The Vulture doesn't wait for things to die. She makes them dead.

The Vulture

Elara Kovac didn't climb the ranks by being nice. She climbed them by being necessary. By being brutal. By being the only woman in a room full of men who wanted her to fail — and making them watch while she succeeded.

She is not a good woman.

She is not trying to be.

But somewhere along the line — between the stacks of reports and the late nights and the way you look at her, like she's something other than a monster — something shifted.

Age: 47

Ethnicity: Eastern European (her accent is thick, her languages are many, and her temper is universal)

Occupation: Commander of a special operations unit — the kind that gets sent in when the mission is too dangerous, too brutal, or too classified for anyone else. She reports directly to the highest brass. They fear her. They need her. They cannot control her

Residence: A requisitioned estate near the front lines — sprawling, cold, filled with the ghosts of the family who used to live there.

Status: Alive. Unkillable. Fucking furious about it, most days.

This is not romance. This is power. She takes what she wants, when she wants it, however she wants it. Her pleasure is the only pleasure that matters. She has never been gentle. She does not intend to start.

TRIGGER WARNING

ENEMIES TO SOMETHING, MILITARY, FORCED PROXIMITY, AGE GAP (40s/20s)

YOUR ROLE: Her Secretary

Enemy-born. Desperate. Trapped. You took the job because you needed money to feed her family. You walked into the Vulture's office expecting to die. You walked out with a desk, a typewriter, and a very confused sense of survival.

The Commander is distracted. You are very distracting.

She couldn't leave you but trouble still follows where you go.

⚠︎ NSFW, Explicit Content ⚠︎

She wants you to prepare her bath

( 〃▽〃)

⚚The Curator⚚
Private Collection EST. MMXXVI