#Home PMC

[navyaassociates123]

Navya Associates is dedicated to Expert Interior Project Management in Kolkata. Offering PMC services for homes, offices, villas, hotels, restaurants, and more. Professional and reliable solutions.Read More at https://navyaassociates.in/

[deeva-arud]

Deeva Årud - Club Wear Voice Lines

When Summoned: Lights dimmed, tension building up… Are you ready to feel our rhythm? Summon Line: Playing music with friends is fun, I’m glad to be here even though I’m starting to feel a bit nervous.

Groooovy!!: We’d be delighted to see you at our next show. Spotting a familiar face among the crowd is always nice. Home: “Let’s rock and roll”, as some would say. Home Idle 1: I joined the Pop Music Club on my second year. Perhaps it’s quite a drastic change from my previous club but… it’d be a lie to say I’m not enjoying my time here. Home Idle 2: Most of the time I’m the one suggesting we should practice, but somehow Lilia, Cater and Kalim always distract me with all these unknown snacks and gadgets. Sometimes I have the feeling they do it on purpose… Home Idle 3: I need to warm my hands, it’s hard playing an instrument when they’re cold. Home Idle – Login: *humming Piece of My World* Ah- sorry, I didn’t see you there. Can I help you with something? Home Idle – Groovy: I’ve been playing violin and other instruments since I was a kid. My family has always had a connection with music and I’ll gladly continue this legacy. Conveying your thoughts and feelings through sounds is quite satisfactory. Home Tap 1: My first concert with them? Since it was the first time I’d be playing in front of many people, I knew I’d have a hard time trying to look at the audience. Cater noticed and told me to look at him so I could feel less overwhelmed… Let’s say I didn’t expect him to be so literal. His clones substituted the audience because no one came to see us. Home Tap 2: Hm, my violin? Indeed, it’s not the same one I use at Mostro Lounge. An electric violin is more suitable for the club’s activities. I’m surprised you noticed it. That means someone’s been paying too much attention to the musician playing ambience music… That was a joke. Home Tap 3: Kalim and I joined the club in the same year so I got to see how much he’s improved his drumming technique. It’s impressive. Certainly, Lilia’s been an excellent teacher to him. Home Tap 4: I like the idea of having customized masks for our performances. Maybe I should mention it once we have enough funds. Home Tap 5: I recently accepted to do some vocals just for our club sessions. You can come see us, but please refrain from telling everyone else. At the moment, I only feel comfortable singing for a few people. Home Tap – Groovy: When it comes to a band like this many wouldn’t think of a violinist, but that actually gives songs an interesting feeling, don’t you think? Duo: [DEEVA]: Ready for a shocking performance, Cater? [CATER]: Ready as ever, Dee-chan!

[randmsapphic]

honestly I hope they do the rhine lab thing for blacksteel and just never make a playable man for the faction I think it would be funny.

[auspicioustidings]

Johnny likes to pick a random little coffee shop in whatever place the mission takes them and sit for hours sketching the people around him. Something about it is a ritual for him, settles him in this new place and reminds him that this is what he fights for, the freedom of people to go get themselves a fancy coffee after a hard day if that's what makes them happy.

The day he sees you his sketchbook has pages of you. He usually moves quickly between people and he didn't even realise that he wasn't until he gets back to base and Ghost has a look at his sketches as he always does.

"Fancy a tea tomorrow then?" he asks.

They go but it was a longshot, you're not there. They visit again a few times when they can, hope you'll walk in. Gaz and Price keep an eye out too once they see the sketches.

They don't know you but you become so familiar to them. They've never met you but their allies all know your face. You are just a regular person going about your day never knowing that sometimes you are what is keeping a soldier on another continent going. You criticise your appearance in the mirror unaware that you've become somewhat of a mythic creature, a divine thing, a good luck charm across special forces and PMCs and rebel groups. Your face that you are trying to learn to love has been replicated so many times on the pages of those who have fallen in love with it.

And maybe you never ever find out, or maybe one day you're watching a news piece showing barracks and see your face up on the wall. The reporter asks the man if that's his partner back home. He smiles softly and says he wishes that were the case, but it's just a person he saw in a coffee shop years ago that he has never been able to forget.

[diejager]

Please, I need a continuation of the story of !kidnapper Krueger and Nikto! Please!!

New Neighbours Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, obsession, non-con touching, condescension, manhandling, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 1k Boy, it been a fat minute since I wrote that small Drabble.

There was a knock at the door, three blunt and powerful hits of sturdy knuckles shaking your door with how strong - you presumed - the person was. Dropping whatever you were working on, you walked to the door and peering through the peep hole, shocked to see the familiar black and khaki fabrics of your new neighbour. You’ve seen them once or twice in the month between their first move and today, the grizzly look and scarred skin of a brash-toned and brutish man you came to know him as from the few times you met him. He would stare at you, wide, owlish gazes that left you shuddering from the gleam in his brown eyes, a deep-seated darkness as he… appraised you. 

He called himself Sebastian, presenting himself one night when you were stumbling home from a tiring day at work, stopping to help you up the stairs since his door was right across from you. You thought he lived alone, but was surprised to see another man, covered from head to toe in black and army green, hiding any identifiable feather apart from his pale, blue eyes and his broad shoulders, big and bulky even in his skin tight clothes. Sebastian’s roommate had only stared at you, unblinking and unmoving, seconds spent gazing at your anxious and uncomfortable form, messing with your sleeve while Sebastian helped you moved the bags to your kitchen table. 

If you thought Sebastian the weird one, then Nikto - he was spoken for - was the odd one, a fierce man that only knew how to stare silently to upset whatever and whoever he was glaring at. You only saw him once, and that was a blurry and tired view of him from the open doorway across yours when Sebastian was helping you. You had little to go on for him, being more familiar to his roommate and occasionally exchanging a few words when you crossed path —though rarely, the seemingly never left their home.

“Hey, Sebastian,” you tilted your head in greeting, opening your door only wide enough to pop your head out and kept a hand firmly wrapped around the knob in case he did something. You’d always been cautious, and Sebastian and Niktowere suspicious men, “How can I help you?”

“Ja, I need help with something,” his soft, yet brash tone made his accent more apparent, something small but attractive despite your apprehension towards him, “A woman’s touch.”

A woman’s touch? You didn’t know what he meant exactly, but when you looked down to his thick and crooked fingers - perhaps from his work, broken and reset too many times that it started to heal crooked - you could guess what he implied. Your fingers were smaller, lither than his with fat on your knuckles and smaller palms, it made working through small and complex affairs easier. Despite your understanding, you grew uneasy, squinting at him from the safety of your door, but Sebastian was nothing if not determined. So you nodded, excusing yourself to change your clothes from a small top and shorts for a t-shirt and sweatpants before you met him at his entrance, locking your door behind you.

This was your first look into the world they lived in, a bare and minimalist home, scantly decorated apart from the few vests and- was that a gun? And knives littering the kitchen counter with other dangerous items… Seemingly aware of your fright, Sebastian explained how he and Nikto were private contractors, working for a PMC, a private military company, and that they were just on leave, but would always be ready for a call back. Shaking off your paranoia, you followed him deeper into the kitchen, seeing the machinery littered on the table and beside it sat Nikto, ramrod and tense in his seat.

“женщина,” he growled out, his voice so raspy and low that you wondered if it hurt to speak a single word. [Woman]

“Nikto,” you returned, following Sebastian to the table and ignoring Nikto’s wide stare, his vacant eyes and lingering gaze, roving over your body and obsessively admiring you like a hunter would, “Is this what you needed help with?”

Sebastian showed you what he needed, explaining where each small piece went into the box, guiding you around the confusion machinery while Nikto watched, a sentinel in his own flat. You were so engrossed into fixing this small box, brows pinched with concentration get this thing fixed as quick as possible to return to the safety of your apartment, that you missed Nikto’s silent stalk towards you, his broad and silent figure looming over your unsuspecting form until a rough hand gripped your hip. 

You jumped, dropping the box and turned your head to gawk at Nikto, looking back at his - still - vacant eyes and wide and hungry glint. Frowning at him, you sunk your fingers into his hand, trying to move an unmovable wall that pushed himself against you, backing you into the table until he bent you over the now broken box you were first invited to fix. You struggled against Nikto, growling out a warning and clawed at his covered forearms, but it only riled him up. Sebastian stood and watched with a perverted eagerness as Nikto rutted against you, holding you down by the nape, scruffing you like you would a misbehaving dog. 

“Get off me!” You yowled, reaching back with your arms, trying to elbow a man you knew you wouldn’t be able to forcefully remove with how built and big he was, “Get off me, Nikto!”

“Shut up,” you could hear his bared teeth, the cold and condescending tone of his rasp, sliding his knee between your kicking legs, your feet arbitrarily hitting the air, “Stop struggling and listen.”

A low rumble left the man before you, your glare meeting the Austrian who found this situation funny, his chuckle slow and mirthful, finding enjoyment in your useless struggle and hissing. 

“I would listen to him, Schnuckel, ” he lowered himself to show the eagerness in his dark eyes, a cruel smirk curling the corners of his lips and a teasing tilt of his head, “Be good for us, nicht?”

You shouldn’t have accepted to help him, you should have listened to your gut feeling, but you have no one else to blame expect yourself.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce

[ferritins]

THIS TORNADO LOVES YOU | S. RILEY

SUMMARY: Simon takes a step you never thought he would, in a way you’d never imagine.

NOTES: the endearment ‘pet’ is used once, in an “author grew up in The Midlands City God Forgot AKA Leicester” way, not the kink way. credit for the idea for this piece goes to @bleuu-moon, who’s post about Simon letting you take off the mask has been living in my head rent free bills and utilities included for ages.

disclaimer; whilst I’m down bad for fictional men who are taller than me, I also an anti-militarism pro disarmament pacifist. COD and other military games a recruitment tool for the armed forces, and PMCs are just a way for governments to outsource war crimes to avoid The Hague. do not enlist; big oil and genocidaires are not worth dying for and armed service will chew you up and shit you out to die as soon as you are physically or psychologically incapable of dying for the sake of capital.

You come home to Simon illuminated by your television, scant blood splotches blackish on his fatigue sleeves.

“Um. Is any of that yours?” You venture, dropping your keys in their designated dish, casting a careful eye over your lover. “I thought we had come to an agreement about you actively bleeding all over my sofa cushions after last time.”

Simon grunts.

You roll your eyes.

“Words, love.”

“Just got back from Santo Domingo.” You hiss a quiet breath through your teeth, wincing as you turn to hang your coat; the boys had been following an organisation of information brokers trading in NATO military intelligence, the kind of people with whom contact was both rare and in its eventuality, incredibly bloody.

Nevertheless, Simon has never been someone who is particularly receptive to sympathy; by the time you turn back around to face him, your face is carefully neutral.

“Did you achieve your mission objective? Wait, more importantly, you didn’t answer my question; are you bleeding?”

There’s a bitter little chuckle. “Affirmative to the first, negative to the second.”

The air sits heavy as you and Simon watch one another, flashes of colour and light bouncing off the skull of his mask like a nightmare in Technicolor.

Just when the tension reaches the point of being unbearable, Simon speaks.

“They knew your name.” He says, voice basso profundo with his gathering fury.

A frisson of fear runs down your spine — not at Simon, not after all this time, but at the information — before dissipating like cigarette smoke in a hurricane.

It’s a target on your back, sure, but it is one of dozens. Your career has made you many enemies.

“They trade in military intelligence, Simon, which is pretty much my entire area of specialty.”

“Do you think this is a joke?”

“Do you think I’m a shrinking violet? What, should I give up my Lance Corporal’s stripe and my job? You met me when I was working signal intercept radio intelligence on RAF Ascension Island, for God’s sake.”

“You’d be safer.” Simon’s voice has taken on as much of a pleading tone as he’s capable of.

“I’d be miserable.” You retort.

“Fuck.” Simon snarls, a savage sigh of breath leaving him. “You know I’m not gonna leave your side after today, pet? Gonna get sick of my face.”

“If this is supposed to irritate me into obscurity, it’s not going to work. I like the mask, and having six foot eight of perfectly built spec ops soldier at my back isn’t exactly a hardship.” You snarl.

“Simon’s head tilts, predatory.

I”I said my face, lovie.”

Your heart starts hammering.

“”Simon, you’ve not been barefaced in front of someone in nigh on a decade. Your personnel file doesn’t have a photograph of you, and the only one that exists of you is redacted so far only His Maj can see it. For fuck’s sake, you’ve torn men’s throats out for so much as touching your mask.”

“Simon hums an affirmative, a mocking note under the tone of it.

“So now you’re scared of what intelligence gathering can lead to? Scared I’ll tear your throat out, hm?”

“Fuck you.” You snarl. “I’m not scared of you. I’m not going to let you violate your own autonomy and boundaries to prove a point, you supercilious son of a—“

“You’re the one taking it off.” Simon interrupts.

“You’re insane.”

“If you’re not going underground to wait this out, I’m gonna be living in your fucking shadow, sweetheart, breathing in your every exhale, and I can’t do that when all they know me for is the mask. The next person to so much as look at you sideways is going to die, slow and bloody, and my face is going to be the last thing they see.”

Your next inhale is shaky. Simon, sensing blood in the water, goes for the kill.

“Either you can look me in the face, acknowledge what you’re dooming anyone who hurts you to, or you back down.”

Even as you’re swinging a leg over both of Simon’s to situate yourself in his lap, you’re aware of how hideously stupid what you’re doing is.

Bolstered my nothing but bravado and an inkling of curiosity, and with your pulse rabbiting, you slowly pull up his balaclava, revealing his face to you piecemeal; a strong jaw, a bottom-heavy mouth, a patrician nose broken thrice and healed right only twice, whispers of long blonde eyelashes, and brown eyes, dark as bitumen.

On anybody else, the features would be discordant, too much dissonance to be cohesive; on Simon, they work.

His face is arresting, more than handsome; you can’t help but look at him.

His top lip is pulled up into a perpetual snarl on the left by a long deep furrow of scar tissue that starts just under his eye.

There’s a silvery scar about a half-inch long from his hair line, and his cheeks are dotted with faint demarcations; nicks from shrapnel and knifepoint, you assume.

All flat eyes and scarring, this is perhaps this most dangerous Simon has looked to you in a while.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You say, referring to both your job and Simon’s unmasking. “I’m not backing down.”

Simon is a big man, and has a surprising amount of heft to him, even when he's not trying.

His hands are large enough that even the love tap to your rump has you tipping into him. Your front is pressed to his, and you're looking up, up, up into his eyes, bearing witness to the way hunger floods them, a hungry kind of dark pouring into his gaze like an oil slick in the Mediterranean Sea.

“And I’m not backing off. Hell or high water, death or desertion; we’re in this together for good now, you and I.”

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this has been in the development hell folder of my Google docs for like two months so if it’s shite that’s no longer my problem I’m afraid 😭🙏🏽 thank you for reading! please do not recommend/repost on TikTok.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

König's Kids Headcanons

I think König, when he's there, would be a great dad. He's a bit of a gremlin, but this just makes him a better dad. He's also a bit of a menace at parent teacher meetings.

Anyways, have some silly headcanons

Art from This Post

König is a surprisingly good father (when he’s there). He’s strict, but also knows how to relax and let things slide. He will play-wrestle with his kids and make sure they have plenty of time to run around in nature and read books. He’s passionate about his kids’ hobbies and encourages them to learn and explore what they love.

He’s the type of dad to teach them how to fight but also play pretend games with them

He does not like having tea parties, but he will endure for his children. He will endure great hardship and pain for them, and if this includes sipping water from a plastic teacup while sitting on a tiny stool, so be it. He can endure. However, he draws the line at makeup. He can’t endure (nor can he sit still long enough)

When König is home from work, he drops his military titles at the door and focuses entirely on being an important part of their lives. The sad part is that you can see he’s actively trying to make up for time he’s lost. This is part of what leads to him retiring early to a local security job.

Without a steady father figure in their lives, his kids do grow up to struggle with certain things. However, all things considered, they turn out pretty well adjusted and healthy. Honestly, pretty solid people. They turn out to be the kind of people you feel like you can respect and appreciate.

But when they’re young his kids are little shits. They’re the type to break stuff for fun. They also will run and hide from you. At a certain point, you’ll have to resort to using child leashes because they will run away from you in public. So when they’re young, they’re terrors in your house. When they get older, they have their father’s streak of intelligence and are snarky assholes. They have brutal teenage years.

This is exacerbated by the fact that for the first ten years of his youngest kid’s life, he’s still in a PMC and going on military contracts, so the kids have large periods of time where they’re missing their father.

König realizes too late that he missed a lot of his kids’ development and chooses to retire to a more local security job to spend more time at home. It’s a big change in the household, but not an unwelcome one. His older kids struggle the most, but they do grow to form strong bonds with him because of his choice to stay home

König makes a good deal of money early on so he can go on to take a lower paying job later in life. His kids never have to worry about if they have money. They have to worry about whether or not their parents will say yes.

König is a pretty strict father. He’s a military man, a former colonel. He’s not going to be a horrible abusive father, but he will be a bit much sometimes. You might find yourself stepping in to defuse the tension sometimes.

Thankfully, König doesn’t yell at his kids (unless it’s something stupid and it’s pretty obviously a joke) or hit them. He’s actually pretty bad about disciplining his kids. You might have to take over in that department. Having been in the military for so long, König’s terrified of going overkill on his kids and doesn’t want to risk hurting them. He can dish it out, yes, but he’s extremely cautious when doing so.

He’s also quite fair. He does his best to treat his children equally. He’s surprisingly good. He focuses on encouraging their individual hobbies and finding their own personalities. They do grow up to be quite self-confident with their father’s teachings in their heads. They’re not arrogant, but they’re confident and assertive

They’re not popular in school, but not hated. They do pretty decently. Academics are a bit too easy for them, so König has to step in to teach them study habits and keep their passion for learning. Thankfully, his father was a professor, so he’s pretty good at this.

That said, König will sometimes be pretty silly when disciplining. Sometimes, you can hear his full colonel voice booming from outside about someone pulling some silly prank on him as he’s mowing the lawn. He’s not the type to pull pranks on his kids (but he’ll happily torment you) but he will play silly games with them. I think his kids learn that when he’s yelling, he’s not actually that angry, he’s just playing around. It still scares the shit out of your kids’ friends when he does it when they’re over

König has a tendency to scare children in public. He tries really hard to not make them nervous, but with the hood and the height and the tired look in his eyes? Nah he’s terrifying.

König’s kids grow up not being afraid of anyone because nobody’s as scary as their dad. This also means all the kids know that those kids have the scariest dad.

When your kids’ friends come over, they’re terrified of König. Unfortunately, he finds this slightly funny and takes advantage of this. You might have to step in and diffuse the tension to help those poor children realize that when König is yelling about things, he’s not actually mad. Maybe make cookies with him or something, it’ll help break the ice.

Your kids and their friends are all taken under König’s wings for protection. He’ll go up to bat for any of those kids. He genuinely cares so much about them. Having very select few friendships as a child himself, he’ll go out of his way to ensure his children have healthy social lives.

Sometimes the parents are unsettled by him. This is König’s unsettling form of social anxiety at play, so you’ll have to mediate between other parents and König to make sure they realize that no, he’s not an abusive monster, he just makes horrible jokes about his children. He has very dark humor but plays it straight, which is a horrible combination.

He has had a teacher call CPS on him before, but it was quickly resolved. However, most people are frightened by König when he steps into a room and it’s no different at parent-teacher interviews

He always blows teachers out of the water for how much he cares about his kids getting a quality education. He’s also quite receptive to their advice (if it’s good) and is willing to step in when needed. Teachers also typically find that he’s quite a fun parent volunteer to have on field trips (he is extremely popular)

Some of the more timid kids grow to like König because he tries to ensure all children are included when he’s around. He’s good at making sure everyone feels noticed.

Of course, as said, in the beginning everyone is terrified of the giant foreign soldier man. His kids have to teach their friends to not be afraid of their dad when he’s home.

Later on, this means in late high school his kids' friends consider him a DILF. He’s horrified. Flattered, but horrified. He has a serious talk with you about how to not be a DILF. He genuinely is so upset by the concept. His kids laugh at him all the time because he’s miserable about it.

Konig Dump

Konig Headcanons

[myhornysaga]

COD P-Links

Mdni. Links under cut.

Reader x graves

Reader x keegan

Graves after coming home from finishing his contracts/doing war crimes

Becoming a slut when keegan comes home from his month long deployments to show him what's he's missing

Passionate makeout with texan ceo of a pmc and a war criminal aka Phillip Graves

Family planning with Commander Graves

[agoofyannoyancetolaw]

Command

a/n: I wrote this out of pure spite and the fact that I got another cold and realized I hadn’t posted in forever 😭 this is an utter blurb and I’m seriously writing this after my sixth sick nap of the day. Literally no idea what this even is ngl

minors DNI

“Please just tell me what to do- please?..” graves whimpered through the phone without a care in the world if you had speaker on or not, your voice being the only thing keeping him awake other then the blunt feeling of his plastic dildo against his rim

“you know what to do baby, come on- you really miss me that much?” Your static voice humming through the phone followed by his whimpers and whines as he lowered himself down on it inch by inch and accompanied by little huffs of breaths from you as you lazily stroked your aching cock. You could easily imagine what he looked like, down to the little tears dotting his eyelashes and his slack jaw.

this wasn’t the usual late night call for you, but he had practically begged you for you to at least call him so he could have some relief

graves needed to be told what to do! years of work and military and pmc work wearing at his mind.. he needed something to do in his retirement before he went damn insane. Waiting for you to be back from your missions was so boring and he was so pent up for the months you were gone :(

he had waited for a full week for you to be able to call, and when you could it was very late at night, sleep already making his eyes all blurry. Your voice was more static than usual on the call, but it was enough to make him get all hot and bothered.

“feels good, hm? Doesn’t feel the same without me though?” He could hear you mutter with a soft chuckle

“y-yes sir..” graves mumbled back, If you could see his face now he’d be bright red. God your such a tease. “Can I- I-“ graves said, his little whimpers and winces audible through the speaker

“can you what? Use your words?” You remind him. You knew what he was asking for but hearing him stumble over his words so easy from just a simple toy and a phone call was too cute of an offer to pass up.

“can I go faster, please? Please please please I promise I won’t be too loud?” His words were already broken, punctuated by little breaths as he worked himself up and down the toy, still not content! He wanted you- he wanted your hot breath on his neck or your cologne filling his senses. This isn’t fair at all! He could already feel the warm coiling and constricting feeling building up in his mind by the time you gave him permission to go faster

it only took minutes before you could hear his pretty moans from the call, his breath getting heavy and you could practically see his eyes rolling back. You had seen him like that so many times to the point you already new he was close.

“C-an I?” Graves whispered into the mic in between broken whimpers and whines, his gummy walls clenching around the plastic as he patiently waited for you to give him permission- like a dog waiting for its treat.

Before you could even finish replying you could already hear him gasp and moan as he painted the towel below him white. Hanging up and knowing he would be cleaning himself off and waiting around for you to get home again.

[navyaassociates123]

Navya Associates is dedicated to Expert Interior Project Management in Kolkata. Offering PMC services for homes, offices, villas, hotels, restaurants, and more. Professional and reliable solutions.Read More at https://navyaassociates.in/

[gremlingottoosilly]

Konig seeing a recruit being bullied by other team mates. Will his childhood trauma trigger and help her / him out or just ignore it?

Why stop bullying when you can join it? No, but seriously. Being a colonel, as chaotic as his position might be in PMC, Konig has to maintain discipline among his troops. As a result, he would swiftly stop anyone who is trying to bully this...cute, adorable, pretty, definitely not fit for the bunch of mercenary work, darling. Uh-oh, he doesn't want to let go of her now. His childhood trauma triggers as he punishes the soldiers by applying more humiliating work and night patrols for them - and as for the one who bullied her...yeah, he is going to get VERY overprotective. Poor girl, she'd have to fucking run away from him after, because the mere instance of her being bullied immediately kicks off the instinct of protect-take-fuck in his brain. She isn't fit for the army!! She literally gets bullied!! They need to know each other more and allow him to take her home!! He would observe her from the side, preventing anyone from ever touching her again...and also preparing her to be his precious lil' wifey as he slowly destroys her work reputation and convinces higher-ups to just throw her out altogether. Don't worry, he'll pick her right after!

[writeforfandoms]

Born for Greatness 1

Find the series masterlist

Here we are with chapter one! We will find out eventually what each of the guys shifts into. There will be more characters introduced later. This is a semi-slow burn, so don't expect anything romantic for the first few chapters.

Warnings: Some violence, swearing, anti-shifter rhetoric (brief).

Word count: 3k

You tugged your shirt straight again, taking a deep breath. You’d been assured that the pack would meet you at the base, but you were going in on your own. 

Wasn’t the first time you were being sent into the metaphorical lion’s den, and probably wouldn’t be the last. 

The car stopped and the driver turned to look at you. “Here we are, ma’am.”

“Thank you.” You offered the soldier a smile, hiding your nerves, and got out of the car. The driver had already grabbed your duffel for you, and you nodded your thanks to him. 

Once more unto the breach. Your lips twitched at your own sense of humor. 

You’d only gone a few steps when you saw the man approaching you. Muttonchops, hat, shirt that looked just a bit too small the way it clung to his arms and shoulders. Blue eyes that you met for a moment before lifting your gaze to his forehead. He stopped in front of you, arms crossed over his chest, disapproval radiating from him. 

So this was going to be one of those assignments, then.

“Alpha Price.” You tipped your chin to expose your throat, a silent sign that you were offering no threat. 

He rumbled your name, low and a little rough. He had a nice voice. Then there was silence for a moment as he looked you over, a clear assessment. He huffed once through his nose but offered nothing else. “I’ll show you where to drop your things,” he said instead, turning, clearly expecting you to follow him.

Which you did. You were not here to make problems, you were here to solve problems.

Price didn’t speak, but that was fine. You took the time to look around the base. It would take some time to memorize routes, you knew, but observing never hurt. Briefly, you were glad this wasn’t your first military assignment, or even your first PMC assignment. 

Silently, he opened a door for you. “This one’s yours,” he said, glancing back at you. “We’re having a team meeting in fifteen minutes in the rec room. Straight down this hallway, then left.”

“Got it. Thank you.” You smiled at him, close-lipped, and stepped past him into your temporary room. It was small, as expected, and plain. Bed, dresser, desk, chair, bedside table. You’d probably be sharing bathing facilities with any other women on base. 

You needed a map. 

But you set your duffel bag down, breathing out slowly. This was home for the next couple months, at least. 

Since you had a few minutes, you fixed your hair, made sure your clothes were still presentable, and dug into your duffel bag to pull out your notebook and your favorite pen. 

Closing the door to your room softly, you wrote down the room number before you headed for the rec room. You were early still, but you’d rather be early than late. Besides, this gave you a chance to look at what you were working with. 

The rec room was labeled, and you stepped inside. Price was there, along with a big guy all in black, skull mask in place over his head. Ghost, according to the file you’d been sent. You dipped your head to him, again making eye contact for one heartbeat before lifting your gaze. He didn’t move, didn’t return the nod.

Not that you really expected anything else, from the little that had been in his file. 

Price watched you but didn’t stop you as you walked a slow circle around the room, chewing idly on the end of your pen. It was a bad habit, but you didn’t much care. Look, you were allowed to have one or two bad habits of your own. 

The rec room was pretty standard, with only hints that this was maybe a more pack-oriented space - the extra large couch, one blanket thrown haphazardly over the back, the battered book still sitting on the table. But otherwise there wasn’t much personality to the space. 

You jotted down a few notes, mind already turning over how to make this easier for them. Especially since this pack was deployed around the world, they deserved a good space to come back to and call theirs. 

The last two walked in together - Soap and Gaz. You nodded to each of them, going through the same process as you had with Ghost. These two, however, returned the greeting, Soap even grinning at you. Hard to tell if he was actually more relaxed or just acting that way. 

“Right,” Price said once the two youngest had settled on the couch, and you sat in a chair at the table. Present, but separate. “You all know who this is.” 

“Our new liaison,” Gaz said, eyes sharp as he looked at you.

But you just smiled. “That’s me,” you agreed. 

“Remember we need to return her in good condition.” Price glanced at Ghost. Well. Good to know which one was likely to “accidentally” push you into traffic. 

“So what sorta training do you think we need?” The question came from Gaz, challenge clear in his eyes. So he was going to be the one to throw away a potential working relationship for his pack. Good to know.

“You? I doubt you need any.” You shrugged. “You’re here, which means you’ve got excellent control of your instincts already. I’ll probably spend more time with the regular soldiers, teaching them etiquette.” 

Gaz blinked, caught off guard by the answer. 

Soap was the one to pipe up next. “Not usually what a liaison does.”

You chuckled. “My job, as I see it, is to make your lives easier and help smooth relations. I’m not a behavioral therapist.” 

“Then why did brass send you?” Ghost this time. His voice was low and rough, with a little more aggression than you’d expected. 

“To prevent further incidents,” you answered calmly. “Which means teaching etiquette, since the military does a shit job of that.” 

There was a soft snort, though you weren’t sure from which one of them. You gave them all a moment before looking back at Price. 

“Are there any additional rules I need to be aware of?” 

“Beyond basic courtesy?” Price grunted and shook his head. “I’ll inform you if that changes.”

“Appreciated.” You set your notebook down on the table to take down a few more notes. You knew they were watching you, keeping track. Probably committing you to memory so they’d be able to keep tabs on you. That was to be expected. 

What was not expected was one of them leaning over your shoulder to read your notes. 

“The hell is a LoveSac?” Soap asked from above you. 

“Furniture company, they specialize in customizable couches,” you answered, not looking up at him. “Easy to move around and make different shapes. Lots of packs use ‘em for pack napping spaces. Is there a measuring tape I can use?” 

Soap moved and a few moments later a measuring tape was set down next to you.

“Thanks.” You picked up the measuring tape and finally looked up at Soap, carefully avoiding eye contact. “Do you mind helping me for a minute?”

“Sure thing.” He stepped back, out of your way, and obediently held the end of the measuring tape while you moved around.

“Didn’t realize interior decorating was one of your talents,” Price drawled, clearly intending the comment to not be complimentary.

“My talents are many and varied,” you said, amused. “Thanks, Soap.”

He nodded, eyes bright as you jotted down the measurements you’d taken. 

“Right.” You closed your notebook, glancing at each of them. “I’m sure you’ll find me if you have more questions.” One last nod to the Alpha and you let yourself out, making your way back to your room. 

You spent the rest of the day exploring, making yourself a crude little map in your notebook of the base. It wasn’t elegant, but it would work until you learned your way around. 

Dinner was quiet, sitting alone at a table, watching the soldiers around you. Though several shot curious glances your way, none tried to approach you. 

Sometimes this job could be very isolating. 

After dinner you gathered the necessary requisition forms, knowing from experience that it would take time to get things going. The sooner you started on this, the better. 

The next day you introduced yourself to the soldiers on base, taking the time to learn some names and pecking order. The group was big enough that you’d have to do etiquette training in batches. That was fine, would just require a bit of timing and planning. 

You also got your first chance to watch the pack interacting with the soldiers during training. You stood off to one side, a quiet observer. 

The first problem you noticed was eye contact. Most of the soldiers held eye contact when being addressed, which was a problem. The pack did indeed have excellent control, but you could see the tension in Gaz’s shoulders, the way Soap’s smiles didn’t reach his eyes. That was a common problem, and relatively easy to fix, just took a bit of time. 

The second problem was more subtle and more difficult. Some of the soldiers treated the pack differently. But not out of respect. 

You really hated it when you had to deal with anti-shifter bullshit. 

But you were careful to note down names, ranks, and everything you observed. Some of it could be written off as mistakes - not answering the first time or not saluting as sharply as they technically should. Other issues were less easy to ignore. Aggressive body language, challenging stares, borderline disrespect.

Honestly, you were amazed none of the pack had taken those soldiers out yet. Especially one. Keyes. He seemed to be the unofficial ringleader of the anti-shifter sentiments. 

Well. You had your work cut out for you. 

“Lesson planning already?” 

You jumped at the voice right behind you, turning quickly. How the hell Price had snuck up on you, you weren’t sure, but it left your heart pounding. “Fucking hell,” you gasped, before you laughed. “Shit you scared me.”

“Sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry. Didn’t look it either, not that you really expected him to.

You waved off his apology. “Appreciated, but not necessary. I’m good. And yes, I am working on lesson plans.” You didn’t offer him the notebook, though. 

“Brass tells me you come highly recommended.” He stepped up level with you, looking out over the soldiers, who had moved to hand-to-hand training with Gaz and Soap supervising. 

“That’s what they tell me too,” you joked, facing forward again.

“You’ve worked with a PMC before.”

“Mmhm.” You frowned a little as you watched two men grappling. 

“How’d that work out for you?” 

“Well, I’m still alive,” you joked. “They had a lot of the same issues I see here - etiquette issues. A few stray people with chips on their shoulders. Nothing unmanageable.” 

“You’re very confident.”

You glanced at him, curious. “Alpha,” you murmured. “I’ve been doing this a long time. I’m confident because I know I can handle it.” 

He grunted once, shifting close enough to you that you could feel the warmth emanating from him. Shifters ran warmer than humans as a rule, which was sometimes very nice. The proximity didn’t bother you - you were used to shifters being more touchy-feely than normal. 

So you just hummed softly, making note of another potential problem soldier, although she seemed on the fence still. Hopefully you’d be able to get to her and coax her back down on the reasonable side of the fence. 

“Not going to join them?” 

You looked up sharply at the question, eyes narrowing a little. “No.” 

“Scared?” The smirk on his lips was taunting. 

“Not trained.” You shook your head, looking back to your notebook. 

“And you work with soldiers.” 

“Not my job to tussle with you lot.” You watched Gaz correct one of the sparring pairs, joking with them. 

“I’ll have Soap show you some basics.” 

“No thank you.” 

The air between the two of you stilled, crackling with tension. The Alpha looked down at you, brows pulling together in a frown. 

You kept your gaze on his forehead as you reminded him, “I’m not part of your pack. I’m a temporary addition. So I don’t have to follow your orders.” 

His eyes narrowed. You were right, you knew you were right. And you suspected this had been a way for him to test you, to see how you’d respond to being ordered around. Your job often required a delicate balance - interfering with the pack long enough to smooth things over, butting into their lives in ways that could be quite personal, yet staying outside of the hierarchy. Which often also meant standing your ground on certain issues. 

Giving in too often to Alphas let them think they could order you around all the time, and that wasn’t why you were here. 

Then he nodded once, accepting your will, and you relaxed a little. This wouldn’t be a fight. Not today. 

Once training wrapped up, you headed back to the rec room. While it was empty, you did a quick inventory on the snacks in there. You’d keep an eye on that, see what vanished the fastest. You ate your dinner as fast as you could and went to grab a fresh set of requisition forms before heading back to the rec room. The desk in your room was adequate, but you liked to have a little more room. 

Except Gaz and Soap were already in there, sprawled out together on the couch with a movie on. Both of them looked at you nearly in unison. 

“Will it bother you if I sit at the table and do some paperwork?” you asked, glancing between the two.

“Nah,” Soap answered easily. “Have at it.”

You settled at the table, bending over the form in front of you. You still had more research to do, but this was a good start for this pack. 

Gaz stood and stepped past you into the kitchenette, tossing popcorn into the microwave. You frowned down at the form, pulling out your phone to double check some specs. A small bowl of popcorn landed at your elbow, and you blinked at Gaz. He just nodded once before taking the larger bowl back to the couch. Smiling, you ate the popcorn as you worked, pleasantly surprised. 

Sharing food was important, after all. Sure, this was just a little gesture, but it was a gesture of acceptance. You’d take it gladly. 

Their movie ended but neither of them got up, just navigating to something else. 

“What do you like to watch?” Soap asked, head picking up to look at you.

“Me?” You blinked, caught off guard. “I’ll watch just about anything.”

“C’mere, then.”

You debated. For about a second. Then abandoned the form to look at the couch, trying to find a spot where you’d fit. Soap shoved Gaz further down the couch, ignoring the soft swearing that prompted, and then wiggled himself further down the couch, leaving a cushion open for you by their heads. When you didn’t sit fast enough, Soap looked up at you with big blue eyes, lower lip jutted out in a pout.

Dammit.

You sat, leaning back into the couch, and Soap grinned at his victory. Gaz just rolled his eyes, resettling himself on top of the Scot. 

“Tell us if you get bored,” Soap said, poking your thigh. “Right?”

“Yes, yes.” You chuckled, patting the top of his head.

The first half of the movie was uneventful, and you just relaxed. Soap and Gaz chatted quietly, apparently quite happy cuddling on the couch. 

And then a fucking cheetah walked into the rec room.

It took you a second to remember that was Ghost. From the muffled laughter, the other two had caught the brief spike of your heart. You huffed but didn’t chide them. 

At least until the cat sat right in front of you, staring at you. 

“Uh.” You blinked, focusing on his ears. He really was a gorgeous cheetah, a bit bigger than you’d seen before, but still lean. “Am I in your spot?” 

The big cat snorted. Which was… not helpful. 

“If you want me to move, I need a more concrete answer.”

But the cat just blinked at you. Just once. 

“Or you can sit there and stare at me. Promise I’m not as entertaining as the movie.”

He yawned, showing off big sharp teeth. And you knew it was a calculated move. 

“Yes, what big teeth you have,” you agreed, very solemnly. 

He huffed at you and put one paw on your knee. Again, a deliberate move. With claws.

“Ah, ow, claws–!” You wrinkled your nose, but didn’t try to move him. “I remember you’re well capable of killing me, trust me, I know. But you’re not gonna intimidate me.” 

The big cat chuffed, removing his paw. And then he hopped lightly up onto the couch… on top of Gaz.

“LT!” Soap protested, immediately squirming. “Yer heavy!” 

“Fuck do you eat, man?” Gaz protested as well, even as a big rough tongue started to clean the side of his head. “Lay off!” 

You bit your lips to hide your grin. Well. That was as blatant a claim as they came. Ghost was definitely reminding you that these were his pack, under his protection and care, and you would pay if you hurt them. So you gambled a little, meeting his gaze for three solid seconds. 

“Message received.”

The big cat blinked again and resumed grooming his packmate, who continued complaining. Soap twisted hard enough to dislodge Gaz, sending him toppling to the floor with a thump. 

You escaped before the real tussle started.

[telvannitea]

notes: horangi x reader, horangi x könig, f!reader, dub-con(ish), horangi toxic af and has also ran through the rest of kortac at least twice lol, please excuse my korean

okay, let me set the scene...

you're kortac's new admin hire. (human resources at a pmc? lol) not your ideal career but a paycheck is a paycheck and this one comes with full benefits and your own office.

könig is doing the rounds, introducing you to the soldiers on base. you meet horangi and use your sparse language skills (courtesy of your prior employment at a conglomerate with clients all over the globe) to recite a stilted greeting in korean.

you realize afterwards that you've fucked up. he's picked up on your desire to impress, to please, from one simple act. kim hongjin is the worst kind of playboy, relentless and shameless. he trails after you whenever he's on base, hounding you in his native tongue.

어디가? (where are you going?)

우리 술 한잔 할까? (you want to have a drink?)

애인 있어? (do you have a lover?)

he texts you on your personal cell during and after work hours - you don't want to know how he got the number. you add him to your contacts under 쓰레기 and then block him. simple solutions for simple men.

쓰레기 = trash :)))

who are you supposed to report sexual harassment to? yourself? yeah...fuck that.

you storm into könig's office and stop short of the doorway, shock bleeding into your scorn. maybe it has something to do with horangi and könig enthusiastically fucking on the latter's desk. maybe not.

you don't say a word, leaving as quickly as you burst in. the image of horangi, cargos slung low on his hips, rutting into a whiny, desperate könig is absolutely not burned into your brain and you definitely will not be using said image to get yourself off later. who else has he messed around with? you wonder. roze? oni? nikto, even?

no, no, no, these are dangerous thoughts. not going there.

you scurry back to your office, fumbling to collect your things and get home. you feel feverish and chilled at the same time, too aware of the slick pooling under your skirt. you turn, bag and keys in hand.

"going home already?" horangi leans against the doorframe, casual like he didn't leave someone high and dry to come running after you. he's without his sunglasses you realize, dark velvet eyes meeting yours. "you looked like you needed something, 공주."

공주 = princess

you don't reply. you can't. any lie you try to feed him, he'll spit back out at you. your heartbeat spikes as awareness of your situation sets in. the tiger's caught you in the cage you've made.

you know he's smiling beneath the mask when he steps closer, taking hold of your wrist. he slides your bag off your shoulder and slowly guides you backward, until the back of your legs hits your desk chair. he pushes down on your shoulders until you sit, wide eyes never leaving his.

he drops to his knees. you squeeze your thighs together, clocking his intentions. using the meager brain activity you still possess, you open your mouth to protest, "this really isn't a good idea, horangi-"

"hongjin." he interrupts, slapping your hands away when you try to keep him from pulling your skirt up, keep him from what he wants. "when you cum, that's the name you're gonna scream."

type of man to make you call him 오빠 in bed lololol

[squiddy-god]

his ugly orange hair

This is a vent fix I wrote so please keep that in mind lol

CW : young! Konig (just joined the military) roommate reader, civilian reader, trans man reader, ftm reader, bad breakup, hurt comfort, panic attack,

1.4k

They had left. You had tried, Lord knows you tried. Again and again tears rolled down your face, cheeks red and eyes darkening with the slow flood of stains that painted you like glass after rain. Your chest heaved with the great weight of your lungs and the world, again… again… again again again Again Again AGAIN AGAIN AGAIN OVER AND OVER. until you choked on your breath and tongue, tears stinging until you gaged and sputtered. Left a hopeless sobbing puking mess on your bed. The bed was cold, soft quilted sheets like a prison. 

Several days were spent in a spiral of thoughts and flurries of emotions. You hadn't told your mom yet, didn't think you could bear to, but the long dragging scrape of your eyelids forced you to blink back tears. It had been a day and in cliche of a cliches you rifled the cabinets of your two bedroom apartment. Yours- you laughed, you had shared it with your roommate for 2 years now. A tall young man about 19 like you. Unlike your study abroad program that had accepted you on a small but feasible scholarship, he was a military man partnered with a pmc. Really it was his apartment. Over the years you grew close as friends when he was home for the time between deployments. You didn't even think in your delirium and haze that today was the day he'd get home. 

The sound of rustling cardboard and the gentle noises of bathroom products sliding against the shelfs of the small closet filled your ears. Half empty jar of manic panic sat temptingly in the back, behind body butters and discarded Colognes. Not what you where looking for. Finally you found it. Reaching in you grabbed a reflective box, iron brand permanent box dye. Better then splat red, you thought to yourself as you cut the box with your kitchen scissors. 

Looking down at your hands you felt the bile rise up in your chest, the burning in your eyes as you blinked back tears. Your hair had gotten longer, shaggy and slightly unkempt in the recent weeks leading up to the cat and mouse game that was scheduling a haircut. It brushed uncomfortably against your neck and that gnawing feeling from your childhood returned. It was like your face morphed in the mirror, hideously soft, lashes too long, and you wanted to look away. Lose ,bright shirt, the sleeves and neck cut off and the thing ruined by stains of black and red and blue. The dye shirt, a staple and testament to your love of this particular activity. 9pm bad decisions. Your chest is devoid of its usual bindings and it eats at you a little until you find yourself rifling to find a hair tie. 

Snip snip snip, clips of uneven hair fall until you are happy with the slightly uneven results and scraggly look it gives. It makes you smile.

First wash, then dry before you once again clumsily drag out a mixing bowl and brush fully determined to make this a masterpiece. But as you slipped on your blue gloves, once a pretty flower design now covered in blue and black from the last incident, you couldn't help but give into that child.the urge to dip your hands into the goopy mix. In goes the bleach, followed by a sloppy measure of vol. 20 developer. 

And the goop called your name- brush discarded as a mixing tool alone you slathered the goopy mix into the strands of your short hair, realizing in panic as you didn't mix enough. Struggling with your nemesis the gloves you cursed under bated breath before managing to get one off so you could once again arduously unscrew the caps and re-mix in another sloppy bit of measuring. 

The counter of the small bathroom was a mess. Neither you nor Konig were particularly neat- a mouth watch in the corner and on the other side a clear blue cup with two toothbrushes inside it. Behind the rim of the white sink were two razors, one missing its guard from frequent use and the other beginning to rust because you forgot to dry it. Sprawling in the mess was a small vial of your testosterone, and also the gell. Closest to the door was a box of tampons and- only now- vol. 20 developer. Ibuprofen next to Tylenol and a children's cough syrup that was God knows how old. Vix vapor rub and a tooth paste. Messy. The hair in the center of your head gradually turned a light blond as your sides and back didn't take the same. Disgruntled you at least hoped for a cool effect. Your scalped itched and nose burned at that familiar comforting smell that was hair bleach. Bowl and brush discarded into Water and sink, you braved the cold frigid touch of the shower head to rinse your bleach soaked hair. 

Should you be going into this right after bleaching and drying? No. But hesitation seems foreign to you as you take out a second brush and bowl, mixing the copper orange until your concoction looks about right. 

You look like a highlighter and it brings out all of your joy. You stare and wait as time ticks by with your head slathered in that ghastly orange. “Heilige Scheiße, sehr orangefarbener kleiner Herr” his voice heavy with his accent and light laughter. He towered in the doorway, arms raised as his large fingertips hug on the top of the frame. He leaned down slightly to watch you and your bright orange hair. Your position didn't go unnoticed by him, sitting on the floor by the tub and showering with a bowl of orange remnants on the toilet. It also didn't go unnoticed by the glassy look in your eyes or the almost imperceptible darkness forming around your waterline from the tears. Your chopped up hair and of course the slightly patchy orange. “I'll help wash your hair, ja Süße?” You smiled and he stalked off the few paces to his room in order to strip his tactical gear away. When he returned he wore a black compression shirt and plaid red lounge pants- the ones you got him last Christmas- and his mask, a nasty habit he picked up from his time serving. He almost never takes it off, when he has it off the gnawing feeling returns. That paranoia and anxious scratching that just won't quit. He doesn't go out much either, preferring to stay home where his face can be on display without anxiety overcoming him in that snippy aggression that seized him. You knew being at home in the little apartment would take a few day before the mask slipped off again, yet to your surprise as he kneeled down he pulled it off. His naturally ginger hair had once again lost much of the length it usually held, although somewhat more lax and not buzzed, you missed the usual small man bun that would hold back his deep auburn hair. His face was aged beyond its years by suffering and work, sharp angles and elegant defined slopes covered with the light scruff of his facial hair that he probably had not had a chance to shave in a few weeks. His cleft lip pulled slightly on the shape of his lips but blended in for the most part with the silver scars littering his face. Next to his mouth and along his jaw, under his eye on his cheek bone, threw his right eyebrow and most concentrated in the area of his mother and lower jaw the pale scars decorated his skin now don't peppered all across him. You smiled seeing his face, interesting and handsome. The latter a thought you beat down with a stick. “Want to tell me why you've been crying huh?” He asked as if he already knew. You nodded and squeaked out a strained yes before leaning over the tub to rinse the dye. His large palm cradled the back of your head as the cold water rushed past your eyes in a stream of orange. Thick fingers pressing ever so gently into your tender scalp scrubbing the remains of orange goop and leaving only one the patchy hair behind. He rubbed the dampening towel  against your hair as you explained to him you ex and how you where now on the hunt for a partner. He chuckled, that deep rumbling sound that was a endless source of delight. “kleiner Schlingel- you don't have to look far” he said confidently, yet his piercing green eyes normally devoid of much feeling searched yours for a sliver of Reassurance. 

You delivered, leaning against his massive shoulder as your ugly orange hair soaks his shirt. But he didn't mind. He loved your ugly orange hair. 

1.4k words

[xxavengingangelxx]

I am very curious about your version of Graves, I want to hear a detailed run down from you on how he’d be like in a romantic situation, would he commit? would he get married? would he “fall in love”, would he want a trophy wife to show off? I am just very curious and would love to hear you speak about this. I want to know what he’d be like if he actually did commit to a long term relationship or marriage, and what kind of woman would make him commit if so? I personally feel like he’d get married to a woman who works alongside him in shadow company, it just makes sense for him to get with somebody who is on the same level of psychopathy as him and understands his actions and behaviour, more so, he’d love being around a woman like that in my opinion. somebody who is as intelligent and knows how PMC’s work and can help him manage it too.

This is a good question! Sorry it took a while work has been absolutely insane. Like 60+ work weeks and now I have Hurricane Beryl headed my way! I use she/her pronouns just because that’s what I wrote my fic about but I think it certainly applies the other way around, too! 😉 I also found out after copy-pasting I've exceeding the character limit so this is part 1! Triggers for mentions of domestic violence and dubcon.

ALSO: This is my version of Graves based on what I know and based on the limited information we have. Another anon post said I had Graves wrong, a different opinion. Totally okay! We all have our own versions of him.

Graves in a romantic situation. This is a difficult one. I think it would be very difficult for Graves to differentiate between romance/love and possessiveness. In a fic I wrote, Graves decides OC is his immediately upon meeting her. I think he would be similarly inclined in the civilian world. I’m not sure if he could a civilian could handle Graves, to be honest ☹But he would be similarly possessive. When this type of man (narcissistic with a touch of psychopathy/sociopathy, and if I’m honest, just a little sadism) is deeply interested in a woman, he gets her one way or another.

My version of Graves likely wouldn’t give his chosen partner a choice. In the military, he’d use his clearances (and his Shadows!) to keep track of her. He’d treat a civilian the same way. He’d follow her and then act like: “Hey! Weird running into you here!” when in his head he’s thinking, “I better not see you talking with any other men.”

I think he would commit/not cheat but not for the reasons normal people would. He would commit because he’s obsessed. He would commit because stalking someone and making sure they don’t escape you once you have a hold of them is like two full-time jobs even with his Shadows. And if we’re talking about a female I can see Graves being worried about said female trying to seduce a Shadow to let her go. If she’s on the smaller side, there’s the risk of her slipping out somewhere. His mobile job would help in the sense that his wife would be clueless as to where she was most of the time. She would never go anywhere alone. He’s got a PMC to run. And when he has down time, he’s tired.

He would love showing off his wife. In a fic I wrote he does just that. He would marry to legally tie his wife to him. And in COD, to make it a legal barrier for her to testify against him. She wouldn’t have a choice. I can totally see him pregnancy trapping his wife to further trap her with him. He’d say there was no way she’d leave and take his children and she’s not going to leave her children behind so she stays. I can’t say him mentioning his kids too much as he realizes they would be a bigger target for his enemies. Even Graves has a bit of a heart when it comes to kids.

I see Graves having more of a traditionalist especially since he’s a conservative type from Texas. I'm a Texan living in Texas y'all: Graves is typical down here (but most of them aren't as good looking!) I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s the type to think: the man works, the wife stays home, raises kids, and spends all her time with her husband when he’s home. However, I can also see him wanting to keep said wife busy so her mind isn’t on escape. After kiddos start entering scene, I see him putting her on intel or something like that. Work from home, ma'am.

Graves would absolutely be attracted to intelligence because Graves is smart. Generally, if there is a big mismatch between intelligence (IQ) between parties, they struggle with not only communication but common interests. I think he would want any children he has to inherit that intelligence and continue his company.

An upside (I guess?): Graves is rich as fuck. His wife would have everything and anything she wants (except freedom, ha).

-OC wants an SUV to transport the kids on base? "Sure, darlin’ I already ordered a top-model Audi/Porche." (By the way, when traveling off base, she and the kids are in a military, armored vehicle with no windows. Graves knows his enemies will try to target them.)

-OC wants to be in a home-like environment on base to give the kids somewhat of a normal life? "Of course, sweetheart. Custom built. Whaddaya want?" (No way they would ever live in a normal neighborhood, too risky.)

-OC asks about schooling since they’re constantly moving around. “Don’t worry about it, love. Paid private school, one-on-one attention online and one-on-one in-person attention in the US. I’m not putting them in the shitty public school system. I want them in military universities.” (Plus, they’d start their military education young.)

I think that Graves, like most full-blood psychopaths/sociopaths as well as those who have a touch of it like Graves, he would equate giving his wife whatever she wanted (except freedom!), any material thing she wanted as well as his kids the best of everything with love. He’d equate sex, even dubcon sex, as love.

Now, more about kids. He’d want the best for his kids but there’s no damn way the kids would get whatever they wanted. He’s got some psychopath in him (see Graves Defragged posts as to why, based on the info we have, he does not score high enough on the psychopathy scale) so he’d literally shape his kids’ (and his wife’s tbh) behavior with positive reinforcement because that is what he responds to. Being a narcissist, he believes everyone thinks like him and that everyone responds to positive reinforcement (but in reality there are other ways of shaping behavior like negative reinforcement, negative punishment, and positive punishment). He literally cannot empathize or put himself in someone else’s shoes (again, see Graves Defragged posts). It’s not that he feels guilt/empathize and chooses to ignore it. This man’s brain is physically wired differently and cannot, cannot, CANNOT feel it. So of course he’d think positive reinforcement is the only way to shape behavior.

Now, Graves’s version of discipline. Yikes. Do I see Graves hitting his partner? Absolutely. Graves is in general not impulsive, especially when it comes to important, long-term decisions. For my Criminal Minds fans, he'd be an organized serial killer, not a disorganized one if that helps. His brain structure is different so his limbic system (the more animalistic part of our brains) can be overwhelming to him and I can see this overtaking his prefrontal lobes (PFC) when emotions are involved. What happens? He will lash out with violence, like, with little warning. (I can write another post as to how most homicides are actually crimes of passion, between people who know each other and not planned out/between strangers like the media/TV shows make it out to be.) He will hit his wife, hard, if she gets (what he deems to be) “out of line.” I can’t really see him doing it all the time. But I can definitely see that if his partner pisses him off enough, that partner can easily spend a few nights in a hospital. Yes, Graves sees his wife as somewhat below him: someone needing guidance, direction, and discipline.

For the kids: He’s the disciplinarian, no doubt and the kids go to mom for comfort. Mom gets in the way? He’ll shove her at the least. I can’t really see him seriously hurting his kids. His kids are half him and he’s narcissistic, remember?

There’s emotion involved and based on what I’ve been trained in, men like Graves can only feel two emotions strongly: joy…and rage. We’ve all gotten angry and done/said something we regretted. Imagine that tenfold with an overactive limbic system and some glitches in the frontal lobes.

Now: In one of my darker fics, Graves writes (and then burns) a letter to OC where he starts to feel some kind of guilt. But, xxavengingangelxx, you said he couldn’t feel that! I know 😉 But we all love somewhat happy endings, right? We all love seeing Graves with somewhat of a human side. That’s why I added that little tidbit even though in real life, he wouldn’t be able to feel that. In my fic he’d continue to blame OC for what she went through because “she should’ve talked when we first got her.”

Wow, ok. Two pages of this. I need to shut up. I went to school for this, I trained in this, I see this every day, and I read on average a book a week on this topic. I’m obsessed fascinated!

Anon, I hope I answered both your questions 😊 Any other questions, let me know!

[fraux140]

Some König Headcanons and Hottakes

So I want to preface this by saying no hate to anyone. These are just some opinions that I think some people might disagree with which is totally fine. This is also a little bit of me pointing out some of his flaws. I love him though.

He is not a shy little uwu boy who would have a panic attack if a cutie looked at him a certain way. If he was so prone to panic attacks and his anxiety was that crippling then he wouldn't have been in the special forces and he wouldn't be in a PMC - which are highly selective.

Personally I don't fully believe that he was a colonel. The only hint we have gotten of that is a one of the 'Bad Brothers' loading screens which just says 'Colonel König' with no more context. Colonels aren't really active on the battle field and it is very unlikely you would see one in action. Officers ranked that highly are seen as too valuable to be 'wasted' in infantry combat.

Continuing from my last point, even a lot of majors and Lt Colonels aren't battle prone. Considering he would have had to have passed through those ranks to become a colonel means that he would have spent a lot of time behind a desk and commanding teams such as platoons and battalions. We don't know enough about him to say that he isn't a good leader, after all he is simply an operator with a few paragraphs of text as a background. However, his voice lines and little text we do get about him tells us he is not one to enjoy standing by and having others fight on his command. He would MUCH rather be in the brawl.

And I know that Alejandro is a colonel and very active duty, however we can assume that this is largely due to his ambition and personal attachment to his home, which he wants to protect from the cartel. I'm not saying a colonel doesn't fight, but it is exceedingly rare.

My last anti-colonel theory point - why would a colonel wear such DIY gear? I just want to say if you hc him as a colonel that is absolutely FINE, those are just reasons as to why I don't :/

Moving on, I believe him to be a sore loser. For example, he was deemed unfit to be a sniper, and so he wears a sniper hood and has that voiceline "And they said I couldn't be a sniper". Dress for the job you want, not the job you have ig?

I believe he wants to prove people wrong. Getting rejected as a sniper wounded his ego so A LOT. I hc him to be between 32-37 and if he joined jagkdo/KSK (old bio said he was German and in the KSK, newer ones said Austrian and JagKdo, now there's no mention of sf so idk??) while he was younger, say around 23-26, he's had a lot of time for that wound to heal and yet it hasn't. This man holds hella grudges.

Because of this, I think that a fear of failure might also contribute to his anxiety. If he was asked about being scared to fail he'd smirk and say there was no way. But deep down in his core it eats away at him.

This might also bleed into his social life. He's fearful of relationships and remains single for a long time. He'd rather not ask you out instead of having you reject him for trying. He'd have to REALLY like somebody and also have some reassurance or signs that they liked him out.

Cannot accept accountability for simple mistakes. He knocked your coffee mug over? You shouldn't have left it there. Hit you a little too hard in training? You should be stronger. You should have dodged it. Not his fault you're not as good as him.

Is a show off. If he is obviously better at something then you'll never hear the end of it. Better driver? Better fighter. Yeah, he's bragging about it. Again, his fear of not being good enough rears its ugly head. He deflects it on to those who are weaker - they could never be him.

Damn this was a list of negatives, but I love him in spite of all of his flaws. What kind of list should I make next? I should probably do one with some positive traits lmao.

Anyway, I don't mind at all if anyone disagrees with these this is just how I see him. Maybe one day I'll write a fic where he acknowledges his demons and starts to heal.