#pls i like oversharing.. always looking for an opportunity to do that (that's an open invitation for any question btw)

[daz4i]

see i really wanna do nsfw ask games but i don't wanna do em on my sideblog bc. i have 80 followers there and many of them are dead blogs. but also do i really wanna expose myself on my main blog like that

[azure-steel]

@mercyxkilling​ said: “can i kiss you?” other crew members be damned, she didn’t care. let them have their show if they wanted to watch. Send "Can I kiss you?" to see how my muse responds - No Longer Accepting

Pls accept and enjoy this lil ficlet about these babs. Because of you my adoration for this franchise has be revived TENFOLD and I just can’t get enough of these two being so disgustingly adorable together.

I adore you and your amazing muse so much, and I should tell you more   (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

It All Happens In The Mess Hall~Cloud x Mercy a Mass Effect Story.

It was possibly the one place aboard Mercy’s ship where Cloud spent the majority of his time, that and this was where his relationships with the rest of the crew members began to gain any real traction. A neutral ground where it became so very apparent that almost every member of this ragtag group was here for the same reason. To earn a few credits and perhaps sate a thirst for a little adventure. 

And they all loved their captain with every fibre of their being. 

Cloud had spent the initial weeks of his time amongst the crew largely by himself, but this was nothing really new; naturally coy the task of attempting to relate to others was laborious at best. Even as a member of T’Loak’s court had he been a man one on his own, not that there was any love lost there whatsoever. It had never truly been a problem, not when alcohol and red sand was in copious supply and enough of an escape from the arduous day to day life living amongst the rest of the filth occupying the Omega station. Moreover this environment was so wholly different, wholesome almost, to a fault, and the longer he spent on the outside of this tight-knit collective, the longing to be included began to eat away at him. Often would he remove himself from the hall when the crew would filter in, sensing all those eye puncturing the flesh between otherwise broad shoulders. They didn’t trust him, and they had every reason to be wary.

Shotgun - a battle worn Krogan mercenary - was the first to approach him here in the mess hall, though it was after Cloud had all but shit himself believing this guy was about to pop his head like a zit (Listen... this bastard is BIG and looks very angry almost always, can’t blame a guy for feeling just a tad intimidated beneath his shadow) that he came to realise Shotgun was very interested in the firearm he was servicing at that time. 

A rather worn and very well loved M-300 Claymore - A Krogan weapon. 

A common ground was established in that moment, taking root and from that grew an unlikely friendship between them, and for a time the pair were seemingly inseparable. It was the first time in a long while in which Cloud was reduced to fits of laughter at the Krogan’s many stories, and, boy, did he have a lot of those. Maybe some were a little far fetched and embellished, but it really didn’t matter. The guy was hilarious, and Strife very much enjoyed his company, even if the guy liked to overshare on occasion. Discovering that male Krogan have four testicles dangling between their legs was enough nightmare fuel to keep the blond awake for two nights straight after the fact. And needless to say maintaining eye contact with Shotgun had been a little more difficult than usual for a few days until Strife had eventually gotten over himself. At least he knew where the term ‘QUADS’ originated now... 

No wonder Krogan were so pissed about the Genophage, all things considered of course; these guys were clearly breeding machines as well as living breathing tanks, evolved over millennia for the very purpose of brutal warfare, civil or otherwise. It seemed the Salarians and the Turians had a lot to answer for.  

Still, oversharing and absurd knowledge about alien reproductive organs aside, the mess hall, and Shotgun’s kinship was the beginning of Cloud’s gradual unification with the rest of the team. As far as he was concerned, Mercy had very little to do with that aspect, though he knew very little of the woman and what gears she was working behind the scenes. He was, unfortunately not privy to the private smiles she kept hidden in the shadows when she would spy his social development amongst the men she cared so deeply for; he had no true reason at that point to believe she even cared about it. Though Cloud had every reason to figure that simply having him onboard, despite the toxic levels of contention his presence here initially - and unsurprisingly - wrought, was enough for her men to decide that he was, at the very least, useful; a first for him really. 

But Shotgun had done well to push open the door left ajar by their comrades and gave Cloud a golden opportunity to further still this usefulness he’d never been able to appreciate before now. He would help Vinnie during meal prep even if Cloud was only the busboy for the most part, setting tables, clearing them, washing dishes; all part and parcel of mucking in as it were and it seemed the older guy appreciated the aid. And the Turian Brothers - Adavixus and Artisius - would sometimes invite him to play in their tournaments of Numerfictil whenever Cloud was present in the mess; a game very similar to dominoes where decorative tiles with strange symbols were used to beat those already placed upon the board. It took a while for Strife to learn what each symbol meant, but the brother’s persevered with the highest level of patience. Other crew mates would join on occasion, bringing to the table cloudy bottles of homebrewed lager fermented from alien fruits beneath one of many heating vents on the ship; often pungent, almost always violently potent in which contests between the humans were born to see who could stomach the most ‘poison’ in one sitting. 

Cloud almost always lost those bets and would suffer greatly for them the following day. Though never would he complain, even when the hangover rendered him practically useless and crumpled agonisingly deep in the darkest recesses of the communal shower block. To be gathered amongst comrades around the smallest table in the mess, to be shunted playfully via the shoulders and included in the guffaws and jests from the mouths of men hailing from all walks of life and the far reaches of the galaxy, he’d be stupid to trade it in for anything else. They’d dubbed him Strifey - and he liked that more than he cared to mention. To be included, to form meaningful bonds, for all of his sorry life, that was all he’d ever wanted and it had taken him until now to even realise it.  

He was beginning to like it here, along with all the colourful people surrounding him. How strange it felt to begin associating a star-fairing ship as home. 

The trust was building, and for the first time for as long as he could even dare to recall, Cloud was being greeted with welcoming nods, hard slaps to the shoulder and raised hands on his commute to the days tasks either in the mess or the engine room where Darius resided, a rather strapping Italian-American man honing a booming voice but with the patience of a doting father teaching his son how to maintain the family vehicle. He was beginning to enjoy the eyewatering stink of engine oil and general man stink, and Darius was all about teaching his new protégé everything he could about ‘Nova’s’ inner workings and how to maintain her. 

Even his relationship with the previously emotionally elusive captain had begun to flourish. In the beginning Cloud was under no illusion that his biotic abilities were of some great interest to her. She honed similar attributes even if her gift was granted to her under very different circumstances. Yet Mercy would pick at him, complain about the state of his armour - as shoddy as it was but fit like an old favourite slipper hence his reluctance to do anything about it - though with an air of comedic affection laced from an otherwise viciously sharp tongue. On occasion she would reprimand him when his performance was lacklustre, when his actions or lack thereof became detriment to the collective of her crew. He didn’t like those days, to be reminded of his flaws and failings, and yet, from those instances began what could be considered a strange flurry of respect for a woman deemed hostile from anyone on the outside looking in. Because never in those instances did she beat him down, but drove into him how she didn’t believe he was better than what he was giving, but that she knew it to be true. Another instance where, for the first time, he was given food for thought, something to chew and improve on. 

Some hard lessons were learned this way, and her methods were brutal often resulting in volatile spats the whole ship could hear, yet somehow Mercy seemed to know that a firm hand was needed to keep the newest member of her team grounded, and no mistake was ever repeated twice. Yet after all of that, apologies for her hard hitting words would be delivered mostly without fail, once again, in the comfort of the mess hall. Cloud, of course, would take them with the upmost humility. She was the captain after all, her word aboard her ship, was as good as the word of any God. 

Despite all of this, with every mission Strife would be on the front lines with her, standing down heavy fire from the enemy and teaming up with this formidable and outrageously powerful woman to deliver precise and deadly attacks. And it was the culmination of that power, coupled with the harsh demands to be better where a whole new problem began to develop deep in the recesses of his cluttered head. Cloud didn’t recognise it at first, all he knew for certain was he was frustrated, and Mercy’s presence seemed to aggravate that issue exponentially. It wasn’t until she invited a stranger into her cabin some weeks after that the penny finally dropped. 

He was falling for her. And the sight of her bringing that man into her intimate space was a pain like no other, so much so that it fractured something inside of him he wasn’t sure he could even fix.

White-hot jealousy began to override his good senses, unable to shake the notion that it wasn’t him occupying the spaces in her bed, and throwing himself into work was doing so very little to alleviate the devastation of - once again - being on the outside looking inward. Wishing to be a part of something so very far out of his reach. 

But what could he do? Cloud knew of other crew members trying their luck and getting knocked back. He didn’t think he could handle that level of humiliation, and so he settled into a foul gloomy limbo of wanting her and never being able to have her. Residing to live vicariously through his own sexual fantasies and fucking his pillow whenever he was alone. Pathetic didn’t even come close to how he viewed his own behaviour, when he was reserved and snippy with her, yet utterly miserable was much closer to the truth than he truly wanted to admit, even to himself. Strife had even tried Mercy’s methods of attempting to deal with his predicament, inviting attractive tail onto her ship with the intent of getting his end away in a bid to alleviate the intolerable pressure building in his loins. A failed attempt at best when all he was able to talk about was his disdain for his captain and how she made him feel so damn desperate. Needless to say that instance was a flop at its very finest. 

It was Mercy he wanted, not some loose broad dragged in from a club. No one else's interest could even come close to what he wanted from her. 

Though it wasn’t long after that instance that things began to change; where he would catch her watching him only for her quickly turn away when their gazes locked. Where she would begin to make excuses to touch him, softly, so tenderly, be that with fingers through his hair in the guise of innocent curiosity, or the slow sensual dances illuminated by the strobe lights of every bar and club they’d visit. Where hands roamed over broad planes of covered flesh and set his soul on fire. Where times spent simply talking in the observation deck had drawn them closer, noses bumping together while he’d begin to drown in the warm honey of her eyes, swept away on the winds of every exhale, unable to fight against the gravity of her, and relishing how his heart pounded against the walls of his chest in eager anticipation of that very first kiss. 

Cloud was so fucking ready to fall in love with her, to plummet beyond that point of no return only encouraged by her imploring hands and those heavy lust filled hues. To kiss her, touch her, make sweet love to her and make her his. Even if they were interrupted each and every time by convenient obstacles in the form of Benny and Vinnie. 

It all came to a head during one of their many sparring sessions, tensions released as they fucked like animals on the cold floor of the training room, where she’d cried his name and nothing in the galaxy had ever sounded so sweet, where the sharp grazes running across his shoulders had never hurt so good, marked to claim him as hers together with the sensual rocking of hips and desperate pleading moans. And there on after Cloud was common presence in those spaces in her bed, peeling away the layers, touching her in her most intimate places, securing hot wet kisses against scorched flesh while she straddled his waist and rode him beyond that sheer edge of rapture itself. No amount of booze nor substances could compare to this addiction, just her hands on him was enough to make him hard, just her lips moaning his name hotly against the shell his ear enough to make him cum, for her and only her over, and over, and over again. 

Wild and untameable was she, and he wouldn’t change her for all the credits in all of Citadel Space; no finer feeling had he ever experienced to know that she, this apparition of everything Cloud knew to be beautiful, inside and out, had chosen him in the end.  

Keeping their relationship from the rest of the crew was impossible, they were too obvious with how they merely looked at one another, the way they had started to protect one another in battle, how they were caught so many times locking lips within the shadows of corridors. Yet even then, everyone knew, if the knowledge of their relationship wasn’t widely accepted as being out in the open, it was still very much common knowledge. And for her men at least, harbouring that information was insufferable. 

Until one day, in the usual place where the crew gathered, where she would muscle Shotgun out of his seat next to Cloud to claim it as her own, and she looks at him from beneath those long dark lashes and the words “Can I kiss you?” oozed from her lips like the finest syrup. Cloud gazes back, baby blue’s dropping to her mouth before flickering upwards once more to meet with those gorgeous honey glazed eyes. He doesn’t offer an answer, least not a verbal one, choosing instead to close that distance, his mouth enclosing those glorious luscious lips with the softest of coquettish sighs. 

And much to the gleeful appreciation of the crew sat amongst them, jeering and whooping in a sort of celebration for this affection they’d found in the most unexpected of circumstances. 

Because like everything here aboard the Nova, it all happens in the mess hall.