Far be it from me to butt into your love life. Just considering it is enough to make me wanna barf. Then I get sad 'cause I realize I can't.

J: *Heeey. You up?*

V: *Judy? It's like 2 in the morning.*

J: *And you ain't out gunning down gangers? :P*

J: *We all know you're scared of the sun.*

J: *Like a bat.*

V: *Took the night off. I'm allowed you know.*

V: *Why r u still up? Don't u got work tomorrow?*

V: *Weekend won't last forever.*

J: *Sleep's for the weak.*

J: *And I am STRONG.*

V: *You're drunk, aren't you?*

J: *Maaaaybe.*

J: *;)*

V: *What's the occasion?*

V: *And why didn't you invite me?*

V: *I'm insulted. :(*

V: *jk*

J: *Had a better idea.*

J: *Wanna see somethin?*

V: *If it's another fish picture the answer's no.*

J: *Fuck u.*

J: *You love my fish pictures.*

J: *:D*

V rolls over in bed with a grin she can't hope to hide. Her glowing phone screen strains her tired eyes, but she always has time for Judy. Especially when it's Drunk Judy. Drunk Judy is always a hoot. So she rubs the sleep from her eyes and wriggles deeper into the pillows.

*Ok,* she texts back. *What's so important you had to drunk text me in the middle of the night?*

Judy doesn't respond for quite some time. When she does, she catapults V back into the world of the very much awake.

It's a picture. And wow, what a picture. Judy stares direct into the camera, painted lips lifted into a knowing smirk. That watermelon-blend of undercut emerald and pink flows low over warm brown eyes. She is very much naked and her bra hangs over her head like a bizarre hat. Despite the arm draped over her chest, there's still more than enough skin and tats on display to set ten BD servers buzzing.

V's eyes widen. It's the sexiest thing in the history of the goddamn universe.

Her phone buzzes again: *For your eyes only. You like?*

V hesitates. Then she saves the snap, terrified it'll somehow vanish and leave her with nothing but memories of soft skin and the words, We all come from the sea. All trace of sleep has evaporated. Her apartment is suddenly both very warm and adrenaline-chilled.

V: *Holy shit, Jude. Yeah, I like.*

J: *Ha. Thought you would.*

J: *Now for more fish pictures!*

True to form, here comes a cartoon of a dancing dolphin in a tophat. V chuckles despite the tingling in her... well, the parts that like to tingle at times like this.

What the hell has gotten into the techie? Sure she can get playful from time to time, especially when she's drunk, but the Judy that V finds familiar is quiet, distant, and so very slow in her affections. V doesn't dislike the change. Furthest thing from it, in fact.

Her fingers dance a pattern across the screen.

V: *Very cute. But I'm a bigger fan of the first one.*

She closes off the message with a blushing smiley face, trying not to seem overeager for more. But there's no denying she's very eager for more; the entire room shivers with hopeful anticipation. But alas, her hopes are dashed.

J: *Sorry, choom. Rule number one of my business: always leave the audience wanting more.*

V: *Aww.*

V chews her lip, battling a tag-team of a nervous brain and a fluttering heart.

Their playful banter grew out of the innocent stages long ago. The memory of their impromptu makeout sesh at the concert a few weeks back still lingers on her lips, but nothing really came of it beyond those excited few seconds. Exactly the opposite in fact: after the concert, Judy vanished back into her dungeon at Lizzie's and didn't reappear for a week. V had assumed that was all she wrote on the matter - a half-drunken byproduct of stress and adrenaline leading to a fun but ultimately meaningless kiss. Judy, by her own admission, isn't in a good headspace given everything that happened with Evelyn. And V hasn't even been in town lately, too preoccupied with the Relic to even consider taking time for herself or her growing cadre of companions.

But that hasn't stopped... well, anything. On the rare occasions they have to spend time together - drinks at Lizzies, random excursions into Kabuki to check out the latest BD tech, that outing to the menagerie - V can no longer explain away the signs. Signs like the way Judy stands so close to V when they walk, close enough that a shoulder or a breast just barely brushes her arm, too often to be a coincidence. The way those amber eyes dart over to her after a halfhearted joke, looking for her reaction before anyone else's. The way Judy tries so hard and fails so often to keep that same nervous gaze from flicking to V's lips when they talk.

V has spent her precious leisure time fretting over the best time to have that talk. The one that lays all the cards on the table. Because right now they're caught somewhere past just friends and a good deal short of something more. The vagueries are enough to send V into a tailspin of confusion and worry-

Also horny. Can't forget horny.

Is this finally the right time? Her fingers tremble and she thinks, Why the hell not?

V: *Um... do you want me to like... come over?*

It's a long while before any response comes. When it does-

J: *Ain't gonna happen tonight, V. Got work in the morning, member?*

The rejection stings until another text buzzes onto the screen: a winking smiley. That soothes the worst of her nerves and sets her back to buzzing all over again. Judy isn't saying no, but rather not right now.

J: *Sweet dreams, V.* Judy texts with another wink. *Imma go throw up now.*

Hard to argue with that.

V: *Have fun. Goodnight, Judy.*

V has a terrible time getting back to sleep - a real shocker, that. Her phone and the texts stored on it are just too distracting to ignore. And by the time morning finally breaks through the closed sunshields on her window, her screen is almost dead.

It takes about a week for V to reach out again. She's wanted to talk to Judy, of course, but life has been far too busy. More than that, she has no clue how to begin. How do you follow up a drunken nude? Especially when you've been trying not to sneak peeks at it all week?

She's done her best to commit every detail of the picture to memory. The cute little dimples at the corners of Judy's mouth when she smiles. The way aqua-blue mood lighting plays across her skin and draws a line of white along her shoulder. The lovely shadows thrown over her collarbone and the roses painted there. V wants to learn the hidden significances of each and every tattoo put on such bold display. Especially the firetruck on her chest. Seriously, what the fuck does that even mean?

In her rare slow moments, her imagination revs to life and takes up the hobby of roaring off from zero to sixty without warning. The dark stubble of Judy's shaved left temple catches V's eye and she wonders how the woman's hair would look without the vivid green-pink dye. Hard to believe it could look any better, but then it'd be stupid to assume it'd look worse. And then before she can hit the brakes she's off in fantasy land imagining what it would be like to trace her lips across that little sternum tat beneath Judy's breast. I refuse to sink. Tacky, but oh so tempting.

Whoah, whoah, whoah. She plants her palms against her temples. Take it easy there, Romeo.

It's finally a slow Sunday even by her standards. Sure there's plenty she could be doing and even more she should be doing. Panam wants her to hit up a gig for Mr. Hands and Takemura has been blowing up her phone with his usual incomprehensible super-spy bullshit. The landlord's been complaining about the missing rent check currently sitting on V's desk, and she's running low on protein mix for her next workout session with Fred. But in the quiet calm between the usual life-and-death firefights, her mind keeps yanking back to that damn picture.

She paces around her apartment, tapping her chin with every step. What to do, what to do? Does she say, Hey, what's goin' on? That seems far too casual and the last thing she wants to do is give the impression she doesn't care. She also can't do the opposite and hit Judy up with, Sup bitch, lemme see them titties. That sounds more like something Johnny would say.

"And why the hell not? It's quick, simple, and doesn't waste time pussyfootin' around the matter."

Speak of the devil. Johnny sizzles into existence with his leg propped up on her coffee table. He fixes her with an incredulous look over the rim of his aviators, which he plucks from his face with a world-weary sigh.

"So let me get this straight," he says. "You're in the middle of doin' a dance with the reaper, clock ticking down quicker with every passing day, but instead of focusing on a way to get your life back on track and me out of your skull..." He closes his eyes with a world-weary exasperation. "You're pacing back and forth wondering how to respond to a half-assed drunken titty pic?"

"I think it was tasteful."

"I know what you think. That doesn't make it any less fuckin' stupid." He unfolds his lanky frame and plants his hands on his hips. "Want my advice?"

"No." She keeps her eyes fixed on the floor. Even his buzzing can't distract her from the dilemma. "But I get the feeling you're gonna tell me anyway."

"She threw you a bone," he said. "You know, without actually throwing you a bone, but that's beside the point. The point is that it's your turn to pull the trigger. Don't want her getting cold feet, do ya?"

"Are... are you suggesting I send one back?" She comes to a halt and shoots a frown at him. Despite the now-familiar throb behind her eyeballs, she's more curious than furious.

"Tit for tat. Literally." He smirks, clearly pleased with himself. "Heh."

She tunes out his childish chuckle, but can't deny that the idea has some merit - and some thrill. It's risky. Drunk Judy was fine with it all, but what about Sober Judy? Sober Judy can be a different beast entirely.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Now here's another idea that refuses to get out of her head. She glares at Johnny, who merely smirks; he can feel her piqued interest through their shared connection.

"If I'm gonna do this," she levels a finger at him, "I don't want you anywhere nearby. You're gonna ghost off for a few hours."

He raises his hands in instant surrender. "No argument here. Said before, your titless ass does nothin' for me."

"My tits are a treasure and you damn well know it."

"Oh of course." He makes a show of sliding his hands over an imaginary bosom. "How dare I insult the girls?"

"Fuck you." She storms over to her windowsill and snatches the bottle of omega blockers. She downs one, thinks a moment, then gulps another. Johnny fades out with a lingering salute.

That's one less thing to worry about. The next big one: what the hell does she do now?

It's been a good while since she's been... entangled like this. Most of her prior "relationships" have been short-lived flings or meaningless hookups - River and Stout respectively come to mind. She's no good at long-term. Even on the rare occasions she's found herself knocking on that particular door she's been too busy chasing the major leagues to practice flirting. But for the tatted-up Mox, maybe she's willing to take a few risks with training wheels off.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

She pads into her bathroom and glares at herself in the mirror. Come on, V. It can't be that difficult. Just... think sexy.

She unbuttons her flannel to show off a playful bit of cleavage. But no - it's not enough. She then unbuttons all the way down and rips it open, baring her breasts. Shit, that's too much!

She growls and yanks the top closed again. How in the hell do people even do this? Judy's snap looked so effortless, so smooth and sensual, and she did that drunk off her ass! She runs her fingers through her half-mop undercut and tosses it down over her eyes. Now she looks like some emo teenager.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Okay, time to stop overthinking and start taking some damn pictures. She heads back outside, flops onto her bed, stretches her phone up, and snaps a quick pic. Shirt open but not too open. Hair messy but not too messy.

It comes out looking like she's only barely clawed herself awake after a three-day bender. Goddamn it.

She rubs at the bags beneath her eyes as if she can massage her tired face into something more suitable. Her brain buzzes from one question to another. Should she take her shirt off? Should she take her pants off? Should she try to one-up Judy or try to keep it as tame as she had?

Stop. Thinking. Just. Photograph.

She takes three or four more shots, each of debatably better quality. Still nothing good enough to risk sending, but baby steps are still steps. It's weird as hell, but by now she's... she's actually kind of having fun. The idea of Judy seeing these pics, even the not-so-great ones, sends a thrill down her spine. Will the Mox lay awake at night pouring over every detail as well? Judy deals with crap like this all day. V wouldn't even give her a shiver in comparison.

No, that's damn defeatest talk.

It takes another half-hour before she thinks she's got it. She decided to keep the pants on - the shirt too. The final winner is a waist-up shot, her button-down pulled open to offer a tantalizing glimpse of collarbone and sideboob while also showing off the serpentine ink that loops about her chest. She couldn't decide on an expression and so settled for a goofy smile and a hasty piece sign.

It's not perfect, but it's the best she's got. Her fingers quiver as she opens Judy's text chain. The old pic still glows there, enough to give V a shiver even now.

This is a bad idea, she thinks. Still, she attaches her own picture and prepares to fire away. A deep breath rattles down her throat. Just do it. Do it before you can think about it and stop yourself. Just do it. Just-

She hits SEND. A few moments pass. Part of her is desperate for an immediate response. The rest of her dreads it. She considers adding on, then texts.

V: *Hey Jude. Figured you'd earned yourself some payback after the other night.*

There. It's done. The tit is now tatted. She tosses the phone onto her bed like it's a bomb and turns her back.

And now we wait.

She wanders through her apartment for a whole fucking hour. Every second slogs by like sludge. Every beep of the vending machine, every unrecognized buzz on the radio, every half-assed noise from outside sends her heart into her throat.

What the hell was taking Judy so long? Was her phone off? Did she see it and just, like... not care?

"Rggh!" V clenches her fists in her hair. "I need to chill. I need to chill. I need to fucking-"

When the phone finally rings, she leaps for it like she's taking a bullet for the president. The wretched thing skips out of her hands and almost bounces off the floor but she manages to snatch it tight and pull it to her ear.

"Hey," she answers as casually as she can. She's a little too breathless to pull it off.

Judy is laughing. And not like chuckling. She's laughing hysterically.

"J-Judy?"

"You look so fucking adorable! Also uncomfortable, but still adorable."

V's blood runs cold. Adorable wasn't exactly what she'd been aiming for.

"Shit. I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't have thought-"

"No, no, no!" Judy cuts in. "I love it! I just... pfft-" She breaks out in giggles again. "I need to give you some pointers, girl."

"Um..."

The laughter on the other line fades a little. "Unless... like, does this make you too uncomfortable? I'm kind of assuming a lot here. I didn't really expect a return pic, you know."

"That's okay. I kinda assumed a lot too. After you sent... you know."

"Yeah." Judy's tone is a little sheepish. "I was really fuckin' drunk. Truth be told, I was kinda embarrassed when I finally slept it off and realized what I'd done. You know how it is."

"Um...?"

There was a short silence from the other end. Then Judy comes back, her tone confused to say the least. "V, have you never done shit like this before?"

V is sure her blush can be felt over the phone. "I'm not usually, um, involved like this. My longest relationship was like a month? And he wound up tryin' to kill me, so..."

A low whoosh of a sigh from Judy. "All right. So I've got my work cut out for me. I can work with that."

They spend the next hour on phones. Judy runs her through the many intricacies of sending spicy snaps. After only ten minutes V's head spins with everything the Mox manages to dump in her lap; if she didn't know better she'd assume she was auditioning for a modeling gig. In a way, she kind of is.

"Rule Number One," Judy says. "Angles are everything. Sexting and photography go hand in hand. What works for one works for the other. So when you're setting out you gotta think about lighting, backgrounds, composition, and angles."

"Do I need, like, a..." Fuck this is a stupid question. "... a fancy camera?"

I'm overthinking this.

Judy agrees. "You're overthinking this."

Sometimes it's easy to forget that under all the attitude, Judy's a porn director by trade - and a good one at that. She seems to know just about everything: ways to pose and ways to frame shots, pros and cons of mirror selfies, and settings to use her BD rig like a ring light to make future pics shine. She recommends wearing heels out of frame to put some tone on her legs and ass. She claims a little body oil or even water can give the body a sexy sheen and make the faintest muscles pop. She even tells V that not all nudes have to be in the nude.

"That makes no fucking sense."

"It's true. You ever stop to take a look at those street rags scattered on every corner stand? It's all shit. Amateur dumbfucks out there just plop a cock out and expect people to be wowed. But people want some sensuality, some anticipation. So cover up your tits once in a while, cross your legs, so on and so on. The imagination is the most powerful aphrodisiac of all."

"Yeah, that part I'm kinda familiar with."

"I bet." A soft chuckle from the other end of the line. "Even drunk off my ass, that snap was pretty preem, huh?"

"Yeah, that's a word for it."

"Okay," the Mox says. "Wrap up time. Final rule: you only send nudes when you feel comfortable. Forcing sexuality isn't just wrong - the end result fuckin' sucks. You have to be in the mood first, and everything else follows."

"I remember you mentioning that's why your BDs are so top-notch."

"Yup. Deep down, people don't want sex for the sake of it. They want something authentic. Something real. My girls are the best at what they do because they want to do it." V can almost hear the smirk over the phone. "And lucky for you, I practice what I preach."

"So... what next?"

"Hmm..." V can almost hear the gears turning in Judy's head. "Give me like twenty minutes. I'll get back to you on that."

"What?"

"Have some patience, girl! I've got an idea."

"Uh-oh. I feel like I'm back in high school. Is this a test?"

"Maybe." There's a mischievous smile in Judy's tone. "We'll see."

"Judy-"

But the Mox has already hung up.

Five minutes and V's right back at it, pacing her apartment with such mind-numbing monotony that part of her thinks she's wearing a track line on the floor. She's tried to sit down and watch the tube. She's tried killing time on her phone, scrolling through old text messages and surfing the net just for shits and giggles. But the lure of that snapshot keeps tugging her back. No matter the half-baked hobby, her mind swims with guesses as to what Judy is up to.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Who knew flirting would be so... discombobulating? That seems like a good word for it. It's like all her life has been put on pause - even the Relic doesn't seem so significant right now. All that matters is the Mox on the other end of her phone.

Well. Might as well put some of this pent-up energy to use. She hoists herself up from the couch and stomps back to the bathroom. She kills a minute or two glaring at her reflection, priming herself for what's sure to be yet another poor decision.

Then she gets to work.

Part of her benumbed brain wishes she'd taken notes when Judy was walking her through How to Take Spicy Snaps 101. She's sure she's forgotten half the info by now. But she does her best regardless to put all the puzzle pieces together: angles, atmosphere, attitude, et cetera.

She doesn't have a pair of heels. She'd snapped the stiletto off the last set to stab a grab-assy Sixth Street asshole in the leg - long story. The other shaky piece of shit didn't even hold up five minutes in the fight that followed, and she'd had to rush to her car in her bare feet. Jackie couldn't stop cackling to himself the entire drive back home.

Oh well. No point crying over snapped stilettos. She'll have to do without that particular piece of advice.

One of Judy's other pearls of wisdom was simple: start with something tame and work your way up. Or down. Or... fuck, just stop overthinking and take some goddamn pictures.

She does just that. The phone goes to the windowsill in the common area, the afternoon sun spills into the apartment, and the flannel is parted down to button number four. It's not particularly saucy, but it gets the job done. The next one is of a similar vein, still only four buttons down, but this time she pulls her collar open to juuust hint at the swell of her breast. She's actually kind of proud of that one. It almost looks like the cover of some angsty rockergirl album. And even she has to admit: the expansive snake tattoo sprawled across her breasts pumps up the sexy factor by at least a couple points. Huh. Who woulda guessed?

She descends into flavor town from there. Buttons number five, six, and seven part until she's exposed down to her belly button. She keeps the flannel closed, but glowers into the camera with hopes of a smoldering, femme fatale glare. The end result? Cha-ching!

Don't look now, she thinks, but I might be getting the hang of this.

No reason to quit while she's ahead. She undoes the fly of her SkinTite-brand jeans and pulls the hem down enough to advertise the jut of a toned hip. Then she tosses the pants completely and lets the flannel drape down over bare, toned legs. Check and check - both pics almost sizzle.

She doesn't know what's weirder: that Judy seems to have the magic formula, or that even the ever-critical V thinks her own work isn't half bad.

I swear to God, she thinks, if Johnny's spying on me...

But by now the creative juices are flowing. Can't stop, won't stop. She ditches the shirt at last and leans with her elbows back on the windowsill, topless and silhouetted midnight-black in the glaring afternoon light. She sprawls onto her back in bed and folds her arms across her shoulders in a rough X (she has to balance the phone on her fucking feet for that one). She yanks her pants off and hoists herself onto her bathroom counter in nothing but a t-shirt and panties, resting her forearms on her scabbed knees with a smirk. By the time she's ready to wrap up, she's curled up buck naked on the couch - the result is an intimate closeup of her eyes through a veil of crimson hair.

The aftermath: a collection of spicy AF pics that still toe the line of playful decency. Even in the few pics where she can't cover up the naughtiest bits, she masks them with dark, scratch-like lines that - weirdly enough - give the photos an even more artistic flair.

I guess Judy was right, she thinks as she scribbles out a nipple. Imagination is the best aphrodisiac.

Daring as she may feel right now, she's not quite ready to give Judy the Full Monty, and Judy herself said to only push as far as she's in the mood to go. But she's definitely getting the hang of this. More important, it's actually fun. She had no clue she'd get such a high from the creativity and excitement knowing Judy of all people will be studying and judging them. Only one thing left to do: send them off to the Mox in question. But which one should she choose? She kind of likes them all.

Then she gets yet another bad idea. And another. By idea number three, she's decided to fuckin' run with it.

Judy tugs her towel tighter and pads over to her couch, thumbing through her phone the whole way. It took some trial-and-error, but she's pieced together the perfect pic to send back to V. She'd hopped a shower for that very purpose and emerged with her hair plastered to her forehead and water still clinging to her skin.

And now she has a new selfie that puts her first tipsy attempt to shame. She'd set the camera on the edge of the mirror and leaned close with her hands on either side of the sink, shooting her best sultry glare at point-blank range. She'd wrapped herself in the towel to keep it a little tasteful, but it's an afterthought at best. V's earned a level-up from last time, and Judy can't stop giggling at the thought of the solo's face when this one goes through.

She's about to hit SEND when her phone buzzes in her palm. Then again. Then a third and fourth time. A second later she almost chokes.

V has certainly taken her advice to heart. Like, almost too much. There are at least fifteen pics invading her screen now: V draped across her bed, V sprawled on the floor, V curled up on the sofa. She's kept the snaps stylishly tame, censoring herself here and there, but Judy still feels her heart leap into her throat as she scrolls through each photo.

Damn, she thinks. She's actually pretty good for a noob.

The second side of the equation isn't lost on her either: V is sending these snaps to her. There's trust here, and a fresh intimacy that frightens her. Part of her worries what kind of fuckup she's set into motion. The other part is content to sit back and admire the way the light dapples across V's flaunted abs. She gulps, saves each of the snaps for later, and musters the courage to text back.

J: *Jesus, V. If this was a test, I think you passed with flying colors.*

V's response is simple.

V: *More coming.*

V: *;P*

She wasn't kidding. Every day for the following week, V sends at least one image to the techie. She always asks permission first, which Judy finds sweet. Sometimes it's a meandering request: *Hey Jude. I was out in the markets tryin' on some stuff. There was this really preem tank I want your opinion about. Wanna see?* Sometimes it's short and to the point: *Hey. Picture?*

Of course Judy always agrees, and of course V always delivers. Sometimes the pics are up close and personal, like the one of V curled up in bed with a stuffed teddy bear clutched tight to her chest. Sometimes they're a hell of a lot more risque, like the one of her peeking over the edge of some stupid-looking romance book with the camera angle tilted just enough to show off what can only be a glimpse of landing strip. She even gets daring with locations: after the third day Judy starts getting snaps of V throwing poses on the hood of her car, on the back of her motorcycle, sometimes simply out and about in the city. One snap features V in the middle of a bustling Kabuki market, leaning over so far Judy can see down her shirt straight to her fucking belt buckle.

Not all the pics are near-nudes, either. V sends selfies, snaps of the city skyline, clandestine pics of preem wheels or the stranger of the Night Citizens she runs across. One evening Judy gets like four snaps of a beat-up guitar V picked up at a pawn shop. That one doesn't take long before the solo starts pretending to jam out in her panties. There's a delighted grin on V's face in each photo sent - she appears to be having the time of her life. All nervous hesitation has evaporated like water in the desert.

Judy delights in every image, though at times she does feel a little spoiled. She does her best to keep up with V but work chews up more time than usual and she'd never hear the end of it if Suzie or - god help her - Rita walked in on her sending titty shots to her new... well...

There's the other part of the problem. This is a pretty serious step forward in whatever thing they now have going. The whole thing is nebulous. Judy doesn't like that. However, the alternative is so much worse. She isn't ready to have that convo with V. Not yet.

Then one day, about four or five days into this newfound game, V takes the final plunge. Around lunch, Judy gets the now-familiar message.

V: *Hey. Can't talk. Want picture?*

Judy grabs her phone, absently munching a shitty burrito, and shoots back a quick reply.

J: *Of course!*

The pic Judy receives shortly after is most definitely not like the previous ones. For one, V seems to have cleared the final hurdle and isn't bothering to censor herself. Next, Judy pieces together that the solo didn't filter the pic because she was pressed for time.

V grins into the camera, tongue stuck out with a smug air and a knowing wink. One hand stretches off-screen to hold the phone. The other does double-duty holding her gun and hiking her yellow T-shirt up and over her chest. But even V's snake-tatted breasts in all their glory pale in comparison to the true star of the scene: a huge plume of flame and smoke rising in the background behind her. A cluster of what look like Tyger Claws scramble away from the epicenter of the blast, and one is in the midst of flying through the air - too slow or too clumsy, it seems. A closer glance at the picture, this time not distracted by V's chest, suggests the solo is hunkered down behind a dumpster.

Judy can't help herself. She dials out V's number. The other woman pics up after the first ring. She's giggling, but there's no mistaking the ping, ping, ping of smart guns blazing in the background.

"Ooh, that must have been a good one," V remarks.

"Please tell me you didn't just send me a nude in the middle of a fucking gunfight!"

"I could." There's a louder report, blam, blam, blam, as her own pistol fires away. "But we both know you'd call me out for lying."

"Jesus, V-"

"You like it? The pic, I mean."

"I'm not going to dignify that."

"Guys, I think she liked it!" V shouts. A hail of gunfire greets her words and she curses. "Shit, these Tygers have no sense of humor."

"Are you serious right now?!" Judy cries. "You're gonna get yourself killed!"

"Nah, it's only like six guys. And none of em want to push me out of my little hidey-hole behind this dumpster. They've been shooting and screaming at me in Japanese for the past five minutes. That's why I got the idea to send you something naughty."

She growls out the last word like she's bringing to light some awful conspiracy, then breaks into giggles again.

"Can you please focus?" Judy lets her head thud to her desk. "The last thing I need is you getting dragged back to your ripper because you're acting like an idiot."

"Please, Judy. Vik is very used to patching me up after acting like an idiot."

"V!"

"Fine, fine. No more playful pics until I get back home."

Judy narrows her eyes. "You're lying."

"Whaaat? No way."

"V..." she warns.

A brief pause is broken only by muted obscenities in Japanese from the background. Then V returns with a sheepish tone.

"I... may have snapped two or three more."

Judy grits her teeth. Then she sighs, shakes her head, and mutters, "Send 'em my way, then."

"Ha! Knew you liked it."

Judy tells her to shut up. But she can't deny the blush that creeps up her cheeks.

"You came into my crazy world like a cool and cleansing wave. Before I knew what hit me, baby, you were flowing through my veins."

- Avicii, Addicted to You

Author's Note: So I was lurking around the LowSodiumCyberpunk subreddit a while back. Around the time Patch 1.5 dropped and advertised expanded romance interactions, I remember a bunch of people lamenting that Panam romancers were treated to our favorite Nomad sending some steamy pics while Judy-mancers were sadly left with no such fun.

I decided to fix that. As I was writing, V enthusiastically agreed with my decision.

As a bit of a sidenote, this chapter forced me to research tips on how to send good nudes while in another tab I was looking up how many bones would break if you got hit by a car and another one had details of various kinds of burn scars. I swear I must be on some kind of watchlist somewhere.