#my daria fic

[kinetic-elaboration]

May 16: Daria/Jane, Kiss

Daria/Jane, ~900 words, ~35 minutes

In the same 'verse as this fic, but it also takes place before so like, post-canon, basically. This was inspired by a comment from/conversation with @riotsquirrrl on that fic about how D and J might have gotten together. I really liked it, so I decided to play around with it.

How can it be that Daria thinks it's cold enough for snow and yet Jane's not wearing anything as heavy as a real jacket? It's because Daria is from the South and doesn't understand what cold is or what almost-snow feels like either. So.

*

The forecast says snow flurries but the air feels like incipient heavy snow, as bitter-cold as it is when Daria opens the door and steps outside. These are the last flickering days of the year, the in-between time, the neighborhood dark by 5pm and illuminated only by streetlights. She stands in the cone of light from the Morgendorffer's front-door light and shrugs her shoulders up toward her ears, crosses her arms against her chest, and Jane pulls the sleeves of her red BFAC sweatshirt all the way over her hands.

She'd volunteered to walk Jane out but not all the way home, so there's no reason now to linger out here in the cold, breathing out faint misting gray breaths, thinking about how it won't really snow, not in Lawndale in December. It never has.

But Jane just shifts her weight from one foot to the other, glances out in the direction of the sidewalk and then back. "Hey--so." She mimics Daria's posture, crossed arms to hold in body heat. "Thanks for letting me hang out all night and avoid my house."

"Thank you for distracting me from having to spend time alone with my family." A half-joke, and Jane half-smiles at it. They're not so bad, really. She's just not so used to being home, as if she'd traveled back from Boston in a time machine and now she's in high school again, Quinn telling stories about the same teachers, the same gossip, the same football team. As if Daria's four months at Raft never happened. As if time had shifted in some jarring, abrupt way, but only for her. Only somewhere in her body, in her consciousness.

"Could be worse," Jane answers. Could be her place. Wind's moved back in, half-taken over. Trent won't last the year with him, though he hasn't admitted it yet. And Jane's mom has been away for six months now, the sort of absence that must make even Jane wonder if she'll ever come back, and as far as Daria has ever been tell, Mr. Lane has never really lived there at all.

Maybe familiarity is better. At least she has somewhere to come home to.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" she asks. She means it as a lifeline but selfishly, too.

Jane shrugs. "Sleeping. Painting."

"Busy schedule. Do you think you can find time for pizza?"

"I might be able to pencil that in." The corner of one side of her mouth lifts up again, a smirk but, because it's just them alone, there's softness to it. "I should go."

"Yeah."

For a while now, maybe a couple of months, Jane's been in the habit of kissing Daria on the cheek when they part ways. The reason why has never been obvious, and Daria has stopped trying to remember quite when it started, or what she thought of it then. Maybe Jane does it because separating always feels so much more weighty now, when they won't see each other for days or possibly weeks, instead of hours. Maybe the gesture comes from how much more often they touch, now: jostled together on the subway; falling asleep in each other's dorms; leaning on each other sometimes, when they study side by side in the same bed. Or maybe it's an art school thing, or just part of Jane changing and growing, in some more abrupt or sudden or meaningful way than she did in high school--some change in her that somehow Daria can't see in its entirety or fully understand.

She likes it, though, this new sort of ritual. Never knows how to respond, never initiates, but likes it. When Jane doesn't do it, she always thinks, well that's over now, and then is pleasantly surprised when the habit picks itself up again. Last time, she reached out after and squeezed Jane's arm, just before they parted at the train station in Boston, which was her attempt at speaking the same language back.

But this is Lawndale and it's different here. They're nineteen; they're fifteen; the world is very small, the neighborhood familiar even in the darkness. Flakes of snow too light to even count as flurries are getting caught in Jane's hair.

Somewhere in the direction of the neighbor's lawn, some sound like the movements of an aggressive squirrel rattles through the stillness. "I'll see you tomorrow," Jane says, and Daria turns away from the noise just as Jane leans in to kiss her cheek, and the kiss lands on the side of Daria's mouth instead.

She turns very slightly to her left, like a correction, but doesn't otherwise move. Doesn't pull back, doesn't press forward.

Interesting.

Jane steps back again, blinks a few times; her eyes are unusually wide. "Sorry about that," she says.

Daria shakes her head. "Don't be."

And then Jane's shoulders fall back down, and she laughs like she's letting out some coiled-up nerves. "All right. Tomorrow, then."

"I'll stop by."

Maybe she should be doing something else now, saying something else. Jane leans in one more time and this time kisses her cheek, like she'd meant to, and then she sticks her hands in the front pocket of her hoodie and starts off down the front walk. Daria stays outside and watches her, moving in and out of the brightest lights, until she disappears at last down the street.

[mistylacrimosa]

Me last night when I tried to read a fic before bed.

Also me today when I tried to read a fic before getting out of bed.

[mechazushi]

So, I've got this KafHoshi fic I'm working on and it's starting to turn into a, like, 5 + 1 scenarios kinda fic in the vaguest sense of the situation. Which means I need to come up with senarios about Hoshina falling head over heels for Kafka and I listened to Super Massive Black Hole by Muse, immediately followed by Landmines by Sum 41 and all I could think about for a day was a situation where Kafka had a "Homer learns the bass" moment in his teens and his mom or cousin or something was cleaning out an old storage container and sent him his old bass guitar.

Not to overindulge, but basically my mind wouldn't let go of the image of Kafka singing SMBH, but in his Kaiju voice, which then morphed into Iharu begging on hands and knees asking if Kafka could learn the bass line to Landmines and be the bass to his lead guitar and play the song on his birthday in front of the Third Division with him.

And THEN my brain was like....

"Ok, but a Saturday morning cartoon about A rock band getting mystical guitars that transform them into humanoid Kaijus with super powers so now they fight crime just because and they have to keep the identity a secret from the police and Dollar Store Iharu leads the team and in the first episode show starts off with the band needing a new bass player so they start tryouts and a Kafka-like character shows up and the whole team isn't impressed with him until he starts playing an absolute sick riff and they let him join and DS Iharu's dad is the band's manager and he's a shit dad but he knows about he Kaiju Guitars/private hero identity thing (Cuz' he's the one networking the media to help keep it a secret) and there's a side plot about Kafka the Bass player becoming DS Iharu'd Better Dad and Reno's there too, but he's the "No enthusiasm" Guitar seller that sold them their mystic guitars and he had no idea about what the guitars do and the team rope him in once he and the rest find out KnockOff Reno had been chosen to help the people that became bestowed with the Kaiju Guitars and now KnockOff Reno is the team's Guy-In-The-Chair and HE gets his OWN character arc and him and Dollar Store Iharu start to fall in love and then you find out that Kafka had a secret love child that he didn't know about and then spend a season off screen fighting for custody and I've given this way too much thought already but doesn't it sound REALLY COOL because I could see it becoming one of those cult classic shows that were only made to sell toys, but it became one of the few that managed to transcend beyond that..."

It's never going to happen. but I do agree with myself.

[kardia-library-official]

I was slowed down by a sudden increase in length and many busy days of unrestrained summer fun, but I said it was coming, and here it is! A novella about art and feelings. Feat. Artsy Elf Sisters, Sad Wet Detective, and Manic Pixie Dream God. I'll fully admit that it was written for an intended audience of me, but maybe you'll like it too!

Extra special thanks to @darkacey, who sent the ask that started it all! ^_^

To celebrate, I'm gonna go finish that pile of musty old comics I've been reading, and maybe watch some Outlaw Star. <3

[dazesanddoodles]

player came in<33

[fade-touched-shenanigans]

Here's for more elves who run into battle, swinging swords that are (almost) bigger than them

Daria Lavellan (she/her), reaver, Blackwall's scary dog privilege

[sy-dragon]

[psychosodomy]

waking up w my book shelf in front of me actually makes it easy to get up wow

but it also makes me want more kids lit on my shelves

[fandom-friday]

Thank you so much to everyone that submitted recommendations this week! A comprehensive list of this week’s submissions can be found under the cut! Recommendations are organized by show/media, and any main pairings will be listed after the title.

💕 = 18+ content 🟪 = contains spoilers of a currently running show

Fics:

The Clone Wars: It Only Takes a Spark (Purge Trooper Cody x f!Inquisitor Reader) by @vodika-vibes 💕 Time After Time (Commander Cody x f!Reader) by @the-rain-on-kamino Theirs (Commander Fox x f!Reader x Commander Wolffe) by @vodika-vibes 💕 Don't Stop on My Account (Commander Wolffe x f!Reader) by @dickarchivist 💕 One Spotchka Too Many (Captain Rex x f!Reader) by @twistedsarchive Captain Rex x OC Nia Ficlet by @eternal-transcience 💕 The Last Word (Fives x OC Mal Darroch) by @ariadnes-red-thread Shattered Sunrise (Mace Windu x OC Danica Morrow) by @pickleprickle The Choices We Make, The Paths We Tread by lildropofmagic (AO3) The Number Lads by @jgvfhl

The Bad Batch: The Hostage by @kybercrystals94 Freeze Thaw by AnEchoInHere (AO3)

The Book of Boba Fett: 💕 This Tender Love (Boba Fett x f!Reader) by @daimyosprincess 💕 Worth the Risk (Boba Fett x f!Reader) by @daimyosprincess

Star Wars Original Trilogy: Revelations by shOokspeared (AO3)

Republic Commando: 💕 Off the Grid (Niner Skirata x f!Reader) by @the-rain-on-kamino

Batman: Lavender Blood by @starkskypines

Hetalia: Axis Powers: Grey Skies Over London by Gemini Star 01 (ff.net) Every Generation by Gemini Star 01 (ff.net) Gutters by Glassamilk (ff.net) Ditches by Glassamilk (ff.net)

Call of Duty: 💕 Riptide (Price x f!Reader) by @the-californicationist

Crossover AUs: Edward's Babysitting Service (Hetalia: Axis Powers X Fullmetal Alchemist Crossover) by orphan_account (AO3) Conversations With Patronizing Jerks (Hetalia: Axis Powers X Star Wars Crossover) by @basketofnova

Art:

The Clone Wars: Republic Troops 501st Poster by @boggsart Clone Wars Band Art by @pinkiemme Captain Rex Art by @vivaislenska Captain Rex Art by @kheimerios Captain Rex Art by @rackcty Mace Windu Art by @mudpuddless Fives and OC Elara McTavish Art by @aliettali OC Kazi and OC Daria by @eyecandyeoz (from I Yearn and So I Fear by @enigmaticexplorer) Clone OC Atlas Art by @orionfrommars

The Bad Batch: Bad Batch Selfie Art by @collophora Happy Ending Bad Batch Art by @mroddmod Hunter and Omega Art by @blxem1lk Hunter Redesign by @snw-faatuatua 🟪 (TBB S3) Hunter Art by @soularsss 🟪 (TBB S3) CX-2 Art by @notnyxxy Tech Art by @rexxdjarin Tech and Phee's Children OCs by @nightskyfoxyy A Place to Hide by @the-rain-on-kamino

Star Wars Original Trilogy: Young Boba Fett Art by @mrs2224

Jedi: Survivor: BD-1 Art by @eriadus

Batman: Batman's Boys by @inverted-typo

How to Train Your Dragon: Meatlug Art by @spacenintendogs

Call of Duty: Wraith by @bluegiragi

GIF Sets:

The Book of Boba Fett: Kia Kaha, Kia Maia, Kia Manawanui by @bobafettdaily

[stillmonsterz]

I just finished the Brave It Together parts, and omg, wtf is Ni-Ki up to?? I knew it was too good to be true with him, the way he was so lax and chill. I don't think he's a bad guy, I'm just wary of him now.

I think Jay and reader are a good pair because they're the same in lots of ways. They get something from the other that they need, which completes them and make them whole. Is she that way because it was a way to protect herself when younger, so it's just automatic? Their dynamic can be frustrating at times, but it works. She reminds me of Daria in a way. I like her friendship with Isa.

Despite all the shit that happened regarding Jake, I really don't think he raped Mina. We've heard things from multiple povs about it, and I just don't feel that he did that. That club may be spoiled, rich, entitled assholes, but I think they draw the line at something like that. Remember how upset Ni-Ki was when he told her what happened when he drove her home that time?

Jay Jay Jay...I'm not sure what to even say. I'm curious about why he's the way he is. It's like he's so angry about everything, and he's behaving in a way because he has nothing to lose? Idk. I should reread it so I can understand him better. I just hate that he treats reader and Isa horribly. Like why is one good enough to fuck but not show off? I can't wait for the next chapter/part.

I've been saving this one. I hate letting long asks like this leave my inbox lmao.

Y/N's past is probably going to stay ambiguous. I try to leave hints here and there, but I want a lot of my fic to be left to open interpretation. It's funny you mentioned Daria. Never watched it, but from what I've seen they are very similar (flat affect, societal disconnect, style of dressing). Jay and her are similar, and I'll go into that more in the final part trust.

I've spoken to my friends and they said that they thought Jake did it, so it's interesting to hear the opposite perspective. I'll never reveal what really happened, so it's up to you.

Isa is the biggest victim in all of this imo. Y/N went through a lot, but Jay coerced Isa into public sex and her new friend has been sleeping with her man for weeks. It's rough for her.

Thank you so much for leaving your message, and I really hope you enjoy this fic.

[kinetic-elaboration]

Complex College Mating Rituals as a Distraction from the Brutality of Boston Winter

Fandom: Daria Pairing: Daria/Jane Word Count: 3,600 Tags: College Era, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Fluff

For @ficwip 's 2024 Hey Sweetheart challenge, the goal of which is to write a story (or create art) in which one character calls another 'sweetheart'--and means it.

Summary/Excerpt:

"Complex college mating rituals as a distraction from the brutality of Boston winter," Daria answers.

"That could be the title of a story."

"I'm hardly the person to write it."

Jane shrugs. "Why not?" She pokes Daria's foot under the table with the toe of her boot, tries with only some success to hold back her smirk. "You have a girlfriend. How'd you manage that if you don't know something about complex mating rituals?"

Or: Three scenes from Daria and Jane's freshman year of college, February 2001, as they settle into their new relationship.

READ ON AO3.

[star-girl69]

I Loved You Like the Sun

Daemon Targaryen x Rhaenyra Targaryen x Reader

please read: announcement

a/n: reader is from house honeyholt, a small house from the reach. (this is a real house in the books, feel free to look it up!) nothing about the reader is described, although reader is described as having long(ish) hair. hair color, eye color, and anything along those lines is left as ambiguous as possible. (i apologize in advance if something i write isn’t ambiguous. we are all humans and we all make mistakes! please feel free to tell me if you have any suggestions as to how i can cater this fic to the most people possible.)

i hope you all enjoy!

—-

You were always told that you were the namesake of your house. You, Y/N Honeyholt of the reach, were as sweet as honey. And you truly must be, if by any way Princess Rhaenyra is addicted to you. After loving Rhaenyra in secret, you are torn apart and married off to your cruel husband. When you come back to King's Landing you find yourself entwined in the web that is Daemon and Rhaenyra Targaryen.

-

Married life with Daemon and Rhaenyra is pure bliss- but a war is brewing, and despite your efforts, you and your family are caught in it.

-

Through longing and distance, blood and tears, you are still as entwined in Daemon and Rhaenyra Targaryen as ever, but finding yourself as well. You realize you are not the sun- but instead a Queen.

—-

Part One - Fire is the Sweetest Death

Chapter One - Wait for Me

Chapter Two - Blind Me

Chapter Three - Away From You

Chapter Four - To Live

Chapter Five - Burn Together

Chapter Six - Darkest Thing

Chapter Seven - Sweetest Thing

Chapter Eight - Idea of It

Chapter Nine - Fire Made Flesh

Chapter Ten - Freedom

Chapter Eleven - Eternally

Chapter Twelve - Silk Sheets

Chapter Thirteen - Storms

Chapter Fourteen - The Sun

Chapter Fifteen - Bound in Blood

Part Two - Your Light Drowns the Sun

Chapter Sixteen - He is the Night

Chapter Seventeen - Memorize Me

Chapter Eighteen - I Made You

Chapter Nineteen - Do You Believe Me?

Chapter Twenty - I Am Your Sword

Chapter Twenty One - Like You Mean It

Chapter Twenty Two - The Queen

Chapter Twenty Three - To Break

Chapter Twenty Four - Pawn

Chapter Twenty Five - Don’t Say You Love Me

Chapter Twenty Six - Lady Targaryen

Part Three - The Sun Misses the Stars

Chapter Twenty Seven - Return Me

Chapter Twenty Eight - Ship at Sea

Chapter Twenty Nine - The Dragon’s Treasure

Chapter Thirty - Blood & Cheese

Chapter Thirty One - Waiting, Longing

Chapter Thirty Two - You Live and You Leave

Chapter Thirty Three - Blood on her Hands

Chapter Thirty Four - I Miss You on Me

Chapter Thirty Five - Take my Soul Away

Chapter Thirty Six - Death on Her Lips

Part Four - Don’t Fear the Flames

Chapter Thirty Seven - In the Setting Sun

Chapter Thirty Eight - Fight or Flight

Chapter Thirty Nine - The Meaning of Fire

Chapter Forty - Nuha Daria, Nuha Dārys

Chapter Forty One - The Queen of the Night

Chapter Forty Two - Do You Live for Me?

Chapter Forty Three - Good Men Die Too

Chapter Forty Four - Swallow the Light

Chapter Forty Five - In the Wind, in the Water

[mmmichyyy]

weekly tag wednesday 🎀

tagged by @mybrainismelted @energievie @lingy910y @sgtmickeyslaughter @catgrassplantdad !

Name: michelle

Location: rainy gloomy westcoast canada

Age: 31

You have an unexpected extra day off work or school! What are you going to do? sleep in, maybe check out a cute cafe (because all cafes here usually close at 4 on weekdays and way too busy on the weekend)

What is your favorite way to spend a summer day? stay in the shade (because the sun/heat gives me migraines), check out cool shops, get ice cream or bubbletea, watch a movie

What is your favorite way to spend a winter day? stay inside, watch movies/read in bed, drink hot tea

What do you do to unwind at the end of the day? my skincare routine, read fics in bed until i fall asleep

Do you play any sports? nope

Other than fanfic, what is your favorite genre to read? i love asian diaspora lit and personal essays, anything that covers the themes of identity, family, displacement, etc

What is your comfort movie/tv show? i'm always rewatching a sitcom as background noise. i have a looooong list of shows that i consider comfort shows, but my all-time faves are community, bojack horseman, daria, new girl, etc etc. comfort movies hmm probably the ocean's trilogy, national treasure, mission impossible, red white & royal blue lmao i rewatch them a lot (shamelessly going to plug my letterboxd i swear i watch other cooler movies too)

Do you write or draw? write, i can't draw for shit

What other arts or crafts do you do? punch needle, pompoms

Describe your perfect breakfast: an iced matcha latte, a cup of seasonal fruits, bacon, either a glazed fruity/savoury scone or avocado toast or rosemary rocksalt bagel with smoked salmon and dairy-free cream cheese or eggs benedict. realistically for breakfast every day i just eat a banana or buttered toast lol

tagging @stocious @jrooc @gallawitchxx @thisdivorce @gardenerian @heymrspatel @spoonfulstar @sam-loves-seb @blue-disco-lights @whatthebodygraspsnot @callivich @sickness-health-all-that-shit @loftec @darlingian @crestfallercanyon @suzy-queued @creepkinginc @palepinkgoat @burninface @deedala @deathclassic @vintagelacerosette @celestialmickey @doshiart @crossmydna 🌸

[kardia-library-official]

Yes! I'm back! With a Daria/Gaius novelette inspired by something I read on an energy drink can. I think everyone who was questioning their relationship status at the end of Iron or Silver? will be happy with this one. <3

[tcwmatchmakingau]

Everybody Hates Neyo Round 2: Matchmaking Boogaloo

A/N: This is a standalone sequel to “Everybody Hates Neyo,” (NSFW) by @dystopicjumpsuit​ (that’s me), and “The Blacklist,” by the brilliant @blueink-bluesoul​, who also generously let me borrow the character of Daria Trace (THANK YOU!). You don’t need to read those fics to understand this one, but you should because they’re great and they provide more background. I converted the Reader-insert into an OC because to be frank, she’s a piece of work, and I didn’t want to project that onto my readers. That said, as always, feel free to insert yourself into the story if you prefer; I haven’t described the OC beyond being a woman with hair long enough to pull.

Pairing: Commander Neyo x the Admiral (formerly Fem!Reader)

Rating: M | 18+ | Minors DNI

Wordcount: 6.5K (I know)

Warnings and tags: toxic, obsessive behavior; SO MUCH SMUT; hatefucking; rough sex; oral sex; PIV; hair pulling; biting; sex under the influence of alcohol; Neyo and the Admiral being absolute menaces to society

Disclaimer: Let me just put on my Auntie DJ hat for a second. *ahem* This is a work of fiction intended for entertainment only. Please do not take this as a guide to romance or a healthy relationship. Neyo and the Bad-miral are flawed characters in a wildly problematic relationship with more red flags than the Fire Nation. Enjoy!

Matchmaker extraordinaire Daria Trace was not accustomed to failure. When she applied her considerable intellect to a problem, she did not stop until she formulated a solution. Which was why her now-99% matchmaking success rate galled her so intensely. In all her years of matchmaking, she had never encountered a client so stubbornly determined to thwart her efforts as Marshal Commander Neyo. After twelve failed matches—one of which involved a call from an infuriated woman demanding to know “why the kriff you thought I was a good match for that sociopath”—she had reluctantly conceded defeat.

The blacklisting of Commander Neyo from the Right to Love Matchmaking Service spread like wildfire through the GAR gossip channels. Most of the troopers thought it was hilarious; others insisted that he’d finally gotten what he deserved. In fact, the only people who seemed to have any sympathy for Neyo were Commanders Bacara (to be expected) and Fox (somewhat less expected). And when Fox reached out directly to Daria and asked her, as a personal favor, to give Neyo one more chance, she agreed. One more chance, and ONLY to give her an opportunity to get that track record back up to a perfect 100%.

She glared irritably at Neyo’s file and clicked her stylus three times, twirling it between her fingers. The man was impossible. It was no wonder he’d turned to RTL for help finding a partner; any woman in her right mind would run in the opposite direction the minute she looked into those blank, frigid eyes. She shuddered involuntarily. Shark’s eyes. Daria had made a few discreet inquiries after he’d first signed up for the service, just to make sure she wasn’t about to set up some unsuspecting match with a serial murderer. Without fail, every single answer said the same thing: he was an ice-cold sonofabitch, but he had a strict code of honor, and no, he wasn’t a serial murderer. Probably.

She sighed and tossed his file to the side, to be revisited some other day. He was her most difficult client, but by no means was he the only problematic match candidate, and she had a small stack of what Blizzard liked to call The Hopeless Casefiles waiting for her to review. Just thinking about Neyo’s case had given her the beginnings of a spectacular tension headache, and she flipped through the folders quickly, looking for one that was a little less challenging. As she skimmed the stacks of flimsi, her eyes came to rest on one name: Reeda Wai’yen.

Now there’s a thought.

Daria was sure that Reeda was a lovely woman, despite all evidence to the contrary. She was just very… intense. Like Neyo, she had chewed through several potential matches, and the most frequent word that appeared in her failed matches’ post-date surveys was “intimidating,” followed closely by “terrifying.” Daria had sniffed disdainfully that those particular matches simply couldn’t handle a strong woman; however, she had to admit that after several months of trying, she had not been able to find a perfect match for Reeda. She pulled Neyo’s file and laid it out next to Reeda’s. As she compared their backgrounds and preferences, she became more and more convinced. This could work. Given their personalities, it might well be the best possible outcome for society at large if they were both removed from the dating pool. And if it happened to close out her two most annoying files, well. That would just be the cherry on top of her perfect-track-record sundae.

A timid knock sounded on Reeda’s office door.

“Come,” she called shortly.

Her assistant, Lissi, poked her head into the room. “Sorry to bother you, sir, but you’ve received a comm from RTL Matchmaking.”

Reeda cursed. She was up to her ass in flimsiwork, and she was meeting with the Senate Task Force on Galactic Security in ten minutes. She did not have time for this now. 

��Take care of it,” she ordered.

“Sir?” Lissi asked, her wide, startled eyes giving her a distinct resemblance to a terrified ash-rabbit. 

“Just take care of it,” Reeda repeated, tamping down her irritation at being questioned. “You know my schedule better than I do. Set it up. Somewhere nice—somewhere in the Federal district. I don’t have time to deal with traffic.”

Lissi blinked, nonplussed. “Don’t you want to see who you matched with?”

“No time,” Reeda said, rising to gather her materials for the meeting. “Just put it on my calendar, and I’ll be there.”

Three nights later, Reeda sat in the restaurant at the top of the tower where her penthouse was located, waiting for her mystery date to arrive. She had to commend Lissi’s efficiency in choosing the venue; the only traffic she’d had to endure was at the lift. And it was a lovely restaurant, she had to admit, with stunning views of the Coruscant cityscape. She had only eaten here once since she’d bought the flat, usually opting to have food delivered to her office at the Republic Center for Military Operations as she worked late into the night.

She had resisted the urge to bring her datapad with her to the restaurant, knowing that if she did, she would inevitably get sucked into work, but now she wished she’d taken a moment to review the file from RTL. It wasn’t that she thought all clone troopers were interchangeable; far from it. She had worked closely with them during the war, had fought by their sides, and she had found them to be brave, competent, and loyal. They were also notoriously attractive, but she was a professional, and she was their superior officer, and she had never allowed that line to become blurred—except on one memorable and highly regrettable occasion.

She had had no time for a personal life during the war, but now that it was over—well, to be honest, she still had no time for a personal life. Which was exactly why she had reached out to RTL; it was the perfect solution. She didn’t enjoy solitude. She wanted companionship, and maybe even something more. But she needed a partner who would understand the demands of her career, and nobody understood the burden of duty better than the clones. Now that she had separated from the GAR and returned to her post in her home planet’s military defense force, the rules regarding fraternization no longer applied to her.

She hadn’t bothered to review the file because she’d learned from the previous several failed dates that a promising file was no indicator of compatibility. Still, as she waited for her date, who was now seven minutes late, she wished she’d at least checked to see if he had any identifying marks or tattoos that would make him easier to spot. To be fair, though, the few clones present in the restaurant were already paired up with other diners.

Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t intended to skip lunch, but she’d had back-to-back meetings with the joint chiefs of the Core Worlds Defense Alliance and the senate appropriations committee, and one thing led to another. The service droid had delivered a basket of fresh, hot bread rolls, which she had heroically resisted for the first six minutes past the scheduled start of the date, but now her resolve began to crumble. If her mystery date didn’t have the basic courtesy to be on time, by the Force, he wouldn’t have a leg to stand on if she ate all the bread before he arrived.

She buttered a roll and took a small bite. She couldn’t suppress the groan of relief at the buttery, yeasty goodness, and she quickly polished it off, then picked up another. She had just begun to butter her third role when the unmistakable voice of a clone spoke next to her.

“Admiral.”

She turned automatically, a smile just beginning to form on her lips, when she caught sight of a familiar set of numbers tattooed on a handsome, arrogant face.

“Oh, no,” she said with disgust. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Marshal Commander Neyo replied contemptuously. “I have as much right to be here as you do.”

“I’m on a date,” she snapped.

He looked pointedly at the empty chair across from her. “Looks like your date has a strong sense of self-preservation. Probably took one look at you and ran for their life.”

“He’s just a little late,” she said, tilting her jaw at a haughty angle to hide the flash of hurt at his words.

“That must kill you,” he said with a mirthless chuckle. “I remember the time you made a Jedi padawan cry for being three minutes behind schedule.”

“There were barely tears. Do. Not. Sit,” she gritted out as he made himself comfortable in the chair across from her. He picked up one of the remaining bread rolls and took a large bite, and she sighed. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“It just so happens, I am also on a date,” he said, mumbling around the bite of bread.

“Oh?” she wrinkled her nose at his table manners. “And who’s the unlucky lady?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Some civvie named Reeda.”

Her hand tightened dangerously around her butter knife. Neyo’s eyes dropped to the blade, and he smirked.

“Disappointed?” he asked.

“You could say that,” she said, grinding her jaw. “I’m Reeda.”

He choked on his bite of bread and wheezed a bit, pounding his chest to clear his airway. Alas, he survived.

“What?” he sputtered.

“You didn’t even bother to find out my first name after you were inside me?” she demanded. Her sharp tone attracted attention from the surrounding diners, and she heard a few quiet titters from the tables around her, but she was too irate to care.

“You didn’t even bother to find out who’d be eating dinner with you?” he retorted.

“Don’t pretend you aren’t just as surprised as I am,” she snapped. “Didn’t you read the file?”

“I didn’t get a file, just a call.” He grunted. “Apparently, ‘beggars can’t be choosers,’ and I was lucky to get a match at all.”

“Why am I not surprised?” she mocked.

“Careful, Admiral. Don’t forget they matched you with me.”

“I would be insulted if it weren’t so obviously a mistake. I can’t say I’m impressed with their performance thus far.”

“For once, I agree with you,” he said. “You’d have to be a special kind of incompetent to think we were a good match.”

The service droid approached the table and asked, “May I take your order?”

“He’s not staying,” Reeda cut in.

“I’ll have the bantha filet,” Neyo replied, ignoring her. “Bloody.”

He turned to her and arched his brows. The droid waited expectantly.

“I’ve suddenly lost my appetite,” she lied.

Neyo’s mouth twisted, and he huffed a breath through his nose. “The admiral will have the roast porg. And a bottle of Alderaanian red.”

The droid nodded and ambled away. Reeda glared at Neyo.

“I don’t eat meat, you presumptuous ass,” she said.

“Liar,” he said. “Unfortunately, the souls of the innocent weren’t on the menu, so I had to settle for your second-favorite meal.”

“At least you’re safe, since you obviously have no soul and you’re definitely not innocent,” she said in a pleasant tone.

Damn him for being right about the porg, though. How did he know?

The wine arrived, and he poured a generous glass for each of them. She didn’t toast; just downed half of it in a single swallow. Neyo sipped his and leaned back in his chair to observe her. His sleek, severe hair and the large tattoo on his cheek made him look menacing as hell, but it was his eyes that made brave men take a step back. She didn’t know how it was possible for his eyes to be that unnerving. Gods, why did he have to be so handsome? What a waste of perfectly good Fett genes to have a personality like that.

“Did you stay just to torment me?” she asked when the silence stretched beyond the limits of her endurance.

“And because I heard the filet was good,” he said affably. “What are you even doing on Coruscant? I thought you’d scuttled back to whatever hellhole spawned you.”

“Kuat,” she bit out from between clenched teeth. “I was assigned to work as our military liaison on Coruscant.”

“Couldn’t stand having you back on the planet?” he derided. “I don’t blame them.”

“I need to use the fresher,” she said, flinging her napkin down on the table with excessive force. “Feel free to die while I’m gone.”

She strode purposefully through the restaurant, her face set in a steely mask. She knew she was drawing attention from other patrons, but if she sat at that table and listened to Neyo needle her for one more second, she was either going to stab him or burst into tears. She pushed through the refresher doors and went to the sink, washing her hands just to give herself something to do. The face that stared back at her from the mirror was Admiral Wai’yen, not Reeda. Stern. Unyielding. Unaffected.

She swallowed, and her face crumpled. Tears of rage stung her eyes, and she ruthlessly wiped them away with her clenched fist. A soft noise at the door startled her, and she whirled to face the intruder. Horror flooded her. It was Neyo, and he’d caught her crying in the ladies’ room.

“What the kriff do you think you’re doing in here?” she demanded icily. “Get out.”

He stared at her for a moment, and then he locked the door. Stalking across the room, he cupped her jaw in his hands and tilted her face to get a closer look. She tried to pull away, to put her Admiral Wai’yen mask back in place, but then his thumb stroked softly next to her eye, wiping away the tear that had breached containment. She gasped involuntarily, and his lips collided with hers.

Reeda was so shocked that for a moment she went perfectly still, but then Neyo flicked his tongue across her lower lip, and her body remembered how to move. She thrust him away and stood back, glaring at him. His chest rose and fell quickly, and those cold eyes blazed with a dark and covetous fire. She raised a hand to her lips and felt the slickness left by his tongue. Something snapped inside her. She took two hasty steps forward, and she was in his arms again, his hands rough and dominating on her body as they consumed each other with a kiss that teetered on the edge of violence. 

Lips, tongues, teeth crashed together. He clasped her tightly against his hard, unyielding body, and unbidden, the memory of him deep inside her came flooding back. He gripped her ass and ground his rapidly stiffening cock against her. Her reaction was electric. She rolled her hips, nearly climbing him in desperation. He dropped his mouth to her neck and kissed her once, roughly, and then to her breast, yanking aside her dress as he closed his teeth on her soft skin. He picked her up by the waist and set her on the edge of the sink, dropping to his knees between her thighs, rucking up her dress around her hips, and then his mouth was on her.

He didn’t even bother removing her underwear, as though he couldn’t wait another millisecond to taste her. He licked and sucked on her through the fabric, his mouth working frantically. Her body jolted and trembled at the effort of staying upright, and then his tongue snaked past the lace and dipped into her, smooth and hot and wet. He let out a vicious growl and grabbed her hips, settling her thighs over his shoulders, and then he pulled her off the sink and thrust her against his face as his tongue speared over and over into her cunt. She yelped and scrambled to brace herself with her hands, her arms shaking with exertion.

She couldn’t come like this, but kriff, it was hot to feel Neyo throw her around with such ease, like she was his own personal toy. How many nights had she fucked herself to sleep to the memory of their first encounter? The way he’d lifted her bodily off the ground and thrust into her, supporting them both with those powerful thighs—it played on a loop in her head for months, long after the bite marks and bruises had faded.

His tongue slid out of her cunt and swirled around her clit, and her legs spasmed around his head. She couldn’t come like this. Could she? All the muscles in her body began to tense, and her pelvis began to rock rhythmically against his face. Shit, I’m going to come. No sooner had the thought formed than Neyo dropped her back onto the sink and pulled away from her.

“No!” she wailed. “You bastard, I was right there!”

He shot to his feet. “Shut. Up,” he bit out, and kissed her punishingly hard. “Do you want the whole Federal District to know what we’re doing?”

He pulled her head back to expose her throat, and he scraped his teeth across her delicate skin. She felt his other hand fumbling in between them. Within seconds, his cock was free and thrusting against the scrap of lace that still covered her. She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him against her, determined to find the stimulation that she needed to reach completion.

“Get inside me,” she hissed.

“You aren’t calling the shots any more, Admiral,” he growled. “You don’t get to give commands.”

“I hate you,” she breathed. 

“And yet here you are, begging for my cock,” he said coldly. 

“I do not beg,” she said. “Ever.”

He released her hair and pried her legs away from himself, then took a step back. “You get nothing until you admit that you want me. I’ve waited a long time for this. I can keep waiting.”

“What the kark is that supposed to mean?” she demanded, sliding off the sink to stand in front of him.

“It means you give me what I want, or I walk out that door right now and you can figure your own shit out.”

Was this his twisted kriffing way of asking for consent? Because she was pretty sure she’d covered that when she all but ordered him to fuck her.

“Fine,” she said in a low voice. “I…” She nearly choked on the words, and Neyo’s intent gaze pinned her in place. “I want you.”

He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her in for a bruising kiss, then spun her around and bent her over the sink. He pulled up her dress, yanked down her panties, and thrust into her. She muffled a whimper at the intrusion and squeezed her eyes shut as she adjusted to the stretch. He wrapped his hands around her hair and jerked her head up.

“Open your eyes. I want you to watch,” he ordered.

She complied, shocked when she saw her own ravaged face in the mirror as Neyo pounded into her from behind. Her makeup was smeared, her hair was a wreck, her eyes were dilated with lust, and a sheen of sweat glistened across her skin. She flicked her gaze to stare at Neyo. His face was twisted into a scowl, and if she had any sense at all, she would have been frightened, but she was in too deep to care. His hard eyes met hers in the mirror, and his jaw tightened.

He released her hair and slid his arm around her body, between her breasts, to wrap around her throat, and he lifted her upright so he could whisper in her ear.

“Do you know what you did to me?” His voice was hoarse and anguished. “Every time I kissed someone, all I could taste was you. Every time I hooked up, all I could remember was this perfect fucking pussy.”

He pounded into her with bruising intensity, furiously working her clit with his free hand. Her head began to throb. This was so wrong. He couldn’t be saying what she thought she was hearing. She was confused from the lack of blood flowing to her brain.

“I got matched twelve different times, and not one of them was right, because not one of them was you,” he snarled. “You cursed me. You haunt me.”

The world began to darken around the edges as her eyes drifted closed, and he released her throat and forced her head to the side so she faced him.

“Look at me when you fucking come,” he ordered.

She gasped, and he clamped his hand down over her mouth to muffle her scream as he wrenched an orgasm from her body. He didn’t let up, chasing after her at a frenzied pace that rocked her entire body as she sobbed into his hand.

“Inside?” he asked roughly.

She nodded and whimpered as tears blurred her vision and spilled down her cheeks. He came with two brutal thrusts, and she felt the hot rush of his release deep inside. He shuddered against her hair as his cock softened and slipped out of her. At last, he loosened his grip and turned her to face him as he leaned against the wall for support. He wrapped her in his arms and stroked her hair as she rested her head against him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she sighed as she licked his neck, unable to resist the temptation of tasting his skin.

“I’m sure there’s an official list in my GAR file,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

Reeda cleaned up quickly while Neyo went back to their table so they wouldn’t be spotted leaving the refresher together. Her hairstyle was destroyed, so she hastily repinned it as well as she could, and then wiped off the mascara that smudged heavily beneath her eyes. A quick reapplication of lipstick, and she almost looked presentable—with the minor exception of her missing panties, which Neyo had silently retrieved from the refresher floor and tucked into his pocket while maintaining strong eye contact.

When she returned to the dining room, Neyo waylaid her with a ferocious expression. Force, what is he scugged about now?

“We’re leaving,” he said, taking her by the wrist and pulling her toward the exit. A few quiet murmurs whispered around the room as he dragged her behind him.

“What?” she asked, tugging her wrist to no avail. “Why?”

“The karking droid gave away our table,” he said.

“My deepest apologies, Admiral,” the droid said. “We can locate another table if you would care to wait.”

Reeda assessed the room quickly. Every table was occupied, and none of the diners were anywhere close to being ready to leave. Moreover, at least half of the customers were eyeing her and Neyo with expressions ranging from amusement to overt curiosity.

“No,” she said. “Have the food delivered to my flat.”

“Right away, sir,” the droid replied, waddling off to relay the order to the kitchen.

Neyo looked at her inquisitively. “Your flat?”

“I live in this building,” she said. “Come with me.”

She was keenly aware of the many sets of eyes that tracked their hasty exit, but before long, she led Neyo into the private, secure lift that opened directly into her penthouse. He stood silently next to her on the trip up, watching her with an inscrutable gaze. She tried not to give herself an opportunity to second-guess her decision to let him into her home. Strange, she thought, how this seemed more intimate than allowing him inside her body. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d allowed another person into her home. 

The lift doors opened, and he followed her into the flat, pausing long enough to remove their shoes, then looking around curiously.

“Lived here long?”

“A few months,” she said. “I bought it when I found out I’d be stationed on Coruscant long-term.”

“It’s nice,” he said. “Very… clean.”

She laughed. “You mean sterile. I haven’t had time to do much decorating. I’m hardly here except to sleep, anyway.”

He nodded. “I thought I’d have more time for hobbies after the war ended, but now it’s just nonstop—”

“Red tape and committees,” she finished with a sympathetic grimace. He shot her a wry grin. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him smile before, and it did uncomfortable things to her brain. She tried not to think about it, instead asking, “What kind of hobbies? Aside from plotting my slow death, obviously.”

“Oh, you know,” he said vaguely. “Torturing small, adorable creatures; sharpening my vibroblade collection; collecting stamps; that sort of thing.”

She blinked. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

He regarded her steadily for a moment, eyes unreadable as ever. “You really think the worst of me, don’t you?”

She was taken aback. “I—”

Her reply was cut off by the chime of the door. The food had arrived, thank the Force, which gave her a moment to stop herself from blurting out her immediate thought: You’ve never given me any reason to think anything else.

Neyo was a competent soldier—brilliant, in fact. There was no question that he had one of the finest tactical and strategic minds in the GAR. But as a person? From the moment they’d met, he’d been antagonistic, sardonic, cold. He’d challenged her authority and provoked her in meetings. He’d only treated her with the barest semblance of civility in public, and in private—Well. They both knew how things went when they were alone.

The service droid rolled a cart into the dining room and began setting up the meal.

“Can I get you a drink?” she offered Neyo. “I don’t have any Alderaanian red, but I do have Cheedoan whiskey.”

“The good stuff,” he replied. “I’ll have a glass. Thanks.”

The droid finished setting up and shuffled out the front door as Reeda poured two generous glasses of whiskey at the wet bar.

“Ice?” she asked.

He didn’t answer, and when she turned around, she nearly dropped the glasses in surprise to find him standing close behind her. He locked his eyes on hers and never looked away as he took one of the glasses and drained it in a single swallow, then set it down with a decisive click on the counter. Her heart began to pound as he loomed over her. He traced his fingers from her elbow up to her wrist, and then he wrapped his hand around hers and raised her glass to her lips. 

The whiskey burned a fiery path across her tongue and down her throat. A few droplets escaped and splashed coldly on her chest. Neyo didn’t let up until she emptied the glass, and when she was done, he leaned down and sucked the liquor off her skin. His hands dropped to her hips and slid up her back as he located the zipper of her dress and dragged it down excruciatingly slowly, and all the while, his mouth moved across her skin. He slipped the straps down over her shoulders and let the dress fall to the floor, and then he kissed a path along the lacy edge of her bra.

“Thanks for the matched set,” he said, unhooking it and pulling it off.

“Those were expensive, asshole,” she said unsteadily.

He didn’t reply, but she knew she was never going to see that bra again. He kissed his way down her breast and captured her nipple in his mouth, abrading it lightly with his teeth. She jolted, and the empty glass slipped from her hand and smashed against the hard tiles of the floor. 

Neyo barely responded to the sound of shattering crystal. Reeda froze, keenly aware that the smallest movement could result in a bloody footful of glass. She stood utterly, helplessly still as he continued to explore her body with his teeth and lips and hands and tongue. He was thorough in his attentions, and something about being entirely at his mercy was wildly arousing. Her head spun as the whiskey began to work its insidious way through her bloodstream.

“I missed this perfume. What is it?” he murmured against the soft skin of her abdomen.

“I don’t wear any,” she said.

He nuzzled against her as though he could transfer her scent to his own skin. Without warning, he scooped her up and carried her out of the room, completely disregarding the risk to himself. But instead of dropping her as soon as they were clear of the broken glass as she expected, he asked, “Bedroom?”

“Left,” she said, and he strode across the flat and kicked open the door, to her intense irritation. “You gonna pay for the broken doorknob?”

He didn’t reply, just tossed her onto the bed and pounced on her as soon as she landed. He slid in between her thighs and gripped her hard as his mouth descended on hers, kissing her as though he were trying to devour her soul. He was still fully clothed, and she scrambled to pull off his shirt. He was completely unhelpful, too engrossed in her taste. She raked her nails across his skin as she yanked his shirt over his head, and he seized her lip in his teeth in revenge.

At last, the barrier of his shirt was gone, and she writhed against him, desperate to feel as much of his warm, smooth skin against her as possible. They clashed together, sinking nails and teeth into each other. At some point, Neyo got his trousers down enough to free his cock, and he shoved into her. His belt chafed harshly on her delicate skin as she wrapped her legs around him, urging him to go deeper, harder, faster. The sounds they made were unholy, primal: growls and grunts and screams of pain and ecstasy as they tore into each other with all the aggression that they had built over the years. 

She pulled his hair; he clawed her back. She slapped his face; he bit her shoulder. She snarled that she loathed him; he interlaced his fingers with hers and whispered how beautiful she was when she came apart beneath him. She thrust him away and kicked him across the bed; he pinned her down and fucked her until she sobbed and begged for more. At some point, she tasted blood, and she didn’t know or care whose it was. And when at last she lost count of how many times he’d brought her to orgasm, he curled his body around hers and traced his thumb softly over her features as she drifted to sleep.

“If I die while I’m inside you, it’s the closest I’ll ever get to heaven,” he whispered.

“Force, you say some kriffed up shit,” she grumbled.

Reeda awakened slowly, aware of something blissfully warm and soothing moving across her skin. She cracked her eyes open. Neyo was lying on top of her, dragging his tongue lazily over her body. He roamed along her curves, and it wasn’t until he paused at her bruised wrist that she realized what he was doing.

“Are you licking my wounds?” she breathed.

He didn’t answer, but his eyes met hers with an intensity that bordered on madness. Gods, everything about this was so fucked up, and she didn’t dare examine too closely why she found it so incredibly arousing. He moved slowly, meticulously, his tongue gliding softly over every centimeter of her body, until she felt like a bomb, ready to detonate at the slightest spark. She came before he ever reached her cunt, and again as he rocked gently inside her, his lips soft against her mouth, silent tears spilling from the corners of her eyes to course down her temples.

After, he guided her into the shower, and when her legs gave out, he held her upright as the hot water washed over them. Once he’d massaged her entire body with his strong, soapy hands, he dried her off and laid her back on the bed while he spread bacta across the damage he’d inflicted. It was disorienting to be cared for so thoroughly by the man who’d spent the better part of four years making her life hell. He didn’t speak, and she didn’t know what to say, so in the end, she simply watched him in silence.

When he finished with the bacta, he retrieved their dinner from the dining room. The food had long since gone cold, but after hours of intense physical activity, they were famished, and they ate it anyway, sharing bites and sipping whiskey straight from the decanter. Neyo sat with his back against the headboard, his long, strong legs bracketing Reeda as she leaned back against his broad chest.

“How did you know porg was my favorite?” she asked.

He shrugged. “They’re tiny, cute, and innocent. I just assumed you would enjoy extinguishing the life from them and consuming their remains.”

She laughed and snuggled closer to him. “Is that why you order your meat rare? Because it’s the next best thing to drinking straight from the source?”

“Finally, someone who understands,” he smirked. “Truthfully, I overheard you tell Admiral Coburn that porg was your favorite during a banquet at the strategy conference at Valor.”

She turned to stare up at him. “Neyo, that was two years ago. That was before we ever…”

“I know,” he said, burying his face in her hair and breathing deeply.

“Stalker,” she murmured.

He dropped his mouth to her neck, and she tilted her head back against his shoulder as his lips glided across her skin. 

“What does it say about you that you like it?” he whispered when he reached her ear.

He pulled her close, positioning himself between her and the bedroom door. From the proprietary way he held her, she knew it was a deliberate choice; any threat that came through that door would have to go through him before it got to her, and she had a feeling that there weren’t many beings in the galaxy that were brave or foolish enough to try.

Reeda jerked awake to a furious pounding at the front door. Neyo was already halfway out of the bedroom, stark naked and armed with a steak knife from their midnight dinner.

“Wait here,” he ordered, his voice hard and flat.

She rolled her eyes as she pulled on a bathrobe and grabbed a blaster from her nightstand. Neyo glared at her when she joined him, but didn’t bother yelling at her.

“Coruscant guard! Open up,” a modulated voice shouted harshly from outside the door.

Neyo glanced questioningly at her, and she shrugged, hiding the blaster behind her robe. He stepped out of view of the door, and she opened it to find none other than Marshal Commander Fox, flanked by two Corrie ARC troopers.

“Commander,” she greeted him, not bothering to conceal the surprise in her voice.

“Good to see you’re in one piece, Admiral,” he said. “Are you all right?”

“I beg your pardon?” she asked, baffled.

“We received multiple calls about a disturbance at your address. Are you alone?”

Reeda felt a hot rush of blood wash over her face and neck. “I fail to see how that is any business of yours, Commander.”

“Sorry, sir, but it’s my duty to—” He stopped abruptly, and his visor shifted to a point behind her. 

“Isn’t this a little below your pay grade, Fox?” Neyo drawled close behind Reeda.

Fox’s visor turned back to Reeda, then to Neyo, and then back to Reeda again. The two ARC troopers appeared to be fascinated by the walls on either side of the front door. 

At last, Fox spoke. “I don’t send shinies to wake up admirals.”

Neyo’s hand slid possessively around the front of Reeda’s abdomen, and he pulled her against his nude body. Something large and solid prodded against her backside. Dank farrik, is he turned on right now? Sick bastard.

“Thank you for your concern,” she told Fox, “but everything is under control.”

“So I see,” Fox replied. “Still, you’ll need to keep the noise level down, or I’ll have no choice but to arrest you for disturbing the peace.”

Neyo reached forward silently and shut the door in Fox’s face, then he spun Reeda around, picked her up over his shoulder, and carried her back to the bedroom. The last thing Fox heard was the unmistakable sound of Neyo’s hand slapping her ass as Reeda shrieked with indignant laughter.

Republic Military HQ buzzed quietly with speculation the next morning when not one, but two of the most senior command staff called in sick for the first time in either of their careers. Rumors swirled: some were convinced a secret bioweapon had been released by Separatist holdouts; others maintained that the stress of dealing with politicians was beginning to take a toll; still others claimed that it was a coverup and that the marshal commander and the admiral had been taken hostage by pirates. It was whispered that Commander Fox had a particularly haunted expression that morning, and two of the Coruscant Guard ARC Troopers had contacted the legal department to update their wills. In the midst of all this, the beleaguered Lissi received a brusque order to inform RTL Matchmaking that the admiral no longer required their services.

Daria drained her third iced caf of the morning as she flicked through her holomessages. Buried amidst the intake forms and meeting invitations was an abrupt-bordering-on-rude note from Marshal Commander Neyo ordering her to close his file.

“Why do you look like the tooka that got the blue milk?” her fellow matchmaker Tarsi Renda asked as she passed Daria in the corridor.

“Oh, no reason,” Daria smiled. “The galaxy is back to normal, that’s all—and my track record is once again perfect.”

---

DJ’s masterlist | Join my tag list here

[enigmaticexplorer]

I Yearn, and so I Fear - Chapter XXX

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

General Summary. Nearly a year since the Galactic Empire’s rise to power, Kazi Ennari is trying to survive. But her routine is interrupted—and life upended—when she’s forced to cohabitate with former Imperial soldiers. Clone soldiers. 

Pairing. Commander Wolffe x female!OC

General Warnings. Canon-typical violence and assault, familial struggles, terminal disease, bigotry, explicit sexual content, death. This story deals with heavy content. If you’re easily triggered, please do not read. For a more comprehensive list of tags, click here.

Fic Rating. E (explicit)/18+/Minors DNI.

Chapter Word Count. 6.0K

15 Kelona

The words dangled in the minimal space separating them. Their eyes were locked on one another.

Wolffe blinked. “What?”

Kazi started to tremble. The vulnerability of her confession combined with the intensity of his gaze left her feeling exposed. Transparent, like the lake.

“You heard me,” she whispered. “I am scared.”

“I…scare you.” A thumb slid along her wrist; Wolffe leaned even closer. She swallowed at his proximity, at the way he was observing her: gentle, bemused, aggravated. Slowly, he repeated, “I scare you.”

“Yes.” The word was a shallow exhale, and she lifted her head. Just enough, so their jaws grazed. “What I feel for you terrifies me.”

His eyes swept across her face, nearly tangible in their analysis. “Why.”

“Because I want to be with you.” 

The hand on her wrist spasmed as Wolffe stilled. Kazi let out a choked breath. 

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” she said angrily, desperately. Her fingers curled into his shirt. “I want holidays with you. I want the good days and the bad days. I want my first gray hairs with you. I want to be with you, and I’m so fucking scared because I can’t control this—” 

Large hands were cupping her face; warm lips were on hers. 

Wolffe was kissing her. 

A kiss most ardent, it promised strained bodies and breathy sighs; strong arms a fortress and tender fingers a solace; carefree smiles and easy laughter. 

A kiss so deep, it demanded decadent breakfasts and long, morning strolls; planted orchards and the intimacy of commitment; late night stories and private, honest conversations.  

Wolffe held her tightly. So tightly, as if he wanted his hands imprinted into the flesh of her profile and jaw. As if he wanted to bottle this moment—the starlit atmosphere, the visceral yearning, the candid confession—and lock it away forever. As if he wanted to mold their two bodies together and return them to the stardust from which they were formed.

And then he was pulling away, just enough to peer into her face.

“You don’t get to be scared,” he said. Her breathing was loud, erratic, in her ears. His thumbs grazed her cheekbones; their noses brushed. “You don’t get to be fucking scared, Ennari.”

Kazi wrapped her fingers around his forearms, ignorant of pain, concentrated solely on him. “Why not?” 

“I’ve made it obvious that I want to be with you.” Wolffe levelled a hard look on her. “Since we first got together—”  

“We were enjoying each other, seeing where things went,” she argued. “You can’t expect me to believe that you’ve felt this way since—” 

“I bought you that packet of seeds.” A tired smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “I researched the custom, Kazi. I knew what I was doing. I got Neyti and Daria packets to prove it to you.”

“But that was…” 

The events at the Harvest Festival flickered through her mind, a rapid succession of burst shots: some blurry, some clear. However, it was unthinkable, unfathomable, his sincere remark. So illogical, she could only stare incredulously at him. And yet his forthright stare, his frank tone, impugned the emotionally-driven inferences she’d clung to for so long. 

“All this time?” she whispered.

“All this time,” he murmured. Soft lips grazed her forehead, her cheek. His hands shifted to her shoulders as he held her gaze; he gave her a light squeeze. “I know this is scary. Yeah? But I see you. I’ve seen all of you, and I’m still here. I want to be here.”

She pursed her lips. “I’m difficult.”

“You’re independent,” he replied equally.

Her eyes narrowed. “I’m stubborn and opinionated.”

His eyes danced. “I don’t mind.”

“I’m a perfectionist and hyper-critical.” 

“I know.”

“I’m completely closed off.”

“Yeah. But I’m still here.”*

The simplicity of his responses—his confidence in her—was grating. 

“Wolffe.” Kazi scowled her exasperation. “I don’t deserve you—”

“Kazi.” Wolffe let out a harsh chuckle. “You think I haven’t asked myself that same question? Wondered how I deserve you?”

The rawness hoarsening his voice made her wince, and she reached for his jaw. “You deserve so much.”

“Then be with me.” Wolffe spoke with such aplomb—such calm, steady resolution—that she couldn’t help but smile smally. He held her hand to his cheek. Nuzzled her palm. “Please.”

For a fleeting moment, Kazi searched his face. Studied the stars reflected in his eyes and the openness in his expression. Then, the revelation dawned on her, slow, creeping, unfaltering, like the pale yellow of the cresting sun: Her fear was illogical. That damned fear of abandonment as a result of her unworthiness. It was unfounded, absurd. Because this was Wolffe.

The man who challenged her opinions with an omnipresent respect. 

The man who had proven himself trustworthy, who acknowledged his mistakes, who dedicated himself to self-improvement.  

The man who had seen her hollowed, angry, struggling yet still pursued her, patient but persistent. 

Kazi stroked her thumb across the bottom of his scar. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “For not trusting you. For making you wait. It wasn’t fair of me, and I’m so sorry—”

“I’d do it again.” Wolffe dug his thumbs into the tips of her shoulders. The gentleness of his half-smile assuaged the firmness of his gaze. “I gave you space because you needed it. But I’d never regret waiting for you. And I’d do it all again. So long as the outcome is the same.”

Once more, she searched his face: a need for assurance, a momentary pause to collect herself. For there was an intimacy in revealing one’s insecurities, one’s worst flaws. An intimacy that transcended the physical. An unequivocal, irrevocable baring of oneself. 

But her heart had quieted, its beat the mellifluous splat of raindrops from autumnal leaves. Her body was cast in repose, accepting, willing. And her mind, overrun with such conflicting emotions and warring wants—it had fallen into quiescence.

“I want to get married.” 

The statement startled her as much as it did Wolffe. He stiffened, his eyes growing wide.

“I’m not asking to get married today,” she said quickly. “Or tomorrow—”

“Ennari—”

“—but it’s something I’ve wanted since I was a little girl—”

“Kazi.” 

She fell silent. Wolffe considered her with a rough, raspy laugh. 

“We’ll get married,” he said. A smirk played on his mouth. “After I ask the question.” 

An unbidden smile overtook her face, even as a tear tickled her cheek. Gently, he brushed it aside. “Promise?” she asked.

His chuckle was low. “I promise.”

Beneath dewy starlight, surrounded by bioluminescent flora and inquisitive lightning bugs, she smiled, she quietly laughed, she pressed her forehead to his chest and breathed him in. His arms around her back were familiar, the hand intertwined in her hair intimate. It reminded her of spraying waves and jubilant whoops on a bobbing sailboat, colorful shops and the awe of sea creatures discovered, popping firewood and citrusy fruit shared among secretive grins.

“You know,” Kazi said, peering at him, “if you marry me, you’ll be getting Neyti and Daria, too.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I always knew it would be the three of you.”

Eventually, they locked themselves in her bedroom, the glow of three moons casting them in an underwater ambiance of flickering shadows and streams of blue. They had spent the last few hours packing the house and transferring the boxes to the men’s ship. Their new plan: to leave for Ceaia in the morning. 

The moons were at their zenith, sunrise far off, and they were caught between the respite of confessions and the relief of mutual affections. 

Naked, Kazi stood between Wolffe’s legs, bruised knuckles tracing her ribcage, the underside of her breasts. From where he sat on the edge of the bed, he surveyed her body as an artist would study his muse. A cock to his head. Lowered lashes. Parted lips. His hands spanned her waist, his breath warmed the skin between her breasts where he placed a light, teasing kiss. Her sigh was breathy; a smattering of goosebumps dotted her arms. He smiled in response. Lazy, amused. 

But his relaxed countenance quickly shifted when he reached for her hurt hand. 

“I should’ve been there,” he said quietly.  

“Wolffe.” Kazi murmured his name with half-hearted chastisement. He continued to assess her hand, his hold gentle, careful as he grazed the color purpling her knuckles. “I’ve always known how important the missions are to you—”

“I’m done.” He looked up at her, his face set. “I did what I could. The guilt…” His throat bobbed and he cleared his throat. “I’m ready to move on.”

Kazi tilted his chin back, to look him in the eye, to cup his jaw. Silent gestures to acknowledge the difficultness of his decision. Wolffe kissed her palm and, as she played with a curl, he lowered his face to her stomach. A chaste kiss warmed her navel. Another teased her breast. And another tickled her hip. 

Scattered kisses and wandering fingers, closed eyes and carefree smiles encouraged them into bed. 

Splayed beneath Wolffe, with his head settled against her chest, Kazi told him about the house she’d bought. How, nestled among ash-painted trees and dark evergreens, it overlooked the ocean. How the abundance of rooms offered privacy for his brothers, if they chose to live with them. How the plot of land accommodated gardens and orchards and a possible bee farm.

Soon, a half-smirk and curiously arched brow led to a historical and cultural recount of Ceaian marriage traditions: Traditionalists preferred a pilgrimage to the religious isles in the south where Luss—the dragon of unity—was buried, as a grand gesture of celebration; Reformists maintained marriage a duty and emphasized a humble, local ceremony. 

The conversation reminded her of Neyti and the adoption, but her attempt to apologize was interrupted by his quiet “I already know.” A memory pulsed through her: a cracked open window and a silhouette hunched over a puzzle. 

“I had to make the decision,” she said, kissing his jaw. “On my own.”

“I know. But, Kazi”—he grasped her chin—“she’s mine now. As much as she is yours. That clear?”

She kissed his scar. “Yes.”

As the hour latened, conversation gave way to long expanses of sleepy silence, their touches heavy and lingering. But there was one thing, something she had avoided for months, that Kazi needed to understand.

“Wolffe?” 

“Mm-hmm?”

She hesitated. “What was the first holofilm you saw?”

An exasperated exhale tickled her neck as he raised his head. “What do you know about it?”

“Nothing,” she said with a small shrug. “I was only told to ask you about it.”

An annoyed roll of his eyes and a muttered “Fox” followed. Wolffe hesitated, brushing hair from her forehead, and then said, “Fox, Cody, and I were competitive. When we were young.” 

Kazi snorted, and he levelled a bland look on her. Her disbelieving smile went ignored. 

“We liked to challenge one another,” Wolffe said. “See what things we’d get away with. One night, we decided to slice into a Kaminoan computer and download a holofilm. They were contraband and we’d never seen one.” He shrugged. “We thought a war film was a good idea. See other soldiers. Watch them in action.”

While Wolffe spoke, a subtle change overtook his expression: a distant look in his eyes, a half-smile starting to form.

“We were looking through the film options when the door opened. Cody and Fox ran for the vent but I didn’t. I wanted that film.” He flashed her a cocky grin. “I downloaded the first one I saw. When we got back to the barracks, we started it. ‘Cept it wasn’t what we’d wanted.”

She frowned. “It wasn’t a war film?” 

“No.” He chuckled. “It was a romance. About a soldier.”

Kazi laughed. “You must’ve been devastated.”

“Cody and Fox were pissed. They went to bed but I decided to watch it.” 

An expectant pause fell. Then, he told her about the film.

A soldier, having survived a war, returned home to his farm. The farm sat on a plot of land shared with his neighbor. The soldier spent his days planting crops and caring for the animals, tiring himself so that he could sleep at night. 

One day, while reading a book beneath the willow tree near the river, a woman appeared. Flustered after an argument with her father, she’d sought the willow for solace. The soldier offered to leave. The woman refused. Instead, they whiled away the afternoon in mutual silence. The next afternoon, the soldier returned to the willow. The woman greeted him with a basket of cookies. They indulged, together.

Afternoons, regardless of rain, were spent beneath the willow tree chatting, strolling the river, swapping stories. The soldier asked her to marry him; she agreed. However, the woman’s father—the soldier’s neighbor—refused. That night, unbeknownst to the soldier, the father shipped his daughter away. The soldier searched for her. He couldn’t find her.

Years passed. Each afternoon the soldier sat beneath the willow. He told it about his day: the good, the bad. He referred to the willow by his lover’s name. Eventually the neighbor passed away. The woman returned; she’d left the man her father forced her to marry. Days later, the soldier and the woman married. A few weeks of bliss ensued, and then the woman fell ill. She died a few months later.

The film concluded with the soldier, old and gray-haired, sitting beneath the willow, telling her about his day.

“I was a young boy when I watched that film,” Wolffe said. “I’d spent my entire life being told that I was a soldier. I wanted to be a soldier. We all did. But…we didn’t know that there were other options.” He released a heavy breath. His knuckles skimmed her jawline. “I don’t regret being a soldier. But I also wanted more for my life. And that film was the first time I realized there could be more. That I could have more. It changed everything.” 

Kazi pressed a hand to his chest, and Wolffe acquiesced her unspoken request. He settled onto his back, his attention unwavering on her. With a gentle smile, she straddled his thighs and placed a kiss against his cheek.

“You were a good soldier, Wolffe,” she murmured. “And you’re an even better man.” 

Her second kiss—a tender touch to his throat with a light tease of her tongue—earned her a soft exhale. She kissed his collarbone next, and the inside of his biceps soon followed. Beneath her, he was pliant, muscles tautened at her exploration, and yet malleable to her touch. 

As her tongue mapped ribcages and stomach muscles and the lines of his hips, he grabbed her arms. Held her still. His cock was dripping; his eyes were half-lidded with want. But he merely motioned her closer, into the heat of his chest, the clutch of his arms, the embrace of his neck.

“This is what I’ve wanted,” Wolffe murmured. “For a long time.”

She brought his mouth to hers and confessed, “It’s what I’ve wanted, too.”

16 Kelona

Kazi rechecked the rucksack on the kitchen counter.

“Are the dragons still in there?” At the laughter in her sister’s voice, she rolled her eyes. Daria rounded the kitchen corner to stand beside her. “They haven’t flown away in the fifteen minutes since you last checked?”

“No,” Kazi muttered, shoving an uneaten citrus-star inside the bag. Quick snaps buttoned the bag closed, and she rubbed her hands together. “It’s just…I feel unprepared for this.”

“This was the original plan,” Daria remarked. She angled her head back and scanned the skylights. Black clouds, swollen with unshed rain, enshrouded the night sky. “We’ll be okay.”

Kazi gave a curt nod; her sister was correct, after all. For days, they intended to depart on a public transport rather than leave on the men’s ship. However, the sudden change earlier this morning—the men’s decision to leave Eluca—had thrown her off-kilter. 

A hard knock on her door had awoken her and Wolffe. Only an hour had passed since they’d fallen asleep. With a concerned frown, Wolffe answered the door. The dim hallway light revealed Fox outfitted in his black armor. 

She’d known then that something was wrong. Wolffe’s overt agitation confirmed her mounting unease: rigid spine, angry whispers, a grim look in her direction.

The moment he closed the door behind Fox, she let the sheet fall away. “What happened?”

“That missing ship I told you about”—Wolffe perched himself on the edge of the bed—“just heard that they went down. They’re stranded. Need a rescue. And we’re closer than Rex.”

“You’re wondering if it’s safe enough to bring us,” she said.

“They’re stranded on a remote planet.” He scrubbed his jaw. In his momentary pause, she could see him strategizing. The narrow-eyed calculation of risks. The jaw-clenched assessment of various plans. “They weren’t followed. It should be safe.”

“How many men?”

“Five.”

“It’ll be crowded.” Kazi placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “We’ll take the transport—”

“No. I told you—”

“Wolffe.” Frustration stiffened his posture, and she offered him a small smile. “It’s the only way.” 

He shook his head. “I’ll travel with you. The others can man the ship without me.”

Kazi laughed at the absurd suggestion but sobered when she noticed the grim set to his jaw.

“No,” she said quickly. “Security at the spaceport is intense. They’ll recognize you.” Wolffe remained stubbornly resistant; she stiffened, clutching his arm in desperation. “Wolffe, please. They will know that you’re a clone. They’ll grab you. They’ll interrogate you—”

“Ennari—”

“You’ll jeopardize Neyti and Daria. You’ll jeopardize me.”

“I know.” He ran a hand down his face, glared at the opposite wall, thinking hard, and then exhaled a bitter breath. “We’ll meet you at the Naboo spaceport.”

“Take Fluffy with you,” she said. Her attempt at sportiveness fell flat. Instead, she rested her forehead against his, taking his hand in hers. “We’ll be okay.”

A low boom of thunder rattled the windowpanes in the kitchen. Overhead, electric-white lightning fractured: blinding, branching, lighting the black sky in a display of sheer power that could rival the sun in its intensity. 

“Kazi.” The deceptive calm in her sister’s voice forced her to return her attention to Daria. But her sister was staring at the kitchen counter. “Why do you have that?” 

Kazi followed her sister’s gaze to the small blaster near the sink. She grimaced. Hastily, she tossed a hand cloth over the blaster, hiding it from view. But her sister continued to stare at the counter. 

“I told Wolffe that I’d keep it with me until we arrive at the spaceport,” Kazi said. She knew the blaster unnerved Daria. A possible lapse in memory could result in tragedy. She added, “Just in case.”

Daria’s nod was stilted. “I understand,” she murmured.

Silence settled between them offset by the rolling thunder. Kazi took the opportunity to survey her sister. Hollows were visible to her once naturally-blushed cheeks. Her collarbones protruded against her skin. Her former curves and muscles had thinned. Not even a year had passed since they left Ceaia and yet Daria looked so different. 

The return home, regardless of the difficulties with her medicine, would be good for Daria. The freshness of the ocean breeze and the familiarity of Outlook Harbor created an idyllic setting for her final days.

Kazi straightened, tucked her hands into the back pockets of her trousers, and smiled. “We’re getting married.” 

Daria leaned against the counter with shrewd analysis. “Tattoos?”

Traditionalists and Reformists differed in their beliefs, customs, and celebrations on several fronts. However, both practiced one significant custom: the tattooing of a partner’s initials into the inner skin of the fourth finger. A symbol of eternal commitment. For only death and its inevitable weathering of skin and bones could remove the tattoo. 

“I told Wolffe about it,” Kazi said. She struggled to smother her smile. “He said he’d been wanting a new tattoo for some time.” 

Daria gave a quiet laugh but quickly turned thoughtful. “I’m happy for you,” she said. “I’m really happy for you, Zee.”

Kazi bit the inside of her cheek with a small, grateful nod. The groan of the pipes allowed her a moment of reprieve—Neyti must have finished her shower—and she glanced at the chrono. They were due to meet Fehr in half an hour.

Realizing the time, too, Daria made her way toward the kitchen table where she tugged on her boots. Her labored breathing convinced Kazi to recheck the rucksack for her nighttime potion—

“I’d like to go sailing.” The sudden comment made her glance at her sister. Daria sat with her hands clasped proprietarily in her lap. A nervous smile dimpled her cheeks. “I know I haven’t been in years—”

“I’ll take you,” Kazi said. At the thought of sailing with Daria again—the possibility of finding a narwhal pod and perhaps swimming among the curious cetaceans—she grinned. “Whenever you want.”

“I was thinking my life day.” In two months, then. Daria corrected a wrinkle in her loose, white dress. “I think I would like to visit the islet and see the turtles. One more time.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Kazi said quietly. “We can—” 

The front door smashed open. 

Kazi flinched back a step, staring wide-eyed at the hallway. Before she could grasp the situation, before she could react, a blaster emerged from the shadows. It was aimed at her chest.

Her heart collapsed, stuttered, and then pounded into a terrified flurry.

“Hello, Kazi dear.”

Kazi blanched. “Magistrate Aro?” 

The buttery lights of the main level warped the magistrate into a waxy luster. His dark skin had taken on a pallor; his lips were pale, drooping at the sides. 

“What—” Kazi looked from the blaster to the magistrate. “What’s going on?”

“You betrayed me.” With the blaster still aimed in her direction, Magistrate Aro stumbled around the bookcase, toward the opposite side of the kitchen counter. His walk was uncoordinated, similar to a drunk traversing dunes. “You outsmarted me,” he said, “and for that I must say, well done.” 

“There must be a misunderstanding,” Kazi said. She raised her hands in a placating manner; they shook. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Don’t lie.” The magistrate’s shout echoed eerily across the main level. He sucked in a sharp breath, readjusted his ornate robes, faced her with a renewed sense of composure. He smiled. “I know that you are a rebel spy, Ms. Lucien.”

She felt the blood drain from her face. “I don’t know what—” 

“Spare me.” He spoke with a singsong lilt. Like he was a schoolboy taunting her on the playground. “All this time I trusted you, and yet you were spying on me”—he looked at Daria— “and harboring another spy—”

“She’s not a spy.” Kazi dropped the pretense of innocence. She regarded the magistrate with cold disgust. “She’s not a part of the rebel network. She knows nothing.”

The magistrate stared at her unblinking and then he fixed his blaster on Daria. Kazi clung to the edge of the counter to steady herself. At the kitchen table, Daria stood frozen. 

“Don’t—” 

“I believed you for so long,” Magistrate Aro murmured. A wounded pout jutted his lower lip. “You were so clever, my dear Kazi. I trusted you. I was yours.”

The distance between her and the magistrate was too far. He would either injure or kill Daria before she could stop him. 

“But then I saw an interesting report.” The magistrate feigned a frown. “You accessed my prison’s schematics. It was so unusual. Why? I asked myself. But I trusted you, so I let it go.” Spittle dribbled from the corner of his mouth. “And then your most recent analysis came in.”

Kazi frowned. Her analyses were solid, a testament to her education and honed skillset over the years—

“Your analysis claimed that the old Republic outpost received another transmission.” The magistrate blinked, his pupils tiny dots against the red veins webbing the whites of his eyes. His hand dipped, the barrel of the blaster drooping. “I didn’t understand. I had the transmission tower decommissioned after my investigation.”

The air seemed to vanish from her lungs.

She remembered the data manipulation. Hell, she’d even told Wolffe about it when trying to delay her talk with Neyti. The possibility of the magistrate tampering with the transmission tower hadn’t crossed her mind once.

“I did not want to believe it,” the magistrate continued. “But I had to have you investigated. It riddled me with guilt, you must know.” He sighed. “I learned that you registered a flight plan last Telona. A food export carrier. And yet you have not claimed any exports in the trade books. I realized your flight plan was a cover. To ferry rebels to and from my planet.”

Kazi gritted her teeth. She’d known that registering the flight plan was too risky. And it didn’t matter that the magistrate’s conclusion was wrong. (The flight plan was for Wolffe, not the rebel network.) Still, the registration was suspicious. She’d merely hoped no one would investigate it.

“Alas, you played me well,” Magistrate Aro conceded. He mocked a bow, twirling his blaster haphazardly. “However, I have won, in the end. My stormtroopers will be here in minutes. You will accompany them to the capital where you will reveal all that you know of the rebel network and its clone conspirators.” He paused and then winked. “Do cooperate. I would rather keep you to myself than relinquish you to ISB.”

A chill sunk into her bones. “Keep me?”

“Oh yes.” He smiled. A maniacal smile born from the unnatural coupling between paranoia and megalomania. “You will be an example for the people. Who better than a rebel-turned-Imperial whore?” 

The magistrate barked a laugh—a sound so grotesque the hairs along her neck raised. He licked his lips and then his eyebrows shot up.

“I will make you a deal.” The magistrate grinned. “Do as I say—come with my stormtroopers willingly—and I will allow this woman to live.” He shook his blaster in Daria’s direction, a limp-wristed flourish rather than proper aim. “Resist and I will kill her.”

“No.” The single word reverberated across the main level. Daria comported herself with an aristocratic glare. A reproving expression honed by several years at finishing school. “Don’t do it, Kazi.” 

“Daria,” Kazi said in an even, cold tone. Her sister frowned at her. “You’ll do as the magistrate says.” 

Daria started to protest but Kazi ignored her. She concentrated on Magistrate Aro. He was watching them, simultaneously perplexed and intrigued, like a youngling at a magic show. When Kazi met his gaze, he schooled his features. And it was that reaction—the cunning behind his self-effacing, falsely magnanimous mask—that confirmed his spurious offer.

Magistrate Aro wouldn’t allow Daria to live. The moment Kazi accepted his proposal, he would kill her. He would probably kill Neyti, too. 

The conclusion left her with one choice.

So Kazi didn’t hesitate as she lunged for the cloth-covered blaster, drawing the magistrate’s full attention. 

She didn’t second-guess her decision as she aimed the blaster, trusting her analysis of his character: that his self-preservation would dominate his reaction.

She didn’t flinch as she pulled the trigger.

Time stretched, Eluca’s axial rotation stalled, a branch of lightning spiderwebbed across the sky. 

The magistrate looked down at his chest. He fumbled to pull apart his robes. Vermillion blood stained his white undershirt, a small pool that thickened and enlarged.  

Kazi pulled the trigger again.

The magistrate looked at her. His lips parted. He gurgled, blood spurting from his mouth.

She fired the blaster again.

The magistrate collapsed to his knees.

She walked toward his crumbling body, aimed the blaster at his head, and shot him once more.

And then silence, a calm foreboding, settled across the house. Not even the heavens dared to cry. 

Kazi stared at the body lying prone on the recently mopped floor. The gravity of the situation pressed on her: overwhelming, damning. 

The main level distorted—her vision tunneled; a ticking sounded in the back of her mind. Her hands started to shake. Her breaths quickened. She stepped away from the body, the blaster falling from her clutch, and then she took in the chrono. They didn’t have much time.

“Take Neyti to the spaceport,” Kazi said. She spoke calmly, if a little inhumanly, returning to the kitchen to retrieve the rucksack. “Get on the transport and get out of here. Wolffe will meet you both on Naboo—”

“Kazi.” Her name was a soft admonishment. Daria sighed, resigned. “You’re going with Neyti.”

“I can’t.” Extracting a small box from the rucksack—suddenly grateful for the rebel network’s foresight—she approached Daria and pushed the bag into her arms. “The stormtroopers will be here any minute. As soon as they realize what happened, they’ll shut down the spaceports. No one will be able to leave until they find the culprit. If I turn myself in, the spaceports will stay open long enough that you and Neyti can leave.”

“But—”

“The chain codes are in the bag,” she instructed. “You need to go—”

“Kazi.”

“Tell Wolffe—” His name punctured a hole in her composure. Her voice broke. But they didn’t have time; she needed to remain in control, for just a bit longer. “Tell him—” 

She sucked in a shallow breath. There was so much to tell him. Gratitude for the last year. Apology for the shortness of their time. An order for the future, to find happiness—

Daria shoved the rucksack into her arms with enough force she stumbled backward.

“You’ll tell Wolffe yourself,” Daria said. “You will take Neyti to the spaceport, and you will go home, and you will live the life you always wanted.”

Far too many seconds elapsed before Kazi understood Daria’s intent. She shook her head, her smile wan. “No. This is my fault and I won’t let you—”

“I am going to die, Kazi.” Daria held out her hands to encompass her withering body. “I am going to die sometime soon, so why not now? At least this way I can go with my memories still intact. I’ll remember you, and Mama and Papa, and Neyti, and Cody.”

Kazi straightened. “You’re my little sister—”

“I’m also my own person,” Daria said. “I have spent my entire life fulfilling the expectations set for me, and now I have the chance to make my own decision regarding my life. You have a future, Zee, one that I can’t have. So fight for it.”

“I can’t let you make this decision,” Kazi said. The seconds on the chrono seemed to be counting faster. Urgency thrummed through her veins. Get them out, it demanded. Get them out now. “You need to go—” 

“Kazi—”

“Please, Daria,” she whispered brokenly. Her chest constricted tightly; she was finding it harder to breathe. “Please don’t make me choose—”  

“Mum?” 

The word hung in the air: quiet with confusion, soft with worry. Slowly, Kazi turned around.

Balanced between two stairsteps teetered Neyti. A tiny hand grasped the railing; strands of wet hair gathered around her shoulders. The little girl looked between Kazi and Daria before taking in the dead male on the floor. Her mouth parted.

“Neyti.” Kazi beckoned to her. The youngling hurried forward, tiptoeing around the blood seeping across the wooden floor. Her shoulders were hunched, her eyes darting. There wasn’t time for consolation, though. Kazi ushered Neyti toward the sunroom, speaking quickly. “Something has happened. You and Daria are going to leave—”

Neyti halted. She searched her face. “What about you?”

“I can’t go with you,” Kazi said gently. Neyti started to back away, tugging on her dragon necklace, her lower lip quivering with refusal. Kazi mustered a reassuring smile. “Neyti, I can’t—”  

A low rumble sounded beyond the shattered front door. 

She tensed. Her head spun, dizzied by the terror seeping through her veins. She pressed a palm against her forehead. Tried to stifle the pain throbbing behind her eyes—

“I will do this, Kazi. I’m not scared.” Daria stood in front of her, a portrait of poise, and grabbed her hand, replacing the small box with a necklace. The necklace she’d gifted her sister for the winter holiday. “I’m not scared anymore.”

A memory sputtered to life: two little girls cowering inside a lighthouse, a storm raging outside. Her six-year-old sister curled into her. I’m not scared, Kazi. Not when you’re with me.

“You have a family, a future, a life,” Daria said, closing her fingers around the necklace. “So go and live.”

“Daria—” 

A tug on her sweater cut her off. Kazi looked down at Neyti. The youngling stared back, fear wrinkling her forehead, her stormy eyes frantic. She clung to the sweater, knuckles white, like she could prevent Kazi from leaving her. 

And it was the sight of this little girl—a little girl who had lost so much, who had suffered too much—that rived Kazi’s heart in two. For the choice was clear. Even though it would steal her past, her childhood, her sister from her. 

She would forever hate herself for this decision. But she had to make it.

And as she moved, the memories swam before her: dances in rain puddles (she lifted her head), daring climbs among the sequoia trees (she hefted the rucksack across her back), freeing wild sea creatures from fishermen's catches (she grabbed Neyti's hand), citrus-stars split beneath ancients constellations (she faced her little sister).

“Write me a letter,” Daria said. Her benign smile carried a hint of wistfulness. “Promise me you will.”

Kazi swallowed. “I promise.”

Beneath the partition between the living area and the sunroom, she paused. Her gaze met Daria’s. She started to speak— 

Doors slammed outside the front of the house. Kazi took in her sister one final time, and as Daria gave her a solemn nod, she and Neyti rushed into the backyard. 

Bold lights limned the elder trees and swaying ferns. A torchlight swarmed the side of the house and Kazi ducked. She held her breath, waiting. 

The light flitted away and she yanked Neyti toward the jungle. Toward a path she had routed. 

Bioluminescent mosses lit their path. Tree roots snagged at their legs. 

The moonless night cast the dense thicket of wild jungle in a darkness reminiscent of the ocean on a moonless night.

A root caught her ankle and she fell. Thorny flora scraped her palms. Her ankle twinged as she regained her feet. Concern widened Neyti’s eyes.

“I’m okay,” Kazi whispered. Grabbing Neyti’s hand, she led the little girl onward. “We have to keep going.”

Sweaty, their hair snagged with twigs and hands dirty, Kazi and Neyti emerged at the edge of Hollow’s Town. A comm call to Fehr, a brisk explanation, and the older woman retrieved them. 

The clouds unshed their wrath, gray sheets of rain thrashing the earth, as if the skies had waited with baited breath and were now intent on purging the earth of the spilled blood. 

News over the radio confirmed an incident involving the magistrate. Kazi stared out the aircar’s window, rubbing the family portrait within Daria’s locket. 

The spaceport was crowded for such a late hour. Kazi and Neyti wound their way through security. The rucksack was cleared. Their chain codes were accepted. They hurried to their transport and boarded, taking their seats in the far back. 

Minutes passed, Kazi clenched and unclenched her hands, keeping watch over the platforms, and then the transport’s doors closed. The pilot told them to fasten their seatbelts in preparation for departure. 

The transport grumbled to life. Exhaust steamed the windows and they started to rise. 

From her seat overlooking the spaceport, she watched as stormtroopers rushed inside. Access gates across the port closed. Red lights blared warnings. 

Neyti curled into her. Kazi held her. 

The transport jerked forward and they exited the port, taking to the stormy skies. Lightning glowed among the clouds around them, random bursts protected by the thick cloud cover. 

Outside Eluca’s atmosphere, the transport set a steady pace, its sublight speed nauseatingly slow. And then the cold reality of the last hour finally set in. 

Kazi exhaled a sharp, painful breath. She dug her fingernails into her thighs. She ground her teeth until her jaw was aching and her lungs were constricting and her eyes were burning.

Her sister was gone. 

Masterlist | Chapter 29 | A Muse

A/N: Read “A Muse” for additional story context. 

* Lines inspired by When Harry Met Sally (1989): “I’m difficult.” “You’re challenging.” “I’m too structured. I’m completely closed off.” “Yeah, but in a good way.”