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"Threshold" CLICK TO READ

Sooo I edited my OC fanfic and felt my 'sexy' chapter needed some attention since I simply don't write smut tbh, but before I knew it... I clocked 12K on an optional chapter guys. SO, if by any chance you want a deeply immersive bedroom moment with your alien husband on the Normandy (and don't mind an OC), feel free to read.

I wish you a great mf day.

Excerpt Below

Garrus & OC Xyla Romance, 80K+ words

>Read Here<

Garrus sat across from Xyla, still riding the relaxed playfulness of a few minutes prior—until she cut the mood with a question of surgical precision.

“So, how do Turians approach each other romantically? Is it different from humans? Sweet gestures and dates… I don't suppose you offer shiny rings at the end.”

He huffed, almost startled by her directness. “That’s not—” He stopped. He’d never been asked this. Not by humans, not by Shepard. Not by anyone who wasn’t already inside the circle of knowing.

Turians didn’t explain these things. They lived them—privately, like a guarded secret under the carapace.

The shift in his body subtle, but his awkwardness obvious. Xyla didn’t budge or apologize for it, her elbows folded on the table casually, waiting with that unsettling stillness she had when something truly mattered to her.

“You’re really asking?” he said slowly.

“I am.”

Garrus scratched the back of his neck, stalling himself a second to decide how honest he dared to be. “It’s… not that simple. Sweet gestures exist, sure. But there's more to it, arrangements, markings. Signals. It’s more about showing you belong than asking permission. We’re not exactly a shiny ring type of group.”

“So I’ve read. But what markings?” Xyla pressed, leaning in just a little—enough that her warm resinous scent, reached him. Her eyes were bright, softened with curiosity.“The Hierarchy still encourages arranged marriages, right? Goodwill between colonies, the blending families—humans do that too, just…less often.”

Her tone was casual, but he felt the intention beneath it. She’d done her homework.

For him? For herself? He couldn’t tell.

“You know history?”

She shrugged. “A little. I ask questions. And I was raised to find answers. Read a lot on Omega to pass the time. History vids are messy and the extranet is worse—hard to trust sources. Figured if I understood more, I could avoid offending someone on Omega.”

Garrus let out a low, surprised noise. “Most humans don’t bother learning anything Turian before Shanxi.”

I shouldn’t want him. But every time his voice drops low over comms—every time those sharp Turian eyes drag over me like they’re memorizing the shape of my words—I remember exactly why I do.

Garrus Vakarian is Palaven discipline wrapped in a body built for war, a sniper who could unmake a man with a breath and an aim to find a pulse like instinct. And I’m just an Omega engineer with ghosts that don’t know how to stay buried.

Shepard’s hunting Reapers. Collectors are stalking the dark. The galaxy is splitting open—

…and all I can think about is how I’m the one fighting instinct, not to step into his gravity.

> READ HERE <

I told myself 3 months ago - just start writing.

I replayed my favorite fanchise after maybe a full decade. It started as just questions, the "what if's" about the universe and then it became lore and then it became drafts...3 months later I'm still writing, editing and found the ME community so alive. I kick my feet under my desk at everyones stunning art and fanfics. It's been 2 weeks since an update and if you're a reader Im sorry for the wait! I wanted to share my updated cover & let you know I've released another chapter(s)! Thank you to everyone whos engaged, even if it was alittle - I'm thankful for every kudos, they feel like bear hugs.

Support artists, stay creative & stay curious friends.

You can read my fanfic novel here >HERE<

Garrus & OC romance sci-fi, 100k+ Words WIP

>READ HERE<

"Should we start checking the mail?" Shepard asked, already screening labels on the delivered crates and boxes sitting in the center of the floor.

Xyla stepped beside Garrus without thinking. Their arms brushed—barely—but both paused a fraction too long before moving on like professionals who absolutely did not freeze at the same time.

She crouched beside one of the mid-sized boxes, dragging it toward her. “Liara said she’d send us things for… appearances. Nothing on Omega is going to pass for Thessian diplomacy.”

Garrus huffed. “That’s one way to say ‘we need fancier clothes.’”

She nudged his leg with the box. “You say it like you’re not secretly flattered she dressed you.”

A soft mandible flick—too quick to be smug, too slow to count as denial.

“Starting to feel like we’re just dolls to you ladies.”

“Well—” she tipped her chin up from the floor, gaze traveling unapologetically up his frame. “Neither of you are hard to look at. You just need someone who knows how to pair things properly.”

Her smile said more than her words.

Before the last syllable even left her mouth, Garrus reached for the nearest stack of crates—bracing them with both hands and lifting like they weighed nothing. The movement pulled every plate, every line of musculature into motion beneath the armor.

He didn’t answer. But his eyes—bright, electric blue—dropped to hers.

Memory.

Heat, ghosting between them.

Xyla rose so quickly it was nearly graceful, moving around him with careful, intentional avoidance.

Shepard didn't look up, not noticing a thing.

Before the moment had time to become something, the commander straightened with a grunt. “Alright—Thessia’s finest should stand out…”

"I think Garrus found it, Shepard," Xyla bent over the armored trunk Garrus had uncovered with that effortless strength. Her fingers skimmed the shipping plate. “Kinda hard to miss the giant label reading: CONFIDENTIAL – PROPERTY OF THE NORMANDY – DO NOT OPEN WITHOUT SUPERVISION (John Shepard).”

Shepard stared. “…Why does that feel like she was calling me out?”

A captivating Mass Effect adventure where (OC) Xyla Acosta, a resilient yet compassionate tech savant, joins Commander Shepard’s fight against the Reapers and sparks a powerful, heartfelt romance with Garrus Vakarian. >Read Here<

He was adjusting the last clasp on his forearm when he heard it—footsteps, calm and familiar. Shepard’s reflection appeared first in the armor plate, then his voice, easy but sharp-edged underneath.

“Figured I’d find you down here,” Shepard said, voice carrying easily over the hum of the ship. He stood in the doorway with his usual command posture — back straight, arms loose but ready — the kind of stillness that spoke of control more than rest. The dim cargo bay light caught the faint blue silvering of his scars, tracing old death back into living skin.

“EDI says you’ve logged more hours in the cargo bay than the battery. Should I prep for mutiny, or is this a new hobby?”

Garrus kept his head down, double-checking a seal that didn’t really need it. “Just making sure everything’s calibrated. You know how it is.”

“Right,” Shepard’s mouth quirked. “Calibrations, huh? That used to mean targeting. Lately it sounds like code for ‘avoidance.’”

Garrus’s hesitation was answer enough. “…She’s efficient.”

"She’s talented,” Shepard corrected, voice gentling, but not losing the weight under it. He stepped closer, studying the new armor—reinforced joints, custom clips, extra plating for a war that never played fair — and then he caught it. His gaze caught on the collar, the spot where old scars had been hammered into new alloy, the damage smoothed but not erased. A choice, not an oversight.

“She even kept the burn from that gunship,” Shepard said quietly. “Didn’t think you’d want that piece back.”

Garrus adjusted the collar with a faint shrug. “It’s a reminder.” A pause, then that hint of dry humor. “Besides, can’t be too polished in a warzone. Someone might mistake me for a Spectre.”

That earned a real grin from Shepard. “Wearing your scars. I can get behind that.” He ran a thumb over his own jaw, where the ship’s soft light picked out fading lines. “Maybe I’ll ask Xyla to leave a few dings in mine. For authenticity.”

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