#tinmunky writes

[tinmunky]

About Last Night

Found on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086437/chapters/2185605

No Galaxy for Old Men Series - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

Characters & Pairings: Zaeed Massani/Fem!Shep, James Vega (if you squint), Aria T’Loak, Grizz

Summary: Shepard has some unhealthy coping mechanisms and the next morning leaves some surprising results.

Rating: Mature for violence, language and innuendo - 4,183 words

Tags: Sexual tension, drinking problems, friendship, banter, canon typical violence

Audio Parings: The Black Keys - Howlin’ For You

Commander Shepard needed a fucking drink and every bill comes due.

Chapter One - One Night on Omega

It had been three weeks since Horizon and Shepard’s mood had steadily darkened only to reach a crescendo of absolute rage when Kaidan had the nerve to write that joke of a non-apology letter. She had fucking died for god’s sake. A Letter! Everyone else seemed to be able to find her vid com if they wanted something, yet he couldn’t even apologize properly. God. Damned. Asshole.

Shepard was pretty sure this was some sort of galactic joke. How many plot twists could a girl take before cracking. Apparently three. Death, Cerberus and one betrayal. On a purely rational level, she got it. It had been two years for him, and two months for her. Everything was still pretty raw for her and he had calloused over.

Garrus was on eggshells, Chakwas hadn’t left the infirmary since Horizon and Joker was using his high pitched “everything’s fine” voice. He was probably terrified that the massive rage brewing in Shepard’s biotics were going to short the inertial dampeners or some equally ridiculous sciencey bit. The only person who seemed unfazed was Massani.

It was shortly after Horizon Joker started hounding Shepard to put in at the maintenance dock on Omega for “routine maintenance,” Shepard had heard “unstoppable paranoia”, narrowed her eyes and decided to forge on. Joker wasn’t exactly good at subterfuge. Though, after Joker’s 50th request and that piece of shit Alenko’s letter, she had relented. Omega might be exactly what she needed after the whole Alenko debacle.

So, here she was, waiting for the airlock of the Normandy to release her onto Omega so she could do some nice, healthy damage to her liver. Work out some of that aggression and get back on track to saving a galaxy that didn’t give a shit that it was in danger.

This was probably the only place in known space that could handle her mood right now. The deep thrum of the ship eased as the last dock clamp clanged into place and the main engines powered down to reserve levels. The airlock eased upwards and the atmospheres met in a hiss of vapor as Shepard took her first step out the door and towards a big ass drink.

_____

“Commander Shepard.” A voice as sweet as a babbling brook and about as deep slashed into her little storm cloud. Shepard took a breath, her eyes fluttering closed in exasperation, and counted to ten before turning.

“Yeoman Chambers.” She hoped she put enough disdain into the title to head any friendliness off at the pass. Joker may not trust EDI, and Miranda and Jacob seemed like the obvious loyalists, but the real spy threat came from Chambers as far as Shepard was concerned. A Cerberus lackey through and through, she had drunk the Kool-Aid to the last drop. Chambers had dossiers on all crew members, knew their dirty little psych profile secrets and Shepard would bet dollars to donuts, reported everything down to the last deuce to The Illusive Man. She was not a fan.

“Commander Shepard, are you going ashore?” Chambers tapped at her data pad. Shepard looked at her dumbfounded. Looked at her armored feet on the dock. Looked back at Chambers still in the lock.

“Well Chambers. It appears that I am outside of the ship. And I am on shore. So suffice to say, yes. Yes, I am going ashore.”

“Cerberus regulations state that any shore party must consist of a commanding officer and two squad members! This really is against policy.” Chambers huffed.

If Shep wasn’t already at the homicidal rage point of her day, she probably would have laughed.

“Chambers” She spoke slowly “Do I look like I give a shit about Cerberus regulations and/or policy?” Folding her arms across her armored chest. The polycarbonate clicking against each other as a satisfying bookend to her crisp tone.

Chambers looked Shepard up and down. At 6ft tall, face scarred and armed to the teeth, she didn’t look like she gave a shit about much, other than her own objectives.

“Well, no. No I suppose you don’t.” Chambers’ brow furrowed and then quickly cleared. “Shall I inform XO Lawson of your absence?”

“You can inform Ms. Lawson of any goddamn thing you please Chambers. I am going to the bar.”

_____

Shepard climbed the stairs to Afterlife a woman on a mission. She strode straight through the door, passing the Elcor bodyguard without stopping. An outraged snarl made it above the ambient din.

“What the fuck! She wasn’t even in line!”

“With barely contained disdain, she is on the list. You are not.”

Shepard never slowed her pace until she pulled up to the bar and hailed a passing Salarian bartender.

“Commander Shepard! Shall I make Ms. T’Loak aware of your arrival.” Solicitous as only Salarians can be.

“No need to bother her majesty, I’m here for a drink only.”

Afterlife had the charm of that special circle of hell that religion threatened you with if you had too much fun in life. The pulsing music, the beautiful creatures that moved across the dance floor, the high potential for bloodshed. All pleasant distractions for her simmering anger. She had been here many times on business. Most of the upper management knew her on sight. The rest, by reputation. Shepard had paid homage early on with Aria T’Loak. Trading information, doing favors, taking Massani off her base. With a bit of tit for tat, Aria forged a grudging respect for Shepard, offering her an open door, but not an open tab.

“Oh uh, well then. What will you be having?” he folded his hands happily.

“Do you happen to have anything from Earth?” Shepard sat down for the long haul.

“As a matter of fact... ah yes! I have a lovely bottle of, what I am told, is a human delicacy.” The Salarian placed a square edged green bottle in front of Shepard.

“Ugh, licorice schnapps? Really? It tastes horrible.”

“The Krogan seem to like it.” The Salarian shrugged.

“Whiskey. I’ll just take whiskey. If you have it.”

“Thessian or Sol distilleries? I have a Canadian brand…” The Salarian chortled happily as he bustled under the bar for a glass.

“No, no! No Canadian.” Shepard waved her hands frantically.

________

Aria commanded quite the view from her loft. Nothing of interest passed unnoticed from the comfort of her couch. She knew she would see Shepard in her dominion the second she had heard that the Normandy had entered Omega space. Her network had informed her that Shepard had some Alliance trouble on Horizon and had expected her to slink in sooner this being one of the few places Shepard would be safe from Alliance and Council reach. The Commander was becoming quite the regular and Aria found each visit more intriguing than the last. She ventured she actually was beginning to like the human. Shepard had cured the plague in the lower levels and relieved Aria of a particularly irritating vigilante and another rather expensive mercenary. Shepard was a heavy hitter, and a wild card. Too noble by far, but her gray area was unpredictable. One minute a paragon of virtue and the next leaving a trail of bodies. She was never boring.

So when Shepard turned up on Omega’s doorstep in the wake of, if the gossip could be trusted, a lover’s quarrel, Aria expected at least some cheap entertainment. What she got was a mopey Cerberus agent dead set on getting shit faced. If the Commander yacked on the bar, it would cost her. Aria had sighed in disappointment and went back to regular business.

________

The Patriach had already come and lumbered off, polishing off that nasty piece of work in a green square bottle. Old Krogan couldn’t hold his liquor.

“Hey Teddy!” Shepard half climbed over the bar flagging down the passing bartender.

“I’m out of scotch, please don’t kill me.” The Salarian weaseled up to his side of her bar with a wince and a groan.

“I only killed that last guy ‘cause he tried to poison me.” Shepard scoffed, offended “Now Teddy,”

“Tedelonis…”

“Yeah, yeah, Teddy.” Shepard leaned against the bar and peered into her empty glass. “I need something a bit stronger. These implants make it a bear to get a buzz nowadays.”

“That so,” he tapped his nonexistent lips in contemplation, “You ever have alcohol from Kahje ma’am?”

Her ears perked up. She had come to Omega to see the sights, smell the horrible Omega smells, and drink the good stuff.

“Now you’re talking my language Teddy.” Barked out a laugh as she felt someone take the seat at the bar next to her. She spins her empty glass, sliding half a look to her left. Tall, human, dark hair and honeyed skin. He’s out of place here. She pointedly ignores him.

“‘Evening ma’am. What brings an Alliance officer like you to a shit hole like Omega?” He asks with a confidence left only to the stupid and young.

Shepard slides the rest of her look his way as she shifts in her chair. Taking in the whole picture of the man so lacking in self preservation that he’d take the empty seat next to her. Handsome and practically a baby for all his bulking muscles and crisp ink. He was at least 10 years her junior, dark hair shorn tight to his head. Alliance jarhead right out of the mold. Too green to be sent here hunting her. Maybe a chance encounter? She smiles all teeth and bad intentions.

“Lemme buy you a drink kid, and don’t ever call me ma’am again. Two Kahje specials Teddy.”

The Salarian groaned again. Handing over the verdant liquid. A evil glint in his massive eyes. “Good luck, Commander.”

The jarhead next her snorted into his glass. Clearly picking up what the turd behind the counter was putting down. She shot Tedelonis a withering glare. He was getting a bit big for his Salarian britches.

“Remember what I did to the last guy that poisoned me Teddy.”

The Alliance kid didn’t seem to notice her thinly veiled threat and plowed forward.

“We tend to know our own don’t we.” He sipped and winced. “We get that ‘been out a space a while’ look and no matter where you are or what you do, you’re Alliance ‘till you die.” He smiled like he shared her secret.

Maybe it was the alcohol, but she felt like her heart finished breaking. She did NOT want to be seen right now, but he knew. Maybe not her, or her circumstance, but he knew what it was like to be cast adrift. To be dropped.

“Huh.” She huffs into her glass “ Annoyingly astute. I’m just going to have to work on my covert abilities then. You got a name marine?” She poked.

James picked up his glass with a slow spreading smile.

“James. You got a name Commander?” He poked back apparently. At least he wasn’t a chickenshit like others she could name.

“Nice to meet you Jimmy.” Shepard sipped her drink, eyeing him across the lip of the glass and licked her lips. Jesus, they were already going numb. Apparently she had just hit the drinking big leagues. For the first time since her resurrection she might actually be able to dull the edge of whatever the fuck this was.

“Logan.” What possessed her to give her given name she would never know.

“Pretty name.” He smiled.

“Bad pickup line.” She frowned.

“Am I that obvious?”

“I’m that good at reading people.” She set her drink down with a click and looked him up and down. “Listen Jimmy, physique like that shouldn’t have too much of a problem finding a date in a place like this. You may be rusty on your one liners, but I’m definitely not the girl you should be talking to here. ”

“How you figure that?” He asked.

”Because, I figure you know who I am, and what I can do, and what I’m about.” Shepard stood, omni tool at the ready to shoot Teddy her tab and beat feet to an even seedier bar if she could find one. This one was too friendly.

“How about this,” James sighed. “I’ll pretend I don’t know who you are, and you pretend that you’re a normal person having a normal conversation keeping me out of trouble while I wait for the private transport I hitched a ride on to make repairs. Humor me, and if I can make you laugh, you’ll let me buy the savior of the Citadel a drink.”

“You’re asking a lot here kid.” Shepard warned. “I was in a right fucking mood when you came up.”

”Challenge accepted.

_______

After a couple of hours of her sad sack drinking, Aria ceased to check on Shepard herself. She had delegated Grizz to update her of any change in Shepard’s activities and went about her usual business.

“Hey boss. Uh, your pet human is talking to another human. Thought that would qualify as a change.” Grizz leaned in to whisper.

“What are they doing Grizz?” Aria sifted through entries on her data pad.

“Uh, well it looks like talking. And Shepard’s laughing,” Aria laser focused on Grizz. “A lot.”

“Laughing?” Aria was incredulous. She must have drank more than Aria thought.

“Laughing boss. “

“Well now. Maybe she’s not actually the ice princess I thought. Let me know if something really interesting happens.” Aria dismissed him with a wave. Grizz remained in place, his subvocals clearing uncomfortably.

Aria huffed and looked up.

”You’re still here Grizz.” Annoyance seeping into her tone.

“On an unrelated front, the front door would like to inform you that a certain Batarian that shall not be named, has resurfaced. “

“Gorzic?” Aria looked up. “That varren fucker. He’s got quads on him to show his face.”

“One and the same boss, and it appears he’s approaching Commander Shepard.”

“You have got to be shitting me.” Aria leaned out over her loft to see for herself. Gorzic was approaching the Commander. She’d clearly caught his eye as his lackeys slapped each other in their excitement. Shepard was no companion or dancer, but she definitely would catch anyone’s eye. This halfwit had no idea what he was getting into.

“Do you want us to detain him?” Grizz asked, his omni glowing, ready to send the order.

Shepard and her companion clinking glasses in that strange human custom before tossing back the drinks in hand. Shepard stood with her back to the sauntering warlord and leaned across the bar to grab Tedelonis in passing. Her hips pressed against the bar edge as she reached. Aria could hear her booming laughter over the din of the music. Well, this should be interesting.

“No, not yet. I want to see how this plays out. Inform Bray he may have to order up a cleaning crew.”

Shepard is in animated discussion with Teddy and her human companion only to be cut off mid sentence as Gorzic’s meaty hand lands flat and hard against the armor weave of the Commander’s left ass cheek.

Aria’s hands fly to her mouth in shocked glee.

Chapter Two - Every Bill Comes Due

Unnnnnngh. God.” Shepard rolled onto her side and cracked a gummy eyelid with an audible click, looking for the bedside clock. Oh ow. What the hell?

0400 ship’s time. She had left for Afterlife at 0100. So either she’d had a really rough three hours or almost twenty four had passed. Gingerly she rolled to her back slowly taking stock of the situation. Okay, fact one, she was in her cabin on the Normandy. The ceiling observation window exposing the gnarly twists and turns of Omega’s infrastructure. Shepard threw her arm over her eyes to block the glare. Fact two, she seemed to have all of her appendages intact, if a little worse for wear. Somehow she’d stripped down to her black Cerberus issue skivvies, hopefully she came home with her armor.

Shepard let out a groan, followed by a gravelly snore. Wait, what?

In a move that would have done any scream queen proud, she turned her head ever so slowly to the opposite bedside, terror building as her mind raced with what she might find.

“AIEEEEE!” she squealed shrilly. Placing both hands and feet into the back of Zaeed Massani, Shepard shoved him clean across the bed and off the other side.

“Christ woman!” His sleep rasped roar followed his resounding thud.

“What the fuck are you doing in my bed?!” Shepard’s words high with panic as she leapt to the other side. She put a healthy distance of one queen sized bed between them.

“What the fuck are you doing shoving me out of it? I was comfortable.” Zaeed slowly rose from the floor. Naked to the waist and clothed only in tattoos, black sleep pants and a bad attitude.

Shepard swallowed thickly and pulled herself together as the adrenaline spike wore off and the hangover rolled back in.

“I asked first.” Her voice dropping an octave.

Zaeed casually fluffed the pillows and laid back into them without so much as a by your leave. Arms folded behind his head, feet crossed at the ankles and a smirk upon his dichotomous face.

“Well about last night…would you believe keeping you from drowning in your own vomit?”

“I hardly believe you’d be so selfless.” Shepard retorted. The acid back in her tone, or was that just bile, ugh she hadn’t felt this vile since waking up dead.

“How bout I had the opportunity for a good night’s sleep in a soft, sweet smellin’ bed, and I would be protecting my paycheck from drowning in her own vomit.”

Shepard looked at him pointedly for a heartbeat longer than the average person would deem comfortable. He obviously had no intention of moving and her internal struggle to stomp the nausea down overrode her social awkwardness from waking next to one of her more tense working relationships. She gingerly settled back into her spot and resumed to nurse the mother of all hangovers. She’d be damned if she would be the one to leave her own bed.

“So then, care to explain our current situation?” Shepard casually waved her hand in an all-encompassing gesture.

“Well lessee.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips “What do you remember last?

Afterlife. Yeah, that sounds about right.

“Last thing I remember is drinking some kind of Hanar juice at Afterlife and…” She was cut off as Zaeed laughed. He laughed much harder than warranted.

“Is it really necessary to laugh so.. loudly?”

“Hanar juice… Honestly, Shepard, for the savior of the galaxy you’re pretty goddam thick. Ever hear the phrase, drinks like a fish? That should be, drinks like a jellyfish. The Hanar distill venom for Christ’s sake. I’m amazed you can string two words together right now.” He turned to look her. Blue eyes narrowed to mismatched ones.

“Do you want to hear the fucking story or not?” Shepard snapped.

“No, no sweetheart, don’t mind me.” Zaeed raised his hands in submission.

Shepard paused… and paused some more.

“And I don’t remember much more than that.”

“Well sweetheart, let me fill some gaps for you. Zaeed purred with amusement.

“Ugh, spare me.”

“Do you want to hear the fucking story or not?” Zaeed threw her words back at her, his smirk playing at the ruined side of his face.

“By all means…” Shepard sunk deeper into the pillows throwing her arm across her face.

“So last night you left the Normandy in a fine fit of rage and looking for trouble. Naturally all proper young ladies looking for a bar fight end up at Afterlife, drunk as a skunk I might add, and apparently you found trouble… does any of this ring a bell?”

“Aside from this being pretty characteristic of an alcoholic, no, it’s not exactly,” Shepard air quoted “Ringing Any Bells.” Before dropping her arm back over her eyes.

“Well you were gone for about ten hours, and in that time you drank 1,000 chits worth of booze," Shepard groaned, "and did 20,000 chits worth of damage to Aria’s bar.” She cringed. “I know this because Aria delivered a bill with your laughing, drunk ass.” He cast her a sideways glance.

“Laughing you say?” she peeked at him from under her arm.

“Still conscious I say! Girl you drank the Patriarch under the table, got your ass slapped by a Batarian warlord and then proceeded to rip his arm off and beat him to death with it. What I wouldn’t have given to see his face! Fucking Batarians!” Approval laced his voice as he ran his hand across the stubble of his check. The hair rasped attractively under his callused palm.

“Yeah, me too.” Shepard let a ghost of a smile cross her face “Though, I don’t particularly like owing Aria money.”

“Oh and you shouldn’t!” Zaeed’s raspy chuckle rolled across her frayed senses, “That’d come outta your ass 110% mark my words! But no worries sweetheart. That Batarian you beat to death was under breach of contract with Ms. T’loak. She had a hit on him for 50k. She wrote on your bill “Paid in Full.” Ha! You’re gonna run good honest bounty hunters like myself outta business if you keep your rates to reimbursement for property damage.” Shepard snorted.

“So the slate is clean?”

“As anything on Omega is.” His lopsided grimace the closest approximation to a smile he could manage.

“Lovely. So if I was such a disaster,” Zaeed chuckled low and rolled on his side facing her. She swallowed. “how’d I make it back here?”

Heat radiated off of his body, soothing her wretched consciousness. His eyes looking her over. God woman, play it cool. Cool. You’re just jacked up on whatever those stupid jellyfish drink. She closed her eyes in a supreme effort of serenity.

“Eh? Some punk with face scars and neck tattoos shows up at the airlock with you slung over his shoulder, armor and all, giggling like a drunken idiot.” Shepard cracked a lid to look him in the opaque eye. The irony not lost on her. He pointedly ignored her pointed look.

“Giggling, Shepard. Like you were some kinda girl. Honestly, I think it scarred me emotionally.” He leered.

“Jealous Massani?”

“Me? Of some fluffed up Omega brat? No, darling. I’m not worried about some young buck. Skills and talent will take you only so far without the refinement of time.”

Shepard shifted uncomfortably. Her clammy skin had warmed from his proximity. Zaeed was definitely one smug piece of shit.

“So. What did I do next?”

“Well, EDI wouldn’t let him on, so she had him leave you in the airlock. Which he was none too pleased about. The Cheerleader woke me out of a lovely sleep, dreaming about the good ole days with my Jessie, on my hard, narrow cot I might add, and had me hoist your ass into your cabin shower. And let me say, you weigh more than some slip of a girl should.”

“I’m 6ft tall Zaeed.”

“And dense as fuck. Anyway, you were still laughing up a storm when Lawson started to hose the Batarian off of you, armor and all. I think it’s still in there, may want to look to that. We put you to bed, don’t worry I looked the other way when she dressed you. Now her you might owe.” Zaeed’s sly smile curled the corner of one lip. He looked away EDI’s shiny metal ass.

“So how did you end up here?” So nonchalant Shepard she thought. Zaeed smiled. Shepard sat up in the bed much more casually than she felt. Making her next question even blander than Kelly Chambers.

“So. Um. Did we…?”

Zaeed barked a laugh, but shifted uncomfortably. Shepard released a breath she hadn’t realize she was holding. It wasn’t like Zaeed wasn’t attractive, especially considering his current arrangement, but Shepard had more post death, my Alliance boyfriend broke up with me because I was resurrected by the space devil, oh and I’m all that stands between everyone and galactic annihilation baggage than a one night stand with a surly merc she had to work with on a professional level could handle.

“No. I’m not going to ruin the one friendship I’ve managed in 20 years by sleeping with you. I prefer my women only slightly more cognizant” Shepard smiled “…and unlike to vomit on me.” And the moment was gone.

“Besides, and no offense Shepard, but I’ve seen you dance.”

Ah, his acerbic wit. Like a cold shower dousing any innuendo he had left to smolder. She wasn’t quite sure if she appreciated the gesture or not.

“Wow, thanks for kicking me when I’m down Massani.”

Zaeed tipped his imaginary hat.

“Not a problem sweetheart. Do you still need your puke bucket? I’m sure Gardner would like his pot back.”

[wanderingaldecaldo]

Chapters: 1/3 Fandom: Mass Effect Trilogy, Mass Effect - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Zaeed Massani/Female Shepard Characters: Zaeed Massani, Female Shepard (Mass Effect) Additional Tags: Sexual Tension, Enemies to Lovers, Canon-Typical Violence, adults who can’t handle their emotions, Grumpy Old Men, Other Additional Tags to Be Added Series: Part 4 of No Galaxy for Old Men Summary:

Shepard benches the Squad to help Kasumi take on Donovan Hock and Zaeed doesn’t have a whole lot of experience with emotions other than anger. Can his mouth get him out of the trouble it gets him in?

@tinmunky THIS IS SO GOOD!!! I can’t wait for the rest of it!

[nightwingshero]

WIP ON THIS DAY

I was tagged by the wonderful @xbaebsae thank you Cindy Angy!!!!!!!

Tagging: @water-writings @strafethesesinners @simonxriley @playstationmademe @chyrstis @geronimo-11 @fadedjacket @foofygoldfish @amistrio @tinmunky @shallow-gravy @consumedkings @dieguzguz @adelaidedrubman @witchofinterest

This is just something I’m working on for Blair...when uh...she goes supernova after Leonard’s “death”....yikes...

It’s a choke, the way my breath catches in my throat, but that’s nothing compared to the odd feeling that’s twisting inside, and for a moment, I realize the free-fall feeling may not be far off. As if the very gravity or pressure inside me was holding its own breath—frozen as if I were floating. And perhaps that’s how it was so easy to rise to my feet, catching everyone’s attention, as the tears continued to fall. Their eyes didn’t leave me as they waited, most likely waiting for me to say a piece while Mick’s thousand-yard stare continued, looking right passed me. As if I didn’t exist. But did I? Did I exist at all?

There’s a snap in me as the energy continues again, shifting only slightly but enough. Enough for me to know that this isn’t right, none of this is. He should be here with us, helping us come up with another plan, another way to make Savage pay for all that he has done. The energy within me is collapsing, curling into itself as if it were disappearing…a collapsing star…no.

“Blair?” Ray asked softly as he held his hand out, taking a step closer as Sara rose warily. Her eyes were suspicious, calculating as she took me in. All their concern, fear, and pity…only added to the feeling that was starting to build. The energy no longer collapsing, just growing and expanding, and I realized that this felt more like an implosion. The energy was becoming too much. The urge to speak out, to call to Martin, just to prove that I could fills me almost immediately. There was nothing to say, I wasn’t ready to speak about it, but I needed just say something, to say a name—I needed that anchor.

The first thing to happen is my eyes changing colors—that purple and blue nebula color they become whenever I used the meta abilities I had gained. I could feel it, the warm sensation of the shift as if it were merely eye drops, a tingle rippling that almost made my eyes itch. And then my tears began to cool against my flushed skin, slowly freezing and stinging as the frost spread through the tears. My mouth hung open—whether in a silent scream or gasp, I’m not sure—and its another exhale that leaves me…and that’s all it takes to feel as if the oxygen has left the room entirely.

[trillian-anders]

sourdough

pairing: chef!bucky x plus!reader

warnings: fluff, domesticity

word count: 1542

description: chef!au; exploring new and old hobbies during quarantine

just a taste masterlist

“What are you doing?” It wasn’t uncommon to have comfortable and long lasting silences in the apartment. That’s, realistically, the only way you were going to be able to be in close quarters for so long. The New York quarantine had been going on for about six weeks now, and while both of you were going a little stir crazy, you’d found things around your NYC loft to keep yourselves busy. Bucky, just five minutes ago started pulling things from the pantry, flour, and a weck jar, the kitchen scale. 

“I’m gonna make a sourdough starter.” He left his phone open on the kitchen bench, scrolling through the instructions that must have been on the screen. A dark rye flour, his favorite unbleached bread flour, and warm water. “That’s all it is.” He said, “And well… time.” 

You’d been working from home, part time, as Tony put almost all projects on hold in order to focus his direction into making masks and other medical supplies. Your job mainly consisted of scheduling drop offs and ordering the base supplies needed to produce them. In the other hours of the day you’d started on a new novel. 

“Maybe you should write a crime story.” Bucky offered, the two of you wrapped in a blanket on the couch watching Forensic Files half asleep. You hummed, snuggling further into his chest, drifting off,

“Maybe.” 

The next day you lay out exactly what you wanted to happen and when it was going to happen, a chapter by chapter outline which is something you’d never done before and the writing flowed so easily for the first three chapters it almost seemed surreal. You were surprised how easy it was to start the story, but now halfway through it was difficult to maneuver all the different pieces. 

You watched him measure flour, spooning it into the jar placed on the kitchen scale. “Baking is more of a science,” He said, “It’s harder to eyeball it.” He measured the unbleached flour and the dark rye flour, before temping water and mixing the three together and placing the loose lid on top. It took five minutes, tops. Then he sat back down on the couch, hand on your thigh, going back to watching Outlander. 

“That’s it?” You asked, looking at the jar left on the counter. He nods, 

“Yeah, that’s it.” With a rinse and repeat for seven days. A five minute small task of letting natural yeasts ferment the dough, it smelled tangy and a little sour. “That’s how it should smell.” He said. 

You looked at him skeptically, but trusted that he knew what he was doing. He fed the starter every day, and on day eight he decided to make bread. 

You were working at the kitchen bench, sipping your second coffee of the day when he brought out more flour, water, salt, and the very expensive and well used dutch oven he’d brought over when you decided to quarantine together. 

He’d made something last night and left it covered in a dish towel on the counter. “Leavening.” He called it, “It uses the starter and some more flour to act as the yeast in the bread.” He dissolved salt in water and mixed in the leavening, adding flour until it started sticking together and began folding it in the bowl.

“Do you need me to move?” You asked, trying to ignore the urge to bite his bare shoulder. He’d tumbled out of bed and immediately started making this bread, clad only in his briefs. That was a distraction enough, let alone now the muscles in his arms working as he worked the dough, using his fingers to fold and turn, before covering it back up with the cloth. 

“No, you’re good.” A minty kiss to your lips, “Did you have breakfast yet?” You smiled, 

“Do you mean lunch?” His eyes met the clock above the stove.

“Oh, well do you want lunch?” A grin.

He continued the process for a couple hours, folding the dough over a few times and then letting it prove. 

You were taking a break, watching Brooklyn-99 reruns and snacking on pretzels when a timer went off and he got back up from the couch, shaping the dough into a round shaped loaf, covering it back with the dish cloth and sitting back beside you on the couch. This was a long process apparently, but Bucky was patient. 

It was something you admire about him, he was willing to put in the work if that meant he was going to create something better. Even if sometimes it wasn’t. There were projects that failed, recipes that didn’t work out or were sometimes off. The trial and error of trying to create something new. 

It wasn’t until late, that he popped the dough into the dutch oven and started baking it. The two of you snacked late because, “I’m going to make dinner.” But he wanted to use the bread. The bread baked for about an hour and came out crusty and brown. “You hear that?” The scratch of the knife against the crust. Roasted crushed tomatoes, olive oil, some herbs and pancetta, you ate it open face at the kitchen bench on the bread he had griddled on the flat top pan he’d also brought with him. 

“This,” You moaned, “Is so fucking good.” He nods, the crunch of the bread so satisfying. 

“It really is.” 

He continued to feed the starter, every day, without fail. Practicing with different recipes, crepes, pretzels, pizza crust, crackers, pancakes, muffins. 

“Here,” He would say, “Try this.” Something else new and experimental. He made whatever he could with that sourdough, apple fritters and an attempt at pie crust that didn’t really work out. You hated to say it, but you were getting sick of sourdough. Everything tasted similar, and you’d been feeling so gassy and began feeling a little uncomfortable from the amount of bread products you’d been consuming. 

But Bucky seemed to be so fixated on it, proud of what he was making with his new baby starter that he took care of and cultivated it daily. You just didn’t know how to tell him. He seemed so excited every time he presented you with something new. 

“Baby this is incredible.” He was scrolling through the open word document on your screen. 

“Yeah?” You felt pretty proud of it so far, you liked how it was turning out, and while you hadn’t gone through to edit any of your writing, you were happy for the feedback. You leaned over his back, scratching softly on his sides as he scrolled through the last chapter. His hand found yours, turning in his seat to bring you to stand between his legs. 

“It's really good baby.” A kiss. “I’m so proud of you for actually working on this.” Another kiss. 

“Thank you.” Kisses moving down to your neck and shoulder. He hums, 

“What do you want for dinner?” He asked, face buried into your neck. You sigh, running your fingers through his hair. You just had to come out with it or else risk more dough that would further bloat you and make you need a carb nap. 

“Anything that isn’t sourdough.” He grins against your neck and laughs. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do it anymore and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but could we just have salad or something?” 

He squeezes your hips, pressing his lips back to yours one more time, grinning, “Okay baby.”

.

.

.

taglist //  @93generation​ @technicallykawaiisoul​  @bookish-shristi​ @saturnki​ @jennmurawski13​ @geeksareunique​ @the-soulofdevil​ @tinmunky​ @gifsbysimplysonia​ @alwaysbenhardysgirl @beck-alicious

[foofyschmoofer]

Writer’s Have You Ever

Tagged by @alyssalenko. Thanks lovely :)

Tagging @scahill42, @penthesilea1623, @missmeggo929, @joufancyhuh, @inuy21, @swaps55, @inquartata30, @pixelatrix, @vorchagirl, @tinmunky and anyone else who wants to do it. No obligations, as always.

*

Rules: Tag the person who tagged you, then bold the things in the list which you have written (italicize the things you might write in the future or you’ve thought about writing).

First Person

Second Person

Third Person

Omniscient POV

Past Tense

Present Tense

Future Tense

A complete story

A story longer than 1K

A story longer than 5K

A story longer than 10K

A story longer than 50K

A story longer than 100K

A story longer than 150K

A story shorter than 1K

A story shorter than 500 words.

Fanfiction

Original Fiction

Fantasy

Science Fiction

Historical Fiction

Dystopian

A story in the Romance Genre

A Story With No Speculative Elements At All 

Non-fiction

A children’s book

A story about vampires

A story about werewolves

A story about robots 

A story with a non-human protagonist

A story with a main character based on yourself

A story with a character based on somebody you know

Male POV

Female POV

A POV character a different gender from yourself

Animal’s POV

Multiple Viewpoints

POV character under age 15 

POV character over age 30

A story told in non-chronological order

Story with a happy ending 

Story with a sad ending 

Death of a minor character

Death of a major character

Death (offscreen)

Death (onscreen)

Antagonist death

Protagonist death

Villain gets redemption arc

Kissing scene

Sex scene (offscreen)

Sex scene (onscreen)

Swears (Mild)

Swears (Heavy)

Violence (PG or under)

Violence (PG-13 or over)

Fight scene

Torture scene

A flashback

A dream sequence

A scene that made you cry actual tears

A scene that made you laugh at your own joke

A prologue

An epilogue

A story with more than 30 chapters

A chapter with fewer than 100 words

A poem

A prophecy

Story that takes place in the future

Story that takes place in the past

Story that takes place in a world that is not Earth

An anti-hero 

An anti-villain

A parody

Description of male character’s scent

Description of female character’s boobs

Character with eyes of a non-natural color 

[thisnameissocreative]

2020-20 facts tag

Tagged by @tinmunky (aaaaaa thank youuu, I've never been tagged in anything like this before!)

Tagging anyone who wants to do it!

20 random FACTS about yourself that may surprise you. Here are mine:

Do you make your bed? Nah, at the most I pull the duvet over only when I'm playing on my ps4.

What's your favourite number? 8, it was the last number I learnt to write and I enjoyed doing it. When I was younger I gave numbers personalities and 8 was cool I guess xD

What's your job? I don't have one, I'm in uni at the moment

If you could, would you go back to school? Nooo, I'm going back to uni next week and I really don't want to, I just want a job rn.

Can you parallel park? Last time I drove I could parallel park really well but that was like 2 years ago, so hopefully I'm still good at it.

A job you had which would surprise people? I've never had a job, but I guess I covered for someone one time sooo. I used to go to this charity organisation that taught people to play guitar, drums, bass and (for one summer) keyboard. I started going like the second year it was going on learned the basics of the bass and then went onto play the drums after a year or so. Got taught them for a couple years and was in the highest level class. They were like an hour long with like 4 levels and were all done one after the other lowest level first but I used to go in for all hour hours as my sister taught the bass class for the last year or two. One day the drum teacher didn't show up so I had to teach them drums, the first three didn't listen and just wanted to smak things all over but the lessons got easier as they got older/more experienced. It was a nightmare, especially since I was so nervous at the time.

Do you think aliens are real? Yeah, probably but I think most of them would be like micro organisms. If there isn't other intelligent life right now, I think there will be, even if it's long after we're all gone.

Can you drive a manual car? Yee, it's the default here, I have no idea how to drive an automatic.

What's your guilty pleasure? Aaaa I don't know... I think I'm pretty open with what I like and don't like.

Tattoos? None, I'm very indecisive and I hate even stickers or stamps on my skin, never mind anything perminant.

Favourite colour? An earthy, olive-y green. I love most other colours but I can't stand most purples.

Things people do that drive you crazy? I think I'm pretty chill about most things? Idk maybe people treating stuff like it's a personality trait when it's not.

Any phobias? Blood. When I was little I cut my finger and screamed so loud that my dad heard me from down the street. My sister cut her knee while we were on a ferris-wheel and now I can't go on them without feeling sick when I'm fine with other amusement things. In some instances I'm fine, I got my blood taken and was watching it happen cause it looked cool but when my mam cut her finger, I was shaking and trying not to gag.

Favourite childhood sport? Anything I could do. Running? Ice skating? Swimming? Anything active, I was doing it, I had a six-pack as a kid I was so active xD oh what a different person I am.

Do you talk to yourself? Only when I'm extremely anxious. Actually, I find when I'm with people and concentrating on something else (like on Overwatch group chat) I talk or make sounds and like don't realise it until after XDD it freaks me out, I guess it's cause I'm focusing on something else I don't realise what I'm saying xD

What movie do you adore? There's a few. Iron Man 3, Avengers 1, 3 and 4, the green mile, any Peter Pan movie that isn't the live action one (I watched it too many times as a kid), Forrest Gump, the one who flew over the cuckoos nest, groundhog day there's probably more I can't think of right now

Do you like doing puzzles? Some of them but if I don't make any progress after a while, I'll loose interest. I love escape rooms though.

Favourite kind of music? I'm at that weird point where I need to get some more music but I like Joji, Brock Hampton, Tame Impala, kinda chill music that's also a bop.

Tea or coffee? Tea, if done correctly, coffee if it's sweet and/or iced.

The first thing you remember you wanted to be when you grew up? A farmer. Tbh I still wouldn't mind a farm of my own.

[tinmunky]

WIP Wednesday thanks to @wanderingaldecaldo

It’s a shorty, because I don’t want to give anything away yet.

———

Before he could look more closely at his motivations, Zaeed snatched up the half empty bottle and headed for the door. Glancing at his reflection in the window overlooking the cargo hold he grimaced. He’d always have a fucked up mug, but at least he’d showered and combed his hair. EDI hadn’t caught on to him yet and sticking to the service tunnels he could get pretty much anywhere unnoticed.

———

Tagging my darlings @cp2077thotsociety and @minilev

[tinmunky]

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Found on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38215375/chapters/95478313

No Galaxy for Old Men Series - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

Characters & Pairings: Zaeed Massani/Fem!Shep, Kasumi Goto, Garrus Vakarian

Summary: Shepard benches the Squad to help Kasumi take on Donovan Hock and Zaeed doesn’t have a whole lot of experience with emotions other than anger. Can his mouth get him out of the trouble it gets him in?

Rating: Explicit for sex - 7,848 words

Tags: Sexual tension, oral f receiving, f/m sex, violence, swearing, choking, angst, happy ending, big emotions, smut

Audio Parings: Chapter One: Gasoline - Halsey / Chapter Two: Riptide - Unlike Pluto / The Bad in Each Other - Feist / Chapter Three: To Be Alone - Hozier

Chapter 1: Set the Explosive

Things had been different since that night on Omega. Nothing overt had tipped him off to their change in dynamic, but that shared camaraderie seemed to have softened Shepard towards Zaeed. No, he wouldn’t call it that. She was still a stone-cold bitch with a temper that would light the fires of hell, but he seemed to be less frequently on the receiving end of it. He kind of missed the acidic attention.

In the last few weeks, Zaeed had found himself on more and more of her away missions, pulling each other out of one hairy situation after another. Zaeed hadn’t experienced this kind of exhilaration in at least a decade. The quality of her work was hard, brutal, and excessively dangerous. It reminded him of his early days in the Blue Suns. She was setting a mission tempo that a man half his age would have had difficulty maintaining and she never once asked if he could keep up. Thank God he hadn’t gone soft.

When she teamed him up with Vakarian, the three of them were unstoppable. She clearly played favorites, throwing the Turian a smile and him the snark, but he liked that edge. It kept him sharp. He got more out of a biting quip than a kind remark anyway. She seemed to know exactly what to say to whom to get the best performance from her team. Zaeed begrudgingly respected her leadership acumen, so he happily covered her six with Vakarian as her point. He wouldn’t be exaggerating if he said the view from behind was a deeply appreciated bonus.

They had started pretty rocky at first. That day in the elevator had left him hard as a rock and angry as a Krogan in rut. She had straddled him, covered in blood, with a smile as bright as the sun, and then she had the gall to cast a flirtation half invitation. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she didn’t actually hate his guts .

Imagine that—a polished career officer taking up with an old piece of mercenary shit like him. It was enough to make anyone laugh. Sure, there had been suggestive comments and banter thrown back and forth since then. She gave as good as she got, both physically and verbally, but he was under no illusions that this woman wasn’t all business. Yet, he couldn’t deny the magnetic tug he felt around her. He was sure they all felt it around her. She was a force of nature. Like staring into a supernova. You couldn’t help but be drawn in.

One day he’d point blank asked her if he’d become her favorite. She’d laughed and assigned him to latrine duty in retribution. He appreciated her sense of humor.

Since they’d ironed out some wrinkles in their working relationship, Zaeed hadn’t given Shepard a hard time about being a team player, and she hadn’t made any decisions that he seriously questioned. Sure, he’d lift an eyebrow to some of her more outlandish ideas, but nothing that he thought would lead to certain death, until today.

The Normandy was scheduled to dock at the Citadel in a few hours for a routine overhaul, keeping them shoreside for a week. Joker was ecstatic, but Zaeed didn’t seek out the more civilized sectors when he could avoid it and being in Citadel space set him on edge. Already in a bad mood, he was then hauled up to the command deck only to be told that the newest member of the squad, the master thief Kasumi Goto, had a personal mission that needed immediate attention. It was just the fucking cherry on his bad mood cake.

Zaeed didn’t trust the new girl much. No one really knew who she was. He’d heard rumors through his richer, seedier channels that she was a ghost who left chaos in her wake, if she even existed at all. Goto had made more enemies in a career a third the length of his, and now she was going to drag Shepard—and the rest of them—into her drama. It was like she was actively trying to piss people off. He was pretty sure at one point she was using her little cloaking trick to spy on him in his bunk. Sneaky bitch. He respected the girl’s talent, but she had way too much arrogance to go along with that lack of judgement.

The walking bad mood leaned against the wall of the briefing room with the other members of the squad, glowering, waiting for the good news to just keep coming. Goto wanted them to help her infiltrate the personal fortress of the biggest knob in the sector, Donovan Hock for her boyfriend’s bloody gray box.

Fucking. Great.

Zaeed tsked quietly under his breath, garnering a sharp glance from Shepard. The weapons dealer was not someone to be trifled with. He literally had an army at his disposal, the council in his pocket, and his greasy little fingers were in all the worst pies. Zaeed had suspected for years he funded Vido’s operations. The man was a piece of shit of the highest order. He’d be perfectly happy to see the asshole crash and burn, but as a spectator, not a participant. He didn’t want whatever heat came with taking the piss with a man like Hock.

He kept these thoughts to himself as he listened to Shepard and Goto lay out the details, casting periodic glances at Vakarian, trying to read his take on the whole thing. The bloke didn’t seem happy with the prospect of kicking a hornet’s nest but he remained silent. Zaeed glanced farther down the table. Lawson, who always had something to say about everything, was also uncharacteristically quiet. It did nothing but key Zaeed up more.

This whole business didn’t benefit the team or their end goal; why was Shepard even entertaining the notion? This was strictly personal to Goto, and it rubbed him the wrong way. Since when had he become such a team player? He stuffed that smarmy little voice back in the box it came out of and scowled harder. With each word out of the small woman’s mouth, his blood pressure ticked higher. Then she made her final demand. Shepard had to go alone, unarmed, unarmored and with only a slip of a thief as her lifeline.

The idea of cutting Shepard off from all her resources for a deep infiltration job that risked her, their entire mission… everything for something as ridiculous as some little girl romance made his blood boil. Zaeed chanced a another look at Vakarian. His vocals rumbled in two layers, dissatisfied, but said nothing. Zaeed grunted. Fucking pussy. Well, if the Turian wasn’t going to be the voice of reason, Zaeed would bloody well have to. He pushed off the wall and stepped forward.

“You’re actually entertaining this horse shit?” he scoffed at Shepard. “You’ve gotta be bloody kidding me! Donovan Hock is not some low-rent criminal.”

“Excuse me, I don’t recall asking for your opinion, Massani.” Shepard’s clap back was crisp and razor sharp. Her fingers tented on the shiny glass table. “You’re in this briefing as a courtesy only. This mission is already green-lit and your input on my chances of success will not change this. You’re benched until further notice.”

Zaeed leaned in, all coiled frustration and suddenly angrier than he had any right to be, finger pointed across the table at the Commander. In for a penny, in for a pound. He was never good at being put in his place.

“And I don’t recall you being a childish halfwit.” Zaeed fired back. ”What do you think he’ll do if he realizes he’s got the Commander Shepard? This is a right stupid idea, and you fucking know it. We don’t have a dog in this fight with Donovan Hock. He’s a right fucker, and this feels a helluva lot like a trap that you’re too much of a goddam goody–two-shoes-romantic to accept.”

With each word, Shepard’s gaze sharpened down to a laser point on Zaeed, a white-hot rage rolling off her. He might have pushed her a bit farther than he had planned, letting his frustration runaway with his mouth, but he didn’t back down. Staring right back. In for a penny…

Miranda stepped up, a facilitating smile plastered across her face, ready to PR the fuck out of this squabble.

“What I’m sure Mr. Massani means…” She began.

“Shut the fuck up, Cheerleader,” Jack hissed, clearly knowing when not to get between two varrens about to start slinging teeth.

“Yes, shut up, Lawson.” Shepard’s voice was like ice as she took slow, measured steps around the table to stand before the merc. The room was silent as all eyes fixed on the two tempers swirling. Zaeed’s eyes darted across her face staring coldly back at him. Fuck. He’d burned up any good will she had for him. But he meant what he said. This was a bad, bad idea.

“You have the absolute gall to lecture me on jeopardizing the mission for a personal vendetta? After that bullshit with Vido?”

Fuck. Publicly slapping him would have been less vicious.

Whatever floodgates that had held all his mounting tension at bay snapped. He did the only thing he could do that wouldn’t land him in an all-out brawl.

“Fuck you, princess.” He hissed around scarred lips and clenched teeth before brushing past her towards to door.

“You haven’t been dismissed, Massani.” She called.

“Fuck you!” He roared as he slammed his fist into the door jamb on his way out, leaving a healthy dent.

———

Chapter 2: Light the Fuse

Zaeed had made it to the relative privacy of his storage closet quarters in record time, thankfully not encountering any of the crew along the way. He was of a mind to punch the next bloody person he saw. Rationally, he knew he had earned this. He let his mouth get ahead of him, and despite his very valid feelings towards the risk Goto was putting her in (them, he corrected himself), he was the last person on this tub that could cast shade for trying to settle a score on someone else’s dime.

He entered the room like a angry bull. Suddenly feeling claustrophobic, he shucked off his jacket, his shoulders stretching the white tank across his scarred and inked back as he threw the battered leather across the workbench.

“Fuck!” He exploded.

The clatter of tools and components hitting the floor provided a loud and satisfying accompaniment to his childish violence. If he was being honest with himself, which he would rather die than do, he would admit that the reason he was so pissed was that he was being left behind. He could do fuck-all to protect her if he was on the Normandy. Sure, she had gone on dozens of missions without him, but if he wasn’t there, Vakarian was. Garrus was the only one on the squad that Zaeed felt was truly capable of keeping Shepard in one piece.

He stood in the center of the room, listening to the comforting hum of the garbage compactor. Zaeed took a deep shaky breath before running roughened hands through his hair, settling them behind his head. He rolled his neck to release some of the tightly-wound tension and tried to look at this clearly.

Maybe if he hadn’t made such a public scene, it might have gone differently. She had a knack for mashing his buttons good and hard, but when had he ever done the right fucking thing? Zaeed had really fucked this one up, but goddammit, she was too bloody arrogant to see reason. Each mission she seemed little more reckless, a little keener to spit in death’s face to be the hero. Heroes end up dead.

As he blankly stared at the wall across from him, sorting through whatever the fuck this emotional mess was, the bulkhead door slid open with a hiss. Zaeed dropped his head back and closed eyes in a silent prayer for peace. Couldn’t she just leave me alone?

“Get the fuck out.” His raspy voice sounded much calmer than he anticipated.

“It’s my ship.” She responded, her voice tight. He cast a narrowed eye over his shoulder. She stood in the doorway, arms folded over her painted-on uniform, every crease perfectly pressed, face benign, temper under control. Not a hair out of place. Seeing her so unfazed pissed him off all over again. He was taken with an irrational urge to pull that wretched bun down. To ruffle her feathers to match his mood. He turned to face her, arms folded over his own chest, stance mirroring hers.

“Say your piece, then get the fuck out.” He groused, head tilted towards the still open door.

She stepped into the room, and the door automatically closed behind her. The room was bathed in a dim light, only the ambient cargo hold lighting and the red glow of the garbage compactor keeping them visible. He really didn’t know if he could handle her being this close to him right now. His blood was still up from her barbs at the briefing and the fact he had no control over any of this.

“Do you have to fight me on literally everything?” She asked. She sounded tired.

“It’s my core competency—being disagreeable.” He quipped back. Safety in glib responses. “I’m in no mood to apologize for speaking my mind, Shepard. Especially since you’re going to do whatever you want anyway. Why are you even here if my opinion of yer stupid ass decision doesn’t matter?”

She snorted. A weary, sardonic half smile played across her lips. Clearly him being a right unfriendly knob wasn’t scaring her off.

“Do you think any of this is discretionary for me, Zaeed?”

“As ya often remind me, this is yer bloody ship, so yeah, I do think ya can tell them no” Zaeed’s accent grew apace with his frustration.

She looked contemplative for a moment before drawing her lower lip between her teeth, weighing her next words carefully. He knew he was being a dick, and she wouldn’t take the bait. Her lack of responding anger made him uneasy. He didn’t know the rules of this game. Usually they’d sling verbal jabs, maybe a literal one or two and that would be that. This Shepard he didn’t know how to handle.

“I don’t have the luxury to not do everything in my power to ensure our success. You’ve seen what we’re up against. You know this isn’t a game, and in the end we’re all expendable. That’s the definition of a suicide mission Zaeed. We all knew this when we signed on.” Her voice sounded exasperated and exhausted, almost pleading with him to let it go. He hated that voice. He knew how to handle angry, violent, sarcastic Shepard. This was a side he wasn’t used to seeing.

“Bullshit!” He hissed. Her eyes darted up to meet his. A fleeting spark, but she remained silent. He needed her to fight back.

“Do you even hear yourself?” He asked, incredulous. His voice rose with each word. "You didn’t sign up for this. We did! You were conscripted, and you’re still so goddamn eager to martyr yourself on any sword these self-centered brats offer you. For what? To buy their loyalty?”

Shepard scoffed as she moved to the workbench. She tossed his jacket to the narrow cot he had set against the wall, the movement pulling the fabric of her uniform taught across her breasts. Jesus. His mouth went dry. She leaned back against the freshly-cleared edge, hands gripping the cool metal and the fabric somehow tightened more. Zaeed increased the death grip on his anger, trying to counterbalance the intoxicatingly magnetic pull of her subtly suggestive and completely oblivious mannerisms.

“I don’t expect you to get it Zaeed.” Her voice was cold and controlled. “Some people are motivated by things other than money and vengeance.”

He wondered if she saw him flinch, her cold insult landing like a physical blow. He could feel himself flush with anger and embarrassment to be so casually reminded of his own shortcomings. Since that day on Zorya, he had given her his loyalty. As time went on, he’d not have hesitated to give her his life. Not because he was being paid, or because of a contract, or because of the promise of Vido, but because he believed in her— and to have her not see that, to throw it back in his face? That cut real deep.

He practically vibrated with the need to knock her off her high horse and his traitorous brain provided a decent visual of him scooping her up, setting her on the cold surface of the bench with him between her knees. Christ. His body was still locked in this constant battle of anger and lust when it came to her. In a panic to erase the visual that sent fire through his body, he leaned into the anger instead, finding comfort in trading verbal blows. He wanted to make her feel it. Feel how she made him feel. His next comment was leaving his mouth before his brain had the chance to slam on the brakes.

“Oh, I do get it Shepard.” His voice thick with rage. “If you constantly throw yourself at other people’s problems, maybe you’ll prove you’re actually good enough for them. Maybe if you’re good enough, ole’ what’s-his-face will accept you again?“

A smart man would have instantly regretted those words. A wise man wouldn’t have said them at all, but as the last words left his lips, her face lit up and she was full of fire again. The cold, quiet defeat burned away and, God, she was beautiful when she burned.

She pushed off the bench and closed the distance between them, as lightening quick as her hand flashing hard across his face. His eyes widened. The sting across his cheek was nothing compared to the shock. She’d never slapped him before. Sure they’d brawled, drawn blood with fists and kicks, but she’d never open-handed slapped him before.

“How fucking dare you.” She hissed between clinched teeth.

He caught her wrist before she could slap him again and yanked her off balance into his chest. Her free hand shot out to grip his bicep for balance, a feminine gasp escaping her parted lips as her nails dug in. He felt instantly ashamed of his tactics, but he was powerless to stop now. He was fighting dirty. She wasn’t stopping him, and he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

Zaeed felt like he was holding it together by a thread. Her wrist was easily encircled by his larger hand. When had this larger-than-life woman become so delicate? His left hand came up to grip the nape of her neck, pinning her to him. Her hair slid across his battle-roughened hands, that damned bun finally askew. He stared at her face, horrified at how low he’d gone. Her full lips were still parted and dangerously close, blue eyes dark and glassy with emotions he couldn’t read. And… and it broke something in him. He was sorry.

The realization made his next words the most honest he’d ever spoken.

“If you keep parting yourself out, Logan, there will be nothing left.” Her given name felt foreign on his tongue.

“I don’t know how, Zaeed.” She whispered. He released her wrist, but she held on as he slid his hand along her rib, pulling her closer. Holding her tight, longer to restrain her violence but to comfort her sorrow.

“I know, sweetheart.” Zaeed dragged the calloused pad of his thumb along her cheek, sweeping away the moisture gathered there. Her gaze searched his face. She was just as beautiful showing her vulnerability as she was with her strength.

In a day of bad decisions, what was one more? She’d probably kill him for this, but he’d made peace with his God long ago.

Zaeed Massani slid his hand across her jaw to angle her just right and kissed Logan Shepard.

His mouth was feather-soft against hers, waiting for her to eviscerate him for the offense. Instead, her lips parted under his, and it was like gasoline on the fire. Every dirty thought he had about her, every time he’d watched her hips swing past him in the corridor, every time he’d eased the pressure in the shower thinking of her came rushing to the surface. Zaeed pulled her flush against him, the length of her body molding to his as he set about devouring the woman of his dreams and his nightmares.

Shepard’s arms swept up around his shoulders, lost in the wave of their emotions. All these months of shared tension crested the dam and flooded forth. She fisted her hands in his hair, crashing her lips against his in a new form of sparring. Applying teeth in a sharp nip against his scarred lip.

Zaeed smoothed his hand down the small of her back, grasping a fist full of the ass he had spent so much time protecting. He started to lift her up onto the workbench and make his fantasies a reality when the comms chimed, EDI’s voice a bucket of frigid water on their personal wildfire.

“Commander Shepard, we’ve docked at the Citadel.”

Shepard’s whole body jumped in his hands as she broke the kiss, her eyes wide with terror.

“Copy that, EDI.” She replied, her voice shaken, her lips swollen and glistening. Fuck the robot, Zaeed thought, his eyes hooded as he leaned back in.

“Commander, are you well? Your heart rate and Mr. Massani’s are elevated.” EDI couldn’t possibly be that naive. “And it appears someone has rerouted the security cameras for the starboard cargo hold.”

“YeP!” She squeaked, overeager. “Perfectly fine! I’ll get to the bridge in a jiff.”

Zaeed closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers, trying to slow his heart and his thoughts. The palm of her hand was scalding through his shirt and all he could think of was never letting go.

“Make Miranda go.” He whispered.

“You know I can’t.” Her voice was soft, but no longer defeated. “Will you trust me?”

“You’re the first person I’ve trusted in a very long time.” His veil of indifference and anger was long gone, leaving him bare. He broke the moment with a sharp squeeze of her cheek still in his hand, setting her a safe distance from him. He ran both hands through his hair in an attempt to keep them to himself, the thick silver stands standing on end.

“I’ve never contemplated murdering an AI before, but I definitely might make the effort now.” He sighed “You’d better git before I do something we both regret.”

She opened her mouth, and Zaeed wasn’t ready for rejection—or worse, acceptance—so he cut her off.

“Or Grunt comes looking for you and he kills me.”

She laughed. Goddammit. She laughed, and his gut flipped, both blatantly ignoring the row that brought her to his quarters, neither having the courage to say what needed to be said. She straightened her uniform as she walked towards the door. He knew she would go through with this mission. It was who she was at her core, and he knew that when she came back on the other side, they’d have to address whatever the fuck this now was. His gut flipped the other direction.

“Hey Shepard.” The gravel was back in his voice. She turned as he waved about his head dramatically. “Fix your hair.”

———

Chapter 3: Explosions Go Boom!

Zaeed was in the cargo hold when Shepard and Kasumi Goto boarded their shuttle to take on Donovan Hock. He had been working with Garrus on inventorying a special order of weapons components that needed calibration. Garrus had been prattling on about the merits of this particular setup versus that when he stopped mid sentence, suddenly tensing, a strangled “shit” hissing out. Zaeed looked up from the contents of the crate. He was pretty sure that constriction in his chest was his heart stopping. He was having a heart attack. This is what a heart attack felt like.

She was simply, stunning.

Shepard smartly marched across the platform in a set of smoking hot heels and a synth leather cocktail dress, both modest in neckline and completely sinful in cut. She deliberately avoided eye contact with everyone present, her head high and cheeks charmingly pink. The smaller woman trailed behind her like a dingy, skipping to keep up. Shepard’s crimson lips pressed in a determined line, her flaxen hair swept up and back in a long, swishing pony tail. He hadn’t realized her hair was so long, it was always in that damned bun. His overactive imagination happily supplied a detailed image of his fist wrapped in the length as he held her bent back against him.

His fingers twitched against the crate. Shit. Indeed.

Zaeed must have made a sound, or a move towards her because Garrus’ sub-vocals rumbled low.

“Don’t.” he hissed for only Zaeed to hear, his taloned hand falling heavy on the mercenary’s shoulder, rooting him in place.

Zaeed watched Shepard step onto the shuttle and turned to key the hatch closed behind her, His mismatched eyes locking with hers. She nodded to him once. Acknowledgement he didn’t deserve. He lifted his chin in response. The sharp gesture loaded with things that may never be resolved. And, so Zaeed and Garrus stood, watching Shepard depart on her most foolhardy mission yet where neither of them could follow.

As her shuttle cleared the Normandy, Zaeed shucked off Garrus’ heavy mitt.

“I need a goddamn drink birdman.” Zaeed’s voice thick with restrained agitation.

“Yeah. Me too.” Garrus said with resignation. All thoughts of calibrations and weapons components forgotten.

~~~

Shepard had to admit, if the plasma burns were any indication, stealing memory was not her forte. She’d managed to finesse her way through the gala with a surprising amount of charm only to have her ass practically handed to her by Donovan Hock himself in highly modified A-61 Mantis gunship. She’d known he would be well guarded, well trained and well armed, but Kasumi hadn’t said shit about a god damn gunship with fucking black market kinetic barriers.

Looking down that particular barrel had really made her second guess her decision to leave her squad on the bench. Kasumi’s cloaking abilities had saved their asses, but it was a close one. Closer than she probably would ever let anyone know.

They had ridden the Kodiak back in silence. Kasumi lost in whatever catharsis having recovered Keiji’s graybox held and Shepard being angry at how close they came to proving Zaeed right. A fate almost as annoying as death. She was grateful they had made it back in one piece, because it was pretty fucking close for a second there. Wouldn’t that have been a fun way to say fuck you to the Illusive Man. She thought. Oops I died again. She choked on a strangled giggle as she applied more medi-gel. Kasumi’s eyes darting back to her. Miranda would have lost her mind if she’d broken the merchandise before she served her purpose. The ride to the Citadel from the neighboring Boltzmann system would take a few hours, just enough time for the medi-gel to work its magic, leaving fresh pink skin across shoulder and hip.

Shepard had stripped out of her singed armor and taken some time in the shuttle’s head to clean herself up. Satisfied with the progress of her burns, the shiny pink skin was sensitive but no longer burning, she silently cursed herself for not packing another set of clothes. Nothing for it, she’d have to wear that stupid cocktail dress. It was the only clothing that wasn’t Swiss cheese. Her whole kit was a fucking mess. The shields had taken a beating and plasma had scorched through the pauldron and hip plate, hence the bacon smell of cooked flesh. Hell, even her underwear hadn’t survived the massacre. She added them to the heap in disgust, an angry tsk escaping her lips and garnering another side eyed glance from Kasumi.

“What?” She hadn’t missed the other woman’s eyes darting away.

“Nothing!” Kasumi squeaked.

Shepard’s eyes narrowed, but she left it alone, instead deciding to fantasize about when the Kodiak docked with the slumbering Normandy. She’d skip the visit to Chakwas and head straight towards her quarters. A shower. A drink. A nap. She was definitely looking forward to the downtime necessitated by the Normandy’s maintenance. Maybe she’d have that drink first, then the shower, then the nap… If everyone could just keep their personal needs to a minimum for the rest of the shore leave that would be just fucking great.

~~~

Zaeed knew the moment Shepard’s Kodiak had hailed the Normandy to start docking protocols. He had been laying awake in his bunk, nursing his bad mood with a bit of nicked whiskey when the alert popped up on the scrambled piggyback channel. He’d installed back door protocols, skeleton keys and camera workarounds for the entire ship the first week he’d been aboard and had managed to avoid EDI’s interference so far. Not much happened that he wasn’t immediately aware of. He took evil pleasure in how much that would annoy Lawson.

He watched the Kodiak touch down in the deserted cargo hold from the rerouted security monitor in his storage closet. She’d stepped down from the hatch barefoot and carrying her heels, still wearing that sin of a dress as she headed for the elevator. Cheeky minx. A pent up tension he’d carried since her departure eased between his shoulders.

A quiet “huh” escaped his pursed lips. Her usual efficient movements looked reserved, as she turned back to the Kodiak to say something to Goto, he could see the noticeably reddened skin down her arm. Healed skin, Medi-gel slick. Apparently the heist didn’t go as smoothly as the report he’d pilfered off Chamber’s data pad had indicated. The little shit had lied on her official report. The slow anger mingled with the relief. She definitely could have died, but she didn’t, but she could have. She had been injured and had managed it herself to appear no worse for wear. Prideful thing.

Zaeed grunted. Coming to some kind of decision before he could look more closely at his motivations. He snatched up the half empty bottle and headed for the door. How they left things had quietly ate away at him. And now that he knew she made it out alive, he was compelled to finish what they started. Glancing at his reflection in the window overlooking the cargo hold he grimaced. He’d always have a fucked up mug, the scars of his face telling of a dangerous life lived, but that hadn’t seemed to matter to her.

Tapping a quick loop in the corridor cameras along the way, he slid unnoticed to the service hatch and made his way upstairs. He beat Shepard to her quarters and used the skeleton key protocol on his omni-tool to let himself in. He hadn’t been up here since he’d slept in her bed the night she’d drunk herself stupid over some idiot boy. He still thought about how, under different circumstances, that night could have gone. He’d laid awake most of that night listening to her quiet breathing, marveling at how sleep softened all her hard edges. He was the idiot.

Zaeed had debated with himself over and over again to let whatever their last meeting had stirred up die a quiet, dignified death. Never to be spoken of again. He took a deep swig of the amber liquid and set the bottle down on her desk. He wasn’t the “go quietly” kinda guy though, and he sure as shit wasn’t a coward. He hoped she wasn’t either.

~~~

The door whooshed open and his entire body stiffened, the black work of his tattoos shifting as his folded arms tightened. He had leaned against the the wall beside the door, failing miserably at trying to affect casualness. He had rehearsed so many clever opening lines. Hey sweetheart. Hey kitten. Hey princess. I told you so. I’m glad you’re alive. I’m sorry? Second guessing every life choice that led him here. But he had to be here. They had unfinished business.

Her head was down as she stepped over the threshold. Throwing her shoes across the room with a clatter, she was lost in thought, her guard down. Zaeed really meant to talk to her. To clear the air, to give her shit, but he watched her pull that maddening quantity of hair from its binding, its shiny curtain hiding him from her view and his fingers twitched.

All his smooth plans slid out of his addled brain. He was so fucked.

Before he could assess the stupidity of his actions, Zaeed’s calloused hand wrapping around her wrist, mirroring how their last encounter started, he pulled her towards him. And again, that uncharacteristically feminine gasp as she collided against him. Her breasts pressed flush against his chest, solid and warm and all her.

It was a fucking match and he was ignited.

Lightning quick, Shepard’s free hand had instinctively come up to lock around his throat, her thumb pressed against his thundering pulse, ready to squeeze the life she held out of him. Her wide eyes met his, darting across his face as recognition dawned.

“Zaeed?” Her breathy whisper escaping full, parted lips tightened his chest and went straight to his cock. She didn’t let go.

He was truly fucked.

Zaeed took the split second of her not kicking his ass as an invitation to commit suicide and with a sandpaper growl slotted his mouth across hers. Words replaced by action. This wasn’t his plan but god dammit, she kissed him back. Her tongue followed the seam of his lower lip before teasing inside, she swallowed his answering groan and leaned in.

He dropped her captured wrist and slid battle hardened hands under the curve of her ass, lifting as he slammed her against the bulkhead. His narrow hips pinning her against the wall, she instinctively wrapped those long legs around him, distributing her weight and freeing his hands. In for a penny, he thought as she molded her free hand along his jaw, guiding his mouth were she wanted it, teeth nipping, tongue soothing the sting. She sure as shit wasn’t a coward.

Following the curve of slit bared thigh with one hand, he slid the other into that glorious hair. He was going to live out one of his thousands of fantasies, before she could strangle him to death. He pulled her hair tight in his fist and her lips broke from his on a wet gasp. Her eyes hooded, burning and the groan the tension pulled from her lips was a fucking drug.

Her thumb ran the groove of his neck muscle, her eyes following it’s path, watching the havoc it wreaked across his face and he was harder than he’d been in his life. Her thumb dug a little deeper into his neck and he saw stars.

“Fuck, girl.” He tortured voice squeezed past her grip as his hips rutted against her warm core separated by only a few flimsy layers of cloth. He rolled his hips against her again and she groaned in return.

“Please.” She ground out, her head craned back from the tension, exposing the smooth column of her neck.

“Please, what?” His voice rasped. His lips and teeth trailing down her neck before nipping hard at her sensitive bared shoulder, marking the freshly repaired skin.

“Fuck me Zaeed.”

“Is that an order Commander?” He teased. Rolling his hips again.

“Yesss.” She hissed.

He chuckled darkly and she squeezed again cutting off his air before easing up. If she killed him, he’d die happy.

“Hold tight baby.” He mouthed against her skin and brought her away from the wall to drop her unceremoniously on her desk. Shoving aside the bottle of forgotten whiskey, data pads and ship models he stood between her bent knees working on fantasy number two. He ran his hands up her thighs trying to ruch up her too tight dress. What was once a mouth watering trigger was the bane of his fucking existence.

“Goddamn it. You like this dress princess?” He growled out.

“I fucking hate it.” Her voice vehement, her hands frantically scrambled across the plans of his abs, fisting at his hips and yanking the shirt from his pants. He leaned back allowing her to pull it from his body. He was all hard planes, scar tissue and ink. A taught body used as a weapon and a canvas and he could feel her eyes leaving a trail of fire wherever they landed. Frozen for a moment in her observation, he took her distraction to his advantage.

“Good.” The glint in his eyes feral as he grabbed the slitted seam and with an angry grunt tore it from hem to neckline. Jesus Christ. She wasn’t wearing any underwear. All of Commander Logan Shepard was suddenly on display for him and he was struck dumb. His hands sliding along her ribs of their own volition. Thumbs grazing the gentle curve of her petite, high breasts to cup gently. She was an athlete, lean muscle clad in silken new skin. The reconstruction scars all but faded, leaving a faint map for him to follow. How could his mouth water and be dry at the same time? He choked down a swallow.

“God, you’re beautiful.” His voice cracked, full of reverence.

“Zaeed,” her voice exasperated as she grabbed his pants at the V of his hips to pull him in. “I gave you an order.”

His bark of laughter cracked.

“You’re a goddamn brat, you know that?” He said, grabbing her behind the knees and dragging her to the edge of the desk.

“You like me this way old man.” Her voice thick and sultry as she fumbled with his tabs.

Zaeed wasn’t ready to give in to her every whim. She was a brat too used to calling all the shots and getting her way. He’d show her the benefit of experience. He slapped her hands away from his pants and dropped to his knees between her dangling legs.

“Wh.. what are you doing.” She stammered.

“Whatever I want.” His insolent reply. “Are you ticklish sweetheart?” His voice now heavy with threat.

“Zaeed…” Her voice suddenly high with panic.

Zaeed tilted his worn face up to to her. His mismatched eyes were bottomless as he slowly slid one of her legs over his shoulder, daring her to stop him. His hand resting heavy at the crease of her hip, locking her there before using his other hand to press her dangling knee wide, exposing all of her to him. He never took his eyes from her as ran his stubbled jaw across her inner thigh. Like a big cat scenting, he abraded the delicate skin and her breathing hitched. He couldn’t keep the satisfied smirk from his lips. He watched the charming pink flush across her chest, but she remained fixed.

Her breath was ragged now as she watched him with wide, glittering eyes. He’d never seen her so rattled, so out of control her hands gripping the desk edge for support. He felt like a god there between her thighs. Zaeed watched her closely as he moved his way up towards her glistening core. Ghosting the back of his knuckles against her thigh, closer and closer and closer still.

“Do you want this?” He asked. Pivoting from his earlier bravado.

“God dammit Zaeed, yes!” She yelled back and he huffed in agreement before laying his mouth against her to drown in her flavor. They both groaned in satisfaction, his eyes daring her to look away and goddamn she was no coward. She fisted her hand in his hair and bucked up into his mouth dragging a groan from him he swore went straight to her cunt by the sudden increase in slickness.

Doubling his efforts, Zaeed alternated his attack. Laving flat tongue to a point and flick, he sucked her sensitive bud into his mouth and Shepard’s eyes rolled closed as her head tipped back on a strangled moan. He could feel her body tense and jerk when he hit that particularly responsive spot. He couldn’t remember a meal he’d enjoyed more as he buried his face against her. She was sweet and salty and fucking wet. This was everything he’d imagined, but he could do more. He flicked his tongue once more against that swollen nub before dragging himself away. Her desperate whine at the sudden loss swallowed as he kissed her. Her tastes mingling on his tongue, he wouldn’t leave her bereft.

All that weapon honed dexterity meant that Zaeed had talented hands which he put to good use sliding through her folds. One finger, knuckle deep, two, pressing his palm against her mound as she rode against his hand, her nails latched into the backs of his arms. Taught muscle gripped tight as her only anchor to reality. The calloused thumb of his other hand grazing over the edges of her breast, cupping the tidy handful, her nipple rolled between nimble fingers before migrating back to her hair, cradling her skull as he worked her over. His mouth swallowing the moans and sighs and filthy words he dragged from her lips.

“Fuck.” She hissed again. “Please.” Coherent sentences failing, but the desperation clear as a bell. She slid her hands down to his pants. Her intentions to divest him of the rest of his clothing.

“Use your words princess.” His breath warm in the shell of her ear. His teeth grazing.

“Fuck me Zaeed.” Her impatience burned in each syllable.

He slanted his mouth over hers again before deftly popping the tabs on his pants and shoving the fly aside. He needed her as much as she needed him. He didn’t have time to shed his boots and pants. His wicked games in the end tortured them both.

Freed from its confines, Zaeed pulled his hand from her moist folds to take the heavy weight of his cock in hand, pumping twice before running the swollen head against her slick and she keened. The sound was music to him. He hadn’t wanted a woman this bad in all his long memory and he savored the precipice before sliding home, one agonizing inch at a time.

Jesus. He was going to die.

He went torturously slow to allow her time to adjust before Zaeed finally came to rest, hilted deep on her exalted sigh and him almost in pain at holding his control. Every nerve was on fire, his body as tight as a bow as he covered her, holding onto her hip to anchor them both. She was so fucking warm, so tight, so perfect. His soul felt like it was leaving his body.

He was definitely going to die.

Shepard hooked her legs over his hips, locking her heels at the small of his back and drew him in closer. His self control stretched to its breaking point and he pressed his forehead to hers, eyes dipping closed. Their ragged breathing tied and suddenly everything was much more serious. This wasn’t about power struggles, or blowing of some good natured sexual tension. She had somehow replaced a life of hollow, selfish existence with something more. He was laid raw before her.

“You don’t know what hell you put me through.” His voice was rough with need and emotion.

“Show me.” Her response a challenge and his eyes shot open, locking with hers. Always there to push him farther.

Zaeed threaded his hand into her hair again. Holding her immobile before him so he could watch her face as he torturously dragged himself from her. Slowly, slowly back before slamming home again. All of her passion. All of her need was written across her features. Her pupils blown and mouth a pretty “o” as he fucked into her again, building speed and force until they both held on for dear life. The repeated thud of his hips against hers thick and meaty, in time with her breathy moans. He was quickly approaching that cliff’s edge and he’d be damned if he didn’t shove her off first. He was not gentle and the sting of racked nails meant she wasn’t either.

God, he hopped they scarred.

Zaeed crashed his mouth into hers, swallowing her cries and pouring all of his repressed anger and lust and fear into her. He reached between their fevered bodies and dragged a heavy thumb across her clit. Once, twice, he could feel she was close. Her walls fluttering and her breath shallow and quick. A third time and over the edge she went, clamping down on him like a vice and her voice strangled on his name.

“I got you baby.” He whispered as he slowed his pace, fucking her gently through her orgasm. Shepard’s eyes fluttered open, and she slid her hand across the flat plane of his chest, to encircle his throat again. Thumb back into that groove like it was made for her. She lightly applied pressure.

“Who told you to stop?” The command back in her voice.

Zaeed’s guttural groan rumbled through them as he picked up his pace and effort. Hard and harder still chasing his own release. His fingers leaving bruises across her hips as he dug in. Pistoning in and out, chasing that ragged edge as he watched their bodies join and separate with a violence that would scare a lesser woman. But not her. She stroked the corded muscles of his neck, applying the perfect level of pressure, her eyes hooded as shallow grunts left her on each thrust.

There was no question who held the reins here. She fucking owned him. She held his being in the palm of her hand and the grip of her cunt and if he died now. It was worth it.

“Come for me, Zaeed.” Her voice whisper soft and it threw him across that edge. He buried himself deep with a howl and filled her. Shallow thrusts riding the aftershocks until he stilled. His breathing ragged with his face buried in her neck. Her arms wrapped around him, holding him close to her breast, as it took everything to hold himself up, let alone together.

After a moment of relearning to breathe he pushed away from her. Searching her face for the rejection he knew was coming next. Thanks for the fun, now get the fuck out. He searched her face for a hint of the acid to come. But her eyes were soft, her smile satisfied. She gently brushed a lock of his faded hair from his forehead back and out of his eyes.

“Take me to bed Zaeed.” She was back to giving orders.

“Yes ma’am.” He hummed low.

[tinmunky]

No Galaxy for Old Men

Found on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38123344

No Galaxy for Old Men Series - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

Characters: Fem!Shep/Zaeed Massani

Summary: Zaeed Massani has been around and nothing seems to surprise him anymore, until now.

Rating: Mature for violence and language - 1,548 words

Tags: First impressions, first meetings

Audio Pairing: HEALTH - New Coke

Zaeed Massani was a practical man, a realist. He believed in being paid, first and foremost. People could promise all sorts of things at their “word” but unless there was real collateral on the line, like a million credits or someone’s life, honor wasn’t an incentive enough in his experience. He had been promised all sorts of things over the years. Money, loyalty, vengeance. If he wasn’t given what was promised, he’d find another way to collect. No matter what, he’d get paid in the end. You didn’t reach his advanced career by doing things on credit. He’d been around too long to think otherwise.

Lately though, things had felt repetitive. Boring. He’d been hunting the same pieces of shit for years. Sure, they had different names, but they were all the same. He had begun to question if he’d ever find the real quarry. The one he’d been searching for the whole time. He was getting too old for this shit.

Zaeed had been drinking his last paycheck in some backwoods space port when he received the message that changed everything. The little data pad he carried everywhere pinged and pinged and pinged again until he fished it out of his vest.

“Fucking Christ, hold on.” He muttered, thumbing open the missive as he raised the glass of lukewarm beer to his lips.

His good eye darting across the brief message. A job request. Outside the normal contractor channels with an organization he’d only heard whispers of. Cerberus. Already a warning bell was ringing in the back of his head. Not a bounty, a merc job, a fucking big one. Zaeed’s eye widening at the ridiculous sum. The request came with a hefty retainer already wired to an account he was pretty fucking sure no one knew of, the subtle flex read loud and clear.

Zaeed keep scanning. A mission to save the galaxy, blah blah blah, seemed a bit hyperbolic. Terms were acceptable, 25% now, 25% when he signed on and 50% at job completion. Zaeed scrolled further down, the drink sputtering from scarred lips as he read the punchline.

This was it. This was the job he’d been waiting for.

The money was good. The retainer alone could keep him solvent for years, but that meant nothing compared to what was being offered. The the real pay day was the promise of Vido Santiago’s fucking head. And that he just couldn’t refuse. Even if it was only a promise.

Zaeed steadied the tremor in his hand as he typed out the one word response.

ACCEPTED

———

The Man had assured Zaeed that Cerberus didn’t waste time or assets on wild goose chases. They had data on Vido Santiago’s whereabouts and were willing to offer that piece of shit as a performance bonus, if Zaeed delivered on his end of the bargain. Zaeed didn’t doubt Cerberus knew where Vido was. They had more resources than the Alliance could shake a stick at. What put Zaeed on edge was the large dose of skepticism he had for answering to an ex-Alliance, ex-Spectre, ex-deceased CO. The dossier stated a destroyed ship and a dead Commander would be picking him up on Omega. And that seemed like a tall tale even for him.

He’d never met Commander Shepard when she’d been active, but the seasoned merc had heard stories. His circles didn’t really overlap with the likes of her, but you’d have to be a nerf herder on a real remote rock in black space not know about the attack on the Citadel and the human woman at the center of its rescue. She made a lot of waves as the first human Spectre, and then more waves when she saved a non-human council at great loss. She had high ranking friends and high ranking enemies, practically mythical and then suddenly, she had just disappeared.

Not a trace.

There had been rumors of attacks from a race beyond the Omega 4 Relay over the years, but all those were written off as ghost stories. No one had credibly documented an unknown ship hailing from the Omega 4 let alone an entirely new race. The surviving crew members of the SSV Normandy reported the attack on their ship was from an unclassified vessel, but no hard data remained beyond hearsay. Regardless, something had happened and the Normandy was a total loss. Commander Shepard, first human Spectre was never recovered, cast into the void.

Two years later, more ghost stories edged into the galaxy gossip. Commander Shepard had cheated death, she was back and had aligned with the human separatist group Cerberus. Didn’t really track with the career record of a decorated goody two shoes, but who was he to judge. He was well aware dying could make you do weird things. She’d been spaced. People don’t come back from that the same.

Naturally, he was skeptical as to who this woman really was and the agenda of his new employer, the Illusive Man. All this extra cloak and dagger bullshit put his teeth on edge. He wasn’t here for conspiracies or politics. He was hired to shoot things, pretty straight forward. Whoever this woman really was didn’t matter if he was getting paid. He’d do his job. Keep it clean, simple, paid with the bonus of what he really wanted. Vido’s head.

Zaeed had packed his meager belongings and snagged a transport to Omega. He was to meet the new Normandy SR2 in a week. Plenty of time to learn what he could of this Cerberus outfit, the potentially counterfeit Commander Shepard and knock out a bounty or two along the way. He’d made the rounds at Afterlife, plying sources with alcohol, creds and information trades to find out more about his new employers. Grizz spoke of Shepard with respect and Cerberus with suspicion. The Patriarch was half in love with her. Aria considered her formidable, valuable and dangerous. If she put Aria back on her heels, well that was something of note.

This Shepard was fucking good at what she did, violent, effective, reclusive. She had been to Omega several times, conducted her business and left, leaving bodies in her wake. No one knew where she had been for two years, but everyone agreed, whatever had happened, this woman was different. This Commander Shepard was lean and mean. It had been a long time since Zaeed had been curious of anything. This woman had definitely peaked his interest. But, Zaeed wasn’t the kind of man to wait around mooning after some celebrity, so he filled his time with a few side jobs until he got to meet this elusive woman.

As it happened, it was with a pissing and moaning bounty in tow that he met the commanding officer of the Normandy SR2 for the first time. He wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting. But it wasn’t her. She was something else.

The second he laid his good eye on her, he knew she would be trouble for him. Hips swinging with cat-like grace despite a body clad in battered N7 armor. She had come down that gangway flanked by a big fucking Turian and a goddamn Asari matriarch, armed to the teeth and looking like a million creds. Standing a good 6ft tall, her posture was confident, she oozed aggression and something in him tightened with the need to respond in kind. Like finding like.

Zaeed’s eyes darted to her face. It showed only the faded remnants of reconstruction scarring. Her surgeon was definitely better than his. Her light hair was swept back in a tidy little regulation bun, her complexion pale against the dull, dark red of her armor. Angry blue eyes that could see right through him, full red lips pressed together in a moue of dissatisfaction, expression hard. Now this was a woman who could handle herself. He felt an unfamiliar pang in his gut. Like finding like.

She stopped before him, cocking a hip and folding her arms across her chest. Her shrewd eyes glanced off and dismissed the bounty and instead took him in from head to toe. She appeared unimpressed.

“Zaeed Massani I presume.” Her voice low and smooth. Smokier than the vids he’d seen, it made his skin feel tight.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t found her standing toe to toe with him, his name on her lips, exhilarating. He already knew this was going to be one hell of a mission, but as he took in the Commander and her entourage, he realized that there was some sort of gravitas about her. He felt weighted, about to tip. The bounty at his feet forgotten.

“Who’s asking?” He responded. The Turian’s sub-vocals rubbled in amusement. He damn well knew they knew he knew. He couldn’t help it. The childish need to be contrary with someone so authoritative taking over him. Zaeed spent the majority of his adult life not giving a fuck what anyone thought about him, but there was something so self possessed about her, so rigid and angry, that he desperately needed to find her buttons, ruffle her feathers, see her flustered and mad. He wanted to savor that reaction from her.

Her eyes narrowed and her fingers flexed, no detail lost, and he almost smiled.

[tinmunky]

Power Struggle

Found on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168498

No Galaxy for Old Men Series - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

Characters & Parings: Fem!Shep/Zaeed Massani, Garrus Vakarian

Summary: Shepard and Zaeed iron out the kinks of their working relationship post Zorya

Rating: Mature for violence, language and innuendo - 1,431 words

Tags: Cannon typical violence, sexual tension, blood,

Audio Pairing: Black Strobe - Blood Shot Eyes

If you had asked Shepard where she would be two years after being inducted as the first human Spectre, she wouldn’t have said working with one cantankerous old man merc on some asshole mission in some god forsaken jungle. She definitely wouldn’t have fucking said dying for the Alliance she was now exiled from, or being reincarnated to work for Cerberus for that matter. Now that was a twist! The so-called afterlife is funny like that, but beggars can’t be choosers where being brought back from the dead is concerned.

From the moment Shepard laid eyes on Zaeed Massani on Omega, she knew he was gonna be more trouble than he was worth. Arrogant, hot tempered, brash. But Cerberus paid a hefty price for his cooperation, and the several missions he had already accompanied her on proved him as a valuable asset in combat and merc intel.

Being dead does change a few things though. Your temper is a helluva lot shorter for one. Your moral black and white becomes a whole lot more gray. Your ability to run an effective PR campaign pretty much flies out the airlock. But the biggest change, you have no problem cutting septic situations out of the equation. Everything seems a bit clearer like that. You’ve died, you don’t have time for bullshit.

Massani’s scorched earth policy when it came to his personal vendetta was problematic. Through half-truths and manipulation he FUBARed the Zorya mission and put innocent bystanders at risk. That was something Shepard, new or old, would not tolerate.

So here she was standing over a volatile bundle of real fucking angry, giving him the there is no “I” in “team” speech.

“You put your own goals ahead of the mission, that is not is the way this works. “

Zaeed scoffed “I’ve survived this long watching my own back. No time to worry about anyone else.”

Obviously the gravity of the situation had not dawned on him yet. Shepard raised her weapon to his head

“You’re part of a team now Zaeed, there is no way we can do this unless we’re all working together”

He twisted under the weight of the concrete pylon, quickly assessing the situation. Massani wasn’t always the only one who made it out alive for no reason. He was smart. He knew when to hedge his bets and when to fold. And this was a folding situation.

“You, you have a point. I’m not done with Vido but I can put that behind me long enough to get your mission done. Let’s get the hell outta here”

Shepard thumbed the safety and released the breath she was holding. She also wasn’t in the business of wasting assets, no matter how irritating they were.

The Kodiak ride back to the Normandy was tense to say the least. Garrus knew the Commander as well as anyone. She was weighing how best to manage the still simmering situation. He leaned quietly against the bulkhead. Head bowed, arms folded across his chest plate and waited. He could feel the white hot anger flowing off of Zaeed, and he was sure she could too.

Shepard sat with her elbows braced on knees and hands clasped. She lifted her head and studied Zaeed’s face. For a lot longer than most would find comfortable. He stared right back. Never flinching, never looking away.

And they sat like that, staring each other down. For. The. Whole. Ride.

Even Garrus felt the barely controlled urge to fidget. As the Cerberus Kodiak docked into the hold of the Normandy, Garrus quickly slid to the hatch and mashed the release. Out before the oppressive atmosphere crushed him.

In a show of supreme confidence Shepard put her back to Massani and stepped out first.

Shepard handed her gear to a waiting crew member for stowage and strode to the elevator. She needed to get the smell of burning chemicals off her skin. It had been a long, tense day and she still felt Massani would have a hard time letting go, even temporarily.

Shepard stepped in and turned to face the door, Zaeed hot on her heels. Christ, could she just not catch a break.

The doors slid closed and the lift slowly moved upwards through the ship. Halfway between Cargo and Engineering Zaeed couldn’t hold it any more. He slapped the emergency stop button and the lift ground to a halt.

“Commander? Is there an issue within the lift?” EDI’s cultured voice emanated from the ceiling.

“No, EDI, thank you. Disconnect form the lift surveillance at this time. We will be underway shortly.”

Shepard sighed. Well I guess we’re doing this here. She squared up and turned her head to give Massani the gimlet eye.

“Do you have something further to add Massani?”

“For the record Shepard, I will have my due and Vido will get his. I’m not one of your Alliance do boys. My contract says you’re going to provide the necessary assistance to get it done, I expect your obligation to be paid in full.” Zaeed chewed the words off.

“Duly noted Massani. I always pay my debts. ” Shepard turned to face him fully, stepping forward, closing the distance in the already ego crowded lift.

“Furthermore, I know your shtick is the lone wolf merc, but I need to ensure, for the safety of my team, and ultimately your continued survival, that you have fully committed to this mission. And by that I mean, unless you have a real fucking compelling reason to countermand my orders, you fall the fuck in line, I don’t care if you’re merc, Alliance, Cerberus or GOD ALL-FUCKING-MIGHTY. Is that clear?” Her voice sharp as a knife, she finished with all six feet of her standing boot to boot with Zaeed Massani. Not giving an inch.

Zaeed ground his teeth and turned his head spitting into the grated floor.

“Has anyone ever brought you down a peg girl?”

“You offering old man?” Before the words cleared her lips Massani had slammed one open hand into her shoulder and spun her, his arm closing around her neck and slammed her face into the opposite wall. Blood splattering across her and the lift. Wall fuck, I just had that fixed. Massani moved faster than she expected.

Shepard dropped her chin, keeping his arm from closing around her windpipe. He wrapped the other around her waist trapping one arm, she swung back with her free elbow but he ducked and wove without giving her a good angle.

“Slipperly asshole.” She growled spitting blood.

“Don’t sweet talk me.” Zaeed chuckled between grunts and she bucked.

Well if he wanted to hold her tight, he could hold all 200 pounds of her and her armor. Before he could anticipate her shift in body weight she tucked both her legs and kicked off the wall sending them careening across the lift.

Zaeed’s back hit the opposite wall with a thud as she knocked the breath out of him. The hairs on her neck goose bumping as it played across her skin. Shepard dug her heels in pushing back to pin him to the wall and slammed the back of her head into his nose feeling the satisfying crunch.

“I pay my debts old man!”

He tightened his neck hold and Shepard’s vision edged. Time for ending this in her favor was closing fast. She brought her leg forward and cow kicked him square in the balls. His arms went slack. Even with the cupped armor, enough force will translate through. And she put a hell of a lot of force into it.

“Hngph, Murthafukar.” his voice muffled by her hair.

Shepard spun from his grasp and with a guttural roar launched herself at him again, riding his chest plate to the ground and pinning his shoulders and arms beneath her legs.

Shepard straddled his chest. She stared down at Zaeed, breathing heavily as blood dripped from her split cheekbone onto his face.

“Zaeed, I want this relationship to be beneficial to us both.” Shepard huffed out. “But you’re going to have to trust me here.” She leaned forward and grinned like some kind of macabre death’s head covered in blood “I pay my debts. Don’t fucking doubt it. So, are. We. good?”

Zaeed’s face housed anger, confusion, admiration blood and no small amount of lust.

“Are we good? Goddam. I don’t know if I want to fuck you or kill you. Yeah, we’re good” He chuckled darkly.

“Well, you’ve tried one twice. You’ll need to diversify.” Shepard patted his good cheek and splattered blood across his face.

[tinmunky]

Notes on the Bathroom Wall - Cyberpunk 2077 Prompt Challenge

Found on AO3 Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30383652/chapters/75362817

Prompt: April 6 - sitch - Takemura cooks a meal (for whomever

Technical Prompt: Prose Poem, under 150 words

Characters: Goro Takemura, Female V

Relationships: Goro Takemura/V

Chapter 6 - An Act of Love

~~~~~

Cooking for someone is an act of love.

He believes it is an intimate gesture of care. To nourish the body with a portion of one’s soul. For every meal requires that contribution, otherwise it is just fuel.

He is meticulous in the selection of ingredients. He wants the elements that come together in this synergy of flavor to be pure, real, unmarred by synthetics.

He applies honed tools and skills to prepare each item. A sharpened knife, an extension of his hand. The movements, fluid and precise.

He coaxes the flavor to its fullest, before arranging his art on the blank canvas of a porcelain plate.

He places the culmination of his feelings before her.

Cooking for someone is an act of love.

~~~~~

[tinmunky]

Notes on the Bathroom Wall - Cyberpunk 2077 Prompt Challenge

Found on AO3 Here!

Prompt: April 3 - Sitch - First Meetings

Technical Prompts: 6 - No two sentences start with the same word

Characters: Jackie Welles / Misty Olszewski

Relationships: Jackie Welles / Misty Olszewski

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter 3 - She Would Call It Kismet

He’d clearly made a wrong turn somewhere in Little China. Jackie didn’t get out of Heywood often, but the ripper doc he was looking for came highly recommended by his chooms. Standing outside he checked the address again—Urmland Street, Little China, across from the Gamorrah club—Jackie looked over his shoulder at the gyrating body in the window. Yeah this was it. What the hell, he shrugged as he crossed the threshold. Maybe he could ask for directions inside. It took a few beats for his eyes to adjust to the change in lighting. Definitely adding new optics to the list of upgrades if he could find this Vektor guy.

Incense curled around live candles and the soft sound of chimes floated through the air. New age icons were scattered around the room, in artful disarray catching his eyes with glittering stones and gold painted statuary. If you asked Jackie if he was spiritual, or superstitious or whatever, he would have laughed. Normally he wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this, but walking in here, it felt like all the noise of Night City had just disappeared.

“Well aren’t you just a big slab of chaotic energy. You lost handsome?” A soft feminine voice harmonized with the ambient bells yanked his attention from the small statue of Buddha that had caught his eye.

Jumping like he’d be electrocuted, Jackie’s head shot up only for him to be sucker punched in the gut. Behind the counter was a vision. Spiky blonde hair framing the face of a fallen angel. Honey brown eyes met crystalline blue, sliding down to lush pouty lips. Staring was rude, but he just couldn’t seem to move, to break the silence or his gaze. She had captivated him.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you. My name’s Misty. Can I help you?” Her smile seemed to warm him from the inside out.

In a panic for something clever to say, Jackie’s eyes landed on the menu above the counter. Palm Readings: no his palms were sweating. Chakra Harmonization: what the fuck was that? Guided Meditation: there was no way he’d sit still. Tarot: those are cards right? Cards seemed pretty easy.

Completely abandoning why he came to Little China in the first place, Jackie cleared his throat and turned the charm his madre gave him up to eleven.

“Hey mamacita, you take walk-in tarot readings?”

Notes:

You know he fell hard and fast.

I checked like 10 times. I hope I didn’t reuse any sentence starters.

[tinmunky]

Notes on the Bathroom Wall - Cyberpunk 2077 Prompt Challenge

Found on AO3 Here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30383652/chapters/75048246#workskin

Prompt: April 2 - Sitch - Drunk Call/Text

Technical Prompts: 12 - Flowchart

Characters: Panam Palmer, Male V, Kerry Eurodyne (reference), Johnny Silverhand (reference)

Relationships: Male V/Kerry Eurodyne (reference)

Chapter 2 - Let Me Draw It Out For You

Okay, listen.” Panam sat across from V in the little taqueria. The table was sticky with aerosolized grease from years of flash-fried food and questionable synthmeat. She leaned forward, her elbows braced on the surface without care, earnestly trying to avoid disaster. ”I love you. You’re my best choom, but this is a horrible idea!” 

“Whaddya mean horrible?” He slurred as he reached for the phone. The plastic pulled away from the laminate with a sticky squelch.``This is the best idear we’ve—hic—I’ve ever had! Imma just call him. And say hi. Thass all. See if he’s up for going out or something.” 

Panam’s hand darted forward, slapping the phone from V’s hand. It clattered across the table and into the crease of the bench. She wasn’t about to let him do another stupid thing on account of Johnny whispering in his ear.

“Why’d ya do that for?” His huff was disgruntled.

“Bro. Kerry only started talking to you because you’re carting around his fucking disembodied ex-boyfriend.” Panam rolled her eyes in frustration. “You had a shitty day. It happens. There are better ways to blow off steam than having a booty call with that emotional disaster. Do I need to make you a decision flowchart?”

“Whassa flowchart?” 

“Hey, Jose!” She yelled across the shop. “You got a pen and paper?”

[tinmunky]

Notes on the Bathroom Wall - Cyberpunk 2077 Prompt Challenge

Found on AO3 Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30383652/chapters/75258420

Prompt: April 4 - Song - Hostage - Billie Ellish

Technical Prompts: None

Characters: Goro Takemura, Hanako Arasaka

Relationships: Goro Takemura / Hanako Arasaka

Sexual Content Warning

Highly recommend listening to the song while reading. It’s a whole mood.

Chapter 4 - Hostage

Now, she sat across from him in a dingy room in a No-Tell Motel. Her clothing, pristine white, and her gold cybernetics proclaiming her superiority to her surroundings. This was a place he would have never allowed her sully herself by visiting. But, that was before.

To look upon her perfection and feel the suspicion and contempt she held him in—it made his chest constrict. He reached for her hand across the table. She snatched it away and folded it in her lap, her posture ridgid. He sighed. This is what he deserved. Her disdain.

“I know that what I ask of you is too great a burden. To forsake your last living family and believe the tales of a ronin and a filthy street rat. But I implore you.” Goro tried to infuse all his earnest intent into his voice, his eyes, his body language. Please believe me, they said. “Your brother murdered your father, and I fear he will harm you to keep his ill-gotten power, Hanako no kimi.”

“You do not get to call me that.” Her voice was soft, but the reprimand stung. “I know what my brother has told me, told Arasaka.” Hanako stood and crossed the distance to stand before Goro.

“I am not so naive to believe his fabrication or that his intentions for the future of Arasaka are anything more than self indulgent destruction.” Hanako ran her fingertips softly down the edge of his jaw, tracing the line of sensitive organic flesh to synthetic. Goro’s breath held at the trailing sensation.

“I am insulted that you would think so.” Her voice took on a sharp edge as she continued.

“I am insulted that you chose to abandon your duty to me.” She walked behind him, threading her gold-tipped fingers through his hair. She quickly took up the slack and pulled tight against his scalp, tilting his head back and exposing his glossy black and red cybernetics. Goro’s jaw ticked as he clenched his teeth, allowing her rough handling. He forced his hands to rest upon his thighs, fisted in the fine fabric of his slacks.

“Your insults continued when you attacked my float and released your rabid dog on Oda-San.”

Goro flinched as if each word was the lash of a whip. The sting directly aligned with his heart. Hanako leaned close. Her subtle scent invaded his senses and he felt his heart fracture, releasing his breath in a gasp.

Her gold shimmered lips grazing the shell of his ear. “Such insubordination can not go unpunished.”

Hanako returned to stand before him, not releasing her grip onblack locks threaded around her golden digits as she pulled him to sit upright. His hands reached for her of their own accord to settle upon the swell of her hips. He felt blessed when she didn’t pull away. Her half lidded-eyes glittered down into his with unreadable intent. The silver-edged irises caught neon sparks in the dim room.

“You belong to Arasaka and I am your mistress.” Hanako moved forward, sliding her bare shins across his thighs as she settled into his lap. Rolling down the apex of her thighs to meet the strained fabric of his now-rumpled slacks.

“You belong to me.” She hissed.

“Yes. Hanako-sama.” The exhale of his breath caught on the words

[tinmunky]

Notes on the Bathroom Wall - Cyberpunk 2077 Prompt Challenge

Found on AO3 Here:

Prompt: April 1 - Song - Dear Future Self (Hands Up) - Fall out Boy

Technical Prompts: 13 - Write the prompt in the style of a love letter & 11 - 9th line of the 9th page, 81 words long - Book is Working for the Devil by Lilith Saintcrow - Word is Although

Characters: Gender Neutral V, Goro Takemura, Oda Sandayu (reference)

Relationships: Goro Takemura / V

Chapter 1 - Dear Future Self

Although an antiquated medium, I know you’d appreciate a handwritten letter. We’ve been through so much. I can’t thank you enough.

You are my solace, mentor and love knowing that this day would come. I’m not going to make another trip around the sun, it was a good run. We prepared for turbulence but there’s no preparing for this. I’ll miss you.

Love V,

PS Watch out for Oda. Dude will kill you for no reason, and charge you for treason.

[tinmunky]

Notes on the Bathroom Wall - Cyberpunk 2077 Prompt Event

Found on AO3 Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30383652/chapters/75526091

Prompt: April 7 - song - Blood // Water - grandson

Technical Prompt: None

Chapter 7 - Blood // Water

~~~

People say that big cities have souls. Night City has a soul. It’s neon bathed and twisted with the promise of dreams fulfilled and the desperation of survival. People come to her and she will raise them up or eat them alive. Sometimes both.

There's blood in her water.

Those born here never get free. Those who come with starry eyed ambition are drunk on the weighted potential of success. Lambs to the slaughter. Night City requires a ruthlessness in her people, a violence to survive, let alone succeed. She is a harsh mistress.

There's blood in her water.

She is the soul of opportunity. She is benevolent and kind. She gives you every chance to succeed. All you have to do is take it, to do whatever she asks. Cast your inhibiting morality aside and open your eyes to the potential she offers you. Anyone can climb to the top in Night City. She loves all her children equally.

There's blood in her water.

But every choice you make she sees and she’s keeping a tally. When you’ve outgrown your usefulness or overstep your bounds, the price of your greed will be your son and your daughter and what are you going to do when there's a knock at your front door and the debt of all Night City’s opportunity comes due? You sold her your soul.

There's blood in her water.

~~~