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! 🙈)
---
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.
Sev lets him touch. Sev lets him take off his clothes and step into the shower to the side, stump red and hot to the touch, and Sev doesn’t look at him, jaw clenched tight and nostrils flaring now and then. He’s thin and haggard, old and scarred. His fingers are twisted, ugly things, and there’s a divot in his right bicep, and the muscle there feels too dense, wrong.
Fi starts filling the tub in the centre of the room. He feels Sev’s eyes on him. When he looks at him over his shoulder he catches him staring from under his heavy brows, and that might be the only thing that hasn’t changed: the shape and colour of his eyes, the bitter heat in them when he looks at Fi.
Old-Fi would have said something flirty and funny and witty, and Old-Sev would have—what? Fi thinks Sev would have insulted him and then he would have gotten all flushed and drippy and soft around the edges, and it would have been enough.
He can’t quite picture this Sev doing any of those things. He looks like something tried to have him for dinner and found him too tough, too stringy to stomach—as far as Fi knows, that might have been the case. Fi helps him up again when Sev’s done with his shower, and helps him cross the fresher towards the tub. The stairs to the side are hard to navigate, but Sev manages, jaw clenched and scowl hanging low over his dark eyes. He eyes the tub with something that’s half-way between suspicion and disdain, and then he takes a seat on the bench to the side with a bitten down groan.
Fi watches his knotted shoulders lose some of their tension, his bowed neck wet with water and still sudsy. He could reach out, armour and all, place his hand there.
He wants to. Five years and a brain injury later, Fi wants him so much he feels like he’s going to die from it.
Sev turns to look at him over his shoulder, arms resting on the lip of the tub. He’s flushed and damp with steam; Fi’s sweating under his kute, and he thinks about taking it all off, leaving it on the tile, sinking in hot water and across Sev’s thighs, on his lap.
At first the grief would not let him think. It felt too big for a few hours in each other’s company, for a few clumsy kisses and an eager, sloppy blowjob in a shitty Coruscant motel, too big for his newly mended body, for his too-slow tongue and his shapeless, formless memories. When Fi pushed through the grief and into acceptance he thought he had left the want behind.
They’re waiting for them. Gilamar’s on his way to the yaim to take a look at Sev, and Fi can hear his brothers’ voices through the locked fresher door. Fi shifts his weight on his feet, watches Sev watching him. It occurs to him that he could walk away from this, from them, from this thing they never were. He kind of wants to.
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…
read on AO3 🔒 https://archiveofourown.org/works/39483978
What if we were two dudes...... and we kissed under the stars..... would that be gay?
ft Sev's post Kashyyyk messy haircut and whatever Fi decided would make a good look (Sev: "Why is there a dead womp rat on the top of your head?" Fi: "Did you get bitten by a wookie and turned into one?")
Fluff Prompt! Fi taking a picture of Sev smiling or in his element :')
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.
One day, allegedly, Walon’s moving back. Once he retires. Spar and Jaster and Jango all always roll their eyes at that.
So Fi and Sev went to visit and now Walon’s on a business trip and Spar kicked them out of the house so she could sex up her Scottish doctor “friend” (read: Fi is pretty sure they’re going to announce their engagement soon judging by that rock on Spar’s finger).
Sev is the one who suggested they go Arizona.
Fi takes a quick snap of Sev as he helps Mird out of the back of the car, acting casual when his boyfriend looks up again.
“Where’s the overlook?” Sev asks.
Fi points up the trail marker for going up to Hopi Point. “Four kilometres thataway.”
Sev huffs and Mird huffs along with him, but they start that way, leaving Fi to grab the pack with the bottles of water and a bowl for Mird and lock up the car. The hike isn’t bad, really, compared to some of the ones they’ve done on vacations from university. When Sev’d first wanted to go visit Walon, Fi’d kind of mourned that tradition, since they’re graduating soon. But Sev’d been right, and this trip to Arizona wasn’t their first hike.
And Walon’d tossed him a pack of kodak cameras and grinned at him.
Well, Fi can take a hint.
As they get closer to the overlook, there are way more people they’re walking around. Mird gets plenty of attention, because he’s a delightful old dog, even if a lot of the other tourists are giving the two of them the side eye. Sev doesn’t notice, excitement growing as they come up to the edge.
Mird takes control, dragging Sev up to the edge.
Fi gets the camera up just in time to snap a shot of Sev looking out at the Grand Canyon with the biggest eyes he’s ever seen him make. And that includes the time—well.
He also gets one of Sev grinning as he turns to him.
“Get over here, Fi,” he calls, eyes glittering.
Fi can’t help but smile too, before he’s hefting the pack higher and going to join his boyfriend.
this is actually about boss sorry. uhh alluded/implied child abuse, messy in-squad power and relationship dynamics. takes place during triple zero, at qibbu’s. T to be safe, 500w, implied fi/sev established relationship. sev outsourcing the punishment he thinks he deserves, boss being very stoic and miserable about it. based on this prompt. nothing explicit but i think the implications are pretty uhhh unpleasant
(a small note: i know that by now kal and vau and the other trainers being disgusted by clone/clone relationships is pretty much a fandom trope, but i actually don’t know how i feel about that headcanon; i think it’s more interesting to focus on the fact that sev and boss think they know how vau would feel about sev fucking fi).
---
Footsteps stop right inside the room. Boss blinks down at his datapad and then sighs. When he looks up, Sev’s there, watching him with his eyes very wide. His hair is a mess, and there’s the mark of a pillow on his face. Boss manages to stop himself before he turns to look at the empty bunk over Scorch’s, right in front of his. He shifts on his own bed, mattress creaking, and very slowly puts his ‘pad down on his lap.
Sev is still looking at him with wide, dark eyes. He’s chewing at his lower lip in that way he has, one of those tells he has never managed to shake off, and the flesh looks red and tender.
He looks down at his own feet, brow furrowed and big shoulders bowed, and Boss—Boss doesn’t sigh, or curse, or resettle on the bed, though he knows what’s coming and he hates it. But he’s Sev’s sergeant, he’s Delta’s sergeant, and that means… something. Right? That means something.
So Boss stays where he is, sitting crosslegged on his bed, and he keeps his eyes on his brother, and he waits for what he knows it’s coming.
Sev opens and closes his mouth. His frown is now a black, awful scowl. He tugs at his messy curls, too long, greasy at the roots, and then he steps all the way into the room and closes and locks the door at his back with a hand that wants to shake.
Boss watches him, bare feet cold and hands on his own thighs. He’s tired: while Sev’s been fucking Omega’s medic, Boss has been making sure the rest of his squad behaves, he’s been working, he’s—he’s tired. He just wanted to finish his shabla novel in place and then take a nap.
But Sev’s his brother and Boss is his sergeant, so he keeps his mouth shut and his face blank, because that’s what Sev expects, that’s what Sev thinks he needs, and Boss is in charge for a reason.
It could be worse: Sev could have gone straight to Vau. Boss resolutely does not think about what Sergeant Vau might have done to his brother if Sev told him about his thing with Fi.
Boss centres himself. He puts his exhaustion and his muted, well-worn grief away, and lets himself become the things he knows he has to do, and then he carefully places his datapad on the bed and stands up; Sev doesn’t flinch, but he doesn’t look up either.
“Something to say, Sev?” Boss makes himself ask. One of these days, all these words he doesn’t want to say will leave him tongueless and with a mouthful of blood.
Sev swallows, and then he starts talking, voice low and measured, and Boss listens and thinks about the fact that it has yet to occur to Sev that Boss is growing tired of placing himself between Sev and the things he wants.
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.
---
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.
Sev steps into the cockpit and checks the autopilot, numb fingers moving thoughtlessly over switches and screens. They’re hiding in the dark side of an unnamed planetoid, one of the many shards of metal, glass and rock caught in its orbit. The planetoid itself is a darker shadow floating in the void. Sev finishes checking the ship’s systems and then blinks sleep out of his eyes and watches it all, alone in this ship he isn’t that sure he wants.
It’s always cold. Sev knows that’s how space is: cold and quiet and lonely. He shivers and wraps his arms around his torso, eyes snared in the slow dance of the space debris in front of him.
They’re alone. Too close to the expansion region to be of interest, too far away from the closest inhabited system to be a danger. Ignored by the Empire, forgotten by pirates. They’ve been there for three days, sleeping and working out and keeping watch, always keeping watch, waiting for—something. It’s very much like the army and not at all.
He watches two asteroids collapse into each other soundlessly and closes his eyes: he can hear the echo crashing around the inside of his brain, can feel it in his jaw, in his belly.
“Sev?”
Sev stiffens. He opens his eyes and finds Fi watching him in the reflection of the transparisteel viewport. He’s naked as the day he was decanted, shameless and shivering where he stands in the open door.
He ignores Sev’s scowl and steps into the cockpit, feet nimble on the metal plating. His eyes are sharp when he flicks a glance first at the panel, then at the asteroid field, finally at Sev. He has this way of looking at Sev that’s like no one else’s: he sees through him, into him: he sees all of Sev, eyes soft and hot.
Fi steps into Sev’s space like he belongs there, hands warm and slightly damp through the thin fabric of his shirt, crowding him against the back of the seat, and Sev lets himself be pushed, licking his lips.
“Not in the cockpit,” he reminds Fi. Fi just laughs, that snicker-snort that hasn’t changed in the decade they have known each other.
His back hits the back of the seat, and Fi slips warm fingers under his shirt, into the waistband of his sleep pants, blunt fingernails scratching at the skin of the small of his back, and Sev can feel himself melting, giving in. Fi licks into his mouth and Sev sighs and lets him, hands ensnared in his curls.
Fi steps away. Sev sways after him. When he opens his eyes again, Fi’s watching him. He offers him a hand; after a beat, Sev links his fingers with Fi’s. He follows Fi out of the cockpit, caught by the strength in his hand and the set of his shoulders and the warmth of his mouth, and then Sev follows him back into bed.
hi!!! thanks for asking! i had to reread part of triple zero to write this lmao
hollow by cloud eater, 616w. yet another qibbu's fic.
I stay empty, I feel the hunger / So simple when I was younger
The mongrel was in a mood.
Sev watched him from the other side of the room, half-finished bowl of mystery stew congealing in front of him and Scorch mumbling something at his datapad. Now and then, he let a hand drop to rest on Sev's twitching leg, and Sev made an effort to stop moving, though it never lasted.
Omega’s medic, sniper and resident funny man was pacing the narrow balcony, peering at the night lights and scowling at the skylane. He looked younger in his fatigues, the long sleeves rolled around his elbows and his hair messy, frizzy with the perennial lower levels damp. He had some kind of sweet in his right hand, something bright red and round and hard stuck on the end of a pale plasti stick, and now and then he popped it in his mouth, tongue swirling around the tough candy. Its smell filled the room, winning the fight against Qibbu’s familiar and dense stink of grease and shitty spice and sweat, and it had left his lips bright red, wet and sticky.
Scorch’s hand, heavy and warm, gripped Sev’s knee. Sev huffed, nudged him with his shoulder in apology, and went back to poking at his bowl of—something.
It wasn’t too bad: Laseema, the Twi’lek girl who worked in the kitchen, wasn’t a bad cook. It was better than rations, that was for sure, and Sev had found he rather liked the way the sauce made his tongue go numb.
He scraped it against his front teeth, finished shovelling what was left of it into his mouth, and then rubbed his lips with the back of his hand: they tingled slightly, and they were hot, warm to the touch. They felt like Fi’s looked.
Scorch’s hand slipped from his leg, and he went back to his fiddling, too-long curls falling into his eyes. Sev left the dirty bowl on the counter and then crossed the room towards the balcony. Fi glanced at him and away, bare arms on the pitted durasteel of the railing. The lights of the passing speeders and the neon ad boards hovering in front of the building washed him in ever-changing colours, pink and blue and green.
“What’s that?” Sev asked. Fi blinked and turned to look at him. Sev cleared his throat. He shifted his weight and jerked his chin at the sweet still in Fi’s mouth. He had been able to smell it from his seat, chemically sweet and tangy and fruity.
Fi smiled around it. It moved inside his mouth, the hard ball pushing against his cheek, distorting the soft skin of his face.
It wasn’t a nice smile.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he replied, and then he went back to staring at the Coruscanti night life, shoulders stiff and sullen.
Sev blinked, wrong-footed. He scowled and turned away, ready to go back inside.
“Wait,” Fi’s voice caught him by surprise, and Sev paused despite himself. He looked at him over his shoulder, still scowling, face flushed.
“What.”
Fi stopped in front of him, sweet in his right hand. He was smiling again, wide and cheerful and awful, and Sev tilted his head, suddenly uncomfortable under his knowing gaze.
“Open your mouth.”
Sev felt his scowl deepen. “Wh—?”
Hard, warm candy, sweet and sour at once, wet with spit.
Fi snorted, mobile mouth tugging up on one side, and then there was one hot, sticky hand on Sev’s face, slapping him lightly, and he was stepping around him, fearless and cheerful and baffling.
“You can keep that,” he said over his shoulder. Sev just turned to blink after him, candy heavy on his tongue, warm with fury. “I’m not that hungry.”
Sev scowled, trying with limited success to avoid staring at Fi’s hands as Fi carefully splinted his last two fingers. It was made even harder by Fi’s uncanny ability to know when Sev was looking at him, and would always glance up and catch Sev’s eye. Fi smiling at him made how warm his hands were, and how nice they felt on Sev’s even harder to ignore.
One day he’d learn that Scorch’s idea of harmless fun was always a bad idea. At least Fi’s medical care involved fewer judgemental looks than Fixer’s.
No, it just involved heat on Sev’s checks that he couldn’t explain and a hyper awareness of how their hands fit together. Fi’s hands were softer than his, he’d been in Kyrimorut longer and while he’d hardly been idle he didn’t live with a gun in his hands anymore.
It was nice.
Fierfek
“That’s you,” Fi said and let Sev go. Sev held his hand in place for a second, blinking down at it before pulling it back. He flexed his hands to test the split and immediately winced, dropping his hand awkwardly to his lap.
Fi laughed, and Sev hated it when he did that, never able to tell if he was the butt of the joke or not. Before he could snap, or thank him, or something in between, Fi bent over, pressing his lips into Sev’s hair.
The contact was gone before Sev’s brain could catch up with what was happening. Fi made it a couple of steps away before Sev managed to get his tongue around the words he wanted.
“What was that?” Sev demanded.
“You never heard of kissing it better?” Fi asked, his smile turning more and more into a grin with each passing second.
Sev had actually. He’d seen Darman do it to his kid.
“I thought you were a medic, mongrel. Can’t tell the difference between my head and a broken finger?” Sev asked, resiting the urge to reach up and touch his hair where Fi had kissed it.
“Oh, you want me to kiss you again then?” Fi stepped back, towering over Sev who was still sitting, forcing Sev to crane his neck to look up at him. The no that he should say, should want to say, remained lodged in his throat.
Fi lips were soft against Sev’s check even as as his stubble was rough.
“See you later, Sev’ika. Let me know if you have any problem with your hand,” Fi said, and this time left before Sev could stop him. Sev stared after him, mouth stubbornly refusing to do anything useful, like close, or better yet, point out that that wasn’t his finger either.
