#i too want to strangle theron at times | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

commander-krios · 1 year

Note

Despina & Theron: [ DEFEND ] : sender physically intervenes between receiver and a source of unwanted attention.

Another prompt fill, wow, I'm on a roll this weekend! (Ignore the fact that I've been working on these for months). Hope it was worth the wait! Some first date fun with these dorks.

Read on AO3

The drinks weren’t half bad on this section of Nar Shaddaa. Not that she’d admit it out loud, but she’d had worse on Coruscant. Though even if the drinks were the worst she’d had in her entire life, it wouldn’t matter because of the company she kept.

Theron Shan sat across from her, staring at his datapad, focusing so intently that he hadn’t noticed that she switched their drinks. She took a quick sip of the beer, frowning at it before setting it down on the table with a thunk.

Theron glanced up, eyes wide as if he’d forgotten she was there. Rubbing the back of his neck, a nervous habit she’d clocked months ago, he set the datapad down with the other one. “Sorry, I’m a bit distracted. The Revanites aren’t giving us a break.”

“Theron.” When he met her gaze, Despina raised an eyebrow. “Work will be there after we eat. I thought this was supposed to be a date?”

She could’ve sworn he blushed at the question. “Uh, yeah. A date. Right.”

Smiling, Despina reached across the table and grabbed the second drink he’d ordered, some fruity concoction that the bartender tried to claim was a Corellian Sunrise, but it was definitely not. Still, it was better than the bitter ale.

“I mean, you invited me, Theron.” She reminded him before sipping the alcohol. Smacking her lips, she reconsidered the drink. Maybe it wasn’t that bad.

“You love embarrassing me, don’t you?” He asked, eyes on her, all thoughts of the datapad and the information it contained forgotten.

“You make it so easy.”

“Mhmm.” Theron leaned slightly closer, his mesmerizing hazel-green eyes catching her off guard. The man was a spy, but she was certain he didn’t realize how distracting he was. Easy on the eyes was an understatement.

“If this is a date, Shan, you should be trying to sweep me off of my feet.”

Despina was well known by friends and associates as a major flirt. She was positive that Jonas warned him about her years ago, even if that man was a menace too. Hell, they worked one mission together and she’d gotten more blushes from Theron than she’d gotten from anyone else.

Hell, Jorgan dealt with her on a daily basis and all he wanted to do was strangle her.

Theron laughed, hand going for the beer she abandoned and sipping it, only to grimace at the taste as well. “This is supposed to be the best bar in the Red Light Sector?”

“If you want something else, I can direct you to one of many clubs that offer much different entertainment.”

His blush deepened if that was even possible. “Thanks, but uh, no thanks.”

Despina hid a grin behind her glass, taking another sip of the overly sweet drink.

She was in the middle of coming up with something else to tease him about when blaster fire erupted near the entrance of the cantina.

Theron threw himself across the table, knocking it and their drinks over as he pushed Despina to the ground, his body covering hers. She landed hard against the floor, back and neck protesting the sudden landing.

From where she lay, the sight of two weequay, a massive twi’lek, a duros, and a devaronian with a broken horn were aiming their weapons at the unsuspecting patrons.

There had to be a joke that started like that.

Without hesitation, Theron grabbed her by the arm and pulled her behind the table he’d knocked over. Thankfully the tables were made of some metal alloy, not as strong as durasteel, but much better than the usual material you’d find at a cantina. This wasn’t the first time that they’d had a firefight here.

Theron glanced at her curiously, hefting a blaster in each hand. “Please tell me you don’t know these guys.”

She glanced around the table briefly. None of the faces jogged a memory. “I don’t think so.” When she returned to sit beside him, she nudged him with her arm. “Why do you assume they know me?”

One of the goons toppled a table, sending it and its contents to the floor with a crash. “Major Havoc! You and Vik owe us credits.”

Theron raised an eyebrow. “I took a wild guess.”

As much as Despina wanted to laugh, because he knew her so well already, she grabbed one of his blasters instead. “I wasn’t intending on getting ambushed, ya know?”

“That’s just a perk.”

He was teasing her!

“Sounds like you’re enjoying yourself.” She said, bumping his shoulder with hers.

He snorted. Any chance of a response was interrupted by another crash of tables being knocked over.

“We can’t sit here. They’ll find us eventually.”

“How did they even know to look here?”

“I might… be well known for frequenting this place.” She admitted, wincing at the sound of shouts once more. “And for causing more than one fight.”

Theron closed his eyes and let out a slow breath, almost like the meditation the Jedi liked to use. Finding a calming center or whatever. Frankly, Despina thought they looked ridiculous. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Focus, Theron. I’ve got a plan.” Lifting her comm, she pushed the distress button that Jorgan had installed because of her penchant for getting into things she couldn’t get herself out of. At least, without a sniper. “Help will be on the way soon. What do you say to a little distraction?”

“I’m not going to like where this is heading.”

“Trust me.”

With a groan, he almost looked like it pained him to nod. “Fine. What do I need to do?”

Despina smiled at him, carefree and full of devilish intent. “Watch my back. I know you’re capable of doing that. It’s a nice view.”

The blush only deepened. Interesting.

“You can’t be seri-”

Despina didn’t wait for him to finish his sentence. She stood up, completely unarmed… Well, minus the blaster she barely knew how to shoot that was now tucked in her belt, and walked out to face the thugs that were bullying cantina patrons. She wouldn’t say these people were innocent, most of them probably were criminals, but they didn’t need to be hassled when this wasn’t their problem.

As she left the safety of her cover, she could feel all eyes turn to her.

“Ah, there you are.” One of the weequays sneered as he lifted his scattergun, aiming in her direction. “Where’s the money, worm?”

“What’s with the name calling?” Despina asked, putting her hands up so they could see she was unarmed. She hoped that Theron was actually keeping an eye on the jackass with the gun. She didn’t need bullet holes in her new jacket. “We can be civil here.”

“Civil? When have you ever been civil in your entire life, Pub?” The devaronian said next, angry for whatever reason. She swore he looked familiar.

“I guess that’s fair. Although, you’re looking particularly ugly today.” Playing a hunch, Despina focused her attention on the broken horned devaronian with a smile.

“I’ll kill you!”

“In position, Major.”

Aric Jorgan’s voice was a welcoming sound. She dropped her hands to her sides.

“Playtime is over, boys.” She said, mustering as much mock sadness as she could. Then she pulled the blaster, tipping the closest table over for cover.

The door behind the thugs exploded inward, raining debris over everyone in the room. Screams followed as the few patrons fled the blaster fire and the destruction of the explosion. Despina ignored them, focused on the real threat. One of the weequays had gotten caught in the blast. He laid on the ground by his allies, not moving, a hunk of the debris embedded in his back.

The cantina entrance was nothing more than a gaping hole now. The crack of a sniper rifle could barely be heard above the chaos, but it was easy to see as the duros caught the bolt in his head. He fell on top of the twi’lek, who just shoved him to the ground before seeking new cover.

Theron had begun shooting from behind her, striking one of the other weequay in the shoulder before the thug managed to find a barrel to duck behind. He didn’t have a chance to fire back before a hulking form entered the cantina, covered head to toe in full Havoc Squad armor. Another weequay, but this one was a familiar and friendly face.

“Sorry I’m late, boss.”

She really should've been annoyed with him, this was his fault after all, but she couldn’t help grinning at the sight of him. “Better late than dead.”

Tanno Vik laughed, a sound that would’ve easily struck fear in the hearts of lesser creatures. He grabbed the closest enemy, the devaronian, and punched him directly in the face. As the man fell, Vik followed up with a close ranged shot from his rifle.

Three down, two to go.

As Vik went after the injured weequay, Despina turned her attention to the twi’lek. It didn’t take long to dispatch him. With a few distraction shots from her and Theron, Jorgan was able to get a clear shot to take him out.

As the dust finally settled, quiet descended on the cantina. Its only occupants were Despina, her friends, and a few dead thugs.

Vik appeared at her side, a grin on his face. “Thanks for the fight, boss.”

“The fight was your fault in the first place. You owed them money?” Despina nudged the twi’lek with her foot.

“Sure I did. Now I don’t.”

Despina rolled her eyes, but there was no malice in it. “Thanks for the assist.” Remembering her dear sniper friend, she keyed her comm. “You too, Jorgan.”

“Always a pleasure, sir.”

When Vik and Jorgan had finally cleared out, she turned to find Theron standing by the table, staring at her like he wasn’t sure what to say.

Oh great, so this was how she scared him away. Because her life was full of crazy shit that kept on coming.

“So… I bet you never had a date like that before, huh?” She tried to adopt a flippant tone, but it fell flat.

Shaking his head, a short laugh leaving his lips, Theron held his hand out to her for the blaster she still carried. “It’s going to be tough to beat that.”

Despina raised a questioning eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“What would we even do for our second date?” He continued, not seeing the smirk that appeared on her face.

“You planned on having a second date?” With arms crossed over her chest, Despina waited for him to realize what she was saying.

“Oh, I-”

There was the blush.

“Because if you want, we could always find some colicoids to kill. From what I remember, Balmorra still has an abundance of them. And they stink.”

“I’m good.”

“How about Hutta? Plenty of scum there to take care of. Hell, we might even pick up a few bounties, get some credits.” She nudged him with her elbow, wagging her eyebrows suggestively. “What do you say, Theron? I bet you can’t resist some extra credits.”

Theron ran his hands over his face, another sigh leaving his lips. “You’re impossible.”

Pulling his hands from his face, she met his eyes, a gentle smile on her face. “I’d love to go out with you again. Maybe next time, we won’t get shot at.”

Theron’s hand brushed against hers briefly, hesitating only a moment before entwining their fingers together. “I get to pick the place.”

“As long as it has drinks and I mean, real ones, I’ll go anywhere.” She pulled him along, carefully exiting the destroyed cantina. He followed and she noted he hadn’t let go of her hand. “I’m a simple woman.”

“That is hard to believe.”

“Because it’s a lie.”

Theron laughed, the sound more free than the ones before. He pulled her closer, releasing her hand only to toss his arms around her shoulders. She relaxed into him, feeling like this dating this might not be so bad after all.

#hunnybadgerv #prompt fill #my writing #swtor #star wars: the old republic #star wars the old republic #swtor fanfic #despina sloane #republic trooper #theron shan #despina sloane x theron shan #republic trooper x theron shan #otp: the republic's finest #tanno vik #aric jorgan #violence cw #death cw

27 notes · View notes

storyknitter · 3 years

Text

Fictober ‘21, Day 2

Prompt number: 2. "You have no proof." AND 14. “Your info was wrong.” (bonus two-for-one deal!)

Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic

Rating: PG

Warnings/Tags: swearing, angst

—

19ATC, Nar Shaddaa

Theron leaned back in the booth, his implants picking up fragments of conversations over the din of the cantina. Checking his chrono, he glanced toward the door.

A hooded figure made their way to him, dodging intoxicated patrons flailing on the dance floor as well as the waitstaff delivering drinks along the way, and slipped into the seat across the table: right on time, as usual.

“You’re enjoying this cloak-and-dagger shit a little too much, Lana.”

“You are aware that I have very few friends among the Sith anymore, yes?” She gingerly tugged back her hood, revealing tired golden eyes. “A legitimate disguise—or at least not the same red jacket that one has owned for decades—is appropriate in this situation.”

Theron let out a bitter chuckle. “You know, I do have a new one I’ve been wearing. I just chose this one to piss you off.” He paused and took a drink of his whiskey, grimacing at the quality; he had far better booze at home, and it didn’t come with an annoying blonde Sith who reminded him of things—people—he would rather not remember. “What do you want?”

Lana’s expression was inscrutable as she reached inside her cloak, pulling out a datapad and sliding it across the table.

“I need your assistance decrypting this.”

Taking another slow sip, Theron stared her down. Why come to him? Why now? She’d gotten better at slicing—she wouldn’t have been able to contact him on the channel she had, otherwise—so why was she involving him?

Curiosity killed the loth-cat, he supposed, and picked up the datapad. Tapping in a few commands, he had the files decrypted in mere moments and shot an incredulous look back across the table. What a waste of his time.

“Just read it. Before you say anything, read it.”

Sighing heavily, he scanned the datapad. He blinked and read the file again, the cantina noise fading to a dull hum in the background as the world was ripped out from beneath him.

“No,” Theron said, his voice a strangled whisper. “Your intel is wrong. She’s dead.”

It had taken him two long years to accept that fact and dammit, Lana was not about to drag him back into the pit of loss and despair that he’d barely managed to claw his way out of.

“Oh no, she’s very much alive, my friend.”

Something bubbled up in his chest, lifting the weight that had held him underwater for so long: hope.

No. Absolutely not. Theron smothered the hope, shoving it away; if this was wrong—and it probably was—he didn’t know if he could get out of that pit again.

“You have no proof, my friend,” he practically snarled at Lana, “and if you want this conversation to go any further, you’d better damn well have something more than a document with a dead Jedi’s name on it.”

Vassanna was dead, had been for years now. How did it still hurt so much?

“Theron, your reading comprehension is not usually this abysmal.” Lana sat perfectly composed, ever so pleased with herself. “There is a second file.”

Time stopped as he read her intel, then read it again, and once more for good measure; all the while, that damn bubble of hope kept growing in his chest. Finally, he glanced up, waiting for Lana to drop the other shoe.

“What’s the catch?”

“Just a small one, really,” she said, her eyes twinkling, “in the grand scheme of things.”

Well, that didn’t sound promising.

“She’s in carbonite, locked in Emperor Arcann’s personal collection.”

“Where?”

“The Spire on Zakuul.”

“I’m in,” he said, decision made before she even asked. “How do we get her out of there?”

#knitter writes #fictober21 #ah yes #the delicious time-skip angst #swtor fanfiction #oc: Vassanna #Theron Shan #Lana Beniko #OTP: Chips & Guac #Jedi Knight/Theron Shan #two days in a row!#*does a little happy dance*#I don't have anything for the 3rd yet #but fingers crossed!

32 notes · View notes

reliciron · 3 years

Text

Family

Anai Syrr, Sith Sorcerer, unfortunate victim of swtor's terrible Nautolan colors. He's supposed to be black with red spots and eyes, but it's hard to tell at the best of times in the game. Before the DNA splicing, his spots where light blue and his eyes were grey. As an Abyssal Nautolan, he needs a visor to protect his eyes from the light.

Basically Valkorian's words make him decide to re-open old wounds, and he gets way more than he bargained for.

“They told you they were dead, and you believed them?”

Valkorian is gone, but his words still prickle in the back of Anai’s mind.

The truth was that yes, he had believed them. He was a child, he’d had no reason not to, and after a time, it had been easier to think his family was dead rather than consider the other possibilities.

His father and sister had been at the station when it was attacked, so spirits only knew what happened to them, and his mother…

His mother had been taken from the ship along with him.

A shiver passes down his spine and his gut clenches at the memory. Outstretched arms, a shrill inhuman scream, a struggle as the guards fight to restrain the desperate woman.

That had been the last time he’d seen her: fighting literally tooth and claw to get to him as he was carried away.

When he’d gotten older, he’d understood what fate had awaited her. Worked to death in a labor camp if she was lucky, sold as a pleasure slave if she was not. It hadn’t been something he’d liked to dwell on, understandably.

So he’d taken what they’d said at face value, gathered all his hopes of being reunited, his memories of happier times, and stuffed them in a mental box for his own sanity’s sake.

But now…

Now he had the time, resources, and people to actually investigate. To prove if they really were dead.

The very thought had him cringing reflexively, torn between hope and despair.

If he got his hopes up only to discover that his captors had told the truth, it would crush him all over again.

But if even one of them was still alive…

He grits his teeth all the way from his chambers aboard the Fury to the command center where he finds the man he’s looking for.

“Theron? I need you to find someone for me.”

His voice is low when he finally asks. Perhaps if he speaks quietly enough then his ever present bad luck might not take notice.

Theron looks up at him quizzically, before picking up on his tension.

“Uh, sure. Who are we looking for?”

He hesitates, and the longer he tries to work the words out, the more concerned Theron looks.

“He… was a diplomat for Glee Anselm around the time the Treaty of Coruscant was signed. Gisan Syrral.”

Theron turns to the terminal behind him and the screen blinks to life at his approach, already showing line after line of garbled queries as his implants connect it to the appropriate databases.

He’d thought this would take some time, but as he watches Theron work, he realizes that this was happening now.

Spirits, was he really ready to hear this…?

“Are you alright, Commander?”

He jumps and nearly bites a hole in his lip when Senya appears at his side.

She looks concerned, and a quick check shows that his mental shielding has slipped a bit. Of course when he shores it up she only looks more worried.

“I’m fine,” he says. Even manages to keep his voice level too, but it’s clear that she doesn’t believe him. And now Arcann’s joining the party too.

This is too many people, he needs to figure out a way to get them to leave or ask Theron to get back to him later, or-

“Found him. Old timer’s still a diplomat too. Here.”

He hears the holotable hum to life, sees the glow on Senya and Arcann’s faces.

It’s a miracle he isn’t shaking when he finally turns to look.

The holo is of an old man. Medium-length lekku tied back in a simple yet elegant style, and the fine clothes of a statesman. Pale green with blue spots and large black eyes weighted down with wrinkles. One of the spots hangs low over his right eye.

He doesn’t realize he’s walking until his hip bumps into the holotable. It startles him a bit. Has him leaning on the edge to keep from collapsing.

His father was alive.

“What is the status of his family?” His voice sounds strangled to his own ears, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

Theron’s watching him with mild alarm at this point, and in the back of his mind he can feel Senya and Arcann are in much the same state.

“Theron?”

“I… ah… yeah, it says he’s married to someone named Enra. Give me a second.”

Too late to stop it, his father’s image is replaced by an old woman.

The second the picture sinks in, his knees all but give out. Something cracks. Several somethings. There are sparks and shouts and alarm through the Force.

The old woman wears a visor like him. Near-black skin and light green stripes. Tall, with long lekku tied and coiled together into one trailing tail. Two of them hang free, the majority of their length missing. Amputated. Burn scars peak out from underneath her tresses, barely visible on the back of her neck.

Something else breaks.

All at once the image disappears and the holotable goes dark. It takes an embarrassingly long moment before he realizes that it’s because Theron turned it off.

When he finally looks up there’s smoke pouring from two of the smaller consoles and several datapads are shattered and spitting sparks. He can feel the static laying over his skin like a blanket of needles.

The other three wisely refrain from touching him.

“They have three kids, two living and one-”

Theron goes deathly pale.

“Deceased male, son of Gisan and Enra Syrral this…” he looks up at him like he’s seen a ghost.

Or is currently looking at one.

“This is you isn’t it? Anai Syrral.”

He flinches at the name. It’s ridiculous how much of a difference that last syllable makes.

“Yes.”

The whole command center reeks of surprise and worry and sadness, and if someone even considers touching him right now he’ll break their fingers.

“Commander… I...”

“You said there were three children. Not two?”

Theron mouth closes with a click and he spares him one last worried look before checking his datapad.

“… yeah, a son Velen and a daughter Keela.”

A… son?

And-

“Keela’s alright?”

Theron’s staring at the datapad like it’s going to bite him.

“What is it?”

His jaw is clenched when he looked back up.

“Guess the Force runs in the family. Your sister’s a jedi knight,” he says with strained humor, “She’s still alive. Looks like she’s in charge of a small enclave on Glee Anselm, something about recruiting from the seers.”

If he had any breath left to speak of, it would have been punched out of him.

A jedi knight?

The sensitivity wasn’t a surprise, what with Lord Kallig kicking around somewhere in their ancestry. Perhaps it isn’t even a surprise that she was powerful enough to become a fully fledged knight. But somehow he hadn’t anticipated that she would be a jedi.

“I don’t know this Velen. Show me.”

He feels movement to his left. Nearly flinches when Arcann’s voice rumbles softly next to him.

“Are you certain this is a good idea, Commander?”

The worry is rolling off him in waves but somehow it only makes Anai angry.

He’s FINE.

“Please, Theron.”

The holotable blinks back on and the image of a young man hovers above.

Long lekku, dark blue skin with light green spots and black eyes. He’s tall, like Anai, but still carries the lankiness of youth, not quite old enough to have filled out properly.

A… younger brother.

“And Keela.”

The image shrinks down a bit and moves to the side to allow a new one. The holo of a woman.

Medium length lekku, heavier build. Green skin with lighter stripes. A scar on her cheek from their first trip to the surface when she’d fallen and split it open on the rocks. There are more than just the one now. A few visible slices on her lekku and a deep one across her forehead. It makes her look like a battered akla shark.

He leans on the holotable again, uses it to keep himself from falling as the world threatens to spin.

His father and sister survived. His mother was free and back with them. Keela was a jedi knight. And somehow he had a new brother.

Spirits, he needs to sit down.

Senya only falters a little at the ‘cities built on their shells’ part, which was better than most. The brief look on her face makes him chuckle, even if it comes out weak and thready.e holos herself, giving his shoulder a squeeze on the way.

“Where are they now?” she asks.

“On Glee Anselm, best I can tell. On the... Delaan gampasa? Uh...”

“Giant turtles. Migratory. There are cities built on their shells,” he manages to explain around the knot in this throat, before pausing. “The Delaan travels north of the equator, I think it’s where we lived… before.”

Senya only faltersa little at the ‘cities built on their shells’ part, which was better than most. The brief look on her face makes him chuckle, even if it comes out weak and thready.

“So they haven’t moved, then?”

He shakes his head and fights the memories that threaten to surface.

“Space is limited on gampasa, especially older ones. If they still live on Delaan, then they’re in the same home.”

“I don’t want to pry but… is this really the first time you’ve looked them up?” Theron asks.

He’s tired, his head feels like it’s spinning, and there’s a migraine brewing behind his eyes, so he feels he should be forgiven for snapping.

“I was told they were dead and I had neither the opportunity nor the capability to check for myself. And by the time I DID I was a bit too busy to investigate claims from years ago!” he snarls. There’s sparks crawling down his lekku and he shuts his mouth with an audible click.

Don’t get angry with Theron, he’s done nothing wrong.

Deep breaths.

He doesn’t look at Theron when he lifts his head, just focuses on the controls of the holotable in front of him.

“I should go, this is… I need to think on this. Before I decide what should should be done about it.”

When he leaves he can feel their eyes upon his back and it only makes him grit his teeth harder.

This was either horrible or wonderful and he honestly can’t tell which. It’s like his mind has shut down completely and there are no thoughts beyond, ‘LEAVE’ in big Nar Shaddaa neon.

He withdraws back to his ship, to his room that smells like him and the dark that feels like heaven on his eyes when he removes his visor.

There’s a warbling chirp and a familiar weight drops on his shoulder as Kesra finds her perch and nibbles at the base of one of his lekku. Her presence helps set him at ease. If she’s calm, then there’s nothing to be afraid of.

He pets over her bald head and scratches at the wrinkles on her neck. She croons happily and leans into it, nearly overbalancing with a surprised squawk.

When he sits she flutters down onto the bed, tucks her wings, and lays against his hip, almost immediately falling asleep.

She must have been lonely after he left.

He knows the feeling.

#swtor #sith inquisitor #nautolan #theron shan #senya tirall #arcann #tw slavery #i have his whole backstory planned out of course including ages and dates because i'm a masochist #i have no idea when this happens but it's post-kotet and before he gets together with Arcann #i feel like the ending is a little weak but i'm happy enough with the rest of it #this is probably the first thing i've written in a while that i actually feel ok about #kesra is his pet stoneray #relicwrites

8 notes · View notes

angelicthor · 5 years

Text

billion dollar man - part 15

pairing: tony stark x reader

summary: after mounting bills and debt cause you to look at alternative means of making money, you’re thrown into a whole different kind of life when one of the most famous billionaires on the block offers to be your sugar daddy, of course in exchange for a different from of payment. non-superhero au.

warnings/genre: +18 only, sugarbaby/daddy relationship, fluff, angst, smut x3: exhibitionism, outdoor sex, slight dom!tony, 69.

masterlist | billion dollar man masterlist

a/n: Carol Danvers in this series is based on Charlize Theron, not Brie, just to make the story line more comfortable! Please let me know what you think!

You adjusted your dress one last time in the mirror, it clung to you like a second skin, showcasing every inch of you through the thin material and you’d brought it for the specific reason of making Tony’s head spin, wanting to look your absolute best for his birthday.

Unlike Nat, Tony had decided forgo throwing a lavish party this year, thinking it best for his reputation if things got out of hand - which they tended to do at his gatherings - and instead choose to spend his birthday at his mansion in Malibu with you and the rest of his friends. The thumbing bass of the music travelled through the house, a few celebratory cheers sounding as the party started as you checked your appearance to make sure everything was perfect before heading down to join everyone.

Although the number of people attending the celebration was much smaller than Nat’s you had no doubt that it would be just as rowdy, if not more so, than hers. Your point seemed to be proven as Thor and Steve came bombing past you in nothing but their underwear at such speed that you nearly toppled over, both of them launching themselves into the pool as everyone cheered them on from the side lines. You thought back to your university days, the hours you spent pouring over Steve Rogers’ most impressive case files and the image you had crafted of him in your head of a serious strait-laced lawyer couldn’t have been further from the truth.

You spotted Tony on the other side of the room chatting with Sam and Bucky, his attire was more relaxed than normal, but he still looked good. A crisp white shirt tucked into dark grey slacks, the sleeves rolled up and first few buttons undone as he forwent a jacket and tie, his hair left free from product and somewhat stylishly tousled, the slight grey growing through his dark strands behind his ears giving him a silver fox vibe.

Ok, so maybe he looked more than good.

His grin widened as he met your gaze across the room, eyes approvingly drinking in your form as he left Sam and Bucky behind, knowing smirks plastered on their faces, before coming to a stop before you, hands resting on your hips and pulling your body flush against his.

“Fuck, you look incredible,” Tony muttered, nipping at your lower lip as your fingers tangled in the thick hair at the base of his neck, tugging gently on strands.

“Funny, I was just about to tell you the same thing.”

“Oh really?”

You claimed his lips with your own, tongue licking into his mouth in a filthy kiss effectively cutting off whatever crass remark he was going to make, feeling his lips curl into a smirk as his hands travelled from your hips to your ass.

“Happy birthday daddy.”

Tony emitted a noise, something between a strangled groan and a growl, his nose bumping against yours as he rested his forehead against your own, dark eyes blown with lust staring intently at you.

“Bad girl.”

His hand came down to lightly spank your ass, revelling in the way your eyes widened and body jolted at the surprise contact. With a hand on your lower back, Tony lead you to the bar, pouring you a drink before escorting you into the heart of the party, people dancing and drinking as music rang throughout the house. Steve and Thor had both emerged from the pool, standing amongst everyone else in nothing but their soaked through boxers as they raced to down as many shots as they could, boisterous chanting surrounding them, egging on their absurd exploits.

Tony’s Malibu Mansion was a thing of beauty, carved out of white marble it was a delicate blend of both old and new – tradition and modernity – a perfect reflection of its owner’s mind. It was open and spacious, rooms upon rooms fit for whatever he desired, the pool outside overlooking the Malibu coast that the house was built over. Given the size of the abode, all of Tony’s guests were staying there for the duration of the mini-break taken for his birthday and you wondered if the seclusion from the outside world was the reason why people seemed to be acting wilder than usual, the absence of fear at being spread across trashy magazines and gossip sites making people looser than they usually were. Or maybe this was simply how all of Tony’s birthday parties happened to go. The latter wouldn’t surprise you in the slightest.

The place was filled with everyone who was close to the birthday boy and you relished in the feeling of contentment that washed over you as you realised just how many people cared about the man, your mood only dampening slightly when you realised that he didn’t even comprehend just how loved he was by everyone in this room.

Rhodey was here with his wife Carol, hand resting on the little swell of her pregnant belly, and you could tell that Tony was going to spoil that child rotten when they finally arrived. They were chatting to Happy and Pepper who had been forced to take time of from their normal responsibilities and join in with the celebrations, not that they minded of course, happily telling Rhodes and Carol about their upcoming wedding.

Steve and Thor were now engaged in an arm-wrestling contest as Sam and Bucky placed bets on who would win, Nat standing to the side rolling her eyes but the small smile on the face gave away her amusement. Sharon and Hope were sat on one of the sofa’s, a bottle of wine on the table before them as they laughed together about something or another, most likely the poor dance moves of Bruce and Scott on the makeshift dancefloor not too far from them.

The only person absent was Obadiah who couldn’t leave work apparently and you couldn’t say you were disappointed, you had never warmed to the man and you were certain the feeling was mutual but you knew how important he was to Tony, the only family he really had left and so you kept those thoughts to yourself.

Every other important person in Tony’s life were in this very room, all ready to celebrate his birthday with him, to rejoice in his life and their friendship and love for him. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t notice Tony wrap his arm around your waist from behind, resting his head on your shoulder as he kissed the exposed skin of your neck.

“Lamborghini for your thoughts?”

You let out a snort at his paraphrase, not doubting for a second that he would in fact gift you with such a car if you so much as hinted at it. The two of you began to mindlessly sway slightly, completely ignoring the beat of the music in favour for your own melody that only you could hear.

“I don’t think you understand how birthday’s work; people are supposed to give you gifts, not the other way around,” You teased, turning in his arms to wrap your own around his neck.

You expected to see Tony’s trademark cheeky grin playing at his lips, mischief in his eyes that dared you to participate whatever game he has playing but the was an uncharacteristic seriousness to his features. He still held the same warmth he always did, he was still your Tony, but this was not a joke to him.

“I already have everything I could want.”

His eyes didn’t leave yours for a single second, his face a picture of sincerity, it was nearly too much – too intense - you were torn between needing to bury your face in his chest to avoid his gaze and the inability to remove your eyes from his. You were waiting for the teasing, for the quip, for the inevitable façade to drop but it never did, he just kept his steady gaze on you, seemingly anticipating your response.

Your lips parted but no words would pass them. The silence between you stretching on until you could take it no longer, hand reaching out to cup his cheek, lips quirking in a small smile as he turned and pressed a delicate kiss to your palm.

“Tony, I…”

You what? You weren’t even sure what the end of such a sentence was. Or maybe you were. Maybe it wasn’t uncertainty but fear that kept those words at bay. A confession that you had yet to reveal to yourself.

Before you could think to hard on what to say to him, you heard a shout from across the room, heading snapping in the direction of Sam, Steve, and Thor who were rushing towards the two of you. “Stark!” Thor’s voice boomed like thunder and Tony’s eyes widened, muttering a curse under his breath as he quickly stepped back from you, much to your confusion.

You watched as the hoisted Tony from the ground, easily carrying his weight between the three of them and ran straight towards the pool, throwing Tony into the water before jumping in after him with a yell.

You hid your smile behind your hand, a mixture of shock and amusement running through you as you watched Tony resurface, hair stuck down to his head as he shot an annoyed look at his three friends.

“Seriously? Every year?”

Laughter sounded from behind you, the rest of the party standing along the pool side watching the scene infold before them. You jumped when you felt someone’s breath on your neck, turning to see Bucky shooting you a sinister smirk that caused you to take a few cautious steps away from him.

“Nu-uh Doll, don’t think you’re getting out of this that easily, it’s tradition.”

His arms wrapped tightly around you before you could protest, lifting you off the ground as you let out a startled scream at the sudden altitude change, clinging on to Bucky with a vice-like grip that you were sure would leave marks as he ran towards the pool, submerging you both in the water before you managed to free yourself from his grip.

You resurfaced with a gasp, scowling at Bucky as you wiped the water from your eyes, slapping his arm as he laughed at your reaction, your annoyance short lived as you joined in his laughter, a jovial squeal escaping you as you were sprayed with water as Nat jumped into the pool. Soon enough everyone had thrown themselves into the water – aside from a pregnant Carol, who sat on the poolside with her legs dangling into the water – all fully dressed as they swam about, splashing each other and fooling around like a group of unsupervised children.

You giggled as Tony glided through the water towards you, arms wrapping around your waist as you both spun effortlessly in the water. You combed your fingers through Tony’s wet hair, legs wrapping around his hips, taking full advantage of your weightlessness in the pool.

“You know, if I knew this was going to be a pool party I would have dressed more appropriately,” You taunted, nodding to your ruined dress that clung to your skin, leaving nothing to the imagination.

Before Tony could respond, the sly smirk tugging at the corner of his lips letting you know that he most certainly had something to say, Bucky swam by you on his back, the picture of relaxed elegance as he seemed to recline against the water, the small kicks of his feet pushing him wherever he wanted to go.

“Hey, if you wanna slip out of that dress doll, I sure as hell won’t stop you.”

Your arm cut through the water to send a wave right in Bucky’s face, his cheeky smile falling from his lips as he spluttered at the water caught in his throat and your grinned victoriously. You missed the dark look that passed over Tony’s features but felt the way his fingertips dug into your thighs, nowhere near enough to bruise but hard enough to bring your attention back to him.

Tony captured your lips in a steaming kiss that caused everyone around you to whistle at the sight, your cheeks burning as you buried your face in Tony’s neck. Soon enough the party continued on, no one fazed by the change of location or their ruined attire: Thor and Steve were now competing to see who could hold their breath under water the longest, Scott was doing hand-stands under water, Hope and Sharon were to the side talking with Carol. Happy, Pepper, and Rhodey were in the shallow end talking amongst themselves, Bruce was floating on his back without a care in the world and Natasha was sat on Sam’s shoulder challenging you to a game of shoulder wars.

Without realising, Tony had sunk below the water, quickly moving between your legs until you rested on his shoulders and quickly standing with you atop of him, a startled scream escaping your lips as your quickly moved to balance yourself. Tony’s hands gripped your knees, his beard scratching at the skin of your thigh as his lips grazed the sensitive skin there, your muscles twitching in retaliation to the delicate onslaught and you wondered if Tony could feel the heat of your pussy radiating against the back of his neck.

Nat wasted no time in grapping your hands with hers, trying to push you off of Tony’s shoulders as Sam and Tony tried to keep you both upright, insults flying between them both as you and Nat struggled atop of them. Your raucous giggles hindered you, body shaking with them and you had to stop yourself from falling more than once, upper-body strength diminishing as laughter grew at the look of pure determination on Nat’s face.

Soon enough, you were pushed off Tony’s shoulders, the both of you falling backwards into the water as Sam and Nat hollered in victory, making a lap around the pool with her still sat firmly on his shoulders as they both gloated over their conquest.

The pair decided they needed another drink to celebrate and at the promise of more alcohol, the pool was soon vacant of everyone but you and Tony, the sudden silence around you was only disrupted by the faint sounds of the party continuing back in the house.

“Don’t you want to go back inside? It is your party after all?”

“I’m right where I want to be.”

The teasing smile slipped from your face at the softness in his features, the gentleness of his tone that was void of its usually cockiness and the seriousness in his eyes reminded you of that uncharacteristically vulnerable moment before the boys decided to baptise him in his own pool and just like before you were at a complete loss at what to say.

Before you could think to hard on the matter, Tony stole your breath in a kiss backing you up until you were pressed against the side of the pool, his body pressed flush against yours and you could feel his hard length against your thigh causing you to break the kiss as you gasped in shock.

He couldn’t be serious. Could he?

Tony seemed undeterred by your hesitation, trailing kisses down your throat as he hooked your thigh over his hip, grinding his length against your panty-covered core. You bit your lip to silence the moan that threatened erupt from deep within your chest and you could no longer tell if the wetness in your panties was from the pool or your arousal.

“Tony,” You groaned lowly for only his ears, “We’re outside and your friends are within hearing distance, you can’t really want to do this here.”

“C’mon, I can be quick. And you can be quiet,” Tony nipped at your throat causing you to buck against him, “It’s not like you haven’t cum in front of them before babygirl.”

Heat flooded your cheeks at the memory of those damn vibrating panties and the way he had made you cum in the middle of a charity gala of all things at the very table your friends were all sat around.

“Ya know, I distinctly remember you saying that you had to do whatever Nat asked for her birthday. What? Don’t I get the same treatment?”

You cast a quick glance over your shoulder, making sure that you were in fact alone and that everyone else was preoccupied with the party indoors before your hands moved to deftly unbutton his pants, pulling the zipper down and lowering them enough to free his hard cock, stoking him in your hand as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

Tony chuckled darkly at your submission, hands cupping your ass as you pressed you even harder against the pool wall at your back. “Good girl,” He purred in your ear before biting at the lobe causing you to let out a needy whine.

You wrapped your arms around Tony’s neck as he gripped his length in his hand, pushing your panties to the side before running the swollen tip through your glistening folds, your body keening as he bumped against your sensitive clit. Without wasting pretence, Tony pushed into your awaiting heat until he was seated deeply within you, your mouth falling open as a guttural moan threatened to spill from your lips at the feeling of being so full. You bit down on Tony’s shoulder, the slight chemical taste of his soaked shirt from chlorine and detergent coating your tongue, but you couldn’t find it in you to care, your sounds of pleasure were muffled and that was all that mattered in that moment.

Tony began a bruising pace, quickly fucking into you with short, strong thrusts, your ankles locked tightly on his ass as you clawed at his back, the position you were in causing Tony to graze against your g-spot every time he thrust into your wet cunt. His fingers moved to trace messy circles around your clit, the pressure on your sensitive bundle of nerves coupled with his harsh thrusts pushing you towards your climax at record speed.

A soft whimper escaped you as your orgasm washed over you, eyes clenching shut as you bit down hard on Tony’s neck, his low grunts sounding in your ear as your pussy clenched around his cock, his hand abandoning your overstimulated clit to cup the back of your neck, forcing your head back so he could lock eyes with your bleary ones, the sight of you so thoroughly fucked out triggering his own release, his cum painting your walls as he gritted his teeth to silence his would-be growls.

You two reminded entwined as you both caught your breath, Tony nuzzling his face against yours, the tip of his noise grazing over your skin as a small grin played at your lips. You jumped when you heard Rhodey yelling after you both from the house, eyes widening in fear before you realised he was coming no closer.

“Ay, you two! You ever plan on coming back inside?”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re coming in. Don’t get your panties in a twist,” Tony called back, giving you one last lazy kiss before he slowly pulled out of you, tucking himself back into his pants in the water as you adjusted your panties and straightened out your soaked dress as best you could.

Once you were out of the water, you picked up a discarded glass of wine and threw it in pool, the dark red staining the water as Tony watched with a puzzled expression. You arched a brow at him in return, as if it was obvious why you did such a thing, but realisation never seemed to dawn for him.

“It’s to stop anyone going back in there,” You explained but Tony’s features were still twisted in confusion. “Tony, we literally just fucked in there. You can’t seriously tell me you’d be ok letting people go back in knowing what we did?”

He remained silent for a second too long and you gaped at him it became clearer that Tony couldn’t care less if his friends swam in the very same pool you had both fucked in before it even had a chance to be cleaned.

“No, of course not,” He replied unconvincingly, his expression far too innocent to be genuine and you swatted at his arm in retaliation, his faux purity melting to reveal a cheeky smirk as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you against his body as you walked back inside.

Everyone cheered as Tony reappeared to his own party, talking about how it was just in time for cake, towels wrapped around their bodies as they moved about to prepare Tony’s birthday cake. You thanked Nat as she handed you a towel, the glint in her eye letting you know that she knew you and Tony hadn’t been out there swimming, and you ducked your head to avoid her gaze, focusing instead on drying off your hair as much as you could before wrapping the fluffy towel around your body.

The lights dimmed as Sam carried out Tony’s cake from the kitchen, a multitude of candles light on it and you made your way over to stand next to Tony, his friends crowding round him in a circle as everyone sang Happy Birthday. Your singing, however, was cut off with a snort as Sam placed the cake down on the table in front of you, laughter bubbling from within you as you saw how it was decorated – in icing was none other than the birthday boy himself, in nothing but his underwear as he ran from the paparazzi, hands covering his modesty and the widest eyed expression you had ever seen, it was borderline cartoonish. You were certain you recognised the photo being spread over every nosey magazine and blog there was a few years back.

Tony shot you a mischievous wink before he bent to blow the candles out, everyone clapping as he did before Steve moved removed the candles and cut the cake into enough pieces for everyone. You and Nat moved to the side to allow them to get on with it, narrowing your eyes when Tony refused to move from where the cake was being carved up and you knew he was up to something, the way he shifted his weight from the front to the back of his feet, rocking with anticipation giving him away.

Your suspicions were soon confirmed when Tony grabbed a specific piece of the cake and leaped over the couch to hand it to you with a wide grin, unable to contain his glee. Looking down you understood exactly why he seemed so damn proud of himself, the slice of cake he had handed you was the one that had his iced crotch on it and you sent him a pointed look in return that only caused his laughter to escalate.

It was hard to believe that this man was turning 40 tomorrow.

You stared him dead in the eye as you wiped your finger through the icing, sucking the digit clean as lewdly as you could in present company, making as much of a show out of it as possible and the way Tony’s smile dropped to something more sultry, the way his eyes darkened, glinting with something that boarded on dangerous, let you know that it was indeed working. Tony shifted to sit next to you, tucking you under his arm as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head as you shared the piece of cake between you.

The night soon drew to an end, Tony’s guests retiring to their respective guest rooms as you followed Tony to the master bedroom, your hand clasped firmly in his as he pulled you through the door. Tony pressed a soft kiss to your lips before stripping out of his ruined clothes and heading towards the shower in the en-suit; normally, you wouldn’t hesitate in joining him but today you had a surprise to ready for him, one that would require some privacy.

Tony emerged from the bathroom, steam silhouetting him in the doorway as he stood there wrapped in only a fresh towel, the fresh scent of his shampoo reaching you as your eyes followed a stray bead of water that ran down the soft skin of his stomach, disappearing as it reached the white cotton that hung low on his hips.

You snapped yourself out of your stupor, rolling your eyes at the smug expression painted on his features, holding your ‘surprise’ behind your back as you slinked past him and into the bathroom, closing the door and locking it behind you.

The hot water was relaxing against your chilled skin, washing away the chemical scent of the chlorine as you tipped your head back under the soothing spray. Stepping out of the shower, you dried your hair that remained glossy to the touch thanks to the hair mask you used and massaged the rich moisturiser into your body, your skin feeling as silky as the garments that sat to the side.

The babydoll was a stunning maroon colour, the silk bra cupped your breasts perfectly, adorned with a deep gold lace along the cups, the sheer skirt stopping at the top of your thighs giving a perfect glimpse of the matching thong underneath. The set had been a gift from Natasha, although she claimed it was a gift for Tony when she had handed it to you last week and you could see why, he was definitely going to get some enjoyment out of it, that was for sure.

You spritzed perfume across your neck and over the tops of your breasts, dabbing some on your inner wrists and thighs as you relished in the seductive floral scent. Casting one last look in the mirror you tied the silk robe around your waist, the fabric ending only a little further than the babydoll did, and walked out to greet Tony.

The man in question was lounging across the bed in nothing but a pair of boxers, idly flicking through a magazine without paying attention to a single word on the page, his head rolling towards you at the sound of the door opening before he snapped up where he sat, crawling forward on the bed as he gapped at you, eyes hungrily devouring your form as you sashayed towards him, stopping at the edge of the bed as he kneeled before you.

His hands caressed your hips, thumbs stroking over the silk that encased you like wrapping paper around a present, eyes taking in every inch of you, unable to focus on one spot for too long. He tugged the bow that held the robe together free, groaning as you were revealed to his hungry gaze, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he pushed the robe off your shoulders and let it pool to the floor without a care.

Tony sucked in a harsh breath at the sight of you, eyes darkening as they roamed over your lace covered breasts and down to the sheer skirt that flared from them, the outline of your thong visible through the material, a throaty groan erupting from deep within his chest as he pawed at you, pulling you closer to him as he buried his face in your neck, inhaling deeply as the smell of your perfume washed over him.

“Natasha?” He nodded towards your attire in question and you nodded in affirmation, letting out a startled yelp as his hands quickly grabbed the back of your thighs and threw you down onto the bed. “Remind me to thank her.”

You giggled as Tony littered the side of your neck with kisses before capturing your lips with his, tongue claiming your own as he rolled his hips against yours, hardening length pressed against your barely covered core. His hands moved to seize your breasts through your bra, back arching at the touch as he yanked the cups down, mouth attaching to one of your hardened nipples as you carded your fingers through his hair.

Tony released your nipple with a lewd pop, shooting you a filthy smirk as he slithered down your body, settling between your legs as he pushed the sheer skirt of your babydoll up, taking the edge of your thong between his teeth and slowly tugging it down your legs as you panted wantonly beneath him.

Before he could so much as kiss your thigh, the most sinful thought crossed your mind, lips curling up at the corners as you quickly sat up, ignoring Tony’s bewilderment as you pushed him onto his back, quickly tugging his boxers off before settling yourself over him.

Tony let out a rasping moan as you straddled his face, glistening lips on full display to his hungry gaze as you pumped his length in your hand. His hand came down on your ass, biting his lip as he watched your flesh bounce at the force before he spread your cheeks apart to give him full access to your pussy.

“God, you’re such a dirty little girl, huh?”

You didn’t answer, instead shooting him a wink over your shoulder before your tongue darted out to lick the length of his pulsing shaft, wrapping your lips around his swollen tip, bobbing your head languidly as your hand gripped his base.

Tony’s head fell back against the pillow with a pleasured howl and you wiggled your hips in his hands to remind him of your own need which he quickly rectified, burying his face between your thighs as he lapped at your cunt like a man starved. Your moan was muffled by his cock still heavy on your tongue, the vibrations causing Tony to buck upwards as he pulled you even harder against his mouth, lips locking around your throbbing bud as he sucked hard. Every action he took against you was repaid in kind, the both of you competing to provide the other with the utmost amount of pleasure.

Your free hand moved to fondle his balls as he slipped two digits into your slick channel, curling them against your g-spot as you jerked at the action, his hand swatting your ass in a warning to keep still. The smell of sex was heavy in the air, the silence of the room punctured by your stifled grunts and groans and the wet sounds of your mouths working against the others sex as you propelled each other to fruition.

Just as your eyes began to roll back into your head, toes began to curl as you could taste your orgasm on the tip of your tongue, Tony pulled away from you, hand tangling in your hair as he pulled you off his twitching length and you whined at the loss, of his mouth on your pussy or his cock in yours, you couldn’t be sure.

Before you could even think to question it, Tony pulled you onto his lap with your thighs straddling his own, one hand gripping the base of his cock to stave of his impending orgasm as the other settled on your hip, guiding you into position over his swollen head.

“Fuck,” He hissed through gritted teeth, “Ride Daddy, babygirl. Let me see you.”

Needing no further encouragement, you lined yourself up with his cock, his head pressing against your sopping opening before you slowly sank down on him, velvet walls wrapping around him with a vice-like grip until your pelvis was firmly pressed against his. His hands moved up your hips, bunching the material of your babydoll in his hands before he pulled it up and over your head, tossing it aside with a concern, cupping your free breasts in his hands as your head fell back with a sigh.

You placed your hands on his thighs to steady yourself, giving an experimental roll of your hips and grinning on the sound Tony emitted, his fingers pinching your erect nipples as he gave a shallow thrust up into you.

“Baby, don’t tease,” he warned.

So you didn’t. You rolled your hips like a wave, making the head of his cock brush against that spot with every movement, this position making you feel every solid inch of him inside of you. You began to bounce harder, faster, your clit grinding against the patch of his hair at the base of his cock as you swirled your hips on top of his, biting your lip to stifle the sounds of your bliss.

You gasped as Tony spanked you, hardened eyes locked on your own. “Don’t,” He growled, voice dripping with menace, “Let me hear you.”

“But-”

“Don’t care, let ‘em here you. Let ‘em here how fuckin’good you ride Daddy’s cock.”

You let your mouth fall open, moans and cries and praises falling from your lips unchecked as you fell forward, one hand on Tony’s chest and the other gripping the headboard so hard you feared the wood would splinter under your touch. Your back arched pulling him deeper inside you, the tightness in your core building and building until it finally snapped, euphoria flooding your every nerve, eyes clenched shut as your body worked through your orgasm, voice hoarse from the scream that tore from your throat.

Tony groaned at the feeling of your cunt fluttering around his cock, your slick leaking out of you and dripping down his balls, quickly pinning your hands behind your back, his calloused hand wrapped around your wrists as he widened his thighs and planted his feet on the bed as he began to wildly thrust into you, chasing his own end as you collapsed onto his chest.

The bed squeaked beneath you in protest, headboard knocking against the wall obnoxiously loud as moans spilled from your lips unabashedly, your cunt making a vulgar squelch every time Tony thrust into you and you had no doubt that everyone in the house could hear the two of you.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good. Perfect little cunt wrapped so - fuckin’ - tight around me. Fuckfuckfuck, baby-” Tony cut himself off with a fierce groan, thrusts losing their rhythm as he sloppily bucked into you, his cum filling you as his cock throbbed with his release, triggering another minute orgasm that sent a small shiver through you.

You both lay there spent as you came down from your highs, slight aftershocks making your pussy quiver around Tony’s softening cock before you fell to the side, the ache in your thighs beginning to make itself known to you, sweat-slicked skin and cum-filled pussy reminding you that you’d need to take another shower before you allowed yourself to drift off to sleep. Once you could actually stand on your legs again, of course.

Tony wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you towards him as he pressed his lips to your bit-swollen ones in a languid kiss before scattering kisses across your cheeks and nose causing you to giggle softly, the corner of his lips curling up in a tender smile.

“You ok?” He asked, fingers stroking up and down your back as you hummed in affirmation. “Want another shower?”

“Yeah.”

“Shame, you look good full of my cum.”

“Tony!” You moved to sit up, slapping his arm lightly in reprimand as you stretched out your muscles.

“What? You can fuck me like a pornstar whose rents due but I say you look good afterwards and suddenly you turn into some blushing virgin at a titty bar?”

You avoided his gaze as you gathered some actual pyjamas, feeling the heat burning your cheeks as Tony’s chuckle sounded from the bed before he stood up, crossing the room to wrap his arms around you from behind, pressing kisses into your neck as he held you to him.

“You’re precious, you know that?” He murmured, voice like velvet and you turned your head to look at him, his earnest expression causing your face to flush even hotter. You cleared your throat, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips before taking his head in yours and pulling him towards the bathroom so you could share a hot shower before finally tucking yourself into bed.

There was no round two – well technically, three – in the shower, you were both far too exhausted after such a long evening and even if you weren’t, you doubted your body would be able to cooperate. Instead you exchange soft kisses and even softer touches, his body wrapped around yours as you cleaned each other of your combined releases.

The bed was a welcome comfort, tired muscles practically melting between the cool sheets and pliant mattress. You let out a content moan when Tony pulled you to him, tucking your head under his chin as you tangled your legs with his, the feeling of him curling a loose strand of your hair around his finger lulling you to sleep as your arms tightened around his torso.

“Night Tony.”

You fell asleep before he could answer, the soft puffs of your breath against his chest soothing to the man beneath you who took a strange sense of pleasure in watching you sleep. It was serene. A gift of peace for a part of his soul he didn’t even know needed it. He watched the way your eyes twitched beneath closed lids as you dreamed, the way you snuggled closer to him, the way your mouth parted just slightly as faint snores escaped you.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, careful not to wake you, arms wrapping firmly around your waist as he settled into the bed.

“Night babygirl.”

In a rare occurrence, you woke before Tony, the man still sleeping soundly beside you, arm tossed over your waist and you slowly turned over to face him, careful not wake him. You cast your eyes about his features, his face void of cocky smirk or furrowed brows, for once he looked simply peaceful, like there wasn’t a thousand racing thoughts plaguing his mind. Reaching out, you lightly traced your finger across his cheek, following the slant of his face down to his lips, a small gasp escaping you as his lips puckered to press a kiss to your fingertip, bambi eyes opening to meet your own as his lips stretched in a sleepy grin.

“Good Morning, babygirl,” Tony said on a groan as he stretched his stiff muscles.

“Good Morning,” You pressed a tender kiss to his lips, voice scarcely higher than a whisper, “Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you.”

You remined embraced together, sharing soothing touches and easy kisses between morning words of adoration. Your eyes caught sight of the small giftbox across the way, bright red ribbon tied around the black leather, for once a gift to Tony, not from him but you were still uncertain if you should actually give it to him or not.

You had debated for weeks if such a gift would be a good idea or not; it would either offer him closure you weren’t even sure he knew he needed or it, or it would reopen old wounds and potentially ruin his birthday. In the end you decided to take the risk, the benefits outweighing the possible damages but as it came time to actually present it to Tony, that nagging feeling of doubt came rushing back.

Hesitantly, you stood from the bed and made your way over to the present that was hidden away in your overnight bag, a peek of the red velvet bow visible from the open case. You kept the present concealed behind your back as you tentatively walked back to the bed, sitting beside Tony who was watching you with an arched brow, intrigued by what you were up to as he mirrored your position on the bed, sitting cross legged opposite you.

“Ok here’s the thing, if you don’t like this, you have to tell me. Cause if you don’t like it, you’re really not going to like it, ya know? And I don’t want to upset you or anything, especially on your birthday, and I can always take it back, no problem – honest. I won’t be offended in the slightest cause I knew it was a risk and I really don’t know why I thought this was a good idea and maybe I-”

“Babe.” Tony cut you off and you drew in a deep breath. How fast were you talking? “Just – breathe, alright? I’m sure I’ll love it.”

You still worried at your bottom lip, apprehension still etched on your features as you placed the box in Tony’s awaiting hands, heart racing as he pulled the ribbon off and opened the lid, eyes watching every slight movement of his face like a hawk as you searched for any signs that he hated what was inside.

Gingerly, Tony lifted the watch out of its box, thumb tracing over the face, intricate metal work that you’d had customised to look like the arc reactor he was working on, your breath hitching in your throat as he turned the watch over in his hands, expression falling as he saw what was on the other side, your heart hammering in your chest as you waited for him to say something.

His eyes kept moving over the engraved letters over and over again, reading and rereading the words as his heart stuttered in his chest, throat drying as his body struggled to process the sheer onslaught of emotions he was feeling.

Tony Stark: A Man of Iron with a Heart of Gold.

The tension in your muscles built as Tony tucked the watch back into its box and placed it on the bedside table, bracing yourself for the inevitable storm as the silence stretched between the two of you. You didn’t know how he was going to react: Red-faced yelling? Sullen silence? Would he ask you to leave? Tell you that you were crossing a line? You had no idea but you did know that you wanted him to do something, the waiting was like torture and you wanted nothing more than for it to end.

“Tony?” Your voice was weak, the desire to reach for him growing with every second but you weren’t sure if you should, if your touch would be welcome.

“C’mere,” He rasped, swallowing against the lump in his throat as he held out a hand for you to take, pulling you onto his lap and wrapping his arms around your waist.

His eyes were wide, brighter than you’d ever seen, unshed tears making them sparkle in the light of the morning sun, the corner of his lips curling up in a shy smile. Shy. That was definitely new. His fingers reached out to brush your hair away from your face before cradling your cheek in his hand, thumb brushing over your cheekbone like you were fine art – something to be marvelled at.

He brought your lips down to his, his touch new and familiar all rolled into one. It lacked his usual heated passion, it wasn’t playful nor cocky – it was different, the same lips you loved to kiss but the feeling behind it totally unfamiliar. There was a reverence behind it, the way his lips moulded against yours, the way his hands slid up your chest and freed you from your vest, the way he rolled your body beneath his own and stared down at you with such awe.

Clothes were shed falling to the floor without a second thought, hardened length stretching your innermost parts as he rolled his hips into yours, your chest pressed against his, his hands roaming your back as your own wrapped around his neck, the both of you needing to feel as much as you could. It was far from fucking as you could get, it wasn’t even sex, it was simply about the connection – the two of you as one single being, his soul pouring into yours, leaving his own personal brand on your most sacred part and vice versa.

There was no rush, no hasty movements as you tried to propel the other into climax, there was only the feeling of him rolling his hips into your own, hardly even drawing out of you as he moved, his forehead resting against your own, eyes locked on yours as your soft breaths filled the silence between you.

One hand moved from your back, grabbing on of your own and lacing your fingers with his, pinning it the bed beside your head as he continued his steady rhythm, tears pricking your eyes, threatening to spill because it was too much: his heavy gaze, his touch, his cock, his heartbeat sounding so steadily against your own. And yet, you’d never felt anything so pure before, you wanted to drown in it, to let this moment consume you whole until he was all you could ever feel.

You came together, names falling from each other’s lips like a chanted prayer. A promise. For what you weren’t sure, but it didn’t matter, in that moment you’d have promised him the whole world. He didn’t pull away from you, holding you tight against his body as he settled onto his back, cock still buried within you as he pressed gentles kisses to your lips, fingers dancing along the bare expanse of your back.

He pulled away with a content sigh; “Thank you,” His voice was thick with emotion, deep baritone barely making your ears.

You knew he meant for more than the watch, because it was more than a watch, it was a way for him to move on from something that had been weighing him down for far too long. You said nothing, instead slanting your mouth over his own, fingers tangled in the short strands of his hair.

“I love it.”

This time it was he who watched your expression with bated breath. You searched his eyes for the hidden meaning, you think that was the first time he had ever used the word love for anything before.

He loved it. He loved it. He loved it. He loved you.

Oh.

It wasn’t time – if there would ever be a time - for either of you to admit to those words and say them out loud. But still, the sentiment was there and he was waiting for you to say something.

“I’m glad Tony, I hoped you would.”

The two of you shared small smiles, near conspiratorial in nature, like a secret had been passed between the two of you that only you knew of.

“C’mon, we aren’t the only ones in this house and if we don’t go downstairs soon they’re only going to barge in this room and demand we join them.”

The two of you showered and dressed for the day ahead, heading downstairs and seeing everyone already up, everyone wishing him a happy birthday as he walked into the kitchen. You heard someone complement him on his new watch, his face beaming with pride when he revealed it was from you, wrapping an arm around you and pressing a kiss to the side of your temple as you all sat around the table for breakfast.

“So,” Sam drawled out, eyeing the two of you over the rim of his coffee mug, “Did you two have fun last night?”

You choked on your juice, heat flooding your face as you stared wide eyed at Sam who was grinning like a Cheshire Cat, mortification growing as everyone around the table shared the same knowing look.

“Sounds like they had fun this morning too,” Nat quipped, not looking up from her breakfast as she bit into her pancakes.

That was the final straw, laughter filling the room as you willed the floor to swallow you whole. Tony’s hand came to rest on your thigh under the table, squeezing it reassuringly as he shot you an adoring smile and suddenly, nothing else mattered anymore.

a/n: i don’t have a tag list but if you want alerts please follow @angelicthorwrites and turn on notifications

#tony stark x reader #tony x reader #tony stark smut #tony stark x you #tony stark series #angelicthorwrites

482 notes · View notes

greyias · 5 years

Note

15. Loud, so everyone can hear.

“I love you, Theron. Come home.”

For the entire, extended nightmare that was his time undercover, those words had been his lifeline. She had broadcast them for the entire galaxy to hear, in the hopes that he would too. And he had, of course he had. He’d let those words repeat in his head, over and over and over again. It was a way to ground himself. Remind himself. That the drastic course of action he had taken was necessary. For her survival, for the Alliance’s, for the entire damn galaxy.

In the end, they’d even turned out to be true. Somehow against all odds, he had made it home and she still loved him. Had taken him back, hell, had agreed to marry him, and given him all his old duties despite the trust he’d violated. He was back to helping run the Alliance, planning missions and ops, and was even still gathering intel from his old underworld and intelligence contacts. It was almost a storybook happy ending to the whole affair.

Except… there was just this one tiny thing.

“As much as I love our chats, Denzer, I got to run.”

“Love our chats, huh, Shan? Almost as much as you love the Alliance Commander?”

“What?”

“Even losing that fancy fleet, you guys have quite the operation going, don’t you? Still have that nice big treasury.” A blaster was laid casually on the table, the Duros’s finger already curled around the trigger. “I wonder how much of that money your pretty Jedi would be willing to part with for you.”

This kept happening.

Denzer Si wasn’t the first genius to come up with the plan of kidnapping and ransoming Theron off — actually this was the third attempt this month. This sort of thing was starting to crop up with annoying regularity. First had been at Port Nowhere checking with an old Exchange contact that had quickly gone south. Then he’d gotten stuck between some enterprising rival gangsters on Coruscant both looking for a payout. He’d managed to slip out after a fight had broken out, helpfully started by him playing up to their egos. And now it seemed Nar Shaddaa hoodlums wanted to get in on the action.

He hadn’t exactly been thinking about the long-term future consequences when he’d decided to infiltrate Vinn Atrius’s secret cabal of apocalyptic conspirators. Hadn’t really considered what it meant for his face to be plastered across the galaxy on wanted posters and terrorist warnings, effectively taking Theron Shan out of the shadows and making him a household name. He had definitely not expected that his girlfriend would declare her undying love for him in front of the entire galactic sphere — or show that she was willing to offer up anything for his safe return to her side. Which at the time had been a very romantic and touching gesture, and apparently the unsavory types across the galaxy had agreed.

“You know, Denzer,” he said, splaying his hands out on the table in an exaggerated show of surrender, “I usually admire your entrepreneurial spirit.”

“It’s my best quality,” the Duros sneered.

“I’m just… not really in the kidnapping mood today. You know?” Theron’s palms hovered a few inches off the table. “Sorry to disappoint. Toxicity six.”

Denzer snarled, seeming to realize that Theron was up to something. Before he could pull the trigger, Theron squeezed his hand into a tight fist and activated the hidden compartment in his bracers. A tranquilizer dart flew out from the thin, inconspicuous barrel and sunk deep into the exposed fleshy area of Denzer’s neck. The sedative was lined with a quick-acting paralytic agent, and the Duros slumped back into his chair, trigger finger unfurling as unconsciousness began to creep over him.

The rest of the darkened, seedy cantina didn’t even notice as Theron removed the offending blaster from the table. A casual onlooker would probably have just assumed he was saying farewell to his very inebriated friend as he gave Denzer a rough pat on the shoulder.

“As I said,” Theron’s fingers curled in tightly around the other being’s shoulder, “I have to run. That pretty Jedi you mentioned, she’s expecting me home soon — and I don’t want to keep her waiting.”

A strangled noise escaped from the incapacitated gangster, but he wasn’t able to form actual words.

“She’s a bit overprotective, you see. If I’m late, she might get worried and come looking for me and you do not want that.” Theron leaned in further, dropping his voice into a low, dangerous whisper, that could only be heard by the Duros clinging to the edge of consciousness. “Trust me, it wouldn’t end well for you.”

The next noise that came from the would-be kidnapper was a soft, distressed noise, although whether it was a plea or threat, Theron couldn’t be sure. And he didn’t particularly care.

“I’m feeling generous today, so I used the sedative on you instead of an actual toxin. So, maybe you return the favor to me and just pass along the sentiment to all your little pals. Just in case they get the same idea as you. We wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt.”

Denzer gave out one last gasp of protest before unconsciousness claimed him. Theron straightened up, fixed his jacket, and without any further fanfare, walked out of the seedy cantina into the garish neon lights of the Red Light Sector. His pace was casual but still fast enough to where he quickly left the Duros gangster and any potential ambushes behind. By the time he reached the taxi pad crowded with tourists, he was fairly certain that he wasn’t being followed.

A soft buzzing of the cybernetic implant in Theron’s right ear signaled an incoming transmission on his private frequency. It used to be reserved for communications between Theron and his old boss, Marcus Trant, the director of the SIS. That had been practically a lifetime ago now, and he hadn’t talked to Marcus in a long time. No, he’d long since repurposed the frequency so he could talk with just one individual in particular. One far prettier to look at, and who also tended to yell in his ear a lot less.

“Accept incoming call.”

His words were lost in the hum of the crowd around him even as a genuine smile spread across his face.

“Funny,” he said, warmth filling his voice, “I was just thinking about you.”

“Good things I hope?” The amused sound of his wife’s voice filled his ears, and the dark cloud that had been following him since he’d left the cantina lifted a little.

“Always,” he said, climbing into a vacant taxi. “Although I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon. Back from Ossus already?”

“Almost. On a refuel stop — this shuttle does not get the same mileage as the Defender. I suppose I should have waited to call, but… I just wanted to hear your voice again.”

“Hmm,” in the relative privacy of the taxi he could let his voice lower an octave and still be picked up by his communication implants, “me too. Fancy that.”

The lights of the cityscape washed over him, painting him in neon hues as the melodic quality of his wife’s voice played its soft song in that little place inside of him. Hopefully Denzer would carry on the message to the rest of the underworld and the spotlight would finally move off of him as some potentially valuable bargaining chip to be auctioned off to the highest bidder — but Theron wasn’t counting on it. If the long term consequences of his choice to go undercover with the Order of Zildrog was that he’d never quite be able to skulk along the edges of the shadows like he’d grown accustomed to… then so be it.

It was just one of the many repercussions from that mission. But so was the ability to just have a nice conversation with the woman he loved after a long day. To hear the smile in her voice, and see the sparkle in her eyes that was reserved just for him. If he had to tangle with the occasional would-be kidnapper, then fine. He’d just deal with the situations as they arose. As far as he was concerned, they were more than acceptable trade-offs for his storybook ending.

#swtor fanfiction #theron shan x jedi knight #theron shan #Female Jedi Knight/Hero of Tython #swtor #fanfic #otp: adorkable #oc: greyias highwind #honekitteh #thank you for the prompt!#the way you said 'i love you' prompts #i headcanon that teff'ith eventually takes care of the issue for him #(but only after mocking him profusely)#i also assume there are quite a few holonovels and dramas based on the whole affair #because really #people had to have been dying of curiosity after watching that broadcast #of what happened to the two star-crossed lovebirds #greyfic

49 notes · View notes

katyakiryu · 5 years

Text

An Unexpected Wrath, Part 10

"I can't help but notice that someone's quarters are suspiciously far away from Vette's."

Quinn turned to find Asha'lie leaning against the doorframe to his quarters, giving him a teasing smile.

"Are you settling in alright?" She asked.

"Yes, my lord. I did send you a holomessage," Quinn pointed out.

She shook her head, though the smile remained.

"I'd really prefer it if you called me Asha'lie," the Sith murmured. She tilted her head, allowing her long caramel hair to spill over her shoulders. "If you insist on being formal, it's Commander."

"Oh? I thought it was Empress," Quinn found himself teasing her. Asha blushed and glanced away. "You've accomplished much, Asha'lie. You should be proud."

"I wish I could be," Asha admitted. "But I feel like I constantly have to look over my shoulder."

Quinn pressed his lips together. They'd filled him in that she was investigating everyone. Someone had betrayed her. No wonder she was so paranoid that day. The former major watched as she brought her thumb to her lips and began to chew nervously.

"You and Vette are the only ones I trust," Asha'lie admitted. "I hate that I can't even have faith in my own people."

"What about Shan?" Quinn dared to ask. Asha shakily brought her trembling hand back to her side. "You love him, surely he would never hurt you-"

"Just because he loves me doesn't mean he's exempt," she snapped. He watched in concern as her shoulders suddenly slumped forwards. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped. I need to go."

"Of course," he murmured. Asha slipped away, looking just as lost as she had the day that Ziost was consumed. Quinn frowned and settled down at his desk, sorting through the papers that Aygo had sent him. He could find this traitor. He knew how they had to think. He wanted her to trust her people again. She couldn't keep looking over her shoulder. She'd break.

It was night by the time Quinn finally allowed himself a break. He leaned back in the chair and glared at the documents. There was nothing! No trace, no footprint. Whoever had betrayed her had covered their tracks well. They would have some connection to intelligence, that was for certain.

He needed a drink.

Quinn stood and let his door slide open with a hiss. To his surprise, Asha'lie stood there. Slowly she lifted her gaze to his.

Ice ran through his veins at the sight of the furious, haunted look that made her eyes turn to stone. She stepped towards him, causing him to take a step back. Something had happened. There was nothing of the woman that Quinn still held feelings for in her eyes.

Asha'lie peeled her blood-soaked gloves from her hands as she slowly, step by step, backed him up until he was bracing himself against his desk. She held his gaze with haunted, animalistic blue eyes. Slowly, her hands came up to cup his face. Quinn gulped, fearing that she'd decided no traitor could be kept alive. Asha'lie's fingertips slid down his jaw to his neck.

"Asha'lie," he whispered. He forced trembling hands to catch her arms.

Her eyes suddenly widened and the rage left them. She brought her frantic gaze to meet his before shaking her head and burying her face into his chest.

Quinn looked around in confusion. What should he do? What was he supposed to do? She'd looked like she wanted to strangle him not a minute ago, and now she was crying into his chest.

"I didn't know where else to go," Asha whimpered.

Quinn shook his head and wrapped his arms around her, leaning back against his desk for support. Unconsciously, his fingers brushed through her hair.

"Tell me everything," he whispered.

Theron Shan had betrayed her. He'd called her a tyrant. He'd tried to kill her and nearly succeeded. Hearing Asha's voice break several times made Quinn furious. That damned spy. How could he do this to her? She was the might of the galaxy. She was kind and warm and good. What reason would he have to betray her?

Quinn wondered if he had a right to be angry. After all, he'd been in the same situation not so long ago.

"I'm sorry," Asha whispered.

He'd taken a seat at his desk while she huddled on top of his bed.

"There's nothing to apologize for," Quinn reassured her.

"It's cruel to come to you with this," she pointed out. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "I just... I don't know."

"What will you do with him?" He questioned.

"In the moment, I wanted to kill him. I was so angry, Quinn," Asha admitted. "I don't know what I'll do. I don't know what I want to do."

He watched as she buried her face in her hands and let out a muffled sob.

"He sounded so sad," she cried. "I don't know why he did it. I thought he loved me, I thought you loved me... I..."

"I do love you, Asha'lie," Quinn murmured. He stood and crossed the room to her, sitting by her side. She lifted her face from her hands and let out a shaky breath. The last thing he expected her to do was to lean against him and sigh. "I have always loved you. I imagine he does as well."

"I don't want him to die, I just want to know why," she whispered. "I wonder if it's because his father died because of me. I saw the grief in his eyes. I knew he blamed me somewhere in his heart."

"He's made his choice," he whispered. "You must make yours."

Asha'lie nodded quietly. Quinn found himself resting his head against the top of hers. To his surprise, her fingers laced through his own.

"I missed you," she told him quietly. Quinn glanced down at their entwined fingers and cautiously ran his thumb over her skin.

"There was a void within me when you vanished. Nothing in the galaxy could fill it," he admitted.

"I owe Acina for pardoning you. I don't think I'd ever think to look for you in Imperial prison."

"I imagine Vette would have let you know."

"I'd have come for you."

"I wanted that to be true."

Asha gave his hand a gentle squeeze. Quinn sighed and stared at the door. It was late. After the day she'd had, she needed to rest.

"I love you," Asha'lie whispered. "I've always loved you."

"I love you too," he murmured. "However, it feels wrong to admit it when you've just been through a despicable betrayal. You should rest and think on what it is you truly want."

"I knew when I saw you again on Iokath," she murmured. She sat up to meet his gaze. "Theron and I were never going to last, Quinn. I always knew that, deep down."

"You still need to rest, my lord. For your health," he chided, though her confession did fill him with warmth.

"You're ridiculous," Asha sighed. She smiled and cupped his cheek. "Is it alright if I rest here?"

"Surely you'd be more comfortable in your own chambers-"

"I don't want to be alone. I'll sleep in Vette's room if you want your privacy."

Quinn sighed and smiled a small, exasperated smile. He'd forgotten just how stubborn she could be when she wanted to.

He'd offered to sleep at the desk, but she insisted on sharing the bed with him. It seemed that she truly had been in love with him all this time. Quinn glanced over at her darkened form. She'd removed her armor, leaving her in an undershirt and her undergarments. His arm was beneath her head, their fingers still entwined. He ran his thumb over her skin once again and sighed. This was all he ever wanted, but at what cost?

She rolled over and cupped his cheek.

"You worry too much," Asha whispered. His eyebrows flew up as she softly pressed her lips against his. Quinn cupped the back of her neck and allowed the warmth she offered to envelop him once again.

That was how they spent the next few days. She'd come back tired and drained, he would work to keep her alliance running smoothly, and they'd lie in the darkness together, savoring the warmth.

Quinn found himself in the military section of the Alliance base, watching as she conversed with Lana.

Shan's betrayal had been a ruse. Most of the Alliance was pleased to hear it, even if he'd been gravely injured in the battle against the superpowered resistance that had annihilated the Gravestone and the fleet. Asha had come back from her fight cold and tired, but without the haunted look that he feared so much.

Quinn found himself worrying that she'd go back to Shan, especially now that it turned out that he hadn't betrayed her at all. That was more than he could say for himself after all.

He couldn't stand to watch as Shan crossed the room to his friends.

Quinn strode back to his quarters and sunk into his desk chair, gripping his forehead. He wanted to trust what she'd told him-- that she loved him all this time.

The door hissed open and Asha walked in, placing a hand on his shoulder. One exchanged glance was all it took for her to gather why he'd left so abruptly.

"I told you that you worried too much," Asha'lie teased. Her hand rubbed his back in reassurance. Quinn stood and pulled her into a passionate kiss, wrapping his arms around her. She reacted in mild surprise before relaxing into the embrace. "I love you, Quinn. Please don't doubt that."

"I love you too, Asha," he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers.

"I'm yours. You're mine," she murmured. Her hands came to rest on his chest. "I won't let anyone change that. I'll keep you safe."

"Asha'lie," Quinn began to reply, searching for the words he needed. There was no way to express what he felt in words, so he settled for kissing her again, and again, and again.

Quinn cupped her cheek in the darkness, her bare form under his own. Her warmth enveloped him as she wrapped her arms around the back of his neck and drew him closer.

No one, nothing would take her from him again. The Wrath was his, and he was hers.

It would stay that way until they were both gone from the galaxy, and even then that love would remain for some time longer.

#malavai quinn #stworupdate #starwarstheoldrepublic #stwor #star wars #oc: asha"lie #an unexpected wrath

17 notes · View notes

inyri · 5 years

Text

Equivalent Exchange (a SWTOR story): Chapter 38- Checkmate

Equivalent Exchange by inyri Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic Characters: Female Imperial Agent (Cipher Nine)/Theron Shan Rating: E (this chapter: M) Summary: If one wishes to gain something, one must offer something of equal value. In spycraft, it’s easy. Applying it to a relationship is another matter entirely. F!Agent/Theron Shan. (Spoilers for Shadow of Revan and Knights of the Fallen Empire/Knights of the Eternal Throne.)

Comments are always appreciated! Visit me at:

Archive of Our Own

Fanfiction Dot Net

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Checkmate

There are few things more delightful than watching an old enemy fall to pieces.

It starts as it always does: a crease at the corner of one eye, a flickering pulse at the edge of a shirt collar, the tap-tap-tap of a fingernail on a polished wood desktop. Trant sits staring as the video plays, jaw clenched so tightly she can see the muscles in his cheek twitch, and she wonders whether he’s angrier at her or at Garza’s carelessness. He’d clearly known about Eclipse Squad- likely far better than she did given the look on his face when she’d first mentioned it; he didn’t strike her as the type to offer no-strings-attached favors, ex-wife or not.

Probably especially not an ex-wife. He had at least two that her own intel knew about, not to mention his charming little habit of getting up the skirts of most of his secretaries. She doesn’t fault the man a divorce or four: getting married in their line of work was a lousy idea and staying that way seemed impossible unless one didn’t mind lying about every single detail of one’s life. But fucking the support staff? That suggested quite a lot about a man, none of it good-

-and those poor fired secretaries had so very many interesting things to say after a few Starshine Surprises.

Eclipse Squad hadn’t stood a chance, not with Rakata tech in their heads and Havoc hunting them. The Republic should have known better than to play with anything the Rakata’d left behind but they always were idiots when it came to pushing the boundaries of science, even after the lessons they should have learned on Tatooine and Belsavis and now Manaan- she knows they knew, she saw their research teams prowling around even as her own crew evacuated- and Garza must have been desperate for new blood once Havoc was unmasked after Corellia. (That had been Chancellor Saresh’s fuckup, probably; the Republic did love its parades. Meanwhile the Empire’s embedded observers managed dozens of high-definition holos of every squad member, right down to the whiskers on the XO’s face.) In any case, with their best SpecForce team out in the open there must have been a lot riding on the program’s success.

Those poor stupid soldiers. It was the sort of thing she would have expected from her own masters once upon a time, though in Science Division’s hands they would have ended up in Shadow Town under a microscope instead of skar’kla food on Rishi. One learns from one’s failures.

Waste not, et cetera.

(Deep in the back of her mind there is a flicker of static, a faint pressure on the crown of her head like pats from a vaguely condescending hand, there and gone again in a moment.

She was stupid once, too. More than once.)

She has to hand it to Havoc Squad, though: even bugfuck crazy the Eclipse soldiers fought hard and Major Janasim and her team cut them down like paper targets, bodies stashed and confirmation holos of each kill in proper professional fashion. Very tidy. Almost admirable, if the woman didn’t seem like such a trigger-happy psychopath. It’s understandable, too, why she’d let Garza walk- favors make the galaxy go ‘round, after all, and it sounds like Havoc must have owed their general more than a few.

Not that it’ll keep her from using it against all of them.

If Trant wants to turn this into a shadow war with Theron as collateral, she’ll bring the SIS down around his ears and as much of the Republic as she can drag into the wreckage. That probably isn’t proper. That probably isn’t what a Commander ought to do. Then again, she never wanted to run this Alliance in the first place.

Oh, well. Waste not, et cetera.

She turns her attention back to the holo.

“-but I have some pull with the SIS director,” Garza said thoughtfully, cupping her chin with one gloved hand. “Say goodbye to the uniform, but I’d be back running ops within the year.”

The major still had blood on her face, a wide spatter across one high cheekbone and the riveted patch where her left eye should have been. They never did get footage of what exactly she’d done to Corovani- the cameras in that sector were pointed in just the wrong direction, not that it mattered much with Garza’s precious safehouse bugged to the rafters- but she can guess. “Those spies are in for a shock." Her lips curled into a smirk. “They could use a little SpecForce training.”

Trant taps his fingertips on the desktop one last time before resting his palms flat against the surface. His shoulders rise and fall, a breath drawn in and out with a whistle on the exhale like air out of a balloon; a single sharp click registers in her right ear and for a second she thinks he’s patched someone else into the call until she sees a panel light blinking on the far wall. Second light from the top. The bridge.

Oh, Theron. She pulls her focus back to the recording as it freezes on its last frame, forces her body to relax and her face to maintain its perfect smiling mask. However long he’s been listening he won’t like what he hears, but that’s not her problem now. You never do follow orders worth a damn, do you?

“I went to her funeral, you know.” Trant leans back in his chair. “Janasim. She died on a siege attempt on some Zakuulan outpost- saved the rest of the squad before they got her. Hero to the end and all that. Elin always liked her.” He picks up a stylus and traces two circles in the air where the projection sits in front of him, one around each woman’s face. “Now I see why. Two peas in the same bitch pod.”

Charming to the end, this one. She lets it go. “Personal feelings aside, you have to admit the footage is damning. Science experiments gone wrong, a whole fort massacred and the military covering it all up? Media catnip.”

“You’re still assuming I care.” He’s going to break a tooth if he doesn’t unclench his jaw. “Ex-wife, Cipher Nine. If that’s your leverage-”

“Oh, Marcus. You’re missing the obvious connection.”

One eyebrow lifts, his eyes narrowing.

“I don’t fault you for not caring what happens to her,” she says. He cares. She can tell. But that isn’t the point. “But how much do you think she cares about what happens to you? You’ve got a war criminal running your ops division and when this gets out the reporters will come running. It’s only a matter of time before the Senate follows, and who knows what they’ll dig up?”

“I hate to break it to you, but by most definitions we’re all war criminals- you and Agent Shan included. So one op went bad? It happens. It’ll blow over.”

She laughs; his gaze flickers back to the still-paused holovid. Nearly there. Nearly. “I never said I wasn’t. And this is just an aperitif. Do you think they’d like to hear about Ardun Kothe- how a high-and-mighty Jedi let his team torture a poor little defector? Or should we go back further? I’m sure the Cathar would love to know what really happened to Prince Shange. Or Ralltiir, perhaps. Messy. Very messy.”

Trant blanches.

(A particularly nasty little mission, Ralltiir, even by wartime standards. He wasn’t even Bureau Chief back then according to the Black Codex, let alone Director, so it’s not entirely fair play. Too bad for him. He lost the right to fair play when he called in the mark.)

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?” She sits up just a little straighter. “I can keep going, if you like. But you’re a clever man. Surely you can see where this ends.”

The stylus cracks in half as his hand spasms; its tip bounces once, twice along the desktop and then lies still.

“Or we settle this like civilized people.” Deactivating the recording, she extends one hand toward him with fingers uncurled. “Everyone’s dirty little secrets stay secret, starting with these. All it takes is one message to your people, Director Trant. Call it off. Now.”

The other half of the stylus falls, resting alongside its mate. “You realize it’ll take you down too? If you do this-”

“It might. I’ll risk it.”

He sits in silence for the better part of a minute, eyes half-closed, lost to thought, and she waits. These things take time. He isn’t wrong, either- if this mess goes that deep it’ll be hard to avoid. But he doesn’t have proof, not with her dossier wiped for all those years, and she’s never pretended to be a model of virtue. All of his name-calling aside, her people know what she is- was-

Is?

She doesn’t know any more.

Let him try. Better that than Theron running, looking back over his shoulder for the rest of their lives. Better that than-

“All right. I’ll call them.” Voice hollow, he stares flatly into the camera. “I always liked Theron, you know. He was a good kid. A good agent, until you got your claws into him.”

“He still is. But you know that.”

The war’s been hard on all of them and Marcus Trant isn’t a young man; he must be seventy by now, or close to it, and in that moment he looks every single one of those years. He reaches out slowly, one fingertip hovering over the disconnect switch of his holoprojector.

“I don’t understand you,” she says quietly. “You fought the Empire at every step, even during peacetime. You fought for your Republic as hard as any frontline soldier, and now you’re content to sit and let Zakuul strangle you? Every Star Fortress barricading your planets, every new factory-”

“I know war.” He glances off to one side, out a window by the way the light slants across his face. “I know war enough to know when my side can’t win. They’re strangling all of us- but those last few breaths last longer if you don’t struggle, don’t they? You’ll figure that out soon enough. Now get off my line.”

He flips the switch; the projection cuts off.

When she’s certain the channel’s closed, she sags forward in her chair and rests her head in her shaking hands.

***

Fully five minutes pass before she settles herself and she still can’t quite push away the feeling that something isn’t right.

She needs to talk Theron.

When she rises from her chair her body’s exhausted, as though she’s been running for hours. Is she that out of practice? The idea’s absurd. She hadn’t even needed to push Trant that hard before he’d buckled, which-

No. No, he said he’d make the call. He- what if-

She needs to talk to Theron. Catching up her datapad, she unlocks the door and heads to the front of the ship.

He looks up when she crosses the threshold, seemingly startled; she knows it’s a lie, of course. In the silent ship he would have heard her coming all the way down the corridor, heavy dress boots echoing on the floor.

“That bad?”

She shrugs and reaches past him to flip the comm switch, closing the still-open link between the war room and the bridge, and Theron flinches ever so slightly. There’s no point in arguing over it- he knows she knows and that’s enough, and they were neither of them any good at keeping their noses where they didn’t belong. That was too hard a habit to break. “You tell me. You worked for Marcus Trant for years: is he telling the truth, or not?”

“I don’t- hang on.” The navicomputer’s active and he swivels his chair toward it, locking in the last set of jump calculations to Voss. “It’s hard to be sure, but I think he is. If it was just Garza on the hook he might have risked standing his ground, but he’s been fighting to keep ops reports out of the Senate’s hands for decades. If I’d known that was your bluff-”

“You think I was bluffing?” Leaning against the center console, she folds her arms across her chest. “If Trant hadn’t balked, or if he’d hung up on me, the Coruscant Sun was about to get the tip of a lifetime- and about two dozen other newsrooms after that, depending on how long it took him to come around. And I knew you weren’t going to like it, which is why you weren’t supposed to hear it.”

Theron blinks, shuts down the navicomputer, and then sits back in his chair with a deep sigh and a shake of his head. “I didn’t ask you to protect me. I definitely didn’t ask you to offer to throw yourself to the wolves to do it.”

“I’m supposed to be in charge of this mess, Theron. That’s my job, and if that’s what it takes-”

“No. Absolutely not.”

It’s her turn to blink now, head tilted, at the vehemence in his voice. “I’m sorry,” she says carefully, “but that’s not up to you. I understand that you feel you owe him and-”

He cuts her off again, sharper. “Yeah, I do, but that’s not what I meant. I meant that I don’t need you to-” wrinkling his nose, he rephrases- “I don’t want you to throw yourself in front of my problems. It made sense for you to be the one to make the call, sure, but I won’t watch you get hurt by this. I just- I won’t, okay?”

That’s-

Oh. An old wound, but still a deep one; as she looks down at him he exhales and lets go of the armrests, deep half-circles marks from his nails embedded in the padding. But who?

(Not his father, certainly not his mother. An old friend or an ops partner, maybe- he liked to work alone, but-

And then she wonders, just for a moment, how Ngani Zho died. She knows where and when it happened- during the mission that destroyed the Sun Razer in the Vesla system- from her brief glimpse at the archive file-

She thinks she might know how, too. Poor Theron.)

“I-” She sighs. Theron reaches out to wrap both hands around her forearms, pulling her away from the console; she lets herself relax and be led, takes a step forward until they’re toe to toe. “I know. I know. But I won’t, either, and I will do what I have to if this doesn’t go the way we think.”

His grip shifts, arms around her waist now, and he leans forward to rest his forehead against her stomach. “Did anyone ever tell you,” he says, half-muffled, “that you’re impossible?”

“Frequently. Not so much when I’m trying to keep them alive-” she bends, kissing the top of his head as the same time he makes an irritated noise and pinches her ass, which she’ll take; at least he knows she’s trying to lighten the mood, even if he’s still angry which- well, it’s fair, isn’t it? “In any case, it’s over. I hope. If you thought I was bluffing, he might too, and we won’t know that until the hammer falls.”

“No, you’re right. Marcus doesn’t know you like I do. You threw him completely off his game, better than anyone I’ve ever seen- he can’t predict you. He’s got no reason to doubt you’ll do exactly as you say.”

“But you do?”

Theron sighs again and pulls her in tighter. “I know you’re more than your dossier. I know you aren’t-”

He trails off, then; when she glances down he’s already looking up at her with tired eyes. She should have kept him further out of this, shouldn’t she? He’s too close to it, too tethered by his history to ever be able to pull himself completely free (and that he’d left the SIS at all was her fault, he’d said as much that first morning when they woke- he hadn’t said fault and he never would and they could blame it on the war all they wanted but they both know the truth of it, deep down). “Hm?”

“Who was Shange?” he says, apropos of nothing. “The name’s familiar, but I feel like I can’t remember why.”

“Before our time, technically speaking. He was a Cathar prince from back during the Great War who opposed their alliance with the Republic- apparently he amassed quite a following. The SIS scooped up the the lot of them and shipped them off to Belsavis.” There had been a lot of things in the Tomb that belonged there, sithspawn and their masters and worse. But not those Cathar. “Slapped them in indefinite stasis and let the rumor spread around that they’d all been killed in battle.”

“And then?”

She shrugs. “SCORPIO wasn’t the only thing I dug up on my first run through that place. His temper hadn’t improved after twenty years, and if word of his survival hasn’t spread in the Core Worlds I can only assume it’s because someone’s been working very hard to keep it quiet.”

“Probably a safe guess. And Ralltiir?”

Carefully, she pushes a stray piece of hair from where it’s falling over his implant. “You don’t want to know about Ralltiir. Trust me.”

“But you’re more than happy to publicize it?” Theron goes still for a moment, then turns his head sharply away from her hand. “That isn’t fair and you know it.”

“Fair to whom? None of this is fair!” she snaps. Even looking away he’s still holding on to her and she squirms away, takes a step back toward the console. Damn it all, why’d he have to eavesdrop and not leave well enough alone? “And of course I’m not happy about it. Believe it or not, I’m not trying to start a fight with the man- he’s been eyes-deep in war since long before either of us were born. On one level I respect that-” Theron starts to say something but she keeps going- “and if he keeps his fucking word it’s all bluster in any case. But if he doesn’t-”

“He will.” Suddenly plaintive, half-standing, he pulls her back in nearer. “He will. I’m sure of that much, I just- please, I’m sorry. Marcus just-”

Poor Theron. He’s got her wrapped up close again and she doesn’t resist, doesn’t have the heart to, not with the look on his face. Instead she tidies his hair again and this time he leans into it with a little shudder that might have been anger or grief or resignation or all of that wrapped up together.

“I would have thought he’d understand,” he finally says. “Out of everyone, I thought he’d get it. Or that all the years we worked together would count for enough to balance out how much he seems to hate you.”

“I suppose I rather deserve it, all things considered.”

Forehead scrunched, he mutters something she can’t quite hear. “You had your orders back then, just like me. Whatever you did- just do what you have to now, Nine. I know you won’t pull punches and I’m not asking you to, but I also know that you’ll take this as far as it needs to go and no further.”

“And if it has to go that far?” He always thinks the best of her and she wishes he wouldn’t. There were so many things he didn’t know, shouldn’t know, that- well. (He never saw her with Hunter, at the end. He’s heard the story, but-)

“Then I trust your judgment. It’s gotten us here, hasn’t it?”

When she laughs he moves with her; she lets her fingers tangle up in the crease of his collar. “I think you forgot the part where I ended up frozen in carbonite for five years with a ghost in my head.”

“You know what I meant.”

“Do I?”

“Force, you really are impossible.” Theron leans back once more, sharp and sudden and pulling her up and off her feet until she has to let him go to catch herself against the back of the chair. “Come here and let me say I’m sorry properly. You’re hauling my idiot ass out of the fire and there I go, questioning. You’d think I’d learn by now.”

The bridge seats really aren’t meant for two. “That isn’t necessary. Honestly.”

“I thought you liked my apologies.” He shifts his hands and- that is rather nice, actually. A little groveling never did any harm, did it?

She considers. “Hm. We really ought to go and pack, you know. For tomorrow.”

“You can pack in three minutes. I’ve watched you.”

“Might need a uniform for Voss-” and he’d better not pop the fastenings on this one; she taps his already-busy fingers as a gentle warning. Normally she doesn’t mind a lost button or three but she won’t have time to mend it before morning, not at this rate. “Leave me at least five.”

***

They’ve got hours to pack yet, even after they drag themselves back to the mess hall for dinner; her stomach’s been tied up in nervous knots all day and the little midday meal she’d forced herself to eat burned off quickly in the wake of Theron’s apologetic attentions. (They were both adrenaline junkies and she’d known that for ages, all the way back to Rishi, but it’d taken her far longer to realize as as often as he swore he didn’t want her to put herself on the front lines of things he was particularly enthusiastic when she did.

Not that she minds- she’s always had a thing for competence herself, just another of the ways they were too alike for their own good. They’ll run Odessen out of spare zippers before the war’s end at this rate.)

She leaves him in the hallway outside the mess. He hadn’t moved everything upstairs yet, only what he’d had in his gear when they came back from the last op, and he’d needed to make a stop at his own quarters to pick up a few more things before their last planning meeting with Lana- “I’ll be fine,” he’d said, nudging her shoulder as they finished up their caf. “I think I can handle a few steps down the hallway on my own.”

He’s right, of course. It’s only her paranoia getting the better of her. It does that too often nowadays, not quite as badly as it did in the old days with Hunter where every word, every action was a thing to be second-guessed but very nearly; she’s not quite sure, now, whether that gnawing doubt’s her own tendency to overthink or Valkorion’s meddling. Source notwithstanding she’s still alive, so she’ll let that question sit unconsidered for now. The less she thinks about him the quieter he stays.

As she rounds the corner toward her room she scans through her comm: half an hour until the meeting yet and a few messages from Oggurobb and Sana-Rae and one from Doctor Lokin- she’s got yet another treatment on the books, it seems, before he’ll sign off on a field mission. Damned overbearing old man; if she never sees the inside of that infirmary again it’ll be too soon-

The door to her quarters slides open in response to her code.

“Hello, Commander.” SCORPIO’s sitting in the dark, balanced almost primly on the nearer edge of the couch. Her head turns until the orange glow of her eyes illuminates that corner of the room, the sharp outlines of her chassis barely visible. “I’ve detected a security issue that requires your attention.”

“You might have sent a message.” Resisting the urge to turn and run- not that she’d really ever had reason to since that first meeting, but still, she doubts any of her protective programming made it past a few iterations- she taps the panel at her left to secure the room. “I like messages. I don’t like unexpected visitors.”

Was that an eyeroll? It’s hard to tell. “Messages can be intercepted. As you see.” One arm extended, SCORPIO gestures toward her commpad. “Given your failure to request that I transmit the data, I can only assume your negotiations went well?”

Ignoring the question as her wrist chimes, she scans the text as it loads and then looks up with one eyebrow raised. What is this? If they’ve got a contraband problem it’s the first she’s heard of it- and whoever the sender is, why’s he sending it to Theron instead of to Hylo or-

Ah.

Of course.

“It’s worth investigating. However-” clearing the screen, she folds her arms across her chest- “we agreed on limited access to the security network, if I recall correctly. I certainly don’t remember telling you to intercept personal memoranda.”

“You expressly permitted monitoring of the common area surveillance systems. If you’ve forgotten, I can replay our discussion.”

“No. I do remember that. But that doesn’t explain-”

“The version you read is the last of twelve drafts. Given that its author disabled the alarm in the sub-basement storage area and has been sequestered there for the last-” her eyes flick upward, barely perceptibly- “thirty-six minutes and eight seconds, I considered the deviation from our set parameters acceptable.”

It might be nothing. They’ve found their SIS infiltrator, almost certainly (or at least one of them, Void knows there might be more), but he might just want out of the transport lockdown and frankly if that’s all he wants they can work with that and he can fuck back off to Coruscant. It might even be legitimate. With as many new arrivals as the Alliance has had it’s not implausible that they’ve picked up a smuggler or two operating outside of Hylo’s oversight.

It might be nothing.

It’s probably something. “Theron hasn’t seen this?”

“Not yet. I will, of course, defer to your orders.” Head tilted, SCORPIO focuses on her once again. “Intercept? Or transmit?”

He ought to know about this. If this is what she thinks it is he ought to have a say in how it’s handled. But if his faith in Trant was misplaced after all, if she sends him walking straight into a trap and stars, if it’s someone he knows and he hesitates-

No. She won’t risk it. She can’t.

“Intercept.” Lifting her tactical belt from its place on the armor stand, she fastens it around her hips, slips her knife into its sheath and checks the little blaster already holstered in her waistband. “No reply, but do not let him see that message. And make sure he gets to the War Room safely- find some excuse or send an escort. I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“Yes, Commander.” SCORPIO rises, swift and silent. “Anything else?”

She shakes her head. “I’ve got a mole to hunt.”

***

The second sublevel ought to be deserted.

They haven’t quite finished it, the dormitory building beside the docking bay not yet at full capacity and the storage on the first floor still enough for their purposes. In another month or two that might change, but for now only the largest storeroom’s in use at all. Whoever’s down here now, he shouldn’t be. The room’s unsecured too, the keypad dark with a thin rim of space around it that shouldn’t be there either. Sloppy, then, or not afraid of being detected.

Probably the latter. She isn’t sure if that makes her more or less nervous.

One hand on her vibroknife, Nine pushes the door open slowly. Overhead, the light flickers; she looks for movement in the shadows cast by the stacks of crates. Nothing. She takes a step into the room and then another, lets her steps be heard-

And then she sees it, too late, and as the door snaps abruptly shut she can’t quite get her hands up before the garotte bites into her throat.

***

Author's Note: Still alive. Really. Since our last update, I have: officially gotten my new job (I start in July), put our house up for sale, finished a costume despite being ever-increasingly pregnant, gone to Star Wars Celebration, fought off two weeks of con crud, and become an aunt- in no particular order. As I suspect you can guess, what was lacking in that time span was... time, really. But here we are, back in the swing of things at last.

Up next: Extinction Burst. Play bitch games, win bitch prizes.

#equivalent exchange #inyri writes #swtor fanfiction #nine #theron shan #I LIVE BITCHES #imperial agent #cipher nine #it's only been... um like three months #thanks for your patience

34 notes · View notes

scionprotector · 5 years

Note

“Regardless of what they think, I know you’re an amazing person.” from the angst/fluff prompts?

(Cont’d from here - I told you that I’d continue this sooner, rather than later!)

She couldn’t control her tears, not now that they were finally in the open. She’d been trying to keep herself composed for so long, months of keeping emotions locked away flooding past the gates that had finally been opened.

In the back of her mind, she knew there were some energies upon her. Valkorian had been in her mind for too long not to identify it as a use of the Force. She just didn’t care. She was in no position to, not when she felt beaten and battered, and otherwise useless. A touch against her face, down her neck - rougher than she was used to. A cloth? She only absently noticed it at first, but immediately recognized warmth as it settled down beside her. She ducked her head sideways, burying her face against his chest, gasping for breath as she attempted to calm her apparent hysterical break.

She had no idea how much time had passed, ‘coming around’ to the sensation of a warm hand rubbing her shoulder patiently. Her own hand came up, settling on his chest lightly, scarcely registering that her cuts no longer bled.

The warmth of his was welcome, something that filled an ache in her that she scarcely had acknowledged that she missed.

Her bed always felt so empty, lately.

“…Arcann…?”

“It does not seem wise to pursue that thought, Commander.”

She pouted a bit, dropping her head against his chest again as she lapsed into silence, one that was much calmer than it had been before. She had absolutely been about to solicit him for sex, but she admittedly was greedily soaking in the presence of another while she still could. He seemed quite content to let her have that.

It was some time before she spoke again. “How did you manage it alone for so long?”

She heard the intake of breath, the slight tensing of his hand upon her shoulder. Slowly, he released it, his touch easing as he spoke. “I knew nothing else. Valkorian relied on no one. Since Thexan… neither did I. Not even Vaylin. Senya would not have been more than a passing thought, but for Vaylin’s singular quest to defeat her.” His hand squeezed her arm as he continued. “I have never experienced what you had with Theron, nor with any of the others that stand at your side. It is simple to continue in such a fashion when it is all you have known.”

It had been all she had known for so long, herself. She’d never had anyone to turn to on Hutta, and escaped from her circumstances with the Hutts by her own skill. While she found friendship with Corso and Risha, it was Bowdaar that she had formed a true camaraderie with. The pair worked well, shared a similar past, and seemed to comprehend one another with ease. But even that was not what she’d found with Theron. The two worked naturally, flowing together both in battle and in bed in ways that didn’t seem real. They had clicked from the start, but it was their reunion on Odessen that made the bond deeper.

“It would be so easy to say I wished I had never met him. This hurt would never have happened... but I can’t. I was always chasing the next big prize, in my youth. Chasing credits wherever I could. But I found my prize when I met him.” She laughed then, a genuine one that had been rare to escape her as of late, and she straightened from her spot against Arcann’s chest. “Force, that sounds so incredibly cheesy.”

“And yet, it strikes me as the truest thing you have said in some time,” he countered, looking down at her. “Vayllaa, I cannot begin to explain his actions. But you knew him better than us all. Look past the doubt that threatens to overwhelm you. You know the truth. You simply need to listen to it.”

He was right. Deep down, she did know the truth. She just couldn’t hear it over the endless cacophony of noise that contradicted it.

“’I’d do anything to protect you.’“ The words were breathless, scarcely audible at the level she said it at.

“Pardon?”

“He was telling me then, wasn’t he?” It made so much sense, now. She’d thought he was flirting, went in for the kiss, instead. But he was trying to tell her something. And she hadn’t been listening.

A laugh escaped her, and she shifted once more, this time to throw her arms around Arcann. “You’re amazing! Arcann, you’re a genius!”

As taken aback by the hug as he was, he couldn’t hide his own laughter at her sudden turnaround. “I simply narrowed your focus. The credit is yours.”

She grinned, withdrawing from the hug just enough to meet his gaze. It wasn’t that long ago that she had wanted to strangle him for what he’d done. But now? Force, she could kiss him. “Arcann, if you’re going to give me the best advice I’d heard in months, then you’re going to have to listen to my shitty one. Regardless of what they think, I know you’re an amazing person. You made me remember something I willed myself to forget. Thank you.” She did kiss him, but it was one of friendship, of gratefulness, not one of desperation and loneliness like it would have been mere minutes earlier. With one more hug, she hurriedly slipped out of his room and ran to a place she hadn’t dared go to for months.

Shedding her jacket, she slipped into one that was far less comfortable, and certainly fit her significantly less properly. But it, itself, hadn’t been worn in quite some time, either, having lost favor to another red jacket that he’d been wearing in recent months.

It smelled of him, still, and she couldn’t help but smile at the memory it brought forth. Theron Shan’s support had always made her stronger.

It was time for her to return the favor, and show her support for him.

#koshouu #Theron Shan #Vayllaa Chronicles #my SWTOR #And that's how she started to wear his jacket post-Umbara #Theron/Vayllaa #Arcann #btw for the record - he healed her wounds and cleaned up her face #He needs more character development dammit #So much potential!

16 notes · View notes

exordiumnoctis · 6 years

Text

Mihr answers a false distress call on Io, hoping that he can find a link back to Praedyth, and instead collapses his timeline onto another that parallels his own. He proceeds to record who his newly-added memories consist of.

853 words. Written because I managed to hook up with @mrpinstripesuit @nattiebug14 @scarletrebel on Xbone and naturally had to figure out how our Guardians could all interact. @consvlaris‘s kids are also here.

“The timeline’s been mussed-- I can’t stop this conflux, Zaranty!”

“Working on it!” The Ghost spun it’s chassis, silvered beam penetrating into the radiolarian tangle but it was too late and Mihr staggered, a scream ripping from his chest. He scrambled for his helmet, Zaranty shouting a warning but he couldn’t hear it, instead discarding the protective covering to the dirt and digging at his skin with his nails. His mind felt like it was collapsing in on itself, melting and being divided and then forced back together. In the alien air of Io, he couldn’t breathe.

He fell.

When Zaranty raised him, his helmet was properly back in place and only a headache remained as a faint echo of what had transpired, the conflux disappearing into the ground and leaving them in a lightless alcove at the base of a cliff. He looked to his Ghost, whose single eye blinked with a strange sort of worry. “Your readings are worse than normal. How do you feel…?”

Mihr groaned. “Something’s wrong. There’s people in my head now-- People I didn’t know before we activated the conflux. It feels like my brain’s been scrambled.”

“Have you lost any memories?” Zaranty hovered closer to his face, the blue ring of Mihr’s Knucklehead Radar reflecting of the polished surface of his shell.

“I… I don’t think so.”

“Good,” Zaranty sighed. “Let’s get you somewhere quiet.”

“Log 798, Location: Io Orbit. Zaranty, are you recording?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” A sigh. “We activated a conflux after trailing what has turned out to be a false distress signal. I thought that Praedyth had--” A pause, a strained noise. “Doesn’t matter. Something went wrong and the timelines have fallen together; this is a concise list of who I have memories of.”

“Are you sure you want to put this down?” Zaranty warned, but Mihr gave a strangled cry and clutched his head, sinking lower into the cushion of the ship bed.

“I have to, for my own sanity. Recurring Subject: Luminiferus Vae. Chosen of Calus. Senechal of the Emperor. She’s no longer light-born. Highly intuitive, lover of language. Void light is strongest.” A pause. “Best friend. Saved my life more than once. Helped lay Felwinter to rest. I don’t…. I miss her.” Zaranty stayed quiet, watched the series of emotions flash across his Guardian’s face-- sadness, regret, resignation. “I should have gone with her.”

There was a long beat of silence and Zaranty offered, “Do you want me to keep recording?”

“Yes. Sorry. Recurring Subject: Lasairian Sooalo. Vanguard lieutenant. Proficient with all Light variances. Dead Orbit aligned.”

“Is that all?”

Mihr scoffed. “Betrayal. Joined forces with Kalevrian Veritoss, claims he’s reformed. I don’t… Trust him.”

Another pause.

“Recurring Subject: Uldren Sov. deceased.” Mihr’s voice caught in his throat. “Iron Lord Felwinter, deceased. Lord Shaxx, Crucible handler, liar. Praedyth, Disruptive Mind-- No that’s not right. Lost to time. Dead. Gone.”

“But we saw him--”

“No, not anymore. With the timeline collapse-- He’s not here.” There was a hint of desperation in Mihr’s voice. “We couldn’t save him.”

“You did everything you could, Mihr--”

“It wasn’t enough!” He pressed his palms into his eyelids, willed that his head would stop pounding. “Recurring Subject: Aelius Theron. Osiris. Abandoned. Selfish!”

His voice shook the cabin and he stilled, dropping a gloved hand from his face and staring at it with a mix of fury and hope. Tentatively he pulled it loose, dragging the heavy material away from his hand, and his shoulders dropped when he saw the inky blackness of Taken energy swirling on his skin.

“Interjected Subject: Grier. Part of the fireteam that… Slayed Oryx. Mirrored to our assault on the Dreadnaught-- Zaranty it’s a parallel timeline.”

“Who is he?”

“A Warlock.” Mumbling, Mihr added, “It’s always Warlocks. He was… A fanatic of Toland the Shattered, and turned from Oryx’s power after being groomed to accept it and tithe the Sword Logic.”

“You sound envious.”

Something like a snarl rose from Mihr. “Hardly. He’s a coward.”

Zaranty’s tone deadpanned. “You don’t mean that. You admire him.” “I… No, it’s not that. I wish I had the strength to turn away from my grief long enough to examine the possible outcomes of accepting that power. He had a support network and-- No.”

“What??” Zaranty seemed to seize up at the tone in his words and he watched Mihr with a careful eye.

“Interjected Subject: Avia. Reefborn. Uldren’s apprentice. I was close to her before I…” He gritted his teeth. “She’s a Guardian now. Seems to spend a lot of time with this Grier fellow. The Reef called to her aid and she ignored them. She was absent when Uldren and Mara died.” An unnatural tension settled in his voice. “If she had been there, he might have survived.”

Zaranty stayed silent, keeping a measured eye on Mihr as he rose, headache seemingly forgotten, and deposited himself in the piloting seat.

“We’re going to go find them. I have some words for them, regardless of whether this fucking timeline was mine or not.”

“Was there anything else you wanted me to record?”

“Yeah. Final Interjected Subject: Carver Eos. Loose ties to Aelius Theron, Thanatonaut. Take us to Mercury, Zaranty. That’s where we’ll find our path. And cut the recording.”

://End Log

#mirridon sov #luminiferus vae #lasairian sooalo #grier #avia #carver eos #drabbles #my writing #destiny 2 #destiny

19 notes · View notes

badsithnocookie · 6 years

Text

Unification (14/15)

'There is no easy way to say this. As many of you know, Empress Acina was receiving medical care on the Republic flagship. I spoke with her myself to confirm her health and well treatment. However, while I was aboard the Republic flagship negotiating matters with Commander Malcom, an unknown assailant managed to infiltrate the Empress's treatment quarters and assassinate her. The Republic is officially denying responsibility for her death, and has agreed to cooperate with Alliance officials in an investigation.

'Empress Acina and I did not see eye to eye on many things, but as Sith, we were once allied against the Dread Masters, and that is not a bond I will forsake lightly. Whoever is responsible for her death, and for the deaths of all those here at Iokath, will answer for their crimes to all of us - to the Republic, to the Alliance, and to the Empire.'

As speeches went, it had to be the worst one she'd given lately - not least because of the events that had prompted it. Eirn wondered if she didn't bring it upon herself, sometimes; making herself as public as she did, even if it seemed like she was the only one stupid enough to care. Especially, somehow, as it seemed she was frequently the only one stupid enough to care.

Her hands were shaking; hadn't stopped since they'd returned from the Aegis, despite her best attempts. She'd tried to eat, and failed, managing a few unenthusiastic mouthfuls of pasta in the galley before making an excuse and retreating to her quarters, where she'd failed just as much to- stand, to sit, to shower, to focus on anything that wasn't Acina's dead body and the thought of the galaxy at war. There hadn't been a peace between the Empire and the Republic since the one that she'd helped Baras break; Zakuul had forced both to bow, yes, but had never cared about the fighting that had continued among its surrendered enemies. In the months since Zakuul's own fall, little had changed - the constant border conflicts and cold hostilities had proceeded as they always had, and Eirn knew it was just a matter of time before they erupted into something worse.

(Which was why, some hours later, she still hadn't slept; couldn't sleep, propped up this time by fear and guilt as much as anything else, and none the better for it whatsoever)

At least in the sanctity of the Gravestone, Eirn could nurse as much caf as she pleased to - even if the ship's synthesiser was no competitor to freshly ground beans. Still, it was more an accessory to focus her worried thoughts - and draw the attention of others away from her exhaustion, even if the rest of the Alliance's senior staff seemed too polite to draw attention to it.

'You really think that whoever killed Acina- is behind Lana's intel, too?' Theron seemed cautiously sceptical, even as his gaze hopped between the two Sith - trying, Eirn could only assume, to get some kind of read on them.

'I don't know,' Eirn sighed - though it was an idea that had nagged at her ever since she'd seen Acina lying in what had become her deathbed, and realised that this meant war was now more inevitable than ever. 'Maybe- someone in the Republic just saw an opportunity, and took it. But-'

Eirn sighed again - pausing as she marshalled her thoughts, and scrambled for the words to express them. 'If Acina hadn't been- maybe we could have- this could have- ended peacefully. The Empire wouldn't have an excuse for vengeance, and the Alliance and the Republic wouldn't be on eggshells around each other. But now- things are worse than when we got here.'

'It's not just the Empire we should be concerned about,' Lana replied, slowly. 'Whoever was behind the intel that brought us here wanted us to fight each other. With the Empress's death, this all but guarantees war.'

'The same kind of war that Vitiate wanted,' Eirn added, after a moment - a possibility that she hadn't considered before, but which she knew now was going to nag at her until she got some answers - and ones that she could believe.

'Vitiate's- gone, isn't he?' Theron replied - studying Eirn warily, which didn't do anything to reassure her. 'I thought you- dealt with that,' he added, a note of doubt creeping into his tone.

'He's gone,' Lana said - far more firmly than Eirn rather abruptly felt. 'We've got no reason to believe he had any influence on any of- this,' she added - leaving her opinion on Eirn's paranoia unspoken, but still audible.

'Guess we should probably count ourselves lucky Zakuul isn't involved,' Koth volunteered, albeit a little dubiously. 'I mean, at least someone isn't gunning for us, right?'

Unless this was a ploy by Zakuul to weaken us all at once, Eirn's paranoia mused, unhelpfully. They still have the Fleet, even if it is weakened now, and have been suffering since you put a stop to their robbery-

'I've got some good news,' Lana continued - not acknowledging that, but not contradicting him, either. 'The Republic has agreed to release the Imperial troops they're holding, along with the Empress's body, on the condition that the Empire withdraws from Iokath without further conflict. The Empire has not given an official response yet, but under the circumstances...'

They'd be idiots, Eirn finished, silently, to refuse. Not that Imperial policy was made by being rational about odds of survival; if it was, then they'd never have reclaimed Korriban.

It just meant that Eirn was thinking about Malavai again, though - made her all the more acutely aware of that faint knot of nervousness, two decks down. Not that she'd stopped being aware of him, all the time she'd known he was there; not that this stopped her wondering if she was imagining it, a symptom of guilt and selfishness as much as loneliness.

'What about the Imps we're holding? You get an agreement from the Empire for them, yet?' Theron was the one who asked Lana that, somehow; Eirn was too busy mulling on her failings, and Koth seemed distracted by something on his datapad.

'Tentatively,' Lana replied, nodding. 'Once the agreement with the Republic is finalised, their people will be returned.’

'Last of our crews just reported in,' Koth volunteered. 'There were a few stragglers in the bases, but none of the wreckage was occupied. Seems like droids were already helping themselves to it for scrap,' he added, a little dubiously.

'Have your people get any Republic soldiers back to the Aegis,' Lana started, 'And-'

'Already on it,' Koth interrupted, making a briefly dismissive gesture. 'Got a few Imperials, too. I'm sending you the names now.'

'If that's everything,' Theron started, 'I should get back to the Aegis myself. Not that I don't trust our Republic friends, but...'

The investigation into Acina's death was going nowhere fast, and Eirn felt herself wince at that thought - that all her incompetence had resulted in was more messes for other people to have to clean up, that all she'd usefully contributed to this was- nothing, actually, and they'd all have been far better served by her absence. It was that thought she was stuck on as Theron and Koth made their farewells and left, both of them competent enough to be trusted with important tasks and neither, apparently, inclined to stick around.

'Lord Illte,' Lana added, as Eirn started to move - addressing her, not that Eirn really wanted to acknowledge it.

'Lana,' Eirn replied - looking tiredly at the other Sith, and hoping this would be over quickly - if only so that she could find a quiet corner to be alone with her failures.

Lana, of course, was offering her nothing of the sort - not that Eirn had believed for a moment that she might get out of this easily.

'Major Quinn was asking for you,' Lana started - holding Eirn's gaze the entire time, her expression not faltering for a moment. 'I believe he wished to talk in private.'

Which Eirn wasn't certain how she was supposed to take - and Lana's expression and aura, as always, provided no clues. The older Sith was as business-like as ever, but Eirn knew better than to assume that Lana had no feelings on the matter - no insight, no suspicions, no agendas.

What did he say. What does he want. Is he- Is he-

'Thank you,' Eirn just managed - the words trying to catch on her throat on their way out. It was impossible to squash all of the emotions that bubbled up just at his name - not least because she was Sith, raised to express herself (at least, express certain parts of herself), not to push emotions down but to turn them in weapons that she was no longer sure she even wanted to wield.

'I'll- speak to him,' she added, faintly - distantly, already simultaneously reaching out and retreating, in the Force, and quite certain that whatever it was that awaited her, it was nothing pleasant.

There were a thousand excuses she could have made - that tried to make themselves, as she forced herself to make the journey to where Malavai was being held. The simple fact was, though, that what she was afraid of was almost entirely herself - the knowledge that she couldn't give Malavai the one thing he'd ask for, and was half-convinced that the thing she wanted to ask of him the most would be one thing he could never offer.

She knocked before she entered, again - felt ridiculous for doing so, again, even if that feeling got swallowed up immediately by the nervous terror that kept threatening to consume her. When she entered, it was to see that he looked much the same as he had the last time they'd spoken - turned out as immaculately as he could be, under the circumstances, at least as afraid as she was and barely a reassurance for it.

'Eihn,' he just managed, in greeting - an improvement on their last meeting, though not by much, especially as the name seemed to try to strangle him on its way out.

'Lana- said you wanted to talk,' Eirn just replied - half quietly, half numbly, half barely - half not even sure that these were the words she should have been looking for, and entirely certain that whatever happened next, she would regret it.

He just nodded, though - briefly, nervously, tension coiling up in him in a way that promised nothing pleasant.

'Lord Beniko was kind enough to inform me of Empress Acina's passing,' he started, his nervousness not reassuring her in the slightest. 'And- your- statement- I saw the broadcast, but- I wanted-'

He kept pausing - hesitating, grappling for words that wouldn't come, an imperfect reflection of her own attempts to rehearse speeches that never sounded half as convincing, when she made them, as when she wrote them in her head. A projection, perhaps - but Malavai had always been an imperfect mirror, his own inability to measure up to his impossible standards for himself reminding Eirn of herself in a way that had at least meant she was not alone.

When he looked to her, though - when he paused, before drawing himself up with a sort of confidence that Eirn didn't feel - he wasn't a mirror, but a mirror image - determined in all the places that she wasn't, assured in all the things she couldn't be.

'I wished- I needed- to ask-' he started, half forcing that determined almost-confidence and half speaking simply because he desperately needed to, 'What are your... intentions regarding the Empire?'

'My intentions?' Eirn repeated, not getting it - and then, when she finally did, 'Or the Alliance's?'

He didn't respond to that; didn't even squirm, just met her gaze and failed entirely to answer the question. An answer in itself; that he was being careful to examine her every reaction, watching and waiting for her to trip up and reveal some truth she tried to hide even from herself.

'I don't- hate the Empire, Malavai,' she added - deflating, just a little. She didn't; couldn't, no matter how much easier it would have been. It was- it had been - home, or something like it, and a part of her would never stop longing for the days when everything had been simple - when the Republic had been a distant, faceless enemy, when her fights had been with fists and foul language, and the greatest trials she'd faced was her mathematics homework.

'I just...' she added, trailing off as her gaze flicked away from him, 'Want it to be- a better place,' she sighed, 'Than it wants to be.'

One of the late-night realisations she'd come to on Odessen, lying awake on a bed that would never be hers. The Empire would never change unless it wanted to, and she had neither the support nor the immortality required to make it. The Sith would rather tear themselves apart than remake themselves as something better, and Eirn had no desire to get herself killed failing to prevent it.

'As far as the Alliance is concerned,' Eirn continued, trying to grab for that professionalism that everyone but her seemed able to master, 'We don't want war, with either the Empire or the Republic. But we will defend ourselves, and the territory under our protection.'

He didn't respond to that - at least, not verbally, though he did tense a little at her final statement. He knew as well as she did that the Empire only ever desired to expand its borders - and what that would mean, should it turn its attention to Alliance protected space.

'What about you? What are your- plans?' she added, finally - not a question she enjoyed the thought of in the slightest, but- well, it seemed to be the topic that he'd wanted to talk about, even if that didn't stop him wincing a little at her words.

'Truthfully, my lord,' he replied, slowly, 'I- my preference would be to- return home, with you at my side. I know that you have always had a... complicated relationship with it, but the Empire is truly poorer without you. Both for the service that you always gave it, and- for my own, selfish, reasons.'

Which wasn't an answer; or was, but not to the question she'd asked. Not to the one he seemed to have wanted her to ask; not one, at that, she wanted to hear.

'I- if I thought you might- be persuaded,' he added - admitted, just as slowly, 'I admit I would not hesitate to try. But- I know you too well for that, Eihn. You are...' he paused, for a moment, smiling a little to himself, again. 'Singularly stubborn, when you have made up your mind. A quality I admit that I always found as... admirable as it was infuriating.'

Which Eirn wasn't sure wasn't supposed to be some kind of insult, half-dressed up as a compliment. Not that this answered her non-question; not that it reassured her any that she was wrong in her assumptions, either.

'And what about you?' she asked, after a long moment. 'I mean-' she added - scrabbling for words, again, and not managing to find anything but the conviction that she'd only use the wrong ones.

'I- meant what I said,' she managed - babbled, or so it felt, 'Before, about- coming to Odessen. If- you wanted to. I-'

He was watching her - staring at her, and Eirn couldn't help but feel like he was judging her, with it. Acina was dead, and all she could talk about was him leaving the Empire, and the flash of guilt that bubbled up at that thought threatened, for a long moment, to consume her thoughts entirely.

'-I didn't want anything to- happen like this,' she sighed, her train of thought utterly derailed. 'I don't hate the Empire,' she repeated, looking away from him, finally - she didn't, and couldn't have if she tried.

'You have always cared for the Empire,' Malavai replied, quietly, 'Even at great cost to yourself. Even when the Empire did not care for you. It was- another reason, I suppose, I- expected you would- assist the Empire against the Republic here, despite your- differences with the Empress.'

Which Eirn couldn't help but take as a criticism; which she couldn't stop herself wincing at, not least because of the accusation that it was (that she'd levelled against herself). She did her best to swallow back her immediate defensiveness, though, not least because of how unhelpful it was. (Of how little her actions deserved defending, at that)

'Everything I did here,' she replied, slowly, 'I did- to try and stop war breaking out. Not just for the Empire's sake, but for everyone's. It might not be very Sith, but...' she trailed off, sighing again. 'Is this really all you wanted to talk about, Malavai?' she added, looking back to him. 'The Empire?'

It was his turn to wince, in response to that, at her half-spoken accusation. At the reminder of the one thing that had always come between them, even if it was the same thing that had brought them together to begin with.

'No, Eihn,' he replied, though, 'I- wished to- I mean- the Empire was- a part of it, but-I wanted to know, because-' He kept pausing - hesitating, skipping over words he seemed he didn't want to acknowledge, pushing out the ones he did in fits and starts. 'When you were- in hospital, after- Ziost- when I thought I might lose you, I- everything we'd argued about seemed so- and I was- so afraid that you would not wake up, that even if you did, after all of that, I might- that you might- and then-'

And then she'd been arrested, as soon as she'd been able to withstand the Inquisition's lash without immediately relapsing. The Dark Council had wasted no time in attempting to make an example of her - one of the few of Vitiate's servants they'd been able to round up, never mind threaten with execution. Marr's death at Zakuul's hands had been the most hollow kind of vindictive near-retribution; Eirn's biggest regret had been that the Sith hadn't died at her own hands, but at those of the creature she'd been the one accused of serving.

'Come to Odessen,' Eirn just replied - not responding to what he'd said in the slightest, not directly, but her thoughts were too tangled to respond in any other way. 'Please, Malavai. I- know that things with the Empire- aren't good,' she managed - an understatement, and one he had to know the truth of, but- 'And- I know things with us weren't- but all I wanted-'

The words kept denying her, though - kept refusing to come, kept refusing to make sense, and Eirn blinked, and hated the tears that momentarily blinded her, even as she irritably wiped them away. 'Zakuul- nearly did execute me, and- all I could think about was- how I wouldn't get the chance to- try and fix things. When I- all this time-'

'Eihn,' he started, not letting her finish, 'I-'

'I love you, Malavai,' she managed - blurted, finally, the words she hadn't been able to say before forced out into the open, as awkward here as they'd been when they'd hung between the two of them, unsaid, but- 'I love you, and I've missed you, so much, and- I don't know,' she added, descending into babble, 'What's going to happen with- the Empire, or anything, but I just- want a chance for- us,' she finished, limply - all but certain, as she did so, that these were only words that she'd end up being made a fool for.

He didn't say anything in response to that, though - just smiled, after a long moment, as her words slowly sunk in. 'I- know, Eihn. And I- love you, too. I-'

He paused again, though - hesitated, glancing away for a moment as his smile faded, and all Eirn could feel in the Force was years of loss and regret - on both their parts.

'Truthfully,' he added, quietly, 'I- left the Empire the day I- defied Moff Lorman's order to- give up, on you. I knew then that- it was an action from which there would be no return, though- I did not expect that it- would be one I would survive. But- you...' he finished - looking back to her, finally.

'I- had to try,' he continued, after another long moment. 'When I was- When I-' he paused - hesitated, again, before plunging on. 'What I am- doing terribly at saying, Eihn, is that- I wanted- I would like- very much, for- another chance,' he managed, 'For- us. On- Odessen,' he added, 'If- that is what it takes.'

Eirn was silent for a moment, after that - stared, as she listened to his ramble, not hearing the words she was expecting him to say and not certain she could believe the ones she was hearing.

'You- you're- sure...?' she just managed - half mumbled, half not daring to believe she'd heard him correctly - half immediately worried that he was only saying what he was because he thought it was what she wanted to hear, and entirely certain that whatever she said, it would be wrong.

'I came- to Iokath- to find you, Eihn. I- admit that things have not- transpired as I hoped they would, but- if I walked away now...' He paused, at that - seemed to consider the idea, and for a numb moment, Eirn was terrified he might reconsider - decide that walking away was his best option, and not for the first time, she wished she'd said nothing.

'I made you a promise,' he continued, eventually, 'That I would- find you, no matter what it took. I- failed,' he added, 'In- part because I allowed my own fear to decide my actions. I- will not make that mistake twice. If- you would allow me the chance, I-'

Eirn didn't give him a chance to get any further than that, though - just closed the gap between them, finally, pulling him into as tight a hug as she dared, burying her face in the shoulder of his uniform, and-

(surrounding herself, finally, with him; the way he smelled, the way he felt against her, the way his worried tension always knotted itself in the Force around her own; the knowledge that whatever happened next, whatever trial she had to face, it wasn't one she'd have to face alone)

'I love you, Malavai,' she just managed - repeated, again, mumbling it into him as though it could somehow bypass sound and impress itself into him through sheer force of will.

For a moment, he tensed - and she did, too, a sort of terrified unsureness gripping her (the conviction, for that moment, that she had misheard, and badly) - and then it passed, as he returned the gesture; looped his own arms around her, his hands holding onto her robes as though she'd disappear if he let go, nuzzling her hairline and murmuring something inaudible as they clung to each other for the first time in what felt like whole lifetimes. (His heart, pounding in his chest, as worried and relieved as hers was; his breath, as unsteadily half-uncontrolled as she)

'I know,' he murmured, though; his own breath shuddering, for a moment, as he attempted to control his breathing - and failed, just as she was. 'I love you, too, Eihn.'

Which was, for now, all that needed to be said.

#swtor #war for iokath #sith warrior #malavai quinn #lana beniko #ficlet: unification #my writing #theron shan #koth vortena #long post

15 notes · View notes

sassheliosazuras · 6 years

Text

chivalin said:from the prompt post ;) - 182: “ I've wanted this for so long. ”

Thanks for the ask @chivalin and this a good time to introduce Sass, Theron’s and Lana’s baby girl. Thanks @moonlitalien for the art and answering the age old question of what would Lana’s and Theron’s biological baby would look like. The eyes are gorgeous C;

The emperor of Odessan and Hero of Thyton, the man who had single-handily faced and defeated the immortal Emperor, let out a series of pained whimpers as his wife’s hand gripped his own like a vice.

Sass could swear he felt sparks of electricity zapping up his sinewy arm. Still when Lana turned her weary face to him her expression tired with beads of sweat dripping down her face and hair disheveled, Sass gave her a reassuring smile and squeezed her hand gently back.

“How much longer Doc?” Theron asked voice tense and weary after hours upon hours of waiting.

A head of full of dark wavy hair with a face wearing a cocky grin looked up from the med-charts. “Don’t worry spyboy your little sweet heart will be here soon, just a tad bit longer.”

“Theron!” Sass hissed in a stern tone as his husband made to strangle Doc, before Sass with a wave of the hand force-pulled him back to Lana’s side. Sith or not the chiss could tell that his wife was starting to tire after nearly half a day of slow labor. And judging from Theron’s short-temper and nervousness so was he.

Sass gave a pleading look to his old friend. To which Doc sighed and motioned a nurse-bot over.

“Now look, I didn't want it to come to this but I think to speed things along a C-section would be the best option right now.” Both of her husbands looked up and her with pleading eyes that begged her to consider the doctors word.

“No.” Lana spat out vehemently with a fierce snarl aimed at the doc.

Grabbing a hold of both her husbands firmly by the arms in a vice-like grip, making sure they could'nt move for what came next.

“GET BETWEEN MY LEGS NOW!” She screamed at the terrified Doc who rushed to do her biding, which was a good thing too as the next contraction hit, and she would make sure it was the last one.

With pure focus she pushed down hard, only letting out a small grunt even as Sass and Theron cried out in pain from her hands bruising them. None of them compared to the surprised yelp that came from Doc as a head appeared which was followed by shoulders, arms, and at last a set of tiny feet.

Doc held the bloodied newborn who after a moment proceeded to screech her displeasure to the world. Sass thought it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. And the smile Lana gave their daughter the loveliest sight he had ever seen. No one knew what Theron thought as he was passed out on the floor. As a nurse attendant was currently bringing him around Sass and Lana paid no mind, to enamored with their new daughter. Who was now having been cleaned and checked over, handed to her impatient mother.

“She has your lovely golden locks.” Sass mummered caressing the small tufts of gold on top of his daughters head. Before bending down to plant a gentle kiss on the baby’s forehead. Who sniffled a little before going back to rest in the crock of her mother’s neck. With a soft chuckle the chiss also pressed a gentle kiss to Lana’s forehead.

“I’ve wanted this for so long, and now she’s finally here, thank you my love.” He whispered into her ear before kissing her lips. As the two were lost in the moment, lips locked together a curious voice came from the other side of the bed.

“Why am I on the floor?”

#look at this baby girl!#so adorable #she'll have both her daddies wrapped around her fingers #lanas a proud mama #lana beniko #theron shan #lana's and therons biological child #never tell lana beniko to take the easy way #baby girl

14 notes · View notes

keldae · 6 years

Text

Drastic Measures (Chapter Nine)

Yep. This planet was miserably cold and wet, and Xaja still hated it. She hunched her shoulders under the borrowed black robes and followed her father out of the hangar to the speeder station. She was thankful for the double dosage of stims given her by both Doc and Dr. Lokin before leaving the ship, keeping the poisoning symptoms at bay. Behind her, she could hear Doc and Theron as they walked in something vaguely approaching unison, their armoured footsteps enough to drown out Dr. Lokin’s footfalls behind them. Somehow, the knowledge that she couldn’t speak to her father or friends, or that her father wouldn’t risk their lives by breaking character to give her any sort of reassurance, made her feel even more small and afraid. Reanden’s last direction had been to not say or do anything without his lead until they were safe within the Citadel and in her brother’s company — there were eyes and ears everywhere, not all of which reported to him. “Acina and Vowrawn have their own spies in the city, not to mention people taking credits from Zakuul or… certain individuals in the Republic. Assume everyone’s directly reporting to either Saresh or Arcann.”

“Even the droids?”

“Especially the droids.”

Xaja kept that in mind as she boarded the speeder taxi to the Citadel. The pilot droid gave all of its passengers a cursory look, but didn’t voice any questions, merely accepted her father’s orders. This wasn’t her dad talking though: this was the Sith Intelligence Commander, his voice cold and emotionless as any Imperial spy might have been expected to sound. If she hadn’t known her dad to be caring and gentle and protective behind closed doors, she would have been intimidated by him. She still felt a shudder down her back, as it was. Little wonder Cipher Nine is still feared in the Republic — and across a good bit of the Empire. Even Acina’s still letting him do whatever he wants. Does she fear him, too?

The taxi wound through Kaas City, landing on the pad before the Sith Sanctum. Glancing to the right, Xaja could see the entrance pad for what her father had informed her was Intelligence’s headquarters; to the left, the nearly-deserted Mandalorian Enclave. Most of the bounty hunters in the service of the Empire had been recalled by Mand’alor the Avenger, the newest leader of their people. The few remaining were either token representatives, or not Mandalorians at all. Either way, it certainly was not somewhere that Xaja wanted to visit.

Of course, the kriffing Sith Sanctum wasn’t somewhere she wanted to be either. But it really was their best option right now, between the element of surprise and the hope that her brother could protect her, Theron, and Doc. She didn’t need to be a spy like her father to know that if she showed fear now, all five of them were probably going to die as their covers were blown. The arrogant Sith Lord walk isn’t too different from a Jedi’s stride. Just act like you own the place. You’ve spent enough time around Scourge. Just mimic how he stood and walked… but, y’know, shorter. She fell into step behind her father as he started walking in, sensing Theron, Doc, and Lokin retaking their positions behind her. To anyone observing, they hopefully would look like an escort for a Sith visitor for Darth Imperius — and if the Commander of Sith Intelligence was walking with them, who was going to question it?

“Ahhh, Commander.” Okay, apparently someone was going to question it. “Finally had your fill of gallivanting around the galaxy, hmm?”

“Are you now trying to keep track of my schedule, Lorman?” Her father sounded like he was trying to sound polite, while keeping himself from strangling this newcomer. “I’m flattered that you’re following me, really.”

“It’s Minister Lorman!” Xaja raised an eyebrow under her hood at the furious sputter from this Lorman. “Is that really so difficult to remember, Commander?”

“My pardon. My mind gets so consumed with things of importance like the security of the Empire and doing my job… oh, and remembering what groceries I need to pick up on my way home.”

More angry sputtering. “Why I -- the nerve -- Empress Acina will hear of this!”

“Yes, I’m sure she will. Doesn’t the Empress have a pair of boots for you to lick, Lorman? If you’ll excuse me…”

“It’s Minister Lorman! Minister!”

“Yes, you’ve said. Move. I need to speak with Darth Imperius immediately.”

“Darth Imperius is otherwise occupied at the moment,” Lorman said through gritted teeth. “If you’ll pass along your message to me I’ll make sure it gets to him—”

“The only message I have for you, Lorman, is one that isn’t repeatable in polite company. The important message is for Imperius’ ears only. Unless you’ve been hired on as his new secretary? If I’d known he was looking for one, I’d have offered him a protocol droid.”

Lorman sounded too angry to speak for a moment, and Xaja almost grinned under the hood. Only the reminder that her lips were still visible kept her expression still. “Your position does not make you invincible, Commander! I am the Minister of Logistics! I still outrank you!”

“And I know your HoloNet passwords, the names of your pets, and where you sleep. By the way, your taste in music is terrible.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“You’re asking that of the man escorting Imperius’ newest apprentice?” Reanden’s feet shifted in front of Xaja’s vision as he seemed to move closer to Lorman. “… How did your brain learn human speech, Lorman? I’m just so curious.” Xaja felt a tug in her mind from the little knot that felt like Theron, warm and bright and comforting — it felt like he was desperately trying to not laugh.

“It’s Minister!”

“I would have named my childhood neighbour’s cousin’s pet gizka as a minister instead of you. Acina really must be desperate.”

“You -- ! You would compare me to a gizka?!”

“… No, you’re right. The poor gizka deserved better.” Xaja wanted to laugh at how much her father was taunting this so-called minister. She could feel Theron’s grin under his helmet through their bond.

“You insolent -- ! You would insult me like this in front of a Sith?!”

“Acolyte Xalia seems quite amused by this. If she wasn’t, you would probably already be dead or wishing you were.” Xaja could almost hear the smug smile in her father’s voice. “Bit of a psychopath, this one. Doesn’t talk a lot, although she doesn’t really need to, as far as I’ve seen. I think she comes from a group of cannibals.”

Dammit, Dad, you’re having far too much fun with this.

“… So, he picks ex-Jedi and aliens for his apprentices, and now… cannibals?” Lorman sounded a little bit squeamish. The tug that was Theron fairly vibrated with his amusement.

“I value my life enough to know not to question his choices in apprentices. I’d be careful though, Lorman. This one’s also got the patience of a Jawa on stimcaf and…” Reanden turned, and Xaja wasn’t sure if the sudden shift to his voice was supposed to be nervousness or suppressed laughter. “… Doctor Lokin, do you remember the last time she ate anything?…”

“About four hours ago, sir. She, uhh… might be getting hungry again --”

Xaja couldn’t resist. She turned her hooded head in the direction of Lorman’s voice and gave him what could be best described as a maniacal grin, knowing her mouth was still visible, and was rewarded with a stifled yelp of terror. Even her father shuddered. “Oh, bloody hell, not right now, Acolyte, please don’t make me have to file more paperwork…” he muttered under his breath, just loudly enough to be audible.

“She’s mad, Commander! And Imperius must be insane if he’s picked this one as his newest apprentice!”

“Like I said, I don’t question Darth-kriffing-Imperius. I’m just grateful he gave me the warning to keep her under armed guard. Any more questions before she completely runs out of patience and I have to pay to have you cleaned out of my uniform?”

“… As you were, Commander.” Xaja heard what sounded like boots scrambling for purchase on the smooth floor as Lorman beat a hasty retreat.

“Thank you, Lorman. Come along, Acolyte, and please remember your master said to not eat these guards, or me…”

“It’s Minis --!” Xaja turned her head in the direction of Lorman’s voice and emitted a tiny hiss around her grin, and heard him yelp as he ran. She heard something that sounded like Doc trying not to choke on his own laughter behind his helmet and felt Theron’s amusement through their bond — if he hadn’t been undercover, he probably would have been on the ground laughing.

Reanden led the group to one of the turbolifts down a corridor and, once everyone was on board, entered the command for the lift to rise a few storeys. A few moments later, the turbolift opened on the destination floor, and Xaja could never figure out how her father mastered the stride of someone acting like he was hustling out of a confined space with a questionably-sane Sith without looking like he was trying to escape. She followed with an almost lazy stride, and Theron, Doc, and Lokin all exited after her. This area of the Citadel had been decorated with a much more luxurious hand: Red banners adorned the walls, proudly displaying the Sith Empire’s crest; echoes bounced around the corridor as their footsteps sounded on the black marble floor. She shouldn’t have been surprised her father knew his way; he lead them down the hallway, around a corner, and through a door without bothering to knock.

The Kaleesh standing in the atrium turned and inclined his head minutely. “Commander,” he said in a deep voice, his words clipped and sort. “You have returned sooner than expected.”

“There were… developments that required an in-person report sooner than later,” Reanden answered. “Is your master in, Xalek?”

The alien Sith glanced toward the closed door leading deeper into the chambers. “He, and the ambassador from Zakuul. They have been speaking for some time.” He paused. “My master’s patience is growing thin.”

“Yes, well I don’t blame him,” Reanden growled quietly. “That moron has got the worst timing.”

“Yes. Any timing.”

“Ha! I knew you had a sense of humour in there.”

“My master is training me well—” Xalek looked sharply at the door as Xaja raised her head slightly, sensing a burst of frustration. “And another lesson.”

“And what lesson is that today?” Reanden asked. “How to diplomatically tell someone where to go and how to get there, and what they can do with a rusty hydrospanner and an angry kath hound on the way?” Xaja could feel Theron and Doc both wincing behind her.

“That was last week.” Xalek looked back at the spy, then at the door again. “Today it may be how to verbally skin someone alive.”

“… I’ve never wished for Minister Beniko to be around as I do right now.”

Xalek didn’t get a chance to respond, as the door slid open with perhaps a bit more emphasis than was strictly necessary. A golden-armoured figure stormed out of the inner chamber, radiating fury. Xaja sensed Theron tensing behind her as he recognized the Zakuulan armour. “You will reconsider this, Imperius!”

“They are Republic assets, not Imperial. What interest should I have in this?” Xaja nearly cried when she heard her baby brother’s voice. He’d definitely embraced the Sith persona, his voice low and arrogant and all but dripping in anger. Darth Imperius had come into his own. “This is Zakuul’s mess, Exarch. Surely you can sort out your own problems with the Republic. Three people can’t be that difficult to find.”

“The terrorist and the assassin, and their accomplice on Rishi, have vanished. You must deploy your agents to find them!”

“It’s hardly my fault if your agents are so inept as to lose three people, one of them a bloody Jedi. You still can’t have any of mine.”

“Your insolence is noted!”

“As is your idiocy. Do you honestly think that I am going to divert Imperial resources to hunting three of your problems?” Imperius rolled his eyes as the Exarch opened her mouth. “If my agents happen to come across anything, I will inform you with all due haste. But I am not retasking my people to fix your damn problem.”

The Exarch stayed quiet, breathing through clenched teeth. “Izax damn you,” she finally hissed. “Fine. We will be waiting for your intelligence reports. If your agents are half as good as you claim, they will find something useful soon.”

“Of course,” Imperius said through gritted teeth. His molten eyes glanced over at Reanden, then at his escorting company. Xaja didn’t feel any sudden jolt of recognition from her brother, even when his brief mental probe touched her mind with a soft brush. “If the Jedi and her accomplices are foolish enough to show up in Imperial space, on my bloody doorstep even, I’ll deliver the news to you myself. But might I add they are Republic assets, all of whom seem to have enough survival instincts to avoid my people’s territory.”

“I am aware they are not Imperial,” growled the Exarch as she turned to stalk out of the room. “Consider this, Imperius: if they can attack my people like this, what’s to stop them from going after yours? Are they still not your problem?”

“If your Emperor wants them that badly, he’ll find them before they’re a threat to my people.” Imperius smirked coldly. “And my people can defend themselves against a mere terrorist. Are yours so weak?”

“You play a dangerous game, Sith. I will be waiting.” The Exarch finally stormed out and shut the door emphatically behind her. For a few seconds, nobody moved or spoke.

Reanden finally shook his head and sighed. “I’m so glad she was too mad to remember what my job is. Good job not actually frying her, kid.” Xaja glanced sharply at Xalek as the Kaleesh relaxed against the wall. Right, her brother’s apprentice had already known about her after Ziost -- it was only reasonable that he would know about his master’s father by now.

“Mum’s influence is still lurking, all those years later,” Imperius said as he seemed to deflate with relief. The voice changed — this was Sorand Taerich talking now. “This isn’t… it can’t actually be… Xaja?”

It was clearly safe now. And Sorand had recognized her Force-signature after all. Xaja pushed her hood back and watched her brother’s eyes bulge, amber fading to dark brown like their father’s… then his mouth turned upward in a delighted smile, and a second later she was being hugged tightly enough to be lifted off her feet by her much-taller sibling. “Oh, kriffing hell, you Jedi pain in the ass, I thought you were dead! And you come back by pissing off Zakuul?!”

“You should know I don’t do anything without causing a commotion! I wasn’t about to leave you alone in the galaxy without me to pester you, little brother.” Xaja laughed as she clung to her brother’s shoulders, so grateful to have at least one of her siblings alive and well. She glanced over when she heard the sounds of Theron and Doc removing their helmets and felt Sorand’s Force-presence stutter in surprise. “Uhh… this isn’t going to be a problem, is it…?”

Sorand looked back and forth between the fugitives for a second, then grinned and shook his head. “Not in the least. Oh, the Exarch is going to be livid if she realizes you’re under her nose like this and I conveniently forget to tell her… Xalek?”

“I have seen nothing, Master. The Intelligence Commander merely had a new report for you. The fugitives were never in Imperial Space.” The Kaleesh almost sounded innocent.

“Excellent, apprentice.” Sorand looked back over at his father. “Uhh, what is their cover story here, Dad? I figure Theron and… Doctor Kimble, wasn’t it?… are nameless soldiers in here…”

“Oh, yes. This is your new apprentice, son. She’s a psychopath that may or may not have been affiliated with the Red Hulls — y’know, cannibal and all. Probably crazy enough to scare even your uncle if he’d ever met her.”

“A cannibal? Really?” Sorand sighed, then looked at Xaja. “Did Dad actually call you a cannibal psychopath to give you a cover here?”

Xaja just gave her little brother the same grin she’d shot at Lorman. “Rawr. I ate the competition on Korriban. Or something. Fear me.”

“… I’m having flashbacks to Rishi.” Sorand groaned and looked up at the ceiling. “Dad’s created a monster.”

“My finest work yet.” Reanden leaned against the wall for a moment and smirked. “Lorman’s scared shitless of her.”

Sorand burst out laughing, the sound lighter and easier than one might have expected of one of the Dark Council. “Please tell me you got holos, Dad. I want details!”

“I’ll tell you the full story. But you might want to sit down — we’re going to be here a while, son.” Reanden started walking back into the inner sanctum, sobering. “And for obvious reasons, this is top security.”

“Of course. Shall I summon Talos so we don’t have to explain this multiple times? I believe Mako’s around while Shara’s in a meeting in the Enclave.”

“Mako’s here? Excellent, get her in here — we could use a genius little slicer like her. If you trust Talos to stay silent, we’ll brief him too. Shara obviously will need to know about this — any idea when she’ll be out of that meeting?”

“She’s busy kicking the collective asses of one of the hunters’ guilds, so Force only knows how long that will take…”

Xaja did try to focus on the conversation between her dad and her brother, right up until the point that the headache resurged in her head, painfully enough to make her wince. She didn’t even have to be moving for her balance to suddenly give out, and if Sorand hadn’t still been hugging her, she likely would have wound up in a heap on the floor. As it was, the young Sith squawked in alarm as she sagged with a strangled moan. “The hell?!” he exclaimed. “What’s wrong? Just being on Dromund Kaas shouldn’t be hurting you like this, no matter how much of a Jedi you are!”

Xaja wanted to answer, but couldn’t seem to focus enough on coordinating her mouth and lungs and vocal cords all at once to speak — it was enough effort to not completely collapse, even with Sorand practically holding her up until Theron had lunged forward to grab her by the waist and her father came running back. She could only count herself very, very fortunate that the stims hadn’t worn off sooner.

“And that’s a big part of why we’re here and not hiding on Tatooine or Hoth,” Theron finally said as Sorand looked up at him while Lokin hurried around them to get to Xaja’s side, syringes of drugs already coming out of his satchel. “She’s been carbonite poisoned by the Zaks, and it’s bad.”

Sorand’s eyes widened in shock — Xaja felt dismay and fear pulse off of him for a second. He apparently already knew what that meant. “... Shit.”

#drastic measures #theron/xaja #in which ideas from Rishi get reused #featuring a cameo from MINISTER Lorman #short chapter is short #but delightfully full of snark #SpyDad's a dick #but a funny one #I giggled writing this #Imperius #Xaja #Reanden #Sorand #Theron #Clan Taerich #also Firefly reference FTW

11 notes · View notes

storyknitter · 5 years

Text

Kiss Goodbye

So an AU where my Consular Rineth is the Outlander has been rattling around in my head since the end of summer, when I wrapped up SoR with her.

In my canon, Sanna and Rinnie both go to meet with Marr on behalf of the Jedi/Republic in chapter 1 of KotFE. Now, just before you get to the scene where you tell your crew to either high-tail it out of Wild Space or stay and fight this new huge fleet, there’s a room with a few escape pods. So what really happens is that Sanna stuffs her younger sister – whose husband is onboard the Defender, waiting for them to come back – into an escape pod, tells Kira to be sure to pick up the pods, then get back to the Republic.

Well, as I was prepping to run Rinnie through the expansions, this crazy AU of “What would have happened if Rineth was the one to ensure her sister and crew’s safety instead of the other way around?” Rinnie would have killed Valkorion, becoming the Outlander trapped in carbonite for five years while her crew falls apart. Vassanna would have made it back to the Republic (wracked with guilt) and turned to Theron for comfort. They would have started a relationship and been happy together in stolen moments between assignments, falling hard and fast.

But they’re at war. Sanna is continually thrown at as many fights as she can get to, slowly worn down and exhausted by the constant losses to the Eternal Empire. Theron’s off doing his spy thing, trying to find a weakness that the Republic can exploit. The timeline’s a little wonky, but whatever. This is AU fanfic so I can do what I want and handwave the timeline as I see fit.

This is the only part I have completely worked up at the moment (and it’s near the middle). I do have the entire storyline in my head and scribbled down, but it hurts to write out and I don’t work on it much. So grab a box of tissues and... enjoy?

Warning: major character death

One morning in the middle of Melona, Vassanna and Theron dragged themselves out of each other's arms and the warm, cozy hotel bed to prepare for the day ahead. His heart swelled with pride as she slipped a gold chain over her head, its white and purple crystal pendant resting perfectly against her chest, near her heart. He may not be able to travel with her, but his gift could stay close.

Theron couldn’t help himself: he reached out and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her close and pressing a kiss to the side of her neck. “I love you,” he whispered in her ear, eliciting a giggle. Hells, he was certain his heart would explode every time she did that.

“That tickled,” she said as she turned around in his arms, draping hers over his shoulders and running her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. Their eyes met and time stood still, melancholy creeping and tangling around them as their time together came to an end. Sanna kissed him deeply, her palm cool on his cheek. “I love you, Theron Shan.”

He nodded, nuzzling her nose. “Love you too.” He hesitated only briefly before putting voice to the thoughts that had been bouncing around his head for the last day and a half: “Be careful. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

She gave him a soft, sweet smile. “You always have a bad feeling about this. But I don't like leaving you, either,” she said, growing serious. “Come with me. There's room on my ship.”

Theron sighed, a sad smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You know, I was so ready to go with you out to Wild Space, but... they need me here, at the SIS.”

“I know, but–”

“Sanna, this is how I protect the Republic. You defend us with glowing plasma swords and the Force – I use intel, blasters, and sneaky stuff.”

“Fine,” she said with a frown, her mouth twisting with concern. “Just... make sure you're in more than your underwear this time, okay?”

“I never should've told you that story," Theron said ruefully, shaking his head. They both chuckled and his laugh turned into a heavy sigh as he glanced at the chrono on the wall. “They need you out there, beautiful.”

“And I need you, so stay safe.”

“Hey, that's my line,” Theron murmured, a smirk creeping onto his lips. Tenderly brushing a wisp of hair off her forehead, he kissed her temple. “I love you.” He pressed his lips to Sanna’s cheek. “Come back to me,” he whispered.

She nodded. “I love you too. I'll come back, promise.”

He sent Sanna off to the spaceport with a bittersweet farewell kiss and a new datastick tucked in her pocket – a few weeks ago, she’d mentioned that the Defender was quieter than ever with Rusk recalled by the military and the loss of Scourge, so Theron had put together a new playlist of music for her, Kira, and Doc as a surprise.

Theron's shuttle was scheduled to depart for Nar Shaddaa an hour after she and her crew headed to Arsei 5. A week and a half later, he’d completed his mission for the SIS – gathering intel on the so-called Star Fortress and its planetside bunker – and was relaxing in the safe house, mostly ignoring one Jonas Balkar. His colleague had been trying his damnedest to get Theron out to the clubs around the Red Light Sector and, failing that, the Promenade.

“You think I don’t remember the last time you talked me into going to the bar with you? My bruises had bruises,” he said, scowling. “And no amount of blackmail will change my mind.”

“Oh, come on, it’ll be fun. And I swear, there’s no undercover work this time. Just two co-workers getting a drink off the clock...”

Theron didn’t hear the end of the recruitment speech. Something thumped in his chest, twisted his insides, and an ice-cold wave washed over him, sending goosebumps prickling across his skin. “Something’s wrong,” he murmured.

Jonas stopped speaking immediately and reached for his datapad. “I know better than to doubt your intuition.” Before the dark-haired spy finished his sentence, an encrypted notification arrived for them both: Arsei 5 had fallen to the Eternal Empire.

“No,” Theron whispered, his heart in his throat. Grabbing his comm, he stood abruptly and turned toward the bedroom. “I, uh... I gotta make a call.” He barely recognized his own voice, strangled and panicked as it was.

He dialed Sanna’s comm frequency, pacing furiously as it rang and rang and rang. He hung up and counted to sixty before punching in the frequency again; his stomach flopped as there was still no answer. Ice crept into his chest, making it near-impossible to breathe or think rationally. Terminating the call after long moments, Theron forced himself to wait until he read through Trant’s missive regarding the planet’s capture before attempting to contact her once more.

Perusing the blunt report, it appeared that only a small handful of ships had escaped the carnage; they were filled to bursting with as many beings from the forsaken planet as they could carry. One of the surviving vessels was listed as a Defender-class ship, and he breathed a little easier, able to wait five whole minutes before picking up his comm again and dialing her frequency by rote.

“C’mon, beautiful, pick up. Please pick up. Pick up pick up pick up,” Theron muttered as the ringing continued. He stopped counting the number of rings and froze, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. The spy slowly turned around, his stomach sinking to the floor as his gaze fell upon a glowing figure two meters away, its features heartbreakingly familiar: an ancient scar running diagonally across a beautifully peaceful face, diamonds dotted across soft cheeks, sorrowful eyes framed by long dark lashes.

He shook his head as he stared, his vision blurring; his heart had accepted the truth standing before him even as he denied it with his words.

“No. No, sweetheart, please no.”

“You should end the call, love,” Vassanna said, her voice a hollow echo of its soft, silvery tone. “I can’t answer it.”

“No!” he shouted, picking up the holocomm and hurling it across the room in a rage. The ghost of the woman he loved more than he'd thought possible reached out with the Force and caught the device, gently resting it on the dresser.

“You still need that. Kira’s trying to figure out how to break the news to you.” She gave him a small, infinitely sad smile as she stepped closer, within arm’s reach. “It’s going to take her a bit.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. “This isn’t happening. You promised me. You promised,” he hissed through teeth clenched tight. She reached up to rest her hand on his cheek, a slight pressure reinforcing the fact that this wasn’t just some terrible nightmare.

“I know. I’m so sorry – I tried to keep my promise, I swear. Oh my love, I wanted so much to come home to you.”

Theron couldn’t answer; the grief that bubbled up from his heart choked him. Instead, out of habit, he leaned forward to kiss her forehead and was pleasantly surprised to find his lips met resistance. Shifting closer, he tentatively wrapped his arms around her translucent form. For the briefest of moments, he held Sanna close before his arms collapsed into his own chest. His Jedi gazed up at him, exhaustion in her features. “I’m sorry, Theron, I can’t...”

The reality of her death crashed into him and he dropped to his knees, folding his arms around himself to keep from falling apart.

“Theron.” He glanced up at his name, blinking away the blurriness in his vision. She brushed her fingers against his jaw and kissed him, as light as a feather, on his cheek. “I can’t stay now, though we’ll see each other again. But first....” Sanna trailed off as she took his hand in hers, turning it palm up, and rested her other hand on top. Frowning in concentration, she closed her eyes and her image flickered before him, as though a projector's power source had faltered.

“No, don’t go yet,” he whispered.

Vassanna looked up, meeting his gaze triumphantly, her smile brighter than a thousand suns. She removed her upper hand, revealing a gold chain with a white and purple-streaked crystal pendant resting cool and heavy in his palm. Theron’s fingers closed tight around it and, clutching the necklace to his chest, lost all control over the emotions roiling inside him.

He wanted to lash out, to break things, to rage against whatever destiny, whatever cruel fate had taken her away from him. Instead, he sniffled and a sob escaped him, followed shortly by another. Clamping a hand over his mouth and screwing his eyes shut, he berated himself. Come on. You’re a professional on the job, dammit. Pull it together, Shan. There is no emotion, there is only peace. There’s no emotion, no emotion. There's only the Force. A muffled keening sound startled him as he realized it was coming from his own throat.

Theron felt one last soft brush of her lips on his cheek and heard a whispered, “I love you, Theron. Always,” in his ear, and then– then she was gone as suddenly as she’d arrived.

“No, come back. I love you too. Come back Sanna, please. Don’t leave me. Come back, I love you...”

His holo-communicator buzzed, pulling him out of his misery. He didn’t need to look at the display to know the incoming call would be Vassanna’s former padawan and best friend. Dashing tears off his face with the sleeve of his jacket, he slipped the necklace over his head, tucking it under his shirt, close to his heart. Taking a deep breath, Theron answered and – without preamble – said flatly, “She’s gone, isn’t she?”

Kira Carsen’s mouth opened in surprise before her face collapsed, nodding and digging her fists into her hips. “I'm so sorry, Theron, it's all my fault,” she said, her voice breaking. “I missed a Knight mixed in with all the Skytroopers. There were too many and I – and she –”

“It’s not your fault, Kira. I don’t blame you,” he interrupted and swallowed another sob that threatened to slip out. “I seriously doubt she’d blame you, either.”

The red-haired Jedi nodded, wiping her eyes and sniffled again. “I need to contact the Council and the Senate. I called you first, you deserved to find out from me. And– oh Force, I need to comm her family.”

Something about the panic on Kira’s features prompted him to volunteer. He’d spoken to Sanna’s family occasionally after the war broke out – and not just that first disastrous time when she was heartbroken over the loss of her sister on Marr's ship. At first, he happened to be there when they chatted, but then everyone began checking in on one another. He liked her parents and they seemed to like him as well: it was shockingly domestic.

“Thank you, Spy Boy,” Kira said, giving him a forced smile. “She loved you so much. You know that, right? So much.”

Barely able to speak, Theron nodded, lips pursed. “Thanks, Kir,” he said, meeting her watery gaze. “May the Force be with you.”

“And with you, Theron. Farewell.”

As Kira disconnected, he sighed heavily and pulled up the appropriate Mirialan phrasing, the words Sanna had used ages ago to inform her parents that they’d lost a different daughter. Muttering a curse, he worried that the Nabeshin family would start refusing his calls if he kept giving them this type of news.

He punched in Sanna's parents’ frequency and Kethrys answered after precious few rings – there was no way that Theron was ready to have this conversation.

(If he were honest with himself, he would never have been ready for this conversation.)

“Theron! What a pleasure to speak with you again.” The Mirialan’s voice was soothing, calm, and the shape of her small smile was enough like his Jedi’s that he froze, staring, blinking hard as his vision blurred again. Swallowing the lump that had grown in his throat, he finally spoke, the foreign words tumbling clumsily off of his tongue:

“Solemn greetings, bereaved one.”

Her eyes widened and she shook her head, remembering the last time he’d said those words to her. Theron forged ahead, his voice breaking and fists clenched at his sides. “I share your sorrow over the death of San–” A harsh, gaspy breath snuck out before he could stop it. “Of Vassanna Nabeshin, Jedi Knight, Battlemaster of the Order, and daughter of Kethrys and Tomar. She...” He trailed off, grasping at the proper words amidst the grief swirling through him.

“Oh, not both of my girls,” the older woman cried, her fingers raised to her lips. “Not both of them, please. Oh, my girls...”

“I want her back, Keth,” he said, breaking from the traditional script in a moment of weakness. “This can’t be real, I want her back.”

The remainder of the conversation passed in a blur of denial and disbelief from both parties, and no small amount of tears. Theron ended the call and slid to the floor, forearms on his knees, his head against the wall. A quiet knock on the door cut through the fog of grief surrounding him.

“Go away,” he snarled at Jonas before the other spy could open the door.

“All right, all right. I’m gonna go grab some whiskey – the liquor cabinet is empty – but I’ll be right back. Okay?”

“Whatever, I’m a grown-up and can manage on my own while you go shopping.” Scrubbing his face with his hands, Theron unmuted his implants and picked up his datapad, reading the updates he’d missed in the last hour or so. He tried his best not to envision what the destruction of Arsei 5 looked like: it’d be less likely that his imagination would picture her there, lying lifeless and –

No, he thought to himself, this just can’t be real. This has to be the worst dream I’ve ever had. There’s no way she didn’t make it. She always makes it. Even when the odds are fucking terrible.

He railed at the Force, calling it a coward and a liar and a cheat because there was no possible way that she could be dead. He begged and pleaded for this all to be a terrible misunderstanding, for the intel to be wrong, for her to be a prisoner of war, anything but dead. He would accept any other outcome than her death. How the hells was this at all fair? She was so special, so indescribable – she didn’t deserve to die and be forgotten, left behind on a battlefield on a strange planet. Fuck the Force and Destiny and to the fucking Void with them all.

A new update pinged his implants. Finding it difficult to focus, he skimmed the message on his pad: the Republic and Sith Empire signed a peace treaty with Emperor Arcann, going behind Saresh’s back, and his barely contained rage boiled over.

“Why now, you cowardly fucks, and why not a Force-damned week ago? She’d still be alive!” he roared, heaving the offensive datapad across the room and into the wall with a satisfying crunch. The chrono from the nightstand followed it, shattering into pieces. Grabbing his holocomm, he hurled it across the room for the second time that day, only to have it snagged out of midair once again.

If looks could kill, Jonas Balkar would be a dead man.

Unfortunately, he’d known Theron long enough to be unimpressed by the scowl on the traditionally-grumpy spy’s face. “Come have a drink, Shan,” Jonas said, leveling a serious look at his colleague. “Just promise you won’t throw anything else.”

“The signed a fucking treaty!” he shouted, gesturing wildly.

“Yeah, I heard.”

Taking a deep breath, Theron made his way out of the room: whiskey sounded like a terrific idea right about now. Near the door, the image of Sanna that he'd tried so hard to ignore – lifeless and broken in the dirt – resurfaced. He let out a strangled cry and punched the wall, pain shooting up his arm. It barely dulled the ache in his chest. As he pulled his fist back again, Jonas tackled him, the punch grazing the side of his head.

“What the hells, man? Breaking your damned hand isn’t gonna bring her back.” The dark-haired spy’s words snapped Theron out of his reckless fury and he glanced over at the broken pieces of tech on the floor.

“You’re right, you’re right,” he said, still a bit dazed as Jonas steered him to the living room of the safehouse. “Oh hells, she’s really gone. She’s gone and it was pointless because they signed a treaty and fuck,” he swore emphatically as he plopped onto the sofa, burying his face in his hands. “She’s gone and I didn’t tell her I loved her enough and–”

A rude snort from Jonas interrupted his rambling. “Please. She knew how you felt. Unless she was a blind idiot – which she wasn’t – she knew.” Jonas sighed and clapped a hand to Theron’s shoulder. “Damn. I knew when you finally fell for somebody you’d fall hard. I just didn’t realize you already had.” He paused briefly, handing Theron a generous glass of whiskey with a smirk. “But don’t worry: I won’t tell anyone that you’ve actually got a heart.”

Theron rolled his eyes as he accepted the glass, wincing at the sharp pang leftover from picking a fight with a wall.

“To your Jedi,” Jonas said, solemnly raising his tumbler. “May she be at peace in the Force.”

Theron lightly tapped the rims of their glasses together before tossing back the contents of his own. With Jonas's help, he proceeded to get more drunk than ever before – and that was saying something. He knew he’d regret it in the morning, but couldn’t bring himself to care.

33 notes · View notes