I saw your post about opening your requests and had a thought
Garrus x reader fem shep where we take care of garrus' scars if could be soft it could be sad that's all up to you!!!! <3
ʕ✿•ᴥ•ʔ Garrus, my forever husband! I really liked working on your request and I hope it satisfied you!
Enjoy!
ʕ•ᴥ•ʔﾉ"
Also requests are open for
Garrus Vakarian
Saren Arterius
Legion
Illusive Man
Zaeed Massani
Javik
And more??? Send requests anyway! <3
The battery was quiet, save for the deep, contented hum of Normandy’s core at rest. The red alert lights have been dark for six hours. The air still smelled of ozone and heated metal and fight, but beneath it now was the sterile, clean scent of medigel and the sharp, bright note of disinfectant. Garrus sat on the low stool he kept for cleaning his rifle, his back to you, head bowed. The lines of him were weary. The sleek, proud curve of his cowl was scored with a fresh, vicious gouge that gleamed angry purple under the new synth-skin. His right arm was immobilized in a gel-cast, but it is the mess across his shoulder blades and down the left side of his spine that got your attention. Old scars, silvered and familiar as constellations, were now overlaid with new burns. The edges of his plates were blackened, the hide beneath blistered. Garrus didn't turn when you arrived, though he smelled more medicine that you have carried inside. His mandibles flexed slightly.
"More calibrations," he rumbled, the dry humor a faint, automatic echo. "Just of a... biological nature."
"Something like that", you replied, your own voice softer than you intended.
You set the kit down.
"May I?" you asked, fingers hovering near the seam of his simple, black shirt clinging to his plates. Garrus let out a slow vent of air, a sigh that seemed to come from the very core of him.
A nod.
You’ve helped him out of it, minding the arm, the scars, but not treating him like a fragile thing. He was, overall, anything but fragile. The overhead light caught the ruin of the burn, the way it webbed across the older, deeper scar from a rocket blast on Omega. Your breath caught, just for a second. You’ve seen him bleed, seen him stumble, but the quiet aftermath of his endurance always undone you. You soaked a clean cloth in the cool, antiseptic solution. Your touch was firm, deliberate, born of a commander's knowledge of anatomy and a lover's knowledge of him. He stiffened for a heartbeat at the first contact, then a shudder - not of pain, but of profound release - rippled through him. A low, subharmonic hum began in his chest, a sound you felt more than heard.
"You never asked for this," you said quietly, your hands working solution into the old, silvered groove on his shoulder.
"Any of it. C-Sec, Omega, the Reapers... the weight of it."
His head was bowed.
"No one asks for the weight, Shepard. You just... decide what you're going to carry. And who you're going to carry it for."
His voice was a gravelly whisper, mandibles twitching in thought.
"I decided a long time ago."
"Garrus…"
You looked at him - really looked - at the weary soldier, the loyal turian, the man who had followed you into hell more than once and would, you knew, you just knew it, do it again.
"You're a mess, Vakarian," you whispered, but your eyes were shining.
The subharmonic rumble in his chest deepened into something like a purr. He leaned his forehead against you, stiffling a groan, holding the contact. His hands came up, covering yours where they held his face, his talons carefully sheathed.
"I'm your mess," he corrected, his voice thick.
"And you're mine, Shepard. Scars and all."
The devotion in that simple statement was a physical weight in the room. It is who he is. It is why you love him, and why, sometimes, you want to shake him. Instead, you lean forward, pressing your lips, dry and soft, to the least damaged place you can find - a smooth, cool scar, the one that he got on Omega. Garrus went utterly rigid. A sharp intake of breath hissed through his nostrils. You pulled back, your face warm. The action was impulse, a language beyond your careful command persona.
“I need you to be here,” you said, your voice raw with emotion.
“Not just your rifle. Not just your shields. You. The turian who argues with me about calibrations. Who hates my taste in music. Who knows… who knows how to make me laugh when the sky is falling.”
Your gaze traced the scars again. There’s so much of them. Too much. And yet…
“All of this is part of you. But it’s not all you are. To me.”
The silence this time was different. Charged. Slowly, with a care that belied his size, he raised up, pulling you gently to your feet. His blue eyes were wide in the dim light, searching your face with an intensity that makes your heart pound.
“Shepard…” he began, then stoped. Never good with being open, this one turian. You gave him time. He tried again, his subvocals weaving a complex, vulnerable harmony beneath the words.
“On Palaven… tending another’s scars is… it’s an intimacy. It means you accept the damage. That you choose to see it, clean it… and not look away.”
You leaned into that faint, impossible touch, closing your eyes. When you open them, you see not the soldier, not the archangel, but Garrus. Weary. Wounded. Beloved.
“Then let me see,” you whispered.
“All of it.”
And in the quiet heart of the ship, surrounded by the ghosts of battles past and the certainty of battles to come, he did.
since becoming friends with deran, you’ve become acquainted with his brothers. you knew how much of an asshole baz was, the questionable things craig would say, and how sweet andrew was. so craig’s “who, out of all four of us, do find the most attractive?” question didn’t surprise you at all.
“cmon don’t be like that! we all know it’s me” he said. you were all gathered in the living room, something quite strange for you- because despite being used to hanging around the guys, you tried to avoid the cody threshold at all costs, in hopes of avoding smurf. “i’m not answering that, don’t be weird” you say “but it’s not you, don’t you worry about it” you add on. in front of you, pope giggles a little to himself. wether craig’s offended gasp was real or part of the joke, you couldn’t tell. “so that leaves me, pope and deran” says baz, in that awful, smug tone that is always accompanied with a disgusting smirk. you turn to your left to look him, still decided on not answering the question in hopes of not making a fool out of yourself. “i’m not answering that- can we just drop it?” you snarl.
it doesn’t last, because your friend-now-turned-enemy, deran, decides to throw more wood to the fire. “well, i know it’s not me” he says giggling, quickly taking a sip of his beer. you turn your head so quickly so fast you swear you could hear you neck crack. “deran!” you voice. your cheeks aflame, you could feel your arms pits starting to drip. but what started as a fiery hot mess, runs cold quickly when that raspy voice that haunts your mind speaks up. “so is it baz?” your eyes quickly find his hazel ones. his expression unreadable as always. your body now buzzing with unease. you stand from your seat on the couch, acting and feeling more frazzled than you anticipated. “i’m not doing this. don’t you guys know what a boundary is?” you say as you look around, everywhere but andrew’s eyes. “not really” he voices, sounding almost annoyed.
“well i have more important things to do, so if you excuse me” you respond as you grab your bag and make your way out of the living room. as you’re sliding the glass door, you feel deran’s hand on your arm “hey. i’m sorry we didn’t- come back. come on!” you shake as he continues to speak, already making your way through the backyard, but you hear him following after you. “i was drunk, and i told you that in confidence. i would never- not in a million years- make a joke or talk about your business with others, so why do you think it’s okay to air out mine? especially when the person in question is around” you’ve reached your car, opening the door to the backseat to throw your bag and quickly shutting it again with a loud thud. before you reach the handle of the driver seat, a wave of hot awfully shame washes over you, you slide your hand down your face as you whisper profanities to yourself. “i mean, seriously, deran! i see andrew all the time, this is so embarrasing” you say as you shake your head. “i’m sorry. i just- i just thought that- that maybe you would get the guts to tell him?” he replies.
before you can even reply you hear “what?” behind you. but you knew that voice. the raspy, sweet like honey voice that would follow you through quiet, long drives. the same voice that would appear in you dreams from time to time, the voice that belonged the man that you wishes was yours…but belonged to someone else.
your eyes widen, and deran’s gaze mirrors yours.
fuck.
guysssssss if this sucks lol i’m sorry. haven’t written in ages. something short i wrote on my phone lol it came out angstier than expected. summer break is finally hereeeee which might mean that i have more time to write (although i have a million things to do so we’ll see about that). it feels good to be back and get this writing mind mouse rolling. INBOX ALWAYS OPEN! if u have any tips, critique or just ideas lmk :p might write a part 2 idk 🫰happy pride month !
Just a small set of sunglasses... well, polarized sunglasses. I had these in my forever long list of wips so it's about time I'd share these. As always, hope you all enjoy! 💕
Additional information:
▪ Polarized Sport Sunglasses - 4 variations With & Without Band
Includes 30 swatches - 10 solids frames, 10 gray camo frames, & 10 green camo frames
BGC + Includes all maps & LODS
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