My name is Lucille-Elisabeth, but you may call me Lucy ❤ I'm a multifandom writer, as you can see, and below, you'll find all the information necessary if you're looking to request. Please feel free to take a look around, drink water, and stay safe! ♡
All support is welcomed and very much appreciated ♡
❥I will delete your request if I can't find my way around it or I simply don't feel like writing it.
❥Don’t request more than 2 characters.
❥Please, be polite whenever requesting something. I know it must sound silly but some requests can come off as demanding and I'd appreciate so dearly if you were polite whenever requesting. After all I'm doing this for free :)
❥If you're sending a DBD request, the reader cannot be 16 or younger. I only do kid!reader if it's before the Entity.
s; Carth is stressed out by the whole 'Rescue Bastila from the Vulkars" quest and Amnesiac Revan, Karris, has a totally-not-awkward plan to help him ease the stress; Slow dancing.
It was late in the night for the two, exhausted souls. Taris was truly a haunting sight to look at in the night, but that was just background noise for the troubles that made their way into Karris' mind. He had managed to keep his cool down while him and Carth searched for Bastila, but it could be unbearable sometimes. Especially with Carth's trust issues and lack of it on him. The man didn't trust him, and although a part of Karris understood, he couldn't help but grow annoyed.
Carth was pacing back and forth, low rambling to himself as he strategically formed a plan to get Bastila back. Shoulders tense, jaw locked, fingers moving inquietly - a state of mind that Karris knew very well. He hummed quietly to himself as he got up from the bed and made his way to Carth, stretching his hand to him.
"Yes?" The pilot looked down to Karris’ hand, and then back up to him again. A puzzlement look crossed his eyes. "What are you doing?"
Karris cleared his throat. "Dance with me."
The sudden and unexpected request almost made Carth laugh, if it wasn't for the deadpanned expression seen across Karris' face. He was actually serious. He was inviting Carth to dance with him.
The pilot furrowed his brows, pondering on it. Was this some sort of prank? What were his motivations for this strange request? Sure, through the time that Carth has been with Karris, he had learned that the man was odd, to say the least. But this was most surprising.
"Ah, erm, I - I think I'm alright, thanks." Yet, the blank and grave stare that Karris was giving him was almost making Carth uncomfortable on his feet. Upon the initial denial, Karris further outstretched his hand, insisting on it.
"I wasn't asking," He replied, "I was telling you to." Carth should've seen this one coming, From their previous trust issues arguments, he knew that Karris wasn't one to give up whenever an idea crossed his mind. Sadly, it was always the worst of ideas.
Reluctant, Carth hesitated in taking Karris' hand, but once their hands touched, he felt some of the tension washing away from his shoulders. Karris guided him to the centre of the room and his fingers interlocked with his own. With Karris' free hand on his shoulder, Carth slowly rested his other hand in the small of Karris' back.
An unheard melody that only they could hear made its way around and through them, and before Carth could realize, his feet were moving in a perfect synchronization with Karris', as if they were on autopilot. Karris tightened his grip on his hand, and his hand was rougher than Carth had envisioned. Not a surprise since all of the work that Karris had to do wasn't particularly easy.
Although no actual music had been playing, both men could hear in the back of their minds, and that was all that was needed.
Carth glanced down at Karris. He wasn't much smaller than him, but his height only reached his shoulders. He noticed that Karris had a focused, dark look on his eyes, as if something clouded his mind. Carth had often seen that on the male, but never found the courage to question it. It was none of his business. For now, at least.
Karris locked up just in time their eyes locked into each other as they settled on a slow rhythm. The darkness was brushed away and replaced by something else - a soft and fragile feeling, a nostalgic one perhaps, of some other era. A feeling of belonging, of a home. It was if they were standing on top of a mountain, their music chorus replaced with silence, as if they knew what they wanted to say, but couldn't find the right words. Carth felt the same; the previous anxiety and stress had faded away into background noise, and was replaced by a serene feeling of peacefulness, just this once.
The apartment grew still once more. Unconsciously, Carth kept a strain hold on Karris' back and hand. It was like the two men were processing what had just happened and tried to find a plausible explanation for it.
Karris took a step back and cleared his throat once more.
"We should go back to our mission. Bastila needs our help." With further silence and lack of words, Carth nodded, and was left to his own thoughts after Karris exited the room and closed the door behind him with a loud «thund».
do people still read call of duty fanfics that aren't smut cuz I feel like that's all that I can find. There's scarcely many fics that AREN'T smut or 18+ one way or another
a feel like the new generation of fanfic readers NEED to understand that clicking on a fic (interaction) does nothing. ao3 has no algorithm. your private discord discussions of fic do not reach the authors. if you do not actively engage with writers they will stop posting. this isn’t social media this is community.
Revan has been freed from his centuries-long imprisonment, but something is... wrong with him. There is something beneath his flesh, and it simply won't leave him be. But that's okay, he has a role to fulfil. The mask won't wear itself.
tw: dissociation, referenced character death, revan being creepy and off-putting, swtor era
Revan didn’t like what he saw in the mirror. More often than not, it was not his face that stared back at him, but a ghost. A haunting that stalked him day and night, from planet to planet, and dream to nightmare.
Well, it’s not like he slept much these days. Or did he? Time was hard to tell in this place. The cult that had taken him in – the Revanites, whatever they chose to call themselves – they had given him a beautiful chamber to sleep or meditate in. Decorated, worshipped. They were all but foolish children, worshipping a false god. Revan did not want to be a god, yet the burden had befallen upon him, as it had once in the past. Like the rest of the galaxy, he would shape them into something useful. Something pure. Soon, the galaxy would know freedom.
Revan knew very well how fractured his mind was — he was less than a man and even less than a dog. He was nothing. He had made sure of that.
The galaxy had changed during his imprisonment. So many lives were lost, and many more were born. New songs for the Force to tear apart, he thought, a melody for each side of the coin. Sith and Jedi, they knew nought of the pain they brought with their words. Choosing sides was useless; they did not know what he knew. They needed to be shown the true path. He would show them.
The mask felt heavier on his head than it had before — an unwilling crown for an unwilling conqueror. If it could, Revan was sure the mask would engrave itself into his flesh. There was nothing left of the man he was before. Karris was dead. He had not died peacefully; no. Karris died violently, thrashing and screaming. In that hollow chamber, Revan was reborn from the rotting carcass of a little boy.
Soon, the fleet would be complete. As foolish as these children, these Revanites were, they had eyes everywhere. Across the Sith Empire and the Republic. They would heed his call and come to his aid like a dog running to its master.
Yet still, Revan did not like what he saw in the mirror. Sometimes it wasn’t a face he saw. It was something distorted, ugly and strange. It had tired eyes and unkempt hair. There were tangles in it – he felt them every time he ran a stressed hand over his head. Its lips were also dry. Cracked. There was dry blood on them from pulling at the skin with his teeth. Thankfully, the gloves were on his hands more often than not; otherwise, Revan would’ve bit through his own fingers if necessary.
Its right eye twitched.
Suddenly, the wooden table cracked beneath his palm. A crushed bug lay dead beneath it. He hadn’t even realised – he hadn’t…
For a moment, there was silence.
Slowly turning his eyes back to the mirror, Revan saw nothing. No reflection, nothing at all. The mirror stood empty. Perhaps he wasn’t there at all, he thought, maybe he had died by the Emperor’s hand after all. Or this was some cruel dream he couldn’t wake up from.
“My Lord?” A meek, quiet voice called from behind. A Revanite, frail and thin, with their head bowed. They did not dare to raise their eyes, to gaze upon the anomaly in the chamber. “Supper will be served soon, the… the hunt proved… successful.”
As the silence from their Lord stretched thin, the Revanite at last dared to glimpse at their master. Across the chamber, they were met with the fixed stare of their Lord. He was not facing them directly, but rather staring through the mirror’s reflection — the cultist had dreamt of a charming man beneath the mask, but this thing that stared at them had a dirty, feral look to it. His pupils were enlarged and devoid of any lustre, fixed on a sole point – the cultist themselves.
Revan didn’t even seem to be breathing at all.
He just stared.
Simply stared.
The door slid shut by itself. The Revanite took a startled jump, hand instinctively reaching for the blaster that had gone missing from their hip. “M-My Lord, I apologise if I offended you-” Much to their horror, a strange smile had stretched across Revan’s lips.
But as promised, supper was indeed served a little less than an hour later. The new base they had settled in, hidden from prying eyes, had been wisely chosen. Some Revanites had left to hunt and came back with enough provisions to last the next rotation. To them, everything seemed to be going well and only improving. They had their God, their beloved Master, with them, so everything was going to be alright, surely. Revan would never bring folly upon his allies.
So, of course, they were all very content to see their Lord come to them for supper. They did not question his silence nor the strange way he smiled, tilted his head, talked to them – even if the light had gone from his eyes. No, no, Revan had a role to fulfil, and he’d never let them down.
Across the room, two younger Revanites whispered to themselves, urgently so.
“Ha’ri, have you seen Gulpper? They said they were going to notify His Lordship of supper, but I can’t find them anywhere.”
“I can’t pick up their signal…”
Across the room, Revan watched them. There was blood in his hands – thankfully, the gloves hid it.
hi! this is gamer anon who asked for that ghost request! i just read it and i want to say thank you, it def made me laugh especially because i'm gonna be fully honest and say FUCK battlefield 4's tashgar mission, i was stuck on that shit for 3 days, i wish i was exaggerating, but that was the inspiration behind my request and ngl i would be both pissed and amazed if someone who didn't even play the game finished the part i was stuck in in like 5 minutes like sir who gives you the RIGHT to be better than my "playing video games since 2 years old" ass
Hello!! I'm so happy to hear that I managed to get a laugh outta ya! I wasn't sure if I managed to capture what you wanted so I'm really, really glad <3
Honestly I've never played Battlefield or any shooting game (does Battlefront 2 count? Well- I also did play CODMWII last year...) so like, I was trying not to sound TOO much like a complete noob writing that request ahaha anyhow. Can one truly call themselves a true gamer if they never got stuck on a particular mission for more than a day?
hi! i saw that you were open for requests so could i please request a thing with ghost where his masc!fem s/o is an avid gamer and has recently gotten into playing shooters (like battlefield for example) and whenever she's stuck on a quest (like having tried like 5 times to get through a segment and nothing seems to be working) she asks ghost for strat help?
thank you!
hello! Here's your request, fresh out of the oven! Hope you like it, and have a nice day/night ♡
SIMON really, really doesn't like shooter games. You'd think it was because of his past and his life as a task force soldier — but no, he thinks they're for amateurs. For people who'll never see a mile of a true battlefield. Still though, he indulges in watching you play (albeit secretly. He's like one of those dads that say "I don't care about your show" and then proceed to stand in the living room watching the TV show you put on for yourself).
When you first began getting into shooting games, such as the likes of battlefield (you tell Simon it's the fault of tiktok and youtube for showing you funny clips of the gameplay, but we all know you just wanted to feel some resemblance of familiarity to his field), Simon didn't support nor shoot you down on it. In fact, if anything, after the third time you booted up the game, he'd show up out of nowhere behind you, watching you play. He didn't help you, no. He watched you struggle with a tiny bit of sadistic satisfaction — but whenever you got something right or a win? He'd give you a grunt of approval followed by a "Guess you got a bite after all."
(In his mind, he'd be one hell of a player if he DID play shooter games. Man's got a bit of an ego okay)
Over time, Simon will begin to make little comments here and there, such as which gun is better to use, that barrel you missed in the other room... and even battle tactics! Battle tactics!! For an online shooting game!!
Eventually, when you get stuck on some quest or mission (maybe you can't get past the guards, or clearing a room/the field, whichever it is — and yes, including an online round) and reluctantly ask Simon for help (you honestly think he'll say no and laugh at your misery), you'll be very surprised when he takes your controller, your headphones and claims the chair for his own.
He's fully locked in.
Fortunately (or not), Simon Riley's got the skills to match his ego. Whatever level you were stuck at, it takes him less than five minutes to finish it. You're transfixed watching him. Man uses the controller like it's his personal gun. You'd swear Simon's a secret player with 30 years of experience with the way he moves (there's no way he got that good by only watching you play, right?).
Yes, he'll mock you afterwards; "I'd like to see you in a real battlefield, love. Nothin' of that pretty pink rifle you got there to save ya."
But hey, you're no longer stuck! And you also know he had one hell of a time playing it, even if he'd never admit it.
Also, if you're ever in an online match that requires voice on, and some bastard with nothin' better to do mocks your skills or tries to act tough? All it takes is for you to get Simon on the mic. They all shut up reeeeaaaal fast.
hi hi I'm dry of ideas so I'm opening up requests for the Call of Duty fandom for a bit!! If you're interested in requesting anything (doesn't even have to be x reader!!), please read my pinned post or check out my recent ones for the fandom ♡
SUMMARY: Six years ago, you fled your family's empire and reshaped yourself into a new identity. Tucked in a corner of London, you've spent the past years as a quiet bookstore keeper... Until the shadows came back to haunt you.
tags/warnings: slow burn, trauma attachment/bond, abuse of authority, canon-typical violence, kidnapping, near death experiences, PTSD, age gap (reader is in her 20s, graves in his late 30s to early 40s), unprofessional behaviour, heavy angst and hurt/comfort, slight canon inaccuracies, everybody (TF141, Shadow Company and KorTac) here is a warning by themselves.
AO3 — WATTPAD
Chapter I -> Chapter II -> Chapter III -> Chapter IV -> Chapter V -> Chapter VI -> Chapter VII -> Chapter VIII -> Chapter IX -> Chapter X -> TBA (?)
it starts with the little things. A meal skipped here and there. A glance at the mirror that lingers too long until you start avoiding them altogether. Nikto notices it, of course he does, he's nothing if not observant, especially when it comes to you. He doesn't take it well.
Because Nikto was starved in all forms and ways, to see you do this to yourself doesn't dwell with him. He can deal with his own suffering, and there are times that he too forgets to eat, but not you. Never you. He won't outright call you out, but he'll push you to eat and will sit with you until you do.
In Nikto's eyes, you're the epitome of perfection. A saint gained form, an angel sent to him despite his sins. He will not watch you partake in self-destruction – so expect snacks to start showing up here and there. An apple on the bedstand, a pack of salted crackers on the couch, and even a full meal takeout from your favourite restaurant (who the hell called them?).
And every time he catches you staring at your reflection, tears in your eyes, Nikto will place himself behind you and have his hands squish and squeeze your body, including your hip dips, the softness of your belly, your thighs... all while making sure you understand how he adores and worships every inch of your body.
SUMMARY: Upon the interrogation of the hitman sent to silence you, the 141 is forced into a new briefing with Commander Graves as new information comes to light. Meanwhile, Laswell comes to check up on you...And someone leaves behind a gift.
tags/warnings: hints of torture, laswell acting like a mother figure if you squint
author's note: being unemployed under the threat of being kicked out of the house if you don't find a job soon is lowkey killing my motivation to write but here we are!!
Undisclosed NATO Base — Interrogation Room — 1738
The entire base was alight in the aftermath of the breach. At every checkpoint security had been doubled, and all medical or military personnel were not allowed to leave their posts until everyone had been scanned and rescanned. If one slipped through, others could follow.
Commander Graves had been on the other side of base when it happened, but had been alerted to what had transpired over comms. It took everything in him not to say a well-deserved "I told y'all this would happen". People like the (L/N) were like a hydra — you cut off one head and two more will grow in it's place. The 141 could keep shooting down their messengers, but more will come, and inevitably one will get to you.
It was just a matter of when.
Entering the room, Graves didn't bother with a greeting, merely welcoming himself in with two of his Shadows flanking his sides. The observation room was already filled with Price and his boys, all gloom-faced and staring at the glass pane on the far wall. Behind the glass, Graves noted with a faint huff, was the false doctor chained to a steel chair.
“Well, ain’t this a shitshow,” Graves drawled, “They sent one of ‘em dressed up as Florence Nightingale, yeah? Bold move.”
From the left, Price leaned forward, hat tipped low. “He slipped through two layers of security and got into her room. Nearly killed her. We need to know how the fuck that happened under our eye.”
“Bastard had a needle prepared when I walked in. Seconds from finishing the job.” Said Soap, fists flexing as he glared at the glass panel and the figure beyond it. If looks could kill...
“Would’ve, if you hadn’t clocked him,” Gaz added quietly. His voice was calm, yet the sharpness in his eyes betrayed his true feelings.
For a moment, Graves was quiet. He looked at the prisoner again —bloodied face, one eye swollen shut, wrists cuffed so tight the steel bit into skin and left its mark. “Alright then,” He cleared his throat. “Let’s hear what songbird here’s singin’.”
The door clanged open. Soap and Ghost moved into the room with Graves, while Price and Gaz stood behind the glass, ever so watchful. Laswell, too, must've come in at some point because he was sure he heard her muttering to the Captain.
For a moment, the room was quiet. The prisoner spat blood onto the floor.
Ghost was the first to pull a chair around and sit down across from him. “You’ve got about ten seconds to explain who you are, who sent you, and why. Make it easy.”
No answer. Just a grin, red teeth flashing through split lips.
Ghost tilted his head. “Or we can make it the other way.”
Standing quietly behind him, Soap moved forward and slammed his palm onto the metal table, the bang echoing through the room. “Ye tried to suffocate a civvy, ya bastard. That’s murder. Tell us who sent ye before I-”
“Sargeant.” Price’s voice came sharp through the intercom. A warning.
Soap held the prisoner's stare for a moment longer, but then relented and stepped back, gritting his teeth.
Graves leaned forward, half-sitting on the table. “Y’know, son, I’ve seen a lot of hard men sit in that chair. Some last an hour. Some last five minutes. The ones who stay quiet? They all break eventually. And when they do, they wish they’d taken the easy route.”
The corner of the man's lips twitched upwards. “You… You lot don’t scare me.”
“Good,” Ghost said flatly. He stood, dragging the chair across the floor with a screech, then slowly came to stand behind the man, knuckles cracking. “Means I don’t have to waste time with pleasantries.”
The silence stretched on for a moment longer, but the man's shoulders locked up. Finally, with the unknown and unseen threat looming behind him, he spoke up. “She was marked. Price on her head. Old blood. Family wanted it done fast.”
Graves glanced victoriously at Soap. The Scottish didn't bother returning the glance.
“Family,” Soap repeated slowly, jaw locking.
The prisoner coughed blood onto the floor, then spat again. “Father’s order. Said she saw what shouldn't have been seen.”
Ghost subtly straightened. Through the mask, his eyes flickered to Soap, then to the tinted glass panel.
Graves leaned back in his chair, a low whistle escaping. “Well, how ‘bout that. Girl knows more than what she's tellin' us.” He, too, glanced towards the tinted glass. Told you so. “Guess this rabbit hole runs deeper than any of us thought.”
With a low hiss, Soap leaned in and pressed his hands flat on the table. “Names,” he said through gritted teeth. “Give us names.”
But the infiltrator smiled again, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. He said nothing. Upon that silence, Graves had an idea, and with a final glance to the tinted glass, left the room... And locked the door behind him. In his stead, Soap glanced to Ghost, who rolled his shoulders.
When Ghost spoke, his voice was low and cold like ice, but also an underlying hint of satisfaction, as if he had been waiting for this. “Then we’ll take our time.”
With those words, the first cracks began to appear. The prisoner glanced back and forth between the two men. A smirk graced Soap's lips, but this time, he didn't bother glancing at the glass panel for no one would be standing behind it anymore — not Price, not Gaz, not Laswell.
What would happen inside this room, would stay inside this room... and whatever would be left of the so-called doctor. For once, there were no lines drawn. They’d peel back the truth. Piece by bloody piece.
When the observation room's door closed, Laswell already had another checkpoint in mind. She'd like to see you, after what happened. God knows what would be going through your mind, and she sure hoped she wouldn't have to call in the local psych.
Once upon a time, Kate would've been against torturing a man with possible important intel to share — but not this time. Not when they were at a clear disadvantage of the enemy and almost lost you to a careless security breach.
It would not happen again, and if it did, she doubted you'd survive a third attempt.
The safe wing was quiet except for the low hum of the overhead lights and the quiet sighs of soldiers changing shifts. Security had been doubled after the infiltration attempt; two armed Shadow operators (grace of Graves) stood outside the door, postures stiff, weapons slung but ready. She only greeted them with a faint nod.
You were already awake when Kate walked in, propped up against the headboard and hugging your knees. Your gaze was distant, to the canopy of the few trees outside, shoulders locked and tense. To Laswell, you almost looked like a scared child awaiting death.
Children had been a topic once discussed with her wife, but it never went past discussion. But if she ever had children, she prayed they'd never have your eyes — filled with dread, exhaustion and despair. Lost.
You hadn't spoken since the attack, but when Kate walked in, your gaze broke from the window and fell on her. Bloodshot and rimmed, probably from the tears held back. But she saw it — the faint but undeniable shift of your face softening, your guard lowering.
"...It's you," You whispered, tilting your head, as though surprised as to why Kate would be there at all.
Kate nodded, tablet tucked under one arm, a folder in her free hand. “(Y/N),” She began, trying to keep her voice as soft and calm as she knows. “Checking in. How are you holding up?”
Your lips parted with the ghost of a reply that never came. You didn’t answer at first, merely withdrawing your gaze to the rest of the room, as if held the answer to her question. Then you shrugged.
Laswell didn’t push. She pulled up the single chair in the room and sat, tablet resting on her lap. “You’re safe here. The man who got in earlier... He won’t get another chance.”
Your eyes narrowed for a fraction and you looked away, lips pursed into a thin line. You didn't believe her, that's for certain, but you didn't deny her either. It was as if you had already come to some sort of grim conclusion on your own.
Then, after a pause, you spoke up again.
“Would you happen to...have a book I could read?”
Laswell blinked, the request catching her off-guard. She certainly wasn't expecting that. But it made sense.... Still, she questioned, “A book?”
You nodded. The blanket shielded around you already had dents from the way your fingers gripped it so tightly. “Something to read,” You explained. “The walls here... They're so bland and... I need to clear my head."
For the first time in hours, there wasn't fear in your features, only a quiet, bitter resentment. What had happened in this room, hours ago, had changed something in you. Kate had seen that before — soldiers whose trauma caught up too late and faced with the possibility of the impossible happening, they chose to hide behind what was possible for them.
What was possible for you were the words of another, etched into book pages. An anchor to steer you clear from the precipice.
Good... For now.
Laswell studied you carefully for a moment, then nodded. She prepped the folder and the tablet up close, almost by instinct. “Any book in particular?”
You shook your head. "Anything will do, please. Thank you."
Polite, she thought, but scared.
One, two and three minutes ticked by as Kate waited, but no more came from you. Truth be told, she didn't know what set you apart from the others. She had dealt with hundreds of women and men in situations similar to your own... But perhaps it was how young you were. A woman of twenty-three who should've been out in the club, gossiping with your girl friends, not locked away in an undisclosed base with two murder attempts under your name.
Alas, war did not care about youth.
"Alright," Kate stood up at last. “I’ll see if I can get you something. Might not be Shakespeare, but we’ll find a paperback that isn’t a field manual.”
At the door, Kate paused and glanced back once more. You were watching her, brows knit together and a confused flicker in your lips, as if you weren't quite how to smile at the weak joke she had made. The older woman nodded again before leaving the room, and the air inside the room seemed to have lifted if not a tad bit.
Later that day, when night had already fallen and the guards posted at your door changed shifts, someone came to deliver a paperback book — old and frayed at the edges — to your door. The man, a soldier, wore what you had learned was the tactical gear and uniform of Shadow Company, Commander Graves' boys.
what being in a wlw relationship with valeria garza is like...
also titled "why I believe valeria would 100% rather date a woman than a man"
The world is not kind to women in power, be them presidents or the boss of a cartel. Valeria's influence runs far and wide, and any who step foot in Las Almas quickly learn to fear El Sin Nombre. After all, fear is respect in some way, no? And to keep that respect... Valeria must pose a strong front. She didn't get to where she was by batting lashes and pretty smiles — most men would rather gut themselves than bow to a woman, and Valeria knows that very well.
Even when posing as a sicaria, she'd feel some stares. Men who hated the idea of being beneath a woman, of being at the bottom of the hierarchy, but were too big of cowards to bark at her. They were mindless dogs, most of them anyway.
Whilst I believe Valeria is bisexual, I will die on the hill that she prefers women over men.
Why? If she were dating a man, that poor guy would be constantly tested by her. For his strength, his loyalty, his potential ambition... (what's to guarantee her that he does not secretly drool after the title of Sin Nombre for himself?). Not only that, but many under her command are still pretty close-minded and traditional, even if they don't say so outloud (the walls have hears).
Valeria has been in this life for years, working alongside men and women alike. She's lost count of how many times she's seen male soldiers throw down their female equals to get elevated in the ranks.
And I follow up by also believing that Valeria would probably pick a girl who's low profile, someone gentler or shy even, who has no chance at posing a threat to her. A lamb amongst wolves.
But this gentleness is not weakness in you. For others? She believes so, but you're allowed to be weak with (and for) her. In fact, Valeria thrives in your gentleness and softness. She's the type to bring her girlfriend to some meetings and have you sit by her side or on her lap, all pretty and doe-looking, while Valeria rests a hand on your thigh or tugs a strand of hair behind your ear.
She delights in watching her men squirm in place, but they know best than to question their boss.
Being a woman in a relationship with Valeria will also feature some soft, rare moments where you'll almost believe that you're both a normal couple. Valeria's the type to go through outfits with you and even offer some commentary while you (or her) paint your nails — and finding out how surprisingly good Valeria is with painting your nails or helping with makeup.
Valeria is 100% the type to put on some "new" lipstick and kiss your neck, leaving it marked, under the pretence of "seeing how good it actually is". You know she only did it to leave a visible mark on you.
There is security everywhere you go, and you are not allowed to go alone anywhere. A relationship with Valeria is like being inside a cage, but a gilded one, and your wings are clipped, so you might not wander far.
It's not healthy, by any means. At this point, you've seen too much and heard too much (and never once think it was "by accident", you've seen what she allowed you to see) and even if you tried to leave? To flee? You wouldn't make it within eyesight of the gates... And Valeria has made it clear she doesn't want to bury you.
Don't worry, this gilded cage she put you in (figuratively speaking, of course...) has everything you want. A spoiled girlfriend, you are, but only after you swear your loyalty to her and maybe if you behave well enough and follow her orders...
You'd be allowed to continue with your hobbies, be them arts or sports or even baking, and believe me when I say that more often than not you'd end up being jumpscared by Valeria, watching you from the doorway, and then teased by her.
Previously said, a relationship with Valeria is not healthy. It's heavily controlling, and the power imbalance is big between you two, but Valeria makes the control look almost safe — after all, no one can take better care of you than she does, no?
Anyhow... With all this said... I shall die on the hill that Valeria prefers a girlfriend over a man. Had she taken a male partner, most would look at them and wonder; is he her equal? Her second? But with a woman, one whom I'd believe would probably be a civilian or too low profile and unaware of the Big Bad World out there, there'd be no wonder.
You'd be the pretty girlfriend who sits on El Sin Nombre's lap, a little bird with clipped wings, but you're hers. You're no threat to her. You'd never be (but if you ever were... Well, F for you)... And everyone knows better than to raise their tongues at your presence. They'd be dead before sunrise.
Currently having a hyper fixation on Phillip Graves and I don't know what you put on Take Me Home fic that just got me even more addicted to it and him 😭😭 just fueling my obsession even more loll. Really lovee the way you write it and Soap not giving two shits with Graves is just *chefs kiss* can't wait to see more of it. Also curious, will it only be 10 chapters? Hope you have a good day 💓
Hello dear!! Oh my, you have no idea how happy reading this made me! You're the first to comment on Take Me Home 😭 I was over here thinking my first CoD fic was an utter flop.
I put 10 chapters but it's likely that it'll actually be 15, really depends if I can keep up the slow burn pace! Speaking of which, next chapter should be out tomorrow 👀
I'm so, so happy that you love it!! Have a good day/night! ♡
hyperfixation please stay with me long enough to complete the project. hyperfixation do not fade. hyperfixation finish what you started for the love of god
My current not-approved-by-the-government opinion is that im not anyone's parent and i should not be responsible for random teenagers online. If I post smth thats 'meant for adults' and its labled as such then what happens from there is literally not my problem. If a teen- who is fully capable of turning on self moderation settings on their own btw- doesn't use a site's provided self moderation settings and they see boobs or dicks then like literally whatever, its neither the end of the world or a big deal. It shouldn't fall on me or a website or a tech company to do a parent's job, and also frankly i don't think a parent should be breathing down their 16 year old's neck on the off chance they do actually want to look at tits, but thats a discussion that americans will fucking throw a fit at so maybe we'll discuss that another day in better company.
"But what about young children!!" see thats! where parents should be involved- that is to say, why are you letting your young child on the internet in the first place, you fucking idiot.
Edit that's not gonna be seen: i've muted this post, if you're arguing in the replies i do not see it nor do i care.
SUMMARY: Six years ago, you fled your family's empire and reshaped yourself into a new identity. Tucked in a corner of London, you've spent the past years as a quiet bookstore keeper... Until the shadows came back to haunt you.
tags/warnings: slow burn, trauma attachment/bond, abuse of authority, canon-typical violence, kidnapping, near death experiences, PTSD, age gap (reader is in her 20s, graves in his late 30s to early 40s), unprofessional behaviour, heavy angst and hurt/comfort, slight canon inaccuracies, everybody (TF141, Shadow Company and KorTac) here is a warning by themselves.
