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lesbiankimdahyun · 13 days ago

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G!p Karina hosting a Halloween costume party and choosing you as the winner for best dressed/costume. The prize being that you get to sleep with her.

thank you i loved writing this i hope u enjoy! A03 link is here

FIRST PRIZE: A Halloween Special

4.4K words

[GP!Karina x F!Reader]

CW: GP, alcohol, brief weed mention

Guest appearances: MAMAMOO’s Moonbyul and Solar

Your job had been cool about you working fully remotely during the height of the pandemic, but now after two years, they finally asked you to relocate. Your boss was able to compensate you for the move to D.C., which helped, but coming from San Francisco, the East coast culture shock was brutal. Starting over in a new city was intimidating, but at least you had your work bestie Karina to hang out with now that the two of you lived in the same city.

Having only seen and interacted with her through Zoom on your laptop about (mostly) work-related things, you were a little nervous that the friendship would fade or ruin your working relationship, but over the summer, you found it had the opposite effect. The more you saw of Karina’s authentic offline self, the more comfortable you felt with her, and being able to make Karina laugh felt like winning the lottery. You were absolutely harboring a crush on her, but you kept hoping maybe it would go away in time, too afraid to let her know about your feelings.

But months later when she invited you to a huge Halloween bash she was hosting, you knew your crush on her wasn’t going away any time soon. Her massive apartment, which she shared with her roommate, a girl named Winter you’d met a couple times, was decorated from the floor to the ceiling for the occasion. Perfectly placed cobwebs, a plethora of real, carved jack-o-lanterns lined the mantle of the living room’s fireplace, and the staircase that led up to their bedrooms had tiny, fake candles on each step, adding a warm glow. Karina had used plenty of LED lights too, leaving sections of the apartment cast in eerie purple and red light. Despite the free flowing alcohol, available weed and other Halloween goodies supplied for the party, it was Karina herself that had your rapt attention.

“You made it!” she said when you arrived, pulling you in for a hug. Her costume was decadent and extravagant, but not so over the top that it limited her range of motion. She’d chosen to go as Glinda the Good Witch. “I like Elphaba better,” she admitted, “but I didn’t want to commit to green skin.” Instead, she’d committed to a Swarovski-jeweled crown, a short, perfectly pink ruffle dress, complete with embroidery work near the bust and tiered tulle to add volume to the skirt. She had a silver, jewel-covered scepter that matched her crown, and wore extra blush to accent all of the pink details. On anyone else, it would’ve looked very cute, but Karina’s lethal beauty and aloof personality made the overall look devastatingly stunning instead.

When she pulled away from you, she eyed you and your costume with interest. “Talk about treasure,” she said. “Should I call you Jack or Jackie Sparrow?”

You felt yourself blush a bit. “Whatever you like,” you said. Karina smirked in response, taking another moment to look at the pieces you’d put together for your Pirates of the Caribbean-inspired outfit. You’d gone to great lengths to gender-bend your take on Jack Sparrow just the way you wanted, and based on Karina’s reaction, it seemed to be paying off. For your look, you’d combined a brown, satin corset top with bronze buckles, a black chiffon tiered waterfall maxi skirt, a black frill tie blouse with flared sleeves, a black lace necklace, brown knee length boots that matched your corset, a few long pearl necklaces to go with the lace necklace, gold hoop earrings, gold rings, and a brown faux leather pirate hat with a single feather on one side.

Karina suddenly reached forward, brushing her hand along your thigh. “What’s this?” she asked curiously. “A black lace garter? Wow, Y/N, you really pull out all the stops, don’t you?” You let out a shy laugh in response. Karina took your hand then. “Come on,” she said, leading you through the crowd. She pulled you into the kitchen, where Winter was busy grabbing more alcohol.

“Win-ter,” Karina sing-songed, “Look who's going to enter my costume contest!” Her roommate turned around and the two of you took a moment to take in each other’s costumes.

“No way,” you said, admiring her black, white and pink futuristic superhero look. “Uravity? From My Hero Academia?” Winter beamed. “ Finally , I’m recognized,” she said, coming over to give you a light hug, careful to avoid bonking you with her headpiece as she hugged you. “Everyone keeps thinking I’m some sort of Barbie Buzz Lightyear,” she said with a quick pout and eye roll. “But wow, look at you!” She took your hand, and you spun for her to show off all sides of your costume. She and Karina exchanged a brief look, and then Winter nodded. “So you're in the contest, huh? I bet you'll win” she said.

“Oh, that’s so sweet,” you said, “But I don’t know even know if I actually want t--”

Karina cut you off. “Trust me,” she said, placing a hand on your shoulder. Her glittery, pink nails stood out against the brown and black colors of your costume. “You want to be in this. My Halloween costume contests always come with prizes, even if you don't win! ”

“Really?” you asked. “Well what does the winner get then?”

Karina grinned. “Y/N, I can’t just tell you what the winner gets,” she said. “Where’s the fun in that? Why not play to win and find out for yourself,” she said. The way she said it was sassy, almost flirtatious. Wait. There's no way Karina would be flirting with me, you thought.

“Hmm…” you said, pretending to mull it over while moving toward the kitchen sink, where the drink supplies were. You grabbed a black plastic cup and looked around for ice, but Karina came over beside you, interrupting your search. “Let me,” she said, gently plucking your cup out of your hands while Winter handed her a bottle of deep purple Empress gin. The gin’s purple color turned pinkish when she added a splash of lime and tonic water to the gin, but it remained largely purple even after ice was added too, letting you know the drink had way more alcohol than mixer in it. You went to take a sip, but Karina stopped you. “Wait,” she said, reaching for a small, plastic packet and ripping it open.

“What's that?” you asked, tipping your cup away.

“Relax,” Karina said, showing you a bit of the light, powdery substance in her palm. She dipped a finger in it and put it up to her lips, licking the substance off. “Edible glitter,” she explained. “See?” She dipped her finger back into the glitter and then held it up near your mouth.

“Try it,” she said, and you found yourself obeying and opening your mouth for her, tongue slightly out. Karina lightly pressed the pad of her finger to your tongue, and a wave of heat rolled over you. If the edible glitter had any taste at all, it was completely overpowered by the salty taste of Karina’s fingertip. Karina’s eyes flicked from your tongue, then up at you. Your cheeks burned at the intimacy.

“So… you'll be in the costume contest, then?” she asked, taking a small step back. You held out your cup for Karina to add some edible glitter to your drink, which she did.

“Oh alright,” you said. “Why not?”

The rest of the party was a blur. Karina insisted on making all of your drinks, leaving you beyond buzzed but feeling extremely sociable. You chatted with a girl dressed as a ‘hot version of Moo Deng’, danced and shouted ‘Yes, chef!’ with a few folks dressed as the cast of The Bear, and drunkenly gushed over a stunning sapphic couple dressed as Statue of Liberty Chappell Roan and Pink Pony Club Chappell Roan. On occasion throughout the night, Karina would steal you away to dance to Rob Zombie or Kim Petras. A few times while you danced, you'd find her suddenly behind you, hand lightly brushing over your waist. Your brain was operating at a hundred miles a minute, but you put it out of your mind so you could focus on meeting a few of Karina and Winter’s other mutual friends: a girl named NingNing who rocked a modern Cruella DeVil costume, and another girl named Giselle who was dressed as a high glam-drag version of HIM from the Powerpuff Girls– sans facial hair.

Just after midnight, Karina gathered everyone for the costume contest in the spacious living room. You joined the other contestants in the center of the room: Statue of Liberty Chappell, hot Moo Deng, and Giselle.

“Before we start,” Karina said, “I should let all of the contestants know that second and third place prizes will be given out here at the party, but first place will need to stick around afterward to claim the grand prize, okay?” The four of you nodded while the rest of the party attendees applauded lightly in anticipation. Fourth place wound up going to ‘hot Moo Deng,’ and Giselle took third.

Karina presented Giselle with a plastic, orange pumpkin bucket intended for trick-or-treating. There was a couple handfuls of candy inside, but in addition to pumpkin-shaped Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and candy corn, Karina and Winter had filled the buckets with mini bottles of alcohol, edibles, and liquid hydration packets. Then, Karina gave Giselle a celebratory strawberry lemon drop shot, which was, of course, perfectly pink to match her Glinda costume. Everyone clinked their plastic cups together, ready to take a sip of their drinks while Giselle had her shot. Her large claw attachments, though, made her unable to take the tiny shot glass out of Karina’s hand. For a supposedly good witch, Karina seemed extra amused by Giselle's struggle. With her other free hand, Karina held Giselle’s face, her thumb on one of Giselle’s cheeks, the rest of her fingers on the other.

“Aw, does our big bad villain need some help?” she asked mockingly. Giselle feigned annoyance and nodded. Karina whispered something in Giselle’s ear then, and then Giselle rolled her eyes for real before opening her mouth. Everyone cheered as Karina knocked the shot back into Giselle’s mouth. Karina laughed, making a show out of having Giselle open her mouth again to prove she’d swallowed it all.

Your hands started to sweat a bit while you and Statue of Liberty Chappell Roan waited to find out who the winner would be. You honestly had no idea which way the costume contest would go. You knew your costume was pretty good overall, but Statue of Liberty Chappell, whose real name was Moonbyul, had really gone all out, even painting herself the same color as the actual Statue of Liberty. To hype up the crowd, Karina took the partygoers’ temperature by standing behind Moonbyul, holding a hand over the girl’s head.

“Who’s feeling sexy Statue of Liberty Chappell Roan?” she asked, and the crowd responded by applauding as Moonbyul posed, holding up her torch triumphantly. When the clapping died down, she moved behind you, and you knew her hand was hovering somewhere above your pirate hat. “What about our sexy Jackie Sparrow?” she asked, and the crowd erupted in louder applause, including a few wolf whistles from somewhere in the back.

Karina grinned at the partygoers. “I thought so too,” she said matter-of-factly. “It looks like we have a consensus, then. Second place goes to Statue of Liberty Chappell Roan!” There was more applause, and Pink Pony Club Chappell, whose real name was Solar, shrieked in excitement for her girlfriend. Winter presented Moonbyul with her own plastic pumpkin bucket full of the same goodies Giselle had received. Another strawberry lemon drop shot was brought out for Moonbyul. But instead of letting Moonbyul take the shot herself, Karina held onto it.

“Since it’s my party, I want to do things my way, tonight” Karina said. “So open up, Chappell,” she said, grinning mischievously. “Forgive me, Solar,” she said, turning back toward Pink Pony Club Chappell Roan for a moment before coaxing Moonbyul’s mouth open so she could pour the shot down Moonbyul’s throat. “Now for those of you who have been to my parties before, you know the second place winner usually also comes with a kiss from me, but girl…” Karina said, “Keep those green Statue of Liberty lips away from me! She’s alllll yours, Solar,” Karina said with a laugh.

A kiss? ! What kind of costume contest between friends was this? Before you could ruminate on it, Karina was beside you, taking your hand and holding it up proudly. “And now give it up for this year’s costume contest winner!” The crowd roared with drunken cheers. You felt Karina’s hand near your thigh again. “Don’t you all just love this garter? I think it’s my favorite part,” she said, her fingers trailing over the black lace detail. Another strawberry lemon drop shot was handed to Karina, and she turned to face you.

“You know the drill by now, don’t you?” she asked playfully. “Open up, Y/N.” The tart tang of lemon, alcohol, and a bit of sweetness from the strawberry burned while it made its way down your throat. She then leaned in, her lips brushing against your ear while she whispered to you. “You’ll get your prize later, okay?”

The party reverted back to the way it was, but not for long. By the time 1:30 AM rolled around, the party was winding down as some partygoers headed out to make appearances at other parties, while others trickled out to hit the clubs before they closed. You collapsed on the couch, making conversation with the last few party stragglers while they gathered their shoes and costume parts, getting ready to leave.

“Are you gonna be okay t’get home?” You looked up to see Giselle standing above you, swaying lightly, clearly a bit drunk. You sat up and nodded, scooching over so she could sit down and focus the remainder of her energy on ordering an Uber home.

“This was sooo fun,” she said, her words blurring together a bit. She pulled off her costume’s red claw attachments so she could use her hands normally again. Then she turned to you. “Hey, we should go– er, hang out sometime,” she said. You almost missed what she said entirely, distracted by the sleek, black thigh high boots she was wearing and the way her red fishnets popped beneath them. And wait-- is that part latex? How on earth were all of Karina’s close friends this hot, too?

“Hm?” you said, needing a moment to register what she’d just said. “Oh! I’d like that,” you said, smiling. Forgetting about the rideshare app open on her phone, she handed the small rectangle to you. “Put your number in!” she said, bouncing a bit. Her shoulder brushed against yours, sending a tiny, electric jolt through your right arm. You started to feel warm as Giselle rested her chin on your shoulder to watch as you swiped away from the pending rideshare pickup and tapped the phone icon to add your number.

“Can I tell you something?” she asked, sitting back a bit when you were done. You returned her phone to her and nodded. “Karina’s into you,” she blurted. You threw Giselle a quizzical look while your heartbeat raced. “Wh-what?” you asked. “Where’d you get that idea from?”

Giselle just giggled to herself, rummaging through her bag to make sure all of her belongings were still present, then looped her arm through the handle of her Halloween bucket prize. “She does this every year,” she replied. “You’ll see. That glittery scepter of hers isn’t the only disco stick she likes to use.” She stood up, her driver just a minute or two away now. Giselle flipped her long, black hair back and gave you one last look over her shoulder. “She’d fucking kill me if she knew I said this…” she gave you one last onceover. “If you aren’t satisfied with your prize… let me know.”

“Huh?” you said, but Giselle didn’t explain. She was already heading toward the front door, where Karina was hugging NingNing and Winter goodbye. Wait , you thought. Didn’t Winter live here? Why was she leaving? You looked around for any other remaining partygoers, but realized you were about to be alone.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Karina said apologetically, coming over to you after everyone was officially gone. You stood and walked with her into the kitchen. “Did you have fun?” she asked. She poured you a glass of water as you nodded. “Your friends are really nice,” you said, taking the cup from her. “Especially Giselle.” Karina’s eyes flashed with an emotion you couldn’t read, but then she recovered and smiled. “Don’t I know it,” she said. “They’re the best.”

With the music at a much softer level and the purple and red LED lights off, the main floor of the apartment was dim and cozy, with the only remaining sources of light coming from the moonlight streaming in through the bay windows, the jack-o-lanterns on the fireplace mantle and the tiny, battery-powered fake flicker candles that stood on the edge of the steps leading upstairs. Your heart was pounding nervously in your chest now, unsure of what to expect. It was the first time you’d ever been alone with Karina in her apartment– normally Winter was there.

“Hey, where’d Winter go?” you asked, trying to keep your voice casual. Karina shrugged a bit, walking back into the living room. “Oh,” she said, glancing back to make sure you followed her out. “She and NingNing decided to hit the club for a bit. I’m sure she’ll be back in a while,” she said. Anxiety quelled in your stomach. Something told you Winter would not be coming back anytime soon.

Karina instructed you to sit back down on the couch. “Are you ready for your prize?” she asked, grinning, and you nodded a little. “You’re not going to like, have a man in a bloody clown costume jump out at me or anything are you?” you asked. Karina laughed. “Y/N! You're so funny right now. Are you nervous ?” she asked teasingly.

“N-no, no,” you said. Of course Karina wouldn’t scare you, you thought. She was more into treats than tricks. Right? Before you could think it through, you found yourself adding, “If it’s anything like Moonbyul’s, I’m sure I’ll like it.”

“Oh?” Karina asked, taking off her crown and shaking out her hair. “Why’s that?”

You bit your tongue lightly as you watched her fingers run through her perfectly sleek, shiny hair. You absolutely could not say anything about her prizes coming with the promise of a kiss. Fuck . “Uh…” you lost your train of thought. “The…”

Karina smirked a little, watching your wheels spin as you tried to come up with a response. “I see,” she said, cutting you off. “Y/N,” she continued, and you looked up at her. “Close your eyes and wait for your prize, okay?” You nodded, glancing down before closing your eyes. For a moment, everything was silent and still, and then you felt added weight on the couch. You caught a whiff of Karina’s perfume, letting you know she was beside you now. And then you felt something– no, not something, some one brush against your lips. Karina was kissing you .

Desire spread through your body instantly. Your first instinct was to lean into it, but your head spun, and you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or Karina’s dizzying presence. You leaned back for a moment and your eyes fluttered open. Karina’s face was just inches away from yours.

“Is this okay?” she asked you softly, and you nodded. She leaned in and both of your eyes closed again while she kissed you. Her lips were warm and her tongue tasted sweet as it brushed against yours. Before you knew it, she was stripping you of your pirate hat, tossing it aside as she helped you lay down on the couch. Karina hovered above you, pressing herself gently against your corseted abdomen. Your breath hitched a little, making your chest heave as Karina’s hands wandered over your body lightly. Her hair tickled the sides of your face, waterfalling back over her shoulders while the two of you continued to make out. All of your senses were overwhelmed by her– her scent, her taste, and oh god , her touch.

But just a few minutes later, she stopped and sat up. “Are you alright?” you asked, slightly breathless. She nodded and stood, then helped you up. “How would you feel about getting out of these costumes?” she asked, her head cocked to one side.

Before you knew it, Karina was leading you upstairs. You barely had time to recognize that you were in Karina's room. She turned on a bit of soft light placed strategically underneath her bed so it wouldn’t blind either of you. “Do you want the rest of your prize?” she asked you. You nodded. Karina looked you up and down. “Then turn around,” she said. You did so, confused for a moment, but then you felt a tug on your corset. Karina was undoing your costume. She made quick work of the corset and your blouse, leaving you naked from the waist up. You felt her fingertips trail over your shoulders and down your arms, but just as soon as she was touching you, she stopped. You heard the sound of a zipper from behind you, and started to turn around.

“Ah, ah,” Karina said. “Not yet,” she said. You heard the sound of her dress fall to the floor and your heart skipped a beat in anticipation. Karina’s hands returned to your body as she gently slid down your maxi skirt and helped you out of your boots. Her fingers wandered back toward your neck to remove your pearl necklaces, but she left the black, lace collar. “Leave it,” she said when you brought a hand up to touch it. “I like it.” One of her hands gripped your waist while the other toyed with the black garter around your thigh. “Leave this, too…for now,” she murmured. Once the two of you were fully out of your costumes she pressed herself against you from behind. Her hands wandered over the front of your body and then suddenly, you felt it. You let out a small gasp. Karina was hard.

Giselle’s disco stick comment echoed in your ear for a moment. “Y/N?” Karina’s lips were near your ear, her voice soft. “Are you okay?”

You nodded wordlessly, resisting the urge to grind against her. Your mouth watered a little. “C-can I turn around yet?” you asked. Karina answered by physically turning your body to face her. You leaned in to kiss her immediately while also using one hand to reach forward, gingerly taking her cock in your hand. Karina moaned lightly as she kissed you, her hips jutting forward to meet your touch. The second Karina’s lips separated from yours, you dropped to your knees, curious to see what kind of other pretty sounds you could elicit from her. Karina let out a small huff of amusement, watching fixedly as you took her in your mouth.

“Eager, huh?” Karina murmured. Her teasing was short lived though as you bobbed your head on her length. You grew wet quickly, shifting your position a bit to try and relieve the ache between your thighs. Karina ran her hands through your hair, gathering it at the back of your head in a makeshift ponytail to keep it out of your face while you blew her. You quickly realized, though, her true intent was to be able to guide your mouth on her cock, testing to see how much you could handle. When she’d had enough, she pulled you up, only to push you back onto her bed a moment later.

You were immediately hit by a wave of her scent, and then she was on top of you. She backed up a little and then leaned down, using her teeth to slide your garter down your thigh. Soon, it joined the rest of your costume on the floor while moved up and closer to you, kissing her way from your waist to your neck. You shivered a bit at her light touch, your hands weaving through her hair as she went. She used her knees to spread your legs, then pinned one of your wrists down to the bed.

You wanted to hold Karina’s gaze when she finally slid into you, but after the first couple inches, your eyes rolled back and closed. Full . You were absolutely full of Karina. It took her a minute or so to bottom out in you. By the time she did, both of you were breathing heavily. You let out a tiny whimper the moment she started to move, and she consoled you with a few kisses while she slowly, slowly picked up speed.

You felt magnetized to Karina as her body pressed tightly against yours while she fucked into you. Your wetness soon made it easy for her to pump her slick cock into you, and Karina took advantage of that. Her hips slammed into you as she went even faster, burying her head in your neck while your free hand wandered and explored over her body.

You were lost in each other's rhythms and hungry, fervent sounds until suddenly, Karina slowed down significantly. “Shit,” she breathed, “Oh, fuck…” she pulled out quickly. She came on your near-ruined cunt, rope after rope of cum covering you. Watching her cum nearly sent you over the edge, but you knew you’d need more.

The two of you said nothing for a few moments as you caught your breath, trying to wrap your head around the night.

“Karina?” you said.

“Y/N?” she replied in the same tone as you.

“I’m…” you hesitated for a moment, but your aching cunt forced you to continue. “I’m on birth control– I mean, just so you know,” you said, your voice tapering off slightly.

Karina’s eyebrows flew up, but then she grinned. She gently flipped you onto your stomach, rearranging you so your ass was up toward her waist. “Hmm,” she said thoughtfully. “This time,” she said, lining herself up with your slick entrance, “I want you to touch yourself while I fuck you, okay?”

#aespa smut #GP!aespa #GP!Karina #aespa x fem reader #aespa imagines #anonymous #ask #answered

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avidfics · 10 months ago

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Moving On

summary: Soccer player abby finds out you're going on a date and is unhappy about it.

warnings: possessive abby; slightly mean; fluff; some suggestive content; kissing; thighs

a/n: happy new year! this is me manifesting a buff woman for 2024

abby let out a grunt as she pushed past a defensive player. There were only a few minutes left of soccer practice but she still had the energy to continue for another hour. Her team was in a good groove, the sun was out, and her girl was stopping by to chat after practice. She took a split second to squint against the sun to scan the crowd of spectators, and a wide smile broke across her face when she saw you, her girl, watching the practice by your parked car.

She might’ve begun going all out now that she knew you were watching. In the last minute, she helped her team gain another point. “Damn, Abby.” One of her teammates gave a sly look. “Trying to show off for your girlfriend or something?” The rest of her teammates laughed along. They knew you and abby weren’t technically an item, but everyone knew abby had claimed you and she didn’t see a need to correct them. “Nah, no showing off is necessary. My girl already knows I’m the best player on the field.” Her team playfully booed her off the field, as she grabbed her gear and jogged over to where you sat overlooking the field on the back of your pickup truck.

abby didn’t know if she was an ass or tits person, but when it came to you, she loved whatever piece of skin you showed for that day. And today? You wore skimpy gym shorts that had magically crawled up higher on your legs because of your seated position. The damn shorts were so tiny it exposed the flesh at the top of your thighs. She licked her lips as she desperately tried not to imagine taking the fat of your thighs in her rough hands and squeezing them, kissing them to discover any sensitive spots.

Luckily you hopped off the truck bed to greet her and she didn’t have to be distracted by the thought of plush thighs. “Great practice, abs!” You threw both arms around her bulky form in a hug and abby took full advantage, circling your waist and spinning you around. Her core tightened when your giggle sang out.

“Get a room!” The playful jeer is called out by her approaching teammates. “Y/N if you’re unsatisfied by abby and ever want to try another soccer player you just let us know.” You laugh at their exaggerated wink, not seeing abby shoot a hard look at her friends.

Without saying anything, she slings her arm over your shoulder, curling her body into yours in a possessive hold. Your checks flame at the intimate attention. “Please, we’re just friends. She gets enough attention from her fan club.” Even as you try to deny what’s obvious to everyone else, abby’s other hand starts to play with you in little ways that make your thoughts scramble, playing with the hoop of your earring, tugging on a piece of your hair, leaning her head against your head as if suddenly very tired.

You clear your throat and hope no one hears how loud your heart is beating. If it beated any faster you’d need an ambulance. “Actually, please wish me luck, I have a date tonight.”

The silence from the once rowdy group is deafening. Scarier is abby’s sudden frozen movements.

A timid “Congrats” from a teammate is sharply interrupted by the jarring laughter coming from abby. Her once warm presence leaves your side to pace in front of you. Her restless hands running over her ponytail, taking it down, and creating a tumble of hair onto her broad shoulders. “Is this a joke? Because you’ve been funnier.”

You straighten at the outlaudish way she’s questioning your approaching date. “This might be a shock but some people actually consider me desirable and want to date me.” For months you’d sent hints of your desiree for more to abby and in response she’d continue to keep you at arms length. The rejection, combined with the countless girls she actually did fuck, had finally pushed you to your limit so when a girl from another college asked you out, you gave in and said yes.

Her teammates left the escalating sitation in a noiseless retreat. Leaving only you, with wobbling knees, and a very pissed off team captain.

“People?” Narrow eyes make you advert your eyes. “You got a whole roster of people fucking you that I don’t know about?” Before you could stop you pushed at her chest, eyes wide in outrage.

The rebuff seemed to clear abby’s mind because an apology immediately floods out her mouth and she takes several deep breaths to clear her red vision.

Her kinder expression and domineering approaching steps causes you to retreat till your back is flush against your truck. abby’s entire frame blocks you in but she only give an impish smile as she takes both your hands within her grip, playfully yanking them behind her back. “Obviously I know you’re hot as fuck. That’s why I’m so concerned. Just tell me their name and I’d feel alot better about letting you go.”

Like you’d fall for that.

A small chuckle falls from your lips as you pull your hands away and scoot from under abby to get into your car. “abby you’re not ‘letting’ me go anywhere. I’m grown and your not getting their name to cyber stalk them. This is my date and what I decide to do with whoever is none of your concern.”

As you settled into the driver seat, abby began to panic as the feeling of control slipped out of her hands. She stopped the door before you fully closed it and yanked it back open. “Let me at least drive you to the restaurant.” she pleaded.

“None of your concern.” you sang as you moved to push her out the way. But before you could, a hard hand gripped the back of your neck and roughly brought your lips to hers. The shock kept you still as a statue but abby didn’t seem to mind as she took charge and sensuously moved her lips against yours. You could taste the remaining sweat from practice on her lips. Before pulling away she gave a quick swipe of her tongue against your bottom lip and gave a final goodbye peak to your still wet bottom lip. “You’ll always be my concern. Good luck on your date.”

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x female reader #abby tlou #abby anderson #abby anderson fic #abby x reader

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ajortga · 10 months ago

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fate ties two

pairing: jenna ortega x fem reader

based off a request i got! im so grateful for one of the parts i came up with on the spot, it really made me laugh thinking about it. requests will be open soon possibly, i have a few events this week but we'll see!

hey! i loved your recent fic but i totally misread the synopsis. do you think you could write a fic where jenna’s actually goes on a snack run with (or without it’s up to you) her sister to get what she wants but meets femreader!?

“Jenna! Get off the cart! Your hair is in the way and you’re too heavy!” Aliyah groaned, pushing the shopping cart that had some cilantro, avocado, cereal, and some peppa pig action figure.

“I just think you haven’t worked out your arms.”

“Are you calling my arms big?”

“Are you calling me big?” Jenna laughed, rolling her eyes as she got off the cart, just to jump back on it again.

“Jenna Marie Ortega!”

Aliyah eventually gave up, pushing the cart with the tiny brown-eyed girl in it as she walked to the produce section.

The short Ortega reached from the cart and grabbed a few kiwis and raspberries, letting it rest on her lap as she held it with her hands.

As the cart rolled and traveled along the store, Jenna’s eyes fell upon your figure as she was being rolled, your side profile struggling to reach up for snacks on the higher shelf. Your hair tucked behind your ear with hoop earrings on. Aliyah turned another corner before Jenna reached out to grasp her hand.

“Stop,” she says softly, her eyes not looking at her sister at all, sidetracked to the snack section, pointing.

Aliyah groaned again, “We just bought snacks five minutes ago, why are we back here?-”

“Shh..”

Aliyah pushed the cart and she could see the way your hair slowly swept with the push of the cart. Jenna found it adorable seeing the way you made small grunts reaching up.

She didn’t want to seem weird, but it seemed as if fate tied you two together. It felt awkward to admit that she's heard of invisible string. She just saw you standing there and somehow she could admire the way you were on your tippy toes.

As you reached and made small squeaks of annoyance, you heard her voice behind you, “Do you want me to help you?”

You stopped reaching as you turned, “Please.”

Jenna smiled, and now she was just realizing she was 2 inches shorter than you. She got an idea as Aliyah held her steady on the cart, standing on the part babies were supposed to sit on as she reached for your candy, (it was sour patch kids.)

She felt like her arm was stretching out, determined to at least impress you as she finally grasped onto the sour patch kids.

“Aliyah, okay I’m do- Aliyah! What are you doing!”

Her sister was distracted from grabbing some freeze dried strawberries, completely forgetting about how her sister was on top of the cart as Jenna yelled at her, “Oh shoot!”

The shopping cart began to shake as Jenna lost balance, her front smacking onto the cabinets as the snacks began to fall from the sky.

The candies fell like dominos one by one, as she lost more balance and began to fall, she could see the way you were trying to catch everything that fell. You caught it one by one with swift hands and throwing it back neatly onto the shelf as you made sure she didn’t get hurt when she fell.

Her back smacked against your figure, making a small "oomph" sound as you made a small cry of surprise, your head basically hitting the floor, snacks falling down as you began to laugh. You were squished with her body on top of you, panting lightly.

Aliyah was staring at you two, seeing the way how the aisle was basically not even an aisle anymore, her mouth open.

“Jesus.”

The small brunette untangled herself from you, the candy still in her hand as she placed it in yours. You three were picking up everything that fell, Aliyah snorting in laughter, your belly shaking from laughing.

“I think I have to pay for a new shelf," Jenna grumbled embarrassingly.

You giggled, brushing your shoulders, “I think I need to get to know you.”

“Jenna,” She smiled, writing numbers quickling onto a scrap.

“Y/N,” you smiled at her, “Thanks for the sour patch I owe you.”

Jenna scoffed playfully, “Thanks for being a cushion before I fell, could’ve busted my head open.”

The brown eyed girl handed you her number as you laughed, putting it in your pocket, “That’ll make up for it.” you said, giving her a sweet smile, putting back the last dropped item on the ground, giving her a small wave as you walked away.

Jenna looked at you as you walked away, a dreamy sigh escaping her lips as she covered her mouth immediately as she heard an annoyed groan.

“Ohh, so that’s why..” Aliyah said, giving Jenna a look asking her if she was actually serious.

“Shut ‘p.”

“Don’t tell me to be quiet, you almost killed that girl because you were too busy adoring her and not thinking when you thought you’d be her knight and shining armor. You almost cracked your skull!”

“But I didn’t! And I think I got something even better in exchange,” she added, looking down at her bracelet, a small crumpled piece of paper saying

you made my day faster than anyone else did and usually that’s really rare, thanks for giving me a laugh that I actually didn’t know i needed. i appreciate it and love to get to know you more.

Y/N ‪♡

+1 XXX-XXX-XXXX

"You are so strange," Aliyah said, making Jenna push her on the cart as punishment for basically being clumsy over one pretty stranger.

She never had sour patch kids, believe it or not, she usually just bought it for her siblings or would stash fruit like kiwi.

But that day, she grabbed it from the same place she fell, there was a bag of it that you put away in another section and she took it home that day. But what you didn’t know, even from when you two were dating now was that because of you, sour patch kids became her new favorite candy. Maybe that’s why you loved her a lot, she had the same favorite candy as you.

(You still didn’t know that Jenna discovered it because of you.)

#vada cavell x reader #jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega x y/n #vada cavell x y/n #jenna marie ortega

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bettyfrommars · 8 months ago

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Missed Connections

older!Eddie x f!Reader

We are in a new town with drifter!Eddie, he's in Oregon and it's the mid-2000's. He survived the Upside Down and has been traveling ever since, carrying his wounds with him. There is no "monster" action in this, as with the other drifter Eddie stories, there isn't even any smut, but I love thinking about him, and I wrote this purely for myself, and maybe two other people. Eddie is in his late 30's to early 40's, and reader is over 30.

18+ONLY, MDNI, mechanic!Eddie, alcohol consumption, mention of scars and depression, loneliness, mutual crush, surprise ending

wc: 1.6k

On the outskirts of town, just before you could catch the highway in either direction, there sat the only gas station for 20 miles. The tiny mom and pop market behind it housed various essentials including lottery tickets, deep fried corn dogs, and booze.

The liquor store was a separate entity, but a part of the same building, which made for one hell of a convenient stop, and over the past year, it had become a part of your routine to drop by after work every Friday.

It wasn’t long before you noticed him, the guy with the long hair and wallet chain with bats tattooed on his forearm. His work boots were scuffed, and he wore a long-sleeved flannel in the winter, but by the time spring came, his button-up, heather blue work shirts gave you a view of the rest of the ink and scar tissue covering his arms. One day, when he was going in, you were coming out, and he held the door for you. He had silver hair at his temples, and a thin white scar on his cheek that tugged down his eye a bit. The patch on his pocket said Eddie.

Another month of Fridays went by. You were lingering in front of the rows of bottles, humming to Hank Williams being played over the sound system, wondering if you wanted to try a new vodka. Maybe the coconut flavored one would change your life? A bit of fizz and perhaps you could close your eyes and pretend you were on that vacation you’d only been able to dream about for years.

“‘Scuze me,” the deep whisper was so close, it made your heart somersault.

It was that Eddie guy again, stretching his arm out long in front of you to grab a pint of Jameson. The fact that there was plenty of room for him to go around and get it without interacting was not lost on you. You took that opportunity to inhale a sharp breath, noting the hints of motor oil to match the dark stains under his fingers and in the creases of his knuckles. A touch of sandalwood softened with vanilla and nicotine, and a secret other thing you couldn’t put your finger on.

“My grandpa loved Jameson,” you mumbled, keeping your attention on the clear booze.

Eddie scowled curiously, searching your profile. “He had good taste.”

You offered a tight grin, not sure what else to add. You’d been alone for so long, you were starting to forget how to interact with people, but the clunky gears in your mind registered that he wasn't wearing a wedding ring. He did have a silver hoop piercing in one ear, though, and a few days' worth of scruffy beard growth.

It startled you to find him chilling on the sidewalk, lighting a smoke just outside the door.

“Have a nice night,” you hummed politely, beelining for your car.

The lit cigarette bounced between his lips as he spoke. “Same time, same place? Next Friday?”

With your driver’s door open in front of you like a shield, you paused to look at him. All the months you’d been crossing paths, you’d never caught him smiling before, but just then, one side of his mouth curled up and a dimple popped in his cheek. An unusual warmth crept through you, and you bobbed your head a few times to answer his question.

When you got home that night, you sat outside in your car and bawled into your open hands. Your life had been spiraling out of control for a while, and every so often the dam burst when you least expected it. You didn’t have any tissues in your car, so you blew your nose on an old fast food napkin and wished you could afford to relocate and start a new life. You wondered if Eddie was lonely, if he ever sat on the couch watching TV, wishing he had friends, wondering where all the years had gone.

You’d been wallowing so hard in your misery, you didn’t hear your mother stomp out onto the sidewalk. “ARE YOU COMING IN?” She shouted it, as if you were hard of hearing and had no neighbors. “The damn remote is broken or something. I can’t figure it out.”

Staring glassy-eyed at nothing, you took a deep, withering breath that made your lower lip tremble. Another weekly ritual of yours was to show your mother how to use the TV remote and listen to her tell you how tired you looked.

The next Friday, you were running late from work and only caught sight of Eddie driving out of the parking lot. It was then you realized that you didn’t really need anything at the market that day, so you wandered around for too long before settling on a Snapple and a few of their cheapest scratch tickets. You did not win anything.

He was late the next week, but your skin flushed with excitement when you caught sight of him zooming in off the main street in his beat-up work truck. When he came in, he scanned the store until he found you, and then you both picked up items nearby and pretended to be interested in them.

You shifted too close to one of the shelves and knocked a row of tampons to the ground, cursing as you fumbled to pick them up before anyone could stroll over to investigate.

When you stood to full height again, your Eddie had vanished. Maybe he’d gone to use the restroom, you had no clue, but now you had a box of super plus tampons in your hand that you actually needed to buy, along with a few other things in a shopping basket on your arm, and you wanted to check out before he returned.

Ten minutes later, he was still MIA.

What the hell were you planning to do, anyway? His truck was still there. Months of nothing but a few words and goofy stares was all it would ever be. Just a silly little corner market crush. Get over it.

You decided to start your car up and hit the road.

But your engine had other plans.

You pumped the gas a few times on the old Chrysler that used to be your grandmother’s, asking for her help from beyond the grave.

“Please, please,” watching the door to see who was coming out, you tried the ignition again.

The engine cranked a bit, and then nothing.

You tucked your chin to your chest, about to lose your shit right there at the corner market parking lot.

But then

there was a knuckle tap at your window, and for some reason, you weren’t surprised to see Eddie standing there. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail that day and he was still wearing coveralls like he’d been in such a hurry to leave work and had no time to change. Chocolate eyes were concerned as he made the universal sign for you to roll your window down.

“Won’t start?” He rested his hand on your side mirror. “Want me to take a look at it?”

One thing about you, it was nearly impossible to accept help of any kind, especially from strangers.

“No, I—” you tried the key again, knowing you’d get the same result. “I’m sure you have other places to be.”

“I got no place to be, I promise you,” he wanted to help, but he was also weary not to force himself and make you uncomfortable. “I’d be happy to help.”

“I’ll just call triple A,” you flashed a nervous smile.

“If you’re sure,” he bit his top lip and gave an awkward thumbs up before heading back.

Eddie sat back in his truck a second and thought about it. It didn’t take long for him to jump back out and go over to offer you the use of his flip phone, in case you didn’t have one. Maybe he’d think of some other clever thing to say, but probably not.

He found you in the same position, both hands gripping the wheel, a catatonic look on your face.

“Hey,” he waved as if it were the first time seeing each other that day.

“Hey,” you gulped. “I’m really glad you came back.”

“You are?” He cocked his head, jaw muscles tightening.

“Yeahhhh. I don’t have triple A,” you let out a strangled, self-deprecating laugh.

“Is the engine turning over at all?”

You bit the inside of your cheek and shook your head, and by the expression on his face, you could tell that was not a good thing.

With a deep breath, he glanced from you to the hood of the car, hooking a thumb into his pocket. “Well, we might have to tow it to the shop so I can get a better look at it there.”

“I appreciate it, but I can’t afford—”

“It’s on me,” he shoved both hands all the way in his pockets then. “The guy that owns the shop, he owes me a favor.”

Fucking right Lou owed him a favor. He owned him like 20. He'd been busting his nut sixty hours a week, while simultaneously keeping quiet about the illegal chop shop that Lou ran out of his second garage. Not to mention Eddie had never asked for a handout or so much as a day off in the eighteen months that he'd been there. Plus, Lou did not want to meet Eddie's bad side.

"I can change your oil, rotate your tires, make sure everything else is running okay."

You sought his eyes for reassurance. The neglected heart inside of you didn’t know what to do with the generosity.

You were grateful he'd opted not to lift up your hood right then and there. It would've been pretty easy for him to sleuth out that the distributor cap was missing, and those didn't just vanish out of thin air. For now, it was in your bag, and you'd find a way to get it back on eventually.

“Do you want to wait here while I go and get the tow truck, or do you want to ride with me? I'd love to buy you dinner, if you're hungry."

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson fic #Eddie Munson lives #drifter!Eddie #older!Eddie #mechanic Eddie

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acewritesfics · 1 year ago

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He Is A Beautiful Man | Bradley Bradshaw

⚠️ THIS IS A REPOST FROM MY MAIN BLOG @/DLMLUFICS. MORE INFO IN MY PINNED POST.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Seresin!Reader

Request: from @rainydayteacups

Prompt: "You're staring."

Warnings: Fluff. Mentions of Hangman x Phoenix pairing. Summer fling. Two fools falling in love hard and fast.

Word Count: 1,777

Tag List: Open - acewritesfics taglist sign up

Top Gun: Maverick Masterlist

©️ no one has permission to copy, translate and/or repost my works on here or anywhere else.

"Hey sis, I hope you packed your cowboy boots because we're going dancing tonight," Jake calls out to Y/N as he walks through the front door of the beach house she's leased for the summer.

While he's stationed in San Diego, he persuaded her to come spend her summer under the Californian sun. Despite being nothing alike, the Seresin siblings are close, and she couldn't pass up the chance to spend the summer at the beach with her brother.

"When are we leaving?" she asks as she walks out of her bedroom.

He informs her, "You've got an hour to get ready."

Y/N spends the next hour showering and getting ready for the bar that Jake plans to take her to. She wears a short-sleeved black dress that is adorned with tiny pink and white flowers. The skirt of the dress flowed freely over her thighs and ended just above her knees, while the top of the dress hung loosely from her shoulders. She wears it with a belt that is the same dark brown color as her cowboy boots, which were a birthday gift from Jake two years prior.

She leaves her hair alone, not bothering to do anything special with it, and then applies a little make-up, aiming for a "no make-up" make-up look before putting on her jewelry. Her jewelry included a set of small, hooped earrings, her watch, a bracelet, and her horseshoe pendant necklace, which she wore every day.

"Are you ready to go?" Jake inquires, standing at the doorway as she clips her earrings into her earlobes

She nods and retrieves her clutch from her bed, double-checking it before following him out of the little two-bedroom beachfront bungalow. "Where are we heading tonight?"

He sheepishly answers, "The Hard Deck."

After being here for 10 weeks, she gives him a little smack on the arm as they arrive at her rental. "Here you were getting me all excited that we were going someplace new, finally asking me if I packed my boots because we're going dancing."

"I thought you loved the Hard Deck," he chuckles as he takes her keys and walks over to the driver's side. When he's around his sister, his country twang always comes out more strongly. "Oh, I'm sorry I forgot, you like going there to see the rooster that's there."

"Bless your tiny little heart, Jake Seresin. How's Natasha doing, by the way? Have you chased her away with your oversized ego yet?" she retaliates as she climbs into the passenger seat. He glares at her, shaking his head, as he climbs into the driver's seat and drives to the navy bar they frequented.

"You're staring," Y/N hears Natasha say from beside her as they're sat at a table watching Jake, Bradley and a few of the others around the pool table.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she denies glancing at her before returning her gaze to Bradley and raising her bottle of beer to her lips to take a drink. "He is a beautiful man," she continues, not denying that she finds him attractive.

Natasha scoffs, smirking at her and says, "Oh please, you and Rooster haven't exactly been subtle."

"I didn't think we were trying to be," she replies, looking back at her new friend, who just so happens to be her brother's fellow naval aviator and girlfriend. "How are you and Jake doing?"

Natasha looks across the bar at her Jake, smiling from ear to ear, "We're doing great."

With a tinge of seriousness, Y/N jokes, "It's nice he finally has someone who can keep him and his ego in check."

Natasha was the first of her brother's girlfriends she loved and got along well with. Before realizing he felt serious feelings for Natasha, Jake didn't have the greatest taste in women often going for ones that didn't have many brain cells and stroked his already massive ego.

The navy pilot beams, "I'm glad I have your approval."

They tap the necks of their beer bottles together in cheers before taking another drink. Natasha turns to face the men after noticing a woman who wasn't wearing a navy uniform stroking Bradley's arm. She looks past the woman, seeing Jake's scowl as he eyes the hand that doesn't belong to his sister.

"Are you going to let her know that he's already taken?" Natasha asks, gesturing towards Bradley and the unknown woman.

When Bradley shrugs the woman's hand off his arm and says something to her, Y/N knows that Bradley has it handled. "I don't have to, but I'm going to make it known."

As a slow song starts playing on the jukebox, she gets out of her chair, leaves her empty bottle on the table, and walks towards Bradley. She approaches him and places a hand on his shoulder getting his attention as she stands in front of him. He hands Bob the pool cue and moves his hands to her hips, tugging her closer.

"Dance with me?" she asks, looking up at him through her lashes.

"With you, always," he replies and takes her hand, leading her onto the small area that's cleared for a dance floor in front of the jukebox.

Standing in front of her, Bradley moves wraps an arm around her waist, placing his large hand on the small of her back as the other takes her hand in his and holds it to his chest. He pulls her close as she lays her free hand on his shoulder and starts swaying to the music.

Never did she think coming to California would lead her into the arms of her brother's 'friendly' rival. From the moment Jake, reluctantly, introduced them, she knew her, and Bradley would become great friends. Little did she know that they would become more than that.

She wasn't in San Diego two weeks when Bradley asked her to dinner, ignoring Jake's threats of shooting down his jet if he even dared touch his sister. Jake tried to convince her that Bradley only asked her on a date to spite him but once he realized that there was no stopping the two, he gave up. But that didn't mean he didn't keep a close eye on them.

The more time Y/N spent with Bradley, the more she could feel herself falling in love with him. She tried to stop it, but it was impossible. Both her and Bradley had agreed that this would be a summer fling but the thought of leaving to go back to Texas in two weeks made her heart hurt.

"What's on your mind, sweetheart?" she hears Bradley voice cut through her thoughts. She looks up at him, her eyes meeting his pretty ones.

"Let's go for a walk along the beach," she says stepping out of his hold, keeping their hands interlocked as she pulls him out the bar doors.

As they walk along the beach, Bradley lets go of her hand and slings his arm across her shoulders and pulls her to his side. Y/N reaches her hand up, covering his hand with her own.

"What's got you so quiet?" he asks after a few minutes of them walking in silence, the only sound coming from the crashing of the waves and the music slowly fading in the background as they move further away from the bar.

"I don't want this to end," she tells him looking towards the beach, not wanting him to see her sadness as she is thinking about her approaching departure date.

"Who says it has too?" he asks her as he stops walking and turns her around. Placing a finger under her chin, he tilts her head up, so she'll look at him. "Who says it has to end?"

"I'm leaving in two weeks," she reminds him.

"Cancel your flight," he says like it's the simplest thing to do.

"I can't just cancel my flight," she says as though it's the most difficult thing to do.

"Why not?" he asks. "We can find you a house here. You're self-employed so you don't need to find a new job. You'll be closer to Jake and Nat and this," he pauses, pulling her closer and buries his head in the crook of her neck, his lips brushing against her sweet spot, his moustache tickling her skin. A soft and pleasurable sigh leaves her lips as she runs her hands through his curls, before gently tugging his head back. He smiled, seeing that her eyes had closed as she enjoyed his affection and planted a soft kiss to her lips. "doesn't have to end," he finishes when he pulls away.

Her eyes flutter open, and she bites the inside of her cheek as she thinks about what he's said. He did make a very convincing point.

"How can I say no to that?" she asks, a lazy smile on her lips as she looks up at him.

"You can't," he says, pecking her lips.

"Want to get out of here?" she asks, running her hands down his chest.

"You know I do," he says stepping back from her and takes her hand, leading her back the way they came.

Y/N giggles against Bradley's lips as they stumble through the door to her rented beach house.

"Sorry," he mumbles against her lips, kissing her hungrily.

"No, you're not," she chuckles after breaking the kiss, stepping away from him. "There's one thing I need to do before this goes any further," she continues, holding her hand against his chest to stop him from advancing on her.

Y/N turns on her heel, taking her phone out of her clutch, dropping the clutch to the floor as she pulls up her flight info. Bradley comes up behind her, his hands on her hips as he places soft kisses along her shoulder and up her neck to her ear. She bites her lip, stopping the moan of pleasure from escaping as she tilts her head giving him more access.

"What are you doing?" he asks, his warm breath hitting her ear and sending a shockwave down her spine.

"I think you know what I'm doing," she smiles as he rests his head on her shoulder, watching her finger hover over the cancel option before pressing it and confirming it. She turns back around to face him, dropping her phone on the couch before wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "After all it was you who convinced me to do it."

"No regrets," he smiles and kisses her again, as he lifts her off the floor and wraps her legs around his waist. Walking them into her bedroom, he kicks the door shut.

TAGGED: LINK TO TAG LIST SIGN-UP ABOVE.

#acewritesfics repost #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader

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drewsbuzzcut · 1 year ago

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73 Questions With The Barzals

mat barzal x model!fem!reader

a visceral in doses fic (the vogue series)

warnings: mentions giving birth, reader and Mat slap each other’s ass, alludes to sex, and I think that’s all

You look at your appearance in your mirror strategically placed by the entrance. You fix your hair that’s in its familiar messy updo, your favorite silver hoop earrings on display.

You smooth out your dark blue pullover (that was Mat’s) and adjust your light grey, cotton shorts. Your outfit is very simple and casual, probably too simple and casual for the video you’re about to film, but when you’ve just given birth not too long ago, comfort is what matters most.

The knock on your front door gathers your attention, you take deep breaths, mentally preparing for this vogue interview. You know your fans and Mat’s fans will be excited to hear your answers to some of the questions and get a tour of one of your homes.

Your face lights up in a smile upon opening your door, “hi!”

You’re leaned up against the doorframe, ultimately blocking the view inside of your home, but it gives the cameraman a perfect shot of some of your home’s exterior.

“Hi, y/n! Thank you so much for having me over,” Joe Sabia greets.

“Of course!”

“Can I just say that you have a beautiful home, and especially for it being your Italy home,” Joe gushes, looking around in awe.

“Thank you so much! That’s one of my favorite compliments because Mat and I have put so much into this place to make it our home away from home,” you can hear the warmth and appreciation in your voice.

“Can we go on in?”

“Yes, please come in,” you move to the side, allowing Vogue’s crew to come in.

“How does it feel to be added to the list of celebrities doing Vogue’s 73 questions?”

“I am excited and honored. I know Mat’s excited, too,” you answer and move to your kitchen.

“Why the color green for your kitchen?”

“Ugh I just love the color green. My kitchen in our first New York home was green, and it was my favorite, but then we moved into a bigger home and I decided to not have it green. That’s why this kitchen is extra special to me. Plus, this kitchen holds a lot of memories,” you smile, thinking about everything that’s happened in this kitchen.

“That’s sweet. What’s the first memory of this kitchen that pops in your head?”

“Earlier this week! I was in here, cutting up some fruit for the boys and they were supposed to be in the family room with Mat just playing with toys, but Angel walked to the kitchen. It was his first steps and I just remember calling out for Mat and Angel walking to him as well. We were crying messes,” you recall.

“Congratulations to your son, I know moments like those are the most special. Speaking of children and special moments, you just welcomed your third baby and first girl into the world about a month ago. Congratulations to you.”

“Yes, thank you. She’s my special girl and she’s so spoiled already, especially with Mat.” Your cheeks get rosy, feeling an overwhelming amount of love fill your heart at the thought of Mat being the best dad he is.

“What’s something you learned when you became a parent?”

“Responsibility. It’s easy to lose a handle on yourself and life when you’re solo, so when you have other humans to take care of, you learn more about what responsibility looks like.”

“Favorite summer drink?”

“A very cold glass of water or a cherry limeade,” you laugh at the random question.

“Mama!!” You grin when you hear Nolan’s shout, knowing he’s about to jump into your arms and cling to you.

When you see him running towards you, you prepare for his tiny impact and easily lift him up. You push his hair out of his face, but it’s no use as he hides in your neck.

“My big boy! Wanna say ‘hi’ to the camera?” You rub softly on his back, feeling him melt into your touch much like Mat does when you embrace him after a tough game or a long roadie.

“Hi,” he says shyly.

“I want daddy,” he adds in, hands on your cheeks. He gives you those big puppy eyes.

“Daddy?” Your youngest son, Angel waddles around, interest piqued at the mention of his father.

“Y’all want to see daddy? Well, I guess it’s time to take a detour outside,” you say to the camera before telling them to follow you to the back.

The camera captures you holding both your boys while also grabbing the baby monitor, so you can keep an ear out for Sloane as she’s napping. You walk with an effortless strut even though your feet haven’t touched a runway in months.

When you step onto the warm cobblestone of your back patio, the camera gets a view of your boys wiggling in your hold. They press quick kisses to your cheeks, something Mat taught them to do whenever they were leaving your presence, and beelined straight into Mat’s thick legs. He is pining clothes to dry, but the minute the pitter-patters reach his ears, he’s all focused on his babies.

You stand by, enjoying Mat as he’s shirtless in all his beautiful glory. Your eyes sparkle with love when you watch him pick up both boys with ease. Your eyes also glimmer with tones of want as you see the way his muscles flex and veins bulge out from underneath his skin.

The sweet giggles coming from Nolan and Angel pull you towards them. Mat’s tickling their stomach, simply unaware that there are cameras near.

He finally looks up, connecting eyes with you. You smile and tilt your head towards the cameras and he just nods, beckoning you closer to him.

“Mat, it’s nice to see you man,” the interviewer breaks the silence.

“Hey, guys. Welcome to our home,” Mat greets, handing Nolan into your arms so he can wrap his hand around your waist.

“Y/n, what’s your favorite thing about Mat becoming a dad?”

“He’s so gentle, not that he wasn’t ever gentle with me, he was, but he is such a big softie for his babies. He’s also really matured, it’s fascinating seeing him learn something new everyday,” you answer with sincerity and a loving gaze locked on his shy smile. Mat stays quiet, kissing Angel on his temple before reaching over to kiss you and Nolan.

“Mat, what’s your favorite thing about seeing y/n become a mom?”

“I get to witness the force of nature that is my wife. The way she takes care of all of us, and just struts her way through. She makes it look so easy, so I guess that’s why I love to see her in action because I know raising children isn’t easy.”

Your cheeks heat up and you make your way to Mat, hugging his body to yours.

Mat kisses your cheek, choosing to ignore the cameras capturing your pda, and whispers in your ear that he’s going to check on Sloane. Choosing to ignore the camera’s presence as well, you give him a chaste kiss on the lips and slap his ass as he goes upstairs.

“Sorry. I get so caught up in Mat sometimes everything else disappears,” you admit shyly, fingers lingering on your lips.

“It’s okay. The rawness is good. So, New York or Italy?”

“New York!”

“Favorite tattoo?”

“I have quite a few favorites. Firstly, my “angel” and “Nolan” tattoos are ones I adore. I also love the “13” I have for Mat. I also love my cherry tattoo, it’s my first one I ever got. Lastly, my “divine feminine” tattoo because Mat loves tracing that one all the time,” you explain.

“Oh! I almost forgot, I’m getting a tattoo for my daughter soon, so that’ll be another favorite,” you add.

“Biggest fear?”

“It used to be heights, but since becoming a wife and mother, my biggest fear is my husband or children getting hurt. However, I’m still scared of heights. Becoming a mom has made me much stronger, but I’m no superhero.”

“I beg to differ,” Mat chimes in, coming down the stairs with your newest bundle of joy nestled in his strong arms.

“Is that my precious baby girl?! It is,” you say before turning your attention to the camera. “This is the first glimpse that the public is getting of her and we’re excited!” You rub your nose against her baby smooth cheek, inhaling her scent.

“Everyone, this is Sloane Augustine Barzal,” Mat introduces Sloane. The camera zooms in on her sweet face. She’s barely awake, but her grasp on Mat’s finger doesn’t let up.

“She’s adorable, guys,” the man compliments.

“Thank you. I think she looks just like barzy,” you say.

“Why the name Sloane?”

“Mat is actually the one who chose the name. We both made a list of S names and he chose Sloane,” you explain.

You guide everyone back outside to sit on the outside furniture. You and Mat are on a couch in front of the camera, Nolan and Angel sitting next to you playing with some toys while Sloane stays tucked in Mat’s arms.

“Mat, what are you looking forward to in the future?”

Mat looks up, pondering his answer before saying, “seeing how tall Nolan gets!” Mat jokes which make you giggle and card your fingers through Nolan’s hair. He’s getting so big and you can’t stop time. “No I look forward to the little mundane things. For example, Y/n and I taking our kids on vacation, or just even having pregame naps in our bed. I sound like a sap, but ever since becoming a father, they’re the only ones I think about when I think of my future,” Mat finishes, making you look at him with a loving look.

“What’s your favorite photo shoot?”

Excitement takes over your features, your body sits up straighter and your eyes light up.

“The one I did for Rolling Stone! I got to dress up in super fun outfits! And most importantly, Mat joined me on that one and it was just a sexy time,” you peer up at Mat, hand finding its place on the back of his neck, and you smirk at him while the flashbacks of that day pop in your head. He matches your smirk and rests his arm around the tops of your shoulders.

“That was a fun time. A time when I truly understood how much fun it can be to change your wardrobe or hairstyle,” Mat says.

“Don’t go getting any ideas about another haircut,” you tease, resulting in him pinching you lightly.

“Can I just compliment your relationship? I can see how genuine the love is and the bond between your family. It’s really refreshing,” the interviewer says sincerely.

“Thank you so much. That means a lot,” you reply and Mat agrees.

“What’s something you wouldn’t change about the past?”

“The way Mat and I communicated in the early stages of our relationship. It really helped us grow as people and as partners. I know there are people who wish they were more communicative, but I appreciate the time and effort we both took to learn how to properly talk with each other. No one really knows that we had a communication issue in our relationship, so I won’t get into great detail,” you rant a little.

“We were good at feeling a lot of emotions, but bad at expressing them verbally with each other. I’m so glad that she was willing to have patience with me in the beginning of our relationship,” Mat adds in, shining the tiniest bit of light on a major relationship issue you’ve had in the past.

“I like that answer. Thank you for being honest.”

You nod your head and give an appreciative smile.

“Favorite memory of Italy?”

The way both Mat’s and your face light up is all telling about how in tune you are with each other.

“The first time we came to Italy together. It’s cliche, but I just knew Mat was my person.” You reach out to caress Mat’s cheek, falling more in love when he nuzzles into the warmth of your palm.

“It’s true! Italy is a place that will always feel like home, and bringing Y/n was allowing her to build a home in my heart. It was such a fun trip. We got to learn about each other more while experiencing new things together. I will never forget that feeling of intense love. It’s even more special that we get to bring our kids here and have a home here.”

You start to tear up, immediately pulling Angel into your lap so you can hide your face in his soft hair. You make sure to give him multiple kisses. This, however, makes Nolan just a tad jealous, so he moves to wrap his arms around your shoulders and gives you kisses on the cheek.

“We feel left out,” Mat breaks you out of your kiss attack, leaning towards you to kiss you on the lips. For the sake of the cameras you keep it soft and quick, but it’s also quick so you can give kisses to Sloane.

“We’re nearing the end of this interview. It’s been a lovely one. I will be the first to say I don’t want this to end.”

“Aww thank you for being an incredible interviewer and for picking my brain. This has been a delight.”

“Okay! Favorite material thing?”

“My wedding rings. Hands down. It’s so special to me, especially because Mat designed it himself. Little fun fact: my wedding band has the initials of each kid engraved on the inside,” you gush.

“Mat, please do tell us the story of why you designed her ring the way you did.”

Mat’s face goes red in a flush, getting shy at the world finding out how sentimental he really is.

“It wasn’t hard. Two diamonds being joined together: toi et moi (you and me) and I love the concept. Plus, I know Y/n loves rings, so I had to make sure the diamonds were Y/n’s favorite shapes. The wedding band itself is simple. Although I had Nolan’s initial engraved already, the other two were just added at later times. As for the other band of smaller diamonds, I picked out for our first wedding anniversary, symbolizing the many moments that will forever be on the forefront of my brain and heart,” you want to squeal and lunge yourself into Mat’s arms. He is such a sweetie. You love him so much.

“That’s really sweet.”

“He’s a sap and I love him for it,” you muse, knowing Mat will roll his eyes even though he’ll blush more.

“This is our final question, so I’ll make it an easy one. What is your favorite room in this house?”

“Easy? That’s a hard question! Oh… I don’t know. I love my babies’ rooms, but my closet is the first thing to come to mind. I do love my kitchen so much, but I already talked about that, so I’ll say my closet,” you claim.

“She loves spending hours in there,” Mat chimes in, throwing you a teasing wink.

“I am grateful for everything I own, so that means I admire all my items. I’m a material girl at heart, so yes I do love spending hours in my closet to organize or just to simply admire. You spend a while in your closet, too, hotshot,” you tease back.

“I love the harmless banter. Guys, this has been incredible. Your home is lovely as well as you all. Thank you for having us in your home and for being so welcoming,” the interview closes the interview.

“Thank you for having us. It’s an honor to do this interview. I had a good time. I hope there will be more Vogue interviews in my future,” you say back, smiling your signature smile.

It’s around 30 minutes after you bid your goodbyes to the cameras that they’re turned off, and you’re once again biding your goodbyes.

When the house is calm and just your family, Mat pulls you into a deep kiss, making sure to dip his tongue into your waiting mouth.

“I have been wanting to do that the whole time,” he whispers against your lips.

“So why didn’t you?” You tease, nipping at his bottom lip and pulling a groan from him.

“I wouldn’t have been able to stop,” he says surely.

“It would’ve been a whole different kind of video,” you muse, smirking up at him while your arms are resting over his shoulders.

“No doubt and that content is for our eyes only.”

You decide against saying anything back, just leaning up to kiss him again. Sloane has other plans, though. Her cries ring throughout the house, bouncing off the walls.

“That’s your daughter,” you playfully chide.

“Your daughter.”

“She’s the result of you not knowing how to keep your hands off me,” you bite back.

“No. More like the other way around,” Mat replies, tickling you on your stomach.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, hotshot,” you whisper against his lips, not kissing him and running to get Sloane, but not before he sends you with a smack on your ass.

a/n: FINALLY! The first part of the vogue series is here, and I hope you all enjoy it.

#mat barzal #mat barzal fanfiction #mat barzal angst #mat barzal blurb #mat barzal smut #mat barzal fluff #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #new york islanders #visceral in doses #vogue series

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notapaladin · 7 months ago

Text

wishes and horses and all the king's men

Lieutenant Malavai Quinn had once been foolish enough to believe in heroes. That was before he was trapped on Balmorra for ten years, where the Resistance undermines his Empire, his superiors are more interested in lining their own pockets than doing their jobs, and any hopes for the future are ground into dust before they can take wing. And then Lord Baras's new apprentice walks into his life.

or, quinn experiences the results of meeting the LS sith warrior (confusion, doubt, renewed sense of hope/purpose, falling at least a little in love, etc)

Also on AO3!

“If that’s your best, you’re useless to me. I can shoot you dead with a clear conscience. Is that what you want?”

“N-no, sir, sorry, sir—”

“Then focus, Jillins. Dismissed.”

Lieutenant Malavai Quinn has not been having a good day. Quite frankly, he has not been having a good decade, not since Druckenwell and Broysc and being relegated to this absolute shiteheap of a planet. He would not consider himself a particularly violent man, but this latest—incompetence of Corporal Jillins has pushed him dangerously close to the edge. His fellow officers are already useless at best and actively a hindrance at worse—he’d suspect some of them of treason, except he’s not sure even the Resistance deserves them—and now this? This? On the day Darth Baras’s new apprentice is set to arrive? She will be here any minute, and hardly anything is prepared—he’s going to offend a Sith—

He doesn’t put a hand on his blaster, but he is sorely, sorely tempted. Right, he thinks. Breathe. Ignore the pounding in your temples, the ache in your back that never goes away because the bunks here are apparently made of ferrocrete, the way you can feel yourself shrinking, rotting with each new dawn on this fucking planet. Breathe.

With the effort he’s spending reeling in his temper, he barely registers the approaching footsteps—low-heeled boots, plenty of traction, a light and easy tread. (In the years to come, he will be embarrassed by this.) He does, however, notice the voice. Low, feminine, a little husky—and hesitant, as though its owner thinks he’s going to snap at them, too.

“...I am not sure I particularly want to know what he did.”

He has an audience, and he’s already been rude. He exhales sharply, draws himself up, and turns to face the speaker. He represents the Empire and Lord Baras in all things. He will be professional.

His mind immediately divides into two. The cool, analytical part notes the physical features of the woman standing before him and extrapolates conclusions. Human, roughly 1.6 meters tall, medium-dark brown skin, impractically long white hair put up in a bun that makes it practical again. Scarring on throat and jaw consistent with strangulation, possibly responsible for the roughness in her voice. Twin lightsabers at her hips, ornate gold handguards gleaming. Pale yellow eyes. This, then, must be Baras’s new apprentice. Lady Yaellia, only child of House Ivros, twenty-two years old and recently graduated from the Korriban academy. At her age, he’d thought he’d had the world at his feet too. Of course, she’s probably going to turn out to be right, if she doesn’t turn out dead instead. At least she will have had glory first. It doesn’t matter; she is Sith, and his role is to serve.

The rest of it feels as though it’s been punched, because Lady Yaellia is stunning. He is no blushing virgin; he’s met his fair share of attractive people. (Not many, since Druckenwell. Poor lieutenants are not attractive prospects. Still.) But the red-and-white synthleather suit she’s wearing does not leave very much of her figure to the imagination, even if the only actual exposed skin is her collarbones. She has the muscles of a gymnast and the sort of thighs he is quite certain he could die happily between. Her mouth is almost distractingly full, moreso because she’s clearly forgone the elaborate makeup many Sith favor. There are tiny gold hoops in her ears and eyebrows that glitter as they catch the light, but they aren’t as bright as the eyes now locked on his.

Normally, eye contact would be near-painful—metaphorically if not literally, for among Sith it’s generally taken as a challenge. Normally, he focuses on peoples’ ears or eyebrows or interesting things just over their shoulders. But he holds her gaze for longer than two heartbeats and doesn’t want to look away. He’s as Force-sensitive as a brick, but her lips are parted and there’s a faint flush on her cheeks and he doesn’t need the Force to realize—

To realize it’s been a millisecond too long, and bow deeply before this can get awkward. More awkward. “I—apologize for the delay, my lord. Lieutenant Malavai Quinn. I’m to be your liaison here on Balmorra.”

She smiles. Or at least makes an expression that passes for a smile. “Apprentice Yaellia. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I hope to leave you in a better mood than that unfortunate young man back there.”

“Well, as long as you don’t piss in his cereal...” mutters the Twi’lek lounging against the doorway.

Malavai’s gaze snaps to her. Lord Baras’s communique had mentioned a slave, but no other identifying details. Looking at this alien, he can’t see any signs of servitude. She is tall and rangy and blue-skinned and notably not wearing a collar, though there are faint scars around her neck where one once lay. Her clothes are serviceable browns and tans with plenty of pockets, but he spots a name brand belonging to a high-end Kaas City sporting goods store. She is also wearing a headband in what he’s always privately thought to be the ugliest shade of chartreuse imaginable. Most importantly, she is carrying two blasters and dares to speak to a Sith as an equal. He grinds his teeth.

Lady Yaellia flushes harder and huffs, “Vette! Unhelpful!” And then she turns back to Malavai, clearing her throat with a faint wince. “Lieutenant Quinn, this...is Vette. My friend. Anything you have to say to me can be passed on to her as well.”

It is a decidedly odd exchange. He pushes it aside to be examined later at his leisure. “Understood, my lord. Lord Baras will brief you personally, but I’m to acquaint you with the climate here on Balmorra first.”

“By all means, go ahead. Ah—one moment—” He’s so unprepared for the sight that it takes him a moment to register the sight of her, not the alien, pulling out a datapad and stylus in clear preparation to take notes before flashing him a quick, encouraging smile that does something very strange to his chest. “I’m waiting.”

He tells her. It is...strange. Certainly not bad, but strange. He’s never had a Sith listen so intently and yet so politely. She asks clarifying questions and once or twice requests that he repeat things “a little more slowly, please, I—ah,” and a vague gesture at her ears that has him wondering if she has hearing problems even as his mind reels at hearing a Sith say please. She is either genuinely enthusiastic about this mission or a very, very good actress. She does not once make eye contact.

And then Lord Baras calls. He is excused. Whatever the details of the Sith’s true mission, it’s not for him to know.

But he stands just on the other side of the door, ears tuned to the sound of her voice—yes, my lord, of course, my lord, as you wish, my lord, meek and deferential as is proper—and his stomach drops as he remembers the briefing he’s read. She’ll be taking out the satellite control tower in the Markaran Plains, a veritable deathtrap of mechanical security. She is Sith, but...she is one woman. He doubts his aid will make a difference in her chances of survival.

Regardless, he must do his duty. He gathers his equipment before he is summoned back into the room, and this time he does not look at her face. She’s almost certainly going to die anyway. “My lord, I've prepared what you need for your assault. In order to destroy the mainframe, you'll mount this charge to the base and activate it. Then contact me for detonation.”

She studies the explosive charge he’s given her. He’d thought it was fairly small, but it takes both hands for her to hold it properly. “If it can be detonated remotely, couldn’t I do it? I’m sure you have more interesting things to do.”

He really doesn’t. More to the point, he’s quick to explain, “It would be safer if you were as far away as possible, my lord. There will be very little time to flee once it is armed.”

She hums thoughtfully, still looking at the charge and not at him. “I am very fast. But you are right. And...um. It is good of you to consider my safety, Lieutenant.”

His face goes hot. “Think nothing of it, my lord. It is my duty. Will you be leaving immediately?”

She shakes her head. “I’ve been requested to liaise with a Lieutenant Davrill regarding another operation. I’ll be around for a short while.” And then she half-turns to go, before pausing to focus her gaze on him. Well, on the Imperial flag behind his desk, but roughly in his direction. “One more question, if you don’t mind. Do you know an intelligence officer by the name of...Breerden?”

“Breerdin,” the Twi’lek corrects.

Yaellia coughs. “Yes. Him.”

He tries to keep his face impassive, but his lip curls anyway. “I have heard of him, my lord. Might I ask why?”

Immediately, he realizes he probably shouldn’t have asked that question. Not when it makes her eyes narrow and her back stiffen as she says crisply—coldly—“He wanted me to hush up the accidental death of a Chiss delegate by an Imperial officer. He offered to pay me to keep quiet about it. I want to know who to file a complaint with.”

For a moment, all he can do is blink at her. Sith do not file complaints. Not when they have lightsabers and the Force to do it for them. And they certainly have never lowered themselves to care about the rampant corruption and flouting of duties that is par for the course here on Balmorra. Particularly not when that corruption could be presented as necessary for Imperial interests—and he has no doubt Breerdin, the swine, did exactly that. “Uh,” he says finally. “That would be Major Bessiker, my lord. But there is no reason to trouble yourself; I can file the necessary datawork for you.”

She shakes her head firmly. “I’ll do it. He will listen to me.”

He won’t listen to you, Malavai hears. It’s the truth, but it still stings. “...Understood, my lord. Will that be all?”

Strangely, there’s color in her cheeks again. “Um. Yes. Thank you. I’ll be in touch.”

Only when she’s well and truly out of his office, with the door shut behind her—and he keeps his gaze firmly on the back of her head while she leaves, thank you very much—does he let himself fall out of parade rest and into his chair. For thirty-two seconds, he sits there and thinks.

This, then, is his lord’s apprentice. What a strange Sith.

(Quite unbeknownst to him, that strange Sith steps into the hallway and immediately grabs Vette’s arm, her eyes wide. “Vette.”

Vette raises an eyebrow, lekku curling warily. “Yeah?”

She takes a deep breath and blurts out, all in a rush, “Please, please tell me I sounded normal in there.”

The Twi’lek rolls her eyes. “You sounded fine. Why?”

Seemingly at a loss for words, Yaellia gestures back at Lieutenant Quinn’s closed door and makes a frustrated grumbling noise before finally spitting out, “Do you see him?! He looked at me with—with those eyes, and I forgot how words worked!”

Vette blinks slowly. “I’m sorry, him? The guy who looks like he’s stepped in bantha shit? The stick up that man’s ass probably has a stick up its ass.”

She turns immediately red. “You,” she sniffs, “have absolutely no concept of Imperial decorum. That man epitomizes it. It is extremely attractive.”

“So what’s the problem? You’re Sith. Imps practically worship you people. He’d probably be flattered if you hauled him into a supply closet.”

Yaellia chokes. (A stylus falls off Malavai’s desk.) “I’m fairly sure he prefers women who can—who can make eye contact and string together coherent sentences at the same time!”

Vette winces. Yeah, Yaellia’s always been shit at that in the weeks they’ve known each other. There’s only so much polite averting of gazes you can do before people realize it’s not just politeness. She reaches out and pats her friend/former master’s (for about five minutes) shoulder. “You’ll get your chance.”

Yaellia deflates. “I hope so,” she mutters. “Come on. Let us find Major Bessiker and perhaps a food cart. I am famished.”)

Malavai does not hear from Lady Yaellia for the rest of the day. This is fine.

He does, however, hear that II Officer Breerdin has been officially reprimanded and a full investigation into the death of a Chiss delegate on Imperial soil has been launched. It’s enough to lift his spirits, even if only slightly. There are standards to maintain, no matter what II says.

He works. He takes precisely twenty minutes for dinner in the officers’ mess, counting the time it takes him to walk there from his office. There’s no need for him to linger; it’s not as though he has friends to catch up with. Even if he did, what would he say? “I’ve met Lord Baras’s new apprentice,” invites distasteful gossip regarding the particulars, and he will not speculate on his superiors’ personal traits.

He chews on a roast nerf sandwich that not even Kaasian purple curry sauce can save and reflects that it is, after all, quite a long way to the Markaran Plains even in a very fast speeder. She might have only just arrived, and she will undoubtedly be busy. He must be ready to back her up.

The other denizens of the mess hall keep talking amongst themselves—idiot chatter about Huttball scores and relationships and mission gossip—and he’s suddenly sure that if he hears one more unauthorized sound he’ll shoot something. His sandwich isn’t worth finishing.

As he rises to dispose of it, he realizes that Lieutenant Davrill is eyeing him. Pointedly, he turns away.

Too late. Davrill is approaching. “Quinn.”

“Davrill.”

“What have you heard about that new apprentice of Lord Baras’s? You’ve met her, right?”

He stiffens, and now he makes eye contact. “I have, yes. Why?”

Davrill frowns. “Captain Rigel��s set her on Operation Breaking Point, down in Gorinth Canyon. She told us she’s working with you on some mission of her lord’s. I felt it appropriate to consider combining our efforts.”

He doesn’t know the particulars of Operation Breaking Point, but he knows enough. He’s suddenly regretting that sandwich. Baras would not take just any Sith as an apprentice, but the last report he’d received on rebel activity in Gorinth Canyon had used words like army and overwhelming force and too bloody many droids.

On the other hand, if she cannot triumph against overwhelming force, she is no Sith, and Lord Baras will have a new apprentice. One who will not, Emperor willing, cause even a whisper of inappropriate thoughts to cross his mind.

“...I trust she will be in contact with you if your aid is required,” he says, and steps out onto the pavement.

Sobrik is never quiet. As soon as he leaves the building, his ears are assaulted with speeder engines, pedestrians chatting, pedestrians arguing, and the horrible discovery that someone down the block has either been raised by gundarks or has never heard of the existence of headphones because they are very loudly blasting an InstaComm video. But outside doesn’t contain buzzing fluorescent lights or a humming HVAC system, so it’s almost worth it.

He exhales and rolls his shoulders, gazing up at the flat gray of the night sky. He wishes he had a cigarette, never mind that finances had forced him to quit years ago. The cold wind revives him like a slap.

Back to work, then. He has suspected Resistance comms to slice.

It is 2000 and he is about to go off-duty for the night when his comm chimes. Lady Yaellia’s frequency, audio-only. He all but lunges for it.

“Yes, my lord?”

She sounds tense. No, distressed. “What’s the comm frequency for a medevac? There’s an injured soldier here, and we don’t have enough kolto to patch him up!”

“I can still fight!” a distant male voice huffs.

“You can not,” she snaps. “You shouldn’t even be standing—I can see bone! I want you off your feet, Lieutenant! Vette, make him sit down!” With a huff, she turns her focus back to Malavai. “Lieutenant Rutau is the only survivor of—what did you say it was? Second Battalion, Besh Company, First Platoon? The droids in here are ruthless. I will be completing his mission for him, but I am not going to leave him here alone and injured.”

There’s a somewhat closer protest of, “My lord, you really don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do,” Yaellia says firmly. “Without good, brave Imperials like you, the Empire is nothing. You are who we fight for.”

Malavai blinks mutely at the wall, heart suddenly pounding. She sounds like—like something out of a storybook. His mother had read him stories when he was very young, before his brother was born; most of them featured heroic Sith, valiant and noble warriors who had been protective of the Imperials under their command, who had valued their lives as more than just blaster fodder. Who had believed in the Empire and everything it stood for, not just their own ambitions. He’d dreamed once of serving under a Sith like that, but as he’d grown older and wiser he’d realized there were no Sith like that. Maybe there were, during the Great War or the Long Flight—in the days of Naga Sadow or Odile Vaiken—but there are none now.

It seems Yaellia of House Ivros hasn’t gotten the memo. She’s still talking to Lieutenant Rutau, reassuring him that help is coming, that the mission will not fail, that he will be safe. That he’s been very brave.

He thinks, suddenly and abruptly, of the now-Lord Venditor, back when he had been Private Venditor under his command. Before Druckenwell, before the man had panicked and thrown a speeder at a Pub with his mind and been shipped off to Korriban. He’d been idealistic too. Kind. He’d spent a great deal of time worrying about his family’s tuk’ata-breeding business on Dromund Fels.

It hadn’t lasted. He’d been younger then than Lady Yaellia is now, but he’d adjusted quickly. Thrived, even. The last time Malavai had seen him, he had been the perfect Sith.

(The perfect modern Sith, not like this figure from the most fanciful myths.)

Slowly, his heart rate calms. She is young. Life has been kind to her. She will learn. Give it five or ten years, especially under Baras’s tutelage, and she’ll be as cruel as the rest of them.

In the meantime, she’s asked him a question, and he quickly pulls up her coordinates. “My lord?”

“Oh—yes?”

“I have your location and am calling in a medical transport from the nearest outpost now. It will arrive within the hour. For future reference, I am sending the medevac frequency to your datapad.”

“Oh, thank you!” Then, while he’s reeling from being thanked by a Sith, she turns to Rutau and says softly, “See? You’ll be fine. Now, do call me when they pick you up, alright? If I come back to nothing but a blood trail I shall worry.”

The Lieutenant mumbles something. Malavai’s not paying attention, because Yaellia’s speaking to him again. “I regret to say we might not get to the satellite control tower until tomorrow morning, but it shall be our first priority. You’ve been a great help so far, and I hope we’re not keeping you from your own rest.”

He swallows. “Ah—no, my lord. There is no need to concern yourself with me.”

She lets out a low hum. “...As you say,” she murmurs. “Well. Um. Good evening, Lieutenant.”

“Ah. Good evening, my lord.”

The call ends.

He stares at the wall for a long time, replaying his mother’s voice in his mind. The memories are thirty years old, but they might as well be yesterday.

“Long, long ago, when tuk’ata had fur...”

He shakes his head. He is overtired. It is time to call it a day.

Malavai Quinn’s mornings look like this:

At 0605, he rises. While cursing himself for oversleeping, he trudges to his closet-sized fresher to wash his face and wage the next battle in the never-ending war against his own beard, knowing it’ll be stubble again by the afternoon. If he’s not doing PT that day, this is also when he showers; otherwise, he puts it off until after his workout. Ablutions complete, he dons his uniform quickly and efficiently. Breakfast is tea and toast made on a range older than he is. There’s no commute to worry about; much of the military housing is concentrated near the spaceport. He has no lovers or pets or potted plants, and all his underlings know not to contact him unless the city is actively on fire. By 0700, he is in his office and starting his workday. After ten years, he has his morning routine down to a science.

Except today, at 0630, his work comm chimes. Since he is taking a sip of tea at the time this is nearly fatal, and he has ample time to reflect on how stupid and undignified a death it would have been as he clears his airways.

The comm is still chiming. Wheezing, he picks it up. No holo; he’s just gotten tea down his front and he’ll have to change his shirt before anyone is allowed to see him, no matter what the emergency is.

“Good morning, Lieutenant!”

He blinks slowly, a lapse he will blame on not having finished his tea yet. Lady Yaellia is astonishingly chipper. He wonders if this is the power of the Dark Side fueling her at an hour where the non-gifted are typically consumed with hatred for all life. “Uh. Good morning...? My lord,” he hastily adds.

“Apologies for the early call. I just wanted to tell you that we are setting out towards the satellite control center now, and expect to arrive within—Vette, map? Two hours.”

There is a distant groan within comm range. “You fly, I’m taking a nap...”

Irritation is a wonderful source of energy. Disgraceful. What kind of servant—she’d called the Twi’lek a friend, but surely there can be no friendship worth having with a lowly alien, one with a Republic accent that can peel paint—disrespects a Sith like that? And what kind of master allows it? He takes a deep breath and deliberately sets his anger aside until later, when it can serve him. “I will be ready, my lord.”

She hums happily. “Good. I’ll talk to you later.”

And then she ends the call. Still feeling slightly poleaxed, he downs the rest of his tea in a single swallow and goes to change his shirt. He’ll clearly have a long day ahead of him.

She isn’t the only operative he’s monitoring—he has a small squadron scouting the outskirts of the Balmorran Arms Factory, and another embedded deep in the Windswept Plateau tracking a Republic investigator’s movements—but none of them are Sith. Regardless of her feelings on the matter, she is the most important one. He sips tea from a thermos and watches dots on a half-dozen screens, marking time until he sees the dot that is Lady Yaellia approaching the satellite center. From there, it’s a simple matter to slice the security cams and watch her on holo. As he types in the command, he wonders how far she’ll get.

The holocam buzzes to life. For a moment, there is nothing out of the ordinary. Republic soldiers and Republic droids, both tense. The flickering of a laser fence just offscreen.

And then blaster shots ring out, and as the first droid falls there is a blur, and Lady Yaellia strikes the survivors like a thunderbolt.

Slowly, he sets his tea down. His mouth is dry, but he doesn’t think he can risk looking away. He can’t miss a second of her in motion.

He has seen more skilled Sith in action. He has seen Sith who were more powerful, more brutal. But Yaellia is a fine-tuned mixture of speed and grace, as agile as the best gymnasts. Her brilliant crimson sabers, red as blood, move so fast they leave afterimages when he dares to blink. She parries blaster bolts with ease, dancing around nearly every return blow; when she’s not quite fast enough, she snarls like a beast and he swears he can see the air ripple as she draws on her pain to fuel her strikes. As she advances through the station, Vette lays down cover fire, shooting into melee with the air of a woman who’s used to her partner’s fighting style.

And where they strike, Republic scum falls. Laser-cut metal and severed limbs litter the ground. The air is filled with the silence of the dead. It is glorious.

As Yaellia stops to arm the charges—panting raggedly, her hair falling out of her bun, her eyes sun-bright—he tells himself it is only patriotic fervor he feels. That his only desire in this moment is to be the one in Vette’s place, backing her up. That if he is breathing hard, fists white-knuckled on the edge of his desk, it’s only because of the rollercoaster that is watching her in combat.

And then Lord Baras calls, and he curses out loud before sucking in a breath that scorches his lungs and answering—with only a slight waver in his voice—“My lord?”

“Quinn,” Baras rumbles. “How fares my apprentice?”

He makes himself breathe evenly. “Very well, my lord. She is arming the charges at the satellite control center as we speak.”

“Good, good.” Baras hums thoughtfully, and then orders, “Put her on the line. It is time I gave her her next orders. You will find a holomail with details pertinent to you.”

He nods. “At once, my lord.”

When he calls Yaellia, she answers at the first ring. “Lieutenant?” she pants.

He swallows hard. “My lord, I mark your progress, and see that the charge is armed. I will detonate once you are at a safe distance. But first, I have Darth Baras on holo for you. I will retreat and leave the line secure.”

She huffs out an affirmative noise. He sets his comm down and turns to his holomail, which indeed does contain a short message from Lord Baras. It’s not much: a name, a location. He starts to wonder why in the Emperor’s name Baras is so concerned about an ensign, but decides he’s better off not knowing.

Baras ends the call, and he picks up. It’s still on holo, and he’s glad that the quality and scaling will mean it’s harder for him to give anything away. Not that there is anything for him to give away. Really. His mind is not at all replaying the arch of her back as she spun out of the way of a blaster bolt or the way her teeth bared in a snarl as she whirled to slice a droid in half.

She pushes her hair back from her face and almost smiles at him. Fuck.

He exhales sharply. Best to jump into it. “My lord, Ensign Durmat is being detained in the brig of the Republic crater outpost in Gorinth, awaiting questioning by the investigator Baras has me tracking. I will alert you if she appears to be heading there; I assume you wish to get to Durmat before she does.”

“Emperor willing,” she agrees easily. “What can you tell me about her?”

There is frustratingly little to tell. Wherever the Jedi found this investigator, she’s proof that they are capable of subtlety. “...She appears to be tailing one of the Republic's own—a Commander Rylon. I'm instructed to keep close tabs but stay out of her way.”

She nods, the holo bobbing up and down as she starts trotting back the way she came. “Good. We’ll be heading to the crater outpost now. Do you—do you want to stay on the line?”

“Do I want to—” He blinks at her. “Forgive me, my lord, I’m not sure why you’re asking?”

It’s Vette who answers, leaning into holoview with a smirk. “Boss lady figured you’d wanna watch this place get blown sky-high.”

Yaellia clears her throat. “Yes. That.”

He blinks again, and then feels his lips curve. “It would be my pleasure, my lord.”

So he stays on holo while the women jog back through the station, up an elevator (Yaellia demands, out loud, why nobody has ever heard of guard rails—“a rhetorical question, Lieutenant”), through hallways full of gore and shattered metal, and out into the shattered landscape of the Markaran Plains.

And then he detonates the charges. The eruption of metal and masonry in a ball of flame more than makes up for the assault on his eardrums, and when Yaellia lets out a victory whoop he finds himself grinning. The unused muscles ache.

“That was glorious!” Yaellia whoops, catching Vette in a sideways hug. “Well done, Lieutenant!”

Well done. A hot flush races over his skin, and it is briefly hard to catch his breath. His collar is too tight. Well done.

But there is still a job to do. He tears himself away from the sight of the destruction he’s wreaked and back to his console, where he quickly inserts a remote spike into the Republic crater outpost’s mainframe. It’s almost trivially easy; their backdoors are wide open for a slicer of his caliber. Getting into the actual security is somewhat more time-consuming, but eventually he manages it.

“I've managed to slice the security you'll need to breach the crater outpost,” he says finally. “Transmitting it now.”

Yaellia scrabbles at her belt for her datapad, smiling when she sees it. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Vette, I’m forwarding this to you.”

His part is over for now. He can breathe easily. Well, as easily as he has been so far, watching her. “Good luck on your mission, my lord,” he murmurs, and means it. “I'll be here if you need anything.”

Then, finally, he ends the call.

Hours pass like a kidney stone. He regrets having left Lady Yaellia to her own devices almost immediately; it’s a long way to Gorinth from where she is, and the Republic presence there is more heavily entrenched. But she survived whatever she was doing there for Operation Breaking Point, so she’ll probably be fine. He takes advantage of the lull to check in with his teams on the Plateau and the Arms Factory, relieved when they report that they’re following his orders not to engage. He supposes Jillins isn’t completely useless.

He’s about to eat lunch at his desk—a nutrient bar and more tea—when Lady Yaellia calls him again.

“Lieutenant Quinn?”

Even though she can’t see him, he sits up straighter. “Yes, my lord?”

“We’ve arrived at the crater outpost.” A pause. “...Do you...uh. Have a map of the area? It’s a bit...”

Vette interjects, “When they said it was a crater, they’re not kidding. It’s a kriffin’ nightmare down here.”

He clears his throat and pulls up the map he’s generated from sliced floor plans and aerial surveillance. Truthfully, he can understand the request; the crater is a warren of different levels and buildings, densely packed and heavily defended. “...I am forwarding it to your datapad now.”

“Oh, thank you!” Yaellia chirps. “You’re a blessing.”

He inhales so sharply he nearly chokes on his own spit. Bloody hell, why does she keep saying things like that?!

It’s only when he hears blaster fire at the other end of the comm that he realizes Yaellia has forgotten to turn it off. His mind spins. He should hang up. That would be the right thing to do. But he’s meant to be observing her, and she had asked him to be in touch in case she needs him...

He stays on the line. He keeps listening, though he does turn the volume down before the cacophony makes him lose his mind.

He notices immediately when the fighting stops and Yaellia’s footsteps slow, though he has to increase the volume again to catch the sound of two men speaking from what seems to be the next room.

“Pipe down, Durmat. There's something going on outside. I'm trying to listen.”

“Come on, Zixx, throw me a bone. Who's this agent that's comin' to interrogate me? At least answer that, will ya?” There’s a pause. Some muttering he can’t catch.

And then, in tones of anguish, “All right, all right, I ain't proud, I give! My dad's an Imperial agent!”

“Commander Rylon?!”

Ice fills Malavai’s veins. He thought he’d known all of Lord Baras’s assets stationed on this planet. It wouldn’t do to kill one of his allies by mistake, after all. He won’t give Lord Baras any reason to question either his loyalty or his usefulness. Rylon must have slipped in telling his son; surely that’s why Yaellia has been sent after the boy. But the man’s been a thorn in the Empire’s side for years—decades—and he’s never pulled a punch. He must have been a flawless spy.

And now Baras is having his son killed. Rylon will almost certainly be next. That makes no sense, unless this investigator on his tail is close to exposing him...

Or Rylon has outlived his usefulness.

Malavai’s hands go numb. Dimly, he registers a faint squeaking noise, and then realizes he’s shaking so hard that his chair is rattling. It doesn’t feel like a thing that’s happening to him.

No. He is loyal. He has always been loyal. He is no threat. He would die before he betrayed Lord Baras, and Lord Baras knows this.

(It wouldn’t be enough to save him. He knows this, too.)

Rushing footsteps knock him back to reality, back into his own body. He almost misses Yaellia’s pained-sounding “Really?!”

Zixx is gloating. “Take a look, Sith. That’s what two squads of the Republic’s finest look like.”

Yaellia sucks in a noisy breath. “Drop your weapons and stand aside,” she snaps. “Or die.”

Malavai blinks at the screen in front of him. That had sounded disturbingly like she was offering them a choice. A trick, surely. She’s trying to induce them to lower their guard before she strikes. She can’t possibly mean that. He can’t square it with the woman who had fretted—yes, fretted—over the Lieutenant Rutau now recuperating at the Markaran outpost.

It doesn’t work, anyway. The ensuing combat is remarkably short. So much for the Republic’s finest, he thinks with a scoff.

And then the stupid ensign is babbling, pleading for his life. Malavai does his best to ignore it, aided by the priority holomail he’s just gotten from his Plateau squad requesting backup against Pub war droids. By the time he arranges it, the ensign has finished up with, “Uh...I’m not exactly sure where I was goin’ with that. Please don’t kill me!”

You fool, Malavai thinks. She may be uncommonly...considerate of her underlings, but Lady Yaellia is a Sith. She would never dream of sparing Republic scum. And she certainly wouldn’t disobey her Master’s direct order.

And yet she says, “I’m willing to consider alternatives. Is there another solution?”

He’s honestly not sure he’s heard her correctly. But as he listens further, he realizes he has. He finds himself grateful to already be sitting down.

Durmat does, in fact, have a solution. The Republic has developed a memory-altering drug that leaves its victims a blank slate. Evidently, this was not the intended use, and it’s been slated for destruction because the Republic are idiots. He can think of half a dozen things he could use it for without blinking.

“...I’ll overdose and not know nothin’ no more. That way my dad’s secret identity is safe!”

Yaellia is silent for a long moment. Malavai tenses. Any moment, he expects to hear the hum of a saber igniting.

Finally, she replies, “Good idea. Where is it?”

The idiot ensign babbles some more, but Malavai’s barely listening even though he knows he should—a memory-wiping drug of such magnitude could be a great boon to the Empire. This is...insane. Bizarre. Such—mercy, such compassion, for an enemy? For the Republic? He isn’t sure what the tight, bilious feeling in his chest is. He knows hatred and jealousy, they are old bedfellows, but this sickens him. He doesn’t think he’s felt like this since Broysc. His hands hurt, and he realizes he’s been clenching his fists hard enough to leave half-moon indents in his palms.

He comes back to himself when he realizes Yaellia is speaking to Vette.

“The Republic talk about their moral superiority, and they create this? Hypocrites! We should burn this place to the ground and salt the ashes!” There’s a sharp thud, as though she’s punched a wall.

“...I dunno. Shit like this? Could be useful. Or at least, y’know, lucrative. I can think of a few memories I’d rather forget.”

A pause. Then, so quiet he almost doesn’t hear it, “...As can I. Come, let’s bring this back to him. Oh, and a change of trousers.”

He’s getting another call—from the Arms Factory, this time—so he listens with half an ear to the sounds of the two womens’ footsteps and whatever short, asinine conversation they’re having with Ensign Durmat as the drug is administered while the rest of his focus splits between uploading an uncorrupted version of the data spike his team needs and the nauseous fury constricting his throat.

“Who are you?” the ensign asks hesitantly.

Yaellia’s voice goes...strange. Soft. Gentle, he realizes, though his mind is almost numb to the further shock of it. “That doesn’t matter. Who are you?”

Now the ensign sounds nervous. “I don’t—I don’t know. I don’t know who I am. Can...can you tell me?”

Malavai can just make out the creak of synthleather. He wonders if Yaellia has knelt in front of the boy’s cell, hand outstretched to soothe him like a frightened animal. His stomach clenches.

“Don’t let anyone tell you who you are,” she murmurs. “You have to figure that out for yourself. Be brave, and walk in strength and in joy.”

The two women walk away. He’s aware that they’re talking quietly between themselves, but he suddenly can’t bear to listen. It’s all too much.

So he mutes them, knowing the risk he’s taking but figuring he will be contacted if he’s really needed, and just stares into space. His hands are shaking again.

She disobeyed Lord Baras. That is...that is treason. But our lord did not specifically say to kill the boy...and he has been silenced...

And her voice, soft and firm all at once, resolute as a fairytale heroine facing down a wounded krayt dragon. He’s never heard a Sith sound like that. He hadn’t imagined they could. It hurts something deep inside him.

He is jolted out of his reverie by a sharp buzz on his comm and Yaellia’s crisp, “Lieutenant Quinn, are you there?”

He’s tongue-tied for a heartstopping moment, and then forces out, “Affirmative. How can I be of assistance, my lord?”

She lets out an amused huff. “I just wanted to let you know that the mission was a success. Vette and I are on our way back to Sobrik now. Please consider yourself off-duty until then.”

He swallows. “Understood, my lord. I will—I will see you upon your return?” Stars, he sounds pathetic. He shouldn’t have made it a question. Now she’ll know he’s rattled.

She chuckles. It seems she doesn’t, or at least isn’t mentioning it. “Count on it, Lieutenant!”

And then she hangs up, and he isn’t sure what to do with his hands. He is not off-duty; he still has troops to monitor. He should get back to that.

Instead he rises, goes to his desk in the adjacent room—it serves as both a private office for more delicate conversations and a makeshift sleeping chamber on long shifts—and pours himself half a glass of wine from his emergency stash. It’s terrible wine, halfway to vinegar and not in a good way, but it will stop him from trembling through the next six hours of his shift like a tooka that’s heard the cleaning droids. Maybe it will even help him make sense of what he’s heard.

One thing is for sure: Lady Yaellia is nothing like what he’d expected. He’s tempted to write it all down, get it out of his head, but he stops himself. Text files can be incriminating. His own mind will have to do.

Slowly, he lays out the facts. On the one hand, Lady Yaellia is greatly skilled in combat and perfectly willing to slay enemies of the Empire. She displays bravery, honor, and compassion towards Imperial soldiers, all exemplary qualities. On the other, she also extends those same qualities towards members of the Republic, which is quite frankly insane. They hate us, he wants to scream. They wouldn’t hesitate to wipe us from existence, to finish the job Pultimo started. And you let them live?!

He slams his fist on the table. Now he has sore knuckles and an aching heart. Deep breaths help the latter. He closes his eyes, willing himself to focus. To think about this logically. Perhaps it is...he will call it tactically unsound, it doesn’t do to consider a Sith a few currants short of a plum pudding, but the mission was unquestionably a success. Moreover, her actions showed an impressive willingness to think outside the box and adapt to new information. He doesn’t have to like it to understand the reasoning. As for her motive...well, perhaps she was moved to pity. Stranger things have happened. Mostly in folktales, but they have. He vaguely remembers one about a tuk’ata pup with a cactus spine in its paw that seems applicable.

“Be brave, and walk in strength and in joy.”

He sets his empty glass down and returns to his main office. He has work to do, no matter how much Lady Yaellia’s words tug at his mind.

He writes up a report for Lord Baras and doesn’t realize until he’s halfway through the holomail that he has no idea what to say. He cannot lie to Lord Baras, of course. He’ll be found out immediately. And Lady Yaellia has disobeyed their master; he should be made aware of that. It would please him and raise his estimation of Malavai.

But Malavai has seen what happens to Sith who displease their masters. He’s seen plenty of smoking corpses, seen Lord Venditor’s fresh scars. And with a sense of nostalgia bordering on pain he remembers the myth of Lord Umbraline, brought down in her prime by a beloved, treacherous underling for the sake of their own advancement. That underling’s fate makes for a moral lesson to all baby Imperials never to betray their superiors. He doubts Yaellia would weep over his severed head.

So he puts down, The mission was a success. Ensign Durmat has been permanently silenced, and leaves it at that. It’s nothing but the truth.

Approximately five hours and forty-five minutes after Lady Yaellia’s last contact with him, he realizes he has been a fool—or at the very least, he’s committed the crime of drawing conclusions with grossly incomplete information. He’ll have to apologize when she returns. Normally, such a thought would tie his stomach in knots, but he rather doubts she’ll react with summary execution.

Still, when she walks in the door six hours and fifteen minutes after her last call, he is glad that the parade rest he slips into hides his faint tremor.

“My lord.” His voice is even. He’s proud of himself for that.

It’s been nearly two days since he’s seen her, and the battles she’s fought have left their mark. There’s a rip in her catsuit at the shoulder, showing the white lining, and her hair shows all the marks of having been hastily scooped into an approximation of her previous bun. Dirt has been ground into the seams of her gloves and the knees of her trousers. She’s taken out her piercings at some point, so there is nothing to distract him from her bright eyes. He barely even notices Vette trailing her.

Especially when she says, “Lieutenant Quinn. I hope you’ve been well?”

He nods. “Yes, my lord. Thank you. Ah. Permission to speak freely?”

She visibly swallows, shifting her weight. Were she not a Sith, he would say she was awkward. “Of course.”

He inhales. “I must be honest. Your success at the satellite listening center and Republic outpost has...surprised me, my lord. I computed the likelihood of success as nearly negligible. In my assessment, however, I only considered the capabilities of a typical Sith.”

He fixes his gaze somewhere around her left ear and continues, “Clearly, you are not a typical Sith. I will adjust future calibrations to account for your...unprecedented abilities.” Creative thinking. Mercy. Compassion. You act like a warrior from legend, my lord, and I wonder where it will take you.

She looks stricken, a dark blush spreading across her cheekbones. And then she grins, an expression of such pure delight he has to look away. “Lieutenant Quinn, you know just what to say!”

“...I’m not too proud to acknowledge when I’m mistaken,” he mutters, feeling his own face burn. He wishes it was just shame at his miscalculation; he is far too old to be blushing like a schoolboy because a pretty girl’s smiled at him, for the Emperor’s sake.

Vette coughs. “So, didja tell Baras all about how awesome we are yet?”

He meets her eyes deliberately. “Lord Baras has been informed, yes. I will alert Lady Yaellia at once when I receive a response.”

More annoyingly, she doesn’t even seem fazed. She actually has the nerve to roll her eyes. “Good to hear it. Hopefully it won’t be ‘till tomorrow, we need our beauty sleep.”

“It won’t be the first time I’ve stayed up all night,” Yaellia says simply.

Vette gives her a very pointed stare. “Ya-ell-i-a.”

She heaves an exaggerated sigh. “Ugh, you’re right. Lieutenant, I’m sorry I cannot stay longer, but someone insists I eat three meals a day and sleep in a real bed, and I wouldn’t want to impose on your personal time.”

“’Sides, we haven’t even seen any of Sobrik yet!” Vette adds, seeming to cheer up as soon as she’s told she won’t need to actually do her job for a while. As she slings an arm around Yaellia’s shoulders, she continues, “C’mon, I heard the Sunken Sarlaac is fun. Maybe we’ll see you there, LT!”

He could have died happily without ever hearing her call him LT. He takes a deep breath, lets it out through his nose, and says firmly, “Thank you, but no. I have work to finish up.”

It’s not a lie. And it certainly has nothing to do with any parts of his mind that may or may not be wondering what Lady Yaellia would look like during a night out—how she might wear her hair, if she prefers dresses or suits, if she would wear ever more elaborate jewelry—never mind that she fixes her gaze on the flag behind him and says briskly, “Of course, Lieutenant Quinn. I’ll leave you to it.”

He doesn’t normally work out at night, but as she leaves he decides he will make time to visit the base’s gym for an hour. The movement and exertion will settle his mind. So will the shower afterwards.

The very cold shower.

The next day, he wakes to a sore shoulder and a priority holomail and has very possibly never dressed so quickly in his life. He doesn’t even bother shaving. The hour between when he sees Lord Baras’s reply and when Lady Yaellia steps into his office passes in a blur. It’s slightly cheering to notice that she doesn’t have any of the signs of a woman who’s spent the night partying, unlike her visibly half-asleep companion.

After the initial exchange of pleasantries, he jumps right into it. “Lord Baras is pleased. He says it's time to zero in on your prime directive, and he awaits your contact. My office is yours; the line is secure.”

She nods. “Thank you.”

As she and Vette walk into the next room, he sits down at his console to go over the information he has about their target. There’s a lot to sift through, but much of it just needs to be collated and bulleted. Though he wishes he’d known the plan ahead of time, he’s always been good at making quick decisions. The surveillance and reconnaissance team he’s set on the Jedi’s investigator is highly skilled; thanks to the bugs they’ve placed, there isn’t a move she makes that he isn’t aware of.

Finally, he nods to himself. This will do. Anything else can be adjusted on the fly. Lady Yaellia has proven herself exceptionally skilled at that.

“...summoned Lieutenant Quinn. He’ll prepare you for your final task.”

That’s his cue. As Baras’s holo fades from view, Malavai steps in, fighting the urge to smooth down his hair. “Your final target is the Balmorran Arms Factory, recently captured by resistance forces. An incursion into the Factory will be a monumental feat. I’m excited by the prospect of you laying waste to that place.”

Vette elbows her and Yaellia perks up, face flushed and eyes gleaming. “...Oh, I excite you?”

Belatedly, he realizes his words could potentially be interpreted in a shockingly inappropriate way. If a subordinate spoke like that to him, he’d have them flogged. He all but stumbles over his next words, praying they spare him further humiliation. “W-well, what I meant was...when I imagine all the ways you will shape the galaxy, it is—very exciting, yes.”

Is it his imagination, or does she look disappointed? But there’s still that smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “You’re all red, though.”

Red? He probably looks like a prize Kaasian tomato. “Your question was—a bit surprising, my lord. I assure you that my mind is on the task at hand.”

Her eyebrows go up. “Was it? Surprising, I mean. Here I thought you wouldn’t let anything cross you by surprise.”

“Very few things do,” he mutters. “You...seem to have a knack for it.” That’s putting it mildly. He feels better about the shock of yesterday for having slept on it, but he’s always hated the unexpected. It so rarely works out for him.

She blushes again, dropping her gaze. He’s never before been tempted to call a Sith cute. Once again, professionalism will save him. He clears his throat and asks, “May I continue to brief you on the Balmorran Arms Factory, my lord?”

”Please,” she mutters.

He continues the briefing. Again, she takes notes. But when he gets to his description of Rylon’s personal guard, she comments, “You sound like you admire them.”

There’s no judgment in her tone or in her eyes, but there doesn’t need to be. He feels ill. “Only their tactical exploits, my lord. It will be a bright day on Balmorra when they are eliminated.”

That, apparently, is that. As she nods and goes to put her datapad away, he clears his throat. “One final thing, my lord. The investigator the Jedi sent has been concentrating her activity in the area. I have her under minute-by-minute surveillance and will contact you at once if she becomes a problem.”

She smiles at him. “Sounds like a plan. Thank you, Lieutenant.”

She keeps thanking him, just for doing his duty. His gut is a hot, squirming thing. “No need to thank me, my lord. I will be here to salute you when the Balmorran Arms Factory is a smoking husk.”

“I know you will.” She turns to go, only to immediately arrest her movement and ask, “Lieutenant?”

Vette groans. Both of them ignore her. “Yes, my lord?”

She glances back at him and reaches up to fiddle with her earrings. She’s put her gold hoops back in. “I do apologize for my curiosity, but I couldn’t help but notice...that is...you have a great deal of Sith opera recordings in here. Do you have a favorite?”

The question is so unexpected that he can’t bite back an honest reply. “I think you might have done as well to ask me if I’ve a favorite limb, but I’ve always been partial to Shkai’ven Shasôt—”

Yaellia lets out a little gasp and whirls to stare at him, eyes wide. “I’ve seen that! The 400th anniversary run, at the Grand Kaas Opera House—Taral’s aria, I don’t think there was a dry eye—” She’s gesturing as she talks, presumably the cause of several datapads sliding around on his desk.

Emperor preserve him. She likes opera. In a flash of insight, he realizes why her words from the previous day had been so familiar; they’re a direct translation from the famous Soldiers’ Chorus in the second act. His parade rest has become a medical necessity, because otherwise he’d have to find a chair. “I could not be in the city for the 400th anniversary,”—he’d been here, cursing his life—“but I was fortunate enough to witness Janrit Haskerl’s first performance as countertenor for that role, and even then I can assure you there was not.” The memory brings an old pang with it; he’d been so young. His father had been alive and on leave, and not even his baby brother kicking the back of his seat had dimmed the wonder of watching the curtain go up.

She’s gazing at him with open fascination. “That must have been incredible! I can’t imagine it—you must tell me everything. Oh, but what did you think of Tev Ralon’s early years; I thought their voice has improved with age, but you know what recordings are like, it’s just not the same.”

He can’t remember the last time anyone’s asked for his opinion on any personal interests. He can’t remember the last time anyone suggested he might have personal interests. It takes him a moment to find words. “I—must agree, my lord. At first, I judged them to be rather weak and reedy, not powerful or commanding enough to sing Lord Tanari’s part with the gravitas it deserves, but I find myself glad that they were given the chance to grow into it. I suppose you never can tell.”

“Exactly!” Stars, she’s so animated it hurts to look at her. The datapads hitting the floor are a problem for later. “I haven’t been able to go to the opera since before I was sent to Korriban; I’m dying to see how it’s changed. I hear they’ve recently finished some lovely new renovations for better acoustics—and gotten rid of those dreadful jade green curtains, what were they thinking—and they’ve shuffled the stage crew around so more of them will be able to handle the Force effects. Their new conductor is no Van Chkristi, but he comes highly recommended from the Ziosti Gardens. You should go there next time you have leave!”

His ears burn. He doesn’t get that much leave, and even if he did his pay won’t stretch to the cost of a ticket anymore. Not if he also wants to buy groceries that week. But she’s so enthusiastic, so happy, he decides not to say any of that. “I will certainly consider it, my lord.”

Vette clears her throat. “Boss, maybe you wanna let him consider it while we get moving? It’s a long way to this outpost we gotta be at.”

Malavai could strangle her.

Even more so when Yaellia deflates and mutters, “Ah. Yes. Thank you for reminding me.” She shoots him a hopeful glance. “We must make time to continue this discussion later.”

Later. How long has it been since he’s had something to look forward to? The thought makes an unfamiliar bubbly feeling rise in his chest.

“It would be my pleasure,” he says, and means it with all his heart.

(Opera. He supposes that goes some way towards explaining her idealism, but somehow he cannot fault her. When he was young, he’d been inspired even by the tragedies.)

The data spike he’s had planted in the Jedi investigator’s comm network is showing increased activity. Frowning, he traces it. Near the Arms Factory, and getting closer. Should he warn Lady Yaellia? No, he thinks after a moment. She’ll be at the Sundari Outpost by now, and he doesn’t want to distract her. He’s been informed there’s a new Darth in residence.

As if summoned by the mere thought of her, his comm chimes. “Lieutenant Quinn?”

He isn’t sure he likes the wary tone in Yaellia’s voice. “Yes, my lord?”

“Have you ever heard of a Darth Lachris? The—the new planetary governor.”

He’s not surprised the old one is dead—the man was never competent—but there’s a twist in his gut at the way she says it. It must have been extremely recent. “I have, my lord. She studied under Darth Marr and is a veteran of the sacking of Coruscant.”

There’s nothing but the low rumble of a speeder engine; she must be in the air. “I see,” she says eventually.

“Might I inquire as to why you’re asking?”

There’s a definite intake of breath. “Oh, I’ve just...met her, that’s all. I was curious. She wants me to—to take down Grand Marshall Jacketta—”

“—Cheketta!” Vette calls.

“—You know my auditory processing is utter pants, Vette!—so killing Commander Rylon might take a trifle longer than expected.”

He nearly suggests texting or holomail if that would be easier for her, but bites his tongue. If she hasn’t requested accommodations, it’s hardly his place. “I have every faith you will succeed, my lord.”

She lets out a sharp huff. “You honor me. I’ll be in touch.”

“I await your word, my lord.”

She hangs up first. He turns his focus to the incoming calls from his away teams, grinding his teeth. No, they are not to engage unless discovered, no matter how tempting it is. Their goal is stealth. He is relieved to find that at least they’re tracking the targets he’s sent them after. The Jedi investigator has a codename—Sunshrike—but it doesn’t match to any encrypted strings in his database. The spike they’ve uploaded is picking up her increasingly irritated comments regarding an incursion into the Arms Factory. Lady Yaellia, he thinks, and exhales. He digs deeper, hunting for more information. His tea thermos goes colder and emptier.

Where are you? Who are you?

He’s starting to develop a headache by midafternoon—he’s worked straight through lunch—but having a puzzle to unravel at least keeps his mind off of honorable Sith with a passion for opera and an unusual sense of mercy. He welcomes it. The security systems of the Arms Factory itself prove frustrating to break into, but when he finally taps into Sunshrike’s personal network he is rewarded with quiet breaths and the echos of her typing, interspersed with the occasional Republic-accented, “Damn.”

He smirks to himself. Victory.

And then Yaellia calls him, her voice shaking. “Quinn?”

His heart seizes. He doesn’t want to know what could unsettle a Sith. But he must remain calm, for her sake. “Yes, my lord?”

She gulps. “We have very—very explicit confirmation of Republic involvement. I just fought a Jedi. And where there’s one, there will likely be more.”

A Jedi. He exhales sharply, wondering if they had fought in the last war. If they’d borne his father’s blood on their hands. “I suspected as much. Your confirmation is appreciated, my lord.” He almost asks if she’s well, but he’s afraid of what he might do if she says no.

“Right,” she says, and takes a deep breath. “Right. We will continue our assault, then, and contact you when the factory falls.”

There’s a click as she hangs up. He returns to Sunshrike, digging through her personal files. It takes a while, and he’s only peripherally aware of the news crackling in from the Arms Factory as he works. Republic ships are being violently decommissioned. The Resistance is in disarray. Something about a swarm of Colicoids. The Resistance Grand Marshall is dead—no, he’s only in custody. The man’s publicly denouncing the Republic and they didn’t even have to torture him first. The Balmorran “governor,” Vol Argen, is definitely dead.

At any other time, he’d celebrate. A name. Give me a name.

He doesn’t get a name. As the sun lowers outside his office he gets a tinny burst of secondhand static, and then the sound of a man speaking. Sunshrike whispers, “Finally,” to herself.

“What do we know of the enemy?” the man says, and then snaps, “I can see that, Captain. Shut up. Sith, I know why you're here. Be aware that these are the finest troops I've commanded in all my decades of duty.”

Indistinct speech. The man snorts. “My men and I would be disappointed if you did. Captain Eligyn, engage at will and hold the line. I'm coming with reinforcements. Rylon out.”

Malavai makes himself breathe evenly. After everything he’s seen Lady Yaellia do, she’ll be fine. More importantly, Sunshrike is moving. He fires off a call to his nearest squad leader. “Target is en route. Do not lose her.”

There’s a chorus of affirmatives, but he barely registers them. Sunshrike has live audio on what is almost certainly Yaellia’s confrontation with the Republic forces, and for long minutes all he can hear is the hum of sabers and the crack of blaster fire. It grows steadily louder, suggesting Rylon really is coming—alone. There is only the one set of footsteps. When the fighting dies down and the man snaps, “Enough of this. Just put him out of his misery, Sith,” Malavai tenses.

“Confess to him first,” Yaellia says flatly. “He deserves the truth.”

Shit. The worst part of it is, he’s not even surprised. Disappointed, yes—this is quite frankly the worst time her bizarre storybook-heroine tendencies could have come to the fore—but after what he’s seen of her so far he was practically expecting it. More importantly, the investigator’s position is converging on his troops. Almost there...almost...

A blaster shot rings out, and Commander Rylon sighs heavily. “It's unfortunate they were on the wrong side. They were excellent soldiers, and exceptional men. It was difficult betraying them—you can't bleed with a man and not form a bond—yet with their defeat, the Empire's cause is advanced.”

“You should have recruited them,” Yaellia says coldly.

“...I followed Baras's orders to the letter,” he mutters. “Recruitment was never my purpose here. I served for the glory of the Empire.” With a sigh, he continues, “But the life of a spy is a slippery one. In essence, I had to become a Republic soldier, and I've done things against the Empire that have sickened me.”

Yaellia takes a slow breath. “For the greater good.”

“Lieutenant!” Jillins on holo, frantic. His voice comes slightly doubled from the tap he’s put on Sunshrike. “She’s here—she has a lightsaber—”

“Delay her,” he growls.

“But she’s—she’s a Jedi—”

He could punch the man. If they weren’t separated by hundreds of kilometers, he might. Some of his rage must show on his face, because the man flinches. “Did I stutter, Jillins? You don’t need to kill her, but she must not be allowed to reach her allies!”

There’s already blaster fire in the background. Jillins whirls to return fire, barely stammering out an, “Of course, sir—” before dropping the call.

Not that it matters. He isolates that channel from the tap and amplifies the one on Rylon. He almost regrets it, because Rylon’s not dead yet.

At least his voice sounds labored. Agonized. Malavai can only hope his death is swift; he deserves that, at least. “Tell Lord Baras...it has been my great honor to serve him.”

He can’t hear Yaellia’s response, but he suspects he knows what it is. The hum of her saber is confirmation enough.

He should call her. Warn her.

But it will have to wait, because he has soldiers to direct. He hopes they remain competent under duress; their orders are very simple, but he’s learned not to underestimate the depths of their stupidity. He curses every second of comm latency as he watches the Jedi’s location draw closer.

It takes nearly half an hour before he can send a holocall to Lady Yaellia. She is bloodstained and beautiful even in the middle of some nondescript factory hallway, but he can think about that later. “My lord, we've got trouble. I heard your entire conversation with Commander Rylon.”

She draws back, frowning down at him. A lock of hair falls in her face. “Have you been spying on me, Lieutenant?”

His face burns. “No, my lord!” Not intentionally, at any rate. “As I told you, I've been surveilling the Jedi investigator—”

“...Oh,” she mutters, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Never mind, then. What’s the matter?”

He takes a breath. “She bugged Rylon's quarters. She knows everything, my lord.”

“Well, fuck,” Vette comments. He hates that he agrees.

Yaellia falls silent, staring at him. Her eyebrows knit together as she lets out a very quiet, heartfelt, “Bugger.” At a normal volume, she continues, “And now so do you. You’re in grave danger, Lieutenant.”

It doesn’t sound like a threat. It sounds like concern. He lets out a breath. “Yes, but I pose no risk to Lord Baras. If she gets away, she'll expose everything. She was heading to her ship, but I had my men cut her off from the Republic landing bay.” He’s just gotten the report that they were successful, with only one casualty. Not Jillins, sadly. “I am systematically blocking her avenues of transmission and escape, herding that Republic scum to her only hope—the spaceport at Sobrik.”

“Sobrik?!” she demands. “That’s ours! How does she think she’s going to survive?”

“My men report that she's wielding a lightsaber, my lord. It is very likely that she is a Jedi Knight.”

If the comm wasn’t floating in midair, Yaellia would have dropped it. She jerks, eyes wide. “No.”

“Yes. Unless you stop her, she's more than capable of fighting her way through the spaceport and commandeering a ship. I'll be able to delay the Jedi long enough for you to engage, but—”

“Don’t you dare,” she snaps.

He blinks at her. “My lord?”

“Don’t even think about putting yourself in the way of that Jedi! She’ll kill you, Lieutenant. I can’t—I refuse to let that happen. Put roadblocks, keep the civilians out of the way, do not make direct contact. We have to protect the people of Sobrik!”

He swallows, recognizing the emotion coursing through him as shame. A storybook warrior. She is what Sith should be. “...I...see your point, my lord. I will gather my remaining men and meet you at the spaceport.”

She exhales. “Yes. Do that. And don’t worry, Lieutenant. I’ll be there as soon as I can. You have my word.”

It is one thing to simply put a military base on high alert for approaching hostiles. That is easy. Turning that military base into a trap for a lone Jedi while also ensuring that the civilian population is safe, and that no actual Imperial soldiers are put in harm’s way? Somewhat more difficult. The roadblocks are simple, but having the base put under lockdown requires him to stand in front of Major Pirell and play the recording of his men under attack before the order finally goes out, and by then he’s lost hours.

The only saving grace is that he’s successfully delayed the Jedi. He has time.

During a brief lull in the chaos, his comm buzzes. Outgoing transmission, reads the spike still active on the Jedi’s comm. He doesn’t hesitate before rerouting it to his own and hitting “play.”

The Jedi turns out to be a human woman, her hood half-hiding her face. Through the layer of digital noise left over from decryption, he makes out, “This is Jedi Knight Mashallon. Nomen Karr’s Padawan was correct. We have traitors in our ranks.”

He’s never even heard of Nomen Karr; individual Jedi tend to blend together in a sort of sanctimonious brown-beige haze. But if they’re a Jedi of any importance, there will be a dossier. He spends a few minutes searching until one comes up, frowning as he skims through the Jedi master’s long career. A career, he notices, that seems particularly focused on opposing Lord Baras. This could be a problem.

“Uh. Sir?”

He takes a deep breath before addressing Jillins, who’s appeared by his side on top of his lookout post when he wasn’t looking. “Report. And it had better be important.”

Jillins gulps, staring somewhere past him. “You said to alert you when Lady Yaellia or—or that Jedi gets here, and um. The Jedi’s been spotted.”

“Good. You have your orders.” He sends a quick text to confirm—yes, the barricades have been placed and the civilians are off the streets with guards stationed at regular intervals. Yaellia will be pleased.

Jillins nods stiffly. “R-right.”

They stare through their binoculars into the darkening street as the lights come on, both straining for the sight of a glowing lightsaber. Malavai squints, trying to figure out if that flicker in the far distance is a faulty streetlight. When his comm doesn’t flash with mission updates, he decides it probably is.

Jillins mutters, “I hope Lady Yaellia catches up soon. She’s amazing.”

“Have you met her, or are you drawing yet another conclusion based on secondhand information?”

Jillins flushes and stares at his feet. “Well, I haven’t met her, sir, but—she wiped out an entire rebel base by herself! And took down that Grand Marshall! That’s—that’s pretty amazing, right...?”

There’s a steady light in the distance. He raises his binoculars and spots flowing robes and a lit saber. Jedi. “You aren’t wrong,” he mutters. Stars, he’s agreeing with the boy. His life really has changed.

They wait. Mashallon’s been divested of her speeder at some point, so she creeps from shadow to shadow on foot. It’s eerie. Where any normal person in a similar situation would startle at every movement, she only glances disinterestedly when rustlings in dumpsters turn out to be rakkons. Can Jedi see through stealth generators? Sense his troops somehow? If he gives into the temptation to pull the trigger, will they all be slaughtered in an instant?

Next to him, Jillins is practically vibrating. He hisses, “Hold, Corporal.” He won’t risk it.

Mashallon crosses the empty square unimpeded. She steps into the spaceport, where she’ll find a maze of barricades and droids to slow her down. Long minutes drag by.

His datapad lets him know he has a text. Without looking, he hits the button that translates it to speech and sends it directly into his earpiece.

The electronic voice reads: “From: vette ([email protected]). To: [email protected]. Subject: We’re here, exclamation point. Text body: N/A. End message.”

He wonders why his team hasn’t informed him, but quickly realizes it’s something of a moot point. Yaellia Ivros is barreling down the street and through the square on a speeder that looks like it’s been the victim of a direct orbital strike, Vette hanging on for dear life behind her. With his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he can barely make them out in the afterimages left by the rear lights. The rest of his soldiers have probably been similarly blinded.

He shakes his head to clear it and lifts his comm. “All hands, move out.”

Keeping a slow, measured pace is not the hardest thing he has ever done in his life, but it certainly deserves a spot on the list. Though they obviously won’t overtake Yaellia at the speed she’s moving, they can’t afford to be too late. As skilled as she is, she graduated Korriban a month ago and this is a fully-fledged Jedi Knight. She might need backup. Every instinct screams at him to run.

He walks.

The spaceport, when he reaches it, bears every hallmark of a Jedi passing through in a hurry. His team has to step, scramble, and sometimes climb over droid parts. Heavy barricades have been chopped in half. One of the locked hangar elevators has been sliced.

As he steps out of the elevator with a handful of his best men, he knows he’s precisely on time.

The Jedi’s hood has fallen back and there’s a blaster wound in her shoulder, but she’s holding her own against Yaellia’s swift strikes. Vette is crouched behind a speeder deploying a kolto spray drone, patching up Yaellia’s wounds even as they’re inflicted. As he watches, Yaellia surges forward, twists, and sends the Jedi’s blade skittering out of her hand and across the floor.

“Yield,” she growls, setting one saber at the Jedi’s throat.

Mashallon closes her eyes. “Your victory means nothing,” she murmurs. “The damage has been done. The proof has been transmitted. So, deal the deathblow, Sith. I am at peace knowing that the greater good has been served.”

In this moment, Malavai loves his job. “I hate to burst your bubble, Jedi.” He doesn’t even bother trying to stop his slow, cruel smirk. “No, that’s a lie. I’m reveling in it.”

Yaellia turns to stare at him over her shoulder, and the Jedi gasps. He could laugh. “I intercepted your transmission. You’ve been monitored and screened this entire time. The Jedi know nothing.”

Yaellia’s mouth drops open. For a split-second she just blinks at him—and then she gasps, “Lieutenant Quinn, I could kiss you!”

She doesn’t mean it. Face burning, he averts his eyes and mutters, “I was only doing my job, my lord.”

Mashallon takes a final breath, her gaze sweeping the assembled Imperials defiantly. “Gloat all you like, it means nothing. I remain at peace. And you will still fail.”

Yaellia turns back to her, her voice even. Pleasant. As though she’s asking about the weather. “The name of Nomen Karr’s padawan, if you please.”

Mashallon’s eyes narrow. “No.”

She sighs, shaking her head. “...I want you to remember I asked politely.” The saber burns a thin line in the skin of the Jedi’s neck.

The Jedi doesn’t even flinch. Her empty hands flex and then relax, her shoulders settling. “Unlike you, the Force and the Jedi way give me a sense of something larger than myself. I am resigned. Strike me down, I offer no further resistance.”

Yaellia draws in a slow breath, chest heaving. Malavai knows that the next sight he’ll see will be the Jedi’s head rolling on the floor.

And then, impossibly, she lowers her saber. “No,” she says coolly. “It would be a waste.”

What. None of Malavai’s men move. Malavai himself isn’t sure he can move. His legs have enough to do just keeping him upright. If the Republic are their enemies, the Jedi are...the Jedi are nightmares. The Great War was a thousand years ago, but none of them have forgotten the burning of libraries, the wholesale bombing of their greatest cities, the slaughter of millions. Had it not been for the element of surprise, they surely would have repeated their atrocities in the last war. Lady Yaellia would have been a child when the Treaty of Coruscant was signed, but he’s seen her files. He knows she took top marks in Sith history. She knows what the Jedi have done, what they will do again if given the chance. And yet she lets this one live?

It makes no sense. He can barely breathe.

Absurdly, he remembers a libretto he once discovered on the HoloNet. It had purported to be the text of an opera banned for centuries for un-Imperial sentiment. The central couple, and conflict, had been about a Sith sparing a Jedi’s life and the Jedi spending years trying to “bring them to the Light” in exchange. Though they’d fallen in love, it had ended in tragedy when the Sith killed them rather than lose what made them who they were, only to launch into a stirring final aria wherein they vowed to join the Jedi in memory of their lost lover. He’d given the address to the censors later, of course, but it had stuck with him. The last time he’d checked, the website had still been up.

He steps forward, resolute. “...I will take her into custody, my lord.” Surrounding the Jedi and wrapping Force-suppressant cuffs around her wrists is a simple matter, one he can do on autopilot. He’s glad for it, because while his hands and mouth move he doesn’t have to think about what he’s doing. “Your lightsaber, if you will, Jedi. Men, escort her to her new home in the main prison.”

“And treat her well,” Yaellia adds firmly, extinuishing her sabers. “Torture is notoriously unreliable, and I am under the impression that the Imperial armed forces is made of sentients, not beasts.”

Vette snorts. “Good luck with that,” she mutters.

The Jedi is marched away. Malavai remains behind. His men have this in hand, and he cannot leave until he has answers. Until he understands. When he draws close to Yaellia, she smells like smoke. He follows her gaze to his troops and murmurs, “I am sure you know what you’re doing, my lord. But sparing the Jedi is...” Insane. “A curious choice.”

She stiffens. He braces himself—has she sensed how much he’s truly questioning her? But her sabers remain unlit, and oxygen still moves through his lungs. When she turns to him, her eyes are hard as gold. He knows he’s being unfathomably rude, but he can’t tear his gaze away.

Her chin lifts. She’s challenging him as well. “The Jedi think we are monsters, Lieutenant Quinn. I refuse to prove them right.”

He almost argues. Of course the Sith are monsters. The Sith are their monsters. Carnage is her birthright, slaughter her crown. Her very creed promises strength and victory. What does she care if a Jedi judges her for knowing passion—for knowing life? For protecting her people with everything she has? But there’s a faint tremor in her shoulders, and he remembers the way she’d soothed Lieutenant Rutau and that Republic ensign alike. The way she’d granted Rylon an honorable death.

He remembers stories.

“I see,” he mutters, and looks away.

“...It's not my place, Lord Baras. I leave that for your apprentice to convey.”

It’s nearly midnight. Putting the city to rights and cleaning up the spaceport to an even semi-usable state had taken hours. He’s pretty sure the slaves and droids are still working on it. The Jedi has been placed in the most secure wing they could find. The guards had asked him when to schedule the inquisitor; he’d swallowed his gorge, been reminded of the Imperial armed forces is made of sentients, not beasts and told them it could wait a while. That he’s still upright and talking to Baras—who had demanded a report immediately—is solely due to his decades of military experience.

Yaellia’s near-emotionless voice from the doorway saves him. “I am here, master.”

She looks half dead on her feet; most likely the adrenaline crash. Vette follows her like a second shadow, positioned in such a way as to unobtrusively offer physical support.

As they enter, he stands a little straighter. She shoots him a quick glance, squares her shoulders, and does the same before bowing to Baras as deeply as she probably can without falling over.

“Nice of you to join us,” Baras snorts. “Quinn refuses to update me, insisting the privilege be yours. I assume the Jedi investigator has been stopped?”

She stares straight past him. “...She is no longer a concern, master.”

Baras grumbles, “I had hoped to avoid confronting her, but our hand was forced. What matters most is that Rylon can no longer be exposed.”

That’s right, Malavai thinks. And it’s all because of her. You have a rare find in your apprentice, my lord. And then, traitorously, You had better appreciate her.

“And how would you assess Lieutenant Quinn’s contribution?”

His parade rest is suddenly a statue’s pose. His hands clench into fists behind his back. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if she dismisses him. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if she doesn’t.

But the question seems to have the same effect on Lady Yaellia as an intravenous line of pure caffeine straight to the heart, because she jolts a little on her feet and blurts out, “Lieutenant Quinn? He’s an exceptional officer! Really, the best support I could’ve hoped for. I couldn't have done it without him! If you ask me, master, he is wasted in a place like Balmorra.”

His heart skips a beat. Baras tilts his head, studying him from behind his mask. “High praise indeed,” he says finally. “Quinn, I believe you have sufficiently repaid the debt owed to me. I'm putting you up for a captaincy and transmitting an executive order allowing you to station wherever you choose. You are dismissed.”

He can feel his mouth moving and knows words must be coming out, knows he’s thanking Lord Baras and expressing his sincere gratitude. His mind is a thousand light-years away. A captaincy. Freedom. I’ll never need to step foot on this blasted rock again. I could go anywhere—could make a real difference for the Empire—I could go home—

Lady Yaellia is looking at him. Heart hammering in his chest, he bows to her. “My lord, before I depart, it's been my extreme honor to serve you.” Swallowing hard, he adds, “You are...you are the epitome of everything the Empire stands for.”

It’s not a lie. It’s not even an exaggeration. Honor. Strength. Order. As odd as some of her decisions have been, she displays every Imperial virtue. More than that, she inspires other people to follow her example—or at the very least, she should. He can’t imagine the sort of person who would purposely disappoint her when she holds even her own actions to such high standards.

And she flushes dark at his words. He can’t bear it. “The honor has been mine.” She pauses, and a tired smile breaks across her face. “Captain Quinn. I shall miss you.”

“Maybe our paths will cross once more, my lord,” he murmurs. He can’t look at her face anymore.

As he leaves, Vette turns to call over her shoulder, “We’ll probably be off this rock by tomorrow afternoon!”

So there’s a time limit. And then she will be gone, and he’ll probably never see her again. The thought is a knife to his heart.

He walks home, the wind ruffling his hair and stinging his nose. He doesn’t smell smoke anymore. When he reaches his street, the whole building is dark and quiet, and his apartment feels like a tomb. He stands in the doorway and thinks that he should be overjoyed at this unexpected good fortune. He should be celebrating. At the very least, he should make himself a cup of tea; he doubts he’ll be getting much sleep anyway.

Instead he sits at his kitchen table and stares out the window. There’s a light on in the apartment across the way. He wonders what they’re doing, if they were on duty tonight. If they’ve had their life irrevocably changed by any young, idealistic Sith lately.

“The honor has been mine.”

He wants it to be insincere. A lie, a trick, something. Who says that? No, he rephrases, what kind of Sith says that? He knows he shouldn’t trust it. If he was as intelligent as he likes to think he is, he’d be glad to see the back of her. Honor never lasts, no matter what the stories say. Fiction is fiction for a reason; the greatest Sith, those who made the galaxy quake at their whims, cared nothing for the lives of ants like him.

But.

But when he closes his eyes, he sees her tired smile. Hears the way she gushed about him to Baras, her eyes shining. Remembers the desperation in her voice when she’d told him not to risk himself against the Jedi. “I refuse to let that happen,” she’d said. As though he matters. As though he, Malavai Quinn, thirty-seven years old and a disgraced lieutenant on one of the most backwater rocks in Imperial space, with no status or influential allies or access to any particularly juicy blackmail, is important. Not because of what he can do for her or who he is connected to, but because he is a person.

He is suddenly furious. Where were you ten years ago, twenty years ago?! Where were you when I was new? How dare you come to me now, Yaellia Ivros? But even as he balls his hands into fists to stop them shaking, he imagines how that would have went. Twenty-seven year old Malavai had been going through the worst year of his life—his father’s death, Druckenwell, the war’s unceremonious end—and he wouldn’t have appreciated being reminded that such things as hope and decency existed in the galaxy. Seventeen-year-old Malavai frankly doesn’t bear thinking about; he’d been an insufferable teenager, and she probably would have stabbed him. He can’t say he would have complained. It would have been normal.

Then again, normal isn’t a word he can truthfully use to describe her. Despite the incredible results she gets, he knows her methods won’t make her popular. He can’t imagine even Baras approving. Then again, he also can’t imagine her letting his disapproval change anything. His heart is racing, and he’s not sure whether it’s terror or something else. She really could change the galaxy. If she lives.

If.

His heart sinks. Sith politics will eat her alive. Stars, if Baras finds out how she interprets his orders he’ll probably eat her alive. He tries to imagine a galaxy without her, without her lightning-fast sabers and strange sense of compassion and the sheer joy she takes in opera. Without the change she effects everywhere she goes just by existing. It should be easy; he’s only known her for a few days, and they’ve barely spoken. They are nearly strangers.

He wants to change that. He can change that; he’s a captain now, he can take any posting he wishes. He can find her ship, join her crew, serve at her side. For the first time in a decade, he can do anything.

By the time he wakes the next morning, he has made his decision.

Everything he owns fits into two suitcases. He could probably narrow it down to one, but he remembers sparkling gold eyes and decides to pack every music-related disc he has. He showers and shaves with particular care; after a brief internal debate over whether he should wear his dress uniform, he settles for his best everyday one instead. Too formal and he’ll appear ridiculous instead of sincere, and he can’t bear for her to think he’s not taking this seriously. He makes himself a cup of decaf tea before he leaves.

Afternoon, Vette had said, but he has no idea what a Twi’lek considers afternoon and he barely slept last night out of fear of somehow missing their departure entirely. It’s 1100 on the dot when he makes his way into the hangar at a brisk walk, looking for the ship registered under Yaellia’s name.

Fortunately, it’s impossible to miss. The Zhasanai’s Grace is a sleek Fury-class Interceptor, a very common model, but instead of the standard gray she’s been painted bright red with jagged black lines reminiscent of traditional Zabrak tattoos. Zhasanai, he recalls, is also a Zabrak name. He wonders who Yaellia named her ship for, and if she’d tell him if he asked. He suspects she would. As he approaches, his attention is caught by droids loading pallets of supplies into her cargo hold, followed by a chauffeur steering a cherry-red four-door Manta Landspeeder the size of a Cartel skiff in with them. Last night’s death trap was clearly the first thing she could grab; this is the sort of speeder he would have expected Yaellia to fly.

None of the workers pay him any mind. He stands at a loose parade rest and waits next to his suitcases.

And waits. After a while, he finds himself fighting the urge to scroll through his datapad. He hasn’t had time to catch up with the news in a while, and this is around the time of year when the drafts start for cricket season. But if Lady Yaellia sees him acting so frivolously in public, the sheer embarrassment will probably kill him before any of her enemies get the chance.

He’s started to lose track of how long he’s been waiting by the time the elevator opens to reveal her standing inside it. She’s got one arm looped through the handle of a Sobrik Spaceport gift bag and the other through Vette’s; at first he can’t make out what they’re talking about, but then he realizes she’s supplementing her side of the conversation with ISL when words fail her and upgrades his mental portfolio of her to include has exceedingly strong opinions on spaceport food. His mouth does something so unfamiliar he has to pause to recognize it as a smile.

When she sees him, the ISL stops and her face lights up. “Captain Quinn! Did you come to see us off?”

He bows as deeply to her as he would to Lord Baras. “My lord,” he murmurs. “I hope you don't find my appearance here obtrusive. I beg an audience.”

She blinks, and then nods. “Of course.”

He takes a deep breath. He should have practiced this speech, but even now that it’s happening part of his brain can’t believe it. “My reassignment is an evolution I've longed for, but I assumed it would never come. Aiding you on this planet—it has reawakened the ambition I began my career with, to make the most profound impact possible for the Empire.”

Before he can second-guess himself, he drops to one knee and bows his head. Yaellia chokes. “Captain Quinn!”

The spaceport floor is freezing through the thin fabric of his uniform trousers and badly in need of a power-washing. Someone’s dropped used chewing gum not half a meter away. Yaellia’s boots need polishing, and one of Vette’s is coming untied. He notices all of this only because his heart is pounding like an artillery bombardment and if he looks up he thinks he might faint. That would certainly not help his case.

Breathe. In for three, hold, out for five. Hating the tremor in his voice, he continues, “I cannot think of a more glorious and honorable way to make a difference in the galaxy than to serve you.”

She makes a noise like a dying gundark. He risks a brief glance upwards and finds her with both hands clasped to her mouth, her face absolutely scarlet. She seems to be beyond words.

His mouth goes dry. He has to make her see. “I'm here to pledge myself to you. I'm ready and willing to serve in—in whatever capacity you see fit.”

“Whatever capacity?” It is very close to a squeak. “That’s—really?”

“Oh, stars,” Vette mutters. “And I thought you two flirting over snooty musicals was bad—”

Yaellia kicks her sharply in the ankle. It would be funny if it wasn’t also mortifying.

He’s talking more quickly now. He knows he sounds desperate—undignified—but he can’t stop. He’s so close, he knows it. “My lord, if given the chance, I know I will prove myself to you. I'm a top-notch pilot, military strategist and a deadly shot. I can fly this ship, plan your battles, assess your enemies and kill them. You won't find a more tireless and loyal subject. I will dedicate every ounce of my strength to your cause.” Please. That Twi’lek can’t protect you alone, not from the kinds of threats you’ll be facing. You need me.

She’s still staring at him as though she can’t quite believe what she’s hearing. “...Captain Quinn,” she says carefully. “Are you sure about this?”

A voice, gentle yet firm. Words straight from myth. Nobility he’s only ever dreamed about. The absolute certainty that all of that stands balanced on a razor’s edge, and she will need all the help he can give if she’s not going to be sliced to ribbons.

He can only answer honestly. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life, my lord.”

Her chest swells with her deep breath, and it’s not his imagination that has her back straightening. She is noble in more than just her actions, after all. Fealty is her birthright. “Then I accept your service.” Her serious tone is utterly at odds with the grin that spreads across her face as she adds, “Besides, who else would I talk about opera with? I haven’t forgotten.”

He actually had. “Um,” he starts, dropping his gaze. “It would be an honor—”

A hand appears in his field of vision. It takes him a moment of confusion to realize Yaellia is offering to help him to his feet. “Now, do get up off the floor. I don’t want to think what it’s doing to your knees.”

He has a split second to think This is inappropriate, I mustn’t before his hand comes up entirely of its own accord to wrap around hers. It’s warm even through their respective gloves, and she only has to take half a step backwards to haul him to his feet. If he’d been shorter, it would be effortless. There’s a moment before he fully straightens where his eyes meet hers, and the expression in them is one he cannot bear to name.

But neither can he look away. She has yet to let go of his hand, and it’s frozen him in place like a tractor beam. “My lord,” he starts. You’ve given me my life back. You’ve given me hope. How else can I repay you?

“My captain,” she murmurs. Her voice wasn’t even this soft with Lieutenant Rutau, and that man had nearly lost a foot. Malavai just has a mildly sore knee.

Vette chooses this exact moment to ask, “Is this all your stuff?”

He jerks away from Yaellia like he’s been burnt, turning the full force of his glare on the Twi’lek. “Indeed.”

Yaellia looks over his suitcases with a judgmental eye, but when she turns back to him she’s smiling again. “We’ll get you set up right away, never fear. I can’t wait to give you a tour of the ship.” She pauses. “Ah, do feel free to make any adjustments to the cockpit you want. It might be a bit cramped in there otherwise.”

This time, he knows he’s smiling back. “...Thank you for giving me this opportunity, my lord. I will submit my reassignment papers as we depart.”

And he steps onto the Zhasanai’s Grace, ready to begin his new life.

Worldbuilding/headcanon notes:

- Quinn's love of opera comes from the fact that one of the Imperial Memorabilia gifts you can give him (his favorite type of gift) is a Sith Opera Collection. (The fact that another gift in that category is Banned Imperial History Document says a few things...) - Quinn & Yael are both super autistic. Quinn does not know this about himself. Boy You Gon' Learn. - His baby brother, Zeiran, is ~8 years younger than him and an Imperial Intelligence agent. They have not spoken since Druckenwell. - I am at least 95% sure I read the timeline right and Druckenwell/the battle of Rhen Var (Col. Rymar Quinn's death)/the Treaty of Coruscant happened in the same year. Please nobody tell me if I'm wrong. - Lord Venditor is my friend's OC! Unbeknownst to Quinn, he is a sad wet dog of a man.

#swtor #sith #malavai quinn #paladin writes stuff #darth baras #yaellia #vette #quinn is SO confused lol #“what is this?” “respect” “sounds fake”#star wars

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raibebe · 1 year ago

Text

Dreamies in Hogwarts

Genre: fluff Words: 1595 Warnings: mentions of injury, mentions of bullying

A/N: I had this very sudden need to develop new characters and these are the outcome. And it may or may not have been to do with some post about Jeno being in a house he doesn't belong in.

So here I present (with the help of the lovely @flowerboykun who helped both with some of these bullet points and the little banners) my take on the Dreamies if they were in Hogwarts.

Comments and further questions on them are greatly appreciated. Also arguments about their houses. I very much appreciate other points of view.

Gryffindor (duh)

Muggleborn

Prefect

Golden boy of the house

Has only lost house points ONCE (and he will keep blaming it on Donghyuck until he dies)

If he doesn’t get 100% on a DADA exam, something is wrong

The first one to master his patronus spell by thinking of the day he first stepped into Diagon Alley

Yes, he too got spooked by the big lion he cast but that was before the animal let him pet his mane before disappearing

Had several mental breakdowns trying to choose his elective courses because he couldn’t just take all of them

Always has an open ear for his underclassman

Might just let it slide whenever he sees a first-year out of bed too late because he too would just get lost on the way from the library to their common room and suddenly it was after the curfew

Seeker of the Quidditch team

Refused the captain position multiple times because he thinks Jeno is more suited for it and honestly… He doesn’t need any more responsibilities

So oblivious to everyone who tries to hit on him… Like please help this guy

The amount of times he has been asked out on dates and he just thought it would be a friendly hangout and he brought more people is getting ridiculous

Ravenclaw

Pureblood

Do not underestimate him

His skills in Charms are unmatched and he probably knows more hexes than all his classmates combined

His quick thinking probably saved Chenle’s life during a Quidditch match once when he fell off of his broom after taking a bludger to the side

Got thrown out of the library for shouting at Donghyuck and Chenle… permanently…

Makes them pay for it by getting his books… And some that he doesn’t actually need… Heavy ones…

Has a new love letter in his bag after every day… He has stopped reading them…

And started folding them into little tiny cranes instead so he can charm them to fly right back to whoever wrote it… It’s his way of letting them down gently..?

Very fond of the merpeople once he saw them in the Slytherin common room

Also uses them as an excuse to accept Donhyuck’s invites to hang out because he of course just wants to catch a glimpse of them

Maybe beating Donghyuck in wizard chess is also a plus

Not a prefect but loves using the prefect bath (yes, he got Mark to tell him the password)

Found the Room of Requirement sometime during his fourth year which took on the space of a quiet and comfortable safe room for him to recharge

Whenever you cannot find him, he’s probably in there painting

Gryffindor

Halfblood

The sorting hat had a really hard time putting him in a house

Like it took a looong time but in the end, Jeno’s courage and drive got him sent to Gryffindor

Captain of the Quidditch team

Plays as Chaser

Once accidentally broke one of the hoops because he threw the quaffle too hard and then there was the time when the Hufflepuff Keeper got a concussion…

Loves Care of Magical Creatures and no matter how ugly the creature is, he takes care of them with utmost respect and admiration

Very fond of the Thestrals, especially the smaller foals and very upset about people being ignorant towards them just because they can’t see them

Wants to go into the forbidden forest so fucking badly to see what kind of creatures live there but he knows that he’ll get in so much trouble if he actually went in

So he just likes to hang out right at the edge of it in hopes to catch glimpses

Once fell asleep in a Divination class that Jaemin talked him into taking with him

He thought it would be a lot more exciting and the calming scent of the tea put him right to sleep

Needless to say, he dropped the course for Arithmacy instead… Don’t ask how that’s going.

Actually, he’s doing pretty well in the exams after staying up the whole night cramming, only making his way into bed because Mark found him and carried him upstairs after he passed out in the common room

Slytherin

Halfblood

Didn’t care for Quidditch much until he found out that Mark was playing for Gryffindor

Suddenly, he knew all the rules and had a brand new broom for the tryouts

Is he looking for the snitch or is he just annoying Mark the whole game? No one actually knows

Are you still rivals if it lasts longer than 4 years or are you just in love at this point?

Anyways

Always puts on a strong face but he’s fucking tired of stupid rich purebloods telling him that he doesn’t belong in “their” house

Whenever it just gets too much, he goes to the owlery because their sweet hooting always comforts him and his own eagle owl is always down for scritches and cuddles (and very menacing screeches whenever someone shows up to bother them)

That is until one day, a small black cat also came to the owlery and curled up in his lap, purring when he started to pet it

And surprisingly, it was very easy to just complain to the little kitten about everything, it even gave disapproving meows at the correct timing

The most peculiar thing though… The cat doesn’t trigger his allergies. But it’s magic so that explains it. Right?

Maybe he should really ask Renjun whether or not there are any charms like that

Takes his divination class very seriously

No, I am kidding, he’s bullshitting himself through every essay… Successfully.

Slytherin

Pureblood

Fuck gender. Like seriously. Who invented this concept? Not them. So therefore it shouldn’t adhere to them.

Metamorphmagus and therefore they might have a new hair color every other day

Very fond of giving themself heterochromia

Everyone thinks they’re just naturally very gifted in potions but they have worked their absolute ass off to be as good as they are since their grandma is a potion master and they have been brewing with her for as long as they could stir a cauldron

Has a (very legal) business of selling love potions

And always has an antidote on hand in case someone tries to spike Mark’s drink (again)

Could not care less about house points and rivalry

Or Quidditch for that matter even though they show up for every game his friends play in

Might get distracted halfway through and play with cats beneath the bleachers

Friends with the kitchen elves and always praises them for their food

Very peaceful unless you fuck with their friends

Someone is taking advantage of Mark’s or Jeno’s kindness? Some asshole is calling Donghyuck names again? A dude pushed past Renjun and made him spill his pumpkin juice all over his notes? They sure as hell will not enjoy their next meal when everything suddenly tastes like vomit

Will give them the antidote with a sickening smile on their face once they apologize because they’re just that nice of a person

Slytherin

Pureblood

Transfiguration prodigy

To everyone’s misfortune

He could use his gift to experiment and figure out new spells… But instead, he chooses to play elaborate pranks on his friends

They have stopped counting how many times Jisung’s quills have turned into bugs in the middle of the lecture

Figured out how to turn himself into an Animagus when he was 15

Nothing and nobody is safe from him once he turns into a sleek black cat

Has tea on literally everyone

Cannot stand the pureblood fanatics and will not hesitate to curse them out very colorfully or turn their belongings into different bugs and animals whenever they’re being assholes to others who don’t fit their standards

Very obsessed and intense about Quidditch

Do not ask him about his favorite team or he will not stop gushing about one of their chasers

The quickest of Slytherin’s chasers

Once got badly hit by a bludger and refused to be taken to the hospital wing because they were behind by quite a lot despite his arm definitely being broken

Yes, he had to be dragged off the field

Hufflepuff

Muggleborn

Baffled and in awe about everything around him

Still cannot believe that he’s able to do magic and make things LEVITATE

Also food just randomly appearing on the table??

Owls bringing his mail?? That’s crazy. Like how do owls know how to do that?

Really likes Herbology but is kind of freaked out by how many dangerous plants are out there

Please let him drop his potion class for his own safety

Claims that he followed the exact steps in the recipe but somehow managed to melt the bottom of his cauldron not once but twice and got the whole room evacuated because his concoction smelled so bad, a girl fainted

Despite Jaemin’s continuous efforts at teaching him, he seems to be a lost cause but at least he hasn’t exploded one of his potions in a long time

Almost failed the flying class because he was scared shitless after Chenle told him a bunch of nonsense about accidents that have never happened

Very good friends with some of the portraits and therefore knows a lot of secret passages

The one who always ducks at Quidditch games if any players or balls are remotely in his vicinity

Also still gets spooked by the ghosts

Which only prompts them to scare him even more. Mostly by peeking their head through his food

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ninjagirlstar5 · 5 months ago

Text

I love it when the wheel lands on a character and gives them a drastically different talent from their original counterpart. Cause here we have Emma as the Ultimate Firefighter!

This one was interesting to tackle cause Emma is a pretty feminine person, but has a swapped talent that has a lot of dress codes and regulations for safety reasons as being a firefighter is quite dangerous. And it turns out through my brief research, Emma's OG design goes against a lot of regulations for firefighters: you can't wear giant earrings but you can wear tiny stud ones or very small hoop earrings, you're not allowed to wear makeup, if you're going to keep your hair long, you have to tie it back (and it's recommended to put it in a braid-bun or a ponytail), contact lenses are prohibited, and I had to try and tie in the firefighter uniform with how Emma dresses in her OG design. So here's what I came up with for Emma: I tied her long wavy hair back into a hair bun, she can't wear contact lenses anymore so her eyes are no longer aquamarine but are instead her real gray eyes, her round earrings were too big and hung from her eyes so they had to be changed to smaller stud ones, and since she wore a coat in her OG design, I decided that she'd have her jacket on her instead of being loose around her waist like Shinji's (although his looked like a one-piece suit in his sprite). I removed her makeup, gave her a shirt underneath her uniform, gave her pants and boots fitting for said uniform, and some fire-resistant gloves, not only as part of her uniform but also to...well, hide some certain scars that she wouldn't dare show to anyone unless it's someone she trusts. Just in case, you know? Her hair gets to remain blonde, though, since you are allowed to dye it but only a natural color...Which doesn't mean much when you live in an anime world like Danganronpa where hair and eye color can range from black to white to literally neon green, but hey. Regulations are regulations. I gave her uniform a blue, yellow, black and gray color palette with dashes of dark red on her boots and she is done.

Next up is Sora!

So, in Emma's backstory, she's living in poverty, her mom is basically out of her life and her sperm donor of a father is the worst EVER. That's still the same. However, when Utsuro blessed her with Divine Luck, on her return home after being forced to steal alcohol for her shitty father, she sees that her own house had caught on fire while she was away. She would later find out through the authorities that the fire happened due to a stray cigarette landing on some trash and the dirty environment went in flames in the blink of an eye. Two witnesses, who were a foreign couple from England, just so happened to see this and called the fire department but by the time they arrived, the only occupant inside the house had already died. Emma is...relieved that she will NEVER have to see her father again, but at the same time, she had NO idea where to go and has essentially became an orphan in a blink of an eye. However, that concern is quickly washed away as the two witnesses approached her and asked if she was alright, which is when she broke down crying. Realizing that she was in a horrible condition, the couple decided then and there to take her under their wing and adopted her. While living with them, she finds out that her adoptive father was actually an ex-firefighter that had to retire due to a career-ending injury and ends up getting inspired by him to become a firefighter herself. Something that both of her new found, loving parents encouraged and supported, even as they pray for safety in such a dangerous career. Like OG Shinji, she worked as an apprentice, which was quite easy thanks to her father's connection to the firefighting community, and she's made something of a name for herself in her career. However, like in her OG backstory, while she may not be in an acting career anymore, that doesn't mean that she wouldn't come across racist co-workers, which is what causes her to dye her hair blonde to try and fit in more. And Emma would mostly be surrounded by adults in her firefighting career, so she wouldn't really have many friends her age and some people may put her on a pedestal due to the work she does as a firefighter, saving lives and all that, which only isolates her from her peers even more. Poor Emma, she just wants to be treated like a normal girl.

#SDRA2 #Emma Magorobi #Super Danganronpa Another 2 #SDRA2 Spoilers #sprite edit #Star's Art #Emma can now bench press #ya'll are doomed

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thoughtswithbbg · 28 days ago

Text

Chapter Three

Sk8erboy_(M/N) has been added to THE BOYS group chat.

(M/N) woke up to his the alarm he set the night before, for 5:30. Even though he felt like dying because of the time, he got up anyways. He checked his phone messages first, seeing one from Kyle, one DM from coonstagram plus some spam from a group chat he was added too, and a bunch of pickup lines from Kenny that were sent at 3 AM. Why was he up that early anyways? (M/N) decided to check Kyle’s messages first.

My Hot Neighbor

————————————————————

5:00 AM

My Hot Neighbor: Hope you have a good day at school :) Me and the guys will be riding the bus if you wanna come with!

(M/N) smiled at the message, but frowned at the time Kyle sent that. Why were these boys up at such ungodly hours?

(M/N): Why are you up so early?

My Hot Neighbor: Im always up this early, i have to make breakfast and get Ike up

My Hot Neighbor: Wbu? why are you up so early?

(M/N): gotta get the drip for my first day of school

(M/N) didn’t hear a response back from Kyle so he went to check his coonstagram account and look at the dms. There was 20+ messages in that group chat so he decided to check the singular message request first

Testaburger_Wendy_

————————————————————

1:40 AM

Wendy Testaburger: please stay the fuck away from Stan, you f*g.

(M/N) read the message with a shrug, this random girl couldn’t tell him what to do. He simply deleted the message and moves on with his life. He’s been called worse anyways. He finally decided to check the 20+ group chat messages, after much contemplation of course. He didn’t read the messages though, too much reading and he had to get ready for school soon.

The Gang Bang

———————————————————————

5:45 AM

Sk8erboy_(M/N):

Hello?

(M/N)’s #1 Lover(Kenny_McCormick):

(M/N) MY LOVE!!

Sk8erboy_(M/N):

Wtf is that user name? who is that?

TolkienBlack:

Sorry (M/N), Kenny and Clyde had a fight about whose your “#1 lover” and ended up playing rock paper scissors over FaceTime to decide

(M/N)’s #2 Lover(Clyde.Donovan.):

KENNY CHEATED, HE SWITCHED LAST MINUTE

(M/N)’s #1 Lover:

JUST ADMIT YOU LOST

(M/N)’s #2 Lover:

NO! YOU CHEATED

Stan.Marsh_:

Please stop spamming, some of us are trying to get more sleep

Sk8erboy_(M/N):

Sorry abt that Stan, go back to sleep

Stan.Marsh_:

Thanks (M/N), See you at the bus stop

(M/N)’s #1 Lover:

How come you give Stan special treatment :(

Cartman_TheGreat:

Shut up kenny, ur such a SIMP

Sk8erboy_(M/N) changed Cartman_TheGreat’s Nickname to Fattest Ass Around

Fattest Ass Around(Cartman_TheGreat):

FUCK YOU (M/N)

Sk8erboy_(M/N):

Imma go get ready, ttyl

(M/N)’s #1 Lover:

LMAO, bye pookie ttyl

(M/N)’s #2 Lover:

HE’S MY POOKIE NOT YOURS

TolkienBlack:

Not again 🤦🏿‍♂️

(M/N) laughed at the stupid messages that followed after that. He checked the time, 5:35 AM, he still had plenty of time to get ready. He looked through all the new clothes he bought with Kyle as he searched for a cute outfit. He finally found one, after searching through every single bag of clothes he bought. A striped black and red sweater with black baggy cargo jeans, some chains as accessories and finally some spiked earrings to go in all his piercings. He had a couple in his ears, one tiny spiked stud on his nose, a spiked eye brow piercing and, though no one would see unless he lifted his shirt up, a spiked belly button piercing(i want all these piercings btw), along with all the ear piercings he had. Three holes on the bottom part of his ears that had normal black studs filling them. and then two cartilage piercings on each ear, with matching think hoops filling those too. (M/N) smiled at himself in the full size mirror he bought before doing his hair and then sending a picture to the group chat before starting on his makeup. He wanted to go a bit natural so it’s not as obvious that he was wearing too much.

The Gang Bang

———————————————————————

6:20 AM

Sk8erboy_(M/N):

*Image sent*

(M/N)’s #1 Lover:

OMG POOKIE YOU LOOK SO EMO I LOVE IT

TolkienBlack:

Kenny is that even a compliment?

Also (M/N) you look very nice, I didn’t know Alt was your style

(M/N)’s #2 Lover:

WHO CARES IF HE LOOKS EMO, MY BABY IS SO FINE

(M/N)’s #1 Lover

IT IS A COMPLIMENT, I LOVS MY BITCHES EMO

they’re so hot

smash

(M/N) let me hit please

TolkienBlack muted (M/N)’s #1 Lover(Kenny McCormick)

TolkienBlack:

sorry about that (M/N), Kenny has no filter

Fattest Ass Around:

your all so gay

(M/N) you look like shit, emo mf

Broflovski.Kyle. muted Fattest Ass Around(Cartman_TheGreat)

Broflovski.Kyle.:

Yeah, sorry about them (M/N)

You look really nice, i can see through my window

*photo of (M/N) posing in front of his mirror*

Sk8erboy_(M/N);

OMG KYLE THAT’S CREEPY AS SHIT

*photo of Kyle laughing his ass off and waving at (M/N)*

SHIT IMMA BE LATE FOR RHE BUS

Stan.Marsh_:

what the absolute fuck

(M/N) rushed down the stairs, grabbing his skateboard and waving by to his aunt who didn’t even hear as she was passed out on the couch with Grey’s Anatomy running on the TV. He thought she must have had another unsuccessful date. He placed his skateboard on the snow covered ground and frowned, he couldn’t skate on this. He scoffed irritably and placed his skateboard back in his house before finally making his way to the bus stop.

He sighed in relief when he saw Cartman, Kyle, Stan, and Kenny at the bus stop. Kyle saw him first and waved, giving him a charming smile. (M/N) could’ve easily fainted right then, how are all these small town boys so handsome? He finally reached them and waved back with his arm that wasn’t broken. “Good Morning!”

Stan gave him a tired smile, before moving to doze back off. Kenny flung his arm around (M/N)’s shoulders in a makeshift hug. “(N/N)!! I missed you!” His voice was muffled by his orange parka but (M/N) could make out what he said while he was close to the other boy. Kyle shoved Kenny off of (M/N), much to the (h/c) boys disappointment.

“Sorry about him (M/N), Kenny has no concept of personal space.” Kyle made a not so subtle jab at Kenny, who in return punched him in the arm. “Ow! You bitch!”

“Kahl shut the fuck up, none of us want to hear your jew mouth run, right (M/N)?” Cartman spoke up finally, but before Kyle could retort or throw a bunch at the male, the bus arrived.

(M/N) sighed, getting on the bus after the other guys. He frowned when he got on. First noticing how everyone who wasn’t his friends, Can he call them that?, were giving him weird looks. Second, all the guys got their own seats with each other, leaving him with no one to sit with or a seat to himself. Kenny and Cartman were in one seat while Stan and Kyle sat behind them, they bickered the entire way to their seats and continued to after they sat down. (M/N) stood there awkwardly until someone called his name.

“Oh (M/N)! You can sit with me!” He looked to the right of the bus and smiled when Butters waved him over. He plopped into the seat next to him, sighing deeply as he finally felt his nerves sort of relax and a wave of tiredness hit his body.

“Oh jeez (M/N), did you get enough sleep last night?” (M/N) laid his head on Butters shoulder, shaking his head no. Butters felt his face heat up, mumbling a small “golly” as he patted (M/N)’s shoulder awkwardly.

“No i got like,” He thought for a moment. “four hours maybe, i’m not sure.”

“You need more sleep (M/N),” Kyle spoke up from the seat a row over, where Stan was napping next to him against the window. Cartman snickered, facing Kyle’s seat that was behind him.

“What are you, his mum?” Cartman flipped him off but dodged Kyle’s punch that was aimed for his face. Stan jolted awake at the sound of Kyle’s fist hitting the seat, to which he groaned when he realized what happened.

“Watch where you punch Kyle..” Stan mumbled at he glanced over at (M/N) and sent him a very small smile before going back to sleep.

“You’re such an ass Cartman!” Kyle was standing now, pointing an accusing finger at the guy who was basically provoking him on purpose.

“Not as much as you! You fuckin jew!” Cartman screamed back at him with a growing smirk on his face.

“Mmh! mmh mmm!” Kenny shouted at the two of them and it seemed like (M/N) was the only one who didn’t know what he said.

“what?” Kenny didn’t answer his question, just sent him a wink. (M/N) could already tell that these buss rides are gonna suck everyday, he’s hoping that instead he could skate to school instead. A raging headache was making its way into his head and he groaned in annoyance, if only he had some Coffee…Wait! that’s it! He pulled out his phone to text the ‘Team Craig’ group chat on Coonstagram.

Team Craig

———————————————————————

7:06 AM

Sk8erboy_(M/N):

Hey Tweek, can you bring me a coffee? Pretty please?

I have a massive, raging headache.

Tweak_._Tweek:

O Ofc (m/N)!

Clyde.Donovan.:

Oh no :( (M/N) hang in there!

JimmyValmer_Official:

How did the headache find relief?

Craig_Tucker:

don’t even jimmy.

JimmyValmer_Official:

It took an “as-pir-inspiring” vacation!

Craig_Tucker:

god damn it 🖕

Sk8erboy_(M/N):

I wish i had an aspirin rn

TolkienBlack:

Sorry (M/N), just hold out till you get to school, I have some in my bag for football practice

Sk8erboy_(M/N):

I’ll try

(M/N) smiled at the texts but groaned when the bus came to a very sudden stop. His whole body jerked forward and he hit his head on the seat in front of him. Cartman let out a loud “HAH!” and Kyle smacked him across the head. Hard.

“Not so funny now, huh fatass?” Cartman began to yell obscenities at the top of his lungs at Kyle, who simply ignored him with a satisfied smile. Everyone was standing up to get off the bus and (M/N) blinked away his tiredness to stand up. Kyle ushered him to go before he did, and (M/N) smiled at the sweet gesture. Before he could make it past Cartman’s seat, the boy tripped him, causing (M/N) to begin to plummet to the floor. He awaited the impact of the fall with closed eyes but nothing came. He looked back to see Kyle holding his sweater collar with a scowl at Cartman. Kyle picked him up and put him back on his feet before ushering him out of the bus, putting himself, Kenny, and Stan between (M/N) and Cartman.

“He has a broken arm fatass, what the fuck were you thinking?!” (M/N) sighed and zoned out as he got off the bus, looking around before seeing Tweek, who smiled at him and waved with his hand that didn’t have any coffee in it. (M/N) almost squealed, almost. But he figured that would be way too embarrassing for his first day at this place. He did, however, make a run towards Tweak who was standing with the rest of the guys in the little Group chat that had. (M/N) flung his arms around Tweek, gently of course because he only had one arm plus Tweek was anxious and had his coffee in his hands.

“Tweek!!! I could kiss you right now!” Tweeks entire face lit up red as he began to stutter out and he pushed (M/N) away and gave him his coffee, saying something along the lines of ‘too much pressure!’. (M/N) didn’t take offense though, he just smiled and took a sit of the coffee. It tasted divine, per usual.

“Here (M/N).” Tolkien grabbed his attention and put an aspirin in his hands. (M/N) could almost cry from how sweet and kind they all were being to him. He gave Tolkien an awkward hug too and swallowed the aspirin with his coffee. Clyde whined, not liking how he was the odd one out of all the affection (M/N) was giving out.

The rest of the guys finally caught up with (M/N) and the rest and they all began to walk into school. (M/N) could not only see but also feel every eye on him, safe to say it was making him mega uncomfortable. He stood at the entrance of the school and glanced around. He saw the office room and released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He glanced back at all the guys, noticing they were either talking civilly or bickering. He noticed Craig, who wasn’t saying anything and was on his phone. (M/N) walked up and tapped his shoulder, causing a cold glance his way.

“Sorry Craig,” He whispered, not wanting to alert the others. “I’m heading into the office now, will you ask someone to stay behind so they can show me where my classes are?” Craig sighed and flipped him off with a head nod, (M/N) returned the gesture as a symbol of his thanks and made his way into the office.

(M/N) came out a couple minutes later, surprised to see only Craig standing there. “Craig? Why did you stay?” He thought for sure Craig would be the last person to stay behind, well besides Cartman but that’s a given.

Craig didn’t answer his question, he simply said, “I told everyone else to fuck off, what’s your first period?” (M/N) simply shrugged and showed Craig his schedule. The standoffish guy simply started walking and (M/N) followed him.

Little did (M/N) know, all the boys had an epic rock paper scissors contest and Craig won. He wouldn’t even realize it till he saw the video on Coonstagram later.

(M/N) and Craig walked into the same first period, Pre-Calculus with Mr.Mackey and all eyes turned to the door. All his friends, He needs to confirm that soon, waved at him. Almost all of them that is, a couple of them were still bickering. (M/N) looked around the room. He didn’t recognize a whole lot of faces, but he did notice some Goth kids in the corner, they looked so cool. He decided not to focus on the people and decide where he should sit. He saw an empty seat in the desk next to Stan and hurriedly sat down when the bell rung, startling him.

Stan was napping when he heard someone slide in the desk next to him. He looked over, expecting to see Wendy and was awaiting the nagging voice of her and her complaining that he wasn’t doing enough. When he saw the (H/c) angel, he smiled a goofy lazy smile. (M/N) looked over at him with a grin of his own. He then reached into his bag, causing Stan to ponder what he was doing.

(M/N) pulled out a small hershey kiss from his bag and wrote a little note before handing it to Stan, to the tired males surprise. Stan took the chocolate as (M/N) turned around to talk to Tolkien, who sat behind him. Stan looked at the note, not noticing his girlfriend walk in. The note read:

Chocolate’s good for the brain

i don’t have any Aspirin, assuming ur hung over

sorry stan, hope this helps you thru math <3

Stan smiled at the note before he heard his girlfriend’s annoying voice. He hated that she changed so drastically since Freshmen year.

(M/N) looked over at Stan while Tolkien reached into his bag to give (M/N) a copy of the football schedule for the rest of the season. Wendy ran up and hugged him and he could almost sense Stan’s annoyance at the action. Another bunch of girls walked in as Tolkien handed him the schedule. (M/N) thanked him and faced the front when Mr. Mackey walked in. (M/N) counted his blessings when Mr.Mackey didn’t make him come up and introduce himself.

The bell rang, interrupting Mr.Mackey’s rant on whatever he was talking about. (M/N) didn’t know, he zoned out after the teacher got off topic. He packed up his bag and looked at his schedule. Theater Arts.. (M/N) didn’t know why he had the class but he did. “Hey guys, do any of you have theater arts?” They were all at the lockers when he asked, and even the guys bickering stopped. Everyone went silent. “Guys?” (M/N) questioned before everyone broke out into laughter. Some guys tried to hold it in, like Kyle, Tolkien, Tweak and Butters. The others, besides Stan who was talking to Wendy further down the hallway, were cackling. Cartman even had to prop himself against the lockers to prevent himself from falling over. It’s a wonder the locker didn’t dent…

(M/N) was shocked and his face flushed with embarrassment and frustration. He huffed, slamming his locker shut and walking away from them. They didn’t even know he left, they were all just laughing. (M/N) felt humiliated, and he probably shouldn’t have but he did. He thought they were friends, friends are supposed to support each others interests. He sighed, and looked around the hallway where he ended up, and it was a miracle he even found the Drama Classroom. He walked in, looking around at the very limited faces. One guy got his attention. He looked EXACTLY (M/N)’s type and the boy hurriedly sat next to him before anyone else could take the seat. (M/N) glanced over, multiple times to see if he was seeing what he thought he was.

Admittedly tall, the boys legs were in a man spread as he played on his phone. His dark hair was barely above his eyes and (M/N) couldn’t help but notice the honey brown color his eyes were. The boy was as pale as he was but he had some eye liner on and a kinda edgy outfit with combat boots on. (M/N) thought he was gonna pass out when the boys veiny hands tapped his arm gently as he tried to collect his thoughts. “U-um..” He coughed in his hand to make his voice not seem so shaken. “Yes?”

The boy showed (M/N) his phone. “Hey, you’re staring.”

(M/N) wanted to die, he actually wanted to pass away but he kept his composure and said a tiny apology. “Sorry, you’re just, exactly my type.” He covered his mouth quickly, wondering why in the world he would say such a thing.

The hot male next to him let out a chuckle. “I’m glad because you’re my type too sugar.”

(M/N) chuckled as well, sticking his hand out in an introductory manner. “I’m (M/N), i moved in a couple weeks ago!”

“Dovahkiin, nice to meet you Sugar.”

“Are you gonna keep calling me that?” the male next to him nodded and before he could type out some more conversation, the drama teacher stepped in to teach her class, much to your disappointment.

(M/N) sighed, he had lost Dovahkiin and Stan, who were in his third period, on his way to lunch. Stan got whisked away by Wendy and he had no idea where Dovahkiin went. And now he was lost, the hallways were empty and he no guide. He groaned in frustration and just made his way out the back door of the school. He glanced around, not seeing the goth kids who blend into the wall of the school. He shrugged and plopped down on the steps. He was alone with his thoughts now, and they were plagued by his little sister. He missed her bright smile, he missed all of their bright smiles. His mom, his brother. Gosh he can’t afford to cry right now.

“What in the emo bullshit?” (M/N) screamed, turning around and looking at the four people that now stood near him. The one who spoke, a pretty goth plus-sized girl was the one that spoke to him, her eyes glaring at him. The boy next to her, joint in his mouth as he glanced over at (M/N) with an uninterested expression. He had a cane and jet black hair and he was really, really tall, maybe even taller than Craig? (M/N) didn’t know. The boy across from him had semi red roots, which stood out against his all black outfit. Out of all of them, the one with red roots had the kindest expression, which wasn’t saying mush because he still looked like an ass. The shortest one, who (M/N) assumed was a freshmen pulled out a pocket knife, as if to threaten him. (M/N) just stared at them, kind of in awe.

“You’re the new kid, right?” the girl of the group spoke up, patting the seat beside her against the wall and (M/N) walked over and sat down next to her. “Nice boots.” (M/N) mumbled a thanks and they didn’t seem to mind his quietness. The short one even put his knife away.

“Wanna spill your guts to us?” She said in almost a threatening way but (M/N) chuckled, understanding what she meant. But he did see the short one pull out his knife against, only to get lightly kicked by the tallest guy.

“I’m (M/N), by the way.” He didn’t even hesitate to tell his story of the past month to them, watching as they all listened carefully. He couldn’t feel any pity gazes, which made him happy just a little bit.

“That’s so goth,” The girl gave him the tiniest of smiles and he smiled back. “I’m Henrietta, That’s Micheal,” She pointed to the one with the cane, who gave him a smirk that could only be described as sexy. “That’s Pete.” The one with red roots rose his head in acknowledgment to his name being called, almost like he was in class while role was being called. “And that’s Firkle, he’s a bit violent.” The youngest one rolled his eyes and went back to playing with his knife.

(M/N) nodded, remembering the names when Pete offered him a cigarette and to be honest? he needed the buzz so he took it. The rest of his lunch break he spent smoking with the Goths, ignoring the times his phone buzzed with notifications. He gave Henrietta his Coonstagram account as the bell rang before he let them be outside the school, making his way to his fourth and last period of the day.

When (M/N) walked in and saw Dovahkiin, he completely ignored the fact that Stan, Kenny, Tolkien, and Craig were in his class too. They sat sort of near Dovahkiin, though he was in the corner as the boys were in the middle. (M/N) walked right past them, aware he kinda reeked of Cigarette smoke. He had given his Coonstagram to Dovahkiin as they were switching classes so he didn’t have to talk and have the boy show him his messages. The few boys in his class seemed irked he just annoyed them, but they didn’t try to approach him, deciding that maybe he just didn’t see them. (M/N) pulled out his phone finally, looking at all the spam he had before ignoring all the messages and texting Dovahkiin.

Dovahkiin.Rider_

———————————————————————

1:20 PM

Sk8erboy_(M/N):

Whats up Dovah?

Sk8erboy_(M/N) changed Dovahkiin.Rider_’s name to Dovah

Dovah:

Was the nickname necessary lol?

Also you reek of Cigarettes, you smoke?

Dovah changed Sk8erboy_(M/N)’s name to (N/N)

(N/N):

yes and yes,

i smoked with some goth guys at lunch,

super cool guys.

Dovah:

You could’ve had lunch with me :(

(N/N):

I couldn’t find you! :(

Before Dovahkiin could type out an apology, their history teacher walked in and they put their phones away. Well, (M/N) did, Dovahkiin seemed to be taking notes on his or something.

(M/N) still didn’t notice his friends in his class as he walked out of the classroom with Dovahkiin, who offered (M/N) a ride in his motorcycle. (M/N) couldn’t refuse of course. All his friends had football practice and before they could offer him to stay and watch, he texted them he had a ride and he would be going home. They didn’t object but let’s just say they were pissy all of football practice.

After (M/N) got home, he went straight to shower, before doing all his skin care. He did facial masks with his aunt as they cried over Grey’s Anatomy, safe to say that his friends were mega pissed off. But he didn’t even answer all his coonstagram messages before going to bed. He was just too tired to deal with everyone.

#x reader #south park x reader #sp x reader #eric cartman x reader #kyle brovlofski x reader #kenny mccormick x reader #stan marsh x reader #craig tucker x reader #Tweak tweek x reader #tolkien black x reader #clyde donovan x reader #Dovahkiin x reader

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