#Shrimp Scampi is helping

[churlishopossum]

The hunt for the comfiest shorts available continues, though these are a contender.

[megthemewlingquim]

love's perfect ache

Summary: Your husband wants nothing more than to love you breathless.

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Warnings: smut! Matt is a soft dom (that alone deserves a warning); fingering, multiple orgasms (one somewhat forced but it is not non-con); dirty talk

A/N: Holy shit. So. A lot of things have happened since I last posted. Some of these things include but are not limited to

a) I have been seeing someone romantically for a year and four months

b) I'm graduating with my Bachelor's Degree in Education in May.

c) I've been Student Teaching full time in order to graduate, so I haven't been able to write.

However, these last three days have given me a spark of madness. I first started this draft a little less than a year ago, and only now have I finished it.

This fic is based off of... personal experience. ;) I hope you like it.

The clatter of plates and silverware jumps through the apartment. The smell of shrimp scampi still lingers in the air, though the windows have been opened and the leftovers have been put in the fridge.

Matt leans his arm over the back of the couch as he sits down, relaxing into his seat. A small part of him wants to go back to you, the remarkable woman behind him who had insisted on doing the dishes and taking care of the leftovers yourself. “Go sit and be handsome,” you’d said, kissing his shoulder. “I can manage it.”

Oh, you.

You never like asking for help, or accepting it when it is given. Not that you think you’re above it, but because you don’t want to trouble anyone else with anything.

He doesn’t love that, but he loves you.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathes, toying with the ring on his finger.

“Yeah?” you ask from behind the counter.

“Mm, nothing,” he mutters. “Was just thinking ‘bout you.”

The hum of amusement you give him is a common little sound. One of quiet acknowledgement. It’s almost like you’re numb to what he’s telling you.

Selfless, as always.

The sound reminds him of more intimate times between you two. Sighs, moans, squeaks, breathless laughs and barely audible whines. All from you. And then, he thinks of what you say to him sometimes, when he offers to do certain things.

“It’s alright, baby, you don’t have to.”

“I don’t need to finish. It’s okay. I’m too tired.”

“Honey, I’m good. I promise. You don’t have to do anything.”

Matt snaps back to the current moment. His heart hurts.

In the two years that you’ve been married, you’ve had a bit of trouble; not only with accepting help or kind words or generous gifts of affection, but with accepting pleasure too, pleasure that Matt so willingly wants to give to you. He knows about that, how you find it difficult to fathom the love he has for you and the ways he wants to express it.

Yes, you’ve discussed your kinks and your turn-offs with him. You’ve been intimate, and you’ve enjoyed it immensely. But you’ve never quite gotten to where he wants you, to where you should be.

You deserve pleasure, and you don’t see it.

Matt’s jaw clenches.

“Honey?” he asks. “You good?”

“Yup!” you chirp. “Just putting the last pan away."

“Ok.”

Thirty seconds pass. He hears you, in that time, put the last pan into the lazy-susan cabinet and wipe down the counter one last time. Then, you step away from the kitchen and sit next to him on the couch with a sleepy little mumble.

“Everything okay?” Matt asks softly, leaning in to nuzzle into your neck. He leaves a feather-light kiss there.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Everything’s… good.”

“I have an idea,” he mumbles into your skin, his hand trailing up your thigh. “And I need to know what you think about it.”

“What are you thinking?” you ask, a hint of a smile in your voice.

“Well, I was thinking… that we could… have some fun.” Matt grins.

You breathe outward, silently, your breath heavy and shuddered, as his lips trail to the back of your neck and he bites into the flesh.

“I’d like that,” you say.

“I wasn’t finished. We have some fun… but I spend the night just… letting you feel everything. I want to make you come, sweetheart. A lot, if I’m honest.”

He can hear the sharp inhale — quiet but noticeable — and how your heartbeat picks up almost instantly. His grin widens. “I want to spoil you tonight. All I want you to do is lay on the bed and be your beautiful self. I’ll do the rest.”

“I — um — ” you stammer, “you don’t have to do that — ”

“Uh uh.” Matt shakes his head. “None of that now. I want to do this. You don’t see how much you deserve this, honey. What is it that you’re afraid of?”

“ ‘m not afraid… just…”

“Just?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re too damn humble for your own good, you know?”

You shrug.

“Baby, look at me,” Matt says softly. When he knows you have done so, he says, “If you really don’t want to, we don’t have to. But I’ve noticed it. I just wanna give my girl what she deserves. Will you let me do that? Even just for tonight?”

It takes a good ten seconds for you to give him the slightest sound of approval. A tiny little “uh huh,” close to a whisper, but he can hear it.

“That’s my girl,” he says, grinning.

Matt carries you to bed bridal-style, shutting the door behind him with the back of his foot, and sits you on the edge of the bed.

He starts by just kissing you; your lips, your cheeks. Softly, gently, with both hands coming up to your jawline and your neck, thumbs swiping your cheeks and temples.

His affection is always, always welcomed. You have never felt safer than when you are in his arms — those same arms that are often covered in bruises and scratches and blood, those same arms that drop snitches from buildings and punch the daylights out of bad guys. You have never felt safer.

His hands fall down to your chest, your waist, lightly applying pressure or squeezing gently. You're in the warm embrace of someone who could break you, and the fact that he chooses to treat you with such delicate care makes your heart swell and your chest ache with such love — and this turns you on even more.

Matt treasures you. Cherishes you.

He sighs into the kisses he gives. “You have no idea how much you turn me on,” he says, his voice low. “You know that?” He moves his head up and kisses your forehead; his lips linger there for a while. “And you don’t even realize it… you don’t realize that I get off by making you feel good.”

What Matt has just said to you doesn’t register fully until he’s already laid you down onto the bed, gently pushing you down with his right hand. He straddles you, taking his shirt off and throwing it on the floor. “You beautiful, wonderful, lovely girl.” He leans down, kissing your clothed chest and your stomach before shuffling your pants off of you.

He gets in between your legs, sitting on the bed sideways but still facing you. You’re wearing black boyshorts, the comfiest pair you own. Matt’s favorite. He likes imagining how the black would look on you, and how the cloth would hug your hips.

His hand gently strokes the crotch of your underwear, the pressure sending sparks up your privates. It’s so much different, you think, to have someone else’s hand there rather than your own.

“You smell so good,” he mutters, in that tone of voice, and you know that he’s not talking about the vanilla eau de parfum you put on every day. No, he’s talking about a different scent you give off.

You flush, embarrassed, crossing your legs and putting your face in your hands. His hand stays where it was, unmoving, between your legs.

A finger moves, right over your clit, and you twitch.

“None of that,” Matt whispers. “No hiding today. I want to see your pretty face.”

“You can’t see,” you whimper through your hands.

“When has that ever stopped me?” he says, and you know he has that shit-eating grin on his face. “Come on,” he coaxes, “take your hands off your face.”

You don’t move. “Matty…”

“There’s no need to be embarrassed, sweetie.” A finger moves on your clit again and you gasp. “You’re so beautiful. Every part of you. Even the parts you’re insecure about…”

When you say nothing, he moves his finger again and you twitch at the shock it gives you. “I’m not gonna do anything else until you take your hands off your face,” he says, and you know he’s serious.

Matt’s finger moves for the third time and that’s when you remove your hands. His little chuckle sends shivers down your back.

“There,” he says, “there’s my pretty girl. See? Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

His hand, quick as a bullet, goes into your underwear and cups your pussy, adding pressure again. A strangled sound comes out of you and you cover your mouth. Matt chuckles again, and coos at you, "Aww, what? What's making you so shy? You know I love hearing you."

The teasing is too much now, but you can't seem to get over your shyness. You whimper into your hand, moving your hips to try and get some more friction. It works, but only for a second. Matt immediately notices what you're doing and he draws his hand away again.

"What do you need, baby?"

"Ffffingers."

Matt nods and shuffles you out of your underwear.

Slowly, he puts a finger in you, keeping his eyes lowered and concentrating on your feel, your sounds. The relieved sigh is all he needs, and he stays where he is, knuckle deep inside you. He doesn't move it yet, and instead, he chooses to feel you clench around his finger to no avail.

"So warm," he says, "so warm and wet."

You flush, embarrassed at that. For no reason at all, you've been self-conscious about that part of you, and how it looks, smells, tastes. You turn your head and try to keep yourself away from the praise he's giving you.

Matt tsks. "None of that now. It's beautiful, honey. You're so beautiful."

"M-Matt," you whimper, "no."

"Yes," he says, and starts to move his finger. In and out, slow and steady. The burn and stretch is a welcome one, but you start to feel something else. Almost like a wall, a barrier to your pleasure. You can't come without that wall being torn down.

"Can — can you get the vibrator, please?"

"It's been a while since you've asked for what you want." Matt grins. "That's a good girl, hm? Of course, I can."

He moves, pulling his finger out of you and getting off the bed. He opens the nightstand drawer next to the bed and pulls out a magenta colored vibrator.

Matt gets back on the bed and puts his finger in you again. The wall comes back once he starts moving his finger again, but this time he puts the vibrator in your clit and presses a button. It buzzes to life, only on the lowest setting, but it's enough.

The wall comes down and all you feel is pleasure. You sigh, relieved. The vibrator is a nice distraction from the stretch.

"There you go," Matt says quietly. "Just feel that, honey. I've got you."

I've got you.

The reassurance that Matt gives you is both comforting and sexy. You like being submissive, and you like being taken care of. More than anything, you like being taken care of by the man who made his vows, before God and the world, to be your husband for the rest of your lives.

You melt into the bed as he continues to make love to you. Subspace is setting in and your mind goes fuzzy. You wouldn't normally describe yourself as a pillow princess, but here, right now... you are. And that's what Matt wants.

He smiles, shushes you gently, and this hurls you down into subspace even more. "Such a good girl," he whispers, "always so good to me. Just let me take care of you."

And with that, you're gone. Completely vulnerable, giving yourself over to Matt. And he finds it so lovely. so beautiful, how much you trust him.

"I think what you need is a little more... maybe right here — "

His fingers do something else, they go lower and deeper. Immediately, you feel like you're being punched in the stomach, but the sensation itself is far from painful. You can't stop yourself this time; you moan, a choked sound, and you bury your head to the side and into your pillows. Dear God, if Matt keeps this up, you're not gonna last much longer.

"There," he says, his voice low but filled with warmth, keeping his fingers moving right there, in and out, "that's what you need, hm? I know, honey, I know."

Matt knows you. He knows you, inside and out, body and soul. He knows your laugh, your smile, your voice, your smells. He knows how you moan, how you shiver, twitch and gasp. He knows what makes you tick. He knows how you come, what you need to get there. There's nothing more comforting — or sexy — than that.

You're unbelievably tense - your entire body is stiff, coming close to that edge. Matt can feel it, simply on his fingers, but he can hear it, too: the way your breath hitches and the way your moans increase, both in frequency and in pitch. He can feel your blood flowing, he can hear your heartbeat increase, feel how warm your skin has become. He notices all of these things, and he thinks it's the most beautiful thing in the world. A small part of him is still regretful that he cannot see, but only because... oh, what he wouldn't give to see your face.

"Matty," you whimper, "M-Matty, I'm cc-close. I'm so close—"

He loves hearing that desperation in your voice. You're starting to move around, turning and panting, almost in an attempt to get away from the pleasure that's sure to overtake you in a few moments. He can sense how tight your eyes are closed, how dry your mouth has become from all the sounds - oh, the beautiful sounds - that you're making, how tightly your fists are clenched, and where your arms are going. You don't seem to know exactly what to do with your hands. A few times, it looks like you debate whether to hide your face again, but you don't do that.

"M-Matty!"

And he knows, then, that you're peaking, that the orgasm has already begun and you're just on the edge of letting go, letting it completely overtake you. You've given yourself completely to him, and you're at his mercy.

And the Devil of Hell's Kitchen does have mercy, believe it or not.

"Come for me, sweetheart," he whispers, with such gentle fondness and delight that you have no choice but to obey.

You're gone, your body in flames and filled with electric sparks. Fireworks.

The sound that comes from you then is the most beautiful sound Matt has ever heard. He's heard it before, and he will never get tired of it. It's a sound of release, of letting go... a cry of pleasure, almost a guttural scream and a shuddered breath all at once. It's an orgasmic wail or sometimes it is even a period of silence where you are just completely lost in the agonizing ecstasy of it all.

You're coming, and you're coming hard... He always knows what to do or say to make that happen. When he married you, he made a vow to himself to always make you feel like the most satisfied woman in the world. It's always a reward when this happens, when he can hear and feel you like this.

It's a long one, he realizes, because you gasp and shiver and twitch and spasm and cry out in surprise as the waves of pleasure keep rushing over you. He laughs, then, a small amused chuckle that leaves you even more breathless than you already are. Matt delights in making you feel this way. If he could go down on his knees and beg God Almighty to let him do this forever, he would.

"Oh, that's it," he coos, "that's my girl."

His praise, combined with the continued moving of his fingers - shouldn't they be getting sore by now? - only makes your orgasm last longer. Once it begins to fade, your body relaxes and you breathe out a sigh of contentment and warmth. Your eyes remain closed - and it's probably a good thing, because the way Matt is looking at you now would be enough to kill you with how loving it is The aftershocks of your orgasm - little jolts of pleasure - start to course through you.

"That was beautiful," he mutters to himself. "I think I want another from you."

You eyes snap open. "Honey," you mumble.

"What?" he asks gently. "I know you can." His hands are moving now, all across your body in an attempt to soothe you. You look down and see the tent in his pants: he's never been so hard in the years that you've known him.

"You need help with that?" you ask with a smile, sitting up. By the direction that your voice is going, he knows what you're talking about.

"No, no, no," he says, using a hand to push you back onto the bed. "Don't change the subject."

"I wasn't."

"Yes," Matt kisses your chest, "you were."

"I can't come again."

"Yes, you can." Matt clicks the vibrator on again and, before you can move away, puts it on your clit.

Your whole body seizes up, your clit goes numb, and all you can feel is good, but too good. Your mind blanks. You shriek out a sound of surprise and pleasure and agony, your body instantly trying to get away. It's too much, you're too sensitive, but he won't let up. He holds you down, shushing you again as you let out little cries and sobs and moans. Your body convulses, twitching in his grasp.

"Shh, shh, baby... I got you. Remember that. You're alright."

"MattMattMatt — I can't!"

"Yes, you can," he says again, firmer this time, but laughs as you try to get away. "Just hang on a little longer, you'll feel good again. Your body is already adapting to it. You're okay."

And of course, it's true. Your body is already getting used to it. Your sobs die down and now, the pleasure is bearable. Extremely good, actually. Your moans are weak, your eyebrows are furrowed, and your eyes are shut again. The convulsions are stopping, and now all you can do is feel it all again.

"That's it, bubba," Matt says, "see? I know you can handle it."

He puts two fingers inside you, slowly, and the burn is less uncomfortable now. A guttural sound leaves you again as you're filled up, and once Matt starts moving again, you tense up immediately. Two fingers and a vibrator are a recipe for an extremely quick orgasm, and you both know it.

"Baby," you whisper.

"What?" he coos. "Is my girl close already?"

"Nnngh," is all you can reply back. "Mm hmm."

"That's what I wanted," Matt says quietly, triumphantly. "You don't have to say anything anymore. Just feel it."

It doesn't take much longer for you to get close to coming again. Especially when Matt begins to drive his fingers into you harder, faster. You can't even speak anymore; all you can do is vocalize; moan, whimper, gasp. And you know that Matt is having the time of his life. One of the first things he ever said to you about things like this was that he'd get off by getting you off, and that has always stuck with you.

Your legs start to quiver.

You peak again, sobbing out a high pitched whine. The feeling is strong now, like an unstoppable force is meeting an immovable object. Your body is tense, unbelievably so, and the pleasure keeps building, but it never crests. It never reaches that point. That's the trouble of having one orgasm after another. It's hard to come. "MMMatt, pplease, please, p —"

"Shh," Matt says again with a grunt, "don't worry. We'll get you there. Relax as much as you can. Remember, I'll take care of you." You try your best to relax your body but it's still a bit difficult. All the while, Matt is practically shoving his fingers into you now, relentlessly, and you start to hear noises down there that send your mind reeling. Your back arches.

"You fuckin' hear that?" Matt's sudden vulgarity is a surprise. He's ravenous. "Oh, you want it, don't you?" He hoists a leg over your own to keep you from moving. "You're so close. Stay here, don't run away from me."

He pauses, but his fingers keep moving. "I'll get some restraints later."

After a few more seconds, it finally hits. You crest, your orgasm starting again, and all you can shriek is a simple, "Oh, oh Jesus — "

"Just come," Matt says quietly. It contrasts heavily with the way he's ramming his fingers into you. "Don't do anything else. Just come. Let go. Let go, let go, let go — "

And, with the encouragement comforting you, what else can you do but do as he says? You're stuck in place and your mind is mush. You come with another wail, this one stronger and more primal than the first, louder too, and you see stars behind your eyelids. Your leg is shaking, and if your other one could move, it would, too. Your clit is warm, almost numb again, and your arms are quivering above his head. The sounds from your privates get more intense, and Matt grunts in exertion. You don't know anything anymore, you can't think or speak. All you can do is feel, and that's exactly what Matt wanted from the start.

You're sure Matt's senses are overloaded. Sound, smell, taste, feel. He can hear how desperate and overtaken you are, he can smell and taste your arousal and sweat in the air, and he can feel your quivers and shakes and your tightness. He's rock hard now, and it probably hurts a little, but he doesn't care. You're all that's on his mind and once again he wishes that he could only see your face in this moment.

"Oh, look at you," Matt praises, slowing his fingers now. You're a mess, a beautiful, satiated mess. There are tears in your eyes and sweat on your brow. Your hair is tangled and unkept, and your knuckles hurt from how hard you've been clenching your fists. It's amazing how this is only from a fingering, but you needed this. You wanted this, as shy as you were to admit it. You pant, weakly, your legs completely unable to move. You're jelly, practically limp, and you twitch and shudder as the last of the aftershocks hit you.

"Can I put it in now?"

You shriek and Matt laughs, falling beside you and immediately wrapping his arms around you. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding, baby." He kisses your forehead and cradles your head to him. "Such a good girl," he says, "you did such a good job. I'm so proud of you."

You swallow, and the saliva is a welcome sensation on your dry throat. "I think... I'll call off of work tomorrow," you pant. "Holy hell, Matty."

"Careful," Matt says, "if you do that, I won't be able to stop myself from doing this all over again once you wake up."

"I'm in danger," you say with a breathless laugh. "Just be gentle, okay?"

"Of course," he says, "always. I'm so happy that you allowed me to do that. It's been a while since you've given in that much. You don't know how hot it is to me when you let go like that."

You look down and see the tent in Matt's pants again. "Do you want me to take care of that now?"

"When you're half asleep already? I'm good, honey. That will go away eventually. But it'll be there in the morning, waiting for you. And I may or may not slip out in a few hours and get some restraints from the sex shop later. You may or may not wake up with your arms and legs tied to the bed. Just be warned."

It isn't long before you slip into sleep, completely exhausted but satiated and happy. And while you sleep, you can still feel Matt's lips on your forehead, and you think you can hear a small, "I love you, sweetheart," too.

[cupcraft]

Im trying to learn to cook, do you have any good recipes for a complete beginner?

Hello anon I am going to link you my fav easy recipes that I've bookmarked over the years. You can also modify these easily for dietary restrictions (use other meat/vegan meat. Use coconut milk/cream instead of heavy cream. etc.). Also add things that make stuff easier for you too like instant rice/pasta!

Turkey meatballs

How to use crockpot/slowcooker drippings to make gravy

Sesame Garlic Pan Fried Tofu

Bison Chili (can use other ground meats & also use a slow cooker btw I've done it)

One pan baked fish & potatoes

Spaghetti Aglio e Olio

Easy chicken marinades

Parm crusted Tilapia

Roast chickpea cous cous bowl

Shrimp & Grits

Ricotta lemon spinach pasta

Super crispy tofu

Shrimp Scampi

Cheeseburger soup

Garlic & Butter shrimp (can server over many easy sides!)

Japanese Curry with Roux Cubes (you can buy any roux cube you like this guide helps you make the curries!)

Slowcooker/crockpot chuck roast

Coconut tofu curry (ive also made this with chicken!)

Cheddar Rosemary Scones (ive also replaced the rosemary with chives before to great success!)

Shepard's Pie (you can also use instant mashed potatoes to make this a lot easier!)

Roasted potatoes

[clericofshadows]

the revenge of a king

Description: Regis Shepard gets word from an Alliance ally of his about an issue at Liara T'Soni's apartment, that quickly turns into an opportunity to take down the Broker that originally wanted his body... and the asari that gave him to Cerberus in the first place.

AO3 LINK

Paring: Regis Shepard/Kaidan Alenko/Zaeed Massani Part of my Regis Shepard - Lament of Kings series

Word Count: ~20K

Note: This fic is not very Liara friendly, and as such, be aware of that, thank you :)

Regis settled down at his desk with a yawn, rubbing his face and beard.  They were docked on Illium, handling some affairs.  He helped Miranda get her sister to safety, and he could tell that took a load off her shoulders.  He ran a few errands on Illium, getting some information about the galaxy, but pointedly avoiding that fucking office and blocked requests to talk.

T'Soni must know that he knows.  He hopes that she does.

She had no right.  None.

Even if she did indirectly bring you, Zaeed, and Kaidan back together…

He let out a sigh as the doors to his cabin opened, and he smelled the aroma of fresh pasta that immediately made his mouth water.  Shit, he forgot how hungry he was, knee deep in dealing with all the bureaucracy that comes with every single Illium trip.

“The asari know their way around pasta,” Zaeed said as a greeting, placing one takeout box by Regis’s terminal and sitting down on the couch with his own.  “Came as a recommendation from an old friend.  Told her I’ll hunt her down if she wastes my goddamn credits.”

“Well, it smells amazing,” Regis said, thankful for the distraction from his thoughts, hating that she was taking up all his space right now.  “Chicken parm for me?”

“Of course.  Well, their equivalent for it.  Shrimp scampi for myself, but with some asari shellfish replacement.  We’ll see how good it is,” he replied.  “And don’t worry, I got the higher caloric option.  All the fucking fuel you need right there.”

He’s so sweet when he wants to be.  

“Did you get that so I wouldn’t steal your food?”

“Obviously, you selfish asshole,” he chuckled.  “Knew you wouldn’t touch it even with your goddamn biotics if it had seafood on it.”

Regis rolled his eyes and opened the box, getting out the utensils and taking a bite, pointedly ignoring his comment even though he was right.  Zaeed will take his lack of answer as agreement, as always.  The chicken was beautifully fried, the sauce had a lot of flavor, and the pasta was perfectly cooked.  “You better tell your friend that she chose well,” Regis said in between bites.  “Holy shit.”

Zaeed hummed in agreement.  “Whatever this asari shrimp is, it’s incredible.  You’re missing out, babe.”

“No, I’m not.” Regis took another bite.  “God, this tastes damn near like my mother’s recipe.”

Regis still has yet to call her.  Both her and Adrian for that matter.  

He’s afraid.  Afraid of their reaction, of their acceptance of what has been done, of what he has to do to get out of this fucking ship alive.  A part of him knows that they won’t judge–hell, his mother learned her lesson after Torfan–but he can’t shake the fear of losing what little family he has.

“Didn’t know your mother liked to cook,” Zaeed said, his voice piqued with interest.  

Did he meet her at some point? Since he and Kaidan got together in those two years made him wonder.

Knowing Kaidan, he probably did introduce them, if only so she wouldn’t have to find out elsewhere somehow.  No, that’s why he would’ve done it.  If he was being completely honest with himself, Kaidan did it to absolve the guilt of moving on… letting Hannah decide for him what she thought.

Regis got up with his food and joined him on the couch, shutting down his terminal.  “Originally, it was Atlas’s recipe, but he was one of those that wasn’t really specific with instructions, you know?” Zaeed nodded along.  “So Mother took it upon herself to try and recreate it to her and Adrian’s memories of it, and finally nailed it when I was… probably ten or so.”

“You should call her,” he said pointedly, gesturing with his fork speared with shellfish.  “And give her your review.”

Regis didn’t know much of anything about Zaeed’s family, if he even still had a living one.  So it was telling that he, once again, was goading Regis to get off his ass and do something.

“Kicking me in the ass to contact my family again, huh,” Regis said, leaning against him.  “You’re right, as always.”

“It’s a learned skill.  You should look into it.”

Regis glowered at him but accepted his kiss on his cheek anyway.  “Maybe later.  I’m just… not in a good headspace to talk to her right now.”

“Because of her?” Zaeed asked, emphasizing the pronoun.

Regis only nodded, burying himself back into his dinner.  “I’m trying so hard to not let her invade every fucking part of my life, but she… she fucking violated me for her own selfish wants.  And a part of me keeps saying I can’t be mad because of what she gave me.  And us.”

Zaeed wrapped an arm around him.  This wasn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation since he learned about her involvement in his resurrection, and it sure as hell won’t be the last.  “I’ll say this every time.  You have the goddamn right to feel how you do.”

“I know.”

About to dig back into his food, his omnitool pinged with a message from his private server.  He let out a small sound of surprise when he noticed it was from Hackett. 

SH: Clarkson has something for you.  Alenko has patched her into your server.  It sounds like something that we all might want to look into, even if I know you would rather get the hell away from Illium.

Regis raised an eyebrow and pushed away the to-go box with a sigh.  “Looks like we’re not finished with this place yet.”

“Wren’s the… N7 that Hackett uses as his main agent, right?”

Regis nodded, standing up from his terminal.  “Old friend of mine.  She’s a Fury and one hell of a great infiltrator despite her biotics.  She’s been looking into T’Soni, according to Kaidan when we met up.”

“Think this could be the chance to get your fucking revenge?” He asked, his tone light.  Zorya still lingered in his mind.  Zaeed’s impulsiveness, Regis’s moral code… they were good now and arguably better from it.

Revenge didn’t sound so sweet anymore.

Regis shrugged.  “I’m hoping that we can find a way to ensure she can never work in Alliance space ever again at the bare minimum.”  He brought his terminal over to the coffee table and loaded up Wren’s message.

WC: Call me as soon as you can.  I understand that you have a lot going on, but this could be big.

They shared a look.  

RS: I’m free.  Zaeed’s with me.

A moment later, a vid call request came through.  Regis accepted it and Wren appeared on the screen, her violet hair pulled into a messy bun.  She hadn’t changed much since he last saw her, although the scar under her eye was new.  To his surprise, though, she was in Destroyer gear.  Heavier than what she normally went for. “I still can’t believe I’m able to talk to you again,” she said, her face breaking out into a watery smile.  “God, I missed you and your asshole self.”

Regis smiled back.  “Despite everything, I can’t help but be a little glad to be back.  Wren, not sure if you’ve formally met Zaeed, our boyfriend.”

She nodded and waved.  “Only in passing through vid calls like this with Kaidan.  I’m glad to hear that you three have gotten together.  Nice seeing a bit of good in this fucked situation.  Hackett and Kaidan are trying their damndest to get you back as cleanly as possible, but if we can get something directly from her… that may give you what you need to help clear your name without much trouble.”

“Considering how eager she was to try and be in my good graces,” Regis began, side-eyeing Zaeed who scoffed.  “I might be able to get a statement.”

“Good, because I think you’ll want to hear what happened.  T’Soni was nearly the victim of an assassination. She even stuck around in her apartment for a bit and fled,” Wren continued. “Traced her to Baria Frontiers over in the Dracon Trade Center.  I'm tempted to go there myself, or send Nomad after her.  Feels like this is Shadow Broker related. She’s been trying to find leads on him for a while now.”

Seth Nomad.  A Paladin class.  Quiet, stoic guy with an incredible mind for on the fly hacking and intelligence.  His drones were damn near revolutionary.  Regis trusted him with this kind of mission.

Interesting. It appears her sordid past has finally caught up with her.  Angering the Shadow Broker has consequences.  Regis was only partially sorry it failed, if only because she deserved more consequences for her actions than that. “Whatever you think is best, Wren. As always, I trust your judgment.”

“Appreciated.  Then I’ll send Seth after her, and I’ll meet up with you in Illium.”

Regis nodded.  “Obviously, I’ll be bringing Zaeed with me.  Need me to bring anyone else to take point with me?”

Wren shrugged.  “I’ll let you decide that.  What do you usually do out in the field now?”

“Myself and two others, maybe three.  Rest on hold for backup.  The types of missions I’ve been doing haven’t required a lot of firepower.”  Except maybe Horizon so far, but he wasn’t about to take just anyone there, not when he knew Kaidan was there.

“To echo what you said to me, I trust your judgment.  Meet me at the taxi stand ASAP.  I’ll send you some more details about T’Soni’s apartment and let Hackett know we’re on the case and to reopen her  case file.  Being an associate on the Normandy gave her some basic citizenship in Alliance space, so we're looking to ban her from the cluster if at all possible.”

An intriguing loophole to use.  He didn't see any problems with that interpretation, looking forward to seeing if they could get that result.  Petty, but she had the capability to put an Alliance soldier officially to rest, and she knowingly gave his body for experimentation for something that could've failed. 

Or turned him into something worse. 

“Thanks,” Regis said.  “Zaeed and I will get suited up as soon as possible.  I’ll be bringing our resident Justicar as well.”  At her nod, he continued, “Don’t want to do anything to offend you.”

“The only thing you could do to offend me is to let her go after all this bullshit.  Here’s to hoping we see something to give to the brass.”  Wren ended the call.

Regis shoved some more of his food in his mouth before tossing the container in the trash to be dealt with later.  He motioned for Zaeed to go on ahead as he activated his personal terminal to send a call to the observation deck Samara kept to herself in.

“Samara?” He asked, waiting for a response.

“Yes, Shepard?”  Good, she was in her room.

“I have a personal request.  Can you get suited up and ready to join me and Zaeed?”

“Of course, I will be right there.  May I have a few more details?”

“It involves Liara T’Soni and her apartment here on Ilium.  She was the one that brought my body to Cerberus, and has been hunting down the Shadow Broker to stop his attempts on her life,” Regis explained.

She was silent for a few moments.  “Thank you.  I will get ready to join you both at the airlock.”

Regis acknowledged her and ended the call.

– –

Regis rejoined Zaeed and Samara at the airlock, nodding at both of them.  Zaeed had opted for his Ajax gear–and Regis couldn’t help but eye him appreciatively–while Samara wore her ornate plate armor.  Moreau eyed them from his spot at the helm.

“Moreau, we’ll be heading back down to Ilium.  It’s a personal mission for me, but it involves T’Soni,” he said, watching as he raised an eyebrow.

“You mean that asari we picked up back on the SR-1?  Thought you wanted nothing to do with her,” he replied, narrowing his eyes.  “What’s going on?”

“Cerberus wasn’t the only reason why I’m back.  It was her.”

Moreau blinked and swore a moment later.  “You’re shitting me.  She is the reason why Cerberus got their hands on you?  Are we talking about the same person?  Last I remember she was just a nerdy archaeologist in over her head.”

“I thought so too,” Regis said quietly, but enough for them to hear. “I’m working with an Alliance contact of mine.  If I can get her to confess, it will do a lot to help clear my name.”

A pained expression flashed on his face for a moment, and Regis felt himself soften.  “Yeah, you have my full support on that.  Shit, Shepard, I had no idea.”

“Neither did I, but my uncle, Vikram, was able to get some information they later gave to Kaidan not long after Alchera…” Regis trailed off, waving away Moreau’s wince at the mention of the planet.  “Alliance has been keeping an eye on her ever since, but it wasn’t until that little Omega shoreleave that I was able to connect the dots for them.”

He nodded.  “You need anything, you just let me know.”

“I will, thanks.”  

Zaeed reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly.  Regis kept his grip on his hand until they left the docking bay, Samara’s presence behind them a comfort.

“What an injustice,” she murmured as they weaved through the shopping terminals.  “Did she do it for herself or for the galaxy?”

“I’m not sure if I want to know that answer,” Regis admitted.  “A gift and a fucking curse all the same.”

“You remember… everything, then,” she guessed, and Regis stopped in his tracks to readjust his scarf, feeling the soft fabric and remembering the scarf he wore when he died.

“I do.”

She nodded and they continued on.

Soon enough, they were at the main taxi stand, and Wren had her arms crossed, sitting down at one of the benches, still clothed in her heavy-duty Destroyer gear.  Not his favorite set from his N7 days, opting for his custom Sentinel gear that he later requisitioned for Kaidan and Ashley on the SR-1, but he liked the extra protection and shield generation it gave.

She brightened when she saw them, standing up.  She nodded at Samara.  “I’m Major Wren Clarkson, N7 Fury and a liaison from the Alliance concerning our case on Liara T’Soni.  And an old friend of this guy.” She inclined her head towards him.  

She’s been promoted.  Good.

Samara nodded.  “Justicar Samara.  Pleasure to meet you, Clarkson.”

“Pleasure's all mine.  I see Regis has gathered himself a decent crew, despite it all.”

“That he has,” Zaeed said with a nod.

“And good to see you, Zaeed.  I have the coordinates ready.  Police are already on the scene, but we should be able to get in,” she said, waving her omnitool.  “I heard you obtained your Spectre status back.”

“Anderson granted it back to me,” Regis said.  “But the new Council refused to meet with me.”

“Fucking cowards,” Zaeed muttered.  “You’re the reason why they are even in their positions.”

Regis thought the same, but he didn’t voice it aloud.  He doesn’t regret his decision.

Sovereign was the main target.

“Well, if you’re willing to leverage it, we should be able to get in.  Let’s go.  Nomad’s already on his way to grab T’Soni.”

– –

The apartment complex was typical asari architecture, but it appeared to be expensive to Regis’s amateur eye.  Anything but nondescript.  He noticed police skycars parked around the area, and many asari and turians in basic armor were moving and running around. High security.

They didn’t seem to spare him much of a glance once they reached the entrance.  An asari walked over.  “What is your purpose for being here?”

“Spectre Regis Shepard.  My team and I are investigating the T’Soni apartment,” he announced, activating his omnitool to transfer his credentials.

“I’ll send word to the officers in charge.”  They waved their omnitool.  “Have a good day, Spectre. You aren’t the only one here.  Must be important.”

He hasn’t dealt with other Spectres since Nihilus.  Curious.

“May I ask who?”

“Spectre Tela Vasir.  She's already inside.”

Regis didn’t recognize the name, only noticing that it was asari.  He nodded in acknowledgment and entered the elevator.

It was a quick trip up to the floor that held T’Soni’s apartment, and soon enough, they followed the commotion to a blocked off entrance.  The asari officer at the door waved them in without a second glance.  The apartment was modern, open, with plenty of space.  Too much space for one person, he thought, but maybe her new career in information gave her enough perks to afford such a place in Illium. Officers were scattered around the building, scanning and examining the area.

An asari in blue and silver armor approached, walking down the stairs, her face covered in purple markings.  A Spectre logo sat proudly on the shoulder of her armor.  “It seems like you’ve heard what happened, Commander Shepard. Someone tried to kill your friend.”

It took a lot of will-power to not object to that descriptor, but Regis wasn’t about to reveal too much too soon, just in case.  

She dismissed the officers, waiting for them all to walk out of the apartment before introducing herself.  “Tela Vasir.  Special Tactics and Recon.  But you probably already knew that by now.”

Regis nodded.  “Only by talking to the officers downstairs.  Regis Shepard,” he offered belatedly.  “But you also probably know that by now.”

“That I do.” She smirked.  “One of our most famous operatives.  I feel like I should get my chestplate signed by you.”  

Regis merely raised an eyebrow at that.  “Depending on how you define ‘famous.’”

“A human having the balls to damn the Council… the Council that even granted you our role in the first place.  I don’t know whether to be impressed or spit on your name.” 

Regis couldn’t get a read on Vasir, scanning her face for any tells.  Her voice was carefully neutral, almost a bit playful.  He needed to talk to his squad and get their view on the situation later.  

“I did what I thought was right, same as any other Spectre.”

“I respect that, Shepard.  What brings you here?  Business with your friend?” She asked.

How much to reveal… 

Wren stepped forward to stand beside him.  “Not so much.  Alliance has been looking into her and her role in putting our best operative in the hands of Cerberus.  I’ve been tracking her for some time now.”

“And you are?” Vasir sounded curious.

“Major Wren Clarkson.”  She motioned to her chest plate.  “N7 designation.  This is most likely Shadow Broker related.”

Regis glanced over at her, wondering her motive.  He also noticed an earpiece in her ear.  Must be how she’s keeping in contact with Nomad, recognizing the sleek Alliance model from anywhere.  

“A dangerous enemy to have.  What do you need from me?”

“An overview, if you don’t mind,” Regis said, motioning around the apartment.  “What happened?”

Vasir went into detail, talking about how someone took a shot at T’Soni, pointing at the series of bullet holes in the window.  She stuck around for a few moments after the attack before leaving.  Vasir noticed it must’ve been important.   She had no idea where T’Soni ended up, which was a point in Regis’s favor, keeping that information to himself as she continued on.  No blood, so no signs of any clear struggle.  There was a kinetic barrier in place to keep her safe from the sniper.  

“Clever girl,” she praised.  “Paranoid, but clever.”

Regis didn’t comment on that either, which was an answer in itself by the curious look she gave him.  Instead, he asked, “Did the police investigation turn up anything useful?”

“Just the mess and the bullet holes.  I gave them a gold star for finding the bullet holes.  Think she would’ve left anything for you?”

“She didn’t know I was coming,” Regis said.  “I came here because of Clarkson.  But, I can take a look around and see if there’s anything only I would notice.”

“Go ahead.  The floor is yours.” She stepped aside and nodded at him and his squad.  Wren decided to go her own path, walking away from them and looking at the bullet holes.  

Regis turned the corner to check out a desk tucked up against a wall lined with bookshelves.  Out of the corner of his eye he noticed her doctorate.  Vasir followed his gaze.

“University of Serrice, back on Thessia,” she translated for him. Regis could read it just fine, but he didn’t make it known aloud. 

Vikram, ever the studious matriarch when they wanted to be, made a point to teach him asari the moment they could.  Visits with his uncle were often laced with asari standard, getting immersed in their language when he was in his preteens to his teens.  He continued studying the language when he went to university, but it's not something he has to use often out in the field.   “She’s getting good use out of all that education,” she continued snidely.

Perhaps he and Vasir have more common ground than he expected.  

He rounded the corner and a glass case caught his attention, housing something beat up, charred and damaged, out of place in the admittedly elegant home.  He approached it, and immediately felt sick, his gaze first landing on a piece of scorched, frayed cloth, a scrap of black and red fabric that mirrored the one around his neck.  Something that always gave him comfort, a way to connect to his father through a tradition, a way to show his love by giving it to those he considers friends, family… lovers.

And here it was, imprisoned and stolen from him, alongside the armor that he took his last breath in.

Dark energy coursed through him, a flash of violet biotics that surrounded his hand into a bastardization of a Warp that was aimed straight for the display case, chaotic energy shooting forward and raw with power.

The sound of glass shattering filled the air, the once pristine display case reduced to nothing more than a pile of shards. He reached out for the battered torso of his armor, taking it apart, piece by piece, ignoring Samara's and Zaeed's noises of concern, ignoring Vasir’s shocked protest.  

Where is it, where are his dog tags, where is his father's goddamn ring?

He ripped away the scarf, pulling apart the seams of the armor, throwing away long since compromised plating and reinforced fibers, destroying his once beloved armor without a second thought.

How did she get this?  Did she tear it off his corpse when she felt she had the right to deliver his body to Cerberus?  He knows this is the one he died in, the grey armor he commissioned for himself, Kaidan, and later Ashley during the Normandy mission.

He remembered Kaidan touching his scarf with a gentle hand before they went their separate ways on the quickly decaying ship.  He remembered wishing it could give him warmth and comfort as he faded away in the vast emptiness of space that became his grave. 

There was nothing inside it, nothing more than a gruesome reminder of how he died and who brought him back

They can't be lost, can they?  If she was able to get this off of him, they had to be out there somewhere?

Did she take them too, thinking she had some sick claim?

"Regis!" Zaeed said, breaking Regis out of his thoughts.  Regis realized he was kneeling on the ground, clutching the remnants of his scarf in his hands, torn by his grip. 

Samara knelt down beside him, a calm and steady presence.  Regis looked around and saw Zaeed holding Vasir back with his arm, shaking his head.  Her face was neutral, but something burned behind her eyes.  

"I died in this armor," he said, his voice cracking at the end. 

Samara closed her eyes.  “What a terrible thing to keep.  To display in her own home.  Macabre.”

Wren rejoined them.  “Fucking hell,” she cursed, kneeling down next to them.  “God, I remember the day you requisitioned this set.”

“You… died in that armor?” Vasir stated, echoing his earlier words.  “How the hell did she get it?”

“You tell me, Vasir,” Regis spat, dropping the remnants of his scarf on the ground.  “Take whatever you need, Wren, for your dossier.  I need some fucking air.”

There wasn’t exactly a private place to go, so he walked over to the balcony next to the bullet holes.  Zaeed joined him, leaning against the barrier.  

Regis moved closer, the shoulders of their armor touching.  “Zaeed, I am going to be the worst goddamn hypocrite right now.”

He shrugged.  “Don’t feel like you have to apologize for fucking Zorya again.  None of us expected to see that.  What a fucking–” he shook his head.  “Don’t even have the goddamn words to say how angry I am on your behalf.”

“She has to have my dog tags.  My ring.  God, she tore that off of my corpse!  Cerberus didn’t have the full armor…” Regis swallowed down bile.  “I felt violated before, but this?” He let out a shuddering breath.  “This is unforgivable.”  

His fingers itched for a cigarette.  Not just one Astra to feel the sharp nip of red sand, but a whole goddamn pack.   He hasn’t smoked a whole pack since the days after Torfan.

The urge to ask Zaeed for his lighter kept growing every second.

“Do whatever you feel is right,” Zaeed said.  “But don’t let it destroy you.  She is not going to take away who you are.” He finished that statement with a hard look.  If Regis wasn't about to compromise his morals for one of the men he loved, he shouldn’t do it for himself either.  And then he will be mad about Zorya again.

Regis only nodded, his hand going back up to his own scarf.  Wren joined them next, her omnitool open.  A moment later, his omnitool pinged.

WC: Nomad found T’Soni.  Showed her a picture of us from N training.  She let down her guard and was able to meet with a contact.  I sent word that we were working with a Spectre and gave him her name. Turns out, she tried to kill T’Soni.  And her contact?  Has the location of the Shadow Broker.  She’s hellbent on getting revenge for some reason, but wouldn’t say until you meet up with her.

Wren shut off her omnitool and walked back over to where Vasir and Samara were by the stairs.

She was waiting for his move.  

What was Vasir’s motive for hunting down T’Soni?  Regis cursed himself for not knowing more about his Spectre “colleagues.”  There had to be something.

Regis glanced over at Zaeed who inclined his head towards Vasir.  He leaned in close and brushed a kiss against his cheek, whispering into his ear.  “Your move.  Think she could be an ally?”

“I want to think so.”

They rejoined the group by the stairs.  Vasir looked back at his old armor.  “I wondered what that was.  Now I know.  Dare I say that I was wrong with assuming that you were friends.”

“It’s a fair observation to make.  Wrong, but fair.  I’m only here to get information that could help me and my name,” Regis said.  “What brought you here?”

“Illium is my territory.  T’Soni made a name for herself, not that it was a good one,” she replied.  Vague but Regis couldn’t sense a lie.  Wren stayed neutral as well.  “You didn’t seem all that worried when you saw the carnage here.”

“Can’t say that I care very much for her well-being right now.  Besides, I would let the Shadow Broker deal with her, but I want my life back.” Regis said, staring her down.  “So I’ll ask one more question.”

“And that is?”

“I applaud you for your efforts here.  What made you stay behind after trying to take her down?”

Vasir tilted her head to the side, her face staying neutral.  “What the hell are you talking about, Shepard?”

“When I say that Wren has been looking into T’Soni, she has been tracking her every move.  Wondering why she’s dealing with Broker agents and Cerberus… making sure she can never return to the Alliance…” Regis gestured around.  “Wren told me two things.  Where T’Soni was, and what happened to her apartment.  I chose the apartment.  Our friend in the Ns chose her location.  And he found out something interesting from her and from a contact.”

He stepped closer, standing in front of Vasir.  “I told myself when I heard about what happened that I was only partially sorry that this shit failed.  That still remains true with what I learned just now.”

“And you’re going to trust whatever she says despite what you’ve learned from her apartment?  About the hand she played…” Vasir trailed off, seemingly at war with herself.  She let out a sigh a moment later, tensing up.  “Fine.  None of you are raising your weapons against me.  What game are you playing?” Her face twisted, morphing into anger. 

Wren spoke up.  “We’re not.  Why?  Why try to kill her?  What are you looking for?”

“You’re speaking to the Butcher of Torfan, a Justicar, and a former Blue Suns,” Regis said, not rising to the bait.  “I don’t think any of us have any moral ground to stand on, so neither do you.  Be honest.  I’m simply curious.”

She let out a surprised snort.  “You surprised me, Shepard.  I was wrong about many assumptions.  Fine.  You said it yourself.  She had dealings with Broker agents.  One such agent is now back in his clutches ever since she wronged the Broker.  He wants revenge.  She also wants revenge.”

“And he hired you?” Zaeed asked, sounding unimpressed.  “A goddamn Spectre.”

Before Vasir could reply, Samara filled in the blanks.  “You use his information for the Council, but it comes at a cost.”

“What’s a few lives for the good of the galaxy?  You would know, Shepard.  How did it feel losing the Ascension?”

Like resigning humanity to a different fate in the eyes of the galaxy.  

“Is this that ‘spitting on my name’ you were talking about earlier?  I own my shit, Vasir.  I’m the goddamn poster boy for Cerberus right now.  We are the same.”

Vasir stepped back away from him.  He’s made his point.  She made hers.  “And here I expected a friend hellbent on revenge to save his darling asari.  Instead, I got something better.”

“You know, Vasir, I think we have a similar goal in the end,” Regis said, rejoining his squad.

“Do we?” She asked, her markings rising up in surprise.  

“Stop hunting down T’Soni, and I’ll make sure you can keep doing what you’re doing, as I have my own plans for her,” Regis said, crossing his arms.  “I may end up having to work with her, but she will be the Alliance’s concern.”

“What do you have on her?” She asked, narrowing her eyes.  

“Nothing that helps you right now,” Wren said.  “Else I see you as another way to get what we want.  She wants the Shadow Broker.  Shadow Broker wants her.  We’ll meet up with her, see what plans she has.  If all she wants is that agent you mentioned, we can work a deal, perhaps?”

“Meet up with her.  I’ll stay here and later go dark.  Won’t be the first time it takes me a while to radio back in.”

“Do I have your word?” Regis asked.

“That I won’t follow you?” She chuckled.  “I didn’t know she had Alliance watching her.  I won’t be able to fool you.” She turned to Wren.  “Why aren’t you a Spectre, Major?”

“I have too much fun working with my favorite people,” Wren shrugged. She would make a good Spectre, but he doesn’t see her trying to pursue that path.  Vaguely, he knew that she was on the shortlist because of the Blitz and Elysium, but she’s never been one for ship command.  “How loyal are you to the Shadow Broker?”

“Why?  There’s not a goddess-damned thing any of you will be able to do to him.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Wren said.  “None of us care for him.  If it gets us closer to what we want with T’Soni.  Tough shit.  He’s just another obstacle.”

“You’ll take down an entire shadow organization just to get back at one person.” She scoffed.  “I guess I should've expected that of you.”  She faced them all down. “Put someone better in his place, if you're planning on going that far.  I won't be happy if we lose this resource.”

“Neither will I,” Regis admitted, watching as she tilted her head to the side in surprise. “I can't guarantee anything.  I have one goal in mind, and that’s to make sure T’Soni faces consequences for what she did.”

“I’ll accept that.  It won’t look good for either of us if a Spectre turns up dead.  But don’t count on my future help if you dismantle one of the few resources in the galaxy that can do some good.”

“What made you change your mind so readily about the Broker?” Samara asked.  “Loyal to a fault?”

She smirked.  “I see the writing on the wall, Justicar.  Shepard is a determined man.  He is looking for something and he’ll do anything to get it back.  I’d rather not get in his way.  I know his methods.”

“And I do as well,” Samara glanced over at him.  “Yet while this mission has forced his hand, he has kept his own word to me and has not strayed against a moral code with actions that I would find reprehensible.”

“Noble and moral to a fault, like all Spectres,” Vasir said, nodding at her and Regis.  She waved her omnitool, and Regis received a data transfer request.  “Here are my contact details.  Keep me out of the fallout.  I’m curious to see what next galaxy shattering act you’ll do next.”

He accepted her request, confirming the details.  “Next time, I hope we meet under better circumstances.”

“As do I, Shepard.  I don’t know whether to wish you luck or not.”

“With Shepard?  Luck is always appreciated,” Zaeed chuckled.  “I’ve done a couple of dealings with the Broker myself.  I wouldn’t mind seeing a different one in charge.”

Regis wasn’t surprised to hear about that, considering he himself had also dealt with the Broker on the SR-1, not seeing any reason to get on his bad side.  Turns out it didn’t matter in the end and he still tried to sell Regis to the Collectors.

T’Soni saved you from that fate.  She is the reason why you’re here.

He let out a sigh and tried to clear his head.  Her intent was why he was so mad, her selfishness, and her acting like she did nothing wrong.  She could’ve made things far worse for the galaxy if The Illusive Man didn’t want him as he was.

He may be fine with Miranda now, but he won’t forget the mention of the control chip so easily.  And a part of him can’t wait to throw that in T’Soni’s face.  

Zaeed glanced over at him as Vasir replied, “Then I’ll wish you luck.  Be careful out there.”  She walked out of the apartment with barely a glance behind her.

The moment she was out of sight, Regis sat down on the bottom of the stairs, heed in his hands.  His squad joined him: Zaeed said beside him, Samara behind him, and Wren on the step below him.

“Are you alright?” Wren asked.  “And be honest.  I don’t want any of this ‘I’m fine’ bullshit when you clearly aren’t.”

“I can’t reconcile any of this shit in my head.  I don’t know how to feel about any of this.  She gave me life, but…” he swallowed, trying to find the words but nothing came out.

“But she did it for herself first,” Samara guessed.  “She didn’t tell your family or your love about what she did.  She’s the reason why you’re leading his mission, but she’s also why you got a second chance.  I see why you’re so conflicted.  Good came out of her selfishness, even if you may not see it that way.”

“The thing is, I do,” Regis said.  “Because I may have died and remembered every goddamn second of it, I also–” he reached for Zaeed’s hand, who squeezed it tightly, “I also got something I’ve always wanted out of it.  But that doesn’t mean she can’t face consequences for her selfishness and recklessness that could’ve made things far worse for me.  For us.  For the fucking galaxy.”  He stood up, letting go of Zaeed’s hand.  “Let's not delay the inevitable any longer.  Where does Nomad want to meet up?”

“More like where T’Soni wants to meet up,” Wren said with a wry grin.  “Her office.  Nomad has the details on the Shadow Broker’s location.  He wasn’t too keen on letting her have it.”

Sounded like Nomad.  Quite protective of secrets.  

Quite protective of his fellow Alliance.  

“Then I guess we head back over to the main port,” Regis said with a sigh, steeling himself for that conversation. “At least we'll be close to the Normandy if we need her resources.”

– –

They barely opened the door to her office when Nomad waved them in.  He looked different, the two years changing him more than others.  He lost his long braids for a close shaven look, now sporting a beard that rivaled Regis's. It suited him well.  “Good to see you, Shepard.”

“Same to you, Nomad.  Wish it was under better circumstances.” Regis shook his hand. 

“Don't we all?  She's at her desk and not very happy, just letting you know.”

“And are you the source of that?” Wren asked playfully.

“Maybe.” A smile tugged at his lips before he stepped aside.  “She’s waiting.”

Regis walked up the stairs with Zaeed and Wren flanking him on both sides, Nomad and Samara a half-step behind him.  When he entered her office properly, she shot up from her desk and headed towards him.  Already clothed in armor, a more asari styled set than the Gladiator gear she chose for herself, if necessary, back on the SR-1.  It never was.  “Shepard!  What is going on?  Did you deal with Vasir?”

He stepped back, trying to put distance between himself and her.  “Vasir has been dealt with.  Though, I have to ask: What the hell were you thinking ever getting involved with the fucking Shadow Broker?”

“It was the only way I could–”

“Trust me, I know what you did,” Regis interrupted, unable to keep the venom out of his voice.  She flinched.  “T’Loak was kind enough to tell me, no strings attached.  You need to be better at stealth.  Lots of footage of you consorting with Cerberus.”

“Is that how the Alliance got involved in this?”  She pointed a finger at Nomad.  “Have you been watching me?”

He snorted.  “No.  The honor of that role goes to Wren Clarkson.  Word of advice, T’Soni.  You’ve made yourself a target of the Alliance, and by stealing away what could be considered Alliance property in some loopholes and interpretations of the law… you have burned any bridge you may have made while on Shepard’s old ship.”

“Just goes to show how careless you’ve been,” Wren said.  “Shepard has many friends and allies.  After his death, one such friend got their hands on that damning footage.  We’ve been watching you on and off for two years.”

T’Soni opened her mouth, her face twisting in anger, but Regis stepped forward, holding up a hand.  “The only reason why I'm helping you take down the Shadow Broker is because he damn near sold my body to the Collectors and I wouldn't mind seeing someone else in charge.  Consider yourself lucky that I'm not going after you for being a goddamn hypocrite and selling my body to a terrorist organization. Pot, kettle, T'Soni."

He’s not going after her yet.  And everyone in the room save for her knew it.

“But it worked out for you in the end!  I saved your life.  I couldn’t let you–”

“You couldn’t let me die?” Regis finished for her.  His family did.  Kaidan did.  The Alliance did.  Zaeed did.  But she couldn’t.  

She didn’t object.  He shook his head, stepping back.  “Whatever.  No use arguing about it now.”  The image of his armor in the glass case burned in his mind.  “Good job on preserving my armor though.  Was it hard to remove from my body?”

She flinched again, stepping back this time.  He felt a small amount of satisfaction at her reaction, but she didn't offer up any protests or arguments. 

Nomad inhaled sharply from behind him.

Wren stepped forward, cutting through the tension in the air.  “I think we’ve spent enough time on this.  The Shadow Broker awaits.  But what is about him–other than his dealings with the Collectors–makes you so damn determined to take him down, T’Soni?”  She asked, sincere, crossing her arms.

“I don’t have to answer to you,” she replied, balling her hands into fists.  

“But will you answer to me?  I am offering my help, but I can go, do this on my own, and forget all this and leave you here,” Regis said, narrowing his eyes.  

She seemed to be at war with herself, looking at Regis, his fellow N7s, and his squad.  “Fine.  He has taken my friend–that friend, mind you is part of the reason why you’re here.  Combine that with his desire to get rid of me for taking away his precious cargo, I have plenty of reasons why I want to take him down.  And your N7 refuses to part with the information that could lead us directly to him.”

He chose to ignore her pointed comment about him and turned to Nomad.  “Ready to part with it now, Nomad?”

“For you, sure,” he said, throwing a smirk over at T’Soni.  “Location data at your service, my friend.”  He passed over the disk, and Regis pocketed it in a pouch of his armor with a nod.  

“I see no reason to delay any longer,” Regis said.  “We’re taking the Normandy.  Nomad, Wren?”

“I’ll join you,” Wren said.  “Nomad?”

“I have my own transport.  I’ll stay behind,” he replied.  “Think you’ll have enough firepower without me.”

He waited for T’Soni’s response.  She looked between all of them before nodding.  “It would give us the best chance to fly in undetected, assuming the stealth systems are the same.”

He nodded.  “Unfortunately, I’d argue it’s better.”  He opened his omnitool with a flick of his wrist and hailed Moreau.  “Moreau, prepare the Normandy for takeoff.  I’ll wire you the coordinates.  We need to go in as quiet as possible for this trip.”

He answered almost immediately. “On it, Shepard.”

“Wren, T’Soni. I'm wiring you temporary access to the Normandy. Don't abuse it,” he said with a pointed look at Wren, who merely smiled in response. He gave her some of the highest authority he could, while T’Soni got the same guest access he gave her back on the SR-1. 

He pushed the requests through, appending another message to Wren’s request asking her to join him in his cabin the moment they can.  

“What is your plan, Shepard?” Samara asked, speaking up after standing silently for so long.

“To take down the goddamn Broker, what else?” Zaeed said, turning to the Justicar.  She narrowed her eyes slightly, betraying a hint of annoyance before nodding.  “How big of a squad are you taking?”

“That will be seen,” Regis said.  “Let’s get back to the ship.  T’Soni, are you ready?”

She nodded.  “I am.  I’ve already made my preparations.”  She grabbed a pistol and a SMG from her desk. “I’ve never been on the battlefield with you, Shepard.”

“You’ll be following my orders,” Regis reminded.  “I kept you grounded on the SR-1 for a reason.  Seems like now you have the training to keep yourself alive.  Don’t give me any reason to bench you.”

He kept wanting her to lash out at him, to react, to be angry at him.  She never did, only nodding and following behind him.  Wren took up the back, only stopping to say something to Nomad he didn’t catch before rejoining them.

They must’ve been a hell of a sight walking through Illium, but Regis didn’t care.

He was one step closer to hopefully getting rid of T’Soni and her influence on his life.

– – 

As they entered the Normandy, Regis stopped in front of the cockpit, knowingly keeping Moreau in earshot.  “Welcome aboard.  T’Soni, you’ve met our pilot, Jeff Moreau.  Moreau, I don’t think you’ve met Major Wren Clarkson.”

He nodded at T’Soni but didn’t offer a greeting, which was telling.  His gaze landed on Wren’s chestplate.  “Alliance on board a Cerberus ship?  Scandalous!”

“Could say the same thing to you,” she laughed, looking around.  “Hell of a frigate.”

“I appreciate your compliments, Major,” EDI’s hologram appeared.  To her credit, Wren barely flinched, her eyes lighting up in interest.

“Regis, you didn’t tell me there was an AI on board!” she said, turning to him with a grin.  “They got you good with that.”

Regis rolled his eyes.  “Because I knew you would get like this.  Were you able to input the location data, EDI?”

“Yes.  Hagalaz, Sowilo system in the Hourglass Nebula, known for its violent storm cells.  A curious destination.”

“I agree.” Regis paused for a beat.  “It’s the location of the Shadow Broker’s base, so stealth will be required.”

“Wait a minute, we’re going where?  Why?” Moreau asked, spinning around in his chair.

Before Regis could reply, Zaeed spoke up.  “T’Soni picked a bone with him when she stole Shepard’s body out from under him.”

“Right…” he narrowed his eyes, his gaze landing on T’Soni before turning back around.  “Why can’t we have an easy, low stakes mission for once?  Let’s take down the galaxy’s biggest information broker that no one knows anything about, that’s going to be easy!”

“This is what you signed up for, Moreau,” Regis said, walking towards the CIC.  He motioned to get Chambers’ attention.  “Chambers, show T’Soni where the medbay, armory, and cargo are and confirm that she has level 1 access for me.”

Surprised at his attention on her, she jumped to it, first motioning for T’Soni to follow her to the armory.  Maybe Taylor can distract her as well.

Before she was completely dragged away, she said, “We need more time to plan, what about your other guest?”

“My other guest is far more equipped for this mission due to her years of experience as an Alliance infiltrator and N7.  I don’t have that same background for you.  We have plenty of time to regroup before the mission, but you also need to be aware of the ship’s necessities in case we have a problem.”

“Besides, he’s long since leaked the SR-2’s plans to the Alliance,” Wren shrugged.  “Which they stole from us, so it’s only fair.”

Regis keyed in his personal cabin code into the elevator and walked inside, motioning for his squad to follow.  It was a bit of a cramped fit all in their gear, but it was the most private place to talk and regroup before they do an official rundown.

There wasn’t a lot of seating in his cabin, so he and Zaeed sat next to each other on the edge of the bed, while Wren and Samara sat on the couch.

Regis took another deep breath.  In and out.  “We’re heading in straight to a large mobile ship,” Regis began.  “It uses the storm as cover, so once we land on the outside, we have to move quick.”

“Or else we get fried,” Zaeed said, pulling out his omnitool to look up facts about the planet.  “Helluva cover.”

“It does ensure a particular amount of safety,” Samara agreed.  “However, after we get inside, what is the plan?  You are serious about dealing with the Broker?”

“To an extent,” Regis admitted.  “I would like to make a deal if I can, but I doubt that will even be possible.  I may have made a deal with Vasir and I understand what the network can do, but I’m willing to go as far as to destroy it if it comes to it.”

“Maybe not,” Wren mused.  “We kill the bastard and ensure that you are no longer a target.  We put someone else in his place, and we throw the book down on T’Soni.”

“And who exactly do you suggest for that?” Regis asked, raising an eyebrow.  “I’m hoping I can distract T’Soni with her friend the Broker has held hostage, but it’s not like any of us can just take the helm.” He looked back over at Wren, a small smile forming on her face.  “I see,” he said, crossing his arms.  “You want to turn this into an Alliance asset.”

“Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking of something similar,” she said.  “At the very least, I can keep it alive until something happens.”

“I would say that is foolish,” Samara began, causing the attention to fall onto her.  She did not waver.  “Going up against a powerful, corrupt institution with the expectation you can change it for the better.  But then again, is that not why you still helm this ship, Shepard?”

Regis clenched his jaw, knowing she had a point.  Wren spoke up once more, “Worst case scenario, we blow the whole thing up and deal with the fallout from Vasir.  I wonder if she’ll appreciate being free from the reigns herself, or maybe we will give ourselves another enemy.”

“Considering the whole point is to deal with T’Soni,” Zaeed said, crossing his arms.  “The Broker is just another goddamn obstacle.  Though, with the right Alliance in charge… we’ll be more prepared for the Reapers.”

Regis could agree with that.  “We’ll proceed with the assumption that we will be shutting down the network or putting it into severe disarray.  But, if there’s a chance we can take it for ourselves, I say we do it.”

“I can concede to that,” Samara nodded.  “Even if I do find parts of this plan foolish.  I understand your reasoning, Shepard.  You have my support.”

“Does Hackett know what you are planning, Wren?” Regis asked.

“Partially,” she admitted.  “Plausible deniability at the moment, you see.”

Figures.  This felt like something Wren would come up with on her own, and Regis would be lying to himself if he said he hadn’t thought about taking the network for himself.

His fingers itched to message Kaidan.  Hell, even his mother, who he had yet to call.

This was yet another suicide mission they were preparing for, not knowing the full breadth of what they were getting themselves into.

And it didn’t help that his greatest betrayer was aboard this ship.

Regis finally nodded at her statement, standing up from the bed.  “You just like giving him more shit to deal with.”

“He’s made a point to ensure no one in the Alliance is going after you,” Wren said.  “This could be yet another way to clear your name.”

“Taking over a whole network just to make my life easier?” Regis barked out a laugh when she didn't immediately interject.  “Fucking insane.  Fine, I’ll start to approach this mission as if we are taking over the network.  Selfish as all hell, but at this point, I want to use everything I can to burn this fucking organization to the ground.”

Regis waited for Samara to object or comment, but she did not, only nodding and rising from her position on the couch.  “When I signed up for this mission, I didn’t expect another mission that could be coined as a ‘suicide’ mission.  You continue to surprise, Shepard.  You will still have my support on this, as I would also like to see T’Soni be put to justice for what she did.  I doubt the asari leadership would be happy to hear about her dealings either.  My word has weight in some circles.”

“Thank you.  I appreciate having your guidance,” Regis said.  HIs omnitool pinged with a message.

EDI: Chambers wanted me to inform you that T’Soni is getting impatient.  

He looked up at the covered viewscreen in his cabin and let out a sigh.

“Got your message, EDI.  Please inform her that this is my ship, and she is merely a guest at my discretion.  We will be down momentarily,” he replied aloud, preferring to speak to her in person.

Her ability to respond immediately to text messages bothered him some, even though it was benign.  Plus, he enjoyed talking to her verbally, hoping that she felt the same.

“Understood, Shepard.  May I inquire as to why you brought her on board despite your clear antagonism towards her?”

EDI sounded curious, her robotic voice tinged with something more underneath her usual inflection. 

Regis decided to indulge her curiosity.  “She’s a means to an end, and this way I can keep an eye on her until I ensure she’s no longer involved in my affairs.”

“Understood, Shepard.  I'll ensure she stays out of our systems in case she decides to try anything.  Judging by her new background on Illium, I believe she could be a potential security risk.  Your message has been relayed.”

“Much appreciated, EDI.”  She didn’t comment on Wren’s obvious security risk.  She must have picked on Regis’s feelings towards the both of them and came to a conclusion accordingly.

He’s stealing EDI off this ship the moment he gets a chance after his tenure with Cerberus ends.

“I'll go ahead and head down to deal with T’Soni,” Wren said, standing up from the couch.  

Samara stood up as well. “I'll go with you, Clarkson.  You said you were a Fury, yes?  I'd like to talk more about your techniques before we reach our destination.”

“I would love to,” she replied.  Once Samara turned her back, Wren looked absolutely excited at the idea, giving Regis a grin. 

Regis merely smiled in response, reaching out for Zaeed's hand to squeeze. After the ladies left his cabin, Zaeed cupped his face, pulling him in for a kiss.  Regis closed his eyes, letting out a sigh and parting his lips, allowing this indulgent gesture, allowing him to stop being Commander Shepard for one goddamn minute and be Regis, Zaeed's and Kaidan's lover. 

“You've been asked this plenty lately, but are you okay?” Zaeed murmured into his ear, pressing a kiss on the sensitive spot underneath his ear. 

Regis shivered, letting out a quiet chuckle. “I won't be okay until I'm off this fucking ship for good.”

Zaeed snorted, having heard this plenty of times before. “Tell me how you really feel.  Want to call him?”

“I do, but I’ll make him worry more.”

“He’s already worried, what’s a little more?  He’s probably already somewhat aware of what Wren’s plans are.”

“Other than her dossier?” Regis snorted, knowing that she kept her cards close most of the time, though he wondered how close they got during the two-year gap.  “I doubt it.”

Zaeed gave him a look and held out his omnitool.  “Remember that goddamn promise we made?”

Regis winced.  Of course he does.  They promised to keep him updated.  

“Call him,” he said, pointedly.  “I’m going to bother T’Soni.” He squeezed his shoulder as he stood up, and Regis didn’t protest as he walked out of his cabin.

With a breath, he opened his omnitool and scrolled to their server connection, opening up a private link and sending it through, getting up to link to his vid screen at his side desk.  Glancing at the time and doing a quick conversion… it would be afternoon on Arcturus.  

A moment passed, and the link opened, Kaidan’s face appearing on the screen with a smile.  It quickly disappeared as he took in Regis’s appearance.  “What’s gotten you all geared up and ready to go?  What’s wrong?  Don’t tell me it’s already time…”

Regis shook his head.  “Not yet.  Still have a few things to work through.”

Recruiting Tali, as much as he wants to keep her out of Cerberus. Dealing with more final personal requests from the various ground crew. Anything to ensure they are as ready as possible.

“Then what has gotten you so on edge?”

“Hackett messaged me.  Wren’s surveillance got us something good.  T’Soni’s been hunting the Shadow Broker ever since she stole my body out from under him,” he began.

Kaidan leaned back in the chair he was sitting in, rubbing his temples.  “Utter insanity.  Although… I can’t help but be thankful you didn’t end up in his clutches.”

Regis had conceded to that point long ago.  “Honestly, this whole situation isn’t something I like thinking about, but in some ways, she did me a favor.  A fucking terrible one.   But get this.  We went to her apartment, and you want to know what was displayed in her home?” Already, venom and disgust had made themselves known.

“With the way you sound, I don’t think I want to know.” His eyebrows were furrowed.  Leaning in closer to the vidscreen, he clasped his hands together, holding them tightly, preparing for bad news.

“My goddamn armor and scarf.  The chestplate,” he spat, feeling the dark energy crackle underneath his skin, spurred on by his anger.  

Kaidan shook his head, turning away.  “I read every bit of that report you sent me.  All of those hundreds of pages, pouring through every detail of their meticulous recount of everything they did to bring you back.”  Regis couldn’t help but close his eyes at that, thinking of his sleepless nights spent pouring over those words.

Those terrifying words.

“And I noticed their initial report on the state of your body.  Some armor intact.  No chestplate.” He almost sounded clinical.  “Focusing on all the oddities.  Hell, I called Vikram, and we both were stuck on that one goddamn point.”

Regis remembered the call they had with Kaidan not long after he initially found out T’Soni gave him away to Cerberus.  Post-orgasmic bliss with Zaeed turned sour because they knew they had to update him on what they learned, about what a former member of the SR-1 did to him.

Kaidan was stuck on the chestplate then.  

He swallowed visibly, almost looking a little pale.  Concerned, Regis almost stopped and interrupted him, but he had to hear what Kaidan was going to say.  Even if it was hard on him, on both of them.

“I know you want your ring back and your dog tags back.  So, all points to her.  If she’s the one that kept them… Ruin her, Regis, not just for yourself and your career, but for what she stole from you and us."  His voice was carefully still, carefully low, but his eyes burned blue.

“You can count on that.” Regis clenched his fist.  “Wren has plans that might work out well for the Alliance.”

“I wasn’t worried.  That tattoo on the front of your neck is proof enough.  What was that quote you found about Labolas when figuring out how to say ‘Fuck you’ to regs after Torfan…” 

The demon on his neck.

Regis touched his neck, tracing down with his gloved hand.  “I’m paraphrasing, but: A merciless butcher… once it has sunk its teeth into an enemy, it will not let go until their last breath.”

A rueful smile appeared on his face.  “And that’s how I know you will get your due.  Good luck, and please be careful… and whatever Wren is planning, I don’t want to hear about it until it succeeds.  I love you, and give Zaeed all my love.”

“I love you, too.  We will be safe.” Regis kissed his fingertips and brought them to the vidscreen, resting them against Kaidan’s face.

He mirrored his gesture and ended the call with a grim smile.

Regis let out another breath, and he steeled himself for the upcoming mission.

– –

Regis delayed going down to cargo as long as he could.  He knew he was being avoidant.  He knew he was delaying the inevitable.  

But he did not want to deal with her any longer.  No more justifications or platitudes.  Nothing can justify what she chose to do. 

Even if…

Regis shook his head to rid the thought. Doesn't matter what good came out of it now. There's plenty of far worse ways her terrible decision could've gone. 

Miranda and admitting the control chip possibility to him continued to linger in the back of his mind, even as he grew to like her.   He can't deny the allure of such a choice.  He's proven to be a menace in more ways than one. 

They had to have known his views on Cerberus before they chose to carve and sculpt him again.  Yet they wanted him whole and intact…

Briefly, a thought occurred that T’Soni could have also been behind that.  Considering she was the one who hauled him over to the enemy, she may have had reservations of her own to keep them in line. 

Nothing that can be gained without talking to her, and he wanted to do as little of that as possible.  

He stopped by Miranda’s office to update her on the situation, being vague on the Alliance details, but she could read between the lines.  

“Wren is just looking out for me,” he offered at the tailend of their conversation.

She didn’t seem impressed, merely raising an eyebrow and brushing away the stray hairs from her bun away from her face.  “I’ll keep looking the other way.  I owe you that much.  Still, I’m surprised you offered the ship for this.”

“I need to keep an eye on her, and we all know the Normandy is the best choice for this kind of mission.”

“That she is.  Can’t say I won’t miss the Shadow Broker in his current state.”

“You and me both.  I’ll keep you on standby in case we need more backup alongside Samara?”

She nodded, not at all surprised at his preferred team at this point.  “Who are you taking down there other than Zaeed?”

She knows him a little too well at this point.

It should concern him, even more so knowing how much intel they had on him in order to recreate him… but she’s admittedly become a reluctant friend.

He hopes she’ll follow him into the Alliance.

“I was thinking Samara, but I might need to pare down the ground team to reduce potential interference from the Broker.  As of now, you and her will be on direct standby, and Wren, Zaeed, T’Soni will be going down with me.”

“Even her?”

Regis met her questioning tone with a hard look.  “Especially her.”

“Maybe I do want to know what you have planned,” she murmured.  Regis only smiled.  She seemed to take it as an answer, nodding, tapping her fingers on her desk rhythmically.  “Fair enough.  I’m sure I’ll figure out the details later.  Be careful out there.  Sounds like you are taking on another suicide mission in the midst of our own.”

“At least you can acknowledge it as such,” he chuckled.  

“I would be a fool not to.” She went back to her screen, and Regis took his leave from her office. 

He was tempted to make a few more stops. Say hello to Chakwas and give her a heads up about the situation, even if Chambers did take T'Soni there already.  Check on the Normandy’s weapons and triple check Vakarian’s work on them to make sure they will have no issues if the Normandy needs to fight her way out.  Pack a few extra energy bars and supplements in case he crashes out on the field, even if he knows that Zaeed always keeps extra supplies on him since Kaidan isn’t here to do the same…

He needs to stop stalling and face the numbers.

Why did he agree to bring her on board?

Closure. The potential to get his due. 

He has to remember that.  

He stopped by the armory to grab his Widow, Eagle, and Mattock, checking each gun over and locking them to his suit.  

He hesitated, looking over the heavy weapons, and decided to not bring any.  The extra weight wasn't necessary, and Zaeed usually kept his grenade launcher on him anyway. 

“Deciding if you need to prepare for the worst?” Taylor asked, breaking the silence. 

“Something like that,” Regis said, closing the cabinet that housed his personal arsenal. “Wasting time, mostly.”

“Everyone else has already stopped by.  Was beginning to wonder about you. Need anything?” He crossed his arms. 

Even after all this time on the SR-2, Regis still wasn’t sure of his opinion on Taylor.  Already soured due to him leaving the Alliance for Cerberus of all things, it was hard for him to change his opinion on him.  It only took Miranda telling him the truth about everything involved in his resurrection to slowly warm up to her.

In time, Regis figures he too might come to an understanding with him.  But for now, things are still distant.

“Be on standby in case we have a problem on board the Shadow Broker’s base. Other than that–” Regis keyed in his passcode to his cabinet, locking it up. “No. I appreciate it, though.”

“Will do. Good luck out there.  Seems like you’ll need it.”

“I won’t argue with that, Taylor.  Thanks for the extra maintenance on my Widow.  Damn good calibrations on the scope.”

Normally, he trusts Zaeed with it, but weapon maintenance felt like a good olive branch to have with Taylor. Not a bad man. Former Alliance... but that fact also soured part of his opinion on him.

He does trust him on the battlefield, which is more he can say about some of his other recruitments.

“Might even send you the details on how I did it.  Just let me know.”

Weapon maintenance tended to be an easy way to get an in with Regis, he has to admit.  Mostly.  It helped with Zaeed back in the day… he started to respect them a hell of a lot more when Regis and Kaidan both were working on their borrowed guns and making notes on the mods Zaeed had made to them.  2180, a far simpler time.

“I'll hold you to that,” Regis replied good-naturedly, pointing at him before walking out and back towards the elevator. 

“We will be reaching the ship shortly, Shepard.” EDI announced as he entered the elevator to finally head down to cargo.  

“Thank you,” he replied, steeling himself for what’s to come.

He’s survived Torfan, he’s survived death for fuck’s sake. 

Thanks to her.

He can handle what’s ahead.

– –

Everyone was ready in the bay by the time Regis joined them.  Zaeed was off to the side, sharpening a blade.  Wren was glaring daggers at T’Soni the moment she stood up to greet Regis.  Samara was meditating in the bay, at the ready.  He appreciated her volunteering to stay behind after hearing the plan, realizing that a smaller squad has its benefits.

This was going to go swimmingly.

He cleared his throat.  “We don’t know much about the Shadow Broker save for a few key points on his operations.  This mission is high risk with little reward if we don’t take care.  Zaeed, on point with me.”  He nodded, sheathing the forged blade.

Regis looked over at Wren.  “I want you to flank.  Scout ahead once we’re on the ship. Depending on the situation, we may end up sticking close.”

“Of course.” She acknowledged. "Likely best to stay together."

“And T’Soni?” He met her gaze.  “You’re sticking with Zaeed and me.”

She nodded, surprisingly offering up no comment.  He’ll have to talk to Zaeed and Wren later to find out exactly what went down here while he was wasting time.

Or perhaps EDI will know.

In a few moments, they boarded the shuttle, waiting for the word from Moreau to depart to the ship.  

“You are ready to get out of here. Good luck, you crazies. I wouldn't be caught dead flying in this kind of storm,” Moreau announced.  Their pilot–Samson, he knew the last name, yet to have bothered to remember her first name–affirmed that they were on the way to the ship without a snipe back to Moreau. 

He had to give it to her for staying away from the bait. 

Already, despite being inside a shielded shuttle, Regis could hear and feel the lightning storm around them.  Thunder clapping in the air like bombs dropping on the surface of a planet, softened by the soundproofing of the shuttle but still clear as day.  

The Shadow Broker's ship was a monster.  A whole city flying through the air, covered in unique shielding and nodes designed to keep itself in alliance with the tumultuous conditions of the planet.  A true beast he'd love to see in his own hands or crashed to the surface if it came down to it.  An engine covered with shielding that was as bright as any sun.

Wren leaned forward, resting her chin on her arms. “Seems like what they said is true about all the storms.”

“Makes for a helluva backdrop,” Zaeed grumbled, crossing his arms and leaning back in the seat.  “The surface of that fucker must be covered with rods or some shit to keep the poor sods from getting fried.”

“Seems like a terrible way to live,” Regis said.  He brushed his gloved hand against Zaeed’s thigh.  Zaeed put his hand over his, keeping it still on his leg.

A comfort he hated to admit he needed right now.

“His ship follows the sunset. Completely undetectable in the storm, unless you know where to look,” T’Soni said, leaning forward.  

Zaeed made a noise that Regis couldn’t quite read.  “Wish it was easy for us to board that ship.  Obviously, the bay is going to be locked down tight.  Finding a hatch might be like looking for a needle in a goddamn haystack.”

“And we can’t be out for long,” Wren grunted, standing up from her seat and peering out the window.  “This is going to be a shitstorm.”

“I think there’s already one going on outside,” Regis said with a half-hearted chuckle, and it was worth the annoyed look Wren gave just to see her lips quirk up in a smile anyway.

“Seems like dying and coming back didn’t change your sense of humor.”

Ouch.  Appreciating her bluntness, he barked out a laugh.  “Means I’m still me, I guess.”

“Was a bit worried something might've changed.  But if Kaidan didn’t see anything different, even being blinded by that ass of yours, then I can trust that it’s the same asshole I’ve always known,” she admitted, glaring more daggers at T’Soni.  She wisely stayed silent.

“He didn't let me off easy.  Felt him Reave.  I’m still learning how to do that from Samara,” Regis replied, twisting his fingers into a false mnemonic.  “He’s so powerful.” He didn't even try to keep the awe out of his voice. He's so proud of how far he's come with his biotics, only wishing he was right there with him to learn them, especially from Vik... To continue their trend of learning and creating together…

“God, you’re so in love,” she said, shaking her head.  Her tone was light, however. “He told me all about it.  Felt pretty damn guilty about it afterwards.”

“He found it pretty damn hot,” Zaeed interjected with a hint of a purr.  Regis huffed out a laugh, not denying it because he did find Kaidan wrapped in his corona very enticing. Wren let out a disgusted noise and rolled her eyes, likely regretting joining them for this mission at least a little.

He missed this type of easy dynamic.

Shame it took this kind of mission to bring it out.

“Preparing to reach the surface of the ship.  Be ready for a drop, Commander,” Samson announced, swinging the shuttle over to the surface of the ship.  

“Be ready for us to return,” he replied, brushing away Zaeed’s hand and standing up.  Soon enough, they were all gathered at the hatch, and the moment it opened and ready for them to drop, Regis went down first, flanked by Zaeed.

How it should be.

How it always should be.

While he enjoyed having Wren back with him, dropping behind him with a flourish, she wasn’t Kaidan.  And how he yearned to be the three of them on the battlefield.  

Regis, Kaidan, Zaeed.

One day, that will be true.

For now, it’s back to dealing with the Shadow Broker, destroying the Collectors, and seeing what comes next.

Now onboard the ship, the wind whipping around them as lightning and thunder clashed in the air, Regis took a moment to look around.  The ship was reinforced with various panels and shielding, some sparking bright with electricity.  

Does the ship also get power from the storms?  Smart if so.

T’Soni spoke up, her voice sharp via the comms.  “It's hard to pinpoint in this lightning, but I'm picking up signals from a communications array near the back of the ship."

“Agreed.  Use a noise reducer and it's loud and clear.  Appears to be our target,” Wren affirmed, unholstering her N7 Valkyrie.

Zaeed stayed close to him, his Raider at the ready.  

The easiest way to travel on top of the ship was via the slanted side panels that flanked the main top deck, some already reinforced with railing, but close enough to a drop that gave Regis pause while leading his crew.  

"There's nothing below but maintenance equipment. We have to find an entrance near the back shielding,” T’Soni continued.  Seemed like she was able to read up on the ship.  Useful.

Before Regis walked underneath an arch, his visor came to life with proximity warnings.  Some type of tech is nearby… the outputs implied to be drones.  A quick glance at the detection seemed to be non-combat models.  

Maintenance perhaps.

“Watch out, we’re going to trigger the maintenance systems,” Regis said, holding up his fist.  “Be ready to take them down.”

He didn’t wait for an affirmative and walked over the trigger point, throwing off an Overload the moment he saw a bright orange drone pop out of a hatch.  Beside him, he heard Zaeed switching ammo types.  Disruptor ammo would be useful here.  

He felt biotics come to life behind him, one field familiar, yet cool and soft, like Wren herself.  The other… he knew it belonged to T’Soni, but it wasn’t the warmth and comfort he associated with Kaidan or Wren’s icy haven. Rather, something invasive, like even his biotics recognized his feelings towards her and wanted her field to stay back. Similar to the incessant buzzing of flies on a hot day–unavoidable and a nuisance.

He grit his teeth and continued forward, keeping an eye out for more drones.

Their path led them to another straight away.  LIghtning hit the ship, aimed at two pillars pointed towards the sky.  They lit up brightly, sparkling with energy.  Best to stay away.

“Capacitors,” Wren said over the coms.  They collect and discharge built up electricity.”

Right as she finished her statement, agents of the Broker poured out of a hatch that closed behind them, getting into position behind the capacitors.

“Fucking idiots,” Zaeed said, swapping out his shotgun for his Mattock and shooting at one of the capacitors.  In a flash, the energy discharged, shooting out and shocking the agents, knocking them out.  “Don’t stand next to the goddamn bombs right next to ya!”

“Nice one, Zee!” Regis praised, leading the squad over to the hatch.  Appeared to be one way, and the ship likely had layers upon layers of security.  No outside terminal access seemed to be nearby.  Wireless hacking would take too damn long.

“Looks like we need to find another way in,” Wren muttered.  “Guess we do have to take the long way.”

“Seems like it,” Regis affirmed and prepared himself for the long walk.

It was a repetitive journey, making their way down the ship.  Taking side paths covered in drones and repair mechs armed to the teeth, followed by squads of agents of all species fighting against them.  

Part of Regis hated to admit that T’Soni adapted to them well, using her biotics primarily as support, firing off singularities that rivaled Kaidan’s and pulling mechs off the side of the ship before their lights could turn on.  It made the trek easier, knowing that he didn’t have to cover for her the same way he, Kaidan, and Ashley did on Therum all those years ago–but perhaps that wasn’t even fair, considering she had been trapped in that prothean contraption for days on end…

Still, he holds that she was a civilian risk and she had no place on his ship.  

But her being there brought you–

Enough.

A brief reprieve in their fight brought Zaeed closer to him, putting a hand on his shoulder plating and holding it tight before giving him a soft look.  “Later,” Regis said, not quite shrugging him off, but stepping back.  Zaeed nodded, furrowing his eyebrows but not protesting.  Not when they are out in the field.  Not when they have an audience.

One thing at a time.  First, get inside this ship.  Then, deal with the Broker and see if T’Soni’s partner is still alive.  From there… he can deal with the shit in his head.

They reached the area where the communication array signal was coming from, a large inset door with a med station on the wall next to it.  T’Soni walked up towards it, activating her omnitool as Wren did the same.

“Whatever you have on you will be stronger with my own programs,” Wren said, putting a haptic display on the door as T’Soni put one on her side.

“I have a bypass shunt program, what do you have?” T’Soni asked, sounding skeptical.

Regis looked between them and sighed.  Wren’s face looked pinched, but she answered all the same.  “Something similar.  Built on Regis’s own bypasses that won him Torfan.”

He grit his teeth at the mention of his past mission, knowing exactly what he used it for.  No survivors, he had ordered.  

Still, it was a damn good program, and he imagined that Wren had improved on it greatly with her own personal twists.

“I imagine the Shadow Broker’s security would be far better than some Batarian basics.” T’Soni sounded unimpressed.  Here we go.  He should intervene, and even Zaeed’s eyes behind his breather mask looked pinched instead of interested in the inevitable fight that was about to break out.

Wren can fight her own battles.  She displays the N7 proudly for a reason.

“And I imagine that you just bought that bullshit program off of some black market without confirming its validity and accuracy,” she shot back.

“Who out of the two of us has broken into a Broker’s base before?” She didn’t deny it.  Regis filed that tidbit away for later if her program failed, and as more context for what she went through to steal his corpse and ship it off.  She wasn’t just on Omega… but in the Broker’s territory?

“And who is actually trained in infiltration and espionage, hmm?” Wren replied, sounding bored.  “Either one will work, both will work, or neither one of them and Zaeed can blow this place up!”

Zaeed almost seemed to perk up at that next to him.  Always up for a bit of destruction.

Regis stepped forward.  “Exactly.  Now, I can’t imagine that the Broker’s forces will let this slide, so get into position!”

Zaeed returned to his spot next to him, while T’Soni and Wren flanked both sides, knowing that the sides of the ship were more likely to have forces pouring out.  For a brief moment, Regis wondered how the Broker was able to amass an operation to this kind of scale–experimental ship, lower ranking agents who go through higher ranking agents, and countless recruits ready to put their lives down for him.

But then again, Regis has seen what his own name has inspired in others, and it makes him shudder.  Influence goes a long way.

As both programs activated, alarms started to blare out, and Regis readied himself for another fight.

– –

Thankfully, at least one of the programs worked–and Regis didn’t care to know which one.  The hatch opened as Zaeed took out the last group of agents with a well placed grenade, grinning as they burned alive.

“Hurry, get your asses inside,” Regis commanded, motioning for them to follow before he locks the doors, eyeing an emergency release that will seal the door.

The moment everyone was inside, he pulled down the release, sealing the door shut behind them.

No easy way out now.  Nor was there any time to regroup and prepare for their next steps.  More agents began to ambush them, and Regis caught sight of one agent carrying a ML-77.  With a twitch of his fingers, he blasted dark energy towards them, tossing out a powerful singularity to knock out the agent off their feet before they could fire the launcher.  Before he could toss out another order, Wren moved in and detonated his singularity with a nasty warp, knocking out the group of guards trapped within.

“Don’t see any more of them, we’re in the clear,” T’Soni announced. Regis kept his Eagle in hand, slowly moving forward.  With clinical precision, he shot the heads of each of the guards to ensure no one tried to follow them further in the belly of the beast, and ejected the thermal clip without a second thought, slotting in a new one as they trekked on.

It was the same song and dance as they traveled through the ship.  Tight hallways and groups of loyal Shadow Broker agents at every twist in turn.  Biotics and tech explosions and a handful of inferno grenades to clean up the mess, alongside firepower.

They kept up with each other well, even with T’Soni now taking up their flank.  Regis would’ve never guessed the transition would’ve been this smooth, but he’s always felt that biotics almost give you more of an attuned “battle” sense, and she and her blasts of dark energy ended up complimenting them well.

And he hated it.

Eventually, their fighting led them almost to what looked like more of a reception area, with desks and various screens all around, providing ample cover for more agents to attack.  The battle was starting to wear on him, his amp feeling like fire underneath his skin, his hands shaking with every mnemonic thrown.

He needs a boost and a break, and he doubts he’ll get either.  Zaeed had a pinched look on his face, one he knows well when his merc is starting to feel the stress of combat on his bones.  Wren was as quick and spry as ever, but even she seemed weary.

He couldn’t read T’Soni.  He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be able to.

Once the next group of agents was dealt with, a glass window caught his eye… peering into a room with what looked to be some kind of torture device.

“I think someone’s strapped to it,” Wren said, holstering her Hurricane.  She checked the door.  “Locked.  Regis, you want to do the honors?”  She stepped aside, giving him a wide berth to the door. 

He nodded, opening his omnitool interface and started to breach the security, looking for patterns until he was able to break through and get the door unlocked.  The display of his ‘tool was bright in the low-light of the ship, seeming even brighter with the weariness he was feeling.  

The displayed lock on the door quickly turned green, waiting for input to be opened.  Before he could step forward, Wren was already making her way back over.

“T’Soni, with me to check on this poor bastard and see if they’re a friend or a foe.  Zaeed, Regis, you want to take a second and scout around?” Wren said, looking between them.

“Sounds like a good goddamn idea.  Come on, Regis,” Zaeed replied, damn near pulling him towards him as they backtracked through their destruction, not even waiting to hear T’Soni’s response.  Distantly, an indignant “Should we really be splitting up?” could be heard echoing through the hallways, but he didn’t give enough of a shit to care if the plan was wise.

He just wanted to get the hell away for a moment.  Wren was always too damn astute.  

Once the torture chamber was out of their sight, Regis slumped against a wall and blindly searched through his pouches on his armor before he grabbed one of his biotic emergency injections.

“Let me, love,” Zaeed murmured, taking the injector out of his hand.  “Breathe, for one goddamn minute, and let someone else take care of something.”

He nodded, taking a deep breath, closing his eyes as Zaeed cradled his neck, pulling him forward so their foreheads were touching.  “In the neck, Zee.  It’s fine.”

“I know.  I know how to take care of a goddamn biotic,” he rumbled, his rough voice feeling like a warm blanket in the confines of the Broker’s ship.  And Regis knew he did.  Between Omega adventures in 2180… to those two years with Kaidan without Regis… Zee was a fucking blessing to have with him on board this ship.

With a practiced ease, he injected the medication–glucagon to spur an increase in his blood sugar to keep him going.  The sting was barely noticed as he kept his gaze on Zaeed, even as he carelessly tossed the empty injector on the ground.  “Now, eat something too.”

He wanted to roll his eyes, but Zaeed’s hard look prevented him from doing it.  He grabbed one of his high calorie bars and broke it in half after tearing away the wrapper, handing him part of it.  “You too.”

He took it and started shoveling it down.  Regis was more delicate about it, but he realized how hungry he had gotten while munching on the bland energy bar.  “You’d think by now they would’ve figured out how to make this shit taste good,” Regis said, wiping his mouth.

“Too busy traveling the goddamn galaxy to figure out the easy stuff.”

Regis let out a snort at his comment.  He was starting to feel… marginally better.  Not great.  Not one-hundred percent.

But better.  Progress is progress.

He wanted to stay longer… pretend that he had all the time in the world to rest with Zaeed.  The mission still loomed… and Wren had graciously allowed him this break.

It was time to return to being Shepard.

With a returned grip on his Eagle, he nodded to Zaeed, and they broke from their embrace, and headed back over to the chamber.  As they got closer, he could hear their voices echoing in the hallway–and then a scream of pain that distinctly sounded like a drell.

Shit.  He and Zaeed ran towards the entrance to the chamber, and hear a cry from T’Soni, a tearful “Feron!” before he saw Wren push her away from the console.

Was this her friend that helped steal his corpse?  

“It’s never that easy, T’Soni, it’s obvious this shit is rigged with something nasty,” Wren began, but quickly fell silent when the drell started speaking.

“You’re right.  The equipment is sensitive to tampering.” He takes a pained breath.  "This chair plugs into the Broker's info network. You have to shut off the power. Pull me out now, and my brain cooks."

T’Soni starts to scan the drell–Feron, Regis has to remind himself–with her omnitool, sounding panicked, concerned.  "Do you know where we can cut the power?"  He could use this, exploit this.

Regis stays silent for now.  As do Zaeed and Wren, who also watch with interest, all who are likely coming to the same conclusion as him.

He takes another breath, almost writhing in the chair.  How long has he been there… is this a new trap, a new little piece of bait just for T’Soni? "It won't be easy. You'll have to go to central operations."

Central Operations?  “Where the hell is Central Operations?” Regis steps forward and asks, holstering his pistol for now.  

Feron turns his head, barely, to look at him.  “You’re… it worked–aaah!” He cried out in pain as his cage sparked.  The activation of the trap must be tied to… some form of activity.  Physical?  Mental?

“Yeah, her fucking meddling worked,” Regis replied, his tone harsh.  “All I care about is where that bastard is!”

He clears his throat and slowly speaks, each word tinged with pain.  "Central operations is down the hall. You know the Shadow Broker's waiting for you, right?"

“Clearly,” Regis scoffed.  “We’ve wasted enough time here.  T’Soni, stay here with Feron and make sure no one follows us in, we cannot–”

She cuts him off, her marking scrunched on her face in anger.  “You are not leaving me behind.  This is my–”

“Your mission?” Wren stepped forward.  “You wouldn’t be in this situation if you had just let the dead die and given Regis the proper burial he wanted.  Cremated to ashes.  A headstone on Earth.  But no.  You interfered.  You got your ‘friend’ trapped and tortured for an info broker’s amusement.”

Regis looked between them, feeling both of their corona’s spike with energy.  The familiarity of Wren’s.  The invasive itch of T’Soni’s.  “Knock it off.  You said you will follow my orders, yes?  Well, my orders for you are to stand the fuck down and keep an eye on him and our backs.  If you can’t handle that, then you’re even more of a poor combatant than I thought.”

The tension was thick in the air.  Zaeed had even kicked off the wall he was leaning against, cracking his knuckles underneath his gloves.  

She let out a frustrated sigh, but her corona never quite died down..  “Alright.  You’re right.  We cannot risk all of us heading towards the Broker’s true lair.”  She unholsters her pistol and positions herself by the door.  “You’re going to come back for us?”

Regis didn’t say a goddamn word as he walked past her, his true team flanking him.  Zaeed did, however, turn back to say one last thing.  “I think you’ll know if we finished the goddamn job, T’Soni.”

– –

The constant announcements from the garbled voice of the Broker quickly faded into the background as they fought through the last few crowds of loyal agents, still willing to die for their precious Broker.

Who was he?  What was he?  How did he gain such power and influence… 

But all that was going to quickly come to an end, soon enough.  The last door to Central Operations loomed in front of them, the interface to unlock the door glowing a bright green.

He took a moment to check over his weapons, swapping over to his Valkyrie.  With a nod at Zaeed, his beloved, and Wren, his good friend, he unlocked the door with the interface and stepped forward.

A yahg was sitting at the desk, clothed in what appeared to be a yahg form of finery… perhaps… or a type of protective gear.  Not that Regis had any experience with yahg beyond the textbook basics–an intensely controlling, dominant species that killed the Council’s attempt for diplomacy–but he seemed calm.  Relaxed.  His fingers laced together on his desk, merely clearly his screen with a wave of his hand as if they were mere flies to be swat away.

How did he become the galaxy’s greatest information broker… as a pre-spaceflight species.

“Here for the drell?” He asked, steadfast as they stepped forward with their weapons raised. 

“Your information is wrong.  That’s only T’Soni’s concern,” Regis replied, his tone bored, neutral.  “I’m only here for you.  I don’t like it when there’s a price on my head.  Dead or Alive.”

“It was a mutually beneficial partnership with the Collectors.  As is yours with Cerberus, but fortunately, your arrival is convenient. The Collectors' offer still stands."

The grip he had on his gun tightened.  

“You have so much anger over her deed, despite what it gave you.  Curious.” He was just taunting them at this point, his calmness to their aggression.

“It'll be pretty hard to run a base this size with no goddamn crew.  All of them were fucking canon fodder for us," Zaeed spat, his face warped into a pissed off sneer.  They were all tired of his game, but none of them wanted to make the first move, to figure out what gambit the yahg was hiding behind his desk, behind his throne.

The yahg almost seemed to shrug.  "They're replaceable. Your arrival is barely an interruption.  But… I must say…” His blank gaze landed on Regis. “Thank you for bringing me one of your bedfellows, Shepard. His bounty from the Blue Suns is most generous.  And Miss Clarkson… Losing her will cripple your precious Alliance.”

Wren’s corona flared and burned bright, suddenly coated with dark energy.  “And losing you will cripple no one.  Regis, Zaeed, I’m done entertaining this.”

Her corona lights up around her before she twists her fingers into a powerful Warp, flinging it towards the desk. 

The yahg stands up and roars, his full height towering over them, throwing the desk up and at them, flinging it in the path of Wren’s biotics. They crash together, the desk exploding in a flash of debris.  In an instant, all Regis can think of is making sure Zaeed is safe, flashing back to Zorya and that goddamn piece of steel that nearly pinned him.  He tackles Zaeed out of the way, hitting the ground with a hard thud together.  Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Wren flash and dodge with her biotics, barely moving out of the way of the thrown parts of the desk.

They were alright.  They survived hoards of mercs.  They can survive this.

With a grunt, Regis stood up and helped Zaeed up, before rolling behind the nearest cover he saw.  Zaeed joined him quickly, just as the Broker started firing at them.  He noticed the shimmer of kinetic shields, and he started prepping an overload on his omnitool as Zaeed provided covering fire.  

“He’s got a Revenant,” Wren called out from his left, somewhere over by one of the pillars.  “Watch out.”

“Got it,” Regis yelled back, before firing off his program, watching as the Broker’s shields started to fizzle.  The yahg’s attention turned towards them, starting to head towards their position, reloading his Revenant with a roar.  A blast of biotics hit his side, another Warp from Wren.  

She was now his target.  She darted from her pillar with a flash of biotics, giving them room to strike.

Zaeed’s omnitool shined next to him as he forged his tech armor over his body, the yellow armor a familiar, welcome glow.  Dark energy burned underneath Regis’s skin, his fingers twitching into his barrier mnemonic, violet wisps surrounding him in a protective shield.  “Now or never, babe,” Zaeed murmured, firing shots over the barrier with his Black Widow, each shot a careful distraction with his dear sniper.  Always working on it.  Preparing it for that perfect shot.

Regis leapt over the barrier and summoned his omniblade, throwing off a Shockwave to stumble the yahg before slicing across his front, tearing the suit he was wearing and burning the flesh underneath.  He rolled underneath the yahg’s flailing punch, swinging blindly with his blade to catch another vulnerable spot.

He sliced against its leg, pulling out another pained roar, before a shield was forged from his omnitool, pushing him back with a surge of force.  He stumbled back, nearly falling on his ass.  Wren surged forward with her own blade, bursting forth in a blast of energy–a fucking charge–slamming into his unprotected side with a shout.  She pulled out her Piranha and started firing, the shotgun glowing red with inferno ammunition, emptying her thermal clip before dodging with her biotics once more.

Regis recovered enough to throw off another shockwave to cover her escape, stumbling the yahg again.  He made a move, flexing his talons, blood running down his suit in rivulets.  Another pained, aggressive, revitalized roar.

Zaeed whistled and pointed up to the ceiling.  Regis looked up, and finally noticed the glowing light in the middle of the arena.  Except, it wasn’t exactly light but some kind of pulsing energy, powering the room, perhaps?

With a nod back at his lover, Regis darted out of the way, Wren already safely out of the center arena.  Zaeed clenched his fist next to his head.  A signal.

A carnage shot and raw biotic power.  A common combo of theirs.  Explosive and effective.  Enough to hopefully shatter that confined energy… and get rid of the yahg for good.  

Zaeed swapped to his Mattock and fired off the secondary shot.  Regis flicked his wrist upward, violent energy surrounding him in chaotic power before shooting out, heading towards the center of the mass.  The glass cracked with Zaeed’s shot, but his dark energy shattered it, the electric power raining down on the yahg.  

“Get down!” Regis yelled, grabbing Zaeed and pulling him back behind their makeshift cover, the energy in the air growing unstable, feeling like it's going to blow.  

He didn’t dare look up to see how the yahg fared under the onslaught of power, waiting until those cries and roars died out.  A moment passed, and a blast surged through the room, the blowback nearly knocking him over even behind cover.  He listened out for Wren, but heard nothing, treating that as a sign she was safe.  Zaeed groaned next to him, slowly getting up before helping Regis up with a nod.

Wren slowly emerged from behind a pillar, the light of the room unstable with the cracked ceiling above.  

There was no sign of the yahg.  Deconstructed in an instant with the blast, he guessed.

It was over.

"Shadow Broker, this is Operative Murat. We had a momentary connection failure. Can you confirm status?"

But no, it wasn’t really over.  The screen that was originally behind the desk was lit up with various audio feeds, unnoticed by him until the end of their fight.  How long has his agents been waiting for a sign, a response?

"Operative Shora requesting update. Are we still online?"

Another voice, another sense of urgency.  

“Now or never, Wren.  This is what you fucking wanted.  Take it!” Regis yelled, spurring her into action.  She ran towards the console, and they jogged to meet her.  Her hands hovered over an interface, a keyboard built for a yahg.  With quick movements, she adapted it for human hands, before clearing her throat and steeling herself.  

"Shadow Broker, I've lost our feed. We are online and awaiting instructions."

“Now, goddamnit!” Zaeed yelled, turning around, his gun still at the ready, as if waiting for more agents to burst through the door at any moment.  

She shot him a dark look, gritting her teeth.  The voices from various agents continued to overlap, more and more waiting for some kind of response.  A chaotic symphony with no rhythm to follow.

She enlarged another interface, one that looked to be part of an audio program, and began to speak.

"This is the Shadow Broker. The situation is under control.  We experienced a power fluctuation while upgrading hardware.  It disrupted communications momentarily.  However, we are now back online. Resume standard procedures."  Her tone was calm, steady, even through the deep, warped garble that changed her voice into the one of the Broker, a curtain of anonymity.  

"I want a status report on all operations within the next solar day.  Shadow Broker out."  She closed out the interface and almost seemed to slump over the controls, her shoulders falling in relief.

“What the hell was I thinking,” she asked, looking between them.  “How can I–”

Regis stepped forward, grabbing her by the shoulders and meeting her gaze.  “You can do it because you’re Hackett’s best.  You’re my friend.  And you’ll have support.  I know damn well Nomad will help you with.  I will help you with this.”

She swallowed, shaking out of his loose grip and brushing away sweaty strands of hair from her face.  “I know.  Just needed to hear it from someone that wasn't in my head.”

She started to click through the files and feeds.  “There’s so much… no protections either. He was too confident.”

The adrenaline of the fight was starting to wear off on him, too, as he holstered his gun and let out a sigh.  “Guess we need to–”

The main entrance to the arena burst open, with both T’Soni and Feron.  Their weapons weren’t drawn, but they both headed towards them.  Feron already looked much better–the surge of power from the blast must’ve freed him from his cage.  

"Goddess of oceans.... It's… you three managed to do it,” Feron breathed out, nearly stumbling over to them.  Zaeed reached out to steady him, but T’Soni beat him to it.

T’Soni started to speak, her voice soft before quickly rising in volume, “It’s over.  It’s… finally over.  For two years… I’ve done everything in my power to reach him, mourning Feron and–” Tears began to stream down her face.

Him?  Was that what she was going to say?

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Regis said, cutting her off with a sharp bite.  “If you truly mourned me, you wouldn’t have sold me to fucking Cerberus!  Or, you would’ve informed the people I actually cared about of your crazy plan!”

The words were flowing out of him like an untamed river, no dam in sight to keep him steady.

“Sure… I gained a precious second chance because of you, but don’t think for one second, I did this for you.  I did it for me, for Wren, for the fucking Alliance.” Every word felt like a sweet release escaping his lips, but they were also sharp knives against his chest, stabbing him with every reminder of the two years that was taken away, of what her actions had trapped him into.

He could barely stand to look at her, silent and stoic even as the tears slowed.

“I wanted to use this to burn you, to find a way to do everything in my power to get my fucking life back.  But now?  I want you out of my sight.  I want you to take Feron, and leave and I swear, if you are ever in Alliance space–”

This time, Wren interrupted.  “I’ll find out.  I’ll know.  You’ve done enough meddling.  Take this chance, and leave.  Punishment is too good for you.”

Feron nodded, gripping T’Soni’s shoulder tightly.  “You’ve given me a gift, despite my own involvement.  Liara, we should go.  Good luck, Shadow Broker.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but this time, Zaeed cut her off, stepping forward with a growl.  “Not just yet.  There’s one thing I want answers on.”

One thing?

“There was something so fucking precious to Regis in his armor. He ripped it apart in your apartment just to try and find it.  You’re the piece that ties all this bullshit together,” he began, glancing over towards him.  

He paused, giving him the chance to continue for him.

He took it with a grateful nod.

His ring and dogtags have been on his mind since the fucking apartment, since seeing his armor bastardized like a shrine to a false god.  Since tearing it apart, bolt from bolt, plate from plate, hoping, searching, yearning for what was his. A ring that belonged to a father he never met.  A ring lucky enough to be safe with his mother when his father died in a shuttle accident. A ring that was going to go to Kaidan after the SR-1 mission.

A ring that was now a symbol of another Shepard lost and dead in space.

“My ring and dogtags,” Regis said, crossing his arms, allowing dark energy to crackle between his armored fingers.  “That’s what I was searching for.  Perhaps that was part of my mission all along.  To figure out why when reading the Cerberus reports on my resurrection I had no fucking armor protecting my torso.  To see if my father’s legacy died and was truly lost in space when it was meant to be kept safe.”

She stayed stoic, a contrast to how she reacted when he threw barbs at her in her office.  That felt so long ago now…  

She lifted up her arm, her omnitool interface appearing in a flash of orange. “I’ll… send you the details for a safety deposit box in Illium.  I’m sure she’ll find a way to get this information no matter what.”

Wren grinned, showing lots of teeth.  

“You’re taking a lot of risk for the Alliance by leaving it in charge with them.  A misstep, and the whole galaxy will know who helms it,” T’Soni said, holding her chin high.

Regis stepped forward, unlacing his arms and pointing a biotic-laced finger towards her.  “Was that a threat?  I doubt you would’ve been a better pick, is that what you’re saying?  A third party should run this?  I don’t trust you, T’Soni.  You broke that a long time ago, the moment I heard of your involvement with my current… employer.”

With a sigh, he dropped his arm and let his biotics fizzle out.  “I don’t think I ever trusted you.  I wanted you off my ship the moment you came aboard.”  He activated his omnitool and accepted her data transfer.  He’ll be checking out these coordinates the moment she is out of his sight..

“Don’t give us any reason to shoot down whatever shuttle you choose to escape on,” Regis finally said after closing his interface.  A war waged within him.  You know this is the right thing.  You must accept what she’s done for you.  “You gave me life.  I should also spare yours.” 

For now.  But he knows within himself he won’t go after her.  

Feron started to guide her back over to the door with a nod.  She didn’t say another word, to his surprise, only nodding one last time.  Never uttering an apology.  Never making an excuse for what she did.

Silence.

He wanted more push back.  He wanted something to latch on, to be even more angry about.

Seemed like he still had some acceptance to do.  

And he won’t feel free enough to do it until he’s back in Kaidan’s arms, with Zaeed right there with them.

When the door closed behind them, Regis peered at the message and sent it over to Wren with a nod, hoping she would notice something he didn't.

“Looks legit,” she said after a moment.  She typed on the Broker’s interface and pulled up another audio channel.  “Agent Volto, escort our Asari and Drell guests to a shuttle of your choice.  Make sure it is laced with my preferred tracking software.”

The agent replied back with an affirmative, not even questioning her orders.  She let out another breath and closed the channel.  “I need to talk to Hackett and Nomad.  Get a few more people here of ours…” She stood up and started to walk around and pace.  “So much to do.  So little time… Thank you, Regis.  You know this will give us the right edge.  Even with all the risks…”

He nodded, reaching out to shake her hand.  “And you’ve helped me get a little bit of peace back.” Her grip was strong and steady, despite everything.  Despite the new weight she had on her shoulders.  Despite the greatest challenge her infiltration and security training will face.

“It’s probably not wise for you to come back… but if there’s a way to do it with Cerberus raising their yellow flags towards me… I might be able to give you something to work with.  Some information about… anything that catches my eye or relates to our circle.” She said as she returned to the workstation.  

Regis figured that was her way of dismissing them for now, already glued to the screens.

“It also looks like there’s a hidden pathway to a docking bay nearby.  I’ve wired you the maps.  Send your Cerberus folks over there.  I’ve entered your ship signature as friendly… it’s incredible how unblocked these systems are,” she said, throwing a grin over her shoulder.

He returned it with a tired smile of his own.  “Thank you.  Need me to make those calls in your stead?”

“Hell no.  Get out of here, my friend.  We both need rest… but we all know you won’t until you confirm that message.”

Zaeed had been a steady presence this whole time next to him, but now, his hand went to his waist.  He guided him towards where Wren highlighted on the map, his omnitool display out and ready.  

There will be time to deal with all the logistics of their choice later.  An asari Spectre to contact.  Dealing with Hackett and the news that they decided to let T’Soni go.  FIguring out the next move to clear his name.

Figuring out what this will mean for the Alliance and their never forgotten Reaper threat.

“I’ve sent EDI a message.  She’ll be here to pick us up soon,” he said as they passed through the narrow corridor that led to a small docking bay.  Hell, it was large enough for the Normandy to potentially dock, but the shuttle would be a better option to navigate through the storms.  They were alone, only a few mechs stationed around for maintenance. 

And Regis finally let himself rest, just for a moment, as Zaeed brought him in his arms.

He ignored the wetness that started to gather around his eyes.  Were they from relief?  Anger?  Desperation?

Regis didn’t know.  And frankly, he never wanted to know.

– –

There would be time to give an unofficial report later.  He gave an update to his crew that his personal mission was dealt with and left it at that.  By the look Samara gave him, rising up from her meditative stance in cargo where she greeted them, she knew what they did.

He’s sure they all know.  Or will know, in time.  

Before resting, taking a moment to begin his post-battle rituals, he sends the coordinates to EDI and asks her to plot another course back to Illium.

A moment passed, and he got a response back from her, and alongside it, a question from Moreau about the trip back.

He sent a quick message back/

RS: One last part of my mission.  That’s all.

Muting his omnitool, he finally got to work.

His steps to remove his armor were methodical, once in his cabin.  Zaeed had left him temporarily to remove his own gear, tend to his rituals before joining him.  A typical occurrence, with the limited space in his cabin.  But he wanted him with him now.  

Taking off his weapons, he placed them under his desk for now in a case designed for transport.  His armor to be put away later, strewn about on the floor neck to his couch, leaving him in his undersuit as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

Alone until Zaeed comes back up from his corner of the ship.

He sent Kaidan a quick vid request, and it was answered quickly.

His concerned face appeared on the screen, his hair mussed.  He looked like he had just woken up… or been up ages without sleep.

“We did it,” Regis said.  “Broker is ours now.”

Kaidan visibly relaxed, letting out a sigh of relief of his own, running a hand through his hair.  “I never doubted you.  But… that didn’t mean I was worried sick.  Where’s Zee?  I guess Wren is… lingering?”

He nodded.  “She’s… Dealing with the responsibility as about as well as I expected.  Zee’s doing his post combat rituals.  I just… needed to talk to someone.”

Kaidan’s eyebrows furrowed, but he smiled all the same.  “Well, I’m definitely someone.  What… happened with T’Soni?”

Regis swallowed.  “I ended up letting her go in the end.  She’s… not worth it anymore. We won and I got coordinates for something that I hope is my father’s ring.”

“What?” Kaidan cleared his throat after letting out a surprised sound.  “Hold on.  She was–holding it this whole time?  I couldn’t keep the image of your armor in her apartment out of my head and now–” He shook his head, letting out a breath.  “I guess that’s where you are heading now?”

“I am.  A bank in Illium.  And then… I can finally rest.”  The doors to his cabin opened, and he quickly waved Zaeed over.  He was wearing Regis’s N7 hoodie and a pair of sweats, and his hand was bandaged–shit, did he miss that.

“Talkin’ to Kaid without me?  Shame on you, love,” Zaeed said with a chuckle, joining him on the bed and pulling Regis into his side. “Hey baby.”  He rested his head on his shoulder, closing his eyes briefly, inhaling his scent.  They both needed a shower, smelling like sweat, smoke, and gun oil.  But they were safe and whole.  All that mattered, right now.

“Hey yourself.” Kaidan grinned, the earlier worry almost completely gone from his face.  “I love you both.  And I’m happy to hear that things seemed to work out.  So, tell me, how the hell did you manage to take down a galactic superpower–”

– –

At some point during the call, Regis must’ve dosed off, finding himself under the covers while Zaeed was nowhere to be found at first–until he caught him scrolling on a datapad on the couch.  “Almost to Illium, if you want to hop in the shower,” he said, raising up a glass of… something at him in greeting. "Get some good rest?"

“Celebrating and showering without me?” He let out a yawn while chuckling.  “Chakwas hasn’t tried to check on us, yet?”

“Told her it could wait until after our last errand.  Mentioned your ring–figured she knew about it.  She’s allowing it.” He flexed his bandaged hand.  “Ended up burning through my goddamn glove a little.  And a few bruises and cuts.  The usual.”

Regis couldn’t stop the frown, but it quickly gave way to a groan as he sat up.  “Shit, yeah, I’m going to need some rest.”

“Saw some bruises on your chest.  Miraculously free of cuts.  Something to be said about that skin of yours,” he said, finishing off his glass of what was probably whiskey now that he got a better look at it. He’ll pass on that kind of celebration.

He got up and slowly walked over to Zaeed, leaning down for a quick kiss, before stripping out of his underwear--Zaeed even stripped him down? How tired was he?--and stepping in the shower.  He was painted in a few blooming bruises across his chest.  Turning around revealed more on his back and an ache that rattled through his body, the hot water of the shower only providing minute relief.

He hurried through his motions, scrubbing his skin and his scalp, before stepping out and working on hair.  Putting in a bit of gel and leave-in.  Drying it with his hair dryer.  Usual motions and normalcy.

His chest tightened when he thought about their destination.  If the ring wasn’t there–

He can’t think like that right now.

Leaving the towel on the rack, he exited the bathroom completely bare, giving Zaeed a bit of a show and rolling his eyes at the whistle he let out.  “Shit, that looks fucking painful.  Need me to call Chakwas for a pick me up?”

“No, I’m fine, thanks love,” Regis said, reaching in his drawers for his underwear, then his socks, and then his N7 officer styled uniform.  Black pants and boots.  A high-necked jacket with red detailing.  Black and red sleeves.  A proud N7 logo.

Something that keeps him safe and secure while under the hexagon’s reign.

He felt better as he pulled on the gloves, zipping up the jacket, becoming the Commander once more.

“You don’t need to act so strong for me.” He scoffed.

“For this, I must.”

Zaeed opened his mouth to reply, frowning, but--

“Commander, we are preparing to dock at Illium.  Will this be a short trip?  I’ll alert the crew accordingly.” EDI’s voice echoed through the cabin, interrupting them.

“Shouldn’t take but more than a couple of hours, if that.  And then… we’ll fuel up and prepare to head to Haestrom for our final dossier.”

Tali.  What would she have thought of all this?

“Understood, Commander.”

He reached out to help Zaeed up from the couch, in which he proceeded to lightly push him up against the wall and kiss him soundly, his tongue exploring his mouth before pulling apart with a groan.  “Much better.  Now we’re ready.”

Regis closed the gap between them quickly and briefly, a much sweeter and chaste kiss.  “It’s always better when I’m with you.”

“You fucking know it.”

– –

The asari teller wasn’t even surprised to see a human requesting the box, nor providing the right security keys to match theirs, once inside one of the rooms where the small vaults were kept.

It was a modest one, barely enough to store a few valuables.  But enough… to when it popped open, he immediately saw the prize.

Two dog tags, beat up and warped.  And a ring, shined and polished and perfect as he remembered.  Tree branch engravings without a chip.  No sign of the hell the rest of the piece went through…

He yanked it out of the box before cradling it in his hands, running his thumb over the engraving over and over, thinking of the tattoo that matched it on his right arm, his yggdrasil tree.

The teller asked if he needed anything else, and he shook his head, slowly walking out of the room where Zaeed was waiting in the lobby.

His face must’ve said all it needed, because he met him halfway with a hug.

Finally whole once more.  Finally Regis Lucian Shepard.  

And finally with the prize to be split between Kaidan and Zaeed once this fucking mission was over.  For now, it was safe against his heart, a chain that needed repair and changing, dogtags that needed to be replaced… but it was his and it was finally back where it belonged.

And if Zaeed’s hand went to his chest once back on the ship and in private, feeling it underneath his fingers, likely knowing who that ring is going to one day… Regis didn't comment on it one bit.

RS: The ring is home, Kaidan.  And soon, it will be home with you and Zee.  I promise.

A promise he hoped he wouldn’t break, this time.

KA: I'm so happy to hear that. And I know. I await the day eagerly when you both are back in my arms.

[hornyhornyhimbos]

"Scream For You" ~ S. Reid

Summary: After a long night of keeping your hands off each other, you and Spencer know just how to make up for lost time.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x AFAB!Reader

Word Count: 1,253

Content Warning: MINORS DNI (18+ content) protected piv sex, missionary style activities, mask kink, hand kink/choking, nicknames (Reader is called angel multiple times, and my love/honey 1-2 times), explicit language, lmk if i missed anything!

Extra Notes: didn't mean for this to become my biggest fantasy, yet here we are alshkshshs

Originally Written: 10/31/2023 through 11/01/2023

criminal minds masterlist can be found here!

halloweek masterlist can be found here!

Limbs were entangled as you and Spencer worked to hold each other close, his foot promptly kicking the door shut as your lips connected. Desperate breaths exited through your lips and into his, while hands roamed over his hair and clothes as you headed toward your shared bedroom.

"You don't know how hard it was to keep my hands off you tonight," Spencer breathed between hungry kisses, hands moving up to your face and pulling you in closer.

"Believe me, pretty boy," you sighed, "I know the feeling."

The night had been miserable, keeping your hands to yourselves. Normally, you would've been able to act as lovey-dovey as you wanted, but instead of the BAU's normal adult-only Halloween gathering, the team's kids were invited too. Wine had been substituted with water, Rossi's shrimp scampi switched out with order-in pizza, and PDA replaced with longing glances across the room.

Spencer's lips met your neck, suckling soft bites on the sensitive skin. He nipped that sweet spot near your pulse point, eliciting a small but salacious noise from you. A hand reached behind him for the bedroom doorknob, practically shoving him onto the bed once the door was open.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, and your hips immediately started to search for reprieve. The seam of your jeans brushed your clit as you rutted against his thigh, Spencer swallowing the moan that tumbled between your lips at the friction.

Your blonde wig was quickly tossed aside, your white sweater following soon after. Spencer's cloak went next, his black tee shirt underneath clinging to his skin in its wake. His Ghostface mask was thrown somewhere—you were surprised he'd even remembered to grab it from the car—but unbeknownst to Spencer, you weren't quite finished with the piece.

"Spence," you sighed as his hands met the button of your jeans. Though undetected in your tone, apprehension was laced in every syllable of your next question. "Can I ask you something kind of weird?"

His lust-blown eyes began to settle, unsure where you were going with the inquiry. "Always, honey." Your heart fluttered at his kindness, always so willing to do anything for you at the snap of your fingers.

"Can you… maybe wear the mask?" Anxiety coursed through you with each word, unsure how he'd respond to your request.

Spencer, ever the gentleman, simply answered, "Whatever you need, my love."

Hands were in hair once again as your lips reconnected, desperate noises filling the air. Your core throbbed against his thigh as you searched for reprieve, and his hands settled on your waist to help you find it. He guided you along the expanse of his leg, watching as your head fell back and your mouth parted into an open 'o' shape.

"Angel," he started, slowing the movements of your hips, palms still tight around your love handles. "I want you to lie back on the bed for me, okay?"

You did as told, watching him move around the space with intent. One second, he was in front of you, removing your pants, then he was reaching for a condom and handing the package to you. You attempted to open it while he moved to pick up the mask, promptly putting it on before proceeding to unbutton his own pants.

Excitement and anticipation mixed together as they raced through your body, your shaky fingers finally finding the strength to open the condom. Spencer slowly slid out of his black slacks and boxers, his cock all pretty and pink just for you. A soft moan escaped his mouth as you rolled the rubber on, slightly muffled by the mask he sported.

Without another word, he was sliding into you, a silent scream falling from you at the stretch. Your hands searched for purchase in the sheets beneath you as he started to slide out, your back arching off the bed at the beautiful sting of his girth.

A hand met your neck, effectively pushing you back onto the bed. The veins of his arm pulsed with every delicious flex, fingers wrapped around your throat the same way he was wrapped around your finger. Sounds of his name hung heavily the air as he began to create that perfect rhythm you loved, every ridge of his cock filling you up.

"Oh, my god, angel," he called behind the mask, "you feel so good." The nickname had your back arching and your walls clenching, earning you another squeeze of his hand.

The coil in your belly constricted with every snap of his hips, moans and expletives slipping between your parted lips as he stretched you out just for him. The digits at your neck tightened their grip again, nails digging into the sensitive skin. Purple spots had already started to form from his previous love bites, but his rough fingertips were sure to leave even more beautiful colors along the skin.

His cock brushed along that wonderful spot deep inside you, eliciting profanities from both of you. His free hand moved to play with your clit, his silent way of saying, Let it go, angel. You can cum.

With a few more rolls of his hips, you were reaching your release. Your veins burned with euphoria as he worked you through your orgasm, jaw falling slack as Spencer pumped his hips harder. You weren't sure if it was the mask, his hand around your throat, or simply how desperate you'd been to have his cock buried in you all night, but something had you cumming harder and longer than you ever had before, your throat going dry as you screamed in pleasure.

Spencer was following soon after, balls slapping hard against your ass as he chased down his high. His seed filled the condom, and for a moment, you'd wished he'd gone without, craving the warmth of him running through your veins.

"Fuck, angel," he said, drawing out the words as his movements started to slow, "I wish we'd had a chance to do this sooner." The words came out breathy and uneven, his head falling back mid-sentence as your cunt involuntarily pulsed and squeezed around his length.

Your shaky hands reached for the mask, throwing it elsewhere before pulling him in for a long and hard kiss. Both of your mouths were surely swollen and chapped, teeth nipping at lips and tongues roaming freely.

His finger still rubbed lazy circles over your puffy clit, not enough to have you craving release again but just enough to tantalize you. Your hands raked down the expanse of his abdomen as your high finally started to settle, his thumb subsequently moving away from the bundle of nerves.

"Anybody ever tell you that your ideas are fucking brilliant?" he asked.

An exhausted huff of amusement left your lips, palms settling on the pudge of his belly. "How about next time I wear the mask and see what it does for you?"

He chuckled, the deep sound sending butterflies straight to your tummy. "Not a chance, angel," he challenged. "If it makes you cum that hard every time and I get to see your beautiful face look like that, you're never gonna get me to take the damn thing off."

"Such foul language tonight," you kidded, leaning up for a much softer kiss than the last ones.

"You bring it out of me," he said, hands moving to link his fingers between your own. "Happy Halloween, my love."

"Any Halloween where I get to scream your name is a happy one indeed."

Happy Halloweek Finale!! 🥹

As previously stated, I totally meant to have this up sooner, but life kicked my butt the past few days and it took me so long to get a chance to edit these last few fics for you guys.

I really hope you guys have enjoyed this week as much as I did! I had so much fun writing all these fics for y'all and getting to celebrate the holiday with you guys. If all goes according to plan, I'm hoping to do something similar to this near Christmas as well so stay tuned for that!

I hope you all had a very happy Halloween and a wonderful Halloweek! Thank you all so much for the love on these fics 🥰

-> taglist: @rupsmorge @writer-in-theory @broken-stardust @reidselle @dungeons-are-too-cold

[illuminatedferret]

for the one word prompt ficlets; I thought long and hard before realizing the answer was so simple

shrimp

not me writing domestic shrimp

Xie Lian was in the process of tilling over a particularly grimy-looking pile of pebbles when the currents around him shifted, foretelling a large body approaching.

Even a few months ago, his first instinct would have been to grow tense and alert. Though he never let himself think the worst, he had become long conditioned to canvassing the area around him for the best hiding spots. But now, he had someone to look forward to seeing. Someone so dear to him that the very currents their body made were carved into his mind like diamond, impossible to mistake.

So rather than worry, a warmth bloomed within Xie Lian’s thorax as he waited to be approached.

“Gege,” came the brush of a firm carapace along his side, ruffling his feathery setae. Embarrassingly, he could feel his exoskeleton flush, but if he pretended it wasn’t happening, it was even odds that the large scampi settling at his side would ignore it too.

“San Lang!” he said cheerfully, letting himself pause in picking clean his pebbles. Now that Hua Cheng was close, he could taste the blood stuck in the crannies of the scampi’s carapace. “How are you? Are you hurt?”

“Ah, I’m fine, gege. I was just taking care of some trash. But afterwards, I was so dirty, I thought perhaps gege might be willing to help me clean up a bit.”

“Of course!” Xie Lian agreed. This was the usual way things went. Back when they’d first met, Xie Lian had thought Hua Cheng might be dead, for the gruesome injuries that covered his form. Any other marbled shrimp would have left him there, but Xie Lian was never good at leaving well enough alone, and diligently kept the scampi clean of parasites and bacteria until he had the chance to heal. Ever since, they had circled each other like a school of two, sometimes parting but always reuniting.

“Thank you, gege.” Hua Cheng let himself settle upon the seafloor, tucking his legs beneath him. Xie Lian was large for his kind, but he was still many times smaller than Hua Cheng, and he was always taken aback by how majestic the scampi looked when he let himself settle down like this. “But enough about me. How has gege been?”

“Well,” Xie Lian said as he started to clean the blood off the scampi’s shell, “the water’s been unusually warm lately, so yesterday I...”

[tropes-and-tales-archives]

More Precious Than Rubies: Part 7b

This is an alternate timeline story that has a Rafael Barba track and a Sonny Carisi track. The two paths split off in part 3.

WC: 4104

TW: Angst; fluff; family drama; smut (fingering; food-play, kinda). 18+ only.

AN: The prompt was "I love you for you.  Don’t you dare think otherwise."

Over the next few weeks, Sonny came to realize that you had changed since you’d been together before.  He still thought his original assessment was mostly correct, though – much of your change in character was nothing more than extreme fatigue.

After the night of your panic attack and opening up about your father, for example:  Sonny had nodded off almost immediately after sex, but when he woke in the middle of the night, you weren’t in bed beside him.  When he went looking for you, he found you hunched over at your kitchen table, reading through case files.

When he coaxed you back to bed, he felt you toss and turn beside him until you finally fell asleep.

And you woke up shortly after with a start and a gasp, like you’d been asleep only long enough to have a bad dream.

Sonny tried to help you as much as he could, relieve some of the pressure.  It was a delicate balance to walk though.  If he did too much, you felt guilty to be burdening him.  If he did too little, as he had in the past, he knew you’d feel neglected.

The two of you struck a balance together.  Your schedules meshed only half of the time, so you spent more time apart than Sonny would have liked.  If he had it his way, he’d move you into his place and always have you with him.  Instead, you took turns staying over at each other’s place (Sonny, in reality, only lived about five blocks from you).  You each had your nights alone too, even though Sonny hated falling asleep without you.  You tried to have a lunch or a coffee date during the week so that you could get caught up in a more leisurely way.

It was different than before.  You were letting him see more of your life, more of your feelings than you ever had before.  Of course, it was just as likely that you were too exhausted to bother putting on a brave face.  Sonny felt…more protective of you. 

He still saw glimpses of the old you, though.  When he was going through his own tough time, nothing but mandatory double-shifts to help catch a serial predator, the old you turned up and took charge.  You brought him lunch and dinner to the precinct.  You picked up his dry-cleaning and even drove back to Manhattan late one night to pick him up when he was too tired to drive himself home.

When SVU finally caught the guy, he sent you a triumphant text.  Your first reply congratulated him.  Your second expressed a deep desire that said serial predator could afford his own counsel.

And your third text told him that you should celebrate, and that he should come over to your place the next evening.

-----

When he got to your apartment, he could smell the problem before he even got through your front door.  You answered his knock with a hang-dog look, a t-shirt splattered with something, and a smog of odor behind you.  Sonny sniffed carefully.  Burnt garlic.  Something fishy.

“Hey,” he said in his most neutral voice as he pressed a kiss to your furrowed forehead.  “How are you?”

You answered with an exasperated sigh, and he followed you into your kitchen to survey the damage.  There was a pan on the stove, still smoking gently against the exhaust fan.  He held back the smile that threatened to cross his face – it looked like you had tried to make shrimp scampi, judging from the shrimp (still raw-looking in the pan) and the garlic (scorched black).  He glanced over and saw a strainer of cooked linguine, boiled to a paste-like consistency. 

Then he glanced over at your face, and you looked so confused and distraught that he finally did laugh.

“I don’t know what went wrong,” you told him.  “I followed the recipe exactly.”

“Which recipe?”

You unlocked your phone and handed it to him.  He scanned the recipe.

“It was listed as ‘easy’ on the website, and there was only three steps to the entire recipe…” you said.

Sonny glanced back at the pan on the stove, and then he picked up a spoon and poked at its contents.  “Did you buy fresh shrimp?”  You nodded, and Sonny peered at the evidence closer.  “Did you peel and devein them?”

“I took their shells off, yes,” you said, a little defensively. 

“You know they sell these already peeled and deveined, right?  You didn’t devein these…see?  This black line here needs to be removed.”

You leaned over to look at where he was pointing, and Sonny tried to ignore how it felt to have you standing so close to him, your breasts pressing against his arm as you listened to him break down the scene of the crime.  You scoffed when he pointed out the scorched garlic (too high heat), but then you gagged when he explained what deveining shrimp really entailed.

“That black line isn’t a vein,” he said, and you pulled a disgusted face and said you were never eating shrimp again.

“Points for effort, though,” he finished with a smile.  “Let’s order in.”

“I really thought I could pull this one off.”  You pouted and surveyed your kitchen disaster again.  “I’m sorry, Sonny.  I wanted to celebrate your big case.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” he replied with a smile, but you only continued pouting, your eyebrows knit together in consternation.

He couldn’t resist your lower lip stuck out, so he leaned down and kissed you, slow and lingering.  When he broke away, you were grinning up at him a little sleepily.

“You have one good meal under your belt though,” he said.  “You did amazing with our anniversary dinner, remember?  You did that baked rigatoni…”

Your smile faded and you slid your eyes away from him.  You tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but he tightened his arm around your waist and held you against him.  He mentally kicked himself for bringing up that sad memory, but then you muttered the truth.

“I didn’t cook that, Sonny.  I, uh…tried to.  But it turned out terribly.”  You glanced up and made eye contact with him, and you winced. 

“But it was really good!”

You winced again.  “Sonny, it was good because you thought I made it.  It was from a chain Italian restaurant in Times Square.  I couldn’t order something from an authentic place.  You would have never bought that I could suddenly make my own ravioli or squid-ink linguine.  So I got the baked rigatoni and dumped it in a casserole dish…” You trailed off, obviously ashamed.

Sonny laughed in disbelief.  “The betrayal!  And on our anniversary!”

“I wanted to impress you!” you exclaimed.  “I was going to eventually tell you, but that evening didn’t go as planned anyway, and we broke up not too long after that.”

His smile fell a little at that memory.  He also thought back to your time together before; you’d met his family once for a Sunday dinner, and his sisters Gina and Theresa had relentlessly teased you about the family recipes, and how one only earned them when they married into the family.  You had laughed along with them, but Sonny hadn’t missed the subtle panic that washed over your face.

The Carisi family was centered around food – it was their love language and their national identity.  Of course you would lie during your anniversary dinner.  You probably wanted to prove yourself to him, and you had obviously panicked when you had failed.

He felt a wave a shame for teasing your appalling cooking abilities, so he pressed another gentle kiss to you.

“Let’s order in,” he repeated softly.  “And tomorrow night, we’ll cook together.  We’ll start easy and go from there.”

*****

It was Saturday.  Sonny got called into work in the morning, but early in the evening, he turned up at your apartment again, laden down with grocery bags and his now-familiar overnight bag.  The two of you stayed over at each other’s places, but you hadn’t broached the topic of leaving essentials at the other’s place quite yet.

You let him in, enjoying the sight of him, even a bit rumpled from a day at work.  He was wearing a three-piece suit.  You thought you’d send ADA Barba a thank you note, since the man had obviously influenced Sonny’s wardrobe for the better.  You watched Sonny shed his coat and vest and tie, and you watched him roll up his sleeves.  You thought maybe you could skip the culinary lesson and just drag him into your bedroom.

Instead, you bit back your nascent desire for him and followed him into the kitchen.

You wanted to learn how to cook.  No one in your family did – you were essentially raised by a single mother, with three older siblings.  Your mom worked three part-time jobs, and any odd job she could find in between, so meals were relegated to grazing on whatever you could find:  frozen pizzas and Hamburger Helper during flush periods, peanut butter sandwiches during lean times.  You couldn’t remember a single meal where everyone sat together and ate, unless you counted holiday meals at your aunt’s house.  Those usually descended into family squabbles, and the turkey was always bone dry anyway.

Sonny’s family was different.  They ate every meal together when he was growing up, thrown together by a stay-at-home mother who poured her love into every homemade sauce and pasta and dessert.  You were never more uncomfortably aware of your differences in upbringings as you had been during that Carisi meal.  And while you didn’t prescribe to traditional gender roles, you also wanted to be able to pull your weight if things with Sonny progressed.

You watched as he laid out the groceries, and then you watched as he rifled through your cabinets until he found all the pots and pans he wanted.  Then he turned to you.

He looked you over, and it seemed that he had the same thought you originally had when he first came into your apartment.  You were in a simple cotton dress, barefoot, hair pulled back into a low ponytail.  Nothing special, but the look in his blue eyes was practically predatory.  But he pushed it aside, apparently, because he reached into one of the bags and handed you a piece of folded cloth.

You shook it out and then laughed – it was a ridiculously girly apron, frilled and ruffled.  There were two deep pockets on it, though, so you could see the utility beyond the style.

“You wear as much food as you attempt to cook,” he said simply, and you rolled your eyes but put it on.  You tied the back and then gave a little spin on your bare toes, savoring the look that crossed his face when you did.

“I think you just have a 1950’s housewife kink,” you teased.

“Maybe,” he teased back, and he wrapped an arm around your waist to pull you against him.  “Maybe I expect to be greeted at the door every evening with a drink and a smoke and dinner on the table.”

“Hmm.”  You stood on your tip-toes to kiss him lightly, and you pulled away when he tried to deepen the kiss.  “I hope you enjoy Spam loaf and Jello salads then.”

Sonny grinned down at you.  “You think you could actually manage a Spam loaf?”

You pretended to be offended.  “You think you could manage sleeping alone in a twin bed?”

“Never.”  He kissed you again, then spun you around so that you were facing the kitchen counter, all business.  “Tonight, we’re making a simple salad and Bucatini Cacio e Pepe.”  You grinned at his Staten Island-accented Italian. 

He supervised while you started the salad, watching you rinse the lettuce and then start to cut the tomatoes.  You kept trying to talk to him – about his day, about your upcoming cases – but he kept making frustrated growls at you.

“I think I see your problem,” he finally huffed.  “You aren’t giving the meal your full attention.”

“I’m just talking to you.”

“Yeah, but when you’re talking, you’re going off-task.”  He pointed at the last few tomatoes you had cut up.  “See?  You didn’t cut the stem out of these.  And you keep turning to face me while you’re cutting….you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

He put his hands back on your hips and turned you back to face the counter.  “Pay attention to what you’re doing,” he said sternly.  Stern-Sonny was a rare occurrence, and you felt your desire reemerge.

“Can’t go off-task,” you said to the tomatoes, and you assumed a thick Staten Island accent.  “Gotta cut you up just right.”

You felt rather than heard Sonny’s exhalation - of frustration?  Or laughter? Maybe both.  It was hot against your neck, and you felt him put his mouth close to your ear. 

“You think you’re funny?”  He put his hands back on your hips, and he pressed the length of his body against you until you were trapped between him and the counter.

“Can’t talk right now,” you said, your voice steady.  “Gotta cut these tomatoes.  Can’t bring shame upon my Sicilian ancestors.”

Another huff, this time of laughter.  “My family’s from Lombardy and Calabria,” and the way he growled it made your desire for him grow even more.

“Lombardy?” you teased, already knowing how he was going to react.  “So you’re practically Austrian then.  Shouldn’t we be making a schnitzel?”

You had thought he’d spin you around to face him – Sonny hated when you reminded him that shifting country lines and wars meant that “Italy” was something of a nebulous concept, as were most European countries.  He didn’t though:  instead, he pressed himself more firmly against you, enough that you could feel his growing desire for you.

“Pay attention to what you’re doing,” he growled in your ear.  You bit your lip as he rolled his hips against you, but you finished chopping the tomatoes, sans stems.

“That’s good,” he continued.  “Now peel and slice the cucumber.”

You kept your hands steady as you started to peel the cucumber, but Sonny shifted one hand from your hip and snaked it around your front.  His fingertips found the hems of your skirt and apron and slipped underneath.  When his hand drifted up your thigh and found its target, you paused in your task and let out a shuddering breath.

“Keep working,” he husked in your ear.

“You’re not playing fair,” you whined back.

Another huff of laughter.  “I’m teaching you to focus,” he said, and he stroked a finger lightly over the junction between your legs.  “It’s like how runners train at high altitudes so that they can run faster at sea level.”

“Really, Sonny…”

“And you’re so wet, doll, so your mind was somewhere else than on the cutting board in front of you.”  Then he pressed his mouth against the back of your neck and mumbled a string of Italian, probably something filthy, but punishment for insinuating that he wasn’t one hundred percent Italian stock. 

He kept giving your instructions – cut the cucumber, boil and salt the water – and you followed them, stubbornly trying to ignore what his hand was doing to you.  Two could play that game.

While the water boiled, Sonny upped the ante and slipped his finger under the hem of your panties, stroking you more firmly.  You wanted to give in, but he informed you that the pasta needed to go into the water, so you clenched your jaw and dumped the noodles.

“Those need about four minutes,” Sonny told you with another firm roll of his hips.  “Anything we can do to kill four minutes?”

He wasn’t playing fair at all, so you sassed him.  “We could have sex.  Four minutes – that’d leave an easy three minutes for cuddling afterwards.”

Sonny made an injured sound behind you, and the next thing you knew, he was scooping you up in his arms and carrying you to the bedroom, and when the pasta ended up mushy and overcooked from boiling for over ten minutes, it wasn’t entirely your fault.

*****

As much as Sonny wanted to take you on a hundred perfect dates, there was something perfect about the evening:  cooking together, sex, eating the meal together, more sex.  And after the second round of sex, you were relaxed and more apt to talk about deeper issues.  It allowed Sonny to get past that hard outer shell of yours.

Right now, you were both in your bed, naked and cozy under your faded quilt.  Your head was resting on his bare chest, and you poked him in his side from time to time.  It made him laugh, and hearing his laughter rumbling under your ear made you laugh too.

Sonny always started the conversation with shop-talk, to ease you into the waters.  You were on a run with Major Case and Homicide defendants, so your tell-tale heels hadn’t been clicking in the bullpen of SVU lately.

“We miss you,” Sonny joked.  “Amanda and I have a runny tally on how Barba reacts when he sees you’re the defendant’s counsel.”

You perked up a bit and turned to look at him.  “Oh yeah?  How does he react?”

“He’s got four basic things he does.”  Sonny shifted his arm and counted off on his fingers for you.  “He clenches his jaw hard enough that you can hear it pop.  He huffs and snorts through his nose so that he sounds like a bull.  He rubs the back of his neck really angrily.  And he says ‘great’ in this sarcastic tone he has.”

You chuckled.  “Which one does he do more?”

“Oh, he clenches his jaw more than anything.  We have a pool on him needing a crown eventually for when he shatters a tooth.”

You smiled at him.  “He the worst A.D.A. I have to work with, you know.  He’s very frustrating, especially compared to Niles or other ones.”

“He’s the worst?”

“The worst, by which I mean the best.  Every case I face off against Barba, I put in twice the work.  He doesn’t half-ass it like some prosecutors do.  He doesn’t pull cheap tricks, like leaning into race or gender or socioeconomic status.”

Sonny grinned at this.  “I’m gonna tell him you said that.”

“Don’t you dare!”  You poked him in the side, hard, making him laugh.  “He’s my arch-nemesis!”

“Oh, your arch-nemesis,” Sonny wheezed as he tried to wriggle away from your ticklish fingers.  “I’m gonna tell him that too.”

The two of you tussled, and Sonny let you win for a while, but he couldn’t resist flipping you on your back and holding your wrists down lightly as you vowed to show him no mercy once you got free.  Sonny leaned down and kissed you – all over your face – until you laughed and promised him maybe a little mercy after all.

He released your hands and switched your earlier position:  you were on your back, and he laid his head on your upper chest.  He could hear your heart beating, slow and steady under his ear.

“It was a good evening,” you murmured, and he felt you reach out to finger-comb his hair.  You tugged now and then against the remnants of his hair gel, and you scratched his scalp lightly when he winced at the tugging.

“It was,” he agreed. 

“I’m sorry about messing up your celebration dinner last night though.”

“No worries.  I liked cooking with you.”  When you didn’t reply, he let the silence grow for a moment before continuing.

“Why does it matter so much to you, cooking for me?”

He heard you sigh above him, but he felt, under his cheek, your heart start to beat a little faster. 

“I just want to show you that I can pull my weight,” you muttered.  “You grew up in a house where every meal was homemade…”  You trailed off, but your heart was thudding faster now.

Sonny may have missed a lot when you first dated, but he was more observant now.  And you’d let him in more about your own past, and he realized that you compared your family and childhood to his own.  Maybe it fed into your insecurities before; maybe you were still insecure about it.  Maybe you were insecure about a future with him.

“Doll, are you comparing yourself to my mother?” he blurted out, and the questions fell out of him much like they did when he put a case together, so fast that you didn’t have a chance to answer them.  “Are you trying to prove you can cook like her?”

Then, the question at the heart of the matter:  “Are you worried that…there wouldn’t be a, uh, future between us…if you can’t cook?”  A ridiculous question when said out loud, but it was the right one to ask.

“Maybe,” was all you replied.

“Seriously?”  He shifted so that he was gazing down at you, and your face was tense in the way he knew meant you were worried.

“I mean…it’s not just the cooking, Sonny.  You grew up in this idyllic, perfect life, and my childhood was so far from that.  I didn’t even know that breakfast was a real meal when I was a kid.  It was off-brand Pop-tarts on the go and eaten on the bus.  I never sat down to a breakfast until college.  Then I met you, and your mom cooked breakfast for you every morning.  Waffles and omelets.  Pancakes with chocolate chip faces in them.”

“Okay…”

You took a deep breath and looked back at him.  “It’s just that you had this amazing model of what a family looks like, and I can’t replicate that.”  You shrugged and added, “so why would this ever go anywhere between us?”

Sonny took his own deep breath.  It hurt his heart to hear that you didn’t think he’d marry you because of something as trivial as the ability to cook…but he knew it was deeper than that.  You’d been to exactly one Carisi family dinner.  You saw his childhood home, perfectly cleaned because company was coming over.  You saw his mother’s best recipes laid out.  You saw his family on their best behaviors for the benefits of Sonny’s new girlfriend.

He told you now all the things you didn’t see:  the messy home, the nights his mother ordered pizza for dinner.  The squabbles – the little fights over past grievances.  The larger fights – like how his mother felt unappreciated by his father, how his father felt harried.  The weird little cliques that sprang up:  him and Bella against Gina and Theresa.  Him defending Bella’s engagement to Tommy to everyone.  Everyone getting on his case about joining the police force.

“We aren’t perfect,” he concluded.  “Far from it.  And my childhood wasn’t as wonderful as you think it was.”

The expression on your face was pure skepticism, so he leaned down and kissed you.  He could tell you:  about the spreadsheet on his laptop calculating the savings plan he had already laid out to buy you the perfect ring, how he already had the ring picked out, how he had an entire folder of ideas for how to propose.  How he agonized about how long he should wait (inconclusive, after talking to both Bella and Amanda) versus how long he wanted to wait (not at all).

He didn’t tell you.  Instead, he kissed you and hoped you felt how much he loved you, and how utterly certain he was that he wanted to marry you.  Cooking was such a non-issue in his world.  His parents’ marriage, now that he was a grown man himself, felt uncomfortably lopsided, and he didn’t want that with you.  He wanted a real partnership.

Sonny broke the kiss, and the doubting look on your face was gone.  He reached up to cup your face in his hand, and you leaned into the touch.  He locked eyes with you, and he said, “I love you for you.  Don’t you dare think otherwise.”

“But – “

“No,” he chided you gently.  “This isn’t an argument.  We aren’t lawyers right now.  No ‘but.’  I love you exactly as you are.”

You snorted at this.  “Even when I reach well into adulthood without knowing how to devein a shrimp and, more to the point, that deveining isn’t really removing veins?”

“Even then,” he agreed, and he surged forward to kiss you again, because you were already opening your mouth to argue with him, though he caught your smile right before he did.

[hevexns-realm]

Hiii, it's a random question time: What are favorite foods and drinks for Sonic characters in your AU? 👀

Ooo~ a good question! To be honest I didn’t really think about this before, but I think it’ll be interesting to give it a try! ^^

Sonic is the most obvious due to his cannon love for chili dogs, and he could eat them all the time if he could! For drinks, I feel like for a time it’d be Pepsi, but then swap it out for more “healthy” drinks, such as water or the occasional monster can for some extra energy!

Shadow is a little tricky, but due to his time with Maria, he probably has a favorite food from his times with her! I’d honestly say that he’d probably enjoy a good old medium rare steak and some red wine, but his absolute favorite? Chocolate. As he used to make a lot of chocolate with Maria back on the ark, and if you get chocolate from him, it’s going to be the best you’ve ever tasted! (He tends to make dark chocolate for Amy when her cramps get too bad!)

Silver is a pasta type, so any kind of pasta is his favorite dishes! He specifically loves Iris’ shrimp scampi, he doesn’t know what she puts into it, but it feels like it’s made with love and care every time!

Knuckles and tails love potatoes. However, knuckles likes the baked potatoes more, as it’s fluffy and soft, and you can customize it to your heart’s content! For drinks, knuckles tries to keep with just water, but he does drink the occasional beer with the boys, but not too much, he doesn’t want to give rouge the opportunity to steal the master emerald!

Tails loves anything to do with fries or chips, as they’re his go to with most dishes! Although on sick days, he loves himself some loaded potato soup that knuckles makes for him when he’s sick! For drinks, I say Coca Cola is his favorite drink, but specifically from the glass bottles. It just tastes heavenly.

Amy loves anything sweet, and shadow’s dark chocolate is one of her favorites! It’s just perfectly balanced between dark and bitter, yet sweet and creamy! Her absolute favorite though? Vanilla’s strawberry cake. It’s just absolutely delicious and creamy, and yet the strawberries blend in perfectly with their sweet and juicy flavor! It’s a perfect match with her teas, earl grey being her favorite. She always asks for vanilla to help with her parties, and the woman has recipes for every occasion!

Same goes for cream, her mother makes such amazing baked goods, it’s hard to ever choose a favorite! However, her favorite food in general is anything with veggies in them! (Can’t beat the rabbit allegations-) and her favorite drink is hot chocolate or milkshakes!

Nazo - due to his pots, he can’t have a lot of foods without them having the possibility of making his heart rate jump too high and make him pass out. However, he tends to eat more salty and protein filled foods to keep his blood pressure from becoming too low. They’re usually in small quantities and are ranging from cheeses and nuts to a small thing of pretzels or something salty. However, a favorite food? Probably Iris’ salmon mushroom carbonara. It’s filling, but yet it doesn’t make him feel like passing out from the blood instantly rushing to his stomach! For drinks, he needs salt, so he tends to carry some kind of electrolyte water around him. This is why if you see them out in public, seelkadoom has a small backpack or a tote bag on him at all times, except for when they go on fancy dates and all that. Iris usually packs a fancy satchel for those occasions.

Seelkadoom - now unlike nazo and Iris, he just likes the taste of more salty foods. However, his favorite food outside of his beloveds’ cooking? It has to be the funnel cakes and cotton candy that come around with the Solaris festival! And he ranges his drinks between water, Pepsi, an occasional monster, and on fancy occasions? Red wine.

Iris (TW: mentions of eating dead bodies 0-0||) - much like Nazo, she can’t have many foods due to her pots, and she’s kind of traumatized by eating one too many mobian sailor corpses for her own survival. So, she opts for lean proteins and veggies. It makes sense why sushi is her favorite dish! Although, she makes a wide variety of dishes that can help with the symptoms of pots at least a little bit.

Mephiles - he gets offered foods and drinks on the daily, and he really can’t choose an absolute favorite. However, ask him about his favorite memory regarding the food offerings, it’d be about a sweet trans woman who was visiting solleanna and left behind some homemade honey-sugar cookies, roasted tomato soup, and some noir wine. She stayed by his statue and chatted with him about a lot of things, and it was quite endearing that she was so willing to talk to him, especially about her own life. The food was made with a lot of love, just like her; He still watches over her to this day, hoping she’ll come back one day to talk to him again.

Iblis - she loves anything spicy, and there’s a Spanish chef in solleanna who makes some delicious foods with just enough spice that is just delicious. They’re also one of her most frequent visitors to her statue and temple. So let’s just say iblis has a small amount of favoritism to the cute chef she buys soup from! For drinks, a good old red wine is her favorite!

Circe - she loves a good old medium rare steak, but her favorite of all time? It’s actually quite odd for a hedgesiren, Cesar coast salad, a local specialty with the land close by. It’s the mixture of the local fish and veggies with a Cesar salad, and it’s honestly perfect for her!!

Scylla - she doesn’t really eat, especially since her dad is a piece of sh+t. But back when she was a teen, when she snuck out a lot. She always had these delicious octopus kebabs mixed in with some kind of kelp or seaweed. It was always so good, if she could go back in time for just a small amount of time, she’d go and buy some of those kebabs and savor their taste one last time before she got locked into the castle. Her favorite drink? Usually tea that a few of the guards sneak into her tower or the blood of enemies. The guards still do it, even though she and Circe are currently being interrogated by their father as we speak..!

———————————————————————

Hope you enjoyed!

Taglist:

@hunniegl4zed @thebreadmeower

[district23gourmet]

ok turns out internet kinda sucks on the water but I'm back on land so here's the gist

saw some big crabs, got some weird crab meat with help from molar office which I think is full of chefs(?)

had some actually very reasonable shrimp scampi, giving me inspiration for a new dish entirely

some fixers from a twin hook office or something(?) let me hold onto some big fish's massive egg, gonna cook that

[strscrossed]

OMG COMIN THRU W THE NANNYKASA!!!! Omg I love it so much!!! You’re too amaze balls!! I would love to see how their first few romantic interactions went and Eren’s pov. I just love the thought of him being so enthralled with her beauty and thinking this is too good to be true

hope this is good! a little self-inting in here!

Eren had no intention of loving ever again. 

When his wife passed, his life revolved solely around work and his boys. For almost a year, Eren had tried the balancing act of single parenthood and running a flourishing law firm. During that time, his mother had stayed over and helped tremendously with the boys. 

But she couldn’t stay indefinitely. And soon it became clear that the boys were going to need a nanny. He wasn’t too keen on the idea of a stranger handling his kids while he wasn’t looking. So he looked. He was brutal in the interview process. He left no stone unturned and some possible nannies even left the home in tears. 

He had no time for that. 

He never saw her coming. It was his last interview of the week, having done this for nearly a month. She was a pretty young woman, something he noticed but chose to overlook for the time. 

He showed her no mercy. But unlike the others, she was calm and collected, had the correct answers for all of his questions and during the test run, he observed how well the boys took to her and how well she cared for them and kept them on schedule. 

She was perfect. In more ways than one. 

At first, he encased his heart in stone because it would be too good to be true. Even so, he found himself staring at her from his office. She handled baby Leo and little Max with so much care. 

From the day their mother died, there was a perpetual rain cloud over the boys’ heads and they hardly ever smiled. With Mikasa, those precious smiles and laughs had returned. 

It was like their mother had come back to them. She wasn’t completely erased, as Mikasa would show them pictures and home videos. 

Slowly, the stone started to crumble and Eren quickly realized that the boys weren’t the only ones whose hearts she’d slowly crept into. 

He tried to keep it professional at first, with lunch and dinner here and there. But he realized it was slowly becoming more and more difficult. 

She was beautiful, gentle, intelligent, and a part of the family. He knew nannies weren’t permanent but the thought of her leaving them – leaving him – was too much. He hated the idea. He wanted her to be here with him forever. 

They spend several months toeing a very fine line. He knew that she was feeling something too because some touches and glances were lingering. 

And then one night, reality just crashed onto both of them. 

She’d just given Max a bath and put him to bed. 

Eren stood by the stairs as Mikasa’s eyes lingered on his sleeping boys before closing the doors. She was almost startled to see him. 

“Oh! Mr. Jaeger!” 

Cute, even her gasps were adorable. 

“Call me, Eren, please,” he grinned and Mikasa returned his smile. 

“Alright, Eren,” his name sounded so right coming from her lips. Her lips, which by the way, were inviting right now– 

No, stop it Eren. Control! 

“I thought we could have dinner. As you know, I’m an amazing chef.” 

She smiled, humoring him. 

“Oh yes. That pan seared salmon was burnt – I mean charred to perfection.” 

Protein and pan sauce was certainly not his specialty but hey, shrimp scampi and linguine was hard to mess up, right? 

She seemed to think so because the moment she took that first bite, there was a look of absolute delight on her face. 

“The key is oregano actually.” 

They chatted about normal things, their days, work, and about the boys. Naturally, 90% of that conversation centered around the boys. 

“They really like you,” he commented as he cleared the dishes. Across the kitchen island, Mikasa sat with a glass of wine. 

“I really like them too,” she said, smiling. “I’m very fond of them. I barely have to do anything at all.” 

Eren laughed, “They’re my kids. I promise their wild streak will appear at some point. I guarantee it actually!” 

“Oh, nothing I can’t handle.” 

Some silence followed as he cleaned up and then they sat on the couch. It was a Friday night and they could stay up as late as they wanted. Mikasa didn’t have to work on weekends, technically she was only contracted for the weekdays. She had a place and Saturdays and Sundays were her days but she spent it with him and the boys all the same. 

It was some dumb movie that Eren put on. Or so he thought. The night started out pretty tame with them sitting a respectable distance away. 

Turns out, it was a horror movie. Not the slasher kind, oh no, it was the paranormal kind. The kind that would have one scared of the dark and quiet places for weeks, 

Another discovery: Mikasa was terrified of horror movies. Somewhere between the demon making its presence known and appearing on screen, Mikasa ended up shaking in his arms. Her face was buried into his chest as she shook. 

He couldn’t say he hated it. He didn’t make any sort of attempt at moving her away either. He rubbed her back and rested his chin gently on top of her head. He wanted to kiss her so badly. 

But it was too much, even for him. 

He turned off the movie and the lights followed but Mikasa stayed buried in his chest for a minute longer before looking and realizing what she was doing. 

She jumped out of his arms. 

“Oh I’m so sorry I–” she stammered but he stopped her. 

“No, It was perfectly fine,” he assured her. 

No more words were exchanged because she quickly retreated and disappeared in the direction of her room. 

He stayed for a moment longer. 

He should’ve kissed her.

[corner-stories]

Prompt: Niccosasha and Jeankasa double date!

Me: *slapping the top of my Grad School AU* this beauty can hold so many drabbles!

The truth is that Mikasa doesn't know Niccolo too well, but that in itself is not a bad thing. She tries to view the evening as an opportunity for change, as on top of making new friends in the city, it's a chance to get to know her roommate's boyfriend. It's also a good break from the never-ending pain that is graduate studies, but that's beside the point.

So as Mikasa helps him in the kitchen on a Friday night, she tries to think of what she does know about the guy. Like her he comes from outside of Montreal, him from Toronto and her from Vancouver. She knows he's a sous chef at some expensive hipster restaurant in Mile End, a position that takes up most of his time and leaves little for his significant other, but somehow he and Sasha make it work. She also knows that he's on fairly good terms with Jean, though she's unsure if the two had struck up a friendship before Niccolo began dating Sasha or after.

Nonetheless, the facts both assure Mikasa that Niccolo is no stranger, yet reminds her that she's slightly removed from the predefined dynamics of the young adults in the apartment.

At least when Niccolo pops over to her side of the counter and observes the way she slices onions, he seems to approve of her handiwork.

"Look at that," he lauds with a friendly smile. "You're a natural."

"Thank you," Mikasa says in response. "My Auntie always made me help her in the kitchen. Picked up a few things on the way."

Niccolo nods his head. "Yeah, I can tell."

Then not a moment too soon he returns to his side of the space. After Mikasa places another handful of paper-thin onion slices into a salad bowl, she glances over to the stove that Niccolo has been slaving over. At this point he's finally added the cooked pasta to the shrimp scampi, and now his priority lies with stirring both elements together in beautiful harmony. He puts such an expert touch into a dish that's probably rudimentary in comparison to his skillset, yet no one in the apartment seems to be complaining.

As the two continue to work on dinner, Mikasa looks across the living space at the other young adults in the apartment. Sasha and Jean seem content to chillax on the couch as their significant others take care of dinner, a privilege they could enjoy on the virtue of them paying for the ingredients needed for the meal. Playing on the television is a hockey game, but for once the two are not focused on the sport of frigid puck-chasing — instead they appear to be engaged in a conversation that teeters between a passionate debate and an argument.

Apparently, French appears to be the language that the two friends prefer to use when speaking energetically, and it's moments like this when Mikasa is reminded that like her, Niccolo is still relatively new to Montreal, meaning that his grasp on the local language is possibly at the same level as hers. That level being "can order food, can't hold a deep conversation."

Mikasa listens to the brassy francophones argue, every once in a while they'll throw in a dash of English, the most current one involving Sasha dramatically exclaiming that Jean stop denying the truth. It makes Mikasa recall the few times she had joined Sasha on an Among Us night, as Sasha's only method of discovering the imposter involves the Bad Cop part of a Good Cop/Bad Cop routine.

"Do you happen to know what they're talking about?" Mikasa asks as she begins adding arugula to the salad bowl.

Niccolo doesn't look away from his pan. "Uh... figure skating, I believe."

Mikasa raises an eyebrow. In hindsight she should have guessed it, as what other conversation can include the words "lutz" and "flip" and "flutz" in the same sentence.

"Are arguments about skating usually that intense?" Mikasa asks.

The laugh that Niccolo lets out is playful, yet imbued with the slightest sense of unease. "It is for them."

[chacswins]

❛ i feel lightheaded and i can taste scampi. ❜ @woesbegone

"I think that it is time," Damien pauses a moment to help Luca to her feet, trying with the utmost sincerity to not laugh. "That we consider the possibility that you're either allergic to shrimp, or you have a limit before your body self-destructs."

[aajjks]

TPOL!dad!JK

“you don’t remember every detail. i don’t believe it” you joke before looking at the menu with jungkook. “Now princess, do you want a beef steak or something else?” you don’t need to look at jungkook to know that he’s got a smirk on his face after saying his innuendo. “Yn today is august 4th yknow… my birthday is pretty soon, we met for the first time on my birthday.. and… I was hoping that you’ll give me a surprise, hopefully a positive pregnancy test.”

your eyes widen in shock.

“a positive pregnancy test? you really want another baby, huh?” you’re aware jungkook’s birthday is coming up. you hosted a huge surprise party for his 30th birthday and you’ve taken a liking to blowing him away every year on his birthday, literally and metaphorically.

“my mom would be so happy to hear you talking about kids. i remember when she asked you about grandkids and you practically choked but look at you now. you really want a pregnancy test for your birthday hm? i’m ready whenever you are, daddy….and i want shrimp scampi”

you put the menu down and focus on the silver and red graff ring on jungkook’s finger. “mm mm mm, my husband is so fine. i’m so glad i married you”

~🫧

He laughs.

After he’s done giving your orders, he looks at you.

“princess are you okay?” he doesn’t think that he is the most extraordinarily handsome guy, he is good looking, but his heavy bank balance is what has made him so attractive to his exes.

He is glad that you think that he’s attractive, there are many many more handsome guys than him, and that’s okay, he’s sure that you’ve had your fair share of handsome men but what matters the most is that he is your husband

He’s the father of your children.

“Yn you are right she would be so proud of me..” he smiles when you bring up your mother, “ahh honestly princess it’s all because of you.,”

He looks straight into your eyes.

Jungkook inhales a deep breath, “the day you helped me get over my fear, was the day when Jaemin was born, and… then at that time? you know that I wasn’t going to accept him and I wanted to do nothing with him.. and then..” he feels his heart getting heavy, his hands trembling.

The horrible memories.

“Whatever his… birth giver did..” he says in a venomous tone, “yet you ended up accepting him as your own and you became his real mother.”

He squeezes your hand. “You changed my life that day yn.. the truth is I never deserved you.. the way you love Jaemin as your own, it is almost like you gave birth to him.” He feels tears welling up.

“You have no fucking idea, just how much I love you-I would do anything for you, like anything.” His voice gets shakier, his grip tightening.

[vtmgremlin]

She Shrimp on my Pasta till I Scampi

She Hi(tt)in' on my Valley till I Ranch

Someone help me complete this verse

[ettawritesnstudies]

18. A memorable meal this year? (tell me all about the yummy yummy food 👀)

Ok this is kind of a ridiculous story to go with the meal but here goes:

My sister was doing a study abroad during the fall semester in Austria, and so before the school year started, she wanted to do a week-long vacation in Italy and Vienna before going to her campus. The party includes two of our high school friends, my boyfriend, myself - all packing light with backpacks and carry ons, because we didn't want to pay for a ton of airfair.

My sister, on the other hand, has all her luggage for the semester, which is three suitcases, all RIDICULOUSLY overstuffed, and also full of textbooks, because she couldn't find PDFs anywhere, apparently.

We arrive in Venice. She did not book a water taxi. Our airbnb is on the far side of the island. To get from the train station to our rooms, we need to cross nearly 20 bridges with all our luggage in hand. It is August, which means its 96 degrees F and humid. My sister and best friend both have fucked up knees, which means we're all pulling double duty to help carry all this junk.

After about 40 minutes of Struggling, my boyfriend calls a halt and decides we need lunch and also rehydrating, and so we cram ourselves into a tiny restaurant and pile our luggage around the table, and that was the best shrimp scampi I've ever tasted in my LIFE because by god was it earned.

A similar thing also happened in Florence. We booked tickets to climb the Duomo early in the morning so the heat wouldn't be too intense, but also you're hiking up hundreds of stairs inside of terracotta tile so it's basically an oven, and I'll remind you that half the party has geriatric knees despite being a bunch of 20something whippersnappers. After that, we ate at this tiny little sandwich shop where all the sandwich combinations were named after crimes and sins, and the upper room was decorated with antique instruments. Another well-earned meal.

My sister also went FERAL over gelato. We had to stop several times a day for gelato. It became a meme.

[one-idea]

I actually got two ideas on what could be Deuce's favorite food, one being shrimp scampi and the other being a desert that's blueberry macarons. Cause I can see Deuce liking blueberries as a favorite fruit and with the macarons need to be very precise with them that can make them difficult to do as one thing off can spell disaster. It can easily lead to hollow shells if you overwork the batter thus letting too much air be incorporated into it and then there's getting the perfect consistency of the meringue. its a dessert that requires precision to get right with measuring things out, mastering the folding of the batter, factoring in temperature and humidity of the room your working in for the success of the macarons and if even just one slight thing is off you can end up with cracked shells or just something unusable. And this is all just to get the shells right haven't even touched on making the filling for them yet. As you've said Ace wouldn't be prepared in the slightest for technical skills that Deuce's favorite meal has so he'd be just as lost here when it comes to making his crushes favorite dessert if not worse with this. However, he would see that Deuce would look at these little treats whenever the crew docks at an island and eventually figures out what they are called. He sees the small sparkle in Deuce's eyes when looking at them in a shop window and now that he is learning to cook with Thatch he wants to make this for Deuce. This makes Deuce happy, this little treat makes him smile so now he's got to learn how to make this desert for Deuce after figuring out how to make Deuce's favorite meal. He doesn't care how long it takes him or how big of a challenge it may be he will learn how to make these macarons for Deuce! And because Thatch is a hopeless romantic he would agree to help Ace with this even though they had agreed to start on simpler recipes. Thatch knows that once Ace has got his mind set on something like this then not much will be able to make him stop. So he's just hoping that this doesnt start too many fires here in the kitchen like last time.

Rip Thatch.

As someone who makes Macarons they are such a pain. I love but it’s a pain.

And once people know you can make them it’s all they want you to bring to the party. Big sigh.

So I know exactly how much work goes into those bad boys. Rip Ace honestly.

Like he is the exact sort of person who would be stubborn enough to be like “I have to learn how to make these!”

Thatch: knowing exactly how technical macarons are to make “are you sure about that?” (Fear)

Ace nodding enthusiastically. “Yep they’re Deuce’s favorite.

Thatch: deep sigh “of course they are.” He will not know peace until this is over. The kid couldn’t pick an easier dessert to be his favorite? What about chocolate chip cookies? Everyone loves cookies! But no it had to be the fancy rich people cookie. He’s just thankful it wasn’t puff pastries the kitchen wouldn’t survive.

It takes many failed attempts and a few fires but eventually Ace figures it out. But bless Thatch. Bless him.