🥺have literally been writing this tonight but i am a sucker for moments where kleya suddenly gets all soft because she realises vel needs someone to be soft in that moment, killssssss me dead
👀very upcoming but kleya is taking a kiss first approach to helping vel recover from a whumping
❌have been contemplating this more and i don't think i could ever write them having a breakup era, i am simply too much of a sap
✨ Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. 😉
💖 What made you start writing?
❌ What's a trope you will never write?
✨ i fear i am my own worst critic but, i do think i write action quite well! i love a space battle
💖i literally had been thinking about this ship non stop for nearly three weeks and if i didn't put all my thoughts somewhere i was going to explode
❌honestly can't pick any off the top of my head. i guess like noncon? idk, i know there is stuff i wouldn't write, but i think i'd have to have it thrown at me before i can say yes or no
🥺 - in general any time there’s unspoken affection i am always myself going 🥺 those were some of my favourite moments to write in heroes, where neither of them were ready to say it but clearly they were in love already, it killed me. as a more specific example, any time they cup each others face,,,,, just hits. that’s something specifically ripped from 2x12, the way vel holds kleya’s face briefly in the rain rewrote my brain chemistry
🤡 - vel and kleya’s text exchange from the cattian 5 + 1 is one of my favourite things i’ve done, vel’s abuse of emoticons was something i’m unreasonably proud of
For @velkleyaenjoyer who inspired this little fic by sharing this post in the VelKleya server:
They’re sitting side by side, backs against the warm stones of the temple, watching the jungle darken by degrees. Vel feels the heat seep slowly through the fabric of her shirt, the kind of warmth that settles into bone rather than skin. The air is thick with damp leaves and warm metal, and somewhere nearby a generator hums like a sleeping animal—steady, dependable, alive.
Vel lets her head tip slightly, studying Kleya from the corner of her eye. She only allows herself this kind of looking when she’s exhausted enough to forget to armour it. Kleya’s profile is all sharp intent softened by stillness, eyes reflecting the last bruised traces of daylight, and Vel feels that familiar tug in her chest—not longing exactly, not fear—but the quiet gravity of someone she keeps circling back to.
‘Can I ask you something strange?’ Vel says.
Kleya doesn’t turn her head. ‘You already are.’
Vel huffs a laugh, the sound low and easy. She rolls the question around once more before letting it loose. ‘What colour do you see me as?’
That finally earns her a look. Kleya’s brow furrows, instinctively suspicious, like Vel has just offered her a gift wrapped around a trap. ‘Is this a trick?’
‘No. Well. Maybe.’ Vel grins, shrugging one shoulder. ‘I was thinking it must be red, given… you know. All the early animosity. The constant threat of murder.’
Kleya exhales through her nose. ‘You were insufferable.’
‘I know,’ Vel says, and she means it fondly now. ‘So were you.’
Silence stretches between them as the jungle clicks and breathes, insects tuning themselves for night. Vel waits, half-expecting Kleya to dismiss the whole thing, to turn it into something sharp and deflective.
Instead, Kleya speaks quietly. ‘You’re not red.’
Vel turns fully towards her, surprise flickering before she can hide it. ‘No?’
‘Gold,’ Kleya says, and the word lands more softly than Vel expects.
She blinks once. Then again, as if her vision has misfired. ‘Gold?’
Kleya shifts beside her, suddenly restless, hands moving as if she doesn’t quite know where to put them. ‘I don’t mean… decorative. Or precious. I mean—’ She falters, then pushes on, voice lower, steadier. ‘Just because you’re soft doesn’t mean you’re not a force. Honey and wildfire are both the colour gold.’
Something in Vel goes very still, and the easy humour drains out of her, leaving a wide, quiet space behind it. Gold. Force. Soft and dangerous all at once. She feels like she’s been seen through armour she didn’t realise she was wearing.
‘That’s how you see me, huh?’ she says, and it isn’t quite a question.
Kleya nods once, decisive, like she’s bracing for impact. ‘Yes.’
Vel looks away, out into the darkening jungle. She needs the distance to breathe around the feeling that’s suddenly lodged under her ribs—tight, unfamiliar, aching in a way that isn’t pain.
Her throat works before she speaks again. ‘No one’s ever said that to me before.’
She doesn’t look back when Kleya responds, but she hears the quickness in her voice anyway, the way Kleya reaches for words like handholds. ‘It’s probably trite to say I’m blue, isn’t it? Or that I’m like the ocean. Everyone always says that about—’
‘Hey,’ Vel says gently, and the word lands exactly where she intends it to. Kleya stops mid-sentence. Vel turns back to her then, fully present, certainty settling into her bones. ‘I know the ocean,’ she says. ‘I know what it does. What it takes. The patience. The violence. The way it reshapes everything without asking permission.’ She shakes her head, slow and sure. ‘You’re not that.’
Kleya swallows. ‘Then what am I?’
Vel doesn’t answer right away. She studies Kleya the way she studies terrain before a march—not to conquer it, but to understand it. To respect it. This isn’t analysis. It’s something closer to recognition.
‘You’re green,’ Vel says at last.
Kleya frowns. ‘Green.’
‘Yes.’ Vel’s smile is small, but it’s anchored. ‘Not because you’re gentle. Because you persist. Because you grow in places that were burned to nothing. Because you don’t announce yourself—you just keep coming back.’ She gestures loosely toward the jungle, dense and breathing around them. ‘New life. Renewal. The part of the galaxy that refuses to stay dead.’ Her voice softens as she looks at Kleya again. ‘Hope doesn’t always look bright. Sometimes it looks like something stubborn and alive that survives anyway.’
Kleya looks down at her hands, at the faint scars etched there, the quiet record of endurance. When she looks back up, her eyes are a little too bright.
‘You’re dangerously poetic tonight, Captain Sartha,’ she says, fondness softening the edge of the words.
Vel feels warmth bloom in her chest, not the blazing kind she’s always associated with bravery or battle, but something steadier. She smiles, a little self-conscious now, as if she’s still learning how to stand in this version of herself.
‘I— I think I like how you look at me,’ she says honestly.
Kleya’s mouth curves, slow and thoughtful, and her gaze, when it meets Vel’s own again, is warm in a way that doesn’t rush or retreat. ‘Good,’ she says quietly. ‘Because I don’t think I know how to look at you any other way now.’
They sit there in companionable silence, then, colours settling between them like something shared and unspoken. Vel doesn’t pull away, and neither does Kleya.
I wrote a Velkleya NYE drabble, because this is how I want to start my 2026 🥰
💫Lighting up the Sky💫
Returning to Chandrila is always bittersweet.
There was a time Vel swore she'd never return - the trauma outweighing any reasons to go back, even if it was for a good cause like visiting Leida and celebrating the renewal of the lunar calendar. A celebration she never much cared for as a child, and one that had faded from her life as an adult.
Neither of those things matter when Kleya is standing across from her on the terrace, looking like the most beautiful thing Vel has seen in the entire galaxy. She'd offered to come with her - not because the mission demanded it, but because she wanted to.
Because she knows how much Vel's insides clench at the thought of being on this planet, even if they've never fully discussed it.
Because she has read up on the lunar celebrations of Chandrila and finds them “fascinating” - nothing to do with the fact she could see how tightly Vel's fists were balled at Mon's suggestion she attend Leida's party.
Kleya's wandered off from the main terrace - down to the lower terrace of the estate. Vel couldn't stop herself from following her if she tried. Kleya's always gorgeous, this isn't exactly a revelation to Vel, but tonight she's spectacular in a shimmering, Chandrilan-style dress and her hair in an intricate braid over her shoulder.
“Chandrila has some interesting traditions,” Kleya hums from her end of the terrace. Vel's breath catches in her throat, she didn't know Kleya had realised she was there.
“How so?” She asks.
“Mon told me the usual idea at a lunar celebration such as this is to find someone to kiss at the stroke of midnight?”
“Oh,” Vel breathes, voice higher than usual. “That.”
Of course she hasn't forgotten. It's all that's been on her mind since the party began, since she felt Kleya's eyes on hers as the first drink of the evening was pressed into her hand. Much the same as the way Kleya's lips as a concept have been scorched into her mind since the days of coexisting in a yurt on Yavin IV.
“It would be a pity to let such a tradition go to waste.”
Vel can't see the faint trace of a smile ghosting Kleya's lips. It warms her from the inside out, sends her heart fluttering in a way she hasn't felt for years. A comfortable, burgeoning sense of hope settles deep in her chest.
“I suppose it would,” she says with a small smile, with a shrug. “Especially one as rich as this.” Her voice is light, faintly teasing. It's a complete front, if the lights from the crazier nearby were any brighter, Kleya would be able to see the way her hands are shaking.
She turns to face Kleya.
Her eyes are shining with an intoxicating mixture of humour, uncertainty and a confidence that Vel is about ninety-nine percent sure is a bluff.
At least she isn't alone in that.
Kleya's moving closer as the music on the terrace above them quietens, the sudden rise in conversation, cheers and laughter signaling the countdown to the end of the lunar year.
She's so close Vel could reach out and take her hand, she smells like violets and the crystallized orange garnish of the drink she was holding earlier. Her breath is coming faster, her eyes flickering between Vel's lips and her eyes.
Vel doesn't dare breathe.
Raucous voices above them begin counting down. Vel finds herself closing the distance between their bodies.
Her hand lands featherlight on Kleya's cheek, stroking unbelievably soft skin.
Almost 20 years ago, she would have been terrified to be seen like this here - touching a girl, thinking very seriously about kissing her.
Now all she can think about is the way Kleya's gazing at her, like Vel's the only thing on this planet that exists.
As the voices on the terrace erupt with cheers, as the countdown comes to an end, Kleya tugs her in by the lapels of her shirt. Her lips are soft, insistent, perfect in a way that Vel always imagined they would be.
In the distance, Vel can hear fireworks echoing in the Valley below. She feels like they're exploding in her very soul- illuminating every inch of her and chasing away any darkness that has ever existed. Kleya’s lips move against hers and Vel deepens the kiss, her thumb tracing the line of Kleya's jaw.
When they break apart, Kleya is smiling. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes shining brighter than Vel has ever seen them before.
“I think that might be a tradition I could consider adding to my repertoire,” Vel breathes, unwilling to let Kleya go. She keeps her close instead, one hand resting possessively on the small of her back.
“Me too,” Kleya replies, her voice uncharacteristically breathless.
Their second kiss is less of a tradition, more of a beginning. A new year full of possibilities, of hope, of opportunities to love and be loved again in a way that neither of them imagined for themselves. As Kleya's hands slide into her hair, as her lips re-build Vel's world, Vel feels the entire galaxy open up around her in a shower of light.
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