A/N: I play MMOs now, because reasons. My favourite is SWTOR, and I have a lot of Malavai/Warrior feels okay? So writing happened. Enjoy!

Disclaimer:The only thing I own are six lovely toons and all my emotions.


You hate his name. What kind of person in their right mind would call their son Malavai? Of course, it's not like you can say anything. Your name could be considered just as ridiculous, if not more so.

Regardless, you make it a habit of calling him Quinn as much as possible. Because it really is a terrible name. In the field; Quinn. On the ship; Quinn. Relaxing in a cantina; Quinn.

But there are times, few and far between, in which you actually call him Malavai.

When it's early morning, and you've just stumbled into the galley. He's sitting there, hair mussed, dark shadows beneath his equally dark eyes. He's staring at his datapad; the news, you presume. You make two steaming cups of caffeine, and place one before him. He doesn't notice.

"Malavai," He starts, as if coming back to himself. Looking up, he thanks you, takes a long sip, then goes back to his reading.

When you're running away from whoever it is you've pissed off - most likely Jedi. He's falling behind, and they've almost caught up.

One of the Jedi throws his saber, and it catches Malavai in the back. He falls, unmoving.

"Malavai!" You whirl round, own saber at the ready. Suddenly, Vette is at your side, and you quickly dispatch the Jedi. You drop to your knees by Malavai.

He's still alive.

When he's in the medcenter, laying on his stomach, so as no to aggravate the wound on his back. You're slouched in the uncomfortable chair beside the cot, despite the fact Darth Baras would have berated you for acting so much unlike a true Sith.

Vette warily steps closer, reaching out and placing a hand on your shoulder. When you don't throw it off, she wraps you in a gentle hug. You lean against her. Vette leaves again, and you can feel yourself drifting off. You're woken by his quiet moans, as he slowly wakens.

"Malavai!"

When he's better, and has you pinned to the wall, knee between your thighs, his bulging length pressed against you. His lips are attacking your neck, your ear, your jaw. Your lips.

You use the force to push him away, though not harshly. He backs away into the opposite wall. You follow him, using your arms to trap him.

"Malavai," You look him up and down, smirking. "My dear Malavai,"

You kiss him, then abruptly turn and walk away. You saunter off your quarters. He follows.

When you're writhing beneath him, fingers clutching at the sweaty bedsheets, eyes rolling in their sockets. He gently caresses you, a hand rising to push a lock of hair from your face.

"Malavai…"

You hate his name. But you love him. Somehow, Malavai Quinn has won your heart. And, honestly, you're perfectly fine with that.


A/N2: Hope you enjoyed! And before anybody asks, this was written before I completed chapter 1 of the storyline. And I have yet to get past that point.

Review!