#shakarian fanfic

[shittybundaskenyer]

stranded enemy soldiers during the first contact war au has me in a chokehold. rest is on ao3 because it's a bit spicy :))

[girafficparka]

“Of all the flowers you could have picked, you would choose one that is actively trying to eat you.”

“Chewdina would never eat me. He loves me. And I love you, don’t I, sweet boy?” she cooed, lifting the large globe to peer lovingly at her monstrous plant. The kympna lobe snapped at the air but, shockingly, didn’t lunge.

“It’s a plant, Shepard. It doesn’t love anybody.”

“Don’t be jealous, Garrus.”

“I’m not.”

Shepard hummed to her plant, oblivious to him.

“I’m…not.”

~~~

He’s not jealous. Seven-foot alien husbands (who also happen to be built like a plated Adonis) don’t get jealous of tiny little man (and turian)-eating plants.

Right? RIGHT?

Find out in Palaven Rising Chapter Eleven!

[dispatchwithlove]

Antagonistic Shakarian 👀

Deserves more eyes 👀👀👀👀

Thanks for the ask 😊

Ok. So I got a bit of an itch for antagonistic relationship dynamics and of course my mind was like "what if shakarian? 👀"

I think it's really fun, but I'm really worried about writing and posting it because I'm so used to writing bestest of friends Jane and Garrus. But I do like this idea because I want to show two people who used to be close and are questioning their beliefs and how the world works bumping heads because they're challenging each other. There will be a lot of contempt, but that's only because they care very much about each other. Maybe Garrus convinces Shepard there's no such thing as a model hero (pure paragon doesn't exist in reality), maybe Shepard reminds Garrus of some of the values he dropped in order to become Archangel. And also it's an excuse to write two people that are disasters having a lot of hot sex 🤭

here's where their issues start. it's still very rough!

“I think you're a good man, one I’m proud to—” “You’ve never lied before, Shepard. Don’t start now. That’s what you used to think of me.” So, that’s how he wanted to play this. No feelings spared. “Fine, I don’t want a vigilante on my ship. I don’t want someone who doesn’t know when to stop—” He scoffed, and a spike of anger shot up her spine. “You wanted the truth. Complaining afterwards is cowardly.” “I’m not complaining. But I used to look up to you—

“Excuse me?” Before she thought to contain her anger, she took two steps towards him, feet pounding against the floor, fists balling. She didn’t want a vigilante, true, but a C-Sec officer turned vigilante she could reform. Insubordinate prick, she wasn’t interested in. Instead of backing down, apologizing, retreating, he fucking smiled like her anger only amused him. “I used to look up to your tactics,” he said. “Best mind for assessing a situation I’ve ever worked with. Seems a suicide mission calls for someone who doesn’t know when to quit. That’s all I’m saying.” “What the fuck happened to you?” Shepard asked.  “Sorry you don’t like me now, people change in two years, though. You, for example—” Having no fucking interest in any more truths for the evening, she threw up a hand. “Yeah, I’m starting to understand that. Bunk here for the night. I’ll figure out what to do with you in the morning.”  She turned to leave, itching to look at something else, to get away from him before she said something she’d regret, or do something she’d regret. She’d never felt like punching a subordinate before, and would have never guessed the shy, do-right Garrus Vakarian, who looked up to her, who wanted to be a Spectre again because of her, who always stood at her six as if the position filled him with pride, would have been the bastard who drove her to that point. His hand caught her wrist, wrapped tight.  “You, for example, have become very touchy,” he said.  She jerked her arm trying to free her wrist, but he held firm, her skin burning from the friction, bones pulling too tight. His eyes held the cool confidence she only saw when he settled his rifle on his shoulder, but there was something more dancing in his gaze, something she couldn't read. She knew she could take him in hand-to-hand, hoped her instinct that he’d never hurt her could be trusted, and yet his hand felt so large, and his intention so murky.  Yes, she could take him. But she’d walk away with at least a broken wrist. And losing a friendship that meant more to her than she’d realized up until that day.  “Unless you want to be escorted off this ship at the next stop, let go.” His eyes blinked once, softened. Holding firm, his thumb stroked her palm. A ripple that – and she knew exactly what it meant – purred from his body and infected her senses. Within a breath her anger turned to confusion, and back to anger.  He’d never expressed anything more than platonic admiration before. Why would he imply something like that in the middle of a relationship breaking argument? And why did she like the sound of that purr so much? Irritation — at him, at her reaction — prickled through her.  “Lonely Garrus? Pretty sure Omega should have satiated whatever need you had.” “Not all.” His hold stayed firm. Whirring machinery and a steady beep from somewhere at the back of the room filled the silence.  He was needling her, playing with her. Knowing that didn’t wash away the desire shimmering deep in the pit of her gut, though.  Tension, heat, and thoughts of the taste of his skin and the strength of his grip on her thighs pulsed through her mind.  Shame rattled her back to her senses.  “I’m not interested in playing games with you. I’ll give you the night, and if you can’t get yourself together by morning…” He released her wrist with care, but the tender touch surprised her even more than the roughness just a moment earlier. Despite the burn on her skin and twist in her tendons, despite the fact that every instinct told her to run, the loss of his touch caused an unfamiliar desperation and loneliness to bubble up right in the center of her. Her ribs felt too small and her heart and lungs too big. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” she said and left, her footsteps pounding in the silence. Doors hissing behind her, she shook the tension from her hands. 

[ebwardelric]

I'll write it into a full fic in time but the idea of colonist, sole survivor garrusmanced Shepard surviving the events of me3 just to learn that Garrus succumbed to his injuries

She lost everyone on Mindoir, parents, aunts, friends, first love -the boy she'd marry-, and woke in a strange, unknown, sterile place, completely alone. The last of her bloodline

and rebuilt herself

Then loses everyone to the thresher maws on Akuze - including that fling-, waking again in a hospital ward with that familiar, overwhelming, clean stench. Chemicals and starchy sheets. Being told once again that she was the only one left of her new family. It's a curse. Mopping herself up from an externally bleeding wound.

She rebuilds,

finds family and kinship aboard the Normandy, they don't stay after Saren but they do keep in touch. She arranges to see Garrus. They're going to do good now... Then she suffocates in space. Finally it was her time to leave people she loved behind. Finally, finally, finally.

Then wakes, only loosely stitched together skin that isn't her own, with scars now repaired, what was left of her past. alone and being forced into action, to being told that her family had fallen apart, scattered without her, some presumed dead.

Told to rebuilt. Instructed to find new lives she'll inevitably lose through something she feels is some kind of cursed incompetence. Why is it always she who survives?

Rebuilding. Again. Her friends are alive. Not all of them well. Man did Garrus take it badly. A vigilante? Was he seeking his death too? Doesn't matter. We're all alive. They get closer. They bond. She's forgotten how it felt to be held like a woman and not as a soldier.

Maybe she loses key team during the suicide mission, maybe she didn't have time to order the the Normandy upgrades to ensure it was capable of doing what it needed to, maybe she skipped a few emails

Or maybe she ensures it doesn't happen. She saves the staff; because she isn't losing anyone else. Who knows.

And then me3. No Shepard without Vakarian. Legion gives his life. Her past team don't all join for this final battle. It hurts. Her family are too large now. Uncontrollable. more people to keep safe. But Garrus is here, has been from the start.

She sends him away to keep him safe. no no no. All people do is die when they're around her. Away is better. Aboard the Normandy.

But a message gets through from the Normandy. It's God knows where, but slowly comms come through.

She does it all. Against all odds. Lays down to die,

awakens, again. No one she knows around. Sterile. Sickly. Broken. Alone. The sandpaper sheets under her is what she knows best in this time.

It's true. Her curse continues. She adds his name to the memorial that sits heavy in her chest

Her family check in on her.

Garrus died hours after she saved the galaxy. She doesn't believe it at first. Can't. No.

She... Rebuilds? How much more can she take? Can she be ripped to shreds and tapestry herself back together again? Can she? Could you? Is there enough space in one body for this much grief?

[craftylittlenerd]

Last Line Tag

Tagged by the prolific @westernlarch 🧡 Game is to post the last line your wrote from your WIP from the first draft. This is from my long fic which I haven’t given an offical title to yet:

Yet in her dreams Shepard was visited by an older turian woman who was eloquently spoken, and had a wicked sense of humor. She had the same eyes as Garrus and hummed songs that she heard him quietly sing when he thought Shepard wasn’t paying attention. 

tagging to participate if you have the inclination @iheartgarrus @skadi-gemini @jl-kazz @luciferbecons✍

[gefionne]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Mass Effect Trilogy Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian Characters: Female Shepard (Mass Effect), Garrus Vakarian Additional Tags: Non-Graphic Violence, Established Relationship, Action/Adventure, Romance, Sexual Content Summary:

A decade after the fall of the Reapers, Shepard has set down her pistol and taken humanity’s place on the Citadel Council. Combat is stern tongue-lashings rather than firefights, and recent clashes with the batarians have her so wrapped up in work that she’s forgotten it’s her anniversary: ten years with Garrus Vakarian. In their busy days, it’s not the first time they’ll celebrate late, but when an old contact gets Shepard into a skirmish on Zakara Ward, she’s in for a surprise from the turian she loves.

----

Written for a true writing buddy, after all these years: Shakarian!

[me-shepard-commander]

Shameless promo

AU where Garrus is a Spectre and he goes to Eden Prime to evaluate Shepard's candidacy for the Human Spectre but make it a slow-burn romance

Oh you mean the thingy im writing? Ah yes, let me just-

They're saving the Galaxy, your honor (3702 words) by snyoom Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Mass Effect Trilogy Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian Characters: Garrus Vakarian, Female Shepard (Mass Effect), Kaidan Alenko, Ashley Williams (Mass Effect), Richard Jenkins, David Anderson (Mass Effect), Liara T'Soni, Urdnot Wrex, Karin Chakwas Additional Tags: Spectre Garrus Vakarian, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Interspecies Relationship(s), Slow Burn Summary: Spectre Vakarian was getting restless and frustrated - trying to catch a Spectre was more tiresome than he previously had thought. He has been on Saren's tail for some time now; but finally, he was able to track him down. He managed to learn that Saren's on his way to a planet called Eden Prime - and that could only mean trouble. Garrus needs to convince the council about the possible dangers but they are frustratingly stubborn in their blindness. Despite their dismissive attitude, they presented him with an opportunity to see the planet while also babysitting a human candidate for a Specter. Of course, he can multitask; he will get Saren and evaluate the candidate. ~*~ or; Garrus is tired of Saren's sus activities and decides to get on a free ride to Eden Prime and cover Shepard's ass …………………… A retelling of the well-known story with a minor detail change that will lead to completely different outcomes (I'm still salty about the original endings lol)

[sapphiredraco]

Here's the first chapter of my first fanfic! I hope you enjoy! :)

[garrusvakarain]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Mass Effect Trilogy, Mass Effect - All Media Types Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian, Female Shepard & Garrus Vakarian Characters: Garrus Vakarian, Female Shepard (Mass Effect) Additional Tags: Post-Mass Effect 3, Earthborn (Mass Effect), Paragon Shepard (Mass Effect), Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kinda, Museum Date, No Shepard Without Vakarian, Established Shepard/Garrus Vakarian, Alien Cultural Differences, Cultural Differences, Shakarian - Freeform, One Shot, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff Summary:

A set a few years after the events of the war. Garrus and Shepard go on a museum date to see an exhibit about the history of humanity, currently on display at the Citadel Cultural Centre. Garrus learns a little about human history, and surprisingly, some things about Shepard.

[agaycabbage]

My favorite dance? New chapter dance!  Rewrite the Stars, a sexy Shakarian adventure that starts with ME1, spans more than 2 million words (so far), and is now in Andromeda! Updated weekly with much, much more to come

[shittybundaskenyer]

✹ ▬ 𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐒

rating: Explicit pairing: Female Shepard x Garrus Vakarian summary: the Mako breaks down in a snowstorm on Noveria. Shepard is stuck with her turian friend after some things went sideways in one of the research labs. warnings: first time gone wrong (but then so right), sex pollen, so much kissing, just pure smut (what do you want from me??), does doing it in the Mako is considered car sex?, interspecies sex, love confessions, so much fluff, Garrus is too sweet for his own good word count: 3831  

a/n: I had Mass Effect Legendary Edition on my PC for like a year and I'm now cursing myself why I've waited for so long to play the trilogy. The Bioware brainrot took me once more under its influence so I guess I'm going back to my roots. This is almost entirely is pure smut, I guess I can't write anything else nowadays but I'm embracing it now. So have this very rusty, messy love scene I wrote in a frenzy after finishing the trilogy. <33

MASTERLIST   |   ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN

Noveria is cold and white and still beautiful in that strange way only death can be. It became the noose woven around Garrus’ own neck too, when it twirled his fate and Shepard's own together in form of a messy string. 

It only started becoming strange when Shepard started to tear her armor off of her body, but by then all common sense was out, laying dead in the relentless snowstorm. She became feverish, smelling so sweet, like summer, like sun-warmed earth, like arousal that Garrus had realized all too late. They were warned by the dangers of the labs surrounding Peak 15, the tower that was like an old pine ringed by fungi, all the rot and unethical discoveries blooming under the disguise of neat little buildings that twinkled in the darkened landscape—a constellation hiding in a thick cloud of dark matter. 

He knows she was curious. He knows she only wanted to help, but Spirits, it will be the death of her one day, N7 or not, she’s only human. And she’s fragile, a goddamn glass cannon that can blow up the whole universe and crumble from hands that grip her a bit too tight at the same time. 

Liara’s warning came too late, they had to cut to the chase and there was no time to think about the consequences of Shepard's stray shot breaking open the containment cell of an unnaturally lush, succulent little flower in one of the labs. It didn’t set in until they were in the Mako and she steered the dumb tank even more recklessly than she did it stone cold sober. A boulder came, then the half of the mountain too, raining down thick globes of fresh snow until the Mako was good and well stuck. She was sweating by then, skin hot and wet and her eyes wild and Liara offered to get help from one of the nearby labs, leaving Garrus to protect his commander with his life. From what, he didn’t know. There was nothing, only snow and wind and Shepard’s warmth all around them for miles. But time trickled by like water on a glass window after a storm, slow, sluggish, and Shepard couldn’t keep herself in line anymore. 

She pleaded for a caress she always wanted from him and he wanted to give her everything instead. 

(Maybe he loved her all along.)

And now, now Liara is gone and has been gone for hours, and Garrus pushes Shepard into the Mako's seat, his forehead meeting hers, something akin to a kiss only lovers do. Her skin is damp, her hair sticking to her face in messed up crimson ribbons and he tries to trace the constellations under her eye with a blunted talon when blood floods her cheeks, making them twinkle like stars adrift a sea of nebulae. The Mako is dark but not dark enough to hide the fire flickering in her gaze, shielded by a series of curved, dark lashes. Humans and their strange hair—eyebrows and lashes and thousands of fair fuzz that stand up as he moves his hand lover, to the vulnerable skin of her throat, swiping a thumb over her pulse that jumps wildly at the touch. 

"Kiss me," she whispers, barely audible for the translator to pick up, and it almost sounds like music like this, a series of hisses and high notes, so he nuzzles his way closer to hear it once more, now pleading, the sound buzzing in her throat. 

It's beautiful in a way.

"How?" he whispers against the side of her jaw, warm plates against cooler skin, and she puts a hand to his face, five fingers splaying over his colony markings, urging him upwards until her lips can brush over his mouth. It's strange. It's unbelievably soft. Then— wet as her tongue darts out and tries to coax his mouth plates apart. 

He takes the leap and lets her in. Even if he has all the sharp teeth, even if it's wildly different from his own experiences. And Spirits, it feels good. It's tender—even though they started to tear at each other's armor before this, even though he has to clench his fingers into a fist before he scratches her in his hurry. This has to be gentle where nothing in the world is. 

His tongue meets hers, and now he understands why humans like kissing so much. He does now too. Shepard makes a sound as he tastes the inside of her mouth, the blunt edge of her teeth and sucks in a breath when Garrus pulls back to gaze down at her and find her looking dazed. 

"Alright?," he checks, always, afraid of fucking this precious thing up and Shepard has the audacity to smile. Full of teeth and curving lips, a flash of white in the darkness. 

"I'm good," she knocks her forehead against his, nuzzling him, "really good."

Garrus kisses her again as an answer, bolder now, so much braver, and he kisses and kisses her until there's no more left to give, until there's no air in her lungs. Something new shines in her eyes, in the pool of darkness that is her pupils, dilated beyond belief, ringed by a thin strip of wild green, a black hole with a halo. Want. Need. Something more. Something unbelievable. 

Garrus rumbles deep in his chest, a sound so low she can only feel its vibration against her sternum, the crook of her neck where his face finds a home. His subvocals sing so many things at once, a confession she can't understand, not yet. Contentment. Gratefulness. Lust. Love.

(Maybe I love you.)

She drags her hand across his face again, that delicate, soft hand that is only calloused in places where wielding a gun made the skin harder. She touches his fringe, and under it, where plates turn into the most vulnerable patch of hide he has on his body. His voice grows louder, more like a growl than a purr, and she smiles again, so pretty something under his keelbone jumps and bursts and flickers—a star being born. 

"That's—," he starts and he's not proud of the way his voice trembles. "That's one way to give the night a quick start."

Shepard's fingers stop in their movement, but before she could pull away he takes a hold of her forearm and soothes a thumb over the inside of her wrist, guiding her back to that spot. 

"Am I hurting you?" 

"Spirits, no," he flicks a mandible at her, his way of smiling, and Shepard puts her mouth to his jaw as her confidence grows. Garrus can feel the plates at his sheath slowly parting and somehow he's hyperaware of her body trapped against his, her knee brushing his own, warm even through metal and ceramic plates. 

They have to strip down that damn armor, like, right now. 

But Shepard knows this, feels this too, and her hand disappears so she can grab the waist of his pants and tug on it, even though turian armor is not designed in a way that it could make it come off easily. 

"Help me, will you?" she asks against the side of his mandible, face and incredibly soft lips still so close, her eyelashes brushing his jaw as she looks down between them in the dark and Garrus desperately wishes that he could feel that fluttering. Instead, he's stripping. The rest of his undersuit that was hanging by his hips goes lower when he unfastens every little clasp and belt he has around his spurs. 

Shepard licks his mouth. He rumbles again, louder when the thin fabric of protective weave finally pools on the Mako's floor, and he's right up there against her, pressing close, so close, until his keel digs between her breasts and his side is framed by her knees and he kisses her the human way, with so much tongue and want it leaves her breathless. 

"How much time do we have?" he asks against the underside of her ear, finding a soft spot there, one that pulls a whimper from her. 

"Barely any," she hisses and lets him nibble on the curve of her neck. "Gonna make the most of it?"

"Trying to," he smiles, mandibles catching her messy hair, blood red on silver, hands going up to cradle her nape, to get lost in that soft sea of crimson. 

Shepard likes this, likes the feel of his hide on her skin and she wants more, wants no barriers in those minimal, quiet gaps the differences of their bodies create. Negative space filled with heat and some unintelligible emotion, something like summer, something like home. She melds her body to his and Garrus can't help the low resonance his subvocals start to make. 

"Am I hurting you?" she whispers as she lays tiny kisses on his neck, just beside the edge of the plates shielding his spine. "You're trembling."

"No, I just—," his breath hitches as those kisses turn into gentle nips. Right where a bondmark would go. Spirits, he's slipping. She can't know this, she can't— "You just found all the good buttons to push."

He feels her smirk on his hide. He wants to have her mark here, even though the thought terrifies him.

(Maybe I love you.)

"You know I'm good at pushing buttons."

Garrus chuckles but it comes out rasped. He doesn't care. Not when he can feel her body vibrating, shivering as his hands finally roam downwards, onto her sides, her hips, the soft of her belly that is so blessedly bare. 

He slides a talon along the muscles leading down, around the small divot in the middle, lower still where Shepard's already lifting her hips up to let him free her of her undersuit pants. There's still some fabric that remains, covering her most intimate parts but she grabs his hands and makes him grip the fabric of it in a hurry. 

"Pull this down too," she whisper-commands and he obliges, skims the tips of his blunted talons over the jut of her hipbones, a feature all too familiar on a body made of infinite curves. It traps his gaze, the small hills and valleys, freckled here too, and hairy when he gazes lower, a trail of tiny red curls disappearing between lush thighs as he reveals more of her skin. 

The undergarment only gets down one leg, dangles on the other by her knee when he pries apart her thighs, makes himself at home right in the cradle of them. This is all too fast and all too hot, but none of them complains as they meet in another heated kiss. She smells different like this, stronger, sweet and tangy and something else, pure arousal he realizes, and Garrus can't hold himself back any longer, can't will the swollen edges of his sheath to stay closed. 

"Show me how to touch you," he asks, almost pleads, because damn, he can't be selfish with her, not when he trusts her with his life and wants all the happiness the world can offer for her. That too, is a confession he's not ready to make, not for himself and not for her, but Shepard stops him in his thoughts as she puts her hand back right under his fringe, driving him wild. 

"None of that right now," she pants, breathless as his hands go bruising on her hips. "I just want you inside me."

Fuck, this was not the way Garrus thought he would die.

"I don't want to hurt—" she interrupts him with another kiss, then a hand on his stomach, low enough to almost graze the plates on his groin. 

"Please, Garrus," it's a plea. Broken and rasped. Raw, like a fresh wound. Why is she suffering? 

"Don't let me hurt you. I could not live with myself and the consequences."

"You're sweet," she smiles quietly, looking up at him from under the shadow of those long lashes, eyes burning with fire and want and that same thing that eats his heart alive, while it still beats a wild rhythm only for her. 

Garrus touches a hand between her legs, follows the trail of fascinating hair to where it parts in a seam of flesh, soft folds hiding a hot, wet warmth. It's familiar enough, so much more slick and so much smaller, but there's give in the muscle lower, where his finger finally dips inside her. Spirits, that’s—

She angles her hips, and moans, right beside his ear when his finger slips deeper, almost to the last knuckle in one go and damn if that's not something he'll remember for the rest of his life. 

"C'mon," her lips brush the word against his mandible. He puts his forehead to hers and pulls his hand away, moving her instead, three fingers splayed on the jut of a hipbone. 

It takes a little more shuffling, a little more angling and gripping for him to slot himself right at the apex of her thighs, her warmth scorching here, a sun, a red giant star, her wetness smearing on the bare hide of his stomach and then he's holding her firm and letting his sheath finally, blessedly open, his cock sliding out and into her in a slow, perfect motion. 

Shepard doesn't breathe. She can't. Garrus can feel her shuddering against his keel as he keeps filling her, making way for himself inside her even though there's barely any. He never thought she could— that she would have all of him, like this, with her leg cramping up around his hip, with her throat full to bursting with unsaid curses and whimpers. His subvocals scream, his mind fogged by the feeling of her oh so close, so perfect, so beautiful like this, with her hands bruising his neck and her lips open on some silent shout. 

"Fuck, Garrus I—," there's a hitch in her breath, then a fluttering squeeze right on his cock, her muscles clenching up. He's gonna lose his mind just like how he lost control of his voice. 

(I love you.)

“I got you,” he murmurs instead, eyes half-closed, hands still gripping her waist. “I got you sweetheart.”

Shepard squirms, pulls his face right down to her, then lower, into the crook of her neck and a deep urge surfaces in him, an instinct buried deep under centuries of civilized life and culture, yet it was never erased from his genes. He evolved like this, with the want, the need, to bite, to mark something that he wants to forever keep his own. Turians mate for life. If she leaves now, he thinks he will die. Can another soul be ripped from his own? He would gladly lay in a cold grave with her. Would follow her to the end of the universe and back, just so he can protect her. Shield the one that wants to keep the world from crumbling. Travel through all the stars and Mass Relays laying dormant, see all the wild emptiness and beauty of the galaxy and it would still be nothing compared to the way she looks up at him now. 

There’s water collecting at her pinched brows; sweat, he remembers, and he lifts a hand there to swipe it away. Her eyes are wet too, glossy, glinting in the low light like a starry night sky over home.  

“Garrus—” she presses out between her teeth, her face scrunched up in a frown of pain-pleasure he assumes, because she never makes a move to push him away, to halt this perfect joining. He hopes it’s okay. He hopes he’s not fucking this up. Losing her after this would be a killing blow. A heart-shaped bullet hole right on his heart. 

“Just tell me how,” he takes her cheek in his palm, angles her so that he can kiss her. Slowly. Softly. It’s a fleeting thing that ends with her nipping on his mouth, his tongue, just to get his attention. Like his every nerve was not focused on her anyway from the start. 

“Please move,” she murmurs against his mandible, her body squeezing him tight, making him groan. He pulls back a little, testing, careful, always so afraid of hurting her, his tough girl, but Shepard smiles and it’s enough to make him thrust shallowly into her. “Yeah, you feel so good.”

Garrus’ vision whites out for a second as her insides tug him back inside, so warm and so wet that a messy patch is already forming between their bodies, his sheath hitting her folds, the friction blinding, and the sight even more as he looks down, fringe tangled into her hair, and in the darkness he finds himself nestled deep, her cunt stretched around him, glistening in their combined want. 

He moves, spirits, he moves. And his chest rumbles and his hands shake and his mandibles twitch at her cheek and his heart aches so damn hard it makes his breaths get stuck in his lungs like trapped creatures in a bone cage. 

(I love you so damn much.)

She moves with him like a tide, like water rising on an endless black ocean alight with stars, then falling back, and even though he knows she's the most horrible dancer the galaxy has, she follows the steps of this tango by heart. Maybe because it's wanted. Maybe because it's with him. He desperately wishes that it would be true. 

"I won't last long like this," his voice is barely picked up by the translator and he knows this, hopes that she doesn't mind the sounds he makes. They're real. So perfectly clear in their meaning, so sure in expressing something he's not yet ready to say when she can understand. 

(I love you, I love you, I love you.)

She puts a palm to his stomach, just above his sheath, five lithe fingers mapping out the narrow lines of his sides, and damn, it makes his cock twitch, makes him thrust in roughly for the first time. There's a sound of delight. It comes from her, head tipped back and lips smeared with spit and red strands of hair, like fresh blood after a good brawl. 

"Yes," she breathes out, dragging him down to her, clinging to him tightly as he finally moves his hips in a hard, steady rhythm. His knees are gonna kill him later but it doesn’t matter because he’s with her, joined like lovers, like mates.

She takes his hand, leads it over her body, to the divot of her collarbones, her sternum, the dip of her stomach, then the soft of her belly where she makes him press down a little, makes him feel the distinct shape of him moving inside her. That's something entirely new. 

It makes him even more aware of the fact that this small, fragile woman would take up a krogan in a fistfight and come out alive. It makes him lose his mind. It makes some sick, posessive part of him growl and rumble and hold her so tight he's sure her hips are gonna bruise. 

"Shepard," he hisses, one hand gripping the seat behind her to find more leverage, her sounds getting louder, out of breath and high-pitched, his name a silent mantra only muttered with gaping lips. “Show me how to make you come.”

She whimpers, clutches his fingers tighter on her navel. The talons of his other hand tear the Mako’s seat behind her. She drags his palm over the mound of hairy flesh where they join, and he enjoys carding his talons through the curls, then she takes a thick finger and places the pad of it just above where he’s stretching her open with his cock, on a small bundle of swollen flesh that instantly makes her tighten around him. This is something he could never get used to—the tight warmth clinging to him like a second skin under Palaven’s unforgiving sun. He swipes his thumb over it, then draws a slow circle. The tightness becomes almost unbearable. He keens.  

“Damn clever turian,” she hiccups, grinding into his touch, into his unsteady thrusts, her hand gripping his wrist instead, not guiding but trying to steady herself. “I’m so close, Garrus.”

He nuzzles her jaw at that, forehead meeting forehead after, then lips with plates, tongue with tongue. The kiss breaks off in a series of desperate gasps, and Garrus murmurs against her, “let me come with you. Senna, please I—”

“Love you,” she pants into the crook of his neck, teeth grazing him, and then biting in when he pushes his whole length into her, the stretch unbearable, her words ringing in his ears like endless echoes in a hallway made of dark matter and stardust, and he claims her, puncturing her shoulder and filling her cunt, his tie growing, the taste of her blood bursting on his tongue. Sweet. Salty. Iron. Just like her. 

She tightens on him impossibly so, and then there’s a fluttering, her muscles spasming violently in an orgasm that makes her legs shake and her stomach jump. His thumb slowly stops moving on the bundle of flesh she showed him when her short nails dig forcefully into his forearm. 

(I love you, I love you, I love you—)

Subvocals screaming, his whole body trembling, he finally releases her flesh, knocks his nose against hers until her eyes flutter open, dazed and unfocused, brimmed with tears, pupils dilated to infinity. She smiles, blunt teeth flashing white and blue in the low light, and it takes him a few seconds to realize that it’s his own blood on her lips. 

He leans down to lick it off, to embrace her tighter, to feel the taste of her tingle in the back of his throat. She bit him. She marked him for life.

“I love you so damn much, baby.”

It’s out and it’s his own shot right through his heart, a shard of metal carved out just in the shape of her, and Garrus knows that nothing ever will be the same. The marks, the blood, his tie cradled by her fluttering warmth, his heart laying bare out in the snow, thawing in her warmth. 

Turians don’t like the cold, but Shepard scorches and it's just the right way.

“Thank you,” she whispers, weak now, entirely spent, but not influenced by the poison of want anymore. “I know this was… not how a first date should’ve happened but…” she bites the bruised swell of her bottom lip and he smooths a hand over her cheek, brushing away sticky hairs from her face. “Can we… have a next time?”

Garrus flicks out his mandibles in a smile and hugs her tighter, reassuring, eyes full of hope and wonder and her own disheveled reflection, “I want all the next times with you.”

“Good,” her grin tickles his hide, mischievous now. “I’m looking forward to it.”

(I do too. I do, I do, I do.)

[zeroslashsix]

The fact Garrus brought wine to his romance scene in ME2 is so funny, because he only brough ONE bottle. He’s dextro, Shepard is levo, so that wine can only be for one of them. If it’s for Shepard, I can only imagine him frantically googling “romantic human date ideas” right before the suicide mission, seeing “wine, candles, dinner, dancing???” and saying fuck it I don’t know which of these answers is correct, but alcohol is a universal language.

Or even funnier, if that wine is dextro, it means this man brought a whole ass bottle for himself. Like damn Garrus, I knew you were nervous but not that nervous. I have to headcanon that they didn’t drink the wine at all, because 1) they’re hours away from fighting the Collectors, and 2) how fucking awkward would it be for just one of them to be drinking right before they get dirty. 

[dispatchwithlove]

Chapter 14 of In Your Arms is done!!

(but I have so much polishing and prettying to do 😅)

Here's a sneak peak of these fools figuring out how to handle themselves after revealing their feelings.

“You look beautiful,” Garrus said. His voice was warm and thick, with a sweetness she realized only came through when he talked to her. The words flowed into Jane’s ears, sunk into her heart. He’d never told her she was beautiful before, even in a teasing way, or a casual mention, and it was immediately clear why: the instant he said those words she knew his feelings for her ran deeper than mere friendship.   He reached up and pressed his fingers around the tip of a curl. She thought about pressing her lips to his mouth. He was so close that she could, but she reigned in her impulse and said, “Tell me we should take this slow.”  “We should take this slow.” She faked a groan and he gave her a soft smile that faded quickly.   “At least until I’m not so damn terrified,” he said.   Her heart caught. “Stakes are pretty high,” he explained, twirling the curl around his finger.  She nodded. “We’ll go slow.” Despite saying that, she felt her cheek inch towards his hand, the promise of his finger brushing her skin so close.  He released her curl and took her hand. “Come on, dance with me.” He stepped away from the wall, coaxing her to come with him and she took a few quick, careful steps on her too-high heels.   “You know I’m not a good dancer,” she said, though she had every intention of dancing with him for as long as he wanted. This time would be better. This time she’d let him hold her for as long as he wanted. “I’ll do all the work," he said. "All you have to do is look good, and I’d say that mission is accomplished.” He drew her towards the dance floor. Smitten, entranced, eager to please him, she followed. 

[oonaluna-art]

A commission for Otempora / @otemporanerys of young Garrus and Shepard. 💖 This was a great commission experience, and it’s always nice to be commissioned to draw a ship I like!

This piece was based on Otempora’s fanfic “Playing the Long Game.”

[craftylittlenerd]

N7 Month Day 4 Metal

N7 Month Challenge Day 4 prompt Metal was a hard one. A bit shorter than my other works, but glad I got it done. Hope you all enjoy. You can also check this story and other works I have on AO3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42868353

A Tiny Piece of Metal

It was a small round piece of metal decorated with four white gemstones and four green gemstones framing it on both sides. Garrus was still new to human customs. Ring shopping is the latest that he could add to his list. Yet he couldn't understand how a bent piece of metal was supposed to represent a promise or a commitment. Apparently, it was tradition, or so he had been told by Vega, Cortez, Joker, and just about every other human he's ever known. It's not that he didn't love Shepard or want to spend his life with her; it wasn't that. And he wanted to do this right; Shepard tried everything in her power to understand his traditions, even learning to cook turian food. But here he was on the Citadel during a war with his buddies Ridgefield and Lamont, picking out a ring to give to Shepard.

It was a simple white gold metal band with no beginning or end small enough for Shepherd's strong yet slender fingers. A symbol was carved into the ring, two hands holding a heart with a crown at the head. It was something called Claddagh, a design that Shepard told him represented friendship, loyalty, and love. He remembered seeing the image in some family holos that Shepard had shared with him. One in particular that stood out was Shepard standing next to her mom, laughing about some long-forgotten story or joke. The sliver broach pinned to her mom's sweater had long since been lost. Nevertheless, the symbol intrigued Garrus and the meaning behind it.

"It was my grandmother's," Shepard explained as they sat next to each other one night, sharing family holos. "She passed it down to my mom when she married my dad; from what my mom told me, my grandmother received it from her mom when she married my grandfather."

"Is that something common among humans to pass things down from one family member to another." Garrus had asked, the modest pin catching his eye. It seemed to have dulled throughout the decades, but he could tell by how the Claddagh sat on her mom's sweater that it was a prized possession.

"Sometimes, it depends on the family." Shepard explained, "If I remember the story my mom told me - before that broach belonged to my great-grandfather; it belonged to a family friend. As that friend never married or had children of his own, he passed it along to my great-grandfather as a token of friendship."

"So it's not just something given for bonding ceremonies, weddings, what do humans call commitment ceremonies again?"

Shepard laughed, Garrus raising his brow plates playfully as he teased her over the names of human customs. "We call them weddings, and no the Claddagh isn't just for that. They can be gifts given to someone in friendship or romantically."

"How can you tell whether it's one or the other?" Garrus was confused. How could it be given as both?

"Well, the easiest way to tell is by how well you know the person giving you the Claddagh. If you have a friend who knows you like Claddagh's, and they give you one as a gift, it's not because they're sweet on you." Shepard began. "If you got me one, on the other hand, it would be safe to assume that it was out of a romantic gesture."

Which is how Garrus found himself at a jewelry store on Zakera ward with two of his old C-Sec buddies buying a ring for Shepard. Not just the ring, but Ridgefield and Lamont even helped him set up the spot for his and Shepard's date. They also made sure that calls about two people shooting at bottles from the highest part of the Presidium were routed to them. Although the date was a success, Garrus couldn't bring himself to give Shepard the ring he had purchased. It was too much too soon after confirming they were exclusive.

There had been a few other times Garrus wanted to give the ring he brought for her, but it never felt right, like the war was pressuring him to ask. He didn't want her to feel like she was being pressured to say yes. Shore leave provided him a good opportunity, but it was too cliche; nearly everyone on shore leave seemed to be getting engaged. No, he wanted it to be unique and have meaning just for the two of them. Then they were in London, and then she was gone. Up into that beam that led her right into the Citadel, facing God knows what horrors on her own. He prayed to whatever spirits would listen to let Shepard return to him. They must have been listening, yet he still prayed at her hospital bed every night, never leaving her side even after she woke up.

Garrus stood at the entrance to the cargo bay, watching as Shepard performed routine maintenance on her weapons. They weren't used as often, but she liked to keep her equipment clean. The smell of gun oils and lubricant filled the area Shepard was sitting in, watching as she dismantled every piece of her firearms and put them back together. Garrus stood there for ten minutes; the ring he had purchased for her had been looped through a silver chain, and there was no time like the present to correct something he should have done much sooner.

[milkywayes]

dreamt a cipher

a shepard/garrus post-destroy ending longfic.

[AO3 link]

I’ve debated a while about when to start posting this. Now it’s the new year, and I’ve been working on Cipher for over a year and a half, and I’ve waited long enough to start sharing it with you all. I’ve decided it’s finally time to start uploading while I work on the final chapters.

I started writing this before I ever drew a single piece of fanart for Mass Effect. It’s all the things that were bouncing around in my head after choosing the destroy ending with a mostly-paragon Shepard—consequence and responsibility and self-recrimination; her relationship with Garrus and with herself; their ties to each other and how much weight they can bear; their differing perspectives and how they slot together—all that fun stuff—compressed into a story, a place, a narrative. 

I believe in the power of love, and I promise a happy ending. They’ve just been taking the long way to get there. Feel free to yell at me in the meantime.

A huge thank you to @callista-curations for her meticulous and invaluable beta work, and to @that-wildwolf and @gammaraydeath for being the best hypemen I could ask for!

A more detailed list of warnings can be found on AO3.

I've posted the full cover art here.

────

Summary:

Pairing: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian Rating: M (subject to change) Important Tags: post-destroy ending - angst with a happy ending - slow burn (of sorts) - arguing - reconciliation - survivor guilt - minor original characters Her own personal Noverian peak. That’s what it was supposed to be. Nothing but the discovery: no distractions, no comfort, no windows looking out—no familiar faces. But it's starting to look like her winning streak might have ended in that pile of Citadel rubble, if it ever extended that far to begin with. ──── “How does the Earth idiom go? No use beating a dead—” A long-suffering sigh. “What was it again?” “A dead horse. And yet, you’re here. Beating it.” Pot, kettle. She wishes he’d just fucking say it.

-> AO3.

Read the start of Chapter 1: Constant Velocity under the cut!

────

The overhead lights flicker as they always do when the data screens are up and running. It’s not something one gets used to, even so. It stings at her ocular nerves—or something like that, anyway, somewhere along the delicate wires that extend from her eyeballs into her brain—but her focus on the data doesn’t waver.

“In that case,” says Shepard, squinting against the ache, “what we need is salvage from a relay outside the immediate burst zone. Four jumps away. Five, if possible. There’s no point to any of this if we can’t scrape together a control group.”

She glances back at Elsawy, who so far hasn’t made it more than a meter into the room. She nods without looking up from her omni-tool; orange shimmers off her shiny, black hair, giving her the uncomfortable air of a Cerberus operative. Not the worst comparison, except that Miranda would waste no time letting her know if her logic took a faulty turn somewhere. Elsawy’s just as likely to agree now and write a message detailing all her crap conclusions later.

Leaning her hip against the conference table, Shepard shifts her weight off her left leg, bites down on the sigh that almost manages to slip out. Once in the clear, she grouses, “Where the hell is Meyer? He’s the one that called this meeting.”

As it is, it’s three people in attendance and she’s the only one talking. She could’ve achieved the same results with a voice call from her quarters, where she could elevate her leg in peace and without witnesses. In the dark.

“Lab Two,” answers Elsawy, finally ripping her attention off the omni-screen and gracing Shepard with a second of eye contact. Maybe in another life she could appreciate the effort—Jesus, as if she hasn’t had her fill of lives already. “We’re close to a breakthrough on the initial output patterns. Sorry. He’s been feeding his data to me.”

“Right.” She blinks once, twice, in time with the flickering. It doesn’t help; it never does. “I’ll swing by later, then. Anything else he asked you to relay?” 

“Just that, Commander.” Elsawy is mumbling just enough that her voice has to compete with the drone of the air vents. The translator takes a second to filter out and amplify it. The result is less than perfect: “More salvage—” bzzrt—“bigger picture, you got it.” She narrows her eyes, and Shepard raises a brow. “Left leg or—” bzz!—“left hip?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Commander.”

“It’s nothing relevant,” she says pleasantly, forcing herself to stand up straight again. There’s a brief tremor shaking up her hamstrings; she waves a hand to distract from it. In the frenzy of the lights, the movement looks jerky, nervous. She soldiers on. “Old field injury. Unrelated. Anything can set it off.”

Funny, kind of, since it’s that very leg that ends in the most perfect, cooperative example of a foot she’s ever had the pleasure of treading on. It’s cloned; a replacement. Not the only one either. They should’ve just done away with the whole limb, but she hadn’t been consulted. Same with her trick shoulder. Not even Cerberus had managed to get that one back on the straight and narrow.

“I’d rather you bring it up with the doctor,” replies Elsawy. This is, apparently, what it takes for her to finally speak at a reasonable volume. “If we manage to fill even one of the data gaps…”

“I know,” she says. “I know, and I’m telling you, it’s unrelated.”

-> continue reading on AO3