gonna do with that information?

You're going to use it.

"Hey son I know I haven't really talked to you since your birthday three years ago but how would you like an opportunity to get close to the very grand and very loving mother that I suddenly am?"

He's going to say yes. That's like giving a mouse a cookie.

The chance to be with his mom some more? To finally get the chance to prove to her that he is worth loving? The answer might as well be a flashing neon green sign. Capital letters. Y-E-S. Because why wouldn't he

So she starts training him, in small ways at first, going easy on him since he's still just a boy, really, but gradually working him up with harder and harder tasks and missions until he's finally earned himself a pair of his own robotic octopus arms (that he had to engineer and build himself)

And FINALLY for ONCE in his fucking LIFE he is making his mom PROUD OF HIM. He finally gets the love, the praise, the appreciation he's craved ever since he was a toddler.

Ooh, and he's doing such a good job hacking into top secret shit and files and such a good job stealing and doing his mother's dirty work and-- what's this?

There's this new kid on the block.

Apparently, the old Prowler's retired. His alliance fell through. And the new Prowler? His loyalty has completely flipped. Motives, too.

Instead of aiding them in raids and taking out enemies, he's now actively ATTACKING them and foiling their missions.

Instead of being a villain like the rest of them, he's suddenly trying to get RID of the villains?

The fuck is this guy's problem.

Who does he think he IS suddenly poking his nose into shit he DOESNT belong in?? SCREWING UP GANKE'S CHANCE WITH HIS MOM!!! The chance he's been waiting SIXTEEN YEARS FOR! Oh, he's pissed.

He overhears hears his mom talking at a meeting about a plan to try and lure and trap this kid to get him off their asses (he's a master at sneaking and eavesdropping at this point.. even just to hear his mother's voice and think up ways he can make her like him) and he decided that this is his moment. His calling. His purpose.

That very night, he decides to make the Prowler (junior, as they're calling him) his very own personal mortal enemy.

But little does he know

The guy he's constantly trying to kill every night?

His roommate.

Yeah, The Prowler Junior(™️) is his high school roommate and (soon to be) certified best friend.

Blah blah blah they fight all the time oh but now they're chill and- I just blinked why are you guys kissing and holy hell your mother found out and tells you that you don't deserve your last name and will never live up to your potential (which, she claims she knew this, which is why she gave him his father's last name and not her own. Lee.) and you're fighting with Miles again and yet oh God now you've been disowned and have to go to him for help Oh No That's Bad What.

:3

Do you see the appeal. I need to draw him. And make more of this AU. What should I call it? I'll be thinking.. also open to suggestions I'm Bad at naming stuff......

OKAY BYE

[elen-aranel]

Cards on the Table

For @autumnleaves1991-blog​ Writer Wednesday. A break from struggling to write something else! Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader (no Y/N) Warnings: cursing, excessive alcohol consumption  WC: 2k A/N: I write for other characters named Pike now? I guess that’s a thing! I feel like I may have copied this concept from something I read a while ago. If that’s the case and it was yours I’m sorry and I’ll take it down. A small part of this inspired by Real Life Feelings!

This is the last time, you tell yourself, as you stare at your reflection.

You’re in the bathroom of a colleague’s house – Jakobson from homicide – and you’re giving yourself a talking to in the mirror. You keep it in your head – if this were you apartment you might speak aloud, but while you’ve definitely had too much, you aren’t that far gone. Yet.

You hate playing cards. You’re bad at it. You don’t even like beer all that much – alcohol is fine, but you’d prefer wine. And you had been close to saying no, you had weekend plans, even though you definitely didn’t, when Pike and the guys from art had swung by and you heard he was going too.

You need to stop deciding which work social events to go to based on whether you think Marcus Pike will be there. This is the last one.

He doesn’t see you that way – to him you’re just one of the guys. Even if today you’re one of the guys in a cute outfit, there are other girls here. You’re not going to pluck up the courage to ask him out, so once you get through the rest of today, that’s it. No more pining. No more, “did you ask the art theft guys?” No more listening for his name.

That’s it. You’re done.

Decision made, you walk out the bathroom, out the house, into the garden – it is pretty; Jakobson and his wife must spend a lot of time to get it looking so good, and the weather is gorgeous too – and back to the table.

“Good, you’re back. Marcus is about to deal. I stole your chair, I hope you don’t mind?”

“Of course not, Emma,” you say, smiling down at your pretty brunette colleague from fraud. You had forgotten that she has designs on DeLuca, who you had been sitting with. He’s also a homicide detective and one of Jakobson’s best friends but – good for her. Someone should be getting some.

You look around for a vacant chair – Emma is not the only one who moved while you were gone, other people going to get more drinks and snacks – and the only one open is next to Marcus Pike.

“Hey,” you say, smiling, as you sit.

“Hey,” he says, smiling back, as he shuffles the cards and gets ready to deal. His smile lights up his face, making him look even more handsome, if possible, and you want to say something more but the moment passes.

And those are almost the last words you exchange. The afternoon fades into the evening, your terrible run of luck and lack of skill continues, and being honest, you have much more beer than you should.

But it’s difficult. You want to talk to him. But you need to concentrate on the game, which is hard when he is right there. You chat to Libby Jakobson on your other side; she seems sweet, and is very happy when you compliment the garden.

You’ve definitely had too much – you have to concentrate on not blurting out something stupid, like how Pike has such pretty eyes, and no, you cannot embarrass yourself in front of all these people from work, or in front of Libby, so you hold it together, even if, as you get up as other people do, thanking the Jakobsons for hosting, the flower beds seem a little... blurry.

You stand alone on the street outside, fumbling with your phone. You don’t have a car, you need to call an Uber. You stare at the map on the screen, trying to make it make sense, and somehow the phone is on the ground.

“Fuck,” you mutter, as you try to grab it and miss, and suddenly you’re colliding with a warm presence and he’s holding you and helping you stand back up.

“Need a little help there?” Marcus’s eyes are amused but warm, and you find yourself gazing into them, losing yourself a little.

“ ’m fine,” you mumble after just a little too long.

“Of course you are. Let’s get you home,” he says, tucking your phone into your purse and getting his out his pocket. “My ride is almost here. Where do you live?”

“Dupont Circle,” you reply, as a car drives up.

He keeps hold of you, keeping you steady, as he exchanges a few words with the driver, then gently guides you into the back seat.

“Buckle up,” he says, as he sits beside you, but then he has to help you because your clumsy fingers won’t co-operate. “You still remember your address?”

“Of course I do. I’m not that drunk,” you say, defensively, and you give it to the driver, who pulls away from the curb.

“This is all your fault, you know,” you mutter as the car drives through the nighttime streets.

“What is?” His expression is curious, eyes still warm, but the amusement from earlier is gone.

“Me... being here. Like this. I only came out today because you would be there. I’m useless at card games.”

“Yeah, you are. But... why come out just for me?”

You scoff. “Have you looked at you in the mirror lately? You’re hot. And kind, or you wouldn’t be giving me a ride. I like you. But you don’t like me, so today is the last time I do that.”

You lapse into silence. He doesn’t reply, and the movement of the car lulls you into a light doze.

Your hand is bring squeezed. “We’re here,” he says, opening the door on his side.

“This is my place, not yours. Why’re you getting out?” You ask, as you open the car door. You’re momentarily confused about why you can’t get out yourself until you realise your seatbelt is still done up. You pop the clasp and step awkwardly onto the pavement.

“Here, let me help,” Marcus takes your keys from you as you fumble with the lock on your apartment building. “Which floor?”

“Second, but I’m fine. I don’t need help.”

“Of course you don’t.” He helps you up the stairs, to your door, and he helps you get that open too.

“Thank you so much, Marcus,” you say, over-emotional, as you flop onto your sofa.

“Any time,” he says. “I think you should be okay now. Have some water. Give me a call if you need anything.”

*****

The sun has no right to be so bright, you think, as you reluctantly get up to use the bathroom. Your head is pounding. At least you managed to change for bed, but you should have had that water last like Marcus suggested, and... fuck. That really happened, didn’t it.

You wash your face, washing off yesterday’s makeup. Trying to wake up a little since it’s gone eleven. You pull on a comfy sweatshirt and leggings, and eye the kitchen. You don’t have strength to do anything other than pour yourself a glass of water, which you take to your sofa for a good sulk.

Why did you even go yesterday? And why couldn’t you have made better choices? Switched to water before you got drunk? Before you needed help to get home? Before you told Marcus Pike how you feel? You hope no one else realised how drunk you were. You check your phone – there aren’t any messages, and surely Emma would have sent you something if you had been that bad? She likes to tease; it’s the sort of thing she does. But Marcus. Why couldn’t you have kept your big mouth shut for ten minutes longer?

Your sulking is interrupted by the buzzer. The sound is annoying and brings your headache back to the front of your mind. Maybe if you ignore it whoever it is will go away? But no. That would be rude.

You press the button for the intercom. “Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Marcus. Can I come up?”

Oh boy. “Sure,” you say, and you buzz him through.

“Marcus I’m so sorry about last night,” you say as you open the door. He is as handsome as ever, looking perfectly fresh. Not like you. “Thank you for taking care of me. I don’t know what I was thinking,” you step back for him to come in.

“You’re welcome. No need to apologise—we’ve alI had a little too much at some time or another. I brought you breakfast. And aspirin,” he says, handing you a packet of pills.

“Oh Marcus you really didn’t need to,” you’re embarrassed. You don’t know where to look as you feel your skin heat up. You pop a couple of pills out and have them with your water, while he heads over to the counter separating the living room from the kitchen.

“I wanted to. I—I thought you would probably need a little TLC today.”

He hands you a breakfast burrito, from your favourite place, you realise, as you look at the wrapper. The diner down the street where you often pick up breakfast on your way into the office. He puts cups of coffee and orange juice on your low table, and takes a seat at the sofa. You sit down too.

“How’s your head? Did you have some water last night?” He asks as he unwraps his burrito.

“No, I didn’t. It’s beginning to ease now though,” you say, taking a sip of juice.

You eat the rest of your food in silence, saving your coffee to last. The burrito is good, and eating something makes you feel a bit more human.

You should say something to him, though, but it’s difficult. Finally your burrito is gone and you’re out of excuses.

“Marcus, about last night, in the taxi. I’m so sorry.” You stare down at where you have your drink, cradled in both hands. “I shouldn’t have drunk so much, and I never should’ve said those things to you, I—”

You trail off as you feel his hand on yours, and even though your breath catches as he touches you, you raise your eyes slowly to meet his, afraid of what you’ll see. But there’s an intensity there, and something a little vulnerable.

“But did you mean it? Was it you or the alcohol talking?”

“I—I meant it.”

“Because I should apologise as well. I—I like you too. And I should’ve found a way to say it a long time ago. But if you feel the same way... maybe we could... see where this goes?”

He’s still touching you, and you put your coffee down with one hand as you take hold of his with the other.

“I’d like that,” you say, and find yourself captured by his deep brown eyes again. You’re leaning in, he is too, and his lips are on yours, soft and gentle. You bring your other hand up to cradle his jaw, feeling his beard under your fingers as you as the kiss gets more heated. He nibbles your lip and you open your mouth, tasting coffee on his tongue as it tangles with yours.

You pull apart, leaning your forehead against his as you just breathe for a moment.

“Well, that was...” he says, leaning back on the sofa but still keeping hold of your hand.

“Yeah,” you say, as you lean back too.

“So normally I’d like to take a girl out, for dinner, maybe a movie, but—” he turns to you, expression warm, open, hopeful. “I think going out might be a bit much for you, today. Would you mind if I stayed, and we could watch a film together here?”

You shift a little on the sofa, getting a bit closer to him. “I wouldn’t mind at all,” you say, reaching for the TV remote and handing it to him.

His smile is warm, lighting him up again. “Have you ever seen Casablanca?”

[antichristsxbox]

We Don’t Play - Part Three

Weird story: I tried editing this from mobile and it deleted the entire body of this post, but it kept the actual post itself! What the heck? This is the fic again but sorry if there’s any weird typos or anything else messed up/not from the original version I posted, I just copied and pasted this from the folder where I save all my writing. That was so strange, I guess I’m never editing on mobile again!

Summary: Part three to Hawthorne!Michael x Cheerleader!Reader fic! Find parts one and two on my masterlist. 

From the writer: In case you don’t know what a toe touch is (a jump mentioned in this fic) here’s a picture of me doing one! :)

Word count: 1,524

A soft rustling noise is what rouses you from your deep slumber. Michael is sitting up on the edge of the bed, phone in hand. It’s only seven o’clock, according to your watch, but class starts in an hour and you need to get ready. Spending the night over at Michael’s was nice, but it’s back to reality now. You reach over to feel for your phone, only find Michael’s.

“What are you doing, Babe?” you say, sitting up and shifting to be next to him. He’s staring at your lock screen, empty except for a notification from Kyle that reads ‘see you tonight,’ with a red heart emoji. It also doesn’t help that there’s a blue heart emoji next to his name in your contacts.

“Why are you seeing him tonight?” Michael says, looking up with sad, puppy dog eyes. His voice is hushed. There’s no note of anger or defiance in his tone as he hands you back your phone. He seems defeated, although you wish you could convey how you feel Michael is superior to anybody you’ve been interested in, period. He stands up and takes a sip from his water on the bedside table, setting the glass down with a soft clink!

“We have a game tonight,” you say, standing up and coming behind him to wrap your arms around his waist and pull him close. It’s nothing. It really is at this point, although you know saying that would not help Michael feel any batter, and would possibly make him feel worse about the situation. Still, there must be a way to keep Michael happy as well as your spirit buddy.

“Just go in and delete the heart from his name, and add one to yours while you’re at it,” you say, handing him back your phone before standing on your toes to place a soft kiss on his cheek. There’s nothing in your phone you’d be uncomfortable with him seeing, so there’s no hesitation when the phone is released from your grasp and entrusted to Michael’s firm grasp. You hope that Michael could sense that you trust him. It still may be too early to make things official, but if things are looking up, Michael may mention it before you do.

The familiar brisk air of opening the doors to the court— it wraps around you and sends shivers down your spine. Today is a big game. A team from Los Angeles took a trip up here to play the Locks, and they brought a fan bus with them too. There’s a good crowd for both teams, but the opposing team has many rowdy people in the bleachers already, and the boys are only warming up. Michael isn’t here yet, but he’ll most likely be here soon.

Kyle is ready to take the pre-game hype pictures, and you’re checking to make sure Michael isn’t here to witness you with his one-sided rival. Kyle picks you up bridal style and you wrap your arm around his neck and smile for his Snap story. Leg popped in the air, poms in hand, and gleaming smile. Only the best for your boys that dunk.

“I’m having a little party in my room tonight, do you think you’d wanna come over?” he asks as he gently puts you down.

That sounds fun, and you immediately accept his invite. It’s for the rest of the senior players and cheerleaders, which are all a really nice crowd. Hopefully Michael won’t be too upset you won’t see him for long tonight.

Players flood the court, and the game starts off smoothly. The boys already have a score of 20-5 by the time the first quarter is over. Those Los Angeles boys should have just stayed home.

“You traveled! You walked! You took too many steps! The next time you walk will be to the B-U-S!” you cheer, beckoning your poms towards the door. It’s a penalty on the opposing side, so you make your way to the edge of the court and do a toe touch while Kyle shoots his free throw. As you land and look up, you see Michael sitting on the top row bleachers. He gives a nod of approval and smiles, so you take a small step forward and wave with your poms.

As the game comes to a close in the fourth quarter, the boys have an overwhelming score of 72-16. Los Angeles got absolutely demolished. Freaking crushed. Why didn’t they forfeit earlier? Anyways, you spring up from your seat and make your way towards the door to cheer for the players as they exit. When Kyle passes by, he gives you a firm hug and soft smile. As the last player exits, you make your way to the cheer room and grab your belongings before heading for your dorm.

“Hey, Babe,” Michael says, and you turn around to greet him. His blonde curls frame his face perfectly, although they look a bit astray and wild— that’s what makes it perfect, though. Your cute, bed-headed Antichrist-warlock-boytoy.

“I can’t stay for long, I’ve got to go to a party,” you say, pulling your hand away and motioning towards your dorm room. You’ve got to change out of your uniform and into something more comfortable.

“Can I come with? It’ll be fun,” he says, catching up with you as you walk. Although you’d like him to come with, drama would likely ensue if he realized it was a part thrown by Kyle, and in his room no less.

“It’s invite-only, Babe, I wish though,” you say, giving a little frown face as you turn around and and continue on-course to your room.

The music is already bumping, and the door is propped open with a sideways-turned can of Four Loko. No chill, apparently. There would be hell to pay if an administrator walked by, so you quickly pick up the Four and replace the door jam with a lone shoe. There’s nothing worse than a warm Four Loko, so you down a shot of Tito’s poured from an Evian bottle. Although alcohol is strictly prohibited here, off-campus lunch allows for people to sneak around and buy some to bring back to campus. It’s a Friday night, and you’re going to live it up like any other normal teenager would, boarding school or not.

As you walk over to the dorm desk turned mini bar to reach for a chaser, a hand moves the bottle of cranberry juice out of your reach. You look up to taunt whoever it was, but you quickly see that it’s Michael.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” he says, raising an eyebrow and clicking his tongue.

“You, outside, now,” you say, taking his hand and pulling him past the many other people that were now in this tiny room.

“Why do you do this to me? Saying it’s just a party and ending up in his room?” he says, a stern look on his face as he looks down at you. He is so possessive. It is so unwarranted, especially because you two aren’t official yet. Something in you snaps, and you’re tired of him being so overbearing.

“I am not your fucking girlfriend! Snap-maps tracking my ass down, finding out where I am because you can’t stand to be alone, fuck off!”

A wave of your hand and a stomp on your foot is all you leave him with before kicking the door jam sneaker inside and slamming the door in his face.

“Who was that?” Kyle says, pushing through the crowd of people and placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Nobody,” you say, turning around to face the now-quiet room of people. The music had stopped as you slammed the door shut. The music resumes as Kyle steps back forward in the room of people, and you follow as approach the desk again to mix your chaser with another shot.

As two shots turned into three, you realized it was now getting late, and you should be heading back to your room for some rest. Although you never tended to accomplish much on Saturdays, keeping a somewhat regular sleep schedule has always proven to be a good idea. Your feet stumble under you as you exit Kyle’s room, and a quick goodnight is all you could muster before closing the door behind you. Before you graduate, you vow to learn to handle your liquor a little better than you have recently.

The soft, blue glow from your phone lights up as a notification from Michael comes through.

“Text me when you’re up, we can go to breakfast,” his message reads.

It takes a solid minute to think of a good reply to this, so you settle on the pink heart emoji before finishing your journey to your room and going to bed, fully clothed in what you’re wearing now, shoes and all. Having a party after a long game like that is really too tiring— that won’t be happening again anytime soon.

[justoneday-namjoonii]

Don’t Breathe | 2.0

»Genre: Hitman!au || Stalker!au || 

»Warnings: kidnapping, stalking, obsession, themes of potential Stockholm syndrome, mono-phobia, mature elements, manhandling, breakdowns, yandere (? i think ), he thinks it’s cute when she cries, eventually they fall in love, Disclaimer: I do not condone nor suggest stalking/kidnapping or anything of that nature, this is pure fiction ok, kidnappers and stalkers DON’T love you.

»Summary: He doesn’t get shaky hands, he never forgets his gloves and he never leaves a trail. He was told to get rid of everyone who witnessed the conversation between a gang lord and a politician, they were picked off, one by one. He found out a month ago, he missed one. A young writer who attended the event where the exchange took place. He has to kill her. Can he do it?

A/n: so I’ve had this in my drafts for a few weeks, it was just a random idea that came to me p.s this is kind off all over the place♥

✤ pt.1 - pt.2 - pt.2.5 - pt.3.0 - pt. 3.5 - pt. 4.0 - pt.4.5

A/n: Halloween vers♥ I changed a few things boos. It’s shorter but that means I can get the parts out faster~ enjoy

It’s a beautiful day—the air is cool, the sun is shining and you’re one step closer to getting this article finalized. You’ve been working on it for maybe 3 weeks now and Suzy wants it within the week. It’s not every day that you’re a witness to a controversial press conference. You remember the day you entered the conference room, notebook in hand and pencil skirt tight on your hips. 

You were there with your publishers' sister-news-station reporter and cameraman. You sat in one of the fold-up chairs and listened to what the politicians were saying. About halfway through, things were getting heated between the politician and the reporters questioning. One of the reporters brought up bribery and governmental email scandal. That was news to everyone in the room. It went silent for a moment.

She repeated herself. “I heard from one of my sources, that you were involved in and bribery and the tampering of classified emails from Blake Harvard. Any comment?”

“Who is your source for this information?” He retorts.

“I don’t reveal my sources, but are you evading the question?”

That’s when everyone started bombarding him with questions and his counselor ushered him off of the stage. Moments like this make you respect reporters and people in your line of work. The group you were with went following in the crowd going out into the lobby where they could be the first to air what just went down in there.

“Keep up rookie.” You struggled to get through the crowd with your lanyard swinging against your chest as you shadowed the reporter you accompanied.

“I left my folder!” Despite your heels being on, you quickly ran back inside the conference room and snatched your folder up. As you made your way to catch up with the others, you heard a rather harsh conversation going from behind the stage. Whoever it was probably assumed everyone had gone chasing after the crowd.

‘We can’t let it get out. Blake has a secured spot for us and we’re not about to let it go to waste. If the people get a hold of this we’re done for. Period.’

That was all you heard before you went on your way.

That was months ago and ever since then, the meeting had haunted you. For a while, you brushed the idea aside that you witnessing anything from that day would jeopardize your safety. You’re a writer for the crime and culinary column who gets occasionally promoted to other little jobs—you’re harmless.

But when news got out that attendees were slowly going missing and some were even found dead, you were met with frightening reality. With every word you type on your computer, the thought resonates louder in your mind. You were a witness to something you were supposed to see, you could be next.

6:12 PM

It’s Thursday.

You always work an hour later on Thursdays.

He’s been monitoring your life for a good month now, your patterns and domestic habits were engraved in his mind. There’s not much that he doesn’t know about you. On Monday, you have a hard time getting up. You hit snooze for your 5:30 alarm twice until it’s around 6:45. That’s the day you mobile order your coffee and leave the house by 7:15 in a rush. Tuesday is quite similar but that day you opt for organic fruit juice rather than coffee. You get home early on Wednesday because you work out in the living room that day to some random video on Youtube. On Thursday, like today, you load up on the coffee. You leave the house with one cup and come back with another form of the cafe nearby. Thursday is his favorite day. 

When you get home, you toss excess clothes to a random corner and drop on the couch. Moments after that, you get on the phone with a friend and end the conversation saying you have to get the makeup off of your face. Before you take off the makeup, you take off your clothes and throw and a robe. He watches as you use 3 to 4 wipes for your entire face, just trying to get as much as you can off before you start your face treatment. When you finish, you get up close to the mirror and touch small parts of your face, you inspect to see if you missed anything. You look pretty when you do that. The attention you pay to yourself in the absence of someone's company is nothing short of infatuating. When you leave the mirror, the shower turns on and you close the door. Often you wear a rotation of similar pajamas, underwear, and socks. Sometimes you forget the socks and just slip on some slides. 

When you’d be gone for a few hours, he’d crawl through the window and plunder through your things, just to see if you had weapons and for his curiosity. As he did all of this, he found a connection to your home, it was so simple yet you seemed to love it. Taking this from you seemed cruel. For the first time in a while, he felt a tinge of guilt for being the man responsible for ending it. 

Ever since you were assigned to him as a missed target, he’s been formulating a plan to get rid of you. But in the process of monitoring your life for weeks, he’s approached a problem. Like most assignments, he’d find the persons whereabouts, watch them for a good week or so and proceed with the necessary action. But you’re disposal is taking longer than expected. No basic procedure seems right for you. Every time you turn off your lights and go to sleep, he has a chance to sneak through the window and do what has to be done. He has a list longer than he should of people willing to buy targets that need to be taken care of. Based on what Minho says, going with one of the names on that list would be equivalent to death for the faint of heart.

So what does he do with you? You possess crucial information that his client does not want you to have. He’s been paid and now the organization is getting impatient with the waiting game. There’s a reason they put Taehyung up to this assignment. He’s quick, sneaky, doesn’t leave a trail and the disposal is more often than not, clean. For him to be taking this long is raising suspicion in his boss and his client. 

He stares down at the photo in his hand, the very first picture he took of Y/fn. I have to get rid of you. He’s done it dozens of times but this time he can’t seem to find the right moment. There are also strict rules that he has to follow. Number one: don’t come in contact with the target. That’s guaranteed screw up. Number two: keep your observation time at a minimum, if not, you’re at risk for developing an obsession with the target. And number 3, one of the most important rules of all; under no circumstances should you form a bond of any kind with the target. The contract he signed to secure his job stated just that, ‘A target is a target. If you accept, you get the job done, no exceptions.’

He had made interaction with you by mistake. One day, you were walking to the train station and you bumped into him. When his eyes met yours, it was like time stopped. Your eyes were full of life, you smiled at him and sweat began to build at his brow—and he never gets nervous, never. He’ll never forget what you said to him.

* *

You had made him drop his camera, but it didn’t break so he had told you it was okay.

“I’m so sorry. Here,” You reached into your pocket, “it’s a coupon for coffee, do you like coffee?” He nodded. “They’re coffee is great. I got that coupon for making my 50th visit. Take it, it’s a gift.” 

And he took the coupon with a thank before you went on your way. That day, he decided on one thing—he didn’t want to kill you. He couldn’t.

* *

He hears the buzz of his cell phone and immediately brings it to his ear.

“Hello?”

Come to my office, we need to talk.

The person on the other end hung up and he sighed, he knows what this conversation is gonna be about. He got up from his comfy spot on his couch, got in the car and sped to get to where he had to be. When he got to the building, the front desk lady let him go up. HIs thoughts weren’t scattered, he wasn’t nervous, he just wanted to get this over with. 

“So,” Choi sipped his coffee, “she’s still alive.” His words are cutting, obvious frustration in his tone. 

Taehyung nods in confirmation. “Yes, sir.”

“This is not like you Kim, I can normally trust that you’ll do what’s necessary. It’s been a month and that article cannot be published. I’ve told already that your job is on the line, you’ve been paid now it’s time for you to do the job.”

“I know, I’ve just run into a few hiccups. It won’t be published. I’m taking care of it, I just need a little more time-”

“We don’t have any more time.” He massages his temples. “The client doesn’t want the article published and I told him if anyone could get rid of this person, it was you. Do I need to assign her to someone else who can get the job done?-”

“No.” That left his lips a little faster than he intended. “I’ll get it done.”

“I want it done in the next 24-hours. I’m counting on you Taehyung, don’t let me down.”

Taehyung grins. 

“Consider it done.”

9:07 PM

“Finally!” 

You squeal in the silence of your shared office space, the article is finished. You formatted and set it to be published tomorrow morning, you couldn’t be more relieved. It’s been the most daunting task but you stuck with it until it was the way you wanted it to be. In a hurry to get home, you save the physical and digital copy and put them in your bag for safekeeping. You were just happy Suzy approved it for publishing. It’ll be the first front-page story with your name on it, it that’s just now sinking in.

When arriving at your humble abode, you do what you do every night, but this time you go straight for the shower. 

And unbeknownst to you, he’s sitting quietly in your coat closet, just listening to you plunder around your home. When he saw your car pull into the driveway, he retreated for the closet in hopes of hiding his presence. You rarely go into the coat closet, he knows that much.

Fly me to the moon. You were humming that song in the shower. His eyes fluttered shut at the melodic tune, he always found your serenades from he shower calming – peaceful even. In a way, he would be disappointed if you suddenly stopped. Only now does he realize the significance that habit of yours had on his reason for sticking around outside of your window. The shower turned off, that meant you were about to get dressed. He peeked through the crack and saw you brushing your teeth. 

It’s just a matter of time now.

The bottle of water you put on your nightstand that you drink every night had a little surprise in it. He had poured a drug in it to make sure you were knocked out hard. When you went to your bedroom, the lights went off in about 5 minutes and he timed it from there.

He gave it an hour or so of him just standing in the closet, waiting for the right time. 

11:03 PM

It’s time.

He stepped out of the closet, the dark of night didn’t make it difficult for him to navigate towards your room. Piano. You had soft piano covers playing from your cell phone on the nightstand. He approaches your bedside, and he lightly grazes your face—she’s soft, just like he imagined. He pulls the cover back, exposing you to the cool air of the room, but you don’t move a muscle.

There’s no waking you up now. 

He scoops you up, your body shifting in response to the movement. He stands still to ensure that you’re still asleep, gazing upon your furrowed brows until they smooth out. That little movement made him smile, he hadn’t been this close to you, to feel you in his arms made this a lot more real.

All within the time span of 15 minutes, he puts you in the back seat of his car, grabs a few of your necessities, your work bag, and he leaves the scene. When he gets in the driver's seat, he discards the gloves and peeks back at you. You had no idea that your life was about to get flipped upside down.a

[misssophiachase]

Happy AU Week! So, this is my take on a Klaroline fusion with the Bold Type (which is an amazing TV Show if you haven’t seen it yet, and btw I’m so excited they got another two seasons). Image not mine FYI. 

Three twenty-something girls working for a women’s magazine in New York City navigating their way through life and love. Although not expecting the heads of a rival publication to ruffle their feathers so much. 

Living Out Loud

Butter, Midtown – 70 West 45th Street

The magazine’s 30th anniversary party was in full swing. Caroline Forbes looked around proudly knowing that every element carried her signature style, even down to the colour coordinated macaroons.  

Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. She ran her palm along her lace, violet dress, thankful that even with her dismal salary the magazine had a perfectly stocked, designer wardrobe to borrow from in times like these.  Their Editor-in-Chief was in the middle of the room, champagne flute in manicured hand and from the satisfied smile on her face, Caroline knew she was pleased with the event she’d so meticulously planned for the past six months

If anyone could organise an event it was Caroline Forbes and, sure, she loved it but wanted more and after four years at Arabella Magazine, she was ready for a new challenge. Unfortunately, what she wanted was highly competitive to obtain. Positions in the magazine’s fashion department were extremely rare and even then they required some kind of relevant experience. Something Caroline, as a finance major, didn’t possess.  

“Kat is pissed,” Bonnie interrupted.  She turned to her friend; dressed in a stunning, pink, halter neck, floor length gown, her dark tresses falling in waves past her shoulders. As much as she loved her deeply thoughtful, writer friend Caroline knew she had a tendency to worry over nothing.

“So, what’s new?” Caroline asked, taking a long sip of her champagne. “Kat is pissed when the guy at Starbucks gets her coffee order wrong. Between you and me I don’t blame him given her long list of unrealistic demands.”

“She’s currently in a twitter war of words with GQ Magazine.”

“About what exactly?”

“She retweeted their article about dating a feminist and told them if the magazine was going to write something they might like to look up the definition in the dictionary first.”

“Ouch. Watch out GQ,” she chuckled. No one ever entered into a debate with Katherine Pierce about feminism and emerged unscathed.  She was Arabella’s Social Media Director and, although incredibly impulsive at times, their editor loved her passion and commitment. “I hardly think she needs our assistance, Bon.”

“You know who their new Editor-in-Chief is, right? That guy can hold his own.” Caroline gave her a look which plainly said she didn’t before she continued. “Enzo St John.”

“The same Enzo St John from Esquire Magazine?”

“Formerly of Esquire you mean,” she shot back. “He’s finally joined the Mikaelson family empire since marrying Rebekah last month.”

Mikaelson Publishing was well known, especially throughout New York City where their headquarters were based and had an impressive number of quality publications, including the highly popular Men’s Magazine GQ, in their stable. Although Caroline didn’t know the family personally she’d read an article in Time about their metaphorical rise from meagre beginnings in rural England to becoming media royalty in the Big Apple.

It didn’t hurt that they weren’t entirely bad to look at either. Elijah, the eldest, was the revered CEO and rumoured to own at least five hundred suits, Kol the Chief Financial Officer was often described as a cheeky womaniser and youngest sister Rebekah, the Communications and Marketing Director, was stunningly beautiful but incredibly icy. 

However, it was Chief Operating Officer and middle brother Klaus that made Caroline slightly weak at the knees. He was a Harvard Law and MBA graduate. She wasn’t quite sure whether it was the steely blue-eyed gaze, sexy stubble, sinful crimson lips or those deep set dimples. She’d come to the conclusion it was probably a mixture of everything, including the power and intelligence he exuded in the accompanying photographs.

Still, if Caroline knew anything looks and brains didn’t guarantee a winning personality and from all reports they were incredibly difficult. She figured you didn’t get that far career wise if you weren’t.  

“Lucky Enzo,” she joked.  

“Kat’s going crazy,” Bonnie said, holding up her cell and showing her the increasingly terse twitter exchange. “I’m not sure she can be responsible for her actions.”

“Fine,” she conceded, noting the tweets had moved on from decidedly terse to slightly offensive. “Where is she now?” 

“According to Friend Finder, she’s at the fountain in Central Park no doubt shouting insults and punching the cell keypad beyond repair.” Caroline rolled her eyes, gesturing to the exit as they made their way towards it.

“How many times have I told you not to walk around the park by yourself at night?” Bonnie offered as they approached their best friend, dressed in a stunning, gold gown that brought out her naturally olive complexion.

“I wouldn’t have activated ‘Find My Friend’ if I knew you were going to go all protective like on me, mom,” she scowled, not even bothering to lift her eyes which were focused on her phone screen intently.

“Someone’s in a mood,” Caroline teased, taking a seat next to her friend on the side of the fountain while Bonnie took the other.

“Whoever this guy is, he’s an ass,” she growled. “Apparently I’m the one who needs a dictionary, can you believe that? At least I stand by my convictions and my identity, this coward is hiding behind GQ’s twitter account. 

“You don’t know who it is?” 

“It’s probably best I don’t given I might be tempted to go over there and kick his chauvinistic ass.”

“Why do you care what some idiot from GQ thinks anyway? You’re Katherine Elena Pierce, the fiercest Social Media Director in New York City.”

“I am, aren’t I?” She murmured, finally lifting her gaze from the screen, a satisfied twinkle in her brown eyes.

“You’re also incredibly modest,” Bonnie chuckled, taking her hand and squeezing it affectionately. Caroline laid her head on Kat’s shoulder, enjoying the relative solace that came from being with her friends and listening to the rhythmic cascading of the water from the fountain.

“That fountain is really making me want to pee,” Kat broke the silence. So much for solace.

“Way to ruin the moment.”

“I came here straight from the party and have been a little a little preoccupied with…”

“How about we go back to our apartment, watch a really bad movie and stuff our faces with Chunky Monkey?” Bonnie suggested and Caroline nodded, there was no way they wanted to get her all riled up again tonight. 

“Gigli?”

“Anything but that, Care,” Kat groaned as they made their way through the park. “Please? I can only take so much Ben Affleck before bed.” 

“Well, Bonnie did say bad.” Before either could respond, Katherine’s phone beeped signaling a new email. She lifted up her phone expectantly. “Kat, you need to get off that thing for your own good.”

“It could be important,” she said, the light from the screen illuminating her face as she read. “That’s strange.”

“Strange?”

“That it’s 11 PM and from the Magazine’s Legal Department.”

“What’s wrong?” They both asked in unison as Kat stopped in her tracks. 

“Mikaelson Publishing is suing Arabella Magazine for defamation,” she uttered in disbelief. Caroline stood there, mouth agape. And here she thought Gigli was the worst possible fate they’d face tonight. 

The Penthouse, One Madison Avenue, NYC

“You did what?” Rebekah demanded, her Jimmy Choos stomping on Klaus’ floor. Rebekah’s temper tantrums hadn’t changed much since she was a toddler and they were threatening to ruin his beautifully polished hardwood. “How dare you hack into the Magazine’s twitter account without my bloody consent?”

“It barely constituted hacking, little sister.”

“What because you’re CEO and think you can do whatever you like, Elijah?”

“Well, that too but I was actually referring to the fact you still have the same password as when you were eleven.”

“Princess?” Klaus asked, finally entering the discussion. To be honest he’d been annoyed to find out Elijah had decided to get into an unnecessary twitter altercation but even more frustrated to find out he’d slapped Arabella with a law suit without his consent given his position as the highest ranked legal officer at their publishing company. “You are still using that?”

“It was her desperate attempt to acquire Prince William and a royal title all those years ago,” Kol teased, taking a sip of orange juice. “And yet here you are title-less and married to…”

“Watch it, little Mikaelson,” Enzo growled unappreciatively. “Funnily enough this issue isn’t about passwords, it’s Elijah’s unwise and completely rash decision to enter into a twitter war with Arabella and about feminism of all things.”

“I couldn’t let that woman get away with making such false accusations.”

“You mean Katherine Pierce?” 

“What?”

“If you’re going to slap a defamation suit on someone you should really know her name,” Klaus offered, throwing the legal brief on the table for his benefit. “I’ve organised a meeting with their legal team later this week. I’m sure we can reach a private settlement agreement.”

“A settlement? This woman has tarnished the reputation of one of our most popular publications,” Elijah argued. “She can’t be allowed to get off so lightly. Surely I’m not the only one who thinks this?”

“Maybe if you’d come to me or Enzo, you know the editor of said magazine, with your concerns,” Rebekah growled. “I would have told you that fighting with a women’s publication, especially about the definition of feminism, is futile.” 

“But there was nothing wrong with the article. If anything it was giving all those Neanderthal males out there advice on how to treat women with dignity and...”

“Even so, waging a twitter war isn’t going to help. If anything you’re inciting a media storm this company doesn’t need given the recent drop in share prices.”

“Everyone’s feeling the share market pinch. I stand by my actions,” he huffed stubbornly to Enzo, beginning to pace back and forth in front of the expansive windows like a caged animal, albeit one in an immaculate, grey suit. “That woman is always shooting her mouth off impulsively without correct information and cause.” 

“Oh, the same woman you didn’t know the name of about two minutes ago?” Kol enquired, sending his brother a mischievous grin. “And here I thought you were asexual.”

“As much as I love these little family gatherings,” Klaus intervened before Elijah could. “I wanted to meet here first to discuss this before going into the office so we can present a united family front.”

“Well...” 

“You’ve said enough, Elijah,” he interrupted. From the looks on his other siblings’ faces they agreed. It was unusual for Klaus to be the calm one over his usually sensible elder brother but he was quite pleased to be right this time. “Settlement talks will be held on Friday.”

Klaus was never the responsible one, that was obvious. In fact; Kol and Klaus were considered the more playful members of the Mikaelson family. He was surprised to see Elijah’s unexpected social media outburst and equally annoyed about the lack of consultation. At least his brother would owe him one now.  

Looking at the case he figured this settlement would be reached within five minutes and forgotten immediately. Klaus was someone who dealt with things swiftly and clinically. He detested unwanted drama and emotional entanglements. The way he saw it they were just distractions he didn’t need.

“And here I thought we were actually going to be enjoying some more positive and upbeat vibes given it’s your birthday, big brother,” Rebekah offered.

“Didn’t I tell you all to take that particular day off the calendar when we were teenagers?” Klaus was not a fan of birthdays or surprise suffocation by sibling. 

“I would, except I need to mark the day you came into our lives and ruined them forthwith,” Kol chuckled.

“Just tell me a poorly baked cake and off key singing isn’t involved this year.” 

“That was one time,” Rebekah growled. “And I was ten.”

“Yet, your singing or cooking hasn’t improved much since,” Kol teased while Enzo attempted to stifle a laugh. 

“Someone’s not getting any for a while.”

“Rebekah,” Elijah complained, covering his ears for added effect. “Must you torment us so?” 

“Serves you all right,” she shot back her tongue poked out. “Don’t worry Niklaus, there’s no cake or party. Heaven forbid anyone we know should have to put up with you during their social hours given they do it every work day.” 

“Well, I did happen to reserve a table at the Whiskey Ward tonight. And, before you whine like a petulant child, it’s dark and located on the lower east side so pretty sure no one will even notice your sullen ass.”

“Well, when you put it like that Kol, how could I refuse?”

Mikaelson Publishing, 1705 Fifth Avenue, New York City    

“You said we were coming here for Mexican food,” Caroline growled half annoyed and equal parts famished as she looked at the foreboding structure ahead on Fifth.  

“What can I say, you’re always so easy to fool when it comes to food, Forbes,” Katherine offered gruffly. “And Bonnie hates being left out so really it was a win-win.”

“I don’t break rules, Kat,” Bonnie hissed. No surprises there. After being friends for the better part of four years, they both knew Bonnie loved order and breaking rules of any kind was severely frowned upon “And I’m a terrible liar, my skin breaks out into this red, weeping rash and…”

“Now, not so hungry,” Caroline muttered. “What the hell are we doing at Mikaelson Publishing? Last time I checked they’re suing your ass so walking into the lion’s den not such a great idea, Kat.”

“You didn’t see the way Jenna looked at me,” Katherine admitted. “She was so disappointed. All I need to do is go in there and explain myself and this legal suit will vanish as soon as it appeared in my inbox.”

“And against the explicit wishes of our legal department,” Caroline hissed.

“I did nothing wrong,” Katherine baulked. “All I want to do is talk to them personally and they’ll understand it was a slight misunderstanding. It’s the least I can do for Arabella.”

“They won’t care, all Mikaelson Publishing understand is profits, popularity and success.” 

“Fine,” she conceded, nervously perusing her conservative black, skirt suit one last time. “I’m hoping to appeal to their sensitive side.”  

“What does Katherine Pierce know about sensitive?”

“I think she’s still drunk from the weekend,” Caroline suggested to Bonnie.

“If you want to stay here and mock, that’s fine,” she scoffed, striding away towards the revolving doors. 

Caroline looked at Bonnie helplessly. She knew this was completely stupid and reckless but for some reason she felt this overwhelming responsibility to her best friend. Damn her. The look in Bonnie’s warm, brown eyes told her she was thinking the same thing.

“All for one?”

“And one for all,” Bonnie finished, quoting the famed Three Musketeers motto. “Although I’m fairly certain Alexandre Dumas never imagined this particular scenario.”

“Hold the lift!” Caroline yelled, running into the fast closing doors.

“You came?” Katherine asked, her usually determined expression softening slightly.

“To be honest, I just wanted to see Bonnie break some rules,” Caroline joked, swatting her serious friend on the ass playfully. “So, what’s the plan exactly?”

“What plan?”

“Don’t tell me I jumped into this suspended steel trap on a crazy whim,” Bonnie mumbled nervously. She’d never been a huge fan of lifts.  

“I’m going to appeal to his sen…”

“Oh, we are so screwed,” Caroline growled, noticing for the first time a young delivery guy in the corner laden with boxes. Even with the earphones, she could hear the steady musical and familiar beat. Who knew the emo looking guy had a thing for Taylor Swift?

“Excuse me?” She yelled for added benefit, gesturing for him to take out his earphones. He complied, albeit reluctantly. “I couldn’t help but overhear your music.”

He looked immediately nervous at being sprung and Caroline knew she could exploit the situation to her benefit given her contacts at the magazine. “It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone. In fact, I happen to have a spare ticket to Taylor’s concert next month and…” 

“I’ll take it,” he blurted out, obviously not caring about any embarrassment with the promise of a ticket to see his secret idol.

“Well, I’d be happy to give it to you but there’s something I need you to do for me first.” 

“We hardly look like delivery people,” Bonnie said, gesturing to their heels and fitted skirts five minutes later.

“Speak for yourself,” Caroline laughed, pulling down the Boston Red Sox cap she acquired for her trouble over her golden waves. The delivery guy may have been extremely weird but he had good taste in baseball teams.

“We have a delivery for…” Caroline paused, reading the name on the box aloud to the receptionist. “Klaus Mikaelson.” Wait, what? Caroline didn’t sign up for this assignment. If anything she was kind of afraid that he might look even more irresistible in person.  

“Another delivery for the birthday boy. His assistant is down the hall, first door on the right, she can sign for it.”

“Birthday boy? Of all the days we decide to break and enter,” Bonnie murmured nervously.

“It’s hardly a felony, Bon,” Kat drawled. “No. This is perfect; their guards will be down so we can strike…”

“If this is you supposedly showing your sensitive side then I’m a little worried about your upbringing. You weren’t dropped on your head as a baby were you, Kat? You know just asking.”

“No brain damage as far as I’m aware,” she muttered, obviously unimpressed. “Where is this office, didn’t she say first on the right.”

“It must be that one,” Caroline gestured. What they found was completely unexpected. It wasn’t a personal assistant but the entire Mikaelson family seated at an expansive boardroom table.

“Someone needs to learn their left from their right,” Bonnie growled under her breath.

“Now, this is more like it,” Kol grinned taking in the three girls. “This is how every board meeting should take place.” They were all silent, rooted to the spot. 

“Excuse me?” Bonnie enquired. She may have been straight laced and prone to hives but she also detested cocky males with no respect.

“You’re excused,” the attractive blonde scoffed, flicking her hair in obvious frustration. Rebekah Mikaelson was as beautiful as she was scary.

“Is there any reason you’ve interrupted our meeting?” Elijah’s pristine suit looked even more immaculate close up.

“We have a delivery,” Katherine announced. By the slight blush that crossed her face, Caroline was pretty certain the suit was doing its job on her too. “For the birthday boy.”

“Please tell me you’re going to sing or…”

“Smack you out?” Bonnie replied defensively.

“Well, if you like it rough, darling…” he teased. From what Caroline could make out Kol Mikaelson didn’t have a subtle bone in his body. Given Bonnie’s unimpressed glare she knew her friend was ready to rumble.     

“Last time I checked this was a boardroom not a circus.” A demanding English voice enquired. He seemed annoyed by the interruption but as soon as she placed her box on the boardroom table his steely expression seemed to soften, only slightly though.

“I think we all know who the clown is in this scenario and it’s not us,” Caroline challenged thinking just how precious his siblings had been since they entered the room unwittingly. “We obviously took a wrong turn, so if you’ll excuse us.” 

“Now that you’re here it would be a waste not to open some presents, hey big brother?” Kol teased, leaning across greedily for the package Bonnie had in her grasp.

He opened it slowly, his eyes widening at its contents. “As long as Rebekah didn’t make this I think it’s actually going to be edible.” Caroline would know that Magnolia marble cheesecake from anywhere. Suddenly the fact she’d had no lunch was beginning to effect her resolve.

“And what do you have there?” Klaus asked unexpectedly, a stray dimple flashing in her direction. She knew he was just being an arrogant ass but for Kat’s sake needed to keep up the ruse.

“How would I know? I’m only the delivery girl,” she shot back thinking just what a smug bastard he was. She decided to take back all that initial misplaced infatuation and blame it on temporary insanity, even if his aftershave was messing with her composure. 

He smirked knowingly, his blue eyes flickering over her body hungrily before pulling the package towards him. What he uncovered beneath the tissue paper she wasn’t quite expecting, a black, lacey thong to be exact. He held it up slowly, his eyes dancing over every detail of its intricate design. Caroline was mortified but had no intention of betraying her feelings. 

“You really shouldn’t have, love but I’m not sure…” 

“What? Not your size?” If she could have captured his shocked expression in that moment, Caroline would have framed it. It was obvious no one spoke to Klaus Mikaelson like that and got away with it but right know Caroline had no intention of placating his over inflated ego.

It was at that point his assistant Lexi decided to make herself known, breaking the tension and stray snickering from his siblings. His gaze never wavered as she was ushered from the boardroom. 

Given the unexpected and unfolding events, the supposedly brave Katherine had actually wilted under pressure, no doubt due to a well fitting suit, and Bonnie was decidedly incensed about the chauvinistic younger brother for good reason. 

Caroline had chosen to stay behind five minutes to sign the paperwork and made her way to the elevator, the relief rushing over her as the doors began to close. It wasn’t until she heard the metal doors halt abruptly that she noticed a familiar face making his way inside.

“Thanks for holding the door.”

“I didn’t,” she barked. How she thought this smug idiot was attractive Caroline would never understand.

“You know, for a delivery person you seem to have quite a bit of attitude,” he said, leaning against the wall as the numbers began to descend the floors. 

“Sounds like something we have in common then,” she muttered. “Although given your earnings I figured you might have a lot more to smile about.” 

“Don’t tell me that little snippet of Mikaelson family drama back there didn’t pique your interest?”

“I have no interest in your family dramas.” Before she could expect a witty retort, the lift came to a grinding halt as the lights flickered and then they were plunged into darkness. The force from the motion causing Caroline to fall into his broad chest as a result.

“Well, you could have fooled me.”

“Seriously?” She growled pushing him away, albeit shakily. “We are stuck in a lift and all you can do is use one of your cheesy and recycled lines?”

“You really don’t like me, do you?”

“At least your skills of perception are slightly better than the rest of your repertoire,” she uttered. “Given you practically own this building; I’m really hoping help is close by so I don’t need CPR with that over inflated ego.” 

“I’m certain of one of those things…”

“The over inflated ego? Yeah me too,” Caroline answered, sitting on the ground and placing her head against the wall in frustration. And not just because he was an idiot either but causing a few untoward feelings to venture south.  

“I was actually talking about your thoughts on my perceptiveness,” he quipped, taking a seat beside her and crossing his right leg over the left. “Like the fact you’re not a delivery person.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve never met a delivery person who has questioned my underwear size,” he chuckled. To be honest Caroline was surprised by his change in demeanour.

“It seemed fitting given you are such a man whore.”

 “A man whore?” Klaus baulked. “I didn’t send that underwear last time I checked.”

“But it seems like someone else did and you obviously entertain that fact.”

“Oh, I get it,” Klaus deduced, standing up and beginning to pace back and forth impatiently. “You are some college psychology major that is trying to mess with my feelings for an experiment.”  

“Excuse me?”

“Even down to the Red Sox cap.” Caroline rolled her eyes, this guy obviously had more than family issues and it was threatening to mess with her beloved baseball team.

“Do I need to add sore loser to your file, Yankee?” She drawled. “Call me crazy but I thought birthdays were supposed to be a happy occasion.” 

The lift suddenly jolted back to life, Caroline losing her footing briefly but making sure not to make any further body contact. The brief and hurt look in his blue eyes was telling Caroline that there was more to this guy than she first thought.

The elevator dinged announcing their arrival on the ground floor. He continued to stare, Caroline felt her breath hitch in her throat. Before she could work out what it meant, Klaus Mikaelson was gone in a flash. If she was being honest, the guilty ache she felt in her stomach wasn’t entirely coincidental.

“Finally!” Bonnie exclaimed as she made her way through the revolving doors outside.

“The lift got stuck,” she admitted, not willing to go into further detail. Caroline figured it was the last she’d see of Klaus Mikaelson, so it didn’t really rate much of a mention.

“After today I think we all need a good drink,” Katherine smiled. “And given my extreme stupidity, I figure it’s my shout.”

“Well, I do have a story to research,” Bonnie smiled mischievously. “I’m writing about the best places to meet men in New York City.”

“I’m almost too afraid to ask,” Caroline mumbled.

“Well, guys love whiskey but when it comes to a fine woman over a fine scotch the decision is decidedly blurred and not just due to the alcohol content. I’ve heard the Whiskey Ward on the Lower East side is the place to be if you’re interested?”  

“Well, we can’t do worse than we have today,” Katherine joked. “Can we, ladies?”

Caroline had to agree. All she needed to do was get him out of her head and maybe a night of whiskey with her friends was all she needed to rid herself of the memory.

On FF Here

TBC? It became much longer than expected. Thoughts on another part would be appreciated. Thanks so much for reading : )