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everygildedstar · 4 years

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Bible Study (Optional Male Bias)

Summary: He wants to know what could be better than God’s love, and you are happy to enlighten him

Pairing: Optional Bias x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: smut, corruption kink, religious corruption, blasphemy, hand jobs, blow jobs, riding, fem dom, male sub, loss of virginity, sex in a church, semi-public sex, quoting scripture during sex

A/N: It’s been a while since i wrote a smut so i’m rusty, so please be nice. Inspired by a discussion with @bigkpopstan and anon about religious corruption and Heeseung. Heeseung was in mind when I wrote this but it’s technically optional bias so have fun. ;)

“Meet me in the confession booth when everyone leaves for the barbeque,” you had messaged him.

There had been a certain tension between the two of you for a while. He knew you weren’t the innocent “Church Girl” you pretended to be, and you knew he was curious. Curious about what could be so great as to reject what you were taught at church. What could possibly be better than God’s love?

He had asked you as much one day, while you were waiting for your parents to stop socializing so you could go home.

“Because I like what I can understand,” you answered. “I like what makes me feel alive. I like what I can be certain of. And I am certain that there are a great number of things that are more pleasurable to me than church, and worshipping our so-called God while receiving nothing in return.”

“Like what?” he pushed.

“Maybe I could show you sometime,” you had said before walking out with your family.

He hadn’t brought it up to you again for a long time, but you could tell he thought about it. You could see it in his face every time you caught him looking at you, and every time he would look away blushing, as if he had been caught doing something sinful.

Finally he couldn’t take it anymore. He asked you to show him. And that’s how, today, you ended up pulling him into the confession booth in the empty church.

You shut and locked the door behind you, and then there was silence. The tension was so thick, just the sound of your breaths to fill the space, only a small amount of light leaking into the tiny room.

“Are you sure about this?” you asked. “There is no going back. You will only be pretending to be the good church boy. You will be like me,” You reach out and hold his face in one hand and the nape of his neck with the other, leaning in to whisper in his ear, “a sinner.”

You feel him nod. “Use your words.”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

“And you are not scared?” you ask further.

“No. If it is truly a sin, and should I wish to repent, God is merciful. He will take me back,” he says.

You let out a breathy laugh. “And if you don’t wish to repent?”

He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer. “Then I suppose hell can’t be that bad if you’ll be there, my own beautiful temptress.”

You laughed again. “So much for the good little church boy.”

You leaned in and kissed him. It started out slow and sweet, and you tried to pour every ounce of passion and honey as you can into every movement. He seemed to follow your lead leaning into you so much you were leaning back with him. You bit his lip, and then took his gasp to press your tongue into his mouth. He moans a little, surprised at the intrusion and starts sucking on it.

You slowly move him back until his back hits the wall of the booth, pressing yourself close to his body. You tug his hair while your other hand starts to roam, slowly feeling its way past each dip in his defined chest and abdomen. You hook a finger in his belt loop and use it to pull his hips even further against you, forcing him to break the kiss and let out a moan. You move to kiss his neck, or at least the little bit you could reach with his unbuttoned collar. He moans again, and then again even louder when your hips forward. “What is your favorite scripture?” you ask. “Recite it for me, and don’t stop or I’ll stop.”

“What-” he asks as you unbutton his pants while you attack his neck with your mouth again. He gasps when you pull down his zipper, and then you reach your fingers into the waistband of his boxer briefs, eventually grasping his cock with only the tips of your fingers. He lets out a needy groan, rolling his hips into your touch, but you don’t move any further.

“Recite it, or I’m not going to do anything.”

He takes a second to gather his thoughts enough. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not wa-want.” He stutters when you pull his waistband down and bring his cock out, hissing at the cold air. You give it one stroke, and then stop, waiting for him to continue.

“He maketh me to lie d-down in green pastures-” You start stroking him slowly, rubbing your thumb over his slit once to gather his pre-come. You continue kissing his neck until you find a sweet spot that makes him whimper.

“-he leadeth me be-beside the still waters.” You move faster, pumping lightly with each stroke, while you pull his hair with the hand still resting there.

“He restoreth my s-soul-” His grip on you tightens, hands grabbing fistfulls of the material of your church dress. “-he leadeth me in the p-paths of righteousness for his -ngh- name's sake.”

“Yea, though I wa-alk through the valley of the sha-hadow of death, I will f-fear no evil-” you move your kisses to the other side of his neck, and he throws his head back against the wood of the booth.

“-for thou art with m-me; thy rod and thy s-staff they co-co-comfort me- ” You then get on your knees in front of him, licking the tip of his cock, hand still stroking his length. “-Shit!”

You snicker, giving a long lick up the underside before looking up at him. “Don’t swear when you are reciting scripture, sinner.” -he moans at the nickname- “Keep going.”

He whines again before he continues, voice considerably higher.

“Th-thou preparest a ta-able before me in the pre-esence of mine enemies-” You take the head of his cock into your mouth, sucking lightly. He lets out a guttural groan.

“-thou anointest m-my head with o-oil-” your hand that isn’t preoccupied with stroking the part of his cock that is not deep in your mouth is making its way under to cup his balls.

“-my cup ru-runneth over.” He muffles a whine with one hand while the other makes its way into your hair.

He pulls his hand away from his mouth to recite the next part. “Surely g-goodness and merc-cy shall follow me all the d-days of my life- ngh!” You are bobbing your mouth farther and farther each time, and he has to refrain from thrusting his cock deeper into your mouth.

“-and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever. Fuck, I’m so close-” He finishes his scripture, and you take him as far as you can and swallow, the squeezing of your throat around his cock almost sending him over the edge. You lift your mouth off of him with a pop, and he whines like a hurt puppy. “No- Please- Why?”

You stand back up and turn him, making sit on the seat to your left, before you push your skirt up around your hips and straddle him. “You didn’t think I was gonna let you have all the fun, did you?”

You grip his cock again, rubbing the tip over the wet spot on your panties. Both of you let out a moan together, pressing your foreheads together. His hands fly to your hips, gripping them tightly.

“Are you okay with this?” You ask again before you continue.

He nods, the thin ray of light peeking into the booth in a perfect spot to show the desire in his eyes. “Yes, please. Please let me feel you. I’m not turning back.” He kisses you again, short but passionately. “Ruin me.”

You whine at his words, then you pull your soaked panties to the side and line his cock up with your entrance before you sink down on him, ever so slowly. Deep, long moans come from both of you. You kiss him again when he is fully sheathed inside you.

“Would you like for me to recite my favorite scripture for you?” you ask him, foreheads together while you adjust to his large size. “It was from a woman to her lover, and I feel like it fits the situation nicely.”

He nods, interested. “Enlighten me.”

“My beloved is white and ruddy, the chiefest among ten thousand.” You start to move agonizingly slowly up and down his length. He buries his face in your neck to muffle his noises and grips your hips even harder, and you were sure you would have bruises in the shape of his hands the next day.

“His head is as the most fine gold; his locks are bushy, and black as a raven.” You tangle your hands into his own hair and he attaches his lips to the side of your neck like you had done to him.

“His eyes are as the eyes of doves by the rivers of waters, washed with milk, and fitly set.” You start to move faster, rolling your hips with each thrust.

“His cheeks are as a bed of spices, as sweet flowers; his lips like lilies, dropping sweet-smelling myrrh.” You feel his hips stutter as he struggles to keep from thrusting up into you.

“His hands are as gold rings set with the beryl-” He loses the fight, and starts jerking his hips up as you sink down, causing him to go way deeper, hitting your sweet spot and making you moan. “-his belly is as bright ivory overlaid with sapphires.”

“His legs are as pillars of marble set upon sockets of fine gold; his countenance is as Lebanon, excellent as the cedars.” You take one of his hands from your hips and press it between you against your clit, ripping a whine out of you.

“His mouth is most sweet-“ you move impossibly faster, even with your thighs growing tired. Your combined sounds and heavy breaths resonate within the confined box.

“I’m close- is it ok if I…” He asked. You nod pulling him close, lips hovering only a hair away from his.

“-yea, he is altogether lovely.” You kiss him deeply as you reach your high, hands harshly pulling his hair and gripping his shoulder. The squeezing from your release sent him over the edge, and he pulled your hips flush to his, coating your insides.

As you come down from your orgasms, you finish the scripture. “This is my beloved, and this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem.”

The two of you sit in silence for a minute, catching your breaths.

“Holy shit-” he says, and you let out a breathy laugh as you pull off of him, both of you wincing at the sensitivity. “I see why you do this now.”

“Are you gonna regret this and never talk to me again?” You ask, standing up and fixing yourself up.

“Hell no.” He puts himself away and zips and buttons his pants. You feel his hands rest on your hips, and you wrap your arms around his neck, leaning in for another kiss.

“What do we tell our parents if they ask where we’ve been?”

“Tell them we were doing private bible study and shared our favorite verses. And maybe ask if we can see each other more often for “bible study” sessions,” you added before stealing another kiss.

“Sounds good to me,” he said. “That’s the only kind of bible study I’ll need from now on. If god is real and merciful, he can forgive me when the day comes. I have the only god I want to believe in right here in my arms.”

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littlemisspascal · 3 years

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Ezra’s Journal Entries #4-6

Fandom: Prospect / Pedro Pascal

Pairing: Ezra x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1,133

Summary: I don’t deserve you, little love of mine. Not one damn piece of you.

Warnings: angsty fluff, night terrors, PTSD, Ezra dealing with the aftermath of the Green, language, 1st person POV (Ezra), dialogue in italics because that’s just how I chose to do it, overuse of space metaphors, no beta so all mistakes are mine

Author Note: As always, thank you readers for your support! All the love to each one of you! Hope you like these new segments 💖

Entries #1-3 #7-9

Cross-posted on AO3

Look for additional notes at the bottom.

I feel a little less torn after speaking with Cee, hearing her voice crackling across the radio regale me with details of her current studies at Cero Tol, the latest novel she’s devouring, the daytrip she made to Lao to collect shells for an art project—it reminds me there was a sliver of profound goodness to come out of my otherwise disastrous journey to the Green. She rambles and babbles and laughs at her tongue’s inability to keep up with all she has to share. Her soul has found exactly what it has always yearned for: a life of her own making.

For all that she lost on the Green, she has adapted to her new path and overcome every obstacle with the same bullheaded determination a helianthus possesses. Never losing sight of her goals just as the flower never loses sight of the sun.

I must admit I’d been reluctant to split ways with her after our perilous escape from the Green—after all, nothing bonds people together faster than the collaboration of slicing off an arm and creaming the gaping wound shut, then immediately engaging in a bloody conflict with heavily armed mercs—but she deserved better than to live a floater’s life tainted by a lack of morals and the uncertainty of not knowing if she would survive from one sunrise to the next.

She deserved to live a life amongst her own peers. To rouse that spark of creativity her father tried to extinguish. To turn gold in all the ways I cannot.

Sending her to school was worth every point and credit we managed to scrape together. Still, I remember how bittersweet it felt watching that little bird, ever so fearless in the face of sudden change, march right up the ramp of the freighter at the Pug, determined to make me and you proud by excelling at the academy. Standing amongst the sea of parents waving goodbye to their children, I wrapped my arm around your waist, rested my head atop yours, and forced myself to swallow a harsh pill of truth.

With or without me in her life, Cee is going to be just fine.

I remember how you swung our linked hands as we walked back to our ship, your sweet voice a soothing balm easing the ache of my melancholic heart. Ezra, she’s fierce and bold and strong. That little golden child is going to have her name written in the stars one day.

Kevva do I hope I live to see your vision come true.

First thing I remember noticing about you was your eyes. Remember how I caught you staring at me from across the bar? You looked at me like I was your North Star pointing you home, like I was something shiny and special. You scared the fuck out of me. It’s the worst thing I ever thought, but it’s true. I would have fled the scene if your gaze hadn’t anchored my soul.

You introduced yourself, and I knew goodbye would never be a word exchanged between us. No, we became a pair of binary stars, constantly orbiting each other round and round, hello again and see you soon. Falling in love with you was inevitable. The Currents designed you perfect for me. Designed you with meteorite in your bones and sunlight on your lips and all the constellations sparkling in your eyes. There is no grander form of paradise than to feel you beneath my hand. There is no comparison. No second place contender. Just you, your tender heart, and the galaxies you contain.

Sometimes, late at night when you’re asleep and my thoughts are too loud for my head, I stare at the ceiling and speculate about alternate verses. Verses starring another me and another you crisscrossing each other’s paths as we’re pulled across the galaxy by our heartstrings. Somewhere, there is another me who never escapes the ruthlessness of the Green and breathes my last with Inumon’s knife in my lungs. Another me who will never know the emotional and physical anguish that accompanies the loss of a limb. Another me who pulls the thrower’s trigger without hesitation, firing a shot between the wide eyes of an innocent girl. Another me who ignores the temptation of harvesting aurelac in hopes of making a reputable name for myself.

Somewhere, there is another me who ran away from another you.

And it pains me to wonder if perhaps you’re happier never knowing me.

I speculate about those two most of all.

I woke up to screaming. My mind was a tangled mess, caught between the thin barriers separating reality from dreamscape, and I was truly convinced my head would explode from the noise. Inumon wouldn’t stop screaming no matter how hard I squeezed my fingers, no matter how much of my bulk I pressed down upon her. It’s me! She wailed like an animal in a trap, sensing impending doom but unable to flee from it. It’s me, it’s me, it’s me! Please, Ezra!

A thought crossed my mind, as sudden and blinding as a shooting star streaking through the midnight sky, and I found myself incapable of ignoring it. How does she know my name? I had cloaked my identity using a dead man’s name. It wasn’t feasible for her to know the truth or for the sound of my name coming out of her mouth to set my skin aflame.

There aren’t words to describe the horror which consumed me when I looked down upon your tear-stained face.

My mama once told me everybody’s a sinner. We have wickedness embedded in our cells from womb to tomb. It buries its roots deep, resistant to our attempts to rid ourselves of its corruption, and waits for the precise moment to inflict pain upon those we love most. Those who choose to love us despite the warning signs.

In the aftermath, when my fucking fingerprints were smudged across your throat blue and purple, you held me like I was a human and not a monster or a vexation or a broken thing to toss aside. I couldn’t stop trembling, couldn’t stop my mind from conjuring a torturous loop of what ifs.

What if I hadn’t stopped myself? What if you hadn’t broken the nightmare’s spell? What if your last word had been my name?

Hush, you whispered. My tremors worsened upon hearing the raspy quality of your voice and you pressed your lips to my forehead. An undeserved benediction. I’m here. You haven’t lost me.

I don’t deserve you, little love of mine. Not one damn piece of you. If I could I’d give you the whole galaxy, but I only have one hand and it terrifies me to risk letting you go. Forgive me, please, for asking you to stay with me.

Forgive me for how much I dearly love you.

Notes:

Cero Tol is a made up academy based on Cerro Tololo Inter-American Observatory located in Chile.

Lao is an island planet(?) mentioned in Prospect. Damon tells Cee she was born there.

Helianthus is the genus for sunflowers. I liked the fanciness of it 🙂

Points were referenced in Prospect as a type of currency. Credits are a Star Wars form of currency that I thought would also be fitting to use.

Binary Stars = a system of two stars in which one star revolves around the other or both revolve around a common center.

I like to think there are alternate realities or a multiverse. It’s fun to imagine all the different possibilities another me is experiencing.

I don’t think I’ll ever understand why guns in Prospect are called throwers, but that’s what the creators decided so that’s the terminology I’ll use too.

Series Taglist: @insomniamamma

Permanent Taglist: @promiscuoussatan, @melobee, @randomness501, @captain-jebi, @artsymaddie, @happiestsparkleofall, @gallowsjoker, @vintagesaph, @sylphene, @chibi-yuki, @freeshavocadoooo, @stilllivindue2spite, @pointy-sharp, @leilei-draws, @over300books, @theocatkov, @oh-no-a-whovian, @you-and-i-deserve-the-world, @lin-djarin, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives, @coaaster, @waywardmando, @thisshipwillsail316, @grogusmum, @asta-lily, @mylifeofcalculatedchaos, @absurdthirst, @disgruntledspacedad, @read-and-rec

#ezra prospect #ezra x reader #ezra x you #ezra's journal #prospect fanfiction #prospect #ezra fanfic #ezra prospect fanfiction #my writing #my fic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ezra prospect x you #ezra prospect x reader #prospect film #pedrostories

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darkdoowoopie · 4 years

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Unforgiven

Summary: V has hard time coping after spending one day with Stephenson. It’s not easy being a merc, or her with a parasite called Silverhand.

Warnings: slight angst, mention of blasphemy. V and Johnny needing a swear jar. Spoilers for Sinnerman and There’s A Light that Never Goes out quests.

A/N: I am so in love with my V, that I just want to write character studies about her and Johnny. This is unedited as I wanted to get this idea out of my head as quickly as possible before I forget all about it again. Yes, I am going to follow Johnny’s fashion by giving titles based on songs.

Christ, she needed a smoke. V didn’t want to admit how much Stephenson’s words had affected her but the sharp pain next to her heart seemed to drill deeper, expanding like it wanted to swallow her heart in whole. Thanks to Johnny she was slowly turning into stress smoker, at this point she didn’t care. If she was going to die, she might as well ruin her lungs in the process.

The first inhale of smoke filled her lungs, body relaxing when the long exhale came through her mouth the smoke lingered before it faded away. Events of the day came back to her mind, how she had traveled with Stephenson due to his crazy obsession of wanting to drag her along. For Johnny it had been huge amusement, like a good soap opera to enjoy with popcorn and can of beer.

“Do you believe in God, V?”

Nope. She didn’t. There was no higher power in this godforsaken city, otherwise Jackie wouldn’t be dead and there would be no trail of corpses behind her back. Every death hanging all of a sudden on her shoulders, hugging her tightly like those invisible hands wanted to squeeze and crush every bone in her body. It made her shudder, she wanted to forget, escape. Leave it all behind, again.

She couldn’t. Night City always dragged her back. Maybe she was turning insane as well like Stephenson, his words crawling under her skin. V’s nails dug deep into her arm, leaving crescent moon shapes . The need to scrub off those confessions that caused her discomfort.

“Think of the millions jacked into their feeds like livestock, the children growing up in gang-infested streets. Do they know love?”

Maybe. Who gives a fuck? V squirmed again, her body feeling alien to her. For a moment she was certain she could hear Johnny snickering inside her mind, enjoying the turmoil of emotions that was going through her head. He didn’t know anything about her, hell neither did Stephenson. They didn’t know jackshit about her.

“And think of paid killers like you, V. Have you known love? Do you know what it is?”

Without realizing she had crushed the cigarette in her hands. Slowly V opened her palm to see the tangled joint with barely burning end. The orange color flickered, desperately drawing its final breaths before it was extinguished. Soft scoff escaped through her nose, before she flicked it away. Maybe it was true, she didn’t know anything about love. Everyone she had ever cared for had died or left her. Now, she was afraid if she opened her heart, people left in her life would suffer the same fate or worse. The clock was ticking, and it wasn’t showing any signs of slowing down.

“Fucking kill me, V.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, stop appearing out of nowhere!”

“Oh, we have reduced to blasphemy now?” Johnny continued, that mean smirk playing on his lips which caused V to sigh and harrow hand through her hair as she was trying to calm down from her heart attack.

“If you have something more to say, spit it out. I thought we already covered this back at the diner.”

“You’re a mess.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Didn’t think that you would let nutjob so easily effect you.”

“Well yeah, what did you say - we are fucked in the head. So damn fucked...”

To her surprise there was no counter argument, instead Johnny was gone again. It made V wonder had he even been there in the first place or was she just already seeing him everywhere without thinking much about it. She covered half of her face in hand, in truth she didn’t want to think about love or loving someone. It was a price she could never afford. There was no heaven for a sinner like her. Only thing she could do was to protect herself from what she wanted.

....and Johnny too.

#johnny x v #V #johnny silverhand #johnny silverhand x v #cyberpunk 2077 #my writing #my V

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concussed-to-pieces · 7 years

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Sunnyside

Fandom: Mass Effect (2)

Pairing: Zaeed Massani/Female Commander Shepard

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Thirsty Crew, another branch off from the usual fare! And just in time for N7 Day! I don't know whether anyone among our fine shipmates has played the Mass Effect, but if you have (and enjoy suffering over non-romanceable characters), this one's for you. This installment depicts a period of time between the second and third games, after the last mission in the second but before Shepard is...detained in the third. This also illustrates a slightly different approach to Zaeed's loyalty mission and the Paragon/Renegade options therein. Enjoy!

(I miss Robin Sachs.)

It had been raining for days on end. Weather on Zorya had never been easy to deal with, and that was when Zaeed had all the resources of the Blue Suns at his disposal.

Now he was huddled in a cave next to a smoky, barely-burning fire. With all the vegetation as green and damp as it was on Zorya, the chances of finding nice dry twigs for a fire were slim to none. If the Vorcha ever found his ass scavenging for Boy Scout supplies, he was relatively certain he could kiss it goodbye.

Thirty-three days. He had been stuck here for thirty-three goddamn days. Might be thirty-four at this point. Shepard had blown a proverbial fucking gasket and he had blown a literal fucking gasket and (in retrospect, anyhow) he could maybe see why she might have been irate.

Slightly.

He probably should have let her in on the whole Vido thing. After all, they'd survived the suicide mission, and she wasn't obligated to help him, not by anything but her word. He’d led her into the mission blind and Zaeed knew if there was one thing she hated, it was the way the Illusive Man withheld information. Goddamn girl, goddamn woman.

“I've done something for nearly everyone else. Let me do something for you.” She had said when she came to him with a smile on her face.

That goddamn smile. He would gladly suffer through hours of Nanny Garrus if he could see that smile aimed at him again. Instead, he slept fitfully; waking up sweating from dreams of women with gun muzzles prodding at his skull screaming we're a team Massani!

He wondered if this place and its goddamn spores was getting to him, making him feverish. Sometimes it seemed almost like she was still there. Still standing over him, gloriously tall like a furious deity casting damnation upon some sinner in a lake of fire. Maybe it was the damp, or lack of food and clean drinking water.

Goddamn, but they were a team. Her and him, usually accompanied by the tattooed biotic clusterfuck or the baby Krogan. A damn good team no matter who she picked.

And he had thrown it away. Twenty years of merc experience and then some (much more ‘and then some’), laid at her feet yet she still found him wanting. He had watched her test everyone else. He didn't really know why he had expected something different, something other than him emptying a clip in the direction of Vido's gunship and screaming with years worth of rage as he fucking failed and fucking turned on her like a goddamn rabid dog. The heat sink had been what did him in, ejected in a clumsy rush and clattering onto the ground to ignite a trail of leftover fuel.

He definitely would have left someone like himself under that beam after the explosion. She'd briefly held her pistol to his temple, but he imagined that was more out of fear and shock at the fact that he'd been about to attack her than anything else. The fact that she had pulled the beam off of him before eventually stalking away, her fists balled up so tightly he could hear her gauntlets creak in protest, spoke to the kind of person she was.

In retrospect, he should have known better. He should have told her.

Zaeed pulled his battered body closer to the guttering fire, curling up on his side with the sandy, damp floor for a mattress. He was so goddamn tired of thinking, tired of the circling questions in his mind. He cursed his stubbornness. A normal man would have died by now, instead of struggling on.

Why was she crying? His brain asked, almost in sync with the pounding headache brought on by lack of nourishment. Was she crying for me? Why didn't I listen to her? It's goddamn ludicrous to think that Commander Goddamn Shepard would leave a bunch of innocents to burn.

“We're a team, Massani!”

Goddammit.

“Massani!”

The tears dripping down her cheeks had shone when they fell off her chin, catching the flame's light...

“Massani!”

Zaeed shook his head wearily. “Losing my fucking mind, cherry on goddamn top.” He grumbled to himself, armor scuffing against his skin as he tried to force his fever-achy body into a tighter curl. Anything to try and keep off this goddamn wind and rain...

A hand grabbed his shoulder, roughly shaking him conscious. Zaeed groaned at the dull throb of pain, though it seemed oddly far-off to him. He mostly just felt damp, chilled to the bone. A little confused. Nearly overwhelmed by a quiet sense of disconnect from everything. Her face floated, wavering, in front of his eyes, and he felt a smile pull at the side of his mouth. She looked unbelievably cross, and for some reason that made him happy.

“Figures that I would dream up something like this,” He wheezed, “Sad goddamn old bastard I am, having a pretty girl come comfort me while I fucking die here in the dirt.” Zaeed almost laughed at the expression her face twisted into at that. “I know I'll...fuck it Shepard, I'm never gonna see you again, am I? I deserve this goddamn shit, I know. Dying on the site of what was supposed to be my most fantastic revenge. You weren't ever that big on revenge, were you girl? No, you were about your goddamn 'no man left behind' lifestyle. Figures that I was the one you'd break that rule for. You had to know that goddamn beam fucked me up. Couldn't even lift it off myself.”

“Zaeed, I'm so sorry.”

“Shep, I ain't blaming you. If anything it gave me some goddamn clarity. Maybe...maybe if I had told you from the fucking start what you were in for. You never gave me a goddamn reason not to trust you. You were always good to all your raggedy little misfits, even the Cerberus china doll and the Krogan braintrust.” Zaeed paused. This had been more talking than he’d done for over a month. “But you weren't a fucking pushover Shepard. You knew exactly when to pull goddamn rank. I guess I just never expected you to have to put me in my bloody place. Sorry 'bout that.”

His side fucking hurt. His legs hurt, his head hurt, everything throbbed.

“What sort of garbage hallucination are you, anyway? Shaking me awake like a goddamn bastard.” Zaeed tried to laugh but it was mostly a hacking cough, a wet, spore-filled rattle in his chest. “Everything fucking hurts Shepard. I hate this goddamn planet. I just want to be back on the fucking Normandy. Even with that goddamn AI and your goddamn pilot made of glass.” He groaned, blinking slowly as he felt someone slide an arm around his shoulders. “What kind of goddamn...”

The someone hoisted him onto their shoulders like a human backpack, like he weighed nothing.

“Shep I swear to God, if this is real I'm fucking...I'm eating you out first chance I get as a big goddamn thank you.” Zaeed slurred, fairly certain that he was being dragged to his grave by a bemused Vorcha scavenger. The startled exhale of breath that ghosted across his cheek made him curious though. “You gonna’ kill me? Vido send you?”

“You need to be quiet.”

It was Shepard! Zaeed had thought he was too exhausted and sick to be embarrassed, but his face heated weakly all the same. He lolled his head forward, resting his chin on her (bare?) shoulder and opening his eyes. “Oh...” What the fuck is she wearing?!

There was a velvety chuckle to Shepard's left. Zaeed felt the embarrassment take full hold as he realized that Kasumi had heard his enthusiastic promise of oral thank-yous. “A grungy, half-dead bounty hunter. Sure is a lovely change of scenery from what Hock was promising you, Shep!” The thief quipped.

Zaeed snapped into clarity for a second. “Th' fuck were you doing near Donovan goddamn Hock. I sure as fuck hope you weren't in this, er...garb around that slimy bastard.”

“A favor for Kasumi. I had to look the part.” Shepard replied curtly. “I did not enjoy it. I did not enjoy him. More importantly, he's fucking dead now and can never attempt to touch me again.”

“Can I just say, I fuckin' love your combats with this dress, great goddamn combo. Ten out of ten.”

“I'm not hauling your heavy ass around in the fucking jungle in fucking pumps Massani. Now shut the fuck up. If we're spotted we are fucked.”

“Been a rough night, ey Surimi?” Zaeed asked Kasumi, his head falling off to the side of Shepard's shoulder as he ignored the barrage of f-bombs (just slurred enough for him to guess that the commander may be a bit into her cups).

Kasumi nodded, but what he could see of her hooded eyes looked sympathetic. “Be gentle.” She said quietly. “It has been a trying day, Zaeed. Shepard has been out of her element for the duration. And she might be a little tipsy. Just…just a little.”

“Got that fucking right.” Shepard snarled, coming up over the last hill. Zaeed was more than content to fall silent, propping his cheek up on her shoulder and watching her breasts rub and shift with vague interest. She could be his commander all she wanted, but at the end of the day it was nice to know she was still soft and female in at least a few senses. Hell, was she even his commander anymore?

“Sorry 'bout all the goddamn armor Shep. I'll bandage up your scrapes once we get to the Norm.” He mumbled the apology almost too quietly for her to hear. If we're even going to the Normandy.

Shepard shrugged, and Zaeed watched the side of her mouth curl up briefly in a grin. “I've had worse, old man.”

“Still, you shouldn't have to fucking carry me. I should be able to walk. That goddamn beam.” Zaeed groaned. He felt Shepard wince underneath him. “Hey, not like fucking that. I know why you did it, Shep. I'm no goddamn whiner. I've had plenty of time to yell at myself, I understand.”

“You hurt anywhere else, Massani?”

“My side. My legs are the main goddamn problem. Pretty sure they're fucked.” Zaeed grunted as Shepard carefully set him into a seat in the Kodiak. “Not a lot of food either, or clean water to drink. I thought you were a goddamn hallucination, Shep. I thought I was dead.”

Shepard hushed him as the shuttle took off. Zaeed noticed with tired interest that when she comm'ed Chakwas there was a tremor in her voice. That beautiful goddamn voice...

“We found him. I think he's going to be okay.”

...

Zaeed had never seen Shepard hover this much. Chakwas, the old fussbudget, had him stripped down to his smalls for her exam and Shepard was still in the med bay and in that fucking dress. At least Kasumi had headed back to her room with a view after making sure he was settled.

Zaeed heaved a sigh. “Shepard if you're going t--goddamn--going to stick around you really ought to change out of that number.” He gestured to the doctor with a flash of his old humor. “Pretty sure if Chakwas keeps rummaging around in my goddamn legs and ribs, fluids will splash. Be a shame to ruin--goddamn woman!” The mercenary flinched, clenching his fists reflexively when Chakwas literally scraped into his knee with some odd little instrument.

“Oh please Mr. Massani, you'll have to do better than that.” Chakwas chided, slathering medi-gel across his kneecap. Zaeed grunted, Shepard's nervous laugh washing over him.

“I know, I know. It's weird seeing me in this. I do kind of like it though, wearing the dress.” Shepard admitted, smoothing her hand down the side of the skirt. “It makes me feel pretty.” She continued with the characteristic honesty of a drunk.

“Y' don't need a goddamn hunk of material to make you pretty, Shep.” Zaeed blurted, almost biting his tongue in half as soon as the words escaped. “Guy like me now, you'd have to put me in six goddamn suits to come even close to fucking decent.” He scrambled to add, trying to play off his compliment.

Shepard's eyes widened slightly, her head cocking to the side. Zaeed swallowed hard. “Thanks, Zaeed.” She murmured.

Oh Christ, what fresh goddamn hell have I slammed myself into.

...

Zaeed hated being on bed rest. He had been ordered to stay in his bunk and regain his strength, and Chakwas' orders bore no disobedience. It had been a week of this shit, just letting his immune system work through whatever plant life had taken up valuable real estate in his lung space.

He must have cleaned Jessie six times today, bored to goddamn tears. In the middle of another knife-tossing contest with himself, there was a warning chime from his door. “Who dares disturb my goddamn solitude?” He asked loudly, pulling himself to his feet and keying the door open. Oh. It was Shepard. “You're a sight for sore goddamn eyes, make no mistake about that.” Zaeed grumbled, waving her in. “What brings you down to my humble little abode?”

He noticed after returning sulkily to his bed that she hadn't walked into the room at all. She was just camped out in the doorway. Zaeed took in the way she was wringing her hands, and raised an eyebrow.

“Shep?” She looked like she was about to go to pieces. He'd never seen her so pensive. Well actually, right after that goddamn fruit Alenko spouted his preachy Alliance bullshit at her on Horizon... “You alright? Something on your mind?”

“I uh. I wanted to apologize.” Shepard mumbled. Zaeed was thrown for a loop. Shit, the time on Zorya had been more than sufficient for him to get his fill of eating crow. Shepard rescuing him had been an apology and then some, so why...?

“Get in here.” The grizzled merc ordered, auto-locking the door behind her. Obediently Shepard took a half-step into the room and stood there, staring at the floor like a child in trouble. Zaeed got back to his feet with a strangled swear, making his way to her and grabbing her chin. “How dare you.” He snarled, watching her eyes light angrily. “Who is this, this timid goddamn mouse of a Shepard? You ought to be ripping me a new goddamn asshole, Commander. What's fucking happened to you?”

“I made a mistake!” Shepard exploded, jerking her chin out of his fingers with ease. “I shouldn't have abandoned you! It was wrong! And...And I'm sorry!” She all but yelled her apology in his face, her step forward making him take a wary step back. She seemed to deflate then, returning to staring at the floor. “I couldn't stop thinking about you. I couldn't stop worrying about you. Even when I tried. And I tried so fucking hard Massani. I know that to you, being marooned on a hostile planet by the 'great Commander Shepard' would be the ideal end. And I couldn't...I couldn't do it.” She wiped her eyes and sniffled quietly, surprising the fuck out of Zaeed when she muttered, “I couldn't get you out of my head. I missed your 'goddamns' and your 'fuckalls'. I missed your advice and your expertise. There's been a few situations that I could have used your input on while...while I left you to rot on a tropical rock.”

“Goddamn, Shep.” The mercenary was at a loss for words. “I didn’t know.”

“Of course not. How could you?” Shepard retorted. “I didn’t exactly announce that I appreciated your blood-soaked experience.”

“You goddamn missed me, though?” Zaeed asked incredulously. “I did not expect that.” He sat back down on his bunk, running a hand through his hair. “Not for a goddamn second.”

“Yeah, I missed you. I was at that stupid party with Kasumi and all I could think about was what you might say as far as the stuffy art on the walls, or the shit music and terrible company. I drank more than I should have and after that, well, you know the rest.” Shepard shrugged. “Kasumi didn’t try to stop me though. Also didn’t try to get me back into my armor. I think she just wanted to see if I’d actually do it.”

“Th’ hell would she have done if you were goddamn spotted?” Zaeed questioned, his stomach dropping out unpleasantly at the thought.

“She probably would have sent me out on a rampage. In that dress with my Claymore.” Shepard snorted. “Helluva’ fight, as you would say.”

“That’s goddamn outrageous and you know it. Fucking hell.” Zaeed hated the warm feeling he got in his chest from her using his terminology. “I can hear the headlines now, 'Commander Goddamn Shepard killed in a Blue Suns shootout, found in slinky black number.'”

“I want to be buried in that dress, Massani.” Shepard grinned at him. “Look, do you accept my apology or not?”

“Goddamn it, Shep, you got nothing to apologize for.” Zaeed protested. “If it'll make you stop though, yeah, alright? I accept it.”

“Okay good, because Garrus said if I kept pacing in the mess area he was going to throw me out of an airlock.” Shepard laughed and grabbed the merc's arm, an action that would have resulted in a broken nose for nearly anyone else. “C'mon, I finally got Gardner those new ingredients he's been hounding me for. Let's see how well the evil genius works.”

…

Rupert didn't necessarily outdo himself with higher-grade ingredients, but even Zaeed had to admit that the new fare was a bit better than his usual grub.

He also had to admit that maybe...maybe he saw Shepard a little differently after her apology. A lot differently.

Goddammit.

This whole business had started out harmless enough. Somewhere along the way though, things had gotten goddamn messy in his head. Mass relay. Suicide mission. 'Your Illusive Man can move a lot of credits.'

And then they hadn't died. On the suicide mission. He would be the first person to tell anyone that he specified in impossible operations, but that one had tipped the scales significantly as far as his credibility went.

He told himself that he stuck around afterwards because Shepard goddamn owed him. She had promised that the contract he'd picked up prior to being hired would be seen through. Didn't mean he wasn't surprised all the same when she'd approached him to ask about Zorya. “I've done something for nearly everyone else.”

She would listen to his stories while she compacted the trash, quiet mechanical whirring barely audible over the heavy rasp of his voice. He regaled her with an assortment of his nostalgic tales, his ‘helluva’ fights’ and cautionary warnings about how smoking killed. “Got a minute? You might learn something.”

He couldn’t pinpoint exactly when he’d started looking forward to her visits. He’d rattle on with just about any willing ear, so it was strange when he found himself holding on to better chunks of a story and thinking, ‘Shep will love that’. It was strange when he ended up beside her on more and more of her missions, him and Grunt of all aliens, bless both of that poor, conflicted Krogan’s hearts. Helluva’ alien, that bastard, even with his shiny peach skin. Zaeed was hardly one to talk about appearances though.

It became normal at some junction of their adventures that he would shout at the Commander to get down!, to force her into cover. She didn’t seem to have an ounce of self-preservation in her genetic makeup. He supposed being brought back from the goddamn dead would do that to you but according to Joker, Shepard had always been that way.

“She protects with her whole body, Zaeed. A soldier to the end.” Joker had been uncharacteristically serious when he said that, the pilot’s eyes set straight forward.

Massani had heard mutterings of the fact that Joker was a large part of why Shepard had wound up dead in the first place. He imagined that guilt could weigh heavy on a man, especially if the dead person you had on your conscience was rebuilt from the ground up as a goddamn science-y mishmash of Frankenstein’s Monster proportions.

Goddamn Cerberus.

Her focus was absolute when they were on fieldwork. She would have been a damn good merc back in the Suns, if it wasn’t for that goddamn morality she carried like a backpack full of emotional bricks. Every damn life she could spare, she did. She didn’t even seem to give a shit that it made her look impotent, spineless until she pulled rank.

He still respected her leadership, of course. He knew as well as the next man that they couldn’t just lop the head off of every Batarian slaver. Zaeed’s favorite missions were still the ones where they had no other option but to fight their way out. With a roaring, blood-soaked Krogan on one side and a swearing, shotgun-toting Commander on the other, he felt like they could take on the world. If Jack was with them instead of Grunt, Shep tended to try and be more level-headed. For the sake of the self-proclaimed ‘Psychotic Biotic’.

He’d never had a Krogan fall asleep on his shoulder before he’d met Shepard. Never faced a Thresher Maw, and on foot no less. Certainly never dealt with a goddamn Human-Reaper hybrid, that had been one for the PTSD nightmare library and make no goddamn mistake. Those huge, glowing eyes and massive grasping metal fingers hungrily clawing their way around the platform. The strange part was that the worst bit wasn’t even that giant monster.

It was when he and Jack had already made their jump to the Normandy and that last sketchy platform had plummeted into the darkness, leaving Shepard on the other side of a gap that seemed to yawn wider with every second that passed. And of course she’d jumped, like a goddamn lunatic, and caught the rim of the hull door with her goddamn fingertips.

Jack had frozen, the biotic exhausted and horrified into being paralyzed. They were already crowding Joker in the tiny area as-is, the glass-boned pilot raining bullets down on the Collectors that had followed them. Zaeed did the only thing he could do. What any sane man would do, faced with the notion of someone goddamn important to him dying.

He sacked up and grabbed Shepard’s arm.

For a panicky moment his fingers slid over her smooth hardcase armor, then he found a groove where her elbow joint was and bit down. Shepard clung as high on his own arm as she could, her gauntlet digging into the tattooed skin between his armor plating.

They hung there for a breathless second that seemed to last a goddamn eternity. Zaeed would swear he could feel her pulse thundering even through her armor. She just looked up at him, and it disturbed him on a deep, rarely-visited level to see how peaceful she was. She would die here if she needed to. If it meant saving their lives. You selfless bitch, he remembered thinking in irrational fury, rage giving his weary body the strength it needed to pull her up onto the loading area. “Not goddamn today, you’re not.” Was all he’d grated out, shoving her face against his chest and crushing her to him.

Grunt had given him a light (by Krogan standards, anyway) headbutt in thanks for saving his Battlemaster. “She has no equal.”

“You’re goddamn right about that.”

Twenty-something years of mercenary experience laid at her feet. His revenge plan was shot to pieces and that damn irrational fury of his reared its ugly head. He'd considered her important enough to save, whether she knew that or not was irrelevant and he wasn't about to goddamn tell her. The cold chill that ran down his spine from having the muzzle of her pistol pressed to his forehead had nothing to do with the actual temperature of the weapon. She hadn't even cocked the damn thing. He could have easily torn the gun from her slack grasp, turned it on her.

Cerberus may be damn good at bringing people back from the dead, but Zaeed had the feeling that the Illusive Man wasn't quite so onboard with Shepard once she'd announced she was saving humanity her way. If Massani (or anyone else for that matter) put two in her head, she'd stay goddamn dead.

Yet he didn't, even in a blind, seething rage. He'd ruminated on that a bit during his vacation on Zorya. The fact that he'd even thought that was an option made his guts seize once he'd cooled his heels for a few days. And when it was apparent that he was well and truly alone (or as alone as one could be on a planet populated by a two-bit sham of the hostile force he had started with Vido), the regret had set in goddamn beautifully. He hadn't thought it would end quite like this. After all, that handsome amount of credits from the Illusive Bastard didn't do him any good holed up in a damp, humid cave.

“Got a minute? You might learn something.”

She had missed him. Tense emotions warred in his mind. Just how much had she missed him? Enough that she needed to get goddamn smashed at a party and fly God only knew how far to get back to Zorya, so...how much did that equal out to?

He wasn't about to ask. Better not to press his luck on that one. It was probably a legendary moment in the 'Commander Shepard' book that she admitted to being wrong in the first place. Not that she'd actually been wrong, he had drawn a gun on her with the absolute intent to kill. Old habits died hard, old mercenaries died even harder. She should have abandoned him.

“I don't want you on my ship.” There had been a quaver in her voice. He'd mistaken it for fury back then. “You're a danger to the others, Massani.”

“Goddamn leave then!” He'd screamed at her, all piss and vinegar even as he fought to free himself from beneath the heavy metal. “Go on! Nobody fucking asked you to goddamn stay, Commander!”

“I'm not leaving you to fucking burn Massani, Jesus. Give me your hand.” She'd grappled with him for a moment, Zaeed stubbornly avoiding her grasp until she gave an exasperated huff of breath and just lifted the whole beam off of him like it was made of cardboard. “Give me your fucking hand, old man.”

“Fuck you, you...self-righteous, goddamn mechanical husk of a bitch!” The raw insult had rolled off his tongue and she had the grace to fold her arms across her chest instead of slugging him in the mouth like she should have. She had confided in him a deep fear that she may not even be the real Shepard, but some gruesome approximation of Commander Shepard cooked up by Cerberus to gain the trust of humanity. Zaeed rarely fought fair though. “Standing up there all high and damn mighty like you didn't just cost me twenty years of my goddamn life!” He knew spit was flying at this point but he was too enraged to care, turning onto his back. “Look at my fucking face, Shepard! This goddamn ugly face that I see every goddamn day in the mirror! He took everything from me! My life, my livelihood, my men--everything!” He jabbed a finger at his own face, at the scars and non-functional eye. “You expect me to let a man walk free as a goddamn bird after he mutilated me?!”

“I expect you to understand that I didn't intend to cost you your closure, but I'm not standing by and watching civilians burn to death if I can help it, Massani. If you don't know that by now I guess there's no helping you.” She heaved a heavy sigh. “If you had just been straightforward about this-”

“-I would have gotten some grand speech for my goddamn trouble.” Zaeed had replied bitterly, the pain in his legs and ribs settling into a searing throb. “You and I both know you wouldn't have helped me kill Vido.”

“Never underestimate what I would do to help my friends.” Shepard answered through gritted teeth, extending a hand yet again. “We can drop you off on Omega.”

“Like fuck you will. Get the hell away from me.”

When he refused to take her hand for the second time, she had retracted it and clenched her fists tightly. She had left without another word, marching back to the Kodiak and not sparing him so much as a last glance over her shoulder or her infamous 'I should go'.

He'd figured that was it. Staggering and half-walking away from the area as best as he could, his patchy memory reminded him of one of his old hidey-holes. Upon arrival he'd collapsed, his knee giving out and his side momentarily hurting worse than anything else. Goddamn, he was too old for this shit. Zaeed grimaced when he heard the faint whine of the Kodiak’s engines.

So that was it, then. All because he just had to go in all cloak and goddamn dagger. Nobody could know that he was Zaeed Massani, betrayed co-founder of the Blue Suns. Couldn’t have let her know. Nope. Too risky.

Zaeed thumped his forehead against the cave wall and groaned.

I’m a goddamn fool.

…

Kasumi tipped him off before Shepard actually got to his room and Massani knew he shouldn’t ruin the surprise. He tried to be nonchalant, laying on his back in his bunk and doing his best to seem bored. Not difficult, due to the fact that he was going stir goddamn crazy being a layabout.

Shepard keyed the door open and practically ran across the room to his bunk. “Massani!” She said excitedly, a datapad gripped tightly in her hands. “A contact came through! Guess who we’ve got a bead on?”

Zaeed sat up slowly, took the datapad from her just as slow. Her smile began to fade while he tapped at the screen, the mercenary silently absorbing the new information about his target. “You…” Zaeed was at a loss for words yet again. His palms were sweating, adrenaline spiking because here it was, he hadn’t missed out on his revenge after all. Just delayed it a bit. “I…dammit woman, come here.” He said finally, standing up and pulling her into a tight embrace. “You goddamn clever little bitch.” He muttered affectionately, startled when she relaxed in his arms and made no move to leave. He cleared his throat, then gingerly rested his cheek on the top of her head. “Thank you for not giving up on me. Even when you tried to.” The words felt strange. This whole scenario felt strange.

“Someone has to make sure you’re not left to your own devices. It’s a big galaxy, but I don’t know if it’s big enough to contain you.” Shepard pulled back, smiled up at him and-

Oh no, oh goddamn no. Absolutely not. Zaeed was ashamed of himself for even considering that. What the hell was wrong with him? She’d just given him the keys to the goddamn castle and yet his greedy ass wanted the goddamn impossible. Zaeed stepped back, clearing his throat again. “Am I going alone, Commander?” Something in his chest pulled tight when he saw a bit of the excitement ebb out of her.

“I wanted to go with you, but…I mean, I can understand if you’d like to go in by yourself this time.”

“As if it would be a helluva’ fight without Commander Goddamn Shepard.” Zaeed replied before he could think, a stupid smirk quirking his mouth up. Her smile returned full-force and he decided that no matter what happened, that was important to him. “Any goddamn bleeding-heart collateral I have to worry about this time, Shep?”

…

Never underestimate what I would do for my friends.

They stormed into Vido’s shitty little emergency bunker (these places all looked the goddamn same after a little while) and before he could move, Shepard had her shotgun to his chest. “Remember us, Santiago?” She asked coldly.

Zaeed relished the fear in the other man’s eyes, the terrified confusion that slowly settled into recognition. “Should have known.” Vido snarled. His fingers twitched over the gun on his hip.

“You’re goddamn right you should have.” Spoiling for his revenge after he’d been cheated out of it last time, Zaeed snapped a fresh heat sink into his pistol and leveled the weapon at Vido’s head.

“Killing me isn’t going to fix anything, Zaeed. It’ll just make the Suns turn on each other. You really want to burn down everything that we built together?” Vido sounded incredulous.

“I’ve seen what your leadership made my men into already.” Zaeed prodded the muzzle of the pistol into Vido’s face, pressing it none-too-gently against the socket of his right eye. “They’re little better than goddamn guns for hire, you brainless fuck. Some of ‘em too young and stupid to be in charge of pulling a trigger.”

“I had to take care of the trash. It left our numbers weaker, even with the Batarians.” Vido’s eyes narrowed. “You and your fucking slaver hangups. If you weren’t such a bleeding-heart shitbag, I wouldn’t have had to put you--”

“I’m not ever going to be goddamn willing to deal in slavery, especially entire shipments of little goddamn kids!” Zaeed roared at the younger man, silencing him. “You’re paying for every goddamn shipment you ever sent through, with your life and the lives of the men you had stationed outside. You’re paying for what you did to me. And you’re paying for what you’ve done to the once-proud Suns.” Zaeed smiled then, a nasty, bone-chilling grin. “I’ll see you in hell, Vido.”

Vido had always been the faster gunman of the two of them. The bastard had his pistol raised and pressed point-blank to the Commander’s stomach before Zaeed could finish pulling the trigger on his own gun.

Their almost-synchronized shots rang in Zaeed’s ears and Shepard made a strangled noise. Vido tipped back over the bunk, his eyes rolled up in his head. His pistol dropped from his limp fingers and clattered onto the concrete floor. Shepard fell to one knee.

Never underestimate what I would do for my friends.

Zaeed wanted to scream. His throat went dry as a bone, his brain already calculating how quickly the Kodiak could make the trip. What the hell will Garrus say? He still had some medigel, maybe he could-

Shepard grunted and got back to her feet. “Ugh, knocked the wind out of me for a second. That’s gonna’ leave a bruise.” She grimaced, briskly dusting off the plating over her stomach before turning to the mercenary. “Alright, let’s-”

Zaeed jerked his pistol down into its holster, swept her up in his arms and pressed a kiss to her mouth. Greed be fucked, propriety be fucked. “What the fuck, woman?” He growled, immensely gratified by the way she tucked herself into his chest. “Christ, I was halfway to slinging you over my goddamn shoulder and hightailing it back to the Kodiak. You know damn well your nanny Garrus would tear me six new holes if something happened to you.”

“Didn’t you pay attention to all those upgrades I worked so hard to get?” She asked, lacing her fingers shyly through his own. “Lots of interesting specifications.”

“All I care about is the fact that your insides stayed where they goddamn belong.” Zaeed had never seen her so kittenish, she was practically kneading his armor. “Thought…hell, I thought I’d lost you for a second.”

She made a dismissive gesture. “It’ll take a lot more than that peashooter to stop me.”

“Goddamn right.” Zaeed realized that he’d put them in an incredibly compromising position with his idiotic emotions. “Look, Shep, I’m uh. I’m not exactly sure what you’re looking for in a…partner. I know you and Alenko had something, because I doubt you’d let just any goddamn punk upbraid you. I’m not a young man, not as spry as I used to be.” He shrugged awkwardly. “I’ve still got a few years in the tank, if you’re…er, interested.”

Shepard ducked her face into his chest and Zaeed saw her shoulders shake. His stomach dropped out. Had he disgusted her? Was he taking advantage of her at a moment of weakness? Christ, getting shot in the gut was still bound to bring back some unpleasant memories, better plating or no. But after a second he heard a stifled snort. She was laughing at him, the cheeky little bitch. “I mean, if you think you’ll be able to fend off the Alzheimer’s long enough for me to get some use out of you. I’d hate to have to visit you at the old folks home for date night.” She teased.

Zaeed found himself smiling without meaning to, gently knuckling the side of her head. “Goddamn lucky man, I am. Spending my last fragile years with an exciting young thing like yourself. You’ll have to go easy on me. My hips are a bit frail.” He squinted. “Also who the hell are you? I’ve forgotten my goddamn spectacles.”

Her laugh was delighted and it sent a warm shiver down his spine. Like the first, glorious taste of whiskey after a long tour away from Omega. He could tell he was in for a helluva’ time.

…

She was much younger than him, but it was good to know he still had it. He had promised to eat her out, hadn’t he?

He wasn’t sure what kind of action she’d gotten from Alenko. Kid was a biotic, so he probably had a few tricks up his sleeve. But judging from the way she was whimpering and squirming against his mouth, Zaeed got the feeling he didn’t need to worry too much. Her fingers dug into his short-cropped hair, making him hum softly.

This is goddamn perfect.

Zaeed paused, propping himself up to carefully kiss the bruise on her stomach. “You’re not taking another bullet for me ever again, got it?” He asked seriously, meeting her eyes. “I’m goddamn firm on this one, Shep. I’m not one foot in the grave but I’m sure as hell ahead of you on the list. So please.” He rested his forehead there for a minute, unable to maintain eye contact. “You’d better be goddamn careful from here on out.”

“I will be. I promise.” She said softly, still kitten-kneading on his scalp. Zaeed ducked back down to finish what he’d started, fingers pressing into her beneath his hungry tongue. He loved the way she rolled and bucked her hips like she couldn’t get enough of him. Scarred, grizzled bastard that he was, every twitch and whine was absolutely stroking his ego.

“Goddamn come for me, Shep.” He snarled finally, feeling her quiver. “You’d best goddamn come, hear me? Come on my mouth, because I’m not putting my cock in you until you do. Come for me, come for me-” Shepard sobbed out, working her hips up at him and then going totally still as she came. Zaeed greedily devoured her, the high-pitched noises that she offered him almost as delicious as her taste. Her hands trembled in his hair and he chuckled when she yanked on a handful. “You alright up there, Shep?”

“He asks, like he didn’t just give me the best oral I’ve ever had.” Shepard was still panting for breath, smiling that goddamn smile.

Zaeed was sure his own grin was outright insufferable. “Picked up a few tricks here and there. You still up for round two?”

“Give it your best shot, old man.”

“I goddamn intend to.” Zaeed languidly crawled up over her, pressing kisses here and there on the way to her mouth. “Helluva’ woman, you are.” He said quietly, feeling almost reverent as he kissed the hollow of her throat. “Putting up with an old merc like me. Hell, coming back for an old merc like me. I’m goddamn honored, Shep.”

She cupped his face and pressed their foreheads together, searching his eyes. Zaeed glanced away, clearing his throat, but she just turned his head gently. “Don’t hide from me, Massani.”

“Love it when you’re forceful, Commander.” He teased, getting her to smile again. The first lazy brush of his cock over her cunt had her closing her eyes and relaxing underneath him. Her hands slid to his shoulders, fingers resting on the tattooed skin while he slowly pushed the head of his cock into her. Zaeed meant to hum again but it came out as a growl and she trembled all over at the sound. “Goddamn Christ, Shep, not hurting you right?” He managed to ask.

Her response was a growl of her own, her fingernails raking over his arm. “More.” She demanded and he found himself unable to do anything but obey.

“Yes ma’am.”

He would never forget their first time together. Every touch, every taste was burned into his memory. She kept gently caressing the scarred side of his face, like she was trying to remind him that it didn’t matter, she didn’t care. Zaeed had never really been one for meaningful sex before he’d had half his goddamn face blown off, even less so after he’d healed. For obvious reasons. So it was…odd, to be alright with someone touching that part of him. Especially while they were being intimate.

“It’s not goddamn fair that you’re so good to me.” He grunted, brushing the hair out of her eyes and cupping the back of her neck to press their foreheads together (albeit clumsily, this was new territory). Her eyes were half-lidded, hazy with pleasure that sent a hot wave of satisfaction down his spine. He was doing well, her little sighs and moans of his name (his name!) encouraging him to continue, “That’s right, Shep, that’s right.” He rasped, not sure if he was smiling or smirking and not much caring either way. “I’m goddamn close, so if you’re planning on getting off again you’d better-”

Her teeth sank into the Suns tattoo on his neck, hard enough to break the skin. Zaeed faltered, legitimately embarrassed by the pitch of the noise he made. His hips crushed down to slot with her own and she keened through her teeth, her inner walls gripping his cock.

“You wicked little bitch.” He gasped when he trusted his voice again, resting his forehead against her shoulder as she came with a scream muffled by the skin of his neck. “I love you.”

She responded by digging her fingers into his spine and taking him as deep as she could, biting and licking feverishly at the tattoo on his neck. “Love you--too-” She panted, and Zaeed closed his eyes and surrendered to her.

When he could feel his extremities again, Zaeed rolled onto his back. His arms were absolutely screaming at him and he got the feeling his back would not be far behind. It had been years since he could attribute the soreness to something good, though. She shifted to her side, the two of them laying in companionable breathlessness.

“God damn.” She announced with authority, making him burst out laughing. “Guess you might have a few good years left in you after all.”

“I aim to please, Shep. Afraid my recovery time is going to disappoint.” Zaeed stretched his arms over his head, groaning quietly. “Goddamn worth every ache.” He murmured, more content than he could remember being in ages.

She tucked herself into his side after a moment, tugging her sheet up over the two of them. “Thank you.” The words were mumbled against his chest so softly he almost missed them.

“For goddamn what, Shep?”

“Forgiving me.” She twiddled her fingers and refused to meet his eyes. “I…I know I already apologized, but…”

“It’s a goddamn shit gig, being the savior of humanity. Can’t do hardly anything without some goddamn asshole judging you for it. Can’t maroon some insubordinate, belligerent old fuck on a hostile planet without feeling like a bad person for doing it.” Zaeed tapped the bridge of her nose. “I’ve had much worse done to me by men who I’ve known for goddamn decades longer than you, Shep. You’ll have to try harder the next time you want to get rid of me.” He eased an arm around her shoulders, settling her in comfortably beside him. “So, Big Goddamn Hero, what’s next on your Reaper to-do list?”

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thomaspredestined-blog · 7 years

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Untitled (The Table at Cana Event I).

(This was written in two hours and completely unedited. I apologize for how poorly written it is and that I didn’t come up with a witty, clever title.)

Welcome out to Event I for The Table at Cana. Please give a huge round of applause to your bar staff! We didn’t know what to expect tonight, so please bear with them as they pour your beers, grab your Coke and popcorn, and so on. Personally, I want to thank each of you for coming out tonight. It means way more than I can express.

So, starting out, I guess we should address the first elephant in the room. The print out in front of you says “Grant Butler.” I’m not Grant. Due to some issues that I’ll let him speak on, he had to cancel. Today. I wrote this at 2:30pm at a bar while drinking a beer, anxiously sweating, and listening to a metal band called Necrot. I would have written it at home, but it was way too easy to watch the new episode of SNL and nap there.

And the second elephant… What is this? Why is this?

This, this thing, The Table at Cana, was born about a dozen years ago. Sundance Channel aired a documentary series about a dude named Jay Bakker. From those Bakker’s, yes. Jim and Tammy Faye were his parents. When their empire fell apart, he fell with them. Ended up with a pretty gnarly drug addiction. The documentary picks up shortly after he gets clean and comes back into the faith he grew up in. Only he’d changed. He started his ministry, Revolution Church, in a bar in Phoenix, AZ, moved it to Atlanta, and then New York, before finally ending up in Minnesota, of all places.

Revolution Church focused on meeting people where they were, using real conversations about real life with honest, real, frank language. Some dirty. And since people are always in bars, that’s where they began. His church has always been focused on LGTBQ+ inclusion and rights.

I stole his idea during college. The only difference was we added a cover band that would play Tom Petty followed by Hillsong tracks. Someone would get up and speak. We had an anonymous text line, like we do now, for people to send in any questions they had about any topic, struggle, issue, etc.

I took my favorite parts of that and decided to build this. Which is a really polite way of saying I completely stole his idea this time around. Currently, it’s set up to happen once a month. If we build a following that wants something more, bigger, whatever, then we will revisit that. Given that this is a 21+ venue, I assumed once a month would allow for people to get sitters for their kids and whatnot.

For someone who grew up in the church, and left it over a number of important issues, this feels more tangible to me. There’s no worship band playing incredibly boring, uninspired ballads that could either be about God or a girl. And that’s not knocking the worship team where I currently go to church. They’re solid players and even better people. However, the music itself is just…blah.

And then there’s the announcements and the greeting and the teaching and the altar calls and all of that. There’s no discussion. It’s one opinion, and unfortunately, sometimes there’s no application or take-away. Plus, the person speaking, typically, has to answer to a board of elders or a council or other words that American capitalistic Christianity has co-opted. It’s a business and Sunday mornings feel like a product launch or press release.

This is not that. I don’t want it to be that. If it gets to that point, I will shut it down. I have scheduled a number of different folks with different backgrounds, theological points of view, and teaching styles to come here and hang out with us for an hour and a half once a month. I’m not asking them to do specific topics or speak to specific issues. They have free reign to say what they want, knowing that the only requirement is they have to be open to discuss and, possibly, defend their point of view after the teaching portion is complete.

They’re also invited to stick around for the Q&A after the discussion. Which is entirely open to whatever you wanna talk about, by the way. It would be super easy for me (well, not today) to get up here with a prepared lesson, a fully defensible stance, backed up with scripture and quotes and so on, and feel good about what I’d taught and what I’d done. But, when we leave the lesson and venture into real lives, that’s where it becomes solely about the relationships that we’re building. Which is ultimately the goal. I want us to grow into a community.

As this evolves, I see us doing events in town. I’d like for us to partner with Guardian when they go out and paint houses. I’d like for us to have some sort of space at something like Brewfest or Muncie Gras or somewhere where we can meet specific, in the moment, tangible needs. I want this to grow into a force in town.

And the first way that we show love, be a force, do good as a community is by tipping well. Very, very well.

So, all of this was born out of distaste for how the church operates in today’s world. It was born out of how the church, seemingly, fails to meet people where they are. I work in a bar and meet people every day that don’t expect me to be religious or a professed Christian because of how I make my money. They catch flak from their specific faith communities for having a beer or getting some dinner in a place that sells beer. I meet people all the time that have horror stories about the nonsense they’ve put up with from the church. Grant, the dude who was originally scheduled to speak tonight, caught hell from one of the elders in his church for having a beer in public on the night Grant’s wife died.

Even with this thinly veiled contempt for the American Church, I am actively pursuing a career in ministry. And, almost as a precursor to me having to speak today, yesterday afternoon, I received an email from a church who’d seen my resume and heard my teachings and wanted me to fill our their application. Question #6 under the “Christian Involvement” section on their application was, “After reading the following documents linked below, is there anything in those statements that you would object to?” They then provided links to The Nashville Statement, which is a hate crime dressed in cherry picked scripture, The Chicago Statement on Biblical Inerrancy and The Cambridge Declaration, which are both laughable ideas of the Bible, not literally, but you know, literally, being God.

I was almost offended that someone could have heard me teach, read my resume, and statement of faith, and think that I would be cool with those statements.

I wrote back the following:

Unfortunately, given the amount of hardcore pornography I view on a semi-regular basis (none of that gay stuff, though), I am unable to open the links you provided me. With how progressive Nashville, Chicago, and Massachusetts are, or at least how I perceive them to be, I bet all those links are full of that gay loving, snowflake praising, participation trophy giving kinda Christianity. And to that, I say no thank you. I want my God to be angry and my Bible to be better than Him.

And after I sent them the application back, welling with pride at my capacity for artful snark, I realized how wrong I was. My response was beyond uncalled for. I was fighting a violent, misogynistic, homophobic, douchey church with sarcasm, snark, and my own blend of douchery and hate.

I immediately thought of Matthew 9, when Jesus calls Matthew.

Matthew, a tax collector, is sitting at his tax collection booth. You know, just collecting taxes and being generally hated, when Jesus walks by. In my mind, this is a weird version of the farmer’s market here in town. Except more people and less deodorant. People with booths selling things and others milling about, thumbing though the booths. But, you know, no sausage sandwiches with pepper jelly, or delicious vegan baked goods, or free-range, organic, non-murdered meat options.

So, Jesus sees Matthew sitting there, tells Matthew to follow him, and Matthew gets up and follows. Boom. Done.

This is also the book of Matthew, so I highly doubt he’s gonna point out how many stupid questions he asked Jesus or how they argued or how long he took to close up the booth before following Jesus.

And that night, Matthew invites his new pal Jesus over for dinner. So, they’re breaking bread, sharing a beer (maybe they ordered some pizza from Cousin Vinny’s who has online ordering and delivers here) and the leaders of the church see this and then ask Jesus’s disciples, “Why’s your boy eating with sinners and tax collectors?”

Essentially, they’re saying, “Why’s he associating with the kind of people WE have decided are unclean? Unworthy? Not us? Why does your teacher not adhere to the binary thinking that we deem to be holy?”

Jesus flexes his superhuman ability here and hears them ask the question. His response is hilarious, biting, and perfect.

He says, “It’s not the sick who need a doctor. Go and learn what Hosea 6:6 means.” I’m paraphrasing, by the way. I had a few hours to knock this out. Get off my back, Josh.

So, because we’re not biblical scholars like the Pharisees were, and we don’t have the whole of the Jewish scriptures memorized, especially the first book of the minor prophets, we go to Hosea.

And, because I firmly believe in a contextual understanding and reading of the text, we start in Hosea 6:4 -

What can I do with you, Ephraim? What can I do with you, Judah?

This is God speaking through Hosea here. It’s got the ring of a disappointed parent, right? I imagine Hosea delivering this line with his fists on his hips…

Your love is like the morning mist, like the early dew that disappears. Therefore I cut you in pieces with my prophets, I killed you with the words of my mouth— then my judgments go forth like the sun.

And now, Hosea 6:6, the killing blow, the Pharisees emasculation by the Christ, the Christ’s sickest burn is delivered when he says to learn what this means…

For I desire mercy, not sacrifice, and acknowledgment of God rather than burnt offerings.

Boom. Take that, ya’ dummies!

Jesus just told you that God wanted mercy over legalism. God wants your heart more than your actions. You bunch of idiots.

Hahaha.

You suck. Jesus just told you how you missed the whole point. How it’s mercy, not your stupid way of understanding the rules.

Mercy trumps intelligence, you dumb shi…

Yeah. That’s when the irony hit me. Here I was completely justifying being a jerk to people I’d never met because I’m 99.99% positive that they’re wrong. I was using how right I was, how well I was interpreting the text, how good I was for showing mercy to everyone (except the dicks who didn’t show mercy to those I did) as my own form of legalism.

Lately, I’ve been dealing quite a bit with just how much I hate the church. How badly I want to see the institution of American Christianity burn to the ground. How I’d love to be the one who nails the doors shut, pours out the gasoline, and lights the match. We’ve turned the temple into the savior. We’ve turned the institution into what it’s supposed to point toward. And in doing so, we’ve failed our communities and each other.

My desire to see it destroyed, my anger, has become my god. I’ve found myself sacrificing on the altar of hating the church. I’ve gone out of my way to destroy the grotesque, antiquated, conservative, outdated, banal Christianity that is so prevalent in America today. I got into an argument with a missionary on a Facebook comment thread because I just knew I was in the right. Yeah. I’m not proud of it, either. I literally ended the argument with, “This conversation is pointless. I’ll go ahead and remove the speck from my eye and will pray you can remove the log. With love, brother.”

Here’s to burnt offerings without acknowledgment.

12 years ago, I started this thing in hopes to subvert the campus church I was being forced to attend twice a week. I wanted nothing to do with this corporate, business model church that operated with a budget and bottom line and board and so on. I wanted a punk rock revolution in the church. I wanted that DIY spirit to find itself manifested within a group of people that lived within a community and did more for the community, in the name of that community, in the spirit of that community than the church did.

But, if we keep shopping at Walmart because of the savings, Walmart keeps winning. And, in my previous experience with this, the monopoly beat out the mom and pop. The school threatened to expel those of us involved in our bar community. They used their law to subvert our mercy. And we shrank away, hoarding kindling for the fire.

I firmly believe that Hosea 6:4-6 stands as clearly for us today as it did for the kingdoms of Israel. The love of the church evaporates as quickly as morning fog or dew. It’s painfully fickle. When you’re following what your particular church’s doctrine allows, all is well. But, the minute that you find yourself questioning penal substitutionary atonement, five point calvinism, or why listening to GWAR is of the devil, you suddenly find yourself on the outside of a community you used to enjoy.

We are a people of rule and law. We take comfort in the simple black and white, dualistic nature of rules. You do this, you’re good. You do that, you’re bad. But, the Bible, the teachings of Jesus, life, they all have grey areas. They have multiple dimensions. They have variables that are unaccounted for in a black and white understanding of things.

We are called to show mercy over sacrifice. We are called to move always towards love over law. And, given the current social and political climate, what could be more powerful? When the church leaders of the Christ’s day were too cowardly to come to him and ask what he was doing, when they asked why he was eating with those they deemed unclean, when they questioned why he wasn’t following the LAW, he responded by telling them to get bent. Well, you know, nicer. He tells them to understand what Hosea 6:6 means. He told a group of people who prided themselves on understanding scripture to go learn the meaning of scripture. Absolutely hilarious. And brutal. The kids today would say it was “hashtag savage.”

I hate Joel Osteen and his particular brand of get-rich biblical nonsense. I hate Pat Robertson and Jerry Falwell (Jr. and Sr.) because they seem to think that Christianity should be legislated. It should become the fourth branch of the government. They fail to realize that Christ stood in direct opposition to Empire. I hate Franklin Graham and the fact he’s riding daddy’s coattails into the conservative, xenophobic, Christian faith hall of fame. Get your own schtick, man.

Denny Burk. John Piper. James Dobson. JP Moreland. JI Packer. Tony Perkins.

And every other coward who signed the Nashville Statement is offering sacrifice over mercy. And every moment I spend hating them, hating what they stand for, hating the church and Christ that they represent to the world at large is a moment of me not understanding Hosea 6:6. It’s a moment of me aligning myself, at least in action, with their brand of anti-inclusive douchery.

If you’re a church leader in here and you’ve got an open position, know that I’ll never agree with that pile of steaming dog crap, nor will I agree with the cowards who are so untrusting of God’s plan that they have to document their bigotry. With that being said, though, I have been convicted to show them mercy. Which is why I stopped at dog crap and didn’t go on to call them any of the other “C” words I know.

I’m not afraid of atheists or skeptics turning the world away from God. I’m worried about those focused more on the law, the legalistic, exclusive, fundamentalist, conservative talking points. I’m worried about those who do not bestow mercy. I’m worried about those who do not acknowledge how big, loving, inclusive, strong God can be. I’m worried about those that would compartmentalize the creator of all into a gay bashing, gender conforming, bearded white dude.

The minute that we use our freedom, whether it be one we’re allegedly born into, or one we are born again into, to marginalize, subjugate, or enslave those outside that freedom, we have gone astray. The Table at Cana has meaning. It has purpose. It has a design.

The Table is an inclusive place where all are welcome to sit. All. Whether it be the asexual, the agender, the transgender, the gay, the straight, the white, the black, the oppressor, or the oppressed. All are welcome to come and sit. All are welcome to pull up a chair and buy me a pint of Frank the Tank.

Cana was where the Christ performed his first recorded miracle. It’s where he turned water into wine. It’s where he kicked the party into a higher gear.

So, we are an inclusive community, welcoming all, to party with us. I would ask, if you choose to continue growing with this community, hold me to the Hosea 6:6 standard. Do not let me get too caught up in my own form of legalism. Hold yourself to that same standard. Do not let your tendencies, thoughts, or actions dissuade you from welcoming all who would show up. Unless they’re a Pearl Jam fan. Pearl Jam fans are every bit as awful of those who signed the Nashville Statement and twice as pretentious.

Jesus was brutal with the Pharisees. That’s because they knew the scriptures. He held them to a higher standard. They made their living, a good, comfortable living, off the backs and minds and hearts of those in their community. And he called them out when they weren’t doing right by that community. They knew how God had, time and again, shown the Israelites mercy and grace, and they were unwilling to show that same kindness to their communities. And because of that, he made fools of them over and over.

He didn’t burn down the temple. He didn’t smite them. He didn’t even remove them from power. He simply pointed out how wrong they were and gave them the chance to correct their behavior.

And, that’s where I wanna be. That’s where I want this and us to be. Given what happened with Grant today, it’s incredibly easy to continue the cycle of hatred and anger towards the church. Especially in this place, outside of the church. But, we’re called to live above and beyond that. We’re called to mercy, not law. We’re called to acknowledge and follow the one above it all, as opposed to merely go through the motions of holiness.

I’m sorry for how unprepared this has been. I’m sorry that it’s jumped all over the place and seems like I wrote it this afternoon. I finished it two hours ago and haven’t had time to edit it or really organize it like I normally would.

We’re gonna open things up for a discussion now. The discussion is to be aimed more at what I spoke about, at least initially. The anonymous text line number is on the paper in front of you. That’s a Google Voice number tied to a dummy Google account that has no contacts in. So, unless I have your number memorized, which is my mom and my wife, I won’t know who’s texting me. If you don’t want to ask your question out loud, if you’re nervous or afraid or whatever, use the number. Join in on the conversation how you can. As you go through your week, you can also use that number if you need to vent, talk, send pictures of your pet, or whatever.

If the discussion wanes, or if no one is interested in that, we’ll move into a question and answer time. This is solely directed by y’all. Whatever you have questions about, as it pertains to faith, God, the church, the Christ, etc., feel free to ask. I’m not gonna explain where babies come from and I’m sure as hell not going to tell you what beer you should get next. They’re all delicious.

I’m gonna pray a prayer of benediction over us before we end this time of “teaching” and move on. You don’t have to bow your head, close your eyes, or take off your hat if you don’t want to.

As much as I hate Paul, I’m pulling this benediction from Romans 15. Let us be benedicted:

May the God of endurance and encouragement grant you to live in such harmony with one another, in accord with Christ Jesus, that together you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.

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