A/N: Hello! This fic is a fill for a prompt on the Mass Effect Kink Meme. The original prompt is this:

"Shepard is a hooker on Omega with a smart mouth and a mean right hook. Let's say she meets Garrus (the failed C-sec agent) on his first night on Omega, finds his view of the world a bit naïve, but finds him all the more interesting for it, especially when she figures out his true intentions. Things progress and she feeds him intel (because being a hooker usually means knowing the inner-workings of Omega's dark underworld)…and for the sake of teh fluffs, let's say she's the one that names him 'Archangel'.

Also, Zaeed is her pimp of sorts who drinks too much and goes on about his work as a merc for far longer than anyone cares to listen but deep down is a cool guy who shares a mutual respect with Shepard and lets her do whatever the hell she wants. So there you go. Make it plenty kinky, I imagine Shepard with a decent variety of 'clientele'...but ultimately Garrus/F!Shep :D"

The fill is up on the kink meme and is being republished here for easier viewing. I do not own Mass Effect.

Batarians are the worst clients. Most of them despise Humans for "dirtying up their universe." Their prophet in the market likes to look straight at her when he's decrying her species to the crowd. Yet he and plenty of his kind hire her. Hate Humans, still crave her sweet human pussy.

Half of her Batarian clients make Shepard lie on her stomach for a quick rut, barely touching her. The others like to pay double so they can humiliate her. Punish her for making them want her. There are plenty of Human hookers on Omega but she's got a certain reputation for being able to take the rough stuff.

The first kind is better. None of them are even creative enough for her to scoff at. Zaeed had assured her the client was that first kind. Well, clients. There are three waiting for her.

Three clients at once is a lot of money. And if they all want to get it done and over with, then it will go smoothly. She can take it.

Shepard knocks on the apartment door. Her long black coat makes her look like a regular citizen. Not that anyone on Omega cares if you're hiring hookers. Unless you're a Batarian hiding a Human fetish.

One Batarian answers the door and urges her inside. Shepard takes a look at the surroundings, rolling her shoulders. Someone has pushed the sickly green couch to the side and dragged a mattress to the center of the main room. A door is on the opposite wall, probably to a bed and bath.

"Zaeed received your credits," she tells the fidgeting Batarian. "I'm clean and took a full cocktail of the antibiotics and antihistamines. You're free to scan me." She opens her coat to reveal her short, tight dress. "Anything that goes in me wears a condom. I'll provide them. Where are your friends?"

The Batarian sidles to the front door and locks it. It's to keep the goings-on private but Shepard still hates the definitive click sound.

Or she thought it was for privacy. Until the bedroom door opens and two Vorcha step out.

Shit. "You said three Batarians."

"Does it matter?" The Batarian folds his arms. "You wouldn't have accepted otherwise."

"For good reason." Shepard glances at the Vorcha as one licks his lips. Fucking charming. "I'll do just you and refund what they cost. Or walk out and give you a full refund. But I'm not getting mauled."

The Batarian's a quick bastard. He backs Shepard into the wall, his hand digging into her upper thigh. "You'll do what you're paid for."

Her eyes narrow. "You've got two seconds to let me go."

"Or what?"

Shepard swings up her right fist to hook him in the temple. He staggers left, dazed. The opening lets her get the ever-loving fuck out of there.

The two Vorcha are on her heels. She doesn't call for help. You can scream all you want on Omega, no one's ever gonna come rescue you.

Shepard knows what the Vorcha will do to her if she falters. She'd made some dumb mistakes with her first Johns, a stupid kid looking for a score and some vengeance. But she'd also been a smart kid and memorized Omega's streets by the time she was ten.

The Vorcha stay on her. They're dumb but they've got fast legs and sensitive noses. Shepard ducks into an alley with trashcans and knocks them down behind her. The rancid odor might throw them off.

"Come back!" One squawks as he navigates the wreckage. "Come back soft human!"

Hell. At least they don't know her name.

Shepard's learned to run and evade when she can. Too many casualties mean fewer clients. Get your body count really high and Aria herself calls you to her office. But these Vorcha are persistent and enough is enough. She reaches into her bra for the palm-sized gun. Whips around as one of her pursuers reaches for her neck. Shepard pulls the trigger.

The flash and recoil numb her senses a moment. When the static clears, there's a fist-sized hole where the Vorcha's heart should be. He collapses.

She snarls to his friend. "If you don't want some of that then get the hell away from me."

Vorcha have one survival instinct: to breed like crazy before their shit instincts kill them. The second Vorcha lunges for her. She cocks the gun-

-and before she can fire, the Vorcha's head explodes. The body collapses onto his associate's, twitching.

"Shee-it!" Shepard gets her back to a wall and looks around for the assailant. Could be a rescuer but could just be a bigger, tougher monster that wants her for prey.

"Are you alright Miss?" A figure drops down from the ledge of an apartment structure. It's a Turian with a big, beautiful sniper rifle and a visor clicking over his left eye.

"I'm fine," she says. Turians in groups mean Blue Suns. Lone ones usually mean C-SEC or Turian military thinking they can bring the law into the Terminus Systems. They don't come for pleasure—the law-abiding Turians like to go to Illium to pay for sex.

Shame, because she thinks Turians are attractive. This one isn't bad at all. "That was a good shot."

"Same to you." He glances down at her tiny gun. "I thought those were illegal."

Shepard cocks an eyebrow. "You're on Omega. Nothing's illegal. C-SEC?"

"Ah…former." The news makes Shepard relax a fraction. "I came hoping to do some good here. Not that you want me to bore you with my life story."

"Depends on the story." Worse than C-SEC or Turian military. This is a damned vigilante-wannabe. Unless those Good Samaritan missionaries Earth sends every few years have started recruiting Turians to their church. "Well, good luck with that. Thanks."

"Do you want an escort?" He stares at her knees. Probably wondering what she was doing out dressed up and in the alley. Probably has locked up a few of her Citadel colleagues during his C-SEC time.

"Nah, I'm not in the market for a Guardian Angel." She puts the safety on her gun and tucks it back into her bra. "See you around."

"Right," he nods. "Be safe."

Shepard snorts and walks away, feeling his eyes on her. Her hips sway a little for his benefit.

Zaeed Massani and Shepard have an agreement. For a cut of her profits, he provides the meds and condoms to keep her clean; supplies weapons; tells long stories about the days he led the Blue Suns; and vets her clients before she does them.

She is not happy with his job performance in the last area.

"Fuck, Zaeed!" She picks an empty beer can off the floor and throws it at him. He jerks out of the way and it clatters to the ground. "There was Vorcha there! Two fucking Vorcha!"

"So I made a bad call," says Zaeed. "I apologized. What more do you want?"

"Groveling would be nice." Shepard thrusts her finger into Zaeed's clavicle. "And do a better job next time or else."

"Or else what, Girlie?" Zaeed slaps her hand away. "It wasn't on purpose. Move on."

Shepard meets his glare. "I will if you take responsibility for your goddamn actions."

He spits on the floor. She wrinkles her nose at the white blob it leaves on their filthy floor. "You shoulda been a Merc commander, the way you shout orders."

"Don't even start that." She's seen those Mercs in action, killing people she'd been dumb enough to care about. Zaeed is ex-Merc, removed enough from the job to be tolerable and distant enough from her to keep things civil.

Yeah, she would have been a great Merc. If she didn't hate them. And Alliance military doesn't want Omega trash for soldiers. She's in the right field.

"Just be careful next time," Shepard sighs. "Did we refund them?"

"No." Zaeed settles into his armchair in the main room of the apartment they share. It creaks beneath the weight of his armor. He hasn't had a job for weeks outside of pimping her but he wears the armor like coveralls. "If he's got a problem with that, I'll show him the business end of my gun."

"Good. You do that." Reassured, Shepard turns in for the night. Lies in bed and wonders how long the Turian will last.

She gives him a day.