Characters: John Shepard, Emily Wong
Location: Citadel, Hotel "Solaris"
"They say you've been busy. Congrats on taking down Fist."
The voice snapped Captain Shepard out of his thoughts. He gave his head a quick shake, trying to clear the darker clouds from his mind, and turned toward the woman standing by the info kiosk.
Emily Wong. A rising star in Citadel media circles — well known in certain tight-knit networks, though at the moment the Alliance officer couldn't care less.
Normandy had docked at the Citadel barely half an hour ago, and Shepard was already in a foul mood, thanks to not one, but two run-ins in quick succession. First it was Admiral Mikhailovich — who seemed to genuinely enjoy picking fights with lower-ranking officers — and then that smirking reporter from Westerland News. Shepard hadn't caught her full name… Larisa? Karissa? Something with a vaguely Arabic ring to it. He couldn't remember. Either way, she'd been even nastier than the Admiral — prying into every operational detail like a professional pain in the ass. Shepard had to fight the urge to smash that smug grin right off her face.
He held himself back — but it took real effort.
So yeah, the commander's mood was already sour by the time he stepped onto the residential level leading toward the markets. His mind was still buried in grim thoughts — until her voice pulled him out. He smoothed his face into something neutral and turned toward the source. Emily Wong was a cute, sharp-featured young Asian woman with a trim little body, dressed in a simple blue dress that flattered her figure just enough to be noticed. And just like before, her energy hit him like caffeine.
The moment she saw he was paying attention, she lit up.
"I had a hunch Fist was a key player in all this mess," she said, eyes alive with anticipation. "Did you find anything in his office that might help my investigation?"
To be fair, after that shootout in Fist's club, Shepard had copied some data from the bastard's personal terminal. The thing was, everything had spiraled out of control since then — rescuing the quarian Tali, recruiting her into the squad, getting promoted to Spectre status, new gear orders, Council briefings… It was a lot. The data on his omni-tool had slipped his mind completely.
Emily hadn't forgotten. Shepard gave her a mental nod for the memory. And another, less friendly one, for being so damn persistent. Still, he nodded and pulled up his omni-tool.
"I'll transfer you a copy of the drive. Might be something useful on there," he said, initiating the file transfer protocol.
Emily practically squealed with delight. She must've assumed he'd completely forgotten his promise — but Shepard wasn't the kind of man to make promises lightly.
"You actually have Fist's data? I didn't even let myself hope!" she beamed, scanning the incoming files on her data pad. Her eyes lit up like a kid at Christmas. Then, just as quickly, she put on her serious reporter face again, fingers tapping fast across her tablet as she began composing something.
"Here," she said, offering the pad toward him. "For your trouble, Captain."
Emily blushed, visibly unsure whether the credits she had just handed over were enough to compensate the captain for what he'd done. She knew full well what a career leap this data could offer her — and equally understood that she owed it entirely to the man standing in front of her, clad in dark green N7-marked armor.
Her embarrassment was rather endearing. And though Shepard was hardly the type to fall easily for feminine charm, he couldn't help but admire the soft red flush rising on her cheeks and the way her long lashes lowered as she glanced up at him, eyes shimmering with gratitude.
An idea sparked in his mind — spontaneous, unfiltered. Before he had time to think better of it, the Spectre asked:
"What's your view on continuing this partnership? What if I agreed to give you… an interview?"
"An exclusive?!" she gasped, clearly unable to believe what she'd just heard. "You'll tell me everything — me first?!"
Her eyes lit up with such joy that Shepard felt a little awkward, almost out of place. Emily reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly in a moment of impulsive enthusiasm, then said:
"It won't be much — I mean, I can't pay what it's really worth — but I'll gladly cover whatever you ask. Where could we meet?"
Shepard opened his mouth, about to suggest something, but Emily — buzzing with excitement — jumped in:
"I'm staying at the Solaris Hotel, at Shalmar Plaza. Do you know it?"
"I'll find it," Shepard nodded, receiving a shy, grateful smile from the young journalist. Emily bounced slightly on her toes like a girl who'd just unwrapped a long-awaited gift.
"Let's meet in the restaurant on the first floor, around eight tonight. I'll be waiting. Unless… unless you're busy, of course."
"I'm free this evening," Shepard replied honestly.
She nodded quickly, then gave a bashful little smile and extended her small hand for a handshake.
"See you later, Captain Shepard."
"See you soon, Miss Wong," the Commander replied.
By evening, Shepard had taken a shower, fixed his hair, and even trimmed his beard into something presentable. He swapped his usual combat armor for a sleek civilian suit — figuring body armor might look a little out of place at dinner. Honestly, it all felt a bit strange. Was this… a date? The word sounded childish, almost ridiculous.
But maybe that's exactly what it was.
Maybe he'd admitted it to himself a little late, but the thought of spending the evening with Emily was actually something he looked forward to. It wasn't just about her — it was the idea of unwinding after back-to-back firefights in the lower levels of the Citadel and the mission on Noveria. He wouldn't trade an hour of active pursuit while Saren was still at large, not for anything — but Normandy was docked for refueling and light repairs, which wouldn't be done until morning. So, for once, the whole crew had the night off.
Ashley was using the downtime for a long-distance call with one of her sisters. Kaidan had vanished into C-Sec's biotic division for something technical. Rex had simply disappeared — though he promised to be back by morning. Garrus and Tali were elbow-deep in fixing the Mako, which had taken a serious beating on Noveria. So, despite the nagging feeling that Saren was out there, scheming in some distant corner of the galaxy, Shepard had no move to make at the moment.
And so, he stood there in front of the mirror, adjusting the fit of an expensive suit that hugged his frame perfectly, feeling just a little ridiculous.
He arrived at the hotel at 7:55. A sleek, elegant building tucked into the heart of the Plaza; it jutted forward just enough to give its upper suites a pristine view of the Presidium Lake. A soft-spoken asari greeted him at reception with a polished, white-toothed smile — but when he asked about Miss Wong, her reaction was more surprised than prepared.
"Miss Wong left a message for you, Mister Shepard. One moment, please."
The note was handwritten — neatly penned on rose-colored paper that gave off a soft, pleasant scent.
Captain,
I couldn't get a reservation at the restaurant —
I hope you won't mind doing the interview in my suite instead.
Wine is guaranteed.
Waiting for you in room 69.
Shepard's lips curled into a wry smile almost on their own. Too good to be true. Of course, he knew what he wanted out of this evening, and the fact that they'd be skipping the restaurant formality didn't bother him one bit.
He rode the express lift to the sixth floor — where all the rooms starting with six were located — and stepped out as the doors hissed open. A few strides brought him to a redwood door with gold-plated numbers: **69**.
He knocked.
"One sec!" came a voice from inside. A quick chime from the door's smartlock, then it slid open.
Emily Wong looked… stunning.
She wore one of those dresses that had become wildly popular on the Citadel — flattering cuts placed just daringly enough to catch the eye, without crossing the line into vulgarity.
Emily's had two such openings: one bared her slender stomach, complete with a cute little navel; the other sat just beneath her breasts, skimming the edge of decency as it exposed the soft under-curve of her small, tempting mounds. The deep sapphire blue of the dress played perfectly against her ink-black hair and subtle, elegant makeup. A hint of pale red lipstick gave her full, slightly parted lips an irresistibly soft, inviting glow.
"Captain!" she said with a smile. "You're punctual, and I… being a girl, am predictably not. Come in."
Shepard stepped inside.
The suite was furnished simply but tastefully, in a somewhat Asian style. Most of the room was taken up by a huge double bed.
"I need just another minute, Captain. I hope you understand," came Emily's cheerful voice from behind the bathroom door.
"Oh, I think you already look stunning," Shepard called back without hesitation.
Her reply was a soft, bashful laugh.
While she finished getting ready, he moved toward the little table and found everything already prepared: a bottle of wine and two thin-stemmed glasses resting on polished glass. With an experienced hand, Shepard uncorked the bottle and poured a generous amount into each glass.
"Captain," came her voice again, softer now.
Emily stood framed in the bathroom doorway, and the sight of her gave Shepard pause.
Her dark hair, which had previously fallen around her face in a tidy bob, was now expertly braided into a series of intricate, delicate plaits that framed her features and accentuated the graceful shape of her face.
"It's been a while since I dressed up like this," she admitted, almost apologetically. "Was starting to wonder if I'd forgotten how…"
"You look incredible," Shepard said immediately, rising from his chair and picking up both glasses. He handed her one.
"So… to a successful interview?" he smiled, gently tapping her glass with his.
Emily smiled back — shy, almost childlike — and nodded before taking a sip. A faint red imprint of her lipstick lingered on the rim of her glass.
"You look wonderful too, Shepard. I didn't expect…"
"That soldiers can actually dress well?" John chuckled.
"No…" she bit her bottom lip, suddenly even more bashful — and all the more alluring for it.
The atmosphere between them was shifting by the second, the air thickening with warmth and tension. Whatever pretense had brought them together was starting to fade, slowly overtaken by something far more intimate.
"I've just never seen you in normal clothes before," she recovered. "They suit you. Highlight your… figure."
She looked down again, blushing for what must've been the hundredth time. For a reporter, it was charmingly out of character. Shepard decided to spare her any more awkward tension — and take the lead.
"If anyone in this room has a stunning figure, it's you, Emily."
The way her name rolled off his tongue snapped her attention straight back to him. The look she gave him in return made it more than worth saying.
"You're very kind, John Shepard."
They were still standing close — close enough to feel the shared heat building between them. Emily took another sip, her gaze drifting to his glass.
"You're not drinking?"
"I was… distracted by your beauty." He took a sip. The wine was excellent — smooth, sweet, and just bold enough. Like the evening itself.
"You like it?" Her smile never left her lips. Her voice was quieter now. She stood barely a foot from him. Slowly, her hand — adorned with long, satin gloves the same deep sapphire as her dress — rose and traced a finger gently across his chest.
"You know, John… I think our interview has long since crossed every line of propriety…""Every one of them?" John's eyebrows rose theatrically. "I was hoping we were only just beginning."
"Mmm, is that so?" she murmured, leaning forward.
And in the same breath, he kissed her.
Their lips met in a kiss that burned — hungry, urgent, electric. The world around them melted. The clink of glass barely registered as both wineglasses toppled to the carpet, their contents spilling, forgotten.
Neither of them noticed. Two people sank into each other's embrace…
The kiss didn't last long — both Emily and John knew it was only the beginning, a small prelude before the real pleasure began. That awareness set them free. It stripped away any remaining formality, any masks they might've worn for appearance's sake. Shepard slid a hand into her hair, tilting her head as he kissed down the side of her neck, trailing fire along her bare skin, pausing to suck lightly at her shoulder where her dress left it exposed.
Emily melted against him, surrendering entirely to the heat surging through her. Her hands roamed his body instinctively, fingers trembling as they moved lower, lower still. When her palm finally pressed against the thick bulge that had been throbbing against her belly for the past ten seconds, a startled whisper escaped her lips:
"Oh my god…"
She could feel the size of his cock even through the fabric — thick, long, hot. She moaned quietly, her confidence blooming as his kisses trailed down her throat and across her shoulder in slow, burning lines. Her hand was stroking him now with growing certainty. At first, it was tentative, but as her fingers traced the sheer mass of him, her confidence bloomed. It was swelling against her palm, growing bigger by the second. She'd always thought only krogan could be that huge — how could a human be packing something like this?
And yet… here he was. Thick. Beautiful. Powerful. God, he was perfect.
"Fucking hell, these pants…" she hissed like a frustrated tigress, and with one aggressive tug, she unbuckled his belt and yanked his pants and briefs down in a single motion, sinking to her knees in front of him.
His cock rose in front of her — thick and heavy, veined and throbbing, crowned by a flushed pink head that glistened faintly at the tip. Easily two inches thick, and over eleven inches long, it was the largest she had ever seen. Hell, she'd only seen cocks this size in porn vids — and usually those featured krogan or other heavily augmented stars.
"Shepard… it's huge," she breathed, awestruck, wrapping both hands around it. Just one stroke and a bead of precum welled up at the tip.
"You know what to do," the captain said with a smirk, already shrugging off his jacket and shirt. "Go ahead. He tastes better than the wine."
"I don't doubt it…" she murmured; voice smoky with arousal.
She leaned in, licking the bead of slickness from the tip with her tongue, tasting it — salty, rich, intoxicating. Her lips curved into a satisfied little smile. Then she wrapped her mouth around the head and started to lick, slow, teasing strokes, working with both hands as her tongue swirled over every ridge and sensitive spot.
Shepard let out a low groan. The woman knew exactly what she was doing — her mouth was hot, her lips soft, her tongue impossibly skilled. Every flick sent jolts of pleasure up his spine. Emily was into it too — her cheeks flushed, her moans soft and needy as she worked him over. She lathered the head in spit, then took him deeper, sucking him in slowly, trying to stretch her jaw to match his girth.
He was so thick, she barely made it halfway before his cock nudged the back of her throat. She gagged lightly, pulling back, but then Shepard placed a firm hand on the back of her head — and pushed.
His cock drove deeper into her throat. She choked, tried to pull away — but he held her there. She struggled again, but it was no use. He was in control. She coughed, eyes watering, tears streaking her makeup, as his cock filled her throat inch by inch, forcing its way past her limits. She had barely taken more than half when his grip loosened, and with a gasp, she pulled herself off him, coughing and gagging, spittle trailing from her chin.
"Khah… Shepard…" she managed, her voice half a sob, half frustration.
But she didn't get to finish.
He grabbed her again, both hands this time, and shoved his cock right back into her mouth — burying it to the same depth. The pain flashed hot and fast, but then he withdrew, letting her breathe — before thrusting in again.
Again. And again.
She gagged loudly, eyes squeezing shut as he face-fucked her, deep and slow, his cock slid between her lips with wet, obscene sounds. Shepard groaned low in his throat, savoring the warmth, the resistance, the way she tried to take him. For nearly a minute, he used her like that — just fucking her throat, one controlled thrust at a time.
Then he stopped.
Suddenly, he yanked her upright — she wobbled, disoriented, on the verge of collapse. He spun her around, bent her over the nearest surface, dress riding up over her hips.
"Shepard!" she barked, voice raw, eyes wide with disbelief.
He ignored it.
Instead, he grabbed her dress, hiked it up fully, and exposed the black lace panties underneath. One swift tug and they were down around her thighs. Before she could say another word, he parted her ass and buried his tongue straight into her pussy.
"Sh-Shep… Ohhh…!" Emily jerked back with a shuddering gasp, impaling herself harder on the captain's tongue as he worked her slick, needy pussy. Shepard licked and lapped at her drenched entrance, tongue gliding in deep, savoring the syrupy sweetness of her arousal. Again and again, he dove in, teasing the trembling inner walls, driving her higher — until he suddenly shifted, tongue sliding up to swirl around the tight ring of her virgin ass.
"Ahh…! Oh fuck!" she cried out, voice climbing into a helpless wail as his tongue danced over the sensitive, untouched hole. Her legs nearly gave out as the overwhelming pleasure crashed through her — wave after hot wave, pushing her beyond moans and straight into cries of ecstasy.
Shepard didn't let up. Gripping her hips, he spread her ass wider, face buried between her cheeks, now fully focused on the delicate star of her anus. He licked, kissed, and sucked at the tight ring like a man possessed, while Emily screamed through clenched teeth, fists gripping the sheets in desperation as her entire body trembled with raw need.
"Y-yes… oh fuck, yes, lick my ass… just like that…!" she moaned out, voice thick with pleasure, eyes rolled back, her spine arching. One hand clawed at the bed, the other blindly reached back to grab at anything for leverage. Her body rocked, every nerve lit up, every second another jolt of wet, breathless bliss.
Then his fingers joined the party.
Two digits, teasing, invading, alternating between her clenching, soaked cunt and the tight grip of her little asshole. They slid in rhythmically, switching holes, coating everything in her own juices, driving her wild.
"God… Captain… ohhh fuck… Aaa-aaAH!"
Her orgasm hit like a collapsing star. Emily dropped to her knees, legs too weak to hold her upright as she convulsed hard, mouth clamped shut by her own hand to keep the scream from rattling the windows. Her body trembled, collapsed forward on trembling elbows as pleasure detonated through her system like white fire.
"Ohhh… fuck… th-that was… unreal…"
"We're only getting started," Shepard growled, grabbing her firmly and hauling her back up to her feet in one smooth motion. This time, however, he allowed her to grab the edge of the bed, and a few seconds later, when Shepard's fingers unceremoniously entered the girl's anus, the captain also let his partner lie down with her chest against the burgundy satin bedspread.
"Ahhh…!" she screamed, body jolting forward, but Shepard didn't stop. He leaned her down, pushing her chest into the slick, crimson satin sheets while her hips arched up, completely exposed and helpless before him.
"Looks like this tight little ass is starving for a real cock, huh?" he said, straightening up. He lowered the thick head of his cock and pushed it directly against her tight asshole.
Emily didn't hesitate. She pushed her hips back, ass high in the air, body trembling with anticipation.
"Fuck me, Shepard. Put it in. Wreck me."
The Captain didn't need a second invitation. With a firm push, the swollen tip began to breach her. She gasped — loud, sharp — as her ass was forced to stretch around the thick head, pain and pleasure twisting together. Her spine bowed, eyes clenching shut.
But his fingers didn't stop working her clit. Slow circles, relentless, coaxing pleasure to meet the sting. It helped. She panted, moaned, clenched the sheets in both hands. Inch by inch, his cock pushed deeper into her ass, the massive shaft spreading her open until half of him was inside.
Shepard paused, letting her adjust — watching, savoring the way her tight little hole stretched around him, the obscene way her body quivered with each passing second. Then, gripping her hips, he started to thrust.
Inch. By. Inch.
Deeper.
Harder.
Emily screamed into a pillow she yanked off the bed. Her face buried in it, muffling the primal, high-pitched cries that burst out of her every time his cock plunged deeper. Her ass was stretched beyond anything she thought possible, stuffed full with every thrust, every slow drive.
And Shepard was loving every second.
Watching her beautiful ass spread, watching that tight, pretty star take every throbbing inch — it was divine. She was squirming, mewling into the bedding, body arching under him with each thrust. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, rhythmic and savage.
He kept it going for five long, brutal minutes — his cock sawing into her backdoor with growing force — until the cry that left Emily's mouth changed. It wasn't pain. It was something deeper. Pure, molten, uncontrollable bliss.
"Ohhh… Shepard… fuck… yes — yes! More! Give it to me, harder!"
He smirked, surprised and aroused by her sudden feral hunger. He obliged.
The rhythm turned relentless. His cock hammered her ass with brutal force, shoving her forward with each thrust. Her legs buckled — only Shepard's iron grip kept her upright. The bed creaked under the onslaught. Satin sheets slipped and bunched under her knees.
"Yessss… fucking YES!" she howled, tossing the pillow aside.
Shepard grabbed Emily by the hips and started pounding into her with such force that her legs lifted off the carpet with each thrust, bouncing in the air. He could feel with his fingers how her cunt was soaking wet, dripping with juices. The pleasure was rising in him fast, but Shepard had no intention of cumming before she did. He increased the pace, pushing himself closer to the edge — and just when he was ready to explode, right as Emily's moans turned into one long scream of ecstasy, the captain abruptly pulled out of her ass and drove his cock almost to the hilt into her hot, slick pussy.
She jolted, slapped her gloved hands against the bed, and came hard, leaping off his cock and arching like a cat. Shepard stepped back, watching the way the journalist's body writhed in shameless delight. He stroked the length of his shaft with his left hand, feeling his climax getting closer — and when Emily turned her head toward him, giving him the look of a thoroughly fucked-out slut, he simply pointed to the floor.
Barely able to stand, her legs trembling, she lowered herself to the carpet — soaked in wine and her own fluids — and got on her knees, opening her mouth. But Shepard just shook his head and gestured to the empty wine glass lying next to her.
She blinked, confused, glancing from the captain to the glass.
"Pick it up," Shepard ordered.
She obeyed silently, still not understanding what he had in mind. But then, without warning, he grabbed the glass from her hand, held it under his cock, and with a few firm strokes, brought himself to orgasm.
The first thick spurt hit the bottom of the glass, and Emily let out a tired little laugh — but her smile quickly faded into awe as she watched the cum pour out of him.
It filled the glass nearly halfway, thick and creamy. Even that was a ridiculous amount.
When he handed the glass back to her, she was still staring with her mouth open in shock.
Still silent, Shepard picked up a second glass, filled it — this time with wine — and walked over to her, tapping his against hers with a loud, clear clink.
"To a successful interview, Miss Wong," he said.
Only now did she truly smile, eyes lighting up with understanding. She gave the glass a quick glance, licked her lips, looked back up at him — and drained it.
Three big gulps. She didn't spit, didn't flinch, didn't even grimace. She took it all like a prize she'd earned.
Then she tossed the empty glass aside, opened her mouth wide, and showed him her tongue — clean, not a single drop left.
"So?" she asked, setting the glass down.
She looked... wrecked. Hair tangled, makeup smeared across her face, her beautiful expensive dress wrinkled and stained.
And yet she was smiling — bright, white, and dazzling.
"You're definitely my favorite journalist," Shepard grinned, downing the rest of his wine in a single pull.