#sevfi

hi anon! the song was the past is a grotesque animal, by of montreal (!), so obviously i had to write something about that kind of thing. post-canon, they find sev in kashyyyk, T.

(full disclosure: i find this ship pretty hard to write, but i did my best. i hope you like it! 🙈)

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The words are back, but now Fi finds that he has nowhere to put them. He helps Sev into the first floor fresher, Delta bumping elbows and shoulders out in the stairs and Atin standing there with his arms crossed and that face he makes sometimes that pulls his scar very tight across his cheeks and into his right eye. Fi feels himself bubbling with words, shivery with anticipation, but he bites down, fear and shame and something that might be disappointment helping him out. 

At long last! Thank you for this precious prompt. :3

Undisciplined

Sev/Fi, 650 words, Teen+, Post-O66, Mandalore, established relationship

Sev set his partially disassembled DC-17m on the counter-top with a clunk.

A moment ago there’d been a sigh resonant enough to wake his youngest batch of brothers 60,000 light years away on Kamino. It had come from between the couch cushions (Someone had placed an antiquated, aromatic, manka-hide couch in the armory — Sev knew it was Vau’s, the same way he knew something thoroughly normal had just occurred.)

A few paces away, Fi had sunk as far as was possible for a well-muscled, domesticated, former commando — into the couch, and his brows had sunk further over his eyes than Sev thought possible. For Fi.

Omega’s sniper appeared to be sulking. 

Fi lived a lavish a life, Sev thought privately, never lacking for food or laughter or company. Or a hard day’s work at his own pace. Or civvie anything and everything. And yet, here was this demonstration of acute forlornness. Sev sighed his own small sigh, a barely discernible exhale through his nostrils, and thumbed his blaster regretfully. 

Whateveritwas tugged him over to the couch where he stopped, shin to shin with Fi, work boots crowding designer sneakers, coveralls crackling as he spread his legs in a standing straddle over Fi’s knees. Sev crossed his arms, and Fi promptly dropped his head against them, as if the surly shelf were a specially proffered pillow. 

“What?” said Sev.

A funny, moany noise came out of Fi, partially muffled by Sev’s arms, which he then uncrossed and folded around Fi’s head and neck. 

“What?” Sev repeated, to Fi's black curls.

“Ingrid Irunen’s performing at the Kallarak.”

Oh.

Sev sighed, resigned. Fi’d been talking of nothing but his favorite Glimmick vocalist recently. She had a three-octave range, and based on the sized of her voice, you’d never guess how petite she actually was.

Obviously Fi had never had the chance to see her in person. There would be a sold out concert on Coruscant in five days — now — 

“Quit griping then and go watch the live feed.”

“Mmmph.”

Unconvinced, Fi remained inert against Sev’s chest. Seconds ticked by, and the longer they held, the warmer Sev grew with Fi’s cheek resting on his sternum, ear against his thrumming ventricles. His thighs squeezed Fi’s tight, blood pooling cheerfully between his hips despite the joyless mood. His line of sight curved over Fi’s back, down to the visible waistband of Fi’s skivvies: a tease just out of reach.

But Fi’s face wasn’t, and this would definitely work to lighten him up. 

Sev slid both his hands rather un-gently through Fi’s hair, pulled his head back, locked eyes long enough to read something like gods yes please you dickwad, and kissed him longer than was really appropriate given their location — Vau’s old couch in the armory at Kyrimorut, on Mandalore in the middle of a violent regime change. 

Sev knew, judging by the way Fi melted every time, that he was a good kisser. It was a consolation. Sev felt quite lucky, actually, for a deserter clone. Abandoned by the system which had produced him. Collected by what — who — made his heart beat. 

Presently, though he didn’t want to, he released Fi’s face, now aglow with renewed vigor twinkling in his eyes and the corners of his mouth. 

“Alright, I’m off," Fi declared. "You’re right. Mereel’s probably got the feed up and running.”

Sev had succeeded in kissing the melancholy right out of him, apparently; enthusiasm had welled up from some mysterious store. Sev's crotch twitched painfully. He’d watch the show too, if only to herd Fi somewhere intensely private afterwards.

Fi seemed to pick up on this — he swatted playfully between Sev’s legs, just hard enough to jolt out a soft groan. 

“Love you,” Fi murmured, withdrawing his hand. 

shab. 

rated M, chose not to use archive warnings, PTSD, suicidal ideation, Ambiguous Ending, Non-linear Narrative

for @cabezadeperro a while back 🥰 still one of my proudest works

a story of Fi and Sev, Sev and Fi:

told out of order, from Kashyyyk to Coruscant, Dorumaa and Gaftikar, back to Triple Zero again and on to Kyrimorut, plus wherever they were in that nebulous final section…

Fi is fumbling with the kodak disposable as Sev is cooing at Mird and getting the old bloodhound on his lead. At least the older hound prefers the harness rather than a collar lead, like Spar’s freaky little greyhound who they thankfully are not taking care of this trip.

It’s a vacation, for them, to visit Sev’s dad and take in the sights while they’re about the US. It’s weird, being in this big ass country instead of back home in Aotearoa, but Sev’s dad had jumped from the UK to Aotearoa, where he’d met Sev’s other dad, back to the UK, then to the US, all for work, and Spar’d gone with him to play hostess for dinner parties since his return to the UK while Jas stayed back.

"What is taking them so long?" Fi groans for the umpteenth time as he shifts positions again and 'accidentally' bumps his shoulder into Sev sitting next to him.

"I'm sure they'll be done soon." Sev grunts, and Fi pretends not to notice that he doesn't actually move away. That he hasn't done that in a while actually.

"Hey, did I ever tell you about that time we went to Kessel?" Fi says instead, and tries to hide his glee at Sev's dramatic sigh, "There were like, pirates and explosions and-"

"Do you ever stop talking?" Sev interrupts him, his voice almost a growl.

"I'm chatty, it's part of my charm."

"It's annoying. That's what it is."

"Then why don't you kiss me, you di'kut, and make me shut up." Fi blurts out and feels his ears turn red at his unexpected confession. Next to him he feels Sev stiffen.

There's a heavy silence that seems to drag on forever and Fi fears that maybe this time he has screwed things up beyond repair. Its not mutual after all, these feelings he's been having-

When suddenly Sev turns towards him and grabs his chin, pulling him close and smashing their lips together with a surprisingly gentle motion. Fi freezes for a moment, then lets himself melt into it, savouring the soft feel of Sev's lips.

Guess he wasn't wrong then.

Far too quickly Sev pulls away, his ears now burning too. Then he gets up and stomps out the door, his shoulders hunched up high.

Fi watches him go, though he can’t help the silly little grin that spreads on his face.

Sev and Fi hold my heart thank you very much

hi slipper! thanks for asking! this one took a while because i really like the song and i ended up listening to it on repeat for two hours and not writing at all lmao

the song in question is vampire on my fridge by low roar. very cold very melancholic weirdly eerie.

sev lives au, T. imperial era. not very plotty, just vibes, sorry.

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The floor is cold under Sev’s feet. He hisses and makes himself keep on walking, slipping soundlessly through the open door and into the dark hallway just beyond. The ship keeps humming all around him, buzzing and sighing and rattling and crackling. He can hear the whine of one of the ventilators up on the ceiling, and underneath the shifting and settling of the gunship’s old metal bones. 

It used to be Vau’s. The old man left it to them in their will, a big monster of a vessel, ancient and lumbering and still functional. Sev can’t say he saw it coming, and he half-expects his old sergeant to appear one day on the ramp, in the cockpit, sneering and disdainful and cold. He haunts the whole ship, Walon Vau’s ghost.

A free ship is a free ship, though.