#at the first firm i worked at i worked next to my boss’ legal assistant and she was like a second mom to me

[hayscodings]

there is nothing like befriending a coworker who is old enough to be your parent

[holidaywishes]

a bit of stress relief

  Requested: 👍

  Summary/Request: Can you PLEASE write about Freddie coming to your work and having a quickie in your office

  Warning: smut, fluff, whiny Freddie

  Author’s Note: REQUESTS ARE CLOSED for a bit. I do have one more in my inbox right now so I’ll add it to my drafts but after I write that I won’t be taking requests for... a while. Maybe a month? I have a few series I want to finish up before I start having requests piling up. I always love seeing my inbox full of requests for different types of fics, so this isn’t forever, just until I’m able to finish my Gally series for sure and possibly my 9-1-1 series. This request was fun and I just couldn’t say no lol. Thanks in advance for your understanding and I hope I’ll be able to get back to requests sooner than later but I’ll keep y’all updated! Stay Golden, loves! <3 

  masterlist

  the other masterlist

xx

  Your boss asked you to go into the office on a Saturday to finish an assignment that she had forgotten to mention earlier in the week. You would’ve argued that you had plans but your boss said it was for a presentation the next morning that they needed the information for

  “I’m sorry, Freddie,” you whined to your boyfriend as he tried to convince you to stay at his apartment, “believe me, I’d much rather be here but I’m not about to get fired...”

  “It’s not your assignment, it’s hers,” he argued, “she made the mistake. Why do you have to do it for her?”

  “It’s my job” you admitted

  “Except when it’s not...” he groaned

  “Freddie,” you sighed, “I won’t be long I promise. I just need to go in and print up some stuff and make a couple calls. Nothing major...”

  “So why can’t your boss do it?” he challenged, “it’s her mistake, so.. she should be responsible for fixing it”

  “I know,” you repeated, wrapping your arms around his neck before kissing his cheek, “but I can’t lose this job. I have loans to pay off”

  “You know I can help with that”

  “No,” you scoffed, “no you absolutely cannot. I don’t want to feel like I owe you anything. That’s not the relationship we have... I’m not your sugar baby”

  “But you could be”

  “But I don’t wanna be”

  “Alright...” he laughed, kissing your nose playfully

  “I’ll call you when I’m finished okay. I give it one, two hours tops”

  “If you’re not finished in two hours, I’m coming down there and taking you home” he teased

  “Okay,” you scoffed, “I’ll see you later.” You got to the office and rushed into your boss’s office to find the information you needed to work on. The office was empty, as it should’ve been, but when you heard the door open and close, you popped your out of the door to see who was there, “Hello?” you called

  “(Y/N)?” your co-worker asked

  “Mason? What are you doing here?” you returned, noticing now that a bunch of your co-workers were walking in

  “We could ask you the same thing” he chuckled

  “Laura forgot to do stuff for the presentation tomorrow, so she asked me to come in and do it”

  “For the conference?”

  “Yup”

  “Yeah,” he replied, “our team is having the same issue. Except they’re saying they ‘lost it’ or that it ‘must have gotten deleted somehow’ so now we have to be here all day trying to fix this”

  “Why are any of this people in charge again?” you asked

  “Maybe they slept their way to the top” he joked before waving you goodbye and heading to his station. You started at this company as an intern, mostly handing out mail and grabbing coffee for everyone, but they kept you around because you had a good eye for graphic design which was important in a marketing firm. However, your boss, Laura, had replaced Debra, the former Head of Marketing, a month before you were hired to be her assistant and she really wasn’t all that fond of you. She claimed that your degree should be in Business or Marketing not Graphic Design and that you’d only ever be an assistant in this industry so ‘don’t hope for more than that.’ You didn’t think too much of her comments though, at the end of the day, you had a job to you and you were going to do it well; even if it meant coming in on the weekend to do her forgotten assignments. When you finally found Laura’s papers, you groaned audibly, realizing this wasn’t going to be quick work

  “Hey!” Freddie greeted you from the other end of the line when you called him to let him know what was happening

  “Hey...” you sighed

  “What?” he groaned, “what’s going on?”

  “It looks like I’m gonna be here for a while. Laura underplayed how much work there was for me to do...”

  “You can’t really be doing this?” he whined

  “Babe, I have to. I told you, it’s my job. But,” you added, hoping it would make him feel better, “it’s not just me! Apparently, all the senior staff forgot to do these super important assignments for the conference. So, a bunch of us are here working until we finish them”

  “You need to quit this job,” he grumbled, “clearly no one is good at what they were hired to do”

  “I can’t quit unless I have something lined up,” you argued, “babe, I’m sorry. I know I promised that we’d lay in bed all weekend because this was the first time that you had free time but I have to do this. I promise, I’ll work as fast as I can but the longer I’m on the phone, the longer I’m at the office. So, I gotta go. I love you and I’ll see you as soon as I’m done okay?”

  “Call me and I’ll pick you up,” he replied, “you shouldn’t have to take an Uber back here...”

  “Okay,” you smiled, “that would be nice. Talk soon. Love you”

  “Love you, too” he said before you ended the call. You took a deep breath and started getting to work. Organizing timelines and trying to understand doctors-note-handwriting from past meetings

  “How can she possibly expect me to be able to understand this?” you thought to yourself. You signed onto her computer and were immediately left in shock at the jumbled mess of her desktop, “holy fuck!” you exclaimed silently, it’s no wonder she gets nothing done, “she’s the most unorganized person I’ve ever seen!” You spent the next 20 minutes opening files to find what you were looking for, closing what was not it immediately so you could legally say you didn’t see anything, and then you had to spend the next half an hour printing documents and running back and forth between Laura’s office and the copy room

  “How’s it goin’?” Rob, one of the other team members who was forced to come in and work on a Saturday, asked when he noticed you rushing throughout the room

  “Oh, you know, I’m sure I’ll have a panic attack in the next, oh, twenty or so minutes” you replied, sighing as you walked back to the printer one last time. You had managed to get most of the paper work done but you still had to make a few phone calls to get estimates on some of the ad spaces needed and whether or not there could be a discount involved for the company

  “Hey!” Freddie said gleefully, walking into your boss’ office like he owned the place

  “Freddie,” you gasped, a slight sneer on your tone, “what are you doing here?”

  “I came to see you...” he replied, furrowing his brow at your response, “when you said you were gonna be longer than you thought, I thought I’d come down and surprise you. Maybe take the stress off a little?”

  “That’s sweet, babe,” you smiled, noticing the look in his eyes and realizing what he was really there for, “but I have to make some calls so I can’t... do that”

  “We can make it work” he teased, biting his bottom lip quickly before pulling you close to him

  “Fred...” you whined, kissing him once before pushing him away from you and walking back to Laura’s desk, “I really do have to work. You can sit if you want but that’s it...” he slumped onto the plush couch against the window and frowned before scrolling through his phone as you started to call the businesses on your list. After about 10 minutes, you noticed Freddie peering up from his phone to look over at you, as if he was trying to get you to hang up the phone just from a look, choosing to walk over to you when you didn’t. “Yes, that’s right. I know you’ve been with us for quite some time and our relationship has helped both our businesses grow,” you spoke as Freddie swiveled you and your chair out from the desk, “we want that relationship to keep growing” you continued before noticing the smirk on Freddie’s face as he hovered over you, kissing your neck as you tried to pay attention to the call. “Mhmm,” you said to the person on the other end of the phone, distracted by Freddie’s lips pressing against the sensitive skin on your neck, his hot breath cascading down your neck, “mhm, sure. I understand” you said again, trying not to let on what was happening. “Laura is so sorry she couldn’t make this call to you herself,” you lied, Freddie kissing his way down to your core, pulling off your leggings quickly and kissing your inner thighs as you spoke, “however, she is excited to showcase your work to those at our conference tomorrow. We all just wanted to make sure the numbers were 100% accurate...” you had to bite your lip and move the receiver end of the phone from your mouth in case any sound escaped when you felt Freddie’s tongue finally press against your clit. “Oh that’s great!” you exclaimed when the partner on the phone added a discount to the quote you’d already been given, claiming that, had he known other businesses would be hearing of his services earlier, he would’ve offered it sooner. “Thank you so much,” you smiled, Freddie’s hands pulling your body closer to his him as his mouth brought you closer and closer to your orgasm, “I or Laura will let you know how everything goes. Thank you again” you said quickly before hanging up the phone. “Fuck,” you cursed breathlessly, “oh my god, Freddie!” your back was forced to arch, as you were pretty much falling out of your seat as Freddie continued to stimulate your clit, only now moving his finger to caress your folds before slowly inserted it inside of you and pumping until you whimpered, tugging at his hair. “Freddie,” you squeaked, trying not to be heard from outside the office, “fuck” you repeated quietly, your grip loosening from his hair as his ministrations slowed and your breathing steadied.

  “How’s your stress now?” he smirked, wiping his mouth casually before standing up in front of you once more

  “You can’t do that” you said, small pants escaping your lips, making Freddie believe you less than you intended

  “I think I can” he teased

  “I was on a business call, Fred!” you exclaimed, pulling your leggings back up, “what if they heard something?”

  “They would only hear something if you let them” he countered and, ultimately, you knew he was right but you still shook your head

  “You can’t do that” you repeated and he scoffed, hovering over you once more to taunt you with a kiss but stopped right in front of your lips

  “We’ll see about that...” he smirked, taking his hands away from the chair and walking back to sit on the couch

  “What’s goin’ on with you?” you asked

  “I just want to be with you,” he whined, giving you puppy dog eyes and earning a scoff from you, “that’s what we were supposed to be doing anyway...”

  “I told you we would when I got home...” you said

  “Come here,” he said, patting his thigh, “come sit on my lap” you chuckled but obliged. You wrapped your arms around his neck after sitting on his thigh, playing with his hair and kissing his nose before he spoke again, “see, isn’t this better than making a few phone calls?” he asked, his hand beginning to rub your back lightly

  “You know I would rather be doing this, or more than this, with you,” you admitted, leaning in and kissing him softly, letting your lips linger a moment before you pulled back, “but I have to do this stuff...”

  “Just a quickie...” he whispered, “and then I’ll go. Then we can pick up at home”

  “This is my boss’s office” you whined

  “All the more reason to do it. We’re in a private spot, secluded from everyone else, it’s perfect” he replied, kissing your jaw before moving down to your neck and you let your head fall back to give him more room

  “Mmmm,” you hummed, melting into his kiss, “I can’t”

  “(Y/N)...“ he groaned

  “Just a few more calls,” you argued, “I don’t have a lot left. Just like, five, maybe six”

  “That’s a lot. How long are each of those calls? 10 minutes? 20?” he asked, “we could do a lot with that time...”

  “Stop,” you smiled, standing up from his lap and walking back to the desk chair, “just a few more calls...” you repeated. He slunk into the couch and angrily unlocked his phone while you picked up Laura’s phone and began dialing. You were able to make three calls before Freddie began sighing loudly across the room and you had to glare at him, which is when the texts started

  “I want you” he sent as you spoke to another advertising partner on the phone

  “Like now” another came through

  “I’m gonna come over there”

  “And make you cum again” you glared up at him and he smiled

  “And again” you shook your head, turning off your sound so the partner didn’t hear the constant dinging

  “And again”

  “And again”

  “Until you can’t cum anymore” you noticed him smile as he thought up more responses and you threw a pencil at him, still paying attention to the conversation on the phone before mouthing ‘stop’ to Freddie but he just shook his head with a teasing smile

  “You won’t be able to walk”

  “Your legs will be numb”

  “Your chest will be heaving because you can’t catch your breath”

  “You’re gonna crave my dick”

  “Every time you move”

  “You’ll have to physically stop yourself from jumping me in public”

  “Because you’re still feeling me inside you” your eyes went wide as you read his messages, heat flooding your face as you ended the call, forcing yourself to dial another number before Freddie could get the upper hand. He slowly made his way to the desk once more and you gulped as you swallowed the saliva that had filled your mouth, Freddie hung up the phone before it ever even really began to ring

  “Seriously, don’t...” you whispered, knowing that you were about to break from whatever move he made next

  “But I want to” he growled, grazing your nose with his and you started to give in when he walked toward the door, “crap” you thought to yourself when you thought he was about to leave but he was only locking the door

  “What the fuck?!” you exclaimed, “that was unlocked this whole time?!”

  “Yeah?” he chuckled

  “Freddie! What would have happened if someone walked in earlier?”

  “They would’ve gotten a great show” he replied, walking over to you, leaning over you but not doing anything. You took a deep breath before running your hands up his arms, tangling your fingers in his hair before bringing him down to kiss you

  “We have to be quick...” you whispered, earning a grin from Freddie before he pulled your leggings off and directed your thighs around his waist so he could pick you up to carry you to the couch. You laughed when he sat down and you fell into him clumsily, “quiet” you shushed him before kissing him slowly and trailing your hands down to his waistband, pushing his pants down just enough to free his erection while his hands lifted your shirt up, stopping to massage your breasts. You heard a laugh outside of the office and stopped what you were doing, “wait,” you whispered, “I think someone’s there” he didn’t listen, kissing your neck and lining himself up with your entrance before bucking his hips to yours; your nails digging into his shoulders to stop yourself from making any sound. His hands gripped your hips as he thrust into you, bringing your attention back to him while your lips found each other in a clumsy rush to muffle the sounds of each other’s moans

  “Fuck,” Freddie moaned first, “fuck” you were about to reciprocate his sentiment when the phone rang and your head jerked back in panic

  “Shit” you sighed, worry mixing with pleasure as Freddie continued to grip your hips tightly

  “Ignore it” he said, kissing your peaked nipple over your shirt before moving a hand to your core, but your head still stayed looking at the ringing phone

  “What if it’s her?” you whined, referring to your boss

  “Ignore it” he repeated

  “What if it’s one of the partners or the vendors? What if it’s one of the really important clients?” you asked, knowing he wouldn’t give any helpful advice other than

  “Ignore it” he said once more, pulling your face back to his before kissing you harshly. The phone stopped ringing and you felt a faint sense of peace course through you as you softened the kiss that Freddie had started, your tongue begging for his lips to part, a muffled moan intertwining with his warm breath as it brushed over your exposed neck. Your tongue danced with his for a while as his fingers circled your clit, pressing down on the sensitive flesh every so often

  “Fuck” you breathed finally, now beginning to ride him faster, feeling his thighs flex underneath you as he welcomed the sensation of you crashing onto him. “Fuck,” you repeated, “shit, oh my god. Fuck Freddie” you felt your climax build as his lips met your neck, his finger still working on your clit while you rode him harder; the loud ringing of the phone the only thing that brought you back to where you were. “Ugh” you groaned

  “Leave it” he groaned back

  “Fuck” you sighed, reluctantly ignoring the phone to continue fucking your incredibly broad shoulder boyfriend

  “That’s my girl” he smirked, watching you bounce up and down his length

  “Fuck, Freddie, I’m gonna cum” you panted, your hands clutching his shirt as your hips began to shake. “Sh-i-it, god fuck! Freddie” you moaned, still trying to be as quiet as possible but knowing that everyone in the office was probably putting on noise cancelling headphones just to try to escape the sounds they were undoubtedly hearing.

  “Almost there, baby” Freddie breathed, clutching onto your waist to assist your movements. Fuck, his hands fit so perfectly on your body, you really hated that this had to end so quickly, but that’s what he came here for. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum in you”

  “Fuck” you breathed, dropping your head onto his shoulder, your body taking over until you and Freddie met your release. Like clockwork, the annoying ringing of the phone appeared and you had to scoff at Freddie while you quickly got dressed

  “That was fun,” he smiled, “you sure you don’t wanna go round two?”

  “Hello” you greeted, picking up the phone to continue the work you had come to do, “I am so sorry about that. I’m not sure what was happening with the line…”

  “So we’ll continue this at my place then?” Freddie teased before and you nodded with wink before shooing him away but not before he kissed you goodbye. You were dreading the walk out of the office if Mason and his team hadn’t left yet but you knew it had to happen sooner or later

  “So, should we hire a clean up crew before your boss gets back?” one of the guys teased

  “Shut up” you said, hoping your embarrassment didn’t show too clearly

  “You do know we put on our headphones as soon as we saw him,” Mason admitted, “we knew there’s no way that he was gonna just show up to say hi”

  “He could’ve,” you tried, exhaling when you realized you were never going to fool any of them, “fine. Just, please, don’t rat me out. I just pulled together a miracle in that office and I don’t need Laura finding out about my office sex-capades — I don’t want that to be the reason she fires me. I’m not that girl…”

  “We know” another co-worker smirked

  “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with us,” Mason assured, “it’s a don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy as far as we’re concerned” you gave him an appreciative smile before heading out to meet Freddie in the parking garage

  “Hey” he smiled as you sat in the front seat

  “Hi” you replied, leaning over to peck his lips

  “Did you get your work done?” he teased

  “Yeah,” you chuckled, “it was a miracle but I got it done” he took your hand and brought it to his lips to press a kiss to it

  “No more quickies,” he whined, holding your hand for the remainder of the ride, until he needed it for one reason or another, “I need more than that”

  “I agree,” you smirked, “now, let’s go home so you can fuck me until I can’t walk

  “Yes ma’am.”

[diaryofabeautyfiend]

Plain Gold Ring

(Part 2)

You left a few minutes before he did. He ran up to his place to change. The two of you had already showered together. You had meetings all day and so did he. You agreed to meet for lunch.

Your thoughts drifted to him all day. His strong hands and the spice of his skin were all you could think about. You should have felt guilty but you didn’t. You two really seemed like you connected on a deep and spiritual level. You told yourself not to be naive. Men who cheat never leave their wives. You were a means of escape for him. You decided to proceed as planned and move forward with your Chicago interview.

At lunch Andy came bounding into your office. Before you could even hand him his fork he had his hands on you. “I can’t focus. You’ve been in my head all day.”

“Me too.”

“Yeah? You thinking of my cock?”

“Your cock, your hands…fuck…your tongue.” He slipped his hand in your panties to find you already dripping.

“Shit, baby. I have to be inside of you. This is gonna be quick.” He slammed his hips into you a few times before you both completely lost it. He eased you back down peppering kisses on your neck and chest. You readjusted your panties, smoothed your hair and sat down at your desk to drink some water.

“Oh my goodness are you going to stay like that all day?”

“Like what?” You knew exactly what he was talking about. You just wanted to hear him say it.

“With my cum dripping out of you? Don’t you want to clean up?”

“I’m good.” You winked at him and handed him his lunch.

He chuckled, “There goes the rest of my day.”

You had easy conversation for the rest of lunch. You asked him about Jacob and how he seemed to be coping. He was happy to talk about it. It was evident he adored his son. And there went the guilt bubbling up again. He could see it in your face. “Is this weird for you?”

“A little. Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”

“We don’t have to talk about him.”

“It’s ok. I like hearing about your life. Besides I brought him up. I just want to be sure I’m not reading too much into this. Like we’re just friends who fuck right? I don’t know if I’m trying to catch feelings.”

He was a little offended but couldn’t express that to you. You had sex the second day that you had known each other. That was clearly not something he did nor did he take it lightly. He meant what he said. He really liked you. He would just have to work hard to show you how much. For now, he would follow your lead.

“Oh yeah. Of course. Friends who fuck sometimes. No feelings to catch.”

You went about the rest of your day and got home at a respectable hour. While you were at your mailbox in your building you noticed Lori and Jacob coming in. You smiled and turned quickly to get to the elevator. You realized a lot of people likely knew who they were and made it awkward like you just did. You just couldn’t leave well enough alone and went back to introduce yourself.

“Hi. I don’t mean to interrupt. Are you Lori Barber? My name is Y/N. I work with Andy.” She looked relieved to hear your name.

“Of course! Y/N. So nice to meet you. Andy told us all about you. This is our son Jacob.” He waved to you and you very awkwardly waved back.

“Well I won’t keep you. I just wanted to say hi.” She looked like she wanted to talk more but you hightailed it out of there up the stairs. You felt like an asshole. She looked like a perfectly nice person. If you weren’t fucking her husband you’d probably be friends. Damn it. You couldn’t do this with Andy. As much as you wanted to, knowing Lori was in the same building was too much for you.

That bottle of red on your counter was calling your name. You ordered dinner and prepped for your interview. Hopefully you’ll get a decent offer and out of here before you make a bigger mess.

——————————————————————

While you were in the bath Andy texted. You didn’t respond. While you watch tv he texted again. No text back. After the third unanswered text he called.

“Hey, Andy.”

“Are you ghosting me?” He sounded like he was joking but not really

“No. Just busy. What’s up?”

“Nothing. Too busy to see me?”

You wanted to say yes. Yes you were far too busy to spend time with a married man. You wanted to tell him go back to his wife. But you didn’t. “Of course not. I’ll unlock the door.” You were a goner.

A few minutes later you heard him calling your name. “Bedroom.” you called out. You had been crying about it all night but you have to end things before it gets serious. Even though you weren’t really dating and you said no feelings, you knew yourself. Under the facade of an overly ambitious lawyer you were a hopeless romantic. In the very short time you’ve known Andy he’s been a great guy. The fact remained, he was kind of your boss and very much married. You couldn’t continue.

“Hey. Are you crying? What’s wrong?” He sat on the bed and pulled you into his lap. You sobbed harder. “Y/n. Baby? Talk to me.”

“I met Lori and Jacob. He really has your eyes. We can’t do this, Andy. I know you and Lori are going through a rough patch but I can’t do this.” He was crestfallen. He rubbed your hand while you talked nodding where appropriate. When it was finally his turn to talk, he didn’t trust his voice to be strong.

“I know we just met, Y/N but, I’ve never cheated on Lori. Not ever. I slept with you because I liked you from the first moment we met. I know you said no feelings but, I feel like if you weren’t on the verge of caring, you wouldn’t be crying over me right now.” He was right. You felt all the things you weren’t supposed to feel.

You stayed up talking for a few more hours and ended up falling asleep in his arms. When you woke up the next morning he was gone. It was just as well. You got your notes together for your interview and called in.

The whole conversation was amazing. You and the managing partners really hit it off. They were younger than the partners at your current firm. A lot of women on the senior team. Not twenty minutes later did you friend text you to say they wanted you to take a trip out to Chicago.

When you got into the office you asked Caitlin to clear your schedule for the rest of the week and booked your flight. You were due in court so you grabbed your bag and badge and headed out.

——————————————————————

You were one of three attorneys on this case. Today was the voir dire so all you’d be doing was taking notes on possible jurors. One of the team members was unable to make it so Andy filled in. It was a pleasure watching him work. This part of the legal process was generally pretty boring. Watching him was like theater. You were fawning all over him like a school girl. It was frankly disgusting. At the end of the day Andy called a team meeting to compare notes and start working on court strategy.

You worked through dinner. All of you were exhausted by the end of the night. Since you were leaving the next morning, you handed your coworker Jeremy all of your notes and went to your office to pack up.

“Y/N, can you be in a little early tomorrow? I want to run through a couple of things.” Andy called from your doorway.

“Sorry. I’ll actually be in Chicago. Family emergency. I put it on your calendar this morning. Jeremy has all of my notes. I’ll be out of pocket for most of the trip. Shoot me an email if you need something. I’ll try to get back to you.”

He frowned and let out a deep sigh, “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how important this case is. Can the trip be rescheduled?”

“I’m sorry. It can’t be. Jeremy is up to speed on everything. He’s done just as much leg work as I have on this case. You’re in good hands.” You patted him on the chest and excused yourself.

——————————————————————

Andy got home and grabbed a beer. Jacob was sitting at the table finishing some school work. “How is your new job, Dad?”

“Good. Everyone there is really nice.”

“Mom and I met Y/N at the mailboxes yesterday. She’s pretty.” Andy was surprised that Jacob even noticed you. He’s always staring at his phone.

“Yeah. She’s pretty.” He ruffled Jacob’s hair. “What are you working on?”

Lori came in to grab a water. She looked like she was running on the treadmill. She hadn’t found a good route around the neighborhood yet. “Hey. I didn’t hear you come in. We met your coworker. She was really sweet.”

“She’s the one who put you in touch with Linda Raymond.”

“Oh. That was nice of her. We should have her over for dinner. I remember when I was single I had nothing but wine and old Chinese in my fridge. I’m sure she’d like a home cooked meal.”

Andy was irritated with Lori’s assumption. “She’s a grown woman. I’m sure she feeds herself.” He knew you did because he’s been in your fridge.

“Well anyway. I’d like to thank her. I’ll send her a bottle of wine. Maybe you can ask her assistant what she likes.”

“She drinks Cabernet.”

He got up from the table and changed into his gym clothes. There was a really nice gym on the bottom floor of the building. He had every intention of going there but he couldn’t get you off of his mind. You mentioned all of your family lived down south. What kind of emergency could you have in Chicago. Maybe it was a guy. You didn’t mention one. He didn’t ask. He wouldn’t be surprised if you had a booty call in Chicago. You were distracted all evening texting someone. He pushed the button for your floor.

——————————————————————

Your flight was early so you started packing when you got home. Half way through your wine fueled solo dance party, Andy was at your door. You were a little tipsy and feeling bold so you answered wearing only a tshirt and panties.

“Evening, Andy.” You opened your arms to welcome him inside.

“Evening. Do you have a minute?”

“Sixty an hour, sir and they’re all for you.” He followed behind you to your bedroom.

“Are you drunk?”

“Not yet. But! The night is young.” He watched you dig through your closet selecting dresses and shoes. Nothing very casual.

“You sure do dress up for a family emergency.” You rolled your eyes at him.

“What do you want, Andy?”

“What’s in Chicago?”

“What’s with the questions?”

“Why are you answering my question with a question? Nothing more suspicious.” Fucking lawyers.

“What do you want, Andy? I won’t ask again.”

“You. I won’t see you for a few days and I’ll miss you. If you are going to see a guy, as I suspect by the amount of lingerie you’ve packed, I want you to remember how good you have it at home.”

Your cheeks heated and your cunt started paying attention. “So demanding, Mr. Barber.” You patted him on the head and attempted to walk away from him. He grabbed your hips and ran his hands under your tshirt over your bare belly. “Andy, we agreed.”

“No, you agreed. I did not. I still want you.” His index finger stroked the wet spot on your panties. “Looks like you still want me too.” Your eyes fluttered closed as you leaned into his touch. He nuzzled your clothed pussy nipped and sucked. His hand rubbed broad strokes over you before he pulled them down and began flicking his tongue over your clit. You let out a low moan of appreciation. “Want me to stop?”

“Andy…” He cupped your pussy and slipped in two fingers grinding the palm of his hand against your clit.

“What’s that, honey? Answer me. Do you want me to stop?” His body was pressed against yours.

“No. God no. But you have to. Your wife…”

“Don’t worry about her. Worry about yourself. Do you want me to stop? Tell me to stop.” he growled into your ear. He pressed his erection into your hip she continued finger fucking you.

Your head went blank and your pussy took over again. “Don’t stop. Please, Andy. Never stop fucking me.”

He spent the rest of the night squeezing every last ounce of pleasure from your body. You showered and ate a very late dinner after which you fell asleep watching a movie. This was a level of bliss you had never enjoyed in your whole life. You were falling in love with him. Fuck your stupid feelings.

Your very full bladder nudged you awake. As you slipped back into bed, Andy’s phone screen illuminated the very dark room. You went to turn it off and saw several missed calls and texts from Lori.

You felt like you were doing something horribly wrong. Not like you could see anything she said. You weren’t sure if you should wake him. But, what if it was an emergency? Something could be wrong with Jacob. You nudged his shoulder but he didn’t budge. This man slept like the dead.

“Andy? Wake up.” you whispered in his ear.

“Hmm? What’s wrong?”

“Lori keeps calling. I wasn’t sure if it was an emergency.”

He grumbled and scowled at the device. “It’s nothing. Go back to sleep.”

“It has to be something or else she wouldn’t have called you so many times.”

“I missed counseling tonight. She’s pissed.”

“Go home, Andy. I can get myself to the airport.”

“No. I’m with you tonight. She’ll have me the rest of the week. Come back to bed. Please, baby. I have to get my fill of you before you leave.”

You had a choice here. You could get back in that bed and spend the rest of the night with this beautiful man. You could feel happy and loved and ignore the fact that, two floors up Lori was likely pacing the floor. Or, you could tell him about Chicago and be done with this mess. You chose option B. It was going to hurt like hell but you had to rip off that bandage.

“What’s in Chicago is a position with a major firm. I’ve already had my first interview. They asked me to fly out for a few days. They’ll make me an offer and I’m going to accept.” He was silent. “Say something. Please.”

“I think I’m falling in love with you.” You smacked him in the face with your pillow. “Ow! Hey! What the fuck?! Stop it. Y/N stop! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You were pissed and on the verge of tears. You switched on the bedside lamp and paced the floor mumbling to yourself. “We’ve only known each other for a couple of weeks. Fuck you. You aren’t falling for me. You’re in love with the fantasy that is our relationship.” You took his left hand and pointed to his wedding band, “As long as this is on your finger, you belong to Lori. You will never be mine. Go home, Andy. I’m going into that bathroom. When I come out, you need to be gone. Who the fuck says they’re falling for someone right before they get on a plane?! You’re almost guaranteeing it will crash.”

That stupid wedding ring. He never took it off. It must be graphed to his skin by now. You felt it when you held hands. It pressed into your breasts when he grabbed them. He was never aware of it but you always were. Painfully aware.

After a few minutes you heard your front door slam. You popped a nerve pill and got back in bed. Fuck Andy fucking Barber for being so perfect. Fuck your stupid pussy for getting you involved in the first place and fuck your stupid heart for feeling anything. You cried yourself to sleep.

——————————————————————

At six am Andy stood in his floor to ceiling window drinking his coffee. He saw you pacing the street waiting for your Uber that was five minutes late. The guy didn’t even take your bag. The car sped away taking his whole future with it.

He couldn’t fathom why you had such a soft spot for his wife. You had from the first time you met. You got her a job and went on a one woman crusade to save their marriage. He guessed you just felt like she had gone through enough. Andy hadn’t really forgiven her for almost killing them in that crash. She didn’t forgive him for his father’s involvement in Jacob’s acquittal. There was no going back. He filed for divorce the next day. Whether the two of you got together or not, he and Lori were done.

——————————————————————

When you got home you went to the mailbox first. You had a few magazines stacked on the table. You guessed no one wanted to steal your copy of Forbes. You saw Lori and smiled. Your earbuds were still blasting away so you didn’t immediately hear her talking.

“I’m so sorry. Did you say something?”

“It’s ok. I’m used to it with Jacob. I said I never got to thank you for passing on my information to Linda. I got the job.” (you already knew) “Anyway. I wanted to invite you for dinner sometime as a thank you.”

“I appreciate it. You really don’t have to.”

“Nonsense. I can use the company since Andy moved out.”

You dropped your things and cursed under your breath. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s ok. It was a long time coming. Let me know what works for you. I’m good anytime really.” She got onto the elevator and you stood in the lobby frozen.

You didn’t want to let Andy know you knew right away so you just sent him a quick message. “I’m back.” When you got back into your place your phone rang.

“Did you take the job?” He hadn’t even given you a chance to say hello.

“I did. They need me there in a month. Taking on a class action. I’ll wrap up what I can here and then I’m gone.”

“And I can’t convince you to stay.”

“It’s a really impressive offer. I can’t pass it up.”

“I filed for divorce.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” (No you weren’t)

“So I have a month to make you fall in love with me.”

“Andy…”

“Can I come over?” Say no. End it. Absolutely not.

“Sure. No physical contact.”

“I’ll be a perfect gentleman.” Now if you could only say the same for yourself.

[omoi-no-hoka]

I read your post on how you got started in the translation industry and I was wondering if it is possible to get an entry/basic level translation gigs in Japan with N3-level proficiency or if even those want at least N2 proficiency. Also since you've been living and working in Japan for a long time, what advice would you give those wanting to work in Japan in regards to avoiding black companies?

Finding Translation Work in Japan

Hi there! Thank you for your ask. 

To be honest, “translation” is so very broad that I can’t give you a simple “yes” or “no” as an answer. My answer is “Maybe” with the following caveats. For the sake of this post, I’m going to assume that your native language is English, or that you have native-level proficiency, and you plan to do English↔Japanese translation in a Japanese workplace.

Field of Translation

This is perhaps the biggest factor. I understand that in order to translate legal or medical things, there is a particular certification that you must obtain. This requires N1/native level proficiency in both languages. I have thought of attempting to obtain the medical one, but I’m not ready for it. I would need to study a LOT of terminology in both English and Japanese.

As for other fields, I think it really depends on the company and how much they are willing to teach you on the job. Also, depending on the field, many field-specific terminology may be katakana words derived from English, meaning that while they will be new Japanese words for you, they will not be entirely new words.

But if I were to work in, say, the banking industry doing translation, I would certainly have a hard time learning all the words, especially if I didn’t already have some sort of background in banking in English.

For example, I specifically work as a translator for a company that provides services to other very big companies that you have heard of. Technically, I work for an anti-malware software company and the technical support aspect of it. When a product is updated, I will translate internal manuals and things like that. I also translate the Big Wig conversations, which are done in English since the client and our company’s HQs are in America, so that our local guys know what’s going on. I also create/translate/edit/take minutes for presentations given to Big Wigs. I also handle all IT issues in our project, because our IT ticketing system is 100% in English. ANYTHING English-related is funneled to me.

Contractually-speaking, I do not work for any other clients. But since I’m the only translator in our company in Hokkaido capable of interpretation as well, I am often asked to assist under the table. (Translation and interpretation are two entirely different beasts, btw.) 

While I don’t have a background in IT or computers or anything like that, since most of the terminology is in katakana and I’m not absolutely clueless about computers, my learning curve wasn’t too sharp. I struggled more with bullshit corporate acronyms and the formalities of Business Japanese (sonkeigo and kenjougo). 

A person holding an N2 is considered capable of Business Japanese. Even if you have extensive knowledge in the field of translation, you will have a VERY difficult time adjusting to the Japanese-language workplace if you are not good with Business Japanese. From that standpoint, I cannot recommend someone at N3 to enter a Japanese company to do translation. It will be grueling. I was N1 when I joined the company, and I still had difficulty composing emails and other workplace-related words I hadn’t come across. 

Start with Freelance Translation/Proofreading

There was a year or so where I had N1 but was still teaching English. I found freelance English-Japanese translation jobs online. Lots of them were one-shot things, like “translate this brochure about our little tiny town” or “I am a researcher who has written a paper on Persian-French relations during the 16th century, and I need someone to proofread my English.” Lol that one was pretty specific and paid very handsomely. By doing well on a job, I established a relationship with that client and I would get more work either from them or someone they knew. Prices are fixed before translation. 

The average price for translation is 3-7 yen per character (if the original text is in Japanese) or per word (if the original text is in English). The price increases depending on the complexity of the material. The brochure about the little town was 4 yen per character, but the research paper was 9 yen word (despite the fact I was only proofreading instead of translating because it was incredibly complex). 

Proofreading goes alongside translation. I didn’t really do much of that, but you can see a price range of 1-5 yen per character/word. If you are N3, proofreading is great way to get your feet wet!

NOTE: Do not take on proofreading or translation jobs for a language that is not your native language. No matter how good you think your Japanese is, it will not be good enough to proofread. Even if you have an N1, you will miss things. Even I, as a translator with almost 3 years experience in my field, always have a Japanese coworker proofread everything I translate into Japanese, and 9 times out of 10 they fix at least one thing. 

How to Avoid Black Companies

In Japan, some companies are labeled ブラック企業 “black kigyou,” which means that they violate labor laws in some heinous fashion. Denying pay, benefits, or leave, forcing employees to do grueling amounts of overtime that can lead to 過労死 karoushi (death by overwork), etc. These companies will rob you of your sanity at best and your life at worst, and are to be avoided at all costs. 

When I was searching for a position teaching English, I googled reviews of each big Eikaiwa school, like AEON or whatever else there is. Many previous teachers air their grievances on places like glassdoor.com. It was easy to learn which schools I should avoid.

Also, I applied online to many different big Eikaiwas. Three of them (sorry, I can’t remember which) immediately emailed me back and said I was hired, without an interview or anything. That should be a HUGE red flag to you right there. Why are they so desperate to hire that they’ll take you without even giving you an interview? And even if they do later say, “Your hiring is dependent upon an interview,” that means that their initial contact email was fraudulent. 

Research the company as best you can. See if you can find someone who has worked for them. Beware of smaller, private companies. They tend to fly under the radar and are prone to be even shittier. Then again, there was a woman who died of death by over work a few years ago and she worked for the biggest advertising firm in Japan.

Here’s an article from Business Insider about karoushi and black companies.

A 2016 report examining karoshi cases and their cause of death found that more than 20% of people in a survey of 10,000 Japanese workers said they worked at least 80 hours of overtime a month.

The Health, Labor and Welfare Ministry defines the threshold for karoushi as greater than 80 hours of overtime a month. Since this article was posted in 2018, a new law regarding overtime has been implemented by the Japanese government. Now there is a legal cap on overtime of 100 hours per month (and 720/year) for busier months, with the general upper limit set at 45 hours per month (360 hours/year). 

Even if a company isn’t black, be prepared for overtime. My company makes sure that every employee adheres to the 45 hours per month limit...as best they can. If you follow this blog you know that I have done 60 and 70 hours of overtime in certain months, because I am our only translator and when shit hits the fan I’m the only one who can handle it. 

However, my company is very good about making sure that I receive all of my overtime pay. Every single minute of overtime I do is properly reimbursed. Sometimes this means that if I work 60 hours one month, I will only report 45 that month, and then report 15 extra hours the next month. Or I will take a couple days off but claim that I worked (with my bosses’ approval, of course). 

I can’t speak for other companies for sure, but I fear that when this law was introduced in 2019, many companies did not change their business models and instead forbid employees from reporting overtime that exceeded legal limits, meaning they would be going without compensation. 

So be aware that if you are going to work in a Japanese company, you are likely to have overtime. Some people don’t, and congratulations to them! But it is an extremely real possibility. Make sure that you can handle it physically and mentally, and that you are being properly compensated. After my first month of Big Overtime, my boss told me, “I’m surprised that you managed to do all that. I thought that Americans had a poor work ethic compared to Japanese people, but now I see that’s not true.”

kinda racist, but thx

If you have an interview and it goes well and you receive a contract, ask to take the contract and have time to think about it. Then, have a Japanese person you trust read the contract and make sure there is nothing shady hidden in there. Contracts and legalese are difficult enough in my own native language--I don’t trust myself to catch something in Japanese. 

If your friend thinks that the contract is fair as well, and if you feel like the company has a good atmosphere, take the job. That is what I did, and I am glad I did.

Translation and Interpretation

A lot of people don’t know the difference between “translation” and “interpretation” and use them interchangeably, but they are actually entirely different tasks that require different skills. 

Translation: the conversion of written text from one language to another.

Interpretation: the conversion of spoken word from one language to another.

You will most likely be hired as a translator, because translation is much cheaper than interpretation. However, if your company is like mine, you will have interpretation work to do as well. You may be asked to take part in meetings and facilitate communication between the English-speaking and Japanese-speaking people, or act as a guide to a client from American headquarters, for example.

With translation, you usually have the blessing of time. You can look up a word you don’t know, you can think about the grammar, you can think about tone. 

But with interpretation, you need to be:

Listening to Speaker A’s English and mentally summarizing their words

Starting to say Speaker A’s words in Japanese while holding on to the bits that will come later because English and Japanese word order is so different

Continuing to listen to added speech from Speaker A as you concurrently are relaying their previous speech in to Japanese and retaining the parts that you can’t say yet because of word order.

Then do it all for again for Speaker B’s reply, and repeat. 

Basically, your mind has to be doing three things at once. Does your head hurt? Mine does. If I have to do simultaneous interpretation like that for more than a couple hours I literally develop a headache. 

I will NEVER recommend an N3 person attempt interpretation in a business setting. Nor N2 for that matter. It is hard and you do not have the benefit of time to think and double-check things.

Also, many people don’t understand exactly how difficult it is to do interpretation. I have to sometimes just say “Sorry, pause” to the speaker because my head can’t retain any more, especially if figures and data and dates are referred to. Thankfully my coworkers have come to understand my method and are just happy that I can facilitate communication for them. 

If you have any other questions regarding job hunting, please let me know and I’d be more than happy to offer what advice I have! 💖

[lovemollywho]

Bitter Rivals

Okay this is dedicated to @starseternalnighttriumphant because she is literally one of my favorite Rowaelin writters (Hannah, theres a little shout out to you, you’ll know it when you see it lol)

--------------

“I swear the next time that pompous dick face asshole even looks at me, I swear - I swear Elide that I’m going to take my $4,000 dollar Louboutin’s and stab him.” Aelin let out a frustrated groan in her throat as she stacked together case files to take home for the night. Elide stood in the doorway of Aelin’s office watching her friend and boss pace back and forth grabbing various objects and stuffing them in her bag. 

“I take it the meeting with the new Mr. Whitethorn didn’t go as planned?” Elide asked wondering when Aelin was going to notice that she had started to throw random things in her bag and not the case files she needed. 

“Oh that’s for sure,” Aelin said waving a box of tissues in her hand. “First he wants to come in like if he owns the place, classic alpha type you know? But then what really gets me is he had the gall, the fucking nerve, to look me up and down, head to toe and then walk away! The buzzard didn’t even say anything to me! Just gave me this once over, sat down, and proceeded to ignore me the rest of the meeting.” Aelin finally noticed the box of tissues in her hand and all the random junk that she had placed in her bag. Huffing she started to pull things out and Elide did her best not to laugh.

In all reality Aelin was used to people, men, in particular, sizing her up only to underestimate her in the end. It was something that she thrived on adding fuel to her fire. But when Rowan Whitethorn the newest addition to their law firm came swaggering in and dismissed her completely something in her blood boiled over into a hot rage. It didn’t help that he was tall, muscular, and looked like he could definitely act out a scene in one of her many romance novels. He wanted to act like an arrogant jerk so in Aelin’s mind he would be treated as such and therefore off-limits. 

“Well here’s some news that might make you feel a bit better.” Elide said walking into Aelin’s office and sitting down, “The paralegal gossip network has been whispering that the higher-ups are starting to look for candidates to promote to partner and,” Elide paused for effect, “It seems you are the top of the list!” The smile that broke across Aelin’s face was so big that Elide wondered if it hurt. Aelin jumped up and down in joy before regaining her composure. 

“Whew okay, no big deal that’s cool. Besides, it’s not like I’ve gotten the promotion yet anyway. Do we know who the other people on the list are?” Elide shook her head.

“Not that I’ve heard, but the moment I’ve found something out I’ll let you know.” Aelin nodded and gathered her bag and purse ready to leave for the day, Elide doing the same but instead of walking towards the elevator Aelin veered towards the right. Elide paused and gave her a quizzical look, Aelin giving her a secret smile said, “I hid some of the chocolate bark that Lys made for the office.” Elide scoffed a laugh and continued on leaving Aelin to have her end of day snack. 

-------------

Thirty minutes later Aelin had combed the office kitchen not once, not twice but five times looking for her secret stash of goodies but to no avail. A part of her knew that she could just ask Lysandra to make her some more but another part of her was frustrated at whoever had found the chocolate that she had clearly been hiding. Finally deciding to give up she jumped when someone cleared their throat behind her. 

“Is there a reason you’re tearing up the kitchen so late in the day?” Aelin turned around to see Rowan Whitethorn casually leaning against the entrance to the kitchen. Aelin’s eyes narrowed on the twig-like object in his hands. As if knowing exactly what he was doing, Rowan brought the chocolate bark up to his mouth and bit off a piece.

“You!” Aelin accused finger-pointing at Rowan. “You ate my chocolate!” Rowan looked at the piece of chocolate in his hands before bringing it to his mouth again this time taking a bigger bite finishing it off. He dusted his hands off before putting them in his pocket. 

“I didn’t realize they were yours.” He said giving his shoulders a shrug. Aelin wanted to smack the smug look off of his face but instead grabbed her bag that she had put down when looking for her missing snack. 

“Oh, so the chocolate that was clearly on the top shelf with multiple items in front of it, hidden from view. You didn’t think that it was someone’s and they were hiding it?” Aelin scoffed and moved to go around Rowan. 

“There were some on the counter in the glass jar, why didn’t you eat those instead?” Aelin asked moving out of the kitchen and into the hallway.

“They were dark chocolate. Dark chocolate is too bitter and when I was looking in the cabinet for something else to eat, I found the milk chocolate ones.”

“Because I was hiding them!” Aelin huffed. She didn’t know what was going on with her, usually, she was more calm and collected than this, but Rowan had gotten in the way between her and something sweet. It didn’t matter that he had rolled up his white button-up sleeves and she could see the whorls of tattoos on his ridiculously toned forearms - seriously that’s not a part of the body that should even be attractive. 

“Oh Aelin you’re still here, good.” Aelin turned to see Arobynn Hamel, one of the law firms partners walking towards her. She sighed internally and plastered on a smile. 

“Arobynn.” She nodded in acknowledgment. 

“I need to talk to you about something.” Rowan stepped out of the kitchen and into the hallway with Aelin. Arobynn’s eyes flicked to him before turning back to Aelin. “Oh good you’re both here then.”

Aelin was curious to know what Arobynn could need the two of them for.

“I’m sure both of you are aware that we are looking at possible new partners. I wanted to let you both know that you are on that list and tomorrow morning at our monthly check-in meeting we’ll go over some projects and cases that we want you to work on together.” Aelin felt like she had just gotten hit with a fright truck but her smile stayed in place. Arobynn touched his hand to Aelin’s shoulder and then walked away. Without another look or word to Rowan she walked away. 

------------- 

“Can you believe?!” Aelin said pouring herself another glass of wine before offering to pour Lysandra one. Lysandra held out her glass and watched with a smile as Aelin filled it up. 

“I mean first the bastard doesn’t say a word to me, and then he eats my chocolate, which by the way should be punishable by death, I should know, I’m a lawyer. But then he’s my rival for the partner position?! I swear Lys, I don’t know what I did wrong in my past life or what my ancestors did wrong but this sucks. It sucks.” She took a big gulp out of her glass before picking up one of the cupcakes Lys had baked before Aelin came over. 

“So what are you going to do?” Lys said taking a sip out of her glass.

“I don’t know, I don’t know what they’re gonna ask us to do, you know?” 

“Well let’s worry about that tomorrow then, have you heard about his new Polish movie that’s apparently better than 50 shades?” Lys asked picking up the remote to turn on the TV.

“Um what? I wanna watch.” Aelin picked up another cupcake before snuggling into the couch.

-------------

The next morning Aelin walked into her morning meeting with a chocolate croissant and three shots of espresso over ice with sugar and cream. She sat down at her normal spot by the window and brought out her phone to look over emails when Rowan sat down next to her. She tried her best to ignore him but when he started tapping his pen on the legal pad in front of him Aelin had to put down her phone before she threw it at his head. 

Before she could say something to him Arobynn walked in with three other men and two women one of them Clarisse and the others Aelin had met on various occasions but could not recall the names of. 

“Ah good, you’re both here.” As everyone sat down Aelin sat up straighter. This was her chance to become a partner, something that she had been working towards since she started at Hammel and DuVency six years ago. 

“Let’s get started then.” Clarisse templed her hands in front of her, “Arobynn informed the two of you of the opportunity to make partner, but rather than look at your individual cases and workloads we want to see how the two of you work together.” Elide walked in the room and handed both Rowan and Aelin some files before sitting down. 

“This is Dorian Havilliard, I’m sure that you’ve seen him in the news recently. Currently he’s being sued by his father, Dorian Senior, over a breach in a business contract that they had. We will be representing the younger Dorian and I want the two of you to work this case together.” 

“With all due respect,” Rowan chimed in. “Why?”

Arobynn responded, “This is a high profile case, and both of you are good looking to deal with the press. You also both have a stunning amount of wins which should make this easy. Ms. Lochan here will assist the two of you during this time.” Aelin nodded and pulled out her phone to send a quick text to Lys. 

“Anything else we should know moving forward?” Aelin asked, scanning through the case file. If all she had to do was to win this case to prove that she was better than Rowan then the partnership was as good as hers. 

“No, we will leave you two to discuss the important matter of the case amongst yourself,” Clarisse said standing up. “Please remember that we’ll be watching how the two of you work together during this time.” With that they all stood up and walked out of the room.

“Elide, could you get me all the files from the 2012 White Wolf case, they had a case similar to this, and pull any other files you can find on Dorian Senior, he wouldn’t be suing his son if it wasn’t important.” Aelin listed off, Elide nodding as she took notes.

“What makes you think that Dorian Senior is the one to blame?” Rowan asked. Aelin didn’t look at him as she continued to scan the file in front of her. “Because I’m not being paid to believe otherwise.” With that she stood up and walked out of the room. 

-------------

Around lunchtime, Lysandra walked in holding a small green box that was trademarked to her bakery. She knocked and Aelin’s head shot up before a smile took over her face.

“Yeah! You brought it!” Aelin said getting up from her chair to hug her best friend. 

“I also brought some food from Emrys,” she said holding up a takeout bag which she pulled out of Aelin’s reach, when she pouted Lys said “And, a slice of his chocolate cake.” Aelin jumped up and down grabbing the bag from Lys before pulling out a couple of fries to eat before splitting up the food between her and Lysandra.

“I love you Lys, and I love your baking but nothing will ever beat Emrys’s chocolate cake, I swear he puts crack in it.” Lys laughed at her friend taking a bite out of her own burger. 

“So you gonna tell me why you needed me to make you chocolate?” 

-------------

After Lysandra left, Aelin took the box of chocolate up a floor to Rowan’s office. His office door was open but he was on a call, his back towards the door. Aelin knocked tentatively, when he turned around and saw her he placed one finger up telling her he would be just a minute. 

“I understand that, but in the meantime I don’t want him anywhere near his son. We’ll file a restraining order on him, I can get a judge to sign it in,” Rowan looked at his wristwatch, “about an hour. Does that work?” Rowan nodded his head to whoever was on the phone before setting it back on the receiver.  He walked around his desk to the front and leaned against it, crossing on leg over the other. 

Damn it, he was attractive. 

“I came to bring you this,” Aelin said handing over the green box that Lysandra brought earlier. He lifted a silver eyebrow at her. Aelin shrugged and smiled. 

“I realized that we might have gotten off on the wrong foot so I wanted to give you a little something so that you know where we stand. Rowan opened the box while Aelin’s smile grew brighter. 

“What is this?” Rowan asked, still staring at the contents inside the box. 

“It's homemade dark chocolate, your favorite.” Rowan lifted the box towards Aelin where she could see the message written inside.

“Oh, that. That’s from me.” The words ‘Rival Confirmed’ were written across the assortment of chocolate sweets that Lysandra had put together for Aelin.

“Anyway, looking forward to working with you.” Aelin turned and walked out the door feeling much more satisfied than the day before. 

Tags:

@safewithintheheart

@bibliophileaddict

@acer6437

@bamchickawowow  

[ddagent]

TELEPATHIC BRIENNE!.!

Here it is, Part III! I hope you enjoy.

Tarth. Coffee tomorrow. 7.30am. Good Knight Grind. We can discuss the ‘case’ I have you working on. 

The text from Jaime Lannister had come through later that day after she had begged off with a migraine (from the blow to her head, and the constant stream of thoughts plaguing her). If Brienne didn’t know any better, she would think Lannister was an arsehole determined to torture her over the lie she had constructed to escape working with Renly. She may not know the man, but she did know his thoughts, and his crush on her was overwhelming. 

So much so that, at seven-fifteen, Brienne was standing in the queue and tugging at her shirt collar in the hope of appearing more agreeable to a man she had once considered all that was wrong with the legal profession. 

The door to the Good Knight Grind opened. There she is. Fuck, she’s wearing that blue shirt again. What in the Seven Hells are you trying to do to me, Brienne? Jaime Lannister suddenly came into view, but offered her nothing more than a polite nod. “Morning, Tarth.”

“Good morning, Mister Lannister.” 

More than a few eyes in the coffee shop drifted to him. He looked like he’d stepped off a photo shoot: dark-blonde hair, designer stubble, gold lion cufflinks. Cool, calm, collected. Should I have shaved? Does Brienne like men with stubble? Get yourself together, Jaime, this is a business meeting, not a date. He glanced towards her, briefly, before touching his tie clip: a sword with a lion as its pommel. 

“Oathkeeper,” Brienne said, the corners of her mouth picking up as she recognised the blade, albeit in miniature. 

Jaime lifted the bottom of his tie. “Oh, um, I guess. My assistant picked it out.” She noticed my tie clip; she noticed my tie clip. Should I tell her I’ve got a matching clip of Widow’s Wail?

“You do?” Brienne asked, only for a line to form across her boss’ forehead as she answered a question he had not asked. “Sorry, I misheard.” 

It’s far too loud in here. Should have gone somewhere quieter, but I love the name. Brienne found herself smiling (she, too, loved the name) before quickly adopting a neutral expression. Just because she and Jaime Lannister seemed to share a mutual love of history did not mean she liked him. He was, after all, an arrogant arse who had torpedoed the defence of a senior partner to advance his own career. 

One Northern breakfast tea and one iced chocolate chip mocha with extra whipped cream, Jaime thought beside her, repeating their order multiple times in his head as they approached the front of the line. One Northern breakfast tea and one iced chocolate chip mocha with extra whipped cream. Should I suggest we get breakfast? Those pastries look good. Should I ask if she’s already eaten? I should probably ask what she wants to drink; I don’t want to look like a creep who knows her order off by heart. 

“Next please!”

They stepped forward. Jaime paused, mentally considering the merits of a bacon sandwich. Brienne addressed the barista in his stead: “One Northern breakfast tea with whole milk; one iced chocolate chip mocha with extra whipped cream; two bacon sandwiches.” She turned to her boss. “Anything else?”

“No–no, that’s spot on.” Brienne moved to her jacket pocket to retrieve her purse. Oh, fuck no. You’re not paying for this. With practised ease, Jaime flashed his credit card at the barista. “It’s a business meeting, Tarth. It’s on expenses.” 

“Oh. Thank you.” 

Brienne gave the barista their names, and together they stood off to the side. Jaime leant against the counter, looking like a model amidst the stirrers, napkins, and sachets of sugar. Brienne fiddled with the strap of her satchel and tried not to hum along to the song Jaime was singing in his head. It was catchier than the music playing low in the coffee shop, and better sounding, too. 

“You knew my order,” he said, as the song abruptly cut off. 

“I—” Can read your mind. “—I’ve seen you drink it before. It’s not exactly black coffee.” 

Fuck. I bet Renly drinks black coffee. His mocking tone was clear, even in his head. “And the bacon sandwich?” 

“It’s a breakfast meeting.”

A breakfast meeting. It’s not like she wanted to sit with you for longer. It’s not like she wanted to share a meal with you or anything. “Fine. But check with me first, Tarth; my schedule is built down to the minute; next time, I may not be able to attend a breakfast meeting.”

“I did check,” Brienne fired back; the disparity in Jaime’s thoughts and speech rendering her off-kilter. “I believe your exact words were ‘No, no, that’s spot on’.”  

She’s so hot when she’s angry. “Impeccable memory, Tarth. Is that why Renly has been using you as a dictaphone ever since you started at the firm?” 

“Not any more.” 

“Yes, of course. Not any more. That’s why we’re here, after all. To discuss our case.”

Just then, their names were called by another barista, and they took their drinks and sandwiches to a corner table surrounded by students typing furiously at laptops and high powered executives reading the broadsheets. Brienne poured her tea into the cup provided and stirred in the milk. Jaime angrily sucked his iced mocha through a paper straw. Both took several mouthfuls of their bacon sandwich (plenty of bacon; not enough ketchup) before Brienne broke the tense silence. 

“You didn’t have to cover for me.” 

I know. “I know.” But you deserve better than to be Renly’s gofer. “To be frank, Tarth, I should have done it a long time ago. I believe everyone should carry their weight within the firm, and Renly has allowed you to carry his as well as your own for far too long.” He leant back in his chair. “And he’s a dick.” 

Brienne sighed. “I won’t argue with you.” 

Shame. You could argue a Lannister out of paying a debt. “Can I ask what led to this little change of heart? Last week you were practically licking his boots—”

“—and this week, I want to throw them at his head.” Her teeth toyed with her bottom lip as Brienne thought how best to phrase her epiphany other than I can suddenly read minds and everyone’s a wanker apart from Podrick Payne and you, apparently. “I...overheard some comments he made about me. I won’t be used. I’m better than that.”

Yes, you are. “Yes, you are. Well, I’m glad you’ve finally seen the light. If you overhear anything else—”

“—like colleagues padding expenses, sleeping together on company time and property, and searching for depositions that don’t exist to give themselves breathing room on cases that they’re losing?”

Jaime spluttered around his straw. “I’m sorry, what?” 

Brienne hadn’t intended to spill the secrets of her coworkers, but every thought she mentioned to Jaime had been costing the firm and their clients time and money. By the end of her recitation, her tea had grown cold and Jaime’s green eyes ever wider. It had been a very informative staff meeting. There was only a handful, actually, who weren’t trying to con the firm in one way or another. 

“Fuck,” Jaime exclaimed as she finished. Dad’s going to have a field day with this. “Well, thank you for telling me, Brienne. It’s not always easy to inform on a coworker.” Not that these people have ever been friends of yours. Not that I’ve been, either. Well, if Willem gets the sack, you can have the office nearer to mine. We could get closer, then. Not that you would ever–one thing at a time, Jaime. “Dare I ask how you found all this out?” 

“No one really...sees me. People treat me as if I wasn’t there. I hear things.” 

“Well, for the sake of the firm, I’m glad they do. But I’m sorry that they do.” Jaime sighed. His thumb brushed some whipped cream clinging to the straw. “For the record, Brienne, I know I may not have always shown it, but I...I see you.”

“I know.” 

His gaze rose to meet hers; a half-smile upon his features. And I think you see me, too, now. 

Brienne wasn’t so sure about that. Jaime Lannister was a mess of contradictions; the knowledge of his past and the image of his present collided as often as the softness of his thoughts and the abrasive nature of his words. But maybe – just maybe – she’d like to.

[jerseydeanne]

Nothing was ever good enough...Meghan left staff shaking with fear

The Times article.

https://archive.vn/2e8QQ

Tuesday March 02 2021, 10.00pm GMT, The Times    The Duchess of Sussex has always prided herself on being a good boss. When she was in the American TV series

Suits

, she would sometimes buy the crew pizza. At Kensington Palace there was the occasion, recounted in the pages of

People

magazine in February 2019, when she paid for an ice-cream stand for staff. “They were remarking how it was the ‘best day of work ever’,” a friend said.    Some of those who worked for Meghan after she joined the royal family have less fond memories. Staff were bullied, according to sources, and some reduced to tears. One said they were humiliated by her on a number of occasions. According to the complaint revealed by

The Times

today, two PAs were driven from the household. The duchess denies any allegations of bullying.    

My source said it was like walking on eggshells to be around Meghan.  

The first sign that anything might be amiss came when a story appeared in a diary column in a national newspaper saying that Meghan’s personal assistant had left six months after the royal wedding. 

A week later the assistant was named in another paper as Melissa Touabti. “Meghan put a lot of demands on her and it ended up with her in tears,” a source was reported as saying.Touabti was not the first member of staff to leave. 

Before her there was another PA, a young woman already employed by the palace. She did not stay long after Meghan arrived.      

Both PAs signed non-disclosure agreements. There is no suggestion that Meghan tried to prevent them from speaking. Lawyers for the duke and duchess stated that she had no knowledge of the agreements and that they believed staff to be comfortable and happy. 

      That's a lie, MM is crazy about NDAs and made Harry sign one after she dictated the statement over the phone in 2016. Everyone signs one who works for the firm. Harry is well aware of this. 

Record Scratch... Meghan Markle threw a cup of hot tea at an assistant in Aus.

   In late 2017, after Harry and Meghan’s engagement was announced, a senior aide spoke to the couple about the difficulties caused by their treatment of staff. People needed to be treated well and with some understanding, even when they were not performing to their standards, they were told. Meghan is said to have replied: “It’s not my job to coddle people.”     

Meghan is so fake and phony, if those people can't help her get to be an A-lister, they are toast.   

There is no doubt that Meghan could be a demanding boss. There were a number of people, allegedly including Harry himself, who suggested that those early problems were partly to do with cultural differences in management style. As Omid Scobie and Carolyn Durand put it in their book about the couple,

Finding Freedom

: “Americans can be much more direct, and that often doesn’t sit well in the much more refined institution of the monarchy.”    

It's a turn-on to a narc to watch people squirm.

 However,

The Times

has spoken to insiders who have argued that it was about more than just American straight-talking. The duchess could be sharp with those she felt were letting her down, sources claim. One former staff member said: “I had unpleasant experiences with her. I would definitely say humiliated.”       Meghan is sadistic!   After Jason Knauf, the couple’s communications secretary, made his bullying complaint, another member of staff was worried about spending time with her the next day because she feared that Meghan was about to find out. “This is why I feel sick,” they said.    

Another time there was a row about whether Meghan had been told that the media would be present at an event. When she rang the aide, they rang back but she did not pick up. “I feel terrified,” the source said. “I can’t stop shaking.”    Meghan loves to play games.   Another source said: “There were a lot of broken people. Young women were broken by their behaviour.” The source described one member of staff as “completely destroyed”.      Even before the wedding, staff were feeling the strain. One told a colleague the couple were “outrageous bullies” and said they were considering resigning. The colleague replied: “That’s so dreadful. And they are bullies.”      

The  harsh treatment was not confined to junior staff. One source claimed that Samantha Cohen, the couple’s private secretary, had been bullied. Another said: “They treated her terribly. Nothing was ever good enough. It was, ‘She doesn’t understand, she’s failing.’” In fact, the source said, Cohen was “a saint” and the best organiser of royal tours they had known.     Lawyers for the duke and duchess said they remained close to Cohen and grateful for her support and dedication, acknowledging that she had come out of retirement to work closely with them at a busy time. They deny bullying her.     

The Sussexes’ autumn tour

in 2018, when they visited Australia, New Zealand, Fiji and Tonga, was stressful for staff, sources say. A senior adviser did his best to reassure them, saying: “You are dealing with a very difficult lady.”The issue boils down to whether Meghan was a demanding boss with high standards, or a bully. Did her team fail her or did she ask the impossible?    Bully!  

In court papers for her successful privacy action against TheMail on Sunday

, her lawyers said that when she was distressed by the negative stories in the media about her, her friends felt frustrated by the instruction from the palace communications team that they should respond “no comment” to allegations. That left her friends “rightly concerned for her welfare, specifically as she was pregnant, unprotected by the institution and prohibited from defending herself”, they said.     

It was a setup from the beginning.    

An alternative view, sources say, is that Meghan craved rejection from the moment she walked into Kensington Palace, and that nothing that anyone did would ever be good enough.     

True, she is mentally ill  

The palace knew that when Harry married a woman who was biracial, American and divorced, they had to go out of their way to make sure the marriage was a success: if it was not, the royal household and their supposedly hidebound ways would be blamed. 

“Everyone knew that the institution would be judged by her happiness,” a source said. “The mistake they made was thinking she wanted to be happy. She wanted to be rejected because she was obsessed with that narrative from day one.” 

     TRUE!   

Lawyers for the duchess said this was entirely wrong. The duchess wished to fit in and be accepted and had left her life in North America to commit herself to her new role.      

Liar, it was always going to be this way, she was never a sticker.  It's all about the money.   

More than one source has expressed their view about her wanting to be a victim. One claimed: “She wanted to be the victim because then she could convince Harry that it was an unbearable experience and they had no choice but to move to America.” 

Lawyers for the duke and duchess denied this was true. Supporters of the couple have argued that Harry and Meghan were frustrated in their attempts to live their life in a different way.     

Winner, winner, chicken dinner!  Meghan worked on Harry that the same thing was going to happen to her as his mother. They are after me Harry even though her PR is the one who set up the articles. 

Finding Freedom

quoted a source close to the prince saying that “nothing could convince Harry that some of the old guard at the palace simply didn’t like Meghan and would stop at nothing to make her life difficult”. In her legal case against

The Mail on Sunday

, the duchess’s lawyers denied that the couple collaborated with the book.       One source claimed that most of the tensions in the household at the time concerned the Sussexes’ relations with the media. “The way I see it, their view of not getting institutional support was that they were not getting permission to blow up the institution’s relationships with the media.” Again, lawyers for the duke and duchess deny this.      Their lawyers are denying a lot!   One conversation confirmed to

The Times

seems to reveal how much the palace was prepared to go out of its way to help Meghan. Before the wedding, the couple had a meeting with a senior aide who told them that the palace was doing everything it could to help and there was no need to think she had to take on her role in a particular way, a source said. If she was passionate about the acting world, they could help her to think about finding a role within the film industry.     

They made sure Meghan had anything she wanted. They rolled out the red carpet. I told them she is going to screw you!   

The source said: “The entire place, because of everything about her, and because of what Harry’s previous girlfriends had been through, was bending over backwards to make sure that every option was open.” They said Meghan thanked them, but said she had no wish to carry on acting. Instead she wanted to concentrate on her humanitarian and philanthropic work, and to support Harry as a member of the royal family.That might have been that, except of course it wasn’t. Part of the problem, according to the source, was that everyone in the palace was so genteel and civil; too genteel and civil: “When someone decides not to be civil, they have no idea what to do. They were run over by her, and then run over by Harry. They had no idea what to do.”      The duchess issued a detailed statement last night stating that the allegations were a smear campaign and an attack on her character.  

[parvuls]

19/54 :)

19 - summer camp / 54 - secret relationship

now. the first thing that came to mind is camp sweetgum. so i’m gonna leave this here in case it strikes your fancy and also because it’s great.

but i’m a sucker for extensive worldbuilding, so let’s settle in for the long haul, kay? this is 1.7k of plot outlining. you can see why it takes me four months to write fics.

eric bittle. age 15. moved to madison for high school, quit figure skating, joined a no contact hockey team. coach is happier but not happy, so he suggests an idea: hockey summer camp. yes contact. it’s in minnesota (coach’s not thrilled about the yankees, but there are no hockey camps anywhere south; he checked), and it’ll give junior an opportunity to meet some kids with similar interests. athletic interests, that is. and there’s still a lake and extracurricular activities, “so it’s just like the camp up by lake oconee, y’know? where the kids braid friendship bracelets and whatnot. except with sports.”

eric is... less enthused. but it’s not actually a suggestion so much as a decision and coach just moved across the state for him because he managed to get himself stuck in a closet overnight (eric’s mindset, at this age, is perhaps not the most healthy), so he says yes.

jack zimmermann. age 20. assistant coached a peewee team for the year and is not ready to spend a third summer in his parents’ house in montréal when all his former teammates from the q are returning home during off-season. his boss tells him about this summer camp in minnesota that’s looking for experienced counselors -- “it’s not a prospect camp, mostly for fun, so the boys there aren’t headed for the league. you should go. talk to some kids above the age of ten.”

jack’s pretty okay with never talking to anyone over ten again, but he’s got no other options and bob starts mentioning going to bonding fishing trips just the two of them, so he send an application.

um. he’s jack zimmermann. he was supposed to go first in the draft. the guy in charge of hiring for the summer probably rubbed his eyes in shock when he saw the email and headed straight to bed because he thought he was delusional from lack of sleep. jack gets the job.

so, like. listen. samwell men’s hockey team? they’re not your usual hockey playing dude bros. eric gets to camp that july and he’s still all long dancer’s muscles from regionals and even lighter weight from usual because he was on a strict diet and he’s got a southern accent and narrow shoulders and he doesn’t like when you slap him on the back. he’s not a hit with the local boys. but you know who does like him immediately? adam birkholtz, who’s off the ushl for the summer and wanted to play some fun hockey and get paid doing it. is it legal? who fucking cares, man.

does eric like adam? uhh. adam is 6′4 and touchy feely and eric’s got undiagnosed ptsd, so. no. but it works out after a while, because adam is relentless and also cannot stand most of the other counselors, and this tiny kid is great.

you can see how it goes: jack does not. get. bittle. it should be mentioned that jack also does not get adam, and adam does not especially like jack, so they stay out of each other’s way, but bittle is in jack’s morning slot. he skates like he was born doing it but every time one of the other players so much as looks in his direction he freezes like a deer. now, this isn’t the ncaa, jack’s got nothing to lose if this kid sucks in hockey, but he also doesn’t make friends and he’s got nothing to do with his day except read (he reads. a lot). and he likes challenges. so he starts paying attention.

the first time he asks eric to stay after morning slot’s over, eric looks so terrified jack’s usual awkward conversation skills reduce him to single-word grunting. but he gets the point across: they’re gonna practice yes-contact. for reasons. eric’s all like, “oh -- oh, no, it’s okay! i’m in a no contact co-ed team, it’s fine, this is a summer thing, really, sir, no need --” and jack’s like, did this kid just call me sir, i am twenty, but is also too awkward to take it back. he’s invested now. they’re gonna practice.

and practice they do. it goes badly before it even remotely starts getting better. eric looks like he’s gonna start crying every time and jack does. not. get him (!!!) but eventually adam finds out and talks to eric about it and encourages him (very, very gently, god, this kid is the shit but he’s definitely got some issues 19-years-old-adam is not equipped to handle) to give it a shot.

and then it does get better. jack likes having a purpose, guiding someone through an improvement process (jack’s therapist, wisely, does not tell him that this is the best thing he could’ve done for himself, because jack is... not there yet). eric (very, very slowly, god, he also should start seeing a therapist) stops fearing every jock who gets near him with the combined effort of adam’s incessant friendly advances and jack’s daily practices, and can even take some checks. gentle ones. but it’s something.

and then summer’s over. eric and adam trade numbers. eric and jack… do not, but jack probably says something like, “eat more protein, bittle,” and eric’s not even that offended, so it’s fine.

guess what? he goes back the next summer. coach is over the moon (he expresses this in a twist of the mustache and a firm shoulder clap). adam is also back, talks a lot about quitting the ushl after his next season and maybe going to college somewhere. jack is back because… uh, well, no one’s really sure why jack is back. he’s going to samwell in early august, right after camp ends. jack tells himself he’s easing himself back into hockey in a low-pressure environment and totally isn’t looking forward to seeing what a year has done to eric bittle.

which is, physically speaking, not a lot, honestly. eric’s firmer now, a lot more thigh and bicep muscles, but still narrow. it’s not collegiate hockey, it’s a high school team, alright? gosh. but he’s less jumpy and smiles at jack when their eyes meet and he’s babbling with adam a lot more than he did last year (they texted all year long, and it was nice having a friend, even if it was long distance), so it’s cool. jack makes him do morning practices again and he flinches less and less. they’re like. friends. maybe. jack hasn’t had any friends in three years and the last one was parse, so he’s a little rusty. it’s not a very traditional friendship.

they part ways again in august, and eric wishes jack good luck in school. jack sticks his hands in his pockets to avoid fiddling with his hat and has no idea how one says goodbye, and like, he’s not gonna keep in touch with this sixteen year old kid in his freshman year of college, okay? so. so. but he’s gonna like -- uh -- miss him. maybe. sorta. don’t tell anyone.

eric hugs him goodbye. jack doesn’t even take both hands out of his pockets to hug back, he’s so shocked.

the year after that, none of them come back. jack’s in college, he just got the c. adam’s getting ready for his freshman year. eric’s over the age limit for camp. it just doesn’t happen.

but the year after that, he gets a hockey scholarship for samwell. and it’s yes contact. and he hasn’t been checked in two years, and last time it was in a controlled environment near a minnesota lake, and he’s scared. and the guy from camp (the one who woke up that morning two years before and realized jack zimmermann indeed wanted to work at their camp) offers him a summer job, counseling skating lessons. and he says yes. for money, and to be ready for a season of real hockey.

also that year, jack’s had a bad season. parse won the cup, and smh didn’t even make it to the frozen four, and he feels shitty about everything. and coaching always made him feel better. so he goes back to camp, for one summer.

let’s set the scene: eric. age 18. taller, stronger, determined. in need of a haircut, but in possession of very short shorts. is headed to a liberal school and finally knows he’s gay and refuses to care about what the other boys think (camp has done wonders for his early mindset development; canon bitty, probably, was not as confident at this point). he’s a counselor now, fellas!

jack. age 23. not taller, yes stronger, has been friends with shitty knight for a year and knows a little more about human interaction (truly a little, but still). is looking to relax for the summer before kicking ass next season (and attracting scouts and joining the nhl and winning three cups before 30 and proving everyone wrong, but. first, relaxing and playing some hockey. jack zimmermann’s version of relaxing is different than other people’s).

they’re sharing a cabin in the counselors area. there are two beds, obviously, this is not that trope, and it’s not even bunk beds, but: they were cabinmates. oh my god, they were cabinmates.

the plot, obviously, follows as one would expect. eric is definitely not a kid anymore, is all tanned skin and strong calves and short shorts, and jack is only human. jack is all firm chest and pale eyes and hideous yellow shoes, and eric is disgusted, but is also only human. and jack is on summer break, and eric is not out yet, and so when they drink some beers one night and make bad attempts at actually braiding some friendship bracelets and jack’s tongue pokes out in concentration and eric bursts out laughing, jack has to kiss him. right? right. It’s not like eric would tell anyone. see closeted reasoning above.

what’s the catch? oh, no, they don’t get caught. they share a cabin! everything’s going swell. it’s just -- jack came there to avoid thinking about his bad season. eric came there to avoid thinking about his upcoming year of collegiate hockey. so… neither of them mentions… captaining the samwell hockey team. or. heading for the samwell hockey team. they talk about literally everything else (country music; undeveloped political opinions; daddy issues; the tv show arthur; american vs. canadian thanksgiving; one very late night conversation about homophobia in pro sports), but not about college. so neither of them knows.

oops?

[theletterunread]

May Day, May Day, May Day

Last May, the world continued to fall apart, as it's been doing for many years – though at a noticeably accelerated pace. The coronavirus dictated everyone's life and kept me mostly in my apartment in Franklin Village, living a life that was just like my normal life, only moreso. I played video games (but for more hours at a time), watched movies (but more than usual), and read books (but longer books, like Ulysses and the last Karl Ove Knausgaard novel, that were too heavy to have carried around and read while commuting). I did a lot of new writing and got a few rejections for some old writing. Just as I had seven years earlier, I began to wish I had a piano – as my apartment’s previous tenant, singer-songwriter Rebecca Black, did – so I could pass my downtime creating something nice.

The May before that, my writing partner and I submitted writing samples through the WGA Staffing System in the hopes of being hired to write for a sitcom. This job board had been set up by the Writer’s Guild to help writers find work without the assistance of their agents, whom the WGA had instructed its members to fire following a dispute with the Association of Talent Agents. My writing partner and I were skeptical that anybody (least of all us) would be hired through this system – we figured staffing decisions would still be determined by Hollywood’s impenetrable cliquishness – but we knew there was nothing to be lost by giving it a try.

On a Thursday, we submitted applications to three shows. Two of them were cancelled by Saturday – almost as if our applications reminded the producers that they still had dead shows to clear out – and we never heard back from the third.

The May before that, a paralegal left the law firm I work at in Downtown LA because he’d found a job closer to his home in Long Beach. My boss took him out to lunch, after which he returned to the office to say his goodbyes. He thanked me for teaching him some filing skills, but I had trouble accepting the gratitude. Even after six years, I still felt like a pretender in the legal world, skeptical that I knew anything teachable.

Later that afternoon, my boss informed the rest of us that, at lunch, the paralegal had asked him, “Do you wanna smoke some weed?” My boss had declined, noting that it was noon on a Wednesday. Our receptionist said that he had recently made the same offer to her. But an associate attorney and I had never been offered the same opportunity even once in the six months we worked with him.

The May before that, my pianist friend passed through LA and we met for lunch in Westwood. He was the first peer whose hair I noticed was going grey. Mine had been turning for a few years already. Good for both of us.

When I returned home, I played The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild, an acclaimed game which shares a lot of its DNA with one predecessor in particular: The Wind Waker. I was happy to see that game’s achievements respected by this new installment in the series because I still felt the exact same protectiveness of and identification with The Wind Waker that I had 14 years earlier, no matter that I was getting old and grey.

The May before that, I received a rejection letter from a literary magazine for a short story that I had submitted for publication 14 months earlier. I also received a rejection from a literary agent for a novel I’d written. Neither one upset me too much: the short story because I’d completely forgotten it was out in the world; the novel because the agent sent me back thoughtful notes, and I was touched that anyone would even take the time to read 75,000 words I’d written. Plus, it was easy to brush off literary set-backs. I had just had made my first business trip to Hollywood, and I was confident I’d soon be working as a sitcom writer.

The May before that, I got a sharp pain in my back anytime I breathed in deeply. The internet said it was probably a strain in one of my intercostal muscles, but couldn’t rule out pneumonia or something scarier. Not wanting a repeat of seven years earlier, when I’d ignored ankle pain and wound up in surgery, I visited a doctor. She diagnosed it as a strained intercostal muscle and wrote me a prescription for anti-inflammatories, which I never picked up.

Three days later, my friends and I were sharing interesting quotations over email (Tuesdays we shared poetry, Wednesdays paintings, and Thursdays quotations). The last contribution was from H.P. Lovecraft: “The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.”

The May before that, my roommates and I threw a party in our apartment. We invited 47 people and just about 47 people showed up. We had a great time until my landlord called me downstairs to show me that our front gate had been broken by one of our guests while departing. I esteemed my landlord so highly that there was little in life I hated more than disappointing him.

By the next morning, my roommates and I had determined who the culprit was, but we weren’t sure whether to ask him to pay up. While we weighed our options, I went to McCarren Park to attend a picnic hosted by a friend of mine from high school. I didn’t know any of the other guests, but I asked them whether, in my situation, they would reach out to the vandal and ask him to pay. They all said it was a tough call.

Ultimately, my roommates and I paid for the gate ourselves, swallowing the repair charge as the cost of hosting guests. As one of my roommates used to say when shrugging off his post-party hangovers, “You gotta pay the piper.”

The May before that, I wanted to resume playing the piano, so I made arrangements to buy an electric keyboard from a man who lived on the Upper East Side. I reached out to my only friend with a car – the same woman to whom I’d lost my virginity four years before – and asked if she would help me haul the equipment back to Bed-Stuy. She agreed on the condition that I would go with her to Rockaway Beach afterwards. Though the beach is my least favorite of all leisure destinations, I said sure and told her where to meet me.

She showed up to the Upper East Side without a car and without any understanding that I had expected her to bring a car. I had forgotten to ask for that, but it wouldn’t have made a difference: she hadn’t been vehicled for two years. I asked why she thought I would request her help with this chore, if not for her ability to bring a car. She asked why I hadn’t mentioned the car in my request, why I assumed she had one even though I had only seen her drive once, two years earlier, and where my gratitude was for her being willing to come out in 90-degree weather to help with such a tedious chore. Her rhetorical questions were better. We lugged the keyboard, its stand, its pedal, and a bunch of cords back to Brooklyn over two subway transfers and then went to the beach, where the temperature was about 40 degrees lower.

Even though the keyboard’s quality was affirmed by my (imminently greying) pianist friend when he came over for one of our parties, it didn’t scratch my itch the way a real piano would have. I kept it for three years until the speakers stopped working.

The May before that, I began working at a law firm in Midtown. I didn’t know how I landed the position, a phenomenon that’s repeated in every job I’ve got – or not got. Despite my supposed knowledge of film and TV, I’ve been turned down for writing jobs and even to work for Blockbuster. But I was hired to work at a venerable firm while knowing absolutely nothing about the law.

Between that respectable job and the largesse of my landlord, letting me live in Shangri-La for $600 per month, I spent my early-to-mid-twenties building unusual financial stability. I didn’t recognize it, though, and those were the years I was most worried about money. In the years before and since, financial anxiety was nothing; my worries were (are) about writing. And tidily, in that middle period, the creative side of life caused no concern.

The May before that, I graduated from NYU. More than any catastrophe I’ve lived through, that event created an atmosphere of the End of Days. Feelings of wistfulness and anxiety about casting off into the unknown were underscored by Collapse Into Now, the new R.E.M. album I was listening to repeatedly. It is a poignant record (though it wouldn’t be identified as such for another four months, it was secretly R.E.M.’s farewell album) but I was in an emotional state to be moved by any music. I couldn’t even join in the culture-wide mocking of Rebecca Black’s “Friday” that was going on; I found her earnestness unbearably touching.

At the end of the month, I moved into my new place in Bed-Stuy. My roommates and I had flipped for the apartment as soon as we saw it, not just because its competition wasn’t fierce – other prospective apartments had rat poison on the floor or 18-inch-high ceilings – but because it was spacious and cheap and distinctive, and because we liked the landlord. (And it went both ways: he told us that he had declined other possible tenants while waiting for our decision because, “I took a shine to you guys.”) And even though it was still a little strange to be sleeping and eating and showering in a new place, and even though a couple of teenagers had shouted at me while I was moving in – using what federal judges now call “racially charged language” – and even though I still had no idea how to shape a life outside of school, I felt better, because I was in My Home.

The May before that, I was finishing up a semester abroad in Ireland. At times during that spring, I compared myself to the freshman I’d been two and a half years earlier. I had been so naïve, so unworldly when I came to New York in 2007. Now, it was 2010 – a modern year, the dawn of a new decade – and I was 20 years old, living across the Atlantic. I had lived long enough to have a past, to have life behind me. I was a real person.

But if I ever had any specific examples of what made “Junior Year Me” more sophisticated than (or even different from) “Freshman Year Me,” I have completely forgotten them now. The two iterations are collapsed into one character in my mind. And when I see the numbers now, 20 as an age is much closer to the two decades before it than to the years that have come since, and 2010 looks like an absurdly miniscule year.

The May before that, I lost my virginity in a college dorm on 14th Street in Manhattan. It happened in the afternoon, after two failed attempts in prior evenings. The school year was winding down – when my girlfriend called to invite me over, I was packing up my dorm room, and when I arrived, her suitemate was in their common room, packing up her things – so there was no more room for error.

I recall looking at a digital clock, but I don’t recall what time it showed. Nor do I remember the weather, though I remember either being pleased that it was raining, or wishing that it were raining. For a redefining moment, it’s awfully hazy. The fog of war. I had to be reminded many, many years later that, after we finished, I offered a dirty joke that was extremely in and out of character: “I was packing boxes in my dorm, and then I came over here to pack boxes.”

Afterwards, I walked back to my dorm in the West Village. My friends and I had plans to watch a marathon of all of the videos we had filmed that year, and we did. It was several years before I told them where I had been earlier that day.

The May before that, I had an MRI on my ankle, which had been hurting for a year. After I left the hospital, I went to Blockbuster to interview for a summer job and absolutely bombed. I may have admitted that I only planned to keep the job until college resumed in September; I certainly volunteered that I knew nothing about high-traffic film genres like action or horror. When asked what movies I might recommend to customers, I offered artsy snoozers like Ed Wood.

Just as well that I was never offered a job, as the MRI showed that I had, “the ankle of a 70-year-old,” and arthroscopic surgery was scheduled. I spent the next two months first in a cast, then in a boot. I passed the summer making videos and uploading them to YouTube, thinking maybe I’d go viral, as I’d been hoping for two years. The most attention I got was from foot fetishists who liked when I showed my casted leg.

The May before that, my high school was shut down on what was supposed to have been my last real day of senior year. An AP Spanish Literature test and a band concert were scheduled for the day, after which I had no more obligations. But cafeteria workers coming in early in the morning spotted two masked men creeping through a hallway. The workers called the cops, the masked men fled, and the bomb squad was called in. School was closed for the day.

Had there been a bomb, this might be a disaster story known to lots of people of my generation. But there was no bomb, and it’s a story that even I forget most of the time. The general consensus was that the masked men were just students coming in early to set up some departing-senior stunt. They were never identified, though I was confident I knew who they were.

My test and my concert were rescheduled, so I had to keep going to school. The morning of the makeup AP exam, I told one of my classmates that I couldn’t help but wish we had been able to wrap up high school the week before, as anticipated. She cut me off and said, “You can’t even think about that.”

The May before that, YouTube penetrated mass consciousness. The notion of “going viral” was not known to us then, but it was still obvious how well the site could facilitate the spread of good work. I was certain that the videos my friends and I were making could be successful on there. We had so many funny ideas, it was inconceivable that not a single one of them would catch fire. Maybe not immediately, but it couldn’t take forever.

The May before that, Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith premiered. I disliked the previous movie, had forgotten the one before that, and was totally agnostic about the original trilogy, yet I convinced myself to be excited for this one: This is how a person interested in film should feel. My mom and I made plans to go as a treat after an afternoon laboring in the garden, and I invited a friend to come along.

My friend called back later in the day to ask if he could bring another kid from school to the movie. This other kid and I wound up growing closer in the last years of high school, but at the time, I still found him mean and unpredictable. I worried that he might laugh at me for still going to the movies with my mom, or worse, that he would act up in some distasteful way in front of her. My parents weren’t overly sensitive, but I was still haunted by a memory from a birthday party three years before: this kid seriously tasking my dad by telling an awful dirty joke. ("How do you circumcise a redneck?")

I lied to my friend and told him that the trip to the movies had been cancelled. Then I lied to my mom and told her that my friend had decided not to come. At the movie theater, I kept looking over my shoulder, worried that my friend might decide to come anyway (maybe even with the other kid), and I’d be caught. He didn’t, and the next day he asked if I still wanted to see the movie with him, so I watched Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith twice in two days.

The May before that, in Downtown LA (only a mile from the law firm where I’d be working 13 years later), Nintendo had a very successful presentation at the annual Electronic Entertainment Expo. At a time when its public reputation was shaky, Nintendo blew the roof off the Los Angeles Convention Center with a showcase of a new handheld, a new spokesman, and a new Legend of Zelda game. The previous entry, The Wind Waker, had drawn a lot of attention (mostly condemnation gradually giving way to praise) for its colorful, cel-shaded art style. This new game looked more subdued, realistic, and – in the parlance of the times – mature.

While I was excited by the new entry, I felt sad that it appeared to be such a blatant rejection of The Wind Waker, a game I had been defending against adolescent smears since before its release, a game I thought had proven itself to be a masterpiece. Yet here was Nintendo itself surrendering to the backlash and giving the haters exactly what they demanded. That wasn’t how the world was supposed to work, and I felt that I had been hung out to dry. These feelings were still with me more than a decade later when Breath of the Wild came along to close the circle.

The May before that, a blizzard hit Colorado. It was a spring snow, very wet and heavy, and it destroyed the plants that my mom had been adding to the yard since we moved in. She was in the house with my newborn brother, so my dad and I shoveled the walk. It was hard, slushy work, but I greatly preferred it to the lawn jobs and gardening I’d been doing over the preceding year. A private yard was supposedly one of the pleasures of living in a house rather than the apartments and condos we’d previously had, but it wasn’t worth the work that went into it. Visiting a public park or walking around the neighborhood was much more fun than sitting on your own boring lawn.

It wasn’t anything that would be relevant for eight years, and it wasn’t anything I was conscious of for longer than that, but I was developing a sense of what I dreamed would be My Home.

The May before that, my family was newly installed in our first house. Our old condo had been bought by a guy who ran an outdoor cinema over the summers, and he had given us three free passes. I went with two friends to see the second screening of the season, Airplane!

Before the show, one of my friends mentioned that he was going to be working that summer at his dad’s restaurant, and the other said he had been given a spot at his uncle’s factory (it made insulated water bottles). I felt left out, and wished that I could get work too. I wondered if there was a way I could leverage my knowing the man who ran the outdoor cinema into a job.

I remember that longing, yet I don’t remember how, two years later, I came to be working at the outdoor cinema. I have no record of who talked to whom and said what to get me that gig, the first of many positions I would get without knowing how. The job stayed on my resume until I went to work for the law firm in Midtown, but I’m not sure how useful it was. It wasn’t enough to get me in the fucking door at Blockbuster.

The May before that, R.E.M. released its 12th studio album, Reveal. I heard its lead single, “Imitation of Life,” while leaving the Albuquerque airport in a rented car, and was entranced. When we got back to Boulder, I asked my parents to buy a copy of the CD, beginning a fandom that hadn’t abated ten years later when I was listening to Collapse Into Now.

Four months after Reveal was released, the U.S was hit by the September 11th attacks, the first calamity of my life. I’ve never since looked at a copy of Reveal without thinking, “That was from the world before 9/11.” Directionless. And my ability to draw meaning from the eternal return has advanced no further.

[orangetail-works]

A Phoenix and a Raven: Partner

Chapter: Partner

 A.N: This one came from the Boss/Assistant prompt, with the combination of the prompt: One meets the other when the other runs into a street sign.  I thought that for a Modern AU, it would work.  I hope you enjoy!  Sorry about the time lapse.  It took me a little longer to write than I thought.

Mondays were considered the worst day of the week by most. The beginning of the workweek, the school week and the usual starting point of long work projects. For Maleficent DaFey, head attorney of the Moors Criminal Defense Center, it meant the continued interviews and search for her new personal assistant and paralegal.

For the past five years, she never needed one. Her small law firm was headed up by herself and then she brought in a partner a year after liftoff as she needed more help. Although he was not a partner in a legal sense, he was her equal in the fact that she ran everything by him before taking the next step in cases. Stefan Barnhand did have a cooler head out of the two of them and he did most of the face to face interactions with other firms and hiring. He didn't have the spine to stand in the middle of the courtroom and grill the witnesses like she did, but she didn't mind. He had told her that they were meant to be, that they had 'true love'. She was so in love that she was sure that the dinner that had occurred last month would have had ended in a proposal.

It did end in just that, but not for marriage.

Stefan told her that he was going to leave Moors for Perceforest Law Offices headed up by Henry King. He had been headhunted and he wanted the chance to be a partner in a large and well-known office one day. Henry was offering him all he wanted and the chance to date his young daughter if he gave him something worthwhile. Stefan took the biggest case that they were working on with him. It was one of the largest and well-known cases in the area and would have skyrocketed her small law office into the arena with the big dogs. Now, she would have to wait for another chance. He was an idiot in hindsight, she was sure. She started the law firm from nothing and she got far before his interference. She would soar once again.

“DaFey,” the barista called from the counter and placed the hot cup at the edge.

Maleficent broke out of her thoughts, grabbed the cup and tipped the team before she walked out the door. Her dark roast blend, scalding hot with three pumps of hazelnut sweetener and a touch of blueberry juice was not the weirdest thing that the baristas at the Rowen Tree had made, but they surely knew to make it a certain way for the powerful woman who came in every morning- and occasional afternoons. The taste was worth the strange looks she received from the baristas. What wasn't worth it, was the wait she had to go through when a new trainee was behind the coffee maker.

There were three blocks to her office from the favored coffee spot. She told Robin to go ahead with the car, it was coming to Fall season and she wanted to enjoy the season's colors on her walk. For the rest of the day, she would be surrounded by the white walls of her office as she screened multiple new people for the position. If today was to be like anything like her interviews from the week before, it was going to be a very long, exhausting day with not much room for breaks to go outside. All applicants so far shivered in their chair in front of her and failed to impress. Yes, she wanted a healthy amount of fear, but she was to see this assistant every day. Could they at least stand the sight of her without shaking in their boots?

“There must be someone out there that is suitable,” she huffed and sipped at her coffee.

She stopped at an intersection and waited for the cross signal. Taking small sips from her coffee, she thought over the preferred competencies she had initially chosen and those that she refused to relinquish on.

She looked up to check on the light to see a young man walked briskly along the side of the building opposite. Not much younger than she was, but definitely seemed a bit more naive if she judged him correctly.

He checked his watch and frowned down at his wrist. Right after his frown, he looked up just in time to hit face-first into the sign for Farmer Ave.

“Oh dear,” Maleficent said nonchalantly and looked both ways before she crossed the street. Farmer Ave was known to have had inconsiderate and even dangerous drivers rush down the street. It wouldn't do to have him stay sprawled out half in the roadway. She stepped directly to him and stood over him, “Are you injured?”

He held his head from where it hit the pavement and squeezed his eyes before he opened them, “Yeah, I mean- no. I'm in one piece. That's all anyone could ask for, right?”

“I suppose so,” Maleficent raised a brow.

“Thank you for checking. I-” he looked up at her and his voice seemed to fail him.

“You sure you are quite all right?” she asked and knelt down next to him. She sat her cup of coffee in the roadway at their side as she checked on him.

He definitely wasn't bad to look at. Lithe frame, a bit pale in complexion, but she had to admit she was as well. His dark hair swept back from dark eyes that were almost inhuman at how dark they were. He reminded her of a raven, dark and light at the same time. She noticed his hair was even soft like feathers as she checked his head and despite the large bump at the back of it and what would soon turn into an impressive bruise on his cheek, he seemed to be fine.

She leaned back on her heels to tell him of what injures she did see when a large truck came around the corner with no hint of slowing. She gripped at his jacket and pushed them both to the sidewalk as the truck barreled over were they just were. She groaned in annoyance and looked at where the truck turned and then looked back at the man she had saved, “Did you catch their plates? I swear I would slap him with every kind of case I could think of.”

“Sorry, didn't quite get it,” he said in a small voice before he coughed and rubbed at his head. He looked back at where they were and noticed that the coffee was hit and now flowed over the blacktop, “It looks like your coffee was the only casualty.”

“Shame,” she huffed, “I only had half of it and I will need more than that to make it through today.”

“Thank you again,” he stood up and held a hand down to her. He pulled her up as her hand landed in his, “I will be sure to get my head examined.”

“As you should. Not many people run into street signs,” she raised her brows to evaluate him. She pulled at her shoulder bag and nodded to him, “Be careful. There are quite of few of them along the walkway.”

“I will try,” he nodded, “Is there anything I can do for you? I mean, you possibly just saved my life.”

“Possibly?” her mouth quirked up in a slight half smile, “Would you rather I had let him hit you?”

“No, I'm grateful for what had occurred,” he shook his head, “Have a good day. I hope it doesn't end up as bad as you think it will.”

“That is my hope as well,” she nodded and then promptly turned to continue her walk. She looked over her shoulder halfway up the block and saw him still in the same place she left him. He waved at her once more and then dug out his phone to see something on the screen and then he turned back the way he had come. She shook her head to dismiss it and continued to her office.

Diaval turned from the corner as he scanned the ground for the front cover of his cell phone case. There, next to his savior's crushed cup was his equally crushed phone case cover.

“Well, make that two causalities,” he huffed and picked at his cover. He picked up the cup that she had sacrificed for him and turned it over, “The Rowen Tree. Huh.”

He stood up and looked down the block he was just on and saw a large sign not too far from him for the same coffee spot, “Well, if I am to face more shoddy interviews, might as well get some fuel.”

  Maleficent sat at her desk as the morning interviews wrapped up. The last one was the worst by far. A bubbly blonde who didn't even have enough brainpower to understand that Maleficent was degrading her through most of the interview. By the end of it, Maleficent was sure that the poor idiot thought she had bagged the position.

“I really should stop using sarcasm,” she muttered to herself and took a deep breath. She looked at the clock at her sidewall and it was going on two in the afternoon. Of course, it was the afternoon slump, made that much worse when she didn't get to finish her morning coffee. She needed her caffeine. Maybe she would be able to finish out the last of those waiting at the front of the office and go home just a bit early. She steadied herself and walked to her office door. She peeked out and saw no one left.

“Where is everyone else?” she asked at the desk closest to her.

Balthazar looked up at her with a stern smile on his face, “The last one told them that they may as well leave because she was offered the position.”

“Fat chance,” Maleficent frowned, “Make sure that she never comes back into this office. I fear that her idiocy may spread.”

“Consider it done.”

“Excuse me, I am looking for DaFey?” a voice called from the front of the open office space.

Maleficent walked out from her office completely to the front where the man she had saved earlier in the day stood at the front of the office with a coffee cup in each hand.

He smiled as he caught her eyes, “Ah! Miss DaFey, I assume?”

“What are you doing here?” she asked and walked to him.

“To pay you back. It's not as much as it should be, but I should at least replace your coffee,” he offered and pushed the cup in his left hand toward her.

She looked at the cup, gave the blend a sniff and then took a sip. Her eyes widened as it was perfect. She looked from the cup back to him, “How did you know?”

“You left your cup, remember? Seems like you are a regular at the Rowen Tree?” he asked as he took a sip of his own coffee, “They seem to remember you well.”

“I won't ask in what light,” she muttered and paused, “Thank you. The coffee is much appreciated. You're very clever to figure it out. Not many people know of my particularities.”

“That's true,” Robin said as he shuffled files behind her. It earned him a small glare which he refused to acknowledge.

“Well, that's me, clever,” he shrugged his shoulders.

“What is it you do, Mister...?” she asked and hesitated as she didn't know his name.

“Call me Diaval,” he offered with a tip of his head, “I am actually looking for a position at the moment. Have experience in paralegal work, but apparently not enough to impress.”

“There are more things to impress with other than experience,” she said and bit at the inside of her cheek in thought, “Follow me.”

He stood a little shocked as she quickly turned on her heel and headed back toward her office. He looked at her and then at his own shoes.

“She isn't the type you keep waiting,” Robin said from his desk.

Diaval nodded and walked briskly after the woman.

“Please take a seat,” Maleficent offered as she rounded her small desk.

“You are hiring?”

“Conveniently, it would seem,” she nodded and looked at him, “You hesitated when we first met. Cut yourself short when you first saw me.”

“Oh that?” he chuckled and rubbed at the back of his head at the small lump that formed, “Yeah, was not really expecting to hit face-first into a street sign in front of a beautiful lady.”

“Flattery does nothing for me.”

“Obviously, but I'm a bit of a charmer. Follows my cleverness. Can't do anything for it,” he let out a breath as if it were a burden and pulled at his bag to produce his paperwork. He handed her the resume and everything else that other law offices had asked of him.

“So... you aren't afraid of me?” she asked and glanced over his paperwork.

“Terrified if I ever were on the opposing team in the courtroom. You've torn through the toughest cases with ease. I had watched quite a few of them,” he offered and waited until she looked back at him, “But personally and professionally?”

She only nodded.

“I can't very well fear someone who would come to help a perfect stranger from their own idiocy and a truck. You're more than many people take you for. I respect you, but I don't know if I can come to fear you.”

“As I said, would you have rather that I had left you in the roadway?”

“Others may have. I know Stefan Barnhand would have.”

She sat straighter, “What do you know of Stefan?”

“Poor presence in the courts, but has an eye for large or profitable cases,” Diaval nodded at his short assessment, “Also has an eye for hiring to a point. I didn't make the cut for a paralegal in the offices, but I am sure that I dodged a bullet. If he makes partner, I feel like the offices may be a bit done for. He has offered me work here and there if he needs a runner on cases, but I know my worth and it is more than that.”

“Indeed you are,” she nodded and leaned back in her chair as she looked him over again, “You're hired.”

“For what exactly did I sign myself up for?” he asked as he shook her hand.

“Paralegal if needed, but my personal assistant on cases prep, or anything that I may need,” she offered.

“You saved my life,” he smirked and leaned back to sit into his chair again, “I am here for whatever you may need.”

  Months went by like clockwork. In a short amount of time, it seemed like the two of them had worked side by side for years. Maleficent would wake up, head to the coffee shop, where Diaval would already be waiting with both their coffees in hand. Hers would always still be pipping hot no matter if she was running early, late or right on time. She didn't know how he did it, but she let it lay.

He was the best paralegal she had ever had. He was able to dive into details never sought out before and tear through the law books to find what was needed in their favor. His tenacity was almost as equal as her own and she was thankful for it. He also pushed her views further than before. Where others would let her do what she wanted, he actually made her question herself. In many ways it was exasperating, but it did make her better at her job. She needed it as it was never provided before, she was never challenged in such a way. Not even by Stefan. It became refreshing. There she realized that it wasn't that she wanted to be feared, she wanted to be respected and built up instead of constantly torn down.

Cases that did not run smoothly made her a little more than irritable and others knew to stay out of her way. She would have scared off any other assistant by the numerous tantrums that she threw, but he stayed by her side despite her tirades. When she offered to toss him through her window one day after a particularly bad day in court, he offered to do it himself with a smile.

“That... won't be necessary,” she muttered and cooled down by the time they left the office that night.

“As you command, Mistress.”

“Mistress? Really?” she frowned at the nickname, but it was too late. It stuck.

“I feel like it fits you quite well,” he offered.

“I'm sorry for my temper. I can't lose you,” she said softer than she meant to. She saw his face soften just slightly and she turned from him, “Who else would be able to pull your workload and keep that vexing positive attitude?”

“Don't pretend you don't like it. I'm the highlight of your day. Admit it.”

“Only because you bring me my coffee.”

“I will take it!” he smiled with a cheer.

  A year into Diaval's involvement, a high profile case was dropped into their lap. A low wage worker at a top box store was injured along with a few half a dozen others because of their boss and company's low standards of safety. Maleficent almost waved the case away, until Diaval pointed out that the court system isn't just about criminals. It's about the innocents too. Maleficent, though reluctantly, took the case.

She readied her materials and Diaval carried along beside her on the way to the courthouse. They would be with their clients and face the accused for the first time. Maleficent looked at the news trucks at the side of the building. Another first for her. The case would be televised.

“You better be right about this,” she warned him.

“I know you better than you know yourself now. You can handle this and I will be right there with you,” he reminded her and bumped her shoulder with his own to remind her of his proximity, “Always will be.”

They walked into the courtroom, their clients already set in their place. Maleficent then turned to the other team and nearly doubled over. None other than Perceforest Law were at the table and their new partner at the front.

Diaval caught her arm discretely and pulled her up next to him as if she had tripped, “Don't let them see you waiver, remember?”

She took a breath and with a subtle nod she walked to her table to talk over the primary notes on the case before they began. Before everyone was settled none other than Stefan walked to the table and smiled down at Maleficent.

“I see that you've been making strides, Mal,” he offered and leaned on her table.

“I saw that you got partner, congratulations,” she answered back and looked up at him with a calm mask, “It only took a year, a marriage and a stolen case to do so.”

“Don't be angry that I outmaneuvered you,” he smirked even though she knew she hit a soft spot by the twitch of his right eye. A tell that he never fully got rid of.

“No Stefan, you slipped it out from under me during the same time you said you loved me,” she said evenly. Diaval looked from her to their counter council and then back again, things shifted into place. She always had told him that she had a past with Stefan, but would never elaborate and he knew better not to ask. Now as he saw them face to face for the first time, he knew more than she could have ever told him. She cleared her throat and shook her head, “The past is the past. Let's not make this personal. I am here for my clients who are injured and in need of reparations. You are our counter council. That is the extent of our relationship, Mr. Barnhand. Let's leave it at that, please.”

Stefan gritted his teeth, his jaw tightening. He had hoped to spook her somehow. It didn't work and he knew it. He pushed back from the table and looked at Diaval, “And who is this?”

“I can speak for myself, thank you,” Diaval stood from his chair and blocked Stefan from Maleficent, “I am the paralegal and assistant on this case. I would have introduced myself earlier, but you were too focused on trying to intimidate my boss. You will have to try better than that. She's stronger than you think.”

Stefan scoffed at him, took a slight look at Maleficent and then turned to his desk, “Let's see about that.”

The case was a tough one to fight. The big box company had a lot of ground covered, had a few tricks that Maleficent and Diaval didn't see coming. It beat them down, but they weren't out yet. With the case almost lost, they hit a breakthrough at the end of the third day. Maleficent turned on her desk lamp and yawned before she ran through the case log again. She knew it would be a long night if she were to pull this off.

She looked up at Diaval for a fleeting moment and sighed, “You may go home, Diaval. I am sure I can finish it from here in time for court tomorrow.”

He looked at her for a long moment before he shuffled on his jacket and headed toward the door. A part of her chest constricted as she heard the door close at the front. It wasn't like him to just walk away from a challenge like the current one, but it looked like even he had enough of her. She wasn't to her best with Stefan at the other desk. The last time that they were in a courtroom together, they were at the same table. It shook her more than what she wanted to admit. Diaval probably saw it more than anyone and was tired of it. With a shake of her head, she focused on the files underhand. She had to finish this case strong.

Fifteen minutes later the door opened again with Diaval and two large cups of coffee. He put one by her hand and the other he immediately sipped from. Without another word, he plopped down into the chair next to her, put his cup down and grabbed the file under the one she had at hand. She stared at him for a moment or two more before she took a deep breath.

“I thought that you went home.”

“And miss the fun?” he asked and flipped open to the page he needed, “I'll stay.”

“You know I am not at my best,” she stared at him long and hard, “Haven't been this whole case.”

“Which is why you have me,” he countered as he flicked his eyes up to hers, “For whatever you may need.”

Her lips quirked up into a hint of a smile before she took her first sip of coffee, “As you wish.”

“Can I ask you something that may cross a line?”

“When has that stopped you before?” she asked with a sigh and put down her coffee. She turned to him and nodded, “Go ahead.”

“What about him makes you so shaky?” he asked and leaned toward her just slightly.

“History mostly,” she looked down at her hands and she thought over her relationship failure, “He was bright, a people person- of which I am not- and he didn't fear me. I seem to overwhelm people when they first meet me.”

“Only those who are too weak-willed,” Diaval waved off her negative comments.

“He didn't seem like others. He charmed me and the way that he could handle prep work and people, and me- I thought we were a match. And he let me believe it. Then he took what he wanted from our case files and left after five years for the best opportunity he could. He told me that it was love,” she paused and looked back to the files as if to end the conversation, “If that is what love is, it is only for fools.”

“It wasn't.”

She looked back at him to find him staring straight at her. His eyes unwavering and willing her to hear him, “What?”

“That wasn't love,” Diaval said in a certain tone.

“And you would know how?”

“I may be a charmer and a bit of a flirt when it comes to the opposite sex, but I know something as serious as love,” he explained and tilted his head in thought of how to approach it, “Love is something grand and amazing. It can overwhelm you into not seeing things that are there and for seeing things that aren't. It's something that can skew your thoughts and feelings. It's also something that can clear your mind and see a person for who they truly are and not for what they paint themselves to be. Beauty that is missed by all others can be spotted by those in love. It opens yourself to hurt, yeah, but it also opens yourself to be loved and accepted for who you are.”

Maleficent took a moment for his words to encompass her and then she breathed out a small laugh, “She's very lucky.”

“Who?” Diaval leaned back a little.

“The one you love,” she said with a small smile, “Does she know?”

“Not a clue,” he huffed out a chuckle and turned from her back to the files, “Not to worry, doesn't interfere with work. I don't think it ever will.”

“It may. Not all women want to share their partners,” Maleficent took her coffee to sip at the hot substance to warm the sudden cold feeling in her chest.

“She doesn't see me as such, so it's a moot point.”

“Then she is the fool.”

“A beautiful one at that,” he nodded as he took a look at her for a moment longer than he should have. She felt her cheeks begin to flush as he turned away once more to the file in his hand. He took a deep breath, “So, how are we going to serve defeat to the braggart that is Stefan Barnhand?”

“With that which he doesn't wield well... the truth.”

 The next evening was spent at the local bar with the rest of the team from Moors. The case was finally won, with nothing but a statement that was falsified and documented. They had found it and presented it in a way that made it perfectly clear that not only was the company liable, they were also found to be at fault for multiple other reckless acts.

“To a flawless win!” Robin cheered and lifted his bottle with the rest of the group.

“I would not say it was flawless,” Maleficent admitted, but still tapped her glass with the others. She smiled genuinely at the table and at Diaval who sat right next to her. He had his arm over the back of her chair as he laughed and cheered with the rest of them, “But very well deserved.”

“Deserved is not the word I would choose,” a voice said from behind her.

The whole table went silent as she turned to find Stefan behind her, a small shot of whiskey in hand.

“Then you weren't watching the same case,” Robin chimed in, “They beat you.”

“Just wait for my appeal.”

“On what grounds?” Diaval was the one to answer that time.

“Diaval, don't mind him,” Maleficent sighed and pulled at his jacket, “He isn't worth it.”

“Be that as it may, I have had enough,” Diaval stood from his chair to be eye to eye with the man, “I am not a violent individual, but your capacity to feel like you are deserved a victory just on the grounds of being you astounds me to the point of wanting to be.”

“What, you are her guard dog now?”

“She doesn't need one,” he shook his head, “She can do that all on her own. I wouldn't dare step in on that. This is for me and what I think. You lost your case, you lost fairly. She beat you. Everyone who worked on the case did. And I think what is really bothering you is not so much the defeat in court, but she defeated you personally. She thrived on her own when you needed to lean on the marriage to the other partner's daughter. You needed to resort to trickery to grab a case that she originally caught, where she worked diligently and hard to be who she is in the courtroom- of which you cannot compare. She is her own strong, honest, beautiful person. You, on the other hand, will always look for the easy way to your goals- no matter how underhanded that may be.”

“How dare you!” Stefan poked him in the chest as his whiskey sloshed in his glass, “What are you a glorified messenger boy!?”

“No, that is what you wanted him to be,” Maleficent said calmly as she stood from her chair and next to Diaval. She didn't raise her voice, didn't start one of her famous tantrums. She only stood next to Diaval and faced Stefan together with him, “I know you don't remember him. He came to you for a job over a year ago. A job that he fulfilled at my office in spectacular fashion. He is the real reason that you lost, for I could not have done it without him.”

“Maleficent-”

“It's true, you opened so many doors and avenues I would not have suspected. Thank you.”

“So you have replaced me,” Stefan toss back his whiskey and put the glass on the nearest table, “Tell me, how many times did you have to say that you loved her?”

“Not a one,” Maleficent said strongly fighting back the urge to punch the man, “He has earned my trust without flattery or deception.”

“Well, I wouldn't say I haven't said it,” Diaval let out a breath and took her hand in his, “I may have been holding something back. Remember the one we talked about last night over the case files?”

“I remember,” Maleficent narrowed her eyes in thought.

“It was you,” Diaval shrugged a bit helpless at that point, “It was always you from the moment that you peeled me off the pavement that morning. I have said that I loved you in every way that I could since then.”

“The coffee?” she asked as a guess.

“Every morning and sometimes afternoons,” he nodded.

“The overnights working on cases where you wouldn't leave my side?”

“You may have been an incentive to stay.”

She finally smiled and looked down in embarrassment, “The time you offered to toss yourself out the window so I wouldn't toss you myself?”

He chuckled at her smile and squeezed her hand to get her to look at him, “I knew you would regret it in the morning.”

She looked up at him, her smile still on her face. She looked deep into his dark, black eyes and without knowing at what point she had fallen, she simply realized that she had. With a huff of resignation, she bit her lip and said, “It's not as much of a moot point as you may think. What a fool I am.”

“So you have replaced me,” Stefan said again.

“No, what we had was never love, Stefan. I can see that now. And I can see you for what you were and what you are,” Maleficent paused as she looked at her past, “I haven't replaced you. I just fell in love. File your appeal. We will be waiting.”

Stefan looked back and forth between her and Diaval for a moment before he finally turned and left the bar. As he left, their small table erupted with cheer and laughter once more.

“So, what's next then? Do I hear wedding bells?” Robin asked and nudged at Balthazar who rolled his eyes as he drank his drink.

“I don't know, I haven't asked yet,” Diaval smiled and looked at Maleficent who had yet to drop his hand. He pulled her closer to him by the hand and wrapped her in a close embrace around her waist, “Let me say it this time. I love you.”

She smiled brightly and pushed some of his hair from his face, “Let me mean it this time. I love you, too.”

[ddagent]

Telepathic Brienne and Jaime meet with a client, and she can hear their thoughts, and he's a bad dude, and Brienne needs to tell Jaime to drop him, but can't tell him why....

I still haven’t quite decided how I want to expand telepathic!Brienne (at this rate, it’ll all be in prompts), but I felt this was a good time to write this important milestone in Jaime and Brienne’s relationship.This gets a little dark in places (Bolton; Aerys) so be warned. But I hope you enjoy all the same. 

“If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.”

Brienne didn’t wait for the three men around the table to give their acknowledgement of her departure. She just scraped her chair back along the carpet, stumbling as she stood, and practically sprinted for the door. Brienne didn’t even bother to close it behind her as she ran. She pushed past colleagues and clients until she made it to the ladies room. Banging open a cubicle door, Brienne dropped to her knees and threw up what remained in her stomach. 

Mother protect me. Oh, Gods. 

It had now been over two weeks since the attempted mugging had left Brienne with the ability to hear – and now, on occasion, see – people’s thoughts. It was intrusive, and annoying, but after two weeks Brienne had grown used to the apathy her colleagues showed towards her; the disregard people on the street gave her. She had not, however, grown used to the unbridled affection her boss had for her – albeit, only in his head. Nor, had she been prepared to sit opposite their potential new client, one Ramsay Bolton, currently awaiting trial for murder. 

She dry-heaved into the bowl. So many thoughts. So many images. Stranger save me. 

There was a knock on the cubicle door. I hope she’s okay. Pia. “Ms Tarth, is everything okay?” I hope Mister Lannister didn’t upset her again. 

“It wasn’t him,” Brienne croaked through the stall door. “It was the new client.”

He gave me the creeps, too. He probably did it n’all. Oh, Pia was right on that front, and so much more. “Shall I tell Mister Lannister you’re feeling unwell?” I’ll tell him Ms Tarth’s moon’s blood has come. That always freaks a bloke out; won’t ask any more questions after that. 

“Please don’t, Pia.” Brienne winced, resting her head against the cubicle wall. “Just tell him I’ve got food poisoning and I won’t be able to continue the meeting.” 

“Of–of course, Ms Tarth.” 

The paralegal left Brienne, but not alone. What she had seen in Ramsay Bolton’s head stayed with her, haunting her. Fuck. How could they defend such a man? How could she, willingly, stand up beside Jaime in court and ask a jury to consider this man innocent? After all the thoughts she had heard; the things she had seen? Somehow, someway, Brienne would need to convince Jaime to not take Bolton on as a client. Not an easy feat, despite Jaime’s affections for her. Outside of his thoughts, he still held in her in great contempt. 

But she had to try. 

Brienne stayed in the cubicle as long as she dared. Since the recent spate of dismissals, morale was at an all-time low, and her colleagues were staying only as long as they had to. There was only a couple of paralegals and the cleaning staff lingering on the floor when she emerged and made her way to Jaime’s office. She rapped her knuckles twice on the door. 

“Mister Lannister?”

Brienne? She can’t still be here. I thought she’d fucked off for happy hour with Renly. After all, she can barely stand the thought of working with me. Running out of that meeting; food poisoning was such a pathetic excuse. FINE, let’s get this over with. If she wants to run back to Renly, then let her. “Come in, Ms Tarth.” 

Brienne pushed open the door, closing it firmly behind her. The only light in the office was the lamp over Jaime’s desk; it caught in the amber of the whisky he was drinking, and the silver flecks in his beard. She looks like all Seven Hells. Maybe Pia wasn’t lying; maybe she did have food poisoning. I should fire that paralegal, what’s his name, Payne, for bringing her contaminated food. “What can I do for you, Ms Tarth?”

“I would like a word about the Bolton case.”

Jaime snorted. Of course, she does. “You mean the case you ran out on, embarrassing not only yourself but me and the firm as well?” 

“I—” She swallowed. You can do this, Brienne. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to assist in Mister Bolton’s defence.”

“Oh?” Here we go. She’d rather be Renly’s lackey than actually practice law with me. “And why is that, Ms Tarth?”

“He’s guilty. He murdered that girl.”

Of course, he did. “That doesn’t matter.”

“Of course, it matters!” Brienne said, half-shouting. But her shoulders sagged as Jaime sat, unmoved by her words. Of course, it wouldn’t matter. Not to him. “Why am I even bothering? I wouldn’t expect you to understand morality.”

“Ah, the Aerys Targaryen defence. I expected better from you, Ms Tarth.” I did, Brienne. I really did. If only you knew. 

Brienne frowned. “Knew what?” 

Jaime’s forehead creased. “I didn’t—” He waved her away with the hand still clutching his drink. “Get out, Tarth. You can go back to your precious Renly tomorrow. I’m done with you. I’ll find someone else to work the case.” Not that anyone else wants to work with you. You’re the man who fucked over a senior partner to advance his own career. Never mind that he was—

“What?” 

He shook his head. “What do you mean, ‘what’? Get out, Tarth. Didn’t you hear? I’m done with you.” You’re done with me, more like. 

Jaime drained his drink, stood up from his desk, and approached the large, picture window overlooking the city. Night encroached upon the sky; blue giving way to purple and black, and the first light of the stars. Jaime’s fingerprints smeared the glass as he pressed his hand to it; as if trying to reach out to the city below. I am so tired of being a monster when all I ever wanted to be was a knight. 

Brienne just stared. In all her encounters since developing this new ability of hers, no one had surprised her more than Jaime Lannister. First, his feelings for her. And now Aerys Targaryen. There was something more, she knew it. Brienne could stand here and let him think it. But a part of her wanted to hear the truth from his own lips. 

“I’ve never defended anyone who was guilty before,” she began, uncertain whether this was the right thing to say. She would find out soon enough. 

“Your precious Renly doesn’t like working on cases that keep him up at night.” It’s why I get stuck with the Ramsay Boltons and Walder Freys of the world. And Aerys, although no one knew about him. 

“What was your first?” What is she still doing here? “Please. If you want me on this case, I need to know I’ll be—”

“—supported?” Jaime turned from the window; wildfire burning in his eyes. “You are not supported, Brienne. You are left with rules and legislation and a verdict, and the rest is on you. The faces of the victims’ families in court. Crime scene photographs you can never quite forget. Knowing you’ve let another monster out onto the street but you can’t say a fucking thing because your mentor – the man joking with these butchers – does everything in his power to get that win.” 

“Aerys.”

Aerys fucking Targaryen. The King of the Courtroom; the Dragon himself. The things he did...fuck, why am I even bothering? She doesn’t want to know. No one ever has. But Brienne did. She crossed the room and encircled Jaime’s wrist with her fingers; selfishly playing on his affections in the hope that he would open up to her. “Tell me.” She’s touching me, why is she touching me; can she feel how fast my pulse is racing? “Tell me, please. I want to know.”

He nodded; throat bobbing. “All right. I was a lot like you, once. The golden boy of a senior partner. Aerys took me under his wing to spite my father; he’d started the Lannisport branch, took half our business to the Westerlands, you see, and Aerys loathed him for it. So he brought me to King’s Landing and made me his protege. I worked on so many cases. The things I saw...” The things I saw. 

Brienne squeezed his wrist as the thoughts in Jaime’s head became images. A filmstrip of depravity. “He was accused of bribing and blackmailing witnesses. But I knew the truth. About the houses that burned down; the businesses that went up in flames. That detective from the North, Brandon Stark, who mysteriously disappeared. Aerys was good. He knew how to cover his tracks; none of that would ever come back to him. The witness tampering charges were all they had. All I had.” 

“So you mishandled his defence.”

“He was arrogant. Asked me to represent him rather than my father.” You should have seen the look on his face, Brienne. “But it was his undoing. I did just enough for the jury to convict him. By the time people questioned my defence, he’d been transferred to a mental ward.”

Brienne’s fingers fell from Jaime’s wrist, unsure what to say. She knew it to be true. She knew everything, yet she still had to ask: “Why have you never told anyone this?”

Jaime swallowed. “I’d thought about telling my father. But I didn’t want to hear him tell me it didn’t matter. Of course, it matters.” He closed his eyes. You were right, Brienne. You were so right. I don’t think I can go through this again. I can’t represent that monster. I’ll call them tomorrow; tell Bolton and his father he’ll have to find other legal counsel. Opening them, he turned to her. “Well, at least you won’t have to represent a man you know is guilty, Ms Tarth. Bolton and his father didn’t think we were the right choice of counsel for them.” 

“Oh.” She wet her top lip, formulating what to say next. “Well, then. I guess me storming in here was for nothing.” Not for nothing, Brienne. You have no idea how good it feels to have told someone that. You have no idea how good it feels for someone to look at me and not find me wanting. “Perhaps, tomorrow, we can consider a new case? I would like to continue working with you.” 

“All right.” She wants to work with me. Not because Renly is an arse or because she hopes to curry favour with Father. Brienne wants to work with me because of me. Okay, you can savour this moment at home; let the poor woman go already. It’s late. “Goodnight, Brienne. “

“Goodnight, Jaime.” 

She called me Jaime. The joy in his voice carried Brienne out the door. 

[kittensjonsa]

Otherwise, Engaged

The Proposal AU

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

—

Chapter 3

The trip back down to her floor was riddled with questions and confusion. Was there a plan she wasn’t informed about? A memo she missed?

Soon, Sansa found herself standing in front of Jon as he sat back down at his desk and whistled away, flipping through some manuscripts.

“I’m sorry… but what just happened? We’re not gonna talk about it?” Sansa had to ask.

Jon briefly glanced at her and then back to the manuscripts. “About what?”

“There… back in Mr Mormont’s office. Is there something I should know?”

Jon sighed and put down what he was trying to read. “Exactly what I said. We’re engaged.”

“Umm no we’re not. I’m your assistant.”

Jon sighed. “Not for long you won’t. You don’t think the second Aliser takes over, that you’ll still be working here? You’ll be out on the street by lunchtime with a box of your stuff.”

Sansa still didn’t understand. “And why would Aliser take over? Unless… you’re leaving.”

“I hope not. Listen, Sansa. My visa application was rejected. Because I’m Dornish by birth. Great leadership you have here banning a state just because they both couldn’t see eye to eye.”

WHAT THE HELL?

Sansa wanted to tear her hair out. “And what has that got to do with you and me being engaged Jon?”

Jon sat up at Sansa calling him by his first name. She rarely did so and he didn’t like it. But then again he deserved it, perhaps more than just a stink eye. For what he was about to do next.

“Look, Sansa. Here’s the deal. You and me, we’re engaged. We’ll file an fiance visa so I can continue doing what I do here. As long as I’m here, you have a job. And me, not here? You can kiss your dreams of touching people’s lives with your written word goodbye. Because you won’t have a job in any publishing house anywhere in the city. Unless you’re into those website blog thingies but I’m guessing they don’t pay enough to cover your rent. Is that clear enough for you?” Jon simplified it for her.

It was the harsh truth. As much as he’d like for her to soar and make something of herself, he was too proud to admit he didn’t want to lose Sansa as an assistant. She was perfect for him, intelligent, hardworking and sweet; and truth be told, they were in too deep. She knew everything about him and it was just so much easier having her around. He was just too comfortable with her by his side. Losing her would be losing a right arm. Jon wasn’t ready to give up just yet. It was a long shot but he vowed he’d make good on his end of the deal. Now… If only she’ll say yes.

Sansa needed to sit down, her legs were jelly. No, she wouldn’t agree to this. Why should she? She didn’t even like him to begin with.

“But…but.. it’s illegal. I could go to federal prison, Jon!”

Jon sighed and rested his head in his hands. “You won’t because we’ll get through it. Please, just trust me on this okay?”

Sansa drifted off in a daze back to her desk, still trying to comprehend what transpired moments ago. It was that uneasy feeling of dread, right in the pit of her stomach.

As usual lunch was a mad dash with Jon, though they both had their sandwiches in utter uncomfortable silence. She had nothing to say to him and vice versa. Until he told their driver to make a stop at the immigration office.

“What are we doing here?” Sansa asked zipping past the snaking lines following after him. Jon held up a folder and waved for attention from an officer. He had cut the queue and went straight to the front. Typical.

“Good day, officer. I’d like to file this fiancé visa please,” Jon requested politely yet ignoring the angry stares directed at them from everyone else waiting in line.

The officer rolled his eyes and shook his head at them as he flipped open the folder.

“Jon Snow? Please come with me.”

Jon gave Sansa a smug smile she wanted to punch right off his face but as usual she did not, and followed him to the office they were led to. After all, she was his fiancée. She’d play along for now, buying time, while she strategized a plan out of this soon to be hell.

They were led to a small office, bare with only a table and a few chairs. Certainly felt like an interrogation room, like the ones she had seen in cop movies. As the both sat down in silence, the door opened.

“Ah yes, sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Mr Qyburn and I’d just like to ask a few questions, if that’s all right,” a mousy gentleman entered, greeting them.

“You must be Jon Snow.. and you’re Sansa Stark?” he asked both of them.

“Yes, right on the nose,” Jon answered cheerfully, which was uncomfortably out of character for him, Sansa observed.

Qyburn leaned back as he eyed the forms Jon had submitted with interest. Suspicion, more like as Sansa watched him.

“Well, well. Fiancé visa. So, you’re engaged. Congratulations. When’s the big day?” Qyburn asked as he closed the folder.

Jon shrugged. “Haven’t decided yet but soon definitely.”

Qyburn only smiled. “Before we begin, I’d just like to ask - that this engagement is real and has nothing to do with Jon’s work visa being denied, is it? Because if I do find out that all this is just a sham, we’re looking at imprisonment. Five years minimum and a fifty thousand dollar fine. I just want to make it clear to everyone right here right now.”

Sansa glanced at Jon who was still smiling at Qyburn, playing the happy doting fiancé. I am going to kill him.

“Miss Stark?”

Sansa sighed. “Yes, we’re aware. And yes, we’re engaged.”

Qyburn’s brows shot up. “I see. How long have you known each other?”

“Three years.” Jon and Sansa looked at each other as they both said the exact same thing. So far, so good. It wasn’t a lie, they both knew that.

Qyburn continued. “And here it says, you’re his assistant, Miss Stark. Co-workers? Do your bosses know about this ? Is it allowed?”

Oh, he’s a pro. Shit.

Jon smiled at Sansa. “Well, as far as I know, I haven’t heard from the legal department since we told them. And yeah, everyone knows. It’s been such a relief, finally sharing this wonderful news.”

Liar. Sansa looked down and saw how her knuckles had turned white from gripping the seat of her chair.

“Oh really? Great. So, both your families know? I’m sure they’re ecstatic. Engagement parties and all that.”

Jon shook his head. “I wish. Nope. Both parents died when I was 16. No brothers or sisters either. Just me.”

Qyburn nodded and turned to Sansa. Her mind was blank.

“Yeah but we haven’t told them yet. We will this weekend. It’s my Gramp’s birthday weekend.”

“Oh how nice. And where’s that?” Qyburn asked Jon. And waited for Jon to answer.

Jon chuckled. “Oh, she makes all the plans. I… just go along. Tell him, sweetie.” Sansa rolled her eyes. Clever.

Well, Jon knew he wasn’t lying. Sansa did make all his plans.

“They’re up North. In Winterfell.”

“W-Winterfell.” Sansa heard Jon repeat after her. Sansa could feel Jon’s stare, those eyes laser-ing through the side of her head. Well, whether he liked or not,  Sansa hadn’t shared much about herself or any details of her life, in all of the three years she was working for him. How could she, it wasn’t as if he was the least bit interested. It was always ‘Jon Snow this, Jon Snow that or Sansa do this or Sansa do that’.

“Must be nice. I’m sure your family will be excited to learn that you’re engaged now.”

Sansa sighed. “More than excited I’m sure. I mean, with the engagement.. and my promotion.”

Jon coughed nervously, clearing his throat. “Promotion?” Sansa knew that warranted another stare from her boss but she couldn’t care less. She’ll broker a deal once this interview was done. Not going down without a fight.

“Well, I mean that’s why we didn’t want to share it too soon because we’re co workers and with my promotion coming up. I mean, it would look bad. Right, honey?” Sansa played along, giving Jon’s arm a good firm squeeze. It was a warning squeeze. She was in on it too, but on her terms. Sansa was going to make it very clear.

Qyburn watched them both with amused interest but Sansa could sense his suspicion growing by the minute, by the way his eyes darted from her to Jon.

I cannot go to jail for this.

“Wow, okay. So, that’s that then. I don’t think we have the time for all the questions but I will call on you, you know pay a visit - maybe speak to your neighbours, colleagues, kind of get to know you both a little bit from other people. You know, just to make sure both your stories add up.”

Jon and Sansa glanced at each other. “Sure,” they both said.

“Good. Then we’ll be meeting again. We’ll be in touch.” Qyburn stood up and led them to the door. Sansa almost couldn’t stand out of sheer anxiety, but she smiled politely back and left the room with Jon.

Sansa didn’t feel like heading back to the office. She needed to clear her head. The engagement suprise, the interview with Qyburn, Jon coming for Gramp’s 80th, telling her parents she’s suddenly engaged- she needed a drink to process all of it.

“Promotion eh? Nice touch. Good one, Sansa.”

“I meant it.” Sansa had enough excitement for today. And she certainly had enough of Jon. She needed the day off.

“What do you mean? That’s never going to happen.”

Sansa glared at him in disbelief. “Were you not in that room? Did 'five years in prison’ mean nothing to you?”

“Well, yeah but it’s not like-”

“Oh no. You want your goddamned visa? You’re going to need me. And if I’m in on this, we’re going to do it on my terms. We clear?”

Jon put his phone away. “All right. What are they?”

“Make me editor. Fire Aliser, I’ll take his place. You know how hard I’ve worked. I want his office and my own assistant. And a pay raise.”

Jon scoffed at her demands. “That’s some serious ransom, young lady. I mean, maybe I could pull some strings but I can’t promise-”

“Uh huh. Okay. Then, we’re done here. Good-bye Jon.” That was it, Sansa couldn’t risk going to prison for a man who only gave her nightmares.

“Wait! Okay, fine. All of that, fine. I’ll see what I can do. Let’s just… do this okay?”

“Okay good. But you need to ask me nicely first. You didn’t ask. It’s very ungentlemanly of you.” Sansa was on a roll. She quite liked having power over him, finally calling the shots. Not how she would’ve liked but she’ll enjoy it just the same.

“What do you mean ask you nicely?”

“Ask me to marry you. Propose.”

“You mean right here? Now?” Jon looked around the busy intersection.

“Well? I’m waiting.”

Jon sighed. “Fine. Sansa, marry me?”

Sansa crossed her arms disapprovingly. “That was the worst proposal in the world. Do it properly.”

Sansa was definitely trying his patience but he had newfound admiration for her now. Plucky lass.

“Sansa, my dear sweet little bird Sansa, would you pretty please with cherries on top, marry me?” Jon finally asked, on a bended knee no less. He looked ridiculous but gasps and applause were audibly heard nearby. At least it looked real.

Sansa searched Jon’s face as he waited for her answer. It was fake proposal but the words had a slight effect on her still. This was not how she imagined being proposed to. And especially not by Jon.

“I don’t appreciate the sarcasm but yes, I’ll marry you. See you at the airport at 8 am tomorrow. And I’m taking the rest of the day off.”

[pendragonfics]

Seventh Time’s The Charm

Paring: Mycroft Holmes/Reader

Tags: gender neutral reader, no pronouns used for reader, lawyers, meet-cute, fluff, Mycroft being Mycroft.

Summary: Working for a law firm in London, Reader is an assistant and she just keeps running into him (or rather, he keeps trying to run into her).

Word Count: 2,215

Current Date: 2018-12-15

Ever since you started working for Xiao Attorneys, you had gotten to know the regular clients of your boss quite well. With a quick check of the schedule ahead of each appointment, you were able to anticipate, accommodate and elevate the expectations and needs of each person coming to meet with their attorney. You had worked hard to get to where you were - not ten years ago, you were cleaning tables at Taco Bell, and after a ton of working you way up the ladder, now, almost at the end of your law degree, you made it to your dream job. The only thing was, it wasn’t your name on the plate on the door - but after you finished your degree, acing with flying colours, you were sure to earn a place in the workplace.

That’s why you worked so hard on the clientele side of the job - when they came in, the first thing they saw, coming into the suite, was you, behind the desk (or the fancy bonsai that sat just to the left of you). You were the humanity of the company - the gatekeeper. You led them in, met their needs, and transferred them to the hands of Mrs. Xiao when they were available.

It wasn’t a bad day, most days. Most of the clients that came for their appointments were passably nice, like people are to their phones when they work accordingly to their needs. The others made you want to go home and drink your feelings in prosecco and reconsider your place of work. But today wasn’t bad. You had worked through all the kinks so far, but it was at quarter to twelve, just fifteen minutes before Mrs. Xiao’s lunchbreak, when someone entered the suites that did not have an appointment.

As he entered, you wondered if his eyes darted to you first, before the bonsai, but it happened so fast, that you hadn’t a second to catch your breath before you leapt from behind the desk to meet him. He was moderately tall, with a receding hairline, and bright blue eyes. But you only had a moment to see these features of his after you stood before him, placing room between him, and the offices where Mrs. Xiao was finishing with her current client.

“I’m very sorry, sir, but to meet with Mrs. Xiao, you will need an appointment,” you spoke levelly, making sure not to offend him in any way.

He wore a suit that looked so much more expensive than your current apartment, and in his hand, was an umbrella, the fabric dry. You looked to the window, but there wasn’t any sign of rain to come at all. He smiled, but it wasn’t a nice smile. You’d seen his type before - the sort of person who might carefully deconstruct a pen before you, only to empty the vial of ink all over your front, for the sake of your own inferiority.

Not that that had happened before.

“Not now, __________.” Mrs. Xiao spoke, her tone calm. You glanced behind to see her letting her other client from the room. With a look between her and the mysterious gentleman that had appeared without an appointment, you realised that they knew each other. “Please order my usual lunch for delivery, today.” She said, motioning for him to enter her room.

You nodded, leaving them to their talking. By the time that the sandwich place delivered the food, and you had finished organising the latest files on the new secure database, it was well after midday. Since Mrs. Xiao closed the door behind herself and the mysterious man, you had not heard a peep from them.

There was still a half hour until the next scheduled client and fuelled by the unknown and the lack of knowledge around the newcomer to Xiao Attorneys, you opened a new tab on the internet, and prepared to do a search on him. But you were stopped. You weren’t sure if it was dumb luck, or coincidence, but in the back of the photo of the current prime minister, you saw his face.

“Mr. Holmes,” you whispered, reading his name underneath the photograph. “Who might you be?”

---

Since that day, there have been plenty of meetings where Mr. Holmes will appear as if from thin air. At times, you wondered if he was something like Mary Poppins, arriving when those around least expect it. Other times, you wondered if he was just another rich man, draping himself around Mrs. Xiao’s suites with his influence and time for favours on her behalf. But you wouldn’t know any better, you were just one bump up from a receptionist. Since that day, Mr. Holmes had come to Xiao Attorneys five times, and, not that you were keeping track on the matter too closely, but every visit had managed to happen all in under six months. All this time, you guessed; was he an oil baron? An influential media mogul? An upper-levels government operative?

The sixth time he appeared at the offices, you anticipated it. You weren’t the world’s best secretary (according to your favourite mug) for nothing. By now, you had recognised a pattern; if there was no rain, but no national scandal, he would not come, but if there was no rain and a scandal, he would. If there was rain, and a scandal, he’d stay longer. But without any of these factors - no rain, no outrage in parliament - there was no chance you would see Mr. Holmes.

Right on eleven, he arrived, and it was then you finished plating up a cup and saucer of tea, just the way that he liked it. As soon as he entered the rooms, you stood, holding it to him.

“Thank you, __________.” He told you.

It felt strange to be on a one-way first name basis with this man - surely you were to be allowed to call him by his birthname. But he was the client, and you were the staff, and therefore he would always be Mr. Holmes and your boss Mrs. Xiao, and both would wield their influential power over you.  

“Not a problem at all, sir.” You smiled, leaving him to take a seat in the plush lounges in the waiting area. You returned to your workstation, adamant to keep your attention to the files that needed sending off to various members of the British legal system. But before you could dip your head back into the workflow you usually worked underneath, Mr. Holmes interrupted your thoughts, but not well enough for you to quite catch what he had spoken. “Pardon me?”

“Last time I was here, I misplaced a pen of mine.” He re-spoke, every word so carefully eloquent unlike your practiced words. He was obviously a whole social class above you, and in that moment, you almost focused on that, rather than the words he had spoken. “I was simply wondering if you knew where it ended up.”

You nodded, a reflex, your heart beating within your chest heavily. “I did find a pen after you left the suite, Mr. Holmes.” You dive into the bottom draw of the desk, near your ankle, and, from the small box labelled lost and found with a post-it note, you withdrew what you thought to be the item in question. “In case this is not your pen, erm, what would distinguish it from any other?”

He lowered his teacup from his lips, the bottom clinking so softly against the china. Eyes in contact with your own, you watched Mr. Holmes’ features as he spoke, “It is a black fountain pen, six inches, gold embellishments and a ribbed design, manufactured in 1989. Engraved into the lid are three words.”

You bit your lip, looking at the pen cradled in your hands. This man, apart from everything else you knew about him, surely had the wit and memory of the greats. Instead of conceding, like anyone else would, you looked back to him, feeling daring.

“What words?” you pressured.

“Sine qua non.” Even though your knowledge of Latin and other dead languages is through period dramas and slogans, you know as Mr. Holmes speaks that his accent is impeccable. “Without it.” he says.

You stand and cross the waiting area toward him. Trading the pen for the now-empty teacup, you smile his way. “Now you aren’t without it, Mr. Holmes, I’m sure you’ll be happy.” You tell him. Just as you speak, you hear Mrs. Xiao’s office door open, and silently, they both gravitate toward the available suite.

“Until next time?” you said, feeling your heart beat a little quicker. You’re not sure, but you thought you saw a small smile on his lips, fleeting, yes, but there.

---

You wouldn’t have done it unless it was for the end of the world, but it was (to you), and ever since you’ve taken your weeks’ worth of saved-up sick leave to care for your cat’s new litter of mewling babies, you’re wrought with feelings that you had no clue that you had before. It was raining, and, when you flicked the television on in the apartment, you read the headlines at the bottom of the news program’s frame. A scandal. Not a large one, but one nonetheless, and it made you so upset. You were always at work, and now, when your silly cat just had to go and find a tomcat to fall in love and get pregnant with, you’re left playing the second parent to your new fur babies.

“Marmalade, you absolute prat,” you muttered to the cat beside you.

But Marmalade didn’t respond.

She was just a cat. A cat who couldn’t care less for your strange relationship with your place of work and your clientele. She was a cat, and one who’d delivered four healthy kittens, at that. From the box in your lap, they mewled with their newfound voices. You still couldn’t believe that it had been three days since your first day off, and that they were so very new. What would you do with them? You could hardly afford Marmalade.

It was then that the doorbell rang, and you nearly jumped from out of your skin. You rarely had visitors - your friends from around the city would rather meet up at a coffee house rather than your small place, and your parents lived far enough away that a day-trip was out of the question.

Keeping the runt of the litter close to your chest, you paced toward the entrance of your apartment, and, without a spyhole, you opened it to greet your unexpected visitor.

Upon seeing him, you felt like it was a very unexpected visit. Mr. Holmes stood there, as tall and as poised as usual, except, this time it wasn’t in a well-lit upper-level office suite in the CBD of London, but rather, the less-fortunate area where you could make rent. The walls were touched with mould, smelt of water, but with him there, it felt like an unfair juxtaposition of the both of your lives.

“Mr. Holmes!” you exclaim, shocked, stepping aside for him to enter your…homely abode. “To what do I owe -,”

He shook his head. ���I am not one for lack of formality, __________, but after getting to know you, I found myself in a position of which made me realise that I had developed feelings. Toward you.”

You blinked, unsure if you were actually hearing the words, or if you had fallen asleep on the lounge and this was all a dream that you had concocted out of wishful thinking. But as much as this felt like that part in Pride and Prejudice where Mr. Darcy tells Jane he loves her ‘most ardently’, you had to remember that this was all real.

“Mr. Holmes -,” you whispered, unsure what to say. “I-,”

He nodded. “I don’t expect you to respond. I know it is unprofessional of me, as a client of your boss, but those visits were unnecessary. I came to meet with Beryl Xiao with the goal to speak to you.” He looks to his feet, and to the box on the lounge, full of newborn cats. “I - will let you resume your afternoon.”

You shake your head, reaching for him. As your hand touched his elbow, he paused. “Mr. Holmes,” you whispered. “I’m not that great at realising things beyond my own nose, but…I do know that I share those feelings that you have.” The cat in your hands cries out, and both of your eyes look to it, sighing, you give it a kiss, and place it back in the box on the lounge. “I don’t mind that you’re a client. I know what I feel.”

“Please,” he says, voice soft. “Call me Mycroft.”

You laugh quietly, under your breath. “Hello, Mycroft,” you reply, feeling giddy all of a sudden. You make the distance between the both of you shorter, and, closing in the distance, you meet your lips with his. As you break apart, you feel Marmalade intertwining between the both of your legs, and you chuckle. “You wouldn’t happen to know, on the off chance, anyone who would like kittens?”

A smile crossed his face. “I’m sure my brother and his friends wouldn’t say no to one.”

[thebritishblabbermouth]

Jungkook Fanfiction- BTS Mafia AU

Heyya :))

@atricksterwithwings requested a beautiful BTS mafia au, and I loved writing this for her. I’ve split it into three parts. Scroll down for the first and for the link to the latter. 

A/N: I’ve mentioned Zhang Yixing in this fanfiction aside from the other BTS members. Its totally okay if you dont know who he is...although you probably do, he’s like such a popular sheep ;) Find information about him here . 

Tell me your thoughts on this fanfic, Id love to receive any sort of feedback on my work and I totally think that likes and reblogs are recognition too :) Have fun reading, I know I really enjoyed writing this :) Its like 12 pages long on a word doc...idek anymore xP Jungkook is gorgeous. :) 

Also...there is cursing in this, mention of the mafia from different nationalities and part two and three are rated M (its smutty xP) Reader discretion is advised if any of these things bother you. 

Lots of love :) <3 - Enjoy :)  

PART 2

PART 3 (final)

1.

Jeon Jungkook stood at the 77th floor of Euphoria, the headquarters to the largest crime syndicate east of the Pacific Ocean. The height was dizzying for most, but not for him.

Jungkook had no fears; or so was assumed.

The man himself, was built at an impressive 6 feet and constituted of raw muscle, protein and a rather cynical approach towards life. Outwardly, the leader of the most legal crime syndicate was cold, intimidating and the type to burn you to ashes with a glare from his heated eyes.

Inwardly, he was exactly the same.

He was well aware of the effect he had on his employees, men and women who knew exactly of his affiliation with the Japanese Yazuka and the Italian Camorra yet pined to work under Jeon, the sheer power of his company bringing everyone to their knees with respect.

Euphoria was a giant.

It had dealings with government run telemarketing firms, banks, real estate agencies, alongside finance and technology markets. An easy way to convert money earned through extortion, gambling and trafficking to its pure and pristine form. The corrupt politicians whose elections he had funded didn’t complain. No one cared where the money came from and no one dared to ask otherwise. The cause of the founder’s formidable aura wasn’t a secret. Everyone knew how he had been tortured by his father, abandoned on the streets by a mother who seemed to love Heroin more than her own son. The story had been plastered all over the internet, and Jungkook would never deny reading through its many exaggerated versions. They were entertaining and did well to remind himself about how important money and power were, without those weapons, he too would be sitting in a room, writing about a life that belonged to someone else.

Materialism was reality and wealth- it’s currency.

~~~~~~~~~~~

‘’Sir, your coffee…’’ you said, walking through the office doors, a skip in your stride. There was no knock. No hint of awkwardness, no aspect of fear in the way she spoke. If anything there was the undertone of coercion, almost coaxing the man to leave his billion dollar thoughts in the gutter and focus solely on the warm drink.

Your playful extortion had worked, he was focused. Just not on the coffee.

Three months ago, Euphoria had issued an internal opportunity- PA to Jeon Jungkook. The post received 3 applications from his 20,000 employees. Min Yoongi, his chief of finance and operations took to appointing the least qualified of the bunch, a woman- aged a mere 22 years. The pitch to his ever frightening boss had been simple. ‘’You’ve let down 30 men in the last 6 months. I am done handling my job as well your shit. Those Harvard lunatics are too busy tending to their stupid resumes and I don’t have time for the garbage they throw at me when you fire their sorry arses. You’re settling with the woman, she’s got sick parents to feed- she won’t give a damn for ego as long as you pay her on time.’’

Jungkook could only snarl at the curses, the audacity of the man to speak in the way he did. Anyone else and they’d be lying in a pool of their own blood within seconds of the first word spoken against him. But Min Yoongi couldn’t be touched and this was a fact.

Jeon Jungkook was putty in the hands of his elder brother.

Today, he sent thanks to his sibling, for his aggressive outburst and daunting approach. You were priceless and the best decision ever- professionally of course.

He gave no reply to your request, not even a glance spared in your direction as your placed the drink onto his desk. There were just a series of footsteps, the man walking over to his maple work table, ready to do as he was told.

You had no idea of the prerogatives you held, and at that point, neither did him. The slight tease in your voice had mellowed down completely- replaced with the air of innocence and obeisance. Jungkook groaned at the sight. 

‘’So I was thinking…it’s Christmas Eve tomorrow…and well…’’ you said... Shuffling your buckled black heels.

‘’You aren’t leaving early.’’

His abrupt command had no thought behind it. Other than the fact he couldn’t let you out of his sight for more than a few hours, often paging you unnecessarily just to make you think of him.

He doubted you ever would if he didn’t.

‘’I am not…my parents are flying in tomorrow…it’s a small get together at my place with a few colleagues. I figured since you didn’t have anything planned…you could join us?’’  

Your apprehensive feet clicked across the hardwood with anticipation, the weightlessness behind your request holding the air in a trance.

‘’You’re my personal assistant, not event manager. You do not handle my private affairs so don’t think for a second that I care about your stupid Christmas dinner or the family I saved from crumbling.’’

It wasn’t what he had intended to say. Rather, his mind had flourished a thought he needed to keep locked away. He wanted to tell you that he’d love to join your family, share potato salad and amusing anecdotes across the table... All the while pressing his hand into your thigh- a subtle promise of sinful satisfaction later that night. But he wouldn’t dare to voice his feelings. You didn’t need to get involved with his shit, the scars that graced his back or the life full of gluttony and gambles he had chosen to lead. It was compulsion, to remind you every second of every day that the apartment which he bestowed upon you just 3 floors below his office- was a gracious boon, a gift given to improve your petty life. You had to be reminded of your father and how had been released from Jail after almost overdosing on the crack he had envisioned to peddle. Jeon Jungkook had to remind you of how ugly your tear stained face looked as you begged on your knees- begged for him to save your family.

There was simply no other way.

If you weren’t reminded, you’d crawl your way into his heart and sit there- encasing it completely.

He was just a damned moth to your flame.

‘’I know…and I am trying…I am trying to repay you. Please. Come over. I won’t waste your time.’’ You said. The words articulated with a purpose, were laced with meaningful sorrow but you couldn’t help the small smile that graced your lips.

He hadn’t declined.

Jungkook noticed how your full lips turned upwards, noticed how you had bent your head downwards, trying to hide your amusement. He knew he hadn’t said no, he knew inside the pits of his soul that was going to attend. Your reaction publicised his private notions completely.

It wasn’t hard to hate you.

Rather, it was the easiest thing in the world. His life had been built upon layers of lies, fear, judgement and mistrust. You tore everything apart with one look. He despised the hold you had over him, envied your purity and tried his best to tarnish it with his own two hands. Even if it meant burning your entire persona to ashes. He was well aware of the impact his audacious remarks on your large heart, knew just how much you wished to throw your small fists at his chest in rebuttal- he could see it in your eyes. But he knew you’d never break.

‘’Get out. I don’t have time for you.’’

Fuck.

Why couldn’t he just say no?

Probably because the thought of abjuration had never once crossed his mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~

11 pm saw him standing at your door, a bouquet of Lilly’s in his hand. The flowers had almost wilted away. What the hell was he doing? Why was he even here? There was no noise from behind the oakwood and why would there be?

Your offer had been for dinner, not a midnight snack.

He wasn’t going to come, prove you wrong and act smug about the ordeal. However he had shown up, at 7 pm, flowers fresh and suit prim. Ready to tap onto the door and shimmy himself into you…your apartment. But his confidence dropped as he heard your laughter, it was beautiful, natural and something he had never experienced before.

Jeon Jungkook had never made you laugh, but had every thought of hearing you scream.

It wouldn’t have mattered to him if you were any other woman, but the lack of knowledge frightened him, made him think there would be another man who would have the pleasure of witnessing both sounds.

Every. Single. Day.

His heart beat erratically, edging him into a state of worry and insanity. What the fuck was wrong with him? It would be a complete lie if he said he hadn’t just stood in front of your door for 3 hours, praying he didn’t hear sounds of men. The silence at 11 pm provided comfort and he walked away, only after dropping the Lilly’s inside the vase at your desk.

You had been pleasantly surprised the next day, and you knew exactly who they were from. The flowers- drained from their pretty colour -were beautiful nonetheless and you couldn’t help but run your hands over their soft petals.

They were perfect- just like him.

 ~~~~~~~~~~

2.

‘’See that guy over there…he’s checking you out hon.’’ Lisa, the American-Chinese intern, stirred her tea at an exceedingly sluggish pace. Her eyes were glued onto the 27 year old accountant who stood in the corner of the room, photocopying his work and humming to himself. She’d been a temporary employee at Euphoria Inc. for a bare 3 weeks but had done well to pair 4 couples with her self-praised matchmaking skills.

3 of said relationships had broken up within 24 hours. And thus, It was only natural that her impeccable track record attracted many an employee to her small cubicle, ready for her to set them up with dates and one night stands.

It seemed that you were her next target.

You sighed and turned to look at Jamie. He was tall, considerably well-built and had this collegiate boyish charm to his appeal, his long-slightly raven locks sat faultlessly over his glasses.

The image was so immaculate it made you uncomfortable.

I

However in your opinion, the man on the 77th floor was nothing short of perfection. His ruffled hair didn’t need to be waxed and placed as it were; it fell naturally and it made you want to run your hands through it. His rugged and damaged personality sheltered his otherwise kind heart and you saw right through the vile facade. You didn’t hope for him to change. Didn’t hope for him to suddenly become a goofy cheeky soul; the kind who would sit and chat with his workers.

You loved the man as he was. A little broken but a hell of a lot confident.

‘’Lisa…I don’t really want to date him…’’ You mumbled, eagerly emptying coffee beans into the machine.

She laughed at your reply and peeled her eyes away from the man. ‘’Who said anything about dating love? I just said he was checking you out.’’

It was hard not to grimace at her words but as crude as they were you had to smile politely. Offices were run on brutal honesty and cut throat depositions. There was no room for pleasantries or hospitality and any that appeared were a courteous formality. You hurried in your steps and brewed the concoction with ease. It was 8 am and he required his morning fix, even though he never actually asked you to prepare it. You had just finished placing his black on the tray and had turned around to deliver it when a firm body crashed into yours, spilling the brew all over your clothes and the floor. The heat burned through your blouse and scorched your skin, it had been hard to not curse at the pain but you dealt through it, eyes shut tight in response.

‘’Oh my gosh! I am so sorry!’’ said the voice. It was a man, sharply handsome, his cheekbones were protruding and you were sure his skin glowed. It didn’t take long to recognise him.

Kim Taehyung.

He had been a prospective fiancé, from a year ago.

From a time when you had no viable job, no future and the money the Kim Family offered in exchange for your hand in matrimony, had been a welcome surprise to your household. They were staunchly against same sex marriages and Park Jimin had been banned from their home with immediate effect. The marijuana had inflected your otherwise gentle father and he had agreed in seconds to the proposal, not once considering your opinion. You had declined Taehyung in private, and he had hugged you in thanks. The man was humble and docile in more ways than one, and his heart had been taken years ago- by none other, than his childhood piano teacher. There was no way Taehyung would’ve agreed.  

‘’Tae!’’ You screamed, surprised yet elated at the discovery.

‘’Hey there fiancé. Glad to know you remember me…but really, why do we always meet in the worst of situations.’’ He walked over to the counter as he spoke, grabbing up as many napkins as he could find. His gentle hands took to patting at your chest, handing you the tissues while doing so and it didn’t take long for to dry up your blouse.

‘’I thought you’d be more respectful than that. Letting your fiancé walk into my building and displaying yourself open for the man. Tch Tch…I guess a lowlife is always a low life no matter what her circumstance.’’ Jeon Jungkook stood against the door, leaning onto it with a posture that screamed indifference. But in all reality, Jungkook was seething.

The small Glock tucked into his suit was ready to fire and destroy Kim Taehyung and maybe even leave a flesh wound inside Jamie the accountant.

However in that minute, his primal desire had been to destroy you. How dare you hide the news of your engagement? How dare you wear that damned pastel pink blouse to work, and let another man touch you so unabashedly? How dare you smile when you saw your betrothed? He hated you for everything.

And he hated himself for falling for you.

‘’And who the hell is this Joker?’’ Taehyung turned around to look at Jeon, the tissues in his hand soiled from the spillage. He had been invited to the corporation by Min Yoongi, a dear friend who had promised him help with TaeMin Designs, an upcoming entrepreneurial, founded by his beautiful husband. It didn’t occur to him that he’d meet you, but he was pleased that he had.

You were wonderful.

If it hadn’t been for your confidence, he would have never proposed to Jimin, never left his awful family and never been as happy as he was now. He owed you his life and his prosperity.

‘’Tae…he’s my boss. I’ll talk to you later. Please. I’ll call you hmm?’’ you tried your best to nip the fight in the bud. Taehyung was cool headed but an agitated version of the man could lead to the emergence of fists and blood. You were lucky he understood your pleas, and he grunted towards Jungkook while exiting the room, the daggers leaving his eyes were filled with venom and anger.

‘’I’d like you to pay attention to your job. Not to every single man out there. Why don’t you just do as you’re told? I don’t care what you do and who you do it with when you’re out of here.’’ Jungkook straightened himself against the wall and pocketed his hands. He told himself he enjoyed watching your eyes brim, told himself that his anger was justified. But god knows how much he wanted to cradle you and whisper apologies until you were forced to believe them.

‘’Let’s keep your sluttish acts away from the office hmm?’’

It was a harsh blow, enough to cause the first tear to slip from their confines. Why did he have to behave like that?

Why did you have to love him regardless of the way he did? 

~~~~~~~

3.  

‘’How long is it going to take you leave? It’s pretty simple. Take the bag to KM Constructions, drop it there and leave. What’s so hard? '' Jungkook’s anger had sky rocketed ever since the incidence in the cafeteria and he didn’t even understand why he was asking you to be a bag drop. Never once in a career spanning 6 years had he ever made a woman a part of a deal. But it seemed that you were an exception with everything.

‘’I am just leaving Sir.’’ You said, buttoning up the grey pea coat.

He noticed how inappropriately dressed you were, how feminine and vulnerable. He knew how lecherous men could be, knew it wasn’t safe. But annoyance clouded his senses and he threw the thoughts away. It was simple enough, no interactions. You’d be fine.

If only he knew.

Part 2

Part 3 

[darlingpetao3]

Primrose Path (Harry Wells x Reader, Chapter 1)

Rating: Explicit

Summary: When you, a lovely florist, move to Central City to open your flower shop, you had no idea you’d fall for such a complicated and dangerous man who deals in a less-than-legal business. Harrison Wells - a major player and powerhouse within the underground mafia world of the region - sweeps you off your feet as you quickly become his greatest weakness.

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Mentions of War, Coarse Language, Blood and Violence, Minor Character Deaths

Tag List: @aryasnape @cursedfaechild  @jadedragon1903 @disneyoncerlover815 @child-of-winter-1215 (please check to see if your Tumblr settings are set to receive mentions from us for future tag related purposes!)

A/N: Well, here we are. After four months over our labour of love, @central-city-meta-pocalypse @letyourimaginationrun and I would like to present our baby, Primrose Path. We will each alternate in posting the chapters, kind of like how they did the Crisis on Earth X crossover - each posting a part of the whole product. For example, next week I will reblog Chapter 2 from C-C-M-P so that everyone has had a chance to read it (if you don’t already follow each of us). Please keep in mind this is an AU - Alternate Universe - so not everything will be canon. We’ve made plenty of changes to fit our story. And so, after writing +100,000 words of a story full of fluff, angst, drama, sex, heartbreak, and so much love, we are extremely happy to finally be able to share this with all of you. Thank you for being patient and without further ado, here’s Chapter 1!

Primrose Path.

Phrase: the pursuit of pleasure, especially when it is seen to bring disastrous consequences...

You had heard about Central City and their metahuman phenomenon, but seeing a person’s abilities with your own two eyes is the most amazing thing you’ve ever witnessed.

When you'd watched the reports on the news before moving here, they only ever showed the dangers of metahumans and the ones who decided to try and bring this city to its knees.

But your first encounter is nothing like that.

You almost drench your poor flower pot stationed outside your flower shop, Primrose Path, when you see your first metahuman. The man is rugged and dirty with tattered clothes. You assume he’s homeless, and offer a kind smile. He returns it, then takes notice of the begonia display drooping - a cause of the relentless summer sun. The man reaches for a petal, and instantly at the contact, the flower blooms back to life in full colour. You stand there mesmerized. It's an utterly incredible gift, the power of restoration, right there at this man's fingertips.

“My goodness, thank you, Sir-”

“-Stand back, Miss!” hollers an authoritative voice. When you turn, you see a tall, blond, and well-groomed police officer who is taking cautious steps towards the man, acting as though he's just threatened your life rather than give assistance to your flowers. His hand is readily on his gun in his holster. You start to panic.

“No, no, really officer! I’m fine, he-”

“Get inside to safety, now!” he shouts. You drop your watering can and the contents spill all across the sidewalk. There’s no reason to be afraid, but the tone of the officer’s words themselves is what’s most frightening. You heed his orders and run into your flower shop. The very second you close the door, the officer clamps a pair of rather heavy duty handcuffs on the man, who is now hanging his head, and reads him his rights.

But even though muffled behind the glass, it sounds as if this metahuman, this man who did no wrong, has none.

***

Harry ends his call, sighing heavily as he sinks back down at his desk. Papers litter the glass plane, all regarding new projects and current ones to be approved for Scientific and Technological Advanced Research Laboratories - or S.T.A.R. Labs - utilization.

Tossing his own phone aside, his hand smooths over one of the documents in front of him. He presses his lips into a thin line, anger culminating inside him from the phone call. He takes a small gadget from the corner of his desk and hurls it to the other side of the room. The device shatters when it smashes against the wall.

Frustrated, that's what he is. Annoyed, about to go ballistic - a volcano preparing to erupt and spread fiery lava at any second.

There’s a brief, firm knock at his office door.

"What?" he snaps, one hand rubbing his temple while his other hand grips the arm of his chair. The door opens and a man puts his head around it, looking a little anxious at the tone of his boss' voice.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Sir, but we've just had news that one of the vacant shops has been occupied by someone no one seems to have heard of. Apparently they’re from out of town. It's only two blocks away and... Well, we thought you should know."

Harry's eyes narrow at the lower-rank man, adjusting his posture so that an elbow is propped on the armrest of his chair while his chin sits in the middle of his palm. He looks at the timid employee for a few seconds, with a dangerous storm brewing in his glare. The younger man swallows, palms sweaty as he avoids doing any sort of action to piss off the dark-haired scientist.

"I'll deal with it," Harry grumbles through gritted teeth, bitter rage still boiling within him from the previous and unsuccessful phone conversation. The blond goon senses that his boss is feeling extremely prickly at the moment and simply moves forward, placing a piece of paper with the address of the new tenant on the edge of the desk. Turning, he leaves in a hurry without any further words so as to not poke the bear.

Two blocks away? That was awfully close. Somewhere for someone new to get near to him, threaten him in his own territory.

Harry stands, walking over to the large window which overlooks the city below him. This is his city, and he'll be damned if someone tries to make a move to change that. He grabs his gun and strides through the company building, holding an antagonistic expression and glaring at anyone who dares look him in the eye.

Outside, the sun is up in the middle of the vast blue sky, signalling that it’s midday. The city bustles with noise as people chatter through the streets and birds chirp from tree to tree. If anything, the city-life only fuels Harry’s bellicose mood as the world around him seems to experience ecstasy and bliss while he has to address a current complication on his territory.

Harry continues his war-path through the populous streets, weaving through the gaps in the crowds to arrive at the now occupied property. His hand instinctively touches the cool metal of his concealed gun behind him, slender fingers at the ready to pull out the firearm if necessary.

Danger, an anomaly, or another bastard seeking to do away with his work - Harry’s prepared to show whoever the hell set foot on his property just who owns Central City.

What Harry doesn’t expect is coming face to face with… potted plants? An array of flowers that sit within tiny, terracotta pots… He blinks, reading the sign above, Primrose Path, thinking this is some sort of prank or front.

Is this really a floral shop?

Outside the quaint business sit several baskets of brightly coloured flowers, leading up to the door where beyond it, lay more and more crates of blooms all over the interior of the shop. And that's when Harry first hears your voice come from just inside the door.

"Six pink roses and a selection of white flowers to fill it out, wasn’t it? Oh, I’m sure that’ll make a wonderful display. Your mother is going to love it!"

Maybe Harry wasn’t as prepared as he thought.

The tenderness of your voice was definitely something he didn't expect. In fact, it rather takes him aback. Harry ducks and steps out of the way of the window so he wouldn’t be spotted, casting a glance at this new ‘resident’. Oddly enough though, when he catches sight of you, his fingers go limp from clutching his weapon. A weird, warm feeling courses through him as his eyes scan what they can from where he currently stands. It must be his gut warning him of something. With eyebrows knitting together, Harry figures he should go about this with caution.

He observes you with the customer, who had supposedly said something humorous because Harry hears you giggle and sees you covering your mouth. Your eyes crinkle in this adorable way that makes his stomach flip.

“Damn... she’s cute,” he mutters while hiding behind a hanging plant, peeking in through the window once more. He watches you for a few minutes, interacting with the customer and arranging a recent delivery of stock in your new premises. Your bright smile is utterly captivating and Harry finds the corner of his mouth turn up in a tiny smile as he looks at you. You couldn't be a threat, surely? No one that sweet would be trying to challenge him.

You let out another radiant laugh before Harry decides it’s time to leave. At the moment, he doesn’t consider you a risk or even a potential enemy in the future. Sometimes the property he owned was just a prime piece of real estate for someone to open a business. He has a hard time remembering that not everyone in this world has it in for him.

His hands bury into his pants pockets, still unable to wipe his smile away. He walks back to his company with the bell-like sound of your voice replaying in his head. The image of yourself has been burned into his mind.

"I'll come back and deal with this later," he whispers to himself, now registering how dry his throat had become.

He’ll deal with it... just not in the way he initially thought.

***

Ding ding!

You can’t stop the little gasp that escapes you when you see who it is walking through your door.

Since the event with the cop and the metahuman outside your shop, you’d been researching the creation and rise of the metahumans, and all of your reading seemed to culminate around the man now standing at the counter in your inconsequential little shop; one of the most famous, or maybe infamous, people in the city.

Doctor Harrison Wells.

From what you’d read, the man was a mystery, wrapped up in an enigma, wrapped up in a suit. A rather gorgeous, designer suit at that.

Several articles you’d found linked back to the War of the Americas and Harrison Wells’ name was prominently featured within them. He’d been discharged at the end of the war with a commendation and an award for bravery, though you hadn’t been able to find what it had been an award for. But now he seems to be seen more as a war-hero-turned-mad-scientist who had seen fit to turn this city upside down for his own gain as no one in Central City seemed to know what he and his team were working on in the high-rise S.T.A.R Labs building.

But despite much of this mockery and antagonism towards him, he had never been challenged to stop his work. He was a force to be reckoned with, and woe betides anyone who got in his way.

The rumours surrounding him seemed to go from the sublime to the ridiculous and you could not work out which, if any, were actually true. People said that since the war, there was a dark, underworld-type nature of most of his business that no one particularly wanted to talk about. He seemed to exude an aura of fear to the people of this city.

He apparently owned property in virtually every block, knew how to pay off the right people to get him what he needed and had a reputation of being able to… effectively deal with those who refused. The gossip all said that he dealt in the shadows, manipulating those small gangs in the criminal underworld to create the biggest empire the city had ever seen. Which, despite the mayor and elected officials, left Harrison Wells as the undisputed king of all of it.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to believe any of it. A man awarded such an honour during his service surely wouldn’t then come home to terrorize his own city. He was just another businessman, trying to make his way in a corporate world and people wanted to demonize him for his success.

Which brings you to the current hitch in your breath as the rumoured secret King of Central City lays a small bundle of bright blue flowers on your counter. His dark hair is messy, like he’s been running his hands through it, nothing like the styled pictures on the covers of magazines you’d seen. You notice his piercing blue eyes study you as you watch him. It’s hard not to be captivated by his handsome features but you force yourself to be professional again when he speaks.

“Hi there,” he says.

“H-hello,” you reply timidly. “Is this everything for you, today?”

“It is, thank you.” You ring in the bundle and tell him the cost. Harrison Wells slides a few bills across the flat surface to you, which you then place into the cash register. “Have a nice day...”

You offer your name at his hesitation and notice a slight tug in the upper corner of his mouth.

“(Y/N)... beautiful name.” You can’t hold back an uncontrollable, bright smile at his compliment. He doesn’t seem so scary. Harrison Wells turns to leave, but without his purchase.

“Uh, Sir? You forgot your flowers.”

“I didn’t forget,” the man says with a wink, leaving the shop as the door jingles when he exits. You pick up the pretty blue bundle of flowers and finally process their name.

Forget-Me-Nots.

[Chapter 2]

[kjs-s]

Turf wars

Pairing   Claire Temple x reader

Prompt  Don’t push me away

Summary  You found out your girlfriend works for the mobster queen of your part of the city after an attack on your old neighborhood

Mobster AU First ever hope it;s not terrible

Word Count:1650

Warnings:  argument, sadness, a murder, character death

A/N: This is my second entry for @caplansteverogers 4k challenge.  I hope you like it and you  can see what you turned me into. I used to only write fluffy things.

@writing-journeyx   @sprinkleofhappinessuniverse @ohyesmarvel​ @agentpeggicarter  @buckyofthemyscira @romantichen @once-upon-an-imagine@locke-writes @lucetheding @marveliskindacool @captainrogerss   @jurassicbarnes @uncomfortable-writers @theassetseyeliner​ @sgtbxckybxrnes​ @thetherianthropydaily @dresupi  @captainrogerss

Having a day off from work was a blessing. You could finally sleep as long as you wanted and spent your morning doing nothing. However, today there was a horrible surprise waiting for you. When you turned on the radio to hear some music, all the stations were reporting an attack at a restaurant in your old neighborhood. The same neighborhood you had been living in up until four months ago when you moved to get a better paying job. You panicked knowing your cousin, Matt and all of your childhood friends had gone out the night before. They had called you to join them in the celebration of Matt's promotion at the legal firm he is working at.

You called everyone to check up on them. You were sure they would be fine at first considering nobody had called you with bad news. After many phone calls to friends and the hospitals in the area, you found out that most of the people you cared about had died during the attack. The news had reported that a bomb had been placed in the restaurant owned by Luke Cage. Everyone's assumption was that his rival, the mobster queen on your side of the city, Jessica Jones was the one responsible for the attack. You had heard about her the moment you moved. She was feared by all for she was ruthless and didn't care who might get hurt because of her.

Sadness and sorrow started making your heart beating faster. But you were also angry at Jessica. You knew there isn't anyone in the world who would go against her willingly, but you hoped that someone would make her pay. You were scared of her but now you hated her for what happened to your friends.

Needing some comfort, you thought the best way to seek it was to visit your girlfriend at the hospital. Claire was always happy to see you and didn't mind taking a break to be with you. You knew her lunchtime was in half an hour so you went to meet her.

You were told she was with a patient but you could wait for her outside the cubicle. The other nurses trusted that even if you overheard anything Claire was talking to her patient about, you wouldn't speak to anyone about it. It seems though that they had no idea who the patient was. You were moments away from finding out and having your heart broken a second time within a few hours.

''I am trying to help you so it won't leave a mark. Would you mind not moving?'' You heard Claire inside the cubicle talking to her patient. You couldn't either of them from where you stood.

''I don't care about it leaving a mark. Just finish this so I can leave. I can't be here for any more time. I need to go plan my next move.'' Another woman spoke. Despite not being able to see her you could recognize that voice anywhere. It belonged to non-other than Jessica Jones. The same person you wished dead that same morning.

''I don't need to know about that Jessica. I'm just your nurse. And you will let me take care of your burn. You already know the police won't show up here because of our deal so just allow me to do my job.'' Claire was heard trying to treat a burn that Jessica had. You believed her injury to be from last night's bombing and that made you furious.  

How long had Claire worked for that vile woman? Did she work for her as just a nurse or did she provide her with drugs that were used to kill people? Was she dating you just for yourself or did she have plans to recruit you for Jessica? All of those questions were filling your brain and you couldn't think clearly. Fortunately, your instinct was to run away and go home. You would confront your girlfriend when she would come back tonight.

''(Y/N) are you home? Erin told me you came to the hospital to see me and left. Are you feeling alright?'' After hearing you had gone to see her, Claire took the rest of the day off to make sure you were fine.

When she found you, you were packing your clothes.

''Where are you going? Did something happen?'' Claire sounded worried.

''Many things happened Claire. Were you ever going to tell me that you are working with Jessica? Or that, I don't know, that maybe you know about the attack on my old neighborhood last night?

You stepped closer to her so she can see the furious look on your face.

''And don't you dare deny it. I heard you talking to her at the hospital.''

''I wasn't going to deny it. However, you need to understand that I had no choice. Jessica was my friend growing up and I neither of us knew her father used to run the city. When she found out and was forced to take over she made me promise to help her. Only when she needed medical assistance, I haven't killed anyone.''

''Maybe not directly you haven't. I overheard the police talking about medicine used to kill people that could only come from the hospital. I was asked to write a story about it to expose the doctors. Can you tell me honestly you are not one of them?''

She stayed silent because you were right to accuse her.

''And the attack last night killed Matt and many of my friends. Did Jessica tell you about that?''  

''I'm sorry (Y/N). Jessica wanted to threaten Luke since they are at war. She wants his territory and I guess I should have warned you about it. But I'm sure he has done the same at his side.''

''Do you really expect me to agree with that logic? Just because Luke must have killed people that gives Jessica permission to kill my friends? Besides, I grew up next to Luke, you don't see me running his errands like you do for Jessica. And I'm certain he would never hurt any of the innocent people that live in this part of the city.'' You pushed her out of your way to reach the door.

''(Y/N), don't push me away, please. Let me find a way to work things out between us.'' Claire tried to grab your arm but you stepped away.

''I don't think there is a way to fix this Claire. I need time to think everything over. I will come back tomorrow to gather anything I left behind.'' You left her home and head to your old apartment.

You spent the night trying to comprehend ever that had occurred during the day. You didn't know what your feelings were, it was an odd mixture of sadness, hatred for Jessica, grief, and denial that your girlfriend had anything to do with the attack.  

The next morning you called the office to ask for one more day off in light of what happened with your friends. Instead of that your boss allowed you to work from home for the next two ween and you thanked him profusely for that. As soon as you finished your phone call, someone knocked on your door.

''Claire please, I can't talk to you right now.'' You thought about it and had decided to let her explain herself.

''I'm not your girlfriend (Y/N). Open the door.'' Luke rushed you because he would get into a fight if any of Jessica's people saw him. He seemed a little nervous when you let him in.

''What are you doing here?'' You tried to conceal that you were also mad at him.

''I came over to tell you I'm sorry for your loss. Matt would have been an excellent lawyer one day. I had my eye on him for a while. Also, Kate and Frank worked for me. I still can't wrap my head around everything that occurred.''

''I appreciate that you came all the way here to tell me that. You see, I had a talk with Claire yesterday about you. Do you know what I told her?'' He opened his mouth to talk but you didn't let him.

''That you wouldn't hurt innocent people. And I believe that although I thought everything over. The main reason I trusted you was not our friendship during school. I did that because you had promised to protect your people.  

You moved closer to the open drawer in which you kept your gun. Ironically it was Luke who gave you this for protection from Jessica.

''You failed to do that Luke. And what good does a mobster king serves when he can't protect his people. I'm sorry but I think this is the only way to end your ridiculous turf war.''

You reached for the gun. Luke was too shocked to move because he couldn't believe you would try to kill him. Your hands were shaking a little because you had only shot once before at a target. When you pulled the trigger, you couldn't stand to watch Luke's body hitting the floor. The sound he made when you shot him was something you would hear for a long time.

You didn't think that any of your neighbors would call the police on you. Your first thought was to call Claire for help. Probably hearing her voice could calm your nerves.

''(Y/N) please tell me you want to talk things over. I can't imagine losing you.'' She sounded broken like she was afraid it was all over between you.

''Luke is dead. I shot him at my old home. I will need someone to clean it up here. Inform Jessica that she can take over from him and then come home. We can talk all you want.''