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
She'd done her research.
Between the structure of Turian armor and engrogenous zones of their body, the cultural signals of touch and their deferenceâeverything she'd absorbed quietly while he'd been busy teaching her patience.
Now, holding knowledge on one hand and patience in the other, he was the map.
When her thumb swept a careful line along the junction of his neck and behind his mandible, she felt the shiver that followed. He was built for precisionâevery movement trained, every breath measuredâbut here, in this space, he was learning what it meant to be unmade on purpose.
"Xyla..." His voice roughened, her name breaking around the edges like a word from a different language, and her hand over a spot that would weaken any Turian man.
Her smile tiltedânot cruel, just knowing. âYou should know by now,â she murmured, tone laced with warmth and mischief, âIâve always been a quick learner.â
He should've pulled away, set boundaries, refastened his armor between them. Instead, he found himself lowering his head, instinct drawing him into her gravity.
The shift was subtle but seismic. His restraint didn't vanish; it turned into something else â devotion, maybe. Focus. All that self-control he'd spent a lifetime mastering now redirected, not to keep her out, but to meet her fully without breaking.
Her breath trembled at the nearness. "See? You're teaching me, even now."
He made a sound â low, somewhere between a growl and a sigh â and the distance between them disappeared. He'd faced mercenaries, monsters, gods â but this quiet, this closeness, undid him more completely than any battlefield.
With his eyes closed, bracing while she explored, he didnât notice when her hands had risenâonly that their warmth framed his face. Her breath came slow, measured, like she was learning a prayer in a language no one had spoken in centuries.
Xyla rose onto her toes. The tip of her nose traced the curve of the broken blue line across his scarred cheekâsoft, deliberateâthe warmest kind of kiss on the most fractured part of him.
He winced, his expression contorting as if the gesture hurt and healed him in the same breath. A shiver rippled beneath his plates, small and unguarded, as though her touch reached places he hadnât believed were still alive.
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Garrus sat across from Xyla, still riding the relaxed playfulness of a few minutes priorâuntil she cut the mood with a question of surgical precision.
âSo, 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.â
He huffed, almost startled by her directness.
âThatâs notââ He stopped.
Heâd never been asked this. Not by humans, not by Shepard. Not by anyone who wasnât already inside the circle of knowing.
Turians didnât explain these things. They lived themâprivately, like a guarded secret under the carapace.
The shift in his body subtle, but his awkwardness obvious. Xyla didnât 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.
âYouâre really asking?â he said slowly.
âI am.â
Garrus scratched the back of his neck, stalling himself a second to decide how honest he dared to be. âItâs⊠not that simple. Sweet gestures exist, sure. But there's more to it, arrangements, markings. Signals. Itâs more about showing you belong than asking permission. Weâre not exactly a shiny ring type of group.â
âSo Iâve read. But what markings?â Xyla pressed, leaning in just a littleâenough that her warm resinous scent, reached him. Her eyes were bright, softened with curiosity.âThe Hierarchy still encourages arranged marriages, right? Goodwill between colonies, the blending familiesâhumans do that too, justâŠless often.â
Her tone was casual, but he felt the intention beneath it. Sheâd done her homework.
For him? For herself? He couldnât tell.
âYou know history?â
She shrugged. âA 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 worseâhard to trust sources. Figured if I understood more, I could avoid offending someone on Omega.â
Garrus let out a low, surprised noise. âMost humans donât bother learning anything Turian before Shanxi.â
Xyla grinnedâquick, a little sharp. âThen theyâre idiots. Humans have been around for barely three thousand years, Turians almost fifteenâcanât tell me there isnât something to learn there.â
I shouldnât want him.
But every time his voice drops low over commsâevery time those sharp Turian eyes drag over me like theyâre memorizing the shape of my wordsâI 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 Iâm just an Omega engineer with ghosts that donât know how to stay buried.
Shepardâs hunting Reapers.
Collectors are stalking the dark.
The galaxy is splitting openâ
âŠand all I can think about is how Iâm the one fighting instinct, not to step into his gravity.
> READ HERE <
Holidays have made me slow to update but inching along ya'll! If you're open to an OC Mass Effect Romantic Science Fiction, you might enjoy it! Thank you to my readers <3
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<
A captivating Mass Effect adventure where (OC) Xyla Acosta, a resilient yet compassionate tech savant, joins Commander Shepardâs fight against the Reapers and sparks a powerful, heartfelt romance with Garrus Vakarian.
"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 brushedâbarelyâbut 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.
âLiara said sheâd send us things for⊠appearances. Nothing on Omega is going to pass for Thessian diplomacy.â
Garrus huffed. âThatâs one way to say âwe need fancier clothes.ââ
She nudged his leg with the box. âYou say it like youâre not secretly flattered she dressed you.â
A soft mandible flickâtoo quick to be smug, too slow to count as denial.
âStarting to feel like weâre just dolls to you ladies.â
âWellââ she tipped her chin up from the floor, gaze traveling unapologetically up his frame. âNeither of you are hard to look at. You just need someone who knows how to pair things properly.â
Her smile said more than her words.
Before the last syllable even left her mouth, Garrus reached for the nearest stack of cratesâbracing 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 didnât answer.
But his eyesâbright, electric blueâdropped 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. âAlrightâThessiaâs finest should stand outâŠâ
"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. âKinda hard to miss the giant label reading: CONFIDENTIAL â PROPERTY OF THE NORMANDY â DO NOT OPEN WITHOUT SUPERVISION (John Shepard).â
Shepard stared.
ââŠWhy does that feel like she was calling me out?â
Xyla smirked, standing and planting a hand on her hip.
âI donât know Liara well, but something tells me she had fun making this package.â
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A captivating Mass Effect adventure where (OC) Xyla Acosta, a resilient yet compassionate tech savant, joins Commander Shepardâs 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 itâfootsteps, calm and familiar. Shepardâs reflection appeared first in the armor plate, then his voice, easy but sharp-edged underneath.
âFigured Iâd find you down here,â Shepard said, voice carrying easily over the hum of the ship. He stood in the doorway with his usual command posture â back straight, arms loose but ready â 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.
âEDI says youâve logged more hours in the cargo bay than the battery. Should I prep for mutiny, or is this a new hobby?â
Garrus kept his head down, double-checking a seal that didnât really need it. âJust making sure everythingâs calibrated. You know how it is.â
âRight,â Shepardâs mouth quirked. âCalibrations, huh? That used to mean targeting. Lately it sounds like code for âavoidance.ââ
Garrusâs hesitation was answer enough. ââŠSheâs efficient.â
"Sheâs talented,â Shepard corrected, voice gentling, but not losing the weight under it. He stepped closer, studying the new armorâreinforced joints, custom clips, extra plating for a war that never played fair â 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.
âShe even kept the burn from that gunship,â Shepard said quietly. âDidnât think youâd want that piece back.â
Garrus adjusted the collar with a faint shrug. âItâs a reminder.â
A pause, then that hint of dry humor. âBesides, canât be too polished in a warzone. Someone might mistake me for a Spectre.â
That earned a real grin from Shepard. âWearing your scars. I can get behind that.â He ran a thumb over his own jaw, where the shipâs soft light picked out fading lines. âMaybe Iâll ask Xyla to leave a few dings in mine. For authenticity.â
Garrus snapped the armguard into place, the motion sure. âTrust me, Shepardâif Xylaâs working on it, youâll look bulletproof and still pass Alliance regs.â
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