I have taken Stephenie Meyer's gorgeous characters and I plan on doing something really naughty with them. I don't own the characters, she totally and absolutely owns them. Praise be to SM.

If I was Stephenie Meyer I would write a story where Jacob finally gets some.



Bella thunked her head against the cool of the bathroom tiles, allowing water to cascade over her shoulders as it rinsed the soap suds down her drain. The four minute alarm went off to indicate that her limited shower time was up. She rapidly turned off the taps. "What a goody two-shoes you are young lady," she muttered, fully aware that her environmental stance of the four minute shower was purely because of her hippy tree hugging friend, Alice.

One night when Alice had stayed at her house, Bella had the audacity to take a ten minute shower. Alice flipped out and annoyed the heck out of her until she agreed to use the timer. The kicker was, that had been one of her shorter showers. If food didn't disintegrate under a hot shower, or give you the runs when inadvertently mixed with soap, she would have eaten in there too. She sighed at the failed experiment with the shower-food combo. "Sudsy Pizza," she said to herself. She had lost six pounds in a single weekend.

"I should have stayed in the God-danged shower Alice, just to protest you sending me on this bloody awful God-danged case." The little shower timer (a pink daisy with a little digital timer) stared back at her inoffensively. It had been a gift from "Alice the Activist" as she was known.

"If you weren't a gift from Alice I would shove you down the toilet bowl right now...God-danged four minute showers, should be God-danged illegal..." She continued to mutter to herself as she dried off.

Who the hell got up at two in the morning except for a booty call?

DJs that's who.

Stupid DJs who get in trouble with the FCC for making "comments offensive to homosexual women."

So she had to get up at two in the morning to babysit a foul mouthed shock jock for two weeks so that the radio station wouldn't have to pay out a massive fine. Then there was another two weeks on top of that to ensure that he received the appropriate "sensitivity training" to satisfy the courts.

DJ EC. DJ stupid, bloody, "Can't keep my mouth shut or my stupid opinion to myself," EC. If the truth be told, she already was a little bit intimidated by his reputation. For some demented reason, she was incredibly fearful of the first impression that she would make. She had even resorted to allowing Alice to pick her outfit out the night before. Something not too corporate, but something that meant business. Something feminine - but not slutty. Something that didn't make her look like the dreaded "Ms." that had gotten DJ EC into so much hot water.

Three weeks prior, on a bright, happy and sunny Friday morning, one DJ EC decided to blow a fuse and vent his opinion about "Ladies who love Ladies" and their entire "Ms." lifestyle. His four minute tirade about the fairer homosexual gender was a travesty upon the airwaves. How all the "Ms.'s" should just give in to some good male loving, throw away their "Ms." titles and all use the more feminine and acceptable "Miss". Then came the inference that they were all too afraid to be titled "Miss" because all of the straight men would reply "Miss? Yep, we'll give this one a Miss...and quite rightly too, thanks for the warning."

DJ EC had not arrived for the court appointed meeting the afternoon prior where the fine gentleman from the FCC had laid out what Bella's law firm was to "achieve, witness and document" during her time period there. The radio station had the famous "five minute delay" enforced upon them for the duration. Given that the radio station was primarily news and talk-back based, having a five minute delay on any story was a virtual death knoll for the company. If DJ EC behaved, they got their regular five second delay back. If not, they were well and truly screwed.

The FCC had appointed the law firm of Swan, Hale and White, for obvious social and political acceptability. The firm worked primarily on women's rights issues, with divorce cases paying the bills. Their passion for the last three years had been raising an awareness of the trafficking of women, (and assisting those who could be released) and the right for gay women to marry. They also donated money heavily to women's shelters and women's cancer support groups. Bella tended to take on high profile divorces to fund their more altruistic adventures. Alice focused on the same gender marriages, and Rosalie used her bitch face to save women from a life of slavery. The FCC determined that the firm had the right social attitude and legal standing to enforce the rules governing the court order. Initially, they had all been reluctant to take on such a high profile, muck splattered case, but the money won out. The $1,200 an hour consultant fees would fund a lot of nights of safety, and a lot of counseling and support for their charities. The added bonus was that EC himself had to pay a fee to one of their favorite women's rights organizations as hush money for the group action that he had additionally faced. The "Ms.'s" did not "Miss" him so to speak.

She had giggled at the irony of the support that the money would fund. A heck of a lot of "Ms.'s" would benefit from his loud and stupid mouth. She half hoped he would get himself in trouble every three months or so...

And so at the extraordinarily ridiculous time of three in the morning, Bella found herself pulling into the driveway of 69.9 FM and pushing a security buzzer to be let into the basement garage of the building. A few protesters had already gathered outside. It was the first time in three weeks that DJ EC had been allowed back on air, and they were obviously gearing up for a protest. It's a pity the idiot had probably already been inside the building for an hour. She hoped they would get him on the way out. "Note to self: Forget to tell him they are out there." She giggled at the thought of protest signs bashing his ski-mask covered head...

She found Jasper at the lift entrance up from the garage. She had met him previously at the meeting where his client, the mysterious "DJ EC" had failed to turn up. He had used his southern charm and that glorious accent to full affect. Something about an apology said in that divine southern twang sounded so much more sincere. She was almost certain that he could tell her to go fuck herself, and as long as he finished the statement with a "Ma'am" she would probably just smile and ask him to repeat it. The Irish seem to have this power too. The Scottish for that matter possessed this ability..."Ook nanny noo, go Fek you" entered her mind as a statement. She smiled when she realized that she had spaced out for a good few seconds there... She shook Jasper's hand and followed him into the meeting room.

The room housed a rather large table with a group of motley but comfortable chairs. Today's newspapers were strewn about the room, obvious material for today's show. Notepads and laptops were at the ready. In all, three writers, the producer (a very noteworthy multiple- dimpled hulk of a man), some department heads, the program manager (a flamboyantly dressed man who looked like he was about to vomit), Jasper, and DJ EC's manager/handler were present and that was it. A whirl of names served as introductions and all she could remember was handsome dimple-boy (Emmett) and flamboyant vomitty dresser (Marcus).

Most notably absent was DJ EC himself.

"Jasper, your client doesn't seem to be here?" she asked, as she looked around the room. With the creepy transcripts from his former shows and the current offense that she had been given, she expected to see an aging, frumpy, opinionated gentleman (whatever that looks like). She had never listened to one of his shows. She preferred alternative rock, whatever that meant these days.

And then time stood still.

It's amazing how little time it can take for a grown woman to make a complete ass of herself. Seriously, a world record was broken in the wee hours of that morning.

If it was possible for a man to walk in slow motion then that was what he was doing. He ambled down the long corridor leading into the room, looking up slowly with a smirk that just screamed "I just farted, and you aren't going to realize it for a good minute or so".

He looked her up and down.

She looked him up and down.

"Your mouth seems to be open sweetheart. Maybe I could help shut it around something practical."

And there he was. DJ EC. God's own gift to women. Misogynistic pig wrapped up in the body of an angel.

He pointed at her mouth.

"Still open there, babeā€¦"

She shut her mouth so abruptly she thought her teeth may have shattered in the back.

"Mr. Cullen, that's your real name isn't it, sir?"

He leered at her. She never thought she would see anyone sober leer at her the way he was.

"Mr. Cullen, if I were you, I would be on your best behavior. Do your apology on air today, be a good boy, keep clean for four freaking weeks, and you may be able to afford to keep that mansion, condo, holiday house off Rio de Janero, and those four gas guzzling, pimped up vehicles that you not, you are going to be DJ 'out on your ass', and believe me I won't give a damn".

And with that she plunked herself down on the nearest chair.

Well, that's what she thought she had done.

When she woke up she had a mild concussion and a lump the size of an egg on the back of her head. She was in the arms of previous aforementioned angel/Satan-in-disguise and she had an icepack ensconced on her noggin.

"That would have gone a lot better if you had just sat on the chair properly. It also probably would have gone a lot better if I didn't see that you're wearing stockings - and the sexy kind too - not just the Wal-Mart specials."

Oh crap. His English accent was adorable. She had to add it to her list of accents that could quite agreeably tell her to go "fuck herself".

She was screwed.


So there is Shockjockward (is that even original, someone do a quick search for me!) Hope you like him. You shouldn't though, because I am gonna make him be an ass for quite a while as politically incorrect assholes can be a lot of fun. Well I hope so, otherwise it is not the story for you.

This story won't be PG... By the way ever had sex in a radio studio? Awesome acoustics...

This story is being re-edited by my Beta- FicObsessed.