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.
𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘩0𝘵 ⛥ hopefully the turian anatomy descriptions don't seem disgusting; started with a plot and it really fell apart, but the smut part prevails at least. google ostrich reproductive system if you want to visualize it more (specifically the "odd" hole part)
𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴 ⛥ 3.12k
cw: one part sub garrus into no sub/dom dynamics, top shepard, bottom garrus, missionary, hair tugging, guns (not during sex), several comparisons between turians and humans mostly, then some comparisons to asari and earth animals, alien s*x, interspecies s*x, fraternization, in-depth descriptions of turian anatomy (it's weird)
There's a target ahead of you, down one thousand meters. It doesn't move and it doesn't breathe, but you do. Your gun sways with your body, the image of the red circle in your scope moving in your vision.
A shot rings out to your right, not a bullseye, but close. You're not alone, but you've got a turian beside you and no one else.
No one else, just you and Garrus Vakarian, ex C-Sec operative; though you know damn well that doesn't mean much at all. No, this is Archangel: the turian who tamed Omega... but you're no no-name, either. You're the Commander Shephard, Reaper Killer. Before that, you were already a War Hero, or a ruthless Sole Survivor in other accounts.
None of that matters now, actually. Only skill matters.
One deep breath in, another out.
You and Garrus are much alike. He's snarky with a quick tongue, though it only seems to serve for bragging. Apart from that, you're both decorated soldiers with a preference for the sniper rifle.
Though you and him both know that liking the same broad category of gun doesn't mean jack shit. He likes a slow but powerful rifle, something he can perch with like the little bird he doesn't know he is. You like it when the mag holds more than one bullet; when you can peak over cover, get a pick, and move on. You're at a disadvantage here. With no time constraints, Garrus can go as slow as he wants, and from this distance? You have to too.
Yet, you've matched him shot for shot. You're at a disadvantage and you're still matching him, but that's still infuriating. Garrus does not give you any length of rope to tug.
You'll admit, though... the game is fun.
Another deep breath, this one you hold. The gun sways less, the image grows still.
The crack would be defeaning if it reached your ears. The splinter of the red, wooden target even worse, shattering all over you, but you're one kilometer down range and so it doesn't reach you.
"Dammit." Garrus mutters beside you, that flanging, deep voice of his wavering ever so slightly.
"Give up, Vakarian?" You can afford to look away from your scope now, turning to look at him. He doesn't do the same. Unlike his voice, his stance and his grip on the gun do not falter.
"You wish." He replies instead, and the next moment he shoots.
You scramble to look into your scope again. Then, lo and behold, his target has shattered.
"You were saying, Shepard?" Garrus smirks, or at least that's what you think you're seeing, as he stands up. You and him both know that a thousand is the farthest target in this range. Low, for his standards, but it was the closest place to you in this somewhat remote colony, and you just couldn't wait for the next warp to settle your score.
"It's Commander to you." You reply, falling back to pettiness in a lack of quick wit. You can just see it in his scarred expression how he knows he's won, at least with words, for now. "You had the home field advantage."
"Oh?" Garrus says, like he's pleasantly surprised, "And what is it about this backwater planet that screams Garrus Vakarian's home?"
"You know that's not what I mean, smart-ass."
Together, the two of you rack up your borrowed rifles–you had to borrow the same model, it's only fair–and walk out of the range. If it weren't for your words, you'd look like a jolly ole' pair of friends.
"Then–?"
"I meant that there were no time constraints, no factors, no stakes," You scoff, "where you thrive best. The waiting game. I'm much better on the field: closer distances, plenty heads, a fast pace."
Garrus laughs in turn, amused. You're like a light game to him. "You've seen me plenty on the field, Shepard. I'm your most trusted soldier."
He says it like he's sure of it. That confidence, it's infuriating... but it's also his selling point. You can't deny it.
"Let's have a rematch."
Garrus' smile only shows clearer. It's weird on a turian, rows and rows of teeth like geese, though still hidden behind mandibles and jaws. Never a good sign when other species smile on Earth. For monkeys, it's aggression. For turians... it's amusement; and on this particular turian? It's pretty.
"Sure. Where?"
You had a temper, he had a tongue.
A tongue that he didn't know how to use properly. Whether with Vega or you, or anyone else for that matter, he only ever used it for bragging or talking about calibration or guns, especially guns. That's why you had to shut him up.
His mouth never stayed closed, anyway. You mean it in the literal sense—turians always keep their mouths open when their faces are resting, you're not even sure if they can close them.
Garrus certainly tries, though, on Commander's orders.
"Keep that pretty mouth open." You'd said. The first bit, kneel? That part went unsaid. One glance down at the floor and Garrus was happy to obey.
Sure, he was good with a gun, he had skill; but you had him beat in some places. All the talking, the persuading especially. Not that it took too much persuading to get him here.
He knows what to do. It's instinct. Either that or secretly educating himself on human male genitalia, a Fornax mag or two. Now that's an idea! Garrus prepares himself for everything. He checks for sniper perches every time he enters a room. So preparing himself for this means he was anticipating it.
You were too, and it'd be a lie to admit otherwise. Fucking into his mouth, you already know what to hold onto: the crests atop his head. Little flimsier than you'd imagined, but you're not an animal.
No, you're just angry.
Vakarian got on your nerves. With no other gun range on this random planet, there was only one way to settle this.
When your tip hits the back of his throat and Garrus gasps a tiny "ah!" you know you've won, but then you need a prize now, don't you?
Like geese, as you'd imagined earlier, there's no teeth right 'round the very front, top or bottom. That just leaves a very clear path for you to fuck. Right on top of his tongue, straight to the back of his throat. No obstacles, no uvula, you like that.
It's clear that you do. You can't keep your mouth shut. You know he'll be running his mouth after that. After.
You wonder why it is the asari that dominate the stripped clubs and fantasies, when everyone's got perfectly good turians right there, with their perfectly good mouths.
It's probably their military pride and all that. Although, Garrus for his part... being a good soldier doesn't mean he can't take it. He lets you manhandle him all he wants, using his crests to pull his mouth on and off your cock like a damn toy. And those damn eyes of his... they never leave you.
"What do you have under that armor?" You wonder out loud. Garrus, of course, can't answer you, much as his eyes find their limit at the very top of his eye socket to stare at you. "Before you ask, no, I'm not a fan of Fornax."
Leave it to humans to publish a sex magazine to the whole galaxy just ten years after first contact. Not that you'd blame them, though. This right here is heaven; and if it's anything like turian heaven, you're headed for the bar.
It does make you wonder, though. What do they have under there?
It takes some self-restraint to pry yourself from his throat. It takes even more when he cranes his head to look up at you, alert and confused. Did he like it when you fucked his throat? After that look, you think so.
"Up." You command, then nod over to the bed. In stealth missions, Garrus tends to know just what you want just from a gesture. Bringing him out all the time gives him more to brag about, but it has his benefits.
"You like fucking peoples' throats, or just mine?" Garrus says as he stands, wiping off the saliva from his lower jaw. Before you can think about brat taming, he settles at the foot of the bed, your bed.
"As far as that goes, yours is the best turian throat I've ever fucked." You begin to strip fully, and Garrus takes that as the sign to follow suit.
"My turian throat is the only one you've ever fucked," He pauses then, in the middle of taking off his pants, as he really thinks about it. "right?"
"Exactly."
Garrus rolls his eyes.
"If it brings you some comfort," You slide the one pant leg Garrus was missing off his body and suddenly push him down, making him let out a flanged oof. "a man always remembers his first."
"Is that supposed to make me blush?" Maybe that doesn't make him blush, but following your gaze does.
The turian dick, or what you think is a dick, anyway, is conical, fleshy, and rather flat; grooved in a way that actually makes it look like a large tongue. Right below it, and you mean right below, is an opening. Both hole and phallus are blue, the color hanar glow when they talk. Definitely alien.
"Return the favor and don't scrutinize me? It was hard enough not to comment when I first–"
"You were quite eager to shove my cock down your throat, if I recall correctly." That gets him to shut up rather quickly. "I won our little competition anyway, so–"
"That remains to be seen."
Before Garrus can get an inkling of what you have planned for him, you prod open his hole with a thumb. He lets out a sound, the flanged effect of it making one half of his voice sound like a groan and the other a whimper.
"No fair."
"Why isn't it fair?" You ask, shallowly adding your index finger to the fun and stretching your fingers out, just to see the resistance of his hole. Garrus shudders.
It's wet, you realize, pushing your index finger deeper and curling it.
"Because I don't get to touch you back." Uneven grounds, the perfect reason to call it quits.
But... "I'm ripe for the picking, Vakarian."
As if you've given him permission, Garrus cups the back of your neck and pulls you down to kiss you, like humans do. He's certainly done his research. He can't really move his jaws forward like lips do, but he makes up for it with wandering hands, in your hair, on your back, twisting and smoothing.
You've won there, in that kiss, by default. It shouldn't feel like a fun game because of it, but Garrus' jaws open his tongue twists with yours. It's different now. You've still got the upper hand, yes, of lip movement, but is it really a factor to compete over when he doesn't have lips? You'll take anything you can get, actually, because his tongue is longer than yours...
You push another finger into him and Garrus gasps, breaking the kiss. Okay, you've won that game.
Garrus' legs spread just a little wider, it comes easy. Spreading him open is easy, too. His hole is malleable, gummy, and secretes its own lubricant. There's one thing turians have over humans, you suppose. Their males are more fuckable.
Stretching him open is familiar ground. His dick, on the other hand? It's wide at the base, you can't wrap your hand comfortably around it like you're used to...at least you think.
Well, first time for everything.
"Shit, Shepard!" Garrus exclaims. His hips follow with a thrust into your hand from pure instinct. "Give a guy a warning."
It really is kind of like a tongue. It's fleshy and wet, coated base to tip with something fairly viscous. Garrus rocks his hips into your hand softly when you start jerking him off. It doesn't take much until he starts dribbling–and you don't know whether that speaks for the man or the race–but when he does, it comes out of him from the top, sliding down the whole length of it down the center, guided by the grooves on the sides, and it's somewhat thin, not viscous.
It comes rather easy, actually. It's vulnerable, eveb. The only soft part of a turian and it's his cock. You marvel at the rest of Garrus' body, his thick skin especially; how bony yet fragile the protusions behind his knees are, sharp not in the way of a knife but in the way of silhouettes. A powerful figure, sleek and slender. Turians sport thin waists and thin hips, but their strength is supported visually by legs as wide as their shoulders, curved at the top like little hand holds.
Garrus' hand comes suddenly atop your hair, where it finds a good grips and tugs, making you wince. "Are you scrutinizing or admiring? Can't tell, Commander."
"I can tell you like my hair." As if caught, his hand moves down to your cheek. "Or human hair."
"Your hair." He corrects. "You have hair on your cheeks too."
"Never realized until now?" You let go of him to press closer and wrap his legs around your waist securely... really can't resist anymore. You grab the curves at the tops of his legs to pull him closer. It makes his head slide off the pillow, but lets you lean right over his body.
"No." With the proximity, his voice comes in a whisper now. "I see it when I look at you for long enough."
"Huh." You hum with mild surprise. Turians do have keen eyes. "We call it peach fuzz."
"What's a peach?"
You break apart to laugh, but Garrus pulls you right back in, his hand back in your hair. You kiss. Or well, you kiss him, but he seems to enjoy it.
"What do you feel when I kiss you?"
"If you're concerned about what I feel, just fuck me." He replies crudely, unhooking one leg from your hips to spread it aside, exposing himself to you.
His... pre, you think, has spilled onto your mattress. You clear your throat, "Point taken."
It's natural. He has a hole, you have a cock; but then, he's a turian, and you're a human. You're not the first turian-human relationship. You're far from it, even. Except...add to that fraternization, a roaring synthetic-organic war, you're the most well-known human military figure in the Milky Way and he's the, well, you don't know just how the turian military is ordered, but you're sure he's somewhere up there.
After years of negotiating ceasefires, perhaps you should try thinking with your cock for once.
It's weird, at first, prodding in. There's less resistance than... well, you know. It's a lot wetter, too. There's already an embarrassing schlk and you haven't even added lube.
"I really do want to know what you feel when I kiss you–youch, Vakarian."
Garrus tugs at your hair, and though it didn't stop your train of thought, it did stun you for a moment. "How do you feel when I do that?"
"Hurt." Lightly. On the other hand, you're beginning to think Garrus quite likes your hair.
His foot finds its way somewhere on your back, and it's no mistake, as it begins to push you deeper and deeper into him, and who are you to hold back?
"...and that?"
"Good." You chuckle. His grip on your hair turns into a hold of the back of your head as you lean down, over him. It's intimate. Even more so when you bottom out inside him.
"Commander?"
You probably shouldn't let him call you that, but... it feels natural. "Yeah?"
"Kiss me."
You don't have time to think about how that probably means that he does feel something when you kiss him, because you're too lost in actually kissing him.
And fucking him, for that matter. At first, it feels rather cavernous, until Garrus does this little magic trick called clenching down around you and it feels fuckin' good.
There's more than his cloaca sucking you in. Oddly, you feel another hole somewhere inside of him and along his gummy walls. Your tip catches against it sometimes when you pull out to the head and fuck back into him, and it makes Garrus whimper every single time. Yes, whimper. The Archangel, whimpering for you.
And yes, turian males are indeed more fuckable.
As you thrust into him, much of the temper you had before comes back to you. It doesn't manifest as anger, but rather a fervor, a determination, to fuck him until he's molded into the sheets.
Whimpers turn to moans, Garrus can't keep his mouth shut, on the literal sense. His mandibles have flared out. His arms wrap around your neck.
They jump from the base of your neck to the top each time your pelvis meets his body, as moans turn to gasps. Then gasps turn to groans as you fuck him harder.
His hands fall off your neck now, talons digging into your sheets. With a rip, the fitted sheet tears under fhe pressure his talons, but you can't find it in you to care. It's merely an afterthought, in front of what you can have.
A turian—no, not just a turian. Garrus Vakarian.
This is more than a turian hole that you're fucking, more than the odd turian anatomy or the primal smell of what lube his body secretes. This is Garrus' hole you're fucking, and despite all the fun you poke at each other and all the competitions, you love that it's his.
When Garrus cums, it's with a squirt so harsh that it doesn't get to dribble down the grooves of his dick, but sprays just to get out of him, wherever it can. That includes, even, behind it. When Garrus cums, it's with a start, a gasp.
And when you finish, your cum lands on his thin abdomen, flowing down the panel-like grooves of his body and pooling right above his pelvis.
But that's not the only thing to look at. You suppose what you're seeing is the turian equivalent of going soft, as his tongue-like, cum-covered mess of a phallus retreats into his hole.
"Huh." You can't help but hum.
Garrus, unphased, asks, "Surprised huh or confused huh?"
"Both." You say. Garrus' hand lands on your cheek again; in his post-nut bliss and ignorance, talons first. You don't let that threat keep your attitude down. "...surely I've won this one, right?"
you’re taking people’s money for commissions, you owe them two things: communication and refunds.
If you can’t do the work—fine. Life happens. Everyone gets that. What’s not fine is ghosting the very people who paid you. Ignoring messages and sitting on their money? That’s not “overwhelmed,” that’s straight-up stealing.
At the very least: have the common human decency to answer your DMs. Say you can’t finish it. Send the refund. Don’t make people chase you down for months wondering if they’ll ever see what they paid for.
And I’m speaking from experience—I commissioned something months ago, tried to be nothing but nice and patient the whole way through, and I still haven’t gotten a single word back or my money. I even gave the writer, a full week’s heads up to respond before posting this, and they still said nothing. So this is my last resort.
It’s not hard. Respect the people who respect your work. Own up, give the money back, and move on.
Creators deserve compassion, but commissioners deserve basic decency.
Paring : Jane Shepard x half human female medic reader
Warning : fingering, sub reader, dom Jane, 18+ MDNI
A/N: the only person I want in the game I can’t have…(∘⁼̴⃙̀˘︷˘⁼̴⃙́∘)
“Shepard–what ha—!?”
Fumbling on your big yellow rubber gloves you hastily approach Ashley who is carrying a limp unconscious Shepard on her back.
“Get the commander to the med bay immediately! She’s been hit!”
You quickly nod, shrugging your shoulders so Ashley can maneuver the commander into your arms before you dash recklessly through the hallways to the med bay. The shuttle was dusty, thick milky fog creeping in the dense air as soldiers wailed and groaned in pain in the middle of the halls. A small group of bandit turians ambushed the space shuttle after the ship was running low on fuel. A quick pit stop for a giant broken down shuttle almost felt comedic in a way, especially when half the ship was on the brink of death.
“Everyone move, commander is down, I need to pass–“ you bump into the back of a fellow comrade, his expression a pitiful gesture of sympathy.
“Nurse,” he holds his wrist where his hand used to be now only reduced to a bloody stump. Gesturing with his head into the crowded room filled with patients, the man apologetically said “The med bay is full, didn’t you hear?”
“That’s impossible, I was just here five minutes ago, there’s no way it could have gotten this crowded…” scooting past the soldier you twist and turn in the crowded humid room. It smelt raw of blood, patients curled up and beaten as they waited silently for treatment. “Chakwas, commander Shepard is—“
“Not now, nurse can’t you see I’m busy?” The doctor looms over a patient, her expression stern and focused as she examines her open wound.
“I don’t care, I need to treat the commander, there should be at least one place I can care for her can’t I!? Chakwas please…” you bite your chapped bottom lip, eyes puffy and moist as you try your best not to curl over and cry. “You know I can’t lose her again, please..”
Letting out an exhausted groan of irritation, Chakwas hurriedly leaves the operation table to a shelf in the back corner, she tosses you a black medical emergency bag and a few bottles of medicine. “Take it, but don’t come back here to bother me with this again unless you’re coming back to help.” She rushes over to the patient once more, as a few other nurses burst in the room to help other soldiers who are wounded on the floor. You give her a timid look of appreciation, nodding furiously before rushing out the door into the main floor of the ship. There was too much going on. Where exactly could you treat Shepard?
—
The crews quarters were empty, everyone had gone to the medbay, and luckily for you it wasn’t that far of a walk. You haul Shepard onto one of the untidy beds, running a quivering hand over her warm forehead. She had a gashing wound on her chest, and you needed to act quickly. The medical bag Chakwas gave you only had limited supplies. A needle and a long sleeve of thread was all you had to work with. Of course there were other items you could use, especially to clean Shepard's wound, but the supplies weren’t as helpful as you might have wanted.
You hastily start to undress her upper half, stopping when you reach her spaghetti stringed undershirt. Her wound was deep, a large gash that could leave even the strongest soldier queasy. Your trembling voice whispered through the silence, “don’t worry, love, I’ll make sure you’re better.” Shakily grabbing her limp hand you squeeze into it, bringing her palm up to your face so you can feel her warmth. This might be the last time you can ever feel her pulse again…”I’m so sorry, this is my fault, I shouldn’t have let you go. I should have tried better to stop you from flying near here.” Your body was overwhelmed with the deep pit of guilt. Before the invasion, the both of you got into an argument about flying so close to a distant planet. It was dangerously isolated, a ruined land washed away from years of war. Only populated by wandering crooks, giant bugs and ruins of cities that were long gone. You tried to stop her, but what word do you have against the commander?
“Ok, ok, ok–“ you try to collect yourself, wincing when you lower the string of her top to get better access to the scar. It’d probably take a few hours to stitch up something as wide and gnarly as this.
You work tirelessly for hours, consistent concentrated energy in your hands as you stitch her wound closed. You were thankful she was still breathing, and also that she was knocked out cold, it’s not like you could give her any pain meds while she was fast asleep. You were careful with each stitch, silently comforting deaf ears when you tugged skin against skin. “You’re fine, Shep, you’ll be ok.”
And when you’re finally finished you can’t help but feel a huge sense of relief overflow your senses. Your gloves were bloody, mixed red stains of your lover's blood smeared onto your palm. But you couldn’t care less, she was ok.
Washing and disinfecting your hands in the nearby bathroom was quiet. Once you left you went back to the medbay to go help Dr. Chakwas and the other nurses with the other patients, to say she was pissed that you took so long was an understatement, but you were fine taking her harsh whiplash since Shepard was ok.
“Well?”
You give a curious hum. After half an hour Chakwas speaks to you once again, the soldiers who were withering in pain on the floor were now quietly sleeping in their beds and soft makeshift mattresses. You all had finished the job. It was a long one, but now you were finally able to rest. “Hm?”
“You haven’t told me if the commander is ok, but seeing that you are in high spirits I can assume you did a good job?”
You had hoped you did a decent enough job, you’re not even sure your work was effective, you only knew you managed and controlled her bleeding. “Yes ma’am,” nodding hesitantly as you wash your hands at the disinfectant station near the door. “I controlled her bleeding with a continuous and purse string stitch, she had a few gashes on her upper chest, but when I left she was in good condition.”
“Oh, and her temperature went down a significant amount.”
Noting your earnestness, Chakwas sighs, grabbing the towel you were holding to clean your sweat filled browline. “We all need some rest, I’ll check up on her once I wake up. I’m counting on you to make sure she’s stable before you go to sleep?”
You nod, yawning under your palm “thank you, doctor. I’ll take care of her.”
“Don’t overwork yourself, I’ll be there to check on her soon, I just need to clean up in here and then take a small nap..” she grabs her hip, rubbing roughly into it as she groans out from exhaustion. The ship was finally silent, no more wailing soldiers, only the double patterned beeps of medical equipment and the distant buzzing of lights. The walk back to the crew’s quarters was antagonizing, each step you took felt like you were sinking into lava. Was Shepard ok? Would she still be alive when you opened the door? You were ridden with guilt, it hurt so bad that your stomach hurt. You should have stayed with her..
The doors disbanded open, the room inside dim and cold, only lit by a bedside lamp. Shepard was awake now, arms crossed, and a sour expression on her lips. When you entered you both couldn’t help but stare at one another in shock, regret and relief.
…
…
“Commander..” your eyes grow blurry, the mix of overwhelming sadness and fatigue taking a prevalent toll on your body. You wanted to rush over to her, wrap your arms around her and cry into her neck but you just stood there, fist and lips clenched as you shiver. She looks you over, eyes distant and unmoving before she finally breaks her composure.
“Come here, I’m not made of glass.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” you quietly whispered, and she can’t help the sharp sting of regret shoot in her heart.
“Stop being ridiculous, and come here, that’s an order.”
Your legs almost fail you as you tumble your way toward her, you reach her bed, standing beside it before she pulls you down onto her lap with a groan.
“Jane, stop— you’re hurt! —mhpp!” Chapped lips cross yours, a familiar slim tongue swishing over your own drowns you, you carefully maneuver your arms around her waist, panting as you pull away from her hurried lips.
“I’m so sorry, I'm an idiot, I’m sorry,” she grips your wrist, trembling on your chest as she inhales your scent. “I should have listened to you, I took a risk and put our whole crew in danger, I put you in danger, are you hurt?” She pats around your body, and you can’t help but let out a choked laugh
“I’m fine, how are you?” Light hands touch her wet scarred cheek, you smile, and she can’t help but give a guilty one back.
“In a hell of a lot of pain, but I’ll manage.”
“Then let me get off you—“ you try to stand, but her strong grip doesn’t falter.
“No, I thought I lost you in the invasion,” her calloused hand rubs your legs before she’s back to kissing you, frenzied mouth wrapping and slurping your own “let me stay with you, don’t pull away, please?”
You comply, eyelids fuzzy before you submit to her kiss. She’s quick to spread your legs open, rubbing a hand over your clothed slit while her other rubs your perked nipples through your shirt. “You always take care of me, always think about me.”
“I need to take better care of you..I don’t want to lose you.”
You moan softly into her mouth, teeth gnawing into her puffy bottom lip when she finally slips her hand under your panties, pulling and tugging your small clit before she gives it a gentle slap. “Jane,” your hoarse voice faints out under her, hands clinging to her wrist as she rubs her fingers in circles on your clit. “You’re hurt, let me get off you, please —“
She doesn’t relent, she only probs her fingers over your entrance, gathering your arousal on her fingertips before sticking them inside. She’s restless for a person who just got stabbed and shot as she fingers you, her surprising show of strength present as she holds you against her heaving chest. “Don’t run away from me, not ever again.’ She curls her fingers inside you, kissing up your neck as you burn from her touch “I don’t want to lose you tonight, let me make you feel good, you simply deserve it and more.”
A/N: Ik Shepard is just a silly little guy, but in my gameplays I guess I make her a bit more of an authoritative threat… I love my wife
MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ
WARNINGS: fem reader | sexual content | age gap | making out | grinding | size difference | overpowering.
DILF!GARRUS VAKARIAN who thought the basis of human attraction depended on youth. Imagine his surprise when you not only couldn't stop staring at his aging body like he was a fully equipped armory before a mission, but you showed genuine interest at the prospect of his superior amount of experience.
Here you are, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, fresh from hopping ship to ship serving with your parents until you were brave enough to go at it on your own. Now you follow him around like a lost puppy, constantly questioning his motives just to hear him talk, asking him to explain a calculation over and over again. He notices how you squirm when he talks down to you, so to speak. He's positive you're not incapable, but he's not going to refuse a request from so eager a learner. Even if you're not going to learn how to do advanced calculus, he tells himself it's still valuable to hear it. Even if you demonstrate how little you're listening when you chew on the end of your pen at him, and bat your long lashes. Nod slowly through hooded eyes, letting them generously trail down his figure in his suit.
It's enough to make him trail off, clear his throat, adjust his neckline as he glances away to break the tension he's inadvertently fanning. "Run along now." he sometimes tells you so you'll get away from him, so he'll have some room to breathe, so he's not constantly reminded of what a low-life he is when he's around you. Instead, that phrase sends you crazy, biting your lip at him over your shoulder as you sway out of the room.
"Bye-bye, Vakarian~" you purr, and scamper off.
Garrus feels shame when he lets you win. He's supposed to be older, know better, protect someone like you. But when you're clinging onto him, inclining him down to your soft lips, he can't imagine being anywhere else. Tucked away in some dark corner of the Normandy, you guide his hands to touch your young body through your clothes, riding up the material so his touch sets what little it grazes ablaze. After months of dancing around each other, finally you're granted a little relief. And his face burns hot from the contact however brief.
"I'm... I'm not... usually like this.." Garrus confesses, breathless, heart racing. The possibility of you two being caught together, tangled in embrace in a precarious location... there'd be no way to talk his way out of it. Everyone would think of him as some Turian predator, can't get a date unless it's with a girl half his age. And he's not beating the allegations as his claws dig into pliant flesh, drawing you closer to press your hips into his. As if gravitating towards your sex, heavenly bodies bump clumsily as you reconnect with his mouth. Apparently, you're not interested in hearing his protests, claiming he's not "usually" like anything, because right now he's showing you how much he very much is like this. His grip on you is not one of a Turian with doubts.
You've never kissed his species before, and at first his mandibles were hard to get used to—and it felt like he wasn't used to it either—but once you realized he's much more relaxed with his tongue, everything else fell into place. His lack of lips is an obstacle to kissing, but irrelevant when making out. Meeting in the middle, that tongue is long in reach and eager in attitude, coiling around yours in a way a human's would never be capable of. Reptilian in nature, his sulcus is defined, allowing his muscle to fold in on itself, elongating to the thinner apex.
Your palm that cups his face, draws down so your fingertips dance along the grooves of his scarring, coming to trace the line of his mandible. As long as you've known him, you've never gotten this close, and when he massages your tongue with his deft one, an embarrassing whimper emits from your parted lips. Instinctively, you rear your head to break the kiss—if you can even call it that. But Garrus is unyielding. A strong arm around your waist arches you into him, as if possessive over this act you've introducing him to. Confirming your suspicions with an annoyed growl and his tongue venturing further into your mouth, a wave of pleasant tingles washing up from core in response to such behavior. Your knees are weak, held up by his overpowering strength as he takes what he wants.
Playfully, you scold him by banging your fist against his chest piece. He retracts an inch, and you're allowed a second to breathe even if you're crushed against him. Panting through your grin, you nuzzle him with the tip of your nose, and he speaks against your lips. "You were trying to run away from me." he muses, curling his frame around you so it's truly inescapable. "I like that little sound you made." his mouth grazes yours as he talks into you, recycling air, "Make it again."
‘Un-official couple’ (Garrus Vakarian X Male Reader)
Sheperd’s team is a bunch of odd folks. Whether humans or aliens, soldiers or criminals, sane or insane people. All kinds of people from different lives come in to help Shepard and the rest of the galaxy to defeat the Reapers. Two of them are Garrus and Y/N, who got along quickly.
From the start, they got along well, whether on or off the battlefield. The crew find it a bit endearing, but as time passes, the crew thought differently about it. They considered Garrus and Y/N an ‘un-official couple’. Hell, they aren’t even sure they are aware of how close they are.
While sitting in their quarters, both soldiers are having their gun maintenance. Whether they clean the weapons, upgrade it or make sure the ammo is high enough.
“They should make snipers tinier.” Y/N states as he and Garrus move on to check out the snipers. “Easier to carry them around.”
“That might be the dumbest thing I ever heard. You need great strength for the bullet to crack through a skull of the poor bastard. That means recoil and in other words, need a bigger gun to deal with it.”
“It was just a suggestions. Pretty sure it can work.”
“You say that, but I know you like your weapons big.” Garrus says a bit teasingly.
Y/N knows what’s he getting at. “Do I?”
“Yes. Long, with a good area to grip it tight.” Garrus says with a deepening voice, enjoying every second of messing with his friend. “Can shoot miles away.”
Y/N hums. “I bet I’m not the only one who likes that. Since you defended big snipers, I bet you love big weapons.”
“Oh, I do-” Garrus then cracks up and begins to laugh, causing his friend to laugh along. “Alright, I’m done with the dick jokes.”
“Oh, you were joking?”
“Oh, shut it.”
While the two friends continue messing around as they do their duties, someone overhears them. It’s none other than their commander, Shepard. Wondering what’s going on with them, he decided to ask about it later.
-
As Garrus is doing a bit more calibration, Shepard walks in on him.
“Hey Garrus.”
“Hey. Is there something?”
“Just chatting.” Shepard stands beside his friend and leans against the wall. “Always nice to do something mindless while we may die tomorrow.”
“You can say that again.” Garrus responds a bit roughly. “But I try to look at it positively. We probably die next week.”
Shepard chuckles. “So… you and Y/N…”
The Turian looks beside him. “What about it?”
“I’m just glad despite everything that is happening, you two still act the same.” Shepard admits. “Kinda envious to be honest.”
“You got friends too, even if it doesn’t look like it.” Garrus jokes.
“I’m just saying…” Shepard is carefully looking at the right words as Garrus stares. “Some of the team consider you two as an ‘un-official couple’.”
“What!? Why?” Garrus sounds genuinely confused. “Can’t two people just be friends without it being romantic?”
“It can. Just not how you two treat each other.”
Garrus scoffs. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“I’m just saying what the team thinks.” Shepard defends himself. “But let’s be honest. You two constantly flirt with each other.”
“It’s call bantering. Look it up and you know what I means.”
“Does it?” Shepard replies. “I remember something about ‘having a manly time in the shower’.”
Garrus looks a bit flustered. “That was just a joke.”
“I know, I know!” Shepard assures. “I’m just saying, some people may think you two are an item.”
“Well, they’re clearly wrong.”
“Right then.” Shepard is then ready to leave. “Glad we got to talk. Let me get you back with your celebrations.”
Once left alone, Garrus begins thinking about what Shepard has said. He never thought he flirted with Y/N, at least genuinely. Still, he understands that can be interpreted as such. As he thinks further about it, he wonders if Y/N thinks so too.
-
The following day, the crew got to the Citadel. During which, everyone does their own thing. For Garrus, he goes to purgatory. He then sees Y/N hanging out with Liara and Tali. Without hesitation, he joins his friends in the lounge.
“So that’s why you can’t slam Omni-gel to bypass locks or other security systems?” Y/N questions.
“Yes.” Tali replies.
“But… why?”
“I’m not sure.” Tali shrugs. “I personally find it a lot less efficient.”
“You weren’t the only one.” Liara speaks up. “That security upgrade made a lot of people unhappy.”
That’s when Garrus joins in. “Hey.” He sits down beside his best friend. “Again with the rents about the Omni-gel controversy?”
“Yes.” Y/N sounds like it’s obvious. “I just don’t get it. Why would you make something worse, even if it was a massive security risk?”
“Look, you’re asking the wrong people.” Liara replies.
“Aren’t you supposed to be the Shadow Broker or something?” Tali points out.
“Just because I know what goes around 99% of the universe, which doesn’t mean I know everything.”
As Liara and Tali further chat, Garrus stares at the human man. Looking at him, he thinks about what Shepard has said. Maybe he should settle down while he still got the chance? And it’s not like he settles with someone he doesn’t like. After all, any day now, either he or Y/N can die, so they might as well make the most of it.
“Y/N.” The human looks back at his friend. “So, uh… you come to places like this often? Because, well, I don’t, but maybe I would if… um, if you were here.”
Y/N blinks a few times. “What?”
Garrus clears his throat. “I-I meant, you come here often?”
“Not really. Only to hang out with friends, but that’s it.” Y/N answers. “Just not a fan of music blasting my ears of.”
“I agree. I imagine people only come here to wish to become deaf.” Y/N raises his eyebrow, with Garrus becoming a bit flustered. “Not that I think you want to become deaf. You probably love your ears. I mean, I love mine. Uhh… the ears I got, not the ears humans got… yeah, sounds right…”
“O-kay?”
-
Y/N notices ever since that day, Garrus has been acting odd. Whenever he tries to be fun or nice, the Turian stutters and fumbles through his words. While Y/N knows his friend doesn’t mean any harm, he can imagine a stranger to think he’s a weirdo.
With another day living means another day training. Thus, getting in the hanger, Y/N is wearing his workout clothes, revealing his big muscles. Usually doing with Garrus, he sees his sparring partner.
“Nice outfit. It, uh, really accentuates… um, you know, everything.” As Garrus checks out his best friend, Y/N raises an eyebrow. “Not that I’m looking at everything, but—yeah. You get it.”
“I don’t?”
“Uhh…” Garrus awkwardly looks away. “Let’s just spar.”
On the mats, the two begin exchanging blows. While Y/N is training hard as usual, Garrus is holding himself back. The human isn’t sure why, but he doesn’t question it.
“Nice one. I mean, you’ve got… great form. Not that I was looking at it like that, but, uh… good muscles. Or… coordination. You know.”
“Thanks?” Y/N sounds a bit confused. Feeling a bit uncomfortable, he begins to mess around a bit. “There is more where these muscles come from.”
“I bet. I mean in the sense of strength, not the sexual attraction thing. …Not that I’m saying you’re not attractive. Uhh… I mean…”
Y/N then stops and just stares at his best friend. “Alright, you’ve been acting weird for days. What’s wrong?”
“There is nothing wrong.” Garrus replies.
“Is isn’t? Because whenever we talk, you don’t know how to have a decent conversation.” Y/N clarifies. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No! You didn’t do anything.”
“Then did you do something?”
“…Not necessarily.”
Y/N groans. “Can you stop being so cryptic and just say what’s wrong?”
After some hesitation, Garrus speaks up. “Fine. Shepard told me other people view us as an… well… a couple.”
“Oh. Okay.” Y/N casually says.
Garrus looks dazed. “Okay? What do you mean ‘okay’?”
“It means I don’t really care about what other people think about us.” Y/N stated. “Does it bother you?”
“No. Not really.” Garrus replies.
“Good. Then why are you acting weird?”
“Uhh…” Garrus looks hesitant again. “I’ve been thinking about it. We… we would be a good couple.”
Y/N smirks. “You want to become a couple?”
“Yes, no, uhh…” Garrus feels a bit embarrassed. “What do you want?”
“I think we would be a great couple if you want to. Is that what you want?”
“…Is that what you want?”
“Stop avoiding my question.”
Garrus sighs, having no choice but to answer. Still, he doesn’t have the guts to fully admit it. “I would like that…”
Y/N smirks. Without shame, he walks over to his partner in love to kiss his partner. Garrus in return, remains frozen. It doesn’t take long before the human pulls back.
“And?”
“Your lips feel nice. Kinda wishes I had lips.” As Garrus looks at his partner, he looks a bit awkward. “So… your waist looks really supportive.”
Instead of finding it weird, Y/N laughs it off. “Yeah, we need to work on your flirting skills.”
