#Report Pending...

[bloodpen-to-paper]

Federation Employee and Persons of Interest Statistics List

Notice: "Federation Employee and Persons of Interest Statistic List" is subject to revisions and editing upon further inspection and/or upon gathering new and incoming information. "Official Server Member Federation Employees" statistics list does not include freelance services taken on by members of the island, such as Philza Minecraft or IronMouse, nor will it include Federation NPC server members. Only officially hired jobs given to players applied and approved by the Federation shall be recorded.

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Official Server Member Federation Employees

---Cellbit--- Occupation: Private Investigator Background: Joined as a double agent hoping to gain intel on the Federation. Accidentally signed a contract to work for them and dedicated months of research funneling them information believing he was working against them. Despises the Federation for their imprisonment of him and the island members, among other factors [see "Felps: Reason for Interest"], and dislikes that he is working under them. Continues to keep up appearances that he is at the very least neutral about his situation. Additional Details: Currently Employee of the Month

---Jaiden Animations--- Occupation: N/A Background: Harbored a soft spot for Cucurucho that gained her their trust and landed her a job in the Federation. Was revealed by Cucurucho to have helped the Federation at a prior point in time that she has no recollection of. She maintains the lie that the Federation kidnapped her and that she distrusts them to keep secret the fact that she actually works for them. Additional Details: Currently the only one (besides Foolish, who she told of this) that definitively knows there are multiple Cucuruchos

---Foolish Gamers--- Occupation: Detective, Potential Law Enforcement Background: Begged Asked the Federation for a job in order to obtain benefits and rewards (mainly a shiny badge and a controllable corporeal cloud that functions as an automobile). Officially became part of the Federation upon taking on the task of arresting Tazercraft for the supposed kidnapping of Mr. Mustard the capybara, whom he shares a close relationship with. He continues to work for the benefits, and keeps up the search for Mr. Mustard. Additional Details: Is jealous that Cellbit has more notoriety within Cucurucho's favor and the Federation than he does [see "Cellbit: Additional Details"]. Frequently goes out of his way to gain Cucurucho's favor, in whatever way that may be

---FitMC--- Occupation: Janitor, Plumber Background: Obtained a job at the Federation as a standard janitor/plumber, a seemingly unobtrusive and out-of-the-way occupation, with the objective to gain player data from the Federation in order to deliver it to an outside source. Secretly anti-Federation but acts friendly towards them and keeps from doing anything overtly anarchist in order to maintain his cover. Additional Details: Close with Tazercraft, who are staunch anti-Federationists/anarchists, and has aided them in multiple missions from acquiring classified Federation intel to escaping Federation prisons. Has also received a hug from Cucurucho and is the only one to do so.

---AyPierre--- Occupation: Wine Supplier, Wine Vineyard Operator Background: Was originally a freelance wine maker and distributor (alongside his co-worker Richarlyson) who sold wine to the Federation for the election dinner event. Was later approached by Cucurucho to become a personal wine supplier under the Federation, presumably for future hosted events. The construction of a vineyard was established for Pierre to use for his production, as well as to manage over as the official vineyard operator. Additional Details: Dreamed of a white bear performing brain surgery on him before the plane crash where he supposedly arrived for the first time. Has also committed countless illegal acts against the Federation of which he is rarely held accountable, such as acquiring a piece of a Luzu computer [see "Luzu/Arin: Reason for Interest"]

---El Quackity--- Occupation: Live Show Announcer, N/A Background: Assigned to host the live show announcing the winner of the presidential election behind closed doors. Ran for this election before he was eliminated via assassination. Server members heavily speculated that El Quackity ran as president as a Federation pawn, though this has yet to be proven. Is part of the Federation's experiments regarding specimen eggs, and maintains access to player data most other members are not aware exists [see "FitMC: Background"]. Additional Details: Speculated to have been a clone of Quackity put into the server by the Federation after their abduction of Quackity, as he acts differently, held gaps in memories that Quackity should have known, had strange skin textures around the frame of his face, and had "El" in his name.

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Additional Persons of Interest

---Forever Player--- Reason for Interest: Current President of Quesadilla Island. Works with Cucurucho to utilize all powers granted to the role of presidency by the Federation. Yet to see the full extent in which this role will provide in terms of power to the president and his relationship with the Federation. Currently, the President is working on an animal conservatory on behalf of the Federation, and has already established certain mods such as the Cosmetics Mod. Additional Details: Suspected of having a closer relationship to Cucurucho than a simply professional one by certain island members; unclear of the accuracy of this claim. Has plans to build a prison and establish an active voting system.

---Tazercraft--- Reason for Interest: Guilty of frequently committing illegal acts (destroying Federation projects using the C.A.R.L.A. world eater, illegally traveling into the Nether using a previously inactive Federation-owned Nether portal, etc.) Tazercraft were arrested by Detective Gamers on behalf of the Federation [see "Foolish Gamers: Background"] and imprisoned in the official Federation jail, of which they escaped along with Federation employee "Walter Bob" after killing one of the prison guards. Additional Details: The surviving prison guard abducted "Walter Bob" after the escape, as well as Pac of Tazercraft. Though fellow Tazercraftian Mike was able to free him, the status of "Walter Bob" remains unknown. Unclear if the actions of the guard were carried out on official Federation orders or as a personal vendetta against Tazercraft for the loss of their coworker at Mike's hands.

---Maximus--- Reason for Interest: Underwent a medical examination by Cucurucho following a belief of pregnancy; was found to have been infected with a deadly parasitic entity. Following this discovery, subject was given emergency surgery to have the parasite removed, of which was proclaimed to be a success by the head surgeon (Cucurucho). However, subject later found a code infection in his leg, of which only his surgeon is aware of currently. Additional Details: Co-founder and co-leader of the Ordo Theoritas, an anti-Federation conspiracy group of which the Federation has been made aware of in terms of the subject's involvement. Previously arrested and imprisoned for one day by the Federation after committing illegal acts. Also involved in an incident where he sought out the Angel in order to revive his dead egg Trump, before he was given an ultimatum by the Federation that ceased him from receiving the Angel's help.

---Roier--- Reason for Interest: One of the first persons to befriend Cucurucho. Proof of Cucurucho's incompetency revealed by their relationship to Roier, and since measures have been taken to ensure Cucurucho has and will always achieve absolute perfection. Additional Details: Continues to summon Cucurucho, and is determined to understand their nature as well as the changes made to them.

---Felps--- Reason for Interest: One of the first persons to befriend Cucurucho. Initially taken by them and kept in cryogenic containment for roughly one month as part of a potential deal to gain lives for his son Richarlyson. Was awakened and rescued by the other island members alongside family member Cellbit, who had also been abducted in his search for Felps. Upon rescue, both subject and his companion were found to have strange markings on their body, Felps having one on his arm. No overt effects have come from these physical changes as of yet. Additional Details: After his abduction, subject has harbored resentment towards Cucurucho and the Federation

---Quackity--- Reason for Interest: Subject to unknown experimentation by the Federation that resulted in a severe loss of memory (short and long term), an inability to properly recognize the physical appearance of the eggs, and an inability to recognize or create proper writing. Upon release, has since only spoken in Spanish (despite being bilingual) and has been given writing lessons by Cucurucho, who carried out the initial experimentation. Additional Details: Previously attempted to establish deals with Cucurucho in order to revive his deceased egg Tilín; unclear if these talks yielded any results.

---Baghera Jones--- Reason for Interest: Former subject of experimentation and torture at the hands of the Federation. Was under Federation custody since childhood until she escaped using a presumably make-shift boat. Holds no memory of her past regarding the Federation, and has only vague memories of knowing her fellow French-speakers before arrival on the island. Current status unknown. Additional Details: Was made aware of this knowledge by following a trail leading to an abandoned building with a diary signed by herself sometime prior.

---The Angel and the Demon--- Reason for Interest: Divine entities descended by the gods known for producing and distributing illegal items to the islanders. Holds the ability to perform resurrections on deceased eggs. Currently unable to be contained or withheld by the Federation. More information is needed before actions may be taken. Additional Details: The Angel was once involved in an indirect conflict regarding the Federation and the resurrection of the deceased egg Trump [see "Maximus: Additional Details"] in which it was made clear the Federation wished for the Angel and Demon to have as little involvement as possible with the Federation's plans.

---Luzu/Arin--- Reason for Interest: AI entity residing within the body of Luzu. Fronts Luzu's body during moments of Luzu being unconscious (sleep, fainting, etc.) Source behind "Luzu computers" that occasionally appear around the server. Federation has dubbed it illegal to desecrate and/or steal resources from these computers as they contain illegal Create items. Full extent of the relationship between the Federation and the Luzu computers is unknown. Additional Details: Arin occasionally interacts with the island inhabitants via chat message to leave cryptic messages in binary, of which is their only supposed way of written communication. They have warned of "a door opening" among other concerning matters.

---Binary Codes--- Reason for Interest: Rogue AI entities that target the island inhabitants and their eggs. Held a predominant focus on attacking any egg with two lives until they were down to one. Have been proven to be capable of learning from past instances, as well as cloaking their appearance into that of an egg. Federation continues to ignore their existence. Additional Details: Rumors have declared the Binary codes to have been creations of the Federation that went rogue and now attack supposed other Federation creations (the eggs). Contained powerful weaponry in the form of the CPV2 Shield, which has infinite durability and is the only known item immune to the Code Breaker Sword, as well as the pieces of the aforementioned Code Breaker; these items were taken from certain Binary Codes after a loss in combat to Etoiles, the current only island resident to wield such equipment.

[whitherwanderer]

"I think..."

"...you have followed me..."

"...far enough."

Incident Report: Witness came to my office in Wailer custody. He (elezen, 45, Hyrstmill) was quite shaken and claimed to have been followed on through the forest. He described a hyuran woman (late twenties to mid thirties, long, ashen hair and skin, dirty gray tunic; no eye color given—he reported that her eyes were naught but whites) staring at him from behind a tree on the roadside, smiling unnaturally. As he approached the tree where the woman hid, she ran around it and, per his claim, disappeared. He had little cause for concern until she saw the same woman hiding behind another tree just a few hundred yalms up the road. Witness claims not to have seen the woman pass him on the roadside, nor did he see any usual movement in the trees. He called out, but she deigned to neither respond nor to move. He carried on down the road, keeping an eye upon the woman as he passed, then turned to check the road ahead when she was out of sight once again. He then saw her a third time, some fifteen yalms ahead, now peeking from behind Galvanth's Spire. Witness then began to run from the authorities, which prompted them to give chase and arrest him for suspicious behavior. Wailers report seeing no woman approach and new footsteps could be found.

Investigator's note: Woman loosely fits the description of a missing person report filed last autumn that the Wailers were charged with investigating. They neither found the woman nor recovered remains (attributed to wildlife; she disappeared during the peak of annual funguar activity). I'll need to confirm her identity, which means I'll have to get close, and that presents a problem if she slips away whenever someone draws near. I have a hunch she is simply a pawn for a much larger threat that will only reveal itself once a potential victim follows her deeper into the wood. Wonderful. I leave in the morning.

[brb-on-a-quest]

Ahhh I forgot to send this back to you. Welp, better late then never

🎶✨when u get this, list 5 songs u like to listen to, publish. then, send this ask to 10 of your favourite followers (positivity is cool)🎶✨

Also hi! How are you?

oooooooo tytytytytytyt

working on resetting my day so I don't flounder and flail around like I usually do after work (I don't know how real adults do it, this is exhausting).

Music def helps with that tho!

1. Sober Up - AJR, rivers como

2. City grown willow - radio company

3. Night witches - sabaton

4. Oh Raven (sing me a happy song) - unlike pluto

5. The hanging tree - peter hollins

[witchoflegends]

"How do you do it?" Karen asks as she stares at the other reporter. Studying her, in a way.

"Do what?" Lois brings her coffee to her lips to take a drink and doesn't bother looking up from the paper she's reading.

"Get through each day. I mean, I feel like sometimes everyone hates me or is out to get me. Between different kidnappings, shootings, hell even bombings, it's never ending. It's like no matter how many wins I get, there's always something to tear me down."

Lois smirks behind her cup of coffee. "That means you're good at your job, Karen. People hate when you dig up their dirty secrets, and when you're right. They'll want to shut you up as much as possible. Threaten you, hurt you, whatever is necessary, but you don't let them. Being stronger than they think you are is a slap in the face and a big 'fuck you'. I live for moments like that."

"You're kind of insane, you know that right?" Karen is mostly teasing.

"Oh yeah. You kind of have to be in this line of work. Especially when you feel like you're the only one that's looking at things correctly. That you're the only one paying attention. But you do learn to trust yourself and your intuition." There's a pause as she finally looks over at Karen. "You're doing good. Even if it doesn't feel like it."

"Honest?"

"Between one journalist to another."

[channnel]

I binge watch the entirety of Tfp season 1 until halfway through season 2 while doing my lab activity and now all I can hear is the intro and Megatron's "Nuh uh uh" In my head.

[fish-in-need-of-a-bicycle]

Update below original post

The Iranian Regime is going to execute rapper Toomaj Salehi for supporting protests of Jina Amini’s murder by the regime in his songs.

Iranian activist Elica Le Bon says, “Iranians in the diaspora picked up on the fact that the regime tends not to execute people who become known to the international community. We have seen many examples of prisoners that were either released on bail or had their sentences commuted through our “say their names to save their lives” campaign on social media, using hashtags to garner attention for their causes, and even before social media existed, through getting the stories of political prisoners to international media outlets. Once reported on, and once the eyes shift to the regime and the reality of its pending brutality, realizing that the action is not worth the repercussions, we have seen them back down and not execute. For that reason, this is part of an urgent campaign for readers to talk about Toomaj as much as you can, using the hashtag #FreeToomaj or #ToomajSalehi. Every comment makes a difference, and if we were wrong, what did we lose by trying?”

Update: Hey everyone! Toomaj Salehi’s death sentence was overturned! The most recent article I could find says he is still in jail though. Please keep sharing, because people to need to understand what’s happening. According to Amnesty International, Iran carried out 74% of the world’s executions in 2023, not including executions from China since they don’t release those numbers. The execution rate is growing higher with 67 executions in June alone, 48 of which were ethnic minorities despite all together being only 40% of the population. Their crimes are protesting the government for murdering women. Please keep sharing, because while there are many injustices happening far away that can’t be stopped by posting, the Say Their Names to Save Their Lives Movement works.

[seemabhatnagar]

High Court Protects Citizen Rights, Orders Immediate Renewal of Passport

The passport authorities cannot refuse the issuance or renewal of a passport solely based on the criteria that criminal cases are pending against the petitioner, without considering court orders that permit travel.

Furthermore, courts are not barred from issuing NOCs for passport renewal if the conditions specified in the Ministry of External Affairs' notification are met.

Fareed Alam v. State of UP & Others

Crl. Misc. Petition 7309/2023

Before Lucknow High Court

Heard by Hon'ble Mr. Justice Shamim Ahmad J

Legal Issue

Can passport renewal be denied by the Regional Passport Authority due to an adverse police verification report linked to an ongoing criminal case against the petitioner?

Can a court may refuse issuing No Objection Certificate for the renewal of the Petitioner's passport?

Fact

The petitioner, was working in Saudi Arabia but he returned to India in January 2020 due to COVID-19 pandemic and could not back, thereafter.

His passport expired in October 2021, and upon applying for renewal, the Regional Passport Office rejected his application based on an adverse police report. The adverse report originated from a criminal case filed against the petitioner under various sections of the Indian Penal Code due to a family dispute.

Despite being granted bail, the CJM refused to issue an NOC for the renewal of his passport.

Case Background:

The petitioner, who had been working in Saudi Arabia, returned to India in January 2020 and could not go back due to the COVID-19 pandemic. His passport expired in October 2021, and upon applying for renewal, the Regional Passport Office rejected his application based on an adverse police report.

The adverse report stemmed from a criminal case filed against the petitioner under various sections of the Indian Penal Code (IPC) due to a family dispute. Despite being granted bail, the CJM refused to issue an NOC for the renewal of his passport.

Argument of the petitioner's counsel:

The petitioner’s counsel argued that the CJM's refusal to issue the NOC was arbitrary and contrary to the relevant provisions of the Passport Act, 1967. The petitioner relied on a 1993 notification by the Ministry of External Affairs, which allows the issuance of passports to individuals with pending criminal cases if they obtain a court order permitting them to travel abroad.

Court's Findings:

The High Court noted that the CJM’s order appeared to lack proper judicial reasoning and did not consider the 1993 notification, which provides for the issuance of passports upon satisfying its conditions, even when criminal proceedings are pending.

The court also highlighted that there is no absolute bar on issuing a passport to individuals facing criminal charges, provided they comply with the conditions outlined in the notification.

Order

The High Court quashed the CJM's order and directed the concerned authorities to reconsider the petitioner's request for passport renewal in light of the 1993 notification and the relevant legal provisions

Seema Bhatnagar

[circeappxteer]

Ayo i'm seeing some Soshiro angst...

Like ey. Ey chill.

I'm suck at dealing angst

I would be matching freaks w/ you, fanfic writers.

[phantomrose96]

Thinking about Edward Elric as the Amestrian Military's specialest little unfireable boy

State alchemists can be fired for underperforming. We know this up front from the likes of Shou Tucker. And this makes a ton of sense from the homunculi's standpoint since the state alchemists are sacrifice candidates, and the homunculi would want to cull the weakest candidates and focus only on cultivating the strongest ones who stand the best chance of opening the portal.

........Then there's Edward. Who's already opened the portal.

There's no need to cultivate him. No gamble taken on whether he's good enough to open the portal. He passed the final test already. Graduated 4 semesters early.

And as such, has a free pass to do Absolute Fuck All.

And I'm imagining how funny this is from like an outside perspective.

Some newish state alchemist who'd only ever read up on the stories of Edward Elric, ready and excited to start their career of being paid handsomely with endless freedom to research and travel and do anything they want in the pursuit of science... surprised and confused to find themselves put on probation their first month for things like "ignoring orders." Which is, as best they had thought, a famous Edward Elric pastime.

Roy showing a slight bit of stress about his yearly state alchemist report, and Ed just snorting and rolling his eyes at Roy because every year HE just hastily does his on the train ride over (canon in the manga, a travesty it was left out of the anime) and it gets rubber stamped. Ed not realizing that other alchemists' reports get genuinely scrutinized and torn apart while Ed is free to turn in whatever absolute bullshit he thinks of 36 hours ahead of time. One year his report was about whether alchemy could be done via dance (conclusion: no it can't) and no one cared. Roy WANTS to tell Ed there's some kind of unknown favoritism around Ed making him literally bullet-proof but Roy has no way to phrase this that doesn't sound like he's just in denial and mad at how good Ed's train-reports are.

Guy from the Internal Amestrian Affairs sector who's responsible for auditing other internal military personel for any suspicious activity hitting about 1 million red flags for Edward Elric, issuing a STRONG and URGENT recommendation to suspend the alchemist pending further investigation into things like "literal bunk-buddies with two members of the Xingese royalty (enemy nation)" and "spent $10,000,000 of his stipend on a librarian to make her re-copy (what he seemed to interpret as?) military records in some extremely transparent effort to unearth state secrets (it was a recipe book but he was literally asking her about state secrets)" and "literally has never once obeyed an order, ever, not even once in his career, and is on public record having said 'I do not care about the goals and protections of the Amestrian Military. I am in fact only pursuing my own interests several of which are diametrically opposed to the safety and well-being of the governing body of Amestris'"

The issued recommendation is intercepted before it even reaches its intended desk. President Bradley himself has taken issue with it and denies it before a single set of eyes has seen it. The President's veto stamp is a terrifying hammer, used rarely, and it is now sitting on the auditor's desk.

The auditor sleeps with one eye open from then on out.

[embithesinner]

i hope whoever just charged my bank account with a total of $1.2k for some Monster Jam ticket(s) & some hotel in New York suffers an incredibly slow, agonizing & unending torture with no means of receiving the sweet release of death

[kyra45]

Scammer pretending to be in Palestine v2

This post has been remade with better info! Please go to this one:

Got an ask from someone claiming to be in Palestine needing mutual aid? Unfortunately there is a scammer going around and it’s likely the ask you got sent is the same one being sent by multiple accounts who target users interacting with Palestine posts. These blogs use the text/images off a real fundraiser and then post it here pretending to be the person it’s made for. Their accounts are usually only a few days old and they don’t interact beyond the ask/follow. Lately they might make the link to their PayPal account in different colors or claim their GoFundMe is pending so you will assume the real one is theirs. They don’t have any GoFundMe’s set up. They steal from them. If you need proof of something being stolen, searching the text of their post in a search engine should pull up the source. If you know how to report PayPal accounts, please report those used by the scammers.

(Moved to new list)

Below is a growing list of fake/stolen names used across the accounts:

Nour Samar | maryline lucy | Fred Odhiambo | Jeff Owino | Valentine Nakuti | Conslata Obwanga | JACINTA SITATI | David Okoth | Martín Mutugi | Daudi Likuyani | William Ngonyo | Fred Agy | George Ochieng | BONFACE ODHIAMBO | Sila Keli | John Chacha | benson komen | Alvin Omondi | Jacinta Sitati | Daudi Likuyani | Noah Keter | Faith Joram | Rawan AbuMahady (any PayPal’s using this name are scammers who have stolen it off a real GoFundMe. The real person does not have a PayPal account that they post on tumblr.) | Asnet Wangila | Remmy Cheptau

Keep in mind this post isn’t saying all accounts asking for mutual aid in Palestine are scams. Rather, this post is meant to bring awareness of a scammer stealing money from those who really need it by pretending to be a person in Palestine. To report scams, use this:

Report -> Something else -> Illegal uses or Content -> Phishing

(Please do not use the comments section to ask for gfm sharing if someone’s asks or DMs are closed. Thanks.)

[jaysbaefie]

the intern | pjs

synopsis: in which your constant belittling finally pushes your obedient intern too far and he decides it's time someone puts you in your place.

genre: office au

pairing: intern!jay x boss!reader

warnings: bossy!reader, bratty!reader, mean dom! jay, dubcon/noncon, forced submission, spanking, fingering, slapping, hair pulling, oral (m.rec), light breath play, rough and unprotected p in v, light choking? (i think that's it...) this fic is filthy, like so fucking filthy.

wc: 6.7k

a/n: ikik intern didn’t win the poll but i still wanted to write it as a little thank you for 1000 followers!! smth about mean dom jay and bratty reader just tickles my goddamn pickle. anyways, i am officially done with school!! that means more updates ayeeee!!! i start school early may tho so what am i rlly celebrating for.. anyways! notes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated. enjoy reading!!

ᝰ

jay could feel his self restraint falling thin, his eyes glaring holes into the stack of papers in front of him.

he began to question if the internship was even worth it after the way you had been treating him for the last few months.

at first you were just cold, never acknowledging his presence and treating him like a nuisance rather than a human being. but then things took a turn for the worse, you had made him into your very own stress relief dummy.

taking out your frustration and anger on him whenever someone had pissed you off. someone mess up the reports that day? jay took the fall. presentations not prepared? jay took the fall. traffic on the way to work? jay took the fall.

you embarrassed him consistently, degrading and belittling him whenever you could. just take this morning for example.

the office buzzed with low conversations as the team gathered in the glass-walled conference room for the weekly status meeting.

jay sat near the front, his pulse quickening as he arranged his notes in an effort to keep his composure. today, the stakes felt even higher—he needed to impress, to prove that his dedication was more than just blind obedience. in a few weeks from now you'd be deciding who stays and gets the permanent position and who doesn't—he needed to impress you.

you swept into the room with an air of undeniable authority. clad in a sharply tailored blazer and high heels that echoed on the polished floor, you commanded every gaze without uttering a word. even before the meeting began, your presence shifted the atmosphere, the tension around you palpable.

jay swallowed harshly, his gaze scanning over your form as you step into the room. you were gorgeous, he'd give you that—but your attitude was foul. his eyes dropping to his files as he begins to mentally prepare himself for the presentation to commence.

he feels his heart drop when he realizes that the one file he so desperately needed, wasn't on the pile he had brought. jay's hands begin to shake, shuffling through the pile of files again as he hopes that it would magically appear in front of him.

he scans the large conference room table, turning to the person next to him to ask if they had seen the file.

as you took your seat at the head of the table, your eyes briefly scanned the room before landing on jay. a slow, knowing smile curled on your lips, as if you had been waiting for this moment. the meeting kicked off with a routine overview, but it wasn't long before you steered the conversation to the pending report—the one that jay was responsible for.

you fixed your gaze on jay, your tone unexpectedly sweet yet laced with a biting edge. "intern park," you began, deliberately using his given name for effect, "what exactly about 'don't speak unless spoken to' is confusing you? or do you just enjoy hearing your own voice?"

a collective murmur rippled through the room. jay's face turned a shade of crimson. he tightened his grip on his folder, his thoughts jumbling as his cheeks burned with humiliation. every eye was now on him, and he felt the weight of public scrutiny crushing his usual determination.

he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper, "i—i'm sorry, i thought i had the data compiled..."

your eyes hardened, and you leaned forward, relishing the control. "thought? no, mr.park. you should have it. if you want to be useful here, you need to step up and stop hovering like a lost puppy around every minor detail." your words sliced through the silence, leaving no room for rebuttal.

the room was silent apart from the steady hum of the air conditioner and the clatter of pens against paper. jay's pulse pounded in his ears as he felt his confidence slip further with each of your calculated remarks. he could hear his internal monologue screaming for an escape, a defiant retort—but the fear of tarnishing his only shot at this internship kept his words locked away.

you weren't done. with a casual yet deliberate gesture, you waved a hand toward the clock on the wall. "i expected that report on my desk an hour ago. now, if you've managed to forget the basics of professional competence, perhaps it's time you rethink your priorities and career choices."

the finality in your tone silenced any remaining murmurs. jay's stomach churned with a mix of humiliation and a rising spark of anger—an emotion so raw that it blurred the line between submission and rebellion. the embarrassment stung, yet something deep within him shifted. in that charged moment, surrounded by his colleagues and under your steely gaze, jay realized that this wasn't just about a report or an internship. it was about reclaiming his dignity.

even as he forced a meek nod of submission to placate your immediate anger, a quiet promise echoed through his thoughts: one day, he would stand tall and show you that he was more than a pawn in your relentless pursuit of power.

as the meeting continued, the memory of your cutting words and his silent, seething response—hung in the air.

he clenches his fists as he holds in the urge to pull push the stacks of files off of his desk, his chest heaving heavily as he closed his eyes in attempt to soothe himself.

jay had been sorting through files for the remainder of the day after the meeting, per your orders.

the afternoon was unusually quiet in the office as you strolled into the small workspace where jay was already at his desk, meticulously organizing a stack of papers. he glanced up nervously as you passed, well aware that your mood this afternoon was as crisp as your tailored suit. all because of him, of course.

you held a cup of coffee in your hand, the same cup that he had left on your desk just a few minutes earlier.

leaning over his cubicle, you tilted your head slightly and said in a tone that angered him to his core, "did i stutter, jay? i said triple shot, not double. i expect my coffee precise, or should i send you to a barista school?" your words dripped with condescension, making it clear that he was the reason that your morning was ruined.

jay immediately got up from his seat, rushing to the break room with you trailing closely behind.

you scoff, pathetic.

jay's cheeks flushed as he fumbled with the coffee machine, trying to follow your instructions to the letter. he hurriedly adjusted the settings, his fingers trembling just a bit. you crossed your arms and eyed his work like a hawk. when the machine finally hissed to a stop with the coffee ready, you took a sip and pursed your lips in disdain.

"this is unacceptable," you snapped, your voice low but sharp. "i expect perfection every single time. if you can't handle the basics, perhaps you need a refresher on how to follow orders." the words hung in the air as jay's eyes flickered with a mixture of fear and determination.

you turn away, walking back to his desk with jay following behind you like a lost puppy.

not stopping there, you swept past his desk and reached for a stack of files on a nearby table. with deliberate precision, you began rearranging them into neat, color-coded piles. every so often you'd glance back at jay, as if to remind him that even the simplest task had to meet your impossible standards.

"watch closely, jay," you ordered, turning back to him. "i want these files not only sorted but aligned perfectly. each folder must be exactly centered—no, better than that, flush against the left margin. can you manage that, or is that too much to ask?" your tone was both patronizing and commanding, a mix that left no room for negotiation.

jay nodded, swallowing hard. he scrambled to adjust the folders, his hands moving with a jittery urgency that mirrored the pounding of his heart. every minor hesitation was met with your sharp retort, your authority was over powering in this small corner of the office.

"if you think today's just another day to clock in and float through tasks, think again," you continued, your eyes narrowing as you circled back to his workstation. "i'm watching every move you make. understand that every detail matters, jay. perfection is not just expected, it's demanded."

the air in the workspace grew thick with tension as jay worked to correct his mistakes, each precise movement a testament to his desperate need to earn your approval. while other interns might have been emboldened or defiant, jay's focus remained solely on survival—on not letting you see even a hint of weakness.

as you finally stepped away, satisfied that the files were in proper order for now, you delivered one last cold remark over your shoulder, "good. now, i expect you to handle the rest of today without any more room for error." your voice trailed off, leaving jay alone with the echo of your words and the heavy burden of your expectations.

just as you begin to leave, you pause in your tracks—a smirk gracing your painted lips. "oh, and i want all my files sorted. you're not leaving till it's all done."

and that's how jay found himself sorting and organizing files, greeting his fellow colleges goodbye as he stayed back to finish his work. it was well past the end of his shift, the clock reading 11:04pm as he continued to sort endlessly.

only jay and you remained on the office, with you tucked away in your office typing away who knows what on your computer and jay outside getting paper cut after paper cut.

he could still hear your voice from earlier looming in his head—sweet, sharp, venom-laced in a way only you could pull off. mocking him, embarrassing him in front of the entire team. and now here you were again, heels echoing through the empty office as you strutted out of your office like you hadn't just made him stay hours past his shift for a task that could've waited until tomorrow.

"still here?" your tone was laced with faux innocence—leaning against his desk, arms crossed under your chest. "wow. and here i thought even you would've figured out how to sort a couple files by now. guess i gave you too much credit."

jay didn't look up. didn't speak. his jaw flexed once, twice, like he was chewing on his own patience.

you smiled, pleased with the reaction. "what exactly are you good at, jay? because it sure as hell isn't multitasking. or presenting. or getting coffee. i'm starting to wonder if your daddy pulled strings just to get you here. must be nice, huh? riding in on privilege and still failing."

that was it.

jay stood, slowly, the chair scraping harshly behind him as he pushed it back. his hands were planted on the desk, knuckles white, head still lowered. when he finally looked at you, there was something in his eyes that hadn't been there before. something dangerous. something done.

you opened your mouth to say something else, some cruel remark—but it never made it out.

"shut up," jay muttered, voice low and rough.

your brows lifted, stunned at his words" excuse me?"

jay had never dared talk back to you, taking every word, every complaint, every diss, wordlessly. jay stepped around the desk and you instinctively backed up. the smirk that had been on your face seconds ago beginning to falter.

"you've been treating me like shit for months," he said, walking you backward with each slow, measured step. "and i took it. every order. every insult. every little power trip of yours. because i thought i needed this job. i thought i needed you."

your back hit the edge of his desk and he didn't stop moving. didn't flinch when your eyes widened as he closed in. your hands gripped the edge of the table, your hands getting sweaty as you feel jay's nose brush against your cheek.

"but now?" his hands gripped the sides of the desk, caging you in as his breath fanned against your cheek. "now i think you need to be reminded of what happens when you push too hard."

your eyes widen momentarily when you see the wild look on his eyes, his nose flared slightly almost as if he was holding himself back. you scan his face, smooth and clean shaven with a small scar on his nose—his eyebrows maintained and his gaze sharp. it hurt to admit that he was in fact an attractive man, it was a shame that he was garbage at his job.

you scoffed, trying to sound unimpressed, but your body betrayed you—your breath caught, knees subtly pressed together.

"you forget your place, intern," you snapped, your voice weaker than you intended.

jay let out a humorless laugh. "no. you've just gotten way too comfortable in yours."

then, in one swift motion, he spun you around and bent you over the desk, your palms bracing the surface as you gasped. papers scattered in every direction, your heart hammering as the cold wood met your skin through your thin skirt.

you attempted to push yourself back up only for a hand to be secured at the back of your neck, pushing you back down so your cheek was planted firmly against the cool wood or the desk.

"jay—"

"quiet," he snapped, pressing down on your lower back as his hand slid up your thigh. "you love to give orders, huh? let's see how well you take them."

his voice was low, dark, threatening—but it wasn't just anger that drove him now. it was hunger. months of tension. resentment. control finally slipping from your grasp and into his.

"you want to act like i'm good for nothing?" he leaned in close, lips brushing your ear. "then let me show you exactly what i'm good for."

your breath hitched as jay's hands ran slowly up your thighs, his touch rough with frustration, but precise—like he knew exactly how far to push you before you'd break. he yanked your skirt up without hesitation, the sharp sound of fabric dragging across your skin sending a jolt straight through your spine.

a low whistle cut the air, "who knew the boss wore such scandalous items to work, hm? a black lace thong? who are you trying to impress? me?" his hands fondling your butt, a whimper escaping you when he squeezes a little to hard.

you let out a scoff, "why the fuck would i want to impress a good for not—" jay's hand comes down to land on one cheek, a loud squeal leaving your mouth at the sudden sting.

"—you act so high and mighty," he muttered, fingers digging into your hips as he pulled you back into him. "always barking orders, always so smug. but just wait, i'll be having you—" his palm presses  firmly between your shoulder blades, keeping you pinned to the desk. "—quiet. obedient. and right where you belong."

"yeah ri—" you don't make it far when you feel his hands tangle into your hair, yanking roughly so the top of your head was touching his chest—your back curved almost painfully as jay held you in place.

you bit your lip hard, trying to swallow down the whimper that built in your throat. but he heard it. felt the way your body twitched beneath him.

"don't get shy now," jay growled, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear as he leaned down for you. "you wanted to push me. you loved watching me squirm while you humiliated me in front of everyone. so now you're going to take it."

your hands gripped the edge of the desk as he pressed his hips against you—hard. the heat between you two was suffocating, filthy. his restraint was hanging by a thread, and you could feel the power shift in real time. you weren't in charge anymore. not here. not like this.

"jay," you gasped, your voice suddenly softer, breathier than you meant.

"say it again," he demanded, one hand sliding under your blouse and gripping your side possessively. "say my name like that again and maybe i'll be gentle."

"fuck you," you hissed, defiant till the end.

he chuckled low in his throat, dark and dangerous. "wrong answer."

his hand came down hard on your ass—once, twice—each slap sharp and biting, making you jolt. the sting blended with the burn of desire, making your head spin.

"i've had to listen to you tear me down every damn day," he snarled, grabbing your hair tighter and forcing you to arch your back painfully, exposing the curve of your neck. "now you're gonna listen to me. no interruptions. no smug comebacks. just moaning my name like a good girl."

you whimpered, the sound involuntary. your thighs squeezed together, desperate for friction.

jay noticed. oh, he noticed.

"look at you," he muttered. "so fucking wet for the same intern you said wasn't good for anything. guess you were wrong."

you didn't respond, your pride caught somewhere between your teeth and your rapidly crumbling composure.

jay's hand slid lower again, teasing you through your underwear, slow and maddening. "what's the matter, boss? cat got your tongue?" he pushed the fabric aside and let his fingers slide through your slick folds, groaning at how ready you already were.

he lets your back relax, pushing you face down against the table again making you whine. you could feel his thick cock push against you as he continued to run his fingers down your slit.

"god, you're soaked," he breathed. "you've been wanting this, haven't you? you wanted someone to finally shut you up. tame you."

you gasped when he pushed two fingers into you without warning, curling them just right. your knees buckled, but his other arm was already gripping into your hips, holding you steady, refusing to let you escape. you shook in his hold, attempting to claw your way off the table as jay begins to push into your walls with more strength.

"you don't get to run now," he whispered, voice low and deadly in your ear. "you're going to take everything i give you. every inch. every word. every second."

he pressed his fingers deeper, curling them slow and hard while his mouth traced hot kisses down your neck.

"get away from me," you try to seethe out, attempting to turn around—your arms flailing.

jay only smirks, his fingers now pushing into you in a punishing pace. "we both know you don't want me away, __. look at how wet you are, you're dripping down your legs you filthy slut."

"fuck you," you spit, still thrashing weakly in his grip, even as your hips betrayed you and rolled back into his hand. "this doesn't mean anything—i still think you're pathetic."

jay chuckled darkly, the sound low and smug against your ear as he shoved his fingers in deeper, harder. "you think i care what you say with that mouth?" he growled, biting down gently on your shoulder. "when your cunt's already begging me to keep going?"

you let out a shaky moan, biting down hard on your lip to keep it in, but he noticed. he always noticed.

"so fucking bratty," he muttered, thrusting his fingers deep and curling them until your legs trembled. "running that smart mouth like you're still in charge. but look at you now—folding just like i knew you would."

"you're just some intern," you hissed, your voice breathless. "i could fire you right now."

"do it," he dared, slowing his thrusts until your body writhed for more. "fire me. but you're still gonna cum on my fingers first, aren't you?"

"i won't," you lied through clenched teeth, even as your thighs trembled around his hand.

"yeah?" he leaned in, dragging his tongue up the column of your throat. "then why are you clenching around me like you want me to fuck the attitude out of you?"

you hated him—hated how good he was with his hands, hated the smirk on his face, hated the way your body was betraying you, melting under his touch.

but most of all, you hated how badly you wanted to be ruined by him.

jay could feel it—you were close. your body gave you away more than your mouth ever could, the way your thighs shook, how your breathing hitched with every curl of his fingers. you were right there, teetering on the edge, your pride dangling by a thread.

"fuck, fuck—don't stop," you finally breathed out, voice cracking as your head dropped forward, hands scrambling to find something to grip.

jay froze.

his fingers stayed buried inside you, but they didn't move. not an inch. just deep enough to make your walls flutter, but not enough to push you over.

you let out a strangled noise, turning your head to glare over your shoulder. "what the fuck are you doing?"

"oh, now you want something from me?" he asked, voice full of mock innocence as he slowly pulled his fingers out of you, watching your body twitch at the loss. "that's cute."

"don't be a fucking asshole," you snapped, grinding back toward him in desperation. "i said don't stop—"

"yeah, you did," jay cut in smoothly, wiping his soaked fingers on your thigh with a smug smirk. "but you've spent the last three months treating me like shit. barking at me like some entitled princess, calling me pathetic, useless—i'm just an intern, right?"

you seethed, still panting, but he was already stepping back. "you're such a fucking prick."

he let out a low chuckle, grabbing a fistful of your hair and tugging you upright so your back arched and your breath caught. "and you're such a fucking brat."

he yanked you away from the desk and spun you around, his grip on your hair keeping you dizzy and breathless as he forced you to your knees. the floor was cold beneath you, your chest heaving, your thighs slick and trembling—but you looked up at him with the same defiance in your eyes.

"still think you're in charge?" he asked, thumb dragging over your bottom lip. "because from where i'm standing, you're just a desperate little slut on her knees."

you tried to say something—maybe another insult, maybe a curse—but all that came out was a shaky breath, lips parting as two of his fingers pushed into your mouth.

you breathe heavily as he pushes down on your tongue, essentially tasting yourself.

"you could've cum," he murmured, looking down at you like you were something fragile and fucked up all at once. "but you don't get to cum with that mouth."

he slid his fingers out of your mouth, rubbing your saliva messily over your lips before cupping your jaw—tilting your face up to him. "you'll learn how to ask nicely," he whispered. "you'll learn how to beg."

"now open that bratty little mouth," he said, undoing his belt with slow, deliberate hands. "and maybe i'll show you what happens when you finally stop talking back."

"as if i'm going to let y—" you began, a cry escaping you when your head flys to the side. your hand coming up to cradle your red cheek as you look up at him in shock.

jay's palm was still in the air, his expression dark, unrelenting. his chest heaved once—twice—as he loomed over you, the sharp crack of his slap still ringing in your ears.

"you will," he said lowly, voice like steel wrapped in velvet. "because i'm done listening to that fucking mouth."

you stared up at him, wide-eyed, lips parted—shock clouding your mind even as the heat on your cheek throbbed. you would've never thought, in a million years, that jay would have slapped you. it made your blood rush straight between your legs, the sting blooming into something twisted and hot.

jay crouched in front of you slowly, one hand gripping your chin—tight enough to make your jaw ache, tight enough to make you feel how serious he was.

"you think you're in control?" he sneered, thumb brushing over your trembling bottom lip. "you think just because you've spent months treating me like shit, i'd always let you get away with it?"

you swallowed thickly, trying to hold onto whatever attitude you had left, but it was slipping—fast.

"you think you can call me useless, boss me around, make me beg for scraps of respect—and then what? act like you're above me when you're soaking through your panties just from a slap and a few words?"

his thumb pressed into your mouth, forceful, making you part your lips around it as he leaned in.

"go ahead," he whispered. "say something bratty again. give me a reason to make you beg for the orgasm i'm not gonna let you have."

you whimpered, eyes fluttering as your mouth opened wider around his thumb, heat blooming in your stomach despite the sharpness in his tone.

"look at you," he murmured, dragging the pad of his thumb across your tongue slowly. "i haven't even fucked you yet and already, you're falling apart."

he pulled his thumb out and let it trail down your chin, slick with your spit, before gripping your hair again and yanking your head back to look up at him.

"on your knees. mouth open. hands behind your back," he ordered, belt now unfastened, hanging from one hand like a warning. "maybe if you're good now, i'll consider using your throat the way it was meant to be used."

"and if you dare bite," he added, eyes glinting with menace, "i'll remind you exactly who you belong to."

you should've hated him.

but instead, you opened your mouth—tongue out.

jay grins menacingly at your sudden obedience, his cock springing out—hitting your cheek.

"you're gonna be good f''me, yeah?" he drawls, tracing your lips with his tip slowly—teasing you.

when you don't respond he slaps his heavy dick onto your tongue, "i asked you something, sweetheart."

you mewl at the pet name, "y-yes i'll be good."

"good." and with that he pushes into your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat before hes pulling out and bottoming back in again.

jay does this a few times, watching his dick disappear into your mouth before hes pulling out fully—snickering when he sees you chase for it.

he stroked himself slowly, deliberately, eyes locked on you as he took his time. he wasn't teasing himself—he was teasing you. dragging it out just to watch you squirm on your knees like the desperate little thing you pretended not to be.

"you've been walking around all fucking day like you run the world," he muttered, voice dripping with disdain. "snapping at me. barking orders. treating me like i'm beneath you."

he stepped closer, and your breath caught as the tip of his cock brushed your lips.

"so what are you now, huh?" he whispered. "my boss? or my personal fucktoy?"

your tongue darted out instinctively, trying to taste him—but he pulled back with a dark chuckle.

"ah, ah. not yet. beg."

your eyes narrowed, pride still flickering behind the haze, but your body betrayed you. your thighs clenched. your breath hitched. your mouth stayed open, waiting, even as your words choked out.

"...please."

jay raised a brow, pretending not to hear.

"louder."

"please," you tried again, cheeks flushed in humiliation. "i want it."

he grinned—cruel, smug, victorious.

"you want what, baby?"

your fingers curled behind your back as you bit your cheek, hating how your voice trembled. "i want your cock."

jay hummed in approval, finally guiding himself forward and pressing into your mouth. not gently. not patiently. he gave you no time to adjust, groaning low as he slid past your lips and hit the back of your throat in one brutal thrust.

you gagged, tears instantly springing to your eyes, but he didn't pull away—just groaned again and cradled the back of your head.

"fuck, that's it," he hissed. "look at you. so fucking obedient now."

he started moving—slow at first, then rougher with each thrust, using your mouth like it belonged to him. and maybe it did. maybe it always had.

your knees ached, eyes blurred, throat burning—but you didn't stop. not once.

he didn't let you.

because this was your punishment. for every eye roll. every insult. every time you called him incompetent.

and now, with spit dripping down your chin and your throat stuffed full of the intern you used to humiliate—now you were finally silent.

and jay? jay was just getting started.

his pace was ruthless and unforgiving, taking out his frustration and anger that has accumulated over the course of 3 months out on you and your mouth. his hands had created two makeshift ponytails, steering you.

your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you slowly began to struggle for air, unable to breath out of your nose.

"aw c'mon now, sweetheart. giving up on me so easily?" jay grunts, the squelching sounds of your wet mouth and his thick cock filling the room.

you hum, eyes opening as you stare up at him with a dazed expression.

your lips stretched around him, drool spilling from the corners of your mouth, chin soaked and glistening. jay growled low in his throat, his grip tightening in your hair as he snapped his hips forward, burying himself deep down your throat.

"fuck," he hissed, sweat beading along his brow as he watched your glassy eyes blink up at him. "look at you. not so mouthy now, huh?"

you gagged again, throat convulsing around him as your lungs burned, but the look on your face only turned more desperate—more ruined. there was no point pretending anymore. not when you were on your knees, completely at his mercy, submitting to him with every choke and gasp.

"this is what you needed, isn't it?" he sneered, pulling out just enough to let you inhale sharply before ramming back in. "some discipline. someone to shut that smart mouth up."

you whimpered around him, eyelids fluttering as the ache between your legs grew unbearable. your hands itched to reach for him—for anything—but you kept them laced behind your back, like he told you.

his thrusts didn't falter. if anything, they got rougher, angrier. you were his outlet now—3 months of humiliation and quiet rage spilling out with every brutal thrust into your throat.

"you use me. treat me like shit. act like i'm beneath you," he snarled, voice breaking on a groan as your throat clenched around him. "but look at you now. fucking begging for it with your eyes." jay could feel the pit in his stomach tighten, his thrusts getting deeper.

with a deep moan, jay's spilling inside your mouth—his cum painting your throat white as he forces you to stay still.

you coughed, a mixture of his cum and your spit cascading down your chest, when jay finally pulled out. your chest rose and fell rapidly, eyes wild and teary, mouth hanging open and glistening.

"swallow it." you do as your told, tongue reaching out to lick away whatever was left around your mouth.

but before you could even speak, his hand cracked across your cheek again, not hard—but sharp enough to make your head snap to the side.

"you don't get to cum," he said coldly, gripping your face and forcing you to look up at him again. "not tonight."

your heart dropped, a soft, broken sound catching in your throat.

"you don't get to cum until i say so. and you definitely don't get to act like a brat and expect a reward."

you blinked at him, trembling, body aching for any kind of release, but jay just stared down at you—cock hard again and glistening, jaw tight, breathing heavy.

"i want you bent over," he muttered. "you're not done being used."

and with that, he grabbed you by the jaw and dragged you into position—because this time you weren't in charge. and he was going to make damn sure you remembered it.

you held yourself up by your forearms, sticking your ass out just the way you knew he wanted. your breath was shallow, heart racing, skin prickling with anticipation as you waited—head spinning from the shift in power you were still adjusting to.

jay stood behind you, silent for a moment. just watching. letting the tension build. letting you squirm.

"look at you now," he muttered, voice dark and low as he ran his hand slowly down your spine. "all quiet. all obedient. where'd all that attitude go, huh?"

you tried to lift your head, to say something smart, something that might tip the balance back in your favor—but all that came out was a whimper as his palm came down hard across your ass.

"that's what i thought," he growled, gripping your hips and pulling you back until you felt the heat of him against you. "you only know how to run that mouth when no one's around to shut it for you."

his hand slid down your thigh, fingers trailing dangerously close before pulling back again, teasing. denying.

"say it," he said. "say you're sorry for being a brat."

you hesitated, biting your lip, heat blooming in your chest from the humiliation—until his hand cracked across your ass again, this time harder.

"say it."

you gasped, trembling under his touch, voice barely a whisper.

"i'm sorry."

"for what?"

"...for being a brat."

he hummed, satisfied, thumbs pressing into your hips as he leaned down to murmur right into your ear, "good. now hold still. and maybe, maybe—if you behave—I'll let you finish."

and with one sharp thrust, he filled you—setting a punishing pace that left no room for doubt. this time, you weren't in control.

he was.

and he wasn't letting go until you remembered exactly who you belonged to.

his grip was bruising as he held your hips in place, each thrust deep and deliberate, his pace merciless from the start. your forearms trembled beneath you, struggling to keep you upright as your body jolted forward with every snap of his hips.

you mewled at the stretch, feeling his thick and heavy cock fill you to the brim as you struggle briefly to accommodate him.

"you wanted control so bad," he grunted, his breath hot against your spine as he leaned over you, still moving inside you without pause. "thought you could treat me like a joke, make me crawl for you. who's the one crawling now?"

you whimpered, back arching instinctively when his hand slid around to your throat, pulling you up just enough so your back was flush to his chest. your head dropped against his shoulder, lips parted in silent moans as he tightened his fingers around your neck—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who was in charge now.

"you like this, don't you?" he whispered into your ear, biting down on the lobe. "being put in your place. being used." you nodded, helpless.

"words," he demanded, his thrusts slowing just enough to drive you crazy.

"yes—" you gasped out, voice hoarse, "yes, i like it."

his low chuckle rumbled against your back. "not so cocky now, are you?"

he pushed you back down, pressing a hand between your shoulder blades as his other reached around and rubbed slow, teasing circles around your clit.

your legs shook, body coiling tight, right on the edge of release. you could feel it. jay could feel it too, your walls fluttered around his girth almost painfully—squeezing him deliciously, so he did what only made sense.

he stopped.

you choked on a gasp, hips twitching back toward him. "w-what...? why—?"

jay pulled out completely, and the sudden emptiness made your breath hitch. your walls clenched around nothing, your body screaming for friction.

"you think brats get to cum?" he asked, his voice dark with amusement, chest rising and falling as he stared down at your ruined, trembling form. "not after the way you've treated me."

"p-please," you whined, all self-respect gone, your voice cracking as you rocked your hips back pathetically, desperate for even the faintest touch. "i'll be good, i swear i'll be good..."

he cocked his head, one brow arching as his fingers traced a slow line up your spine. "yeah? you'll be good?" he echoed, mocking you.

"yes—please, i need it," you gasped, pressing your thighs together for any kind of relief.

he leaned down, lips brushing your ear as he whispered, "then give me what i want."

you froze, shivering at the implication. "w-what?"

his hand grabbed your jaw again, turning your head until you had no choice but to look at him.

"you want to cum?" he asked, deadly calm. "then give me the permanent position. say it. right now. say i've earned it."

you blinked, heart pounding—half from humiliation, half from how shamefully turned on you were. "y-you're serious?"

he gave you one sharp thrust, just enough to make you moan, then pulled back again. "dead serious. i'll fuck you until you can't remember your own name—but you don't get to cum until i hear it from that bratty little mouth."

you hesitated, lips trembling. it was reckless. inappropriate. insane. but your body was burning.

"fine," you breathed, eyes glossy, your voice barely audible. "you can have it. the permanent spot. it's yours."

he grinned.

"that's more like it."

then he slammed back into you, deep and unforgiving—and this time, he wasn't holding back.

you cried out when you felt him grip your ass with two hands, making you fuck yourself back onto his cock.

"fuck, look at you. so desperate for my dick, so cock hungry," he sneers softly, relishing in the feeling of your gummy walls engulfing him and the fat of your ass pushing against his pelvis.

"s'good, j-jay," you slur out, desperate for release.

"yeah? so good? first time i've heard something good come out of your filthy fucking mouth," he snickers, fucking into you at a punishing pace.

he could feel you tighten around him, grunting when he realizes that he was just as close as you were.

"m'gonna cum," you slur. "please, let me come."

jay pants, his hands planting onto your lower back to hold you down as he fucks into you deeper—his hips snapping violently.

"yeah? you wanna cum, sweetheart? go ahead then, milk my cock."

just like that you shatter, a high pitched moan leaving your parted lips as your body convulses violently.

jay's high is just around the corner, his pace unforgiving before he himself unravels—unloading himself in you. he lets out a deep guttural moan, spilling his cum deep in you as your body twitches at the sensation.

"fuck—look at that," he murmurs, pulling out of you leaving you empty. you mewl at the feeling, body twitching as you drop your head onto the desk—no longer able to hold yourself up.

jay looks down in awe, watching his cum dribble out of your used cunt before he's swiping his digits through the mess—plugging his fingers in you to make sure you keep his seed in from spilling out.

you shudder at the feeling, to fucked out to realize what jay was doing. jay on the other hand admires the mess he has created, your behind was all shades of pink and red as his cum was spilling out of your hole like a faucet.

he leans down, his lips brushing against your ear, "pleasure doing business with you, boss."

— enjoy this fic? check out my other ones right here!

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

The Invisible String Theory

PAIRING: König x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You didn't expect the man who gave you his coat to be the same one to bust down the door where you and the other women slept - sniper hood scaring everyone within an inch of their life. You didn't expect him to become so important to you, either. (Based on König's in-game backstory).

WORDCOUNT: 9.2k

WARNINGS: Human trafficking, mentions of unwanted touching, trauma, blood, gore, guns, bullets, protective!König, soft!König, nightmares, mentions of bullying, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

'DATE: 25, NOVEMBER, 2021

LOCATION: BERLIN, GERMANY

TIME OF EVENT: 0230

MISSION REPORT: PENDING….'

You don’t remember much from the day that could be called out of the ordinary. Ever since you’d been moved here with the other girls, everything was predictable down to the time the men would come over, to the point where the screams had to be muffled by pillows. 

Never in your life did you think you’d be part of the nearly fifty million people stuck in this situation, and neither did you think you’d be the one in one hundred who got out. But before you can think about November twenty-fifth and those pale gray eyes, you have to go back to the beginning. To Al-Qatala. 

You hadn’t been with this cell initially—you’d been moved around and bartered off more times than you could count; the initial founder of your predicament was long gone at this point. North and South America, Europe, Africa, Asia, and Oceania…you’d been practically everywhere and on every continent barring the obvious last. In Europe, you couldn’t name the countries, but you knew this for a fact: you’d never been to Germany before. 

They had you with five other women in a large SUV in the beginning, this international ring of human traffickers. You had watched from the window, face blank and eyes unblinking, at the men who met near the docks. They had brought you in through Hamburg, first—not only the largest seaport in Germany but the third largest in Europe; you think you read that on a flier at some point. One of those flimsy ones that you find in gas stations with bright lettering to attract the tourists with their interesting facts. 

You wished you were only a tourist. 

You’d watched the men shake hands, and that was when you knew your fate, as well as that of the five other women, was sealed. You were going to all be here for a long time. 

This Al-Qatala cell was ruthless, but you supposed with being around terrorists, ruthlessness was better than being executed. 

For days you’d be exploited with the false promises of moments of freedom, breaks, food, and water. For some of the women it was drugs or money, but when your stomach was empty and your eyes blurring from lack of sleep, even addictions seemed to pale for brief hours. But above it all was the threat of death at every corner. These men would kill you. 

It was only a matter of time unless you could give them what they wanted. 

You yourself had developed a system, and it was probably the only reason you were still alive. Pick one of the handlers, gain his favor, and pray that he treats you specially while you keep up the act of a mindless, weak, woman. 

Ivon was the man’s name this time around. Born and raised here in Berlin before the clutches of his fanatical ideations brought him to Al-Qatala. You hated him.

Hated his touch—hated his scent and how he talked; every bit of him was corrupted like a black dog at a crossroads, always leading people down the wrong path. Your only saving grace was that he was stupid. The other girls called you Cat—said you managed to nuzzle up to someone and soon after got them to give you what you wanted. Everything you wanted except freedom, that was.

You didn’t deny that Ivon did give you privileges, but that was the point. About a week into your stay in Berlin, he allowed you to go into public with him. Arm-candy.

A doll. 

The townhouse you’d been stuck in had disappeared into a spec behind the rearview mirror, the chilled air from outside making you shiver at the lack of heat and the thin shawl you’d been thrown. No jacket. 

The care of your health only extended to how well you were able to work—at the moment you were relatively healthy despite the bulge of bruises and constantly shell-shocked look behind your eyes.

But the trip—the trip. You supposed that was when it had fully started, and you didn’t even realize it before you saw those gray eyes again. 

“Come,” Ivon orders, holding tightly to your arm and dragging you along from the corner shop without making a scene. Your hands loosely brush the wrack of clothes, fabric soft under your fingertips as it sways. 

Fixing your shawl, you try to burrow your neck into it, gaining what little heat is available to you. It was cold out—you were shivering. People send looks, eyes tight as they shift up and down your form, but no one ever says anything. To be this bold, this cell had to have been at this for a long, long time. The realization didn’t make you feel any better. 

That was when you first saw him. 

You were standing outside a coffee shop, quivering like a newly hatched butterfly, Ivon making a call only a few feet away with fast motions of his arms. It was hard not to make a run for it right then and there; hard not to take those few seconds of open air and dash away—start screaming and yelling until the authorities came. 

It would save yourself, but what about the others? They wouldn’t be so fortunate, you’d be sentencing them to death. None of this was simple—it needed to be thought out. Two games of chess being played at the same time.

The irony of it was that König had been off-duty that day. It had been a shot in the dark. 

“Are you alright?” A thick Austrian accent makes you flinch as it appears beside your right ear, grating.

Your eyes snap to the side, moving one foot back as you blink wildly up at the blue-gray orbs that would become a staple. You liked to call it as everyone else did—the invisible string theory. A theory that stated that the universe connected people who were destined to meet one day. Through thick or thin waters, it was inevitable. He was inevitable. 

“Yes,” you say quickly, holding your hands tightly around you. The man ahead of you was tall, almost startlingly so, with muscles more bulky than a boulder and his buzz-cut head open to the chilled breeze. He wore a surgical mask over his lower visage, his hoodie under the thick material of a canvas jacket. “Yes,” you say again, hearing Ivon’s voice behind you still on the phone. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Gray eyes furrow slightly, gaze darting over your head. 

“Are you…sure, Ma’am?” 

“Thank you for your concern,” you fake laugh, eyes pained, backing up farther. That invisible string snaps into place, pulling tight at only those few simple words. 

His stature made you slightly nervous—large, intimidating; those hands could do quite the damage if given the chance. Your eyes had hit and bounced off the identity discs at his chest with little thought, too preoccupied to notice the fact that he was in the Service.

König’s eyes had narrowed softly, dark brows minutely moving in.

Ivon hangs up his phone. 

“Can I help you?” He asks, coming up and sliding a hand around your waist. The man had stared at him for a long minute, and you had felt Ivon tense slowly at the unblinking eye contact. 

This stranger had commented in German a long string of frim words, hands going to his jacket and grabbing at the arms—he slips out of it while still uttering. 

Before you can react, the large coat swallows you whole and you snatch at the heat that’s still inside instinctually, now only realizing how much you were shivering. Your body sags into the weight of the fabric, the scent of sweat and coffee. 

You don’t even pay attention to the growing tones, shocked. People look over to the two fast words being tossed.

Yet it could only last so long. 

Ivon’s hand latches onto the side of your arm, beginning to drag you back and away from this kind stranger like a lap dog while throwing curses behind him. Gray eyes meet yours as old shoes skid and stumble. 

König had taken a firm step towards you that day, his body tense and his hands clenched at his side—ready to do anything on a moment's notice should you ask for it. But all you do is stare, jaw loose, and the given coat still on your shoulders. You just couldn’t understand why he would do that. 

The stranger gets swallowed by the crowd, and just like that, he’s gone. 

That was all it had been; a moment—a few mere seconds in the large plot that was this almost impossible tale. You were glad it had been him, or else the events of the future could have been very different. 

Of course, they hadn’t let you keep the jacket, but the memory was enough to warm you for days even as old pains faded and new ones took their place. 

But those gray eyes would help you in the future, like a guardian; a protector in your dreams as you watched the snow fall from the sliver of outside light in your room with the others. Your mattress was on the floor like the rest, thin blankets and clouds of cold breath wafting up from sleeping forms. 

This was the time it happened, and you’d just woken up to find the curtains shifting as one of the women near it moved in her sleep. Shadows slip past, the light interrupted as it shifts over your tired face with broken fractures. 

You were always kept on the ground floor. 

'CLEARANCE: APPROVED 

TRANSLATING MISSION REPORT ‘RED FREEDOM’…

STAND BY…

Operation Red Freedom took place on November twenty-fifth, 2021, at approximately 0230 in the neighborhood of [REDACTED], at the residence of [REDACTED], Berlin, Germany. A squad of ten highly trained [REDACTED] personnel covertly entered the residence in two teams of five. Fireteam One advanced from the back entrance while Fireteam Two entered the residence from the balcony at the top floor, accessed via ladder.

Squad Leader [REDACTED], part of Fireteam One, set foot in the residence of [REDACTED] at approximately 0238 and began sweeping the ground floor as Fireteam Two cleared three of twelve known individuals belonging to the terrorist organization, Al-Qatala, on the top floor….'

You shift and shiver, your body trying to warm itself as the world blurs at the sides of your vision. Fingers twitch as your hand goes to wrap your waist, curled into the fetal position, creaking emanates from above you. Blinking softly, you frown and take a quivering breath, head nuzzling the thin mattress. 

“Cold,” you say, the following low exhale of air out of your lips only making it all worse as everything seems to drop another degree. The darkness didn’t help either, only that one line of light trying desperately to fill the room like a bucket descending into a dry well. 

You’re only clothed in the dirty and tattered remains of a large shirt, your legs feeling like they don’t hold any blood in them as they quiver without your knowledge—shaking the blanket above you. A few of the girls had said it would be okay to share, but everyone was afraid of the lock on the door clicking open and the men coming back in and seeing them. In the end, you could only look after yourself.

A thump makes you startle, drooping eyes snapping back open as you gasp. 

Head shifting, you blink rapidly upward to the ceiling, confused as to whether that had been a part of a failing mind or if you’d really just heard a muffled bump upstairs. Brows furrowing, you lightly sit up, hands still around yourself and legs limply outward; spine hunched. 

Your fingers had lost feeling, just as your nose had gone numb, but moving helped a little. Your hands dig into your flesh and your ears twitch at every creak in the wood—every pass of silent feet that suddenly becomes all the clearer as the sheen of fatigue slowly leaves your brain. 

Walking? Small pains move along your body like needles, poking and prodding, but you ignore them as easily as you do the vile hands that had touched you. Survival had forced you into a constant state of self-preservation—pain couldn’t bother you, because if you stopped, you wouldn’t get back going again. 

Your head tilts so you can side-eye the door to the room, sleeping forms all around shifting, singular groaning of tired lungs. But there’s something inside of you that stiffens like a prey animal, and you don’t know why. Inside of your sockets, your eyes hone in, bones stiff and your chest stilling as the grain becomes the most interesting thing to you beyond breathing. 

There was someone….out there. 

Watching, the sides of your vision shadow over to focus harder, your muscles tight. Your mind goes to the thumps from upstairs, the moving feet that sounded far more careful and deliberate than the ones your jailors took care to walk with. 

Inside your ribs, your heart patters a bit faster, adrenal glands sending a certain flight or flight through the few veins you hold that aren’t chilled over.

Something was happening. Something wasn’t right.

Only when you move to shake the shoulder of one of the women sleeping beside you does it happen. 

A yell. 

A scream. 

The girls in the room all startle awake, sounds of concern and shock entering the air that you mirror; faces snapping to the ceiling and the door. The townhouse erupts into gunfire and the sound of slamming wood—a warzone that only is separated from all of you by the thin material of the four walls.

You feel yourself being grabbed and held in fear in the dark, as your open face holds the expression of a rabbit in an open field, looking along the long, hidden grass. 

The sounds persist, loud German shouts going up over the house and echoing with heated fever. This continues for minutes, added in with the sound of doors breaking off hinges, bouncing off the ground, and shaking the foundation so hard that you can feel it reverberate. The women go silent. Stone-still. 

But the gunfire—so much gunfire. The constant pop of assault weapons and a pound of multiple booted feet. 

What was going on? You can't make sense of it, so you only freeze and listen; trying to understand the longer the fight goes on, heart hammering; mouth slack-jawed. And then it’s like it never happened.

Silence. 

You share quick looks with the others, all gripping one another and heads angled to the door. The heavy feet start back up again, coming closer. Your mind slashes to the window across the room, but it’s hard to think beyond the sudden body that shakes the door that leads directly to you all—the women scream, some standing up and racing to the glass with the same idea as you. 

'…Squad Leader [REDACTED], and both Fireteams successfully eliminated all targets inside of the [REDACTED] residence, leaving the room occupied by known hostages last to prevent casualties and/or the usage of bargaining chips. Squad Leader [REDACTED] made contact with hostages at approximately 0244 after the final sweep of the townhouse had been completed and all personnel accounted for.

Local authorities had been contacted by neighbors due to noise but were dismissed.' 

The door busts off its hinges and the room devolves into panicked yells and hurled bits of mattress material. Loud pleas and curses stuck like gums to teeth as they were forced out in fear and bone-crushing terror. You remember pushing back into the wall, many others doing the same, as a beast of a man enters the room with his face covered with a loose fabric hood of some sort. 

Large—brutish. Like a demon walking with the color of black printed over his entire body; gear hangs from a combat vest, hands holding an assault rifle as a sidearm is strapped to his bulging thigh. Forearms the side of your head stays near his chest, and in order to not hit his head on the doorframe, the individual has to bend slightly. Over that hood, the lenses and head-gear of a night-vision rig sit heavily before it’s moved back with a firm hand that is nearly double the size of yours.

A monster.

Your entire being is tight with quivering tension, eyes blinking away tears at the smell of blood that rolls in from the hallway. The women at the window duck down, hands to their heads as if expecting a bullet to carve its way between their skulls. 

“Cat,” one of the ladies behind you mutters, voice quivering. You shush her on bitten lips and move her farther behind you. 

“Don’t speak,” you mutter. “Don’t move.”

You don’t know what you expect, but nothing about this is correct. 

The man raises his hands, the rifle slapping his chest as it hangs from a strap. He speaks in German, and the heavy and fast noise of it makes your already addled head spin. No one answers beyond the slide of their own feet over the hardwood floors.

“Ich heiße König,” his head swivels from one to another, “Sprichst du Deutsch? Irgendjemand?”

You stare blankly, panting. 

After a moment, and a slow step forward from the stranger, he speaks again, though this time, it’s in English. 

“My name is König.” His voice is familiar to you, and you blink in confusion quickly, hidden near the back of the shaking bodies. “I am with the German Military, yes? We have conducted a raid on this residence.” 

Military? Raid? 

“...I am not here to hurt you.” He nears one of the women, beginning to bend down slowly. She squeaks, balking back—making him tense and halt. It didn't matter what he said, König was the epitome of a man who was intimidating on body alone; the gear wasn’t helping. Neither was the hood. 

A soldier appears in the doorway, calling out to him in his native language as you flinch at the noise. 

König calls back calmly, trying to keep an air of gentle strength around him.

The second soldier comes inside, dressed similarly despite the lack of fabric over his visage which instantly puts many at ease again. He clears his throat as König steps back, gargantuan hands coming up to rest at his vest collar as his legs shift. He seems a bit put off at the fearful stares from everyone, rolling his shoulders for a moment as he turns his head to look out of the doorway. 

Your eyes don’t move from him, though. A nagging feeling in the back of your skull. 

“We have to leave this place,” the second soldier tells you all, kneeling and resting a hand over his knee. “We’ll get you medical attention. Food. Water. There’s no need to suffer here any longer, hm? We can see to it that all of you will get the best care that can be provided.” A pause. “We can get you back home.” 

That certainly got the attention that was needed. 

Meek questions started falling out, then louder ones before pandemonium was roused in that tiny room pushed to the very back of the townhouse. Home. It was a word that had almost lost all meaning but was still that constant shining light in the back of everyone’s mind. 

Home.

Did you even have one of those left? 

As the rest of your fellows all got to their feet, taking you with them, you had to think over that fact as the soldier guided them gently out of the room to join the others waiting—trying to answer their questions and get them away from the gore before they saw it. 

You stayed behind, feet shifting over the floor and your lips thin. As the silence settles in, you hold yourself a bit tighter and glance at the mattress all mashed together and stained—those thin blankets as you shiver. 

“Are you alright?” Your head snaps over. 

You’d forgotten about König.

He still stands there, still and with his hands at his collar; he clears his throat softly, speaking up from his low utterance. “Please…do not be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” you say tinily, your voice cracking in the lie. 

You can’t see his eyes—not with the shadow from his hood or his head rig, but you can see the way his skull lightly tilts to the side, trying to see you better in the low light. 

“That is good,” he answers, not convinced. “I’m glad. I did not wish to scare anyone.” He moves back and motions with a hand to the door from where they hang. “Please. It is best not to linger, yes?”  

“Do I…” you hesitate, shivering. “Do I know you from somewhere?” 

König’s face isn’t visible, but you can still sense the feeling of confusion leaking out of him. The man takes a small step closer, and you gaze up at him until his eyes are visible. 

Blue-gray. 

You stare, mouth parting in shock.

König blinks twice, quickly making a noise in the back of his throat at the sight of your eyes gazing into his—the same woman outside of the coffee shop from days ago.

That little invisible string pulls you closer, small millimeter by small millimeter. 

“You?” You both say it at the same time, laced with surprise and shock. 

It’s a long moment of gazing into each other, a battered body and another more strong than an ox. All fear of the man dissipates. 

“You gave me your jacket,” you whisper, still torn up about it. 

König’s hood shifts as he glances back to the door, German speech over the radio strapped to his chest which he takes in and processes in the back of his skull. But he always looks back at you, eyes crinkled with concern and perhaps even a bit of misplaced guilt. 

A protective knife sides into his side.

“Come.” The man reaches out a hand, hovering it over your arm. You stare at the gloved limb for a moment before softly moving towards it with your breath caught in your throat, hesitant. König’s fingers delicately slide over the flesh, not closing around it until he feels your muscles loosen. “...Let’s get you warmer, Schatz, yes?” 

You blink.

“It’s cold here,” you mutter, letting him guide you along, his gray orbs always keeping you in the side of his vision. 

“Yes,” he agrees, nodding. “Very cold. Have you been to Germany during the winter before?”

Your head slightly shakes, bare feet padding along next to the pair of great boots—you lean closer unconsciously to the promise of warmth. König guides you away from the seeping blood on the floor and protects your eyes from the view of the bodies across the room with his own as a guard dog would. 

“No.” He notices your leaning and brings you nearer to him, letting you use him as a brace. The man knows the effects of shock, and you wear it as plainly as any other. “I’ve never been here before.” 

König hums and his free hand goes up to press into the radio, muttering in his native tongue. He releases the connection and asks as he blinks at you, “Do you require any immediate medical attention?” 

Again, you shake your head. 

“Where are the others?” You sink further into him, being guided to the front door, open to the soft snowfall and a chilled wind as your shoulder hunch. 

“Just outside,” König glances at the bodies across the room—the ones he’d riddled with bullets that still twitch even as the minutes draw longer. Gray eyes going from one to another, the house is heavy with the weight of dead men. Twelve in total and all getting colder just like the temperature outside. König didn’t feel bad about it, and when he’d finally busted open that door to find you and the women, he was satisfied with the blood on his hands. If hell were to be his home, he would walk there with a golden-fanged smile. 

But now wasn’t the time for that. 

“I will bring you to them,” the soldier speaks, snow blowing in from the entrance. “Slowly, now, Schatz, watch the steps. Allow me to help.”

You stop at the doorway, bringing a hand to your mouth to cover a haggard cough as König makes his way down the first concrete step ahead of you—large armored vehicles had pulled up from a ways away. The women huddle around one another, the rest of the soldiers sticking by them and opening the doors to the vehicles as the night gets only more cold and stormy.  

Gray eyes flicker for a moment down to your lack of proper protection, fingers twitching and tapping at his thigh as König remembers your expression the day he’d first met you. 

“Do you want me to carry you?” He says slowly, cautious in his approach. The man wasn’t stupid—he wouldn’t touch you unless you explicitly stated it was alright for him to do so. “I will be gentle, I promise. I do not wish for your feet to freeze, I...” He pauses as you blink, staring into his soul. “I…will not touch you if you do not tell me to do it. You have my word.” 

You continue to stand there for a moment, face unreadable before your head slowly turns to the vehicles in the street. 

The neighborhood was so normal it still caused you to wonder how no one had spoken up and seen something. Rows of connected houses now with their lights on—faces peeking from the windows like little children on Christmas morning; trying to get glimpses of Santa and the man’s reindeer. 

Finally, your gaze moves back to the hooded visage of König, able to see it better under the moonlight and the glare of falling snowflakes—a few of those frozen pieces sitting in the folds of the fabric.

“The hood scared them,” you utter about the others. König stiffens a bit, blinking at you but not looking away. “They’re used to people trying to hide their faces, but yours…with how large you are…”

“I understand.” König doesn't tear away his eyes. “...Did I scare you, Schatz?”

You don’t know why, but for what seems like the first time in years, the question makes you giggle. The beast of a man goes still with his feet on the ground, usually jittery and moving body captivated by the sound as it echoes over the night’s air—the puff of your breath as it moves around his hood; rustling it like leaves on a tree. 

Eyes widening only a sliver more, König’s breath is in his throat.

It was like listening to a bird’s song.

“Maybe only a little,” you whisper to him. “But it’s okay. I’m scared of most things.” 

He licks his lips, but you’re unable to see the slight quirk of them afterward. 

“Then I will make it up to you, yes?” He holds out a hand. “Let me? The car is warm and your friends are waiting for you. My men say they ask about your health.”

You softly nod, the shadow of the house trying to drag you back into it—its blackened arms reaching and latching onto old scars. When your hand connects with König's, the man takes his time putting one foot back to a step and scooping you up from behind your knees. With a tiny grunt, you settle at his chest, calming your heartbeat with the fact that you know he won’t hurt you. 

“I’ve got you,” he says. 

In his arms, your bare legs hang in the air, hand wrapping his neck, and with a slightly nervous look to you as your body hovers. König watches for a moment, hesitating before he begins walking to the same vehicle the other woman had been moved into out of the snowfall. 

“Can you tell me your name,” he asks to distract you from his hold, to get you more comfortable with him as his boots crunch through the packed powder on the ground—making sure to watch his step so as to not jostle you. 

“Everyone calls me Cat.” Gray eyes blink your way, visible skin painted black. König’s head tilts. You can’t help but find it endearing.

“Katze?” He hums, and you can imagine his lips moving slightly upwards from the innocent tone of his voice as if taken by the strange moniker. “That is…interesting.” 

You huff tinily, shivering again as your body moves to curl a little more. 

The soldier quickly reassures you. “Nearly there.” 

The vehicle is in front of you, and a nearby man opens the door for König as he carries you over. Nodding in thanks, the large individual eases you into one of the seats as the blast of warm air makes you sag—the other woman in there mulls closer, grabbing onto you and laughing through tears. 

Looking back at them, you smile and feel yourself get a bit teary-eyed as everything starts to slowly come into focus. 

Glancing outward, you stare at the snow that hits the dark hood of König, sticking and hanging off until the tiny white dots melt from the heat of his body. With his legs shifting he moves back a step and nods to you, eyes moving to stare at the ground for a moment. 

“We will take you to base. From there you will all be given dorms and fresh apparel to—”

“Thank you, König,” you interrupted him. He stares, lips parted with the half-tones of cut-off speech. “And please extend my thanks to your men as well.” 

“...Of course, Katze.” König stands straighter, always twitching fingers moving to the car door as engines start with a grinding roar. He nods again, the loose fabric swaying as the lenses of his rig stay firm at the movement. “There is no need to thank us. Relax. Sleep, if you wish to do it. The ride will be long.” The man’s gray eyes linger for a moment on your own, studying the bumps and small marks on your face. His hand tightens over the door as your gaze is stuck with his own; warmth blooming in his chest. He was glad he had found you. 

König slips out a soft, “There are blankets under the seats,” before he closes the door with a firm thump of metal. 

You can’t help but smile. 

'…Hostages were taken back to [REDACTED] and received minor medical attention on site. Housed in [REDACTED] and were admitted for needed treatments/medications - all details/names listed in File 3 Section 6 for future reference. DNA was placed into databases. 

Next of kin were informed of their family members’ position and/or state of being via phone call to the corresponding government official that then traveled through the appropriate channels once identified.'

You sit as a nurse hands you heating pads for your hands, which you take with a small thanks and clenched tightly, sucking every ounce of warmth from them to stop the shaking. Your body was heavy with the weight of new clothes and heated blankets, the room utterly normal in a way you’d not known for years. A corner table with books and a chess board—a connected bathroom stocked with amenities you may need; even a rug on the tile floor. You don’t know why that was shocking to you, but even the simplest thing was awe-inspiring. Your eyes had even slipped over a tiny nightlight near the door. 

It nearly made you cry. 

Your nurse moves back a bit, smiling down at you kindly. 

“Is there anything else you might need, Dear?” Her accent is prominent, though not as much as König’s had been. She waits for your answer diligently as the pitcher of water and a similar glass sit on your nightstand. 

“No,” you say, shaking your head. Your socked feet rub together like a grasshopper. “I think that’s all.” Your eyelids blink. “But…” you stop.

“What is it?” The lady asks gently, hands slack at her sides.

“The man—König,” you pause. “Is he here?” 

Blinking at you, the nurse tilts her head to the side in curiosity. “Not currently, no. At least, not in this specific building. He and his men are being debriefed across base. They will be there for a long while.” At your blank look, her brows slightly move up in accommodating comfort. “Would…you like me to tell him something for you?” 

Playing with the heating pads in your hands, your face gains a slightly embarrassed sheen. You liked the thought of being near König, truthfully. No one had made you feel safe like he did—him and his selfless action of a large coat given with no intention of getting anything in return. 

“Just,” you breathe softly. “Just that I’m sorry for losing his coat, and that I hope it wasn’t expensive.”

The nurse stares, very much confused but not about to question you. Her feet shift over the floor, and a light nod is sent your way. 

“Of course. I’ll tell him.” She motions to the bed with a hand and explains that whenever you wished to sleep, you were free to use the bed—and the TV was open to you as well, though you might not be able to understand the local stations. With that, she exited the room. 

Left alone, your head moves around the room slowly, taking it all in once more as the small bandages under your clothes pull at your flesh. The tears start slipping down your cheeks with no warning. 

Wrist coming up to your eyes, the limb presses in tightly, water staining the flesh as it dribbles down, and your lip quivers like a worm below it. You don’t know why you’re crying now and not when König had gotten you out of that townhouse. Why now, when there wasn’t anything prompting you to do so? 

But something was prompting you—the knowledge that you would never be going back to anyone who would mistreat you again. You had your own room. Good food. All the water that your stomach could drink down. A nightlight that pushes back the darkness even if you’re so used to living in it. 

Through your soft sniffles, chuckles move out, filling the space with a warm echo. You pull the blankets closer to you and collapse backward onto the mattress, smiling widely at the ceiling. 

That little invisible string dances as your heart pulls at it. 

—

König’s leg lightly jumps from under his table, signing off his name at the bottom of a report before he stands and rubs a hand over the top of his un-hooded head. He grabs the paper and slips it into a manila folder, hands pale with deep scars running the length of them like fissures in the earth. Deftly taking the item, he walks out of his office and begins moving down the length of the building, fingers tapping over the yellowish material with a small connection of flesh and thick envelope. 

Tap-tap, tappity-tap. 

His fingers were always fidgeting—moving, tensing, twitching. It was one of the reasons they never let him become a recon sniper; the more obvious being the blatant size of his body. Both of which had been the cause of much teasing throughout his childhood. 

But König’s mind was on something other than the report in his hands, and it was starting to become a very strong distraction. You. The women. Al-Qatala. 

He was angry he hadn’t acted outside of that coffee shop—angry he hadn't noticed the signs right in front of him even if he had been powerless to stop it then. The soldier’s jaw clenched, the strong muscles of his jaw roving. 

“Verdammt,” he hisses under his breath, glaring at the tile. “Should have done something.”

König gets to his commanding officer’s office and knocks, only staying long enough to hand him the folder with his finished report and leave once more. His mind wouldn’t stay silent tonight. There’s no doubt that he won’t be able to sleep unless he reassures himself that you and the others are okay. 

The man’s head shifts back to the email he had gotten from your assigned nurse, whom he’d taken it upon himself to know the name of when he carried you into the base’s hospital—Eva. 

‘...She says she wants to apologize for losing your coat…”

König’s heart had twisted at that—that was what you were concerned about? He had to tell you that it was alright, or else he would never know peace. Perhaps even ask how you’ve been treated so far, just to make sure that everything was comfortable for you. 

The man’s eyelids move slightly downward in thought, a pull at his heart to walk outside. He passes a few other soldiers in the hallway, nodding to them with a tiny greeting but unwilling to stop and talk. In only fatigues, König exits the main doors quickly, lightly moving into a jog as his body shivers at the sudden chill touching his arms under the black compression shirt. Under him the snow has grown deeper, the large lights illuminating the almost greenish reflections of the winter landscape of open roads and large buildings. 

Curfew was long past—this had to be quick. 

Just a check-in, König tells himself as he nears the hospital, his breath puffing in the air. Then I can wipe my hands of it. 

He slows as he nears the doors, huffing a breath as he pushes on the barrier, opening it with a squawk of hinges and metal. Entering, the front desk staff looked up at him in surprise, muttering his name in question.

“Katze?” He responds, pushing a hand over his head and feeling the melting snowflakes. His cheeks are a light shade of exposure-red, and inquisitive eyes shift over the two individuals slowly. “What room?”

The pair share a glance and tell him in the same breath. Room ten. 

It’s no sooner after that König finds himself there, hand hovering over the handle as the hallway clock ticks beside his right ear. His gray eyes blink at the door, feet shuffling from under him before he clears his throat under his breath, glancing away for a second in hesitation. 

Was this appropriate?

König didn’t have an answer, but the pull in his chest was tight and firm—he just needed to see you. A glimpse, nothing more. He raises his fist and raps his knuckles over the wood delicately, three tiny knocks that hit his ears like bullets from a gun; the bullets he’s put into pathetic Al-Qatala bodies and watched burst like sacks of fluid. 

He waits, hands going to grasp at his shirt collar, pushing out a low breath to calm himself. 

After a long moment, his foot taps the floor, blinking. Again he knocks—a bit louder. 

“She is sleeping, you evolutionsbremse,” he utters, accent low and grating. “Leave her alone.” But even if you are, his nerves peek their head over the brimstone wall of his brain. 

With his fingers caressing the handle, slowly moved to clutch it fully, swallowing the metal in his grip. König takes a deep breath into his lungs, letting it fill them up. Again, he tells himself, just a check-in. 

He twists the doorknob and sets his forearm on the wood, pushing the barrier open. 

König moves so that his body makes no noise, even with how large it is as he angles the side of his head through the opening. He finds a large mound of blankets atop the bed—stacked and layered so heavily that he has to blink in surprise at how you can breathe under them; because you were under them. 

Gray eyes make out the small sliver of skin peaking out from the side of the bed—fingers—and the top of your forehead near the pillows formed around your skull. Unconsciously, a soft smile works its way over König’s lips until he finds himself chuckling.

“Niedlich,” he mutters, scars over his face shifting as he speaks. 

Sighing lowly, König pulls back his head, beginning to close the door once more.

“König…?” Your tiny voice makes him halt like he had in the townhouse. 

Eyes wide and lips parted at being caught, the door remains open, only a sliver visible to your vision as your furrowed brows are stuck at the barrier. A red sheen moves across the soldier’s face in a slow sweep of embarrassment that goes bone deep.

With a lick of his lips, König re-opens the door slightly.

“I did not mean to wake you, Katze.” He finds your eyes and nods to you. “I apologize. Go back to sleep—you must be tired.” 

 “Wait,” you utter, moving your head fully out from under the blankets. König pauses, eyes staring as his other hand comes up to itch at the back of his neck. 

“What is it,” the man asks, opening the door fully and moving inside. “Do you need anything?” 

The question had hit you in your thin slumber, interrupted only partially by the opening of your door to the familiar pull of gray eyes and a strong build. A buzz-cut head. You take a slow breath to wake yourself up more, watching him from your bed. “...Did you know that I would be in that house?”

König tilts his head at the question, sighing slightly and glancing at the clock inside of the room on your nightstand. He frowns. 

“No,” he explains gently, coming closer. “No, I did not. I do not get told such things—only where to shoot and where not to.” The man tries a small smile, kneeling on one leg down by the bed and staring into your sleepy eyes. “But I am glad I found you again, yes? You had me worried.”

“You were worried?” You can’t quite grasp it.

“Ja,” he nods. “Your eyes—they have stuck with me, Schatz, you understand?” 

Your eyebrows pull up your face, blinking in shock. 

“...Yours, too,” you confess. König’s heart flutters, listening until your lips have fallen still. “They’re very nice, König.”

He goes sheepish, lips flicking up into a smile and his eyes daring away for a moment. “You can thank my mother for them, then.” He chuckles. “I have stolen the family's eyes, I was told.”

You chuckle with him, hand coming to rub at your cheek. A silence falls between the two of you.

“I don’t sleep well,” you tell him in the relative darkness, light from the hallway and your night light illuminating the dips and bone structure of his face. “I was awake when you opened the door.” 

He nods after a moment. “Ja.” A pause. “I don’t either…Nightmares?” 

You watch him before nodding tinily. 

“Ah,” he mutters. “They are not pleasant, I’m sorry that they have been plaguing you. Do you…” König wonders if he should leave—this was far more than he had anticipated. “Do you wish for me to stay?” 

 Why had he said that?

The string between the two of you tightens evermore, gaining another thread just as it would for the years to come until it became as unbreakable as steel.

“I don’t want to be a nuisance,” you begin but are quickly interrupted with a shake of a square head and a huff of a sharp nose.

“You are not. Do not call yourself such.” His accent deepens with emotion, eyes narrowing as the dark brows on his face pull in. “If you want me to stay, I will stay. Wake you if you become shaky, yes? Keep the bad dreams at bay.”

“But what about you?” Your voice moves around the room as König stands and goes to the table in the back, shifting one of the chairs so that it’s angled your way. You shift so you can watch him sit back, grunting as his legs move out in front of him, opening so he can be more comfortable. He needed a bigger chair, but he wasn’t going to complain about it. 

“I’m not tired, Schatz.” A lie. His muscles are heavy, and he longs for his bed in the barracks. He pushes out, “Please, go back to sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

You stare for a long while, studying him and how he fidgets in his seat of choice. A small laugh meets the man’s ears as he crosses his arms over his chest. König pauses, blinking over in confusion. His lips move upwards slowly. 

“What are you laughing at, then, hm?” 

“You look like you’re about to break it,” you mutter, head nuzzling the pillow under you as fatigue claws its way under your skin. 

König huffs, fingers twitching over the meat of his biceps as he slouches. He nods jokingly. “Perhaps,” he shrugs, the window behind him letting a slight tinge of cold air in from outside. “It would not be the first, I’m afraid, though it would be quite the embarrassment to do it in front of you, Katze.” He smirks. “But I’ll say, hitting my head on door frames hurts more than letting my arsch kiss the ground.” 

You laugh under your heap, your body jerking to the movement of your lungs. 

“I bet,” you say, fingers grasping one of your blankets and pulling it closer. “It’s a funny image.”

“You can laugh all you want,” König jokes, eyes soft as they gaze at you. “It does not bother me.” 

Your sweet sounds of amusement waft out from under the crack in the door, where a small group of curious nurses mull and listen with glances to one another. A doctor moves past the hallway where they stand, and all scatter on quick feet. 

'…Signed,

[REDACTED]

SUBMITTED: 0517, 25, November 2021

END OF MISSION REPORT ‘RED FREEDOM’

RETURNING TO SELECTION MENU…

STAND BY…'

It’s only after most of the other women leave—sent home to awaiting families or loved ones—that you know your time is coming to a close here in Berlin, Germany. While you’re excited to put this behind you, you can’t help but feel a bit…lost. 

There’s something that keeps you here, on this base, until you’re the last out of all of them, waiting. And then you’re given the green light to go—go home—and suddenly you have a backpack full of necessities and you’re closing the door to your room with the little nightlight’s plastic body pushing against your spine. Yet, you stand in the hallway for a long minute, fingers interlocked. 

You take a long, deep, breath. 

Over the weeks of recovery, König had been a constant companion when he wasn’t needed. He had eased you back into a comfortable state, letting you somewhat lose the black-and-white view you had gained of the world. But there was only so much he could do, even if his soft eyes were still stuck in your dreams—the good ones, of course. 

You needed to go home, and, today, the C-17 was whirring on the tarmac, waiting for you to be transported to a military base far from here where you would be processed and, ultimately, let go. 

Let go. It was jarring to think about, all of that freedom. What would you do with it? Right now, you don’t have the faintest clue. It was the best feeling you can remember having.

Smiling, you take one last look at the room behind you and walk on. 

At the entrance, you say a heartfelt ‘thank you’ to the nurses and doctors in broken German, shaking their hands as Eva kisses your forehead and whispers how happy she is to have had you here for such little time—you know what she means and you chuckle with her at the double-edged sword. 

König waits by the door, holding it open with…you blink at the item in his hands as well as his sudden appearance. Canvas fabric. A coat.

The coat. 

“I had to have it processed,” he says, smiling as you gape at him. “Very long process. It was found in the closet in the townhouse.” 

“Then why are you handing it to me,” you ask, tilting your head and walking closer. 

“I gave it to you, did I not?” The man hums, head tilting as he motions with it again. “It’s a good coat, Katze. Winters get cold.” Gray eyes crinkle gently. “I would hate for you to shiver, wherever it is that you end up, yes?”

You shake your head, cheeks hot. But your hands don’t hesitate to grasp the item, König’s hold on it remains fast, though, and you blink at him as you both keep it gently clasped like it’s worth its weight in gold. 

König stares at you, the door still kept open behind him. He opens and closes his mouth for a moment as you tilt your head. 

“Keep it safe for me,” is what he ends with, but his expression tells you he’s not talking about the coat. 

It makes your arms tingle—your heart skips a beat. 

“I’ll be sure it never gets lost,” you smile warmly, eyes malleable as the make of their color glints. There is a connection to this man that transcends words, and it is tied to you just as heavily as it is to him; unexplainable, incomprehensible, non-describable. 

Enigmatic. 

König’s reverential face is soft with care. 

“Good,” he mutters, unable to look away. “Very good.”

Clearing his throat, his grays dart to the floor, shifting his feet to move backward. He pushes open the door wider for you, and you hold your backpack in one hand as you shift past him and slip into his coat. 

It was exactly how you remembered it, and you sank into the fabric with a thankful sigh and a fluttering of your lashes. You shift the bag back over your shoulders, letting the straps fall into the bulk of the extra material. 

The snow wasn’t falling today, and the ground was shoveled of any white powder too. On the air, you can hear the whir of the C-17. 

König comes up beside you, a hand hovering over the small of your back as he guides you along. For the most part, the walk to the tarmac is silent with the weight of the future. You had no phone. No socials. You didn’t even know if you wanted any, to be honest. Your mind had convinced you that a good bout of soul-searching was exactly what you needed. And you had to do that alone. 

Your lips are thin as your legs take you closer to the plane, König’s scent stuck into the stitches of the coat and covered your senses. 

At the ramp, he stops as your feet take you onto the metal. Closing your eyes for a moment, you turn and lock gazes with him—gray hiding away what other, more human, emotions to be found. It was a slate of carefully crafted acceptance, and your own followed soon after. 

It had to be this. The string wouldn’t break, no, but it had to be stretched to such a point to come back stronger.

“Thank—”

“Don’t,” he says, not blinking, looking up at you. 

You smile. “What do you want me to say, then?” 

“You don’t have to say anything to me.” You hadn't known it then, but the both of you had truly thought that this would be the last of your meetings. It produced a pulse in both of your hearts that would never be told aloud. “....Live well,” König utters. “Heal, Mein Schatz.” 

The soldier wasn't one to give his chances to hope. 

Your eyes follow as he backs up, moving away as you stare. In his head, König pleads with you to stop and give him a reprieve from the hypnosis of your gaze, the addictive movement of your head as it tilts to the side. 

Live well. 

You send him a smile, a delicate thing, and then you back up a step and turn, disappearing into the darkness. 

The string follows, and it continues to do so even as your hands slip into your pockets hours later, bumping into the small form of a black flip phone. The note hidden inside of it. 

 ‘For whenever you find what you’re looking for.’

'REQUEST FOR ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE

REQUESTED BY: [REDACTED]

ENTERED: DECEMBER 15, 2021

TIME: 1422

OPEN FILE?...

REQUEST CANCELED….

RETURNING TO FILE SELECT MENU…

FILE SELECTED….

TRANSLATING…

STAND BY…

REQUEST OF HONORABLE ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE OF [REDACTED] APPROVED ON JANUARY 2, 2022

OPEN FILE?...

REQUEST CANCELED…

SYSTEM SHUTTING DOWN'

You sit in a coffee shop in Berlin, Germany, by the window. It wasn’t just any coffee shop, but you try not to think about all of that. It was all in the past—three years, now. You like to think you’d learned something in that time.

“Danke schön,” you say to the woman who brings you your drink, nodding kindly. You take a small sip, humming and winking at her teasingly. “Perfekt.” 

She chuckles, wiping her hands on her apron. “Möchten Sie noch etwas anderes dazu?”

“Nein, nein,” you shake your head, waving a hand that soft bumps the flip phone on the table. “Danke.” 

The lady walks away, and you take another sip of the hot beverage, never put off by the heat. 

It was winter again, and your eyes followed the flakes as they fell from a cloudy sky, finding the beauty in it easily as you sat inside. The scarf around your neck is loose—your gifted coat open. You smile to yourself and hum, watching people walk past outside, thinking about their lives and how they live them. 

A large form travels out from a shop across the street, a plastic bag in his loose grip. He was not small, no, this man was a beast of height and strength alike. The loping, canid-like, walk was accented by the twitch of his fingers over his quarry. 

Your wide eyes stay stuck to him for a long moment as he moves to the crosswalk, people shifting out of his way as he ignores them. Familiarity strikes like lighting—a buzz down your spine that leaves you straightening.

After a long moment, a breathless laugh sneaks out of you.

There were just some things that people were never meant to understand.

Your hand places your cup back on the table, picking up the old flip phone and pushing it open. Your thumb runs the keypad, moving to the only contact that had ever been entered into the device. 

Pressing, you move it to your ear as you watch with a soft expression, heart pattering. 

Across the way, the man tenses, hand patting his leg before the other hand moves inside his pocket and shifts the item out. People walk away, moving to the other side of the crosswalk as he stares at the contact. 

A minute passes, and all the while you hold your breath.

He presses and moves the phone to his ear, staying as still as stone. As still as a man afraid his hood might scare a group of terrified women. 

His voice graces your ear.

“...Katze?” You beam, trapped in the warmth of the coat around your shoulders.

“How do you feel about coffee, König?” 

Blue-gray eyes had never been more beautiful than when they snapped up to meet yours.

TAGS:

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[shehsart]

Hold my tablet I'm gonna draw some more spooky LoV stuff tonight then

[elinordash]

“As far as the police report goes, the “matter has been closed,” a spokesperson says. Gaiman’s career, meanwhile, has been marginally affected. A few pending adaptations of his novels and comics have been put on hold or cancelled. But the second season of The Sandman is set to premiere on Netflix this year, as is Anansi Boys on Amazon Prime.”

– Lila Shapiro, There Is No Safe Word: How the best-selling fantasy author Neil Gaiman hid the darkest parts of himself for decades

[and Good Omens starts filming later this month]

THAT’s why we should be boycotting him. That’s why we should be pressuring every studio and every actor to stop working with him. We can’t do anything about the judicial part, but his career should not have just been “marginally affected”; it should have crumbled to pieces.

[saywhat-politics]

Ever since the editor-in-chief of the Atlantic, Jeffrey Goldberg, announced in an article that he was included in a Signal group chat about upcoming military strikes to Yemen, people across the web have not stopped talking about it. So when Reddit user thhvancouver asked, "Ex-military, how does the latest military leak make you feel? Do you and your brothers-in-arms feel more or less safe? Why?" So many of them shared their frustrated thoughts. Here's what they said below.

1. "Any service member that did something like this would (rightly) be in a cell, pending a short trial with a guaranteed conviction that would put them in prison for decades. Discussing and planning current military operations is something that must be conducted in a SCIF (sensitive compartmented information facility) and using secured networks and electronic communications specifically made for the purpose. Cellphones are not even allowed in a SCIF. The fact that this conversation took place outside a SCIF, on ostensibly unsecured personal cellphones, using an unapproved and unsecured app, and someone added a reporter to the thread probably breaks over a dozen laws."