Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/9056428.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      No_Archive_Warnings_Apply, Rape/Non-Con, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence,
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Fantastic_Beasts_and_Where_to_Find_Them_(Movies)
  Relationship:
      Queenie_Goldstein_&_Original_Percival_Graves, Queenie_Goldstein/Original
      Percival_Graves
  Character:
      Original_Percival_Graves, Queenie_Goldstein, Jacob_Kowalski
  Additional Tags:
      Mind_Sex, Unresolved_Sexual_Tension, Masturbation, Clothed_Sex,
      Infidelity, cervix_stimulation, Mention_of_blood_but_not_use_of_it_in
      sex, Cunnilingus, Object_Insertion, Implied/Referenced_Rape/Non-con, Rape
      Fantasy, Menstruation_Kink, Implied/Referenced_Incest, Implied/Referenced
      Underage_Sex, Implied/Referenced_Homophobia, Watersports, Bloodplay,
      Violent_Thoughts, Dead_Dove:_Do_Not_Eat
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-12-26 Chapters: 2/? Words: 4794
****** Golden Queen; Red Palace ******
by snarry_splitpea
Summary
     The lack of interest Percival Graves had in Queenie Goldstein, even
     before she was married, seemed almost sad to her. His every thought
     trudged by her head as if endlessly marching to the tune of work,
     sleep, and work again. So, when she witnesses a pair of red shoes
     grabbing his attention, she becomes nearly addicted to the perversion
     of his thoughts.
Notes
     Honestly, there are probably so many more tags I should put here...
     but I don't want to scare you off or make promises I don't really
     keep. Due to Queenie's gift, she -hears- about things that don't
     actually happen in the story. I hope that makes sense and that IF YOU
     ARE SQUICKED OR TRIGGERED BY LITERALLY ANYTHING you will choose a
     different story to read. I, honestly, tried my best on the tagging
     but would rather you be safe & happy than come here and experience
     something negative. Love you!
***** Chapter 1 *****
Queenie was starting to really enjoy her job. It had never been particularly
fun, but it had also managed to never be too taxing. After all, she was only in
the wand permit office to make coffee and look pretty. Or, at least, that's
what her boss thought of her assignment. Tina, who had some clout, had
recommended her for the position.  So, she'd spent most of her workdays
ignoring the monotonous droning of minds busy at the task of permit making.
The fresh enjoyment came, not from Queenie's work, but from Tina's boss.
Percival Graves.
Queenie could hear his thoughts through office walls, sometimes. Well, she
could hear tons of peoples' thoughts through all walls in all buildings. It was
just that, she listened out for and paid attention to his. She'd learn to pick
his mind's voice out of the crowd. Isolate it. Amplify it.
Percival's mind was curse words, derisive thoughts about most superiors,
frequent checks on the cleanliness of his shoes, and a stern kind of care for
all of his subordinates. It was numbers, spells, and lists. It was work.
Perfunctory. Automatic. Routine. Work.  Queenie should have found it boring.
 Might have, if he were less of a man.
After Grindelwald's attempts to start a war in New York, she'd been introduced
to Percival Graves for the first time. Oh, sure she'd seen him around.  Yet,
she'd never been able to pick his thoughts out of a crowd. After all, she
didn't know how he felt.  How he sounded.  Seeing him, up close, in the court
room had been overwhelming.
Queenie immediately realized she'd met many men who were sweeter, significantly
so... but none near as handsome. There was an intensity to Percival's aquiline
nose and brush-bristle brows that made him intimidating. Invigorating.  Those
looks paired with the strictly-business, focused nature of his thoughts; Graves
was an enticing puzzle for Queenie. His -only- thought about her with her
fitted top and painted face had been "She and Tina look very different."
Even in that moment, where his future lie in the hands of the Magical Congress,
his fears were only of dismissal from work. His mind was on the
cases Grindelwald may have interrupted or somehow bungled.  He noted that he
couldn't see his shoes beneath the witness stand.  Queenie wanted to hear his
real fears!  His real worries.  About survival. About love. The ones most
people had.  No, he spent hours sitting silently through proceedings, worrying
about this file and that.  ...and she was, Merlin help her, enthralled.
Queenie wouldn't call what she felt for Graves, a crush.  A crush was what
she'd had on Jacob, the no-maj she'd secretly married and, now, secretly lived
with.  No, with Percival it was... well, and this was probably all Tina's
fault.  Tina had idolized the man from the day she was hired. For several
years, not a night passed without her gushing over dinner about how great a
boss he was.  So, yes.  It was Tina's fault that Queenie wanted to... well...
Queenie wanted to humanize Percival.  Catch a glimpse of him thinking something
unrelated to his work.  Find out he worried about leaving the stove on or
something equally droll.
Months had passed since they'd first spoken to each other in that courtroom.
 Months had passed since she'd, at Tina's instruction, secretly scanned
Percival's mind for any indication that he'd voluntarily traded spaces with
Gellert Grindelwald.  She'd seen his memories of being petrified, bound,
stripped, and tortured.  She'd had to hide the pity she felt as Graves looked
President Seraphina Picquery in the eye and stated he was ready to return to
work. Eager to.
Queenie had nodded at Newt to confirm Percival's innocence, then.  After all,
nobody else in the room except for Newt and Tina had known that she could read
minds.  The small group intended to keep it to themselves.
That's how Queenie lived her life. Hiding her gift. Going to work. Running her
errands.  Living cheerfully and fighting the urge to flinch as minds around her
shouted. Sometimes, she wanted to shout back at them.  Tell them what terrible
people they were.
Yet, more often than not, she was lured to their depravity.  She'd spent her
entire life picking up images of fetishes and affairs she'd never imagined. An
uncle leering at his niece as she picked out toys in a department store.  A
husband wishing he could admit to his wife how he fantasized about licking her
during a particular time of month. A lonely flapper making plans to stumble
through the docks, at night, hoping to lure an assailant to force her
towards pleasure.  Queenie sickened herself, at times. Ashamed and aroused by
what people could dream up.

But what she'd learned from decades of listening was the fact that most times,
minds just talked.
They went to the worst places and then filtered out what was illegal, immoral,
and disappointing on their own. The doting uncle's thoughts turned into self-
abasement. To shame. He pictured the youngest girl he'd ever bedded. A healthy
and happy partner of two and twenty. The lusting husband's mind sighed at what
his sex life had always and would forever lack. The flapper made plans to meet
an ex to scratch her itch instead of risking death at the hands of strangers.
It was the habit of self-sanitation that Queenie tended to hate in the people
around her.  Not that she'd encourage or even approve of them ever taking
action on their whims. It was just hard to enjoy being a voyeur when they minds
she watched reminded her just how transgressive her desires were.
Even her love for Jacob was spawned by what he'd wanted her to do to him. How
he'd internally moaned to himself about bowing at her feet while wearing a silk
negligee of his own. He'd been so relieved when she'd winked in recognition and
agreement.
Everyone seemed to have private desires except Percival Graves.
So, it caught Queenie completely off-guard when, while waving Jacob goodbye
near the MACUSA entrance, she heard Graves's mind make salacious remarks about
the height and color of her shoes.
"Honey, are you ok," Jacob asked.  The smile on his cherubic face a little
tremulous as he walked over to give her hand a fortifying squeeze.
She smiled, immediately. Habitually.  Not sure what face or noise she'd made to
indicate her distraction in the first place. "Oh, I'm fine.  Just hearing
things, as usual."
"Anyone I need to lay a wallop on? I'd do it for ya, doll," Jacob offered in a
whisper.  His smile turned genuine and he perked a brow at her.  The two of
them were playfully scrappy in bed and in humor.  Always joking about taking on
the world, together.  Aurors come knocking to pull the witch from his no-maj
home?  They'd punch them. No-maj preachers come knocking to purge the witch?
They'd punch them. Newt lets another one of his creatures get too nippy with
Jacob's neck... well... they'd never explicitly said to each other that they'd
punch Newt. He was a friend, after all. But, they probably would.
Simultaneously. The man was adorable, but he deserved a good thrashing.
 Queenie had never been brave enough to suggest they punch -each other- and
Jacob would never dream of hurting her. How utterly tedious.
"Oh, I know you would, dear.  But, no.  Just one a little louder than usual.
 Nothing bad," she lied with a wink.  He always lost himself when she turned up
the charm.
It was, at least, partially true.  There really was nothing bad, to Queenie,
about hearing Percival Graves notice that her heels were too high for a decent
workplace. That her feet would likely hurt by the end of the day.  ...that she
looked fuckable in red. Crude, yes.  But an absolute delight. Exactly what
she'd been waiting months to witness. Finally, the man showed a little hot
blood and human emotion!  She wondered if she should tell Tina.
Queenie left Jacob's side with a chaste kiss to his cheek and jogged to catch
up with Percival as he disappeared into the hidden building.
"Good morning, Mister Graves!"
Silently, he turned his head toward her.  Looked her directly in the eye
instead of up and down like most men did. Queenie heard his thoughts trying to
place her face. He finally settled on "The other Goldstein."  It wasn't the
first time she'd heard him think of her as "Not Tina."  She suppressed a sigh.
"Wonderful weather, we're having," she chirped.  Her eyelashes fluttering, as
always. She couldn't help but flirt.
Fully expecting his mind to immediately leap over to work, Queenie was, again,
startled when Percival's thoughts dipped to her shoes. She watched him feign a
smile and speak his agreement, but his thoughts indicated that he wondered if
she wore high heels on every warm,dry day.  If Red was in fashion or if she was
some kind of pay for play lady after hours. Is this how she lured her Johns?
How she supplemented the abysmal pay of the Permit Office? Was she an expensive
fuck?
He wondered if he could afford her. How much she'd charge to let him beat and
bite her back and shoulders until she was covered in red marks.
Queenie couldn't help but blink and sputter as his eyes searched her face.
 Making passionless notes about the clarity of her skin.  The brightness of her
eyes. The fullness of her lips.  She heard remarks, all the time, about how
pretty she was.  How angelic. How charming. She'd never been picked apart so
intimately. Had never expected to hold up under such scrutiny.
But Percival seemed to have made some sort of mental checklist about her
appearance just as he did about workflow and criminal cases. Came to the
conclusion that she was probably pretty when she cried.  She strained for more.
 To find out if he wanted to be the reason she'd cry.  If he wanted to do
something disgusting and arousing like lick tears from her cheeks and chin.
 Oh, but he was suddenly distracted.  That trail of thought gone to pieces.
"Are you unwell, Ms. Goldstien?"
"Mrs. Ko...," she almost corrected. Queenie always, joyfully, corrected No-
majs.  She wore the ring around them, too. At work, however, only her closest
friends knew she was in a relationship, though they didn't know with whom.  She
felt sad that Percival hadn't known. That they'd had their lives irrevocably
tangled by the events of months ago but hadn't managed to become friends, yet.
Finally gaining control over her face, she managed not to indicate that she
heard him think what a treat it would be to fuck another man's wife. To make
sure the man at home saw bruises that could only come from his great,
big hands. To take his fill and leave her emotional baggage and care to some
other sad sap. She wanted to be annoyed that Mister Graves thought her
emotional and in need of care. Then again, Tina was loads of both, despite her
strengths, and he likely thought them similar. Not to mention he thought the
same of everyone around him whether they were female or not.  Too many needs.
 Too many emotions.
To be attractive to Graves, at all, she'd need to be cold as ice. Serious as
sin. Queenie wondered what kind of people he'd been with in the past. Knew how
to ask leading questions for certain thought patterns to appear. She smiled.
"Are you married, Mister Graves?"
Memories of fucking Theseus Scamander flooded forth. The other man's mouth
filled with a gag as Graves held his hair with one hand and his hip with the
other. A regrettable kiss with President Picquery. Graves was fully dressed but
her robes were around her waist. Had they...?  Graves conjuring a flower for
Credence Barebone as the older man's socked foot dug into the boy's crotch at a
diner. Graves knew the waitress had noticed but silently dared her to stop him.
Queenie's red shoes on the pavement, outside. His eyes traveling up the back of
her legs and fixating on the seam of her stockings.
"You're late clocking in, Mrs..." he let the sentence trail off, realizing he
no longer knew any part of her name. He finally took the all too familiar
sweeping glance that most men did. Head to toe. Chest. Lips. Eyes. With a
purposeful stride, the man simply walked away. 
***** Chapter 2 *****
Queenie Goldstein couldn't concentrate.  Not on un-jinxing the toilet in the
Permits department. Not on making coffee for her colleagues. Not on sitting
down and smiling vapidly at her employer as he touched himself under his desk.
 The man assumed, incorrectly, that his shoulder movements were discreet. He
also assumed, also incorrectly, that she was too innocent to understand what he
was doing if she did notice. Queenie sighed. People's tendency to underestimate
her was exactly why she got away with so much... which made it hard to feel
guilty for her tricks.
She didn't want to think anything uncomfortable about people of different
races. In fact, she'd never spoken these observations, out loud, but Goblins
that didn't get to work around money or at least own a decent amount of
precious metals always seemed a little too on edge.  Their minds fell into a
constant state of anxiety and they made decisions quickly and irrationally.  
She'd met bank goblins, before.  They seemed unnaturally calm. Their minds the
same as humans on opiates. Yet, their decision making vastly improved with the
high. Their focus was unmatchable. A goblin in a room of treasure could count
millions of coins with enthralled dedication. They could usually tell the
weight of any precious material at a glance.  It was an impressive power to
have.
She knew her boss had a few coins in his desk.  Had even grimaced at him, once,
when his mind had gotten too loud while he rubbed a small sack of gold on his
cock.  Thankfully, he'd had his eyes closed and hadn't noticed her annoyance.
She rather liked when he'd get off and take a nap for the rest of the day.
 Dreams were always harder to read.  They didn't tend to drift out, willingly.
 One had to actively pry.  So, whenever he fell asleep and most of her
coworkers snuck out of the office, Queenie's mind had fewer thoughts to ignore.
No, she practically cheered her boss on through his orgasm, tilting her head
this way and that since he always focused on her neck.  She had to bite back
the urge to laugh as his thoughts turned jubilant when she forced herself to
take exaggerated gulps of lukewarm coffee. As she went back to rolling her neck
and rubbing it with with her fingers, his thoughts reminded her that he was an
obnoxiously sweet man. He daydreamed about rubbing away the pain he assumed was
in her shoulders. Almost lost the high of arousal at the worry that his
precious Queenie Goldstein might be miserable.  Queenie switched to moaning
with feigned pleasure at the -relief- her unnecessary neck rub gave her.  
Ah, that was the ticket.  
Orgasms sounded like blissed out babbling to a legilimens. The goblin's mind a
shower of sparks and half-finished words. Thankfully, he'd been doing this so
long it was a habit he no longer felt guilt about. Queenie was firmly in the
"If you're gonna do wrong, you might as well enjoy it" camp and his gall was
refreshing, to her. She sighed her own kind of relief when he was done and
started to ignore him.  
She thought about Graves, her favorite distraction.  Perhaps, Queenie thought,
it was a good time to make coffee.  Her boss never questioned her frequent
disappearances, anyway.
Opening her senses, Queenie took the elevator to the ground floor.  If she
could hear Tina, she'd be able to find out if Graves was still in the building.
 Her sister had been promoted after the incident with Grindelwald to a position
directly under the man.  Queenie had heard Graves's gratitude for Tina's work,
on occasion.  Appreciated the man for having an appropriate amount of respect
for her sister.
No matter what she might later find out about his home life or sex life if she
kept prying, Queenie admired Percival's work ethic.
Instead of finding Tina in her office, a lady's room, a break room, or even the
lobby, Queenie instead found Graves on the ground floor talking with another
senior employee.  The other man, Mr. Palmer, laughed and made obvious attempts
to endear himself to the Director of Magical Security.  He stood far too close
and spoke in a low voice so Percival had to lean toward him. He even touched
Percival's shoulder.  A friendly, perfectly normal sort of gesture.  
Queenie giggled to herself as she listened to Percival's offense at the
audacity of this man.  Giggled more as she watched Percival look to his own
shoulder and to the man's face with open shock, alerting the other employee to
his crime.
Poor Mr. Palmer, looking fully embarrassed and even a little frightened,
apologized.  Director Graves slowly sucked in a breath, let it fill his chest
and stood straighter.  No longer bending low to listen, he stared at the man
for a few more seconds.  His gaze unflinching and mouth a hard, unpleasant
line.  He stood still, letting only his eyes follow Palmer as he edged and then
practically ran away.  Queenie Goldstein wondered if she could watch Graves try
to intimidate her without laughing.  His mind was literally just a list of
intimidation tactics he'd read while training to be an auror. Non-violent ways
to make people flee or overshare.  She'd heard similar instructions flutter
through Tina's mind when they argued.
Queenie had trailed behind him towards the elevator after witnessing the
interaction in the lobby.  His thoughts swerved quickly away from Palmer's
over-familiarity to his own work.  He'd spared one thought for surprise at her
joining him in the lift. Another thought for dread that she'd still insist on
finding out if he were married.
"I'm going up," he said. Looking down at her and digging, again, for her name.
It simply wasn't there.  Had he ever known it? Yes. In the courtroom. Who was
this girl who wasn't Tina?  She smiled up at him in response. Graves looked
away.  
Her name didn't really matter to him. Queenie could also sense that he didn't
really care why she wasn't immediately going to the basement.  She thought it
better not to try and explain.
It had annoyed her that no matter how often she smiled at him, he never seemed
disarmed by it. She knew that, despite his love of men, he also liked women.
Though she'd seen they were typically powerful ones. Did her job in the Permits
department turn him off? Did he not consider her charm and femininity powerful?
Most men seemed to fear she had too much power. Jacob practically worshiped
her. It's made them all so fucking boring.
This man that could barely spare room for thoughts about her next to work and
more work inspired her.  Made her want to watch his thoughts, all day, and look
for all the cracks. Queenie wanted to know more about Percival's sex life. Was
he really so sated that there was never any need for workplace distractions?
Did he have a thing, specifically, for shoes? If they'd been in the elevator,
alone, she might have asked him some kind of leading question.  She couldn't
think of how to be tactful in front of the lift manager.
"Nice shoes, Queenie," the goblin said, cheerfully. Again, with a mind too
frantic, this goblin didn't have much of a filter on his thoughts and actions.
"Though I honestly prefer when you're shorter. Are flat shoes going out of
style for dames?"
The Goblin's questions were a goldmine. She simply winked down at the man as he
worked the lever to close the elevator door.  After all, she didn't want to
interrupt what she'd seen pop into Graves's head when he thought about her
shoes, again.
The hazy film of imagination flickered over Graves's thoughts. He pictured her
rushing ahead of him. Her heels clacking quickly on the pavement. She was
running. Giving terrified glances over her bare shoulders.  Beaded tendrils on
the red dress he imagined her in, clacking against on another.  What was she
trying to escape? Her heel snapped. Queenie fought not to cringe at the way her
ankle bent in Percival's head before he watched her body crumple. Empathy made
her real, left ankle twinge with imagined injury. Graves swooped in to catch
her. She'd only had a moment to feel shock that he'd imagine saving her.
No.
The man had imagined pouncing on her like a lion moving in to gore the life
from defenseless prey.  Percival's arousal bloomed in Queenie's mind.  Filling
the elevator with stifling heat. He didn't like powerful women, it seemed.  He
liked bringing them down to where he thought they belonged.  ...imagined
Queenie was already there, by design.  Merlin and gods, Queenie could feel her
nipples tighten beneath the uncomfortably stiff fabric of her, cheap brassiere.
If only she could afford more than one silk one.
Was Percival Graves's undivided attention about to become another perk of her
reputation?  She had to keep the reality of her power hidden, anyway.
As the elevator left the first floor, Graves shifted his hips to to the side,
his thoughts concerned that picturing himself ripping the stockings off of the
body next to him was going to make him hard. Queenie was practically holding
her breath. How far would his fantasy go? Would he imagine himself pressing
into her? Her sobbing for him to stop?  Could she pretend to be sufficiently
scandalized if he touched her, right now?
Would he?
Glad of her more discreet anatomy, Queenie felt the first tremors of her own
arousal.  Graves was imagining her shocked cries for help.  The images nearly
pressing into her like the cock he was trying admirably to hide.  Aurors were
skilled at memory modification and the exercise made their minds particularly
vivid, for her.  Thankfully, the only auror she spent a significant amount of
time around was her do-gooder sister, Tina.  Yes, Tina thought about sex but
the hazy film of imagined thoughts gave the scenes a delightful and, thankfully
distracting, sort of filigreed screen she could barely see through. Queenie
never had to endure the monotony of Tina thinking about riding Newt Scamander
to a chorus of light sighs.
She'd never told her sweet sister that Newt preferred taking himself in hand to
the company of others.  That the best sex Newt had ever known was the one time
a prostitute in Dubai had saddled his back like a horse.
Graves's well-trained mind was almost unbearably vivid.  She could see
everything. Practically feel his pleasure as if she had a cock, herself. He
pictured himself shoving a thumb into her mouth as he cupped her chin with his
hand. He dug his fingernails into her jawline.  The imagined Queenie started to
cry.  Big, heavy tears that slid quickly into her messy hair.  The real Queenie
bit her bottom lip.
He caught the movement and the scene fell apart.  Queenie tried not to groan
with frustration.  She hadn't realized how much the fantasy was pleasuring her
body until it was gone.  Could she cum just from watching him fantasize?
Percival, for the first time, watched her body.  His hyperawareness
overwhelming.  He thought that she seemed uncomfortable.  That she fidgeted.
Flexed her fingers. Bit her lip. Rubbed her thighs, together. At each movement
he noticed, Queenie fought to still her body.  To stand up straighter and look
less nervous. God, she'd been so close to seeing what he'd do to her once she
was laid out on a sidewalk with her stockings hanging in jagged ribbons around
her legs and her skirt pushed up to her waist. She wanted to rip her clothes
off and offer herself up to him right in the elevator. To hell with their
goblin witness.
Would Graves fuck her, if she offered? At least kiss her? Hate himself for
compromising a work relationship like he had with President Picquery? ...or was
Queenie not important enough to inspire regret?  She felt pleasurably heated by
the idea that he would consider her only a lowly fuck.  Unworthy of further
attention or even respect.  She'd spent her entire life being praised.  Craved
his desperation to get off and his lack of regard for her feelings.  What a
pleasure it would be to finally bed a man that could grind himself into her
without hoping he could make her fall in love via his cock.  What a pleasure to
not have to deal with self-conscious worries and apprehension about the future.
The mind of Percival Graves existed in the moment.  He had a skill for
compartmentalizing.  It was the same skill that helped Jacob do meaningless
work for years with a smile on his face and a dream in his heart.  She loved
men that could make their minds be what they needed to be for the situation at
hand.  No bullshit.
Queenie heard Percival noting, again, that she seemed odd.  Ill, even. Heard
him decide that he wouldn't touch a woman that appeared so nauseated by
something as simple as an elevator ride. Heard him think how mortifying it
would be for sex to induce some kind of base, bodily function.  Heard him list
the order of his repulsion by each process. Urination the least repulsive and
with a question mark about whether or not he wanted to piss on another human
being. An indication that he'd never tried it.
Queenie devoured the information, hungrily.  She'd let a man like him do
absolutely anything to her.
The elevator reached Percival's floor and, before stepping off, he turned to
her.  Opened his mouth to speak and then shut it.  He opened his mouth, again,
obviously considering his words.  Queenie made her face inquisitive to avoid
reacting to this thoughts. "Have you been drinking Mrs...?"
"Queenie, sir," she finally corrected him.  Amused by his relief at finally
filling the hole where her name had been. She decided to lie. "Yes, but only a
little and with lunch."
Percival sighed.  His posture somehow relaxing, slightly.  It hadn't been the
elevator ride that made her squirm and she was discreet enough to not show up
smelling of booze. "It's not a good idea during the workday, Mrs... Queenie."
She watched his heavy eyebrows furrow.  Heard, in his mind, that he hated
saying her name.  
"Is that, a nickname?" Percival asked.  He scowled at the shake of her head.
 Though he noted that her hair wasn't as bouncy as he imagined.  She wondered
how that would play into future fantasies.  Whether or not he'd have future
fantasies involving her.
"I'll answer to Miss Goldstein, Directer," she responded with a smile.  Her
smile broadened when he internally scoffed at the idea that he'd ever need to
call on her.  He thought she looked crazed.  She widened her smile even more to
see the discomfort on his face.
Much to her amusement, Percival grimaced.
"Perhaps you should go home, Miss Goldstein," he said. "If your superior
questions you, tell them it's a direct order from me."
"Will I need to come to your office for a write-up?" she asked.  Expectantly.
 Knew that she looked eager but hoped he'd blame the liquor she hadn't actually
had.  He did.
"Uh, no offense sir, but I've gotta get back to the lobby..." the Goblin piped
up, behind them.  Queenie didn't show, on her face, that she felt annoyed he'd
addressed Percival as if she wasn't there.
"No write-up," Graves said as he stepped out into the hall. His mind already
growing bored with the situation and shifting back to what work he needed to
finish before the end of the day. "If no one asks, just let this be our
secret."
Queenie felt his mind note that she was a good conspirator.  Like Credence.
Like Tina.  What he'd expected to be months of rumors and whispers at work had
been business as usual because the people that witnessed his courtroom
humiliation hadn't bothered to start spreading gossip.  He didn't respect her,
but thought she was perfect for the cards life had dealt her.
She found it confusingly endearing that Percival Graves seemed to view her the
way lords viewed their best servants.  It felt practically archaic for a man to
look at a modern woman as immediately beneath him... but somehow thrilling to
be considered the best of the bottom.
 
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